T&T Clark Handbook of Food in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 9780567679796, 9780567679826, 9780567679819

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T&T CLARK HANDBOOK OF FOOD IN THE HEBREW BIBLE AND ANCIENT ISRAEL

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T&T Clark Handbook of Food in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel

Edited by Janling Fu Cynthia Shafer-Elliott Carol Meyers

T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2022 Copyright © Janling Fu, Cynthia Shafer-Elliott, Carol Meyers and contributors, 2022 Janling Fu, Cynthia Shafer-Elliott, and Carol Meyers have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors of this work. Cover design: Charlotte James Cover image © IAISI / Getty Images All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Shafer-Elliott, Cynthia, 1975- editor. | Fu, Janling, editor. | Meyers, Carol L., editor. Title: T&T Clark handbook of food in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel / edited by Cynthia Shafer-Elliott, Janling Fu, Carol Meyers. Other titles: Handbook of food in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel Description: London ; New York : T&T Clark, 2021. | Series: T&T Clark handbooks | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “A comprehensive overview of food, food production, and food and culture in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament and the geographical area and religions that generated this literature”– Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2021009538 (print) | LCCN 2021009539 (ebook) | ISBN 9780567679796 (hardback) | ISBN 9780567679819 (pdf) | ISBN 9780567679802 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Food in the Bible. | Bible. Old Testament–Criticism, interpretation, etc. | Food–Israel–History–To 1500. | Food habits–Israel–History–To 1500. | Diet–Israel–History–To 1500. Classification: LCC BS1199.F66 T12 2021 (print) | LCC BS1199.F66 (ebook) | DDC 221.8/6413–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021009538 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021009539 ISBN: HB: 978-0-5676-7979-6 ePDF: 978-0-5676-7981-9 ePUB: 978-0-5676-7980-2 Typeset by Integra Software Solutions Pvt., Ltd. To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

CONTENTS

L ist

of

N otes

I llustrations  on

C ontributors 

P reface  L ist

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A bbreviations 

Introduction: Food, the Hebrew Bible, and the Ancient Israelites Carol Meyers, Cynthia Shafer-Elliott, and Janling Fu

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Part I  Environmental and Socioeconomic Context 1 Environmental Features George A. Pierce

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2 Houses, Households, and Social Structure James W. Hardin

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3 Economy and Trade Joshua Walton

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Part II  Food Procurement and Production 4 Animal Husbandry: Meat, Milk, and More Justin Lev-Tov

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5 Grains, Bread, and Beer Jennie Ebeling

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6 Olives and Olive Oil Eric Lee Welch

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7 Grapes and Wine Carey Ellen Walsh

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8 Fruits, Nuts, Vegetables, and Legumes Cynthia Shafer-Elliott

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9 Spices, Herbs, and Sweeteners Joshua Walton and Lauren M. Santini

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10 Underrepresented Taxa: Fish, Birds, and Wild Game Deirdre N. Fulton and Paula Wapnish Hesse

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CONTENTS

Part III  Techniques of Food Preparation and Preservation 11 Tools and Utensils Leann Pace

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12 Ceramics in the Iron Age Nava Panitz-Cohen

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13 Ceramics and Ethnoarchaeology Gloria London

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14 Cooking Installations Tim Frank

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15 Storage David Ilan

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16 Spoilage Zachary C. Dunseth and Rachel Kalisher

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Part IV  Cultural Contexts 17 Feasting and Festivals Jonathan S. Greer

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18 Food, Death, and the Dead Matthew J. Suriano

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19 Diet and Nutrition Margaret Cohen

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20 Too Much Food and Drink: Gluttony and Intoxication Rebekah Welton

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21 Too Little Food and Drink: Hunger and Fasting Peter Altmann

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22 Food and Gender Carol Meyers

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23 Food in Canaanite Myth Joseph Lam

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24 Food and Israelite Identity Max Price

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Part V  Food in Ancient Texts (Hebrew Bible, Inscriptions) and Art 25 Iconography of Food and Drink Janling Fu

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26 Food in Epigraphic Sources Christopher A. Rollston

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27 Language of Food and Cooking in the Hebrew Bible Kurtis Peters

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28 Food in the Tetrateuch Dorothea Erbele-Küster

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29 Food in Deuteronomy and the Former Prophets Janling Fu

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30 Food in the Latter Prophets Andrew T. Abernethy

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31 Food in the Writings Klaus-Peter Adam

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S ubject I ndex 

565

I ndex

of

B iblical R eferences 

582

I ndex

of

A uthors 

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ILLUSTRATIONS

FIGURES   1.1 Map of the southern Levant with regions, significant sites, and water features labeled

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  1.2 Map showing contrast between Iron Age lowland and highland settlement locations

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  2.1 Isometric rendering of typical houses of the three-room and four-room types

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  2.2 Reconstruction of the F7 Dwelling integrated into casemate wall at Tell Halif

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  2.3 Reconstruction of the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif

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  2.4 Other roofing possibilities for the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif

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  6.1 Reconstructed olive press from Tel Miqne-Ekron

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  6.2 Woven basket used in the production of olive oil

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12.1 Iron Age cooking pots

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12.2 Iron Age I serving vessels

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12.3 Iron Age II serving vessels

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13.1 Traditional unglazed round-bottomed cooking pots from Cyprus

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13.2 Goat-milking pot with molded rope and incised surface

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13.3 Traditional Cypriot cooking pot

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13.4 Late-nineteenth-century wine fermentation jar with applied snake heads

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15.1 Grain pit under the floor of early Iron Age dwelling at Tel Dan Stratum V

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15.2 Collared-rim pithoi of Iron Age I from Tel Dan Stratum V

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15.3 Large water cistern under the fort at Iron Age Tel Arad

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15.4 Iron Age II ceramic vessels used for food storage

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ILLUSTRATIONS

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15.5 Late Bronze Age IIB storage jar from Tel Miqne containing threaded figs

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17.1 Semantic schematic diagram of specialized eating events in the Hebrew Bible

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17.2 Diagram of feasting within the patrimonial household

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18.1 Stele from Zincirli

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18.2 Flask from Tomb (T.5) at Tell en-Naṣbeh/Mispah

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18.3 Beth-Shemesh Tomb 2

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18.4 Covered plate and stopped jug from Tomb 2, Beth-Shemesh

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23.1 A banquet scene at Ugarit

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25.1a, b Megiddo ivory No. 2

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25.2 Megiddo ivories Nos. 159–62

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25.3 Ivory plaque from Tell el Far‘ah (S)

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25.4a, b Ahirom sarcophagus from Byblos

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25.5 Katumuwa stele from Zincirli

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25.6 Detail of Lachish reliefs from Nineveh

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25.7 Garden Relief of Ashurbanipal from Nineveh

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25.8 Scene on Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser III from Nimrud

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25.9a–c Photos and drawing of stone pyxis from Tell Tayinat

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27.1 Creation concepts

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27.2 Change of state concepts

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27.3 Make X (into) Y concepts

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TABLES   6.1 Seasons of olive production by month

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16.1 Storage life estimates for selected grains, vegetables, and fruits

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16.2 Storage life estimates for selected meat, fish, and animal products

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CONTRIBUTORS

Andrew T. Abernethy is Associate Professor of Old Testament at Wheaton College (IL). He is the author of several books and articles, including Eating in Isaiah: Approaching the Role of Food and Drink in Isaiah’s Structure and Message (Brill); “The Ruined Vineyard Motif in Isaiah 1–39: Insights from Cognitive Linguistics” (Biblica); and “Feasts and Taboo Eating in Isaiah: Anthropology as a Stimulant for the Exegete’s Imagination” (CBQ). Klaus-Peter Adam teaches Hebrew Bible at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, wrote on the correlation between the iconography of the royal hero and the deity in the role of the warrior in the Psalms (Der königliche Held; Neukirchener Verlag, 2001), on early kingship in Israel and Judah, namely on the influence of Greek tragedy on the historiography of Saul, and on meals in the Psalms. He currently is preparing a monograph on legal aspects of hate, enmity, and love in biblical Law, Proverbs, and Psalms. Peter Altmann is a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Zurich. His publications include Festive Meals in Ancient Israel, Economics in Persian-Period Biblical Texts, Banned Birds: The Birds of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14, Essen und Trinken, coeditor of Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, and a number of shorter publications focused on issues of food, feasting, and economics in relation to the Hebrew Bible. Margaret Cohen is Senior Associate Fellow at the W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research in Jerusalem. Her research interests include compositional history of the biblical text, Iron Age cult, and ancient foodways. Her current work explores the role of the Jezreel Valley as depicted in the Hebrew Bible, and as supported by archaeology of the Iron Age, specifically as related to the politics of food. She has excavated at numerous archaeological sites in Israel, Jordan, and Egypt and has taught ancient history and religious studies at Penn State University and Lycoming College in the United States. Zachary C. Dunseth is a Postdoctoral Fellow at the Joukowsky Institute for Archaeology and the Ancient World at Brown University. He holds an MA and PhD in archaeology from Tel Aviv University, where he wrote a dissertation on third millennium bce settlement and subsistence practices in the Negev Highlands. His research interests include microarchaeology and desert settlement over the longue durée in the southern Levant. He is a long-term member of the excavations at Megiddo and Kiriath-Jearim and recently started a project investigating the origins of urbanism at EB Arad at the margins of the Negev and Judean deserts. Jennie Ebeling is Associate Professor of Archaeology at the University of Evansville and codirector of the Jezreel Expedition in Israel (with Norma Franklin). She specializes in the

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manufacture and use of ground stone tools in the Bronze and Iron Age southern Levant. Her publications include New Approaches to Old Stones: Recent Studies of Ground Stone Artifacts (Equinox, 2008), edited with Yorke Rowan; Household Archaeology in Ancient Israel and Beyond (Brill, 2011), edited with Assaf Yasur-Landau and Laura Mazow; The Old Testament in Archaeology and History (Baylor, 2017), edited with J. Edward Wright, Mark Elliott, and Paul V. M. Flesher; and Women’s Lives in Biblical Times (T&T Clark, Int’l., 2010). Dorothea Erbele-Küster is Senior Lecturer of Hebrew Bible, Gender, and Diversity at Johannes Gutenberg University (JGU) in Mainz, Germany. She currently serves as unit chair of the steering committee of the session on Meals in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament and Its World at SBL International and as steering-committee member of the Center for Ethics in Antiquity and Christianity at JGU. Her recent publications on anthropology, ethics, Psalms Studies, and purity issues include Body, Gender and Purity in Leviticus 12 and 15 (LHBOTS 539; T&T Clark/Continuum, 2017) and Verführung zum Guten: Biblisch-Theologische Erkundungen zwischen Ethik und Ästhetik (Theologische Interventionen Bd.3; Kohlhammer, 2019). Tim Frank is a staff member of the Lahav Research Project. He obtained his doctorate from the University of Bern, Switzerland, and now works for the Anglican Diocese of Waikato and Taranaki, New Zealand. His main research interest is household archaeology of ancient Israel. Janling Fu is Preceptor in Expository Writing at Harvard University, where he is finishing a PhD in Hebrew Bible on feasting in ancient Israel. He is interested in the interconnections of language, history, and material culture in the eastern Mediterranean and wider ancient Near Eastern world and has conducted extensive archaeological fieldwork including at Ashkelon, Israel, and Zincirli, Turkey. He has written a number of essays concerning food and coedited a volume on feasting with Peter Altmann (Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 2014). Deirdre Fulton received her PhD in History and Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies from The Pennsylvania State University. She is Associate Professor at Baylor University, focusing on questions related to the Hebrew Bible and Zooarchaeology. Specifically, her research examines issues related to diet, sacrifice, and economy in ancient texts and faunal remains. Fulton has worked on a number of digs, including Ashkelon, Israel, and Carthage, Tunisia. Jonathan S. Greer is Associate Professor of Old Testament and Director of the Hesse Archaeological Laboratory at Grand Rapids Theological Seminary, Cornerstone University, Michigan. He is also the Associate Director of archaeological excavations at Tel Dan, Israel, and serves as the staff zooarchaeologist for the excavation. He has published a number of works, including Dinner at Dan: Biblical and Archaeological Evidence for Sacred Feasts at Iron Age II Tel Dan and Their Significance (Brill, 2013), on the relationship between the Bible and the ancient world, especially concerning sacrifice and feasting. James Hardin is Associate Professor in the Department of Anthropology and Middle Eastern Cultures at Mississippi State University (MSU). He currently serves as the Interim

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Director of MSU’s Cobb Institute of Archaeology. He has archaeological field experience in Israel and Cyprus of more than thirty years, and he codirects the Hesi Regional Project in southern Israel currently excavating the small Iron Age site of Khirbet Summeily and publishing the larger survey of the Hesi region. He has published numerous articles on household archaeology in Judah and one monograph on the subject entitled Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction (Eisenbrauns). Paula Wapnish Hesse received her PhD in Near Eastern Languages and Cultures from Columbia University, but a greater interest in animals over languages shifted her focus to zooarchaeology early in her academic career. She has worked on faunal collections from numerous sites in the Near East, specializing in historic periods in the Levant. Now retired from teaching, she continues work on special projects in animal bone collections, such as the dog burials at Ashkelon, Israel. David Ilan, a native of Los Angeles, is Director of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology (NGSBA) at the Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem. He has excavated at Tel Arad, Tel Megiddo, and Tel Dan. He teaches at the Hebrew Union College and has taught at Tel Aviv University, Hebrew University, Johns Hopkins University, and the University of Colorado. He specializes in mortuary archaeology, religion, and ritual in the Chalcolithic period, ground stone artifacts, iconography, and the Middle Bronze Age and early Iron Age of the southern Levant. Since 2005, he has directed the excavations at Tel Dan in northern Israel. He is the editor of the journal NGSBA Archaeology. Rachel Kalisher is a doctoral student at the Joukowsky Institute for Archaeology and the Ancient World at Brown University. She holds an MA from New York University in Human Skeletal Biology and a ScM in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology from Brown University, and she uses these backgrounds to inform her work as a bioarchaeologist. Rachel has worked on Bronze Age, Iron Age, and Ottoman sites in Israel, including Megiddo, Ashkelon, and Shimron. Her primary research focuses on bone histology, gender, reproduction, and maternity in the ancient Near East. Joseph Lam is Associate Professor in the Department of Religious Studies at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He received his PhD from the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations at the University of Chicago. He is the author of Patterns of Sin in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford University Press, 2016) as well as a number of scholarly articles in the fields of Hebrew Bible and Ugaritic studies. Justin Lev-Tov is Senior Archaeologist at R. Christopher Goodwin and Associates, Inc. in Frederick, Maryland. He is also Professional Track Faculty Member in the Anthropology Department, University of Maryland, College Park, and Research Associate at the Department of Anthropology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. He recently coedited a book with Allan Gilbert and Paula Hesse entitled The Wide Len Lens in Archaeology: Honoring Brian Hesse’s Contributions to Anthropological Archaeology (Lockwood Press, 2017). Gloria London, an independent researcher who trained as an archaeologist (Tel Aviv University and University of Arizona), has written about potters in the Philippines,

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Cyprus, and Jordan. To bring recent archaeological research to children and teachers, she directed two Summer Institutes for School Teachers, which were sponsored by the National Endowment for the Humanities. With research focusing on ancient foodways, feasting, incised pottery marks, excavated pottery, and the roles of women in society, her current projects involve wine fermentation vats in Cyprus and incised jar handles excavated at Tall al-‘Umayri, excavated by the Madaba Plains Project. Her most recent book is Ancient Cookware from the Levant: An Ethnoarchaeological Perspective (2016). Carol Meyers, the Mary Grace Wilson Professor Emerita in the Department of Religious Studies at Duke University, has lectured and published widely in several fields: biblical studies, archaeology, and gender in the biblical world. She has directed or codirected several archaeological excavations in Galilee, has served as President of the Society of Biblical Literature, and is currently Vice President of the Albright Institute of Archaeological Research in Jerusalem. Among her many publications is Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context. Leann Pace is Assistant Teaching Professor at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, NC, in the Department for the Study of Religions. She has excavated at Zincirli Höyük in Turkey and at Tel Abel Bet Maacah and Tell Keisan in Israel. She regularly teaches courses on the broader topic of food and religion and graduate courses on foodways in the world of the Hebrew Bible. Nava Panitz-Cohen is Senior Researcher and Lecturer at the Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Her field experience includes Tel Batash, Tel BethShean, and Tel Reḥov, and she is codirector of excavations at Tel Abel Beth Maacah. She serves as research assistant to Prof. Amihai Mazar and as the editor of the Qedem Monograph Series of The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Her research focuses on Bronze and Iron Age ceramic typology and technology. She is the coauthor of the Tel Batash, Tel Beth-Shean, and Tel Reḥov excavation reports, as well as the author of numerous articles on Bronze and Iron Age ceramics. Kurtis Peters is Sessional Lecturer at the University of British Columbia in Near Eastern and Religious Studies. His research areas include Biblical Hebrew lexical semantics, the history of Israel and Judah, and Israelite/Judahite religion. He is the author of Hebrew Lexical Semantics and Daily Life in Ancient Israel: What’s Cooking in Biblical Hebrew? (2016). George A. Pierce is Assistant Professor at Brigham Young University in the Department of Ancient Scripture. His research interests include regional settlement patterns and systems, spatial analysis, and computer applications in archaeology. He is the Geographic Information Systems team supervisor for excavations at Tel Shimron, Israel. Max Price is Lecturer in Archaeology at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. A zooarchaeologist by training, his work focuses on animals in ancient Near Eastern societies. He is particularly interested in animal husbandry and its role in the development and evolution of complex societies. But he harbors a special interest in pigs—their domestication, interactions with humans, and the formation of the taboo. His book,

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Evolution of a Taboo: Pigs and People in the Ancient Near East (Oxford University Press, 2020), explores these topics more fully. Christopher Rollston is Professor of Northwest Semitic Languages and Literatures at George Washington University (Washington, DC), where he is also the chairperson of the Department of Classical and Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations. Rollston has published widely in the field of epigraphy, focusing especially on literacy and scribal education in the biblical world, as well as on the subject of modern textual forgeries. He served as coeditor (with Eric Cline) of the Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research for two terms (2014–20) and as editor of the journal Maarav since 2003, and he is on the Society of Biblical Literature’s Council. He is the author of Writing and Literacy in the World of Ancient Israel: Epigraphic Evidence from the Iron Age (Society of Biblical Literature, 2010) and editor of Enemies and Friends of the State: Ancient Prophecy in Context (Eisenbrauns, Pennsylvania State University Press, 2018). His most recent book is Forging History in the Ancient World of the Bible & the Modern World of Biblical Studies (Eerdmans, 2021). Lauren M. Santini received her PhD from Harvard University in 2016 for research on arboreal species use and deliberate forest structuring at the Preclassic Maya site, San Bartolo, Guatemala. Her present research interests lie in ecological reconstruction, paleoethnobotany with a methodological focus on anthracology, and spatial analysis and remote sensing techniques. She also puts extensive work into pedagogical development and undergraduate education. Regionally, her work is primarily in Mesoamerica on the Preclassic and Classic Maya, but she has conducted research on materials from the Near and Middle East, China, Ghana, and North America. Her current archaeological projects are based in Guatemala and in Sudan. Cynthia Shafer-Elliott is Associate Dean of the Faculty of Theology and Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible and Archaeology at Jessup University in Rocklin, California. She specializes in the cultural, social, and historical contexts of ancient Israel and Judah, particularly within domestic contexts. Her major publications include Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible (2013) and The 5 Minute Archaeologist in the Southern Levant (2016), which she edited, along with numerous chapters, encyclopedia and dictionary articles, articles, and papers presented on food, households, and gender. Dr. Shafer-Elliott is an experienced field archaeologist in Israel and is part of the excavations at Tell Halif and Tell Abel Beth Maacah in Israel. Matthew Suriano is Associate Professor in the Joseph and Rebecca Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Studies at the University of Maryland. His research focuses on the history and culture of ancient Israel through the integration of biblical literature, epigraphy, and the archaeology of the Levant. He received his PhD from the University of California, Los Angeles in Near Eastern Languages and Cultures. His award-winning book, A History of Death in the Hebrew Bible, was published in 2018. Carey Ellen Walsh is Professor of Old Testament at Villanova University. Her research areas include wisdom literature, Iron Age social history, and the Bible and the environment. Her publications include Chasing Mystery: A Catholic Biblical Theology; Exquisite Desire: Religion, the Erotic, and the Song of Songs, and The Fruit of the

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Vine: Viticulture in Ancient Israel, in addition to numerous articles, most recently, “The Beasts of Wisdom: Ecological Hermeneutics of the Wild” (Biblical Interpretation v. 25 [2017]). She is currently working on a book on biblical grace. Joshua Walton teaches in the History, Religion, and Philosophy departments at Capital University, USA. His research focuses on ancient economics, particularly within the Neo-Assyrian Empire, reflected in his article “Assyrian Interest in the West: Philistia and Judah” (2018). He also works on archaeological excavations at Tel Shimron and Ashkelon in Israel, focusing on material from the Bronze and Iron Ages. Eric L. Welch is Senior Lecturer of Hebrew Bible, History, and Archaeology and Director of Undergraduate Studies in the Lewis Honors College at the University of Kentucky. He is a senior field archaeologist with the excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel. His research focuses on the intersection of biblical literature and Iron Age economy. Rebekah Welton is Lecturer in the Theology and Religious Studies department at the University of Exeter in the UK. Her PhD thesis examined the socioreligious roles of food and alcohol in ancient Israel and considered the accusation of being a “glutton and a drunkard” (Deut. 21:18-21). In 2017 her article “Ritual and the Agency of Food in Ancient Israel and Judah: Food Futures in Biblical Studies” was published in Biblical Interpretation. At the University of Exeter, Rebekah teaches a course on the roles of food in Israelite and later contexts entitled “God, Food and Alcohol in Israelite and Jewish Cultures.”

PREFACE

The impetus for this volume goes back to 2010 when a leadership team began planning what ultimately became two long-term sessions running concurrently at the annual meetings of the Society of Biblical Literature (SBL) and what is now the American Society of Overseas Research (ASOR). The joint ASOR-SBL aspect of the sessions was of critical importance. The steering committee mapped out a study of food involving both the archaeology of ancient Israel and the text of the Hebrew Bible. The program units emerging from the planning sessions thus would encourage the investigation of a range of issues that incorporated the methodologies of both biblical studies and archaeological research. An SBL consultation on “Meals in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament and Its World” was formed in 2012 in conjunction with an ASOR program unit, formed in 2011 and renewed multiple times, on “The Archaeology of Meals and the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament in Its World: Foodways” (later called “The Archaeology of Feasting and Foodways” and then “Archaeology and History of Feasting and Foodways”). Consultations are meant to explore the interest in and viability of an area of research, and the “Meals” consultation and “Foodways” sessions indeed established the importance of food research in our field. Thus, when its three-year consultation status ended, “Meals” immediately became a section, a program unit of six-year duration involving panels, workshops, and papers—all in the interest of providing significant opportunities for teaching and research. A volume on food (Feasting in the Archaeology of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, edited by Peter Altmann and Janling Fu and published by Eisenbrauns in 2014), with many chapters written by scholars represented in the present volume, emerged from these annualmeeting units. But a larger project was still to come. In the first year of the SBL section, Dominic Mattos, currently Editorial Director and Publisher at T&T Clark Bloomsbury, initiated a conversation with several members of the section’s steering committee about compiling a handbook on food for the Bloomsbury handbook series. Janling Fu and Cynthia Shafer-Elliott, soon joined by Carol Meyers, began planning such a volume. This book is the result. We are deeply grateful to the members of the steering committee of the SBL Meals consultation/section and of the ASOR Foodways sessions for their valuable ideas about topics to consider and their enduring support of our efforts. We are ever indebted to Dominic for suggesting that we undertake this project and for guiding us through the various stages of its production. We offer our hearty thanks to Sarah Blake of Bloomsbury for the assistance she provided in response to our queries and for her patient accommodation of the various delays caused by the pandemic. We also appreciate the care and competence of Jessica Anderson and Rachel Walker in their role as production editors for Bloomsbury. Finally, we note the skill with which Suriya Rajasekar took the manuscript through the final stages of preparation and production. The Editors

ABBREVIATIONS

Texts 4QSama Ant. AT D DtrH LXX MT m. Ketub. NIV NJPS NRSV

Samuela scroll from Qumran Cave 4 Josephus, Jewish Antiquities Altes Testament Book of Deuteronomy Deuteronomistic History Septuagint (Greek Old Testament) Masoretic Text (of the Hebrew Bible) Mishnah Ketubbot New International Version New Jewish Publication Society of America Tanakh New Revised Standard Version

Secondary Sources, etc. AASOR AB ABD ABS ADAJ aDNA AIL AJA AJPA Akkd. Am. Ant. ANEM ANEP

ANESSup ANET AnSt AOAT AoF AOS ASOR

Annual of ASOR Anchor Bible D. N. Freedman (ed.), Anchor Bible Dictionary (6 vols.; New York: Doubleday, 1992) Archaeology and Biblical Studies Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan ancient DNA Ancient Israel and Its Literature American Journal of Archaeology American Journal of Physical Anthropology Akkadian (language) American Antiquity Ancient Near East Monographs J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near Eastern Pictures Relating to the Old Testament (Princeton: Princeton University Press; 1st edn. 1954; 2nd edn. 1955; 3rd edn. 1969) Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement Series J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near Eastern Texts (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 3rd edn. 1969) Anatolian Studies Alter Orient und Altes Testament Altorientalische Forschungen American Oriental Series American Schools of Oriental Research; now, American Society of Overseas Research

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ABBREVIATIONS

aw water activity BA Biblical Archaeologist BAR (B.A.R.) British Archaeological Reports BAR Biblical Archaeology Review BASOR Bulletin of ASOR BASORSup Bulletin of ASOR Supplements BCE before the Common Era BH Biblical Hebrew BibInt Biblical Interpretation BibInt Biblical Interpretation Series BibOr Biblical et Orientalia BKAT Biblischer Kommentar, Altes Testament BMC BioMed Central BOU British Ornithologists Union BP Before Present (years before present) BSA British School at Athens BSA Bulletin of Sumerian Agriculture BZABR Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für altorientalische unde biblische Rechtsgeschichte BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft C14 Carbon-14 CAARI Cyprus American Archaeological Research Institute CANE J. M. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (4 vols.; New York, 1995) CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CE Common Era CHANE Culture and History of the Ancient Near East CL Cognitive Linguistics CG Cognitive Grammar CMAO Contributi e materiali di archeologia orientate COS W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger (eds.), The Context of Scripture (4 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1996–2016) DN divine name DSD Dead Sea Discoveries DVD Digital Versatile (or Video) Disc EB Early Bronze EBA Early Bronze Age ErIsr Eretz Israel ExpTim Expository Times ET English Translation FAO Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament HANE/S History of the Ancient Near East/Studies HBAI Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel HCOT Historical Commentary on the Old Testament HdO Handbuch der Orientalistik Hist. plant. Enquiry into Plants (historia plantarum) HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs

ABBREVIATIONS

HTR IAA ICC IEJ Int IrAnt Isr J Zool ITC JAA JANER JANES JANESCU

Harvard Theological Review Israel Antiquities Authority International Critical Commentary Israel Exploration Journal Interpretation Iranica Antiqua Israel Journal of Zoology International Theological Commentary Journal of Anthropological Archaeology Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society (= JANESCU) Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University (= JANES) JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JARCE Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt JAS Journal of Archaeological Science JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies JESHO Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient JFA Journal of Field Archaeology JHebS Journal of Hebrew Scriptures J Med Food Journal of Medicinal Food JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JPOS Journal of the Palestine Oriental Society JQR Jewish Quarterly Review JSIS Jewish Studies, an Internet Journal JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series JSPSup Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplement Series JSS Journal of Semitic Studies JTSA Journal of Theology for South Africa ka BP thousands of years before present KAI H. Donner and W. Röllig (eds.), Kanaanäische und Aramäische Inschriften (3 vols.; Weisbaden: Harrassowitz, 1962–2002) KTU M. Dietrich, O. Loretz, and J. Sanmartín, Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2013) KUB Keilschrifturkunden aus Boghazköi. Berlin: Akademie, 1921– LAI Library of Ancient Israel LBA Late Bronze Age LHBOTS The Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies LNTS The Library of New Testament Studies MASCA Museum Applied Science Center for Archaeology (University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology) MBA Middle Bronze Age MNI Minimum Number of Individuals NABU Nouvelles assyriologiques brèves et utilitaires ND Nimrud (indicates excavation field number, not publication) NEA Near Eastern Archaeology

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NEAEHL

NIDB NIDOTTE

NIE NISP OBO OBO.SA odp OEANE OIMP OIP OJA Or ORA OTL PEF PEQ pH PLoS ONE PNAS PPNA PPNB PPNC RB RBS ResOr RlA RS SA SAA SAAB SAOC SBL SEÅ Sem SJOT spp. subsp. SWBA TA

ABBREVIATIONS

E. Stern (ed.), New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society & Carta; New York: Simon & Schuster, 1993) K. D. Sakenfeld (ed.), New Interpreters Dictionary of the Bible (5 vols.; Nashville: Abingdon, 2006–9) W. A. Van Gemeren (ed.), New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis (5 vols.; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1997) New Institutional Economics Number of Identified Species Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, Series Archaeologica original date of publication E. M. Meyers (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East (5 vols.; New York: Oxford University Press, 1997) Oriental Institute Museum Publications Oriental Institute Publications Oxford Journal of Archaeology Orientalia analysis of organic residues Old Testament Library Palestine Exploration Fund Palestine Exploration Quarterly potential of hydrogen (measure of acidity or alkalinity) Public Library of Science One Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America Pre-pottery Neolithic A Pre-pottery Neolithic B Pre-pottery Neolithic C Revue Biblque Resources for Biblical Study Res Orientales E. Ebeling et al. (eds.), Reallexicon der Assyriologie (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1928–) Ras Shamra Scientific American State Archives of Assyria State Archives of Assyria Bulletin Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations Society of Biblical Literature Svensk exegetisk årsbok Semitica Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament species pluralis = multiple species Subspecies Social World of Biblical Antiquity Tel Aviv

ABBREVIATIONS

TDOT

TUAT UF USAID USDA VT VTSup WAW WBC WiBiLex WO YOS ZAW ZDPV

G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds.), Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (trans. T. J. Willis et al.; 16 vols.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974–2018) O. Kaiser (ed.), Texte aus de Umwelt der Alten Testaments (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1984–) Ugarit-Forschungen United States Agency for International Development United States Department of Agriculture Vetus Testamentum Vetus Testamentum Supplement Series Writings from the Ancient World Word Biblical Commentary Das wissenschaftliche Bibellexikon im Internet Die Welt des Orients Yale Oriental Series, Texts Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins

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Introduction: Food, the Hebrew Bible, and the Ancient Israelites CAROL MEYERS, CYNTHIA SHAFER-ELLIOTT, AND JANLING FU

Nothing is more fundamental to human life than food. Growing crops and animals or finding other food sources, transforming them into edible or potable form, and consuming them occupy significant portions of the daily existence of most people—ordinary folk rather than elites—in traditional societies. The daily, weekly, and seasonal rhythms of food-related activities orient members of agrarian societies to their sense of the passage of time and their experience of purpose in life. The essential nature of food connects it inextricably to the fundamental nature of sexuality; both are indispensable for survival. An eminent scholar of nutrition, Norge Jerome, suggests that eating is perhaps the most intimate act that humans perform, far more intimate than sex because putting food in one’s mouth is part of a process of recreating oneself (apud Jenkins 2002: 23). The food one consumes is assimilated into the body and, in a sense, becomes the body (Hamilakis 2013: 88; Soler 1997: 55). Some may balk at the notion that eating is a more intimate act than having sex; yet it is undeniable that both food and sex are intensely personal and intimate, involving most of the primary senses and the incorporation of outside entities into the body’s interior (see Belasco 2008: 35). Indeed, the vivid food metaphors embedded in the erotic language of the Song of Songs signal the link between the need for sustenance and the yearning for intimacy (see Brenner 1999). Indeed, the similarity of food and sex in the life of humans and, for that matter, of all organisms is noteworthy. Both are primal aspects of human behavior in that they are physical processes necessary for both social and biological reproduction. In order to survive, organisms must metabolize substances that they take into their bodies, and they must reproduce themselves so that their offspring will in turn survive and subsequently reproduce. Food and sex, the “underlying motors of life usually referred to as drives or instincts, [are] structurally determined and species-wide … [and] demonstrably built in” (Mintz 2013: xxvii). Yet, as basic and powerful human urges, food and sex are radically different. The urge to consume food is a desire that cannot be subdued or repressed for very long. Nearly a century ago, the pioneering British food anthropologist Audrey Richards had this to say about the impulse to ingest food: “Unlike the drive of sex, it is a periodic urge, recurring regularly every few hours” and is perhaps even more basic to the development of human culture than is sex (1932: 1). The urge—the necessity—to take in nourishment lasts a

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lifetime, beginning at birth and enduring until death, whereas sex, emerging at puberty and waning to a lesser or greater extent in the post-reproductive years, is not a lifelong urge. One can forego sex but not food and drink. The prominent ethnohistorian Sidney Mintz (2013: xxvii) recalls telling his students that “if they thought the sex drive was more powerful than hunger, it was because they were young and well-fed.” He urged them to fast for thirty-six hours to see if the sex drive was still stronger.

STUDYING FOOD The importance of food (and of sex) may be omnipresent and universal, but the inquiry into the processes and meaning of food in human communities received rather little attention in the social sciences, which are best situated to carry out such an inquiry, until well into the twentieth century (Watson and Klein 2016: 3). To be sure, earlier anthropological accounts comment on food, mainly as a component of a community’s religious or ritual practices. William Robertson Smith (1889: 196), for example, writes about commensality as a shared sacrificial meal.1 More recently, anthropology has played a leading role in initiating the serious study of food, and today it arguably stands at the “cutting edge” of food studies (Tierney and Ohnuki-Tierney 2012: 117–34).2 Anthropologists now focus on a wide range of food practices and the insights they provide into various aspects of the life of a community. This expanded focus emerged in the 1950s and later as the result of the pioneering work of anthropologists like Mary Douglas, Jack Goody, Marvin Harris, Claude Lévi-Strauss, Audrey Richards, and others.3 The reluctance of social scientists to investigate food practices until well after the emergence of their disciplines in the nineteenth century can be understood as the result of several factors (summarized in Belasco 2008: 2–4). Scholars of the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel have historically shared many of those factors, several of which are considered here. One important obstacle to the study of food has been the deep-rooted sense of the separation of mind and body. This classical dualism, going back to Greek philosophers, links food and eating to bodily functions, which were deemed less important than the rationality and spirituality of the mind (e.g., Plato, Tim. 91b-c). Because of its association with human corporeality, food in this binary scheme was rendered animalistic and thus less worthy in the development of knowledge than the abstract concepts associated with the study of the mind (Korsmeyer 1999: 1, 11–37). Consequently, biblical scholarship on food has traditionally (but not exclusively) been drawn toward matters of direct religious or ritual relevance, notably the sacrificial animals and foods, and perhaps also the socalled dietary laws, of the Pentateuch.4

Robertson Smith (1846–1894), a biblical scholar and Semiticist, was deeply influenced by the anthropological methods and theories that emerged in the mid-nineteenth century (see Morris 1987: 111–13). 2  Note that Bloomsbury’s Anthropology of Food series currently has forty-six titles (whereas the Sociology of Food series has thirty)! 3  Essays considered “classics” in food anthropology have been reprinted in Counihan and Van Esterik 2008: 17–117, but not all of them appear in the most recent (fourth) edition (Counihan, Van Esterik, and Julier 2018) of this important anthology. 4  For example, de Vaux’s influential landmark study (1961) of the cultural world of the Hebrew Bible devotes several chapters to sacrifice, including animal and vegetable offerings, and considers origins, chronology, and ritual meanings, but the chapter on the “Economic Life” of ancient Israel focuses on the ownership of property rather than on the actual agricultural economy. Moreover, the discussion of Israelite families does not mention the economic processes of food production that characterized Israelite households. 1 

INTRODUCTION

3

Closely linked to the mind-body dualism in ancient philosophy is the placement of gender with one side or the other of these opposing categories. Men were aligned with the functions of the mind and women with the functions of the body (e.g., Plato, Symp. 208e-209a). This gave women a negative, or at least a secondary, cast that has persisted to this day. This secondary cast became especially pronounced in the Victorian notion of the “separate spheres”—the idealized bourgeois idea that the male sphere of work, governance, and leadership (outside the home) was distinct from and more important than the female sphere of childcare and housework (within the home). Thus studying functions of the putatively superior public male domain was considered the proper focus of many social science and humanities disciplines. This was certainly the case in the field of biblical studies, in which investigating the Israelite context of the Hebrew Bible focused until relatively recently on the activities of priests, prophets, kings, and generals.5 The separate-spheres problem negatively impacted the development of food studies in another way. Food work was not only associated with women, but the work itself was considered drudgery. This too rendered it less interesting and less important in the scholarly world. These nineteenth-century views rendered food and food work virtually invisible as a concern or even a subject of interest. As noted above, biblical scholars did not totally ignore food and food preparation—but they considered these aspects of Israelite life mainly in relation to temple sacrifice and the dietary regulations in the Pentateuch.6 One more bias perhaps relates to contemporary dietary patterns in the developed world in which starches (grains) usually do not occupy the center of the dinner plate; instead, animal protein tends to dominate despite the efforts of nutritionists who urge us to cut back on animal protein, especially red meat. As a result, the centrality of grains and the presence of other foods in the diet of ordinary folk in traditional societies are underappreciated (see Tierney 2012: 122–3). The prestige of meat in contemporary diets and presumably as an elite food in the ancient world—hence its prominence in the sacrificial texts of the Hebrew Bible—has precluded serious attention to the other, arguably more important, foods of the ancient Israelites. It is telling that in discussing the social dimension of food consumption, Robertson Smith (1889: 251) avers that “those who sit at meat [sic] together are united for all social effects.” For him, meat was the essence of commensality. One more obstacle to the serious study of food in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel is that, given its nature as a basic human necessity, studying food requires the contributions of a multitude of disciplines. Because one foodstuff—meat, especially in the sacrificial texts—dominates the biblical landscape, and because relatively little is said about the foods consumed by ordinary people in everyday life, engaging approaches in addition to textual study is essential. Information provided by other disciplines, notably archaeology and the social sciences, makes possible a fuller picture than would be obtained by studying only biblical texts. However, biblical scholars have not generally been trained in these other disciplines. Consequently, with important exceptions, they have not traditionally

The emergence of feminist biblical studies (e.g., Schüssler Fiorenza 2014; Sherwood 2017, and Scholz 2013, 2014, 2016) and household archaeology (e.g., Müller 2015; Parker and Foster 2012; and Yasur-Landau, Ebeling, and Mazow 2011) have begun to rectify the bias against the study of women in texts and in social reality, in the process demonstrating the fallacy of opposing public-private spheres. 6  For example, the meals entry (Schramm 1992) in the massive ABD, which draws on archaeological and social science materials and is in many ways the culmination of twentieth-century biblical scholarship, considers only the dietary or kashrut regulations of the Pentateuch. See also supra n. 4. 5 

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turned to archaeological data or social-science analogies in order to understand what appears in biblical passages and, more important, to fill in the extensive lacunae in biblical sources. This too has contributed to the fact that rather little attention has been given until relatively recently to food in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel.7 Because the editors of this volume consider the study of food a fundamentally multidisciplinary project, the reader will notice that many chapters in this volume draw on the methods and results of several areas of research.

THIS HANDBOOK Food, strictly speaking, consists of nutritious substances that people (and animals) ingest in order to maintain life.8 However, a people’s foods and foodways are not isolated entities.9 Food doesn’t appear magically. The plants or animals that become items of human consumption must be grown or hunted or fished or gathered. Although some foods are eaten directly without preparation, most undergo processing before they become edible. Indeed, the notion of pure rawness can be contested: “Only certain foods can really be eaten raw, and then only if they have been selected, washed, pared or cut up or even seasoned” (Lévi-Strauss 1966: 587). As a result, food is embedded in many aspects of their physical, social, and technological context. Moreover, because food and drink have meaning and also convey meaning, they occupy a significant place in cultural productions. Thus this volume looks not only at the particular foods comprising the Israelite diet but also at the circumstances and meanings surrounding and enabling their production and use. The T&T Clark Handbook of Food in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel combines wide-ranging topics with detailed studies. It includes issues that have already appeared in the study of food in ancient Israel (e.g., gender, feasting, and social identity) and those that have received little or no attention but have the potential to contribute to the topic (e.g., environment, technology, and contextual matters). It seeks to make an important contribution to the field by advancing our understanding of the interconnected nature of food and society in the biblical past. This volume has been organized by grouping chapters that focus on similar contextual issues. However, the chapters do not always fit perfectly into one of the book’s five parts, and there is admittedly significant overlap in some cases. For example, the ever-vexing question of pig avoidance is addressed in at least four chapters (Chapters 4, 24, 28, and 29). Similarly, grains—arguably the most important foodstuff—appear in some seven chapters (Chapters 3, 5, 15, 19, 22, 26, and 27). This overlap sometimes means that similar information is conveyed in more than one chapter.10 Yet the overlap also means that different kinds of information and disparate perspectives are provided. See Matthews (2017) for a review of the development of social science approaches in biblical study. Because there is no common English word for both food and drink, food alone is sometimes used here and in many publications in an inclusive sense for what one eats and drinks. 9  “Foodways” is a general term for a people’s everyday eating and culinary patterns. For social scientists, foodways can designate the social, economic, and cultural practices involved in producing and consuming food. As Twiss (2007: 2) puts it, “foodways involve both the performance of culturally expressive behaviors and the literal incorporation of a material symbol.” Thus the study of foodways, which of necessity is an interdisciplinary enterprise, can be a powerful way to gain insight into a particular society (see Tierney and Ohnuki-Tierney 2012: 1). 10  The editors chose to allow this overlap, for this book is a handbook, which means that readers may neither read every chapter nor go through the chapters sequentially. 7  8 

INTRODUCTION

5

The first part of this volume “Environmental and Socioeconomic Context,” recognizes that the natural and built environments in which a people live inevitably affect their foodways. Chapters 1–3 thus explore the physical, human, and regional setting of ancient Israel in relation to food and its sources. In Chapter 1, George Pierce focuses on the physical environment—the regional topography, soils, hydrology, and climate—of the land of ancient Israel. In so doing, he elucidates the role that environmental factors played in the land’s agricultural potential in the period of the Hebrew Bible (the Iron Age, ca. 1200– 586 bce). The immediate context for food preparation and consumption is the subject of Chapter 2, in which James Hardin describes the human and architectural components of the family household. He considers the social structures of the Israelites along with their built environment—their dwellings. The scope of investigation widens in Chapter 3, in which Joshua Walton sets forth the general economic contexts of food production, consumption, and distribution in the world of the Hebrew Bible. Because no economic form is dominant, he provides an overview of six major economic institutions in the southern Levant from the Bronze and Iron Ages as the economic backdrop for the ensuing chapters. The second part of this volume, “Food: Procurement and Production,” comprises Chapters 4–10, which collectively consider the major foods that were consumed and describe their initial processing. While all societies consume food, not all consume the same foods. What was eaten in ancient Israel, and how were those products harvested? What were the mechanics behind their production? This part begins and ends with chapters about animal food sources, although the foods presented in the other five chapters likely formed the bulk of the diet for most ancient Israelites. It should be noted that even though ancient Israel was a small territory, its ecosystems were quite varied. Thus not all of the foods mentioned in these chapters were regularly available to everyone. Some of the variance was seasonal; other variants were the result of the fact that not all foods could be cultivated in every region of the land. Justin Lev-Tov, in Chapter 4, discusses ancient Israel’s food animals, emphasizing meat and dairy products while also noting other purposes that animals served. He gives special consideration to the problems of the commercial role of animals and to the debate about the biblical pig prohibition. Other sources of animal protein—underrepresented taxa—are presented in Chapter 10 by Deirdre Fulton and Paula Hesse. They indicate that wild species procured by hunting and fishing or by importation were exploited for food to varying degrees by the ancient Israelites. Chapters 5, 6, and 7 of Part II introduce the major components of the Israelite diet: grains, olives/olive oil, and grapes/wine. These three products are reflected in the oftrepeated biblical references to “grain, wine, and oil” (e.g., Deut. 26:51). The first of this triad is the subject of Chapter 5, in which Jennie Ebeling focuses on grain-based edibles, including baked goods and porridge. She traces the development of wheat and barley and their by-products (notably beer) in the Levant, drawing on microbotanical and macrobotanical remains as well as textual sources. Then, in Chapter 6, Eric Welch describes how olive oil was produced and consumed in ancient Israel. He shows how a well-developed technology enabled olive oil to be a dietary staple and also an international commodity. Chapter 7, by Carey Walsh, points to the importance of viticulture in ancient Israel’s economy. She discusses not only the technology of wine production but also how biblical texts mentioning vines, vineyards, and grape clusters are deployed to convey the relationship between Yahweh and the people. The other two chapters of Part II turn to several additional components of the Israelite diet. First, in Chapter 8, Cynthia Shafer-Elliott describes fruit, nuts, vegetables, and

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legumes. She uses both archaeological evidence and biblical texts to discern the different kinds of non-animal food sources grown by at least some of the people of ancient Israel. Then, in Chapter 9, Joshua Walton and Lauren Santini present substances that contributed taste or flavor rather than nutritional value to the Israelite diet. They too turn to textual and archaeological evidence to identify flavorings and suggest their culinary use. Because, as noted above, most foods were not consumed in the raw state, the six chapters (11–16) in the third part of this volume investigate the “Techniques of Food Preparation and Preservation” identified for ancient Israel. The role of technology in the modification of food has been insufficiently appreciated. What ceramic vessels were used for food, and how were they made? What cooking installations were available, and how were they used? How was food kept, and, in an age without refrigeration, how large a danger was loss of food from spoiling and loss of food reserves from animal consumption? In Chapter 11, Leann Pace describes the variety of tools and utensils involved in food preparation. She uses biblical evidence as well as material remains from the biblical world to examine the tools themselves and how they were used, and she also considers their gendered nature. The next two chapters consider the important role of ceramic vessels in preparing food. First, in Chapter 12, Nava Panitz-Cohen surveys the various types of vessels that people used for preparing and serving food and suggests the culinary functions each may have served. She also relates Iron Age ceramic forms to biblical terms for pottery vessels. Gloria London, in Chapter 13, takes a different approach to Iron Age ceramics by using ethnographic information in order to understand the way people in antiquity made, cleaned, and reused various ceramic forms. Drawing on her own observations in remote Cypriot villages and on the reports of ethnographers working in the Levant, she demonstrates how people cooked, processed, fermented, and stored food in clay pots before the advent of chemicals, stabilizers, and refrigeration. Tim Frank also engages ethnography in Chapter 14, an overview of installations used to prepare food in ancient Israel. By surveying archaeological remains and also the many types of hearths, ovens, and stoves recorded in early twentieth-century Palestine, he helps us understand modes of ancient Israelite cooking and baking as well as biblical imagery associated with the Hebrew word for oven. Without storage, as David Ilan shows in Chapter 15, many of the foods essential for human consumption would not be available except at the time when they are picked or harvested. He too employs ethnographic evidence together with textual and archaeological data to reveal the array of stationary storage installations (bins, silos, pits) and portable ones (large ceramic vessels, sacks, wooden chests) used by people in the Bronze and Iron Age Levant. The need to store foodstuffs is related to the problem of spoilage, which is often ignored in considerations of food but which was arguably the single most important cause of disease and death (see Belasco 2008: 2). Thus, in Chapter 16, Zachary Dunseth and Rachel Kalisher provide a basic introduction to the animal, microbial, and chemical causes and rates of spoilage of agricultural and animal products. They then use textual and archaeological evidence to identify food-preservation technologies in the ancient southern Levant. The fourth part of this volume, “Cultural Contexts,” comprises eight chapters (17– 24) that consider various elements of Israelite culture that are intertwined with food. Food is rarely consumed alone in traditional societies; rather, consuming food and beverages together in a shared space—what social scientists call “commensality” (Kerner and Chou 2015: 1)—is situated at the core of social experiences. Food is arguably the main instrument or medium for social interaction (Hastorf 2016: 1–4). Beginning with

INTRODUCTION

7

mothers feeding babies, it forges social connections among members of a household and, in supra-household contexts, the larger community. Moreover, as a basic element of both material culture and social existence, food plays a central role in manifestations of a people’s collective cultural identity. The relationship between food and identity may not always be a direct one, but food and food cultures play a powerful role as markers of identity (Twiss 2007: 3). The study of food provides a unique window into the practices and values of a community. The first two chapters in this part look at communal aspects of food consumption. First, in Chapter 17, Jonathan Greer draws on biblical and ancient Near Eastern texts, archaeological remains, and anthropological studies to illumine the social power of eating events. In so doing, he reveals the function and significance of feasts in Israelite culture and history. A special kind of eating event is examined in Chapter 18, in which Matthew Suriano provides evidence for the practice of feeding the dead and perhaps also of feasting to honor the dead in Judahite culture. He shows that vessels associated with eating are found in multigenerational tombs and attest to the conceptualization of the burial site as a new home for deceased ancestors. The next three chapters (19, 20, and 21) turn to the nutritional value of the Israelite diet and to what happens when there is too little or too much of the basic nutrients. First, in Chapter 19, Margaret Cohen outlines the basic foodstuffs and nutritional constituents of what Israelites probably consumed. She also identifies the variety of factors—local availability, microclimates, political pressures, social mores, and other contingencies— that inevitably affected the nature and quantities of food people consumed and that sometimes compromised the adequacy of basic nutrition. Next, in Chapter 20, Rebekah Welton considers the presence and consequences of excessive consumption of food and alcoholic beverages as depicted in the Hebrew Bible. She indicates that abundant food and strong beverages are often depicted positively, as divine blessings, with their consumption providing occasions for social bonding; yet gluttony and drunkenness, and especially the context for those excesses, are subject to criticism in biblical texts. But food and drink were not always abundantly or even adequately available, and the persistent problem of food shortages is the subject of Chapter 21, by Peter Altmann. He points out that food scarcity and famine appear throughout the Hebrew Bible and are often construed as divine punishment, whereas intentional hunger (i.e., fasting) is also present as a mourning ritual or a sign of suffering. The last three chapters (22, 23, and 24) in Part IV explore several other cultural aspects of food culture. As already noted, most food crops and animals undergo some form of preparation before they are consumed, and the dominant role of women in this process is described by Carol Meyers in Chapter 22. Using archaeological, textual, and ethnographic sources, she examines women’s major food-production activities and also indicates their religious and social significance. Next, in Chapter 23, Joseph Lam sheds light on food practices in ancient Israel, notably sacrifice, by looking at mythic materials from ancient Canaan. He indicates that, although Israelites and Canaanites have similar vocabularies of food and drink, Canaan also evinces practices that differ from Israelite ones. In Chapter 24, Max Price deals with the fact that in virtually every culture some foods are valued and others are deemed taboo. He explores this phenomenon in relation to Israelite ethnic identity, particularly with respect to pig avoidance. The fifth part of this volume, “Food in Ancient Arts and Texts,” comprises seven chapters (25–31) that examine visual and written materials containing references to and images of food. The first two chapters focus on iconographic and epigraphic sources. The third one

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looks directly at the biblical vocabulary of food and food preparation. Then four chapters examining the role of food language and imagery in the Hebrew Bible conclude this volume. Because relatively few pictorial sources have survived from sites in the southern Levant, Janling Fu in Chapter 25 looks also at depictions of food in the iconography of peoples closely related, geographically and chronologically, to the Israelites, namely, people to the north in Syria and Neo-Assyrians to the east. He identifies the themes of abundance and prosperity that dominate in the surviving pictorial remains, virtually all products of elites and often celebrating their military might. Christopher Rollston too, in Chapter 26, looks at the elites, specifically officialdom, for they are responsible for the Northwest Semitic epigraphic sources he discusses. He identifies items of food and drink mentioned in biblical languages (Hebrew and Aramaic) and in several related languages (Ammonite, Moabite, Edomite, and Phoenician). Language is also at the forefront of Chapter 27, Kurtis Peter’s survey of the cooking and food vocabulary in the Hebrew Bible. Drawing on the methodology of Cognitive Linguistics, he connects the objects used in food preparation with the linguistic concepts of those who used them. As Dorothea Erbele-Küster shows in Chapter 28, food had an important role in the structure and theology of the Tetrateuch (the first four books of the Hebrew Bible). In her analysis, food is a recurring component of narrative portrayals and cultic concerns from the creation stories and ancestor tales of Genesis to the priestly texts in Exodus, Numbers, and Leviticus. Similarly, according to Janling Fu’s discussion in Chapter 29, food is a theme in Deuteronomy, the last book in the Pentateuch, and the “historical” books (Former Prophets) reflecting Deuteronomic ideas and values. He draws attention to cultic regulations and to celebratory and political feasts as major foci of texts with food themes. In Chapter 30, Andrew Abernethy highlights the numerous references to food in the Latter Prophets (fifteen prophetic books from Isaiah to Malachi). He emphasizes the metaphoric role of food motifs in depicting God’s sovereignty, divine judgment, and Israel’s ultimate restoration in a peaceful and fertile land. Klaus-Peter Adam, in Chapter 31, reveals how food imagery informs the message of the varied books in the Writings section of the Hebrew Bible. Food, he indicates, is a frequent motif in a rich variety of literary expression—from the theological connotations of royal food in Psalms, to its metaphoric representation of the body in the Song of Songs and of “the other” in Esther and Daniel, to its role as signifier of the social power of rulers in 1–2 Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah.

FUTURE STUDIES Although this volume aims to be wide ranging, it does not pretend to cover all the possible ways in which food and drink figure in biblical texts and in the lives of Israelites. With respect to biblical texts, consider the vocabulary for food and drink. The Hebrew word ’kl, which is the root for both the noun “food” and the verb “eat/consume,” is found about 900 times in the Hebrew Bible, beginning in the first chapter of the first book (Gen. 1:29-30). It refers to taking in sustenance or designates the sustenance being taken in, and it is often used figuratively.11 In addition, specific foods appear manifold times. The words for “drink” (šth, šqh) appear over 350 times, and specific beverages are also designated.12 This handbook touches on many of the biblical uses of these terms and See Ottosson (1974) for an overview of the root with all its forms and uses. See the extensive discussion in Gamberoni (2006). Water, the most important drink, appears over 500 times in the Hebrew Bible in a range of secular, religious, and cosmic contexts (see Fabry and Clements 1997). The sources and uses of water are discussed in Chapter 1 in this volume. 11  12 

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the related substances and images, but hardly all of them. Although individual chapters frequently refer the reader to more comprehensive studies, many more aspects of the way food and drink, eating and drinking, function in biblical texts surely can be studied. Although the specific foods and beverages available to the ancient Israelites are examined in this handbook the accompanying sensory experiences are given little attention. However, eating is a “sensual act, since each meal physically transforms mood and energy levels,” and anticipating the consumption of foods as well as remembering the tastes and smells of past meals often accompany the production and processing of the ingredients (Hastorf 2016: 5). How did ancient Israelites experience the smells and tastes of what they ate and drank? And what about the noxious odors that doubtlessly arose from rotting or spoiled foods? Scholars like Hamilakis (2013) and Sutton (2001) indicate the possibilities for consideration of sensorial modalities, especially in relation to memory, in archaeological and anthropological endeavors. Sensory matters have been considered for royal groups in the ancient Near East (e.g., Thomason 2016; see also Nadali and Pinnock 2020), and similar sensory investigations can plausibly be undertaken for Israelites.13 Biblical scholars in the last decade have begun to explore the function of the senses in biblical literature (e.g., Avrahami 2012), and further research in this area would enhance our understanding of bodily experiences related to food in the Israelite world. Another process that can enlighten ancient sensory experiences is provided by experimental archaeology.14 Efforts to recreate the beverages and foodstuffs of ancient Israel (e.g., Shafer-Elliott 2019; cf. Connolly 2018; McGovern 2018; 2019: 293–5) allow researchers to see, taste, and smell the substances eaten or imbibed by the Israelites, although of course our modern sensibilities about what tastes or smells good (or bad) may be different from the sensibilities of an ancient people. While people everywhere see, smell, and taste what they ingest, not every culture evaluates those sensations in the same way (see Avrahami 2018: 6). But combining the replication of Israelite foodstuffs with attention to how those substances appear in the Hebrew Bible can bring us closer to the experiential world of Israelite culinary practices. With respect to further possibilities for understanding the role of food in the lives of ancient Israelites, the researcher is at a disadvantage compared to the way anthropologists, arguably leaders in the field of food research, can investigate a people’s foodways. Biblical texts—and to a lesser extent ancient Near Eastern ones—provide important information, and the materiality of food means that archaeological remains contribute relevant data. Yet those combined resources can rarely, if ever, take us into more nuanced aspects of the production and especially the consumption of food. More specifically, it is virtually impossible to reconstruct the meal culture of the Israelites. Eating is a social event, but in what specific ways for ancient Israel? How many times a day did people eat? Where did they eat? Did everyone in a household (men, women, children, servants, strangers) eat the same foods, at the same time? Did people eat quickly or slowly? How did they evaluate their foods? What foods formed or evoked their family or community memories? The forbidden foods of Leviticus attract our attention, but were there other less visible preferences or dislikes? That is, were there other aspects of Israelite food culture that helped shape Israelite identity? If so, what were they?

The essays in Schellenberg and Krüger (2019) provide examples of sensory research. The attempt to recreate an ancient substance or technology, called “experimental archaeology,” helps archaeologists interpret what they uncover (see London 1997). 13  14 

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Anthropologists use ethnographic methods to seek answers to these and similar questions. These methods include “interviews, the analysis of written materials, and observation, particularly ‘participant observation,’ which means that an anthropologist shares in the lives, and of course foods, of a people” (Tierney and Ohnuki-Tierney 2012: 117–18). Among these methods, participant observation is especially important. Participant observation means that the researcher not only observes a people’s food culture and talks to them about it but also experiences it by living among the people being studied and sharing their daily activities and special events. It thereby allows the researcher to grasp the often subtle symbolic and social meanings as well as the material processes involved in the way people prepare and consume food (Tierney and Ohnuki-Tierney 2012: 131). The hard truth is that investigating an ancient culture precludes direct observation of and concomitant entry into the lived experience of its foodways. Barring time travel or the highly unlikely discovery of epigraphic materials that document these otherwise unknowable aspects of ancient Israel’s food culture, a nuanced understanding eludes us. Nonetheless, as a recent study (Hastorf 2016) demonstrates, the interweaving of archaeological materials with ethnographic data can illuminate the role of food as a social agent in the formation of individual and communal identities in past societies that cannot be directly observed. Looking at archaeological remains through the lens of social theory opens possibilities for understanding the social implications of food practices. The number of chapters in this volume that turn to ethnographic analogies indicates the growing prospects for using the social sciences in studies of Israelite foodways. Additional insights into the growing body of information, as presented in this volume, about the foods and foodways of the Israelites will surely result from better presentation of data. The publication of macro-artifacts is an example. Macro-artifacts, which are items readily visible by the naked eye, have been the traditional focus of archaeology in the southern Levant. However, the macro-artifacts (tools, vessels, and installations) associated with food production and consumption in Iron Age households are not always published in ways that contribute to the study of food-related activities. More attention to the number and location of these artifacts (e.g., Hardin 2010: 124–60), rather than the current practice of typological rather than contextual presentation, would provide insights into the dynamics of food preparation and consumption. Another promising avenue for acquiring greater understanding of foods and foodways is the increased use of scientific methods. Archaeology in the Levant, in general, has not been “scientific” enough. Although the references in many chapters of this volume to the methods and results of paleobotany and paleozoology using microbotanical and microzoological remains are a sign of greater engagement with scientific approaches, a range of additional methods might be employed in the examination of both macroartifacts and microscopic ones.15 It is beyond the scope of this discussion to examine the range of scientific methods that can enhance archaeological information relevant to food and foodways, but the reader can be directed to the very informative essays in two edited collections: Müller, Household Studies in Complex Societies: (Micro) Archaeological and Textual Approaches (2015); Pike and Gitin, The Practical Impact of

To this end, for example, the Institute of Archaeology at Tel Aviv University has established several scientific laboratories specializing in the study of material remains: archaeozoology, archaeobotany, physical anthropology, chemistry, and metallurgy. See, inter alia, https://zooarchtau.wixsite.com/sapirhenlab/research and https:// langgut.wixsite.com/telaviv. 15 

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Science on Near Eastern and Aegean Archaeology (1999). That said, several examples are instructive. First, greater use of macroscopic analysis of plant remains (i.e., plant remains visible to the naked eye) involving flotation, sieving, and intensive sampling (Hansen 1999) would contribute to expanded knowledge about the Israelite diet over time and in various settlement types. For instance, it would allow excavators to identify small and fragile items, like eggshells and fish or bird bones, that might otherwise be overlooked. Trade patterns too would become more discernable when foodstuffs not available in a particular area are among the plant or animal remains identified macroscopically.16 Micro-archaeological analysis is another example of a promising but underutilized method for determining dietary components that otherwise would escape the archaeologists’ cognizance.17 Enormous amounts of data are contained in material remains that can be perceived and studied only with instrumental assistance (e.g., microscopes). Among the many kinds of information embedded in the microscopic archaeological record are materials useful for the reconstruction of ancient foodways (Weiner 2010: 14–18, Table 2.1). One kind of microscopic study, phytolith analysis, has already enhanced our understanding of the Israelite diet.18 Phytoliths are “microscopic mineral particles which form living plants” and “range in size from 2 to 200 micrometers” (Rosen 1999: 9). Because they are especially abundant at Near Eastern sites, phytoliths in judiciously collected samples can contribute to a more nuanced understanding of farming systems, diets, and even regional economies than is possible relying only on macroscopic remains. Similarly, excavators could turn more often to sophisticated chemical and physical methods for the analysis of organic residues (ORA) on ceramic vessels and stone grinding tools or vessels (as Koh, Berlin, and Herbert [2021] have done for Hellenistic jars at a Phoenician site). Techniques, such as scanning electron microscopy, infrared spectroscopy, gas chromatography, and petrography, allow researchers to identify residues left on excavated objects (see Otto 2015: 74; Rainville 2015: 5–6; Koh and Betancourt 2010).19 Doing so would help ascertain the foodstuffs or beverages of individual settlements. Although the range of foods available in the southern Levant is quite well known, it is not clear whether all settlements in this area had regular access to all these foods at all times. The quest for insights into the foods and food culture of ancient Israel is well underway. Yet further and more sophisticated modes of inquiry and analysis will surely increase our ability to recover the foodways of the Israelites and the meanings of food-related biblical texts. The growth of food studies, the incorporation of new methodologies for examining materials remains, and an increased engagement with social theory will inevitably expand and refine our knowledge about and understanding of the role and meaning of food, the most fundamental aspect of life, in the biblical past.

The publications of fish and archaeobotanical remains (Borojevic 2006; Lernau 2006) from the renewed (since 1994) excavations of Megiddo, for example, show the value of macroscopic studies. 17  Micro-artifacts are usually defined as objects less than 1 cm in size (Rainville 2015: 10). 18  Phytolith analysis provided information about food preparation and consumption areas in Iron Age houses described in Chapter 2 of this volume. 19  Scanning electron microscopy utilizes a type of electron microscope to produce images by scanning the surface of a sample with a beam of electrons; it can be used to identify microscopic organic materials. Infrared spectroscopy measures the interaction of infrared radiation with a substance and can help identify that substance. Gas chromatography is a chemical procedure that can be used to identify biological substances. Petrography is a traditional form of analysis; it focuses on stone or stone objects themselves and in the process can discover residues on the objects. 16 

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REFERENCES Avrahami, Y. (2012), Senses of Scripture: Sensory Perception in the Hebrew Bible, LHBOTS 454, New York: T&T Clark. Avrahami, Y. (2018), “The Study of Sensory Perception in the Hebrew Bible: Notes on Method,” HBAI 5: 3–22. Belasco, W. (2008), Food: The Key Concepts, Oxford: Berg. Borojevic, K. (2006), “The Archaeobotanical Finds,” in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin, and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo IV: The 1998–2002 Seasons, vol. 2, 519–41, Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 24, Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology. Brenner, A. (1999), “The Food of Love: Gendered Food and Food Imagery in the Song of Songs,” in A. Brenner and J. W. van Henten (eds.), Food and Drink in the Biblical World, Semeia 86, 101–12, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Clements, R. E. and Fabry, H.-J. (1997), “mayim,” TDOT 8: 265–88. Connolly, B. (2018), “What Did Ancient Babylonians Eat? A Yale-Harvard Team Tested Their Recipes,” YaleNews, June 14. https://news.yale.edu/2018/06/14/what-did-ancientbabylonians-eat-yale-harvard-team-tested-their-recipes Counihan, C. and Van Esterik, P. (eds.) (2008), Food and Culture: A Reader, 2nd edn., New York: Routledge. Counihan, C., Van Esterik, P., and Julier, A. (eds.) (2018), Food and Culture: A Reader, 4th edn., New York: Routledge. Gamberoni, J. (2006), “šāṯâ; šqh,” TDOT 15: 514–43. Hamilakis, Y. (2013), Archaeology and the Senses: Human Experience, Memory, and Affect, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hansen, J. (1999), “Sampling and Recovery of Non-wood Plant Remains,” in S. Pike and S. Gitin (eds.), The Practical Impact of Science on Near Eastern and Aegean Archaeology, 1–7, Wiener Laboratory Publication 3, London: Archetype. Hardin, J. W. (2010), Lahav II: Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Hastorf, C. A. (2016), The Social Archaeology of Food: Thinking about Eating from Prehistory to the Present, New York: Cambridge University Press. Jenkins, N. H. (2002), “Food Matters: What and How We Eat Speaks Volumes about Who We Are,” Wellesley 86: 21–6. Kerner, S. and Chou, C. (2015), “Introduction,” in S. Kerner, C. Chou, and M. Warmind (eds.), Commensality: From Everyday Food to Feast, 1–9. London: Bloomsbury. Koh, A. J. and Betancourt, P. P. (2010), “Wine and Olive Oil from an Early Minoan I Hilltop Fort,” Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 10: 15–23. Koh, A. J., Berlin, A. M., and Herbert, S. C. (2021), “Phoenician Cedar Oil from Amphoriskoi at Tel Kedesh: Implications Concerning Its Production, Use, and Export during the Hellenistic Age,” BASOR 385: 99–117. Korsmeyer, C. (1999), Making Sense of Taste: Food & Philosophy, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Lernau, O. (2006), “Fish Remains,” in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin, and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo IV: The 1998–2002 Seasons, vol. 2, 474–96, Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 24, Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology. Lévi-Strauss, C. (1966), “The Culinary Triangle,” Partisan Review 33: 586–95. London, G. (1997), “Experimental Archaeology,” OEANE 2: 296–6.

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Matthews, V. (2017), “Social Sciences and the Old Testament,” Oxford Bibliographies: Biblical Studies. https://www.oxfordbibliographies.com/view/document/obo-9780195393361/obo9780195393361-0118.xml McGovern, P. (2018), Ancient Brews: Rediscovered and Re-created, repr. edn., New York: W. W. Norton. McGovern P. (2019), Ancient Wine: The Search for the Origins of Viniculture, Princeton Science Library 76, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Mintz, S. (2013), “Foreword,” in A. Murcott, W. Belasco, and P. Jackson (eds.), Handbook of Food Research, xxv–xxx, London: Bloomsbury. Morris, B. (1987), Anthropological Studies of Religion: An Introductory Text, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Müller, M. (ed.) (2015), Household Studies in Complex Societies: (Micro) Archaeological and Textual Approaches, Oriental Institute Seminars 10, Chicago: University of Chicago. Nadali, D. and Pinnock, F. (eds.) (2020), Sensing the Past: Detecting the Use of the Five Senses in Ancient Near Eastern Contexts. Proceedings of the Conference Held in Rome, Sapienza University June 4th, 2018, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Otto, A. (2015), “How to Reconstruct Daily Life in a Near Eastern Settlement,” in M. Müller (ed.), Household Studies in Complex Societies: (Micro) Archaeological and Textual Approaches, 61–82, Oriental Institute Seminars 10, Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Ottosson, M. (1974), “’ākhal,” TDOT 1: 236–41. Parker, B. J. and Foster, C. P. (eds.) (2012), New Perspectives on Household Archaeology, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Pike, S. and Gitin, S. (eds.) (1999), The Practical Impact of Science on Near Eastern and Aegean Archaeology, Wiener Laboratory Publication 3, London: Archetype. Rainville, L. (2015), “Investigating Traces of Everyday Life in Ancient Households,” in M. Müller (ed.), Household Studies in Complex Societies: (Micro) Archaeological and Textual Approaches, 1–27, Oriental Institute Seminars 10, Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Richards, A. L. (1932), Hunger and Work in a Savage Tribe: A Functional Study of Nutrition among the Southern Bantu, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Robertson Smith, W. (1889). Lectures on the Religion of the Semites: First Series. The Fundamental Institutions, Edinburgh: A. and C. Black. Rosen, A. (1999), “Phytolith Analysis in Near Eastern Archaeology,” in S. Pike and S. Gitin (eds.), The Practical Impact of Science on Near Eastern and Aegean Archaeology, 9–15. Wiener Laboratory Publication 3, London: Archetype. Schellenberg, A. and Krüger, T. (eds.) (2019), Sounding Sensory Profiles in the Ancient Near East, Atlanta: SBL Press. Scholz, S. (ed.) (2013, 2014, 2016), Feminist Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Retrospect, 3 vols., Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Schramm, G. (1992), “Meal Customs: Jewish Dietary Laws,” ABD 4: 648–50. Schüssler Fiorenza, E. (ed.) (2014), Feminist Biblical Studies: Scholarship and Movement, The Bible and Women: The Contemporary Period 9.1, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2019), “Baking Bread in Ancient Judah,” BAR 45: 59–64, 94. Sherwood, Y. (ed.) (2017), The Bible and Feminism: Remapping the Field, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Soler, J. (1997), “The Semiotics of Food in the Bible,” in C. Counihan and P. Penny Van Esterik (eds.), Food and Culture: A Reader, 55–66, New York: Routledge.

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Sutton, D. E. (2001), Remembrance of Repasts: An Anthropology of Food and Memory. Materializing Culture, Oxford: Berg. Thomason, A. K. (2016), “The Sense-scapes of Neo-Assyrian Capital Cities: Royal Authority and Bodily Experience,” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 26: 243–64. Tierney, R. K. and Ohnuki-Tierney, E. (2012), “Anthropology of Food,” in J. M. Pilcher (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Food History, 117–36, Oxford: Oxford University Press. https:// www.oxfordhandbooks.com/view/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199729937.001.0001/oxfordhb9780199729937-e-7 Twiss, K. C. (2007), “We Are What We Eat,” in K. C. Twiss (ed.), The Archaeology of Food and Identity, 1–14, Center for Archaeological Investigations Occasional Papers 34, Carbondale: Southern Illinois University. de Vaux, R. (1961), Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions, trans. J. McHugh, New York: McGraw-Hill (repr. edn., Eerdmans, 1997). Watson, J. L. and Klein, J. A. (2016), “Introduction: Anthropology, Food and Modern Life,” in J. A. Klein and J. L. Watson (eds.), Handbook of Food and Anthropology, 1–27, London: Bloomsbury Academic. Weiner, S. (2010), Microarchaeology: Beyond the Visible Archaeological Record, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yasur-Landau, A., Ebeling, J. R., and Mazow, L. B. (eds.) (2011), Household Archaeology in Ancient Israel and Beyond, Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 50, Leiden/Boston: Brill.

PART I

Environmental and Socioeconomic Context

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CHAPTER 1

Environmental Features GEORGE A. PIERCE

INTRODUCTION Human efforts to produce or procure food in the Near East through foraging or farming stretch back to the dawn of time and have been greatly influenced by environmental features such as topography, soils, availability or proximity to water, and climate. To use Annales terminology, the areas exploited for agriculture and pastoralism and also the settlement processes connected to food production are part of the longue durée in the area, whereas changes in land use, field systems, or crop choice may represent part of the centuries-long moyen durée or short-term événements.1 With such a longue durée perspective on climate and geography, settlement processes and food production in ancient Israel are part of a larger narrative in the southern Levant and the wider ancient Near East. Thus, environmental features that influenced food production also affected the location and size of settlements while human efforts sought to maximize or mitigate these influences as necessary. Since an understanding of the ancient environment helps to explain settlement dynamics and food production, an appreciation for environmental features is necessary to situate archaeological sites and entities like ancient Israel within their physical landscapes and past climate regimes (Vita-Finzi 1978: 7). Thus, the archaeological record can serve as “a proxy for human biological and cultural evolution that identifies behavioral patterns encoded in artifacts and embedded in sediments” (Butzer 2008: 403–4), complementing the description of the physical environment found in textual sources and associated symbolism. Therefore, this chapter will discuss regional topography and its effect on settlement location and agropastoral economies, illuminate the relationship between a site and nearby soils and hydrology, and attempt to synthesize data about the ancient environment in a longue durée perspective to recognize how environmental factors played a role in food production as seen in the archaeological record and the text of the Hebrew Bible.

REGIONAL TOPOGRAPHY AND DIFFERENTIATION A region is “determined by a complex of climatic, physiographic, biological, economic, social, and cultural characteristics” (Forman and Godron 1986: 13). Using this definition,

Founded by French historians in the early twentieth century, the Annales school of history focuses on long-term processes at work in the social history of late medieval and early modern Europe. This approach works well for studying the ancient Near East, given the long history of human habitation and interaction with the environment. 1 

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the southern Levant can be divided into four main zones with several distinct regions, namely the Coastal Plain, the Central Mountains, the Jordan Rift, and the Transjordan Highlands (Aharoni 1979: 21–42). Within these zones, certain regions are delineated based upon physical and cultural geography, including underlying geology and soils (see Figure 1.1). For reference, they are often designated by the Israelite territorial allotments delineated in Joshua 13–21 and other polities mentioned in the Hebrew Bible (see Rainey

FIGURE 1.1  Map of the southern Levant with regions, water features, and sites mentioned in this chapter. (Map by author)

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and Notley 2007: 18–22). The Coastal Plain can be subdivided, from north to south, into Phoenicia, the Sharon Plain, and Philistia, while the Central Mountains include the Lebanon range, Galilee, the Jezreel Valley, Mount Ephraim, the Judean Hill Country, and the Shephelah (the foothills of western Judah bordering Philistia and the coastal plain). South of the Shephelah and the Judean hills, the Negev consists of the Beersheba-Arad Rift, mountains in the center, with the Gulfs of Suez and Aqaba/Eilat at the southern end. The Jordan Rift includes the subregions and features extending from Mt. Hermon through the Lake Huleh basin, the Sea of Galilee, the Jordan River, Dead Sea, and the Aravah. Biblically, Transjordan is divided into Bashan in the north, Gilead, which was the predominant area of Israelite settlement east of the Jordan River, and the territories of Ammon, Moab, and Edom. Each of the larger zones had different cultural and economic focal points and presented unique challenges to settlement and food production. For example, the coastal plain extending from the Rosh ha-Niqra ridge southward and interrupted by the Carmel Ridge is 21 percent of the land of modern Israel (Kallner and Rosenau 1939: 61), but the area suitable for ancient agricultural activities without the benefits of fertilizer or irrigation is limited due to marshes, sand dunes, and soil types. Despite these limitations, the coastal plain served as the land bridge between Egypt and Mesopotamia due to the trunk road leading from the passes through the Carmel Ridge to Sinai and Egypt while also providing a gateway to the Mediterranean via the ports at regular intervals from Tyre to Gaza (Raban 1985: 11). Upper Galilee, while mountainous and densely forested in antiquity, provided many flat areas with springs that afforded suitable places for settlement. Lower Galilee, with four major east-west valleys, served as a thoroughfare for commerce from the eastern regions passing through the Jordan Valley headed for coastal sites like Achziv and Acco. The Central Mountains south of the Jezreel Valley consisted of the territories of Manasseh, Ephraim, Benjamin, and Judah during the biblical period, and while eastwest travel is more difficult except on the Benjamin plateau, north-south travel can be accomplished by following the watershed. The terraced hills and valleys of the central range from Manasseh to Judah testify to the measures needed to successfully produce food. Hillsides were terraced for viticulture and horticulture. Areas under 10 degrees of slope, usually valleys, were utilized for cereals and other crops. Stager (1985: 5–9) posits that Iron Age settlers widely employed terracing in the region, although the practice may have been utilized before this period (Sayej 1999: 206–7). Nonenvironmental aspects such as trade via the valley routes also aided in settlement stability, but the same roads could allow foreign powers to invade and subjugate (Aharoni 1979: 26).2 The topography of the four major zones and various subregions of ancient Israel affected the placement of settlements (see Figure 1.2). In flatter areas like the coastal plain, sites were located in places with access to the water table or a natural drainage such as a wadi, a seasonal stream bed, or a permanent river to maximize access to agricultural land following Middle and Late Bronze Age settlement patterns (Yasur-Landau, Cline, and Pierce 2008: 66, 77). Sites founded in the central hills during the Iron Age were typically situated on hilltops with terraced hills below (Stager 1982: 116; 1985: 6). However, topography was only one factor affecting settlement location and food production in ancient Israel. Soil and hydrology, together with climate, often played greater roles in affecting food production and procurement in ancient societies.

2 

For a discussion of trade, see Chapter 3 in this volume.

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FIGURE 1.2  Map showing the contrast between Iron Age lowland sites (left) and highland settlement locations (right). (Map by author)

GEOLOGY AND SOILS Archaeological sites with agropastoral economies required water sources and arable land. Differences in topography, geology, and soils differentiate each region inhabited by ancient Israel. Soils and the underlying lithology greatly influenced premodern agriculture based on their fertility and drainage capabilities. Rather than being areas of homogeneous soil, each region has a variety of other soils due to differences in underlying geology. Alluvial soils, deposited by runoff and wadi deposition from Upper and Lower Galilee and the central hill country of Ephraim and Judah, also provide a fertile base for agriculture along the coastal plain, the valleys throughout Galilee, and the central hills. These soils require water management to control drainage since excess water can cause soil deterioration (Dan et al. 1972: 42). Except for alluvium in the Huleh basin and Jordan valley, the underlying geology of the land east of the Jordan Rift is basalt with brown Mediterranean soil and basaltic lithosols, soils consisting of weathered rock fragments, overlying the ancient lava flows. These soils have primarily been used in the historical era for fruit and field crops with some grazing (Dan et al. 1972: 41). The mountains of Upper Galilee, the Carmel Ridge dividing the coastal plain, and the central hills of Ephraim and Judah are composed primarily of Cenomanian limestone, the geologically oldest limestone in the region, with overlying Senonian or Eocene chalk or limestone and dolomite in sedimentation. Terra rossa soil, a clayey-silty soil with neutral pH, is also known as “red Mediterranean soil” and largely occurs with outcrops of limestone and dolomite in the central and northern hills of Israel, forming when rainwater leaches carbon and silicates from the parent rock, leaving soil abundant in iron hydroxides (Dan 1988: 107, 114). This soil is preferred for agriculture, especially for vines in wine production. In addition to cultivars, terra rossa is dominated by Kermes oak (Quercus calliprinos) and terebinth (Pistacia palaestina) and has been used as rangeland in certain areas. Rendzina, a clay-loam composite suitable for horticulture and viticulture, is prevalent in the Judean Shephelah with shallower areas of soil on rocky outcrops used for grazing (Dan et al. 1972: 38).

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Besides the alluvium deposited along the rivers and wadis draining into the Mediterranean Sea, the coastal zone south of Carmel is predominantly composed of sandstone with overlying hamra soil, a reddish sandy loam, and sand dunes in the south with intermittent marshes north of the Yarkon River. Pleistocene coastal landscapes are represented by carbonate-cemented quartz sandstone called kurkar (Goldberg 1995: 49). Kurkar occurs in ridges parallel to the coast with older formations eastward, and these ridges are likely instances of former shorelines. These shore-parallel ridges decrease in number from seven in the south to two in the north (Ronen et al. 2005: 188). Moderately fertile hamra soils originate from coastal sand and kurkar in addition to alluvial sediments and are typical for the central coastal plain (Dan 1988: 117–18). Low hills of red hamra inland from the kurkar ridges are separated from the hills of Samaria farther east by an alluvial trough valley as wide as 6 km that runs southward to the Yarkon River basin. The sand of the coastal plain consists of unconsolidated dune sand originating in the Nile Delta and transported by water and wind currents for the last million years (Dan 1988: 125; Ronen et al. 2005: 188). At the onset of the Middle Bronze Age (ca. 1950 bce), people began to settle on the kurkar formations along the coast, and the sea level was 1–2 m lower than present (Sivan, Eliyahu, and Raban 2004: 1046). It was also at this time that wind-blown sands began to be deposited along the coast. The youngest sand deposits are post-Roman period in date, given their coverage of Late Roman and Byzantine sites and the presence of Early Islamic and Crusader period burials in the stabilized dunes, although some ingression of sand occurred after the Middle Ages (Neev, Bakler, and Emery 1987: 23). The biblical Negev, the northern portion of the modern Negev, is a semi-arid marginal zone situated between areas receiving 300 mm of rain to the north and 100 mm to the south. The Negev is covered by loessial soils deposited by wind. With an average rainfall of 225–250 mm per year, agriculture, as practiced by residents in antiquity, would have been difficult without management of the winter rainfall. Historically, areas that were cultivated were primarily planted with cereals (Dan et al. 1972: 43). Settlements were mainly located along wadi channels to utilize the water that collected in the seasonal riverbeds (Aharoni 1979: 26). The variety of soils in the immediate exploitation area of the site was a likely factor in determining settlement location and sustaining different activities. Webley (1972: 170) classified soils based on arability or grazing potential. Colluvial-alluvial, terra rossa, and Mediterranean brown forest soils provide the best suitability for agriculture, while alluvium (soil deposited by water), vertisols (heavily clay soils with little organic matter), and rendzina are less arable. He also posited that sites with long occupational histories have a maximum diversity of soil types available for exploitation, citing Hazor’s location near six soil types and the nearby Huleh basin as an example (Webley 1972: 170). Examination of the soil and settlement distribution for several regions in various periods from the Early Bronze Age through Iron Age II largely confirms this hypothesis, but other strategic or ritual factors could also be causal (Pierce 2005: 18–19; 2015; Yasur-Landau, Cline, and Pierce 2008).

HYDROLOGY An examination of the surface hydrology of the southern Levant, both seasonal and permanent, reveals their importance for the ancient inhabitants of each region. Two central hydrological features of the area, in addition to the bodies of water in the rift

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valley (Lake Huleh, Sea of Galilee, and the Dead Sea), are the drainage systems that consist of the permanent Jordan River fed by three rivers emerging from Mt. Hermon and southern Lebanon (the Dan, Hasbani, and Banias Rivers) and several streams, and the Yarkon River (Nahr el-’Auja), which includes the seasonal Ayalon River (Wadi Musrara) and other wadis that drain into the Yarkon basin. Such stability would have influenced the decision to establish a settlement near one of these systems or their seasonal tributaries. The springs at Rosh Ha-‘Ayin (Aphek-Antipatris), from which the Yarkon River emerges, are the second most stable water source in Israel after the Jordan River, producing as much as 220,000,000 m3 per year (Avitsur 1957: 24). Other rivers along the coast and their drainage basins that feed into the Mediterranean Sea have arable soil with nearby Bronze and Iron Age sites. Due to the high water table in the coastal plain, many sites in lower areas, such as the trough between the hamra hillocks and the western fringe of the hill country, obtained freshwater from wells and cisterns (Beit-Arieh and Ayalon 2012). Although less attested in the archaeological record, settlements near either freshwater or marine biomes (habitat areas for certain flora and fauna) used the resources within those biomes to grow food or forage and hunt for food. Marshes provided additional floral and faunal resources on a seasonal basis despite being hindrances to travel and deleterious to the inhabitants’ health. Improper maintenance of drainage would have led to water- and insect-borne diseases like malaria, which has documentation from New Kingdom to Late Period Egypt as well as various civilizations since the fourth millennium bce (Kaniewski et al. 2017: 5; Miller et al. 1994; Sallares et al. 2004: 314). In the mountains of Galilee and the hills of Samaria and Judah, water sources are limited to rainfall, springs, wells, and the seasonal wadis that flow during the wetter months through natural drainage networks. Runoff from snow on Hermon fed the Jordan and was absorbed by the limestone, emerging in springs and wells bordering the hill country (Rainey and Notley 2007: 24). In addition, daily needs for water could have been supplied from water being hauled from nearby sources and stored in cisterns or pithoi (Stager 1985: 9–10). In drier climates such as the Negev to the south, the ancient inhabitants devised systems of collecting scant rainfall into large cisterns or water systems that have been excavated at Tel Beersheba and Tel Arad or relied on wells and drawn water, featured in the stories involving the ancestors of biblical Israel including Hagar (Gen. 16:14; 21:19), Abraham (Gen. 21:25-31), and Isaac (Gen. 26:18-33). Water systems, which were accessible from inside a city’s fortifications via stairways or passages cut to a collecting pool or the water table, were constructed during the Iron Age at sites like Hazor, Megiddo, Gezer, Beersheba, and Jerusalem to provide a more permanent source of water during droughts or siege warfare. Proximity to permanent water sources, arable land, established trade routes, and defensibility of sites based on topography accounts for the development, importance, and wealth of larger sites like Megiddo, Hazor, and others in the Galilee, coastal plain, and larger valleys as well as certain locations along caravan routes in the Negev during wetter periods.

CLIMATE Even with proximity to water sources or reserves and access to arable land, ancient inhabitants of the southern Levant faced climatic challenges that influenced settlement dynamics. Many modern geographers and biblical scholars have given accounts of the general climate of Syria-Palestine, with emphasis on its precipitation, from their

ENVIRONMENTAL FEATURES

23

experience and travels in Palestine during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Masterman 1900: 187–90; Smith 1931: 62–5). Although Gen. 8:22 only lists “summer and winter” as seasons in apposition with “seedtime and harvest” and “cold and heat,” ancient Israelites and Judahites were certainly aware of seasonal changes.3 Springtime, with its growth of plants and animal activity, followed the rainy season as noted in Song 2:11-13, “for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.” Additionally, the Gezer calendar, dated to the tenth century bce, details a list of agricultural activities, providing a twelve-month cycle of fieldwork that includes ingathering, sowing, and harvesting, and specifically mentions flax, barley, vines, and summer fruits (Talmon 1963).4

Paleoenvironmental Reconstruction While ancient Israel depended on the stability of the cyclical rainy and dry seasons, the archaeological record indicates shifts in climate and agricultural activities in the southern Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages. Determining the effects of such climatic shifts on settlement patterns and food production in biblical Israel necessitates a reconstruction of the ancient climate of the eastern Mediterranean basin that can be accomplished in a number of ways, including oxygen isotope analysis, ice and sediment cores, lithology, and palynology (Bradley 1999: 5). Pollen studies are significant for paleoecological research because pollen is representative of a region’s vegetation and the pollen rain, the pollen carried by air, settles in terrestrial and lake sediments. Such deposits can be used to infer regional vegetation and climate, assuming that the pollen-vegetation and vegetation-climate relationships operated in the past in the same manner as the present (Kneller 2009: 816). Despite latent uncertainties when analyzing these proxies and relating them to natural processes or climatic events (Abrantes et al. 2012: 4, 17), the approaches summarized here provide the best information to propose the environmental and climatic conditions faced by the inhabitants of the southern Levant in the Bronze and Iron Ages. Studying the ratio of stable oxygen isotopes (18O/16O or δ18O) in what is essentially “fossil water” contained in ice cores, marine life, or cave speleothems (mineral deposits forming stalactites or stalagmites) can reveal a history of the temperature at which condensation occurs.5 When combined with changes in sea level, the oxygen isotope ratio may explain climatic cooling and warming trends (Bradley 1999: 127–30). Samples from Lake Van, the Sea of Galilee, the eastern Mediterranean, and speleothems from caves in upper Galilee and the Soreq Cave have been compared to the isotopic composition of standard ocean water for paleoclimatic reconstructions because the ratio is influenced by ambient temperatures and climate regimes and not anthropogenic activities (Issar 2003: 6). Sea levels are also indicative of climate trends as ingressions of the sea occurred during warm periods when glaciers would melt and cause the sea level to rise, while regressions were the result of glaciers freezing water during colder periods. Low sea levels

All English translations of the Hebrew Bible are from the NRSV. Sanders (2008: 100–2) argues that the “months” listed on the Gezer calendar need not be considered full thirtyday months; rather, they are likely agricultural periods that make up the entire yearly cycle. See also Chapter 26 in this volume. 5  Seawater contains both heavy (18O) and light (16O) oxygen isotopes. In a colder climate, ocean water would have more 18O because it takes more energy to evaporate the heavier isotope, and the lighter 16O would be evaporated easier and fall as precipitation in higher latitudes and polar regions, meaning ice sheets would have more 16O. With a warmer climate, ocean water would contain more 16O as a result of ice sheets melting. 3  4 

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such as those from 2550 to 2050 bce (4500–4000 years before present)6 suggest colder climate in higher latitudes when polar glaciers expanded, and high sea levels from 2050 to 1550 bce and 1050 to 550 bce reflect warmer climate periods when glaciers melted (Issar 2003: 11).7 Using oxygen isotope ratios, climatic shifts from the Middle Bronze Age to the Iron Age can be proffered. A study of oxygen isotopic composition in the shells of Glycimeris violacescens showed fluctuations in aridity between 2050 and 650 bce, due to the ratio of evaporation to precipitation (Kaufman and Magaritz 1980: 779–80). At the beginning of the Middle Bronze Age, a warmer, drier climate prevailed based on increased Sea of Galilee and higher Mediterranean Sea levels versus a lower Dead Sea (Issar 2003: 21). Stable isotope analysis of speleothems in the Soreq Cave provides substantiation for a drier climate after 2000 bce (Bar-Matthews, Ayalon, and Kaufman 1997). The climate was not as warm and dry as the preceding period (Early Bronze Age IV; ca. 2200–2000 bce) but was a continuation of the warm phase with some amelioration after ca. 1800 bce (Issar and Zohar 2007: 150). Deposition of sand and silts in Nahal Lachish indicate fluctuation between rainfall and drought (Rosen 1986: 56–7). Later, around 1500 bce, the presence of lighter oxygen isotopes represents an influx of melted glacial water indicating a warm period corresponding to the Late Bronze Age (Issar 2003: 11). While climate has been proposed as a culprit for societal collapse and change at the end of the Late Bronze Age together with the role of the Sea Peoples as a catalyst in that collapse or as a result of larger environmental factors,8 sediment cores from lakes and archaeological sites provide sufficient data for an evaluation of climate fluctuations with respect to the Late Bronze Age–Iron I transition (Kaniewski et al. 2013: 2; Kaniewski et al. 2019). Sediments from a lake bed core show an ecological imbalance evidenced in decrease of the characteristic Mediterranean woodland and a gradual transition to plants associated with a dry steppe, occurring in two steps at 1450 bce and 1200 bce (Kaniewski et al. 2013: 4). Evidence for a drier environment across the Near East is provided by a hydrological anomaly, and decline in agricultural activity is indicated in these cores between 1200 and 850 bce, increased heavy oxygen isotopes at Ashdod and the Soreq Cave indicating less rainfall, data indicating reduced Nile floods and minimal discharge of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, and a “dry event” in coastal Syria (Kaniewski et al. 2010; see Kaniewski et al. 2013: 6 and references there). Plotting radiocarbon dates obtained from climatic and archaeological events revealed that the climatic crisis, reduced crop yields, and emergence of the Sea Peoples all occurred ca. 1215–1190 bce, indicating that “the [Late Bronze Age] crisis was a complex but single event where political struggle, socioeconomic decline, climatically-induced food-shortage, famines and flows of immigrants definitely intermingled” (Kaniewski et al. 2013: 9). Around the time of the Sea Peoples’ emergence shortly after 1200 bce, colder, wetter conditions

Dating for climate data is typically discussed using the abbreviation “ka BP,” meaning kilo annum (thousand years) before present. “Present” is not the current calendar year but is 1950, the year after which the first radiocarbon dating method and results were published (Libby, Anderson, and Arnold 1949). For ease of reading here, all dates are related as bce. 7  It must be noted that the fluctuation in sea level is inverse for the Mediterranean Sea compared to the Dead Sea. Thus, while high levels of the Mediterranean indicate warm climate, corresponding lower levels of the Dead Sea point to evaporation, and higher levels of the Dead Sea show cooler and more humid periods (e.g., high lake levels at ca. 2550 bce and 1050 bce). 8  For a discussion of climate and its role in societal collapse at the end of the Late Bronze Age, see Cline (2014: 142–7) and references therein; Mazar (1992: 288, n. 50); and Wright (1968). 6 

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prevailed across Europe in which sea temperatures in the North Atlantic were colder and glaciers expanded in the Alps. The eastern Mediterranean also cooled quickly with colder winters and more incidents of drought. More recent studies from sites ranging from Italy to Iran reveal that a megadrought around 1350–1250 bce consisted of two events of drought bracketing a short wetter period around 1050–1000 bce (Kaniewski et al. 2019: 2294). Radiocarbon dating of buried shoreline and beach deposits combined with water-level indicators in the Dead Sea also act as a proxy for rainfall data in the southern Levant (Enzel et al. 2003: 264). Lithology of three cores taken on the shoreline of the Dead Sea illustrates the conditions of the lake that reflect Mediterranean climate (Migowski et al. 2006: 422). The most dramatic drop in the Dead Sea water level, approximately 45 m, started during the Early Bronze Age to Middle Bronze Age transition, ca. 2250 bce, and ended during the Late Bronze Age, ca. 1500 bce. The dry period starting at 2250  bce appears to be an “abrupt arid event,” while true climate deterioration starts around 1550 bce, marked by a sand deposit that establishes the lake level at –417 m below mean sea level. Associated clastic layers in the cores indicate a drop in sea level of 35 m in less than 200 years (Migowski et al. 2006: 426). Later, the trend reverses toward increased precipitation and cooler weather indicated by higher Dead Sea levels, and this continued until approximately 1250 bce. Fluctuations in rainfall are also indicated throughout the Iron Age, including a warmer period from 1250 to 950 bce followed by a cooler, wetter climate around 850–750 bce (Issar 2003: 24). The most significant changes in fluvial systems, sediment dynamics, and vegetation in the Levant were felt from the second millennium bce forward (Dusar et al. 2011: 152–3; Hooke 2006: 330). Both climatic change and human activities have contributed to variations in plant cover visible in the pollen record within the last four thousand years. Pollen studies not only corroborate paleoclimatic reconstructions from stable isotope analysis, lithology, and radiocarbon dating but also reveal the impact of climate on settlement volume throughout time and cultural or commercial endeavors on vegetation (Langgut 2014: 541–2). For example, pollen extracted from a stratigraphic sequence at an archaeological site in Tel Aviv indicated that the climate in the Yarkon basin was more humid during the Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age, resulting in a higher groundwater table that flooded the dwellings (Ritter-Kaplan 1979: 240). The drier climate following the Early Bronze Age effected a lowering of the groundwater table and a migration of the site toward the water (Horowitz 1979: 254). The site’s pollen record from the Middle Bronze Age suggests that Canaan was cooler than present, with higher rainfall and more vegetation that may have allowed settlements to flourish in marginal areas like the biblical Negev. Pollen analyzed from two boreholes in Haifa Bay showed an increase in arboreal pollen from oak and cultivated olive trees from 2400 to 2300 bce, from ca. 2100 to 1100 bce, and an increase from ca. 700 to 600 bce. These periods are separated by drops in vegetation and arboreal pollen ca. 2250 bce and 950 bce (Horowitz 1979: 214, fig. 6.18). The peaks suggest that more vegetation was present, while the lows indicate a drier climate, according to Horowitz, who suggests an increase in precipitation during the peak periods (1979: 214). The increase in oak and especially olive may indicate an intensification of cultivation from the Middle Bronze Age to the Iron IA (1200–1150 bce) and later in the seventh century bce. Pollen cores obtained from the Sea of Galilee indicate a reduction in oak cover and increase in olive pollen during the Early Bronze Age II–III with a slight decline in olive

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during the Early Bronze Age IV. Abatement of oak woodlands continued during the second millennium bce with a substantial decline in oak since 1000 bce and “a dramatic increase in olives in the eighth and seventh centuries bce and fourth and fifth centuries CE” (Wilkinson 2003: 144). In the intervening centuries between the Iron Age and the Byzantine period, the well-known Mediterranean landscape of evergreen oak, pine, and scrub maquis replaced the diminishing olives (Wilkinson 2003: 145). The decline in oak is a direct result of an increased settlement in the hill country that led to more soil erosion during high-rainfall events due to tree clearance (Wilkinson 2003: 148).9 Analyses of pollen from cores along the western shore of the Dead Sea also contribute to the overall picture of paleoclimate and vegetation. Olive pollen seems to correspond with the rise and decline of the Middle Bronze Age Canaanite polities, increasing at the beginning of the period and declining toward the transition to the Late Bronze Age (Neumann et al. 2010: 749). Overall, a continued decrease in olive pollen occurred during the Late Bronze Age, but levels of Mt. Tabor oak remained stable (Litt et al. 2012: 100). In the Late Bronze Age to Iron I transition, a dramatic drop occurred in all Mediterranean woodland species. During this period, while tree pollen was low, herb values were at a maximum. This decline in arboreal pollen should not be considered anthropogenic since olive also decreases. Rather, such results suggest extensive drought (Litt et al. 2012: 100–1). Pollen from the Iron Age I reveal a high percentage of oak pollen, together with terebinth, cultivated crops such as olives and cereals in addition to grapes, indicating more moisture from increased precipitation (Langgut 2014: 544). Episodes of higher percentages of herbs and shrub pollen and lower olive pollen values toward the end of Iron Age I indicate a decrease in rainfall (Langgut 2014: 545). Such a decrease in precipitation might be linked to abandonment of settlements during the tenth and eighth centuries bce, especially in marginal zones like the Negev, although other sociopolitical factors may also have been influential (Neumann et al. 2010: 760). Low oak pollen percentages observed for the Iron Age II could possibly be the result of low moisture and anthropogenic stress due to the increase in settlements in the Judean Highlands during that period (Langgut et al. 2014: 296). The presence of steppe vegetation and grazing-resistant plants like thistles, coupled with the lack of grasses, may indicate overgrazing of livestock. Lower olive values during the Iron Age II suggest a shift in olive production to the Shephelah, corroborated by archaeological evidence (Bunimovitz and Lederman 2009; Finkelstein and Langgut 2018: 165; Gitin 1990; Mazar 1997: 262–3). Around 650 bce, evergreen and deciduous oak as well as olive values increase and grapes appear in the pollen record, signaling a moister period and a possible attempt to cultivate more olives in the Judean Highlands after the Assyrian campaign resulting in the loss of the Shephelah (Finkelstein and Langgut 2018: 160–1, 165; Litt et al. 2012: 102). The rise in lake level at the end of Iron Age indicates more precipitation, but some sand layers in Dead Sea cores attest to arid periods during the subsequent Babylonian and Persian periods (Langgut 2014: 547; Neumann et al. 2010: 760–1). Low oak pollen and other trees and the reappearance of pine indicate a drier environment in the process of natural restoration with less anthropogenic stress (Langgut 2014: 547).

Encouragement for such forest clearing activities by the Israelite tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh attempting to settle in the hill country is ascribed to Joshua in the Hebrew Bible (Josh. 17:14-18). 9 

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Natural Disasters While stable isotope analysis, core sampling, and palynology provide broad perspectives on climate and vegetation, natural disasters produced episodic shifts in climate to which the ancient inhabitants of the southern Levant needed to adapt. The drier climate around 2250 bce, during which European glaciers retreated and warmer than the present climate prevailed across Europe, also brought about droughts and agricultural disasters in western Asia, North Africa, and eastern Europe (Burroughs 2005: 251). Volcanic activity at 2354 bce, 1627 bce, and ca. 1050 bce is also recorded in ice cores. The late third millennium bce event is associated with the eruption of the volcano Hekla 4 in Iceland (Burroughs 2005: 252). The volcanic event that occurred ca. 1627 bce, the eruption of Thera (Santorini) in the Aegean, greatly affected the peoples living in the eastern Mediterranean at the end of the Middle Bronze Age. The last event in that series, possibly linked to the eruption of Hekla 3, can be seen in the tree-ring series from Ireland to Anatolia.10 More recently, studies have linked the eruption of FL-Etna to a massive drought nearly 3,300 years ago at the end of the Late Bronze Age (Kaniewski et al. 2019: 2288 and sources there). The resulting cooling in temperatures and acidity from particles released into the atmosphere following a volcanic event would have negatively affected harvests for several decades afterward and, in some cases, may have been one of many factors in societal collapse in the eastern Mediterranean. The megadrought at the end of the Late Bronze Age and the beginning of the Iron Age is attested by archaeological evidence, pollen cores, oxygen isotope records from Turkey, and discharge data for the Tigris and Euphrates. Cave data from Greece evince dry periods affecting harvests, a situation corroborated by contemporary texts between rulers that mention bad harvests, food shortages, famine, and disaster relief (see Kaniewski et al. 2019). After a short, wetter period around fifty years in length near the beginning of the first millennium bce, the climate again shifted to another dry event ca. 950–900 bce that lasted another century. The results of these various studies permit a synthetic overview of climate for the Levant from the Early Bronze Age IV to the Iron Age IIC. Toward the end of the third millennium bce, following humid and moderate periods, global warming resulted in lake levels dropping, river seasonality, and expanding deserts. Aridification of the Near East resulted from lower rainfall related to cooling of subpolar and subtropical surface waters of the North Atlantic (de Menocal 2001: 670). This major crisis, lasting until approximately 1800 bce, included a drop of nearly 100 m in the level of the Dead Sea and the drying up of the southern basin, a rise of oceanic levels of 1.5 m, and a decrease in olive and rise in oak pollen in cores from the Sea of Galilee (Issar and Zohar 2007: 135; Langgut et al. 2015: 227). Wetter conditions from increased precipitation and a rise in Mediterranean tree pollen, likely caused by an expansion of forests, began after 1800 bce and continued throughout the Middle Bronze Age, resulting in higher Dead Sea levels and settlement expansion into marginal zones like the northern Negev (Langgut et al. 2015: 228). A warm, dry phase starting ca. 1600 bce crested during the fifteenth century bce and was succeeded by a megadrought around 1300 bce. This warming of climate at the beginning of the Late Bronze Age meant a higher Nile with greater inundation and prosperity for Egypt and drought in the Levant. The beginning of the twelfth century bce witnessed the

The dating of the Hekla 3 eruption has been subject to debate with dates ranging from 1159 1021 bce, or 929 bce (see Erikísson et al. 2000). 10 

bce,

1135

bce,

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start of a drier period that precipitated crop failures and immigrant movements in the eastern Mediterranean basin (Kaniewski et al. 2013). Following a cool, humid period around 1000 bce, a warm and dry period developed until a cooler climate started 850 bce with increasing favorable conditions that peaked between the third century bce and the third century CE (Issar and Zohar 2007: 193). Concerning climate shifts, societies across the Near East invented strategies to mitigate and adapt to changing environmental conditions that lasted for decades, if not centuries. Droughts around 6250, 3250, 2250, and 1250 bce spurred changes in settlement patterns and subsistence strategies that either subsequently shifted back to previous patterns after the climate ameliorated or remained abandoned in favor of other locations (Gornitz 2009: 7; Weiss 2017: 94). For the lowland areas of Canaan, the shift in climate during the Early Bronze Age IV seemed to have precipitated a ruralization and nomadization within society that included abandonment of permanent settlements and diversified subsistence strategies that likely favored pastoralism (Dever 1995: 289–93). Climate amelioration, including wetter conditions at the beginning of the Middle Bronze Age, served as one factor that spurred the re-urbanization and resettlement of Canaan and the establishment of new sites along east-west seasonal streambeds (Cohen 2002). Large-scale migration also served to mitigate the effects of droughts. The first dry event of the megadrought ca. 1200 bce seemed to have triggered the migration of the Sea Peoples and was the context in which ancient Israel settled in Canaan. Climatic and environmental changes were often the root of a chain reaction that included economic recession, resource depletion, famine, overpopulation, invasions, migrations conflict, and often led to site abandonment and the collapse of palace and state economies (Ellenblum 2012).11 These elements, combined with technological innovations and changes in warfare, have been suggested for societal upheaval periodically attested in Near Eastern history (Kaniewski 2019: 2288 and sources there). While each of these factors likely played a role in societal breakdowns, periodic shifts in climate and environmental conditions bear a great part of the responsibility for the decline and collapse of the ancient Near Eastern civilizations (Issar and Zohar 2007: 35; Weiss and Bradley 2001). Given the textual evidence of famine and request for foodstuffs evident at the end of the Late Bronze Age, adverse shifts in climate emphasize “the agroproductive sensitivity of ancient Mediterranean societies to environmental changes” (Kaniewski et al. 2019: 2295).

Precipitation in the Biblical Record The Hebrew Bible recognizes precipitation in the form of rain, hail, and snow. Rain was acknowledged as the cause for plant growth (2 Sam. 23:4; Isa. 55:10), originating from clouds (Eccl. 11:3). In contrast to manual irrigation for vegetables in Egypt, the land of Canaan was described as rain-fed, “a land of hills and valleys, watered by rain from the sky” (Deut. 11:10-11). The Hebrew Bible indicates that within the ancient Israelite mindset Yahweh as the divine warrior was associated with clouds, lightning, thunder, rain, and hail (Exod. 19:16; Ps. 18:7-15; 1 Kgs. 19:11). For the psalmist, Yahweh also

Conversely, periods of high precipitation could induce stress within the ecosystem. Wet climate events combined with a lack of drainage created swamps and marshes, creating a challenge to manage water systems in lowlands like the coastal plain (Gadot 2008: 55–73). 11 

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commanded other forms of precipitation like hail and snow as well as stormy winds (Ps. 147:15-17, 148:7-9). Thus, rainfall and subsequent agricultural productivity and abundance are predicated on obedience and adherence to Yahwistic religious laws and cultic exclusivity (e.g., Lev. 26:3-4; Deut. 11:13-17; 1 Kgs. 8:35-36), reflecting concerns about agricultural yields regardless of the compositional date of such texts. Conversely, drought is often described as a divine punishment for unrighteous behavior (Deut. 28:2324; 1 Kings 17; Isa. 5:6; Jer. 14; Amos 4:7; Zech. 14:17). Symbolically, rain represented cleansing (Ezek. 22:24), and snow served as an example of ritual purity (Ps. 51:7; Isa. 1:18; Lam. 4:7; Dan. 7:9). Within various poetic and prophetic texts, rain is used as a simile for “showers” or “raining down” blessings, teachings, or righteousness (e.g., Ezek. 34:26; Hos. 10:12; Ps. 78:24). The Song of Moses draws on such imagery with four terms used in Deut. 32:2 for precipitation: māṭār (rain), tal (dew), śĕʿîrîm, and rĕbîbîm; the last two words appear in the Hebrew Bible only in this verse. These terms have been translated as “raindrops” and “showers,” respectively, with various translations also using “small rain” or “gentle rain” for śĕʿîrîm. In contrast, Snaith posits that the word means the “heavy soaking rain” or a “storm rain,” such as the initial rain following a dry season (1975: 116–17). The precipitation in Deuteronomy 32 was likely the first part of the rain phases “former rains” and “later rains” in the Bible. These rains come in November–December and March, respectively. Both rains are necessary for agricultural work to begin and to succeed. The former rains, also called the “early rain” in the Hebrew Bible (Deut. 11:14; Joel 2:23; Ps. 84:6), signal the beginning of the rainy season in autumn. These rains serve to moisten the soil for planting, providing the needed moisture for seed germination. Cisterns cut into the bedrock and plastered to hold water are re-filled from these rains and provide a source of water in addition to wells or springs. The latter, or “spring” rains (Jer. 3:3; Zech. 10:1; Prov. 16:15), give an added boost to cereals to withstand warm, dry winds in April before harvest and to provide the water for the land and its residents for the remainder of the year until the start of the next rainy season (Bailey 2018: 16). Together with snow and rain, the Hebrew Bible authors included hail in their list of precipitation, sometimes coupled with snow (Psalms 147 and 148). Hailstones, together with frost and lightning in the psalms, are counted as part of the plagues sent on Egypt to destroy the Egyptian crops (Exod. 9:13-26; Pss. 78:47; 105:32). Hail is also viewed as a weapon wielded by the deity in the Israelite conquest narrative (Josh. 10:11) and in prophetic declarations of divine punishment for the unrighteous (Isa. 28:2, 17; Ezek. 11:11-13; 38:22; Hag. 2:17). Large-scale natural disasters affecting large portions of the globe, such as Icelandic volcanic eruptions or long-term megadroughts, were not recognized or detailed by the authors of the Hebrew Bible. Instead, the focus appears to be on short-term, localized events such as earthquakes (Amos 1:1; Zech. 14:5) or disruptions of the weather cycle such as periods of drought lasting several years as related in the stories of Joseph (Genesis 41; 47:13-26) or Elijah (1 Kgs. 17–18). In times of decreased rainfall in Cisjordan, the rain shadow shifts to the Transjordanian uplift, causing Gilead, Ammon, and Moab to receive more rain and making those regions attractive for settlement during drought (Ruth 1:1). Unusual or unseasonal weather would have been the cause for alarm, especially at the beginning or end of the rainy season, given its connection to agricultural activities. The reaction of the Israelites to the rain during the time of the wheat harvest equated such a storm with their deaths (1 Sam. 12:16-19). While the rain itself would not cause bodily

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harm, a rainstorm on standing crops ready for harvest could cause the loss of the crop and food shortages, a concern echoed about unseasonal precipitation in Proverbs (26:1; 28:3).

CONCLUSION As agents within the physical landscape of the southern Levant, the inhabitants of ancient Israel adapted to the climate, soils, and hydrology of the region while prudently exploiting its resources and leaving traces within the archaeological and textual records of their cultural-ecological system that interacted with natural elements. Yet it is important to remember that they were subject to geographic and environmental processes and also part of a larger time scale. Within an Annales framework, such elements as topography, geomorphology, hydrology, climatic shifts, and anthropogenic impact all inform a longue durée perspective of human habitation in the southern Levant. The natural environment formed a background in which ancient Israel not only emerged and was shaped but also helped to shape. The topographic, geologic, and hydrologic factors provide environmental reasons for the development of permanent settlements in the region. The coastal plain, valleys in the Galilee and central hill country, and the Shephelah, offer expanses of land suitable for food production, with ample rainfall sufficient for dry farming. Natural springs and dug wells allow settlements to survive and coalesce into urban centers. Alluvial soils not only provided a well-watered ground for growing the staples of ancient Near Eastern diet such as cereals, grapes, and olives but also afforded opportunities to cultivate pulses, legumes, fruits, and flax.12 Climate was not the only factor affecting settlement patterns; economic and historical factors also played a large role in determining the settlement density, especially in marginal zones (Greener, Finkelstein, and Langgut 2018: 183). To grasp the challenges the climate posed, several strands of scientific evidence, including isotope analysis, pollen studies, lithology, and coring samples, can be integrated to present a picture, albeit in broad strokes, of the paleoenvironment of the southern Levant. The daily activities of ancient Israel, their predecessors, and their neighbors took place within a climatic regime that fluctuated between warm, dry periods and cooler, moister periods that trended throughout the Bronze and Iron Ages. Following a warm and dry period at the end of the Early Bronze Age, the Middle Bronze Age was less warm but still dry until ca. 1800 bce, when instances of wetter events are attested.13 The weather continued to be warmer and drier, reaching a climax around 1500 bce. Cooler and wetter conditions prevailed between 1400 and 1200 bce until an abrupt arid event coincided with the movements and settlement of the Israelites into the Judean highlands and the Sea Peoples, including the Philistines, in the coastal plain and Shephelah, coinciding with the end of the Bronze Age. Fluctuations in precipitation are noted during the warm period at the beginning of the Iron Age between 1200 and 900 bce, the years associated with the biblical judges and the lifetimes of Saul, David, and Solomon. Pollen evidence indicates that the wetter period between the two dry events of the 3,200 years BP megadrought witnessed the rise of

For these products, see Chapters 5, 6, 7, and 8 in this volume. Traditionally, this is thought to be the period when the ancestors of Israel (Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and their wives and families) sojourned in the land of Canaan. Although the ancestor narratives may have kernels of authenticity, their overall historicity is no longer widely accepted (Elliott and Wright 2017: 220). 12  13 

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31

biblical Israel and its neighboring kingdoms in Syria and Transjordan (Langgut 2014: 547). The pollen record from the Iron IIB shows a decrease in Mediterranean trees and increase in taxa indicating overgrazing and intensive agriculture corresponding to the zenith of settlement activity during the period of the Divided Monarchy. A shift to cooler, wetter weather in the eighth century bce is suggested by a rise in pollen in the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea, together with increased settlement and horticulture prior to the Assyrian conquest of the northern kingdom of Israel. The lack of oak pollen and increase in pine in the Dead Sea pollen cores in the sixth century bce strongly suggest a rehabilitation from the human impact on the environment following the Babylonian conquest of Judah in 586 bce. The framework of environmental and climatic reconstructions presented here helps best to situate the settlement dynamics and activities of ancient Israel and Judah and their predecessors from the Middle Bronze Age to the Iron II and the impact of environmental features on food production.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Aharoni, Y. (1979), The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography, trans. A. Rainey, Philadelphia: Westminster. This volume examines the land of the Bible with descriptions of regions and climate, and a treatment of numerous ancient sources that mention place names and the history of those places in the Bronze and Iron Ages. Issar, A. S. (1990), Water Shall Flow from the Rock: Hydrogeology and Climate in the Lands of the Bible, Berlin: Springer-Verlag. This book examines specific events of the Hebrew Bible as well as the Persian and Second Temple periods from the perspective of water and geology. The author explains hydrogeologic principles of groundwater and precipitation to human history in the Near East. Issar, A. S. and Zohar, M. (2007), Climate Change: Environment and History of the Near East, Berlin: Springer. In this work, the authors synthesize the available climate data for each chronological period of the ancient Near East, from the beginnings of human habitation through the Ottoman period, relating historical events and developments to shifts and changes in climate. Rainey, A. F. and Notley, R. S. (2006), The Sacred Bridge: Carta’s Atlas of the Biblical World, Jerusalem: Carta. This reference work is a tour de force of historical geography. The authors examine numerous biblical and extra-biblical texts to discuss in detail the geography, regional environments, place names, and historical events of the southern Levant from the Bronze Age through the Late Roman period. Vita-Finzi, C. (1978), Archaeological Sites in Their Setting, London: Thames and Hudson. This book discusses archaeological sites in terms of geologic and geomorphological characteristics affecting site development and the area that a site could viably use.

REFERENCES Abrantes, F., Voelker, A., Sierro, F. J., Naughton, F., Rodrigues, T., Cacho, I., Ariztegui, D., Brayshaw, D., Sicre, M.-A., and Batista, L. (2012), “Paleoclimate Variability in the Mediterranean Region,” in P. Lionello (ed.), The Climate of the Mediterranean Region: From Past to Future, 1–86, Amsterdam: Elsevier.

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Aharoni, Y. (1979), The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography, trans. A. Rainey, Philadelphia: Westminster. Avitsur, S. (1957), The Yarkon: The River and Its Environment, Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad. Bailey, C. (2018), Bedouin Culture and the Bible, New Haven: Yale University Press. Bar-Matthews, M., Ayalon, A., and Kaufman, A. (1997), “Late Quaternary Paleoclimate in the Eastern Mediterranean Region from Stable Isotope Analysis of Speleothems at Soreq Cave, Israel,” Quaternary Research 47: 155–68. Beit-Arieh, I. and Ayalon, E. (2012), Archaeological Survey of Israel: Map of Kefar Sava (77), Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Bradley, R. S. (1999), Paleoclimatology: Reconstructing Climates of the Quaternary, San Diego: Academic Press. Bunimovitz, S. and Lederman, Z. (2009), “The Archaeology of Border Communities: Renewed Excavations at Tel Beth-Shemesh, Part 1: The Iron Age,” NEA 72: 114–42. Burroughs, W. J. (2005), Climate Change in Prehistory: The End of the Reign of Chaos, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Butzer, K. W. (2008), “Challenges for a Cross-disciplinary Geoarchaeology: The Intersection between Environmental History and Geomorphology,” Geomorphology 101: 402–11. Cline, E. H. (2014), 1177 B.C.: The Year Civilization Collapsed, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Cohen, S. L. (2002), Canaanites, Chronologies, and Connections: The Relationship of Middle Bronze IIA Canaan to Middle Kingdom Egypt, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Dan, J. (1988), “The Soils of the Land of Israel,” in Y. Yom-Tov and E. Tchernov (eds.), The Zoogeography of Israel: The Distribution and Abundance at a Zoogeographical Crossroad, 95–128, Dordrecht: Junk Publishers. Dan, J., Yaalon, D. H., Koyumdjisky, H., and Raz, Z. (1972), “The Soil Association Map of Israel (1:1,000,000),” Israel Journal of Earth Sciences 21: 29–49. De Menocal, P. B. (2001), “Cultural Responses to Climate Change during the Late Holocene,” Science 292: 667–73. Dever, W. G. (1995), “Social Structure in the Early Bronze IV Period in Palestine,” in T. E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land, 282–96, London and Washington: Leicester University Press. Dusar, B., Verstraeten, G., Notebaert, B., and Bakker, J. (2011), “Holocene Environmental Change and Its Impact on Sediment Dynamics in the Eastern Mediterranean,” Earth-Science Reviews 108: 137–57. Ellenblum, R. (2012), The Collapse of the Eastern Mediterranean, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Elliott, M. and Wright, J. E. (2017), “The Book of Genesis and Israel’s Ancestral Traditions,” in J. Ebeling, J. E. Wright, M. Elliott, and P. V. M. Flesher (eds.), The Old Testament in Archaeology and History, 213–40, Waco: Baylor University Press. Enzel, Y., Bookman, R., Sharon, D., Gvirtzman, H., Dayan, U., Ziv, B., and Stein, M. (2003), “Late Holocene Climates of the Near East Deduced from Dead Sea Level Variations and Modern Regional Winter Rainfall,” Quaternary Research 60: 263–73. Erikísson, J., Knudsen, K. L., Haflidason, H., and Heinemeier, J. (2000), “Chronology of Late Holocene Climatic Events in the Northern North Atlantic Based on AMS 14C Dates and Tephra Markers from the Volcano Hekla, Iceland,” Journal of Quaternary Science 15: 573–80.

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Finkelstein, I. and Langgut, D. (2018), “Climate, Settlement History, and Olive Cultivation in the Iron Age Southern Levant,” BASOR 379: 153–69. Forman, R. T. T. and Godron, M. (1986), Landscape Ecology, New York: Wiley. Gadot, Y. (2008), “Continuity and Change in the Late Bronze to Iron Age Transition in Israel’s Coastal Plain: A Long Term Perspective,” in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau (eds.), Bene Israel: Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and the Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages in Honour of Israel Finkelstein, 55–73, Leiden: Brill. Gitin, S. (1990), “Ekron of the Philistines, Part II: Olive-Oil Suppliers to the World,” BAR 16, no. 2: 32–42, 59. Goldberg, P. (1995), “The Changing Landscape,” in T. E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land, 40–57, London and Washington: Leicester University Press. Gornitz, V. (2009), “Ancient Cultures and Climate Change,” in V. Gornitz (ed.), Encyclopedia of Paleoclimatology and Ancient Environments, 6–10, Dordrecht: Springer. Greener, A., Finkelstein, I., and Langgut, D. (2018), “Settlement Oscillations along the Desert Fringes of the Southern Levant: Impact of Climate versus Economic and Historical Factors,” UF 49: 165–96. Hooke, J. M. (2006), “Human Impacts on Fluvial Systems in the Mediterranean Region,” Geoarchaeology 79: 311–35. Horowitz, A. (1979), The Quaternary of Israel, New York: Academic Press. Issar, A. S. (2003), Climate Changes during the Holocene and Their Impact on Hydrological Systems, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Issar, A. S. and Zohar, M. (2007), Climate Change—Environment and History of the Near East, Berlin: Springer. Kallner, D. H. and Rosenau, E. (1939), “The Geographical Regions of Palestine,” Geographical Review 29: 61–80. Kaniewski, D., Paulissen, E., Van Campo, E., Weiss, H., Otto, T., Bretschneider, J., and van Lerberghe, K. (2010), “Late Second–Early First Millennium BC Abrupt Climate Changes in Coastal Syria and Their Possible Significance for the History of the Eastern Mediterranean,” Quaternary Research 74: 207–15. Kaniewski, D., Van Campo, E., Guiot, J., Le Burel, S., Otto, T., and Baeteman, C. (2013), “Environmental Roots of the Late Bronze Age Crisis,” PLoS ONE 8: 1–10 (e71004). Kaniewski, D., Marriner, N., Ilan, D., Morhange, C., Thareani, Y., and Van Campo, E. (2017), “Climate Change and Water Management in the Biblical City of Dan,” Science Advances 3: 1–8 (e1700954) Kaniewski, D., Marriner, N., Bretschneider, J., Jans, G., Morhange, C., Cheddadi, R., Otto, T., Luce, F., and Van Campo, E. (2019), “300-year Drought Frames Late Bronze Age to Early Iron Age Transition in the Near East: New Palaeoecological Data from Cyprus and Syria,” Regional Environmental Change 19: 2287–97. Kaufman, A. and Magaritz, M. (1980), “The Climatic History of the Eastern Mediterranean as Recorded in Mollusk Shells,” Radiocarbon 22: 778–81. Kneller, M. (2009), “Pollen Analysis,” in V. Gornitz (ed.), Encyclopedia of Paleoclimatology and Ancient Environments, 815–23, Dordrecht: Springer. Langgut, D. (2014), “Southern Levant Pollen Record, Paleo-climate and Human Impact from the Late Bronze Age to the Persian Period,” in P. Bieliński, M. Gawlikowski, R. Koliński, D. Ławecka, A. Sołtysiak, and Z. Wygnańska (eds.), Proceedings of the 8th International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, 541–58, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Langgut, D., Neumann, F. H., Stein, M., Wagner, A., Kagan, E. J., Boaretto, E., and Finkelstein, I. (2014), “Dead Sea Pollen Record and History of Human Activity in the

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Judean Highlands (Israel) from the Intermediate Bronze Age into the Iron Ages (~2500–500 bce),” Palynology 38, no. 2: 280–302. Langgut, D., Finkelstein, I., Litt, T., Neumann, F. H., and Stein, M. (2015), “Vegetation and Climate Changes during the Bronze and Iron Ages (~3600–600 bce) in the Southern Levant Based on Palynological Records,” Radiocarbon 57: 217–35. Libby, W. F., Anderson, E. C., and Arnold, J. R. (1949), “Age Determination by Radiocarbon Content: World-Wide Assay of Natural Radiocarbon,” Science 109, no. 2827: 227–8. Litt, T., Ohlwien, C., Neumann, F. H., Hense, A., and Stein, M. (2012), “Holocene Climate Variability in the Levant from the Dead Sea Pollen Record,” Quaternary Science Reviews 49: 95–105. Masterman, E. W. G. (1900), “Agricultural Life in Palestine,” The Biblical World 15: 185–92. Mazar, A. (1992), Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, 10,000–586 B.C.E., Archaeology of the Land of the Bible 1, New York: Doubleday. Mazar, A. (ed.) (1997), Timnah (Tel Batash) I: Stratigraphy and Architecture, Vol. 1: Text, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Migowski, C., Stein, M., Prasad, S., Negendank, J. F. W., and Agnon, A. (2006), “Holocene Climate Variability and Cultural Evolution in the Near East from the Dead Sea Sedimentary Record,” Quaternary Research 66: 421–31. Miller, L. H., Good, M. F., and Milon, G. (1994), “Malaria Pathogenesis,” Science 264: 1878–83. Neev, D., Bakler, N., and Emery, K. O. (1987), Mediterranean Coasts of Israel and Sinai: Holocene Tectonism from Geology, Geophysics, and Archaeology, New York: Taylor and Francis. Neumann, F. H., Kagan, E. J., Leroy, S. A. G., and Baruch, U. (2010), “Vegetation History and Climate Fluctuations on a Transect along the Dead Sea West Shore and Their Impact on Past Societies over the Last 3500 Years,” Journal of Arid Environments 74: 756–64. Pierce, G. A. (2005), “GIS Studies of Tell Dothan and the Dothan Valley,” in D. M. Master, J. M. Monson, E. H. E. Lass, and G. A. Pierce (eds.), Dothan I: Remains from the Tell (1953–1964), 17–22, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Pierce, G. A. (2015), “‘The Territory Facing Jaffa’: Cultural Landscapes of a Mediterranean Port and Its Hinterland (ca. 2000–539 bce),” PhD diss., University of California, Los Angeles. Raban, A. (1985), “The Ancient Harbours of Israel in Biblical Times,” in A. Raban (ed.), Harbour Archaeology: Proceedings of the First International Workshop on Ancient Mediterranean Harbours, Caesarea Maritima, 24–28.6.83, 11–44, Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. Rainey, A. F. and Notley, R. S. (2007), Carta’s New Century Handbook and Atlas of the Bible, Jerusalem: Carta. Ritter-Kaplan, H. (1979), “Notes and News: Tel Aviv, No. 8 Bodenheimer Street,” IEJ 29: 239–41. Ronen, A., Golik, A., Neber, A., Tsatskin, A., Boenigk, W., and Beiles, A. (2005), “Pleistocene and Holocene Pattern of Sand Migration along the Mediterranean Littoral of Israel,” Israel Journal of Earth Sciences 54: 187–98. Rosen, A. M. (1986), “Environment and Culture at Tel Lachish, Israel,” BASOR 263: 55–60. Sallares, R., Bouwman, A., and Anderung, C. (2004), “The Spread of Malaria to Southern Europe in Antiquity: New Approaches to Old Problems,” Medical History 48: 311–28. Sanders, S. (2008), “Writing and Early Iron Age Israel: Before National Scripts, beyond Nations and States,” in R. E. Tappy and P. K. McCarter (eds.), Literate Culture and

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Tenth-Century Canaan: The Tel Zayit Abecedary in Context, 97–112, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Sayej, G. J. (1999), “The Origin of Terraces in the Central Hills of Palestine: Theories and Explanations,” in I. Abu-Lughod, R. Heacock, and K. Nashef (eds.), The Landscape of Palestine: Equivocal Poetry, 201–9, Birzeit: Birzeit University Publications. Sivan, D., Eliyahu, D., and Raban, A. (2004), “Late Pleistocene to Holocene Wetlands Now Covered by Sand, along the Carmel Coast, Israel, and Their Relation to Human Settlement: An Example from Dor,” Journal of Coastal Research 20: 1035–48. Smith, G. A. (1931), The Historical Geography of the Holy Land, 25th edn., Jerusalem: Ariel Publishing House. Snaith, N. H. (1975), “The Meaning of ‫םיריעש‬,” VT 25: 115–18. Stager, L. E. (1982), “The Archaeology of the East Slope of Jerusalem and the Terraces of the Kidron,” JNES 41: 111–21. Stager, L. E. (1985), “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel,” BASOR 260: 1–35. Talmon, S. (1963), “The Gezer Calendar and the Seasonal Cycle of Ancient Canaan,” JAOS 83: 177–87. Vita-Finzi, C. (1978), Archaeological Sites in Their Setting, London: Thames and Hudson. Webley, D. (1972), “Soils and Site Location in Prehistoric Palestine,” in E. S. Higgs (ed.), Papers in Economic Prehistory, 169–80, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Weiss, H. (2017), “4.2 ka BP Megadrought and the Akkadian Collapse,” in H. Weiss (ed.), Megadrought and Collapse: From Early Agriculture to Angkor, 93–159, New York: Oxford University Press. Weiss, H. and Bradley, R. S. (2001), “What Drives Societal Collapse?” Science 291: 609–10. Wilkinson, T. J. (2003), Archaeological Landscapes of the Near East, Tucson: The University of Arizona Press. Wright, H. R. (1968), “Climatic Change in Mycenaean Greece,” Antiquity 42: 123–27. Yasur-Landau, A., Cline, E. H., and Pierce, G. A. (2008), “Middle Bronze Age Settlement Patterns in the Western Galilee, Israel,” JFA 33: 59–83.

