Material, Method and Meaning: Papers in Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology in Honor of Ilan Sharon (Agypten und Altes Testament, 110) 9783963271762, 3963271760

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Ägypten und altes TestamenT 110 ÄAT 110 Material, Method, and Meaning

Material, Method, and Meaning Papers in Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology in Honor of Ilan Sharon

www.zaphon.de

Edited by Uri Davidovich, Naama Yahalom-Mack, and Sveta Мatskevich Zaphon

AeAT-110-FS-Sharon-Cover.indd 1

30.05.2022 18:12:35

Material, Method, and Meaning Papers in Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology in Honor of Ilan Sharon

Edited by Uri Davidovich, Naama Yahalom-Mack, and Sveta Мatskevich

ÄGYPTEN UND ALTES TESTAMENT Studien zu Geschichte, Kultur und Religion Ägyptens und des Alten Testaments

Band 110

Gegründet von Manfred Görg Herausgegeben von Stefan Jakob Wimmer und Wolfgang Zwickel

Material, Method, and Meaning Papers in Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology in Honor of Ilan Sharon

Edited by Uri Davidovich, Naama Yahalom-Mack, and Sveta Мatskevich

Zaphon Münster 2022

Illustration on the cover: Tel Dor and the southern lagoon, looking northwest. Photograph by Howard Karesh, courtesy of the Tel Dor Project.

Ägypten und Altes Testament, Band 110 Material, Method, and Meaning: Papers in Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology in Honor of Ilan Sharon Edited by Uri Davidovich, Naama Yahalom-Mack, and Sveta Мatskevich

© 2022 Zaphon, Enkingweg 36, Münster (www.zaphon.de) All rights reserved. Printed in Germany. Printed on acid-free paper. ISBN 978-3-96327-176-2 (book) ISBN 978-3-96327-177-9 (e-book) ISSN 0720-9061

Ilan Sharon

Contents List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii Uri Davidovich, Naama Yahalom-Mack and Sveta Мatskevich

List of Publications - Ilan Sharon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xix

Professor Ilan Sharon, A Comprehensively Biased Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Ayelet Gilboa

Part I: Archaeological Methods and Epistemologies Archaeological Cultures, Fabricated Ethnicities and DNA Research: “Minoans” and “Mycenaeans” as Case Examples. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Joseph Maran

Redundancy, Plurality, and the Digital Archaeological Record. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Raphael Greenberg

Archaeological Predictive Modeling for the Mountainous Upper Galilee. . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Ido Wachtel

Disentangling a Confusion of Tongues—On Chronological Schemes, Terminologies, and Radiocarbon Dating in the Eastern Mediterranean . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 Katharina Streit

Applications of Drone Photogrammetry at Tel Dor, Israel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Anthony T. Tamberino and Thomas E. Levy

The Archaeological Documentation System DANA (Digital Archaeology and National Archives): A View from the Field. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 Stefan Münger and Liat Weinblum

Part II: Dor The Reoccupation of Southern Phoenicia in the Persian Period: Rethinking the Evidence. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 S. Rebecca Martin and Yiftah Shalev

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Contents

Animal Rituals from the Persian Period at Tel Dor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Lidar Sapir-Hen and Yiftah Shalev

In Search of “Ptolemaic” Dor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 Barak Monnickendam-Givon

A Hellenistic Glass Pendant of a Child Deity (Harpokrates) from Tel Dor. . . . . . . . . . . 147 Jessica L. Nitschke

A Late Bronze Age Gold Bull Head Pendant from Tel Dor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 Pnina Torn Broers

The Date of the Tel Dor Well and Its Contribution to the Study of Sea-Level Changes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 Assaf Yasur-Landau and Ehud Arkin Shalev

Part III: Phoenician Connections Between Philistia, Phoenicia, and Beyond: A View from Tell es-Safi/Gath. . . . . . . . . . . 185 Aren M. Maeir

On the Relations between Phoenicia and the Beth-Shean Valley in the Iron Age. . . . . . 195 Amihai Mazar

Phoenician Presence in the Upper Galilee during Iron Age II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213 Hayah Katz

An Iron Age IIA Phoenician Bichrome Jar from Tel Abel Beth Maacah . . . . . . . . . . . . 223 Nava Panitz-Cohen

A Clay Pendant with an Impression of a Phoenician Seagoing Ship from Tel Abel Beth Maacah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241 Baruch Brandl and Naama Yahalom-Mack

Part IV: Iron Age History and Archaeology The Last Four-Room House in Israel: Stratum 10 at Tel Shiqmona in Context . . . . . . 251 Golan Shalvi and Ayelet Gilboa

“The iron which the king, my lord, gave to the smiths for work”: Aspects of Authority and Prestige in the City Plan of Hazor Stratum VIII. . . . . . . . . . 313 Ruhama Bonfil and Anabel Zarzecki-Peleg

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Standing on Hole-y Ground: The Storage Pits at Tell en-Naṣbeh and the Role of the State. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337 Jeffrey R. Zorn

Farewell, King Arawna: The Threshing Floor of the Ark (2 Sam. 24). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375 Raz Kletter

The Border of Gezer and the Border of Gath: Elite Control of Land in Ancient Near Eastern Cities. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 387 Yosef Garfinkel

Epilogue “When in doubt, open a new locus; when not so in doubt, Twilight-Zone it”: The Educational Legacy of Ilan Sharon—An Associative-Multidisciplinary Archaeologist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 397 Nati Kranot and Talia Neuman

Color Plates . 403

List of Contributors

Ehud Arkin Shalev has an undergraduate degree in economics and is currently a Ph.D. candidate in Maritime Civilizations at the University of Haifa. Experienced in both terrestrial and underwater archaeology, his research interests include Mediterranean history and maritime socioeconomic interactions. He has published papers on the long-term environmental and technological trajectories of ancient ports, anchorages, and coastal settlement systems. His current focus is on regional diversity in the coastal and maritime economies of Late Antiquity. Ruhama Bonfil has her M.A. from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Her research focuses on Bronze and Iron Age architecture in the Jezreel Valley and the Hazor region in northern Israel, questions of urban planning, and cult and ceremonial practices in the Bronze Age, as well as Middle and Late Bronze Age pottery. She has worked as field surveyor at Hazor (1990–2005), analyzing and publishing the architectural complex of its ceremonial palace, and also published Yigael Yadin’s 1968 excavations in Hazor Area A. She participated in the excavations and publication of Tel Qashish and worked as surveyor at Tel Abel Beth Maacah. Presently, she serves as head of the Graphic Documentation Unit at the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Baruch Brandl is retired from the Israel Antiquities Authority where he served in various capacities, including the director of the State Collections Storerooms, the Rockefeller Scientific Library and the Scientific Archives. He specializes in Near Eastern cultures, with a focus on glyptics, among many other aspects of material culture, and is the author of numerous scholarly articles. Yosef Garfinkel is Yigael Yadin Professor of Archaeology of the Land of Israel at the Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. For many years his research focused on the early (Neolithic and Chalcolithic) village communities of the Near East. He conducted large-scale excavations in the Jordan Valley, at Sha’ar Hagolan and Tel Tsaf, and published extensively on the art, cult and dance of this era. His studies on prehistoric dance opened new horizons for understanding the early history of this neglected topic. Since 2007 his field work has shifted to the Iron Age, focusing on the emergence of the Kingdom of Judah, and he excavated at Khirbet Qeiyafa, Tel Lachish and Khirbet al-Ra‘i. Ayelet Gilboa is a professor of archaeology in the Department of Archaeology of the University of Haifa. She served as Chair of the Department between 2007–2009 and Head of the Zinman Institute of Archaeology from 2018–2020. She co-directs the Tel Dor Excavations and Publication Project (http://dor.huji.ac.il/) and directs the Shiqmona Publication project (Josheph Elgavish Excavations). Her main interests are crossMediterranean inter-connections, Phoenicians, Sea Peoples, Iron Age ceramics, Iron Age chronology, methodology of archaeological site reports, and the symbolic properties of material culture. She published extensively on these issues and has been awarded several prestigious grants. Raphael Greenberg studied and practiced archaeology in the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Israel Antiquities Authority, and has taught archaeology at Tel Aviv University since 1998. He has excavated and published widely, with a focus on the Bronze and Iron Ages and on the contemporary context of archaeology in Israel. Currently, he directs the Tel Bet Yerah Excavation and Research Project and is codirector of the Qadas Village Project. His most-recent books include The Archaeology of the Bronze Age Levant (Cambridge, 2019) and, with Yannis Hamilakis, Archaeology, Nation and Race: Confronting the Past, Decolonizing the Future (Cambridge 2022). Hayah Katz is a senior lecturer of Iron Age archaeology at the Department of Land of Israel Studies in Kinneret College on the Sea of Galilee. She is director of the Meron Ridges Project and the Tel Rosh excavations, focusing on a comprehensive study of settlement processes in the Upper Galilee region during the first millennium BCE. Her main fields of expertise are Iron Age ceramics and the economy and society of ancient Israel. Another research focus is the historiography of archaeological research in the Land of Israel from the 1920s until modern times. xi

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Raz Kletter completed his Ph.D. on material culture and borders of Judah. Following a post-doctoral year at Oxford, UK, he worked in the Israel Antiquities Authority as Deputy of Finds Department, Senior Archaeologist, and Head of the Scientific Processing Unit. He is currently Docent for Near-Eastern Archaeology and a member of the center of Excellence ANEE at Helsinki University, as well as a visiting professor at the Institute of History, University of Warsaw. His main fields are Near Eastern Archaeology, religion and cult, ancient economy, heritage and ethics, and history of archaeology. He has published extensively, including The Judean Pillar Figurines and the Archaeology of Asherah (1996); Economic Keystones (1998); Just Past? The Making of Israeli Archaeology (2006) and Archaeology, Heritage and Ethics in the Western Wall Plaza, Jerusalem: Darkness at the End of the Tunnel (2019). Nati Kranot is an educator and currently serves as the principal and director of the Hadera Agricultural Farm School. During most of the 1990s, as an archaeology student and graduate, he was an area supervisor in the Tel Dor Excavation Project. He is currently finishing his Ph.D. in geography, focusing on experiential outdoor learning and the teachers’ role in it. Thomas E. Levy is a Distinguished Professor of Anthropology and is the inaugural holder of the Norma Kershaw Chair in the Archaeology of Ancient Israel and Neighboring Lands at the University of California in San Diego (UCSD). A fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Levy is a Levantine field archaeologist with interests in how early mining and metallurgy influenced social evolution. He recently received an honorary doctorate from Charles University in the Czech Republic and is an adjunct professor at the University of Cyprus. From 2016, Tom is co–director of the new Scripps Center for Marine Archaeology at UCSD and has carried out underwater archaeology projects in Greece and Israel. Aren M. Maeir is a professor of archaeology and head of the Institute of Archaeology at the Martin (Szusz) Department of Land of Israel Studies and Archaeology at Bar-Ilan University, Ramat-Gan, Israel. He has directed the Tell es-Safi/Gath Archaeological Project (gath.wordpress.com) for 25 years, co-directs the Minerva Center for the Relations between Israel and Aram in Biblical Times (RIAB; aramisrael.org), is director of the Ingeborg Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies at Bar-Ilan University, and co-edits the Israel Exploration Journal. Joseph Maran is professor for pre- and protohistory at Heidelberg University. His research interests are related to issues of transculturality and changing lifeworlds, of the nexus between architecture and social practice as well as of material culture and social memory in Copper and Bronze Age societies at the Mediterranean interface between Europe and Asia. S. Rebecca (Becky)  Martin  is an associate professor at Boston University.  She studies Greek and Phoenician art history and archaeology, and is a co-director of the Tel Dor excavations. Her recent books are The Art of Contact: Comparative Approaches to Greek and Phoenician Art (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017) and The Tiny and the Fragmented: Miniature, Broken, or Otherwise “Incomplete” Objects in the Ancient World (co-edited with Stephanie Langin-Hooper; OUP, 2018). She is currently working on Dor reports and a study of the Greek herm. Amihai Mazar is professor emeritus at the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Main fields of research: The archaeology of the Levant in the Bronze and Iron Ages, and the relationship between archaeology and Old Testament history. Directed large-scale archaeological excavations at Tell Qasile (1973–1974, 1982–1988), Tel Batash (biblical Timnah) (1977–1989), Tel Beth Shean (1989–1996), and Tel Reḥov (1997–2012), as well as a number of smaller-scale projects. Author and editor of numerous publications, including Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, and fourteen volumes of final archaeological field reports. Served as editor of the Hebrew journal Qadmoniot (1994–1995) and co-editor of the Israel Exploration Journal (2010–2015). Among the positions held are: Chairman of the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem (1995–1998), member of the Council of the Israel Antiquities Authority (2000–2005), and member of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities (from 2012). Awards: Israel Museum Schimmel Prize (2007), Israel Prize for Research in Archaeology (2009), and Irene Sala best scholarly book in archaeology (2014).

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Barak Monnickendam-Givon currently works at the Israel Antiquity Authority where he is co-directing the Western Wall plaza excavations in Jerusalem, Israel. Both his M.A. (2012) and Ph.D. (2018), supervised by Professor Ilan Sharon at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, handled the pottery assemblages of Tel Dor and southern Phoenicia during the Classical periods. In 2014–15 he was a visiting scholar in the Department of the History of Art and Architecture at Boston University. He worked as a pottery specialist for the Tel Dor Archaeological Project and co-directed the Hebrew University of Jerusalem-affiliated Akko railway station salvage excavation. Stefan Münger (Ph.D., University of Bern) is an Associate Professor for the Archaeology of Ancient Israel and its Neighboring Cultures at the Institute of Jewish Studies, University of Bern (Switzerland). Among his research interests are the material culture of the Southern Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages, glyptic art of the Ancient Near East, and digital archaeology. Since 2002 he co-directs the international Kinneret Regional Project (www.kinneret-excavations) with its long-term excavations of the Bronze and Iron Age cities at Tel Kinrot and the Roman-Byzantine synagogue at Ḥorvat Kur. Talia (Goldman) Neuman finished her B.A., M.A., and a major part of her Ph.D. studies at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem under the supervision of Ilan Sharon. She served as Ilan’s research assistant, both in the Tel Dor office and by fulfilling related assignments during field work and publication seasons held at the University of Washington in Seattle, Washington, as well as in Israel. She currently works with nonverbal, autistic adults and finds it even more rewarding than archaeological research because of the tangible feedback. Jessica L. Nitschke is a research associate in the Department of Ancient Studies at Stellenbosch University. Her research focuses on the archaeology of the eastern Mediterranean after the Iron Age, and she has worked at sites such as Tel Dor (Israel) and Tell Timai (Egypt). Her recent book is Postcolonialism, Heritage, and the Built Environment: New Approaches to Architecture in Archaeology  (co-edited with Marta Lorenzon; Springer 2020). She is currently working on a database of ancient artifacts in South African collections and a study on the Alexander Sarcophagus.   Nava Panitz-Cohen has her Ph.D. from the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and works as research assistant to Prof. Amihai Mazar and as editor of the Qedem Monograph Series of the Institute. She has worked as field supervisor at Tel Batash, Tel Beth-Shean and Tel Reḥov, and participated in the publication of these excavations. Currently she is co-director of excavations at Tel Abel Beth-Maacah (www.abel-beth-maacah.org) in northern Israel, together with Naama Yahalom-Mack and Robert Mullins. Her research interests include Bronze and Iron Age ceramics, ceramic technology, household archaeology, and experimental archaeology. Lidar Sapir-Hen is a senior lecturer in the Department of Archaeology and Ancient Near Eastern Cultures and Curator of Archaeozoological Collections of the Steinhardt Museum of Natural History, Tel Aviv University. Specializing in the study of animal remains, Lidar’s main research interests include the interaction between humans and animals in the past, social complexity of ancient populations, and identity and cultural aspects as reflected in food production and consumption. Lidar is currently involved with several excavations that date from the early Neolithic period through Late Antiquity. Yiftah Shalev is a research archaeologist at the Israel Antiquities Authority. Currently he is co-directing the renewed excavations at Givati Parking Lot, at the City of David, Jerusalem. His main research interests include ancient economy and trade networks, especially during the Persian and Hellenistic periods. He was a staff member at the Tel Dor Excavation Project for 15 years, first as an area supervisor and later as the site’s senior field archaeologist. Golan Shalvi is a Ph.D. candidate in the Deptartment of Archeology at the University of Haifa, and a research associate at the Zinman Institute of Archaeology. His M.A. research centered on all aspects of the Late Bronze Age at Tel Esur in the Sharon Plain, on the ancient Via Maris. His Ph.D. deals with Shiqmona in the Iron Age, focusing mainly on the function of this site as a purple-dye ‘factory’ and its significance for inter-regional networks of exchange. Shalvi has participated in many excavations as supervisor, and has

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conducted large-scale stratigraphic and ceramic-typology analysis. His research entails various aspects of pottery, such as ceramic petrography and microbeam methods.

Katharina Streit studied cultural anthropology, prehistory and Near Eastern archaeology at the University of Freiburg, the University of Oxford and at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. She is currently a researcher at the Austrian Academy of Sciences. From 2013 to 2016, Katharina directed excavations at the NeolithicChalcolithic site of Ein el-Jarba (Israel), and since 2017, she has been co-directing the Austrian Expedition to Lachish, together with Felix Höflmayer. Anthony T. Tamberino is an archaeologist who is currently a Ph.D. student in the Department of Anthropology at the University of California in San Diego (UCSD). He holds a B.A. and M.A. in anthropology, with a certificate in Remote Sensing and Geographic Information Science and an AAS degree in Integrated Avionic Systems. Anthony’s research focuses on the applications of digital techniques in archaeology to help understand the relationship between environmental variability and changes in human culture through time. His research is conducted with UCSD Department of Anthropology, the Center for Cyber-Archaeology and Sustainability within the Qualcomm Institute, and Scripps Center for Marine Archaeology in association with the Scripps Institution of Oceanography. Pnina Torn Broers holds a B.A. in Ancient Near Eastern studies from Leiden University, and an M.A. in Biblical Archaeology from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, where she currently is a Ph.D. candidate. She researches the Neo-Assyrian period at Tel Dor and in Phoenicia, under supervision of Professor llan Sharon. She is a member of the Tel Dor Excavation Project and participated in several other excavation projects in Israel. Ido Wachtel (Ph.D. in Archaeology, 2018, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem) is a post-doctoral research fellow at The Martin Buber Society of Fellows in the Humanities and Social Sciences at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. He studies ancient and sub-contemporary settlement patterns in the southern Levant using high resolution archaeological surveys and advanced statistical modelling. Liat Weinblum (M.A. Computer Science, Bar Ilan University) is an IT Project Manager at the Archaeological Division of the Israel Antiquities Authority. She specializes in cultural-heritage-related projects, among which are the websites of the National Treasures (www.antiquities.org.il/t/), the Survey of Israel (survey.antiquities. org.il) and the online-journals Hadashot-Arkheologiyot (www.hadashot-esi.org.il) and ‘Atiqot (www.atiqot. org.il). She is also the steering force for the Horizon 2020 AriadnePlus (ariadne-infrastructure.eu/), E-RIHS (European Research Infrastructure for Heritage Science) and IPERIONHS projects funded by the European Commission, as well as a member of the SEADDA COST Action. Naama Yahalom-Mack is a professor of Bronze and Iron Age archaeology at the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and is head of the Institute’s Laboratory for Archaeological Materials and Ancient Technologies. She is currently co-director of the Tel Abel Beth Maacah excavations (www.abelbeth-maacah.org) in the Hula Valley. Her research focuses on archaeometallurgy and on the provenancing of archaeological materials as a proxy for reconstructing ancient trade and economic interaction. Assaf Yasur-Landau is professor of Mediterranean Archaeology in the Department of Maritime Civilizations, the head of the Recanati Institute of Maritme Studies, and the founder of the laboratory for Coastal Archaeology and Underwater Survey at the University of Haifa. His research interests include the study of mobility, ancient economy, and human adaptation in the Mediterranean during the Bronze and Iron Ages. Currently he is co-director of the excavations of the Canaanite palace at Tel Kabri and of the underwater excavations at Tel Dor. He is the author of ca. 70 articles and five books and edited volumes, including The Philistines and Aegean Migration in the Late Bronze Age (Cambridge University Press 2010). Anabel Zarzecki-Peleg has her Ph.D. from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Her research focuses on Late Bronze and Iron Age architecture, pottery, historical processes and transitional periods, as expressed in urban trajectories and planning in northern Israel. She served as field archaeologist at Yoqne`am (1981–1988) and at Hazor (1989–2001). Among her research projects, she re-analyzed the stratigraphic and architectural results reported by the Oriental Institute of Chicago excavation at Megiddo, and incorporated them into her

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dissertation and her publication of the final excavation report of the Yigal Yadin expedition to Megiddo. She is also one of the authors of the final excavation report on the Iron Age and the Persian periods at Yoqne`am.

Jeffrey R. Zorn received his Ph.D. from the University of California, Berkeley in 1993. He is an Adjunct Associate Professor in the Department of Near Eastern Studies at Cornell University where for twenty years he has taught classes on the history, archaeology, and culture of ancient Israel. His archaeological work focuses on the sites of Tel Dor and Tell en-Naṣbeh and he has been a member of the Dor staff since 1985. He has made numerous contributions toward elucidating the nature of the sixth century BCE (the Babylonian period) in Judah, along with works dealing with demography, warfare, fortifications, town planning, seals, ceramics, and burial practices. He is a co-editor of the Tel Dor site reports related to Area G and of a volume of studies devoted to Tell en-Naṣbeh.

Preface

Uri Davidovich, Naama Yahalom-Mack and Sveta Мatskevich

This volume is a collection of studies dedicated to Prof. Ilan Sharon, The Nahman Avigad Professor of Biblical Archaeology at the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and the longtime co-director of the Tel Dor Archaeological Project. Ilan has been a pillar of the Institute of Archeology for more than four decades, and his recent retirement is an excellent opportunity to celebrate his contribution to Israeli and world archaeology. The volume is divided into four sections reflecting the main avenues in Ilan’s scholarly career. The first section contains six articles that discuss a wide range of methodological, epistemological and ethical themes related to archaeological field practices, analyses and interpretations. Methodology and theory of stratigraphic and architectural analysis, computational spatial archaeology, documentation, data collection and data science, statistical analysis, and the creation of knowledge through the archaeological record, are all topics in which Ilan had a significant, and sometimes groundbreaking, influence over the scholarly community, especially in Israel. These articles serve as testimony to the open-mindedness and diversity of research that characterize Ilan’s scientific path, as reflected also in the range of courses he taught at the Institute and in the educational methods he applied over the years. The second section of the volume is dedicated to Tel Dor, the archeological site so identified with Ilan, and which served as his playground throughout his academic biography, in collaboration with numerous partners who were his teachers, colleagues and students. These partners are responsible for the six chapters included in this section, which deal with a wide range of finds, themes and insights that accumulated over the many years of work at Dor, and span a wide chronological range, from the Late Bronze Age to the Middle Ages. Most of the articles are devoted to the first millennium BCE, the timespan for which Tel Dor serves as one of the key sites in studying the cultural trajectory of the Levantine coast and intercultural contacts in the Eastern Mediterranean basin. These contacts, which form a major module in the scholarship of the Phoenician world, constitute the subject of the third part of the volume, devoted to the cultural connections between the coastal region of southern Phoenicia, and Dor specifically, and inland regions of the Levant. Obviously, the articles in this section discuss, among other things, the fundamental definitions of “Phoenicia” and “Phoenicians”, concepts that have occupied Ilan and his partners during the many years of research at Dor. The development of research tools, especially provenance studies, coupled with a refinement of conceptual and theoretical research frameworks, make it possible more than ever to identify the origin and distribution mechanisms of artifacts, and the role of coastal sites in the Levant as agents of cultural transmission and change. The fourth and final part of the volume is devoted to studies in the archeology and history of the Iron Age Levant. This period is prominent in Ilan’s academic vocation, and the range of studies in this section concerns a variety of site-formation, stratigraphic, architectural, chronological, and historical issues at key Iron Age sites in the southern Levant. Ilan, as is clear to all those who know him well, has never been just an archaeologist. And this book could not be complete without first-hand testimonies to the friend, teacher, bon vivant and gregarious person he is. To these sides of Ilan are dedicated the introduction to the book, written by Ayelet Gilboa, his longtime partner and co-director of the Tel Dor excavations, and the epilogue ending the volume, written by staff members of the Dor expedition as a tribute marinated in humor, emotion and memories. The Tel Dor Archaeological Project, a melting pot in which thousands of students and volunteers from around the world have gone through decades of dust, sweat and sea salt, are a typical, and at the same time unique, microcosm of Israeli biblical archaeology, an arena in which Ilan has played such an important role in recent decades. The production of such a volume is, evidently, a collective endeavor, and we wish to thank all those who were involved in its successful completion. Our gratitude is extended to the authors of the essays included in this volume, not only for their willingness to contribute, but for their patience and responsiveness during the prolonged editorial process. Special thanks to Ayelet Gilboa for her cordial support and good advice in various

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junctions and for writing the introduction, and to the members of the Dor excavation team who participated in writing the epilogue and contributed to the success of Ilan’s academic path. Nava Panitz-Cohen served as the central axis of the production stages of the manuscript, and her contribution as author, language and academic editor was crucial in giving the book its current form; the skill, dedication and excellence that characterize her work deserve all praise. Our thanks to the Institute of Archeology at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Ilan’s and our academic home, for the financial assistance granted through the Amiran and Berman Research Funds. Finally, we would like to express our deep appreciation to the editors of Ägypten und Altes Testament series at Zaphon Verlag, Prof. Dr. Stefan Wimmer and Prof. Dr. Wolfgang Zwickel, for their willingness to publish this festschrift in the series, and to Dr. Kai Metzler for accompanying us along the way and for the final production of the book. We hope that this volume will be a modest token of our great respect for Ilan’s scholarship, appreciation for his achievements and friendship, and gratitude for promoting young scholars and students throughout his long and rich career.

List of Publications - Ilan Sharon

M.A. Thesis 1989

Methods for Interpreting Compositional Analyses of Ceramics, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Doctoral Dissertation

1996

Models for the Stratigraphic Interpretation of Tell Sites, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Supervised by E. Stern. Books

1995

E. Stern, J. Berg, A. Gilboa, B. Guz-Zilberstein, A. Raban, R. Rosenthal-Heginbottom, I. Sharon. Excavations at Dor – Areas A and C: Introduction and Stratigraphy. Qedem Reports 1. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem.



E. Stern, J. Berg, A. Gilboa, B. Guz-Zilberstein, A. Raban, R. Rosenthal-Heginbottom, I. Sharon. Excavations at Dor – Areas A and C: The Finds. Qedem Reports 2. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

2018

A. Gilboa, I. Sharon, J.R. Zorn, S. Matskevich. Excavations at Dor, Final Report, Volume IIA: Area G, The Late Bronze and Iron Ages: Synthesis, Architecture and Stratigraphy. Qedem Reports 10. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. A. Gilboa, I. Sharon, J.R. Zorn, S. Matskevich. Excavations at Dor, Final Report, Volume IIB: Area G, The Late Bronze and Iron Ages: Pottery, Artifacts, Ecofacts and Other Studies. Qedem Reports 11. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. A. Gilboa, I. Sharon, J.R. Zorn, S. Matskevich. Excavations at Dor, Final Report, Volume IIC: Area G, The Late Bronze and Iron Ages: Pottery Plates and Index of Loci. Qedem Reports 12. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

In prep. I. Sharon, J.R. Zorn, S.R. Martin and S. Matskevich. Excavations at Dor, Final Reports Volume III, Area G: The Persian-Roman Periods, Directed by Ephraim Stern, 1986 – 2000. Qedem Reports. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Papers, Chapters in Collections and Other Publications 1983

Stern, E. and I. Sharon. “Tel Dor 1982 (Preliminary Report)”. Israel Exploration Journal 33: 117– 119.

1985

Ariel, D.T., Sharon, I. and I. Perlman. “A Group of Stamped Amphora Handles from Tel Dor”. Israel Exploration Journal 35: 135–152.

1986

Stern, E. and I. Sharon. “Tel Dor 1985”. Israel Exploration Journal 36: 101–104.

1987

Sharon, I. “Phoenician and Greek Ashlar Construction Techniques at Tel Dor, Israel”. Bulletin of the American Society for Oriental Research 267: 21–42.



Stern, E. and I. Sharon. “Tel Dor 1986 (Preliminary Report)”. Israel Exploration Journal 37: 201– 211.

1988

Sharon, I., Yellin, J. and I. Perlman. “Marked Iron Age Cooking Pots”. In A. Ben Tor et al. Tell Qiri – A Village in the Jezreel Valley. Qedem 24. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, pp. 224–235.

1989

Stern, E., Sharon, I. and A. Gilboa. “Tel Dor 1987 – Preliminary Report”. Israel Exploration Journal 39: 32–42.

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1990

Sharon, I. “A Demographic Model for the Problem of the ‘Settlement of the Israelites’”. Archeologia 2: 19–29 (Hebrew).

1991

Sharon, I. “The Fortifications of Dor and the Shift from a Syro-Palestinian Concept of Defense to a Greek Concept”. Qadmoniot 24/3–4: 105–113 (Hebrew).



Stern, E., Berg, J. and I. Sharon. “A Preliminary Report of the 1988 and 1989 Seasons at Tel Dor” Israel Exploration Journal 41: 46–61.

1992

Sharon, I. “A Note on the Tests of Significance of the Difference between the Size Distributions of Basalt and Flint Flakes”. Cahiers du Quarternaire 17.



Stern, E., Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “Tel Dor 1991 Preliminary Report”. Israel Exploration Journal 42: 34–46.

1993

Stern, E. and I. Sharon. “Tel Dor 1992 Preliminary Report”. Israel Exploration Journal 43: 126–150.

1994

Sharon, I. “Demographic Aspects of the Problem of Israelite Settlement”. In L. Hopfe (ed.). Uncovering Ancient Stones - Essays in Memory of H. Neil Richardson. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, pp. 119–134.

1995

Sharon, I. “Partial Order Scalogram Analysis of Relations – a Mathematical Approach to the Analysis of Stratigraphy”. Journal of Archaeological Science 22: 751–767.



Stern, E. and I. Sharon. “Tel Dor 1993 Preliminary Report”. Israel Exploration Journal 44: 26–36.

1996

Sharon, I. “Analysis of Homogeneity of the Distribution of Figurines in Strata 13–10”. In D.T. Ariel and A. De-Groot (eds.). Excavation at the City of David 1978 – 1985, Directed by Yigal Shiloh, Volume IV. Qedem 35. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, pp. 100–108.

1997

Sharon, I. and A. Gilboa. “Dor in the Iron I Period – A Port and Trading Emporium under Cultural and Economic Changes.” In E. Regev (ed.). New Studies on the Coastal Plain - Annual Symposium of the Department of the Study of the Land of Israel, 1997. Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University, pp. 12–33 (Hebrew).



Stern, E., Berg, J., Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and J. Zorn. “Tel Dor 1994–1995 Preliminary Report”. Israel Exploration Journal 46: 29–56.

1998

Saragusti, I., Sharon, I., Katzenelson, O. and D. Avnir. “Quantitative Analysis of the Symmetry of Artifacts: Lower Paleolithic Handaxes”. Journal of Archaeological Science 25: 817–825.



Lisk, E., Dayan, T. and I. Sharon. “Faunal Remains from Iron Age Tel Dor: The Significance of Fishing”. Proceedings of the 8th International Congress of the International Council for Archaeozoology.

1999

Sharon, I. “Stratigraphical Inference: A Methodological Study and a Mathematical Model”.In A. Faust and A. Maeir (eds.). Material Culture, Society and Ideology: New Directions in the Archaeology of the Land of Israel. Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University, pp. 129–145 (Hebrew).



Sharon, I. “Don’t Standardize: Site Reports as an Adjustable Prism for Viewing the Past”.In H. Shanks (ed.). Archaeology’s Publication Problem. Volume II. Washington DC: Biblical Archaeology Society, pp. 109–145.

2000

Stern, E., Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “Tel Dor–1996”. Excavations and Surveys in Israel 20: 30*–33*.



Stern, E., Gilboa, A., Sharon, I., Berg, J., Zorn, J.R., Mack, R., Har-Even, B., Kranot, N. and S. Tsibulsky. “Tel Dor 1997–1998”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 111: 30–37 (Hebrew); 23*–30* (English)



Stern, E., Sharon, I. Buchwald, S., Har-Even, B., Kranot, N. and A. Gilboa. “Tel Dor 1999”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 112: 29*–33*.

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2001

Sharon, I. “‘Transition Dating’ – A Heuristic Mathematical Approach to the Collation of 14C Dates from Stratified Sequences”. Radiocarbon 43: 345–354.



Sharon, I. “Philistine Bichrome Painted Pottery – Scholarly Ideology and Ceramic Typology”. In S.R. Wolff (ed.). Studies in the Archaeology of Israel & Neighboring Lands in Memory of Douglass L. Esse. The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago – Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations 59, The American Schools of Oriental Research ASOR Books 5. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, pp. 555–609.



Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “Early Iron Age Radiometric Dates from Tel Dor – Implications for Phoenicia, and Beyond”. Radiocarbon 43: 1343–1351.

2002

Berg, J.E., Zilberstein, B. and I. Sharon. “The Water Supply, Distribution and Sewage Systems at Roman Dor”. In D. Amit et al. (eds.). Ancient Aqueducts in Israel. Supplement to the Journal of Roman Archaeology 46: 155–168.

2003

Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “An Archaeological Contribution to the Early Iron Age Chronological Debate: Alternative Chronologies for Phoenicia and their Effects on the Levant, Cyprus and Greece”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 332: 7–80.

2004

Sharon, I. “The [Awful?] Truth about GIS and Archaeology”. In M. Iacovou (ed.). Archaeological Field Survey in Cyprus: Past History, Future Potentials. BSA Studies 11. London: British School in Athens, pp. 151–162.



Gilboa, A., Karasik, A., Sharon, I. and U. Smilansky. “Towards Computerized Typology and Classification of Ceramics”. Journal of Archaeological Science 31: 681–694.



Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and J. Zorn. “Dor and Iron Age Chronology: Scarabs, Ceramic Sequence and 14 C”. Tel Aviv 31: 32–59.



Gilboa, A., Karasik, A., Sharon, I. and U. Smilansky. “Typology and Classification of Ceramics Based on Curvature Analysis”. In K. Fischer-Ausserer, W. Börner, M. Goriany and L. KarlhuberVöckl (eds.). Enter the Past. The E-way into the Four Dimensions of Cultural Heritage. CAA 2003. Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology. BAR International Series 1227. Oxford: Archaeopress.

2005

Sharon, I., Gilboa, A., Boaretto, E. and A.J.T. Jull. “The Early Iron Age Dating Project: Introduction, Methodology, Progress Report and an Update on the Tel Dor Radiometric Dates”. In  T. Levy and T. Higham  (eds.). The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science. London: Equinox, pp. 65–92.



Boaretto, E., Jull, A.J.T., Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “Dating The Iron Age I/II Transition in Israel: First Intercomparison Results”. Radiocarbon 47: 39–55.



Saragusti, I., Karasik, A., Sharon, I. and U. Smilansky. “Quantitative Analysis of Shape Attributes Based on Contours and Section Profiles in Artifact Analysis”. Journal of Archaeological Science 32: 841–853.



Shahack-Gross, R., Albert, R.-M., Gilboa, A., Nagar-Hilman, O., Sharon, I. and S. Weiner. “Geoarchaeology in an Urban Context: The Uses of Space in a Phoenician Monumental Building at Tel Dor (Israel)”. Journal of Archaeological Science 32: 1417–1431.

2006

Sharon, I. and A. Zarzecki-Peleg. “Podium Structures with Lateral Access: Ploys of Authority in Royal Architecture in the Iron Age Levant”. In S. Gitin, J.E. Wright, J.P. Dessel (eds.). Confronting the Past: Archaeological and Historical Essays in Honor of W.G. Dever. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, pp. 145–167.



Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and A. Karasik. “Tel Dor – 2004”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 118.

2007

Sharon, I., Gilboa, A., Jull, A.J.T. and E. Boaretto. “Report on the First Stage of the Iron Age Dating Project: A Low Chronology for the Early Iron Age in Israel”. Radiocarbon 49: 1–46.

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Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and E. Boaretto. “14C and the Iron Age Chronological Debate: Where are We Really At? A Commentary on the Tel Rehov Radiometric Dates”. In  M. Bietak and E. Czerny (eds.). The Synchronization of Civilizations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Second Millenium B.C. Volume III. Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, pp. 149–155.



Sharon, I. “Biblical Archaeology”. In D.M. Pearsall (ed.). The Elsevier Encyclopedia of Archaeology. London: Elsevier, pp. 920–924.

Berna F., Behar, A. Shahack-Gross, R., Berg, J., Boaretto, E., Gilboa, A., Shalev, S., Sharon, I., Shilstein, S., Yahalom-Mack, N., Zorn, J.R. and S. Weiner. “Sediments Exposed to High Temperatures: Reconstructing Pyrotechnological Processes in Late Bronze and Iron Age Strata at Tel Dor (Israel)”. Journal of Archaeological Science 34: 358–373.

2008

Albert, R.M., Shahack-Gross, R., Cabanes, D., Gilboa, A., Lev-Yadun, S., Portillo, M., Sharon, I., Boaretto, E. and S. Weiner. “Phytolith-rich Layers from the Late Bronze and Iron Ages at Tel Dor (Israel): Mode of Formation and Archaeological Significance”. Journal of Archaeological Science 35: 57–75.



Raban-Gerstel, N., Bar-Oz, G., Zohar, I., Sharon, I. and A. Gilboa. “Early Iron Age Dor (Israel): A Faunal Perspective”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 349: 1–35.



Eliayhu, A., Shilstein, S., Raban-Gerstel, N., Goren, Y., Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and S. Weiner. “An Integrated Approach to Reconstructing Primary Activities from Pit Deposits: Iron Smithing and Other Activities at Tel Dor (Israel) under Neo-Assyrian Domination”. Journal of Archaeological Science 35: 2895–2908.



Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “Between the Carmel and the Sea: Tel Dor’s Iron Age Reconsidered”. Near Eastern Archaeology 71: 146–171.

2009

Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and E. Boaretto. “The Iron Age Chronology of the Levant: The State-ofResearch at the 14C Dating Project, Spring 2006”. In L.L. Grabbe (ed.). Israel in Transition: From Late Bronze II to Iron IIA (c. 1250–850 BCE): Volume 1. The Archaeology. Continnuum-3PL, pp. 177–192.



Sharon, I. “Ashlar Construction at Dor: Four Comments on the State of Research”. Eretz Israel 29: 362–382 (Hebrew).



Sharon, I., Gilboa, A., Stewart, A., Weiner, S., Bloch-Smith, E., Killebrew, A.E., Martin, S.R., Koenig, H.A., Goldman, T. and E. Stern. “Tel Dor – 2000, 2002, 2003”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 121. http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail.aspx?id=1290&mag_id=115



Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and Y. Shalev. “Tel Dor – 2006”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 121. http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.asp?id=1309&mag_id=115



Gilboa, A., Jull, T.A.J., Sharon, I. and E. Boaretto. “Notes on Iron IIA 14C Dates from Tell el-Qudeirat (Kadesh Barnea)”. Tel Aviv 36: 82–94.



Eliyahu Behar, A., Regev, L., Shilstein, S., Shalev, Y., Berg, J., Sharon, I. and S. Weiner. “Identifying a Roman Casting Pit at Tel Dor, Israel: Integrating Field and Laboratory Research”. Journal of Field Archaeology 34: 135–151.



Sharon, I., Gilboa., A. and Y. Shalev. “Tel Dor – 2005”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 121. http:// www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.asp?id=1252&mag_id=115



Boaretto E., Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “Radiocarbon Dating”. In M. Kochavi, Y. Gadot and E. Yadin. Aphek-Antipatris II: Bronze and Iron Age Remains (Area X) of the Upper City of Aphek Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology, pp. 575–578.



Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and E. Boaretto. “Tel Dor and the Chronology of Phoenician “Pre-Colonization” Stages”. In C. Sagona (ed.). Beyond the Homeland: Markers in Phoenician Chronology. Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement Series 28. Leuven: Peeters, pp. 113–204.

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2010

Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and Y. Shalev. “Tel Dor – 2007, 2008”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 122. http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=1577&mag_id=117



Karasik, A., Bitton, L., Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and U. Smilansky. “Quantitative Measures of the Uniformity of Ceramics”. In F. Niccolucci and S. Hermon (eds.). Beyond the Artifact – Digital Interpretation of the Past. Proceedings of the 32nd CAA Conference, Prato, Italy, April 2004. Budapest: Archaeolingua, pp. 407–410.



Smilansky, U., Karasik, A., Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “Optimal Choice of Prototypes for Ceramic Typology”. In F. Niccolucci and S. Hermon (eds.). Beyond the Artifact – Digital Interpretation of the Past. Proc. of the 32nd CAA Conference, Prato, Italy, April 2004. Budapest: Archaeolingua, pp. 411–415.

2011

Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and Y. Shalev. “Tel Dor – 2009”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 123. http:// www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=1713&mag_id=118

2012

Sharon, I. and Y. Dagan. “Perspectives and Methodology”. In Y. Dagan (ed.). Ramat Bet-Shemesh I: Landscapes of Settlement: From the Paleolithic to the Ottoman Periods. IAA Reports 47. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, pp. 21–45.



Sharon, I. and G. Zionit. “Geographic Information Systems: Introduction, Methodology and Description of Basic Coverages”. In Y. Dagan (ed.). Ramat Bet-Shemesh I: Landscapes of Settlement: From the Paleolithic to the Ottoman Periods. IAA Reports 47. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, pp. 63–92.



Sapir-Hen, L., Bar-Oz, G., Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and T. Dayan. “Understanding Faunal Contexts of a Complex Tell: Tel Dor, Israel, as a Case Study”. Journal of Archaeological Science 39: 590–601.

2013

Gilboa, A., Boaretto, E. and I. Sharon. “Radiocarbon Dating of the (Megiddo) Iron Age Levels”. In I. Finkelstein (ed.). Megiddo V. The 2004–2008 Seasons. Volume III. Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology, pp. 1117–1127.



Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “The SKL Town: Dor in the Early Iron Age”. In M. Artzy, A.E. Killebrew and G. Lehmann (eds.) Philistines and Other Sea Peoples. Leiden: Brill, pp. 393–468.

2014

Sharon, I. “The Chronological Framework”. In A.E. Killebrew and M. Steiner (eds.). The Oxford Handbook for the Archaeology of the Levant. Oxford: Oxford University Press.



Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and Y. Shalev. “Tel Dor – 2010”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 126. http:// www.hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=12639



Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and S. Matskevich. “Tel Dor – 2011”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 126. http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=14721



Sapir-Hen, L., Bar-Oz, G., Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and T. Dayan. “Food and Culture at Tel Dor, Israel: A Diachronic Study of Faunal Remains from 15 Centuries of Continuous Occupation”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 371: 83–101.



Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and J. Zorn. “An Iron Age I Canaanite/Phoenician Courtyard House at Tel Dor: A Comparative Architectural and Functional Analysis”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 372: 39–80.

2015

Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and E. Bloch-Smith. “Capital of Solomon’s Fourth District? Israelite Dor”. Levant 47: 51–74.



Gilboa, A., Waiman-Barak, P. and I. Sharon. “Dor, the Carmel Coast and Early Iron Age Mediterranean Exchanges”. In A.F. Babbi, B. Bubenheimer-Erhart, B. Marín-Aguilera and S. Mühl (eds.). The Mediterranean Mirror. Cultural Contacts in the Mediterranean Sea between 1200 and 750 B.C. Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, pp. 85–109.

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2016

Sharon, I. “Architectural Stratigraphy – A ‘Post Processual’ Alternative to Stratigraphic Analysis?”. In I. Thuesen (ed.). Proceedings of the 2nd International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East. Orientlab Special Issue, Bologna: Department of History and Cultures, University of Bologna / Eisenbrauns, pp. 349–360.



Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon “The Assyrian kāru at Du’ru/Dor”. In J. Macginnis, D. Wicke, T. Greenfield and A. Stone (eds.). The Provincial Archaeology of the Assyrian Empire. McDonald Institute Monograph Series. Cambridge: McDonald Institute, pp. 241–252.



Matskevich, S. and I. Sharon. “Modelling the archaeological record: a look from the Levant. Past and future approaches”. In Campana, S. et al. (eds.). CAA2015: Keep the Revolution Going: Proceedings of the 43rd International Conference on Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology, Siena, Italy. Oxford: Archeopress, pp. 103–115.



Boaretto, E., Sharon, I. and A. Gilboa. “Radiocarbon Dating of the Iron Age Stratigraphic Sequence”. In S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman (eds.). Tel Beth-Shemesh: A Border Community in Judah: Renewed Excavations 1990–2000: The Iron Age. Monographs of the Institute of Archaeology 24. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University.

2017 Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “Fluctuations in Levantine Maritime Foci across the Late Bronze/ Iron Age Transition: Charting the Role of the Sharon-Carmel (Tjeker) Coast in the Rise of Iron Age Phoenician Polities”. In P. Fischer and T. Burge (eds.). The Sea Peoples Up-To-Date: New Research on Transformations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the 13th-11th Centuries BCE. Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, pp. 285–298.

Sapir-Hen, L., Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and T. Dayan. “Wet Sieving a Complex Tell: Implications for Retrieval Protocols and Studies of Snimal Economy in Historical Periods”. Journal of Archaeological Science 82: 72–79.

2018

Matskevich, S. and I. Sharon. “A Conceptual Framework for Archaeological Data Encoding”. In V. Juloux, A.R. Gansell and A. di Ludovico (eds.). CyberResearch on the Ancient Near East and Neighboring Regions: Case Studies on Archaeological Data, Objects, Texts, and Digital Archiving. Brill, pp. 25–59.

2019

Matskevich, S., Waiman-Barak, P. and I. Sharon. 2019. “Tel Mevorakh – 2017: Preliminary Report”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 131. http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng. aspx?id=25654&mag_id=127

2021

Matskevich, S., Gilboa, A., Martin, S.R. and I. Sharon. “Tel Dor – 2013”. Excavation and Surveys in Israel 133. http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=26051&mag_id=133



Matskevich, S., Martin, S.R., Shahack-Gross, R., Yasur-Landau, A., Gilboa, A., and I. Sharon “Tel Dor – 2016: Preliminary Report.” Excavation and Surveys in Israel 133. https://www.hadashot-esi. org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=26069&mag_id=133

Forthcoming Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and Y. Shalev. “Dor”. In K. Dronsch (ed.). Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception. Berlin: De Gruyter. Gilboa, A. and I. Sharon. “Dor”. In P. Xella and J.Á. Zamora López (eds.). Dizionario Enciclopedico della Civiltà Fenicia. Madrid: Centro de Ciencias Humanas y Sociales (CCHS), Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, Madrid. Sharon, I. “Surrender and Ignominy: The Case of the ‘Zero-Chambered’ Gate at Dor”. In K. Streit and M. Grohmann (eds.). Culture of Defeat. The Gorgias Studies in the Ancient Near East. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. Shahack-Gross, R., Ogloblin Ramirez, I., Zajac, P.R., Arkin Shalev, E., Zilberman, T., Yasur, G., Matskevich, S., Martin, S.R., Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and A. Yasur-Landau. “Geoarchaeology at the marine waterfront of a coastal urban center: human activities and sea-land interface processes on the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age coast of Tel Dor, Israel”. Journal of Archaeological Science.

Professor Ilan Sharon, A Comprehensively Biased Introduction* Ayelet Gilboa

Ilan and I met in June 1980, in Area C at Tel Dor. I was a first year student at the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem on my first study excavation, and he an M.A. student, a few years my senior, but already acting as the site’s main field archaeologist―an indispensable assistant to the dig’s director, the late Professor Ephraim Stern. At the end of the season, Ilan suggested to Ephraim that I join the excavation team. Unknowingly, that was the moment he chose his professional partner in life. We are still partners, arguably one of the longestlasting collaborations in Israeli archaeology. Ilan became entangled in archaeology as a highschool student, when he took a summer job on Benjamin Mazar’s excavations near the Western Wall in Jerusalem in 1969 and subsequently on Nahman Avigad’s excavations in the Jewish quarter of Jerusalem in 1970. He enrolled at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem rather late, after five years in the infantry and armored corps of the IDF, including active service in the October 1973 war, eventually retiring at the rank of major. He began his academic studies with a double major in mathematics and statistics, while working in the university as a systems programmer. Soon, however, he became quite bored and at the suggestion of his wife, Sarah (made―of all places―on the beach at Dor), decided to switch to archaeology, which was enabled by the assertive intervention of Amnon BenTor. Ilan’s study excavation at Tel Yoqne‘am under Amnon’s supervision, and working closely with the excavation’s surveyor, Juval Portugali (now Professor Emeritus of Human Geography) shaped, I believe, his

passion for field archaeology, and for stratigraphy/ architecture in particular. His auditing of courses in prehistoric archaeology tuned him to questions that prehistorians were concerned with at the time, including issues of taphonomy, formation processes, and theoretical debates. This would, indeed, impact his later work. He started his archaeological career as an inspector for the Israel Department of Antiquities, but soon, in 1980, when Ephraim launched his longterm project at Dor, became his right-hand man, and from that moment had a decisive impact, even as a young graduate student, on the way the excavation was conducted and published. To a large extent, Ilan’s joy in mathematics, statistics and computers (and matching skills) shaped his approach to archaeology in general and dictated specific research avenues. Yet it has always been immersed in a deep interpretative approach to archaeology and to science in general. Theory and method were indeed intertwined. This interplay is evident in all his work―an uncompromising attention to minutiae, to quantities, numbers etc., a conviction that even the basics, such as the relation between two walls, may be understood in more than one way, that all voices should be heard and that all and each archaeological phenomenon call for a thorough deconstruction of the data. His Ph.D. research (1996): “Models for Stratigraphic Analysis of Tell Sites” was beyond the grasp of most at the time, but won him The Berger Prize for Outstanding Doctoral Dissertations in the Humanities and shortly thereafter, a tenure-track position from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem rector’s special stash. Ilan’s ingrained skepticism towards positivistic attitudes to archaeological information is indeed epitomized by the following paragraphs from his dissertation: “Criticism of the analogy between an excavation and a scientific experiment has been concentrated on the point of non repeatability of archaeological ‘experiments’. The ability to repeat an experiment is essential to ensure the objectivity of its results, in as much as it allows a critic to check with his own eyes that the results of the experiment were not mere wishful thinking (not to talk about downright fraud)

_____________ * To which I owe the help and memory of Sarah Sharon, Sveta Matskevich (the Hebrew University of Jerusalem), Anna Belfer-Cohen (the Hebrew University of Jerusalem), John Berg (Far Western Anthropological Research Group), Erella Hovers (the Hebrew University of Jerusalem), Becky Martin (Boston University), Jeffrey R. Zorn (Cornell University) and Golan Shalvi (University of Haifa). I also wish to thank the initiators and editors of this volume, Uri Davidovich, Sveta Matskevich, and Naama Yahalom-Mack, for their professionalism and conscientiousness.

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on the part of the researcher. This criticism has been countered by the notion that meticulous registration and publication of all of the results of an excavation would enable anyone wishing to double check the excavator to repeat, as it were, the excavation on paper…This type of argumentation reminds me of an old Hassidic story: A: “My rabbi holds conversations with angels.” B: “How do you know?” A: “The rabbi himself says so!” B: “Maybe your rabbi is lying...?” A: “What sacrilege! Do you suppose that someone so holy that the angels come down from heaven to talk to him would lie?” This constant negotiation between archaeological details and a wide philosophical lens is reflected in the titles of papers and presentations, such as “Stratigraphical Inference: A Methodological Study and a Mathematical Model” (1999), “Don’t Standardize: Site Reports as an Adjustable Prism for Viewing the Past” (1999), “‘Transition Dating’―A Heuristic Mathematical Approach to the Collation of 14C Dates from Stratified Sequences” (2001), “One Potsherd as a Mirror of the Entire World” (2015; on a rosette design on a potsherd), “Surrender and Ignominy: The Case of the “Zero-Chambered” Gate at Dor” (in press; also entailing a new reconstruction of the Megiddo Iron Age gates sequence). Ilan’s scientific background played a crucial role in decisive developments in various aspects of Israeli archaeology over several decades. First are the Tel Dor excavations and the ‘Iron Age Dating Project’ we formed with Elisabetta Boaretto of the Weizmann Institute of Science; they are among the main players in the ongoing and far-reaching debate over the absolute chronology of the Iron Age in the Levant and the Mediterranean. Collaboration with physicist Uzy Smilansky and former student Avshalom Karasik resulted eventually in the establishment of the computerized laboratories in the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA) and a revolution in the way archaeological artifacts in Israel are recorded and analyzed. Dor was also the first ‘biblical’ site to host the group of geo-archaeologists from the Weizmann Institute of Science led by Steve Weiner, introducing them to fieldwork in stratigraphically complex tell sites. This close collaboration between archaeologists and geo-archaeologists later became standard in many large-scale excavations in Israel. And this list could be continued. Ilan is convinced that behind the story of a site as told by its excavators there is a very fragmented dataset that can be interpreted as several equally likely scenarios. He therefore insists on extreme forms of data openness. This has shaped his

stratigraphic/architectural publications, starting with the first Dor report in 1995. Often criticized as unfriendly and “too complicated” (i.e., involving too much leafing between pages and chapters, too many references from text to plans to indices to tables), it was a precursor of an electronic publication, where all these elements are interconnected via hyperlinks. This vision of archaeological reports integrated with detailed data presentation shaped the Tel Dor recording system through the years. The milestones on the way are: one of the first excavation databases in Israel in 1991, to a paper-less excavation by 2008, to the first excavations in Israel that properly deposited a digital archive of the published data in 2019―the Report on the Bronze and Iron Ages of Area G (also published on paper as three volumes in the Qedem Monograph Series). Today, 25 years after the first volume of the Dor reports, the technology and the data are ready for the next step, pursued by Ilan with Sveta Matskevich―another former student and present-day co-researcher. In Ilan’s words: “We envision it as a digital platform with an excavation database as a core, accessible from recording, report-writing and reading interfaces. The major characteristic of the system on the data input and analysis side is an integrated 3D recording environment, while the output interface will allow for four modes of exploration of e-monographs: book-like narrative reading, navigating through various sections of the report via hyperlinks, indepth analysis of the presented scenarios by way of reaching to the raw data stored in the database, and building and testing alternative scenarios”. Ilan is one of the best field archeologists I have ever met, a view shared by many other professionals. Indeed, complexity notwithstanding, his stratigraphic method, from the field, to recording, to analysis, to publication, is today widespread. A great number of people who have passed through Dor during the last four decades―volunteers, staff and collaborators― went on to work in the IAA and in archaeological institutions around the globe. Several now direct their own excavations, leading projects almost literally ‫“ מַהוֹדּוּ ְועַד כּוּשׁ‬from India to Kush”―from Mesopotamia to Africa, adopting one or another version of Ilan’s approach, to the point that one can speak of a “Sharon stratigraphic school”. Dor’s “Staff Manual” (176 pp.) is being used in several excavations. Ilan’s concern with archaeological method also impacted his teaching in Jerusalem and the curriculum of the Institute of Archaeology in general, through the introduction of courses on archaeological theory, spatial archaeology and site-formation processes into the curricula of students of the Bronze and Iron Ages (and in general, advancing such thinking

Professor Ilan Sharon, A Comprehensively Biased Preface

in research of historical periods), the integration of the archaeological sciences with the humanistic core of the discipline and―it goes without saying― computer applications in archaeology, the first such course in Israel. Beyond such topics, his teaching covers a broad range from pottery to warfare, introduces civilizations around the Mediterranean, spans the Bronze Age to the Persian period, and includes, of course, the Iron Age in the Levant and every possible aspect of ancient architecture. Ilan never gave in to the rules of the academic game, sometimes at a price. His driving passions have always been intellectual curiosity, a zeal for fieldwork, a practically limitless willingness to help others―both colleagues and students, including people he has never met, and his total dedication to the publication of nearly 40 seasons at Dor, and to public service. From his first days as a young scholar in Jerusalem, he became everyone’s advisor in all things computerized, mathematical and statistical. Whoever approaches him with a professional question in any field receives a detailed and knowledgeable answer,

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especially if the topic is intellectually challenging. As vice dean of teaching, he devoted endless hours to ameliorating the faculty’s teaching curricula and revolutionizing its budgeting model. Mostly, however, Ilan is devoted to his students, and often to students of others, considering tutoring students as one of the most satisfying aspects of his academic work and invariably putting their interests first. Six of his former students currently hold tenured or tenure-track positions in archaeology and related departments in Israel and the U.S.; in several aspects, I would add myself to this list. Other students of Ilan hold key professional positions in the Israel Antiquities Authority and with the Staff Officer of the Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria, and former student Becky Martin (currently at Boston University) joined the directorship of the Dor project. I wish Ilan many more stimulating and productive years, numerous comprehensive Tel Dor reports, good wine, cooking for friends, new big dogs, and especially much happiness with his family.

Ilan Sharon, Ayelet Gilboa and Ephraim Stern at Dor, 1984.

Part I: Archaeological Methods and Epistemologies

Archaeological Cultures, Fabricated Ethnicities and DNA Research: “Minoans” and “Mycenaeans” as Case Examples Joseph Maran

Abstract Primordialist understandings of ethnicity that rest on the proof of a direct and unbroken line of descent from ancient populations have, for good reasons, been abandoned by the humanities and social sciences after World War II. They were replaced by constructivist views that regard ethnicity as rooted in how groups think about themselves in specific social and historical contexts. By contrast, the “cultures” defined by archaeology constitute mere inventions by scholarship without any linkage to self-perceptions of past societies. The two cultures known as Minoan and Mycenaean are good examples of everything that is wrong with the concept of archaeological cultures. Besides creating the impression of longterm continuity and homogeneity in the geographical zones in question, the convention of juxtaposing the Minoan and Mycenaean cultures implies that societies in Crete and the Greek Mainland remained different for many centuries. The most problematic effect of defining archaeological cultures, however, is reflected in the habit of imbuing such mere constructs of archaeology with an “ethnic significance” by employing their names as substitutes for ethnic designations and speaking of “Mycenaeans” and “Minoans”. By applying such fabricated ethnicities the impression is created that collective identities are clean-cut, supra-regionally and diachronically stable and mutually exclusive, not unlike modern nationalities. The alleged connection of “Minoans” and “Mycenaeans” to certain genetic patterns may then be taken as a justification for linking ethnicities to blood-ties. Those who do not wish to grace dangerous völkische ideologies of the extreme political right with scholarly respectability must realize that “ethnicizing” archeological “cultures” or language groups and “biologizing” them by linking them to DNA-patterns is not an innocent endeavor. Scholars using the results of aDNA research should refrain from imposing an ethnic significance on archaeological cultures and resist the temptation, fueled by public expectations, of connecting aDNA to ancient or modern collective identities. Fabricated ethnicities such as “Indo-Europeans”, “Corded Ware people” or “Mycenaeans” should be particularly avoided in scholarly discourses as they create a false impression of supraregional and diachronic homogeneity (in the sense of Völker) and can thus be very easily abused for political ends.

