Lahav II: Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction 9781575066103

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Lahav II Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction

r e p o r t s o f t h e l a h av r e s e a r c h p r o j e c t

Excavations at Tell Halif, Israel Series Editor: Joe D. Seger

Volume I. Pottery and Politics: The Halif Terrace Site 101 and Egypt in the Fourth Millennium b.c.e. Volume II. Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction

The Lahav Research Project is sponsored by

The Cobb Institute of Archaeology Mississippi State University

and is an affiliated project of The American Schools of Oriental Research

L a h av I I Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction

James Walker Hardin

Winona Lake, Indiana Eisenbrauns 2010

ç Copyright 2010 by Eisenbrauns. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

www.eisenbrauns.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Hardin, James Walker, 1964– Lahav II : households and the use of domestic space at Iron II Tell Halif : an archaeology of destruction / James Walker Hardin. p. cm. — (Reports of the Lahav research project excavations at Tell Halif, Israel) Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-57506-163-4 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Halif Site (Israel). 2. Excavations (Archaeology)—Israel—Halif Site. 3. Israel—Antiquities. 4. Halif Site (Israel)—Buildings, structures, etc. 5. Space (Architecture)—Social aspects. I. Title. DS110.H285H37 2010 933—dc22 2010029919

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. †‘

Contents Series Editor’s Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . viii Field IV Field Staff . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . x

Author’s Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi List of Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiv List of Tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvi Glossary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii Chapter 1

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1

Chapter 2

Studying the Household . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

7

The Importance and Usefulness of Studying the Household. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Defining the Household . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Production 10 Distribution 11 Transmission 12 Reproduction 13 Identifying the Form of Domestic Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Determining the Relationship of the Domestic Space to the Household. . . . . 17 Determining How the Household Used Its Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Using Spatial Analyses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 Spatial Analyses as Analytical Procedures 26 Spatial Analysis at Tell Halif 30 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33

Chapter 3

Household Archaeology in the Southern Levant . . . . . . . . . . 35

The Tell as a Site Type . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Destruction Strata in Tells . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Causes of Destruction Strata 39 Refuse Preserved in Destruction Strata 41 The Iron Age Pillared Dwelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Identification 44 Architectural Plan 44 Origins 45 Construction 47 Components 48 Design Factors 53 Sources of Data for Determining the Use of Domestic Space . . . . . . . . . . . . Nonceramic Data 56 Ceramic Data 57

35 37

44

55

vi

Contents Questions To Be Addressed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 Excursus 1: A History of Destruction Strata . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .74

Chapter 4

Tell Halif: Its History and Remains . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84

The History of Tell Halif . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 Geography 84 Excavations 88 Site Occupation 89 Site Identification 94 The Field IV Remains at Tell Halif . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 Excavations in Field IV 96 The F7 Dwelling 96 Studying Formation Processes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 Testing for Cultural Formation Processes 99 Testing for Natural Formation Processes 116 Wind and Water Agents 120 Floralturbation 121 Faunalturbation 122 Summary of the Study of Formation Processes 123

Chapter 5

Investigating the F7 Dwelling: The de Facto Assemblage . . . 124

Room 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Description 124 Use 131 Room 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Description 133 Use 136 Room 3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Description 143 Use 146 Room 4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Description 148 Use 150 Room 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Description 151 Use 154 Conclusions Regarding the Use of Space in the F7 Dwelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter 6

124

133

143

148

151

157

Houses and Social Structure: Ethnographic and Ethnoarchaeological Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161

The Usefulness of Ethnographic and Ethnoarchaeological Studies . . . . . . . 161

Contents Sources of Ethnographic Comparisons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Villages in Palestine 166 Villages in Western Iran 166 The Physical Environment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dwelling Organization 166 Dwelling Construction 167 Components of Compounds 168 Village Social Structure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Identifying the Archaeological Household . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter 7

vii 165

166

169 171

Biblical Texts, the Dwelling, and Social Structure . . . . . . . . . 174

Biblical Texts and Dwellings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 Dwelling Construction 175 Dwelling Components 176 Biblical Texts and Israelite Social Structure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 The Bet-ªav 178 The Mishpa˙ah 182 The Shevet/Matteh 184 Excursus 2: Biblical Texts, Historical Reconstructions, and Revisionist Trends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .186

Chapter 8

Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195

Plate and Description Conventions, Plates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242

Series Editor’s Preface This volume appears as the second in a planned series of reports on the investigations of the Lahav Research Project (LRP) at Tell Halif located near Kibbutz Lahav in southern Israel. LRP research has focused widely on stratigraphic, environmental, and ethnographic problems related to the history of settlement at and around Tell Halif from prehistoric through modern times. The project was initiated in 1974 with sponsorship by the University of Nebraska at Omaha and since 1983 has received its primary support from the Cobb Institute of Archaeology at Mississippi State University. During all field seasons, efforts have also been assisted by consortia of other American academic institutions and with support in Israel from the W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology, both in Jerusalem, and from the Joe Alon Center for Regional and Folklore Studies at Kibbutz Lahav. Throughout, the LRP has been affiliated with the American Schools of Oriental Research as one of its approved projects. LRP investigations at Tell Halif have continued through three phases (I–III), embracing twelve seasons of field excavation between 1976 and 1999. A fourth phase (IV) directed by Oded Borowski under Emory University sponsorship was initiated in 2007. Through all phases, financial support by consortium institutions was supplemented by generous gifts received as private contributions from staff members, subscribers, and worker participants. Patrons and major donors are recognized in the editor’s preface to Lahav I, and the support of all contributors and participants is acknowledged on the project’s Digmaster Web site at www.cobb.msstate.edu/dig/. We are sincerely grateful to this very large group of individuals for their participation in and support of LRP work. At the same time, we also recognize that none of the project’s work could have been accomplished without the help of the members of Kibbutz Lahav. With warm encouragement and much material assistance, Lahav’s members provided a supportive and congenial base for the team’s field research through all of the past three decades. This second report in our LRP series focuses on materials recovered during Phase III excavations conducted in 1992, 1993, and 1999 in Field IV on the southwestern edge of the site. Phase III excavation efforts were directed by Paul F. Jacobs and Oded Borowski, aided by the field staff listed below. Along with the Cobb Institute of Archaeology and Mississippi State University, consortium support was provided by Emory University; California State University at Los Angeles; Gustavus Adolphus College, St. Peter, Minnesota; and Rhodes College, Memphis, Tennessee. From the LRP senior staff, Joe Seger remained active in the role of overall Project Director, and Phase II specialists and consultants Jack D. Elliott (regional survey), Eugene Futato (lithics analyst), and James Doolittle and Frank Miller (remote sensing specialists) also continued participation in the field. They were joined by Susan Arter (Smithsonian Institution and subsequently at the San Diego Museum of Natural History) as zooarchaeologist, Arlene Rosen (Ben Gurion University of the Negev, Beersheba, Israel) as geoarchaeologist, and S. Homes Hogue (Mississippi State University) as biological anthropologist. Technical support was provided by Kariman E. Seger

Series Editor’s Preface

ix

(University of Arizona, Tucson) as photographer; Jason Greene (Mississippi State University), Dylan Karges (Mississippi State University), Nichole Lantz (Mississippi State University), Cindy Martin (Atlanta, Georgia), and Jennifer Vesser (Sarasota, Florida), as technical illustrators; and Chris Holland and John Vanderzwaag (Concepthouse, Starkville, Mississippi) as computing specialists. Lahav member Avi Navon continued to provide liaison with the kibbutz, and Amos Kloner remained as IAA consultant. Orientation to Field IV and basic field report data can be accessed on the Digmaster Web site at www.cobb .msstate.edu/dig/lahav/map.html and at www.cobb.msstate.edu/dig/LRP-1999–01/overview .html. The special focus of this volume deals with the reconstruction of household organization during the Iron II period. Its study centers in particular on one four-room, pillared-type building located in Area F7 of Field IV and on its remains, which were sealed in a massive destruction that eclipsed the site in the late eighth century b.c.e. This study was first prepared as a Ph.D. dissertation for the Department of Near Eastern Studies at the University of Arizona (Hardin 2001) and has since been amplified and embellished by further research. Published here are the results of research deliberately designed by the author to include the complete recovery and detailed recording in the field of all artifacts and other remains within a special, refined, three-dimensional grid matrix. These data in turn established a framework for studying the formation processes active on the materials and for conducting a spatial analysis of the assemblages in the building. Along with ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological inferences, these techniques are used to identify activities, activity areas, and social organization related to the building, ultimately defining an “archaeological household” consisting of the pillared dwelling and its occupants. Finally, these conclusions are also related to reconstructions of the Iron II period household suggested by Hebrew Bible sources. From the outset, LRP research has used field methods designed to provide for comprehensive retrieval and detailed recording of data, using a modified Wheeler-Kenyon system. Within this basic system, staff participants have been encouraged to develop special approaches with respect to materials recovery and processing as these relate to their specialties and interests, and LRP field methods and analytical processes have evolved accordingly. This was particularly the case with faunal and lithics processing, and as here and in Lahav I, with the nuanced treatment of ceramics. Hardin’s study in this volume demonstrates well the usefulness of materials from destruction strata for cultural and social reconstruction when approached with deliberate excavation techniques and thorough attention to the formation processes affecting the assemblages. In this, he provides a new paradigm for the recovery and reconstruction of the household and household organization in the Iron II period. Joe D. Seger Cobb Institute of Archaeology June 2007

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Series Editor’s Preface

Field IV Field Staff During the 1992 season, LRP work was codirected by Paul F. Jacobs of Mississippi State University and Oded Borowski of Emory University. Paul Jacobs directed work in the 1993 season when Borowski was sidelined by a knee injury. Jacobs also directed the work in 1999. In all seasons, work in Field IV was also supported by the efforts of all participating research, technical, and operations staff members. For a complete listing, see the Cobb Institute’s Digmaster Web site at www.cobb.msstate.edu/dig/. 1992 Field Supervisor Oded Borowski, Emory University Field Supervisor Paul F. Jacobs, Mississippi State University Area Supervisor Keith Eades, Claremont, California Area Supervisor S. Homes Hogue, Mississippi State University Area Supervisor John Wade, Dallas, Texas 1993 Field Supervisor Paul F. Jacobs, Mississippi State University Assist. Field Supervisor Keith Eades, Claremont, California Assist. Field Supervisor James W. Hardin, University of Arizona Area Supervisor Elizabeth Cox, Breckenridge, Colorado Area Supervisor Tom Jull, University of Arizona Area Supervisor Fran Mueller, Waverly, Iowa Geoarchaeologist Arlene Rosen, Ben Gurion University 1999 Field Supervisor Paul F. Jacobs, Mississippi State University Area Supervisor Keith Eades, Claremont, California Area Supervisor James W. Hardin, Mississippi State University Computer Specialist Chris Holland, Concepthouse, Starkville, Miss. Computer Specialist John Vanderzwaag, Concepthouse, Starkville, Miss.

Author’s Preface This book, which approaches Iron II households and the archaeological record through the study of space in an Iron II dwelling from Tell Halif in southern Israel, has its origins in my doctoral dissertation, which was presented to the Department of Near Eastern Studies at the University of Arizona in 2001. The dissertation was based on work undertaken at Tell Halif by the Lahav Research Project (LRP) during its Phase III excavations in 1992, 1993, and 1999. Presented here is an updated version of the study that includes extensive revisions and new data based on further analyses that were undertaken after the dissertation was completed. The meticulously excavated, collected, and recorded archaeological data from Tell Halif’s Field IV, especially the ceramics form the principal basis for this study and were made available to me by the staff of the LRP, in particular by Oded Borowski and Paul Jacobs (codirectors of the Phase III excavations) and by Joe D. Seger (project director). In addition to making the materials and records available, they also provided me with ongoing support and the necessary resources to complete this project. While thanks go to all who were involved in the Phase III excavations of Field IV, a number of individuals provided special help in making the current manifestation of this research much better than it otherwise might have been. Oded Borowski and Paul Jacobs not only provided me the pick of the archaeological data from their excavations, but Jacobs’s patish and trowel instruction and his tireless ceramic refitting efforts greatly facilitated the progress of the research, while Borowski helped bring to life the Iron II of southern Judah, generally, and of Tell Halif, specifically. Borowski and Avi Navon, Kibbutz Lahav’s liaison for the project, introduced me to every nook and cranny of the northern Negev Desert in story and in person. In addition, Arlene Rosen’s detailed analysis of microartifacts collected from the floors of the Field IV structures dramatically increased the viability of the study, as did her input into collection methods for all artifacts. J. P. Dessel provided valuable tutoring in ceramic analysis. Since 1986, my first year of participation in the LRP, Dessel has done more than he will ever realize to prepare a naïve undergrad for the rigors of graduate school and the pursuit of a scholarly career in the study of the past. His instruction has been almost as important as his friendship. Finally, the members of Kibbutz Lahav, especially the Navon and Shoshani families worked tirelessly to make Lahav a home away from home. The shaping of my particular approach to the Halif archaeological materials largely was influenced by faculty at the University of Arizona. I am deeply grateful to William Dever, who served as my doctoral adviser and mentor and whose support and friendship has continued unabated. Along with Carol Kramer, Michael B. Schiffer, J. Edward Wright, and Norman Yoffee, he held me to task, and all were in differing ways influential in shaping the way I approached the research presented here. Other members of the faculty who supported my academic efforts include Susan Ackerman, Beth Alpert-Nakhai, Albert Leonard, Arthur Jelenick, David Killick, and J. Jefferson Reid. Together they made graduate school an exciting

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and stimulating experience. Just as important in this regard were my friends and fellow classmates. It is with genuine pleasure that I thank especially Kerry Adams, Gary Christopherson, Nick Kronwall, Chris Doolittle, Thomas Jull, Katharine MacKay, Stephen Nash, Mark Nupert, Steven Ortiz, William Saterno, and Barbara Teso. After finishing my coursework at Arizona, I first began work on the Field IV materials at the W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research, where I was a United States Information Agency Fellow during the 1994-95 academic year. The Albright staff was wonderfully supportive, particularly Edna Sachar, Hisham Jibrin, Nawal Ibtisam Rsheid, and Nadia Bandak, and I am especially grateful to the institute’s director, Sy Gitin, for his overall support and guidance. From him, I learned much regarding the nuances of Iron II ceramics. After completing the year in Israel, I became a research associate at the Cobb Institute of Archaeology at Mississippi State University. There my dissertation research was continued and completed and this book ultimately finished. I would especially like to thank Joe Seger, director of the Cobb Institute and director of the LRP, without whose support none of this would have been possible. His guidance, counsel, patience, and especially his friendship span a time from my first archaeology class in 1985 until the present. He is responsible, or perhaps to blame, for getting me into the field in the first place (both field excavation in Israel and Syro-Palestinian archaeology in general). He is responsible in many ways for any successes I have achieved thus far in my chosen career. Others at the Cobb Institute also were supportive, including several undergraduate students who worked dutifully on the descriptions, counts, and weights of the Lahav ceramics, as well as Administrative Secretary Kathy Elliot, who aided in formatting the manuscript. But special thanks are due to Michael Stewart for his herculean efforts in copy editing and to Dylan Karges for his exceptional work in preparing illustrations. Both worked above and beyond the call to see the volume through to completion, and I thank them most sincerely for their tireless and thorough efforts. A special note of gratitude is also due those who read and commented on drafts of the present work: Jeffrey Blakely, Oded Borowski, Dan Cole, J. P. Dessel, John S. Holladay, Carol Meyers, and Andrew Vaughn. Their insights were keen, and their suggestions were most valuable. While time constraints limited the inclusion of some worthwhile and important recommendations, many were integrated into the finished work. Although many colleagues have been otherwise influential in the shaping of my research, both intellectually and methodologically, I have particularly profited from the work of and association with Jeffrey Blakely, Aaron Brody, Shlomo Bunimovitz, Avraham Faust, Garth Gilmour, Timothy Harrison, John Holladay, Lynn Holt, Alex Joffee, Anne Killebrew, Zvi Lederman, Daniel Master, Carol Meyers, John O’Hear, Janet Rafferty, Walter Rast, York Rowan, Benjamin Saidel, Lawrence Stager, Ron Tappy, Jim Walter, and Ziony Zevit. But those who have been most influential and important are my family. The debt I owe them can never be fully repaid. My parents have been unwavering in their support, beginning very early on, when they nurtured my love of learning about the past. My children Noa Katherine, Owen, and Chloe were often shorted during my numerous preoccupations or my long absences that included stints abroad, many late nights, and busy weekends. They are terrific and always make returning home a joy and adventure. This book is a tribute to them. It is, however, most specially dedicated to my wife, Orly, who has supported

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me more than anyone. More often than not, she has done my share of familial responsibility as well as hers. It is with deep respect, great admiration, and much love that I dedicate this book to her. It goes without saying that any shortcomings, mistakes, or errors in this book are my responsibility alone. James W. Hardin August 2008

List of Figures Figure 1.1. Map of southern Israel showing the location of Tell Halif . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 2.1. Schematics of typical three- and four-room pillared dwellings in Iron Age II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 3.1. Hypothesized reconstruction of pillared dwellings in the northern excavation areas of Tell Halif’s Field IV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 3.2. Possible reconstructions for the roof and/or second floor of the pillared dwelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.1. Aerial view of Tell Halif (left center) looking west . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.2. Topographical map of Tell Halif with excavation fields . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.3. Field IV aerial view, looking south, with F7 Dwelling in the foreground . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.4. Evidence of the intense burning of pillared dwellings in the northeast corner of Area F7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.5. View of the F7 Dwelling, looking south, with broad rooms to the right and three long rooms (disturbed by pits) to the left . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.6. Plan of the F7 Dwelling with the Field IV grid superimposed and identified by excavation areas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.7. Arrowheads removed from Field IV destruction debris . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.8. Burned beam and ceramic vessels in debris covering Floor F7006 in Room 5. Wall F7003 visible at top . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.9. Isometric reconstruction of F7 Dwelling with ceramics and objects located in their find spots on the floors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.10. East end of Room 3 Area E, showing Floor H7005 with lines of robbed-out Walls H7011 (top) and H7015 (bottom) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.11. Plan showing postdepositional disturbances to the F7 Dwelling . . . . . . . Figure 5.1. Plan with the identification of features and locus numbers within the F7 Dwelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.2. Spatial location of Activity Areas A–M within the F7 Dwelling . . . . . . . . Figure 5.3. The F7 Dwelling identified by Rooms (1–5) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.4. 2.2-m probe in NW sector of F7 revealing southern portion of Room 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.5. East and West Sections of F7–H7 (Sections 1–2) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.6. Plan of the F7 Dwelling showing the distribution of microartifact samples taken in the four-room dwelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.7. South Section of F7–F8 and North Section of G6–G8 (Sections 3 and 4) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.8. Photo of G8, Room 2, Activity Area B, looking north . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.9. Cultic/ritual items from Area B . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3 17 49 52 86 90 97 98 99 100 107 108 109 113 114 125 126 127 129 130 132 135 136 137

List of Figures Figure 5.10. Triangular-shaped stone found on Area B Floor (left) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.11. Polished rectangular diorite stone (below) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.12. Isometric reconstruction of Cultic space in Activity Area B of Room 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.13. South Section of G6–G8 and North Section of H7–H8 (Sections 5 and 6) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4.14. Photo of Polished Grooved stone from Activity Area D in Room 3 . . . . Figure 5.15. Ground stones from the F7 Dwelling with perforated stone (top left and right) from Room 3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.16. Lmlk-type jar in Area F placed on three stacked stones (view looking west) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.17. Features on the floors of Rooms 4–5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.18. Bulla from Activity Area J . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.19. Destruction debris with storage jars of the “lmlk” type in Activity Areas M and L of Room 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.20. Area L tabun in section (F7015) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 5.21. Artist’s reconstruction of the F7 Dwelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

xv 138 138 140 145 146 147 149 152 153 155 155 159

List of Tables Table 2.1. Table 3.1. Table 3.2. Table 4.1.

Contexts of Archaeological Remains . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vessel Type Categories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ware/Form Categories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tell Halif Strata by Period and Date . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

29 66 69 91

Glossary archaeological context—the context that artifacts enter after their excavation and recovery (Schiffer 1987: 4). This context includes collection, processing, analysis, and final publication of refuse from the archaeological record. archaeological household—simply a pedagogical term used by scholars to refer to the individuals who generally occupied pillared dwellings until scholars can determine whether these individuals were an extended household (the bet-ªav?), a nuclear family, or another unit. bayit—also bet; this Hebrew word can refer to a dwelling or to the extended family, which was the smallest, least inclusive social unit in Judahite society. behavioral context—Schiffer’s “systemic context”; a context for artifacts and refuse that are inferred to have been left where they were used or otherwise to have participated in a behavioral system (Schiffer 1972; 1976: 27–28; 1987: 3). Refuse and artifacts in the behavioral context are abandoned or discarded, either deliberately or accidentally, where they were used and become primary refuse. bet-ªav—a patrilineal, patrilocal social unit headed by the oldest living male in a lineage (rosh-bet-ªav or ‘head of the house of the father’) and comprised all the descendants (excluding married daughters) of a single living ancestor in a single lineage, male and female slaves and their families, resident laborers, and sometimes resident Levites. built environment—a bounded, constructed space that consists of the organized temporal relationships between architectural resources, spaces, features, artifacts, animals, and peoples (Clarke 1979: 460–64; Rapoport 1980: 291–96). It is the locus where many household activities, but not all, were usually carried out. co-residence group—a social unit consisting of the people who regularly share living quarters and may or may not be equivalent to a household or a nuclear or extended family. de facto refuse—remains that include numerous, fully restorable, intact, and sometimes still-usable artifacts and reflect the behavioral context. domestic group—term used by some anthropologists (e.g., Goody 1972) as an alternative to “household,” which is often hard to define. “The domestic group” was used to refer to a social unit with very specific, ethnographically observed characteristics, based primarily on what it did. dwelling—a physical setting where domestic activities take place (Ashmore and Wilk 1988: 6). house—bounded, domestic space occupied by a household. household—a culturally defined, task-oriented domestic unit (Carter and Merrill 1979) that is usually, but not always, co-resident (Horne 1982; Kramer 1982a: 673; Laslett 1972: 1; Netting, Wilk, and Arnould 1984: xxvi–xxviii). It is composed of three elements: (1) the social, (2) the material, and (3) the behavioral. The social unit (1), or the demographic unit, identifies the number of members and the members’ relationships (extended or nuclear) (Laslett 1972: 28–34; see also Hammel and Laslett 1974). The

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material unit (2) includes the dwelling, activity areas, and possessions. The behavioral unit (3) includes the activities in which the household engages (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 618), including some combination of production, distribution, transmission, and reproduction (Wilk and Netting 1984). household cluster—used by Winter (1976) to identify material remains of residential activity (i.e., walls, floors, pits, foundations, etc.) that are usually spatially compacted but isolated from other remains and therefore likely correspond to a single unit (perhaps the household). impartible inheritance—inheritance that is not divided, or is divided unevenly, leaving most of the inheritance intact to one or a few survivors. mishpa˙ah—often translated ‘clan’, this endogamous unit is an intermediary level of identification between the bet-ªav and shevet. It is a unit of kinship (both real and fictive), it is prominently mentioned in economic contexts, and it relates to land ownership and tenure. A major feature of the mishpa˙ah became its territorial identity, with which it shared its name. partible inheritance—inheritance that is divided evenly (basically) among survivors. primary refuse—artifacts discarded where they were used (Schiffer 1987: 58). secondary refuse—archaeological refuse that is removed or discarded away from its use location (Schiffer 1987: 18). shevet or matteh—closest English equivalent is the term ‘tribe’, referring here to a group whose members were arranged in separate living groups (batei-ªav and mishpa˙ot) but had established a sense of affinity with others outside their immediate living area, with whom they shared activities and identifications—affiliates in a “ritual congregation” (à la Sahlins 1967: 89). Israel’s social entirety was divided into a number of these shevetim (pl. of shevet). site context—the context that artifacts enter once they leave the behavioral context. In this context, they interact only/primarily with the natural environment but may also be affected by cultural activities. Formation processes are usually most active in this context (Montgomery 1994: 19; Schiffer 1972; 1987: 4).

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Chapter 1

Introduction An archaeology of destruction can refer to many different things. Among these may be the destruction of ancient settlements by either natural or human forces. Natural forces may include volcanic and seismic activity, fire from lightning, or tidal or rain floods. Human forces may include military campaigns, arson, abandoning or burning a settlement for disease control, or simple accidents such as those of a drunken Patrick O’Leary—or his cow. An archaeology of destruction may also refer to the destruction of archaeological sites in the face of modern development or even the destructive nature of archaeological investigation. While all of these topics are worthy of discussion in modern archaeology, the archaeology of destruction presented in this book is directly concerned with only one of these—the destruction of ancient settlements by human forces. More specifically, this book deals with interpreting remains left by the forces evident in the destruction levels preserved in many tell sites in the southern Levant (ancient Palestine). The potential use of these remains for understanding the past is tested here by analyzing archaeological remains of late-eighth-century b.c.e. domestic space preserved in destruction deposits at Tell Halif, a small tell-type site situated on the edge of the northern Negev Desert of southern Israel (fig. 1.1). An analysis of ceramics in these deposits and their spatial relationships to one another as well as to other associated artifacts helps us to determine domestic activities that may have taken place there. Through a comparative framework, employing ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data, I will provide a better understanding of the way that this domestic material culture and domestic activity fit together within the household and in the larger framework of society as a whole. Thus, the goal of this analysis is to use the spatial data obtained from the destruction deposits at Tell Halif to shed light on the Iron II household’s activities and organization and to demonstrate how a greater understanding of these can lead to a more comprehensive view of the Iron II household and its role in society as a whole. Under investigation is the direct relationship among structures, artifacts, and behavior and the problems of determining these relationships through archaeological investigation. Problems of determination are addressed here through study of meticulously collected data deriving from an artifact-rich and well-preserved destruction stratum (Stratum VIB) from Field IV at Tell Halif. Tell Halif’s Stratum VIB comprises the destroyed remains of a late Iron II (late eighth century b.c.e.) settlement best described as a small fortified country or rural town. 1 It was located near the southwest 1. This is a third or fourth tier designation used by G. R. H. Wright in his hierarchical categories of settlements existent in Judah during the Iron II period (1985: 59). These include: (1) capitals (imperial or national),

2

Introduction

border of territory that was probably included in the small Kingdom of Judah (see Kletter 1998; Blakely, Hardin, and Master forthcoming). The data from Stratum VIB employed here were recovered from the western perimeter of the tell in an area designated Field IV by the Lahav Research Project during its Phase III excavations in 1992, 1993, and 1999 (see Jacobs and Borowski 1993; Jacobs 1994). Immediately below the modern ground surface, excavations unearthed the remains of well-preserved domestic structures buried beneath an accumulation of ashy debris (averaging slightly less than one meter deep) resulting from fallen and burned structures and consisting of mud bricks, mud-brick detritus, stones, ash, charred wood, and numerous artifacts. Among the artifacts are many ceramic vessels, all fitting well, typologically, in the late eighth century b.c.e. The date of the material—along with the destruction debris, numerous iron arrowheads, and sling stones— makes a compelling case that Tell Halif suffered the same ill fate as many other Judean cities and towns at the hands of the invading Assyrians at the end of the eighth century b.c.e. 2 With this destruction, the settlement at Tell Halif came to an abrupt end and was buried beneath the burned debris of its collapsed structures. While numerous processes and some later occupations obliterated areas of this Iron II settlement, many of its remains in Field IV were not removed from the places where they rested immediately subsequent to the settlement’s destruction. Because Tell Halif was abandoned rapidly and the remains were not disturbed severely by later natural and cultural processes, the artifacts preserved in the Stratum VIB remains provide excellent data for reconstructing domestic activities that took place in the structures reexposed through excavation in Field IV. The ability to reconstruct domestic activities very specifically is what I tested using the data recovered from one particular Field IV pillared building, identified in this book as the F7 Dwelling. Through careful mapping, recovery, and analysis of the data retrieved from the F7 Dwelling, as well as through the rigorous study of all sources introducing variability into the archaeological record, including ancient behaviors and formation processes in various contexts, I gained a better sense of the approaches that should be taken when dealing with data recovered from destruction strata as a subset of the archaeological record. Data gathered and studied in this meticulous manner increases the power of the inferential strategies that give meaning to the things we excavate. In this volume, meaning is given to the Tell Halif archaeological remains by a spatial analysis of all artifacts interpreted through comparative ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological frameworks and analytic techniques. When archaeologists investigate archaeological remains of the Iron Age period of the southern Levant, the most common procedure for interpreting the archaeological data is to compare them with data gleaned or obtained directly from biblical texts. Indeed, use of the term Biblical Archaeology, which most commonly identified archaeological research in the southern Levant for all but its most-recent history, bears this out (see, e.g., Davis (2) fortified palaces, (3) regional government administrative centers, (4) frontier or rural cities or towns, (5) agricultural villages, and (6) fortresses. 2. For more information regarding Neo-Assyrian invasions and destructions, see Blakely and Hardin 2002; Dougherty 1930; Franklin 1994; Gallagher 2000; Honor 1926; Luckenbill 1927; Naªaman 1979; 1986; 1990; 1994; 1996; R. F. O’Connell 1995; Parker 2001; Ussishkin 1977; 1982; Tadmor 1958; 1986; and Tufnell 1953. See also chap. 8, excursus 1, below.

Introduction

3

Figure 1.1. Map of southern Israel showing the location of Tell Halif.

2004; Dever 1985a; Moorey 1991; Silberman 1989). Many scholars believe that biblical texts greatly aid our understanding of the social and political organization of Iron Age Syria–Palestine, especially with regard to the kingdoms of Israel and Judah. However, a growing number of scholars now doubt that biblical texts reflect the period of the Iron Age at all. 3 For this reason, initially I will eschew biblical data in favor of ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data for the reconstructions of Iron II society. Only after the remains of Tell Halif are interpreted and statements regarding the social organization of its Iron II inhabitants are rendered will I undertake a comparison with biblical reconstructions of Iron II society in the eighth century b.c.e. I hope that, through this discussion, in addition to a better understanding of the domestic realm at Iron II Tell Halif, some synthesis can be achieved with respect to the usefulness of relevant biblical texts for sociohistorical reconstructions of the Iron II southern Levant. Toward these ends, this volume is divided into chapters that reflect the various avenues employed in the study of Tell Halif’s domestic space. Chapter 2 demonstrates the importance—the “why”—of studying domestic space as well as the “how” of approaching it. This study of space helps to identify and determine which activities took place, where they took place, and how they were organized. Addressing these elements of activities leads to a better understanding of the household, which is discussed in its social, material, and 3. This is a point hotly contested and debated in a number of scholarly circles today. It will be addressed below in chap. 7, excursus 2.

4

Introduction

behavioral elements and is defined by the activities in which it partakes, including some combination of production, distribution, transmission, and reproduction. Important terms such as “household,” the “built environment,” “dwelling,” “house,” “co-residence group,” “domestic group,” and “activity areas” are defined. 4 In addition, the unit of investigation—the archaeological household—is introduced as a definable, discrete unit found in the archaeological record of the eighth-century b.c.e. southern Levant. This unit is referred to here as the pillared dwelling. This is the commonest domestic structure in the southern Levant during the Iron Age and is referred to variously in scholarly literature as the “four-room house,” the “three-room house,” the “Israelite house,” or the “Palestinian house.” How the pillared dwelling is approached is the final topic discussed in chap. 2. In this discussion, the activity area is introduced as the analytic unit employed to study domestic space, and spatial analysis is introduced as the analytic procedure employed for isolating and determining activity areas and the use of domestic space. The history of activity-area study and spatial analyses is reviewed briefly, followed by a discussion of “why” and “how” they are adopted and adapted to identify the use of space in domestic areas preserved in the F7 Dwelling of Tell Halif’s VIB destruction stratum. Chapter 3 also focuses on “why” and “how” issues. It begins by demonstrating “why” destruction deposits in the southern Levant, in general, and Tell Halif, in particular, are useful for studying domestic space. It then focuses on “how” the archaeological record at Tell Halif, especially ceramics preserved in the F7 Dwelling, is approached through the spatial analysis outlined in chap. 2. To address the “why” section of this discussion, a general review is undertaken of the archaeological data available for use in this book. Because most data come from tell-type sites, I will review tells, including their genesis and evolution and the types of remains and materials preserved in them. One of the most conspicuous features frequently found in tells is the destruction stratum. Destruction strata, as common phenomena in tell sites, yield excellently preserved archaeological remains in a primary context. Consequently, they are uniquely useful for reconstructions of the past. Remains from the Iron II destruction stratum in Field IV at Tell Halif (Stratum VIB) are the primary data source used in this volume. Common in Iron II destruction strata are well-preserved pillared dwellings. This dwelling type, as the principle locus of both domestic activities and the archaeological household, 5 is pivotal to this research. Thus, this general house-type is discussed in detail. I will include its description, origin, and subsequent spread throughout much of the Iron Age southern Levant (twelfth/eleventh–early sixth centuries b.c.e.). This is followed by a detailed examination of its various components and functions, as well as cosmological and ideological considerations of building design, as understood largely through architecturalbased inferences. To address the “how” section of this discussion, I will include a review of the way that remains preserved in destruction strata of tell sites are used to interpret domestic space. 4. These terms along with various other terms important to this study are defined in the glossary at the beginning of this volume. 5. The archaeological household is defined below but, for now, serves to combine members of the household with an architectural unit.

spread is 13 points long

Introduction

5

While a number of data sources are discussed and used in this volume, ceramics are the primary data set employed to locate activity areas and identify the use of space. Therefore, their processing and analysis is discussed at length. Finally, based on the discussion of elements in this chapter, including destruction strata, the pillared dwelling, and a spatial analysis of ceramics, a number of specific questions are posed that the data from Tell Halif subsequently are used to address. In chap. 4, Tell Halif as a site is reviewed in detail, including its geological and occupational history and the record of its archaeological investigation. This is followed by a detailed description of its Stratum VIB destruction layer and a discussion of how its remains are to be analyzed to reveal domestic activities. This chapter ends with a discussion of the formation processes that might have affected the F7 Dwelling. Chapter 5 focuses on the F7 Dwelling’s de facto assemblage and includes a room-byroom analysis of the archaeological data. While ceramics and their distribution in the F7 Dwelling are the primary data used in this study, both nonceramic artifactual and architectural remains are also important for understanding the overall use of domestic space. Understanding how these remains functioned together and were used is attempted using a variety of analytical techniques, including the study of formation processes, micro–grid mapping, microartifact analysis, residue analysis of ceramic vessels, and a spatial analysis (as outlined in chap. 3) that investigates the relationship of ceramics to one another as well as to other movable artifacts and more permanent architectural and feature components. This chapter addresses the questions posed at the end of chap. 3 and seeks to establish whether functionally distinct categories of ceramics can amplify or refine both the architecturally based inferences and the microartifact inferences suggested there. If so, I should be able to determine what kind of resolution is possible when interpreting the way space was used and who used that space during the Iron Age II. Chapter 6 includes ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological information, both direct and indirect, to supplement and interpret the data provided in chap. 5. Direct ethnographic observations of the social structure of rural Arab Palestinian villages from the late nineteenth and early mid twentieth centuries c.e. and ethnoarchaeological observations of village life in rural communities of Iran are used to understand links between material culture on the one hand and behaviors, activity areas, and social structure on the other. Indirect ethnographic data provide generalizations about social (particularly household) organization for certain types of subsistence strategies and political organizations. Chapter 7 compares the archaeological and ethnographic interpretations of Iron II domestic space and the social organization of the inhabitants of this space with information gleaned from biblical texts regarding dwelling construction, layout, function, and the social organization of the Iron II peoples of Judah. This begins with a discussion of the biblically based three-part social structure of ancient Israel as understood in the “Folk Model” for the Iron I period developed by N. Gottwald (1979) and built upon by L. Stager (1985a). From this model, particular attention is given to the unit termed the bet-ªav—often translated ‘extended household’. Although the “Folk Model” was developed for interpreting social relationships in Iron Age I (twelfth–tenth centuries b.c.e.), a period somewhat earlier than the one studied here (late eighth century b.c.e.), many scholars suggest that a slowly changing but similar social structure continued into Iron Age II (Blenkinsopp 1997; C. Meyers 1997; Stager 1985a;

6

Introduction

C. J. H. Wright 1992). To address this suggestion, I have juxtaposed the pertinent biblical textual information gleaned from this review with the information from ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological reconstructions of Iron II Halif discussed in chap. 5. This juxtaposition is useful in two ways. First, it helps to determine how well the biblical data fit with the eighth-century b.c.e. archaeological record of Tell Halif as reconstructed through ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological analyses. This determines whether conciliation is necessary between these disparate and sometimes dialectically opposed sources of data. Second, it helps to ascertain whether changes in social structure from Iron I to Iron II that are intimated in biblical texts are supported by the archaeological data from Tell Halif. The archaeological record is particularly useful here, because it is well equipped for observing societal change through time. At the same time, perhaps greater insight can be gained into the usefulness of biblical texts for these kinds of reconstructions. The use of biblical texts for historical reconstructions of ancient Israel and Judah is briefly considered in this chapter; however, due to the concerns raised by a number of biblical scholars with respect to the usefulness of such textually based reconstructions, this topic is addressed more fully in chap. 7, excursus 2. This issue aside, however, at the heart of this volume is an effort to understand better the household and the organization of domestic space of the eighth-century inhabitants of Tell Halif. Chapter 8 is a conclusion in which the information from all the chapters outlined above is combined to render a detailed, synthetic reconstruction of the archaeological household and the F7 Dwelling for eighth-century b.c.e. Tell Halif. This includes interpretation of as many facets as possible of domestic activities associated with production, distribution, transmission, and reproduction and interpretation of the way that these, in turn, reflect household organization. This analysis concludes that the domestic unit that occupied the F7 Dwelling—its “archaeological household”—is indeed equivalent to the household as defined in chap. 2 of the volume. I will also demonstrate that the “archaeological household” that occupied the pillared dwelling as its domestic realm in the eighth century b.c.e. is equivalent to the bet-ªav known from the biblical texts. These results testify to the usefulness of the approach taken here for understanding the Iron II household. The information learned from both ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data and the biblical texts, when combined with the archaeological data, provides a very detailed and comprehensive reconstruction of the organization of the Iron II household, which is the ultimate goal of this study. Finally, I show how investigation of the household leads to a better understanding of many other aspects of society including political, economic, and social arenas outside the household. Thus, this study serves as an important building block for reconstructing other, higher-order aspects of past societies.

Chapter 2

Studying the Household The Importance and Usefulness of Studying the Household The importance of studying the household has not always been appreciated by archaeologists. In the southern Levant, as well as in the rest of the world, archaeologists have often been drawn to remains left by the flamboyant elites, choosing to investigate monumental constructions such as palatial and storage complexes, cultic complexes, cemeteries, and fortification systems. However, the more ordinary and humble domestic structures of the majority of the population (the commonest remains in nearly all archaeological sites) increasingly have gained attention as scholars have realized that to understand ancient settlements fully it is necessary to investigate the structures where the majority of the population lived. In the last few decades, a number of edited volumes and monographs addressing the interpretation of domestic structures have appeared in archaeological literature with research designs that attempt either to correlate archaeological remains with ethnographic and/or ethnoarchaeological analogues or to identify and isolate material remains that can distinguish domestic space (e.g., Allison 1999; Ashmore 1981; Clarke 1979; Kent 1984; 1987; 1990; Kramer 1979a; 1982b; Netting, Wilk, and Arnould 1984; Watson 1979; Wilk and Ashmore 1988; Wilk and Rathje 1982). While these and similar studies increase our understanding of the ways in which domestic space was used and what it may tell us about social organization, they regrettably have only had a minimal impact on the archaeology of the southern Levant. In this geographical area, a number of studies have focused on domestic structures, but their main foci have been demography (Shiloh 1980; Routledge 1996) and descriptions of domestic architectural features (Beebe 1968; Braemer 1982; Shiloh 1970; 1973; 1978; Holladay 1992; 1997; G. R. H. Wright 1985). However, a few exceptions exist, the most notable being the works of L. Stager (1985a) and P. M. M. Daviau (1990; 1993). Stager’s seminal investigation of the Iron I family, as reflected in the location and organization of domestic structures in Iron I settlements, takes a multivariate approach to understanding the past. He employs archaeological, ethnographic, ethnoarchaeological, biblical, and extrabiblical textual data to pose statements regarding social organization of the Iron I inhabitants of the highlands of Palestine, particularly at the household/extended household level (Stager 1985a). Stager maintains that a varied approach of this sort increases the strength of his inferences about household organization, and most archaeologists would certainly agree that this is the case.

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Studying the Household

Daviau, on the other hand, takes a more narrowly focused approach to understanding the household by concentrating on the identification of activities taking place in domestic contexts (Daviau 1990; 1993). She undertakes a spatial analysis of hundreds of archaeological locus groups from the publications of various Palestinian sites dating to the second millennium b.c.e. (Middle Bronze and Late Bronze Ages) in an attempt to identify activity areas in domestic contexts. Loci are identified functionally by their associated “toolkits.” These are reconstructed using iconographic data from contemporary Egyptian tomb paintings and from ethnoarchaeological data recovered in western Iran. While these two studies vary in the success with which they address their respective issues (more on this below), they both focus on a better understanding of domestic space—Daviau on its use and identification, Stager on how informative this space may be regarding societal organization at and above the domestic or household level. As more studies of this sort are undertaken in the Levant, our understanding of the ancient household in this geographical and historical context improves. The usefulness of these studies for addressing larger anthropological issues such as changing social organization through time can also be demonstrated. From this standpoint, Stager’s and Daviau’s research into the domestic realm of the Iron I and the second millennium b.c.e., respectively, increases our understanding of the domestic arena for those periods. This is done by demonstrating respective types of social, economic, and political organization and examining how these may be reflected in the domestic realm, as well as how they may be inferred from the archaeological record. But they also have provided data that facilitate cross-temporal comparisons that lead to a better understanding of the processes of culture change and indicate how certain institutions may be very stable over long periods of time. In light of these studies, I will seek not only to understand better the household and society of the late Iron II period of the southern Levant but also to provide new data for crosstemporal and cross-spatial comparison in the ongoing anthropological endeavor to understand culture process and change better. Similar studies from other areas in the ancient Near East have already demonstrated their usefulness (e.g., Meskell 1998). This volume, similar to Daviau’s work, seeks to identify activity areas in domestic contexts. However, it is different in a number of ways, including the use of primary data (that is, data that I collected via a deliberately established research design) rather than secondary archaeological data, control of the selection process for what is published/analyzed, and an attempt to move beyond the identification of activities by addressing household organization. 1 It also is similar 1. While this approach is similar to Daviau’s in attempting to understand and identify activity areas in domestic contexts, it differs substantially in its methodological approach. Prior to the present study, Daviau’s research was the only explicitly spatial approach taken to understand domestic space in the southern Levant. Her work includes some positive features such as her important and exhaustive reworking of a large corpus of second millennium b.c.e. locus groups and her demonstration of the usefulness of ethnographic and iconographic resources. However, there also are numerous problems with her spatial analysis. Some of these she points out herself, including incomplete recovery of household units due to limited exposure (1990: 80–81, 198), a lack of explicit quantification in the selection processes for publication (1990: 25), and, by modern standards, poor excavation and publication of much of the material she employed (1990: 25–26). I would additionally point out the presence in her work of what Ascher (1968), Binford (1981), and Schiffer (1983) have referred to as a “Pompeii premise.” This refers to the assumption that archaeological data accurately reflect past human behaviors fossilized in the archaeological record without considering the processes that actively alter

Studying the Household

9

to Stager’s work in attempting to understand social organization at the level of the household unit by employing ethnographic and textual data. As archaeologists, we use the material remains of past settlements to understand better the behaviors, activities, and organization of their inhabitants. The Tell Halif material remains are used to draw conclusions about the kinds of activities taking place in past domestic space as well as the kinds of activity groups that peopled the space. The identification and understanding of domestic activities and the identification of the loci where they took place are paramount for understanding better the household in general and the Iron II household specifically. A better understanding of the organization of the household at Tell Halif during the eighth century b.c.e. has the potential for adding considerably to our understanding of society in the southern Levant during the same period. After all, the household is the particular environment in which individuals are made aware of their culture’s rules. It embodies and underlies the organization of a society at its most basic level (Wilk and Ashmore 1988: 1). It can be viewed as a culture in microcosm where few, if any, aspects of its activities, behavior, or thought are at odds with those of the greater society (Deetz 1982: 724). Households can therefore serve as very sensitive indicators of many facets of social organization. They can be very telling about social stratification and the material conditions of life for the majority of a population (Rathje and McGuire 1982: 707). When well understood, the household can become a higher analytic unit used to reconstruct more complex societal organizations and can identify behavioral processes of interest (Reid and Whittlesey 1982: 696). As noted by Deetz, It might simply be the case that the household, family, or any social unit of similar size is a suitable vehicle for the examination of the relations between physical and mental worlds, and since families and households are the commonest, they are potentially the most productive source. Their suitability is a function of their size, small enough in scale to permit efficient and dependable study, and of their universality and availability, which at least somewhat mitigates problems of sampling. (Deetz 1982: 719)

Before drawing any conclusions regarding the society of the southern Levant based on study of the individual household, we must define household. Additionally, we must identify what in the archaeological record of the Iron II southern Levant serves as an analytical unit for investigating the household.

Defining the Household Household, as used in this volume, is a culturally defined, task-oriented domestic unit (Carter and Merrill 1979) that is usually, but not always co-resident (Horne 1982; Kramer their context from the time they first enter the archaeological record. Additionally, there are problems inherent in her activity area categories (what she terms “functional paradigms”). Daviau attempts to create hard/static categories of artifacts to identify the dynamic processes of household activities. These problems are undoubtedly reflected in her low success rates in matching similarity coefficients for her categories. In some 1,521 analyzed locus groups, only 84 (or 5.5%) are compared successfully with her functional paradigms. In the end, Daviau’s approach is able to demonstrate little more than that people stored things and prepared and consumed food in domestic areas.

10

Studying the Household

1982a: 673; Laslett 1972: 1; Netting, Wilk, and Arnould 1984: xxvi–xxviii). It is composed of three elements: (1) the social, (2) the material, and (3) the behavioral. The social unit (1), or the demographic unit, identifies the number of members and the members’ relationships (extended or nuclear; Laslett 1972: 28–34; see also Hammel and Laslett 1974). This unit may include visitors, captives, servants, apprentices, laborers, lodgers, and boarders in addition to blood relatives and adopted members as occupants of its bounded residential space (Netting 1982: 642–43: Kramer 1982a: 666). The material unit (2) includes the dwelling, activity areas, and possessions. The behavioral unit (3) includes the activities in which the household engages (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 618), including some combination of production, distribution, transmission, and reproduction (Wilk and Netting 1984: 5). One of the main foci of this study is to elucidate the household in the Iron II southern Levant by clarifying as many facets as possible of the three elements—social, material, and behavioral—as discussed here. But archaeologists do not excavate households. As culturally defined, task-oriented units, households are not directly observable in the archaeological record. Such intangibles as kinship and affinity (the social element) do not exist as entities to be exposed through excavation. For this reason, the basis for understanding the household is the identification of the tasks or activities it performed: that is, what the households did (so Wilk and Netting 1984: 2–6). While activities (the behavioral element) are no more observable directly in the archaeological record than concepts such as kinship and affinity, residual remains produced in the execution of household activities (the material elements of the household) are preserved in the archaeological record, as are other features necessary for their performance. Patterns discerned in these remains can be associated with specific activities and can therefore be used to infer which activities took place, where they occurred, and, possibly, who carried them out (behavioral and social elements of the household). It is more likely that patterned, repeated activities, as opposed to single activities, leave residues in the archaeological record that can be associated with specific activities (Binford 1987; Rapoport 1990: 9). But all household activities, as mentioned previously, fall into four categories: production, distribution, transmission, and reproduction, and since some combination of these activities is part and parcel of all households, we need to achieve a better understanding of what each of these entails and what each can tell us regarding household organization. Production Activities associated with production serve to procure resources or increase their value, and their organization is adapted to the specific labor requirements of particular tasks (Wilk and Netting 1984: 6–9; Wilk and Rathje 1982: 622). Production activities almost always include housekeeping, food processing, and other kinds of “domestic labor” (Berk and Berk 1979) but otherwise may vary greatly in their scale and scope. Variation in production can reveal much about household organization, especially as it relates to the scheduling of productive labor. Scheduling refers to the absolute timing and sequencing of tasks associated with production, varying from times when the demand for labor is very great and thereby requires large numbers of individuals, to times when the demand may be absolutely minimal and thereby only requires the efforts of a single person. Variability in scheduling is re-

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lated to this demand and can be scaled in between the extremes of linear and simultaneous (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 622). Linear labor can be done by one individual performing a series or sequence of tasks, whereas simultaneous labor must be carried out by a group of people performing tasks at the same time. Simultaneous scheduling may be simple or complex (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 622). Simple simultaneous scheduling occurs when members of a group perform the same task or sets of tasks, whereas complex simultaneous scheduling occurs when individuals in the group perform different tasks ( job specialization) at the same time. The relative efficiency of different size groups to the necessary productive tasks determines the type of scheduling employed as well as the size and organization of the household (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 623). That certain types of household organization are more efficient for certain types of production is ethnographically supported (see, e.g., Goody 1972: 115, 117; Netting 1969; Pasternak et al. 1976; Wilk and Netting 1984: 8–9). For example, the need for simultaneous scheduling throughout the year produces larger households (Wilk and Netting 1984: 7; see, e.g., Befu 1968). But where simultaneous scheduling is necessary only for short periods throughout the year, and linear scheduling can accomplish most of the necessary production tasks throughout the rest of the year, small nuclear families are favored. These nuclear families may come together with other households to form larger groups during the few times necessary throughout the year (Wilk 1981). Once production tasks reach a size requiring very large, complex, simultaneous scheduling of tasks, organization can become a problem, and, at this point, households may no longer be the most efficient producing unit. In these cases, production may fall to organizations outside the household sphere. The importance/influence of the role played by production in household organization varies and can cause households to increase their own size, come together, or fragment, based on what the household needs on a regular basis. Therefore, an understanding of the mode of production can be telling about household organization.

Distribution Activities associated with distribution include the processes of moving resources from producers to consumers, and in this work, also includes consumption (follows Wilk and Rathje 1982: 624–25). This definition of distribution is useful because it focuses on exchanges and transactions between and within households, which can be ignored if production is merely opposed with consumption (Wilk and Netting 1984: 9). The mode of distribution is generally subdivided between pooling and exchange and is often linked to the mode of production. Pooling refers to the process of distribution within the household created through generalized reciprocity (goods or services exchanged regardless of relative perceived value). Exchange identifies distribution between households or larger corporate groups created through the practice of balanced reciprocity (goods or services exchanged based on their relative perceived value). Distribution may consist entirely of pooling within the household or may include both pooling and exchange and vary systematically with the mode of subsistence and production.

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Small households tend to be common when production within a society is uniform among its members (this precludes any advantage of pooling) or when production between individuals differs so extensively that pooling benefits only some household members while being a detriment to others (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 625). In societies typified by larger households, employing pooling is generally an effective strategy when sources of income are diverse, seasonal, variable, or unpredictable (Wilk and Netting 1984: 9). Large households that pool production and distribution tend to be stable and have generational continuity, and if pooling of a limited range of goods among a large group is necessary, organizations other than households are likely to emerge to fill this function (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 626). Households that only cooperate in the scheduling of labor or in pooling distribution tend to be less stable and fragment often (Wilk and Netting 1984: 10). In general, band- and state-level urban societies stress exchange between households and groups while predominantly agricultural societies and those with mixed economics pool within the household (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 627). Furthermore, generally, the more spatially clustered and the more temporally varied the resources are, the larger the households that manage them (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 632). Transmission Transmission is a special form of distribution that involves the transfer of rights, roles, land, and property between generations. Land and property are transmitted through two basic modes: one partible, the other impartible (Goody 1972; 1973; 1976). Partible transmission divides property (usually evenly) among heirs, whereas impartible transmission leaves the bulk of an estate/inheritance in the hands of one heir. The mode of transmission practiced is dependent largely on the labor/land relationship, especially the relative scarcity of one in relation to the other with regard to agricultural intensification (Netting 1969). Consequences of agricultural intensification include increased difficulty in gaining property and a more strictly defined group that controls access to this resource (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 627). As control narrows, it ultimately becomes vested in individual households or their members. It is at this point that households become the most important means of transmission within a society. Transmission can dramatically affect the structure of a household. Goldschmidt and Kunkel (1971) have demonstrated that there is a strong cross-cultural connection between scarcity of land and extended household structures. Extended patrilocal household clusters tend to form, at least to a point, as land comes under increasing population pressure (Collier 1976). When land becomes too scarce to support the larger unit, the extended unit breaks up (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 628). Thus, the nuclear family is most frequently called on to adapt when agricultural resources are barely adequate to support a family or when estates are fragmented and recombined in each generation through partible inheritance. This breakdown from larger to smaller households suggests a strong correlation between household size and organization and its prosperity (see, e.g., Klapisch 1972; Laslett 1965: 64; Netting 1982; Wheaton 1975; Wilk and Netting 1984: 13). As marriage becomes a strategy for transmitting and accumulating property and comes under the control of parental authority, transmission can dramatically affect the makeup of a household (Löfgren 1974). This is most often the case when property inheritance is im-

spread is 13 points long

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partible. The advent of impartible inheritance often coincides with the beginnings of a landless class and is one avenue toward social stratification (Löfgren 1974; Wilk and Netting 1984; Wilk and Rathje 1982: 629). Detached landless or property-less persons may form the base of urban society and fill niches such as craft production, soldiering, wage labor, and trading or become candidates for cultic activities. These persons may also remain nonurban, filling niches such as migratory labor. The presence/absence of these individuals may indicate the mode of transmission practiced in a society. Reproduction The last category of household activity, reproduction, is the least flexible of household functions. It consists of the propagation of household members and the rearing and socialization of children. This process is absolutely necessary for household survival, for it not only supplies heirs for transmittable property but it also provides the environment and the means necessary for the care, feeding, education, socialization, training, and other preparation of individuals for effective participation in society. Constant time, energy, and effort are necessary for these endeavors; thus the household must be organized sufficiently to provide this care. Two factors are important in this organization. They are (1) the importance of women’s roles in activities outside reproduction (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 630; Netting, Wilk, and Arnould 1984: 14) and (2) the economic value of children (Nag, White, and Peet 1978). Where women play significant roles in activities not associated with reproduction (for example, production of tradable goods, agricultural goods, and goods associated with subsistence), households are organized in ways that allow the majority of women to continue to participate in extra-reproduction activities. For example, in state-level societies, where nuclear family households predominate, schools and other government and social welfare institutions take over part of the burden of child care, freeing women’s labor. In other societies, larger households can pool child-rearing duties, thus allowing women to continue to participate in extra-reproduction activities. Alternately, strategies not requiring the pooling of these duties may be adopted, including fosterage, child care, and adoption (Brown 1970; Carroll 1970). Other strategies that positively affect women’s participation in extra-reproduction activities place constraints on family size by reducing the number of children needing care. These include increased time between births, later age of marriage, and the occurrence of celibates, among other things. The importance of the conflict between reproduction and extra-reproduction activities is not as great when children’s net economic contribution exceeds their costs at an early age. Once children reach a certain age, they provide a valuable source of labor. Therefore, the time and effort invested in offspring may later increase the household labor pool available for activities associated with production and distribution as well as provide care and services for aged members of households once they become physically dependent (Wilk and Netting 1984: 15). In situations where this was considered positive, efforts to increase, restore, or substitute for fertility may come to light. These may include early marriage, decreased time between pregnancies, divorce for sterility (Reyna 1977), polygamy (Netting 1969), and rapid remarriage for widowed men and women. Thus, explicit marriage rules and marriage preferences influenced by cultural norms as well as other family expansion or

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limitation practices all shape reproduction. Consequently, reproduction influences overall family demography and household morphology. While archaeology cannot address equally well all of these activities associated with production, distribution, transmission, and reproduction, it must strive to identify and understand as many activities and as many facets of these activities as possible. This understanding must come through the analysis of the material remains preserved in the archaeological record—that is, the remains produced in the performance of behaviors and activities and left behind in domestic space. However, before using the archaeological remains of domestic space for interpreting the activities performed by ancient households, we must take several important steps. These include identifying the form of domestic space, determining the relationship of this form to the household as defined above, and, finally, determining how the household used its space.

Identifying the Form of Domestic Space Determining the form of domestic space in the archaeological record requires the identification of the material elements of domestic space and the discernment of where these elements occur in archaeological sites. The domestic space occupied by a household is often identified by the architectural unit that bounds and to some degree determines the structure of the space where domestic activities were regularly carried out by household members. This space is often termed the household’s built environment and consists of the organized temporal relationships among architectural resources, spaces, features, artifacts, animals, and peoples (Clarke 1979: 460–64; Rapoport 1980: 291–96). It is the locus where many household activities (but not all) regularly took place. It is also the environment in which the inhabitants’ cultural choices frequently become expressed in material form, often covertly (cf. Deetz 1982; Glassie 1975; Leone 1982; Rapoport 1990: 9–10). This built environment, as architecture, has bounded space (Kent 1990: 3) and ultimately constitutes “a logical pattern of entities and relationships built around activities” (Martin 1971: 6). The organization and form of this bounded space is heavily influenced by human behavior and, conversely, human behavior is influenced by the built environment (Altman 1975; Rapoport 1980; Sanders 1990). In addition to human behaviors, a number of additional factors can influence the organization, form, and function of domestic space and its placement in the community. Based on the work of others, Sanders discerns seven factors influencing the form and function of the built environment, including climate, topography, available materials, level of technology, available economic resources, function, and cultural conventions (Sanders 1990: 44; cf. Altman and Chemers 1980: 156; McGuire and Schiffer 1983; Netting 1982; Noble 1984; Oliver 1987: 9–11, 57–120; Rapoport 1980; Trigger 1968: 55–60). Sanders groups these factors into three categories: naturally fixed, culturally fixed, and flexible (1990: 44). Naturally fixed factors include climate and topography 2 and originate in natural conditions at the outset of construction and exert a noticeable influence on the outcome of the 2. While topography generally is fixed naturally, a case can be made here for its being fixed culturally. The cultural remains under investigation in this study lie near the modern ground surface of a tell-type site

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form of the built environment (Rapoport 1969: 18–45; Oliver 1987: 113–27). Culturally fixed factors include function and cultural conventions and, similar to naturally fixed factors, are fixed at the outset of construction of the built environment. The remaining factors—available materials, level of technology, and available economic resources—are all flexible because their degree of influence over the construction of the built environment will vary greatly, even if there are constant climatic and topographical conditions (Sanders 1990: 44). Sanders further points out that, while materials, technology, and resources often depend on natural resources, their manipulation depends on cultural factors (Sanders 1990: 44). The better that archaeologists understand the influences exerted by these factors, the better will be our ability to identify domestic space and the built environment exhibited in the archaeological record. It is imperative that we as archaeologists are able to identify this domestic space and differentiate it from other types of space used outside the household’s sphere (that is, administrative, public, and other spaces). Archaeologists employ many methods to identify and isolate evidence of domestic space and the built environment in the archaeological record. Early attempts included the application of the “principle of abundance,” by which is meant that the architectural category into which the large majority of structures within a town or community fall represents the domestic structures (e.g., Haviland 1966; Willey et al. 1965). This principle seems to hold true cross-culturally (Leventhal and Baxter 1988: 52). Other common methods incorporate analyses of the architectural layout of buildings (Wauchope 1934; 1938; A. L. Smith 1962: 217–18). These include analyzing the quality of construction (Leventhal and Baxter 1988: 58–59; Rosen 1986); determining structure size (Leventhal and Baxter 1988: 59); associating the dwelling with a delineated cooking area within a complex of rooms (Gnivecki 1987: 186; cf. Kramer 1982a: 669–70); identifying a delineated living room (Horne 1982: 685; Kramer 1982a: 668; Reid and Whittlesey 1982: 690); isolating rooms oriented toward an enclosed or otherwise isolated courtyard, plaza, or outside space (Horne 1982: 678; Leventhal 1983); isolating bounded space by analysis of circulation patterns within and among buildings (Kramer 1982a: 671); and identifying structural and artifactual redundancies (Kramer 1982a: 673). Artifacts excavated from structures also have been used to identify dwellings. Statistical analyses (for example, cluster, discriminate, or multivariate) have been applied to artifacts discovered in structures and functionally correlated with activities taking place in domestic contexts (Daviau 1990; 1993; Haviland 1981; Leventhal and Baxter 1988). While all of these methods are useful for studying the domestic structure, it still can be an elusive entity in the archaeological record. An understanding of the domestic structure can be complicated by its often makeshift and continually changing nature necessitated by the need to suit its residents who also were in a constant state of flux (see Goody, ed., 1958). A great deal of variability in the spatial organization of patterns of circulation, artifacts, consisting of the cultural remains of occupations extending over several millennia, superimposed one on top of another, forming a mound ten meters in height, thus radically altering the natural topography. Available space atop artificial mounds was limited due to the mounds’ parameters. As such, they provide a “culturally-derived foundation” for dwelling construction. However, such sites are initially chosen and frequently reoccupied primarily for their relationship to water, arable land, and defense. Thus, the natural topography heavily influences construction.

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features, and activities within an architectural setting may further complicate our understanding of it. However, it is not generally difficult to identify domestic space in the structures of the Iron Age southern Levant. When intrasite, extrasite, and regional comparisons of these domestic structures are undertaken, they display astonishing isomorphism. They normally— in fact almost exclusively—comprise a rectangular or rectilinear compound with a broad, narrow room or rooms set across its rear and either two or three long, narrow rooms extending perpendicularly through the remaining space (cf. Albright 1943: 49–50; G. R. H. Wright 1985; see fig. 2.1 here). These long rooms are characteristically separated by a row of two to four pillars, and entrance to the compound was usually gained through one of them (normally the central; a more complete description of these structures is provided in chap. 3). These structures have long been identified intuitively as the built environment encompassing domestic space; however, use of any or all of the techniques identified above for discerning domestic space confirm this intuitive identification. As stated in the introduction, these domestic structures have been variously referred to as “four-room houses,” “threeroom houses,” “Israelite houses,” and “Palestinian houses.” Here I am simply calling them pillared dwellings, referring to their most characteristic feature: the rows of ubiquitous pillars separating the long rooms. This term more accurately, and less problematically, identifies the typical domestic structure of the Iron II period than do terms that tie the dwelling to problematic ethnic associations (that is, Israelite; but see more on this below under cosmological/ideological discussions), to geographical distributions that change constantly with new archaeological data (that is, Palestinian dwelling), or to terms that include only half of these structures (that is, three-room or four-room houses). As to the inhabitants of the pillared dwelling, it is possible that they were a nuclear family or a small extended family; however, determining which of these it is forms one of the main foci of the research described here. Until this is determined, the occupants of the pillared dwelling can be most accurately described and defined as a co-residence group. To define the co-residence group as well as several terms associated with it, including dwelling and house, I follow Wendy Ashmore and Richard Wilk in their use of these terms for their analysis of households and communities in ancient Mesoamerica (Ashmore and Wilk 1988). A co-residence group is a social unit consisting of the people who regularly share living quarters and may or may not be equivalent to a household or a nuclear or extended family (Ashmore and Wilk 1988: 6). The co-residence group may live in the same building without sharing in the activities that identify the household—what Laslett (1972) terms the “houseful.” As a group, it can contain more than one household or only parts of larger households. The co-residence group is useful as an analytical unit that provisionally can be identified archaeologically on the basis of evidence that some kind of residential or domestic activities took place within the structure where it resided (Ashmore and Wilk 1988: 6). The structure where the co-residence group resided is identified as a dwelling. The dwelling is defined as a physical structure or area within which domestic activities take place. It is the physical setting of consumption, reproduction, and other activities included in the domestic sphere (Ashmore and Wilk 1988: 6). Dwelling is deliberately used in the term pillared dwelling above to avoid equating this building directly with a single household. The space that is occupied by a household is identified using the term

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Figure 2.1. Schematics of typical three- and four-room pillared dwellings in Iron Age II.

house, thus differentiating it from dwelling. House is defined here as the physical setting or the domestic space occupied by the household. Distinguishing between house and dwelling allows more accuracy when we are dealing with the ancient inhabitants of domestic space and their organization within this space. With these distinctions, we are providing a vocabulary that distinguishes what is observed (a building, a dwelling) from what is inferred (a house, a household). Additionally, using the co-residence group together with the dwelling provides an important analytical tool for archaeologists trying to understand past households. Because dwellings can be isolated and identified through archaeological investigation, they provide the logical frame, the analytical unit for archaeological analysis of the household. However, the problem of moving from this unit, the dwelling occupied by a co-residence group, to the household still remains.

Determining the Relationship of Domestic Space to the Household Once the form and location of domestic space are determined, we need to ascertain the relationship of this space and its co-residence group to the household unit as functionally defined above. Put another way, it is necessary to learn what items in the archaeological record constitute the material elements of the household. This is a problem not easily

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addressed, for shifting from the dwelling and the co-residence group, on the one hand, to the house and the household, on the other, is difficult. Households and the occupants of domestic structures or dwellings (co-residence groups) may or may not be equivalent. Households can be dispersed among a number of dwellings (see, e.g., Horne 1982; A. L. Smith 1962) or may be co-resident or, conversely, a number of households may occupy a single dwelling (Goody 1972; Coupland and Banning 1996). Furthermore, individual co-residents living in a dwelling may be members of more than one household. These various combinations make it difficult for archaeologists to address what in the archaeological record reflects the ancient household. Thus, if the household is to be used as an analytic unit, it must first be defined empirically (Ashmore and Wilk 1988: 6). Until a study of this sort is carried out for households of the Iron Age southern Levant, archaeologists must develop or select material correlates and/or principles based on the archaeologically identifiable built environment to define an archaeological household. The archaeological household is used to study the household of the past. As a concept, it is similar to M. Winter’s “household cluster” (1976: 25) and is similarly beneficial for organizing and comparing data for reconstructing and defining ancient households. Winter used the concept household cluster to organize and analyze Formative-period household data from the Valley of Oaxaca in Mexico (Winter 1976: 25; cf. Flannery 1976: 16). There, three kinds of facilities, including houses (herein identified as “dwellings”), bell-shaped storage pits, and graves consistently occurred in spatial concentrations separated by open areas. These, in addition to other types of pits, ovens, and/or midden deposits were defined as household clusters and considered by Winter to be the physical manifestation of prehistoric households. However, he stressed the difference between the household clusters and households. A household consisted of a group of people who interacted and performed certain activities; a household cluster consisted of archaeological remains. These remains can be studied to reconstruct the composition of prehistoric households and the activities carried out by household members. Thus, the “household cluster” concept provides a context in which features can be understood as part of a larger unit and as representative of a specific segment of society. This seems to be a productive means of organizing data to make a comparison on an analytical level between the house (or the activity area) and the community (Winter 1976: 25). Because it is useful for organizing and comparing data, the household cluster concept is incorporated here into the analytical unit archaeological household. The concept archaeological household is employed here as a means to investigate the Iron II household and help to define it empirically. It is used heuristically as a unit combining spatial propinquity, or co-residence, with dwelling and some elements of the household. It thus provides a unit of investigation useful to the archaeologist (so Goody 1973: 59; Winter 1976; cf. Gnivecki 1987: 190). Similar to Winter’s “household cluster” concept, the archaeological household is useful because it provides a context for analysis of a specific segment of society that can shed light on the household. In this book, the context is the pillared dwelling and its associated faunal and floral remains and artifacts left by individuals who performed activities in its space. However, the archaeological household is different from Winter’s household cluster because it also includes the segment of society that is in-

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ferred to have occupied its space. Thus, the archaeological household in addition to being defined by archaeological remains is also coterminous with the co-residence group that actively participated in domestic activities in the dwelling. Although a household, as defined in this study, consists of a group of people who interact and perform domestic activities, an archaeological household consists of a similar group of people and their archeological remains—in this case, the pillared dwelling and its associated faunal and floral remains and other artifacts left behind by individuals performing domestic activities. However, its equivalence to the Iron II household that also performs domestic activities must be determined and not simply assumed. If we combine the pillared dwelling and the individuals who regularly occupied its space and participated in domestic activities there, the archaeological household is suited well to archaeological study. It will accordingly be examined as an elemental unit in studying the use of space to infer the general social, economic, and political organization of the inhabitants of the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif. More specifically, through analysis of the archaeological household, I will attempt to reconstruct the composition of Iron II households, including their members and their organization. Archaeologically, the best way to realize these goals is to investigate and identify the activities that were performed, as well as their location in the space of the pillared dwelling, and then to infer how the members of the archaeological household organized their space and how this co-residence group relates to the Iron II household. I begin with an investigation and identification of the activities.