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CHAPTER 2

Houses, Households, and Social Structure JAMES W. HARDIN

INTRODUCTION Very little is more fundamental to the survival of any group of people than the ability of that group to feed itself. In this respect, the societies that gave us the Hebrew Bible are similar to others. Also, like others, the ways they did this were unique to them and largely determined by their particular circumstances. Factors like environment, climate, resource availability (local and longer distant), technology, and sociopolitical context all shape the way people produce and consume food and also affect attitudes about the role of food beyond subsistence. Most of these determinants are dealt with in other chapters of this volume; this chapter focuses primarily on the sociopolitical organization of ancient Israel. It describes the social structure of ancient Israel and Judah and the details of their houses and households, for the household or family is the most important locus for situating food-related topics.

ISRAELITE SOCIETY IN IRON AGES I AND II Most individuals and families in ancient Israel and Judah participated in the production and distribution of food procured through agriculture, horticulture, viticulture, and animal husbandry. This is true of people and families living in the small villages and settlements of the early Iron Age (Iron I; twelfth to eleventh centuries bce) and those living in the more politically and economically integrated towns and cities of the kingdoms of Israel and Judah during the later Iron Age (Iron II; tenth to sixth centuries bce). Early Israel’s genesis in the highlands of the southern Levant began around 1200 bce. New and expanded settlement in this area occurred around the same time as the great collapse of the Mediterranean’s Bronze Age imperial centers with their multiregional economic systems and commercial networks that stretched from the Aegean and Anatolia to Mesopotamia and Egypt (Cline 2014). New groups, such as the Philistines and other Sea Peoples and perhaps other foreigners, arrived in the Levant. These mingled with nomadic pastoralists/Shasu,1 rural peasants, and dispersing Canaanite populations moving Shasu is a term used by the Egyptians in the latter half of the second millennium bce to refer both to a social class of people often seen as mercenaries, highwaymen, or pastoral nomads and to a place on the eastern borders of the Egyptian Delta usually associated with southern Transjordan. 1 

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away from major centers to smaller, more fragmented settlements and practicing more basic modes of subsistence (see Dever 2003: 129–90; Gilboa 2014: 630–9). The new populations that appeared in the southern Levant settled in the Galilean hills in the north, the central highlands of Samaria and Judea, and the foothills sloping down to the Negev desert in the south. These areas were typified by steep, high, and often forested hills and open valleys before giving way to more gentle hills with shrubby growth in the south.2 Before the Iron I, these areas were occupied sparsely. But at this time, new farmsteads, hamlets, and villages appeared on older, long, or recently abandoned settlements, and in new locations (Faust 2006: ch. 12; Finkelstein 1988: 338–44; Mazar 1985: 61–71; Stager 1985: 3). Similarly, further south, hundreds of new farmsteads, small hamlets, and villages—mostly unfortified—replaced the few Late Bronze Age centers there. The settlements subsisted largely on a variety of agricultural crops grown on newly cleared lands: cereals, legumes, vegetables, and probably olives and grapes. They also raised livestock such as cattle but especially sheep and goats. In the more arid regions, especially in the south, pastoralism was always more important, but mixed farming and horticulture were also practiced. There is virtually no public architecture in most settlements. Many examples of rock-hewn cisterns abound, as do pits and stone-lined silos; these demonstrate the need for extensive storage and suggest pooling of locally produced food undertaken by individual domestic units likely organized around families (Dever 2003: 107–9). Pooling, which focuses on production, exchanges, and transactions between and within households, generally is an effective subsistence strategy when sources of income are diverse, seasonal, variable, or unpredictable (Wilk and Netting 1984: 9). It works well with large households, which tend to be stable and have generational continuity. Large, stable households are common across the eastern Mediterranean and Near East for millennia and typical of the Israelite households discussed below (e.g., Lamberg-Karlovsky 1999: 168–85; Levine 2003: 448; Stager 1985: 25; Schloen 2001: 127–33, chs. 9 and 13). Larger households have advantages that allow them to meet economic needs more easily. They provide larger numbers of people for the simultaneous scheduling of labor activities, like those associated with agriculture and pastoralism that typified ancient Israel. Further evidence of the localized and loosely integrated nature of the highland villages is the largely domestic nature of many of the artifacts found therein. While imported vessels or local imitations of vessels from other regions are a bit more common in the northern highlands (Gilboa 2014: 640–1), they are less common to the south and provide no evidence of common contact or integration with larger regional systems outside of the highlands. These settlements appear relatively egalitarian although there certainly were status differences and differential economic successes among the individual families and their members. The settlements most probably consisted of kin-based groups of multiple family households (Faust 2012: 9; Stager 1985: 11, 23–4). During the succeeding Iron Age II, most of the small settlements either were abandoned or morphed into the walled villages and towns that populated the kingdoms of Israel and Judah after the tenth century bce (Faust 2006: 120–34). True urban centers remained few, and the fortified towns and villages remained largely agricultural. Over the next two centuries (late eleventh to ninth centuries bce), the settlements in the hill country and Negev desert increased in size, number, and complexity. For whatever

2 

See the discussion of environmental features in Chapter 1 of this volume.

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39

reasons, whether population pressure, new economic opportunities, other internal causes, or external military threat or competition, processes during the tenth century ultimately led to the formation of the small, territorial, and/or tribal kingdoms well attested in ninth- and eighth-century texts, especially from Assyria. The reorganization that accompanied this change affected all aspects of society. Politically, a full-time specialist (i.e., king) involved in military activity, judicial matters, border control, and so on, was established; a new elite class was formed; and a bureaucracy with positions of service and servitude emerged.3 It is likely that an increasingly hegemonic crown exercising the prerogatives of royal authority began to usurp traditional household rights and extract “taxes” and labor (e.g., 1 Sam. 8:14-15; 22:7-8; 2 Sam. 9:7-8; 16:4; 19:30; 1 Kgs. 21:1-3). Economically, some trade supplemented agriculture/viticulture/horticulture and animal husbandry, but this was basically a society with few natural resources that were tradable over long distances. The number of pits and cisterns common in earlier Iron Age I settlements decreased dramatically, seemingly replaced by large storage jars to hold water and grains. This suggests less pooling and, perhaps, more integrated interactions between settlements. Some opportunities were created for specialists such as craftsmen/ women, musicians, courtiers, literati, engineers, priests, soldiers, and administrators. Social stratification increased throughout the Iron Age II as people moved into fortified villages, towns, cities, and fortresses. Yet even with all of these changes, most of the inhabitants of ancient Israel continued to be involved in the agricultural and animal husbandry systems that were its subsistence basis as reflected in the agricultural/“non-urban” nature of many settlements. And the family, or family household, remained throughout the most important institution in ancient Israel for food production, distribution, and consumption. The household, as the most fundamental building block of Israel’s society, was the locus for most of the activities of daily life and served as the foundation of its social organization.

HOUSEHOLD AND SOCIETY Biblical scholars have identified ancient Israel as a tribal society internally articulated into small, medium, and large social groups representing three ever-broadening and more inclusive organizational spheres: (1) “families” or “households” (the biblical bêt ’āb), grouped into (2) clans (biblical mišpāḥâ or ’elep), further grouped into (3) tribes (biblical šēbeṭ or maṭṭeh). However, these terms were rarely defined until Norman Gottwald (1979: 237–344) investigated the biblical terminology for various social units of the Iron I period (1200–1000 bce) and attempted to define and understand them using sociological and anthropological concepts of kinship and social organization. Ancient Israel’s social organization is thought by many archaeologists and biblical scholars to continue throughout the Iron Age (ca. 1200–587 bce), albeit with modifications, depending on sociopolitical environments (Stager 1985: 25) and the size of the settlement (Faust 2012: 159–77; cf. Lemos 2016: 384–9). The focus here is on the bêt ’āb, the unit associated with food production, but also briefly describes the other two levels of society.

The literature on state formation of Iron Age kingdoms/secondary states that include Israel and Judah, among others, is extensive and implicates different prime movers. For example, see Frick (1985); Joffee (2002); Labianca and Younker (1994); Master (2001); McNutt (1999); Portugali (1994); Smith (2011); Stager (2011). 3 

40

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The bêt ’āb The smallest and most significant social unit above the individual in ancient Israel was the bêt ’āb or the “house of the father.” It is understood most commonly as an extended family or household and was the basic unit of society. Households such as the bêt ’āb include (1) material, (2) social, and (3) behavioral elements. The material element includes the dwelling and household holdings and was occupied and/or used regularly by a family’s members. It was the location where many of the family’s activities routinely took place, and it included rooms, activity areas, installations, and possessions, and possibly dispersed holdings such as additional storage and stabling areas not connected to the dwelling(s). While hard to identify in the archaeological record, the biblically described naḥalâ could be included here as well. According to biblical texts, the naḥalâ is an inalienable family land plot that provided the economic basis of Israel’s land tenure system by keeping land plots spread out among its households. Houses and household land plots are discussed further below. The household’s social element, or the demographic element, comprises the household’s members and their relationships (Laslett 1972: 28–34). Typically, the bêt ’āb was a lineage, usually headed by the oldest living male along with all of his descendants (married sons with their spouses and offspring, but not married daughters) and any adopted members. It most commonly consisted of two to three generations. It might also include, depending on a household’s wealth, visitors, captives, apprentices, male and female slaves, laborers, lodgers, boarders, or even religious specialists4 (Meyers 1997: 22–32; Wright 1992: 764). According to biblical texts, the bêt ’āb was patrilineal (descent and inheritance traced through the male line), patrilocal (living in the home or community of the husband), and endogamous (marrying within the clans of the same tribe; see Num. 36:8-9). The typical bêt ’āb probably numbered six to fifteen individuals, a number that is spatially and temporally persistent throughout the eastern Mediterranean. This number is close to Schloen’s estimate for a small, extended family (2001: 122–7, 147) and fits nicely with the typical domestic architecture of the Iron Age (more below). The number and configuration of individuals in a bêt ’āb would have fluctuated as it passed through various cycles typical of families and stages in differing economic and political situations. Biblical texts do not seem to note the nuclear family as an intermediate social organization between the individual and the bêt ’āb level of social organization. As a social unit, the bêt ’āb was the environment in which an individual became aware of her or his culture’s rules, where individual members were fed, educated, socialized, trained, and otherwise prepared for effective participation in society. It was the vehicle of continuity for community regulations, inheritance, religion, history, and traditions. In some matters, it apparently had the authority to act judicially without reference to any external authority (Wright 1992: 764). The head of the household (Heb. rō’š bêt  ’āb) likely took part in an assembly of elders to make important decisions affecting the community (Faust 2012: 12). The bêt ’āb was the basic economic unit for the production of food and other necessities, and all its members—both male and female, both young and old—participated in the economic activities of daily life. It is sometimes assumed that men had the chief economic roles. However, it is now recognized that women carried out many of the

4 

E.g., prophets (see 1 Kgs. 17:19-23 and 2 Kgs. 4:10) and sometimes resident Levitical priests (Judg. 18:15, 17).

HOUSES, HOUSEHOLDS, AND SOCIAL STRUCTURE

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economic activities that made the household viable: transforming crops into food,5 textile production, and socialization of children (see King and Stager 2001: 49–52; Meyers 2013: 125–46). They also had important roles in household religious activities, many of which were linked to the desire for or celebration of the fertility of the land (Meyers 2013: 147–50). Indeed, the senior woman was the de facto household manager of the myriad daily household tasks, so much so that biblical texts about women sometimes call the household the bêt ’ēm, or “mother’s household” (e.g., Gen. 24:28; Song 8:2; see Chapman 2016; Meyers 2013: 114–15; inter alia). The judgment, planning, skill, experience, and technological knowledge involved in “women’s tasks” were highly significant for agrarian societies such as ancient Israel’s. Each bêt ’āb possessed its own land, or patrimony (naḥălâ), so that each bêt ’āb possessed a viable means of supporting itself, usually through agriculture and animal husbandry. This system was protected by the principle of inalienability, which maintained that land should remain in the bêt ’āb and it could not be sold permanently outside of it (e.g., Lev. 25:23; 1 Kgs. 21:1-3) (cf. Faust 2012: 12–13; Wright 1992: 764). The Jubilee, which theoretically occurred every fifty years, necessitated the return of sold land to its original bêt ’āb, reinforcing this system (Num. 36:6-9). Moreover, the naḥălâ was never to change ownership between tribes. However, there is no way to know if or how commonly this system was in effect in the Iron Age. The Hebrew Bible has no instance of an Israelite selling land voluntarily outside of the bêt ’āb (Wright 1992: 764). Land and property (and likely rights and roles) could be transferred across generations to heirs, and it appears that some form of primogeniture was practiced. Deuteronomy 21:15-17 provides for a double share of the father’s estate to be inherited by the first-born son, and 2 Kgs. 2:9 alludes to this portion when Elisha seeks to become Elijah’s spiritual heir.

The mišpāḥâ/’elep The secondary level of social organization is made of a group of households often referred to in biblical texts as mišpāḥâ or ’elep, often translated “clan” or “lineage.” “Lineage” refers to a number of families who can presumably demonstrate kinship, while “clan” is used when relationships may be unclear or fictive (and in anthropology/sociology, clan was reserved for reference to exogamous groups who married outside of their lineages; see Gottwald 1979: 301–15). This mišpāḥâ was normally, and at times statutorily, endogamous, at least according to some biblical texts (e.g., Num. 36:7-9). The term mišpāḥâ relates to land ownership and tenure, and therefore it significantly affects the production of food either for subsistence or to sell or barter. A major feature of the mišpāḥâ was its territorial identity, which was reflected in its name (Gottwald 1979: 268). The ostraca (inscribed potsherds) discovered at Samaria are receipts for goods received, especially oil and wine.6 They provide names of towns and geographical locations of clan districts within a tribal area of ancient Israel (Kaufman 1982: 229; Schloen 2001: 155–65).7 In fact, six of the place names appearing in the Samaria ostraca occur in the Hebrew Bible as clans (mišpāḥôt) of Manasseh (see Josh. 17:2 and Num. 26:28).8 Another important feature of the mišpāḥâ was its role in protecting the socioeconomic integrity and solidarity of its member households when they were unable to act in their

See Chapter 22 in this volume for further discussion. See the discussion in Chapter 26 in this volume. 7  See Chapter 26 in this volume. 8  Two of those names, Noah and Hoglah, are women’s names (see Num. 26:33). 5  6 

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own behalf or when they were lacking basic needs (including food). Gottwald (1979: 267) calls it a “protective association of families,” with the constituent households forming a kind of mutual aid society (see also Meyers 2013: 141–2). It might provide a gō’ēl, or “kinsman protector” (from the root g’l, “to restore, redeem”) to act in its behalf (King and Stager 2001: 38). Mišpāḥâ and ’elep are often interchangeable (e.g., 1 Sam. 10:1727); however, the latter term may imply a military function and can be identified as a “mishpāḥāh in arms” (Gottwald 1979: 270). While the socioeconomic functions of the mišpāḥâ were directed “downwards” to its component households, its military functions were directed “upwards” toward the tribe. It thus had an important vertical bonding effect on the social whole (Faust 2012: 10–11; Gottwald 1979: 319; King and Stager 2001: 36–40; cf. Schloen 2001: 153–5).

The šēbeṭ or maṭṭeh The terms šēbeṭ and maṭṭeh often are used to refer to the largest unit of social and territorial organization in ancient Israel. Its closest English equivalent is the term “tribe” in that the members of the šēbeṭ or maṭṭeh have a sense of affinity with others outside of their immediate living area. Israel’s sociopolitical entirety was divided into a number of these units who collectively make up all šəbaṭîm (pl. of šēbeṭ) or the “Tribes of Israel” (also referred to as ‘ām yiśrā’ēl, šibtê yiśrā’ēl, and bənê yiśrā’ēl, or “the people,” “the tribes,” and “the sons” of Israel). Politically, these units merged when the monarchies of Israel and Judah were established; the existing households and clans remained largely intact and associated with specific territories within the kingdoms (Schloen 2001: 76). The social system described here likely served Israel and Judah throughout much of the Iron Age. In this system, the household is the context for the production, distribution, and preparation/serving/consumption of food. The lineages/clans integrated the households into a more regional network. To understand further the household’s role in food-related activities, we turn to the space occupied by households—the Iron Age domiciles known from archaeology.

THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL RECORD OF HOUSES Houses consist of the organized temporal relationships between architectural features and artifacts, animals, and people (Rapoport 1980: 291–6). The house is the locus where many, but not all, household activities were regularly carried out. The organization and form of this space are heavily influenced by human behavior (and, conversely, human behavior is influenced by the built environment) and also by climate, topography, available materials, level of technology, available economic resources, function, and cultural conventions (Rapoport 1980: 295–305). With all of these influences affecting house form, it can be difficult to identify houses in the archaeological record. However, this is not true generally of ancient Israel and Judah, mainly because of the great similitude among houses of this period. Another is the rich nature of the archaeological record—one that includes the well-preserved remains of many houses.

Architectural Plan Hundreds of examples of Iron Age houses have been excavated: and sometimes entire domestic areas/quarters and even nearly complete town and city plans are available. The quality of these remains is often impressive, as many houses are preserved well above floor levels—sometimes even to the level of door lintels—and with many artifacts often still

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located in the remains of the houses and on the floors where they were in use. Notable examples include, but are not limited to, Ta’anach, Tell el-Far‘ah (North), Shechem, Gezer, Tel Batash/Timnah, Lachish, Tell Beit Mirsim, Tel Halif, and Beersheba, among many others (Hardin 2010: 44–55; Meyers 2014). The domestic structures of the southern Levantine Iron Age in the area associated with ancient Israel have been designated variously “three-room” or “four-room houses,” “Israelite houses,” “pillared dwellings,” or “Palestinian houses.”9 The four-room house, as it is referred to here, was first associated with the Israelites because of its numerous occurrences in the geographical areas identified with the kingdoms of Israel and Judah (Herzog 1984; cf. Shiloh 1970; Wright 1978; see also the summaries in Meyers 2014). While these structures are prevalent in this geographical area, and indeed appear to be standard, a few examples are known from outside this region, on the coastal plain, and in central Jordan. Thus some (e.g., Finkelstein 1996: 204–6) have questioned its identity as an “Israelite” house, but most others, notably Faust (2006: chs. 4 and 9; 2012: 216–19), support its identification as a marker of Israelite ethnicity. Excavations reveal an astonishingly isomorphic house plan, normally comprised of a rectangular or rectilinear structure divided into a long broad room or rooms set across the structure’s rear, and two or three long narrow rooms/chambers extending perpendicularly through the remaining space (Figure 2.1). Three to four evenly spaced pillars often divide these long rooms, one of which may serve as a courtyard. In the four-room version of the house, entrance is through a doorway normally placed in the short wall opposite the broad room(s) and aligned with the central long room. In the three-room version, the wider of the two long rooms usually contains the doorway.

FIGURE 2.1  Isometric rendering of typical houses of the three-room (left) and four-room (right) types showing broad rooms along the back of the building (opposite the wall of the doorway) and perpendicular, long rooms. (Drawing by Dylan Karges, courtesy of the Lahav Research Project)

The “three”- or “four”-room designation does not preclude the existence of a building with more than four rooms, especially if the broad room is subdivided or if there are enclosed rooms on a second story (see below). 9 

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FIGURE 2.2  Reconstruction of the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif that accords with the archaeological data for the house’s setting within the settlement and the settlement’s setting in the hills of southern Judah. The house and its neighboring houses are integrated into the casemate wall on the northwestern edge of the settlement. (Drawing by Dylan Karges, courtesy of the Lahav Research Project)

The size of the structure ranges from 35 to 80 m2 and in some examples may be more than 100 m2. This house type became standard for much of the southern Levant during the entire 600 years of the Iron Age, surviving the dramatic demographic and sociopolitical changes and the various reorganizations thought to have taken place during this time. This longevity and durability attest to the success with which the house’s plan and features continued to meet the needs of its occupants, both functionally and ideologically. The appearance of the four-room house coincides with the new and rapid Iron I settlement in the southern highlands. The earliest known examples appear in the twelfth century bce and are found in the hill country north and west of Jerusalem and in the Negev Desert. In virtually every Israelite and Judahite Iron Age II (ca. 1000 to 586 bce) settlement whose town plan is well known archaeologically, the dominant architectural form is the three- or four-room house. Some settlements are carefully planned, and others exist as mazes of dead-ending alleyways and interior space. Often houses are integrated into the settlement’s primary fortification elements on the perimeter of settlements (Figure 2.2) and are tightly clustered into the remaining interiors of the settlement along with other architectural features that consist mostly of variations on the three- and four-room house (Shiloh 1987). From these settlements, often located to take advantage of arable land, the members of many households would venture out daily to tend crops and animals on family plots. Whatever the arrangement of the settlement, the three- or four-room house is always present.

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Construction The houses sometimes were constructed of stone but more typically of sun-dried mud bricks laid upon stone foundations. Exterior walls almost always are two stones wide, while interior walls typically are one or two rows wide. Upon the stone foundations, mud bricks were laid to the desired height and often covered with a mud-chaff plaster on the exterior to protect it from the elements and on the interior surface, probably for aesthetics (Figure 2.3). While the broad rooms across the rear of the structures were completely enclosed by solid walls, the long rooms often were separated from one another by a row or rows of evenly spaced pillars. The use of pillars allowed for shared air space and visibility between the two separated rooms/chambers and facilitated communication between rooms while simultaneously allowing the space to be spanned by a roof of some type (Holladay 1992: 309). Pillars varied regionally, often depending on the availability of building materials and could be made of single pieces of square or rectangular-shaped limestone, or rounded limestone or chert “drums” stacked to the desired height. Less often, drums of mud brick were used. Limestone bases that supported wooden pillars also are attested archaeologically. The known ceiling heights for dwellings are generally low, measuring between 1.6 and 2.0 m above floor levels. The roofs covering the ceilings were built on stone or timber lintels and beams covered in turn by smaller beams (slats, poles, reeds, rushes,

Figure 2.3  Reconstruction of the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif that accords with archaeological remains found on the floors and in the overlying debris. (Drawing by Dylan Karges, courtesy of the Lahav Research Project)

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etc.), which were heavily plastered with a straw and mud material and surfaced with several layers of plaster. Archaeological evidence that a second floor covered at least part of the structure includes the presence of staircases and the high-load-bearing capacity of walls and pillars that could easily carry additional stories (more on second floors and ceilings below).

Interior Spaces (Ground Floor) During the early 1990s, the Lahav Research Project’s excavations at Tell Halif focused on several four-room houses that had been destroyed in a settlement-wide conflagration in the late eighth century bce (Hardin 2010: 88–9). The houses, for the most part, were well preserved, often with collapsed and burned debris from superstructures sealing artifacts in the destruction debris or on floors near the places where they were being used at the time the houses were destroyed. During excavation, painstaking efforts were made to recover all artifacts and to record each one in three dimensions. Thus, very detailed information was obtained about which artifacts occurred together and where they were found so that activity areas could be identified and activities inferred within specific areas of the houses. Additionally, microartifact samples were collected on all excavated floors and surfaces. Microartifacts measure 0.25–30.0 mm and, due to their small size, often remain in the areas where they were produced. Their careful analysis through magnification added to our understanding of the activities occurring in specific areas of the dwelling. This approach provided excellent information, especially related to food production, storage, and consumption. The best-preserved house from these excavations was designated the “F7 Dwelling” (Figure 2.3). Much of the information provided below is drawn from this work (Hardin 2010: 124–60). It is also supplemented with data from other carefully excavated and well-preserved houses to provide a more complete picture of interior space use in four-room houses. The Broad Room(s) The broad room set across the rear of the structures frequently was divided—usually unevenly—into at least two rooms (Figure 2.1). Rooms could range in length from less than 1 m up to 6–8 m. Their width generally was quite narrow, ranging from 1.25 to 3.5 m. During the Iron II period, the broad room often was incorporated into the settlement’s defensive system, either built against a solid wall or built with a thickened back wall of the house, serving double duty as the outer wall of a casemate fortification system, while its inner and connecting walls solidified and strengthened the fortification (Shiloh 1987: 8–13).10 The roof of the broad room would have provided an excellent platform from which to defend the settlement during times of attack or siege. The function of the broad room is debated. The smaller of these rooms probably served as a storage facility for food, liquids, and cooking fuels, or some related domestic activity. Traditional wisdom holds that the larger of the broad rooms served as the main living quarters where activities such as sleeping, eating, and entertaining guests took place (e.g., Hardin 2010: 48–9; Shiloh 1970: 186; Wright 1978: 150–4). Types of artifacts that support this conclusion include ceramics associated with food consumption (pitchers/jugs, various sized bowls, cups, etc.), cultic paraphernalia for meal-associated

In the archaeology of ancient Israel, the term casemate wall refers to a double fortification wall, with cross walls separating the space between the parallel walls into rooms. 10 

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or other rituals (figurines, standing stones, shaped altars/incense stands), and floor space devoid of artifacts and thus sufficient for sleeping/reclining/eating/etc. (Hardin 2010: 133–43). Typically, floors in broad rooms are well prepared, made of packed earth, dried mud, plaster, or a packed layer of small cobbles covered by plaster—all consistent with floors in rooms for eating and sleeping. However, the general narrowness of broad rooms, their close proximity to stables and industrial/economic areas, and the belief that most of the living quarters were located on a second floor have raised some doubts (e.g., Holladay 1992: 314–17; Stager 1985: 15). Presently, the best interpretation remains multiuse for storage in some cases and for living activities in others. Both are supported by the archaeological materials (Hardin 2010: 158). Furthermore, activities associated with both genders occur in these spaces but likely in different ways. Also, there were probably seasonal variations in the use of space. In hot weather, for example, people may have slept on the roof, where it would have been cooler, or eaten in cooler, outdoor spaces. The Long Rooms The remainder of the space in the four-room house comprised two or three long rooms (Figure 2.1). In the “three-room” versions of the houses, the wider of the two long rooms appears to function similarly to the central room in the “four-room” version. The space in the side rooms (or the narrower long room in the “three-room” type) often was subdivided by secondary walls. These rooms most likely were covered by a low roof as described above and possibly carried a second floor. Space between the walls and the pillars easily could be spanned with the available local resources, and likely these resources were important in determining the width of the rooms. Joists of logs or cut wooden timbers made of pine, cypress, oak, terebinth, and even almond are known archaeologically, as are apertures in the tops of walls slotted to hold the joists (Stager 1985: 15). The floor preparation and some of the installations discovered in these side rooms may shed light on the identification of these activities. While it is more common for the floors of side rooms to consist of packed earth, many are paved, at least partially, with flagstones. Such floors likely served as domestic stables (Stager 1985: 13–14). Flagstone floors provided a solid floor for heavy beasts (a few from sheep/goat/calves/donkey) from which manure and bedding could be removed easily while allowing urine to percolate down between the stones (Stager 1985: 14). A number of these side rooms were divided into what appear to be stalls, and it is not uncommon to find mangers and troughs built into the pillared walls. The side, long rooms meet most of the requirements of a domestic stable, including the seasonal stalling and folding of a small number of animals. Biblical narratives provide evidence of domestic stabling as well. When Saul’s men and the medium of Endor plead with Saul to eat after his unpleasant oracle with the ghost of Samuel, the medium prepares for the tired and hungry potentate the “fatted calf in the house” or, more literally, the “stall-fed calf” kept or raised in the house (1 Sam. 28:24) (Stager 1985: 15)—veal for the VIPs as it were. This reference, along with others (Ps. 50:9; Jer. 46:21; Amos 6:4; Mal. 4:2), suggests the common presence of domestic stables. Other areas of the side rooms served as work and storage areas (gendered space covered briefly in the next section). Supporting this interpretation are the large quantities of storage jars (sometimes as many as fifteen to twenty) found—sometimes stacked—in these rooms as well as ovens and various other non-portable features including bins made of cobbles and clay/mud/plaster, hearths, grinding implements, and shallow stone-lined

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pits, basins, sumps, and gutters.11 Portable artifacts typically found in side rooms include weaving implements (spatulas, loom weights, and spindle whorls), scale weights, stamp seals and bullae (stamp/seal impressions), seeds, articles of personal adornment, stored agricultural tools (plowshares, flints, iron and bronze sickles, knives, etc.), and varied faunal remains (Hardin 2010: 143–7, 151–60). Many different types of ceramic vessels occur for the processing (funnels and sieves), storage (jars), cooking (cooking pots), and consumption (small bowls) of food.12 Microartifacts (0.3 mm to 3 cm), collected from the buildup on floors, include food remains—fish bones (both marine and Nile species, reflecting Mediterranean-coastal and Egypt connections;13 animal bone, cereals, legumes, eggshells, grape pits—and other materials such as beach rock mortar fragments, flint debitage, slag, red ochre, and burned debris (probably the remains of cooking fires) (Hardin 2010: ch. 5). Certainly the evidence requires a multiple-use interpretation. The side rooms were used for stabling, at least seasonally, and for the storage of food-related materials such as the food itself and the tools and vessels used to produce, process, prepare, and serve it (Hardin 2010: 158). The Central Room More debate and conjecture have focused on the function of the central long room than on any other of the house’s rooms or features. This room usually possesses a packed earthen floor, and it is frequently the room through which the structure is entered. As noted, it is flanked on one or both sides by additional long rooms. Items regularly appearing in the central room are similar to those found in side rooms. They commonly include installations such as hearths (large and small); ovens typically placed for easy access (found in the central room more often than in the side rooms); grinding installations (saddle querns, mortars, pestles); small installations sunken into floors and surrounded by small cobbles (probably serving to hold large jars with rounded or small bases upright); and mud and cobble bins of various sizes, depths, and shapes (Hardin 2010: 148–50). From this inventory, it appears that a number of activities were carried out in this central area, including those associated with food preparation and storage and also other activities (e.g., weaving), especially those involved with household production and consumption. A strong case can be made for women’s activities and technologies predominating in this space (for gendered space, see Meyers 2003: 428–9). Even when men use this space, they likely used it in different ways for different activities. Some scholars understand this space as a courtyard left unroofed to permit in the necessary light for many of the activities described above, as well as allowing light to filter into other rooms of the structure (Herzog 1984: 77; G. R. H. Wright 1985: 74). An unroofed room also would have provided for air circulation and would have allowed smoke to escape from the cooking and hearth installations. Others, however, have gravitated toward a reconstruction of the entire structure, including the central room, as roofed (Holladay 1992: 314–17; 1997: 74; Stager 1985: 15–16). Support for the latter view includes difficulties in using this unroofed space during rainy winters and the need for ample roofed space for “living” (especially if animals occupy one of the adjacent

See Chapter 14 in this volume for ovens and hearths and Chapter 11 for grinding implements. See Chapters 12 and 15 for discussion of ceramic vessels. 13  See Chapter 10 in this volume. 11  12 

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FIGURE 2.4  Other possible roofing scenarios of the F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif are also consistent with the archaeological remains. (Drawings by Dylan Karges, courtesy of the Lahav Research Project)

long rooms). Also, some structural features, which include staircases and heavy loadbearing pillars, provide further support for both roofing and a second floor. The evidence seems to rule out neither possibility. While a number of houses were likely completely covered, other alternatives exist for the covering of structures (Figure 2.4). A central courtyard on the lower floor could have been open all the way to the roof of the second story. A clerestory-type roof that allowed light to filter into various rooms of the structure and allowed smoke to dissipate outwardly also is possible. While no consensus exists on how much area was roofed, it seems certain that some of the activities undertaken within the pillared dwelling required a sturdy roof, or an enclosed second floor, or a combination of the two. It is also possible that a small area remained unroofed to allow light to enter and smoke to escape or that a small area, whether between two of the pillars or between a pillar and a wall, was left open to serve as a skylight and “exhaust vent.” The evidence at this point remains equivocal and invites further investigation, but when taken overall, it is likely that most of the floor area was roofed and carried a second floor. However the houses were roofed, much of the space in their lower floor was used for the economic necessities of stabling (including folding) animals and storage (food, animal feed, chaff/straw or fodder, mud-brick and plastering tools, weaving implements, dung and other fuels, and seasonal furniture, etc.) (Frank 2018: 88–96, 147–56, 170–5; Holladay 1997: 339–40). This leaves little room for areas where eating, sleeping, indoor work, and entertaining took place (Holladay 1992: 312–14), at least in the winter months.

Second Floors Most researchers believe that four-room houses usually carried an additional story. Biblical texts attest to the use of a second floor and even the roof itself. The mandate in Deuteronomy (22:8) to build a parapet on the roof of a new house lest anyone fall from the roof suggests, at the least, that activities took place on the roof. While most texts indicate

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usage that would fall in the realm of “living activities” (visiting/conversing, sleeping, mourning, caring for the dead, and performing rituals), storage, food preparation, and even religious activities are also indicated. Several passages mentioning roofs involve judges or royal figures. Their dwellings were likely more elaborate than those of the average Israelite, but they do indicate the presence of second stories and provide a window into activities taking place there. One example is the passage about the corpulent Moabite king Eglon, who is killed by the judge Ehud in a “special” upper room (probably a privy) where Eglon was surprised to see him (Judg. 3:12-23). Another involves Saul sleeping on the roof (1 Sam. 9:25-26), or perhaps an upper room opening onto the roof. Several passages involve King David. Perhaps most famous is the story of David walking on the palace roof and espying a bathing Bathsheba (2 Sam. 11:2). Also, David mourns the death of Absalom in an upper room above the gate (2 Sam. 18:33) and escapes from Saul’s men when Michal lowers him from a window, presumably from an upper story (1 Sam 19:12). Another king, Ahaziah, receives mortal injuries when he falls in his upper room (2 Kgs. 1:2, 6). Passages about other biblical figures also indicate the existence of second stories. Rahab, whose house in Jericho was part of the city wall, first hides two Israelite spies on her roof under stalks of flax laid out there and later lowers them by a rope hung from her window (Josh. 2:6, 15), suggesting that at least part of her house carried a second story. Elijah revives a deceased boy in the upper room of the house, where he (Elijah) was staying (1 Kgs. 17:19-23). The Shunammite woman has a small room built on the roof of her house for Elisha (2 Kgs. 4:10). The prophet Jeremiah condemns those who offer incense and pour libations to other gods on the roofs of their houses (Jer. 19:13; cf. Jer. 7:18; 44:17). In addition to the biblical evidence for a second story, archaeological and ethnographic materials indicate the presence of second floors. Especially significant are the presence of stairs preserved in houses at a number of sites (e.g., Beersheba, Tell en-Naṣbeh, and Tell Beit Mirsim), the high-load-bearing capacities of most walls and pillars in threeand four-room houses, and the extensive space consumed in the lower floor by storage, stabling, and food preparation. If the houses are covered with a second floor, which seems likely in many cases, it would bring their roofed space to somewhere between 70 and 200 m2. If about 9–10 m2 of roofed space per individual is allowed, a number consistently observed in ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological work (e.g., Naroll 1962: 287–9), there would have been adequate space for a small extended-family household of seven to twenty people (the biblical bêt ’āb) in most four-room houses. In the smaller examples of these houses, perhaps a cluster of the three- or four-room versions of the houses served a similar purpose (Brody 2009). Still, the space in most four-room houses would have been adequate for an extended household to undertake a full range of domestic activities.

CONCLUSION The households and their members performed a full set of domestic activities in the four-room house. They stored goods, cooked and otherwise prepared food, and served and ate meals. Large krater-type bowls suggest that meals were shared as a social activity among the occupants and sometimes with guests (Shafer-Elliott 2013:147). They mostly ate food produced locally, although some households may have had access to food, such as dried fish (Hardin 2010: 158), imported from the Mediterranean coastal regions and Egypt. The occupants carried out ritual activities, entertained guests, stabled animals,

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grew crops, herded animals nearby, made wine and oil, and produced textiles at the domestic level—all for which there is archaeological evidence (King and Stager 2001).14 They typically practiced mixed agriculture and some animal husbandry, evidenced by the storage facilities and stabling areas of the first floor and the location of settlements near arable land (either valley bottoms or heavily terraced hillsides and slopes). The people participating in this system largely were self-sufficient; they produced food for their own consumption and, possibly, produced one or more crops, such as wine, oil, textiles, or other nonagricultural commodities, as part of a cottage industry for consumption beyond the household. While the occupants were self-sufficient in many ways, a number of finds and reconstructed activities demonstrate the occupants’ integration into a regional economy at several different levels. Stamp seals for documents and commodities found on Iron II house floors suggest economic or administrative activity beyond the household. It may be typical that households carried out subsistence production and also specialized in some product or service that connected them to the regional economy, trading with others in small production centers for raw materials like grapes, wool, oil, grain, metals, textiles, and so on. Many of the finds from the houses provide evidence of a diversification of subsistence strategies. This would have lessened risks in the case of crop failure, thus better ensuring the well-being of the family.15 The ability of the four-room house to adapt to the typical settlements of Israel and Judah during both the Iron Age I and Iron Age II and to meet the needs of their subsistence strategies largely shaped its form—along with the availability of suitable building materials. However, other factors may also be important in shaping the four-room house and its internal division of space. The four-room house with its typical layout met the economic, domestic, and living needs of the households of ancient Israel and Judah for some 600 years. However, the function alone may not explain its great regularity and long life. The four-room house would have been equally functional after 586 bce, following the Babylonian conquest. Nevertheless, after six centuries of use, the three- and four-room house virtually disappears. Neither ecological nor technological factors can account for this disappearance, suggesting that the building’s shape and form went beyond function. Bunimovitz and Faust (2003: 414–15) suggest that divisions of space and flow patterns within four-room houses had social meaning based on possible contacts allowed between people within the house. They suggest that the easy and direct access to each room in the house (all rooms can be accessed from the central long room/courtyard) reflected the “egalitarian ethos” (ideally speaking based on biblical texts) of Israelite society and especially facilitated matters of privacy, seclusion, and purity if these were crucial in the conduct of daily life as priestly biblical texts suggest (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003: 415, 419). Many scholars see their ideas about social meaning behind the divisions of space as problematic. For the same reasons that the flow patterns in four-room houses make room access and visibility easy and open, it would seem that the house plan does not lend itself well to privacy and seclusion. Deborah Cassuto’s work identifying the location and contexts where women often performed their daily tasks demonstrates, based on

Some of these activities, notably wine and oil production, may have taken place communally at the mišpāḥâ level; see Faust (2011: 63–5). 15  See the discussion in Chapter 21 of this volume. 14 

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her study of loom weights, that “Israelite homes differed from those of societies that restricted women’s social contact, and which situated women in the more isolated rooms” (Cassuto 2008: 77). Through a spatial analysis of ovens, cooking areas, and cooking implements, Baadsgaard shows how women negotiated and maintained extensive informal social networks between households in Iron Age Israel that existed alongside the networks of men inside and outside of houses in highly accessible and public places (Baadsgaard 2008). Bunimovitz and Faust, right or wrong about patterns in four-room houses, provide an important exploration of the ways that houses may provide nonverbal communication to members of a bêt ’āb that regularly used its space. These may include especially significant ideological or cosmological messages important to those within a cultural system (Blanton 1994: 8ff). Space organization may also communicate important messages to outsiders (Bunimovitz and Faust 2003: 418). Whether the four-room house took its most characteristic form primarily from functional considerations, or constraints due to available building materials, or ideological/ cosmological reasons, it so successfully met the needs of its inhabitants that it became the standard dwelling type throughout much of Israel and Judah for 600 years. It survived the settlement change from the small, spatially liberal villages of the Iron I to the larger but more cramped fortified villages, towns, and cities of the Iron II. In these settings, the families of ancient Israel carried out the fundamental activities of everyday life and organized the activities associated with food as described in the following chapters of this volume.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Borowski, O. (2003), Daily Life in Biblical Times, Atlanta: SBL. This nontechnical study, which was written for undergraduates, seminarians, rabbis, pastors, etc., about different aspects of daily life, is informed by biblical texts and archaeology and includes a fictitious account of a day in the life of an extended household in ancient Judah. Hardin, J. W. (2010), Lahav II: Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. This monograph addresses the organization of patterns of artifacts and space in a single four-room house to understand better activity areas and how space was used and organized by a single household in late eighth century bce Judah. Holladay, J. S. Jr. (1992), “The Israelite House,” ABD 3: 308–19. Draws on extensive archaeological and ethnographic data to present an authoritative view of all aspects of the four-room house from its origins, to its construction and location within settlements, to the activities which took place therein. King, P. J. and Stager, L. E. (2001), Life in Biblical Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Drawing on biblical descriptions and archaeological data, a biblical scholar and an archaeologist team up to present a vivid picture of the everyday, domestic life in ancient Israel that is accessible to layperson and specialist alike. Meyers, C. (2013), Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Woman in Context, Oxford: Oxford University Press. An in-depth exploration and reconstruction of the everyday lives of women in ancient Israel as significant contributors to many facets of ancient Israelite society that are not represented in the urban, elite male perspectives of many biblical texts.

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REFERENCES Baadsgaard, A. (2008), “A Taste of Women’s Sociality: Cooking and Cooperative Labor in Iron Age Syro-Palestine,” in Beth Alpert Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 13–44, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Blanton, R. E. (1994), Houses and Households: A Comparative Study, New York: Plenum. Brody, A. J. (2009), “‘Those Who Add House to House’: Household Archaeology and the Use of Domestic Space in an Iron II Residential Compound at Tell en-Nasbeh,” in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager, 45–56, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Bunimovitz, S. and Faust, A. (2003), “Building Identity: The Four-Room House and the Israelite Mind,” in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium, W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, Jerusalem, May 29–31, 2000, 411–43, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Cassuto, D. (2008), “Bringing Home the Artifacts: A Social Interpretation of Loom Weights in Context,” in Beth Alpert Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 63–78, Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Chapman, C. R. (2016), The House of the Mother: The Social Roles of Maternal Kin in Biblical Hebrew: The Social Roles of Maternal Kin in Biblical Hebrew Narrative and Poetry, New Haven: Yale University Press. Cline, E. H. (2014), 1177 B.C.: The Year Civilization Collapsed, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Dever, W. G. (2003), Who Were the Early Israelites and Where Did They Come From? Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Faust, A. (2006), Israel’s Ethnogenesis: Settlement, Interaction, Expansion, and Resistance, London: Equinox. Faust, A. (2011), “Household Economies in the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah,” in A. YasurLandau, J. Ebeling, and L. Mazow (eds.), Household Archaeology in the Bronze and Iron Age Levant, 255–73, Leiden: Brill. Faust, A. (2012), The Archaeology of Israelite Society in Iron Age II, trans. R. Ludlum, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Finkelstein, I. (1988), The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Finkelstein, I. (1996), “Ethnicity and Origin of the Iron I Settlers in the Highlands of Canaan: Can the Real Israel Stand Up?” BA 59: 198–212. Frank, T. (2018), Household Food Storage in Ancient Israel and Judah, Oxford: Archaeopress. Frick, F. S. (1985), The Formation of the State in Ancient Israel: A Survey of Models and Theories, Sheffield: Almond. Gilboa, A. (2014), “The Southern Levant (Cisjordan) During the Iron I Period,” in M. L. Steiner and A. E. Killebrew (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of the Levant c. 8000-332 bce, 624–48, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gottwald, N. K. (1979), The Tribes of Yahweh, Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Hardin, J. W. (2010), Lahav II: Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Herzog, Z. (1984), Beersheba II: The Early Iron Age Settlements, Publication of the Institute of Archaeology 7, Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University and Ramot Publishing Co.

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Holladay, J. S. Jr (1992), “The Israelite House,” ABD 3: 308–19. Holladay, J. S. Jr (1997), “Four-Room House,” OEANE 2: 337–41. Joffee, A. H. (2002), “The Rise of Secondary States in the Iron Age Levant,” JESHO 45: 425–67. Kaufman, I. T. (1982), “The Samaria Ostraca: An Early Witness to Hebrew Writing,” BA 45: 229–39. King, P. J. and Stager, L. E. (2001), Life in Biblical Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Labianca, Ø. S. and Younker, R. W. (1994), “The Kingdoms of Ammon, Moab and Edom: the Archaeology of Society in Late Bronze/Iron Age Transjordan (ca. 1400–500 bce),” in T. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land, 399–415, New York: Facts on File. Lamberg-Karlovsky, C. C. (1999), “Households, Land Tenure, and Communications Systems in the 6th–4th Millennia of Great Mesopotamia,” in M. Hudson and B. Levine (eds.), Urbanization and Land Ownership in the Ancient Near East, 167–201, Cambridge: Peabody Museum. Laslett, P. (1972), “Introduction: The History of the Family,” in P. Laslett and R. Wall (eds.), Household and Family in Past Time, 1–89, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lemos, T. M. (2016), “Kinship, Community, and Society,” in S. Niditch (ed.), The Wiley Blackwell Companion to Ancient Israel, Malden, MA: Wiley. Levine, B. A. (2003), “The Clan-Based Economy of Biblical Israel,” in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina. Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium, W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, Jerusalem, May 29–31, 2000, 445–54, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Master, D. M. (2001), “State Formation Theory and the Kingdom of Ancient Israel,” JNES 60: 117–31. Mazar, A. (1985), “The Israelite Settlement in Canaan in the Light of Archaeological Excavations,” in J. Amitai (ed.), Biblical Archaeology Today: Proceedings of the International Congress on Biblical Archaeology, Jerusalem, April 1984, 61–71. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Mazar, A. (1990), Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Vol. 1: 10,000–586 B.C.E., New York: Doubleday. McNutt, P. M. (1999), Reconstructing the Society of Ancient Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Meyers, C. (1997), “The Family in Early Israel,” in L. G. Perdue, J. Blenkinsopp, J. J. Collins, and C. Meyers, Families in Ancient Israel, 1–47, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Meyers, C. (2003), “Women’s Culture in Agrarian Households of the Iron Age,” in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina. Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium, W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, Jerusalem, May 29–31, 2000, 411–23, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Meyers, C. (2013), Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Woman in Context, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Meyers, C. (2014), “Domestic Architecture, Ancient Israel,” Biblical Studies—Oxford Bibliographies, 10.1093/obo/9780195393361-0096. Naroll, R. (1962), “Floor Area and Settlement Population,” American Antiquity 27: 587–9.

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Portugali, J. (1994), “Theoretical Speculations on the Transition from Nomadism to Monarchy,” in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy: Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel, 203–17, Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi/Israel Exploration Society/Washington: Biblical Archaeology Society. Rapoport, A. (1980), “Vernacular Architecture and the Cultural Determinants of Form,” in A. D. King (ed.), Buildings and Society, 283–305, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Schloen, J. D. (2001), The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2013), Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible, Sheffield: Acumen, Equinox Publishing. Shiloh, Y. (1970), “The Four-Room House: Its Situation and Function in the Israelite City,” IEJ 20: 180–90. Shiloh, Y. (1987), “The Casemate Wall, the Four Room House, and Early Planning in the Israelite City,” BASOR 268: 3–15. Smith, A. T. (2011), “Archaeologies of Sovereignty,” Annual Review of Anthropology 40: 415–32. Stager, L. E. (1985), “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel,” BASOR 260: 1–35. Stager, L. E. (2003), “The Patrimonial Kingdom of Solomon,” in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina. Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium, W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, Jerusalem, May 29–31,2000, 53–74, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Wilk, R. R. and Netting, R. M. (1984), “Households: Changing Forms and Function,” in R. M. Netting, R. R. Wilk, and E. J. Arnould (eds.), Households: Comparative and Historical Studies of the Domestic Group, 1–28, Berkeley: University of California Press. Wright, C. J. H. (1992), “Family,” ABD 2: 761–9. Wright, G. E. (1978),“A Characteristic North Israelite House,” in R. S. Moorey and P. Parr (eds.), Archaeology in the Levant, Essays for Kathleen Kenyon, 149–54, Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Wright, G. R. H. (1985), Ancient Building in South Syria and Palestine, vols. 1–2, Leiden: Brill.

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CHAPTER 3

Economy and Trade JOSHUA WALTON

INTRODUCTION Economic systems serve as an essential context for understanding human behavior and describing human activity. In the ancient world, like today, economic systems influenced individual activities and choices across all facets of daily life. This relationship is particularly clear in the realm of subsistence, such as human interactions with food. This chapter focuses on the economic contexts of food production, consumption, and distribution in the world of the Hebrew Bible through an examination of the biblical, archaeological, and textual evidence. Geographically, the focus lies on the world of the ancient Near East as a whole, with specific attention placed on the Levant as the geographical center of the biblical accounts. The chronological period centers on the Bronze and Iron Ages (ca. 3000–550 bce), while acknowledging that parts of the biblical account originate later.1 Fortunately, economic systems, like larger political and social systems, are long-lasting. Economic systems depend in important ways on geographical and climatic realities, and are further restricted by political and social realities. As such, the economy is part of the background of daily life, and from a Braudelian perspective fits into the longue durée or conjunctures of history.

THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK Past discussions of the Bible’s economic setting have primarily focused on exchange, at the expense of production and consumption. Such discussions have traditionally been divided into two perspectives: substantivist and formalist. Substantivists, largely following the observations of Polanyi (1957), have focused on the socially embedded nature of economic action. According to substantivist perspectives, the premodern economy was not governed by classical economic principles—such as supply and demand, price-fixing markets, and rational economic behavior. Instead, the economy was governed by social relationships and institutions. From the other perspective, formalists have argued that premodern economies were not inherently different from modern ones. Individuals in the ancient world were rational actors, capable of making economizing decisions, and

The dating of specific texts is less important for discussing the presence of economic behaviors and institutions in the ancient world. Whether a text reflects the reality of a Late Bronze, Iron Age, or Persian social setting is less important than noting that these texts reflect certain broader economic behaviors and systems in place in the world of the Bible. 1 

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that these decisions were governed by the same basic economic principles that govern modern markets. The substantivist perspective has been widely applied to the study of ancient economies. The idea of the socially embedded economy has proven appealing to many scholars in their understanding of the ancient Near East, who recognize noticeable differences from modern economies, in particular, the role of the temple and palace as redistributive institutions (see Liverani 2005: 56–7; Renger 2003). In studies of the Levant, Schloen has argued for an embedded economy governed by patrimonial principles for the ancient kingdoms of Ugarit and Israel (2001). In contrast, formalists provide substantial evidence that premodern actors seem very similar to modern ones. The formalist perspective focuses on the role of individual agents who make rational decisions for economizing purposes functioning as the driving force behind the economy. The Old Assyrian caravan trade (ca. 1920–1835 bce) provides plentiful evidence for market principles and rational actors (Van Driel 2002; Veenhof 1997). Similar behaviors can be found in first millennium Babylon (Jursa 2010) and Ugarit (Monroe 2009). Based on this evidence, scholars, such as Silver (1985), have argued that the economy of the biblical world was modern in its function and application to individual life. While these perspectives have been fiercely debated, substantivism versus formalism is a false dichotomy, an overly simplistic division that more recent theory has passed over, preferring models that seek to understand the coexistence of markets and institutions by accounting for the role of the individual within an institutional framework. From this perspective, social structures and institutions help govern what is considered rational or economizing action. Stark and Garraty (2010: 34) emphasize the complexity of society, noting that multiple mechanisms and spheres of exchange operated simultaneously. As such, they assert that one should expect “no single economic mechanism in ancient states, but rather a range of mechanisms in dynamic relationships propelled by different interests and loci of decision-making.” Hirth (2010: 229) echoes this sentiment, suggesting that classifying societies as either market or nonmarket economies is an oversimplification, when in fact economies are diverse and dynamic entities composed of an array of different institutions that govern production, distribution, and consumption activities. A productive framework for describing the multifaceted nature of the ancient economy can be found in the school of New Institutional Economics (NIE), largely driven by the work of Douglas North. NIE focuses on issues of social order within a classical or neoclassical framework by examining the social and legal rules that regulate and enable economic action (Garraty 2010: 16). For North, economic decisionmaking and activity were constrained by sets of institutions that form the constraints within which all economic activity takes place, thereby shaping what can be considered rational action. According to North, institutions are “the rules of the game in a society or, more formally, are the humanly devised constraints that shape human interaction.” Institutions are the framework, or social context, for human interaction. Thus, Master describes institutions as stable social forms that allow people to function to economic advantage (2014: 83). Institutions may be formal or informal, and provide structure to reduce uncertainty and dictate incentives in human exchange. Within these institutions, stability is often preferred over efficiency (North 1990: 3–4). NIE emphasizes imperfect individual rationality or bounded rationality. Imperfect individual rationality recognizes the preferences of economic decision-makers are based on their context and are thus subject to change over time. Decision-makers are only partially informed, and perfect

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knowledge is too costly to acquire in a world where decision-makers have limits in their ability to obtain and process information. NIE has been productively used to describe the economy of the Classical World (e.g., Temin 2013; Terpstra 2019) and has already been introduced as a productive lens for examining the Iron Age economy of the southern Levant (Master 2014; Walton 2015). Thus, an institutional approach focuses on the contexts in which economic activity was conducted. Many different economic contexts coexisted in the ancient world. Depending on the geographic, climatic, political, and social realities, individuals at different time periods were incentivized to employ varying subsistence strategies for the production, consumption, and distribution of food. The purpose of this chapter is to provide an overview of some of the major economic institutions in the southern Levant from the Bronze and Iron Ages. As argued below, no single economic context served as the “dominant form” of the ancient economy, which is better viewed as a fluid mix of different economic contexts and institutions constraining and incentivizing individual action. Even individuals living in the same city and its environs might participate in different institutions or combinations of institutions (see Dercksen 2008; Master and Stager 2011). This chapter introduces six primary economic institutions that played a major role in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel by constraining economic action and decision-making: subsistence agriculture, pastoral nomadism, the redistributive economy, the market economy, administered trade, and the extractive economy. While not exhaustive, these economic contexts formed the constraints under which most individuals in the biblical world produced, consumed, and exchanged food.

ECONOMIC CONTEXTS OF FOOD PRODUCTION, CONSUMPTION, AND EXCHANGE Subsistence Agriculture For a significant portion of the population of ancient Israel, and indeed for most preindustrial societies, subsistence agriculture (including farming and animal husbandry) served as the primary but not necessarily exclusive, economic institution (see Boer 2015; Hopkins 1985). In this context, subsistence indicates that the group responsible for production of food is largely that responsible for its later consumption, with a limited role for distribution. A large percentage of the highland population followed the traditional economy dictated by their familial structures. The logic of this economy focused on riskspreading mechanisms, including localized production of diverse goods and limited trade or surplus production beyond storage against potentially bad years. This societal sphere was a direct continuation of the familial household and clan structures of earlier periods and persisted as the dominant rural highland institution throughout the Bronze and Iron Ages (Halpern 1991: 49–59; Hopkins 1985; Schloen 2001). Unfortunately, this portion of the population formed a silent majority; with textual evidence more concerned with the activities of governments and political centers, and archaeology primarily focused on urban centers, less attention has been given to the rural agricultural populace (Boer 2015: 3–4; Faust 2003: 91). The strongest archaeological indicators of the subsistence sector of the economy come from survey data and limited excavation of farmsteads and smaller agricultural communities (see discussions in Dar 1986; Faust 2003; Zertal 2008). Even larger towns

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and villages, however, were primarily supported by a subsistence agricultural base. Survey data from multiple regions including the Negev (Haiman 2003), the central hill country (Ofer 1994; Zertal 2008), and Galilee (Gal 1992) suggest that across the Bronze and Iron Age, despite significant changes in settlement patterns and population, the majority of surveyed sites fit into a village or farm-based economic system (Gal 1992; Zertal 2008: 49–50, 62, 85). Faust (2003: 98; 2009: 103–4; 2013: 204) has convincingly argued that the Hebrew term ḥaṣērîm in certain contexts is best understood to refer to these types of farmsteads. The Hebrew Bible, especially throughout the Deuteronomistic History, preserves an urban bias, focusing on kings and prophets. Despite this, the underlying subsistence agricultural base of the population still provides an important background for the text. As an example, the importance of the household, village, and clan as agricultural units is reflected in various laws. While cultic issues predominate most of the law, a subset deals specifically with agricultural realities of subsistence farmers, including damage caused to fields by livestock or fire (Exod. 22:5-6), practices for planting and harvesting fields (Lev. 19:19; 23:22; Deut. 22:9; 24:19-21), laws regarding foraging in fields (Deut. 23:24-25), and the Sabbath year to fallow the land (Lev. 25:5). The clan or family structure, inheritance laws, and property rights were all important factors incentivizing participation in the subsistence agriculture institution and led to a situation where the social realities of rural life differed markedly from the inhabitants of urban centers (see Faust 1999: 244).

Pastoral Nomadism Another institution of subsistence production took the form of pastoral nomadism. Pastoral nomadism, as an institution, differs from subsistence agriculture primarily in that the former is food-extracting, while the latter is food-producing. The broader framework of pastoral nomadism encompasses a range of food-producing strategies, including a variable relationship between the activities of farming and herding (Rosen 2017: 25–6) and the exploitation of both primary (meat) and secondary (milk) products for food. Pastoral nomadism, like other economic institutions, should not be seen as mutually exclusive with economic forms such as subsistence agriculture or extraction via raiding (see Rosen 2017: 31). This economic form was incentivized particularly in marginal locations ill suited for large-scale agriculture. Certain areas of Israel, such as the Judean and Negev deserts, were particularly well suited for the economic context of pastoral nomadism. Many of Israel’s neighbors, particularly to the southeast into the Arabian Peninsula, also participated extensively in this institution. Khazanov (1994: 16) identifies five major characteristics that define the essence of pastoral nomadism: (1) Pastoralism is the predominant form of economic activity. (2) Its extensive character connected with the maintenance of herds all year round on a system of freerange grazing without stables. (3) Periodic mobility in accordance with the demands of pastoral economy within the boundaries of specific grazing territories (as opposed to migrations). (4) The participation in pastoral mobility of all or the majority of the population (as opposed, for example, to the management of herds on distant pastures by specialist herdsmen, into which only a minority is involved in pastoral migrations). (5) The orientation of production towards the requirements of subsistence.

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Within such a definition, various degrees of mobility are accounted for as well as the allowance for limited agricultural activity as a supplemental subsistence activity. Khazanov further identifies a number of forms of pastoral nomadism, of which seminomadic pastoralism and herdsman husbandry are the most relevant to the world of the Bible. Seminomadic pastoralism is characterized by periodic changing of pastures throughout much of the year, with pastoralism serving as the predominant activity, although with some supplementary agriculture (Khazanov 1994: 19–20). Whereas flocks and herds were an important part of village life, and many subsistence agricultural communities would have included both farming and herding elements (Sasson 2010: 10–11), exclusive or predominant pastoral nomadism was incentivized in areas of marginal agricultural potential or productivity. Unlike the institution of subsistence agriculture, which is heavily tied to sedentism—the household, the farmstead, the village, and so on—pastoral nomadism was a mobile subsistence strategy, tied to movement across larger areas of land with flocks and herds. Marginal regions such as the Negev or Judean desert were better suited for pastoral nomads than sedentary agricultural settlement. The biblical authors identify strongly with some form of pastoral nomadic past, even if by the time the biblical texts were compiled, most of the population was sedentary. The link to pastoral-nomadic origins is most clearly seen in the patriarchal narratives of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.2 These patriarchal figures travel the land of Canaan with their flocks and herds, migrating across the highlands from a home-base located around Hebron to Shechem and descending to the more fertile plains and valleys in times of famine (e.g., Genesis 20 and 26). It is difficult, if not impossible, to place these stories chronologically (see Rosen 2017: 208–9); however, they reflect knowledge of, and identification with, a pastoral-nomadic economic context for Israel’s early ancestors. At the same time, the more urban sedentary voices in the biblical text show a distrust and fear of pastoral nomadic groups, particularly as raiders threatening Israelite farms, towns, and cities (Judg. 6:3-6; 2 Chron. 21:16). In keeping with the logic of pastoral nomadism, herds of both small and large stock are emphasized as a symbol of wealth in the Bible. For example, Job is said to have had 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 500 yoke of oxen, and 500 donkeys (Job 1:3). Abraham is said to acquire many sheep, cattle, male and female donkeys, and cattle (Gen.12:14). Nabal is said to have had 1,000 goats and 3,000 sheep (1 Sam. 25:2). The accuracy of these numbers is less important than the emphasis on livestock as a source of wealth and prestige. In general, mentions of livestock in the Bible include sheep, goats, cattle, donkeys, and camels. The last of these is most problematic, mainly because of the comparatively late date of camel domestication, making it unlikely that they formed a significant part of pastoral herds prior to the Early Iron Age (Hesse 1995: 203). Faunal remains from archaeological sites Israel from the Bronze and Iron Ages follow this assessment. Sheep, goat, and cattle are by far the most common finds, with donkey, horses, and camels represented in smaller numbers, the latter two limited to later periods (Hesse 1995: 213–17; Sasson 2010: 2). Pastoral nomadism, however, is a different institution from the herding done by agriculturalists. Subsistence farming was often supplemented by herding, following practices such as herdsman husbandry or distant pasture farming. Herdsman husbandry is

2 

And even earlier in the story of Cain and Abel (Genesis 4).

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best understood as a subset of subsistence agriculture, following the logic of the sedentary subsistence farmer, who is also reliant on herds that are maintained on distant pastures away from the main settlement, usually guarded by specifically tasked herdsmen (see Khazanov 1994: 22). This type of mixed agriculture-distant pastures pastoralism is well attested in the Bible, particularly in the Davidic narratives. 1 Samuel 16 presents two accounts of a young David as a sheepherder, located some distance from his family’s sedentary homestead in Bethlehem. In the first instance, Samuel visits David’s father Jesse to anoint one of his sons as the future king of Israel. David, Jesse’s youngest son, is tending the sheep and not immediately available. David must be sent for, indicating that the pastures were some distance away.3 Similarly, in 1 Sam. 16:14-20 Saul, tortured by an evil spirit, seeks someone to play the lyre for him. David, who is “with the sheep” is recommended and summoned to come to the palace. In 1 Sam. 17:28, when David visits his brothers in the army, they ask, “with whom have you left those few sheep in the wilderness?”,4 indicating that the sheep are being pastured in a marginal area. A similar pattern is suggested later in David’s life and his encounters with the wealthy landowner Nabal (1 Samuel 25). Nabal owns land in Carmel, yet also has herds pastured in the marginal regions, close to where David and his men have been camping. These behaviors are an example of herdsmen husbandry. Nabal’s sedentary center is in Carmel, where he appears to be a successful farmer (among the gifts his wife presents to David are amounts of grain, raisin cakes, and fig cakes), yet he also owns herds, pastured in marginal areas more appropriate to pastoralism. Nabal’s household provides an excellent example of the overlap and synergy of multiple economic contexts, even within a single household.

Redistributive Economy The economic institution of the redistributive economy was largely dominated by the two “great organizations” central political institutions of power in ancient Near Eastern life— the palace and the temple. Through the extraction of tithes/offerings or taxes respectively, the cultivation of royal or sacred estates,5 and the maintenance of royal flocks or herds, the palace and the temple produced or extracted food to redistribute to a large network of nonfood producers, including an extensive bureaucracy of political, administrative, craft, and religious specialists (Liverani 2014: 62–3). Thus the redistributive economy was both extractive (in the form of rents, taxes, or tithes) and allocative (in the form of distributions, such as land grants or rations). Palace The palace served as both a political and economic center, acting as the dominant organization within the redistributive institution. The redistributive role of the palace can be divided into two main activities: (1) the management of royal estates and dependents and (2) the extraction of taxes from the independent producers, sometimes working palace land distributed via land grant. The proceeds of both arenas could be used to meet

The fact that Samuel is able to wait for David’s arrival, however, suggests that the pastures are not too distant. All translations are NRSV unless otherwise noted. 5  Either land owned by the temple/palace and leased out, or at times land grants given by the palace or temple with accompanying taxation burdens. See discussion in Schloen (2001: 210). 3  4 

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the food requirements of the palace or be distributed to the palace’s many dependents as rations (Liverani 2014: 63). In this sense, the palace economy is both extractive, for the supply of the king and his administrators, and redistributive, supplying the palace’s dependents with foodstuffs. Ration lists are useful for documenting the redistributive economy, and are prevalent in Mesopotamia from the earliest periods of urbanization (e.g., Gelb 1965; Maekawa 1989) and in other Levantine polities (e.g., Ammon, Cross 2003: 71–5; Philistia, Master and Stager 2011: 738; Ugarit, McGeough 2011: 485; 2007: 145–9). Rations generally include subsistence staples but do not seem in many cases to provide for the full dietary needs of the recipients (see Master 2014: 84). In Mesopotamia, barley, oil, and wool rations are particularly prevalent (Gelb 1965). Individuals eligible for rations include day laborers, craft specialists, military personnel, bureaucrats, and members of the royal family or entourage. Land could be granted to individuals to be worked on behalf of the palace, with some proceeds returning to the palace stores, and some kept for the sustenance of the grantee. A specific example of land grants being used to supply rations for palace dependents at Ugarit has been suggested by Pardee. The text in question (RS 19.016) includes a list of recipients of rations alongside a list of the individuals responsible for supplying those rations (Pardee 1999: 45–7). Records from Ugarit detail amounts of grain dispensed monthly, or in other cases collected annually by various royal estates (McGeough 2007: 164–5, 201–3) as well as amounts of food delivered to the palace (McGeough 2011: 235, 271). Rations were of particular importance for military purposes, and stores of rations could be stockpiled in case of future trouble (e.g., 2 Chron. 11:11). In the monarchic period, the Israelite and Judahite administrative systems, like their neighbors, participated extensively in the extractive and redistributive economy. In one variation, a member of the king’s entourage would live at the palace and be supplied by relatives or dependents working their farmlands. Such a situation is depicted in 2 Sam. 9:9-11, where David established Mephibosheth, Saul’s grandson, with a place at the palace declaring that latter’s steward Ziba would farm Mephibosheth’s land and bring him crops so that he might be provided for and eat at the king’s table. The king’s table was an economic organization of palace dependents fed by the king. The same organization is seen in the reign of Solomon (1 Kgs. 4:7, 27), who tasked each of the governors of his twelve districts to supply food for the king, the royal household, and all who might come to the king’s table for one month of the year. The daily amount of food (30 kor6 fine flour, 60 kor meal, 30 head of cattle, 100 sheep and goats along with wild game) cited, even if exaggerated, suggests a large group of dependents as the recipients of these extractions. The king’s table was not a small private affair, and included numerous palace administrators, diplomats, and bureaucrats; for example, 1 Kgs. 18:19 notes the 450 prophets of Baal and 400 prophetesses of Asherah supplied by Jezebel’s table. Nor was the king’s table unique to Israel and Judah. Second Kings 25:29 states that while exiled in Babylon the Judahite king Jehoiachin “dined regularly in the king’s presence” and daily the king gave him a regular allowance. Similarly, in the first chapter of Daniel, the apt young Israelite men selected for service in the royal palace were designated a daily ration of wine from the kings table (Dan. 1:5). Texts from the town of Tuttul, a

6 

1 kor = about 230 liters.

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dependent of Mari, were found listing supplies of bread, sheep, etc., for the king’s table, dating to the Old Babylonian Period (Malamat 2003: 173–4). Together, these passages portray an understanding of the king’s table as a common feature of ancient Near Eastern palaces designating supplies of rations for palace dependents. The redistributive systems of Israel and Judah are further supported by the Iron Age epigraphic finds in the region, most importantly the Samaria and Arad ostraca.7 The Samaria ostraca, dating to the eighth century bce and discovered at the Israelite capital of Samaria, record lists of individuals and associated goods. There is disagreement regarding the relationship between these individuals and the listed goods and whether the individuals listed are owners of royal estates or land-grants recipient, and whether the goods are disbursements or extractions (see discussion in Dobbs-Allsop et al. 2005: 425 and accompanying literature). At least a subset of these texts clearly seems to record shipments from royal estates to the king (Suriano 2016). Either way, the Samaria ostraca show evidence of a complex administrative system based on the extraction and redistribution of goods. Another example of a redistributive system is on display in the Arad ostraca. A subset of these texts, dated to the late seventh/early sixth century bce, was written to a certain Eliashib, an important local administrator. These texts record distributions of staples such as wheat, flour, bread, wine, and oil to groups of dependents belonging to a group known as the Kittim8 (see Dobbs-Allsopp et al. 2005: 5). Provisioning for these persons seems to have occurred every six days, based on Arad 7 and Arad 8. Both letters mention this time frame, for which a standard consignment was 3,000 loaves and 3 baths9 of wine; however, other consignments are also attested (Dobbs-Allsopp et al. 2005: 23).10 These rations were also distributed to people over a distance, indicated by the instruction to seal various goods (e.g., Arad 4), which would then have been delivered via middlemen (Dobbs-Allsopp et al. 2005: 19). Another example of an administrative system of extraction and redistribution is reflected in jars found across Judah from the end of the eighth century bce stamped with a seal bearing the inscription lmlk (to/for the king). Na’aman (1986: 11) proposed that these stamps were part of a royal administration system instituted by Hezekiah as part of his preparation for the impending Assyrian invasion. More recently, Lipschits, Sergi, and Koch (2011: 13) suggested that these stamped jars were used for the collection of goods produced on royal farms or estates, primarily wine and olive oil.11 Overseeing these estates were royal collection centers, located at sites where large quantities of these seals were found, such as Lachish for the Shephelah, or Ramat Raḥel for the farmland around Jerusalem, or Beth Shemesh for the fertile areas of the Sorek valley. Lipschits, Sergi, and Koch (2011: 11–12) suggest subdistricts represented by second-tier sites in the ElahGuvrin-Lachish basin, including sites such as Azekah and Tel Goded. The suggestion that these sealings should be linked to royal farms is not new. The idea was first presented by Rainey, who suggested that the lmlk seals were used to mark crown property, particularly wine. According to Rainey’s (1982: 57–9) reconstruction, the locations (Hebron, Socoh,

See Chapter 26 in this volume. In the biblical texts of this period the term “Kittim” generally refers to people originating from Greece or other Aegean locations, perhaps Cyprus. Based on the connection to the Aegean, some have interpreted these Kittim as mercenaries for Judah, serving on the southern frontier (see Dobbs-Allsopp et al. 2005: 9). 9  A bath is a liquid measure of approximately 22–24 liters (see Dobbs-Allsopp et al. 2005: 9). 10  See Arad 2. 11  Kleiman (2017) has recently suggested a similar system is place in the Northern Kingdom, centered on the so-called hippo jars. 7  8 

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Ziph, and mmšt) refer to the location of royal wineries meant to process the wine, one corresponding to each of the southern districts of Judah as recorded in Joshua 15. A similar system is supported by Greenberg and Cinamon (2006: 230–5), who suggest that the Nahal Refa’im catchment basin, which was located conveniently close to Ramat Raḥel and included a number of agricultural installations but no permanent settlements, served as part of a royal estate system. Faust and Erlich (2011: 205–6) have argued that a certain type of structure found in the highlands during the late Iron Age at sites such as Khirbeter-Rasm and Khirbet Abu Tuwein, comprises remains of royal estates, functioning as central buildings in large agricultural areas cultivated for the crown. Mazar (1982: 108), however, suggested that these constructions represent fortresses, built at strategic hills with a view over long distances, and may also have served as administrative and storage centers. Greenberg and Cinamon (2006: 238–9) argue that such administrative centers flanked the wine country of Jerusalem, providing security for expanding vineyards located further from nucleated settlements or villages. Finkelstein and Gadot (2015) have likewise hypothesized a thriving system of royal estates in the vicinity of Jerusalem. Both Rainey (1982: 61) and Greenberg and Cinamon (2006: 238) suggest that the wine grown on these estates was destined for consumption or redistribution among the palace officials. Royal estates are also well attested at Ugarit. A commonly referenced land type in the Ugaritic texts is the estate (gt, equivalent to the Akkadian dimtu), often managed by the palace. The gt usually appears in conjunction with a proper name, identifying the estate or estate owner/manager (McGeough 2011: 31; 2007:130; Monroe 2009: 264–5). The workers of these estates were also the recipients of rations (e.g., KTU 4.125, McGeough 2011: 485). In addition to estates, the palace was also the owner of large herds that could be used to provide secondary products such as wool to specialists, or sustenance to the large number of palace dependents. Texts from Ebla attest to the large-scale herding of sheep and goats by the palace (Liverani 2014: 124), and royal servicemen in charge of the palace’s flocks and herds are also attested at Ugarit (Heltzer 1999: 431). The existence of a similar structure in Israel is suggested by the titles of various officials and overseers employed by the palace. One such person is Doeg the Edomite, described in 1 Sam. 21:7 as “the chief of Saul’s shepherds.” First Chronicles 27, part of a list of officials serving under David, lists among the roles individuals tasked with managing the herds grazing in Sharon, the herds in the valleys, camels, donkeys, and flocks (1 Chron. 27:29-31). Additional roles include overseers of royal storehouses, workers who farmed the land, vineyards, olive and sycamore trees and olive oil (1 Chron. 27:25-28). These roles suggest a further distribution of royal estates and orchards, all of which are understood as the property of the king/palace. King Uzziah is also described as having “large herds, both in the Shephelah and in the plain” and “farmers and vinedressers in the hills and in the fertile lands” (2 Chron. 26:10). Temple In typical ancient Near Eastern society, the temple rivaled the palace in its control of wealth, labor, and land. In the case of Israel and Judah, however, there is less evidence regarding the temple economy in comparison to the texts found in Egypt and Mesopotamia (Master 2014: 85–6), where the temple was a significant economic institution receiving provisions in the form of offerings provided on both a daily basis and in bulk for certain festivals (Liverani 2014: 108). Still, some evidence exists for the temple fulfilling some extractive

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and redistributive functions in Israelite society. Leviticus 27 introduces the tithe, or a percentage of crops and herds to be set aside for the maintenance of the temple and temple personnel (Num. 18:21-24; Deut. 14:28-29). This includes a tenth of grain and fruit, as well as a tenth of flocks and herds (Lev. 27:30-31; Deut. 14:22-23; 26:10-14). Leviticus also provides provision for dedicating land to God, whereby it would become priestly land (27:16-20); however, evidence for large temple estates is lacking.

Market Economy The market, as a location, is a space where the social interaction of exchanging goods takes place. In a more modern sense, however, the term market has grown to mean a process, or mechanism, through which buying and selling take place, more than a physical location. The market as a process is governed by “market principles,” such as self-regulating prices determined by supply and demand, largely impersonal exchange, and principles of profit maximization, as opposed to transactions that do not follow market principles, such as gift-giving or administered royal trade ventures governed by formal treaties. Market and nonmarket exchange are not mutually exclusive, and both were practiced simultaneously throughout the Bronze and Iron Age ancient Near East and are attested in the Hebrew Bible. The merchant class was more likely to engage in private trade, and official state agents were generally involved in administered trade, although the separation between the two forms, and the individuals who performed them, was not always clear cut (see Monroe 2009; Nam 2012). For many individuals the institution of the market served as a secondary economic form, subsidizing the shortcomings of their primary production strategies (e.g., subsistence farming or herding).12 However, other individuals were able to operate exclusively, or at least predominantly under the economic logic of market transactions. Private Long-Distance Trade In the ancient Near East, long-distance trade was made profitable through value differentials, taking advantage of regional differences in demand to justify the costly and risky transport of goods over distance. Therefore, long-distance trade was built on flow of knowledge: informing traders of the best locations to acquire resources or materials, and where to sell them for the highest profit (Monroe 2009; North 1990). In this sense, trade was inherently social and required vast networks and connections of information to be profitable. Improved knowledge systems reduced risk while at the same time increasing profit and efficiency. Under certain conditions, such as expanding markets in the seventh century bce following Phoenician colonization, and decreasing transaction costs, certain populations were incentivized to participate more heavily in the economic institution of long-distance trade (Walton 2015). Examples of this type of behavior can be seen in seventh-century Philistia, with an increase in specialized production for the export of certain commodities: wine at Ashkelon and olive oil at Ekron. Trade merchants were heavily involved in the shipment of food across the ancient Near Eastern world, especially higher value foodstuffs such as wine and olive oil, but also higher bulk lower value items such as grain (Monroe 2009: 78–80, 191). Iron Age shipwrecks in the Mediterranean demonstrate a robust long-distance Mediterranean trade in commodities such as wine and olive oil. Two of the best-studied 12 

See Dercksen’s study of food systems at Kanesh (2008).

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shipwrecks were found off the coast of Ashkelon, dating to the eighth century bce (Ballard et al. 2002: 156–8). The main cargo of these two ships, named by the excavators the Tanit and Elissa, was Phoenician transport amphorae or “torpedo jars.” Numerous amphorae were found, 385 on the Tanit and 396 on the Elissa (Stager 2003: 239). These amphorae were lined with resin, indicating liquid contents. Testing of this resin revealed a residue of tartaric acid, a chemical associated with grapes and grape products-indicating wine as the most likely content (Stager 2003: 241). Two more ships were excavated off the coast of Turkey at the sites of Kekova Adasi and Kepce Burnu, dating to the seventh or sixth century bce. Their cargos consisted predominantly of large basket handled amphorae, which likely contained olive oil, although wine is also a possibility. At least ninety of these basket handled amphorae, alongside fragments of southeast Aegean and Corinthian amphorae were uncovered at Kekova Adasi (Greene et al. 2011: 60–4). The wreck from Kepce Burnu represents a small ship, probably no more than 17–18 m in length, and bore a cargo of amphorae that likely contained agricultural goods (Greene et al. 2008). This wreck demonstrates that trade in this period was not restricted to large ships bearing luxury goods but included smaller cargos of agricultural materials. Overall, the shipwrecks of the eighth and seventh centuries bce present a picture of widespread maritime trade of agricultural products, specifically wine and olive oil. Other evidence for long-distance trade of food can be found in the presence of fish, particularly Nile perch and catfish, across Judah in the Iron Age at sites including Beersheba, Kuntillet ‘Ajrud and Tell el-Hesi in the Negev, Lachish in the Shephelah, Ashkelon, and Ekron on the coastal plain, and Jerusalem in the hill country (Van Neer et al. 2004: Table 3). Any fish remains in the highlands are representative of connections with coastal areas. An example of the long-distance trade in food is seen in Ezekiel’s description of the trade of Tyre. While detailing the wealth and trade of the city, including a myriad of preciosities, Ezekiel cites trade with Judah and Israel for wheat, honey and olive oil, wine from Damascus, and livestock from Arabia (27:17-21).

Local Markets A second sector of the market institution consisted of the local marketplace, where individuals and families could supplement their food supply, or sell off their surplus. These regional markets were designed for local exchanges, and thus included a broader range of actors, many also participants in the subsistence sector. Most markets would have been small, temporary bazaars, with permanent venues limited to larger urban centers, which also would have served to connect the long-distance and local traders. One such multi-tiered market was excavated at the coastal Philistine site of Ashkelon, dating to the seventh century bce. The marketplace served a diverse array of local and long-distance interests, evidenced by the discovery of East Greek, Cypriot, Egyptian, and Phoenician pottery, including wine amphoras. Receipts were found for the sale of grain alongside balance weights for weighing out silver. Faunal remains indicate the butchering and sale of sheep, and botanical remains indicate the presence of grain imported from Judah (Master and Stager 2011: 737). Together, these features indicate a thriving market sector serving both local and long-distance needs. Local markets, and the purchase of food for silver, were a common feature of biblical life and served as an important supplement to the subsistence economy,

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as well as an independent institution. One well-discussed example (Nam 2012) is the case of Elisha and the widow in 2 Kgs. 4:1-7. In this tale, Elisha performs a miracle of multiplying the widow’s small jar of oil into many jars, culminating in his recommendation that she “Go sell the oil and pay your debts, and you and your children can live on the rest.” This story indicates a familiarity with market exchange; and that if one had a sufficient amount of oil, it could be sold for money that could be used to pay off debts, but also for ongoing subsistence needs. Another well-known example of a local market is the case of the siege of Samaria. In this instance, due to severe shortage, prices for wheat and barley increased drastically, only to fall again when the siege is lifted (2 Kgs. 6:24; 7:1; 7:16). Nehemiah criticizes Tyrian merchants who enter Jerusalem on the Sabbath to sell fish (13:16), and Amos parodies greedy merchants yearning for the Sabbath to end so that they can cheat people selling grain in the market (8:5-6).13

Administered Trade The institution of administered trade involved exchange, often between states, kings, or governments that occurred outside of the institution of the market. Royal trade took many forms including gift exchange between palaces as a form of international diplomacy, trade treaties or agreements between kings, or sponsored long-distance expeditions to exotic lands. Gift-giving between kings was well attested in the Amarna letters (CochaviRainey 1999; Liverani 1979) as part of Late Bronze Age diplomacy, conducted through a ceremonial language of bargaining (Avruch 2000; Zaccagnini 2000: 142). Whereas giftgiving served an important diplomatic role, gift exchange was restricted to certain types of goods and settings, and thus could not have accounted for all, or even most of Bronze Age exchange. Administered trade often focused on preciosities such as metals, crafted items, or fine textiles, but food could also be exchanged. One such example is seen in correspondence between the Hittites, Egyptians, and Ugarit at the end of the Late Bronze Age. Hatti, at this point apparently suffering from a grain shortage, makes several overtures to neighbors to set up either one time, or perhaps more regular trade relationships to supply their food needs (Hoffner 1992; Singer 1999). In one letter (KUB 3.34), the Hittite king Hattusili III sends a delegation to Ramses II in Egypt to arrange for a shipment of wheat and barley back to Hatti. This trade relationship continues into the time of Merneptah, who boasts about having sent grain ships to Hatti to help keep the population alive. In another letter (RS. 20.212), an unnamed Hittite king writes Ugarit asking an unnamed king to furnish a ship and crew to send 2,000 kor of grain to Hatti (Singer 1999: 715–16). Although the context of these shipments appears to be during a famine, they serve as an example of long-distance administered trade of grain (Hoffner 1992: 49). An additional example is a cuneiform letter found at Aphek, detailing a shipment of wheat to the city from the Governor of Ugarit (Horowitz and Oshima 2006: 35–7). These transactions suggest that the transfer of food between governments was an important aspect of food security in the Bronze and Iron Ages, especially in times of shortage.

13 

A sentiment also reflected in Lev.19:36, Deut. 25:13, and Prov. 11:1.

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A biblical example of administered trade in food is found in 1 Kings 5 in the treaty arrangement between Hiram of Tyre and Solomon. According to this passage, in exchange for materials and labor for the construction of the temple, Solomon agrees to provide food for Hiram’s household, to an amount of 20,000 kor of wheat and 20,000 baths of olive oil (1 Kgs. 5:9-11). This is part of a long-term agreement that Solomon fulfilled “year by year.” This same theme is reiterated with the construction of the Second Temple, when the returnees provide food, drink, and olive oil to the Tyrians and Sidonians in exchange for cedar logs (Ezra 3:7).

Extractive Economy The institution of the extractive economy included a number of one-way transfers of goods from the areas of their production to a different consumption center, at the discretion of the ruling state or empire. Common extractive forms found across the ancient Near East included taxes, tribute, and booty. Because the extraction of taxes is closely linked to the previously discussed institutions of the redistributive economy and royal estates, in this section we will focus on tribute and booty as major institutions of militaristic expansion and rule. It is common to focus on the looting of rare and precious goods (previous metals, local craftsmanship, high-value commodities) as the major targets of tribute and booty, and these high-value goods were represented in quantity in the booty and tribute lists. However, it would be remiss not to examine the appearance of foodstuffs alongside more precious goods in these lists. A good source for examining these types of extractions is the Neo-Assyrian administrative texts and booty lists. In general, bulk food like grains were not included in booty lists but were regularly taxed and collected in Assyrian centers for future use (Liverani 1992: 158). The Neo-Assyrian administrative system made extensive use of corn and grain taxes to store up supplies and fodder for their armies in the provinces (SAA 5, 250, SAA 1, 255), and local vassals were also expected to provision the Assyrian army when it passed through their territory (Fales and Rigo 2014; Marriott and Radner 2015: 130).14 Additionally, enemy granaries would have been looted and emptied to feed the army (Marriott and Radner 2015: 133–4). Food as tribute rarely appears in the Assyrian royal inscriptions but is more frequently attested in the administrative documents. One such document (ND 2762) records the yearly tribute of Ashkelon, including silver, linen garments, robes, horses, three jars of garum, 1,000 fish, and twenty measures of roasted emmer (Parker 1961: 42).15 Livestock was also a common feature in most Assyrian booty lists, and the massive amount of sheep and goats mentioned by the Neo-Assyrian kings may have helped to sustain the army in the field (Fales and Rigo 2014: 423). A similar practice of exploitation can be deduced from the biblical narratives. In times of strength, Israel was able to extract tribute from their neighbors, including food. Jotham is said to have conquered the Ammonites, and received from them an annual tribute of 100 talents of silver, 10,000 kor of wheat and 10,000 kor of barley (2 Chron. 27:5-6). King Mesha of Moab is also said to have paid an annual tribute of 100,000 lambs and the

14  15 

For a suggestion of the grain reserves needed for this undertaking see Fales (1990). See also SAA 1,34.

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wool of 100,000 rams (2 Kgs. 3:4), and Jehoshaphat received tribute of goats and rams from the Arabs (2 Chron. 17:11). While there is reason to be skeptical of the numbers cited, the fact remains that food, particularly in the form of grain and livestock, could be a common feature of annual tribute.

CONCLUSION The six different economic institutions discussed above—(1) subsistence agriculture, (2) pastoral nomadism, (3) palatial and temple redistribution, (4) the market (both local and long distance), (5) administered trade, and (6) extraction—by no means form an exhaustive list, and certainly other economic contexts were exploited from time to time by parts of the population (e.g., hunting and gathering). Still, a vast majority of the population sought out sustenance, happiness, and success by interacting within one or more of these contexts. It should be pointed out that not every context was open to an individual, and geography, climate, social status, political organization, and social structures all served as incentives that constrained their economic choices. Nor were institutions mutually exclusive: individuals or populations could, and did operate in multiple economic contexts, sometimes simultaneously. The intersectionality across multiple economic contexts can be encapsulated nicely through an examination of the Joseph narratives. Despite important discussions surrounding the date, authorship, and historicity of these texts, the Joseph narrative provides an excellent example of how a combination of overlapping economic institutions might operate in tandem. Subsistence living, including distant pasture herding, is on display early in the narrative, when Joseph leaves the sedentary center at Hebron to find his brothers off with herds, supposedly around Shechem, but in reality further north in the vicinity of Dothan (Gen. 37:12-17). The brothers, however, are also able to participate in long-distance market trade when they encounter a group of itinerant traders and are able to sell Joseph into slavery for silver, which they presumably want and can use (37:25-28). Later in this narrative, following Joseph’s serendipitous rise to power, the reader can trace extractive behaviors on the part of the palace as Joseph taxes all of the food produced in the years of abundance and collects the grain grown in surrounding fields in large urban centers (Gen. 41:47-49). During the famine, Joseph (as the palace representative) then becomes a market participant, selling grain to the hungry (including, according to this tale, foreigners). Joseph first collects silver as payment for the grain, then, as the silver supply of the population diminishes, he accepts the barter of livestock, land, and labor (Gen. 47:13-26). Having purchased the land and labor of the population, Joseph establishes the land as royal estates, with the population required to pay rent of one-fifth of their total produce (47:23-26). Finally, the narrative highlights the exemption of the priests from this fate, noting that the other major redistributive organization, the temple, already receives rations from the palace, and thus was not obligated to participate in the market (47:22). Thus, over the course of the Joseph narrative the reader encounters subsistence agriculture, distant pasture herding, long-distance trade based on market principles, and the extractive, redistributive, and market activities of the palatial economy. At different times, individuals are put in contexts that encourage participating in one or more of these contexts to meet their subsistence needs. An examination of narratives like the Joseph story demonstrates that by understanding some of the underlying contexts and incentive structures governing transacting in the ancient world, particularly transactions surrounding food, it is possible to build a better

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model that accounts for the diversity of practices, behaviors, and experiences that shaped life in the world of the Bible. NIE allows for a flexible, bottom-up model that appropriately describes the diverse lifeways of the ancient world, as well as the intersection of a host of different economic behaviors and contexts.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Boer, R. (2015), The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. An excellent discussion of the subsistence agricultural base of Israel’s economy. Faust, A. (2003), “The Farmstead in the Highlands of Iron Age II Israel,” in A. M. Maeir, S. Dar, and Z. Safrai (eds.), The Rural Landscape of Ancient Israel, 91–104, BAR International Series 1121. Oxford: Archaeopress. An in-depth survey of the archaeological remains pertaining to farmsteads and rural villages. Master, D. M. (2014), “Economy and Exchange in the Iron Age Kingdoms of the Southern Levant,” BASOR 372: 81–97. A concise but detailed application of New Institutional Economics to the Iron Age economy of Israel and Judah. Monroe, C. M. (2009), Scales of Fate: Trade, Tradition, and Transformation in the Eastern Mediterranean ca. 1350–1175 bce, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. An excellent study of the overlap between private and administered trade based on the texts from Ugarit. Schloen, J. D. (2001), The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. An in-depth study of household and clan structures in ancient Israel, an essential background to broader social, political, and economic studies.

REFERENCES Avruch, K. (2000), “Reciprocity, Equality, and Status-Anxiety in the Amarna Letters,” in R. Cohen and R. Westbrook (eds.), Amarna Diplomacy: The Beginning of International Relations, 154–64, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Ballard, R. D., Stager, L. E., Master, D. M., Yoerger, D., Mindell, D., Whitcomb, L. L, Singh, H., and Piechota, D. (2002), “Iron Age Shipwrecks in Deep Water off Ashkelon, Israel,” AJA 106: 151–68. Boer, R. (2015), The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Cochavi-Rainey, Z. (1999), Royal Gifts in the Late Bronze Age, Fourteenth to Thirteenth Centuries B.C.E., Beer-Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press. Cross, F. M. (2003), Leaves from an Epigrapher’s Notebook, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Dar, S. (1986), Landscape and Pattern: An Archaeological Survey of Samaria 800 B.C.E.–636 C.E., Oxford: Archaeopress. Dercksen, J. G. (2008), “Subsistence, Surplus, and the Market for Grain and Meat at Ancient Kanesh,” AoF 35: 86–102. Dobbs-Allsopp, F. W., Roberts, J. J. M., Seow, C. L., and Whitaker, R. E. (2005), Hebrew Inscriptions: Texts from the Biblical Period of the Monarchy with Concordance, New Haven: Yale University Press.

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Fales, F. M. (1990), “Grain Reserves, Daily Rations, and the Size of the Assyrian Army: A Quantitative Study,” SAAB 4: 23–34. Fales, F. M. and Rigo, M. (2014), “Food Practices in the Assyrian Military Camps,” in L. Milano (ed.), Paleonutrition and Food Practices in the Ancient Near East: Towards a Multidisciplinary Approach, 413–37, Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Faust, A. (1999), “Differences in Family Structure between Cities and Villages in Iron Age II,” Tel Aviv 26: 233–52. Faust, A. (2003), “The Farmstead in the Highlands of Iron Age II Israel,” in A. M. Maeir, S. Dar, and Z. Safrai (eds.), The Rural Landscape of Ancient Israel, 91–104, Oxford: Archaeopress. Faust, A. (2009),”Cities, Villages, and Farmsteads: The Landscape of Leviticus 25: 29-31,” in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager, 103–12, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Faust, A. (2013), “The Shephelah in the Iron Age: A New Look on the Settlement of Judah,” PEQ 145: 203–19. Faust, A. and Erlich, A. (2011), The Excavations of Khirbet er-Rasm, Israel: The Changing Faces of the Countryside, Oxford: Archaeopress. Finkelstein, I. and Gadot, Y. (2015), “Mozah, Nephtoah, and Royal Estates in the Jerusalem Highlands,” Semitica et Classica 8: 227–34. Gal, Z. (1992), Lower Galilee during the Iron Age, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Garraty, C. (2010), “Investigating Market Exchange in Ancient Societies: A Theoretical Review,” in C. Garraty and B. Stark (eds.), Archaeological Approaches to Market Exchange in Ancient Societies, 3–32, Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Gelb, I. (1965), “The Ancient Mesopotamian Ration System,” JNES 24: 230–43. Greenberg, R. and Cinamon, G. (2006), “Stamped and Incised Jar Handles from Rogem Gannim and Their Implications for the Political Economy of Jerusalem, Late 8th–Early 4th Centuries bce,” TA 33: 229–43. Greene, E., Lawall, M. L., and Polzer, M. E. (2008), “Inconspicuous Consumption: The SixthCentury bce Shipwreck at Pabuc Burnu, Turkey,” AJA 112: 685–711. Greene, E., Leidwanger, J., and Ozdas, H. (2011), “Two Early Archaic Shipwrecks at Kekova Adasi and Kepce Burnu, Turkey,” The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 40: 60–8. Haiman, M. (2003), “The 10th Century BC Settlement of the Negev Highlands and Iron Age Rural Palestine,” in A. M. Maeir, S. Dar, and Z. Safrai (eds.), The Rural Landscape of Ancient Israel, 71–90, BAR International Series 1121. Oxford: Archaeopress. Halpern, B. (1991), ‘”Jerusalem and the Lineages in the Seventh Century bce: Kinship and the Rise of Individual Moral Liability,” in B. Halpern and D. Hobson (eds.), Law and Ideology in Monarchic Israel, 11–107, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Heltzer, M. (1999), “The Economy of Ugarit,” in W. Watson and N. Wyatt (eds.), Handbook of Ugaritic Studies, 423–54, Leiden: Brill. Hesse, B. (1995), “Animal Husbandry and Human Diet,” CANE 1: 203–22. Hirth, K. (2010), “Finding the Mark in Marketplace: The Organization, Development, and Archaeological Identification of Market Systems,” in C. Garraty and B. Stark (eds.), Archaeological Approaches to Market Exchange in Ancient Societies, 227–48, Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Hoffner, H. (1992), “The Last Days of Khattusha,” in W. Ward and M. S. Joukowsky (eds.), The Crisis Years: The 12th Century BC, from beyond the Danube to the Tigris, 46–52, Dubuque: Kendall/Hunt.

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Hopkins, D. C. (1985), The Highlands of Canaan: Agriculture Life in the Early Iron Age, Sheffield: Almond. Horowitz, W. and Oshima, T. (2006), Cuneiform in Canaan: Cuneiform Sources from the Land of Israel in Ancient Times, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Jursa, M. (2010), Aspects of the Economic History of Babylonia in the First Millennium BC: Economic Geography, Economic Mentalities, Agriculture, the Use of Money and the Problem of Economic Growth, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Khazanov, A. (1994), Nomads and the Outside World, Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Kleiman, A. (2017), “A North Israelite Royal Administrative System and Its Impact on LateMonarchic Judah,” HBAI 6: 354–71. Lipschits, O., Sergi, O., and Koch, I. (2011), “Judahite Stamped and Incised Jar Handles: A Tool for Studying the History of Late Monarchic Judah,” TA 38: 5–41. Liverani, M. (1979), Three Amarna Essays, Malibu: Undena. Liverani, M. (1992), Studies on the Annals of Ashurnasirpal II, Rome: Università di Roma “La Sapienza.” Liverani, M. (2005), “The Near East: The Bronze Age,” in J. G. Manning and I. Morris (eds.), The Ancient Economy: Evidence and Models, 47–57, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Liverani, M. (2014), The Ancient Near East: History, Society, and Economy, London: Routledge. Maekawa, K. (1989), “Rations, Wages, and Economic Trends in the Ur III Period,” AoF 16: 42–50. Malamat, A. (2003), “The King’s Table and Provisioning of Messengers: The Recent Old Babylonian Texts from Tuttul and the Bible,” IEJ 53: 172–7. Marriott, J. and Radner, K. (2015), “Sustaining the Assyrian Army among Friends and Enemies in 714 bce,” JCS 67: 127–43. Master, D. M. (2014), “Economy and Exchange in the Iron Age Kingdoms of the Southern Levant,” BASOR 372: 81–97. Master, D. M. and Stager, L. E. (2011), “Conclusion,” in L. E. Stager, D. M. Master, and J. D. Schloen (eds.), Ashkelon 3: The Seventh Century BC, 737–40, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Mazar, A. (1982), “Iron Age Fortresses in the Judean Hills,” PEQ 114: 87–109. McGeough, K. (2007), Exchange Relationships at Ugarit, Leuven: Peeters. McGeough, K. (2011), Ugaritic Economic Tablets, Leuven: Peeters. Monroe, C. M. (2009), Scales of Fate: Trade, Tradition, and Transformation in the Eastern Mediterranean ca. 1350–1175 bce, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Na’aman, N. (1986), “Hezekiah’s Fortified Cities and the ‘LMLK’ Stamps,” BASOR 261: 5–21. Nam, R. (2012), Portrayals of Economic Exchange in the Book of Kings, Leiden: Brill. North, D. (1990), Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance, New York: Cambridge University Press. Ofer, A. (1994), “‘All the Hill Country of Judah’: From a Settlement Fringe to a Prosperous Monarchy,” in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy, 92–121, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Pardee, D. (1999), “Les Hommes du Roi Proprietaires de Champs: Les Textes Ougaritiques RS 15.116 et RS 19.016,” Sem 49: 19–60. Parker, B. (1961), “Administrative Tablets from the North-West Palace, Nimrud,” Iraq 23: 15–67.

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Polanyi, K. (1957), “The Economy as Instituted Process,” in K. Polanyi, C. Arensberg, and H. Pearson (eds.), Trade and Market in the Early Empires, 243–69, Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Rainey, A. (1982), “Wine From the Royal Vineyards,” BASOR 245: 57–62 Renger, J. (2003), “Trade and Market in the Ancient Near East: Theoretical and Factual Implications,” in C. Zaccagnini (ed.), Mercantil e Politica nel Mondo Antico, 15–39, Roma: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Rosen, S. (2017), Revolutions in the Desert: The Rise of Mobile Pastoralism in the Negev and the Arid Zones of the Southern Levant, New York: Routledge. Sasson, A. (2010), Animal Husbandry in Ancient Israel: A Zooarchaeological Perspective on Livestock Exploitation, Herd Management, and Economic Strategies, London: Equinox. Schloen, J. D. (2001), The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Silver, M. (1985), Economic Structures of the Ancient Near East, Totowa: Barnes & Noble. Singer, I. (1999), “A Political History of Ugarit,” in W. Watson and N. Wyatt (eds.), Handbook of Ugaritic Studies, 603–733, Leiden: Brill. Stager, L. E. (2003), “Phoenician Shipwrecks in the Deep Sea,” in N. Stampolidis and V. Karageorghis (eds.), Sea Routes: Interconnections in the Mediterranean 16th–6th c. BC, 233–47, Athens: University of Crete and the A. G. Leventis Foundation. Stark, B. and Garraty, C. (2010), “Detecting Marketplace Exchange in Archaeology: A Methodological Review,” in C. Garraty and B. Stark (eds.), Archaeological Approaches to Market Exchange in Ancient Societies, 33–60, Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Suriano, M. (2016), “Wine Shipments to Samaria from Royal Vineyards,” TA 43: 99–110. Temin, P. (2013), The Roman Market Economy, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Terpstra, T. (2019), Trade in the Ancient Mediterranean: Private Order and Public Institutions, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Van Driel, G. (2002), Elusive Silver: In Search of a Role for a Market in an Agrarian Environment. Aspects of Mesopotamia’s Society, Leiden: Nederlands Institut voor het Nabije Oosten. Van Neer, W., Lernau, O., Friedman, R., Mumford, G., Poblome, J., and Waelkens, M. (2004), “Fish Remains from Archaeological Sites as Indicators of Former Trade Connections in the Eastern Mediterranean,” Paléorient 30: 101–47. Veenhof, K. R. (1997), “‘Modern’ Features in Old Assyrian Trade,” JESHO 40: 336–66. Walton, J. T. (2015), “The Regional Economy of the Southern Levant in the 8th–7th Centuries bce,” PhD diss., Harvard University. Zaccagnini, C. (2000), “The Interdependence of the Great Powers,” in R. Cohen and R. Westbrook (eds.), Amarna Diplomacy: The Beginning of International Relations, 141–53, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Zertal, A. (2008), The Manasseh Hill Country Survey, Leiden: Brill.

PART II

Food Procurement and Production

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CHAPTER 4

Animal Husbandry: Meat, Milk, and More JUSTIN LEV-TOV

INTRODUCTION Animals were an integral part of peoples’ daily lives during biblical times. This is clear from the innumerable references to animals, both literal and figurative, in the Hebrew Bible. Archaeologists have come to the same conclusion based on artifacts found in archaeological excavations. Archaeological sites dating to the biblical period (i.e., the Iron Age, ca. 1200–586 bce) contain within them thousands, even tens of thousands, of whole or broken animal bones. The only artifacts more numerous on such sites are pottery sherds. The domesticated animals involved in food production were many and ranged from insects to cattle and horses. Domesticated animals, like their wild counterparts, were killed for their meat. Whether animals were killed on a domestic scale by families or “retail” scale by professional butchers (cf. Zeder 1990: 41–2), the product was the same. Meat was the primary product produced by the slaughter of animals, even in a religious context. Depending on the type of sacrifice, only a portion of sacrificial animals was burned or otherwise given as a divine offering; the rest was for temple personnel.1 Slaughtered animals produced other key products, including hides, hair, hooves, horns, bones, fats/oils, and sinews. Domesticated animals also supplied products for which they, because of their captive nature and selective breeding through millennia, did not have to be slaughtered. The ability of domestic, female mammals to produce milk in excess of what their young needed, bees both for honey, wax, and their pollinating abilities, and long-haired sheep and goats that annually could be shorn, sets aside these animals from the wild fauna of the region. Wild fauna2 could be hunted for meat but unlike most domesticates could not produce what zooarchaeologists term “secondary products”—those things not requiring animals’ deaths. In addition, some domesticated animals were trained to offer humans their muscle power, hunting or guarding prowess, and speed. Thus, cats and dogs were hunters who kept pests and predators at bay, or actively aided human hunting efforts. Cattle, donkeys, and camels were beasts of burden, while horses were generally reserved

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See Chapters 17 and 18 in this volume for discussions of the ritual uses of food. See Chapter 10 in this volume.

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as weapons of war or beasts to aid the elite in hunting. Humans filled needs not only by domesticating animals but occasionally even inventing new ones, for instance, mules. This chapter examines how the ancient Israelites used a variety of domesticated animals for transportation, as working helpers, and for food. The evidence for this essay comes principally from studies of animal bones recovered from the archaeological sites of the Near East, especially Israel, and studied by archaeologists in the subfield of archaeology known as zooarchaeology (or, alternatively, “archaeozoology”). It is informed also by ancient texts, from the Hebrew Bible to the writings of neighboring peoples. This chapter mainly concerns who ate what, but it also considers the social, religious, and economic implications of those dietary choices. More specifically, topics include domesticated animals used for food, for secondary products, and for other purposes. Pigs are discussed at some length due to their varying role through time in the southern Levant, from regular food to food avoided—and, for some scholars—a boundary or ethnic marker.

DOMESTICATED MAMMALS Many species of domesticated mammals were available to the Israelites and neighboring peoples during biblical times. It is important, however, to make distinctions between those species raised primarily for their ability to provide food products, and those primarily kept as beasts of burden or as companions. Each of those groups is discussed separately below: mammals raised as beasts of burden or as companions in this section, and mammals raised for food in the next section (“Animals of the Herd”).

Beasts of Burden Those kept as beasts of burden were equids and camelids3 along with three humancreated variants: mules, hinnies, and hybridized camels. Mules are distinguished from hinnies by parentage. The former are a cross between a male donkey and a female horse, and hinnies, the opposite. In either case, offspring can be of either sex but are always sterile. As well, there is some evidence of crossbreeding between domestic donkeys and onagers, that is, the wild half-ass (cf. Grigson 2012: 90). Based on their bones and even ancient artistic depictions, equids can be difficult to separate into distinct species (cf. M. MacDonald 2019: 156–9; Vila 2006: 102–3), something complicated by the fact that in Iron Age and earlier eras there were various wild species in the region, most now extinct, in addition to domestic ones. Camels were also domesticated primarily as beasts of burden, and both dromedaries and Bactrians were present in the Levant in antiquity (Grigson 2012; Wapnish 1981). Hybrids between the two species of camels existed in antiquity, as well (cf. Çakirlar and Berthon 2014). Bones of horses are rare, which may relate to their apparent status as beasts of the nobility and restricted use for war or bearing royals. Bones of smaller equids—and even of their burials—are relatively common. Donkey bones appear both mixed in the bone assemblages from a variety of Bronze and Iron Age sites and occur as burials, perhaps as sacrificial victims. Greenfield et al. (2018) published a domestic donkey burial with bit wear from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath dated to ca. 2700 bce (the Early Bronze IIIB period), the earliest such evidence in the Near East. Donkeys, as Shai et al. (2016) point out, in the That is, members of the Equidae (horses, donkeys, onagers, and cross-breeds), and Camelidae (camels and the New World species alpacas, llamas, and vicuñas) taxonomic families, respectively. 3 

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Hebrew Bible are bearers of both goods and people, and are mentioned in the narrative (1 Samuel 9) about Saul prior to his assumption of the kingship. Just as prominently, donkeys feature in ancient Near Eastern texts as bearers of goods in caravans, especially to and from Egypt, for example, in the famous tomb painting at Beni Hasan, Egypt (for discussion, see Cohen 2016). Asses were valuable animals which, ironically, may be why they were sacrificed from time to time. Sacrificed donkeys are known from various other sites in the Southern Levant as well as in Syria and Mesopotamia (Wygnańska 2017: 145– 55). Donkey sacrifice was a ritual phenomenon that Petrie (2013: 4 [1931]) associated with the Hyksos and other foreign, Amorite, groups. Stiebing favored a native origin for the practice and suggested that some “burials” were funerary feasts where the animal was partially consumed (1971: 115–16). The single instance of donkey sacrifice in the Hebrew Bible (Exod. 13:13) is an interesting phenomenon since, as Shai et al. (2016: 7) point out, it records the sacrifice of an animal unclean for ritual killing or eating. The two species of camels4 known in greater Asia raises the question of which was first present in the Levant. Wapnish (1981: 104, 108) was unsure which camel species, the dromedary or the Bactrian, was first to arrive in the Levant. She noted that scholars such as Albright assumed dromedaries were the first to arrive in Palestine, based on the Hebrew Bible’s portrayal of trade with Arabia. Yet, osteological evidence suggests a midthird millennium domestication date for the Bactrian. The earlier domestication date for the two-humped camel raises the possibility that it was the earliest camel to reach the Levant. The dromedary camel appears to have been domesticated no earlier than the late second millennium bce and possibly not until the early first millennium. The Levantine sites with the most camel bones are Tell Jemmeh and Timna‘, both in southern Israel and—probably not coincidentally—both positioned on major east-west trade routes. The camel bone assemblage from Tell Jemmeh emanates from strata spanning the Late Bronze Age (fourteenth through thirteenth centuries bce) through the Hellenistic Period (332–200 bce) with most dating to the neo-Babylonian and Persian Periods (ca. 600–332 bce). All camel bones from Timna‘ date to the Early Iron Age (twelfth through tenth centuries bce). With rare exceptions (e.g., von den Driesch and Boessneck 1995: 72), camels first appear in the Levant during the Iron Age II, and their numbers are infrequent until the Iron Age IIB. The fact that, in the Levant, their bones are found almost exclusively at Negev or at least southern sites is indirect evidence that most camels in the Levant were dromedaries (Sapir-Hen and Ben-Yosef 2013: 277–9). The place and timing of the camel’s appearance in the Southern Levant correlate strongly with copper mining and trade route sites. Sapir-Hen and Ben-Yosef (2013: 280) point out that, coincident with the occurrence of camel bones, copper mining at Timna‘ was reorganized in such a way that labor was centralized and smelting techniques were improved. Camels are mentioned in various ancient texts, from Assyrian ones (where some references may be to Bactrian camels) to the Hebrew Bible. In the latter, camels appear as a measure of wealth in and of themselves, and/or as a means by which to gain or bring goods. Perhaps most famously, the Queen of Sheba comes to Jerusalem with a camel train, bringing spices and gold to King Solomon (1 Kgs. 10:2). Camels were also, like horses, weapons of war. The eighth century bce Assyrian king Shalmaneser III defeated the Arabian King Gindibu and other

The dromedary camel, with one hump, is native to Arabia. Bactrian camels, with two humps, are native to Central Asia. 4 

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allies of Hadad-ezer at the city of Qarqar, to which the former brought a camel cavalry of 1,000 riders and mounts (Younger 2003: 263–4). While the camel’s value was clear as a transport animal, whether for goods and traders or mounted warriors, its use as a food source is less well known. The camel as a meat source was prohibited in the Bible (Lev. 11:4; Deut. 14:7), and yet Grigson (2012: 88) identified many camel bones bearing butchering marks from Timna‘, as did Wapnish (1981: 102–4) at Tell Jemmeh. At Timna‘, butchering seems to have taken place in or near the settlement, indicating, perhaps, that it was not nomads but residents who ate the animals. The cut marks also demonstrate that camel carcasses were sometimes skinned. Any use of camels for milk or milk products is not known from the ancient Near East but is possible. The Bedouin milk them today and did so at least into the recent past (KöhlerRollefson 1993: 185). The best evidence for camel milking based on the archaeological record would be herd structure, more females than males, but that relies on a large sample of bones and being able to discriminate their sexes. The former has not been discovered from any one period within any one site, while the second is simply difficult and again dependent on large sample sizes (Horwitz and Rosen 2005: 126–9).

Companions and Hunters Two animals, cats and dogs, are peculiar in the ancient Near East’s menagerie of domesticated fauna. Both most certainly were known to the population of the ancient Levant, yet they were not raised primarily for either meat or edible secondary products. Instead, they were kept to guard against predators via their hunting instincts and in this way contributed indirectly to the production of food. Only dogs are discussed here, because they were sometimes consumed. We have no evidence that cats were ever eaten, though they were important to the food supply in that they hunted rodents that otherwise could have harmed stored grain. By almost all accounts dogs were the first animals that humans domesticated, and early evidence of that peculiar relationship comes from prehistoric sites in Israel. The most famous specimen comes from the Jordan Valley Natufian site of Mallaha, at which an adult human was found buried with a hand resting on a puppy. While the status of the canid— domestic or wild—could not be discerned, the context of the puppy demonstrated to the excavators that there had existed an affectionate relationship (Davis and Valla 1978: 608). By the Iron Age, dogs were common animals, kept as guards for flocks and settlements, as well as aides in both hunting and war. In the Hebrew Bible, dogs are often portrayed unfavorably, as animals that eat dead people and lick their blood, as in 1 Kgs. 14:11 and 1 Kgs. 21:19. Isaiah 66:3 is one of several passages that refer to dogs metaphorically. In a string of comparisons defining proper and improper sacrifices, it compares those who would sacrifice a lamb to those who would break a dog’s neck. Dogs were valuable in the ancient Near East for what might be termed secondary products, contributions they made to human society other than as a food. As Miller (2008) discusses, dogs were hunting companions, and household pets and were also important as guards for settlements, for households, and especially for flocks of sheep and goats. Despite dogs’ value in all the latter ways, they were also sometimes consumed and sacrificed by ancient Near Eastern peoples including in Anatolia, Cyprus, Egypt, and even within the Levant (Lev-Tov et al. 2018: 18). As carnivores, dogs presumably fell into a category of animal unfit for consumption and sacrifice among the Israelites (as the Isaiah passage implies). There is no explicit mention of dogs in the relevant passages

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of Leviticus and Deuteronomy but, as animals that do not chew the cud or have cloven hoofs, they clearly were unclean, as were other animals that walked on paws. Yet, unlike some other culinary laws codified in the Hebrew Bible, the prohibition on eating dogs was not a region-wide cultural tradition. Neither cynophagy (dog eating) nor dog sacrifice was common in the ancient Near East, but there are known instances of the practices, especially sacrifice in Egypt (Ikram et al. 2013: 50) and both canine consumption and sacrifice among the Philistines (Lev-Tov et al. 2018; Maher 2017). Archaeozoologists and text scholars have documented instances of canine sacrifice, and consumption, outside of Egypt. Dog sacrifice has been identified in Hittite ritual texts (cf. Collins 1990: 213–23), for instance. There is no evidence among the Hittites, however, that they were consumed. The same cannot be said for some other peoples of the region, for example, in fourth-third millennium Oman (Maini and Curci 2013) and even in the Southern Levant, among the Philistines. The Philistines, based on the archaeozoological record, appear to have practiced cynophagy at least at times. Maher (2017) studied dog bones from Philistine sites and found that six such towns or cities had faunal assemblages containing canid bones bearing butchering marks. In Maher’s (2017: 120) interpretation, the marks derived from specific butchering actions including carcass dismemberment, defleshing, and filleting. He further suggests (2017: 133–4) that dog bones with butchering marks are more common than those of “normal” food animals but did not hypothesize reasons for that trend. The Philistine practice of occasional dog consumption—dog bones are not nearly as common in those sites as are the bones of other domesticates—may be related to their hypothesized Aegean origins. There is precedent for cynophagy in Mycenaean and Dark Age (as well as later) Greece, where butchered dog bones are relatively common finds (Gejvall 1969: 16, Plate III; Hadjikoumis 2016; Snyder and Klippel 2003). The Philistines apparently also—at least on one occasion—practiced a puppy-severing ritual like those recorded in the Hittite tablets (Collins 1990: 218–20). An Early Iron Age puppy burial excavated at Tel MiqneEkron had had its head chopped off and placed between its hind legs, in addition to two other blows that could have killed the animal (Lev-Tov et al. 2018). In the ancient Near East, man’s best friend was sometimes a close companion, other times a useful but barely tolerated hanger-on. At other times, people relied on the animal for a sacrificial cult or ritual, and occasionally dogs were even meat for the table and their hides perhaps clothing or rugs.

ANIMALS OF THE HERD, REGULARS AT THE TABLE The most abundant and important domesticated animals of the ancient Near East were without doubt sheep, goats, and cattle. This trio of related species5 make up most animal bones found at all Neolithic and later sites in the Near East. These bovids were important as meat sources, for milk and milk products, as well as for their hair (in the case of sheep and goats) as well as hides and laboring abilities (cattle). The animals were so important in the daily lives of ancient populations that ancient texts discuss them not only literally but also figuratively in both domestic and religious contexts. The Hebrew Bible as well as

All three are members of the zoological family Bovidae, commonly referred to as “bovids.” Sheep and goats are more closely related to each other than to cattle, as they are part of the Caprinae subfamily, thus commonly called “caprids.” 5 

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texts from other Near Eastern cultures reference those three animals in contexts spanning sheep shearing (e.g., Gen. 31:19), penalties for livestock theft (e.g., Exod. 22:1), and sacrifice (e.g., Exod. 20:24 or Lev. 5:6). Livestock are also discussed as war booty, as when the Israelites successfully attack the Midianites and take from them hundreds of thousands of sheep, goats, and cattle (Num. 31:27-54). This passage is interesting in the relative numbers of livestock it cites as the fruits of conquest. It is not necessary to take the high numbers literally; the ratios presented are enough. The Israelites gain approximately ten times the number of sheep and goats as cattle, which in general parallels the animal bone evidence. In the archaeological record, sheep and goats are by far the most abundant species of animals found in virtually all faunal assemblages from post-Neolithic contexts. Cattle were food too but likely were more important for their labor and dung (fertilizer and hearth fuel) production. By contrast, two of three products caprids could offer, meat and milk, were foods; and, possibly due to their lesser water and less stringent food requirements, caprids were raised in greater numbers than cattle. Sheep were also invaluable for wool production, much more so than goats for their hair (but see Ryder 1993: 39–40, 43–6). Tribute lists from the ancient Near East usually brag of greater numbers of sheep than goats when the species are separately enumerated, and both species are more frequent than cattle. That is not only in the case in Num. 31:27-54 but also in Egyptian New Kingdom records from, for instance, Thutmose III’s campaign against Megiddo (cf. Hoffmeier 2003: 12). In the archaeological record, however, sheep and goat bones usually occur in almost equal numbers. The discrepancy between the textual and archaeological records is interesting, and it is possible that the difference is methodological in nature. Sheep and goats are difficult to distinguish from one another (e.g., Zeder and Pilaar 2010: 235–6), especially given the fragmentary nature of the remains. Therefore, one often perceives that caprid herds were mixed for generalized economic output of meat and milk, as well as fiber. Zooarchaeologists must conclude, based on relatively few bones identifiable to one or the other species, which caprid species, if either, was the more important. Understandings of ancient animal husbandry are influenced and limited by morphological comparisons, although new molecular methods show promise (cf. Buckley et al. 2010: 19). Equal numbers of sheep and goat bones are often interpreted as one sign that the ancient cities and states of the Levant were unspecialized and produced at the subsistence level, having little or no surplus food and fiber for use beyond the household. Sasson (2010: 10), basing his research on the important Iron Age city site of Tel Beersheba, labels this the “survival subsistence strategy,” where animals including sheep and goats as well as cattle were raised in a manner ensuring herd survival and concentrating on householdlevel subsistence as opposed to herd increase or specialization. In contrast, other scholars have pointed to a variety of evidence to argue that, at least in some times and places, ancient herders or administrators specialized in certain animal products and therefore oriented animal husbandry toward one product or another. Wapnish and Hesse (1988: 84) delineated models to detect herding economies that primarily produced, consumed, or both produced and consumed animal products, while Payne (1973: 281–3), showed how age profiles derived from large assemblages of sheep and goat bones could be used to detect milk, meat, wool, or unspecialized flocks. Kozuh (2014: 8–10, 67–75) detailed the first millennium Babylonian Eanna temple of Uruk’s economy, based on tablets found there. In order to have sheep for sacrifice, temple personnel contracted with herdsmen.

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Temple officials not only bought sacrificial sheep but also struck deals for annual wool production with flock owners. The texts detailing the contracts therefore suggest the existence of economic specialization among herders. Other evidence, including from within the Levant, contrasts with Sasson’s (2010: 119–20) hypothesis. For instance, Lev-Tov (2010: 98) demonstrated that sheep increased through time relative to goats at Tel Miqne-Ekron, a phenomenon coincident with the city’s loss of independence and transformation into a tribute-supplying vassal state. In that scenario, wool may have been one of several commodities the city supplied to the NeoAssyrian Empire. Marom and Herrmann (2014: 307, 312) described similar evidence for the Neo-Assyrian Empire’s effects on Zincirili Höyük’s animal economy, and KolskaHorwitz and Milevski (2001: 300) noticed a broadly parallel trend throughout the Late Bronze Age Levant in comparison to the Middle Bronze Age. In the latter case, sheep became more prevalent than goats, suggesting to the authors that Egypt had its Levantine vassals produce sheep for consumption and/or wool, which drove herders to raise more of those animals. Most recently, Sapir-Hen, Gadot, and Finkelstein (2014) argue that, by the Iron Age IIB if not earlier, localized and independent animal economies transitioned to ones oriented toward specialized production. Computer simulations and modern-day observations of herd dynamics (cf. Cribb 1987; Dahl and Hjort 1976) demonstrate that selective culling is necessary to keep flocks from multiplying beyond carrying capacity. Marom et al. (2014: 76) point out with respect to Middle Bronze Age Hazor, it is possible to have an economy in which rural herders supply cities with specialized animal products, but not to the point of jeopardizing herd security. Thus, there is something of a debate between scholars attempting to reconstruct the southern Levant’s Iron Age animal economy and thus diet, between those like Sasson (2010) favoring a subsistence-level production mode, and those like Sapir-Hen, Gadot, and Finkelstein (2014: 735–7) who instead see specialization and market-oriented production. In terms of milking, Horwitz and Smith (1991: 32) innovatively studied cortical thickness of sheep and goat bones from Jericho’s Neolithic to Middle Bronze Age strata, finding that, in later periods, there was a significant loss of bone in females. They interpreted the finding to mean that caprids were more intensively milked over time. That research method, together with both traditional approaches to inferring dairy production via kill-off patterns in sheep, goats, and cattle (cf. Payne 1973: 281–3), widespread textual and pictorial evidence, and the newer technique of lipid extraction from ceramics (e.g., Nieuwenhuyse et al. 2015: 60–4) demonstrates that animals were milked regularly. This again implies that animals were raised for specific products. Moreover, the existence of specialized herd management casts doubt on a widespread belief among scholars of Near Eastern antiquity, who frequently have suggested that consumption of meat and milk was a rare luxury (cf. N. MacDonald 2008a: 61–72).6 Sheep and goats clearly were the mainstays of ancient Levantine meat diets and were the dominant sources of fiber. Cattle supply greater amounts of milk than do sheep and goats, but peoples of the ancient Near East preferred that of sheep and goats. Between the latter two, goats supply much more milk and from a younger age (N. MacDonald 2008a: 35, 62), albeit that of sheep is much higher in fat (Jandal 1996: 178). Levy (1983: 19)

6 

See the discussion in Chapter 19 in this volume.