Keywords: aDNA, Bronze Age, culture, ethnicity, Greece, Minoan, Mycenaean, Völker The breathtaking progress within the field of aDNA studies in the last ten years has deeply transformed our understanding of genetic relatedness of past populations, as well as the differences between them. It has also brought to light patterns of human mobility that until recently would have seemed impossible to distinguish. Based on this new source of evidence, it is now clear that the spread of the Neolithic way of life from the Near East to Europe (and within Europe) was to a significant degree

the result of a demic diffusion of populations of ultimately Near Eastern descent, and that another significant movement of the earlier third millennium BCE brought groups of people of East European or Eurasian origin to Central and Northwestern Europe, where they may have replaced—at least in some regions—earlier populations.1 It gives me great pleasure to contribute to this volume dedicated to Ilan Sharon, a colleague whose personality 1

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All these developments have caught archaeologists off guard after three decades of processual and postprocessual archaeology had convinced many in the field that migration had been a fairly unimportant phenomenon in prehistory and that it was therefore more rewarding to study autochthonous cultural changes (for an analysis see already Burmeister 2000: 539; Hakenbeck 2008: 14–17; Van Dommelen 2014: 477–479; Furholt 2018: 169). Notwithstanding such theoretical discussions and their justified critique of culture history and migrationism, the traditional framework for imagining archaeological cultures as bound entities has remained intact, especially in Continental Europe (Hakenbeck 2008: 9–14; Roberts and Vander Linden 2011: 5; Barrett 2018: 13–15; Furholt 2018, 160–163; von Rummel 2018: 348), and now returns with a vengeance to haunt archaeology in the era of aDNA studies. All this helps to explain why the tendency to deal with patterns of migration in the same way as does old-fashioned culture history is still strong in archaeology (Furholt 2018: 163–164). This curious situation manifests itself in the standard structure of many of the interdisciplinary articles in which scientists and archaeologists present the results of aDNA research. These articles typically lay out the methods used and the results achieved in a sober and highly scientific manner. But as soon as they get to the archaeological significance of the results, their style suddenly changes, and the reader, as if in a time machine, is transported back to a period fortunately long gone, one in which genetic patterns are combined with archaeological cultures that are then used as substitutes for ethnic groups (e.g., “Cordedware people”, “the Yamnaya”, “Mycenaeans”; cf. Allentoft et al. 2015; Haak et al. 2015; Lazaridis et al. 2017)2 who undertake long-distance migration, and are linked to language families that are also charged with an ethnic meaning by using designations such and scholarship I very much admire. Ilan heard an earlier version of this paper in April 2018 at the workshop “Palaeogenetics and Cultural Archaeological Perspectives on the Eastern Mediterranean Bronze and Early Iron Age” which I presented at the International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East (ICAANE) in Munich. Since he was very much interested in the issues of culture history, neo-migrationism and aDNA, he asked me to present a modified version of it as part of a course we both taught in March 2019 during my stay as a visiting lecturer at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. I would like to thank Johannes Krause and Philipp Stockhammer for inviting me to the said workshop at the ICAANE, and for their openness in discussing the possible abuse of aDNA results. I am much indebted to Irina Oryshkevich for improving the English of this article. 2 For a justification of such simplified short-hand designations, see Haak and Schiffels 2018: 319; but see Rummel 2018: 347 for a critique of their position.

as the “Indo-Europeans” (Allentoft et al. 2015; Haak et al. 2015; Kristiansen et al. 2017).3 All this neomigrationist discourse equating culture, language, biology and ethnicity is eerily reminiscent of the way in which these issues were dealt with in the interwar period (for a critique, see already Müller 2013; Heyd 2017; Johannsen et al. 2017; Furholt 2018; Vander Linden 2018; Frieman and Hofmann 2019; Hakenbeck 2019; Hansen 2019). Little wonder then, that even the sinister and rightfully discarded concept of “human races” crops up (Braun and Hammonds 2012; Gabriel 2012; Rajagopalan and Fujimura 2012: 149–153; Wailoo, Nelson and Lee 2012: 2–5; Plümecke 2013: 84–92, 99–167; Holmes 2018). It is my conviction that we should not close our eyes to the important results of aDNA research, but find ways in which to use these results creatively, without falling into the trap of neo-migrationism and culture history. In order to do so, we need to reflect on what we mean when we talk about ethnicities, archaeological cultures, language groups and DNA patterns—concepts that are mentioned in the same breath with aDNA in many articles even though these should be kept far apart or deconstructed.



Extreme Primordialist Understandings of Ethnicity: From Fallmerayer to Sand In 1830, the German traveler and historian Jakob Philipp Fallmerayer proclaimed that “Das Geschlecht der Hellenen ist in Europa ausgerottet […] Denn auch nicht ein Tropfen ächten [sic!] und ungemischten Hellenenblutes fließet in den Adern der christlichen Bevölkerung des heutigen Griechenlands” (Fallmerayer 1830: III–IV) (“The lineage of the Hellenes has been wiped out in Europe […] Because not a single drop of authentic and undiluted blood of the Hellenes flows in the veins of the Christian population of present-day Greece” [my translation]). Fallmerayer attributed this “dilution” to the successive migrations of Slavo- and Albanophone groups since the Middle Ages to Greece, where, in his opinion, they had replaced the native and ancient population of the “Hellenes”. Fallmerayer’s remark is an extreme example of a biologically-based “primordialist” view (Sokolovskii and Tishkov 1996: 290–291) that identifies ethnicity not on the grounds of common ancestry and language or the habitation of a particular territory, but rather on that of a direct and unbroken line of descent from ancient populations (Schuberth 2015: 98–105). The bonding Poliakov 1971: 255–261 has rightly castigated the habit of ethnicizing and biologizing language groups and attributed it to the “tyranny of linguistics”. See also Hutton 1999.

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of ethnicity to “purity of blood” and the perception of any mixture between different populations as a form of contamination lie at the heart of all racist thought (Plümecke 2013: 66–68, 139–147; Feldman 2015: 25–29). Such reasoning leads to the notion that ethnic self-attribution by groups, in this case modern Greeks, can be false because it is founded on the usurpation of the name of an ancient group that has become extinct. Due to the crimes committed on account of racist ideologies and the inadequacy of a biologically based primordialist understanding of ethnicity, the social sciences and the humanities generally abandoned this way of defining ethnicity after World War II, and instead limited its meaning to the way in which groups perceive themselves in specific social and historical contexts (Barth 1969; Barnard and Spencer 1996: 192; Knapp 2001: 29–32; Knapp 2014: 35–38; Brather 2004: 97–103; Peoples and Bailey 2010: 389; Sommer 2011). This constructivist consensus led to a fluid and contingent understanding of ethnicity, whose underlying premises can be investigated either by interviewing living people or analyzing written documents, but not by testing blood samples or skeletal remains. When it comes to ethnicities, what needs to be stressed is the difference between the emic, that is, the inner-societal, and the etic, that is, the extrasocietal perspective. In the first, the notion of ethnicity will inevitably encompass certain aspects of a primordialist understanding as it is usually based on the group’s belief in the common origins of its members, who wish to remain together. By contrast, the research scholar’s view of ethnicity should be an etic one that studies and analyzes how narratives of ethnicity are structured, co-exist with other discourses on collective identity, and change over time. However, we should not misunderstand constructivist views of ethnicity as claiming that such ideas about collective identities are invented or unreal. Although the constructivist view links ethnicity solely to ideas and explicitly not to blood, these identities are never invented from scratch, but are instead always historically situated since they draw on earlier collective identifications and, thanks to social practices and material manifestations, shape the reality of the lifeworlds of the people who adhere to them (Sommer 2011). Collective identities will even generate “biological facts” since the underlying beliefs about who belongs together will guide the choice of marriage partners. Diachronically, however, the relation between collective identities and genetic patterns will not remain stable since the criteria guiding collective identities are subject to continuous transformation, which is why the size

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and composition of the group of potential marriage partners will change over time. If research has shifted towards a constructivist understanding of ethnicity, why then should we still care about 200-year-old ideas such as Fallmerayer’s that have seemingly long been refuted as racist (Curta 2011: 2; Sjöberg 2011: 236–237; Xygalatas 2012: 21–24)? We must care because Fallmerayer’s legacy is still quite virulent. This can be seen in Shlomo Sand’s “The Invention of the Jewish People” of 2009 in which the author claims that most of today’s Jews are usurping this designation as they are not actually descendants of the Jews of antiquity, but rather of later converts to Judaism such as the Khazars, whom Sand regards as the principal ancestors of Ashkenazi Jews (Sand 2009: 190–204). However, in contrast to many of Sand’s critics, who have effectively demolished his spurious claims about the Khazars or other converts to Judaism (Bartal 2009; Shapira 2009; Nirenberg 2010; Penslar 2012), I am interested in the fact that Sand has reintroduced a biologically based understanding of ethnicity much like Fallmerayer’s into the scholarly discourse. The title of Sand’s book and his frequent remarks on the importance of the social imagination to modern nationalism seem to suggest that he takes a constructivist view of ethnicity. However, instead of refuting the racist notion of “purity of blood” by stating that all ethnic identities are constructed and therefore fluid, he attempts to debunk what he perceives to be the foundational myth of Zionism by countering the “purity of blood” claim with an equally racist allegation of the “impurity of blood”. He thus ends up championing the same extreme primordialist approach to ethnicity as does Fallmerayer, a fact that he actually seems to acknowledge.4 It is therefore ironic that when other scholars have tried to counter his claims by citing the results of DNA analyses that show Ashkenazi Jews as possessing a significant degree of Near Eastern genetic ancestry (cf. Behar et al. 2010; Behar et al. 2013), Sand has bluntly rejected the validity of these data by remarking that “Hitler would certainly have been very pleased” to see descendants of Holocaust survivors searching for a biological Jewish identity (Sand 2010: 319). Yet, it is Sand himself who has made ethnicity contingent on an unbroken blood line to ancestors of the remote past, a claim that can indeed be tested by DNA analysis, albeit such tests cannot tell us anything about the ethnicity of the peoples of the past to whom the person in question is genetically related. Micha Brumlik (2010) quotes Sand as follows: “Im Gespräch über die deutsche Ausgabe seines Buches wurde Shlomo Sand plötzlich sehr lebhaft: ‘Ja’ – er sprach in Wahrheit Englisch – ‘ja, ich bin Fallmerayer!’”. 4

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The truly worrisome thing is that Sand’s publication has been hailed as “fascinating” or “remarkable” not only by neo-Nazis and other kinds of racists (Solomon 2018), but also by many who regard themselves as “progressives” or “leftists” (Segev 2008; Judt 2009). They did not address, let alone criticize, Sand’s biologically-based understanding of ethnicity, although it runs counter to how ethnicity has been approached in the humanities and social sciences since 1945,5 and also lends credibility to the “Khazar myth” that has been promoted by various strands of anti-Semitic discourse (Shnirelman 2001: 884–894; 2007: 353–372; Rossman 2002: 78–89; Singerman 2004; Shapira 2009: 68–69; Bassin 2016: 85–93, 187–200; Wald 2019: 15–17). Indeed the myth is ultimately related to the slur, already expressed by periodicals such as Der Stürmer, that Jews are dangerous because they are not a “pure race”, but a “racial mixture”, a “mongrel race” (Gilman 1991: 174–175; 2000: 230–234; Morris-Reich 2013a: 203; Roos 2014: 456; Feldman 2015: 28; Bensow 2016: 64, 177).

Archaeology’s Invented “Cultures” While the humanities and social sciences perceive collective identities as intimately bound to the self-perception of groups, the “cultures” defined by archaeology are always mere inventions of scholars with no connection to the emic views of past societies (Knapp 2001; Knapp 2014: 36–43). The reason for this, of course, is that without written or oral documents, there is no way of knowing how people thought about themselves. Archaeology has a long tradition of defining cultures as coexisting bounded entities, each characterized by a recurrent combination of moveable material culture (pottery, weaponry, tools, jewelry, etc.), burial customs, building traditions and/or economy (Childe 1929: VI). Based on the distribution of these features, the presumed territories of these cultures are delineated on maps and differentiated by color. That this is a highly speculative procedure becomes evident once In her review of Sand 2009, Anita Shapira (2009: 65) rightly asks: “Why should the question of Jewish origins be the key to the analysis of identity? Isn’t this topsyturvy: a racist proposition that pins identity on origin?”. Similar points have been raised by other reviewers of Sand’s book. David Nirenberg (2010: 105), for example, points out that: “Still other doubts arise from the lingering racism in Sand’s own logic. Is he suggesting that ethnic nationalism is legitimate when the genealogies that justify it are sound?” while Derek J. Penslar (2012: 163) remarks: “But this whole way of thinking is fatally flawed, as the basis of nationality in any situation is culturally, not biologically, constructed”.

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we realize that the borders of any specific culture are seldom drawn in the same way by two scholars. Such a substantialist definition of culture as a set of recurrent distinctive features is based on the idea that a culture manifests itself broadly, with supra-regional homogeneity among uniform human communities in particular territories, whose members use the same objects, share the same beliefs, act in the same way, and can be set apart through a “checklist” of traits from members of other cultures (Johnson 1999: 16–20). Such cultures are thought to evolve over time, until they disappear and are replaced by other cultures. Ultimately, this view goes back to the romantic concept of cultures as collective organisms that inhabit particular geographic zones and are characterized by common material forms, languages and clearly circumscribed ethnic entities (Völker [“peoples”]; Puschner 2002: 54–61; Brather 2004: 32–47; Mende 2011: 530–531; Schuberth 2015: 22–75). Archaeology appropriated this concept, which later came to be known as Kulturkreislehre, from turn-of-the-twentieth-century German culturehistorical ethnography (Trigger 1996: 235–241; Jones 1997: 15–17; Brather 2004: 84; Rebay-Salisbury 2011). At the time, German archaeologists, above all Gustaf Kossinna, gave these ethnographic concepts a new twist by attaching essentialist notions of ethnic and “racial” identity and purity to the differentiated units. While the bounded and representative view of culture has been abandoned in cultural and social anthropology (Hahn 2013: 17–39), it lives on in archaeology, albeit stripped of the allegedly “racial” significance attached to it before World War II. All this has far-reaching consequences for archaeological research (cf. Wotzka 1993; Jones 1997: 15–37; Knapp 2001: 32–34; Müller 2001: 38– 42; Furholt 2009: 23–5; Knapp 2014: 36–43). Thus, when the boundaries of archaeological cultures are demarcated, the differences between the perceived entities are emphasized and the features that they held in common minimized. At the same time, when defining a specific culture research proceeds in the exactly opposite way since the degree of uniformity of its material remains is overstressed. Thus, the possibility of recognizing signs of diversity within communities, as well as between communities of a given region, is diminished (Maran 2019). Diachronically speaking, the fact that the term “culture” is used to cover archaeological sources that often span over half a millennium fosters the impression of long-term continuity and stability. The differentiation of archaeological cultures that coexisted side by side recalls the territories of modern nation states with which the respective cultures often share borders due to the national organization of archaeological research, and leads

Archaeological Cultures, Fabricated Ethnicities and DNA Research

to the use of different names for the same recurrent combination of archaeological traits in these various nation states (Tsirtsoni 2006). In turn, the apparent correspondence between the territories of nation states and the areas of distribution of archaeological cultures helps reify these modern political entities, making them appear to be anchored in the distant past. Furthermore, due to the territorial demarcation of archaeological cultures and the emphasis on their distinctiveness, a sharp line is drawn between the inside and the outside, making it impossible to realize that the global may be contained within the local, and vice versa. This leads to an extremely static, objectlike treatment of culture that presents a picture of long-term stability and uniformity of circumscribed “cultures”, and that reduces human beings to robotic creatures slavishly following cultural norms. Since such an understanding of culture fails not only to consider the transformative power of the agency and the heterogeneity of any given society’s social space, but also the degree of entanglement between societies, it naturally perceives change as coming from the outside through migration, war or natural disasters. The alternative to archaeology’s traditional way of defining cultures is to shift away from an understanding of culture as something embodied and represented, that is, something that exists and can be possessed, to something that is generated, continuously performed and renegotiated and thus in a constant state of becoming (Bourdieu 1984: 99–220; Friedman 1997; Juneja 2011; Hahn 2013: 25, 34–35). In order to do this, we must replace “cultures” in the plural by “culture” in the singular (Maran 2019). Archaeology should therefore assume an explicitly anthropological perspective, meaning that it should focus on how culture was practiced and performed in specific contexts, on the one hand, and avoid subsuming historical and cultural processes into a consistent evolutionary chain, on the other. Persuasive evolutionary reconstructions are deceptive because we easily forget that social and political change is perceived and construed as gradual and consequential only in historical hindsight, when in reality it is incalculable and may have led to very different outcomes. Societies are not homogenous entities, whose members constantly work towards common goals. Instead, each society occupies a dynamic social space that consists of various, relationally linked social groups whose world views, interests, systems of value and practices may converge on occasion, but may also differ to a certain degree.

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The Inadequacy of the Archaeological Concept of Culture The two cultures known as Minoan and Mycenaean are good examples of everything that is wrong with the concept of archaeological cultures (Hamilakis 2017; Maran 2019). After Heinrich Schliemann’s discoveries in Mycenae and Tiryns and those of Sir Arthur Evans in Knossos, the remains uncovered by their excavations were used to juxtapose two distinct cultures, one based in the central and southern part of the Greek Mainland, the other in Crete. These came to be designated as “Mycenaean” and “Minoan”, respectively. The Minoan culture, named after the mythical king Minos, was thought to last the entire Bronze Age, which amounts to roughly two millennia (ca. 3000–1000 BCE), while the Mycenaean culture, which took its name from the eponymous site, was believed to have coincided with the final period of the “Helladic” Bronze Age, better known as the Late Helladic period, which we now know lasted approximately six to seven centuries (1700/1600– 1050 BCE). The fact that the discoveries on the Greek Mainland and Crete were separated by only a few decades encouraged the notion of Minoan and Mycenaean ethnic collectives to which the allegedly primordial traits of a Volksgeist (“collective spirit of a people”) were attributed. While the “Minoans” were characterized as peaceful and religious (Roessel 2006), the “Mycenaeans” were said to be bellicose (cf. Rodenwaldt 1921: 47–52, 58–59). The use of the terms Minoan and Mycenaean has led to the presupposition of a diachronic and synchronic cultural homogeneity within the regions and sites of the respective “cultural blocks” with no questioning of its validity. Besides creating the impression of long-term continuity and homogeneity in the geographical zones in question, the convention of juxtaposing Minoan and Mycenaean culture implies that societies in Crete and the Greek Mainland remained different for many centuries. The equation of the two archaeological cultures with certain parts of the territory of the Greek state and the linkage— based on Homeric poems—of Mycenaean culture to Classical Greek antiquity also meant separating the remains of these early societies from those of the Near East and thus reifying the putative difference between Europe and Asia and pushing back an imagined “common European past” to the Bronze Age (Hamilakis 2006; Hamilakis and Momigliano 2006; Hølleland 2008; Niklasson 2016: 175–233). All this has had broad consequences on the way in which archaeological research is conducted as the seeming clarity of distinguishing two cultures has discouraged scholars from investigating the heterogeneity or homogeneity of cultural practices

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within settlements and regions as well as between regions of the Greek Mainland and Crete (Eerbeek 2014: 41–114, 280–299; Girella and Pavúk 2016). The erroneousness of sharply differentiating between “Minoan” and “Mycenaean” is already apparent when we look at the formative stage of so-called Mycenaean culture and the richly furnished shaft graves of the 17th and 16th centuries BCE associated with it. Both the graves and their furnishings were once generally regarded as a purely “Helladic” phenomenon and as proof that Mycenaean culture was, from the beginning, distinct from Minoan culture. Yet nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, this so-called “Mycenaean culture” would never have arisen without intense exchange between elite segments of Cretan and Mainland Greek societies (Maran 2011; 2019). From the outset, this was a transcultural phenomenon that grew through the agency of social actors in the Peloponnese, who, by fusing various local and foreign cultural traits during the shaft-grave period, initiated hitherto non-existent cultural and social identities. In the shaft graves, the male dead were equipped with a full set of bronze weapons comprised of long and short swords, as well as daggers and spears, while the female dead were buried with jewelry of gold and semi-precious stones. Although most of the items, images and symbols found in the shaft graves were clearly inspired by those of Neopalatial Crete, the emphasis on martial activity in their imagery is as uncommon on Crete as is the inclusion of sets of weapons in graves. This situation led generations of researchers to conclude that a sharp contrast existed between the “warlike Mycenaeans” and the “peaceloving Minoans”. What is striking, however, is that the combinations of objects found in the shaft graves of Mycenae stand in sharp contrast to the burial practices of the preceding Middle Helladic period (about 2000–1700/1600 BC), when the deceased had been buried with very few objects that almost never included weapons or metal jewelry. For a long time, the austerity of Middle Helladic graves was misunderstood as evidence of “poor” communities that could not afford more than a few modest objects to offer their dead. Far more likely, however, is the possibility that behind these modest burial sites lay a subtly balanced system of social norms in which actual status differences between clans were not allowed to be expressed in graves (Maran 2011). In the course of the Middle Helladic, certain social groups decided to break with this egalitarian ethos, which they perceived as limiting, and instead to consciously highlight their status through funerary offerings. As a result, centrifugal social forces

previously held in check were unleashed, and the rise of the Mycenaean epoch began. The groups buried in these graves therefore played a significant role in the “invention” of the identities, values and practices that laid the ground for what we regard as typically “Mycenaean” (Dickinson 1977: 39–57, 107–110; Wright 1987: 175; 2008: 146–147; Voutsaki 1997; 1999). This ideology, which was closely associated with religious beliefs and the introduction of new gender ideals, was based on the fusion of various local and foreign cultural traits. It was constructed in opposition to previous values and norms, which had imposed strict injunctions on the exaltation of deceased members of a community through wealthy funerals. All these inner-societal dynamics and differences within and between sites are lost in the undifferentiated term “Mycenaean culture”, which instantly homogenizes and glosses over any internal contradictions and ambivalences within societies.

“Minoans” and “Mycenaeans”: Ethnicizing and Biologizing Invented Archaeological Cultures Since the “cultures” defined by archaeology are mere inventions of scholarship with no basis in the emic views of past societies, the use of such designations may seem harmless. What is problematic about defining archaeological cultures, however, is the irresistible temptation to imbue the constructs of archaeology with “ethnic significance”. This urge owes much to the fact that the remains of nonliterate societies do not allow for inferences to be drawn about the names of persons and collectives. Accordingly, archaeological cultures come to be regarded as historical actors and their names as substitutes for ethnic designations (cf. “Corded Ware people”, “Linear Pottery People”, “the Yamnaya” etc.). Once this threshold is crossed, the idea that ethnic identities are based on blood-ties can easily enter through the back door, so to speak. In my opinion this is exemplified by the way in which the results of several recent DNA-investigations, published in some of the top scientific journals, have been associated with archaeological sources and terminologies. Thus, in the final part of this contribution, I want to discuss this issue with respect to a 2017 article in Nature entitled “Genetic Origins of the Minoans and Mycenaeans” (Lazaridis et al. 2017:214), whose authors present and analyze the results of aDNA research conducted on samples of nineteen individuals, among whom eleven were from Bronze Age (Minoan) contexts from Crete, one from Neolithic and four from Late Bronze Age (Mycenaean) contexts of the Greek Mainland and three from

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a Bronze Age site in Southwestern Anatolia. The authors address the following questions: “First, do the labels ‘Minoan’ and ‘Mycenaean’ correspond to genetically coherent populations or do they obscure a more complex structure of the peoples who inhabited Crete and mainland Greece at this time? Second, how were the two groups related to each other, to their neighbors across the Aegean in Anatolia, and to other ancient populations from Europe and the Near East? Third, can inferences about their ancestral origins inform debates about the origins of their cultures? Fourth, how are the Minoans and Mycenaeans related to Modern Greeks, who inhabit the same area today?” (Lazaridis et al. 2017: 214). As Yannis Hamilakis (2017) has already pointed out, the objectives of these questions contradict themselves from the outset. While the authors claim that they wish to assess the validity of the labels “Minoan” and “Mycenaean”, they begin by treating them as two distinct “groups” and “cultures”, thereby presupposing the correctness of this differentiation (for a critique of such a procedure, see also Frieman and Hofmann 2019; Hakenbeck 2019). The article does provide important insights, particularly on the genetic relations of people living during the Bronze Age in the Greek Mainland and Crete, that can help us determine the patterns of mobility that led to these particular genetic compositions—things that archaeology alone could never have done. The authors’ analyses show that the differences between the sampled individuals from Crete and mainland Greece were minimal based on their general similarity to each other and to the sampled individuals from southwestern Anatolia. All these people shared both Near Eastern “Neolithiclike farmer ancestry” and a “Caucasus-related admixture”, though the sampled individuals from the Greek Mainland had a slightly more pronounced “northern ancestry” based on the influx of population groups that ultimately originated in the Eurasian steppes. Unfortunately, however, the authors couple their sophisticated scientific results with simplistic and insufficient archaeological terminology. Instead of concluding that the genetic homogeneity of the sampled individuals undermines the notion of a sharp separation between two co-existing, spatially separated population groups, they continually juxtapose the inhabitants of Bronze Age Crete (“Minoans”) and those of the Late Bronze Age Greek Mainland (“Mycenaeans”) throughout the article— despite the fact there is not the slightest bit of evidence that any regional or supra-regional groups in antiquity referred to themselves as “Minoans” or “Mycenaeans” or were called by those names by any other people (Middleton 2002)! These designations

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are as much mere constructs of research—and as much fabricated ethnicities—as are terms such as “Semites”, “Indo-Europeans” (or “Indogermanen”) (Feist 1926: 54; Trubetzkoy 1939: 83; Römer 1985: 62–84; Lincoln 1999: 142; Arvidsson 2006: 13–49; Hansen 2019: 55–56), and “Corded Ware people”. Ironically, there is textual evidence that actually contradicts the claim that these and other overarching and diachronically stable ethnic identities existed at the time of the Mainland Greek palaces. Thus, the Linear B texts, which unfortunately roughly cover only the two centuries between 1400 and 1200 BCE, allow us to draw some inferences about emic attitudes to the political order and basic categories of group differentiation. These suggest the coexistence of various autonomous polities, each of which extended over a particular, fairly small territory, which, in the case of the polity of Pylos, basically comprised Messenia, and in that of Thebes, parts of Boeotia and Euboea (Godart and Sacconi 1999; Aravantinos, Godart and Sacconi 2001: 355–358). This fragmented political landscape of the 14th and 13th century BCE Greek Mainland is reflected in our limited knowledge of collective identities of the time. Thus, each polity, and within that polity, the respective towns, seem to have constructed the frame of reference for the shaping of an “official” degree of collective identity to which an unknown percentage of the members of the society at large subscribed (Efkleidou 2002–2003: 287–288; Nikoloudis 2006: 54–55). Indeed, there is no evidence of any overarching collective identity beyond that of its respective polity (contra Eder 2009; Kelder 2010: 99–120). The Linear B texts from Pylos and Thebes also suggest that the population of these polities was quite heterogeneous, and that people were identified according to the region from which they came (Nikoloudis 2006: 30–31, 42–56). What little textual evidence we have thus suggests that at the height of the Late Bronze Age, the Greek Mainland was home to a pattern of collective identities that were fragmented according to regions, and that the individual polities all had a highly complex mix of people who probably identified with various facets of these identities (Maran 2019 with further literature). By linking ethnicity to proof of the blood-ties and deep ancestral roots of ancient populations, the authors, albeit unintentionally, gave their otherwise fine paper a slant that could be perceived as supporting a primordialist understanding of ethnicity within scholarship. There are three essential problems with their line of reasoning. First, they should have avoided the fabricated terms “Mycenaeans” and “Minoans” because these insinuate that ethnicities are clear-cut, superregionally and diachronically stable, internally homogenous and mutually exclusive, not unlike

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modern nationalities, upon which primordialist ethnicities were modelled in the 19th century (Hamilakis 2017; Nakassis 2017). The use of these terms feeds into the public obsession with “origins” and its claim—fostered by certain commercial companies that sell genetic ancestry kits—that there is a limited number of “root ethnicities” or Urvölker, such as “Vikings”, “Celts”, “Romans”, “Etruscans”, etc. to which modern individuals can be assigned on the basis of their DNA (Wiwjorra 2009: 130–131; Sommer 2012: 232–242; Plümecke 2013: 219–223; Hakenbeck 2019; Roth et al. 2020). Perhaps these firms will now add “Minoans” and “Mycenaeans” to their lists. Second, connecting “Minoans” and “Mycenaeans” to certain genetic patterns could be understood as a justification for linking ethnicities to blood-ties and perceiving societies as age-old collective organisms. As a result, some archaeologists may be emboldened to believe that their invented cultures may not be abstract, after all, but imbued with deeper meaning. In order to avoid ethnicizing archaeological cultures, archeologists and scientists should consider alternatives to a culture-based nomenclature for clusters of aDNA-samples. As already noted with reference to the juxtaposition of “Minoans” and “Mycenaeans”, the practice of naming aDNA-groups after archaeological cultures carries the danger of a circular argument: archaeologists select skeletal samples of deceased individuals and assign them to a certain culture, while scientists accept these assignments and rely on them to define and name the extremely small groups of individuals that are now taken to be representative of the DNA-signature of members of a certain culture (Ion 2017: 186–187). The result of such a procedure can only lead to the reification of the correctness of these archaeological designations of culture since, irrespective of how similar the DNA-analyses of the samples of the respective clusters are to each other, they remain tied to their particular culture. This is why the authors of the article adhered to the differentiation between “Minoan” and “Mycenaean”, even though the DNA results alone would not have allowed such a sharp distinction to be drawn. In order to prevent such flaws, references to archaeological “cultures” should be avoided and clusters of DNA samples should be described in as neutral terms as possible (Eisenmann et al. 2018). My preference would be a nomenclature based on references to regions and chronological periods, such as “Argolid, Late Bronze Age” or “East Crete, Late Neolithic”, etc. Third, the authors rightfully emphasize that “Mycenaeans were least differentiated from populations from Greece, Cyprus, Albania, and Italy”, and that modern Greeks “are not identical

to the Bronze Age populations” (Lazaridis et al. 2017). Yet, of all recent populations, only the genetic samples of modern Greeks are highlighted in color in the authors’ Principal Component Analysis and discussed by them in detail. This to some extent explains the media’s reaction that “modern Greeks are descendants of Mycenaeans” (for an analysis see Hamilakis 2017; McCoskey 2018). I do not doubt that some genetic links do exist between today’s Greeks and Aegean Bronze Age populations, but the decisive point is that no particular modern population can claim exclusive ancestry to one from such a distant past. Due to the myriad patterns of mobility in the last 8000 years, today’s populations of Mediterranean descent are a mixture of essentially identical genetic components, mostly of Near Eastern derivation. They are thus so interrelated that it is totally naive to expect a close and exclusive correspondence between a modern population and a specific group of the past.

The Dark (and Quite Recent) Heritage of Biologizing Ethnicity and Language Families Any attempt to link the population of a nation state with a prehistoric people also comes at the risk of reviving a biological understanding of ethnicity and tapping into the “dark heritage” of a racialized physical anthropology. In discussions of the abuse of biological data by archaeology, the Nazi era is often sharply juxtaposed with the post-war period (cf. Haak and Schiffels 2018: 311; Krause and Trappe 2019: 237), a time when any link between ethnicity, biology and “race” was allegedly restricted to fringe groups beyond reputable scholarship. However, things back then were not all that clearcut (for strands of continuity between German preand post-war archaeology, see already von Rummel 2018: 348–349). We need to bear in mind that in contrast to the social sciences’ general shift towards a constructivist understanding of ethnicity in the post-war period, physical anthropology, especially in Central and Southeastern Europe, clung to the notion of Völker as biological organisms long after World War II (Turda 2010; Plümecke 2013: 95–98; Demoule 2014: 273; Bassin 2015: 844–845). Due to archaeology’s close cooperation with physical anthropology, such ideas not only had a profound impact on the former, but were also exploited for political purposes, such as bolstering the identity of nation states (Turda 2010: 7–8). As late as 1986, a group of archaeologists and physical anthropologists published a book on the “Ethnogenese europäischer Völker” (Bernhard and Kandler-Pálsson 1986) premised on the idea that in order to assess the

Archaeological Cultures, Fabricated Ethnicities and DNA Research

“ethnogenesis” (for a critical assessment of this term, see Brather 2004: 544–550) of European Völker, one had to trace their cultural and biological roots to the distant past.6 The physical anthropologists did so by classifying and comparing skull types and other skeletal remains, just as it had been done before 1945. Evidently, archaeology and physical anthropology were deemed sufficient in themselves to answer questions about “ethnogenesis”.7 The volume was dedicated to Ilse Schwidetzky,8 likewise one of its contributors, who had actively participated in racial studies as a proponent of the “Breslau School of Anthropology” during the Nazi era (Lüddecke 2000: 65–92).9 After the war, she and her academic mentor Egon von Eickstedt (Preuß 2009) managed to avoid prosecution by downplaying their professional contributions to Nazi racial studies (Lüddecke 1995: 104–107; 2000: 93–103, 165–235; Massin 1999: 23–42; Schafft 2004: 241–242; Benthall 2013: 241–244; Etzemüller 2015: 197–206) and reinstating themselves at the University of Mainz. This marked the beginning of Schwidetzky’s rise as one of Germany’s most influential physical anthropologists of the 1960s and 1970s (Lüddecke 2000: 228; Klautke 2007: 35–36; Lipphardt 2008: 242–243; Morris-Reich 2013a; 205–208; Etzemüller 2015: 211–224; Fahlbusch, Haar and Pinwinkler 2017: 186–190, 751–756), though she now used the term Völkerbiologie or Bevölkerungsbiologie in lieu of “racial studies” (Lüddecke 2000: 167–172; Klautke 2007: 35; Turda 2010; Morris-Reich 2013a: 207; 2013b: 225). Nonetheless, Schwidetzky regretted for the rest of her life that speaking of human “races” had become controversial,10 and she “became part of an Even as late as 2001, John V. Day published a monograph in which he tried to solve problems of “Indo-European origins” by combining biological (cranioskeletal and genetic) with cultural evidence (Day 2001). According to Skaarup (2017: 173), Day has “devoted much of his own book to a resurrection of the ill-fated idea of a race of blond, blue-eyed Aryans/Proto-Indo-Europeans”. 7 On physical anthropology’s all-encompassing claim that it can assess processes of “ethnogenesis”, see Trubeta 2013: 147–190. 8 Pinn and Nebelung (1989: 726) state that “als ‘Traditionswahrerin’ rassistischen Gedankenguts aus dem ‘Dritten Reich’ dürfte Schwidetzky in beispielloser Weise dazu beigetragen haben, angehenden Biologen und Medizinern ein von Erb- und Rassedeterminanten geprägtes Bild vom Menschen nahezubringen”. 9 Billig 1979 states that “it was Schwidetzky who had written many of the reviews of the most extreme pro-Nazi and anti-semitic publications to appear in Zeitschrift für Rassenkunde”; see also Jacquard 1981: 38–39. 10 Lüddecke 2000: 207–235; Lipphardt 2008: 243; Plümecke 2013: 97–98. Tellingly, Schwidetzky’s post-war oeuvre comprises studies with titles such as “Das Problem des 6

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international network of racist scientists” (MorrisReich 2013b: 225) that opposed UNESCO’s postwar antiracist efforts (Kühl 2013: 164–165). The persistence of racial thinking in post-war physical anthropology in both Germany and the Soviet Union had a profound impact on research in Eastern Central and Southeastern Europe, as has recently been demonstrated by Marius Turda (2010: 3–15; see also Trubeta 2013: 159–189). In 1979, Schwidetzky, along with colleagues from Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria and Greece, published the sixth volume of the “Racial History of Mankind”, which focused on the countries of the Carpathian Basin and Southeastern Europe (Schwidetzky 1979). The volume contributed to the fact that “once again, the anthropological language of race and ethnicity, initially the privileged property of experts, was increasingly adopted by various authorities of cultural and political life as well as by nationalist propagandists…..Under these political circumstances, physical anthropology proved critical in defining national territories and guiding linguists, geographers, and ethnographers in the region toward asserting nationalist claims” (Turda 2010: 7–8). Accordingly, ideas about “race” and the primordialist understanding of ethnicity that regards Völker as homogenous and age-old collective organisms remained influential in central and southeastern European anthropological and archaeological circles long after the end of World War II (for Greece, see Trubeta 2013: 186–189, 196–201, 289–291; see also Turda 2010: 6). Although no longer based on cranial typologies and skeletal studies, but rather on such exclusively dealing with the molecular level (Plümecke 2013: 99–183), the results of aDNA could easily be (ab)used to biologically differentiate groups of people and study their “development” over time in a similar way as in Schwidetzky’s Völkerbiologie (Rajagopalan and Fujimura 2012: 149–160; Sommer 2012: 225–242; Plümecke 2013: 169–181). This especially applies to such research results seemingly implying that certain genetic patterns of the inhabitants of a nation state are rooted in the DNA of people of that same nation in the distant past (see Demoule 2014: 303–317; Nakassis 2017; McCoskey 2018; Booth 2019; Frieman and Hofmann 2019; Hakenbeck 2019). For instance, archaeologists and geneticists have recently been emphasizing that the genetic composition of the inhabitants of Central Europe has remained stable since the 2nd Völkertodes: Eine Studie zur historischen Bevölkerungsbiologie” (1954), “Die neue Rassenkunde” (1962), “Rassen und Rassenbildung beim Menschen: Typen, Bevölkerungen. Geographische Variabilität” (1979). For a critical assessment of these studies, see Lüddecke 2000: 167–207.

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millennium BCE (Allentoft et al. 2015: 170–171; Brandt 2017: 190–192), a claim that could easily be interpreted to mean that the people of the Bronze Age were “our ancestors” and that it is possible to trace the history of Europe’s Völker all the way back to that era. At a time when radical right-wing groups are agitating for an ethno-pluralist Europe cleansed of “Judeo-Christian” values (Taguieff 1994: 186– 194; Bar-On 2007: 103–104; 2012: 35–45), where populations with “ancient blood ties” and clearcut ethno-cultural differences can live side by side (Taguieff 1994: 87–106; Spektorowski 2003: 112– 115; Bar-On 2012: 29–33, 46–47; 2013: 54–55, 93– 109, 138–141; Schlembach 2014: 95–110; Bassin 2015: 844–850), the potential for the abuse of such aDNA-results is—at least to me—quite apparent (see already Wiwjorra 2009: 132–134; Furholt 2018: 170; Frieman and Hofmann 2019; Hakenbeck 2019). Seemingly diachronically stable DNA-components could be employed to single out those people of a country who do not share them and strip them of the right to call themselves Germans, Greeks or Italians. The European extreme right in general, along with Alain de Benoist, the leading theoretician of the French Nouvelle Droite and its concept of “ethnopluralism” (Taguieff 1994: 109–336) in particular, have long been obsessed with the “Indo-Europeans” (Lincoln 1999: 122 with footnote 2; François 2014: 89–94), the Indo-European roots of European Völker (Taguieff 1981; 1994: 173–180; Spektorowski 2003: 121–125; Bar-On 2007: 108; 2012: 35–45; François 2011: 136–151; 2014: 145–176; Demoule 2014: 278–285, 292–300, 486–490; Camus 2019: 84) and the need to protect these allegedly ancient Völker from the threatening influx of “foreign blood” (BarOn 2012: 32–33; François 2014: 120–123). The recent tendency to charge genetic patterns with ethnic significance (“Mycenaeans”, “Corded Ware people”, “The Yamnaya”) and link them with Indo-European language groups revives the ideas and methods of Gustaf Kossinna (Brather 2004: 593– 601; Hansen 2019: 45–51; Hakenbeck 2019) and can easily be exploited to add credibility to a primordialist understanding of ethnicity and its claims that the European Völker have lived in their respective territories since time immemorial (François 2011: 16–19, 170; Demoule 2014: 289–290; Frieman and Hofmann 2019). This tendency is further amplified by the use of expressions such as “the genetic origin of Europeans” in aDNA-research (cf. Haak and Schiffels 2018: 315) which seemingly implies a distinct biological bond between “Europeans” and a difference to “Asians” and “Africans”, although the actual results of aDNA research point exactly in the opposite direction of the impossibility of making such a distinction.

That the danger of opening research towards farright ideas and discourses is very real is exemplified by contributions to the two recent volumes “Tracing the Indo-Europeans” (Olsen, Olander and Kristiansen 2019) and “Language and Prehistory of the Indo-European Peoples” (Hyllested et al. 2017). In two articles of these volumes, texts by de Benoist on “Indo-Europeans” are quoted11 as if he were an expert on Indo-European languages rather than a radically right-wing philosopher and ideologist with a political agenda of transforming Europe into a mosaic of authentic Völker that are deeply rooted in their respective pagan Indo-European pasts. In another contribution to the volume “Tracing the Indo-Europeans”, alleged similarities between the poses and gestures of bronze figurines of the Danish Late Bronze Age and those practiced in yoga are used to draw an analogy between ancient Indian Vedas and Scandinavian second millennium-BCE ritual practices and to postulate that the bodily practices in the two geographical regions may have common roots in an “Indo-European cosmology” (Oma and Melheim 2019: 138–139; for these comparisons, see already Oma 2008). Such a hypothesis could be simply dismissed as an example of the pitfalls of inferring far-reaching conclusions from a comparison of vaguely similar cultural traits in regions separated by thousands of kilometers. Nonetheless, there is a more sinister side to the claim that yoga was already practiced as an “Indo-European” cultural technique in the Nordic Bronze Age. Similar essentializing concepts that championed the homogenous traits of an “Indo-European/-Germanic religion” led German scholars of the Nazi period, among them the Indologist Jakob W. Hauer and the influential racial theoretician Hans F.K. Günther, to stress the common Indo-European origin of “Nordic” and Indian spirituality (Staiano-Daniels 2014; Tietke 2014: 151–183). These scholars also praised the virtues of the “Indo-Germanic warrior-spirit” of ancient Indian texts and propagated “Aryan Yoga”— ideas that had a deep impact, especially on Heinrich Himmler (Kurlander 2014: 161–163; Tietke 2014: 184–199). It may very well be that the authors were neither aware of the appropriation of yoga as an allegedly ancient “Indo-Germanic” cultural technique in Nazi Hultgård 2017: 148 with footnote 34, 163; Østmo 2019: 60, 69. Einar Østmo cites a version of de Benoist’s text uploaded on the obscure website “thule-italia.net” that specializes in fascist and esoteric literature. It needs to be pointed out that in spite of its very problematic title, some of the contributions to the volume “Language and Prehistory of the Indo-European Peoples” confront the dark heritage of Indo-European Studies (see especially Skaarup 2017; Whitehead 2017).

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Germany,12 nor of the character of de Benoist’s writings. All this nevertheless sadly underscores a certain degree of permeability between recent research lying at the interface of aDNA, historical linguistics and archaeological cultures on the one hand, and pre-war racist discourses, as well as contemporary radical right-wing ideologies such as that of the French Nouvelle Droite and its enthusiasm for the “Indo-Europeans” on the other (for an analysis, see Hakenbeck 2019). In this respect, it needs to be said that a cooperation between certain Indo-European philologists, physical anthropologists, historians and other intellectuals of the extreme right in a “racist international” (Billig 1981) can be traced back, as Jean-Paul Demoule has shown, to the 1960s (Demoule 2014: 298–301; see also Taguieff 1994: 173–178; Arvidsson 2006: 303–306; François 2014: 106–107). Thus, it should come as no surprise that Roger Pearson founded not only the Journal of Indo-European Studies,13 but also the “Northern League”, a neo-fascist organization that fought for “the preservation of the identity and values of the North, so that our nations can have in the future also white, blond and blue-eyed children” (cited after Billig 1979; see also Taguieff 1994: 238–242: Demoule 2014: 298–302; on the networks of influence of Pearson, see Lincoln 1999: 122–123; Arvidsson 2006: 303–304; Saini 2019: 71–78). To quote Bruce Lincoln (1999: 137): “when those on the New Right, like Alain de Benoist, Jean Haudry, or Roger Pearson, cite Dumézil’s writings in support of their positions…we may suspect them of appropriating nothing other than positions of the Old Right that have been brilliantly recoded and misrepresented first as ancient wisdom, and second as scholarly discourse.” All this is not to suggest that Indo-European studies are invariably tainted by racism, only that we need to bear in mind the long history of the racist abuse of this particular field of scholarship in order not to fall into the traps of the past.14 Oma and Melheim (2019: 134) state that Scandinavian archaeology has abandoned “the question of Indo-European culture and how to connect language, genes and material remains” in the post-war era “partly as a reaction to abuse of the theories of origin.” However, they do not elaborate on the nature of this “abuse” or explain how they think “language, genes and material remains” could be connected without biologizing cultural phenomena. 13 Demoule 2014: 298–299. Pearson was also one of the co-founders of the periodical Mankind Quarterly (Schaffer 2007), whose contributors have been described as “scientific racism’s keepers of the flame”(Tucker 2002: 2). 14 As Hutton (1999: 3) remarks: “Even the most superficial look at the problem makes it clear that ideas about an Indo-European (Indo-Germanic, Aryan) people (or race or tribe) derive from linguistics; race science took its lead 12

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Conclusions In light of this historical and political context, those who do not wish to grace dangerous völkische ideologies of the extreme political right with scholarly respectability must realize that “ethnicizing” archeological “cultures” or language groups and “biologizing” them by linking them to DNA-patterns is not an innocent endeavor (Furholt 2018: 170–171; McCoskey 2018; Frieman and Hofmann 2019). Given that the conclusions of their research can easily be interpreted in unforeseen ways, scholars need to stress the fact that aDNA results should not be understood as proof of any long-term “ethnic continuity” of biologically homogenous Völker (Furholt 2018: 170–171; Booth 2019; Krause and Trappe 2019: 238–248). Quite the contrary, the collective identities of people are rooted not in DNA-patterns, but in how they regarded themselves in highly contingent social and historical circumstances that ensured that their identities were subject to continuous transformation. What likewise needs to be stressed is that the main components of genetic patterns since the Bronze Age came into being thanks to the mixture of populations of diverse origins (Brandt 2017: 175–189), and that, despite their seeming stability since the Bronze Age, the great mobility of peoples between east and west, north and south precludes the possibility of determining which groups fall into the category of “indigenous” (Frieman and Hofmann 2019). In concluding, I wish to stress that it is the responsibility of archaeologists and scientists to carefully scrutinize how their research results are used or abused in scholarly or public discourse (Frieman and Hofmann 2019; Hakenbeck 2019; Samida 2020). Arguably, it is much easier to work with a few clearcut ethnic terms than to face the muddle of fluid and ever-changing collective identities. But as scholars we should go not for the easiest, but for the most adequate solution! Ancient DNA can add significantly to our knowledge of history and patterns of mobility. Scholars trying to make sense of the results of aDNA research, however, should refrain from imposing an ethnic significance on archaeological cultures and resist the temptation, fueled by public expectations, of connecting aDNA to ancient or modern collective identities. Fabricated ethnicities such as “Indo-Europeans”, “Corded Ware people” or “Mycenaeans” should be particularly avoided in scholarly discourses as they create a false impression of supra-regional and diachronic homogeneity (in the sense of Völker) and can thus be very easily abused from the study of language.” See also Römer 1985: 131– 152, 179–180; Lincoln 1999: 121–137; Skaarup 2017; Hansen 2019: 55.

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for political ends (von Rummel 2018: Hakenbeck 2019). Were he still alive, Kossinna should be given no reason to “smile” (Heyd 2017). He was shunned after 1945 not because of his emphasis on migration (contra Kristiansen et al. 2017: 343)—which was common in the early 20th century—but because his conflation of culture, language and “race” was inherently and irredeemably flawed (Arnold 1990: 464; Grünert 2002a: 240–244; 2002b: 307–309;

Puschner 2002: 58–61; Müller 2013: 36; Demoule 2014: 172–182, 215–226; François 2014: 168–169, 178–179) and makes him a “precursor of nationalsocialist ideology” (Grünert 2002b; see also Römer 1985: 80– 81; Arnold 2006: 11–12; Maner 2018: 216–219, 252–254)! Ethnicities are rooted not in the blood, but in the minds of people, which is precisely why they are fluid and forever changing!

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Pinn, I. and Nebelung, M. 1989. “Kontinuität durch Verdrängung: Die ‘anthropologisch-soziologischen Konferenzen’1949–1954”. In H.-J. Hoffmann-Nowotny (ed.). Kultur und Gesellschaft: Gemeinsamer Kongreß der Deutschen, der Österreichischen und der Schweizerischen Gesellschaft für Soziologie, Zürich 1988. Beiträge der Forschungskomitees, Sektionen und Ad-hoc-Gruppen. Zürich: Seismo Verlag, pp. 724–727. Peoples, J. and Bailey, G. 2010. Humanity: An Introduction to Cultural Anthropology. Ninth Edition. Belmont: Wadsworth Cengage Learning. Plümecke, T. 2013. Rasse in der Ära der Genetik: Die Ordnung des Menschen in den Lebenswissenschaften. Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag. Poliakov, L. 1971. The Aryan Myth: A History of Racist and Nationalist Ideas in Europe. New York: Basic Books. Preuß, D. 2009. ‘Anthropologe und Forschungsreisender’: Biographie und Anthropologie Egon Freiherr von Eickstedts (1892–1965). Munich: Utz Verlag. Puschner, U. 2002. “Grundzüge völkischer Rassenideologie”. In A. Leube (ed.). Prähistorie und Nationalsozialismus: Die mittel- und osteuropäische Ur- und Frühgeschichtsforschung in den Jahren 1933–1945. Heidelberg: Synchron-Wissenschaftsverlag der Autoren, pp. 49–72. Rajagopalan, R. and Fujimura, J.H. 2012. “Making History via DNA, Making DNA from History: Deconstructing the Race-Disease Connection in Admixture Mapping”. In K. Wailoo, A. Nelson and C. Lee (eds.). Genetics and the Unsettled Past: The Collision of DNA, Race, and History. New Brunswick, New Jersey and London: Rutgers University Press, pp. 143–163. Rebay-Salisbury, K.C. 2011. “Thoughts in Circles: Kulturkreislehre as a Hidden Paradigm in Past and Present Archaeological Interpretations”. In B.W. Roberts and M. Vander Linden (eds.). Investigating Archaeological Cultures: Material Culture, Variability, and Transmission. New York, Dordrecht, Heidelberg and London: Springer, pp. 41–59. Roberts, B.W. and Vander Linden, M. 2011. “Investigating Archaeological Cultures: Material Culture, Variability, and Transmission”. In B.W. Roberts and M. Vander Linden (eds.). Investigating Archaeological Cultures: Material Culture, Variability, and Transmission. New York, Dordrecht, Heidelberg and London: Springer, pp. 1–21. Rodenwaldt, G. 1921. Der Fries des Megarons von Mykenai. Halle: Niemeyer. Römer, R. 1985. Sprachwissenschaft und Rassenideologie in Deutschland. Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. Roessel, D. 2006. “Happy Little Extroverts and Bloodthirsty Tyrants: Minoans and Mycenaeans in Literature in English after Evans and Schliemann”. In Y. Hamilakis and N. Momigliano (eds.). Archaeology and European Modernity: Producing and Consuming the Minoans. Padova: Bottega d’Erasmo, pp. 197–207. Roos, D. 2014. Julius Streicher und ‘Der Stürmer’, 1923–1945. Paderborn: Schöningh. Rossman, V. 2002. Russian Intellectual Antisemitism in the Post-Communist Era. Jerusalem: Vidal Sassoon International Center for the Study of Antisemitism. Roth, W.D., Yaylacı, Ş., Jaffe, K. and Richardson, L. 2020. “Do Genetic Ancestry Tests Increase Racial Essentialism? Findings from a Randomized Controlled Trial”. PLoS ONE 15(1): e0227399. doi:10.1371/ journal.pone.0227399. Rummel, P. von 2018. “Gene, Populationen und Identitäten: Genetic History aus archäologischer Sicht”. NTM Zeitschrift für Geschichte der Wissenschaften, Technik und Medizin 26: 345–350. Saini, A. 2019. Superior: The Return of Race Science. Boston: Beacon Press. Samida, S. 2020. “Über mediale Präsenz und Prominenz DNA-gestützter Vergangenheitsforschung”. NTM Zeitschrift für Geschichte der Wissenschaften, Technik und Medizin 28: 181–192. Sand, S. 2009. The Invention of the Jewish People. London and New York: Verso. — 2010. The Invention of the Jewish People. Paperback Edition. London and New York: Verso. Schaffer, G. 2007. “«‘Scientific’ Racism Again?»: Reginald Gates, the Mankind Quarterly and the Question of ‘Race’ in Science after the Second World War”. Journal of American Studies 41(2): 253–278. Schafft, G.E. 2004. From Racism to Genocide: Anthropology in the Third Reich. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Schlembach, R. 2014. Against Old Europe: Critical Theory and Alter-Globalisation Movements. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing. Schuberth, R. 2015. Bevor die Völker wussten, dass sie welche sind: Ethnizität, Nation, Kultur. Eine (antiessenzialistische) Einführung. Vienna: Promedia Verlag. Schwidetzky, I. (ed.). 1979. Rassengeschichte der Menschheit – 6. Lieferung. Europa IV: Ungarn, Rumänien, Bulgarien, Jugoslawien, Albanien, Griechenland. Munich and Vienna: Oldenbourg Verlag.

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Redundancy, Plurality, and the Digital Archaeological Record

Raphael Greenberg

Abstract In this paper I reflect on some of the losses that accompany the transition from paper-based to paperless field recording in Israeli archaeology. I focus on the interpretive opportunities occasioned by repeated manual inscription of basic data such as elevations and on the indeterminacy of stratigraphic units (loci) that is reflected in handwritten graphic logs, both contributing to a record that evolves over time. I suggest that these losses might be partially offset by deliberately introducing snags in the streamlined creation of excavation datasets.

Keywords: archaeological record, stratigraphy, digital archaeology

Prologue It is perhaps surprising, in so small an archaeological community as ours, that Ilan Sharon and I have only rarely worked in the same institutions or excavated at the same sites. Nonetheless, our paths crossed at two personally significant junctures: The first was when Ilan initiated a postgraduate study-group in which we tried to expand the intellectual scope of what, in early 1980s Israel, was virtually a closed archaeological ecosystem, confined both by our impermeable borders and by a strong empiricist tradition. The second was a brief collaboration, more than a decade later, in a series of continuing education workshops for the Israel Antiquities Authority and an unfinished attempt to write a manual of excavation and report-preparation for its archaeologists. These encounters engendered conversations among our cohort on the relative merits of different recording schemes and on the transition to digital media in the field, which was constantly being urged upon us as an agent of increased efficiency and a remedy to the slow rate of publication. As the only one among us with a previous background in mathematics and computing, Ilan’s was a dominant voice, and though much of what we discussed has slipped into oblivion, several recurring themes have stayed with me over three decades or more. One was his insistence on the necessity of redundancy – that is, the repeated inscription of the same data in different media, as part of the process of archaeological recording. Another

was his characterization of the archaeological record as always incomplete and often indeterminate – a theme that he took up in his Ph.D. research (Sharon 1995a; b) and which has recently been elaborated upon in a paper led by Matskevich (Matskevich and Sharon 2018). While at first I saw the insistence on redundancy as merely a guide to good practice in field-record design and maintenance (make many copies of your basic data!), I now realize that the re-inscription (double-check your data!), rather than the duplication, might have been the more significant issue in question, since it raises the possibility – explored in the second theme – that field recording remains malleable and unfinished for a far longer time than we normally allow. It is therefore to the practice of repeated inscription, to the indeterminate record, and to their interface with current practices of digital recording that I devote the following reflection. Although I deal with losses incurred in the transition between paper-based and paperless archaeological recording, this is not intended as a critique of digitization as such, which is inevitable, but as a reflection on endangered elements in our work that appear trivial, yet are intimately connected to the way archaeologists create the archaeological record and interpret it. They are especially critical to the art of stratigraphy, the backbone of the craft of excavation, which I perceive as being in danger of

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being marginalized by too-eager adoptions of new technologies and time-saving fixes.1

About the Record Archaeological recording may be characterized as the transition from sensory encounter and intuitive definition of the contours and qualities of buried deposits (“interpretation at the trowel’s edge”; Hodder 1997; 1999; Farid 2015), to sensemaking: the transcription and codification of these perceptions by way of measurement, text, and image production, in a manner consistent with institutional or disciplinary practice.2 As the discipline has evolved and become increasingly regulated, so have the tools for sensemaking become more extensive and standardized: that is, they consist of regularly executed protocols that are easy to master but more deeply embedded in disciplinary culture – a set of traditions and assumptions that, in creating a common language, determine and constrain what we select to preserve and how we interpret it. This process began with the design and elaboration of paper forms and of fixed rituals of excavations that answered the demands of these forms: the delineation of excavation units, the systematic collection of artifacts, graphic records, etc. To promote consistency, recording included redundant details: each item of information would be recorded in more than one place and would be accompanied by enough overlapping background data that could be used to establish consistency. The proliferation of standardized forms was nonetheless prone to miscopying, and alongside the formulaic requirements (locus, basket, elevation…) some space was still accorded to narrative (thoughts and interpretive speculations) and wiggle-room left for non-compliance – that is, the indication of uncertainty by means of lacunae (unfilled forms), inconsistency, and intentional changes, or, less frequently, the recording of ‘irrelevant’ details (a freehand drawing of a bird that visited the excavation, or a note on the weather). Beginning as early as the 1970s, but with a dramatic uptick in the 1990s, archaeological recording was harnessed to the utopian project of the   These concerns echo those that have been expressed eloquently by others, such as Caraher 2013; 2016; Huggett 2015; Kersel 2016; Matskevich and Sharon 2018; Marila 2019. 2   Sensemaking is a term used in organizational studies (Weik 1995) to designate the processes of information production and reception in large institutions; it considers how information can be shared and recognized as valid among diverse actors and the constraints created by “common sense” on the recognition of change and the unknown. For philosophical reviews, see Hernes and Maitlis 2010. For a case-study see Vardaman et al. 2012. 1

complete virtual record: a form of representation that can effectively nullify or at least rectify the effects of excavation by reinserting every item and feature of significance into a modeled archaeological space, allowing for a timeless, pre-interpretive, existence as pure record.3 This project, which began as a positivist scientific ambition but was co-opted by more mercenary actors, increasingly marginalized narrative and attempted to suppress resistances (‘errors’ and irrelevancies) while promoting blackboxing practices – conceptual shortcuts that place recorded data in easily recognized patterns congenial to institutional sensemaking. When digitized recording was introduced, one of its first declared aims was to eradicate miscopying, lacunae and inconsistency by eliminating the need for redundant acts of inscription. And as it has progressed from data tabulation to digitized imaging and modelling, it has increasingly restricted the range of permitted indeterminacy and ‘irrelevance’ in the interests of a swift transition from recording to communication. In the following discussion I wish to dwell on some aspects of the elimination of ‘error’ and ‘irrelevance’, which has taken uncertainty with it. I will ask whether this endeavor has not sacrificed the scientific project of understanding through error and interrogation to organizational efficiency, and if so, whether we should not intentionally seed paperless recording with opportunities or demands for re-inscription. I will consider two cases. One – that of excavation levels – is related to the apparent redundancy in paper recording systems and the effects of digitization on the possibility of ‘constructive error’ that accompanies these redundancies. The other – that of the ‘locus’ – is related to the inherent inconsistencies in deposition events and the effects of digital black-boxing on the retention of indeterminacy in archaeological communication. While in no way an exhaustive study of these concepts, much less of the role of digitization across the spectrum of archaeological activities or of the requisites for good practice, these cases will illustrate some truths about moral economy of archaeology and the potential gains and losses it incurs in its entanglement with free-market and managerial ideologies (Resco 2016).