Determining How the Household Used Its Space Understanding the ways that domestic space was used and identifying the activities that occurred in the pillared dwellings of the Iron II southern Levant are foci of this research. These foci are consistent with the investigation of the household because the household is largely defined here by functional characteristics associated with it. If archaeologists can determine the activities that took place in past dwellings, the locations of these activities in the F7 Dwelling, and the activity groups that performed them, these data can contribute to our understanding of the organization of ancient households and society in general. This is because, as recognized by Ashmore and Wilk (1988: 5), social relations are generated and patterned by socially constituted activities. Understanding activities and domestic space has become so useful, in fact, that interest in activity-area research has steadily increased over the last several decades. Initial interest in activity-area research can be traced to cultural ecology via settlement archaeology and perhaps a little more indirectly to Taylor’s conjunctive approach to archaeology (Taylor 1948). In the Americas, cultural ecology played a primary role in the development of settlement archaeology because humans were seen to interact spatially, economically, and socially within the environmental matrix to which they were adapting (see, e.g., Butzer 1982: chaps. 1 and 12). However, the use of ecological adaptation as the sole determinant for human behavior (à la Steward 1937; 1953) was quickly jettisoned as more functional interpretations of prehistoric social organization appeared. These include, in addition

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to ecological determinants, the level of technology and various social and cultural institutions and factors (see especially Willey 1953: 1). To understand prehistoric social organization, settlement archaeology studied the distribution of traceable human activities across the landscape, viewing sites, not in a vacuum, but as single elements in a much larger functional network (e.g., R. McC. Adams 1965; 1981; R. McC. Adams and Nissen 1972; Braidwood 1974; Chang 1963; Longacre and Ayers 1968; Willey 1953; 1974). Individual sites were seen to play different and complementary roles in this network just as individual areas in sites were seen to play different and complementary roles inside a site. Increasing interest arose in the areas of the sites that were not monumental buildings and tombs. As scholars began to excavate these areas they quickly realized that companion studies of the areas where most of the population lived were needed in addition to studies of monumental architecture before the total community could be understood. Under general systems theory approaches, archaeologists became aware of the complex organization of each individual site and of individual areas within sites. They began to speak of activity areas and how these were articulated within different-sized sites or areas that served different functions (Ashmore and Wilk 1988: 7; cf. Binford 1964; Clarke 1972; 1977; Rouse 1972; Streuver 1971; Whallon 1973). This is where Taylor’s conjunctive approach had its greatest impact, as it called for more attention to context and affinities and ushered in great concern for the discovery of artifact patterns related to functional factors (Taylor 1948). Increased attention to artifact distributions and functional qualities in addition to traditional style studies led to better understandings of the way space was used in areas as small as parts of rooms and courtyards and as large as settlements grouped across a geographical landscape. Hierarchical patterns existed in the archaeological record of sites to varying degrees, whether stated or implied in the works cited in the paragraph above. These commonly involved three tiers: single structures, site layouts, and intrasite distributions (Ashmore and Wilk 1988: 7; cf. Ashmore 1981; Clarke 1977; Trigger 1967; 1968; Tringham 1972). Beneath the first two tiers of hierarchical patterns, household archaeology began to emerge as analytic units were reexamined and concerted efforts were made to make such units more meaningful in terms of behavior (Ashmore and Wilk 1988: 7). To address behavioral and processual questions posed by a now-more-anthropologically oriented archaeology, archaeologists compared spatially dispersed units such as households from a wide variety and number of geographical places and societies. Social issues such as universals in household organization, population size and density, social complexity, and the processes that guided their change were sought (R. McC. Adams 1966). Artifact atttributes studied had to be pertinent to the anthropological questions posed, and characteristics such as use-wear traces, functionally related forms, and source studies began to appear alongside the more traditional style/typological studies (see Rathje and Schiffer 1982: chap. 4). Furthermore, to answer questions that were more of an anthropological nature, archaeologists turned to ethnoarchaeology, pioneering an approach that seeks to identify formally and functionally definable types of households that served as building blocks of communities (Ashmore and Wilk 1988: 9; Kramer 1979a). Houses and households became the focus for both of these approaches, because they were largely seen to be the most elemental building block of society. As variation between houses and households became more apparent in archaeological, ethnographical, and ethnoarchaeological research, understanding the location of activity

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areas and the systems in which they functioned became pivotal, especially as more inferences were made about past behavioral systems on the activity level. As these units became pivotal for archaeologists, more discussions began to include the location and use of activity areas, especially in ethnoarchaeological circles (e.g., Binford 1978a; Bonnichsen 1973; Newell 1987; Portnoy 1981; Yellen 1977a; 1977b; see also those cited above in the discussion of activity areas). These ethnoarchaeological studies provided useful companion studies for archaeologists who were attempting to use archaeological remains to understand activity areas and the organization spheres in which they functioned in the past, particularly at the level of the household. Of course, this assumes that past actors and activities can be identified and reconstructed from remains left in the archaeological record: that the static physical objects we excavate from the ground can be used to understand the living dynamic heritages to which they relate (Brugge 1980: 3). Archaeological investigations and their consequent archaeological analyses of activity areas are based on the premise that the archaeological record is the product of a cultural system that is symptomatic of the past (Binford 1980: 5; Watson 1971). Through the study of archaeology, knowledge and understanding are gained of past societies and their organization. Archaeologists assume that behavioral elements of sociocultural systems have material correlates that become incorporated into the archaeological record and, when excavated, may be used to develop inferences about the behaviors with which they were associated (Kramer 1979a: 1). These inferences are often based on analogy (see, in general, Ascher 1961; Binford 1967; 1972; Chang 1967a; 1967b; Clarke 1977; Wylie 1985). Knowledge and understanding of these material correlates result from study of their form, style, and manufacturing techniques. Understanding is also increased when researchers analyze the vertical and horizontal distribution of artifacts in archaeological deposits. The study of activity areas is possible because the vertical and horizontal distribution of archaeological remains is patterned. This patterning is created by human behavior and cultural activity in addition to other causes (for example, formation processes in various contexts, but more on this below). Thus, through archaeological investigation, patterns can be identified that delimit and identify past activity areas. This is achieved by plotting tool types or other artifacts against precise provenience with respect to ground matrix, architectural features, and each other (Watson, LeBlanc, and Redman 1971: 117). That is to say, the horizontal distributions of cultural debris and features from geologically undisturbed contexts can indicate activities performed at given locations (see Schiffer 1976; 1985; 1987). Thus, given an understanding of formation processes, we can locate and identify activities such as butchering, food preparation and consumption, sleeping, tool-making, ritual activity, and animal husbandry, to name a few, based on patterns of specific types and occurrences of material remains. These remains may include objects or tools that were used in the execution of activities or the debris produced in their performance and left in the place(s) where the activity occurred. As has been pointed out by S. Kent (1984), a number of assumptions are implicit in most analyses of activity areas. In addition to the belief that activity areas can be discerned in the archaeological record is the belief that many activity areas are monofunctional and gender and/or sex specific (Kent 1984: 2). Corollaries of these assumptions are: (1) that artifacts and other remains were abandoned at the location where they were used, (2) that refuse abandoned at an activity area can be used to identify the activities performed there, and (3) that males and females did not regularly perform the

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same tasks and consequently did not use the same activity areas (Kent 1984: 2). While Kent has discussed these as assumptions, a number of studies, both ethnographic and archaeological, have addressed these issues specifically. A number of ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological studies have gathered the kind of data necessary for assessing the usefulness of archaeological data in determining aspects of past societies (e.g., W. H. Adams 1976; Ascher 1961; Binford 1978a; 1978b; Crystal 1974; Downing, Schiffer, and McCarthy 1981; Gould 1974; 1978a; 1978b; Gould, ed. 1978; Kent 1984; 1987; Kramer 1979a; Matson 1974; Newell 1987; Oswalt 1967; Roberts 1965; Stiles 1977; D. E. Thompson 1974; Watson 1979; Yellen 1977a; 1977b). In addition to these, a number of ethnoarchaeological studies have researched the location and use of activity areas to determine whether etic notions regarding the use of space are accurate or even useful when archaeologists attempt to reconstruct past activities (e.g., Binford 1978a; Bonnichsen 1973; Kent 1984; 1987; Newell 1987; Portnoy 1981; Yellen 1977b). The archaeological literature on this subject is also abundant (e.g., Anderson 1974; Blake 1976; Breternitz 1982; Brugge 1980; Hammack 1969; Kent 1984; Newell 1987; Schiffer 1976; Watson, LeBlanc, and Redman 1971). Related to these studies are ethnographic and archaeological researches undertaken to study male/female use of space (e.g., Agenbroad 1978; 1982; Bourdieu 1973; Flannery and Winter 1976; Kent 1984; Meyers 2002; 2003b; Yellen 1977b). Additional contributions to the understanding of these same issues have been made by feminist and other gender studies. In the past two decades, feminism has inspired much gender-informed research in archaeological circles (e.g., Conkey and Spector 1984; Conkey and Tringham 1995; Fagan 1992; Whelan 1991a; 1991b; Wylie 1992). The impact of this research on the field of archaeology has been reviewed in a number of works (Classen 1992; Conkey 1993; Conkey and Gero 1991; E. Hill 1998; Nelson 1997; Wylie 1991; 1993). Areas in which this impact has been greatest include our increased awareness of the androcentric abuses of earlier archaeological research and our increased awareness of gender as an organizing principle in research (E. Hill 1998: 101; cf. Gilchrest 1991; Stanton and Stewart 1995). Along these lines, A. Wylie noted ways in which the application of archaeological theory neglected gender issues (1992; 1993). This neglect is not necessarily inherent to the theories themselves but results from the ways archaeologists have applied them, including the variables they have selected for concentrated study. These include questions asked, samples chosen, and conclusions reached. This sentiment is echoed by Wright and Hill who stress multivariate methodological and theoretical approaches to understanding gender. They see nothing within existing theoretical frameworks (including evolutionary, Marxist, processual, structural, or postprocessual) that would exclude their use for study of gender issues (see E. Hill 1998: 104; R. P. Wright 1996; cf. Conkey 1991; 1993; Wylie 1991; 1993: 14). One result of the exclusion of gender studies as a variable in archaeological research is that gender issues that would have been potentially useful to spatial and household studies have largely been ignored. These include especially the studies of feminine technologies or productive tasks associated with women (for example, cooking and weaving in Tell Halif’s Iron II society) and their relative significance in influencing and changing social organization (see Friend 1997; McGaw 1989; 1996; C. Meyers 1988; 2002; 2003a; 2003b). In

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this book, I will attempt to identify feminine technologies in the archaeological record as well as their organization, and I will approach these productive tasks, of necessity, from the perspective of artifacts, their context, and the identification of past behaviors and activities with which they are associated. However, some feminist scholars have pointed out that the “assignment” of activities to male or female actors based on materials excavated from the archaeological record is problematic, because it assumes an absolute division of labor and assumes that gender roles are static rather than dynamic and adapting (Conkey and Gero 1991; E. Hill 1998). Hill believes that the heavy reliance of most archaeological gender studies on ethnographic analogy and ethnohistory (Conkey and Gero 1991; Hastorf 1991) or on cross-cultural generalization (Skibo and Schiffer 1995) causes this nonchanging view of women’s roles in society (E. Hill 1998: 106–9). 3 She rightly points out that gender is an expansive and complex concept that can no longer be seen as a simple male/female dichotomy (see, e.g., Blackwood 1984; Herdt 1994; Meigs 1990). It should instead be seen as a social construct formed by discursive practices that treat sexual identity as fluid (Meskell, 1996; Moore 1993; 1994). Not viewing gender roles in this way can lead to problematic interpretations of gender in the past. For Hill, the overreliance on ethnographic analogy and ethnohistory maintains uniformitarian and immutable views of gender in society. Thus they should only be used for analogy when conservatism of and continuity with the prehistoric society under study are strongly exhibited (E. Hill 1998: 109; see already Gould 1978a). However, this critique of ethnographic data is nothing new and certainly not exclusive to gender research. Studies addressing problems that are inherent to analogical work are numerous (e.g., Ascher 1961; Binford 1967; Dunnell 1978; 1992; Gould and Watson 1982; Salmon 1982; Wylie 1982; 1985). Although these feminist studies as well as a significant body of ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological literature led to a number of cautionary tales concerning inferences made from the archaeological record (e.g., Bonnichsen 1973; Cranstone 1971; David 1971; Horne 1982; Kramer 1982a; Newell, 1987; Stanislawski 1973), it is clear that our etic notions are useful for reconstructing elements of the past. These etic notions are based on the understanding that people in the past, just as people today, behaved and acted in ways that patterned their environment. As noted by Kent, Humans are creatures of patterns—our cultural material is patterned, our behavior is patterned, our culture is patterned, and the interrelationship among cultural material, behavior, and culture is patterned. Most importantly our use of space is patterned. (Kent 1987: 3; cf. 1984)

These patterns, which are introduced by human behaviors during activities, exist because the location of most human activities is not random, and these activities often require that a series of conditions be met for their execution. The material aspects of these conditions 3. But see already Brumfiel 1996; Costin 1996; Joyce 1996; and R. D. Wright 1996 for multivariate approaches to gender studies that do not emphasize ethnography and ethnohistory at the expense of other, more-contemporaneous lines of data.

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exist in the archaeological record as patterned groups of residues and artifacts. Because these patterns are socially conditioned, their understanding allows archaeologists, through the identification of activities, to address aspects of past societies based on the archeological record. Therefore, the archaeological analysis of activities leads to a better understanding of behaviors, which in turn are useful for understanding ancient households. But, specifically, how should the interpretation of activity areas be approached? Before addressing this question, we need a better understanding of the way the terms activity and activity area are used. Activities are defined as the articulation of material and the manual operations that are carried out in areas as determined by cultural (that is, patterned) norms. The archaeological record best preserves the residues of activities that were carried out repeatedly in the same area—often referred to as an activity area (see Kent 1984: 1; Sinopoli 1991: 85). These areas are defined in terms of composition, relative density, number of artifact clusters and other remains, and in terms of the locations and relative amounts of space used for each location in the settlement and/or dwelling locus (this follows Newell 1987: 107). Activity areas are spatially restricted from other areas and serve here as the smallest unit of spatial analysis. The goal is to associate activities with correctly identified activity areas based on the recognition of patterns in remains preserved in the archaeological record. Many activities require that specific sets of criteria—or performance characteristics of places and objects—be met for their execution. These sets of criteria vary for different activities but vary in patterned ways (see Schiffer 1999: 16–20, 25–26). Thus, if one is to cook a stew, the necessary criteria for performing this activity include, among other things, a heat source such as a hearth or cooking fire and a vessel to hold the contents of the stew over/on the heat source. A different set of criteria is necessary for the production of flint tools, which may include some type of anvil or striking platform and a number of flaking/percussion tools. When dealing with architecture, these sets of criteria have been referred to as “performance characteristics of places.” In addition to these performance characteristics, other types of remains can be useful for determining the use of space. Behaviors performed in the process of carrying out activities often leave nonrandom residuals or by-products that vary from other types of remains, both patterned and unpatterned. So the charred residues of the fuel source consumed in a cooking fire are produced in the area where the cooking fire burned, just as large quantities of small lithic debitage are produced and scattered (possibly in patterned distributions) in an area where flint knapping occurred. Once sets of criteria (or performance characteristics) and residual by-products are understood as being patterned and produced by specific behaviors or activities, they become identifying markers or diagnostics for these activities and therefore become useful for the interpretation of space. These sets of criteria and residual remains exist in the archaeological record as patterned groups of movable artifacts, floral and faunal materials, permanent and semipermanent features or installations, and architecture. That these types of remains can be used to interpret activity areas was demonstrated convincingly by R. Newell (1987). R. Newell’s activity-area research in a prehistoric/early-historic Inupiat village demonstrated convincingly the presence of a clear system and plan behind the partitioning and use of space around house mounds and also demonstrated a clear emic perception of the space

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that belonged to each household and how it should be used (Newell 1987: 135). His research followed research done by others in hunter/gathering camps and demonstrated that activities usually are restricted in location within sites according to their spatial requirements (e.g., Binford 1983; Carr 1984; 1985b; O’Connell 1977; 1979; Oswald 1987). In Newell’s analysis, he first attempts to define activity areas based on the presence/absence, density, and distribution of clusters of artifacts found archaeologically around house mounds. His approach is to partition the total assemblage into groups of artifacts (tools and waste) which can be demonstrated to covary in the functional sense of representing activities and/or the residue (depositional behaviors or activities). [It is believed that a] traditional, morphological, raw material hierarchical typology will provide a poor fit between artifact and activity. . . . Such a formal and static typology will not provide relevant information on the behaviors of the partitioning and utilization of space. Instead, we need a different approach, i.e., one in which the total assemblage may be grouped in such a way that the resulting categories represent covarying activities—the tools and waste products of patterned behaviors, as altered by taphonomic processes. (Newell 1987: 110)

Using this approach, Newell tests his interpretations of various activity areas against ethnographic information and his informants’ emic notions about the organization of space. He finds that there is indeed a “cultural template” for the way space is organized in the sites of the Inupiat villages. His research clearly supports the proposition that activities carried out in specific areas can be recognized archaeologically by the refuse produced in their execution when the behavioral context of the activities producing the artifacts is correctly identified. When this happens, the emic-etic controversy is not an analytical problem. In addition, Newell also noted that items left at a site were often found and thrown away and/or found and subsequently removed from the site by later occupants, consequently impoverishing the material data base (Newell 1987: 142). Thus, the spatial patterning of material remains that once reflected activities and behaviors may become diminished to the point of being analytically unrecognizable. Knowledge of the causes, means, and speed of departure of the former occupants of a site (Lange and Rydberg 1972: 430); the nature of its reoccupation; and the effects of formation processes (Schiffer 1983; 1987) affect the usefulness of material remains for identifying activity areas. Three important variables that additionally affect the identification of activity areas include: (1) the interaction and/or quantity of diagnostic artifacts; (2) the spatial integrity of those artifacts; and (3) the curative, retentive, or recycling value of those artifacts (Newell 1987: 142). While Newell cautions that a number of processes can affect the recognition of activity areas preserved in the archaeological record, he also demonstrates the usefulness of studying patterns in archaeological remains to understand activity areas. In his words, his excavations showed that areas he investigates “produced discrete patterning which agreed with relevant ethnographic and ethnohistoric identifications and indicated that reoccupation did not bias nor homogenize the underlying spatial patterning of material remains” (Newell 1987: 145). Newell’s research makes it clear that in sites with an archaeological record that has not been impoverished severely, the recognition of the patterns in material remains preserved in the archaeological record can be used to identify (through inference or analogy) the locations

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where specific activities took place. Thus, to understand the activity areas associated with the archaeological household, we need to detect and measure the patterns of organized relationships that exist in space among architecture, features, and artifacts. Identifying these patterns is the first step toward making higher-level statements regarding past sociocultural organization. Identifying the patterns of spatial relationships among architecture, features, and artifacts is one area in which archaeology has been successful. For decades, archaeologists have demonstrated their formidable skills in interpreting spatial patterning at many levels as they attempt to trace human activities across the landscape. Most important to this book is the fact that researchers such as Newell have demonstrated these skills in interpreting small spatial units such as activity areas in domestic contexts.

Using Spatial Analyses The best way to identify past human behaviors and activity areas that shed light on ancient households is through a spatial analysis that focuses on the identification of patterns in the material remains (material culture) that are preserved in the archaeological record. For this reason, a spatial analysis was undertaken of the archaeological remains of the F7 Dwelling unearthed in the Stratum VIB destruction in Tell Halif’s Field IV. The spatial analysis we used there will be treated below. Spatial analysis as an analytical procedure will be reviewed, including what it is; the principles on which it works, including the concepts of patterning and variability; and the sources that introduce variability and patterning into the archaeological record. These include prehistoric behaviors and natural and cultural formation processes in various contexts. This review will be followed by a discussion of the methods employed at Tell Halif for approaching spatial analyses. The discussion of methods will include the way that I approached the Field IV archaeological remains methodologically and logistically in the field and the way that I attempted to account for all the processes that introduced variability and patterning into the archaeological record. Spatial Analyses as Analytical Procedures Spatial analyses as analytical procedures are concerned primarily with the detailed, three-dimensional mapping of archaeological remains. Mapping of this sort allows researchers to determine how spatial organization is derived quantitatively from an analysis of archaeological remains such as artifacts and architecture. As noted by Gnivecki (1987: 177), the archaeologists’ concern is with the detection and measurement of the patterns of organized relationships among architecture, features, and artifacts that existed through time (either continuously or intermittently). In archaeology, the need for detection and measurement of patterns in this matrix leaves spatial analyses with two primary tasks: (1) defining the degree of similar or dissimilar spatial arrangements of different artifact types or attributes over a site; and (2) defining the spatial positions and limits of clusters, voids, and other interesting arrangements of artifacts that are of various types or that have certain attributes (Carr 1985a). Only when these tasks are carried out can patterns be discerned in

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spatial arrangements of material culture, and only then can artifact frequencies be associated with human behaviors (as opposed to other sources of patterning and variation such as noncultural formation processes) and thus be used to identify activity areas. The development of spatial studies in archaeology closely parallels the development of activity area research outlined in the previous section. It also works on the same principle—that of identifying the causes of patterned variability. Many factors can determine patterns in material remains. These include object function, raw material, particular microenvironment, behavior (object’s use), culture in terms of technology in its most abstract sense, specialization, division of labor, and so on (Kent 1987: 3). These patterns occurring in artifacts and other material culture in an archaeological site are very important. By focusing on the recognition of specific patterns in the archaeological record and how they vary from other patterns in the material remains and by examining the processes responsible for the relationships among patterns, archaeologists can begin to concentrate on the causes of these patterns and attempt to demonstrate the relationships between specific patterns and past human behavior and activities. Once patterns are recognized, they must be explained. Explanations of observed patterns discovered in material culture are often the product of inferences and/or analogies learned from ethnographic, ethnoarchaeological, experimental, or ethnohistorical studies and analytical techniques developed in other sciences. For example, it is clear from current ethnographic studies that the location of most activities is not random. As discussed above regarding activity area research, ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data demonstrate that most activities require that a series of conditions be met. During the performance of these activities, special tools or equipment are often used, and specific types of residue are produced. Ethnographers and ethnoarchaeologists who are observing these activities, then mapping patterns observed in the materials used and produced, and identifying the processes that may affect these patterns provide analogical data that are useful for archaeologists who are attempting to interpret archaeological data in which similar patterns are observed. 4 To discover patterns in the archaeological record that are similar to those observed ethnographically and ethnoarchaeologically, archaeologists must take great care in mapping the material remains they excavate from the archaeological record, giving great attention to the detail of stratigraphic relationships and to the specific context of all unearthed artifacts. Through these methods, the identification and interpretation of patterns in the archaeological record are what enable the reconstruction of tool kits, activity areas, and dwelling areas that provide clues for identifying ancient behaviors and lifeways. So, the first goal of spatial analysis is to provide information on the provenience of artifacts and refuse retrieved from the archaeological record. This is accomplished through the three-dimensional mapping of excavated material remains. The next goal is to identify patterning and variation in the spatial distributions, occurrences, frequencies, and other relationships among the artifacts and refuse. The final goal is correctly to associate the patterns observed in the material remains with prehistoric or past behaviors that lead to the identification of past activities and that provide insights into systems of past societal organization. 4. The use of ethnography and ethnoarchaeology will be discussed in greater detail in chap. 6. Also, see references in discussion of activity areas above.

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While this appears simple enough, a caveat should be stated. As pointed out earlier by Newell, the key to identifying past human behaviors and activities correctly when we use archaeological remains is to determine correctly that the material remains (artifacts and refuse) mapped by a spatial analysis occurred in or spatially near the area/context where the behavior or activity that produced them was performed—an area or context known as the behavioral or systemic context (Newell 1987: 142; cf. Schiffer 1972). Finding and determining whether refuse and artifacts reflect the behavioral context often is not a simple task. Items in the archaeological record can rest in a number of contexts. These include the behavioral context, the archaeological context, and the site context. The behavioral context (Schiffer’s systemic context; see table 2.1) refers to a context for artifacts and refuse that are inferred to have been left where they were used or otherwise to have participated in a behavioral system (Schiffer 1972; 1976: 27–28; 1987: 3). Refuse and artifacts in the behavioral context are abandoned or discarded, either deliberately or accidentally, at the location of their use and become primary refuse (Schiffer 1987: 18). Primary refuse is rare and most often consists of small items (DeBoer 1983; McKellar 1983; Schiffer 1976: 31, 188). It is identifiable on the basis of size, condition, restorability indices, and spatial patterning (Schiffer 1985: 25). In rarer instances, primary refuse may include de facto refuse, which includes numerous, mostly/fully restorable, intact, and sometimes still-usable or reusable artifacts that are left behind when an activity area is abandoned from the systemic or behavioral inventory (Schiffer 1985: 18; 1987: 89). Secondary refuse refers to archaeological refuse that is removed or discarded away from its use location (Schiffer 1987: 18). It often ends up in behavioral contexts as trash or in a secondary use, but it also can end up in site context upon exiting a behavioral system. Site context (Schiffer’s archaeological context) refers to artifacts and refuse that are removed from the location of their use and interact only with the natural environment. This can result from cultural activities during occupation or from factors that disturbed the archaeological record after abandonment (Montgomery 1994: 17–18; Schiffer 1972; 1987: 4). Cultural and natural factors that produce disturbed refuse include curating, plowing, sweeping, dumping, running water, gravity movements, wind deflation, and animal activity as well as other events. It is important to understand which factors contribute to the placement of archaeological remains so that the correct context of the artifacts and refuse can be established. The archeological record contains many intervening filters that complicate the identification of the context of archaeological remains and hamper the detection of material signatures left by human behaviors and activities in the archaeological record. Complications can be introduced during archaeological recovery through the unsystematic and/or incomplete recovery of artifacts or their misclassification (Carr 1987: 277–79). But causing even greater problems with the interpretation of behaviorally significant patterns are processes that introduce variability and patterning into the archaeological record but are not associated with human behaviors of interest to the archaeologist. These sources, commonly referred to as “taphonomic processes” or “formation processes,” must be accounted for via spatial analyses before artifact and refuse patterns can be established in the behavioral context and subsequently used to infer past behaviors (Binford 1976; 1978a; 1979; Carr 1987; Gifford 1978; 1980; Kent 1984; O’Connell 1979; Reid 1973; 1978; 1985; Schiffer 1972; 1976; 1983; 1985; 1987; Wood and Johnson 1978; Yellen 1977b).

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Formation processes, both natural and cultural, affect the location, condition, and associations in which archaeological materials come to rest. These processes are most active on artifacts from the time they leave a behavioral system—either deliberately (through discard, which is a formation process) or accidentally—to the moment when they are recovered by the archaeologist. Moreover, they are active on remains in a number of contexts. These contexts, which are based on their relationship with past and present natural and cultural systems, have been viewed in a number of ways, including Ascher’s entropy view (1968) and Cowgill’s tripartite division (1970). Several authors followed Cowgill’s tripartite division and differ from one another primarily in terminology. Their schemata are illustrated in table 2.1 (adapted from Montgomery 1994: 17). I will adopt the terminology used Table 2.1. Contexts of Archaeological Remains Author

Past System

Past System

Present System

Schiffer (1976: 27–28)

Systemic Context

Archaeological context

Systemic Context

Reid (1973: 18–24)

Systemic Context

Archaeological context

Archaeological context

Dean (1978: 238)

Behavioral matrix

Site matrix

Archaeological matrix

Montgomery (1994)

Behavioral context

Site context

Archaeological context

by Montgomery to address the contexts in which variability is introduced into the archaeological record. Although the definitions of the terms follow Schiffer (1976: 27–28), Montgomery’s use of three different terms for the three different contexts avoids possible confusion that may be introduced by using two terms to identify three different contexts (that is, using systemic twice). Variability in a behavioral context is usually caused by behaviors in a past cultural system; however, formation processes (cultural and natural) also cause variability in this context. Variability in a site context (the context in which both cultural and natural formation processes are most active) happens when items leave their cultural system (in the behavioral context) before they enter the archaeological context. Variability and patterns in the archaeological context are introduced into an existing cultural system as items are excavated, analyzed, and given interpretations. Until formation processes are systematically investigated and methods are found for taking them into account, one cannot begin to make behavioral inferences regarding observed phenomena (Schiffer 1972; 1985: 19; cf. 1983; 1987). In order to make credible inferences from the data derived from a spatial analysis, the investigator must segregate refuse, artifacts, artifact and refuse frequencies, and other patterns that are produced by various formation processes. Once these are segregated, it is necessary to assess the degree and nature of any depletions of or additions to the archaeological record (Schiffer 1985: 30). While it is difficult to identify and isolate all agents that have acted upon the archaeological record, we must attempt systematically to account for as many disturbance processes as possible and to assess the degree and nature of any depletions of the artifacts and refuse. Schiffer states that, “on the basis of extant information, the rigorous investigation of formation processes in any project can be practical” (1983: 675).

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But it was Schiffer’s student Barbara Montgomery who introduced an effective method for undertaking this sort of analysis (Montgomery 1994). In Montgomery’s analysis of ceramics excavated from Chodistaas Pueblo in the White Mountains of east-central Arizona, she convincingly demonstrated how past ritual behavior was previously and mistakenly interpreted as natural formation processes due to a poor understanding of the latter. She demonstrated this by following a procedure designed to ferret out variability introduced by formation processes in site context. Montgomery proposed that, before meaning is given to archaeological remains, a set of procedures should be followed that lead to the understanding and identification of patterning introduced by natural and cultural formation processes in site context. She proposes that the following procedures should be followed to test for natural formation processes: 1. Compile a list of possible processes and agents. 2. Study the environmental—geological, climatic, and biological—characteristics of a particular site. 3. Choose from the list of possible natural processes those with the highest probability of having had some effect on the site, based on the environmental data. 4. Test for each specific process and evaluate its impact on the archaeological record. 5. Evaluate the overall role of natural formation processes in the disturbance of materials in site context. (Montgomery 1994: 152) Similarly, to test for cultural formation processes, one should: 1. 2. 3. 4.

Compile a list of possible processes. Test for each specific process. Evaluate the impact of each process on the archaeological record. Evaluate the overall impact of cultural disturbances in site context. (Montgomery 1994: 174)

These procedures developed by Montgomery for studying formation processes were developed for a relatively short-term (by southern Levantine standards), single-component site and take into account only processes occurring in site context. However, with minor changes, her procedures can be applied successfully to the multilayered tells of the Near East, such as Tell Halif, and address formation processes active in all contexts. An adapted set of procedures for analyzing the effects of formation processes is outlined below in the discussion of the spatial analysis carried out on the F7 Dwelling in Tell Halif’s Field IV. Spatial Analysis at Tell Halif For any spatial analysis to work successfully, it needs to be well conceived from the beginning of a research project and continued until final publication. Components need to be added to the research design, field methodology, and laboratory processing system that will provide the appropriate means for gathering, recording, and preserving the necessary data for this type of analysis. Such a design was planned and implemented for excavations in Tell Halif’s Field IV. Because an understanding of activity areas in domestic buildings was a focus of the Field IV excavations, we contrived to expose, as much as possible, entire

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plans of structures. Consequently, large, horizontal exposures were opened in a number of domestic structures, including the F7 Dwelling discussed here. This provided a broad view of the internal organization of these structures and provided a better assessment of how extensive their artifact assemblages were and what they contained. Additionally, we took great care to map the remains unearthed in these broad exposures. Methods of excavation were adopted that preserved as much of the spatial data as possible from the excavated material remains. This was imperative so that patterns in the material remains could be recognized and associated either with the behaviors and activities carried out by the occupants of the pillared dwelling or with formation processes that distorted behavioral patterns. The archaeological data from Tell Halif were collected with the utmost attention given to stratigraphic excavation, particularly with regard to bonding and other structural and contextual relationships among floors, walls, artifacts, and other features. To facilitate this, we employed an adapted version of the Wheeler/Kenyon or traditional balk/debris method of field excavation, and additional procedures were added to increase precision in data retrieval. These additions included detailed, three-dimensional mapping through use of a mini-grid device dubbed the “magic square” (described below) and the total sifting of all excavated materials. This “modernized hybrid” of the Wheeler/Kenyon or traditional balk/debris method of field excavation was adopted from Phases I and II of the Lahav Research Project excavations at Tell Halif (Seger 1980; Jacobs 1992) and was brought to the Lahav Project by members (especially Joe D. Seger) of the core staff of the Hebrew Union College Gezer Project of the late 1960s–early 1970s (see Dever and Lance 1978). To prepare for excavation, we superimposed a grid of five-meter squares on the entire area falling into Field IV, creating rows and columns of five-meter squares or units. During excavation, four meters of earth were removed from each unit. This left, temporarily, one meter of earth standing between each unit for vertical stratigraphic control. While what has been described to this point is quite standard on many digs in the Near East, total sifting and the use of the “magic square” helped us to achieve a more thorough and complete collection of artifacts and more thorough and specific spatial data, respectively. As excavation levels reached the Stratum VIB destruction levels, where it was believed that de facto refuse was possibly preserved in a behavioral context, these supplementary procedures provided invaluable control for understanding the archaeological record in Field IV. Virtually every bit of excavated soil from the modern tell surface down to beneath the Iron II floors was sifted for even the smallest fragments of artifacts, using 1/4-inch mesh screen. Not only were a greater number of small artifacts recovered, such as fauna, bullae, small weaving tools, and the like, but notions of artifact restorability or completeness became more a question of preservation and disturbance than methodology. In addition to the sifting of all soils through 1/4-in. mesh screens, soil samples were taken from all floors and surfaces and separated with a series of size-graduated screens down to 1/4 mm. The “magic square” is a simple device created from half-inch PVC pipe, measuring 4 m2. It is subdivided to create 4 1-m squares and then again to create 16 50-cm squares. It can easily be laid over an excavation area (keyed to the Field IV grid) to impose a “mini grid,” thus allowing artifacts to be collected within horizontal, 50-cm, square increments. The magic square was used on all floor materials in Field IV and on materials in destruction debris that appeared to be in or near their use locations.

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In addition to recording the horizontal positioning, we recorded the vertical positioning (relative to sea level) of the artifact. By these methods, each artifact was collected, labeled with provenience information, registered, and weighed before analysis or reconstruction. Accordingly, once the artifact entered these archaeological systems, it arrived with very precise spatial information that allowed us to address questions such as exactly where an artifact was located, how far an artifact may have scattered across a floor upon breaking, or how many of its fragments, if any, actually made contact with a floor. In short, total sifting and use of the magic square provide great detail about “what is there” and “where it is located”—the very information necessary for identifying patterns introduced by human behaviors. But before behavioral inferences are made of the observed patterns, it also is important to determine of the archaeological remains “why they are there.” Past human behaviors may be responsible for patterns observed in the archaeological remains of Field IV. But sources in addition to human behaviors can introduce variability and patterning into the archaeological record. This especially includes natural and cultural formation processes in various contexts. All of these must be accounted for before behavioral information can be inferred from the archaeological data. Cultural and natural formation processes can create new patterns and move or remove archaeological remains through erosion, curation, clearing/cleaning, and other processes (Schiffer 1987: 79). New material remains may also be introduced into the archaeological record through ritual caching, concealing valuables, ceremonial trash; or discrete concentrations and additions of secondary refuse may appear through other means (see Diehl 1998; Montgomery 1994; Schiffer 1987: 79). We made a rigorous attempt to identify as many as possible of the formation processes that acted on the Stratum VIB remains at Tell Halif. This was done by following a set of procedures adapted from Montgomery’s analysis of formation processes (1994) that are expanded to include processes active in the behavioral and archaeological contexts, in addition to site context. To test for natural formation processes here, we followed these procedures: 1. Compile a list of possible processes and agents active in behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts. 2. Study the environmental (i.e., geological, climatic, and biological) characteristics of Tell Halif and identify how these persist or change through time. 3. Choose from the list of possible natural processes those with the highest probability of having had some affect on the site, based on the environmental data. 4. Test for each specific process and evaluate its impact on the archeological record in each context. 5. Evaluate the overall role of natural formation processes in the disturbance of materials in behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts. A list of possible natural formation processes and agents affecting artifacts in the archaeological record was assembled from lists compiled from Carr (1987), Montgomery (1994), Schiffer (1987), and Wood and Johnson (1978) and tested against units that fell inside Field IV excavation areas. The complete list of natural processes and the analysis of their effects on the deposits in Field IV are presented in chap. 4. To test for cultural formation processes, we followed these procedures:

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1. Compile a list of possible processes active in the behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts. 2. Test for each specific process in each context. 3. Evaluate the impact of each process on the archaeological record. 4. Evaluate the overall impact of cultural disturbances in behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts. The list of possible cultural formation processes and agents affecting the archaeological record was assembled from Carr (1987), Montgomery (1994), and Schiffer (1987). The complete list of cultural processes and the analysis of their effects on the deposits in Field IV are presented in chap. 4. The effects of the natural and cultural processes on the Tell Halif remains were tested on the units that fell into the Field IV excavation areas in order to determine which processes were/are most active on the archaeological remains of Stratum VIB. The effects were analyzed by making direct visual observations of site formation (for example, erosion processes) and by comparing all observations of anomalies and patterns in the Field IV data with principles and indicators of the effects of formation processes developed through experimentation or ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological observation. Some examples of useful observation include the orientation of artifacts, abrasions and wear patterns on artifacts, and patterns of refit among broken pieces of artifacts, to name a few (Carr 1987: 248; Schiffer 1983 passim). Study of the effects of formation processes on the archaeological remains at Tell Halif is vitally important if activity areas are to be identified using archaeological data. One can begin to make behavioral inferences of observed patterns in the archaeological data only after patterns and variability introduced by formation processes are identified and considered. Patterns observed in the archaeological remains and determined not to be introduced by formation processes are associated with behaviors and activities through ethnographically and ethnoarchaeologically based inference and analogy, experimentation, analytical techniques developed in the “hard sciences,” and pertinent textual materials (these concerns are addressed in the following chapters below). In this way, we can begin to use the distribution of artifacts preserved in archaeological remains (especially ceramics, as discussed in chap. 3) to understand the use of space in the pillared dwellings of Iron II Tell Halif and address the nature of household organization.

Summary This chapter provides an outline of the material to be treated in this volume and presents as its ultimate goal the better understanding of household organization at Iron II Tell Halif. The important role of household studies for understanding social, economic, and even political organization of society are discussed and demonstrated. The household is defined in functional terms to make it more accessible to archaeological investigation, and the archeological household is introduced as the subject of archaeological investigation. The archaeological household consists of the Iron II pillared dwelling and the people who

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Studying the Household

commonly occupied/used its space. A spatial analysis of the remains of a pillared dwelling of this sort at Tell Halif is proposed as a means to identify activity areas that shed light on household activities, thus allowing reasonable inferences to be made about Iron II household organization. This approach provides information not only regarding domestic activities but also more complex organizations in society as a whole. While this chapter aims to demonstrate the importance, usefulness, and methodological approach to household study, it does not touch on the suitability—indeed the great potential—of the rich archaeological deposits of the southern Levant generally, and of Tell Halif specifically, for use in the type of research it outlines. This sort of demonstration is an important goal of this volume and is the subject of chap. 3.

Chapter 3

Household Archaeology in the Southern Levant Most of the archaeological data considered here were generated from the excavation of a tell, which is one of the most prevalent site types throughout much of southwest Asia. Tells are especially common in the southern Levant, where their excavation has provided a great quantity of data useful for household study. These data are usually presented in the form of well-understood town plans of Iron Age II with numerous examples of pillared dwellings. For this reason and because Tell Halif is a tell-type site, I will begin this chapter with a brief discussion of the “tell.”

The Tell as a Site Type In the most general terms, tells are artificial, flat-topped, steep-sided mounds composed of the remains of past human settlements built up at a nonuniform rate over long periods of time (most often several millennia). The remains preserved in tells exist as a composite of occupational strata, destruction levels and, to a small extent, additions of naturally deposited sediment (Rosen 1986: 9; cf. Folk 1975; Paepe, Gasche, and de Meyer 1978; Raikes 1966). The tells’ characteristically steep sides and flat tops are determined primarily by the structural features they encompass. Most significant among these are the remains of fortification systems encircling other cultural deposits. These include fosses and moats (often dry), walls, towers, glacis structures, gates, and ramps (see Parr 1968). These ramparts and other structures have an effect on the steepness of a tell’s slopes. Their composition determines, at least somewhat, the tell’s resistance to erosion, although they do not prevent eroded up-slope material from accumulating at the base of the slope, thereby decreasing its angle (Rosen 1986: 29). Most often, however, fortification walls preserved in tells lead to the formation of steep outer slopes. These fortification systems tend to hold a tell’s matrix in place behind them. Rosen observed that this matrix is constructed of sediment taken from within a short radius of the site, so natural and man-made sediments are interwoven to form the mound (Rosen 1986: 53). A

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tell is, for the most part, a result of cultural activity and comprises the accumulated residues of collapsed structures such as dwellings, storage facilities, administrative and/or palace complexes, economic/industrial complexes, and the trappings of institutionalized religion in the form of temple complexes (see Davidson 1976; Rosen 1986; 1997: 163). These residues include mud brick, stone, and ceramics and occasionally lime plaster, wood, and other organic refuse as their primary components. These components are modified by natural and cultural processes that cause reduction and redeposition of the sediments, transforming them into secondary refuse (Rosen 1986: 10). Natural and cultural processes continuously change and rework the structure of the tell as more recent cultural deposits are added to earlier ones. These cultural deposits are often separated by thick and spatially large destruction layers or by the buildup of thin layers of natural soils. The former include debris from falling and burning structures, while the latter occurs only when cultural activity ceases for extended periods. The length of the occupational hiatus determines which processes are most active on the cultural deposits. Short-term abandonments generally lead to sheet wash and ponding and/or the accumulation of natural wind-blown silt and sand, whereas major occupational gaps lead to soil development, natural erosion of entire strata, and/or the deposition of windblown deposits (Bullard 1970: 115–16; Rosen 1986: 13). Due to these processes, the height and size of the tell can expand or contract through time. Tells in the southern Levant were usually occupied recurrently over several millennia. M. Schiffer refers to these reoccupied sites as either extended or supraextended habitation sites (Schiffer 1987: 101–2). Recurrent habitation refers to repeated occupations of the same kind at the same site. Extended habitation is a unit of occupation involving stays of more than a decade but less than a century, whereas supraextended habitation refers to occupation that endures in excess of a century (Schiffer 1987: 102). In the southern Levant, the periods most significant for tell development, or at least the most significant for the addition of cultural deposits through recurrent extended and supraextended habitation, began in the Early Bronze Age (ca. 3200 b.c.e.) and continued through the end of the Iron Age (ca. 600 b.c.e.). The remains of separate habitations exist in the matrix of the tell as strata, or layers of various distinctions, vertically imposed one upon another. Fortification wall systems restrict the horizontal extent of the settlements, causing them to grow upward instead of outward. The continued habitation of tells of the southern Levant owes to the region’s unique geography, geomorphology, climate, and geopolitics. In the southern Levant, a finite number of locations regularly met the needs of large (at least by southern Levantine standards), sedentary populations (see Falconer 1987 for discussion of settlement sizes). These populations required an adequate, constant supply of water, arable land for agriculture, and a defensible position in case of attack. Tells formed where these criteria were met. A number of tells also formed along major thoroughfares and at crossroads controlling travel and trade routes. Changing settlement patterns around the fifth–fourth centuries b.c.e., probably due to changing political conditions and populations (in general, see Stern 1995: 437–41; 2001: 360–582), left tells largely abandoned as habitation centers after this time. However, their development as sites continued. After tells were abandoned, their structure continued to change as natural processes continuously wrought effects on the tell’s sediments. Additionally, cultural processes continued to affect these sites as nearby residents robbed building materials from their matrix,

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planted agricultural crops on tell surfaces, grazed livestock there and on the slopes, “dug into” their deposits for military positions and graves, deforested the surrounding environments, and reintroduced forests on tell slopes and summits. The mounds, as they appear today, sometimes two to three millennia after their abandonment, do not have the same form and shape that they did shortly after their last occupation. This is most noticeable on tell slopes, where uniformity is rare. This is due largely to the varying effectiveness of erosion and weathering on slopes that face different directions, as well as the proximity of slopes to varying geographical features (Rosen 1986: 29). Natural forces that transform the landscape, such as erosion and gullying, are also at work on tells (Rosen 1986: 53). As such, a tell is an integral part of its surroundings, and the history of its formation is related intimately to the history of landscape changes in its environs. If one is to understand the cultural remains entombed in tells and explain their genesis, it first becomes necessary to determine which processes were and continue to be at work in different areas of the tell. Furthermore, the remains must be investigated in the broader context of their environmental, geographical, and chronological settings (Rosen 1986, passim). This is the approach that I am taking here. I will analyze the remains of the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif in the wider context of the site’s formation. This way, all the processes active in site formation can be well understood before I venture to hypothesize behavioral interpretations for the excavated remains. While this type of “contextual approach” is taken here, the same approach has not always been taken when others have studied archaeological remains in tells. It especially was not the approach used from the latter part of the nineteenth century to the mid-twentieth century, when excavations revealed in very broad exposures town plans with many examples of domestic architecture. These data were gathered with much less precision and with less understanding of stratigraphy than today’s standards (see Dever 1985a). In spite of this deficiency, many of these data are nonetheless useful for our study of the archaeological household of the Iron II, primarily because of their association with destruction strata.

Destruction Strata in Tells Even using the unsophisticated, less meticulous methods characteristic of older excavations, archaeologists usually recognized and separated destruction strata in tells from their surrounding matrix. This is largely due to qualities that are unique and inherent to these strata. Destruction strata usually represent the remains of cities, towns, or other settlements that were destroyed precipitately in conflagrations, covered over rapidly, and sealed before many natural and cultural processes severely affected the remains that were not completely burned or destroyed during termination of the settlement. These destructions were quite common, and they sometimes resulted in an occupational hiatus. 1

1. Some examples of strata from sites where large archaeological exposures attest to the enormity and totality of settlement destruction are Arad XI, IX, VIII (Herzog 1984; 1997; M. Aharoni 1993: 82); Ashkelon (D. Schloen 1997, 222); Batash/Timnah VI and III (Kelm and Mazar 1995: 13); Beer Sheva II (Aharoni 1973);

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Household Archaeology in the Southern Levant

The remains preserved in destruction strata normally consist of great quantities of mud brick, mud-brick detritus, and ash from burned structures and other organic and combustible material, as well as numerous assemblages of artifacts in use immediately before the settlement was destroyed. Due to the thoroughness and suddenness of these destructions, artifacts were often left in or near the places where they were used by the settlement’s inhabitants. As such, they constitute items in a primary or behavioral context. Destruction strata result in what is referred to here as de facto refuse (following Schiffer 1987: 89–98) 2. This de facto refuse preserves to an extraordinary degree the material environment of the local inhabitants, the specific places where the activities of everyday life took place, whether social, economic, political, or religious. These ashy sediments with their well-preserved structures and rich artifact assemblages are easily distinguishable from surrounding archaeological materials such as fills, debris, and other soil layers in secondary or tertiary contexts. The ease with which they are separated from surrounding materials within mounds and the bountiful artifacts that they often preserve in a primary or behavioral context render them useful to archaeologists. But separating them is not enough; it also is important to understand their cause(s) and their preserved contents. That destruction deposits are easily recognizable and uniquely useful for understanding the past is certainly news to no one. They have been used by archaeologists for well over a century to provide many of the details about the ancient southern Levant (e.g., Albright 1949; Bliss 1894; Lloyd 1963; Petrie 1891). However, the full potential of these deposits for yielding these details has never been realized. To date, there has been no explicit attempt to assess the limitations of destruction strata for yielding information regarding systemic relationships that characterized past cultural systems or what these various systems may have represented. In this book, I endeavor to move in this direction. Retrieving better and more detailed information from archaeological data is an increasingly important aspect of excavations in the Levant (and elsewhere in general) as research becomes increasingly problematic for a number of reasons. Not only are overseas digs extremely arduous, they are time consuming, they increasingly interfere with modern development, and the religiopolitical environment in which they are carried out can be antagonistic. These reasons combined with the increasingly prohibitive cost of carrying out sustained archaeological research abroad require that more detailed information be collected in archaeological investigations without greatly sacrificing the volume of archaeological material. An excellent starting point for the extraction of useful and considerable data is the study of destruction levels in tells.

Beth-Shean IX, VII, VI, and IV (James 1966; A. Mazar 1997a); Beth Shemesh III (Mackenzie’s Red Burnt stratum) and IIc (Mackenzie 1911; 1912–13; Grant 1931; 1932; 1933); Tell Beit Mirsim C, B1, and A (Albright 1943: 36, 65–68); Gezer XVIII, X, V, and VI (Dever 1997c); Hazor XVI, XIII (upper), 1a (lower), and IV (Yadin 1975; 1975b; Ben-Tor 1997); Lachish Levels III and II (Tufnell 1953: 56–57); Megiddo IX, VII B, and VIIA (Loud 1948; Ussishkin 1997a); and Tel Miqne/Ekron VIII and IB (Dothan and Gitin 1997). While this list is not exhaustive (see excursus 1 for an expanded list), it does attest to the common occurrence of site-wide destructions in the southern Levant. More than half of the destructions included in this list date to Iron Age II. 2. De facto refuse is discussed in more detail in the remainder of this chapter. See also the glossary located at the beginning of this volume (pp. xvii–xviii) for a complete review of this and related terms.

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Causes of Destruction Strata While destruction levels are common in tells, they occur frequently in some periods and rarely in others. The commonest times/periods for site-wide destructions in the southern Levant include: Early Bronze III (ca. 2700–2300 b.c.e.), Middle Bronze IIC (ca. 1750– 1550/1500 b.c.e.), the end of Late Bronze II / early Iron Age I (ca. 1200 b.c.e.), Iron IIA (ca. 1000–900 b.c.e.), and Iron IIB–C (ca. 900–580 b.c.e.)—especially the latter half of the eighth century b.c.e. and the late seventh/early sixth century b.c.e. Other than accidents, there are two primary reasons for the commonness of destruction levels in tells, and both are related to the geographical situation of Syria–Palestine. These are natural disasters and warfare. The most notable natural disasters affecting the southern Levant, and indeed the entire eastern Mediterranean littoral, are earthquakes (see D. P. McKenzie 1970; 1972). These can wreak havoc on settlements located near active faults and rifts and are sometimes mistaken for destructions caused by warfare. While earthquake destructions have been studied more thoroughly for the Aegean, Anatolia, and northern Syria (e.g., Ambraseys 1970; Karnik 1968; Rapp 1982; 1986; Schaeffer 1948), work has also been done in the southern Levant (e.g., Karcz and Kafri 1978). Much of this has focused on the identification of earthquake markers in the archaeological record. A. Nur and E. Cline, expanding on recent work (Nur and Ron 1997: 532; Stiros 1996: appendix 2), compiled a rather comprehensive list of criteria that they believe are diagnostic of earthquakes and are observable archaeologically (Nur and Cline 2000: 48, 52, fig. 9). These criteria include: • structural damage and failure of construction • collapsed walls • patched walls • offset walls • triangular missing parts in corners of masonry buildings • inclined or sub-vertical cracks or partial collapse in rigid arches, vaults, or domes • slipped keystones in dry masonry arches and vaults • cracks at the top or bottom of dry masonry columns • constructions deformed as if by horizontal forces • ancient constructions offset by seismic surface faults • skeletons of people killed and crushed by or buried under the debris of fallen buildings • particular abrupt geomorphological changes, occasionally associated with destructions and/or abandonment of buildings and sites • patterns of regional destruction • destruction and quick reconstruction of sites, followed by the introduction of what could be regarded as “anti-seismic” building construction techniques, but with no change in their overall cultural character • well-dated destructions of buildings correlating with historical (including epigraphic) evidence of earthquakes • damage or destruction of isolated buildings or whole sites for which an earthquake appears the only reasonable explanation (Nur and Cline 2000: 48, 52, fig. 9)

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Household Archaeology in the Southern Levant

One may add to this list widespread destruction of settlements with no or little evidence of burning, with an absence of weapons (e.g., ballista/sling stones, arrowheads, scale armor plates, etc.) in destruction debris, with the immediate reoccupation of damaged structures that were cleaned out and reused as before (that is, squatter occupation). While earthquakes can cause the types of damage listed here, other causes may also be responsible. These include warfare, accidental burning, poor techniques of construction, and the more steady and continuous processes associated with foundation subsidence and slippage. However, if a number of the criteria listed above are present in destruction, then earthquakes may be implicated as the cause of the destruction. From a perusal of the archaeological literature of the Aegean and eastern Mediterranean, Nur and Cline provide examples of destructions that they believe were caused by earthquakes dating to the end of the Late Bronze Age (ca. 1200 b.c.e.; see Nur and Cline 2000: 47–61). These examples include: • Ashdod, Akko, and other southern Levantine sites (Nur and Cline 2000: 48–60) • Kynos (Dakoronia 1996: 41–43) • Megiddo (Nur and Ron 1997: 533–35) • The Menelaion, Sparta (Catling 1978–79: 19–20) • Midea (Åström and Demakopoulou 1996: 37, 39; Demakopoulou 1998: 227; Shelmerdine 1997: 543) • Mycenae (Mylonas 1966: 225; Iakovidis 1986) • Thebes (Sampson 1996: 114; Symeonglou 1987: 17–18) • Tiryns (Kilian 1980; 1981: 193; 1988; Shelmerdine 1997: 543) • Troy (Rapp 1982: 43, 53, 55) • Ugarit (Schaeffer 1948: 2) The above data provide dramatic and convincing evidence for the effects of seismic activity on settlements of the past. 3 While these examples are plentiful, most destruction levels in the southern Levant were caused by warfare. The debris of settlement-wide conflagrations preserved as destruction strata in tells is most often produced during sieges associated with military campaigns carried out against the local inhabitants of the southern Levant through endemic warfare or by attacks from their extended neighbors in Egypt, Anatolia, the Aegean, Mesopotamia, or Persia. Numerous destruction levels are diagnostic of tells in the region but are not as common in tell sites outside of the southern Levant (see excursus 1: “A History of Destruction Strata”). One of the primary reasons for this is related to the region’s geographic situation as a corridor linking the three continents of Africa, Asia, and Europe and as a corridor between two major “hearths” of civilization: Egypt and Mesopotamia. 3. Other destructions identified as the result of earthquakes at sites in the southern Levant include: Jericho at the end of MB IIC (Holland 1997: 223), Tel Michal Stratum XVII at the end of MB IIB (Herzog 1993: 1036– 37), and at Tell el-ºUmeiri ca. 1200 b.c.e. (Herr and Clark 2001: 41). Several destructions that date to the mideighth century b.c.e. have been associated with the mid-eighth century earthquake mentioned in Amos 1:1 and Zech 14:5 as occurring during the reign of King Uzziah. These include Gezer (Dever 1992), Haror (Oren 1997: 2:476), Hazor Stratum VI (Barkay 1992: 328; Ben-Tor 1997: 4; A. Mazar 1990: 412), and Lachish Level IV (Barkay 1992: 328; Ussishkin 1997b: 320). Additionally, Shiqmona’s destruction in the first part of the fifth century b.c.e. has been attributed to an earthquake (Elgavish 1997: 36).

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Destruction caused by the Neo-Assyrians and the Neo-Babylonians as well as destruction caused by states and peoples through the millennia before them greatly affected the formation of settlements (and ultimately tells) in the southern Levant. The frequent appearance of destruction strata in Levantine tells attests well to the volatility of life in the region from the late fourth to mid-first millennia b.c.e. This volatility led to the development of massive fortification systems that, when incorporated into an archaeological context of tells promoted site stability by consolidating and holding in place the cultural deposits laid behind them. In sum, warfare, especially siege craft, created destruction levels in sites, and the fortifications provided barriers to wind and water erosion and deflation, provisionally keeping the sites intact. Consequently, tells provide a rich archeological record that can be used to address issues regarding past activities and settlement organization. But what exactly is included in the destruction debris? Refuse Preserved in Destruction Strata Most of the debris contained in destruction strata consists of the remains of destroyed and burned buildings. These buildings include administrative, cultic, and domestic and storage structures of varying forms. The remains of structures preserved in destruction strata most commonly include the ash, stones, and burned or baked mud brick (both whole and detritus) from walls and sometimes from the roofs of buildings. Ash is produced from flamable materials such as thatching used in roofs; structural timbers such as roof beams, columns, pilasters, and lintels; and/or additional wooden items including furniture, looms, tools, and other implements. Other sources of ash are food for human and animal consumption (oil, wheat, barley, dried vegetable and fruits, lentils, meats, fish, and so on); fuel for cooking fires (dung, sticks, vines, and so on); cloth and reed mats, bedding, and rugs; and any number of other things, including animals or people that may not have escaped the conflagration. To a lesser degree, other artifacts and refuse are present in destruction levels, including burned plaster; items placed in plaster and mud bricks (for example, potsherds and small pebbles or cobbles serving as temper); and discarded artifacts in behavioral, secondary, or even archaeological contexts. However, the most interesting and useful items for the present study are the large quantities of completely or mostly restorable artifacts found throughout the destruction debris. Often when settlements are destroyed, great quantities of artifacts that were usable at the time of destruction are found spread throughout the debris of burned structures. These include metal (and sometimes slag) and stone tools and weapons, caches of precious metals (ingots, goddess figurines, jewelry, and so on), bone tools, sometimes wood tools, bullae, stamp seals, items of personal adornment, loom weights, spindle whorls, lithic tools associated with food production and other domestic activities, scale weights, bottle stoppers, ivory inlay, religious paraphernalia, and especially large quantities and varieties of ceramic vessels. The appearance of numerous artifacts in destruction contexts stems from the rapid abandonment of the houses, public buildings, and outside spaces where the artifacts were being used at the time of settlement destruction. Occupants who survived destruction of their settlements probably had little time to remove household items (Rosen 1986: 92). Additionally, artifacts left within such a context may have been sealed by the deep accumulation of ash and other burned debris. Collapsed ceilings and mud-brick walls protected artifacts on

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Household Archaeology in the Southern Levant

floors (especially close to walls) and in areas immediately adjacent to the outside of buildings by covering them rapidly with a layer of sediment. Furthermore, subsequent occupational floors, which sealed burned structures and debris, rendered them less subject to activities associated with curatic behaviors and scavenging, or to natural disturbances prevalent in openair sites. Where reoccupation is not immediate, some disturbance can occur as natural phenomena begin the processes of redeposition of sediment through sheet wash, erosion, and ponding. However, this is often kept to a minimum because structural integrity of the mound is provided by the common and usually stable remains of partially destroyed structural walls. Thus, many household items are preserved on living floors or within the matrix of the covering destruction debris, appearing in or near the locations where they were used or stored when active in a behavioral system at the time the settlement was destroyed. This “appearance” is exactly what needs to be tested. Refuse found elsewhere in similar settings has been termed de facto refuse. Refuse of this sort consists “of artifacts from the systemic inventory [or behavioral context], often still usable, that are left behind on occupation surfaces when people abandon activity areas, structures, and settlements” (Schiffer 1985: 18; cf. Schiffer 1972: 160; 1987: 89; Stevenson 1982). When de facto refuse is the result of warfare, normal abandonment processes are truncated as material remains of the systemic inventory in a behavioral context are rapidly transformed to site context (Schiffer 1985: 26, 31). When Robert Ascher wrote that archaeologists do not dig up “the remains of a once living community stopped, as it were, at a point in time” (Ascher 1961: 324), he did not have the remains preserved in destruction strata of tells in mind. However, his observations concerning the ravaging of archaeological remains by “time’s arrow” are every bit as poignant with regard to the discussion of tell destruction strata and their interpretation as they are to any other type of archeological deposit. Ascher’s comments were directed toward archaeologists who approach the archaeological record as a preserved past instead of a record that just as often preserves the disorganized arrangement of matter often generated at a point in time much later than the period that is of interest to the archaeologist (see Binford 1981: 196). In a subsequent discussion, Schiffer pointed out that, not only were items disorganized, but also they were organized— or patterned—at a point much later in time (Schiffer 1972; 1983). Ascher terms erroneous notions that do not account for time’s ravages, often implicit in archaeological literature, the Pompeii Premise (Ascher 1961: 324). This term applies when archaeological remains are treated as if they were frozen in time (similar to remains from sites such as Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Akroteri) and directly reflect behavioral systems of interest to the archaeologist. The very nature of artifact-rich de facto assemblages often causes them to be treated during interpretation as Pompeii-like assemblages (see, e.g., J. N. Hill 1970, as pointed out by Skibo, Schiffer, and Kowalski 1989). The interpreters of materials from tell destruction strata are also guilty of treating their artifact-rich assemblages in a similar manner. Though time’s ravages usually do not dramatically affect all deposits in destruction levels of tells, which often contain numerous artifacts as items in systemic inventories, they nonetheless are not Pompeii-like assemblages. 4 4. Incidentally, the deposits of Pompeii itself are not “Pompeii-like,” because they do not preserve all items that were present in the behavioral context before the settlement was destroyed by volcanic blasts from

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In this book, I will not assume that the archaeological remains left by destruction are complete or that these materials directly reflect all or even most of the behaviors taking place where various artifacts were discovered. Making these sorts of assumptions would not account for any depletions of the archaeological record through curatic behavior or other processes, either natural or cultural, that leave patterns in the archaeological record but have no bearing on ancient behaviors of interest to one’s investigation. It also would not account for items that were added to the record at a later point in time. This is the case even in very wellpreserved archaeological deposits such as destruction levels in tells. For this reason, I use the spatial analysis outlined in chap. 2 to analyze the remains excavated from the destruction Stratum VIB at Tell Halif, including the F7 Dwelling. However, despite the Pompeii Premise caveat, the remains of buildings preserved in destruction strata are filled with de facto artifacts and other remains in a behavioral context and, as such, are useful for understanding past activities. It is important to understand what types of processes, especially processes associated with abandonment led to the formation and/or deformation of such a potentially rich archaeological record. As mentioned above, abandonment caused by warfare should truncate many normal abandonment processes, such as curatic behavior, while setting others in motion (Schiffer 1985: 31). If warfare was not defused through diplomacy, there were three ways of coping with warfare directed against one’s settlement in the Iron Age southern Levant: submission, flight, or resistance (R. L. O’Connell 1995: 97). Each of these methods should leave a different pattern, if only slightly, in the archaeological record. Regardless of which of the three choices one made, processes undoubtedly occurred that later showed up as depletions in the archaeological record, especially through some type of curatic behavior. For example, in flight, one might remove nothing more than the clothes on one’s back, or one might remove everything that could be taken away from a settlement in a matter of hours, days, or perhaps weeks before the destruction took place. Once settlements were taken but before they were destroyed, other activities leading to depletions of systemic inventories included looting or theft. Depending on the thoroughness of this activity, substantial depletions could occur, and patterns indicative of normal daily activities could be all but erased and new ones introduced. Even when activities associated with everyday life are identified, they must be suspect because “during the siege itself, which may have lasted for months, normal activities would have been disrupted and the location of artifacts would not necessarily be a oneto-one reflection of the location of normal daily activities” (Rosen 1986: 92). Abnormal activities well outside the pale of everyday conditions certainly abounded in these circumstances. Thus, the interpretation of destruction deposits in tells is not as straightforward as it might first appear. All of the processes outlined above are active on destruction strata and therefore complicate their use for understanding the past. However, with all of these cautions in mind, it is still true that the materials preserved in destruction levels in tells provide an excellent opportunity for learning detailed information about many aspects of past societies. This can be demonstrated by a general review of the Iron Age pillared dwelling, which we already know about as a result of archaeological investigation. Vesuvius. For more on the dangers of the “Pompeii Premise” in archaeology, see also Binford 1981; Schiffer 1985.