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states that “sheep are raised as marketable meat sources … because of the lamb’s ability to grow to almost full size … in three to five months.” In fact, sheep produce more and higher-valued hair (wool) than goats, greater amounts of meat, and fatter—if lesser quantities of—milk (Kolska-Horwitz and Milevski 2001: 299; Ryder 1993: 39–40). Milk products—cheese, curds, and butter—seldom appear in the Hebrew Bible and, when mentioned, are not further described. Bottéro (1985: 38), on the other hand, points out that, in Mesopotamia, eighteen to twenty varieties of cheese were known. Stol (1993) provides an in-depth discussion of dairy products in the ancient Near East. Nonetheless, even when types of cheese are specifically labeled in ancient texts, the animal that produced the milk for them usually is not specified. Precisely which foods sheep, goats, and cattle produced is difficult to know. People consumed the meat and milk of all three animals. Zooarchaeological evidence demonstrates no evidence for specific, recognizable cuts of meat based on butchering mark placement and bone breakage patterning. Demonstrably, however, people did not refrain from eating all parts of animals, from head to tails, since all bones of animals’ body tend to bear butchering marks. That said, donations of meat to the priests required right-side limbs, as commanded in several places in the Hebrew Bible, as in Leviticus (e.g., 7:32, 33), Num. 18:18, and elsewhere. Some evidence for the practice of donating (right) forelimbs has been claimed for Tel Qiri (Davis 2008: 66–7) and Mt. Ebal (Horwitz 1987: 182). In turn, from a cuisine perspective, one might expect the non-priestly classes to have eaten meat from left-side limbs. But teasing out from the bone evidence something more specific about the way in which carcasses were divided into edible or saleable portions is more difficult. In the Near East, systematic studies of butchering marks are rare for biblical-period sites, although Greenfield and Bouchnik (2010: 102) mention that, based on placement of metal tool marks on bones, systematic butchery began in the Middle Bronze Age. Nonetheless, whether there were regular, even ethnic, patterns to carcass division already in the Bronze or Iron Age, as some have argued for later periods (e.g., Cope 2004: 27–32; Greenfield and Bouchnick 2010: 103–5), remains an open question. Such studies in general are hampered by methodological issues (cf. Hesse and Wapnish 2001: 271), although Zeder (1990: 95–100) attempted it on a gross scale, examining meat distribution at Early Bronze Age Tal-e Malyan in Iran. Cooking methods employed in antiquity also prove difficult to discern. Although bone assemblages frequently contain burned bones, and ancient people roasted meat, the two phenomena do not necessarily relate. Bones may burn after deposition on or even in the ground (cf. Bennett 1999: 5–7), but, while roasting surrounded by fat or flesh, they do not burn. Bone structure may be altered through direct or indirect exposure to heat, but the science is complex (cf. Alhaique 1997; Roberts et al. 2002) and does not currently lend itself well to application on large faunal assemblages. Texts provide somewhat better insight into cuisine-level meat and dairy consumption practices. Biblical texts forbid boiling a kid in its mother’s milk (Exod. 23:19; 34:26; Deut. 14:21), a remark taken to mean that meat and milk may not be eaten together,7 and ban blood consumption (Gen. 9:4, Lev. 7:26). However, other than those prohibitions, the references to meat preparation are vague. Where the Hebrew Bible discusses

Sasson (2002: 301–2) suggests, principally on the basis of alternative Hebrew vocalizations, that what the Hebrew Bible originally meant was not to cook an animal in the fat from organs and the (sheep’s) tail, portions reserved for the sacrifice (e.g., Exod. 29:22). 7 

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cooking meat, the techniques are either roasting or boiling, but without detail.8 Boiling as a cooking method is mentioned in Ezek. 24:5 and Micah 3:3 but in both cases as allegories. Nonetheless, the Ezekiel passage is intriguing in that it specifies choice animal parts, the thigh and shoulder, as does Num. 6:19; and such parts are occasionally found archaeologically, for example, as funerary donations (e.g., at Tel Gezer; cf. Legge and Zeder 1988). The relative silence of the Bible on meat stews should not be taken to mean that they were not eaten or liked. If Mesopotamia can be used as an analogy, then the population consumed quite a variety of stews (Bottéro 1985: 42).9 For Iron Age Palestine, scholars have supplemented the thin textual evidence for consumption of boiled meat with studies of cooking pot shapes. Magness (2014: 38–9; 47–51) argued that later, Islamic stew recipes, as well as the shape of Iron Age cooking pots, squat with wide mouths, reflected the population’s meals of boiled meat meals. Roasted meat is a common cooking method in the Hebrew Bible, albeit often intertwined with sacrifice and priestly portions. Exodus 12:4-9 specifies that the Israelites must roast a young sheep or goat rather than boil it and specifically consume the head, legs, and organs. The issue of meat preparation, from apportioning to cooking and seasoning, is a vexing one that not even the ancient menu of Assurnasirpal II’s feast sheds light on. The latter inscription brags about the numbers of animals served, but not how they were prepared (cf. Wiseman 1952: 31–2). Ancient Egyptian artwork shows any number of animals being slaughtered and butchered, including cattle, goats, other domesticates, and wild animals (Ikram 1995). Sometimes, the scenes show dismembered carcasses but do not display either individual portions or cooking methods. In any event, texts, including the Hebrew Bible, were dictated by and for the elite, just as Egyptian models (found in tombs of royalty, nobles, and priests) were carved for that kingdom’s upper class. Thus, none of even this vague evidence sheds much light on the cooking practices of the average Israelite. Cattle were kept in a very different manner than sheep and goats because their sustenance needs and size, and also their value in an agrarian society, required different numbers than did the two caprid species. Was the meat provided by a slaughtered ox or cow too much of a good thing? Meat storage and preservation to prevent spoilage must have been an issue in ancient times,10 and the slaughter of a single ox would have provided more meat than a family could have used at one time. Yet, there is no shortage of butchered cattle bones from archaeological sites in the Southern Levant and across the Near East. Cattle bones rank third in abundance at most Bronze and Iron Age sites, as is normal for settlements engaged in intensive agriculture (Redding 2015: 335). Although invaluable as laboring animals, cattle nonetheless were slaughtered, as is clear from both archaeology and texts. After all, broken and butcher-marked bones are common in archaeological faunal assemblages, and the Hebrew Bible refers variously to meat with fat (as for sacrifice, Lev. 3:3-4; 4:8-9; Num. 18:17) and fattened oxen (1 Sam 15:14; 28:24; 1 Kgs. 1:9, 19; 4:23). If meat preservation was an issue, there were ways to cope with it. Meat could be dried, salted, or smoked, and sealed in jars to keep at least nonmicrobial pests at bay. Moreover, an overabundance of meat assumes that all or most butchery was produced and consumed on a household, rather than community, level (cf. Exod.

See Chapter 27 in this volume. There is a possible reference to stewed meat in 1 Sam. 2:12-14, if the boiled meat unacceptable as a priestly portion was from, or for, a stew. 10  See Chapter 16 in this volume for a discussion of spoilage. 8  9 

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12:4). But why should there not have been butchers in among at least urban residents who relied on intensive agriculture and with specialized craftspeople? If butchers existed, something seemingly confirmed by an inscribed ninth- to eighth-century bowl from Tel Dan (McCarter 2003: 223), then the carcasses of even large animals could have been divided and sold piecemeal prior to spoilage. Cattle, even if valued for their meat and milk, were even more important for their traction. N. MacDonald (2008a: 63–4) points out that cattle are more common than horses in the archaeological record, although the allegory of Isa. 28:28 implies that horses were available for plebeian tasks as well. Cattle are also more powerful and docile than donkeys or even crossbred equids. Throughout the ancient Near East, oxen plowed fields and pulled carts, as demonstrated by, for example, Egyptian wood or Southwest Asian terracotta models, the royal tombs of Ur, various Hebrew Bible texts (e.g., 1 Sam. 6:710), and tablets from beyond the Levant (cf. Atici 2014: 244). Childe (1951: 177) noted the critical role of oxcarts in “the carriage of bulky foodstuffs from the fields, where they were grown, to the settlements, where they were stored and consumed, and of farmyard manure in the opposite direction.” Additional archaeological evidence for the use of cattle in traction comes from their bones. Bartosiewicz, Van Neer, and Lentacker (1997: 79–80) demonstrate the degenerative effects of plowing on the foot bones of cattle using modern specimens and applied it to a Roman-period European sample. They also developed a means of quantifying the arthritis and other bone deformations. LevTov (2010) applied the latter methodology to an assemblage of cattle toe bones from Tel Miqne-Ekron, demonstrating that greater frequency, or intensity, of schleppingrelated bone disease occurred through time. Correlating the latter development with the historical and archaeological evidence aside from bones, Lev-Tov (2010) argues that the trend stemmed from either more intensive agriculture or greater movement of goods to markets because of the population’s becoming a vassal of the Neo-Assyrian empire (2010: 99–100). Sheep, goats, and cattle in large measure provided the animal portion of sustenance for the Israelites and all other peoples of the ancient Near East. With exceptions for certain peoples, at certain times, and in certain places, all other animals played much smaller supporting roles. The domesticated bovids not only supplied meat, but also, perhaps as or more importantly, secondary products in the form of fiber, milk, and traction. Those abilities made the animals far more valuable than other domesticates widely available in biblical times.

A ONCE POPULAR, THEN UNWELCOME ANIMAL: THE PIG Pigs in the ancient Near East provide a puzzle to scholars of both animal bones and texts. Prehistoric people in Southwest Asia domesticated the pig early in the Neolithic (for recent review, see Redding 2015: 329–30) and, between that period and the Early Bronze Age, faunal assemblages contain plenty of their bones. Grigson (2007) reviewed faunal assemblages from many fifth through third millennium bce sites across the region. While percentages varied tremendously from site to site, bone collections with 20 percent pig bones, up to, in some cases, 40–50 percent, were common. The situation, then, is that people of the region domesticated the pig, herded it, slaughtered it, and ate it with no known qualms. The pig popularity period lasted for several thousand years. Yet, coincident with the beginning of urban civilization, the descendants of the same people who had

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domesticated the animal largely abandoned its consumption and husbandry. That trend continued from the Early to the Late Bronze Age (Vila and Dalix 2004: 222–3). The flesh of the pig, that efficient meat producer, was prohibited in the Bible. Leviticus 11:7-8 and Deut. 14:8 codify that ban and specify that, when people touched a pig carcass, they became unclean.11 Although only the Israelites explicitly ban pork consumption, most other nations of Southwest Asia seemed similarly inclined. In the Ba’al cycle, no pigs were slaughtered either for his feast or his funeral (cf. Wyatt 2003: 50, 130);12 no pork was served at the installation of the storm god’s high priestess at Emar (cf. Fleming 2003: 428); and none was served during Assurnasirpal II’s feast inaugurating his new palace at the restored city of Nimrud (cf. Wiseman 1952: 31–2). The Hittites, however, may have been an exception, as texts and archaeological finds show little evidence of pig avoidance (Collins 2006: 157–60). The case of Egypt seems more complex. It was once thought by Egyptologists that the Egyptians abhorred pigs. More recently, archaeozoologists have demonstrated that the animal was sacrificed and that at least lower classes of society consumed pork (cf. Brewer 2002: 440–3; Hecker 1982: 62; Redding 2015: 333–4). The Israelite ban on pigs has stirred a great deal of academic interest from various disciplines. Cultural anthropologists have examined the taboo from ecological (Harris 1986: 85–7), evolutionary (Diener and Robkin 1978: 501–2), and structuralist (Douglas 1966: 67–71) perspectives.13 For archaeologists working in the region, the most accepted hypotheses concerning the prohibition in the Hebrew Bible are those proposed by Crabtree (1989: 210), Hesse and Wapnish (1997), and Zeder (1996). Hesse and Wapnish (1998: 125–6) isolated, based on others’ research, nine principles of pig use that may have governed where and when pigs were or were not favored. These included factors relating to environmental conditions, economic orientation (cf. Firmage 1992: 1134; Yahalom 2007: 201–2), class, religious/secular context, political status, and, echoing Crabtree’s (1989: 210) thesis, whether a group was new to or long settled in an area. The evidence of pig decline between the Neolithic and Bronze Age makes for attractive economic and political explanations. After all, coincident with a Near East-wide decline in pork consumption, societies reorganized themselves from village-based independent settlements to urban states. By the Bronze Age there existed territorial states controlled by political elites, supported by craft specialists, with large cities, and fed through intensive agriculture. By the Late Bronze Age, Egypt came to dominate the formerly independent polities of the Southern Levant, a point in time during which the shift from pig-raising to almost no pig-raising occurred (Lev-Tov (2010: 98). Those factors, according to Hesse and Wapnish’s pig principles (1998: 125–6), created economic and political conditions in which herding sheep, goats, and cattle became more critical—or, from the other perspective, raising pigs became too costly—for the urban states of the Near East. Zeder (1996: 306–8) generated a somewhat different explanation for what she saw on the background of faunal remains from Tel Halif in southern Israel. She recognized a cyclical pattern of pig exploitation in the Levant and hypothesized that pigs were useful as meat producers for small, independent states or cities, but fell out of favor when greater powers conquered those polities, setting up the need to produce tribute and marketable goods.

See also the discussion in Chapters 24, 28, and 29 in this volume. Vila and Dalix (2004: 231), however, interpret animals hunted in the myth to include wild boars. For further discussion of a culturally bound animal classification structure, see Hesse and Wapnish (2002: 458–9). 13  See N. MacDonald (2008b: 17–45) for a recent and thorough review of these theories. 11  12 

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Pigs in the ancient Near East did not fulfill territorial states’ demands for those goods, because they produce no secondary products and produce food on a household level. Caprids, however, were best managed by a state system supporting pastoral specialists. In accepting a politico-economic theory for pig acceptance/avoidance, Zeder (1996: 308) rejected environmental determinist ones that suggest the animal requires too much water, wallow, and shade to adapt to the Near Eastern climate and landscape. Rather, pigraising, due to the independence it could foster from state provisioning systems, might be seen by urban elites as “seditious” (Zeder 1996: 309). Archaeological evidence concerning pork avoidance and consumption during the Iron Age has been reviewed multiple times (e.g., Hesse 1990; Horwitz et al. 2017; Redding 2015; Sapir-Hen et al. 2013). Many archaeological sites that would have, during the Early Iron II period, been within the territory of the United Monarchy, contain at least low numbers of pig bones in the faunal assemblages (Hesse 1990: 215–16). In order to understand the near, but not total, absence of pig bones in presumed Israelite sites, scholars have taken two approaches. Finkelstein (1996: 206) asserts that pig bones were the main or perhaps only means of establishing ethnic boundaries in the Iron Age Southern Levant, thus ignoring both the variability in swine percentages across the area and the appearance of any pig bones in Israelite sites. Sapir-Hen et al. (2013) adopt a more nuanced approach to the data. They argued that in Iron Age II it was possible to see a dichotomy in pig bone relative abundances. In their view, the pig taboo was a Judean invention that the Northern Kingdom never adopted, thereby explaining higher frequencies of pig bones within late Iron Age sites in the north of modern-day Israel. In any case, neither the population of the Northern, nor that of the Southern, Kingdom avoided pigs entirely or ate them with great regularity. The faunal data assembled by Sapir-Hen et al. (2013: 5–7) for the north demonstrate that pig bone percentages vary from 0 to about 8 percent, but in most cases do not reach higher than 3 percent. The greatest interest surrounding pig bones in the archaeological record stems from the fact that, generally, Philistine sites contain high percentages of them. Hesse (1986: 18, 23) appears to have been the first to observe the phenomenon, in the faunal remains from Tel Miqne-Ekron. He hypothesized that the Philistines may have brought that dietary habit with them from their hypothesized Aegean homeland. Since then, further studies of bone assemblages from Philistine sites reveal a fairly consistent pattern in the group’s thus-far published urban centers, namely at Tel eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath (Lev-Tov 2012), Tel Miqne-Ekron (Lev-Tov 2010: 94–6; Maher 2004), and Ashdod (Maher 2005: 283).14 The general pattern is that, in the Early Iron Age, pigs make up as much as a quarter of the identified bone sample, with sheep, goats, and cattle being the majority species. After Iron Age I, Philistine consumption of pork went down, though the unique dietary pattern lasted longer at some sites than others (Lev-Tov 2012: 596–7). What does the pig bone data mean for the origins and ethnic identity of the Philistines? Most archaeologists answer that question by arguing that the Philistines were Aegean migrants, and brought with them that culinary habit together a variety of material culture traits native to their homeland (cf. Stager 1995: 334–5, 344–7). As in the Southern Levant, Bronze and Iron Age Aegean sites vary in the percentage of pig bones within faunal assemblages, but relative abundance of swine is generally high (cf. Horwitz et al.

It is, however, important to note that the bones from Ashdod form a small sample of less than 200 bones. We also do not know why these bones—and not the presumed thousands of other bones encountered—were saved. 14 

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2017: 123–9). Meiri et al. (2013: 4–6) examined the Philistine-pig-Aegean connection by studying pig DNA extracted from archaeological bones dating to the Middle and Late Bronze Age, and Early Iron and Iron Age II sites in Israel, as well as from modern pigs and wild boars. They found that Bronze and Early Iron Age pigs in Israel possessed Near Eastern haplotypes, whereas Iron Age II samples all had the European pig haplotype. That and other studies (summarized in Horwitz et al. 2017: 129–31) demonstrate the replacement of indigenous wild and domestic pigs with foreign ones. Sapir-Hen, Meiri, and Finkelstein (2015) interpreted the DNA data to mean that the Philistines, to survive their hypothetical immigration by ship from the Aegean to the Southern Levant, brought pigs with them on their ships as a sort of road food. In their view (Sapir-Hen, Meiri, and Finkelstein 2015: 312); pork was not so much an ethnic foodway they brought with them but an economic decision. The idea, drawn from Crabtree (1989: 210), is that pigs make ideal food animals for colonizing/immigrating people, due to their ability to reproduce and gain weight quickly. Whether ethnic or economic in origin, the Philistines largely gave up that food tradition by late in the Iron Age II. The seventh-century faunal assemblages from Tel Miqne-Ekron (Lev-Tov 2010: 98) and Ashkelon (Hesse, Fulton, and Wapnish 2011: 624–30) contain hardly any pig bones, a trend that—inspired by Zeder’s (1996: 307–9) hypothesis tying pig use to political incorporation and independence—may be related to Philistia’s incorporation into the Neo-Assyrian Empire and the concomitant demand for tribute and products of interest to distant markets (cf. Lev-Tov 2010: 101–3). The study of pigs in the diets of biblical period Levantine peoples has come a long way since astragali caches found at Taanach and Megiddo were mistakenly identified as ritually collected pig knuckles. Upon professional examination, all turned out to be the ankle bones of sheep, goats, gazelles, and deer (Hesse and Wapnish 2002: 472), but the initial identification belies a certain fascination archaeologists and text scholars have with pigs. Dothan (1998: 154), Faust (2006: 36–9), and Stager (1995: 344) continued that tradition, pinning the entire hope of ethnicity demarcation on pig bone presence and absence. More recently, archaeologists and zooarchaeologists alike have approached the subject with better samples, more nuance, and greater sophistication in interpretation (e.g., Horwitz et al. 2017; Sapir-Hen et al. 2013), perhaps heeding Hesse and Wapnish’s varied cautions on the subject (e.g., 1998: 125–6).

INSECTS FOR FOOD IN ANCIENT ISRAEL The ancient Israelite diet incorporated an array of animals, with the latter term here used to mean not only mammals, as is often implied, but all food-producing creatures. Among these were fish, birds, and mammals.15 But the Israelites, and surrounding peoples, also ate or produced food from a few species of insects, some of which may have been domesticated. This chapter thus includes a brief discussion of insects simply because they were the smallest sources of food, for which evidence is present but limited, and therefore they form the one of the easiest dietary sources to overlook. Most insects are expressly forbidden as food in the Hebrew Bible. However, Lev. 11:20-23 explicitly allows locusts—as well as crickets and grasshoppers—to be consumed because they “walk upon all fours” and had “jointed legs above their feet” (translation NRSV). Other winged insects were excluded. Nonetheless, Deut. 14:19 contradicts

15 

Fish and birds are discussed separately in Chapter 10 of this volume.

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Lev. 11:20-23 and simply forbids consumption of all flying insects. Perhaps locusts and relatives were allowed since they were already a food in the ancient Near East (Yahalom 2007: 201). On Assurnasirpal II’s famous ninth-century palace dedication stela, the feast menu lists 10,000 locusts, an insect the Assyrians apparently enjoyed as a food. Some Assyrian reliefs depict high class officials and kings consuming them (Wiseman 1952: 31–2, 38). Whether the locusts were caught wild or somehow bred in captivity, the text does not say or intimate. It presumably would have been an easy task to catch them in large numbers with nets, at least in the correct season. If the locusts were wild, the feast would need to be timed so that the swarms would have been present. Whether wild or domesticated, Israelites along with neighboring Near Eastern peoples commonly ate locusts and their flying, hopping relatives (Kelhoffer 2004: 300–3). Leaving aside locusts and grasshoppers, bees were the sole domesticated insect with an important role in ancient Israel. They produced two important commodities, wax and honey, and—whether ancient people knew it or not—pollinated flowering plants.16 The Hebrew Bible variously mentions honey—for example, the land of milk and honey to describe Canaan—but when the type of honey is specified, it is syrup made from dates and other fruits. As Mazar et al. (2015: 636) point out, beekeeping is nowhere mentioned in the Bible. Mazar et al.’s (2015) report on the find of approximately 100 clay cylinder beehives in a tenth- to ninth-century context at Tel Reḥov is therefore startling. The hives could have produced not only tens of kilograms of honey per year but also large amounts of beeswax (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2007: 211). Recently, a single ceramic beehive was rediscovered—apparently found decades ago in Jerusalem’s Solomon’s Pools just outside the Old City (Taylor 2019). Therefore, we know only from archaeological evidence that beekeeping was practiced in ancient Israel (not surprising since it was long practiced in Egypt and Sumeria; cf. Firmage 1992: 1150). Bees’ greatest importance lay in pollination and in honey production (Mazar and PanitzCohen 2007: 211). A third use of bees was the wax they produced. Wax was used in forming molds for casting metal objects (Mazar et al. 2015: 636), and probably for plebeian tasks like fuel for lamps (cf. Evershed et al. 1997), sealing jars containing food, for cosmetics, and for sealings.

CONCLUSION The animal diet of the Israelites—and their Near Eastern neighbors—consisted principally of meat and milk from sheep, goats, and cattle. Even bone assemblages from the most pork-prolific Philistine sites do not contain more than 25 percent pig bones. Thus, nearly 75 percent of their meat came from domesticated bovids. It is also apparent that sheep, goats, and cattle were critical not just for their meat and milk. Rather, sheep and, to an extent, goats were highly valued for their ability to produce hair. Cattle also were critical for their traction, used to plow grain fields and bring both edible and inedible products from field to market. But this is not to say that the Israelites rarely ate meat or milk products. Domestic animals multiply beyond what is necessary to produce surpluses, beyond the carrying capacity of constrained lands, and age beyond the point they can produce milk and fiber or provide traction.

16 

See also Chapter 9 in this volume.

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The study of ancient Israelite animal husbandry and diet has been boosted by combined textual-zooarchaeological-iconographic studies (e.g., Collins 2002), but those approaches remain within bounds of traditional scholarship. Archaeological scientists, continuing a long tradition of borrowing from outside the fields of ancient studies, have more recently brought the contributions of molecular and microscopic science into longstanding discussions. These endeavors include the study of plant phytoliths to understand the use of cattle dung (Shahack-Gross 2011), ancient DNA (Meiri et al. 2013), dental microwear to comprehend sheep and goat transhumance (Henton 2012) and scanning electron microscopy to discern the beginnings of butchery standardization (Greenfield and Bouchnik 2010). Several other methods show enormous promise for understanding aspects of ancient Israelite diet, including lipid extraction from ceramics (cf. Evershed et al. 1997), as well as isotope analysis from sheep and goat teeth to elucidate foddering and ancient nomadism (cf. Bogaard et al. 2014; Makarewicz, Arbuckle, and Öztan 2017). But thus far the latter few techniques have been applied mainly to prehistoric animal remains, with the work of Elizabeth Arnold and colleagues on animals from Early Bronze Age (ca. 3600–2400 bce) Tell es-Safi/Gath being an important exception (e.g., Arnold et al. 2016: 8–9; Arnold and Greenfield 2017: 262). Despite what we have learned about ancient Israelite animal husbandry and diet, we still possess significant gaps in our knowledge of it. There continues, to some degree, the debate over whether the Israelite agrarian economy was set up in a manner that merely maintained communities (Sasson 2010), or if, at least some Levantine cities and villages, or shepherds managed animal herds in such a way as to both sustain their populations and produce tradable surpluses of things like wool, dairy goods, or even meat (Sapir-Hen, Gadot, and Finkelstein 2014). The most glaring hole in our knowledge of ancient Israelite animal husbandry and diet remains the question of gastronomy. We still do not have enough information about meat cuts, dairy products, cooking techniques, and ingredients to call our reconstruction of ancient Israel’s diet a cuisine, despite Hesse and Wapnish’s call for such an approach more than twenty years ago (1998: 459).

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Hesse, B. and Wapnish, P. (2002), “An Archaeozoological Perspective on the Cultural Use of Mammals in the Levant,” in B. J. Collins (ed.), A History of the Animal World in the Ancient Near East, 457–92, Leiden: Brill. These authors present a concise but wide-ranging overview of mammal exploitation in the ancient Near East, covering topics such as ritual, transportation, and the history of animal husbandry. Killebrew, A. E. and Lev-Tov, J. (2008), “Early Iron Age Feasting and Cuisine: An Indicator of Philistine-Aegean Connectivity?” in L. A. Hitchcock, R. Laffineur, and J. Crowley (eds.), DAIS––The Aegean Feast: Proceedings of the 12th International Aegean Conference, University of Melbourne, Centre for Classics and Archaeology, 25–March 29, 2008, Liège: Université de Liège Histoire de l’art et archéologie de la Grèce antique. In this article, the authors utilize both ceramic and faunal data to attempt a cuisine-level approach to ancient diet. They also apply the concept of exclusive feasting to everyday fare by scaling it to the population level and making the case that Philistine used their cuisine as an identity marker. MacDonald, N. (2008a), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.

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This slender book provides a succinct overview of the Israelite diet. The author presents the information in an engaging fashion, drawing from the Bible, zooarchaeology, and information about ancient plant remains; he also reviews anthropological theories concerning the biblical food laws. Sapir-Hen, L. (2019), “Food, Pork Consumption, and Identity,” NEA 82: 52–9. This article provides a brief and up-to-date overview of pork consumption in the Iron Age southern Levant and considers the complexity of the data given the bone assemblages published since the last significant reviews of the subject. In particular, it suggests that Philistine and Israelite pork consumption patterns are much more variable between sites and periods than previously thought. Sapir-Hen, L., Gadot, Y., and Finkelstein, I. (2014), ‘Environmental and Historical Impacts on Long Term Animal Economy: The Southern Levant in the Late Bronze and Iron Ages,’ JESHO 57: 703–44. This article utilizes a longue durée perspective on animal bone remains to discern whether evidence gathered from a number of sites supports or rejects the idea that most cities and populations in the region followed a self-contained subsistence mode of production rather than a specialized, market-oriented one. Sasson, A. (2017), “Cattle Husbandry and the Survival Subsistence Strategy: A Zooarchaeological Perspective,” in J. Lev-Tov, A. Gilbert, and P. Hesse (eds.), The Wide Lens in Archaeology: Honoring Brian Hesse’s Contributions to Anthropological Archaeology, 337–64, Atlanta: Lockwood. Sasson argues for his “survival subsistence strategy” whereby animals in antiquity primarily were raised to provide food on a household level rather than for markets. The basis for his view consists of data from Megiddo and British Mandate-era census returns, which show the dominance of caprines (sheep and goats) over cattle—more efficient milk and meat producers—and therefore that people raised only those animals they could locally consume.

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Hesse, B. and Wapnish, P. (2001), “Commodities and Cuisine: Animals in the Early Bronze Age of Northern Palestine,” in S. R. Wolff (ed.), Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and Neighboring Lands in Memory of Douglas L. Esse, 251–82, Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 59, Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Hesse, B. and Wapnish, P. (2002), ‘“An Archaeozoological Perspective on the Cultural Use of Mammals in the Levant,” in B. J. Collins (ed.), A History of the Animal World in the Ancient Near East, 457–92, Leiden: Brill. Hesse, B., Fulton, D. N., and Wapnish, P. (2011), “Animal Remains,” in L. E. Stager, D. M. Master, and J. D. Schloen (eds.), Ashkelon 3: The Seventh Century B.C., 645–58, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Hoffmeier, J. (2003), “Thutmose III (2.2): The Annals of Thutmose III (2.2A),” COS 2: 7–13. Horwitz, L. K. (1987), “Faunal Remains from the Early Iron Age Site on Mount Ebal,” TA 14: 173–89. Horwitz, L. K. and Rosen, S. (2005), “A Review of Camel Milking in the Southern Levant,” in J. Mulville and A. K. Outram (eds.), The Zooarchaeology of Fats, Oils, Milk and Dairying, Proceedings of the International Council of Archaeozoology, Durham, August 2002, 121–31, Oxford: Oxbow. Horwitz, L. and Smith, P. (1991), “A Study of Diachronic Change in Bone Mass of Sheep and Goas Jericho (Tel-es Sultan),” Archaeozoologica 4: 29–38. Horwitz, L. K., Gardeisen, A., Maeir, A., and Hitchcock, L. A. (2017), “A Contribution to the Philistine Pig Debate,” in J. Lev-Tov, P. Hesse, and A. Gilbert (eds.), The Wide Lens in Archaeology: Honoring Brian Hesse’s Contributions to Anthropological Archaeology, 93–115, Archaeobiology 2, Atlanta: Lockwood. Ikram, S. (1995), Choice Cuts: Meat Production in Ancient Egypt, Leuven: Peeters. Ikram, S., Nicholson, P., Bertini, L, and Hurley, D. (2013), “Killing Man’s Best Friend?” Archaeological Review from Cambridge 28: 48–66. Jandal, J. (1996), “Comparative Aspects of Goat and Sheep Milk,” Small Ruminant Research 22: 177–82. Kelhoffer, J. (2004), “Did John the Baptist Eat Like a Former Essene? Locust-Eating in the Ancient Near East and at Qumran,” DSD 11: 293–314. Köhler-Rollefson, I. (1993), “Camels and Camel Pastoralism in Arabia,” BA 56: 180–8. Kolska-Horwitz, L. and Milevski, I. (2001), “The Faunal Evidence for Socioeconomic Change between the Middle and Late Bronze Age in the Southern Levant,” in S. R. Wolff (ed.), Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and Neighboring Lands in Memory of Douglas L. Esse, 283–306, Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 59, Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Kozuh, M. (2014), The Sacrificial Economy: Assessors, Contractors, and Thieves in the Management of Sacrificial Sheep at the Eanna Temple of Uruk (ca. 625–520 B.C.), Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Legge, A. J. and Zeder, M. A (1988), “Animal Remains,” in J. D. Seger and H. D. Lance (eds.), Gezer V: The Field I Caves, 117, Jerusalem: Hebrew Union College. Lev-Tov, J. S. E. (2010), “A Plebeian Perspective on Empire Economics: Faunal Remains from Tel Miqne-Ekron, Israel,” in D. Campana, P. Crabtree, S. D. deFrance, J. Lev-Tov, and A. M. Choyke (eds.), Anthropological Approaches to Zooarchaeology: Complexity, Colonialism, and Animal Transformations, 90–104, Oxford: Oxbow. Lev-Tov, J. S. E. (2012), “A Preliminary Report on the Late Bronze and Iron Age Faunal Assemblage from Tell es-Safi/Gath,” in A. M. Maeir (ed.), Tell es-Safi/Gath I: The 1996– 2005 Seasons, 589–612, Ägypten Und Altes Testament 69, Wiesbaden: Harassowitz.

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Lev-Tov, J. S. E., Killebrew, A. E., Greenfield, H. J., and Brown, A. (2018), “ Puppy Sacrifice and Cynophagy from Early Philistine Tel Miqne-Ekron Contextualized,” Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology and Heritage Studies 6: 2–30. Levy, T. E. (1983), “The Emergence of Specialized Pastoralism in the Southern Levant,” World Archaeology 15: 15–36. MacDonald, M. C. A. (2019), “Horses, Asses, Hybrids, and Their Use as Revealed in the Ancient Rock Art of the Syro-Arabian Desert,” in P. Raulwing, K. M. Lindhuff, and J. H. Crouwel (eds.), Equids and Wheeled Vehicles in the Ancient World, 149–68, Oxford: B.A.R. MacDonald, N. (2008a), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. MacDonald, N. (2008b), Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Magness, J. (2014), “Conspicuous Consumption: Dining on Meat in the Ancient Mediterranean World and Near East,” in Peter Altmann and Janling Fu. (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 33–60, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, Maher, E. F. (2004), “Food for the Gods: The Identification of Philistine Rites of Animal Sacrifice,” PhD diss., University of Illinois at Chicago. Maher, E. F. (2017), “Flair of the Dog: The Philistine Consumption of Canines?” in J. LevTov, P. Hesse, and A. Gilbert (eds.), The Wide Lens in Archaeology: Honoring Brian Hesse’s Contributions to Anthropological Archaeology, 117–48, Atlanta: Lockwood. Maher, E. G. (2005), “The Faunal Remains,” in M. Dothan and D. Ben-Shlomo (eds.), Ashdod VI. The Excavation of Areas H and K (1968–1969), 283–90, Israel Antiquities Authority Reports 24, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Maini, E. and Curci, A. (2013), “New Evidence for Dog Butchering from Prehistoric Coastal Sites in the Sultanate of Oman,” in B. De Cupere, V. Linseele, and S. Hamilton-Dyer (eds.), Archaeozoology of the Near East X: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium on the Archaeozoology of South-Western Asia and Adjacent Areas, 403–16, ANESSup 44, Leuven: Peeters. Makarewicz, C. A., Arbuckle, B. S., and Öztan, A. (2017), “Vertical Transhumance of Sheep and Goats Identified by Intra-Tooth Sequential Carbon (δ13C) and Oxygen (δ18O) Isotopic Analyses: Evidence from Chalcolithic Käșk Höyük, Central Turkey,” JAS 86: 68–80. Marom, N. and Herrmann, V. R. (2014), “Incorporation into the Neo-Assyrian Empire from the Perspective of the Faunal Remains from Zincirli Höyük, Turkey,” Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology and Heritage Studies 2: 298–316. Marom, N., Yassur-Landau, A., Zuckerman, S., Cline, E. H., Ben-Tor, A., and Bar-Oz, G. (2014), “Shepherd Kings? A Zooarchaeological Investigation of Elite Precincts in Middle Bronze Age Tel Hazor and Tel Kabri,” BASOR 371: 59–82. Mazar, A. and Panitz-Cohen, N. (2007), “It Is the Land of Honey: Beekeeping at Tel Reḥov,” NEA 70: 202–19. Mazar, A., Namdar, D., Panitz-Cohen, N., Neumann, R., and Weiner, S. (2015), “Iron Age Beehives at Tel Reḥov in the Jordan Valley,” Antiquity 82: 629–39. Meiri, M., Huchon, D., Bar-Oz, G., Boaretta, E., Horwitz, L. K, Maeir, A. M., Sapir-Hen, L., Larson, G., Weiner, S., and Finkelstein, I. (2013), “Ancient DNA and Population Turnover in Southern Levantine Pigs-Signature of the Sea Peoples Migration?” Scientific Reports 3, no. 3035: 1–8. McCarter, P. K. (2003), “The Tel Dan Bowl (2.87),” COS 2: 223. Miller, G. D. (2008), “Attitudes toward Dogs in Ancient Israel: A Reassessment,” JSOT 32: 487–500.

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CHAPTER 5

Grains, Bread, and Beer JENNIE EBELING

Food and drink made from domesticated cereal grains were staples in the ancient Israelite diet. Although wheat and barley can be consumed in a variety of ways, bread and beer were two of the most important edibles produced from grains during the Iron Age (ca. 1200–586 bce). This chapter considers the evidence for the cultivation of cereal grains and the preparation and consumption of bread and beer, and it demonstrates the centrality of wheat and barley in Israelite food culture.

GRAINS Grains are the edible seeds of cereal grasses in the family Poaceae (or Gramineae); the ancient Greek term póa means “fodder.” Today, these plants provide more than half the world’s human dietary energy supply while also serving as an important food source for livestock. The fifth largest plant family and the most economically important in modern times, it includes barley and wheat—the cereal grasses native to the ancient Near East that are the focus of this chapter—as well as maize, rice, millet, and other staple crops that are native to other parts of the world. Among the earliest domesticated crops in the ancient Near East generally and the southern Levant specifically are barley (Hordeum vulgare subsp. distichum), einkorn wheat (Triticum monococcum subsp. monococcum), and emmer wheat (Triticum turgidum subsp. dicoccum), the principal “founder crops” that started food production in the region (Weiss and Zohary 2011: Table 1). Wild barley and wheat grains were consumed long before the earliest domestication of cereals during the Neolithic period, however. The individual grain of a cereal grass is made up of endosperm, germ, and bran, and all three provide important dietary nutrients: carbohydrates, protein, and fat, as well as indigestible fiber. Although the germ and bran are removed in the highly processed white flour that is consumed widely today, ancient processing methods likely retained all three components and the foods produced from barley and wheat should be considered “whole grain.” Each individual grain of wild barley and wheat is encased in a thin glume that forms a protective hull or husk around it; when it is removed, this husk is called “chaff.” In domesticated cereals, glumes are attached to a toughened rachis that breaks up with threshing into spikelets that can be collected and further processed for consumption; in contrast, a wild barley or wheat plant has a brittle rachis that allows the ear (the grain-bearing part of the plant) to shatter easily so that the spikelets arranged along the rachis can disperse by natural means (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 24). In addition to the edible grain, inedible parts of barley and wheat plants like

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stalks and chaff can be used in a variety of ways, such as making mats and baskets and incorporating in clay bodies as temper. Plant parts not consumed by humans can also be fed to animals or used as bedding in the form of straw, the dried stalks and leaves that remain after threshing. The best evidence for early human consumption of grains is macrobotanical and microbotanical remains in prehistoric archaeological contexts. The study of ancient plant remains is the work of paleoethnobotanists, specialists who reconstruct human use of plants in the past. Macrobotanical remains might be noticed and collected during the course of excavation, but, more commonly, carbonized grains are recovered through the sieving and flotation of soil samples taken from archaeological contexts. Microbotanical remains—plant parts visible under a microscope—include pollen, starch grains, and phytoliths (fossilized particles of plant tissue made of silica). Like macrobotanical remains, microbotanical remains are also usually collected through flotation. Preserved plant parts can be from cereals and other foods used for human and animal consumption as well as native plants that grow naturally in the local environment. Direct evidence for cereals consumed by ancient humans is found in human remains, including pollen grains and phytoliths trapped in dental calculus (plaque) or preserved in stomach contents and coprolites (fossilized feces). However, few studies to date have focused on these remains (when available) from the Iron Age southern Levant. Archaeologists must evaluate carefully, then, how likely the botanical remains identified by paleoethnobotanists in archaeological contexts were actually consumed by humans and not fed to animals or used in other ways or representative of the local plant community.

Early Wild Grain Consumption and the Domestication of Barley and Wheat Evidence for the consumption of wild cereal grasses is seen in archaeobotanical samples from archaeological contexts that predate the Neolithic period as well as the presence of stone grinding and pounding technology, hearths, and storage facilities in early sites. Excavations at Ohalo II, an Epipaleolithic settlement dating to ca. 23,000 BP (years before present) on the southwestern shore of the Sea of Galilee, yielded more than 150,000 individual botanical specimens, including wild barley and emmer wheat and other edible small-grained grasses, seeds, and fruits. Edible cereal grasses comprised more than 90 percent of the botanical samples, clear evidence of the central place of grains in the local diet some 10,000 years before domestication. Excavations at this seasonal agricultural site also yielded ground stone tools, including a grinding slab with preserved starch grains, and hearths, leading archaeologists to conclude that wild cereal grains were processed and cooked in this community (Nadel et al. 2012). Several recent studies of sites inhabited by the Natufian culture (ca. 12,000–9500 bce) in Israel and Jordan have identified some of the earliest remains of beer and bread yet discovered. Three bedrock mortars—hollows cut into a bedrock surface that were used for processing and storing food—were analyzed in Raqefet Cave in Mount Carmel on the northern coast of Israel. Two of the bedrock mortars were used for storing wild barley and wheat malts, and, in the third mortar, archaeologists identified residues of beer made from wild barley and wheat (Liu et al. 2018). At Shubayqa 1 in the Black Desert region of northeast Jordan, archaeologists identified evidence for the baking of flatbread in and around a series of two stone fireplaces. Twenty-four-charred food remains were identified as “bread-like” and contained a mixture of wild cereals, including wheat, rye, millet, oat, and possibly barley. Five of the samples contained a mixture of cereal grains

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and non-cereal components, probably club-rush tuber (Arranz-Otaegui et al. 2018). This early evidence of beer and bread making underscores the centrality of cereal grasses in the indigenous diet long before the domestication of plants in the succeeding Neolithic period. There are several morphological characteristics that humans selected when domesticating barley and wheat. As mentioned above, domesticated cereal plants have a tough rachis compared to wild plants, which allows the ears to be harvested with the seeds still attached. Domesticated plants also have larger grains than wild ones, which increases the calories available on each harvested ear. Grain shape also changes in some domesticated cereals; for example, grains of domesticated einkorn are wider than grains of wild einkorn (Weiss and Zohary 2011: S239). In addition, free-threshing or “naked” plants with fragile glumes and a tough rachis were selected because they are easier to prepare for human consumption than grains with tough hulls that must be removed after threshing (see further below). Barley was first domesticated around 9,000 bce somewhere in the southern Levant (Badr et al. 2000). Wild barley (Hordeum vulgare subsp. spontaneum) is also known as two-row barley (Hordeum vulgare subsp. distichum) due to the arrangement of two rows of seeds on the ear. Domesticated barley (Hordeum vulgare subsp. vulgare) includes both two-row barley and six-row barley; six-row barley has more seeds that are arranged in six rows than two-row barley. The relatively small amount of gluten in barley makes it less suitable than wheat for making risen bread and other baked goods, and some researchers have suggested that brewing beer rather than baking bread was the motivation for domesticating barley before wheat (Hayden, Canuel, and Shanse 2013 and references therein). Barley has an extensive geographical range and a wider ecological tolerance than wheat; it thrives in nitrogen-poor soils and disturbed habitats and can tolerate saline and alkaline conditions (McCorriston 2000: 86). Barley has the shortest growing season of the Near Eastern founder crops, an important factor, perhaps, in its early domestication (Allaby 2015: 44). Einkorn wheat was domesticated in southeast Turkey between 8,600 and 7,900 bce; the earliest evidence for domesticated einkorn (Triticum monococcum) in the southern Levant, dating to ca. 8,200–7,550 bce, was identified at Jericho. The einkorn plant is small with a relatively low yield, but it survives in poor soils where other wheats usually fail (Weiss and Zohary 2011: S239–40). The earliest domesticated emmer wheat has been identified at various sites in the Fertile Crescent, including several in the southern Levant, ca. 8,200–7,500 bce (Weide 2015: Table 2). Domesticated emmer types are Triticum turgidum subsp. dicoccum and Triticum turgidum conv. durum. From the beginnings of widespread cereal agriculture in the Near East, emmer prevailed quantitatively over domesticated barley and domesticated einkorn (Weiss and Zohary 2011: S242). Dry farming of cereals (agriculture without irrigation) is possible in areas that receive at least 200 mm of annual rainfall. The border between the Mediterranean climatic zone, where annual rainfall exceeds 200 mm, and the arid climatic zone of the Negev Desert, where agriculture depends on floods rather than direct rainfall, passes through the Beersheba Plain (Netser 1998: 132). Cereal agriculture without irrigation is possible in many parts of the southern Levant, including the coastal valleys, the Jezreel Valley, the upper Jordan Valley, and the Beth Shean Valley (Borowski 1987: 89). Agriculture based on runoff/floodwater capture apparently occurred in the Negev Highlands as early as the Late Bronze/Early Iron Age as well (Bruins and van der Plicht 2017).

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Grain in the Iron Age Until fairly recently, excavations in the region did not routinely identify or collect botanical remains at Iron Age sites. Improved sampling in the last few decades has resulted in more and better archaeobotanical evidence for the human consumption of grains in Iron Age contexts (ca. 1200–586 bce). In addition to barley and wheat species domesticated in the Neolithic period and cultivated through the Iron Age, other wheat species are represented in archaeological contexts. Although there seems to have been a gradual transition to the cultivation of free-threshing wheats like Triticum aestivum (bread wheat) and Triticum durum (pasta wheat), recent studies reveal a more complex picture. Before turning to a discussion of grain in the Hebrew Bible, the agricultural cycle, and the tools and technologies of grain production in the Iron Age, I will provide an overview of some recent archaeobotanical studies from diverse Iron Age sites in the southern Levant. Tall al-‘Umayri is a large fortified site located on the Transjordanian plateau southwest of Amman in Jordan. Out of thirty-eight samples from contexts dating from the Late Bronze Age through the Hellenistic Period, 1,438 botanical specimens were identified (Ramsay and Mueller 2016). From the rich samples dating to the Late Bronze/Iron I transition and Iron Age I, a number of wild and domesticated cereal species were identified, including a cache of 483 grains of stored wild barley that the researchers suggested could have been used for fodder, food, or malting. A grinding stone located in close proximity to the cache suggests that the barley was intended for human consumption, however. Other cereal finds included domesticated barley and wheat, primarily Triticum aestivum and Triticum dicoccum, as well as other wheat and barley plant parts. The samples also contained a variety of weed species common in crop fields that were probably harvested along with domesticated barley and wheat. Horvat Rosh Zayit is the site of a tenth- to ninth-century storage fort in western Galilee in Israel. A large number of charred cereal remains, more than 150,000 specimens, were found in and near storage jars in storerooms dating to the tenth to ninth century (Kislev and Melamed 2000). Wheat species include Triticum parvicoccum, believed to be the oldest free-threshing wheat, and several species of barley. While most of the specimens were dehulled grains, some rachis fragments, a spikelet, and one upper spikelet were also identified. Some of the grains were infested by weevils or other pests. Tel Burna is a multi-period site in the Judean foothills (Shephelah) region in southern Israel. Twenty-five archaeobotanical samples, most from four silos, were collected in Area A1 with evidence for ninth to seventh century bce occupation (Orendi et al. 2017). Although most of the identified seeds were from wild species, some of the samples were identified as barley, emmer wheat, and free-threshing wheat (Tritica durum/ aestivum). Fifty-nine samples were collected in Area A2 in the fill of silos, ash layers, floor accumulation layers, debris layers, and pottery accumulations in and around a building occupied primarily during the eighth century bce. Crop species represented in this sample include barley, wheat (identified to the genus level), emmer wheat, and freethreshing wheat. A number of other grass species were interpreted as field weeds that were harvested and stored along with domesticated barley and wheat. These case studies and other published reports of archaeobotanical analyses (see Kofel and Bürge 2018: 300–1) reveal that a variety of domesticated and wild cereals were consumed during the Iron Age. While the recent trend toward more careful and complete sampling of Iron Age archaeological contexts is important, these and other archaeobotanical reports only

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provide a partial picture. Other sources for grains consumed during the Iron Age are those artifacts and installations that inform on agriculture practices and grain storage, processing, cooking, and consumption; most of our indirect evidence for grain consumption consists of ceramic storage vessels and larger storage installations/spaces, ground stone tools, and cooking/baking installations. Fortunately, many of these artifacts and installations are made of stone and sunbaked or fired clay, materials that preserve well in archaeological contexts. The function of these archaeological remains is interpreted using analogies from ethnographic sources from the region, iconographic/artistic sources from ancient Israel and its neighbors, and information provided in the Hebrew Bible and other texts. The centrality of cereal grain (dāgān) in the Iron Age diet and culture is clear in the Hebrew Bible. Wheat (ḥiṭṭâ) and barley (śĕōrâ) are the first two of the Seven Species—the special agricultural products of the Land of Israel—listed in Deut. 8:8, and food and drink made of these cereal grains comprised the major source of calories in the Iron Age diet.1 Most of the population of ancient Israel was engaged in cereal agriculture and/or grain processing, and successful yields of cereal grain were critical to survival. The annual cereal harvests were so important that they were celebrated with festivals that later became holidays in the Jewish calendar. The Feast of Unleavened Bread celebrated the barley harvest, and Pentecost or Weeks (Shavuot) celebrated the wheat harvest that followed. A careful look at the Israelite agricultural calendar, then, permits an appreciation of these crucial annual events in Israelite life. An important extra-biblical source on Israelite agricultural practices is the tenth-century bce Gezer Calendar, a small limestone tablet with an eight-line inscription and a signature that is believed to be one of the earliest Hebrew texts.2 It was found at Gezer, located 32 km (20 miles) northwest of Jerusalem on the northern edge of the Shephelah. Beginning with the first month of the Hebrew calendar, the Gezer Calendar, or Gezer Manual, lists a series of monthly or bimonthly agricultural tasks starting with a two-month period of ingathering (olives) in October and November and ending with a one-month period of ingathering summer fruit in September. Following Borowski (1987: 38), the six lines in between read: two months of sowing (cereals), two months of late sowing (legumes and vegetables), a month of hoeing weeds (for hay), a month of harvesting barley, a month of harvesting (wheat) and measuring (grain), and two months of grape harvesting. Ethnographic evidence from the nineteenth and twentieth century (e.g., Dalman 2013a; Dalman 2013b) and the observation of contemporary agricultural practices in the region largely confirm this timeline, although it should be noted that the agricultural calendar depended upon climatic factors, including the arrival of the first rain (yôreh). Agricultural practices also differed in areas more marginal than the Shephelah, where soil conditions are generally favorable, and there is more than adequate rainfall for cereal agriculture (400–500 mm annually from October to May) (Orendi et al. 2017). The climate is also warmer in the Shephelah than in the hill country and the Galilee, which led to earlier cereal ripening. Regardless of where these crops were grown, the barley harvest always preceded the wheat harvest. After the yôreh arrived in October and November and softened the ground, the farmer used a plow (maḥărešet) to break up the ground before sowing it with grain reserved from the previous harvest season (e.g., Job 1:14). The sower carried the seeds in a bag

1  2 

See also the discussions in Chapters 19 and 22 in this volume. See the discussion in Chapter 26 in this volume.

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and cast them into the furrows by hand. The plow was then used to quickly cover the seeds before birds and other animals could get to them or a herd of domesticated animals was used to trample the seeds into the ground. The plow consisted of a plowpoint, the pointed part that penetrates the soil that is made of bronze or iron, and several wooden parts. A number of plowpoints, or plowshares, have been preserved in Iron Age contexts, including at Beersheba, Tell Beit Mirsim, Megiddo, Tell en-Naṣbeh, Lachish, and Tell Qasile (Borowski 1987: Figs. 3–4); they are elongated tools some 20–30 cm long with one pointed end and a pipe-shaped end opposite into which a wooden shaft was fitted. Draft animals, usually oxen, were yoked to the plow with ropes to pull it. In areas where a plow could not be used, a hoe (maʿdēr) was used to cover the seeds (Borowski 1987: 47–54). Other crops, including legumes and vegetables, were planted in the months following the sowing of cereals. There are several stages in cereal ripening. The first stage, ’ābîb, is when the plant is still green, but it is possible to separate it from the ear and eat it raw or parched. The second stage, karmel, is when the grain is still damp and can be harvested and eaten raw, parched, or crushed. In the third stage, the grain is dry and cannot grow any larger. Grain harvested in this stage cannot be eaten raw (Borowski 1987: 88; see further below). Cereal grasses are harvested two ways: stalks can be cut with a sickle (ḥermeš or maggāl), or they can be pulled from the ground by hand. A sickle can be used to cut the entire plant at the base or just the top of the stalk in order to harvest the ears alone. Sickles were made of sharp flint blades set into a wooden handle; large quantities of flint sickle blades have been found in Iron Age contexts, including Bethel, Tell Jemmeh, and Tel Qiri, as well as sickle blades made of bronze and iron (Borowski 1987: 61–2). A distinctive sheen or gloss can often be seen along the edges of used flint blades as a result of harvesting cereals (Kaminska-Szymczak 2002). After they were cut or pulled, the stalks were gathered into bundles or sheaves (’ălummôt), the sheaves were put in a pile, and then they were carried in bundles to the threshing floor by animal, on the back, or on the head. Gleaners, usually the poor (e.g., Lev. 23:22; Deut. 24:21), were then permitted to collect whatever plants remained in the field or in the pēʿâ, a corner of the planted field that was left for the poor (Borowksi 1987: 57–61). The next step, threshing, is required to separate the edible grain from the inedible parts of harvested barley and wheat plants. Threshing was often done in a designated threshing floor (gōren) located on a hardened surface such as exposed bedrock or hardened soil close to but outside of the community. The threshing floor should also be located in an open area where wind direction and velocity are suitable for winnowing (ShahackGross, Gafri, and Finkelstein 2009: 173). Threshing can be accomplished using a stick, animals, or a threshing sledge. When a small amount of grain was to be threshed, it was simply beaten with a stick (šebeṭ or maṭṭeh); this method was probably used by Ruth in the book of Ruth, which includes the most detailed account of the barley harvest in the Hebrew Bible (Ruth 2:3-7, 17-18). Threshing with animals involved having a group of domesticated animals trample the stalks repeatedly on the threshing floor. The most effective way to thresh grain is to use a threshing sledge (môrāg), a platform constructed of wooden boards with sharp bits of stone or metal embedded its underside (see Isa. 41:15). Drawn by animals or people, the threshing sledge could be weighted down with people or stones and dragged over the stalks. As the sledge was pulled across the stalks, usually in a circular movement around the threshing floor, the grains fall to the ground along with other plant parts (Borowski 1987: 62–5).

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The grain was then separated from the other material by winnowing (see Isa. 41.15). A wood winnowing fork (mizreh) with several tines was used to pitch the threshed material into the air, and the wind separated it according to weight. The heaviest material, the grain, fell first, followed by straw (qaš), small pieces of straw (teben), and chaff (mōṣ). The process could be repeated by throwing the grain into the air with a wooden shovel (raḥat). The grain was then cleaned using sieves, and the separated material was collected into baskets and bags (Borowski 1987: 65–9). The cleaned grain, bār, along with the straw and chaff, was then taken back to the settlement to be used immediately or stored (Dalman 2013b: 567–8). The biblical writers describe a variety of ways in which cereal grains could be consumed. As mentioned above, grain picked in the early stages of ripening––‘ābîb or karmel—could be eaten raw. Grain could also be parched by toasting over a fire (Lev. 2:14; 1 Sam. 25:18; Ruth 2:14). Parched grain (qālî) like that prepared and eaten during the barley harvest in Ruth is probably similar to freekeh, a traditional way to eat unripe wheat in the Middle East today. After the immature wheat is harvested, it is dried and then parched until the ear is charred; the grains, which are chewy and sweet with a smoky flavor, can then be cooked or ground. Parched grain was convenient for traveling because it could be carried easily. It is included in the food supplies carried by David to his brothers who were fighting the Philistine army in the Valley of Elah in 1 Sam. 17:17, and in 2 Sam. 17:28, when King David goes out to fight his son Absalom, his military field kitchen includes parched grain (Vamosh 2004: 23). Grains were usually harvested in the third stage when they were mature. Clean grain could be parched or soaked in water or other liquid and eaten as a porridge or gruel. In Ezek. 4:9, Yahweh commands the prophet: “And you, take wheat and barley, beans and lentils, millet and spelt; put them into one vessel, and make bread for yourself.”3 The term translated “bread” in this verse, leḥem, refers to food generally, and the dish Ezekiel is commanded to eat is porridge rather than bread (Borowski 1987: 89–90, note 3). The identification of the two other cereals in this verse, dōḥan (translated as millet here) and kussemet (spelt), is debated. According to Borowksi (1987: 93), dōḥan is best understood as millet, a group of small-grained cereals belonging to several genera. Although this term only appears once in the Hebrew Bible, in this well-known passage in Ezekiel, the context of this verse suggests that it was locally grown. Kussemet, mentioned three times in the Hebrew Bible (Exod. 9:32; Isa. 28:25; Ezek. 4:9), is identified as either spelt or emmer, both hulled wheats. In Exod. 9.32, kussemet is listed along with wheat (ḥiṭṭâ) as a late crop, further supporting its identification as a variety of wheat. This seems to corroborate the archaeobotanical evidence for the consumption of both hulled and free-threshing cereals during the Iron Age (see further below). Extra-biblical texts underscore grain’s importance in ancient Israel.4 The Arad letters, a collection of inscribed broken pottery sherds (ostraca) dating to the late seventh to early sixth century bce, include orders to issue rations of flour, grain, wheat, barley, bread, wine, and oil. Arad Letter 31, known as the “wheat ostracon,” is a list of grain distributed to eight named individuals (Aharoni 1970: 35–6). Several of the early sixth century bce Lachish letters also include references to grain. Letter 5, for example, includes a request for “royal grain,” which might be interpreted as rations or a portion of grain collected

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All quotes are from the NRSV. See the discussion in Chapter 26 in this volume.

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by the royal administration (Ahituv 2008: 77). In addition, a single ostracon dating to the late seventh century bce found at Meṣad Ḥashavyahu offers a window into the life of a fieldworker whose garment was confiscated unjustly by his supervisor. In this letter, a petition to the governor, the fieldworker describes himself as a reaper who had finished the harvest and was storing the grain when his garment was taken. Apparently his garment may have been taken for not meeting his quota of grain (King and Stager 2001: 315).

BREAD Despite the variety of ways that grain can be prepared and consumed, much more attention has been paid to the consumption of cereal grains as bread in ancient Israel due to the dietary, cultural, and ritual importance of bread in the Hebrew Bible. Bread seems to have been the staple food in the Israelite diet, eaten every day by nearly everybody at nearly every meal. In several biblical passages, it is paired with water as the bare minimum required for daily existence (Gen. 21:14; Num. 21:5; Deut. 8:3; 1 Kgs. 13:8). The word leḥem appears nearly 300 times in the Hebrew Bible; although it is usually understood as “bread,” leḥem can also refer to food in general, underscoring bread’s importance as a staple. Various biblical idioms underscore the centrality of bread in daily life; the expression “to eat bread,” for example, meant to share a meal (Gen. 31:54; 37:25). According to the biblical writers, bread was a gift from Yahweh and dependent upon his blessing (Ps. 127:1-2) (Reed 1992: 778–9). Archaeological evidence for bread in the Iron Age is indirect and consists primarily of the artifacts and installations used to grind grain, knead dough, and bake bread. Although archaeobotanical remains of cereals have been identified in a variety of archaeological contexts, few researchers claim to have identified the remains of actual baked goods from the Iron Age. The processing of grain to make bread or beer is suggested by the proximity of a cache of barley to a grinding stone at Tall al-‘Umayri, described above. More compelling evidence for making bread from stored grain can be seen at another Iron Age site in Jordan, Tell Abu al-Kharaz in the central Jordan Valley. Botanical samples were taken in what has been interpreted as the basement of an extensive Early Iron Age compound that contained clay ovens and a clay silo along with many storage jars and other types of ceramic vessels. A great deal of carbonized organic material was preserved in the vessels and spread on the floor throughout the compound. Identified cereals include wheat, specifically Triticum dicoccum and Tritica aestivum/durum, and barley, including Hordeum distichum (domesticated two-row barley). In one room, researchers identified wheat that was cleaned and, based on its proximity to grinding stones and ovens, intended to be ground to make gruel or bread. Interestingly, the cereal samples in this particular room were dominated by emmer wheat, not the free-threshing Tritica aestivum/durum that comprise the majority in other Iron Age botanical samples (Kofel and Bürge 2018: 303–4). There are a few basic steps required to make bread. The archaeobotanical evidence shows that both hulled and free-threshing grains were consumed in ancient Israel, and these grains had to be treated in different ways. If hulled grains were used, the inedible hulls or husks must first be removed from the grain before it can be ground into flour. This is accomplished by pounding it with mortar and pestle until the hulls are loosened, and the material can be sieved to separate the grain from the chaff. This process is a bit quicker if the grains are toasted before they are pounded (Harlan 1967: 199). If freethreshing grains were used, this step was unnecessary and the grain only needed to be

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ground using a grinding slab and handstone; this process can be repeated over and over again to make flour with the desired texture. The flour would then be removed from the receptacle positioned below the slanted grinding slab or collected from around the installation with brushes or other tools and placed in a vessel or on a flat surface to make dough. The simplest way to make dough is to knead flour with water. The resulting dough is then formed into whatever shape is desired and baked in any number of ways to make a flat loaf. If making leavened bread, yeast or sourdough is added and the dough is allowed to rise before baking. According to the biblical writers, bread was usually made of wheat or barley. Wheat may have been considered more desirable than barley because, unlike barley, it can be baked into a risen loaf; according to 2 Kgs. 7:1, wheat flour costs twice as much as barley. The description in Ezek. 4:9 of food (perhaps porridge, as described above) made of wheat, barley, beans, lentils, millet, and spelt appears in the context of siege conditions in Jerusalem and does not reflect the normal recipe for bread. The quality of flour (qemaḥ) used to make bread and other baked goods is specified in some biblical passages. Sōlet, translated as “fine flour,” was probably wheat that was ground repeatedly and sieved until it was an exceptionally fine texture. Sōlet was used to make bread for honored guests (Gen. 18:6) and for Solomon’s court (1 Kgs. 4:22) and was required for bread offerings to Yahweh (e.g., Lev. 2:1, 5:11, 6:20; Num. 6:15; 7:13). There are several biblical references to the receptacles used to knead dough. At the time of the Exodus, kneading bowls (mišʿărōt) were used by Israelite women (Exod. 8:3; 12:34). Since the women wrapped their kneading bowls in their clothes on their shoulders in Exod. 12:34, it may be inferred that they were made of wood or another light material. A kneading trough appears in the art of Israel’s northern neighbor, the Phoenicians, in a clay figurine found at the coastal site of Achziv. The object depicts a figure, usually identified as a woman, who bends over a rectangular receptacle on legs and kneads dough in it. Another lump of dough seems to be proofing on the far end of the receptacle (Dayagi-Mendels 2002: Fig. 7.11). Kneading dough can also be done on a stone or other flat surface. Unleavened bread (maṣṣôt) was baked when bread needed to be made quickly (Gen. 19:3; Exod. 12:39) or when ritual demanded it (Exod. 13:6-7; Lev. 2:5; 23:4-6). It seems likely, then, that most of the bread baked and consumed in ancient Israel was leavened bread (ḥameṣ) (Exod. 12:15; Deut. 16:3) made primarily of wheat. When making leavened bread, wheat is generally preferable because it has more gluten than barley: the gluten in wheat traps carbon dioxide gas in leavened dough, causing it rise. Yeast (śəʿōr), microscopic single-celled fungi, is a leavening agent that can be found in the air, on the skins of fruit, and in beer froth. Ancient Israelite bakers may have used sourdough—a piece of dough left from a prior bake that is fermented from yeast found naturally in the air or introduced from another source—to leaven their bread. In addition to describing unleavened and leavened bread, the biblical writers mention a number of different types of baked goods that are differentiated by their shape and ingredients. These include a flat cake or wafer (ṣappîḥit, Exod. 16:31), hard biscuit or cake (niqquḏîm, 1 Kgs. 14:3), disk-shaped, round, thin loaf of bread (kikâr, 1 Sam. 2:36), ring-shaped bread (ḥalla, 2 Sam. 6:19), cake, wafer (rāqîq, Exod. 29:23), circular, flatbread cake (ʿugâ, Gen. 18:6), and baked thing (ma’ăpēh, Lev. 2:4) (Reed 1992: 778). Lĕbibôt, usually translated as heart-shaped cakes (2 Sam. 13:6, 8-9), may refer to dumplings, as Tamar made them in a pan (maśrēt) and poured them out (ShaferElliott 2013: 170–2). Oil, honey, date syrup, fruits, herbs, and spices were likely added

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to certain recipes. For example, raisin bread or cake (ʾăšîšāh) is mentioned in several passages (2 Sam. 6:19; Isa. 16:7; Hos. 3:11; 1 Chron. 16:3). Specific types of bread were prepared as offerings to the deities worshipped in ancient Israel. The baked goods offered to the Queen of Heaven that were marked with her image (kawwānîm) (Jer. 7:18; 44:19) may have been sweetened with figs or honey (Hadley 2002: 40, note 50). These offerings are perhaps represented by circular disks on Iron Age plaque figurines (Meyers 2017: 127–30).5 Bread of the Presence (leḥem hapānîm) consisted of twelve loaves of unleavened bread that were presented to Yahweh each week on a golden table in the temple sanctuary, separated only by a curtain from the Holy-ofHolies (Exod. 26:35; Lev. 24:5–9). It is also called “continual bread” (leḥem hatāmîd) (Num. 4:7) as well as “arranged bread” (leḥem hammaʿarāket) (1 Chron. 9:32), the latter probably referring to its arrangement in two rows (Flesher 1992: 781). The biblical writers usually describe baking in a household setting (Gen. 19:3; Lev. 26:26; 2 Sam. 13:8; 1 Kgs. 17:12-13; Isa. 44:15; Hos. 7:4), and the archaeological evidence shows that this is where most baking occurred during the Iron Age. Women were primarily responsible for baking bread at home; only a few biblical passages describe men who bake bread in a domestic context (Gen. 19:3; Judg. 6:19).6 Kings had their own bakers in the palace; 1 Sam. 8:13 specifies female bakers while, in Egypt, palace bakers could be male (Gen. 40:1).7 Tamar prepares bread or dumplings in Amnon’s sight according to 2 Sam. 13:8-9, which suggests that cooking activities took place near Amnon’s bedroom in the palace. Baking outside of the domestic setting is also described. In 1 Kgs.19:6, for example, an angel prepares a cake of bread apparently baked on coals or in ashes (ʿugât rəṣāpîm) for Elijah after he flees from Jezebel. Commercial bakeries were established in larger towns in the late pre-exilic period; Jer. 37:21 refers to a bakers’ street, and the tower of ovens in Jerusalem described in Neh. 3:11 suggests a bakers’ quarter. Bread offerings to Yahweh were baked by priests in the Jerusalem temple (Ezek. 46:20, 23-24).

BEER One of the most widely consumed beverages in the ancient Near East and Egypt during the Bronze and Iron Ages, beer was an important part of the ancient Israelite diet. Beer and other alcoholic drinks were safer to drink than water because of alcohol’s ability to kill harmful bacteria. Beer was less expensive and more readily available than wine in ancient Israel; unlike wine, which can only be made once per year during the grape harvest, beer can be made relatively quickly and at any time of the year from stored grain. Made from the staple crops of barley and wheat and flavored with fruits, honey, herbs, and spices for taste, as a preservative, or for medicinal properties, beer was an essential component of social and ritual exchanges in the past (Hayashida 2015: 46–7). Beer’s place in the ancient Israelite diet has been overlooked until recently because of confusion over the biblical word for beer (šēkār), scholarly bias toward the study of wine versus other alcoholic beverages in ancient Israel, and the challenges involved in identifying beer in archaeological remains (Homan 2004; 2010; but see Dayagi-Mendels 1999: 120–4).

See also the representation of loaves on offering tables in ancient Near Eastern art, e.g., Syro-Hittite (Struble and Hermann 2009: 28), Assyrian (ANEP, ill. 451), and Phoenician (ANEP, ill. 458) banqueting scenes. 6  See also the discussion in Chapter 22 in this volume. 7  In Mesopotamian palaces there were also female bakers (see J. M. Sasson 2004: 190). 5 

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Ancient brewing was an offshoot of bread production, and the ingredients for making beer are the same required to make a basic loaf of leavened bread: cereal grains, water, and yeast. Grains are first soaked in water to begin the germination process. After germination, the malted grain is spread out to dry. The grain is then crushed or ground, formed into a loaf, and baked; the baked bread is then torn into pieces and placed into an open container of water, which makes sweet liquid called “wort.” Over the course of several days, natural yeast from the air or yeast introduced from another source ferments this liquid, causing it to bubble as sugars in the bread convert to alcohol and carbon dioxide. The resulting fermented liquid is then ready to consume, although it would not keep for long and had to be drunk relatively quickly. Ancient beer did not taste at all like modern beer, which contains hops and carbonation. Ancient beer would have been rather sweet and more like a thin, fermented gruel (Homan 2010: 50). The archaeological correlates of beer are largely the same as those for bread with the addition of specific artifacts required for the fermentation process, distinctive vessels used to store and serve it, and strainers for the straws that were sometimes used to drink it. Fermentation stoppers, spherical clay objects perforated through the middle that resemble loom weights except heavier, were used to stopper vessels containing fermenting liquid. A small piece of cloth was stuffed inside of the hole of the stopper to allow gas to escape while also sealing the vessel from impurities. Several fermentation stoppers were preserved in situ in the mouths of Iron Age jars containing carbonized wheat at Tell el-Hammah in the Beit Shean Valley and have been identified at other sites (Homan 2004: 89–91). The side-spouted sieve jug is a type of decorated jug with a spout in which holes were poked in order to strain the dregs of alcoholic beverages.8 Unlike other jugs where the spout is located opposite the handle and intended for pouring, the side-spouted jug has a spout located ninety degrees to the right of the spout so that the drinker could place the spout in his or her mouth while holding the handle with the right hand. Although this vessel type is widespread in the Mediterranean world, it is often associated with Philistine material culture in the southern Levant. Two Iron Age “Philistine beer jugs” excavated from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath in the Shephelah were recently sampled as part of a study aimed at isolating yeast in twenty-one ancient clay vessels and a different yeast strain was identified in each. One strain is similar to yeasts isolated in traditional African beers and the other is the most commonly used species of domesticated yeast and plays an important role in the beer, wine, and bread industries. It was even possible to use both yeast strains to brew drinkable beer. The researchers concluded that the isolated yeasts are descendants of the original ancient beverage-producing yeast strains and these vessels once contained beer or another alcoholic beverage (Aouizerat et al. 2019: 14–16). If a ceramic container used to store beer did not have a built-in strainer, it was possible to filter the husks and any other extraneous matter by sipping beer through a straw with a strainer tip. Straw-tip strainers made of bone and metal have been found in several Bronze and Iron Age contexts in Israel (Homan 2004: 86). Although the biblical term šēkār is often translated as “strong drink” or “wine,” the linguistic evidence suggests that it should be translated as beer. In all but one case when the term is used as a noun (Num. 28:7), šēkār stands in parallel to “wine,” which suggests that it is fermented and capable of causing drunkenness but distinct from wine (Homan

8 

See also the discussion in Chapter 12 in this volume.

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2010: 52). When Eli accuses Hannah of being drunk at the tabernacle in Shiloh in 1 Sam. 1:14-15, for example, she answers that she had not been drinking wine or šēkār. The term is also used as a verb meaning “to get drunk” (Gen. 9:21; Isa. 29:9). Although most grain-based offerings to Yahweh were in the form of bread, as discussed above, beer was offered to Yahweh regularly; according to Num. 28:7-10, šēkār was libated to Yahweh twice daily. It was also drunk at sacrificial meals (Deut. 14:26). While the biblical writers do not specify who was responsible for brewing in ancient Israel, it seems likely that those who baked bread most often in the household context—women—also brewed beer (Dayagi-Mendels 1999: 119; Ebeling and Homan 2008: 62).

CONCLUSION The evidence clearly demonstrates the centrality of grain-based food and drink in the southern Levantine diet. Recent archaeological research in the region suggests that wild cereal grains were transformed into bread and beer as early as the Epipaleolithic period, demonstrating the importance of grain-based food and drink in indigenous cuisine millennia before barley and wheat were domesticated in the Neolithic period. The ubiquitous stone grinding and pounding equipment and cooking and baking installations in Neolithic and later settlements, along with a growing corpus of archaeobotanical remains, offer abundant evidence for the processing of harvested and stored cereal grains for household consumption. In the Iron Age, bread and other foods made from domesticated and wild cereals were considered staple foods by all members of Israelite society, from kings and other elites based in Jerusalem and other urban areas to farmers living in the towns and villages in Israel and Judah. Low-alcohol beer made from barley, wheat, and other ingredients was safer to drink than water and supplied valuable nutrients to people of all ages. Grainbased food and drink offerings were even required of Israel’s national god, Yahweh, and other deities worshipped in the region, including the Queen of Heaven. Grain, bread, and beer were crucial in the everyday lives of the ancient Israelites and fundamental elements of Iron Age cultural and religious traditions that survive until today.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. This volume is a thorough treatment of the archaeological and biblical evidence for agricultural practices in ancient Israel. Homan, M. M. (2004), “Beer and Its Drinkers: An Ancient Near Eastern Love Story,” NEA 67: 84–95. This article gives an overview of sources for the production and consumption of beer in ancient Israel and its cultural importance. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2013), Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible, London: Equinox. This book provides an analysis of biblical descriptions of household food preparation and the archaeological correlates of these activities. Weiss, E. and Zohary, D. (2011), “The Neolithic Southwest Asian Founder Crops,” Current Anthropology 52 Supplement 4: S237–54. An accessible article on the earliest domesticated crops in the southern Levant, including barley and wheat.

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REFERENCES Aharoni, Y. (1970), “Three Hebrew Ostraca from Arad,” BASOR 197: 16–42. Ahituv, S. (2008), Echoes from the Past, Jerusalem: Carta-Jerusalem. Allaby, R. G. (2015), “Barley,” in K. B. Metheny and M. C. Beaudry (eds.), Archaeology of Food: An Encyclopedia, vol. 1, 44, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Aouizerat, T., Gutman, I., Paz, Y., Maeir, A. M., Gadot, Y., Gelman, D., Szitenberg, A., Drori, E., Pinkus, A., Schoemann, M., Kaplan, R., Ben-Gedalya, T., Coppenhagen-Glazer, S., Reich, E., Saragovi, A., Lipschits, O., Klustein, M., and Hazan, R. (2019), “Isolation and Characterization of Live Yeast Cells from Ancient Vessels as a Tool in Bio-Archaeology,” mBio 10: 1–21. Arranz-Otaegui, A., Carretero L. G., Ramsey, M. N., Fuller, D. Q., and Richter T. (2018), “Archaeobotanical Evidence Reveals the Origins of Bread 14,400 Years Ago in Northeastern Jordan,” PNAS 115: 7925–30. Badr, A., Müller, K., Schäfer-Pragl, R., El Raby, H., Effgen, S., Ibrahim, H. H., Pozzi, C., Rohde, W., and Salamini, F. (2000), “On the Origin and Domestication History of Barley (Hordeum vulgare),” Molecular Biology and Evolution 17: 499–510. Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Bruins, H. J. and Van Der Plich, J. (2017),” “Dating of Iron Age Agriculture in the Negev Highlands: A Response to Shahack-Gross and Finkelstein,” Radiocarbon 59: 1233–9. Dalman, G. (2013a), Work and Customs in Palestine, vol. I/1, trans. N. Abdulhadi-Sukhtian, Al Bireh, Palestine: Dar Al Nasher. Dalman, G. (2013b), Work and Customs in Palestine, vol. I/2, trans. N. Abdulhadi-Sukhtian, Al Bireh, Palestine: Dar Al Nasher. Dayagi-Mendels, M. (1999), Drink and Be Happy: Wine and Beer in Ancient Times, Jerusalem: Israel Museum. Dayagi-Mendels, M. (2002), The Akhziv Cemeteries: The Ben-Dor Excavations, 1941–44, IAA Reports 15, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Ebeling, J. and Homan, M. M. (2008), “Baking and Brewing in the Israelite Household: A Study of Women’s Cooking Technology,” in B. A. Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 45–62, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars. Flesher, P. V. M. (1992), “Bread of the Presence,” ABD 1: 780–1. Hadley, J. (2002), “The Queen of Heaven––Who Is She?’ in A. Brenner-Idan (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Prophets and Daniel, 30–53, New York: Sheffield Academic Press. Harlan, J. R. (1967), “A Wild Wheat Harvest in Turkey,” Archaeology 20: 197–201. Hayashida, F. M. (2015), “Beer,” in K. B. Metheny and M. C. Beaudry (eds.), Archaeology of Food: An Encyclopedia, vol. 1, 46–8, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Hayden, B., Canuel N., and Shanse, J. (2013), “What Was Brewing in the Natufian? An Archaeological Assessment of Brewing Technology in the Epipaleolithic,” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 20: 102–50. Homan, M. M. (2004), “Beer and Its Drinkers: An Ancient Near Eastern Love Story,” NEA 67: 84–95. Homan, M. M. (2010), “Did the Ancient Israelites Drink Beer?’ BAR 36: 49–54, 56. Kaminska-Szymczak, J. (2002), “Cutting Graminae Tools and ‘Sickle Gloss’ Formation,” Lithic Technology 27: 111–51. King, P. J. and Stager, L. E. (2001), Life in Biblical Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox.

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Kislev, M. E. and Melamed, Y. (2000), “Ancient Infested Wheat and Horsebean from Horbat Rosh Zayit,” in Z. Gal and Y. Alexandre (eds.), Horbat Rosh Zayit: An Iron Age Storage Fort and Village, 206–20, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Kofel, D. and T. Bürge (2018), “Agriculture and Storage Practices in an Early Iron Age Household: Analyses of Plant Macro Remains at Tell Abu Al-Kharaz, Jordan Valley,” Ägypten und Levante 28: 291–308. Liu, L., Wang, J., Rosenberg D., Zhao, H., Lengyel, G., and Nadel, D. (2018), “Fermented Beverage and Food Storage in 13,000 y-old Stone Mortars at Raqefet Cave, Israel: Investigating Natufian Ritual Feasting,” JAS Reports 21: 783–93. Maeir, A. M. and Garfinkel, Y. (1992), “Bone and Metal Straw-Tip Beer-Strainers from the Ancient Near East,” Levant 24: 218–23. McCorriston, J. (2000), “Barley,” in K. F. Kiple and K. C. Ornelas (eds.), The Cambridge World History of Food, vol. 1, 81–9, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Meyers, C. (2017), “Disks and Deities: Images on Iron Age Terracotta Plaques,” in F. E. Greenspahn and G. A. Rendsburg (eds.), Le-ma’an Ziony: Essays in Honor of Ziony Zevit, 116–33, Eugene, OR: Cascade Books. Nadel, D., Piperno, D. R., Holst, I., Snir, A., and Weiss, E. (2012), “New Evidence for the Processing of Wild Cereal Grains at Ohalo II, a 23 000-Year-Old Campsite on the Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Israel,” Antiquity 86: 990–1003. Netser, M. (1998), “Population Growth and Decline in the Northern Part of Eretz-Israel during the Historical Period as Related to Climate Change,” in A. S. Isser and N. Brown (eds.), Water, Environment and Society in Times of Change, 129–46, Dordrecht, the Netherlands: Springer Science+Business Media. Orendi, A., Smejda, L., McKinny, C., Cassuto, D., Sharp C., and Shai, I. (2017), “The Agricultural Landscape of Tel Burna: Ecology and Economy of a Bronze Age/Iron Age Settlement in the Southern Levant,” Journal of Landscape Ecology 10: 165–88. Ramsay, J. and Mueller, N. (2016), “Telling Seeds: Archaeobotanical Investigations at Tall al‘Umayri, Jordan,” in Kevin McGeough (ed.), The Archaeology of Agro-Pastoralist Economies in Jordan, 1–25, AASOR 69, Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Reed, S. A. (1992), “Bread,” ABD 1: 777–80. Sasson, J. M. (2004), “The King’s Table: Food and Fealty in Old Babylonian Mari,” in C. Grottanelli and L. Milano (eds.), Food and Identity in the Ancient World, 179–216, Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2013), Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible, London: Equinox. Shahack-Gross, R., Gafri, M., and Finkelstein, I. (2009), “Identifying Threshing Floors in the Archaeological Record: A Test Case at Iron Age Tel Megiddo, Israel,” JFA 34: 171–84. Struble, E. J. and Hermann, V. R. (2009), “An Eternal Feast at Samʾal: The New Iron Age Mortuary Stele from Zincirli in Context,” BASOR 345: 15–49. Vamosh, M. F. (2004), Food at the Time of the Bible: From Adam’s Apple to the Last Supper, Nashville: Abingdon. Weide, A. (2015), “On the Identification of Domesticated Emmer Wheat, Triticum turgidum subsp. dicoccum (Poaceae), in the Aceramic Neolithic of the Fertile Crescent,” Archäologische Informationen 38: 381–424. Weiss, E. and Zohary, D. (2011), “The Neolithic Southwest Asian Founder Crops,” Current Anthropology 52, Supplement 4: S237–54. Zohary, D., Hopf, M., and Weiss, E. (2013), The Domestication of Plants in the Old World, 4th edn., Oxford: Oxford University Press.

CHAPTER 6

Olives and Olive Oil ERIC LEE WELCH

INTRODUCTION Among the indigenous flora of the Mediterranean, perhaps no tree or its fruit is as highly regarded as the olive (zayit). Take, for example, the story of Abimelech in Judges, in which Jotham cites a parable concerning kingship (Judg. 9:7-15). One day the trees decided among themselves to anoint a king. They first went to the olive tree and said, “Reign over us.” The olive tree refuses them, so they approach another tree, the fig. When the fig denies their request, the trees unsuccessfully approach the vine, and ultimately the thorn tree, who accepts their offer. The progression descends through the hierarchy of Levantine fruit bearers, with the thorn tree representing the lowest tier. The implied hierarchy supplied by this ancient anecdote provides a useful window into the cultural importance of the olive in the ancient Levant. Throughout the Hebrew Bible, olive oil appears frequently as a daily provision, as well as an important social and spiritual symbol. For example, when the Promised Land is introduced to the Israelites, olive oil is highlighted among its agricultural products (e.g., Deut. 6:11; 8:8; Josh. 24:13). The land is said to be an ’ereṣ-zayit šemen (“a land of olive oil”), a feature which is meant as a blessing (Deut. 8:8).1 As a corresponding curse, Deut. 28:40 offers a threat, noting that if the Israelites do not obey the commands given, they will have olive trees throughout their territory but will not have oil. Here, the blessing and curse language indicates that the olives themselves were not the object of value but instead the oil they produced.

GROWING OLIVES: THE FUNDAMENTALS OF OLEOCULTURE The olive tree, Olea europaea, is a resilient plant known for its long lifespan. It is not uncommon for trees to exceed 500 years, with some examples of living trees around 2,000 years old. At maturity some olive trees grow to 15 m high. The olive first appears as a domesticated product in the archaeological record in the Chalcolithic period (Namdar et al. 2014), although olives were collected from the wild much earlier (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 119–20). Originally found in the Levant, the olive is thought to have

When the grain/wine/oil triad of the Israelite economy is mentioned (e.g., Deut. 7:13; 28:51), the word yiṣhār is used for olive oil. 1 

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TABLE 6.1  Seasons of Olive Production by Month. Jan.

Feb.

March

April

May

June

July

Rain

Rain

Rain

Budding

Flowering

Fruiting Ripening

Aug.

Sept.

Oct.

Nov.

Dec.

Ripening

Ripening

Harvest Harvest Rain

spread westward via Phoenician trade. Today the olive can be found throughout the Mediterranean, where the climate is well suited to growth.2

Climate and Environs Climate plays a critical role in the vitality of the olive tree, which requires full sun as well as cooler periods in order to bear fruit. Typically, the olive requires six to eleven weeks below 9°C for vernalization, the process by which the tree gains the ability to flower and thus bear fruit (Lim 2012). Following this period of vernalization, the olive requires a season of temperatures in the range of 18 to 22°C for actual shoot growth and flowering to take place (Lim 2012) While the olive tree can grow in a variety of soils, extremes in water levels, salinity, or alkalinity have negative effects on the tree’s growth. In general, “deep, well drained, light textured soils” are most productive for fruit bearing, whereas rich, fertile soils are more conducive to vegetative growth rather than fruit production (Lim 2012). The optimum rainfall is 500–800 mm during the growth phase, although the olive can grow with much less as the tree is fairly drought resistant.3 A tree begins to bear fruit after five years, although “productive” trees are typically closer to twenty years old. The olive tree bears fruit in the form of a drupe, a product in which a fleshy outer part surrounds a hard seed or pit. Common drupes include cherries, peaches, and plums. This fleshy layer contains the fruit’s oil; this is different from other oil crops, such as the soybean, where the oil resides within the seed. By contrast, the olive stone contains only 3–4 percent of the fruit’s oil. The land of Israel is well suited to olive tree growth. The slopes of the Judean highlands and their foothills, the Shephelah, offer the right combination of sunlight, temperatures, and well-draining soils required for fruit-bearing olive trees. In an average season, the Shephelah receives adequate rain for a healthy olive harvest.

Seasonality of Oleoculture The olive harvest takes place in the autumn, typically during an approximately sevenweek period that falls between September and November, depending on the weather conditions (Table 6.1). The earliest mention of olive harvest in ancient Israel’s epigraphic record comes in the so-called Gezer Calendar.4 The small tablet is not a calendar in the traditional sense, but a list of seasons of work that more closely resembles a chore list or manual.5 The agricultural tasks begin with the ingathering of the fruit and proceed with the planting and sowing of other crops. While the olive is not explicitly named, there is See also the discussion in Chapter 8 in this volume. It should be noted that almost all modern growth operations take advantage of irrigation techniques to maximize the fruit-bearing potential of the olive tree (Lim 2012). 4  See in the discussion in Chapter 26 in this volume. 5  Borowski (2009: 32) has gone so far as to call the tablet the Gezer Manual. 2  3 

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a long-standing consensus that the first line, yrḥw ʾsp, refers to the olive harvest (DobbsAllsopp et al. 2005: 158–9). It is interesting that the author of this tablet conceptualizes the agricultural year as beginning with the harvest of olives rather than the planting of a particular crop, perhaps again demonstrating the cultural prominence of the product. The harvest of olives was likely a family affair in antiquity just as it is in today many parts of the wider Mediterranean world (e.g., Amiry and Tamari 1989: 35–8). While olives can be handpicked directly from the tree, the volume of olives necessary for oil production would make handpicking a wasteful endeavor. Instead, olives were beaten from the tree using long sticks (Deut. 24:20; Isa. 17:6; 24:13). As the olives were separated from the tree, they dropped to the ground where comparative evidence from the wider Mediterranean world (Amiry and Tamari 1989: 36) suggests a cloth was spread to facilitate their collection. The harvested olives were then loaded into baskets and moved from the orchards to the production area.

OLIVE OIL PRODUCTION: METHODS AND MEANS While modern technological advances, such as hydraulic pressing and centrifugal separation, have improved the efficiency of olive oil production in the Mediterranean, for the most part, the basic process of olive oil production has remained unchanged since antiquity. In order to retrieve oil from the fruit, the olives must first be crushed. This crushing process ruptures the mesocarp of the fruit and frees the olive pits or stones. The resultant olive mash is then placed in a mat-like bag of woven fiber and pressed. Through the continuous application of pressure over the course of hours, the liquid is released into a collection vat. This liquid, which contains both oil and wastewater, is allowed to settle in order to facilitate skimming the oil or draining the wastewater.

Method The relatively simple process of olive oil production—crushing and pressing—resulted in a natural evolution of techniques and machinery. The most basic facilities date to prehistoric times and are simple pits or cut-outs in exposed scarps of bedrock (Galili and Sharvit 1995; van den Brink and Lazar 2019). These cup-like features functioned as mortars in which olives were ground and then the oil skimmed. Perhaps more familiar to the student of antiquity are the more advanced apparatuses of the Roman period. In a typical Roman villa that specialized in olive oil production, the equipment was industrial in scale (White 1970). Crushing took place in a trapetum, a large hemispherical grinder that was rotated by a donkey. Pressing took place in dedicated rooms in which screw or winch-driven presses extracted oil with a high degree of mechanical efficiency. Between these primitive rock-cut installations and the more advanced mechanics found in the Roman period, the beam press commonly found in the Iron Age Levant at sites such as Beth Shemesh, Tell Beit Mirsim, Tel Miqne, and Tel Batash was an optimal compromise between efficiency, mechanical complexity, and potential production volume. Constructed using natural bedrock, stone-lined pits, or monolithic free-standing basins, many of these pressing installations were capable of holding between thirty and sixty liters of oil. The mechanics of this particular press type also meant that they could be installed in a number of settings, including inside or outside of buildings. When built outside, the components of the press—especially crushing basins and depressions for collection—were often cut into the bedrock (Eitam 1990). In many instances these presses

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FIGURE 6.1  A reconstructed press from Tel Miqne-Ekron. The crushing basin is flanked by two press vats. The large beam is weighted by pierced stones that apply pressure through the beam to the woven baskets containing the olives. (Photo by Eric Welch)

took advantage of a vertical scarp of bedrock in which the pressing beam was anchored. When pressing installations are located inside a building, the various components of the press are cut from free-standing rock and are located on or set into the floor. For the crushing phase of production, the Iron Age workers relied on shallow stone basins. The olives were crushed using a large stone cylinder, which was likely attached to a large stick that allowed the operator to roll the crusher across the basin (Eitam 1996: 172; Mazar 1997: 215–16). This crushing tool probably looked like a large, stone paint roller that was pushed and pulled over the raw olives to prepare the mash for pressing.

Means In a traditional setup, such as the many examples excavated at Tel Miqne-Ekron (Figure 6.1), the rectangular crushing basin was flanked by two pressing vats (Gitin 1989: Fig. 2.3, 5; Figure. 6.1). These large vats, either square or round, had a large flat surface with a central hole. In some cases, the surface was inscribed with a shallow channel around the perimeter of the surface to redirect and collect any oil that drained away from the central collection hole. On the surface of the vat, stacks of woven baskets (Figure 6.2) filled with the olive mash were placed under a large wooden beam. This beam, whose pivot point was situated in the wall, applied force to the stack of baskets as the distal end of the beam was weighted with perforated limestone weights. As the beam pressed against the stack of baskets, the liquid ran onto the press bed and into the central collection vat.

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FIGURE 6.2  Woven baskets used in the production of olive oil. These were stacked and pressed to obtain olive oil. (Photo by J. R. Chadwick)

Following four to six hours of pressing, the liquid was collected and moved to secondary containers to allow the oil to separate from the wastewater and to allow any particulates to settle. Many times these secondary containers took the form of large open vessels such as kraters. In some instances, the kraters were perforated with a single hole at the bottom of the vessel, which could be unplugged in order to drain the wastewater (see below).

Vessel Function in the Manufacture of Olive Oil While the basic operation of the beam press is apparent, the absence of texts or images describing the production of olive oil in the Iron Age Levant makes it difficult to clearly determine the precise function of individual vessels excavated in association with olive oil production facilities. Instead, archaeologists are left to hypothesize the use of vessels based on their association with olive oil production facilities. Bowls are a dominant form in the assemblages associated with the pressing installations found at sites such as Tel Miqne and Tel Batash (Gitin 1989: 37; Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2001: 35). Since food preparation seems to have taken place in both pressing complexes as indicated by the presence of cooking pots (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2001: Pl. 43:2-7; Gitin 1989: Fig. 2.13:13; Gitin 1995: 58, Fig. 4.9:1–2), it seems reasonable that some bowls were used for eating and drinking in accordance with their standard domestic

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functions. However, at Tel Miqne, the room dedicated to pressing olives contained more bowls than the other rooms in the same structure, indicating the possibility of a specialized use for bowls in the manufacture of olive oil (Gitin 1989: 36). Bowls may have been employed in the skimming process associated with gathering the oil from the initial crushing of the olives. For example, in the case of šemen kātît, an oil derived from the first crushing of the olive mentioned in the Bible (Exod. 29:40; Num. 28:5; 1 Kgs. 5:25), hot water was poured over the freshly crushed olives help separate the high-quality first oil from the mash (Stager 1983). Once collected, the liquid was left to separate, and oil was skimmed from the top; it seems likely that a bowl was used for this operation. Another use for bowls probably included transferring the crushed olive mash from the crushing basin into the woven press-baskets. In this application, the common household bowl functioned more like a scoop. Finally, the bowls so commonly found in olive oil production facilities may have functioned to transfer the freshly pressed liquid from the vats to secondary storage vessels, such as kraters or storage jars where the wastewater and oil could separate (Frankel 1999). In this sense, the bowls may have functioned like a common household ladle. Because olive oil played a critical role in the Levantine economy (see below), large quantities of oil were placed in storage jars before being mobilized to local and international markets.6 At Tel Batash, the average jar was capable of storing a volume of thirty liters, with an approximate total volume of storage of 1140 liters (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2001: 101). While storage jars and transport amphorae are generally among the most common forms at sites associated with olive oil production (Gitin 1989: 36), some modified kraters and storage jars probably had a special application in the separation process. At Miqne and Batash, jars or kraters discovered in the vicinity of oil production had a single large hole bored in their sides (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2001: Pl. 47:15; Gitin 1995: Fig. 4.6:2–3). If used for the separation of oil and wastewater, these jars could be plugged while the oil settled and then later unplugged to separate the water (Gitin 2016: 415). An alternate interpretation of these vessels has been offered by Zohar Amar (2009), who suggests these vessels were critical in creating the šemen raḥuṣ, mentioned in the Samaria ostraca (Reisner et al. 1924). In this case, the vessels were used to mix olive oil with water, to “wash” the oil, thereby stripping of its odor and making it a neutral oil suitable for mixing with fragrances or spices. Once the water and oil mixed and separated again, the plug could be removed to isolate the valuable šemen raḥuṣ (washed oil).

CONSUMING OLIVE OIL Daily Use In the Levant, olive oil (šemen zayit) was widely used in a variety of applications, in many cases on a daily basis. First, as part of the so-called “Mediterranean Triad,” olive oil functioned as the basic source of fat in the Levantine diet.7 It could be served as a condiment on bread, as in the priestly ritual in Exodus 29, or as an ingredient for making bread or cakes. While the textual evidence is otherwise slim, frying in oil seems implied

6  7 

See the discussion of storage jars in Chapter 15 in this volume. See the discussion in Chapter 19 in this volume.

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in Lev. 6:13-14. Olives can be consumed as table fare, but they must undergo a process of salting and brining in order to remove their bitterness. Because this process is unattested until Roman times, the consumption of olive oil was the most feasible way to include this fat in one’s diet. While dietary consumption represented a significant portion of the demand for olive oil in antiquity, its use as a fuel was also important. As the primary fuel source for interior illumination, olive oil was an extremely common product for lighting domestic and public spaces. Evidence for the use of oil lamps begins in the Chalcolithic period and continues to be extremely common in the archaeological record. In addition to its consumption as food and its use as lamp fuel, olive oil was also the base of topical treatments intended to moisturize or heal. As a natural moisturizer, it was probably used to refresh skin (2 Sam. 14:2; Ezek. 16:9; Ps. 104:15; Ruth 3:3). Even certain objects, such as leather shields, were rubbed with oil to keep them pliant and fit for battle (Isa. 21:5). In medicinal contexts, it was used to treat wounds, keeping them supple (Isa. 1:6). Looking to the wider Mediterranean, one would discover ethnographic examples of the versatility of olive oil in daily life. Many of those other uses were likely known to the ancient Israelites despite their absence from the Hebrew Bible.

Cultic Olive oil also played an instrumental role in the cultic sphere of the Hebrew Bible. Many of these applications mirror their more common daily usage, but their function within the cultic domain sets them apart and imbues them with particular significance. The lamps of the tabernacle were fueled by šemen hammā’ôr (e.g., Exod. 35:14; 39:37). This oil was likely šemen kāatît, the finest oil that comes from the first crushing of the olives. In addition to illumination, olive oil took on a more direct cultic function as one of two ingredients in the minḥâ offering (Exod. 29:40; Num. 28:5).8 Other traditions in Israel’s history included oil as a libation poured on stone pillars (Gen. 28:18; 35:14). An example of the close connection between olive oil and ancient cult can be seen at the Iron Age high place at Tel Dan, where excavators uncovered an unusual installation of sunken basins, which they interpreted as a type of station for water libations (Biran 1978; 1980a; 1980b). Stager and Wolff (1981) recognize that this installation more closely aligned with examples of olive oil production facilities found throughout the Levant. Thus, they concluded that basins represented an on-site pressing installation that could produce the pure oil necessary for lighting the temple, with the more practical benefit of being able to guarantee the oil’s purity, which would preclude adding extra soot to the ceilings and walls (Stager and Wolf 1981: 97). The presence of on-site production also provided an “approved” product for preparing burnt offerings. While anointing with olive oil was probably a standard practice of good skincare, it came to take on a highly symbolic value, especially in the context of designating a new leader for Israel, whether king, priest, or prophet. Numerous examples in the Deuteronomistic History show that anointing functions as indication of Yahweh’s election of a new king and subsequently that leader’s installation as ruler of the kingdom.9 In The combination of flour and oil in the prescribed proportions makes a paste of the consistency of peanut butter. When ignited, this portion will burn for approximately 10 minutes; see Stager and Wolff (1981: 95–102). 9  For example, Saul (1 Sam. 9:16 and 10:1). David is designated as a future king at a young age (1 Sam. 16:1-13), but then officially installed with two separate anointing ceremonies (2 Sam. 2:1-4; 5:1-5). In 1 Kgs. 9:15-16, Elijah anoints Hazael as a future king of Damascus, and Jehu as king of Israel. 8 

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the Priestly source, anointing with oil (šemen mišḥâ, “anointing oil”) marks installation into the priestly office, as in the case of Aaron (Exod. 29:7; Lev. 8:12). As Fleming (1998) has shown, texts from Emar and the Amarna Letters demonstrate the practice of anointing for divine service was more widely practiced in the ancient Near East during the fourteenth and thirteenth centuries bce.10 Although the evidence is less abundant, it seems that sacred unction might be a significant initiation ritual for those functioning as prophets. In the context of anointing Jehu and Hazael, Elijah is also instructed by Yahweh to anoint Elisha as his successor (1 Kgs. 9:16). In Isa. 61:1 the author claims to have been anointed by Yahweh. Because of its apparent symbolic function in the installation of those with spiritual or political authority, olive oil and the concept of anointing ultimately develop strong theological connotations; the term mašîaḥ (“anointed one”) eventually refers to an eschatological figure or “messiah.”

OLIVE OIL: DAILY STAPLE AND INTERNATIONAL COMMODITY The ubiquity and utility of olive oil secured its status as one of the primary commodities of the ancient economy on a local and global scale.11 On the one hand, olive oil consumption appears to be independent of class or status. Take, for example, the story of Elijah and the widow at Zarephath, in which the widow’s diminishing supply of olive oil is considered a matter of life or death (1 Kgs. 17:8-16). As a part of a marginalized social group further stressed by the drought in the land, the widow’s poverty is signaled by the ingredients for her final meal—a handful of flour and a small quantity of oil left in a jug—and by her claim that upon exhausting these final resources, she and her son will die. On the other hand, olive oil was produced on an industrial scale at sites like Tel Miqne-Ekron, where more than 100 oil press complexes produced oil that was shipped as far as the Iberian Peninsula (Eitam 1996; Gitin 1995). As an essential agricultural commodity, olive oil was collected with grain and wine by religious and state institutions through practices like tributes and tithes (Deut. 18:4; 2 Chron. 31:5). In Israel, the epigraphic record preserves the exchange of olive oil between parties in brief texts resembling receipts. For example, an ostracon from Tell Qasile reads, lmlk ʾlp šmn wmʾh ḥyhw, or “to the king, one thousand and one hundred (measures) of oil, [A]hiyahu” (Mazar [Maisler] 1951). This inscription is unbroken, yet it is still exceptionally brief, preserving only a record of a large shipment of oil to the king and the sender’s name. The eight total ostraca from Arad that mention olive oil (Aharoni 1981: nos. 19, 15, 22, 24, 26, 27, 28, 32) and two from Kenyon’s excavation in Jerusalem (Lemaire 1978: 1156–8) are just as brief as the one from Tell Qasile and record similar exchanges. At the international level, olive oil produced in the Levant was traded across the Mediterranean, ultimately arriving as far west as the Iberian Peninsula (Aubet 2001; Bierling and Gitin 2002). From Levantine ports such as Ashkelon, agricultural products from Judah entered a “global” market via the Phoenicians (Faust and Weiss 2005; Master 2003; 2009). This widespread trade is attested in textual sources as well as the archaeological record. For example, in an oracle against the city of Tyre (Ezekiel 27), 10  11 

Anointing oil is also called šemen qōdeš, “oil of holiness” or “holy oil” (Num. 35:25). See Chapter 3 in this volume.

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the Phoenicians are portrayed as the conduit through which all goods traveled across the Mediterranean. In the oracle, Judah and the land of Israel are said to have traded oil, among other products, to the Phoenicians in exchange for their wares (27:14). That the Phoenicians traded oil to the indigenous inhabitants of Iberia is well attested by traditions preserved in classical sources such as Diodorus, Strabo, and Atenaios (Aubet 2001). The material record speaks to the transport of massive quantities of olive oil on ships traveling the Mediterranean circuit in the form of shipwrecks loaded with transport amphorae (Ballard et al. 2002). Together, the available textual and material evidence suggests that there was sufficient international demand for olive oil to warrant intensive production and long-distance trade.

CONCLUSION As an agricultural product, olive oil occupied a unique position in the daily life of ancient Israel in that its use appears to have been largely independent of social or economic standing. It was possessed and consumed by everyone, from widows to kings, and by those in foreign markets at the edges of the known world. The variety of ways it could be utilized on a day-to-day basis—as food, fuel, or balm—further contributes to this uniqueness. Finally, olive oil’s common daily uses were mirrored in the cultic sphere, adding to its significant cultural capital and deeply rooted theological meaning.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Eitam, D. and Heltzer, M. (eds.) (1996), Olive Oil in Antiquity: Israel and Neighbouring Countries from the Neolithic to the Early Arab Period, HANE/S 7, Padova: Sargon. This volume collects a number of important essays about the history of olive oil production in the Levant and includes Eitam’s calculations for the annual volume of olive oil yield at Tel Miqne-Ekron in the seventh century bce. Frankel, R. (1999), Wine and Oil Production in Israel and Other Mediterranean Countries, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Frankel has established himself as the authority on pressing technology in the Levant and its neighboring regions. This volume is a thorough treatment of wine and olive oil production, including the typology and mechanics of different presses. Frick, F. (1999), “‘Oil from Flinty Rock’ (Deuteronomy 32:13): Olive Cultivation and Olive Oil Processing in the Hebrew Bible—A Socio-Materialist Perspective,” in A. Brenner and J. W. van Henten (eds.), Food and Drink in the Biblical Worlds, Semeia 86, 3–17, Atlanta: Scholars Press. In this article, Frick describes the context for olive oil production in the world of the Hebrew Bible. Especially useful is his comprehensive list of references describing the use of olive oil in the Hebrew Bible. Gitin, S. (1989), “Tel Miqne-Ekron: A Type Site for the Coastal Plain in the Iron Age II Period,” in S. Gitin and W. G. Dever (eds.), Recent Excavations in Israel: Studies in Iron Age Archaeology, 25–58, AASOR 49, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. This report contains a preliminary publication of the best-preserved olive pressing complex from Tel Miqne-Ekron. It is detailed and contains numerous photographs and illustrations of the finds.

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Gitin, S. (1995), “Tel Miqne-Ekron in the 7th Century B.C.E.: The Impact of Economic Innovation and Foreign Cultural Influences on a Neo-Assyrian Vassal City-State,” in S. Gitin (ed.), Recent Excavations in Israel: A View to the West. Reports on Kabri, Nami, MiqneEkron, Dor, and Ashkelon, 61–79, Archaeological Institute of America: Colloquia and Conference Papers 1, Dubuque, OH: Kendall/Hunt. This article is an important summary of the olive oil industry at Tel Miqne-Ekron and its place in the larger political and economic context of the seventh century bce.

REFERENCES Aharoni, Y. (1981), Arad Inscriptions, Judean Desert Studies, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Amar, Z. (2009), “ŠMN RḤUṢ,” PEQ 141: 18–26. Amiry, S. and Tamari, V. (1989), The Palestinian Village Home, London: British Museum Publications LTD. Aubet, M. E. (2001), The Phoenicians and the West: Politics, Colonies, and Trade, 2nd edn., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ballard, R. D., Stager, L. E, Master, D., Yoerger, D., Mindell, D., Whitcomb, L. L., Singh, H., and Piechota., D. (2002), “Iron Age Shipwrecks in Deep Water Off Ashkelon, Israel,” AJA 106: 151–68. Bierling M. R. and Gitin, S. (eds.) (2002), The Phoenicians in Spain: An Archaeological Review of the Eighth-Sixth Centuries bce, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Biran, A. (1978), “Notes and News: Tel Dan, 1978,” IEJ 28: 268–71. Biran, A. (1980a), “Tell Dan—Five Years Later,” BA 43: 168–82. Biran, A. (1980b), “Two Discoveries at Tel Dan,” IEJ 30: 89–98. Borowski, O. (2009), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, repr. edn., Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. van den Brink, E. C. M., and Lazar, D. (2019), “Ḥorbat Nevallaṭ: A Chalcolithic Habitation Site and Agricultural Installations in the Shephelah Foothills,” ‘Atiqot 94: 1–88. Dobbs-Allsopp, F. W. Roberts, J. J. M., Seow, C. W., and Whitaker, R. E. (eds.) (2005), Hebrew Inscriptions, Texts from the Biblical Period of the Monarchy with Concordance, New Haven: Yale University Press. Eitam, D. (1990), “Royal Industry in Ancient Israel during the Iron Age Period,” in E. Aerts and H. Klengel (eds.), The Town as Regional Economic Centre in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the Tenth International Economic History Congress, 56–73, Leuven: Leuven University Press. Eitam, D. (1996), “The Olive Oil Industry at Tel Miqne-Ekron during the Late Iron Age,” in D. Eitam and M. Heltzer (eds.), Olive Oil in Antiquity: Israel and Neighbouring Countries from the Neolithic to the Early Arab Period, HANE/S 7, 167–96, Padova: Sargon. Faust, A. and Weiss, E. (2005), “Judah, Philistia, and the Mediterranean World: Reconstructing the Economic System of the Seventh Century B.C.E.,” BASOR 338: 71–92. Fleming, D. E. (1998), “The Biblical Tradition of Anointing Priests,” JBL 117: 401–14. Frankel, R. (1999), Wine and Oil Production in Israel and Other Mediterranean Countries, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Galili, E. and Sharvit, J. (1995), “Evidence of Olive Oil Production from the Submerged Site at Kfar Samir, Israel,” Mitekufat Haeven: Journal of the Israel Prehistoric Society 26: 122–3.

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Gitin, S. (1989), “Tel Miqne-Ekron: A Type Site for the Coastal Plain in the Iron Age II Period,” in S. Gitin and W. G. Dever (eds.), Recent Excavations in Israel: Studies in Iron Age Archaeology, 25–58, AASOR 49, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Gitin, S. (1995), “Tel Miqne-Ekron in the 7th Century B.C.E.: The Impact of Economic Innovation and Foreign Cultural Influences on a Neo-Assyrian Vassal City-State,” in S. Gitin (ed.), Recent Excavations in Israel: A View to the West. Reports on Kabri, Nami, Miqne-Ekron, Dor and Ashkelon, 61–79, Archaeological Institute of America: Colloquia & Conference Papers 1, Dubuque, OH: Kendall/Hunt. Gitin, S. (2016), “Ekron: The Ceramic Assemblage of an Iron Age IIC Philistine Type Site,” in S. Ganor, I. Kreimerman, K. Streit, and M. Mumcuoglu (eds.), From Sha‘ar Hagolan to Shaaraim: Essays in Honor of Prof. Yosef Garfinkel, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Lemaire, A. (1978), “Les Ostraca Paléo-Hébreux des Fouilles de l’Ophel,” Levant 10: 156–8. Lim, T. K. (2012), “Olea Europaea,” Edible Medicinal and Non-Medicinal Plants: Volume 4, Fruit, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-4053-2_12. Master, D. M. (2003), “Trade and Politics: Ashkelon’s Balancing Act in the Seventh Century B.C.E.,” BASOR 330: 47–64. Master, D. M. (2009), “From the Buqe’ah to Ashkelon,” in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager, 305–17, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Mazar, A. (1997). Timnah (Tel Batash) I: Stratigraphy and Architecture, Qedem 37, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Mazar, A. and Panitz-Cohen, N. (2001), Timnah (Tel Batash) II: The Finds from the First Millennium bce, Text, Qedem 42, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Mazar [Maisler], B. (1951), “Two Hebrew Ostraca from Tell Qasile,” JNES 10: 265–7. Namdar, D., Amram, A., Getzov, N., and Milevski, I. (2014), “Olive Oil Storage during the Fifth and Sixth Millennia BC at Ein Zippori, Northern Israel,” Israel Journal of Plant Science, 1–10, DOI: 10.1080/07929978.2014.960733. Reisner, G. A., Fisher, C. S., and Lyon, D. G. (1924), Harvard Excavations at Samaria, 1908– 1910, vol. 1, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Stager, L. E. (1983), “The Finest Olive Oil in Samaria,” JSS 28: 241–5. Stager, L. E. and Wolff, S. R. (1981), “Production and Commerce in Temple Courtyards: An Olive Press in the Sacred Precinct at Tel Dan,” BASOR 243: 95–102. White, K. D. (1970), Roman Farming. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Zohary, D., Hopf, M., and Weiss, Z. (2012), Domestication of Plants in the Old World: The Origin and Spread of Domesticated Plants in South-West Asia, Europe, and the Mediterranean Basin, 4th edn., Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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CHAPTER 7

Grapes and Wine CAREY ELLEN WALSH

INTRODUCTION Viticulture and its product, wine, are ubiquitous in the Hebrew Bible. Vines, vineyards, and grape clusters are enlisted to convey the nature of relationships between Yahweh and Yahweh’s people and among humans. In Isa. 5:1-7 and Ps. 80:8-16, for example, Yahweh is a divine vintner whose people are first vine, then fruit. Elsewhere, the image of the grape cluster is used to convey a range of meanings including: the productive potential of Canaan, when the spies return to Moses carrying a huge grape cluster (Num. 13:23); sexual desire for a woman’s breasts (Song 7:8); and the remnant of the people worth saving in Yahweh’s harvest (Isa. 65:8). These examples indicate how important viticulture was in biblical times. Wine itself was valued for several reasons: it was a liquid resource in Israel’s semiarid climate, a storable commodity, and it fostered social enjoyment and levity. To cultivate a vineyard, tread its grapes, but not drink the wine became a biblical symbol of misfortune (Deut. 28:39; Job 24:11; Amos 5:11; Mic. 6:15; Zeph. 1:13). The main term for “wine,” yāyin, alone occurs 141 times with synonyms occurring another forty-four times (e.g., Gen. 9:21; 27:25; Lev. 10:9; Judg. 13:7; Prov. 21:17; Eccl. 9:7; Esth. 1:7). Šākar, to get drunk, appears nineteen times, indicating that the effects of wine were well known (e.g., 1 Sam. 1:14; 25:36; 2 Sam. 11:13; 1 Kgs. 20:16; Jer. 25:27; Song. 5:1). Wine, not beer, for instance, is an inscribed cultural feature throughout the Hebrew Bible. Beer was a cultural feature of neighboring Mesopotamia and Egypt, but not Israel, since it required water for its production. Biblical scenes of drinking and inebriation are often simply the natural or pedestrian expressions of a society practicing viticulture, and as such connote levels of social intimacy and cohesion among the participants. The vine and vineyard, too, are used to express valued relations, such as that between Naboth and his ancestors in 1 Kings 21 and between Yahweh and the people in Isa. 5:1-7. Viticulture marked the social sphere of Israelite practitioners, and so its details were often enlisted to describe social relations (see below, section titled “Wine Production”). Vine-tending may have been an historical detail about daily life in ancient Israel, but its inclusion in biblical literature marks it as culturally significant. The biblical portrayal of Israelite life is a complex nexus of theological and cultural ideologies interwoven with mundane features like food and drink. These features of everyday life have been included in, even selected for, literary representation of Israelite life by oral transmitters, authors, and redactors. The interpretive task is to discern what such constructions reflect or encode of Israelite viticulture and this is incomplete without

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attention to its practical aspects. These include the cultivation and maintenance of a vineyard; the technology and tasks involved in producing wine; and the social customs surrounding the grape harvest and enjoyment of the wine. By analyzing biblical texts along with relevant archaeological materials and crosscultural study, one can gain a picture of Israelite viticultural practice. The archaeological material is extensive. Winepresses, wine jugs, jar stoppers, strainers, storage facilities, and paleobotanical finds at various sites yield a picture of significant wine production in ancient Israel. In addition, epigraphic evidence mentioning various aspects of viticulture includes the Gezer calendar, the Samaria ostraca, the Arad letters, and the lmlk jar handles. Cross-cultural studies, too, have enhanced our understanding of ancient viticulture. Comprehensive descriptions of wine technology can be found, for instance, in Forbes (1955), Borowski (1987), and Frankel (1999). Detailed studies on various aspects of wine technology for the ancient Near East and Mediterranean region are available in McGovern, Fleming, and Katz (2015). While not specific to ancient Israel, these studies provide vital information from contiguous cultures. Using the data for wine use in ancient Israel from available sources—the Bible, archaeology (including epigraphy), and ethnography—can provide a coherent picture of how Israel valued viticulture and the production of wine. Such a method, the one used here, is social-historical to the extent that it strives to reconstruct the social world of wine.

CULTIVATION OF A VINEYARD The production of wine marked a significant shift in the human control of food through cultivation of a plant. Agriculture had been one revolution, viticulture in a sense became another. For, with the advent of viticulture, agriculture turned toward producing a product not necessary for biological subsistence but still important on a social and economic level. It was thus valuable for trade and contributed to the economic stability of ancient farmers. Desired by others, wine could act as a cash crop to exchange for other crops or tools as the need arose. For ancient Israel, viticulture was an integral part of its horticultural regimen and so shaped its very culture. Horticulture, the cultivation of vines and fruit trees, was an important supplement to grain production, as it provided additional foodstuffs for the household, and yielded produce during the summer months, when there was no grain farming activity. Horticulture also indicated settlement, since trees and vines took years to come to initial fruition. It also added sources of energy (and diversity) to the diet, such as figs, dates, and grapes. The wild ancestor of the grapevine cultivated for wine, Vitis vinifera, is not native to Syria-Palestine (Goor 1966: 46).1 Botanists place the origins of the wild Vitis vinifera in the region between the Caspian Sea and Black Sea, in the Armenian hills (Lutz 1922: 1), although early finds are too sporadic to establish a more precise location of origin (Helbaek 1962: 181). Genesis 8:4 perhaps reflects such an ancient tradition recalling the eastern origin of the vine. When Noah’s ark comes to rest on the mountains of Ararat (ancient Urartu, modem Armenia), his first act was to plant a vineyard. Domestication of the Vitis vinifera spread east to Syria and Canaan and then to the regions around the Mediterranean Sea.

1 

See the discussion in Chapter 8 in this volume.

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The origins of viticulture in Syria-Palestine go back well before the Iron Age (1200– 586 bce) to the Chalcolithic Early Bronze I period (4000–3000 bce) (McGovern, Fleming, and Katz 2015: ix; Zohary and Hopf 1988: 134). Domesticated grape pips have been found for the Early Bronze I period (3500–3000 bce) period at multiple sites in the Levant (Broshi 1984: 22). Further east, viticulture is evident even earlier. In Georgia, biomolecular evidence of grape wine was discovered on jars dating to the early Neolithic period (6000–5800 bce) (McGovern et al. 2017). Further afield, Hajji Firuz Tepe in Iran shows evidence of large-scale wine-making, dated to 5400–5000, bce (McGovern, Fleming, and Katz 2015: ix). Wine is present in Egypt from the First Dynasty (3100– 2890 bce) onward. Given its geographic location, Syria-Palestine played a significant role in the history of wine through export to Egypt from 3500 bce to other lands around the Mediterranean (De Blij 1983: 11). The Egyptian Tale of Si-nuhe, from the Middle Bronze Age, praises the land of Syria-Palestine, called “Yaa,” specifically for its horticulture and the abundance of its wine: “It was a good land, named Yaa. Figs were in it, and grapes. It had more wine than water” (Wilson 1969: 19). By the Iron Age, viticulture was established practice in ancient Israel. The peasant farmers would have followed in the tradition of viticulture, that is, vine growing, and viniculture, wine production, practiced by the Canaanites (later the Phoenicians). Whether they did so from the beginning of the Iron Age (1200 bce), or sometime later is hard to discern given the limitations of the nature of the evidence: wine would have been drunk or evaporated; vines would naturally have decayed; and winepresses, since they were often built on bedrock, lack stratigraphy and are therefore difficult to date. The extant epigraphic notations of wine from the Iron Age also come from Iron II (1000–586 bce), but then so too does the bulk of all evidence for writing.2 In other words, it may be writing, rather than wine, which was scarce in Iron I. The earliest attestation appears to come from the Gezer calendar, dated to the latter half of the tenth century, the very beginning of Iron II, which does mention olive gathering, pruning, and a fruit harvest for an individual farmer. These horticultural endeavors are listed in sequence with other farm activities, as if they are routine, rather than innovative, parts of a farming regimen. Of the three harvest activities: olive gathering and fruit harvest are fairly specific, while pruning is less so. Since olives are harvested when they are hard, shaking them from trees was the common, efficient practice. We surmise that the calendar’s mention of “fruit” for the region would include primarily figs. Figs hang down from one thin stem when ripe and are easily picked by hand. Pruning is distinguished in the calendar as a separate activity. While it might be used for olives and fruit, it was not necessary. It is, however, for grape harvesting. Grapes are tender when ripe and form a cluster off a thick stem. Grape clusters need to be cut and gathered gently so that the skins do not break. Since pruning is necessary for grape cluster harvesting, but not olive and fruit gathering, I surmise that the calendar’s separate mention of “pruning” refers to the grape harvest. If this is the case, then viticulture was a facet of the agricultural calendar for some time before it was written (Finkelstein 1986: 187, 199–200). Otherwise, we might expect that any new farming strategies and products either would not be mentioned in a calendar or would be highlighted in some fashion.

2 

See the discussion in Chapter 26 in this volume.

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In the later Iron II period, the epigraphic evidence for wine production becomes substantial. The Samaria ostraca, from northern Israel, note the presence of wine (and oil) storage vessels. The Arad ostraca, from the southern fort of Arad, detail ration amounts of wine (oil and bread) for the soldiers stationed there. The lmlk (to-the-king) storage jar handles that were found throughout Judah reflect trade or possibly taxation of foodstuffs including wine. In addition, there exists a detailed iconographic representation of Israelite vines in the reliefs of Sennacherib’s siege of the Judahite town of Lachish. In it, grape clusters on vines dot the background, on terraced hills (Russell 1991: 210–11). Wine production required a long-term investment strategy. Farmers would first devote a portion of their land or acquire additional property to cultivate vines. Next, they would purchase vine stocks, transplant them, and then wait four to five years for a first meager harvest (Hopkins 1985: 227). On average, it would be ten years until a full harvest (Aschenbrenner 1972: 55). While this may be worthwhile for today’s vintner, the average life expectancy for a male during the Iron Age was considerably less. His wait for the initial full harvest, then, would be a decade. That lead time was absorbed by the firsttime vintner, as subsequent generations would enjoy yearly grape harvests. Vine and tree crops indicate two key features of society. They demonstrate, first, a degree of sedentary life for these farmers, one where initial planting is worth the wait and, second, investment in a successive generation. The farmer who cultivated a vineyard likely had his offspring in mind to carry on the farm and its vines after he was gone (1 Kings 21; 2 Kgs. 9:26). Thus, planting vines was at once agricultural strategy and patrimonial legacy. Ancient viticulture, because it entailed sedentary settlement in an area and traditional land inheritance through a family, presumed a fairly stable social context. The social consequences of wine, then, begin, not with a first sip, but right when the vine is first planted in the ground. Botany, then, has early on shaped the social life of the vintner.

FACTORS OF GROWTH The climate and topography of the land of Israel were conducive to the cultivation of vines and other tree crops such as the olive and fig.3 Israel is a semiarid country located in the warm temperate zone within latitudes 31–33 degrees north, from the southern rim of the Dead Sea to Dan (in the north). The best areas in the world for viticulture lie between 30 and 48 degrees north (Fisher 1978: 86). Hence, Israel inhabits a zone with Greece, Italy, France, and California, all eminent viticultural domains. While the microclimates of these wine-producing regions vary, they all share temperatures averaging from 10 to 30°C (50 to 86°F) and benefit from moist breezes brought in from bodies of water to their west. Annually, vines require a growth season of dependable rains followed by months of dry heat, to which Israel’s climate is well suited. Israel’s climate pattern meant that grain, legumes, and vegetables could be grown in the winter season and harvested in the spring, while vines and fruit trees withstood the dry summers and came to fruition in the fall. In this cycle, the labor needs were spread throughout the year. Ecological conditions, most notably water resources and soil composition, were largely responsible for the adaptation of viticulture into the agricultural regimen of the Israelite farmer.

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Rainfall provided the primary source of water for agriculture in ancient Israel (Deut. 11:11). Irrigation farming was not viable to the extent that it was for Egypt and Mesopotamia because there were too few perennial streams. The Keziv and Ga’aton in the north and the Hadra and Yarkon in the central hill country, along with the Jordan, are the only notable perennial rivers, and even these can reduce to a trickle in parts (Hopkins 1985: 95). Water for daily household needs came from natural springs, but these too were dependent on rainfall. Dry farming is cultivation relying on the natural cycle of rainfall without the human manipulation in irrigation. Viticulture requires between 400 and 800 mm (Unwin 1991: 43), with little agriculture able to survive below 300 mm (Hopkins 1985: 85). The temperatures of the summer months combined with the lack of rainfall leach the soil of moisture and dry out vegetation. The vine is one of the few plants that prefer both hot, dry summers, when their fruit matures, and the dormancy of wet, cool winters (Baly 1979: 85). The grape actually benefits from precisely this much moisture. It cannot endure a rain shower because too much moisture would cause mold to grow on the skin. But a trace amount of precipitation, such as that of dew, helps the skin expand and enhances the fruitfulness. Notably, dew is associated with wine in two passages from the biblical text, perhaps showing the authors’ awareness of the benefits of dew. In the deathbed blessing to Jacob, Isaac says, “May God give you of the dew of heaven, and of the fatness of the earth, and plenty of grain and wine” (Gen. 27:28).4 Again, in another deathbed blessing, Moses describes Israel’s dwelling “in a land of grain and wine, where the heavens drop down dew” (Deut. 33:28). Vines “have very extensive root systems and can withstand more drought than many other crops” (Amerine and Singleton 1965: 43). In fact, the “absence of summer rains is often a favorable characteristic for a wine-growing area” because then there is no risk of mildew (Amerine and Singleton 1965: 43). Viticulture, then, was well suited to the Israelite climate. Israelite agriculture consisted of hill-country farming that made use of the varied terrains of slopes and intermontane valleys. Within the central hill country, terra rossa (red earth) is the predominant soil type. It is high in clay content, shallow, and red (Stager 1985: 4). Terra rossa is the most characteristic soil type in the mountain regions of Israel and other Mediterranean locales such as Greece and Italy though it poses certain demands on the farmer (Zohary 1962: 11). Its clay content, for instance, means that it retains moisture well but is poor in permeability and susceptible to erosion (Hopkins 1985: 127). Terra rossa is low in humus, organic material formed from the decomposition of plants and animals, which retains moisture and is so necessary for the nitrogen it provides to plants. Its high iron and low humus in fact account for its red color (Reifenberg 1947: 74). Also, terra rossa is slightly alkaline and hinders the absorption of other nutrients. Specifically, its pH balance is 6.8–7.8, and is slightly above the neutral balance beneficial to most plants (Hopkins 1985: 128). Vines, however, prefer this soil of low humus and slightly alkaline character because too much nitrogen results in weak plant growth (Cox 1985: 41). In fact, as Jeff Cox advises the novice California vintner, the soil must have a pH balance between six and eight for a successful vineyard (Cox 1985: 40). Terra rossa of Israel and the Mediterranean falls precisely within that range.