The Wayward Level The recording of elevations in the field for any discovery of significance – as well as for This has not yet been achieved, but we seem to be well on our way, as we are promised that “Archaeology is Digitization” (Roosevelt et al. 2015), and that complete excavation sequences can be digitally preserved. 3

Redundancy, Plurality, and the Digital Archaeological Record

quantification of daily progress – has been important to archaeologists since the late 19th century, when depth became a proxy for sheer time elapsed (Petrie 1904: 10–11), and for the definition of strata (Bliss 1894: 1‒17); it is one of the primary rituals of fieldwork in stratigraphic excavations, with considerable implications for subsequent interpretation. Until the widespread adoption of digitized recording and data management, elevations were recorded manually and then laboriously copied into several sets of forms, first in the field and later during data processing.4 A typical series of repetitions in the recording of a given elevation for, say, a smashed ceramic vessel, would have included the following in a typical Israeli tell excavation of the early 1980s: In the field: 1. The elevations logbook (a record of transit measurements keyed to contexts) 2. The graphic log (a schematic plan, usually handdrawn, of daily excavation contexts) 3. The basket list (a daily list of discrete find-yielding excavation units; sometimes the levels were also recorded on the cardboard tags affixed to the artifacts associated with the basket) 4. The locus card (a recording sheet associated with a discrete unit of deposition and noting all its constituent baskets) 5. The daily/weekly plan (surveyors’ blueprints, often updated during the excavation) In the lab and beyond: 6. The artifact registry 7. The report (plans, stratigraphic narrative, locus list, finds lists) The justification for these repetitions appeared to be based, at least for the fieldwork stages, either on the engineering principal of redundancy, explained as “the duplication of critical  components or functions of a system with the intention of increasing reliability of the system, usually in the form of a backup or fail-safe”, or on the information principal of redundancy, where the addition of known ‘parity data’ to the relevant information content on different forms helps to establish the reliability of transmission (Wikipedia 2020).5 Because each paper record was unique, excavations were in danger of outright loss of information – mislaying or neglecting to fill out lists and forms – or, as was much more common, The question of accuracy, relative and absolute, is not essential to the argument of this paper and will not be addressed. It is, however, one of the main selling points of digitized excavation technology and merits a discussion of its own. 5   I leave aside the reproduction of records after completion (backups) and their distribution in different media, which may be characterized as pure (failsafe) redundancy. 4

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miscopying information. Redundancy ensured that the information was duplicated and distributed throughout the archive (anyone who has worked with legacy excavations can confirm the value of these opportunities for data validation). At the same time, however, it provided what seemed like far too many opportunities for the corruption of the record even as it was being produced. Many hours were spent by excavation staff in manually copying the elevations from one form to another, and as many – or more – in the correction of copying or calculation errors during and after excavation. When the inexorable move toward the digitization of field records began, sometime in the 1990s, one of the first tasks of code writers was to eliminate the errors that ‘plagued’ the manual recording systems. Now, once an elevation was entered and associated with a basket number, it would accompany that basket number in all its iterations. Moreover, it could be subjected to ‘rules’ that would prevent errors (e.g., an opening elevation must be higher than a closing elevation). These rules proved tricky, as excavation contingencies vary widely from site to site and even from one field to another, but eventually the issues were resolved and a new reality came into being: the elevation measured and confirmed in the field became a single entry in an integrated database, with the potential for unlimited repeated re-inscription in all future iterations of the record. Thus, an artifact registry generated in September would include by default bits of information encoded in June, and so on down the line, to the extent that the integrated databases could be tapped.6 In terms of the list generated above, the database could extend from Stages 2 to 6, and could even be tapped for some of the more technical elements of report-writing (Stage 7). Errors associated with the transition from Stage 1 (the recording of the elevation) to Stage 2 (its inscription in the database) were largely resolved with the widespread integration of total station theodolites into excavation databases and the use of GIS. The elimination of ‘copying errors’ in the digitized database is based on the premise that each reinscription of the information encoded in the elevation is intended to be identical in content to an ‘original’   Anecdotally, I was involved in very early attempts to create integrated excavation databases and forms in the Israel Antiquities Authority. The first software developer employed in this capacity assured the director of the IAA, a former general in the Israel Defense Forces, that the excavation software would issue ‘reports’ – tech-speak for printouts. The director later announced at a staff meeting that the huge backlog of unpublished excavations would soon be a thing of the past, since excavation reports would now be generated automatically! 6

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(representing the initial measurement). This premise should, however, be examined critically. To begin with, the specific bit of information – an absolute elevation – has no meaning in itself; it acquires meaning only through its existence within a hybrid human–thing network that includes the excavator, the archaeological context, the measured artifact, and other elements in the excavation that exist only in relation to each other, as an assemblage (there would be no ‘find’ without an ‘excavator,’ nor an ‘excavator’ without ‘contexts’). In manual repetition, each sensorimotor act commands the mind’s attention, however fleetingly, and occurs in a different context of inscription (following the Heraclitan principle that you cannot step twice into the same river), therefore carrying potentially different meanings.7 Moreover, the entire series of iterations is prefigured in the first transformation – from the measuring instrument to the log-book entry, which is in fact no more ‘original’ than they. That is, in contrast to the reproduction of a singular creation, each manual entry of the elevation represents a renewed affirmation of the idea of a singular and significant location within the excavation; each is a response to the questions: what was the elevation, why was it taken, and how does it relate to those in its proximity? Thus, for example, if, during the inscription in the basket list (Stage 3), it should transpire that there was a discrepancy owing to the misreading of a 3 for a 5 (twenty centimeters above the floor? That can’t be right!), this will be retroactively corrected (in the Stage 2 and even Stage 1 documents); alternately, the ‘original’ reading might be confirmed (yes, that makes sense); moreover, all the other elevations in its proximity acquire an additional layer of context with each affirmation (it’s the same level as the base of the wall!). Every iteration is thus different from its predecessor and may even change it. This is even more pronounced in the plan and publication phase, when some information may be prioritized (e.g., a single elevation substituted for top and bottom measurements). All these changes are represented by physical traces – erasures and rewritings – such that the handwritten paper record becomes a palimpsest that manifests the evidence for its change. Often, the changes and course-corrections also represent

  For the cognitive impact of hand writing vs. keyboard writing, see Mangen and Velay 2010. The philosophy of difference is given its most succinct and outrageous exposition in Borges’ “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote”, where an imaginary author reproduces parts of Don Quixote that are verbally identical, but, written as they are by an early 20th century Frenchman, “infinitely richer”. 7

multiple observers, gaining interpretive weight through the affirmation of different sets of eyes.8 By contrast, in a smoothly functioning digital system, meaning is leached out of the process by automatic insertion. There are fewer ‘mistakes’, but no palimpsests. Technically speaking, there is no repetition, but a single, reductive, data-entry event, leaving little or no footprint and not occasioning any retrospective inquiry into the circumstances of its inscription. The process has been simplified and streamlined. We know, however, that every simplification is a forgetting, a diminution of knowledge (as in a streamlined production process that requires diminishing expertise, until only maintenance of a smoothly running, but inaccessible, machine remains). In some forms of repetitive activity within controlled environments, simplification is usually for the better (on an assembly line, or in the mechanics of athletes’ movements in a hurdle race). In an interpretive process that responds to a constantly changing environment, of which excavation is a prime example, diminution of knowledge does not sound like something we should strive for. Clearly, a price is being paid for error-avoidance. Moreover, the assumption in the digital reproduction of the ‘original’ reading is that it – the ‘original’ – carries the most (or in effect, the only) weight, whereas we know that often the ‘copying’ – which should more accurately be termed a re-inscription or even a translation (when the context shifts from a form to a top-plan, for example) – can lead to a reappraisal of the original.9 It may be objected that I am attaching too much weight to what are, after all, trivial errors; that the advantages of precision and efficiency far outweigh the disadvantages of the occasional missed course-correction, for which there are other avenues of compensation; or even more sinisterly, that I am advocating the invention of data during its interpretation. To which I would respond that relative elevations remain key, non-trivial components of stratigraphic interpretation, and that the single dataentry, the original information, is not a fragment of objective truth, but an arbitrary measurement to which significance is assigned or attached when it is interpreted during and after each act of re-inscription (that is, that any point in the excavation can be measured, but only its designation as elevation of x in relation to y carries any significance). What I am advocating is active engagement with all types of stratigraphic data, and that might require the artificial   “[T]he more eyes, various eyes we are able to use for the same thing, the more complete will be our ‘concept’ of the thing, our ‘objectivity’” (Nietzsche [1887] 2006: 87). 9   This is equivalent to what George Steiner (1975) called ‘reciprocation’ in translation. 8

Redundancy, Plurality, and the Digital Archaeological Record

reinsertion of repetition, that is, intentional snags in the transfer of data from one form to another, into paperless systems. To further drive this point home, I examine another fundamental building-block of stratigraphic interpretation that has been subjected to digitized simplification – the humble locus.

The Shape-Shifting Locus One of the central entities of archaeological recording is the unit of deposition, known variously under the name of ‘context’, ‘locus’ (the most common term in Israeli excavations, which I shall use here), ‘matrix’, ‘layer’, etc. It too is an interpretive construct because it is based simultaneously on multisensory observation and description of its physical characteristics and on a working premise as to its significance.10 And as both the descriptive and the interpretive components of the ‘locus’ are dependent on the vision, experience, and prior assumptions of the individual excavator, loci are classic expressions of archaeological imagination and craft (Shanks and McGuire 1996), exemplifying the role of archaeologists in the creation of the record. Because loci are usually excavated over several days, their contours are always a work in progress, established through trial and error and defined by physical labor. And since this work involves several senses – sight, touch and hearing at the minimum – their constant negotiation must be expressed in daily verbal descriptions as well as plotted and represented graphically, with the changes of each new act of excavation superimposed on the last. In manual graphic logs, this creates either palimpsests or a series of snapshots that can be visualized as stop-motion sequences showing the appearance and disappearance of three-dimensional entities. In theory, the combination of contours, elevations and volumetric data (such as bucket counts) can provide a neat model for the deposit in question (e.g., the fill of a pit or a layer of stone collapse). In practice however, experience (as well as experimental study)11 shows that different excavators will see and sense different things in a given location and represent them differently as well. Figure 1 shows two graphic logs from 1980s excavations that I had occasion to prepare for publication. They were created by two archaeologists excavating at different   This reflexivity has long been recognized and accepted, despite attempts to legislate interpretation-free modes of description as well as middle range ‘laws’ of behavior and deposition. See, among others, Hodder 1999; Farid 2015. 11   A classic feminist exposition of the reflection of engendered power-differentials in excavation and field sketching is Gero 1996; the case described below is similarly gendered. 10

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times ‒ albeit within a few meters of each other ‒ at a stratigraphically challenging site. The first (Fig. 1a) is quite neat, with the contours of loci clearly marked. There are few erasures and little evidence of the reasoning behind the definition of contexts, which are briefly defined verbally. The second (Fig. 1b) appears chaotic, with numerous palimpsests, changes to the plan, and textual annotations. They can almost be viewed as a projection of an archaeological id and ego, the one showing demonstrative vacillation and the other – an impassive mask of knowledge. The ‘clean’ log is easily synthesized and summarized; it is a black box, providing easily digested output of whatever was clear to the excavator, but little of the process of interpretation. The ‘chaotic’ log is a more honest reflection of the actual situation in the field and in the excavator’s mind. Viewed in succession, its pages show contours that mutate rapidly or disappear entirely after being crossed out. Few could be modeled with any certainty in their raw form, but because the excavator kept all sherds from all contexts (in contrast to the highly selective retention in the black-boxed loci of the first excavation), possible sequences could be pieced together in the lab, in consultation with the field notes, while the interpretations of the first excavator had to be accepted as initially determined. Digitized graphic logs were long a thorn in the side of archaeological recording technology, but the recent rapid developments in digital photogrammetry and drone photography have revolutionized this aspect of fieldwork, largely replacing the arduous tasks of surveying and plotting with image-based modelling and preparation of plans (Kersel 2016). Earlier digitized systems preserved the divide between field logs and formal surveying by creating two record streams, one linked to the database and containing formally recorded features, and the other, not linked to the database, for informal recording of interpretations, alternatives, annotations etc. With the recent simplification and digital integration of planning, however, formal recording can go beyond the usual plan-worthy features and extend to excavated units of deposition. This type of recording seems to present a full three-dimensional realization of the virtually modeled locus represented by ‘snapshots’ in manual recording. It has been heralded as signifying a ‘paradigm shift’ – a decisive step toward the full integration of three-dimensionality into the excavation archive. Such an integration would render the archive virtually equivalent to the excavation itself, so that we should no longer say that excavation is destruction; rather, we should say that excavation is digitization (Roosevelt et al. 2015). But what kind of excavation log is, in fact, tapped in the three-dimensional archive: the expressive, doubt-

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Raphael Greenberg

Figure 1a. Two graphic logbooks from a similar location in a tell excavation of the 1980s. Photo by the author.

Redundancy, Plurality, and the Digital Archaeological Record

Figure 1b. Two graphic logbooks from a similar location in a tell excavation of the 1980s. Photo by the author.

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Raphael Greenberg

filled one that produces ambiguous, shape-shifting loci, or the reductive black-boxed one? And what information, in addition to that of the shape (or, to be more accurate, the shape of the surfaces that bound it on all sides), is included in the digital archive? Is the feel and the sound of the surface recorded? The trials and errors of their delineation? Even where paper or paperless records of the interpretive process are kept, the 3-D reconstruction, often animated, always outlined in bold colors, imposes its authority and becomes the deliverable product in widely consumed presentations and journal publications. Black-boxing has always been used in archaeology as a tool of authoritative interpretation and sensemaking. On the one hand, it serves to promote the legibility and communicability of archaeological evidence; on the other, it is in constant tension with the demands of positivist science for transparency of method and full disclosure of observations, as well as with the critical reflection that motivates postpositivist approaches in archaeology. Thus, while it is unavoidable in scholarly communication, its adoption early in the recording process – whether on paper or in digital form – represents a reversion from observation to common-sense thinking, which is self-confirming and automatic reproduction; once the contour of the locus has been established graphically in the course of excavation, it often constrains all future excavation to that contour, excluding the possibility of any severe discontinuity. By contrast, keeping the record raw and often ambivalent undermines common sense; it affirms difference – difference in the excavator’s understanding, but also deviations in the physical traces themselves. The repetitions and potential miscopying and reinscription that should characterize archaeological recording mirror or mediate the original locus of repetition and difference – the archaeological site itself. Archaeological assemblages are, for the most part, cumulative traces of repetitive behavior – repetition that is never precise and therefore creates substantial variations in which we are expected to discern some sort of regularity, usually, a generative set of goal-oriented human actions (food-preparation, waste disposal, crafting etc.) entangled with natural (entropic) processes. How these regularities or generative behaviors are to be characterized has long been a bone of contention, as in any project of classification, oscillating between the search for a synthesized ideal form and a statistical representation of variation. In the 1970s and 80s, under the gravitational pull of the hegemonic archaeological positivism, we were encouraged to refine the precision of field recording: more quantitative data, ‘objective’, presumably reproducible, descriptive criteria, more detailed forms, more photographs and

more video. The multiplication of measurements and standardized descriptions created bewildering quantities of almost random data that were only rarely synthesized. They seemed to show that there would never be enough consistent evidence to support or falsify any but the most trivial generalizations. No amount of details could overcome the fundamental plurality of reasonable interpretations. Instead of recognizing this plurality, the new recording technologies, although linked to infinitely more powerful computing tools, seem to be asking for simplicity: breaking the excavation up into single ‘contexts’12 designated for black-boxing.13 By outsourcing the contouring of contexts to photogrammetry, optimization and 3D modelling, they simplify the stratigraphic element in the work of individual archaeologists; in addition, the analysis of the contexts’ content is subcontracted to ‘archaeological sciences’ such as micromorphology and sediment analysis. The input of mechanical recording thus runs the danger of twice-depleting the information, first by doing away with ambiguity and ambivalence (eliminating possible alternative scenarios of deposition), and secondly by discounting the excavator’s judgment, sensory experience and intuition. Twenty-five years ago, when Sharon (1995b) published his POSAR modelling of archaeological stratigraphy, he presented as his premise that “any stratigraphic interpretation involves three types of considerations: sedimentological (pertaining to the nature of the deposit itself), depositional (inferred from the interfaces between the deposits) and cognitive (i.e., involving some assumptions as to the intent of the people who planned and used the feature(s) we are excavating).” The end result was a model that allows “a multiplicity of solutions to many stratigraphical ‘equations’ and the lack of complete solution to some” (emphases in the original). “[In] the ‘Sherlock Holmes’ approach to archaeology”, he continues, “the archaeological record… is deemed to contain a full and sufficient set of clues as to its formation, and the archaeologist, if he/she is good enough, must “read” these clues in an unambiguous manner…. In real life, as all of us know, this is not a reasonable expectation, and several different phasing schemes can often be fitted to the same data set” (the scarab can be on the floor; it may just as well be in the fill. I can’t make up my mind). Multiple solutions are complicated, especially when they are passed on   Based on the Museum of London format, developed during the contract excavation bubble of the 1980s and 90s, ground zero of the process of streamlining archaeology (Spence 1993). 13   I suspect the simplification is also a byproduct of using off-the-shelf programs designed for commercial use. 12

Redundancy, Plurality, and the Digital Archaeological Record

to sub-contractors (those samples you took – they could equally be from the floor or from the fill). Digital recording will make them less likely to occur, not because the data are any clearer, but because the system demands clarity at the source (in the field).

Eliminating Repetition: Cui Bono? We have seen that streamlining digital recording through simplifying data entry results in a loss of knowledge (the ‘friction’ that was eliminated was, in fact, reflection), which may or may not be compensated for in other ways. Why, then, have archaeologists been ready and willing adopters of technology? Who benefits from simplification? The answer seems clear; those who benefit most from streamlining the recording process are those who literally profit from archaeology, or those who are otherwise served by the expansion in the scope of excavation that digitized technologies appear to permit. In the U.S. and UK, where contract archaeology has long been dominant, contract archaeology firms are at the forefront of technical innovation, especially for systems that expedite or even circumvent excavation (non-invasive techniques for site identification). In recent years, breakthroughs in photogrammetric planning and onsite digital recording have arrived in this country too, accompanied by more mundane logistic solutions to year-round excavations. These have allowed the Israel Antiquities Authority to offer developers excavations of unprecedented size, two orders of magnitude greater than the traditional, intensive research excavation. This dramatic expansion of destructive excavation is accompanied with the promise of ‘complete’ digital archiving through photogrammetry, architectural scanning and object scans (Smith and Levy 2014; Willis et al. 2016). Academics, possibly curious about the effects of digitization on their research priorities and certainly pressured to deliver tangible, high-impact results in a competitive environment, clear the path for costcutting and destructive salvage work by promoting technologies in scholarly journals, using the very terminology of the managerial class who are the real targets of these innovations.14 The concept of a complete digital or virtual record is a mirage, anchored in the old, positivistic, conception of archaeology and of the role of archaeologists as objective technical experts. In practice, whatever recording system is used, the   In Roosevelt et al. 2015, my brief semantic study found the following (instances used per semantic field): ‘efficient’ – 27; ‘accurate’ – 15; ‘standard’ – 14; ‘consistent’ – 8; ‘probable’ – 0; ‘approximate’ – 0; ‘estimated’ – 0. 14

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archaeologist still selects and tags what is significant and worth recording, forgetting everything else, and still maintains the visual record as the only one worth preserving, forgetting the other senses. When large parts of a site are removed and the finds are buried beyond recall in long-term storage, these selections become irrevocable. Having done away with the places and objects of memory, which can no longer be experienced, touched, smelled or tasted, their ghosts are spirited away into the archive to exist as phantasms and holograms.

Conclusion: Embracing Plurality When among friends, most archaeologists will readily admit that they are plagued by doubt; that what they have in hand, here in the present, are no more than forking paths to the past and to its potential histories, that the record of any excavation is full of contradictions, and that it continuously evolves until it is codified as archive. This is not a pathology of the discipline that can be cured by more efficient digital tools or more precise laboratory analyses: It is the discipline. When archaeologists issue periodic calls to embrace ambiguity and slow the pace and extent of excavation (Gero 2007; Marila 2019) it is not only because it is a less-destructive path to take, but because ambivalence and time permit reflection and discourage certainty, which is the antithesis of science. Repetitions, rewriting, dismantling and rebuilding – these are all necessary to the art of stratigraphy, which lies at the heart of tell-based archaeology; we should be reluctant to see them go.

Acknowledgements This paper was written while on sabbatical leave (and sheltering in place) at Brown University. I thank Bhrigupati Singh, Yannis Hamilakis and their students for allowing me to join their ‘slow reading’ of Deleuze, the traces of which are evident in this reflection. Assaf Nativ kindly read a first draft and offered sage advice that I have tried to follow.

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Bibliography Bliss, F.J. 1894. A Mound of Many Cities, or, Tell el Hesy Excavated. London: Palestine Exploration Fund. Caraher, W. 2013. “Slow Archaeology”. North Dakota Quarterly 80 (2): 43–52. — 2016. “Slow Archaeology: Technology, Efficiency, and Archaeological Work.” In E.W. Averett, J.M. Gordon and D.B. Counts (eds.). Mobilizing the Past for a Digital Future. Grand Forks: The Digital Press at the University of North Dakota, pp. 421–432. Farid, S. 2015. “‘Proportional Representation’: Multiple Voices in Archaeological Interpretation at Catalhöyük”. In R. Chapman and A. Wylie (eds.). Material Evidence: Learning from Archaeological Practice. London and New York: Routledge, pp. 59‒78. Gero, J.M. 1996. “Archaeological Practice and Gendered Encounters with Field Data”. In R.P. Wright (ed.). Gender and Archaeology. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, pp. 251–280. — 2007. “Honoring Ambiguity/Problematizing Certitude”. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 14: 311‒327. Hodder, I. 1997. “Always Momentary, Fluid and Flexible: Towards a Reflexive Excavation Methodology”. Antiquity 71: 691–700. — 1999. The Archaeological Process: An Introduction, Oxford: Blackwell Books. Hernes, T. and Maitlis, S. 2010. Process, Sensemaking, and Organizing. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Huggett, J. 2015. “A Manifesto for an Introspective Digital Archaeology”. Open Archaeology 1, , last accessed 2 May 2020. Kersel, M.M. 2016. “Response: Mobilizing (Ourselves) for a Critical Digital Archaeology”. In E.W. Averett, J.M. Gordon and D.B. Counts (eds.). Mobilizing the Past for a Digital Future. Grand Forks: The Digital Press at the University of North Dakota, pp. 475–492. Mangen, A. and J.-L. Velay 2010. “Digitizing Literacy: Reflections on the Haptics of Writing”. In M. Hosseini Zadeh (ed.). Advances in Haptics, InTech, Available from: , last accessed 1 May 2020. Marila, M.M. 2019. “Slow Science for Fast Archaeology”. Current Swedish Archaeology 27: 93–114. Matskevich, S. and Sharon, I. 2018. “A Conceptual Framework for Archaeological Data Encoding”. In V. Juloux, A.R. Gansell and A. di Ludovico (eds.). CyberResearch on the Ancient Near East and Neighboring Regions: Case Studies on Archaeological Data, Objects, Texts, and Digital Archiving. Digital Biblical Studies 2. Brill, pp. 25–59. doi:10.1163/9789004375086. Nietzsche, F. [1887] 2006. On the Genealogy of Morality. Trans. C. Diethe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Petrie, W.M.F. 1904. Methods and Aims in Archaeology. New York: Macmillan. Resco, P.A. (ed.). 2016. Archaeology and Neoliberalism. Madrid: JAS Arqeologia. Roosevelt, C.H., Cobb, P., Moss, E., Olson, B.R. and Unlusoy, S. “Excavation is Destruction Digitization: Advances in Archaeological Practice”. Journal of Field Archaeology 40: 325–346. Shanks, M. and McGuire, R.H. 1996. “The Craft of Archaeology”. American Antiquity 61: 75–88. Sharon, I. 1995a. Models for Stratigraphic Analysis of Tell Sites. Ph.D. dissertation, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. — 1995b. “Partial Order Scalogram Analysis of Relations – A Mathematical Approach to the Analysis of Stratigraphy”. Journal of Archaeological Science 22: 751–767. Smith, N.G. and Levy, T.E. 2014. “ArchField in Jordan: Real-Time GIS Data Recording for Archaeological Excavations”. Near Eastern Archaeology 77: 166–170. Spence, C. 1993. “Recording the Archaeology of London: The Development and Implementation of the DUA Recording System”. In E.C. Harris, M.R. Brown III and G.J. Brown (eds.). Practices of Archaeological Stratigraphy. London: Academic Press, pp. 23–46. Steiner, G. 1975. After Babel: Aspects of Language and Translation. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vardaman, J.M., Cornell, P., Gondo, M.B., Amis, J.M., Townsend-Gervis, M. and Thetford, C. 2012. “Beyond Communication: The Role of Standardized Protocols in a Changing Health Care Environment”. Health Care Management Review 37(1): 88‒97. Weik, K. 1995. Sensemaking in Organizations. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Wikipedia contributors 2020. “Redundancy (engineering)”.  Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia,  , last accessed 5 April 2020.

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Willis, M.D., Koenig, C.W., Black, S.L. and Castañeda, A.M. 2016. “Archeological 3D Mapping: The Structure from Motion Revolution”. Journal of Texas Archeology and History 3: 1–36.

Archaeological Predictive Modeling for the Mountainous Upper Galilee Ido Wachtel

Abstract Archaeological predictive modeling is a tool that helps assess the likelihood of archaeological sites being present at different locations in the landscape. Such models are used as an analytical tool for research purposes and field surveys, in order to better explain settlement patterns and site locations. This paper deals with the settlement intensity of the upper mountainous Galilee, employing a combined approach that includes three complementary elements: 1) an analysis of survey maps produced by the Archaeological Survey of Israel in order to assess the probability of discovering new settlement sites within the study area; 2) archaeological predictive modelling for the region under study in order to define “hot zones” where new sites can be expected to be discovered; 3) a sample field survey in areas with a high probability to yield sites based on the predictive model. Analysis of adjacent regions shows that the number of known settlement sites in a given survey map area is expected to be doubled by a contiguous survey and to include a wide range of periods and site sizes. The archaeological predictive model employed here has significantly increased the probability of finding new settlement sites in the mountainous Upper Galilee. While the chance probability of finding new sites in a random sampling tends toward zero, the predictive model assists in discovering new sites within a very small sample consisting of only 0.5% of the entire study area.

Keywords: Upper Galilee, predictive modeling, maximal entropy (MaxEnt), the Archaeological Survey of Israel Introduction Europe. This was largely due to the revolution in computing hardware and GIS software, together with cultural resources management legislation in the 1970s (Kincaid 1988). At the same time, the use of modeling in archaeological research increased as an analytical tool for locational patterns and environmental preferences of past cultures, and as an aid to prioritizing areas in sample archaeological surveys (Kohler 1988). Predictive modeling was never incorporated into Israeli archaeology, neither in managing and protecting sites, nor in research. This article thus offers a pioneering archaeological predictive model for the mountainous Upper Galilee and will briefly present results of a preliminary sample survey that was based on the model results. The mountainous Upper Galilee region has never been subject to a systematic archaeological field survey. The available data on early settlement in the area is based on selective site surveys, random

Archaeological predictive modeling is a tool that helps assess the probability of sites being located in different locations in the landscape. The model predicts, at high and low probabilities, the existence of unknown archaeological sites based on a statistical analysis that weighs the location of the known sites and their environmental and cultural characteristics. It helps to identify “hot zones,” i.e., areas where the chance of finding ancient sites is higher than in neighboring survey cells. The predictive model actually serves as a kind of a “screening tool,” showing where the chances of finding archaeological sites are particularly high (or low), and helps analyze their environmental characteristics (Warren and Asch 2000; Westcott and Brandon 2000; Wheatley and Gillings 2002; Mehrer and Wescott 2006). The use of predictive modeling in archaeology became quite common from the early 1980s, primarily in the U.S., and later also in Western

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Ido Wachtel

Figure 1. The study area and major landscape units.

discoveries, and supervision and rescue work by the Israel Department of Antiquities and Museums (IDAM) and the Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA) (Aharoni 1957; Frankel et al. 2001). Nonetheless, a large dataset on early settlements in this region has accumulated over time. This paper deals with two basic questions concerning the settlement intensity of this region: How thorough is the archaeological knowledge of the region, and what is the likelihood that the present knowledge of settlement distribution will change as a result of further work? In order to address these questions, I employed a combined approach that includes three complementary elements: 1) an analysis of survey maps produced by the Archaeological Survey of Israel in adjacent areas, as well as an examination of the extent of the Survey’s contribution to the discovery of new settlement sites; 2) an archaeological predictive model for the mountainous Upper Galilee, with which it is possible to estimate the areas that are most likely to contain unknown sites; 3) a sample field survey in areas with high probability for sites based on the predictive model.

The Study Area The study area encompasses 320 sq km in the heart of the mountainous Upper Galilee.1 The northern boundary of the area is artificial, formed by the international border with Lebanon. Elsewhere the boundaries are determined by topography and landscape along the borders of the three major topographical units included in this study: the plateaus of the eastern Upper Galilee, the High Galilee (Meron-Peqi‘in Ridge) and the plateaus of the western Upper Galilee (Fig. 1). The Plateaus of the Eastern Upper Galilee This region includes the plateaus of Dalton, ‘Alma, Bar‘am and Yir’on. These plateaus are separated by fault lines, through which the Hazor and Dishon streams drain eastward into the Hula Valley. Another unit includes the chalk hills of Gush Halav and Safsufa (“Yehoyariv Height”), to the west of the Dalton plateau. The dominant rock formation in the plateaus of the eastern Upper Galilee is basalt from the Dalton formation, limestone of the Timrat formation and chalk from the Menucha formation. The survey was carried out under the direction of the author on behalf of the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (survey permits S-755/2017; S-888/2018; S-1028/2020; S-1094/2021 of the Israel Antiquities Authority).

1

Archaeological Predictive Modeling for the Mountainous Upper Galilee

The moderate topography of these landscape units enabled north-south transport routes and contiguous agricultural lands. The water sources in the area – small springs – are relatively abundant and stable. The region’s economy in the past (according to tax data and village statistics from the Ottoman and the British Mandate periods) was based primarily on grain farming. The High Galilee (the Meron-Peqi‘in bloc) This region is an elevated mountainous bloc consisting of two elongated ridges (Meron and Peqi‘in) tilted from the southeast to the northwest, and the SasaGodrim hills to the north. The rock in the Meron ridge consists of the Deir Hanna formation, which includes hard limestone alternating with chalk. The Peqi‘in ridge is mostly limestone of the rocky Sakhnin formation. Due to the nature of the region’s geology, most of the water seeps underground and flows out of the area to emerge in springs along its edges. The water sources in this block are small and unstable, and mostly dry out during the summer. There are scant agricultural lands, scattered in small plots of shallow, arable soil. A number of more continuous agricultural areas exist in the relatively extensive karst valleys in the Sasa and Hurfeish area, which are suitable for a combination of dryland farming with the cultivation of olive and fruit trees. This is also the case along the channel of the Kziv stream in the Beit Jann area. The Western Upper Galilee Plateaus These are moderate mountain plateaus located between the high mountain region and the elongated spurs of the Western Galilee. This area encompasses the Peqi‘in Valley and Mt. Meona in its southern part, Ramat Fassuta in the center, and Ramat Shomera in the north. The dominant rock in these plateaus is limestone from the Bina formation, but in their center are areas of exposed chalk from the Menuha formation. The chalk areas create continuous cultivation lands with deep soil that allow for diverse agricultural activities, including dryland farming and orchards. The primary water sources in this region are cisterns hewn in the chalk areas, and stable springs that flow in the areas where the limestone and the chalk meet. The three western plateaus, together with the fertile Peqi‘in and ‘Aqrab Valleys, are well suited to transportation and agricultural cultivation.

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Existing Archaeological Data and the Archaeological Survey of Israel The region studied is covered by six map grids of the Archaeological Survey of Israel (Sion 2014: 66), which have yet to be surveyed as part of this enterprise (excluding the Shomera map; Aviam and Shalem 2020). Three Survey map grids of the areas adjoining the study area have been completed and published; Achziv-Hanita, Nahariyya-Amqa and Rosh Pinna (Frankel and Getzov 2012a; 2012b; Stepansky 2012). These survey maps were analyzed in comparison with the study area in order to assess how much the known settlement distribution in each map grid changed following the Archaeological Survey of Israel. In other words, I examined the number of new settlement sites discovered in the Archaeological Survey of Israel in relation to sites that were previously known. This analysis helps to approximate the potential for future discovery of new sites in the mountainous Upper Galilee region that has not yet undergone a full systematic survey. For this purpose, a spatial database that includes the Survey map data was prepared. This database includes, for each site, its type (settlement/other), periods represented, its size as recorded by the surveyors and whether it was first discovered in the survey or was already known from previous work. This last section could be completed with the help of the bibliography pertaining to the recorded sites. For survey grids where a full survey was not yet conducted (e.g., the study area), data were entered for known settlement sites published in the regional works of Aharoni (1957) and of Frankel et al. (2001). In addition, the area of ​​each Survey map was measured to enable calculations of site density. Since the goal of this research is the identification of settlement sites, the analysis focused on sites that have been defined as such by the surveyors or which can be understood as such based on their descriptions. There is no systematic distinction between different types of sites in the Survey maps and therefore, it was necessary to re-classify the sites as settlement sites, installations, burial sites, and so forth, based on the surveyors’ descriptions. Tells, ruins, and pottery scatters that could be dated in association with architectural remains were classified in the database as settlement sites (including the remains of single buildings, cave habitations, and the like). The resulting database enabled quantitative analysis of each of the survey maps, such as the number of sites and their density per square kilometer, before and after the Archaeological Survey of Israel. Fig. 2 and Table 1 show the number of known settlement sites in each survey map. It is obvious that in the three areas where the Archaeological Survey

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Ido Wachtel

Figure 2. Archaeological Survey of Israel map and the current research area (in gray). The numbers in parentheses represent the number of known settlement sites before the Archaeological Survey of Israel. Larger numbers represent the total number known following the Survey.

Table 1. Numbers and densities of settlement sites according to previous works and the Archaeological Survey of Israel

Map name

The Archaeologi- Rosh Pinna cal Survey of Israel AkhzivHanita

Frankel et al. Survey (2001)

Map No. of area settle(sq km) ment sites according to previous works 100 40

No. of settlement sites added following the Israel Survey 65

Site density (per sq km)

Percentage change following the Israel Survey

1.05

262%

74

45

44

1.2

197%

Nahariyya Amqa Safed

121

37

54

0.75

246%

100

34

-

0.34

-

Alma Sasa Peqi‘in Me’ona Shomera

78 44 100 100 82

29 18 35 40 51

-

0.37 0.40 0.35 0.40 0.62

-

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Archaeological Predictive Modeling for the Mountainous Upper Galilee

Table 2. Site sizes by size categories: previous work vs. the Archaeological Survey of Israel

Rosh Pinna Akhziv-Hanita NahariyyaAmqa Total

< 0.1 ha Previous work 2 4 5

0.2-0.7 ha Israel Previous Survey work 14 1 12 5 7 3

1-4 ha Israel Previous Survey work 14 19 6 18 6 11

>5 ha Israel Previous Survey work 35 11 11 7 10 5

Israel Survey 4 0 1

No data 26 25 33

11

33

26

56

5

84

9

48

23

Table 3. Sites by period: previous work vs. the Archaeological Survey of Israel

Prehistoric

Rosh Pinna Akziv-Hanita Nahariyya-Amqa Total

Previous work 6 1 5 12

Israel Survey 16 6 7 29

Chalcolithic to Iron Previous Israel work Survey 21 33 15 13 14 25 50 71

of Israel was accomplished, the number of settlement sites is twice as large as in nearby areas that were not surveyed. However, this picture does not reflect the real settlement pattern: a retrospective analysis shows that the number of known settlement sites prior to the Archaeological Survey of Israel is very similar to the number of settlement sites known on nearby maps that have not yet been surveyed. In the Rosh Pinna map, for example, 40 settlement sites were known before the Survey and 105 sites after it was completed. In the map of Safed adjacent to it on the west, an area which has not yet been surveyed, there are 37 known settlement sites. It can be assumed that a systematic, contiguous survey of the Safed map area will lead to a similar increase in the number of known settlement sites. A similar picture emerges from the analysis of the survey maps of the Galilean coast. On the Akhziv-Hanita map, 45 settlement sites were known before the Survey and 89 after it, while 37 sites were known on the Nahariyya-Amqa map before the Survey and 91 after it. An examination of the size of sites discovered in the Survey maps revealed that there are sites in a variety of sizes, which can be classified as small to medium-sized sites (Table 2). Most of the new sites in the various maps were defined by the surveyors as ranging between 0.1‒4 hectares, with just a few sites of 5 hectares or larger being found. The analysis shows that the major sites in each of the survey maps were mostly known, but that a significant portion of the smaller-scale settlements that were not discovered prior to the contiguous survey.

Persian to Byzantine Previous Israel work Survey 26 29 36 25 30 19 92 73

Early Islamic to Ottoman Previous Israel work Survey 25 22 22 1 28 4 75 27

The new sites discovered in the survey maps date to a wide range of periods. Table 3 shows the distribution of these sites in each of the Israel Survey maps according to four general time periods: Prehistory (until the end of the Neolithic period), Chalcolithic to Iron Age, Persian through Byzantine, and Early Islamic to Ottoman. There was a significant addition of new sites from each of these time periods, in each of the survey maps. Although a smaller number of new sites from the early Islamic period onwards were discovered, in at least one of the three maps, the addition is significant (although these were mainly small sites, cave dwellings, and the like). Previous surveys conducted in the area from the 19th century onwards seem to have primarily mapped and surveyed sites that were prominent in the landscape (tells, ruins), with a certain bias towards later periods (the Middle Ages onwards). The rate of new sites discovered dated to this period or later was lower compared to other time periods. An analysis of the Israel Archaeological Survey maps adjacent to the study area clearly shows that a significant proportion of early settlements (over a range of periods) was not known until a full-coverage survey was conducted. Accordingly, it seems that there is significant potential for the discovery of new sites in the mountainous Upper Galilee region, and that our knowledge of early settlement in the region can be expected to change if a systematic survey were to be conducted in the future. At this stage, and in order to test this argument, a sample survey was conducted in limited areas, based on a

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Ido Wachtel

Table 4. Total of 54 settlement sites, sorted by periods of occupation (according to Frankel et al. 2001) Period

Sites per period (N=54)

Chalcolithic

Early Bronze Age

Middle and Late Bronze Ages

Iron Age

PersianHellenistic

RomanByzantine

MamlukOttoman

5

21

26

38

35

26

25

predictive model showing which areas have the highest potential of new sites to be found.

An Archaeological Predictive Model for the Mountainous Upper Galilee The predictive model performs a quantitative analysis of the environmental factors associated with a sample of known sites, and projects those factors onto areas where sites are unknown as a probability surface. The model helps to identify “ecological niches” which are suitable for settlement and where there is a high chance of finding ancient sites relative to neighboring areas. The relationships between the ancient sites and the landscape are studied, and the environmental factors are characterized using statistical software. The end product of the analysis is a probabilities map, from which a portion of the study area that has the highest chance of finding sites can be filtered out (McManamon 1981; Kvamme 1988; 1990: 261). A basic assumption when using a predictive model is that the location of ancient sites in the landscape is not random, but rather, expresses a choice that is influenced by terrain, availability of natural resources, and cultural considerations. Another basic premise is that the environmental variables of ancient sites are still represented in the landscape today and can be identified and analyzed using modern mapping (Warren and Asch 2000: 7; Kvamme 2006: 4). The purpose of the model is to analyze those areas where the probability of finding a site is higher than the random probability, which is a value obtained by dividing the area of ​​the known sites by the overall size of ​​the study area. In the mountainous Upper Galilee region, the random probability is about 0.5% (121 known sites covering an area of ​​about 167 hectares, divided by the overall study area, covering 320 sq km). Even if the number of sites in the area were double (as revealed by an examination of adjacent Survey maps, although the additional populated area is smaller), the chance of finding a site at a random point is no more than 1%, and the probability that a site will not be found at a random point is no less than 99%. The smaller the area where there is a high

probability of finding sites based on the model, and the more successfully that model “predicts” a larger number of sites (from an independent control group), the greater the probability of finding new sites in the field is relative to the random probability. The unit of analysis: The research area (320 sq km) was divided into 32,000 cells, each measuring​​ 1 ha. Each cell is, in fact, an independent unit of analysis, for which the probability of containing a site is calculated. The Variables: The dependent variable in this model is the “archaeological site”. The sampling of archaeological sites in the model includes 54 settlement sites in the study area which were previously surveyed by Frankel et al. (2001) that are characterized by a wide range of periods, sizes and site types. The sites which were chosen for the model were inhabited for at least one phase during the Bronze Age–Iron Age sequence. Five sites were first settled during the Chalcolithic period, and 45 were resettled alternately throughout later periods (Table 4). The independent variables are environmental variables commonly used in archaeological locational/predictive modeling. These include local topography, rock type, contemporary land uses, water sources, and climatic data (Wachtel et al. 2018). Model Construction and Output: After collecting the environmental data of each cell within the study area, a MaxEnt model was used (Phillips, Dudik and Schapire 2004; Phillips, Anderson and Schapire 2006). The MaxEnt model uses the location of known sites only (site-presence locations) and compares the environmental conditions at these locations with the entire study area. The MaxEnt model is widely applied in environmental research and, in recent years, has also come into use in archaeological research (Howey, Palace and McMichael 2016; Wachtel et al. 2018; Wachtel, Zidon and Shelach-Lavi 2020). The final product (the output) of the model is a map in which each cell (1 hectare) receives a probabilistic value for the existence of a settlement site within it, based on its environmental characteristics. The continuous probability values ​​are then converted to binary values ​​(high or low probability) based on the use of a probability threshold value (see below).

Archaeological Predictive Modeling for the Mountainous Upper Galilee

45

Table 5. Model results by threshold values

Training-group data (N=40 sites) Test-group data (N=14 sites) % land cover

80%

85%

90%

95%

0.796 ±0.02 0.09±0.001

0.860 ±0.02 0.13±0.001

0.90±0.02

0.95±0.01

0.17±0.005

0.22±0.006

Model Effectiveness: The archaeological data (54 known sites) were randomly divided into a training group and an independent test group. The model was constructed based on the sites of the training group and its results were confirmed on the test group, which was not used in constructing the model. The training group included 75% of the sites, while the control group comprised the remaining 25%; both were randomly re-selected 20 times (Wachtel et al. 2018). Based on the training data set, a successful model must effectively predict the location of sites from the independent control group (Kvamme 1988; 2006: 23; Warren and Asch 2000). Furthermore, the larger the number of sites from the test group within a narrower area which the model is able to predict, the more effective it is considered to be. The model’s percentage of land cover indicates the proportion of areas classified with high probability out of the total study area. For example, a model that correctly predicts 85% of sites in 15% of the study area is more effective than a model that predicts 85% of sites in 30% of the study area.

Results of the Predictive Model Table 4 presents the model results comparatively, by applying different threshold values ​​predicting between 80% and 95% of the sites in the training group and by examining how each model predicts the sites in the test group. The data show an average of 20 runs of each model, with each run selecting the test-group sites randomly. The data in Table 4 show that for each set of threshold values established for the training group, the model similarly predicts sites from the test group within areas of high probability for sites. At the probabilistic threshold that predicts 85% of the training group sites, 86% of the testgroup sites are located in only 13% of the total area. Respectively, a model that predicts 90% of the training group sites, predicts 90% of the controlgroup sites and covers 17% of the research area.

Sample Survey Based on the Predictive Model The model results were tested by conducting a sample survey in areas classified as high probability based on the predictive model. Sixteen representative areas of

different environments throughout the mountainous Upper Galilee were selected, totaling 170 hectares. The survey method included coverage of each area using transects at regular intervals of 10‒15 m between surveyors, while trying to identify ancient remains on the surface. In cases where artifacts were found (pottery sherds or flint items) at a minimum threshold of three items over a 50 m stretch, a “collection unit” was defined and systematically surveyed. The size of collection units varied between 0.1 and 0.5 hectare, depending on the characteristics of the area and the distribution of the findings. Each collection unit was marked on an aerial photograph at a scale of 1:2500 and its boundaries were measured precisely using a portable GPS device. For each collection unit, a survey form was filled out, including the unit’s name, terrain features, surface visibility (high/moderate/ low), number of surveyors and total time of artifact collection. Thus, the basic unit of analysis in this survey is not a “site”, but rather a “collection unit”. A “site” can be comprised of one or several collection units, depending on the distribution of the artifacts on the surface (Wachtel 2018; see also Sabar 2017). Below, I briefly present the results of the survey in the various sample areas examined. First, I describe areas that contained dateable archaeological remains that can be interpreted as settlement sites or as seasonal occupations, followed by a table (Table 6) summarizing the data from all the sampled areas, with a concise description of the findings (if any). Each area is accompanied by a serial number that allows it to be identified on the attached map (shown in parentheses in the area descriptions below; Fig. 3). Margins of Ramat Dalton and Nahal Gush Halav (5) An area of ​​15 hectares was surveyed at the western edge of the basaltic Dalton plateau and the upper half of the eastern slope of Nahal Gush Halav. On the slope of Nahal Gush Halav, a collection unit was recorded in an area of ​​0.3 hectare with a concentration of lowdensity pottery from the Hellenistic and RomanByzantine periods (including Kefar Hananyya ware), next to terrace walls and the remains of a building (ITM2 242565/769945). It is possible that this was a 2

ITM = New Israeli grid, Israel Transverse Mercator.

46

Ido Wachtel

Table 6. Summary of the survey results in 16 sampled areas Name

1

2

Matityahu Research Station Kerem Ben Zimra (north)

Surveyed area (hectares) 26

ITM

General description

242575-243020/ 774450-775025

12 collection units covering 8 hectares. Sparse sherds from the Ottoman period, flint items, several hand axes and a Levallois blade. No findings

10

242150-242315/ 772240-772680 241625-241840/ 772212-772781 24199/77198 272480-242997/ 769758-770537

3

Mt. Pu’a

4

4 5

Alva Spur Margins of Ramat Dalton and Nahal Gush Halav

4 15

6

Giv‘at Halav 15

24196/77098

7

Biryya Forest

30

244685-5455/ 764560-5700

8

Mt. Sifsof

8

Mountain spur north of Hiram Junction 10 Mt. Sasa

7

239564-714/ 767555-683 237985-238304/ 770200-770310

9

4

236430-500/ 770865-1210 235510-236320/ 768060-768100

11 Neriyya Spur

6

12 Afa‘im Spur

7.5

237370-238480/ 766230-766180

13 Abu Rimer Hurfeish 14 East of Tel Rosh 15 Peqi‘in Valley

13.5

233344-233950/ 767925-768070 232100-470/ 771665-830 228360-660/ 766365-7500

16 Sumei‘a

10 5

5

229780-9150/ 765170-420

No findings No findings Collection unit (0.3 hectare): Hellenistic and Roman pottery, alongside remains of walls (242565/769945) Collection unit (0.3 hectare), concentration of flakes and a bifacial tool (Neolithic-Chalcolithic) and unidentified sherds (24286/77019). Four collection units on Ramat Dalton, flint tools and flakes, wall foundations, and a tumulus. A collection unit of 0.7 hectare, about 600 m north of the tell, the foundation of a stone-pile wall. Kefar Hananyya sherds nearby. 30 collection units. In the north, homogeneous findings from the Roman period. In the southern part, a significant Chalcolithic site with building remains, sherds and flint tools. Five collection units covering 1 hectare, Kefar Hananya and Ottoman period sherds, winepress. Seven contiguous collection units, covering 1.8 hectares. Sparse findings, mostly Kefar Hananyya sherds.

Four collection units covering 1 ha in total. Flint tools, Kefar Hananya sherds, installations. Two small collection units covering a total area of 0.15 hectares. Kefar Hananyya sherds, tops of walls, winepress. One collection unit covering 0.35 hectare. Site is bounded by a perimeter wall, abundance of sherds belonging to Galilean Coarse Ware from the Persian and Hellenistic periods. No findings, possible cupmark. Nine collection units covering a total area of about 5 hectares. Flint items and some undateable sherds. Nine collection units covering a total area of about 5 hectares. Abundant and varied findings of sherds, alongside a few flint items, most of them eroded. Middle Bronze, Iron Age, Roman and Byzantine. Findings probably eroded here from adjacent sites in the valley. Six collection units covering about 2.6 hectares. Sherds, flint items and one basalt item. Remains of walls and sherds from the Middle Bronze (?), Iron (?), Hellenistic, Roman-Byzantine, and Ottoman periods.

Archaeological Predictive Modeling for the Mountainous Upper Galilee

47

Figure 3. Model results at threshold value of 85% of sites, covering 13% of the research area (purple/dark gray and the sampled survey areas in black. (Color Plate 1.1, p. 404)

seasonal habitation, associated with the ancient site at Gush Halav located about a kilometer and a half to the west on the other bank of the stream. Another collection unit was recorded about 300 m to the north, with a concentration of flint flakes and a bifacial tool (Neolithic-Chalcolithic), alongside unidentified pottery sherds (ITM 242865/770190). Nearby, on top of the Dalton plateau, four additional collection units were opened, containing a flint artifact, pottery sherds that were not datable, as well as stone walls and a tumulus. A number of hand axes (upper Acheulean), a Levallois blade (Middle Paleolithic), and a bifacial tool (Neolithic-Chalcolithic) were found in these collection units. Givat Halav (6) An area of 15 hectares was surveyed on two narrow and moderate chalk spurs on either side of Nahal Halav north of Tel Gush Halav. Two collection units were recorded: one in an area of 0.1 hectare (ITM 241860/770620) 150 m north of Tel Gush Halav, and the other in an area of 0.7 hectares (ITM 24197/77105), about 600 m from the tell. Sherds from the Roman and Byzantine periods, including Kefar Hananyya ware, were found in both collection units. At the second collection unit, further away from the

tell, a wall foundation and a stone pile, possibly the remains of a single building, were sighted nearby. While the collection unit closer to the tell may be connected to sherds that were eroded from the site, the artifacts found at the further collection unit probably signify in-situ activity, possibly the remains of a single structure associated with the ancient site at Gush Halav. Biryya Forest (7) The survey area is a moderate and rocky mountainous landscape bounded by the upper channel of Nahal Sechvi to the east and the deep gorge of Nahal Amud to the west. Approximately 30 hectares were surveyed in this area, within which 30 collection units were recorded covering a total area of ​​approximately 11 hectares (Fig. 5). In the northern part of the area, five collection units were recorded in non-contiguous areas at the edge of the survey unit, covering a total area of ​​about 2 ha. Low-density homogeneous sherds were found, most notably of the Kefar Hananyya ware of the Roman and early Byzantine periods, alongside stone piles and rock-cuttings, without significant building remains. The surveyed area is 2.5‒3 km away from known sites of the Roman and Byzantine periods (Qaddita, Meron). The findings

48

Ido Wachtel

Figure 4. Overview of the survey area in Nahal Gush Halav. (Color Plate 1.2, p. 404)

appear to mark an agricultural landscape based on farming in soil patches which may have sustained a small settlement site, a farm or a seasonal hamlet. In the southeastern part of the surveyed area, west of and close to the riverbed of Nahal Sechvi, an unknown settlement site from the Late Chalcolithic period was discovered (ITM 245420/764850). During the survey, 25 collection units with a total area of ​​9.4 hectares were undertaken within the site (Figs. 5‒6). Findings within the collection units include walls remains and a high density of Late Chalcolithic pottery, along with flint bifacial blades and ground stone tools. The pottery assemblage consists for the most part of vessels made of basaltic material (“Golanite” basaltic pottery), alongside vessels made of light-colored clay. The Golanite pottery helps date the site broadly to the second half of the fifth millennium and the beginning of the fourth millennium BCE. Mt. Sifsof Saddle (8) An area of ​​about 5.5 hectares was surveyed on a moderate slope at the northeastern edge of the Meron bloc, southwest of a wide saddle between Mt. Meron and Mt. Sifsof. The survey area is bounded by orchards of deciduous trees, dirt roads, and shallow gullies with dense Mediterranean maquis.

Five adjacent collection units covering a total area of ​​1 hectare were studied in this area. Findings in the collection units were sparse, but almost all the sherds collected belong to the Kefar Hananyya ware, along with occasional sherds from the Ottoman period. A winepress was identified above and outside the surveyed area. In general, the artifacts in this area are similar to those observed in the northern part of the Biryya Forest, Nahal Gush Halav, Giv‘at Halav and Mt. Sasa (see below), and may be associated with a small-scale settlement within an agricultural area, either permanent (isolated farm) or seasonal. Mountain Spur North of the Hiram Junction (9) This area is located east of Kibbutz Sasa at a southernfaced rocky spur north of the Hiram Junction. The slope is covered with dense maquis. In this area, 7 hectares were surveyed and seven adjacent collection units with a total area of 4.5 hectares were recorded. The finds in the area are sparse and most of what has been found are sherds, the vast majority of them of Kefar Hananyya ware. Terrace walls and stone piles were also observed in the collection units. These remains probably indicate an active agricultural area during the Roman or early Byzantine periods, during which it may have been a small settlement or seasonal presence, associated with the nearby site at

Archaeological Predictive Modeling for the Mountainous Upper Galilee

49

Sasa (Frankel et al. 2001: 37, site 209; Wachtel 2018: 148–153). Mt. Sasa (10) In this area, two narrow strips were surveyed, oriented approximately north–south on the southern slope of Mt. Sasa, from its base to its summit. The slope is shaped in the form of natural steps, upon which low agricultural terraces were sometimes built, covered with dense maquis. At the mountain’s base (adjacent to Road 899) is a seasonal pond known as the Sasa Pond. In most of the area, the surface visibility is poor because of the dense Mediterranean vegetation and the survey in this area was therefore limited to isolated clearings only. Two adjacent areas with a total area of ​​8 hectares were surveyed and four non-continuous collection units were recorded, covering a total area of ​​about 1 hectare. Quite a few flint artifacts were collected next to the Sasa Pond, including bifacial items that are dated generally to the Neolithic-Chalcolithic sequence; Similar items have been previously documented in this area (Frankel et al. 2001: 36, site 289). A few sherds of Kefar Hananyya ware were also found, as well as glazed sherds from the Middle Ages and a number of wall remains. East of Mt. Sasa’s summit, where topographic maps indicate a cistern, a lime kiln was discovered (ITM 236772/771027) and, next to it, a number of large, chiseled stones lying on their side. The pottery items found in these collection units include several rims of ​Kefar Hananya ware and sherds of Rashaya el-Fukhar ware from the Ottoman period. The remains in this area do not form a coherent archaeological picture at this stage, but it would appear that this was a marginal landscape on the outskirts of Sasa’s agricultural area that was used for a range of activities during different periods. The prevalence of flint items in the vicinity of the Sasa pool may indicate the existence of a small prehistoric site at this point, but it is not possible to determine whether this was a settlement site or perhaps a production site of bifacial stone tools. Neriyya Spur (11) On a moderate spur descending westward from the Mt. Meron field school, 500 m northeast of the area where the survey began, is Khirbet Neriya, which was inhabited during the Early Bronze II, the Middle Bronze II, and Iron I (Aharoni 1957: 26; Frankel et al. 2001: site 263; Wachtel 2018: 156–158). Significant parts of the spur are covered with dense maquis so the survey focused on areas that were exposed by the Nature and Parks Authority and on forest clearings, where visibility is moderate. An area

Figure 5. Survey area and collection units.

of ​​6 hectares was surveyed, with two small collection units totaling of ​​0.15 hectare. Homogeneous sherds from the Roman period were found in one collection unit. Next to the scattered sherds, a number of wall remains were observed (ITM 23591/76809). A round winepress was discovered about 100 m to the southeast. About 150 m to the west, on a topographic saddle, a number of well-constructed walls were documented, but no dateable artifacts were found nearby. To the west, another collection unit (0.05 hectare) was documented, with a concentration of flint flakes around a depression about 15 m in diameter, apparently a small, seasonal pool (ITM 235553/768145). Afa‘im Spur (12) A moderate rocky spur descending west from the summit of Mt. Meron, bordered by Nahal Afai‘m to the north and Nahal Zeved to the south. The area is partly covered with maquis. The area surveyed follows the axis of the spur near Khirbet Rom, which was inhabited during Middle Bronze II and the Persian, Mamluk and Ottoman periods (Frankel et al. 2001: site 269). An area covering 7.5 hectares was surveyed, yielding a single collection unit of 0.35 hectare that includes a bounded site with an oval outline (Fig. 7). The boundary wall is well built and can be traced all the way around. Within

50

Ido Wachtel

this bounded site, we observed wall remains and homogenous sherds identified as Galilean Coarse Ware from the Persian and Hellenistic periods. 350 m to the west, in the vicinity of the highest point of the spur (elevation point 1108 m), additional wall remains and rock-cuttings were documented, but no dateable artifacts were collected in this area; 800 m to the west, an isolated winepress was discovered.

the Early Bronze Age was also collected. Several wall foundations were discovered in the surveyed area, alongside installations and rock quarries. A concentration of walls built of fieldstones that were preserved to a height of one course was observed at the top of the hill (ITM 229895/765270).

Discussion

Sumei‘a (16)

The results of the survey in the sample areas examined according to the predictive model are mixed. In almost The survey was conducted on a low chalk hill located all the areas, portable archaeological remains were east of the village of Sumei‘a at elevation point found in quantities above the minimum threshold 579 and on its western slopes. The hill surveyed value for the opening of collection units. These is bounded by modern dirt roads and olive groves indicate diverse human activity in many areas of the belonging to nearby villages. Its slopes are varied Upper Galilee where it has not been documented so and include rugged and exposed areas, olive groves far. 87 collection units were initiated in 12 different and sparse woods. survey areas, with no finds at all in only four of these The area surveyed covered 5 hectares and zones. The findings in the collection units indicate a includes six collection units covering a total area of​​ varying intensity of the archaeological remains, but it 2.6 hectares. The artifacts in these collection units is also clear that not every place where artifacts were included sherds, flint items, and one basalt item. collected is necessarily a settlement site. Significant The pottery collected is quite diverse, with some remains of a noteworthy settlement site were sherds identified from each of the following periods: discovered in only one case (the Late Chalcolithic Middle Bronze (?), Iron Age (?), Hellenistic, Roman- site in the Biryya Forest) and this site predates most Byzantine, and Ottoman. A Canaanite flint blade from of the settlement sites upon which the predictive

Figure 6. View of the Late Chalcolithic site, looking north.

Archaeological Predictive Modeling for the Mountainous Upper Galilee

model was based (Wachtel et al. 2018; see below). In one other case (near the village of Sumei‘a), it is possible that a small settlement site from the Bronze and Iron Ages existed. The findings at a number of additional areas can be interpreted as small seasonal sites within agricultural landscapes or singlecomplex sites (small hamlets/farms; see below). The Late Chalcolithic site in the Biryya Forest, which covers several hectares, is a good illustration of the capabilities of a systematic survey guided by a predictive model to discover significant unknown sites with a limited investment of time and resources. It should be noted that the total area surveyed across the various samples (1.7 sq km) does not amount to 0.5% of the study area. Therefore, the discovery of a large settlement site within such a limited area is quite consequential. Moreover, this may be one of the largest Chalcolithic sites in the eastern Upper Galilee and it joins a limited number of known sites from that period in the region, located primarily on the periphery of the basalt Dalton plateau (Frankel et al. 2001; Shalem 2003). It is unique in that it is located on limestone, some 4 km away from the nearest exposed basalt outcrops (on Ramat Dalton). The dominant pottery findings (at least on the surface) are of basaltic clay, known as Golanite pottery for its high prevalence at sites

Figure 7. General view of the site at the Afa‘im Spur.

51

located in the basaltic areas of northern Israel and Transjordan (the Golan Heights and Ramat Korazim; Epstein 1998). Although it has long been known that these pottery vessels penetrated the heart of the mountainous Upper Galilee (Shalem 2003), it appears that the Nahal Sechvi site currently presents the most significant example of this process, and the cultural implications involved. The bounded site on the Afa‘im spur, near the summit of Mt. Meron, can also be added to the list of settlement sites discovered in the model-testing survey. This site is not far from Khirbet Rom, but has never been documented. The area of ​​the site is small and it is unclear whether it was used as a permanent settlement. At the same time, its proximity to a permanent water source (Be’er Rom), to suitable land for agricultural cultivation, and to a site that was inhabited during various periods, may imply that this was a small settlement site. The perimeter wall enclosing the site differentiates it from other smallscale sites documented in this survey. This site type may be associate with grazing activity rather than seasonal farming, although further investigation is needed to clarify its nature. The sparse presence of Kefar Hananyya vessels from the Roman and early Byzantine periods found in a fairly large number of collection units located in a

52

Ido Wachtel

variety of environments, stands out among the survey results. These were found mostly in mountainous areas adapted for agriculture by clearing soil pockets between lapies or by artificial grading (terraces). They may constitute clues to hitherto unknown elements in the settlement landscape of this period, i.e., isolated farms or seasonal subsidiary sites associated with nearby villages, such as Gush Halav, Meron, Safsufa and Sasa (Sabar 2017). These sites were documented in the northern part of the Biryya Forest, Mt. Sasa, Mt. Safsufa and the Neriya spur. Remains of single buildings from the same period at Nahal Gush Halav and Giv‘at Halav should also be noted, probably affiliated with the central site that existed in Gush Halav itself (Wachtel, Sabar and Davidovich 2017). The site near the Sumei‘a village may represent a similar type of site. However, the presence of possible Bronze and Iron Age findings may imply that such isolated sites also existed in earlier periods. In general, findings dated to the Bronze and Iron Ages were somewhat limited in the current survey results, although these periods had a significant presence throughout the modeling procedure. This situation does not reflect a failure in the prediction of Bronze and Iron Age site locations, but rather reflects a substantial demographic peak throughout the Roman-Byzantine and Mamluk-Ottoman era, as noted by past surveys of the Upper Galilee (e.g., Frankel et al. 2001: 127–129, Figs. 5.1–5.2). Future studies applying locational models for each period separately will enable us to distinguish between different locational strategies and environments throughout different periods (Wachtel, Zidon and Shelach 2020). Other findings that emerged from the sample survey are isolated dateable flint items from early periods, including mostly Late Acheulean hand axes and Levallois items. Some of them are located next to well-known sites, such as those of the Matityyahu Research Station (Brosh and Ohel 1981; Ohel 1991), the Bar‘am-Yiron extraction and reduction sites (Finkel, Gopher and Barkai 2016), and the flint-extraction sites of Sasa (Barkai, Gopher and LaPorta 2006). In a number of other areas, findings of a different nature were observed, including heterogeneous collections of sherds and flint, which, according to their state of preservation, are probably not in-situ. In the collection units in the western part of the Peqi‘in Valley, a large and relatively diverse assortment of sherds was collected alongside some flint items, most of which are eroded and could not be dated. It seems that these artifacts were not found in their site of origin, but rather had eroded from sites at the edges of the Peqi‘in Valley, such as Khirbet Gayis, Khirbet Eved, and Ein Tiria (Aharoni 1957;

Frankel et al. 2001: 33; Wachtel 2018: 189–190) and were re-deposited together with alluvial drift from the Nahal Peqi‘in. This is probably also the origin of the pottery finds collected at the Matityahu farm near Khirbet Farah (Frankel et al. 2001: site 352).