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The Iron Age Pillared Dwelling Many examples of Iron II pillared dwellings have been excavated from within destruction strata in tells in the southern Levant, including the examples from Tell Halif. There are also examples that do not originate either from destruction strata or from tells. Both of these, however, have contributed to our understanding of the form, origins, and subsequent spread of the pillared-type dwelling throughout the southern Levant. Identification In scholarly archaeological, historical, and biblical literature about the ancient Near East, the domestic structures of the southern Levantine Iron Age that are referred to here as the pillared dwelling are usually referred to as “three-room” or “four-room houses,” “Israelite houses,” or “Palestinian houses” (cf. Aharoni 1973; Beit-Arieh 1973; Braemer 1982; Hardin 2004; Holladay 1992; 1997; Ji 1997; Kempinksi and Reich 1992; Netzer 1992; Shiloh 1970; 1987). The first two terms refer to the two major subtypes of the Iron Age domestic structure, and each of the latter terms includes both of the former. This kind of dwelling was first associated with the Israelites, based on the numerous examples that have been found inside the geographical areas (at least by the eighth century b.c.e.) identified with Israel and Judah (cf. Shiloh 1970; G. E. Wright 1978; Beit-Arieh 1973; Herzog 1984). While these structures are prevalent in this geographical area—indeed they appear to be the standard—they are not exclusive to it, and examples are known from outside ancient Israel’s and Judah’s borders. Examples are known from the coastal plain (e.g., Tel Seraª, Tel Qasile, and Timnah/Tell Batashi; see Oren 1978: 1064; A. Mazar 1980: 74; and Kelm and Mazar 1979: 243, 1982: 27–31; respectively) and Transjordan (e.g., Tell el-ºUmeiri, Sahab, and Tell es-Saªidiyeh; see Herr 1997; Ibrahim 1975: 74–75, fig. 3; and Pritchard 1985; respectively). For this reason, the term Palestinian dwelling began to appear. Architectural Plan The pillared dwelling is well known archaeologically. Y. Shiloh reports more than 155 examples in excavations prior to 1987 (Shiloh 1987: 3), and the number has now increased greatly. Excavations revealed an astonishingly uniform dwelling that normally comprised a rectangular or rectilinear compound divided into a long broad room or rooms set across the compound’s rear and two or three long, narrow rooms/chambers that extended through the remainder of the space perpendicular to the broad room(s) (see fig. 2.1). The long rooms are often divided by 2–4 evenly spaced pillars, and one of these rooms may serve as an open courtyard (more on this below). In the four-room version of the house, entrance to the compound was through a doorway normally placed in the short wall opposite the broad room(s) and aligned with the central long room. In the three-room version, the entryway was usually in the wider of the two long rooms. The size of the compound generally ranged from 35 to 80 m2, and in some examples was more than 100 m2. The median, however, is around 40 to 50 m2 (see Pritchard 1985: 30–31). The dwelling, in this form, became the standard house type for much of the southern Levant during the entire 600 years of the Iron Age,

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surviving the dramatic demographic and sociopolitical changes and the various reorganizations thought to have taken place during this time (see Joffe 2002; Portugali 1994). This longevity and durability attest to the success with which the dwelling’s plan and features continued to meet the needs of the inhabitants of the southern Levant throughout the Iron Age, both functionally and ideologically. These needs are best understood if we briefly review the history of this dwelling type along with its construction and features. Origins The origins of the pillared dwelling are not well understood. Because it is quite different in layout from the common “courtyard house” largely used by the Canaanite populations of the preceding Late Bronze Age (see Daviau 1990; 1993; Oren 1984; 1992), earlier scholars attempted to find its origins outside Judah and Israel proper. Early examples of the dwelling from the eleventh century b.c.e. discovered at Tell Qasile (A. Mazar 1980: 74– 77), Tel Batash (Kelm and Mazar 1985; 1995), and Tel Seraª (Oren 1978: 1064)—all sites that were within the traditional borders of Philistia—were cited as evidence by Oren that the dwelling was introduced into the southern Levant by the Philistines (Oren 1978: 1064). G. E. Wright saw the dwelling as a north-Israelite-type house only and thus assumed that it was probably introduced by the Phoenicians and subsequently borrowed by the Israelites during early Iron II (G. E. Wright 1978: 154; cf. G. R. H. Wright 1985; see El-Khoury 1975). By comparing the pillared dwelling with architectural forms from Lebanon, Syria, and Anatolia, Frank Braemer also sought origins to the north (Braemer 1982). The most current data, however, point to an indigenous origin. The earliest known examples of the pillared dwelling date to the twelfth century b.c.e. and are found in the Hill Country north and west of Jerusalem (e.g., ºIzbet Sartah; Finkelstein 1988) and in the Negev Desert (e.g., Tel Masos; Fritz and Kempinksi 1983). Their appearance in these areas coincides with the new and rapid settlement that occurred there. In the beginning, they appear to have been isolated or in small clusters in an area largely uninhabited by sedentary populations prior to this time. Their sudden appearance was probably related to several innovations or the adoption of new land-use strategies that allowed the exploitation of the previously inhospitable highlands and semiarid desert (see Hopkins 1985: 171–278). The most important of these innovations included clearing the hillsides for large-scale terracing of the Hill Country, coupled with a great increase in underground food and water storage facilities. The latter was made possible by harder tools (high-quality bronze and possibly some iron) and the use of waterproofing plaster. Both innovations are well attested in the archaeological record and dramatically changed the carrying capacity of the land from the northern Hill Country to the Negev Desert, resulting in a quick settlement of the land (in general, see Hopkins 1985; Stager 1985a). The rapidity of settlement of the Hill Country and semidesert environs, along with the positioning of the pillared dwellings in settlements approximating circular or semicircular clusters led a number of scholars to identify their inhabitants as settling pastoral nomads (early or proto-Israelites? Fritz 1977: 60–64; Fritz and Kempinski 1983: 34–38; Herzog 1984: 76; 1994; Finkelstein 1988; 1994; Finkelstein and Naªaman 1994). To these scholars, the newly settled folk were locating their houses as they once had placed their tents: in a

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circular encampment that protected both humans and livestock. Therefore, they believed that the origin of the domestic dwelling should be sought in the tents, booths, and/or huts of the pastoral nomads. For other scholars, however, the origins have a different source. Some see no reason to look for the dwelling’s origins in a nomadic tent or booth. They see the new highland and desert settlements as the culmination of the efforts of people from the lowland Canaanite urban centers, perhaps displaced peasants in search of an autonomy of sorts (see, e.g., Mendenhall 1973; Gottwald 1979). Netzer’s view that the pillared dwelling grew out of Canaanite antecedents that included a simple broad room and a courtyard supports this idea (Netzer 1992: 195; cf. Stager 1985a: 17). Additional support includes the presence of a material culture at the majority of Iron I sites that is well integrated into Canaanite culture (Kempinski 1978; Mayes 1997: 61). Shiloh also associates the origins with an urban phenomenon. He understands it as developing locally in conjunction with the casemate fortification systems (Shiloh 1987; also N. L. Lapp 1976). While this is plausible, it needs further confirmation. Perhaps the Iron I fortresses of the Transjordan highlands in the Madaba region will provide important support for Shiloh’s theory (see Herr 1997). An excellently preserved example of a four-room house was discovered at Tell el-ºUmeiri and dated by the excavators to shortly after 1200 b.c.e. (Herr and Clark 2001). While none of these stances can claim a consensus at present, it now seems likely that the pillared dwelling was indigenous to the area of the southern Levant, proliferating in the small but spatially liberal Iron I settlements of the Hill Country and Negev Desert, where its inhabitants exploited a previously unsettled environment. The success of the settlers is attested by the ever-increasing size and number of the settlements. This success is paralleled by the success of the pillared dwelling, which rapidly become the dominant domestic structure for much of the region, especially in the geographical areas that later became associated with the small Iron II states of Israel and Judah. While many settlements were abandoned at the end of Iron Age I (early–mid-tenth century b.c.e.), especially in the more marginal areas of the Hill Country (e.g., Ai, Izbeth Sartah, and Ebal) and in the Negev (e.g. Masos, Malhata), others grew into the more centralized and larger fortified villages, towns, cities, and fortresses of Iron II (tenth–sixth centuries b.c.e.). Evidence for planning varies widely between settlements. A number of elements have been identified as components of settlement planning during Iron Age II, including administrative complexes, city walls, water retrieval and storage systems, large food-storage facilities, houses forming a perimeter around settlements, “blocks” of buildings, and internal ring-roads adjacent to the wall or separated from it by a bank of buildings (Barkay 1992: 329–30; Herzog 1992; 1997; A. Mazar 1990: 463–65; Shiloh 1970; 1978). More recently, other elements have been added, including cosmological considerations (to be discussed below) for the orientation of doorways and gates (Faust 2001) and the maintenance of guaranteed, free and quick access to city walls via alleys or corridors strategically located between buildings that linked the city wall to an inner ring-road aiding the defense capabilities of the settlement (Faust 2002: 300–312). Where there was access to the wall, it is possible the city/town authorities may have used casemate rooms to station stores for defense or for maintaining the settlement during times of peace (Faust 2002: 312).

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While some settlements were carefully planned (e.g., Beer Sheva and Tell es-Saªidiyeh; Aharoni 1973 and Pritchard 1985, respectively), others existed as rather complicated mazes of dead-ending alleyways and interior spaces (e.g., Tell en-Nasbeh and Tell Beit Mirsim; McCown 1947 and Albright 1943, respectively). However, in virtually every Iron II settlement of which the town plan is well known archaeologically, the dominant architectural form is the pillared dwelling. The dwellings generally form much of the perimeter of these settlements, with their rear room(s) (the broad rooms) integrated into the settlement’s primary fortification elements, often in the form of a casemate wall (see Shiloh 1987). In addition, dwellings are tightly clustered into the remaining interiors of the settlement along with other architectural features that consist mostly of variations on the pillared dwelling type (Aharoni 1978: 198–268). As stated by G. R. H. Wright (1985: 87), the pillared dwelling is adapted to cramped and irregular urban development by addition and excision but in many, many instances it is found entire and true to type. It is equally congruous as a single unit, isolated building or as one of a row of adjoining “terrace” houses. In this latter aspect it is an important concomitant of town planning development, it goes with a regular street frontage—and it can well be backed against the city wall.

However, in both well-planned and irregular, amalgamated settlements, the oft-present peripheral ring of dwellings as well as the more interior houses are often clustered into smaller groups, districts, or quarters—possibly representing extended families (see Shiloh 1980; Stager 1985a: 18). The dwelling’s protracted use from the spatially liberal Iron I settlements to the crowded, fortified, and spatially restricted villages, towns, and cities of Iron II suggests that it continued to meet the inhabitants’ needs in spite of changing settlement patterns and sociopolitical transformations throughout this period. We can identify what these needs were by analyzing the dwelling’s construction and components. Construction The dwellings were constructed primarily of sun-dried mud brick laid upon stone foundations. Foundations were built of at least one course of small boulder and cobble fieldstones, but as many as six courses are common and even more are known. Exterior walls almost always were two stones wide (approximately 0.5–1 m), and this is usually the case for interior walls, but walls one stone wide (approximately 0.25–0.75 m) are also known. Upon these stone foundations, mud bricks were laid to the desired height and covered with a mud-chaff plaster on both interior and exterior surfaces (Holladay 1992: 309; Reich 1992a). Although the broad rooms across the rear of the compounds were completely enclosed by solid walls, the long rooms were often separated from one another by a row or rows of evenly spaced pillars (one row in the “three-room” houses; one or two rows in the “fourroom” houses; see figs. 2.1 and 3.1). These were placed on or into the floor or built into stylobates beneath the floor. The use of pillars allowed for shared air space and visibility between the two separated rooms/chambers (Holladay 1992: 309; Reich 1992b) and facilitated communication between rooms, while simultaneously allowing the space to be spanned by a roof of some type. Construction techniques and materials used for the pillars varied regionally, often depending on the availability of building materials. Pillars were often made

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of single pieces of square or rectangular-shaped limestone standing over one meter high (width = approximately 0.25–0.75 m). Both roughly shaped and finely dressed examples are known. More often, however, roughly squared or rounded limestone or chert “drums” measuring approximately 0.5 m in diameter and 0.45 m in height were stacked to the desired height—which ranged from 1 to 2 m. Less often, drums of mud brick were used. The latter appeared on the coastal plain, in the Jordan Valley, and in other areas where stone building materials were not readily available. Limestone bases that supported wooden pillars are also attested archaeologically. Other wall types that survive archaeologically include small, nonstructural walls that were sometimes built between pillars or between an exterior wall and a pillar that further compartmentalized the space. These “curtain” walls were usually one stone wide and varied in height from less than one meter to ceiling height. The known ceiling heights for dwellings are generally low, and while the roofs that covered them are not well known archaeologically, some information is available. At Ai, pillars supported ceiling beams that were 1.6 m above the floor (Callaway 1976; 1993: 45). A row of capped pillars was preserved at Tell en-Nasbeh that rose to a height of 1.10 m above the floor (McCown 1947: 213). ªAtar Haroªa yielded similar examples, with an average height of ca. 1.8–2 m above the floors (Cohen 1970: 11), and Tel Masos yielded examples that were 2 m above the floors (Fritz and Kempinski 1983: 25). The roofs covering the ceilings were built on stone or timber lintels and beams. These timbers were covered in turn by smaller beams (slats, poles, reeds, rushes, etc.) that were heavily plastered with a straw and mud material and, at least at Shechem, surfaced with several layers of floor plaster (G. E. Wright 1965: 161, figs. 76–80; 1978: 153). Roof rollers were used to maintain roof compaction and to spread newer layers of mud and plaster. Albright gives dimensions of four rollers excavated at Tell Beit Mirsim (Albright 1943: 51–52). Roofing material also has been identified at Tell es-Sa’idiyeh and Tell en-Nasbeh (Pritchard 1985: fig. 95; Zorn 1993: 131). The Shechem evidence suggests that a second floor covered at least part of the compound, as does the Tell en-Nasbeh material, where restorable ceramics were found above ceiling material (Zorn 1993). Additional support exists in the presence of staircases and in the high load-bearing capacity of walls and pillars that could easily carry additional stories. These phenomena are further addressed below along with an attempt to determine which of the rooms in the compound actually were roofed. But first, the layout of the ground-floor rooms needs to be detailed. Components The Broad Room The broad room set across the rear of the compound was frequently divided, usually unevenly, into at least two rooms. It could range in length from less than 1 m up to 6–8 m. Its width generally was quite narrow as demonstrated by Braemer (1982). His analysis of 44 houses from the southern Levant yields a median width of ca. 1.9 m (Braemer 1982: part 2). However, many examples measure only a little more than one meter (e.g., the 1.2 m width for four houses of the “Western Quarter” at Tel Beer Sheva; see Aharoni 1973: pl. 94). During the Iron II period, the broad room was often incorporated into the settlement’s

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Figure 3.1. Hypothesized reconstruction of pillared dwellings in the northern excavation areas of Tell Halif’s Field IV.

defense system as part of a casemate wall. In houses built near the exterior boundaries of settlements, the thickened back wall of the house served double duty as the outer wall of the fortification system, while its inner and connecting walls solidified and strengthened the fortification (see Shiloh 1987). Additionally, the roof of the broad room provided an excellent platform from which to defend the city during times of attack or siege. The function of the broad room is debated. While the smaller of these rooms probably served as a storage facility or in some related domestic activity, traditional wisdom holds that the larger of these broad rooms served as the main living quarters where activities such as sleeping, eating, and entertaining guests took place (e.g., Shiloh 1970: 186; 1973; G. E. Wright 1978; Herzog 1984: 76). This assumption is based on the preserved remains of ancient dwellings where this space impresses one as the most suitable for undertaking activities associated with a living room. Furthermore, typical floor preparation in broad rooms generally supports this assumption, because floors were often well prepared, whether with hard-packed earth, dried mud, plaster, or a packed layer of small cobbles. However, scholars recently have questioned this supposition; the general narrowness of broad rooms, their

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close proximity to stables and industrial/economic areas, and the belief that most of the living quarters were located on a second floor have raised doubts (cf. Stager 1985a; Holladay 1992; 1997). A large bin (grain storage?) found partially preserved in a large broad room at Shechem (G. E. Wright 1965: fig. 76) suggests that storage also took place in the larger broad rooms, and a reevaluation of these areas may be necessary. The Long Rooms Adjacent to the broad rooms, the remainder of the space in the pillared dwelling compound was occupied by two or three long rooms—that is, two side rooms that paralleled a central space (courtyard? see figs. 2.1 and 3.1). In the “three-room” versions of the pillared dwelling, one of the two long rooms appears to have functioned similarly to the central room in the “four-room” version. Space in the side rooms was often subdivided by secondary walls. These rooms most likely were covered by a low roof as described above, and possibly also carried a second floor. Space between the walls and the pillars could easily have been spanned, with the available resources, and probably these (available resources) were also important in determining the width of the room. The roof, or floor of a second story, would have sheltered the activities taking place below. The floor preparation and some of the installations discovered in these side rooms may shed light on the identification of these activities. While it is more common for side-room floors to consist of packed earth, many were paved, at least partially, with flagstones. These floors served usefully for domestic stables (Stager 1985a: 14). Flagstone floors provided a solid floor for heavy beasts, from which manure and bedding could be removed easily but that allowed urine to percolate down between the stones (G. E. Wright 1965: 158; Stager 1985a: 14). A stone-filled dry sump discovered beneath the flagstone floor in House 1727 at Shechem supports this conclusion (G. E. Wright 1978: 153). A number of these side rooms were divided into what appear to be stalls, and it is not uncommon to find mangers/troughs built into the stylobates of pillared walls (e.g., Tell es-Saªidiyeh, Houses 6 and 11 [J. B. Pritchard 1970: 272; 1985: figs. 75–77]; Lachish, House 6 [Tufnell 1953: pl. 24:5–6]; Hazor, Building 1, room 19 [Yadin et al. 1958: pl. 174]; and possibly Beer Sheva, Building 76, Room 78 [Beit-Arieh 1973: 34, pl. 15:2]). 5 The rooms meet most of the requirements of a domestic stable, including the stalling and folding of a small number of animals. One additional line of support for their use as stables includes similar examples of pillared domestic stables that are well attested in Palestine in later periods, particularly the courtyard houses of the Roman and Byzantine periods of the first to sixth centuries c.e. (see Hirschfeld 1995). Other scholars interpret the side rooms as work and storage areas, dismissing the stable interpretation altogether (see, e.g., Fritz and Kempinski 1983: 27; Herzog 1984: 77). Supporting their interpretation are the large quantities of storage jars often found in these rooms as well as loom weights, ovens, and various other installations. Certainly a multipleuse interpretation is required, since neither understanding is precluded by the evidence. 5. Pritchard interpreted the installations at Tell es-Saªidiyeh as shelves (Pritchard 1985: 32). In Building 76 at Beer Sheva, crude clay was found between two pillars near the remnant of a stone and mud installation, suggesting to the excavators the presence of a pottery kiln. In light of the above discussion, it also is possible that these may be the remains of a manger or trough. For more discussion on stables, see Holladay 1986; 1995.

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The Central Room More debate and conjecture have focused on the central room of the pillared dwelling than on any of its other rooms or features. This room, flanked on one or both sides by additional long rooms, normally consisted of a packed earthen floor and was frequently the room through which the compound was entered. Its width ranged normally from 2 to 4 m, and its length extended from the front wall of the compound to the front wall (interior wall) of the broad room (usually 4–10 m). While Braemer (1982) believes the central room functioned as the main living area of the dwelling, it more often has been interpreted as an open courtyard 6 (Shiloh 1970; 1973; Fritz and Kempinski 1983: 27; Herzog 1984: 77; G. E. Wright 1965: 161; 1978: 153; G. R. H. Wright 1985: 74). Items that regularly appeared in the central room include installations such as hearths (large and small—see House 1727 at Shechem; G. E. Wright 1965); ovens (tabuns), typically placed for easy access; various sorts of grinding installations (saddle querns, mortars, pestles); small installations sunk into floors and surrounded by small cobbles (probably serving to hold upright large jars with rounded or small bases, as seen in examples from Akroteri; Doumas 2003); and mud and cobble bins of various sizes, depths, and shapes. From this inventory, it is obvious that a number of activities were carried out in this central area, including food preparation, storage, and work activities—especially activities involved with household or family production and consumption. Many investigators believe the central room was unroofed—that is, open to permit the necessary light for activities as described above, as well as filtering into other rooms of the compound. An unroofed room would also have permitted air to circulate and smoke to escape from cooking and hearth installations. In spite of this, some scholars gravitate toward a reconstruction of the entire compound, including the central room, as being roofed (see fig. 3.2). L. Stager (1985a: 15), E. Netzer (1992: 196), and J. Holladay (1992: 314–17; 1997) each arrived independently at this conclusion. Stager outlines five reasons why he believes the central room was covered: (1) During the cold and rainy winter, the earthen courtyard would have been unusable (cf. Pritchard 1985: 30). (2) More than half the house would have been open to the air, leaving insufficient roofed space per individual for even a small nuclear family (see Naroll 1962; LeBlanc 1971). (3) The width of the pillars and stone piers of Iron I–II houses is sufficient to carry an upper story (cf. Netzer 1992: 198). (4) Stone stairs leading upward were preserved in dwellings at Tell Beit Mirsim (Albright 1943: 51), Tell en-Nasbeh (McCown 1947; Zorn 1993), Beer Sheva (Beit-Arieh 1973: 31), and Hazor (Yadin 1972: 184). (5) Structural factors best account for the regular spacing between rows of pillars and between pillars and walls. There is no reason why the intervening spaces could not have been spanned by either stone or timber joists to permit complete roofing of most house compounds (Stager 1985a: 15). Evidence that supports Stager’s reconstruction includes the partial remains of a timbered ceiling discovered in the courtyard of “House 1727” at Shechem (G. E. Wright 1965: 161). Additionally, a drainpipe was discovered that apparently funneled water from the roof (possibly parapeted) of a house at Taªanach (the “Drainpipe Structure”), down the interior 6. If side rooms indeed functioned as a domestic stable, the proximity of the central room to these areas would certainly have made life unpleasant in the olfactory sense.

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Figure 3.2. Possible reconstructions for the roof and/or second floor of the pillared dwelling.

face of a wall, through the courtyard, and into a cistern beneath the floor of the long room (P. W. Lapp 1967: 21–22). Netzer focuses on the architectural plan of the Iron Age house. He believes it would have been difficult to organize the layout of the second story without a floor covering the central space below (Netzer 1992: 197). Thus, he argues for a second story with an open courtyard above the central space of the first floor. The upper courtyard would have been connected to the lower central space by a staircase, allowing light into the rooms of the lower floor. Light could also have filtered into these areas through small, high windows and the entryway. These openings would also have allowed air circulation through the entire structure. Holladay’s views are similar to Stager’s (Holladay 1992; 1997). He believes the pillared dwelling was entirely roofed because this is the only way to meet the space requirements of a nuclear family. It also facilitates a separation of the “Living Domain” from the “Economic Domain” (Holladay 1992: 312). Using ethnographic work, primarily from Aliabad (Kramer 1979b; 1982a; 1982b) and Hasanabad (Watson 1979), Holladay (1992: 315–16) posits that

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the only way the pillared dwelling yields enough roofed living space for a four- to five-member nuclear family (needing 9 m2 per person, or a minimum of 21 m of total roofed space) is to basically double the square footage of the lower floor, because much of it was taken up in economic activities. Holladay demonstrates that much of the space on the lower floor was consumed with the economic necessities of stabling (including folding) and storage (food, animal feed, chaff/straw or fodder, mud brick and plastering tools, dung and other fuels, and seasonal furniture), thus leaving little or no room for the living area, where eating, sleeping, indoor work, and entertaining took place (Holladay 1992: 312–14). Holladay seems to imply that cooking may also have taken place in the upper story (1992: 309). Stager, Netzer, and Holladay make strong cases for the entire compound’s being roofed, and while this was undoubtedly the case for a number of houses, it may not have been the case for all. Other alternatives exist for the covering of the compounds. A central courtyard on the lower floor could have been open all the way to the roof of the second story. A clerestory-type roof that allowed light to filter into various rooms of the compound and allowed smoke to dissipate outwardly is also possible (cf. Pritchard 1985: 30). While no consensus has been reached on how much area was roofed, it seems certain that some of the activities undertaken within the pillared dwelling required a sturdy roof or an enclosed second floor or a combination of the two. This is supported by the staircases found at numerous sites, the thickness of structural walls, the sturdy nature of the pillars and walls, and the solid construction of the roof/ceiling of the first floor. Design Factors The Iron Age II pillared dwelling, as known archaeologically, was small in size, regardless of how the second floor was reconstructed. Shiloh deduced that this would mitigate against its occupation by any co-residence group larger than a nuclear family or a small extended family (approximately 4–8 individuals). In spite of its compact layout, it met the economic, domestic, and living needs of its inhabitants. The inhabitants practiced mixed agriculture and some animal husbandry, evidenced by the storage facilities and stabling areas of the first floor and the location of settlements near arable land (either valley bottoms or heavily terraced hillsides and slopes). This sort of diversification of subsistence strategies lessens risks in the case of crop failure, thus better ensuring the well-being of the family. It was probably the pillared dwelling’s ability to meet the needs of this subsistence strategy that largely shaped its form, plus the availability of building material, and its ability to be adapted to the typical settlements of Israel and Judah during the Iron Age II. This functional success of the pillared dwelling is documented well by Stager (1985a: 17) and Holladay (1992: 316). However, other factors may also have been important in shaping the pillared dwelling and its internal division of space. The pillared dwelling probably would have been just as functional after 586 b.c.e., following the destruction of Jerusalem, and after Judah was largely abandoned and then reoccupied (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003: 414). However, after six centuries of use, it virtually disappeared. Its disappearance cannot be explained by ecological change, so perhaps the pillared dwelling, with its internal divisions of space (its spatial syntax), in addition to meeting the functional needs of its inhabitants, also existed as a cultural phenomenon reflecting the

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cosmology, ideology, and/or the religion of ancient Judah, especially with regard to purity and impurity. Thus, the house, just as the household, was also fact and symbol. Ehud Netzer attributes this suggested connection of house form with religion/ideology first to M. Weinfeld (Netzer 1992: 199 n. 24). However, it was Shlomo Bunimovitz and Avraham Faust who developed and articulated the idea in an article entitled “Building Identity: The Four-Room House and the Israelite Mind” (2003; also Bunimovitz and Faust 2002). That the building’s shape and form went beyond mere function, they believe, is supported by the building’s appearance and disappearance with the rise and fall of ancient Israel (twelfth to early sixth centuries b.c.e.). They also point to its basic form, appearing in a variety of Iron Age II buildings, as serving the needs of both rural peasants and more-urban elites: from private dwellings, to fortresses, to other monumental buildings that served a variety of functions (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003: 411–15). They suggest that divisions of space and flow patterns within the pillared dwelling had social meaning based on possible contacts allowed between people within the dwelling—whether between inhabitants and strangers or among themselves (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003: 415). They suggest that the easy and direct access to each room in the house (all rooms can be accessed from the central long room/courtyard) reflected the “egalitarian ethos” (ideally speaking, based on the biblical texts) of Israelite society in the Iron Age and especially facilitated matters of privacy, seclusion, and purity if these were crucial in the conduct of daily life, as biblical texts suggest (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003: 415, 419). An “unclean” person could occupy the house with minimal contact with others, because flow patterns did not necessitate passing from room to room to room. This same lack of “depth” or “access hierarchy” is used by Bunimovitz and Faust to support the point regarding egalitarian ethos, because it “expresses a more egalitarian spirit than contemporaneous or previous house plans in ancient Israel, as well as in many contemporary ethnographic examples” (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003: 417). The house provides the material frame for nonverbally communicating not only the ideas expressed above but also any number of “canonical” and “indexical” messages (à la Blanton 1994: 8). 7 By living in the house, its inhabitants were made aware of taxonomic principles specific to their cultural system (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003: 417). While it can be assumed that many aspects of culture and world view are manifested in architecture, particularly in the built environment of the home, where families reside and members are made aware of their culture, it is still difficult to demonstrate an “archaeology of the mind” (attempts include Glassie 1975; Hodder 1982; 1986; and, with ethnicity, Kamp and Yoffee 1980). While I am somewhat skeptical of Bunimovitz’s and Faust’s symbolic interpretations, particularly with regard to matters of purity in the early Iron Age (see other skeptical comments by Bahat 2003: 555; E. Meyers 2003: 556; and Rainey 2003: 7. These terms are borrowed from Blanton and defined by Bunimovitz and Faust. Canonical refers to messages or symbols that communicate meaning to people participating in a common cultural system. In this case, canonical communication is primarily among the occupants of the dwelling, and its symbols lie primarily within the dwelling. Indexical refers to messages or symbols that are communicated from the occupants to people outside of the household and lie in the more public areas of the dwelling, where they communicate with outsiders (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003: 418).

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557), their attempts to move past functional aspects of the dwelling hopefully will lead to a better understanding of the archaeological household’s residents. Ethnographic data also suggest a cosmological significance for doorway orientation (see references in Faust 2001: 130, 140–41). Avraham Faust demonstrated a statistically significant preponderance of doorways oriented to the east—or better—oriented away from the west (Faust 2001: 133–34). Faust has also demonstrated the same cosmological orientation to the east, or away from the west, for religious architecture/shrines and gateways leading into cities, towns, and villages (Faust 2001). This statistical preponderance as well as the various topographic/geographical locations of cities, gates, and houses apparently militates against functional explanations for doorways not facing the west. This also fits biblical scholars’ understanding of an Israelite ego that faced the east (see Drinkard 1992a; 1992b; Malamat 1989: 67). Whether the pillared dwelling took its most characteristic form primarily because of functional considerations, constraints due to available building materials, or ideological/ cosmological reasons, it so successfully met the needs of its inhabitants that it became the standard dwelling type throughout much of the southern Levant for 600 years, surviving the settlement change from the small but spatially liberal villages of the Iron I to the larger but more cramped fortified villages, towns, and cities of the Iron II.

Sources of Data for Determining the Use of Domestic Space It is clear from the above discussions of the Iron II pillared dwelling and from the destruction strata in which many are well preserved (see excursus 1) why remains from southern Levantine sites provide such rich material that is so potentially useful in this study. Tells preserve an enormous wealth of data useful for reconstructing the archaeological household of the Iron II. Not only are the dwelling’s building/construction materials often fairly well preserved, but so also are many of the material remains used by the residents in performing daily activities. If it can be demonstrated that these remains are in or near the areas where they were commonly used, then these deposits should be useful for studying activity areas associated with the archaeological household. This should lead to an even better understanding of what occurred in the dwellings, how activities were carried out, and possibly, who performed the activities. The best way to determine this is to approach remains preserved in the destruction debris of Iron Age II pillared dwellings through a spatial analysis that focuses on the identification of patterns in the remains as described in the previous chapter. I have stated already that ceramic data are the focus of the present study. However, ceramics are not the only source considered when one attempts to determine the activities taking place in the pillared dwelling. It is important to note this because a number of daily activities performed by members of the archaeological household in the pillared dwelling are not represented by the ceramic repertoire. For this reason, additional data sources are used to test and supplement the conclusions reached using the ceramics preserved in the de facto refuse of the F7 Dwelling. This approach was anticipated by Henrickson and McDonald (1983: 64) when they stated that information “on the possible usages of intact and restored vessels, especially when combined with functional and distributional data on other

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classes of artifacts, features, architecture, and floral and faunal remains can lead archaeologists to new insights into ancient subsistence systems and intrasettlement activity.” Some of the same sources of data mentioned by them are used to supplement the ceramic-based interpretations of space presented here. These include especially nonportable artifacts such as architectural features and installations but also portable artifacts and refuse including lithics, shells, metals, some floral data, and fauna. 8 However, perhaps the most promising comparative data sets for interpreting space come from microartifacts collected from the living floors of the F7 Dwelling, and those are considered here first. Nonceramic Data Arlene Rosen collected and analyzed the microartifacts from all living floors and surfaces in Field IV at Tell Halif during the 1992 and 1993 field seasons. Microartifacts as primary refuse are characterized by Rosen as archaeological remains that are 0.25–30 mm in size, that accumulate on floors, and that are often small enough to have avoided being moved from their point of production or use. The samples collected from living floors consisted of roughly 2 cm of accumulated surface debris taken from an area 25 cm in diameter. Multiple samples were taken from each floor, sieved through graduated screens for size separation, and then analyzed microscopically. Types of artifacts recovered from the F7 Dwelling include fish bone, large animal bone, cereal, legume, eggshell, grape pit, beach rock mortar fragment, flint debitage, greenish slag, red ochre, and burned debris. Where formation processes can be ruled out as significant sources of patterning, through either the addition of new materials and patterns or the depletion of primary refuse and patterns, these samples are very telling about the use of space (see Rosen 1989; 1991). Based on her analysis of the microartifacts, Rosen interpreted the space in the F7 Dwelling quite specifically. It is interesting to compare her interpretations of the use of space based on the microartifactual data with interpretations based on the ceramic vessels and other, larger artifacts to determine their correlations. It is important to note that the microartifact samples were removed from the build-up of materials that occurs on floors or that results from materials’ being pressed into the floors over time. As such, they yield a more diachronic view of the activities taking place in domestic areas than the artifacts preserved as de facto refuse on and above the living floors. Because these microartifacts accumulate over an extended period of time, they aid in ferreting out activities that should be associated with settlement destruction and that may not be typical of daily activities. Additionally, they can be useful in determining what type of depletions of the de facto refuse may have taken place. Rosen’s study of the microartifacts from Field IV is of great importance for the conclusions reached here regarding the use of space. Other artifacts that are helpful in reconstructing activities and the use of space include especially the more stationary, nonportable artifacts. These include from Field IV, stone8. The report containing an analysis of the Field IV faunal material has not been submitted at this time and thus was not available for use in the present research. However, where bone tools and food remains are known to exist and their identification and provenience can be established via field notes, they are used here to supplement the other sources of data. Additionally, through personal communication, I have confirmed the presence of some animal species.

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lined bins, circular stone platforms, small stone–lined pits, mortars sunk into floors, massive saddle querns, clay and pebble installations and pavements, “benches,” ovens, hearths, and thresholds. Because these artifacts or features are not normally moved about in the performance of activities, it is usually safe to infer when dealing with destruction levels that these features rest in the places where they were used in the behavioral context. However, these artifacts also must be analyzed for the effects of formation processes in various contexts. In addition to the nonportable artifacts, a host of movable artifacts also is available for the study of domestic space and household activities. Lithic artifacts include grinding implements, small fragments of minerals, pumice, blades, debitage, scale weights, items of personal adornment, spindle whorls and other perforated stones, and stones associated with cultic activity (e.g., “standing stones”). Metals include weapons (arrow and spear points and knives); slag; items of personal adornment; and tools such as axes, needles, and iron plowshares (presumably in storage). A number of bone tools have also been excavated, including “button-shaped” objects, awls/needles, and weaving shuttles. Additional artifacts include shells (some perforated), floral remains, and clay artifacts, in addition to ceramic vessels and stands of various types. These include stoppers, spindle whorls, figurines, bullae, and loom weights. All of the materials outlined above are considered when I attempt to determine the activities that took place in the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif. If it can be established that many of these artifacts were in the context where they were used and/or stored immediately before the destruction of the settlement, then taken together, the group possesses great potential for identifying the activities performed in specific areas of the dwelling. This is especially the case when the above data are used in combination with ceramic data. Ceramic Data Ceramics are one of the most common classes of artifact preserved in the archaeological record. They are also one of the best data sources used by archaeologists for drawing conclusions about the past. 9 This is due (in addition to their abundance in the archaeological record) to their common use by past peoples virtually everywhere, their durability over time, and their highly variable nature through time and space. Many culturally determined choices are made when ceramics are produced, including choices of form, style, distribution, and function in a behavioral system. These characteristics make them especially useful for understanding various aspects of organization in society. For these reasons, ceramics are used here as the primary source of data for studying, identifying, and explaining activities and variability at the level of the archaeological household. 10 Using Ceramics Ceramics first appeared as a common class of tools during the very late Pleistocene and early Holocene periods (ca. 12,000–10,000 years ago), when many human populations 9. For general discussion of the use of ceramics in archaeology, see Hally 1983; Kingery 1960; Rice 1987; Sinopoli 1991; Skibo 1999. 10. The ceramic material from excavations in Field IV was generously offered to me for study by the Phase III field directors of the Lahav Research Project. For this offer, I am indebted and deeply appreciative.

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made the transition from nomadic to more sedentary lifestyles (see Rice 1999: 1, 14–21). Their use subsequently spread rapidly, as they were adopted throughout many areas of the world for numerous tasks. Ceramics items (as well as clay) are suitable for a number of activities. These notably include food preparation and serving, storage, weaving, light transport of goods, and cultic and/or ritual rites. Ceramics, especially utilitarian forms, are also inexpensive to produce, and the level of technology required to create basic functional items need not be very sophisticated. Once it was learned that moist, soft, malleable clay could be molded into useful shapes and that drying and heating made it hard, the production of ceramics as a utilitarian resource flourished. These characteristics insured the common use of ceramics for millennia, and its durability in the archaeological record through long periods of time has insured its common use by archaeologists. Although ceramic items were extremely common in the past, vessels existing as whole forms in the archaeological record are rare. Yet the fragments, or sherds, produced upon their breakage are highly stable and endure for long periods of time. Just how stable and durable varies based on, but not limited to, the nature of the vessel’s production, its use, and the circumstances under which it leaves the behavioral context and enters site and/or archaeological contexts. Production factors that affect the stability of the ceramic piece through time include the composition of the paste, techniques of firing (temperatures reached and maintained and the length of total firing), the thickness and shape of the vessel, and the type of inclusions used to temper vessel paste (more complete discussion in Schiffer 1987: 158–62). A vessel’s intended use can also affect its durability in both behavioral and site contexts. Ethnographic research demonstrates that larger, less movable vessels last longer than do smaller sized vessels in the behavioral context (Longacre 1981; 1985; Longacre, Skibo, and Stark 1993: 7; also see David 1972; David and Hennig 1972; DeBoer 1974; DeBoer and Lathrap 1979; Foster 1960; 1967; Longacre 1985). However, large vessels, and smaller ones for that matter, used in the storage of acidic liquids such as wine, or used in the production processes associated with it (for example, fermentation) commonly exhibit heavily pitted, worn interior surfaces. However, it is still true that smaller vessels are more likely to break, because they are more often moved about and are used in different activities from larger vessels. Cooking pots are a good example of smaller, more portable vessels and are one of the least durable classes of ceramic vessels functioning in a behavioral context (Longacre 1981). This is due to their frequent use, movement, and exposure to thermal shock associated with heating and cooling because they are constantly placed on and removed from heating sources (Grimshaw 1971; Kingery 1955). To make vessels less susceptible to thermal shock, vessel thickness and shape are manipulated (Brody 1979; Sinopoli 1991: 14). Additionally, clays with larger pore size and greater porosity are chosen and/or tempers are often added that make the vessel paste more resistant to the strain and breakage caused by the expansion and contraction of particles during vessel heating and cooling (C. J. Arnold 1981: 24; Rice 1987: 367–68; Rye 1976: 118; Sinopoli 1991: 14). However, while these measures increase the life of cooking pots in the behavioral context, they also may decrease the ceramic’s durability once it enters site context. Of all vessels excavated, reconstructed, and analyzed from Tell Halif’s Field IV Stratum VIB, cooking pots were the most poorly preserved and were commonly found in a very friable state.

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Other factors also affect ceramic durability in the archaeological record, sometimes dramatically. Many of these factors are not inherent to the ceramic itself but result from its interaction with the environment upon entering the archaeological record (site context). These may include the relative dryness and wetness of surrounding soils, soil pH, and/or the ceramic’s exposure to freezing and thawing cycles or to leaching materials such as limestone (Murphy 1981; Rye 1981: 120; Schiffer 1987: 159; van der Leeuw 1984; van der Leeuw and Pritchard 1984; West 1970: 107–9). While there are many additional factors that affect the degree to which ceramic pieces are preserved, the fact remains that they continue to be one of the most stable and durable artifacts preserved in the archaeological record and one of the most useful for archaeological analysis and interpretation. Although commonness and durability contribute significantly as reasons that archaeologists widely employ ceramics to study the past, it is doubtful this would be the case if not for their highly variable nature. Variability in ceramics most often and most significantly manifests itself in the style and the form of vessels (Skibo, Schiffer, and Kowalski 1989; Rice 1987: 244–72). Style and form are determined by available raw materials (clays, tempers, resources for firing), levels of technology, manufacturing and decorative techniques (directly related to the first two), organization of the production processes, the intended function of the product, normative ideas, and cultural fashions and beliefs (Henrickson and McDonald 1983; Rice 1987: 236–72; Schiffer and Skibo 1997; Skibo, Schiffer, and Kowalski 1989). Variability in these factors is easily observable through time and space, thus rendering ceramics an excellent data source for studying various components of society at specific times and in specific places. While ceramic vessels may vary substantially over large geographic areas, they also may share common traits in style and form. An example is the shell-tempered pottery ranging throughout the entire Mississippi River Valley during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries c.e. (Morse and Morse 1983: 208–304). In this broader context of shell-tempered pottery fabrics, ceramics may vary dramatically based on stylistic criteria such as decorative techniques and vessel shape. Other factors may cause vessels to vary across the floor of a single room. These would include vessel classes or forms based on functional attributes. Early attempts by archaeologists to make ceramic styles and forms meaningful used observable differences and similarities in ceramics to create classificatory schemes (e.g., style, form, absence/presence of vessels in various places). Schemes of this sort were used as the basis for defining cultures (Willey and Sabloff 1973: 42–77; Trigger 1989: 73–108). Later archaeologists attempted to derive meaning from ceramics by making connections between style and social organization (Deetz 1965; J. N. Hill 1970; Longacre 1970; Whallon 1968). 11 At the same time, more concern with context, function and, finally, explanation pervaded archaeological analyses, especially archaeology associated with processual approaches. As more attention was given to context, more efforts were made to determine how ceramics functioned in behavioral systems. While intuitive explanations of vessel use always have been a part of archaeological research, only in the last several decades have explicit models been developed to address vessel function. Most of these rely on ethnographic observations and experimental studies. These have greatly increased the power of 11. For recent critique of their methods, see works cited in Skibo, Schiffer, and Kowalski 1989.

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our inferential strategies for interpreting the use of ceramics and also for identification of the activity areas where they functioned. Ceramics are used here to identify activity areas in the F7 Dwellings occupied by the archaeological household. However, they can only be used in this manner if one can establish how different classes of vessels functioned and in what type of activities they were used. Determining Vessel Function A number of methods are available and quite productive for determining vessel function. Some of the methods employed here include analysis of vessel shape and form, of use/ wear, of chemical residue, and of raw materials; direct examination of vessel surfaces and other diagnostic features for evidences of uses; study of manufacturing methods; and research of ethnographic data. Studying the shape of a vessel yields many clues about its intended use. Sinopoli pointed out that numerous factors “such as the size of the opening, ease of access to a vessel’s contents, volume (and weight when full), location of the center of gravity, and vessel stability all seem to be partially determined by the intended function of the vessel” (Sinopoli 1991: 84). Much ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological research investigates the manufacturing and distribution of ceramic vessels (e.g., Annis 1985; Birmingham 1975; Howard and Morris 1981; Nicholson and Patterson 1985; Stark 1985; van der Leeuw and Pritchard 1984), but a number of ethnographic studies of ceramic vessels are functionally oriented (e.g., Ericson, Read, and Burke 1972; Henrickson and McDonald 1983; Linton 1944; Matson 1974; M. F. Smith 1983; 1985; Solheim 1965; R. H. Thompson 1958). Although ceramic style and form vary considerably through time and space, crosscultural ethnographic observations show some pronounced regularities in ceramic vessels through time and space (e.g., Henrickson and McDonald 1983; M. F. Smith 1985). A number of studies have demonstrated that specific features are commonly associated with certain classes of functional vessels (e.g., Birmingham 1967; Ericson, Read, and Burke 1972; Fontana et al. 1962; Henrickson and McDonald 1983). Henrickson and McDonald’s work (1983) especially is demonstrative of observable and patterned regularities in vessel attributes according to function. They described a number of fundamental characteristics in different classes of functional vessels that occur regularly among the ceramics of a great number of peoples observed ethnographically. Their research, which involved cross-cultural studies, found many regularities in cooking pots, serving and eating vessels, dry-storage vessels, liquid-storage vessels, and water-transport vessels. Cooking pots most often are short and squat and relatively thick-walled. They have large basal surfaces for efficient heat transfer and somewhat restricted mouths to prevent rapid evaporation from boiling foods. Serving and eating vessels include a number of different bowls and platters that vary by size based on their use by an individual or by families. They also vary in form, based on the function of the bowl (for drinking, for dipping out sauces, etc.). Variation in wall slope, bowl thickness and depth, and rim design are common. Dry-storage vessels tend to be unusually tall and, proportionately, rather thin-walled, with rolled over or everted rims to facilitate the tying of a pliable cover over the opening to protect the contents. They often include appendages such as handles for tilting or tying off lid covers.

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Liquid-storage vessels show greater morphological variation than other functional categories of vessels but are typically so large that they are immobile when full. They are usually taller and thinner than dry-storage vessels, and their necks are generally more restricted but not as much as one might predict (Henrickson and McDonald 1983: 633; contra Ericson, Read, and Burke 1972). Rims typically are rounded or everted, presumably to aid in pouring and perhaps in plugging of the vessel mouth. Other predictable features in liquid-storage vessels include rounded bottoms to aid in tipping and pouring, as well as spouts, handles, and lugs. However, these latter features are not as common as one might expect. Water-transport vessels and canteens are often globular or bi-globular-shaped, and small orifices are universal (Henrickson and McDonald 1983: 631–34). Information of this type is vital for understanding the general functional categories of vessels. However, not all vessels are ideally suited to their intended use, so shape may also vary in unpredictable ways. Vessel shape may be determined by normative ideas, fashions, and the technology of ceramic production (Sinopoli 1991: 84), and vessels may come to be used in ways other than intended when they were originally designed. Thus, additional methods for determining vessel function are necessary to supplement general ethnographic observations. Toward this end, analytical techniques developed in the “hard sciences” and the analysis of vessel wear patterns are useful. Analytical techniques are improving and becoming increasingly helpful in determining vessel function. Chemical analyses such as liquid and gas chromatography for extracting and identifying residues absorbed into the fabric of ceramic vessels during their use can help to establish the identity of materials stored or placed in them (Badler, McGovern, and Michel 1990; Hally 1986; McGovern 1990; McGovern and Michel 1996; Skibo 1994). This type of analysis was performed in a limited way on some of the ceramics from the F7 Dwelling with some success. Selected vessels were tested for identifiable residues using Fourier-transform, diffuse-reflectance infrared spectrometry, high-performance liquid chromatography, and wet chemical techniques by Patrick McGovern at the Museum of Applied Science and Center for Archaeology, University of Pennsylvania. These processes successfully extracted and identified fatty acids trapped beneath the interior surface of ceramic vessels, leading to the successful identification of residues and thus of the substances once held in the vessel (more on this in chap. 5). Additionally, the direct examination of vessels and their constituent parts for the raw materials used in their construction helps us better to understand vessel function. Some specific types of tempers may be added to enhance a ceramic vessel’s performance characteristics relative to certain types of activities. For example, large bits of limestone and/ or shell added to cooking pots make them less susceptible to the ravages of thermal shock (Mills 1984). Clays with very small particle size may be employed in vessels for liquid storage to curtail the loss of the liquid through seepage or evaporation. Similarly, burnishing or slipping the inside and/or outside surfaces of vessels may enhance ceramic performance characteristics in similar ways, in addition to increasing the vessels’ aesthetics (see Schiffer 1990). Evidence of wear and abrasions (also referred to as attritional wear; Schiffer 1987: 48) on vessel surfaces can also be telling about vessel function (Schiffer and Skibo 1989; also Levi-Sala 1986). Heavily abraded interior surfaces of bowls may suggest grinding, whereas lighter abrasion may suggest normal wear through use in food consumption (e.g., stirring

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contents or dipping or rubbing food against the vessel’s side or rim). Heavily pitted, worn interior surfaces of jars may suggest their use for the storage of acidic liquids such as wine or beer. It may also imply that they were used during the fermentation process of liquids, and the relatively violent chemical changes accompanying this process may have eroded the vessels’ interior surfaces. Observation of exterior and interior wear on the bases of other classes of vessels may likewise explain their function. Exterior wear near the base of vessels may result from placement on a heat surface or on a stand of some type. Interior wear near the bottom of a jar with a large opening may indicate that a scoop was used to rub the bottom of the vessel as the last of its contents were removed. Relatedly, edge ware on the rim of a bowl may suggest its use as a scoop in this same activity. Edge wear on the rim of other classes of pottery vessels is also indicative of the way they were used. 12 Charred marks, though not a type of abrasion, fit into this category as well because they leave observable traces on the surface of ceramics. Charred marks observed at particular locations on vessels may signify their use as cooking pots, lamps, or other light sources or their use in the burning of aromatic matter. Through these observations and procedures, reasonable inferences can be made regarding the function of ceramic vessels. But it is equally important that the vessel’s context be well understood. Thus, it is important that ceramics be excavated and processed in a manner that yields the kind of spatial data important for addressing these reconstructions. As outlined in chap. 2, excavation of remains in the F7 Dwelling focused on preserving the spatial location of all find spots, with attention to their three-dimensional relationships to earth layers, floors, and other movable and nonportable artifacts. Recovering and Processing Ceramics The ceramics from the F7 Dwelling were excavated in the manner described at the end of the previous chapter. They were separated in the field from the other artifacts and collected in a pottery basket (literally, a plastic bucket) that was tagged with provenience information, including the individual pottery basket number and the locus number (Seger and Jacobs 1992). At the close of the day’s work (around noon), all pottery baskets were removed from excavation areas and filled with water so that the sherds could soak during the afternoon to loosen dirt from their surfaces. Around 5:00 p.m. of the same day, processing continued as sherds were inspected for signs of unstable pigmentation (paints, washes, inks, or other surface markings). These sherds with pigmentation (if any were present) were removed from the baskets, and the remaining sherds were washed with light brushes to remove the loosened dirt. All sherds were then placed together in a basket to dry. During this same time, pottery from the previous day was “field read” by the ceramicist along with the field staff of the excavation areas from which the sherds were excavated.

12. I have noted heavy abrasions on the rim of a fenestrated “stand” of a type that is often associated with cultic activities in the Iron Age II southern Levant (see pl. 4:7, in this vol., pp. 208–9). This suggests that another vessel or vessels were used with the stand or that the stand is in secondary use and was once taller. In the latter case (and more likely), the new rim of a shorter vessel was created by shaping/chipping and abrading or “sanding.”

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Field reading serves to determine the date of the ceramics and consequently the date of the locus yielding the ceramics. This is a particularly important step related to the study of formation processes for, at times, this field reading will alert the excavators to disturbances in debris and fill loci before they are recognized in the field. Disturbances become apparent when materials appear in the basket, usually in small quantities, that are recognized to date later than what is normal or expected for a locus. Once any later materials of this sort are recognized by the excavators, they can attempt to identify and delineate the cause(s) of the disturbance(s) leading to the contamination. Common disturbances leading to contamination include robber trenches, pits, root perturbation, rodent burrows, and similar intrusions. In Field IV, several disturbances of the F7 Dwelling were first identified through this pottery reading process, which aided the excavation teams in detecting and recording the presence and cause of the contaminating elements. Furthermore, during these washing and field reading processes, ceramics and other artifacts such as spindle whorls, ostraca, stoppers, and so on, that were not identified as objects in the field were separated from the pottery basket and entered into the object registry. Following these steps, all the ceramics were bagged, retagged according to pottery basket, and boxed for later shipment to the United States. At this juncture, our processes deviated from procedures previously followed by the Lahav Research Project. Normally, diagnostic sherds (rims, bases, decorated items, or other “special” sherds) were immediately registered (with Field, Area, and basket designations), drawn, and described. For this study, however, all ceramics were kept together in their pottery basket units and, in 1994, they were shipped to the Cobb Institute of Archaeology at Mississippi State University where analyses were completed. Upon arrival, all sherds were removed from the shipping crates and individually registered. This included labeling each sherd with provenience data (Field, Area, and Pottery Basket number, and an individual identification number), weighing the sherd individually, and entering it into the refitting system. In the refitting system, exhaustive attempts were made to associate all pottery sherds with restorable vessels. At this same time, samples were identified and selected as good candidates for residue analysis. Altogether from Stratum VIB, over 46,000 sherds weighing more than 1,000 kg entered the refitting system. (More detail regarding the refitting efforts is discussed immediately below.) Once all refitting efforts were completed, the ceramics were divided into two categories: (1) sherds that were refitted or associated with vessels, and (2) sherds that could not be refitted or otherwise associated with restorable vessels. The vessels and sherds of the first ceramic category clearly belong to the de facto assemblage that was abandoned in the F7 Dwelling (behavioral context) immediately prior to the destruction of the Stratum VIB settlement at Tell Halif. The sherds of the second ceramic category include the sherds that could not be directly associated with vessels of the restorable de facto assemblage. Some of them no doubt occur in a primary context (e.g., remaining on floors after being discarded or lost in or near their use location) while others derive from a secondary context (i.e., having been introduced into the debris of the F7 Dwelling through other processes). The two ceramic categories were to be analyzed differently, so every effort was made completely to separate sherds into their proper categories and thereby minimize the overlap between the two categories. To facilitate this separation, deliberate and exhaustive attention

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was given to the complete reconstruction of vessels belonging to the de facto assemblage. 13 It is nonetheless probable that some sherds placed in the second ceramic category in fact belong with the de facto assemblage, and it is also possible that some sherds that we associated with vessels and included in the first category belong in the second. However, due to the exhaustive reconstruction efforts and a most careful review of the related ceramic wares, we believe that these numbers are not significant and that few patterns (especially regarding vessel completeness) were introduced into the assemblage through processes associated with recovery, processing, and analysis (i.e., in the archaeological context). Analyzing Ceramics The de facto Assemblage The assemblage of restored vessels (the sherds of the first ceramic category) is part of the de facto assemblage preserved in the Stratum VIB destruction at Tell Halif. This was analyzed first. This category of ceramics is the primary data set used for reconstructing activities that took place in the F7 Dwelling. The questions addressed to these data were how the ceramic vessels came to be in the places they were when discovered by archaeologists and whether the patterns observed in their distributions and frequencies reflect everyday activities carried out by Iron II occupants. Other questions to be addressed to these data included: Why are some of the vessels only partially restorable? What other processes introduce patterns and variation into the distributions of the ceramic vessels? What behaviors and activities can be reconstructed from the locations and identifications of the vessels? How were these activities organized? The processing of the de facto ceramic assemblage focused on total vessel reconstruction. All sherds were spread out in the laboratory and placed next to their nearest neighbors based on the provenience information observed during excavation and recorded on each individual sherd. As sherds were associated with a vessel, the vessel was given an identification number, and all sherds associated with it were recorded on a “Vessel Identification Form.” Once the refitting process was completed, ceramic vessels were drawn and described (form, manufacture technique, paste color [interior and exterior, surface treatment] interior and exterior, inclusions/temper, firing, hardness, and observable surface wear; see Seger, chap. 5, in Dever and Lance 1978: 107–33). They were then weighed, and the total number of sherds was counted. Next, their find spots were plotted on a plan of the F7 Dwelling. Excavation records including field notes and especially field photographs were also used to establish the find spots of the vessels. However, the “Vessel Identification Form,” on which all sherds and therefore their provenience information were recorded, was of most help. Questions such as how far a vessel spread across a floor when it broke, how 13. Paul F. Jacobs of Mississippi State University almost single-handedly restored the entire ceramic assemblage recovered from the Stratum VIB excavations in Field IV during 1992, 1993, and 1999. Once Jacobs’s restoration efforts were completed, I reassociated all remaining sherds with their original pottery baskets. Before these sherds were separated into ware categories for analysis as part of the second sherd category, I went through each sherd in each basket, attempting once more to associate it (the sherd) with a restored vessel. This was done to make sure that as many sherds as possible belonging to the de facto assemblage were analyzed as part of the first ceramic category. This process began in 1995 and continued through 2002.

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many if any sherds actually came into contact with the floor(s), how much of the vessel was preserved and, relatedly, how the vessel was related to the disturbances of the destruction debris—all these questions could be addressed quite easily. These vessels were also grouped first into typological categories and then into functional categories. A corpus catalog was developed, largely based on conventions developed by Tufnell (1953) and Gitin (1990). This was developed to facilitate comparison of the Field IV ceramic vessels with vessels from other areas and fields at Tell Halif as well as at other sites in general. Attempts were made to include examples of all known vessels from Iron II sites, both temporally and spatially significant to the Tell Halif corpus. Once vessels were identified typologically, they were grouped into functional categories based on the criteria discussed earlier in this chapter and plotted as groups in the dwellings as described above. The corpus catalog appears in table 3.1. These classes of ceramic vessels are further grouped as follows: (1) storage jars with restricted necks; (2) pithoi with large, unrestricted orifices; (3) jugs, decanters, and amphoriskoi; (4) large, medium, and small bowls; (5) cooking jugs and pots; (6) lamps; (7) funnels; (8) strainers; and (9) stands. The percentages of each of these nine vessel types were tabulated for each room and dwelling. The Sherd Assemblage The second ceramic category, the sherd assemblage, while not used primarily in the identification of the activities taking place in domestic space at Tell Halif, is nonetheless very useful for understanding space as well as for discerning the processes that were active in the archaeological record of the Iron II Stratum VIB at Tell Halif. The analysis of these sherds is slightly different from the sherds identified as belonging to the de facto assemblage. Once reconstruction efforts in the laboratory were completed, the sherds remaining unassociated with vessels were reseparated into pottery baskets for further analysis. Diagnostic sherds were once again removed, drawn, and described in the same manner as the restorable vessels and then reassociated with the pottery basket. Next, both the diagnostic and body sherds were divided into 17 ware/form classes and counted and weighed by category (see below). Ware/form categories are based on traditional name/form designations common to Syria–Palestine, which report gross form categories based on function—so they are essentially functional divisions (Amiran 1969; Dessel 1991: 335; Rice 1987: 217, 288). The wares are then subdivided based on manufacture technique, shape, ware, and decoration (all visual techniques à la Franken 1982; 1986). Some of the ware categories overlap vessel types, because some pastes are used in the manufacture of more than one vessel type. Conversely, a number of ware categories are included in only one vessel form (e.g., there are 4–5 different wares common in storage jars). Furthermore, some categories represent sherds that were indeterminate or intrusive from later or earlier periods. However, great emphasis was placed on associating the sherds with functional types of vessels so that the sherd assemblage could be used as a companion assemblage to the first category of ceramics when I address spatial/functional issues. The ware/form categories appear in table 3.2. While the ware/form categories were separated by pottery basket, the sherds were analyzed by locus. The processes that introduced these sherds into the Iron II archaeological record were addressed within this broader context so that these sherds did not conflate numbers in subcontexts to which they did not belong (see Skibo, Schiffer, and Kowalski 1989).

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Household Archaeology in the Southern Levant Table 3.1: Vessel Type Categories Type

Storage Jars

Jugs

Decanters

Amphora Amphoriskoi Flasks Juglets

Class

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 (A, B) 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

Description

Ovoid-shaped Oval-shaped Hippo-shaped Lmlk-type Sausage (short neck or neckless) Sausage (cyma-shaped, short neck, knob rim) Pithos (large, ovoid-shaped, very wide mouth) Pithos (long, small, cylindrical, narrow mouth Pithos (short, small, cylindrical, wide mouth) Three-handled/spout (sup-like spout in place of 4th handle) Ovoid/oval-shaped Sack-shaped Bell-shaped Large Pithos Bag-shaped Ovoid (four handles) Ovoid (two handles) Miscellaneous A Miscellaneous B Globular-shaped (wide neck) Globular-shaped (narrow neck) Squat (mug-jug) Squat (medium neck) Sack-shaped Miscellaneous Globular shaped (A—large, B—small) Sack-shaped Miscellaneous Globular-shaped Miscellaneous Oval-shaped Miscellaneous Straight vertical neck; two handles Miscellaneous Dipper (wide neck) Dipper (narrow neck) Dipper (narrow neck, no shoulder) Piriform (wide neck) Piriform (narrow neck) Piriform (squat) Cypro-Phoenician Miscellaneous Miscellaneous (other) imported

Household Archaeology in the Southern Levant Table 3.1: Vessel Type Categories (cont.) Type

Bowls

Kraters

Mortaria Cooking Pots

Cooking Jars Lamps

Scoops Strainers Funnels Stands

Class

44 (A, B, C) 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 (A, B, C) 69 (A, B) 70 71 (A, B, C) 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 (A, B) 81 (A, B) 82 83

Description

Round-sided (deep, no handles) (A—large, B—medium, C—small) Round-sided (with handles) Round-sided (rim curved inwards) Straight-sided (deep) Straight-sided (medium depth) Straight-sided (shallow) Straight-sided (shallow/platter) Slight Carination Carination (large-medium bowls) Carination (small bowls) Sharp Carination (cyma-shaped) Bell-shaped Miscellaneous Miscellaneous Imported Waisted Amphora (vertical handles) Amphora (horizontal handles) Amphora (no handles) Carinated (slight) Carinated (sharp) Ovoid/oval-shaped Miscellaneous Miscellaneous Imported Mortaria Carinated (A—large, B—medium, C—small) Sharp carination at bottom (A—large, B—small) Globular Globular (A—large, B—medium, C—small) Sharp carination at bottom Shallow Rounded base Flat/footed base Pedestalled base Miniature Miscellaneous Scoops A—large “Bell,” B—small “Bell” A—large “Bell,” B—small “Bell” Usually short, nonfenestrated “Cultic” or fenestrated or decorated

67

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With regard to the presence of sherds belonging to this second ceramic assemblage in the sealed destruction debris, there are a number of questions that must be addressed if behavioral identifications are given other remains preserved in this same context (i.e., sherds/ vessels from the de facto ceramic assemblage). First, if the sherds did not come from the vessels in use at the time that the Stratum VIB settlement was destroyed, where did they come from? Many, in fact most of the ceramics are Iron II in date, so how are they added to the archaeological record? Are pots missing from the de facto assemblage to which they should be associated and reconstructed? The answers to these questions should become apparent as formation processes in various contexts affecting this assemblage are better understood and are mapped during the analysis of the de facto ceramic assemblage. Next, which of these sherds are in a primary context and thus reflect activities carried out at their find locations? Some of these sherds must still be in primary contexts but are no longer serving in a functional capacity (i.e., garbage/drops). This especially includes the smaller ones lying on or pressed into floors. However, significant numbers of sherds in this category are substantial in both size and quantity and do not touch floors, so one would suspect that these sherds are not in a primary context. Furthermore, it has been well established through ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological research that people living in sedentary communities rarely leave refuse in activity areas (Hayden and Cannon 1983; 1984; Murray 1980). When they do, it usually consists of small items missed in cleaning (DeBoer 1983; McKellar 1983; Schiffer 1972; 1976; 1983; 1985). More often, larger items of refuse such as the items in this category of ceramics consist of ceramics in a secondary context discarded away from their location of use and subsequently reclaimed (Schiffer 1987: 113). Therefore, the next questions are related to their means of introduction. Were these sherds/remains introduced through roof collapse and/or wall fall/melt? Or perhaps, do they come from disturbance processes at later dates and from different contexts? The excavation and processing of the ceramics from Field IV were carried out with the idea of addressing these questions. Once the above methods were used to classify the reconstructed vessels from the corpus into meaningful functional categories and the sherd assemblage was analyzed for causes of the patterns observed therein, the spatial distributions and frequencies observed among these different classes of ceramics could be used to assess, first, the ravages of formation processes and then, the relationships of vessels to permanent features and other classes of artifacts and refuse. This analysis attempts to determine ceramic use and whether artifacts found in proximity to one another can be useful in determining how spatially isolated groups of artifacts may have functioned—in other words, whether it can be demonstrated that they are in a behavioral context. Conversely, areas where specific vessel types are found or no vessels occur can be telling about the use of space as well.

Questions To Be Addressed These data are used to answer a series of basic questions regarding both the archaeological record of ceramics in destruction strata and the behavioral information that can be learned from them. These questions begin with what can be learned of and from the ceramics

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Table 3.2: Ware/Form Categories Type Storage Jars (lmlk-type)

Class 1

Description Color: red paste with dark gray to red exterior and gray interior Inclusions: some–many medium limestone (sometimes many very small limestone), some medium wadi gravel, few medium ceramic, and very few large crystal Core: gray to no core Paste: little sandy, well levigated Types: closed storage jars (four-handled) Special note: body below shoulder usually slipped on exterior; interior surface often badly eroded or empty limestone pores observable Corpus catalog: no. 4

Storage Jar (buff to red with limestone or wadi gravel)

2

Color: red to buff paste Inclusions: some–many medium–large limestone, few–some small–medium wadi gravel, some–many small sand, few large sandstone Core: gray to none Paste: sandy but well levigated Types: closed storage jars (two-handled and four-handled) and holemouth pithoi Special notes: very similar to Type 1—differentiated by exterior surface treatment and interior surface color Corpus Catalog: nos. 7, 8, 10, 12, 13, 14, 17, 59

Storage Jar (brown well levigated with sand and black grit)

3

Color: brown to buff paste Inclusions: some–many small–medium sand, few small–medium wadi gravel, sometimes few–some small–medium limestone Core: dark gray to none Paste: well levigated clays Types: usually closed storage jars, amphora style kraters (necked), or holemouth pithoi Corpus Catalog: nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 10, 15, 20, 21, 60, 61

Storage Jar (brown “clunky” ware)

4

Color: brown to brown/buff paste Inclusions: some–many, medium–large limestone, many small–large wadi gravel, few medium organic, large sandstone, few medium–large shell, few small–large crystal Core: no core Paste: very friable Types: baggy holemouths Corpus Catalog: nos. 8, 9

Storage Jar/Jug (green, slipped exterior, orange, sandy paste)

5

Color: orange to red paste, green-to-pink-slipped exterior, orange to red interior, sometimes buff to green paste (e.g., in sausage jar) Inclusions: some–many very small sand, sometimes with few medium limestone Core: light gray to none Paste: sandy, well levigated Types: most commonly two-handled, sausage-shaped jars and tall and short globular jugs with both wide and thin necks Corpus Catalog: nos. 3, 5, 6, 11, 21

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Household Archaeology in the Southern Levant Table 3.2: Ware/Form Categories (cont.) Type

Jugs/Pitchers/Decanters

Class 6

(dark brown to red paste; squat)

Description Color: brown to pink/red paste; sometimes exterior partially treated with red slip; interior surface is color of paste Inclusions: some–many very small sand, few–some small–medium limestone, few medium–large wadi gravel Core: dark gray to none Paste: sandy Types: squat jugs, some globular trefoiled examples, and some decanters and amphoriskoi Special notes: ribbing apparent on interior surface Corpus Catalog: nos. 22, 24

Decanters (vertical or ring burnish)

7

Color: buff to pink paste; exterior often red-slipped and/or vertically burnished Inclusions: some medium and many small limestone or many small sand inclusions Core: usually none Paste: well levigated; either sandy or filled with small limestone Types: decanters Corpus Catalog: nos. 27, 29 Color: buff paste; sometimes green-slipped exterior Inclusions: many small limestone, some small sand Core: dark gray to light gray Paste: course to well levigated Types: squat jugs and possibly wide-mouth piriforms

Jugs/Pitchers (buff, ribbed, squat)

8

Juglets (thin ware with internal ribbing)

9

Juglets

10

Color: red to buff paste; sometimes fired in oxygen reducing atmosphere—result is black interior/exterior surface; exterior surface usually entirely burnished Inclusions: some–many small limestone Core: not observable due to color of vessel Paste: black or red depending on firing technique

Cooking Pots/Jars/Jugs (sandy, gritty paste)

11

Color: dark red to red-orange or dark brown Inclusions: many very small sand, few–some medium–large sand (quartz), very few small limestone Core: dark gray to none Paste: sandy Types: squat jugs, cooking jars, cooking pots, jugs, and decanters

Cooking pots (large inclusions)

12

Color: dark brown to buff paste Inclusions: some–many medium–large limestone, some organic, some very small sand, some medium crystal, few medium–large sand, few medium organic, few large shell Core: black to light gray Paste: somewhat friable, many fracture plains Types: cooking pots

Corpus Catalog: nos. 20, 21, 24, 55 Color: pink to buff paste; sometimes red-slipped exterior with vertical hand-burnishing Inclusions: some small limestone, few medium–large limestone, few medium wadi gravel, few small sand Core: light gray to none Paste: buff, few inclusions Types: dipper juglets, narrow neck piriform Corpus Catalog: nos. 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 42

(black or red squat piriform)

Corpus catalog: no. 40

Corpus catalog: nos. 31, 64, 69, 71, 72

Corpus Catalog: nos. 68, 69

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Table 3.2: Ware/Form Categories (cont.) Type Bowls

Class 13

(small to large)

Description Color: buff to brown to pink to red paste; exterior surface sometimes partially slipped (red) and interior surface often red-slipped and wheel-burnished Inclusions: some very small sand, few–some small limestone, few medium wadi gravel Core: usually none Types: bowls, lamps, and flasks Special notes: rilling usually apparent on exterior surface Corpus Catalog: nos. 33, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 54, 59, 60, 61, 73, 74, 75, 80, 81

Bowls

14

(kraters, handled)

Color: buff to red paste; pink/red-slipped interior surface usually (sometimes brown-red or buff-green) Inclusions: often many very small limestone Core: thick gray to none Types: some large, handled bowls and most bowl-type kraters Special notes: exterior surface usually rilled and interior surface often red to pink slip and wheel-burnished Corpus Catalog: nos. 52, 58, 62, 63, 64

Imports/miscellaneous

15

Cypriot black on red juglets Corpus Catalog: no. 41

Imports/painted unidentified, earlier, later, etc.