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Vines do best in loam soils of a mixture of clay with silt, sand, stones, and organic material (Cox 1985: 40). The limestone and clay soils found on slopes in the Mediterranean basin have always been excellent for vineyards because of this natural mixture. Rocky soils are best for vines, as they are for fig and olive trees, because they encourage the roots to extend deep into the soils to reach the moister earth beneath (Semple 1931: 381). Gravelly, loam soils are not much use for grain crops, but they are ideal for the vine. Slopes still tend to be the best area for planting a vineyard. The main benefit of hillsides to vineyards is that air movement moderates the temperature. The cool night air nearest the soil is denser than the air mass above and will slide downhill. The coolest air will thus collect in pools on valley floors, and it is there, if temperatures are near freezing, that frost will threaten. In addition, vines on an incline are apt to receive sunlight on the entire plant. This distribution helps with the sugar and acid content of the fruit; sunlight on exposed soil affects the acid level of grapes, while sunlight on the leaves affects the sugar levels (Cox 1985: 35–6). Valley floors in Israel and the Mediterranean were reserved for grain farming, so hillside cultivation, that is, terracing, did not intrude on other arable land. In addition, the village was typically atop a hill, so vineyards on slopes would allow shorter travel time from home and make it thus easier to keep watch (Deut. 32:32; Isa. 16:8; Hab. 3:17). Terraced vineyards required the initial investment in building a wall, a winepress, and working the soil. Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard (Isa. 5:1-7) offers the most detailed description of vineyard maintenance in the Hebrew Bible. There, a tower, winepress, (v. 2), and walls are built (v. 5; Num. 22:24; Ps. 80:23). The vineyard booths, the sukkôt, were seasonal structures erected for the harvest. They may have been a precursor or alternative to Isaiah’s stone tower (Deut. 16:13; Isa. 1:8). Walls, constructed of large stones, helped against soil erosion and deterred pests (Deut. 28:39; Judg. 15:4-5; Song 2:15). These formed the terrace lines of the hill. Vine-planting consisted of planting shoots from a grown vine rather than from seed. (Gen. 9:20; Deut. 20:6; Josh. 24:13; 2 Kgs. 19:29; Jer. 31:5; Amos 5:11; Ps. 80:9; 107:3). This technique, of transplanting a shoot from another plant, made it an effective metaphor for Yahweh’s transplanting the people from out of Egypt to Israel (Ps. 80:9). Vines could either be trellised or allowed to rest on the soil, since it was so dry. In a repeated biblical vision of prosperity, people are sitting “under their vines and fig trees” (e.g., 1 Kgs. 5:25; cf. Zech. 3:10). Here, prosperity is evident in a universal enjoyment of shade, valued crops, and leisure. After the initial construction of installations and transplanting of the vines, the vintner would maintain the soil by working it with a hoe (Isa. 5:2; 7:25) to aerate the soil and clear it of weeds, and a pruning hook, used to prune the vines themselves (Isa. 5:6). Pruning enhanced the fruit growth over wood and leaf growth (Lev. 25:3; Isa. 18:5). Since metal was precious, iron pruning hooks were forged into spears during war (Isa. 2:4; Joel 4:10 [English 3:10]). During peacetime, pruning hooks were also used at the harvest to collect grape clusters into baskets for transport to the winepress (Deut. 26:2; Jer. 24:2; Amos 8:1-2). Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard provides a detailed glimpse into the many tasks of the ancient vintner. However, the prophet used these tasks symbolically to describe Yahweh’s wrath toward the Israelites. The Song is a prophetic judgment of Yahweh undoing everything a vintner ordinarily does with care. By making Yahweh a vintner, Isaiah rhetorically aligns the farmers’ own god with them as those who understand the care required of a vineyard. Isaiah could then elicit the empathy of vintner farmers who

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would identify with the agricultural waste Yahweh suffered. In v. 7, though, that bond of empathy is shattered when the people are revealed as not the vintner of the Song at all, but instead the fetid fruit.

WINE PRODUCTION Wine was a staple food of ancient Mediterranean life. With the scarcity of water and its risk of contamination, wine proved to be a vital liquid source. One vine yields approximately 8 pounds of grapes, with an average of 12 pounds of grapes needed to produce a gallon of wine. Since new vines come from the cuttings of existing plants, the ancient vintner could estimate each year’s production potential. From that estimate, he could then gauge the labor and storage needs for wine production. The primary installation for wine production, the winepress, was typically located within the vineyard itself (Isa. 5:2). The winepress was a simple flat floor hewn directly from bedrock, and treading was done by foot. It could have varying dimensions and shapes depending on terrain, but the floor bed itself was smooth. The largest area was the treading floor, often with indentations for scooping up the wine, or channels leading to separate collecting vats that were slightly lower. Locating the press within the vineyard meant that the harvest and wine production could occur simultaneously with minimal grape transport. It also maximized the labor force and enhanced social cohesion through hard work and celebration. Part of the harvest would likely be reserved for grapes and raisins, which were valued as energy sources and were storable. The bulk of the grape harvest, however, went to the more valued production of wine, as is evident from the biblical and epigraphic attestations of wine. Winepress installations are found for the Iron I and II periods. One wine press at Tell en-Naṣbeh is dated to the twelfth century (Zorn 1993: 1099). At Tell Qasile, two square vats with a hole connecting them may have been a wine press and are dated to the late eleventh to early tenth century (Maisler [Mazar] 1948: 130). The installations for olive oil and wine atop Samaria were in use from the eleventh to the ninth centuries bce (Stager 1990: 93–107). At Gibeon, sixty-three bell-shaped cellars were found for wine storage along with winepresses (Pritchard 1964: 2). These date from the Iron II period and show evidence of large-scale production of wine for trade. In addition, surveys of Israel have uncovered hundreds of winepresses (Dar 1986: 147). They are difficult to date as there is little pottery and were likely used in successive periods. Wine production itself is a fairly simple process that requires only two elements: grapes and yeast, which occur naturally on the grape skins. The yeasts convert the sugar into alcohol, and in 6–12 hours fermentation reaches its peak of 4–6 percent alcohol. Given the heat and the hours it would take to tread grapes, fermentation probably occurred on the treading floor itself or, via channels, in collecting vats hewn from the same bedrock. The must, or pulp and liquid, could remain in the treading vats. During fermentation, it would need to be stirred. The major concern was to allow the carbon dioxide byproduct to escape without prolonged contact with the air. Here, timing was essential to the successful vintner: if the juice was collected too early in the fermentation process, the new wine would burst wineskins (Mk. 2:22); if too late, vinegar was the result. Treading the grapes as a social activity would have been work but also enjoyable. Feet would be soothed in the juice and tickled, holding onto others was necessary, and any inevitable slipping would likely be met with teasing and laughter. At several points in the Hebrew Bible treading and praise are associated (Judg. 9:27; Isa. 62:9). The biblical

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traditions of praise for agricultural plenty may have had their origins in the worked fields. Songs of praise and relief would give voice to the laborers’ anxious hope for a good yield. Dancing too might have been one aspect of celebration, which fluidly moved throughout the day in treading, shouts, and music. Two texts mention women dancing in the vineyard (Judg. 21:21; Jer. 31:13). And, of course, once the treading and fermentation were completed, the anticipation of drinking contributed to a celebratory mood. Preclassical wine production from grapes almost certainly must have been red wine. Wine gets its color from the skin bleeding in the juice during treading and fermentation, and the yeast needed for fermentation was located on the skins. Removing the skins for color variation, then, would have curtailed the fermentation process. Since white-skinned grapes are not attested until the Hellenistic period, the color from the skins would turn the wine red. That this process if followed is indicated by the strong association of wine with blood in both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. For instance, Judah’s blessing portrays him washing his garments in the “blood of grapes” (Gen. 49:11; Isa. 49:26). Wine for home use or trade was stored in containers made of pottery.5 The ceramic repertoire from the Iron I period includes storage jars, jugs, pilgrim flasks, juglets, and chalices from sites throughout Israel, as at Taanach, Bethel, Tel Qiri, and ‘lzbet Ṣarṭah (Walsh 2000: 17). The pottery from Tell Qasile, from the late eleventh to early tenth century contained many jugs, juglets, chalices, and flasks. One room next to two vats contained a number of storage jars, which the excavator interpreted as a storeroom for wine and oil vessels (Mazar 1950–51: 130). The presence of oil presses can sometimes suggest the possibility of wine technology since rock-cut presses are similar for both oil and wine production. These various ceramic forms continue through the Iron II period. The larger jars for storage would have needed some sort of stopper. Unfired clay was likely the best option because it was readily available and could be shaped to the jar’s opening. The seal would become tighter still as the wine moistened the clay and caused it to expand. Another possible sealant was olive oil. The smaller containers, which were filled from storage jars, would not have needed a stopper since they were likely single use. The jug, a vessel typically wider than it is high, was common throughout the Iron Age. It could have functioned as a serving or drinking vessel for wine and water. Chalices, a bowl with a stem, were much less common in the pottery assemblage than bowls, which were used for both food and drink. Amos 6:6 portrays people drinking wine from bowls. There is some iconographic evidence of drinking from bowls as well. A bas relief from Nineveh, dating from the Iron II period, depicts King Ashurbanipal and the queen drinking from bowls under a trellised grapevine (Stronach 1995: 175–95). From this evidence, we surmise that bowls were the standard drinking vessel of the Iron Age (Hunt 1987: 198). Interestingly, the assemblage of jugs, bowls, and chalices in Iron Age tombs indicates that wine was a hoped-for provision in death as well (Bloch-Smith 1992: 108). Travelers are depicted using both jars and skins for transport. David and the Gibeonites, for example, carried wineskins (1 Sam. 16:20; Josh. 9:4). Wineskins are elsewhere mentioned for wine storage in Jer. 13:12, Hab. 2:15, and Job 32:19. Later, in the New

See Chapters 12 and 15 in this volume for information about pottery containers. In Chapter 15, Figure 15.2 depicts containers for long-term storage, Figure 15.3 is the kind of container used for intermediate storage or transport, and Figure 15.4 shows a jug appropriate for short-term storage or serving. 5 

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Testament, wineskins were prevalent enough for a parable since knowledge that “new wine,” that is, wine still fermenting, would burst old wineskins was common wisdom (Mk. 2:22).

DRINKING WINE AS A SOCIAL ACTION Drinking alcohol occurs fairly frequently in biblical imagery, as stated earlier. Biblical texts depict a range of wine use: drunkenness (e.g., Gen. 9:21; 1 Kgs. 16:9), moderation (e.g., 2 Sam. 13:28; Isa. 24:7; Ruth 3:7), as well as abstention from wine (Lev. 10:9; Num. 6:3; Deut. 29:6; Judg. 13:4, 7; 1 Sam. 1:15; Jer. 35:6, 8; Ezek. 44:21). This range argues against any monolithic understanding of the Bible’s perspective on drinking.6 Still, interpreters have tried to see universal lessons, particularly in the stories of Noah and Lot. Gerhard von Rad, for instance, concluded that Lot’s wine-induced incest leaves his life morally “bankrupt” (1972: 224). Magen Broshi, in his study on the wines of ancient Palestine, concurs with this view. For him, the deeds of Noah and Lot “were intended to serve as examples of the dangers and repulsiveness of intemperance” (1984: 21). Morris Jastrow had also argued that the entire Hebrew Bible had an “opposition to viniculture expressed in Genesis-maintained by the Rechabites down to the time of the exile and implied in the Nazir’s abstention” (1913: 190). The drunkenness of Noah and Lot, certainly, is extreme, but it cannot be the basis for conclusions about Israelite attitudes toward wine, especially when divorced from agricultural context. Wine apparently becomes a morally laden substance because of the actions consequent to its consumption. Assuming temperance as a cultural value ignores both the centrality of viticulture to Israelite livelihood and the social importance of conviviality in gatherings in the family, farm, and yearly festivals. Instead, biblical descriptions of drinking reflect a familiarity with wine’s power, of how it could “gladden the human heart” (Ps. 104:15) and also madden, trick, and subdue it. The effects of wine are most often described as having a merry heart (e.g., Judg. 16:25; 1 Sam. 25:36). The phrase connotes a general state of enjoyment and conviviality, though it may include drunkenness as well. For drunkenness, as a state in which the effects of alcohol are manifest in behavior, can still range from loudness, aggression, silliness, or charm, to a coma (Amerine and Singleton 1965: 326). The Bible lists the varying effects even within drunkenness: staggering (Isa. 29:9), exposure (Gen. 9:21), nausea (Prov. 23:34), vomiting (Jer. 25:27), sleep, and coma (Gen. 9:21; 1 Sam. 25:37; Jer. 51:39). All of these effects are staged in social contexts. This is not surprising, for alcohol, with its ability to lower inhibitions, was early on valued as a social lubricant. As a mild sedative and vasodilator, wine also helped to ease the tensions of the body. Hence, physiologically, those sharing a meal with wine, especially after a hard day of labor, would share in relaxation. With the exception (again) of Noah and Lot, drinking is a social act in the Hebrew Bible. It signifies the esteem with which an interaction is held by its participants. It indicates the willingness of the participants to take a social risk. The vintner drinks, in short, with those he trusts or wants to trust. The family was the primary locus of the vintner’s trust. It is where daily meals were shared, and so wine was drunk by all, including women and children. Women are depicted drinking in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Judg. 16:27; 1 Sam. 1:9; Amos 4:1; Ruth 2:14; Est. 1:9), a practice that differs

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from the Greco-Roman traditions that speak of barring women from wine. Greek public drinking, as in the symposium at least, was strictly a male affair, though private drinking customs may have differed (Robinson 1933: 76). Since children drink at meals in other wine cultures, such as modern France, Italy, and Greece, it is reasonable to think the same of ancient Israel. Eli mistakenly accuses Hannah of being drunk outside the temple (1 Sam. 1:13). Deuteronomy 21:18-21 addresses the problem of a rebellious, drunken son. At the same time, there is no legal prohibition against children drinking, such as there was for Plato, who denied boys under eighteen from even tasting wine (Laws 2.666 a-b). Later, Job’s children, seven sons and three daughters, die while at a drinking feast, though they are grown (Job 1:5). Enjoyment was a commonplace activity for families who cultivated vineyards. Drinking together fostered a shared pride and intimacy of having brought in another successful harvest. Sipping wine was itself an implicit ritual reminder of their toil (Ps. 128:2). Memories no doubt surfaced as they drank, memories of whose feet had been in the press; who danced; what sorts of pests and climatic uncertainties had loomed; near misses with newly filled jars; a new participant; perhaps even a marriage engagement. There would quite naturally have been comparisons made between the taste and quantity of the wine with previous harvests. These instances of incidental chatter and habits are what comprised the social world of the vintner, and assumed, rather than detailed in biblical texts. The term “banquet” deserves some comment, especially since it generally has broader meanings in English than it does in Hebrew. The Hebrew term for banquet is mišteh, a noun from the verb šātāh, “to drink.” Since the banquet is some act of commemorative or ceremonial drinking, wine is more likely served than water. Wine carries more symbolic power and enhances convivial relations in a way that water does not. The biblical “banquet,” then, most likely involved wine consumption. A more precise translation than “banquet” or “feasting,” would be “drink-” or “winefest,” since wine would be a constitutive element of the social gathering. For the sake of simplicity, I will still use the term banquet, but with this highlighted sense of abundant drinking. Banquets were enjoyed on the domestic level by the average family, as they were also by kings and the wealthy. A banquet differed from daily dining but not simply from the greater quantities consumed. While enjoyment was a facet of the daily meal, the central activity of the banquet was celebration. Merrymaking was the intent, and wine’s agency in this is obvious (e.g., 2 Sam. 13:28; Eccl. 9:7; Est. 1:10). However, the use of an intoxicant in social encounters, with its ability to loosen inhibitions and depress the central nervous system, can both solidify and threaten social relations (Grivetti 1995: 14). As we shall see below, the Hebrew Bible reflects this instability through a coincidence of banquets and trickery. Biblical traditions of banquets, “drinkfests,” portray both the benefits and risk of drinking together in groups. Hence family banquet scenes depict the social effect of wine, namely, celebration and change for the family. Successful harvests of the grape and also barley and grain were cause for celebration, especially in a subsistence economy, and so these early on appeared in the festival calendars of ancient Israel (Exod. 23:14-19; 34:18-26; Lev. 23:1-44; Deut. 16:1-17). Drinking during the grape harvest itself either went unrecorded or was not practiced. Abstention from drink during the Israelite vintage had practical benefits. Alcohol would add an unpredictable element to wine production and detract from labor efficiency. Also, wine is a diuretic, so after a hot day in the sun, its consumption would further dehydrate workers and contribute to lethargy. Slipping, slumber, and breaking jars all became possibilities to avoid or endure. Drinking after the grape treading has been completed, though, is evident in Judg. 9:27. The celebration solidifies a union between the lords of Shechem and Gaal, and a tacit agreement to go to

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war together against Abimelech. Banquets and the grape harvest are closely associated in Isa. 62:9 and Joel 2:24-26. Drinking alcohol in a communal setting raises the level of risk as well as uncertainty in a social occasion. Conviviality, intimacy, and bonding are perhaps the desired goals, but with them comes the risk of sudden emotional shifts and deception. Since alcohol lowers inhibitions, part of the function of feasting lay in the catharsis of emotions—frustration, envy, hatred, no less than relief and joy. A number of biblical banquet scenes slyly attest to the destabilizing potential inherent in communal drinking. A banquet marks the occasion of Isaac’s weaning in Gen. 21:8-9, where laughter, play, and then marital acrimony occur. Interpreters have sought to explain Sarah’s sudden reaction of rage through attention to v. 9 where Ishmael is “playing” with Isaac.7 But the context provides an explanation for the severity of Sarah’s behavior. Since drinking was the focused activity of a banquet, literally, a “drinkfest,” and this was a “great” banquet, we can surmise that the participants, Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar, if not the boys too, were drinking wine. Sarah’s hostility towards Hagar is manifest in Gen. 16:5-6, when she banishes Hagar. When Hagar returns, an unresolved tension remains between the two women. As alcohol lowers inhibitions, emotions that have lain dormant often find expression. Drinking at a “great feast” changed Sarah’s mood. It then influenced both the confrontation and its extreme resolution, the second banishment of Hagar and Ishmael, although on the narrative level, Sarah’s animosity toward Hagar began not at the banquet, but long before, the moment Hagar conceived Ishmael (Gen. 16:4-6). Marriage was another cause for celebration with banquets (Gen. 29:22; Judg. 14:1011; Judges 19). A marriage feast, when successful, brought two families together as it celebrated the union of a couple. Jacob’s wedding feast (Gen. 29: 21-25) is indeed a celebration, as Jacob has worked seven, long years for Laban in order to marry his daughter, Rachel, but it also becomes the occasion for his deception. At the end of the banquet––Jacob’s wedding night––Laban switches the daughters, and Jacob sleeps with Leah by mistake. Various factors may account for Jacob’s costly mistake, among which are: he is a notorious trickster now getting his comeuppance; he is blinded by a patriarchal cluelessness to female identity; or Leah was veiled. By themselves these explanations are unconvincing. No veil is mentioned, and Rachel, we recall, is not just another woman but one whom Jacob loved (v. 30). One additional explanation, stated expressly in the text, is that copious drinking at the banquet has impaired Jacob’s (and Leah’s?) awareness, ruining his wedding night after the fact. In yet another banquet, trickery occurs, this time to restore and then celebrate family ties. In Gen. 43:34, Joseph hosts a banquet for his eleven brothers where “they drank and were merry with him.” The banquet is unusual in several respects. It has all the signs of hospitality and inclusion: copious amounts of drink, even in a time of severe famine; an invitation; tables; even a seating arrangement. Yet there are as many markers of distance. It is a family reunion, but only one participant, Joseph, knows that, and he is sitting at a different table (v. 32). In fact, Joseph is at one table, the Egyptians are at a second, and the eleven brothers sit at a third and in the order of their birth (v. 33). Their shared drinking, nevertheless, marks a certain bond among the participants. The brothers, for their part, celebrate the securing of food and their relationship with the man who will provide it. Joseph himself celebrates a family reunion, even needing to

In this verse “playing” might better be translated “laughing,” for laughter is a theme of Isaac’s name (see Gen. 21:6). 7 

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weep in another room at one point (v. 30). He may also be celebrating his power over his brothers, as he delays revealing himself and even places them in jeopardy by planting stolen goods on them twice (42:25; 44:2). In the second instance, Joseph frames his brothers by planting his own silver cup into their sacks (44:2). The cup, presumably the same one he used at the banquet the night before, symbolizes that shared festivity and its betrayal of trust: his betrayal of them, but also the brothers’ betrayal of Joseph long ago, when they had left him for dead. King David later uses a banquet as a pretext to deceive his soldier, Uriah the Hittite. He gets Uriah drunk at a banquet purportedly in his honor (2 Sam. 11:13). David plies Uriah with alcohol in order to get him to sleep with his wife, Bathsheba. David’s motive is not celebration of a good soldier. It is to cover up his own adultery with Bathsheba and his paternity of her child. The plan backfires because Uriah, it turns out, is noble in his self-control too. He can get drunk with his king and still resist sex, as abstinence was part of military discipline. Abstinence from sex but not alcohol appears to have been expected of soldiers in the king’s army. The Arad letters, we recall, mention generous rations of wine, a donkey’s load, for each soldier stationed at the fort (Lindenberger 1994: 101). Again, in David’s court, a sibling banquet is the occasion for using drunkenness in service of betrayal (2 Sam. 13:28). There King David’s sons join for a feast during sheepshearing. David declines the invitation because he does not want to burden Absalom, who is hosting (v. 25). This indicates that hosting a banquet was costly, even for a king’s son. Wine is the only element mentioned, and the murderers are instructed to wait until Amnon’s “heart is merry with wine” (v. 28). Amnon, then, is relaxed, tipsy, or even drunk. He has had enough wine, at any rate, for the effects to be manifest as a cue to his assassins. Amnon’s guard was down in part because of the drinking and in part because of the trust implied by a family banquet. And so, while drinking at banquets was an occasion for celebration, it also harbored a risk of deception that changed the fortunes of its participants. Cohesion and risk stood in uneasy tension in the banquets of the Hebrew Bible.

CONCLUSION Drinking at banquets occasioned relaxation, trust, and the expression of emotions, some that otherwise went unexpressed, causing Pliny to remark in vino veritas, “in wine there is truth” (Nat. 14.28.141). Alcohol does not create emotions; it lays them bare and distorts them. Hence, biblical drinkers took a risk each time they drank together, a risk for greater cohesion and intimacy, and also for the increased potential of betrayal or trickery. Its risks were well understood by the biblical writers. Wine could lead to unwise behavior (Hos. 4:11; Prov. 20:1; 21:17; 23:21). Too much wine could lead to moral blindness, and the prophets especially warned of this risk (e.g., Isa. 5:12; 28:7-8; 56:11-12; Amos 6:6). They enlisted drinking as a metaphor, describing God’s anger as a “cup of wrath” (e.g., Isa. 51:17, 21; Jer. 13:13; 25:15-28; 49:12; Ezek. 23:31-33; Obad. 16; Hab. 2:15-16; Zech. 12:2; Lam. 4:21). These are harsh, bitter images of forced drinking, which leaves its victims retching, helpless, and guilty before an avenging God. Yahweh is host, but of a banquet to which no one wants to come. These images of drunkenness as punishment and the cautionary traditions against intemperance cannot simply be used to argue that the Bible has a generally negative stance on drinking, as this is supported by neither study of all biblical materials beyond the prophetic corpus nor analysis of the social world of ancient Israel.

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SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. This book uses biblical and archaeological evidence to describe the practice of farming in ancient Israel. Broshi, M. (1984), “Wine in Ancient Palestine–Introductory Notes,” Israel Museum Journal 3: 21–40. This article discusses the various Hebrew terms for wine and drinking along with descriptions of wine production. Forbes, R. J. (1955), Studies in Ancient Technology, vol. 3, Leiden: Brill. This book addresses the practices involving cosmetics, food, and alcohol in the ancient Near East and Greco-Roman world and is part of a nine-volume series. Frankel, R. (1999), Wine and Oil Production in Antiquity in Israel and Other Mediterranean Countries, JSOT/ASOR Monographs 10, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. This book discusses the archaeology of wine production from numerous sites in Israel. Goor, A. (1966), “The History of the Grape-Vine in the Holy Land,” Economic Botany 20: 46–64. This article is a detailed discussion of the botanical developments of the wild and domesticated grape. McGovern, P. E., Fleming, S. J., and Katz, S. H. (eds.) (2015), The Origins and Ancient History of Wine, Abingdon: Routledge. This book is a cross-cultural study of wine that draws on scientific, ancient Near Eastern, and classical sources. Walsh, C. E. (2000), The Fruit of the Vine: Viticulture in Ancient Israel, HSM 60, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. This book draws on biblical and archaeological evidence to reconstruct the practice of viticultural farming in ancient Israel.

REFERENCES Amerine, M. A. and Singleton, V. L. (1965), Wine: An Introduction, 2nd edn., Berkeley: University of California Press. Aschenbrenner, S. (1972), “A Contemporary Community,” in W. A. McDonald and G. R. Rapp, Jr. (eds.), Minnesota Messenia Expedition: Reconstructing a Bronze Age Regional Environment, 47–55, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Baly, D. (1979), The Geography of the Bible, 2nd edn., New York: Harper & Row. Bloch-Smith, E. (1992), Judahite Burial Practices and Beliefs about the Dead, LHBOTS 123, Sheffield, UK: JSOT Press. Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Broshi, M. (1984), “Wine in Ancient Palestine–Introductory Notes,” Israel Museum Journal 3: 21–40. Cox, J. (1985), From Vines to Wines, New York: Harper & Row. Dar, S. (1986), Landscape and Pattern: An Archaeological Survey of Samaria 800 B.C.E.–636 C.E., 2 vols., Oxford: BAR International Series. De Blij, H. J. (1983), Wine: A Geographic Appreciation, Totowa, NJ: Rowman & Allanheld. Finkelstein, I. (1986), ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah: An Early Iron Age Site Near Rosh Ha‘ayin, Israel, BAR International Series 199, Oxford: B.A.R. Fisher, H. S. E. (1978), “Wine: The Geographic Elements. Climate, Soil and Geology Are the Crucial Catalysts,” Geographical Magazine 5: 86.

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Forbes, R. J. (1955), Studies in Ancient Technology, vol. 3, Leiden: Brill. Goor, A. (1966), “The History of the Grape-Vine in the Holy Land,” Economic Botany 20: 46–64. Grivetti, L. (1995), “Wine: The Food with Two Faces,” in P. McGovern, S. Fleming, and S. Katz (eds.), The Origins and Ancient History of Wine, 9–22, Luxembourg: Gordon & Breach. Helbaek, H. (1962), “Late Cypriot Vegetable Diet at Apliki,” Opuscula Atheniensia 4: 117–86. Hopkins, D. C. (1985), The Highlands of Canaan: Agricultural Life in the Early Iron Age, SWBA 3, Sheffield, UK: Almond. Hunt, M. (1987), “The Pottery,” in A. Ben-Tor and Y. Portugali (eds.), Tell Qiri: A Village in the Jezreel Valley: Report of the Archaeological Excavations 1975–1977, 139–223, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Jastrow, M. (1913), “Wine in the Pentateuchal Codes,” JAOS 33: 180–92. Lindenberger, J. M. (1994), Ancient Aramaic and Hebrew Letters, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Lutz, H. F. (1922), Viticulture and Brewing in the Ancient Orient, Leipzig: Hinrichs. McGovern, P., Fleming, S., and Katz, S. (eds.) (2015), The Origins and Ancient History of Wine, Oxford: Abingdon; New York: Routledge. McGovern, P. et al. (2017), “Early Neolithic Wine of Georgia in the South Caucasus,” PNAS 14: E10309–E10318. DOI: 10.1073/pnas.1714728114 (accessed November 16, 2019). Maisler [Mazar], B. (1948), “The Historical Background of the Samaria Ostraca,” JPOS 21: 117–33. Maisler [Mazar], B. (1950–1), “The Excavations at Tell Qâsile: A Preliminary Report,” IEJ 1: 61–76, 125–40, 194–218. Pritchard, J. B. (1964), Winery, Defenses, and Soundings at Gibeon, Museum Monographs, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania. von Rad, G. (1972), Genesis, OTL, Philadelphia: Westminster. Reifenberg, A. (1947), The Soils of Palestine: Studies in Soil Formation and Land Utilisation in the Mediterranean, trans. C. L. Whittles, 2nd edn., London: Thomas Murby. Robinson, C. E. (1933), Everyday Life in Ancient Greece, Oxford: Clarendon. Russell, J. M. (1991), Sennacherib’s Palace without Rival at Nineveh, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Semple. E. C. (1931), The Geography of the Mediterranean: Its Relation to Ancient History, New York: Henry Holt. Stager, L. E. (1985), “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel,” BASOR 260: 1–35. Stager, L. E. (1990), “Shemer’s Estate,” BASOR 277/278: 93–107. Stronach, D. (1995), “The Imagery of the Wine Bowl: Wine in Assyria in the Early First Millennium B.C.,” in P. McGovern, S. Fleming, and S. Katz (eds.), The Origins and Ancient History of Wine, 175–95, Luxembourg: Gordon & Breach. Unwin, T. (1991), Wine and the Vine: An Historical Geography of Viticulture and the Wine Trade, London: Routledge. Walsh, C. E. (2000), The Fruit of the Vine: Viticulture in Ancient Israel, HSM 6, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Wilson, J. A. (trans.) (1969), “The Story of Si-nuhe,” ANET, 18–22. Zohary, M. (1962), Plant Life of Palestine: Israel and Jordan, New York: Ronald. Zohary, M. and Hopf, M. (1988), Domestication of Plants in the Old World: The Origin and Spread of Cultivated Plants in West Asia, Europe, and the Nile Valley, Oxford: Clarendon. Zorn, J. R. (1993), “Tell en-Naṣbeh,” NEAEHL 3: 1098–102.

CHAPTER 8

Fruits, Nuts, Vegetables, and Legumes CYNTHIA SHAFER-ELLIOTT

INTRODUCTION The ancient Israelite diet was subject to the ebb and flow of the natural world. Factors such as rainfall (both too much and too little), soil type, pestilence, and natural disasters like famine and drought made survival of utmost importance for the average Israelite household. Consequently, their diet consisted primarily of items that could better survive the inconsistencies of the agricultural world while simultaneously sustaining the ancient Israelite household.1 Studying the main crops and trees cultivated in ancient Israel is important for our understanding of what ingredients they used, what foodstuffs they prepared with those ingredients, and how this helps us understand their gastronomic culture better. Unfortunately, this is a difficult task because of the lack of available resources. Our two main sources of information, archaeological remains and the Hebrew Bible, are deficient in information on fruit, vegetable, nuts, and legumes in ancient Israel. Archaeological materials, such as carbonized pits and grains, rarely survive, and those that do survive are difficult to find in archaeological excavations. Furthermore, the lack of relevant archaeological materials is sometimes a function of inattention by the excavators themselves: the lack of sifting to retrieve botanical remains, a lack of attention to specific micro remains, and lack of publication of reports on those remains.2 The other source, the Hebrew Bible, gives few details about what fruit, vegetables, nuts, and legumes the Israelites ate. Perhaps some crops are not mentioned because they were disliked or did not lend well to poetic imagery. For instance, the chickpea is apparently not mentioned in the Hebrew Bible (see below), for it would unlikely have inspired the authors of narratives or poetry; yet was likely a staple legume. In other words, this chapter on the fruit, vegetables, nuts, and legumes cultivated by ancient Israel is fraught with difficulties and is bound to be incomplete.

See Chapter 19 in this volume for a general discussion of the Israelite diet. For an important resource that uses archaeological materials, as well as C-14 evidence and information on the wild ancestors of modern domestic plants, see Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss (2012). 1  2 

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FRUIT The term “Mediterranean Triad” refers to the three most prominent crops in the Mediterranean diet: grapes, grains, and olive oil.3 Two of the three are fruits (grapes and olives). Five of the so-called biblical “seven species” are fruit trees (olive, pomegranate, grapevine, fig, and date palm).4 These lists illustrate the important role fruit played in the diet and economy of the Levantine world, including ancient Israel (Liphschitz 2015: 1:229). Dried fruits, which made fruit available off-season, are a good source of dietary fiber and nutrients, including various sugars and vital minerals such as potassium, magnesium, phosphorus, and iron. Because fruits lose a large proportion of their water content when dried, their nutritional ingredients are highly concentrated and their caloric value is relatively high when compared with fresh fruit. For instance, two dried figs, two to three dried dates, and one flat tablespoon of raisins contain sixty calories on average (Harvard 2017: n.p.; Komaroff 2016: n.p.). Fruit in general is often mentioned in the Hebrew Bible and frequently describes the fertility of the land (Gen. 43:11; Num. 13:23; Deut. 8:8). Fruit trees were to be planted (Lev. 19:23), typically in gardens or orchards that contained different types of fruit trees (Jer. 29:5, 28; Amos 9:14; Song 4:13; 5:1; 6:2, 11; Eccl. 2:5; Neh. 2:8), although perhaps grapevines were cultivated separately (Eccl. 2:4). During a siege, fruit-producing trees were to be protected while others could be used for their wood (Deut. 20:19-20). Orchards were sometimes enclosed (Song 4:12; Eccl. 2:5; Neh. 2:8), while others were not (Exod. 9:25; 10:5, 15; Lev. 26:4; Deut. 20:19; Jer. 7:20; Ezek. 34:27; possibly Ezek. 15:2, 6; Song 2:3). Most Israelites lived in the hill country; thus their orchards could not be irrigated easily (Deut. 11:11; Jer. 31:5), although some may have been irrigated if the topography was suitable (Num. 24:6; Ezek. 17:7-8; 31:4). Ancient Israel had many different types of fruit trees, including grape, fig, pomegranate, olive, date, sycamore (discussed below), and possibly mulberry, carob, and apricot (Borowski 2002: 101–2; MacDonald 2008: 28–30).

Grapevine (gepen) Grapevine cultivation seems to have begun during the fourth millennium bce in Southwest Asia (Miller 1997: n.p.; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 125).5 In Canaan/Israel, the earliest cultivated grape remains were found in Early Bronze Age (3500–2250 bce) Jericho, Lachish, and Arad (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 125). The importance of viticulture, or the cultivation of grapevines, carried on into the Late Bronze Age (1500–1200 bce) and continued to become an essential part of the local economy throughout the Iron Age (ca. 1000–587 bce) and beyond.6 Grape pips (or seeds) have been found at Iron Age Lachish, Khirbet Abû Tabaq, Tel Qiri, and Tell Halif, while charred raisins were found at Shiloh (Borowski 2002: 113–14).

See Chapters 5, 6, and 7 in this volume for more detailed discussion of the Mediterranean Triad. Other fruit trees are mentioned albeit briefly in the Hebrew Bible. For instance, tappûaḥ is often translated “apple tree” or “apple” (e.g., in the NRSV); however, botanists debate about when apples were introduced to the southern Levant. Another, although less certain, example is hāməsukkān in Isa. 40:20, which is translated “mulberry tree” in the NRSV. According to 1 Macc. 6:34 mulberries and their juice were apparently known at least by Maccabean times. See Zohary (1982: 70, 71). 5  All biblical translations are from the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) unless stated otherwise. 6  See Chapter 7 in this volume. 3  4 

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Grapevines were planted in their own vineyard or with other fruit trees (Song 6:11), either on the ground (Ezek. 17:6-7) or trained to climb trellises or poles (1 Kgs. 4:25; Ezek. 17:8), near a house (Ps. 128:3), or at a distance away (Judg. 14:5; 21:20-21; Isa. 5:10). Grapevines had to be at least four years old in order to be harvested (Lev. 19:2324). While harvest time varied from region to region, it usually occurred between the grain harvest (spring and early summer) and the planting of the field crops (autumn and winter) (Lev. 26:5; Amos 9:13). Vines had to be pruned (Isa. 18:5) in the fall before they laid dormant for the winter, with the pruned branches used for fuel (Ezek. 15:2-4). The “Song of the Vineyard” in Isa. 5:1-7 illustrates the multiple steps in planting, maintenance, and harvest of the vineyard.7 Once harvested, grapes were eaten fresh, processed into vinegar, syrup, raisins, and wine. In order to make wine, the grapes were treaded by foot at a wine press, a process considered a joyous occasion (Isa. 16:10; Jer. 48:32-33).8 The resulting juice was collected and stored in large jars in a cool location, like a first-floor storage room or a cellar. The storage jars were sealed with clay; however, the gases produced through the fermentation process were released through a small hole in the neck of the jar that remained unsealed until the process was complete (Borowski 2002: 102–4, 111; MacDonald 2008: 22–3). In the Hebrew Bible, the grapevine is considered one of the crops the land was blessed with (Deut. 8:7-8) and was viewed (along with the fig) as a symbol of peace and prosperity (1 Kgs. 4:25; Mic. 4:4). The planting of a vineyard was a gesture of stability and permanence since the establishment of one was labor and time intensive (Isa. 5:1-8). The grapevine was so prominent that it is used in biblical narratives (Num. 13:23), law (Lev. 19:10, 23-25; Deut. 20:6; 23:24; 24:21; 28:30), ritual (Gen. 27:27-28, 36-37; Lev. 23:13; Num. 15:5, 7), parables (Judg. 9:12-14), and as part of the provisions for the royal household (2 Sam. 13:28; Neh. 2:1). Furthermore, the grapevine is a symbol of the people of Israel and appears in prophetic imagery warning the people of their destruction and expressing the hope of restoration (e.g., Jer. 2:21; 6:9; Ezek. 15:6; 17:6-8; Hos. 10:1; 14:7; Joel 1:7, 12). For example, the prophet Jeremiah uses the vine as a symbol of Judah being taken from the land: “Thus says the Lord of hosts: Glean thoroughly as a vine the remnant of Israel; like a grape-gatherer, pass your hand again over its branches” (Jer. 6:9), and then uses the image of a vineyard to illustrate Judah’s restoration to the land: “Again you shall plant vineyards on the mountains of Samaria; the planters shall plant, and shall enjoy the fruit” (Jer. 31:5).

Fig (tǝ’änâ) Fig seeds are very small and difficult to find in archaeological excavations; recovery is often done through flotation; unfortunately, flotation is not practiced consistently, especially in earlier excavations.9 However, remains from various periods have been discovered. The fig tree is indigenous to the Near East. In Canaan/Israel, the earliest fig remains were found from ca. 8,000,000 BP Acheulian Geshur Benot Ya’akov. Charred fig pips were found at Early Neolithic Netiv Hagdud and Gilgal (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 129) See the discussion in Chapter 30 in this volume. Iron Age sites where wine presses were found include Tells Qasile, Gezer, Beth-Shemesh, Qiri, and Jezreel. See Borowski (2002: 111–12); Ebeling et al. (2017: 49–54). 9  Flotation can be defined as: “A technique developed to assist in the recovery of plant, insect, and molluscan remains from archaeological deposits; a method of screening in which minute pieces of flora are separated from the soil by agitation with water” (Archaeology Wordsmith). 7  8 

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and Neolithic Gezer (Goor 1965: 124). Carbonized fig pips were found in Chalcolithic Tell Shuna North, Tell Abu Hamid, Tuleilat Ghassul, and Bronze Age Jericho (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 130). Fig samples from Iron Age Israel have been found at BethShemesh, where several jars containing lentils and pressed figs were found in a storage room (Borowski 2002: 116). Additionally, the presence of fig trees in Iron Age Israel is attested in the Lachish reliefs, which depict the Neo-Assyrian siege of the Judahite city of Lachish in 701 bce, and portray fig trees, vineyards, and date palms (Borowski 2002: 115–16; Pritchard 2011: fig. 102). Both the wild and the domesticated fig grow where there is little rainfall (as little as 300 mm per year) and in thin, rocky soil. The fig tree can be harvested twice during the agricultural year: the first crop, which is harvested in June when the winter crop ripens, was eaten fresh and was considered a delicacy (Jer. 24:3; Hos. 9:10; Nah. 3:12). The second, qayiṣ or summer crop (often referred to as summer or ripened fruit in the Hebrew Bible: (Isa. 16:9; Jer. 48:32; Mic. 7:1), ripens in August and September and is dried and stored for the winter or for long journeys (2 Sam. 16:1-2; Jer. 40:10, 12; 48:32; Amos 8:1-2; Mic. 7:1). Figs were dried either individually or with many on a string. Dried figs were also mashed into cakes. The fig tree was an essential crop in Israel’s local economy and, along with the grapevine, is referred to in the Hebrew Bible as one of the crops the land was blessed with (Deut. 8:7-8) (Borowski 2002: 114–16). The fig tree was viewed as a symbol of peace and prosperity (1 Kgs. 4:25; 2 Kgs. 18:31; Isa. 36:16; Mic. 4:4). In Jotham’s parable in Judg. 9:7-15, the fig tree is one of the trees asked to reign over the others. The fig tree responds: “Shall I stop producing my sweetness and my delicious fruit, and go to sway over the trees” (v. 11)? The sweetness of the fig was highly valued; however, the Hebrew prophets invert the image of a fig tree as an illustration of Israel’s destruction (Isa. 34:4; Jer. 5:17; 8:13; Joel 1:7, 12; Hab. 3:17; Hag. 2:19). For example, in Amos 4:9, the prophet writes: “I struck you with blight and mildew; I laid waste your gardens and your vineyards; the locust devoured your fig trees and your olive trees; yet you did not return to me says the Lord.” Just as it was used by the prophets as a symbol of God’s judgment, the fig tree was also used as a symbol of restoration (Joel 2:22; Mic. 4:4; Zech. 3:10). In Mic. 4:4, the prophet declares that “they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid; for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken.” Here Micah uses the image of the fig tree as a transition from war to peace.

Pomegranate (rimmôn) Pomegranate trees are small and bush-like with thorny branches, although the tree could occasionally grow as tall as 6 to 10 m (roughly 19 to 32 ft). The pomegranate flowers in the spring and ripens in the summer and early autumn (Song 6:11; 7:12). Inside the fruit, several compartments contain the main product: small, juicy seeds (arils). These can be eaten fresh, dried and stored, or squeezed into juice (Song 8:2), and they can be further processed into a spiced wine (Zohary 1982: 62). The rind was used for medicinal treatments; for example, the Egyptians used it to help with respiratory problems, stomach issues, and intestinal worms (Goor 1967: 218). Domesticated pomegranate fruit remains were found in Neolithic Gezer (Zohary 1982: 62) and Early Bronze Age strata at Gezer, Jericho, and Arad (Zohary and Spiegel-Roy 1975: 324). Late Bronze Age remains were found in Hala Sultan Tekke, Cyprus and Tiryns, Greece (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 135). The Late Bronze Age shipwreck at Uluburun including a large

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jar containing numerous pomegranate seeds and fruit (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 135). Pomegranate remains from Iron Age sites include Tell Halif and Tel Qiri (Borowski 2002: 116–17). The pomegranate symbolized fertility, more than likely because of its many seeds. Both the pomegranate flower and fruit were used in ancient Israelite art and religious ritual. For instance, Aaron’s garments and the pillars of Solomon’s Temple had pomegranate decorations (Exod. 28:31-34; 39:22-26; 1 Kgs. 7:18-20, 42; Jer. 52:22). The use of the pomegranate in Israel’s cultic imagery could have conceivably been influenced by their neighbors, who saw the pomegranate tree as the Tree of Life (Goor 1967: 218). Excavations at Israelite and Philistine sites have found different types of ceramic pomegranates: ceramic pomegranates at Tel Miqne, Tell Qasile, and Tel Ashdod (Dothan and Shlomo 2007: 4); pomegranate-shaped objects that are part of a larger bowl at Tell Halif (Seger and Borowski 1977: 166) and Tel Miqne (Dothan and Shlomo 2007: 9); pomegranate-shaped vessels attached to kernos rings at Tel Miqne, Tel Gezer, Tel Megiddo, Rosh Zayit, Sasa, and Tell el-Hammah (Dothan and Shlomo 2007: 7–8); and suspended or attached, like a pendant found at Tel Miqne, Tel Sera, Qitmit, and En Hazeva (Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2007: 10–11). The pomegranate is a symbol of the fertility of the land in the Hebrew Bible (Deut. 8:8). In Num. 13:23 Moses sends spies into the land of Canaan and they return with “a single cluster of grapes, and they carried it on a pole between two of them. They also brought some pomegranates and figs.” The abundance of the land is exemplified through its fruit. Similar to the olive tree and the grapevine, the pomegranate also represented God’s judgment upon Israel. For instance, Joel 1:12 writes that a foreign nation has invaded the Lord’s land resulting in “The vine withers, the fig tree droops. Pomegranate, palm, and apple—all the trees of the field are dried up.” Here the abundance of the land is related to the obedience of Israel to the covenant. The most notable reference to the pomegranate is its frequent use in the Song of Songs (4:3, 13; 6:7). For example, Song 4:3 uses the beautiful, scarlet-colored fruit to paint a picture of the female lover’s beauty: “Your lips are like a crimson thread, and your mouth is lovely. Your cheeks are like halves of a pomegranate behind your veil.” The beauty and symmetry of the pomegranate is the fruit that could best describe the woman’s loveliness.10

Olive (zayit) The olive tree is native to the eastern Mediterranean and was essential to the economy of ancient Israel.11 A recent study shows that primary olive horticulture in the southern Levant began no later than 4500 bce (Langgut et al. 2019: 917). Olive pits from the Chalcolithic period were found at the sites of Teleilat Ghassual (Jordan), the Cave of the Treasure (near ‘Ein-Gedi), and Tell Mashosh (Borowski 2002: 117). Olive pit remains from the Early Bronze Ages were found at Arad, Bab edh-Drah, and Tell es-Sa‘idiyeh (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 120), while Middle Bronze Age remains were recovered from Lachish, Ta‘annek, and Aphek (Zohary and Spiegel-Roy 1975: 319). Olive cultivation

10  11 

See also the discussion in Chapter 31 in this volume. See Chapter 6 in this volume.

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continued in the Mediterranean throughout the Late Bronze Age and Iron Ages (Lachish, Beersheba, Arad, Qiri, and Halif), indeed even until today (Borowski 2002: 123–4). The dry climate of the Mediterranean is ideal for the olive tree, which can grow up to 7 m (approximately over 23 ft), preferably in well-drained sandy or rocky soil. New olive shoots sprout up from the extensive root system and form a small grove out of just one tree. Olive trees were planted in separate groves (Deut. 6:11; Judg. 15:5; Neh. 9:25) that were occasionally fenced.12 The olive tree has many branches that retain its leaves throughout the year, and it flowers in early summer with the fruit ready to harvest in early fall. Harvesting olives is done by beating the branches with sticks with the fruit falling onto a blanket or rug (Deut. 24:20; Isa. 17:6). The fruit was then collected into baskets and pressed to extract the oil (Mic. 6:15). The Hebrew Bible refers to the olive tree only as a source for oil (Deut. 28:40; Judg. 9:8-9; Mic. 6:15), with no examples of the olives themselves being eaten. For example, the land of Canaan is referred to as “a land of olive oil” (Deut. 8:8), not olives (Borowski 2002: 123–4; King and Stager 2001: 95–8).13 The quality of olive oil is determined by how ripe the olives are and the method of extraction. The first extraction produces the finest quality of oil (also known as virgin oil) and is referred to as “washed oil” in the Samaria ostraca (King and Stager 2001: 96).14 The first step consists of crushing the olives into a pulp, which was usually done with a stone roller over a flat rock-cut installation or rectangular crushing basin. Hot water was then poured over the pulp in order to separate the oil from the watery lee or sediment. The floating oil was then removed by hand. The second extraction produces a lower quality of oil. The crushed pulp is gathered into baskets that have holes on the bottom. The baskets are placed in a collection vat with a stone weight placed on top of the baskets. A beam press is used to apply pressure to the stone weight on top of the baskets. A beam press is made up of a beam that is secured to a hole in the wall on one end and hanging weights on the other end. The pressure on the stone weight presses the leftover oil out of the crushed pulp, where it flows out of the hole in the baskets into the collection vat. The Philistine city-state of Ekron was a substantial producer of olive oil. Archaeologists uncovered more than a hundred olive presses at Ekron, which archaeologists speculate could have produced up to a thousand tons (or 290 thousand gallons) of olive oil a year (Gitin 1990:39; King and Stager 2001: 96). Olive oil production was so valuable to the Mediterranean economy in that olive oil had many uses in daily life,15 so much so that the cities of Ekron (Tel Miqne), Timnah (Tel Batash), and Gezer became centers of the olive oil industry and trade (Borowski 2002: 122; King and Stager 2001: 96–7).16 The olive tree (like the grapevine and fig tree) symbolizes Israel’s economic prosperity, destruction, and restoration (Deut. 28:40; Jer. 31:12; Hos. 2:8, 22; Amos 4:9; Mic. The term pardēs (Song 4:13; Eccl. 2:5; Neh. 2:8) is a later term borrowed from the Persian and means “enclosed garden or preserve” (Borowski 2002: 101). 13  Šemen in Deut. 8:8 is often translated as tree, but literally means “oil” and, therefore, should be translated “olive oil” as in the NIV translation. Furthermore, Borowski (2002: 133) argues that raw olives were not eaten until pickling or salting was introduced in the Hellenistic or Roman periods. 14  See Chapter 26 in this volume. 15  The many uses of olive oil other than for food preparation include: in daily life (Jer. 40:10; 41:8; Ezek. 16:13, 19; Hag. 2:12); medicinal purposes (Isa. 1:6); fuel for the lighting of lamps (Lev. 24:2); and personal hygiene including as the base oil for perfumes, cosmetics, and oils (Deut. 28:40; 2 Sam. 12:20; Mic. 6:15; Ps. 45:8; Ruth 3:3). In cultic contexts, olive oil was used to anoint prophets (1 Kgs. 19:16), kings (Judg. 9:8; 1 Sam. 10:1), priests (Exod. 28:41), and the tabernacle and its vessels (Exod. 29:36-37). It was also used for lighting the lamps in the tabernacle and temple (Exod. 25:6; 2 Chron. 4:7, 20), and as part of various offerings (Num. 15:4, 6, 9) (King and Stager 2001: 30, 97, 280). 16  For a detailed description of the different types of olive oil presses, see Chapter 6 in this volume. 12 

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6:15; Hag. 2:19; Neh. 5:11). Furthermore, the olive tree was used as a symbol of beauty (Jer. 11:16; Hos. 14:6; Ps. 52:8). In Deut. 8:8, the olive tree is considered one of the seven species the land of Israel is blessed with. The importance of the olive and its oil is illustrated in Jotham’s parable (Judg. 9:7-15), where the olive tree refuses to reign over the other trees because it was not willing to give up its rich oil that honored both mortals and gods (Judg. 9:8-9).

Dates (tāmār) Dates are an energy-dense fruit grown on date-palm trees. In Canaan/Israel they were cultivated on the coastal plain, the Arabah, and in the Jordan Valley. The city of Jericho, located in the Jordan Valley, is known as the “city of palm trees” (Deut. 34:3; 2 Chr. 28:15). The date palm can grow to a height of up 25 m (82 ft) (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 131). Dates ripen at the end of summer and were used in a variety of ways: eaten fresh or dried, pressed into syrup, fresh juice, and wine. With a sugar content of up to 60–70 percent, the date can be processed into a sweet syrup (děbāš) (Exod. 3:8; Josh. 5:6) (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 131). The date palm itself was also utilized in a variety of ways: the leaves for roofing and weaving mats and baskets, the seeds for animal fodder, the trunk for timber, and its sheath for making ropes (King and Stager 2001: 104; Borowski 2002: 127). The earliest remains of dates from this area come from the Chalcolithic period at Tuleilat Ghassul (Jordan) and the Cave of the Treasure at Nahal Mishmar (Israel) (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 134). Iron Age remains were found at Beersheba and Arad (Borowski 2002: 128). Additionally, the Lachish reliefs depict date palms growing around Iron Age Lachish, located in the Shephelah (Pritchard 2011: Fig. 102). The Hebrew Bible mentions the date palm tree (or its various parts) in association with locations (Exod. 15:27; Num. 33:9; Deut. 34:3; Judg. 1:16; 3:13; 4:5; 2 Chron. 28:15), as a fruit-bearing tree (Joel 1:12), in religious celebrations (Lev. 23:39-40; Neh. 8:15), and in poetry as a way to depict a person’s physical height, which equates with a person’s moral character (Ps. 92:12; Song 7:8). The date palm was also a popular motif in monumental architecture in the Bible: the decoration of Solomon’s Temple (1 Kgs. 6:29, 32, 35), and Ezekiel’s vision of the restored temple (Ezek. 41:18-20). And images of date palm hearts appear on the capitals of columns and pilasters at Iron Age Hazor, Megiddo, Jerusalem, Samaria, Dan, and Ramat Raḥel (King and Stager 2001: 104). Furthermore, the so-called “tree of life,” as portrayed in both the Hebrew Bible (Gen. 2:9) and in the wider ancient Near East, is often thought to be based on the date palm, whose image can be seen on Phoenician ivories, cult stands, amulets, scarabs, cylinder seals, wall paintings, and pottery (Borowski 2002: 127; King and Stager 2001: 104). Even though the Hebrew Bible only mentions the date palm tree and not the fruit itself, it does refer to děbāš, as in “land flowing with milk and honey,” which probably refers to date honey rather than bee honey (Exod. 3:8; Lev. 20:24; Num. 14:8; Deut. 6:3; Josh. 5:6).

Sycamore (šiqmâ) The biblical sycamore tree (not to be confused with the North American sycamore) originated in Central Africa and Yemen and was then introduced to Egypt and the rest of the Near East.17 It appears that the sycamore tree was valued mostly for its wood The British spelling is “sycomore” (a more archaic form of the word) and is the spelling used in KJV and in the Anglicized edition of the NRSV. 17 

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(Isa 9:10; 1 Chron. 27:28). In ancient Egypt, its wood was used for constructing objects such as furniture and coffins (Borowski 2002: 128). In Iron Age Israel, the sycamore tree could be found growing in the Shephelah (1 Kgs. 10:27; 1 Chron. 27:28; 2 Chron. 1:15; 9:27); however, no remains of sycamore wood or figs have been found. Sycamore trees could grow up to 15 m (49 ft) and produced a fig-type fruit that could be harvested up to six times a year, mostly in the summer but sometimes in the winter as well (King and Stager 2001: 105). The sycamore fig was, however, considered inferior to the common fig and used mostly as food for the poor (Borowski 2002: 128). In order for sycamore figs to ripen, they need to be gashed or pierced, which increases the production of ethylene gas that causes the fig to ripen. The prophet Amos calls himself “a dresser of sycamore trees” (Amos 7:14), which could be more accurately translated as a “piercer of sycamore figs” (Borowski 2002: 129; King and Stager 2001: 105).

NUTS Nut trees in ancient Israel both grew in the wild and were domesticated. They were an important part of the ancient diet because of their high caloric value and because they are rich in protein, fat, minerals (such as iron, zinc, potassium, magnesium, and calcium), fatty acids, and vitamins of the B group: thiamin (vitamin B-1), riboflavin (vitamin B-2), niacin (vitamin B-3), pantothenic acid (vitamin B-5), vitamin B-6, biotin (vitamin B-7), folate (vitamin B-9), and vitamin B-12 (Tufts 2012: 1, 3). Nuts are best when consumed in their natural form unsalted and unroasted since they lose part of their B-group vitamins in the roasting process. The predominant types of nut trees of ancient Israel are almond, pistachio, and walnut.

Almond (šāqēd) Almond trees are usually the first to bloom in the year with flowers appearing as early as January. Almonds were seen as part of the fruit of the land of Canaan (Gen. 43:11). The site of Bethel was originally called Luz (Hebrew lûz), which is another name for almond in the Hebrew Bible. This may indicate that the region surrounding Luz/Bethel was one where almond trees grew. Almond remains, like other nuts, are not usually found in the archaeological record; however, some almond remains were found in the Chalcolithic and Roman levels in the caves of Nahal Mishmar and the Late Bronze II level of Tel Batash. Iron Age almond remains were found at Beth-Shemesh, and almond-wood beams were recovered at Tell el-Ful (Borowski 2002: 132). Almond trees are quite beautiful when the flowers are in bloom. Perhaps this is why almond flowers were used as decorations on the menorah in the Tabernacle (Exod. 25:31-36; 37:17-24). The blooming almond tree may also have been seen as a symbol of maturity and old age in the Hebrew Bible (Eccl. 12:5). The Hebrew word for almond (šāqēd) comes from the root šqd, meaning “to watch, wake,” suggesting why the almond tree was used to symbolize the choosing of a leader and YHWH’s watching. For example, the selection of Aaron as priest is indicated by his staff blooming like an almond tree (Num. 17:8-11). However, in Jer. 1:11-12 Jeremiah

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has a vision of a blooming almond tree, which plays on the similarity in Hebrew of almond (šāqēd) and watch (šāqād), indicating that God is watching over his word (Longman 2008: 23).

Pistachios (boṭnîm) There are several kinds of pistachio trees growing in Israel, including the various types of pistachio, terebinth, and mastic. There is still some discussion as to which type of pistachio tree is thought to be native to ancient Israel. Pistacia vera, which produces the pistachio nut we are familiar with today, was not introduced into the Mediterranean regions until the reign of Emperor Tiberius (14–37 CE) (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 152). Pistacia terebinthus did not grow in ancient Israel (Borowski 2002: 132; Zohary 1955), while both P. atlantica and P. palaestina are common in Israel today, although with few remains uncovered. Remains of P. atlantica were found in Early Bronze Age Lachish, while remains of P. atlantica and P. palestina were found at Iron Age Beersheba and Arad (Borowski 2002: 132–3). In general, pistachios require moderately rainy winters, warm dry summers, and deep, well-drained soil. They are drought resistant and good at preventing soil erosion on steep slopes. The fruit, which develops in early summer and ripens in late August or September, is fleshy with thin skin that turns bright red then blue. The seed inside the fruit is eaten raw and pressed for its oil, which has many medicinal properties, such as antioxidant, antidiabetic, and antihyperlipidemic, and can also be effective in gastrointestinal diseases (Mahjoub et al. 2018: n.p.). Betonim (Josh. 13:26) is a place name likely derived from the Hebrew word for pistachio, boṭnîm, and perhaps indicate that this type of pistachio tree grew there (Borowski 2002: 132).18 The only reference to the pistachio tree in the Hebrew Bible is when Jacob commands his sons to take “choice fruits of the land” with them back to Egypt, including “a little balm and a little honey, gum, resin, pistachio nuts, and almonds” (Gen. 43:11).

Walnuts (‘ĕgôz) The common walnut is thought to be the ‘ĕgôz of the Hebrew Bible, even though it appears only once: in reference to a grove of nut trees (Song 6:11). The native range of the common walnut is difficult to determine, but it is thought to have its origin in the Mediterranean region and central Asia. Walnut trees are large and can grow up to 6–8 m. (19–26 ft) (Zohary 1982: 64). The fruit falls off after ripening in the autumn. The fleshy green fruit encloses a brown nut with ridges. The nut is large, with a relatively thin shell that contains a single, edible kernel that is rich with a flavorful oil, which consists of about 60 percent fat (Zohary 1982: 64; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 149–50). The earliest walnut remains found in the Levant include wood remains from the Middle Bronze Age in northern Israel; unfortunately, no remains of walnuts have been found in Israel’s Iron Age strata (Borowski 2002: 133).

Zohary (1982: 65) writes that “there is no doubt of the identification of the pistachio with botnim. The Arabic butm, or its cognate botnim, also refers to other species of Pistacia such as P. palaestina and others, while the Modern Hebrew elah stands for all of them.” 18 

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VEGETABLES Since vegetables are highly perishable, their remains are rarely found in excavations except in arid environments, like Egypt and the Great Rift Valley. Consequently, the primary source of information about vegetables in ancient Israel is the Hebrew Bible. Most of these references are general mentions of vegetables and vegetable gardens. The common words for vegetables are zērōa‘ and yārāq (Lev. 11:37; Deut. 11:10; 1 Kgs. 21:2; Isa. 61:11; Prov. 15:17; Dan. 1:12, 16) with specific vegetables mentioned less often. The two references of specific vegetables are worth noting. The first is 2 Kgs. 4:39, which states “One of them went out into the field to gather herbs; he found a wild vine and gathered from it a lapful of wild gourds, and came and cut them up into the pot of stew, not knowing what they were.” The Hebrew word translated “herbs” in the NRSV is from ’ôrâ; however, a case can be made for identifying ’ôrâ as garden rocket. The garden rocket is part of the mustard family whose leaves can be eaten as a salad, and its seeds can be used as a substitute for pepper (Zohary 1982: 101). The second reference, Num. 11:45, is the only passage that lists different types of vegetables; however, it does not even refer to vegetables grown in Israel. Rather, Num. 11:4-5 catalogues the vegetables found in Egypt that the Israelites crave while in the desert: cucumbers, leeks, onions, and garlic. Biblical references to specific vegetables are few for two possible reasons. One is that horticulture, or garden cultivation and management, was perhaps underdeveloped because of insufficient water supply and the hilly and rocky terrain, which made it difficult to cultivate vegetables. A second and more likely reason is that vegetables were not as valued as meat and thus not mentioned much in the Hebrew Bible. This could explain the attitude toward vegetables in Dan. 1:11-16, which suggests that vegetables were viewed as less nutritious or strengthening. Furthermore, the proverb “Better is a dinner of vegetables where love is than a fatted ox and hatred with it” (Prov. 15:17) seems to illustrate the lack of appreciation for vegetables in the Hebrew Bible. Yet, despite the impression given in the Hebrew Bible, vegetables were surely grown in ancient Israel. Vegetable gardens were planted near water sources close to the house, the royal palace, and in fields outside of the settlement (1 Kgs. 21:2; Isa. 1:8).19 Wild vegetables and greens were also gathered (2 Kgs. 4:38-40). Vegetables were eaten seasonally or (if possible) dried and stored for future use (like garlic) (Borowski 2002: 135–6).

Cucumbers (qiššû’îm) Cucumbers are part of the Cucurbitaceae family, which includes over 800 species of plants more generally known as gourds or cucurbits. These species include cucumbers, melons, watermelons, pumpkins, squash, and many others. The mature fruit flesh, whole immature fruits, and/or seeds are edible; some cucurbits are also grown today to use as ornaments and containers (Borowski 2002: 137; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 155). No remains of cucumbers have been found in archaeological contexts in Israel; apparently they were not introduced to the Middle East until the Roman period or later (Paris, Daunay, and Janick 2012; cf. Joffe 2020). In the Hebrew Bible, “cucumbers” in Num. 11:5 probably refers to an elongated edible gourd, sometimes called a snake melon

Many biblical texts use the word gan, which is translated “garden,” but this term does not refer to vegetable gardens but rather to special spaces that were the domains of elites, see Meyers (2012: 146–51). 19 

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because of its shape, and not a cucumber; similarly, “cucumber field” (Isa. 1:8; Jer. 10:5) indicates a field of these gourds.

Watermelons (’ăbaṭṭîḥîm) Watermelon is often considered a fruit and not a vegetable. However, watermelons are a member of the gourd family, along with cucumbers, pumpkins, and squash, and are technically vegetables. An annual summer crop in warm regions, like other vegetables watermelons are harvested and cleared from the field. Watermelons have high water content (90 percent or more) and could remain edible for weeks or even months if kept in a cool, shaded area. Evidence of watermelon was found in ancient Egypt (the earliest from the Twelfth Dynasty ca. 1938–1756 bce) with seeds found as funeral gifts in various tombs, including that of King Tutankhamun. In Israel, watermelon seeds were found at the Early Bronze Age site of Bab edh-Dhra‘ and in Iron Age strata at Arad. The only reference to melons in the Hebrew Bible again comes from the list of vegetables in Num. 11:5. The NRSV translation has “melons,” but perhaps “watermelons” would be preferable (Borowski 2002: 137; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 153–4).

Onions (bĕṣālîm), Garlic (šûm), and Leeks (ḥāṣîr) Onions, garlic, and leeks are regularly listed as typical ingredients in Babylonian (ca. 1700 bce) recipes for various types of stews (Barjamovic et al. 2019: 111; Bottéro 1995: 9, 16), and they are listed in administrative accounts of food disbursements from the reign of the Mari king Zimri-Lim (ca. 1775–1761 bce) (Sasson 2004: 188). The onion family includes familiar bulb onions, leeks, garlic, shallots, and scallions (or green onions). Many examples of onions are depicted in wall carvings and drawings in ancient Egyptian tombs. These depictions illustrate how onions were produced and indicate that they were regularly part of funeral offerings, the remains of which were found in tombs from the Eighteenth Dynasty (ca. 1539–1292 bce). Cuneiform sources report that onions were grown in Mesopotamia since the Middle Bronze Age (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 157). Remains of onions in ancient Israel have been identified only from the Chalcolithic caves of Nahal Mishmar Zaitschek (1961: 72; Borowski 2002: 138) and Early Bronze and Middle Bronze Age Jericho (Borowski 2002: 138). Garlic was also popular in ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. Records indicate that garlic was cultivated in Mesopotamia from the beginning of the Middle Bronze Age, and well-preserved remains were found in many Egyptian tombs, including Tutankhamun’s. The earliest remains were found in the Cave of Treasure near ‘Ein-Gedi in Israel from the Middle Chalcolithic period (Borowski 2002: 138; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 156–7). Both onions and garlic are only mentioned once in the Hebrew Bible (Num. 11:5); however, the word for leek (ḥāṣîr) is used several other times but not usually translated as “leek.” Other translations (from the NRSV) include “grass” (1 Kgs. 18:5; 2 Kgs. 19:26; Job 40:15), “plant” (Job 8:12), “hay” (Prov. 27:25, KJV), and “leeks” only in Num. 11:5. It is possible that ḥāṣîr could be referring simply to herbs, such as lettuce, herbs, or even fenugreek (which is a part of the legume family), and not necessarily to what are now called “leeks.” However, leeks are native to the eastern Mediterranean basin and the Middle East. Like onions and garlic, Mesopotamian texts report that leeks were cultivated there since the fourth millennium BP and are listed as a common ingredient

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in stews. Wall carvings and drawings in ancient Egypt depict leeks, and remains of dried leek have been found, thus indicating that leeks were part of the Egyptian diet. The only identified leek remains found in ancient Israel come from Jericho’s Early and Middle Bronze Age deposits (Borowski 2002: 138; Bottéro 1995: 9, 16; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 155–7).

LEGUMES A legume refers to any plant from the Fabaceae family including its leaves, stems, and pods. A pulse is the edible seed within the pod of a legume plant. Pulses include beans, lentils, and peas. For example, a pea pod is a legume, but the pea inside the pod is the pulse (Harvard T. H. Chan School of Public Health [n.d.]).Today, legumes are used in a variety of ways including split, ground into flour, dried, canned, cooked, or frozen whole. In ancient Israel, pulses were roasted, used in soups and stews, cooked and eaten whole, and ground into flour and used for cakes (Zohary 1982: 82–4). Furthermore, the culinary use of pulses can be seen in its very name. The word pulse comes from the Latin word puls, meaning “porridge,” referring to the seeds that can be made into porridge, stew, or a thick soup. Legumes are economical and excellent sources of nutrient-dense protein, low-glycemic index carbohydrates, essential micronutrients, and fiber. Also, the bacterium rhizobium radicicola, which grows on the root nodules of the legume plant, enriches the soil with nitrogen. The economic and nutritional importance of the legume family to humanity is only second to the grass family (cereals, grasses, and grains). This is evident by the fact that every major civilization had a legume as well as a grass as a part of its nutritional support system. Indeed, crop rotation between cereals and legumes allowed the cultivator to maintain higher levels of soil fertility (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 75). Legumes, however, have not received nearly the same amount of scholarly attention as grasses. Several types of legumes are known from the Hebrew Bible and archaeological samples from the southern Levant: broad bean, lentil, chickpea, bitter vetch, peas, and fenugreek.

Broad Bean (pôl) The broad bean, also called the fava bean, is generally a winter crop; but there is a smaller, lesser-known variety that is a spring crop. The broad bean does well in a warm climate and well-drained, clay-rich soil. By the Bronze Age, the broad bean was heavily cultivated in the Mediterranean basin. The high protein content of the broad bean (2–5 percent) makes it a staple for the poor in Asian and Mediterranean countries and is commonly used as animal feed (Borowski 2002: 94; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 89–92). Broad beans are mentioned twice in the Hebrew Bible. In 2 Sam. 17:28, when David flees Jerusalem during Absalom’s coup, he is given several different types of food when he arrives at Mahanayim: “wheat, barley, meal, parched grain, beans and lentil and parched grain/seeds.” Most translations simply interpret pôl as “beans” and do not specify broad or fava beans; It is possible that listing broad beans and lentils between two parched items (grain and seeds), could indicate that beans and lentils were also eaten parched (or dried out with heat). The second reference comes from Ezek. 4:9 when the prophet Ezekiel is told to “take wheat and barley, beans and lentils, millet and spelt; put them into one vessel, and make bread [leḥem] for yourself.” Most translations interpret leḥem in this passage as “bread”;

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however, because bread was so essential to daily sustenance, leḥem also was used as a generic word for food. It is possible that Ezekiel is told to put these ingredients together to make food, not specifically bread, especially since beans and lentils are included in this list and were not generally used to make bread. Furthermore, it likely symbolizes the poverty of life for those in exile, that in order to survive they must combine whatever ingredients were on hand to make some sort of edible food. Remains of broad beans have been recovered from Bronze Age strata at Jericho, Arad, and Beth-Shan. In Iron Age strata, two samples were recovered from Afula (twelfth to eleventh century bce) and Lachish (700 bce) (Borowski 2002: 138; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 89–92).

Lentils (‘ădāšîm) Lentils are a winter crop in the Near East; however, as for the broad bean, there is a spring crop as well. One variety of lentils (microsperma) grows small pods with small seeds, while the other (macrosperma) has large flat pods that contain only one or two seeds. Both come in a variety of colors and play an important role in crop rotation. Even though the yield of lentils is low in comparison to cereals, with protein content of about 25 percent, they can serve as a cheap source of protein in ancient peasant communities. Lentils are also a good source of essential amino acids, and they contain dietary fiber, vitamin B, and minerals such as iron (Nadathur, Wanasundara, and Scanlin 2017: 185). Lentils are mentioned four times in the Hebrew Bible, always in the plural: Gen. 25:34; 2 Sam. 17:8, Ezek. 4:9 (both discussed above), and 2 Sam. 23:11. In 2 Sam. 23:11, one of King David’s mighty men, Shammah son of Agee the Hararite, defeats the Philistine army in the middle of a field of lentils. In Gen. 25:29-34, Jacob is making a lentil stew when Esau returns from the hunt famished and demands some of the stew. Jacob takes advantage of his brother’s hunger by getting him to trade his birthright for the lentil stew. These examples show that lentils were eaten parched or as a thick soup or stew. Remains of lentils were found in numerous Neolithic sites throughout Asia and Europe; however, the remains of charred lentils were only found in jars with other foodstuffs in Iron Age strata at Beth-Shemesh (Borowski 2002: 94–5; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 77–82).

Chickpea (ḥāmîṣ) Chickpeas are sown in the winter, are drought resistant, and do well in warm, semi-arid conditions. Chickpea pods are larger than those of most other legumes and contain one to two seeds. Chickpeas are rich in amino acids, and each seed contains 2 percent protein, which makes them an important meat substitute that probably improved the nutritive value of a cereal-based diet like that of ancient Israel. Chickpea seeds can be ground, roasted, and salted, or used for porridge, soups, and stews (Borowski 2002: 96; Oomah et al. 2011: 14–15; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 87). It is unclear whether chickpeas appear in the Hebrew Bible. Ḥarûl is defined as a kind of weed, perhaps chickpea, but is typically translated as “nettles” (Job 30:7; Prov. 24:31; Zeph. 2:9). However, Borowski argues that the phrase bəlîl ḥāmîṣ describes chickpea fodder in Isa. 30:24. In any case, chickpea remains were found in Early Bronze Age Lachish, Jericho, Bab edh-Dhra, and Arad, as well as in Iron Age I Afula and Iron II Lachish (Borowski 2002: 96; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 87–9). It is highly likely that they were part of the Israelite diet.

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Bitter Vetch Bitter vetch is a winter-sown crop in the Near East. Its seeds are bitter (as the name suggests) and are toxic to humans; consequently, bitter vetch was generally regarded as an inferior pulse and used primarily as animal fodder. However, soaking, leaching (or parboiling), and steaming the seeds can remove the toxicity and thus make it safe for human consumption, usually by the poor or in times of famine. No word in the Hebrew Bible has yet to be identified with bitter vetch; however, remains have been identified from Late Bronze Age Jaffa (Burke et al. 2017: 110) and several Iron Age sites. Many carbonized legume seeds were found in a storage jar in Afula, including numerous bitter vetch seeds, chickpeas, broad beans, and cereals such as wheat and barley. Bitter vetch remains at Tel Qiri were found in grain pits. The location of these remains suggests that bitter vetch was used for human consumption, possibly in a thick soup or stew (Borowski 2002: 95–6; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 92–5).

Peas and Fenugreek The Hebrew Bible has no word for either pea or fenugreek; however, archaeological remains of both these plants from the Leguminosae family were found. Peas are one of the oldest cultivated legumes in the world, and their seeds have a protein content of about 22 percent (Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 82). Pea remains were found in Early Bronze Age Arad and Iron Age II Khirbet Abu Tabaq, Tel Qiri, and Tell Halif (Borowski 2002: 96–7). Fenugreek seeds are used as a spice and condiment since they are highly aromatic. An Iron Age fenugreek sample was found at Lachish (Borowski 2002: 97; Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 97).

CONCLUSION This chapter focuses on four main components of the ancient Israelite diet: fruit, nuts, vegetables, and legumes. Any study on these items cultivated by ancient Israel is bound to be challenging because our two main sources of information, archaeological remains and the Hebrew Bible, are severely deficient in relevant information. Archaeological remains of these crops and trees rarely survive over time, and if they do they are difficult to find or are overlooked in archaeological excavations. The Hebrew Bible, our second source, is interested mainly in monumental events and people, not what fruit, vegetables, nuts, and legumes the Israelites ate. Despite these problems, it is still important to study these items. This information, as limited as it may be, can aid in our understanding of what crops and trees the Israelites grew, what they did with the harvest, and what types of food they prepared with these ingredients; it can contribute to what we know about their gastronomic culture in general. Focusing on the fruit, nuts, vegetables, and legumes that the Israelites produced and consumed allows us to have a deeper knowledge of the daily lives of the average ancient Israelite.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Bescherer-Metheny, K. and Beaudry, M. C. (eds.) (2015), Archaeology of Food: An Encyclopedia, 2 vols., Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

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This reference work, which includes more than 250 entries, provides information for scholars and students interested in archaeological aspects of food studies. Borowski, O. ([1987] 2002), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, reprint edn., Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Borowski uses both literary and archaeological sources to look at ancient Israel’s agricultural practices, including what type of crops and trees were cultivated and what methods and tools were used to manage them. King, P. J. and Stager, L. E. (2001), Life in Biblical Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. This book explores the world of ancient Israel, including how the average Israelites lived and what they ate. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. MacDonald examines the diet of the ancient Israelites by utilizing biblical, archaeological, anthropological, and environmental evidence. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2013), Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible, Sheffield: Equinox/Acumen. Shafer-Elliott explores archaeological remains and ancient Near Eastern sources to see what they reveal about the domestic gastronomic daily life of ancient Judahites in the narratives of the Hebrew Bible. Zohary, D., Hopf, M., and Weiss, E. (2012), Domestication of Plants in the Old World: The Origin and Spread of Domesticated Plants in Southwest Asia, Europe, and the Mediterranean Basin, 4th edn., Oxford: Oxford University Press. This book provides detailed evidence of micro-archaeological remains and current information about plants to understand the origins and domestication of cultivated plants in the Old World and how their cultivation spread.

REFERENCES Archaeology Wordsmith, “Flotation.” https://archaeologywordsmith.com/search. php?q=flotation (accessed May 14, 2019). Barjamovic, G., Jurado Gonzalez, Patricia, Graham, Chelsea, Lassen, Agnete W., Nasrallah, Nawal, and Sörensen, Pia M. (2019), “Food in Ancient Mesopotamia. Cooking the Yale Babylonian Culinary Recipes,” in A. W. Lassen, E. Frahm, and K. Wagensonner (eds.), Ancient Mesopotamia Speaks. Highlights from the Yale Babylonian Collection, 108–25, New Haven: Yale Peabody Museum of Natural History. Bescherer-Metheny, K. and Beaudry, M. C. (eds.) (2015), Archaeology of Food: An Encyclopedia, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Borowski, O. ([1987] 2002), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, reprint edn., Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Bottéro, J. (1995), Textes Culinaires Mesopotamiens, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Burke, A., Peilstöcker, M., Karoll, A., Pierce, G. A., Kowalski, K., Ben-Marzouk, N., and Damm, J. C. (2017), “Excavations of the New Kingdom Fortress in Jaffa, 2011–2014: Traces of Resistance to Egyptian Rule in Canaan,” AJA 121: 85–133. Dothan, T. and Ben-Shlomo, D. (2007), “Ceramic Pomegranates and Their Relationship to Iron Age Cult,” in S. W. Crawford, A. Ben-Tor, J. P. Dessel, W. G. Dever, A. Mazar, and J. Aviram (eds.), “Up to the Gates of Ekron”; Essays on the Archaeology and History of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gitin, 3–16, Jerusalem: Albright Institute of Archaeological Research, The Israel Exploration Society.

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Ebeling, J., Franklin, N., Guillaume, P., and Appler, D. (2017), “Have We Found Naboth’s Vineyard at Jezreel?” BAR 43: 49–54. Frankel, R. (1997), “Olives,” OEANE 4: 179–84.Oxford Biblical Studies Online 2011. http:// www.oxfordbiblicalstudies.com/article/opr/t256/e792 (accessed May 20, 2019). Gitin, S. (1990), “Ekron of the Philistines, Part II: Olive-Oil Suppliers to the World,” Biblical Archaeology Review 16:2 (March/April): 33–9. Goor, A. (1965), “The History of the Fig in the Holy Land from Ancient Times to the Present Day,” Economic Botany 19: 124–35. Goor, A. (1967), “The History of the Pomegranate in the Holy Land,” Economic Botany 21: 215–30. Harvard (2017), “Why Nutritionists Are Crazy about Nuts,” Harvard Women’s Health Watch 24, no. 10 (June): 4. Harvard T. H. Chan School of Public Health (n.d.), “Legumes and Pulses,” The Nutrition Source. https://www.hsph.harvard.edu/nutritionsource/legumes-pulses/ Joffe, A. (2020), “Pickles and Prehistory,” The Ancient Near East Today 8, no. 7 (July). http:// www.asor.org/anetoday/2020/07/pickles-and-prehistory King, P. J. and Stager, L. E. (2001), Life in Biblical Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Komaroff, A. (2016), “Is Eating Dried Fruit Healthy?” Harvard Health Letter, n.p. Cited April 27, 2020. https://www.health.harvard.edu/healthy-eating/is-eating-dried-fruit-healthy Langgut, D., Cheddadi, R., Carrión, J. S., Cavanagh, M., Colombaroli, D., Eastwood, W. J., and Greenberg, R. (2019), “The Origin and Spread of Olive Cultivation in the Mediterranean Basin: The Fossil Pollen Evidence,” Holocene 29: 902–22. Liphschitz, N. (2015), “Fruit,” in K. Bescherer-Metheny and M. C. Beaudry (eds.), Archaeology of Food: An Encyclopedia, vol. 1, 229–31, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Longman, Tremper III. (2008), Jeremiah-Lamentations, Understanding the Bible Commentary Series, Grand Rapids: Baker Books. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Mahjoub, F., Rezayat, K. A., Yousefi, M., Mohebbi, M., and Salari, R. (2018), “Pistacia Atlantica Desf: A Review of Its Traditional Uses, Phytochemicals and Pharmacology,” Journal of Medicine and Life 11: 180–6. Meyers, C. (2012), “Food and the First Family: A Socioeconomic Perspective,” in C. A. Evans, J. N. Lohr, and D. L. Peterson (eds.), The Book of Genesis: Composition, Reception, and Interpretation, 137–57, Leiden: Brill. Miller, N. F. (1997), “Viticulture,” OEANE 5: 304–6. Oxford Biblical Studies Online. http:// www.oxfordbiblicalstudies.com/article/opr/t256/e1106 (accessed May 8, 2019). Nadathur, S., Wanasundara, J. P. D., and Scanlin, L. (2017), Sustainable Protein Sources, London: Academic Press. Oomah, B. D., Patras, A., Rawson, A., Singh, N., and Campos-Vega, R. (2011), “Chemistry of Pulses,” in B. K. Tiwari, A. Gowen, and B. McKenna (eds.), Pulse Foods: Processing, Quality and Nutraceutical Applications, 9–55, London: Academic Press. Paris, H. S., Daunay, M.-C., and Janick, J. (2012), “Occidental Diffusion of Cucumber (Cucumis sativus) 500–1300 CE: Two Routes to Europe,” Annals of Botany 109: 117–26. doi:10.1093/aob/mcr281. www.aob.oxfordjournals.org Pritchard, J. B. (ed.) (2011), The Ancient Near East: An Anthology of Texts and Pictures, Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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Sasson, J. M. (2004), “The King’s Table: Food and Fealty in Old Babylonian Mari,” in C. Grottanelli and L. Milano (eds.), Food and Identity in the Ancient World, 179–215, Padua: S.A.R.G.O.N. Editrice e Libreria. Schaffer, A. A. and Paris, H. S. (2003), “Melons, Squashes, and Gourds,” in B. Caballero (ed.), Encyclopedia of Food Sciences and Nutrition, 2nd edn., 3817–26, Amsterdam: Academic Press. Seger, J. D. and Borowski, O. (1977), “First Two Seasons at Tell Halif,” BA 40: 156–66. Tufts, University. (2012), “Nuts for You,” Tufts University Health & Nutrition Letter 30: 1–4 (accessed April 1, 2020). https://www.nutritionletter.tufts.edu/general-nutrition/nuts-for-you/ Zaitschek, D. V. (1961), “Remains of Cultivated Plants from the Caves of Naḥal Mishmar: Preliminary Note,” Israel Exploration Journal 11, no. 1/2: 70–2. Zohary, D. and Spiegel-Roy, P. (1975), “Beginnings of Fruit Growing in the Old World,” Science 18: 319–27. Zohary, D., Hopf, M., and Weiss, E. (2012), Domestication of Plants in the Old World: The Origin and Spread of Domesticated Plants in Southwest Asia, Europe, and the Mediterranean Basin, 4th edn., Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zohary, M. (1955), “Plants of the Bible,” Encyclopedia Biblica. 7 vols., Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik. Zohary, M. (1982), Plants of the Bible, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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CHAPTER 9

Spices, Herbs, and Sweeteners JOSHUA WALTON AND LAUREN M. SANTINI

INTRODUCTION The line between what constitutes spices, herbs, and sweeteners rather than foods proper can be difficult to delineate. The former all fall into the somewhat ambiguous category “additive,” which functions as an expansive genre encompassing numerous edible ingredients while providing few limitations as to the ingredients’ properties. Whether certain additives are classified as a spice or herb is not consistent across the literature. As a result, the proper terminology for any given ingredient may be considered context dependent. A single ingredient often is not limited to one category. Some ingredients that function within these categories are not only limited to additives. For example, alliums (such as garlic or onion) in dried or powdered forms are staples of many kitchen spice cabinets but are also classified as vegetables when fresh.1 This chapter examines substances that function as additives used in the preparation of food and beverages whose primary function is to add taste or flavor rather than nutritious value.2 Within this broader category, spices typically derive from the aromatic parts of a plant such as the bark, roots, or seeds, whereas herbs tend to derive from the leaves (Van der Veen 2015: 474). Condiments are spices, sauces, or other flavorings added after cooking to garnish a dish, and sweeteners are any additive that contributes a sweet taste to a dish. However, as noted by Potts (1997: 65), “English words such as ‘herb’, ‘spice’, or ‘condiment’ are scarcely able to convey the range of culinary, medicinal, and magical uses to which a wide variety of plant seeds, petals, roots, resin, twigs, or bark were put in their fresh, dried, coarse ground, and pulverized forms in ancient Mesopotamia.” This chapter largely combines these categories and focuses on the culinary aspect in order to investigate how populations from the world of the Bible flavored their food and drink. Beyond food preparation, herbs and spices were used broadly in the ancient world in nonculinary contexts, which is where much of the evidence for their presence derives. Herbs and spices were highly valued for their aromatic qualities that contributed to their

See Chapter 8 in this volume. This is not to say that spices, herbs, or sweeteners have no nutritious value, but rather that this is not their main purpose in food preparation. Sweeteners may add valuable calories and alliums have been associated with a number of health benefits, although it is doubtful that ancient cooks (or modern ones for that matter) added garlic to dishes to lower their blood pressure or were concerned about the antimicrobial properties of spices. 1  2 

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role as flavor producers in the context of food preparation, but this also meant these substances were frequently burned as aromatics, particularly in religious ceremonies. As such, the most ubiquitous contexts for the recovery of these substances are religious rather than culinary in nature. Indeed, this extends to textual evidence, as most mentions of spices from the Bible come from religious contexts where the spices are used as aromatics, not in food preparation (e.g., Exod. 30:34-35; 35:8, 28). These uses are largely beyond the scope of this chapter, but their presence in the text indicates that they were known and available to the biblical authors and therefore were available for food preparation. A second use of herbs and spices was medicinal. Across the ancient Near East, populations valued certain spices for their real or supposed medicinal qualities. Again, while medicinal uses of herbs and spices are beyond the scope of this chapter, an examination of certain medicinal texts can helpfully shed light on ingredients available in the ancient Near East. While herbs and spices could be found growing wild and gathered (see, for example, the Hyssop “growing out of the wall” in 1 Kgs. 5:13 [English 1 Kgs. 4:33]), there is also evidence that they were extensively cultivated, particularly in the context of palace and temple gardens. For instance, the cultivation of diverse herbs and spices is attested in a text from the reign of Sargon II (eighth century bce) that details the garden of the Babylonian chieftain Marduk-apal-iddina II (Wiseman 1983: 142–3). Royal gardens were prominent across the ancient Near East and are commonly found in textual and iconographic records (for a summary of relevant examples, see Wiseman 1983). The kingdoms of Israel and Judah were no exception, as seen in passages such as 1 Kgs. 21:2; 2 Kgs. 21:18, 26; 25:4. Archaeologically, excavators at Ramat Raḥel have used the analysis of fossilized pollens to conclude the presence there of a Persian period royal garden (Langgut et al. 2013). Further evidence of the intentional cultivation of spices is found in Isa. 28:25 and 28, which respectively discuss the planting and harvesting of cumin. It is also important to note that many of the available records describe the realities of upper-class society, and a different, more limited spice kit would have been available for lower-class individuals. This disparity may be amply summed up in the Sumerian proverb: “Let the poor man die, let him not live. When he finds bread, he finds no salt. When he finds salt, he finds no bread. When he finds meat, he finds no condiments. When he finds condiments, he finds no meat” (Nowicki 2014: 212).

HERBS AND SPICES: GENERAL TERMINOLOGY A biblically minded discussion of spices typically conjures images of expensive aromatics imported from Arabia, such as frankincense (Boswellia sp.) and myrrh (commonly harvested from Commiphora myrrha). These spices, and the trade routes that supplied them, served an essential function in cultic ritual and were a staple in treasuries of the elite as aromatics, perfumes, and at times medicines (e.g., 2 Kgs. 20:13). As such, they should not be conflated with herbs and spices used as flavorings for food or drink. The generic Hebrew words for spices are bōśem and reqaḥ. The former occurs thirty times in the Hebrew Bible, but in each case refers to aromatics or perfumes rather than comestibles. In particular, bōśem is mentioned in contexts of trade and luxury goods, such as Ezek. 27:22 describing the trade of Tyre, the Queen of Sheba narrative (1 Kgs. 10:2, 10, 25), and the contents of Hezekiah’s treasury (2 Kgs. 20:13). Thus, this term is not useful for distinguishing one type of spice from another, nor does it contain any inherent indication of the origin or function of the spice.

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Reqaḥ derives from the verb rqḥ, meaning “to mix or blend” in the context of spices or perfumes (see Koehler and Baumgartner 2001: 1289) and parallels the generic Akkadian term riqqu. In its most common form, the verb rqḥ and derivative nominal forms appear in cultic contexts for mixing or blending aromatic compounds for use in the temple (e.g., Exod. 30:25, 33, 35; 37:29; Neh. 3:8; 1 Chron. 9:30; 2 Chron. 16:14). As with bōśem, reqaḥ appears to refer primarily to perfumes or aromatics associated with ritual practice. One notable exception is found in Song 8:2, which mentions reqaḥ in construct with wine, indicating a type of spiced drink. It is tempting to suggest Ezek. 24:10 as an example of preparing a spice mix for consumption: “Pile the wood, kindle the fire, prepare the meat to completion, blend the spice mix (infinitive absolute form of rqḥ).”3 The context here, however, is clearly cultic rather than culinary. Therefore, in order to understand spices as used in culinary practices, we are forced to investigate references to individual ingredients, many of which would have served a host of medicinal, ritual, and culinary functions.

COMMON COOKING SPICES Regarding the use of spice combinations in cooking, the best examples come from a series of Old Babylonian (ca. 1700 bce) recipe tablets housed in the Yale Babylonian Collection (YOS 11 25–27) and published by Jean Bottéro (1995, 2004). These texts provide a closer look at how certain additives and spices may have been used to create more complex dishes. The first text, YOS 11 25, lists twenty-five types of broths (twenty-one meat and four vegetable), which may have taken the form of stews, porridges, sauces, or soups (Bottéro 1995: 3–4). The other two tablets (YOS 11 26, 27) contain more detailed recipes for the preparation of seven and three dishes, respectively, although YOS 11 26 is poorly preserved. Bottéro (1995: 161; 2004: 68) Bottéro (1995: 161; 2004: 68) documents thirty-six different additives described in these texts.4 The most common are popular alliums such as garlic, leeks, and onions. Other common additives include salt, cumin, coriander, and mint. Many of these flavors are also mentioned in biblical texts. Outside of the world of cooking, spices, sweeteners, and flavorings were also used in the production of ancient wines. The evidence for this is most notable from recent archaeological excavations of wine cellars at the Middle Bronze Age palace of Tel Kabri. Residue analysis conducted on vessels from these cellars revealed that the wines were mixed in various recipes with aromatic elements (Koh et al. 2014). Additives such as mint, juniper, cedar oil, storax, cinnamon bark, and honey were all suggested as possible additives based on organic residue analysis (Koh et al. 2014: 5–6; Yasur-Landau et al. 2018: 325).5 Wine jars excavated from Early Dynastic Egypt (ca. 3150 bce) at Abydos were subjected to residue analysis, which suggested that herbs such as coriander, mint, sage, and thyme may have been added flavors (McGovern et al. 2009: 7365). Aromatic and sweet wines are also attested in the ancient textual record, most notably from the wine lists found at the Middle Bronze Age city of Mari (ca. eighteenth century bce; see

Unless otherwise noted all translations from the Hebrew Bible are our own. Note that not all these additives fit into the category of herbs and spices; they include fats, oils, sour milk, grains, etc. Many other terms are rare and obscure and not well understood. 5  Note that these are possible additives. The chemical signatures found through residue analysis can sometimes apply to multiple different plants, and it is not always clear which one is represented by any given signature. 3  4 

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Chambon 2009: 13, 48). A similar process may be at play in Song 8:2, which refers to a spiced wine. A date syrup could also be added to beer, a process attested in the textual and art historical record from both Egypt (Lucas 1962: 15) and Mesopotamia (Stol 1994: 156). Another example of beverage mixing and sweetening comes from residue analysis performed on a set of funerary vessels found in Tumulus MM at Iron Age Gordion. This analysis found that vessels featured residues of a mixed beverage with elements of wine, barley beer, and honey mead (McGovern 2010: 183). In the following discussion we examine the archaeological and textual evidence for some of the most common spices, herbs, and sweeteners attested in the world of the Bible.

Salt Salt serves as one of the most important natural commodities for human civilization, and not just for the flavoring of food (see Bloch 1976; Potts 1984; Nissenbaum 1993). Salt serves many functions,6 but for the purposes of food preparation it was notably used as a preservative for curing meat (Bottéro 2004: 59; Potts 1984: 227–8). Still, among salt’s many functions in daily life, it must have been used extensively to flavor cooking (Potts 1984: 228), a purpose cited metaphorically in Job 6:6. A number of different salt types and accompanying terms are attested in Akkadian, although those differences are less significant for our current discussion (for terminology, see Streck 2006: 592–3; Potts 1984: 246–7). The Old Babylonian recipes make it clear that salt was used to flavor any number of dishes, apparent in the phrase “salt as necessary” (ṭâbâtum kīma bari), recorded in many of the dishes (Bottéro 1995: 141). Salt also features prominently in ration lists for laborers, officials, or temple personnel (Potts 1997: 105–6; see also Ezra 7:22). Salt occurs naturally in a number of forms, most notably rock salts, saline marshes, and the sea (Potts 1984: 235; Streck 2006: 593). Such deposits are common in Mesopotamia (Potts 1984: 235–47; Streck 2006) and Egypt (Lucas 1962: 268) as well as in the southern Levant, particularly along the Mediterranean coast (see Galili and Arenson 2017) and around the Dead Sea (see Nissenbaum 1993). The association of the Dead Sea and the surrounding region with salt is strong in the Hebrew Bible in geographical references that mention “the salt sea” (Num. 34:3, 12; Deut. 3:17; Josh. 3:12; 12:3; 15:2; 18:19), a “city of salt” (Josh. 15:62), and “the valley of salt” (2 Sam. 8:13; 2 Kgs. 14:7; 1 Chron. 18:12; 2 Chron. 25:11), all in this region. Thus, whereas the Bible displays a familiarity with the region’s salt-producing potential, it lacks descriptions of the extraction or exploitation of this resource. The importance of these salt flats is attested in Ezekiel’s vision of water flowing from the temple, in which seas are turned into freshwater, but “its swamps and marshes will not be healed (in context meaning to be made fresh), they will be given for salt” (Ezek. 47:11). Extensive evidence of salt exploitation was excavated along the northern Mediterranean coast. Although most of the identified installations date to the Late Roman, Byzantine, and Islamic periods (Galili and Arenson 2017), it is likely that some degree of exploitation started earlier. Salt extraction can occur by a number of different methods, including (1) waiting for natural evaporation in summertime of saline bodies of water, (2) the artificial boiling of saline solutions, (3) gathering of salty earth, and (4) washing and refining of salt plant For instance, as a preservative, for hide curing, or for medicinal (referenced in 2 Kgs. 2:20–21; Ezek. 16:4) or cultic purposes (see, e.g., Exod. 30:35; Lev. 2:13; Ezek. 43:24; Ezra 6:9–10), etc. See Potts (1984: 227–35). 6 

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ashes. The first method is the most likely for most of the salt extraction in the ancient Near East, given the limited labor and suitable natural conditions (Galili and Arenson 2017: 8; Potts 1984: 249–52). Both salt quarrying and evaporation mechanisms are attested in the area surrounding the Dead Sea (Nissenbaum 1993: 129). The Dead Sea has always been an excellent source of salt, among many other useful chemicals, but Mt. Sodom, located in the southwestern corner of the Dead Sea, is a salt dome composed of rock salt that must have been extensively quarried in ancient times, although the archaeological evidence is limited (Nissenbaum 1993: 129).

Alliums The genus Allium includes members of the lily family, and comprises about 600 species, about thirty of which are native to the southern Levant, including garlic, onions, and leeks (Zohary 1982: 80; for origins see also Charles 1987: 11–13 and Zohary, Hopf, and Weiss 2012: 155–7). Although technically vegetables, when dried they can be used as spices, and in general members of this family were used to add flavor to various dishes (see Bottéro 2004: 68). Alliums are common in post-biblical and extra-biblical literature and appear in the Bible only in Num. 11:5: “We remember the fish we ate freely in Egypt, the cucumbers, and the melon, and the leeks (ḥāṣîr), and the onions (bāṣāl), and the garlic (šûm).” In fact, alliums grow well in Egypt; onions are well attested in Egyptian texts, archaeological sites, and tomb paintings from the Old Kingdom onward (see Murray 2000: 629–30; Alcock 2006: 53). In archaeological contexts, remains of onion and garlic have been found in Chalcolithic, Early Bronze, and Middle Bronze Age contexts in Israel (Borowski 1987: 138–9). From the Iron Age, two concentrations of garlic were recently uncovered in the excavation of an eighth century bce house at Tel ‘Eton (Faust et al. 2017: 18). In Mesopotamia, over 350 cloves of garlic were discovered at the Old Babylonian site of Tell ed-Der (Potts 1997: 65), in Egyptian tombs, and at the village of Deir el Medina (Murray 2000: 631). It is clear that in some circumstances alliums such as garlic were dried, likely in part to extend shelf life, as expressed in an Old Babylonian text, where a certain Gimil-Marduk writes to a superior stating, “garlic must be dried outside. Afterwards, you will send me a basket of it” (Bottéro 2004: 57; see also Stol 1987: 66; Jacob and Jacob 1992: 812). Akkadian differentiates with technical terminology numerous different alliaceous bulbs, although the nuances of these differences are not entirely clear (Powell 2003: 20–1; for discussions of terminology see Stol 1987; Catagnoti 2007; Potts 1997: 64). Alliums are mentioned frequently in the Old Babylonian recipes. In particular, a “mash of garlic and leeks” (karšum hazannum teṭeri) appears in over a third of the recipes; and leek, onion, and/or garlic make an appearance in all of the broths cited in YOS 11 25 (see Bottéro 1995: 8–11). The process of pounding or mashing alliaceous bulbs is also attested in the agricultural accounts of the Greek botanist Theophrastus (Hist. plant. VIII: iv:11). The frequency of these two elements as a pair in the recipes suggests that they formed complementary flavors (Bottéro 1995: 141–2; 2004: 69). In this context, the Israelites’ longing for the flavors of Egypt, leeks, garlic, and onion comes in opposition to the “bland” manna and may indicate a familiarity with similar recipes or flavor profiles.

Lauraceae: Cinnamon and Cassia Cinnamon (kināmôn) and cassia (qīddah) include various members of the laurel family and share the genus Cinnamomum. The terms are somewhat ambiguous but generally refer to the inner bark taken from trees within the genus Cinnamomum. “True” cinnamon

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is derived from Cinnamomum zeylanicum of Sri Lanka, Ceylon, and Southern India, whereas variations of cassia can be found across South Asia (Haw 2017: 6–7; Jacob and Jacob 1992: 813–14; Zohary 1982: 202–3). Cinnamon and cassia are mentioned three times each in the Hebrew Bible (Exod. 30:23; Prov. 7:17; Song 4:14 and Exod. 30:24; Ezek. 27:19; Ps. 45:8, respectively), all in contexts with other spices, incenses, or perfumes highlighting its aromatic rather than gustatory properties. Cinnamon does not occur in the Old Babylonian recipes. Proper cinnamon (C. zeylanicum) is derived from the bark of trees native to Southeast Asia (Zohary 1982: 202). Because of the distance, some scholars (see, e.g., Haw 2017) have been skeptical of the import of real cinnamon into the southern Levant much before the classical period,7 although trade between the Indian subcontinent and southern Mesopotamia is well established from the third millennium bce (see Laursen and Steinkeller 2017). The association of southeast Asian spices such as cinnamon with the Arabian spice trade in the classical period suggests that these compounds were acquired from South Asia in the Arabian Peninsula, and from there distributed across the ancient Near East. Residue analysis performed on Phoenician flasks from early Iron Age (ca. eleventh to ninth century bce) sites, including Dor, Qasile, Yoqne’am, and Kinneret, revealed traces of cinnamaldehyde, a major chemical component of cinnamon in ten different examples (Namdar et al. 2013), from which the excavators conclude that cinnamon was available and traded as early as the Iron Age in the ancient Mediterranean (Gilboa and Namdar 2015). Some scholars (Haw 2017) have been skeptical of these results, suggesting possible contamination, although the original authors addressed this issue in their initial publication (Namdar et al. 2013: 9–11). A second critique suggests that the chemical signature of the cinnamaldehyde is not an effective biomarker for cinnamon-cassia, and in fact appears in a number of more well-known plants from the ancient Mediterranean, in particular Levantine storax (liquidambar)8 (Haw 2017: 7). The authors of the initial tests argued despite the fact that cinnamaldehyde is found in other plants, the concentrations in the tested Iron I examples are so high that proper cinnamon is the most logical explanation (Namdar et al. 2013: 13–14). Haw goes on to argue that most early identifications of cinnamon are possible false identifications (2017: 7–9), indicating that further residue testing is needed in relation to the identification of cinnamon in the pre-classic Mediterranean.

Umbellifare: Cumin, Coriander, Fennel, and Dill Cumin (qeṣaḥ/kamôn), coriander (gad), and dill are all part of the Umbelliferae, or carrot family that grow natively in the Levant (Zohary 1982: 91–2). Cumin (Cuminum cyminum) and “black cumin” (Nigella sativa) are both mentioned in Isa. 28: 25, 27 in an agricultural context, but no evidence is given for its uses in daily life. Remains of cumin have been found in Egypt from the Eighteenth Dynasty workman’s village at Deir el Medina, and black cumin is attested as early as the Twelfth Dynasty at Kahun (Alcock 2006: 62; Murray 2000: 644–5). Coriander (Coriandrum sativum) is mentioned in Exod. 16:31 and Num. 11:7 to describe the taste of manna. These uses at least imply that coriander was a known flavor and an identifiable taste, indicating its use in culinary As such, references to cinnamon before this period must refer to another plant. Usual identifications suggest North African plants, although identifying which plant exactly to identify with ancient terms of cinnamon and cassia is less clear. See the discussion in Haw (2017: 11). 8  Storax contains various cinnamates that could be misidentified as cinnamaldehyde. 7 

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contexts. Two coriander seeds were found from a late Iron Age context in Phoenicia at Tell el-Burak (Orendi and Deckers 2018: 724). Both black cumin and coriander were also found in the excavation of the Late Bronze Age shipwreck at Ulu Burun (Haldane 1993: 352). Both types of cumin were frequently mentioned alongside coriander in food lists from the city of Mari (Dalley 1984: 82–3). Dill (Anethum graveolens) is not clearly mentioned in the Hebrew Bible (it appears alongside mint and cumin in Matt. 23:23) but has been identified in Egypt in the tomb of Amenhotep II (Murray 2000: 645). All three of these spices feature in the Old Babylonian recipe documents (Bottéro 1995: 8–16; see also Ellison 1984: 95), although dill only appears in the “Elamite” broth. Gojko Barjamovic et al. (2019: 121) have suggested that dill may have been part of a regional cuisine centered in Iran, citing modern traditions in which dill is ubiquitous in Persian cuisine but uncommon west of Iran. Fennel (andahšu)9 is an additional member of this family, which, although not mentioned in the Bible, appears alongside other umbellifers in the Old Babylonian Culinary texts. Coriander is attested in Egypt from the tomb of Tutankamun, which contained eight baskets (McGovern et al. 2009: 7365), the settlement at Amarna, and in the New Kingdom royal cache at Deir el-Bahari (Murray 2000: 643).

Lamiaceae: Mint Although it is not mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, mint is native to the southern Levant (Zohary 1982: 88) and, based on cognate data, was used during the biblical period for its gustatory and medicinal properties. Mint (ninu) appears as an ingredient in two of the broth recipes from the Old Babylonian period (“bitter broth” and “spleen broth”) as an additive, as well as in two of the more detailed recipes for preparation of small birds (see Bottéro 2004: 27–33). Analysis of Late Bronze Age excrement from a cesspit at Megiddo revealed traces of what is likely mint (Langgut et al. 2016: 381–2), reinforcing the idea that it was commonly ingested (although from this case it is unclear whether it was for medicinal or culinary purposes).

Other Spices There are a number of other herbs and spices that are native to the southern Levant, and which would have been available for ancient cooks, which are not mentioned in the Bible and find only limited attestation in contemporary literature. Part of this is a terminology problem, as evidenced by Bottéro’s study of the Babylonian recipe texts, in which a number of ingredients that undoubtedly fall into the category of “additives” lack a clear translation and, without further context or description, are difficult to identify. Potts likewise notes that “the complexity of this subject is apparent in the large number of Sumerian and Akkadian terms for which adequate translations elude us” (1997: 65), compounded by the fact that “lexical lists may give us a plethora of names of different foodstuffs theoretically grown, prepared, and consumed in Mesopotamia, but we cannot be certain where actual consumption end and the lexicographer’s delight in words begins” (1997: 56–7). One example is the bay laurel (Laurus nobilis). Bay laurel (ezraḥ) is a slow-growing evergreen with medicinal and aromatic qualities (Jacob and Jacob 1992: 813; Zohary 1982: 120). An example of this plant was identified by Weiss and Kislev (2004: 5) at seventh century bce Ashkelon. Saffron (Crocus sativus) is attested in lists

9 

See Potts (1997: 66).

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from Mari (Dalley 1984: 83), an Egyptian papyrus dating to 2000 bce (Jacob and Jacob 1992: 820), and is mentioned in Song 4:14. Cloves were discovered at the Syrian site of Terqa dating to approximately 1700 bce (Buccellati and Buccellati 1983: 54). The Hebrew term ʾēzôb is generally thought to be related to the Syrian Hyssop (origanum syriacum). In the Bible, this plant is mainly attested functioning as a brush in ritual contexts (e.g., Exod. 12:22; Lev. 14:4, 6; Num. 19:18), but the leaves are also crushed to make the well-known Arab spice zaatar (Jacob and Jacob 1992: 815; Zohary 1982: 96). Another flavor that has been recently suggested from southern Levantine contexts is vanilla. Vanilla derives from a genus of orchids native to Mesoamerica (Vanilla sp.), though most commonly from the Mexican plant, flat-leaved vanilla (Vanilla planifolia). While extensive modern cultivation of the plants is common around the Indian Ocean and Madagascar, these cultivars are generally accepted as derivatives from clones introduced during the transatlantic trade following the Spanish Conquest of the Americas (see Lubinsky 2007; Lubinsky et al. 2008). A recent publication of excavations of a Middle Bronze Age tomb at Tel Megiddo in the Jezreel Valley, Israel (ca. 1650–1550 bce) suggests an earlier date for vanilla in the old world with vanillin recovered in residue analysis of funerary offering juglets (Linares et al. 2019), though questions remain regarding the vanillin’s source, which may have included local options or wild relatives native to the Old World (see Linares et al. 2019: 80–1).

SWEETENERS Sugarcane (Saccharum barberi) was not known in the ancient Near East prior to the classical period (Lucas 1962: 25), and therefore various honeys functioned as the primary sweeteners in ancient Near Eastern diets. Jacob and Jacob (1992: 816) suggest that the Hebrew “sweet cane” (qāneh) might be identified with saccharum officinarum, but there is no evidence for the spread of the plant in the Middle East until the time of the Islamic conquest.

Honey Whereas in modern contexts we associate honey with bees, sweet liquid syrups also derive from fruits, such as dates or grapes. The land of Canaan is described many times by the biblical authors favorably as “a land flowing with milk and honey (děbaš)” (see, e.g., Exod. 3:8, 17; 33:4; Num. 13:7; Deut. 6:3; 26:9). It is likely that, like dišpu in Akkadian, děbaš served as a generic indicator of a sweetening agent, irrespective of the specific nature of that agent (see Gaspa 2009–2010: 102; Ellison 1984: 94). Stol (1994: 157) argues that “it is almost certain that simple ‘honey’ in ancient Mesopotamia is the sweetening syrup of dates, not the honey of bees.” Following this trend, many scholars believe that most of the references to honey in the Bible refer to either date (Phoenix dactylifera L.) honey or wild bee honey, considering that the Bible lacks evidence for apiculture (see discussion in Neufeld 1978: 219–21; Jacob and Jacob 1992: 808; Forti 2006: 328; Mazar and PanitzCohen 2016: 29).

Date Honey Perhaps the most common sweetening agent available to ancient Near Eastern populations was date honey, a sweet nectar or syrup produced from crushed dates (Phoenix

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dactylifera  L.) (see Borowski 1987: 127; Barjomovic et al. 2019: 112).10 Josephus mentions just such a process occurring in the region of Jericho, although obviously from a much later date (see Olivier 1997: 916–17). Similarly, a sweet date or fig syrup named dibs in Arabic is still produced in the region (Dalman 1932: 354; Stol 1994: 156). Olivier (1988) suggests that the phrase “land flowing with milk and honey” refers to the yields of animal husbandry and agriculture, respectively, and thus is best understood as a reference to abundant agricultural yields. Deuteronomy 8:8, in particular, seems to link honey within a list of plants, trees, and plant products, supporting this identification.

Bee Honey In the biblical record, attestations that unequivocally refer to bee honey describe the exploitation of wild sources.11 Wild honey appears to have been consumed directly for pleasure or for calories rather than collected for later use as a sweetener. Examples of these encounters include the tale of Samson finding “a swarm of bees” and honey inside the carcass of a lion (Judg. 14:8–9). First Samuel 14:24–30 depicts Saul’s son Jonathan finding wild honey in the woods, dipping his staff in it, and eating from the honeycomb (yaʾărat haděbaš). It is likely that the “honey from the rock” mentioned in Ps. 81:16 or Deut. 32:13 refers to bees that have made their hives in clefts of rock (Forti 2006: 328; Neufeld 1978: 221). The suggestion that bee honey was rare and only obtained from chance encounters with wild sources rather than cultivated is countered by finds from Tel Reḥov of an industrial apiary dating to the Iron IIA. Beehives, constructed from unbaked clay and straw and shaped into a cylinder, were found stacked and arranged in rows. The full extent of the apiary cannot be discerned, but at least thirty hives were uncovered on the bottom tiers, suggesting a large operation, where the excavators estimate at least 180 hives at the height of its use (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2016: 25). The tubular shape of these hives is meant to mimic hollowed-out tree trunks where beehives are commonly found in nature, a design that is still used today in certain contexts (Neufeld 1978: 236). Remains found in the Tel Reḥov apiary suggest that the local population were cultivating Anatolian honeybees (Apis mellifera anatoliaca), a species presently used in the Turkish honey industry, rather than the local Syrian honeybee (Apis mellifera syriaca) (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2016: 26). The use and even import of honeybees in the ancient Near East are preserved in the inscriptions of Šamaš-rēša-uṣur, the governor of the land of Suhu on the Middle Euphrates, who wrote that he “brought down from Aššur the bees which gather honey—which none among my forefathers had seen or brought down to the land of Suhu—and I established them in the gardens of the town Al-gabbāri-bānî. They now collect honey and wax there” (Frame 1995: 286, 292). Honey is specifically mentioned as an export from Judah to the Phoenician city of Tyre in Ezek. 27:17, and Gen. 43:11 likewise cites honey among the premier luxury goods of Canaan.12 Five tomb paintings from Egypt provide pictorial evidence of beekeeping in the ancient world (Neufeld 231; Lucas 1962: 25–6). These scenes depict honey being extracted from horizontally laid

See also Chapter 8 in this volume. See also Chapter 4 in this volume. 12  New Kingdom Egyptian tribute lists including jars of honey would also seem to confirm this (see Neufeld 1978: 225). 10  11 

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hives and deposited into large jars. The horizontally oriented, cylinder-shaped hives are reminiscent of the structures excavated from Tel Reḥov, and it is possible that these scenes also show the practice of smoking out the bees to gather the honey (see Neufeld 1978: 233–6). Evidence for beekeeping in Anatolia is found in two Hittite laws, which forbid the theft of swarms of bees and beehives (Hoffner 1995: 228). Honey would have been used to add flavor and sweetness to a wide variety of food and drink. Staples, such as breads, frequently contained honey. Manna is described in Exod. 16:31 as tasting like a honeyed bread. Honey is recognized as both soothing and enjoyable (Ps. 119:103; Prov. 16:24) as well as deceptive (Prov. 5:3). The substance was acknowledged as a powerful sweetener to be consumed in moderation. This is evidenced through proverbs of moderation, noting that “it is not good to eat much honey” (Prov. 25:27) and that “if you find honey, eat just enough—lest you have it in excess, and vomit it” (Prov. 25:16).

CONCLUSION Our knowledge of herbs, spices, and sweeteners in the culinary context of the Hebrew Bible is lacking. While the names of many different herbs and spices are attested from the broader ancient Near East in lexical lists and economic documents, specifics on the manner in which these substances may have been used in cooking are infrequent. As such, exact identification as to plant species or substance can be problematic, and their various uses are elusive. Many substances categorized today as herbs and spices were used largely or exclusively as perfumes, ritual aromatics, or medicines in the ancient world. At the same time, the fact that we have more texts dealing with medicine and ritual than food production should not be taken to mean that these substances could not, or would not, have been used in food preparation. The diversity of additives used in cooking and the complexity of ancient cuisine is amply attested in the extant Old Babylonian recipes. Although rare, and representing the tastes and styles of a different era and region than the biblical texts (although adjacent in both cases),13 the texts serve as a window into how many of the herbs and spices cited by the biblical authors in other contexts may have been employed in culinary contexts.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. A good introduction to all aspects of agriculture in Iron Age Israel including textual and archaeological references. Bottéro, J. (2004), The Oldest Cuisine in the World: Cooking in Mesopotamia, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. The best existing discussion of cooking and food preparation from the ancient Near East. Bottéro provides translations and in-depth analysis of the Old Babylonian culinary texts and

The different tastes and flavor profiles of regional cuisines is suggested by ethnic terms such as “Assyrian” or “Elamite” dishes in the Old Babylonian recipes, although it is possible that these have more to do with ideology and identity than flavor (see discussion in Milano 2004: 245–6). However, Meyers (2014: 144) provides numerous examples showing that these royal meals are all part of a broader tradition of haute cuisine that can be found with large degrees of similarity across ancient Near Eastern cultures and time periods. 13 

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recipes in order to reconstruct a comprehensive analysis of some ancient cooking techniques and culinary practices, including the best examples of how spices may have been used in actual food production. Jacob, I. and Jacob, W. (1992), “Flora,” ABD 2: 803–17. The best available summary of everything plant related from the biblical world. A go-to source for basic information about a specific herb, spice, tree, or flower. Murray, M. A. (2000), “Fruits, Vegetables, Pulses, and Condiments,” in P. T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds.), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technologies, 609–35, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Murray provides a detailed summary of herbs and spices in ancient Egypt, with particular attention to their archaeological contexts. Zohary, M. (1982), Plants of the Bible, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. An extensive overview of biblical botany, with a summary of relevant textual and botanical information of the most relevant plants of the biblical world.

REFERENCES Alcock, J. (2006), Food in the Ancient World, Westport: Greenwood. Barjamovic, G., Gonzalez, P. J., Graham, C., Lassen, A., Nasrallah, N., and Sorenson, P. (2019), “Food in Ancient Mesopotamia: Cooking the Yale Babylonian Culinary Recipes,” in A. Lassen, E. Frahm, and K. Wagensonner (eds.), Ancient Mesopotamia Speaks, 108–25, New Haven: Yale Peabody Museum of Natural History. Bloch, M. R. (1976), “Salt in Human History,” Interdisciplinary Science Reviews 1: 336–52. Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Bottéro, J. (1995), Textes Culinaires Mésopotamiens, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Bottéro, J. (2004), The Oldest Cuisine in the World: Cooking in Mesopotamia, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Buccellati, G. and Buccellati, M. K. (1983), “Terqa: The First Eight Seasons,” Les Annales Archéologiques Arabes Syriennes 33: 47–67. Catagnoti, A. (2007), “Il Lessico dei Vegetali as Ebla, 1. Aglio, Cipolla, Porro,” Quaderni Del Dipartimento Di Linguistica—Universita Di Firenze 17: 215–32. Chambon, G. (2009), Les Archives du Vin à Mari, Paris: SEPOA. Charles, M. P. (1987), “Onions, Cucumbers and the Date Palm,” BSA 3: 1–21. Dalley, S. (1984), Mari and Karana: Two Old Babylonian Cities, London: Longman. Dalman, G. (1932), Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina, Hildescheim: Olms. Ellison, R. (1984), “Methods of Food Preparation in Mesopotamia (c.3000–600 BC),”JESHO 27, no. 1: 89–98. Faust, A., Katz, H., Sapir, Y., Avraham, A., Marder, O., Bar-Oz, G., Weiss, E., Auman-Chazan, C., Hartmann-Schenkman, A., Sadiel, T., Vilnay, O., Tsesarsky, M., Sarah, P., Ackermann, O., Timmer, N., Katz, O., Langgut, D., and Benzaquen, M. (2017), “The Birth, Death, and Life of an Iron Age House at Tel ‘Eton, Israel,” Levant 49: 1–38. Forti, T. (2006), “Bee’s Honey—From Realia to Metaphor in Biblical Wisdom Literature,” VT 56: 327–41. Frame, G. (1995), Rulers of Babylonia from the Second Dynasty of Isin to the End of Assyrian Domination (1157–612 BC), Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Galili, E. and Arenson, S. (2017), The Ancient and Modern Salt Industry on the Mediterranean Coast of Israel, Haifa: Salt and Earth Company.

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Gaspa, S. (2009–2010), “Organizing the Festive Cycles at the Assur Temple: Royal Dispositions for the Provision and Processing of Foodstuffs in First Millennium BC Assyria,” SAAB 18: 91–144. Gilboa, A. and Namdar, D. (2015), “On the Beginnings of South Asian Spice Trade with the Mediterranean Region: A Review,” Radiocarbon 57: 265–83. Haldane, C. (1993), “Direct Evidence for Organic Cargoes in the Late Bronze Age,” World Archaeology 24: 348–60. Haw, S. (2017), “Cinnamon, Cassia, and Ancient Trade,” Journal of Ancient History and Archaeology 4: 5–18. Hoffner, H. (1995), “Hittite Laws,” in M. Roth (ed.), Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor, 213–48, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Jacob, I. and Jacob, W. (1992), “Flora,” ABD 2: 803–17. Koehler, L. and Baumgartner, W. (2001), The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, Leiden: Brill. Koh, A. J., Yasur-Landau, A., and Cline, E. (2014), “Characterizing a Middle Bronze Palatial Wine Cellar from Tel Kabri, Israel,” PLoS ONE 9, no. 8: 1–15. Langgut, D., Gadot, Y., Porat, N., and Lipschits, O. (2013), “Fossil Pollen Reveals the Secrets of the Royal Persian Garden at Ramat Rahel,” Palynology 37: 115–29. Langgut, D., Shahack-Gross, R., Arie, E., Namdar, D., Amrani, A., Le Bailly, M., and Finkelstein, I. (2016), “Micro-Archaeological Indicators for Identifying Ancient Cess Deposits: An Example from Late Bronze Age Megiddo, Israel,” JAS: Reports 9: 375–85. Laursen, S. and Steinkeller, P. (2017), Babylonia, the Gulf Region and the Indus. Archaeological and Textual Evidence for Contact in the Third and Early Second Millennia BC, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Linares, V., Adams, M. J., Cradic, M. S., Finkelstein, I., Lipschits, O., Martin, M., Neumann, R., Stockhammer, P., and Gadot, Y. (2019), “First Evidence for Vanillin in the Old World: Its Use as Mortuary Offering in Middle Bronze Canaan,” Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 25: 77–84. Lubinsky, P. (2007), “History and Evolutionary Origins of Cultivated Vanilla,” PhD diss., University of California, Riverside. Lubinsky, P., Bory, S., Hernandez, J., Kim, S.-C., and Gomez-Pompa, A. (2008), “Origins and Dispersal of Cultivated Vanilla (Vanilla Planifolia Jacks. [Orchidaceae]),” Economic Botany 62: 127–38. Lucas, A. (1962), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries, London: Edward Arnold. Mazar, A. and Panitz-Cohen, N. (2016), “The Apiary,” in I. Ziffer (ed.), It Is the Land of Honey, 25–31, Tel Aviv: Eretz Israel Museum. McGovern, P. E. (2010), “Chemical Identification of the Beverage and Food Remains in Tumulus MM,” in E. Simpson (ed.), The Furniture from Tumulus MM, 177–87, Leiden: Brill. McGovern, P. E., Mirzoian, A., and Hall, G. (2009), “Ancient Egyptian Herbal Wines,” PNAS 106: 7361–6. Meyers, C. (2014), “Menu: Royal Repasts and Social Class in Biblical Israel,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 129–47, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Milano, L. (2004), “Food and Identity in Mesopotamia: A New Look at the Aluzinnu’s Recipes,” in C. Grottanelli and L. Milano (eds.), Food and Identity in the Ancient World, 243–56, Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N.

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Murray, M. A. (2000), “Fruits, Vegetables, Pulses, and Condiments,” in P. T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds.), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technologies, 609–35, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Namdar, D., Gilboa, A., Neumann, R., Finkelstein, I., and Weiner, S. (2013), “Cinnamaldehyde in Early Iron Age Phoenician Flaks Raises the Possibility of Levantine Trade with South East Asia,” Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 12: 1–19. Neufeld, E. (1978), “Apiculture in Ancient Palestine (Early and Middle Iron Age) in the Framework of the Ancient Near East,” UF 10: 219–48. Nissenbaum, A. (1993), “The Dead Sea—an Economic Resource for 10000 Years,” Hydrobiologia 267: 127–41. Nowicki, S. (2014), “Menu of the Gods. Mesopotamian Supernatural Powers and Their Nourishment, with Reference to Selected Literary Sources,” Archiv Orientální 82: 211–24. Olivier, J. P. J. (1988), “A Land Flowing with Milk and Honey—Some Observations on the Modes of Existence in Ancient Israel,” Ned Geref Teologiese Tydskrif 29: 2–13. Olivier, J. P. J. (1997), “‫דבש‬,” in NIDOTTTE 1: 916–17. Orendi, A. and Deckers, K. (2018), “Agricultural Resources on the Coastal Plain of Sidon during the Late Iron Age: Archaeobotanical Investigations at Phoenician Tell el-Burak, Lebanon,” Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 27: 717–36. Potts, D. T. (1984), “On Salt and Salt Gathering in Ancient Mesopotamia,” JESHO 27: 225–71. Potts, D. T. (1997), Mesopotamian Civilization: The Material Foundations, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Powell, M. (2003), “Obst und Gemüse A.1,” RlA 10: 13–22. Stol, M. (1987), “Garlic, Onion, Leek,” Bulletin of Sumerian Agriculture 3: 57–80. Stol, M. (1994), “Beer in Neo-Babylonian Times,” in L. Milano (ed.), Drinking in Ancient Societies, 155–83, Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Streck, M. P. (2006), “Salz, Versalzung, A,” RlA 11: 592–9. Van der Veen, M. (2015), “Spices,” in K. B. Metheny and M. C. Beaudry (eds.), Archaeology of Food: An Encyclopedia, 473–4, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Weiss, E. and Kislev, M. (2004), “Plant Remains as Indicators for Economic Activity: A Case Study from Iron Age Ashkelon,” JAS 31: 1–13. Wiseman, D. J. (1983), “Mesopotamian Gardens,” Anatolian Studies 33: 137–44. Yasur-Landau, A., Cline, E., Koh, A. J., Ratzlaff, A., Goshen, N., Susnow, M., Waiman-Barak, P., and Crandall, A. (2018), “The Wine Storage Complexes at the Middle Bronze II Palace of Tel Kabri: Results of the 2013 and 2015 Seasons,” AJA 122: 309–38. Zohary, D., Hopf, M., and Weiss, E. (2012), Domestication of Plants in the Old World, 4th edn., Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zohary, M. (1982), Plants of the Bible, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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CHAPTER 10

Underrepresented Taxa: Fish, Birds, and Wild Game DEIRDRE N. FULTON AND PAULA WAPNISH HESSE

INTRODUCTION The meat diet in the southern Levant generally consisted of domesticated animals, most notably sheep and goats, with cattle a distant third. Yet other species contributed to the diet as well. Traditionally, fish, birds, and wild game are not considered a mainstay in the diet of ancient Israel, yet recent studies reveal the presence of these three categories of animals in all periods. This is not surprising, considering the potential of fish, birds and, to a lesser extent game, to make a substantial contribution to the ancient meat diet. For the most part, in earlier historic periods, these additional protein sources were not systematically exploited. Recent studies, however, reveal that fish was exploited throughout the Bronze Age, Iron Age, and later periods. Certainly, by the Hellenistic period, and probably even by late Persian times, birds became important components of the Near Eastern and Mediterranean diet.