Summary and Conclusion The basic questions raised at the beginning of this paper are how well acquainted are we with the full archaeological record (in the sense of the different components of ancient settlement systems) of the mountainous Upper Galilee, and what is the likelihood that the archaeological picture will change in the future, in wake of systematic surveys. An analysis of maps from the Archaeological Survey of Israel conducted in areas adjacent to the study area showed that following a continuous survey, the number of known settlement sites in a given area is doubled, and the new sites that are discovered represent a wide range of periods and sizes. The archaeological predictive model for the mountainous Upper Galilee revealed “hot zones” where new sites can be expected to be discovered. The model was proven to be an effective tool for discovering new sites in the field, and there is no doubt that further sites and represented periods will be discovered in the future. This study emphasizes how using an archaeological predictive model in a systematic survey greatly increased the probability of finding new settlement sites. While the chance of finding new sites in a random sampling tends toward zero, the predictive model uncovered new sites within a very limited area (0.5% of the study area). The sample survey conducted in different areas showed that despite the increase in archaeological activity that has taken place in the region over recent decades, new sites remain to be discovered, and that dozens of settlement sites from different periods and types may be discovered in the future in the mountainous Upper Galilee region. Furthermore, the systematic survey pointed to the possibility that in various mountainous areas surrounding well-known settlement centers there existed smaller sub-sites comprising components of the region’s settlement landscape that have hardly been explored.

Acknowledgements This study was conducted as part of my dissertation (“The Upper Galilee in the Bronze and Iron Ages: Settlement Patterns, Economy and Society”) at the Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (supervisors: Prof. Ilan Sharon and Prof. Gideon Shelach-Lavi). This research was supported

Archaeological Predictive Modeling for the Mountainous Upper Galilee

by the Ruth Amiran Fund for Archaeological Research in Israel and the Berman Center  for Biblical  Archaeology. I would like to thank Prof. Ilan Sharon and Prof. Gideon Shelach-Lavi for their support and advice during this research, and to express my gratitude to Royi Zidon and Shimon Garti for their collaboration and advice throughout the model processing and analysis. Much of the field work

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presented here was carried out with the assistance of students during a Spatial Archaeology class at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem instructed by Prof. Ilan Sharon (2016–2017) and Dr. Uri Davidovich (2018). I would also like to thank Uri Davidovich and Sveta Matskevich for their useful comments on an earlier version of this article.

Bibliography Aharoni, Y. 1957. The Settlement of the Israelite Tribes in Upper Galilee. Jerusalem: Magnes Press (Hebrew). Aviam, M. and Shalem, D. 2020. Land of Lost Villages – Map of Shomera (3). Land of Galilee 6. Tzemach: Kinneret Institute for Galilean Archaeology. Brosh, A. and Ohel, M. 1981. “Factors of Habitat Selection of Acheulean Sites at Ramat Yiron, Israel”. Paleorient 7(1): 23–31. Epstein, C. 1998. The Chalcolithic Culture of the Golan. IAA Reports 4. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Finkel, M., Gopher, A. and Barkai, R. 2016. “Extensive Paleolithic Flint Extraction and Reduction Complexes in the Nahal Dishon Central Basin, Upper Galilee, Israel”. Journal of World Prehistory 29(3): 217–266. Frankel, R. and Getzov, N. 2012a. “Map of Akhziv (1), Map of Ḥanita (2)”, Archaeological Survey of Israel, Israel Antiquities Authority. http://www.antiquities.org.il/survey/new/default_en.aspx, last accessed 12 July 2020. — 2012b. “Map of ‘Amqa (5)”, Archaeological Survey of Israel, Israel Antiquities Authority. http://www. antiquities.org.il/survey/new/default_en.aspx, last accessed 12 July 2020. Frankel, R., Getzov, N., Aviam, M. and Degani, A. 2001. Settlement Dynamics and Regional Diversity in Ancient Upper Galilee. IAA Reports 14. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Howey, M.C., Palace, M.W. and McMichael, C.H. 2016. “Geospatial Modeling Approach to Monument Construction Using Michigan From AD 1000–1600 as a Case Study”.  Proceeding of the National Academy of Science 113(27): 7443–7448. Kincaid, C. 1988. “Predictive Modeling and Its Relationship to Cultural Resource Management Applications”. In W.J. Judge and L. Sebastian (eds.). Quantifying the Present and Predicting the Past: Theory, Method, and Application of Archaeological Predictive Modeling. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, pp. 549–580. Kohler, A. 1988. “Predictive Locational Modeling: History and Current Practice”. In W.J. Judge and L. Sebastian (eds.). Quantifying the Present and Predicting the Past: Theory, Method, and Application of Archaeological Predictive Modeling. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, pp. 325–428. Kvamme, K.L. 1988. “Development and Testing of Quantitative Models”. In W.J. Judge and L. Sebastian (eds.). Quantifying the Present and Predicting the Past: Theory, Method, and Application of Archaeological Predictive Modeling. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, pp. 19–59. — 1990. “The Fundamental Principles and Practice of Predictive Archaeological Modeling”. In A. Voorrips (ed.). Mathematics and Information Science in Archaeology: A Flexible Framework. Studies in Modern Archaeology 3. Bonn: Holos, pp. 297–305. — 2006. “There and Back Again: Revisiting Archaeological Locational Modeling”. In M.W. Mehrer and K.L. Wescott (eds.). GIS and Archaeological Site Location Modeling. London & New York: CRC Press, pp. 3–38. McManamon, P.F. 1981. “Probability Sampling and Archaeological Survey in the Northeast: An Estimation Approach”. In D.R. Snow (ed.). Foundations of Northeast Archaeology. New York: Academic Press, pp. 195–227. Mehrer, M.W. and Wescott, K.L. 2006. GIS and Archaeological Site Location Modeling. London and New York: CRC Press. Ohel, M. 1991. “Prehistoric Survey of the Baram Plateau”. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 123: 32–47. Phillips, S.J., Dudík, M. and Schapire, R.E. 2004. “A Maximum Entropy Approach to Species Distribution Modeling”. Proceedings of the Twenty-First International Conference on Machine Learning.  Banff, Canada, 4–8 July. New York: Association for Computing Machinery, pp. 655–622.

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Phillips, S.J., Anderson, R.P. and Schapire, R.E. 2006. “Maximum Entropy Modeling of Species Geographic Distributions”. Ecological Modeling 190(3): 231–259. Sabar, R. 2017. The Eastern Upper Galilee during the Hellenistic, Roman and Byzantine Periods: Settlement History of an Ethnic Border Region, M.A. thesis, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem (Hebrew, English abstract). Shalem, D. 2003. Chalcolithic Period Sites in the Mountains of the Galilee: Settlement Distribution and Ceramic Characteristics.  M.A. thesis, University of Haifa (Hebrew, English abstract). Sion, O. 2014. “The Archaeological Survey of Israel”. Qadmoniot 148: 58–66 (Hebrew). Stepansky, Y. 2012. “Map of Rosh Pinna (18)”. Archaeological Survey of Israel, Israel Antiquities Authority. http://www.antiquities.org.il/survey/new/default_en.aspx, last accessed 12 July 2020. Wachtel, I. 2018. The Upper Galilee in the Bronze and Iron Ages: Settlement Patterns, Economy and Society, Ph.D. dissertation, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (Hebrew, English abstract). Wachtel, I., Sabar, R. and Davidovich, U. 2017. “Tel Gush Halav in the Bronze and Iron Ages”. Strata 35: 113–132. Wachtel, I., Zidon, R. and Shelach-Lavi, G. 2020. “Using the Maximal Entropy Modeling Approach to Analyze the Evolution of Sedentary Agricultural Societies in Northeast China”. Entropy 22(3): 307–326. Wachtel, I., Zidon, R., Garti, S. and Shelach-Lavi, G. 2018. “Predictive Modeling for Archaeological Site Locations: Comparing Logistic Regression and Maximal Entropy in North Israel and North-east China”. Journal of Archaeological Science 92: 28–36. Warren, R.E. and Asch, D.L. 2000. “A Predictive Model of Archaeological Site Location in the Eastern Prairie Peninsula”. In K.L. Wescott and R.J. Brandon (eds.). Practical Applications of GIS for Archaeologists: A Predictive Modeling Kit. London: Taylor & Francis, pp. 5–25. Westcott, K.L. and Brandon, R.J. 2000. (eds.). Practical Applications of GIS for Archaeologists: A Predictive Modeling Kit. London: Taylor & Francis. Wheatley, D. and Gillings, M. 2002. Spatial Technology and Archaeology: The Archaeological Applications of GIS. London: Taylor & Francis.

Disentangling a Confusion of Tongues—On Chronological Schemes, Terminologies, and Radiocarbon Dating in the Eastern Mediterranean Katharina Streit

Abstract Chronological debates underlie every interpretation of cultural change, transregional interactions, and the impact of historical events, but are among the most contested aspects of the archaeology of the Bronze and Iron Ages of the eastern Mediterranean. Instead of resolving these discussions, the advent of radiocarbon dating has seemingly confused the picture further. This paper examines how current chronological schemes and terminologies developed, and how adherence to them has impacted the incorporation of radiocarbon dating into the archaeological toolbox. Chronological debates, such as those revolving around the Iron Age or the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, have stultified, and this is ascribed to two main factors: the tendency to think in ‘material-culture blocks’ which, among other things, has led to the building of erroneous multi-site Bayesian models, and a tendency to rely on weak connections to historical chronologies, rather than on well-stratified radiocarbon sequences. The paper highlights the need for true interdisciplinary research, where comparable levels of quality control are employed for both archaeological-historical and radiocarbon-based chronologies. It advocates radiocarbon-based site-by-site sequences as a foundation of the absolute chronology of the region, which would allow reconstructions of the directionality and speed of cultural change based on objective grounds.

Keywords: chronology, relative dating, historical dating, radiocarbon dating, synchronization, eastern Mediterranean

Introduction Chronological questions tend to figure prominently among the hotly debated topics in eastern Mediterranean archaeology and, at times, to spark strident debates. The last two decades, for example, have seen arguments about the chronologies of the Iron Age (Finkelstein 2005; Mazar 2005) and the Middle Bronze Age in the southern Levant, particularly with regard to how they compare to Egypt (Bietak 2013; Höflmayer 2019), as well as ongoing disputes about the end of the Early Bronze Age (Regev et al. 2012; Höflmayer 2017) and even the dates of the Neolithic and Chalcolithic phases in the region (Garfinkel 1999: 1–4; Gopher 2012: 1545–1546). At their core, such debates always seem to involve questions such as ‘when did a certain period begin?’, ‘when did it end?’, ‘how does it appear at different sites or in different regions?’, and ‘how does it compare with historical chronologies?’. These debates are often rather lively (even fierce),

with proponents so intransigent that they rarely reach a point of resolution. In such cases, it is often advantageous to put less emphasis on advocating for one chronology or another and instead, to examine the methodological factors that might hinder progress. The importance and implications of such chronological debates are evident. In many cases, they allow key questions of archaeological research to be approached, including those surrounding transregional influences and exchange, the factors that drive cultural transformations, or the causes of destructions and discontinuities within settlements. They allow researchers to identify the material—and immaterial—contexts within which historical events and processes are set. To take the Early Bronze Age chronology debate as an example, climatic factors are sometimes argued to have contributed to, or even caused, the end of the period (e.g., the 4.2 k aridification event: Höflmayer 2015b [contra Weiss

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and Bradley 2001]), and arguments depend greatly on reliable absolute dates for the timing of these cultural and environmental changes. For the Middle Bronze Age debate, a central question is whether or not destruction layers at southern Levantine sites, which are typically considered to mark the end of the period, were caused by an Egyptian campaign (Weinstein 1981; Burke 2010; Höflmayer 2015a [contra Dever 1990]; 2019). In the case of Iron Age chronology, the nature of the society that can be reconstructed from the archaeological record is ultimately overshadowed by depictions of the United Monarchy in the Hebrew Bible, and is accepted or rejected according to how well or poorly the archaeology compares with textual data. With the historicity of the biblical narrative at stake, chronological arguments have implications that extend far beyond an academic debate (Finkelstein 2005; Mazar 2005; Frese and Levy 2010; Garfinkel, Kreimerman and Zilberg 2016). The processes behind deep-seated chronological debates tend to follow a pattern. In many (perhaps most) cases a ‘disagreement’ between different types of evidence is reported, and subsequent critiques focus on how some dating criteria, especially radiocarbon data in recent years, allegedly form a ‘mismatch’ with the archaeological evidence. Some critiques address external factors that might have distorted the dates (Bietak 2013: 99; 2015: 328– 330), while others focus on how the available data was used selectively to best fit the archaeologist’s interpretation (e.g., Sharon et al. 2007; Finkelstein 2009; Finkelstein and Piasetzky 2010c). While it has rarely entered the written canon, plentiful anecdotal evidence indicates that radiocarbon sequences which do not fit established chronological schemes or historical narratives are often dismissed as ‘unlikely’, and even ‘impossible’ or ‘wrong’. Concerns about reception sometimes result in the hesitant or incomplete publication of radiocarbon datasets (e.g., Bronk Ramsey et al. 2002: 81; Marcus 2003: 102 [cf. Hedges et al. 1997]), or the separate publication of the dates and their analysis and evaluation. The effect of this is that radiocarbon data and archaeological data are too often evaluated incompletely (e.g., in the case of the Middle Bronze Age strata at Ashkelon: Bruins and van der Plicht 2017; Stager, Schloen and Voss 2018). With so many issues seemingly arising from radiocarbon dating, a superficial glance might suggest they are related to methodology. Indeed, constant critical evaluation of radiocarbon results has revealed many areas of uncertainty, particularly regarding the early years of radiocarbon dating. These include variability in the production of atmospheric radiocarbon (Vries 1958), as well as a change in the isotopic ratio of 12C and 14C due to the introduction of

large amounts of CO2 derived from fossil fuels, which led to radiocarbon depletion (i.e., the ‘Suess effect’; Suess 1955), requiring the calibration of radiocarbon measurements (Stuiver and Suess 1966; Suess 1980) and marine (Stuiver, Pearson, and Braziunas 1986) and sweet-water reservoir effects (Broecker and Walton 1959). Yet, as datasets have grown, it has become easier to identify offsets when they occur, and some can readily be identified. For example, some are caused by differences in growth seasons (Dee et al. 2010; Manning et al. 2020), while the radiocarbon dating of tree rings at annual resolutions has recently highlighted annual spikes (the so-called ‘Miyake events’; Miyake et al. 2017 and references therein; for their application in archaeology: Dee and Pope 2016); some offsets affecting longer periods do not yet have known causes (Pearson et al. 2018). Such offsets undoubtedly impact radiocarbon results, but those detected so far are too small and too heterogeneous to apply equally to every chronological debate. It may be that a hypothetical, area-wide phenomenon has affected the data to an unknown degree, but considering that radiocarbon dating is used at a much larger scale in many disciplines— including paleoclimatology, paleoenvironmental studies, meteorology, oceanography, forensic science and art history—and no issues that might point toward a large, systematic discrepancy in the region have been discerned, this appears unlikely. If radiocarbon dating is mistrusted so widely, and its application is the source of so much disagreement, then it is worth examining what factors led to the seeming mismatch between the interpretation of radiocarbon data and archaeological-historical chronological evidence.

Development of Chronological Schemes and Terminology Serious archaeological work in the southern Levant began in the late 19th century, and a considerable number of stratified assemblages at major tell sites were soon revealed, including at Tell elHesi (Petrie 1891; Bliss 1894), Gezer (Macalister 1912), Beth Shemesh (Mackenzie 1911; 1912–13), Samaria (Reisner, Fisher and Lyon 1924), Megiddo (Schumacher 1908; Watzinger 1929), Taanach (Sellin 1904) and Jericho (Sellin and Watzinger 1913). From this, the need arose to standardize chronology and terminology. Every project had employed its own chronological subdivisions, and making comparisons and discussing the results became increasingly difficult. A consensus was reached in the 1920s in shape of the ‘Jerusalem scheme’ (Garstang et al. 1922), which was agreed upon by the directors of the three international schools of

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archaeology in Jerusalem, and is still the basis of the chronological schemes and terminologies in use today. The scheme essentially mirrored the ‘three-age system’ proposed by Christian Jürgensen Thomsen and developed by Oscar Montelius (Gräslund 1987). Indeed, a strong preference for tripartite subdivisions for main periods is evident at this early stage of archaeological research, as it is in historical chronologies, for example in the designations of the Egyptian Old, Middle and New Kingdoms. The original scheme has seen modifications over the years. Ilan Sharon, for example, has identified three main types of amendments to chronological terminologies in the 20th century: reassigning a new naming scheme while retaining the substance, introducing transitional periods, and breaking longer periods down into smaller segments (Sharon 2014: 47–48). Every generation of researchers has modified the chronological schemes they inherited, adapting and improvising in a mode that might in other circumstances be termed ‘bricolage’ (Bernbeck and Nieuwenhuyse 2013: 21), but the resulting conglomerates still maintain their ‘Jerusalem scheme’ roots. In the decades following the adoption of the ‘Jerusalem scheme’, ongoing excavations at major tells were largely concerned with ‘filling it in’, using material culture. With more and more ceramic assemblages emerging, Ruth Amiran took it upon herself to synthetize main pottery features for each period. She followed the stratigraphies of each of the major sites, and identified, extracted and simplified their ceramic shapes to synchronize their sequences. Her approach was innovative, in that the assemblages were presented based on their position in the chronostratigraphy of the region, which contrasted with earlier approaches of ‘type corpora’ that largely disregarded their stratigraphic origins (Petrie 1921; Duncan, Petrie and Starkey 1930). Her results were first published as a booklet by the Israel Department of Antiquities in 1958, and later appeared as The Ancient Pottery of the Holy Land (Amiran 1969), which accompanied generations of archaeologists through their studies and into their later research. Amiran’s work became the main reference for which ceramic shapes should be thought characteristic of a given period, and most publications of ceramic assemblages followed her systematization. While it was possible to establish a relative sequence of stratified southern Levantine material culture, ascribing absolute dates was more challenging. Extensive historical chronologies had been developed for Egypt (Waddell 1940; Helck 1956; Hornung, Krauss and Warburton 2006) and Mesopotamia (Pruzsinszky 2009 and references therein) since the early and mid-20th

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centuries, but they were based nearly exclusively on royal successions and only represented political chronologies. The great challenge of the following decades thus became connecting Amiran’s sequence of material-culture assemblages to these historical chronologies. Some were soon established, based either on rare epigraphic finds or on the hinge of ceramic imports, which could be connected indirectly to other, historically dated sequences. Early ceramic anchors included the Abydos (Wright 1937) and Tell el-Yahudiyeh wares (Petrie 1906), rare and distinctive imported Egyptian objects, such as an alabaster vessel found in the temple at Ai (Marquet-Krause 1949), and epigraphic finds bearing the names of kings, ranging from Early Dynastic serekhs (Yeivin 1960) to New Kingdom scarabs (e.g. Tufnell, Inge and Harding 1940). The concept of historically dated, consecutive ‘material culture blocks’ was—and continues to be—viewed as a schematic abstraction only, yet it is likely that the very hypothesis has profoundly shaped the way that archaeologists have come to conceive the chronology of the southern Levant. The idea that a given ceramic shape belongs to a certain period, and that this period corresponds to a particular reign or reigns, has gained so much traction, and has become so entrenched in the way that archaeology is taught, that any challenge is bound to meet with resistance.

The Radiocarbon Revolution in the Eastern Mediterranean The limitations of historical dating have been recognized for more than a generation (Bruins and Mook 1989), but the incorporation of radiocarbon dating into the toolkit of southern Levantine archaeology varies greatly depending on the period being researched. Unlike historical chronologies, radiocarbon dating has allowed researchers to directly compare absolute dates from different archaeological contexts, provided that suitable organic material is preserved, thus bypassing traditional dating methods. Prehistoric archaeology quickly embraced the method, largely because those working with prehistoric material didn’t have other sources for absolute dates (for references, see Gilead 1991), but biblical archaeology has been less enthusiastic. Because Bronze and Iron Age stratigraphic sequences can be connected to historical chronologies, via a handful of (often contested) epigraphic or historic links, radiocarbon dating has not gained the same popularity as it has in prehistory. A similar trend can be observed in the archaeology of Egypt, where radiocarbon dating was readily applied and incorporated into studies of prehistory (Hendrickx 1999), but the results of researchers

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focusing on dynastic periods (Hassan and Robinson 1987; Bonani et al. 2001; Bronk Ramsey et al. 2010) had only limited impact on the discipline. Despite these caveats, from the early 2000s onwards, radiocarbon dating has become increasingly popular in the archaeology of the eastern Mediterranean. For example, it has systematically been applied to Iron Age sites, in part driven by the ‘Iron Age chronology debate’. This was fueled by a profound disagreement over the absolute dates of the Iron Age IIA material culture assemblage, which called into question the biblical narrative that it might or might not support (Levy and Higham 2005). Opposing high (Mazar 2005) and low (Finkelstein 1996; 2005) chronologies have been proposed and, while it was initially believed that radiocarbon dates would be the ‘nail in the coffin of the low chronology’ (Holden 2003: 229, 331), this position has not been accepted by the wider discipline. Similar high/ low chronology conflicts emerged once larger radiocarbon sequences were published for Bronze Age sites, notably in connection with the Middle Bronze Age layers at Tell el-Dabʿa (Kutschera et al. 2012; Bietak 2013; Manning et al. 2014; Höflmayer 2015a). These chronological disagreements can be traced back to methodological issues of interdisciplinary research. During the initial phase of radiocarbon dating in the southern Levant, the discussion often revolved around individual calibrated samples, which were averaged only later (Weinstein 1984; Bruins and van der Plicht 1995; Meshel, Carmi and Segal 1995; Carmi and Segal 2000; Mazar and Carmi 2001). The shape of the resulting calibration curve often showed unsatisfactorily long ranges, especially in the 10th century BCE, and thus could not be used to unequivocally support either a high or a low chronology (Mazar 2005: 22–23), although some have tried. Piasetzky and Finkelstein (e.g., Piasetzky and Finkelstein 2005; Finkelstein and Piasetzky 2010a), for example, chose to avoid the problem of long calendar date ranges by using and comparing uncalibrated radiocarbon dates. In doing so, they disregarded all scholarly work on the application of radiocarbon corrections from the past half century (summarized in Taylor and Bar-Yosef 2014), and their approach was thus methodologically flawed. Bayesian statistics (Buck et al. 1991; Bronk Ramsey 1995; 2005; 2009a) were soon employed to increase the precision of stratified determinations especially in the Iron Age, reducing the probability ranges by including prior information (such as the stratigraphic position of a sample in a sequence) into the statistical calculation. Ilan Sharon was one of the first to adopt this method, initially at one site (Tel Dor) where well-stratified samples were found

(Sharon 2001), but Bayesian modelling was soon applied across a combination of radiocarbon dates from strata that derived from different sites which yielded similar Iron Age phase ceramics (Boaretto et al. 2005; Sharon et al. 2007; Mazar and Bronk Ramsey 2008; Finkelstein and Piasetzky 2010b). This practice is still common, with some even considering it the ideal approach (Finkelstein and Piasetzky 2015), but the underlying assumption that ceramic types come into and fall out of use synchronously is problematic (see further below). Another methodological issue surrounds the question of what should or should not be perceived as an ‘outlier’. The initial approach, to ‘hand-pick’ data that was thought not to fit, was soon revealed to be highly suspect (Sharon et al. 2007: 8–10). Removing samples from models based on low agreement indices (e.g., Asscher et al. 2015), while preferable to handpicking, is also questionable. A date that does not fit statistically is not ‘wrong’ per se, and simply removing it from the dataset artificially streamlines the results. Such problems could have easily been avoided, for example, by utilizing a means of statistically evaluating outliers, such as the ‘outlier analysis’ function of OxCal (Bronk Ramsey 2009b), which downweighs, but does not omit, poorly fitting data. However, this has rarely been done, either because the model was built incorrectly (see, for example, the ‘Run file of Tel Lachish Bayesian model outlier analysis’ section of Asscher and Boaretto 2019: 35–36) or not attempted at all (Toffolo et al. 2014; Finkelstein and Piasetzky 2015). Although the main concerns in debates on southern Levantine chronology have been on the ‘fuzziness’ of the radiocarbon data, and dissatisfaction with the precision of the modelled boundaries, there have also been cases where radiocarbon dates have been perceived as inaccurate. The radiocarbon dating project at Tell el-Dabʿa produced (for Egypt) an unprecedented single-site sequence of well-stratified samples (Kutschera et al. 2012), but the results have been disregarded because they consistently predate the excavator’s dates for the strata by about 120 years and are thus in disagreement with a proposed low Middle Bronze Age chronology for the eastern Mediterranean (Bietak 2013). The strata at the site were originally dated based on ‘datum lines’ consisting of perceived connections between the archaeological record and the established Egyptian chronology (Höflmayer 2015a; Bietak 2016 [contra Manning et al. 2014]). Substantial criticism regarding the robustness of these datum lines, and thus the reliability of historical dating of the site, has been brought forward, in which it was argued that close examination of the historical data allows scope for different interpretations, including those that do not

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contradict the radiocarbon sequence at Tell el-Dabʿa (Manning et al. 2014; Höflmayer 2015a).

Where it Went Wrong and a Way Forward Disregarding radiocarbon results as ‘false’ without any sound scientific reason for such a conclusion illustrates a general reluctance among many who study the archaeology of the Bronze and Iron Ages in the eastern Mediterranean to acknowledge any shifts in the accepted chronology, and an unwillingness to adjust historical interpretations accordingly. Such imprinted assumptions have colored the way that data is sometimes casually regarded. Take, for example, the implied assumption that material culture (predominantly ceramics) changes synchronously throughout a region (Amiran 1969: 13–14), which were shaped in the earliest infancy of the discipline (e.g., Gräslund 1987). Phases at a site have traditionally been ascribed to a certain period based on the similarity of the ceramics found there with those at other sites (Sinclair 1960; BarYosef and Mazar 1982). Ethnoarchaeological studies recording the life span of pottery (e.g., David 1972) are not available for the eastern Mediterranean region and any assessment of the use-periods of individual vessels or ceramic shapes remains speculative. The picture is probably further distorted by heterogenous adoption of the available ceramic repertoire by individuals of different ethnic groups (Bunimovitz and Faust 2001). While a chronological overlap between strata at different sites that contain similar ceramics is indeed likely, assuming synchronous development between them is rarely justified. Additionally, the definition of a ceramic ‘type’ is often biased, unless based on a computerized measurement (Gilboa et al. 2004). Simple examination of the variations in shape (such as the ratio of diameter to height) in the same vessel type over long stratigraphic sequences highlights how varied ceramic shapes can be, as demonstrated at Tell el-Dabʿa (Bietak 1991: Fig. 14). Yet, ceramic quantifications of individual types over long stratigraphic sequences are (still) uncommon in southern Levantine archaeology and, as a result, ceramic types are frequently regarded as rigid categories that replace each other, rather than as an (over)simplification of a wide range of varieties that fall in and out of fashion over time. Synchronizations based merely on the presence or absence of individual types without any quantitative values gathered in successive strata, have, by definition, very limited accuracy, as they gloss over diachronic developments. Synchronizations based on the first appearances of imported wares are not without drawbacks either. Such ‘first appearance synchronizations’ established for the Middle and

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Late Bronze Age eastern Mediterranean were key components in the synchronization of the entire region (Bietak 2015: Fig. 2). Yet, the first appearance of predominantly Cypriot imports at Tell el-Dabʿa and Ashkelon could differ by over half a century. Tell el-Dabʿa Stratum D/1 is synchronized with the end of Ashkelon Stratum 10 (Bietak 2015: Fig. 2), but radiocarbon data from the end boundary of the former equate to ca. 1635-1580 BCE (newly calibrated after Kutschera et al. 2012: Fig. 6a) and the end-boundary of the latter to around ca. 1596-1463 BCE (based on a Bayesian model built on published radiocarbon dates: Bruins and van der Plicht 2017). This example—and there are many others—highlights the modularity of how material culture is conceived in time and space, and calls into question the viability of ceramic synchronizations. The absence of a given style is not necessarily meaningful either. Ceramic styles might be adopted at a site decades after they were in use at one nearby, for reasons that are now impossible to reconstruct, negating arguments that claim that an absence of evidence precludes contemporaneity. The curious absence of Philistine Monochrome (also termed Mycenaean IIIC) ware at Lachish is one example. When this ware is found, it is generally considered a marker of contemporaneity with strata at other sites (Finkelstein 1996: 181–182), and too often considered an ethnic marker as well (Mazar 1997: 157–158). Yet, given the multitude of factors that might contribute to the presence or absence (or quantity, or find-rate) of a ceramic type at a site, no one type of pottery should be given undue prominence. If radiocarbon dating contradicts historical dating, then both lines of evidence should be carefully reevaluated before judgement is passed. For radiocarbon dating, this requires the ability to exclude all known factors that might influence the result, such as a laboratory bias, contamination, systematic sampling errors, reservoir effects, and the consideration of any site-specific factors. Once this has been done, and with due respect to the possibility that some previously unknown factor might cause an offset, the validity of the radiocarbon dates should be accepted, at least provisionally. For archaeological-historical dating, the re-evaluation requires that the academic process leading to the development of a chronological synchronism be assessed for its reliability before the historical chronology can truly be considered secure (Manning et al. 2014; Höflmayer 2015a). This is far harder to do. Archaeology has no established quality control protocols comparable to those in radiocarbon laboratories, and thus archaeological-historical links cannot be independently reproduced (as radiocarbon dates can), so the interpretation is often that of the excavator alone. This is the critical point,

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because even if the excavator applies rigid criteria to the evaluation, time and publication pressures might mean that an initial (or even preliminary) interpretation is published. This then becomes canon, and a bottleneck for future discussions that cannot easily be rectified.

Conclusions Radiocarbon dating has been perceived and applied in profoundly different ways by those working with eastern Mediterranean Bronze and Iron Age material than it has by those focusing on other regions and periods. This can largely be ascribed to the accessibility and traction of historical dating, due to Egyptian and Mesopotamian chronologies that developed over many decades, so that radiocarbon dating is regarded as supplementary to these historical chronological schemes. If there appears to be a contradiction between historical and radiocarbon dates, or between radiocarbon dates derived from different sites that contain similar material, then the radiocarbon data can too easily be disregarded. Yet, apparent discrepancies can often be resolved. Strictly defined typologies reflect an apparent ‘modular’ change of material culture through time and space, our ‘material-culture block’ thinking that hides behind accepted period terminologies. I suggest that if there is to be a reconciliation between radiocarbon and archaeological-historical dating schemes, then this mode of thinking has to be revised in favor of models that reflect the individual nature of each site, or even each archaeological context. Terminology matters, and while it is wholly impracticable to abolish the established terms attached to culture blocks, it is essential to stress the indistinct transitions of cultural change and highlight the multi-layered developments that might be obscured by what amounts to a convenient academic shorthand. This also precludes the uncritical use of Bayesian models, which combine several sites based on the premise of ceramic synchronization, unless an appropriate statistic tool, such as the trapezoid model (Lee and Bronk Ramsey 2012), can be applied. Even then, the larger margins of error that result from such models (Lee, Bronk Ramsey and Mazar 2013)

have been considered unsatisfactory for resolving chronological debates. It can be concluded that any apparent mismatches between archaeological-historical and radiocarbon dating need to be re-evaluated by both sides of the debate, and comparable quality control standards applied equitably. Only when the quality of both lines of argument can be evaluated with equal rigidity will it be possible to uncover the flaws in a given approach, method and interpretation. Archaeology and physics are very different disciplines, which provide very different styles of training to those who pursue them, and whether it will ever be possible to truly advance chronological debates will depend on the effectiveness of ongoing interdisciplinary collaborations between the two. Instead of trying to make radiocarbon dating fit our historical preconceptions or vice versa, it is of paramount importance that research shifts to a more objective approach. While this has been attempted by individual projects, it has not yet been embraced as the main route forward in our discipline. I propose that the most fruitful way forward is to systematically build on well-stratified, site-by-site radiocarbon models, based on short-lived samples from well-defined contexts that will provide an objective foundation. Material-culture sequences from different sites can then be compared using the radiocarbon data as a backbone. This does not devalue ceramic-typology-based synchronizations, nor historical dating. If suitable organic material for radiocarbon dating cannot be sampled, whether because an excavation dates back decades or cannot produce organic material, then ceramic synchronization and historical dating is still the best means of estimating a likely date. The introduction of radiocarbon dates to the archaeology of the eastern Mediterranean highlights many of the pitfalls of interdisciplinary research as it is conducted to date. Yet, it also shows the huge potential of joint research if rigid methodologies are applied, and ingrained discipline-related traditions and customs are overcome. Such joint ventures have an inherent potential to reveal many large and small revisions in how we conceive the human past.

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Applications of Drone Photogrammetry at Tel Dor, Israel

Anthony T. Tamberino and Thomas E. Levy

Abstract In anticipation of the University of Haifa – University of California San Diego Carmel Coast Marine Archaeology Project, in 2017 we began to implement a photogrammetry program to lay the groundwork for integrating new underwater excavations and surveys in the area of Tel Dor with previous research. The photogrammetry system described here is based on the application of Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV) drones. The data derivatives of this aerial photogrammetric survey provide the foundation for a geospatial database that is now used with all following research projects in the area of interest. This paper describes the cyber–archaeology workflow applied in the data acquisition, processing, and analysis. The data derivatives compiled by the 2017 survey included a high spatial resolution digital elevation model (DEM) and orthorectified photo mosaic of Tel Dor and its immediate vicinity including small bays and coastal environments. These data provide a digital scaffold on which old and new research data can be synthesized for analysis and publication.

Keywords: Tel Dor, photogrammetry, underwater survey

Introduction Aerial photography has been utilized to help map and understand coastal archaeological sites in the Levant since its advent (Poidebard 1939; Frost 1972; Semaan 2018). This paper will focus on one of these sites—Tel Dor. Though Tel Dor has a long history of archaeological investigations, systematic excavations have been carried out first under the direction of Ephraim Stern (Stern 1994), and then by his students, Ayelet Gilboa and Ilan Sharon (Sharon and Gilboa 2013; Gilboa, Waiman-Barak and Sharon 2015; Gilboa et al. 2018). In 2017, researchers from University of California (UC) San Diego joined these endeavors. From the beginning of the UC San Diego participation in the underwater archaeology field work at Dor, under the direction of Assaf YasurLandau, we have been supported in the field by Ilan Sharon, who sometimes trekked from Jerusalem to show us the location of benchmarks and other data to help us integrate our new work with the previous field research at Tel Dor. Photogrammetric work has been carried out at Tel Dor since the early 1980s, including unorthorectified photo mosaics by Avner Raban

(Raban 1981: Fig. 25) and Stephen Breitstein, which were applied to underwater shipwrecks around Tel Dor and the Tantura Lagoon (Mor and Kahanov 2006; Barkai and Kahanov 2007; Pomey, Kahanov and Rieth 2012; Kahanov and Mor 2014). Experimental applications of underwater photo mosaics were carried out in 2016 and early 2017 (Arkin Shalev, Gambash and Yasur-Landau 2019; Arkin Shalev, Gilboa and Yasur-Landau 2019). Aerial photography of the Tel Dor area was carried out as early as 1918 (Wachsmann and Raveh 1984: 226), and, more recently, digital imagery in the form of remote satellite imagery has been integrated with near-shore terrestrial geophysical research (Lazar et al. 2018; 2021) During the course of the terrestrial excavations at Tel Dor, aerial photography and digital imagery have been routinely integrated to provide a ‘bird’s eye view’ of the site and its environs, helping to understand the cultural context of different archaeological periods represented at the site (Raban 1981; Stern 1993a; b; c; Sharon 1987; Waiman-Barak, Gilboa, and Goren 2014). However, a systematic aerial photogrammetry survey of Tel

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Dor had never been undertaken until the 2017 University of Haifa – UC San Diego Tel Dor Marine Archaeology Expedition. Prior to the 2017 survey at Tel Dor, the primary aerial photography platform deployed by the UC San Diego research team, working mostly in Jordan and Greece, was a highly reliable tethered helium balloon system (Levy et al. 2013; 2014; 2018; Howland, Kuester and Levy 2014a; b; Howland et al. 2015; 2018; Liritzis et al. 2017; Sideris et al. 2017). The balloon system was also employed at the Greek Orthodox monastery of Mar Saba in the Judean Desert as part of a University of California Office of the President Catalyst Grant awarded to T.E. Levy as Principal Investigator of the AtRisk Cultural Heritage and the Digital Humanities Project (Levy et al. 2020). While the balloon system itself was reliable, and was allowed to be deployed in areas where drone UAVs were not allowed to fly due to changing government mandates in the different eastern Mediterranean countries where the UC San Diego team worked, the balloon system was expensive and logistically difficult to deploy. Unreliable sources of helium, the high price of helium, and the extremely heavy nature of helium tanks were just some of the problems associated with using helium balloons for international field research. Therefore, when the UC San Diego team moved their major research endeavors to Israel, we chose a different platform to deploy at Tel Dor for the 2017 season, entailing systems for future surveys in Israel based on multirotor drone technologies.

The 2017 and 2018 University of Haifa – UC San Diego Scripps Center for Marine Archaeology (SCMA) Tel Dor Expeditions A major goal of the marine and near-shore archaeological surveys during the 2017 season was to apply Structure from Motion (SfM) imaging (Roy and Cox 1998; Chiuso et al. 2000) methods with aerial photography to create a three-dimensional (3D) base map for geospatial data collected in the vicinity of Tel Dor. These 3D models now serve as ‘digital scaffolds’ on which our University of Haifa and UC San Diego research teams can embed a wide range of digital assets including geophysical surveys, underwater survey and excavation data, sediment-coring data from marine and terrestrial environments, and much more. This precise and accurate digital scaffold provides a geospatial reference point network to integrate current and future archaeological and environmental data (Shtienberg et al. 2020). Permits from the Israel National Parks Authority (NPA) and the Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA) were necessary to

survey at Dor. These permits were obtained for 2017–2018 for the Dor Land and Sea project, co– directed by Profs. Assaf Yasur-Landau (University of Haifa), Ayelet Gilboa (University of Haifa), Ilan Sharon (the Hebrew University of Jerusalem) and S. Rebecca Martin (Boston University). In 2017, when the UC San Diego team began collaborating with the University of Haifa, Yitzhak Marmelstein, a member of the IAA drone research team, collaborated in aerial imagery acquisition. At that time, Israeli government rules for importing drones into the country were not clear, so the UC San Diego copter drones and fixed wing drones were impounded at Ben Gurion International Airport on the team’s entry into the country. Thanks to IAA support, we were able to achieve all our photogrammetry research goals, since the IAA kindly lent us two drones and Marmelstein’s participation in our project. The 2017 expedition survey also utilized a commissioned, custom-built, heavy-lift octocopter (i.e., eight-rotor platform) that was piloted by the Israeli drone company Griffin. This aerial photogrammetry survey utilized a gimbal stabilized Sony A7R digital 36.1mp full frame format sensor camera outfitted with a 28mm lens for imagery acquisition. Imagery was captured in RAW format during one flight, resulting in 808 images of our area of interest. Prior to the flight of the Griffin octocopter drone, Marmelstein conducted a smaller-scale survey of the area of interest using a DJI Phantom 4 quadcopter drone with a 12.4mp gimbal stabilized camera with a 1/2.3 in. sensor and a 3.61mm (i.e., 20 mm full-frame format equivalent) lens, resulting in 501 images in RAW format. The Griffin octocopter imagery benefited from a higher resolution and better image quality than the DJI Phantom 4. However, the advantage of the DJI Phantom 4 was that the airframes instantaneously record GPS position, elevation, and the camera’s orientation in respect to a compass heading is written to each image as it is captured. Since the UC San Diego’s RTK GPS equipment was unfortunately also impounded at Israeli customs during the 2017 survey, the georeferenced dataset from the DJI Phantom 4 became a useful tool to roughly georeference the 2017 data derivatives until the following 2018 season, when RTK surveys of the area were conducted, and the ground control points (GCPs) were applied to the datasets. After processing the 2017 aerial data, it became apparent that future aerial imagery would benefit from the utilization of a circular polarizer filter to remove sun glare from the water surface. In 2018, the UC San Diego team returned to Tel Dor with an upgraded version of the DJI drone called the Phantom 4 Advanced and acquired additional data with a refined cyberarchaeology workflow.

Applications of Drone Photogrammetry at Tel Dor, Israel

Cyber-Archaeology Workflow – Digital Data Capture and Analysis Cyber-Archaeology Workflow and Methods Aerial photogrammetry has been applied in the cyber-archaeology workflow since developments in technology have made it available to archaeologists (Pavlidis et al. 2007; Al-kheder, Al-shawabkeh and Haala 2009; Koutsoudis et al. 2014). UC San Diego’s Center for Cyber-Archaeology and Sustainability, together with the Levantine Archaeology Lab, have helped pioneer the application of digital tools for field work since 1998, when their excavations in Jordan’s Faynan copper-ore district went totally ‘paperless’, i.e., digital (Levy et al. 2001). Over the years, the Levy team (Levy 2013) developed a highly effective digital workflow for cyber-archaeology research. Briefly, cyber-archaeology is the marriage of computer science, engineering, natural sciences, and archaeology. The workflow developed by Levy’s team included digital data capture (Smith and Levy 2014; Smith et al. 2014), curation (Gidding, Levy and DeFanti 2014; Vincent, Kuester and Levy 2014; Zaslavsky, Burton and Levy 2017), analyses (Levy et al. 2008), and the dissemination of data through traditional peer-reviewed publications, but also though the online Digital Archaeology Atlas of the Holy Land (Savage and Levy 2014) and 3D virtual reality (VR) platforms for scientific visualization (Knabb et al. 2014; Levy et al. 2020). With the new photogrammetry projects described here for Tel Dor, we are developing the cyber-archaeology workflow for underwater archaeology, linked to the extensive records of terrestrial excavations at the site. Photogrammetric Aerial Data Photogrammetry has traditionally been the primary raw data source of wide-scale mapping of topographic and elevation data in geography. After the development of digital cameras, powerful computers, the miniaturization of navigational electronics, and the software systems to help manage it all, photogrammetry methods have made their way out of the realm of geography. When applied in archaeology, photogrammetry provides a benefit over traditional mapping techniques because it is a relatively quick and accurate way to document and map the three dimensional (3D) spatial relationships of subject matter in photography (Howland, Kuester and Levy 2014a; b; Howland et al. 2015). Archaeologists analyze these spatial relationships to make sense of the archaeological record, making photogrammetric methods especially attractive. Modern applications in archaeology use both stereo

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photogrammetry and a technique called multi-view stereo photogrammetry (Furukawa and Ponce 2007), also called Structure from Motion photogrammetry (SfM) (Roy and Cox 1998; Chiuso et al. 2000), for mapping archaeological remains, and for digitizing the archaeological features in the form of an orthographic top plan to accurately document them in two dimensions for publication (Smith et al. 2014). Digital Elevation Models (DEMs) can be derived after obtaining a stereo pair of images taken simultaneously at a known distance of separation between the pair on the same plane and orientation (i.e., a parallax). As archaeologists, we are interested in more than a DEM and would like to have our imagery georeferenced and scaled as well. Unspatially corrected photographs are informative in archaeology; however, they are not suitable for direct integration into a geographic information system (GIS) because they contain perspective distortions. The principle point of an image is the exact center, and at this point there is no perspective distortion. The perspective distortions become more severe as they radiate out in a concentric circular trend from the principle point, towards the edges of the image. Perspective distortions must be corrected for orthographically mapping features directly from photos. When an image’s orientation (i.e., in respect to a “yaw” compass heading, “pitch” above or below the horizon, and “roll” left or right in respect to the horizon) and the optical properties of the camera are known, the distance between every point across the field of view (FoV) can be digitally calculated, and an orthorectified image can be generated. If these “orthophotos” are digitally scaled and georeferenced properly, measurements and geographic positions can be taken from them (Wheatley and Gillings 2002). The following discussion will explain the process of digital data acquisition for photogrammetry at Tel Dor during the 2017 and 2018 seasons. One of the areas of interest surveyed during the 2018 season was the Iron Age maritime interface at the South Bay (Arkin Shalev, Gilboa and Yasur-Landau 2019). The image of the maritime interface in Fig. 1A was taken from a slightly oblique angle, where the FoV on the bottom of the image actually correlates to a shorter distance than the top of the photo because subjects at the top of this image are further away from the camera than subjects at the bottom (see Fig. 1B, where the depth within the image has been mapped through the photogrammetric workflow). This is another form of distortion that can be corrected through the workflow. For demonstrative purposes, Fig. 1C is an example of the end product, a single orthorectified image taken from the 20 mega-pixel camera on the DJI Phantom 4 Advanced drone, where the same

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image perspective distortions have been corrected after processing in Agisoft Metashape. After ground control points are digitally assigned to the dataset while identifying known distances between them, or alternatively, identifying the points projected or the geographic position, the single orthorectified Phantom 4 image is ready for digitization in a GIS to produce an orthographic top plan of the area of interest. The following sections will provide a more detailed description of this workflow.

The 2017 Season Aerial Data Collection and Processing Workflow In 2017, aerial survey photos were collected by a heavy-lift octocopter drone carrying a gimbal stabilized Sony A7R digital camera with a 36.4MP full frame sensor, and a 28mm focal length lens (Fig. 2). These photographs (referred to here interchangeably as “images”) were captured in RAW format, and were later converted to .tif format. A total of 808 images and 43 GCPs were

Figure 1. Image DJI_0069; a single un-orthorectified oblique aerial photo of Tel Dor archaeological remains captured from a Phantom 4 Advance drone during the field season of 2018. A. This photo demonstrates perspective distortions and is useless for taking accurate measurements. B. A depth map of Phantom 4 Advanced image DJI_0069 overlaid on the original image, demonstrating the relative depth from the camera where lower right corner (red) is closest to the camera and upper right (blue) is furthest. C. Image DJI_0069 orthorectified from a nadir angle, correcting distortions to allow spatially correct digitization of archaeological features (i.e., black is no data). Photo and data processed by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab. ( Color Plate 2.1, p. 405).

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Figure 2. An eight rotor multi-copter (octocopter) drone with a payload consisting of a gimbal stabilized Sony A7R Camera 28mm lens. Photo by: Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab.

used for photogrammetric reconstruction in Agisoft Metashape on high settings, resulting in a 4.41 x 4.41 cm ground-sampling distance (GSD) DSM, and an orthorectified photo mosaic with an average 2 × 2 cm GSD. In Agisoft Metashape, the images from the aerial survey were imported and aligned with the A7r Camera imagery, with additional Phantom 4 georeferenced imagery taken by Yitzhak Marmelstein (of the IAA) to roughly georeference the data until ground control points (GCPs) were collected in 2018. We then exported the estimated camera positions and camera gimbal orientations from Agisoft Metashape, modified the fields of the text document, and then re-imported the text document with the camera positions and orientations to realign the A7r imagery on “High” settings. The results can be seen in Fig. 3A. The survey data was later georeferenced with the GCPs across the study area with a vertical and horizontal error no greater than ±7cm (a more detailed discussion of the collection of these points will be provide below). After the camera alignment, each of the GCPs were placed on the model in Agisoft Metashape to georeference it (Fig. 3B). After the alignment on “High” settings, we then created the Ultra High Dense Cloud on Ultra High settings (Fig. 4A). We then deleted noise from the dense point cloud in the areas over the water in Agisoft Metashape. The conditions of surf and suspended sediments in the ocean water were not favorable to bathymetric extraction. These erroneous points were then deleted from the dense cloud to provide better results from the next stage

of processing. The results of this process are shown in Fig. 4B. From the 2017 Tel Dor Ultra High Dense Point Cloud, we created a Digital Elevation Model with 4.41 cm spatial resolution per pixel, while extrapolating to the edges of the overlapping data to create a smooth surface over the water to orthorectify imagery oriented towards the terrain (Fig. 4C). It is important to note that this procedure only models the surface of the water, and is not the actual sea surface. However, this surface provided a good, smooth terrain for the imagery over the water to be orthorectified (Fig. 4D). Fig. 4D is an orthorectified photo mosaic of Tel Dor in 2017 with 2.2 cm ground sampling distance for each pixel. This orthophoto mosaic from Fig. 4D is displayed in Fig. 5A and consists of hundreds of the single orthorectified photos, clipped and merged to form one large ortho mosaic. The lines dividing each of the photos are automatically generated in Agisoft Metashape and are displayed in Fig. 5A as black lines. Sometimes, during this automated process, there are undesirable elements captured in the photos that are automatically selected for the mosaic. These commonly include people walking through the landscape, a motored vehicle, motion blur from a photo, or even white sea foam from breaking waves. If the photo capture intervals for the camera provide enough overlap of adjacent photos, there are usually multiple single orthophotos that cover these areas to replace the automatically selected images of undesirable elements in the FoV. To remove the former, the seam lines are manually adjusted and the most-desirable individual orthophotos are selected to

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Figure 3. A. View of Sony A7R camera positions and orientations at Tel Dor in 2017 after alignment and sparse point cloud generation in Agisoft Metashape (Color Plate 2.2, p. 405); B. A view of Ground Control Point placement (i.e., white labels) on a single Sony A7R image in Agisoft Metashape. Screenshots by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab.

remove waves, water foam, people, vehicles, and the like. Following the orthophoto mosaic processing, the three-dimensional (3D) mesh and texture model was created as the final step in the processing pipeline (Fig. 5B). The georeferenced point cloud was exported in .las format to visualize the results in the Qualcomm Institute SunCave at the UC San Diego. The DEM and orthorectified photo mosaic were imported into GIS for use as a base map for the archaeological excavations during the following 2018 season. The textured mesh was exported on low resolution and imported into sketchfab.com for publicly showcasing the results in a threedimensional online platform. Online platforms

such as sketchfab.com provide links and services for embedding these three-dimensional media on websites or other digital media. 2018 Season Aerial Data Collection and Processing Workflow Building on the progress from the 2018 field season, a DJI Phantom 4 Advanced drone (Fig. 6) was used exclusively for the aerial surveys at Tel Dor. The Phantom 4 Advanced was an upgraded version of the DJI drone used in the previous season, with a max flight time of approximately 30 minutes and with +/- 50cm GPS positioning accuracy. The Phantom 4

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Figure 4. A. 2017 Aerial survey of Tel Dor camera positions and orientations; B. Ultra high dense point cloud 190,000,000 colorized points; C. Digital Elevation Model 4.41cm/pix; D. Orthophoto mosaic 2.2cm/pix. Screenshots by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab. (Color Plate 3.1, p. 406)

Advanced carries a 20-megapixel (5472 × 3648 pixel) camera with a 1-inch CMOS sensor and 8.8mm lens focal distance (i.e., a significant upgrade in imaging quality when compared to the Phantom 4 standard’s 12mp camera, yet not quite the resolution of the Sony A7R). Additionally, these upgraded specifications were crucial factors which contributed to more efficient flight planning in order to obtain the desired ground resolution of each pixel in an aerial survey. The flight-planning application used for the flight plans was Pix4D Capture (a screenshot of the application can be seen in Fig. 7). Pix4D Capture presents an easy-to-use user interface and integrates satellite imagery to help create the flight plan for the airborne survey. This flight plan provides digital instructions for the drone, which are then uploaded to the drone for precise automated control of the survey flight plan. In the application, the user begins by choosing a flight altitude above ground level (AGL) and the application estimates the ground-sampling distance (GSD). This AGL altitude is in reference to the aircrafts take-off point, which, should be taken into

account when planning the survey to avoid obstacles, and to obtain consistent results. For example, if a section of the survey is completed and the aircraft take-off point is moved to a different location, with a higher elevation relative to the original take-off point, the next survey altitude will be higher than the first section, resulting in a different GSD in the new section; this result would be undesirable if the aim is to acquire a consistent GSD throughout the survey. For our surveys, we used a “Double Grid Mission” pattern where our drones fly in a grid flight line, first in an east/west direction line of flight, followed by a north/south direction line of flight. The Pix4D Capture application provides an interactive ground coverage box (Fig. 7), where the user can change the dimensions of the box. The estimated flight lines and waypoints, camera trigger points, and flight time are automatically calculated every time the ground coverage box is manipulated. Additionally, other flight parameters can be adjusted, including flight speed, camera tilt angle, and estimated photograph overlap.

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Figure 5. A. 2017 aerial Survey of Tel Dor orthorectified photo mosaic with automatically generated black seam lines and edited white seam-lines, with manually selected individual orthophotos with the best water penetration; B. Demonstrates a three-dimensional mesh and texture model produced at the end of the workflow. Screenshots by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab.

Adjusting the speed of the drone can help manage the flight time, or photo exposure conditions. For example, if the flight speed is too fast, the resultant photograph could be blurry, or the drone may not have enough time to record the photograph on to the memory card before the next camera trigger point is reached; these scenarios would result in unusable photos or not enough photos to provide sufficient overlap. During our survey, the flight altitude was high enough to use the maximum speed setting. The camera tilt angle was set at a 70-degree angle in respect to a level ground surface and the flight line, where 90 degrees is exactly perpendicular. This low-oblique angle photograph (Jensen 2007:

92) was sufficient to capture the slopes and other steep features, such as walls in the survey area for 3D reconstruction. The final parameter is photograph overlap. The ‘overlap’ setting applies the same setting to both overlap and sidelap of adjacent images. Generally, at least a 60 percent photograph overlap and 20 percent sidelap is recommended for photogrammetry (Jensen 2007: 150), but, depending on the terrain relief, more overlap will provide better results in geometric reconstruction specifically on the profile walls of excavation units or the sides of stone walls. In our experience, 90 percent overlap and 90 percent side lap is suggested for the best results. In order to calculate the overlap, certain

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Figure 6. Anthony Tamberino piloting a DJI Phantom 4 Advanced Drone near Tel Dor in 2018. Photo by Andrew Johnson, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab.

Figure 7. Drone flight plan of the maritime interface area aerial survey at the South Bay of Tel Dor using the Pix4D Capture application, displaying GSD in the upper left corner with flight altitude below it. Additionally, the survey ground coverage box in the middle of the screen with the circle vertex and estimated double grid flight line pattern. Photo by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab.

parameters and specifications of the imaging equipment should be considered. The sensor in the digital camera on the Phantom 4 Advanced is a complementary, metal oxide semiconductor (CMOS), with a physical width of 12.8 mm and

height of 7.2 mm, and has an array of 5472 x 3648 pixels within the sensor. Photographs from the Phantom 4 are taken in ‘landscape’ orientation with the widest dimension, perpendicular to the flight path of the drone. The fixed focal distance of the

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Figure 8. White dots indicate camera positions of each of the 464 aligned images used for photogrammetric reconstruction of the maritime interface “Quay Area” scene in Agisoft Metashape. The camera positions are overlaid over the resultant ortho-rectified photo-mosaic. Screenshot by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab. (Color Plate 3.2, p. 406)

lens relative to the sensor is 8.8 mm, providing the sensor with an 84-degree FoV. These parameters are essential to estimate the spatial ground coverage of each photograph and plan a flight path to guarantee an overlap of each photograph. Having the ability to calculate the ground coverage on the fly with Pix4D Capture makes these calculations less arduous and streamlines the flight-planning process; with a 20m AGL altitude, the GSD is a 0.58cm2 pixel. The drone type with these parameters is programmed into the application, and these parameters are used for automated flight path calculations. The standard lens filter on the Phantom 4 Advanced was replaced with a circular polarized lens, which, if oriented correctly, filters out reflected

sunlight from the water’s surface, and effectively allows the camera to see through the water. Sometimes, if there is little wave action, features underwater can also be documented in 3D, albeit, with some refraction errors. In 2018, a total of 33 flights were logged in Pix4D for various surveys to support the 2018 season’s excavations. During those flights, a total of 5,276 aerial images of Tel Dor were taken during the survey. Flight Number 8 was a survey over the Tel Dor maritime interface (Arkin Shalev, Gilboa, and Yasur-Landau 2019), commonly referred to as the “Quay Area,” located on the northern shore of the South Bay. The survey flight was initiated at 6:33pm local time on 06/28/2018; due to the angle of the sun at the time of day and ideal sea

Figure 9. A low, oblique angle view of the high density point cloud in Agisoft Metashape of the maritime interface ‘Quay Area’ at Tel Dor during 2018, demonstrating a photo realistic reconstruction of the sides of hewn stones and sometimes under overhanging stones. Figure by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab.

Applications of Drone Photogrammetry at Tel Dor, Israel

conditions, this survey yielded the best results for underwater feature 3D reconstruction with the CPL filter method. These ideal sea conditions provided excellent water penetration, good water visibility (i.e., little to no suspended sediments in the water); in addition, the surf was relatively calm, there was some cloud cover, and the sun was low in the sky near the horizon. The aerial survey was done at 20 meters above ground level (AGL) from a take-off elevation of approximately 0.5 m above mean sea level, and lasted 23 minutes and 11 seconds. Camera angle (i.e., in respect to nadir–strait down 90–angle) was set to 70 degrees, with a 90-percent sidelap and 90-percent frontlap in a double grid pattern. A total of 529 images were taken, of which 464 were aligned for photogrammetric reconstruction in the desktop application Agisoft Metashape (see Fig. 8). These camera angle, sidelap, and survey-pattern parameters have proven, through trial and error, to produce acceptable reconstruction in near-vertical relief and excavation walls. The results of these parameters seen in Fig. 9 provide a low oblique angle view of the high density point cloud of the maritime interface ‘Quay Area’ at Tel Dor during 2018, and attest to the photo realistic reconstruction of the sides and sometimes under overhanging hewn stones. After camera alignment, Agisoft Metashape generated a high-precision, georeferenced and scaled 3D dense point cloud of 6,287,028 colorized points. The dense point cloud was then used to create a digital elevation model (DEM) to orthorectify each of the 464 aligned images. These images were combined in a mosaic image (Fig. 8) and exported to a desktop computer geographical information system (GIS) application called ESRI ArcGIS. The orthorectified mosaic image is spatially correct, where measurements can be taken of archaeological features within the scene to a precision of 5.52mm and to a georeferenced accuracy of +/- 0.5 m prior to more accurate georeferencing with ground control points.

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Dor South Bay were collected by Ehud Arkin Shalev, using an RTK GPS unit to provide georeferencing for excavation data collected in the area. These points were provided to help georeference the aerial data. Additionally, Ilan Sharon provided GCPs from excavations on the tell as well. However, these existing GCPs did not cover the entire survey area, and therefore an additional survey was planned with a pair of RTK GPS units prior to the summer 2018 season. Unfortunately, logistical issues prevented the transportation of UC San Diego RTK GPS units to Israel during the 2017 and 2018 seasons. Despite this tribulation, Yitzhak Marmelstein was able to put the authors in contact with one of his colleagues from the IAA to assist. Emil Aljem generously volunteered to assist the expedition on his day off from his work at the IAA, as well as to provide the RTK equipment (a South Galaxy G1 RTK-GPS) for the survey. The georeferencing of the survey was conducted by a three-member team on July 7th, 2018 (Fig. 10). Each point was documented as a backup reference, while the locations of the GCPs were recorded as photographing each point took place from at least four perspectives (totaling 737 photos). These photos are essential to georeferencing both the photogrammetric data during post processing, and for registering the 3D data between seasons in a Geographic Information System (GIS) or in analysis software, such as CloudCompare. The July 2018 survey collected 63 RTK corrected GPS points

Real Time Kinematic (RTK) GPS Georeferencing The aerial photos taken by the drone were automatically georeferenced with a single band Global Navigation Satellite System (GNSS, here referred to “GPS”) by the Phantom 4 Advanced drone, achieving up to a +/- 0.5 meter horizontal and vertical spatial accuracy. Better georeferencing accuracy is required for spatial change analysis between surveys taken at different times. RTK GPS ground control points (GCPs) could decrease these geospatial accuracy errors to a horizontal error of 8mm+1ppm and a vertical error of 15mm+1ppm. In February of 2018, 31 GCPs surrounding the Tel

Figure 10. Emil Aljem, a surveyor and archaeologist from the Israeli Antiquity Authority (left), setting up the survey parameters of the RTK GPS for georeferencing the 2018 survey at Tel Dor. Photo by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab.