16

N/A

Intrusional

17

Sherds from higher or lower deposits, described by period from which they originated (if determinable)

of the archaeological record of destruction strata. What can ceramics and the other artifactual data tell us about the usefulness of destruction deposits for reconstructing the past? And, in a related way, how sensitive and useful is the ceramic record from destruction strata contexts, as a subset of the archaeological record, for interpreting the use of space? What are the sources of the ceramics introduced into the Field IV archaeological deposits, particularly ceramic items present in destruction debris? Which and how many of these ceramic vessels are in a behavioral/primary or secondary context? If it is determined that a large number of the restorable ceramic vessels are indeed de facto refuse, how sensitive are they as indicators for interpreting the use of space? Or, similarly, is the ceramic variability at Tell Halif sufficiently patterned to allow inferences to be made about activities taking place in behavioral contexts in pillared dwellings? If so, what do the ceramic pieces reflect: normative day-to-day activities? or a defensive situation where everyday, normal activities were truncated? And, if it is the former, is there a typical domestic assemblage, and can a predictive model be made of the frequencies and occurrence of ceramic forms expected to be used at one time in a typical pillared dwelling? The next series of questions moves beyond ceramics and attempts to determine what can be learned from the vessels regarding ancient behaviors and activities taking place in the pillared dwelling. That is, what activities took place in the F7 Dwelling? and how specialized is its use of space? Are certain areas living rooms, storage areas, or kitchens? Or, are they better associated with industrial/economic activities or ritual/cultic ones? Is it

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possible to identify the individuals carrying out the activities in these areas? (This is important, because the household has been defined by activities.) Is there a “cultural template” for the way space is organized in pillared dwellings? and what can this tell us about household organization? Questions regarding social organization include the following. What can remains from the F7 Dwelling tell us about subdivisions within society and their integration? What size population and density are represented in archaeological households? Should the archaeological household be associated with a nuclear or extended family? What was the household’s access to local and exotic resources and products apportioned within the population? Was production carried out in pillared dwellings? Does the excavated material reflect/suggest social, economic, or political situations known or suggested from other sources (e.g., ethnographic, biblical)? What is the relationship between the biblical bet-ªav and the archaeological household? What does this tell us about household organization at Iron II Tell Halif and its role in society during the Iron II? The following chapters attempt to address these questions based on a spatial analysis of the meticulously excavated artifacts recovered from the remains of the F7 Dwelling and through the identification of activities taking place therein. Through a better understanding of these activities, I hope that this study can shed light on which kinds of information can and which cannot be learned from studying the spatial location and context of ceramic vessels. In addition, I hope that the ceramic data, along with other data sources, especially microartifacts may lead to a better understanding of the various activities taking place in domestic contexts of the Iron II and a better understanding of the larger social organization that it reflects. The remains from the F7 Dwelling of Tell Halif’s Stratum VIB destruction are ideal for this type of analysis.

Summary It has been demonstrated in numerous past excavations that an enormous wealth of data is preserved in destruction strata in the tells of the southern Levant. This is clearly shown by the sheer volume of artifacts often removed from their debris. Once additions and depletions associated with formation processes are better understood and accounted for, destruction levels become very useful for reconstructing activities performed in past behavioral systems. The best way to approach destruction levels, then, is to carry out a spatial analysis that attempts to account for the postdepositional processes at work on materials found in the destruction debris. This leads to a better understanding of the distribution of artifacts in the archaeological record and to more reliable explanations of their patterning. Destruction strata yield excellent materials for conducting spatial analyses of activity areas. While some studies approach spatial analysis through the delineation of the fundamental patterns of artifact discard (see Schiffer 1972: 161–63) or disposal (Deal 1985; Foster 1960; Hayden and Cannon 1983), this study does not. This is due to the unique nature of destruction strata in general and the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif specifically. The focus here is mapping primarily the ceramics but also the other artifacts, both movable and nonportable, in the F7 Dwelling to determine activities and activity areas. By precisely map-

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ping these artifacts and addressing the effects of disturbances on the archaeological record, I seek to demonstrate that many of the artifacts found in Field IV are not far removed from the locations where they were used or stored immediately prior to the destruction of the Iron II settlement. Thus they are useful indicators of the activities taking place in the F7 Dwelling. This information is vital for understanding the domestic environment at Iron II Tell Halif, including the identification of activities taking place in the F7 Dwelling, and the identity of the people performing these activities. In turn, this understanding can be built upon, and inferences can be made regarding household organization as well as the broader understanding of Judah’s social, economic, and political organization during the late eighth century b.c.e. At the same time, this book has the potential to benefit greatly the larger archaeological community by providing a better understanding of destruction levels as a subset of the archaeological record, particularly against the backdrop of textual, ethnographic, and ethnoarchaeological studies. 14 14. L. Meskell (1998) dealt well with a similar situation in research on the household in New Kingdom Egypt.

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Excursus 1

A History of Destruction Strata The southern Levant lies at the geographical periphery of its larger (economically, demographically, and in terms of political complexity) neighbors in Mesopotamia, Syria, and Egypt. Throughout much of antiquity, it provided the only passable land route linking these regions and their diverse cultures, commodities, technologies, and natural resources. More importantly, it linked the major urban centers in the areas where the earliest states arose at precisely the time tell formation began in the southern Levant. Over the next several millennia (ca. 3500–400 b.c.e.), the Old, Middle, and New Kingdoms of Egypt, the Hittites of Anatolia, the Assyrians and Babylonians of Mesopotamia, and the Achaemenids of ancient Persia all vied for control of this land corridor. Substantial economic and political benefits accrued to those controlling the travel, commercial activities, and trade passing through the environs of the southern Levant. Desire to control this area often brought these larger polities into conflict, not only with one another, but also with the local populations. Though the local peoples often did not possess the same access to economic and especially military resources, they sought, in addition to their autonomy, the same economic benefits pursued by their larger and more powerful neighbors. The resulting conflicts ultimately led to two of the most diagnostic features of tell development: (1) substantial fortification systems and (2) site-wide destruction layers. While the local populations were most often responsible for the fortifications, the people responsible for settlement destruction varied through time. Some of the earliest destruction strata in tells originated during the Early Bronze Age (ca. 3500–2000 b.c.e.), especially near the end of Early Bronze Age III (ca. 2700–2250 b.c.e.). Some of the sites/strata where the destruction layers are found are: • Ai • Bab-edh Dhra • Beth-Shean • Beth Yerah Stratum IV

• Jericho A or Proto-Urban • Numeirah • Tell es-Saªidiyeh (perhaps a little earlier) • Tell Halif XV, XIV, and XIII

During this same era, other sites appear to have been abandoned rapidly, because many artifacts were left on the living floors of buildings (e.g., Tell Yarmuth). A number of hypotheses have been ventured regarding these destructions, including Amorite invasions and migrations from the north, ecological catastrophes where intensified competition for dwindling resources led to constant endemic warfare, Egyptian incursions, or possibly all three (Gonen 1992: 123–24; A. Mazar 1990: 142). While endemic warfare seems likely, there is convincing, though equivocal evidence that campaigning Egyptian pharaohs of the Fourth and Fifth Dynasties precipitated destructions as Dynastic Egypt showed early signs of imperialist ex-

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75

pansion (Yadin 1963: 54–57). However, evidence is less equivocal regarding Egyptian involvement during the next period of widespread destruction in the southern Levant. Destruction strata are common phenomena occurring in tells at the end of Middle Bronze Age IIC (ca. 1550–1500 b.c.e.) and the beginning of Late Bronze I (ca. 1500– 1400). Indeed, virtually every excavated tell with Middle Bronze IIC remains exhibits at least one and often multiple destruction levels. Some sites yield as many as three destruction strata, all occurring in the very short span of approximately 50 years. These strata include, among others: • Acco • Aphek X15/Palace III • Ashkelon • Beth Shemesh • Beth Zur • Dan Walled City IX • Hazor XVI • Gezer XVIII • Gaza • Hebron • Jaffa • Jericho Groups IV/V

• Jerusalem 17 • Kabri 3 • Lachish Level VIII • Malhata • Masos IV • Megiddo X/IX • Mevorakh • Shechem XVI/ XV • Shiloh • Taªanach • Tel Batash/Timnah XI/X • Tel Megadim

• Tel Michal XVII • Tell Beit Mirsim D • Tell el-Hesi • Tell el-Ajjul City III/Palace I and City II/Palace II • Tell en-Nagila • Tell Jerishe • (possibly) Beth-Shean XB/XA, Tell el-Farºah (N), and Tell elMazar

These destructions are particularly interesting, because the Middle Bronze Age is the greatest period of urbanization in the southern Levant prior to the Hellenistic and Roman periods (cf. Bunimovitz 1992; Dever 1977; 1987; Ilan 1995; Kempinski 1992a; 1992b; 1992c; A. Mazar 1990: 174–231). One of the most diagnostic features of its urban settlements is their expansive fortifications, including immense wall systems made of cyclopean masonry, dry moats, glacis structures, and massive towers and gates (cf. Bunimovitz 1992; Finkelstein 1992; Hardin and Seger 2006; Kaplan 1975; Kempinski 1992b; Kenyon 1979; Parr 1968; Pennells 1983; Seger 1974; 1975; Stager 1991). In spite of these monumental defensive efforts, most settlements succumbed to attack, as evidenced by their thorough destructions. These destructions are often associated with the Egyptians of the New Kingdom (Dever 1985b: 73–74, 80; 1987: 174–75; 1989; 1990a: passim; J. M. Weinstein 1981; contra Hoffmeier 1989; Redford 1979; Shea 1979). The last pharaohs of the Seventeenth Dynasty and Ahmoses, the first pharaoh of the newly founded Eighteenth Dynasty, expelled the Asiatic Hyksos rulers of the Fifteenth Dynasty from the Nile Delta, ushering in a renewed period of Egyptian prosperity (Beitak 1997; Dever 1990a; Redford 1967; 1992: 125–91; J. M. Weinstein 1975; 1991). With this prosperity, Egypt turned an interested eye to Syria–Palestine. A short time later, the pharaohs of the Eighteenth Dynasty boasted on the walls of great temple complexes in the vicinity of Thebes (Karnak, Luxor, and others temple complexes) of successful military campaigns executed in Syria–Palestine (see, e.g., Redford 1979). The nature of these campaigns may have been reprisals or revenge against the once powerful Hyksos kings (J. M. Weinstein 1981) or Egyptian colonization efforts in Palestine (see Dever 1987; Seger 1975; J. M. Weinstein 1981). It is not necessary to associate all MB IIC and early LB I destructions directly with Egyptian campaigns (Hoffmeier 1989; Redford 1979; Shea 1979). Apart from Egyptian

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military activities, destructions may also have been caused by general upheaval resulting from economic instability or other political, economic, and social factors in the southern Levant itself (Ilan 1995: 314–15; Knapp 1989; Marfoe 1979). It is possible that the Hyksos rulers displaced from the Nile Delta caused disruptions and destruction as they tried to find new residences north and east of the Egyptian Delta. Shortly after the end of the MB IIC it is possible also that excursions south by the Hittites of Anatolia were responsible for destruction, especially in Syria, as the Hittites were expanding their interests southward (Gorny 1989; 1995; Gurney 1954). The next period of notable destruction activity was during the LB II (ca. 1400–1200 b.c.e.), a period typified by great upheaval toward the end (Bourke and Descoeudres 1995; Drews 1993; Gitin, Mazar, and Stern 1998). While the destructions from this period were a bit less common and temporally more sporadic than in previous periods, they occurred nonetheless. Again the Egyptians can be blamed, at least indirectly, because the southern Levant was under their hegemony throughout much of this time. As overlords of the southern Levant, they kept some hand in most local affairs. This is especially well demonstrated by the el-Amarna documents (Moran 1992). These consist of letters addressed to various pharaohs of the Eighteenth Dynasty from various petty potentates of the local Levantine city-states (Albright 1974). The letters are characterized by the fact that the local rulers in the Levant were regularly squabbling and bickering among themselves and continuously groveling and complaining to the pharaoh. These rulers constantly sought Egyptian intervention in local matters, especially in the form of military aid against their neighbors, by whom they felt they had been wronged (e.g., el-Amarna Letters 280 and 290; Albright 1974: 487, 489). Neighbors were accused of stealing land and towns, kidnapping members of a neighboring city state’s royal household, taking someone else’s subjects as slaves, or carousing with an unruly and uncivilized element that was referred to as the ºapiru (e.g., el-Amarna Letter 252; Albright 1974: 487). This last element was probably a group of landless brigands taking advantage of the instability allowed to continue by Egypt (Borger 1958; Greenberg 1955; Leonard 1989; Liverani 1979; Rowton 1965). These letters make it clear that endemic raiding was pervasive throughout this period and was of little concern to the Egyptians. In fact, it was probably in their best interest to keep the local rulers turned against one another (divide and rule) instead of united against Egypt (A. Mazar 1990: 237). So other likely candidates for the destruction of cities at this time include the various local city populations fighting among themselves, possibly with some intervention by Egyptians garrisoned in the southern Levant (likely Gaza or Jaffa), and the ºapiru who are reported to have taken advantage of situations leading to their profit against more settled folk (Albright 1974). Attacking and destroying settlements during this period was probably not as daunting or complicated as in preceding or subsequent periods due to the political reticence of Egypt and because fortifications are not a common feature at LB sites. The Late Bronze Age is notable for its lack of fortification systems. As far as we know, no new fortifications, in fact, were constructed during this period, with the possible exception of Gezer (Dever 1982; 1984; 1986; 1990b; 1993; contra Bunimovitz 1983; Finkelstein 1981; 1990; Kempinski 1972; 1976; Wightman 1990). Where fortifications existed, they consisted of reused elements of exposed, earlier Middle Bronze Age fortifications. It is possible that the Egyptians prohibited the construction of new fortification systems as part of

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77

their efforts to administer and control the southern Levant as a province. Regardless, one result of the absence of new fortification systems and the depressed and groveling nature of the rulers of the semi-independent city-states is that less organization was required and fewer individuals were necessary to attack and sack a LB settlement successfully than in the preceding MB or the succeeding Iron Age (twelfth–sixth centuries b.c.e.) periods. The period between the end of the Late Bronze Age and the beginning of the Iron Age (thirteenth–twelfth centuries b.c.e.) is characterized by sporadic destruction levels. These strata are found in: • Aphek X-12 and X-11 • Ashdod XIV • Beth-Shean VII and only a little later, VI • Beth Shemesh IVB • Dor V • Gezer XV and XIV • Hazor XIV (Lower 1B) and XIII • Lachish Level VII/Fosse Temple III and Level VI • Megiddo VIIB/VIIA • Shechem XI and XII • Tel Batash/Timnah (four LBA destructions— esp. VI)

• Tel Mor 5 and 7 • Tel Seraª X and IX • Tel Yinªam VIB • Tel Zeror • Tell Abu Hawam V • Tell Beit Mirsim Stratum C • Tell el-ºUmeiri • Tell es-Saªidiyeh XII • Tell Hadar IV • Tell Halif VIII • Tell Keisan XI • Tel Miqne VIIIA • Yoqneam XIXB

The LB to Iron I transition has received at great deal of scholarly attention due to the general upheavals occurring throughout the whole eastern littoral of the Mediterranean at the time (see, e.g., Bourke and Descoeudres 1995; Drews 1993; Gitin, Mazar, and Stern 1998; Gonen 1984; 1992; Sandars 1987; Stager 1995). And related to this general unrest was the appearance in the southern Levant of new peoples. These most significantly included both the Philistines, who invaded the coastal plain (T. Dothan 1982; Dothan and Dothan 1992), and the Israelites, or “proto-Israelites,” who settled in the central Hill Country (Bienkowski 1992; Dever 1993; 1995a; 1995b; 1997a; Finkelstein 1988; Finkelstein and Naªaman 1994; Freedman and Miano 2006). Because of the general upheaval indicative of the period and the appearance of new elements, it is hard to know who was responsible for the early Iron Age destructions. Egyptian pharaohs boasted of campaigns against Syria–Palestine probably aimed at regaining territories lost at the end of the Late Bronze Age. The best example of this is Merneptah’s boast of destroying towns, subjugating geographical areas, and decimating entire Levantine peoples (Bimson 1991; Hasel 1994; Kitchen 1986; Rainey 2001; Yurco 1982; 1986). However, one would be hard pressed to associate destructions after his rule with the Egyptians. And one need not look outside the borders of the southern Levant to find likely candidates for causing the destruction. The population movements alluded to above (i.e., Philistines as well as other Sea Peoples) and the appearance of new folk in new areas (i.e., Israelites/proto-Israelites in the Hill Country) may well have caused many of the destructions of tell settlements. Ramesses III notes aggressive insurgency into Egypt by the Sea Peoples and briefly documents their travel through the coastal areas of the southern Levant, a place at least one of their members, the Philistines, ultimately settled (Edgerton and Wilson 1936; Kitchen 1982; Malamat

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1971; Redford 1992: 241–56; Stager 1985a; 1995). It is hard to believe these events occurred without leading to conflict between the Philistines (and perhaps other Sea Peoples) and the local Canaanite populations of the southern coastal plain and the neighboring Shephelah. It also is likely that peoples displaced from the coastal plain by new settlers may have moved inland causing clashes/warfare in these areas and perhaps leading to the destruction of settlements (e.g., Lachish). On the other hand, biblical texts claim that the earliest progenitors of settled Israel destroyed a number of settlements as they moved into the southern Levant. Sites mentioned in biblical texts and known archaeologically reveal destruction levels dating to this period, including Beth Shemesh, Gezer, Hazor, Lachish, and Megiddo (A. Mazar 1990: 287–89, 328–38). But these texts are much later than the events that they describe and are not among the most useful for historical reconstructions (Dever 1990b; 1998b; Miller and Hayes 1986; Naªaman 1994; Pippin 1996). A number of other settlements are claimed to have been destroyed but were not significantly occupied when these events are purported to have taken place (e.g., Jericho, Ai). However, when all of the evidence is taken together, including the Egyptian textual evidence, the biblical data, and the archaeological record, it is demonstrative of general upheavals and sporadic, endemic warfare during the end of the Late Bronze Age and the beginning of Iron Age I. 15 In the next period, Iron Age II (ca. 1000–580 b.c.e.), destruction levels are more prevalent. These periods of destruction can be subdivided further into three temporally distinct units, including the tenth century b.c.e., 16 the last third of the eighth century b.c.e., and the end of the seventh/beginning of the sixth century b.c.e. To a degree, these destructions are better understood than are destructions from other periods, especially in the case of the latter two time frames, because the deposits in tells that contain their remains are nearer the modern ground surfaces of tell sites, making them more accessible to archaeologists. Additionally, claims of campaigns and destructions are well known for all three periods from contemporary textual materials, including steles, palace archives, iconography from Mesopotamian palaces and Egyptian temples, as well as later biblical references (examples listed in Kitchen 2003b: 61, table 5; Younger 1990). Destructions occurring in the mid-eleventh to tenth century b.c.e. are most often associated with King David of Israel or the Egyptian Pharaoh Shishak of the Saite or TwentySecond Dynasty (Kitchen 1986; 1989; A. Mazar 1990: 374). Examples of destruction strata and sites dating to this period include: 15. At exactly this time, Nur and Cline have implicated “earthquake storms” or a series of earthquakes that occurred along a fault or rift over a period of years or decades for many of the destructions throughout the Aegean and eastern Mediterranean (Nur and Cline 2000). While they do not claim that these “storms” are solely responsible for the numerous destructions and general collapse of the Late Bronze Age societies around the Aegean and the eastern littoral of the Mediterranean, they do suggest that they could have been one of many factors that shared responsibility (Nur and Cline 2000: 61). 16. Many of the archaeological materials that traditionally have been dated to the tenth century b.c.e. are now being pushed forward into the ninth century b.c.e. (Finkelstein 1996; 1998; 1999; Ussishkin 1980; T. L. Thompson 1992; 1999; contra Ben-Tor and Ben-Ami 1998; Dever 2001; Holladay 1986; A. Mazar 1997b; 2000; Stager 1998). While there is wide agreement among archaeologists on the relative sequence of materials concerned, there is less agreement concerning anchoring these materials to absolute dates.

Household Archaeology in the Southern Levant • Arad XII or XI • Ashdod X • Beer Sheva VII • Beth-Shean Upper V • Beth Shemesh III/Red Burnt Stratum (perhaps a little earlier) • Dor • ºEin-Zippori II (partial) • Gezer VIII • Hazor XI • Lachish Level V • Qasile X and IX • Megiddo VI and IVB/VA • Shechem X • Shiloh • Taªanach

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• Tell Keisan 9a • Tel Masos I • Tel Mevorakh VII • Tell Abu Hawam IVB and III • Tel Batash/Timnah IV • Tell el-Far’ah (N) VIIb • Tell el-Hama • Tell el-Mazar • Tell er-Rumeith VIII • Tell es-Saªidiyeh • Tell Jerishe (partial) • Tel Michal • Tell Rehov • Yarmut • Yoqneam XVIII

Pharaoh Shishak apparently was able to stop the downward spiral of Egyptian power long enough and maintain adequate political stability to campaign briefly in the southern Levant (see Kitchen 1986). He boasts of this ability on the walls of the Karnak temple complex and mentions the conquest of settlements in the Levant that yield destruction materials from the period during which he claims to have campaigned, ca. 925 b.c.e. (Dever 1997c; Kitchen 1986; 2003: 121–27; articles in Levy and Higham 2005). These sites include Arad, Beth-Shean, Gezer, Megiddo, and Rehov, among others. Megiddo especially is noteworthy in this list because it appears to have functioned as a staging point for the Egyptian campaign (Kitchen 1986: 293–300; B. Mazar 1957; Redford 1973; 1992: 312–15). A fragment of a monumental inscription bearing Shishak’s cartouche was discovered during excavations at the site (A. Mazar 1990: 398). However, sources other than Shishak’s campaigns could account for any number of destructions. It is likely that warfare between a number of small factions or petty states was prevalent during this time. The tenth century b.c.e. of the Near East was a time when the traditional powers (i.e., Egypt, Anatolia, Assyria, Babylonia, Persia), due to internal weaknesses or other factors, were unable to dominate or overtly influence events in the Levant. In the forming power vacuum, local city-states or possibly previous rural populations aggressively expanded their borders and attempted to maintain control over trade and traffic passing through their territories (for discussions of trade and wealth, see Defonzo 2005; Holladay 1995; 2001; 2006). Some managed to expand, control, and maintain areas large enough—and eventually reach a level of sociopolitical complexity high enough—to allow for their consideration as small state polities (Frick 1985; Joffe 2002; Portugali 1994). Although for the most part dating from a much later period, biblical texts record warfare among a number of peoples and small states that are dated to this time, including ancient Ammon, Aram–Damascus, Israel, Moab, Philistia, and Phoenicia (see Bienkowski 1992; Dever 1997b; Herr 1997; Knauf 1992; Naªaman 2002). Some biblical texts seem to preserve memories of these events in a condensed form and perhaps have attributed them to a smaller number of individuals than there were and exaggerated their extent. Nonetheless, such events and situations may explain some of the archaeologically known destructions.

spread one pica long

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Much of what has been written to this point about destruction levels in tells is slightly better than educated speculation regarding the methods of destruction and who exactly or what event is responsible for their cause. This generally is not true of destruction layers that occurred after the ninth century b.c.e., because many more archaeological data are available from this period onward. But just as significant is the greater availability of a number of other, disparate data sources useful for understanding the past. These include, along with the archaeological data, a number of textual sources, including some that are “curated,” or redacted, over a long period. Others, more directly reflect the time of the events to which they relate and sometimes include multiple copies of the same text or of different texts describing the same event, or even texts from opposing parties telling two somewhat different versions of the same event. In addition, an abundance of iconography dating to this period is available, and it depicts scenes very useful for understanding some of the means, machinery, and procedures for the attack and subsequent destruction of ancient settlements of the southern Levant. These most often come from the palaces of Assyrian kings but also from Babylonian and Persian sources. These sources, when used in conjunction with one another, help us greatly to understand destruction strata dating to periods following the ninth century b.c.e. While the danger of circularity exists in some instances (i.e., archaeology confirms the Assyrian annals, the Assyrian annals confirm the biblical texts, and the biblical texts confirm the identification of archaeological material), the data nonetheless are very useful in reconstructing events leading to the formation of destruction levels in tells. For this reason, and because the Tell Halif destruction stratum investigated here falls into this time period, greater emphasis is given to understanding the Assyrian genesis of these destruction levels. Assyrian destructions are widespread and well represented in tell strata dating to the latter third of the eighth century b.c.e. The majority of sites in the southern Levant that yield remains of late-eighth-century b.c.e. settlements do so in the matrix of fiery destruction debris spread across the entire settlement. 17 Examples of destruction strata include: • Abu Hawam IIIB • Arad VIII • Ashdod VIII • Beer Sheva II • Beth-Shean Upper V/ IV • Beth Shemesh IIB • Gezer VI • Gibeon • Hazor VA • ºIra VII, Malhata IV • Khirbet Rabud B-II • Lachish Level III • Samaria • Shechem VII

• Tel Batash/Timnah III • Tel Dor • Tell el-Hesi • Tel Zayit/Zeitah • Tell Beit Mirsim A • Tel Dan II • Tell el-ºErani VI • Tell el-Far’ah (N) VIId • Tell el-Mazar V • Tell er-Rumeith V • Tell es-Safi • Tell es-Saªidiyeh V • Tell Halif VIB • Tell Judeideh

17. Notable exceptions include Jerusalem, the capital of Judah, and several sites to its north and east (Bethel, Gibeon, and en-Nasbeh).

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Most of these settlements, including small border fortresses, villages, towns, regional centers, and royal administrative centers, are massively fortified atop tells or natural rises with elements of single or double wall systems, glacis structures, towers, fortified gateways, and internal water systems (Herzog 1978; 1992; 1997; Shiloh 1978). The remains of some structures are preserved to an extraordinary degree, with building walls continuing to stand over two meters high and with doorways into and out of buildings preserved with the lintels intact (e.g., Lachish). Many of these elements help to preserve and protect the other artifactual remains and structures that they encompass. Amidst the debris preserved in many of these structures are numerous iron and bronze arrowheads and ballista stones, in addition to remnants of scale armor plates and, in one instance, a mass burial (Ussishkin 1982). These all attest to the warlike conditions under which many of these settlements were destroyed (in general, see R. L. O’Connell 1995; Yadin 1963). A compelling case can be made that most of these destructions occurred at the hands of the aggressively expansionist Neo-Assyrian Empire of the late eighth century b.c.e. Its textual remains and iconography attest to the great importance that the Neo-Assyrians placed on the role of warfare for imperial expansion (Grayson 1992; 1995; Fuchs 1994; 1998; Franklin 1994; Hallo 1999; Lie 1929; Luckenbill 1927; Kuan 1995; Naªaman 1974; Oded 1992; Parker 2001; Roux 1964; Tadmor 1994; Ussishkin 1982; for economic impact, see Gitin 1995). By the eighth century, warfare had assumed a primary role for the Assyrians as they built an empire based upon expansion through a relentless series of military expeditions designed to extort sizable tributes from their neighbors, both near and far, after reducing them to vassal or provincial status (Blakely and Hardin 2002; Gallagher 1999; Gonçalves 1986; R. L. O’Connell 1995; Reade 1976; Ussishkin 1982; Yadin 1963; Younger 1996). 18 Successful Assyrian campaigns were often completed with the local rulers left in place to supply the demanded tributes and services on a continual basis. This status quo was maintained as long as the local leader proved reliable in providing the requisite goods and services demanded by the Assyrians (Cogan 1993; Elat 1982; R. L. O’Connell 1995: 145–50). However, failure to meet these demands brought new reprisals, often leading to the utter destruction of the rebellious or delinquent parties (see Hogarth 1950: 25; Roux 1964: 258). Tribute was then procured for the Assyrians in the form of loot or booty. The Assyrian war machine proved extremely effective in this strategy. The Assyrians maintained a large and formidable army whose exploits throughout the ninth and eighth centuries b.c.e. allowed it to cow its neighbors into submission, often without wielding its mighty force. However, when necessary, the Assyrian army proved only too effective. Its war machine included archers, slingers, cavalry, spearmen, charioteers, and a host of soldiers involved in the operation of its most important tactic—siege warfare. The Assyrians were the first true masters of siege craft and perfecters of its most serviceable implement, the battering ram (O’Connell 1995: 122; Ussishkin 1982: 120–26; Yadin 1963: 313–74). These siege craft were used effectively to pry, pummel, and undermine 18. It has been argued that the Assyrian empire was a polity that came to be driven by war, that in the final stages of empire, armed aggression was pursued virtually as an end in itself—primarily as a means of acquiring the tribute and human resources necessary to undertake still more campaigns (O’Connell 1995: 146).

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the structural integrity of the foundations of defensive walls and towers. Their use is well illustrated in many of the wall reliefs from the palaces of the Neo-Assyrian kings, but especially in the Lachish siege reliefs from Sennacherib’s palace at Nineveh (Ussishkin 1982). The resulting breaches allowed entry points through which the Assyrian soldiery could pour into the besieged settlement. In addition to rams, the army employed scaling ladders, earthen approach ramps, sappers, and undermining tunnels. The Assyrian war machine was so overpowering in this tactic that few cities survived its campaigns. Once a city was conquered by force, it was generally looted, sacked, and burned (Goudsblom 1992: 64; B. Mazar 1964); and, at times, the countryside may also have been ravaged (see S. Cole 1997; Luckenbill 1927: 2.135–36). The settlement’s occupants were killed or deported and taken into slavery or otherwise pressed into service (see Oded 1995). Often entire populations were deported from an area (Naªaman 1993; Younger 1998; Zevit 2006). Sometime around the middle of the eighth century b.c.e., the Assyrian policy of deportation took on massive proportions (Ahlström 1993b; Naªaman 1993; 1996; Naªaman and Zadok 1988; 2000; Oded 1970; 1979; Younger 1998; Zevit 2006). The populations of rebellious vassalages and provinces were deported to different provinces and territories throughout the Neo-Assyrian Empire, effectively curtailing further rebellious activity in a specific area. While this strategy proved effective in the short run, its long-term effects undermined the economic basis of the empire, because it curtailed production and thereby reduced the flow of tribute and taxes throughout the provinces. Moreover, it never effectively stamped out rebellion in its conquered territories. Endemic warfare during this period is also well documented in historical and biblical records. King Uzziah is credited with strengthening Judah through military victories over the Philistines (2 Chr 26:6), the Arabs, and the Meunites (2 Chr 26:3–6) and recovering and rebuilding Elath (2 Kgs 14:22). These events would have heightened tensions with Judah’s neighbors, including Israel, Philistia, Moab, and Edom. Events surrounding the SyroEphraimite wars must have led to destructions by any number of people, whether NeoAssyrians, Arameans, Israelites, Judahites, Philistines, Meunites, or others (Blakely and Hardin 2002: 48–52; Cazelles 1978; 1992; Ehrlich 1991; Irvine 1990; Kapera 1981; 1984; Naªaman 1996; Oded 1972; Tomes 1993). But all of this activity would have been undertaken with a wary eye on the Assyrians. There were often attempts to counter the military advantages of the Neo-Assyrians. As early as the mid-ninth century b.c.e., complex alliances were made among numerous small states throughout the Levant in an attempt to check the Assyrian advance. Additionally, vassals tried through opportunism to cast off the yolk of Assyrian hegemony, seizing moments when questions of succession hung in the balance as Assyria turned its interests inward after the death of a king (for example, after the death of Sargon II; see Luckenbill 1927: 2.129; Roux 1964: 294–96). Vassals and provinces also sought alliances with a weakened Egypt (Naªaman 1996: 80–98) and the fledgling state of Babylonia in the eighth and seventh centuries, respectively. In the end, Babylonia proved a better choice, because it eventually usurped Neo-Assyrian control in the eastern Mediterranean and, in its stead, administered its conquered territories. Thus, the Neo-Babylonians became the benefactors of the taxes, tribute, spoils, loot, and booty channeled from the territories of the Levant into Mesopotamia (see Stern 2001).

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The Neo-Babylonian state continued some of the imperial administrative policies of the Neo-Assyrians, although less successfully, until they gave way to the Achaemenids of Persia at the end of the sixth century b.c.e. (Barstad 1996: 61–76; Roux 1964: 374–81). They demanded tribute from their vassals and provinces, removing or changing local leaders only when disruptions and rebellions demanded such actions. The Babylonian kings campaigned against their neighbors when necessary with the same ferocity and effectiveness as the Assyrians. They left massive destruction in their wake (for example, at Ashkelon, Miqne/Ekron, Jerusalem), sometimes deporting large numbers of people (for example, the peoples of Judah in three distinct phases, according to biblical texts). 19 Destruction strata known archaeologically from this period, many attributed directly or indirectly to the Babylonians, include: • Arad VII/VI • Ashdod VII • Ashkelon • En Gedi V • Gezer V • Haror Citadel G3 • Horvat ºUza IV • ºIra VI • Jericho

• Jerusalem • Lachish Level II • Malhata III • Megiddo II • Ramat Rachel VA • Tel Miqne/Ekron Upper IB • Tel Seraª • Tel Batash/Timnah II • (possibly) ºAroer

In many respects, their military machine resembled that of the preceding Neo-Assyrians, making effective use of siege technologies. However, Neo-Babylonian hegemony was affected by endemic warfare and, in small part, by Egyptian meddling (for the latter, see Kitchen 2003a: 127–28). Overall, the Neo-Babylonians proved less able administers of their conquered territories than the Neo-Assyrians and consequently only influenced events directly in the Levant for less than a century. 19. There is debate regarding how much the exile affected the land of Judah during the Neo-Babylonian period. Some scholars see the land of Judah as basically empty or the occupation of Judah as dramatically curtailed (e.g., Lipschits 2003: 326–38, passim; Stern 2001: 303–11; Vanderhooft 1999: 104–6), while others believe there is little support for this idea based on the archaeology of Benjamin and a postmodern critical reading of the biblical texts (e.g., Barstad 1996; 2003 passim). The debate is presented critically, and I believe fairly, in Oded 2003.

Chapter 4

Tell Halif: Its History and Remains As stated in chap. 1, excavations at Tell Halif immediately below the modern ground surface revealed an Iron II settlement typical of G. R. H. Wright’s category of a small fortified rural town (Wright 1985: 59). It likely served the double purpose of protecting the agricultural and livestock-raising community contained there and acting as a component in the defensive alignment of the Kingdom of Judah, defending its southwestern flank (Blakely and Hardin 2002; Blakely, Hardin, and Master forthcoming; Finkelstein and Naªaman 2004). Its position along a southern branch of the via Maris leading into the Hill Country of Hebron and on to Jerusalem beyond added to its importance in the defense capacity (see fig. 1.1). This fundamental understanding of the nature of Tell Halif’s Iron II settlement is tested and elaborated upon with the ceramic data that I will present in this chapter and in chap. 5. These data derive from the spatial analysis of restorable ceramic vessels excavated from Tell Halif’s F7 Dwelling, which was destroyed violently and suddenly in a town-wide conflagration near the end of the eighth century b.c.e. However, before these data are brought to bear on the interpretation of domestic space, we must place these remains in the greater spatial and temporal context of the Halif settlement as a whole. This is necessary because the site’s earlier and later remains and its environmental circumstances had an impact on the depositional history and location of the Iron II remains prior to their excavation by the Lahav Research Project. For this reason, I will review the settlement’s occupational history as known through archaeological investigation and present the Halif area’s environmental history, including geography, geomorphology, and climate.

The History of Tell Halif Geography Tell Halif is located in southern Israel (31°32u N, 34°52u E; map reference 1373 x 0879; see fig. 4.2, p. 90) in a transitional area where two geomorphological and two climatic zones meet. It is situated on a small hill rising approximately 490 m above sea level where the western flanks of the Hebron mountains and the chalky hills of the Shephelah meet the foothills area of the northern Negev (Evenari, Shanan, and Tadmor 1971: 43).

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These foothills blend into the coastal plain of southern Israel without any clear line of demarcation. Geomorphology From a geomorphological perspective, Halif is part of the higher Shephelah (380–500 m above sea level) at the eastern and southernmost extension of the Judean foothills (Laustrup 1976: 32). Geologically, the formations surrounding the tell form the eastern boundary of a synclinorium that lies between the Hebron Anticline to the east and the Heletz Anticline to the west. The tell itself is situated less than 2 km west of the Hebron Anticline and is separated from it by a flat-bottomed alluvial valley oriented in a north–south direction. This valley visibly separates the Cretaceous limestones and dolomites of the Hebron mountains from the Eocene chalks and Miocene clastics and bioclastics of the Halif area. The soils and caliche (hardpan) of the Halif area formed on these Eocene and Miocene deposits. The bedrock on which Tell Halif itself rests is a soft Eocene chalk that reaches a thickness of about 400 m (Laustrup 1977: 1). This chalk was deposited in the north–south oriented Ziklag–Lachish syncline, which is structurally related to the collision of the Indian subcontinent with the Asian mainland as part of the processes involved in plate tectonics during the Oligocene some 35 million years ago. This process was part of a greater sequence of deformation, folding, and faulting that took place between the early Eocene and the Miocene (Picard 1943). The emergence of the land now referred to as the Levant may have begun in the Late Eocene from submarine ridges, and the final anticlinal-synclinal fold patterns may have been evident at the end of the Oligocene (Picard 1970). These events helped to produce the foothills or Shephelah region between the coastal plain and the Hebron mountains. The hilly nature of the Shephelah also owes its existence to abrasion by the Neogene sea and later dissection by fluvial erosion. The latter is especially evident during the Quaternary as increased rainfall helped the modern landscape to evolve by cutting many of the wadis and valleys so characteristic of the Hill Country area today (Horowitz 1979; Laustrup 1977). The wadi system in the immediate area of Tell Halif includes a small secondary seasonal drainage, Nahal Tillah, which feeds the larger Nahal Grar to the west before ultimately debauching its seasonal runoff waters into the Nahal Besor less than 10 km from the Mediterranean coast. The Eocene chalks that make up the Halif area are covered by a unique variety of caliche, termed “nari” by Blanckenhorn (1929). This nari forms near the ground surface of permeable calcareous rocks due to continued wetting and drying and often separates the chalks from their overlaying soils. An irreversible reaction of carbonate deposition occurs, producing an indurated surface impermeable to water and plant roots. It is above this hardpan that the shallow soils of the Halif area form. Dan and Koyumdjisky (1963; and Cruickshank 1972; Dan et al. 1972) record brown lithosols and loessial arid brown soils as characterizing the Halif area. Laustrup (1976: 26) also records the presence of rendzina desert lithosols that are only of minor significance. The brown lithosols are produced from the underlying calcareous parent material, consisting of chalk, marl, limestone, and conglomerates. These lithosol deposits are shallow and azonal, usually less than 20 cm deep, and lie directly on the nari crust (Laustrup 1977: 4). The loessial arid brown soils are either aeolian or redeposited by water. While the latter is

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Figure 4.1. Aerial view of Tell Halif (left center) looking west.

especially typical of the valley bottoms where soils are deep, the former is responsible for the slopes of the hills. A greater thickness of loess deposits is present on north-facing slopes, due to the prevailing south winds that carry these soils from the Sinai and Sahara deserts (Yaalon and Dan 1974). Similar deposits located 12 km south of the Lahav area have been dated from the middle Pleistocene to the Holocene on the basis of gastropods and flint implements (Picard and Solomonica 1936; Laustrup 1977: 6). These deposits, which are typical of the Halif area, are restricted to the hilly areas north of the Beer Sheva basin. Climate Tell Halif is located in a transitional area between two climatic zones; these include the Mediterranean clime to the north and the semiarid Irano-Turanian zones to the south. This intersection forms what best can be described as an arid Mediterranean climate. This climate averages approximately 400 mm of rainfall annually (Levy et al. 1997: 3), which falls almost exclusively (75–95%) during the winter months from November to March (Evenari et al. 1971: 31). Most of this rainfall comes in quick showers of 10 mm of precipitation or less (Evenari et al. 1971: 109). The mean temperature is 20°C, with the coldest temperatures occurring in January (mean = 11°C–12°C) and the warmest occurring in July (mean = 26°C–27°C; Laustrup 1977: 7). As with climate, Halif also is a meeting place for differing types of flora. Both Mediterranean and desert flora are present. Based on the presence and relative cover of the plant species that Danin collected in the area, he designated the plant community presently grow-

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ing in the hills around Lahav as part of the Sarcopoterium spinosum-Phlomis brachiodon association, or BP2 (Danin, Orshan, and Zohary 1975). This association, as part of the Ballotetalia Undulatae (B) constitutes a transition between the Mediterranean and IranoTuranian floras. The remainder of the association’s taxonomic hierarchy is listed below: Class Order Alliance Association

QUERCETA CALLIPRINI Ballotetalia Undulatae Sarcopoterior Spinosi Semistepposum Sarcopoterium spinosum-Phlomis brachiodon

(B) (BP) (BP2)

Danin collected and identified 247 species of plants in the Lahav area, of which 197 were ephemerals or ephemeroids (Danin, Orshan, and Zohary 1975). Laustrup (1977: 10– 11), working with the Lahav Research Project, collected all perennial species he observed in the Tell Halif area during the summer of 1977. Because his collection occurred during the summer months of June and July, the number of species he collected was dramatically lower than Danin’s. However, the following were identified: Archusa strigosa Artiplex halimus—shrub (1–2 m; saltbush or silvery orache) Ballota undulata Capparis spinosa Coridothymus capitatus Echium angustifolium Echinops polyceras Foeniculum vulgare Hyparrhenia hirta Phagnalon rupestris—good “wool” for starting fires Phlomis brachyodon—(Shalhaveet) in desert; relic from when wetter climate prevailed Polygonum equisetiforme—good for mattresses and shelters (no thorns or scent); epidermal walls swell to absorb water Salsola vermiculata—nonarboreal dominant in chalky or marly ground Salvia dominica Sarcopoterium spinosum—prickly, shrubby burnet (thorny burnet); sensitive to shade; disappears in forests and maquis; relic of wetter clime Scrophularia xanthoglossa—stem assimilates for water absorption Teucrum polium—used in teas and to alleviate stomachaches Thymelaea hirsute The vegetation, as listed above, is typical of a Mediterranean garigue (Zohary 1973; Rosen 1986: 54); however, this garigue was not always typical of the Lahav area in the past. The primary vegetation of the Lahav area is not known, because agriculture long ago destroyed its natural vegetative ground cover (Evenari, Shanan, and Tadmor 1971: 49). At one time it did support a Mediterranean climax evergreen forest and scrub (Zohary 1973; 1982: 30). This most likely occurred during the Early Bronze Age (3500–2300 b.c.e.), a time when climatic conditions were somewhat moister than the present (Rosen 1986: 62, 73). After a period of drying, a moister climate appeared once again during the Iron Age,

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yet the forests appear to have been unable to reassert themselves. Possible explanations for this include (1) the overuse of timber for building and fuel (Warburton 1980: 16); (2) the clearing of level land for agriculture (Warburton 1980: 16); (3) the clearing of hillsides and building of terraces for the planting of olive, fig, and other fruit trees and grapevines (Borowski 1988; Karmon 1971: 33; Rosen 1986: 67; Stager 1976); and/or (4) the grazing of goat and sheep, which prevented the growth of new trees (Warburton 1980: 16). Once the forests were destroyed and were unable to regenerate themselves, they were replaced by secondary vegetation with a climax of dwarf trees and high bushes (maquis) or by a lower type of vegetation of dwarf and low thorny shrubs (garigue) (Karmon 1971: 33). The area around Tell Halif has supported either maquis or garigue forms of vegetation since at least the Iron II (and probably earlier) and until the present. Reforestation attempts were made in the mid-twentieth century when indigenous species often were replaced by pines, cypresses, eucalypti, and other trees—all not uncommon in the Halif area today. With the establishment of Kibbutz Lahav in 1952 on and below the southeastern and southern slopes of the tell, a forest of Jerusalem Pines (pinus halepensis, the Lahav Forest) was planted to the north, south, and west of the kibbutz. This forest surrounds Tell Halif on its north, west, south, and southeastern sides (see fig. 4.1). Though the summit of the tell was left unplanted for the most part, the slopes of the tell were planted, and a coppice of trees was planted along the top of its western and southwesternmost faces. Some of these trees were located within the Field IV area of study. 1 Some two decades after these reforestation efforts began, excavation efforts began to target the Tell Halif area. These excavations revealed a site that was occupied periodically as well as abandoned or destroyed a number of times over the past six millennia (Seger 1993; 1997). Excavations The earliest archaeological investigations at Tell Halif and its environs were carried out in 1962 as salvage operations by R. Gophna on behalf of Israel’s Department of Antiquities (now the Israel Antiquities Authority) when road construction on the northern slope of the tell revealed a late Roman period cemetery (Deptartment of Antiquities 1962). A decade later (1970), A. Biran and R. Gophna worked in an Iron Age cemetery south of the tell (Biran and Gophna 1970). Gophna returned in early 1972 and identified remains on the tell’s eastern terrace dating to the fourth millennium b.c.e. (Gophna 1972: 47) and returned again in 1974 with V. Sussman to carry out further excavations in the Roman cemetery at the base of the tell to the north (Gophna and Zusman 1974). Also in this year, D. Alon exposed several fourth-millennium b.c.e. structures on the eastern terrace (Alon 1974: 28; 1977a; 1977b; Alon and Yekutieli 1995). Salvage work in addition to the work by the Department of Antiquities was undertaken by J. Seger (then of the Hebrew Union College) in 1972, when he supervised excavations on the terrace east of the tell in two areas where caves and tombs 1. Following the 1999 excavations of the Lahav Research Project, a fire spread from a picnic area below the western slope of the tell, up this slope, and onto the summit. The subsequent damage from fire and smoke resulted in the destruction and removal of all trees from the surface of the tell (excluding a group of three near the tell’s western slope) and all trees growing on its western slope.

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were discovered during road construction (Seger 1972). Additionally, several tombs from an Iron II cemetery were discovered south of the tell and subsequently investigated (Seger 1972: 161). Long-term research began at Tell Halif in 1976, with the creation of the Lahav Research Project (LRP). This project, made up of a consortium of American institutions and scholars, launched an integrated study of Halif and its environs, including regional survey, excavation, and ethnographic study (Seger 1997: 325). The LRP is currently in its fourth phase of investigations. Phase I efforts (1976, 1977, 1979, and 1980) concentrated in three fields on the mound’s summit (Fields I, II, III) and on a satellite project in Cave A below Field I (see fig. 4.2.). Phase II efforts (1983, 1986, 1987, and 1989) continued work in the three fields on the mound’s summit. Additional investigations were prompted by salvage work carried out on the eastern terrace in 1985 under the direction of P. Jacobs (Jacobs 1985). These included excavations in two fields on the terrace area (Sites 101 and 301). Also during this phase, a site survey was conducted, mainly north of the tell within a 5 km radius (Seger et al. 1990). Phase III (1992, 1993, and 1999) efforts continued work on the eastern terrace (in Site 101 only), but the primary focus was the investigation of deposits near the mound’s modern surface in a new field (Field IV) on the western edge of the tell. J. Seger acted as director of the Project during Phases I and II and as primary investigator during Phase III. P. Jacobs and O. Borowski codirected field excavations during Phase III (however, Jacobs acted as sole director in 1999). Phase IV work was initiated in 2007 by O. Borowski in Field V, which is located just south of Field IV. Other recent excavations in the Halif area were carried out by the Nahal Tillah project directed by T. Levy of the University of California, San Diego, during the summers of 1994 and 1995 (Levy et al. 1997). Work focused on the eastern terrace of Halif, east of the LRP’s Site 101 and immediately adjacent and south of its Site 301. This work was also connected to the investigation of cave sites near Abu Hof, approximately 2 km southwest of Tell Halif. These efforts focused on some of the earliest substantial remains at Halif, investigating both the nature of Egyptian-Canaanite interaction during the second half of the fourth millennium b.c.e. and the processes leading to secondary state formation (Levy et al. 1997: 1–3). When fully published, these materials will provide supplement to the perspective on the early history of settlement at Halif provided by J. P. Dessel’s study of ceramics from Sites 101 and 301 in Lahav I (Dessel 2009). Site Occupation These combined excavations produced a wealth of information about Tell Halif’s occupation history. Traces of occupation from the Chalcolithic through the Byzantine and Islamic periods were uncovered, as well as evidence of occupation well into the Arab period during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries c.e. (Seger 1993: 554). Nineteen major strata were identified, representing the various occupations at Halif (see table 4.1). The earliest strata at Halif belong to the late Chalcolithic (Stratum XIX) and the Early Bronze I (Strata XVIII–XVI) periods and are best known from Tell Halif’s eastern terrace. Evidence from these strata reveals a flourishing village/regional center in commercial contact with Early Dynastic Egypt (Dessel 2009; Seger 1997: 325). It is substantially larger

Figure 4.2. Topographical map of Tell Halif with excavation fields.

90 Tell Halif: Its History and Remains

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Table 4.1: Tell Halif Strata by Period and Date Stratum

Period

Date

I II III (Gap) IV V (Gap) VIA

Modern Arab Early Arab–Crusader Roman–Byzantine Early Roman Hellenistic Persian Late Iron II Iron II

1800–1948 c.e. 700–1500 c.e. 200–700 c.e. 100 b.c.e.–200 c.e. 300–100 b.c.e. 500–300 b.c.e. 680–500 b.c.e. 700–680 b.c.e.

DESTRUCTION VIB VIC VID VII VIII IX

Iron II Iron II Iron II Iron I LB IIB LB IIA

800–700 b.c.e. 850–800 b.c.e. 900–850 b.c.e. 1200–900 b.c.e. 1300–1200 b.c.e. 1400–1300 b.c.e. DESTRUCTION

X XI (Gap) (Gap, traces) XII XIII XIV

LB IB LB IA MB II EB IV (Site 101) EB IIIB2 EB IIIB1 EB IIIA2

1475–1400 b.c.e. 1550–1475 b.c.e. 2000–1550 b.c.e. 2200–2000 b.c.e. 2400–2200 b.c.e. 2450–2400 b.c.e. 2500–2450 b.c.e.

DESTRUCTION XV (Gap) XVI XVII XVIII XIX

EB IIIA1 EB II EB IC (Site 101, 301) EB IB (Site 101, 301) EB IA (Site 101, 301) Chalcolithic

2600–2500 b.c.e. 2900–2600 b.c.e. 3000–2900 b.c.e. 3100–3000 b.c.e. 3200–3100 b.c.e. 3500–3200 b.c.e.

(approximately 16 ha) than the average for villages (ca. 10 ha) in southern Palestine at this time (Levy et al. 1997: 3). Cave deposits, as well as houses, tombs, a terrace wall, and numerous bins and silos were accompanied by an abundance of artifacts that were discovered in a primary context. Following the EB I settlement, Tell Halif was unoccupied for a number of years but flourished once again during Early Bronze III, as evidenced by four distinct architectural phases (Strata XV–XII). The tell proper was occupied for the first time as a fortified city during the transitional EB II–IIIA (Stratum XV). That it was a well-planned settlement under a strong central authority is evidenced by its substantial fortification system complete with

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perimeter wall, towers, and crushed limestone glacis. This settlement ended dramatically around 2500 b.c.e. in a conflagration as evidenced by accumulations of wind- and raindeposited ash over 3 m deep (Seger 1993: 555). Subsequent occupation occurred soon after the destruction and continued until the end of EB III. Several partial structures from these strata were excavated, including areas used for domestic and economic activities. Stratum XIV yielded notable evidence of domestic space, including middens and a well-preserved cooking platform in a courtyard (Seger 1993: 555). In Strata XIII and XII, a large number of artifacts associated with an active flint knapping industry were discovered on the floors of small rooms. These included bone/antler and lithic striking tools; a number of unused, freshly struck Canaanean-type flint blades; tabular fan scrapers; and numerous flint cores (Seger 1993: 555). These attest to an active flint tool–making industry at Halif, the inhabitants of which exploited the local, high-quality flint mined from the underlying Eocene chalks. All four EB cities were destroyed by fire, the last in the twenty-fourth century b.c.e., possibly associated with forays of the Egyptian pharaohs of the late Fifth and the Sixth Dynasties (Seger 1993: 556; 1997: 325). After the destruction of the last EB III city, Halif lay virtually abandoned for almost a millennium, until ca. 1500 b.c.e. At this time, it was resettled by occupants who built the first of four Late Bronze Age cities (Strata XI–VIII). These are best represented by an Egyptian-style residence complete with numerous artifacts on floors and a number of stonelined bins (Seger 1983; Jacobs 1987; Seger et al. 1990). The residency was first occupied during Stratum X in the fifteenth century b.c.e. (LB IB) and used through Stratum IX in the fourteenth century b.c.e. (LB IIA). The last LB stratum (Stratum VIII) is represented by several rooms, the numerous resurfacings of which attest the intensity of this thirteenthcentury b.c.e. occupation (LB IIB). This stratum’s occupation debris exists as a complicated series of phases, and its occupation ceased in uncertain circumstances sometime later than 1200 b.c.e. (see Jacobs and Seger 2007). Modest occupation in Stratum VII during the Iron I period is represented in excavations so far only by scant remains, primarily consisting of partial, poorly preserved surfaces and floors from different areas of the tell (Fields I–III). Modest architectural shifts early in this period suggest good continuity between the last LB Age stratum and remains of the Iron I (Jacobs and Seger 2007). Noteworthy objects include several degenerate-style Philistine potsherds from the late eleventh–tenth century b.c.e., which suggest some connection between Tell Halif and the Philistine coastal plain (Seger 1993: 557). During the Iron Age II, the Tell Halif settlement was one of a number of settlements characteristic of the extensive and intensive development of the northern Negev and southern Shephelah. Halif’s Iron Age II occupation levels (Stratum VI) are among the best preserved and best understood archaeological layers at the site. Its remains were found in all excavation fields and probes on the tell’s summit (Fields I–V). Additional Iron II remains were identified and investigated at several probe locations in the immediate vicinity of the tell (Jacobs 1985; Seger 1997: 325). Included in Stratum VI is a substantial fortification system consisting of a casemate wall fronted by a flagstone-faced glacis. In addition to the fortifications, excavations yielded typical Iron II pillared dwellings, a number of casemate rooms, and large plastered cisterns hewn into the bedrock for water storage (Jacobs and Borowski 1993). A large Iron II cemetery (Site 72) was also discovered and investigated on the hill opposite the tell to the south and west (Borowski 1991; 1992; 1993).

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The Iron II settlement at Halif was described at the beginning of this chapter as a small fortified rural town. The settlement began in the ninth century b.c.e. and continued until its best-preserved phase (Stratum VIB) was destroyed by fire in the late eighth century b.c.e. Partial resettlement, identified as Stratum VIA, occurred rapidly and perhaps was undertaken by survivors who returned to the settlement shortly after its destruction. This squatter-like phase of occupation is apparent in some of the Stratum VIB structures, which were cleared of destruction debris, rebuilt with minor modifications, and reused. In some instances, destruction debris was not removed but merely leveled and covered by the VIA floors, thereby sealing the VIB remains. This squatter occupation lasted only a brief period before the site was once again abandoned in the early seventh century b.c.e. While the Stratum VIA settlement did not end in a conflagration, as did the preceding settlement, a considerable quantity of de facto refuse was found preserved on its floors. This suggested to the excavators that the settlement was abandoned rapidly. Based on comparative typological studies, the materials from both Stratum VIB and Stratum VIA are very similar to material found in strata from other sites in the vicinity, including Lachish (Level III), Tell Beit Mirsim (A2), Beer Sheva (2), and Tell el-Hesi (subStratum VIIIA; Blakely and Hardin 2002: 13–34). This is especially true of the Stratum VIB material. The excavators of the site dated the Strata VIB and VIA materials to the end of the eighth century b.c.e. or the beginning of the seventh century b.c.e. (Seger 1993: 558; Borowski 2005). The date of the Stratum VIB material, along with the destruction debris, numerous iron arrowheads, sling stones, and the presence at the site of four “lmlk” jar stamps, two from a primary context, constitutes a compelling case that Halif suffered the same ill fate as many other Judean cities and towns at the hands of the invading Assyrians late in the eighth century b.c.e. It is tempting further to associate this destruction with the Assyrian king Sennacherib, as he traveled from Gaza to Lachish and on to Jerusalem during his 701 b.c.e. campaign to quell rebellion of Assyria’s vassal states and provinces shortly after his ascension to the throne. 2 He claims to have laid siege to 46 of [Hezekiah’s] strong cities, walled forts and to the countless small villages in their vicinity, and conquered (them) by means of well stamped (earth) ramps, and battering-rams brought (thus) near (to the walls) (combined with) the attack by foot soldiers, (using) mines, breeches as well as sapper work. (See prism inscription of Sennacherib in Luckenbill 1927.)

According to the archaeological record of the Shephelah and Judean Hills, this was no idle boast, for virtually every site yielding late-eighth-century b.c.e. archaeological remains (except Jerusalem and several sites to its north and east) does so in the matrix of a fiery destruction. Tell Halif was resettled (Stratum V) during the Persian period (ca. fifth century b.c.e.). Excavations yielded significant architecture associated with this stratum only in Field II, where the poorly preserved remains of a large building exist—possibly a barracks or other military installation (Seger 1997: 326; Cole and Seger 2009). However, a number of bins, 2. An alternative suggestion to this understanding was suggested in Blakely and Hardin (2002), and this has been rebutted in Finkelstein and Naªaman (2004).

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pits (some stone-lined), and patchy surface and floor deposits of this stratum were excavated all across the site. A possible favissa, or “ritual dump,” was presumably located in the vicinity of southern areas in Field IV, based on a large number of figurine fragments found in its upper debris layers and top soil. While the horizontal boundaries of this deposit were not defined, these deposits suggest the presence of an active shrine at the site during the Persian period. A large number of small figurines were apparently removed, broken in a deliberate manner, and dumped into a fill that ultimately was spread across an area adjacent to houses of the Iron II (Stratum VIB; Jacobs 1994). Two subphases of a stratum representing the Hellenistic period (Stratum IV) were also identified in Field II and dated to the fourth through second centuries b.c.e. These are represented by a large building of a domestic nature (indicated by several ovens), two graves, and some small finds. The large building was reused continuously through both phases of this stratum until the site was abandoned during the second century b.c.e. After a hiatus of several centuries, Tell Halif experienced a dramatic recovery when it was reoccupied (Stratum III) during the Roman–Byzantine periods (second century b.c.e.– fifth century c.e.). Remains from the late Roman and Byzantine periods are abundant and substantial on the tell and especially in the surrounding area. The primary settlement appears to have been at the northeast foot of the tell where numerous natural caves were used for habitation (Seger 1983: 17; 1993: 559). This settlement should almost certainly be identified with Hurvat Tilla, mentioned in the Onomasticon of Eusebius (Abel 1938: 318; Biran and Gophna 1970: 153; Seger 1983: 20). During this period, the Halif settlement experienced its greatest prosperity since the Iron II period, participating in active trade, as evidenced by the nature of the finds, both from the Tilla settlement and from its associated cemetery at Site 66 to the northwest (Gophna and Zusman 1974; Borowski 1977). The latest occupations at Tell Halif occurred during the Islamic (Stratum II) and modern Arab (Stratum I) periods. These were found mainly in the caves northeast of the site, just below Field I, where a long sequence of occupation was revealed dating back to at least the Mamluke period (ca. 1300 c.e.) and possibly into the Abbasid (ca. 750–1200 c.e.) and earlier Umayyad (ca. 700 c.e.) eras (Seger 1983: 18). The more substantial remains, however, belonged to the Khirbet Khuweilifeh settlement (Stratum I) of the late nineteenth– early twentieth century c.e. The remains of these two strata included cave complexes with accompanying buildings and walled courtyards built predominantly of materials robbed from the earlier Roman–Byzantine structures and probably from Iron II fortification structures. The nature of these structures and related ethnographic research suggest that they were largely occupied by Arab fellahin acting as sharecroppers, shepherds, craftsmen, and traders for and with the local bedouin (Seger 1983: 18–19; 1997: 326). The Arabic identification of the site survived to the present through verbal traditions passed down through the local bedouin and through a few references in nineteenth-century travel logs. Site Identification A number of attempts to discover the ancient, pre-Islamic identification of Tell Halif have been made. Early in this century, it was identified with biblical Ziklag. This city, according to biblical texts, was given to David by Achish, the Philistine king of Gath (1 Sam

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27:2), when David was estranged from Saul’s court (1 Sam 27:6–12). A. Alt (1935: 318) 3 first made this connection and was followed by F.-M. Abel in his Géographie de la Palestine (1938: 318). This association was based on Tell Halif’s proximity to the neighboring site of Khirbet Umm er-Rammamin (Arabic for ‘Mother of the Pomegranates’), a site lying 1 km to the south of Halif. Umm er-Rammamin had been previously identified as Hurvat Rimmon (or biblical Rimmon/Ain Rimmon) by C. R. Conder and H. H. Kitchener while they were working for the Palestine Exploration Fund, during their pioneering survey of western Palestine that began in 1871. This was well before researchers working in Palestine understood that the mounds identified as “tells” by the local inhabitants entombed the remains of buried, ancient cities superimposed one on top of another. The identification of Rammamin with biblical Rimmon was based on the similarity of the modern Arabic placename of the site to the biblical city named both in the territorial lists of Judah (Josh 15:32) and as part of the inheritance of the tribe of Simeon (Josh 19:7). Conder and Kitchener identified the ruins discernible at Tell Halif as belonging to the Byzantine settlement of Tala or Tilla. According to the Onomasticon of Eusebius, two large Jewish villages identified as Tala and Rimmon were located 26 km south of Bet Guvrin in the Daroma region (Kloner 1980: 228). Geographically, this places them precisely in the area of Tell Halif (or Khuweilifeh) and Khirbet Umm-er Rammamin. Abel followed Conder and Kitchener in this identification but believed Halif also to be the site of the older Ziklag that was mentioned with Rimmon in the Judahite (Josh 15:31–32) and Simeonite (Josh 19:6–7) town lists. 4 The most problematic elements for the association of Tell Halif with Ziklag are supplied by recent evidence excavated at Tel Seraª, west of Halif, as well as a better understanding of archaeological remains from Khirbet Umm er-Rammamin. Recent excavations at Tel Seraª revealed the remains of buildings made of ashlar-type masonry and numerous Philistine-type small finds from early Iron Age strata. This along with the site’s geographical location well within the traditional boundaries of the Philistine coastal plain establish this site as an appealing candidate for biblical Ziklag (Oren 1982). 5 There are also problems with the identification of Khirbet Umm er-Rammamin with biblical Rimmon. Recent excavations at Khirbet Umm er-Rammamin revealed that it was not occupied until the end of the second century b.c.e. (Kloner 1980: 227–28). Thus, its association with any site from the Iron Age II is tenuous at best. Gophna has suggested that Tell Halif, a site with substantial Iron II remains and possible Judahite connections, was the biblical Rimmon referred to in the Judahite and Simeonite town lists of Joshua (Biran and Gophna 1970: 151 n. 3). He hypothesizes that, years after its abandonment, its name was assumed by the first inhabitants to return to the area after a long hiatus—the settlers of the Hurvat Rimmon described in Eusebius (Biran and Gophna 1970: 151 n. 3; see also Borowski 3. Alt identifies Khuweilifeh with Ziklag on the basis of there being no other likely candidates in the general vicinity of Khuweilifeh, where he believed Ziklag should be located. However, he appears bothered by its geographical location well east of the Philistine coastal plain, leading him to waffle a bit by suggesting Zephat Hormah as a possible alternative identification (Alt 1935: 318–19). 4. Additional evidence associating Halif with biblical Ziklag can be found in Seger 1984, but see Blakely 2007. 5. Y. Aharoni had already suggested that Halif was too far east to be Ziklag, and he proposed Tell esSharia (also called Tel Seraª) as an alternative candidate (Aharoni 1976: 259 n. 7).

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1988). Later, when Tell Halif itself was reoccupied, the inhabitants simply called their settlement “Tilla,” Aramaic for ‘the tell’, since the name “Rimmon” was no longer available (Seger 1983: 20). Tilla is the name that survived on maps until 1937 when the official name became Khirbet Khuweilifeh, Arabic for ‘abandoned village of the Caliph’. Other suggested biblical identifications for Tell Halif include Goshen, a town “in the highlands” or Judean Hills (Josh 15:51; Aharoni 1976: 184, 300) and Hormah, a town listed in the inheritance of Simeon (Josh 19:4; Naªaman 1980: 136; also tentatively suggested by Alt 1935: 318). However, the current data, including archaeological, geographical, and name etiology, point to Rimmon as the strongest candidate for the identification of the Iron Age settlement at Tell Halif (see especially Borowski 1988).