FISH In nearly every excavation in Israel, when proper excavation techniques, like sifting, are employed, and often when they are not, fish remains have been recovered. Materials associated with fishing also are found; they include lead and stone weights that were placed on nets to sink them in the water, the nets themselves, fish hooks, needles, and even boats. While there are only a handful of references to fishing activities in the Hebrew Bible, the material remains reveal the common practice of fishing and fish consumption throughout the southern Levant.1 The Hebrew Bible simply refers to fish as dāg or dāgāh (“fish”) and does not differentiate by name but rather by characteristics.2 Namely, Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14 prohibit the consumption of fish—both salt and freshwater—without scales. As Hanan Lernau’s earlier studies and Omri Lernau’s more current work have revealed, fish are present in the faunal remains of many sites in the southern Levant (see Lernau 1988,

References include Isa. 19:8, Jer. 16:16, and Ezek. 47:10. Other fishing imagery includes Job 41:7 and Eccl. 9:12. Finally, references to selling fish are found in Neh. 13:16; and a reference to the fish gate is found in 2 Chron. 33:14 and in Neh. 3:3 and 12:39. For a discussion of these references, see Altmann (2020). 2  See Altmann (2021) for a discussion of other sea creatures in the Levant, such as Leviathan and Crocodile. 1 

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1996, 2000, 2006, 2011; Lernau and Golani 2004; Lernau and Lernau 1989, 1992). Zooarchaeological evidence reveals a variety of fresh and saltwater fish at coastal and inland sites. Although a higher percentage of fish are found at coastal sites, Lernau’s work highlights that both inland and highland sites also contain (sometimes substantial) fish remains (see Lernau 2015). Along the coast, sites such as Ashkelon contain fish from many periods. The faunal remains from Ashkelon reveal a significant percentage of fish consumption within the larger meat diet of the inhabitants of the city. A wide range of fish from the late Iron II period, leading up to the 604 bce destruction of the city at the hands of the Babylonians, was uncovered in excavations. The marine fish make up 63 percent of the Number of Identified Species (NISP) and/or 66 percent of the Minimum Number of Individuals (MNI) of the fish sample and include Sparidae (porgies and sea breams), Serranidae (sea basses), Sharks, Mugilidae (mullets), Scianidae (drums, croakers), and Balistidae (triggerfish). A small number of Holocentridae (squirrelfish and soldierfish), Carangidae (jacks and pompanos), Pomacanthidae (angelfish), Moronidae (temperate basses), and Scombridae (mackerels and tunas) were also present.3 Most of these fish are found in the Mediterranean Sea, but two types each were imported from the Nile River Valley and the Red Sea. The freshwater species make up 37 percent (NISP) and/or 34 percent (MNI) of the sample and include Clariidae (air-breathing catfish), Centropomidae (snooks and latidae), Cichlidae (cichlids), Mochokidae (squeakers), and Cyprinidae (carps) (Lernau 2011). The Clariidae include the Nile catfish, which is the largest freshwater fish currently in Israel. Another fish family of interest is the Centropomidae, which includes the Nile perch. The Nile perch (Lates niolticus) is the largest fish in the Nile system, and can reach a size of 200 cm and weigh as much as 175 kg (Lernau 2011: 649). As Lernau (2011: 649) points out, this fish was exported from Egypt to sites throughout the eastern Mediterranean, particularly during the Late Bronze and Iron Ages (see also Routledge 2015: 212–13). Nile Perch are found in almost every site throughout Israel, from the Late Bronze Age through Crusader periods (Van Neer et al. 2004: 104). Lernau (2011: 655) notes their presence in Lachish in Late Bronze and Iron II (Lernau and Golani 2004: 2467, 2478), Megiddo in Iron I and II (Lernau 2006: 483–4), and Ekron in the Iron Age (Lernau 2011: 655). More surprising, perhaps, are the number of fish found at highland sites. In the city of Jerusalem, fish remains have been uncovered from several locations, most recently from the excavations in the City of David, conducted by Eilat Mazar, 2005–2010. Marine fish include Sparidae (porgies and sea breams), Mugilidae (mullets), Sciaenidae (drums and croakers), and Serranidae (groupers and sea bass). As well, shark teeth have also been found in the remains. Since sharks have no bones, but rather are composed of cartilaginous skeletons, the teeth are the only remains that should be expected to be preserved. Lernau (2015: 527) cautions against arguing that these are simply food remains, since teeth can be attractive objects for aesthetic purposes. Overall, marine fish made up 70 percent of the entire Jerusalem fish sample.

NISP and MNI are ways to calculate the number of bones from a species. Since NISP counts each bone and fragment as an individual unit, it can overestimate the number of an individual and species. MNI is a second way to calculate the number of a specific species present and calculates the lowest number of a species that contributed to a site assemblage. MNI tends to underestimate the number of animals in an archaeological context. Most scholars use both to calculate the number of animals in an archaeological assemblage. 3 

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Freshwater fish include Clariidae (air-breathing catfish), Centropomidae (snooks), Cyprinidae (carps), Cichlidae (cichlids), and Bagridae (bagrid catfish) (Lernau 2015: 526–9). All of the marine and freshwater fish were imported to the city, marine fish brought from the Mediterranean and the freshwater fish from the Jordan River, coastal rivers to the west, and the Nile. Lernau (2015: 529) argues that “the distance from Jerusalem to the fishing grounds was too great for fresh fish to be available in the local markets. The fish had to be processed (dried, salted or smoked) before being shipped.” This study reveals a thriving fish industry in Jerusalem during the Iron II, Babylonian, and Persian periods. At the late Iron II site of Ramat Raḥel, Lernau (Fulton et al. 2015) identified fish from a number of different fish families, both freshwater and saltwater. Out of the sixty-four bones that could be identified to species, twenty-three were identified as Nile catfish (Clarias gariepinus). Fulton et al. point out that the catfish, “is the largest freshwater fish in Israel, and it can attain a maximum size of about 150 cm and a weight of 20 kg” (2015: 36). This species inhabits coastal pools as well as the Jordan River Valley. Catfish have the ability to take in air from the atmosphere through accessory breathing organs that developed around the two gill arches on the head (Fulton et al. 2015: 36). This characteristic allows the fish to survive out of water for a limited amount of time, raising the possibility that live catfish could have been transported across land and transferred to a pool in another location. The presence or absence of catfish heads at a site may inform as to how this species of fish arrived alive or salted/smoked. That is, if there are no heads present in the collection, it is assumed the fish arrived processed. At Ramat Raḥel, no cranial elements of catfish were identified.

BIRDS The Near East is well-known for its diverse avian life. Migratory birds moving from Europe and Northwestern Asia pass through on their way to their winter grounds in South Asia, the Near East, and Africa (Moreau 1972: 31–44; Gilbert 2002: 34–5). These migratory birds fly over the southern Levant mainly in fall and spring. While the fall migration from South Asia, the Near East, and Africa allows for birds dependent on catching wind currents to glide along, the dry summers in these areas do not provide many places to stop. The spring migration that reverses this trip is much more difficult since there are no wind currents to facilitate flight as in the fall, but the spring rains create areas that are more lush and, therefore, birds have more places to stop (Gilbert 2002: 32–3). Modern studies estimate over 500 million birds migrate over Israel during the year and a number of birds reside year-round in the southern Levant as well (Shirihai 1996: xxii–xxiii). In ancient and modern contexts, both wild and domestic birds were hunted or raised for food. Indeed, several studies have noted the prevalence of bird hunting in the Near East, both in ancient periods and modern (cf. Borowski 1998: 155–8; Gilbert 2002: 34–7). A number of different hunting techniques were used in the ancient Near East, known to us through reliefs and textual evidence. Most of these depictions are found in neighboring areas such as Egypt, Assyria, and Cyprus. But it may be assumed, based on certain references in the Hebrew Bible and from the presence of a wide array of avian faunal evidence, that these same hunting techniques were used in the southern Levant. Netting, trapping, snaring, hunting with bow and arrow, and bird liming were all used in different contexts.

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Bird liming, a practice that was only recently outlawed in Cyprus, involves spreading a sticky substance on tree branches or twigs to capture small birds; it was an effective means of hunting (see Flint and Stewart 1992: 42–5 and Gilbert 2002: 35 for a discussion). According to historical sources, the seeds and fruit of the borage tree (Cordia myxa L.), and related species, were used to prepare the sticky birdlime in the Levantine region. In a study of this practice, Kislev (2008a: 131) notes the prevalence of bird liming in the Near East, and especially in Palestine, for “hundreds, if not thousands of years” (see also Kislev 2008b: 137–40). Additionally, he reports that charred seeds of this tree were found at Ashkelon in deposits dating to the medieval Islamic period, suggesting that fowl-trapping with birdlime contributed to the meat economy at that time, and perhaps even earlier. Evidence of other bird-hunting activities, however, is hard to identify in the archaeological record since bird bones are oftentimes fragile and thus, as Gilbert comments, do “not survive cultural handling and burial diagenesis” (2002: 35). With regard to pigeon keeping and domestication, Marom et al. (2018: 1/11) note that “bioarchaeological evidences bearing on the subject are almost nonexistent, the result of poor preservation of the fragile bird bones in archaeological sediments and size-related recovery bias in excavations.” These observations also characterize the collection and identification of bones from other bird species. Additionally, in the case of small birds like songbirds, the bones are often completely consumed. So, while the remains of wild and domestic birds are found in faunal collections from numerous sites, they are not present in large quantities, with the possible exception of bones from chickens (see below), precluding comprehensive study of bird-human interactions like bird breeding or keeping. Material evidence for hunting may be sparse, but depictions of hunting birds in general are not uncommon in the ancient Near East (Borowski 1998: 155–8; Altmann 2020: 21–2), such as Egyptian tomb reliefs that depict hunting with bows and arrows, ensnaring in traps, and chasing ostriches in chariots (Borowski 1998: 155–6). In the biblical text, birds are identified as clean or unclean, based broadly on whether they eat carrion or fish and whether they are birds of prey (Lev. 11:13-19 and Deut. 14:12-18).4 These criteria were used to determine if a particular species could qualify as food. With regard to permitted species, the Bible refers to “fattened fowl,” such as in the context of Solomon’s table (1 Kgs. 5:3). These birds would have been penned, caged, or tied to a stake to impede their movements and given access to abundant food to ready them for the table. In a study of the avian fauna from nineteen sites in the southern Levant during the Late Bronze (1500–1200 bce), Iron I (1200–1000 bce), and Iron II (1000–586 bce) Ages, Spiciarich (2020) notes the changes and shifts in avian exploitation due to political, cultural, and environmental factors. An example of the latter is the reliance on waterfowl throughout the region in response to the wetter conditions during the Iron I period in contrast to the aridity that gripped the area at the close of the Late Bronze Age. Fully 30 percent of the birds consumed during this period were waterfowl. Eggs were also commonly eaten, and Borowski (1998: 152) notes that Egyptian art depicts offering bowls full of eggs. Eggshells from different species have been found

There are a number of issues concerning these two lists of birds. See Altmann (2020) for a thorough treatment of these different terms and why they appear on these lists. See also Riede (“Vogel”) and the discussions in Chapters 28 and 29 in this volume. 4 

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in the southern Levant, but because they are fragile they do not survive the rigors of deposition well and so are generally scarce. Although fragile, chicken eggshells are found in a number of sites, including Ashkelon (Hesse and Fulton 2019: 669–70; Hesse and Fulton 2021). The most significant contrast to fragile eggshell is the thicker and more robust eggshell of the ostrich. Fragments of ostrich eggshell are not uncommon at sites in the Negev and Israel’s southern tier. Two subspecies of ostrich probably roamed ancient Israel, the Arabian form, Struthio camelus syriacus, the smallest of four known subspecies of ostrich, and the larger North African form, Struthio camelus. The Arabian ostrich became extinct in the mid-twentieth century as a result of hunting with firearms. While ostrich eggshell fragments were common, bones of the bird were not. However, several ostrich vertebrae were found in a Late Bronze Age context at Tell Jemmeh in the northwestern Negev. Because of their large size they were identified as related to the African rather than the Arabian ostrich, which would be the more expected form (Wapnish and Hesse 2003: 23). A number of wild birds are commonly found in the faunal collections at archaeological sites, including quail (Coturnix), chuckar partridge (Alectoris chukkar), turtle-dove (Streptopelia turtur) and pigeon (Columba livia). Pigeon raising (or “fancying”) in the Levant is not documented in the archaeological record before the Hellenistic period (last quarter of the fourth century bce), but wild pigeons are certainly present in faunal collections from sites in the Levant, although in much smaller numbers than after domestication. Spiciarich (2020) notes that depictions of geese and pigeons in pens, aviaries, and enclosed yards from Old Kingdom Egypt may indicate that these birds were raised much earlier than material remains in the archaeological record indicate. Given the ancient Egyptian fascination with much of the natural world, especially animal life, that was often actualized with what we can assume was experimentation in keeping wild species it does not mean that such endeavors were necessarily part of Levantine relationships with wild fauna. Marom et al. (2018: 9/11) present evidence for “extensive husbanding of pigeons” for their manure at the Byzantine (sixth century CE) site of Shivta in the Negev Desert. At Ashkelon, birds are found in all periods but steadily increase in numbers from the Iron II through the Crusader periods (Hesse and Fulton 2019: 669–70; Hesse and Fulton 2021). Indeed, by the Hellenistic period, a wide number of species are identified, including geese (Anser), passerines and perching birds (Passeriformes), and gulls (Laridae), in addition to the birds mentioned above. As well, chicken (Gallus gallus) becomes a significant part of the fauna (Hesse and Fulton 2019: 669). The nitrogen-rich manure was an important agricultural fertilizer in arid regions, particularly for vineyards. The presence of chicken in any meaningful number begins in the Persian period, steadily grows throughout subsequent periods and eventually becomes a mainstay of the early Islamic and Crusader diets (Hesse and Fulton 2019: 669). Many have argued that chicken was introduced much earlier, particularly based on the appearance of chickens as a motif in art, but the faunal evidence is sparse. In the past decade, zooarchaeologists have elucidated the introduction of the chicken in more detail, but there is still no consensus on this issue (cf. Perry-Gal et al. 2015b). Because of the scarcity of chicken bones prior to the Hellenistic period, it is generally assumed that before their use for meat or eggs the males were kept primarily for cock-fighting (Perry-Gal et al. 2015a: 4). Males kept for fighting would be bred to enlarge the bones spurs on the lower leg (tarsometatarsus) of the bird. Based on chicken specimens from Ashkelon from the Hellenistic period and later with particularly robust bone spurs, this practice increased after the onset of domestication.

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In their study of Maresha in the southern Levant, Perry-Gal et al. (2015a: 217) have argued that chickens may have first been exploited economically during the Hellenistic period. This fits the picture of other sites, including Ashkelon, Tel Anafa, Tel Dor, and Sha‘ar Ha‘amukim (Hesse and Fulton 2021; Perry-Gal et al. 2015b). At Ashkelon, Hesse and Fulton note that a number of “specimens are from mature individuals with compressed medullary bones, indicating that they were from egg laying hens, and that chickens were raised for eggs as well as meat” (Hesse and Fulton 2021). This matches the picture at Maresha, where hens were also raised for egg laying. As well, eggshells are found in excavations, specifically noted at Ashkelon in the Hellenistic and Roman collections (Hesse and Fulton 2021).

WILD GAME The native fauna of the southern Levant is diverse and has been exploited as food for thousands of years. In archaeological contexts after the Neolithic period, however, wild taxa are not a mainstay of the meat diet. Still, a diverse array of wild taxa is found in archaeological excavations, and the Hebrew Bible also mentions a wide array of wild taxa as well. A number of herbivores, omnivores, and carnivores are present in the zooarchaeological collections. Certain wild species were eaten for food, while others appear to be hunted for their prestige rather than their meat value.

Wild Taxa Consumed The domesticated sheep and goat are descendants of the wild sheep (Ovis) and goats (Capra) of the Near East. The identification of the wild species of Ovis orietalis and Capra aegagrus is very difficult to differentiate from their domesticated cousins in the zooarchaeological record (cf. Amar, Bouchnick, and Bar-Oz 2010: 6). Frequent in many faunal assemblages are ungulates, specifically hoofed animals that were consumed. These ungulates include deer, specifically roe deer (Cervus capreolus), fallow deer (Dama mesopotamicus), and red deer (Cervus elaphus). Their natural ranges include the Galilee and coastal areas near Mount Carmel. Deer were hunted for their meat, hides, and antlers. The antlers were particularly prized as raw materials and manipulated to use for a number of purposes, including as handles for knives. Gazelles were also a common ungulate, including the mountain gazelle (Gazella gazella) and dorcas gazelle (Gazella dorcas), which Amar, Bouchnick, and Bar-Oz (2010: 6) rightly comment are impossible to distinguish based on their skeletal elements. Their horns, however, do have a distinct difference but are rarely found in archaeological contexts. Gazelle generally inhabit semiarid environments, such as southern Israel and the Negev, but their remains are also found in northern excavations in the Upper Galilee. Several Iron Age I and II sites, including Beersheba (Hellwing 1984: 105–15) and Tel Halif (Zeder 1990: 25–7), note the presence of gazelle. The ibex (Capra ibex nubiana) is also present in the archaeological record. The distinct ibex horns were prized and have been found in certain sites such as Early Bronze Age Arad (Uerpmann 1987: 120). Distinguishing wild Capra from domesticated Capra is very difficult (Amar, Bouchnick, and Bar Oz 2010: 9). Ibex hides could have also been used in making parchment but was not a common source (Borowski 1998: 189 citing Oppenheim 1996).

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Bones of the (now extinct) aurochs (Bos primigenius), the wild ancestor of the two major extant domestic cattle forms (Bos taurus and Bos indicus), are identified in prehistoric collections of fauna in a number of areas worldwide, including the Levant. Taurine cattle were domesticated in the Near East after sheep and goat, ca. 8500 bce, while the zebu was domesticated about 6000 BC from a different subspecies of aurochs in the Indus Valley. Zebu differ significantly from taurine cattle in numerous aspects, but the most characteristic is the muscular hump situated on the shoulders or neck (Magee, MacHugh, and Edwards 2014: 3/16). Taurine cattle were the major form in the southern Levant, but it has long been known that the zebu, or some admixture of the two, was also present, albeit to a lesser extent. This supposition was based on representations of humped cattle in drawings or figurines (Levine, Bunimovitz, and Lederman 2011: 146–61) recovered from Levantine sites. Most recently, genomic analysis of sixty-seven specimens from ancient Near Eastern cattle shows that around 2000 bce there was a region-wide introgression of zebu. Many scientists believe that this admixture was stimulated by a drought of several centuries that resulted in the introduction of zebu bulls, better adapted to arid environments, to taurine herds to increase survival (Zahn 2019: 135–6). Wild boars (Sus scrofa), also categorized as ungulates, were hunted for game. They prefer areas of dense vegetation, as well as areas for wallowing in mud. In the southern Levant, wild boars are found throughout the Judean and Samarian highlands, but most notably in the Golan area. While wild boars and domesticated pigs can be hard to differentiate in the archaeological record, certain elements are indicative of boar. Specifically, wild boar tusks are much more pronounced than those of domesticated pigs, and the former’s jaw is longer than that of its domestic cousin. However, complete tusks and jaws are often rare in collections of archaeological fauna. The length of the lower third molar (longer and often more robust in wild pigs) is a somewhat more common bone element in collections where pig, especially of domestic status, is present and is more often used to make the distinction between wild and domestic. The lengthened jaw and more pronounced tusks were feared in the ancient Near East, as literary sources such as the Odyssey indicate. As Gilbert (2002: 14) notes, “with mouth open, a boar uncovers his ivory stilettos and wields them against an opponent’s flank with a sideways lunge and upward jerk of the head.” Even though boars are dangerous to hunt, they were hunted for meat, hides, and tusks, and even were used to introduce new genetic material to domesticated herds. While carnivores are not commonly consumed in ancient Near Eastern contexts, their pelts were probably prestige items. No carnivore, nor animal for that matter, made a greater impression than the lion (Panthera leo), to which more than 150 citations in the Hebrew Bible attest. Lions were not uncommon in the biblical landscape, but they were not an animal ancient residents would have encountered on a daily basis. Their bones are very rare at archaeological sites, but the odd element does occur early in the archaeological record, such as at Chalcolithic Shiqmim (Wapnish 1997: 361–2). At Early Bronze Age I Afridar, Kansa (2004: 249) identified a lion calcaneum, part of the ankle joint, and a complete half mandible. Because hunting at Early Bronze Age Afridar was rare, as well as is the presence of lion bones at Early Bronze Age sites in general, Kansa (2004: 249) raises the possibility that both bones were brought to the site in a lion skin. Add to this the evidence of a lion foot bone from Tel Dan (mid-ninth century bce) that bears cut marks from skinning (Wapnish and Hesse 1991: 15), and it is clear that lion pelts were of interest to Iron Age hunters. To date, the most spectacular discovery

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of lion bones in ancient Israel is the skull and mandibles of a lioness in a twelfth-century bce pre-Philistine temple in Jaffa (Kaplan and Ritter-Kaplan 1993). “The right mandible has two sets of deep cut marks that are consistent with opening the oral cavity from the basal surface of the jaws while leaving the head attached to the skin” (Wapnish 1997: 361). Many other wild taxa may be found in archaeological contexts (e.g., hippopotamus, wild dogs, bears, and rodents), yet their presence never reflects a mainstay of the ancient diet. Thus, while the presence of unusual taxa is interesting with regard to taxa representation and in some cases may reflect exceptional eating behaviors, it is not meaningful from the perspective of larger consumption patterns.

CONCLUSION The presence, and relative abundance, of fish and bird remains in faunal collections reveal that they were important contributions to the Southern Levantine diet. As many studies have revealed, fish was commonly consumed and in certain cases traded from more remote places, such as the Egyptian Nile. Increasingly, birds became an important part of the diet. When chicken consumption gained traction in the Levant, the percentage of birds dramatically increased over time. In the case of wild mammalian taxa, many species may be found in faunal assemblages. Notably, deer, gazelle, and wild boar are present. Their presence, however, reveals that wild taxa of any kind never contributed a significant proportion to the meat diet compared to the domestic fauna. Domesticates were not just important for their meat, but for secondary products, like milk or eggs, which in themselves are significant sources of protein. It made far more economic sense to expend energy on husbanding rather than hunting.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Altmann, P. (2020), Banned Birds: The Birds of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14, FAT II, 80, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Altmann examines the appearance of birds in the Hebrew Bible, specifically birds mentioned in the dietary prohibitions found in Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14. Borowski, O. (1998), Every Living Thing: Daily Use of Animals in Ancient Israel, Walnut Creek, CA and London: AltaMira Press. Borowski’s book is an easy-to-read introduction to the animals mentioned in the Bible and how they were exploited for certain goods or purposes. Gilbert, A. S. (2002), “The Native Fauna in the Ancient Near East,” in B. J. Collins (ed.), A History of the Animal World in the Ancient Near East, 1–75, Leiden and Boston: Brill. Gilbert’s chapter provides an overview of the native animals in the Ancient Near East. He includes an excellent chart on where these animals are found in archaeological contexts. Lernau, O. (2015), “Fish Bones,” in E. Mazar (ed.), The Summit of the City of David Excavations 2005–2008: Final Reports Volume I, 525–37, Jerusalem: Shoham Academic Research and Publication. Lernau’s article on the City of David is a good introduction to fish remains from a highland site. Perry-Gal, L., Erlich, A., Gilboa, A., and Bar-Oz, G. (2015b), “Earliest Economic Exploitation of Chicken Outside East Asia: Evidence from the Hellenistic Southern Levant,” PNAS 112: 9849–54.

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An excellent resource on the appearance of chicken in the southern Levant the archaeological record. Routledge, B. (2015), “A Fishy Business: The Inland Trade in Nile Perch (Lates niloticus) in the Early Iron Age Levant,” in T. P. Harrison, E. B. Baning, and S. Klassen (eds.), Walls of the Prince: Egyptian Interactions with Southwest Asia in Antiquity. Essays in Honor of John S. Holladay, Jr., 212–33, Leiden: Brill. This article tracks the trade of the Nile Perch and its appearance in the eastern Mediterranean archaeological record dating to the Early Iron Age. Wapnish, P. and Hesse, B. (2003), “Archaeozoology,” in S. Richard (ed.), Near Eastern Archaeology: A Reader, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. This is a helpful introduction to the field of archaeozoology and what kinds of animals are found in the archaeological record.

REFERENCES Altmann, P. (2020), Banned Birds: The Birds of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14, FAT II, 80, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Altmann, P. (2021), “Aquatic Creatures in the Dietary Laws: What the Biblical and Ancient Eastern Contexts Contribute to Understanding Their Categorization,” in P. Altmann and A. Angelini (eds.), To Eat or Not to Eat: Collected Essays on the Biblical Dietary Laws, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Amar, Z., Bouchnick, R., and Bar-Oz, G. (2010), “The Contribution of Archaeozoology to the Identification of the Ritually Clean Ungulates Mentioned in the Hebrew Bible,” JHebS 10: 1–25. Borowski, O. (1998), Every Living Thing: Daily Use of Animals in Ancient Israel, Walnut Creek, CA and London: AltaMira Press. Flint, P. R. and Stewart, P. (1992), The Birds of Cyprus: An Annotated Checklist, London: British Ornithologists Union (BOU). Fulton, D. N., Gadot, Y., Kleinman, A., Freud, L., Lernau, O., and Lipschits, O. (2015), “Feasting in Paradise: Feasting Remains from the Iron Age Palace of Ramat Rahel and Their Implications,” BASOR 374: 29–48. Gilbert, A. S. (2002), “The Native Fauna in the Ancient Near East,” in B. J. Collins (ed.), A History of the Animal World in the Ancient Near East, 1–75, Leiden and Boston: Brill. Hellwing, S. (1984), “Human Exploitation of Animal Resources in the Early Iron Age Strata at Tel Beer-Sheba,” in Z. Herzog (ed.), Beer-Sheba II: The Early Iron Age Settlements, 105–15, Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology and Ramot Publishing. Hesse, P. and Fulton, D. N. (2019), “Animal Remains from Fatimid and Crusader Ashkelon,” in T. Hoffman (ed.), Ashkelon 8: The Islamic and Crusader Periods, 666–98, University Park, PA: Harvard Museum of the Ancient Near East/Eisenbrauns. Hesse, P. and D. N. Fulton (2021), “Animal Remains,” in K. Birney (ed.), Ashkelon 9: The Hellenistic Period, 671–703, University Park, PA: Harvard Museum of the Ancient Near East/Eisenbrauns. Kansa, S. W. (2004), “Animal Exploitation at Early Bronze Age Ashqelon, Afridar: What the Bones Tell Us—Initial Analysis of the Animal Bones from Areas E, F, and G,” ‘Atiqot 45: 278–97. Kaplan, J., and Ritter-Kaplan, H. (1993), “Jaffa,” NEAEHL 2: 655–9.

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Kislev, M. (2008a), “Archaeobotanical Evidence of Birdliming at Ashkelon,” in L. E. Stager, J. D. Schloen, and D. M. Master (eds.), Ashkelon I: Introduction and Overview (1985–2006), 131–7, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Kislev, M. (2008b), “Appendix: Iconographic and Textual Evidence of Birdliming,” in L. E. Stager, J. D. Schloen, and D. M. Master (eds.), Ashkelon I: Introduction and Overview (1985–2006), 137–40, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lernau, H. (1988), “Fish Remains,” in B. Rothenberg (ed.), The Egyptian Mining Temple of Timna, 241–2, 296, plates 143 and 145, London: Institute of Archaeology, University College London. Lernau, O. (1996), “Fish Remains from Tel Harassim,” in S. Givon (ed.), The Sixth Season of Excavation at Tel Harassim (Nahal Barkai) 1995, 14–23, Tel Aviv: Bar Ilan University. Lernau, O. (2000), “Fish Bones,” in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin, and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo III: The 1992–1996 Seasons, 463–77, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Lernau, O. (2006), “Fish Bones,” in D. Ussishkin Finkelstein, and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo IV: The 1998–2002 Seasons, 474–96, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Lernau, O. (2011), “Fish Bones,” in L. E. Stager, D. M. Master, and J. D. Schloen (eds.), Ashkelon 3: The Seventh Century BC, 645–58, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lernau, O. (2015), “Fish Bones,” in E. Mazar (ed.), The Summit of the City of David Excavations 2005–2008: Final Reports Volume I, 525–37, Jerusalem: Shoham Academic Research and Publication. Lernau, O. and Golani, D. (2004), “The Osteological Remains (Aquatic),” in D. Ussishkin (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), 2456–89, Tel Aviv: Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology. Lernau, H. and Lernau, O. (1989), “Fish Bone Remains,” in E. Mazar and B. Mazar (eds.), Excavations in the South of the Temple Mount, 155–61, Qedem 29, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Lernau, H. and Lernau, O. (1992), “Fish Remains,” in A. de Groot and D. T. Ariel (eds.), Excavations at the City of David, 1978–1985: Stratigraphical, Environmental, and Other Reports, Qedem 33, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Levine, E., Bunimovitz, S., and Lederman, Z. (2011), “A Zebu-Shaped Weight from Tel BethShemesh,” IEJ 61: 146–61. Magee, D. A., MacHugh, D. E., and Edwards, C. J. (2014), “Interrogation of Modern and Ancient Genomes Reveals the Complex Domestic History of Cattle,” Animal Frontiers 4: 7–22. https://doi.org/10.2527/af.2014-0017 Marom, N., Rosen, B., Tepper, Y., and Bar-Oz, G. (2018), “Pigeons at the Edge of the Empire: Bioarchaeological Evidences for Extensive Management of Pigeons in a Byzantine Desert Settlement in the Southern Levant,” PLoS ONE 13: e0193206. https://doi.org/10.1371/ journal.pone.0193206 Moreau, R. E. (1972), The Palaearctic-African Bird Migration Systems, London: Academic Press. Perry-Gal, L., Erlich, A., Gilboa, A., and Bar-Oz, G. (2015a), “Livestock Animal Trends in Idumaean Maresha: Preliminary Analysis of Cultural and Economic Aspects,” Aram 27: 213–26. Perry-Gal, L., Erlich, A., Gilboa, A., and Bar-Oz, G. (2015b), “Earliest Economic Exploitation of Chicken outside East Asia: Evidence from the Hellenistic Southern Levant,” PNAS 112: 9849–54. Riede, P. (n.d.), “Vogel,” WiBiLex. https://www.bibelwissenschaft.de/stichwort/34275/

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Routledge, B. (2015), “A Fishy Business: The Inland Trade in Nile Perch (Lates niloticus) in the Early Iron Age Levant,” in T. P. Harrison, E. B. Baning, and S. Klassen (eds.), Walls of the Prince: Egyptian Interactions with Southwest Asia in Antiquity. Essays in Honor of John S. Holladay, Jr., 212–33, Leiden: Brill. Shirihai, H. (1996), The Birds of Israel, San Diego: Academic Press. Spiciarich, A. (2020), “Birds in Transition: Bird Exploitation in the Southern Levant during the Late Bronze Age, Iron Age I, and Iron Age II,” BASOR 383: 61–78. Uerpmann, H. P. (1987), The Ancient Distribution of Ungulate Mammals in the Middle East, Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert. Van Neer, W., Lernau, O., Friedman, R., Mumford, G., Poblóme, J., and Waelkens, M. (2004), “Fish Remains from Archaeological Sites as Indicators of Former Trade Connections in the Eastern Mediterranean,” Paléorient 30, no. 1: 101–47. https://www.jstor.org/ stable/41496685 Wapnish, P. (1997), “Lions,” OEANE 3: 361–2. Wapnish, P. and Hesse, B. (1991), “Animal Remains from Tel Dan: Pastoral Production at a Rural, Urban and Ritual Center?” Archeozoologia 4: 9–86. Wapnish, P. and Hesse, B. (2003), “Archaeozoology,” in S. Richard (ed.), Near Eastern Archaeology: A Reader, 17–26, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Zahn, L. M. (2019), “How Cow Genomes Have Moo-ved,” Science 365, no. 6449: 135–6, doi: 10.1126/science.365.6449.135-g Zeder, M. (1990), “Animal Exploitation at Tell Halif,” BASORSup 26: 24–32.

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PART III

Techniques of Food Preparation and Preservation

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CHAPTER 11

Tools and Utensils LEANN PACE

DEFINING TERMS Examining tools related to food preparation and consumption in the world of the Hebrew Bible affords us an opportunity to examine our own assumptions about the tools related to food preparation, especially around the concept of gender. “Tools” are a category of material culture that in North American and European culture are still more often than not associated with masculinity. In contrast, food preparation in a domestic setting is a category of labor that is, in modernity, often associated with femininity. In addition, the ubiquity and the ready availability of cooking and serving tools and utensils at every home store or market could lead the modern reader to take them for granted. In turn, this could result in an assumption that they require little skill to produce and use, thus undervaluing the labor and knowledge of the ancient people who produced these items. All of these assumptions about gender and tool availability that we as modern readers might hold are what Carol Meyers identifies as “presentism” or reading “the present into the past” (Meyers 2013: 118). Until the past few decades, Near Eastern archaeology as a discipline paid little attention to questions focused on domestic spaces. The information that could be provided by excavating an average house was deemed less valuable, in a variety of ways, than what could be gained from excavating defensive structure, palaces, temples, etc. Yet, so many stories from the Hebrew Bible are set in domestic, everyday spaces. A survey of these stories also suggests that much of the food preparation work in these spaces was undertaken by people identified as women in the text. Some correlation between the lack of interest in domestic spaces in Near Eastern archaeology and a perceived value of “women’s work” seems plausible. Yet Meyers notes that the devaluing of domestic labor is a likely recent phenomenon. She writes, “It is now clear that this low esteem for women’s work is a relatively recent phenomenon and that contemporary notions about household work, whether done by women or by men … must not be the basis for understanding the meaning or value of women’s household activities in a premodern society” (Meyers 2013: 121).1 As she rightly points out, the devaluing of household work like cooking (and the associated tools) could be a problem regardless of the gender identification of the person undertaking the work and using these tools. We must not assume that domestic labor was undervalued by ancient people. In fact, the number of stories that center around

1 

See also the discussion in Chapter 22 in this volume.

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cooking and eating in the Hebrew Bible suggest that skills and labor associated with food preparation were at the heart of the social structure. What can be done in this assessment of tools and utensils to protect the best we can against presentism? This chapter adopts different language around these types of activities in the hope of short circuiting common cultural assumptions. To provide a new paradigm with which to evaluate activities like cooking, Paloma González-Marcén, Sandra Montón-Subías, and Margarita Sánchez-Romero (2008: 3) have suggested using the language of “maintenance activities”––activities that “comprise the basic tasks of daily life that regulate and stabilize social life.” Using this language, the tools and utensils related to food preparation and consumption are not simply the realm of “domestic” or “household” archaeology and textual analysis, and their essential nature to the wellbeing of the community is better realized. For the word “tool” itself, common understanding seems to be that it is an object that can be held in the hands and used in the commission of a task. Therefore, while a crane is necessary in the construction of a building, it is too large to be considered a tool. This definition of tools would also exclude items such as ovens that are permanent or semipermanent fixtures, no part of which is held in the hands. In common parlance, “utensils” are a particular tool type often associated with food preparation and consumption. In order to resist reinforcing assumptions about the purposes or value of “utensils,” this chapter avoids use of the term entirely to avoid the trap of devaluing tools particularly associated with the serving of food. Instead, I will use the word “tool” generally throughout this chapter.

SOURCES FOR IDENTIFYING TOOLS AND UNDERSTANDING THEIR USES The most obvious source for examining tools related to cooking and eating in the world of the Hebrew Bible would be the text itself. References to food appear frequently in the Hebrew Bible, and food procurement and consumption tasks lie at the heart of many well-known stories. In Gen. 18:6, Abraham tells Sarah to measure out flour and make cakes quickly as the divine visitors approach their tent. In the Exodus narrative instituting Passover, God tells the Israelites to sacrifice a lamb, roast it, and eat it before fleeing for freedom the next day (Exod. 12:6-9). God nurtures the relationship with the Israelites in the wilderness after leaving Egypt by providing them with a regimented diet of manna in the morning and meat in the evening (Exod. 16:11-15). In Daniel 1, the Israelite captives in Babylon reject the royal food and wine, opting instead for vegetables and water. Despite the key role played by the preparation, provision, and consumption of food in the Hebrew Bible, there is relatively little detailed information about the processes of food procurement, the particulars of cooking, and the tools necessary for all of these tasks. A reader might ask why the Hebrew Bible does not offer more details about such essential tools as those related to food production and consumption. It may be because these practices were so mundane that the writers and editors assumed hearers and readers would know the details of simple cooking tasks and did not need the author to spell it out for them/her/him. Giving details about well-known practices likely was not seen as the point of these stories and might have detracted from the narrative flow. The lack of detail given to everyday tools and tasks could also be due, in part, to the gender of the biblical authors. Tradition suggests that most, if not all, authors and editors

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of the canonical biblical texts were men of a certain social status. However, women or non-elite men would likely have performed tasks like grinding grain and baking bread. For example, in the story about Abraham and Sarah referenced above, the male member of the family demands that bread be made, and the woman either manages this process as completed by servants or she completes it herself (Gen. 18:6). It may be that the male authors of the Hebrew Bible chose not to give details of cooking processes and tools because they were not part of their everyday purview. While I present the gender of the authors of the text as a possible explanation, we must be cautious not to lean too heavily into this explanation as it might imply that the authors of the text did not value the labor involved in maintenance activities when we simply cannot know this fact. As with all literature, even when combined with archaeological data, we cannot be sure of the authors’ and editors’ contexts and intents when discussing the biblical text. While speculation regarding the lack of detailed descriptions of cooking and serving of food in the Hebrew Bible is worthwhile, we must move beyond it in this piece to focus on the available evidence for tools related to the maintenance activity of cooking and serving food. This chapter presents evidence for types of tools and their uses in three sections: (1) evidence from the texts within the Hebrew Bible; (2) evidence from archaeological excavations in the Levant; (3) archaeological data from the larger ancient Near East.2 Although these three sections feature points of overlap in discussions of tool types and activities, it is important to present the three lines of data separately in order to distinguish what can and can’t be known through various types of evidence. Combining all the streams of evidence could give the impression that tools found at particular sites are exactly those described in texts of the Hebrew Bible when we cannot have that level of certainty. While archaeology can certainly elucidate (and complicate) the texts in the Hebrew Bible, I aim to avoid a presentation scheme that could imply archaeology as the role of handmaiden to the biblical texts. They are two different streams of evidence that have many points both of contact and also of departure.

EVIDENCE FROM THE HEBREW BIBLE Tools Related to Grinding and Crushing Bread made up a major component of the diet of people living in the Iron Age Levant (Shafer-Elliott 2013: 22).3 Making bread required that the grain be ground or crushed into a flour. Tools for breaking down grain are discussed in a number of passages in the Hebrew Bible. Numbers 11:8 provides a description of two types of breaking down the divinely given manna in preparation for its being boiled and made into cakes. The first preparation is to grind (ṭāḥănû) the manna on a millstone (bārēḥôy). The second is to beat (dākû) it in the mortar (bamĕdōk). The word here translated as “millstone” is consistently presented in

While ethnographic observations on tool use could be another useful data set, I have chosen not to include it for methodological reasons in this chapter. I am unsure of the helpfulness and efficacy of using ethnographic data from outside the Levantine world, as different cultural contexts employ ingredients and tools in a variety of ways. I fear making an unfounded equivalency based on a similar appearance of a tool. Drawing parallels between ancient tools and practices and those of modern residents of the Levant also runs the risk of fetishizing the lifestyles of residents of the region, leading to a perception that they represent a window into biblical times. 3  See also Chapters 5 and 22 in this volume. 2 

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the plural (Exod. 11:5; Deut. 24:6; Isa. 47:2; Jer. 25:10). Archaeological data, which is presented in the next section, provides context for this word appearing in a dual form. In archaeological contexts, there is a lower, larger stone paired with a smaller upper stone. The grain is placed on the lower stone and is ground against the lower stone with the upper stone. The second tool, translated often as “mortar,” is a unique word in the Hebrew Bible. The most straightforward translation would be “dākû” with a tool for “dākû-ing.” The context tells us that this is another form of breaking down or reducing the manna into a more malleable flour or paste, but the exact nature of this action or the associated tool is uncertain. Jeremiah 25:10 provides an auditory clue about the use of grinding stones. The chapter describes how life will be different after the Neo-Babylonian armies have decimated Judah. Alongside the lost light of the household lamp and sounds of happy households, the people of Judah will no longer hear the sounds of the millstones. The sounds of upper and lower millstones working together must have been a very recognizable sound to the author of the text. The sound of two grinding stones rubbing against each other is a sign of a contented life, a sign that all is well, a sign that community maintenance activities are occurring as necessary. The word rekev appears to be a specific term in some cases for the upper or smaller of the two grinding stones. Abimelech, the son of Gideon and briefly a king of Israel, was killed by a rekev thrown or dropped by an unnamed woman from a wall above (Judg. 9:50-57). This term rekev elsewhere refers to a chariot, which may seem an odd term to associate with a grinding stone; yet, if one imagines the action of the smaller, upper stone grinding across or “riding” across the larger lower stone, the use of this word for an upper grindstone makes more sense (Milgrom 1990: 400).

Tools Related to Cutting The act of cutting is necessary in both the preparation and the consumption of food. The Hebrew Bible mentions numerous activities, such as butchering meat and harvesting various agricultural products that would have required a cutting tool. As with grinding, the biblical text does not commonly describe the tools used for these important maintenance activities. For example, Genesis 15 gives details as to the types of animals and ages of animals cut in two by Abraham as part of the covenant ritual, but nothing is said about the tools employed. The slicing of vegetables and herbs receives even less treatment, only appearing in a few places, such as 2 Kgs. 4:39, where wild gourds are sliced before being placed in a stew. Two cutting tools are specifically named in the Hebrew Bible but, in both cases, these tools are being used (or nearly used) to pierce human, not animal, flesh in a ritual manner. In Genesis 22, Abraham nearly uses a ma'ăkelet to kill his son. The text implies that he uses this same instrument to kill the ram that fortuitously appears. This word for a cutting instrument comes from the root ’kl, to eat. Based on its contextual use here and its link to the root “to eat,” it seems likely that this word represents a knife or cutting tool that could have been used for animal slaughter and the cutting of meat. However, outside of this story, the word is only used two times. It appears as the tool of choice for the Levite who cuts up the body of his concubine after pushing her out the door of a house to be raped by the men of Gibeah (Judges 19). It also appears in Prov. 30:14 where the teeth of those who will abuse the poor and needy are described as being like “knives.” Despite

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this word being associated with the word “to eat,” all instances in which this word is used seem outside of the realm of mundane animal butchery, food preparation, and food consumption. In Exod. 4:25, Zipporah uses a ṣōr to circumcise her son. This term also appears in Judges 5, again in the context of circumcision. Some translations identify this term as a stone cutting tool. As discussed below, flint tools appear in the archaeological record of the Levant before modern humans were present and continue in use into the first millennium bce. Therefore, we should not be surprised to see chipped-stone cutting tools mentioned in the biblical text but only in reference to the act of circumcision. Why are specific tools only named when the cutting action is occurring outside of everyday food preparation tasks? The evidence discussed here hints that specific tools are mentioned when the cutting act itself is considered sacred or aberrant in some way. As mentioned in the “Defining Terms” section, tools for everyday activities often seem to go unnamed.

Tools Related to Storage and Transport Baskets Although ceramic storage vessels are best represented in the archaeological record, the biblical text identifies other types of containers for the storage and transport of foodstuffs, such as baskets and skins. There are a number of references to bread, often unleavened bread, being contained and carried in a basket (sal) in the Pentateuch (Exod. 29:32; Lev. 8:2; Num. 6:15). Deuteronomy 28, specifically v. 5, states that a person who is obedient to God will have their basket and kneading bowl blessed. This pairing of bowl and basket appears alongside other pairings such as blessings in the city and field and blessings when you come in and when you go out. This suggests that the kneading bowl and the basket may represent the beginning and end of the bread-making process, the container in which the bread dough is formed and the container in which the finished product was kept or carried. Baskets are also used to contain foodstuffs other than bread. In Judg. 6:19, Gideon places meat in a basket and presents it to the angel of God. In the prophetic context of Jeremiah 24 figs are contained in a basket, and in Amos 8 summer fruit is contained in a basket. Skins Animal skins could be used to contain a variety of liquids or semisolids. In Gen. 21:14, Hagar and Ishmael are given a skin (ḥēmet) of water and some bread before being sent into the wilderness. In 1 Sam. 1:24, a nēvel is a container that holds wine, sometimes translated as skin. The term n’ōd appears in Josh. 9:4 and 13 as a container for wine and in Judg. 4:19 as a container for milk. These are variously translated as bottle, jug, or skin. In many of these cases, it is difficult to know whether the translation of bottle is based on more modern notions of appropriate containers for milk and wine.

Unnamed Tools: An Example Without more detail in biblical or extra-biblical sources, we modern readers are left wondering how some of the foods mentioned in the text were produced. We cannot be sure of the exact sequence of steps or the tools employed. For example, Prov. 30:33 mentions the production of ḥemĕ’āh, often translated as curd or butter. In making either

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butter or curds, excess water or buttermilk must be squeezed or washed out of the final product. Likely, a cloth was used to squeeze the liquid out without losing the desired solid matter. Cloth may also have been used for wringing, drying, and covering ingredients during the cooking process or as a means of keeping already-prepared foods fresher longer.

ARCHAEOLOGICAL EVIDENCE Tools Related to Grinding and Crushing We have already encountered vocabulary referring to grinding tools in the Hebrew Bible in the sections above. However, the terminology used by archaeologists is often more specialized and regionally specific and does not easily map onto the biblical text. Discussions of grinding and crushing tools in the archaeological record may refer to milling equipment, querns, mortars, slabs, pestles, grinding bowls, and metates, just to name a few. However, apart from large-scale grinding equipment like that powered by animals, a set of grinding tools usually consists of a smaller stone (handstone) that is worked against a larger bottom stone (netherstone) (Rowan and Ebeling 2014: 440). These handstones and netherstones come in a variety of shapes and sizes, as would be suitable for the numerous types of crushing and grinding tasks involved in food preparation. However, differences in material, size, and shape do not necessarily indicate different uses, as the variation may instead be tied to the availability of raw materials and/or the preferences of the producer (Ebeling and Rowan 2004: 109). The most common type of grinding installation includes a flat or only slightly convex netherstone. This likely has as much to do with expediency of design as function. Any large stone that sat relatively flat and featured a flat surface could serve as a grinding surface, although many of the netherstones do show evidence for shaping and smoothing. Likewise, any stone that could be picked up with one hand by a person could be used as a handstone. In fact, identifying expedient grinding and crushing tools in archaeological contexts can be tricky because they may have very little modification from a natural stone outside of signs of use-wear such as smoothing, cracking, or pitting. Domestic building 950 at Iron Age Tel Batash provides an example of a relatively flat netherstone and a common handstone type, often shaped a bit like a shortened baguette (Mazar and PanitzCohen 2001: Plates 108–9, Plate 53: objects 1 and 2). Netherstones may also be bowl-shaped and described as “mortars” in archaeological field reports. These types of netherstones are sometimes set into the floor or work surface, as seen in a limestone example at Iron Age Tel Halif, with the expectation that they would never or rarely be moved (Hardin 2004: 79). Other mortars were not set into a work surface and so might have been intended to be more portable. An Early Bronze II house structure at Tel Bet Yerah contained a fixed mortar, like the one at Halif, as well as a portable mortar and handstone. The handstone associated with the bowl-shaped mortars is necessarily shaped differently than those used with the flat netherstone type. Handstones employed with bowl-shaped netherstones are held nearly vertically, instead of horizontally, and are often called “pestles.” This room also included a flat netherstone, suggesting that one household might own and use several different types of grinding and crushing installations (Paz 2012: 416).

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Excavators often find it difficult to differentiate between stone bowls, presumably for mixing and serving, and mortars, presumably for grinding. Sometimes this designation of bowl or mortar is made on the basis of the manufacture of the item. Stone vessels that evidence a great deal of carving, smoothing, and shaping on all sides, even the bottom, are often described as “bowls,” whereas vessels that have rougher exteriors are often described as “mortars.” For example, tripod mortars, or netherstones that sit upon 3 ft, are complicated to describe and assign to a single use (Liebowitz and Dehnisch 1999: 129). Stone vessels, used for a variety of purposes such as mixing pigments or as serving dishes, might look quite similar to highly finished and decorated grinding and crushing tools (Hunt et al. 2018; Sparks 2007: 132).

Tools Related to Cutting Chipped Stone Until the tenth century bce, metal and lithic tool industries existed alongside each other. However, in the tenth to ninth century bce, the systematic production of lithic cutting tools seems to cease in favor of metal tools. In fact, tools related to butchery appear to have transitioned to metal earlier than other types of ad hoc tools (Manclossi, Rosen, and Boëda 2019: 1313). Metal tools were likely more desirable because they could feature a longer cutting surface and were more variable in their construction (Manclossi, Rosen, and Boëda 2019: 1307). However, chipped-stone cutting tools do not disappear completely. Expedient or ad hoc tools continue to appear in the archaeological record in the first millennium, albeit in smaller numbers than before, because they could be manufactured on the spot to meet particular needs. Metal Metal objects, especially those made of iron, do not always survive well in the archaeological record in the Levant; thus, items that are found are often fragmentary in nature. Aside from remains that are obvious arrow points and spear points, the purpose(s) of a blade or unidentifiable piece of iron may remain a mystery. However, it is reasonable to suggest that some of these iron tools were used for butchery and other food-preparation-related tasks, especially when they are found within a food-production context. One example of this situation is Building 950 in Area E at Iron Age Tel Batash (Timnah) that has been identified as a house containing an olive press as well as other finds, including a grinding stone, related to the production and consumption of food (Mazar 1997: 211– 18). A portion of an iron blade, with rivets on the tang still visible where it was originally attached to a wooden handle, was recovered from this building (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2001: 104–5, Plate 51: object 18). Similar blade fragments were recovered from Building 743 at Timnah, also described as a house and containing numerous items related to the maintenance activities of cooking and serving (Mazar 1997: 205–11; Mazar and PanitzCohen 2001: 82–3, Plate 40). These objects, while incomplete and rather rare, provide an idea of types of cutting tools likely employed by people in the Iron Age Levant for food preparation. Other Evidence Alongside extant metal and stone cutting tools are the marks left by these tools on the bones of butchered animals. Cut-marks are evidence for slaughter and the breaking down of the

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animal carcass into a variety of parts.4 Some experimental archaeology has even suggested that the type of tool used can sometimes be determined by the shape and character of the cut marks (Greenfield 2006). The location of cut marks on particular bones can also give clues as to the process of butchery, what parts of the animal were desirable, and which may have represented butchery waste (Marom et al. 2009: 69). For example, in a study of the zooarchaeological remains from the Middle Bronze Age palace at Tel Kabri, investigators noted that in the earlier palace phase, bones evidenced more impact fractures, likely to extract marrow in the bones. In the later palace period, the impact fractures decrease significantly, and butchery marks suggest the use of a sharp, heavy tool that could cut through the bone (Marom et al. 2015: 187–8). A change like this could occur due to the increased availability of a different type of technology or change in technology could be brought on by shifting culinary and serving practices in the palace.

Tools Related to Transport and Storage As one might imagine, baskets and textiles woven from organic materials and animals skins rarely survive in the archaeological record. When they do survive, it is in very arid locations, such as at Qumran or Nahal Mishmar. However, evidence of baskets and textiles are preserved in other ways, namely impressed, purposely or accidentally, in the surfaces of ceramic vessels and objects. For example, some jar stoppers at the Jordanian site of Khirbet al-Mudayna feature textile impressions, implying that some sort of cloth was wrapped over the still-wet clay stopper to aid in sealing the vessel. The “pytholith impression of a basket” was found in the fill of the terminal use phase of Building 572 at Ashkelon (Boertien 2013: 226–9; Master and Aja 2011: 134).

Straws and Strainers Some tools employed in the world of the Hebrew Bible seem to go unnamed and unmentioned in the text. Take, for example, strainers used for liquids. There are a variety of jug and juglets that feature a perforated clay strainer in their spout, meant to strain unwanted material in beverages, like beer or wine. People also used straws or reeds fitted with removable bone or metal strainers at the end for similar purposes. Examples of these bone and metal strainers come from across the ancient Near East from the Middle Bronze Age to the Iron Age (Maeir and Garfinkel 1992; Homan 2004: 86, 88).

OTHER TYPES OF EVIDENCE If we expand our view beyond just Levantine archaeology and the texts of the Hebrew Bible, other resources become available to enhance our picture of what tools might have been employed in the maintenance activities associated with food production, transformation, and consumption.

Egyptian Tomb Models Beginning in the Fourth Dynasty, approximately 2600 bce, elite Egyptians were sometimes buried with small statues of servants performing household or estate tasks. These statues

4 

See the discussion in Chapter 4 in this volume.

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reach the height of their popularity in the Middle Kingdom period and decline in use after that (Tooley 1995: 8–9). Presumably, these miniature servants were meant to serve their master in the afterlife, providing the labor needed to meet the food needs of the eternal household. These tomb models, meant to replicate household activities, provide crucial information about certain types of maintenance activities and the tools employed in these activities in ancient Egypt. A figurine type described as “porters” bear baskets of goods, often on their heads. These baskets are of different designs and sizes and sometimes feature food and drink. While these figures are stylized, they indicate the variety of types of containers likely used for carrying raw consumable material or prepared foods (Tooley 1995: 19–27). The act of grinding grain and preparing flour for baking is also depicted in these tomb models. A model of a bakery from the tomb of Meketre (ca. 1980 bce) depicts the multiple steps employed to transform grain into bread and beer. Two types of tools are employed to break down grain in this model: a man appears to process the grain with a large pestle while two women grind the grain on raised netherstones (Tooley 1995: 28). Old Kingdom models depict the sifting of flour with a basket, a task not mentioned in the Hebrew Bible but likely a necessary part of the grinding process (Tooley 1995: 29). The task of straining beer is also represented in at least one tomb model from Beni Hasan. In this model, a worker spreads a cloth or maybe even fine basketry over the mouth of a large ceramic vessel, presumably to separate the beer from the fermented mash (Tooley 1995: 31, Fig. 24). It is possible that sieving the beer during production was an alternative to using an individual sieving mechanism, like the strainer jugs and straw tips mentioned above, while drinking. It is also possible that both batch straining as well as straining at the time of serving the beverage was necessary.

Human Skeletal Remains Human skeletons can also provide data about the types of maintenance activities undertaken and the tools these jobs likely involved. At the Neolithic site of Abu Hurerya in modern-day Syria, physical anthropologists noted that many skeletons had collapsed vertebrae, arthritic big toes, and muscle attachments that showed a great deal of arm and upper body strength (Molleson 1994: 71). Archaeologists also found several examples of a particular kind of netherstone, often called a saddle quern, at the site. The physical anthropologists determined that the patterning they were seeing on the skeletons was consistent with the motion of sitting on one’s knees with toes curled under, pushing a handstone forward and across the netherstone in the process of grinding grain (Molleson 1994: 71–2). If this understanding of the human skeletal remains is correct, this activity had been so consistent and frequent that it had literally marked the bones of the individuals doing this work, who happened to be more often female than male (Molleson 1994: 74). It is feasible that frequently repeated actions related to the use of tools in cooking and eating might leave other markers on the human skeleton as well. Identifying these types of trends would require analysis of a significant number of skeletons from well-understood archaeological sites.

The Yale Culinary Tablets Two cuneiform tablets at Yale University from the Old Babylonian period (ca. 1700 bce), believed to be from southern Babylonia, feature an assortment of recipes. These recipes give preparation instructions for a variety of meat dishes, likely stews, indicating that

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certain cuts of meat, various vegetables, and even spices must be added at different times (Bottéro 1987; Bottéro and Fagan 2004). The meat would have to be butchered, the vegetables processed in some fashion, and the spices likely ground. Yet, as in the biblical text, none of these processes is described in detail. It seems likely that these recipe texts assume the user will know the tools and processes necessary to get ingredients to the point of being ready to use in the prepared dish.

CONCLUSION Reflecting on the evidence provided throughout this chapter, it seems most likely that textual sources do not provide more information about the specific steps of food-related maintenance activities and the associated tools simply because this information was not deemed to be vital to the purpose of the texts. The texts of the Hebrew Bible were not meant to serve as a butchery guide, a how-to manual on grinding grain, or as a primer on how to squeeze curds. The knowledge essential to using these tools and for performing the tasks of the kitchen was likely passed across generations by example in the household. As such, it was assumed to be common knowledge by biblical authors and information regarding the production and use of tools related to cooking appear in texts only incidentally, when they serve the purpose of the story. Yet, the archaeological record represents an often less specific or curated view of life than the texts. For example, broken pieces of netherstones are often found in secondary use in walls in buildings. Nowhere in any text is the reuse of grinding stones as wall building material mentioned, but it is a rather common phenomenon. Thus, only when all the types of evidence are brought together do we see the richest picture of the types of tools used by ancient people. The exercise of writing this chapter has impressed upon me anew the importance of community knowledge, for this is how knowledge about tool production and use was passed on. Archaeologists should continue to strive to identify research questions that highlight the acquisition of knowledge within community structures via person-to-person teaching. While the lack of data on maintenance activities tools related to food production and cooking in the Hebrew Bible can be viewed as frustrating, the absence of this data in extant written texts speaks to the robust nature of the network of human knowledge that must have supported the production and use of these tools.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Adams, J. L. (2014), Ground Stone Analysis: A Technological Approach, Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. This volume, while rather technical, provides an excellent overview of the vocabulary and techniques employed in studying ground stone tools. Leonard, A. (2004), “Viewing Our Past through a Culinary Prism,” NEA 67: 64–70. In this short introduction to an entire issue of Near Eastern Archaeology dedicated to the subject of domestic cooking, the author provides a lively and accessible introduction to concept of viewing the ancient past through a culinary lens. Rowan, Y. M. and Ebeling, J. R. (eds.) (2014), New Approaches to Old Stones: Recent Studies of Ground Stone Artifacts, London: Routledge. This edited volume provides essays that address the production and use of ground stone tools from a variety of cultures and time periods around the world.

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Shafer-Elliott, C. (2013), Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible, London: Routledge. Shafer-Elliott’s volume provides close readings of key biblical texts related to domestic cooking alongside presentations of archaeological data on the organizations of settlements in Iron II Judah. This volume will be useful in identifying and imagining the contexts in which tools related to food might be used. Spence, C. (2018), “Fondue Make a Comeback,” International Journal of Gastronomy and Food Science 12: 14–15. Although decidedly not about the biblical world, this consideration of the fondue phenomenon and associated tools, the fondue pot and skewers, provides an excellent example of the ways in which the presence of a particular cooking tool in a household can signal the cooking-related values of the household as well as its participation in a larger social phenomenon.

REFERENCES Boertien, J. (2013), “Unravelling the Fabric: Textile Production in Iron Age Transjordan,” PhD diss., University of Gronigen. Bottéro, J. (1987), “The Culinary Tablets at Yale,” JAOS 107: 11–19. Bottéro, J. and Fagan, T. L. (2004), The Oldest Cuisine in the World: Cooking in Mesopotamia, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ebeling, J. and Rowan, Y. (2004), “The Archaeology of the Daily Grind: Ground Stone Tools and Food Production in the Southern Levant,” NEA 67: 108–17. González-Marcén, P., Montón-Subías, S., and Picazo, M. (2008), ‘”Towards an Archaeology of Maintenance Activities,” in S. Montón-Subías and M. Sánchez-Romero (eds.), Engendering Social Dynamics: The Archaeology of Maintenance Activities, 3–8, BAR International Series 1862, Oxford: Archaeopress. Greenfield, H. (2006), “Slicing Cut Marks on Animal Bones: Diagnostics for Identifying Stone Tool Type and Raw Material,” JFA 31: 147–63. Hardin, J. W. (2004), “Understanding Domestic Space: An Example from Iron Age Tel Halif,” NEA 67: 71–83. Homan, M. (2004), “Beer and Its Drinkers: An Ancient Near Eastern Love Story,” NEA 67: 84–95. Hunt, L., Martin, M. A. S., Finkelstein, I., and Weiner, S. A. (2018), “Powder Preparation Kit from the Middle Bronze Age at Megiddo, Israel: Tools and Raw Materials,” JAS Reports 21: 667–78. Liebowitz, A. and Dehnisch, M. (1999), “A Unique Worked Stone Mortar from Tel Yincam,” Levant 32: 129–34. Maeir, A. M. and Garfinkel, Y. (1992), “Bone and Metal Straw-tip Beer-Strainers from the Ancient Near East,” Levant 24: 218–23. Manclossi, F., Rosen, S. A., and Boëda, E. (2019), “From Stone to Metal: The Dynamics of Technological Change in the Decline of Chipped Stone Tool Production. A Case Study from the Southern Levant (5th–1st Millennia bce),” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory, Advanced Online Publication, doi: org/10.1007/s10816-019-09412-2 (online). Marom, N., Yasur-Landau, A., and Cline, E. H. (2015), “The Silent Coast: Zooarchaeological Evidence to the Development Trajectory of a Second Millennium Palace at Tel Kabri,” JAA 39: 181–92.

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Marom, N., Mazar, A., Raban-Gerstel, N., and Bar-Oz, G. (2009), “Backbone of Society: Evidence for Social and Economic Status of the Iron Age Population of Tel Reḥov, Beth Shean Valley, Israel,” BASOR 354: 55–75. Master, D. and Aja, A. (2011), “The House Shrine of Ashkelon,” IEJ 61: 129–45. Mazar, A. (1997), Timnah (Tel Batash) I: Stratigraphy and Architecture, Qedem 37, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Mazar, A. and Panitz-Cohen, N. (2001), Timnah (Tel Batash) II: The Finds from the First Millennium bce, Plates, Qedem 42, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Meyers, C. (2013), Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context, New York: Oxford University Press. Milgrom, J. (1990), The JPS Torah Commentary: Numbers, Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society. Molleson, T. (1994), “The Eloquent Bones of Abu Hureyra,” Scientific American 271: 70–5. Paz, S. (2012), “Changing Households at the Rise of Urbanism,” in B. J. Parker and C. P. Foster (eds.), New Perspectives on Household Archaeology, 407–36, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Rowan, Y. M. and Ebeling, J. R. (2014), New Approaches to Old Stones: Recent Studies of Ground Stone Artifacts, London: Routledge. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2013), Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible, London: Routledge. Sparks, R. T. (2007), Stone Vessels in the Levant, PEF Annual 8, Leeds: Maney. Tooley, A. M. J. (1995), Egyptian Models and Scenes, Buckinghamshire: Shire Publications.

CHAPTER 12

Ceramics in the Iron Age NAVA PANITZ-COHEN

INTRODUCTION: THE ROLE OF POTTERY IN RECONSTRUCTING ANCIENT FOODWAYS With the introduction of ceramic vessels for the routine storage, preparation, and serving of food, a true gastronomic revolution took place, in the enhancement of nutritional variation, edibility, and digestibility, and in the prevention of toxins and illnesses that can occur when food is not well stored and is eaten raw. Accompanying this technological revolution are significant developments in the cultural context of cuisine, so that ceramics comprise one of the best—and often, the only—material correlates for cultural, social, and economic practices relating to the production and consumption of food. As such, ceramic vessels provide invaluable data on how people behaved, felt, and thought about food in ancient times (London 2016: 2). The invention of pottery took place at different times in different parts of the world (Barnett and Hoopes 1995). In Israel, the earliest pottery-bearing strata at archaeological sites, such as Jericho and Sha’ar Hagolan, date to the Pottery Neolithic A period in the seventh millennium bce (Garfinkel 2019: 11). The increased dependence on agricultural produce for subsistence at that time, the so-called “Neolithic revolution,” was one of the factors propelling the production of ceramic vessels that could meet the changing needs of the now-sedentary and constantly growing population. Storage vessels were necessary to hold surplus and also facilitated the trade of commodities, allowing diverse food ingredients to be available for a longer period of time, relatively free of vermin. Large bowls, kraters, and basins made of ceramics were better suited to a wider range of food preparation techniques, such as mixing, fermentation, soaking, salting, marinating, etc., which were impossible to do with baskets or hides, or vessels made of lime plaster, which were previously available for such tasks. From early on, cooking pots were technically designed to withstand the heat of fire (see further below). Bowls for serving solids, and jugs, juglets, and flasks for liquids, as well as specialized vessels such as goblets and pyxides,1 possibly for precious oils, were all part of the way ceramics were used to fill a wide range of culinary needs in ancient society. An interesting proposal made by some scholars is that ceramic vessels, in particular the cooking pot, were invented by women, and remained a female technology for millennia, at least on the level of household production and consumption (London 2008; Sinopoli Pyxides is the plural for the “pyxis,” a small box-like container whose origin is in the Aegean sphere in the Late Bronze Age, subsequently making its way into Near Eastern ceramic assemblages as either imports or as local imitations. 1 

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1991: 168–9; Vincentelli 2004). This engendering of production, alongside the integral relationship between cooking and family nurturing, rendered pottery production and use an empowerment for women (Skibo and Schiffer 1995). It also served as a mechanism for increased nutritional equality for women and their children, as “preparation of stews [with meat] utilizing ceramic containers improved women’s access to critical nutrients by equalizing the distribution of foods within a social unit sharing meals [cooked in] a single vessel” (Garfinkel 2019: 261). Food-related ceramics serve as a powerful proxy for social, ethnic, and cultural affiliation, identity, and boundaries. Cuisine is an integral and robust expression of such identity and reflects both continuity of ancient traditions, as well as the influx of new customs and behaviors through changing historical, social, and physical circumstances, such as migration, conquest, or environmental instability. Although we cannot assume a simplistic, one-to-one connection between pots and people, with the proper methodology, such trends can be traced in the ceramic vessels related to food, both in time and in space.

FOOD-RELATED CERAMICS IN ANCIENT ISRAEL: SOURCES, FUNCTION, QUANTIFICATION, AND SIZE Sources During the period under discussion, the Iron Age I and II (ca. 1200–586 bce), the sources for reconstructing the role of pottery vessels in food preparation and consumption in ancient Israel are mainly the archaeological materials and, less so, the text of the Hebrew Bible. Pottery is one of the most ubiquitous finds in archaeological excavations, being so widely used and exceedingly durable, affording us with a robust database with which to examine the complex relationship between food and people. The caveat concerning the biblical text is due to the fact that ceramic vessels are usually not mentioned with the purpose of describing their shape, origin, or function, but are referred to indirectly as part of a narrative with a different agenda, or as a parable to explicate a moral point, as further discussed below.

Function We tend to assign functions to vessels based mainly on shape and, to a lesser degree, on technical traits. Several problems exist when attempting to securely identify how these vessels were actually used in ancient society, both practically and symbolically. While morphology is certainly telling, and cross-cultural regularities show that a closed vessel with a narrow opening was used to pour liquids and a large stationary vessel was most likely used for storage, alternative functions exist (Rice 1987: 207–12; 236–42). For example, such a “pouring” vessel could have been used to ferment beer or to process dairy products (London 2016: 209), and a large jar could have been used as a container to transport smaller vessels, as noted in pithoi2 found in the Late Bronze Age Ulu Burun shipwreck (Pulak 2007: 203–4). In order to overcome these difficulties, experimental archaeology and ethnoarchaeological data go far in helping to better identify the function of ancient ceramics (Skibo and Feinman 1999: 5).

2 

Pithoi is the plural for pithos, the term used to denote a very large storage jar.

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We also attempt to define vessel function based on the archaeological find context. For example, at Tel Halif in the south of Israel, small Iron Age II bowls concentrated in one room of a dwelling were thought to have served as personal drinking cups; based on this, along with selected architectural features, the space was identified as a “living room” (Hardin 2010: 137). Problems with the use of context to reconstruct function are related to the existence of many unprovenanced vessels and the ambivalence of many excavated contexts. It should also be kept in mind that ceramic vessels typically had multiple uses and were moved between different venues, so that “the archaeological context is often their final resting place rather than an accurate indicator of how their use life was spent” (Rice 1987: 232–3; Schiffer 1996). Thus, caution is required when relating archaeological context to vessel types and attempting to reconstruct the functions of both. Two additional parameters that can help us reconstruct the function of ancient ceramic vessels are technology and decoration (style). An example of an informative technology is a special type of clay fabric that was eminently suited to intensive heat exposure (see further below), an indication that the vessel was used for cooking. While this is extremely widespread, we know of cooking pots that were made of a different kind of fabric, so that this condition is not infallible. Elaborate decoration, particularly when applied to the exterior of a vessel where it would be most visual, can be an indicator that it was used for serving delicacies in the context of communal feasting, elite consumption, or cultic rituals. This principle of “visual performance” was observed, for example, in the use of polychrome-decorated bowls for feasting in the American southwest (Mills 1999: 112–13), recalling the emblemic Philistine-style motifs painted on the exterior of small drinking bowls in the early Iron Age (Gilboa, Cohen-Weinberger, and Goren 2006: 321– 6). Ethnoarchaeological data show that decoration on a pot could have played a role in signaling group identity and political alliances, unrelated to the vessel’s function or contents (e.g., Bowser 2000). Use-wear traces on the walls of a ceramic vessel are very helpful in reconstructing function. For example, the location of charring can indicate that the pot had been placed over a fire; abrasions or pocking on the interior surface of a vessel can point to grinding, pounding, or scraping while preparing dry ingredients, and surface pitting might be the result of the chemical action of solutions used in food preparation (Rice 1987: 234–6). Other methods to reconstruct the function of pottery vessels in ancient Israelite society may be sought based on actual foodstuff found in pots. Wheat and barley, legumes, figs, and other dry substances have been found in vessels, such as a jar with carbonized figs from the early twelfth century bce at Tel Miqne (King and Stager 2001: 105) and a large jar full of charred grain from the ninth century bce at Tel Reḥov (Panitz-Cohen and Mazar 2020: Photo 12.226). Jars found in a context that was terribly burned might allude to their having contained oil. An analytical method with sound potential for recreating what was stored, cooked, and consumed in unglazed ceramic vessels is residue analysis, which entails chemical analyses of organic residues that were absorbed into the fabric during use (e.g., Biers and McGovern 1990; Gregg and Slater 2010). Examples of food-related residues that have been identified in Iron Age ceramic vessels include cinnamaldehyde (cinnamon) in small Phoenician flasks (Namdar et al. 2013), and traces of yeast in Philistine strainer jugs, as well as other Iron Age vessels, which enabled researchers to brew ancient beer in modern times.3

3 

https://www.israel21c.org/israelis-brew-beer-from-yeast-in-3000-year-old-jug/

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Although animal bones and botanical samples, such as olive pits or grape pips, can point to which food was processed and consumed, these are less seldom discovered inside vessels, so that the association of faunal and floral remains with a certain vessel type is mostly insufficient to determine its function.

Quantification and Size Two parameters to keep in mind when analyzing food-related ceramic vessels are quantity and vessel size. The former entails counting how many vessels of a certain type are present, which enables cultural patterning and a deeper understanding of how the vessel, and its context, were used. For example, a large concentration of jars can indicate the presence of a storeroom. One very large bowl or krater as opposed to a large number of small bowls might be indicative of eating habits, be they communal (as in the former case) or individual (as in the latter). Counting the vessels on a diachronic basis can indicate the increase or decrease of a particular vessel type over time, pointing to changing patterns in the preparation and consumption of certain foods. Mapping quantities of vessel types on a geographic basis can provide important information concerning the regionalism of culinary practices. For example, the presence or absence of a certain cooking pot type can allude to a local cuisine that was not consumed elsewhere. While a large amount of imported tableware is an indicator of trade, it can also allude to the actual presence of people from the region where the vessels originated. The size and capacity of the vessel is a very significant parameter when attempting to recreate cooking and consumption patterns. The example cited above relating to the size of bowls is a case in point. Ethnographic examples show that cooking-pot size and capacity can reflect various factors: the kind of cuisine and the way it is prepared, meal scheduling, household size, wealth and/or composition, as well as the practice of communal feasting (e.g., Kramer 1979: 156; Mills 1999).

IRON AGE FOOD PREPARATION AND SERVING VESSEL TYPES Food Preparation: Cooking Pots The cooking pot is the prime vessel for recreating foodways in ancient Israel. The technology and morphology eminently suit its function, while it also bears sociocultural significance. Notably, the production technology of Iron Age cooking pots is markedly conservative, while the shapes underwent more of a change over time (see details below). It is also notable that aside from some minor traits, the generic Iron Age cooking pot is a continuation of the Late Bronze Age tradition (the second half of the second millennium bce). This issue of ceramic continuity versus change has implications for our understanding of the origins of the Iron Age I population, whether indigenous or intrusive, or a combination of both (McNutt 1999: 50, 61–2). Technology is significant in reconstructing the identity and behavior of the people who made and used the pots, as well as what was cooked in them. Anthropological and ethnoarchaeological research shows that in traditional societies, technology is not merely a technical way to solve a problem usually related to subsistence, but also represents a deep-seated expression of a social group’s identity and cultural choices. This is because learning and conducting the craft, from procuring raw materials until the formation of the final product, are transmitted from generation to generation mainly within the confines

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of the social group and thus, come to embody that group (Dobres and Hoffman 1994; Gosselain 2000; Roux 2019: 4–6; 294–316). Thus, a “behind the scenes” understanding of the technology opens an important window into social group identity and inter-group interactions. Several petrographic provenance studies have been conducted on Iron Age cooking pots from various sites (e.g., Arie, Buzaglo, and Goren 2006; Cohen-Weinberger 2009; Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2001a: 20–1; Shai, Ben-Shlomo, and Maeir 2012) showing that they were mostly made of clay mined not far from the site, alongside a small portion that was imported from nearby regions; the latter became more common in Iron II.4 Cooking Pot Technology Although a seemingly simple and utilitarian vessel, in fact, the clay cooking pot in ancient Israel displays one of the highest levels of ceramic technological achievement in antiquity, enabling the vessel to withstand repeated cycles of heating and cooling that can cause the pot to crack or explode (Rice 1987: 105–6, 228–30; Skibo and Schiffer 1995: 82–3). The features that were adapted in order to ensure successful heat conductivity and resistance to thermal stress include shape (thin walls and wide rounded base) and fabric (iron-rich clay with a high proportion of temper, either natural or added, that have similar or lower coefficients of thermal expansion than the clay body itself); the iron-rich clay lends a reddish-brown look to the cooking pots. The typical temper includes mainly calcite, but also grog (crushed pottery sherds), mica, shell or bones, and quartz, lending a rather spotted look to the fabric. Although cooking pot shapes changed over the period of time under discussion, as detailed below, this specialized technology remained virtually unaltered, showing that despite historical and political flux, the technical traditions remained the same, implying a continuity in production groups on a broad level. In a sense, one could say that this conservativism is simply “if it’s not broken, don’t fix it”; however, this continuity (and minor changes) also represents sociocultural factors in ancient Israel that go beyond practicality itself. The typical Iron I cooking pot has shallow proportions (body height to rim diameter around 1:2/2.5) with a softly angled or rounded body and a wide rounded base (Figure 12.1:15). The rim is vertical with a triangular exterior, often elongated. Iron I cooking pots lacked handles, which began to appear only at the end of the period. This type of pot was common throughout the entire region covering modern Israel and Jordan, with little variation that is seen mainly in the length and shape of the outer rim. The pot came in various sizes, although on average it had a capacity of 6 to 8 liters. Biblical texts (see below) suggest that the open shallow cooking pot was used to boil a vegetarian or meat stew. In the latter part of Iron Age I, toward the end of the eleventh century bce, a new shape was introduced, albeit in small numbers, with a narrow neck, deep body (proportions around 1:3), and round base, having one or two handles, and thus termed a cooking jug or cooking amphora (Figure 12.1:2–3). These closed cooking pots can be found at sites

A caveat to this is that because cooking pots are usually made from prevalent iron-rich soils, such as terra rossa, and their main temper is mostly geographically non-indicative calcite, it is often difficult to know the origin of the clay (personal communication, A. Cohen-Weinberger). 5  Drawings and photos in Figures 1, 2, and 3:1–5, 7–8 depict vessels from Tel Batash, Tell Qasile, Tel Beth Shean, and Tel Reḥov; they are reproduced here courtesy of the director, Amihai Mazar. Figure 12.3:6 appears courtesy of Eilat Mazar; it depicts a vessel from her excavations at Achziv. 4 

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FIGURE 12.1  Iron Age cooking pots. (Drawings and photos in Figures 12.1, 2, and 3 are from Tel Batash, Tell Qasile, Tel Beth-Shean, and Tel Reḥov; courtesy of Amihai Mazar)

throughout Israel. They represent the introduction of a different mode of cooking that entailed less-rapid boiling and that could accommodate only certain types, and sizes, of ingredients (Magness 2014: 35). London (2016: 205) suggests that they might have been used to heat a dairy soup requiring a gentle simmer. Notably, this innovation in culinary habits coexisted with the long-lived cooking pot type and its associated cuisine.

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A vessel defined as a cooking pot despite its lacking the typical cooking pot fabric and shape was identified (mostly) at Philistine sites during the course of Iron Age I; it was shaped like a regular jug with one (rarely two) handle and a narrow ring or flat base, and was manufactured from the same clay used for non-cooking vessels. These jugs are defined as cooking pots based on the similarity to cooking vessels in the Aegean world, likely the homeland of the Philistines, as well as on soot patterns found on their side walls. This type of pot reflects the manner of cooking, most likely set on coals in a hearth; its smaller size and capacity (averaging 2 to 3 liters) suggest that it was used to cook individual portions in households. It has been suggested that this cooking-pot type was what influenced the development of the Israelite closed cooking jug and amphora described above, reflecting interaction between the Philistines and their neighbors (BenShlomo et al. 2008; Killebrew 1999: 93–4). Iron Age II Cooking Pots The Iron Age I shallow, open cooking pot with a wide rounded base continued virtually unchanged in Iron IIA (the tenth and ninth centuries bce), aside from two new features: the addition of two handles extending from the rim to the shoulder (although not in all pots), and a gradual shortening and variation in the shape of the rim exterior (Figure 12.1:4). The latter variability did not affect the way the pot was used, and was most likely due to “the work of different potters within and between time periods. The differences represent short-term, temporal variations in pots made by successive generations within a family or community” (London 2016: 205). The cooking jugs and amphorae continue in greater numbers, alongside their open-mouthed shallow counterparts. Notably, the cooking pots demonstrate very little regionality, and the same types are found throughout the country, both during the time of the purported United Monarchy (tenth century bce) and the initial division into the Israelite and Judean kingdoms. In Iron IIB (eighth century bce), the shallow open cooking pot continued in small amounts, albeit of somewhat smaller size and with more of a restricted opening. At this time, a marked reduction in the variability of rim shapes took place, with the majority of the cooking pots now bearing a short stepped rim, always with two handles (Figure 12.1:5). This type was popular throughout the country, with no obvious division between the northern Israelite and the southern Judean kingdoms. The cooking jugs with one handle continue to be found. At this same time, a specialized type appeared in Judah. It is a small (3.5 to 5 liters) pot with a globular body, narrow restricted neck whose exterior is multi-ridged, and two handles (Figure 12.1:6). In Iron IIC (seventh century until 586 bce), we witness a relatively high degree of typological variety of cooking pots on a regional basis (north, south, coast, Transjordan), although it must be kept in mind that much fewer assemblages are known from the north at this time, following the Assyrian conquest of many sites in the Israelite kingdom and their abandonment. The “fossil” eighth-century bce pot with stepped rim continues in smaller numbers in the seventh century throughout the country. Two new types of cooking pots developed in Judah, being common at Jerusalem, ‘Ein-Gedi, Tel Lachish, and other sites in the region. The first type is a continuation of the eighth-century bce small cooking amphora, although it now has only one sharp ridge in its neck (Figure 12.1:7). The other is called the “‘EinGedi” pot since it is especially common there. It is small and globular, with a short everted rim, and two handles (Figure 12.1:8). Both are considerably smaller than the shallow open pot, with a capacity of 3 to 5 liters. A technological change can be

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detected in these pots; still made of the well-known cooking pot clay recipe, they are generally thinner walled and fired at a higher temperature to a metallic consistency. Some of them bear red slip and burnish, a trait reserved mostly for serving vessels (see below). A selection of the Iron IIB–C (eighth to seventh century bce) pots in Judah, and especially in Jerusalem, had an X incised on one of their handles. A. Maeir (2010) suggests that these are similar to the Paleo-Hebrew letter tav, the first letter in the word trûmâ, signifying that the contents were designated as an offering to the temple in Jerusalem (Zech. 14:20-21: “And the cooking pots in the house of the Lord will be as holy as the bowls in front of the altar. And every cooking pot in Jerusalem and in Judah shall be sacred to the Lord of hosts, so that all who sacrifice may come and use them to boil ….”).6 J. Magness (2014: 47–59) suggests that while the traditional open-mouthed cooking pots allowed for chunks of meat with long bones to be boiled (attested by biblical verses; see below), the small, narrow-necked Judean pots could not contain such bones and were used for vegetarian soups. This indicated that “meat nearly disappeared from the local diet during the late Iron Age. … This phenomenon contrasts with other regions and may be the result of market patterns under Assyrian rule and the observance of a biblical ban on the consumption of nonsacrificial meat” (Magness 2014: 59). This analysis is an excellent example of how cooking pot technology, shape, and size can infer cuisine and food-related behavior in ancient Israel. Baking Trays In addition to the clay pots used for boiling, flat pita-like bread was baked with the help of a concave “plate” called a “baking tray” (Figure 12.1:9).7 These are made with the same technology as the cooking pots and usually bear concentric incisions alongside pecked notches on the upper convex side, apparently for the dough to adhere. They were most likely placed on hot coals. These baking trays are found during the Iron Age I and II throughout the country.

Food Serving and Consumption: Bowls, Kraters, Jugs, and Flasks As opposed to the cooking vessels, which shared a relatively high degree of commonality in technology and shape over time and place, there is a wide variety of serving vessels that demonstrate regional differences, especially in Iron Age II, between north, south, and the coast, as well as neighboring regions such as Jordan and southern Lebanon. The reason for this variability and typological richness is related to political divisions, ethnic differences, and social hierarchies that developed during the course of the Iron Age. This is most likely also due to the more communal nature of serving vessels. While a cooking pot remained mostly confined to the cooking area, a bowl, jug, or flask used for serving were more on display, within the confines of the family household or as part of the broader community. This conspicuous consumption influenced the higher investment in the manufacture of more elaborate shapes, as well as the application of decoration. The increase in imported tableware in Iron Age II also contributed to this development.

6  7 

Translations of biblical texts are from the NRSV. See also the discussion in Chapter 14 in this volume.

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FIGURE 12.2  Iron Age I serving vessels. (Drawings and photos courtesy of Amihai Mazar)

While the Iron Age I assemblage bore a resemblance to its Late Bronze Age predecessor, by the Iron Age II, Israelite ceramics had developed a “language” of their own that can be best seen in both the shape and the decoration of the serving vessels. The repertoire of serving vessels in Iron Age I is relatively limited, with only two main types of bowls (hemispherical and S-shaped; Figure 12.2:1–2) that are relatively small

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(averaging 15–20 cm in diameter), and one main krater type (angled body, with two to four handles; Figure 12.2:3) that is a direct continuation of the Canaanite type. Jugs are the vessel category with the most diversity, with one prominent type called a beer jug or a strainer jug. These are medium-sized, around 20–25 cm high, with a narrow neck, sometimes with a basket handle extending from the rim top. An elongated spout extends at mid-body from a perforated area (Figure 12.2:4). Their name derives from the suggestion that they were used to make and/or drink beer. G. London (2016: 206) reconstructed the method as scooping up the barley mash into the spout and allowing the liquid to drain into the jug through the strainer, with drinking done from the rim. Wine or mead could be drunk in such a jug as well. A vessel used to serve water or wine is the flask, with its narrow neck and lentil-shaped body. The Iron Age I flask was a small vessel with an average capacity of no more than half a liter; these are decorated with concentric circles on both sides (Figure 12.2:5). An interesting variation has a spoon attached to its opening (Figure 12.2:6). In Iron Age I, there are a number of ethnic-related pottery groups that are comprised mainly of serving vessels, with the two main groups being the Philistines and the Phoenicians. Philistine Pottery Philistine pottery, first appearing in the twelfth century and continuing until the early tenth century bce, underwent several phases of development, mostly seen in the decoration, but also in an increasing hybridity of shape and decoration with the local Canaanite/Israelite pottery (Dothan and Zukerman 2015; Maeir 2019: 315–16). Both the shapes and the decorative motifs of the early stage of this pottery appear to reflect the origin of the Philistines in the Aegean world (Mazar 1988: 253–7). The most common Philistine serving vessels are the bell-shaped bowls and kraters (Figure 12.2:7); other typical vessels, such as the stirrup jar (Figure 12.2:8), were probably containers rather than serving vessels. Notably, the decoration of these open vessels was located on their exterior, as opposed to the local tradition of interior decoration. The color of the paint changed from monochrome (black-brown) in the earlier phase (twelfth century bce) to bichrome (red and black) on a white-slipped background in the later phase (eleventh century bce). Motifs included geometric and zoomorphic (birds and fish) patterns, mostly of Aegean origin. Hybridity of technical and stylistic traditions can be seen, for example, in the beer jug and the flask, both local shapes that are found decorated with Philistine motifs. This amalgamation appears to signify the gradual intermixing of the local and newcomer populations through shared markets, occupation, and possibly also intermarriage (Mazar 1985; Maeir 2019). In Israel, Philistine pottery was also found outside Philistia, for example, at Megiddo, Dan, and the northern coast (Martin 2017); this apparently represents trade in the vessels rather than the actual presence of Philistines, suggesting that the particular serving customs associated with the Philistine vessels were prized by other people, perhaps as exotica or an elite practice. Phoenician Pottery As opposed to Philistine pottery, which is a hallmark of immigrants undergoing a process of assimilation, Phoenician pottery is a technological and stylistic product of local people in the process of becoming maritime specialists, beginning in the late Iron Age I (second half of the eleventh century bce). This reflects the understanding that, in fact, the Phoenicians were the cultural and perhaps ethnic continuation of the Canaanites from the Bronze Age.

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The typical Phoenician serving vessels at this time are globular jugs with one handle (Figure 12.2:9–10), flasks, and the well-known beer jug, the last two rooted in the Canaanite potting tradition. They are set apart by their particular decoration: red and black, with an occasional white line, arranged in concentric circles on both sides of the vessel, along with some geometric, floral, and zoomorphic motifs (Gilboa 1999). These vessels are found mainly in the north and along the coast at this time. Provenance studies show that Phoenician Bichrome serving vessels were initially mainly produced along the coast of northern Israel and southern Lebanon, although Cypriot production and import to Israel began in the late eleventh century bce, with the settlement of Phoenicians in Cyprus (Waiman-Barak 2016). Decoration In Iron Age I, kraters and jugs are the most-decorated vessels, the motifs demonstrating mainly a continuation of the Canaanite painted tradition. These are found mostly in the Beth-Shean and Jezreel Valleys, regions not conquered by the Israelites according to the Bible (e.g., Judg. 1:26-37). At this time, the most-decorated serving vessels are found in the Philistine and Phoenician assemblages, described above. As noted above, there is an extremely wide variety of serving vessels in Iron Age II, particularly bowls and jugs, whose description is beyond the scope of the present chapter. A number of major types and groups will be noted.

FIGURE 12.3  Iron Age II serving vessels. (Drawings and photos courtesy of Amihai Mazar; Figure 12.3:6, from Achziv, courtesy of Eilat Mazar)

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Bowls In Iron II, most of the bowls are medium to large in size. Most common in early Iron II is the shallow, rounded bowl with a ring or flat base, often with a bar handle which is a strip of clay with knobs on both ends along the rim that seems to emulate metal vessels (Figure 12.3:1). In the late Iron IIA, an open bowl with straight sides, called a “plate,” appears, and continues into the latter part of Iron II (Figure 12.3:2). A group of bowls with thick walls and high pedestal bases, often bearing red slip and polished burnish, is termed “Samaria Ware” because they were first identified in Samaria; they are found only in the north of Israel in the ninth and eighth centuries bce (Figure 12.3:3). Another group of bowls of especially fine, delicate make, also with red slip and polished burnish, are found mainly in the north and along the coast; these are related to the coastal Phoenicians and are sometimes termed “Phoenician Fine Ware.” Small to medium bowls with a thickened outer rim and rounded body of standardized shape and size are very common in Judah in Iron IIB–C (“Judean bowls”; Figure 12.3:4). Jugs and Juglets A wide variety of new jug shapes in various sizes appears throughout the country in Iron Age II, suggesting diversity in serving practices. A new type that develops in the eighth and seventh centuries bce is the decanter, a medium-sized jug (25–30 cm high) with a narrow ridged neck and wide, tube-like body (Figure 12.3:5); it was apparently used to serve wine, as one such jug from Judah is inscribed with the words “belonging to Yahzeyahu, wine of khl” followed by a sign denoting quantity (Demsky 1972). While decanters are found in both the northern and southern kingdoms, they demonstrate some typological differences. A group of finely made jugs is termed “Achziv Ware,” beginning in the late tenth century and continuing until the seventh century bce. These elegant jugs have conical necks, trefoil or mushroom-shaped rims, high ring bases, and are red slipped and highly polished, possibly inspired by metal vessels (Figure 12.3:6). They are found in the Israelite kingdom and along the northern coast and are part of the production and trade of the Phoenicians who inhabited the latter. A “fossil” vessel of Iron Age II is the so-called “black juglet.” These are very small (around 8–10 centimeters high), with very narrow necks and piriform bodies Figure 12.3:7). They are most often covered with black slip and highly burnished to a polish, lending them their name. These small juglets are found throughout the country, with no regard to political or geographic divisions, and most likely contained very small amounts of precious oil. Decoration Painted decoration greatly decreases during Iron II and is found mainly in the Phoenician tradition and the imported vessels. The mode of decoration that becomes very common throughout the country in Iron IIA (tenth and ninth centuries bce) is red slip and burnish (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2001b: 144–52), applied to both open and closed serving vessels. At this time, the burnish is done by hand, creating irregular lines, particularly on open vessels. At the end of the ninth century, this kind of burnish is gradually replaced by burnish made on a potters’ wheel that appears as regular concentric or spiral lines. Notably, these trends are common throughout the country, despite the political fragmentation with the division into the Israelite and Judean kingdoms. Black and cream slip can also be found on selected serving vessels, also highly burnished, creating an elegant, metallic-like look.

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Imports Pottery imported mainly from Cyprus, and less so from Greece, becomes increasingly common over the course of the Iron II. The most common Cypriot import is a finely made juglet of a beautifully decorated ware called Black-on-Red, with geometric designs meticulously painted in black on a red-slipped, polished background (Figure 12.3:8), although tableware in the shape of open shallow bowls was also found.

VESSELS FOR FOOD STORAGE Storage is peripherally, yet integrally, related to food preparation and consumption and will be referred to briefly here. Obviously, ceramics were not the only material used for storage; cloth sacks and baskets served the purpose as well.8 Storage vessels in the Iron Age in ancient Israel include a wide variety of jars that were used for household needs as well as for inter-regional and international trade. Very large storage jars, termed “pithoi,” are known as well, particularly in Iron I, when the so-called “collared-rim pithos” was initially considered to be a proxy for the Israelite settlement (Mazar 2015: 13–14). Its large capacity (up to 100 liters) suggests that it served as a “pantry” in Iron Age I households, especially in the more remote central hill country where many of them were found. In Iron Age II, several types of large jars (around 40 liters capacity) were mass-produced. The highly standardized shapes and capacities of these jars suggest that they were products of a centralized administration. The LMLK (lamelekh) jars, so-called due to a selection of them having been stamped on their handles with the term “lamelekh” (for the king), were found only in the south in the eighth century and are thought to have served in the supply system established by King Hezekiah in face of the impending Assyrian attack at the end of this century. In the seventh century until 586 bce, a derivative jar is found in Judah, called the “rosette jar,” named for the rosette pattern stamped on some of these jars’ handles.

CERAMIC VESSELS FOR FOOD PRODUCTION AND SERVING IN THE HEBREW BIBLE That ceramic vessels comprised a significant component of everyday life in ancient Israel is evidenced by numerous references in the Hebrew Bible. Two surveys dealing with the identification of ceramic and metal food-related vessels in the Hebrew Bible, written in the 1930s and 1940s (Honeyman 1939; Kelso 1948; see also James 1962), show there are many terms used to describe ceramic vessels, although most of them remain ambiguous when it comes to understanding their shape and function. It is also very difficult to correlate these terms with actual pottery vessels found in archaeological contexts. Ceramic vessels are mentioned in the Bible not only as realia for food preparation and serving (less so for storage) but also as metaphors, mostly in the writings of the prophets or in the book of Proverbs. In this context, the biblical metaphor for the relationship between humans and God is expressed as that between the potter and his clay, for example, saying to God; “we are the clay, and you are our potter” (Isa. 64:8), or “says the Lord. Just like the clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel” (Jer. 18:6), serves to illuminate

8 

For further discussion of storage, see Chapter 15 in this volume.

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the embeddedness of pottery production and use in ancient Israelite society. Clay pots that became impure or unclean were to be destroyed, as opposed to clay or metal vessels (Lev. 15:12); this might allude to their being the cheapest type of vessel available (Kelso 1948: 12), or that the porous clay walls made it impossible to totally cleanse them of impurity.

Biblical Terms for Vessels The generic term for vessel in the Hebrew Bible is klî. The most frequently mentioned is the ceramic vessel, klî ḥereś, while the word klî is paired with other raw materials, especially metal (klȇ hanǝḥošet) (e.g., inter alia, Jer. 52:18), but also leather (klî-‛ōr) and wood (klî-‘ȇṣ; e.g., Lev. 11:32). Another common word is sîr, translated as pot;9 the references point to the latter being a cooking pot, for example, Zech. 14:21: “and every cooking pot in Jerusalem and Judah shall be sacred to the Lord of hosts, so that all who sacrifice may come and use them to boil the flesh of the sacrifice … ” Other words denoting cooking vessels appear; for example, 1 Sam. 2:13-14 in the description of the sins of the sons of the priest Eli: “When anyone offered sacrifice, the priest’s servant would come, while the meat was boiling, with a three-pronged fork in his hand, and he would thrust it into the pan (kîyyôr10), or kettle (dûd) or caldron (qalaḥat)ֹ or pot (pārûr).” Kelso (1948: 29) suggests that the pārûr refers to the one-handled cooking jugs, described above. Aside from terms for cooking vessels, there are many words for ceramic vessels that, as noted above, we most often cannot identify with known shapes, although sometimes their function can be assumed. These include: 1. ṣallaḥat, dish/plate—(Prov. 19:24). “The lazy person buries a hand in the dish, and will not even bring it back to the mouth.” This might refer to any of the known Iron Age bowl types. In 2 Chr. 35:13, the word ṣēlāḥâ is a vessel used for boiling: “They roasted the passover lamb with fire according to the ordinance; and they boiled the holy offerings in pots (sîrôt), in caldrons (dǝwādîm), and in pans (ṣēlâḥôt), and carried them quickly to all the people.” See also the term ṣloḥît, a smaller bowl (2 Kgs. 2:20). 2. ’āsûk šāmen, small jar of olive oil—(2 Kgs. 4:2). Mentioned in the story of the miracle performed by the prophet Elisha when the jars of the widow refilled with oil when empty. The shape of such a jar remains unknown, although it might have been a flask, or a small jar with a spout. See also below, No. 5 (ṣappaḥat). 3. niblȇ-ḥereś, wine jars—In Lam. 4:2, this term is used as a metaphor deriding the children of Zion. Although no details are provided in the verse, Kelso (1948: 25) proposes that these were jars for wine, but also oil and grain. 4. kad, jar—These are probably household storage vessels, as mentioned in the story of Elijah asking for food from the destitute Sidonian widow: “The jar (kad) of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil (ṣappaḥat hašemen) will not fail ” (1 Kgs. 17:14). Sîr is occasionally translated into English as a thorn because the word sometimes appears in the feminine, sîrâ, which is a component in the Hebrew name of a thorny bush called sîrâ qôtṣanît. 10  Kelso (1948: 20) interprets the kîyyôr as a bowl. 9 

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5. ṣappaḥat, oil flask. See No. 4. Possibly similar to the ’āsûk (No. 2). 6. baqbūq yôṣēr ḥāreś (Jer. 19:1). Kelso (1948: 7) suggests this refers to a water (or wine) decanter, typical of the Iron IIB–C, of the type described above. 7. paḥ hašemen, oil jug/juglet, mentioned in the anointment of Saul (1 Sam. 10:1). Kelso (1948: 28) suggests that paḥ refers to the black juglets, described above.

Vessels as Parables Ceramic vessels, especially the cooking pot, are often mentioned as a parable, particularly by the prophets, for example, Jer. 1:13: “The word of the Lord came to me a second time, saying: ‘What do you see?’ And I said, ‘I see a boiling pot (sîr nāpûaḥ), tilted away from the north’”; Ezek. 11:7: “The slain whom you have placed within it are the meat, and this city is the pot (sîr); but you shall be taken out of it.” However, even when the reference to the pot is part of a parable, information as to how food was cooked in it can be gleaned (e.g., Ezek. 24:3-5). “Set on the pot (sîr), set it on, pour in water also, put in it the pieces, all the good pieces, the thigh and the shoulder. Fill it with choice bones. Take the choicest one of the flock, pile the logs under it; bring its pieces, seethe also its bones in it.” Most of the references entail boiling, mostly meat, which was a product consumed mainly by the wealthy and for ritual activity, and hence the metaphorical value when referring to the relationship between rich and poor, or holy and secular (see also Exod. 16:3, which refers to the “fleshpots” in Egypt that the children of Israel longed for).

CONCLUSION Since the cooking pot plays such a major role in the food-related pottery assemblage of ancient Israel and in the Hebrew Bible, reflecting the interface between technology, society, and ideology, I would like to conclude with the words of G. London (2016:1), which embody the agency and spirit of the cooking pot as a special “memory” pot: There is another aspect to these mundane objects. Unlike the sealed surfaces of glazed, metal and modern materials, the unglazed walls of earthenware pots are absorbent and permeable. Smells and food residues become embedded in their porous walls, leaving memories of the foods placed in them. Cooking pots are the quintessential “memory pots” that retain residues of everything cooking or stored in them. Just as the smells and tastes of favorite foods stay with us for a lifetime, memories in earthenware containers, especially undecorated, rough-textured pots, live for millennia.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Faust, A. (2012), The Archaeology of Israelite Society in Iron Age II, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. A general survey of the archaeology of ancient Israel with an emphasis on social life, with pottery discussed from a sociological point of view. Gitin, S. (ed.) (2015), The Ancient Pottery of Israel and Its Neighbors from the Iron Age through the Hellenistic Period, Volumes 1 and 2, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. This general handbook of the local and imported pottery of the Iron Age I and II (as well as chapters on the Persian and Hellenistic periods) is an updated version of the classic volume: The Ancient Pottery of the Holy Land by Ruth Amiran, published in 1970.

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London, G. (2016), Ancient Cookware from the Levant: An Archaeological Perspective, Sheffield and Bristol: Equinox. A study encompassing numerous kinds of food preparation vessels, focusing on cooking pots, from a technical, archaeological, and ethnographic point of view, including a chronological overview and ethnoarchaeological data from the authors’ research in Cyprus. Rice, P. M. (1987), Pottery Analysis: A Sourcebook, Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. A comprehensive work on virtually every aspect of ceramics, technical to the sociocultural, presenting scientific data, theoretical models, and ethnographic case studies.

REFERENCES Arie, E., Buzaglo, E., and Goren, Y. (2006), “Petrographic Analysis of Iron I Pottery,” in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin, and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo IV. The 1998–2002 Season, 558–67, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Barnett, W. K. and Hoopes, J. W. (1995), The Emergence of Pottery. Technology and Innovation in Early Societies, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution. Ben-Shlomo, D., Shai, I., Zukerman, A., and Maeir, A. M. (2008), “Cooking Identities: AegeanStyle Cooking Jugs and Cultural Interaction in Iron Age Philistia and Neighboring Regions,” AJA 112: 225–46. Biers, W. R. and McGovern, P. E. (eds.) (1990), Organic Contexts of Ancient Vessels: Materials Analysis and Archaeological Investigation, MASCA Research Papers in Science and Archaeology 7, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Bowser, B. J. (2000), “From Pottery to Politics: An Ethnoarchaeological Study of Political Factionalism, Ethnicity and Domestic Pottery Style in the Ecuadorian Amazon,” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 7: 219–48. Cohen-Weinberger, A. (2009), “Petrographic Studies,” in N. Panitz-Cohen and A. Mazar (eds.), Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Volume III. The 13th–11th Century bce Strata in Areas N and S, 519–29, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Israel Exploration Society. Demsky, A. (1972), “‘Dark Wine’ from Judah,” IEJ 22: 233–4. Dobres, M.-A. and Hoffman, C. (1994), “Social Agency and the Dynamics of Prehistoric Technology,” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 3: 211–58. Dothan, T. and Zukerman, A. (2015), “Iron Age I: Philistia,” in S. Gitin (ed.), The Ancient Pottery of Israel and Its Neighbors from the Iron Age through the Hellenistic Period, 71–96, Jerusalem: The Israel Exploration Society. Garfinkel, Y. (2019), Sha’ar Hagolan Volume 5. Early Pyrotechnology: Ceramics and White Ware, Qedem Reports 14, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Gilboa, A. (1999), “The Dynamics of Phoenician Bichrome Pottery,” BASOR 316: 1–22. Gilboa, A., Cohen-Weinberger, A., and Goren, Y. (1999), “Philistine Bichrome Pottery: The View from the Northern Canaanite Coast, Notes on Provenience and Symbolic Properties,” in A. M. Maeir and P. de Miroschedji (eds.), “I Will Speak the Riddle of Ancient Times”: Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, 303–34, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Gosselain, O. (2000), “Materializing Identities: An African Perspective,” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 3: 187–217.

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Gregg, M. W. and Slater, G. F. (2010), “A New Method for Extraction, Isolation and Transesterification of Free Fatty Acids from Archaeological Pottery,” Archaeometry 53/5: 833–54. Hardin, J. W. (2010), Lahav II: Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Honeyman, A. M. (1939), “The Pottery Vessels of the Old Testament,” PEQ 71: 76–90. James, F. W. (1962), “The Pottery of the Old Testament,” Expedition Magazine 5: 36–41. Kelso, J. L. (1948), The Ceramic Vocabulary of the Old Testament, BASORSup 5/6: 1–48. Killebrew, A. E. (1999), “Late Bronze and Iron I Cooking Pots in Canaan: A Typological, Technological, and Functional Study,” in T. Kapitan (ed.), Archaeology, History and Culture in Palestine and the Near East. Essays in Memory of Albert E. Glock, 83–126, Atlanta: American Schools of Oriental Research. King, P. J. and Stager, L. E (2001), Life in Biblical Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Kramer, C. (1979), “An Archaeological View of a Contemporary Kurdish Village: Domestic Architecture, Household Size and Wealth,” in C. Kramer (ed.), Ethnoarchaeology. Implications of Ethnography for Archaeology, 139–63, New York: Columbia University Press. London, G. (2008), “Fe(male) Potters as the Personification of Individuals, Places, and Things as Known from Ethnoarchaeological Studies,” in B. Alpert Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 155–80, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. London, G. (2016), Ancient Cookware from the Levant: An Archaeological Perspective, Sheffield and Bristol: Equinox. Maeir, A. M. (2010), ““And Brought in the Offerings and the Tithes and the Dedicated Things Faithfully” (II Chron. 31:12): On the Meaning and Function of the Late Iron Age Judahite Incised Handle Cooking Pot,” JAOS 130: 43–62. Maeir, A. M. (2019), “Iron I Philistines: Entangled Identities in a Transformative Period,” in A. Yasur-Landau, E. H. Cline, and Y. M. Rowan (eds.), The Social Archaeology of the Levant from Prehistory to the Present, 310–23, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Magness, J. (2014), “Conspicuous Consumption: Dining on Meat in the Ancient Mediterranean World and Near East,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and the Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 33–59, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Martin, M. (2017), “The Provenance of Philistine Pottery in Northern Canaan, with a Focus on the Jezreel Valley,” TA 44: 193–231. Mazar, A. (1985), “The Emergence of Philistine Material Culture,” IEJ 35: 95–107. Mazar, A. (1988), “Some Aspects of the ‘Sea Peoples’ Settlement,” in M. Heltzer and E. Lipinski (eds.), Society and Economy in the Eastern Mediterranean (c. 1500–1000 B.C.), 251–60, Leuven: Departement Oriëntalistiek and Uitgeverij Peeters. Mazar, A. (2015), “Iron Age I: Northern Coastal Plain, Galilee, Samaria, Jezreel Valley, Judah, and Negev,” in S. Gitin (ed.), The Ancient Pottery of Israel and Its Neighbors from the Iron Age through the Hellenistic Period, 5–70, Jerusalem: The Israel Exploration Society. Mazar, A. and Panitz-Cohen, N. (2001a), “The Pottery of Strata IV–II: The Fabric Groups,” in A. Mazar, and N. Panitz-Cohen (eds.), Timnah (Tel Batash) II: The Finds from the First Millennium bce, 15–23, Qedem 42, Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Mazar, A. and Panitz-Cohen, N. (2001b), “The Pottery of Strata IV–II: Surface Treatment: Red Slip and Burnish,” in A. Mazar and N. Panitz-Cohen (eds.), Timnah (Tel Batash) II: The Finds from the First Millennium bce, 144–52, Qedem 42, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

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McNutt, P. (1999), Reconstructing the Society of Ancient Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Mills, B. J. (1999), “Ceramics and Social Contexts of Food Consumption in the Northern Southwest,” in J. M. Skibo and G. M Feinman (eds.), Pottery and People: A Dynamic Interaction, 99–114, Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press. Namdar, D., Gilboa, A., Neumann, R., Finkelstein, I., and Weiner, S. (2013), “Cinnamaldehyde in Early Iron Age Phoenician Flasks Raises the Possibility of Levantine Trade with South East Asia,” Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 13: 1–19. Panitz-Cohen, N. and Mazar, A. (2020), “Area C: Stratigraphy and Architecture,” in A. Mazar and N. Panitz-Cohen (eds.), Tel Reḥov, a Bronze and Iron Age City in the Beth-Shean Valley. Volume II: The Lower Mound: Area C and the Apiary, Qedem 60, Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Pulak, C. (2007), “The Uluburun Shipwreck: An Overview,” International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 27: 188–224. Rice, P. M. (1987), Pottery Analysis. A Sourcebook, Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Roux, V., in collaboration with Marie-Agnès-Courty (2019), Ceramics and Society. A Technological Approach to Archaeological Assemblages, Switzerland: Springer. Schiffer, M. B. (1996), Formation Processes of the Archaeological Record, Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Shai, I., Ben-Shlomo, D., and Maeir, A. M. (2012), “Late Iron Age Judean Cooking Pots with Impressed Handles: A New Class of Stamped Impressions from the Kingdom of Judah,” in A. M. Maeir, J. Magness, and L. H. Schiffman (eds.), “Go Out and Study the Land” (Judges 18:2), Archaeological, Historical and Textual Studies in Honor of Hanan Eshel, 225–44, Leiden and Boston: Brill. Sinopoli, C. M. (1991), Approaches to Archaeological Ceramics, New York and London: Plenum. Skibo, J. M. and Feinman, G. M. (eds.) (1999), Pottery and People: A Dynamic Interaction, Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Skibo, J. M. and Schiffer, M. B. (1995), “The Clay Cooking Pot: An Exploration of Women’s Technology,” in J. M. Skibo, W. H. Walker, and A. E. Nielsen (eds.), Expanding Archaeology, 80–9, Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Vincentelli, M. (2004), Women Potters: Transforming Traditions, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press. Waiman-Barak, P. (2016), “Circulation of Early Iron Age Goods. Phoenician and Egyptian Ceramics in the Early Iron Age—An Optical Mineralogy Perspective,” PhD diss., University of Haifa.

CHAPTER 13

Ceramics and Ethnoarchaeology GLORIA LONDON

ETHNOARCHAEOLOGICAL STUDIES OF TRADITIONAL POTTERS WHO MAKE COOKWARE Communities of traditional potters who use old-fashioned, non-mechanized technologies produce pots that closely resemble the shape of ancient cookware (Figure 13.1). My ethnoarchaeological research involves observing and recording traditional potters while they are actively at work. The opportunity to observe and speak with them provides a window into understanding ancient pottery. Basic questions that are hard to answer in abstraction are more easily resolved when observing potters in action. Given that there are limited ways to make pottery, as described below, it is likely that the processes used by current traditional potters are similar to ancient manufacturing techniques. Evidence suggests that pots similar in shape, past and present, share similar purposes and use. In this chapter, the topics covered include a discussion of traditional potters in the Mediterranean and the pots they shape for use with food, the usefulness of rounded bottoms, the coexistence of handmade and wheel-thrown pottery, the manufacture and preparation of cookware, the cleaning techniques, and the archaeological implications. Ethnoarchaeologists carry out long-term observations as part of a systematic project that relies on quantitative data and random sampling of pots and potters. An extended period of observation is essential for understanding the process of pottery making. In comparison, brief visits to pottery production locations provide a narrower snapshot of an essential craft. In order to obtain data with minimal biases, we observe potters for weeks, months, or more, and record statistics about the number of pots made, the manufacture and firing times, the overall output, and rate of loss. We interview potters and others in the community regarding family histories, learning frameworks, and practices carried out in former times. However, we prefer to observe rather than to merely inquire about the work. Two additional tenets of ceramic ethnoarchaeology require the use of local raw materials to create products for intended usage by the local populations. For example, recent potters in the Troodos Mountains of Cyprus mined clay on slopes surrounding their villages and carried it home in baskets attached to a donkey. The clay is similar to that used by ancient potters. Equally critical is that traditional potters supply pots to the indigenous population rather than the tourist markets. Importantly, only

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FIGURE 13.1  Traditional unglazed round-bottomed cooking pots from Cyprus (1, 2) resemble Iron Age (3, 4) cookware. (Drawings by the author)

traditional pottery communities are studied, and not the modern potters who make pots for sale to tourists as ornamental pieces. Modern potters work with imported or local raw materials. They create shapes that are usually glazed, fired in an electric kiln, and sold to local and foreign customers. In contrast, like ancient potters, current traditional craftspeople use old-fashioned, non-mechanized techniques, local clay, and cater entirely to the local population. Cookware in biblical times was either handmade or thrown on a fast wheel. Modern potters who throw pots on a fast wheel are not an appropriate match for ancient potters who were responsible for handmade Early Iron Age cookware. However, for the eighth century bce and later wheel-thrown cooking pots, the traditional potters in Gaza, who throw pots on a wheel and sell their wares to local clients, provide a relevant model. Ancient professional craftspeople, both male and female, produced pottery. Fingerprint impressions on Bronze Age ceramics reveal male and female participation in the industry (Fowler et al. 2019). The same likely occurred throughout much of history. Iron Age and recent traditional pottery production was a highly skilled professional craft undertaken by specialists in the community. They worked in household courtyards or workshop settings. This chapter begins with a review of the pre–twentieth-century pottery industry in the Levant. Next, pots used as vessels for food or water—for collecting, processing, cooking, and storing—are presented. Questions regarding the functionality and long-term usage of pottery include: why cooking pots have round bottoms, why unglazed handmade pots

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persisted, how to pre-treat and clean cookware, why dairy pots are unsuitable for other foods, and what the analyses of pottery origins and uses reveal. Brief descriptions of nonmechanized pottery manufacturing techniques and the diversity of names for cookware in the Hebrew Bible follow before a list of ten implications of ethnoarchaeological research for understanding ancient pottery. It is beyond the scope of the chapter to indicate at every step of the way how information gleaned from traditional potters informs on the study of the Hebrew Bible or ancient Israel. However, some examples will be provided.

EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN TRADITIONAL POTTERS The production and use of handmade and/or wheel-thrown traditional pottery continued into the early twentieth century throughout the Levant.1 The widespread availability of clay made it a reliable and inexpensive raw material for cookware until it was superseded by cheaper and more durable materials, such as plastic or metal. Current traditional potters in the eastern Mediterranean represent a fraction of a once thriving industry, known from written material since the sixteenth century (London 2016: 23). In an 1850 publication, Beyrout et le Liban, M. Henri Guys noted that unglazed water jugs, produced in the 120 workshops in Beirut and suburbs, reached markets throughout the Middle East, although by 1900 the number of commercial potteries had dwindled to twelve (Milwright 2009: 39–40). In Jerusalem alone, minimally five production centers operated during the late nineteenth century (Warren 1876: 513–19). A photograph depicts village women selling handmade pottery outside Jaffa Gate in 1898 (Schiller 1982: 34). Early in the last century, archaeologists visited nearby rural potters during lulls in their excavations (see London 2016: 31–6, 56, 258). As for wheel-thrown wares, Gaza potters have operated multiple workshops for generations (Salem 1998/1999). In Jordan, migrant Egyptian craftsmen produce wheelthrown pots, for example, at Zizia (Franken 1986: 244–8; London and Sinclair 1991; London 2016: 250–4; Sideroff 2015). The current existence of traditional potters producing handmade and wheel-thrown cookware in Cyprus, Jordan, Palestine, and Turkey (see London 2016: 257–67), implies a similar plurality of production techniques within the ancient industry. For example, eighth-century bce wheel-made deep cooking pots with round bases are excavated along with handmade flat-bottomed Negev Ware, as at rural Horvat Shimon (Dagan 2011). To learn about potters who work without electrical devices, in 1986 I spent seven months of full-time residence in two Cypriot pottery-producing villages, Kornos and Agios Demetrios (Marathasa). I recorded the production and use of coarse, unglazed red wares made by nearly thirty potters. The two communities are separated geographically by the Troodos Mountains and foothills (London 1989; 2000a; 200b; 2016; 2018a; 2018b) and are situated some two and a half hours apart by car. My long-term research projects, combined with other ethnoarchaeological work carried out in Jordan and Turkey, provide the basis for the study of handmade Iron Age cookware in this chapter. For wheel-thrown Iron Age II and later cookware, pots wheel-thrown in Gaza provide comparable forms and uses (see London 2016: 245–56; Salem 2009).

Handmade pottery involves the use of coils, molds, or a paddle and anvil often in combination with a slowmoving light-weight turntable that lacks momentum. Wheel-thrown pottery is made on a heavy turntable that continues to spin even after pressure stops. 1 

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TRADITIONAL REPERTOIRE OF POTS TO COLLECT, PROCESS, COOK, AND STORE FOOD The traditional repertoire of handmade household pottery in Cyprus included nearly 80 percent cookware, jugs, and jars as recently as 1986. Flower pots, decorative vases, censers, figurines, money boxes, ovens, beehives, ashtrays, toys, and plaques represent the remainder of the output. By 1986, goat-milking pots and ceramic beehives were obsolete. Highly decorative miniature milking pots are still made in 2019 for ornamental purposes. Wavy and geometric incised patterns decorate most pot shoulders, other than ovens and beehives. Medium-sized jars with two handles differ in size and shape from the larger biconical storage jars. The huge wine fermentation jars, massive enough to hold an adult or roughly 300 gallons of liquid (Hampe and Winter 1962: 67), were last made in September 1972 (London 2020: 144). Handmade pots persist in rural communities in numerous countries for reasons beyond the availability of clay, minimal production cost, and low selling price. Unlike receptacles made of stone, wood, basketry, or a hole in the ground, fired clay pots alone create an airtight and impenetrable container. Only pottery keeps out rodents or other pests. A second feature of unglazed pots is their unique ability to cool and filter water; see below. The third vital quality is the capacity of coarse wares to store “memories” in their walls. Unglazed pots absorb the smells, flavors, and residue of whatever is placed in them, which has both advantages and disadvantages. Protein, fats, bacteria, or yeasts become embedded and preserved in the nanopores of the walls. A yogurt or beer “starter” sustained within the pot wall grows into micro-colonies that survive indefinitely with periodic exposures to moisture and nutrients (Aouizerat et al. 2019). Any fresh milk (or grain for beer) added to the inoculated pot will ferment due to the unseen presence of the residue. As a result, unglazed pots functioned as automatic yogurt machines and wine or beer fermentation vats. Given their penchant to absorb bacteria or yeast, it became necessary, at times, to remind people to choose new or clean pots. For example, villagers in Jordan, Zimbabwe, and Cyprus (K. Demetriou, Agios Demetrios, personal communication, 1986), emphasized the need to use a clean pot to avoid unintentional souring or fermentation when preparing fresh foods (Basson 1981:18; Madovi 1981: 137–9; K. Demetriou, Agios Demetrios, personal communication, 1986). In contrast, glazed pots, with their impervious, nonabsorbent surfaces, do not cool water, ferment grape juice into wine, convert barley into beer, or process milk into shelf-stable dairy products. Traditional pottery made to this day includes specific shapes for water, dairy products, bread, wine, meat, and other foods or liquids. The different stages of food handling require particular pots throughout the process. Traditional pots for food or water collecting, processing, cooking, and storing are described along with a handful of comparable ancient counterparts.

Food and Water Collection Water Traditional water jugs for drinking, carrying, or storing varied by size and shape. The smallest spouted jugs and juglets were personal drinking containers (M. Dometios, Agios Demetrios, personal communication, 2016). To carry water home from the source, or for use while working in agricultural fields, people had wide-mouthed jugs with one handle. Two people hauled water home in the larger, two-handled jugs. In order to supply the

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FIGURE 13.2  Goat-milking pot with molded rope and incised decoration. (Photograph Agios Demetrios Collection © Robert Miller 2017)

household, children made multiple trips daily to the water sources (H. Havadja, Kornos, personal communication, 2017). Villagers recalled that as children, they carried small jugs before they could manage a full-sized jug (around 35 cm tall), until they proudly paired up to transport a heavy double-handled container (A. L. Norris, Agios Demetrios, personal communication, 2017). Milk Goat-milking pots and small jugs were the two Cypriot containers for raw milk. The body of wide-mouthed milking pots fits under a goat or ewe. The round-bottomed base found its own equilibrium if accidentally kicked (Figure 13.2). Opposite the handle was a spout to pour out the milk. An unusual round-bottomed, spouted ancient pot at Tel Batash, resembles the Cypriot goat-milking pot (Panitz-Cohen 2006: 14, 61 and pl. 73:12). The paucity of comparable ancient containers could result from their depositional history in farms or workstations and the dearth of excavated villages and barns. In Cyprus, they were discarded in fields or barns where the milking took place. Jugs for measuring the milk are discussed below.

Food and Water Processing Water Handmade clay jugs and jars are the original water coolers and purifiers. Their porous walls absorbed water until they became saturated and began to sweat or drip the water before it evaporated (for the physics, see London 2016: 126). Non-potters in Cyprus identified particular water jugs as superior for cooling and filtering. They were identical

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to other jugs in shape, surface features, and color. The difference was in the clay. Jugs fabricated from red fabrics were more porous and cooled water better than jugs made from a mix of red and white clays. The combined raw materials created a more dense fabric that was better suited for cookware or for wine than for water. For some villagers, a “good jug” absorbed and cooled the water. Others expressed the opposite opinion and considered a good jug one that “did not drink too much wine,” that is, did not absorb its contents. Wheel-thrown white clay jugs made near Famagusta were inferior water coolers. Instead of sweating water, their dense fabric trapped the heat inside, much like a plastic water bottle. A century ago, the same held for jars produced in Malta. Those with narrow necks and two handles, called ‘olla and zir, contrasted to the water jar, bombola, with its porous walls in order to keep water cool (Buxton and Hort 1921: 131). Consequently, market demand for handmade, porous, red water jugs fostered their survival in countries surrounding the Mediterranean, despite the availability of wheel-thrown glazed or plain jugs and glass containers. The water cooling jugs were so efficient that in the mid-nineteenth century, Egyptians preferred glazed china or porcelain pitchers because they did not make the water as cold (Matson 1965: 205–6). At the time, the traditional lining for clay water containers involved “smoking.” Fumes from a resinous perfumed wood plus mastic, an aromatic gum from an evergreen tree in the Mediterranean, covered jug interiors. The application of carbon smoke helped to maintain a pleasant flavor in the pot. The darkened interior core of many ancient pots, in contrast to their earthen-colored surface, possibly provided a charcoal filter (Rice 1987: 232). The water flowing from red clay jugs was cool and it tasted sweet. As water migrated through the porous walls, the naturally occurring sediment, characteristic of Mediterranean hard water, became trapped inside. Unlike water, the sediment could not pass through the wall. Instead, it formed a white coating of bitter-tasting minerals on the pot wall. As a result, the water became sweeter. After two or three months, the impervious barrier created by the calcareous deposits stymied further evaporation and leakage. The jugs stopped leaking, cooling, and removing the minerals (Macalister 1912: vol. II 145 note; Matson 1965: 204). Similarly, in under two years, the calcified deposits prevented evaporation in large Jordanian water jars, which then became suitable to store oil or wheat thanks to the sealed walls (Ali 2005: 30). Goat Cheese After milking an animal and offering fresh milk to the family, women processed the rest into cheese. Cypriot women without enough milk to make a full batch of cheese would pool whatever they had with their network of neighbors or family members who took turns making cheese at home. Women brought their milk in a handmade small jug that measured a given standardized quantity, a portion of a quart. Each network member received a piece of cheese in accordance with the quantity of milk she provided. Half a jug resulted in half a piece of cheese. Women liked partners who brought a “good jug” of milk, that is, a full jug. The finished cheese was stored in a clay jar that was reserved for cheese as described below. Churns for Butter or Ghee Women in Turkey churned butter and processed buttermilk, cheese, or yogurt in wooden containers, animal skins (Yakar 2000: 211 figs. 87–88), or elongated ceramic containers that mimicked goatskins in shape (Gregg and Slater 2010). Jordanian villagers attached a hide bag to a tripod to make butter and derivative products (Palmer 1998: 160). Skins

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and wooden containers proved more durable than ceramic churns, which had a short period of use during the fifth millennium bce in ancient Israel. During Biblical times, butter appears not to have been processed in clay containers, but in goatskins or wooden receptacles. Jars and Bowls to Process Dairy Products Without refrigeration, fresh milk lasts for under one day unless processed or fermented. After milk fermented in a porous jar, the container absorbed the bacterial residue. Fresh milk poured into the same jar converted into more yogurt overnight. The next morning, people ate soft, fresh yogurt and some was left to harden slightly and become shelf-stable foods. In a Syrian village in 1954, during the height of the springtime milking season, which lasted for twenty to thirty days, milking occurred twice daily. The noon milking was sold to professional cheese makers and the family drank part of the evening milking. Professional cheese makers transported their wooden tubs (three feet in diameter and one foot deep) and a tinned container of the same size, from village to village. After mixing the milk with two small cups of rennet, made from the stomach of a young lamb that had never eaten grain, the cheese was ready in fifteen minutes (Sweet 1960: 103–4). To make daily use of the leftover family milk, it was converted into yogurt (laban) products or cheese as part of a four-day process. After heating the milk to body temperature and adding a little yogurt made on the previous day, the container was covered with a felt mat or sheepskin to slowly cool. On the third day, any leftover yogurt was churned into butter or ghee (clarified butter) in a goatskin bag. Whatever remained in the bag was mixed with water to create a beverage (shnaynii). On day four, the leftover drink was cooked with salt until it thickened. It was then dropped on a damp cloth sack until a viscous paste developed. Small individually shaped pieces were left dry on a straw mat in the sun and harden into kushuk. The crumbly result, stored for later use, would be mixed with water to create a strong-flavored yogurt (Sweet 1960: 104). In Cyprus in November 1986, and as recently as September 2017, villagers engaged in similar processes that have been practiced throughout the Mediterranean region for centuries from the Balkans to Iran (London 2016: 121–2). Yogurt made in a clay jar would be thickened by adding parboiled wheat to create a dense paste before it was shaped into short rectangular strips that dried in the sun on rooftops. The results are the dairy bouillon cube, known as trachanas, or the round balls of kishk in Arabic (Bozoudi et al. 2017; Palmer 1998: 161).2 The Jordanian version did not always contain a cereal (Basson 1981: 17). By simply reconstituting these dairy cubes with boiling water, people ate protein-rich and nutritious sour soup in winter without the use of a cooking pot. The sour soup, known from ancient Greek and Latin, has a Turkish version, trachanás, which might contain cheese or curds (Hill and Bryer 1995: 45; 48). Specific Cypriot pots for exclusive use with milk products have parallels in Jordan, Turkey, and Palestine. The bouksa was a handmade pot for milk, produced prior to the late twentieth century in Jordan (Ali 2005: 31). Two-handled, elongated, wheel-thrown Gaza jars, mahlibiah and tus, held water, yogurt, or milk (Salem 2009: fig. 4.4). Their shape and base are reminiscent of Iron Age cylindrical so-called “Philistine jugs” (London 2016: 205, 243). The ancient jugs would have been ideal to reconstitute a dairy-based

2 

In November 2019, Victor H. Matthews kindly informed me that the same practices occurred in Hungary.