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Figure 11. A. An orthorectified photo mosaic of Tel Dor from the 2017 season with 94 RTK GPS points for accurate geospatial registration and scaling of the data set; B. An ortho-rectified photo-mosaics from the 2018 season at Tel Dor overlain on a 50 percent transparent 2017 season ortho-rectified photo-mosaic. Maps by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab.

Figure 12. A. A zoomed-in map of the 2018 Tel Dor maritime interface “Quay Area” orthorectified photo mosaic overlaid over the 2017 Tel Dor Survey orthorectified photo mosaic; B. The same extent map as in Fig. 11, with a zoomed-in map of the 2018 Tel Dor maritime interface “Quay Area” DEM overlaid over the 2017 Tel Dor Survey orthorectified photomosaic. Maps by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab. (Color Plate 3.3, p. 406)

in World Geodetic System 1984 (WGS84) latitude longitude geographic coordinate system around the survey areas. The survey achieved an average +/- 7

cm positioning accuracy after averaging out the error introduced though poor line of site and distance to the RTK base station. The 63 ground control points were

Applications of Drone Photogrammetry at Tel Dor, Israel

projected in the Israeli Transverse Mercator (ITM) coordinate system, and were later used in conjunction with the 31 previous GCPs to georeference all geospatial data and other digital data derivatives of Tel Dor acquired in 2017, 2018, and following seasons (see Fig. 11A–B). The vertical accuracy of this initial uncorrected drone georeferencing data in the metadata of each drone image demonstrated a 40 m elevation error after it was compared with the multi-band real time kinematic (RTK) corrected Global Navigation Satellite System (GNSS) ground control points, here referred to generically as “RTK GPS” GCPs.

Results The 94 ground control points were later used to georeference each Agisoft Metashape project file of acquired at Tel Dor. The georeferenced orthorectified photo mosaic created from the 2017 survey was used as a base map, and as a reference to identify spatial changes of archaeological features

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in the land/sea transition zones (see Fig. 11A). Each of the 2018 surveys were also georeferenced directly to the same set of RTK GPS GCPs (see Fig. 11B). This workflow was repeated to georeference all following data derivatives of the survey, including DEMs, dense point clouds, and orthophoto mosaics. Fig. 12 provides a zoomed-in map of the 2018 Tel Dor maritime interface “Quay Area” orthorectified photo mosaic, overlaid over the 2017 Tel Dor Survey orthorectified photo mosaic. In Fig. 12B, the sameextent map in Fig. 12A is provided with a zoomed-in map of the 2018 Tel Dor maritime interface “Quay Area” DEM, overlaid over the 2017 Tel Dor Survey orthorectified photo mosaic (maps by: Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab). The maps in Fig. 12 were created in ArcGIS Pro, a geographic information system (GIS); this platform also allows the digitization (i.e., digital tracing) of archaeological or other features, where the resultant file can be saved as a separate file (i.e., in this case, a shape file). The shape file is also georeferenced and scaled to the same projection as

Figure 13. A. The 2018 Tel Dor Maritime interface “Quay Area” ortho-rectified photo-mosaic with the digitized shapefile overlaid; B. Demonstrates the same digitized top plan overlaid on the DEM for the 2018 Tel Dor Maritime interface “Quay Area” data set; C. A completed top plan for the 2018 Tel Dor Maritime interface “Quay Area” data set; D. The shape file overlaid on the 2017 Tel Dor Maritime interface “Quay Area” orthorectified photomosaic. Maps by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab. (Color Plate 4.1, p. 407)

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Figure 14. A. 2017 orthorectified photo mosaic of the Hellenistic period “slipway” area at Tel Dor; B. 2018 orthorectified photo mosaic of the Hellenistic Period “slipway” area; C. 2017 orthorectified photo mosaic of the industrial area at Tel Dor; D. 2018 orthorectified photo mosaic of the industrial area. Maps by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab. (Color Plate 4.2, p. 407)

the orthorectified photo mosaic or DEM from which it was digitized. In GIS, this digital georeferencing and scaling allows the files to be displayed with a dynamic scale bar and a north arrow, meaning that the scale correctly changes in relationship to the size of the features in the field of view. This digital georeferencing and scaling also allows measurements to be correctly taken from the images as well as geospatial coordinates, should a researcher find a feature of interest in the digital image and want to physically return to that location for further research. Fig. 13 demonstrates the shapefile directly digitized from the 2018 Tel Dor Maritime interface “Quay Area” data set. Figs. 13A–B demonstrate the same extent where A is the shape file projected over the orthorectified photo mosaic and B is the same shapefile projected over the DEM of the same orthorectified photo mosaic. One of the benefits of working with georeferenced data sets in GIS is being able to flip between different layers while maintaining the same extent in the window. This allows the digitizer to switch between the two data

to help discriminate between the edges of different stones or other archaeological features when lighting conditions. Fig. 13C demonstrates a completed shape file as an ortho-projected top plan and Fig. 13D demonstrates the 2018 shape file projected over the previous years’ ortho-rectified photo-mosaic. The georeferenced overlaid orthorectified photo mosaics also allowed the identification of potential storm damage or erosion to the coastal archaeological features in the land/sea transition zone from the time passed between September of 2017, to late June 2018. Specifically, in the area of the Hellenistic period slipways, at least 12 large boulders seem to have been displaced in the nearly 10-month time span between surveys (Figs. 14 A–B). This initial finding suggested that the archaeological remains in the land/sea transition zones at Tel Dor are at risk of being permanently eroded out of the archaeological context. However, after consulting the Israel Nature and Parks Authority, we were told that some of the areas were “restored,” that is, the stones in the slipways were moved by Israel Nature

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Figure 15. A. 2017 orthorectified photo mosaic of the Crusader Period fortress area at Tel Dor; B. 2018 orthorectified photo mosaic of the same area, demonstrating a dramatic change to the area as a result of construction; C. 2017 ortho-rectified photo-mosaic of the temple area north of the Crusader Period fortress at Tel Dor; D. 2018 orthorectified photo mosaic of the same area, demonstrating the displacement of large ashlar blocks. Maps by Anthony Tamberino, UC San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab.

and Parks Authority officials to an arbitrary location and orientation. This finding suggested that these forms of data sets also provide a record of such restoration efforts or could also be utilized in future restoration effort. Figs. 14C–D provides similar insight, focusing on the industrial area of Tel Dor; however, there is no indication of restoration efforts here similar to those undertaken in the slipway area. In addition to restoration efforts early in 2018, the Israel Nature and Parks Authority began a project to improve accessibility to the park and the tell. A paved, cement sidewalk was built across the top of the tell. Figs. 15A–B provide of record of this construction effort near the Crusader Period fortress on the top of the tell, and provides a before-andafter view of the areas. Additionally, Figs. 15C–D document erosion of the temple area just to the north of the Crusader Period fortress area. Wave action in this area was strong enough to displace 2-meter long ashlar blocks by at least a meter, and a smaller, 1-meter diameter block by more than 10 meters.

The change analysis demonstrated by Figs. 14 and 15, and the digital data capture cyber-archaeology workflow demonstrated by Fig. 13 and previous discussion, build on the years of intense work and research at Tel Dor. The utilization of these digital technologies provides an anchor to future research at Tel Dor. With these new photogrammetry projects described here for Tel Dor, we are developing the cyber-archaeology workflow for underwater archaeology using underwater cameras and diving equipment. These new data and methodologies add to the long history of archaeological investigations at Tel Dor, linking them to the already extensive records of terrestrial excavations at the site.

Acknowledgements Thanks to Assaf Yasur-Landau for support of this project and for helping to establish the University of Haifa – UC San Diego research partnership, Gideon Avni, Yitzhak Marmelstein, and Hamoudi Khalaily

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of the Israel Antiquities Authority, Ayelet Gilboa of the University of Haifa, the Israel Nature and Parks Authority, and the members of the Kibbutz Nahsholim Guest House. The authors gratefully acknowledge the generous support provided by the Scripps Center for Marine Archaeology, Scripps Institution of Oceanography, UC San Diego, The Koret Foundation (Grant ID 190295), Marian Scheuer-Sofaer and Abraham Sofaer Foundation, Norma and Reuben Kershaw Family

Foundation, Ellen Lehman and Charles Kennel – Alan G Lehman and Jane A Lehman Foundation, Paul and Margaret Meyer, and the Israel Science Foundation (Grant ID 495/18). We are pleased to dedicate this paper to Ilan Sharon who generously contributed his time and interest to our project at Tel Dor.

Bibliography Al-kheder, S., Al-shawabkeh, Y. and Haala, N. 2009. “Developing a Documentation System for Desert Palaces in Jordan Using 3D Laser Scanning and Digital Photogrammetry”. Journal of Archaeological Science 36(2): 537–546. Arkin Shalev, E., Gambash, G. and Yasur-Landau A. 2019. “Disheveled Tenacity: The North Bay of Roman and Byzantine Dor”. Journal of Maritime Archaeology 14(2): 205–237. doi:10.1007/s11457-019-09235-y. Arkin Shalev, E., Gilboa, A. and Yasur-Landau, A. 2019. “The Iron Age Maritime Interface at the South Bay of Tel Dor: Results from the 2016 and 2017 Excavation Seasons”. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 48(2): 439–452. doi:10.1111/1095-9270.12360. Barkai, O. and Kahanov, Y. 2007. “The Tantura F Shipwreck, Israel”. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 36(1): 21–31. doi:10.1111/j.1095-9270.2006.00114.x. Chiuso, A., Favaro, P., Jin, H. and Soatto, S. 2000. “3-D Motion and Structure from 2-D Motion Causally Integrated over Time: Implementation”. In D. Vernon (ed.) Computer Vision — ECCV 2000. ECCV 2000. Lecture Notes in Computer Science, vol 1843. Berlin, Heidelberg: Springer. doi:10.1007/3-54045053-X_47. Frost, H. 1972. Ancient Harbours and Anchorages in the Eastern Mediterranean in Underwater Archaeology: A Nascent Discipline. Paris: Unesco. Furukawa, Y. and Ponce, J. 2007. “Accurate, Dense, and Robust Multi-View Stereopsis”. IEEE Computer Society Conference on Computer Vision and Pattern Recognition, July 2007. IEEE, pp. 1–8. doi:10.1109/ CVPR.2007.383246. Gidding, A., Levy, T.E. and DeFanti, T.A. 2014. “ArchaeoSTOR: The Development and Utilization of a WebBased Database for the Field and Lab”. Near Eastern Archaeology 77(33): 198–202. Gilboa, A., Sharon, I., Zorn, J.R. and Matskevich, S. 2018. Excavations at Dor, Final Report. Vols. IIA-C: Area G: The Bronze and Iron Ages. Qedem Reports 10–12. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Gilboa, A., Waiman-Barak, P. and Sharon, I. 2015. “Dor, the Carmel Coast and Early Iron Age Mediterranean Exchanges”. In A.F. Babbi, B. Bubenheimer-Erhart, B. Marín-Aguilera and S. Mühl (eds.) The Mediterranean Mirror. Cultural Contacts in the Mediterranean Sea between 1200 and 750 B.C. Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, pp. 85–109. Howland, M.D., Kuester, F. and Levy. T.E. 2014a. “Photogrammetry in the Field: Documenting, Recording, and Presenting Archaeology”. Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 14(4): 101–108. — 2014b. “Structure from Motion: Twenty-First Century Field Recording with 3D Technology”. Near Eastern Archaeology 77(3): 187–191. Howland, M.D., Liss, B., Smitheram, C., Najjar, M. and Levy, T.E. 2015. “GIS-Based Mapping of Archaeological Sites with Low-Altitude Aerial Photography and Structure from Motion: a Case Study from Southern Jordan”. In 2015 Digital Heritage International Congress. Granada: IEEE, pp. 91–94. doi:10.1109/DigitalHeritage.2015.7413842. Howland, M.D., Jones, I.W.N., Najjar, M. and Levy, T.E. 2018. “Quantifying the Effects of Erosion on Archaeological Sites with Low-altitude Aerial Photography, Structure from Motion, and GIS: A Case Study from Southern Jordan”. Journal of Archaeological Science 90: 62–70. doi:10.1016/j.jas.2017.12.008. Jensen, J.R. 2007. Remote Sensing of the Environment: An Earth Resource Perspective. Second Edition. Toronto: Prentice-Hall. Kahanov, Y. and Mor, H. 2014. “The Dor 2001/1 Byzantine Shipwreck, Israel: Final Report.” International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 43(1): 41–65. doi:10.1111/1095-9270.12029.

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Knabb, K., Jones, I.W.N., Najjar, N. and Levy, T.E. 2014. “Patterns of Iron Age Mining and Iron Age Settlement in Jordan’s Faynan District – the Wadi al-Jariya survey in context”. In T.E. Levy, E. Ben-Yosef and M. Najjar (eds.). New Insights into the Iron Age Archaeology of Edom, Southern Jordan - Surveys, Excavations and Research from the Edom Lowlands Regional Archaeology. Project(ELRAP) 2006–2008. Boston: Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research, pp. 577–625. Koutsoudis, A., Vidmar, B., Ioannakis, G., Arnaoutoglou, F., Pavlidis, G. and Chamzas, C. 2014. “Multiimage 3D Reconstruction Data Evaluation”. Journal of Cultural Heritage 15(1): 73–79. doi:10.1016/j. culher.2012.12.003. Lazar, M., Basson, U., Himmelstein, A.G., Levy, T.E., Arkin Shalev, E. and Yasur-Landau, A. 2021. “The Door to Dor: Tracing Unseen Anthropogenic Impact in an Ancient Port”. Geoarchaeology 36(2): 203– 212. doi:10.1002/gea.21825. Lazar, M., Engoltz, K., Basson, U. and Yasur-Landau, A. 2018. “Water Saturated Sand and a Shallow Bay: Combining Coastal Geophysics and Underwater Archaeology in the South Bay of Tel Dor”. Quaternary International 473:112–119. doi:10.1016/j.quaint.2017.02.025. Levy, T.E. 2013. “Cyber-Archaeology and World Cultural Heritage: Insights from the Holy Land”. Bulletin of the American Academy of Arts & Sciences LXVI: 26–33. Levy, T.E., Anderson, J.D., Waggoner, M., Smith, N., Muniz, A. and Adams, R.B. 2001. “Interface: Archaeology and Technology - Digital Archaeology 2001: GIS-Based Excavation Recording in Jordan”. The SAA Archaeological Record 1(3): 23–29. Levy, T.E., Higham, T., Bronk Ramsey, C., Smith, N.G., Ben-Yosef, E., Robinson, M., Münger, S., Knabb, K., Schulze, J.P., Najjar, M. and Tauxe, L. 2008. “High-precision Radiocarbon Dating and Historical Bbiblical Archaeology in Southern Jordan”. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 105(43): 16460–16465. doi:10.1073/pnas.0804950105. Levy, T.E., Tuttle, C.A, .Vincent, M., Howland, M., Richter, A., Petrovic, V. and Vanoni, D. 2013. “The 2012 Petra Cyber-Archaeology Cultural Conservation Expedition: Temple of the Winged Lions and Environs, Jordan”. Antiquity (Project Gallery) 335(87) http://antiquity.ac.uk/projgall/levy335/. Levy, T.E., Vincent, M.L., Howland, M., Kuester, F. and Smith, N.G. 2014. “The Art of Implementing SfM for Reconstruction of Archaeological Sites in Greece: Preliminary Applications of Cyber-Archaeological Recording at Corinth”. Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 14(4): 125–133. Levy, T.E., Sideris, A., Howland, M., Liss, B., Tsokas, G., Stambolidis, A., Fikos, E., Vargemezis, G., Tsourlos, P., Georgopoulos, A., Papatheodorou, G., Garaga, M., Christodoulou, R., Norris, R.D., RiveraCollazo, I. and Liritzis, I. 2018. “At-Risk World Heritage, Cyber, and Marine Archaeology: The Kastrouli – Antikyra Bay Land and Sea Project, Phokis, Greece”. In T.E. Levy and I.W.N. Jones (eds.). CyberArchaeology and Grand Narratives - Digitial Technology and Deep-Time Perspectives on Culture Change in the Middle East. New York: Springer, pp. 143–230. Levy, T.E., Smith, C., Agcaoili, K., Kannan, A., Goren, S., Schulze, J.P. and Yago, G. 2020. “At-Risk World Heritage and Virtual Reality Visualization for Cyber-Archaeology: The Mar Saba Test Case”. In M. Forte and H. Murteira (eds.). Digital Cities. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 151–171. Liritzis, I., Pavlidis, G., Vosynakis, S., Koutsoudis, A., Volonakis, P., Petrochilos, N., Howland, M.D., Liss, B. and Levy, T.E. 2017. “DELPHI4DELPHI Data Acquisition and Dissemination of Spatial Cultural Heritage Data: First Results of the Cyber-Archaeology Initiative for Ancient Delphi, Greece.” In M. Vincent, V. Manuel Lopez-Menchero Bendicho, M. Ioannides and T.E. Levy (eds.). Acquisition, Curation, and Dissemination of Spatial Cultural Heritage Data. New York: Springer, pp. 151–165. Mor, H. and Kahanov, Y. 2006. “The Dor 2001/1 Shipwreck, Israel—a Summary of the Excavation”. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 35(2): 274–289. doi:10.1111/j.1095-9270.2006.00110.x. Pavlidis, G., Koutsoudis, A., Arnaoutoglou, R., Tsioukas, V. and Chamzas, C. 2007. “Methods for 3D Digitization of Cultural Heritage”. Journal of Cultural Heritage 8(1): 93–98. Poidebard, A. 1939. Un grand port disparu Tyr: recherches aériennes et sous-marines 1934–1936. Paris: P. Geuthner. Pomey, P., Kahanov, Y. and Rieth, E. 2012. “Transition from Shell to Skeleton in Ancient Mediterranean ShipConstruction: Analysis, Problems, and Future Research”. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 41(2): 235–314. doi:10.1111/j.1095-9270.2012.00357.x. Raban, A. 1981. “Recent Maritime Archaeological Research in Israel”. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 10(4): 287–308. doi:10.1111/j.1095-9270.1981.tb00044.x.

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Roy, S. and Cox, I. 1998. “A Maximum-flow Formulation of the N-camera Stereo Correspondence Problem”. Sixth International Conference on Computer Vision (IEEE Cat. No.98CH36271), 1998. IEEE, pp. 492– 499. doi:10.1109/ICCV.1998.710763. Savage, S.H. and Levy, T.E. 2014. “The Mediterranean Archaeological Network - A Cyber-Infrastructure for Archaeological Heritage Management”. Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 14(4): 135–141. Semaan, L. 2018. “Maritime Archaeology in the Developing World: The Case of Lebanon”. Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology and Heritage Studies 6 (1–2): 79–98. Sharon, I. 1987. “Phoenician and Greek Ashlar Construction Techniques at Tel Dor, Israel”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 267: 21–42. doi: 10.2307/1356965. Sharon, I. and Gilboa, A. 2013. “The SKL Town: Dor in the Early Iron Age”. In M. Artzy, A.E. Killebrew and G. Lehmann (eds.) Philistines and Other Sea Peoples. Leiden: Brill, pp. 393–468. Shtienberg, G., Yasur-Landau, A., Norris, R.D., Lazar, M., Rittenour, T.M., Tamberino, A., Gadol, O., Cantu, K., Arkin-Shalev, E., Ward, S.N. and Levy, T.E. 2020. “A Neolithic Mega-tsunami Event in the Eastern Mediterranean: Prehistoric Settlement Vulnerability along the Carmel Coast, Israel”. PLOS ONE 15(12):e0243619. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0243619. Sideris, A., Liritzis, I., Liss, B., Howland, M. and Levy, T.E. 2017. “At-Risk Cultural Heritage: New Excavations and Finds from the Mycenaean Site of Kastrouli, Phokis, Greece”. Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 17(1): 271–285. Smith, N.G., Passone, L., al-Said, S., al-Farhan, M. and Levy, T.E. 2014. “Drones in Archaeology: Integrated Data Capture, Processing, and Dissemination in the al-Ula Valley, Saudi Arabia”. Near Eastern Archaeology 77(3): 176–181. Smith, N.G., and Levy, T.E. 2014. “Real-Time GIS Data Recording for Archaeological Excavations”. Near Eastern Archaeology 77:3: 166–170. Stern, E. 1993a. “The Many Masters of Dor, Part 1: When Canaanites Became Phoenician Sailors”. Biblical Archaeology Review 19(1): 22–31. — 1993b. “The Many Masters of Dor, Part 2: How Bad Was Ahab?” Biblical Archaeology Review 19(2): 18–30. — 1993c. “The Many Masters of Dor, Part 3: The Persistence of Phoenician Culture”. Biblical Archaeology Review 19(3): 38–49. — 1994. Dor-Ruler of the Seas: Twelve Years of Excavations at the Israelite-Phoenician Harbor Town on the Carmel Coast. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Vincent, M.L., Kuester, F. and Levy, T.E. 2014. “OpenDig: Digital Field Archaelogy, Curation, Publication, and Dissemination”. Near Eastern Archaeology 77(3): 204–208. Wachsmann, S. and Raveh, K. 1984. “A Concise Nautical History of Dor/Tantura”. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology and Underwater Exploration 13(3): 223–241. Waiman-Barak, P., Gilboa, A. and Goren, Y. 2014. “A Stratified Sequence of Early Iron Age Egyptian Ceramics at Tel Dor, Israel”. Egypt and the Levant 24: 317–341. Wheatley, D. and Gillings, M. 2002. Spatial Technology and Archaeology: The Archaeological Applications of GIS. London and New York: Taylor & Francis. Zaslavsky, I., Burton, M. and Levy, T.E. 2017. “A New Approach to Online Visual Analysis and Sharing of Archaeological Surveys and Image Collections”. In M.L. Vincent, V. López-Menchero Bendicho, M. Ioannides and T.E. Levy (eds.). Building Digital Heritage Repositories: Acquisition, Curation, and Dissemination of Spatial Cultural Heritage Data. New York: Springer, pp. 133–150.

The Archaeological Documentation System DANA (Digital Archaeology and National Archives): A View from the Field Stefan Münger and Liat Weinblum

Abstract This article reports on the archaeological documentation system DANA (Digital Archaeology and National Archives), jointly developed by the Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA) and the Institute of Jewish Studies, University of Bern (Switzerland) since 2011.

Keywords: digital archaeology, archaeological documentation system, archaeological recording, data management, fieldwork

Prologue There is hardly any better toolset for the documentation of archaeological finds than paper and pen. Handwritten notes allow a highly creative, individual and problem- and method-oriented approach to the recording of archaeological datasets in all kinds of work environments. Moreover, they are fully independent of any technological evolution, and, when archived appropriately, are highly sustainable and long lasting. Nonetheless, un- or semi-structured analog paperwork undeniably has its obvious downsides with regard to data consistency, data analysis and interoperability, among other aspects. Therefore, the benefits of a structured and systemic tactic for recording archaeological data (regrettably) overweigh the personal academic and professional freedom of the individual excavator. As a consequence, however, any structured digital recording tool should ultimately provide the user with as much creative autonomy as possible and support her and him in the best possible way in recording archaeological remains.1

are normally involved in salvage excavations and complex, long-term projects, often facing difficult work situations in urban or construction site contexts, and are usually bound to especially tight time frames. Therefore, a digital recording tool not only needs to streamline and facilitate the archaeological documentation process, but is also required to simplify the administrative reporting workflow, including a seamless integration into the broader, already-existing IT framework. Likewise, such a system is expected to guarantee high academic standards during fieldwork and in the following publication phases. In 2010, the IAA began to explore possibilities to implement a digital archaeological documentation tool as part of its technological progress. After an initial survey on solutions used in the field by academic expeditions in Israel in 2010, the IAA initiated a long-term partnership with the Institute of Jewish Studies at the University of Bern, Switzerland in 2011, during which a field-documentation system that could be used in all the excavations managed by the IAA was developed. The application is based on software elements previously developed for the Kinneret Regional Project (KRP) database framework, operating since 2003, that was customtailored for the academic excavations at the Bronze and Iron Age site of Tel Kinrot (2003–2008) and subsequently used during the exploration of the rural Roman-Byzantine village of Horvat Kur (2008 to

Introduction Governmental archaeological institutions, such as the Israel Antiquities Authority (henceforth IAA), This article is dedicated to Ilan Sharon, in greatest appreciation of his keen-witted and inspiring contributions to the fields of archaeological methods and digital archaeology.

1

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present), both located on the northwestern shore of the Sea of Galilee in northern Israel.2

•

Developing the Basic Framework and Setting the Standard The goal in the development of the IAA’s digital recording software was not the introduction of a new excavation and/or registration method, but rather to develop a tool that would be a suitable aid for field archaeologists using different methods and models, thus adapting to existing theoretical, methodological and practical realities. In addition, the many salvage excavations undertaken by the IAA differ in size, essence and intensity. Therefore, the envisioned software tool needed to be able to deal with the following basic parameters: • •

•

•

•

Contexts. Urban, rural or underwater contexts had to be manageable within the same framework. Method. Field and underwater excavation (from all periods) methods and techniques had to be applicable without the need of diverse versions of the same system. Size. IAA excavations vary in size from a few to • up to many thousands of square meters. Thus, the digital recording tool needed to be easily scalable and not bound to certain size limits. Manpower. The only trained professionals in an IAA excavation are—apart from specialists such as surveyors, architects, etc.—the excavation directors and area supervisors; all others are non-professional employees. Thus, the archaeological staff had to be provided with a tool that is operational alongside the routine • supervision and management of the fieldwork. Web-independent, ‘simple’ technology. the fact that salvage (and other) excavations are sometimes conducted in rather remote areas with non-existent or unstable web accessibility, the envisioned tool needed to be fully independent of resources accessed via the internet. Another limitation was that the envisioned stand-alone application needed to run on simple, costefficient PCs with basic computing power.

The system’s usability specifications were defined as follows: The recording system of KRP has not yet been presented in publications, but see Mayer and Schmidt 2008 and Resig 2009 regarding this projects’ approach to surveying and its integration into the documentation process; for a general overview on KRP’s fieldwork, see Münger, Zangenberg and Pakkala 2011; Zangenberg et al. 2013; Zangenberg et al. 2016; Münger 2017.

2

User friendliness. Since the academically trained IAA archaeological staff has no common and uniform IT background, it was imperative to ensure that the archaeologists working with the system could immediately adapt to the new technology without an in-depth study of handbooks or intensive training. Therefore, the system had to be easy to understand, and its deployment was required to be intuitive, mimicking familiar processes and standard procedures known from previous paper documentation3 based on the so-called “Beer Sheva system” initially introduced in the early 1970s and since then continuously refined (Aharoni 1973: 119–132).4 Any archaeologist trained in Israel knows this “locus/basket-based” recording method, where the locus represents the basic archaeological unit5 and the basket is a find-related sub-unit of the locus. However, contrary to the usual understanding that a basket is an “aggregate of finds” (Matskevich and Sharon 2016: 103), the recording tool presented here allows (and encourages) to use the basket unit for individual finds as well. Streamlining of excavation processes using standardized archaeological terminology. The computerized data collection was obviously aimed at the replacement of all handwritten documentation by using predefined input formats and the common use of a subset of terms from the institutional thesaurus, thus enabling a standardized archaeological language deployed by an archaeological staff coming from various academic schools with sometimes quite different vocabularies. Full standardization. The result was aimed at obtaining a full standardization of all IAA excavations with a common terminology allowing comprehensive data retrieval at a later stage beyond linguistic or methodological borders. It also introduced standardized processes, such as the strict adherence to the “locus/basket” schema, and streamlined common documentation procedures, e.g., the uniform

For an overview of the recording system used by the IAA, see Matskevich 2015: 78–85. 4 For a critical review of the field methodologies used in Israel past and present, see, e.g., Kletter 2015 and the seminal work of Matskevich 2015. 5 A locus is a locational unit, i.e., an archaeological space (Matskevich and Sharon 2016: 104–105, who refer to the American expedition excavating Tel Megiddo in the 1930s, which introduced the term to the archaeological jargon of the southern Levant; cf. Guy 1938: 4). The term is nowadays normally understood as a depositional unit (Matskevich and Sharon 2016: 107). 3

The Archaeological Documentation System DANA

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production of daily top plans, the standardization of pottery and flint “reading”, or the compulsory tagging of images during fieldwork. Ease of use is characterized by convenient and intuitive data selection from predefined data tables, the avoidance of redundant data entry6 and the obviation of decoding handwritten notes. Above all, automated consistency checks and strictly defined form sets prevent most of the otherwise inevitable human error. Optimization of administrative processes. Efficiency of post-excavation processes was also one of the top priorities when designing the new system. All final excavation-report data is exported into predefined PDF file schemas for archival purposes. In addition, much attention was given to the full documentation of digital images, which are indexed and linked to literal and encoded archaeological documentation. Needless to say, the envisioned system also allows easy data export to other file formats and data-processing engines, such as GIS stations or larger database frameworks for single-point data queries across multiple excavation files.

In its experimental stage in 2011–2012, the new software was successfully beta-tested on five medium-scale IAA salvage excavations (for the development of the use of the software, see Fig. 1). Each one of them imposed different requirements on the system. The purpose of this experimental stage was to examine the applicability of the system in IAA excavations, to understand the work processes and manpower requirements, to determine the learning curve of the operating staff, and to evaluate the system outcomes, i.e., to extrapolate the correlation between efficiency vis-a-vis the organization’s requirements. Based on these test cases, the application was further improved toward a productive version. At this stage, the system was given a new name: DANA, which stands for “Digital Archaeology and National Archives” and thus perfectly characterizes one of the leading principles of the software, i.e., the initiation of an uninterrupted, streamlined process from the finds and findings unearthed in the field, which are then processed in the labs, published in preliminary and final reports, and ultimately inventoried in the national archives and museums. Example: when describing the physical relations of subsequent loci (i.e., their archaeological genealogy: “locus above” and “locus below”, etc.), which allow to track the course of the excavation process (not to be confused with their stratigraphic relation), it is actually only necessary to enter this kind of information for one of two vertically subsequent elements, as the other one’s attribute is then ultimately known.

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Academic versus Institutional Requirements for a Field-Documentation System As mentioned above, DANA is a spin-off from KRP’s documentation system, whose development actually started in 2003 along with KRP’s first field season at Tel Kinrot, under the auspices of the Universities of Bern, Helsinki, Mainz and Leiden. This system essentially grew from a very basic digital field log that primarily focused on the registration and administration of finds. This first, already server-based version merely consisted of a simple, relational database with a few tables for areas, loci, baskets, finds, etc., and with rudimentary abilities to link photographs and drawings to their respective archaeological units. Over subsequent years, this system rapidly developed into a full-fledged and very powerful excavation system encompassing issues beyond purely archaeological purposes,7 much to the chagrin of the involved staff who had to adapt each season to innovations (some not-solong-lived), additions, and changes. A milestone in the process was the integration of the Total Station (2004) and high-precision GPS (2007) into the documentation process, which called for automated processing of three-dimensional data and their immediate visualization within the archaeological documentation system. Since 2008, the system was capable of administering multiple sites/excavations. By 2011, field recording was fully digitized through the use of mobile devices with customized software (iPads) in all areas and trenches8 which allowed flexible ad hoc access and exchange of data collected during different stages of the field and lab work over the local network during field seasons and over the internet during the year. Gradually, KRP’s field and lab software was also equipped with minor tools, such as determining the color of artifacts, measuring the capacity of vessels, etc., or with modules inventorying the finds and their storage, managing the publication process of finds, and more. The benefits of such an integrative database system are obvious: its development follows and replicates the research design of an excavation and Besides the archaeology-related modules, the system later also included modules to administer partaking students and staff (including an online registration system, automated information for participants, field-school contents, transfer and housing administration), modules for the multi-currency budget and financial management and other purely administrational tools. 8 Until then, this was done by paper and pen in the field and only later in the day, transferred into its final digital format in the lab, comprising a very tedious and time-consuming process. 7

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300 225 150 75 0

2011

2012

2013

2014

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Excavations Using DANA

2017

2018

2019

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Total Excavations

Figure 1. Use of DANA since 2011 (as of 01/08/2020). Chart by the authors.

its underlying scholarly methods and concepts, with all its innovations (and idiosyncrasies). Changes and additions were, in many cases, problem-oriented, following the needs of the team. However, to transfer (and to streamline) such a somewhat pompous research-oriented system to the straight-forward and standardized needs of a governmental institution was challenging, and even basic concepts had to be rethought and adapted from scratch. Besides technical challenges,9 the archaeological lingo and its inherent methodological grammar of a long-serving and committed project staff had to be cast into the mold of a universal language, providing professional archaeologists with a tool whose underlying methodology, with all its processual variables, was adapted (as much as possible) to their individual and sometimes very different academic backgrounds and training. The result was a quite stringent10 methodological approach that ensured a powerful search engine for both archaeologists in the field and future researchers. This result was also strongly influenced by the required integration of institutional processes and regulations predetermined by the IAA’s central system (Menorah), and especially by the prerequisite of the full implementation of its thesaurus. In addition, a bureaucratic data layer that facilitated internal administrative, financial and scientific processes, as well as enabled the reciprocal data transfer between DANA and the data islands in the Central Data System of the IAA, had to be integrated into the system.

In contrast to KRP’s system, DANA is not server-based and thus data exchange between DANA and IAA’s Central Database relies on somewhat archaic technologies. Moreover, the lack of network access in the field complicates communication between different instances of DANA within one larger excavation and is only possible via chronically error-prone physical synchronizations via data-storage media. 10 This is expressed by using fixed protocols and user interface (UI) restrictions (e.g., dropdown menus, checkboxes, predefined selections) instead of free text. 9

Technical Specifications of DANA The basis for DANA is the well-known Filemaker Pro database software.11 This rather simple (yet nowadays quite powerful) database environment allows easy programming, fast debugging, and a handy fallback on already existing resources. However, the basic tools offered by Filemaker Pro would not allow for a flexible and professional work environment. Thus, DANA is packed with additional technologies, improving both communication with the different components of the software and the user experience. Vital components outside of the conventional Filemaker environment are, inter alia, based on web-technologies such as Javascript and HTML5,12 Groovy (an object-oriented language for the Java Virtual Machine),13 and quite a few thirdparty plugins that expand FileMmaker Pro basic functionalities and enhance its GUI remarkably.14

Deployment DANA v. 1 was fully implemented in early 2014 in all IAA excavations (Fig. 1), counting up to almost 300 excavations per year (Fig. 2). In order to grant realtime support to the numerous archaeologists working in the field—approximately 50 a week—a team of five archaeologists who received in-depth training was set up. Initially, these instructors accompanied the field archaeologists in all excavations. As time went by and experience was gained, the instructors

The current builds are based on Filemaker 17 (released in May 2018). 12 E.g., OpenLayers 2.13.1 for plan- and map-related UI components, various jQuery libraries for enhancing and facilitating data input. 13 Using libraries such as GeoTools, Proj4, among others. 14 Development and implementation are done in remote locations; while the development is based at the University of Bern in Switzerland, specification, testing and implementation are done in the IAA offices at the Rockefeller Museum in Jerusalem, Israel. 11

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Core Concepts and Functionalities

Figure 2. Map displaying all excavations by the IAA during the years 2011–2020. Produced by Iris Hadar.

are now acting more as “advisors” for the more extraordinary issues. In late 2018, DANA 2 was released. This version was, in many parts, completely re-written and adapted to the by-then most recent versions of the underlying software. The full revision of many modules greatly contributed to the overall speed of the application. DANA 2 came with various new export functions in XML, JSON and geoJSON formats for external spatial analysis, enhancements regarding the 2D-visualization of plans, a better control of the stratigraphic relations, and many more new features. To date, more than 1500 excavation files from various stages of the project are archived with the IAA.

The basic relationships of DANA’s database schema are trivially simple. They follow the evident hierarchy of every excavation, starting from the site and gradually expanding to excavation areas, loci and baskets. Each of these instances is represented by a core data table. Further vital core tables are those for the visual components of the documentation system (plans and photographs), for the logging of the daily excavation progress (diary) or those for visualizing the stratigraphic relationships (units), plus additional data tables, essential for specialized data storage and analysis (e.g., pottery “reading” by specialists).15 In the following, we would like to briefly present the various input ‘screens’ or ‘layouts’, each representing one of the core tables. 1. Sites (Fig. 3). A site (actually a geographic entity that could also comprise multiple sites and/or sub-sites) is the area to which an excavation permit or license is bound to.16 This layout holds mainly administrative information provided by the central system, but also allows to set-up excavation grids17, to add site-level attributes,18 or to compile administrative reports immediately after completion of the fieldwork. 2. Areas (Fig. 4). The screen for the excavation areas (or fields) serves to set up the extent of the respective areas and to manage the (serial) nomenclature of the archaeological units (i.e., the definition of numeric ranges for locus and basket numbers, each tied to an excavation license). 3. Loci (Figs. 5–8). The “locus layout” is possibly the best example to showcase the benefits of the fully relational database concept that is behind the DANA application. In this screen, all locusspecific data previously accumulated in other “environments” is conveniently pulled together. For example, all basket information related to a Currently, DANA consists of ca. 50 tables and ca. 110 additional sub-tables (i.e., table occurrences, a concept unique to the Filemaker application); data input and retrieval are executed via application-specific procedures and SQL queries. 16 Note that, at present, DANA-files are used for one site/ excavation only. In theory, however, the system could host and administer an unlimited number of sites/excavations at the same time. 17 Grids can either be adapted and oriented according to the local terrain or according to the regional Israel grid (EPSG 2039). Local grids can internally be georeferenced to the regional grid via a Helmert transformation. 18 Attributes that are derived from the institutional thesaurus can be tied to every data element. The thesaurus is adapted in DANA in this way that several terms from the same semantic field point to a single ‘preferred’ attribute. 15

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specific locus is listed, geospatial information entered in the daily top plans is presented in processed formats (e.g., its geographic position, its dimensions and elevations), and plans, photographs and diary entries related to a locus are immediately available. All this enables the user to concentrate on the documentation of the locus, i.e., the primary archaeological unit, on one screen without being distracted by tedious searches and complex queries. 4. Baskets (Fig. 9). Like the “locus layout”, the screen for the baskets expediently offers an overview of basket-related data gathered in previous work stages. The basket is not only a (time-based)19 subunit of a locus, but also the ‘interface’ to the individual finds, e.g., pottery or flints and their further processing. 5. Plans (Fig. 10). The technically most complex module built into DANA is the “plan layout”, which is designed as the archaeologist’s main screen during actual fieldwork. It is the core of the visual documentation of archaeological fieldwork and allows the user to sketch (daily) top-plans, aside from also entering basic information for loci and baskets, and keeping the diary. Each and every plan element (i.e., archaeological feature) is depicted by a polygon representing its two-dimensional extent, which may change over time. As a result, daily top plans are fully dynamic, as temporal changes over course of the excavation process are applied to individual plan elements only. In the ‘Plans layout’ also elevations for the individual features are recorded, making 3D recording down to the level of the individual find easily possible.20 6. Photographs (Fig. 11). With the widespread availability of high-quality digital photography, visual documentation of finds has become increasingly important. In consequence, however, a suitable and handy way to catalogue the sometimes vast amounts of digital images is indispensable in order to keep track of the photographic documentation. DANA solves this requirement by the manual tagging of images, i.e., the user identifies loci or individual finds and places identifying tags (locus or basket numbers) on the photographs. This readily enables the cross-referencing of the photographic material The term basket—“a quaint archaism from a time where finds were actually stored in wicker baskets” (Matskevich and Sharon 2016: 104)—also has a temporal notion, as baskets are conventionally changed on a daily basis. 20 DANA has a built-in interface to import tachymetric data. This feature, however, is only occasionally used since IAA excavations do not normally work with Total Stations or RTKs for the daily measurements. 19

(many-to-many relationships) and frees the user from writing captions, etc.21 7. Diary (Fig. 12). The diary pane allows unrestricted written field notes in free text format, illustrated by the photographs taken during the day. To assist the user, these records are indexed via regex patterns which filter the information and pass it over to the entities (loci and baskets) named in the text. In other words, if, e.g., a locus is mentioned in the diary entry, this entry will also appear in the “locus layout”. 8. Units (Fig. 13). Units22 help the user to establish the site’s stratigraphy by attributing individual loci to meaningful archaeological entities. This is facilitated by easy-to-use, drag-and-drop attributions.

Post-Excavation Processes The system’s output is imported into the institutional IT framework (dubbed “Menorah”) in XML format, where it is redirected to the internal structure for further use by different IAA branches, administrative units or research groups, such as bureaucratic closing procedures of an excavation project, project approvals, etc. Automated excavation reports are sent in PDF format to the scientific archive, original and tagged images are transferred to the images archive, and geospatial data produced in DANA are transferred in GeoJSON format to the GIS lab for further processing. In addition, the system continues its life cycle during the treatment and analysis of special find categories by specialists dealing with pottery, coins, glass, glyptics and many other find classes, which finally enables the (field) archaeologist to process all the information for final reports, scholarly publications, and further academic work under the auspices of a single dedicated system.

Conclusions and Future Prospects Regarding analog, form-based recording of archaeological remains common since the 1970s, Matskevich and Sharon (2016: 107) rightly state: “The idea behind splitting the record into atomic units is the ability to sort them according to various attributes, i.e., type, excavation areas, stratigraphical sequence, etc., which is essential for analysing and writing a story of the site. At the same time, breaking the stream of interpretation to discrete and Furthermore, this functionality automatically addresses institutional metadata-requirements. 22 In DANA, units are not understood as “architectural” elements per se but rather as depositional entities enabling the reconstruction of the site formation. 21

The Archaeological Documentation System DANA

interchangeable forms tends to strip out the identity of the participants, the time and circumstances of the recording act, and renders static the workflow by which [current] understanding of the entity was reached”. This is also true for the paper forms’ digital variants, such as DANA. Nevertheless, it is only the splitting of the archaeological record into well-defined data segments that allows a structured, centralized system for all archaeological data, including the specialists’ analyses, to be inclusive and consistent and, above all, to allow its desirable interoperability (via information integration, e.g., via CIDOC-CRM). In retrospect, it has been highly productive to adhere to a user-oriented development of the software application presented here. It was only through the close collaboration with the archaeologists in the field and the specialists in the lab that made it

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possible to achieve the goals that were set for DANA at the beginning of the project. There is, however, still quite some road ahead. In the (near) future, we will strive for a better integration of architectural plans produced by surveyors and architects, add new components to make “vertical recording” possible,23 improve and broaden the cohesive data exchange with the specialists’ find analyses, develop further optimized and standardized interfaces to connect to other recording systems used in the field24 and, last but not least, to establish a DANA server environment for data integration and cross-excavation queries. All of these parameters comprise a “bucket list” certainly to be amended and enlarged in the future. Addressing a critique made by Matskevich 2015: 85. Meeting a request made by Matskevich and Sharon 2018: 28.

23 24

Figure 3. ‘Site’ screen/layout. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority. (Color Plate 5.1, p. 408)

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Figure 4. ‘Area’ screen/layout. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

Figure 5. ‘Locus’ screen/layout with open ‘Basket list’ tab. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

The Archaeological Documentation System DANA

Figure 6. ‘Locus’ screen/layout with open ‘Plan’ tab. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

Figure 7. ‘Locus’ screen/layout with open ‘Diary’ tab. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

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Figure 8. ‘Locus’ screen/layout with open ‘Photo’ tab. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

Figure 9. ‘Basket’ screen/layout. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

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Figure 10. ‘Plan’ screen/layout (note the change when zoomed-in). Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority. (Color Plate 5.2, p. 408)

Figure 11. ‘Photographs’ screen/layout. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

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Figure 12. ‘Diary’ screen/layout. Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

Figure 13. ‘Units’ screen/layout (sample data). Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority.

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Bibliography Aharoni, Y. (ed.). 1973. Beer-Sheba 1. Excavations at Tel Beer-Sheba 1969–1971 Seasons. Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 2. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, Institute of Archaeology. Guy, P.L.O. 1938: Megiddo Tombs. Oriental Institute Publications 33. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kletter, R. 2015. “In Search of the ‘Israeli Method of Excavation’”. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 147: 146–159. Matskevich, S. 2015. ‘Off the Record’ – Recording Systems for Archaeological Excavations in the Levant: Past and Future. Ph.D. dissertation, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Matskevich, S. and Sharon, I. 2016. “Modelling the Archaeological Record: a Look from the Levant. Past and Future Approaches.” In S. Campana, R. Scopigno, G. Carpentiero and M. Cirillo (eds.). CAA2015: Keep the Revolution Going: Proceedings of the 43rd Annual Conference on Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology. Archaeopress: Oxford, pp. 103–115. — 2018. “A Conceptual Framework for Archaeological Data Encoding.” In V. Bigot Juloux, A.R. Gansell and A. Di Ludovico (eds.). CyberResearch on the Ancient Near East and Neighboring Regions. Leiden: Brill, pp. 25–59. Mayer, C. and Schmidt, N. 2008. “Vermessung im Heiligen Land. Mitwirkung des i3mainz bei den Ausgrabungen des Kinneret Regional Project.” Forum 1/2008: 49–51. Münger, S. 2017. “Khirbet Qeiyafa – A View from Tel Kinrot in the Eastern Lower Galilee.” In S. Schroer and S. Münger (eds.). Khirbet Qeiyafa in the Shephelah. Papers Presented at a Colloquium of the Swiss Society for Ancient Near Eastern Studies Held at the University of Bern, September 6, 2014. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 282. Fribourg: Academic Press, pp. 113–136. Münger, S., Zangenberg, J. and Pakkala, J. 2011. “Kinneret – an Urban Center at the Crossroads: Excavations on Iron IB Tel Kinrot at the Lake of Galilee.” Near Eastern Archaeology 74: 68–90. Resig, D. 2009. “Digs Go Digital.” Biblical Archaeology Review 35/1: 29–30, 32–33, 35–36. Zangenberg, J., Münger, S., Hakola, R. and McCane, B.R. 2013. “The Kinneret Regional Project Excavations of a Byzantine Synagogue at Horvat Kur, Galilee, 2010–2013: A Preliminary Report.” Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 2: 557–576. Zangenberg, J., Münger, S., Hakola, R., McCane, B.R., Rassalle, T., Kessi, D., Shivti’el, Y., Ballard, J., den Hertog, L., Berkheij-Dol, J., Neumann, F., Bes, P., and Tervehauta, U. 2016. “Ḫorbat Kur, Kinneret Regional Project – 2012, 2013.” Hadashot Arkheologiyot. Excavations and Surveys in Israel 128. http:// www.hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=24903.

Part II: Dor

The Reoccupation of Southern Phoenicia in the Persian Period: Rethinking the Evidence S. Rebecca Martin and Yiftah Shalev

Abstract In this paper, we reexamine the archaeological evidence used to explain the abandonment and, especially, the reoccupation of the region that we refer to in the Persian period as “southern Phoenicia.” While the timing and causes of abandonment were varied and cannot necessarily be tied to the movement of Mesopotamian forces, we show that the reoccupation was a very different phenomenon. We argue that: (1) the reoccupation of most of southern Phoenicia happened ca. 500 BCE, (2) the widespread discovery of material dating to 500 shows that, in contrast to the abandonment, reoccupation was rather sudden and most larger coastal cities were established nearly simultaneously, (3) the early appearance of a variety of Mediterranean imported pottery indicates that trade and reoccupation went handin-hand and motivated the new settlements, and (4) the reoccupation of the Sharon Plain was made possible by its annexation under the Sidonian king Eshmunazar, but occurred only during the reign of his successor Bodaštart. Our understanding of the trade networks that brought different imported corpora to the region is improving. With further study, we might learn how this material strengthened social ties within southern Phoenicia and with central Phoenicia. We also anticipate that subtle differences will continue to emerge, especially between the Sidonian-controlled Sharon Plain and the areas around it.

Keywords: southern Phoenicia, Sharon Plain, Sidon, Persian period, Babylonian Gap, reoccupation, trade networks, Aegean transport amphorae, Attic pottery, band-decorated pottery, commodities Introduction The Babylonian period (626–539 BCE) is traditionally considered to be the last epoch of the Iron Age and the beginning of a long period in which the Levant was incorporated into a succession of large empires. In Levantine scholarship, the occasion of the Babylonian conquest marks the first time a historical epoch is named after an external imperial authority. Successive periods follow suit: Persian (Achaemenid), Hellenistic (Ptolemaic, Seleucid), and Roman.1 Although the impact of Babylonian and Achaemenid culture was minor, naming conventions have affected the way in which we interpret the material record. Scholars tend to associate archaeologically observable phenomena with On the difficulties of naming the Babylonian and Persian periods, see Zorn 2014: 2438 and Lehmann 2014: 2483, respectively.

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external historical events, such as the abandonment and reoccupation of southern Phoenicia—events that are conventionally attributed to the Babylonian and Persian conquests, respectively.2 Reoccupation following the so-called Babylonian Gap is usually interpreted as evidence of an imperial strategy, either Persian or Phoenician, motivated by the desire for additional agricultural land and secure routes to Egypt. This understanding of the reoccupation has encouraged scholars to assume that the process

We use the term “southern Phoenicia” to describe the land extending south of Tyre to the border with Egypt and from the Mediterranean to the Samarian foothills and Judean mountains (in the south), inclusive of the western and upper Galilee. Some of these regions can only be referred to as “Phoenician” beginning in the Persian period.

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Figure 1. Map of sites discussed in this article. Map courtesy of Gunnar Lehmann.

begins shortly after the Achaemenid takeover of the region in 539 BCE. Our aim is to reevaluate this abandonmentreoccupation scenario narrowly, by rethinking the dates of the reoccupation of southern Phoenicia and what the earliest evidence tells us about the archaeological beginning of the Persian period (Fig. 1). We hope that this subject is a fitting tribute to Ilan Sharon’s enduring interest in matters of chronology and the need to privilege rigorous methods over conventional wisdom (e.g., Sharon et al. 2005).3 After briefly reviewing the reasons for and timing of The authors write this essay in honor of our mentor, Prof. Ilan Sharon, who trained us in all manner of archaeological endeavors, beginning with our field work in the late 1990s at Tel Dor. We are indebted to and grateful for his unflagging support and guidance in the ensuing years. All errors of fact and interpretation remain our own. This essay is a companion to Shalev and Martin 2012—itself a brief summary of some of the arguments presented in Stewart and Martin 2005; Martin 2007; Shalev 2008; 2009— with the intention of updating and clarifying claims. Research for this study was supported by Israel Science Foundation Grant no. 570/09 (awarded to Profs. Ayelet Gilboa and Gunnar Lehmann), the Research Authority of the University of Haifa, and the Nathan Rotenstreich Foundation in Jerusalem (Shalev), and the Israel Institute of Advanced Studies (Martin).

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the abandonment, we show how the pottery from the reoccupation has very little material that can be dated reliably to the period from 539–510 BCE, whereas material dateable to ca. 510–500 BCE is ubiquitous. The analysis of a key context from Tel Dor shows that there is good reason to believe trade and reoccupation happened more-or-less simultaneously. Because the date of the earliest imports can be tied to the date of resettlement itself, we understand that the reoccupation was relatively sudden and widespread, and involved people already participating in longdistance trading networks. We think it likely that the settlement was motivated by the desire to increase and control trade routes, while the intensification of agriculture was probably a secondary concern. Finally, we consider the historical circumstances of the reoccupation. We show that it did not follow directly from specific recorded events during the early years of the Achaemenid empire, such as the implementation of Cyrus’s decrees or the Egyptian campaign of Cambyses in ca. 525 BCE. Rather, it took place during the rule of the Sidonian king

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Bodaštart, probably as an extension of his major building efforts in Sidonian territory.4

The Timing and Causes of the Abandonment Many southern Levantine sites seem to have been mostly or entirely unoccupied in the sixth century. As implied by the conventional name for this phenomenon—the “Babylonian Gap”—the process was once understood to have begun with campaigns into the region that started in the late seventh century.5 According to the Babylonian Chronicle, for example, Ashkelon was besieged, its king was captured and, after the city was razed, its inhabitants were deported, spelling doom for other towns on the wrong side of the conflict (Jer 47:3–5) (see, conveniently, Stager in Ashkelon 3: 3–5). Similar destructions and dispersals of the local populace have been observed or imagined at other sites within Philistia. In subsequent conflicts, cities from Tyre to Jerusalem were (allegedly) subjugated, sometimes destroyed, and portions of their populace were deported. Few areas seem to have recovered quickly; the coastal sites languished. Today scholars are well aware that the practice of tying archaeological data to specific historical events can be highly problematic. The tidiness of the abandonment scenario has been seriously challenged by scholars interested in Israel, Judah, and the evidence of exile, resulting in increasingly nuanced views. Some Judean sites once thought to have been destroyed in 586, such as Tell en-Nasbeh, have records of continuous settlement throughout the sixth century; continuity is also seen in some Judean rural settlements (Zorn 2003; Gadot 2015; Bocher and Freud 2017). Continuous occupation also seems to be a feature of some towns in central Phoenicia, such as Tell el-Burak (Sader and Kamlah 2010: 132). Critical historical views have likewise been taken of the Biblical accounts of the mass exile and mass return. Even with these cautions, the impact and extent of depopulation seem to have been significant (Hoglund 1992). Direct literary and epigraphic testimony is lacking for most of the area that we refer to as There is no direct evidence that the Levant was part of the empire before Cambyses’ Egyptian campaign. According to Herodotus (1.143), who seems to be more reliable than Xenophon for the early years of the Achaemenid empire (Briant 2002: 48), Phoenicians were not part of the empire when Cyrus conquered Asia Minor. Phoenician participation in the Egyptian campaign is noted in Hdt. 3.19 (Martin 2017: 76, 97). 5 For the traditional view, see Stern 2001: 353–582; for a more critical approach, see Lipschits and Blenkinsopp 2003; Faust 2012. 4

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“southern Phoenicia” in the Persian period, making archaeological evidence all the more important to our understanding of the occupational gap there. Understandably, the Babylonian hypothesis that explains, to some extent, the events of the late seventh and sixth centuries BCE in Philistia, Israel, and Judah has shaped expectations in neighboring territories. The result is a deceptively general interpretation of the archaeological evidence. The difficulty of analysis is only compounded by the fact that changes in material culture within the sixth century are very hard to detect (Zorn 2014: 2437). It can appear at first glance that archaeological evidence supports historically driven approaches, as many sites in our study area (see Table 1) were indeed abandoned, or at least severely reduced in size, during the Neo-Babylonian period.6 We should not be too quick to associate this occupation gap with the Babylonian campaigns, however. ‘Atlit and Megadim, for example, have evidence of Bronze Age and Persian period occupation with no intervening Iron Age levels. According to their excavators, the occupational gap at sites such as Tell Abu Hawam and Jaffa should be associated with Assyrian withdrawal. Even the abandonments dated to the seventh century are not necessarily connected to the movements of Mesopotamian forces. At Ashkelon, a clear destruction layer can be associated with the aforementioned Babylonian conquest of 604, but we have evidence of population decline elsewhere as a gradual process that started under Assyrian rule and continued into the Babylonian period (Ashkelon 3; see also Zorn 2014: 2446 regarding northern Israel). In our case study of Tel Dor, for example, the latest dateable Iron Age pottery belongs to ca. 650/630 BCE—decades before the Babylonian campaigns began, and without any evidence of a destruction (Gilboa 2018: 167–168). We can accordingly infer that the stimuli for depopulation were varied. Some of them can be attributed to truly large-scale destructions resulting from the activities of foreign military forces, but most southern Phoenician sites lack indisputable evidence of violence. Usually we do not know what happened to the people who lived on sites with occupation gaps. Some were surely part of the forced population movement recorded in our sources, while others might have simply moved elsewhere. We do not know if the descendants of those who left the region were related to those who appeared at these sites 100 or more years later.