The Field IV Remains at Tell Halif Excavations in Field IV The western areas of the tell were explored in 1987 using ground-penetrating radar (Borowski and Doolittle 1996; D. P. Cole 1988) and then extensively investigated as Field IV during the Lahav Research Project’s Phase III investigations in 1992, 1993, and 1999. 6 During these field seasons, an area measuring 15 x 35 meters was excavated above the western slope of the tell (see fig. 4.3). Excavations revealed a narrow band of three to four well-preserved Iron II pillared dwellings constructed side by side along the tell’s perimeter. These dwellings were backed against and incorporated into the settlement’s Iron II casemate-like fortification line. Areas to the east were heavily disturbed. However, disturbances within the dwellings themselves were less apparent. Many of the artifacts used by the dwellings’ occupants were preserved on living floors, possibly near their use locations, where they functioned in a behavioral context. These artifacts were preserved under up to a meter of black, gray, and brown ash; decaying mud brick; burned beams; and other debris from the collapsing structures (see fig. 4.4). This refuse and other remains provide an excellent opportunity for learning detailed information about the nature of the Iron II settlement at Halif, particularly the organization of domestic space. With this in mind, I will focus in the remainder of this study on one well-preserved pillared dwelling excavated on the north end of Field IV—the F7 Dwelling (see fig. 4.5). The F7 Dwelling The F7 Dwelling was first excavated in Area F7 in the northern portions of Field IV using the procedures described in chap. 2. As stated there, these data were collected and recorded with the utmost care given to the observation of stratigraphic relationships. Use was made of the traditional balk-debris method of field excavation, and particular attention was 6. Preliminary field reports on work during these seasons is provided in the Digmaster database on the Cobb Institute of Archaeology’s Web site (www.cobb.msstate.edu; see also http://www.cobb.msstate.edu/ dig/lahav/map.html and http://www.cobb.msstate.edu/dig/LRP-1999–01/overview).

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given to bonding and other structural affinities between walls and features. Each artifact recovered from the destruction debris in the dwelling was provenienced with three-dimensional information, primarily using the “magic square” for horizontal control and sea-level measurements for the vertical (Seger and Jacobs 1992). Virtually every bit of excavated soil from the modern tell surface down to beneath the Iron II floors was sifted for small fragments of artifacts using 1/4inch mesh screen. All floors were sampled using smaller mesh to test for microartifacts. Microartifacts from 0.25 mm to 30 mm in size were collected from these floor samples in size-graduated screens. With these two sifting techniques, a significantly larger number of small artifacts were retrieved, including numerous small fauna, bullae, weaving tools, and the like. Careful three-dimensional excavation and mapping along with these sifting and sampling techniques provided well-understood architectural plans of the F7 Dwelling and Figure 4.3. Field IV aerial view, looking south, with F7 well-provenienced material remains Dwelling in the foreground. from the debris that accumulated within its environs. Consequently, I can state confidently that artifacts that were not restorable or were in a less-than-complete state were the result of factors other than archaeological methods of recovery. The F7 Dwelling covers much of the northern portion of Tell Halif’s Field IV, including most of the areas (5 x 5 m excavation units) designated F7, G7, G8, and H7 as well as parts of areas F8, G6, and H8 (see fig. 4.6). The dwelling measures approximately 11–12 m east to west and approximately 9.5 m north to south. It possesses many of the features common in pillared dwellings of the Iron Age discussed in chap. 3. These include a pair of broad rooms set across the rear of the structure and three long rooms extending perpendicularly through the remainder of the dwelling (see figs. 3.1 and 4.5). The two broad rooms are divided unevenly, as is typical in most pillared dwellings. They are also incorporated into a casemate-like defense system. Two of the three long rooms (the northern two) were separated by at least two pillars and possibly a third. The third long room is separated from

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Figure 4.4. Evidence of the intense burning of pillared dwellings in the northeast corner of Area F7. Seen in the balk is dark ash, collapsed stone, and whole mud bricks covering artifacts dispersed and smashed on an earthen floor. The northern wall of the F7 Dwelling can be seen to the right.

the other two by a solid wall but connected to them by a doorway. Walls were built with stone foundations two rows wide and between two and six courses high. Most of them were topped with mud-brick superstructures, some of which are preserved in place atop stone foundations (e.g., L. F7003 and L. G8006; see fig. 5.1). The floors of the broad rooms are level and well laid with small cobbles. Earthen floors predominate in the long rooms. However, the central room is partially covered by a flagstone floor, and a small segment of cobble floor is present in the northern room (see fig. 4.6). Numerous installations, artifacts, and burned deposits were scattered throughout the structure. These lay on the floors and were sealed in and under the ashy destruction debris. (Details of these remains are discussed in more detail in chap. 5.) While it is possible that each of the spatially segregated groups of objects, features, and refuse found in the dwelling is placed as a direct result of past behaviors, I will not advance assertions of this sort until other sources that regularly introduce patterning and variability into the archaeological record are investigated.

Studying Formation Processes Before credible behavioral inferences can be rendered with regard to the observed phenomena from the F7 Dwelling, patterns introduced by formation processes that might distort the behavioral information must be systematically investigated, and methods must be

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Figure 4.5. View of the F7 Dwelling, looking south, with broad rooms to the right and three long rooms (disturbed by pits) to the left.

employed for taking them into account (Schiffer 1973; 1985: 19; cf. 1983; 1987). When dealing with the de facto assemblage of Tell Halif, we must segregate the items that were removed, added, or patterned by various formation processes that were active on the assemblage. We must assess the degree and nature of any depletions or additions to the de facto refuse in order to make credible behavioral inferences from destruction debris and floor assemblages. While it is difficult to identify and isolate all agents actively affecting archaeological remains, one must make systematic attempts to account for as many disturbance processes as possible and to assess the degree and nature of any depletions of the de facto refuse. This will be attempted using a strategy adapted from B. Montgomery’s work at Chodistas Pueblo in Arizona (Montgomery 1994). With little change, the procedures she proposed for the analysis of southwest American sites can be successfully applied to the multilayered tells of the Near East. These procedures, as outlined in chap. 2, are followed here to test for cultural and natural formation processes in various contexts. Testing for Cultural Formation Processes Step 1: Listing Possible Cultural Processes

The first step for testing the effects of cultural formation processes is to compile a list of possible cultural processes active in behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts. The list of possible cultural formation processes and agents affecting the archaeological record

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Figure 4.6. Plan of the F7 Dwelling with the Field IV grid superimposed and identified by excavation areas.

presented below is assembled from Carr (1987), Montgomery (1994), and Schiffer (1985: 1987). These cultural formation processes are divided into cultural depositional processes, reclamation processes, and disturbance processes.

Tell Halif: Its History and Remains List of Processes Possibly Active in the Behavioral Context Depositional processes • agents active on floors • items lost on floors • primary refuse deposited during use • secondary refuse deposited during use • refuse deposited during the abandonment period of a structure’s use • ritual deposits • de facto refuse deposited when a structure is abandoned • siege specific assemblages • surplus storage • trampling Reclamation processes • looting • reclaiming secondary refuse • recycling • scavenging List of Processes Possibly Active in the Site Context Depositional processes • de facto refuse deposited when a structure is abandoned • refuse deposited in a structure during an abandonment period • refuse left by squatters during temporary use of the structure • secondary refuse deposited by the remaining inhabitants • refuse introduced by decaying structures upon abandonment • trampling • curation Reclamation processes • occupational variability and reoccupation • reincorporation and salvage • scavenging • gleaning • pot hunting • collecting • looting Disturbance processes • earth-moving processes • digging of foundation trenches for walls • digging of pits of various types • digging of cisterns • leveling activities • surficial processes • plowing • trampling

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List of Processes Possibly Active in the Archaeological Context Reclamation processes • archaeology • incomplete recovery • limited exposures • poor methodology • unsystematic collection and classification of artifacts • misclassification of artifacts • scavenging • pot hunting • collecting • looting Disturbance processes • earth-moving processes • leveling activities • surficial processes • trampling Cultural Processes Possibly Active in the Behavioral Context Of the many cultural processes affecting refuse in the behavioral context, depositional and reclamation processes are most active, and they are especially active on artifacts and other refuse deposited on floors. Depositional processes contribute refuse to the archaeological record by introducing artifacts in the behavioral context (as well as in others), while reclamation processes both contribute and remove refuse from behavioral contexts. Both processes may lead to the deposition of secondary and primary refuse (including de facto refuse) during the time of a site’s occupation. 7 Processes that introduce secondary refuse are usually more active in the site context, but they also occur in the behavioral context. Processes contributing to the deposition of secondary refuse into the behavioral context include processes that often introduce refuse accidentally. (When the refuse is introduced deliberately and is not used in a way that was originally intended, it is actually a reclamation process that involves secondary refuse and is therefore discussed with reclamation processes below.) A specific example may be the incorporation of ceramic sherds into mud-brick walls and/or roofs and ceilings, either incidentally or as temper. These ceramics may fall from walls or ceilings and become introduced onto floors with other ceramics that constitute primary refuse. A problem arises for archaeologists when all the sherds that appear on these floors are collected together as primary refuse from what is deemed a behavioral context and are subsequently used to give behavioral significance to the floors. The sherds introduced as secondary refuse may come from cooking pots, storage jars, or other vessels and may suggest to archaeologists that food preparation and/or storage took place on these floors when, in reality, these activities may never have occurred there. 7. See the glossary for the definitions of these and other important terms.

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Examples of depositional processes that contribute primary refuse in the behavioral context include losing, discarding, or abandoning artifacts in their use locations. Items may be dropped and lost and subsequently become incorporated into floors through trampling (Schiffer 1985: 24). The same “incorporation process” may happen to smaller refuse discarded at or near its place of manufacture and/or use. Larger artifacts may also be abandoned as de facto refuse in behavioral contexts. De facto refuse is most often abandoned in the behavioral context when sites are destroyed or abandoned rapidly. Natural disasters such as earthquakes or floods may lead to the deposition of great quantities of de facto refuse by bringing occupation to an end rapidly and sealing remains under collapsed debris. De facto refuse can also be plentiful in rapid abandonments associated with destruction through siege warfare. Refuse of this sort may appear when occupants flee rapidly and leave items where they were used, or it can be deposited after an unsuccessful defense of a settlement in which the occupants are defeated, and their material remains are destroyed and covered where they were left. In siege situations, artifacts associated with storage may appear in unusual quantities due to increased storage strategies to offset the stresses or shortages caused by the siege. De facto refuse may also be deposited due to the abandonment of structures or artifacts in less stressful situations (Schiffer 1985: 24). People may move and leave behind artifacts that are too heavy to carry or that are no longer desirable. In these cases, other kinds of refuse in addition to de facto refuse may be laid down, including secondary refuse. Secondary refuse may be deposited by remaining inhabitants who dispose of items in the abandoned areas, or primary and secondary refuse may be left behind by squatters or others who make temporary use of an abandoned structure (Schiffer 1985: 24). Space also may be abandoned as part of cultic activity, causing ritual deposits of de facto refuse to be left behind or even deposited in abandoned areas after being discarded ceremonially. Artifacts may be ceremonially/ritually abandoned to “kill” or bring to an end their use or the use of a particular space (for example, artifacts left in a favissa, or a home being abandoned after someone dies in it; see Schiffer 1985: 24). In these situations, de facto artifacts may be ritually broken to prevent their reuse. Other artifacts that appear in behavioral contexts may be in a secondary use that has nothing to do with their original design or use and thus are actually part of reclamation processes. This includes artifacts collected for reuse, such as discarded ceramic sherds for use as temper in ceramic production, as ostraca, or in other uses. Worn-out, broken grinding implements and stone vessels may be reused through incorporation into architectural elements such as walls or installations, or used as socles. Artifacts such as these are often collected from earlier deposits and reused through reclamation processes. Reclamation processes often deplete refuse deposited in a behavioral context. In sites where abandonment was caused by warfare, remains may be looted by the victors. After looting, other abandoned remains may be reclaimed as de facto or secondary refuse through recycling and scavenging activities. This is often undertaken by squatters who are looking for things on earlier floors that are still usable—a process most active in the site context. It is important to determine under what circumstances the remains were deposited and removed before we begin to infer behaviors from archaeological remains.

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Cultural Processes Possibly Active in Site Context Similarly, it is important to understand the cultural processes that affect archaeological remains after they exit the behavioral context. Processes of deposition, disturbance, and reclamation are very active in this, the site context. Depositional processes include many of the same processes active in the behavioral context after a settlement is abandoned, and they can continue to be active in this context for long periods of time. But reclamation and disturbance processes are normally more common in this context. Reclamation processes cause artifacts from the archaeological record (site context) to be reclaimed for use, once again, in a behavioral context. Occupational variability and reoccupation often lead to reclamation activity as newer occupants exploit the remains of earlier occupants of sites for use. This is often carried out through reincorporation and salvage or scavenging. Reincorporation is the reuse of de facto refuse from a settlement (site context) once the settlement is reoccupied. Salvage refers to the process of reclaiming artifacts, including structures, for reuse—frequently for building materials. Scavenging generally refers to exploitation and recycling by a settlement’s inhabitants from accumulations of previously deposited artifacts (Schiffer 1987: 106). A specialized form of scavenging is gleaning, or the reclamation of discarded items. More recent forms of reclamation include pot hunting in the forms of looting and/or collecting. These processes can severely deplete archaeological remains, though usually in a selective and patterned way. Disturbance processes in site context also severely deplete and alter archaeological remains. The primary difference between disturbance processes and reclamation processes is that the artifacts affected by disturbance processes do not reenter a behavioral system as usable items (Schiffer 1987: 121). These disturbances are usually the result of an activity that has a purpose other than the reclamation of artifacts. The artifacts and other refuse are simply modified or moved along the way (Schiffer 1987: 121). Disturbance processes do, however, alter the archaeological record through earth-moving processes and surficial processes. Earth-moving processes, obviously, modify the surface of the ground by moving or removing earth, thus disturbing previously deposited artifacts (Schiffer 1987: 122). These processes are often associated with construction stages and include the digging of foundation trenches for walls, pits of various types, and cisterns. This type of disturbance often causes upward migration of artifacts and depletions through removal. Surficial processes are activities that modify the surface of the ground but do not remove earth (Schiffer 1987: 126). These include plowing and trampling. Plowing, of course, is the turning of soil for agricultural production. Artifacts can be moved around quite dramatically in this process depending on the intensity, frequency, and depth of plowing. Trampling is caused by human or animal movement that disturbs previously deposited artifacts (Neilson 1991; Schiffer 1987: 126–29). The effects of trampling depend on the occurrence of cultural material on the ground, the intensity of the trampling, and the nature of the surface sediments (Schiffer 1987: 126). Cultural Processes Possibly Active in the Archaeological Context Processes active in the archaeological context refer to the excavation and analysis of artifactual remains. Methods of archaeological analysis must be sound and well conceived or they can complicate one’s ability to make behavioral inferences about the past using ar-

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chaeological data. Patterns having nothing to do with past behaviors can be introduced by the archaeological process through poor or careless methods of excavation and recording of archaeological remains, through the incomplete recovery of materials or their limited exposure, through unsystematic collection and classification of artifacts, or through the misclassification of artifacts altogether. Patterns may be inferred mistakenly to be indicative of past human behaviors and can therefore hinder our understanding of archaeological remains. Archaeological investigation can lead to other processes that affect archaeological deposits. During the intervals between field excavation seasons, archaeological excavation areas are exposed to a number of processes, some of which are cultural. These may include scavenging, collecting, looting, and even some disturbance processes such as earth moving and trampling. Because all of these cultural processes can introduce patterning into the archaeological record through the addition, removal, and/or disturbance of archaeological remains, each specific process were tested for its effects on the archaeological record at Tell Halif in steps 2 and 3. Steps 2 and 3: Testing and Evaluating Specific Cultural Formation Processes

For this analysis, steps 2 and 3 were combined. A test of each specific process previously identified was undertaken, followed by an evaluation of the impact of each process on the archaeological record at Tell Halif. Their effects were evaluated for the behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts. First, processes active in the behavioral context were tested. Cultural Processes Possibly Active in the Behavioral Context Cultural formation processes active in the behavioral context may be very influential in determining where remains become located. Consequently, each process from the list of possible cultural formation processes active in the behavioral context was analyzed while we studied floor deposits from the F7 Dwelling. Each process was evaluated to determine its role in the introduction of refuse and its patterning into the remains on floors and into the destruction debris associated with these floors. The main goal was to separate items of the de facto assemblage from items in other refuse, whether primary or secondary. Items Lost on Floors Small artifacts discovered within the build-up of materials on floors of the dwelling may have found their way there after they were lost by those who used them. One would expect items of this sort to become pressed into floors through trampling or in other ways, causing their removal from visual contact. For this reason, artifacts well embedded in floors are separated from the de facto refuse. Items Deposited as Primary Refuse Next, the refuse deposited on floors during the main period of the dwelling’s use must be separated into secondary and primary refuse. Sherds resting on floors and sealed by fallen ceiling debris are identified as either part of the secondary refuse (that is, materials introduced from decaying ceiling and wall debris) or as primary refuse. Great efforts were taken to separate the de facto refuse from other material through exhaustive refitting efforts. Although I think that most of the de facto refuse was successfully separated from the other

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material, I am less certain regarding the separation of primary refuse lying on floors from secondary refuse that was introduced onto floors from collapsing ceilings, walls, and other structural elements. Efforts were made to locate intact fragments of the ceiling in order to investigate materials that were incorporated into their matrix, but this was only marginally successful, because only two ceiling fragments were found. These were discovered leaning against one another and resting on the floor of the central long room (Room 4; see fig. 5.3) at its western termination. One of these fragments was partially dismantled, and only one sherd was found. The ceiling sample was small (ca. 20 cm x 25 cm x 15 cm), so no firm conclusions should be drawn regarding the introduction of refuse onto floors from falling debris. Mud bricks, however, were a different matter. A number of mud bricks were dismantled and forced through a 1/4-inch mesh screen. These were found to be literally filled with sherds—both freshly broken and heavily abraded. These are discussed in greater detail below in relation to processes active in site context. Abandonment Processes Regarding the de facto refuse and other artifactual remains, a number of processes act to deposit refuse during the abandonment of a structure or dwelling. Because the dwelling analyzed here is filled with de facto refuse and is thought to have been abandoned shortly before being burned, it is important for us to attempt an understanding of the abandonment processes. As stated earlier, Stratum VIB at Tell Halif was apparently destroyed in a military siege associated with the Assyrians. In this assault, the F7 Dwelling as well as the entire Stratum VIB settlement was razed in a fiery conflagration and abandoned completely for a short period. As has been discussed above, this destruction was most likely related to the third campaign of the Assyrian king Sennacherib as he attempted to quell the rebellion of his vassal kingdoms at the end of the eighth century b.c.e. Three possible scenarios best account for Tell Halif’s abandonment and destruction. These are: (1) inhabitants fleeing before the powerful Assyrian war machine (see R. L. O’Connell 1995); (2) an unsuccessful defense of the settlement before its fortifications were breached, and the settlement was taken, cursorily looted, and burned; or (3) a combination of the two, including partial abandonment, and defense by only a portion of the inhabitants. Any of these scenarios would account for the large volume of usable artifacts left in activity areas and structures throughout the destroyed settlement. In the face of the Assyrian onslaught, the inhabitants of the settlement at Tell Halif, or at least some of them, must have attempted to defend the settlement, because it appears to have been taken under a heavy barrage of slingstones and arrows (fig. 4.7). These have been found throughout the Stratum VIB remains, particularly in deposits of roof collapse. Additionally, the archaeological record shows that the settlement was abandoned with numerous still-usable small and large artifacts left on the floors and buried under the collapsed debris of the burned dwellings. The patterns introduced by the activity of burning and destruction of the Halif settlement are marked throughout the site. The Assyrians undoubtedly set the fires, and there must have been an abundance of combustible material present that was otherwise used in everyday activities or employed as building/living material by the settlement’s occupants

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Figure 4.7. Arrowheads removed from Field IV destruction debris.

that would have helped to feed the blaze once it was set. This is attested by the intensity and totality of the destruction. Every field excavated on the tell yielded Stratum VIB destruction debris. The intensity of the fires was such that limestone building materials at various places were slaked to powder. Once the combustible remains were consumed, structures began to collapse. The structures often collapsed in patterned ways, with the burned roof debris collapsing onto the floors of buildings. In the F7 Dwelling, some burned roof beams were present on the floors (in Areas F7 and H7; fig. 4.8), but other roof materials constituted only a small amount of the fill material. At many points, roofs were only identified as a thin lense of black and/or gray ash that had subsequently been covered over by collapse and melt from the brick walls. The collapse of a roof was generally followed by the collapse of walls. The effect of these processes was the rapid covering of much of the de facto refuse left in the structures at the time of their destruction before slower and degrading natural processes began to exert their destructive forces on the abandoned structures.

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Figure 4.8. Burned beam and ceramic vessels in debris covering Floor F7006 in Room 5. Wall F7003 visible at top.

Various normal and abnormal patterns are introduced into de facto refuse by human behaviors during the events leading up to the destruction of a settlement. Evidence of these may be preserved under and in the destruction debris. The de facto refuse on the floors of the dwelling may represent the remains of items left in the location where they were regularly used in everyday activities by the occupants of the dwelling. However, under siege conditions one could hardly expect everyday activities to continue unabated in a fortified settlement such as Halif. Many normal activities would have been truncated and replaced by activities associated with siege preparations. Thus, it is possible that patterns introduced into and observed in the de facto refuse of the pillared dwelling do not reflect activities indicative of normal, everyday patterns of life but, rather, special, unusual preparations and activities launched due to the impending peril of siege and destruction hanging over the settlement. Assuming the inhabitants of the Halif settlement knew of the coming siege prior to the attack, they undoubtedly would have prepared for this event, especially by stockpiling a surplus of various goods. 8 Patterns observable in the archaeological record may reflect this 8. For a discussion of royally instituted siege preparations in Judah during the Iron II, see Vaughn (1999). See Mazar and Panitz-Cohen (2001: 173–82) for a discussion of preparations for Babylonian invasion at Timnah.

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Figure 4.9. Isometric reconstruction of F7 Dwelling with ceramics and objects located in their find spots on the floors (drawing by Jason Greene and Dylan Karges).

behavior. Indeed a large quantity of storage jars were found in the F7 Dwelling (see fig. 4.9). Explanations of their quantity and presence are reviewed more thoroughly under the following discussion of activities taking place in the dwelling. Some of the analytical procedures used here are aimed at addressing the everyday patterns versus the “truncation-in-everyday” patterned nature of the deposition of the de facto

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refuse in the F7 Dwelling. Attempts are made to associate the observed patterns and artifact frequencies in the de facto artifacts with more permanent features such as ovens, bins, and other installations that may be more useful for establishing the otherwise common use of the space. These data are compared with microartifacts that build up slowly over time in the spaces where they were produced. The archaeological remains from the F7 Dwelling are also compared with Iron II remains identified in domestic contexts at other archaeological sites and with ethnoarchaeological data on domestic assemblages and activities in general. This is discussed in greater detail below. Additional processes active in the behavioral context during site abandonment remove items from de facto refuse. At Halif, this may have included looting before the settlement was burned. If this were the case, one would expect classes of “valuable” artifacts to be missing such as metals (bronze, iron), precious metals (gold, silver), precious or semiprecious stones, and other items of personal adornment. Additionally, if looting is prolonged, one would expect larger de facto items to be removed. Evidence of looting by Assyrian armies during the eighth century b.c.e. is apparent from contemporaneous iconographic sources excavated in Mesopotamia (Layard 1848). Excavations of Sennacherib’s palace at Nineveh revealed wall reliefs showing the siege and subsequent looting of Lachish, a site ca. 12 miles north-northwest of Tell Halif (see Ussishkin 1982; see fig. 1.1). However, there is no evidence of wide-scale looting in the excavated remains of Field IV. Throughout the field, items of personal adornment, bronze and iron tools (knives, sickles, plows, needles), figurines, “cultic” paraphernalia, and numerous ceramic vessels (for wine, oil, and other goods) were found in considerable numbers. However, there is no way to rule out looting before burning completely, especially if the looting was quick and haphazard. In addition to looting, other processes such as recycling may have removed artifacts from the dwelling, but these would have occurred after the site was burned and abandoned. Cultural Processes Possibly Active in the Site Context The nature or type of occupation of a site determines how badly its archaeological remains are disturbed in site context. Many tell sites, including Tell Halif, are what M. Schiffer refers to as recurrent, extended, or supraextended habitation sites (Schiffer 1987: 101). Because a number of occupations occurred at Tell Halif subsequent to the Iron II Stratum VIB occupation, one would expect these later occupations to have disturbed the earlier Iron II material remains that they succeeded. Reoccupation after the Stratum VIB destruction occurred rapidly as squatters returned to the settlement shortly after its destruction. 9 Evidence for this in Field III includes the reoccupation of Stratum VIB structures after destruction debris was removed or after it was leveled out and covered. Many of the rooms (Stratum VIA) were reused for the same functions for which they had been used prior to the Stratum VIB destruction. Typologically, the ceramic corpus of the squatter phase is virtually identical to the de facto assemblage of Stratum VIB buried within the destruction debris.

9. The activities of squatters are most active in this, the site context, well after the dwelling is abandoned by its occupants. However, there is the possibility that any squatters returning to the site may have been the previous Stratum VIB occupants. Were that the case, this sort of activity would be best characterized as a process active in a behavioral context.

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Depositional Processes Some of the processes that deposited remains in the F7 Dwelling in site context include the activities of later occupants and the collapse of structures (the latter usually is caused by natural processes). Processes such as these could have added items to the de facto refuse recovered from the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif. Squatters could have introduced other materials as secondary refuse into the burned and abandoned ruins of dwellings (however, no direct evidence such as middens or ritual deposits was found in reused phases of dwellings). The same inhabitants can introduce trampling as well. The most likely way that squatters would have introduced secondary refuse into the destroyed and abandoned dwellings would have been through cleaning activities associated with the rehabitation of some dwellings. As efforts were made to remove the destruction debris from dwellings selected for reoccupation, it is likely that dwellings remaining unoccupied would have served as repositories for the removed destruction debris. With regard to ceramics, this activity could include the discarding of broken and fragmentary vessels into the unoccupied dwellings—an activity that should be apparent in the archaeological record. Evidence of this activity should include the discovery of numerous sherds that may be refitted with others but that do not produce whole or even mostly-whole vessels. Moreover, one would expect such refuse to be above the collapsed debris in structures and/or scattered over broader areas. One possible example of this appeared in Area E of Room 3, where a storage jar did not come into contact with the floor and had a low refitting index, even though numerous sherds of the vessel were recovered. However, it seems more likely that other formation processes were responsible for this patterning. The pot’s location near a robbed-out wall and an intrusive Persian period pit better explains this vessel’s low refitting index. While abundant evidence of patterning introduced through these processes is known in other areas of the tell (e.g., Field III), little evidence of their presence could be observed in the remains of the F7 Dwelling. 10 Reclamation Processes Following the destruction, the settlement at Halif was largely abandoned with the exception of a few squatters (probably former residents who survived the Assyrian onslaught) who returned after the settlement was destroyed. Aside from clearing out and reoccupying a few of the damaged structures (Stratum VIA), these squatters left much of the site unmolested, and natural phenomena began the processes of redistribution of sediments through sheet wash, erosion, and ponding (more on this under natural formation processes). It is possible that the squatters of Stratum VIA scavenged in the destroyed settlement upon their return, thus depleting elements of the de facto refuse. For example, this could account for the absence of green stone mortars, fragments of which were often found among the microartifact samples. While scavenging activity of this sort seems likely, no disturbances could be attributed directly to this process. However, ample evidence exists for the effects of other reclamation processes on the remains of the F7 Dwelling. 10. This is not true for the structures in the southern half of Field IV. Preliminary evidence from these areas uncovered in the 1999 field season of the Lahav Research Project closely resemble that in Field III, where some structures are clearly reoccupied. O. Borowski also found similar patterns farther south of Field IV in Field V, where excavation began in 2007.

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Reincorporation and Salvage Processes. Although the F7 Dwelling was not reoccupied, later occupants at the site did affect the archaeological materials of Stratum VIB. Reincorporation and salvage activities undertaken by these later occupants and the effects of their salvaging processes are readily apparent there. Major salvaging activities apparently were focused on the recovery of fieldstones from the foundations of Stratum VIB walls for reuse in post–Stratum VI structures. Stone-robbing activities of this sort have been a part of the formation of tells throughout their history and have at times even been directly observed by archaeologists. For example, J. L. Kelso, during his investigations and excavations at Bethel in 1927 and 1934, noticed the local villagers engaging in this activity, collecting stones from ancient structures for building boundary walls (Kelso 1969: 37). At Tell Halif, some very interesting patterns were created by the activities associated with salvaging processes. In some areas of Field IV, entire architectural elements were removed during the robbing of wall-building materials. However, the floor assemblages between walls were hardly affected, essentially leaving house plans apparent in the negative (fig. 4.10). The resulting robber trenches were often difficult to trace during excavation. The materials that were removed from these trenches by robbers, including loosely compacted mud-brick debris with both whole bricks and detritus along with loose, heterogeneous ashy destruction debris, were simply tossed back into the robber trenches once the stone building materials were removed from them. Consequently, the disturbed material closely matched its surrounding matrix. There were, however, two clues that signaled the presence of these trenching and salvage activities. The first was the very infrequent but nonetheless evident appearance in the trenches of sherds from later periods (especially corrugated Roman–Byzantine sherds). In one instance, a partially restorable Roman cooking pot was thrown into one of these trenches and was found by the excavators at the floor level in the F7 Dwelling. The second clue was the much more apparent presence of “ghost walls.” With the walls removed, breaks in living floors appeared where the floors had originally met the walls, leaving perfect plans of walls in the negative. By outlining these breaks in the surfaces, we were able to retrieve relatively complete plans of these buildings even though some of the actual walls were removed in antiquity. Evidence of scavenging can be seen in the F7 Dwelling in the southern portions of the structure. The two long walls of Room 3—the southernmost of the long rooms (L. H7011 and L. H7015; see figs. 5.1 and 5.3)—are both almost totally robbed out (see figs. 4.10–11). The entire excavated length of the southern wall (outer wall L. H7015) had been removed except for an element formed by a reused pillar protruding into the wall line from an earlier stratum (L. H7014). Besides this pillar, the only remains indicative of a wall include the robber trench. The opposite, parallel wall of Room 3 was also scavenged for most of its length (L. H7011). However, its westernmost extension, which meets the wall of the broad room, was not robbed out (L. G7023). Apparently, the robbers moved on in a northerly direction, following what must have been another wall, as evidenced by the presence of obvious trenching activities. During the mining of this wall, flagstones may also have been removed from the floor of the central long room (Room 4, L. G7016), and it seems likely that the primary refuse that was left near this wall was disturbed during these scavenging activities. While such mining activities and other salvage

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Figure 4.10. East end of Room 3 Area E, showing Floor H7005 with lines of robbed-out Walls H7011 (top) and H7015 (bottom). Installation H7007 (bottom right) is also shown. A mud brick, several broken ceramic vessels, and signs of intense burning can be seen on the floor.

processes affected architectural remains considerably, their effects on the de facto refuse were not severe. Almost without exception, salvaging left the de facto artifact assemblage mostly unmolested. No mining of building materials was observed in other areas of the F7 Dwelling, nor were the effects of other reclamation processes observed. Disturbance Processes Earthmoving Processes. Disturbance processes active on the F7 Dwelling’s remains include earth-moving and surficial processes. Earth-moving processes were especially apparent in the form of pits and cisterns excavated into and through the destruction refuse and floors of Stratum VIB by later occupants of the site. These disturbances were confined to the central and northern long rooms (Rooms 4 and 5). Two small, circular, stone-lined pits or bins (L. G7006 and L. G7007) dating to the Persian period (mid-sixth–fifth centuries b.c.e.) were dug through the destruction debris in two of the long rooms (see figs. 4.11 and 5.1). Additionally, a larger stone-lined cistern (L. G6014) dating to the Roman–Byzantine period was similarly dug through earlier archaeological remains. The construction of this cistern disturbed the F7 Dwelling at the easternmost extent of its middle long room. The construction processes associated with these features removed de facto refuse from floors and their covering destruction debris, causing depletions in these areas.

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Figure 4.11. Plan showing postdepositional disturbances to the F7 Dwelling.

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Surficial Processes. While the effects of surficial processes could not be identified and isolated directly, they are known to have affected deposits near the F7 Dwelling. The surface of the tell was plowed in its later history, but this affected the Iron II deposits minimally because they were protected by walls and generally lie below the shallow plow zone. The only place where this does not appear to be the case is near the slope of the tell. In these areas, the plows probably reached the Stratum VIB deposits and caused the disturbance and upward movement of artifacts. However, plowing does not appear to be a major contributor to refuse patterning in the Stratum VIB remains. Trampling by people and herded animals undoubtedly caused disturbances, but again, this seems to have been minimal. Cultural Processes Possibly Active in the Archaeological Context Archaeological investigation can introduce patterning and variability into the archaeological record that hinders our ability to make strong behavioral inferences from our analyses of material culture. In the current project, we attempted to minimize these effects through meticulous excavation, careful processing, and thorough analysis of archaeological data. However, one area where patterning was introduced at Halif by the methods of excavation was along the perimeter of the excavation areas. For example, the easternmost areas of Rooms 3 and 5 remain unexcavated, and 1-meter-wide balks run through the eastern end of Room 4 (fig. 5.1, p. 125). Material undoubtedly remains in these deposits that belongs with the primary and de facto refuse of the F7 Dwelling. Thus, proximity to these areas is considered when calculating refitting indices and determining what these disturbances mean for understanding the archaeological remains. In Room 4, it is also possible that several stones were removed from the flagstone floor in the eastern half of the room. Archaeological investigation also can introduce and/or stimulate other processes that affect artifactual remains. Exposed excavation areas lay dormant through much of the year. During this time, a number of cultural and natural processes could become active on the exposed remains. At Halif, members of the neighboring kibbutz sometimes carried away items such as large stone mortars and other remains for use in their gardens and yards. While such activities went on for years prior to excavation as reincorporation processes in site context, others occurred as a concomitant result of the archaeological investigations. For example, between the summers of 1992 and 1993, visitors removed some artifacts and other de facto refuse from balks left exposed by excavation in the very southern end of Field IV. This especially included large pottery sherds that were visibly protruding from the balk (Area L8/L9 balk). For the most part, the damage appeared to be localized and minimal and, fortuitously for the present study, it did not affect any areas near the F7 Dwelling. Thus, looting activity is not responsible for the patterning observed in the de facto remains associated with it. Step 4: Evaluating the Impact of Cultural Disturbances

The final step in the analysis of the effects of cultural formation processes is to evaluate the overall impact of cultural disturbances in behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts. Above, attempts were made to address all the cultural processes that introduced patterns and variation in these contexts. We found that these processes had a significant

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impact on the archaeological record of the F7 Dwelling in isolated areas. The major culprits included reclamations processes associated with scavenging or trenching and disturbance processes associated with plowing. Trenching or mining activities, under the broader category of scavenging, apparently were aimed at the recovery of fieldstones from the base of some Iron Age II walls of Stratum VIB for reuse by later occupants. In addition to mining, disturbance processes associated with the construction of bins and pits, particularly of the stone-lined variety, were observed. The construction of these installations during the Persian and Byzantine periods disturbed the de facto refuse on and above the Iron II floors. Evidence of less destructive cultural activities, including plowing and trenching, were apparent but only affected areas with shallow overburdens, especially near the western perimeter of the F7 Dwelling. Figure 4.11 shows areas where major cultural disturbances occurred. While cultural formation processes disturbed de facto refuse in isolated areas, they probably were not responsible for most of the patterns observed in the refuse preserved in the F7 Dwelling. Testing for Natural Formation Processes Step 1: Listing Possible Natural Processes

To analyze the effects of natural formation processes active in Field IV, we first compiled a list of possible processes and agents active in behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts. This list of processes and agents is compiled from discussions by Carr (1987), Montgomery (1994), Schiffer (1987), and Wood and Johnson (1978) and includes the following: List of Natural Formation Processes Possibly Active in Behavioral Context • Water erosion • Wind erosion List of Natural Formation Processes Possibly Active in Site Context • Agents of wind and water • wind erosion • water erosion • slope wash • down wearing • parallel retreat • Pedoturbation • faunalturbation • floralturbation • root action • tree falls • Cryoturbation • frost heave and thrust • involutions • patterned ground

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• Graviturbation • earth/mud flows • landslides • rockfall • soil creep • Agrilliturbation • Aeroturbation • soil gas disturbance • wind winnowing List of Natural Formation Processes Possibly Active in the Archaeological Context • Water erosion • Wind erosion • Faunalturbation • Floralturbation The first agents listed above are the processes associated with wind and water. These agents are most active through erosion or the down-wearing, removal, and/or redeposition of materials. These effects are commonplace in most archaeological sites. On tells, these agents are most active near slopes where wash occurs. Slope wash generally occurs through two processes: slope decline and/or parallel retreat (Rosen 1986: 25). Slope decline, or downwearing, occurs when slope irregularities are smoothed by wearing, creating a graded slope. Next, vertical decline begins, ultimately resulting in a low, gentle hill (Rosen 1986: 25–27; cf. Young and Young 1974: 23; Schumm 1966: 101). Parallel retreat, or back-wearing, occurs when the upper portions of the slope retreat but maintain a constant angle and length. The base increases in length and becomes gentler (Rosen 1986: 27). Parallel retreat is a result of rain-wash erosion (Schumm 1966). A number of natural processes active on archaeological remains fall into the broader category of pedoturbation, which is defined as the mixing of soils and sediments (Wood and Johnson 1978: 317). A number of processes, or turbations, fall into this category, including faunalturbation, floralturbation, cryoturbation, graviturbation, argilliturbation, and aeroturbation. Faunalturbation is the mixing of soils by the burrowing actions of mammals, crayfish, insects, and earthworms (Stein 1983; Wood and Johnson 1978: 328). Because trampling of archaeological deposits by wild animals, especially larger herbivores, can cause mixing, it is included here. Floralturbation is the mechanical mixing of soil by plants that occurs during root growth and decay and during tree fall. Tree falls can pull up older soils and archaeological refuse, thus introducing older deposits onto newer ones. The reverse can also be true as new deposits are introduced into the hole or depression left by uplifted tree roots through other cultural and natural processes (Strauss 1978; Wood and Johnson, 1978: 328). Root action associated with growth and subsequent decay can also cause the mixing of soils and artifacts. Cryoturbation is a disturbance process caused by freeze-thaw action (Wood and Johnson 1978: 334). This includes frost heave and thrust and also involutions—that is, the

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contortion, deformation, and displacement of soil and sediments (Schiffer 1987: 214; Wood and Johnson 1978: 341). Patterned ground also can occur when frost-heaved stones assume regular geometric patterns (Schiffer 1987: 214–15; Wood and Johnson 1978: 344). Graviturbation includes a large set of processes that lead to down-slope movement and the mixing of sediments, principally under the influence of gravity, without the aid of a flowing medium of transport such as air and water (Schiffer 1987: 216; Wood and Johnson 1978: 346). Fast processes can include earthflows, mudflows, landslides, and rockfall, among others; and slow processes include solifluction and soil creep. Solifluction is the slow, down-slope flowing of water-saturated soil and regoliths (Wood and Johnson 1978: 346). Soil creep is a process that leads to down-slope movements not caused by frost action or other known actions (for example, biotic activity, wetting and drying of soils, sheetwash, and rills) (Schiffer 1987: 216; Wood and Johnson 1978: 216). Agrilliturbation refers to soil mixing caused by the swelling and shrinking of clays (Schiffer 1987: 216–17). Aeroturbation refers to two types of disturbance created by the action of air: soil gas disturbances and wind winnowing of soils leading to grain-size separations. Step 2: Studying the Environment at Tell Halif

Step 2 involves studying the environment at Tell Halif and the way it changes through time. This sort of study was discussed above in this chapter under the history and formation of the site. This discussion is drawn upon below to determine which of the natural formation processes were active and how they most likely affected deposits at Tell Halif. Step 3: Identifying Specific Natural Formation Processes Affecting the F7 Dwelling

Step 3 involves determining which natural formation processes potentially had the greatest effect on the remains of the F7 Dwelling. After reviewing the list of formation processes in Step 1 above and placing them in the context of the discussion of geological, climatic, and biological characteristics of Tell Halif in Step 2, we determined the processes that yielded the highest probability of having affected the archaeological deposits of the F7 Dwelling. Agents of wind and water undoubtedly affected the remains of the F7 Dwelling. Indeed, their effects are potentially great because this dwelling is located at the edge of the steep western slope of the tell. Winds in the northern Negev generally prevail from the west; thus Field IV and its remains receive the brunt of their force as well as the force of wind-driven rain. The effects of these forces on the remains of the F7 Dwelling, especially slope wash and other erosion agents, should thus be tested in all contexts. The effects of pedoturbation should also be tested, especially those associated with faunalturbation and floralturbation, because both animals and plants have been active on the tell for millennia and may have caused mixing and patterning, especially in the site context. Graviturbation also deserves consideration. Although most fast processes can be ruled out, slow processes other than gelifluction must be active, particularly near the tell slope. Soil creep certainly could be a factor, especially as caused by the wetting and drying of soils. Throughout the summer months, characteristically heavy dews and condensation

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persist during the nighttime before giving way to the extreme dryness of the day. This process may cause some movement of archaeological remains, though its effects are probably minimal. Cryoturbation, on the other hand, should not be a significant factor, because Tell Halif sits at the edge of the Negev Desert, where temperatures nearing freezing are not common. I also do not believe that aeroturbation or argilliturbation in the form of soil gas disturbance or wind winnowing noticeably affected the remains. Accordingly, the effects of these agents are not tested. Step 4: Evaluating the Impact of Natural Formation Processes on the F7 Dwelling

In Step 4, the impact of each specific process identified in Step 3 on the remains of the F7 Dwelling is evaluated. The natural formation processes that are tested in Step 4 include wind and rain erosion and slope wash, faunalturbation, floralturbation, and graviturbation. The effects of each of these processes are tested for in behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts, and then their effects on the F7 Dwelling are evaluated. Natural formation processes are not usually as active as cultural formation processes in causing patterns in the behavioral context. However, wind and water erosion are an exception, especially in areas that were not roofed (for example, courtyards). Determining if their effects can be seen on the floors of rooms in the F7 Dwelling will be helpful in determining which rooms were roofed and which were not. While the natural formation processes are generally less active in the behavioral context, they are very active in site context and include numerous activities and agents that potentially affect archaeological deposits. For the F7 Dwelling, the goal is to determine how natural formation processes contributed to the creation and shaping of deposits and how they may have left an impact on the de facto refuse preserved in the structure. It has been established that the pillared dwelling was abandoned after being burned in association with a siege. It also has been established that, shortly after the settlement was destroyed, squatters reoccupied areas surrounding the pillared dwelling, although not the F7 Dwelling itself. At that time many natural processes began to reshape the abandoned dwelling. Once the F7 Dwelling was abandoned, the processes of collapse and deformation began. Apparently, the burned roof debris first collapsed directly onto the room floors. Deposits yielding burned roof beams lying on floors were common, particularly in Room 5 near the northern wall (L. F7003; see fig. 4.8; for roof collapse in general, see fig. 4.4; figs. 5.5 and 5.7, Sections 1–3) and Room 3 in Area E. Roof collapse was generally followed by the partial collapse of walls. One effect of these reshaping processes is that secondary refuse embedded in the decaying building materials of the structure was brought into contact with the dwelling’s floors. This refuse may have included chinking materials from walls; sherds embedded in mud bricks; or sherds and other artifacts deposited as part of roof construction or maintenance or as primary, secondary, or de facto refuse lying on the roof/second floor itself. Other natural formation processes can move materials in an upward direction to bring them into contact with living floors. Subfloor materials move upward by disturbance processes such as animal burrowing (Schiffer 1987: 300). The effects of these processes on abandoned structures are continual.

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Short-term abandonments lead to redeposition of sediments through sheet wash, erosion, ponding, and the accumulation of natural wind-blown silt and sand (Rosen 1986: 13). Long-term abandonments lead to soil development, the natural erosion of strata, or the redeposition of wind-blown deposits (Bullard 1970: 115–16; Rosen 1986: 13). These processes can effectively seal the remains in abandoned structures, preserving them in the archaeological record until other processes reexpose them. De facto refuse, primary refuse, and secondary refuse introduced through the processes described above are often preserved. If these types of refuse can be separated, the depositional history of the dwelling can better be understood. When excavating the archaeological remains preserved in Field IV, we expended great effort on separating the sealed destruction remains of the Stratum VIB dwelling from its heavily disturbed overburden. While the material overlying the destruction debris contained pottery belonging to the de facto assemblage, it also showed obvious signs of mixing through various, numerous processes—too many, in fact, to account for convincingly. Many of the artifacts in this disturbed overburden once belonged to the de facto assemblage, as indicated by their reconstruction with artifacts still sealed in the Stratum VIB destruction debris. Conversely, a number of ceramics found sealed in the destruction debris were not part of the de facto refuse. The goal of determining which processes were responsible for the introduction of these materials into the de facto refuse is more attainable. When all ceramics excavated from the F7 Dwelling’s sealed destruction debris were processed, their count totaled 15,488 sherds weighing 338,465 grams. Of this number, 4,495 sherds weighing 220,343 grams belonged to restorable vessels. This left 10,993 sherds weighing 118,122 grams that were not accounted for by the de facto assemblage. Of this number, sherds lying directly on floors that could not be associated with restorable ceramic vessels numbered 835 and weighed 8,625 grams. As these numbers demonstrate, few of the sherds—in fact, only 7.59% (7.3% by weight)—not included in the de facto assemblage rested on floors. This leads one to believe that most of the sherds (92.41% by count, 92.7% by weight) sealed in the destruction debris and not associated with the de facto assemblage (that is, not part of the restorable assemblage) are not in use contexts. While it is possible, even probable, that not all of these sherds lying on floors are in their use context, it is certain that the majority of the sherds in the sealed destruction debris not belonging with restorable vessels cannot be directly associated with the floors. As discussed above in the study of cultural processes, most of these sherds were probably introduced by structural collapse, especially associated with the “melt” of mud brick. The processes that introduced most of these remains into the primary refuse can be associated with wind and water agents and graviturbation as they wrought their effects on collapsing structures. While these processes introduced new material into the archaeological record—especially onto floors, thereby inflating estimates of primary refuse—there are other natural processes that can remove material from the de facto refuse, causing deflations of primary refuse. Wind and Water Agents The most active natural formation processes at Tell Halif are wind and water agents, which often achieve their greatest effects near the slope of the tell. Because the F7 Dwell-

spread one pica long

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ing is located just above the western slope of the tell (see figs. 4.1–4.3, pp. 86, 90, 97), some of its remains were affected dramatically by wind and rain erosion. These affected remains were probably exposed first by flowing and deflation media such as water and wind erosion as these forces carried deposits from the top of the tell and redeposited them down its slope. Because the prevailing winds are commonly from the west, this slope is usually subjected to the harshest and most direct natural forces. This is especially true during the winter, when the effects of the windblown rains are brought to bear on western hillsides. These rains can cause water erosion along the slope, promoting soil creep from the upper portions of the tell toward the base. Thus, the slope often declines in height and lengthens. But these rains can also promote slope stability. The rain received on the west side of the tell also causes a denser growth of vegetation on this slope, thus making it more resistant to water and wind erosion (Rosen 1986: 29). However, greater growth of plants increases the desirability of these slopes for grazing by wild and domesticated herbivores, leading to the introduction of faunalturbation through trampling. Trampled soils are more prone to being eroded through wind, rain, and even graviturbation. Factors other than climate and aspect also determine the steepness of tell slopes. Most notable are the structure of the tell and its stages of evolution (Rosen 1986: 25). A structural determinant of slope steepness at Tell Halif is the Iron II glacis existent around the slopes of the tell, with its western scarp located just below the F7 Dwelling. Its stone-faced outer surface creates a slide plain by holding water between its surface and the covering debris. For this reason, little accumulation has built up on its surface, and it can still be traced quite easily around the slopes of the tell just beneath the present ground surface. While ramparts and other fortification elements often protect tell slopes from the effects of wind and rain, they do not protect remains deposited on the summit of the tell that extend above the preserved height of the ramparts. These upper remains are often eroded down the slope, accumulating at the tell’s base (Rosen 1986: 29). These eroded deposits often determine the shape of the slope. For the western-facing slopes in the area of Tell Halif (the slopes with the most direct exposure to erosional agents), slope evolution occurs according to the patterns of slope decline and/or parallel retreat (Rosen 1986: 31). Slope wash west of the F7 Dwelling is indicative of parallel retreat. The retreat of the summit and subsequent slope decline has exposed the westernmost areas of the F7 Dwelling to the processes of wind and rain erosion and graviturbation. In Room 2, Area C, the walls (L. G8002) and floor (L. G8005) of the southwestern corner of the dwelling have eroded down the western slope (see fig. 4.11). Consequently, slope wash has carried off the refuse previously held in place by these structural features. Floralturbation Floralturbation is also active on deposits in Field IV. However, because most of the Iron II deposits are buried over 50 cm below the modern ground surface, floralturbation has affected deposits only minimally—except in the case of areas identified in the previous paragraph that lie near the tell’s western slope. Among plant species on the list presented in the environmental review are species that could impact remains in the Iron II dwelling. These especially include saltbush and the Jerusalem Pine. Saltbush is a problem only after archaeological excavation has taken place. Saltbush’s seeds, artificially introduced into the Halif

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area by humans and spread to the tell by cattle and sheep/goats, find purchase in the rocky soils associated with the tell’s architectural features. Their growth is rapid and their spread prolific. Root action associated with these plants undoubtedly has contributed to the upward and downward movement of artifacts in localized areas within the site. No saltbushes or trees grew in the areas compassed by the F7 Dwelling, but tree roots certainly extended into its refuse. At the same time, the trees, bushes, and grasses growing on the slope immediately adjacent to Field IV hindered the movement of remains by decreasing the effects of graviturbation and wind and water erosion in the western portions of the dwelling. Floralturbation caused some movement of archaeological materials, but its effects have been minor and are not viewed as having introduced significant patterns in the deposition and movement of artifacts. Faunalturbation The following species are possibly responsible for faunalturbation in the Halif area: Large wild mammals include gazelle (Gazela dorcas), striped hyenas (Hyaena striata), wolves (Canis lupus), foxes (Vulpes palaestinus and V. familicus), lynx (Felix silvestris or ornata), jackals (Canis aureus), honey badgers (Meles meles), and ibex (Capra nubiana). Species once active include lions (Felis leo) and Barbary wild sheep (Ammotrages lervia). These last two species have been absent from Syria–Palestine since the Crusader period and the nineteenth century, respectively. Domesticated mammals include the Arab cow (Bos tauras or primigenius), Palestine sheep (Ovis laticaudata), steppe sheep (Ovis vignei), mamber goats (Capra mambrica), Arab mountain goats (Capra hireus mambrica), horses (Equus caballus orientalis), donkeys (Equus asinus), and Pariah dogs (Canis putiatini). Burrowing mammals and rodents include primarily hedgehogs (Erinaceus auritus), paunched rats (Spermophilus xanthoprymnus), lesser dormice (Eliomys melanurus), and house rats (Rattus rattus). Some faunalturbation was no doubt active on deposits in Field IV. Burrowing by small mammals, birds, insects, and arachnids as well as trampling by larger animals probably helped move artifacts within the archaeological remains. Rarely, krotovina were observed and recorded, as were more-recent, still-occupied rodent and bird burrows. The greatest effect of large mammals is most likely an indirect result of the feeding habits of domesticated as well as wild herbivores. By stripping the site of floral remains through grazing, such animals allow other natural processes such as erosion to move remains around within the archaeological record. In addition, their excrement introduces seeds, especially saltbush by cattle, which germinate and introduce root action and other floralturbation processes. While dogs and jackals were present in the area for millennia and were certainly capable of causing ceramics and other artifacts to move about through burrowing and scavenging activity after the site’s destruction and abandonment, no direct effects of large mammals were observable in or near the F7 Dwelling. Step 5: Evaluating the Overall Role of Natural Formation Processes

Step 5 calls for evaluation of the overall role of natural formation processes in the disturbance of materials in behavioral, site, and archaeological contexts. After analysis of each

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of the natural formation processes, we determined that the major culprits included erosion (slope decline or down-wearing due to wind and rain), deflation, graviturbation, animal burrowing, and root action. Many of these processes were very active in site formation once the F7 Dwelling was no longer occupied. After the dwelling was abandoned and destroyed by fire, a number of processes, including especially wind and water erosion and graviturbation, introduced numerous artifacts from secondary contexts into the de facto refuse preserved in the Stratum VIB destruction. Other natural processes, including sheet wash, erosion, ponding, the accumulation of natural, wind-blown silt and sand, and soil development helped to seal the de facto remains in the archaeological record. Some of these same natural processes, in addition to others, helped to reexpose a corner of the F7 Dwelling immediately adjacent to the tell’s western slope. In this area, some remains from Room 1 were eroded (but not to floor levels). More heavily impacted was the southwest corner of Room 2, where Area C was badly eroded (see fig. 4.11). Walls, floors, and floor material washed down the tell slope, aided by wind and rain agents (slope wash), graviturbation, and faunalturbation. The above study demonstrates that natural processes affected only isolated areas of the F7 Dwelling and therefore account for little of the patterning observed in the dwelling’s de facto refuse. By mapping the areas where these disturbances and depletions occurred, we are able to reconstruct a better understanding of the use of space in the pillared dwelling by its Iron II inhabitants. Summary of the Study of Formation Processes Cultural and natural processes have accounted for some depletions and patterning observed in the de facto refuse in the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif (see fig. 4.11). Most noticeably, cultural formation processes affected remains in two areas. The two long walls in Room 3 were removed through scavenging, and intrusive pits and bins constructed by later occupants removed de facto refuse from isolated areas in Rooms 4 and 5. Additionally, natural formation processes were active in moving down slope the floor and wall material from the southwestern corner of Room 2. Similar processes also affected the northwestern corner of Room 1. However, outside these areas, it is unlikely that ceramics and other material remains that make up the de facto refuse moved any great distance. Well-preserved remains of architectural units (especially walls) helped stabilize the soil layers that encompass these remains, thereby keeping artifacts relatively immobile. Only where walls were removed or broken down or where later occupants disturbed earlier remains is this not the case. The knowledge that cultural and natural formation processes can be eliminated as a major contributor to site formation is important if behavioral inferences are to be made from archaeological remains. In studying the F7 Dwelling with the effects of such formation processes eliminated as sources of patterning, we are thus able more confidently to associate the patterning that we observed with the activities and behaviors actually carried out by the Iron II occupants.

Chapter 5

Investigating the F7 Dwelling: The de Facto Assemblage In the following discussion, the F7 Dwelling (see fig. 5.1) is divided into five units according to the five rooms described in chap. 4, which include the two broad rooms (Rooms 1 and 2) and three long rooms (Rooms 3, 4, and 5; see fig. 5.3). These divisions were based on space segregated/divided by architectural features, primarily walls and pillars. Thirteen additional subdivisions were discerned within the dwelling and are identified as Areas A through M (see fig. 5.2). These letters denote discrete, separable areas that were identified on the basis of spatially segregated artifacts, artifacts associated with permanent features (for example, architecture and/or installations), and/or the isolation and identification of other types of refuse and debris occurring in rooms. Among the debris are numerous installations for food processing and storage, ovens, grinding implements, shallow pits, weaving implements, scale weights, loom weights, “cultic” paraphernalia (figurines, standing stones), bullae, seed remains, articles of personal adornment, agricultural tools, numerous faunal remains, and 81 restorable ceramic vessels. Behavioral inferences are made against the backdrop of the study of formation processes and the recognition of patterning in materials found in the various areas.

Room 1 Description Room 1 is the smaller of the two broad rooms. It is essentially square, with inside space measuring 2.25 m (N–S) x 2.4 m (E–W) or 5.4 m2 (see figs. 4.5 and 5.3). Its floor (L. F8009) was well prepared with compacted small cobbles measuring 5–15 cm, and the room was undoubtedly roofed. 1 The lone feature in Room 1 is a raised installation located in the northeast corner of the room, probably the base of a dismantled or poorly preserved tabun (L. F7026). A 26-cm raised threshold (L. F7025) is located in the doorway separating this room and Room 5 (see fig. 4.5). This doorway is the only observable access to Room 1 1. One of the few features universally agreed upon regarding the covering or otherwise roofing of pillared dwellings is that the broad rooms were roofed (Braemer 1982; Holladay 1993a; Netzer 1992; Stager 1985b).

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Figure 5.1. Plan with the identification of features and locus numbers within the F7 Dwelling.

and is partially obstructed by a semicircular installation (L. F7008) located in Room 5. The placement of the installation leaves only 60 cm of unobstructed passageway between the installation and Wall/Bench L. F7003 (see fig. 5.1). The entire space of Room 1 comprises only one area: Area A. This is due to the room’s small size and the lack of discernible patterns in the artifacts and other refuse.

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Figure 5.2. Spatial location of Activity Areas A–M within the F7 Dwelling.

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Figure 5.3. The F7 Dwelling identified by Rooms (1–5).

It is important to note that I understand the opening between Room 1 and Room 5 differently than does the field director. Paul Jacobs, a codirector of field excavations during the 1992 and 1993 seasons, interprets the stones (L. F7025) blocking the doorway as evidence of phasing. He believes they were laid as the foundation of a mud-brick superstructure that walled up the doorway, connecting walls L. F7007/G8006 and L. F7003 (Jacobs 1993: 50; 1994a: 152). Evidence of this type of blocking is well attested in the archaeological record and includes examples from Beer Sheva’s Western Quarter, where Stratum III

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doorways between Rooms 63 and 77 and between Rooms 94 and 77 are blocked during the Stratum II occupation (Beit-Arieh 1973: 33–34, and pl. 94). Beit-Arieh also believes that the Stratum III entrance to Room 383 was blocked up. However, what he interprets as blocking is only 10 cm high, and it was found covered with the same burned debris as floors that occur on both sides of it. This suggests to me that it may be preserved to its original height (see Beit-Arieh 1973: pl. 94). Jacobs understands the blocking of Room 1 to mean that it went out of use at this time. Evidence that supports Jacobs’s interpretation includes the height of the stones across the doorway (26 cm), the partial blocking of access to its doorway by a semicircular installation in Room 5 made of mud plaster and small cobbles (L. F7008), and the lower-than-average completeness of some vessels preserved in Room 1, which suggests to him that these vessels may have been thrown there as refuse once the room went out of use. However, I believe that what Jacobs interprets as “blocking” can be understood better as a raised threshold between two rooms, especially because no evidence exists for an alternative entrance into Room 1. The “blocking” stones would place the level of the threshold at a minimum of 26 cm above the floors in Rooms 1 and 5. While this is higher than many thresholds observed in pillared dwellings at this site and others, this height is not especially uncommon, and similar examples are known from structures in nearby Field III. I interpret the height of this threshold, as well as a similar “blocking” occurring between Rooms 2 and 5 at a height of 21 cm, as evidence of raised thresholds between interior space (Rooms 1 and 2) and exterior space (Rooms 4 and 5). Further support for understanding the “blocking” as a threshold is that it only blocks half the width of wall L. F7007/G8006 and not the full width that one might expect with blocking activity. In this characteristic, it also resembles thresholds known from pillared dwellings elsewhere at Tell Halif (especially Field III) and other sites. Furthermore, there was no evidence found during excavation of mud bricks in primary context that were covering the stones and fully blocking the doorway (see fig. 5.5, Section 1). In fact, what appears to be a mud-plaster-covered threshold may be observable in an official photo of the Lahav Research Project (fig. 5.4). Installation L. F7008 in Room 5 only partially blocks access to the doorway (still allowing 60 cm of space through which to pass), and it does not rise above the level of the stones I interpret as a threshold (25 cm for the installation). With regard to the slightly lower rate of preservation of whole ceramic vessels in Room 1, I suggest that the room’s immediate proximity to the western slope of the tell and the shallow deposits covering its floor account for the depletions in the de facto refuse, because these materials were probably washed down slope (see discussion of natural formation processes and fig. 4.11 above). This pattern was more likely introduced by formation processes rather than the discarding of broken vessels in an abandoned room. Regarding an abandoned room, I find it difficult to accept that a room would simply be walled up and its space no longer used. This is especially hard to believe in a settlement such as Halif, where the usable space inside the settlement is at a premium, limited by the perimeter walls and towers of its fortifications and by its placement atop a spatially restricted tell. Abandonment of some areas inside settlements does occur when populations in settlements decrease. Furthermore, some rooms inside buildings may be abandoned and artifacts in their debris may

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Figure 5.4. 2 x 2-m probe in NW sector of F7 revealing southern portion of Room 5. Shown are installation F7008, threshold F7025, and wall F7003 with several courses of mud-brick superstructure preserved (and some sectioned). View looking north.

be associated with abandonment and/or ritual activity (see Montgomery 1994 for examples from the southwestern U.S.). However, Stratum VIB at Tell Halif dates to the last one-third of Iron Age II, a time when settlement in the northern Negev was expanding to an extent that was greater than any other time before the Roman and Byzantine periods (Blakely and Hardin 2002; A. Mazar 1990: 416–17). For continued use of the room, Jacobs does make an allowance for a partially blockedup doorway or access through the ceiling with a ladder (Jacobs 2001: 1). However, I also find this latter suggestion to be problematic for two reasons. First, it would be hard to place a ladder at a comfortable and functional angle, due to the small space available in the room; and second, it would be incredibly difficult for a person to navigate a ladder while carrying very heavy storage jars of the type found in the room if they were filled with liquids. Upon excavation, Room 1 was found to be filled with burned debris to a depth above floor level of approximately 35–50 cm. The debris mostly consisted of gray, brown, and black ash and fired mud bricks and detritus. Mixed in this destruction debris and lying on the floor were numerous ceramic vessels and other artifacts. Restorable ceramic vessels from Room 1 included six storage jars (pl. 1:1–6), two cooking jugs (pl. 2:1–2), two juglets (pl. 2:3, 5), one jug (pl. 2:6), and one bowl (pl. 2:4). One pattern that was recognizable and consistent throughout the room was the placement of the large storage jars near walls, probably to hold the jars upright. Smaller vessels were generally more centrally located. Other

Figure 5.5. East and West Sections of F7–H7 (Sections 1–2).

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classes of artifacts found on the floor include one stone scale weight (pl. 3:3), one grinding stone fragment (pl. 3:5), and one ground stone (pl. 3:4). Microartifacts were recovered from all five samples taken from floor build-up in Room 1 (see fig. 5.6). The sample that was taken from near installation L. F7008 (see fig. 5.1) in the northeast corner of the room included animal bones, cereal remains, and flint chips (Rosen 1992). Other samples taken throughout Room 1 provided, in addition to cereals and animal bones, beach rock mortar fragments, burned rodent bone, fish bone, and flint chips with sheen. While these artifacts and vessels were found on or embedded in the floor, other artifacts were found in the debris above it. These include one ballista, one figurine fragment (pl. 3:1), and one metal knife blade (pl. 3:2). Use Due to the numerous large jars and the relative “closeness” of space in the room, it seems obvious that the function of Room 1 was storage. The large jars placed along the walls of the room would have confined movement within the room (see fig. 4.9). Additionally, the cooking jugs and other small vessels near the center of the room suggest that traffic was minimal. Minimal traffic in Room 1 can likewise be inferred from the partially blocked doorway. While the installation (L. F7008) in Room 5 clearly impedes, it does not prevent passage in and out of the room. The microartifacts in Room 1, however, suggest another use for the space rater than storage. The microartifacts suggest that food preparation was the main activity performed in this room as well as perhaps one or two brief episodes of retouching of flint implements. In addition to the many cereal and bone remains found in most of the samples, a high correlation coefficient was identified by Rosen between bone and charcoal, which is highly indicative of cooking areas (Rosen 1992). These data, in addition to the two cooking jugs and a possible tabun (L. F7026), make a strong case for the room’s being used as a food preparation area. However, at the time that the Stratum VIB settlement was destroyed, it would have been virtually impossible to use Room 1 for anything other than storage due to the considerable number of large ceramic vessels present there. Any attempt to move about in the room would have been difficult. Therefore, I suggest that storage was the main function of Room 1 immediately prior to the destruction of the VIB settlement. It is impossible to know with certainty whether the siege caused a temporary functional deviation for Room 1 because space was needed for surplus provisions, or whether the change in function was for a longer term and was not an atypical use of the room. The partially obstructed doorway better fits the second interpretation, because there would not have been as much need for access to the area if it was used for long-term storage. In addition, the burned rodent bones from the microartifacts fit well with this use of space. If the stored items included victuals or other edibles (animal fodder, for example), and traffic was relatively uncommon, human commensals would certainly have been present. While Assyrian records chronicle most of the campaign activity that took place during summer months, this type of military emergency may not explain the observed phenomena in this room. It is therefore possible that Room 1 functioned as a food preparation area during the winter months and as a storage facility that did not receive heavy traffic during the

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Figure 5.6. Plan of the F7 Dwelling showing the distribution of microartifact samples taken in the four-room dwelling.

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summer months. 2 Ethnographic data from southwest Asia is useful here, because it gives support for a dual role of interior space based on seasonality (Kramer 1993, personal communication). Carol Kramer has noted that, during the wetter winter months in southwest Asia, food preparation activities were often moved indoors, where heat and protection from the elements were available for the people preparing food. During the hot summer months, food preparation was often carried out in courtyards or other open and partially open areas. At such times, interior space was used for other activities. It is possible that such a seasonal switch provided the observed patterning in Room 1, where an oven appears to have been dismantled and moved, possibly to an exterior/courtyard space. Two ovens/hearths are known from Rooms 4 and 5, and this reconstruction fits well with data employed here.

Room 2 Description Room 2 was a long, narrow room measuring 2.4 m (E–W) by 6.75 m (N–S), or 16.2 m2. It was surrounded on all four sides by mud-brick walls built on stone foundations. Evidence of this includes well-preserved wall foundations several courses high and mud brick preserved in place on the south end of the interior wall of the room (Wall L. G8006). It should be noted that, if the rear wall (west, L. G8002) of Room 2 served as the perimeter wall of the fortification system, then it may have been completed with fieldstones instead of mud bricks (as a strengthening feature) to its original height. The floor of Room 2 (L. G8005) was treated similarly to Room 1, with well-laid small cobbles. Access to the room was gained through one doorway (L. F7031) in the eastern wall (L. G8006), located on the north end of the room, leading into Room 5 (see figs. 4.5 and 5.1). The entryway was built with a raised threshold (21 cm high) similar to the one in Room 1. 3 Also noteworthy is the placement of a poorly preserved, semi-circular feature in Room 5, directly in front of and across the passage between Rooms 2 and 5. It was built only to a height of approximately 10–15 cm (see further below). No other permanent features were found preserved in the archaeological remains of Room 2. It must be noted that the southwest corner of the room is poorly preserved due to its proximity to the west slope of the tell and the modern ground surface. This was addressed above in the discussion of natural formation processes. The depth of preserved destruction debris in this room varies from approximately 50 cm in the northeast corner to 15–20 cm in the southwest corner. Most of the room’s fill consists of destruction debris (see fig. 5.7, Sections 3–4). Clean, undisturbed Iron II (Stratum VIB) 2. Kathryn Kamp, based on her ethnographic research in Syria, similarly has noted the relative commonness of new construction and remodeling as households easily and readily adapt and respond to changing functional needs that require these changes. Both of these are described by her as frequent activities (Kamp 2000: 84). 3. The discussion above regarding the threshold between Rooms 1 and 5 also applies to the threshold between Rooms 2 and 5. What I understand as a threshold is interpreted by Jacobs as a blocking-up of the door way. In my reconstruction, blocking of this sort would leave Room 2 with no entryway. However, this blocking is very important to Jacobs’s understanding of the artifacts preserved in the northern portion of the room (see Jacobs 1997; 2001).