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soup made from dried yogurt, like trachanas. In north Jordan, the karmia was a handmade bowl (35 cm in diameter) for dissolving dried yogurt in water (Ali 2005: 31). A grinding bowl, the laggan, made in Gaza was designed specifically for grating dried yogurt (Salem 2009: 36). A comparable ancient form was the seventh to sixth century bce large bowl or grater with triangular indentations on the interior base (London 1992). The bowls show heavy interior abrasion and pitting. Rather than evidence of the arrival of people familiar with wedge-shaped cuneiform symbols (Itach, Aster, and Ben-Shlomo 2017), a more functional approach associates the graters with food processing. They predominate at rural sites where people made and sold dried dairy products. Multipurpose Strainers A traditional potter in northern Jordan, observed in early July 1989 as she sat on her rooftop sifting grain, utilized a round-bottomed clay colander that she had made. It had many holes in the base (London 2016: 260, fig. 21.2) and likely had multiple uses. A comparable Iron Age pot had a perforated base for steaming foods (Shafer-Elliott 2013: 17, 171–2). Mixing Bowls Deep or wide mixing containers in Cyprus were made from the wealth of trees at the higher elevations. In contrast, wide open dishes were not part of the traditional pottery. Food could be mixed or ground in a wooden container or directly in cooking pots, casseroles, or deep pitta plates. In contrast, the late Iron Age mortarium (mortaria, plu.), found along the Levantine coastal region, was a thick-walled ceramic mixing bowl with pitted or abraded interiors. It has a wheel-thrown recent version made in Gaza, the laggan mentioned above. In former times, clay platters to serve food in north Jordan, especially

FIGURE 13.3  Traditional Cypriot cooking pot has a wavy incised band below an “alpha” representing the first name of the potter. (Photograph by the author, Agios Demetrios, 1986)

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rice, included the suhfia (25–30 cm diameter), the karmia (see above), and the ma’gane (40 cm diameter) to knead bread (Ali 2005: 31).

Food Cooking and Baking Meat and/or Vegetables Meat in Cyprus is traditionally baked in ovens, either in deep round-bottomed cooking pots (Figure 13.3) or open shallow casseroles with a flatter bottom. Women cooked meat with a minimum of water in the deep pots. Meat or/and vegetables baked in casseroles, known as ttavades (ttavas, sing.). Ttavas refers both to the name of the pot and the name of the cooked meal and the same holds for English and Arabic casseroles. The deep pot is known as kourelli or kleftico. The latter term is both the name of the pot and the slow-cooked meat cooked in it. According to legend, poachers would butcher a sheep or goat and bury the meat in a pot underground, where it baked in coals, while avoiding detection by the herd owner. The Cypriot deep cooking pots and shallow casseroles never held dairy products. Flatbread Plates In contrast to traditional flatbreads that baked directly on oven walls or floors, Cypriot villagers devised a shallow pitta plate. It had a short lug handle opposite a triangular or rounded protrusion to allow easy lifting. It would hang on a hook when not needed. Round, leavened loaves were baked in outdoor ovens directly on stones, without a baking dish, until commercial bakeries took over. Bread Molds Until the late twentieth century, special festive breads in north Jordan and Syria were baked in ceramic or limestone molds (15 cm high and 18 cm wide) (Bresenham 1985: 113; Mershen 1985: 78, fig. 12; Seeden 1985: 296). As the soft dough was pressed into a mold, the bread acquired a linear geometric pattern from the mold rim and/or interior base. Iron Age convex baking trays or plates, with less elaborate incised patterns on the upper and lower surfaces, possibly served a similar purpose (London 2016: 206). The “decorative” indentations also prevent dough from sticking to the plate. Baking or Roasting Trays Ceramic baking trays are difficult to shape and fire successfully and not a common shape among traditional potters. Instead, any sizable sherd sufficed for toasting grains, seeds, or baking flatbread (V. Moustoukki, personal communication, 2016). For example, until the 1960s, women toasted small quantities of sesame seeds in a pitta plate over an open fire, before crushing and mixing with a sweetener to create halva, without use of a baking oven (G. Makrides, personal communication, 2015). Few low-walled large, flat, circular, or oval Iron Age baking trays survive. Their repeated exposure to the fire resulted in severely burned, trays that likely became chipped, blackened, and eventually broke apart, leaving little trace.

Wine Fermentation Jars Cypriot wine fermented in huge globular jars (pithari, pitharia plu.) (Figure 13.4). Vintners preferred old wine jars, with their domesticated yeasts and bacteria, and would transfer whatever remained in the bottoms of jars, the “lees” into a new jar to initiate the fermentation process and ensure a good taste for successive wines. Like aged wine, old

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FIGURE 13.4  Late-nineteenth-century wine fermentation jar with indented horizontal bands, rosettes, and two applied snake heads that face each other. (Photograph by Marcel den Nijs, Fikardo, Cyprus, 1986)

jars were more expensive than new ones. Wine and grape juice reached the lowlands and coastal ports carried in resin-lined animal skins and conveyed on the backs of animals or people. For this task, the light-weight and durable skins proved superior to the heavy, breakable jars.

Food Storage Dairy Products and Liquids Rather than discard water jugs or jars once their walls became clogged, Cypriots either rejuvenated or repurposed them. Refiring water jugs in a kiln burned out the unwanted sediment. Alternatively, jugs or jars whose walls were closed became ideal for honey, grape sweeteners, or vinegar. The sealed walls prevented leakage. In contrast, olive oil for use at meals required a glazed juglet with walls that did not absorb the oil. Jars to process and store Cypriot goat cheeses, either in brine or olive oil, had a lid that was tied to the two handles. Halloumi goat cheese, immersed for forty days in an unglazed cheese jar (kourellos or challoumokouza), could remain edible for a year without spoiling. Refiring and recycling jugs likely occurred in antiquity. Ancient kilns containing a single jug or cooking pot in a kiln load of jars or other pot types could imply that the potter or a neighbor had a pot that needed a deep cleaning. Dry Storage Small to medium traditional clay jars, whose interiors had become clogged, were storage receptacles for dried fruits or grains. Small pots for salt had basket handles and could hang from a hook attached to a roof rafter. Smaller salt cellars were designed for table

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use. Wine fermentation jars coated with resin currently hold grains, dried apples, and other foods or dry goods.

THE FUNCTIONALITY OF TRADITIONAL HANDMADE POTS: THE UTILITY OF ROUND-BOTTOMED POTS Cooking Pots Traditional cooking pots in Cyprus, Palestine, Jordan, Turkey, and elsewhere have round bases, as did most Iron Age pots in the eastern Mediterranean region. Modern Westerners find the shape perplexing. Traditional potters ask why anyone would prefer metal flatbottomed pots since food sticks in the angular corners. Village courtyards worldwide had the uneven, earthen, or stone floors that accommodate rounded bottoms. Ceramic hobs or firedogs surrounding an open fire or a gas stovetop easily held cookware with round bases. During the Second World War, Cypriot potters produced flat-bottomed pots for foreign soldiers to use on flat-topped stoves. The atypical flat base and ribbon handles denote it as a copy of an Aegean import. It never replaced the traditional round-bottomed cooking pots that baked inside the courtyard ovens.

Jugs Round-bottomed jugs nestled securely in traditional racks made of wood or bamboo in Cypriot gardens, courtyards, or verandas. Broken reshaped jars can serve the same purpose. Water poured easily from the jug by merely tilting and not lifting it while it swiveled in the stand. For goat-milking pots, the round base accommodated unintended movements by the animal and avoided any spilled milk.

HANDMADE AND WHEEL-THROWN POTTERY IN TRADITIONAL SOCIETIES Wheel-thrown pottery did not entirely replace handmade wares in traditional societies or in the Iron Age. Each category served different purposes. Wheel-thrown glazed wares are easy to clean and excellent for liquids, other than water. Only the coarse red clay jugs can transform warm, bitter water into a cool sweet drink, or convert milk into yogurt, or process dairy foods into long-life foods. In antiquity, handmade and wheel-thrown wares always coexisted.

HOW TO PREPARE TRADITIONAL COOKWARE, JUGS, AND JARS TO REDUCE POROSITY Cooking Pots New cooking pots require treatment or “seasoning” prior to use. The treatment can involve covering a hot pot with milk or yogurt (Ali 2015: 71) or a baking a starch-rich vegetable in a brand new pot in order to seal the porous surface (London 2016: 103–7). Potters in sub-Saharan Africa soak and smoke pots to create less permeable surfaces, as was the practice a century ago in Egypt (Rice 1987: 163–4). Syrian potters rubbed

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fired pots with a soaked pomegranate hull, in order to cover superficial cracks and any discoloring (Bresenham 1985: 98). Cypriot women pretreated a new cooking pot by filling it with water before placing it in the sun or in a hot oven. As it absorbed the water, if no cracks or fissures appeared, the next step involved the application of a mixture of egg white and sugar directly on the interior walls. A blend of egg white and ash was later rubbed on the exterior. In 1986 I was advised to first boil potatoes in my new pot. The potato starch filled the pores. I cleaned the pot with a solution of vinegar and water. Another pretreatment for new cooking pots in Cyprus required filling them with lard. The walls absorbed the fat and became leak-proof by the time that the lard was used up for daily cooking. Lebanese villagers in 1937/1938 forcibly fed their fat-tailed sheep in order to produce as much cooking fat as possible before they were slaughtered in late September (Fuller 1970 [1961]: 23, 73).

Jars Post-firing treatments for jars in Cyprus varied according to the particular use of the different pots. Small jars were filled with a mix of water with boiled and sieved wood ash which was allowed to evaporate. The process was repeated until evaporation stopped and the solution clogged the jar walls. Jars to store olives received a beeswax or paraffin lining. Alternatively, owners of a new jug or jar for olive oil took it to the oil press and lined it there with “pomace,” a sticky, oily waste product of crushing the fruit (Frankel, Avitsur, and Ayalon 1994: 22, 174, fig. 180). The big Cypriot wine fermentation jars required multiple layers of a pine tree resin lining that was applied immediately after the jars were pulled from the kiln (Hampe and Winter 1962: 71–2 pl. 41). The burning hot walls soaked up the sizzling hot pitch and produced an unforgettable sound. Since the acids in wine gradually damaged the coating, it required replacement every few years if not annually. To reline old jars embedded into the ground, the first task involved heating the walls by lowering a burning lamp inside in order to melt the older lining. After scraping it out with a rake, hot resin was poured inside. Medium-sized jars sometimes received a resin coating (Hampe and Winter 1962: 72).

HOW TO CLEAN POROUS CLAY POTS Daily cleaning differed from deep cleaning for traditional pots in Cyprus. Water swished around with a branch of fresh or dried thyme sufficed daily for cleaning goat-milking pots (E. Michael and A. Panayiotou, Kornos, Cyprus, personal communications, 2017). Thyme is a member of the mint family and has antibacterial properties. It is a natural disinfectant and fungicide, and it was the traditional and (likely the ancient) scrub brush. Sand mixed in water, with/without charcoal or herbs, can scour away superficial food in a cooking pot, but to expunge the remnants of a meal that became buried in the porous wall required the intense heat in a kiln or courtyard oven (London 2018a: 454–5). For a deep cleaning, milking pots, cooking pots, jugs, and jars periodically were refired inside a kiln together with new pots. Alternatively, after a meal, the dirty pots spent the night in an otherwise empty cooking oven in order to burn out food remnants (E. Michael, Kornos, Cyprus, personal communication, 2017). A combination of vinegar and water was a powerful traditional disinfectant. Cypriot villagers in grape-growing

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regions owned more than one vinegar jar, and the same substance was likely available in antiquity.

DAIRY VERSUS MEAT CONTAINERS The number of traditional wheel-thrown and handmade ceramic containers made for exclusive use with dairy products in Cyprus, Anatolia, Jordan, Malta, and Palestine is impressive. In Cyprus, the jugs to measure milk and the jars to make yogurt or store cheese never held meat. They did not receive a lard coating to render them impermeable. Porosity was their chief asset. Traditional Cypriot recipes, for all types of foods do not mix dairy and meat, except for one holiday exception geared for children. Recent protein analysis of food residue in ancient Anatolian pottery identified multiple food types in specific pots, with one exception: jars that held cheese and nothing else (McClure et al. 2018). Dried yogurt cubes (trachana) that were reconstituted into soup by adding boiling water never touched a cooking pot. In Jordan, handmade and wheel-thrown pots for use with milk products, include open and closed vessels, both large and small. Also, in Malta, traditional early twentieth-century pots included a three-handled pot that was used exclusively to collect milk (Buxton and Hort 1921: 131). Wheel-thrown and handmade Palestinian pots designed for dairy foods have been described above. It is feasible that vessel porosity imposed a separation of pots for milk or meat. Fresh meat would spoil in a pot that contained hidden milk bacteria. When ancient Greek authors referred to using a “new cooking pot” (Hill and Bryer 1995: 47), they might have had cleanliness and bacteria-free pots in mind. Dietary laws in the Hebrew Bible (Exod. 23:19; 3:26; Deut. 14:21), that later were understood to prohibit cooking meat in a pot that previously held milk, perhaps acknowledge that dairy residue embedded into the pot walls ruins fresh meat. For Mediterranean communities, distinct pots to collect, process, cook, and preserve dairy foods were de rigueur, regardless of ethnicity, religion, politics, or cultural context.

ANALYSES TO DETERMINE WHERE ANCIENT POTS WERE MADE AND HOW THEY WERE USED Techniques to analyze where ancient pottery was made and how it was used are increasing. Nevertheless, the wide distribution of clay makes it problematic to pinpoint ancient sources or production locations in the absence of kilns. Mineralogical and chemical analyses, such as petrology, Instrumental Neutron Activation Analysis (INAA), and spectrometry, have determined that the hilly regions around Jerusalem were a source of clay in Biblical times. The food residues can evade microbial or physical destruction for millennia. To determine the foods a pot once held, residue analyses involving Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy (FTIR), gas chromatography mass spectrometry (GC-MS), liquid chromatography/mass spectrometry (LC/MS), X-ray diffraction (XRD), and scanning electron microscopy used with energy dispersive spectrometry (SEM-EDX) identify the indestructible biomolecules embedded into the pot walls.3 While these analyses report on

3 

For explanations of these analytical techniques, see P. Rice (1987), Pottery Analysis: A Sourcebook.

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the organic material residue, reconfiguring the diet on the basis of these analyses remains elusive. Meat and dairy fats are distinguishable, but any further identification of degraded fats as belonging precisely to sheep, goat, cattle, or pigs becomes problematic. Oils from sesame, safflower and flax seeds, or olives, are mentioned in ancient texts, but remain difficult to identify physically given their degradation over the millennia (Cramp and Evershed 2015: 126–30). Furthermore, certain plant oils, animal fats, resins, gums, glues, and waxes that are detected were not part of the ancient diet. Organic remnants can represent food, cosmetics, medicine, incense, perfume, pot coatings, or the subsequent reuse of a broken pot. For example, to prepare perfume requires boiling the aromatics in a cooking pot before mixing with oil (Lis 2015: 111). Iron Age “chalices” excavated at Yavneh held plant oils and unsaturated oleic fatty acids, derived either from ruminant or dairy fats. The combined tallow and plant oils likely constituted incense rather than something edible (Namdar, Neumann, and Weiner 2010: 168–9). Residue analysis for pots excavated at Kabri identified acids from wine, resin (to coat the jar), and herbs to flavor the wine (Yasur-Landau et al. 2018: 322–7). However, animal fat and dairy fat in cookware need not correspond directly to the economy, diet, or high meat consumption. Soot deposits might signal how cooking pots were heated and used (Gur-Arieh, Maeir, and Shahack-Gross 2011; Skibo 1992: 14–73), although the abundant marks dispersed over the bottom, sides, rim, and interior, confuse the issue (Langridge-Noti 2015: 151). Refiring the pot at high temperatures in order to clean it, as among traditional villagers in Cyprus, eliminates the soot entirely. Use-wear or abrasion that alters the pot surface due to physical or chemical (acidic) action provide evidence of pot functions. Scraping marks and pitting on the interior base developed as a result of mixing, scraping, rubbing, pounding, or scouring and cleaning with sand.

TRADITIONAL POTTERY MANUFACTURING TECHNIQUES The manufacture of pottery starts with locating and mining the clay. It is manipulated by removing unwanted inclusions and/or by adding beneficial rocks, crushed pottery, organic materials, or simply water. After shaped into the desired form, the containers are dried before they are fired. Once fired, pottery becomes as hard as rock and virtually indestructible.

Raw Material Procurement and Processing Fine clays, suitable for thin-walled pots, are more abundant in Greece and Cyprus than in the Levant, where coarser clays predominate. Coarse raw materials are ideal for cookware, storage jars, and water jugs. To make pottery, the hard work began with mining the clay, pounding it, and carrying water to mix with it, before lifting heavy pots and fuel into the sizzling hot kiln. Traditional male and female potters mined and transported clay, sometimes assisted by children. Palestinian and other traditional potters paid the landowner, on whose property they mined the raw material, with a percentage of the output. Everyone needed a supply of coarse red wares. To begin the work, potters in Cyprus and the Levant first exposed the clay to dry slightly in the sun in order to loosen the stones that were mined with it. The biggest rocks were manually removed. The remaining tiny rock fragments gave structure to the microscopic clay minerals. After manual pounding, Cypriot potters formerly sifted the clay through a

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piece of leather punctured with many small holes. Metal sieves have been in use at least since 1986. Water alone was mixed with the powder. Cypriot potters shaped cookware from the same material used for all other pot types. Ancient and traditional potters at times added crushed rock, organic material, or pulverized pottery (London 2016: 261, fig. 21.3). Calcite was a favorite additive to cookware in the Levant due to its ability to absorb thermal shock from repeated reheating (London and Shuster 2011).

Manufacturing Techniques We assume that ancient cooking pots were made using techniques similar to those used by traditional potters because there are few ways to shape a deep round-bottomed pot. It can be coiled (with or without a turntable), made in a mold (often with coils), paddled with an anvil, or thrown on a fast wheel before the base is scraped into a round shape. Each manufacturing technique is not mutually exclusive. Coiling often benefits from the use of a mobile turntable or a rounded surface, such as a reused bowl or mold, that moves. Round-bottomed molds turn slowly by the potter as she applied pressure directly to the clay. Evidence of coiling and molds includes uneven wall thickness, horizontal fracture and breakage pattern, and carinated lower bodies that were shaped within the mold. Xeroradiography can provide an X-ray through pot walls to show the coils. In contrast, overall thin walls of even thickness characterize wheel-thrown pots. Cooking pots were too big to make in the pinching technique, which is reserved for pots no larger than the length of one’s fingers. Instead, cookware made from coils involved the incremental assemblage of clay rolls or rings placed on top of each other. Coils can be arranged above a thick base that will be thinned later in a process called “turning.” It involves a combination of different techniques to reshape an initially thickwalled pot by removing excess clay as the pot stands upside down on a mobile turntable. Alternatively, coils can be placed inside or outside a basket, old pot or anything else that serves as a mold. Finally, the paddling technique requires a stone anvil that is held inside a pot while pressure or strikes from a wooden paddle on the outside thins and shapes the wall. Late Iron Age cooking pots were thrown on a wheel with an initial thick base that eventually was scraped thin (Franken 2005: 70). All of the above production methods involve an interrupted technique of manufacture. After forming the lower body, it dried slightly before more work could ensue. Three or more interruptions in the work, for further drying, were standard. The weather determined how quickly pots dried and the number of interruptions in the work. Handson work to shape a jug or cooking pot in Cyprus was usually under thirty minutes spread over two or more days or a week if damp, moist air slowed the drying.

Firing There are many ways to fire ceramics. Traditional cookware fired in temporary platforms, which ultimately burn up as fuel, can consist of palm fronds. In Turkey, people constructed firing wooden platforms that were consumed by the fire (Yakar 2000: 185). Equally suitable are permanent kilns as in Cyprus and Jordan, whereas pits and bonfires were operable for handmade wares in Palestine and Jordan (Ali 2015: 72; Einsler 1914: 256; Salem 1998/1999: 29–30). To fire kilns in Cyprus, a tiny flame fed by twigs lit early in the morning was fed for hours in order to fully dry the pots, fuel, and kiln before more substantial pieces of wood and logs created a roaring flame in late afternoon. It burned for only two hours. Traditional fuels in the eastern Mediterranean included: wood, pine cones, tree bark, animal dung, tree bark, old baskets, and anything

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organic, such as old clothes. These are the same combustibles that were available in Biblical times. Based on forty kiln firings, I quantified 2 percent firing loss for Cypriot potters, which is far lower than in many traditional societies (Rice 1987: 173). Since recent potters in Turkey, Cyprus, Palestine, Syria, and Jordan fired their wares outdoors, the work coincided with the dry months from March/April to October/November. In winter, the wet clay is heavy to mine and carry, pots do not dry in the damp air and wet wood causes steam before the pots explode. This same pattern of work likely prevailed during Biblical times.

DIVERSITY OF TRADITIONAL AND ANCIENT POT NAMES Regional terms characterized recent handmade plain Cypriot pottery. Glazed wares had their own names. Based on data collected over the past century, certain wheel-thrown Gaza pots carry multiple names, which either reflect regional or chronological changes (see London 2016: 249). Pot names mentioned in the Bible vary as did the terms for ancient Greek wares (Kyriakopoulos 2015). The wealth of pot names in the Hebrew Bible possibly refers to regional usages, differences for handmade and wheel-thrown wares, and/or local foods (London 2016: 264–6).4

IMPLICATIONS OF ETHNOARCHAEOLOGICAL RESEARCH FOR UNDERSTANDING ANCIENT POTTERY 1. Beginnings of pottery manufacture

The close association between traditional pottery and food implies the critical need of pots for food preparation and preservation. Ceramic vessels were indispensable for converting milk into a year-round resource or fermenting grains into a nutritious beverage.

2. Coexistence of handmade and wheel-thrown wares

The inherent properties of handmade porous pottery assured its survival alongside glazed or wheel-thrown wares. The absorbent walls of red jugs and jars filtered water and fermented milk, wine and grains, unlike the denser light-colored wheelthrown wares.

3. Women’s work

Ceramic ethnoarchaeological studies reveal that female and male craft specialists made pots for sale to local and regional customers.

4. Pottery production locations

4 

The highly successful firing practices of traditional craft specialists result in the need for only a handful of pottery production locations that supply a substantial geographical area. Accordingly it is likely that not every ancient city had a local pottery. Instead, people relied on a limited number of production locations that supplied a regional clientele.

See the discussion in Chapter 12 in this volume.

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5. Use-life

Ethnoarchaeological studies calculate a use-life of under three years for cookware (Tani and Longacre 1999: 306–7). Hot cooking pots broke when spattered by water, or when toppled by children and household pets. Repurposed jugs with clogged pores remained operable forever. Old wine fermentation jars were treasured for the unctuous accumulations in their bases and when recycled can survive for a century.

6. Separation of foods

Traditional potters made distinctive pots for processing and storing dairy versus all other foods. Porous pot walls mandated a division between clay containers used for dairy or meat, which may have led to the passages in the Hebrew Bible (Exod. 3:26; 23:19; Deut. 14:21) related to cooking meat.

7. Post-firing treatments for porous pottery

Traditional methods to seal pot interiors, such as a temporary or more durable organic coatings, probably had ancient counterparts that have not survived or are invisible to the unaided eye.

8. Cleaning clay pots

Daily rinsing with natural herbal disinfectants or vinegar, supplemented by seasonal deep cleaning in the hot oven or kiln, are measures that likely were practiced in Biblical times.

9. Pot names

The multiplicity of terms for traditional cookware resembles the diversity of pot names in the Hebrew Bible. Different names for cookware in ancient Israel imply regional recipes and preferences.

10.  What constitutes a good jug?  Depending on the circumstances, a good jug brims with milk, does not drink wine, or sweats to filter and cool water. According to traditional potters, a good pot is symmetric, of even overall wall thickness, with a well-finished interior and exterior. The different qualities that constitute a good jug may have created a need for multiple workshops in Biblical times in order to fulfill the needs of their customers.

CONCLUSION Before refrigeration or electricity, the traditional methods for keeping food fresh exploited the unique properties of unglazed ceramics. Ancient people likely practiced similar procedures. Although the study of ancient cooking practices confronts two major handicaps, foods that decompose and ceramic pots that disintegrate due to repeated exposure to heat, the traditional potters who make and use clay cookware endure and provide a valid template for reconstructing how people got things done in biblical times. Undecorated ancient cooking pots blackened with soot are considered to be cookware, but containers for processing and preserving food are more difficult to identify. Ancient Egyptian wall paintings portraying people handling foods are instructive but lack details about which pots relate to food collection, processing, preparation, cooking, or storage. Traditional potters offer precious information for archaeologists who excavate tens

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of thousands of sherds at most sites. Ceramic containers provided the cheapest, most breakable, and most useful receptacle until recently. Unglazed pots proved invaluable to ferment fresh foods into shelf-stable products. Jugs with porous walls miraculously transform warm bitter water into a cool sweet-tasting refreshment.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Greer, J. S., Hilber, J. W., and Walton, J. H. (eds.) (2018), Behind the Scenes of the Old Testament: Cultural, Social, and Historical Contexts of Ancient Israel, Grand Rapids: Baker Academic. Examination of the physical, theological, historical, archaeological, social, cultural, and religious contexts in which the Hebrew Scriptures were written. London, G. (2016), Ancient Pottery from the Levant: An Ethnoarchaeological Perspective, Sheffield: Equinox. Descriptions of how ceramic cookware is made and used in traditional societies serve as a template for reconstructing the methods used to produce, use, and name the earliest through modern cookware in the Levant. Rice, P. M. (1987), Pottery Analysis: A Sourcebook, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Comprehensive collection of archaeological, ethnographic, stylistic, functional, and chemical approaches to the study of ceramics from the New and Old Worlds. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2013), Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible, Sheffield: Equinox. Analysis and comparison of cookware from rural and urban sites in ancient Judah as part of an assessment of archaeological remains and ancient Near Eastern written sources pertaining to daily food preparation. Spataro, M. and Villing, A. (eds.) (2015), Ceramics, Cuisine, and Culture: The Archaeology and Science of Kitchen Pottery in the Mediterranean World, Oxford: Oxbow Books. Interdisciplinary approaches to studying cookware by archaeologists, material scientists, and historians, who examine cultural and historical developments in the Mediterranean region from antiquity to recent times.

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Mershen, B. (1985), “Recent Hand-made Pottery from North Jordan,” Berytus 33: 75–87. Milwright, M. (2009), “Written Sources and the Study of Pottery in Ottoman Bilad al-Sham,” Al- Rafidan 30: 37–52. Namdar, D., Neumann, R., and Weiner, S. (2010), “Residue Analysis of Chalices from the Repository Pit,” in R. Kletter, I. Ziffer, and W. Zwickel (eds.), Yavneh 1: The Excavation of the “Temple Hill” Repository Pit and the Cult Stands, 167–73, OBO 30, Fribourg, Switzerland: Academic Press. Palmer, C. (1998), “‘Following the Plough’: The Agricultural Environment of Northern Jordan,” Levant 30: 129–65. Panitz-Cohen, N. (2006), “The Pottery of Strata XII–V),” in N. Panitz-Cohen and A. Mazar (eds.), Timnah (Tel Batash) III: The Finds from the Second Millennium bce, 9–150, Qedem 45, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Rice, P. M. (1987), Pottery Analysis: A Sourcebook, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Salem, H. (1998/1999), “Archaeological Use of the Traditional Pottery Technology among the Palestinian Potters,” Newsletter of the Department of Pottery Technology 16/17: 25–38. Salem, H. (2009), “An Ethno-Archaeological Approach to Ottoman Pottery: The Case of ‘Gaza Gray Ware,’” in B. J. Walker (ed.), Reflections of Empire: Archaeological and Ethnographic Studies on the Pottery of the Ottoman Levant, 23–36, AASOR 64, Boston: ASOR. Schiller, E. (ed.) (1982), The Heritage of the Holy Land: Illustrated Periodical for the Landscapes of the Holy Land, Jerusalem: Ariel. Seeden, H. (1985), “Aspects of Prehistory in the Present World: Observations Gathered in Syrian Villages from 1980 to 1985,” World Archaeology 17: 289–303. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2013), Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible, Sheffield: Equinox. Sideroff, M-L. (2015), “An Ethnoarchaeological Study of the Zizia Pottery Factory in Jizza, Jordan,” Ethnoarchaeology 7: 86–113. Skibo, J. (1992), Pottery Function: A Use-alteration Perspective, New York: Plenum. Sweet, L. E. (1960), Tell Toqaan: A Syrian Village, Anthropological Papers 14, Museum of Anthropology, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Tani, M., and Longacre, W. A. (1999), “On Methods of Measuring Ceramic Uselife: A Revision of the Uselife Estimates of Cooking Vessels among the Kalinga, Philippines,” American Antiquity 64: 299–308. Warren, C. W. (1876), Underground Jerusalem: An Account of Some of the Principal Difficulties Encountered in the Exploration and the Results of Obtained. London: Bentley and Son. Yakar, J. (2000), Ethnoarchaeology of Anatolia: Rural Socio-Economy in the Bronze and Iron Ages, Monograph Series 17, Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University. Yasur-Landau, A., Cline, E. H., Koh, A. J., Ratzlaff, A., Goshen, N., Susnow, M., WaimanBarak, P., and Crandall, A. M. (2018), “The Wine Storage Complexes at the Middle Bronze II Palace of Tel Kabri; Results of the 2013 and 2015 Seasons,” AJA 122: 309–38, doi: 10.3764/aja.122.2.0309.

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Cooking Installations TIM FRANK

In ancient Israel, ovens and hearths were used for baking and cooking food. Many such installations have been excavated at archaeological sites associated with ancient Israel. Ethnographic studies can help identify and interpret baking and cooking installations in the archaeological record, so that their use can be better understood. The more we know about societies that in some respects have similar ways of life as people in the past, the better we can interpret archaeological remains. In other words, ethnographic analogy is essential to understanding the use of ancient artifacts and inferring behavior associated with them. One particular example is the ethnographic work of Gustaf Dalman, who studied peasant life in Palestine and adjacent areas during the early twentieth century (Dalman 1935; Dalman 1942). Dalman’s work will serve as a basis to discuss traditional cooking and baking installations. The section on ethnographic descriptions of baking and cooking installations is followed by consideration of archaeological examples and the biblical text to provide an overview of the topic.

ETHNOGRAPHIC COMPARISONS Hearths and Stoves A simple yet common hearth consisted of a shallow depression in the house floor (Dalman 1942: 195). This was normally round, sometimes square, and usually had a low border that was most often formed by stones. Iron tripods were sometimes placed above the hearth to hold a cooking pot. Meat was sometimes grilled on a spit above such a hearth (Dalman 1935: 33). Otherwise, portable stoves made from mud and chaff were common. The simplest of these was used mainly for making coffee and heating. It consisted of a shallow bowl with a diameter of approximately 40 cm and a low foot. Charcoal was the common fuel for this bowl heater (Dalman 1942: 196, Abb. 97). A more advanced version of this stove had a deeper bowl, so that a cooking pot could be placed on the rim of the stove (Dalman 1942:197–8, Abb. 100). The bowl also had holes so that the ash would fall into a lower chamber and also provide air flow to the fire. These stoves, which used charcoal as fuel, had handles so that they could be moved easily. Other stoves were more like semicircular pot stands (Dalman 1942: 196–7, Abb. 99). Fuel was added from the front, and a cooking pot sat on the rim of the stove so that the pot was suspended above the fire. These stoves often had handles so that they could be easily moved, though sometimes they had a fixed place in a house. Some had a floor to

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collect ashes; others had no floor and just contained a fire made on the floor of the house or courtyard. This stove was normally fired with brushwood, but also with dung or wood pieces.

Ovens Installations for baking bread varied regionally in Palestine, and their use depended on the situation of the household. Gustaf Dalman divided these installations into seven categories, using the most common Arabic term to describe each type. When travelling and among the Bedouin, bread was sometimes baked directly in the ashes and embers of a fire or on a stone heated in the fire (Dalman 1935: 29–32). The most common installation for baking bread among Bedouin was the ṣāǧ, a convex metal griddle that was easily portable (Dalman 1935: 39–41). It was also occasionally used by settled farmers. The ṣāǧ was placed above the hearth, supported by three stones. It could also be placed on top of a portable stove. The bread baked on the ṣāǧ is a round flatbread, with a diameter of 30–50 cm and a thickness of about 2 mm (Dalman 1935: 45–51). A small ball of dough is flattened first on a straw plate and then by moving the bread between the hands and arms. It is then thrown onto the ṣāǧ and quickly turned; once baked, the bread is folded. Only very rarely was a zanṭū, a disc made out of clay with a handle at the back (Dalman 1935: 73–4), used in Palestine. The disc was heated on an open fire, flatbread dough placed on it and then held against the fire again. The zanṭū rested on its handle so that the bread could be baked. Several of these discs might be used on one fire to bake sufficient bread. The most common bread oven used in the villages of Palestine was the ṭābūn (plural tawabin). This was a wide dome-shaped installation made out of clay and chaff (and at times other materials). At the top it had a wide hole, which was covered by a lid, which traditionally was also made out of clay and chaff and had a handle. Dalman suggests a common diameter of 80 cm for the base of the ṭābūn and 40 cm for the hole at the top (Dalman 1935: 75). Some ovens had a floor, others did not. Those that did not have a floor were sometimes placed on a shallow depression. A ṭābūn usually had pebbles or small stones along the bottom. Some had a small front opening in the lower part, others did not. The ṭābūn with a front opening was sometimes heated internally by a small fire that was first lit outside the oven. But the main heat for a ṭābūn came from the fire surrounding the oven. The fuel, mainly dried dung and chaff, was heaped around and above the ṭābūn. As the fire burned down, the embers and ashes were removed from the lid, the oven opened, and the formed bread dough placed into the ṭābūn, normally on the pebbles or stones at the bottom of the oven. The lid was then replaced, the ashes moved back on top of the ṭābūn, and the bread baked. After several minutes the ashes were cleared from the lid again and the bread taken out of the ṭābūn, often with a stick or hook (Dalman 1935: 81–3).1 The ṭābūn usually stood in a small baking hut at the edge of the settlement. This baking method develops a lot of smoke and heat (Ebeling and Rogel 2015: 333–9; Dalman 1935: 77).

Dalman (1935: 83) gives a baking time of 10–25 minutes. Ebeling and Rogel (2015: 337) have observed a baking time of 4–6 minutes. 1 

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Another bread oven used in Palestine and adjacent areas was the tannūr (plural tanānīr). This was a cylinder-shaped installation that narrowed toward the opening at the top. The size of the ovens varied widely. One example was a cylinder 71 cm tall, with a diameter of 69 cm at the base and 46 cm at the top (Dalman 1935: 92). A tannūr could be situated partially embedded in a pit underground, or above ground. It could be freestanding or integrated into a bench (Dalman 1935: 88–94; Parker 2011: 606). Some had a small hole near the base. The shape of the opening at the top also differed: some tanānīr had a simple round opening, some an angled oval opening, others a dome with a front opening, and others a chimney with a front opening. Despite all this variety, the basic shape was similar. All these ovens were internally fired. The fuel for the fire was most often wood, though dung and other fuel were also used.2 Once the fire had died down to its embers, the formed dough was slapped against the internal sides of the tannūr. After a few minutes the bread was removed by hand and immediately placed on a mat or plate (Dalman 1935: 104–7). The tannūr was found in the courtyard of a house, whether under a roof or in the open air, in a baking hut, or in shelters on the side of the street. The furn was the oven most commonly used by professional bakers. Similar ovens, known today as pizza ovens, are used across the world, including in Europe and South America, wherever Roman culture has left its traces. The domed oven is built on a base of stone and limestone (Dalman 1935: 127–8). The floor of the baking chamber is flat and has a diameter of about 3 m and the dome is about 50 cm high. An arched hole with a door is used to insert fuel and also the formed dough. A flue near that arch allows smoke to escape from the baking chamber. The furn was internally fired, normally using wood, including twigs, as fuel. Once the fire had subsided, the embers were pushed to one side (Dalman 1935: 127–31). The bread dough, which in Palestine was usually formed into flatbread, was then placed into the oven with a wooden peel. The bread was turned and placed closer to the embers after a few minutes, before removing it and placing it on boards. A variety of specialty breads could be baked in the furn, which was usually located in a room used for baking. Another oven used in Palestine was the ‘arṣa (Dalman 1935: 138–40). This was a small clay oven with two chambers: the fire was burned in the lower chamber; the bread was baked above it in the domed upper chamber. The flat base of the baking chamber was constructed with particular care and included ceramic temper made from ground pottery. There was a small opening at the back of the ‘arṣa between the chambers. The two chambers were also open at the front, so that fuel could be added to the fire and bread placed into the baking chamber. One example had a diameter of about 40 cm and total height of 55 cm. The flatbread was baked in the ‘arṣa as flames heated the oven; it was placed in the oven and removed with a wooden peel or an iron rod. There is indeed some overlap among these ovens, but through his typology Dalman did cover the variety of ovens used in Palestine. This typology provides a means of understanding the ovens and comparing differences, not only those observed ethnographically but also those attested through archaeological research. It should be pointed out that Dalman’s categories are not definitions, but types. A type is an essential

Dalman (1935: 88) insists that wood needed to be available because dung could not be used due to the odor. Bradley J. Parker (2011: 611) describes the use of dung as fuel in southern Anatolia. 2 

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reference form to which other artifacts can be compared. It is, in other words, an ideal form, a representative, after taking the range of data into account. Yet the terms used by Dalman do not reflect all common usage of the words. Furn is the general term for oven in Jordan today (Ebeling and Rogel 2015: 330). The word ṭābūn was used across the Middle East to describe several types of ovens (Ebeling and Rogel 2015: 329). This is why when using those terms, the description should be exact or there needs to be clear reference to a known typology. These types give us ethnographic analogs to understand objects uncovered in archaeological excavations. Ethnographic analogy does not equate the objects or suggest that people interacted around them exactly the same 3,000 years ago as they did in traditional Levantine societies in the twentieth century. Similarities and differences must be noted.

INSTALLATIONS FOUND IN ARCHAEOLOGICAL EXCAVATIONS Many cooking and baking installations have been found in archaeological excavations, but information on them is scarce and seldom detailed. They are often mentioned only in passing in excavation reports and indicated on archaeological plans, but not described in detail. Generally, only the interpretation is given. They are called, variously, a hearth, oven, or tabun (taboun) without any explanation as to how the excavators arrived at that identification. Their identification therefore has to be taken on trust, and very little comparison can be done among the installations to draw conclusions about the most typical installations and any variance. Some detailed studies have been done on particular baking installations. While these studies are not based on a broad sample of installations (Gur-Arieh et al. 2014; van der Steen 1991), they nevertheless indicate that the identification and interpretation of such installations has not always been accurate.

Hearths Few simple hearths have been recorded for Iron Age sites, though in some contexts, such as in temporary shelters, they are likely to have been used. Domestic hearths were absent from Canaan during the Late Bronze Age, but appear in the early Iron Age, particularly in Philistine settlements (Maeir and Hitchcock 2011: 46). Such hearths were introduced from the Aegean and probably represent a movement of both population and technology, although they should not be taken to clearly define the ethnic origins of the Philistines. That is, technology could be adopted by people, even if it was not the most common form in their immediate place of origin. The Philistine hearths have most in common with hearths from Cyprus and Crete (Maeir and Hitchcock 2011: 58–9). A common Philistine hearth was the round hearth with a pebble or cobblestone base. These hearths were often flush with the floor and sloped down toward the center of the hearth in a shallow bowl form. A diameter of 50 cm was common at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi (Maeir and Hitchcock 2011: 49). At other sites round hearths could be larger. A layer of ash was generally found above the stones of the hearth. Sometimes potsherds were used instead of stones and pebbles as the base for the hearth. Rectangular hearths were also used in Philistine cities. These had a rim made out of plastered mudbrick and a base made of stones or potsherds (Maeir and Hitchcock 2011: 49).

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Others had a mudbrick base and were lined by stones (Stager et al. 2008: 262). The size of the rectangular hearths could vary considerably. Keyhole hearths have the shape of a keyhole or rounded triangle and a low mud and clay rim. They could be level with the floor, on a platform, or recessed into the floor. A large keyhole hearth at Ashkelon measured 1.4 m x 2.0 m (Stager et al. 2008: 266). A keyhole hearth at Tell Qasile measured 1.6 m x 0.6 m (Maeir and Hitchcock 2011: 49). In addition, in Ashkelon small ashy patches were found on floors, suggesting that portable hearths were used and moved around a room (Stager et al. 2008: 272). Hearths were common in Philistine cities in the Iron Age I and Iron Age IIA. Few bread ovens relating to these earlier periods were uncovered at Philistine sites. In later periods bread ovens became more common and hearths were rare. Round pebble hearths were also used in the Iron Age IIA further inland in settlements that were not Philistine. At Khirbet Qeiyafa several round pebble hearths were uncovered (Freikman and Garfinkel 2014: 221). This fortified town in the Elah Valley displays many similarities to towns from the hill country, and the excavators suggest that it was fortified by the early kings of Judah. Here, the hearths, which had a diameter of between approximately 75 cm and 95 cm, sloped toward the center, with a row of stones defining the rim. These rim stones extended slightly above the surrounding floor. However, ovens were more common than hearths at Khirbet Qeiyafa. A similar round pebble hearth was also found at Shechem (Campbell 2002: 267). More remarkable is a large oval hearth with a cobblestone base and a cobblestone rim (Campbell 2002: 281). It measured approximately 1.0 m x 2.0 m. The rim stones were slightly higher than the stones at the base of the hearth and were flush with the surrounding floor so that the hearth’s heating surface was in fact in a low pit. The hearth from an eighth-century bce context (Campbell 2002: 8) was in the center of the central room of the house and built on top of an earlier installation. These hearths were clearly more elaborate than those described in ethnographic accounts of Palestine. Philistine cooking jugs normally have soot marks on one side of the vessel, indicating that they were placed at the edge of the hearth on the flat surface and heated from one side (Ben-Shlomo et al. 2008: 236). The cooking method was therefore unlike that observed ethnographically in Palestine, where cooking pots were placed above the fire and heated from below. Some installations described as ovens in the excavation reports may have been used more like hearths. For example, at Beer-Sheba one room from the eighth century contains a standard oven in one corner and a semi-circular clay and stone installation in the other corner (Herzog 2016: 296–8). Fires were clearly lit in this semicircular installation, roughly 1 m in diameter, which was located in a food preparation area. Due to its shape, it could not have been used as an oven, but perhaps as a large hearth, though it is uncertain how it would have been used for cooking. Cooking pots could not have been placed above it without additional support, but they may have been placed in the embers. The installations could also have been used for roasting.

Ovens Description The most common oven found in archaeological excavations is a circular installation, usually built on the floor of a dwelling. It is a hollow cylinder made out of fired clay that narrows slightly toward the top. The smooth clay walls of these ovens were between 2.5 cm and 5 cm thick and often contained organic temper. The oven walls were not fired to

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a high temperature so that the clay walls did not vitrify, but remained brittle. Some had a double clay layer, with each layer at least 3 cm thick; some had an outer inlay of potsherds to increase the heat retaining properties; some had both features, but many had none of these additional features. Dalman gives the dimensions of an oven at Megiddo as 40 cm in height, with a diameter of 53 cm at the base and 50 cm at the opening (Dalman 1935: 102). Other ovens there were slightly larger. Although normally only the lower parts of ovens were preserved, some nearly complete ovens have been excavated. Examples of complete ovens have been found at Tell Megiddo (Gur-Arieh et al. 2014: 53–4), Tell Deir ‘Alla (van der Steen 1991: 135–7), Tell Balaṭa (Shechem) (Campbell 2002: 117), and at other sites. The upper rim normally is rounded and the same height all around the cylinder. Some ovens have a dip in one side of the rim, similar to a cutout but smoothly rounded. This may have served to allow air flow to the fire, when the oven was covered. Only a few ovens have a vent hole near the base, even though such holes were common in other periods and areas. Most ovens sat directly on the floor of a house or courtyard, with underground ovens also occasionally found sunk into the floor. It has been suggested that above-ground ovens may have been reused as underground ovens when floors were raised when rebuilding a house (Seger 1972: 34). However, it is unlikely that the relatively brittle ovens remained useable for such long periods. Some ovens have a base of pebbles for better heat retention, but this is not a common feature. Ovens were also sometimes built on a base of field stones. Nearly all ovens that have been investigated in detail have signs that point to internal heating, for instance: soot patterns, other traces of burning, and the presence of ash. Some ovens are also hollowed at the bottom, indicating that ash was frequently removed from inside these ovens (van der Steen 1991: 137, 149). Analysis of samples from the inner and outer layers of ovens by Fourier-transform infrared spectroscopy (FTIR) has shown that the inside of these ovens was regularly heated from within to temperatures higher than 500°C, and that the outside was not heated to such high temperatures (GurArieh et al. 2014). It is possible that some rare examples of externally heated ovens have been excavated, but the descriptions are not sufficient to clearly support the practice in these cases (Ebeling and Rogel 2015: 341–2), as it was mainly the presence of ash outside the oven, rather than other indicators, that led to such interpretation. The interior walls of these ovens are normally smooth, while the outer walls are rougher, have additions such as potsherds, and sometimes touch walls or adjacent large stones. Analysis of ash samples taken from several Iron Age ovens from three archaeological sites showed that the fuel used was dominantly wood (5/8), though in some ovens both wood and dung were probably used (2/8), while dung was the dominant fuel in only one oven (Gur-Arieh et al. 2014: 60). This analysis was based on examining tiny characteristic particles under polarized light microscopes. The applicable analysis framework was developed by examining ash from modern ovens still used in traditional societies. In the twentieth century, archaeologists often assumed that ash found in ovens was dung ash, but no detailed examination of the ashes was published to verify this assumption. Experimental archaeology suggests that easily flammable materials, such as dry grass, chaff, brushwood, twigs, and thin pieces of wood would have been required to light the fire and bring it to an even burn before slow-burning materials such as dung or larger pieces of wood could be used (Frank 2015). Particularly for ovens without a vent hole, easily flammable fuel would have been required.

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All these signs indicate that these ancient ovens were used similarly to a tannūr, as described by Dalman. There are differences between the tanānīr used in traditional Palestinian villages and in settlements throughout the Middle East and the ovens found in archaeological excavations. Ancient ovens were often smaller, both in diameter and height; many ancient ovens did not have a vent hole near the base, in contrast with newer tanānīr; ancient ovens normally sat straight on a surface, while newer ovens were often angled; ancient ovens normally had a simple opening with a straight rim, while newer tanānīr often had more complex top openings; ancient ovens mostly stood separately on a floor, while newer ovens were often incorporated into benches or other installations. Despite these differences, the common oven known from at least the Middle Bronze Age to the Hellenistic Period is similar enough to the tannūr in important aspects to use analogy to understand how the ovens might have been used. Therefore, the ancient ovens were probably fired internally some time before baking. Once the fire died down to its embers, women would have slapped flatbread against the side of the oven.3 A terracotta figurine from Cyprus shows a woman baking in such an oven (Metropolitan Museum of Art).4 She is leaning over the oven and throwing round bread against the internal oven walls. It is likely that leavened dough as well as at times unleavened dough would have been used. After the bread was baked, the woman would have removed the bread as it was ready for consumption. Bread would have been baked regularly, at least every three or four days, if not daily. The smaller size of the ancient ovens may indicate that these ovens were also used to roast meat, as is attested ethnographically (Dalman 1935: 110–12), and to heat food in cooking pots. This use of the ovens might be comparable to the cooking stoves used in Palestine. Soot patterns found on Iron Age cooking pots from hill-country sites indicate that they were probably fired from below. Some cooking pots only have sooting at the base; the sooting does not extend up the sides in an irregular pattern as would be expected for pots placed directly above flames. These pots would have been used above a glowing fire rather than a brightly burning fire. Other methods of baking bread also existed alongside this dominant practice. Baking trays have been found in excavations associated with ancient Israel (see, for example, Kang and Garfinkel 2018: 36–7 and parallels given there). These are round, convex ceramic griddles. The top side is marked by concentric circles with many reed impressions between them. The concave lower side has a rough finish. The diameter of these baking trays is between 20 cm and 40 cm. The lower side is normally blackened with soot, indicating that the trays were placed above a fire. It is likely that the ṣāǧ, as ethnographically observed in Palestine, provides a suitable analogy to interpret the use of these baking trays. In that case, thin, flatbread was probably baked on them, though they may also have been used to bake or cook other foods. Even though baking trays are not unusual in archaeological levels associated with ancient Israel, they are found relatively seldom, far less than many other pottery forms (e.g., cooking pots), and also less frequently than ovens. Given this is case, it is likely that they were not used in all households and perhaps involved special occasions. With the evidence on hand, it is not clear whether and how they would have been placed on a hearth or oven.

But men were probably bakers in urban commercial contexts; see Chapter 22 in this volume. This artifact is dated to the Cypro-Archaic II period, 600–480 bce; see https://www.metmuseum.org/art/ collection/search/241310 3  4 

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An example from Tell Halif may illustrate the use of ovens in ancient Israel. Based on stratigraphic considerations an oven was assigned to Level VIB, which was destroyed at the end of the eighth century bce (Frank 2009: 109–10). This oven was situated on a floor that was covered by many artifacts indicating food preparation. The cylindrical oven was built directly on the floor with no stone or pebble base. Its walls were made from a single layer of low-fired clay, between 3 cm and 5 cm thick. The walls incline slightly inwards toward the top. They were preserved to a height of about 24 cm. More parts of the walls had collapsed inside and beside the oven, indicating that the oven once was higher. The oven walls were blackened on the interior side, indicating that the oven had been fired internally. Ash was found inside the oven, but no analysis of the ash was completed (Frank 2009). The oven had an external base diameter of 42 cm. Two large field stones stood on opposite sides of the oven, touching the walls, one stone on each side. It was clear that these were field stones, not reused grinding stones. These stones, nevertheless, were flatter on one of the long sides. These flatter sides were touching the oven walls, while the curved sides faced away from the oven. The stones were sunk into the ground beside the oven and stood vertically beside the oven, also leaning slightly inwards at a similar angle as the oven walls. The stones were about 30 cm wide, 18 cm in depth, and about 40 cm long and stood about 30 cm above floor level. These stones might have helped with heat retention and the stability of the oven and could also have been used to rest roasting spits and cooking pots, particularly if the oven did not have a height above 30 cm (Frank 2009). A large smooth stone, which was cracked when found, lay immediately to the southwest of the oven. Parts of it were also found further southwest. If all the pieces were put together, it would be about 30 cm square and 10 cm thick. The nature of the stone was not determined. It had one small indentation to the side of the upper surface. This might have been used as a working platform, especially for kneading bread. Stones to flatten bread before firing it in a tannūr were also observed by Dalman (1935: 105) and are depicted in Egyptian art (Frank 2012:164–5). Next to the oven, but not close to the large smooth stone, was large bowl, 14.5 cm high and 33 cm wide at the rim and had one handle. It was the largest bowl in the room. Based on its size and its location near the oven, it is possible that the bowl was used for bread dough (Frank 2012: 147–8). A grinding stone was also nearby (Frank 2012: 212). Adjacent to the large smooth stone and not far from the oven was a small hole-mouth jar. It is 28 cm high and has a diameter of 12 cm diameter. Based on ethnographic comparison, such a jar with a coarse, relatively low-fired body, could have been used for flour storage (Frank 2012: 114–16). On the opposite side of the oven a row of storage jars separated this baking area from the rest of the room. The tools for baking bread as would be expected from ethnographic comparisons would have been located next to the oven. Identification as Ṭābūn Even though ethnographic analogy enables us to infer the use of the common Iron Age oven, many archaeologists have identified this oven as a ṭābūn. The word tabun is frequently mentioned in excavation reports, books, and articles to describe this oven. It is nearly a technical archaeological term (Ebeling and Rogel 2015: 343–5). Early archaeologists included their own imprecise and sometimes confused ethnographic analogies, calling ovens variously tabun, tannûr, sometimes combining the two terms.

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From the 1960s the term tabun was used without explanation to describe the ovens. The source of this confusion is not clear. However, it is likely that at its heart is a temptation for ethnographic equation, instead of ethnographic analogy. In other words, instead of comparing two objects through analogy, noting similarities and differences, archaeologists seem to have assumed on the basis of limited similarities (material and shape of the base) that ovens found in archaeological contexts equaled those used in traditional households in the same area. The ṭābūn was the main oven used throughout Palestine, that is, in settled communities close to sites at which archaeologists worked. If only the ṭābūn were known, it would have served as a good basis for comparison, but it would have required identification of key differences between those ovens. It might be justified to use that term, provided that those differences in use are clearly articulated. However, since the tannūr was also present in traditional societies, though not as numerous, and was clearly described in the typology of the leading ethnographic text of the area, comparison with the tannūr would provide a far better analogy. Again, some differences between ancient ovens and tanānīr need to be noted. Reasons for not comparing ancient ovens to the tannūr might have been: an inability to read German and thus Gustaf Dalman’s books, the limitation of ethnographic comparison to just the immediate vicinity of the dig site, imprecise ethnographic investigation, and interpretation before description. In any case, once the terminology was established, it was not re-examined. Because the terminology was fixed, many ovens found in past excavations were equated with the ṭābūn, and the use of these ovens was assumed to have been similar to that of a ṭābūn without description of the actual finds. Therefore, it is impossible to know whether ovens uncovered in past excavations were less comparable to the tannūr than those found in recent excavations, which have been well documented and are best compared to the tannūr. In their study, Ebeling and Rogel (2015: 347) suggest that baking installations found in archaeological excavations should not be referred to with a name based on ethnographic analogy. They suggest that the terms “oven” or “thermal features” should be used. While initially attractive, the word “oven” is also based on analogy and may similarly have incorrect associations. Further, the word “thermal feature” is inexact and seems to assume that objects can be understood without recourse to analogy. As all analysis relies on analogy, especially in archaeology, terms based on analogy are appropriate to describe artifacts.5 I suggest the terms “oven” or “tannūr” are both adequate to describe these clay cooking installations found in Levantine sites.

SIZE VARIATION OF OVENS ACROSS TIME Not many ovens have been preserved to full height, but the base often has been preserved, so that comparisons can be made. One of the smaller ovens was excavated at Tell Halif. This oven had a diameter of 37 cm at the base and was preserved to a height of 29 cm. The oven was dated to the late eighth century bce (Iron Age IIB). Other Iron IIB ovens at Tell Halif had a base diameter between 42 cm and 55 cm. Ovens assigned to the Iron

See, for example, Gur-Arieh et al. (2014), which is based on ethnographic work in Uzbekistan. The criticism of Ebeling and Rogel is based on detailed ethnographic work. They show that ethnographic analogy is valuable in assessing archaeological material. 5 

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Age IIB at several other sites had base diameters between 40 cm and 88 cm.6 One oven from Beer-Sheba Stratum III, which is dated to the early eighth century (Iron Age IIA), is described as unusually large. It has a diameter of approximately 1 m. The excavators suggested that it was used to bake for large groups of people and described the room as a kitchen for functionaries. The generally smaller size of ovens during the Iron Age IIB contrasts with ovens assigned to the Iron Age IIA, which had base diameters between 54 cm and approximately 95 cm. On average the diameter was larger than for ovens from the Iron Age IIB. Comparisons with earlier periods can also be instructive. An Iron Age I oven from ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah had a diameter of approximately 88 cm (Finkelstein 1986: Fig. 5). Two ovens from the Late Bronze Age found at Tel Burna had a diameter of 90 cm and were preserved to a height of 30 cm to 35 cm (Chris McKinny, personal communication). A Middle Bronze Age oven found at Tell Balaṭa (Shechem) had a diameter of 176 cm and was preserved to the full height of 150 cm (Campbell 2002: 117). In contrast, ovens from the Late Persian–Hellenistic Period uncovered at Khirbet Qeiyafa had base diameters of approximately 70 cm to 80 cm (Freikman and Garfinkel 2014: 119–20). More comparisons need to be made, but it might well be that Iron Age ovens were generally smaller than those from previous periods. In particular, the size of ovens seems to decrease in the later Iron Age. It is possible that during the later Persian and Hellenistic Periods ovens of greater size were used again. This may point to smaller households during the Iron Age IIA, although other explanations are possible. For example, oven size has also been associated with location (Baadsgaard 2008: 8–29).

LOCATION OF COOKING INSTALLATIONS The location of hearths varied among Philistine sites. In Ashkelon hearths of whatever form often dominated halls at the center of buildings. Round hearths were often located in the center of these rooms, while rectangular and keyhole hearths were sometimes located toward the side of rooms (Maeir and Hitchcock 2011: 48). At Tel Miqne hearths were smaller and located in side rooms (Maeir and Hitchcock 2011: 48). The hearths at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi were predominantly located in exterior spaces (Maeir and Hitchcock 2011: 49). Hearths excavated at sites outside the core Philistine territory, particularly at Tell Balaṭa (Shechem) and Khirbet Qeiyafa, were mainly in the center of main rooms, though one was in what seemed to be a separate cooking niche. There is some variety in hearth location, but overall hearths were located in accessible and visible areas of houses. Some may even be associated with feasting. These hearths indicate that cooking formed part of the social interaction within and between households. In the twentieth century an understanding developed among archaeologists that ovens were normally located in unroofed areas. Ovens would have emitted considerable smoke, so that excavators considered their use indoors a nuisance. This resulted in the circular argument that all spaces with ovens were courtyards, and since all excavated ovens were in courtyards, they were only used outside. Recent research suggests that many bread ovens were located in roofed areas (Baadsgaard 2008: 28–9; Frank 2018: 126–8), as

Sites compared include Tell Halif, Tel Beer Sheba, Khirbet Summeily, Tel Batash, Khirbet Qeiyafa, Tell Balaṭa (Shechem), and Tel Yokneam. 6 

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is also well attested ethnographically (Kramer 1982: 99).7 According to a study that analyzed the location of bread ovens, over half were in roofed areas close to the center of houses (Baadsgaard 2008: 28–9). Other oven locations were courtyards, open areas, public buildings, and streets. Those inside houses were on average smaller than ovens located in public buildings, courtyards, or open spaces. Some houses had ovens in the main part of the building and also ovens in rooms attached to the front of houses or entrance areas (Frank 2018: 158). These spaces near the front of the house may have been similar to baking huts in Palestine or outside cooking areas and may have been roofed. It is noticeable that ovens in the main part of the building were closely associated with food storage and other domestic activities, while spaces near the front of houses that contained ovens evidenced no artifacts pointing to food storage or other activities apart from food preparation (Frank 2018: 158). Ovens located in open spaces and at the front of houses may have been used by women from different households. Ovens in central parts of houses were associated with other activities such as food storage, grinding, and weaving. They were also located in easily accessible areas rather than secluded rooms. Cooking and food preparation seem to have been highly visible household activities that were at the center of daily life and integrated with other household tasks. The variation in the location of ovens and other domestic activities suggest that women could arrange spaces to suit practical and personal considerations (Baadsgaard 2008: 42).

BIBLICAL REFERENCES TO OVENS The Hebrew word tannûr, the only term used in the Hebrew Bible for a baking installation, occurs fifteen times. This does not mean that the ancient ovens were necessarily similar to the tanānīr observed ethnographically. The meaning of words often shifts across time to describe an object that fulfils a similar function but is quite different in form. Nevertheless, it strengthens the case for the use of the word tannûr to describe ovens used in the area of ancient Israel. It would reflect both the word attested by textual evidence as well as the best ethnographic analogy. Many references to the tannûr in the Hebrew Bible emphasize the fire in the oven. In Ps. 21:9 (21:10 in Hebrew) the enemies are said to be made like a tannûr of fire. The words tannûr and fire are closely connected. In Isa. 31:9 the words flame and tannûr are used in parallel, describing the presence of Yahweh in Jerusalem. In Lam. 5:10 the burning skin of people suffering a famine is compared to an oven. Some references allow us to draw inferences about the use of the tannûr. Malachi 4:1 (3:19 in Hebrew) compares the evil doers to chaff that are burned in a tannûr. Chaff, which was easily flammable and would have allowed a quick fire to develop in an oven, is frequently referred to as fuel for fire. In Hos. 7:4-7 the wicked residents of Samaria are compared to a tannûr. They are said to smolder through the night and then blaze in the morning. The reference suggests that the fire in a tannûr was often not extinguished but that the embers would have continued burning, including through the night, and the fire fanned to flame again the next morning. Listing all the disasters that will befall Israel if it is disobedient, Lev. 26:26 warns that God will cut off the supply of bread. At that point ten women will bake bread in one

7 

See the discussion of roofed areas in Iron Age houses in Chapter 2 of this volume.

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tannûr. Normally, fewer women would have baked their bread in one oven, sometimes each one in her family oven. If ten women is a large number to use an oven, this reference indicates that ovens were normally not shared between so many households. It also directly strengthens the conclusion based on ethnographic analogy and other textual sources that baking was a woman’s task. That the tannûr was seen as common in houses can be taken from Exod. 8:3 (7:28 in Hebrew), which mentions that frogs during one of the Exodus plagues also entered the ovens as well as other important household installations. In Lev. 11:35 a tannûr is mentioned as one of the household items that may become unclean if a carcass falls on it. Grain offering cakes could be baked in a tannûr or other baking implements, probably a baking tray and a pan (Lev. 2:4 and 7:9; see also Staubli and Schroer 2014: 251). This suggests that also in daily life different implements were probably used to prepare foods made from grain.

CONCLUSION Cooking installations were common in houses throughout ancient Israel. The main cooking installation used was the oven, which was a development of Bronze Age forms, and was well suited for the baking of bread, the staple food in ancient Israel. Hearths, as introduced from the Aegean by the Philistines, were used in few houses. Ovens were so integral a part of domestic life that they were at the heart of a household. Here, women baked bread to feed the family, while also interacting with neighbors and guests. From here they turned to the many other household tasks. Here, the blessings of the land were turned to the daily bread.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Dalman, G. (1935), Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina, Band IV: Brot, Öl und Wein, Gütersloh: Bertelsmann. This book contains detailed descriptions of the different baking, cooking, and heating installations encountered in Palestine and nearby areas in the early twentieth century, and the various baking and cooking methods used. Dalman, G. (1942), Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina, Band VII: Das Haus, Hühnerzucht, Taubenzucht, Bienenzuch, Gütersloh: Bertelsmann. An ethnographic account of houses, the possessions commonly found in houses and their use in early-twentieth-century Palestine and surrounding areas. Ebeling, J. and Rogel, M. (2015), “The tabun and Its Misidentification in the Archaeological Record,” Levant 47: 328–49. This thorough article provides an ethnographic description of baking using a tabun and discusses the history of archaeological investigation and the terminology used. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2019), “Baking Bread in Ancient Judah,” BAR 45: 59–64. An overview of bread baking, based on finds at Tell Halif, southern Israel.

REFERENCES Baadsgaard, A. (2008), “A Taste of Women’s Sociality: Cooking as Cooperative Labor in Iron Age Syro-Palestine,” in B. A. Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 13–44, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.

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Ben-Shlomo, D., Shai, I., Zukerman, A, and Maeir, A. M. (2008), “Cooking Identities: Aegean Cooking-Style Jugs and Cultural Interaction in Iron Age Philistia and Neighboring Regions,” AJA 112: 225–46. Campbell, E. F. (2002), Shechem III: The Stratigraphy and Architecture of Shechem/Tell Balâṭah, Volume 1: Text, Boston: ASOR. Dalman, G. (1935), Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina, Band IV: Brot, Öl und Wein, Gütersloh: Bertelsmann. Dalman, G. (1942), Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina, Band VII: Das Haus, Hühnerzucht, Taubenzucht, Bienenzuch, Gütersloh: Bertelsmann. Ebeling, J. and Rogel, M. (2015), “The tabun and Its Misidentification in the Archaeological Record,” Levant 47: 328–49. Finkelstein, I. (1986), ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah: An Early Iron Age Site near Rosh Haʽayin, BAR International Series 299, Oxford: B.A.R. Frank, T. (2009), “Area E7,” in O. Borowski (ed.), Lahav Research Project, Phase IV, 2009 Report, 105–23, Atlanta: Emory University. Frank, T. (2012), “Hearth and Home: Life in and Around a ‘Kitchen’ from Ancient Judah as Excavated at Tell Halif,” MA thesis, Department of Anthropology and Middle Eastern Cultures, Mississippi State University, Mississippi. Frank, T. (2015), “More Tannur Experiments,” Imagining the Past: Archaeology and the Bible, posted October 20. https://timfrankarchaeology.wordpress.com/2015/08/08/more-tannurexperiments/ Frank, T. (2018), Household Food Storage in Ancient Israel and Judah, Oxford: Archaeopress. Freikman, M. and Garfinkel, Y. (2014), “Chapter 7: Area C,” in Y. Garfinkel, S. Ganor, M. G. Hasel, and M. G. Klingbeil (eds.), Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 2. Excavation Report 2009–2013: Stratigraphy and Architecture (Areas B, C, D, E), 93–226, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Gur-Arieh, S., Shahack-Gross, R., Maeir, A. M., Lehmann, G., Hitchcock, L. A., and Boaretto, E. (2014), “The Taphonomy and Preservation of Wood and Dung Ashes Found in Archaeological Cooking Installations: Case Studies from Iron Age Israel,” JAS 46: 50–67. Herzog, Z. (2016), “The Southern Quarter,” in Z. Herzog and L. Singer-Avitz (eds.), BeerSheba III: The Early Iron IIA Enclosed Settlement and the Late Iron IIA-Iron IIB Cities, Volume I, 242–309, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Kang, H. and Garfinkel, Y. (2018), Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 6. Excavation Report 2007–2013: The Iron Age Pottery, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Kramer, C. (1982), Village Ethnoarchaeology: Rural Iran in Archaeological Perspective, New York: Academic. Maeir, A. M. and Hitchcock, L. A. (2011), “Absence Makes the Hearth Grow Fonder: Searching for the Origins of the Philistine Hearth,” ErIsr 30: 46–64. Parker, B. J. (2011), “Bread Ovens, Social Networks and Gendered Space: An Ethnoarchaeological Study of Tandir Ovens in Southeastern Anatolia,” Am. Ant. 76: 603–27. Seger, J. D. (1972), “Shechem Field XIII, 1969,” BASOR 205: 20–35. Stager, L. E., Schloen, J. D., Master, D. M., Press, M. D., and Aja, A. (2008), “Part Four: Stratigraphic Overview,” in L. E. Stager, J. D. Schloen, and D. M. Master (eds.), Ashkelon 1: Introduction and Overview (1985–2006), 215–326, Final Reports of the Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon 1, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Staubli, T. and Schroer, S. (2014), Menschenbilder der Bibel, Ostfildern: Patmos. van der Steen, E. J. (1991), “The Iron Age Bread Ovens from Tell Deir ‘Alla,” ADAJ 35: 135–53.

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CHAPTER 15

Storage DAVID ILAN

INTRODUCTION Why store food? When agrarian commodities are produced and when water is collected, they are generally done so in large volumes. These large volumes need to be managed in such a way that the commodities are conserved and preserved over the short-, medium-, and long-term. More fragile and more perishable substances would be stored in smaller containers. More robust commodities—grain, dried fruit, oil, and wine—would be stored in larger receptacles and transferred to smaller containers for short-term household serving and consumption. Food storage strategies are linked to harvest times (Frank 2018: 4–7).1 Since the harvesting seasons are late spring, summer, and early autumn, food storage, too, would be executed in these seasons, particularly following the late summer and autumn harvests. Long-term storage anticipates food shortages—periods of poor yields brought on by drought and conflict—which could lead to famine.2 Any discussion of food storage must also distinguish between household storage and centralized communal storage (Borowski 1987: 71–2). The former is an expression of household consumption, and sometimes production, while the latter is an expression of a redistributive economy, where food is exchanged by farmers for services and goods provided by an administrative authority (Pfälzner 2002: 261–6). Food producers who paid part of their yield as a tax to the authorities viewed this tax as a sort of insurance premium in anticipation of bad harvest years (e.g., Paulette 2015: 181–3). Communal, centralized storage will display mass and quantity—many times that of individual households—in the form of very large grain silos or large storerooms containing hundreds of vessels (e.g., Herzog 1973).

STORED COMMODITIES Grain Grain was stored in pits during most of human history since the Neolithic (Figure 15.1). Pit storage has advantages and disadvantages. One advantage is that a pit is relatively easy to construct, even one with a large volume. Another advantage lies in the fact that pits can be made invisible. A disadvantage lies in its vulnerability to moisture and ground

As this chapter was being prepared, the author became aware of the recently published (2018) book by Tim Frank, Household Food Storage in Ancient Israel and Judah. Frank covers much of what my chapter covers—the reader is invited to consult his book for material beyond the scope of this short overview. 2  For a discussion of food shortages because of famine, see Chapter 21 in this volume. 1 

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FIGURE 15.1  A grain pit under the floor of an early Iron Age (1150–950 bce) dwelling at Tel Dan, Stratum V. (Photo Avraham Biran, courtesy the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology)

dwelling vermin, especially if a pit is not properly constructed (Currid and Navon 1989: 72–6; Ilan 2008: 90, 97). A pit is also a safety hazard when emptied (Exod. 21:33-34). In most archaeological periods, since the beginnings of agriculture, pits were an everpresent feature of households, within and around domestic structures. Grain pits seem to be more common in periods of unrest, such as the Iron Age I or the Persian period, when the danger of having one’s grain stolen was more pronounced (Ilan 2008: 95–9). In safer times, there might be one grain pit per household—if at all—and the rest would be stored in aboveground silos, or in jars—both better insulated from vermin and dampness. Still, large numbers of grain pits have been discovered at Moza dating to the Iron Age IIA, in what appears to be royal granary facility (Greenhut and de Groot 2009: 222–6). This would appear to be a matter of efficiency, where large quantities of grain were harvested and then stored for a limited amount of time, prior to extraction and redistribution. In most periods, aboveground granaries and container storage were preferred, despite the resulting exposure to pests: the granary weevil (Sitophilus granarius), the lesser grain borer (Rhyzopertha dominica (e.g., Kislev 2015), and the Angoumois grain moth (Sitotroga cerealella). In some cases, the grain was stored in enclosed chambers—in bulk or in sacks (which do not preserve)—for example, at Tel Hadar in the Iron Age IB (Kislev 2015) in Room 383, in Iron Age II Beersheba House 75, Room 383 (Beit-Arieh 1973: 33), or Tel Dan Locus 605 from the Iron IB (Ilan 2019: 47). In some contexts (e.g., Early Bronze Age Tel Arad, Late Bronze Age Bir el-Abd), a beehive-shaped silo has been posited as being constructed over stone platforms (Currid 1985). This was a standard feature in ancient Egypt (Currid 1985: 104; Murray 2000: 526–7), though the shape probably goes back to the Neolithic (6000–4500 bce) and Chalcolithic (4500–3700 BCE) periods (Bar-Yosef and Ayalon 2001; Klimscha, Rosenberg, and Garfinkel 2017). Most

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frequently, grain was stored in ceramic vessels.3 These are found as either isolated vessels in domestic contexts, or in groups of vessels in domestic spaces or designated communal storehouses. We can rarely be sure that grain was the commodity stored in a ceramic jar; unlike oils that leave lipids, or wine that may leave traces of tannin or other additives, grain will decay and leave no discernible trace. If contained within a jar when a fire breaks out—but protected from direct contact with the flames—grain may carbonize within the container, for example, at Iron Age I Tel Shiloh Stratum V, Silos 1400 and 1462 (Kislev 1993: 354; Lederman and Finkelstein 1993: 47–8), and Iron Age IB Tel Keisan Stratum 9a (Kislev 1980: 361–2). Flour is absent from the archaeological record. Ethnographic research suggests that flour is likely to have been stored in wooden chests (see the valuable compendium of studies in Frank 2018: 23–42). In any case, flour was too fine for the weave of ancient sacks and more difficult to remove from jars, which were also more likely to break. Flour would have been stored in smaller quantities and mostly produced for immediate consumption. A grain storage facility is probably called ʾāsām in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Deut. 28:8, translated “barn” in the NRSV). To some extent this may refer to silos, which could be constructed above ground or below ground. But the term could equally apply to agglomerations of pithoi, storage jars, or sacks, collected in storerooms.

Wine and Oil Wine and oil required a container that is both impermeable and allows the pouring of liquid either, or both, in and out. Larger containers—pithoi (Figure 15.2)—were designated for long-term storage. Intermediate-sized vessels (storage jars, Figure 15.4b, d, e) would have been used for both intermediate-term storage and for the transport of oil and wine over distances (e.g., Abdelhamid 2015: 1–3; Ballard et al. 2002: 158–161; Pedrazzi 2010: 53–4). Smaller containers (jugs, Figure 15.4a) were used for short-term storage and serving. Even smaller containers—juglets—were mainly for serving or for transferring liquids from larger to smaller containers. Other small containers—alabastra, pyxides, and amphoriskoi—would have contained more valuable substances applied in smaller quantities, such as creams, ointments, syrups, and scented oils (e.g., DayagiMendels 1989).4 We discuss ceramic vessel types below. Wine was also stored in skins. The chances of a wineskin being preserved in the archaeological record are small—perhaps only in the Dead Sea area—but the biblical text suggests that the wineskin (Hebrew no’d) were a way to transport, store, and perhaps serve, wine (e.g., 1 Sam. 16:20). Of course, skins could be used to store water and liquid dairy products (e.g., Judg. 4:19) as well. A possible depiction of a donkey carrying wineskins was found in a Phoenician tomb at Achziv (Mazar 2004: Figure 20).

Water Ideally, a water source is located near a settlement. In the best scenario, this is a spring or a well. Lacking a nearby spring or well, a rock-carved cistern did the job (Figure 15.3;

See also the discussions in Chapters 12 and 13 in this volume. An alabastron is a squat vessel with two small lug handles on its shoulder. A pyxis is a kind of bottle, also with small lug handles on its shoulder, and an amphoriskos is a very small jar with two loop handles at its body’s midpoint. Numerous illustrations can be found in Gitin (2015). 3  4 

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FIGURE 15.2  Collared-rim pithoi of the Iron Age I from Tel Dan Stratum V. (Photo Avraham Biran, courtesy the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology)

Ghantous and Edelman 2014). Cisterns store collected rainwater and have been carved at least as early as the Middle Bronze Age (e.g., at Tel Hazor). Rock-carved cisterns could contain many hundreds and even thousands of cubic meters of water; household cisterns were smaller, while the largest cisterns (such as those at Iron Age Beth Shemesh, Tel Sheva, and Tel Arad) served entire settlements. Some quantity of water would have to be transported from the source to the home or other consuming institution. A water skin or storage jar would be the best way to do this. Traditionally, people, particularly women (e.g., Gen. 24:11; Exod. 2:16), did the carrying (Bidmead 2020), but if greater distances are required, a donkey would have helped. Once water reached the home, several variables would determine the storage container. The same vessel types used to store wine and oil would have been equally amenable to the storage of water. However, people consumed water more frequently and in larger quantities; the supply would need to be replenished more often. A pithos would be the default container, but if the water source was close enough a storage jar would suffice for daily storage.

Dairy Products Milk, as a liquid, would have been consumed immediately as it sours quickly. But secondary milk products—ghee and cheese—were produced by churning.5 After churning, the resulting products would require storage, preferably in cool dark places. Both ghee Ghee is clarified butter. Ethnographic evidence suggests that cheese would have taken the form of balls that were dried and then preserved in olive oil. These balls could then be extracted, moistened with water, and spread on a flatbread (MacDonald 2008: locations 434–8). 5 

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FIGURE 15.3  Large water cistern under the fort at Iron Age Tel Arad. (Courtesy Yehud Govrin)

and dehydrated cheese preserved in oil will last for years. Once again, ceramic vessels would be the default storage medium. Archaeological residue analysis has not produced unequivocal evidence for the storage of dairy products, so we can only hypothesize which vessels might have contained ghee and which contained cheese. One assumes that pithoi

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would have been too large, relative to frequency of consumption, but storage jars and jugs would have been ideal.

Other Foodstuffs Most food storage concerns the bulk commodities of grain, oil, and wine, and quite a few studies have been written about these. However, people consumed other agrarian commodities that were amenable to long-term storage: lentils, chickpeas, vetch, flaxseeds, dried fruit, nuts, date, pomegranate and raisin syrup, and honey, to name the most obvious candidates (Borowski 1987: 110–30).6 The dry goods could have been stored in sacks, but the moister commodities required storage in jars or jugs. Examples of these other commodities found in storage vessels are not common in the archaeological literature. A jar containing an infant burial dating to the Middle Bronze Age also contained a large quantity of lentils (Ilan 1996: 189). It raises interesting questions about mortuary beliefs and the provisioning of the dead, but these are beyond the purview of this chapter.7 In 1 Kgs. 14:3, the baqbuq is used to hold dəvaš, which is either date or bee honey. Frank (2018: 81) believes this vessel is the Iron Age decanter jug (see Chapter 12, Figure 12.3:5). Leafy vegetables and root vegetables, certain kinds of fruits (e.g., berries and melons), and gathered edible plants did not preserve for long, such that their storage was a shortterm affair that would not express itself readily in archaeological contexts. One assumes that cool, dry, well-aired spaces and containers would facilitate this short-term storage— baskets, bowls, and perhaps wooden chests. Unfortunately, archaeological evidence for leafy vegetables, root vegetables, and fleshy fruits is still thin (cf. Rosen 1994: 342).

CERAMIC STORAGE VESSELS While grain pits, aboveground silos, and water cisterns may have provided storage in bulk in both the private and public sector, ceramic storage vessels provided, in total, the greatest storage capacity. Being movable objects, ceramic vessels also allowed for more flexibility, impermeability, and mobility in storage and transport. Several rules of thumb apply to storage vessels: 1. The greater the vessel capacity the longer the period of storage intended, for any given commodity. 2. The smaller the vessel the more mobile it is and, conversely, the larger it is the more stationary (cf. Venturi 2015: 79). 3. Large storage vessels (pithoi and storage jars) almost always rested on the floor. Stability can be enhanced by inserting the vessel bases into the thickness of a floor (cf. Venturi 2015: 80), or by resurfacing a floor when vessels are in situ. Most often, the first placement would be in a corner and vessels would be added outward from the first. Storage jars and jugs could also be placed on stands (Figure 15.4c). Smaller vessels (small jars, jugs, flasks, and juglets) rested on benches, shelves, or in the mouths of larger vessels.

6  7 

These products are discussed in Chapter 9 of this volume. See the discussion in Chapter 8 of this volume.

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4. Vessels designated for food storage have narrow openings that facilitate closure by lids, stoppers, and plugs of various materials. A corollary to this is that storage vessels often have a thickened, “collared” rim that facilitates the anchoring of a textile covering with twine. The textile covering can either underlay or cover a lid or stopper of clay, asphalt, pottery, or stone (e.g., Rzeuska 2011, Figs. 23C-B). Large storage vessels with larger openings may have been sealed less rigorously with simple textile covers or with open bowls. Large, deep vessels with wide openings (kraters) are not for storage but for food and liquid preparation or continuous usage. 5. The greater the standardization of volume and shape the more likely that storage vessels are being manufactured by specialists industrially rather than as part of a household mode of production.

Pithoi Pithoi (Figure 15.2) generally have a volume of 70–110 liters and are at least 100 cm high (Frank 2018: 171; Killebrew 2001: 379; Raban 2001: 495). Most pithoi of the Iron Age have two handles, but some have none or four. Pithoi are intended to be stationary when filled. They could contain different commodities, liquid and otherwise (Killebrew 2001: 390).

Storage Jars Storage jars are the most common type of storage vessel (Figure 15.4b, d, e). They generally have a volume of between 10 and 35 liters and are 40–70 cm high (Frank 2018: 171), but there is a differentiation of volume classes, especially in Iron Age II. Also, in Iron Age II, mass production and standardization came into play (see the various chapters in Gitin 2015, 2019), which is, of course, an indication of economic centralization. The question is: how much did this standardization affect households? At any given place and time, storage jar morphology was an indicator of (a) commercial network affiliation, (b) contents, and (c) grosso modo volume. Hippo jars (Figure 15.4e) were typical of the ninth to eighth centuries bce (Ben-Tor and Zarzecki-Peleg 2015: 141–2). The lmlk jar (Figure 15.4d), an official storage jar in Judah in the late eighth and seventh centuries bce,8 contained approximately 45 liters = two bats, probably of oil or wine. The volume can vary by 7–10 percent (Zapassky, Finkelstein, and Benenson 2009: 59–60). These jars are often a feature of communal contexts: storehouses, barracks, and the like, but they are quite common in domestic contexts as well (Frank 2018: 174 and see Hardin 2010). The “torpedo” jar, so-called due to its cylindrical form and pointed base (Figure 15.4b), was popular along the Levantine coast and trade routes in the eighth century bce. It was mass manufactured as a standardized vessel with a height of approximately one Egyptian cubit, and a circumference of approximately one cubit and two palms, for a volume of 18.4

Lmlk (lamelekh) means “to” or “for” the king, in the sense of belonging to, or designated for, the king. These jars were mass-produced by the royal Judahite administration in a standard measure to facilitate efficient transport and accounting of agrarian bulk commodities destined for state-sanctioned consumers or markets. The bat (or bath) is a measure of liquid volume of 22 or 23 liters, that occurs in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Ezek. 45:11, 14; 2 Chron. 2:9), and in Iron Age archaeological contexts (Lipschits et al. 2010). 8 

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Figure 15.4  Iron Age II ceramic vessels used for food storage. a. Iron Age I jug from Tel Dan (Photo Vladimir Naikin, courtesy the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology); b. Iron Age II “torpedo jar” from Tel Beth Shean (Photo Yael Yolovitch, courtesy Israel Antiquities Authority); c. ceramic jar stand from Iron Age II Tel Beit Mirsim; photo Meidad Suchowolski, courtesy Israel Antiquities Authority); d. Lamelekh-type storage jar from Iron Age II Tel Lachish (Photo Clara Amit, courtesy Israel Antiquities Authority); e.“Hippo jar” from Tel Reḥov. (Photo Gabi Laron, courtesy Hebrew University, Institute of Archaeology)

liters, or four Egyptian hekats (Finkelstein et al. 2011).9 They certainly contained wine (Ballard et al. 2002: 160–1), though other commodities are likely as well. Holemouth jars (vessels with a neckless, hole-shaped opening) are another type (there are actually two separate classes, one large and one small), whose specific function is still not known. 9  The Egyptian cubit measures 52.3–52.9 cm (the idealized length of an adult male forearm). The Egyptian palm (what would be termed “a handsbreadth” in the biblical text) measures 75 mm.

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Smaller Closed Vessels Smaller closed vessels were designed for both short-term storage and serving—liquids for the most part (Figure 15.4a). Jugs most frequently have a volume of between 1 and 5 liters and are 20–40 cm high. Flasks with lentoid bodies and rounded bases were meant to be suspended and typically have a volume of between one-third and 2 liters. Juglets usually contain a volume of between one-tenth and one liter and are 5 to 20 cm high.

OTHER MODES OF STORAGE Sacks As noted earlier, sacks were made of organic material and have not preserved in Levantine archaeology. In a few instances, piles of produce may suggest sacks or skins, for example, a pile of raisins in an Iron Age I at Tel Shiloh (House 335, Locus 1311; Bunimovitz 1993: 25). But being vulnerable to vermin and tearing, sacks would have been used more for transport rather than for long-term storage (e.g., Dalman 1933: 188; Frank 2018: 55–6, 166; and see Gen. 42:25-35 and Josh. 9:4). However, there is written evidence for grain storage in sacks in Egypt, at Deir el Medina, for example (McDowell 1999: 66–7). When food was stored in sacks, the sacks would have probably been placed on wooden trestles (cf. Kamp 1993: 308).

Chests Wood does not preserve well in the Levant, and remains of wooden chests are few indeed. The situation in Egypt is better. Moreover, ceramic models from Cyprus display the use of chests (all summarized by Frank 2018: 53–4, 166). In addition, ethnography makes it abundantly clear that wooden chests were certainly used for food storage (e.g., Dalman 1933: 188; Kramer 1982: 101; Watson 1979: 162, 167). Grain and flour for more immediate household consumption were stored in chests. Frank (2018: 72) is of the opinion, based on mishnaic terminology and the book of Haggai (2:19), that the term məgûrâ in the biblical text refers to a storage chest, primarily for household food stores.

Refrigeration No hard evidence for refrigeration exists in the archaeological record of the ancient Levant. Two means of cooling might be surmised given what we find in material culture. The first of these is the cellar. The ambient temperature of the soil and bedrock 2 m or more below the surface tends to be an average of summer maximums and winter minimums. This implies that a well-insulated cellar will preserve food longer in the summer. Cellars have been identified in Iron Age I contexts at Horvat Avot and Sasa, for example (Braun 2015: 9–10). Subterranean pits, while usually attributed to grain storage (see above), may also have tapped into the cooler subsurface temperatures. The other refrigeration technique probably used was the potwithin-a-pot technique. This is comprised of placing a smaller vessel inside a larger vessel and filling the space between them with sand. The sand is then saturated with water. Moving air cools the whole apparatus, the contents of the interior vessel in particular. This refrigerating technique is still used today in places where electricity is not available (Rinker 2014).

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FIGURE 15.5  Late Bronze Age IIB (ca. 1200 bce) storage jar from Tel Miqne (Philistine Ekron) containing threaded figs. (Courtesy Seymour Gitin)

Preservatives Drying was probably the main preservative technique, certainly for fish (above) and meat and for figs, raisins, apricots, and dates (Borowski 1987: 110–27). One of the nicest examples of this is the string of dried figs contained in a storage jar found in the last Late Bronze Age level at Tel Miqne (Figure 15.5; King and Stager 2001: 105). Cheese could also be dried and stored in olive oil (cf. Dalman 1939: 302). There is little doubt that salt was used as a preservative, though there is no archaeological evidence for this. Added salt would preserve cheeses and butter, for example (cf. Dalman 1939: 303–4). It is clear from later Byzantine and mishnaic documents that pickling and salting were commonly practiced (Frank 2018: 43, 45, 48), and one would expect the same in the Bronze and Iron Ages. The frequent finds of Nile perch and catfish bones in Levantine contexts suggest as much, though drying was certainly another option (van Neer et al. 2004: 102).10

CONCLUSION Food storage has been a feature of human society since its beginnings in the Pleistocene epoch. The potential for food shortage has always been part of our conscious and unconscious behavior; indeed, our bodies are genetically programed to store calories in anticipation of times of shortage. The ever-present threat of famine in the past led to the development of

10 

For a discussion of fish see Chapter 10 in this volume.

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famine-mitigating strategies—storage. In hunter-gatherer and nomadic societies, storage was confined to quantities and methods that suited an imperative of mobility; mobile bands could store food (only commodities that would preserve) in sequestered places, pending their return, or carry small food caches with them. Once human beings adopted a sedentary lifestyle and an agrarian mode of subsistence, storage became even more critical because the option of mobility was curtailed. So, it is with agriculture and permanent settlement that grain silos, food chests, sacks, and large ceramic containers become ubiquitous. In societies where the domestic mode of production is predominant, storage facilities are mostly arrayed in and around the household unit. This holds true for most periods in the Levant—starting with the Neolithic, ca. 10,000 bce. Grain storage was expedited in grain pits and aboveground silos on stone foundations within, or appended to, household enclosures. Liquid storage was expedited with ceramic vessels. In the Early and Middle Bronze Ages, water harvesting and storage technologies (reservoirs and cisterns), which greatly expanded the supply available to larger settlements, were developed. In the Early Bronze Age, too, we see the first large scale industrial production of storage jars (Greenberg and Porat 1996), something that recurred in subsequent periods when societies became more hierarchical and production more specialized (e.g., Finkelstein et al. 2011; Zapassky, Finkelstein, and Benenson 2009). Both industrial production and standardized forms and volumes correspond with the discovery of multiple jars occurring in discrete archaeological find contexts: public or royal storehouses and shipwrecks in particular. Our knowledge and interpretations of food storage in the Levant derive from several sources: archaeological contexts, depictions in the corpus of Egyptian and Cypriot art, ethnography, and textual material, from both the Bronze and Iron Ages and later periods (Frank 2018). The depiction of food storage in the Hebrew Bible will be of particular interest to the readers of this volume. The Joseph story (Genesis 39) is perhaps the best-known portrayal of storage strategies responding to shortage. But the biblical text contains many references to food shortages (e.g., Deut. 11:17; 28:38-42; Isa. 32:9-13; Amos 4:6-9; Joel 1:10-12; Hag. 1:9-11; 2:1519) often in the context of divine punishment. Conversely, God’s munificence is most often expressed by divine-endowed plenty (Deut. 7:13; 11:13-15; 28:12; 33:28; 2 Sam. 9:10; 2 Kgs. 19:29; Isa. 1:19; 30:23, 37:30; Jer. 31:12; Ezek. 36:30; Joel 2:23-27; Mal. 3:1011; Pss. 65:9-13; 107:36-38). Particularly interesting are the implications of the sabbatical year (šənat haššṭṭâ, Deut. 15:9; see also Deut. 15:1; 31:10) where farmers are required to let their fields lie fallow and consume only what grows without intervention, and from stores cached in previous years (Lev. 25:21-22). Further discussion of sabbatical practices is beyond the scope of this chapter (and see Milgrom 2001: 2245–51), but suffice to say that the sabbatical year, for all its advantages, would have created an existential challenge that required a very substantial surplus storage capacity, both at the level of the household and the level of the community. Several writers have grappled with the difficulty of matching particular words and phrases related to food storage with the archaeological data (Frank 2018: 68–87). Often it is clear that terms such as āsām (“storehouse”), məgûrâ (“granary” or “storehouse”), āgar (“stockpile”), âsap (“gather”), and ṭene‘ (“basket”) are related to food storage, but what exactly these terms mean can only be generally discerned by context (see already Kelso 1948 and the Bialik Institute 1950 for a discussion of pottery vessels, and Frank 2018: 71–83 for a more up-to-date discussion of terms). As archaeological research progresses, the constructed features, the artifacts themselves, scientific residue analysis (Evershed 2008), and the study of phytoliths (fossilized plant fragments) will provide an accumulation of concrete data for the analyses of storage practices in biblical times.

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SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2002 reprint. This is an overview of agricultural practices and food production in ancient Israel based on the evidence from the biblical text and archaeology. Borowski, O. (2003), Daily Life in Biblical Times, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Borowski presents a panorama of life in biblical Israel—architecture, city and rural life, family structure, economy, and agrarian production—based on textual and archaeological evidence. Frank, T. (2018), Household Food Storage in Ancient Israel and Judah, Oxford: Archaeopress. Based on his dissertation on evidence for storage in the houses at Iron Age Tel Halif, Tim Frank has done an exhaustive study of storage practices, looking at the archaeology (also of neighboring regions), a variety of textual sources, and ethnography. Gitin, S. (ed.) (2015), The Ancient Pottery of Israel and Its Neighbors: From the Iron Age to the Hellenistic Period, 2 vols., Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and the Israel Antiquities Authority. This is a comprehensive catalogue of ceramic typology for the archaeological assemblages of Israel and its neighbors. Almost every form is included with extensive comparisons and archaeological contextualization. Gitin, S. (ed.) (2019), The Ancient Pottery of Israel and Its Neighbors from the Middle Bronze Age through the Late Bronze Age, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and the Israel Antiquities Authority. The same as the above, for the earlier periods. Hendon, J. A. (2000), “Having and Holding: Storage, Memory, Knowledge and Social Relations,” American Anthropologist 102: 42–53. This is an important article about how food storage is culturally situated and how storage is symbolic of values and memory, from a more generalizing anthropological perspective. Ilan, D. (2008), “The Socioeconomic Implications of Grain Storage in Early Iron Age Canaan: The Case of Tel Dan,” in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau (eds.), The Children of Israel: Archaeological Studies in Honor of Israel Finkelstein, 87–104, Leiden: Brill. This article asks not merely whether grain can be stored in subterranean pits, but why people did so in the early Iron Age. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat?: Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans (Kindle Edition). An in-depth review of Israelite foodways with a multidisciplinary approach, somewhere between popular and scholarly.

REFERENCES Abdelhamid, S. (2015), “Phoenician Shipwrecks of the 8th to the 6th Century B.C.—Overview and Interim Conclusions,” in R. Pederson (ed.), On Sea and Ocean: New Research in Phoenician Seafaring, 1–8, Marburg: Marburger Beiträge zur Archäologie. Ballard, R. D., Stager, L. E., Master, D., Yoerger, D., Mondell, D., Whitcomb, L. L., Singh, H., and Piechota, D. (2002), “Iron Age Shipwrecks in Deep Water off Ashkelon, Israel,” AJA 106: 151–68. Bar-Yosef, O. and Ayalon, E. (2001), “Chalcolithic Ossuaries––What Do They Imitate and Why?” Qadmoniot 343: 34–43. (Hebrew)

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Beit-Arieh, Itzhaq (1973), ‘”The Western Quarter,” in Y. Aharoni (ed.), Beer-Sheba I: Excavations at Tel Beer-Sheba, 1969–1971 Seasons, 31–7, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, Institute of Archaeology. Ben-Tor, A. and Zarzecki-Peleg, A. (2015), “Iron Age IIA–B: Northern Valleys and Upper Galilee,” in S. Gitin (ed.), The Ancient Pottery of Israel and Its Neighbors: From the Iron Age to the Hellenistic Period, 35–187, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and the Israel Antiquities Authority. Bialik Institute (1950), Dictionary of Ceramic Terms (Dictionaries of the Wa’ad haLashon ha’Ivrith 19), Jerusalem: Bialik Institute. https://terms.hebrew-academy.org.il/Millonim/ ShowMillon?KodMillon=79 Bidmead, J. (2020), “Women and Wells in the Hebrew Bible,” Bible Odyssey. https://www. bibleodyssey.org:443/en/places/related-articles/women-and-wells-in-the-hebrew-bible Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, 2002 repr., Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Borowski, O. (2003), Daily Life in Biblical Times, Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. Braun, E. (2015), “Two Seasons of Rescue and Exploratory Excavations at Horbat ‘Avot, Upper Galilee,” ‘Atiqot 83: 1–67. Bunimovitz, S. (1993), “Area C: The Iron Age I Pillared Buildings and Other Remains,” in I. Finkelstein, S. Bunimovitz, and Z. Ledermann (eds.), Shiloh: The Archaeology of a Biblical Site, 15–34, Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 10, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Currid, J. D. (1985), “The Beehive Granaries of Ancient Palestine,” ZDPV 10: 97–110. Currid, J. D. and Navon, A. (1989), “Iron Age Pits and the Lahav (Tel Halif) Grain Storage Project,” BASOR 273: 67–78. Dalman, G. (1933), Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina, Band III: Von der Ernte zum Mehl: Ernten, Dreschen, Worfeln, Sieben, Verwahren, Mahlen, Gütersloh: C. Bertelsmann. Dalman, G. (1939), Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina, Band VI: Zeltleben, Vieh- und Milchwirtschaft, Jagd, Fischfang, Gütersloh: C. Bertelsmann. Dayagi-Mendels, M. (1989), Perfumes and Cosmetics of the Ancient World, Jerusalem: The Israel Museum. Evershed, R. P. (2008), “Organic Residue Analysis in Archaeology: The Archaeological Biomarker Revolution?,” Archaeometry 50: 895–924. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.14754754.2008.00446.x Finkelstein, I., Zapassky, E., Gadot, Y., Master, D. M., Stager, L. E., and Benenson, I. (2011), “Phoenician ‘Torpedo’ Amphoras and Egypt: Standardization of Volume Based on Linear Dimensions,” Ägypten und Levante 21: 249–59. Frank, T. (2018), Household Food Storage in Ancient Israel and Judah, Oxford: Archaeopress. Ghantous, H. and Edelman, D. (2014), “Cisterns and Wells in Biblical Memory,” in D. V. Edelman and E. Ben Zvi (eds.), Memory and the City in Ancient Israel, 177–96, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Greenberg, R. and Porat, N. (1996), “Third Millennium Levantine Pottery Production Center: Typology, Petrography, and Provenance of the Metallic Ware of Northern Israel and Adjacent Regions,” BASOR 301: 5–23, doi: 10.2307/1357293 Greenhut, Z. and de Groot, A. (2009), Salvage Excavations at Tel Moẓa: The Bronze and Iron Age Settlements and Later Occupations, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Hardin, J. W. (2010), Lahav II: Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Hendon, J. A. (2000), “Having and Holding: Storage, Memory, Knowledge and Social Relations,” American Anthropologist 102: 42–53. Herzog, Z. (1973), “The Storehouses,” in Y. Aharoni (ed.), Beer-Sheba I, 23–30, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, Institute of Archaeology. Ilan, D. (1996), “The Middle Bronze Age Tombs,” in A. Biran, D. Ilan, and R. Greenberg, Dan I: History of Excavation, the Neolithic Settlement, the Early Bronze Age Levels and the Middle Bronze Age Tombs, 161–329, Annual of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology, Jerusalem: Hebrew Union College. Ilan, D. (2008), “The Socioeconomic Implications of Grain Storage in Early Iron Age Canaan: The Case of Tel Dan,” in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau (eds.), The Children of Israel: Archaeological Studies in Honor of Israel Finkelstein, 87–104, Leiden: Brill. Ilan, D. (2019), Dan IV: The Early Iron Age Levels, Annual of the Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology, Jerusalem: Hebrew Union College. Kamp, K. A. (1993), “Towards an Archaeology of Architecture: Clues from a Modern Syrian Village,” Journal of Anthropological Research 49: 293–317. Kelso, J. L. (1948), The Ceramic Vocabulary of the Old Testament, BASORSup 5/6, New Haven: American Schools of Oriental Research. Killebrew, A. (2001), “The Collared Pithos in Context: A Typological, Technological and Function Reassessment,” in S. R. Wolff (ed.), Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and Neighboring Lands in Memory of Douglas L. Esse, 377–98, SAOC 15, Chicago: The Oriental Institute. King, P. J. and Stager, L. E. (2001), Life in Biblical Israel, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Kislev, M. (1980), “Contenu d’un silo a bl de l’poque du fer ancient,” in J. Briend and J.-B. Humbert (eds.), Tell Keisan (1971–1976): une cité phenicienne en Galilee, 361–79, OBO 1, Fribourg, Göttingen, and Paris: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Kislev, M. (1993), “Chapter 17—Food Remains,” in I. Finkelstein, S. Bunimovitz, and Z. Ledermann, Shiloh: The Archaeology of a Biblical Site, 354–614, Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 10, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Kislev, M. E. (2015), “Infested Stored Crops in the Iron Age I Granary at Tel Hadar,” Israel Journal of Plant Sciences 62: 1–2, 86–97, doi: 10.1080/07929978.2015.1014261. Klimscha, F., Rosenberg, D., and Garfinkel, Y. (2017), “Large-Scale Storage and Storage Symbolism in the Ancient Near East: A Clay Silo Model from Tel Tsaf,” Antiquity 91: 885–900, doi: 10.15184/aqy.2017.75. Kramer, C. (1982), Village Ethnoarchaeology: Rural Iran in Archaeological Perspective, New York: Academic. Lederman, Z. and Finkelstein, I. (1993), “Area D: Middle Bronze Age Stone and Earth Works, Late Bronze Age Dumped Debris and Iron Age I Silos,” in I. Finkelstein, S. Bunimovitz, and Z. Lederman, Shiloh: The Archaeology of a Biblical Site, 35–48, Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monograph 10, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Lipschits, O., Koch, I., Shaus, A., and Guil, S. (2010), “The Enigma of the Biblical Bath and the System of Liquid Volume Measurement during the First Temple Period,” UF 42: 453–78. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat?: Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans (Kindle Edition). McDowell, A. G. (1999), Village Life in Ancient Egypt: Laundry Lists and Love Songs, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mazar, E. (2004), The Phoenician Family Tomb N. 1 at the Northern Cemetery of Achziv (10th to 6th centuries bce), in Cuadernos de Arqueología Mediterranéa, 10, Barcelona: Edicions Bellaterra.

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Milgrom, J. (2001), Leviticus 23–27: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB3B, New York: Doubleday. Murray, M. A. (2000), “Cereal Production and Processing,” in P. T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds.), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology, 505–36, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Paulette, T. S. (2015), “Grain Storage and the Moral Economy in Mesopotamia (3000–2000 BC),” PhD diss., Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, University of Chicago. Pedrazzi, T. (2010), “Globalization versus Regionalism: LB II/Iron I Transition in Coastal Syria from the Storage Jars Point of View,” in F. Venturi (ed.), Societies in Transition, Evolutionary Processes in the Northern Levant between Late Bronze Age II and The Early Iron Age, Proceedings of the International Workshop, Bologna, 15 novembre 2007, 53–64, Bologna: Clueb. Pfälzner, P. (2002), “Modes of Storage and the Development of Economic Systems in the Early Jezireh-Period,” in L. al-Gailani-Werr, J. Curtis, H. Martin, A. McMahon, J. Oates, and J. Reade (eds.), On Pots and Plans: Papers on the Archaeology and History of Mesopotamia and Syria Presented to David Oates in Honour of His 75th Birthday, 259–86, London: NABU Publications. Raban, A. (2001), “Standardized Collared-Rim Pithoi and Short-Lived Settlements,” in S. R. Wolff (ed.), Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and Neighboring Lands in Memory of Douglas L. Esse, 493–518, SAOC 15, Chicago: The Oriental Institute. Rinker, P. (2014), “The Clay Pot Cooler––an Appropriate Cooling Technology; Information on Construction and Usage 15.” https://movement-verein.org/projekte/tonkrugkuehler/ Rosen, B. (1994), “Subsistence Economy in Iron Age I,” in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy: Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Ancient Israel, 339–51, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Rzeuska, T. I. (2011), “Grain, Water and Wine: Remarks on the Marl A3 Transport-Storage Jar from Middle Kingdom Elephantine,” Cahiers de la Céramique Egyptienne 9: 461–530. Van Neer, W., Lernau, O., Friedman, R., Mumford, G., Poblome, J., and Waelkens, M. (2004), “Fish Remains from Archaeological Sites as Indicators of Former Trade Connections in the Eastern Mediterranean,” Paleorient 30: 101–48. Venturi, F. (2015), “Storage Jars and Household Storage Methods in Tell Afis between Late Bronze Age II and Iron Age II,” in P. Ciafardoni and D. Giannessi (eds.), From the Treasures of Syria, Essays on Art and Archaeology in Honour of Stefania Mazzoni, 75–110, Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor Het Nabije Oosten. Watson, P. J. (1979), Archaeological Ethnography in Western Iran, Viking Fund Publication in Anthropology 57, Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Zapassky, E., Finkelstein, I., and Benenson, I. (2009), “Computing Abilities in Antiquity: the Royal Judahite Storage Jars as a Case-Study,” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 16: 51–67.

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CHAPTER 16

Spoilage ZACHARY C. DUNSETH AND RACHEL KALISHER

INTRODUCTION Spoilage is a broad term that describes the deterioration of food or other perishables. Often, spoilage leads to a product becoming unfit or undesirable for human consumption (Blackburn 2006: xvii). According to the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO), modern worldwide food waste due to spoilage is estimated at 10 percent of total agricultural production for staples such as grains and legumes, and as high as 50 percent for fruits and vegetables (FAO 2019). Food loss related to spoilage of meat, fish, and animal products is estimated to be over 20 percent of worldwide production (FAO 2019). While food spoilage relates to food safety—what is biologically suitable for consumption—it also possesses cultural characteristics. The perception of spoilage varies considerably according to cultural and personal food aesthetics, including (but not limited to) food’s social, economic, and ritual context, and its physical appearance, texture, taste, and smell (Hamilakis 1998; 1999; 2008; Sutton 2010; also, on the discussion of biological and cultural “disgust,” Korsmeyer 2011; Miller 1997; Rozin and Fallon 1987). In general, the spoilage of food—and the steps taken to prevent or manipulate spoilage— alters its use and experience. Perception of spoilage is not static and may change over time for both individuals and groups. Periods of political, social, or economic instability, such as war or famine, can rapidly change cultural perceptions of spoilage for large groups (e.g., Barnes 1987 referenced in Smith 1995: 295–6). Food insecurity, especially, can have long-lasting effects (see, for example, the aversion to food waste and the consumption of spoiled food by Holocaust survivors, Sindler, Wellman, and Stier 2004). Intentional spoilage, such as fermentation, is also an important method of preservation and for the preparation of “cultured” drink and foodways (Sibbesson 2019).1 As it remains today, spoilage was a considerable challenge in the ancient world, particularly in the seasonal warm, wet-dry Mediterranean climate of ancient Israel. Controlling agricultural and meat spoilage through prevention, preservation, fermentation, and storage was essential for food and economic security. Since little has been written about spoilage in the ancient southern Levant, much of what is presented in this chapter is based on modern food science, several ethnographic parallels from the nineteenth and

1 

See Chapter 7 in this volume.

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twentieth centuries, the limited information from the biblical text, and the micro- and macroarchaeological evidence.

INTRINSIC AND EXTRINSIC PARAMETERS OF SPOILAGE: A BRIEF OVERVIEW Intrinsic and extrinsic parameters affect the rate of food spoilage (Erkmen and Bozoglu 2016; Jay, Loessner, and Golden 2005; Pitt and Hocking 2009). Intrinsic parameters include the physical properties of various plant and animal tissues, such as pH (i.e., acidity), moisture, nutrient content (e.g., sugars, alcohols, or amino acids), antimicrobial constituents, and biological structures (e.g., protective structures such as fruit peels, nutshells, bran, eggshells, animal skins, and fish scales). Extrinsic parameters are properties of the environment in which crops are cultivated or animals are raised, and where plants and animals are processed and stored. The most important extrinsic factors determining rate of spoilage are temperature, humidity, exposure to sunlight (solar radiation), altitude and atmosphere (presence or concentration of gases, e.g., carbon dioxide or oxygen), and interactions with the local microbiological environment (FAO 1981; Jay, Loessner, and Golden 2005). Food production, processing, and storage in climates, locations, and built structures with higher temperatures, higher humidity, and aerobic (oxygen-rich) conditions lead to increased rates of spoilage. Spoilage microorganisms are divided into three main groups: psychotrophs, which can proliferate below 7°C (but optimally between 20 and 30°C); mesophiles which grow between 20 and 45°C; and thermophiles which grow above 45°C (Jay, Lobessner and Golden 2005: 54). Spoilage microorganisms, such as bacteria and fungi, are introduced at all stages in the handling of crops and animals.

AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTS: SPOILAGE Spoilage can occur during any part of agricultural production, from cultivation through crop processing (e.g., harvest, drying, threshing, milling, winnowing) and storage. Living crops are largely resistant to spoilage due to natural defense mechanisms, including biological activity, protective biological structures, and tissues with neutral or acid pH (Pitt and Hocking 2009: 383). However, once crops begin ripening, the pH of plant tissues increases, skins (if present) soften, and soluble carbohydrates accumulate, allowing for easier infection and/or consumption (Pitt and Hocking 2009: 384). The three most common causes of agricultural spoilage are fungi (especially molds), animal activity, and insect pests. Weeds, such as darnel (Lolium temulentum) or golden thistle (Scolymus maculatus), can also be considered a form of spoilage, as they limit crop yields and/or populate abandoned fields (Borowski 1987: 162; Zohary 1982: 160–1). Darnel, in particular, is difficult to separate during the processing of harvested cereals, and it has been found in preserved bread from Egypt (Samuel 2000: 542) and in many archaeological assemblages across the southern Levant (see Frumin et al. 2015: Supplementary Information). Darnel is toxic, and consumption can cause visual impairment, disorientation, headaches, hallucinations, and loss of consciousness (Thomas, Archer, and Turley 2016: 32–3). Agricultural spoilage can be divided generally into chemical degradation and physical damage. Chemical degradation manifests initially by change in color and the development

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of off-odors. This can occur pre- or post-harvest and is most commonly the result of microbial infestation of molds or yeasts (Jay, Loessner, and Golden 2005: 134). Raw and cooked fruits or vegetables spoil faster than cereals or pulses, due to their higher water content (water activity, noted as Aw) (Pitt and Hocking 2009). In general, water activity in grains, pulses, fruits, or vegetables is the most important factor determining rate of food spoilage (Kader 2002; see also Table 16.1). The most common causes of agricultural spoilage in living plants are Aspergillus and Penicillium species. Aspergillus tolerates higher temperatures and low moisture and is a common infection of living and stored crops in the Middle East. Penicillium prefers more temperate climates but is also common in the region (Pitt and Hocking 2009). Rust (yellowing or reddening of agricultural products), smut, and mildew are common names for a number of crop diseases describing a variety of different microbial infections (Dark and Gent 2001). Recently, Milanesi et al. (2015) identified five microorganisms associated with oat spoilage using optical microscopy in third millennium bce archaeological sediments from Shahr-I Sokhta in Iran. As far as the authors are aware, this is the only direct archaeological identification of microbial spoilage yet reported from archaeological sediments. However, increased ancient DNA (aDNA) applications to archaeological assemblages should provide significant advances in the near future. Physical damage is caused by animal gnawing, insect infestation, or other destructive interactions. Estimates of village and farm storage loss to bird and rodent consumption is ~1–2 percent, although sometimes much higher (Smith 1995: 297 and references therein). Animal pests also directly contaminate food through their urine and feces, and often die in storage facilities. Birds introduce other pests such as insects and microbial spores (Smith 1995). Storage structures and vessels are also vulnerable to damage by animal activity. Commensal pest species such as house mice (Mus musculus) are common in archaeological assemblages beginning with semi-sedentary populations in the Early Holocene (~15000 BP) (Weissbrod et al. 2017). Microfauna remains of mice and other rodents are ubiquitous at archaeological sites, both urban and rural, and were part of the settled landscape (e.g., for a number of sites from the Iron Age, see Weissbrod et al. 2014; for Roman period Jerusalem, see Bar-Oz et al. 2007). Over 340 species of insect pests are known to affect modern and historical cultivated crops in the Middle East (see compilation in Gerson and Applebaum 2019). Common synanthropic insect pests attested in the archaeological record include storage pests such as the granary weevil (Sitophilus granaries), which feed on cereal grains, and field pests, such as the pea weevil (Bruchus spp.), which feed on pulses during cultivation (Kislev 1991: 121; Kislev and Simchoni 2007: 142, 152). The earliest known archaeological evidence for storage pests is a preserved granary weevil from a submerged PPNC (approximately 7500 BP) site at Atlit-Yam (Kislev, Hartmann, and Galili 2004). At the Iron Age site of Rosh Zayit, hundreds of insect remains were found with stored wheat grains and horsebean (Vicia faba and V. narbonensis), including the granary weevil, the two-banded fungus beetle (Alphitophagus bifasciatus), and the saw-toothed grain beetle (Oryzaephilus surinamensis) (Kislev and Melamed 2000: 214–5). Field pests are less common in the archaeological record, although a number of cereal and fruit pests have been found at Roman Masada, including numerous pea weevils, the fig moth (Ephestia cautella), and the date stone beetle (Coccotrypes dactyliperda) (Kislev and Simchoni 2007: 144–7, 153–5). Indirect evidence, such as bore holes created by the date stone beetle, is also attested in the archaeobotanical record (e.g., Simchoni and Kislev 2009: 52–3).

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Agricultural spoilage is well attested in biblical texts and is often perceived as reflecting the concerns of an ancient agricultural reality. Borowski (1987: 158–61) notes three crop diseases šiddapôn, yērāqôn (Deut. 28:22; 1 Kgs. 8:37; Amos 4:9; Hag. 2:17), and bǝ’ušîm/bâ’šâ (Isa. 5:2, 4; Job 31:40). He goes as far as to attribute yērāqôn to rust caused by the Puccina spp. pathogens based on its root yrq, although there are many potential microbial etiologies for this crop disease (Singh, HuertaEspino, and Roelfs 2002). Borowski (1987: 153–61) also discusses animal pests in detail, including desert locusts (’arbeh and yeleq, esp. Exod. 10:4-6, 12-19; Lev. 11:22; Deut. 28:42; Nah. 3:15), worms (as consumers of the vine, tōlā‘at, Deut. 28:39), mice (‘akbār, 1 Sam. 6: 5), and bats (‘ățallēpîm, Isa 2:20), noting they are consistently divine plagues, threats, or punishment.

TABLE 16.1  Storage Life Estimates for Selected Harvested and Processed Grains, Vegetables, Fruits (Based on Optimal Conditions). Preservation method

Food product

Storage life (estimate)

Modern or traditional storage

Source

1–3 months

Modern

Kader 2016: Table 1

1–3 months (7.5°C)

Traditional (Crete)

Kiritsakis et al. 1998: Table 1

2–4 weeks

Modern

Kader 2002: Table 4.6

~1 month (on the vine)

Traditional (South Sinai)

Perevolotsky 1981: 346

Fig (Ficus carica)

1 year

Traditional (Negev)

Wooley and Lawrence 1915: 35

Wheat (Triticum aestivum)

>1 year

Traditional (Greece)

Forbes 1982: 382–383

Barley (Hordeum vulgare)

Up to 25 years

Traditional (Morocco)

Grammet 1998, ref. in Cappers et al. 2016: 755

Pulses

2 years

Modern

Walker and Farrell 2003: Table 10.1

Grape (fruit)

3–9 months (on the vine, 21–32°C)

Modern

Stafford and Guadagni 1977: Table 1

Grape (leaves)

Few months

Traditional (Mandate Palestine)

Crowfoot and Baldensperger 1932: 26

Date (Phoenix dactylifera)

>1 year

Modern

Yahia 2016: 311

Fig

~1 year

Traditional (Greece)

Forbes 1982: 278

Indefinite

Traditional (South Sinai)

Perevolotsky 1981: 346

Apple (Malvus sylvestris)

>1 year

Traditional (Turkey)

Cappers et al. 2016: Figures 1329–30

Vegetables (various)

>1 year

Modern

Kader 2016: Table 1

Okra (Abelmoschus esculentus)

Few months

Traditional (Ottoman Palestine)

Grant 1907: 83

Grains Cereals (wheat and barley)

Fruits Dried (sun)

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Tree nuts Almond (Amygdalus communis)

Pressed

>1 year

Modern

Kader 2016: Table 1

>6 years

Traditional (Greece)

Forbes 1982: 386

~20 years

Traditional (Morocco)

Grammet 1998, ref. in Cappers et al. 2016: 755

Pistachio (Pistacia vera)

>1 year

Modern

Kader 2016: Table 1

Walnut (Juglans regia)

>1 year

Modern

Kader 2016: Table 1

Olive oil

>4 years

Traditional (Greece)

Forbes and Foxhall 1995: 75

Beer

Few weeks

Modern

Homan 2004: 86

Wine

Few months to years

Modern

Jackson 2011: 540

1 to >2 years

Traditional (Greece)

Forbes 1982: 385

Wheat [burghul]

~1 year

Traditional (Ottoman Syria/ North Jordan)

Burckhardt 1831: 59

Emmer wheat (Triticum turgidum) [burgul]

>1 year

Traditional (Turkey)

Hillman 1984: 133

Fruit jams/jellies/ 1–2 years preserves (21–37°C)

Modern (USA)

Cecil and Woodruff 1962: 15

Bread (twicebaked)

2 weeks

Traditional (Turkey)

Cappers 2018: 218

Bread [köy ekmegi]

3 days

Traditional (Turkey)

Cappers 2018: 234

Bread (sundried)

1 year

Modern

Desrosier and Desrosier 1977: Table 2.1

Meat (beef)

~1 year

Traditional (East Africa)

Mann 1954: 495

Meat

Up to 1 week (uncommon)

Traditional (Negev)

Groen et al. 1964: 40

Fish

3 months

Modern

Walker and Farrell 2003: Table 10.1

Curd

~1 year

Traditional (East Africa)

Dahl and Hjort 1976: 159

Up to 3 months

Traditional (Ethiopia)

Bekele and Kassaye 1987 ref. in FAO 1991

Dried and/or salted

Dried

SPOILAGE

Salted

275

Meat

Up to 2 years

Traditional (East Africa)

Dahl and Hjort 1976: 178

Yogurt (fresh) [laban]

Several days

Traditional (Turkey)

Cappers 2018: 66

Yogurt (dried)

2–6 months

Traditional (Ottoman Palestine)

Grant 1907: 83

Buttermilk (fresh)

~10 days (summer)

Traditional (Syria)

Dalman 1964: 302

Buttermilk (salted)

~15 days (summer)

Traditional (Syria)

Dalman 1964: 302

Butter/ghee [samn]

~1 year

Traditional (Ottoman Palestine)

Grant 1907: 83

Cheese [kashk]

Up to 2 years

Traditional (Turkey)

Cappers 2018: 88

Cheese [kishk]

Several years

Traditional (Jordan, Syria)

Cappers 2018: 91

Several months

Traditional (Ottoman Palestine)

Grant 1907: 83

Fermented

Lactic acid bacteria fermentation

Cooked Roasted

Meat (duck)

1–2 days

Modern

Ikram 1995a: 155

Rendered

Animal fat (camel)

Up to 3 years

Traditional (Jordan)

Musil 1928: 96

Meat (dried)

Up to 1 year

Traditional (East Africa)

Dahl and Hjort 1976: 193

Meat (cooked)

Several months

Traditional (Turkey)

Payne 1973: 301

Meat (cooked) [sigilina]

~6 months

Traditional (Greece)

Forbes 1982: 163

Preserved in oil/ animal fat

Butchery Primary butchering—the removal of skin or scales, organs, and initial carcass division— is the first stage in modern and ancient animal processing. Removal of moisture-rich animal parts, such as skin, blood, and organs, slows down the physical spoilage process

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but also introduces new microorganisms to the carcass. Butchery practices are culturally dependent (to a point, see Lyman 1987: 287–9, Table 5.3) and thus may leave different traces in the archaeological record (see discussion of early kashrut butchery laws [šǝḥîṭâ]: Cope 2004; Greenfield and Bouchnick 2011; for fish butchery, see Zohar and Cooke 2019). After butchering, meat or fish can be consumed, preserved, stored, and/or transported. There is little information on how far fresh meat or fish were transported in antiquity. However, Masterman (1908: 43) notes that fish caught in the Galilee and Hula Lake were transported fresh daily to Safed (~20 km), Nazareth (~30 km), and other places in the region. In the cooler winter months, overnight fishing, sorting, and transport allowed fresh fish to reach as far as Damascus (>70 km; Masterman 1908). Preservation becomes necessary for longer transportation and the storage of meat and animal products. Preservation inhibits microbial activity and minimizes oxidation and enzymatic spoilage (Dave and Ghaly 2011: 492). Traditional preservation techniques primarily include drying, salting, pickling, and fermentation (Curtis 2001; Ikram 1995a; more below). Alternatively, using fat, oil, vinegar, sugar, or honey curing are also effective methods of preservation suggested for the region (Ikram 2000). In contrast to agricultural spoilage, the cultural components of biblical meat spoilage are more complicated. Certain verses appear to provide strategies that would mitigate meat spoilage and prevent food poisoning. For example, it was required that ritual animals be consumed the day of, or day after slaughter, otherwise the meat would be destroyed (Lev. 7:17; 19:6; Deut. 16:4). The consumption of animals found dead was also forbidden (Exod. 22:31; Lev. 17:19; Deut. 14:21; Ezek. 4:14). Many have suggested that these examples simply reflect biblical principles of ancient hygiene (“hygiene hypothesis,” see Milgrom 1991: 718–19; see, e.g., Albright 1968: 175–81; Kellogg 1891; Levin 1965). However, other scholars warn against this type of “medical materialism” and suggest that Leviticus, in particular, is part of a larger (Durkheimian) biblical concern with broad themes of the clean and unclean (Douglas 1966), or more directly, fears of the unclean entering the body (Meigs 1978) (for more discussion, see MacDonald 2008: 1–46, and references therein).

Insect Products: Honey Honey has intrinsic antimicrobial properties that inhibit bacterial growth. Today and in antiquity, honey has been used as a treatment for wounds and burns (Lusby 2002), and as a preservative. It has a long storage life, due to its chemical composition (Machado De-Melo et al. 2017; Mundo, Padilla-Zakour, and Worobo 2004). Additionally, its low pH of between 3.2 and 4.2 inhibits the growth of pathogenic bacteria (Lusby 2002). Honey is an effective agent combating pathogenic and food spoilage bacteria, such as Salmonella, Staphyloccucus, and Streptococcus species. Additionally, the food spoilage bacteria Bacillus subtilis (Halawani and Shohayeb 2011) and Bacillus searothermophilus (Mundo, Padilla-Zakour, and Worobo 2004) are inhibited and killed by certain strains of honey. It is often stated that sealed honey will store indefinitely (see also Table 16.2). However, honey subjected to high temperatures or stored for more than five years loses antimicrobial properties (Al-Waili et al. 2011).

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The most substantial direct archaeological evidence for honey in ancient Israel comes from Iron Age II Tel Reḥov, where an apiary of at least seventy-five beehives was found, capable of producing 300–500 kg of honey and 50–70 kg of beeswax per year (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2007). The clay hives contained molecular traces of beeswax (Mazar et al. 2008) and the preserved remains of ancient honeybee workers, drones, pupae, and larvae (Bloch et al. 2010). The honeybees at Reḥov were an imported Anatolian species, which are known for their milder temper and greater honey yield than local native species (Bloch et al. 2010). Certain components of propolis (a resin collected by bees and used to construct their honeycombs) are also effective against Staphylococcus aureus and E. coli (Popova et al. 2005; Silici and Kutluca 2005). Honey (dĕbaš) is mentioned fifty-five times in the biblical text, nearly a quarter of which refer to Israel as the “land of milk and honey” (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 20074). In general, honey in the Bible refers to various syrups of grapes, dates, figs, or carob rather than bee honey (Forti 2006: 327–8).5 Only in two instances (Judg. 14:8-9 and 1 Sam. 14:27) is bee honey explicitly mentioned.

SECONDARY ANIMAL PRODUCTS: MILK AND MILK PROCESSING Unlike meat, secondary animal products such as milk, yogurt, and cheese were more efficient and sustainable sources of food in ancient Israel. The “Secondary Products Revolution” has been tied to the intensification of human settlement in the Neolithic Mediterranean (Sherratt 1981) but importantly coincides with significant genetic adaptations for lactase persistence (Curry 2013), a trait common in modern Levantine and Arabian populations (see references in Itan et al. 2010). In general, based on the genetic and ethnographic evidence (Marx 1967: 26–9; Palmer 2002), it is assumed that milk and milk products were an important part of the regional diet throughout history. Milk is produced by sheep and goats usually in the spring, and only for a limited time (two to three months for sheep, four to five months for goats), although careful management of animal pregnancies can extend this period from early winter through mid-summer (Palmer 2002: 182–3).6 Initial quality of milk depends essentially on animal diet and animal health, with pastured animals producing higher quality milk than those foddered indoors (Silanikove et al. 2010: 114). Ethnographic evidence suggests that even recently animal milk was rarely consumed fresh in the southern Levant, except by children (Palmer 2002: 182 and references therein). Among recent Bedouin, milk from sheep is regarded as the highest quality, followed by goat and cattle, respectively (Palmer 2002: 182; also, Musil 1908: 145). Because of its lower lactose content and lipid profile, goat milk is easier to digest than both sheep and cattle milk (Silanikove et al. 2010: 115).

Although cf. Dershowitz (2010) for an alternate reading of ḥlb as fat rather than milk. See discussion in Chapter 9 in this volume. 6  For further discussion of milk products, see Chapter 4 in this volume. 4  5 

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While milk is essentially sterile when collected, the quality of milk deteriorates rapidly in the first three to four hours after milking (Table 16.2). Degradation can be delayed by cooling to 10oC or below within an hour of production, for example, by immersing vessels containing milk in running water (FAO 2016). Raw milk contains a number of microflora, including mainly lactic acid bacteria (mainly Lactococcus and Lactobacillus spp.), Pseudomonas spp., and yeasts (Lafarge et al. 2004). The levels and species of microflora vary by animal diet according to season (Psoni, Tzanetakis, and Litopoulou-Tzanetaki 2003) and geographical origin (Foschino et al. 2002). The proliferation of endogamous and external bacteria, molds, and yeasts after milking lead to a wide variety of metabolic by-products including organic acids (acetic acid, propionic acid) and volatile aldehydes, ketones, and alcohols (FAO 1983), which cause the changes in smell, taste, texture, and color (Ledenbach and Marshall 2009). Direct archaeological evidence for the consumption of milk or milk products is limited in the southern Levant. Ceramic vessels associated with milk products such as churns are typical at Chalcolithic sites across the southern Levant (Rowan and Golden 2009). Ethnographic parallels made of animal skins and pottery in the twentieth century CE are widely attested (Dalman 1964: 293–6; Kaplan 1965: 145; Palmer 2002: 186), and there is possible mention of them in the Bible (Kaplan 1965: 148–9). Residue analysis of has been largely unsuccessful in detecting direct evidence of milk products in these or other vessels (e.g., Chalcolithic Shiqmim, Evershed et al. 2008), although this may be a preservation or conservation issue. Kill-off patterns suggest mixed caprine and cattle animal economies utilized primary and secondary products at Bronze and Iron Age tell sites (e.g., see Horwitz and Tchernov 1989; Horwitz and Milevski 2001; Sasson 2010).