Most relevant sites have summaries in the NEAEHL and Stern 2001. See also Mazar 2001; Dayagi-Mendels 2002. 6

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Table 1. Published claims, evidence, and revised dating of the earliest Persian period material from select coastal sites in southern Phoenicia, ordered alphabetically Site

Tell Abu Hawam Achziv Tel Akko

Published Date for Beginning of Persian Period

Earliest Dateable Finds

Phase II(a)1, early 5th c. Attic Haimonian black figure8 BCE7 Unstated Late Samian S1; Chian C29 Ca. 530? 5th c. BCE?10 Late Klazomenian; Chian C1; early Samian S1; Attic Haimonian black figure (misread as Boeotian)11 Apollonia Area H Stratum Persian 2: Chian C1; Attic Haimonian black figure13 late 6th c. BCE12 Ashdod Stratum IV, late 6th c. BCE Early Samian S114 Ashkelon 530s–520s BCE15 Chian C1; early Samian S1; late Droop and Little Master cups; Attic black-figure table amphora16 ‘Atlit NA Sub-Fikellura amphoriskoi; early Samian S1; Attic Haimonian black figure17 Dor Ca. 500 BCE18 Chian C1; early Samian S1; Attic Haimonian black figure19 Jaffa Area M: pre-5th c. BCE Attic black-figure volute krater20 Tel Megadim 5th c. BCE Late Klazomenian; Chian C1; early Samian S121 Mevorakh Stratum VI, mid-5th c. BCE Chian C1; Attic Haimonian black figure (misidentified as Boeotian)22 Tel Michal Stratum XI, last quarter of Late Samian S1; Attic early Classical red figure24 the 6th c. BCE23 Shiqmona Stratum VI, late 6th c. BCE Chian C1; Attic Haimonian black figure25 Yavneh-Yam End of 6th c. BCE Attic Haimonian black figure26

Earliest Dateable Persian Period Material Ca. 500 BCE Ca. 475 BCE Ca. 510 BCE

Ca. 510 BCE Ca. 510 BCE Ca. 520–510 BCE Ca. 510 BCE Ca. 510 BCE Ca. 510 BCE Ca. 510 BCE Ca. 510 BCE Post-475 BCE Ca. 510 BCE Ca. 500 BCE

Tel Abu Hawam: Balensi et al. 1990. Hamilton 1935: pl. XII: 16–17. 9 Shalev 2014: 335. 10 Dothan 1976: 2, 27. 11 Dothan 1976: 21–22, 27, fig. 21; Shalev 2014: 331–332, fig. 3.5.25. 12 Tal 1999: 205, table 4.11. 13 Tal 1999: 106, 113, 115, figs. 4.13:25 and 4.14:13. Tal 1999: 109, 119, fig. 4.18:3–5 are misidentified as white-slipped Chian amphorae; see Shalev 2014: 307. 14 Dothan and Porath 1982: fig. 30: 4; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2005: fig. 3.111:7. 15 Stager in Ashkelon 3: 11 (“a seventy- or eighty-year gap” after the late seventh-century BCE destruction). 16 Droop and Little Master cups: Agora 23: 64–66; see also Wenning 2000: 344–345; Klinger 2003: 137; Nunn 2014: 405. Our thanks to Ryan Boehm and the Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon for permission to include the Attic pottery data here. Shalev 2014: 329–330. 17 Johns 1933: 59, 73, 86, 102, 103, fig. 94, pls. XXI: 529, XXIX: 704, XXXII (bottom row, far right), XXXV: 979. 18 Dor: Shalev and Martin 2012. Stern (in Dor 1a: 272) suggests the Persian occupation began during the reign of Darius I (r. 520–490 BCE), which still seems mostly correct, but elsewhere in the same report it is implied that artifacts, at least, date as early as the middle or late sixth century (e.g., Marchese in Dor 1b: 127, 171–172, tables 4.6–7). 19 Mook and Coulson in Dor 1b: fig. 3.13:1–3; Stewart and Martin 2005: especially 81, 89; Shalev 2014: 276–297. 20 Wenning 2004: 58, fig. 1. 21 Shalev 2014: 316, fig. 3.5.20. The authors thank Samuel Wolff for his permission to include unpublished data from Tel Megadim that will appear in Wolff, in preparation. 22 Stern 1978: 35, fig. 8:8–9. 23 Marchese 1989: 146, fig. 10.1 2–3 are misidentified as “Cypro-Archaic” jugs. These are band-decorated jugs that date to the mid-fifth century or later; fig. 10.1:6 is misidentified as an “Ionian” cup (it is a banded bowl). 24 Martin 2007: 80, 83–85, 144; Nunn 2014: 410–411, table 5; Shalev 2014: 298–302. 25 Nunn 2014: 408, table 4; Shalev 2014: 310–311. 26 Klinger 2003: 136, 142, figs. 1–2. 7 8

The Reoccupation of Southern Phoenicia in the Persian Period

The Evidence of Reoccupation Whatever the timing or causes of the settlement gap, we know that at some point in the Persian period all of the sites listed in Table 1 were reoccupied.27 As outlined above, our understanding of this phenomenon—even of basic information such as when it occurred—is imperfect.28 The new Persian period settlements were varied. Some settlements grew into relatively large urban centers located on top of kurkar ridges along the coast or at the outlets of rivers, while others remained as small towns, usually also built along the coastline and near river outlets. Small inland agricultural settlements also appeared, as did independent structures that are interpreted as administrative centers or fortresses (Roll and Ayalon 1989: 122–123; Safrai et al. 1990: 175–176; Herbert and Berlin 2003; Tal 2005). As mentioned above, reoccupation has usually been framed in politicohistorical terms as the result of the Persian conquest and a desire for more strategic and agricultural lands. The Eshmunazar II sarcophagus inscription, discussed below, is closely tied to this interpretation of events. Archaeological evidence of reoccupation has typically relied on the chronology provided by imported pottery, especially band-decorated and Attic table wares (see below and Figs. 2–3). The dependence of archaeologists on these ceramics is in response to a few realties of the archaeological record of the early Persian period, including the very limited discovery of early coinage and the difficulty (often impossibility) of dating architecture and other features according to technique, locally produced pottery, or other common small finds (Lehmann 1996). Imports are a symptom of the Mediterranean orientation of the coastal Levant that seems to have begun sometime in the previous century, according to the record of central and northern Levantine sites occupied in the sixth century. Imports are regularly summoned in support of the historical abandonmentreoccupation scenario, of course, but, as will become evident, they have not always been evaluated correctly, perpetuating the false impression of the cohesion of archaeological evidence and recorded historical events. Table 1 provides a summary of the published claims (found in NEAEHL, unless otherwise noted) regarding the date of the earliest Persian period stratum or artifacts from sites in our study area, as well as the earliest dateable finds and the earliest A detailed analysis of Persian period settlement patterns can be found in Shalev 2014. 28 For traditional views, see Stern 1982; Betlyon 2005; for more critical views, see Tal 2005. 27

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possible dates of these finds. The last column is informed by reevaluation of publications (by checking the stratigraphy or pottery illustrations) or through our own study of the imported ceramics. The table shows that reported dates of reoccupation, some of which appear only in preliminary studies, can be imprecise. It is natural that, as more Persian period material is being studied using better methods, our interpretations are improving. We now know, for example, that it is very difficult to date banddecorated pottery precisely. The ubiquitous banded bowls, despite their refined typology, have few clear chronological indicators; the same types can be found in contexts spanning from the sixth to the fourth centuries (Mook and Coulson in Dor 1b; revised in Shalev 2014: 139–174, 4.3.1; Lehmann et al. 2020). Our understanding of the dating of Attic pottery has been good for a long time. The problems of interpretation in southern Phoenicia arise from misidentification—some older publications mistake Attic black-figure for Boeotian pottery, for example—and the tacit (but false) assumption that black-figure pottery comes to an end ca. 500 (Stewart and Martin 2005: 87, note 7). Finally, older studies have tended to overlook the importance of Persian period Aegean transport amphorae, another class of pottery that can now be dated precisely. Bearing these points in mind, the most important material for narrowing down the dating of the early Persian period are Attic tablewares and Aegean transport amphorae most of all. Band-decorated pottery does not offer much help with chronological problems, but it can make significant contributions to our understanding of trade contacts, as have baskethandled jars in earlier studies.29 It is likely that all of this pottery and its contents were secondary commodities, probably for merchants participating in more lucrative activities such as the metals trade. What is remarkable about the Aegean material is not just that it shows how few sites have evidence of occupation in the 530s, 520s, or even the 510s BCE, but how it gives the general impression of a rather sudden emergence of trade in this region in ca. 510–500 BCE. In the following section, we offer summaries of the current state of research for all three corpora: band-decorated and Attic fine wares and Aegean transport amphorae.

Early basket-handle jars were made in Cyprus (Leidwanger 2007; Wolff 2011). Other production centers seem to have emerged in the Persian period, one of which might be Kelenderis (Lehmann et al. 2020).

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Figure 2. Band-decorated bowls and tablewares from Tel Dor and Shiqmona. 1–2. bowls, reg. nos. 172475/1, L17235 (Dor Phase D2/5) and 94001/28, L9251 (Dor Phase G/4); 3. krater, reg. no. 98951, L19890 (Dor Phase G/4); 4. table amphora, reg. no. 692 (1–5) (Shiqmona Stratum PB) . Shalev 2014: Pl. 3.5.18:6, after Elgavish 1968: Pl. LII:6.

Figure 3. Attic black-figure drinking vessels painted by the Haimon Painter and members of his circle are often among the earliest datable objects in Persian period southern Phoenicia. These are typically fragmentary examples from Ashkelon, Fields 38 and 50. Photographs reproduced with permission of Ryan Boehm and courtesy of the Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon. (Color Plate 6.1, p. 409)

Band-Decorated Pottery: Bowls and Other Tablewares Most of the popular band-decorated pottery was suited to drinking or serving liquids: bowls are the most prevalent form, followed by the krater, jug, and table amphora (Fig. 2). This pottery is common in southern Anatolia, the Syrian coast, and southern Phoenicia, but less so in Cyprus, Egypt, and central Phoenicia (in so far as we can tell from the current state of publication). It is rare in the Aegean (Lehmann et al. 2020). Recent studies have negated the idea that the band-decorated pottery found in southern Phoenicia should be associated with “East Greece.” All banded bowls tested to date were

made in southern Anatolia, in the Cilician town of Kelenderis that now lends its name to the ware type (Shalev 2017). Very recently we have learned that some other table vessels (mostly hydriae) were made in central Crete, at Gortyn—the first-ever indication of trade contacts between Crete and the Levant in the Persian period (Shalev 2014; Gilboa et al. 2017; Lehmann et al. 2020).30 In southern Phoenicia, band-decorated pottery can usually only be dated by context. So far, it appears that none of this pottery is Some kraters from Al Mina were made in Miletos. These critical new data showing the distinct and far-flung sites of pottery manufacture, challenge the idea that we should continue in the future to treat band-decorated pottery as a single corpus.

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found in contexts that must be earlier than ca. 510 BCE (see the discussion of contexts, below). Further publication might refine this impression. Attic Imports Most Attic pottery, like most of the band-decorated pottery, was made for drinking (Fig. 3). Cups and bowls, which are found in all the main decorative techniques, are especially common. Minor differences in the choice of particular forms are observable. Some bowls and other tablewares, such as plates, could also be used for eating. Serving vessels, like pitchers and hydriae, are known, but they are relatively rare; perhaps band-decorated serving vessels were preferred. The mixing krater, an important part of the drinking kit in Archaic and Classical Greece, is the most-common large Attic form in southern Phoenicia. Other relatively common types include small oil-pouring vessels (lekythoi), lidded casseroles that could have been used for serving or for storage of personal items, and small bowls usually referred to as salt cellars. Our understanding of the overall phenomenon of Attic imports to southern Phoenicia—from its chronology to the preference for painted subject matter and, especially, vessel function—continues to improve (Stewart and Martin 2005, updating some of the conclusions found in Marchese in Dor 1b; Martin 2014; Nunn 2014; Martin and Tafe in preparation). Two of the largest Attic corpora in the study area come from Dor and Ashkelon; they are similar. Most of the pottery was made in the fifth and fourth centuries. The critical difference for our purposes concerns the earliest imports. While at Dor, the earliest dateable vessels are black-figure Haimonian products from ca. 500 BCE, ongoing study of the material from Ashkelon has unearthed a few black-gloss and black-figure pots that must have been made before 510 BCE (Martin and Tafe in preparation). Tell Keisan, which is also currently being studied, seems to have a few earlier pots, too, including black-figure band cups (Martin 2007: 79, 118 Table III:1).31 Although the quantity of the earliest pottery is small, it could be significant. It is possible that resettlement in the north and south of southern Phoenicia started a bit earlier than in the Sharon Plain. While southern Phoenicia as a whole might have been a single integrated settlement system, subtle differences in settlement patterns are beginning to emerge (Shalev 2014). In the southern coastal plain, larger towns were built on the coast and secondary centers emerged in inland areas. The settlement 31

With thanks to Jolanta Mlynarczyk.

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pattern of the central coastal plain is different. It is dominated by larger towns without secondary settlements, even in the Sharon Plain where geography would not dictate such an arrangement. Finally, the published Attic pottery from Beirut is similar to what is found in southern Phoenicia in terms of chronology (beginning ca. 500 BCE), functions, shapes, and painters (Shefton et al. 1998). Although much more publication is needed before firm conclusions can be drawn, the Attic corpus in southern Phoenicia appears to be similar to what we know from central Phoenicia, while the banddecorated corpus is not. It is possible that Attic pottery had different dispersal patterns because it accompanied different primary commodities. Aegean Transport Amphorae Aegean transport amphorae are found in almost every Persian period site on the Levantine coast (Fig. 4). They have been extensively investigated by classical archaeologists. As complete pots are uncommon in the occupational debris of southern Phoenicia, challenges can accordingly arise using established typologies that rely on the assessment of complete shapes. Even so, it has become clear that, typically, the earliest amphorae to arrive in southern Phoenicia—imports from Chios and Samos/Miletos—were not made before 510 BCE (Shalev 2014).32 Earlier types of these amphorae, such as the white-slipped Chian type, are common elsewhere, however—in Cyprus, Egypt, and Sinai. Southern Phoenicia has almost no Klazomenian amphorae, either, although they were popular in the Aegean and Egypt until their manufacture ceased in in the late sixth century. Their near-total absence in southern Phoenicia is another indication that regular trade with the Aegean only began ca. 510–500 BCE (Sezgin 2004: 176–177; Shalev 2014: 252–251). The chronology of the early transport amphora corpus aligns with the early Attic one, which might indicate that both came in the same boats or were connected to the same extended trade routes. The quantity of Greek transport amphorae reached its zenith in the mid-fifth century, when amphorae from Samos and Miletos predominated in southern Phoenician assemblages. These imports dwindled during the first half of the fourth century, when North Aegean amphorae were popular elsewhere—a change that seems to indicate a split from the Attic pottery trade. The transport-amphorae trade picks Lawall (1995: 176–180) has shown that the amphorae called “Samian” might also have been manufactured in Miletos, but, for convenience, we have simply called the type “Samian” throughout.

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Figure 4. The main types of Aegean transport amphorae mentioned in this article. 1–2. Chian C1 and C2 (drawn by author after Monakhov 2003: Pls. 6:1 and 7:1); 3–4. Samian S1 early and S1 Late (drawn by author after Monakhov 2003: Pls. 15:5 and 19:5); 5. Klazomenian. Drawing by the authors after Sezgin 2004: Fig. 14.

up again in the second half of the century, when types from the southern Aegean were popular for a second time, but the quantities never again reach fifth century levels.

Sample Context from the Southern Harbor Area of Tel Dor (Area D5)

has not been completed, the sample context is a typical example of material from the early Persian period. It is a series of floors and fills within and above a house in Unit AT/09 in the southwestern part of Area D, what is now called Area D5 (Table 2).33 Area D5 is on a steep part of the tell’s slope; leveling Note that until 2005, Dor Area D5 was excavated as part of Area D1. The absolute chronology of the Persian period phases in Areas A and C is published by Saragusti and Sharon in Dor 1a. The authors discuss two Persian period phases, called in that report Strata VI and V, which together correspond loosely to Phase D5/6–5c. The end of Stratum VI is dated to ca. 400/375; Stratum V ends ca. 275/250. For the beginning of the Persian period, see Table 1: Dor. The Unit AT/09 stratigraphy was prepared by Shalev 2014: 383–384.

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In this section, a brief stratigraphic analysis illustrates how greater care in understanding both the dates ascribed to imports and the manner of their deposition contributes to our overall understanding of the archaeological beginning of the Persian period. Tel Dor Area D overlooks the site’s southern harbor (Fig. 5); it is well-studied, but not extensively published. Although the final stratigraphic analysis

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Table 2. Main local Persian period phases of Tel Dor Area D5, ordered from earliest to latest Period

Area D5 Phase

General Features of the Area

Earliest Persian

D5/6c (ca. 510/480–425 BCE) D5/6b (ca. 425– 350/325 BCE) D5/6a-5c (ca. 350/325–first quarter of the third c. BCE)

Leveling of slope; construction L10D5-235 and its Floor 10D5-235; of earliest roads and houses L10D5-253 (sealed below Floor 10D5-235) Expansion and maintenance of L10D5-206 and its Floor 10D5-206 roads and houses Houses go out of use; open L07D5-125 and L07D5-112 below area for dumping and dog it, which is cut by several pits (e.g., burials L09D5-409 and L08D5-710), dog burials, and an installation (L07D5114)

Middle Persian Latest Persian– early Hellenistic

fills of material brought from elsewhere on the tell were required in order to build there. The earliest Persian period phase in this area started when these constructional fills were laid and the floors were constructed; it lasted until the floors went out of use. Above the earliest floor in the Unit AT/09 sequence (Floor 10D5-235 at 13.25–13.30 m), another floor was built (Floor 10D5-206 at 13.32–13.35 m). Later in the Persian period, the area ceased to be domestic. The house in Unit AT/09 went out of use, and the area was used for refuse dumping, dog burials, and ritual deposition of animal bones (see Sapir-Hen and Shalev, this volume). Phase D5/6c (510/480–425 BCE): Floor 10D5-235 and the sealed material above and below it (L10D5-253) The sealed pottery from L10D5-253 belongs to fills laid to begin construction of the Unit AT/09 house. The pottery was mostly domestic Iron Age material, including storage jars, cooking pots, smaller jugs, a large fragment of a basin, a carinated Assyrian bowl, and a fragment of what is probably an “Ionian” cup (reg. no. 10D5-3848). The Persian period pottery includes a few straight-shoulder jars, a Dor Type B banded bowl (reg. no. 10D5-4163), three non-joining fragments that probably belong to the same fine fifthcentury Attic lekythos (reg. nos. 10D5-4168, 10D53210/6+13) and two Chian amphorae (reg. nos. 10D5-4216, 10D5-3852/1) belonging to Lawall Type C1 and dateable to 510–480 BCE. F10D5-235 was built immediately after this constructional fill was laid. The fill above it, L10D5235, belongs to the end of Phase D5/6c. L10D5-235 is sealed under Phase D5/6b Floor 10D5-206. Most of the pottery in L10D5-235 was domestic Iron Age material, including storage jars (straight-shoulder, basket-handle) and table vessels (jars, one decanter or jug). Persian period vessels include fragments of four different transport amphorae, two Samian S1

Key Loci in Unit AT/09

types (reg. nos. 10D5-2873 and 10D5-3196) and one Chian C1 (reg. no. 10D5-3205/1+2+4), along with three fragments of Attic pottery (reg. nos. 10D53194/1, 10D5-3194/2, 10D5-3194/3), including an Attic Type A skyphos, a bowl with incurved rim, and a body sherd of perhaps another bowl. No other diagnostic pieces of Persian period pottery were found. The best materials for dating Phase D5/6c are the Greek transport amphorae. The Type C1 Chian fragments date to 510–480 BCE; they are the earliest dateable finds. At least one of the Samian amphorae (reg. no. 10D5–2873) belongs to the later S1 type, which dates to 475 BCE at the earliest (Lawall 1995: 176–180). Of the Attic corpus, only the skyphos in L10D5-235 can be tentatively ascribed a date. It has the plain rim and gentle curve of Type A skyphoi belonging to the first half of the fifth century. No finds in Unit AT/09 provide an accurate terminus for Phase D5/6c, but, in the adjacent Unit AT/10, Pit 10D5-275 has a North Aegean amphora, from Mende (reg. no. 10D5-4159), dating to the third quarter of the fifth century. The dateable material in Phase D5/6c thus stretches from 510/480–425 BCE. At the end of this phase, the original floor of the house was replaced. Phase D5/6b (ca. 425–350/325 BCE): L10D5-206, unsealed fill down to kurkar Floor 10D5-206 Phase D5/6b is defined by a new floor level within the Unit AT/09 house (Floor 10D5-206). It is badly disturbed by later pits and only a few clean loci can be assigned to it, making dating difficult. Unlike the fills below it, L10D5-206 had almost exclusively Persian period pottery: jugs, cooking pots, baskethandled jars, an open folded lamp, four fragments of Attic pottery, including two feet of different Attic Type A skyphoi (reg. nos. 10D5-2295/1+2, 10D52259/4), a body sherd perhaps from a bowl (reg. no. 10D5-2259/4), and the projecting rim of another

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open form (reg. no. 10D5-2064), as well as three body fragments of Greek transport amphorae (reg. nos. 10D5-2608, 10D5-2611, 10D5-2044) that could not be assigned to a specific type or date. In this case, the only material that can be dated somewhat more narrowly within the Persian period is Attic—the

skyphoi feet belong to the earlier fifth-century form of the Type A—clearly in redeposition. This phase must be dated stratigraphically. It began ca. 425 BCE with the laying of the new floor and ended before ca. 350/325 BCE, at which time the house was out of use. We can conclude that the Unit AT/09 house was standing for at least 100 years,

Figure 5. Map of the excavation areas of Tel Dor through the 2018 season. Area D overlooks one of the site’s harbors; Area D5 is in its southwestern corner, where the slope of the tell is steep. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project. (Color Plate 6.2, p. 409)

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although we do not know exactly how long it was abandoned before the area was used for dumping.

have been responsible for creating demand for certain items, like wine from specific regions.

Phase D5/6a–5c (ca. 350/325–first quarter of the third century BCE): L07D5-112 and L07D5-125, unsealed fill, cut by trash pits, dog burials, and an installation

Conclusions: A Refined Impression of Early Persian Period Southern Phoenicia

By Phase D5/6a–5c, the house was not in use and the function of the area had changed. The main features in Unit AT/09 are two thick layers of accumulated debris, L07D5-125 and L07D5-112. These debris layers are, in turn, cut by a several trash pits, as well as a deliberate deposition of animal bones (see SapirHen and Shalev, this volume). The dateable pottery in these latest Persian features was made in the later fourth and early third centuries BCE. Attic pottery was found, including a few types characteristic of the fourth century, such as a fish plate. The earliest dateable find comes from a South Aegean Mushroomrim amphora, which was made in the third quarter of the fourth century. Although no finds from Unit AT/09 can be used to establish the precise terminus of this phase, previous studies show that it extended into the third century BCE; the first Hellenistic phase in the area began ca. 275 BCE (MonnickendamGivon 2011: 70–71; Martin forthcoming). Summary The pottery in this sample context extends from ca. 510 BCE into the first quarter of the third century BCE. It is representative of a site-wide trend in which the earliest Persian period phases nearly always include imports from the Aegean—either Attic fine wares, transport amphorae, or both—as well as band-decorated pottery. Even though the Aegean imports can be dated with precision, very small fragments typical of occupational debris make this task challenging and sometimes impossible. Much of the early Persian period material found in stratigraphically later phases was found in redeposition, although some objects, such as storage jars, might have been reused over time. The imports themselves underscore two related phenomena of the Persian period. From the beginning, there is evidence of several Mediterranean trading connections. Early trade with the Aegean and Cilicia is certain. Early trade with Cyprus—if the basket-handle jars were made there—and Crete (the hydriae, although more research is needed to understand exactly when these imports appear) is also likely. Such secondary commodities would have passed through many destinations en route to southern Phoenicia. Intermediary destinations could

According to our current, best understanding of the evidence, the earliest Persian period material in most of southern Phoenicia does not seem to appear much before ca. 500 BCE. Imported pottery made at this time is found at all of the large settlements, all of which were situated along the coastline—Akko, (probably) ‘Atlit, Dor, Jaffa, Ashdod, Ashkelon, and Gaza—indicating that they were not established much later than ca. 500 BCE, either. Reoccupation of the Sharon Plain, where we have had occasion to study the most material, thus seems to have occurred more or less simultaneously, allowing these new cities to commandeer most of the commercial activity in their vicinity.34 Ashkelon and Tell Keisan are important exceptions, as they have evidence of settlement before 510 BCE. These sites, and the different settlement patterns within southern Phoenicia, suggest that continued study will lead to still greater refinements of the chronology, as well as more clear differences between Sidonian-controlled areas and the regions outside of it.35 The sample context from Tel Dor underscores the need to take care not only in dating the earliest Persian period finds correctly, but also in understanding what these finds and their depositional sequences can tell us. Most importantly, it shows that imports of dispersed origin are found in the earliest assemblages. Trade could not have lagged behind the reoccupation. Rather, the opposite is true; trade and reoccupation went hand-in-hand, and included fine tablewares that might strike us as nonessential. The pottery evidence suggests that at least some of the people who first settled southern Phoenicia were already involved in, or at least aware of, long-distance trade networks. Probably the control over and expansion of trade were significant motivations for occupation, which challenges the idea that these were primarily agricultural or strategic settlements. The contrast with the earlier depopulation of these same sites— Bearing a resemblance to the model proposed in Stager 2001. 35 Our previous studies have shown that interaction with inland centers, such as Jerusalem and Samaria, was more common in the areas south of Sidonian control (that is, south of Jaffa; see Shalev 2014). Although connections with Tyre and settlements north and south of the Sharon Plain are known or presumed, Ashkelon, Ashdod, and Gaza seem to have been more independent, as they were allowed to mint coins (Gitler and Tal 2006). On the possibility of a Persian period series at Dor, see Ariel 2016. 34

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which occurred over time and for several different, and possibly unconnected, reasons—is plain. The imports reveal similarities and differences in personal consumption and trade networks in southern Phoenicia as compared to other eastern Mediterranean regions. Some of these disparities might be attributed to the arrival of new consumers in previously depopulated areas. It is reasonable to infer that the suddenness of the reoccupation meant that early settlements were unable to supply all of their own wine and oil, but we cannot rule out the possibility that the imports were driven mostly by preference. Ships carrying these products from the southern Aegean could have had a role in developing the demand for Attic tablewares, as well. But, by the early fourth century, Attic pottery imports increased as Aegean transport amphorae tailed off, indicating that the demand for fine tablewares and wine was met separately. The early fourth century lull in Aegean amphora imports might point to the intensification of local agriculture, but other practical and social factors were likely in play, especially as we observe some revival of the Aegean wine and oil trade in the second half of that century, when the amphorae are again coming from the southern Aegean. Banddecorated pottery connected southern Phoenicians to trade networks that included both Crete and Cilicia, seemingly throughout the Persian period. The extent to which these same networks brought transport amphorae and Attic pottery to southern Phoenicia is unclear at this stage of research. The refined chronology of the resettlement raises questions about how and why it happened at this point in history. The Phoenician role in the Achaemenid navy was significant from 525 BCE (Herodotus 3.19), and the Greek-Persian conflict was gaining in intensity at the very moment the resettlement seems to have begun (e.g., Herodotus 5.30). While it is not possible to associate the resettlement with any of these recorded events, surely the annexation of the Sharon Plain by the king of Sidon was the most important precondition for the reoccupation. The acquisition is recorded on the famous inscription on the lid of the sarcophagus of Eshmunazar II.36 According to its style and materials, the sarcophagus itself was made in Saite-period Egypt. Sarcophagus of Eshmunazar II from the necropolis of Magharat Abloun near Sidon, made in Saqqara or Giza ca. 525 BCE = Paris, Musée du Louvre AO 4806. Lines 18–20 of the inscription on the lid say that “the lord of kings” compensated the ruler of Sidon with the Sharon Plain: “Dor [dʾr] and Joppa [ypy], the rich lands of Dagon/corn that are in the plain of Sharon, as recompense for the striking deeds that I performed” (KAI 14; translation after Gibson 1982: 105–114 with the updated reading of Burlingame 2018: 57). Tyre had control over the area immediately south of it, 36

Along with the sarcophagi of his father Tabnit and a third, plain, one, Eshmunazar’s sarcophagus was probably acquired in Egypt in ca. 525 BCE when the Sidonians were on campaign with Cambyses (Martin 2017: 106, or shortly thereafter, as Amadasi Guzzo 2018: 17).37 The seemingly hasty burial of Tabnit in a relatively unimpressive sarcophagus intended for another recipient might suggest that he died during this campaign, which resulted in the unexpected ascension of his young son and the apparent regency of Eshmunazar’s mother, Amoaštart. It is very difficult to fix the chronology of the Sidonian kings (Élayi 2008: 98). While we know from his sarcophagus inscription (KAI 14: lines 1–4) that Eshmunazar ruled for 14 years and was young when his father died, we do not know how old he was at the time of his death—only that he considered himself to have died “before his time” (see Burlingame 2018: 58, note 105, with references). The Sidonian takeover of the Sharon Plain happened sometime between 525 BCE and Eshmunazar’s death.38 A recent study of the epigraphic evidence by Maria Giulia Amadasi Guzzo persuasively dates the death of Eshmunazar to the end of the sixth century BCE (Amadasi Guzzo 2018: 14–15, 17).39 It follows that the king ruling during the reoccupation of the Sharon Plain was his cousin and successor, Bodaštart, who, in his many inscriptions, fittingly presents himself as a “royal builder” (Xella and Zamora López 2005). Resettlement could have been driven by Bodaštart as part of his efforts to reshape the Sidonian landscape, even while other elites might have also been motivated to establish new trading sites (as we have previously argued in Shalev and Martin 2012: 95). Our evidence suggests that the people who resettled the region were operating within a new, but interconnected Phoenician milieu, a substantial part of which was under Sidonian control. The demand for imported pottery, wine, and oil was likely driven by a combination of the commodification as well as some coastal sites, such as Akko and Ashkelon (Ps.-Skylax 104; Tal 2005: especially 89). 37 We do not find persuasive the claim that Tabnit was Eshmunazar II’s son (as Jacobs 2006). 38 We follow the recent arguments of Burlingame (2018: 59), which both discourage the idea that the annexation of land mentioned on the sarcophagus was merely formal recognition of an existing situation (as suggested in Jigoulov 2010: 55) and emphasize the agency and power of Eshmunazar to annex this land. 39 Amadasi Guzzo (2018: 17–18) also explains, to our satisfaction, the appearance of the problematic “Tetramnestos of Sidon, son of Anysos” in Herodotus 7.98. Note that Élayi’s chronologies are higher; she proposes that Eshmunazar II ruled in the third quarter of the sixth century and Bodaštart in the fourth quarter (Élayi 2006: Table 1; 2008: 104, 107).

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of what had once been luxury items, social habits established before reoccupation, and greater access to commodities through the expansion of trade, in which the new settlements themselves played a part. Imported tablewares and wine might have affirmed social connections among southern Phoenicians

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and with central Phoenicians. We hope that further scholarship will improve our understanding of patterns of behavior in southern Phoenicia, to show how life in this region was distinct from and similar to other eastern Mediterranean regions.

Bibliography Agora 23 = Moore, M.B. and Philippides, M.Z.P. 1986. Attic Black-Figured Pottery. The Athenian Agora 23. Princeton, NJ: The American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Amadasi Guzzo, M.G. 2018. “Sur la chronologie des inscriptions de Sidon de la dynastie d’Eshmunʿazor”. In R.M. Kerr, R. Miller II and P.C. Schmitz (eds.). “His Word Soars Above Him”: Biblical and North-West Semitic Studies Presented to Professor Charles R. Krahmalkov. Ann Arbor, MI: n.p., pp. 5–23. Ashkelon 3 = Stager, L.E., Master, D.M. and Schloen, J.D. 2011. Ashkelon 3: The Seventh Century B.C. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Ariel, D.T. 2016. “The Circulation of Locally Minted Persian-Period Coins in the Southern Levant”. Notae Numismaticae. Zapiski numizmatyczne 11: 13–62. Balensi, J., Dunaux, I. and Finkielsztejn, G. 1990. “Le niveau perse à Tell Abu Hawam, résultats récents et signification dans le contexte régional côtier”. Transeuphratène 2: 125–136. Betlyon, J.W. 2005. “A People Transformed Palestine in the Persian Period”. Near Eastern Archaeology 68(1/2): 4–58. Bocher, E. and Freud, L. 2017. “Persian Period Settlement in the Rural Jerusalem Hinterland”. In E. Baruch and A. Faust (eds.). New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem 22. Ramat Gan: The Ingeborg Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies Publications (Hebrew), pp. 147–158; pp. 14*–15* (English abstract). Briant, P. 2002. From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Burlingame, A. 2018. “ʾEšmunʿazor’s Exchange: An Old Reading and a New Interpretation of Line 19 of ʾEšmunʿazor’s Sarcophagus Inscription (AO 4806 = KAI 14)”. Semitica et Classica 11: 35–69. Dayagi-Mendels, M. 2002. The Akhziv Cemeteries: The Ben-Dor Excavations. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Dor 1a = Stern, E., Berg, J., Gilboa, A., Guz-Zilberstein, B., Raban, A., Rosenthal-Heginbottom, R. and Sharon, I. 1995. Excavations at Tel Dor; Final Report, Volume Ia, Areas A and C, Introduction and Stratigraphy. Qedem Reports 1. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Dor 1b = Stern, E., Berg, J., Gilboa, A., Guz-Zilberstein, B., Raban, A., Rosenthal-Heginbottom, R. and Sharon, I. 1995. Excavations at Tel Dor; Final Report, Volume Ib, Areas A and C, The Finds. Qedem Reports 2. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Dothan, M. 1976. “Akko: Interim Excavation Report First Season, 1973/4”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 224: 1–48. Dothan, M. and Ben-Shlomo, D. 2005. Ashdod VI: The Excavations of Areas H and K (1968–1969). IAA Reports 24. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Dothan, M. and Porath, Y. 1982. Ashdod IV: Excavation of Area M, The Fortifications of the Lower City. ʿAtiqot English Series 15. Jerusalem: Department of Antiquities. Élayi, J. 2006. “An Updated Chronology of the Reigns of Phoenician Kings during the Persian Period (539– 333 BCE)”. Transeuphratène 32: 11–43. — 2008. “On Dating the Reigns of Phoenician Kings in the Persian Period”. In C. Sagona (ed.). Beyond the Homeland: Markers in Phoenician Chronology. Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 28. Leuven: Peeters, pp. 97–112. Elgavish, J. 1968. Archaeological Excavations at Shikmona. Field Report No. 1. The Levels of the Persian Period, Seasons 1963–1965. Haifa: The Museum of Ancient Art (Hebrew). Faust, A. 2012. Judah in the Neo-Babylonian Period: The Archaeology of Desolation. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. Gadot, Y. 2015. “In the Valley of the King: Jerusalem’s Rural Hinterland in the 8th–4th Centuries BCE”. Tel Aviv 42(1): 3–26. Gibson, J. 1982. Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions. Volume III: Phoenician Inscriptions Including Inscriptions in the Mixed Dialect of Arslan Tash. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

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Gilboa, A. 2018. “The Iron Age Pottery of Phases 10–5: Sequence, Contexts, Typology, Cultural Affinities, and Chronology”. In A. Gilboa, I. Sharon, J.R. Zorn and S. Matskevich (eds.). Excavations at Dor, Final Report, Volume IIB: Area G: The Late Bronze and Iron Ages: Pottery, Artifacts, Ecofacts and Other Studies. Qedem Reports 11. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, pp. 97–172. Gilboa, A., Shalev, Y., Lehmann, G., Mommsen, H., Erickson, B., Nodarou, E. and Ben-Shlomo, D. 2017. “Cretan Pottery in the Levant in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries B.C.E. and Its Historical Implications”. American Journal of Archaeology 21: 559–593. Gitler, H. and Tal, O. 2006. The Coinage of Philistia of the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BC: A Study of the Earliest Coins of Palestine. Milan: Edizioni Ennerre. Hamilton, R.W. 1935. “Excavations at Tell Abu Hawam”. Quarterly of the Department of Antiquities in Palestine 4: 1–69. Herbert, S.C.  and Berlin, A.M. 2003. “A New Administrative Center for Persian and Hellenistic Galilee: Preliminary Report of the University of Michigan/University of Minnesota Excavations at Kedesh.” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 329: 13–59. Hoglund, K.G. 1992. Achaemenid Imperial Administration in Syria-Palestine and the Missions of Ezra and Nehemiah. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Jacobs, B. 2006. “Neue Überlegungen zu Genealogie und Chronologie der ʾEšmunʿazar-Dynastie von Sidon”. In R. Rollinger and B. Truschnegg (eds.). Altertum und Mittelmeerraum: die antike Welt diesseits und jenseits der Levante: Festschrift für Peter W. Haider zum 60. Geburtstag. Oriens et Occidens 12. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, pp. 133–149. Jigoulov, V. 2010. The Social History of Achaemenid Phoenicia: Being a Phoenician, Negotiating Empires. London: Equinox. Johns, C.N. 1933. “Excavations at ‘Atlit (1930–1): The South-Eastern Cemetery”. Quarterly of the Department of Antiquities in Palestine 2: 41–104. KAI = Donner, H. and Röllig, W. 1962–. Kanaanäische und Aramäische Inschriften. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Klinger, S.K. 2003. “Observations on the Range and Nature of Attic Black and Red Figure Pottery in Israel: The Yavneh-Yam Contribution”. Ancient West and East 2(1): 135–145. Lawall, M.L. 1995. Transport Amphoras and Trademarks: Imports to Athens and Economic Diversity in the Fifth Century B.C. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan. Leidwanger, J. 2007. “The Cypriot Transport Amphora: Notes on Its Development and Distribution”. Skyllis 7: 24–31. Lehmann, G. 1996. Untersuchungen zur späten Eisenzeit in Syrien und Libanon: Stratigraphie und Keramikformen zwischen ca. 720 bis 300 v.Chr. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. — 2014. “The Levant During the Persian Period”. In M.L. Steiner and A.E. Killebrew (eds.). The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of the Levant: c. 8000–332 BCE. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 2628–2660. doi:10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199212972.001.0001. Lehmann, G., Shalev, Y., Mommsen, H., Ben-Shlomo, D., Daszkiewicz, M., Schneider, G. and Gilboa, A. 2020. “The Kelenderis Pottery Workshop(s): Newly Identified Agents in East Mediterranean Maritime Exchange Networks in the Achaemenid Period”. Levant 51(3): 287–313. doi:10.1080/00758914.2020.1 772633. Lipschits, O. and Blenkinsopp, J. (eds.). 2003. Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Marchese, R.T. 1989. “Aegean and Cypriote Imports in the Persian Period”. In Z. Herzog, G. Rapp and O. Negbi (eds.). Excavations at Tel Michal, Israel. Minneapolis: The University of Minnesota Press, pp. 145–152. Martin, S.R. 2007. “Hellenization” and Southern Phoenicia: Reconsidering the Impact of Greece before Alexander. Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, Berkeley. — 2014. “‘East Greek’ and Greek Imported Pottery of the First Millennium B.C.E.”. In D. Ben-Shlomo and G. Van Beek (eds.). The Smithsonian Institution Excavation at Tell Jemmeh, Israel 1970–1990. Smithsonian Contributions to Anthropology 50. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Scholarly Press, pp. 749–775. — 2017. The Art of Contact: Comparative Approaches to Greek and Phoenician Art. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

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— Forthcoming. “The Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods at Tel Dor”. In S. Schroer and P. Wyssmann (eds.). Images in Transition: The Southern Levant and its Imagery Between Near Eastern and Greek Pictorial Traditions. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis. Fribourg. Martin, S.R. and Tafe, J.S. In preparation. “The Attic Pottery”. In R. Boehm (ed.). Ashkelon: The Persian Period. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Mazar, E. 2001. The Phoenicians in Achziv: The Southern Cemetery. Jerome L. Joss Expedition. Final Report of the Excavations 1988–1990. Barcelona: Universidat Pompeu Fabra. Monakhov, S.I. 2003. Grecheskie amfory v Prichernomorʹe: Tipologiia amfor vedushchikh tsentrovėksporterov tovarov v keramicheskoĭ tare (Greek Amphoras in the Northern Black Sea: Amphora Typology of Leading Commercial Export Centers in Ceramic Containers). Moscow: Kimmerida (Russian). Monnickendam-Givon, B. 2011. Plain Ware of the Southern Carmel Coast During the Late Persian to Hellenistic Periods. M.A. thesis, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (Hebrew). NEAEHL = Stern, E. (ed.). 1993. The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. New York: Simon & Schuster. Nunn, A. 2014. “Attic Pottery Imports and Their Impact on ‘Identity Discourses’: A Reassessment”. In C. Frevel, K. Pyschny and I. Cornelius (eds.). A ‘Religious Revolution’ in Yehûd? The Material Culture of the Persian Period as a Test Case. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 267. Fribourg: Academic Press, pp. 391–429. Roll, I. and Ayalon, E. 1989. Apollonia and the Southern Sharon: A Model of a Coastal City and its Hinterland. Tel Aviv: Hakkibutz Hameuchad and the Israel Exploration Society (Hebrew). Sader, H. and Kamlah, J. 2010. “Tell el-Burak: A New Middle Bronze Age Site from Lebanon”. Near Eastern Archaeology 73(2/3): 130–141. Safrai, Z., Grossman, D., Frankel, D. and Rainey, A.F. 1990. “The Roads of the Sharon”. In A. Degani, D. Grossman and A. Shmueli (eds.). The Sharon Region Between Yarkon and Carmel. Tel Aviv: Ministry of Defense, pp. 249–262 (Hebrew). Sezgin, Y. 2004. “Clazomenian Trade Amphorae of the Seventh and Sixth Centuries”. In A. Moustaka, E. Skarlatidou, M.-C. Tzannes and Y.E Ersoy (eds.). Klazomenai, Teos and Abdera: Metropoleis and Colony. Proceedings of the International Symposium Held at the Archaeological Museum of Abdera. Abdera: 20–21 October 2001. 19th Ephorate of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities of Komotini. Thesaloniki: University Studio Press, pp. 169–183. Shalev, Y. 2008. Tel Dor and the Urbanization of the Coastal Plain of Israel during the Persian Period. M.A. thesis, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (Hebrew). — 2009. “Tel Dor and the Urbanization of the Coastal Plain of Israel during the Persian Period”. Eretz Israel 29: 363–371 (Hebrew). — 2014. “The Mighty Grain-Lands”: Demographic and Commercial Aspects of “Southern Phoenicia” Under the Achaemenid Regime. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Haifa (Hebrew). — 2017. “Kelenderis Banded Ware. The Levantine Ceramics Project”. Levantine Ceramics Project. https:// www.levantineceramics.org/wares/kelenderis-banded-ware, last accessed 20 December 2019. Shalev, Y. and Martin, S.R. 2012. “Crisis as Opportunity: Phoenician Urban Renewal after the Babylonians”. Transeuphratène 41: 81–100. Sharon, I., Gilboa, A., Boaretto, E. and Jull, A.J.T. 2005. “The Early Iron Age Dating Project: Introduction, Methodology, Progress Report and an Update on the Tel Dor Radiometric Dates”. In T.E. Levy and T.F.G. Higham (eds.). The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science. London: Equinox, pp. 65–92. Shefton, B.B., Élayi, J., Sayegh, H. and Ghadar, Z. 1998. “La céramique grecque importee”. In J. Élayi and H. Sayegh (eds.). Un quartier du port phénicien de Beyrouth au Fer III/Perse, Volume 1: Les objets. Transeuphratène, supplément 6. Paris: Gabalda, pp. 111–149. Stager, L.E. 2001. “Port Power in the Early and Middle Bronze Age: The Organization of Maritime Trade and Hinterland Production”. In S.R. Wolff (ed.). Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and Neighboring Lands in Memory of Douglas L. Esse. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations 59. Chicago: The Oriental Institute, pp. 625–639. Stern, E. 1978. Excavations at Tel Mevorakh, 1973–1976, Part 1: From the Iron Age to the Roman Period. Qedem 9. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. — 1982. Material Culture of the Land of the Bible in the Persian Period 538–332 B.C. Warminster: Aris & Phillips/Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. — 2001. Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Volume 2: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods, 732–332 BCE. New York: Doubleday.

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Stewart, A. and Martin, S.R. 2005. “Attic Imported Pottery at Tel Dor, Israel: An Overview”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 337: 79–94. Tal, O. 1999. “The Persian Period”. In I. Roll and O. Tal (eds.). Apollonia-Arsuf: Final Report of the Excavations, the Persian and Hellenistic Periods. Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology, Monograph Series 16. Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University, pp. 83–222. — 2005. “Some Remarks on the Coastal Plain of Palestine under Achaemenid Rule—an Archaeological Synopsis”. In P. Briant and R. Boucharlat (eds.). L’archéologie de l’empire achéménide, nouvelles recherches: actes du colloque organisé au Collège de France par le “Réseau international d’études et de recherches achéménides,” GDR 2538 CNRS, 21-22 novembre 2003. Persika 6. Paris: De Boccard, pp. 71–96. Xella, P. and Zamora López, J.A. 2005. “L’inscription phénicienne de Bodashtart in situ à Bustān eš-Šēḫ (Sidon) et son apport àl’histoire du sanctuaire”. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 121(2): 119– 129. Wenning, R. 2000. “Griechische Vasenbilder in Palastina”. In C. Uehlinger (ed.). Images as Media. Sources for the Cultural History of the Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean. 1st millennium BCE. Fribourg: University Press, pp. 339–358. — 2004. “Griechischer Einfluss auf Palästina in vorhellenistischer Zeit?”. In S. Alkier and M. Witte (eds.). Die Griechen und das antike Israel: Interdisziplinäre Studien zur Religions- und Kulturgeschichte des Heiligen Landes. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 201. Fribourg: Academic Press, pp. 29–60. Wolff, S.R. 2011. “Basket-Handled Amphoras in the Hecht Museum”. Michmanim 22: 15*–19*. — In preparation. The 1967-1969 and the 1994 Excavations at Tel Megadim (Tel Saḥar). Zorn, J.R. 2003. “Tell en-Nasbeh and the Problem of the Material Culture of the 6th Century”. In O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.). Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, pp. 413–447. — 2014. “The Levant During the Babylonian Period”. In M.L. Steiner and A.E. Killebrew (eds.). The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of the Levant: c. 8000–332 BCE. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 2581–2626. doi:10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199212972.001.0001.

Animal Rituals from the Persian Period at Tel Dor

Lidar Sapir-Hen and Yiftah Shalev

Abstract A unique circular feature comprising a deliberate deposit of five layers of animal bones and pottery sherds was uncovered in a stratum dated to the Persian period at Tel Dor. The bones included mainly equids and cattle. Their relative frequencies, skeletal-element completeness and exploitation differed significantly from daily-life practices at Tel Dor, as reflected in the animal economy. The pottery sherds included large handles of jars and amphorae, common types within the pottery assemblages at the site, that were chosen, most probably, due to their resemblance to long bones. It is suggested that the significance of this unique deposit is related to its location in proximity to ten dog burials, in a small area that possibly served both for dumping refuse and for ceremonial purposes. Based on the characteristics of the deposit and considering possible influences of Achaemenid religion on southern Phoenician culture, we argue that the bone-pottery deposit represents a local version of a non-institutionalized purification ritual.

Keywords: Tel Dor, Persian period, animal bones, ritual, Achaemenid, dog burials, Sharon Plain, southern Phoenicia

Introduction Interaction between humans and animals is known in virtually all ancient periods and took many forms, some entailing rituals and ceremonies which included the deposition of animals, as well as activities related to the spiritual and ideological perceptions of animals and their role in the human world. Such ceremonies are often intended to symbolize special events (e.g., Horwitz 1987; 2001; Wilkens 2004; Sapir-Hen 2015). In the current paper1, we present a unique feature that possibly represented such a ritual. It was uncovered in a stratum dated to the Persian period at Tel Dor, a site on the Mediterranean coast of northern Israel. The feature is a circular deposit, The idea to write a paper presenting the bone-pottery deposit was first suggested by Prof. Ilan Sharon several years ago, when the excavation of Area D5 ended, and both authors were students supervised by Prof. Sharon. We would like to thank Prof. Sharon for his inspiration and mentoring throughout the years. The interpretations, and all possible errors in data are, of course, our own.

1

ca. 1.5 m in diameter, made up of five layers of bones and pottery sherds that appear to have been deliberately deposited together; only its western half was exposed. This deposit (henceforth the “bonepottery deposit”) was found in the same stratum and in proximity to ten articulated burials of dogs, both young and adults (for a preliminary description, see Sapir-Hen in Nitschke, Martin and Shalev 2011). A wealth of zooarchaeological finds were revealed at Tel Dor. Late Bronze and early Iron Age finds were studied by Raban-Gerstel et al. (2008) and Bartosiewicz and Lisk (2018), and Late Bronze through Hellenistic assemblages were preliminarily studied by Bartosiewicz (2003). These studies found that the animal economy at Dor was based on livestock management, supplemented by exploiting the littoral environment for fish, with a very limited reliance on hunting wild fauna. The fauna that was recovered in the 2005–2009 excavation seasons, when the bone-pottery deposit was uncovered, was retrieved from Area D, on the southern edge of the tell, overlooking Dor’s southern bay, deriving from

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Figure 1. Plan of Dor in the Persian Period, showing the major streets and known buildings. Drawing by Yiftah Shalev.

the Iron Age through the Roman periods (SapirHen 2010). Sapir-Hen et al. (2012) concentrated on contextual, depositional and taphonomic aspects of these assemblages, Sapir-Hen et al. (2014) on the cultural and economic aspects, and Sapir-Hen et al. (2017) on the impact of the retrieval protocols on the finds and their interpretation. The studies of the fauna from Persian period Tel Dor (retrieved from Areas D2 and D5) provide a comprehensive database that enables us to understand the uniqueness of the bone-pottery deposit in light of everyday life in the city.

Dor during the Persian Period More than 35 excavation seasons at the site2 exposed a large part of the Persian period city, covering the entire upper tell, an area of more than 21 acres (ca. 85 dunams). The town was first built in the early fifth century BCE following a demographic and settlement The Tel Dor Excavation Project was conducted by an international expedition. From 1980–2000, the expedition was led by the late Ephraim Stern of The Hebrew University of Jerusalem and, since 2003, by Ilan Sharon of The Hebrew University of Jerusalem and Ayelet Gilboa of the University of Haifa.

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Figure 2. Area D5 and the location of the bone deposit; looking south. Photo by Skyview Photography Ltd. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project.

gap of ca. 130–150 years (Gilboa and Sharon 2008; Martin and Shalev, this volume). At this stage, the city was bordered by the line of the former Iron Age city wall, using some of its still-standing parts as a fortification. Later in the fifth century, the city expanded, with new houses built on top of the old city wall, constructed in a way that formed a continuous ‘belt’ surrounding the city layout (Stern et al. 1995: 34–38; Nitschke, Martin and Shalev 2011). The excavation revealed a large, well-organized city with both public and domestic construction (Fig. 1), including a well-planned street layout comprised of both contour-related and orthogonal arrangements

(Areas A, B, C, D, F and H) (Shalev and Martin 2012), several domestic buildings (Areas A, B, C, D and F), a large open public square at the city center (Area G), remains of a purple-dye industry (Area G), and stores and storehouses (Areas A, C and D) (Stern et al. 1995: 34–38; Stern 2001: 394–400). The many imported vessels found at Dor include Attic, Aegean, Cilician, Cypriot, and Cretan, indicating the importance of the site within Mediterranean trade networks. Despite the public nature of the street layout and the central open square, no public structure was found so far, neither administrative, nor religious.

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Figure 3. The top of the bone-pottery deposit below Hellenistic period construction, looking east. Photo by Howard Karesh. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project.

Nevertheless, the possible existence of a local sanctuary (with apparent importance for foreigner visitors) is suggested by a Cypro-syllabic inscription dedicated to an unnamed deity, found on a scapula bone (Stern 1994). Other ritual practices, of a more private nature, are evidenced by the numerous figurines that were found at the site (Stern 2010), both local and imported, as well as by clay masks and amulets.3

The Bone-Pottery Deposit The bone-pottery deposit (L07D5-114) was uncovered in Area D5, a domestic area in the southern part of the city, just south of an east-west street that runs along the southern side of the tell (Figs. 2–3). Parts of four clay mask-like features in the shape of a Gorgon that were found at Dor were interpreted by Stern as antefixes and therefore, he postulated the existence of a Greek temple (Stern 2007). Subsequently, S.R. Martin showed that these were most probably not antefixes but rather, clay masks used in domestic activities (Martin 2014).

3

The total size of this feature is unknown, since only its western side was exposed; the eastern side is still buried under the balk. Based on its visible half, the full circular feature was ca. 1.5 m in diameter and 50 cm deep. It was made up of five superimposed layers: the top two included solely complete bones, the two below contained bones and large pottery sherds, mostly long amphora handles, and the bottom layer included pottery alone, both amphora handles and large sherds of other vessels. The bones and the pottery sherds were laid parallel to each other in what seems to be a deliberate manner. The pit was found sealed by pavement made by medium size field stones (ca. 20x20 cm). A similar pavement was also found at the bottom of the pit (Figs. 4–6). The deposit was dug into a layer of light brown soil (L07D5-112), which was an accumulation rich with pottery sherds, but lacking architectural remains. This layer was covered by floors and walls of a domestic structure (Phases D5/5b), dated to the Early Hellenistic period, and covered the walls of what seemed to be another domestic structure dated to the Persian period (Phases D5/6b). This stratigraphic sequence indicates that sometime in the late fourth or early third century BCE (Local Phase D5/6a-5c), some change occurred in this part of town wherein at least some of the domestic structures were abandoned and large areas were left unbuilt. Material from the accumulation into which the bone-pottery deposit was dug included pottery types that that are dated to the fourth century BCE (for example, incurved-rim bowls and Attic pottery with rouletted decoration and stamped palmettes). Pottery from within the bone-pottery deposit is slightly later, dating to the late fourth and early third century BCE (Late Persian and Early Hellenistic periods); it contains rim fragments of a South Aegean mushroomrim amphorae dated to the mid to second half of the fourth century BCE, as well as some Attic pottery, including black-glazed sherds with rouletting, fish plates, and closed lamps that give a terminus post quem at the end of the fourth century BCE. Other sherds found in the bone-pottery deposit were of local plain ware, including many jars, cooking pots and lamps, as well as other imported vessels, such as Cilician band-decorated bowls, Cypriot baskethandle jars and handles of Chian and Samos-Miletus amphorae (Monnickendam-Givon 2012: 70–71; Shalev 2014: 290–291). The amphorae handles were found lying in-between the bones and it seems that they were deliberately chosen, most probably due to their resemblance to the long bones. The deposit was found in the same stratum and in proximity to the articulated burials of ten young and adult dogs (Fig. 7) (preliminary described by SapirHen in Nitschke, Martin and Shalev 2011). Save for

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Figure 4. Bone-pottery deposit, Layer 1, looking east. Photo by Howard Karesh. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project. (Color Plate 7.1, p. 410)

Figure 5. Bone-pottery deposit, Layer 3, looking east. Photo by Howard Karesh. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project. (Color Plate 7.2, p. 410)

the bone-pottery deposit and the dog burials, several refuse pits were also found in this area. It seems therefore that this was an open space, possibly a yard of some kind, located alongside the street and serving both as a dumping area, as evidenced by the refuse pits, and also probably for ceremonial purposes, as evidenced by the bone-pottery deposit and the dog burials.

The Persian Period Faunal Remains Zooarchological Methods The Persian period faunal assemblage was retrieved from Areas D2 and D5 (excavated in seasons 2005– 2009). The retrieval protocol included rigorous wet sieving and subsequent micro-picking in the lab by dedicated students, resulting in high frequencies of microfauna (Sapir-Hen et al. 2017). All skeletal

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Figure 6. Bottom of bone-pottery deposit, looking west. Photo by Howard Karesh. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project. (Color Plate 7.3, p. 410)

fragments were recorded, i.e., epiphysis as well as diaphysis. Skeletal-element portions (Stiner 2002; 2004) were identified to the closest possible taxonomic unit and recorded using Dobney and Rielly’s (1988) diagnostic zones. Quantifying the elements and species was achieved using standard techniques — Number of Identified Specimens (NISP) and Minimum Number of Individuals (MNI) (Grayson 1984; Klein and Kruz-Uribe 1984; Dobney and Reilly 1988; Lyman 2008). Bone remains were identified to bone element and species using the comparative collections of the National Collections of Natural History at Tel Aviv University and at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Separation of sheep (Ovis aries) from goat (Capra hircus) was based on morphological criteria of selected bones (Zeder and Lapham 2010). Caprines’ and cattle’s age at death is based on epiphyseal fusion sequences (for cattle, see Silver 1969; for caprines, see Zeder 2006). The possibility of preparing meat for consumption was studied by recording the location and frequency of butchery marks, divided into three main carcass preparation stages: skinning, dismembering and filleting, using the typology in Binford (1981). Fragmentation was calculated according to Morlan’s (1994) percentage completeness (CN) using Minimum Number of Elements (MNE) values, a method suitable for quantifying element survivorship in an assemblage recorded by diagnostic zones (Morlan 1994). Results: The Bone-Pottery Deposit in Context Altogether, 73 (NISP) remains were identified from the bone-pottery deposit. The Persian period faunal assemblage from Areas D2 and D5 included a total of 692 (NISP) dog remains that were derived from at least 12 articulated or partially articulated dog burials found nearby (see preliminary data by SapirHen in Nitschke, Martin and Shalev 2011: 138): ten

burials in Area D5 and two in Area D2.4 Besides these primary contexts, an additional 830 (NISP; Table 1) faunal remains (bones, horns and teeth) were found disorderly scattered in secondary deposition within the accumulation layer (749 from Area D5 and 81 from Area D2), representing an average of the period (Sapir-Hen et al. 2012) (henceforth, the latter is termed the “site” assemblage). Ca. 75% of the “site” assemblage (excluding the dog burials and the bone-pottery deposit) included livestock animals, supplemented with wild game, birds and micro-fauna. The livestock assemblage includes mainly caprines (Ovis aries or Capra hircus, 73% of the livestock), followed by cattle (Bos taurus, 24%). Other livestock, such as horse/donkey (Equus sp.) and pig (Sus scrofa), are found in very low frequencies (2.5% and 1%, respectively). Wild game includes red deer (Cervus elaphus), Persian fallow deer (Dama mesapotamica), mountain gazelle (Gazella gazella), marbled polecat (Vormela peregusna), red fox (Vulpes vulpes) and lion (Pantera leo). Birds also include water fowl and chicken (Table 1). Differing from the site assemblage, the dominant species in the bone-pottery deposit assemblage were the cattle (49%) and horse/donkey (38.5%), with a few caprine and pig remains. Eight additional bones could not be identified to species, but belong to the large body-size group, i.e., cattle or equid (Table 1). The bones were derived from a minimum of 11 individuals – five horses/donkeys, three cows, two pigs and one caprine (based on MNI, Table 2). The majority of the finds in the bone-pottery deposit were fully fused. The only two unfused bones were from skeletal elements that fuse at a late age – the ulna of cattle that fuses when the animal is four years old, and a cervical vertebra of horse/donkey, which fuses when the animal is five years old (Silver 1969). This implies that these animals were all adults. The aging of cattle in the “site” assemblage shows that 80% survived to two and a half years old, and 70% to four years old, suggesting that most of the herd was kept to an older age for work purposes (Sapir-Hen et al. 2014: Table 3b). The bones from the bone-pottery deposit were all complete. Most of them were lying parallel to each other. The majority were single bones, with the exception of an articulated cattle right lower forelimb, including radius and ulna with all carpal bones in place. This partial articulation suggests that these specific bones were still bearing meat at the time of deposition. In the “site” assemblage, there was no articulation and the fragmentation differed Additional dog burials from earlier excavations at Dor were preliminarily mentioned (Stern et al. 1997: 40), but never studied or properly published 4

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Table 1. Species frequencies of the Persian period at Tel Dor, Areas D5 and D2: site-assemblage and bone-pottery deposit

    Livestock               Wild game                 Birds             Microfauna             Total

Species/size class

Common name

 

 

Bos taurus Ovis/Capra Ovis aries Capra hircus Sus scrofa Equus sp. large ungulate medium ungulate cer/dama Cervus elaphus Dama mesopotamica Gazella gazella Vulpes vulpes Pantera leo Vormela peregusna small mammal small predator Anas platyrhynchos anatidae small aves medium aves Gallus gallus Grus grus Puffinus puffinus rodent Crocidura sp. Meriones Mus musculus crab reptile amphibian  

cattle caprines sheep goat pig horse/donkey     deer red deer fallow deer mountain gazelle red fox lion marbled polecat     mallard       chicken common crane Manx shearwater   shrew meriones mouse        

completely; bones were highly fragmented, with completeness of bones ranging between 13–33% of the complete element (Sapir-Hen et al. 2012: Figure 1). Different frequencies of body parts are evident in the bone-pottery deposit (Table 2) and the “site” assemblage (Sapir-Hen et al. 2014: Figure 3). For the cattle, absence of toes and vertebrae is evident for the bone-pottery-deposit assemblage, while the site assemblage displays a representation of most body parts. Horse/donkey, which are scarce in the

“Site” assemblage

Bone-pottery deposit

NISP

MNI

NISP

MNI

130

 3

32

3

299

13 

5

1

46

 

 

 

60

 

 

 

6 11

1   

3 25

2 5

20 7 8 1 4 10 4 1 2 4 17 2 4 86 19 9 1 1 34 5 3 13 8 14 1 830

      1  1 1 1 1 1                                  

8                                                 73

                                                   

“site”, are represented in the bone-pottery deposit by various body parts, excluding toes. No evidence for burning was found on either the site assemblage or the bone-pottery deposit. Cut marks were found on several bones from the “site” assemblage, representing various stages of preparation for consumption (Sapir-Hen et al. 2014: Table 4), and only on three cattle bones from the bone-pottery deposit, all representing the dismemberment stage (Table 3).

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Table 2. Skeletal elements frequencies of the bone-pottery deposit. (R=right side, L=left side) Skeletal element / Species Head:

Bos taurus  

Equus sp.  

Ovis/Capra  

Sus scrofa  

Large ungulate  

skull fragment horn Mandible Maxilla Body:

Phalanx1 Phalanx2 Phalanx3 Metapod long bone fragment

1   2R, 1L 1               2   1L 3 2R, 1L 1L 3R, 1? 7L   1R, 2L 1L 1R, 1L                      

NISP MNI

32 3

      1L, 1R       2 2   1     3L, 1?   5R, 1L   2R, 1?     1R, 1L   1R         1?         1?   25

1   1L                 1   1R                 1L                       5

1     2L                                                             3

    1R 1L               2         1R           1L, 1?                     1 8

5

1

2

 

Atlas Axis Ver. Cervical Ver. Thoracic Ver. Lumber sacrum Rib Forelimb: Scapula Humerus Radius Ulna Metacarpus Carpals Hindlimb: Pelvic acetabulum Femur Tibia Astragalus Calcaneus Cuboid Tarsals Metatarsus Toes:

Discussion The above results point to a deliberate choice of specific animals for the bone-pottery deposit, differing from the animals that were exploited commonly by the inhabitants of Tel Dor. The unique placement of the bones on a line, and the fact

they are complete and not fragmented, suggest a premeditated and careful arrangement. Frequencies of species, age, and skeletal elements that differ from the average assemblage are often considered indication of ritualistic deposits (e.g., Horwitz 1987; Kansa and Campbell 2004; Pöllath and Peters 2011). However, to date, there is no parallel to such

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Animal Rituals from the Persian Period at Tel Dor

Figure 7. Two of the dog burials in Area D5, looking west. Photo by Yiftah Shalev. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project. (Color Plate 7.4, p. 410)

a deposit that is described here, and its purpose can only be hypothesized. The pottery vessels do not clearly contribute to understanding the function of the deposit. Although it contains a large number of imported vessels from different origins, including Attica, Cilicia, the Aegean and Cyprus, there are also local plain wares. Alongside the large amount of drinking vessels and amphorae presumably used for the transport of wine, are mundane cooking vessels. It seems therefore that the pottery assemblage from the deposit is similar to that typical of Dor in the Persian period. The diversity of pottery vessels within this deposit does not differ much from what was found in refuse pits from this period; several massive pits were found in different areas at Tel Dor (Shalev 2014: 278–282). Despite this, it appears that some selection was made. While many pottery sherds of various types were found in the lowest layer, a portion of those from the third and fourth layers were long amphorae handles carefully positioned between the bones. It seems that these sherds were chosen due to their size and resemblance to long bones, and not due to their function or origin.