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loci are encountered relatively close to the modern ground surface. Artifacts belonging to the restorable ceramics of the de facto assemblage were observed throughout these deposits. Often, sherds found in topsoil could be refitted with restored vessels found closer to floor levels. The debris that covers this room consisted of proportionately enormous amounts of ash, especially dark gray to black ash, on or near the cobbled floor, which is probably the remains of the ceiling of Room 2. Many artifacts were found in the burned ash and debris, and a pattern became noticeable immediately. Virtually all of the de facto artifacts excavated from Room 2 were confined to the north one-third of the room (see fig. 4.9). For this reason, Room 2 is divided into two spatially segregated areas: (1) Area B, consisting of a little less than half of the northern area of the room, and (2) Area C, including the remaining space to the south (see fig. 5.2). Area B measures approximately 2.4 m (E–W) x 2.75 m (N–S) and was accessed through a doorway leading to Room 5 or from Area C (see figs. 4.5 and 5.2). This area contains a considerable number and variety of artifacts (see fig. 5.8). Ceramic vessels were smashed thoroughly and spread across the floor in this area. They include three storage jars (pl. 4:2, 4–5; see plates, p. 208), one pithos (pl. 4:1), three jugs (pls. 4:3; 5:2, 7), two cooking pots (pl. 5:9–10), one handleless krater (pl. 4:6), four straight-sided bowls (pl. 5:1, 3– 5), two juglets (pl. 5:6, 8), and one fenestrated stand with red slip that appears to have been broken and reused (pl. 4:7). The stand’s rim surface appears heavily abraded, as if an upper portion was broken at some time, and a new rim was created by grinding a rounded new rim onto the remaining lower portion of the vessel. We found additional support for this interpretation upon closer inspection of the rim. The dark core left at the center of the paste during the firing of the stand can be seen all the way to the exterior surface of the rim. Other artifacts included one bone disk (pl. 7:3), one bone weaving spatula (pl. 6:5), one bovine horn core (pl. 6:4), two small, polished stones, two pieces of pumice, two grinding stone fragments (pls. 7:2; 8:2), some glass slag, two finely dressed (squared with beveled edges) “standing stones” (maßßevot or mizbea˙? pls. 7:1; 8:1; fig. 5.9), the head of a pillar figurine (pl. 7:4; fig. 5.9.), one flat, triangular-shaped stone (pl. 6:1; fig. 5.10), one polished rectangular stone, possibly a whetstone (pl. 8:3; fig. 5.11), one broken ceramic spindle whorl (pl. 8:4), two ballistas, and one iron arrowhead (pl. 6:3). Another iron arrowhead (pl. 6:2) and a ballista were found in Area B, but these were located above the floor in covering destruction debris. Animal bones included (in addition to the bovine horn core) the remains of cows (lower molar, calcaneus, and a calf astragalus) and sheep (pelvis fragment and an astragalus). Three microartifact samples were taken from the floor in areas falling inside Area B (see fig. 5.6). Only two tested positive for microartifacts, yielding grape pips (dominating sample 28), cereals, legumes, and fish bones and scales. Area C measures approximately 2.4 m (E–W) x 4.0 m (N–S) and was accessed through Area B (see fig. 5.2). The nature of the material in this area—or, more accurately, lack of material—is markedly different from the material in Area B. While the accumulation of destruction debris is similar to Area B in most places, a dramatic decrease in the number of artifacts, both large and micro, was observed. No restorable ceramic vessels were found in this area, and the only observed artifact was one small grinding stone fragment. Microartifacts were similarly rare. Of four samples taken, only one was productive, providing a beach rock mortar fragment (see fig. 5.6).

Figure 5.7. South Section of F7–F8 and North Section of G6–G8 (Sections 3 and 4).

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Figure 5.8. Photo of G8, Room 2, Activity Area B, looking north.

Use Determining the function of Room 2 and identifying activities taking place therein is a bit more complicated than for Room 1. The quantity and variety of artifacts in the north area (Area B) of the room is greater than in any other area in the dwelling (pls. 4–8; see fig. 5.8). Conversely, the south half of the room (Area C) is virtually barren of de facto artifacts, more so than any area in the dwelling. Combined, these two factors are telling with regard to room function. The ceramic vessels in Area B are numerous, and, of these, 8–10 out of 15 fit well in functional classes associated with food serving and consumption (see pl. 5). Based on the microartifacts, Rosen suggested that food preparation, but not cooking, took place in this room. Additionally, the grouping of these ceramics with 3 storage jars, 1 pithos, 1 fenestrated stand, and a multitude of greatly varied artifacts may suggest that artifacts were stored in this area, possibly for use in this room. Their storage in one of the only rooms with broad spaces unoccupied by features and other remains is significant if food consumption and cultic activity took place in this room. Many of the artifacts (for example, a piece of pumice, a bone “disk,” a pillar figurine, and several shaped stones) and the majority of the ceramics are good indicators of activities taking place in “living rooms,” or areas where food consumption, domestic ritual activity, entertaining guests, socializing, grooming/ adorning, sleeping, and so on, occurred. Additionally, the careful preparation of the floor in this room is consistent with floors in living rooms observed ethnographically in southwest

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Figure 5.9. Cultic/ritual items from Area B. Back, center: fenestrated stand. Front, center: head of pillar figurine. Sides: finely shaped stones.

Asia (Kramer 1982a; Watson 1979). There is ample space in Area C for these types of activity to have taken place, and no other excavated room better meets these needs. One class of ceramic vessels may be enlightening in this regard. The small straightsided bowls found in the room (pl. 5:1, 3–5) were probably used for the consumption of liquids. This interpretation is consistent with their size, shape, finish, and rim treatment. In Field IV, the bowls were found almost exclusively in the broad room (5 of 6 examples— 83%). This interesting pattern was noticed when a similar dwelling was excavated to the south of the F7 Dwelling. The second dwelling yielded no examples of this common class of vessel, but it also had no broad rooms. These rooms had eroded down the west slope at some point in the past. In searching further for comparative material, we examined the nearby site (spatially and temporally) of Beer Sheva for similar patterns. Examples from three pillared dwellings of Stratum II in the “Western Quarter” were studied, and eleven examples of the cup bowl were published and located by room (Beit-Arieh 1973). Of the 11 bowls, 9, or 82%, were found in broad rooms similar to the rooms at Tell Halif. It is too soon to assert anything with certitude, but perhaps these “straight-sided bowls,” when found in quantities greater than one or two, can be used to identify “living rooms” in dwellings, where the occupants may have shared their meals, social activities, and leisure time. In the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif, the room in which these vessels is found

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Figure 5.10. Triangular-shaped stone found on Area B Floor (left).

Figure 5.11. Polished rectangular diorite stone (below).

is certainly better suited for a living room than any other room identified in the dwelling (see discussion following). These assertions are only preliminary, and more research is necessary, because other rooms, especially rooms possibly occurring on a second floor, could make good candidates for living rooms as well. However, I believe it is prudent to identify Room 2 as a living room. A number of activities can be inferred from the artifacts and their spatial organization in Room 2. Based on the straight-sided bowls and jugs, as well as a number of other bowls, I can conclude activities associated with food consumption and some food preparation probably occurred in this room. Ample space was available for a number of individuals to partake together. Ethnographic data show that large bowls or krater-type bowls (pl. 4:6) are consistently found in societies in which people eat their meals together (Henrickson and McDonald 1983). Ritual/religious activity apparently also occurred in Room 2. The polished, triangularshaped stone (pl. 6:1; fig. 5.10), the two finely dressed and beveled standing stones (pls. 7:1; 8:1; fig. 5.9), the broken pillar figurine (pl. 7:4; fig. 5.9), and the fenestrated stand

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(pl. 4:7; fig. 5.9) are suggestive of ritual activity if they were in fact used (and not simply stored) in Room 2. A large, handleless bowl/krater (pl. 4:6) could have served as a basin, and two additional vessels may have been used in ritual activity as well: one cooking pot/ bowl (pl. 5:10) and one small juglet or vase (pl. 5:8). The fenestrated stand and the cooking pot were found lying next to one another in the debris on the floor and possibly functioned together in ritual activity (see fig. 5.12). A cooking pot (pl. 5:9) found less than a meter to the north of the stand may also have been used. The interior surface of the bowl/cooker was covered with a thick, dark, charred substance (also found on the large bowl/krater mentioned above). To determine the identity of the substance, we performed residue analyses, but the substance was too badly carbonized to be identified. Carbonization could have occurred during the conflagration that destroyed the F7 Dwelling or when a substance was burned in the bowl. A beautifully shaped vase-juglet reminiscent of an upside-down pomegranate was also found near this assemblage (pl. 5:8). Its delicate form, well-levigated clay, and vertically burnished finish set it apart from the typical, utilitarian ceramics common in the F7 Dwelling and Iron Age II in general. A small black juglet (pl. 5:6) commonly associated with the storage of oils, perfumes, and other unguents was recovered in the same vicinity as this assemblage. The shaped and polished rubbing/grinding stones from this area (pls. 7:2; 8:2–3) are similar to stones found at other sites in contexts interpreted as cultic (e.g., Locus 2081 and Room 332/321 at Megiddo, Loud 1948: 45–46; and Room 3283 at Hazor, Yadin et al. 1961: pl. 206). When looking at the way that both utilitarian and cultic artifacts discussed above were arrayed across the floor, one can see that the space available for movement and activity in Area B was very limited (see fig. 5.12). After mapping artifacts in Area B, we think that they were probably not arranged in a way that focuses attention to any one place, with the possible exception of a diagonal line of artifacts consisting of the standing stones and fenestrated stand. Space that was busy, cluttered, and hard to negotiate is a pattern recognized by Zevit (2001: 252–53) in cult rooms and corners at Lachish and Megiddo. 4 Thus, these remains as well as their spatially cluttered pattern all suggest that ritual activities were practiced in or near the confines of Room 2, especially in Area B. Accordingly, I believe that it should be identified as a cult place or cult corner (for a typology of different types of cultic installations and areas, see Zevit 2001: 123–25). What rituals and activities may have been undertaken in Area B and who carried them out are harder to determine, but a closer look at some of the artifacts may shed light on the activities and on the people who performed them. These artifacts are discussed below. Pillar figurines have long been associated with cultic activities. Many biblical scholars and archaeologists understand pillar figurines to be representations of female deities, especially associated with Asherah or Astarte or Anat (for a summary discussion, see Kletter 1996: 74–77; also Ahlström 1984: 122; Dever 2005; Hestrin 1987; 1991; Holladay 1987: 279; Keel and Uehlinger 1998: 332–41; Pritchard 1943; also, C. Meyers [2005: 79 n. 2] lists 4. Zevit (2001: 252–53) further provides an excellent example of a bronze model of a cult site from twelfth-century b.c.e. Susa, where the participants in a ritual are surrounded by a clutter of cultic artifacts for use in a ritual.

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Figure 5.12. Isometric reconstruction of Cultic space in Activity Area B of Room 2.

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others). C. Meyers, however, understands them as votary figures used as vehicles in sympathetic magic rituals. Instead of representing deities, she suggests that this class of figurine represents women seeking aide in pregnancy, childbirth, and/or lactation (Meyers 1988: 162–63; 2005: 29–31; also A˙ituv 2006: 66). Zevit also sees their probable use in this manner and suggests identifying female figurines in general with the biblical terms teraphim (1 Sam 19:13, 16) and, more tentatively, gillulim (1 Kgs 15:12) (Zevit 2001: 273–74). Zevit finds significance in the fact that many pillar figurines are found with the head removed from the rest of the body (as is the case with our example from Area B), a characteristic that he believes goes beyond any structural weakness at the point where the head and shoulders meet (2001: 208, 272). 5 Based on this characteristic, the uses of similar figurines elsewhere (particularly the Aegean), and the contexts of many examples, 6 he understands female figurines as generally having a variety of uses, including possibly votives, cult images, and/or private objects of devotion used (and used only once in order not to breech or lose the original message) in the practice of individual or private cults with regard to quotidian concerns (2001: 27–73). In any case, there is little doubt about the pillar figurine’s cultic significance and its likely use by women (see C. Meyers 2003a; 2005). The two chisel-dressed stones with beveled edges were probably used in cultic activity (fig. 5.9; pls. 7:1; 8:1). The association of similar stones found elsewhere 7 with ritual activity has been noted (Biran 1994: 155), and their use in more-profane activities has not been established (this was attempted by Albright [1943: 85]). Whether they served as presentation tables, as altars (biblical mizbea˙), 8 as incense stands (the tops are slightly concaved, but no signs of burning were visible), or in some other way is hard to determine. The burning of incense or some aromatics is more easily associated with the fenestrated stand. It seems likely a combustible was placed inside the stand, then a bowl or other object was placed on its rim, allowing the combustible to smolder as vapors and smoke escaped through the rectangular and small circular fenestrations. It also is possible that the burning of materials was done in the bowl/cooking pot or large krater. The triangular or tapered, somewhat flat, polished stone (pl. 6:1; fig. 5.10) was originally associated with the other “cultic artifacts” and understood by Jacobs to be a flat stone that possibly served as a table or platform for food preparation or for similar use in cultic rituals (Jacobs 2001: 2). Platforms of this sort are known in cultic contexts elsewhere. While Jacobs may be correct, the stone may also be understood as an aniconic representation of a 5. Keel and Uehlinger suggest, alternatively, the possibility of the heads’ being produced and sold separately from the bodies (1998: 327). 6. Zevit’s studies of pillar figurines are of a larger group of female figurines occurring in the Iron Age. He uses the typology established earlier by Pritchard (1943: 3, 5). 7. The closest parallels I could find for these dressed and beveled stones came from Tell Beit Mirsim, where three shaped stones were found (Albright 1943: pl. 65:1–3). Numbers 2 and 3 are especially similar, apart from the incised graffiti on no. 2 (Albright 1943: 85, pl. 65:2). No graffiti was identified on the Halif examples. Two shaped stones roughly the same size, although different from the Halif examples, were also found at Tel Dan in the “Altar Room.” Their location suggested their association with the cult complex often referred to as the “High Place” near the north perimeter of the site (see Biran 1994: 155). 8. Zevit suggests that the flaring observed toward the bottom of the two stones may have been part of a yésôd (2001: 312).

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deity, a biblical maßßebah, or standing stone. While the stone appears slightly/faintly polished, none of the stone’s surfaces were smoothed or worked through grinding, chiseling, or any other determinable means. Thus, none of the surfaces appears ground or particularly smooth like the surfaces on other platforms found in houses at Iron II Tell Halif. However, as mentioned above, its entire uneven surface appears to have been polished, as if by rubbing or perhaps handling. Furthermore, the stone stands naturally on a base, with the tapered end pointing upward. It further resembles stones that have been identified as maßßebot at other sites and were found as single occurrences or in groupings. These include Arad, the Bull Site, Lachish Locus 81, the gate at Tirzah, and, more recently, Tell el-ºUmeiri in Jordan (Herr and Clark 2006). The best examples, however, include two groups of five standing stones, one group of four, and another group of three (or possibly four) from the outer and inner gate areas at Dan (Biran 1994: 244–45; 1996: 55–57; 1998: 42–45, 70). The Dan and Tell el-ºUmeiri examples closely resemble the stone from Area B in the F7 Dwelling, although no signs of polishing were observed on their surfaces. Zevit states, “Phenomenologically [such stones] were either symbols evoking a presence, or objects engorged by the power of the presence” (Zevit 2001: 257). Following this line of reasoning, I believe a case can be made that the maßßebah in Area B served to guarantee the presence of a deity in the house and in the lives of its inhabitants. 9 Other artifacts present in Area B may have been used both to guarantee the presence of the deity and to assure that it was favorably inclined toward them and/or sympathetic to their needs. However, the nature of their use is less certain. Among these artifacts are the horn core, a metal object (arrowhead), grinding stones, storage jars and the pithos, pitchers, sheep and calf astragali, the microartifacts, and others. Similar artifacts have been identified in cultic rooms and corners at other sites. While these other sites may not possess identical artifacts, their classes are similar. I would include in these sites the Stratum III Cult room at ºEin Gev (B. Mazar et al. 1964: 23–29); Room 49 from Stratum V at Lachish (Aharoni 1975: 26–32); Loud’s Stratum V locus 2081 at Megiddo (Loud 1948: fig. 101); House 440, Stratum VIIb at Tell el-Farºah (N) (Chambon 1984: 136–39); and Room 3283 Stratum XI at Hazor (Yadin et al. 1961: pls. 203–6, 38; Ben-Tor 1989). The movement of items back and forth between sacred and profane contexts or their use exclusively in one realm or the other is hard to determine, but it seems certain that a number of the artifacts found in Area B were used in ritual activities. Food or liquids may have been presented, libated, and/or consumed. Anointings or ritual purifications and cleansings may have been performed. Sacred and/or communal meals may have been served and consumed by the inhabitants and their guests, accompanied by the deity (see Holladay 1987). These activities possibly produced numinous experiences. Incense may have been burned in offering or in a propitiatory act, and prayerful communication may have been effected. While it is likely (but not certain) that women were the users of the pillar figurine as part of their cultic activity, I suggest that male members of the archaeological household also participated in ritual activities in Area B.

9. Another stone, made of nicely shaped, smoothed diorite, may also belong to this category of stone but more likely is a grinding/rubbing stone (pl. 8:3).

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In addition to the ritual activity carried out in Room 2, a number of other activities are suggested by the artifacts and their patterning. Many of the artifacts in Area B can be associated with activities normally carried out in “living rooms,” where inhabitants, and possibly their guests, would have shared meals. Ceramics used in eating, drinking, serving, and preparation were present. Several storage jars in this room may have held goods intended for consumption in this area. There was ample space in Area C for consuming food, entertaining guests, sharing information, and otherwise acculturating members of the household. Food remains found in the room were from grapes, legumes, cereals, fish, cows, and sheep. The lack of microartifacts in the finely prepared floors of Area C suggests that the floor was covered, possibly by textiles produced in the dwelling (see below) or by skins, mats, or other softer materials laid down for comfort. The same area provides ample space for sleeping as well.

Room 3 Description Room 3 is the southernmost of the three long rooms in the F7 Dwelling (see fig. 5.3). It was separated from the other two long rooms (Rooms 4 and 5) by a solid wall. This room measures 2.5 m wide (N–S) and at least 6.75 m long (E–W), or 16.88 m2. The easternmost extent of the room disappears into the unexcavated balk, but excavation in areas on its opposite side to the northeast (Area G6), where Iron II levels were reached, eliminate the possibility of its extension farther east (see fig. 4.6). Access to Room 3 was gained through an entryway from Room 4 (described above; L. G7023), where the remains of a raised threshold are preserved between walls (L. G7023 and L. H7011; see figs. 4.5 and 5.1). The remainder of the wall was not preserved past this point due to scavenging by later inhabitants (see fig. 5.13, Section 6). This is also the case for the entire southern wall of the room (L. H7015). This wall was completely robbed except for a reused pillar protruding into the wall line from earlier strata (L. H7014). However, easily identified robber trenches suggest that both long walls of Room 3 were solid walls (see figs. 4.11; 5.5, Section 1). The condition and nature of the short east wall is unknown. It is possible that a doorway was placed there allowing access into the dwelling from the outside, but this could not be determined since this area was not excavated. 10 In light of poor wall preservation, the packed-earth floor of Room 3 (L. H7005) is surprisingly well preserved, sealed under an accumulation of destruction debris 25–45 cm deep. Included in the fill were numerous mud bricks: whole, fragmented, and in the form of detritus. Evidence of burning in this room is significant, because substantial accumulations of gray and black ash were found in pockets throughout the floor and the covering destruction debris. Pottery sherds lying on the floor showed signs of intense heat, including refiring and “bending” to become misshapen (thus, virtually impossible to 10. The presence of a large tree (Jerusalem Pine planted in 1957) in this area (H6) hampered continued excavation in an easterly direction. In 1993, it was decided that the tree could not be removed; however, a small fire that spread from a picnic area to the west of the tell in 1999 removed this obstruction.

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mend through refitting). Some appeared to be vitrified, because glassy, glazed-looking surfaces were observed where these sherds came into contact with floors. A number of installations/features were discovered, and one of these divides the room. A line of small stone cobbles (10–20 cm), one of which is perforated (pl. 9:4), runs perpendicular to the two robbed out long walls just east of the center of the room (L. H7012; see fig. 5.1). It is described in the field excavation notes as a possible partition or curtain wall. If this was indeed a wall, it was extremely flimsy and poorly preserved. The feature nonetheless effectively divides the room into two areas, which are treated separately below. The area west of this feature will be referred to as Area D and the area east of the feature as Area E (see fig. 5.2). While Area D furnished no restorable ceramic vessels, a number of artifacts were revealed. A total of seven loom weights were found, five lying directly on the floor and two immediately above it, mixed in the destruction debris. All of these were found in the eastern part of Area D within a meter of the stone feature halving the room. In addition to the loom weights, one grooved basalt “maul” or weight (pl. 9:1; fig. 5.14), one pitted stone, two perforated stones (pl. 9:3–4, one from the line of stones dividing the room), one stone bead (pl. 9:2), and one fragment of iron were recovered from the floors in this area. Artifacts found above the floors in the covering destruction debris (L. H7004) 11 include one iron arrowhead (pl. 9:5), one hammer/grinding stone (pl. 9:7), and one square chalk object with two holes (pl. 9:6, possibly a button or “buzzer”). Only one microartifact sample was collected in this area, and it tested negative for microartifacts (see fig. 5.6). The remainder of the space of Room 3, the east half, is included in Area E (see fig. 5.2). Excavation of this area revealed numerous features and artifactual remains on the floor. Adjacent to the stone feature L. H7012 that divided Areas D and E is a small, semicircular installation made of fieldstones that abuts the southern wall of Room 3 (see fig. 5.1). Approximately 50 cm to the east of this installation, a stone-lined bin was dug into the floor (L. H7007, see fig. 4.10). It is approximately 40 cm in diameter and 40 cm deep. It is lined with unworked fieldstones and with one basalt grinding stone in reuse. A number of ceramic vessels were recovered in the vicinity of these features, including three storage jars and two jugs (pl. 10:1–5). Another storage jar (not illustrated) was found in the fill above the floor that was preserved in a very fragmentary state. Artifacts found lying on the floor included one fragment of mother-of-pearl, two small disk-shaped wadi pebbles, one ceramic stopper/ disk (pl. 11:2), and eight stone objects associated with either grinding (five) or pounding (three), or perhaps both (four typical of the group are shown, pl. 11:1, 3–5; fig. 5.15). Artifacts found in the destruction debris covering the floors included one arrowhead (pl. 11:9), one scale weight (pl. 11:7), one ceramic stopper (pl. 11:8), one ballista (pl. 11:12), one grinding stone (pl. 11:6), one seashell bead (pl. 11:11), and one spindle whorl (pl. 11:10). Two microartifact samples taken in Area E both revealed fragments of metal slag and red ochre (see fig. 5.6).

11. It should be noted that most of the material from H7004 is attributable to the Stratum VIB destruction. However, two robber trenches that cut through area H7 were not immediately recognized, and, therefore, excavation introduced some later materials into this locus.

Figure 5.13. South Section of G6–G8 and North Section of H7–H8 (Sections 5 and 6).

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The use of Room 3 was different between Areas D and E. Negative microartifact samples collected and sparse de facto refuse in Area D complicate a clear understanding of the room. Additionally, formation processes alone cannot be used to explain the scarcity of artifactual remains. While its north and south walls were mined by later occupants, these efforts do not appear to have caused severe disturbances to the artifacts in Area D. Its earthen floor was preserved beneath undisturbed destruction debris throughout most of its space, the exception being near the robbed-out walls. While no ceramics were found on Figure 4.14. Photo of Polished Grooved stone from Activity the floor, other artifacts were recovArea D in Room 3. ered. As mentioned above, they included, from the eastern half of Area D, a group of five loom weights resting on the floor and two additional weights in the destruction debris. The proximity of these weights to a perforated stone and the line of stones halving the room, one of which is also perforated, suggests weaving activities and the likely presence of a loom. One of the perforated stones may have held the base of a vertical pole that supported an upright loom from which the loom weights were suspended before they were baked in the conflagration and deposited on the floor when the loom’s other components were consumed in the fire. Alternatively, it and the other perforated stone may also have been suspended as weights to keep the lengthwise warp threads taught. The bin next to the line of stones possibly served as a repository for the loom weights when they were not in use. However, it may have been unrelated to weaving activities altogether. In addition to weaving, a number of other activities may have taken place in Area E. Features and artifacts buried in the de facto refuse there are varied. The ceramics included four jars (one not illustrated) and two jugs—forms that can be associated with liquid storage and serving (pl. 10:1–5). No bowls or cooking pots were found in this area. The number of stone objects found in the north half of Area E is significant and suggests activities associated with grinding and/or pounding. This may explain the red ochre in the microartifact samples. There were also seed remains collected in the center of Area E, but these are not directly associated with the lithic objects. The other artifacts were generally located near the center of the room but are highly varied. A spindle whorl adds more evidence of textile working, and the red ochre found in the collected microartifact samples may have been used as a pigment. Two items of personal adornment in the area are consistent with

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Figure 5.15. Ground stones from the F7 Dwelling with perforated stone (top left and right) from Room 3.

ethnographic data that suggest women performed most activities associated with textile production at the household level in Southwest Asia (Friend 1997). It should also be noted that Tell Halif has produced more artifacts associated with weaving, especially loom weights and spindle whorls, than most other Iron II sites in the southern Levant, in spite of the limited scope of excavation of Iron II deposits. Friend (1997) has proposed an active cottage industry at the site, since most of the evidence for weaving comes from domestic contexts. While there is strong evidence for textile production, including spinning and weaving, some of the other artifactual remains are more ambiguous with regard to activities carried out in Area E. The numerous fragmentary grinding stones along with cereals and possibly the installations set into the floor are suggestive of food processing, but no microartifacts yielded evidence of this activity in either Area E or D. The two jugs suggest liquid serving and consumption, and the jars suggest some storage. However, no specific activities could be associated with the one scale weight, the green slag, and the red ochre. It is possible that Room 3 served as a second living room, perhaps serving a second nuclear family or members of the same nuclear family occupying Room 2. It is also possible that Room 3 served as a multi-activity area, particularly for women involved in textile production.

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Room 4 Description Room 4 is the central long room of the dwelling. It measures 2.75 m wide (N–S) and no more than 6.75 m long (E–W), or approximately 18.6 m2 (see fig. 5.3). As with Room 3, the exact length of the room east to west cannot be determined. Preservation in Area G6 is poor due to later disturbances, but the few remains that are preserved suggest a length for the central long room no greater than 6.75 m. The room could be accessed from a doorway leading to/from Room 3 or by simply walking between the pillars from Room 5 into Room 4. An additional doorway probably existed in the east wall, allowing access to the dwelling from the outside, but this could not be determined definitively due to disturbances of the east wall of the room. Floor treatment in Room 4 consisted of both flagstone pavers and packed earth. The western half of the floor treatment consisted of slightly undulating packed earth, on which rested a number of installations/features. An area of the earthen surface near the doorway leading into Room 3 is heavily disturbed by an intrusive Persian period pit (L. G7006) cutting through the Stratum VIB layers and removing the end of a north/south wall. The east area of the Room 4 floor is treated with large flagstones (15 x 35 cm in size). In the discussion that follows, the room is divided into three areas based on the differing floor types and the spatial segregation of artifacts and other permanent features associated with these floors. These areas are designated F, G, and H (fig. 5.2) Area F, measuring 1.5–2 m2, is located in the southwest corner of Room 4 between Installation L. G7022 and the doorway leading to Room 3 (see figs. 5.2 and 5.16). A small installation of 2–3 stacked fieldstones was placed 20–30 cm from the southwest corner of the room and was found supporting an intact storage jar lying on its side (pl. 12:3; fig. 5.16). Two additional storage jars were found in this area (pl. 12:1–2) along with one loom weight, one stone bead (pl. 13:2), one perforated piece of shell (pl. 13:3, an adornment?), and the birdlike head of a figurine with traces of white slip and red paint 12 (pl. 13:1). No microartifacts samples were collected in this area. Area H lies immediately north of Area F and consists of the space surrounding a large circular platform or installation (L. G7022) laid against Room 4’s western wall (L. G8006). It was built of small cobbles (5–15 cm) laid on the floor and measures approximately 1.75 m in diameter (see fig. 5.2). It was covered in gray and black ash, but we could not determine whether this ash should be associated with the destruction debris or with activities that used fire. The former association is strongest because no charcoal or seeds were detected on the platform, nor were high correlation coefficients of wood and bone observed in the microartifacts (Rosen 1992). Two large “chunks” consisting of plaster and cobble were found in the debris above the installation/platform. These fragments measured 50 x 60 cm wide and 15–20 cm thick and were not observed anywhere else in the F7 Dwelling. One flat surface was finished 12. Compare with Beer Sheva I, pl. 27:2 (Aharoni 1973).

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Figure 5.16. Lmlk-type jar in Area F placed on three stacked stones (view looking west).

smoothly with lime plaster while the side opposite was unfinished. The finished side exhibited many small cobbles and pebbles (5–15 cm) embedded into the plaster. The material is reminiscent of the plastered floor observed east of the F7 Dwelling in area G6 (L. G6010). It could be roof fall or wall collapse or a portion of a poorly preserved superstructure of the platform, a bin of sorts (see fig. 5.5, Section 1). This is the only place where large fragments were preserved. Artifacts associated with the installation in Area H are sparse and include only two ceramic vessels: one bowl and one krater (pl. 12:4–5). A large storage jar was found lying immediately to its south, between this area and Area F, and is probably associated with that area (pl. 12:2). The only microartifact sample collected yielded remains of cereals, fish bones, and eggshells of small birds. The final area of Room 4, Area G, is located east of Areas F and H and of the robbedout wall disturbed by the intrusive pit G7006 (see fig. 5.2). It consists of the flagstone floor observed between the pillar (L. G7020) and the robber trench (L. H7011; see fig. 5.5, Section 1; 5.13, Section 5). This includes an area of floor approximately 2.5 m square, constructed of large cobbles and flagstones (15–45 cm). It was covered with accumulations of destruction debris to a depth of 50–75 cm and contained few artifacts. Ceramics preserved on the floor included one holemouth pithos (pl. 12:6) and one bowl (pl. 12:7). No other artifacts were found on the flagstone floor; however, microartifacts consisted of cereals and fish bones (Rosen 1992).

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Room 4 contains some of the more heavily disturbed areas of the F7 Dwelling (see figs. 4.11 and 5.1), because a large pit (L. G7006) cuts through its remains, removing de facto refuse from the center of the room. In addition, the scavenging activity associated with the mining of the room’s south wall (L. H7011) removed stones from the south portion of the flagstone floor (L. G7016) and disturbed de facto refuse near the wall. Use The central long room contains a number of features and artifacts that are revealing of the activities performed there. Two installations that flank the room to the west are well preserved. The installation in Area F is associated with two to three storage jars (pl. 12:1–3). One was found intact on the stacked fieldstones, demonstrating the installation’s use as a stand, holding the jar approximately 35 cm above the floor. It may be significant that the jar was found lying on its side on this platform. This position may have served to keep a stopper moist, or it may have allowed easier access to the vessel’s contents. This phenomenon is addressed in more detail below, in the discussion of Room 5. The platform in Area H was found covered in ash. It had a krater and a bowl placed on its surface (pl. 12:4–5), and microartifacts collected there suggest food preparation. This feature likely served either as the base for a large storage bin or, more likely, as a platform for food preparation. Its placement near other cooking areas located in Room 5 lends support to the latter interpretation. Ethnographic data from Aliabad describe similar platforms used for a variety of purposes in courtyards near cooking areas (Kramer 1982a; 1982b). However, the plaster fragments found leaning against one another on the platform may be associated with the platform, if they are not wall fall (from L. G8006) or, more likely, ceiling collapse. Moving to the east, one encounters the intrusive pit and then Area G, the area consisting of the east portion of Room 4, paved with flagstones. While some stones are missing, most appear to be intact. Only two ceramic vessels were found on the floor, a baggy pithos and a small bowl (pl. 12:6–7). Microartifacts included cereals and fish. Stager (1985a) makes a compelling argument for the association of similar areas observed in other pillared dwellings with domestic stables (this was covered in chap. 3). It is tempting to identify this area as a stable for several reasons. The flagstone area of Room 4 is spatially segregated from the areas interpreted as “living areas” (see figs. 5.2–3). Animal wastes are easily removed from the surface, and urine is allowed to percolate through the cracks. Additionally, the surface treatment is consistent with ethnographically described stables in nineteenthand twentieth-century Palestinian dwellings (Hirschfeld 1995: passim). Cereals in the microartifacts do not preclude this understanding, and it is possible that the baggy pithos was used for feeding stabled animals. It would be interesting to know if the cereals found in the microartifacts are barley, which is more often associated with animal fodder than with victuals (see Kramer 1982a). Research into this continues. The remains in Room 4 best fit a multifunctional interpretation for the various areas of the room. The west areas (F and H) are suggestive of food preparation and some storage, and the east areas would function well as a domestic stable, possibly housing equids or other animals, including sheep, goats, horses, asses, and cattle.

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Room 5 Description Room 5 is the third and final long room of the dwelling. It measures 3.25 m wide (N– S) and no more than 6.75 m long (E–W), or approximately 21.9 m2. As with Rooms 3 and 4, the exact length of the room east to west has not been determined definitively, because excavation did not extend to the east termination of the room (see fig. 4.6). A partial wall and floor in the northwest extremes of Area G6 indicate a point beyond which it could not have extended. This indicates a length no greater than roughly 6.75 m. The long walls of Room 5 consist of a solid stone and mud-brick north wall and a south pillared “wall” composed of at least two and possibly three limestone pillars (L. G7019 and L. G7020—the third pillar possibly located in the balk remaining between Areas G6 and G7). The pillars divide Rooms 4 and 5. The solid north wall is actually a double wall and separates the F7 Dwelling from other buildings to the north. The outer wall (L. F7012) is made of cobbles stacked at least six courses high and runs the entire length of the exposed dwelling on its north side (same as L. F8008; see fig. 4.5 and 5.1). The inner wall (L. F7003) is made of well-preserved mud bricks laid on a stone foundation. It is preserved to a height of 1.2 m and consists of individual bricks, which could still be identified, laid in a single row 54 cm wide. While it is described here as a wall, it is possible, but not probable, that this structure is a bench preserved to its original height. Ceramic sherds found on its surface were refitted with sherds and vessels recovered near Stratum VIB floors deeper in the ashy VIB destruction debris. The west wall of Room 5 divides the room from Room 1, and a doorway preserved in this wall allowed the only observable access to Room 1 (figs. 5.1 and 5.3). As mentioned above, this doorway is partially obstructed by an installation, leaving only 60 cm of unobstructed passageway. Room 5 could also be entered and exited from Room 2 13 or by simply walking between the pillars separating Rooms 4 and 5. It is possible that the dwelling was entered and exited through a doorway into Room 5, but this cannot be established. I suggest that this is unlikely, due to the presence of a large quantity of storage jars in that area (fig. 4.9). The floor of Room 5 consisted predominantly of leveled, hard-packed earth. However, a narrow area along the north wall was prepared with small cobbles (L. F7019; see fig. 5.17). These floors were covered with destruction debris that was preserved to over one meter in depth. It consisted of burned mud bricks and detritus; charred wooden beams; and pockets of gray, brown, and black ash (fig. 4.8). Accumulations along the north wall were over 1.25 m deep, preserving numerous artifacts, installations, and features. The only place where this was not the case was near the center of the room, where an intrusive stone-lined pit from the Persian period was dug into Iron II deposits by later occupants of the site (L. G7007; see figs. 4.11 and 5.17). The floor space of Room 5 is divided into smaller areas 13. A single line of small cobbles exists 75 cm in front of the threshold, but this does not impede progress through the door. Its function is uncertain, but possibilities include a small step into Room 2, a small bin, or a basin (e.g., footbath).

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Figure 5.17. Features on the floors of Rooms 4–5.

surrounding the permanent architectural features and installations found on the floor of the room (Areas I–M; see fig. 5.2). These are discussed in a west-to-east order. Area J includes an area in and surrounding the installation that partially blocks the doorway between Rooms 1 and 5 (L. F7008; see fig. 5.2). This semicircular installation is laid against the west wall (L. F7007), beginning at the midpoint of the threshold between these two rooms and terminating where the west wall ends at the doorway between Rooms 5 and 2 (see fig. 5.1). It measures approximately 1.2 m long and 1.3 m wide. It is built of one or two rows of small cobbles (5–20 cm) stacked atop one another to a height of three courses (ca. 20–25 cm) and covered with a mud plaster. Two ceramic vessels were found in the vicinity of the installation, including one amphoriskos (pl. 16:1) and one piriform juglet too fragmentary to restore (only body sherds). One ground, round stone (pl. 15:5), one pitted stone (pl. 15:4, crucible?), one bone disk (pl. 15:2), one bulla (pl. 15:3), and one body fragment of a white-slipped pillar figurine (pl. 15:1) were found on the floor near the installation; and two scale weights (pl. 13:4–5), one scaraboid/bead (pl. 13:9), one stamp seal (pl. 13:8), one bone disk (pl. 13:6), one piece of hematite, two pottery “stoppers” (pl. 13:13–14), one ballista (pl. 13:7), one knife/sickle blade (pl. 13:11), one iron arrowhead (pl. 13:12), and one bulla (pl. 13:10; fig. 5.18) were found in the fill above it and in its vicinity. No microartifact samples were collected in the interior of the installation. Area I includes a space measuring 30–50 cm surrounding the west pillar (L. G7019) of Room 5 (see fig. 5.2). A small, semicircular installation made of stones and finished with

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Figure 5.18. Bulla from Activity Area J.

mud was placed against the north side of the pillar. Its east extension was interrupted by the intrusive Persian pit (G7007) mentioned above. Many carbonized remains were recovered from its interior, and black ash was apparent around the feature. Its use as a hearth or oven seems certain. Remains recovered in its immediate vicinity include a number of ceramic vessels: two storage jars (pl. 14:1–2), two cooking pots (pl. 14:4, 7), one krater (pl. 14:3), three bowls (pl. 14:5–6, 9), one juglet (pl. 14:8), and one lamp (pl. 14:10). Other artifacts found on the floor near the installation included a pierced stone, one loom weight, and one piece of metal. Four microartifact samples were collected near Area I (see fig. 5.6), and all yielded greenish slag. Artifacts found in the debris covering the floor included one small bone disk, one ground round stone, and one bead (pl. 13:2). Area K includes a small area 75 cm in diameter immediately surrounding a limestone mortar sunk into the floor 50 cm east of Area J (see figs. 5.2 and 5.17). Resting on the floor to the north and east of the mortar were three large pithoi (pl. 16:2–4). Additional artifacts on the floor included one loom weight and one pierced shell. Other artifacts not lying on the floor but in the same vicinity included one grinding stone (pl. 15:7) and one iron arrowhead (pl. 15:6). No microartifact samples were collected in this area. Area M includes a large quantity of artifacts found preserved along the northern wall of Room 5. Most of these artifacts seem to be related to the cobble-prepared surface (L. F7019) located along a portion of this wall (see figs. 5.1–2, 17). Area M surrounds the smaller Area L, which includes limited space around a tabun preserved intact on the floor (see figs. 5.2 and 5.20). However, no patterns or spatial separations of artifacts belonging to either area were immediately recognizable. Area M’s proximity to the north wall, which was preserved to a height of one m, helped protect artifacts located in this area from later disturbance (fig. 5.19). The vessels lying farther away from the north wall and closer to the

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intrusive pit/bin (L. G7007) were less well preserved. This was also true of vessels located near the unexcavated areas of Room 5 to the east (see fig. 4.6). This disturbance caused noticeable depletions in the de facto refuse in these areas (see, e.g., pls. 19:5–6; 20:3, 5, 9). However, ceramics and artifacts that were recovered were numerous. Ceramics included 12 storage jars (pls. 18:1–6; 19:1–6), three jugs (pl. 20:3, 9– 10), one small cooking pot (pl. 20:12), four bowls (pl. 20:4–7), two lamps (pl. 20:8, 11), one funnel (pl. 20:1), and one strainer (pl. 20:2). The objects collected from the floor were centrally dispersed in Area M and include 10 loom weights, two stoppers, one bone tool, four hammer stones/ballistas (pl. 17:1–4), one iron “nail” (pl. 17:7), and one iron arrowhead (pl. 17:6). Four microartifact samples were taken, but only one yielded positive results (see fig. 5.6). The westernmost sample was taken from floor buildup on top of the cobbles and yielded homogeneous brown flint chips. The two samples taken nearest the tabun were negative for microartifacts. Artifacts found in the fill above the floors in Area M were numerous in the easternmost and westernmost sections of this area. In the west one-third of Area M, eight loom weights, one ballista, one piece of hematite, and one worked bone were recovered. In an area about one meter to the east of this first aggregation, one iron arrowhead (pl. 17:5) and two loom weights were collected from above the mud brick of the north wall, and one stopper was found near the floor. Use The numerous features and artifacts in Room 5 make it one of the more interesting areas studied. The features at the west end of the room are consistent with food preparation and function together with areas in the west area of Room 4. These remains are consistent with a “kitchen” or food preparation/processing area. Area I served as the hearth/cooking oven, an interpretation supported by the charred remains inside the installation laid against the west pillar (L. G7019) and the number of ceramic vessels the use of which is consistent with food preparation activities (pl. 14:3–5, 7). Further corroboration includes microartifacts recovered from an overlapping area between Areas I and J of cereal remains, eggshells, and fish bones. The presence of heavy ash deposits is also consistent with cooking areas. The four microartifact samples recovered from north of the installation, all yielding greenish slag, suggest the additional activity of metalworking at the hearth. A small piece of metal recovered from the area and a small, very thick-walled juglet (a crucible? pl. 14:8) further suggest metalworking activity in this area. Most of the finds related to the installation in Area J were recovered from within the covering fill and debris in its vicinity. The ashy debris filling its interior possibly preserves the remains of fuel such as dung cakes, branches, or other combustibles used in nearby installations in Areas I and L. It also resembles “catch basins” of the type used for grinding activities associated with large querns. The size and the building technique of the feature resemble examples known from Tell Halif’s Field III, Tel Rehov (Fries 2006), and many other sites, and its proximity to Area K is, I believe, salient (see below). Missing, however, is a saddle quern. As stated above, however, many of the artifacts found in this area are not from the floors and are not consistent with grinding activities. Many of these are more consistent

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Figure 5.19. Destruction debris with storage jars of the “lmlk” type in Activity Areas M and L of Room 5. The jar on the right covers the tabun in Activity Area L.

Figure 5.20. Area L tabun in section (F7015).

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with the de facto refuse from Area M discussed below and thus are better associated with those remains. Area K provides excellent evidence for the processing of cereals. A large limestone mortar (L. F7020) was found sunk into the floor and was flanked to its north by three holemouth pithoi (pl. 16:2–4). The upper half of one pithos (pl. 16:4) was destroyed due to its proximity to intrusive stone-lined pit/bin L. G7007. Similar pithoi with flat bases, wide orifices, and out-turned rims that allow a cover to be tied across the mouth have been linked ethnographically to the storage of dry goods such as cereals (Henrickson and McDonald 1983). A grinder found in this vicinity may have been used here or in Area J (pl. 15:7). Area L provided a small tabun just to the east of Areas I, J, and K. A number of vessels associated with food preparation were found in its environs, but they could not be spatially segregated from vessels in Area M. Some vessels are consistent with food preparation, including a small cooking pot and a large bowl (pl. 20:4, 12). However, these vessels may have been used in activities associated with Area M. In Area M, the ceramic assemblage is dominated by storage jars. These apparently were stacked one on top of another along the cobbled portion (L. F7019) of the floor (pls. 18:1–6; 19:1–6). Mixed among the storage jars were other ceramics and various artifacts. The microartifacts from this area provided limited evidence of localized flint knapping. However, based on the quantity and homogeneity of the debitage, this activity was limited to a few isolated instances (Rosen 1993). Additionally, none of the other three samples produced microartifacts. When considering the large number of storage jars (12), I noted that the assemblage in Area M is indicative of storage, perhaps surplus collected for the ensuing siege. However, another possibility is suggested when the assemblage of artifacts and ceramics is taken as a whole. The large quantity of storage jars, several stoppers, and a strainer and funnel are suggestive of activities associated with the processing of some type(s) of liquid. The bells on both the strainer and the funnel are much larger than known examples associated with the service of beer and wine. 14 Wear traces could be observed on the exterior surface of the strainer and funnel that are consistent with their insertion into the mouths of the storage vessels. To help determine how the ceramic assemblage of Area M functioned as a whole, Patrick McGovern of the Museum of Applied Science Center for Archaeology performed residue analysis on selected vessels. Three of the lmlk-type storage jars (pls. 18:5, 6; 19:6) were tested along with the strainer (pl. 20:2) and the funnel (pl. 20:1). When tested by Fourier-transform, diffuse-reflectance infrared spectrometry, high-performance liquid chromatography, and wet chemical techniques, all five vessels tested positive for tartaric acid, a substance that in nature is almost exclusively found in grapes (for the technique, see Badler, McGovern, and Michel 1990; Formenti and Duthel 1996: 83–84; McGovern and Michel 1996). Due to the residue analysis results, the large number of storage vessels, the presence of stoppers, and the size of the bells on both the strainer and the funnel, I suggest that the activities taking place in Area M were associated with wine production instead of surplus storage associated with siege preparation activities. Additionally, some of the other finds in 14. Examples of strainers with small, serving-sized bells are well known and include an example from Beer Sheva (Aharoni 1973: pls. 63, 130).

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Area M, including especially the two partial bullae are suggestive of economic (production/ distribution) activities that reached beyond the domestic sphere. The assemblage would have been used as follows. The strainer, possibly in conjunction with some type of cloth placed inside the strainer, would have been used to separate pulp and sediments from the juice of the grapes as the liquids were poured into a jar. Once the sediments were separated, the juice (i.e., the must) would have been funneled into a jar and sealed, probably with the stoppers found in the same area. Fermentation of the grape must would have proceeded in the jars. Breathing, or oxygen respiration, would have been necessary for the fermentation process to be completed, but once completed, it was necessary that oxygen be denied the must to prevent the growth of bacteria, which convert wine into vinegar (McGovern 1990: 32). This need may explain the large quantity of “loom weights” found in Area M. Virtually all of these loom weights were fragmentary. They were recognized as partial, mud loom weights by their circular/rounded shape and signs of a perforated center (doughnut shaped). However, based on the context of these objects, I am tempted to identify them as stoppers. If traces of storage-jar rim indentations could be identified, we could explain their use as vessel stoppers during the fermentation process. Their perforated center would have been plugged and unplugged as needed to allow both the grape must to breath and the pressure to be released, thus allowing completion of the fermentation process. Once the desired degree of fermentation was reached, the perforated stopper could be permanently sealed or removed, and a more permanent stopper could be applied, effectively sealing the must. Since this research was undertaken, M. Homan has identified “fermentation stoppers” associated with beer making as well as wine production (Homan 2004: 89–91). Additionally, the wear and pitting on the interior of numerous lmlk-type jars may provide evidence for use in wine making, if the interiors were eroded by the acids present in the wine or by chemical reactions taking place during fermentation. Further evidence of wine fermentation in these jars may include the previously mentioned jar from Area F found lying on its side atop a small installation in the corner of Room 4. McGovern mentions that vessels used in wine production/storage are often laid on their side to provide constant moistening of the stoppers or clay lids to prevent undesired oxygen penetration (McGovern, Michel, and Badler 1993). Perhaps this is why the large jar found in Area F was placed on its side on this installation. This reconstruction of the activities in Area M explains the presence of many of the artifacts preserved in the de facto refuse and is consistent with what is known regarding the production of wine during this period. The presence of the bullae perhaps suggests that this production was on a level greater than domestic consumption.

Conclusions Regarding the Use of Space in the F7 Dwelling When the activities and activity areas reconstructed for the F7 Dwelling are taken as a whole, we gain a clearer understanding of many of the activities carried out by the archaeological household. I have shown that many domestic activities can be identified and isolated

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by area in the F7 Dwelling. The broad rooms (Rooms 1 and 2) and the southernmost long room (Room 3) best represent interior spaces. The nature of the solid walls and the floor treatment in these rooms and their separation from Rooms 4 and 5 by raised thresholds support this conclusion. This conclusion is also warranted by many of the artifacts found in the de facto refuse of these rooms. Storage is common in Rooms 1 and 2, and I suggest longerterm storage in Room 1 based on the difficulty of access. The items in storage in Area B of Room 2 are consistent with items in daily or common use. These include food-serving and -consumption vessels, items for personal grooming (pumice), small tools (horn core and worked bone), and items associated with ritual or religious practice (standing stones both carved and polished, a pillar figurine, and a fenestrated stand). The emptiness of space in the southern two-thirds of the room (Area C) and the absence of features and de facto refuse cannot be explained solely by the natural disturbances to the southwest corner of the room. In areas with appreciable overburdens of destruction debris (more than 25 cm), few artifacts representing the de facto assemblage were recovered. This area and Area D of Room 3 are the only spatially open areas consistently demonstrating this pattern. This renders these areas potent candidates for “living rooms.” These areas are suitable for food consumption, guest entertainment, ritual activities, and other social activities. It is possible that these activities also took place on a second floor, but this is addressed below. The east half of Room 3 is consistent with space used primarily for textile production. The artifacts in this area supporting this conclusion include the installations, loom weights, and microartifacts. However, the scale weight and greenish slag suggest that other activities were also carried out in this space. The space along the west end of long rooms 4 and 5 (Areas F, H–L) are consistent with food preparation activities. Cereals were ground in Area K and used in various foods cooked in/on ovens/hearths in Areas I or M, which burned fuel stored in Area J. Additionally, cooking occurred in Room 1 during at least part of the year. Furthermore, food preparation could have taken place on the circular platform in Area H. The flow patterns for use of this space are well planned. Food was prepared in Areas H and K and cooked in Areas A, I, or K. It only had to be transported a very short distance before being served in Area B of Room 2 (see fig. 5.2). Foods known to be prepared and served include meat from large animals, including sheep/goat and cattle; cereals; eggs; grapes; legumes; and, interestingly enough for a desert settlement, fish. Fish remains turned up in virtually every room and are one of the commonest artifacts retrieved in microartifact samples. They were probably dried and transported from the Mediterranean coast (Borowski 1999, personal communication). 15 Activities in this same food preparation area could also be associated with small-scale metalworking. This is evidenced by the occurrence of greenish slag around Area I. A small, thick-walled juglet occurring here is also evidence of this activity, if its identification as a crucible is correct. The east half of Room 4 is consistent with areas understood best as a domestic stable. The floor was ideal for this function: the flagstones were easily cleaned of animal excre15. Oded Borowski reported that analyses of these remains demonstrate that the fish bones and scales retrieved from both the microartifact samples and the 1/4 mesh screens were consistent with species from the Mediterranean Sea and the Yarkon and Nile rivers.

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Figure 5.21. Artist’s reconstruction of the F7 Dwelling (drawing by Dylan Karges).

ment, while urine was allowed to percolate through their surface. Additionally, the location next to the wall used for entering the dwelling meant that animals could be led in and out of the enclosure without trafficking through space used in other ways. It is also possible that the baggy type holemouth pithos found in this area was a food container used for storage or for serving the stabled animals. Finally, the interpretation of the function of the area north of the flagstone floor, Area M, is consistent with activities associated with the production of wine, especially as evidenced by the 12 large jars (3 of which tested positive for wine), the funnel and strainer (which also tested positive for wine), and numerous stoppers. The scale of the operation and presence of two bullae suggest that production was greater than is necessary simply for domestic or personal consumption. A vintner appears to have used this space. That spatial location of jars may be related to function or contents has been observed ethnographically in the southern Levant. In his early ethnographic observations, Dalman noted that the storage of wine, oil, and possibly beer is usually located in a dark interior room or cellar (Dalman 1935: 251–52). Burned beams lying directly on the floor of Area M as well as two

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lamps in the vicinity (pl. 20:8, 11) provide evidence that this space was roofed. It is reasonable to posit that a temperature level conducive to fermentation of the must in the jars would have been maintained in this room. The roofing, or spanning, of this space raises an issue about the remainder of the space in Rooms 4 and 5. I have already proposed that Rooms 1, 2, and 3 were completely roofed. I also discussed above (chap. 3) that many scholars believe one of the pillared long rooms was usually left open to serve as a courtyard. Many of the activities occurring in Rooms 4 and 5 are consistent with activities that take place in courtyards, as I will demonstrate in the next chapter. However, does this mean that areas outside Area M were left uncovered? The data here suggest not. The two pillars separating Rooms 4 and 5 are structural supports for roofing material. Their presence suggests that at least half of this space—Room 4 or Room 5—was spanned by a roof (see figs. 3.2 and 5.21). Roof material in Area M suggests that Room 5 was covered and, similarly, roof material and lamps in Areas H and I intimate that the west half of Room 4 was covered. Additionally, ethnographic data demonstrate that stabling areas usually—in fact, almost exclusively—are covered (Hirschfeld 1995; Holladay 1986; 1992; 1993a; 1993b). If the interpretation of this area is correct, I suggest that the majority of the space in Rooms 4 and 5 was roofed. However, it is also possible that a small area was left unroofed to allow light to enter and smoke to escape. It is possible that a small area between two of the pillars, or between one pillar and a wall, was left open to serve as a “skylight” and “exhaust vent.” But it is likely that most of the floor area of the F7 Dwelling was roofed. It is also quite possible that some or all of the roofed area carried a second floor. The structural integrity of the F7 Dwelling is strong enough that it could easily have carried additional stories. Walls are wide enough to support a second story adequately. A second story would have provided more living space for the occupants of the dwelling (already 79 square meters of interior space). The most likely candidates for carrying an additional story are the broad rooms. This likelihood is strengthened by the fact that the broad rooms of the F7 Dwelling are incorporated into a casemate-like defense system. Structures of this sort were usually built higher than a single story (Yadin 1963; Ussishkin 1982) and most likely would have included additional rooms. However, the depth of destruction debris covering the broad rooms is less than in any other area of the dwelling due to its proximity to the modern slope of the tell. Thus, this assertion cannot be substantiated archaeologically. Parts of the roof could also have been used as parapets or for other activity areas even in the absence of a second story, but this also cannot be supported archaeologically. The above reconstruction of activity areas describes in detail the way space was used and organized within the F7 Dwelling. This reconstruction of activities successfully answers a number of the questions raised at the end of chap. 3 regarding the usefulness of de facto refuse preserved in the Stratum VIB destruction at Iron II Tell Halif for this purpose. The next obvious step is to move beyond the identification of these activities and to identify the individuals undertaking them and to assess how their activities and use of space may reflect broader social, economic, and political organization. To do this, I will rely on ethnographic/ethnoarchaeological and historical/textual data.

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Chapter 6

Houses and Social Structure: Ethnographic and Ethnoarchaeological Data In this chapter, I examine ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data in order to assess further the viability of the interpretation and understanding of the archaeological data from the F7 Dwelling described in chap. 5. These ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data were collected in Arab villages of the late nineteenth and early to mid-twentieth centuries c.e. in Palestine and from several small, mid- to late twentieth-century c.e. rural villages in western Iran. I provide a brief discussion of the way that these data are approached to establish links between material culture, on the one hand, and behaviors, activity areas, and social structure, on the other. While few scholars would disagree that these types of data are useful for understanding the more functional aspects of material culture in the past, there is less agreement with regard to their usefulness for understanding the organizational aspects of past societies—whether social, political, or economic. For this reason, I discussed the use (and the usefulness) of such data thoroughly in chap. 1 and will review it here only briefly. When approached cautiously, the ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data employed here can be useful for understanding many aspects of the archaeological materials from the F7 Dwelling, including understanding the function of certain artifacts, identifying the execution and organization of certain activities, and suggesting likely social organization at the household level.

The Usefulness of Ethnographic and Ethnoarchaeological Studies Some scholars have questioned the usefulness of comparative ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological studies on several bases. They fault the scholars engaged in these studies for including erroneous emic views/interpretations about ethnographic and archaeological data, neglecting gender studies, viewing social organization as static and crystallized, and implicitly assuming similar, uniform social organization between ethnographic cultures and the cultures being investigated archaeologically. These criticisms largely stem from functional and processual theoretical models of the 1950s, 60s, and 70s, when much ethnographic fieldwork was undertaken and when culture was viewed largely as a reaction to

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ecological constraints, as a reaction to the availability of land and labor resources, and as proceeding along unilinear evolutionary trajectories. With regard to gender studies in particular, the neglect included: not studying gender as an organizing principle, ignoring or paying insufficient attention to studies of women’s technologies and productive tasks, neglecting women’s roles in influencing and changing social organization, assuming absolute divisions of labor between men and women, assuming that gender divisions are based on an absolute division of labor and viewing gender roles and activities as static and uniformitarian rather than dynamic and adapting (see sources in chap. 2). All of these criticisms are valid and the issues are important and must be kept in view when one uses ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data to aid interpretation of archaeological remains. However, I believe that the numerous works demonstrating the usefulness of these studies more than warrant their consideration here—particularly because the ethnographic data cited and archaeological remains under review are from the same geographical regions being investigated archaeologically. An important factor that further supports the use of these ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data is the existence in the wider Middle East and eastern Mediterranean region of a strong, markedly persistent organization at the household level. This includes especially architectural compounds occupied by patrilineal, patrilocal, extended family households. The persistence and commonness of this type of household throughout the broader region is demonstrated well in the work of David Schloen (2001). Schloen’s ambitious work The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East presents, foremost, an explanatory model for understanding ancient Near Eastern society holistically. The theoretical/philosophical bases for this model are the hermeneutics of Paul Ricoeur and the patrimonialism and agency described by Max Weber (Schloen 2001: 7–9). The primary unit of examination for this model is the “house of the father.” The “house of the father” identifies a typically recurring and historically common patrilocal, extended “Mediterranean” type household (what Schloen calls the “joint family”). Indeed, this household type was pervasive and appears in many different social and political contexts and is manifested in various ways. For Schloen, the household’s “diverse manifestations were developments of a coherent pattern of meaningful social action that was universally understood and so endured for thousands of years in the ancient Levant and its environs” (Schloen 2001: 1). He understands the household as a “demographic and economic fact” and a “powerful political and religious symbol.” This understanding of the household as both fact and symbol allows Schloen to move beyond functional approaches that often overemphasize or exclusively emphasize material and ecological factors. 1 1. Schloen is justifiably suspect of functional approaches (e.g., Wilk and Rathje 1982) that imply strong correlations between resource availability (land and labor) and ecology on the one hand with household structure and composition on the other (Schloen 2001: 117–19). Functionalist approaches often are particularly insensitive to human agency or culture-specific traditions, which may supersede many other concerns (for example, ecology, availability of resources, and so on). Functionalists have also been criticized for treating household and kinship structure and organization as static (Schloen 2001: 131–33; citing and addressing Rosenfeld 1972; 1983; and Eickelman 1989). In spite of Schloen’s and others’ caveats, many ethnographic data gathered and presented under functionalist theoretical frameworks continue to be useful in a number of ways.

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The ancient evidence that Schloen uses to apply and illustrate his model comes from Bronze Age Ugarit and from Israel in the subsequent Iron Age (the latter is to be addressed by him more thoroughly in a second volume sometime in the future). He refers to the Iron Age as the “Axial Age,” an age of empires in the Near East, when he believes that societies underwent fundamental, dramatic shifts in their social and economic organization (Schloen 2001: 1–2). In spite of this fundamental change, he demonstrates through archaeological and textual evidence from both Ugaritic and Israelite societies that the joint-family, “Mediterranean” type of patrilocal household was recognized as the cultural norm—as “outer fact and inner symbol” (Schloen 2001: 1). Schloen further demonstrates the persistence and historical commonness of the patrilocal, extended, “Mediterranean” household through a study of ethnographic data and historical records, and he documents this household type from a variety of periods and places along the Mediterranean littoral. 2 Some of his most convincing data are provided by three spatially and temporally separate, well-documented, preindustrial examples. These include Roman Egypt, Renaissance Tuscany, and Ottoman Syria (Schloen 2001: 127–33). 3 In these examples, as well as in others, he sees a similar pattern of household organization, size, and composition unfolding. In the examples cited by Schloen, anywhere from 26% to 43% of all households were living in extended family, co-resident groups consisting of Schloen’s “extended conjugal” and “multiple conjugal family” as opposed to “simple conjugal” (nuclear) units. 4 Although the number of households is less than half of the total, the majority of household residents (approximately 51%–60%) lived in extended family settings because of the large sum of individuals who were living together in each household, at least in Roman Egypt and Renaissance Tuscany (Schloen 2001: 126). Even in societies where this pattern is quite typical (that is, societies where three-generational joint families are viewed as normal/typical by an endogamous population), many of the households may not be of a joint nature, because families go through the domestic cycle (already noted by Hammel and Laslett 1974; Laslett 1972; Kramer 1982a; 1982b; Watson 1979). With regard to the number of individuals included in each household, Schloen believes it safe to say that “patrilineally extended families in an ancient Mediterranean population would have had no more than seven members on average, even assuming early female marriage and frequent births” (Schloen 2001: 126). He bases this statement on the demographic

In fact, Schloen himself uses descriptive, functional works in his reconstructions of Near Eastern society, such as are described in the main text here (Schloen 2001: 133). 2. Laslett (1983) already noted the statistically preponderant existence of a typical patrilineal complex household in the Mediterranean region. 3. For Roman Egypt, Schloen (2001) uses Bagnall and Frier’s (1994) analysis of data from a number of cities and towns, especially written data from Hermopolis, Oxyrhynchos, and Panopolis. For Renaissance Tuscany, he cites the analysis of Herlihy and Klapisch-Zuber (1985), which uses data from the Florentine Census of 1427 to address household composition. A number of sources for Ottoman Syria are cited, including Establet and Pascual (1994) and Marcus (1989) for Aleppo and Damascus. 4. Schloen defines the extended conjugal family as “a single conjugal couple and their children plus a widowed parent and/or the unmarried sibling(s) of the household head.” He defines the multiple conjugal family as a “coresidence of married siblings (usually brothers) after the death of their father” (Schloen 2001: 127).

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calculations of Burch (1972: 96) and Saller (1994: 51, 57; Schloen 2001: 123–25). However, this figure does not allow for polygamy, widows, orphans, slaves, resident aliens, or others. These, Schloen believes, would increase the estimate to ten individuals for households consisting of multiple conjugal families—a figure supported by Bagnall and Frier (1994: 98, table 3.3) based on evidence from Roman Egypt. As Schloen attempts to understand the “house of the father” better, he includes additional data from feudal Europe (especially France and Italy), the poleis of classical Greece, cities of the Roman Empire, Islamic cities from Morocco to Syria dating all the way up to the modern period, and information provided by Muslim village ethnographies and ethnoarchaeologies. Consequently, the study by Schloen is quite comprehensive in its examination of social organization at the household level throughout the eastern littoral of the Mediterranean. He states that while there is not a simple “Mediterranean” type that covers all preindustrial Mediterranean contexts, there may be an identifiable “Mediterranean sharecropping, impartible inheritance, complex family” type of domestic group organization, which presumably was sustained throughout history by a mutually reinforcing combination of enduring symbolic traditions and unchanging ecological facts. (Schloen 2001: 119)

Further, the “Mediterranean” type of domestic group organization combines causal and motivational models in such a way that we can link predictable patterns of social behavior to recurrent types of human motivations within a given geographical setting, however culturally specific the expression of these motivations may be—especially if we can attribute the recurrence of these motivations to an inherited symbolic tradition like the patrimonial “house of the father,” which continued to thrive in both Christian and Muslim regions of the Mediterranean world. (Schloen 2001: 119)

The extended, patrilocal type of household occurred frequently in the eastern Mediterranean and has a long history as the organizational foundation upon which the needs of its members were met. Even the jaded Kurt Vonnegut saw the appeal and utility of the support system provided by the extended family. While belauding it, he quipped that “a husband, a wife and some kids is not a family. It’s a terribly vulnerable survival unit” (Vonnegut 2005: 48). 5 In addition to illuminating the organization and commonness of the “house of the father,” Schloen’s work demonstrates the usefulness of not only historical data but also ethnographic data to archaeological investigation and interpretation. Ethnographic data, which describe a society’s behaviors and beliefs, have often been used by archaeologists to provide analogical information for modeling and for interpreting the past, 6 while ethnoarchaeology is a more recent tool employed by archaeologists. The term has commonly been used to describe ethnographic work that was undertaken, or used, to provide potentially useful data/materials for analogs to aid in the identification and interpretation of archaeological materials and data based on insights gained from the study of recent or contemporary ob5. Thanks are owed to Neil McDonald for sharing the book with me from which this quote came. 6. Gloria London (2000: 2–3) briefly refers to several early studies in the Levant in which ethnographic observations were applied to archaeological interpretive problems rather casually and randomly.

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servations (see, e.g., Ascher 1961; 1968; Hodder 1982; Gould and Watson 1982; Kramer 1979a; 1982a; Watson 1979; Wilk 1983). Kent labels this type of work “archaeological ethnography,” or “archaeologically oriented ethnography” (Kent 1987: 37). She reserves use of the term ethnoarchaeology for a type of research with different goals. For her, the term is used for a type of research, the goals of which “are to formulate and test archaeologically oriented [questions] and/or derive methods, hypotheses, models, and theories with ethnographic data” (Kent 1987: 37). Some examples of this type of work include Binford (1982), Kent (1984), and Yellen (1977a). However, in this book, ethnoarchaeology simply refers to ethnographic data retrieved for the interpretation of archeological data. These ethnoarchaeologies are used here in tandem with the more traditional ethnographies. Ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological resources provide rich data and cultural information with which to supplement the often insufficient information provided by textual evidence and archaeological excavations when we reconstruct elements of past societies. The same spatial organization of activities in the ethnographic or “systemic” context may underlie the patterning of debris recovered from the archaeological record (Brooks and Yellen 1987: 63). Therefore, at the very least, the ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological resources provide a point of departure for testing identifications of cultural material and behavior by providing analogical materials for archeological interpretations. 7 Direct ethnographic data collected from cultures spatially and/or temporally near the study group are probably the most useful, but comparative materials taken from indirect, or cross-cultural, ethnographies are also useful.