SPOILAGE PREVENTION Drying: Agricultural Products Drying through sun and wind exposure was likely the first spoilage prevention technology. It is an effective preservation method as it removes moisture from the harvest, and also kills microorganisms and insects through solar radiation (Mobolade et al. 2019: 197–8). Postharvest drying is essential for cereal grains and pulses for processing, storage, and later consumption, and is universal in ethnographies of traditional agriculture. Parched (sun-dried or fire-dried) wheat was a common food in nineteenth- and twentieth-century CE Bedouin communities (Palmer 2002: 181 and references therein) and is mentioned in the biblical text (Lev. 23:14; Josh. 5:11; 1 Sam 17:17; Ruth 2:14). Fruits and vegetables, prone to rapid spoilage due to higher water content (Table 16.1), were often preserved though drying. For example, traditional olive oil production involved stages of processing including drying, boiling, and/or smoking to ripen, reduce acidity, and remove water content (Warnock 2007: 20–1 and references therein). The degree of rancidity during these stages of postharvest processing led to different qualities of oil. In the early twentieth century, the lowest quality oil was used for industrial soap production (e.g., at Nablus, Grant 1907: 81). Summer vegetables such as okra were dried for winter storage in the early twentieth century (Grant 1907: 82). Dried fruits were (and remain) common staples in the southern

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Levant and the Mediterranean (Zohary et al. 2012: 114). Dried figs and fig cakes (dǝbēlîm), and dried grapes (ṣimmuqîm) are mentioned in the Bible often as provisions for travelers and soldiers (e.g., 1 Sam. 25:18; 30:12; Borowski 1987: 115–17; King and Stager 2001: 104). Archaeological evidence for dried fruits and vegetables are rare. Carbonized figs from PPNA (~11000 BP) Gilgal and Netiv Hagud in the Lower Jordan Valley have been suggested to have been dried, based on their lack of deformation (Kislev, Hartmann and Bar-Yosef 2006), although this is controversial. Exceptional examples of carbonized dried figs on string were found at Iron Age Tel Miqne-Ekron (King and Stager 2001: 105, Ill. 42). Carbonized dried grapes (raisins) were found in Stratum II at Early Bronze Age (EBA) Arad (Hopf 1978: 73–4), and Iron Age contexts at Shiloh (Kislev 1993: 354–61).

Drying: Meat and Fish Drying is also an effective method for preserving meat and fish. In its simplest form, pieces of meat are cut from the carcass and hung outside to dry in the sun and wind, or inside with smoke. Drying time depends on the environment (above) as well as the properties and processing of the meat including cut, fat content, and thickness of the meat. The usual time for drying meat in antiquity is unknown, but ethnographic studies from the twentieth century CE suggest an average of two to ten days, depending on season and weather (Ikram 1995b: 284 and references therein). Depending on storage, the shelf life of naturally dried meat can be up to two years (Table 16.2). Degradation of dried meats, including surface slime, color changes, and off-odors are caused by different spoilage microorganisms than fresh products, including Micrococcus, Flavobacterium, and Penicillium spp. (Erkmen and Bozoglu 2016: Table 16.1). Drying was probably the earliest method of meat and fish preservation, although little direct archaeological information remains. Artistic representations of dried/salted fish are known in Egypt from the Fourth Dynasty (Lepsius 1849: Band II, Pl. 12, see also Sahrhage 2008: 926, Fig. 14). Exceptional archaeological examples of dried fish remains have been found in Egyptian tombs at Deir el-Medina (Ikram 1995a: 148–9), and dried meat remains were found at a number of Egyptian tombs, including that of Tutankhamen (Ikram 1995b: 285–8). Archaeological evidence of dried meat is absent in the southern Levant. Butchery marks associated with preparation for the salting and drying of fish are known from ethnographic study, with a single grouper (Epinephelus spp.) skull from Late Bronze Age (LB II, ca. fourteenth to thirteenth centuries bce) Tell Abu Hawam is the only possible direct evidence from the area (Zohar and Artzy 2019: 906). Indirect evidence of fish preservation and transport is inferred by marine and freshwater remains at dozens of inland archaeological sites dating from at least the EBA, ranging geographically from Timna‘ in the Southern Negev (~30 km from coast) to Tel Kabri in the north (Van Neer et al. 2004; Van Neer, Zohar, and Lernau 2005). For example, over 10,000 fish remains—including fourteen families of Nile (>300 km away), Mediterranean (>30 km) and freshwater (>40 km) species—were found in the trash dumps of Iron II Jerusalem (Reich, Shukron, and Lernau 2007). This has been suggested to corroborate the existence of Iron Age and Persian period fish markets at the Fish Gate mentioned in

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the biblical text (Zeph. 1:10; Neh. 3:3; 13:16; 2 Chron. 33:14; Reich, Shukron, and Lernau 2007: 160). Interestingly, recent phosphate oxygen (δ18OPO4) isotope analyses of marine tooth enamel indicate that many Mediterranean fish found at Levantine coastal sites were actually caught in Bardawil Lake in north Sinai, suggesting long distance trade even of locally available species (Sisma-Ventura et al. 2018).

Salting Dry and wet salt curing are effective preservation technologies. Immersion in salt draws out water from the meat, vegetable, or fruit, and also causes osmotic stress for many microorganisms (Dave and Ghaly 2011: 496). However, salt accelerates the oxidation of lipids (fats), which leads to a deterioration of meat quality (Decker and Xu 1998). Salt is a relatively abundant resource in the southern Levant, including the Dead Sea region and the Mediterranean coast (Mayer-Chissick and Lev 2007).7 Salt production is mentioned in the biblical text (miśrephot mayim, e.g., Josh. 11:8; 13:6), and archaeological evidence for well-developed salt industries are evident in the Galilee and along the Carmel Coast from at least the fourth century bce, and possibly earlier (Galili and Arenson 2017).

Spices Spices are also an important method of preservation, both to prevent spoilage and to mask its physical manifestations (i.e., changes in taste, smell, and appearance). Many local spices are also known to have antibacterial and antifungal properties, including those common in modern Middle Eastern cuisine such as sumac (Rhus spp.), za’atar (thyme, Thymus vulgaris), cumin (Cuminum cyminum), and shīh (wormwood, Artemesia herbaalba) (for a bibliography on antimicrobial activity, see Al-Khusaibi 2019). Archaeological specimens of cumin are known from PPNC Atlit Yam (Kislev, Hartmann and Galili 2004) and Iron Age Deir ‘Alla (Neef 1989), and coriander has been found at PPNC Atlit Yam and the PPNB Nahal Hemar Cave (Kislev 1988). At Bronze and Iron Age sites, spices are common archaeobotanical remains (see compilation in Frumin et al. 2015: Supplementary Information).8

Pickling Pickling, defined here as preservation using acid or vinegar, was likely common in antiquity. Pickling not only preserves food but also changes flavor and texture. Vinegar has substantial antimicrobial properties because of its acidity (pH 30 years since it was published. Curtis, R. I. (2001), Ancient Food Technology, Technology and Change in History 5, Leiden: Brill. Broad discussion of the development of food technology from the ancient Near East, Egypt and Classical period Greece and Rome, with limited references to the southern Levant. Ikram, S. (1995). Choice Cuts: Meat Production in Ancient Egypt, Leuven: Peeters. An in-depth look into meat processing and preservation techniques in ancient Egypt from the Old through the New Kingdoms. No parallel work has been written about the Southern Levant. Jay, J. M., Loessner, M. J., and Golden, D. A. (2005), Modern Food Microbiology, 7th edn., Boston: Springer. A standard textbook for food microbiology; Chapters 2–3 give a synopsis of foodborne pathogens including bacteria, molds, and yeasts, and a detailed discussion of the main intrinsic and extrinsic factors in food spoilage.

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Musil, A. (1928), Manners and Customs of the Rwala Bedouin, New York: American Geographical Society. Namdar, D., Neumann, R., Goren, Y., and Weiner, S. (2009), “The Contents of Unusual Coneshaped Vessels (Cornets) from the Chalcolithic of the Southern Levant,” JAS 36: 629–36. Namdar, D., Amrani, A., Getzov, N., and Milevski, I. (2015), “Olive Oil Storage during the Fifth and Sixth Millennia BC at Ein Zippori, Northern Israel,” Israel Journal of Plant Sciences 62: 65–74. Neef, R. (1989), “Plants,” in G. Van der Kooij and M. M. Ibrahim (eds.), Picking Up the Threads: A Continuing Review of Excavations at Deir ‘Alla, 30–7, Leiden: University of Leiden. Palmer, C. (1998), “‘Following the Plough’: The Agricultural Environment of Northern Jordan,” Levant 30: 129–65. Palmer, C. (2002), “Milk and Cereals: Identifying Food and Food Identity among Fallāhīn and Bedouin in Jordan,” Levant 34: 173–95. Panagiotakopulu, E., Buckland, P. C., Day, P. M., and Doumas, C. (1995), “Natural Insect Repellents in Antiquity: A Review of the Evidence,” JAS 22: 705–10. Payne, S. (1973), “Kill-Off Patterns in Sheep and Goats: The Mandibles from Aşvan Kale,” Anatolian Studies 23: 281–303. Perevolotsky, A. (1981), “Orchard Agriculture in the High Mountain Region of Southern Sinai,” Human Ecology 9: 331–57. Pitt, J. I. and Hocking, A. D. (2009), Fungi and Food Spoilage, 3rd edn., New York: Springer. Poinar, G. O. and Hess, R. (1985), “Preservative Qualities of Recent and Fossil Resins: Electron Micrograph Studies on Tissue Preserved in Baltic Amber,” Journal of Baltic Studies 16: 222–30. Popova, M., Silici, S., Kaftanoglu, O., and Bankova, V. (2005), “Activity of Turkish Propolis and Its Qualitative and Quantitative Chemical Composition,” Phytomedicine 12: 221–8. Psoni, L., Tzanetakis, N., and Litopoulou-Tzanetaki, E. (2003), “Microbial Characteristics of Batzos, a Traditional Greek Cheese from Raw Goat’s Milk,” Food Microbiology 20: 575–82. Reich, R., Shukron, E., and Lernau, O. (2007), “Recent Discoveries in the City of David, Jerusalem,” IEJ 57: 153–69. Reynolds, F. (2007), “Food and Drink in Babylonia,” in G. Leick (ed.), The Babylonian World, 171–84, New York: Routledge. Rivera, D., Inocencio, C., Obón, C., Carreño, E., Reales, A., and Alzaraz, F. (2002), “Archaeobotany of Capers (Capparis) (Capparaceae),” Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 11: 295–313. Robinson, E. and Smith, E. (1874), Biblical Researches in Palestine and the Adjacent Regions: A Journal of Travels in the Year 1838, vol. 1 (of 3), 11th edn., Boston: Crocker and Brewster. Rowan, Y. M. and Golden, J. (2009), “The Chalcolithic Period of The Southern Levant: A Synthetic Review,” Journal of World Prehistory 22: 1–92. Rozin, P. and Fallon, A. E. (1987), “A Perspective on Disgust,” Psychological Review 94: 23–41. Sahrhage, D. (2008), “Fishing in Ancient Egypt,” in H. Selin (ed.), Encyclopaedia of the History of Science, Technology, and Medicine in Non-Western Cultures. Dordrecht: Springer. Samuel, D. (2000), “Brewing and Baking,” in P. T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds.), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology, 173–81, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Sass, B. (2004), “Iron Age and Post-Iron Age Artefacts,” in D. Ussishkin, The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), 4 vols., 4: 1983–2057, Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University. Sasson, A. (2010), Animal Husbandry in Ancient Israel: A Zooarchaeological Perspective on Livestock Exploitation, Herd Management and Economic Strategies, London: Equinox. Sasson, J. M. (1994), “The Blood of Grapes: Viticulture and Intoxication in the Hebrew Bible,” in L. Milano (ed.), Drinking in Ancient Societies; History and Culture of Drinks in the Ancient Near East, 399–419, Padova: Sargon. Schiffer, M. B. (1990), “The Influence of Surface Treatment on Heating Effectiveness of Ceramic Vessels,” JAS 17: 373–81. Schuster, R. (2019), “Ancient Roman Garum Factory Found in Israel, Suitably Far Away from Town,” Haaretz, December 16. https://www.haaretz.com/archaeology/.premium. MAGAZINE-ancient-roman-garum-factory-found-in-israel-suitably-far-away-fromtown-1.8269538 Secoy, D. M. and Smith, A. E. (1977), “Superstition and Social Practices against Agricultural Pests,” Environmental Review 2: 2–18. Sherratt, A. G. (1981), “Plough and Pastoralism: Aspects of the Secondary Products Revolution,” in I. Hodder, G. Isaac, and N. Hammond (eds.), Pattern of the Past: Studies in Honour of David Clarke, 261–305, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sharpe, H. G. (1909), The Provisioning of the Modern Army in the Field, 2nd edn., Kansas City, MO: Franklin Hudson. Sibbesson, E. (2019), “Reclaiming the Rotten: Understanding Food Fermentation in the Neolithic and Beyond,” Environmental Archaeology. https://doi.org/10.1080/14614103.201 8.1563374 Silanikove, N., Leitner, G., Merin, U., and Prosser, C. G. (2010), “Recent Advances in Exploiting Goat’s Milk: Quality, Safety and Production Aspects,” Small Ruminant Research 89: 110–24. Silici, S. and Kutluca, S. 2005, “Chemical Composition and Antibacterial Activity of Propolis Collected by Three Different Races of Honeybees in the Same Region,” Journal of Ethnopharmacology 99: 69–73. Simchoni, O. and Kislev, M. (2009), “Relict Plant Remains in the ‘Caves of the Spear,’” IEJ 59: 47–62. Sindler, A. J., Wellman, N. S., and Stier, O. B. (2004), “Holocaust Survivors Report Long-Term Effects on Attitudes toward Food,” Journal of Nutrition Education and Behavior 36, no. 4: 189–96. Singh, R. P., Huerta-Espino, J., and Roelfs, A. P. (2002), “The Wheat Rusts,” in B. C. Curtis, S. Rajaram, and H. Gómez Macpherson (eds.), Bread Wheat: Improvement and Production, 227–49, Plant Production and Protection Series 30, Rome: FAO. Sisma-Ventura, G., Tütken, T., Zohar, I., Pack, A., Dorit, S., Lernau, O., Gilboa, A., and BarOz, G. (2018), “Tooth Oxygen Isotopes Reveal Late Bronze Age Origin of Mediterranean Fish Aquaculture and Trade,” Scientific Reports 8: 14086. Smith, A. E. and Secoy, D. M. (1975), “Forerunners of Pesticides in Classical Greece and Rome,” Journal of Agricultural and Food Chemistry 23: 1050–5. Smith, R. H. (1995), “Rodents and Birds as Invaders of Stored-Grain Ecosystems,” in D. S. Jayas, N. D. G. White, and W. E. Muir (eds.), Stored Grain Ecosystems, 289–323, New York: Marcel Dekker. Stafford, A. E. and Guadagni, D. G. (1977), “Storage Stability of Raisins Dried by Different Procedures,” Journal of Food Science 42: 547–8.

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Stager, L. E. (1996), “The Fury of Babylon: Ashkelon and the Archaeology of Destruction,” BAR 22: 56–69, 76–7. Steinkraus, K. H. (1997), “Classification of Fermented Foods: Worldwide Review of Household Fermentation Techniques,” Food Control 8: 311–17. Sutton, D. E. (2010), “Food and the Senses,” Annual Review of Anthropology 39: 209–23. Sweet, L. E. (1960), Tell Toqaan, a Syrian Village. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Museum of Anthropological Archaeology. Thomas, H., Archer, J. E., and Turley, R. M. (2016), “Remembering Darnel, a Forgotten Plant of Literary, Religious and Evolutionary Significance,” Journal of Ethnobiology 36: 29–44. Tite, M. S. (2008), “Ceramic Production, Provenance and Use—A Review,” Archaeometry 50: 216–31. Van Neer, W., Lernau, O., Friedman, R., Mumford, G., Poblome, J., and Waelkens, M. (2004), “Fish Remains from Archaeological Sites as Indicators of Former Trade Connections in the Eastern Mediterranean,” Paléorient 30: 101–47. Van Neer, W., Zohar, I., and Lernau, O. (2005), “The Emergence of Fishing Communities in the Eastern Mediterranean Region: A Survey of Evidence from Pre- and Protohistoric Periods.” Paléorient 31: 131–57. Walker, D. J. and Farrell, G. (2003), Food Storage Manual, Chatham, UK: Natural Resources Institute, and Rome: World Food Programme. Walsh, C. E. (2000), “Under the Influence: Trust and Risk in Biblical Family Drinking,” JSOT 90: 13–29. Wandsnider, L. (1997), “The Roasted and the Boiled: Food Composition and Heat Treatment with Special Emphasis on Pit-Hearth Cooking,” JAA 16: 1–48. Warnock, P. (2007), Identification of Ancient Olive Oil Processing Methods Based on Olive Remains, BAR International Series 1635, Oxford: Archaeopress. Weingarten, S. (2007), “Food and Meals in Roman Palestine: The State Of Research,” Food and History 5: 41–66. Weissbrod, L., Malkinson, D., Cucchi, T., Gadot, Y., Finkelstein, I., and Bar-Oz, G. (2014), “Ancient Urban Ecology Reconstructed from Archaeozoological Remains of Small Mammals in the Near East,” PLoS ONE 9: e91795. Weissbrod, L., Marshall, F. B., Valla, F. R., Khalaily, H., Bar-Oz, G., Auffray, J.-C., Vigne, J.D., and Cucchi, T. (2017), “Origins of House Mice in Ecological Niches Created by Settled Hunter-Gatherers in the Levant 15,000 Y Ago,” PNAS 114: 4099–104. Woolley, C. L. and Lawrence, T. E. (1915), The Wilderness of Zin (Archaeological Report), London: Palestine Exploration Fund. Yahia, E. M. (2016), “Date,” in K. C. Gross, C. Y. Wang, and M. Saltveit (eds.), The Commercial Storage of Fruits, Vegetables, and Florist and Nursery Stocks, 311–14, Agricultural Handbook 66, USDA, Washington, DC: USDA. van Zeist, W. and Bakker-Heeres, J. A. H. (1985), “Archaeobotanical Studies in the Levant. 4. Bronze Age Sites on the North Syrian Euphrates,” Palaeohistoria 27: 247–316. Zohar, I. and Artzy, M. (2019), “The Role of Preserved Fish: Evidence of Fish Exploitation, processing and long-term preservation in the Eastern Mediterranean during the Late Bronze Age (14th–13th Century bce),” JAS: Reports 23: 900–9. Zohar, I. and Cooke, R. (2019), “The Role of Dried Fish: A Taphonomical Model of Fish Butchering and Long-Term Preservation,” JAS: Reports 26: 101864. Zohary, D., Hopf, M., and Weiss, E. (2012), Domestication of Plants in the Old World, 4th edn., Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zohary, M. (1982), Plants of the Bible, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

PART IV

Cultural Contexts

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CHAPTER 17

Feasting and Festivals JONATHAN S. GREER For there is no festal rejoicing except with meat, and there is no festal rejoicing except with wine.1

INTRODUCTION Sharing food is a powerful experience. While much of this power is muted in today’s fastfood culture, the fact remains that when real food is enjoyed by people in community, more is received and given than merely food and drink for the purpose of sustenance. This deeper meaning of meals is likely rooted in the fundamental life-giving nature of food and drink: without them, people cannot survive long. Throughout the history of humankind, this life-or-death reality of “what food is” naturally led to strategies of cooperation that maximized acquisition within communities and, once bellies were full, prompted speculation about food-related forces beyond human control related to its procurement. Thus, from the dawn of humanity, eating was embedded in the communal and religious understandings of the eaters, and food in turn came to represent more than just what ended up on the table. Beyond basic nourishment, it functioned as a symbol of the social and religious relationships intertwined with its existence, sourcing, and consumption. The table, then, became a stage upon which these social and divine relationships could be forged, maintained, acted out, and negotiated. As such, eating, in general, and feasting, in particular, are meaning-laden activities rich with potential to shed light on these relationships and thereby illuminate our understanding of the world of the eaters. Against such a backdrop, this chapter is designed to provide an overview of the feasts and festivals “in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel.” As the wording of the previous sentence borrowed from the title of the volume suggests, the feasts of the Bible—represented in texts—and the feasts of ancient Israel—reconstructed from various data sets, especially those recovered archaeologically—are not one and the same. While researchers view the extent of overlap between these domains in various ways, all acknowledge the difference between textual and archaeological realities, each with particular interpretive possibilities and limitations, and the different methodological tools required for their analysis. Such a bifurcation of the topic, however, need not give way to atomized studies within respective silos but rather should encourage methodological rigor appropriate for each discipline and promote dialogue between them (see, e.g., Dever 2005: 61–2; Levy 2010: 3–4; Greer 2013: 5–6). Such is the aim here, consistent with the aim of the volume as a whole and many of its chapters. In what follows, “feasts and festivals” are defined, and the social and religious power of feasting, in general, is described. A summary of feasting events portrayed in the Hebrew Bible is then provided, followed by a survey of ancient Near Eastern manifestations of Author’s translation of Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Rest on a Holiday 6.18; https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_ Torah,_Rest_on_a_Holiday?lang=bi&p2=Mishneh_Torah%2C_Rest_on_a_Holiday.6.18&lang2=bi&w2=all &lang3=en

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feasting and discussions of methods and examples of feasts in archaeology. The final section explores the significance of these specialized eating events in the world of ancient Israel based on a synthesis of the texts, artifacts, and images.

DEFINING FEASTS AND FESTIVALS In English, the terms “feast” and “festival” are etymologically related, and the distinction between the two is in fact somewhat artificial. Indeed, both feasts and festivals center on the consumption of food and drink, with a special focus on meat and alcohol in most cases, and both terms refer to consumption that is symbolically set apart from everyday eating (Douglas 1972). The eating episodes may be set apart by a focus on an historical event, whether real or imagined, or by the incorporation of particular elements of food and drink, or by the number of participants. More specifically, the specialized eating events are set apart, or “marked” (cf. Dietler 2001: 69–70), as different from daily meals and from other feasts or festivals by sets of repeated actions, or rituals, associated with the particular eating event (Bell 1992: 74). These rituals have a certain grammar and syntax that may be accessed by exploring simple questions such as: Who serves whom and when? Which portions are served and to whom and in what order? What is spoken and when is it spoken? When does the event take place and where is the event held? What implements and vessels do participants utilize in the process? Etc. The overlay of this grammar and syntax, or ritualization, creates a particular “script” (Hesse, Wapnish, and Greer 2012) rooted in sensory experiences—the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and textures of preparation and consumption—that serve to create memories associated with the event (MacDonald 2008: 70–99; Sutton 2001: 101–2). Indeed, “the transitory and repetitive act of eating” serves “as a medium for the more enduring act of remembering” (Sutton 2001: 2). As such, festal events are only the most recent manifestation of deeper traditions, and the traditions, in turn, are shaped by the ongoing layers of ritual. The ritual actions themselves, then, function as highly condensed symbolic representations of the relational norms embedded in the traditions, and they have the power to maintain certain elements of the traditions and also to create new ones (Dietler 2001: 69–75; cf. Appaduri 1981). While both “feasts” and “festivals” are imbued with deep symbolism reinforced by ritual actions, differentiating between them recognizes the range of specialized eating and drinking that took place in ancient Israel. This range may be viewed as a continuum that corresponds to an increase of scale in terms of the number of participants, abundance of food and drink, or duration of time for the celebration, with family feasts on one end and national festivals on the other (cf. Fu and Altmann 2014: 19–21). Indeed, a “festival” is typically much larger than a “feast.” Yet a difference based on scale, though descriptive of the vast majority of these events, does not always hold even in our own conceptions of the terms and so should be considered as a generalization. For example, in our contexts, a busy cafeteria displays an abundance of food consumed by many participants but is surely not a “festival” (or even really a “feast”), but the Eucharist, consisting of only a sip of wine and a nibble of wafer for each participant, is indeed considered a “festival” (or at least a “major feast”) in many Christian traditions. So, too, in the Hebrew Bible, the Passover and New Moon festivals, as two examples, were at once family feasts and national festivals. In light of such overlap, it may be better to differentiate specialized eating events in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel in terms of the primary focal point, or orientation, of the feast, with human-focused events on one end of the spectrum and divine-focused events

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on the other. This spectrum is not one of a division between sacred and profane, but only one suggesting a focus, or primary orientation, of the eating event, for in ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible, all feasting—or eating, for that matter—involved an intersection between the human and divine spheres. The food of the table corresponded to the food of the altar in biblical texts (Douglas 1972: 71–7; cf. Milgrom 1991: 718–36), and, in archaeology, evidence of household feasts mirrored elements described for the central sanctuaries (Meyers 2013: 242–4; Shafer-Elliott 2014: 215–20) and vice versa (Greer 2013: 93). Unlike modern conceptions, in fact, it may be argued that there was no such thing as “secular” eating in any of these contexts (cf. Meyers 2013: 225). The spectrum, then, represents the level of “embeddedness” (Renfrew 1994: 47; cf. Greer 2019a: 4–5), that is, the extent to which the event is embedded in daily practice (such as enjoying a small family meal in a home) or set apart and marked as different by embedding it in an explicitly religious setting (such as celebrating a festival in the temple courts). This distinction approximates a difference maintained in the terms for feasting in the Hebrew Bible, for when the primary focus is on human participants and a human host, the event is usually described as a mišteh, often rendered as “feast” or “banquet.” But when the focus is on communion with the divine, with Yahweh serving as host at the communal level, a number of different terms are employed, as described below.2 When these divine-focused feasts are celebrated in the home and at the communal level, they are identified as ḥaggîm, glossed as “festivals,” or mō‘ădîm, rendered as “appointed times,” though a number of other terms are employed, often with overlapping semantic domains. The realm of the household, in fact, encompasses the full range of the spectrum and

FIGURE 17.1  Semantic schematic diagram of specialized eating events in the Hebrew Bible.

The term mišteh is also employed in these contexts, but only when Yahweh, as the rightful divine king, is represented in the place of an earthly monarch in the apocalyptic images of the latter prophets. See below. 2 

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serves as the domain for human-focused events (see Figure 17.1), such as wedding feasts (designated by forms of mišteh), as well as the domain for divine-focused events, such as the Passover (designated as a ḥag) and other family festivals, or “appointed times” (mō‘ădîm), like the New Moon and Sabbath discussed below. The sphere of the deity or king, embedded within the broader concept of the household, restricts the focus: the feasts of the deity as sacrifice, and the feasts of the king as the royal table.

THE RELATIONAL POWER OF FEAST AND FESTIVALS As indicated in the introduction, there is a correlation between food and power. The power of food is first and foremost based on the control of resources and access to food: those who produce more than they need can convert that surplus into power through trade and warfare. For example, much of the history of the ancient Near East from the Late Bronze Age through the Roman period was shaped by the struggle between the superpowers of Egypt and Mesopotamia, riverine cultures sustained by a surplus of food generated by annual flooding. Periods of decline, too, can be traced to shortages of food, as can revolutions and upheavals, in both ancient and modern times. Internally, a surplus of food could be utilized through feasting to create and maintain social capital by engaging in competitive gift giving (cf. Mauss 1950). In the context of chiefdoms and kingdoms like ancient Israel, subjects may be rewarded for loyalty through feasting in which they quite literally “embody” the debt within them (so Fu and Altmann 2014: 15, following Dietler 2001: 73–4). In this way, food through feasting is used to create and protect particular hierarchical frameworks and the internal identity of certain individuals as elites and others as commoners (cf. Goody 1982). Conversely, feasts can build communal solidarity and, in some contexts, contain elements that “level” the status of all participants to communicate an egalitarian ethos (e.g., see Wiessner 1996). This social power of feasting in political contexts has been the subject of many recent studies and essay collections (e.g., Dietler and Hayden 2001; MacDonald 2008; Altmann and Fu 2014), most of which approach the topic from the perspective of the function of feasts in scenarios such as these, even if from different theoretical perspectives (see the overview of MacDonald 2008: 143–9). For example, Hayden (1996; 2001), approaching the topic from a materialist perspective (cf. Harris 1985), describes feasts as mobilizing labor, fostering cooperation (or exclusion), creating reciprocal debts, or establishing elites, among other functions. Dietler (1996; 2001), coming from a culturalist perspective, identifies three main types, empowering feasts that aim to build the “symbolic capital” (Bourdieu 1984: 291) of the host, patron-role feasts that maintain a hierarchical relationship between the host and the invitees, and “diacritical” feasts that build elite identity among the invitees in contrast to the uninvited. In these ways, feasts become powerful tools for identity formation, both internally and externally. Internally, as mentioned above, feasting may be used to create and maintain certain power structures—be they hierarchical or egalitarian identities (cf. Goody 1982). Externally, food and feasting can likewise serve to draw boundaries, or frontiers (Eriksen 2015: 105, following Cohen 1994: 121–2), between “in” and “out” groups as part of identity formation (cf. Barth 1969; MacDonald 2008: 196–218). Indeed, various cultures, ancient and modern alike, are differentiated by cuisine and accompanying eating habits, or “foodways,” and much has been made in this respect with the pig in ancient Israel

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though the matter is complicated.3 Foodways are, in fact, closely tied to religion, which in many ways is the defining characteristic of many ancient societies (cf. Greer 2019a: 2–3). This last point highlights a potential shortcoming in applying many of the current anthropological models of feasting, which are focused on political relationships, to ancient Israel. For, religious beliefs lie at the core of all eating events in the Hebrew Bible, and one cannot so easily separate the profane from the sacred. Indeed, the interconnected social and religious aspects of feasting, rooted in sacrifice, were observed long ago by William Robertson Smith in his classic work, Lectures on the Religion of the Semites (1894). More specifically, in Lecture 8, Robertson Smith stresses the role of sacrifice and sacrificial feasts in forming a communal bond between deity and participants (see, especially, pp. 269–75). Once parties eat and drink together—men, women, and children (Greer 2013: 121–2; Meyers 2013: 239; Milgrom 1991: 148)—they are bound as kin, one to another (human to human) and as a people to their God (human to divine). Thus the relational power of such eating events is both social and religious. A helpful model that appreciates the interconnected nature of the human and divine aspects of feasting in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel has been recently proposed by Fu and Altmann (2014: 19–21). Building on the patrimonial household model of Max Weber as applied to ancient Israel by Stager (1985; 2003) and Schloen (2001; see also Master 2001), they view feasting as a mechanism that binds together the “house of the father” (bêt-’āb) and creates and maintains kinship structures through feasting with other patrimonial households within the “clan” (mišpāḥâ).4 Together these families consolidate their identity as a “tribe” (šēbeṭ) in larger feasts identified here as festivals. These festivals (see Figure 17.2) connect the horizontal with the vertical in the orientation of the festivals to the deity, with the king alongside or just under Yahweh at the top of the pyramid—a precarious position, as we shall see below.

FIGURE 17.2  Diagram of feasting within the patrimonial household. (After Fu and Altmann 2014: 20, with modifications)

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See Chapters 4 and 24 in this volume and also Greer (2020a). See also Chapter 2 in this volume.

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In this regard, feasts and festivals were profoundly social and religious events in the community of God, the family, and the larger kinship network. Memories were formed and rehearsed through eating events and associated rituals, often tied to their histories in the process of forging an identity as a people. Herein lies the relational power of feasting and festivals in ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible—the power to unite (or divide) households within communities and, by extension, to their God and/or their king.

FEASTS AND FESTIVALS IN THE HEBREW BIBLE We now turn to a brief survey of feasts and festivals in the Hebrew Bible.5 As mentioned above, these may be grouped broadly—with those focusing on the human dimension (feasts) at one end of the spectrum and, at the other end, those focusing on the divine dimension often (but not always) with a greater number of participants (festivals and other religious feasts)—while acknowledging the integration of both dimensions in each specialized eating event.

Feasts Oriented toward Humans Most of the eating events oriented toward the human realm are designated by the term mišteh. The term is related to šātāh (“to drink”) but clearly employed to describe a “feast” in general, with both eating and drinking, as illustrated in numerous examples from the Hebrew Bible. In the ancestral narratives of the Pentateuch, a feast with unleavened bread is prepared by Lot for the angelic strangers in Sodom (Gen. 19:3), and Abraham holds a “great feast” (mišteh gādôl) to celebrate the weaning of Isaac (Gen. 21:8). Isaac hosts a covenant feast with eating and drinking for Abimelek (Gen. 26:30), and Laban holds a wedding feast for Jacob (Gen. 29:22). In the Joseph story, Pharaoh makes a feast for his servants on his birthday (Gen. 40:20). Turning to the Former Prophets, Samson makes a seven-day wedding feast in Timnah (Judges 14), Nabal holds a feast “like the feast of a king” (kǝmišteh hammelek) and drinks to excess after snubbing David’s request for support (1 Sam. 25:36), David makes a feast for Abner and his men after they defect (2 Sam. 3:20), and Absalom hosts a feast “like the feast of a king” as an occasion for killing Amnon (LXX 2 Sam. 13:27).6 Solomon provides a feast for his servants after offering burnt and fellowship offerings in Jerusalem (1 Kgs. 3:15). In the Latter Prophets, Judah is denounced for feasts of drunkenness accompanied by music (Isa. 5:12), and an extravagant feast with Yahweh as host is the visionary context for the enfolding of the nations (Isa. 25:6-8; see Cho and Fu 2013: 133–6). In Jeremiah, the people of Israel are prohibited from going into a house of feasting (Jer. 16:8), and Yahweh prepares a feast as an occasion for judgment in Jer. 51:39. The Writings, too, contain numerous attestations of mišteh. Job’s children host feasts (Job 1:4-5). A cheerful heart is likened to a perpetual feast in Prov. 15:15, and a “house of feasting” (bȇt mišteh) is contrasted with a “house of mourning” (bȇt-’ēbel) in Eccl. 7:2. The book of Esther, as many have noted (e.g., Fox 2001: 156), centers around feasting events designated by mišteh, usually glossed as “banquet,” which occurs some twenty

See also the discussions in Chapters 28, 29, 30, and 31 in this volume. The phrase “like the feast of a king” is lacking in the MT but present in the LXX (kata ton poton tou basileō s) and supported by a Qumran Samuel scroll (4QSama). 5  6 

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times in the narrative. The term is also used in Dan. 1:5-16 to describe royal rations and in Ezra 3:7 more generically for official food. Other terms besides mišteh are used for human-focused feasting, such as forms of the verb ’ākal (“to eat”). For example, Adonijah hosts a coronation feast designated in this way (1 Kgs. 1:41, so too note the attempted coronation of David in 1 Chron. 12:38-40), Jehu went in “and ate and drank” (wayyō’kal wayyēštǝ) in a victory feast following his coup (2 Kgs. 9:34), and in both Eccl. 10:16-17 and Lam. 4:5 the term means feasting rather than simply eating. Likewise, leḥem (“bread,” or generically “food”) is used for a human-orientated feast (e.g., Gen. 43:31; Eccl. 10:19; but also note its use with the New Moon festival of 1 Sam. 20:24, 27, mentioned below), most dramatically in Daniel 5 where Belshazzar infamously prepares his “great feast” (Arm. leḥem rab) for a thousand (Greer 2020b: 108–11). Other words are also sometimes employed, such as kērāh in 2 Kgs. 6:23 (possibly a loan word; Goldstein 2014) where the king of Israel makes a “great feast” (kērāh gǝdôlâ) for a band of miraculously captured Arameans. Various metaphors are also employed to describe human-focused feasting, such as the image of “the king’s table” (šulḥan hammelek; see MacDonald 2008: 154–60). This motif is found in reference to David’s absence from Saul’s table (1 Sam. 20:25-29) and several times again with David, once king, in the invitations to his table extended to Mephibosheth son of Jonathan (2 Sam. 9:5-13), Uriah the Hittite (2 Sam. 11:12-13), and Barzillai the Gileadite that was passed to Chimham (2 Sam. 19:31-40). The motif also appears in the description of Solomon’s wealth displayed to the Queen of Sheba (1 Kgs. 10:4-5), and in Jezebel’s provision for the prophets of Baal and Asherah (1 Kgs. 18:19), as well as in the elevation of Jehoiachin to the table of Evil-merodach (2 Kgs. 25:27-30) and is related to the description of Nehemiah’s table (Neh. 5:17-18; see J. L. Wright 2010).

Festivals Directed toward God On the divine-focused end of the spectrum, chief among these occasions are the ḥaggîm, the term employed for the three annual pilgrim festivals of ancient Israel7 (see de Vaux 1997: 468–517; Haran 1978: 289–300) and also applied to other festivals as well (e.g., on the New Moon as a ḥāg, see Ps. 84:4). The term itself apparently relates to the root for “reeling” (ḥgg), perhaps the “circular” (ḥûg) movement thought to derive from dancing associated with the festivals (Kedar-Kopfstein and Botterweck 1980: 201–13), as certainly music and dance were a regular part of these festivals (e.g., Judg. 21:21) and feasts (e.g., Isa. 30:29) in general (Caubet 2018: 471–2). The ḥaggîm are identified in the liturgical calendars of the Pentateuch, and in narrative form in the case of the Passover, and in historiographic texts among the writings. The ḥaggîm are also specifically critiqued in several prophetic works (e.g., Amos 5:21; Mal. 2:3), often in contrast to the ethical behavior demanded by the prophets, though in later prophetic texts they are used as an image for apocalyptic hope (i.e., Zech. 14:16-18). The first ḥag in the calendars outlining the timing of the ḥaggîm is the Passover, associated with the barley harvest. In a canonical reading, the Passover first appears in the narrative of Exodus 12 (see also Num. 9:1-14). Though generally regarded as a later insertion, such a placement fuses the event of the exodus in the narrative to the ritual prescriptions in order to create a festival that celebrates national identity. Passover,

7 

See the discussion in Chapters 28 and 29 of this volume.

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apparently fused with the Feast of Unleavened Bread (see Wagenaar 2005: 35–73; cf. Exod. 23:15; 34:18), is mentioned in the calendars of Exod. 34:25; Lev. 23: 5-8; and Deut. 16:1-8, as well as in the ritual texts of Num. 28:16-25 and Ezek. 45:21-24. Various celebrations of the festival appear in the “histories” of Israel, such as the Passover at Gilgal (Josh. 5:10-12), another celebrated by Hezekiah (2 Chronicles 30, though without parallel in Kings), and later by Josiah (2 Kgs. 23:21-23 paralleled in 2 Chron. 35:1-18), in addition to mention of one celebrated after the return (Ezra 6:19-22). The Festival of Weeks, too, was tied to the agricultural cycle, celebrating the end of the cereals harvest, and occurs next, seven weeks after the Passover. In post-biblical traditions, it was tied to the giving of the law on Sinai, but no historical connection is made in biblical texts. It is listed as a ḥag in Exod. 23:16, where it is identified as the “festival of the harvest” (ḥag haqqāṣîr), and in Exod. 34:22 and Deut. 16:9-10, 13-15 as the “festival of Weeks” (ḥag šāb‘ôt). In Num. 28:26 the festival is identified simply as “weeks” (šāb‘ôt), where it is also associated with the “day of the first-fruits” (yôm habbikkûrîm). Rituals for the festival are described in detail in Lev. 23:15-21, 33-43, though the Festival of First-fruits is described earlier (Lev. 23:9-14). The third, and in many ways most important, festival was the “Festival of Booths,” or “Tabernacles” (sukkôt). It is known as ḥag hassukkôt in the calendars of Lev. 23:34 and Deut. 16: 13, 16 and may be equated with the “Feast of Ingathering” (ḥag ha’āsip) in Exod. 23:16 and 34:22 (note the use of the verb ’āsap, “to gather,” in Lev. 23:39). The feast is identified as the “Festival of Yahweh” (ḥag-yhwh) in Lev. 23:39 and Num. 29:12 and as the feast in Ezek. 45:25. It is also certainly the same as the Festival of Yahweh at Shiloh (Judg. 21:19; cf. 1 Sam 1:3), and “the festival” that served as the context for royal coronations and temple dedications under Solomon (1 Kgs. 8:2, 65; cf. 2 Chron. 7:810) and Jeroboam (1 Kgs. 12:32-33; see Ulfgard 1998: 102–4). Celebrations of sukkôt are also explicitly mentioned in the postexilic period (Ezra 3:4; Neh. 8:13-8), and the festival retained its importance as the most significant feast into Second Temple times (cf. Josephus, Ant. 8.4.1). Divine-focused feasts, or festivals, are also attested with different vocabulary and expressions, such as mô‘ēd, often translated “appointed time,” occurring more than 200 times in the Hebrew Bible to describe various events, including but not limited to specialized eating events with a religious purpose. Such include the pilgrim festivals described above (e.g., Exod. 23:15; 34:18; Lev 23:2, 4, 37, 44; Num. 9:2, 13; 10:10; Deut. 16:6; Isa. 33:20; Ezek. 36:38; 44:24; 45:17; 46:9, 11; Ezra 3:5; Neh. 10:34 [ET v. 33]; 1 Chron. 23:31; 2 Chron. 2:3 [ET v. 4]; 8:13) and other specific festivals such as Trumpets (Lev. 23:23-5; Num. 29:7-11) and the Jubilee (Lev. 25:8-55), as well as the New Moon festival (Num. 28:11) and the Sabbath (Exod. 20:8-11; 31:12-17; on Sabbaths as feasts, see Meyers 2013: 233). The New Moon festival was apparently a family festival (cf. 1 Sam. 20:24-27), often mentioned with Sabbaths, notably in general lists of denouncements of religious festivals among the prophets (e.g., Isa. 1:14; Hos. 2:13 [ET v. 11]; 9:5; 12:10 [ET v. 9]; cf. Lam. 2:6-7; 2:22) but also considered alongside the pilgrim feasts as part of Israel’s religious eating (e.g., see 2 Chron. 8:13). Another specialized feast was the mārzeaḥ, a diacritical eating event and cultic institution described in Amos 6:4–7 (Greer 2007; King 1988; 1989) and likely alluded to in other biblical texts (see examples in Barstad 1984; Lewis 1989; and McLaughlin 2001) with possible connections to the cult of the dead based on Jer. 16:5 (see McLaughlin 2001: 70–9). That a cult of the dead existed in ancient Israel seems likely based on a number of allusions in the Hebrew Bible (see, e.g., Deut. 26:14; 2

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Sam. 3:35; Isa. 57:6; 65:3-5; Jer. 16:5; Ezek. 24:17; Hos. 9:4; see Lewis 2014), perhaps with specific connection to the New Moon festival (see van der Toorn 1996: 211–18).8 Other expressions are also used for divine-focused eating events, such as “a good day” (yôm ṭob), which apparently refers to a religious festival in 1 Sam. 25:8. General descriptions of religious feasting also abound, such as when Moses, Aaron and his sons, and the elders of Israel feast before Yahweh at Sinai (Exod. 24:9-11), when Elkanah and his family engage in cultic feasting at Shiloh (1 Sam. 1:3-9), and when Samuel brings Saul to consume sacrificial meat in the cult structure at Ramathaim (1 Sam. 9:2224), among others. In fact, the general term for sacrifice (or slaughter; cf. Bergman, Ringgren, and Lang 1980: 8–29), zābaḥ, is often used as a synecdoche for the whole cultic feast (e.g., Prov. 17:1; Ezek. 39:17-20; cf. Gen. 31:54),9 and the term is directly tied to the sacrificial meal of the šǝlāmîm offerings (see Milgrom 1991: 217–25; Greer forthcoming) as well as to certain festivals (e.g., note the mention of the zebaḥ pesaḥ in Exod. 12:27).

FEASTS AND FESTIVALS IN THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST As many have noted, the feasts and festivals of the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel existed in a broader context of feasting in the ancient Near East. Indeed, the so-called “banquet theme” in ancient Near Eastern iconography goes back to our earliest evidence of complex societies (Pinnock 1994: 17–21), paralleling related descriptions derived from economic lists, ritual texts, and narratives. Examples of feasting and festivals in texts and images closer to biblical times may be observed in Late Bronze Age, Iron Age, and Persian Period contexts from Egypt, Canaan, Mesopotamia, Anatolia, and the Aegean, as many surveys have demonstrated (e.g., Ziffer 2005; J. C. Wright 2004; Hitchcock, Laffineur, and Crowley 2008; J. L. Wright 2010; Altmann and Fu 2014; among others). Ancient Near Eastern art often depicts the central figure of the king in feasting scenes.10 At times, the king or another elite figure is shown alone, likely connected to a mortuary setting and the provision of the deceased with offerings (Pinnock 1994: 22), as depicted in the Katumuwa stela from Zincirli (Struble and Herrmann 2009) or the Ahiram sarcophagus from Phoenicia (Porada 1973) and in many other contexts across the region through the millennia (see examples in Draycott and Stamatopoulou 2016). Other times the king is shown in the context of large groups of his subjects, likely reflecting victory celebrations, with processions of meat and wine and other food items, and even captives, making their way toward the banqueting monarch (Altmann 2011: 78–98). In both types of royal depictions, cultic connections abound in the juxtaposition of these scenes with temple offering scenes, and the overlap in motifs and depictions of paraphernalia employed in feasting and offering (cf. Greer 2007). Depicting the king and participants in the act of drinking seemingly functioned as a synecdoche for the whole royal banquet (Pinnock 1994: 24). More specifically, the depiction of the “king

See the discussion in Chapter 18 in this volume. As a comparison, note the use of zbḥ in the eighth-century bce Panamuwa inscription from Zinjirli (Donner and Rollig 2002, text 214). 10  Food in ancient Near Eastern art is discussed in Chapter 25 in this volume. 8  9 

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and the cup,” though certainly maintaining a royal connection as a symbol of judgment (Cho and Fu 2013: 139–42; Winter 1986), may further be connected with the divine embodiment of the king through the receipt of libation leftovers (Greer 2020b; cf. Greer 2007). Ancient Near Eastern texts, too, refer to feasting, as in the description of Ashurnasirpal II’s famous banquet of Calah (Wiseman 1952) or Sargon’s boast of more than 5,000 eating daily at his table (Alster and Oshima 2007: 2). Indirect evidence may be drawn from earlier cookbooks from the Old Babylonian period (Bottéro 2004), as well as in the coordination of ration lists with feasts from Mari (Sasson 2004), and, later, from Neo-Assyrian contexts (van Driel 1969; Parpola 2004). Greek sources about the Achaemenid Empire also refer to extravagant feasts, with parallels in the stories of Esther in the Hebrew and Greek biblical sources, but here caution should be exercised concerning the lack of an emic perspective within Persia itself and the tendenz of the source materials to caricature the opulence of the Persians (Briant 2002: 200). Many of these texts illustrate the “commensal politics” (Dietler 1996: 88) observed in the contexts noted above, such as feasts of “the king’s table” leveraged to ensure loyal subjects at Mari (Sasson 2004) or the distribution of the sacrificial “leftovers” (Akkadian rēḫāti) of food (Ermidoro 2015; Joannès 2013; Parpola 2004) and drink (Greer 2020b) that functioned in a similar way. In Neo-Assyrian contexts, the person of the king is connected to the divine by incorporating these sacrificial leftovers into his feast, thus concomitantly validating his role as the divinely imbued king with the right to rule over his subjects when he feeds them from his table. This connection between deity and king is even more apparent in a number of festivals across the ancient Near East. Though rooted in the changing of seasons related to the agricultural calendar, festivals were often utilized to reinforce divine sanction for the political order (Gane 2018: 366–7). For example, the akītu festival in Mesopotamia, rooted in the barley harvest, celebrated Marduk’s victory over Tiamat recounted in the Enuma Elish and validated the king’s legitimacy as Marduk’s (or Assur’s) representative (Altmann 2011: 156–67). In fact, in the empires surrounding the Levant the king typically functioned as the high priest in temple ritual (Klingbeil 2018: 360), as is clear in evidence from Egypt (te Velde 1995: 1731), Mesopotamia (see Machinist 2006: 86 on Assyria, and note later Babylonian variation in Waerzeggers 2011: 733–7 with discussion in Klingbeil 2018: 357), and Anatolia (Haas 1994: 181–4), and, thus, played the lead role in the associated festivals. In the Levant itself, the ruler likewise served an important role, as is evidenced in the prominent role of the king in ritual texts from Ugarit (Pardee 2002: 2).11 Still, other Late Bronze Age festivals, notably the zukru (Altmann 2011: 136–47; Fleming 2000: 48–140; Hess 2007: 118–22), seemed to at least decenter the king and may suggest a somewhat different understanding of the role of the king within a kinship system (cf. Schloen 2001). Yet, even here the king was still active, if not prominent, in provisioning and surely served as the symbolic (and financial) patron, suggested by the retention of hierarchical seating arrangements and the division of sacrificial portions (Fleming 2000: 30; Lev-Tov and McGeough 2007: 104–6).

11 

For food in Ugaritic texts, see Chapter 23 in this volume.

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FEASTS AND FESTIVALS IN ARCHAEOLOGY These descriptions of feasts and festivals in the Hebrew Bible and in ancient Near Eastern texts and images were certainly rooted in the experience of actual feasting that took place throughout the ancient world. That said, identifying feasts in the archaeological record has proved to be difficult, especially in the context of ancient Israel (Meyers 2013: 227–8). This is perhaps because specialized eating events were often episodic, lasting a few days or weeks at the most, and thus would not leave the same imprint in the material record that repeated processes in the same place, such as in a workshop, might leave. As the topic of feasting has become more popular, however, there has been an increased interest in discovering feasts in the archaeological record; and this interest, it would seem, has led to an over-confidence of identifying feasts in excavations. A collection of eating vessels and a high concentration of animal bones does not necessarily constitute evidence of a feast. Archaeological controls are crucial and, as in all archaeology, the essential starting point is the question of context: where were the remains found? Even then, things can be complicated, for the remains of feasts were, in most cases, likely carted away from the area where the feast took place, the vessels were used again (unless broken, intentionally or unintentionally), and any food remains were deposited in a midden and thus mixed with the remains from everyday meals, reducing the value for analyzing these remains as evidence of feasting (cf. Greer 2019a: 5–6, on sacrificial remains). The aim, then, must be to first isolate intentional deposits within spaces conducive to feasting activities. Sealed pits or architectural niches found beneath floors in courtyards or halls, for example, provide the best opportunities to explore archaeological correlates to events described in texts and images. Such highly charged pits, or favissae, containing vessels, ritual artifacts, and animal bones have been found, in fact, in a variety of ancient Near Eastern contexts (Osborne 2004). Even when the pits are not found intact, the concentration of remains in particular loci compared to those around them can provide an accurate reconstruction of the intentional deposit (see, e.g., Lev-Tov and McGeough 2007: 92, fig. 5-4). Household contexts, especially those sealed by destruction, may also provide relevant materials (Schmitt 2013: 267–9; Shafer-Elliott 2014: 202–3; cf. Meyers 2013: 229). Once the context has been determined, a number of criteria serve as archaeological “signatures” of feasting (Hayden 2001: 40–1). Lists of criteria often focus on the analysis of ceramic vessels and faunal remains and the ways the assemblages differ from ordinary domestic wares and food remains. For example, the pottery forms used in feasts were often of a high quality and/or decorative nature (think “fine china” in our own contexts). Indeed, decorative forms have been associated with feasting in a variety of contexts (e.g., Greer 2013: 72–6; Killebrew and Lev-Tov 2008: 340–1). So, too, with food remains, in that high-quality cuts of meat were certainly important in feasts (think filet mignon). Indeed, certain cuts of meat have been associated with elite feasting in ancient contexts (e.g., Greer 2013: 94–6; Marom and Zuckerman 2012). However, these criteria must be applied with caution. Common, “everyday” vessels as well as elite vessels were employed in feasting (Greer 2013: 93; Meyers 2013: 227–8). Also, the identification of “high-quality” cuts of meat is problematic because determining quality depends on one’s cultural context. In certain contexts today, meat from the

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head of an animal is still considered desirable, as it was in the ancient world from Emar (Fleming 2000: 271) to Israel (Deut. 18:3), but in others it is not and is even disdained. Another potential problem with meat cuts is that not all cuts may be identified because in certain portions the skeletal elements are removed in preparation, such as in filet mignon mentioned above or in the “brisket” (commonly translated “breast”) of priestly portions in the Hebrew Bible.12 Thus, decorative pottery forms and certain meat cuts are useful criteria only in combination with other factors. More helpful in terms of pottery would be a high concentration of cooking vessels, especially those of a large capacity, and/or serving vessels, such as bowls (note the examples in J. C. Wright 2004: 137–48). Larger cooking vessels and high percentages of bowls, for example, suggest large gatherings such as a community feast or festival as described above. Yet even here, other factors are needed to differentiate a festival from a camp of workmen or soldiers. Furthermore, criteria of vessel size and abundance are only helpful for identifying large-scale events and are less applicable for smaller specialized eating events, be they in an elite banquet hall or in an ordinary dwelling. Returning to faunal remains, a more helpful criterion to assess feasting than meat cuts may be faunal diversity. Indeed, one way ancient (and modern) feasting was marked was by the variety of dishes and ingredients that composed the meal (think of a Thanksgiving feast for some cultures in the United States). Elite feasts especially utilized the platform of the table to herald their wealth and represent their domination of foreign lands by the presence of exotic foodstuffs on the menu (Briant 2002: 200–3; cf. 1 Kgs. 5:2-4 [ET: 4:22-4]). Such “conspicuous consumption” may be observed in the faunal record by assessing the diversity of species abundance in a particular sample (Cruz-Uribe 1988, and see the application by Lev-Tov and McGeough 2007: 103–4). Faunal remains from common domesticates, especially sheep, goats, and cattle, along with various wild game, such as deer and gazelle, as well as various fish and birds, discovered in restricted contexts may indicate a feast (Fulton et al. 2015; Greer 2013: 43–96; Lev-Tov and McGeough 2007: 103–4). Yet even here, caution should be exercised in that meat is only one type of variety that may have been expressed; and some feasts, especially religious feasts known from texts, restricted the meat that could be consumed. The Passover may serve as an illustration in that only a sheep or a goat may be eaten according to the prescription in Exod. 12:5 (with an expansion to include cattle in Deut. 16:2). The identification of prestige items or ritual objects may also help to establish the nature of the space. Other architectural features may be analyzed in conjunction with the material remains in order to suggest movements associated with the processes of slaughter, butchering, consumption, and deposition (Hesse, Wapnish, and Greer 2012; Wapnish and Hesse 2000). In addition to analyses of the architectural context, ceramic forms, and faunal remains are recent advances in microarchaeology (Shahack-Gross 2011; Weiner 2010). New technologies have enabled an assessment of lipid residues in vessels, indicating the presence of meat or dairy products, alcohol or blood residue, or seed, grain, and pollen remains that allow for the identification of vegetables and even spices incorporated in the specialized eating events. Thus, concerning a methodology and the identification of archaeological signatures of feasting, no single characteristic is indicative of feasting; rather, a wide variety of evidence, with a secure archaeological context as the starting point, must be employed.

12 

On the ḥāzeh as “brisket” and on priestly portions in general, see Greer (2019b).

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SYNTHETIC PORTRAITS OF FEASTS AND FESTIVALS IN ANCIENT ISRAEL Within the context of the southern Levant in the time periods associated with ancient Israel, several examples of feasts and festivals have been suggested in light of syntheses of biblical texts and archaeology. They may illustrate specialized eating events in ancient Israel and allow for speculation concerning their function. The earliest example may be the twelfth-century bce site of the so-called “altar” situated in a natural amphitheater near the summit of Mount Ebal (Hawkins 2012; Zertal 1985). While the identification of the structure is debated, the specialized nature of the site seems clear based on high concentrations of certain ceramic forms and thousands of specimens of faunal remains used as fill in the structure and around it. Identifying this site with ancient Israel (or “proto-Israel”) may be possible (so Hawkins 2012: 221–7), but connecting it with “Joshua’s altar” (Deut. 27:4-8; Josh. 8:30-32; cf. Deut. 11:29; 27:13) is complicated by text-critical issues; namely, in that this altar is located on Mount Gerizim (rather than Ebal) in what are likely the earliest textual traditions preserved in the Samaritan Pentateuch, with the Old Latin, and a Qumran fragment (Knoppers 2013: 202–3). Nevertheless, the site exemplifies a number of the feasting signatures listed above—high percentages of bowls and cooking pots, faunal diversity (including a high percentage of deer), and specialized artifacts—clustered around a central structure. Taken together, such data suggest a site of communal feasting during the premonarchic period. Likewise, at the slightly later eleventh-century site of Shiloh (Khirbet Seilun), communal feasts have been suggested based on the presence of storage facilities, pillared halls, intensified depositions of faunal remains (with high percentages of cattle), and many cooking pots (though surprisingly fewer bowls) (MacDonald 2008: 151–3, following Finkelstein 1993, esp. his p. 387). When these finds are compared to the less developed villages in the region, they likely correlate with the biblical memory of the place as a centralized shrine (1 Sam 1:1-4:18; Jer. 7:12-14) that provided a context for regional feasting events, rooted in sacrifice and intended to form solidarity among various chiefdoms. Households, too, have been interpreted as locations for feasting and festivals based on contexts containing pottery associated with consumption, along with cultic paraphernalia (Meyers 2013: 228; Schmitt 2013: 267–9; Shafer-Elliott 2014: 202–13, following Hardin 2010: 133–43). These specialized eating events, echoed in biblical texts (e.g., 1 Samuel 20), apparently spanned the spectrum of focus, embedding the human focus within the divine as much as embedding the divine focus within the human event. This interconnected nature may be evident in associations with the cult of the dead as well as household religious feasts such as the New Moon and Sabbaths mentioned above (Meyers 2013: 233–5). Temple sites certainly served as contexts for feasting (see, e.g., 2 Kgs. 23:21-23), yet archaeological remains of Israelite temples in the Iron II period are scant (cf. Faust 2010). Still, a small temple dating to the eighth to seventh century bce has been uncovered at Arad (Aharoni 1968; Herzog et al. 1984) that may relate to biblical descriptions (cf. Zevit 2001: 156–71) though the site is not explicitly mentioned as a cult site in the biblical texts. While some evidence for feasting may be derived from specialized ceramic forms associated with the shrine, the site has yet to be systematically published and the faunal remains have not been analyzed. Also promising is the recently discovered temple structure at Tel Moẓa (Kisilevitz 2015) dating to the tenth to ninth century bce, though

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it has not been clearly identified with a cult site mentioned in the Hebrew Bible. Still, evidence for feasting may be derived from a pit containing pottery vessels, animal bones, and cult items yet to be fully analyzed. At Tel Dan, however, extensive remains of a massive temple complex dating to the tenth/ninth to eighth century bce have been discovered and identified as one of the royal shrines of ancient Israel mentioned in biblical texts (Biran 1994; Davis 2013; Greer 2013, 2017). The faunal remains, ceramic assemblages, and cultic paraphernalia from throughout the complex have been identified and analyzed, leading to an association of the remains with cultic feasts of the sanctuary (Greer 2013: 43–96). These materials, further, exhibited characteristics congruent with descriptions of sacrificial festival meals in priestly texts of the Hebrew Bible (Greer 2013: 100–6; Wapnish and Hesse 1991: 35– 47). They likely bear evidence of a movement from communal feasts in the earliest phase to elite feasts in the latest stage (Greer 2013: 125–37, 2014; cf. Davis 2013: 89–107). The strongest evidence for elite feasting outside of a temple context may come from the palace courtyard of Ramat Raḥel (Fulton et al. 2015). A pit in the courtyard of the central administrative structure of the late seventh century bce has been interpreted as a repository for the remains of a feast, or series of feasts, based on high concentrations of dining vessels (especially bowls) and cultic objects (specifically, figurines), as well as rich and diverse faunal remains including not only sheep, goat, and cow, but also birds (at least seven partridges and one goose) and fish (mostly Nile catfish but also other freshwater and saltwater varieties).13 Further evidence for the elite nature of the feasting has been suggested by the location of the pit in the palatial courtyard associated with a lush garden complex (Gross, Gadot, and Lipschits 2014; Lipschits et al. 2011) and exotic flora (Langgut et al. 2013). The architectural confines of the space, as at Dan, may suggest intentional boundaries demarcating an elite zone (so Fulton et al. 2015: 44).

CONCLUSION: SIGNIFICANCE OF FEASTS AND FESTIVALS In addition to illustrating the elements of feasts and festivals, synthetic explorations provide insight into how specialized eating events functioned in ancient Israel’s political and religious systems. Indeed, evidence drawn from texts, ancient Near Eastern sources, and archaeology suggests that Israelite feasts functioned much as they did in other ancient Near Eastern contexts. In the Hebrew Bible, feasts and festivals are associated with the formation and maintenance of the monarchies. They likely served to consolidate support, mobilize labor, and provide an avenue to display wealth and create hierarchical systems (MacDonald 2008: 135–65). Each function, which may be illustrated by the archaeological examples provided above, corresponds to social changes within the monarchies of Israel and Judah and increasing stratification (cf. Faust 2012). Regional premonarchic centers (e.g., Ebal and Shiloh) provide little evidence of intentional hierarchy and may suggest that the activities at these sites were meant to create solidarity, binding people together and perhaps differentiating them from others

While Kletter’s (2018) challenge concerning some of the terminology may be warranted, the concentration of “feasting signatures” described by the authors for pit 14109, especially in regard to the diverse faunal profile and the percentages of certain vessel types, clearly distinguishes this intentional deposit from a common midden and strongly supports their conclusion of a specialized eating event. 13 

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through particular cuisine and rituals. Within the households of the later centuries, a communal focus was maintained at the family level; and the earliest manifestations of festivals likely replicated this focus at the tribal level. At Tel Dan, an initial focus on communal solidarity corresponds to the earliest era of the northern kingdom, evidenced in common ceramic forms and limited restrictions of meat portions and architectural space. In a later stage, corresponding to the hierarchy of the eighth-century kingdom (cf. Amos 5–6), evidence of elite feasts––marked by specialized ceramic forms, regulated meat portions, and restricted architectural access––has been suggested (Greer 2014). Finally, seventh-century Ramat Raḥel may provide evidence of a feast where a small group of elites, perhaps achieving their status through the collection of taxes for the Judahite crown after the flight of Assyrian representatives, dined on a diverse cuisine in an inner court surrounded by a paradisiacal garden (Fulton et al. 2015). To return to the relational power of feasting and festivals and application of the patrimonial household model, every aspect of the relationships represented in Figure 17.2 may be observed in the Hebrew Bible when considered along with the broader ancient Near Eastern context and archaeological data. Such synthetic portraits demonstrate the power of feasting and festivals to unite households within communities, to build solidarity within fledgling kingdoms following the collapse of the Late Bronze Age superpowers, and to forge an identity vis-à-vis the “other.” Yet specialized eating events also could divide one group from another and also divide classes of people within the group and even separate one person in particular—the king––from all the rest. Herein lies the root of the inherent tension in texts of the Hebrew Bible concerning the king in general and concerning his role in specialized eating events in particular, for the peak of the pyramid (Figure 17.2) is narrow indeed. Inserting the king above the tribe places him as the patron for communal festivals, in a spot formerly occupied by the deity. Such an insertion may have worked well in the nations around ancient Israel, especially in those where the king embodied the divine, but it created problems for the scribes of ancient Israel. In terms of the spectrum of specialized eating events described above (Figure 17.1), in the household of the king there is a pull toward the mišteh and away from ḥag, or at least an insertion of the king’s role in the latter by centralizing the events in the royal capital. Perhaps this is represented in the texts in the minimization of household feasts, or in the move to embed the traditional festivals within the context of the monarchy, seen most clearly in the Passover prescriptions, once a family festival celebrated in the household, then a pilgrim festival required to be celebrated in Jerusalem (cf. Meyers 2013: 231). Resistance to this insertion of the king, perhaps concomitant with full force of Neo-Assyrian royal rhetoric, may be observed most clearly in Deuteronomy’s earliest description of its festivals in which “the king is conspicuously absent, suggesting a de Certeau-like ‘tactical’ redeployment of the imperial ‘strategy’ of underlining royal power and shifting the focus to Yahweh’s divine provision through a variety of human hands” (Altmann 2011: 98; cf. Knoppers 2001). The books of Kings as a whole, too, may intentionally represent “the demise of Israelite autonomy” (J. L. Wright 2010: 219, italics original) in terms of feasting, tracking the downward slide from Solomon’s royal table to Jehoiachin’s dependent status at the table of a foreign king and thus paralleling Israel’s unfaithfulness to Yahweh. Such sentiments perhaps paved the way for the prophets’ apocalyptic visions that extended beyond the earthly kingdoms (e.g., Isa. 25:6-10; cf. Isaiah 55), when Yahweh would take his seat as the true host of the heavenly banquet. If the kings thought to insert

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themselves in the ḥag, the prophets reversed this trend, inserting Yahweh in the mišteh. At the table, holding the “cup of wrath” (see, e.g., Isa. 51:17-22; Jer. 25:15-29; Zech. 12:2; cf. Pss. 60:3; 75:8; MacDonald 2008: 187–91), Yahweh is described as meting out judgment as Israel’s king and patron of the eternal feast where all, including the foreign nations, are welcomed as members of Yahweh’s royal household (Cho and Fu 2013: 135). The feasts and festivals of ancient Israel as portrayed in the theological vision of such texts shift the focus to the divine king served by the people, limiting the power of their own kings and tempering their dismay at the power of foreign kings who dominated them while binding all people together as one.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Altmann, P. (2011), Festive Meals in Ancient Israel: Deuteronomy’s Identity Politics in Their Ancient Near Eastern Context, Berlin: De Gruyter. A detailed, technical study incorporating anthropology, archaeology, ancient Near Eastern textual and iconographic approaches, and various historical-critical methods of biblical studies in an exploration of the history and function of feasts and festivals in Deuteronomy. Altmann, P. and Fu, J. (eds.) (2014), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. An essential collection of essays employing various methodologies for the study of feasts and, by extension, festivals. Dietler, M. and Hayden, B. (eds.) (2001), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. A standard introduction to current anthropological models of feasting, illustrated by ethnographic and archaeological research and providing much of the theoretical groundwork for recent feasting studies in biblical and ancient Near Eastern studies. MacDonald, N. (2008), Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament, Oxford: Oxford University Press. A seminal and broadly comprehensive work applying developments in anthropological studies on food and feasting to biblical texts. Meyers, C. (2013), “Feast Days and Food Ways: Religious Dimensions of Household Life,” in R. Albertz, B. A. Nakhai, S. M. Olyan, and R. Schmidt (eds.), Family and Household Religion: Toward a Synthesis of Old Testament Studies, Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Cultural Studies, 225–50, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. A concise, yet comprehensive exploration of the role feasting and festivals played in the household and the ways in which they related to larger social structures and, especially, Israelite religion.

REFERENCES Aharoni, Y. (1968), “Arad: Its Inscriptions and Temple,” BA 31: 1–32. Alster, B. and Oshima, T. (2007), “Sargonic Dinner at Kaneš: The Old Assyrian Sargon Legend,” Iraq 69: 1–20. Altmann, P. (2011), Festive Meals in Ancient Israel: Deuteronomy’s Identity Politics in Their Ancient Near Eastern Context, Berlin: De Gruyter. Altmann, P. and Fu, J. (eds.) (2014), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Appadurai, A. (1981), “Gastro-Politics in Hindu South Asia,” American Ethnologist 8: 494– 511. Barstad, H. (1984), The Religious Polemics of Amos, Leiden: Brill. Barth, F. (1969), “Introduction,” in F. Barth (ed.), Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Culture Difference, 9–38, Boston: Little, Brown. Bell, C. (1992), Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bergman, J., Ringgren, H., and Lang, B. (1980), “zābhach,” TDOT 4: 8–29. Bottéro, J. (2004), The Oldest Cuisine in the World, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bourdieu, P. (1984), Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, trans. R. Nice, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Biran, A. (1994), Biblical Dan, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society/Hebrew Union CollegeJewish Institute of Religion. Briant, P. (2002), From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Caubet, A. (2018), “Music and Dance in the World of the Bible,” in J. S. Greer, J. W. Hilber, and J. H. Walton (eds.), Behind the Scenes of the Old Testament: Cultural, Social, and Historical Contexts, 468–72, Grand Rapids: Baker Academic. Cho, P. K.-K. and J. Fu (2013), “Feasting with Death in the Isaianic Apocalypse (Isaiah 25: 6-8),” in T. Hubbard and P. Kim (eds.), Intertextuality and Formation of Isaiah 24-27, 117–42, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Cohen, A. P. (1994), Self Consciousness, London: Routledge. Cruz-Uribe, K. (1988), “The Use and Meaning of Species Diversity and Richness in Archaeological Faunas,” JAS 15: 179–96. Davis, A. R. (2013), Tel Dan in Its Northern Cultic Context, ABS 20, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Dever, W. G. (2005), “Some Methodological Reflections on Chronology and History-Writing,” in T. E. Levy and T. Higham (eds.), The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science, 413–21, London/Oakville: Equinox. Dietler, M. (1996), “Feasts and Commensal Politics in the Political Economy: Food, Power and Status in Prehistoric Europe,” in P. Wiessner and W. Schiefenhövel (eds.), Food and the Status Quest: An Interdisciplinary Perspective, 87–125, Providence/Oxford: Berghahn. Dietler, M. (2001), “Theorizing the Feast: Rituals of Consumption, Commensal Politics, and Power in African Contexts,” in M. Dietler and B. Hayden (eds.), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, 65–114, Washington, DC/London: Smithsonian Institution Press. Dietler, M. and Hayden, B. (2001), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, Washington, DC/London: Smithsonian Institution Press. Donner, H. and Röllig, W. (2002), Kanaanäisch und aramäische Inschriften, 2nd edn., Weisbaden: Harrassowitz. Driel, G. van. (1969), The Cult of Aššur, Assen: Van Gorcum. Douglas, M. (1972), “Deciphering a Meal,” in C. Geertz (ed.), Myth, Symbol, and Culture, 61–81, New York: W. W. Norton. Draycott, C. M. and Stamatopoulou, M. (eds.) (2016), Dining and Death: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the “Funerary Banquet” in Ancient Art, Burial and Belief, Leuven: Peeters. Eriksen, T. H. (2015), Fredrik Barth: An Intellectual Biography, London: Pluto. Ermidoro, S. (2015), Commensality and Ceremonial Meals in the Neo-Assyrian Period, Venice: Edizioni Ca’ Foscari.

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Fales, F. M. and Postgate, J. N. (1992), Imperial Administrative Records: Provincial and Military Administration, Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Faust, A. (2010), “The Archaeology of the Israelite Cult: Questioning the Consensus,” BASOR 360: 23–35. Faust, A. (2012), The Archaeology of Israelite Society in the Iron Age II, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Finkelstein, I. (ed.) (1993), Shiloh: The Archaeology of a Biblical Site, Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University. Fleming, D. E. (2000), Time at Emar: The Cultic Calendar and the Rituals from the Diviner’s Archive, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Fox, M. V. (2001), Character and Ideology in the Book of Esther, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Fu, J. and Altmann, P. (2014), “Feasting: Backgrounds, Theoretical Perspectives, and Introduction,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 1–31, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Fulton, D. N., Gadot, Y., Kleiman, A., Freud, L., Lernau, O., and Lipschits, O. (2015), “Feasting in Paradise,” BASOR 374: 29–48. Gane, R. E. (2018), “Worship, Sacrifice, and Festivals in the Ancient Near East,” in J. S. Greer, J. W. Hilber, and J. H. Walton (eds.), Behind the Scenes of the Old Testament: Cultural, Social, and Historical Contexts, 361–7, Grand Rapids: Baker Academic. Goldstein, R. (2014), “The Provision of Food to the Aramaean Captives in II Reg 6,22–23,” ZAW 126: 101–5. Goody, J. (1982), Cooking, Cuisine, and Class: A Study in Comparative Sociology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Greer, J. S. (2007), “A Marzeaḥ and a Mizraq: A Prophet’s Mêlée with Religious Diversity in Amos 6.4-7,” JSOT 32: 243–62. Greer, J. S. (2013), Dinner at Dan: Biblical and Archaeological Evidence for Sacred Feasts at Iron Age II Tel Dan and Their Significance, Boston: Brill. Greer, J. S. (2014), “Power to Unite and Power to Divide: Sacred Feasting and Social Change at Iron II Tel Dan,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 117–28, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Greer, J. S. (2017), “The Cult at Dan: Aramean or Israelite?” in A. Berlejung, A. Maeir, and A. Schueler (eds.), Wandering Arameans: Arameans outside Syria—Textual and Archaeological Perspectives, Leipziger Altorientalistische Studien 5, 3–18, Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz. Greer, J. S. (2019a), “The Zooarchaeology of Israelite Religion: Methods and Practice,” Religions 10: 1–19. Greer, J. S. (2019b), “The ‘Priestly Portion’ in the Hebrew Bible: Its Ancient Near Eastern Context and Its Implications for the Composition of P,” JBL 138: 263–84. Greer, J. S. (2020a), “Prohibited Pigs and Prescribed Priestly Portions: Zooarchaeological Remains from Tel Dan and Questions Concerning Ethnicity and Priestly Traditions in the Hebrew Bible,” in P. Altmann, A. Angelini, and A. Spiciarich (eds.), Food Taboos and Biblical Prohibition: Reassessing Archaeological and Literary Perspectives, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Greer, J. S. (2020b), “Drinking the Dregs of the Divine: Daniel 5 and the Motif of ‘King and Cup’ in its Ancient Near Eastern Context,” JNES 79: 99–112. Greer, J. S. (forthcoming), “From Flock to Temple to Table: The Sacrificial Animal of the Fellowship Offering in Ancient Israel in Text and Archaeology,” in G. Ekroth and J.-M. Carbon (eds.), From Snout to Tail: Exploring the Greek Sacrificial Animal from the Literary,

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Epigraphical, Iconographical, Archaeological and Zooarchaeological Evidence, Athens: The Swedish Institute at Athens. Gross, B., Gadot, Y., and Lipschits, O. (2014), “The Ancient Garden at Ramat Raḫel and Its Water Installations,” in C. Ohlig (ed.), Cura Aquarum in Israel II—Water in Antiquity: Proceedings of the 15th International Conference on the History of Water Management and Hydraulic Engineering in the Mediterranean Region, Israel, 14–20 October 2012, 93–114, Sieburg: Deutsche Wasserhistorische Gesellschaft. Haas, V. (1994), Geschichte der hethitischen Religion, HdO 15, Leiden: Brill. Haran, M. (1978), Temples and Temple-service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into the Character of Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hardin, J. W. (2010), Lahav II: Households and the Use of Domestic Space at Iron II Tell Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Harris, M. (1985), Good to Eat: Riddles of Food and Culture, New York: Simon and Schuster. Hawkins, R. K. (2012), The Iron Age I Structure on Mt. Ebal: Excavation and Interpretation Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Hayden, B. (1996), “Feasting in Prehistoric and Traditional Societies,” in P. Wiessner and W. Schiefenhövel (eds.), Food and Status Quest: An Interdisciplinary Perspective, 127–47, Providence/Oxford: Berghahn Books. Hayden, B. (2001), “Fabulous Feasts: A Prolegomenon to the Importance of Feasting,” in M. Dietler and B. Hayden (eds.), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, 23–64, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution. Herzog, Z., Aharoni, M., Rainey, A. F., and Moshkovitz, S. (1984), “The Israelite Fortress at Arad,” BASOR 254: 1–34. Hess, R. S. (2007), Israelite Religions: An Archaeological and Biblical Survey, Grand Rapids: Baker Academic. Hesse, B., Wapnish, P., and Greer, J. S. (2012), “Scripts of Animal Sacrifice in Levantine Culture-History,” in A. Porter and G. Schwartz (eds.), Sacred Killing: The Archaeology of Sacrifice in the Ancient Near East, 217–35, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Hitchcock, L., Laffineur, R., and Crowley, J. L. (2008), Dais: The Aegean Feast; Proceedings of the 12th International Aegean Conference/12e Rencontre égéenne internationale, University of Melbourne, Centre for Classics and Archaeology, 25–29 March 2008, Liège/Austin, TX: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin. Joannès, F. (2013), “Quand le roi mange comme un dieu … Les tranferts entre table divine et table royale en Assyrie et Babylonie au 1er millénaire av. J.-C.,” in C. Grandjean, C. Hugoniot and B. Lion (eds.), Le banquet du monarque dans le monde antique, 327–42, Rennes/Tours: Presses Universitaires de Rennes/Presses Universitaires François-Rabelais. Kedar-Kopfstein, B. and Botterweck, G. J. (1980), “chagh,” TDOT 4: 201–13. Killebrew, A. E. and Lev-Tov, J. (2008), “Early Iron Age Feasting and Cuisine: An Indicator of Philistine-Aegean Connectivity?” in L. Hitchcock, R. Laffineur, and J. L. Crowley (eds.), Dais: The Aegean Feast; Proceedings of the 12th International Aegean Conference/12e Rencontre égéenne internationale, University of Melbourne, Centre for Classics and Archaeology, 25–29 March 2008, 339–45, Liège/Austin, TX: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin. King, P. J. (1988), “The Marzeah Amos Denounces,” BAR 14: 34–44. King, P. J. (1989), “The Marzēaḥ: Textual and Archaeological Evidence,” ErIsr 20: 101–5. Kisilevitz, S. (2015), “The Iron IIA Judahite Temple at Tel Moẓa,” TA 42: 147–64.

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Kletter, Raz. (2018), “Pit-Typology at Ḫirbet Ṣāliḥ/Rāmat Rāḥēl; On Favissae, Foundation Deposits, and Royal Feasts,” ZDPV 134: 46–62. Klingbeil, G. A. (2018), “Priests in the Ancient Near East,” in J. S. Greer, J. W. Hilber, and J. H. Walton (eds.), Behind the Scenes of the Old Testament: Cultural, Social, and Historical Contexts, 355–60, Grand Rapids: Baker Academic. Knoppers, G. N. (2001), “Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History: The Case of Kings,” CBQ 63: 393–415. Knoppers, G. N. (2013), Jews and Samaritans: The Origins and History of Their Early Relations, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Langgut, D., Gadot, Y., Porat, N., and Lipschits, O. (2013), “Fossil Pollen Reveals the Secrets of Royal Persian Garden at Ramat Rahel (Jerusalem),” Palynology 37: 115–29. Lev-Tov, J. and McGeough, K. (2007), “Examining Feasting in Late Bronze Age Syro-Palestine Through Ancient Texts and Bones,” in K. C. Twiss (ed.), The Archaeology of Food and Identity, 85–111, Carbondale: Southern Illinois University. Levy, T. E. (2010), “The New Pragmatism: Integrating Anthropological, Digital, and Historical Biblical Archaeologies,” in T. E. Levy (ed.), Historical Biblical Archaeology and the Future: The New Pragmatism, 3–42, London: Equinox. Lewis, T. J. (1989), Cults of the Dead in Ancient Israel and Ugarit, HSM 39, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Lewis, T. J. (2014), “Feasts for the Dead and Ancestor Veneration in Levantine Tradition,” in V. R. Herrmann and J. D. Schloen (eds.), In Remembrance of Me: Feasting with the Dead in the Ancient Middle East, 69–74, Chicago: The Oriental Institute. Lipschits, O., Gadot, Y., Arubas, B., and Oeming, M. (2011), “Palace and Village, Paradise and Oblivion: Unraveling the Riddles of Ramat Raḥel,” NEA 74: 2–49. MacDonald, N. (2008). Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Machinist, P. (2006), “Kingship and Divinity in Imperial Assyria,” in G. Beckman and T. J. Lewis (eds.), Text, Artifact, and Image: Revealing Ancient Israelite Religion, Brown Judaic Studies 346, 152–88, Providence: Brown Judaic Studies. Marom, N. and Zuckerman, S. (2012), “The Zooarchaeology of Exclusion and Expropriation: Looking Up from the Lower City in Late Bronze Age Hazor,” JAA 31: 573–85. Master, D. M. (2001), “State Formation Theory and the Kingdom of Ancient Israel,” JNES 60: 117–31. Mauss, M. (1950), The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, New York/London: W. W. Norton. McLaughlin, J. L. (2001), The Marzēaḥ in the Prophetic Literature: References and Allusions in Light of the Extra-biblical Evidence, Leiden/Boston: Brill. Meyers, C. (2013), “Feast Days and Food Ways: Religious Dimensions of Household Life,” in R. Albertz, B. A. Nakhai, S. M. Olyan, and R. Schmidt (eds.), Family and Household Religion: Toward a Synthesis of Old Testament Studies, Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Cultural Studies, 225–50, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Milgrom, J. (1991), Leviticus 1-16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 3, New York: Doubleday. Osborne, R. (2004), “Hoards, Votives, Offerings: The Archaeology of the Dedicated Object,” World Archaeology 36: 1–10. Parsee, D. (2002), Ritual and Cult at Ugarit, WAW 10, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Parpola, S. (2004), “The Leftovers of God and King: On the Distribution of Meat at the Assyrian and Achaemenid Imperial Courts,” in C. Grottanelli and L. Milano (eds.), Food

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CHAPTER 18

Food, Death, and the Dead MATTHEW J. SURIANO

INTRODUCTION The association of food and death in the ancient Levant is manifested in different ways. A well-known example is the practice of feeding the dead, either by placing food in front of a stele or statue representing the dead person, or by leaving food inside the tomb. Feasts in honor of the dead, either by mourners or through family repasts, are another example. The focus of this chapter is on feeding the dead, though there is evidence that feasting by the living in honor of the dead could overlap with feeding them. The practice occurred in the Levant throughout the first millennium bce and is particularly prominent in Iron Age Judah. In addition to the archaeological evidence, biblical literature also includes references to feeding the dead. Although these references are few and scattered, they at least supplement the archaeological materials discovered inside tombs. The biblical material also finds parallel in Aramaic inscriptions from the Iron Age kingdom of Sam’al that speak of feeding the dead. Yet the evidence, both artifacts and texts, is ambiguous. The biblical writers do not explain the purpose of the practice. Feeding the dead, for the biblical writers, served only as a foil for explaining corpse impurity and its cultic implications. Likewise, the archaeological evidence still leaves us with basic questions regarding the regularity of the custom along with its practical aspects. Even the question of whether the practice was symbolic or whether it involved real food is difficult to answer. There is enough data, however, to provide an overview that can offer some insight into the cultural implications of feeding the dead in ancient Judah. In the southern Levant, feeding the dead was a graveside activity that was centered around the corpse. This is distinct from practices such as the Mesopotamian kispu ritual (Tsukimoto 1980: 129–39; 1985; cf. Greenfield 1973: 47–9), a custom of feeding the dead but one that could occur away from the tomb (Birot 1980: 139–50). Likewise, the relatively rich inscriptional data from Sam’al (Zincirli) in the northern Levant indicate that local practices of feeding the dead were not necessarily directed at the physical remains of the deceased.1 In the important example of the Katumuwa Stele (Pardee 2017; see Herrmann and Schloen 2014), the Aramaic inscription indicates that the “soul” or “selfhood” of the dead person resides in the stone object (Pardee 2009: 51–71, 2014: 45–8). Food and drink provided to the stele served as sustenance for the dead person who

These inscriptions, dating mid-to-late eighth century bce, were written in Aramaic or a local-form of Aramaic and come from the site of Zincirli (Sam’al) and its vicinity (see Younger 2016: 384–5). 1 

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FIGURE 18.1  Stele from Zincirli. (von Luschan and Jacoby 1911: Plate 54)

is commemorated in the object. In particular, the Sam’al inscriptions, such as Katumuwa, the Hadad Statue (Younger 2002a), and the Panamuwa Stele (Younger 2002b), provide useful parallels because the term used for the dead (nbš) is comparable with Hebrew nep̄ eš, which can denote a dead body.

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The collection of sources from Sam’al and the Hebrew Bible both show that the dead person, referred to as “soul” or “self” (nbš/nep̄ eš), required food and drink.2 Yet the provision of food allowed the dead at Sam’al to dine with the gods in their postmortem existence. This aspect is both described and depicted in the stelae from Sam’al (see Figure 18.1). The image of the dead feasting is something that is found in other Aramaic and Luwian stelae from the northern Levant (Bonatz 2000a; b: 189–210; 2014: 39–44; Struble and Herrmann 2009: 39–42). Yet the motif of the dead feasting with Yahweh, or any other deity, is absent from biblical literature, nor is it seen in any sources from Judah. Instead, in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Judah we encounter a concept of corpse impurity that created boundaries separating the sacrificial cult of Yahweh from the care for the dead (Lev. 21:1; Num. 19:11-22). The difference between the practices at Sam’al and the evidence from Judah is instructive, as the contrasting attributes of the former provide a backdrop for reconstructing aspects of the latter. Feeding the dead was an accepted cultural practice in ancient Judah. There are no biblical passages that prohibit the practice (Bloch-Smith 1992: 126). The biblical writers tacitly acknowledged the cultural practice but never explicitly prescribe it (Suriano 2014: 400, 2018: 154–72). The primary evidence for feeding the dead in the world of the biblical writers comes from archaeology. The mortuary remains from the southern Levant indicate that the practice was common throughout the Kingdom of Judah during the Iron Age II–III period (tenth–sixth centuries bce). Yet the evidence is incomplete (Pitard 2002: 147–51; Tappy 1995: 61–2), for there are very few inscriptional or iconographic sources that might shed light on the practice. Nonetheless, the analysis of tombs and their contents can shed light on the process involved in feeding the dead (see Lange 2014: 87– 99). There is enough archaeological material from Iron Age Judah to reconstruct certain aspects of feeding the dead.3 The archaeological analysis of Judahite mortuary culture can thus be compared with both the biblical references and the epigraphic evidence from neighboring cultures. The evidence for feeding the dead comes primarily from ceramic assemblages discovered inside Judahite tombs dating to the Iron II–III periods. The assemblages constitute grave goods that accompanied the dead during burial, although it is uncertain at which stage in the funerary rituals the vessels were brought to the tomb. Were the grave goods deposited in the tomb during the funeral, or were they post-funereal (Schmitt 2012: 455–9; Tappy 1995: 66)? These grave goods included drinking vessels and other ceramic forms related to the production, storage, and consumption of food. The assemblages change over time during the Iron Age, and archaeologists have detected regional variations (Bloch-Smith 1992: 72–80). Although an exhaustive study is not possible here, a basic survey can draw attention to the development of certain practices with regard to food and the dead. The practice can then be set against the sociohistorical background of Judah during the Iron II–III period. Likewise, questions of when the food was deposited, and if real food was used, can be addressed using specific case examples drawn from the material record of Judahite mortuary culture.

The Hebrew term nep̄ eš is traditionally translated “soul,” in reference to the dead. A better rendering, however, is “self.” The term can also be used to refer to a corpse (see Suriano 2018: 135–72). 3  A study published a little over a decade ago listed nearly forty Iron Age burial sites containing almost threehundred rock-cut tombs within the area of Judah (Faust and Bunimovitz 2008: 15). 2 

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FEEDING THE DEAD IN IRON AGE JUDAH In the southern Levant, depositing food inside cave tombs is a practice that goes back to the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, 1900–1200/1150 bce (Gonen 1992: 49–50; Hallote 1995: 111–15; see Horwitz 1987: 251–5; Lev-Tov and Maher 2001: 91–110), as seen for example at Megiddo (Cradic 2017: 234–5) and Ashkelon (Brody 2010: 129; 2008: 527– 30). The practice continues into the Iron Age, where it develops certain characteristics. In the central highlands during the Iron I (twelfth to eleventh centuries bce), the practice could involve kraters, pilgrim flasks, pyxides,4 along with lamps, or simply lamps and chalices. In the lowland hills (Shephelah), the remains reveal a combination of the two (Bloch-Smith 1992: 72). The pottery types involved in these assemblages are for liquids, which indicate preference for drink over other foods. The preference changes in the Iron II period, beginning in the tenth century. While chalices continue to be included, we also see the introduction of cooking pots, bowls, and platters, along with wine decanters during this period (Bloch-Smith 1992: 73–6). Other vessels that become common grave goods during the Iron II are less clearly linked to food. Jugs and juglet types, notably the black juglet, become popular in the tenth century, continuing through the eighth century (Bloch-Smith 1992: 75). Storage jars also appear inside tombs during this period (BlochSmith 1992: 74–7). Smaller vessels found alongside the storage jars may have served as dipper juglets, suggesting the need to store and distribute water or other liquids at the tomb. But it is not clear whether these vessels were used for food or for some other purpose, such as washing and anointing the body. The black juglet, which goes out of use in the seventh century (Katz and Faust 2014: 111; Reich 1994: 114), could have contained oil for consumption. But this type of vessel could have also contained an oilbased perfume or ointment used for treating the corpse (Borowski 2013: 8–9). The question of what feeding the dead meant is complicated by practical issues. Did Judahites leave actual food, and if so, what type of food? An empty platter or cooking vessel left inside a tomb could have served a symbolic role in feeding the dead. Conversely, if food was a form of wealth, particularly meat, leaving food inside a tomb for the dead could be seen as an act of conspicuous consumption. The problem is that the evidence for actual food is scarce despite the abundant remains of food-related vessels found inside tombs. Thus, questions regarding what types of food were used are difficult to answer, beyond inferences drawn from the various pottery types found inside tombs. Moreover, the evidence is often ambiguous. An oblong flask (Figure 18.2) from Tell en-Naṣbeh T.5, an Iron IIB tomb, was discovered with a sticky substance inside, leading the excavator to interpret it as a vessel for storing honey (McCown 1947: 83, see infra Plate 37, no. 22; Johnston 2002: 63). In another example, Elizabeth Bloch-Smith (1992: 106–7) has cautiously suggested that burnt materials found in Tel ‘Eton Tomb 1 could be evidence that food was cooked inside this particular Iron Age burial site. The tomb’s excavator, David Ussishkin (1974: 125), however, suggested that the burnt materials were probably related to burning incense inside the cave tomb, citing 2 Chron. 16:14. At one point it was thought that a few, rare instances in the southern Levant of openings on tombs were intended to facilitate the pouring of libations into the burial site (Ribar 1973: 45–63; see Pitard 2002: 152–4; 1994: 30). Two putative examples come from Beth-Shemesh, Tombs 1 and 2, which date to the eighth century. The interpretation is

4 

Pyxides, plural of pyxis, is a small cylindrical container with a lid.

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FIGURE 18.2  Flask from Tomb (T.5) at Tell en-Naṣbeh/Mispah. (McCown 1947: Plate 37, no. 22; image courtesy of the Badè Museum, Pacific School of Religion)

largely dismissed, however, due in part to the ambiguity of the architectural features (see Pitard 2002: 154). But Beth-Shemesh Tomb 2 (Figure 18.3) does contain an unambiguous example of food provided for the dead. Inside this rock-cut bench tomb,5 set on a bench next to burial remains, archaeologists discovered vessels that contained lamb (mutton) and some form of drink (Bloch-Smith 1992: 107; Mackenzie 1912–13: 67; see Figure 18.4). The plate of lamb meat was covered with a smaller plate, set upside down and atop the first plate, effectively covering its contents. Next to the plate of meat was a jug with a stopper (Mackenzie 1912–13: Plate 37, nos. 11–13). The excavator suggested that the use of a stopper may indicate that the jug’s content was of special quality, such as “milk or olive oil” (Mackenzie 1912–13: 67). Beth-Shemesh Tomb 2 was excavated in the early twentieth century before archaeological techniques such as residue analysis were available to test the jug and its contents. Regardless, there are several possible explanations for the use of coverings on these vessels. The jug’s stopper and the use of a plate as lid may indicate a concern for preserving food left inside the burial chamber. Various factors such as the placement of food on a burial bench next to the remains of a dead person, the use of lids and stoppers to cover the food, and the fact that the food was left undisturbed inside the tomb chamber, indicate that these grave goods were intended to feed the dead. The presence

The term “rock-cut bench tomb” refers to a burial unit that was a cave (artificial or natural) that contained burial benches and often an area for the secondary disposal of bones (called a “repository”). This type of burial was found throughout Judah during the Iron Age. Another form of burial found in Iron Age Judah was the “loculus tomb,” which was the use of a natural cave with carved niches instead of full benches. Both burial types were designed to facilitate multiple burials (see Suriano 2018: 56–91). 5 

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FIGURE 18.3  Beth-Shemesh Tomb 2. (Mackenzie 1912–13: Plate 5)

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FIGURE 18.4  Covered plate and stopped jug from Tomb 2, Beth-Shemesh. (Images adapted by the author from Mackenzie 1912–13: Plate 37, nos. 11–13)

of covered vessels inside Beth-Shemesh Tomb 2 is also intriguing in light of Num. 19:15, which implies that closed vessels were immune from corpse impurity. The covered plate and stopped jug inside Tomb 2 could indicate that closed vessels such as these were intended to circumvent purity laws so that people could reuse food that had initially been given to the dead. Although this is speculative, repurposing food that had been brought to the dead was certainly seen by some biblical writers as a problem, as is evident in the oath required in Deut. 26:14, “I have not given any of it [the produce tithe] for the dead.”6 When food was provided is another difficult question. The placement of vessels for food consumption beside the corpse on a burial bench suggests that the provisions occurred during or shortly after primary interment. Several Iron II–III bench tombs from Beth-Shemesh, in addition to Tomb 2, had extensive pottery vessels placed on the burial benches or lining the floor below (for instance, Tombs 4–8; Mackenzie 1912–13: 70–92). Each of these tombs also had repositories filled with bones and pottery. Indeed, ceramic assemblages placed on burial benches and filling repositories are common among Iron II–III Judahite rock-cut tombs. For example, a tenth- to ninth-century burial cave at Tel Halif was discovered with the skeletal remains of two individuals on a bench surrounded by twenty-seven objects, among which were jugs, juglets, and bowls (Biran and Gophna 1970: 166). The adjacent repository, which held the remains of previous burials, had roughly 350 vessels, and the tomb’s floor had roughly 100 (Biran and Gopha 1970: 152– 65). At the late-Iron Age burial site of Ketef Hinnom in Jerusalem, inside the repository of Chamber 25 in Burial Cave 24, excavators found 263 complete vessels among the bones

Author’s translation, here and throughout this chapter. Compare with the JPS translation, “I have not deposited any of it with the dead.” 6 

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and potsherds (Barkay 1994b: 98–9). These remains indicate that pottery vessels were not reused but were instead replaced with each new burial. The provision of food ware with each new burial could be related to the status of the dead. The practice of transferring burial remains, bones and grave goods alike, from bench to repository is understood by some as an indication of the changing status of the dead inside the tomb (Cooley and Pratico 1994: 89; Johnston 2002: 62; Tappy 1995: 59–68). Secondary burial can be seen as a symbolic act, marking the transition of the individual into a greater collective (Suriano 2018: 47–9). Thus, the discarded pottery inside the repository may have been linked to the status of the dead. The main purpose of the pottery would have ended once the individual body had transitioned into the collection of bones inside a repository. This would, in turn, suggest that the food-related pottery served a symbolic purpose in sustaining the dead body during their transition, prior to the ultimate act of secondary burial. Yet it is not entirely clear when the corpse would have been provided with food and sustenance. The period between primary and secondary burial could have lasted several years, and the practice probably varied depending on circumstances and local customs.

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN? In the ancient Levant, aside from the act of burial itself, the core components of mortuary culture were remembering the names of the dead and feeding them (Sanders 2012: 34; citing Greenfield 1973; see also Sonia 2020). These elements can be recognized in both biblical literature and Judahite mortuary culture. The extensive archaeological remains of Judahite tombs present a clear picture of provisioning the dead inside the tomb with food (contra Pitard 2002: 150). This evidence is further supported by the few scattered references to the custom in the Hebrew Bible and the Deuterocanonical literature, which range in date from the late Iron Age to the Hellenistic period (Deut. 26:14; Hos. 9:4; Isa. 65:3-4; Sir. 7:33, 30:18 [LXX]; Tob. 4:17). Yet neither the artifacts nor the texts offer much clarity regarding what the food meant. The ritualized practices surrounding grave goods reflect action and meaning (see Bell 1992: 19–21). Although the available data are incomplete, “filling the gaps” (Klawans 2006: 52–3) is possible through the synthesis of biblical texts with the material remains of Iron Age Judah. Furthermore, the attestation of feeding the dead in the Aramaic inscriptions from Sam’al, which are roughly contemporary with the mortuary remains from Judah, provide an instructive parallel for understanding the practice in the world of the biblical writers (Lewis 2014). The synthesis of data drawn from texts and artifacts can lead to a better understanding of the practice. The problem begins with our understanding of what the practice meant in these ancient sources, and relatedly, what constituted feeding the dead. For instance, Jeremiah associates something called the bêṯ marzēaḥ with mourning the dead in Jer. 16:5-8. But the marzeaḥ, which is known from Ugaritic and later sources, appears to have been a social club for the consumption of alcohol—a symposium. As a social institution the marzēaḥ was unrelated to tombs and funerary rituals, and at best it was only indirectly related to the veneration of the dead (Lewis 1989: 80–94). A symposium would likely be held in honor of a dead member (Pardee 1996: 277–9; Schmitt 2012: 458), but this does not mean that the primary purpose of the marzēaḥ was to provide food and drink to the dead (Schmidt 1996: 246–9; Sonia 2020: 173–4; see, however, Brody 2010: 134).

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The same passage in Jeremiah mentions drinking from the “cup of consolation” (kôs tanḥûmîm) on behalf of one’s mother or father (Jer. 16:7). Again, the passage’s topos is mourning, so the reference to parents probably infers dead kin. While fasting is associated with mourning the dead in the Hebrew Bible (Olyan 2004: 30–2; see 1 Sam. 31:13; 2 Sam. 1:12–3:35), feasting is also alluded to in some biblical texts (Deut. 26:14 and Job 42:11).7 In Jer. 16:7 [following the LXX], we find the statement “they shall not break bread (leḥem) for mourning,” which corresponds to the “bread/food of mourning” (leḥem ’ônîm) referenced in Hos. 9:4,8 and is probably the same as the “food of people” (leḥem ’ănāšîm) mentioned among the mourning rituals Ezekiel is prohibited from performing (Ezek. 24:17, 22).9 These passages raise issues of whether the food consumed by mourners was graveside, and whether the food was shared with the dead. Some have questioned if the ceramic assemblages left inside Judahite tombs reflect feeding the dead or instead bear evidence of mourning feasts that occurred at the burial site (Pitard 2002: 150; Tappy 1995: 161). While the deliberate placement of food vessels next to human remains suggests that their purpose was to feed the dead, the relatively large number of vessels left inside the tomb raises the possibility that the food was shared by both the dead and those mourning them during the funerary ritual. The problem of when the food vessels were brought to the tomb, either during the funeral or afterward (Tappy 1995: 66–7), is interconnected with the ways scholars have sought to understand the nature of the food. Was the food meant to provide sustenance for the dead, or did it serve as an offering? Food brought to the tomb following the primary burial could indicate the former, if one sees the grave goods as part of an ongoing cult of the dead. Here we can begin to address the problem through a process of elimination. First, the food was not meant as an offering to placate the dead, confining them to the tomb. There is little evidence to suggest that the dead were considered forceful or problematic in ancient Judah. Ghosts could occur in the Hebrew Bible but only within the ritual context of necromancy (Isa. 8:19-20; 19.3). There the dead appear as entities conjured through divination (Hamori 2015: 115–30). Yet there is nothing in the sources that would suggest that the tomb was the ritual setting for necromancy. The divinized spirits of the dead do not occupy tombs (see 1 Samuel 28). Some see feeding the dead as a type of offering given to divine ancestors inside the tomb (Bloch-Smith 2002: 140–1, 2009: 128–9; Lewis 2002: 186). The interpretation of food as offerings to placate deified dead kin, who were considered supernaturally powerful and sometimes problematic, is based upon contested theories of ancestor worship (Lewis 2002: 187–202; cf. Schmidt 1996: 5–13; and Johnston 2002: 169–95). The issues with this interpretation begin with the assumption that the interred dead held supernatural powers, which finds little support in the Hebrew Bible. Moreover, there is no indication of direct reciprocity in the epigraphic sources that describe feeding the dead (Sanders 2012: 32). In both the Aramaic sources and the biblical references the dead never do anything on behalf of the living when provided with food. Because of the limits of our sources, whether texts or artifacts, the meanings assigned to the food remain elusive. For example, it is difficult to make a distinction between funereal and

For further discussion of fasting and mourning, see Chapter 21 in this volume. The MT of Jer. 16:7 reads lāhem (“to them”), but multiple Hebrew manuscripts have leḥem (“bread”), and this reading is also found in the Greek versions. 9  The Hebrew term typically means “bread,” but it can also refer to food, more generally, as reflected in the variety of food vessels found in tomb assemblages. 7  8 

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post-funereal grave goods in Judahite funerary rituals, given the complex process that occurred inside the bench tomb involving primary and secondary burials. If death was seen as a transition, food brought to the tomb after the primary burial could still serve to sustain the interred corpse (Suriano 2016: 17–19; 2018: 45–9; see similarly Brody 2010: 134). Therefore, we should be careful not to conflate care for the dead with putative ancestor cults (Tappy 1995: 66), and we should avoid calling the ceramic assemblages found inside tombs “offerings.” The notion that the dead were weak and powerless, thus requiring food and sustenance, is also problematic (Schmidt 1996: 274–93; cf. Lewis 2002: 190–4). Feeding the dead may have been an act of commensality on the part of the living, even if it did symbolize the sustenance of the dead. That the deceased continued to need food and drink does not necessarily require that they were believed to exist in a deprived state. The large quantities of vessels found inside tombs could reasonably be seen as the use of food by a kinship group to forge powerful bonds with their ancestors. The act of feasting to build or reinforce kinship ties would be transferred to the tomb. This interpretation is consistent with the ideal death in the Hebrew Bible, which involved burial in the family tomb and reunion with dead kin (see Gen. 49:29-33; 50:7-13; 2 Sam. 19:37). Indeed, the Hebrew Bible offers a positive view of the dead as ancestors. The positive associations that the biblical writers make with ancestors and the family tomb stand in contrast with their resolute condemnation of necromancy (Lev. 20:27; Deut. 18:11). The practice of feeding the dead, however, was circumscribed in the Hebrew Bible where it is regulated by a complex system of ritual purity laws. The category of ritual impurity, used by the biblical writers, is to be distinguished from moral purity (Klawans 2006: 52–5; Feder 2016: 166–7). Ritual purity was not intended for purposes of value judgment. In the case of corpse impurity, the system of pure-impure marked the boundaries that surrounded death (Lewis 2002: 182; Suriano 2018: 138–41). The necessary customs of disposing of the dead rendered all who participated impure, requiring the removal of the impurity before the affected could interact with the sacrificial cult of Yahweh (Num. 19:11-22). The concepts of purity/impurity established parameters for cultural practices, and feeding the dead was tacitly allowed within these parameters. For these reasons, the biblical writers were careful to control the custom, as seen in the required declaration in Deut. 26:14 where one must state that their offerings were never given to the dead, nor do they carry the impurity of the dead. The principal vector of ritual impurity was the corpse (Wright 1987: 115–28; Feder 2013: 161–2), which is referred to in the Hebrew Bible as the nep̄ eš (Suriano 2014: 387–93; 2018: 135–50; see, e.g., Lev. 21:1; Num. 19:11-13; Hag. 2:13). Corpse impurity extended to all who contacted it and could even affect its surroundings in an “aerial” manner (Num. 19:11-17; see Feder 2013: 161–2). It is considered aerial because, according to Num. 19:14, the occurrence of death inside a tent makes any person inside that enclosed space impure. The aerial impurity also affects any open vessel inside the tent (Num. 19:15), which presumably means that closed vessels were immune to corpse impurity. A few ¯eš (Hos. 9:4; Job 21:25; see Suriano 2014, biblical passages even refer to feeding the nep 2018: 162–72). While the biblical references to the cultural practice are descriptive (albeit in a limited sense), they are never prescriptive. The image of impure food serves simply as an object lesson where it symbolizes separation from the God of Israel (Hos. 9:4; see Hag. 2:11-12). The biblical regulations separating grave goods from sacrificial offerings, however, present a striking contrast with the practice at Sam’al where feeding the dead is combined with sacrifices to the gods in inscriptions like the Hadad Statue (Younger

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2002a). This is not the only difference between the two cultures. At Sam’al the focal point for offering food was the stele or statue, while in Judah the focal point was the interred corpse. The inscriptions from Sam’al describe the impetus for the action. The living were to feed the nbš that was identified in the stone object (stele or statue) so that the dead person could dine with the gods (Sanders 2013: 86–101). The Katumuwa Stele (Pardee 2017; see Figure 25.5 in Chapter 25 of this volume) makes it clear that nbš was identified with the stele, something seen in a later Anatolian Aramaic inscription from Keseçek Köyü (KAI 258) that dates to the Persian Period (Suriano 2018: 150–4). The relatively perdurable quality of the nbš in the Sam’al inscriptions contrasts with the impermanence of the nep̄ eš as corpse in biblical literature (Suriano 2014: 404–5). In the Sam’al material, feeding the dead was a regular or semi-regular ritual that sustained the permanent status of the dead, who are often depicted seated and feasting. The careful instruction in the Katumuwa Stele belies some degree of consistency, and the Ördekburnu inscription (Lemaire 2017) found outside of Sam’al makes reference to food offerings made on a specific day (Lemaire and Sass 2013: 124). The fact that these inscriptions were not directly associated with a tomb, and were even located in a residential area, as in the case of the Katumuwa Stele (Herrmann 2014: 49–56), shows that they were accessible to the living. The inclusion of deities in the Sam’al inscriptions as fellow recipients of food offerings indicates that the regularity of feeding the dead was related to sacrifices offered to the gods. The effect is an ideology of the afterlife that involved the dead feasting with gods. By contrast, the mortuary remains from Judah show that feeding the dead was an isolated act that was irregular and primarily confined to the tomb. The biblical references to feeding the dead associate the practice with corpse impurity. This association gives clear indication that feeding the dead was a graveside activity, and it supports the suggestion that food was provided during or after the primary burial phase. Although the details are lacking in the Hebrew Bible, the biblical writers make one thing clear: feeding the dead should never be combined with sacrifices offered to the deity.

CONCLUSION Ultimately, the meanings assigned to feeding the dead as a Judahite cultural practice must be sought through the integration of biblical literature and archaeology. In both texts and artifacts, these meanings seemed to be tied to the treatment and care of the dead body. The concept of corpse impurity in the Hebrew Bible provides an instructive paradigm for studying the practice, yet the reasons for the impurity are never explained. It is possible that this particular impurity is due to the unstable nature of a decomposing dead body. The impurities surrounding death may have been due to the fact that death was chaotic and uncontrollable (Suriano 2018: 138–40). Funerary rituals, like corpse impurity, can be seen as a means of controlling death. Relatedly, the ritual control of dead bodies can be observed in the architectural design of the Judahite rock-cut bench tomb (Suriano 2016: 16–20). The interior of the bench tomb was organized in a manner that facilitated the changing status of the dead body. The primary burial of the individual corpse on the burial bench eventually led to the secondary burial of the remnant bones from the decomposed body, re-interred inside the collective remains of the repository. In this way, the repository allowed for the reuse of burial space inside the tomb. But the use of the repository played an important ideological role involving reunion with ancestors. To use the biblical idioms, inside the bench tomb’s repository, the dead were “gathered to their kin” (Gen. 25:8, 17; 35:29; 49:29, 33) or “lay down with their ancestors” (see, e.g., 1

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Kgs. 22:40, 50).10 The bench tomb was designed to serve as a multigenerational burial site, and it reflected the kinship ideology of the joint family household.11 The concept of the Judahite family tomb as a household for the dead provides an appropriate setting for feeding the dead. Archaeologists have theorized that the plan and design of the Judahite rock-cut bench tomb emulated the common domestic structure found throughout the area during the Iron Age: the four-room house (Barkay 1994a: 147–52; Faust and Bunimovitz 2008: 28–9; Osborne 2011: 47–53).12 This theory is supported by the fact that vessels used for food storage, preparation, and consumption begin to appear among grave goods in Judah during the Iron II period (Bloch-Smith 2009: 125), the period when the bench tomb became more popular. The appearance of cooking pots, plates, and wine decanters reflects the needs of the dead interred inside their new home—the tomb. The things of domestic life were transferred to the burial site, symbolizing the household values of the family tomb. Here family members could continue to exist, in a postmortem setting, with proper care and feeding. Commensality also probably played a role. For instance, the large number of vessels interred with single burials may reflect a graveside meal that surviving kin shared with the dead, where the impure vessels were left behind once the repast was concluded. As in life, food served as a means of forging kinship bonds. The tomb was the domicile of the dead, and the food placed inside this setting served a domestic function in sustaining the tomb’s occupants. Within this setting food allowed the kinship group to affirm family ties symbolically, and in ways that transcended the boundaries of life and death. Here, inside the family tomb, the living could interact with their ancestors. The particulars of feeding the dead may elude us, but it is possible to recognize the symbolic significance of placing food-related vessels inside tombs in the Iron Age kingdom of Judah. The development of a distinct Judahite mortuary culture accompanied the rise of urbanism beginning at the end of the tenth century. The maintenance of bounded cemeteries outside of urban centers such as Jerusalem, Beth-Shemesh, and Lachish effectively created a spatial dynamic in which the dead (outside) mirrored the living (inside). The extramural tombs housed the ancestors of the adjoining towns and villages, and within this setting, the feeding of the dead would have been an important act of affirming kinship ties between the living and the dead.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Bloch-Smith, E. (1992), Judahite Burial Practices and Beliefs about the Dead, JSOT/ASOR Monograph 7, JSOTSup 123, Sheffield: JSOT Press. A detailed and richly catalogued archaeological study of grave goods and the material remains of feeding the dead. Bloch-Smith examines their cultural implications for understanding the death and the afterlife in ancient Judah.

The two phrases are semantically parallel, as is evident in the hybrid phrase “gathered to [one’s] ancestors” found in Judg. 2:10 and 2 Kgs. 22:20 (= 2 Chron. 34:28). The former phrase is also found in Num. 20:24; 27:13; 31:2; and twice in Deut. 32:50, while the latter is found throughout Kings and Chronicles where its occurrences are too numerous to cite here (see Suriano 2010: 37–50, 71–97). 11  The term “joint family household” refers to multiple generations of a single kinship group sharing a single dwelling space (Meyers 2013: 110–11; see also Schloen 2001: 135–6, 174–83; Schmitt 2012: 22–6). 12  On the four-room house, see Chapter 2 in this volume. 10 

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Herrmann, V. R. and Schloen, J. D. (eds.) (2014), In Remembrance of Me: Feasting with the Dead in the Ancient Middle East, Chicago: Oriental Institute. A collection of essays on the Katumuwa Stele that includes several chapters that deal with the ancient Near Eastern evidence for feeding the dead and feasting in the afterlife. Sanders, S. L. (2013), “The Appetites of the Dead: West Semitic Linguistic and Ritual Aspects of the Katumuwa Stele,” BASOR 369: 85–105. An important article on feeding the dead in the ancient Levant, it analyzes the philological issues raised by the discovery of the Katumuwa Stele. Schmitt, R. (2012), “Care for the Dead in the Context of the Household and the Family,” in R. Albertz and R. Schmitt, Family and Household Religion in Ancient Israel and the Levant, 429–73, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. A good overview of the biblical and archaeological evidence that contextualizes care for the dead within the family and household. The chapter examines the various ways food was associated with the dead. Sonia, K. (2020), Caring for the Dead in Ancient Israel, ABS 26, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. A study that situates the cult of dead kin within the context of family religion and examines feeding the dead as a critical component within this setting. Suriano, M. J. (2018), A History of Death in the Hebrew Bible, New York: Oxford University Press. Book by the author of this chapter that examines feeding the dead within the wider context of Judahite mortuary culture. The book explores grave goods, as aspects of the care of the dead and the veneration of ancestors, by first analyzing the treatment of the body inside the tomb.

REFERENCES Barkay, G. (1994a), “Burial Caves and Burial Practices in Judah in the Iron Age,” in I. Singer (ed.), Graves and Burial Practices in Israel in the Ancient Period, 96–164, Jerusalem: Yad Yitzak Ben-Zvi; Israel Exploration Society. (Hebrew) Barkay, G. (1994b), “Excavations at Ketef Hinnom in Jerusalem,” in H. Geva (ed.), Ancient Jerusalem Revealed, 85–106, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Bell, C. M. (1992), Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice, New York: Oxford University. Biran, A. and Gophna, R. (1970), “An Iron Age Burial Cave at Tel Halif,” IEJ 20: 151–68. Birot, M. (1980), “Fragment de rituel de Mari relatif au kispum,” in B. Alster (ed.), Death in Mesopotamia, 139–50, Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Bloch-Smith, E. (1992), Judahite Burial Practices and Beliefs about the Dead, JSOT/ASOR Monograph 7, JSOTSup 123, Sheffield: JSOT Press. Bloch-Smith, E. (2002), “Death in the Life of Ancient Israel,” in B. M. Gittlen (ed.), Sacred Time, Sacred Place: Archaeology and the Religion of Israel, 139–43, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Bloch-Smith, E. (2009), “From Womb to Tomb: The Israelite Family in Death as in Life,” in P. Dutcher-Walls (ed.), The Family in Life and in Death: The Family in Ancient Israel, 122–31, New York/London: T&T Clark. Bonatz, D. (2000a), Das syro-hethitische Grabdenkmal, Mainz: P. von Zabern. Bonatz, D. (2000b), “Syro-Hittite Funerary Monuments: A Phenomenon of Tradition or Innovation?” in G. Bunnens (ed.), Essays on Syria in the Iron Age, 189–210, Louvain; Sterling, VA: Peeters.

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Bonatz, D. (2014), “Katumuwa’s Banquet Scene,” in V. R. Herrmann and J. D. Schloen (eds.), In Remembrance of Me: Feasting with the Dead in the Ancient Middle East, 39–44, Chicago: Oriental Institute. Borowski, O. (2013), Lahav III: The Iron Age II Cemetery at Tell Halif (Site 72), Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Brody, A. J. (2008), “Late Bronze Age Canaanite Mortuary Practices,” in L. E. Stager, J. D. Schloen, and D. M. Master (eds.), Ashkelon 1: Introduction and Overview (1985–2006), 515–31, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Brody, A. J. (2010), “New Perspectives on Levantine Mortuary Ritual: A Cognitive Interpretive Approach to the Archaeology of Death,” in T. E. Levy (ed.), Historical Biblical Archaeology and the Future: the New Pragmatism, 123–41, London: Equinox. Cooley, R. E. and Pratico, G. D. (1994), “Gathered to His People: An Archaeological Illustration from Tell Dothan’s Western Cemetery,” in M. D. Coogan, C. J. Exum, and L. E. Stager (eds.), Scripture and Other Artifacts: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Honor of Philip J. King, 70–92, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Cradic, M. S. (2017), “Embodiments of Death: The Funerary Sequence and Commemoration in the Bronze Age Levant,” BASOR 377: 219–48. Faust, A. and Bunimovitz, S. (2008), “The Judahite Rock-Cut Tomb: Family Response at a Time of Change,” IEJ 58: 150–70. Feder, Y. (2013), “Contagion and Cognition: Bodily Experience and the Conceptualization of Pollution (ṭum‘ah) in the Hebrew Bible,” JNES 72: 151–67. Feder, Y. (2016), “Defilement and Moral Discourse in the Hebrew Bible: An Evolutionary Framework,” Journal of Cognitive Historiography 3: 158–89. Gonen, R. (1992), Burial Patterns and Cultural Diversity in Late Bronze Age Canaan, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Greenfield, J. C. (1973), “Un rite religieux araméen et ses parallèles,” RB 80: 46–52. Hallote, R. (1995), “Mortuary Archaeology in the Middle Bronze Age Southern Levant,” Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 8: 93–122. Hamori, E. J. (2015), Women’s Divination in Biblical Literature: Prophecy, Necromancy, and Other Arts of Knowledge, New Haven: Yale University Press. Herrmann, V. R. (2014), “The Katumuwa Stele in Archaeological Context,” in V. R. Herrmann and J. D. Schloen (eds.), In Remembrance of Me: Feasting with the Dead in the Ancient Middle East, 49–56, Chicago: Oriental Institute. Herrmann, V. R. and Schloen, J. D. (eds.) (2014), In Remembrance of Me: Feasting with the Dead in the Ancient Middle East, Chicago: Oriental Institute. Horwitz, L. K. (1987), “Animal Offerings from Two Middle Bronze Age Tombs,” IEJ 37: 251–5. Johnston, P. (2002), Shades of Sheol: Death and Afterlife in the Old Testament, Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Katz, H. and Faust, A. (2014), “The Chronology of the Iron Age IIA in Judah in the Light of Tel ‘Eton Tomb C3 and other Assemblages,” BASOR 371: 103–27. Klawans, J. (2006), Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Lange, S. (2014), “The Next Level and the Final Stage: Consistency and Change in the Provisions of Meals for the Dead in Their Different Stages of Existence and the Accompanying Feasting Acts of the Living, as Evidenced at Mari, Qaṭna, and Ugarit,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 87–116, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Lemaire, A. (2017), “Sam’alian Funerary Stele: Ördekburnu,” COS 4, no. 24: 96–7. Lemaire, A. and Sass, B. (2013), “The Mortuary Stele with Sam’alian Inscription from Ördekburnu Near Zincirli,” BASOR 369: 57–136. Lev-Tov, J. S. E., and Maher, E. F. (2001), “Food in Late Bronze Age Funerary Offerings: Faunal Evidence from Tomb 1 at Tell Dothan,” PEQ 133: 91–110. Lewis, T. J. (1989), Cults of the Dead in Ancient Israel and Ugarit, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Lewis, T. J. (2002), “How Far Can Texts Take Us? Evaluating Textual Sources for Reconstructing Ancient Israelite Beliefs about the Dead,” in B. M. Gittlen (ed.), Sacred Time, Sacred Place: Archaeology and the Religion of Israel, 169–217, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lewis, T. J. (2014), “Feasts for the Dead and Ancestor Veneration in Levantine Traditions,” in V. R. Herrmann and J. D. Schloen (eds.), In Remembrance of Me: Feasting with the Dead in the Ancient Middle East, 69–74, Chicago: Oriental Institute. von Luschan, F. and Jacoby, G. (1911), Ausgrabungen in Senschirli IV, Berlin: Reimer. Mackenzie, D. (1912–13), Excavations at Ain Shems (Beth-Shemesh), London: Palestine Exploration Fund. McCown, C. C. (1947), Tell en-Naṣbeh Excavated under the Direction of the Late William Frederic Badè, Berkeley: The Palestine Institute of Pacific School of Religion and The American Schools of Oriental Research. Meyers, C. (2013), Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Olyan, S. M. (2004), Biblical Mourning: Ritual and Social Dimension, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Osborne, J. F. (2011), “Mortuary Practice and the Bench Tomb: Structure and Practice in Iron Age Judah,” JNES 70: 35–53. Pardee, D. (1996), “Marziḥu, Kispu, and the Ugaritic Funerary Cult: A Minimalist View,” in N. Wyatt, W. G. E. Watson, and J. B. Lloyd (eds.), Ugarit, Religion and Culture: Essays Presented in Honour of Professor John C. L. Gibson, 273–87, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Pardee, D. (2009), “A New Aramaic Inscription from Zincirli,” BASOR 356: 51–71. Pardee, D. (2014), “The Katumuwa Inscription,” in V. R. Herrmann and J. D. Schloen (eds.), In Remembrance of Me: Feasting with the Dead in the Ancient Middle East, 45–8, Chicago: Oriental Institute. Pardee, D. (2017), “The KTMW Inscription,” COS 4, no. 23: 95–6. Pitard, W. T. (1994), “The ‘Libation Installations’ of the Tombs of Ugarit,” BA 57: 20–37. Pitard, W. T. (2002), “Tombs and Offerings: Archaeological Data and Comparative Methodology in the Study of Death in Israel,” in B. M. Gittlen (ed.), Sacred Time, Sacred Place, 145–67, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Reich, R. (1994), “The Ancient Burial Ground in the Mamilla Neighborhood, Jerusalem,” in H. Geva (ed.), Ancient Jerusalem Revealed, 111–18, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Ribar, J. W. (1973), “Death Cult Practices in Ancient Palestine,” PhD diss., University of Michigan. Sanders, S. L. (2012), “Naming the Dead: Monumental Writing and Mortuary Politics in Late Iron Age Anatolia and Judah,” Maarav 19: 11–36. Sanders, S. L. (2013), “The Appetites of the Dead: West Semitic Linguistic and Ritual Aspects of the Katumuwa Stele,” BASOR 369: 85–105 Schloen, J. D. (2001), The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East, Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant 2, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Schmidt, B. B. (1996), Israel’s Beneficent Dead: Ancestor Cult and Necromancy in Ancient Israelite Religion and Tradition, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Schmitt, R. (2012), “Care for the Dead in the Context of the Household and the Family,” in R. Albertz and R. Schmitt, Family and Household Religion in Ancient Israel and the Levant, 429–73, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Sonia, K. (2020), Caring for the Dead in Ancient Israel, ABS 26, Atlanta: SBL Press. Struble, E. J. and Herrmann, V. R. (2009), “An Eternal Feast at Sam’al: The New Iron Age Mortuary Stele from Zincirli in Context,” BASOR 356: 15–49. Suriano, M. J. (2010), The Politics of Dead Kings: Dynastic Ancestors in the Book of Kings and Ancient Israel, FAT 2 Reihe 48, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Suriano, M. J. (2014), “Breaking Bread with the Dead: Katumuwa’s Stele, Hosea 9:4, and the Early History of the Soul,” JAOS 134: 385–405. Suriano, M. J. (2016), “Sheol and the Tomb and the Problem of Postmortem Existence,” JHebS 16 (Article 11): 1–31. Suriano, M. J. (2018), A History of Death in the Hebrew Bible, New York: Oxford University Press. Tappy, R. E. (1995), “Did the Dead Ever Die in Biblical Judah?” BASOR 29: 59–68. Tsukimoto, A. (1980), “Aspekte von kispu(m) als ‘Totenbeigabe,’” in B. Alster (ed.), Death in Mesopotamia, 129–38, Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Tsukimoto, A. (1985), Untersuchungen zur Totenpflege (kispum) im alten Mesopotamien, AOAT 216, Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker. Ussishkin, D. (1974).,“Tombs from the Israelite Period at Tel ‘Eton,” TA 1: 109–27. Wright, D. P. (1987), The Disposal of Impurity: Elimination Rites in the Bible and in Hittite and Mesopotamian Literature, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Younger, K. L. (2002a), “The Hadad Inscription,” COS 2, no. 36: 156–8. Younger, K. L. (2002b), “The Panamuwa Stele,” COS 2, no. 37: 158–60. Younger, K. L. (2016), A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities, ABS 13, Atlanta: SBL Press.

CHAPTER 19

Diet and Nutrition MARGARET COHEN

INTRODUCTION Diet and nutrition of a human population refer to the foodstuffs consumed by, and the extent to which those foods adequately fuel, a group of people. Relevant questions surrounding these topics include: what are those food products specifically; what are their absolute and relative quantities; what value do they serve in terms of energy production and maintaining the human body; and how might access to those foods fluctuate according to any number of variables such as age, sex, status, or seasonality. The description of a population’s diet can then be used to assess that population’s nutrition. Do the energy and resources obtained from the diet meet what a body needs to maintain and repair itself in its particular physical and social environment? Does the diet provide adequate nutrition? To pursue these questions regarding the humans of ancient Israel, data gathered from two main sources, archaeological material and relevant textual sources, are most productive. These primary sources of information can be supplemented with comparanda from both other ancient cultures as well as certain premodern and modern cultures. It has been traditionally accepted that archaeology is better equipped to answer questions about food production and preparation than to fully recover data on consumption and nutritional value (Dennell 1979: 122). Archaeology provides good information about the earliest steps in a foodway. Paleobotany can provide much information about local plant life—what was growing wild, what were crops, and what was available in higher or lower quantities. Paleobotanists, along with ceramicists, specialists in ancient technologies, and others can help us understand how plants were processed, prepared, cooked, and stored. Archaeozoologists can tell us about the animals of the ancient world; they can determine what animals were domesticated and kept as livestock, what wild game the humans may have consumed, patterns of slaughter and butchery, and trade. Advances in protocols for investigating stable isotopes and other analyses can also provide information about the environment of the animals and their patterns of movement. From this work, we can understand much about ancient foodways—but even the best paleobotany and archaeozoology operate within certain limitations. Older excavations did not necessarily recover materials like seeds, sediment samples, and animal bones, so these analyses are missing from many critical sites. Even as excavation methodology has advanced such that recovery and analysis of plant material and animal bones are now normative, the data are still subject to the chances of preservation and excavation location. Also, assessing patterns across regions or time periods is complicated by the understandable lack of consistency in available comparable material across multiple sites.