Although the bone-pottery deposit was only partly exposed it seems that the sherds represent different vessels that were unrestorable. It seems therefore that this is not a primary deposit and that these were not the remains of vessels used or deliberately broken to be arranged in the deposit. If this were, for example, the remains of a ceremonial feast, after which the vessels used for the preparations and dining were deposited together with the remains of the meal, one would except to find at least several complete vessels here. Such a ritual deposit was found, for example, at Tel Akko, in a stone-lined pit in Area F (Dothan 1993; Raban 1993). This pit contained, alongside burnt bones and ash, ca. 30 complete imported vessels, most of which had been used for food and beverage preparation, as well as for serving and dining (bowls, cups, kraters, etc.). The many complete vessels there seems to indicate the deposition of the vessels together with the remains of the feast after a ceremony (Vella 2000; Martin 2014: 293). The interpretation of the bone-pottery deposit, therefore, must rely on the characteristics of the bone remains, and their intentional arrangement. Unlike the pottery sherds, the species found in the bone-pottery deposit do not resemble a random accumulation and contrast with the site assemblage typical of daily life at Dor, which was based on local herding and raising of livestock, producing their own meat and secondary products (Sapir-Hen et al. 2014). Caprines were not common in the bone-pottery deposit, although they were the typical domesticates used in the nutritional supply at Dor. They are also common animals in general during the Persian period (Hellwing and Feig 1989; Horwitz 2003), as well as specifically in cultic contexts (Pöllath and Peters 2011). The dominant species in the bone-pottery deposit were the horse/donkey and cattle. Horses and donkeys are usually used as work animals and are not eaten, and the cattle may be exploited for meat, as well as for work. The horse/donkey and cattle in the deposit were kept to an older age, a characteristic that is indicative of animals exploited primarily for work. In addition to their economic exploitation, both species have a significant role in rituals of the Ancient Near East. Burials of articulated donkeys, for example, were a common practice in the Bronze Age (Way 2010; 2011), but are not found later than the Iron II (Sapir-Hen 2020). Domestic cattle in

Table 3. Cut marks in the bone-pottery deposit, following Binford (1981)

Species Bos taurus Bos taurus

Skeletal element Humerus Metacarpal

Cut mark Hd-3 Mtd-1

NISP 1 2

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ritualistic contexts were often consumed in feasts of the Bronze Age and later, and the remains of these events are usually deposited as food refuse (reviewed in Sapir-Hen 2019). Another characteristic of the bone-pottery deposit at Dor is the arrangement of complete skeletal elements, presenting only evidence for their dismemberment. The presence of an articulated cattle leg among these bones suggests a complex activity that includes the arrangement of (probably) de-fleshed bones in a specific way, along with an offering of a meat-rich part of an animal that is often used in feasting. Other cases of ritual activities with animals in the Phoenician world include, inter alia, the assemblage from the eighth to fourth centuries BCE Phoenician “Cruz del Negro” necropolis in Carmona (Seville), where 307 caprine knucklebones were found as grave goods (GarcíaViñas et al. 2013). As there is no parallel to the Dor bone-pottery deposit, we can only speculate as to its formation process and function. While it seems to be a structured ritual deposit, we believe its importance lies not only in its contents, but also in its location in proximity to the ten articulated dog burials mentioned above, within the same small open area in the southern part of the tell. Articulated dog burials in the southern Levant comprise a practice typical of the Persian period (Wapnish and Hesse 1990; Stager 1995; Edrey 2008), found at many sites (for a summary of all cases published to date, see Dixon 2018: Tables 1–2). The majority of dog burials dated to the Persian period were found at sites along the Levantine coast (Çakirlar et al. 2013). These burials show some common features with those from Dor; dogs were not buried in correlation to human inhumation, but rather were interred in clusters, in grave pits, lying on their sides, without grave goods, and with no indication of their consumption (Çakirlar et al. 2013). Both the intent and origin of this practice remain debated and uncertain. Possible explanations include association of dogs with divine beings, their sacrifice or ritual slaughter, their use as pets or for work, and as a possible by-product of dog trading (see detailed summary and critique in Dixon 2018: Table 3). While none of these possibilities seems to fully correspond to the archaeological evidence, most scholars tend to agree that these were ritualized burials. Possible foreign influences were suggested for a western origin of this ritual, related to the spread of the Asklepios cult (e.g., Stager 1991), or for an eastern source, related to the diffusion of contemporary Zoroastrian practices in Achaemenid Iran (e.g., Lipiński 2004: 331–333). Recently, both Dixon (2018) and Edrey (2013) proposed that this practice was not a new cult. While Edrey (2013) suggested this was an autochthonic cult that

flourished in the Persian period due to the influence of contemporary Zoroastrian practices, Dixon (2018) suggested caution when considering such influence and argued for a local change in the social conception of dogs caused by a currently unknown influence. The idea that dog burials at Phoenician sites possibly flourished during the Persian period due to the above influences needs to be considered. To date, most known foreign cultural influences, especially in southern Phoenicia, are of western, mostly Greek origin at this time (Stern 2001: 370– 373, 469, 472–473). Still, while the Asklepios ritual is centered on temples, no such structures were found so far in southern Phoenicia; the dog burials were all located in streets and alleys, in a centralized, but clearly not formally organized location. As for an eastern Achaemenid origin, although evidence for limited influence of the Achaemenid Empire on the local culture might be found on coins or glyptic iconography (Uehlinger 1999; and cf. Silverman 2011), it is relatively meager. Despite the criticism voiced against the idea of direct Achaemenid influence on the material culture of the Levant (see above), we propose that the unique Dor bone-pottery deposit should be considered within this framework. Although lacking direct archaeological contexts or textual evidence that would serve as a basis for comparison, it is possible to look at the only relevant source that may connect the deposit to Zoroastrian practices. Choksy (1989: 29) describes a purification ritual that appears in the law book (the Vīdēvdād) which commenced with the mutual gaze of a dog and a “candidate” (a man that needs to be purified). When the long ceremony ends, the fees paid to the purifier are “…one camel in exchange for purifying a district lord, one stallion for purifying a tribal chieftain, a three-year old ox for purifying the master of a house, a cow for purifying a woman, and one lamb for a young child” (Choksy 1989: 29). The purifier could do whatever he wanted with the fee – sell it, trade it, eat it, use it for milk, wool, transport, or sacrifice it (Prof. Jamsheed K. Choksy, personal communication, 2009). Examining the species list in the ritual shows that it includes predominantly work animals – camels, stallions, and cattle, similar to the animals found in the bonepottery deposit at Dor. At Dor, the dog burials and the bone-pottery deposit were dug in a large open space, possibly a yard of some kind, located next to a street. That this area served both for refuse dumping and, possibly, for ceremonial purposes implies that the latter comprised a non-institutionalized ritual. Such a ceremony may be related to the interaction of humans with these animals and may be influenced by various ideas and perceptions.

Animal Rituals from the Persian Period at Tel Dor

It can be hypothesized that both rituals found in Area D5—the pottery-bone deposit and the dog burials—being local, independent, noninstitutionalized ceremonies, were influenced by the Achaemenid religion. The location of Dor on the inland trade route used by a diverse population made it, theoretically, amenable to external influences. With the flow of ideas and perceptions between cultures, and the constant changes of the meanings of items and rituals caused by this entanglements (e.g., Silverman 2010; Hodder 2011; 2012), it is possible that the same idea (e.g., the admiration of dogs) had several different meanings and manifestations. In this way, Dor’s bone deposits may reflect local changes in dogs’ social identities, changes that made them conceived as “valuable community members” (Dixon 2018: 36), together with the eastern perception of purity. While the bone-pottery deposit most likely does not depict the exact same ceremony described above, it could comprise a local version of a purification ritual, influenced by foreign

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ideas. The southern Phoenician inhabitants were not averse to adopting foreign behaviors into their own culture without changing their daily practices, for example, the adaption of Attic vessels as daily table ware during the Persian period (Stewart and Martin 2005), the adoption of foreign cooking practices during the Hellenistic period (Berlin 1997: 75–88; Monnickendam-Givon 2012: 88–91), or the acceptance of pork consumption in the Hellenistic period while maintaining other eating practices that continued from the Iron Age (Sapir-Hen et al. 2014). Finally, the complexity of the interaction of humans with domestic animals is expressed in these ceremonies, although this veils our ability to decipher such deposits. Presenting the unique pottery-bone deposit from the perspective of animal rituals during the Persian period at Tel Dor is hoped to encourage the future study of such features, which will help us to better understand this enigmatic context.

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Sapir-Hen, L., Sharon, I., Gilboa, A. and Dayan, T. 2017. “Wet Sieving a Complex Tell: Implications for Retrieval Protocols and Studies of Animal Economy in Historical Periods”. Journal of Archaeological Science 82: 72–79. Shalev, Y. 2014. The Mighty Grain-Lands”: Demographic and Commercial Aspects of “Southern Phoenicia under the Achaemenid Regime. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Haifa (Hebrew). Shalev, Y. and Martin, S.R. 2012. “Crisis as Opportunity: Phoenician Renewal after the Babylonians”. Transeuphratène 41: 81–100. Silver, I.A. 1969. The Ageing of Domestic Animals. In D.R. Brothwell and E. Higgs (eds.). Science in Archaeology. London: Thames and Hudson, pp. 283–302. Silverman, J.M. 2010. “On Religious and Cultural Influence”. In J.M. Silverman (ed.). A Land Like Your Own. Eugene, OR: Pickwick, pp. 1–12. — 2011. “Iranian-Judaean Interaction in the Persian Period”. In L.D. Matassa and J.M. Silverman (eds.). Text, Theology, and Trowel. Eugene, OR: Pickwick, pp. 133–168. Stager, L.E. 1991. “Why Were Hundreds of Dogs Buried at Ashkelon?”. Biblical Archaeology Review 17(3): 26–42. — 1995. “The Impact of the Sea People in Canaan (1185–1050 BCE)”. In T.E. Levy (ed.). The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land. New York: Facts on Files, pp. 332–348. Stern, E. 1994. “A Phoenician-Cypriote Votive Scapula from Tel Dor: A Maritime Scene”. Israel Exploration Journal 44: 1–12. — 2001. Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Volume II - The Assyrian, Babylonian and Persian Periods (732–332 B.C.E). New York: Doubleday. — 2007. “A Gorgon’s Head and the Earliest Greek Temples at Dor”. In S.W. Crawford and A. Ben-Tor (eds.). Up to the Gates of Ekron: Essays on the Archaeology and History of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gitin. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, pp. 249–258. — 2010. “Figurines and Cult Objects of the Iron Age and Persian Period”. in E. Stern (ed.). Excavations at Dor. Figurines, Cult Objects and Amulets. 1980–2000 Seasons. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, pp. 3–113. Stern, E., Berg, J., Gilboa, A., Sharon, I. and Zorn, J. 1997. “Tel Dor, 1994–1995: Preliminary Stratigraphic Report”. Israel Exploration Journal 47: 29–56. Stern, E., Berg, J., Gilboa, A., Guz-Zilberstein, B., Raban, A., Rosenthal-Heginbottom, R. and Sharon, I. 1995. Excavations at Dor, Final Report: Areas A and C. Qedem Reports 1. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Israel Exploration Society. Stewart, A. and Martin, S.R. 2005. “Attic Imported Pottery at Tel Dor, Israel: An Overview”. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 337 (1): 79–94. Stiner, M.C. 2002. “On in Situ Attrition and Vertebrate Body Part Profiles”. Journal of Archaeological Science 29 (9): 979–991. — 2004. “A Comparison of Photon Densitometry and Computed Tomography Parameters of Bone Density in Ungulate Body Part Profiles”. Journal of Taphonomy 2 (3): 117–145. Uehlinger, C. 1999. “‘Powerful Persianisms’ in Glyptic Iconography of Persian Period Palestine”. In B. Becking and M.C.A. Korpel (eds.). The Crisis of Israelite Religion: Transformation of Religious Tradition in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times. Leiden: Brill, pp. 134–182. Vella, N.C. 2000. “Defining Phoenician Religious Space”. Ancient Near Eastern Studies 37: 27–55. Wapnish, P. and Hesse, B. 1990. “The Persian Period Dog Burials at Ashkelon”. Paper presented at the The 200th Meeting of the American Oriental Society, Atlanta, Georgia. Way, K.C. 2010. “Assessing Sacred Asses: Bronze Age Donkey Burials in the Near East”. Levant 42 (2): 210–225. — 2011. Donkeys in the Biblical World: Ceremony and Symbol. Winona Lake, IN.: Eisenbrauns. Wilkens, B. 2004. “Roman Suovetaurilia and Its Predecessors”. In S.J. O’Day, W. Van Neer and A. Ervynck (eds.). Behaviour Behind Bones: The Zooarchaeology of Ritual, Religion, Status and Identity. Oxford: Oxford Books, pp. 73–76. Zeder, M.A. 2006. “Reconciling Rates of Long Bone Fusion and Tooth Eruption and Wear in Sheep (Ovis) and Goat (Capra)”. In D. Ruscillo (ed.). Recent Advances in Ageing and Sexing Animal Bones. Oxford: Oxbow Books, pp. 297–312. Zeder, M.A. and Lapham, H.A. 2010. “Assessing the Reliability of Criteria Used to Identify Postcranial Bones in Sheep, Ovis, and Goats, Capra”. Journal of Archaeological Science 37: 2887–2905.

In Search of “Ptolemaic” Dor

Barak Monnickendam-Givon

Abstract During the third century BCE, many changes occurred in the material culture of Dor, as part of broader shifting trends in the Eastern Mediterranean. One of the puzzling issues is the lack of Egyptian finds at Dor at this time, when, according to written sources, the city was under Ptolemaic rule. It seems that the Ptolemaic administration, and the relations between southern Phoenicia and Egypt, did not manifest themselves in the local material culture, while the commercial exchanges that are attested at Dor are those with Cyprus, the Aegean, and Asia Minor. The lack of material evidence of the Ptolemaic administration at Dor is explained as the result of a possible proxy rule of the region from Cyprus, and the preeminence of commercial and cultural ties over political ones. The role of political transformations in shaping the city’s material culture is compared to its engagement with the developments in the broader cultural sphere of the Hellenistic Eastern Mediterranean. These processes emphasize the unique and distinct material culture of Dor within the broader southern Phoenician world and Hellenistic koine.

Keywords: Tel Dor, southern Phoenicia, Eastern Mediterranean, Hellenistic period, Ptolemaic Egypt, Ptolemaic administration, Cyprus Introduction It is a great pleasure for me to present this article to Ilan Sharon, my teacher and friend, who provided me with the most valuable resource that any student requires—the best training and tools for independent and thorough research. Work with Ilan in the field, the classroom, and his office were by far the best school I ever attended. Although Ilan is best known for his work on stratigraphy and chronology of the Iron Age Levant and his studies on southern Phoenicia, his academic training included an extensive study of Egyptology while he was an M.A. student during the late 1980s. In this article, I wish to explore the interaction (or the lack of it) between southern Phoenicia and Egypt during the Early Hellenistic Period, a time when Dor and southern Phoenicia were under the rule of the Ptolemaic dynasty and, therefore, under Egyptian domination. The main issue is to what extent (if any) the Ptolemaic administration, and relations between southern Phoenicia and Egypt, manifested themselves in the material culture of Dor. This will be discussed alongside the role of political changes in the broader cultural sphere of the Hellenistic

Eastern Mediterranean. More specifically, I will address the question of the lack of material evidence for connections between Dor and Egypt during the Ptolemaic Period, in contrast to the contacts of the city with Cyprus, the Aegean, and Asia Minor. The critical methodological challenge in such research lies in comparing the historical description of the Ptolemaic rule and administration to the archaeological findings. Most of the scholarly discussion concerning the Ptolemaic rule in Egypt itself and their overseas territories is based mainly upon written historical accounts, the vast papyri libraries found over the last 150 years in Egypt, and various inscriptions. The information regarding Dor, and southern Phoenicia in general, during the Early Hellenistic period is based solely upon the material evidence exposed by the archaeological excavations over the last 40 years.

Tel Dor during the Third Century BCE Tel Dor, a Levantine harbor city, is located on the coast of modern-day Israel, just about 30 km south of

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early third century BCE, did Dor and the region of southern Phoenicia become part of the Ptolemaic kingdom. Ptolemaic rule over this region probably ended at around 198 BCE, following the Battle of Panium during the fifth Syrian war, after which Dor, like the rest of the region, became part of the Seleucid kingdom. Surveying the finds from Dor from this time shows that the changes in material culture were not directly linked to these political events and were more related to the broader shift of cultural and sociological trends in the Eastern Mediterranean. Stratigraphy and Architecture

Figure 1. Map of the Eastern Mediterranean

Haifa (Fig. 1). The city is situated at the foot of the Carmel mountains, on the kurkar ridge that runs along the coastal plain in this part of Israel. Traditionally, this region is considered part of Phoenicia and, more specifically, Sothern Phoenicia, which is defined here as the area north of the Sharon Plain and south of Rosh Hanikra on the Lebanese-Israel border. The Early Hellenistic period at Dor is marked by many changes in the material culture. New buildings were erected and parts of the city were altered (Nitschke, Martin and Shalev 2011). There was a shift from the very poor and limited pottery assemblage of the Persian period to a more diverse and pan-Hellenic repertoire. The Macedonian conquest that took place during the late fourth century BCE did not generate a crisis at Dor; no violent events or other interferences in urban life were noticed. This contrasts with other sites in the region, such as Samaria or Tyre, where this political change was characterized by violent destruction. This is probably due to Dor being under Sidonian patronage, which is attested to in literary sources as having lasted until the end of the Diadochi wars at around 300 BCE (Millar 2006). Only in the

The overall city layout of Dor that was shaped during the Persian period, was maintained during the Early Hellenistic period, generally dated to the third century BCE. Yet, several major construction projects took place during that time. An impressive fortification was found in Areas A and C, including a city wall with rectangular towers and a glacis at its base. The wall was built with a combination of ashlar blocks and fieldstones, and the towers were placed at a fixed distance of 50 m apart. Excavations in Area B yielded the city gate, with a direct entrance to the street via an open plaza. At the center of the tell in Area G, there was an open plaza with several monumental buildings (Fig. 2). In the southern part of the city (Area D), the Early Hellenistic period is defined by the construction of a massive public building (Fig. 3), known as the Monumental Hellenistic Complex, built of ashlar stones (Nitschke, Martin and Shalev. 2011: 143– 144). The ceramic assemblage and a coin from a pit found under the walls of this building suggest that the complex was constructed during the Ptolemaic rule, namely, after 280 BCE.. The main unit in the Monumental Hellenistic Complex (Area D1), measuring ca. 22×26 m and built in a pseudo a-telaio technique (Sharon 1987; 2009), comprised four parallel elongated rooms, with a fifth room on the north that is perpendicular to them all. The complex was extended to the east with another large building built in an interlockingsquares technique (Sharon 1987) and measuring 24×13 m. A few decades after its construction, towards the end of the third century BCE, another building was established on top of the eastern part of Monumental Hellenistic Complex, putting the latter out of use. Pottery and Other Finds The Early Hellenistic pottery marks a genuine change in the character of the ceramic assemblage.

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Figure 2. Plan of Dor during the Hellenistic period. Drawing by Yiftah Shalev.

The types that were dominant during the previous Persian period gradually disappeared and new types of vessels characterized the assemblage. The critical markers of the previous assemblage, such as the carinated-shouldered jars, are absent from the Early Hellenistic period assemblage. Other Persian period types, such as the basket-handle jar and the mortaria bowls, are found in small quantities (both as a percentage of the assemblage and in absolute numbers), and some could be redeposited from earlier stages.

A substantial increase in tableware is noticed in the Early Hellenistic assemblage, comprising various eastern and local wares, containing personal vessels such as bowls with incurved (echinus) rims (Fig. 4:1) and out-turned rims (Fig. 4:2), fishplates (Fig. 4:3), and skyphoi (Fig. 4:4). Aside from a few redeposited sherds, East Greek pottery is absent. Attic pottery was represented by the West Slope vessels, mainly plates, alongside some jugs and kraters (Fig. 5). The large Persian period ridged mortaria were replaced by the more rounded-body type (Fig. 4:5), alongside other kraters. Among the tableware were some pouring

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Figure 3. Tel Dor, the Monumental Hellenistic Complex, looking south. Drawing by Sveta Matskevich, courtesy of the Tel Dor Project. (Color Plate 8.1, p. 411)

vessels, such as locally made jugs, juglets, and olpae (Fig. 4:6–9). The unguentaria, made from various eastern and local wares, were introduced at this time (Fig. 4:10). The extensive use of moratoria that was typical during the Persian Period, alongside the rarer use of Cypriot White Painted Ware, decreased somewhat during the Early Hellenistic period. The cooking assemblage of the Persian period was composed solely of locally produced closed vessels. During the Early Hellenistic period, the assemblage became more varied. Alongside the continued use of locally made, closed, globular cooking pots (Fig. 4:11–12), imported Aegean and locally made casseroles were incorporated into the cooking repertoire (Fig. 4:13–14). A small number of cooking lids were also in use (Fig. 4:15). The bag-shaped jar with a rounded rim became the dominant jar type, along with the first appearance of the bag-shaped jar with a folded, out-turned rim (Fig. 4:16–17). A number of Aegean (Rhodian and others) stamped handles dated to the third century BCE were also found (Rosenthal-Heginbottom 1995: Nos. 14, 27–28, 30–31, 34, 36, 48, 60, 64, 66, 82). Locally made open lamps are absent from the Early Hellenistic pottery assemblage. Most of the lamps during that time were wheel-made, alongside a small

quantity of mold-made lamps that became dominant from the late third century BCE onwards (RosenthalHeginbottom 1995: 236–238). The changes in the pottery assemblage, most of them concerned with cooking and dining habits, mark a shift in the manner of and effort invested in food preparation and consumption (MonnickendamGivon 2018). The changes in culinary taste and practice are reflected not only in the pottery vessels of the Hellenistic period, but are also seen in the consumption of livestock, when pigs and chickens were added to the previous sheep/goat- and cattlebased diet (Sapir-Hen et al. 2014). It is also worth mentioning that six bones of Nile perch (lates niloticus) were found in Hellenistic contexts at Dor, though they are dated to this period in general with no further sub-division (Sapir-Hen 2010: 49). As seen here, many of the new pottery shapes that were incorporated into the local repertoire in the Early Hellenistic period originated in the Attic and Aegean repertoire. This, of course, is not unique to southern Phoenicia and was part of a broad, significant phenomenon that circulated throughout the Eastern Mediterranean basin and beyond, as

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In Search of “Ptolemaic” Dor

No.

Vessel

Reg. No.

Locus

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

Bowl Bowl Plate Skyphos Mortarium Jug Jug Juglet Olpe Unguentarium Cooking pot Cooking pot Casserole Casserole Cooking lid Jar Jar

196970/3 196960/4 303011 302910/57 197287/11 302919/4 301027/1 301027/12 302912 05D2-1256/15 197358/9 136971/1 08D5-6485 302946/7 152444/11 05D2-1256/2 301027/6

1‎ 9506 19506 19949 19949 19525 19949 30019 30019 19949 05D2-548 19525 19503 08D5-714 19949 15293 05D2-548 30019

Figure 4. Tel Dor, pottery shapes of the third century BCE. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project.

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storage jars, utility vessels, and tableware, that were imported from that region. This contrasts with more inland sites, remote from the coast, where Phoenician Semi-Fine Ware is found during the Early Hellenistic phases (Stone 2012: 124).

Connections with Egypt

Figure 5. Tel Dor, Selection of West Slope vessels. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project. (Color Plate 8.2, p. 411)

can be seen in pottery repertoires from various sites around the Mediterranean.1 Petrographic analysis was performed on Early Hellenistic plain-ware pottery vessels from Area D (Monnickendam-Givon 2011; 2018). The results yielded a map of commercial ties between the inhabitants of Dor and other regions in the Eastern Mediterranean basin, showing contacts mainly with Cyprus (especially with the northwestern part of the island, along the coast of the Trodos mountain foothills), as well as with the Aegean and western Anatolia (Monnickendam-Givon 2011: 102–106). Pottery vessels produced in regions like the Galilee or around Samaria in the Central Hills in Israel, are absent from the pottery repertoire at Dor during the Early Hellenistic period (Monnickendam-Givon 2011: 103–105; 2018: 99). Numerous cooking vessels from the southern coastal plain (Iron Age Philistia) were present (Monnickendam-Givon 2018: 138). Petrographic analysis of the Early Hellenistic pottery also showed a decrease of vessels originating in Central Phoenicia (on the coast of modern-day Lebanon), as opposed to the previous (Persian and transitional Late Persian-Early Hellenistic periods) and subsequent (Late Hellenistic) periods, when the ceramic repertoire yielded a large number of Phoenician Semi-Fine Ware vessels, such as The scope of this article cannot cover all the sites and shifting trends during the Hellenistic period. A sense of how widespread pan-Hellenic pottery was, can be found in some edited volumes, e.g., Fenn and Römer-Strehl (2013), Japp and Köegler (2016), Peignard-Giros (2019) and the IARPotHP online bibliography: https://iarpothp.org/bibliography_en.html, last accessed July 12, 2020.

1

The lack of exchange with Egypt during the third century BCE contrasts with the situation at Dor during the Iron Age and the Persian period, when influence or connections, albeit limited, between the two are attested. The Early Iron Age was the last period that Egyptian commodities, such as pottery vessels, were regularly brought to Dor in large quantities (Gilboa, Waiman-Barak and Sharon 2015: 22–28). This is also seen with the Nile perch (lates niloticus) imported to the site that reached a peak during the Iron Age I (Raban-Gerstel et al. 2008) and subsequently declined in later periods (SapirHen 2010: 49). During both the Persian and Early Hellenistic periods, no simple Egyptian pottery was imported to Dor. Some vessels and other objects from the former period, mainly those that can be defined as cultic, can be identified as Egyptian-style or were imported from the Nile basin. These include, for example, selected figurines, the so-called Bess jugs (Stern 2010: 23–26, 30–32), and the faience amulets (Herrmann 2010). Egyptian cultic finds of the Early Hellenistic period at Dor are even more rare; only one faience amulet can be dated to the Hellenistic period in general (Herrmann 2010, No. 84; Pl. XXI). The decline in imported Egyptian figurines during the Early Hellenistic period is notable as well, with only four of them, all dated to the fourth century BCE, found at the site (Erlich 2010: 157–158). While it is possible that the Egyptian commodities that reached Dor in the Ptolemaic period were those that cannot be preserved and reflected in the archaeological record, the overall conclusion that commercial relations with Egypt did not exist at this time remains. The numismatic assemblage of the third century BCE found at Dor is comprised mainly of coins of Ptolemy I Soter and Ptolemy II Philadelphus, minted in Alexandria (Stern 2000: 258; Motta 2015: 20, 29, 33). Only in the latter part of the Hellenistic period, during the reign of Ptolemy V Epiphanes, did the city of Dor mint silver coins (Meshorer 1995: 355, 361, Pl. 10.1:1; Stern 2000: 258; Motta 2015: 33). The remains of the third century BCE at Dor mostly reflect its position and ties within the larger sphere of the Early Hellenistic Eastern Mediterranean, where the transition from the Achaemenid to the Hellenistic period is characterized in different ways. In southern Phoenicia, it is distinguished by a continuous shift in the pottery assemblage that reflects behavioral

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changes in the habits of daily life. During the Early Hellenistic period, there is a little change in the map of the international connections of Dor. The two regions that show some decline in connectivity are the two major political centers of that time in the Eastern Mediterranean: Egypt and the Central Phoenician-Syrian coast. While the decrease in connections to the Syrian coast can be explained by the Ptolemaic political hegemony over southern Phoenicia, how can the lack of material expression of connectivity to Egypt be understood? Furthermore, what remains should we expect to find that would indicate Egyptian rule over foreign territories in general and Dor in particular? The lack of ties cannot be explained by an arbitrary interruption in trade routes between southern Phoenicia and Egypt, since such connections are known from other regions, such as the Shephelah and Idumea, that were in contact with both southern (Dor to Akko) and Central Phoenicia, as well as with Egypt, during the Persian and the Early Hellenistic periods (see further below). It is thus evident that the people of Dor had the means and opportunities to trade with Egypt, if so desired. However, for some reason, these ties disengaged during the Early Hellenistic period.

The Status of Dor during the Ptolemaic Period The data presented above from the archaeological record of Dor in the third century BCE do not provide evidence that could inform about the nature of the Ptolemaic rule and administration, nor about the extent of local sovereignty, if it existed at all. The discussion of local sovereignty is tied to the larger question of the status of Levantine cities as “Polies” during the Hellenistic period and the interplay between the well-known local civic identity that existed at this time and the involvement of the Hellenistic kingdoms in administrating their affairs on a regional or municipal level. The core of this issue is the extent of independence of the cities, which has been studied from both literary-source and archaeological perspectives. Some scholars approach this question from a broad chronological viewpoint, without distinguishing between the third and the second centuries BCE, i.e., between the Ptolemaic and Seleucid reigns. Another problem relates to the use of the term “polis” when referring to Hellenistic cities. Originally, the term defines a city-state during the Classical period, and assumes certain architectural and economic characteristics, as well as a shared ethos.. Many of the discussions regarding the Hellenistic Polies focused on the Seleucid world or at least

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emphasized the different approaches to the cities and administration between the Ptolemaic and the Seleucid kingdoms (Barghouti 1982; Kashtan 1988; Grainger 1990; Graf 1992; Gruen 1993; Lund 1993; Millar 1987; 2006). While Seleucids granted more autonomy to the cities, the Ptolemaic regime was more centralized, leaving cities with little sovereignty. An exception were Egyptian temples, which were granted some economic autonomy (Veïsse 2019: 42). Some scholars do believe that polies did exist under the Ptolemaic dynasty (Hölbl 2001), but this view mostly relies on the establishments of cities in the Levant (such as Akko-Ptolemais and AmmanPhiladelphia), with no further evidence. If cities had the status of polis and enjoyed a quasiautonomous status, it would be expected that this left traces in the material culture. The presence of civic institutions that may reflect city planning or civic structures is more complex when discussing Near Eastern cities that have a long-standing architectural tradition. Besides the presence of civic structures, objects in the archaeological record should reflect the city’s status and local governance, such as coin minting, local agoranomus weights, and other finds, such as inscriptions mentioning the different officials who were part of the city or royal bureaucracy. The archaeological data related to city planning and finds from Early Hellenistic Dor do not provide evidence for any special status of such a polis or any other quasi-independent position, nor for any kind of local governance. For example: the city did not mint its own coins, there were no local agoranomus weights nor local stamped amphora handles (see also Berlin 2019), and the use of the Greek language is minimal. No local institutions, such as the bouleuterion, can be identified within the architectural remains. This, of course, is not surprising, keeping in mind that the city plan of Dor was established during the Persian period and continued in use during the Early Hellenistic period.

Ptolemaic Rule during the Early Hellenistic Period Ptolemaic rule over Egypt and its overseas territories underwent several phases and developments (Manning 2010: 73–116, especially 74–76; 2019). In the early part of the third century BCE, the Ptolemaic administration initiated a series of bureaucratic, economic and monetary reforms (Von Reden 2001; 2006; 2016; Manning 2010: 128–148; 152; Colburn 2018). These showed that the Ptolemaic rulers did not aim to establish an empire; instead, they focused on securing their hegemony and procuring wealth (Manning 2010; 2019).

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One of the significant shifts in the administration and economy was the monetary reform of Ptolemaic Egypt, which was a gradual process rather than a single revolution (Von Reden 2006; Colburn 2018). During that reform, taxes previously paid as commodities such as agriculture products were now paid in cash, maintaining the centralized control of the Ptolemaic kings over the economy and coin minting. The overseas territories were of high economic importance to the Ptolemaic kings who steadily looked to gain more power and territories in the Eastern Mediterranean basin (Veïsse 2019). The southern Levant, including southern Phoenicia, and Cyprus, became part of the Ptolemaic kingdom already during the reign of Ptolemy I Soter, (Gordon 2012; Papantoniou 2012; Meadows 2013). Nevertheless, similar to their reforms and reign in Egypt, their overseas administration comprised a series of developments from the late fourth century BCE to the last third of the third century BCE (Hölbl 2001: 59-60). The Ptolemaics organized their rule over the overseas territories in a very centralized way. In Cyprus, for instance, the centralized rule of the Ptolemaics ended the city kingdoms system on the island (Hölbl 2001). The appointment of a strategos, answering directly to the Ptolemaic king in Egypt, reflects the island’s primary role in the Ptolemaic administration. The island also served as the base of the Ptolemaic navy and as a source for natural resources, such as timber and copper. The Ptolemaic rule of Cyprus also manifested itself in coinage minting; Egyptian gods became popular in Cyprus and the Ptolemaic calendar was in use (Lund 2015: 20-21). Knowledge about the Ptolemaic administration in Cyprus and Asia Minor is based upon a few sources mentioning the strategos and oikonomos, the two officials who were in charge of the overseas territories (Meadows 2013; Meadows and Thonemann 2013). The strategos (στρατηγός) was initially a position of a military commander that gradually became involved with the civic administration (Rhodes 2006). The oikonomos (οικονόμος) oversaw the settlement’s finance. Other officials in the Ptolemaic court are known from ancient sources, such as the Dioikesis (διοίκησις), an official residing in Alexandria who was appointed directly by the Ptolemaic kings (Bagnall 1976: 228; Hölbl 2001; Grabbe 2008) and who supervised the local oikonomos (Hölbl 2001). Another component of the Ptolemaic administration was the visit of Egyptian officials to the overseas territories, as known from the Zenon archive (Hölbl 2001).

Knowledge of the character of the Ptolemaic administration in southern Phoenicia relies on a few sources. Lands that were not owned by temples and were not known as sacred land were allocated to individuals who exploited them on behalf of the Ptolemaic kings. Some scholars believe that the southern Levant was controlled directly by the Dioikesis from Alexandria. A royal command issued by Ptolemais II in 260 BCE gives a glimpse of how detailed the Ptolemaic administrative and economic control was. Cities in the Levant, and particularly in southern Phoenicia, minted coins only during the later years of the Early Hellenistic period and only with permission from the Ptolemaic kings. This suggests that if there was some local sovereignty, it was constrained. When comparing the Ptolemaic system with other Hellenistic kingdoms, it seems that the extent of local sovereignty of the cities under Ptolemaic rule was minimal (Constantakopoulou 2017; Berlin 2019). As for Dor, only under the reign of the Seleucid kingdom did signs of local sovereignty appear, including agoranomus weights dated to the year 115 BCE (Stern 2002), and local stamped handles dated to the year 141–2 BCE (Ariel et al. 1985; Finkielsztejn 1998) that were found no earlier than the Seleucid reign.

Do Politics Matter? Considering the high degree of centralization of Ptolemaic rule, the lack of Egyptian finds at Dor during the third century BCE, especially quotidian objects such as pottery and other mundane commodities, is very surprising. No evidence of steady and constant commercial relations between Dor and Egypt has been attested in the extensive excavations at the site; even some arbitrary finds that may arrive at the site by the visit of Egyptian officials were not found. A few possible reasons for the lack of connectivity between southern Phoenicia and Ptolemaic Egypt during that time can be raised. The first explanation is that politics do not matter. The political shift from the Achaemenid world to the PtolemaicHellenistic reign hardly affected the commercial ties between the harbor of Dor and the rest of the Eastern Mediterranean. The connections between the Aegean, Asia Minor and Cyprus with Dor remained steady. During the Persian period, the ties between Dor and mainland Greece, the Aegean and Asia Minor were reflected by the presence of Attic (Marchese 1995; Stewart and Martin 2005) and the so-called East Greek pottery (Mook and Coulson 1995; Gilboa et al. 2017). Cyprus was the source for imported

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mortaria and other Cypriot White Painted tableware, alongside basket-handle jars. The connections with those regions remained during the Early Hellenistic period. This is seen from the imports of Attic tableware, such as West Slope ware, as well as Aegean cooking vessels and amphorae. The same can be said for the connections with Cyprus and the import of Cypriot tableware, small containers (unguentaria), and Cypro-syllabic stamped jugs (Shalev and Matskevich 2013). Lamps and tableware were imported from the coast of Asia Minor throughout the Hellenistic period as well. As noted by Manning (2019) and Berlin (2019), the Ptolemaic kings, focusing on profit making, did very little to change the social order, and hardly intervened in the affairs of individual elites who continued to conduct profitable commerce with regions around the Eastern Mediterranean. Two regions that Dor was in contact with during the Persian period, yet are absent from the archaeological record of the Early Hellenistic period, are Central Phoenicia and Egypt. Ties between Central and southern Phoenicia during the Persian and Late Hellenistic periods were very intensive and, despite any minor variations between these two proximate regions, they shared similar cultural and environmental spheres. It is possible that the political climate during the third century BCE, including the Syrian wars, sabotaged the commercial ties between the two during the Early Hellenistic period. As noted above, as opposed to the Persian period layers at Dor when Egyptian goods were present, aside from a few coins that were minted in Alexandria and circulated all around the Eastern Mediterranean, the Early Hellenistic period at Dor lacks any signs of Ptolemaic-Egyptian rule or hegemony. This is puzzling also from the perspective of the ruling class, as there is no indication for any connections between local Phoenician elites and the Ptolemaic court. No jewelry, figurines or prestige tableware originating in Egypt were found at third-century BCE Dor. It seems that the inhabitants of Dor during the Early Hellenistic period saw themselves as part of the larger Eastern Mediterranean world, rather than part of the Ptolemaic “state”. Disconnection between the political sphere and the cultural and economic situation during the Early Hellenistic period is also demonstrated in other parts of the Eastern Mediterranean, including two adjacent regions in the southern coastal plain of Israel, the Shephelah (Iron Age Philistia), and Idumea. Both regions maintained intensive contact with Egypt. It is worth mentioning that the ties between the southern coastal plain and Egypt continued with no interference during the second century BCE as well. During the third century BCE, as well as the second

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century BCE under the Seleucids, goods and pottery originating from Egypt were found in southern coastal sites. Maresha yielded a large assemblage of serving and drinking vessels made of Ptolemaic Black Slipped ware (also known as Terra-Nigra), originating from Ptolemaic Egypt (RosenthalHeginbottom 2018; Berlin et al. 2020). Egyptian vessels were found in Hellenistic contexts at GanSorek in the northern part of Philistia (‘Ad 2016: 94–95), as well as in Jaffa (Arbel 2008). These and other finds indicate constant commercial connections throughout the Hellenistic period between southern Israel and Egypt in the south and Phoenicia in the north, although the latter not so regularly (see Berlin 1997). They successfully illustrate how formal political boundaries did not have a major effect on trans-regional commercial and cultural ties during the entire Hellenistic period. In light of the emphasis on the cultural and economic sphere over the administrative one, several questions are raised, mainly, how can we understand the extent and character of Ptolemaic governance over southern Phoenicia? Can it be that the connections between southern Phoenicia and Ptolemaic Egypt were asymmetrical? Perhaps the local oikonomos gathered all the product taxes, replaced them with money, and transferred only the cash to Egypt. If so, then taxes and products of southern Phoenicia were conveyed to Egypt, yet no commerce or commodities were shipped back to the region. Goods from Phoenicia found in Egypt are known from the Zenon papyri and in the form of Levantine amphorae in Egypt itself, at Tebtynis, where both local versions of Phoenician amphorae made of Nile clay, as well as imports from the Phoenician coast, were found (Marchand 2013). Though the carinated-shoulder Phoenician amphorae are more common from the fifth to early third centuries BCE in Phoenicia, they are dated to the third century at this site. Disproportional trans-regional economic ties are well known during the Early Hellenistic period and are particularly manifested in pottery production and distribution. For instance, while there are Aegean imports of amphorae and cooking vessels in the Eastern Mediterranean, hardly any Levantine or Syrian pottery has been found in the Aegean at this time. The same phenomenon can be seen in Cyprus. Commercial ties between Cyprus and Latakia on the Syrian coast during the third century BCE were very sporadic and were based on local initiatives (Lund 2013). Only during the second century BCE were goods from Antioch found in Cyprus, but hardly any Cypriot pottery was found in the northern Levant (Lund 2013; 2014; 2015). The extent and nature of the exchange between Cyprus, Asia Minor, and Syria

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shifted during the Hellenistic period, though they were maintained throughout. The fact that regions and cities maintained differential patterns of commercial and cultural ties shows the diversity in the Early Hellenistic Eastern Mediterranean, even under a presumed centralized administration. It also emphasizes that southern Phoenicia kept a sense of distinct identity while under the Ptolemaic reign.

Egyptian Rule by Proxy? As the archaeological data shows no Egyptian presence in third-century BCE Dor, it is proposed that ties with Egypt might be sought elsewhere. This hypothetical suggestion finds some support in the continuous connections between Cyprus and Dor. Unlike the commercial ties with Egypt and central Phoenicia, which showed significant decline, pottery from Cyprus never ceased to arrive at Dor throughout the Hellenistic period. It is thus possible that Dor, and parts of southern Phoenicia, were considered to be part of Cyprus and were ruled from there and not directly from Egypt itself. Unlike the situation between Egypt and southern Phoenicia, the ties between Cyprus and Egypt are much more evident and include imports of Egyptian pottery, use of the Egyptian calendar, and cultic influence, as well as the presence of a Ptolemaic naval base (Papantoniou 2012; Lund 2014; 2015: 202– 205). Concurrently, Cypriot amphorae were found in Alexandria (Dobosz 2013). The exchange between Egypt, Cyprus and the Aegean included not only commodities and pottery, but also manufacturing techniques and ideas (Hodgson 2013). An additional consideration is the presence of local Phoenician individuals who were part of the Ptolemaic administration in Cyprus itself (Hauben 1987; Parmentier 1987) and who, in some cases, took the side of the Ptolemaic kings during struggles of political control on the island (Hauben 1987; 2004; Parmentier 1987). At least in the early third century BCE, local Phoenicians elites maintained some sense of communal autonomy (Papantoniou 2012). As discussed above, the lack of exchange between Egypt and southern Phoenician, specifically Dor, during the Ptolemaic administration stands in contrast to the ties between southern Phoenicia and Cyprus, and Cyprus and Egypt. A possible explanation for the former lack is that perhaps the region bordering the Seleucid kingdom was not considered important enough to be ruled directly from Alexandria. Another reason may be that the Ptolemaic kings did not invest in developing the area of southern Phoenicia, as they saw it only as a buffer between Egypt and the Seleucid kingdom to the north (Smith 1990).

Two sources relevant to the possibility of a more direct rule of southern Phoenicia are Zenon’s visit to the southern Levant, and the Hefzibah inscription. Zenon’s visit focused on the inner parts of the region, and it seems that he was less interested in the coastal plain; Jaffa and Akko-Ptolemais are mentioned in his report only as the entrance and exit points. Although a caveat to this source is that one visit cannot teach us about the administrative situation in the third century BCE, the possibility may be suggested that the Ptolemaic administration was more concerned with the rural and agricultural lands of the inner parts of the southern Levant, such as the Galilee and Transjordan, than with the coast. Such a situation may also be implied from the Hefzibah inscription (Landau 1966). The inscription, although dated to the early second century BCE, reflects the situation in the third century BCE, detailing the administrative situation in the region, with the focus on agricultural lands. While the Ptolemaic king gave some of the royal lands to members of his court and appointed them as rulers of the rural regions, no evidence of direct rule over the coastal plain cities is mentioned in the inscription, neither is the extent of the area under the Dioikesis authority mentioned in it (Piejko 1991: 249). This leaves us with the hypothesis that the coastal plain of southern Phoenicia was part of the Cypriot nomes and not of the Coele-Syria nomes of the Ptolemaic kingdom.

Conclusions Under the highly centralized Ptolemaic rule, no material remains of any aspect of Ptolemaic administration, of daily exchange between Egypt and Dor, or connection between elites, were found in 40 years of excavations at Tel Dor. Two explanations for this phenomenon are suggested. The first is that the residents of Dor were less affected by the political shift during that time. Their commercial activities and participation in the broader Eastern Mediterranean koine were focused on their ties with Cyprus, Aegean, and Asia Minor. The second explanation for the lack of commercial exchange and elite ties between Dor and Egypt proposes a more varied model of Ptolemaic administration, wherein Dor was controlled by a Ptolemaic proxy in Cyprus. Thus, administratively speaking, Dor was no longer part of the southern Levantine coast, but part of one of the CypriotPhoenician nomes of Ptolemaic Cyprus. The current state of data available to us from the excavations at Dor and Cypriot sites cannot tell us why this happened. Possibly, this was the result of southern Phoenicia not being developed

In Search of “Ptolemaic” Dor

by the Ptolemaic kingdom since it bordered with the Seleucids. Alternatively, the region of Dor was perceived as one of the king’s lands that were exploited by Phoenician officials who resided in Cyprus. A situation where coastal cities and inland settlements show different cultural features under the same administrative system, such as Dor and the Carmel region (Monnickendam-Givon 2011; 2018), is known in the Levant during the Persian and Hellenistic periods, for example, in Syria (Lehmann 1998), as well as in the Akko region from the Late Iron Age to the Persian period (Lehmann 2001). This article focused mainly on one extensively excavated site, Tel Dor. Future research that is beyond the scope of this study needs to address the extent of the region that was disconnected from direct contact with Ptolemaic Egypt. This is especially true for the coastal plain north of the Carmel, including Akko and Nahariya, the other larger harbors south of the Litani river. Unfortunately, Hellenistic Nahariya is virtually unknown from archaeological excavations. The case of Akko, named after Ptolemy II Philadelphus, is more complicated. Most of the excavations in Akko yielded mainly fourth century BCE or Late Hellenistic remains (see, for example:

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Stone 2013; Berlin and Stone 2016; MonnickendamGivon et al. 2017). Some of the excavations that yielded third-century BCE material demonstrate minimal exchange with Egypt (Smithline 2013: 78). The coastal area south of Dor is also puzzling. Where exactly did the Egyptian-Cypriot border pass? Was it somewhere around the Alexander-Taninim streams or more to the south at the Yarkon river? As noted above, the area south of the Yarkon river, known as Philistia, did maintain ties with Ptolemaic Egypt during the third century BCE (Arbel 2008; ‘Ad 2016: 94–95). These borders correlate with the inter-regional division of the settlement pattern in the coastal plain of Israel during the Persian period (Shalev 2018), and perhaps the so-called ethnic division, as mentioned by Herodotus (Rainey 2001). Regardless of where these borders passed, one of the primary outcomes of the archaeological data presented here is the marked regional difference between Dor and settlements in the larger southern Phoenician sphere, despite the shared ethnic and environmental conditions. On the other hand, the archaeological remains show that Dor was commercially and culturally engaged with the broader Eastern Mediterranean Phoenician sphere and the Hellenistic koine.

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A Hellenistic Glass Pendant of a Child Deity (Harpokrates) from Tel Dor Jessica L. Nitschke

Abstract A dark blue glass pendant in the form of a child deity, usually identified as Harpokrates (Horus the Child), was found in Area D4 at Tel Dor during the course of the 2009 excavation season. Similar glass pendants have been recovered at controlled excavations at YavnehYam and Delos from Late Hellenistic contexts, and numerous more examples without provenance can be found in museum collections. These objects belong to a category of mold-made glass pendants that were mass-produced in the Late Hellenistic period. Images of the Egyptian child deity are known from the Levant since at least the early Iron Age, and Harpokrates-style images in particular become widely popular across the Mediterranean in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. Yet, the glass pendants have not traditionally figured much in discussions of Harpokrates imagery. This paper attempts to rectify this, situating the glass pendants and specifically the Dor example within the history of Harpokrates objects in the Phoenician world broadly and the Hellenistic eastern Mediterranean specifically.

Keywords: Late Hellenistic, glass jewelry, religion, Harpokrates, Levant

Introduction At the beginning of the 2009 season at Tel Dor, Israel, I had arrived with the intention of working on Hellenistic and Roman architectural fragments in need of attention. However, no sooner had I put down my bags than Ilan Sharon asked me instead to take over as registrar in the museum (Ha’Mizgaga), as extenuating circumstances had prevented the usual staff from taking up the duty. I reluctantly agreed, keenly self-aware of how little I knew about either the small finds or how things operated off the tell. Over the course of the season I came to be much better acquainted with the rich and wonderful range of artifacts represented at the site, and was grateful to have the chance to experience the project from a totally different perspective. One artifact that caught my eye was a small glass pendant in the shape of Harpokrates. While Harpokrates glass pendants are a familiar type of Hellenistic glass object known as “pendants in the round”, this particular class of object is understudied. These pendants have not featured much in discussions of Harpokrates imagery and worship; among the four hundred objects referenced in the extensive entry for “Harpokrates” in the Lexicon

Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC), not a single glass pendant is cited. I felt this a fitting topic for the occasion of Ilan’s festschrift, as one of the characteristics I have long admired about Ilan is that he is never satisfied with the status quo, always driven by his curiosity to dig deeper (figuratively) to understand the significance of the evidence we dig up (literally). Therefore it is my great privilege to present this modest analysis of the Harpokrates pendant in honor of Ilan, who has always pushed me to expand the boundaries of my own areas of knowledge and expertise.1

Several colleagues have kindly lent their time and expertise to assist me in the preparation of this essay. I would like to express my appreciation to Kate Larson for discussions about the object and her insights on manufacturing; Moshe Fischer and Ruth Jackson-Tal for photographs and bibliographic assistance; Sveta Mastkevich for arranging for photography of the object; Barak Monnickendam-Givon for information about the archaeological context; and to Becky Martin and Nick Hudson who offered helpful comments on an earlier draft. All errors of course remain my own.

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Figure 1. Glass pendant from Tel Dor, in the shape of Harpokrates. Basket number: 09D4-5817. Late Hellenistic. Photograph by Tal Rogovski. (Color Plate 9.1, p. 412)

Description and Archaeological Context The deep-blue glass pendant2 measures 27 mm in height, ranging in width from 3 mm to 6 mm, and in thickness from 3 mm to 8 mm; it is complete (Fig. 1). The figure is of a naked male child, standing with legs together and with a hip-shot stance that is especially visible from the rear, with the weight on the right leg and the left leg bent. He stands on a rounded base, and the feet are not modelled. The right arm is bent upwards with the index finger of the right hand placed at the mouth; the details of the hands are not visible, either because the pendant is too worn or the mold was blurred. The left arm is elongated, with the left hand resting on the front of the left thigh. The eyes, brow, and nose are prominent. On his head is a small, somewhat abstract version of the Egyptian pschent (double crown), which is common on depictions of the child deity both in and outside of Egypt in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. It is the iconography and gesture that has led scholars to refer to these pendants as Harpokrates. The object was cast in a two-part mold, and the vertical seam can be clearly seen along both sides of

the figure. Excess glass that escaped the sides of the mold during the manufacturing process can be seen on either side of the headdress and on either side of the legs. Examination of the pendant from the side view reveals that the two parts of the mold did not fit together perfectly, especially in the lower half of the figure. On the back is a suspension loop; its unevenness and inconsistent thickness suggests that it was made separately by hand and then attached (Larson 2016: 74–75). The pendant was found in Area D4, which is located in the southern part of the tell overlooking the harbor. In the third century BCE, Area D4, together with Area D1, was given over to a large public building of unknown function, part of a larger complex referred to as the “Monumental Building Complex” in earlier publications (Nitschke, Martin and Shalev 2009; see also MonnickendamGivon, this volume). The pendant was found in a constructional fill inside this structure with pottery that predominantly dates to the Late Hellenistic period.3 The part of the “Monumental Building I am grateful to Barak Monnickendam-Givon for the reading of the pottery. 3

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Basket number: 09D4-5817. Locus: L09D4-532.

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Figure 2. Glass pendant from Yavneh-Yam, Israel, in the shape of Harpokrates. Height: 2.75 cm. Late Hellenistic. Photograph courtesy of Moshe Fischer and Ruth Jackson-Tal. (Color Plate 9.2, p. 412)

Complex” located in Area D4 was remodeled in the Late Hellenistic period; eventually it was replaced by industrial structures at the end of the Late Hellenistic and/or the Early Roman period (Nitschke, Martin and Shalev 2009: 151).4 From the excavations at Dor, approximately 110 faience amulets depicting Egyptian gods and symbols have been published, mostly from Iron Age and Persian period contexts (Herrmann 2010; Herrmann 2016: 460–461). These are all imports from Egypt; the only ones potentially showing a child deity are three fragments that may represent Isis seated with child suckling on her lap. Fragments of four terracotta figurines of young boys have been recovered, dated to the Late Persian or Early Hellenistic period by Stern (2010: 17). These have been identified as either “temple boys” or perhaps young Horus/Harpokrates, but they lack the clear iconography associated with the Egyptian god. In Hellenistic period levels at Dor, Egyptian iconography is absent or rare outside of the Ptolemaic coins (Erlich 2010: 158; see also Monnickendam-Givon, this volume). Therefore, the Harpokrates pendant stands out.

The stratigraphy for this area is complex and has yet to be finalized.

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The Corpus of Glass Harpokrates Pendants This object is one of several glass pendants in the shape of Harpokrates that have turned up in controlled excavations elsewhere in the eastern Mediterranean. A dark blue example was uncovered at Yavneh-Yam (located approximately 80 km south of Tel Dor on the coast), found in a destruction context layer dated by excavators to the late second century BCE (Fischer and Jackson-Tal 2003) (Fig. 2). Three Harpokrates glass pendants, all dark blue, have also been found in excavations at Delos in domestic contexts dated by excavators to the end of the second century and beginning of the first century BCE.5 A further example, also in dark blue, has been reportedly excavated at Amathus on Cyprus, but is unpublished.6 In addition, multiple examples of Harpokrates glass pendants are held in museum collections worldwide, but with uncertain provenances. This includes three from the Metropolitan Museum of 5 Textual descriptions and discussion can be found in Nenna 1999: 141, nos. E168-170. Illustrations (front view only) can be found in Nenna 1999, pl. 54 (E170) and Deonna 1938: 18, pl. 786 (E168) and pl. 787 (E169). 6 AM2033; mentioned in Nenna 1999: 141, note 13.

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Figure 3. Three glass pendants in the shape of Harpokrates in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York). From left to right: museum no. 17.194.419 (yellow, height 2.5 cm); 17.194.422 (purple, height. 2.8cm); 17.194.420 (colorless, height. 2.8cm). No provenance. Photograph combines three photographs provided by the Metropolitan Museum of Art (in the public domain), lightly edited for contrast and clarity by the author. (Color Plate 9.3, p. 412)

Art (New York), in yellow, purple, and colorless glass (Fig. 3).7 The British Museum also holds three pendants, all in dark blue glass.8 Three pendants are held by the Bibel + Orient Museum at the University of Fribourg (Switzerland), in pale green, dark blue, and grey-green glass, all cast using the same mold.9 Further examples are held in the collections of the Louvre, the Museum of Fine Arts (Boston), the Israel Museum (Jerusalem), and the Greco-Roman Museum (Alexandria), among others.10 All of these pendants are broadly similar in terms of height, material and pose (standing, feet 17.194.419 (yellow; height. 2.5 cm); 17.194.422 (purple; height. 2.8cm); 17.194.420 (colorless; height. 2.8 cm). 8 BM135915 (height. 2.7 cm), 187,1012.17+ (height: 4 cm), 18,720,726.42 (height. 2.7 cm). This last was reportedly acquired in Jerusalem in the 19th century: https://www. britishmuseum.org/collection/object/G_1872-0726-42, last accessed 15 July 2020. See also Barag 1985: 88, no. 114 for BM 136915. 9 Hermann 2003: 40, No. 57, and pl. I. No. 5: pale green, 27.5 x 7 x 6 mm; No. 6: dark blue, 28 x 7.5 x 6.5 mm; no. 7: grey-green, 28.5 x 7 x 6.5 mm. 10 Louvre: Arveiller-Dulong and Nenna 2011: 38–39, fig. 28; Museum of Fine Arts (Boston) 72.4530 https://collections.mfa.org/objects/136074, last accessed June 15 2020; Israel Museum 94.103.88 (Spaer 2001; 169, no. 331). The pendant in the Greco-Roman Museum, Alexandria is unpublished but referenced by Nenna 1999: 141, note 13. 7

together, with right hand to the mouth and left arm to the side). However, we can see subtle variations in this type. First, as mentioned above, the Dor figure stands in a hip-shot pose, whereas the pendants from Yavneh-Yam and in the Metropolitan Museum, Israel Museum, and University of Fribourg collections stand with weight equally distributed on both legs. The left arm on the Yavneh-Yam pendant is fully elongated along the left side of the body, whereas on the Dor pendant, the lower part of the left arm comes around slightly to the front so that the hand rests on the front of the thigh. Curly hair is visible on the Yavneh-Yam and Metropolitan Museum pendants, whereas no hair is visible on the Dor example. Two of the pendants from the Metropolitan Museum of Art wear large round earrings; no earrings are visible on the Dor and Yavneh-Yam examples. The proportions of the Dor pendant are slimmer than those of the pendants from Yavneh-Yam and at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Harpokrates glass pendants belong to a larger group of mold-made glass pendants in the round, frequently dated to the fourth through the first centuries BCE, which are homogenous in scale and technology. Rarely more than 2.5 cm high, they are all made using a two-part mold with a clear seam along the sides and base (Nenna 1999: 141; Larson 2016: 73). Other common subjects include

A Hellenistic Glass Pendant of a Child Deity (Harpokrates)

Bes, Cybele, a cluster of grapes, “Baubo” (a nude squatting woman), a bull’s head with a star, a male head usually referred to as “African” based on physiognomy, and a two-faced human head (both male and female), often interpreted as a mask (Nenna 1999: 141; Carreras Rossell 2003; Larson 2016: 73). All of these pendants have a visible vertical seam, resulting from the manufacturing process described earlier; there is no evidence of chipping or polishing to remove the excess glass. In the case of the Dor pendant, there is a lot of excess glass that was not removed, much more so than the other examples referenced. This lack of cold working suggests that these were inexpensive objects intended for mass consumption.11 These pendants in the round have reportedly turned up in a number of different places ranging from the western Mediterranean to the Black Sea region and western Asia, although most lack confirmed archaeological contexts (Nenna 1999: 141; Spaer 2001: 162; Carreras Rossell 2003: 23). Due to the wide geographic dispersion, uncertainty of function, and lack of precise context for most of the surviving pendants, there is some uncertainty about their place of origin and manufacture, as well as their chronological range.12 The similarities in technique and style of these pendants has led some to suggest that at least the molds, if not the pendants themselves, originated from one or just a few workshops (Spaer 2001: 162; Carreras Rossell 2003: 25; Fischer and Jackson-Tal 2003: 36). Multiple locations have been suggested, including the Phoenician coast, Aegean, or Carthage (Barag 1985: 88; Spaer 2001: 169; Carreras Rossell 2003: 23; Arveiller-Dulong and Nenna 2011). An Egyptian origin has been argued for the Harpokrates pendants in particular on the basis of their Egyptian subject matter, trade ties between the southern Levant and Egypt, and perceptions of Alexandria as See Larson 2016: 164–174 for mass production and mass consumerism of glass products in the Late Hellenistic period. 12 Although many commentators assign these glass pendants to the Hellenistic period regardless of provenance, there is evidence to challenge this. A popular type is that of a two-faced, mold-made pendant depicting the head of a female on either side, her face framed by thick, long curls. Well over 100 such pendants have been documented from across the Mediterranean, and are typically dated to the fourth–third centuries or later (Hävernick 1968; Carreras Rossell 2003). However, an example of such a pendant was found in a clean Middle Geometric context (mid-late 9th century BCE) in a well in the Athenian Agora (G 53). This date is surprising, and accordingly, there has been some doubt raised. However, Papadopoulos (2006: 108) has rejected the possibility of intrusion, insisting that the contextual evidence is “compelling and must take precedence over any date based on style”. 11

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a major glass production center (Spaer 2001: 169; Fischer and Jackson-Tal 2003: 2; Vaelske 2011: 18). However, recent excavations and analysis have demonstrated that there was a thriving glass industry in the Late Hellenistic period in the Levant that was scaled up with the emergence of mass consumption of glass vessels and other objects (Jackson-Tal 2004; Larson 2016: 310–317). Given the long history of Egyptian(izing) imagery in the Levant (more on this below), there is no reason that these pendants could not have been made in the Levant or elsewhere in the eastern Mediterranean. Larson has argued against a common workshop, pointing to differences in the method used to create the suspension loop (Larson 2016: 73). In addition, while each of these glasspendant types seems broadly homogenous based on certain common characteristics, there are variations among the individual objects (as we have just seen above), which could also be indicative of different locations of production. Harpokrates imagery in the Mediterranean world in the Hellenistic and Roman periods is often discussed within the context of the spread of so-called Greco-Egyptian cults, especially that of Isis (e.g. Ballet 2000; Aliquot 2004). However, images of the child deity travelled abroad well before the phenomenon of Isis’s Mediterraneanwide popularity. Thus, in understanding the form, function, and origins of this little pendant at Dor, it is worth considering the earlier history of Harpokrates imagery, and especially its spread in the Phoenician world.