Sources of Ethnographic Comparisons Cross-cultural comparisons can demonstrate patterns that are intelligible across cultural lines, highlighting the things that one culture shares in common with other cultures, thus providing plausible explanations for the observed similarities. On the other hand, comparisons of this sort can draw attention to aspects of culture that are unique to one group, highlighting the need for explanations of the observed differences. However, direct ethnographic observations, or what are termed by some “relational analogies” (Hodder 1982; Wylie 1985), are probably most reliable and useful for comparison. Direct ethnographic observations from contemporary settlements that are located in the same region as the archaeological settlement under investigation and that are organized similarly are particularly useful for comparison with archaeological data (and biblical and other textual information). These make good comparisons because they operate under the same ecological constraints, they generally are demographically similar, and they have mostly the same resources available for exploitation as did the ancient inhabitants who preceded them. These factors can be very important for creating persistent types of social organization, even 7. London (2000: 3–4) cites examples of the issues addressed recently in the Middle East, including ceramic technology (Johnston 1974; Matson 1974; Rye 1981), bread and cooking oven technology (McQuitty 1984), architecture (Aurenche and Desfarges 1985; Kamp 1993; Khammash 1986; Layne 1986), agriculture (Fuller 1986; Palmer 1998), Bedouin camp sites (Lane 1986; Saidel 2001; Suleiman 1988; Simms 1988), tent construction (Banning and Kohler-Rollefson 1986), and animal husbandry (Geraty and LaBianca 1985).

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in the face of differing levels of political organization and control imposed from the outside, just as demonstrated by Schloen. Villages in Palestine For the reasons stated in the previous paragraph, I have used the Arab villages of rural Palestine that date to the late nineteenth and early to mid-twentieth centuries c.e. for comparison in this study. Many of these villages follow subsistence strategies similar to those practiced at Tell Halif during the Iron Age II, including animal husbandry and dry farming that uses valley floors and hillsides (Borowski 1987: 1–30; 1998: 39–80; King and Stager 2001: 85–122). Furthermore, their social structure along with that of many other contemporary societies in the Near East is in many respects virtually identical to the social structure described in biblical texts and attributed to Iron Age Israel. (This is discussed in more detail in chap. 7.) Accordingly, the rural Arab villages of Palestine should provide important data and information for comparison with and interpretation of the data from the F7 Dwelling at Iron II Tell Halif. Villages in Western Iran To supplement these ethnographic data from the southern Levant, ethnoarchaeological data are drawn upon from small, rural, egalitarian villages in western Iran, including Hasanabad (Watson 1979), Aliabad (Kramer 1982a; 1982b), and Baghestan (Horne 1982)—all pseudonymous village names. While these studies are useful for reconstructing ancient social systems, their use of ethnographic data and information collected from the perspective of archaeologists’ needs includes a greater consideration of aspects of the material culture such as dwelling construction and function and the social structure of the villages’ inhabitants. They also provide many observations that link material culture with the activities of everyday life in a village. Thus, they provide a means of linking past material culture with the behaviors that produced them, demonstrating how household and village social organization may be reflected in the material environment. These studies thus provide a useful test for determining the “appropriateness of the fit” between archaeological data and their subsequent interpretations (see M. Weinstein 1973: 276), including household organization, household demography (family, household, co-residence group, or any similar entity), construction techniques, and activities undertaken in domestic space.

The Physical Environment Dwelling Organization At Hasanabad and Aliabad, domestic structures consisted of isolated compounds formed by a number of rooms or buildings organized around a bounded courtyard (Kramer 1982a; 1982b; Watson 1979). Room types included living rooms (room for family activities), entry halls, utility rooms, storage rooms, stables, and kitchens. They were occupied by near-kin relatives (patri-virilocal), though the co-residing groups varied in size and composition

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(Kramer 1982b: 21). Households were organized around extended families. Baghestan’s residents also resided in compounds, but it was very common for them to own rooms (1–6) randomly dispersed throughout the village (Horne 1982: 677). In Baghestan, a nuclear family made up an individual household, and compounds consisted of a number of households. Dwelling compounds varied greatly in size (43–1,300 m2 at Aliabad and 18.5–134.8 m2 at Baghestan) and number of rooms (2–12). However, the median size of a compound at Aliabad was 200 m2 and just under this figure at Hasanabad (LeBlanc 1971). The median number of rooms per compound was five for both Hasanabad and Aliabad. Each nuclear family occupied a separate living room, but other rooms may have been included as part of the living domain, including utility rooms and foyers. Both Kramer (1982a) and Horne (1982; 1991) warn against a direct correlation between house (that is, living area) size and wealth (as does Kamp 2000: 87–91; for quality of objects, see Deetz 1982: 721). A better barometer of wealth is indicated by the total number of rooms (Horne 1991: 49) and the overall size of the compound, not the size of the living space, which is similar for both landed and landless (Kramer 1982a). Extra rooms and space were not luxury items but were necessary for use in production for which the wealthy had a greater need (Horne 1991: 49). The number of individuals occupying a single living domain at Aliabad ranged from 1 to 15 with a mean of 6. Kramer determined 9 m2 of roofed dwelling space per individual at Aliabad, which is very close to Naroll’s standard of 10 m2 of roofed dwelling space per individual (Naroll 1962; contra Kamp 2000: 86). LeBlanc used Hasanabad data to determine a standard of 21 m2 of total roofed space per individual (Leblanc 1971: 210–11). At Aliabad, compounds housing landed residents tended to have more inhabitants than those of the landless (Kramer 1982a: 668). This fits well with Netting’s observation that wealthier families generally tend to be larger (Netting 1982: 641–62). Dwelling Construction The various components of dwellings—including walls, floors, and ceilings—demonstrate many similarities to archaeological examples from the Iron II southern Levant. Walls at Hasanabad are similar to adobe composed of sun-dried mud and chaff (but not bricks) laid in courses approximately 50 cm wide. At their base, walls measure approximately 1 m wide, narrowing as they near their completed height (approximately 2.0–2.5 m). Both the interior and exterior surfaces of walls are covered with a mud-chaff plaster (Watson 1979: 119–20). In Palestine in the earlier half of the twentieth century, T. Canaan described walls built of plain, sun-dried mud brick on stone and lime mortar foundations as being common (Canaan 1933: 29–30). Structural walls were generally 40–50 cm wide, and partition walls were thinner, generally 30 cm wide (Canaan 1933: 30). Floor types varied and sometimes were untreated and sometimes were well plastered. Treatments correlated well with room function. Living rooms were plastered with mud-chaff plaster at Aliabad (Kramer 1982b) and also at Hasanabad. At Hasanabad, sometimes living room floors were covered with white plaster laid with a roof roller (Watson 1979: 121). Walls supported ceilings and roofs of various heights based on room function. Typically, ceilings were higher in living rooms and kitchens (2.0–2.6 m at Aliabad [Kramer

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1982b: 104] and approximately 2.55 m for Hasanabad [Watson 1979: figs. 5.8–5.27]) and lower for stables (Watson 1979: 160). Their construction required laying beams and lintels across support walls, laying slats or poles across these, and then covering the slats or poles with a mud-chaff plaster. Roof maintenance required regular compacting and the periodic application of additional layers of mud plaster. Kramer identified three roof rollers at Aliabad similar to those known in archaeological contexts from sites in the southern Levant (also for Hasanabad: Watson 1979: 121). Roofs were generally sturdy enough to allow their use in various activities or serve as a foundation for additional stories. This information fits well with what little is known of the Palestinian dwelling’s low ceiling heights and thick construction. In Palestinian villages of the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries, the roof served various functions, such as providing a protected area for drying foodstuffs and for various other domestic activities, including resting or sleeping during the warmer summer nights (Hirschfeld 1995: 131). For the latter purpose, booths were sometimes constructed on the roofs (Canaan 1933: pl. 4). Access to the roof was gained by a ladder or staircase. When houses contained an additional story, the upper story was usually devoted to human habitation and light storage. This was the case in Aliabad, where half of the houses had two stories (Kramer 1982a), but no houses carried additional stories in Hasanabad (Watson 1979). These data and observations regarding dwelling construction provide useful information for understanding the F7 Dwelling. Differences in floor treatments can lead to better understandings of room activities, and the low ceilings observed in stables may suggest that low-ceilinged side rooms in pillared dwellings functioned as domestic stables. Components of Compounds In the ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological examples of dwellings studied here, the various components where domestic activities took place included rooms associated with the living domain, storage facilities, stables, kitchens, and courtyards. The living domain included living rooms, some light storage rooms, utility rooms, and in some larger dwellings, entrance halls or foyers. Each nuclear family had its own living room where members ate, slept, did indoor work (craft work, and so on), did some cooking, and entertained (Watson 1979; Kramer 1982b; Horne 1982). The living room usually contained a central hearth —either rectangular and stone-lined, or circular and plastered. Living rooms were viewed as men’s rooms in Aliabad (Kramer 1982b) but as women’s rooms in Hasanabad (Watson 1979). Based on the size of 7 rooms measured at Aliabad and 25 measured at Hasanabad, the mean width of the living rooms was 2.78 m2 for the former (Kramer 1982b: figs. 4.6, 4.7) and 3.02 m2 for the latter (Watson 1979: figs. 5.6–5.29). This is almost one meter wider than the mean for broad rooms in Iron II pillared dwellings. Large roofed areas were typical in Middle Eastern villages. These large areas were required for storage, and it was not rare for half of a dwelling’s roofed area to be used for storage. Substantial room was needed for wheat, barley, legumes (Kramer 1982b: 34), dung cakes, wood storage, dried fodder (Hirschfeld 1995: 280), straw/chaff, furniture, equipment, and tools (and one could add wine and oil to this list for the Iron II dwellings of ancient Israel). Grain and milled flour were sometimes stored in sacks or in large mudplastered wicker baskets, but most often in mud bins or chests (hawabi in Arabic) raised on

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short legs and located on the ground floor (Watson 1979: 295; Kramer 1982b: 100, 102, 105; examples of these were also found around the foot of the mound at Tell Halif in the seasonal cave complexes of the early twentieth century; Seger 1983: 18–19). An average family of five harvested 1,800 kg (66 bushels) of wheat, of which about 300 kg were used for seed. Of the remaining 1,500 kg, about 80% was actually converted to flour. Additionally, the average family harvested 1,080 kg (49 bushels) of barley, which was considered animal feed or cash crop or, in extreme conditions only, human food (Watson 1979: 292– 93). These figures demonstrate that a large amount of space was required for storage. Roofed areas were also required for stabling animals. Domestic stables were common in virtually all rural settlements. Dalman identified a number of stables located on the ground floors of vaulted and pillared houses in the villages of early twentieth-century Palestine (Dalman 1942: 121–23, pls. 31–32 and 36B; see also Hirschfeld 1995: 132, 158, 165). Houses in densely settled towns (for example, fortified towns where space was at a premium) typically devoted the ground floors of dwellings to stabling of herds and flocks and to heavy storage (Hirschfeld 1995: passim). This pattern is seen throughout the eastern Mediterranean. In addition to saving space, it has the added advantage (though not in the olfactory sense) of using the heat produced by the animals’ bodies to warm the house during the winter (this follows Stager 1985a: 12). At Hasanabad and Aliabad, stables occupied buildings around the courtyard that were separate from the living domain. Subterranean stables were also observed there (Watson 1979: 160–61). The floors of stables were characteristically unfinished (but not necessarily untreated; see Hirschfeld [1995: 139, 153] for examples of cobbled, bedrock, and earth floors) and covered with accumulations of dung and decomposing fodder, which was occasionally cleaned out for fuel (Kramer 1982b: 106). One kitchen per compound was identified at Aliabad, which usually served several living rooms (Kramer 1982b), and cooking activities took place indoors during the winter months. Kramer has noted that the delineation of individual cooking areas is not a reliable correlate to the number of households (that is, 1 cooking area π 1 household; Kramer 1982a). Cooking activities often took place at accessible locations inside the courtyard. A number of features were characteristic of most courtyards in the villages of western Iran and included animal pens, food preparation areas (ovens, hearths, platforms), horizontal looms, and multifunctional platforms (Watson 1979; Kramer 1982b; Horne 1982). Many of these same items were found in the side and central long rooms of the F7 Dwelling. Animals were also allowed to move around courtyards at various times when they were not stabled. Many parallels can already be identified between these ethnographically studied dwellings and the F7 Dwelling. However, before I discuss the specific similarities of features and the organization of space, I will review the social structure of the inhabitants of these ethnographic dwellings.

Village Social Structure Ethnographic study of the nineteenth–twentieth-century rural villages in Palestine provides excellent comparative data with which to supplement the insufficient and fragmentary information yielded by Near Eastern archaeological and textual data. The inhabitants of the

spread one pica long

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rural, traditional Arab villages of Palestine generally were, and in many cases still are organized into a patrilineal, patrilocal, and endogamous society where transmission is partible. 8 The primary social group with which a village member identified him/herself was the multiple family household (zaºila in Arabic), referred to as the “joint family” by Tannous (Tannous 1944: 537; also described in Lutfiyya 1966: 142; and Grant 1907: 53). It was headed by the oldest living male member of a family. There were generally three tiers of family organization in which an individual member participated, each extending outward in ever-widening kinship relations (real or perceived). The fact that life revolved around the extended family is readily apparent in Lutfiyya’s description of the three types of family unit found in Baytin, a village north of Jerusalem built on the ruins of ancient Bethel. Following Tannous (1944), he discusses the three types of family unit found in the rural areas of the Arab Middle East: the nuclear unit, the joint family, and the hamula, or ‘clan’ (Lutfiyya 1966: 142–43). The nuclear unit, which includes a father, mother, and their offspring, is the least significant social unit in the culture of the Arab village. Its main purpose is the biological function of reproduction. It is rarely economically or socially independent (except in more Westernized families) and always subordinate to the larger and more important zaºila (Lutfiyya 1966: 142). The zaºila, as described by Lutfiyya, is made up of an extended family and consists of the father, mother, and unwed children as well as the wedded sons and their wives and children, unwed paternal aunts, and sometimes even unwed paternal uncles. In short, this unit is composed of blood relatives plus women who were brought into the kinship through marriage. Large as it may be, this unit tends to occupy one dwelling or a compound of dwellings built close together often attached to one another. It is an economic as well as a social unit and is governed by the grandfather or the eldest male. The joint family normally dissolves upon the death of the grandfather. The land, which until then had been held by the grandfather, is divided among the heirs and the male children separately, each to become the nucleus of a new zaºila. (Lutfiyya 1966: 142–43)

Marriage was often endogamous but not exclusively (Lutfiyya 1966: 129–30; Grant 1907: 53). Paternal cousins were the preferred marriage partners in this society, but the search could widen outside the zaºila. The zaºila compares well with the “household” as defined in this book in chap. 2. The third family unit, the hamula, consists of all those who claim descent (fictive or otherwise) from the same paternal ancestor, regardless of whether or not they live in the same village. It is made up of several joint families, and two hamulas normally occupy one village (Lutfiyya 1966: 143). When marriage takes place between hamulas, the new family moves into the dwelling of the husband’s family, usually receiving their own living room. Ethnographies such as those by Lutfiyya and Tannous that describe the rural villages of Palestine yield excellent information about the social organization of rural villagers. Most of this was observed before the people of the region had extensive exposure to different (especially Western) cultures. Additionally, the ethnoarchaeological work of Horne, Kramer, 8. Their primary mode of subsistence was plant and animal husbandry, and most inhabitants fell into the “peasant” category (Wolf 1966).

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and Watson provided insight into how households were organized and the patterns that this organization left in the material culture. The descriptions of house construction and components as well as items of material culture used in domestic space and activities undertaken regularly therein provide useful parallels of similarly occurring items of material culture excavated from the F7 Dwelling. Correlations between the two sets of data are strengthened by similar weather conditions, building materials, building methods, and modes of subsistence carried out in both geographical regions. If the space in the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif is found to have been used similarly to the space in the more recent villages of Palestine and rural Iran, then similar types of subsistence strategies and social organizations may be considered and investigated. Additionally, direct ethnographic observations of the Palestinian villages employed in this book include detailed descriptions of the social structure commonly observed there and throughout much of the Arab Middle East.

Identifying the Archaeological Household When we review and compare the archaeological data with the ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data, we find that Iron II dwellings in general and Tell Halif specifically are more similar to Aliabad and Hasanabad than Baghestan. In Baghestan, nuclear family units possessed dispersed holdings, whereas in Aliabad and Hasanabad, extended households occupied a number of buildings surrounding a courtyard. In the Iron II southern Levant, localized holdings rather than dispersed holdings dominate, at least where broad archaeological exposures allow for the analysis of flow patterns (for example, Tell Beit Mirsim—Albright 1943; Beer Sheva—Aharoni 1973; Tell en-Nasbeh—Zorn 1993). The regularity of the pillared dwellings also supports this conclusion. The Iron II pillared dwellings were built of the same materials and in much the same way as the buildings described in villages in Iran and the southern Levant. One would expect similar building techniques for building components, even components that were not regularly observed archaeologically—for example, roofs and ceilings. The one piece of ceiling material observed resting on the installation in Area H is very similar to materials described by Kramer (1982a) and Watson (1979). However, the average space included in the household enclosure in the villages was greater than the space of the pillared dwellings of the southern Levant. The median size of pillared dwellings in Iron II Palestine (40–80 m2) is smaller than the median size of structures at Aliabad and Hasanabad. This may be explained by the greater horizontal spatial limitations in the settlement at Tell Halif and other Iron II settlements that occupied the upper strata of tells. Their setting atop small mounds constricted by a fortification system made space a premium and probably necessitated building upward rather than outward, inviting a heavier use of second-story space. However, in spite of the small size of the pillared dwelling, it had all the components present in the courtyard compounds observed at Aliabad, Hasanabad, and Baghestan. This is readily seen in the F7 Dwelling, which included living rooms/areas (Room 2, Room 3: Area D), storage facilities (Room 1, Room 2: Area B), stables (Room 4: Area G), kitchens (Rooms 1, 4, and 5: Areas F, H–L), and courtyards (Rooms 4 and 5: Area M and other spaces; see fig. 5.2). The living domain included living rooms (Rooms 2 and 3: Areas B, C,

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and D), some light-storage rooms (Room 2: Area B), utility rooms (Room 3: Area E), and in some larger dwellings, entrance halls or foyers (none identified at Tell Halif, but see the Western Quarter at Beer Sheva, Aharoni 1973: pl. 94). In addition, items observed in courtyards of the ethnographic examples also occurred in the F7 Dwelling, mostly in the long rooms. These include animal pens (Area G), food preparation areas (ovens—Areas I and L; hearths—Area I; platforms—Area H), horizontal looms (vertical loom in Room 3), and multifunctional platforms (Areas F, H, M, J?; Watson 1979; Kramer 1982b; Horne 1982). Nothing was found reminiscent of mud bins or chests for grain storage, unless Area J was used for this activity. However, five pithoi were located in the dwelling. The importance of storage is evidenced by a large number of storage jars, even if the jars in Area M are not included (see fig. 4.9). This also matches the ethnographic data well, because large spaces consumed by storage were also shown to be significant (Watson 1979; Kramer 1982a). The parallels for the organization of the activity areas between the ethnographic data and the archaeological data are striking. I suggest, therefore, that this may also reflect a similar household organization. The F7 Dwelling was perhaps occupied by a small extended family that included the father, mother, and unwed children as well as the wedded sons and their wives and children, and possibly even unwed paternal aunts and sometimes even unwed paternal uncles. It also is possible that slaves were brought into the dwelling. Two living rooms were suggested for the F7 Dwelling (Room 2, Room 3: Areas B, C, and D), and it is possible that more rooms of a similar type were present in a second floor. Even if this is not the case, 79 square meters of interior floor space provide a large living area (if the entire floor plan was covered). As is the dominant pattern in the Middle East, the group probably would have been patrilineal and patrilocal, and sons would have brought wives into the pillared dwelling. Marriage was most likely endogamous and inheritance partible as is common in extended households that are sedentary agriculturalists practicing dry farming (Netting 1982; Netting, Wilk, and Arnould 1984). When reconstructed in this manner, the occupants of the F7 Dwelling—the archaeological household—are strikingly similar to the Arab extended household or the zaºila. It is possible to know even more about this archaeological household. Regarding economics, the head of the archaeological household was probably a vintner who farmed his family’s fields/vineyard. The practice of growing grapes in the southern Levant often involved letting them grow along the ground or training the vines to climb trees (for example, olive trees), poles, or some other type of trellis (Borowski 1987; King and Stager 2001: 98– 99). This allowed the planting of an additional crop on the ground. It is possible that victuals produced in this manner, alongside the grapes, account for the presence of remains of these materials in the microartifact samples. Other foodstuffs likely were bought or bartered. One food that certainly was procured from the outside was saltwater fish, probably obtained dried and/or salted. This likely came through trade with the Mediterranean coastal regions via the Philistine Plain. Evidence is strong for Judean grain moving to Ashkelon, an important commercial center during the late seventh century b.c.e. (Faust and Weiss 2005; Weiss and Kislev 2004), and it is likely this trade already existed during the late eighth century b.c.e. Commodities found in the F7 Dwelling (or at least evidence of their manufacture) that may have been traded for fish in-

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clude wine, grapes, and perhaps textiles, if a cottage industry was active, as proposed by Friend (1997). There are places in the F7 Dwelling where it is likely that one gender used an area more commonly than the other. I suggest that Areas A, D–E, and H–L were associated more heavily with women and were used in activities associated with food preparation, storage, and weaving, among others. These activities were for consumption within the dwelling, unless weaving was done at the level of a cottage industry. In modern Southwest Asia, domestic textile production is almost exclusively carried out by women. This, along with the items of personal adornment found in the de facto refuse, makes a compelling case for Area E’s being used predominantly by women. However, the scale weight and greenish slag suggest that other activities were also carried out in this space, and some of these may be associated with men. Thus, a multi-use of this room by both women and men, but especially women, best fits the data. This is also true of the food preparation area in the western ends of Rooms 4 and 5, as evidenced by the common occurrence of greenish slag around Area I, produced from small-scale metalworking. A small, thick-walled juglet occurring here is also evidence of this activity, if its identification as a crucible is correct. I further suggest that the vicinity around Area M and possibly G were more heavily associated with men who were involved in activities associated with vintnering 9 and other economic/commercial undertakings (which would explain the bullae and weights if these items were not in storage). Other Areas, including B, C, and perhaps D or E, were more likely used by both men and women as well as children and were likely the main living areas. However, nothing in the patterns of material culture or the divisions in the F7 Dwelling’s space suggests that either men or women were regularly excluded from most areas. This reconstruction of the archaeological household, based on observations and data from ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological investigations, is quite detailed. However, it fits the available data and is consistent with the “house of the father” known so well in the Middle East. So, in spite of the many caveats with regard to using ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data, the enduring and common occurrence of this house and household pattern suggests that the use of these data is warranted for analysis at many different levels. Based on similarities in the organization of space in the F7 Dwelling and Arab household compounds and the historical repetition of patrilocal extended household types, we may conclude that a similar social structure existed in the household that occupied the F7 Dwelling—the archaeological household—and the patrilocal extended families of the ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological examples. 9. While it is possible that women made the wine, I know of no sources—Mesopotamian, Egyptian, or biblical—that specifically associate women with wine-making activities after the processing of the must into wine or vinegar. In fact, Egyptian iconographic and textual sources, as well as biblical texts, report the opposite.

Chapter 7

Biblical Texts, the Dwelling, and Social Structure The biblically based, three-tiered social structure of ancient Israel as portrayed in the Folk Model for the Iron I period was developed by N. Gottwald (1979) and built upon by L. Stager (1985a). While the Folk Model was developed for Iron Age I (twelfth–eleventh centuries b.c.e.), a period earlier than the period of specific interest in this book (late eighth century b.c.e.), many scholars have proposed that a slowly changing but similar social structure continued from Iron I into Iron II (e.g., Blenkinsopp 1997; Meyers 1997; Schloen 2001; Stager 1985a; C. J. H. Wright 1992). In the Folk Model, three tiers of social organization are described, including extended families, larger kin-based groups of clans (Gottwald’s “protective association of families”), and larger tribal groups or confederations. Of the three tiers, I will devote particular attention to the smallest, least inclusive unit—the biblical bet-ªav—often translated ‘extended household’. In this chapter, biblical texts that appear to shed light on the structure and organization of the Iron Age household are reviewed, and the pertinent textual information gleaned from this review is juxtaposed with the ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological reconstructions of the unit occupying the F7 Dwelling presented in chap. 6. This juxtaposition is useful in two ways: First, it allows us to determine how well the biblical data fit the archaeological record of Tell Halif during the eighth century b.c.e. as reconstructed through ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological analyses. Then we can determine whether conciliation is necessary between these disparate and sometimes dialectically opposed sources of data. Second, it helps us to determine whether we can observe the changes in Judahite social and political organization from the Iron I to the Iron II that are hinted at in biblical texts using the archaeological data from Tell Halif. The archaeological record is particularly well suited for analyzing these supposed changes, because it encompasses a broad time period for interpreting societal change. Regarding the first point, if ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological reconstructions of Iron II society and biblical reconstructions demonstrate affinities, then this juxtaposition also helps to achieve a more comprehensive view of domestic activities, domestic dwellings, and the social organization of the inhabitants of eighth century b.c.e. Tell Halif. At the same time, we can gain greater insight into the usefulness of biblical texts for these kinds of reconstructions. But all of this is moot if biblical data cannot be brought to bear on historical issues.

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Before any comparison using biblical texts is undertaken, we should note that concerns have been raised over the last couple of decades by some biblical scholars, who question the usefulness of biblical texts for historical reconstructions of Syria–Palestine during the Iron II period. These concerns are addressed briefly here but are treated more fully in an excursus at the end of this chapter. My view, elaborated on in excursus 2, is that biblical materials have great relevance for Iron Age Israel and Judah and therefore can be used along with the material remains of the Iron Age southern Levant to understand ancient Israel. Literary and material sources both have their special uses and, if approached critically, can even be employed together as complements (e.g., Haviland 1977). With regard to this book, I believe that biblical texts can provide valuable information about the Iron Age dwelling. Many references to house forms are found in the texts, including construction techniques and activities that took place in domestic settings. But perhaps the most useful information from biblical texts is with regard to social structure during the Iron I and Iron II periods. These references are discussed below as they relate to the F7 Dwelling.

Biblical Texts and Dwellings Dwelling Construction While little about dwelling construction is mentioned directly in biblical texts, references to building practices employed in other construction efforts parallel those known archaeologically for Iron Age dwellings. A good example is the construction of the House of the Forest of Lebanon (1 Kings 7). While this structure as described in the biblical texts was much larger than typical pillared dwellings of the Iron Age, some of the construction techniques associated with its form appear in pillared dwellings. In this structure, 4 rows of cedar pillars, 15 to a row, supported trimmed cedar beams laid horizontally to support the cedar roof (1 Kgs 7:2–3). Other fixtures, including rows of windows and doors, were cut and installed to face one another. Their shape was rectangular and they were wood lined (1 Kgs 7:3–5). The use of pillars to support spanning beams and then cross beams for supporting a roof is well attested in dwellings of the Iron Age. Wood types found in use as beams in dwelling architecture in the Western Quarter in Beer Sheva include cedar, pine, acacia, and tamarisk (Beit-Arieh 1973: 33–34; also Herzog 1973). In Ecclesiastes, periodic maintenance of house roofs and walls is used as a metaphor for maintaining one’s relationship with Yahweh (10:18). Sloth and carelessness in roof maintenance are warned against, just as the same diligence and constant upkeep required for maintaining the roof—which includes constant compacting (through tamping or rolling) and the periodic application of new plaster—are required in maintaining one’s relationship with Yahweh. Empty half-measures aimed at being faithful to Yahweh will ultimately weaken this relationship to the point of collapse, just as merely slapping plaster on a wall that is in need of serious repair will lead to its collapse. With regard to walls, the fury of nature (Yahweh) will surely remove slapped-on plaster, causing severe erosion of the damaged wall and finally collapse, laying its foundations bare (Ezek 13:10–16).

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Dwelling Components Biblical texts also shed light on the various components of the Iron Age dwelling, including domestic stables and the upstairs space used for living activities. While there is no direct reference to a domestic stable made in biblical texts, Stager identifies an indirect, off-handed reference that alludes to this sort of structure (Stager 1985a: 15). When Saul’s men and the witch of En-Dor plead with Saul to eat after his unpleasant oracle with the ghost of Samuel, the witch prepares for the tired, hungry potentate the “fatted calf” or, more literally, the ‘stall-fed calf’ kept or raised in the house (1 Sam 28:24). Stager suggests that this is a calf raised in the house for special occasions (Stager 1985a: 15)—veal for the VIPs, as it were. This reference along with Ps 50:9, Amos 6:4, Jer 46:21, and Mal 4:2 suggest the common presence of domestic stables. And if parts of the lower floor were involved in stabling and possibly folding activities, one assumes that the space occupied for living activities was as far removed from them as possible. Biblical references to the roof and the second floor support this assumption. The use of the roof or second floor rooms is well attested in biblical texts. Most of these texts mention pursuits that would fall in the realm of living activities (visiting/conversing, sleeping, mourning, caring for the dead, and performing rituals), and storage activities are indicated as well. Saul talked with Samuel on the rooftop and the next morning was awakened from his sleep there when called by Samuel (1 Sam 9:25–26). David arose from his bed and walked on the roof of the king’s house (2 Sam 11:2). While Saul and David may have been sleeping on the roof, it is also possible they were sleeping in upper rooms that opened onto the roof. In the David and Bathsheba narrative (2 Samuel 11), bathing and other activities are intimated to have taken place on the roof or on the second story. Numerous texts mention upper rooms. It was in an upper room above the gate where David went to mourn the death of Absalom (2 Sam 18:33). In Zarephath, Elijah took the deceased son of the woman to the upper room of her house, where he (Elijah) had been residing, and placed the boy on his bed (1 Kgs 17:19–23). The woman of Shunem had her husband build a small upper room on their roof, complete with bed, table, chair, and a lamp for Elisha to use when traveling their way (2 Kgs 4:10). Ahaziah received mortal injuries when he fell through the latticework of his upper room in Samaria (2 Kgs 1:2–6). The author(s) of Deuteronomy probably had this sort of accident in mind when he/they mandated the building of parapets on roofs of new houses, lest anyone fall from it and incur bloodguilt against the house (family; Deut 22:8). The corpulent Eglon is killed by Ehud in a “special” upper room (probably a privy; see Halpern 1984: 45–58; Jull 1998; Judg 3:12–23). Upper rooms are also mentioned in two similar stories in the biblical text. Michal lowered David from an upper-story window so that he could flee from Saul safely into the night (1 Sam 19:12). Similarly, Rahab lowered the two Israelites sent to reconnoiter Jericho over the city wall on a rope hung from her window, because her house was against the city wall (Josh 2:15). The text goes on to say that Rahab actually lived in the wall. This sounds like the classic example of the broad room of a pillared dwelling built into the casemate wall of a city and covered by at least one additional story. This story is set in early Iron I (twelfth–eleventh cent. b.c.e.) but, until recently, the casemate wall system was believed to have become prevalent in the southern Levant only in later periods (that is, the

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tenth and eighth–seventh centuries b.c.e.). However, earlier Iron I examples of casemate fortifications are now known in Transjordan (Herr 1997). All of these archaeological data support dating the text no later than sometime in the Iron II period. Additional information about the style and use of dwellings can be gleaned from the Rahab story. Before she lowered the Israelites over the wall, she hid them on her roof under stalks of flax that she had laid out (Josh 2:6). This suggests either that Rahab’s house had an open, unroofed area on the second floor, and only part of the house carried a second story, or that the entire first floor was covered, and the men were hid on the roof where other activities involving the storage of flax were carried out. Either way, we must note that activities involving the processing or storing of flax were taking place on the roof. Another activity taking place in dwellings and mentioned in the biblical texts was cultic. In one narrative, the transient Danites abduct a Levite (to his delight) along with several cult objects from one of the houses of the bet-ªav (‘household’) of Micah and set these objects up for their own use at Laish/Dan (Judg 18:17–20). In another story, Michal places the teraphim that were in the house in David’s bed (possibly in the back room of the house?) in order to trick Saul’s troops as she aids David so that he can escape execution (1 Sam 19:13–17). 1 Several hundred years later, during the seventh century b.c.e., some cultic activities that took place on the roof were frowned upon by the prophet Jeremiah, causing him to pronounce damnation on the houses whose occupants had gone up to the roof, offered incense, and poured libations to other gods (Jer 19:13). During this time, it appears that ritual activity associated with the “Queen of Heaven” was performed in the dwelling and that it was engaged in by the entire household, with women playing a particularly significant role. According to Jeremiah, children gathered the wood, fathers started the fire, and women kneaded the dough to make crescent cakes (Jer 7:18). Additionally, women burned sacrifices and poured out drink offerings (Jer 44:17) to the “Queen of Heaven.” 2 These narratives suggest that cultic activities took place in the dwelling, where cultic paraphernalia were also kept and used, and that people (mishpa˙ot) employed their own religious officials in their homes.

Biblical Texts and Israelite Social Structure For many scholars, early Israel (twelfth–eleventh centuries b.c.e., or Iron I) existed on the landscape of Palestine’s Hill Country in small egalitarian, patrilineal, patrilocal, and endogamous settlements related to one another in varying degrees of perceived kinship. This led many biblical scholars to identify the Israelite aggregate as a tribal society. Biblical texts bring to light a social structure that was articulated by ancient Israelites as small, medium, 1. A debt of appreciation is owed to Susan Ackerman for bringing this reference to my attention and for suggesting the possibility of the back room of the four-room house as the locus for the events of this story and the placement of the teraphim. 2. Ackerman is compelling in her association of the “Queen of Heaven” with a “composite deity who incorporates elements of West Semitic Astarte and East Semitic Ishtar” rather than Asherah (Ackerman 2003: 461; cf. Ackerman 1992: 5–35).

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and large social groups, and often associated with the three ever-widening organizational spheres often used to describe egalitarian or “non state” entities: “families” (“houses”), grouped into “clans,” further grouped into “tribes.” However, these terms were rarely defined, and many scholars appeared unaware of ambiguities caused by their use—that is, until Gottwald in The Tribes of Yahweh (1979) investigated the intricacies of the biblical terminology for various social units and attempted to define and understand them against the backdrop of sociological and anthropological terms that held specific meanings regarding kinship and social organization. Gottwald’s research as well as that of others (e.g., de Vaux and McHugh 1961; Malamat 1962; 1973; de Geus 1976) led to the “Folk Model” reconstruction of early Israelite society. Early Israel’s social organization is thought by many scholars to have continued well into later Iron II (see Stager 1985a); consequently, it serves as the basis for my reconstruction below. However, features of Israelite society known from later texts or additions to the text (late Iron II at the earliest) and suggestive of social change are also included to help determine Israel’s social structure during the later Iron II (late eighth century b.c.e.). In the following sections, I discuss the three most important social groupings in ancient Israel, beginning with the smallest, least-inclusive group, the bet-ªav. The discussion will then move to the intermediate mishpa˙ah/ªeleph, before finally expanding to address briefly the largest, most-inclusive group, the shevet/matteh. These groups will be discussed as defined by the texts and then related to defined terminology, allowing for identification that is more accurate. The ways each group functioned, both separately and in relation to the others, will be addressed as well. I will demonstrate that these three social spheres have direct bearing on our understanding of the F7 Dwelling, its inhabitants, and the ways that both fit into the larger social structure of ancient Israel. The Bet-ªav In the textually revealed ancient Israel, the smallest social unit above the individual was the bayit (‘house’), or the bet-ªav (‘house of the father’). 3 It is most commonly understood as an extended-household family and was most important in the realms of identity, responsibility, and economics. Its role in the realm of economics led Baruch Levine to identify the bet-ªav with the “institutional household,” a “socioeconomic unit of great antiquity, operative most prominently in Mesopotamia” (Levine 2003: 448). There are many very good parallels for the term bet-ªav, including the West Semitic cognate bit abi from the Idrimi Inscription (Kempinski and Naªaman 1973) and the East Semitic bit abi known well from Old Babylonian Mesopotamia (Tricoli 2006). The extended-family trade venturers of the Old Assyrian trading network during the early second millennium b.c.e. provide yet another example of the extended family’s important role in economic activities (Larsen 1977; Derck-

3. While it probably should not be understood as a genuine counterpart to the bet-ªav (Levine 2003: 448), there are also several mentions of the bet-ªam, or ‘house of the mother’ in the biblical texts (e.g., Cant 3:4). Further, see C. Meyers 1991 for bet-immi (‘my mother’s house’). For the nuclear family (bayit), see the writings of Raymond Westbrook (1991).

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sen 2004). As already pointed out by J. D. Schloen (2001; see also chap. 6 above), the patrilocal, extended household was common throughout the eastern Mediterranean region. Levine further compares the bet-ªav with the Greek oikos, as discussed by C. C. Lamberg-Karlovsky (1999: 168). Lamberg-Karlovksy understands the oikos as a form of “institutional household” that was persistent and did not give way economically to governmental, merit-based bureaucracies (as these formed). Levine understands the bet-ªav in much the same way, and he believes it remained important economically even after the political office of king began to compete with more-traditional economic institutions during Iron Age II. He suggests that the bet-ªav continued to operate fully, long after the political bureaucracies associated with the crown established their hold (Levine 2003: 448). As Lamberg-Karlovsky maintains regarding “institutional households” elsewhere, “the private household remained the primary focus of economic activity” (Lamberg-Karlovsky 1999: 183; cited in Levine 2003: 448). However, this discussion does not specifically address the way that the extended household functioned and was organized in ancient Israel. The bet-ªav was a patrilineal, patrilocal social unit headed by the oldest living male in a lineage (rosh-bet-ªav ‘head of the house of the father’). It comprised all the descendants (excluding married daughters) of a single living ancestor in a single lineage, male and female slaves and their families, resident laborers, and sometimes resident Levites (see Judg 18:17 for this last example). Gottwald suggested that as many as five generations might be encompassed by a single bet-ªav, assuming early marriages and a 20-year generation (Gottwald 1979: 285). He thus assumed it would not be out of the question to have 50–100 members of a thriving bet-ªav residing in a cluster of dwelling units (see C. Wright 1979; 1992: 762). This number seems high. It is more likely that the average bet-ªav consisted of two or three generations and comprised several nuclear families and their nonrelated dependents. Members more likely numbered from 6 to 15 individuals, a number that is spatially and temporally persistent throughout the eastern Mediterranean (more on this below). This number is closer to Schloen’s estimate for a small, extended family (J. D. Schloen 2001: 122–27) and Shiloh’s estimate for the nuclear household that occupied individual dwellings (Shiloh 1980). As a social unit, the bet-ªav fits nicely with the household as defined above (its role in production, transmission, and reproduction is discussed below). Biblical texts do not define an intermediate social organization between the bet-ªav and the individual. 4 Because the F7 Dwelling could not have been occupied by a group larger than the nuclear family or small extended household, this omission is interesting. The number of individuals in a bet-ªav would have fluctuated as it passed through various stages of the domestic cycle or differing economic and warring situations. Attrition could occur through death (natural, war, famine, and so on), infertility, lack of sons, and/or the selling of land dependents due to debt (see 2 Kgs 4:1 for this latter means of attrition). 4. However, Levine, following the writings of Raymond Westbrook (1991), understands the term bayit as a nuclear family. This understanding fits Stager’s (1985a) reconstruction of the pillared dwelling as the locus of the nuclear family (Levine 2003: 559). Jacob Milgrom’s discussion of the bet-ªav follows Levine’s and Lamberg-Karlovsky’s “institutional household,” because he believes it was still the real power base or the most important familial structure in the period of the Priestly writers (late Iron or Persian period; Milgrom 2003: 559). However, Milgrom differs in his understanding of the bet-ªav as a nuclear family (2003: 559).

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Growth of a bet-ªav could be achieved through births, acquiring wives for sons, adoptions, economic prosperity that attracted resident workers or craftsmen, and/or the purchase of slaves. A healthy bet-ªav was the focal point for the social, economic, and theological realms of activity in Israelite society. In the social realm, the bet-ªav was the particular environment in which an individual was brought to an awareness of his/her culture’s rules: it was the vehicle of continuity for law, inheritance, religion, history, and the traditions of the collective. The bet-ªav was the primary framework of legal authority into which the Israelite was born and in which he remained while his grandfather and/or father were alive. It had legal authority to act judicially without reference to any external civil authority (C. J. H. Wright 1992). The head of the household, the rosh-bet-ªav, took part in an assembly of elders to make important decisions affecting the viability of the household (war, for example). The heads of households and their lineage mates exercised rights over inheritance and succession in landholding. In the economic realm, each bet-ªav possessed its own inherited land (na˙ala). The bet-ªav was the basic economic unit of Israel’s land-tenure system, with a wide range of functions and activities. The intention of Israel’s land-tenure system was to spread land ownership as widely as possible through all batei-ªav (plural of bet-ªav). The na˙ala was to stay within a mishpa˙ah ‘clan’, never to change ownership between tribes (Num 36:6–9). 5 It was not to be sold permanently (see reference to the Jubilee below). This system was protected by the principle of inalienability, which maintained that land should remain in the bet-ªav to which it had been appointed and could not be sold permanently outside of the bet-ªav (Malamat 1962: 149; C. J. H. Wright 1992: 764). Evidence points to strict adherence to this rule and, according to Wright (1992: 764), in no place in the Hebrew Bible is there an example of an Israelite’s selling land voluntarily outside the bet-ªav, nor is there any extrabiblical evidence except from the Canaanites and other surrounding societies. This is demonstrated by Ahab’s inability to purchase Naboth’s vineyard—indeed being told by Naboth, “Yahweh forbid that I should give you my ancestral heritage [na˙ala]” (1 Kgs 21:1–3). However, an exception may be Shemer’s selling of the hill of Samaria to Omri (1 Kgs 16:21–24). The story of Ahab and Naboth attests to the tensions that arose with the appearance of a stronger, more-centralized royal authority in Iron Age II. The crown began to exercise the prerogative of royal authority, which sometimes conflicted with the traditional rights of families and clans. These tensions between households and the crown resulting from the crown’s increasing hegemony are also evidenced by the Lachish and Arad ostraca (Levine 2003: 450). The fact that the increasingly hegemonic crown began to usurp traditional household rights can be seen in royal grants. The granting of “royal grants” was considered by biblical sources (early and later sources combined) to be the traditional right of community leaders prior to the establishment of the monarchy. These include the Caleb traditions, in which a hero was granted territory as reward for his role in reconnoitering and the conquest of land (Levine 2003: 449). In this tradition, Joshua made Moses’ promise good by providing Caleb a heritage (Josh 14:13–14, 5. Numbers 36 (and 27) are both from late (Priestly) sources, whereas Deuteronomy 25 (Levirate law) and Ruth are at least a little earlier.

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15:13; Judg 1:9–15). This way of acquiring land is identified as “lineage capture” below. Prior to Caleb, Moses is characterized as having similar authority when he is chastised by Dathan and Abiram for not bestowing on them grants of fields and vineyards (Num 16:14). After the establishment of the early monarchy, Saul implies that he has the right of royal grant when asking the sons of Benjamin if the “son of Jesse” will grant to them fields and vineyards (1 Sam 22:7–8). Later, David grants property to Meribaal and Ziba (2 Sam 9:7– 8, 16:4, 19:30). Samuel, in his warning to the Israelites of the pitfalls of having a king, included the risk of royal confiscation of the best fields, vineyards, and olive groves for crown officials (1 Sam 8:14–15). Evidence may exist that inheritance moved from partible to impartible transmission as part of the changes taking place from Iron I to II. During Iron I, the bet-ªav could acquire new land through “lineage capture”—converting useless land into working terrace farms or livestock settlements in the unsettled, marginal, semiarid zones—thereby providing a rapidly broadening base of small, residentially stable household units (Marfoe 1979: 23; cited in Stager 1985a: 24). However, as land became increasingly restricted during the later Iron II due to increased land fragmentation through partible inheritance, population growth, and later by intervention of a newly established monarchy, new pressures arose making it desirable to curtail the parcellation of land. Thus, laws that gave larger portions to fewer individuals began to appear. Deut 21:15–17 mentions a double portion for the firstborn male, and in 2 Kgs 2:9, Elisha invokes this idea when he requests that Elijah leave him a double portion of his spirit. Both come from relatively late sources. Consequently, they may reflect the move from labor as a scarce resource to land as a scarce resource, necessitating a shift from partible to impartible transmission of inheritance (see Netting 1982). Trends of this sort would have created a class of young males who could not inherit sufficient land and wealth or otherwise become head of a household (Stager 1985a: 25). The term naºar (neºarim, pl.), often translated ‘lad’, ‘youth’, or ‘servant’, more likely had little to do with age and referred to unmarried sons who were not yet heads of households and served in a dependent status (Stager 1985a: 25; following Stähli 1978). Neºarim were often “high born” and took positions in the government and military (Stager 1985a: 25–26; cf. MacDonald 1976; Avigad 1976). David’s and Saul’s neºarim, for example, were handpicked fighting men (1 Sam 21:2, 5; 2 Sam 2:14). The priesthood also provided opportunities for service for sons who inherited little (Deut 33:8–11; see Albright 1956: 109; cited by Stager 1985a: 28). Stager writes that, during Iron II, it was not the first born who made a name for himself in the affairs of the state. In the case of Gideon, David, and Solomon, it is explicitly stated that they were the youngest in their father’s houses. It was from the ranks of the late born noble youths, aggressively pursuing wealth and power to match their status, that the most important positions in the army, priesthood, and the palace were filled. (1985a: 28)

The late born were thus provided a means of economic stability. As mentioned above, the intention of Israel’s land-tenure system was to spread land ownership as widely as possible, creating a broad base of economically stable batei-ªav or households. While the intent of the system was land-based economic equality spread over

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a broad area and population, inequalities certainly developed within Israel long before the establishment of the monarchy. Lineage capture and differences in prosperity (economic and reproductive) created inequalities among batei-ªav, but institutions like the Jubilee tempered their severity. During the Jubilee year, which occurred every 50 years (roughly two generations), land that had changed hands within a mishpa˙ah (clan)—that is from one betªav to another—reverted to the original bet-ªav along with any dependents who were in debt or bondage (C. J. H. Wright 1992: 764). The Jubilee was thus designed to maintain the viability of batei-ªav on their own land through periodic restoration. In order to obtain large tracks of land, one had to overcome the Jubilee. Omri’s ability to buy the hill of Shemer for two talents of silver may be evidence of this change (1 Kgs 16:24); however, Naboth felt secure in his right (mistakenly, it turns out) to refuse land sale to Omri’s son Ahab (1 Kgs 21:1–3). In the theological realm, the bet-ªav was the essential locus of personal security for all individual members within the national covenant relationship with Yahweh (Mendenhall 1960). Anything that threatened the stability of the socioeconomic structure of the nation (war, famine, new sociopolitical organization, and so on) would have serious repercussions on the national covenant relationship with Yahweh by undermining the nation’s roots and soil—the network of free, landowning batei-ªav (C. J. H. Wright 1992: 765). In this light, it is not surprising that Samuel warned Israel against taking a king (1 Sam 8:10–18). Along with the Iron II monarchy came geopolitical reorganization of administrative districts that cut across kinship groupings (cf. Stager 1985a: 24), confiscation of land (1 Kgs 21:8–16), imposition of taxes and corvée (1 Kgs 5:13–16), forced levy (1 Kgs 12:13–19), and a more stratified society. Prophets protested against the monarchy, not only because of the rejection of Yahweh and his laws, but because the monarchy threatened the very foundation upon which the covenant of Israel was built: the numerous batei-ªav holding land in small parcels widely dispersed throughout the land of Israel (Isa 5:8, Mic 2:2). The Mishpa˙ah The secondary level of social organization, often referred to in biblical texts as the mishpa˙ah, or ªeleph, is a unit of pseudokinship but of a far wider scope than is implied by the English word for family (as mishpa˙ah is often translated). The term clan is most often associated with mishpa˙ah; however, in sociological and anthropological terminology, the clan is usually reserved for a secondary-level social entity (perhaps consisting of several lineages) with exogamous kinship divisions, whose members assume descent from a common ancestor but who cannot demonstrate the genealogical connections (see Gottwald 1979: 315). The mishpa˙ah was normally, and at times statutorily, endogamous (see Num 36:7–9). For this reason, Gottwald believes no clan existed in ancient Israel. He identifies a secondary level of social organization that he terms a “protective association of families (batei-ªav)” (Gottwald 1979: 301–15). The lineage (made up of a number of families who can demonstrate kinship) may also be an appropriate term, if genealogical connections are consanguineal rather than fictive; however, this is doubtful because actual blood ties were far too complex and too poorly known. In spite of Gottwald’s reservations, clan may still be the most appropriate term.

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The term mishpa˙ah is prominently mentioned in economic contexts and relates to land ownership and tenure. A major feature of the mishpa˙ah became its territorial identity, with which it shared its name—for example, Hepher, Hoglah, Shechem, Shemida, Tirzah, Shimron, Hezron, Elon, Gileat (Gottwald 1979: 268; see also Malamat 1968; B. Mazar 1981). The tribes were allotted land according to their mishpa˙ah (e.g., Josh 13:15; Num 33:54). These allotments were subdivided into na˙alot (pl. of na˙alah) and given to the batei-ªav as discussed above (Judg 21:24). While a number of these eponymous mishpa˙ot (pl. of mishpa˙ah) are known from biblical texts, many are not. The Samaria ostraca (storehouse receipts for goods received, especially oil and wine) provide names of towns that are otherwise unknown, enabling us to reconstruct clan districts on the map (Kaufman 1982: 229; Aharoni 1967: 325–26). Also included in the ostraca are seven biblically known clan names from the tribal genealogy of Manasseh (Num 26:30–33, Josh 17:1–3, 1 Chr 7:14–19). These have been identified geographically by comparing their names with modern Arabic place-names (Aharoni 1967: 322). In addition to locating toponyms, the ostraca also shed light on scholarly perceptions of change brought about by the monarchy. Much has been made of Solomon’s reorganization of Israel into twelve districts cutting across and dismantling old kinship boundaries. However, the Samaria ostraca provide evidence that some of the old clan and lineage divisions retained their integrity until much later (Stager 1985a: 24). Another important feature of the mishpa˙ah was its role as protector, and in this regard, Gottwald’s term “protective association of families” is very applicable. One of the salient functions of the mishpa˙ah was the protection of the socioeconomic integrity and solidarity of its member batei-ªav when they were unable to act in their own behalf. Help was extended primarily in the form of restorative functions. If a bet-ªav became unable to maintain its normal autonomous basis, the mishpa˙ah would provide a goªel, or ‘kinsman protector’ (from the verb gaªal ‘to restore’) to act in its behalf. This was more often performed by a close-kin male relative (Gottwald 1979: 262–63). While the criteria for eligibility to act as a goªel are not well known, it was probably someone within one’s own mishpa˙ah and was certainly based on nearness of kin. The various functions performed by the goªel included: (1) raising up a male heir for a deceased family head (Ruth 2–4, Deut 25:5–6), which may have involved marrying the widow and siring a son to inherit the na˙alah in the name of the deceased; (2) buying up or buying back property so that it remained in or returned to the mishpa˙ah (Ruth 4:9, Jer 32:6–15; males eligible to act as a goªel were required to do so unless in so acting they would jeopardize their own patrimony [Ruth 4:6]; if someone refused to act as goªel, one’s house would become known derogatorily as the “house of the unshod” [Deut 25:7–10]); (3) purchasing the release of a group member who had fallen into debt slavery or paying off his debt so that he did not fall into debt slavery (Lev 25:48–49); and (4) avenging the death of a member of the group (Gottwald 1979: 262–66). The goªel, on behalf of the mishpa˙ah, protected the integrity and solidarity of the bet-ªav. When the mishpa˙ah had protection responsibilities in the form of military service, it was sometimes referred to as ªeleph. While mishpa˙ah and ªeleph are interchangeable (e.g., 1 Sam 10:17–27), the latter term usually carried military connotations and can be identified as a “mishpa˙ah in arms” (Gottwald 1979: 257). It is possible that the ªeleph was mistakenly passed on in later

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sources (that is, Priestly sources) as a fighting unit of 1,000 men, which obscured its real meaning as a military unit with a variable number of men (supplied by its member bateiªav) that were mustered or promised for muster by the mishpa˙ah to the shevet in times of war (Gottwald 1979: 257). Judg 6:15 suggests that ªalaphim (pl. of ªeleph) participated as units in military ventures and bore their own costs (Levine 2003: 450–51). The unit has good parallels in ancient Greece and Rome; early Japan and China; and from Mari, Ugarit, and Alalakh (Mendenhall 1958: 52–66). While the socioeconomic functions of the mishpa˙ah were directed “downward,” its military functions were directed “upward.” It thus had an important vertical bonding effect on the social whole (Gottwald 1979: 319). This upward and downward movement was not only related to functions but also to hierarchical relationships that existed among families within the clans and clans within the tribes (Levine 2003: 450). The Shevet/Matteh The terms shevet and matteh are often used to refer to the primary unit of social and territorial organization in ancient Israel. The closest English equivalent is the term ‘tribe’, in that the members of the shevet or matteh were arranged in separate living groups (bateiªav and mishpa˙ot) but had established a sense of affinity with others outside their immediate living area, with whom they shared activities and identifications—affiliates in a “ritual congregation” (à la Sahlins 1967: 89) practicing Yahwism. Israel’s social entirety was divided into a number of these units, which collectively comprised all shevatim (pl. of shevet), or the ‘tribes of Israel’ (also referred to as ºam Israel, shivtei Israel, and benei Israel, or ‘the people Israel’, ‘the tribes of Israel’, and ‘the sons of Israel’, respectively). Members of a shevet descended from an eponymous ancestor whose name was given to the shevet and associated with a specific territory (e.g., ªeretz Judah refers to the land or shevet of Judah in southern Israel). It was on the basis of one’s shevet that military levy was served, and this apparently was one of its primary functions: supplying military units to aid other shevatim in times of military danger (Gottwald 1979: 253; C. J. H. Wright 1992: 761). An example would be the call to Saul to meet the Philistine threat in the Beth-Shean Valley (1 Samuel 31). In terms of everyday life and social impact on the individual, this group was the least significant of the organizational spheres. The existence of this group before the establishment of the monarchy is also open to debate. In summary, the social structure of early Israel as described in texts was a society organized into three ever-broadening social groups held socially bonded to one another by the mishpa˙ah. This group provided military units to the larger shevet/matteh from its member batei-ªav, or ‘households’, the smallest social unit in early Israel and the unit that occupied either a pillared dwelling or clusters of them in small Iron I egalitarian settlements. When compared with the information from previous chapters, I suggest that the bet-ªav occupied a single pillared dwelling as a small extended household, organized just as the biblical texts intimate into an extended endogamous, patrilocal household. While the social structure for early Israel is well understood, later texts allude to changing social organization in the betªav, including changes in transmission and land sale. While this evidence is admittedly slight, it warrants a closer examination of social structure during the Iron Age II, particu-

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larly at the level of the bet-ªav. Because the biblical texts are equivocal in this regard, illumination must come from extrabiblical sources. As I stated in chap. 6, historical data from broader Mediterranean ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological research, both direct and indirect, along with archaeological data provide excellent sources for comparison with this biblically generated data.

Excursus 2:

Biblical Texts, Historical Reconstructions, and Revisionist Trends In the premier issue of Near Eastern Archaeology, W. G. Dever, an eminent senior scholar, wrote that some of the latest trends in the field of biblical studies “pose a threat to biblical studies, to Syro-Palestinian archeology, to theological and religious studies, to the life of synagogue and church, and even to the political situation in the Middle East” (Dever 1998a: 39). If this statement is mere hyperbole, then the individuals who are responsible for these trends “can safely be ignored” as “dilettantes” (Rainey 1994: 47). However, if this statement is accurate, it appears that several disciplines central to the study of the ancient Near East are at a point of crisis. 6 The scholars who are responsible for this perceived threat are a vocal and literarily prolific group of scholars, mostly from European universities, who criticize and attack the ability of modern scholars to use biblical texts to discuss an “ancient” or “biblical” Israel with any bearing on what an actual Israel may have been in the past (especially the Iron Age, ca. 1200–586 b.c.e.). While there are different stances among these scholars (mostly in degree), the majority of them believe that a minimum of historically useful data are preserved in the biblical texts, and they believe even less that anyone (apart from themselves) has the ability to determine what in these texts is historical. These scholars have been labeled by “mainstream” source-critical (historically-based) biblical scholars, historical geographers, and archaeologists as historical minimalists (Hoffmeier 1995: 22), revisionists (Dever 1996c, 35; 1998a: 39; cf. 1996a; 1996b; 1997d;), deconstructionists (Rainey 1994: 47; Dever 1998a: 41), postmodernists (Dever 1998a: 40–41), nihilists (Dever 1996c, 35), nominalists (Patrick 1998: 117), Pyrrhonists (Halpern 1988: 3–6), solipsists (Patrick 1998: 117) and probably a few other “ists” that I have failed to mention. 7 These “ists” most often include, in addition to a few others, F. Cryer (1994), P. Davies (1992; 1995a; 1995b; 2001), D. Edelman (1991), N. P. Lemche (1985; 1994; 1997a; 1997b; 1998), T. Thompson (1987; 1992; 1996; 1997a; 1997b; 1997c; 1999), J. Van Seters (1983), K. Whitelam (1986; 1991; 1994; 1995; 1996a; 1996b), and to a lesser degree G. Ahlström (1991; 1993a; 1993b), G. Garbini (1988), and N. A. Silberman (1982; 1989). While these 6. Near Eastern history or the history of the ancient Near East was left out of Dever’s list, even though it potentially has the most to lose in the face of the “revisionist” assault. However, it seems that the underlying premise for Dever’s article is that our ability to write history and to arrive at a knowable past are exactly what are being undermined by the assault. 7. In this book, I use the term revisionist when referring to this group of scholars. While not all included in this group would agree with the term, it (along with perhaps minimalist) is used by scholars from both sides of the debate in a less acrimonious manner than other terms, and it attempts to identify a stance more than to serve as a pejorative to be cleverly wielded about in a heated debate.

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and other revisionist scholars do not speak with one voice, common in their writings is the call for an alternative method of biblical study, in which “no search is needed to find Israel’s ancestors, its history, its religion, its deity and its hopes” (Davies 1992: 12). In fact, an attempt is made to debunk or deconstruct most interpretations of the past that have this as a goal. It is believed by these revisionists that any attempt to reconstruct the past is so heavily burdened with the ideological and sociopolitical baggage of the modern scholar, that it (the history) can have little historical accuracy and no bearing on any past reality. Many scholars (for example, Dever, Hoffmeier, Rainey) believe that revisionist attempts to rewrite the history of ancient Palestine echo deconstructionist trends prevalent in some fields of the postmodern academic community (for example, in English and literary criticism), and it is in this environment that the debunking of history is undertaken. However, the revisionists seek to distance themselves from terms such as deconstruction (see, e.g., Davies, Thompson, and Lemche in the interview for BAR [T. Thompson 1997b]; see also Shanks 1995). Davies, for example, says (1995b: 16) he would not use the term deconstruction to describe his “method” of scholarly inquiry and would reserve this term for the literary philosophical approach to texts largely associated with Jacques Derrida. However, when one looks at the deconstruction of Derrida, many of its tenets appear in the writings of the revisionist scholars. 8 Deconstruction as associated with Derrida is a philosophical movement heavily influenced by Heidegger’s philosophy and structuralism (Richmond 1995: 180). It is at its basis a “meta-theory,” or a theoretical investigation and critique of all available theories of meaning and models of understanding, that sets the “metamorphic insignificance, the arbitrariness of meaning, always open to deferral or to vacancy, against the authority of Logos, or what deconstruction calls ‘the logocentric order’ ” (Steiner 1989: 121). It externalizes and demolishes the epistemological assumptions implicit or explicit in judgments of aesthetic value and in interpretations of sense (Steiner 1989: 116). Its proponents suppose this on the grounds that all texts contain psychological evasions as well as hidden ideological, political, and didactic power relations that cloud the meaning and intent of the author to such a great extent that their original intent is unknowable. Not only does the psyche of the original author cloud meaning, the modern interpreter of a text brings his/her own evasions and relations conditioned by his/her own environment that also distort, complicate, and obscure any real or perceived understanding of the meaning of a text. Consequently, the presumption of a text’s ensured content or what G. Steiner (1989: 121) calls “cognitive ballast” is challenged, thereby rendering readings as misreadings and interpretation as misinterpretation. According to this stance, a text cannot be “a sequence of words, of syntactic forms, communicating any single, decided meaning (or even constellation of meanings)” (Steiner 1989: 120). Therefore, there can be no inherent meaning 8. However, David Schloen does not consider the deconstruction of Derrida (or Foucault) to be present in the works of the revisionists (he cites Said 1978; Silberman and Small 1997; and Whitelam 1996a as examples). Because much of their work “takes the form of an objectively presented moralizing critique of the iniquities of the previous scholarship” he makes a case for better understanding their approach to history as “being dependent on the longstanding Marxist tradition of ideology-critique [rather] than on Derrida’s notion of deconstruction, which dwells on the indeterminacy of all textual meaning, or on Foucault’s notion of the relativity of ‘truth’ as a function of power” (J. D. Schloen 2001: 9 n. 3).

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derived from a text but only the meaning that is supplied by us as researchers, and this may have nothing to do with a text’s original or “real” meaning—if the text indeed had any real meaning to begin with, something that the more radical deconstructionists would debate. The inescapable conclusion is that the endeavor to perceive meaning from texts is pointless, and using them for historical reconstruction is a waste of time at best and a bankrupt endeavor at worst. Thus, this stance, when applied to the analysis of ancient texts, as in biblical studies, robs the texts of any recoverable meaning by rendering meaning arbitrary and indeterminate. This radical “postmodern” deconstructionist stance can be seen in the many writings of the revisionists. Derrida intended deconstruction as “neither an analytical nor a critical tool; neither a method, nor an operation, nor an act performed on a text by a subject” (Richmond 1995: 180). However, it has become a tool and a method used in the study of texts, especially in the form of the “New Literary Criticism.” It has recently made inroads into biblical studies (see, for example, the discussion in McKenzie and Haynes 1993). Here, its proponents, who include many of the revisionists previously listed, would have it replace the historically based exegesis and textual criticism model that have dominated biblical studies for more than a century. Scholars long following this theoretical model have sought, and continue to seek, to place the biblical text and its described events and theological constructs in the greater historical context of the ancient Near East through textual criticism and the study of history, archaeology, anthropology, philology, epigraphy, paleography, and historical geography as well as other avenues. This model’s more informed proponents have worked ambitiously and most often conscientiously to write critical histories of ancient Israel as well as its neighbors and to identify its more historical characters and events while striving to separate them from legendary, mythological, and/or literary creations or constructs. To the revisionists, however, “that genre [of writing histories of ancient Israel] is probably obsolete” (Davies 1992: 11). Revisionists believe that one simply cannot know what is historical in the biblical text because texts have no knowable intrinsic meaning. This certainly echoes deconstruction, as does Davies when he states that “all writing deceives, of necessity, in the sense that it tends to represent as real something that is not. Texts cannot reproduce reality except as a textual artifact, crafted by rhetoric and limited by the boundaries of language” (Davies 1992: 14–15). Thus, the search for a historical context for biblical events becomes pointless, and historically based exegesis becomes an obsolete methodology. The revisionists also seek to undermine the very foundation of historical exegesis, setting up for demolition its epistemological assumptions—namely that there is a priori an “ancient Israel” that is an accessible historical entity. This has always been taken for granted in the historical paradigm, but to the revisionists, nothing in the text is necessarily or automatically real outside the text. Thus, for the revisionist, it is quite possible and even probable that a literary construct, and nothing more than a construct, has become, inappropriately, the object of historical investigation. The revisionists also dismiss the historical approach on the deconstructionist grounds that texts are so clouded by the ideological, political, and didactic power relations of the author and especially the reader/interpreter that meaning becomes arbitrary. K. Whitelam boldly professes that it is impossible to write objective, disinterested history (Shanks 1996:

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54), and it is assumed that this is reason enough not to persevere in the undertaking. So it is that Davies accuses biblical scholarship of being “guilty of a retrojective imperialism which displaces an otherwise unknown and uncared-for population in the interests of an ideological construct” motivated not by seeking truth through critical scholarship but by theology and religious sentiment (Davies 1992: 31; see further Whitelam 1996a; 1996b). Whitelam sees strong parallels between the invention of ancient Israel and the modern state of Israel and calls for Palestinian history to take its place as an autonomous history (Whitelam 1996b). He believes that scholarly efforts, especially the work of Israeli scholars, toward the historical reconstruction of ancient Israel are a political act serving to suppress Palestinian history, which will remain silenced until it is freed from the tyranny of biblical studies (Whitelam 1996a; see also Shanks 1996: 56). So the scholarship that has been produced by the historical paradigm, according to the revisionist critique, is symptomatic only of the ideological and political biases of its researchers and consequently adds little or nothing to our understanding of ancient Israel. In addition, the revisionist critique has questioned the ability of the modern scholar to understand the psyche or intent of the biblical texts’ authors. The revisionists are thus demolishing the epistemological assumptions of historically based biblical exegesis regarding interpretations of meaning. The basis for this line of deconstruction is—deconstruction. The deconstruction dog hunts well with the revisionist scholars, because deconstructionist tenets are visible throughout this discussion. Primary among these with relation to biblical scholarship is the questioning of any ensured content or meaning in biblical texts that can be investigated with veracity regarding the history of ancient Israel. While questioning along these lines in itself is not necessarily bad—indeed it can be healthy—the call for the total abandonment of a line of scholarly inquiry is alarming. Thus, we need to ask at some point: Is it useful to jettison historically based exegesis altogether and replace it with the deconstruction-based new critical method of the revisionists? Here it becomes necessary to return to Dever’s original premise that the revisionists pose a great threat to the study of the ancient Near East and to the question posed earlier: Can the revisionists be ignored, or do they indeed present a crisis? The answer to this query lies in what they offer in place of historically based exegesis and textual criticism. For revisionist scholars, the presumption is that the search for historical constructs is pointless and its methodology obsolete. Must the interest in and pursuit of history then be dropped and replaced with pursuit of the study of literature? The revisionists offer up the biblical text as a narrative to be studied as a complete literary document from a literary point of view. Most revisionists believe that the biblical text can only be approached as an intact narrative that is useful “for understanding the mental history of the people from the time in which it was composed” (Lemche 1997d: 28, italics mine). Because the last redaction or editing of the Hebrew Bible took place no earlier than the Persian period and, according to many of the revisionists (e.g., Lemche 1985: 412; T. L. Thompson 1995: 686 n. 8; Davies 1992: 161), more likely during the Hellenistic or early Roman periods, the world of the latest redactor is the only one we can know. While Lemche, Thompson, and other revisionists would concede that the redacted text was based on earlier sources, they would put no faith in anyone’s ability to know the meaning and significance of anything before the time when the text came to be in its final narrative form.

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So according to them, what can be understood through analysis of the narrative as a literary document or construct is the author’s (authors’) world. But this is not to be learned through a nonliterary or historical investigation, only through a literary analysis of the text as a literary artifact via the new literary criticism. Additionally, when the text is taken as a literary artifact—an entity whole unto itself— “no search is needed to find Israel’s ancestors, its history, its religion, its deity and its hopes” (Davies 1992: 12), for they all lie on the page to be read (or found). As a literary construct, Israel is no more than what the author(s) have made it. What can be learned from the text is an understanding of what was embodied in the author’s own subjective (or mental) world. We learn this by asking how the biblical literature was written and why (Davies 1992: 113). Further, to understand how the biblical literature was written, we must know who its audience was and what the reason was for the particular style of discourse used in the narrative (Davies 1992; T. L. Thompson 1996; 1999). Thus for example, when the biblical text speaks of an early monarchy (Saul, David, and Solomon), it should not be understood as a historically investigable entity but, rather, as a mythical literary creation “written up” or manufactured, contrived, and concocted for the state by its own scribal school (the latest authors). Never mind that much of this reconstruction is itself nonverifiable outside the authors’ (especially Davies, Thompson, and Lemche) own subjective worlds. 9 They go on to suggest that the reason for this literary creation is to give the people of Judah (at least Judah’s descendants in a postexilic setting) a common history (T. L. Thompson 1997a; Davies 1992: 94–130). In addition to a common history, the text would also give the people of Judah a wisdom “tradition,” a cultic repertory, and “other kinds of literature which any such state should have in order to gain credibility and respectability” (Davies 1992: 130). This mode of inquiry and research provided by the revisionists has sent significant reverberations throughout the biblical community. The extent of their impact on biblical studies is evidenced by their lengthy lists of publications, the numerous papers read by them at major national and international scholarly conferences, and the variety of scholars who are presently citing their work. As I mentioned before, the revisionists are a literarily prolific group of scholars. In fact, they probably were the most productive scholars in biblical studies during the decade of the 1990s, producing no less than eight monographs on the “history” of ancient Israel, published by respected presses in the fields of biblical and Near Eastern studies (for example, Sheffield, Brill, Continuum). In addition, they have produced numerous articles in mainstream scholarly journals (for example, Journal for Biblical Literature, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, and the Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research) as well as journals directed toward a wider, more popular audience (for example, Biblical Archaeology/Near Eastern Archaeology, Biblical Archaeology Review, Bible Review). They have been invited as keynote speakers or panel members to featured sessions at the most prestigious and largest scholarly meetings of biblical researchers in the world. In 1996, K. Whitelam delivered a keynote paper in one of the very few sessions sponsored jointly by the American Academy of Religion, the Society of Bib9. An example of this would be Davies’ assertion of an alleged scribal school that created the biblical text sometime around the Hellenistic period (Davies 1992).

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lical Literature, and the American Schools of Oriental Research (Shanks 1996: 54). Other revisionists delivered similar papers in similar high-profile sessions (e.g., Lemche 1997c; Silberman 1997a; T. L. Thompson 1997c; Whitelam 1996b). As this discussion indicates, the revisionists have produced a voluminous array of materials for consumption by a wide-ranging audience. While the postmodern academic environment in many institutions of higher learning has had an enabling role in this, the stature of many of these scholars is also impressive. Many are trained in high-profile and well-respected universities (for example, Oxford, University of Chicago) and have gained employment in institutions of stature. When all of this is taken together—the numerous publications, the numerous high-profile appearances at national conferences, the widespread citation of their writings, and their employment in numerous respected institutions of higher learning—one can see that the revisionists are taken seriously and, consequently, that their work affects the direction of critical biblical studies. Without question, the approach to texts employed by the revisionists has added new lines of inquiry in the study of biblical texts. Principal among these is the study of the biblical text as a narrative (Davies 1992; Lemche 1998; T. L. Thompson 1992). When studied holistically, as eloquently stated by Richard Friedman, the text’s significance and beauty as literature and the artistry of the redactor(s) as well as his (their) wisdom and literary sensitivity are undiminished (Friedman 1987: 230–45). The Bible becomes more than the sum of its parts. Additionally, by focusing on the latest authors, the revisionists place emphasis on one of the least-known periods in biblical studies: the postexilic period (post 587 b.c.e.). This sort of literary analysis has something to contribute and should not be ignored in the analysis of the biblical text. One of the reasons that the revisionists have welcomed a holistic approach to the biblical texts is their disillusion with the prevailing documentary hypothesis. It is hard to find agreement among scholars on how texts should be separated and what these separations mean from the historical perspective. Divisions in texts, biblical books, chapters, verses, sentences, and phrases have led to an infinite regress of textual separations as scholars seek to root out the various biblical strands and authors in their attempts better to understand the various parts of the text (see McKenzie and Haynes 1993). Also significant is the revisionists’ exposure of serious problems in the epistemological assumptions underlying some historical reconstructions—namely, reconstructions that assume a priori the existence of an ancient Israel that can be examined. This must be investigated and not simply assumed. The revisionists also credibly examine and expose the influences of the nationalistic, political, and ideological factors of various practitioners of the historical approach. Particularly revealing is work by N. A. Silberman (1982; 1989; 1990; 1995; 1997b). Oftentimes, however, too much is made of this. While a number of revisionists have been quick to point out the ideological baggage of others (especially Whitelam 1996a: 1996b), they are themselves guilty of allowing their own political and social ideologies severely to influence and taint their reconstructions of the past (already noted by Dever 1999; 2001). While it has been well demonstrated that histories of Israel reflect the ideological, religious, and nationalistic times and places in which they were written, the revisionists sometimes write as though they personally discovered the near-impossibility of writing objective, disinterested history. In fact, some of the most critical reviews of biblical historical scholarship come from scholars who are undertaking

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research within the bounds of the historically guided paradigm that presently reflects the consensus of scholarship in biblical studies (see, e.g., Dever 1994; 1995a). In reality, practitioners of the present historical paradigm have properly exposed the self-projecting propensities of their predecessors and in their own work have been self-critical, introspective, and pensive. In any case, pointing out perceived or real, intentional or unintentional, biases in reconstructions of the past is not reason enough in itself to abandon completely the prevailing historically based exegesis and textual criticism. Before any approach that attempts to give meaning to the past is jettisoned, it would be productive to consult extrabiblical sources of data that may be relevant to the issues in contention. Archaeological investigations provide sources of data, and they have been employed by biblical scholars—both well and poorly—for a long time. The use of archaeological data by revisionist scholars is especially telling regarding some of their assertions. Revisionists have touted their approach to biblical scholarship as open-minded. This claim to open-mindedness comes from practicing an approach that they believe is not laden with theological and ethical sentiments and has no need of creating retrojective imperialist, ideological historical constructs. However, in spite of this claim, they take great pains to “explain away” archaeological data that are contentious with regard to their historical reconstructions. This can best be seen in their approach to the United Monarchy of ancient Israel traditionally dated to the tenth century b.c.e. Davies has stated that the historicity of the biblical characters David and Solomon is highly suspect on the grounds that “none of these characters has left a trace outside the biblical text!” (Davies 1992: 12). In doing this, he completely dismisses, for example, monumental fortification systems that archaeologists have long associated with Solomon especially (but see Finkelstein 1998; 1999). We must admit, however, that these associations are based on the relative dates of excavated remains and cannot be attributed unequivocally to a single individual. However, since the time Davies wrote his statement regarding David and Solomon, several very significant archaeological discoveries have come to light, the most notable of which includes three sizable fragments of a ninth-century memorial stele from Tel Dan that most likely refer to the “House of David” (Biran and Naveh 1995) and an eighth–seventhcentury b.c.e. dedicatory inscription that mentions a brief genealogy of Philistine rulers of Ekron (Gitin, Dothan, and Naveh 1997; Gitin and Cogan 1999). Additionally, an improved understanding and reading of the “Moabite Stone” now has led to the identification of a reference there to the “House of David” (Lemaire 1995). This type of evidence is exactly what Davies was referring to as lacking in his assessment of the historicity of David and Solomon. While Davies cannot (and should not) be held responsible for knowing that these would come to light, one would expect the modification of his present views to account for these new data. This is not the case. Instead of treating these new discoveries with an open mind, Davies and several other revisionists have attacked the new data on philological and paleographical grounds (Lemche and Thompson 1994; Rogerson and Davies 1996) or as being outright deceptions and lies perpetrated by archaeologists (see Lemche 1994; T. L. Thompson 1997c; Cryer 1994). The Dan inscription was immediately labeled a fraud by Cryer, Lemche, and Thompson, even before the stone was fully published or before they viewed the stone in person. The same attacks were raised by Thompson and Lemche when the Miqne inscrip-

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tion was first found. They have since been forced by the veracity of the evidence to moderate their views. Rogerson and Davies tried paleographically to redate all monumental inscriptions from the Iron Age to a period several hundred years later, a time that better suited their understanding of biblical history (or lack thereof; Rogerson and Davies 1996). However, in this they only demonstrated their lack of understanding of the mechanisms of epigraphy and paleography (Cross 1997; Eshel 1997; Hackett 1997; Hendel 1996; Hurvitz 1997; Lemaire 1997; McCarter 1997; Yardeni 1997). At the very least, many of the revisionist scholars have been less than open-minded regarding the archaeological evidence that does not fit their understanding of the biblical past. Thus, they completely dismiss all historical reconstructions of ancient Israel as works of fiction on the basis of ideological and literary-critical approaches. This is tantamount to throwing out the proverbial baby with the bathwater. I suggest that no approach to biblical studies should be so completely and utterly dismissed, especially an approach that has so significantly increased our understanding of the realia of the biblical past. It is an elitist attitude that calls for the total abandonment and replacement of the well established historically based exegesis and textual criticism model. Revisionists’ claims are akin to scholarly despotism, because they limit the type and scope of scholarly inquiry and thus restrict any real understanding of ancient Israel. The revisionists essentially tell us that their approach renders them (and only them) privy to the biblical past. It is this stance that allows the likes of N. P. Lemche to profess disdainfully to those who disagree with him that his work correctly gives people “a Biblical text that is not hamstrung by having to provide historical information. The text as narrative still remains unharmed. The layperson cannot be blamed for not understanding what is going on in a postmodern academic world, but scholars can” (Lemche 1998: 10). Other approaches are simply considered passé (Provan 1995). In spite of these bold claims, the revisionists’ paradigm fares poorly as the sole replacement for other approaches to biblical studies. In fact, many red flags appear in their scholarship. Some of the flags are inherent to their deconstructionist underpinnings, fallacious methodologies, and loss of confidence in investigating an ancient Israel. One of the reasons for their disillusionment with the prevailing Documentary Hypothesis was the inability of biblical scholars to agree on textual separations (that is, what texts, or parts of texts, belong to the same place, author, and time?). Lack of scholarly consensus led to an infinite regress of textual separations as scholars sought to root out the various strands and authors in their attempts better to understand the various parts of the text. However, deconstruction leads right back to the practices of readings in depth and into an infinite regression of ultimate “undecideability.” Texts can then say an infinitely different number of things based on the audience, style of the narrative, authorial intent to distract or dissuade, and countless other variables. These may so cloud a text that its original message (if there was a message intended), or any message for that matter becomes unknowable. Thus, deconstructionist tenets for analyzing and understanding are self-defeating. In addition, Dever (1998a) has demonstrated that many of the revisionist attempts to reconstruct an ancient Israel are filled with programmatic statements that reflect the author’s or authors’ political and ideological biases more than a desire to understand ancient Israel and its neighbors, despite their so-called awareness of such biases in others’ writings. For these reasons, and others mentioned above, the literary methods employed by revisionists are a

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poor replacement for the historically based exegesis and textual criticism presently dominating biblical studies. But what does this mean for the threat of crisis that was posed by Dever at the beginning of this section? To date, the revisionists have not demonstrated that their approach is more insightful than the approaches of scholars who preceded them. By abandoning the knowledge learned from decades of historically based exegesis, textual criticism, and related archaeological research, the revisionist scholars will do biblical scholarship a great disservice. As pointed out by Gadamer (1960: 324), to “stand within a tradition does not limit the freedom of knowledge but makes it possible.” Their self-proclaimed objectivity, which is a cornerstone of their approach to understanding the past, is no greater than the objectivity of scholars who practice historical exegesis, and less than many. While the revisionists have correctly pointed out some of the shortcomings of their predecessors and provided some important correctives regarding historically implicit assumptions, they offer nothing (literally, with their deconstruction tenets) that holds more promise for better understanding the past. One hopes that the crisis introduced by the revisionists will pass. In the meantime, we must remain confident in the established approaches while continuing to offer answers to the revisionists’ claims.

Chapter 8

Conclusion Scholars working with the problems of ancient Israel created a convincing reconstruction of the society that emerged in the highlands of Palestine at the beginning of the Iron Age I, a reconstruction that fits the archaeological, ethnographic/ethnoarchaeological, and biblical data well. The highlands were inhabited by a sedentary people, probably from a number of elements of thirteenth- and twelfth-century b.c.e. society in Palestine, including city-state dwellers, nomadic pastoralists or Shasu Bedouin, rural peasants, foreigners, and so on (see discussion in Dever 2003: 129–90). These peoples began practicing dry farming on newly cleared and terraced lands and raised livestock in the hills around their small, egalitarian settlements, which were typified by a new style of domestic structure, the pillared dwelling. This new type of dwelling became the dominant dwelling type for the next 600 years in many areas of the southern Levant. The pillared dwelling can be viewed in the realms of both fact and symbol (à la J. D. Schloen 2001). It was functional—a fact—and met the needs of its inhabitants, who used diverse subsistence strategies as a means of spreading risk better to ensure their survival and prosperity. It was emblematically representative—a symbol—and communicated important cosmological and ideological views of its occupants. These new settlements of the Hill Country and Negev environs probably represented the extended families or households (batei-ªav) and clans (mishpa˙ot) that later developed into Israel. Based on persistent examples from historical texts, biblical reconstructions, and ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological data, we know that their social organization was patrilineal, patrilocal, and endogamous, and many constraints were in place to keep land broadly dispersed among a large number of households. During the next two centuries (eleventh and tenth centuries b.c.e.), the settlements in the Hill Country and Negev Desert increased in size, number, and complexity. For whatever reasons—whether population pressure, external military threat from the recently settled Philistines, increasing numbers of “disenfranchised lads,” increasing urbanization, royal control of international trade, or political fragmentation as reported in biblical texts (1 Kings 12)— processes were in action that ultimately led to formation of the small, secondary states of Israel and Judah, established in the late tenth century b.c.e. (see Joffe 2002; Masters 2001; Stager 1985a; 2003). The reorganization that accompanied this change affected all facets of society. Politically, a full-time specialist (that is, a king) involved in problems of state (military campaigns, judicial matters, border control, and so on) was established, a new elite class

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was formed, and positions of service and servitude were created. Economically, new trade supplemented agriculture/viticulture/horticulture and animal husbandry, and a market was created for specialists such as artisans, courtiers, literati, engineers, priests, and soldiers. Socially, stratification increased; attempts were made to centralize cultic practices and establishments; and people crowded into fortified villages, towns, cities, and fortresses. Biblical texts from late sources (that is, Deuteronomistic and Priestly) hint at changes such as partible to impartible inheritance and the reorganization of the tribal districts. By the eighth century b.c.e., social organization at the level of nuclear and extended families may have been affected dramatically, but most scholars assume that this was not the case. Rather, they see the clusters, neighborhoods, and blocks present in many Iron II settlements as reflecting various batei-ªav or extended families organized much as they had been throughout the Iron Age (Faust 2002; King and Stager 2001; Shiloh 1970; 1978; 1987; Stager 1985a). While Gottwald and Stager make compelling arguments to the contrary, I see no reason to look for the bet-ªav in any spatial area larger than the pillared dwelling. Shiloh used the small size of the dwelling as evidence of its use by a nuclear family, yet there is nothing that inherently makes this true. Pillared dwellings from the twelfth–eleventh centuries are identical to the dwellings of the eighth century, except for the former’s larger size. This is undoubtedly due to the spatially liberal nature of the Iron I sites, as well as the need for more space for “farm living.” Later, the dwelling became smaller to accommodate its use in the spatially restricted, fortified settlements of Iron II. While the floor plan of the dwelling decreased in size, it is possible that its square footage actually increased, because the archaeological, ethnographic, and biblical data all agree on the likely presence of an additional story. While there is no direct evidence for this in the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif, the archaeological data in general yield numerous examples. If a covered second floor is added to the typical pillared dwellings, it brings their roofed space to an average between 80 and 160 m2. This is adequate space for an extended household. The association of the pillared dwelling with the bet-ªav may also be reflected in the burial practices at Tell Halif. At Tell Halif, as in many other Iron II settlements from the Hills of Judah, the typical tomb is of a bench style carved into the soft limestone faces of the hills or wadi faces near Iron II settlements (see Bloch-Smith 1992a; 1992b; Borowski 1993). Their shape is generally rectangular or square (approximately 5x5 m), and this style, along with the presence of benches that are carved waist high along the tombs’ sides and rear, means that the tombs are reminiscent of the pillared dwelling itself. 1 Most tombs are entered through a small, square doorway opposite a bench and repository(ies) along the back wall (broad room of the dwelling). This entrance steps down into a central corridor (central long room/courtyard of the dwelling) flanked by additional benches on one or both sides (long side rooms in the dwelling). These extend from the back of the tomb toward the 1. This idea that tombs were reminiscent of pillared dwellings was first mentioned to me by Oded Borowski during the 1999 field season at Tell Halif. The earliest reference I can find to this suggestion is Amihai Mazar’s, which was proffered after his analysis of tombs discovered outside the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem in 1937 (A. Mazar 1976: 4 n. 9). It is also discussed by Barkay (1994; 1999), Bunimovitz and Faust (2003: 414), and Herr (1997: 145–46).

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front wall from which the tomb was entered (the pillared dwelling is similarly accessed through the wall of the building opposite the broad room). These tombs typically contained individuals of both sexes and all ages and generally accommodated between 15 and 30 individuals (Bloch-Smith 1992b: 217). This small number suggested to E. Bloch-Smith that each tomb was most likely maintained by a nuclear family and represented three to five generations. However, this is very close in demographic size to the unit that I propose for the bet-ªav that occupied a pillared dwelling. Thus, I suggest that each tomb served an individual bet-ªav or small extended household as a dwelling or house for the deceased. The quarters identified as the locus of the bet-ªav by Stager at settlements such as Tell Beit Mirsim may reflect organization at the level of the ªeleph, or the mishpa˙ah. Ethnographic evidence supplied by Tannous and Lutfiyya supports this suggestion, because two or more hamula often occupy a village jointly. While I would suggest that the bet-ªav as a small, extended household was still intact during the eighth century b.c.e., its role in society probably changed from the role that it had had in earlier periods. One reason this change is suspected is that societies organized at different levels of sociopolitical complexity tend to exhibit different types of household organization as reflected in differing combinations of production, distribution, transmission, and reproduction (see Wilk and Rathje 1982: 621). Changing transmission of inheritances from partible to impartible, which is hinted at in the biblical text, may reflect just these sorts of changes. Often “the advent of impartible inheritance coincides with the beginnings of a landless class, a rural proletariat; this is a possible avenue toward social stratification. Such detached persons can also form the base of urban society and a ready pool for craft specialization or armies” (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 629). This general mode of change determined from ethnographic observation sounds strikingly similar to changes described as taking place in early Israel from Iron Age I to Iron Age II. The resulting stratification and specialization also appear homologous. When society is reorganized in this way, it is not uncommon for reorganization at the household level also to occur. This usually involves the shift from an extended household to a nuclear household. This, however, may not have been the case for Judah by the eighth century b.c.e. While Shiloh’s assertion that the pillared dwelling served as the locus of a nuclear family suggests that this change did occur, Stager’s suggestion that clusters of dwellings in Iron II settlements represented intact extended households implies that it did not. Schloen’s research supports the latter understanding but finds that the locus of the batei-ªav was generally in individual dwellings. The evidence at this point remains equivocal and invites further investigation. Interestingly enough, the best locus for investigating this change (or lack thereof) is the one unchanging entity throughout the entire Iron Age, the pillared dwelling. Because the pillared dwelling is essentially the same throughout the Iron Age, the best place to look for clues regarding household organization is in the material artifacts and their distribution in these dwellings. At Tell Halif, valuable data were gained regarding the organization of space in the pillared F7 Dwelling. Its inhabitants, the biblical bet-ªav, were viticulturalists living in a small fortified site on the southwestern border of Judah. In addition to wine making, its members performed a full set of domestic activities in the confines of the dwelling as well as additional activities associated with ritual and the production of textiles.

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The members of the F7 household at Tell Halif also benefited from contact (direct or indirect) with Mediterranean coastal areas, which is telling about the politicoeconomic relations between these regions during the late eighth century b.c.e. Two scenarios could best account for the plentiful fish in the diet of the inhabitants of Tell Halif. The first and more likely possibility is that an active, mutually beneficial trade was carried out between these regions. This suggests that the vitriolic language used by the biblical writers to describe relations between the people of Judah and the people of Philistia probably does not reflect real sociopolitical relations, especially in settlements along border regions. If this is the case, fish from the coastal areas of Philistia were brought to Tell Halif and possibly exchanged for textiles, wine, and other agricultural and animal products known from its archaeological record. Evidence from late-seventh-century b.c.e. Ashkelon gives witness to an active trade between the territorial entities of Judah and Philistia almost a century later (Weiss and Kislev 2004). The other possibility is related to the political unrest that was prevalent at the end of the eighth century b.c.e. It was during this time that Hezekiah of Judah took advantage of perceived Assyrian weakness (set in motion by succession squabbles among his Assyrian overlords) to expand his influence westward (Gitin 1997). According to the biblical texts and Assyrian records, Hezekiah expanded into the Philistine coastal plain and actually removed Padi, the king of Ekron from his throne (2 Kgs 18:7–8). It is possible that this political expansion encouraged “relations” with coastal areas and thus accounts for the presence of the fish. Fish procurement may have been part of royal efforts to supply Judahite settlements in preparation for an expected Assyrian campaign. However, the fact that many of the fish bones came from microartifact samples consisting of sediments built up through a relatively long period of time would mitigate against this interpretation. In any case, whatever preparation attempts were ultimately made by Hezekiah, his perceptions of Assyrian strength were erroneous, because the entire settlement at Halif, along with most every other city, town, and village in the Shephelah and Judean Hill region, was burned and destroyed as the new Assyrian king Sennacherib successfully quelled the rebellions. In the process, the Assyrians created a rich de facto assemblage of materials at Tell Halif as well as at numerous other sites, providing invaluable data for learning about the households of the Iron Age II in the southern Levant. This de facto assemblage—the artifacts that were still in use and remained where they were abandoned (in their behavioral context) when the Iron II settlement was destroyed— were separated well from secondary refuse as well as from most other primary refuse deposited on floors prior to settlement destruction. Furthermore, many of the patterns introduced into the archaeological record through cultural and natural formation processes were identified and accounted for and mostly ruled out as causing the patterning observed in the de facto refuse. Thus, we were able to make a number of behavioral inferences regarding the use of space in the F7 Dwelling based on observed patterns. As mentioned above, the activities carried out within the confines of the F7 Dwelling were both domestic and economic in nature. Most of the activities (minus eating) were primarily associated with women and the technologies controlled by women. They stored goods, cooked and otherwise prepared food, and served and ate meals. Large krater-type bowls suggest that meals were shared as a social activity among the occupants of the dwell-

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ing. They dined on food produced locally as well as food imported from the Mediterranean coastal regions. The occupants carried out ritual activities, stabled animals, a vintner produced wine, and women produced textiles at the domestic level or perhaps as a cottage industry. The occupants also probably entertained guests, socialized children, and slept in the dwelling. The usefulness of the approach to understanding the Iron II household taken in this book has been clearly demonstrated. A spatial analysis that accounts for formation processes shows that the highly variable character of ceramics provides a valuable tool for recognizing activity areas. Equally important is the observation that areas devoid of ceramics and other de facto refuse are nonetheless useful for understanding the overall use of space (for example, living rooms where sleeping and other activities took place). Microartifacts are likewise shown to be especially useful when dealing with the ubiquitous destruction strata of tell sites, because they offer a more diachronic view of activities and therefore provide a check on the more synchronic de facto refuse associated with destruction activities. The analysis of microartifacts present in primary contexts was instrumental in determining that the activities identified in the F7 Dwelling appear to have had more to do with everyday life than with abnormal patterns that might be associated with defense against the siege of a foreign aggressor. The data presented in this volume, used collectively with information learned from both ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological studies and with the biblical text, provide a detailed and comprehensive reconstruction of the organization of the eighthcentury b.c.e. household at Tell Halif.

Plate and Description Conventions The materials that follow in pls. 1–20 include pottery and object materials presented together in locus groups. The individual line drawings of pottery and objects on the plates are referenced throughout this volume by plate numbers (Arabic) followed by a colon and the item number (also Arabic), for example, pl. 12:6. All of the drawings are at a scale of 1:5 unless otherwise specifically noted on the plates. Identifications of pottery vessel forms and types are by numbers related to discussions in chap. 3. The conventions for pottery descriptions are substantially those outlined in chap. 5 of A Manual of Field Excavation (Dever and Lance 1978). Pottery descriptions are all presented in the following pattern: (1) Technique: (handmade, wheelmade, etc.) (2) Ware Paste: a. Color (of sherd section in a fresh break using Munsell Soil Color Charts [Baltimore, MD]) b. Inclusions (sometimes called “temper” or “grit,” measured according to standard type groups as observed by the naked eye): i. “Sand”—appearing as sand particles; a subgroup of this category, involving larger particles, is noted as “wadi gravel” ii. “Lime”—appearing as white chalky limestone particles iii. “Ceramic”—appearing as angular red or black particles of ground pottery (sometimes called “grog”) iv. “Crystal”—appearing as angular translucent or “sparkling” particles v. “Organic”—appearing as straw, or as remnant patterns of straw in the fabric, or as striated black carbon deposits vi. “Shell”—appearing as shell particles or scales (rare because shell bits regularly degrade in firing appearing as “Lime”) Indications as to the size (small, medium, large) and to the frequency of appearance (few, some, many) of inclusions are provided according to established standards c. Firing (described according to the observable remnant carbon discoloration at the center of the sherd section as either “no core,” “light gray core,” “gray core,” or “dark gray core”) d. Hardness (measured on a threefold scale as “soft,” “hard,” or “metallic,” using Moh’s Scale scratch tests) (3) Ware Surface: (Interior and Exterior use the same conventions) a. Color (Munsell) b. Treatment (“wash,” “slip,” “burnish” [including type and decoration], “paint” [including type, either “oxide” or “organic”], and color [using Munsell])

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(4) Notations are also added with the descriptions to reference “Sherd Count,” that is, the number of individual sherds involved in the reconstruction of the vessel, and “Weight (g),” that is, total vessel weight in grams. Thus, for example, Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; some medium to large lime; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) 2.5YR 5/6 “red” slip, burnished on rim. Sherd Count: 43. Weight (g): 256.

Object descriptions follow conventions developed for the Lahav Research Project. Details of this system are presented in appendix 27 of its Field Operations Guidebook (Seger 1980). Object descriptions are presented in the following pattern: (1) Composition: The material or materials from which the object is made. Ceramic materials are further described using the pottery conventions. (2) Color: Color or colors using Munsell charts. (3) Dimensions: Three-dimensional measurements in centimeters. Abbreviations used include: L. = length, W. = width, Th. = thickness, H. = height, D. = diameter, cm = centimeters. (4) Condition: Explicit statement of the completeness and stability of the object. Thus, for example, Composition: bone. Color: 7.5 YR 6/4 “light brown.” Dimensions: L. 0.2 cm, W. 0.6 cm, Th. 0.2.cm. Condition: top broken off; very fragile.

Where appropriate, Israel Antiquities Authority registration numbers are given for objects, for example, IAA no. 1998-1508.

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1:1. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 42/92, IV.F8.5 no. 1, L.F8001 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/8 “light red”; few small lime, few small to medium ceramic; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 5/2 “reddish gray”; (Ext.) as paste, 5YR 5/3 “reddish brown” slip. Sherd Count: 215. Weight (g): 8420. 1:2. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.F8.20 no. 1, L. F8009.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/8 “yellowish red”; some small to medium lime, few very small sand; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 5/1 “gray”; (Ext.) 10YR 5/4 “weak red.” Sherd Count: 72. Weight (g): 4819. 1:3. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 42/92, IV.F8.17/C no. 1, L. F8009.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/1 “gray”; few very small sand, few small to large lime, few small wadi gravel; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 4/1 “dark gray”; (Ext.) 2.5 YR 6/6 “light red.” Sherd Count: 152. Weight (g): 6180.

1:4. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 42/92, IV.F8.12 no. 2, L. F8001 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/8 “red”; some small to large lime, few very small sand, few small to medium wadi gravel; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; (Ext.) 7.5YR 5/2 “brown.” Sherd Count: 93. Weight (g): 3600. 1:5. Storage Jar (Class 11) Halif 42/92, IV.F8.3 no. 1, L. F8001 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 4/4 “reddish brown”; very few small lime, some very small sand; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; (Ext.) as paste, 10YR 7/2 “light gray” slip. Sherd Count: 89. Weight (g): 4536. 1:6. Storage Jar (Class 19) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.103 no. 1, L. F8002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/6 “yellowish red”; some small to medium lime, few small ceramic, few very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 6/1 “gray”; (Ext.) 7.5YR 6/4 “light brown.” Sherd Count: 84. Weight (g): 2858.

Plate 1

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Plates

2:1. Cooking Pot (Class 71B) Halif 46/93, IV.F8.20 no. 2, L. F8009.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/6 “red”; many small sand; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 32. Weight (g): 567. 2:2. Cooking Jar (Class 71B) Halif 42/92, IV.F8.5 no. 5, L. F8001 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/6 “red”; some to many very small sand, few large lime; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 27. Weight (g): 554. 2:3. Juglet (Class 42) Halif 42/92, IV.F8.9 no. 1, L. F8002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/8 “reddish yellow”; few very small sand, few small to large lime, few medium wadi gravel; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 7/6 “reddish yellow”; (Ext.) as interior, 10R 4/8 “red” slip. Sherd Count: 7. Weight (g): 95.

2:4. Bowl (Class 52) Halif 42/92, IV.F8.12 no. 1, L. F8001 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; few small to medium lime, very few medium wadi gravel; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 4. Weight (g): 150. 2:5. Juglet (Class 39) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.109 no. 4, L. F7026 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/8 “light red”; few medium wadi gravel, some very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5 YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; (Ext.) as paste, vertical burnish. Sherd Count: 14. Weight (g): 110. 2:6. Jug (Class 23) Halif 42/92, IV.F8.10 no. 1, L. F8002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/6 “red”; very few small to medium lime, few very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste, 2.5 YR 5/6 “red” slip over rim, burnished; (Ext.) 10R 4/6 “red” slip, vertical burnish. Sherd Count: 15. Weight (g): 228.

Plate 2

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206

Plates

3:1. Pillar Figurine Fragment—Object no. 2133 Halif 46/93 IV.F8.14, L. F8007 Composition: ceramic. Color: 5YR6/6 “reddish yellow.” Dimensions: L. 2.43 cm, W. 6 cm, Th. 4.80 cm. Condition: good, part of upper torso; plank type; no articulation of arms; two semi-circular breaks on front of torso may reflect damage to large breasts. 3:2. Knife Blade—Object no. 2566 Halif 46/93 IV.F7.106, L. F7002 Composition: iron. Color: brown/black. Dimensions: L. 8.4 cm, W. 1.7 cm, Th. 0.08 cm. Condition: rust eroded and burned.

3:3. Scale Weight—Object no. 2584 Halif 46/93 IV.F8.21, L. F8009.1 Composition: stone. Color: 7.5YR 8/0 “white.” Dimensions: D. 3.7 cm. Condition: good. 3:4. Ground Stone—Object no. 2101 Halif 42/92 IV.F8.14, L. F8007 Composition: sandstone. Color: 10YR 7/3 “very pale brown.” Dimensions: L. 7.40 cm, W. 5.75 cm, Th. 4.10 cm. Condition: good. 3:5. Upper Grinding Stone—Object no. 2140 Halif 42/92 IV.F8.17, L. F8009.P Composition: Basalt. Color: 2.5YR 4/0 “dark gray.” Dimensions: L. 9.72 cm, W. 10.13 cm, Th. 4.02 cm. Condition: good.

Plate 3

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Plates

4:1. Pithos (Class 7) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.49/C no. 1, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/6 “red”; some small to medium lime and ceramic; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 6/4 “light brown” slip over rim, burnished; (Ext.) as interior, 2.5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown” slip. Sherd Count: 142. Weight (g): 5131. 4:2. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.49/A no. 3, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/4 “reddish brown”; few small to medium sand, very few very small lime; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 5/4 “gray”; (Ext.) 2.5YR 4/2 “reddish brown.” Sherd Count: 129. Weight (g): 7187. 4:3. Jug (Class 21) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.22/A no. 34, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 4/8 “red”; few medium to large lime, some small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 5/4 “reddish brown”; (Ext.) as paste, 10YR 7/2 “reddish brown.” Sherd Count: 68. Weight (g): 2154. 4:4. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.20/C no. 1, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 4/1 “dark gray”; few small sand, few medium to large lime; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 6/2 “grayish brown”; (Ext.) 2.5YR 4/3 “reddish brown.” Sherd Count: 129. Weight (g): 11,249.

4:5. Storage Jar (Class 17) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.49/D no. 1, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; very few small ceramic, very few small lime; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste, lime plaster patch. Sherd Count: 129. Weight (g): 3401. 4:6. Krater (Class 64) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.49/A no. 2, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/6 “red”; some to many very small lime; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 5/2 “weak red” slip, burnish; (Ext.) 2.5YR 3/4 “dark reddish brown” slip. Sherd Count: 178. Weight (g): 4880. 4:7. Fenestrated Stand (Class 83) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.49/D no. 2, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; few very small lime, few small ceramic; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 7/6 “reddish yellow,” some 2/5YR 5/4 “reddish yellow” paint splatters; (Ext.) 2.5YR 5/4 “reddish brown” slip, incised. Sherd Count: 12. Weight (g): 2324.

Plate 4

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5:1. Bowl (Class 48) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.20 no. 1, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/3 “reddish brown”; some very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste, burnish; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 22. Weight (g): 121.

5:6. Juglet (Class 40) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.49 no. 1, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 10YR 6/4 “dark gray”; some small lime; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 10YR 5/1 “gray”; (Ext.) as interior, hand burnish. Sherd Count: 1. Weight (g): 40.

5:2. Jug (Class 23) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.47/C no. 1, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/6 “red”; some small to medium ceramic, few very small lime; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 6/8 “light red,” 10YR 6/2 “light brownish gray” red slip allowed to trickle inside the neck; (Ext.) as paste, 7.5YR 4/2 “brown” slip. Sherd Count: 33. Weight (g): 448.

5:7. Jug (Class 21) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.49/B no. 1, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; some very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 8. Weight (g): 163.

5:3. Bowl (Class 48) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.22/B no. 85, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; few small to medium lime; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste, wheel burnish; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 26. Weight (g): 184. 5:4. Bowl (Class 48) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.47/C no. 2, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; some very small sand, few small lime; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown,” wheel burnish; (Ext.) as paste, 5YR 5/3 “reddish brown” slip rim to shoulder, wheel burnish. Sherd Count: 16. Weight (g): 157. 5:5. Bowl (Class 48) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.19 no. 4, L. G8012 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/3 “reddish brown”; few small organics, few very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 3/2 “dark reddish brown” slip, wheel burnish; (Ext.) as paste, 5YR 5/3 “reddish brown” slip rim to shoulder, wheel burnish. Sherd Count: 10. Weight (g): 43.

5:8. Juglet (Class 42) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.22/B no. 4, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; some very small lime, few medium wadi gravel; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste, vertical burnish. Sherd Count: 18. Weight (g): 263. 5:9. Cooking Pot (Class 68B) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.50/C no. 1, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/1 “gray”; some small to large lime, few very small sand, few small to large ceramic, few small to large organics; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 7/4 “reddish yellow”; (Ext.) as interior. Sherd Count: 72. Weight (g): 1064. 5:10. Cooking Pot (Class 68C) Halif 42/92, IV.G8.48/A no. 1, L. G8005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 4/4 “reddish brown”; some very small sand, few large lime; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 4/3 “dark gray”; (Ext.) 2.5YR 4/4 “reddish brown.” Sherd Count: 11. Weight (g): 929.

Plate 5

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6:1. “Standing Stone” or Platform—Object no. N/A Halif 42/92, IV.G8.20/B, L. G8005.P Composition: limestone. Color: 10YR 8/2 “white.” Dimensions: H. 30 cm, W. 24 cm, Th. 9 cm. Condition: good; slight patina but surfaces had not been ground or smoothed. 6:2. Arrowhead—Object no. 2061 Halif 42/92, IV.G8.22, L. G8005 Composition: iron. Color: 5YR 3/2 “dark reddish brown.” Dimensions: L. 3.86 cm, W. 1.92 cm, Th. 0.45 cm. Condition: corroded fragment. 6:3. Arrowhead—Object no. 2094 Halif 42/92, IV.G8.46, L. G8012 Composition: iron. Color: 5YR 5/7 “reddish yellow.” Dimensions: L. 5.15 cm, W. 1.92 cm, Th. 0.54 cm. Condition: corroded fragment.

6:4. Bovine Horn Core—Material Culture no. 64533 Halif 42/92, L. G8005 6:5. Spatula—Object no. 1906A–B Halif 42/92, IV.G8.20/C, L. G8005.P Composition: bone. Color: (A): 2.5YR 5/4 “reddish brown,” (B): 10R 3/1 “dark reddish gray.” Dimensions: L. 7.4 cm, W. 2.18 cm, Th. 0.19 cm. Condition: two fragments.

Plate 6

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Plates

7:1. Carved Block—Object no. 2054 Halif 42/92, IV.G8.20/B, L. G8005.P Composition: limestone. Color: 5YR 8/2 “pinkish white.” Dimensions: H. 25 cm, W. 16.2 cm, Th. 17.5 cm. Condition: good, but cracked.

7:3. Disc—Object no. 2596 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.112, L. F7002 Composition: bone. Color: 5YR 7/4 “pink.” Dimensions: D. 2 cm, Th. 0.3 cm. Condition: chipped edge.

7:2. Grinding Stone—Object no. 2115 Halif 42/92, IV.G8.49/C, L. G8005.P Composition: limestone. Color: 10YR 7/3 “very pale brown.” Dimensions: L. 11.7 cm, W. 8.8 cm, Th. 3.1 cm. Condition: good.

7:4. Figurine—Object no. 2114 Halif 42/92, IV.G8.41, L. G8005.P Composition: ceramic. Color: 5YR 7/6 “reddish yellow.” Dimensions: H. 4.72 cm, W. 4.28 cm, Th. 2.83 cm. Condition: good; head of female pillar figurine.

Plate 7

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8:1. Carved Block—Object no. 2103 Halif 42/92, IV.G8.40/A, L. G8005.P Composition: limestone. Color: 10YR 7/2 “light gray.” Dimensions: H. 26 cm, W. 14.5 cm, Th. 20 cm. Condition: good, but cracked. 8:2. Grinding Stone—Object 2139 Halif 42/92, IV.G8.24/D, L. G8005.P Composition: basalt. Color: 10YR 4/1 “dark gray.” Dimensions: L. 16 cm, W. 10 cm, Th. 5.2 cm. Condition: good.

8:3. Polished Rectangular Stone (Whetstone?)—Object no. 1917 Halif 42/92, IV.G8.20/C, L. G8005.P Composition: diorite. Color: 10YR 4/1 “dark gray.” Dimensions: L. 12.2 cm, W. 7.57 cm, Th. 5.92 cm. Condition: good. 8:4. Whorl—Object no. 2196 Halif 42/92, IV.G8.56, L. G8010 Composition: ceramic. Color: 5YR 5/4 “reddish brown.” Dimensions: D. 5.2 cm, Th. 0.9 cm. Condition: half fragment.

Plate 8

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Plates

9:1. Maul—Object no. 2452 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.30/B, L. H7005.P Composition: chert. Color: 7.5 YR 4/0 “dark gray.” Dimensions: H. 8.9 cm, W. 7.7 cm. Condition: good. 9:2. Bead—Object no. 2463 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.34/C, L. H7005.P Composition: stone. Color: 7.5 YR 8/2 “pinkish white” with flecks of 7.5YR 4/2 “brown.” Dimensions: L. 0.8 cm, W. 0.7 cm. Condition: good. 9:3. Perforated Stone—Object no. 2468 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.34/C, L. H7005.P Composition: chert. Color: 5YR 8/1 “white.” Dimensions: D. 14.0 cm, Th. 8.4 cm. Condition: good. 9:4. Perforated Stone—Object no. 2582 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.50, L. H7005.P Composition: beach rock. Color: 10YR 7/2 “light gray.” Dimensions: D. 12.9 cm, Th. 4.6 cm. Condition: good.

9:5. Arrowhead—Object no. 2345 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.15, L. H7004 Composition: Iron. Color: 7.5 YR 3/2 “dark brown.” Dimensions: L. 5z cm, W. 1.5 cm, Th. 1.6 cm. Condition: corroded. 9:6. Button or Buzzer—Object no. 2389 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.16, L. H7004 Composition: limestone. Color: 5YR 8/2 “pinkish white.” Dimensions: L. 4.7 cm, W. 4.7 cm, Th. 1.8 cm. Condition: cracked. 9:7. Grinding Stone—Object no. 2390 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.16, L. H7004 Composition: chert. Color: 10YR 6/4 “light yellowish brown.” Dimensions: L. 9 cm, W. 7.1 cm, Th. 4.9 cm. Condition: good.

Plate 9

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Plates

10:1. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.H7.15 no. 37, L. H7004 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/3 “light reddish brown”; some small to large lime, few very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 6/1 “gray”; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 115. Weight (g): 7257. 10:2. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.H7.29/A no. 1, L. H7005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/4 “reddish brown”; some small to large lime, few small wadi gravel; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 157. Weight (g): 7985. 10:3. Storage Jar (Class 11) Halif 46/93, IV.H7.29/A no. 22, L. H7005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 4/8 “red”; few small to large lime, few very small sand, few small wadi gravel; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; (Ext.) 10YR 7/3 “very pale brown.” Sherd Count: (22). Weight (g): 1927.

10:4. Jug (Class 23) Halif 46/93, IV.H7.28/C no. 7, L. H7005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/8 “light red”; few small lime, some medium ceramics; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 5/6 “red”; (Ext.) as paste, with 2.5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown” to 7.5YR 7/4 “pink.” Sherd Count: 142. Weight (g): 1474. 10:5. Jug (Class 23) Halif 46/93, IV.H7.28/D no. 1, L. H7005.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 4/4 “reddish brown”; few small to large lime; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 6/4 “light brown”; (Ext.) as interior to 10YR 6/2 “light brownish gray.” Sherd Count: 10. Weight (g): 241.

Plate 10

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11:1. Hammer Stone—Object no. 2415 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.21/C, L. H7005.P Composition: chert. Color: 10YR 8/1 “white.” Dimensions: L. 6.9 cm, W. 5.9 cm, Th. 5.2 cm. Condition: good.

11:7. Scale Weight—Object no. 2386 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.16, L. H7004 Composition: basalt. Color: 7.5 YR 3/0 “very dark gray.” Dimensions: H. 2.2 cm, D. 1.9 cm. Condition: good.

11:2. Stopper/Disc—Object no. 2456 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.30/D, L. H7005.P Composition: ceramic. Color: 5YR 4/4 “light reddish brown.” Dimensions: D. 2.5 cm, Th. 1.1 cm. Condition: good.

11:8. Stopper—Object no. 2388 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.17, L. H7004 Composition: ceramic. Color: N/A. Dimensions: D. 3.6 cm, Th. 0.7 cm. Condition: good.

11:3. Upper Grinding Stone—Object no. 2449 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.28/D, L. H7005.P Composition: beach rock. Color: 10 YR 7/3 “very pale brown.” Dimensions: L. 12.3 cm, W. 9 cm, Th. 5.2 cm. Condition: good 11:4. Ballista—Object no. 2448 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.28/D, L. H7005.P Composition: chert. Color: 5YR 8/2 “pinkish white.” Dimensions: D. 6.8 cm, Th. 7.2 cm. Condition: good. 11:5. Upper Grinding Stone—Object no. 2453 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.29/A, L. H7005.P Composition: basalt. Color: 7.5YR 4/0 “dark gray.” Dimensions: L. 9.3 cm, W. 8.5 cm, Th. 5.6 cm. Condition: good. 11:6. Ground or Hammer Stone—Object no. 2346 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.15, L. H7004 Composition: chert/limestone. Color: 10YR 6/3 “pale brown.” Dimensions: L. 10.5 cm, W. 9.3 cm, Th. 5.4 cm. Condition: good.

11:9. Arrowhead—Object no. 2387 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.17, L. H7004 Composition: iron. Color: 5YR 5/4 “reddish brown.” Dimensions: L. 7.1 cm, W. 1.8 cm, Th. 0.5 cm. Condition: corroded. 11:10. Whorl—Object no. 2417 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.22, L. H7004 Composition: bone. Color: 2.5Y 2/2 “black.” Dimensions: D. 2.8 cm, Th. 0.5 cm. Condition: corroded. 11:11. Worked Shell—Object no. 2428 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.24, L. H7004 Composition: shell. Color: 10YR 7/4 “very pale brown.” Dimensions: D. 4.0 cm, Th. 1/2 cm. Condition: good. 11:12. Ballista—Object no. 2427 Halif 46/93, IV.H7.24, L. H7004 Composition: chert. Color: 5YR 5/1 “gray.” Dimensions: H. 7.2, D. 6.6 cm. Condition: good.

Plate 11

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Plates

12:1. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.G7.63/D no. 1, L. G7018.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 4/4 “reddish brown”; few small lime, few medium ceramic; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 4/0 “dark gray”; (Ext.) 5YR 4/1 “dark reddish gray” slip, below 5YR 5/4 “reddish brown” wash. Sherd Count: 18. Weight (g): 2834. 12:2. Storage Jar (Class 11) Halif 42/92, IV.G7.4 no. 19, L. G7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; some very small sand: no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) 10YR 8/2 “white” slip. Sherd Count: 59. Weight (g): 3090. 12:3. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.G7/8.68 no. 1, L. G7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; some very small to medium sand; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) 10R 5/4 “weak red,” slipped below handles. Sherd Count: 67. Weight (g): 8051. 12:4. Krater (Class 62) Halif 46/93, IV.G7.61/B no. 1, L. G7018.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 10R 6/6 “light red”; many small lime, few small sand, few small wadi gravel; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 6/6 “light red” burnish to rim; (Ext.) 2.5YR 6/6 “light red.” Sherd Count: 4. Weight (g): 957.

12:5. Bowl (Class 52) Halif 46/93, IV.G7.65 no. 285, L. G7005 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/4 “reddish brown”; few large and some small lime, few medium wadi gravel; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 6/6 “light red,” wheel burnish; (Ext.) 2.5YR 6/6 “light red.” Sherd Count: 3. Weight (g): 191. 12:6. Pithos (Class 8) Halif 46/93, IV.G7.45 no. 1, L. G7016.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; few medium lime, some very small to small sand, some medium to large wadi gravel; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 7/4 “pink”; (Ext.) as interior. Sherd Count: 43. Weight (g): 2381. 12:7. Bowl (Class 53) Halif 42/92, IV.G7.42 no.23, L. G7015 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; some very small to small lime, some very small sand, some very small to small wadi gravel; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 5/4 “reddish brown” slip, wheel burnish; (Ext.) as interior. Sherd Count: 2. Weight (g): 46.

Plate 12

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13:1. Figurine—Object no. 2564 Halif 46/93, IV.G7.65, L. G7005 Composition: ceramic. Color: white slip with sporadic 2.5 YR 5/4 “reddish brown” paint. Dimensions: H. 5.96 cm, W. 3.48 cm, Th. 2.38 cm. Condition: good; head and neck fragment. 13:2. Bead—Object no. 1985 Halif 46/92, IV.G7.25, L. G7004 Composition: agate. Color: black with white striations. Dimensions: H. 0.92 cm, D. 0.84 cm. Condition: good. 13:3. Drilled Shell—Object no. 2549 Halif 46/93, IV.G7.54, L. G7005 Composition: shell. Color: 2.5 YR 8/2 “white.” Dimensions: H. 3.5 cm, W. 2.5 cm, Th. 0.3 cm. Condition: good, fragment. 13:4. Scale Weight or Drill Pivot Brace—Object no. 2142 Halif 42/92, IV.F7.6, L. F7002 Composition: stone. Color: 5Y 3/1 “very dark gray.” Dimensions: H. 3.91 cm, W. 3.34 cm, Th. 2.83 cm. Condition: good, drilled notch. 13:5. Scale Weight—Object no. 2154 Halif 42/92, IV.F7.6, L. F7002 Composition: limestone. Color: 7.5YR 6/2 “pinkish gray.” Dimensions: H. 2.62 cm, D. 3.45 cm. Condition: good. 13:6. Disc—Object no. 2596 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.112, L. F7002 Composition: bone. Color: 5YR 7/4 “pink.” Dimensions: D. 2.0 cm, Th. 0.3 cm. Condition: good, chipped edge. 13:7. Ballista—Object no. 2518 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.84, L. F7002 Composition: chert conglomerate. Color: 7.5YR 7/0 to 6/4 “light gray to light brown.” Dimensions: H. 5.8 cm, W. 7.5 cm, Th. 4.6 cm. Condition: good.

13:8. Stamp Seal—Object no. 2128 Halif 42/92, IV.F7.5, L. F7002 Composition: paste. Color: 7.5YR 8/0 “white.” Dimensions: L. 1.73 cm, W. 1.23 cm, Th. 0.58 cm. Condition: good. 13:9. Scaraboid Bead—Object no. 2144 Halif 42/92, IV.F7.5, L. F7002 Composition: paste. Color: 2.5YR 5/0 “gray.” Dimensions: L. 1.2 cm, W. 0.85 cm, Th. 0.64 cm. Condition: good. 13:10. Bulla—Object no. 2166 Halif 42/92, IV.F7.10, L. F7002 Composition: clay. Color: 5YR 4/1 “dark gray.” Dimensions: L. 2.07 cm, W. 1.78 cm, Th. 0.74 cm. Condition: good, impression chipped on edges. 13:11. Knife/Sickle Blade—Object no. 2514 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.84, L. F7002 Composition: iron. Color: 5YR 4/4 “reddish brown.” Dimensions: L. 7.3 cm, W. 2.5 cm, Th. 0.6 cm. Condition: corroded. 13:12. Arrowhead—Object no. 2554 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.100, L. F7002 Composition: iron. Color: 5YR 4/4 “reddish brown.” Dimensions: L. 4.0 cm, W. 1.7 cm, Th. 0.7 cm. Condition: corroded tip fragment. 13:13. Stopper—Object no. 2499A Halif 43/93 IV.F7.78, L. F7002 Composition: ceramic. Color: N/A. Dimensions: D. 3.5 cm, Th. 1.1 cm. Condition: good. 13:14. Stopper—Object no. 2499B Halif 43/93 IV.F7.78, L. F7002 Composition: ceramic. Color: N/A. Dimensions: D. 3.4 cm, Th. 0.7 cm. Condition: good.

Plate 13

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Plates

14:1. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.G7.56 no. 48, L. G7007 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/8 “light red”; some small to medium lime; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 6/1 “gray”; (Ext.) 5YR 4/1 “dark gray,” 5YR 6/3 “light reddish brown” slip. Sherd Count: 103. Weight (g): 4110.

14:6. Bowl (Class 52) Halif 46/93, IV.G7.65 no. 307, L. G7005 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; some very small lime, few small wadi gravel; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste, wheel burnish; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 4. Weight (g): 88.

14:2. Storage Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.85 no. 5, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 7/8 “reddish yellow”; some very small sand, few medium sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 69. Weight (g): 2268.

14:7. Cooking Pot (Class 68B) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.96/C no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: Wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/4 “reddish brown”; some large lime; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste, char-burned; (Ext.) 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown.” Sherd Count: 51. Weight (g): 1546.

14:3. Krater (Class 11) Halif 42/92, IV.G7.46/B no. 1, L. G7018.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; few small lime; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste, wheel burnish; (Ext.) as interior, 10R 5/6 “red” slip rim to shoulder. Sherd Count: 15. Weight (g): 5528.

14:8. Juglet (Class 38) Halif 42/92, IV.G7.46/B no. 2, L. G7018.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/6 “red”; few medium lime, few medium wadi gravel; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) 2.5Y 8/2 “white” slip. Sherd Count: 1. Weight (g): 163.

14:4. Cooking Pot (Class 68B) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.96/A no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/8 “red”; many small to medium sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 5/4 “reddish brown”; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 39. Weight (g): 1380.

14:9. Bowl (Class 50) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.37 no. 22, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 7.5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; some very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 5/6 “red” slip; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 5. Weight (g): 22.

14:5. Bowl (Class 52) Halif 42/92, IV.F7.87 no. 1, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/6 “reddish brown”; some small lime, few very small ceramic; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown” to 5YR 5/2 “reddish gray,” wheel burnish; (Ext.) as interior, no burnish. Sherd Count: 15. Weight (g): 1794.

14:10. Lamp (Class 75) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.112 no. 2, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; few very small lime, few small ceramic; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) 5YR 5/6 “yellowish red” slip. Sherd Count: 4. Weight (g): 141.

Plate 14

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230

Plates

15:1. Figurine—Object no. 2729 Halif 42/92, IV.F7.14, L. F7006.P Composition: ceramic. Color: 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown” with white paint. Dimensions: L. 5/1 cm, W. 4/7 cm, Th. 2.6 cm. Condition: good; pillar figurine torso fragment. 15:2. Disc—Object no. 2195 Halif 42/92, IV.F7.15/D, L. F7006.P Composition: bone. Color: 7.5 YR 7/6 “reddish yellow.” Dimensions: D. 1.98 cm, Th. 0.28 cm. Condition: good. 15:3. Bulla—Object no. 2250 Halif 46/93 IV.F7.17, L. F7001 Composition: clay. Color: N/A. Dimensions: H. 1.6 cm, W. 1.5 cm, Th. 0.6 cm. Condition: good, quarter fragment of impression. (Material Culture no. 67003, IAA no. 1998-1508) 15:4. Pitted Stone (Crucible?)—Object no. 2193 Halif 42/92, IV.F7.12/C, L. F7006.P Composition: limestone. Color: 7.5R 8/2 “pinkish white.” Dimensions: L. 7 cm, W. 5.6 cm, Th. 4.4 cm. Condition: good.

15:5. Ground Round Stone—Object no. 2194 Halif 42/92, IV.F7.14/A, L. F7006.P Composition: chert. Color: 5YR 7/6 “reddish yellow.” Dimensions: L. 6.47 cm, W. 9.45 cm, Th. 7 cm. Condition: good. 15:6. Arrowhead—Object no. 2536 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.90, L. F7002 Composition: iron. Color: 5YR 4/4 “reddish brown.” Dimensions: L. 5.5 cm, W. 1.8 cm, Th. 0.5 cm. Condition: corroded. 15:7. Grinding Stone—Object no. 2513 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.88, L. F7002 Composition: basalt. Color: 10YR 2/2 “very dark brown.” Dimensions: L. 57.7 cm, W. 6.9 cm, Th. 4.0 cm. Condition: good.

Plate 15

231

232

Plates

16:1. Amphoriskos (Class 31) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.112 no. 1, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/6 “reddish yellow”; few small to medium lime, some very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 5/8 “red”; (Ext.) as interior, 5YR 4/2 “dark reddish gray” paint. Sherd Count: 36. Weight (g): 521. 16:2. Pithos (Class 7) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.46/C no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; some medium to large lime, some medium wadi gravel, very few medium crystal; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 6/4 “light brown”; (Ext.) 2.5YR 5/6 “red” paint. Sherd Count: 51. Weight (g): 2239.

16:3. Pithos (Class 7) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.15/A no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/4 “light brown”; few medium lime, few very small sand; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 10YR 6/3 “pale brown” to 10YR 6/4 “light yellowish brown”; (Ext.) 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow” to 5YR 7/2 “light gray.” Sherd Count: 115. Weight (g): 7541. 16:4. Pithos (Class 7) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.95/A no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; few small lime and wadi gravel, some very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 56. Weight (g): 10,092.

Plate 16

233

234

Plates

17:1. Hammer Stone or Ballista—Object no. 2383 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.46/B, L. F7006.P Composition: chert. Color: 5YR 7/1 “light gray.” Dimensions: D. 5.8 to 6.3 cm. Condition: good. 17:2. Hammer Stone or Ballista—Object no. 2265 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.20, L. F7006.P Composition: chert conglomerate. Color: 5YR 7/1 “light gray.” Dimensions: D. 6.2 to 6.6 cm. Condition: good. 17:3. Hammer Stone or Ballista—Object no. 2384 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.47/A, L. F7006.P Composition: chert. Color: 5YR 7/2 “pinkish gray.” Dimensions: D. 5.5 cm. Condition: good. 17:4. Hammer Stone or Ballista—Material Culture no. 67557 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.81, L. F7002 Composition: limestone. Color: 5YR 7/2 “pinkish gray.” Dimensions: L. 5.8, D. 5.6 cm. Condition: good.

17:5. Arrowhead—Object no. 2419 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.52, L. F7006.P Composition: iron. Color: 5YR 4/4 “reddish brown.” Dimensions: L. 3.7 cm, W. 1.8 cm, Th. 0.7 cm. Condition: corroded tip. 17:6. Arrowhead—Object no. 2292 Halif 46/93, IV.F7.31, L. F7002 Composition: iron. Color: 5YR 6/3 “light reddish brown.” Dimensions: L. 7.4 cm, W. 1.6 cm, Th. 0.5 cm. Condition: corroded. 17:7. Nail or Rod—Object no. 2465 Halif 43/93, IV.F7.69, L. F7006.1 Composition: iron. Color: 5YR 6/3 “light reddish brown.” Dimensions: L. 14.2 cm, Th. 1 cm. Condition: corroded, in several fragments.

Plate 17

235

236

Plates

18:1. Storage Jar (Class 11) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.88 no. 1, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 5/6 “red”; very few small lime, some very small sand; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) 2.5YR 7/2 “light gray” slip. Sherd Count: 79. Weight (g): 4196. 18:2. Storage Jar (Class 11) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.12/D no. 1, L. F7006.1 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; few small to large lime, some very small sand; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) 7.5YR 7/3 “pink” slip, shaved or wiped on bottom half. Sherd Count: 50. Weight (g): 5613. 18:3. Storage Jar (Class 11) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.37 no. 1, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; few small lime, some small sand, some medium ceramic; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow,” 10YR 7/3 “very pale brown” slip. Sherd Count: 82. Weight (g): 5953. 18:4. Storage Jar (Class 19) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.37 no. 2, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 7/4 “pink”; few small to medium lime, few very small sand, few small to medium wadi gravel, few small to medium organics; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 10YR 7/3 “very pale brown”; (Ext.) 7.5YR 6/4 “light brown.” Sherd Count: 110. Weight (g): 7314.

18:5. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.46/A no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; few small lime, some medium ceramic; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 5/1 “gray”; (Ext.) 2.5YR 5/3 “reddish brown” slip top half, bottom half 5YR 4/2 “dark reddish gray.” Sherd Count: 130. Weight (g): 7940. 18:6. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.46/B no. 2, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; few small lime, some small ceramic; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 6/3 “light brown”; (Ext.) 5YR 5/3 “reddish brown.” Sherd Count: 102. Weight (g): 10,840.

Plate 18

237

238

Plates

19:1. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 42/92, IV.F7.15/C no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown”; some small, few medium to large lime, few very small sand; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 5/1 “gray”; (Ext.) 2.5YR 6/4 “light reddish gray” slip. Sherd Count: 195. Weight (g): 5670.

19:4. Storage Jar (Class 19) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.78 no. 1, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 10YR 3/2 “very dark grayish brown”; few small to medium lime, few very small sand, few small to medium ceramic; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 10YR 7/4 “very pale brown”; (Ext.) 10YR 6/2 “light brownish gray.” Sherd Count: 114. Weight (g): 2665.

19:2. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.46/A no. 2, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/8 “light red”; few small to medium lime, few very small sand; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 7/1 “light gray”; (Ext.) 2.5YR 5/6 “red.” Sherd Count: 132. Weight (g): 8306.

19:5. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.93/C no. 7, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/8 “light red”; some small to large lime, few small to medium wadi gravel; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 7/4 “pink”; (Ext.) 2.5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown,” 2.5YR 4/2 “weak red” slip below handles. Sherd Count: 49. Weight (g): 2267.

19:3. Storage Jar (Class 19) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.78 no. 3, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 7.5YR 5/2 “brown”; few small lime, few very small sand, few small wadi gravel; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 8/2 “pinkish white”; (Ext.) 10YR 6/1 “gray.” Sherd Count: 124. Weight (g): 3941.

19:6. Lmlk Jar (Class 4) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.47/D no. 4, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/8 “yellowish red”; some small to medium, few large lime, few very small sand; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; (Ext.) 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown.” Sherd Count: 129. Weight (g): 4536.

Plate 19

239

240

Plates

20:1. Funnel (Class 81A) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.47/D no. 2, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; few small lime; gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 22. Weight (g): 478.

20:7. Bowl (Class 48) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.46/D no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; few very small sand; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 10R 5/6 “red” slip, wheel burnish; (Ext.) as interior, no burnish. Sherd Count: 14. Weight (g): 74.

20:2. Strainer (Class 80A) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.47/D no. 1A, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; few small lime, few small to medium ceramic; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste and 7.5YR 6/3 “brown”; (Ext.) as paste and 2.5YR 5/4 “reddish brown.” Sherd Count: 22. Weight (g): 695.

20:8. Lamp (Class 75) Halif 42/92, IV.F7.12/B no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 10YR 7/3 “very pale brown”; few small to medium lime; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 1. Weight (g): 245.

20:3. Jug (Class 21) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.69 no. 1, L. F7006.1 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; some very small to medium lime; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 7.5YR 7/2 “pinkish gray”; (Ext.) as paste, 7.5YR 7/3 “pink” slip. Sherd Count: 18. Weight (g): 786.

20:9. Jug (Class 23) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.83 no. 1, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 10YR 5/4 “yellowish brown”; few small to large lime, few very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 10YR 7/3 “very pale brown”; (Ext.) as paste, 10YR 7/2 “light gray” slip. Sherd Count: 5. Weight (g): 283.

20:4. Bowl (Class 52) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.37 no. 9, L. F7002 Technique: Wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/4 “reddish brown”; few medium to large lime, few medium to large ceramic; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 5/6 “yellowish red”; (Ext.) 7.5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown.” Sherd Count: 14. Weight (g): 855

20:10. Jug (Class 21) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.46/A no. 3, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 5/4 “reddish brown”; few small lime, some very small sand; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 5YR 6/2 “pinkish gray”; (Ext.) 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow” self slip. Sherd Count: 76. Weight (g): 1155.

20:5. Bowl (Class 52) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.40 no. 1, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; some small lime, very few small ceramic; light gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) 2.5YR 5/4 “reddish brown,” 10R 5/6 “red” slip, wheel burnish; (Ext.) 5YR 6/4 “light reddish brown,” 10R 5/6 “red” slip. Sherd Count: 1. Weight (g): 96.

20:11. Lamp (Class 75) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.37 no. 10, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 5YR 6/6 “reddish yellow”; few small to medium lime, few to some medium ceramic; dark gray core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 1. Weight (g): 188.

20:6. Bowl (Class 50) Halif 42/92, IV.F7.15/B no. 1, L. F7006.P Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 6/6 “light red”; some small to large lime, some very small sand, few small to medium wadi gravel; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste, wheel burnish; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 9. Weight (g): 221.

20:12. Cooking Jar (Class 71C) Halif 46/93, IV.F7.47/B no. 1, L. F7002 Technique: wheelmade. Paste: 2.5YR 4/6 “red”; few small lime, few small ceramic; no core; hard. Surface: (Int.) as paste; (Ext.) as paste. Sherd Count: 13. Weight (g): 190.

Plate 20

241

References Abel, F.-M. 1938 Géographie de la Palestine. Vol. 2. Paris: Gabalda. Ackerman, S. 1992 Under Every Green Tree: Popular Religion in Sixth-Century Judah. Harvard Semitic Monograph 46. Atlanta: Scholars Press. 2003 At Home with the Goddess. Pp. 455–68 in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors, from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Albright, W. F. Adams, R. McC. 1965 Land behind Baghdad. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1966 The Evolution of Urban Society: Early Mesopotamia and Pre-Hispanic Mexico. Chicago: Aldine. 1981 Heartland of Cities. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Adams, R. McC., and Nissen, H. J. 1972 The Uruk Countryside: The Natural Setting of Urban Societies. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Adams, W. H. 1976 Silcott, Washington: Ethnoarchaeology of a Rural American Community. Ph.D. dissertation, Washington State University. Agenbroad, L. D. 1978 Cultural Implications from the Distributional Analysis of a Lithic Site, San Pedro Valley, Arizona. Pp. 55–71 in Discovering Past Behavior: Experiments in the Archaeology of the American Southwest, ed. P. Grebinger. New York: Gordon and Breach. 1982 Geology and Lithic Resources of the Grasshopper Area. Pp. 42–45 in Multidisciplinary Research at Grasshopper Pueblo, Arizona, ed. W. A. Longacre, S. J. Holbrook, and M. W. Graves. Anthropological Paper 40. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Aharoni, M. 1993 Arad: The Israelite Citadels. Pp. 82–87 in vol. 1 of The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Carta. Aharoni, Y. 1967 The Land of the Bible. Philadelphia: Westminster. 1973 Beer Sheva I, ed. Y. Aharoni. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press. 1975 Lachish V: The Sanctuary and Residency. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press. 1976 The Land of the Bible. London: Burns and Oates. 1978 The Archaeology of the Land of Israel. Philadelphia: Westminster. A˙ituv, S. 2006 Review of Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel by William G. Dever. Biblical Archaeology Review 32/5: 62–63. Ahlström, G. W. 1984 An Archaeological Picture of Iron Age Religions in Ancient Palestine. Studia Orientalia 55/3: 117–45. 1991 The Origin of Israel in Palestine. Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 2: 19–34.

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