Harpokrates/Hor-pa-chered in Egypt and the Mediterranean before the Hellenistic Period The Greek name “Harpokrates” (Ἁρποκράτης) is generally thought to be a transliteration of Egyptian Hor-pa-chered, “Horus the child”.13 Horus the child was one of many manifestations of Horus, one of the earliest Egyptian deities with multiple aspects and forms, his most significant including sky god, solar god, god of kingship and, of course, son of Isis and Osiris (Sandri 2006; Meeks 1977). Hor-pa-chered was one of many child versions of male deities in Egyptian religious tradition (Budde 2010). These child deities were usually the junior member of a divine triad, and were strongly associated with the idea of legitimate royal succession, which itself was important for the continual prosperity of the Nile Valley. They often had strong connections to the life-cycle of the sun, whereby the sun-god passes For the possibility that there was a Phoenician intermediary between the Egyptian name and the Greek name, see further below.

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through day as an adult man, sinks into the horizon and underworld as an old man, and is born anew as a child in the dawn. Thus, the child deities are closely aligned with the core Egyptian theological principle of cyclical regeneration. Although attestations of the child version of Horus go back as early as the Pyramid Texts, the specific version going by the name of Hor-pa-chered appears to have emerged as a significant figure in the Egyptian pantheon only in the Third Intermediate Period (ca. 1070–664 BCE), when sources indicate the presence of cult places and dedicated priests at multiple locations (Meeks 1977: 1004; Malaise 2000: 401, 403–404). As his cult grew in popularity at different sites in Egypt, Hor-pa-chered appears to have accumulated the identities and characteristics of a number of different child deities, including the rising sun (Horus nekhen), son and successor of Isis/ Osiris (“Hariesis”), healer and protector (“Ched”), and fertility god (“Nepri”) (Meeks 1977: 1003; Malaise 2000: 404). As the posthumously conceived son of a resurrected Osiris, he is a symbol of the power of magic to transcend death. As the rightful heir of Osiris, he is a symbol of the institution of monarchy. These various associations play out in the iconography, known primarily through small sculpted forms (Hall 1977; Meeks 2010; Cristea 2013: 73–75).14 The most-common iconography associated with Egyptian child deities is that of a young, naked boy with shaved head, sidelock, and right index finger to his lips. The finger-to-the-mouth gesture is attested early both in iconography and in text—the Pyramid Texts refer to a young Horus as “the child with his finger in his mouth”, a description which is also used in connection with the newborn sun god and the young moon god (Meeks 2010; Pyramid Text 378). This iconography was adopted for images of Hor-pa-chered starting in the Third Intermediate Period, but it continued to be employed for other Egyptian child deities with solar or lunar connections as well (e.g., Khonsu the child). Thus, the label of “Harpokrates” is often applied somewhat generically by scholars to images of child deities from first millennium BCE Egypt that follow this basic type, with the understanding that other child deities might be represented. Beyond the basic form of a naked child with the finger to the mouth and/or sidelock, Harpokrates images from Egypt present a variety of poses and attributes, which correspond to his various characteristics and functions, as well as to local cultic In Egypt, before the Hellenistic period, the evidence consists primarily of scarabs, scaraboids, and small amulets, as well as bronze statuettes and reliefs. 14

traditions. He is shown standing/striding or seated/ enthroned, often alone. His dynastic connections and role as provider and guarantor of fertility are reflected in various different royal crowns, with the pschent (the double crown) the most common. In his identity as the newborn sun, he is shown sitting on a lotus flower (also a symbol of regeneration) with a sundisk on his head. Harpokrates is also depicted in groups with other figures, especially deities, but also with animals, such as on the so-called Horus cippi, where the god is triumphant over evil forces manifest as dangerous animals (Draycott 2011). When appearing with other deities, he is most frequently depicted with a female goddess, the most well-known type being Isis seated with the suckling Harpokrates on her lap (Isis lactans), although sometimes this goddess carries a different name (e.g., Neith, Bastet, Hathor).

Figure 4. Bronze statuette of Harpokrates with Egyptian and Phoenician inscriptions. The British Museum 132908. Height: 26.8 cm. Ca. sixth–fourth centuries BCE. Photo: © The Trustees of the British Museum.

A Hellenistic Glass Pendant of a Child Deity (Harpokrates)

The public dedication of votive objects depicting Harpokrates helped to assure the maintenance of the cosmos, and thus prosperity and stability. The personal use of amulets with Harpokrates meant that the wearer had access to the same spells and magical powers as employed by Isis in protecting her son (Andrews 1994: 16). Small sculpted objects bearing the image of a child deity with finger to the mouth have been found across the Mediterranean, primarily at Levantine sites and western Mediterranean sites with Phoenician associations (Herrmann 1994: 105; Hölbl 1989; Nunn 2000: 86–88; Schmitz 2002: 819–820; Meeks 2010). These are sometimes dated as early as the eleventh or tenth century BCE, but most are dated to the seventh century onwards. This corpus includes objects of Egyptian origin as well as objects that were manufactured elsewhere and exhibit stylistic variations; such objects are often referred to as “Phoenician” or “Egyptianizing” by scholars. The Harpokrates types appearing on objects manufactured outside of Egypt largely fit within the traditions of the Egyptian representations. The most-common types include the god standing or seated with finger to the mouth, seated on the lap of a goddess, and seated on a lotus flower. Other types that have been found include the god enthroned, on the solar bark, or in a papyrus thicket with a goddess (Meeks 2010). At the same time, there are some clear trends that differentiate the corpus of Harpokrates images found outside of Egypt from those found in Egypt. For example, depictions of Harpokrates by himself are less common. There is less variation in headgear, with the most-common ones being the skullcap, the pschent, or the sundisk. The pschent is often depicted in different proportions or schematized; other crowns are far less common or do not appear at all. There are also numerous examples where the child deity is depicted with a human figure, usually a human male worshipper with one hand raised. Sometimes this figure wears a crown; this type with the “king” is unknown in Egypt (Meeks 2010: 10). In images outside of Egypt, Harpokrates seems to be more frequently depicted with protective animals (especially the cobra) than in those from inside Egypt. In addition, there are some object types found elsewhere in the Mediterranean which contain Harpokrates imagery that are unattested in Egypt; this includes ivory plaques, mostly from Assyrian sites, and bronze bowls (Meeks 2010: 11). The Harpokrates images that have been found in the Phoenician sphere fall within the larger body of evidence of Phoenician engagement with Egyptian art and religion, which includes representations of gods as well as other symbolic imagery (Scandone

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1984; Hölbl 1989). In considering this material, there is always the question of whether such images have been adopted to represent a local god or whether they reflect an engagement with Egyptian theology, myth, and beliefs. There are many traditions of child deities across different societies, as well as of dying/rising gods symbolizing resurrection. In this case, symbols such as the lotus flower, papyrus thicket, and crown are suggestive that at least some aspects of the Egyptian tradition surrounding Horus the Child were carried over. Familiarity with the name Horpa-chered is confirmed by two bronze statuettes, one in the National Archaeological Museum of Madrid and the other in the British Museum (Fig. 4).15 Both objects are thought to be imports from Egypt on the basis of iconography and style; they depict the god standing, with finger to the mouth, one wearing the pschent (Madrid) and the other wearing the skullcap (British Museum). Both carry Phoenician inscriptions invoking Hor-pa-chered, rendered ḥrpkrṭ in Phoenician (Ferron 1971; Ferron 1974).16 Ferron’s analysis of the inscriptions concludes that the object was offered with the intention of seeking life after death, and thus was likely placed in a tomb (Ferron 1971: 367–368). The adoption of Harpokrates and his imagery in the Phoenician world is likely due to the universality of the ideas associated with him, including regeneration, immortality, fertility, and protection. Amulets and scarabs dominate the corpus of Harpokrates objects outside of Egypt prior to the Hellenistic period, and they appear to have much the same meaning and use as amulets and scarabs in Egypt: to harness the healing and protective power associated with the child deity (Hölbl 1986: 198; Herrmann 1994: 105; 2003: 6; Farhi 2016). This is suggested by an inscribed square bronze amulet from the vicinity of Tyre (Schmitz 2002).17 One side depicts an engraved drawing of Harpokrates seated on a lotus flower; the other Isis lactans accompanied by a Phoenician inscription; style of the engraving National Archaeological Museum of Madrid 2150 (height 29 cm); British Museum 132908 (height 26.8 cm). 16 The inscriptions are dated on the basis of paleography to the later sixth century (Madrid) and fifth century (British Museum); see Ferron 1971: 370–378 for a discussion of chronology and whether the objects were inscribed before or after they were exported from Egypt. Regarding the phonetic rendering of the name in Phoenician, see Ferron 1971: 364. As suggested by Röllig (1969: 119), we should consider whether the Greek rendering of the god’s name is actually derived from the Phoenician version, rather than a direct transliteration of the Egyptian. 17 Private collection; photograph and drawing can be found in Sader 1990, pp. 319–320. Paleography of the inscription suggests a date of the fourth century BCE or later (Sader 1990: 321). 15

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suggests it was locally made. The inscription consists of the words šmr and nṣr, “watch over” and “guard”, which are also found in a precatory formula on multiple Phoenician amulets (Schmitz 2002: 821– 822). The iconography and inscriptions of the objects discussed above demonstrate how Egyptian iconography could be employed to “preserve and communicate Phoenician magical practices and religious sentiments of the most intimate character” (Schmitz 2002: 822). The glass pendants from Dor and elsewhere should thus be seen as a continuation of a centuries-long tradition of images of a child deity as both personal adornment and magical protection. As we shall see below, core aspects of the Harpokrates’ iconography and theological associations continued into the Hellenistic and Roman periods.

Harpokrates Objects in the Hellenistic and Roman periods In Egypt, the popularity of child deities grew in prominence in the Hellenistic and Roman periods (among both the indigenous and immigrant populations), as evidenced by an increase in cults, temples, and priesthoods (Malaise 2000: 412–419; Budde 2005: 335; Budde, Sandri, and Verhoeven 2003). The corpus of Harpokrates images was still dominated by small, sculpted objects, but the materials and types of objects expanded considerably to encompass amulets in glass, bronze, and silver, coins, lamps, rings, stone stelae of various sizes, and statuettes in bronze, marble, wood, and ivory, with terracotta figurines being the most common (Tran Tam Tinh, Jaeger and Poulin 1988; Ballet and Galliano 2010). In the previous periods, Harpokrates imagery outside of Egypt was restricted mostly to the Levant or other Mediterranean sites with Phoenician associations; in the High Imperial period, by contrast, Harpokrates’ reach extended throughout all regions of the Roman Empire. In terms of iconography, several types from the previous periods remained standard: Harpokrates as a naked child on a lotus flower, sitting on Isis lactans, or standing with finger to the mouth. Harpokrates as victor over dangerous forces in the form of animals was also popular, and his connection with the rising sun remained central to his identity (elKhachab 1971; Draycott 2011; Faraone 2018: 156). Depictions of the god, however, underwent stylistic changes, with the canonical Egyptian forms of the Late Period giving way to contemporary tastes and trends (Malaise 2000: 406; Aliquot 2004: 209–210; Cristea 2013: 80–84). Thus, we see that the sidelock was sometimes replaced by curly hair, and the slender physique of earlier representations (more like

a miniature adult) was often replaced with the body type and proportions of a chubby infant. Although the god was still sometimes shown naked, he was often depicted with a garment artfully draped around his body, or sometimes even a tunic. The pschent crown remained in use inside and outside of Egypt, but continued to be reduced in size and schematized. In some cases it is replaced by lotus buds or tufts of hair, suggesting that the symbol lost some of its dynastic associations, transforming into a visual cue for identifying the Egyptian child deity (Aliquot 2004: 209; Cristea 2013: 80-81). Harpokrates was subject to new syncretisms in both Egypt and beyond, such as the child versions of Apollo, Herakles, and Dionysos (Malaise 2000; Aliquot 2004: 209; Cristea 2013: 79). Similarly, the number and variety of attributes and animals, either entirely new or derived from syncretistic connections, also increased. Perhaps the most-common attribute was the cornucopia, which was introduced into the repertoire of Harpokrates images in the third century BCE, usually held by the god in his left arm (Ballet and Galliano 2010: 203–204; Cristea 2013: 77). The cornucopia was a symbol of prosperity, abundance, and wealth found in the images of numerous Greek deities and personifications during the Classical period. It has been suggested that the attribute was adopted from the iconography of the Greek god Ploutos (“Wealth”), who is often depicted as a child holding a cornucopia (Fischer 2003). Other examples of new attributes include the radiate crown, wings, ivy-leaf crowns, and club (Budde 2010: 3; Cristea 2013: 77). Attributes evoking Egyptian theological tradition also continued, such as the lotus bud, which is frequently found adorning the god’s head. Derived from the crown of the Egyptian god Nefertem, who took the form of the lotus at the time of the creation and birth of the solar deity, the lotus bud suggests continuing connections to Egyptian solar theology and beliefs about regeneration and rebirth (Barrett 2011: 202). Above all, what stands out is the range and variety of types, styles, and objects. While certain types seem to have enjoyed widespread distribution or adoption (such as the so-called Alexandrian type with cornucopia discussed further below), the terracotta corpus offers us clear evidence of localization, with a considerable variety of attributes and poses (Ballet 2000: 109; Malaise 2000; Castiglione 2019: 363). But for all the large and varied amount of surviving Harpokrates imagery from the later periods, it needs to be stressed that the majority of this material is dated to the Roman Imperial period, with far less iconographic or epigraphic evidence for Harpokrates that can be securely dated to the Hellenistic period anywhere in the Mediterranean. The limited data

A Hellenistic Glass Pendant of a Child Deity (Harpokrates)

from the Hellenistic period outside of Egypt makes it somewhat difficult to trace the history of representation of Harpokrates and the god’s place in local religious culture. This might explain why there is a tendency to explain the presence of Harpokrates imagery in the Hellenistic and Roman world as a consequence of (or indicative of) Ptolemaic influence and the spread of the Hellenistic cults of Isis and Serapis across the Mediterranean (Oggiano 2015: 244; Vaelske 2011: 17; Fischer and JacksonTal 2003: 3; Tran Tam Tinh, Jaeger and Poulin 1988: 415). In the Levant, evidence of familiarity with Isis and other Egyptian gods goes back to at least the eleventh century BCE; however, there is no evidence of formal Isis cults in the Levant prior to the Hellenistic period (Aliquot 2004: 211–212). The chronology of the spread of the “Greco-Egyptian” cults into the Levant is uncertain, and the evidence is both sparse and ambiguous prior to the Roman period.18 To my knowledge, there are no dedicatory inscriptions to Harpokrates from the Levant. From inscriptions elsewhere, it seems that Harpokrates generally played a minor or marginal role as fourth member of the Isiac family, after Isis, Serapis, and Anubis (Malaise 2000: 420). According to one analysis, Harpokrates occurs in only 6% of all inscriptions mentioning an Isiac deity (Bricault 2000: 199). Further, it appears that Harpokrates was often a later addition to the official cults of Isis and Serapis, from the late second century BCE onwards.19 And yet, iconographically, he is the most-often represented of the Isiac gods, due to his abundant representation in small-scale sculpture (Ballet and Galliano 2010: 202). As observed by Cristea (2013: 80) in the case of Delos, Harpokrates was not important as the son of Isis, but rather as a protective deity for personal devotion. Therefore, the proliferation and variety of Harpokrates objects in the Hellenistic and Roman periods should be analyzed not predominantly within the framework of the spread of Greco-Egyptian cults, but rather in the context of existing traditions of the representation of child deities for personal protection. As a solar deity and the young Horus, Harpokrates retained an identity—and a devotion, to judge from the material remains—separate from other Isiac gods. On this topic in general refer to Aliquot 2004 and Belayche 2007. Bonnet 2014 argues that the Isiac cults spread in the Levant side by side the cult of the Lagid kings. Limestone blocks with inscribed dedications from Tyre (invoking Serapis) and Samaria (Serapis and Isis) have led some to speculate the presence of shrines or temples to the Isiac gods at these sites in the Hellenistic period; see Magness 2001 for Samaria and Aliquot 2004: 217–220 for Tyre. 19 E.g., Delos (Malaise 2000: 415–416; Barrett 2011: 248, n. 924) and central and western Greece (Cristea 2013: 80). 18

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The Harpokrates Glass Pendant Type It is not surprising, then, to find amuletic pendants of Harpokrates at Dor in the Late Hellenistic period, given the long tradition of Harpokrates as personal adornment in the Phoenician world and the continuing popularity of the child deity. What is curious, however, is the image type itself, which is rare among the known corpus of Harpokrates objects in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. The type depicted by the glass pendants is simple: naked child, standing, finger to mouth, left arm elongated at the side, wearing the pschent crown, with no other attributes. In term of pose and attributes (but not style), this type is similar to the canonical Harpokrates type of Late Period Egypt, such as in the bronze statuettes discussed earlier. This type is also found in a number of small cast bronze pendants found at various sites in Israel dated to the Late Persian and Hellenistic periods.20 These bronze pendants depict the deity standing or in a slightly seated position, with right hand to mouth, left hand along the side, and wearing the sidelock; they all have attached loops on the back.21 But while these bronze pendants reflect Egyptian stylistic conventions, the glass pendants with their soft, plump, relaxed body and curls in lieu of a sidelock, reflect Hellenistic sculptural tastes. As described earlier, the Dor pendant leans into Hellenistic style even further with its hip-shot pose and movement of the left arm toward the front. In this regard, the Dor pendant seems to belong to what is referred to as the “Alexandrian” or “Praxitilean” type. The Alexandrian type depicts Harpokrates standing in a strong S-curve pose, the forefinger of the right hand to the mouth, a very small pschent crown on the head (in some versions the pschent is replaced by a lotus flower or tuft of hair), and holding a cornucopia in the left arm. This type is the most common of the standing versions of Harpokrates, depicted in various media (e.g., sculpture, amulets, coins) across different regions well into the Imperial Akko (Herrmann 2006: 53, no. 1; dated Persian or Hellenistic); Ashkelon: Rockefeller Museum 33.2777 (Herrmann 1994: 108, no. 13; dated fifth–second centuries BCE): Atlit: Rockefeller Museum 32.891 and 32.892 (Herrmann 1994: 108–9, numbers 14–15; no date); Gamla (Fahri 2006; context dated to the first century BCE; pendant is now lost); Megiddo (Herrmann 2016: 57, no 8; dated Hellenistic); Mediterranean coast (Herrmann 2016: 57, nos. 6–7; dated Hellenistic). 21 The headgear of the smaller bronze versions is varied or not discernible. The large bronze pendant from Ashkelon in the Rockefeller Museum (33.2777) has a sidelock and a fully realized pschent crown (as opposed to the smaller, abstract version on the glass pendants. 20

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Figure 5. Decorated bronze weight, featuring front and back views of Harpokrates, from Rhodes. National Museum of Denmark 9412. Height: 3.6 cm; weight: 38.5 g. Hellenistic. Photograph: National Museum of Denmark.

period (Tran Tam Tinh, Jaeger and Poulin 1988, nos. 23–118; Ballet 2000: 101; Castiglione 2019: 363–364). Scholars have speculated that the type was inspired by a Hellenistic period cult statue from Alexandria (hence the label “Alexandrian type”), in connection with the founding of the sanctuary of Harpokrates in the Sarapeum under Ptolemy IV (Ballet and Galliano 2010: 204; Lunsingh Scheurleer 1996: 155–156).22 Compared to most examples of the Alexandrian type, however, the Dor pendant does not have the full S-curve, and is missing the cornucopia. While the other glass pedants seem to lack the Dor pendant’s hip-shot stance, a parallel for this characteristic can be found in a decorated bronze weight from Rhodes (Fig. 5),23 which carries an image of Harpokrates very similar to the type in the glass pendants, including the same hip-shot pose as the Dor pendant. Interestingly, this weight shows both the front and the back of the god on the same side in high relief; like in the Dor pendant, the hip-shot pose is most visible from the back. This choice to represent the whole of the god’s body in relief on this weight suggests a ritual A marble statue of excavated at a temple in Ras el Soda (near Alexandria) in 1936, dated to the second century CE by the excavator, is speculated to be a copy of such a statue (Lunsingh Scheurleer 1996: 156; Tran Tam Tinh, Jaeger and Poulin 1988, no. 5). 23 National Museum, Copenhagen, 9412 (Tran Tam Tinh, Jaeger and Poulin 1988: no. 9). The specific context is unknown. 22

and symbolic importance in the tactile contact with the god’s body.24 Such emphasis on the whole body distinguishes the type from the earlier faience and metal pendants, which were typically flat or only lightly modeled on the back. To put the Dor type in broader stylistic context, there seems to be two possibilities. The first is that the Dor pendant, together with the other glass pendants and Rhodes weight, represent a transitional stage from the simple Egyptian-style Harpokrates (straight posture, with left arm elongated down the side) to the Alexandrian type (pronounced S-curve, with left arm cradling a cornucopia). The second possibility is that the Dor object was inspired by the Alexandrian type, but the mold-maker purposefully omitted the cornucopia, and placed the left arm on the thigh to balance the movement. Either way, the lack of cornucopia or any other attribute (besides the crown) is especially conspicuous, as it is rare for Harpokrates images in the Hellenistic and Roman periods to be empty-handed. The cornucopia is a known attribute of Harpokrates images in Egypt since the third century BCE (Fischer 2003). Most of the Hellenistic terracotta figurines of Harpokrates from Kharayeb (located ~12 km northeast of Tyre) carry a cornucopia (Castiglione 2019: 363–364). An Alexandrian-type Harpokrates with cornucopia also appears on a bronze coin from Byblos dating to 54/3 or 53/2 BCE (Aliquot 2004: 217, note 77). Therefore, we should assume that the mold-maker had knowledge of the Alexandrian type, and that the omission of the cornucopia is deliberate. What is the significance of this omission? As mentioned earlier, the cornucopia was widespread in Greek divine representations prior to the Hellenistic period, and could have been adopted for Harpokrates on the basis of its associations with prosperity and fertility, which certainly fits the character of Harpokrates. At the same time, the cornucopia was a prominent symbol of Ptolemaic media in Egypt and elsewhere, including imagery associated with the Ptolemaic dynastic cults (Rice 1983: 206–208; Grabowski 2014: 34). In Hellenistic Egypt, because of the increased popularity of child deities in Egypt, the later Ptolemaic kings were identified with the child versions of the local gods and represented as such (Budde 2005: 335). Győry (2005) has argued that the adoption of the cornucopia into the imagery of Egyptian gods is a deliberately political act, connecting Harpokrates to the Ptolemaic king. Therefore, it is tempting to interpret the omission For a discussion of three-dimensional forms and tangible experiences in ancient art in general, see Platt and Squire 2017, and for amulets in particular, see Faraone 2019.

24

A Hellenistic Glass Pendant of a Child Deity (Harpokrates)

of the cornucopia in these pendants as a deliberate distancing from Ptolemaic dynastic associations. However, it is also possible that the choice simply reflects other local iconographic, theological, or aesthetic preferences.

Summary and Conclusions Sitting between the canonical Harpokrates of the Egyptian tradition and the canonical Alexandrian type, the glass Harpokrates pendants depict an unusual iconographic type in a tradition of images of the child deity that extends well over a thousand years. As all excavated examples are firmly dated to the Late Hellenistic period by context, they are a useful data point in understanding the history, reception, and regional variation of Harpokrates images. The lack of other explicitly Isiac gods among the group of glass pendants in the round, as well as the prevalence of Harpokrates in the pre-Hellenistic

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amuletic tradition, belies a clear connection to the phenomenon of the Greco-Egyptian cults of Isis and Serapis. Thus, the presence of these pendants on their own should not lead to speculation of a cult center or even worship of other Isiac gods. This pendant held an apotropaic function, and the significance of its imagery and symbolism should be seen in the tradition of child deities as personal adornment. Given the date of these pendants, the absence of a cornucopia or other attribute beyond a schematized crown is striking compared to other known Harpokrates images. The Dor example stands out further through its hip-shot pose, bringing the type closer to current Hellenistic sculptural trends. To fully understand the significance of the glass pendants’ unusual type and how these objects fit into the history of Harporkates images and worship, closer study of the Hellenistic corpus of Harpokrates images is needed. Such study has the potential to offer new insights into the localization of art and religious beliefs in the Hellenistic period.

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— 1989. “Ägyptische Kunstelemente im phönizischen Kulturkreis des 1. Jahrtausends v. Chr. Zur Methodik ihrer Verwendung”. Orientalia 58: 318–325. Jackson-Tal, R.E. 2004. “The Late Hellenistic Glass Industry in Syro-Palestine: A Reappraisal”. Journal of Glass Studies. 46: 11–32. Larson, K.A. 2016. From Luxury Product to Mass Commodity: Glass Production and Consumption in the Hellenistic World. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan. Lunsingh Scheurleer, R.A. 1996. “From Statue to Pendant: Roman Harpocrates Pendants in Gold, Silver, and Bronze”. In A. Calinescu (ed.). Ancient Jewelry and Archaeology. Bloomington: Indiana Univeresity Press, pp. 152–171. Magness, J. 2001. “The Cults of Isis and Kore at Samaria-Sebaste in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods”. The Harvard Theological Review 94(2): 157–177. Malaise, M. 2000. “Harpocrate. Problèmes posés par l’étude d’un dieu égyptien à l’époque gréco-romaine”. Bulletins de l’Académie Royale de Belgique 11(7): 401–431. Meeks, D. 1977, “Harpokrates”. In H.W. Helck (ed.). Lexikon der Ägyptologie Band II: Erntefest–Hordjedef. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, col. 1003–1011. — 2010. “Harpocrates”. In J. Eggler and Ch. Uehlinger (eds.) Iconography of Deities and Demons, http:// www.religionswissenschaft.uzh.ch/idd/prepublications/e_idd_harpocrates.pdf, last accessed 24 April 2020. Nenna, M.-D. 1999. Les Verres. Exploration archéologique de Délos, Fascicule 37. Athens: École française d’Athènes. Nitschke, J.L., Martin, S.R. and Shalev, Y. 2009. “Between Carmel and the Sea. Tel Dor: The Late Periods”. Near Eastern Archaeology 74(3): 132–154. Nunn, A. 2000. Der figürliche Motivschatz Phöniziens, Syriens und Transjordaniens vom 6. Bis zum 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. Orbis biblicus et orientalis 18. Freiburg / Göttingen: Universitätsverlag / Vandenhoeck Ruprecht. Oggiano, I. 2015. “Le sanctuaire de Kharayeb et l’evolution de l’imagerie phénicienne dans l’arrière-pays de Tyr”. In J. Aliquot and C. Bonnet (eds.). La Phénicie hellénistique: Actes du colloque international de Toulouse (18–20 février 2013). Topoi. Supplément 13. Lyon: Maison de l’Orient et de la MéditerranéeJean Pouilloux, pp. 239–266.  Papadopoulos, J.K.  2006. “The Athenian Agora from the end of the Bronze Age through the Protoattic period”. In J.K. Papadopoulos (ed.). The Art of Antiquity: Piet de Jong and the Athenian Agora. Athens: The American School of Classical Studies, pp. 93–154. Platt, V. and Squire, M. 2017. “Getting to Grips with Classical Art: Rethinking the Haptics of Graeco-Roman Visual Culture”. In A. Purves (ed.). Touch and the Ancient Senses. London: Routledge, pp. 75–104. Rice, E.E. 1983. The Grand Procession of Ptolemy Philadelphus. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sader, H. 1990. “Deux épigraphes phéniciennes inédites”. Syria 67: 318–321. Sandri, S. 2006. Har–pa–chered (Harpokrates). Die Genese eines ägyptischen Götterkindes. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 151. Leuven: Peeters.  Scandone, G. 1984. “Testimonianze egiziane in Fenicia dal XII al IV sec. a.C.”. Rivista di Studi Fenici 12: 132–163. Schmitz, P.C. 2002. “Reconsidering a Phoenician Inscribed Amulet from the Vicinity of Tyre”. Journal of the American Oriental Society 122(4): 817–823. Spaer, M. 2001. Ancient Glass in the Israel Museum, Beads and Other Small Objects. Jerusalem: Israel Museum. Stern, E. 2010. Excavations at Dor: Figurines, Cult Objects and Amulets from Tel Dor, 1980–2000 Seasons. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Tran Tam Tinh, V., Jaeger B. and Poulin, S. 1988. “Harpocrates”. Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologicae Classicae IV(1): 415–445 (text); IV(2), 242–266 (images).  Vaelske, V. 2011. lsis im Osten: Zeugnisse für die Verehrung der ägyptischen Gottheiten im Vorderen Orient in hellenistischer und römischer Zeit. Ph.D. dissertation, Der Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. https:// edoc.hu-berlin.de/handle/18452/19906, last accessed 18 June 2020.

A Late Bronze Age Gold Bull Head Pendant from Tel Dor

Pnina Torn Broers

Abstract A gold pendant in the shape of a bull’s head was found at Tel Dor in a fill inside a monumental building dated to Iron Age IB. The pendant, made of high-quality gold, is unique in the southern Levant, but has parallels in Late Bronze Age Cyprus, where all the pendants whose origin is known were used as burial gifts. The pendant likely arrived at Dor during the Late Bronze Age and is evidence for contacts between Cyprus and Dor at that time.

Keywords: Bull-head shaped pendant, Late Bronze Age, Late Cypriot jewelry, Tel Dor

The Dor Pendant: Find Context and Date This paper is dedicated to my teacher, Prof. Ilan Sharon, the excavator of Tel Dor for the past decades, where, during the 29th excavation season, a gold pendant in the shape of a bull’s head (henceforth: the Dor pendant) was found. The pendant was discovered in a fill in a structure denoted the Monumental Stone Building (henceforth: MSB), in excavation area D2 (Fig. 1). The MSB rose above the southern bay of Dor, the location of the most important harbor of the Southern Levantine coast in the Early Iron Age (Gilboa, Waiman-Barak and Sharon 2015: 85). Only the western part of the MSB was excavated, showing that it was built of massive limestone outer walls, with its northwestern corner composed of ashlars. No southern closure wall has been preserved. The MSB is not only unique in its size, but also in its massiveness and use of ashlar construction, the latter marking the first attestation of this technique following its disappearance at the end of the Late Bronze Age (Sharon 2009: 373–375). The MSB had six architectural phases, in which the inner plan underwent certain changes, and was in use from midIr1b until the Ir1|2 transition (late eleventh–tenth centuries BCE) (Gilboa, Sharon and Bloch-Smith 2015: 57, Table 1 and 59, Appendix 1)1, after which it was abandoned.

The chronological terminology used in this article is that of the Dor excavations. For correspondence with ‘conventional chronology’, see the discussion below and Table 2.

1

The Dor pendant, dated to the Late Bronze Age (as detailed below), was found in the northwestern corner of the building, in Locus 19577, a fill related to its second phase (Figs. 2a–2b). In other fills related to the same phase of construction, Late Bronze Age Cypriot pottery was found alongside local Iron Age material. Though in several excavation areas at Dor Late Bronze Age pottery has been found, architecture or remains of occupation of this period were never clearly identified, and thus the exact location of the Late Bronze Age city is unknown (Sharon and Gilboa 2013: 421, 437).

The Dor Pendant: Description, Technology and Chemical Composition Description and Formation Technique Two gold foils with an identical impression on both sides form the 1.3 cm-high and 1 cm-wide pendant, which weighs a mere ca. 1 gram (Fig. 3), making it one of the smallest and lightest-weight ever found (see Table 2). It has protruding ears of both about 0.1 cm. One of the golden foils was folded over the other, visible on side B. Two small rings, through which the suspension wire was inserted, hold the two foils together. The suspension wire would perhaps be the representation of the horns of the bull. Both ears, eyes and nostrils are visible on side A, while only one eye is extant on side B. It seems that the pendant was two-faced, and suffered some minor damage,

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Pnina Torn Broers

Figure 1. Excavation areas at Tel Dor. The pendant was found in Area D2 in the south. Courtesy of the Tel Dor Project.

which caused the flattening of some of the details, especially on the forehead. The details of the bull’s head appear in relief and were made with repoussé (see Fig. 3). In this technique, a gold foil is placed in or on a mold bearing the design in relief and pressure is applied to create the relief on the foil. An alternative way would be to

imprint the relief details onto the gold sheet by using a metal or wooden stick (Golani 2013: 27, 227). The nostrils are depicted as slight indentations. Due to the state of preservation, it cannot be ruled out that the bull’s forehead had been decorated. Horizontal and vertical incised lines sometimes adorned the forehead of the naturalistic pendants and a rosette was often

A Late Bronze Age Gold Bull Head Pendant from Tel Dor

163

Figure 2. A: Aerial photo of area D2: the MSB is highlighted in a red frame. The northern wall of the MSB is below the wall that is seen on the photograph; B: Close up of L19577. W17188 and W17169 are inner mudbrick walls. Looking east. Photographs by Israel Hirshberg, courtesy of the Tel Dor Project.

Figure 3. The bull head pendant: (A) face A; (B) face B; (C) side views; (D) top view. Photograph by Tal Rogovski. (Color Plate 10.1, p. 413)

164

Pnina Torn Broers

Table 1. Results of the XRF surface analysis.

  Avg. St.Dev.

Sn 0.17 0.01

Ag 12.05 0.31

Pb 0.05 0.01

depicted between the eyebrows. Decoration in the form of granulation appeared mainly on the stylized pendants (see below and Table 2). Chemical Composition XRF surface analysis of the Dor pendant was conducted in order to examine the chemical composition and thus to assess the type and quality of the raw material. Four measurements were done with a Niton XL3 Analyzer, of which the results are presented in Table 1.2 The analysis showed that the Dor pendant was made of a high-quality, gold-silver alloy, with almost 90% gold and ca. 10% silver, and some additional traces in smaller amounts. This admixture of gold, silver and other materials is typical of natural, unworked gold (Ogden 1992: 30).3

Figure 4. Example of a stylized pendant (see Table 2, no. 73). After Segall 1938: Pl. IV, Figure 4.

The analysis was performed by Naama Yahalom-Mack and the staff of the Laboratory for Archaeological Materials and Ancient Technologies at the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. 3 Six pendants from Tomb 17 at Kourion, dated to the LC IIA–LC IIIB, are described in the excavation report as being made of 24 carat gold (Benson 1972: 20–21, 130, Pl. 36), which would be a high-quality material. Unfortunately, no chemical analyses of these or other pendants have been published, and therefore no comparison is possible.

Au 86.1 0.53

Ir 0.06 0

Cu 1.36 0.18

Fe 0.17 0.05

Bull-Head Pendants in the Ancient Near East and the Aegean Bull-head pendants in various materials and shapes, dated from the Late Bronze Age through the Classical Period, were common in the Ancient Near East and the Aegean world. It is beyond the aim of this paper to analyze all the different types of bull-head pendants, therefore, only Late Bronze and Early Iron Age Mediterranean gold pendants that are relevant to the discussion of the Dor pendant will be addressed here.4 A total of 98 such pendants (excluding the Dor pendant) are presented in Table 2, where findspots, dimensions, weight, and date are given for each, whenever the data was available. Typology and Variability The pendants may be divided into two stylistic groups. The first is denoted “naturalistic”, wherein the nostrils, two eyes and two ears are visible, and whose head can be easily recognized as a bovine. The Dor pendant is an example of a naturalistic pendant. The second group is denoted “stylized”, showing the general shape of a bull’s head, as well as its eyes and ears in a more schematic mode (see Fig. 4). This type is sometimes called the “palmette-type”, as most of these pendants have a palmette-like relief all over the head (Goring 1983: 213). The dimensions and weights of the pendants vary and there is no evident consistency that can be related to typology or chronology. The differences in weight, even if minor, are quite significant for such small objects, and might be explained by variations in the alloy or due to the state of preservation. However, it seems that the suspension rings, when extant, had approximately the same size as the pendant they belonged to, suggesting that some measuring took place (Anna Paule, personal communication).

2

Buchholz (1986) published a list of all bull-head shaped pendants from the Mediterranean then known. Only the gold bull-head pendants of earrings from that list are included in Table 2, in addition to pendants discovered since that publication.

4

A Late Bronze Age Gold Bull Head Pendant from Tel Dor

Chronology and Development Most of the tombs excavated at Enkomi and containing stylized pendants were dated to Late Cypriot (LC) IB–IIC (with possible evidence for later usage in LC III), while the tombs with naturalistic pendants were dated to LC II–III (with possible evidence for earlier usage in LC IB).5 Thus, there seems to be a slight chronological difference between the two types, with the stylized pendants possibly being of a somewhat earlier date than the naturalistic ones (though there might be geographical and technological distinctions as well; Paule, personal communication). Only in one case, in Tomb 75 at Enkomi, dated to LC IB?/ LC II–LC III, were both types found together in the same burial, which contained three stylized and one naturalistic pendant (Table 2: nos. 25, 77–79). In general, all the gold bull-head pendants are dated to the Late Cypriot and Late Mycenaean (LH) periods, corresponding to a major part of the Late Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age in the Levant in general and at Dor specifically.

165

The earliest naturalistic and stylized bull-head pendants appear in the fourteenth century BCE at Cyprus (Buchholz 1986: 130). Beforehand, small rings decorated with granules appeared in Cyprus. This led Laffineur (1980) to theorize about the development of the bull-head pendants from “Maulbeer-Ohhringe (mulberry-earrings; sixteenth century BCE) through the “Trauben-Ohrringe” (grape-earrings; fifteenth century BCE) to the naturalistic bull-head pendants (fourteenth–twelfth centuries BCE) (see Buchholz 1986: 128, 130 and discussion there). Some of these early, “pre-bull-head” types were known from Crete and mainland Greece, as well as from Cyprus (Hood 1978: 205; Hackens and Winkes 1983: 43). The stylized pendants with the palmette-like decoration continued to be produced until the beginning of the twelfth century BCE (Paule 2013: 101–104), whereas the naturalistic type continued to exist throughout the twelfth century BCE as well. An exception to this chronological range are the pendants found in tombs at Idalion, Aghios Paraskeva and Ormidia in Cyprus6 dated to the Phoenician period (di Cesnola 1903: Pl. XVI) which likely

Figure 5. Findspots of bull-head shaped pendants. The earrings indicated as found at Idalion might also come from Ayia Paraskevi or Ormidia, as the publication does not distinguish between these sites (di Cesnola 1903: Pl. XVI).

6

These dates are obtained from the available data pertaining to the tombs that were listed in the “The Egkomi Mapping Project” (Dalton 2007: 5–7).

5

166

Pnina Torn Broers

began in the eighth century BCE at Idalion, though the exact date of the Phoenician arrival at the site is unknown (Hadjicosti 1997: 60). If this date for tombs containing the pendants is correct, then they would be the latest known examples. However, despite the late date assigned to these tombs, these pendants appear in the catalogue of the Metropolitan Museum of Art as dated to the Late Cypriot period, based on analogies to other bull-head shaped pendants in Cyprus (J. Mertens, personal communication).7

might indicate the importance of social status in the afterlife (Golani 2013: 71), and it is possible that some jewelry was made especially for the purpose of burial (Keswani 2004: 138; Knapp 2013: 387). In LC III, there is a notable decrease of gold in burial contexts, which might indicate a change in the manner of displaying social status in mortuary contexts (Keswani 1989: 66; 2004: 143).

Find Contexts

In Cyprus, the cult of the bull developed from the third millennium BCE until the sixth century BCE. The bull was a “frequently invoked manifestation of divinity”, and its cult was widespread (Rice 1998: 239, 241). The appearance of gold bull-head pendants in tombs therefore not only had an aesthetic and social value, but also bore a deeper symbolic meaning. This especially might be the case when the bull-head pendant was decorated with a rosette. Though it is not clear if the Dor pendant had a rosette decoration, it is worth discussing this element briefly, for it appears on many of the parallels. In general, the rosette, a stylized flower, is often represented together with a bull, and associated with celestial deities in Egypt, Anatolia and the Syrian world (Courtoise and Lagarce 1986: 84; Bernett and Keel 1998: 32; Hansen 2003: 122; Hart 2019). The origin of the connection between the bull and the rosette is unknown, though it might be sought in the Egyptian cow-goddess Hathor, who is often depicted with a sun-disk between her horns (e.g., Dunand 1937: Pl. CXXXVI; Paule 2014: 291). The rosette or star appears often with the goddesses Anat and Astarte (Courtoise and Lagarce 1986: 84). In Iron Age Phoenician Spain, there is evidence for processions of sacrificial animals who were adorned with jewelry. It seems that the cows were decorated with a rosette on their forehead, as a sign they were to be sacrificed to Astarte (Carrasco 2017: 228), or a rosette appeared as a symbol of transubstantiation of the deity in the bull to be sacrificed (Carrasco 2017: 233). The rosette is thus connected to ritual and sacrifice and might have served as an indicator of a religious function performed by a priest (Borgna 2018: 275).

The pendants were found in thirteen locations, eleven of which in Cyprus; nine of the latter do not have a specific, known find context (see Fig. 5). Based on the ubiquity of these pendants in Cyprus, it stands to reason that this was the origin of those whose provenance is not known and so they appear in Table 2.8 All pendants with a known provenance were found in tombs, except for the Dor pendant.

Jewelry as a Burial Offering Wearing ornaments has been a widespread phenomenon since ancient times, and various functions are associated with jewelry, ranging from a form of self-identification and expression to a symbol of wealth and social status (Golani 2013: 69, 71–72). Jewelry might have a religious function as well and could be used as an amulet which ensured supernatural protection and had an apotropaic function (Wilkinson 1971: 196; Ornan 2005: 142; Golani 2013: 75). Jewelry was also used in economic contexts; for example, the standardized weight of gold jewelry from a Late Bronze Age tomb at Kalavasos-Ayios Dhimitrios in Cyprus suggests it was used as currency (Goring 1996: 33–34). In some tombs, pairs of pendants that might have been worn as earrings were found (e.g., Tomb 17 at Kourion; Benson 1972: 20–21), but many other tombs had an uneven number of (often) nonidentical pendants. The presence of jewelry in tombs The Metropolitan Museum of Art Collections https:// www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/ These dates are based on the chronological tables provided in Papadimitriou and Kriga 2012, Bell 2016, Knapp 2013, Zacharias et al. 2018. The Levantine chronology follows the one used in publications of Tel Dor (cf. Gilboa, Sharon and Boaretto 2008; Gilboa et al. 2018, see also Gilboa and Sharon 2003: p. 55, Table 21). In Table 2, the pendants are presented with both the date used in their publication, and the corresponding date in terms of Levantine chronology. 8 Pendants whose provenance is unknown are indicated as ‘Cyprus?’. Pendants that are known to come from Cyprus, but it is unknown where exactly, are indicated as ‘Cyprus’. 7

The Bull in Cultic Contexts

Summary and Discussion The Dor pendant is one of the smallest and lightestweight of its type known. It has many parallels in the naturalistic types presented in Table 2; the closest parallels are three earrings found at Idalion, Ayia Paraskevi or Ormidia (see Fig. 6 and note 6), and are very similar both in proportions and in the holes

A Late Bronze Age Gold Bull Head Pendant from Tel Dor

167

Figure 6. The three bull head pendants most similar to the Dor pendant (from Idalion, Cyprus; see Table 2, nos. 35–36, 38). Afetr di Cesnola 1903, pl. XVI, 1, 2,4.

for the hoop, as well as in the line of the jaw and the angled chin. The Dor pendant is the only one not found in a burial context, and the only one found in the Levant. It is one of the most precious objects found at Dor. Several possibilities might be suggested to explain its presence in the fill layer inside the Ir1b MSB. It is likely that the pendant was imported to Dor, from Cyprus, at a time when commercial relations in the Mediterranean basin were at their peak. Material quarried from a Late Bronze Age stratum on the site might have then been used as a fill in the Iron Age building. This is supported by the presence of Late Bronze Age pottery in adjacent fills. Another possibility is that the pendant arrived at Dor in the Late Bronze Age and was kept as an heirloom by locals or possibly even Cypriots who resided at Dor in the Early Iron Age; at some point, it was lost and became part of the fill in the MSB. Another, less likely option, might be that the pendant was used as burial gift at Dor and that part of the constructional fill in the MSB was taken from that burial. However, the short time that elapsed between the supposed arrival of the pendant at Dor in the Late Bronze Age and the construction of the MSB appears to negate this possibility; moreover, it is unlikely that fills were quarried from burials. Yet, it should be noted that some skeletal material dating

to the Late Bronze Age was found in Area D2, west of the MSB, so that this area might have served a burial ground in that period (Ilan Sharon, personal communication). The possibility that the pendant arrived at Dor in Iron Age IB (Ir1b) might not be ruled out, for the trade contacts with Cyprus increased at that time. The pendant could have been an heirloom of a Cypriot who took it to Dor in the Iron Age (Gilboa and Sharon 2000: 1345). The small and delicate Dor pendant was made of high-quality gold and, apart from its intrinsic value, most likely had a social and symbolic meaning. Its uniqueness in the Southern Levant shows that such items were not imported on a large scale, and were certainly not a common burial gift, as in Cyprus. Despite its rarity, the pendant is another piece of evidence of the relations between Cyprus and Dor, and possibly of the wealth of the yet-to-be-found city in the Late Bronze Age.

Acknowledgements I thank Tal Rogovski for the photographs of the pendant. I am very grateful to Dr. A. Paule for her kind and helpful comments, as well as to Prof. E. Borgna and Dr. J. Mertens for their input and advice.

168

Pnina Torn Broers

No. Find context

H, W, Th, hoop D (cm)**

Weight (gr)

Table 2. List of gold bull-head pendants from the Late Bronze and Iron Ages. Idalion indicates: Idalion/Ayia Paraskevi/ Ormidia Date (as published)

Levantine chronology

Current location

Registration number

Publication

 

Glass House Museum, Dor, Israel

 

 

Naturalistic 1

Dor, Area D2

1.3, 1.0, 1.2 (with ears), ?

1

 

2

Cyprus

3.2

1.9

Unknown

British Museum

1917,0601.779

Marshall 1911: No. 779

3

Cyprus

3.6, ?, ?, ? 1.9

Unknown

British Museum

1917,0601.780

Marshall 1911: No. 780

4

Cyprus

3.5, ?, ?, ? 2.8

Mycenaean Period

British Museum

 

Marshall 1911: No. 782

5

Cyprus

2.0, ?, ?, ?

 

 

Greifenhagen 1975: 45, Pl. 38.1

6

Cyprus

1.8, ?, ?, ? 2.6

LC

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.62

Marshall 1911: No. 535

7

Cyprus?

3, ?, ?, ?

LC

LB

British Museum

1917,0601.781

Marshall 1911: No. 781

8

Cyprus?

1.8, 1.5, ?, ?

LH IIIC

LB/Iron transition, Early Ir1a

Private collection, Europe

 

Hackens and Winkes 1983

9

Cyprus?

1.7, 1.5, ?, ?

LH IIIC

LB/Iron transition, Early Ir1a

Private collection, Europe

 

Hackens and Winkes 1983

10

Cyprus?

1.4, ?, ?, ? 0.75

LC IIC– IIIA

LB II

Museum of Applied Arts, Hungary

 

Csornay-Caprez 2000: 89–90, No. 153

11

Cyprus?

1.4, ?, ?, ? 0.84

LC IIC– IIIA

LB II

Museum of Applied Arts, Hungary

 

Csornay-Caprez 2000: 89–90, No. 153

12

Enkomi, Tomb 24

2.4, ?, ?, ? 1.0

LC IB–III

LBI–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.25

Marshall 1911: No. 491

13

Enkomi, Tomb 24

1.8, 1.4, 0.6, ?

1.5

LC IB–III

LBI–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.27

Marshall 1911: No. 502

14

Enkomi, Tomb 24

1.8, 1.4, 0.7, ?

1.6

LC IB–III (Ramses III)

early Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.25+

Marshall 1911: No. 503

15

Enkomi, Tomb 24

1.8, 1.4, 0.7, ?

1.1

LC IB–III

LBI–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.28

Marshall 1911: No. 505

16

Enkomi, Tomb 38

1.5, 1.2, 0.6, 1.3

0.8

LC IB–III

LBI–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.165

Marshall 1911: No. 500

17

Enkomi, Tomb 61

2.5, ?, ?, ? 0.9

LC IB?, LC LB I?, LB II–III II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.404

Marshall 1911: No. 493

18

Enkomi, Tomb 61

2.5, ?, ?, ? 0.9

LC IB?, LC LB I?, LB II–III II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.405

Marshall 1911: No. 494

19

Enkomi, Tomb 61

1.9, 1.6, 0.7, 1.6

LC IB?, LC LB I?, LB II–III II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.234

Murray et al. 1900: Pl. x: 234, No. 495

2.1

2.6

LB

A Late Bronze Age Gold Bull Head Pendant from Tel Dor H, W, Th, hoop D (cm)**

Current location

Registration number

Publication

20

Enkomi, Tomb 61

1.9, 1.4, 0.7, 1.6

1.8

LC IB?, LC LB I?, LB II–III II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.235

Murray et al. 1900: Pl. x :235, No. 496

21

Enkomi, Tomb 61

1.8, 1.4, 0.8, 1.6

1.7

LC IB?, LC LB I?, LB II–III II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.236

Murray et al. 1900: Pl. x:236, No. 497

22

Enkomi, Tomb 61

1.5, 1.2, 0.6, 1.3

1.3

LC IB?, LC LB I?, LB II–III II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.237

Marshall 1911: No. 498

23

E n k o m i , 1.5, 1.2, Tomb 61 0.5, 1.4

1.3

LCIB?, LCII–III

LB I?, LB II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.238

Marshall 1911: No. 499

24

E n k o m i , 1.8, 1.3, Tomb 67 0.8, 1.5

2.4

LC IA–IIC

LB I–IIB

British Museum

1897,0401.357

Murray et al. 1900: Pl. xi:357, No. 501

25

Enkomi, Tomb 75

3.4, ?, ?, ? 2.3

LC IB?, LC LB I?,LB IIC–III I–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.403

Murray et al. 1900: Pl. x:403, No. 492

26

Enkomi, Tomb 84

3.5, ?, ?, ? 2.2

LC I?, LC II–III

LB I?, LB II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.452

Murray et al. 1900: Pl. xii: 452, No. 488

27

Enkomi, Tomb 84

3.5, ?, ?, ? 2.9

LC I?, LC II–III

LB I?, LB II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.453

Marshall 1911: No. 489

28

Enkomi, Tomb 84

2.7, ?, ?, ? 0.8

LC I?, LC II–III

LB I?, LB II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.454

Marshall 1911: No. 490

29

Enkomi, Uncertain tomb

1.3, 1.1, 0.5, ?

0.8

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1897,0401.718

Marshall 1911: No. 504

30

Enkomi, Uncertain tomb

2.0, ?, ?, ? 1.1

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.65

Marshall 1911: No. 506

31

Enkomi, Uncertain tomb

1.8, ?, ?, ? 1.1

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1897,0401.720

Marshall 1911: No. 507

32

Enkomi?

2.0, ?, ?, ? 1.7

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.56

Marshall 1911: No. 508

33

Enkomi?

2.0, ?, ?, ? 1.8

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.57

Marshall 1911: No. 509

34

Enkomi?

Unknown

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

 

Myers 1914: 377, Fig. 3120

35

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3120

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:1

36

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3121?

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:2

37

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3119

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:3

38

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3118?

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:4

Weight (gr)

No. Find context

Date

Levantine chronology

169

170

Pnina Torn Broers H, W, Th, hoop D (cm)**

Date

Levantine chronology

Current location

Registration number

Publication

39

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3129

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:5

40

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3124

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:6

41

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3128

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:7

42

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3127

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:8

43

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3117

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:9

44

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3126

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:10

45

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3130

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:11

46

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3122

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:12

47

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3123?

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:13

48

Idalion, tomb

Unknown

Phoenician

Iron Age?

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3125

di Cesnola 1903: Pl. 16:14

49

Kition, tomb 9

1.9, ?, ?, 1.5

LC IIB

LB IIB

Unknown

 

Karageorghis 1974: 80, No. 308

50

Kition, tomb 9

1.5, ?, ?,1.5

LC IIB

LB IIB

Unknown

 

Karageorghis 1974: 69–70, No. 134, Pl. XCI

51

Kition, tomb 9

1.5, ?, ?,1.5

LC IIB

LB IIB

Unknown

 

Karageorghis 1974: 69–70, No. 134

52

Kition, tomb 9

1.3, ?, ?, 1.5

LC IIB

LB IIB

Unknown

 

Karageorghis 1974: 69–70, No. 140

53

KoukliaEvreti, tomb 8

3.4, ?, ?, ?

LC IIIA

LB

Unknown

 

Catling 1968: 167, Fig. 2

54

KoukliaEvreti, tomb 8

Unknown

LC IIIA

LB

Unknown

 

Catling 1968: 167, Fig. 2

55

KoukliaEvreti, tomb 8

Unknown

LC IIIA

LB

Unknown

 

Catling 1968: 167, Fig. 2

Weight (gr)

No. Find context

A Late Bronze Age Gold Bull Head Pendant from Tel Dor H, W, Th, hoop D (cm)**

Date

Levantine chronology

Current location

Registration number

Publication

56

KoukliaEvreti, tomb 8

Unknown

LC IIIA

LB

Unknown

 

Catling 1968: 167, Fig. 2

57

Kouklia, tomb

Unknown

LC IIC

LB IIB

Nicosia Museum

 

Maxwell and Hyslop 1971: Pl. 85

58

Kouklia, tomb

Unknown

LC IIC

LB IIB

Nicosia Museum

 

Maxwell and Hyslop 1971: Pl. 85

59

Kourion, tomb 17

1.8, 1.4, 0.8, ?

7.5

LC IIA– IIIB

LB IIA–Ir1a Unknown

 

Benson 1972: 130, Pl. 36: B1370

60

Kourion, tomb 17

1.7, 1.4, 0.7, ?

7.5

LC IIA– IIIB

LB IIA–Ir1a Unknown

 

Benson 1972: 130, Pl. 37: B1371

61

Kourion, tomb 17

1.6, 1.3, 0.7, ?

6.5

LC IIA– IIIB

LB IIA–Ir1a Unknown

 

Benson 1972: 130, Pl. 38: B1372

62

Kourion, tomb 17

1.8, 1.4, 0.7, ?

6.5

LC IIA– IIIB

LB IIA–Ir1a Unknown

 

Benson 1972: 130, Pl. 39: B1373

63

Kourion, tomb 17

1.8, 1.4, 0.7 ?

7.0

LC IIA– IIIB

LB IIA–Ir1a Unknown

 

Benson 1972: 130, Pl. 40: B1374

64

Kourion, tomb 17

1.5, 1.5, 0.7, ?

9.5

LC IIA– IIIB

LB IIA–Ir1a Unknown

 

Benson 1972: 130, Pl. 41: B1375

65

Pano Mandilaris, tomb

2.5, ?, ?, ?

LC II

LB I–IIB

Unknown

 

Karageorghis 1986: 852, No. 80

66

Pano Mandilaris, tomb

2.5, ?, ?, ?

LC II

LB I–IIB

Unknown

 

Karageorghis 1986: 852, No. 81

67

Polis Chrysochous, tomb

1.7, ?, ?, ?

MC/LC

MB IIB– Ir1a

Unknown

 

Greifenhagen 1975: 45, Taf 38.2

68

Seremiti, Agios Ilias, tomb

LH III

LB–Early Ir1a

Unknown

 

Daux 1964: 765, Fig. 8

69

Sinda, Cyprus

Unknown

 

Waldberg 1978: 53–56, Fig. 1-6

Weight (gr)

No. Find context

171

2, 1.5, ?, ?

13th c.– 1190 BCE

Stylistic 70

Cyprus

3.5 ? ? ?

LB II

LB II

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3131

Karageorghis 2000: 70:111

71

Cyprus

3.7 ? ? ?

LB II

LB II

Metropolitan Museum of Art

74.51.3132

Karageorghis 2000: 70:111

72

Cyprus

3.2 ? ? ?

12th c. BCE

LB/Iron transition, Ir1a

Unknown

 

Karageorghis 2003: Pl. 93

172

Pnina Torn Broers H, W, Th, hoop D (cm)**

Date

Levantine chronology

Current location

Registration number

Publication

73

Cyprus

3.1 (incl. hoop)

±12th c. BCE

LB/Iron transition, Ir1a

Benaki Museum Athens

 

Segall 1938

74

Chalk1.1, ?, ?, ? is-Vroumasa, tomb

Early LH III

LB IIA

Chalkis Archaeological Museum

500.1

Hankey 1952: 50 and 88ff.

75

Enkomi, tomb 69

2.3, 1.4, 0.9, 1.8

2.5

LC IA–IIC

LB I–IIB

British Museum

1897,0401.383

Marshall 1911: No. 532

76

Enkomi, tomb 69

2.2, 1.3, 0.8, 1.8

2.7

LC IA–IIC

LB I–IIB

British Museum

1897,0401.382

Marshall 1911: No. 533

77

Enkomi, tomb 75

1.5, 1, 0.6, 1.5

1.4

LC IB?, LC LB I?, LB IIC–III II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.406

Murray et al. 1900: Pl. x:406

78

Enkomi, tomb 75

1.8, 1.4, 0.5, ?

3.06

LC IB?, LC LB I?, LB IIC–III II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.407

Marshall 1911: No. 520

79

Enkomi, tomb 75

1.6, 1.2, 0.4, 1.7

1.4

LC IB?, LC LB I?, LB IIC–III II–Ir1a

British Museum

1897,0401.245

Marshall 1911: No. 531

80

Enkomi, tomb 79

2, 1.5, 1, 1.3

2.2

LC IB–IIC

LB I–IIB

British Museum

1897,0401.437

Murray et al. 1900: Pl. xi: 437, No. 526

81

Enkomi, tomb 79

2.1, 1.4, 1, 1.4

2.1

LC IB–IIC

LB I–IIB

British Museum

1897,0401.438

Marshall 1911: No. 527

82

Enkomi, tomb 79

2.1, 1.5, 1.1, 1.5

2.6

LC IB–IIC

LB I–IIB

British Museum

1897,0401.439

Marshall 1911: No. 528

83

Enkomi, unknown tomb

2.1, 1.5, 1, ?

1.3

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1897,0401.719

Marshall 1911: No. 529

84

Enkomi, unknown tomb

2, 1.2, 0.6, ?

1.6

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1897,0401.721

Marshall 1911: No. 530

85

Enkomi, unknown tomb

1.9, 1.4, 1, ?

2.8

LC

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.69

Marshall 1911: No. 534

86

Enkomi?

2, ?, ?, ?

1.9

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.60

Marshall 1911: No. 513

87

Enkomi?

2, ?, ?, ?

1.9

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.61

Marshall 1911: No. 514

88

Enkomi?

3, ?, ?, ?

1.9

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.58

Marshall 1911: No. 515

89

Enkomi?

4, ?, ?, ?

1.9

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.59

Marshall 1911: No. 516

90

Enkomi?

2, ?, ?, ?

1.7

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.64

Marshall 1911: No. 517

91

Enkomi?

2, ?, ?, ?

1.7

Mycenaean Period

LB

British Museum

1900,0615.62/ 63

Marshall 1911: No. 518

92

Hala Sultan Teke

2, ?, ?, 1

2

LC

LB

British Museum

1898,1201.179

Marshall 1911: No. 511

93

Hala Sultan Teke

2.1, ?, ?, 1 2

LC IB

LBI

British Museum

1898,1201.178

Marshall 1911: No. 510

94

Hala Sultan Teke

1.4, 0.9, 0.3, ?

LC

LB

Unknown

?

Bürge et al. 2018: 473, Fig. 4.28:12, N251

Weight (gr)

No. Find context