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The recovery of human remains represents a critical component of the archaeological contribution to the understanding of ancient diet and nutrition. Skeletal remains are particularly useful for assessing some of the pathologies of malnutrition, and recent advancements in sophisticated analyses of paleomicrobiology can provide data regarding the digestive systems of ancient humans. Stable isotope analysis on human remains, like other animals, can indicate patterns of environment and movement. Dental abrasion patterns and the frequency of caries and other periodontal disease can indicate something about dietary habits and food processing techniques (Smith 1991: 426). It is even possible to find organic material in sediment samples retrieved from the area of the abdomen and pelvis of individuals; this material provides information about parasites and some pathologies (Reinhard et al. 1992). However, many caveats apply. Cemetery data can skew results due to social norms regarding burial (e.g., individuals of certain social status, sex, or age may or may not be represented). These burial biases, in addition to the basic limitations of excavation, preservation, and other logistics, restrict the scope of the types of individuals researchers can access. Also, the exposure of human remains in archaeological sites sometimes presents ethical and legal challenges, particularly in the regions comprising ancient Israel, which can slow or prohibit excavation. Textual sources related to ancient Israel can provide descriptive information about agriculture, food preparation, and eating. Texts also provide an onomasticon of plants, animals, cooking terms, and food. Using ancient texts to answer questions of diet and nutrition, however, requires a critical approach, and this is especially true of the Hebrew Bible, which is not a text set down to answer modern questions about the diet of ancient Israel. The appearance of an item in a biblical narrative does not directly translate to how much or how frequently that foodstuff may have been eaten in the actual population, nor does it necessarily mean that all members of society would have had the same access to that item. Conversely, some foods may receive little or no mention in biblical texts but still have been a component of the ancient diet. So we must be deliberate with how to best utilize biblical texts in the reconstruction of the diet of ancient Israel. Other ancient textual sources also support this area of study. Sources from the rabbinic world can provide some insight regarding foods, cuisine, and lifestyle, although these texts are separated by centuries from the world of ancient Israel. Occasionally an archaeological find provides relevant written information. The Late Antique mosaic inscription from Reḥov, for example, details regulations regarding a number of plants that comprised part of the diet, including vegetables, fruits, and pulses (Vitto 1993). The Gezer Calendar, an inscription uncovered in the early twentieth century, is frequently cited as a summary of crop seasons indicating patterns of production and availability in the agricultural year of ancient Israel (but see Schniedewind 2019: 16).1 Comparative data from both the ancient and modern worlds help fill in some gaps. From the ancient world, we can look to the extensive textual, historical, and archaeological material from ancient Israel’s peers, both her geographic neighbors and those societies that thrived on her chronological borders. Here, we must be careful with exact parallels; Egypt and Mesopotamia were large, riverine polities, for example, quite different from the relatively small and environmentally varied terrain of ancient Israel. But we can use these comparanda to help identify general trends, even as we look to other sources for

1 

See Chapter 26 in this volume.

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exact details. Ethnographic research into modern Bedouin sheds light on traditional foodways by recording not only what foods are eaten by a community, but specifically how they are obtained, prepared, served, and consumed. Study of Palestinian farmers, particularly those in more remote locales, provides insight into agricultural methods, patterns of labor distribution, and variability of food products produced and consumed (Isaac 1994). While modernity has of course altered foodways of the indigenous people of the region, knowledge of their traditional practices can still be helpful in speculating about things like cooking methods and cuisine choices. Finally, we now work in a time and context that provide advanced scientific knowledge about food and nutrition, about plant, animal, and human physiology, and even those outside scientific or medical specialties can access this knowledge relatively easily. This allows the historian, archaeologist, or student of the biblical text to weigh the information from a biblical account or from the excavation square against a solid scientific framework of how the human body is influenced by diet and nutrition.

DIET Diet in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israel comprises the food and drink ingested by the populations of the land of the Bible. There are indeed many foods referenced in the Bible and many accounts of eating. We know that the Hebrew Bible is a text whose growth is attributed to a long stretch of time, and any given passage in it, including those related to our questions of food and eating, has been influenced by realities that may correspond to the Iron Age or indeed to later centuries. Although some factors, such as geography and, to a general extent, climate may be consistent across these time periods, other factors—such as demographics, technology, trade, and political pressures—were variable. To best describe the Israelite diet, we must judiciously use the biblical text, examine the archaeological record, and where relevant bring to bear comparative data from anthropology and other related fields. Parts Two and Three of this volume provide detailed discussions of different products common in ancient Israel and the ways in which they were made available and processed into foodstuffs. Taking these discussions together greatly informs how we can describe the diet of ancient Israel and what a person ate in a day, or a week, or a year. But who is this person? Our data sources—archaeology, ancient texts, comparative civilizations, and ethnographies—suggest that in ancient Israel individuals of differing situations in life would experience somewhat different relationships with food. Age, gender, household arrangement, overall health and ability, social status, religious or political station, or any number of other factors could influence a person’s access to the typical components of diet either to the benefit or detriment of that individual’s nutrition. Before considering some examples of these factors at play, it is important to summarize the typical components of the diet of ancient Israel. The Mediterranean Triad, the combination of grain, wine, and olive oil, denotes three of the main staple foods for the peoples of ancient Israel. These particular items are mentioned frequently in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Hos. 2:8), and these essential foodstuffs are also represented in ancient inscriptional material like the ostraca from Arad and, through extrapolation, by the activities mentioned in the Gezer calendar. Grains certainly factored heavily in the diet of ancient Israel, and details about species, farming practices, processing, cooking, and eating are known from biblical texts and archaeological data. Breads may have accounted for more than half of one’s caloric intake (MacDonald 2008: 19;

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Meyers 2013: 48), and grain-based food products (be they flour-based doughs, porridges, or the raw ears of grain) were likely accessible to all members of Israelite society.2 Archaeology indicates that vines have been productive in the southern Levant since the earliest periods, as they are well suited to the region. The Hebrew Bible contains many references to vineyards, grapes, and wine, and these descriptions suggest that wine was a commonplace drink.3 Similarly well suited to the environment is the olive tree, and olives provided a critical source of calories and fat for ancient Israel’s populations.4 However, oil production from olives is not a simple undertaking, requiring multiple steps, some level of expertise and degree of technology, and we cannot be certain that all members of the society in ancient Israel would have enjoyed equal access to olive oil (MacDonald 2008: 24). Scholarly discussions of the typical diet in ancient times frequently refer to a mishnaic passage as a guideline, even while acknowledging that the Mishnah dates to much later than the biblical era. Despite this caution, the passage is useful because it overtly lists the foods necessary to provide a week’s worth of meals for one woman. This so-called “food basket” does then provide an important example of an individual’s diet in ancient times, even with necessary qualifications concerning the date and genre of the text, the gender of the recipient, and any disparities between the intention of the instruction and its implementation. If a man provides for his wife through an agent, he must give her [every week] not less than two kavs of wheat or four kavs of barley. Rabbi Yose said: only Rabbi Ishmael, who lived near Edom, granted her a supply of barley. He must also give her half a kav of pulse and half a log of oil; and a kav of dried figs or a maneh of pressed figs, and if he has no [such fruit] he must supply her with a corresponding quantity of other fruit. (m. Ketub. 5:8/b. Ketub. 64b:3-6) It is worth noting that the next passages are not usually mentioned, for they deal with material items like clothing and household goods; but at the end of the whole section, the text concludes with the notation: “All this applies to a poor person in Israel, but in the case of a more respectable [husband] all is fixed according to his dignity” (m. Ketub. 5:9). Based on converting units mentioned in the basket, although these conversions have some subjective interpretations, bread and grains constitute roughly half of the caloric content, figs account for about 16 percent, pulses, a key protein source, 17 percent, and oil 11 percent (Broshi 2001: 122). Missing from the mishnaic “food basket,” however, is meat; but the meat from sheep, goat, cow, and pig constituted part of the diet of ancient Israel. Not only are these animals well known from biblical texts, but their bones are by far the most common fauna recovered in the Iron Age (and later) archaeological record (Hesse and Wapnish 2002: 484–91). While biblical texts prohibit the pig as a food source (e.g., Lev. 11:7 and Deut. 14:8), both critical reading and archaeological finds require us to acknowledge that pig meat was eaten in greater or lesser amounts during different time periods, in different geographic regions, and by various societal groups (Wapnish and Hesse 1998).5

See Chapter 22 in this volume. See Chapter 7 in this volume. 4  See Chapter 6 in this volume. 5  See also the discussions in Chapters 4, 24, 28, and 29 in this volume. 2  3 

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Some wild animals, including deer and gazelle, were also part of the ancient diet, and we see evidence of them in the archaeozoological record. Both settled populations with livestock and nomadic populations driving herds also would have had access to milk and its derivative dairy products. Goats were a primary milk source, as they lactate for more months at a time than do sheep and can produce about double the yield. Processing milk into yogurts and cheeses increased the shelf life of milk and provided populations with key access to critical nutrients like calcium, vitamins, protein, and fat. Birds, both wild and domestic, were part of the diet of at least some Israelites.6 Quail, partridge, geese, ducks, and pigeons all provided meat for consumption. The availability and use of chickens continue to pose a more complicated picture. While chickens are represented in small numbers from Iron Age sites, it is difficult to say with certainty at what point chickens were used regularly as a food source, though the faunal evidence may point to the Hellenistic period (Altmann 2019: 39–40). At Maresha, for example, one can compare the only occasional Iron Age chicken identification with the Hellenistic contexts, in which chicken bones constituted more than 13 percent of faunal material from one area, suggesting that these birds may represent a distribution route in the region. A working hypothesis to understand this diachronic change is that cocks were first kept for fighting, and from these animals chicken was later developed into a protein source (Perry-Gal, Bar-Oz, and Erlich 2015). The question of when eggs began to be exploited routinely for food is an even more opaque one. Recent excavation in the City of David has yielded at least one restorable chicken egg and many hundreds of eggshell pieces, dating to what the excavators call the end of the First Temple period. The excavators believe that their context indicates chicken eggs were a food source, and the analysis shows the eggs to be approximately the same size as a modern chicken egg (Bar Ilan University Press Release 2019). In this regard, it should be noted that most bird bones are quite small and are particularly subject to problems of preservation and recovery in excavation, so it should not be surprising that archaeozoological research in this subfield continues to evolve. Similarly, archaeozoologists have struggled with fish because older recovery techniques were not well suited to retrieve the often very small bones of most fish (Zohar and Belmaker 2003). Many works on food in ancient Israel take this previous lack of data to mean that fish were not part of the ancient diet, suggesting, for example, that because Israelites lived primarily in the hilly regions, they would have had no access to fish (Kraemer 2007: 16). But as excavation protocols have improved, fish, both fresh and saltwater, have become well attested in the archaeological record. In fact, in ancient Israel fish could be caught in the Yarkon, the Sea of Galilee, and the Jordan River or imported from the Nile, other parts of the eastern Mediterranean, and the Reed Sea. Dried fish could be traded over long distances. Excavations in Jerusalem, for example, have shown multiple species of fish from the Iron Age through the Islamic periods. At least one species, sea bream, was shown through isotope analysis to have been imported from the lagoons of Northern Sinai (Lernau and Lernau 1992); this suggests that fish were not merely an opportunistic meal but a food commodity and must be included in discussions of diet in ancient Israel. Fruits and vegetables are often grouped together in our modern food pyramids.7 The biblical imagination, however, regards only fruits rather positively and frequently uses fruit

6  7 

See Chapter 10 in this volume. See Chapter 8 in this volume.

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metaphors and imagery for favorable symbolic value (e.g., 1 Kgs. 5:5). Grapes, figs, dates, pomegranates, and tree nuts like almonds and pistachios are among the more frequently recovered and mentioned in paleobotanical studies. Vegetables, when they are mentioned, are depicted as lacking in desirability and requiring extra work to cultivate (e.g., Deut. 11:10). Cucumbers, onions, leeks, and garlic all have this reputation. But what we can see in the Hebrew Bible is that a moderate range of fruits and vegetables were known and available for food. The growing seasons in the region would mean that fresh produce would be available only at certain times of the year, though drying may have preserved these foods for later use. In the Hebrew Bible, for example, references such as 1 Sam. 30:12 or 2 Sam. 16:1 refer to figs made into mashed cakes, or perhaps strung for drying (Borowski 1987: 115). Having been preserved in these ways, these foods could also be transported or used during travel, as is the case in these Samuel passages. Paleobotanical remains also provide a substantial list of these foods in the archaeological record. Biblical texts also mention dry seeds of legumes, such as lentils and broad beans; and archaeological excavations recover field peas, chickpeas, bitter vetch, and fenugreek. Pulses offer important benefits in that they are a non-animal source of protein and can be stored for long periods. Pulses used in combination with cereals to make bread under difficult conditions appear in Ezek. 4:9, in contrast, perhaps, with the quite palatable boiled lentil stew of Gen. 25:34. This could provide some insight into the food and cuisine options available to those less privileged in Israelite society. While vegetables and pulses were cultivated, like the vegetable garden Ahab hopes to plant on Naboth’s land indicates (1 Kings 21), wild flora were foraged as well (2 Kgs. 4:39). Paleobotanical and environmental research suggests what native species were available to ancient people. Ethnographic research of traditional populations (as by Carol Palmer in Jordan and Aref Abu Rabia in Israel) further demonstrates the numerous ways in which wild plant species are part of a society’s foodways. Even in the rare green spaces of urban East Jerusalem, women seasonally collect bags of mallow, probably the ḥalamut of Job 6:6, or, as it is perhaps better well known, khobeiza, to prepare the Palestinian dish of the same name. As a leafy green, mallow is a good source of crucial vitamins and minerals. While it is not a major source of calories, foraging provides dietary components necessary for adequate nutrition. In addition to these familiar food groups, other comestibles would have played some role in the Israelite diet. Some condiments, such as honey, are known from biblical texts.8 While syrup may have been made from fruits like dates, bee honey was also known and used. The biblical story of Samson demonstrates that people understood gathering honey from wild bees (Judg. 14:8-9). A complex and substantial apiary, providing archaeological evidence for the organized exploitation of bee honey, has been discovered at Iron Age Reḥov (Mazar and Panitz-Cohen 2007). The Dead Sea region provided easily accessible salt and other minerals, as it still does. There is some evidence as well for various spices like cumin, coriander, laurel, and sage (Benzaquen, Finkelstein, and Langgut 2019: 42), and some members of ancient society had access to exotic spices such as cinnamon and saffron. Herbs may be relevant both in terms of their addition to cuisine and also as wild flora. Palmer’s study (2002) of modern Bedouin foodways notes that wild aromatic herbs

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like wormwood in the grazing areas of herds add to the terroir of milk products made in the southern parts of Jordan and considered more desirable than those from the north. Finally, as in most societies ancient and modern, it seems likely that humans would have also ingested or smoked intoxicating substances. Residues from a collection of ritual objects from Iron Age Yavneh were found to include the substance scopolin, a known and still-used hallucinogen derived from plants in the Hyoscyamus family, along with other botanicals known to produce altered states (Namdar, Amrani, and Kletter 2015: 219– 20). Biblical texts mention various drinks with intoxicating properties (note the šēkār, “strong drink,” often listed together with wine, e.g., Lev. 10:9; 1 Sam. 1:15), though grape wine seems to be the most common. Wine may have served as a regular beverage in ancient societies where potable water was not easily accessible, and perhaps some of the antiseptic properties of wine were intentionally or inadvertently exploited to make water safer to drink. While beer was a staple in Egypt and Mesopotamia, it is not as fundamental a potable in the Hebrew Bible.9 The archaeological record, however, does provide evidence of ancient beer consumption; for example, at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi, Philistine ceramic vessels used for beer have been recovered. These vessels yielded samples of ancient yeast, and researchers have been able to brew fermented drinks using these recovered yeasts (Aouizerat et al. 2019). Plant and animal remains can represent many stages in an ancient foodway, from crop harvesting, to food preparation, to the rubbish of an eaten meal. In addition to subsistence in a given location, where the assemblage of commodities at a site represents a closed foodways system, archaeologists can also occasionally identify movement of animals and foods through trade. Iron Age market economies with trading centers can be seen through careful analysis of robust faunal assemblages, and these remains can indicate when the population was a consumer of animal goods from markets, for example, at Iron Age Reḥov (Marom et al. 2009: 17). Ethnographic comparanda from Palestinian Bedouin also provide examples of how tribal foodways are not closed systems. Trade of animals and their products varies according to location, season, and other cultural factors (Abu Rabia 1994) and can result in an individual’s shifting dietary patterns. With all of these variables, the picture is rarely one simplified generalization, but rather it is most likely that many different foodways operated simultaneously (e.g., Lev-Tov, Porter, and Routledge 2011). While the types of foodstuffs available can be generalized, usage patterns in different regions and between sites were certainly varied. Availability of agricultural crops and foods processed from them may vary due to (un)favorable microenvironments, storage capacities, fuel availability, family, or local human resources. Data showing animal exploitation for meat must be tempered with consideration of market economies, political pressures such as Assyrian vassal requirements, immigration and population changes, and availability of wild game, which would mitigate this data for specific segments of the population or specific individuals. While acknowledging these variations, we can consider the extent to which the grains, fruits, vegetables, meats, and other products that must have been the typical components of diet in ancient Israel nourished its consumers.

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NUTRITION In the last half century, those wrestling with this topic questioned whether archaeological investigation had the ability to answer questions of nutrition because of the natural limitations of the discipline, including the chance of recovery and differential preservation of osteological material and difficulty in determining population estimates (e.g., Dennell 1979). But excavation methodologies and scientific analyses have progressed, and some answers are now closer than before. For example, a number of methods have been used for calculating how many people lived in a given area and how much agricultural produce that area might have been able to sustain on a regular basis. Surveys might indicate how much land a particular settlement had under cultivation, and often silos or other storage facilities are used to estimate volumes of produce. Population density coefficients are multiplied by the size of a settlement to formulate demographics (Broshi and Finkelstein 1992; Shiloh 1980). Domestic space can be used to calculate how many families lived in a location, and these numbers might show how much human and animal power would be available to farm a certain amount of land. However, even when “typical” Iron Age houses are in their floruit, their sizes exhibit an impressive amount of variability within sites, and these differences are not usually given significant consideration in family size estimates (Routledge 2009). Ethnographic observations correlating human and animal numbers within a family or village may be applied to ancient sites, and there is some debate about the security of transferring these modern trends back in time (Sasson 1998). In order to arrive at more answers concerning ancient nutrition, we must consider the foodstuffs available and likely eaten, then determine what kind of nutrition profile these foods would provide, and finally attempt some understanding of the experience of a person who consumed this diet. All the sources for the Israelite diet corroborate that grain and associated products like bread were at the heart of the typical foodway and comprised the majority of daily caloric intake. We have significant textual and archaeological evidence regarding the growing of different types of grains, such as varieties of wheat and barley.10 As noted above, information from the Mishnah indicates that grains, and bread specifically, made up at least half of an individual woman’s diet. Differing cereals held hierarchical levels of desirability, and while these distinctions carried social currency, as seen in biblical passages, for example, they also may have translated to nutritional disparity. Barley, while hardier and able to tolerate more difficult or unpredictable soil conditions, is generally considered inferior to wheat in terms of food product outcomes. It has a lower extraction rate than wheat, so less soft flour is produced during grinding from the same initial amount of barley, the flour requires more water to produce normal dough, and the overall volume of the baked bread is typically less. Farmers and their dependents who did not have the resources (including water, or desirable soil locations) to grow a majority wheat crop, and who were dependent on barley for one of their main carbohydrate sources, were recovering less usable foodstuff for the same amount of labor and investment as someone able to grow more wheat. Broshi (2001: 125) suggests that three hours on a hand mill could produce flour for one day for a family of five or six, rendering this discrepancy even more significant, as any lack of resources, including time, from planting crops to

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preparing bread dough, would translate to caloric discrepancies among individuals of differing means in ancient Israel. A diet of primarily cereals does not offer ideal nutritional support for most human adults. Deficiencies in Vitamins C and A would be expected, as would the potential for iron deficiencies, because cereals that have high levels of bran and phytate can inhibit iron absorption (Sallares 1991: 275). We have already seen that certain cultivated and foraged greens provided sources of these vitamins, but these greens were likely procured on an individual or household scale. Dairy products could supplement cereals and provide some of the nutritional resources that cereals alone do not provide, including animal protein. Milk and milk products are mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, but they are not always evident in the archaeological record. We can see some evidence of dairy availability in culling patterns of livestock, where female animals are kept to mature ages to give milk, but the production and consumption of dairy can suffer from “invisibility,” as the necessary equipment can be minimal and perishable. Palmer’s study (2002) of traditional foodways in Jordan details the process of making dairy products and the critical role that women of the household have both in the logistics of production but also in choices of serving and consumption. Certain dairy products are thought to increase the “specialness” of an otherwise grain-based meal. While this addition may have cultural value, the addition of protein and fat also balances the nutritional value of the meal. Meat also supplied balance to a heavily grain-based diet by providing protein, iron, and other nutrients as well as additional calories. Because slaughter and meat have special positions within the ideological world of biblical Israel, there is sometimes an inclination to estimate low levels of meat consumption, since meat as a rare specialty can make sense within the religious or social constructs of ancient Israel. And while meat-eating is indeed something special in biblical narratives (e.g., Gen. 18:7; 1 Sam. 9:24) and animal slaughter is bound up intimately with cult, the faunal assemblages do demonstrate regular meat production during most of the Iron Age, though there are highs and lows, and changes in animal preference (Hesse and Wapnish 2002: 484–91; MacDonald 2008). These fluctuations and preferences are influenced by regional and sometimes site-specific variables, again highlighting the many similar, but not identical, diets in ancient Israel. In some locations, utilization of cattle continually becomes more intense over time, such as at Yoqne’am, where cattle numbers reach their highest in the Iron IIB (Horwitz, Bar Giora, Mienis, and Lernau 2005). Pig exploitation tapers off in the highlands and in the lowlands of Judah, but increases in northern lowlands, like the Jezreel Valley in the Iron IIB (Sapir-Hen, Bar-Oz, Gadot, and Finkelstein 2013). Over the course of the Iron II period, there is an increase at Lachish of sheep raised to maturity, indicating a primary focus on wool production with older animals then exploited for meat (Croft 2004). During the same period, at Tel Harrasim, an initial strategy producing both meat and secondary products from sheep and goat shifts slightly to become primarily focused on meat (Maher 1998). Despite specific differences, the faunal remains point to a sustained and regular availability of meat, even if it was not a daily meal for most people. While meat would have provided additional calories and protein, various B vitamins, and iron, there is at least anecdotal evidence that it could also be a vector for disease and by extension poor nutrition. Evidence from coprolites (fossilized feces) has shown that both tapeworm and whipworm were present in ancient Israel and were likely sourced from undercooked meat and possibly the use of sewage in the fertilization of farmed fields. For ancient people infected by these parasites over long periods of time, anemia,

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vitamin deficiencies, and general weight loss from digestive dysfunction can occur (Zias 1997). Evidence of nutrition from human remains is not uniform as available data are not always statistically significant or adequately comparable across sites and time, but some skeletal evidence indicates nutritional deficiencies. Dental analysis allows for the identification of differences in food sources or cooking preparations (e.g., baked vs. boiled foods result in differing patterns of tooth abrasion) as well as certain pathologies. In some recovered individuals, greater severity of dental hypoplasia points to chronic malnutrition that interfered with the normal development of the teeth (Peretz and Smith 2004). Certain kinds of bone lesions can be a result of anemia or a deficiency of iron. These types of pathologies have been recovered in the archaeological record, though it is not always possible to posit causality between a nutritional deficit and a particular skeletal finding. Age and sex were important factors in an individual’s experience with food and nutrition. Women and young children may have experienced additional nutritional pressures that adult men did not. Infant mortality rates reached as high as 50 percent in an infant’s first year of life. While there are many causes of death in infants and young children, one factor, especially for very young infants, is low birth weight, which can, in turn, be connected to overall maternal health (Garroway 2018: 223). Women with nutritional pressures would be at greater risk to have pregnancy complications. Maternal nutrition also affects the success of breastfeeding. While the availability of data is limited, isotope analysis has been used to investigate ancient breastfeeding and weaning practices. Evidence from the Roman period in Egypt indicates the introduction of animal milk around six months of age and the cessation of breastfeeding around three years (Dupras, Schwarcz, and Fairgrieve 2001: 204). More research around these issues also furthers our understanding of the health of a community and the growth of its population since breastfeeding and weaning practices affect fertility and family systems. Variation in nutrition according to sex or gender is not definitive in the archaeological record, but there are some indications that females may have had more difficulty in obtaining adequate nutrition than males. Some evidence comes from greater-thanexpected differences in stature between males and females, suggesting that the growth of females was restricted by poor nutrition (Arensberg 1987: 28). Stable isotope analysis on osteological evidence from the greater region in the same time period also points to varied diet based on sex and age, with adult males benefiting the most nutritionally, possibly through the consumption of more meat (Dupras, Schwarcz, and Fairgrieve 2008). Along with some regional archaeological examples, we can also consider that the mishnaic “food basket,” designated for a (poor?) woman, does not include meat or wine and largely supplies a diet of cereals. While the numbers do suggest a reasonable number of calories, the foods themselves are rather minimal with regard to a desirable distribution of nutrients. The realities of women’s access to nutritional resources are evident in ethnographic work that records traditional serving and eating practices in which adult men are more likely to receive the most nutritionally valuable calories (Palmer 2002). Likely class or status differences translated to nutritional variations in ancient Israel. Comparative material from the early fourth century CE describes how a wealthy traveler in the Roman East purchases good, fine bread for himself, and less appealing, coarse bread for his slaves (Matthews 2006: 92, 118). Biblical texts provide ample indication of the differences in social rank within ancient Israel, so it seems likely that the ability of one’s diet to support one’s body relied very much on the position held in society.

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As Matthews points out (2006), however, the slaves were adequately provisioned as they are physically able to perform their travel duties, even if their fare was considered less desirable. We might consider whether this point can apply to many segments of the population in ancient Israel—they may have made do with less desirable or plainer while not often facing imminent starvation. Famine was certainly known in ancient Israel as it is clearly a familiar cultural trope in many Hebrew Bible narratives.11 Given daily life as seen in the archaeological record, it would seem that actual famine conditions, characterized by an immediate crisis of total food systems collapse, were rare. Instead, food shortage, endemic hunger, and chronic malnutrition were probably more commonly experienced. These are conditions under which humans can live, even if their overall health is not optimally supported. To mitigate the damage these conditions would have on the nutrition levels of a community, strategies could be implemented, such as storage, risk spreading, and having plans for backup, and no doubt less desirable, sources of food. The relatively recent understanding of fish consumption in the biblical world provides an example.12 The rather large array of fish species represented in excavation material, such as freshwater barbels, Nile perch, members of the tilapia family and marine sea breams, members of the grouper and mullet families, suggests that communities may have used fish as a way to maintain multiple sources of food, which places less pressure on any one food source. Even less well understood or documented is the extent to which mollusks and crustaceans may have played either a predictable or an emergency role in ancient food supplies (Horwitz et al. 2005: 401–4). Turning raw materials into resources that could be stored in the long term, such as olive oil or certain cheese products, also serves as a hedge against crisis. Ethnographic comparanda suggest that foraging would also serve as a supplement when more regular food sources were compromised. Like many agrarian societies, ancient and modern, people in the lands of the Bible used risk spreading of all kinds to increase their odds of fulfilling nutritional needs from disparate sources (Hopkins 1985: 213).

CONCLUSION Ancient Israel covers a long chronological period of nearly a thousand years. Diet and nutrition look different for highland villages in the Iron Age and urban dwellers of the Hellenistic era. This diachronic change is also one of identity and social meaning as the evolution of diet and food choices becomes tied up with early Jewish questions of identity, social discourse, and political realities. Therefore, while much of the ancient diet can be identified, and references to food items and eating practices in texts and evidence in the archaeological record can be discerned, we recognize that each individual experienced food in one particular way. Variations in diet would be noticeable in subgroups of the larger population: pastoralists living on the fringes of settlement may have had a diet richer in dairy and poorer in meat; those with social or religious status living in monarchic Jerusalem may have enjoyed more meat and oil; those living in an area with ample arable land and more rainfall would have known a cereal-heavy diet and probably had more access to wild game; and those in a market location may have had access to more unusual food items, perhaps fish traded over long distances. Seasonality and changing economic

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and political conditions would add another layer of complexity to the availability of food products and their amounts. The topographic, climatic, and physical realities of ancient Israel made it a conglomeration of many environments in rather close proximity. This means that people living within one or two days’ travel of each another might be living with radically different amounts of annual rainfall, soil fertility, and available arable land. The diet of ancient Israel is best understood as a number of dietary variations on a broad theme, depending on an individual’s home microenvironment. While biblical texts can be a source of important information about the foodways of ancient Israel, we must remember to be measured and responsible in our analysis of its information. Its onomasticon of foodstuffs does provide useful guidance in understanding the items known and used in ancient diet, but it cannot indicate with certainty who ate any or some or all of those items. Nevertheless, in common scholarly parlance, we frequently encounter the diet most typical of the Judean highlands and the Jerusalem elite, especially when a work leans more heavily on biblical texts to guide its assessment of foods consumed. This is not an accusation but rather a call for explicit referencing in this regard. Traditional biblical interpretations sometimes romanticized the early period of settlement in ancient Israel as an egalitarian, idealized society. Through this lens, one might think that food distribution was equitable, but archaeological and osteological evidence suggests that different members of society enjoyed varying amounts of food products based on age, sex, and status. The archaeological record is also less forthcoming concerning questions of how much of a food product any one individual actually ate, even if we are able to cobble together accurate mathematical per capita figures on production and access. Since all animal husbandry requires some amount of culling, meat must have been available to some extent in many communities. But we still wrestle with fully answering exactly how often, and how much, and for whom. Ultimately, logic dictates that a large enough percentage of inhabitants of the kingdoms of Israel and Judah had a nutritious enough diet to survive, since their civilization constitutes the very substance of this study. Even so, all of the data sources recognize that certain segments of the population would have experienced food insecurity and nutritional pressures during their lifetime. Even those who had a secure grain-based diet may have experienced less overall health due to chronic nutritional deficiencies. But ancient Israel enjoyed foodways that were productive enough to maintain a population, to allow some to thrive and be able to engage in the cultural, religious, and political activities that best define this period.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. See next comment. Foodways begin with the production of basic resources, and farming practice informs what we know about diet and by extension nutrition. Borowski offers a useful compilation of agricultural practices and food production relevant to the biblical period. Ebeling, J. R. (2010), Women’s Lives in Biblical Times, London: T&T Clark. Food production, particularly the heavily grain-based diet of ancient Israel, cannot be separated from the work of women. The role of women in the foodways of ancient Israel

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is addressed in this book and in Meyers (2013) below, but more importantly these works provide a broad context for women’s lives and demonstrate the interconnectedness of all the roles that women play in maintaining the success of agrarian societies. Hopkins, D. (1985), The Highlands of Canaan: Agricultural Life in the Early Iron Age, SWBA 3, Sheffield: Almond. Hopkins details the agrarian world of the Early Iron Age and especially highlights the variability of the environmental and natural diversity with which those producing and consuming food in ancient Israel had to reckon. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. MacDonald marshals evidence from biblical texts, archaeology, anthropology, and relevant scientific fields to detail what foodstuffs likely comprised the diet of people living in ancient Israel; and he evaluates the ability of these foods, including their quantities and distribution patterns, to provide adequate nutrition. Meyers, C. (2013), Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context, New York: Oxford University Press. See comment above at Ebeling (2010).

REFERENCES Abu Rabia, A. (1994), The Negev Bedouin and Livestock Rearing: Social, Economic, and Political Aspects, Mediterranea 3, Oxford: Berg Publishers. Altmann, P. (2019), Banned Birds: The Birds of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14, Archaeology and Bible 1, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Aouizerat, T. et al. (2019), “Isolation and Characterization of Live Yeast Cells from Ancient Vessels as a Tool in Bio-Archaeology,” mBio 10, no. 2: e00388–19, DOI: 10.1128/ mBio.00388-19. Arensberg, B. (1987), “Human Remains,” in A. Ben-Tor and Y. Portugali, Tell Qiri: A Village in the Jezreel Valley: Report of the Archaeological Excavations, 1975–1977: Archaeological Investigations in the Valley of Jezreel: the Yoqneʿam Regional Project, 27–33, Qedem 24, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Bar Ilan University Press Release (2019), “Archaeology Researcher Reconstructs Chicken Eggs from the City of David,” April 15. https://www1.biu.ac.il/indexE.php?id=33&pt=20&pid =4&CHcPath=4&type=1&news=3318 Benzaquen, M., Finkelstein, I., and Langgut, D. (2019), “Vegetation History and Human Impact on the Environs of Tel Megiddo in the Bronze and Iron Ages: A Dendroarchaeological Analysis,” TA 46: 42–64. Borowski, O. (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Broshi, M. (2001), “The Diet of Palestine in the Roman Period: Introductory Notes,” in M. Broshi (ed.), Bread, Wine, Walls, and Scrolls, 121–43, JSPSup 36, London: Sheffield Academic. Broshi, M. and Finkelstein, I. (1992), “The Population of Palestine in Iron Age II,” BASOR 287: 47–60. Croft, P. (2004), “Archaeozoological Studies. Section A: The Osteological Remains (Mammalian and Avian),” in D. Ussishkin (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), Vol. 5, 2254–348, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Dennell, R. W. (1979), “Prehistoric Diet and Nutrition: Some Food for Thought,” World Archaeology 11: 121–35.

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Dupras, T. L., Schwarcz, H., and Fairgrieve, S. I. (2001), “Infant Feeding and Weaning Practices in Roman Egypt,” American Journal of Physical Anthropology 115: 204–12. Dupras, T. L., Schwarcz, H., and Fairgrieve, S. I. (2008), “Dining in the Dakhleh Oasis: Determining Diet from Stable Isotopes,” in M. F. Wiseman and B. E. Parr (eds.), The Oasis Papers 2: Proceedings of the 2nd International Conference of the Dakhleh Oasis Project, 119–28, Oxford: Oxbow. Garroway, K. H. (2018), Growing Up in Ancient Israel: Children in Material Culture and Biblical Texts, ABS 23, Atlanta: SBL Press. Hesse, B. and Wapnish, P. (2002), “An Archaeozoological Perspective on the Cultural Use of Mammals in the Levant,” in B. J. Collins (ed.), A History of the Animal World in the Ancient Near East, 457–91, HdO (1) 64, Leiden: Brill. Hopkins, D. (1985), The Highlands of Canaan: Agricultural Life in the Early Iron Age, Sheffield: Almond. Horwitz, L. K., Bar-Giora, N., Mienis, H. K., and Lernau, O. (2005), “Faunal and Malacological Remains from the Middle Bronze, Late Bronze and Iron Age Levels at Tel Yoqneʿam,” in A. Ben-Tor, D. Ben-Ami, and A. Livneh (eds.), Yoqneʿam III: The Middle and Late Bronze Ages: Final Report of the Archaeological Excavations (1977–1988), 395–436, Qedem Reports 7, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Isaac, J. (1994), “Dryland Farming in Palestine” [white paper], Bethlehem: The Applied Research Institute-Jerusalem. https://www.arij.org/files/admin/1994-1_Dry_Land_Farming_ in_Palestine.pdf Kraemer, D. (2007), Jewish Eating and Identity Through the Ages, New York: Routledge. Lernau, H. and Lernau, O. (1992), “Fish Remains,” in A. de Groot and D. Ariel (eds.), City of David Excavations Final Report III, 131–48, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Lev-Tov, J. S. E., Porter, B. W., and Routledge, B. E. (2011), “Measuring Local Diversity in Early Iron Age Animal Economies: A View from Khirbat al-Mudayna al-ʿAliya (Jordan),” BASOR 361: 67–93. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Maher, E. F. (1998), “Iron Age Fauna from Tel Harasim Excavation 1996,” in S. Givon (ed.), The Eigth[sic] Season of Excavation at Tel Harassim (Nahal Barkai) 1997 [Hebrew/English], 13*–25, Tel Aviv: Bar Ilan University Martin (Szusz) Department of Land of Israel Studies. Marom, N., Mazar, A., Raban-Gerstel, N., and Bar-Oz, G. (2009), “Backbone of Society: Evidence for Social and Economic Status of the Iron Age Population of Tel Reḥov, Beth Shean Valley, Israel,” BASOR 354: 1–21. Matthews, J. (2006), The Journey of Theophanes: Travel, Business and Daily Life in the Roman East, New Haven: Yale University Press. Mazar, A. and Panitz-Cohen, N. (2007), “It Is the Land of Honey: Beekeeping at Tel Reḥov,” NEA 70: 202–19. Namdar, D., Amrani, A., and Kletter, R. (2015), “Cult and Trade in Yavneh through the Study of Organic Residues,” in R. Kletter, I. Ziffer, and W. Zwickel (eds.), Yavneh II: “The Temple Hill” Repository Pit, 214–23, OBO.SA 36, Fribourg/Göttingen: Academic Press/ Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Palmer, C. (2002), “Milk and Cereals: Identifying Food and Food Identity among Fallāḥīn and Bedouin in Jordan,” Levant 23: 73–95. Peretz B. and Smith, P. (2004), “Dental Morphology and Pathology of MB Populations,” ‘Atiqot 46: 45–9.

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Perry-Gal, L., Bar-Oz, G., and Erlich, A. (2015), “Livestock Animal Trends in Idumean Maresha: Preliminary Analysis of Cultural and Economic Aspects,” Aram 27: 213–26. Reinhard K. J., Geib, P. R., Callahan, M. M., and Hevly, R. H. (1992), “Discovery of Colon Contents in a Skeletonized Burial: Soil Sampling for Dietary Remains,” JAS 19: 697–705. Routledge, B. (2009), “Average Families? House Size Variability in the Southern Levantine Iron Age,” in P. Dutcher-Walls (ed.), The Family in Life and Death: The Family in Ancient Israel: Sociological and Archaeological Perspectives, 42–60, LHBOTS 504, New York: T&T Clark. Sallares, R. (1991), The Ecology of the Ancient Greek World, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Sapir-Hen, L., Bar-Oz, G., Gadot, Y., and Finkelstein, I. (2013), “Pig Husbandry in Iron Age Israel and Judah: New Insights Regarding the Origin of the ‘Taboo,’” ZDPV 129: 1–20. Sasson, A. (1998), “The Pastoral Component in the Economy of Hill Country Sites in the Intermediate Bronze and Iron Ages: Archeo-Ethnographic Case Studies,” TA 25: 3–51. Schniedewind, W. (2019), “The Gezer Calendar as an Adaptation of the Mesopotamian Lexical Tradition (Ura 1),” Sem 61: 15–22. Shiloh, Y. (1980), “The Population of Iron Age Palestine in the Light of a Sample Analysis of Urban Plans, Areas, and Population Density,” BASOR 239: 25–35. Smith, P. (1991), “The Dental Evidence for Nutritional Status in the Natufians,” in O. Bar-Yosef and F. Valla (eds.), The Natufian Culture in the Levant, 425–32, Ann Arbor: International Monographs in Prehistory. Tsutaya, T. and Yoneda, M. (2015), “Reconstruction of Breastfeeding and Weaning Practices Using Stable Isotope and Trace Element Analyses: A Review,” AJPA 156: 2–21. Vitto, F. (1993), “Rehob,” NEAEHL 4: 1272–4. Wapnish, P. and Hesse, B. (1998), “Pig Use and Abuse in the Ancient Levant: Ethnoreligious Boundary-Building with Swine,” in S. M. Nelson (ed.), Ancestors for the Pigs: Pigs in Prehistory, 123–35, MASCA Research Papers in Science and Archaeology 15, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Zias, J. (1997), “Diseases and Their Treatment in Ancient Israel from a Palaeopathological Perspective,” Qadmoniot 113: 54–9. [Hebrew] Zohar, I. and Belmaker, M. (2003), “Size Does Matter: Methodological Comments on Sieve Size and Species Richness in Fishbone Assemblages,” JAS 32: 635–41.

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CHAPTER 20

Too Much Food and Drink: Gluttony and Intoxication REBEKAH WELTON

INTRODUCTION The Rebellious Son (Deut. 21:18-21) is described, in English versions, as “a glutton and a drunkard,” but this is unlikely to be a correct understanding of the original Hebrew and is more likely to refer to the ritual context of eating as opposed to the quantity consumed (Welton 2020: 224–78). Explicit laws or warnings against eating large quantities of food are on the whole absent from the Hebrew Bible. In order to better understand the cultural associations of eating and drinking excessively, implicit indications of consumption in large quantities must be considered. What is viewed as normative consumption in one culture may well be considered gluttonous by another. Additionally, while intoxication is the biochemical effect of consuming alcohol, the amount that is considered “too much” varies between cultural contexts. The social anxieties and cultural preferences surrounding food and its consumption are built on a variety of social aspects, including religious regulations, ethical values, economic sanctions, and the availability of resources. Consequently, while archaeological approaches are imperative for uncovering the foodstuffs of a culture and their associated processes such as farming, storage, and cooking, texts provide a much-needed source of information for understanding the subtler, culturally constructed anxieties and preferences associated with food and alcohol. Excessive consumption of both food and alcohol requires by its very nature access to large quantities of these resources. The majority of the Israelite and Judahite population lived in an agro-pastoral context and implemented what Aharon Sasson terms a “survival subsistence strategy” (Sasson 2010: 6–14). Food production and preparation were aimed at sustaining the household while keeping resources at optimal levels and the storage of food was necessary to guard against starvation during times of famine, disease, and drought (Sasson 2010: 6–14). Scarcity, rather than abundance, was the norm for this agro-pastoral group. By contrast, the elite minority of the ancient Israelite population had access to larger quantities of food, wine, and beer and could more easily engage in conspicuous consumption. It is therefore this latter group that we find most frequently targeted with criticism regarding their consumption habits in biblical texts. The following brief review suggests that when plentiful or luxurious foods and their consumption are presented negatively in biblical texts, it appears to be the context, rather than the quantity being consumed, which is problematic.

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CRITICISM OF EXCESSIVE CONSUMPTION IN ELITE CONTEXTS Recent anthropological and ethnographic research on feasting, helpfully analyzed by Michael Dietler, has identified three major classifications of feast: empowering feasts, patron-role feasts, and diacritical feasts (2001: 75–89). Diacritical feasts are those in which consumption is used as a “symbolic device to naturalize and reify concepts of ranked differences in the status of social orders or classes” (Dietler 2001: 85). Rather than using feasting events to create commensality and reciprocal bonds between differentiated social groups, diacritical feasts are statements of “unequal” and “exclusive” membership in an elite group (Dietler 2001: 85). The diacritical dynamic of feasting is evident in Amos 6:4-7, in which the foods and other aspects of elite feasting are critiqued: Alas for those who lie on beds of ivory,   and lounge on their couches, and eat well fed lambs from the flock,   and fattened calves who sing idle songs to the sound of the harp,   and like David improvise on instruments of music; who drink wine from basins,   and anoint themselves with the finest oils,   but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph! Therefore they shall now be the first to go into exile,   and the marzēaḥ of the loungers shall pass away.1 While it is likely that the author of Amos caricatures the feasting of elites here, it is the penultimate line of this excerpt that reveals why the activities of these people are reprimanded. Joseph (Israel) crumbles, the poor are oppressed, and the vulnerable are wronged, while elites in their cities luxuriate in idyllic surroundings. They occupy their time tinkering on musical instruments and consuming opulent foodstuffs—a diacritical feast indeed. Dietler specifies that such feasts are differentiated by their high-status materiality, including rare, expensive, or exotic foods or food ingredients. Or they may be orchestrated through the use of elaborate food-service vessels and implements or architectonically distinguished settings that serve to ‘frame’ elite consumption as a distinctive practice even when the food itself is not distinctive. (Dietler 2001: 86) The setting of ivory couches, perhaps in a specific marzēaḥ house,2 testifies to the “architectonically distinguished settings” that are typical of diacritical feasts. Shalom Paul (1991: 205) comments anachronistically that “these epicurean gourmets dine on

Translations my own unless otherwise stated. A marzēaḥ appears to be an institution or feasting practice with a divine patron and was associated with an elite group who could own property, including vineyards. For further information, see McLaughlin (2001), and Chapter 18 in this volume. 1  2 

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nothing less than chateaubriand, or the most tender, tastiest, and choicest of meats.” The sentiment is correct; young, well-fed lambs rather than grown sheep, and young fatted calves rather than grown cows or oxen, are consumed. These young, fattened animals are rare commodities, only affordable to elites who did not rely on a survival subsistence strategy for food, as the majority of the population did. For ordinary Israelites, animals were kept alive in order to provide the household with dairy products, wool for clothing, dung for fuel, and traction power for growing crops (Sasson 2001: 59–61). The elites in the passage above are able to slaughter their animals for conspicuous consumption as they are not dependent on their animals for their dairy products or plowing power as most people were. The language used in Amos thus specifies and highlights the social and economic expense of the meat being consumed. The animals to which Amos refers are raised to be eaten; they are not animals whose roles were primarily to provide the household with more sustainable contributions. As Dietler also articulates in the quotation above, it is not only food at an elite feast that creates the diacritical separation from ordinary people. Vessels, implements, and the setting also establish an elevated distinction. The beds of ivory and the couches on which the feasters lounge in Amos 6:4 furnish the space of consumption; they are clearly manifestations of opulence and sophistication. Musical instruments, and by implication, those with the expertise to play them, accompany the consumption, further distancing this festal setting from that of most agricultural and pastoral gatherings. Claude Grignon comments that music or dance, in what he terms “segregative commensality,” “enhances communicative exaltation, allowing a lowering of censure and reserve,” which creates “exceptional commensality” (Grignon 2001: 29). It may also be the case that music had a ritual or magical quality in these contexts, which would thus further enhance the elite context of the festal setting. By strengthening the social bonds between the elites via music and other exclusive activities, they also become more restrictive toward other social groups. This social consumption runs counter to the usual sense of commensality that stretches across social boundaries, and therefore expands social groups, at large community feasts. Here in Amos 6:4-6 the elite feasting serves to restrict and make distinctive the elites’ social context, and separate disparate groups further still by restricting those who participate in their elite commensality. Multiple elements of the feast indicate the cultic nature of the marzēaḥ feast in Amos 6:4-7. The elites anoint themselves with “the finest oils” in v. 6. The act of anointing was also evocative of an elevated, if not divine or sacred, status. Only kings, priests, prophets, and religious objects3 were anointed with oil (McLaughlin 2001: 103). This ritual act during a marzēaḥ feast is deeply suggestive of the extent to which the author of Amos wishes to portray the feasters as consecrated or “set apart” from others. So too does the word for the bowls from which the feasters drink wine allude to the unique nature of the consumption. The term “basin” is used thirty times in the Hebrew Bible for vessels used in the Jerusalem temple that were filled with fine flour and oil for the grain offerings to Yahweh (e.g., Num. 7:13). The usual vessel used for drinking wine in the Hebrew Bible is a “cup”; which is even used to indicate Yahweh’s cup of wine (Jer. 25:15; 51:7; Ps. 75:8). The absence of the term “cup” and the use instead of the conspicuously large “basin” emphasizes the unique nature of the feast. The elite feasters, therefore, appear to

Objects include, for example, ritual food (Exod 29:2), altars (Exod. 29:36), standing stones (Gen. 31:13), the Tent of Meeting, and the Ark as well as their cultic furnishings and utensils (Exod. 30:25-7; 40:11). 3 

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consume wine from a vessel that is both conspicuously large and conspicuously associated with the temple—and thus indexes divine consumption.4 Grignon suggests that at such feasts, the elites’ pleasure is exacerbated by the lack of those who are not participating: [T]he group shows itself so freely to itself only because it is out of sight of strangers— what part of the memorable pleasure that the participants get from the meeting is due to the feeling of the deprivation of the “others” (who do not even know “what they are missing”). (Grignon 2001: 29) If this sentiment is true, the elites may be experiencing increased levels of enjoyment due to the devastation that threatens Israel. Indeed, it appears to be the feasters’ apathy toward the poor that is at issue in this text, rather than the quantity of the food eaten. Amos 5:21-24 offers Yahweh’s perspective on the feasters’ activities: I hate, I despise your festivals,   and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings,   I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals   I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs;   I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters,   and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. The marzēaḥ has failed; the ritual feast was intended to facilitate Yahweh’s presence as the patron deity, but Yahweh has not participated in the revelry due to the lack of righteousness and care toward the impoverished. The offerings in the book of Amos are inappropriate because they are given by the rich (1) for personal enjoyment and gain (insincerity) and (2) at the expense of the poor (violation)… In the context of Amos 5.24, the deity indicates that had the gifts been accompanied by just and righteous behavior, they would have been acceptable. However, the rich are insincere in their offerings—they abuse the poor, enjoy their wealth at lavish offertory banquets, and expect Yahweh to bless their endeavors in return for the offerings. For this reason, the festival in 5.21-24 is a ritual failure (DeGrado 2020: 191). In a similar vein, Yahweh directs this accusation at the city of Sodom in the book of Ezekiel: “This was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy” (Ezek. 16:49). While the text does not state whether the elites of Sodom amassed their prosperity by exploiting the vulnerable, it is nevertheless seen as problematic that in their economic comfort the elites provided no aid to those in dire circumstances.

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For further discussion regarding the cultic overtones of this marzēaḥ feast, see Greer (2007).

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At the feasts of ordinary people, individuals or small groups came together to form a larger gathering in which food could be shared, allowing bonds to be constructed and maintained across social units. This promotes harmonious relationships and deters animosity or conflicts between groups. As Carol Meyers notes, “these suprahousehold bonds were critical for community survival in the precarious subsistence economy of ancient Israel” (2012: 159). The support network created by the reciprocal commensality at feasts could be the difference between life and death in severe environmental conditions or times of disease, as each would likely feel indebted to one another and therefore obligated to lend aid. By excluding the most vulnerable groups at diacritical feasts, this vital commensality is subverted by the Israelite elites in the texts above. At a time when so much food is accessible to the elites, shared consumption would be most beneficial to other struggling strata of society. But instead of enhancing community bonds and solidarity, the elites are fracturing the social network. The idea that excessive consumption is problematic in a relational way to those who are not partaking in the same level of ingestion also seems to be the key issue in other prophetic texts. This point is made explicitly in Jer. 5:26-28: For among my people are found wicked men; They lie in wait as one who sets snares; They set a trap; They catch men. As a cage is full of birds, So their houses are full of deceit. Therefore they have become great and grown rich. They have grown fat, they are sleek; Yes, they surpass the deeds of the wicked; They do not plead the cause, The cause of the fatherless; Yet they prosper, And the right of the needy they do not defend. A caged bird is fed by its owner and does not have to toil for food; this perhaps suggests that these elites have also not worked for their fattening foods. Instead they have been satisfied through the exploitation of those more vulnerable and have disregarded their duties to judge and defend. Jack Lundbom refers to this corruption as a violation of both “covenant law and common decency” (1999: 411), and Robert Carroll sees it more as a manipulation of social strata rather than a situation of “apostasy.” Neither, however, suggest the problem at hand is the consumption, which leads to fattening. Growing fat at the expense and neglect of others is the issue here, rather than the consumption itself; eating in excess is not seen to be directly problematic for Yahweh (1986: 189). Amos 4:1 echoes the sentiments of other biblical examples: “Hear this word, you cows of Bashan who are on Mount Samaria, who oppress the poor, who crush the needy, who say to their husbands, ‘Bring something to drink!’” Violence against the poor is the order of the day; this abuse is what the biblical authors believed was the cause of Yahweh’s wrath and consequent punishment of the Israelite elites. Here, the elite women are specifically portrayed as entitled and ignorant in relation to their over-indulgence; they demand that their husbands serve them, when serving roles would usually have been a woman’s domain (Meyers 2002: 19–28). Interestingly, the modified status of women in elite festal settings is also a distinguishing factor in diacritical feasts generally. Rather than

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there being more defined gender roles, such as women being food preparers and servers, men and women become “commensal partners” in elite contexts (Dietler 2001: 91). The indulgences of these elites are criticized only in the stark contrast of the oppressed and possibly for their active implementation of exploitative ventures. While it may appear that the elites are admonished because of their lifestyle, it is the surrounding, contrasting context of the helpless masses that makes it the target of rebuke.

EXCESSIVE CONSUMPTION AS BLESSING A scene of intense, excessive consumption by animals occurs in the book of Ezekiel: So you will eat fat until you are glutted and drink blood until you are drunk, from my sacrifice which I have sacrificed for you. You will be glutted at my table with horses and charioteers, with mighty men and all the men of war’, declares the Lord Yahweh. (Ezek. 39:19-20) The animals and birds invited by Yahweh to feast on the human corpses of a defeated army in Ezekiel 39 are told that they will consume so much that they will be completely full or satiated. The verb here translated “glutted,” is often translated “satisfied,” “full,” or “sated” (see, e.g., Joel 2:19), but these renderings do not capture the full meaning of the word (Coggins 2000: 46). The intensity of Ezekiel’s vision of this great feast is purposely emphasized by the uncontrolled, animalistic ravaging of these corpses and subsequent “glutting.” Some commentators have found the passage to be overly gruesome: The remainder of this frame paints a picture of unrestrained gluttony at Yahweh’s table. Yahweh encourages the beasts and birds to gorge themselves with the flesh. … The literary images sketched here must have been shocking for a person as sensitive to cultic matters as Ezekiel … How the priestly prophet reacted to this horrifying image one may only speculate. (Block 1998: 477; cf. Wevers 1969: 294) Offensive though these images may be to modern sensibilities, they demonstrate the nature of the feast and perhaps the intention of the biblical writers to depict an element of horror and the grotesque. It is therefore clear that the choice of the word “glutted” in Ezekiel 39 has been consciously selected to depict consumption of the highest degree. It is not just “having enough”—this is feasting par excellence: eating until it is impossible to take another bite, and drinking until it is impossible to take another sip. Consequently, the translations “engorged” or “glutted” stand out as best capturing the sense of the word, as it conveys the idea of going beyond the point of satiation to what I would term “engorgement.” Yahweh encourages this behavior—he is sacrificing for their benefit (v. 19), and the result of this consumption is that his glory will be known among the nations (v. 21). In other texts, engorgement is also portrayed as a blessing or gift from Yahweh. In Jer 31:14 Yahweh says: “I will drench the appetite of the priests with fatness and my people will be engorged with my bounty.” Yahweh is presented as wanting his people to be able to eat to engorgement after the exile. There is no sense in which this consumption is seen as deviant or socially condemned. Indeed, in Joel it is the former state, of having no food, that is seen as shaming:

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I am sending you    grain, wine, and oil,    and you will be engorged; and I will no more make you    a mockery among the nations. (Joel 2:19) It is the restoration of food and the ability to eat as much as possible that enables the Judahites to be raised up as Yahweh’s people, no longer ridiculed for their weakness and lack of food. Indeed, Ps. 37:19 reads: “Yahweh knows the days of the blameless, and their heritage will abide forever; they are not put to shame in evil times, in the days of famine they will be engorged.” In a context in which the norm is scarcity and survival subsistence strategies are implemented to maintain security in the resource base of the household, having enough food to become engorged was likely imagined to be a blessing. It is unlikely that, given the opportunity, eating large amounts of food would ever be discouraged as being an immoral act for most ordinary Israelites. The charge of gluttony was probably not even a meaningful concept for those utilizing a survival subsistence strategy given that scarcity was the norm and the opportunity to consume abundant food was considered a blessing. This blessing is articulated most clearly in Deut. 11:13-15: If you will only heed his every commandment that I am commanding you today— loving Yahweh your God, and serving him with all your heart and with all your soul— then he will give the rain for your land in its season, the early rain and the later rain, and you will gather in your grain, your wine, and your oil; and he will give grass in your fields for your livestock, and you will eat and be engorged. In this text, engorgement—and the circumstances it requires—results from obedience to Yahweh’s commandments. The divine blessing of rain allowed for the continuing fertility of the land, crops, and animals—and, therefore, the people. By behaving in the correct social way, through obedience to the commandments, Yahweh’s response is the reward of plenty. Diana Lipton comments: “This focus on food as an incentive or bargaining tool is hardly surprising. Nothing else in an agrarian society is at once so absolutely essential and so obviously beyond human control” (2018: 254). Fertility, and the resulting ability to eat and become engorged, is overwhelmingly positive; the people are not discouraged from enjoying the bounty of the promised land. In other biblical texts this blessing of abundant food is more specifically aimed at the poor and vulnerable: “the poor shall eat and be engorged; those who seek him shall praise Yahweh. May your hearts live forever” (Ps. 22:26). Similarly, Ps. 132:15 states: “I will abundantly bless its provisions; I will engorge its poor with bread” (cf. Ps. 37:19). In Isa. 58:10-11, this care for the poor is encouraged by way of promising that Yahweh will return the gesture: If you offer your food to the hungry    and engorge the appetite of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness    and your gloom be like the noonday. Yahweh will guide you continually,    and engorge your appetite in parched places,    and make your bones strong.

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This text reiterates the point made earlier that proper or improper food usage has both social and divine repercussions. Here those repercussions are positive and focus on the physiological impact food has on the body. If the wealthy ensure the poor are nourished, then Yahweh will make the wealthy strong should they ever find themselves without food. In this way, social relationships that expand beyond the elite and incorporate the poor are encouraged in this text by emphasizing the positive social impact on the elite’s relationship with Yahweh. Fullness, or engorgement, from food provided by Yahweh inculcated the knowledge that Yahweh was the Israelites’ God. In the account of the wilderness wandering in Exodus, the Israelites complain they do not have enough food and wish to be back in Egypt where they “sat by fleshpots” (Exod. 16:2-3). Yahweh provides them with quails for meat and manna for bread, stating: “I have heard the complaining of the Israelites; say to them, ‘At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall be engorged with bread; then you shall know that I am Yahweh your God’” (Exod. 16:12). It is through eating the sustenance provided by Yahweh and having an embodied experience of engorgement created by Yahweh’s bounty that the Israelites were able to build a relationship with Yahweh. For most Israelites and Judahites, having enough food was a central concern and therefore abundance was viewed as a divine blessing. For the elites, on the other hand, rare and expensive foods, as well as luxurious dining environments, were enjoyed at the expense of the poor and vulnerable citizens around them. Such is the core biblical criticism of their consumption; feasting in and of itself was seen to be a positive occurrence that fostered commensality and security among and between social groups. The subversion of this practice by excluding non-elites was therefore threatening to society as a whole, and something that also seemed to subvert socioreligious ideals about Yahweh’s bounty being accessible for all.

CRITICISM OF DRUNKENNESS IN ELITE CONTEXTS Drunkenness is presented as most detrimental and harmful when consumed by those in positions of responsibility and authority. The potential for this to occur was likely quite high as people in such positions also belonged to the wealthier portion of the Israelite or Judahite population. Being wealthy meant greater access to large amounts of alcohol, particularly wine, as well as the freedom to spend time recreationally. Such a scenario is portrayed in Prov. 23:29-35 in which the author warns against the repeated drinking of large quantities of red wine. It is reasonable to assume that this text was aimed at elites as ordinary Israelites were unable to acquire large quantities of wine, nor were they able to sacrifice their time to drinking and its effects when daily labor was required for the survival of the household. Beer, on the other hand, was much cheaper to produce by ordinary people, increased the caloric value of grain harvests, killed harmful bacteria in water, and was much less alcoholic than wine (Ebeling and Homan 2008: 52–3). The disparity between the rich and the poor is seemingly acknowledged by the king’s mother (v. 1) in Prov. 31:4-9: It is not for kings, O Lemuel,    it is not for kings to drink wine,    or for rulers to desire beer5;

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On understanding šēkār as beer see Ebeling and Homan (2008) and Chapter 5 in this volume.

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or else they will drink and forget what has been decreed,    and will pervert the rights of all the poor. Give beer to one who is perishing,    and wine to those with a bitter heart; let them drink and forget their poverty,    and remember their misery no more. Speak out for those who cannot speak,    for the rights of all the destitute. Speak out, judge righteously,    defend the rights of the poor and needy. There is an apparent anxiety in this text that the kings and rulers who spend too much time drinking beer and wine will be unable to perform their duties. To judge justly or righteously is to maintain order and prevent chaos from creeping in as a result of wrongdoing and civic unrest. Inebriation may cause rulers to forget what has been decreed, which could harm those in poverty. Instead, a good king or ruler should protect those who are vulnerable and defend them. The passage then continues to explain that alcohol need not be avoided by the poor themselves. Rather, drinking may aid the poor in forgetting their troublesome situations. The text is a neatly structured instruction: kings should not drink so that they do not forget the poor, while the poor should drink so that they may forget. It suggests that those who do not have voices, who do not have a responsibility to communicate on behalf of the divine in order to perform divine justice, do not risk adulterating their ability to carry out this role of mediation. There is, however, a sinister edge to this passage: the king’s mother, in her position of wealth and privilege, does not display genuine concern for the poor, but instead offers alcohol as a means to silence the desperate pleas of the downtrodden (Stiebert 2012: 271–5). Indeed there are self-interests at play here, as drinking to forget the woes of poverty means the poor masses will not rise up against the wealthy. Thus, while both instructions may superficially aim toward the maintenance of social order from the perspective of the royal elite, there is a failure to carry out real, tangible justice. True suffering is not alleviated by simply handing out wine and may instead actively contribute to continued oppression (Stiebert 2012: 272). The book of Isaiah includes several rebukes regarding people in positions of authority who get drunk. Isaiah 5:11-12 emphasizes the revelry and frivolity of elites who are able to drink from the early morning until night: Woe to you who rise early in the morning    in pursuit of beer, who linger in the evening    to be inflamed by wine, whose feasts consist of lyre and harp,    tambourine and flute and wine, but who do not regard the deeds of Yahweh,    or see the work of his hands! What is at issue here is not the quantity of wine and beer being consumed but the priorities of the drinkers: as long as they have everything that makes their carousing pleasant—music played while they drink, and wine—they no longer ask what Yahweh has to say about

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their activities. Note here that drinking, or the focus on drink, causes an impairment to vision and perception. The author of Isaiah states that the elites do not “see” the work of Yahweh’s hands; in other words, they have descended into chaos and are at a distance from the ordered creation of Yahweh. Justice cannot be served in this drunken state. A later verse from this same chapter further compounds the elites’ misconduct: Ah, you who are mighty ones in drinking wine    and valiant at mixing beer, who acquit the guilty for a bribe,    and deprive the innocent of their rights! (Isa. 5:22) Stiebert (2002: 95) observes that while, traditionally, honor would be indexed by wealth, in First Isaiah cultural preference is subverted and instead wealth becomes “condemned.” Specifically in these passages, it is wealth correlated by the consumption of alcohol that is targeted. A sarcastic tone is taken by the author of Isaiah here, sardonically remarking that the drinkers’ masculinity is being bolstered in their ability to consume beer and wine. In Isa. 5:22 “mighty” is used ironically to criticize the mean who distinguish themselves through their wine consumption (Lipka 2017: 187–8 n.18). The act of drinking in conspicuously large quantities is similarly gendered in other ancient texts, including the Ugaritic text KTU 1.3 I 2-27 and the Iliad 9. In the former, Baal uses a large goblet described thus: “A large imposing vessel, a rhyton for mighty men; a holy cup women may not see. … A thousand jars he drew of the wine, a myriad he mixed in his mixture.” Similarly, in Iliad 9 Achilles commands Patroklos: “set up a mixing-bowl that is bigger, and mix us stronger drink, and make ready a cup for each man” (lines 202–4). Mark S. Smith goes as far as to say that drinking large quantities of alcohol is a “standard trope for warrior culture” (2014: 178; see also Wyatt 2002: 405). This trope is inverted in Isa. 5:22, where masculinity is evidenced in executing justice and protecting the weak, not in out-drinking others. The drinkers are mocked for their alcohol-infused self-aggrandisement, and additionally may be emasculated because of the predominant association between beer and women (Ebeling and Homan 2008). It is not just kings who are admonished for drinking too much. Other elites, such as priests and prophets, are also the target of the condemnation in Isaiah, perhaps to a greater extent than royalty: These also reel with wine    and stagger with beer; the priest and the prophet reel with beer,    they are confused with wine,    they stagger with beer; they err in vision,    they stumble in giving judgment. All tables are covered with excrement and vomit;    no place is without it.6 (Isa. 28:7-8)

Some translations insert “clean” here, but this is too loaded with notions of ritual cleanliness to warrant its insertion in the English when it is not in the Hebrew text. 6 

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This text is one of the most striking and graphic portrayals of drunkenness in the Hebrew Bible. Even at the time it was likely shocking to an ancient audience that the priests and prophets, those meant to be upstanding and holy, would get so excessively drunk that their cult tables, or altars, are painted with vomit and perhaps excrement: “What reasonable king would listen to the advice of disgusting drunken fools wallowing in their own vomit and excrement?” (Roberts 2015: 350). Joseph Blenkinsopp similarly notes that the drunken condition of the priests and prophets left them unable to carry out their required roles of religious instruction and intercession between the deity and the people (2000: 388–9). The emphasis on instability (reeling, staggering, and stumbling) is particularly problematic given the assumed need for stability and uprightness in a figure of religious authority. The same was required for cult statues of divinities in ancient southwest Asia; several prophetic texts mock Babylonian deities who were unstable and unreliable lest humans fastened them down to prevent their toppling over. For example, Isa. 40:20 states: “As a gift one chooses mulberry wood—wood that will not rot—then seeks out a skilled artisan to make firm an idol that will not topple” (cf. Isa. 41:7; Jer. 10:4). An unstable cult statue is not performing its required role as a potent figure of divinity; it must be upright and steady, which signals both efficacy and authority. The priests and prophets who reel and stumble are unstable, undignified, and unauthoritative. Religious bodies must be whole, steadfast, and clean. That the tables are covered with vomit and filth is diametrically opposed to the priests’ role as those who maintain a separation between that which is and is not “clean.” Although vomit and excrement are not cast as ritually unclean in the Hebrew Bible, there is a sense in which this spectacle renders the priests unable to see what is clean and unclean (cf. Lev. 10:9-10). Another context in which drinking too much has negative consequences is in instances of military confrontation or other physical attacks. These cases are usually presented as narrative plot points to render certain parties vulnerable to attack (2 Sam. 13:28; 1 Kgs. 16:8-10; 20:12), but those drinking are not viewed as having done something deemed morally dubious akin to the priest who cannot perform his cultic duties or a king who neglects the poor. Instead, drunken vulnerability is used as device to render an elite character that the text wishes to portray negatively, such as a foreign king (1 Kgs. 16:810; 20:12) or the rapist Amnon (2 Samuel 13), comically helpless in the face of danger. Similarly, when Noah becomes drunk and lies in his tent naked (Gen. 9:20-27), he is rendered vulnerable, but the text does not place any moral deficiency in Noah’s action of becoming drunk (Brueggemann 1982: 89). As the above discussion demonstrates, drunkenness is deeply problematic if those with high-status social and cultic responsibilities drink in an inappropriate context. Ritual specialists or other ruling, judicial authorities are upbraided if they drink at the wrong time of day or so regularly that over time they forget what has been decreed for the rest of the population. These biblical extracts should not be taken as evidence that the Hebrew Bible as a whole condemns drinking alcohol. Instead it is the very specific context of elites with responsibilities who are reprimanded for their unfitting behavior.

DRUNKENNESS AS BLESSING One of the most prevalent associations of drunkenness in the Hebrew Bible is the joyful or merry mood experienced by the drinker:

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But the vine said to them,   “Shall I stop producing my wine    that cheers gods and mortals,    and go to sway over the trees?” (Judg. 9:13) In the above extract, even the personified vine knows the elation that wine can induce in both humans and deities. Several narratives mention merriment in relation to drunkenness. For example, when Nabal holds a large feast in 1 Sam. 25:36-7, we are told “the heart of Nabal was merry within him for he was very drunk” (v. 36). In other cases, the text does not need to mention drunkenness in particular but only notes that the drinkers’ or banqueters’ hearts have become merry: “Now the lords of the Philistines gathered to offer a great sacrifice to their god Dagon, and to rejoice. … And when their hearts were merry they said, ‘Call Samson, and let him entertain us’” (Judg. 16:23-25).7 It appears that this metaphor for drunkenness was so well known that it was used to refer to alternative causes of joyfulness: “Then the people of Ephraim shall become like warriors, and their hearts shall be glad like with wine” (Zech. 10:7). Alcohol’s ability to make somebody happy is apparently the underlying notion in Prov. 31:6-7: “Give beer to one who is perishing, and wine to those with a bitter heart; let them drink and forget their poverty, and remember their misery no more.” The association between joy and drunkenness is overwhelmingly positive and even seen as a form of blessing that is both provided and approved of by God. The jouissance of drunkenness is most starkly prominent when prophetic texts discuss the loss or retraction of wine and beer: Joy and gladness are taken away    from the fruitful field; and in the vineyards no songs are sung,8    no shouts are raised; no treader treads out wine in the presses;    the vintage-shout is hushed. (Isa. 16:10; cf. Jer. 48:33) These words are spoken by Yahweh about Moab (Isa. 16:13), a region that earlier in the chapter is said to have been renowned for its wine trade (vv. 8-9). The wine harvest was traditionally accompanied by singing and shouting in celebration of the successful crop and future festivities that having wine would facilitate. The magnitude of the punishment depicted in Isa 16:10; 24:7-11 and Jer. 48:33 is neatly stated by Walter Brueggemann: The wine-making will stop and with it all glad occasions of profit, blessing, and imbibing. The poet anticipates an abrupt end to all joy and celebration so characteristic of the community. The regular patterns of social life which generate celebration, wellbeing, and identity are all halted; in their place come grief and mourning. (1991: 242–3)

See also Judg. 9:27; 19:6, 9, 22; 2 Sam. 13:28; 1 Kgs. 4:20; Ruth 3:7; Eccl. 8:15; 9:7; 10:19; Esth. 1:10. Note Ps. 69:12 in which beer-drinkers are also depicted as singers: “I am the subject of gossip for those who sit in the gate, and the beer drinkers make songs about me.” 7  8 

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What is highlighted here is the social importance and impact of getting drunk in a communal gathering. While the loss of drunkenness means a loss of joy, it also marks the loss of convivial community gatherings, which would solidify inter-community bonds and strengthen shared identities (Meyers 2012: 159). These passages draw on the interrelation of agricultural life with social life. Food and fertility are necessary for the continuation of the social: “The poem makes clear how much the taken-for-granted well-being of social life is dependent upon the ecological system of the food chain, a system that is fragile and completely dependent upon the sustenance of the creator” (Brueggemann 1998: 192). If the ecological system is dependent on the deity, then the joy received from drunkenness is also dependent on the deity. The breakdown of sociality is marked by the end of wine. Joyful music would also have accompanied the feasts themselves as well as the harvesting activities, the lack of music mirrors the lack of alcohol in the following passage: The wine dries up,    the vine languishes,    all the merry-hearted sigh. The mirth of the hand drums is stilled,    the noise of the jubilant has ceased,    the mirth of the lyre is stilled. No longer do they drink wine with singing;    beer is bitter to those who drink it. The city of chaos is broken down,    every house is shut up so that no one can enter. There is complaining in the streets for lack of wine;    all joy has reached its eventide;    the gladness of the earth is banished (Isa. 24:7-11). Here, Yahweh depicts the impending doom he will send, not just to one nation, but to the whole earth (v. 6). The lack of alcohol is depicted as if a cloud of depression and oppression has descended on the world. Beer too cannot help: “Beer has become bitter to those who drink it” (v. 9). Lack of alcohol epitomizes lack of joy. Chaos rules in the wake of the absence of beer and wine as these are markers of social order and community. Joel 1:5 echoes the same sentiment: “Wake up, you drunkards, and weep; and wail, all you wine-drinkers, over the grape juice, for it is cut off from your mouth.” The hopelessness and disorder that Yahweh will send to the world as punishment is presented as a lack of drunkenness.9 The book of Ecclesiastes offers an extended assessment of the joy of drinking, though it is often also paired with eating. In 10:19 the author states: “Feasts are made for laughter; wine gladdens life,” echoing the sentiment found elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. Qohelet states that he will begin a sort of experiment: “I searched with my mind how to cheer my body with wine—my mind still guiding me with wisdom—and how to lay hold on folly, until I might see what was good for mortals to do under heaven during the few days of their life” (Eccl. 2:3, NRSV). Qohelet seems to decide that there is no worthwhile way to live life (Eccl. 2:12-23); however, the author then concludes in v. 24 saying, “There

See also Hag. 1:6a: “You have sown much, and harvested little; you eat, but you are not engorged; you drink, but you do not become drunk.” 9 

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is nothing better for mortals than to eat and drink, and find enjoyment in their toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God.” Such a message is repeated a further four times throughout the book of Ecclesiastes in 3:13, 5:18, 8:15, and 9:7. The final discussion of drunkenness in Ecclesiastes takes the message one step further: “Go, eat your bread with enjoyment, and drink your wine with a merry heart; for God has long ago approved what you do” (Eccl. 9:7). Drinking alcohol and the enjoyment or elation that is then experienced is actually approved of by God: “Since one’s capacity to enjoy life depends on a divine gift, anyone who can eat and drink must enjoy divine favour … Divine approval precedes human enjoyment” (Crenshaw 1988: 162). What this effectively means is that the joy experienced in drunkenness, is derived from God’s divine favor. God approves of drunkenness because it brings joy. Krüger takes this one step further in saying that “if one relates 9:1 to the insecurity of human beings over God’s ‘love’ or ‘hate’ towards them, here the way is shown to overcome it” (2004: 171). Remarkably, this text seems to be suggesting that God displays love through one’s enjoyment and pleasure in eating and drinking, that is, in drunkenness. The idea that inebriation is a gift or blessing from Yahweh is visible in other texts from the Hebrew Bible. Psalm 104:14-15 lists the agricultural products that God produces and sustains for humans to have a satisfying life: You cause the grass to grow for the cattle,    and plants for people to use, to bring forth food from the earth, and wine to gladden the human heart, oil to make the face shine,    and bread to strengthen the human heart. God is one who brings forth wine specifically for the primary role of it gladdening the heart in this text which demonstrates the overall positive regard this author had towards drunkenness. This Psalm suggests that the fermented quality of wine that brings joy via drunkenness is also a God-given gift or blessing. A text from Isaiah reiterates the idea that grape juice itself is a blessing: Thus says Yahweh: As the wine is found in the cluster,    and they say, “Do not destroy it,    for there is a blessing in it,” so I will do for my servants’ sake,    and not destroy them all. (Isa. 65:8) The understanding that wine is a blessing found within clusters of grapes is presented as a known saying or proverb in this text. Perhaps it refers to the idea that vine growers were reluctant to throw away or waste grapes because the juice they contained was an inherently good and divinely given substance. Indeed, multiple texts correlate successful wine harvests and abundance of wine as rewards from God: “May God give you of the dew of heaven, and of the fatness of the earth, and plenty of grain and wine” (Gen. 27:28, cf. Prov. 3:9-10). This theme also occurs in promises made for the future of the Israelites: “He will love you, bless you, and multiply you; he will bless the fruit of your womb and the fruit of your ground, your grain and your wine and your oil” (Deut. 7:13; cf. Joel

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3:17-18; Amos 9:13-14). By contrast, a failed grape harvest is regarded as a divine curse or punishment: “You shall plant vineyards and dress them, but you shall neither drink the wine nor gather the grapes, for the worm shall eat them … all these curses shall come upon you, pursuing and overtaking you until you are destroyed, because you did not obey Yahweh” (Deut. 28:39-45).10 These texts and the discussion of eating and drinking for pleasure in Ecclesiastes demonstrate that drinking to feel elated, that is, being drunk, was not only regarded positively but also as a phenomenon provided by Yahweh because it was desired by Yahweh for humans. Indeed, in the “new creation” after the flood, a vineyard is the first crop to be planted (Gen. 9:20); and the utopic vision of restoration in Amos 9:13-14 also includes grape trading, wine drinking, and mountains dripping with grape juice. Yahweh’s ordered creation intentionally includes wine. It appears to be a received cultural idea that the merriment experienced from imbibing large quantities of alcohol was regarded as proof of God’s favor.

CONCLUSION Yahweh is portrayed as the provider of the earth’s growth and abundant resources, and thus biblical texts depict food and alcohol as divine gifts that should be accessible by all. The consumption of large quantities of food and alcohol at feasts encouraged sociality, secured communal survival, and engendered joy and merriment. Biblical texts deem such excessive consumption positive most of the time except when certain segments of the population are in some way excluded or disadvantaged. Most ordinary people were not able to eat excessively due to the survival subsistence strategy they were required to implement in order to maintain a stable household. The wealthier segments of society are criticized in biblical texts for eating excessively if the impoverished of society were excluded from the conspicuous feasting of the elites and left without aid. Alcohol consumption is condemned if those getting drunk neglect their responsibilities of authority in cultic and royal contexts. The quantity of food or alcohol consumed is never the pivotal aspect that marks one act of eating and drinking as “wrong” compared to another in biblical texts. Instead it is the use of food in inappropriate contexts and the damaging social ramifications of consumption that are culturally critiqued. For the biblical authors, food and drink are only “too much” when other people have very little, or a sober mind is required to carry out specialist cultic or judicial duties.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Dietler, M. (2001), “Theorizing the Feast: Rituals of Consumption, Commensal Politics, and Power in African Contexts,” in Michael Dietler and Brian Hayden (eds.), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, 65–114, Tuscaloosa: The University of Alabama Press. A key text in the study and analysis of feasts and their social effects. Hill, S. (2011), Eating to Excess: The Meaning of Gluttony and the Fat Body in the Ancient World, Oxford: Praeger. This monograph offers a broad overview of excessive consumption and fatness in a range of ancient contexts extending beyond the biblical period.

10 

See also Hos. 9:2; Mic. 6:15; Zeph. 1:13; Hag. 1:6, 11.

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Homan, M. M. (2004), “Beer, Barley and ‫ רכׁש‬in the Hebrew Bible,” in R. E. Friedman and W. H. C. Propp (eds.), Le David Maskil: A Birthday Tribute for David Noel Freedman, 25–38, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. This chapter was one of the first to properly engage with the role of beer in the diet of ordinary Israelite and Judahite households. Sasson, A. (2010), Animal Husbandry in Ancient Israel, London: Equinox. This monograph is a brilliant source for understanding how ordinary people in ancient Israel used a survival subsistence strategy to ensure their households survived and uses a wealth of archaeozoological data, which is clearly presented. Steel, L. and Zinn, K. (eds.) (2016), Exploring the Materiality of Food “Stuffs”: Transformations, Symbolic Consumption and Embodiments, London: Routledge. An innovative collection of chapters that readdress issues relating to food production and consumption, which encourage us to reflect on previous assumptions relating to food in the ancient world. Welton, R. (2020), “He Is a Glutton and Drunkard”: Deviant Consumption in the Hebrew Bible, Leiden: Brill. This monograph provides an overview of the ritual uses of food and alcohol, non-normative and deviant modes of consumption and offers a new interpretation of the accusation of being a glutton and a drunkard as found in Deut. 21:18-21 and Prov. 23:20-21.

REFERENCES Blenkinsopp, J. (2000), Isaiah 1-39: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 19, New York: Doubleday. Block, D. I. (1998), The Book of Ezekiel Chapters 25-48, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Brueggemann, W. (1982), Genesis, Atlanta: John Knox. Brueggemann, W. (1991), To Build, to Plant: A Commentary on Jeremiah 26-52, ITC, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Brueggemann, W. (1998), Isaiah 1–39, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Carroll, R. P. (1986), Jeremiah: A Commentary, London: SCM. Coggins, R. J. (2000), Joel and Amos, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Crenshaw, J. L. (1987), Ecclesiastes: A Commentary, London: SCM. DeGrado, J. (2020), “An Infelicitous Feast: Ritualized Consumption and Divine Rejection in Amos 6.1–7,” JSOT 45: 178–97. Dietler, M. (2001), “Theorizing the Feast: Rituals of Consumption, Commensal Politics, and Power in African Contexts,” in M. Dietler and B. Hayden (eds.), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, 65–114, Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press. Ebeling, J. R. and Homan, M. M. (2008), “Baking and Brewing Beer in the Israelite Household: A Study of Women’s Cooking Technology,” in B. Alpert Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 45–62, Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Greer, J. S. (2007), “A Marzeaḥ and a Mizraq: A Prophet’s Mêlée with Religious Diversity in Amos 6.4-7,” JSOT 32: 243–62. Grignon, C. (2001), “Commensality and Social Morphology: An Essay of Typology,” in P. Scholliers (ed.), Food, Drink and Identity: Cooking, Eating and Drinking in Europe since the Middle Ages, Oxford: Berg.

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Lipka, H. (2017), “Shaved Beards and Bared Buttocks: Shame and the Undermining of Masculine Performance in Biblical Texts,” in I. Zsolnay (ed.), Being a Man: Negotiating Ancient Constructs of Masculinity, London: Routledge. Lipton, D. (2018), From Forbidden Fruit to Milk and Honey: A Commentary on Food in the Torah, Jerusalem: Urim. Lundbom, J. R. (1999), Jeremiah 1-20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 21A, New York: Doubleday. McLaughlin, J. (2001), The Marzēaḥ in the Prophetic Literature: References and Allusions in Light of the Extra-Biblical Evidence, Leiden: Brill. Meyers, C. (2002), “Having Their Space and Eating There Too: Bread Production and Female Power in Ancient Israelite Households,” Nashim 5: 14–44. Meyers, C. (2012), “The Function of Feasts: An Anthropological Perspective on Israelite Religious Festivals,” in S. M. Olyan (ed.), Social Theory and the Study of Israelite Religion, RBS 71, Atlanta: SBL Press. Paul, S. (1991), A Commentary on the Book of Amos, Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress. Roberts, J. J. M. (2015), First Isaiah: A Commentary, Minneapolis: Fortress. Sasson, A. (2010), Animal Husbandry in Ancient Israel, London: Equinox. Smith, M. S. (2014), Poetic Heroes: Literary Commemorations of Warriors and Warrior Culture in the Early Biblical World, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Stiebert, J. (2002), The Construction of Shame in the Hebrew Bible: The Prophetic Contribution, London: Continuum. Stiebert, J. (2012), “The Peoples’ Bible, Imbokodo and the King’s Mother’s Teaching of Proverbs 31,” BibInt 20: 271–5. Welton, R. (2020), “He Is a Glutton and Drunkard”: Deviant Consumption in the Hebrew Bible, Leiden: Brill. Wevers, J. W. (1969), Ezekiel, London: Nelson. Wyatt, N. (2002), Religious Texts from Ugarit, 2nd edn., London: Sheffield Academic.

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CHAPTER 21

Too Little Food and Drink: Hunger and Fasting PETER ALTMANN

INTRODUCTION When there is too little food and drink, there is always a problem. While a statement of the obvious, this declaration forms the common basis for considering fasting and hunger in the Hebrew Bible and much of its historical and literary context, whether focusing on an unrequited lover avoiding food, a community abstaining from food in the face of an invasion, or hunger as a divine punishment for human (Israel’s) iniquity. In order to investigate these themes, this chapter provides an overview of the appearances, meanings, and ancient Near Eastern contexts of hunger and fasting in the Hebrew Bible. It starts by attempting to understand hunger and famine as phenomena within the range of concrete historical experiences confronting the groups responsible for the biblical texts and their audiences. These historical insights shed considerable light on texts speaking of both hunger and fasting discussed below.

DEFINITIONS: HUNGER AND THIRST VERSUS FAMINE Hunger and thirst stand distinct from famine, which concerns widespread death throughout a geographic region because of lack of food and drink (Arnold 1988: 5–28; Dando 2012; Murton 2000). Despite this sociological distinction, the biblical terminology does not provide different terms for these experiences—rā‘āb can mean either group hunger or famine, depending on the context—including a range of degrees of severity in between these two end points. While not emphasized in the LXX, which renders rā‘āb almost exclusively as limos (“hunger/famine”), the use of sitodeia (“want of food”) in Neh. 9:15 proves insightful because, like modern English (and German) translations that also use “hunger/hungry,” it shows some differentiation in the degrees of shortage. Surprisingly, in texts from the broader Greek world, a clear distinction does emerge between famine (limos) and food shortages, which the texts express with many other terms (Garnsey 1988: 18; Rovira-Guardiola 2012). Noting the range of Greek terms has significance for grasping the complexity of the social reality behind the biblical texts; the Greek vocabulary for hunger indicates that biblical texts mentioning hunger, famine, and fasting can include nuances of malnutrition, seasonal hunger, vitamin deficiencies, or nutrition-influenced diseases. Therefore, on analogy with classical antiquity (Garnsey 1988: xi), this continuum allows for a more

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valid conclusion that famines took place infrequently in the ancient southern Levant but that inhabitants experienced hunger on a regular basis at the preharvest time of the spring as well as at other times throughout their lives, depending on their socioeconomic status (Altmann 2014).

CAUSES OF FOOD SHORTAGE: ENVIRONMENTAL VERSUS SOCIAL FACTORS Some scholars turn predominately to climatic patterns in order to explain experiences of hunger and famine in antiquity (e.g., Zwickel 2012). However, sociological studies of the phenomenon of hunger (Arnold 1988: 45–6) indicate that few if any purely weather or climate-induced emergencies concerning hunger or famine occur; rather, politics play a central role. Marauding armies, especially in spring and summer, destroyed growing crops and ate the ripe produce, as illustrated in biblical texts (e.g., Judg. 6:3-4). However, Israelite armies were forbidden to destroy food-bearing trees, which took years to mature (Deut. 20:19-20). Furthermore, as seen in 2 Kgs. 6:25, 28-29, one of the main scourges accompanying a siege by an invading army was the shortage of food in a fortified city: a donkey’s head sold for eighty shekels in Samaria (2 Kgs. 6:25). This does not mean that environmental factors played no role in numerous biblical depictions. First, 1 Kings 17–18 reports a drought lasting three years and leading to a lack of food even as far as Zarephath in Sidon, outside the land of Israel. In response, the Israelite king Ahab and his servant Obadiah must search for pasture for their livestock. Similarly, some kind of environmental, or perhaps insect or fungus-induced, disaster may underlie the seven-year period of hunger (NRSV “famine”) in the Joseph narrative (Gen. 41:54–47:26). However, the text mentions no specific cause for this period of food shortages, and Joseph’s actions in fact prevent widespread famine, thereby providing a counterexample to the notion of environmentally induced famine. A wise leader could provide for their people, even in the face of general crop failure. A second counterexample appears in the Late Bronze Age international relations between Egypt and Hatti. A number of literary sources document grain shipments from Egypt to Hatti and Ugarit in the thirteenth century bce. Especially if the failure of grain stores in Ugarit and Hatti because of environmental factors precipitated these shipments, it demonstrates that political factors—in this case relationships between significant empires and also with client states—could mitigate the catastrophic results of the lack of adequate food (Knapp and Manning 2016: 121; Zwickel 2012). The records of political actions that keep populations from starvation should not, however, overshadow the difficulties surrounding the production of sufficient food for the flourishing of human (and animal) life. The fact that the challenge of growing sufficient food appears already in the Primeval History (Gen. 3:17-18) indicates the severe difficulty surrounding Israelite efforts to grow food crops (see Meyers 2012: 140–2); their labors would be a significant struggle with “thorns and thistles.”1 Likewise various projections place the failure rate for crops in the ancient southern Levant at approximately every third year (MacDonald 2008: 56). Numerous blessings and curses also reflect the physical realities and related existential concerns of the biblical authors and their audiences: Lev. 26:3-4: “If you follow my decrees … I will send you rain in its season, and the ground

1 

I am using my own translations of Hebrew Bible texts unless otherwise noted.

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will yield its crops and the trees their fruit”; vv. 18-20: “If after all this you will not listen to me … I will make the sky above you like iron and the ground beneath you like bronze … your soil will not yield your crops” (see also Deut. 28:22-24). Biblical texts typically interpret plenty and paucity as divine responses to Israel’s obedience or lack thereof (Robertson 2010: 101). The overlap between human and environmental causes appears in the prophetic books of Joel and Nahum. Joel 1–2 comprises judgment oracles depicting an invasion of locusts (1:4) portrayed “like a nation going up upon my land” (1:6). Similarly, Joel 2:2-9 describes a “nation great and mighty” coming to ravage Judah. In both cases, the description could indicate a human army or a swarm of locusts, and the imagery overlaps. Either way, the destruction concerns food sources. For example, 2:3 states: “Like the Garden of Eden [was] the land before it, and after it a desolate desert.” Related to this shared imagery is the fact that the cause for swarms of locusts in antiquity lay in the ravages of war: war hindered efforts to destroy locust eggs from well-known breeding spots (Radner 2004: 13). As these texts show, severe hunger and famine required a confluence of factors in order to take hold in the historical contexts behind the biblical texts. However, the specter of these developments occurred often enough to play significant roles in the Hebrew Bible.

HOW SURROUNDING CULTURES TALKED ABOUT HUNGER Concerns about having sufficient food found a firm place in the literary productions of the cultures around Israel and Judah—in Mesopotamia, Ugarit, and Egypt. For example, hunger appears frequently as a scourge of the gods in the Mesopotamian flood story of Atrahasis. Tablet II.1.10-20 provides details of how the god Enlil sends a drought upon humanity: “Let Adad withdraw his rain, Below, let the flood not come up from the depths … Let the field reduce its yields, Let the grain-goddess close her bosom” (Foster 2005: 241). In this scenario, specific deities take on the responsibility of keeping the rains from falling and the fields from bringing forth adequate food. The text provides a poetic description of the resulting human suffering: When the third year came, Their features were [gray] from hunger, Their faces were crusted, like crusted malt, Life was ebbing, little by little. Tall people shriveled in body, They walked hunched in the street. Broad-shouldered people turned slender, Their long stances grew short. (Foster 2005, 244; II.iv.1-19) A Late Babylonian version of the same myth recounts the downward spiral from drought to desperate hunger in even more detail, moving from production in the fields to consumption of the remaining stores of grain: The black fields turned white, No green plants came out in the pastures, no …, The first year they ate old grain, The second year they exhausted their stores.

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When the third year came, Their features were distorted from hunger. (Foster 2005; 265; V.111-16) In a Late Assyrian version of the same narrative, the famine extends for six years (Foster 2005: 273–4; I.v.11-6; vi.1-15). Here, the long period of food shortage results in social collapse: mother and daughter sell one another into slavery, and they consume their own children to stave off starvation. Tracing the developments of this single story throughout the centuries in its various versions indicates persistent anxiety about inadequate food supplies. Numerous generations of scribes had enough interest in the subject of hunger and famine to add horrific details to the story. This deep concern with lack of food also appears in royal texts. Rulers throughout the centuries in Mesopotamia (also in the Levant) made it a significant point of their ideology to highlight that their favor with the gods allowed them to provide their subjects with a superabundance of food (see, e.g., the prologue of the Laws of Hammurabi, Psalm 72, and the analysis of numerous texts cited in Anderson 1987: 116–23; Green 2010: 46–63, 131, 152, etc.). However, while increasing and guaranteeing the food supply may appear central in the proclamations of rulers, archaeological finds do not support the royal role as guarantor of sufficient food supply: there simply were no major grain facilities that stockpiled large enough quantities to provide food for all the people (Richardson 2016: 752–3). Rulers apparently capitalized on a core concern of their constituency to bolster their reputations as providers—and thereby as divinely chosen rulers. In Ugarit, the central myth of the Baal Cycle, which narrates Baal’s rise to divine kingship (Altmann 2011: 177), underscores the extreme effects of the death of the storm god Baal at the hands of Mot (god of death): “parched are the furrows of the grain fields” (KTU 1.6.4.1-3; Pardee 2003a: 271). The royal connection also proves important in the Legend of Kirta: when the king becomes sick, the land also suffers from lack of rain, leading to food shortage (KTU 1.16.2.17-25 and 1.16.3.1-16; Pardee 2003b: 340–1). Food shortage also appears as a concern in Egypt, but in a somewhat different manner than in other ancient Near Eastern cultures. First, the food supply in Egypt depended on the yearly flooding of the Nile River, a reality reflected in Egyptian literature. The so-called Famine Stela (Lichtheim 2003: 130–4; see Quack 2013), likely originating from the Ptolemaic period (331–31 bce), recounts the common Egyptian trope of the seven-year famine. It depicts a famine set in the reign of Djoser (ca. 2700 bce) resulting from the lack of the inundation of the Nile. Second, the well-developed conceptions of the afterlife in Egypt display considerable interest in the importance of an abundance of food. Egyptian tomb paintings depict a plethora of food provisions, and large amounts of the foodstuffs themselves were left as funerary gifts with the idea that the deceased would be able to consume them in the afterlife (see the examples in Strudwick 2006: 186–9).

THE ROLE OF FOOD SHORTAGE AND FAMINE IN THE HEBREW BIBLE The threat of food shortage appears frequently in the Hebrew Bible, sometimes only as background information, though quite often as an important theme.

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Food Shortage as a Theme of Narrative Books Pride of place in considering theme of food shortage belongs to the book of Ruth, where the ironic lack of food in Bethlehem, literally the “House of Bread” (Ruth 1:1) constitutes the opening problem for the narrative plot of the book. As a result of this shortage, the protagonist family leaves its hometown to immigrate to Moab. Dynamics of food shortage and abundance continue to propel the narrative forward to its resolution in the provision and nourishment of the grandchild Obed together with his grandmother Naomi (Ruth 4:16). This conclusion demonstrates the completion of a narrative arc from hunger to satiation (Sakenfeld 2012: 83; Stone 2013: 189–99). In addition to its prominence in Ruth, Chapman (2012) notes that food shortage runs throughout Genesis as a key thematic connection for a synchronic reading of the book.2 The basic issue appears in Gen 3:17-19: securing sufficient sustenance will be a continuous existential struggle for humanity. The following ancestor narratives depict Abraham and Jacob as transhumant shepherds that all must leave their typical places of residence because of conditions causing food shortages (Genesis 12; 20; 46), traveling either to Egypt or to Gerar. Such situations invariably left the migrant families vulnerable to the rulers and populations in the regions to which they traveled, evident in the patriarchs’ humility and fear before the rulers (cf., e.g., Gen. 26:7-10; 42:6; 43:26; on the final one see Altmann 2018: 354). The lack of food clearly serves as a fundamental driver of the plot.

Joseph and the Seven-Year Food Shortage As noted above, popular imagination quickly associates famine or food shortage with the Joseph story in Genesis 37-50. Prognosticated in Pharaoh’s dreams (Genesis 41), Joseph heads up an administrative miracle to avoid famine throughout Egypt and the “world” (41:57: hā’āreṣ; Egypt and Canaan in 47:13). The food shortage serves primarily as the backdrop for Joseph’s rise to power and reconciliation with his brothers. Yet this dominant plotline also helps to undergird the basic ancient Near Eastern royal responsibility to provide for food security in the face of disaster (for this motif in Mesopotamia, see Winter 2010: 210). The interaction between Joseph and the people of Egypt in 47:2326 provides an etiology for a 20 percent royal grain tax. The people declare themselves slaves to Pharaoh because Pharaoh (through Joseph) has sustained them with provisions from the royal storehouses during the seven lean years. In response to their allegiance, Joseph “lightens” their burden with the 20 percent tax.3

The Triad of Food Shortage, Sword, and Plague in Jeremiah and Ezekiel Outside the narratives of Genesis and Ruth, the triad of food shortage, sword, and plague appears somewhat suddenly and frequently in the exilic/postexilic prophetic books of Jeremiah and Ezekiel.4 It does not appear in earlier prophetic books, and within these two prophetic books, hunger hardly appears in the oracles against the nations but rather See also Chapter 28 in this volume. Food provision and shortage also function as a central theme in the provision of manna (Exodus 16), as a divine punishment for a ruler’s sin (2 Sam. 21:1; as a possible option in 24:13//1 Chron. 21:12), as part of the impoverished experience in Persian-period Yehud (Nehemiah 5), and in numerous narratives in the Elijah-Elisha cycle (e.g., 1 Kings 17–19; 2 Kings 4, 6–7; see Altmann 2014: 170–3). 4  See also Chapter 30 in this volume. 2  3 

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as a threat to Judah. The events taking place at the time—the sieges of Jerusalem and other fortified locations in Judah—evidently served as the decisive background for the development of this central trope (2 Kgs. 25:1-3). That is, the experience of the destruction of Judah and Jerusalem leading to exile in the early sixth century gave rise to the close textual relationship between war, hunger, and plague. The combination first appears in Jer. 5:12: “They lied against YHWH, and they said, ‘Not he! And evil will not come upon us; both sword and hunger we will not see.’” In this passage, food scarcity appears quite organically within a poetic section. YHWH declares betrayal on the part of Jerusalem, whose people claim that no trouble, here expressed as “sword and starvation,” will befall them. As a result, in vv. 15-17, an ancient and foreign nation will “eat your harvest and food” as well as “your” children, beasts, and fruit-bearing plants; finally smashing (r-š-š) your fortified cities with the sword. The scene depicts God’s response within the same imaginative terms—eating and battle (see also Isa. 5:11-13, which couples hunger and exile as the result of inappropriate feasting): the destruction of the invading army comes in the form of its consumption of food and agriculture (and thus hunger for Jerusalem/Israel) and its consumption and destruction of the humans and their fortifications (battle). The final line “your fortified cities in which you trust” introduces the notion of siege warfare, which is central to the triad of sword, starvation, and disease elsewhere in the book (15:2; 18:21; 21:7, 9; 27:8, 13; 28:8; 29:17-18; 32:24, 26; 34:17; 38:2; 42:17, 22; 44:13). Such sieges, which are mentioned elsewhere in the Bible, include references to food shortages (e.g., 2 Kings 6–7; Isa. 36:12, cf. v. 17). Similarly, the Neo-Assyrians twice successfully laid siege to Babylon in the previous century, even though they lasted fifteen [Sennacherib] or even twenty-two months [Assurbanipal] (Eph’al 2009: 110–2). However, the repetition of this triad in Jeremiah engages the dynamic of siege warfare: If the attacking army was able to surround a walled city completely, then the main options remaining—if the city did not surrender, which resulted in the exile mentioned above for Isaiah 5 (see also Isa. 36:17)—were to hope to outlast the swords of the army and the physical weakening, caused by deteriorating food rations, that would lead to hunger and disease, especially in the cramped quarters within a besieged city. In a striking collection of oracles, Jeremiah 14–15 begins with hunger brought on by drought, but ends with hunger related to war. A drought affected different social classes and even animals in various ways: Then their nobles send their young ones for water, but they all return [with] empty vessels … because there is no rain on the earth, farmers are ashamed … wild donkeys stand upon barren places, panting breath like jackals, their eyes fail for there is no herbage. (Jer. 14:3-6) While drought led to severe suffering, this text displays even more concern about possible divine abandonment in the midst of this tragedy (14:7-10, 19-22), which, in the prose interlude (14:12-16), YHWH asserts will occur. This additional punishment will take place as a direct response to the attempts of the people to pacify YHWH by means of food: in 14:12 they forego food in a fast, and they bring burnt and grain offerings. In this case, the people recognize that something is wrong, necessitating a fast (see more on this

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connection below). While false prophets declare that war and hunger will not come as a result of the cultic ritual actions (14:13, 15), Jeremiah receives a divine word that, in fact, war, hunger, disease, and exile will ensue as a result of divine abandonment (14:18; 15:2). As part of this central event in Israelite history, foot shortage loomed large in the prophetic imagination in expressing God’s judgment of Israel and Judah. Ezekiel 7:15 summarizes the conception of suffering in the face of an imperial invasion: “The sword is outside; disease and famine are inside; those in the field die by the sword; those in the city—famine and pestilence devour them.” The few biblical examples discussed above (and also texts of the surrounding cultures) indicate that lack of food carried considerable weight as a harrowing scenario for the authors and audiences of these ancient texts. Insufficient rain and the hardships of warfare frequently meant food shortages that formed the ether from which these biblical texts emerge.

FASTING Often found within the same contexts as food shortages (on this connection, see below), fasting—understood as distressed temporary as well as chosen abstinence—in the Hebrew Bible generally exemplifies (1) human responses to disaster that had already taken place, (2) responses to avoid perceived imminent disaster, or (3) preparation for a divine visit. The Hebrew term for fasting, ṣ-w-m, commonly appears as part of a larger complex of ritual actions that can include weeping, lamenting, wearing sackcloth, gathering together, and seeking the deity, or praying. A second term, ‘-n-y (afflict, humiliate oneself), overlaps with ṣ-w-m, especially given the parallel use of the two terms in Isa. 58:3, 5, and especially Ps. 35:13: “I humiliated myself with fasting” [‘anîtî baṣôm napšî]. No attestation of religious fasting appears in Mesopotamia (Wasserman 2016: 250) or Egypt. In Greek religion, preparation for incubation could include fasting (Arbesmann 1949: 15–19; Hemingway 2009: 193). In West Semitic traditions, fasting appears several times and is linked with mourning rituals, as in Deir ‘Alla Combination 1 from the eighth century bce (Seow 2003: 207–12). In this text, the seer Balaam’s hands go slack as a result of a vision. He cannot sleep; he weeps and fasts continually. In response, the people ask why he weeps and fasts. While reconstruction and interpretation of this text remain notoriously difficult, Balaam then reports a vision likely meant to communicate the turning of the world order into something resembling primordial chaos. Fasting appears in response to a vision of impending disaster, rather than in preparation for a divine visit or revelation (as in Greek tradition).

Fasting to Commemorate Distress Many texts connect fasting closely with acts of mourning. Without presuming a single original meaning or setting for fasting practices, a close psychological and sociological connection across cultures between feelings of loss and food avoidance can be discerned. In ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt, lovesick people lose their appetite (Wasserman 2016: 251). Loss of appetite is also a marker of grief in the contemporary West (Parkes 1998). Therefore, it is unsurprising that biblical texts associate fasting with distressful events. It arises as the impetus for the normal practice of offering food and drink to mourners of the dead presupposed in Jer. 16:6-7 (and perhaps Deut. 26:14). At its most basic, fasting appears in response to the death of a ruler or a loved one. At one end of the historical spectrum, the Hellenistic-period text of Jdt. 8:5-6 narrates how

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a wealthy widow, Judith, fasts as part of her mourning for her dead husband for over three years, except on the Sabbath and accepted festive occasions. In this case, the fasting serves as one way in which the text highlights Judith’s faithfulness to her husband. An early example of this phenomenon appears in the fasts, first by the people of Jabesh in Gilead and later by David and his entourage, in response to the death of King Saul and his sons in battle against the Philistines (1 Sam. 31:11-13; 2 Sam. 1:11-12; cf. 1 Chron. 10:11-12). In 1 Sam. 31:11-13, the inhabitants of Jabesh retrieve the bodies of Saul and his sons in order to provide them with proper burial. Part of this burial ceremony includes a seven-day fast; no further detail or explanation appears. The following chapter, 2 Samuel 1, recounts the response of David and his men to the same news. Several features differ from the actions of the people of Jabesh. First, David’s fast lasts only until evening and therefore is significantly shorter. Second, David’s fast takes place on behalf of “Saul and Jonathan his son and the people of YHWH5 and the house of Israel that had fallen by the sword” (v. 12). David effectively widens the sphere of those honored in the fasting and mourning rituals. This change fits well with his actions toward becoming king of all Israel. However, this fast—which one might term a fast of solidarity—does not achieve solidarity with the people of Jabesh, who appear to reject David’s overtures toward kingship in response, instead becoming part of Ishbaal’s kingdom (2 Sam. 2:4-9; Auld and Cox 2011: 357–8). Several other texts mention communal fasts in remembrance of past suffering. A brief allusion to this practice appears in Esth. 9:31, but Zech. 7:2-7 and 8:19 provide the chief example of this type of fasting. The text complex of Zech. 7:2-7 + 8:18-19, which serves as bookends for this section of Zechariah, consists of an outside inquiry from Bethel (the location of a former royal sanctuary for the Northern Kingdom of Israel) concerning communal fasting to commemorate events surrounding the fall of Jerusalem and destruction of the First Temple. In addition, it provides several details on the fasts. First, it refers to regularly practiced fasts during various months at the beginning of the postexilic period. It also foretells that these fasts will become “joy, feasting, and cheerful festivals” (8:19) to bind its adherents to the memory of the First Temple. In light of the interplay between Gerizim and Jerusalem in other postexilic biblical texts (and the historical events in their background), perhaps this inquiry for a word from YHWH from Jerusalem highlights a step of solidarity between Bethel and Jerusalem. Thus, on the basis of this text, one might conclude that some adherents to Yahwistic religion took upon themselves a lament ritual including abstinence and fasting soon after the fall of Jerusalem, even in Bethel (Körting 2012; Nogalski 2011: 2:887).

Fasting to Avoid Distress Not all regular fast days reflected on past events. Some instead were primarily intended to avoid future judgment. In fact, a considerable range of texts depicts fasting as part of a conglomeration of ritual actions undertaken to show the seriousness with which people (and at time even animals!) take perceived future threats. These texts accord with the extra-biblical example from Deir ‘Alla discussed above. For example, in Joel 2:12-13, the prophet calls for mourning rituals consisting of lamenting, fasting, weeping, and returning to God (though surprisingly the rending of the heart instead of one’s clothing in this particular scenario) in order to reverse the judgment 5 

LXX: “Judah.”

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oracle of the preceding text (vv. 1-11). In this case the actions prove successful, which the deity declares in 2:18-27. Striking in this sequence of texts, beginning in Joel 1, is that fasting shares a focus on food issues with prophetic woes. The judgment oracle proclaims that enjoyment and joy no longer take place because food is cut off (1:16). In fact, even beasts apparently take part in the lamenting, given their groaning in 1:18. Joel 2 proceeds through similar steps: a consuming army (v. 3) turns a garden into a wasteland. Then, God’s reversal leads to feasting and an abundance of food. Thus, the fasting in Joel 2:12 ritually enacts the suffering related to food shortage that would occur if God’s judgment comes to pass, and this self-imposed abstinence leads to God providing substantial grain, wine, and oil, “enough to satisfy you fully” (2:19, cf. 2:24-26). Comparable sequences of events appear in the narrative of fasting by the human and animal inhabitants of Nineveh in Jon. 3:5-10. In response to Jonah’s proclamation of impending destruction (without any instructions on how Nineveh might avoid it), the people, beasts, and king abstain from food and water. God accepts their ritual actions accompanied by an ethical turn. In similar fashion, King Ahab also finds favor by means of ritual actions including fasting: YHWH puts off the proclaimed disaster against his family for a generation (1 Kgs. 21:27-29). Likewise, fasting by Esther, Mordechai, and the Jews in Susa (Esth. 4:1-4, 15-17; Seidler 2019: 133) brings about deliverance for the Jews (Esther 7–8). A similarly successful fast takes place in Ezra 8:21-23, though in this case it is for protection while traveling.6 However, not all such fasts proved successful. The curious narrative in 2 Samuel 12 depicts David fasting in response to Nathan’s oracle that his son will die as a result of his murder of Uriah and taking of Bathsheba (v. 14). Perhaps this fast is anticipatory fasting to mourn the death of the child that will be the product of David’s tryst with Bathsheba. In this interpretation, David proleptically carries out the physical suffering he would experience if God would not relent according to David’s plea (Crouch 2009: 18–19). Another, related but preferable approach interprets David’s action in line with his own statement, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? YHWH may show favor toward me so that the child may live.” Fasting in this instance shows David’s attempt at intercession (see below). A more straightforward example of failed fasts appears in Isa. 58:1-14. A group of elite YHWH-worshipers (see the description in vv. 6-7) complains that their fasts have not brought about the desired result, namely, the restoration of ravaged cities. This late Isaianic text declares that specific acts of justice, including the sharing of food to satisfy the hungry (v. 10) will lead to the return of divine blessing, which includes, among other things, feasting (v. 14). In other words, ethical abstention from oppressing others must accompany physical abstention from food. As suggested by Lambert (2003: 501), in fasting one adopts the persona of the afflicted, which oppression of the afflicted in society directly contradicts.7 Several texts mention that fasting accompanies intercessory prayer, thus seeking to rescue others from impending disaster, such as Moses’s second stay on Horeb in Deut

The fasting in 1 Kgs. 21:9, 12 likely presupposes this conception of the practice, and Neh. 9:1 can also be taken as part of an attempt to have God change the lamentable state of Jerusalem, thereby avoiding future distress. 7  Similarly, as mentioned above, the fast in Jer. 14:12 in response to a food shortage linked to drought fails to bring about the avoidance of future judgment. The reasoning here relates more closely to the people listening to the proclamations of false prophets that peace will soon come upon them, thus not truly accepting the pronouncement of affliction. 6 

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9:18-20, David’s action on account of his son in 2 Sam. 12:16-23, and Daniel’s response to the destruction of Jerusalem in Dan. 9:3. Most explicit is the account of Moses’ second stay on Horeb. Moses describes elements of his first stay, saying that he “fell prostrate before YHWH”8 and “neither ate bread nor drank water because of all the sin you had committed … but YHWH listened to me also at that time” (Deut. 9:18-19). David’s fasting prior to the death of his son in 2 Samuel 12 also fits well with this category, though in a more complex fashion: While David articulates his hope that his child might be spared (vv. 22-23), David’s sin is the cause of the child’s death. In this case, many of the rites normally accompanying mourning, such as weeping and wearing sackcloth, appear. While one may interpret the death of the son as punishment for the father, there are also clear similarities to Moses’ intercession for Israel on Horeb in Deut. 9:18-20. One can interpret the late text of Dan. 9:3 in the same way, given that, along with fasting (9:3), it mentions related actions of mourning, such as sackcloth, and ashes. In addition, several other themes take the notion of fasting in new directions. While fasting is followed by the confession of communal guilt in relation to past suffering, Daniel’s prayer ends with a specific petition for the distress to end (9:19). In other words, like Zechariah 7–8, Daniel intends to identify with suffering that has already taken place and inquires about when this suffering will end. Unlike in Zechariah, Daniel does not go to Jerusalem to make his inquiry, but he still receives a direct answer—here, from a divine emissary rather than a prophet.

Foregoing Food (and Drink) as Preparation In contrast to the texts discussed above, two instances of abstaining from food that appear in the Hebrew Bible might be considered fasting, even though the biblical authors likely understood them differently: Deut. 9:9-10 and Dan. 10:2-3. Deuteronomy 9:910 relates how Moses went without bread and water for forty days when receiving the Ten Commandments from YHWH the first time. This tradition stands apart from other instances of abstinence from food in the Hebrew Bible in two ways. Like only several other texts (e.g., the hyperbolic description of Jon. 3:7, and the intercessory action by Moses in Deut. 9:16-20 when receiving the second copy of tablets),9 it adds abstinence from water to abstinence from all food. Second, this text does not set this abstinence in the midst of other ritual actions related to mourning, like weeping or wearing sackcloth. Also, the term for fasting, ṣ-w-m, does not appear here. On the basis of these distinctions, these passages can be compared to pre-classical Greek sources mentioning fasting in preparation for a divine revelation (see Arbesmann 1949: 11–15). Daniel 10 similarly connects the ritual actions associated with mourning directly with the subsequent revelation. Thus, this text conflates the preparatory actions of avoiding eating and drinking of Deut. 9:9-10 with the mourning rituals seen in other traditions appearing in the Bible and the Deir ‘Alla inscription, apparently in order to bring about the desired result. Hannah’s refraining from celebratory feasting in 1 Sam. 1:7-10, where she “wept and would not eat” (v. 7) could be interpreted as self-denial related to her subsequent entrance 8  The modifier “like the first time” (kārî’šōnāh) could apply to Moses’ abstinence, rather than his falling prostrate, which does not appear in the account of his first stay on Horeb earlier in Deuteronomy 9. 9  The text of Exod. 34:28 is more difficult. It clearly takes place narratively as part of the second stay on Sinai, but it does not include features like sackcloth or intercession as in Deut. 9:16-20.

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into the sanctuary in order to receive a blessing leading to fertility (1 Sam. 1:12-18; see Körting 2012). However, given the prevalence of weeping and distress in the Hannah passage in response to the suffering caused by her barrenness, the fasting motif fits better with the main group of fasting texts, both ruing past pain and hoping to avoid continued suffering, and less with the notion of preparing for divine encounter.

CONCLUSION In sum, the foundational question connecting hunger and fasting in the biblical world might be articulated as follows: what does it mean to fast in the context of a world that regularly struggles to secure enough food and drink? This question underscores the problem of recurring food insufficiency. The challenges caused by climatic variations and especially by human activities underlie the symbolic significance of the choice to abstain from food as part of ritual enactment of the suffering involved with hunger— either in mourning past loss or in afflicting oneself (or community) in identification with a proclaimed future disaster.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Altmann, P. (2014), “Feast and Famine—Lack as a Backdrop for Plenty,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East, 149–78, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. This essay discusses the prominence of food shortage and famine in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Near Eastern literature. Lambert, D. (2003), “Fasting as a Penitential Rite: A Biblical Phenomenon?” HTR 96: 477– 512. This article provides a detailed discussion of fasting in the Hebrew Bible as well as in ancient Greek sources, generally arguing against a penitential use for fasting. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. This book uses biblical texts, archaeological materials, and anthropological sources to determine the components of the Israelite diet, including helpful discussions of food shortages.

REFERENCES Altmann, P. (2011), Festive Meals in Ancient Israel: Deuteronomy’s Identity Politics in Their Ancient Near Eastern Context, BZAW 424, Berlin: de Gruyter. Altmann, P. (2014), “Feast and Famine—Lack as a Backdrop for Plenty,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East, 149–78, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Altmann, P. (2018), “Feasting like Royalty in a Time of Famine: Reflections on the Meaning and Composition of the Feast in Gen 43:15–34,” ZAW 130: 349–63. Anderson, G. A. (1987), Sacrifices and Offerings in Ancient Israel: Studies in Their Social and Political Importance, HSM 41, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Arbesmann, R. (1949), “Fasting and Prophecy in Pagan and Christian Antiquity,” Traditio 7: 1–71.

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Arnold, D. (1988), Famine: Social Crisis and Historical Change, New Perspectives on the Past, Oxford: Blackwell. Auld, A. G. and Cox, J. K. (2011), I & II Samuel: A Commentary, OTL, Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Chapman, S. B. (2012), “Food, Famine, and the Nations: A Canonical Approach to Genesis,” in N. MacDonald, M. Elliot, and G. Macaskill (eds.), Genesis and Christian Theology, 323–33, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Crouch, C. L. (2009), “Funerary Rites for Infants and Children,” in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), Feasts and Festivals, 15–26, Leuven: Peeters. Dando, W. A. (2012), “Famine,” in W. A. Dando (ed.), Food and Famine in the 21st Century: Volume I: Topics and Issues, 139–48, Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO. Eph’al, I. (2009), The City Besieged: Siege and Its Manifestations in the Ancient Near East, CHANE 36, Leiden: Brill. Foster, B. R. (2005), Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature, 3rd edn., Bethesda, MD: CDL Press. Garnsey, P. (1988), Famine and Food Supply in the Graeco-Roman World: Responses to Risk and Crisis, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Green, D. J. (2010), “I Undertook Great Works”: The Ideology of Domestic Achievements in West Semitic Royal Inscriptions, FAT II 41, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Hemingway, B. (2009), “The Dream in Classical Greece: Debates and Practices,” PhD diss., Oxford: University of Oxford. Knapp, A. B. and Manning, S. W. (2016), “Crisis in Context: The End of the Late Bronze Age in the Eastern Mediterranean,” AJA 120: 99–149. Körting, C. (2012), “Fasten/Fastentage (AT),” WiBiLex. https://www.bibelwissenschaft.de/ stichwort/18149/ Lambert, D. (2003), “Fasting as a Penitential Rite: A Biblical Phenomenon?” HTR 96: 477– 512. Lichtheim, M. (2003), “The Famine Stela (1.53),” COS 1: 130–4. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Meyers, C. (2012), “Food and the First Family: A Socioeconomic Perspective,” in C. A. Evans, J. N. Lohr, and D. L. Peterson (eds.), The Book of Genesis: Composition, Reception, and Interpretation, 137–57, Leiden: Brill. Murton, B. (2000), “Famine,” in K. F. Kiple and K. C. Ornelas (eds.), The Cambridge World History of Food 2: 1411–26, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nogalski, J. (2011), The Book of the Twelve: Micah-Malachi, vol. 2, Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys. Pardee, D. (2003a), “The Ba‘lu Myth (1.86),” COS 1: 241–74. Pardee, D. (2003b), “The Kirta Epic (1.102),” COS 1: 333–43. Parkes, C. M. (1998), “Coping with Loss: Bereavement in Adult Life,” British Medical Journal 316 (7134): 856–9. Quack, J. F. (2013), “Hungersnotstele,” WiBiLex. https://www.bibelwissenschaft.de/stichwort/ 21646/ Radner, K. (2004), “Fressen und gefressen wurden: Heuschrecken als Katastrophe und Delikatesse im Alten Vorderen Orient,” Die Welt des Orients 34: 7–22. Richardson, S. (2016), “Obedient Bellies: Hunger and Food Security in Ancient Mesopotamia,” JESHO 59: 750–92.

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Robertson, W. C. (2010), Drought, Famine, Plague and Pestilence: Ancient Israel’s Understandings of and Responses to Natural Catastrophes, Gorgias Dissertations in Biblical Studies 45, Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias. Rovira-Guardiola, C. (2012), “Famine and Food Shortages, Greece and Rome,” in R. S. Bagnall, K. Brodersen, C. B. Champion, A. Erskine, and S. R. Huebner (eds.), The Encyclopedia of Ancient History, Oxford: Blackwell. Sakenfeld, K. D. (2012), Ruth, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Seidler, A. (2019), “‘Fasting,’ ‘Sackcloth,’ and ‘Ashes’—From Nineveh to Shushan,” VT 69: 117–34. Seow, C. L. (2003), “West Semitic Sources,” in P. Machinist (ed.), Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East, 201–18, WAW 12, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Stone, T. J. (2013), “Six Measures of Barley: Seed Symbolism in Ruth,” JSOT 38: 189–99. Strudwick, H. (2006), The Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, London: Amber. Wasserman, N. (2016), “Fasting and Voluntary Not-Eating in Mesopotamian Sources,” in P. Corò, E. Devecchi, N. de Zorzi, and M. Maiocchi (eds.), Libiamo ne’ lieti calici: Ancient Near Eastern Studies Presented to Lucio Milano on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday by Pupils, Colleagues and Friends, 249–53, AOAT 436, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Winter, I. J. (2010), “Representing Abundance: A Visual Dimension of the Agrarian State,” in On Art in the Ancient Near East 2, 199–225, CHANE 34, Leiden: Brill. Zwickel, W. (2012), “Hungersnöte in der südlichen Levante vom 14. Jh. v. Chr. bis zum 1. Jh. n. Chr.,” in M. I. Gruber, S. Ahituv, G. Lehmann, and Z. Talshir (eds.), All the Wisdom of the East: Studies in Near Eastern Archaeology and History in Honor of Eliezer D. Oren, 453–66, OBO 255, Fribourg: Academic Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

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CHAPTER 22

Food and Gender CAROL MEYERS

INTRODUCTION The tasks that constitute the patterns of daily life in traditional societies are generally allocated differentially to women and men. This division of labor by gender surely characterized the organization of the food-preparation activities of the ancient Israelites.1 The patterns of gendered labor were not necessarily absolute, and occasional crossover––with women working in male-dominated activities and vice versa—likely occurred. However, anthropological studies going back to Murdock and Provost (1973) have established conclusively that women everywhere carry out most everyday foodpreparation and cooking tasks. Indeed, according to current anthropological literature, there are “almost no cases of societies in which men take primary responsibility for the task of everyday cooking; this is a job almost universally apportioned to women” (Sutton 2014: 137). This chapter focuses on women’s food production in the agrarian households in which most Israelites lived.2 The role of men in elite culinary contexts should first be acknowledged. Although women sometimes performed menial tasks, men were the professional cooks in the elite kitchens of Sumer (Limet 1987: 140), Babylonia (Nemet-Nejat 1998: 161), and Egypt (Robins 1993: 119; cf. biblical references to the Egyptian “chief baker,” Gen. 40:2, etc.). Israelite men perhaps were bakers in urban settings with specialty shops (Jer. 37:21), and Israelite priests likely prepared sacrificial meat (e.g., Lev. 8:31; 1 Sam. 9:23-24) and bread (Lev. 24:5; 1 Chron. 9:31-32). But women arguably prepared food in elite and royal settings as well as in ordinary households, for ancient Israel did not share in the haute cuisine of the royal households and temples of its ancient Near Eastern neighbors (Meyers 2014b). The cooks and bakers who, in Samuel’s warning, would be drafted for palace service are female (1 Sam. 8:13). Even royal women apparently had culinary skills. That Tamar accedes to her brother Amnon’s request that she prepare special baked goods for him (2 Sam. 13:5-9) shows that she knows the technology of baking. In considering its gendered production, “food” here is understood as material consumed to sustain life by enabling an organism’s growth and repair and by providing energy (Subías 2002: 9). Unlike animals, humans do not generally consume nutritional materials in their natural state. Cooking is necessary to unlock stores of energy not available in the raw form of most foodstuffs (Sutton 2014: 135), and most “agricultural products must be “Israel” and “Israelite(s)” are used here in a general cultural sense, not as political or geographic designations. Lenski (1984: 199–200) estimates that over 90 percent of the people of premodern agricultural societies lived in non-urban settings. 1  2 

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acted upon if they are to be considered food” (Dubisch 1986: 203). Therefore, the focus here is on the role of women as food producers in Israelite households, according to the gendered division of labor that characterizes food production. This chapter also considers religious, social, and other factors embedded in women’s food-production activities. Food may be the most ordinary feature of human existence, but this banality belies complex cultural features. Food preparation is a social and technological system (Subías 2002: 9), and the “meanings, discourses and practices” around food are the proper subjects of analysis (Lupton 1996: 7).

RESOURCES Identifying and assessing the food-producing tasks of Israelite women requires multiple resources, for no single one provides sufficient information. Indeed, even using information from several sources cannot provide a complete picture for a society distant in time and space. Nonetheless, women’s roles can be reconstructed, at least partially, by drawing from three main sources: biblical texts, archaeological remains, and ethnographic analogies and analyses (Meyers 2013: 17–38). That said, there are limitations (Meyers 2011: 63–72). Because of its androcentrism and its strong interest in national life, the Hebrew Bible provides little information about the daily activities of ordinary men and especially women. Women––mostly exceptional or elite figures—comprise less than 10 percent of its named individuals. Moreover, biblical authors were mainly elite, urban males, often far removed from everyday life processes in agrarian households. Perhaps most disconcerting is the frequent disconnect between scriptural images and social reality (Meyers 2016). Nevertheless, occasional references to mundane aspects of daily activities contain reliable information about crops, tools, climate, and other quotidian details of life in Iron Age Israel (1200–586 bce). As they shaped their messages, biblical authors inevitably used features familiar to their audience. Archaeological materials––artifacts and installations associated with food preparation in Iron Age domiciles––are another important source of information about women as food producers. However, it can be difficult to locate relevant materials (Meyers 2011: 68–72), for excavations have traditionally focused on large sites mentioned in the Bible rather than small agrarian settlements and farmsteads. In so doing, they pay particular attention to monumental structures––palaces, temples, fortifications––associated with men, and elite men at that. Moreover, the chronological interests of those projects mean an emphasis on ceramics, which are the key to dating, and often preclude attention to other ordinary household artifacts, which are often been treated in an “offhand” way; they are sometimes not published at all, or they are published in ways that don’t locate them in household space nor indicate how many were found (Hovers 1996: 171).3 Still, the more holistic approach of some field projects in recent decades has meant greater attention to the range of household artifacts, with some excavations concentrating on houses and the location and quantity of their contents (e.g., Hardin 2010: 124–60). The artifacts and installations of food preparation by themselves, however, are  insufficient for understanding gendered food preparation. For one thing, not all

The Beersheba excavation report, for example, indicates that 167 grindstones were discovered but publishes only twenty-one (Paz 2016: 1261–8). 3 

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food-preparation realia––dough baskets, for example––have survived. Also, identifying the foodstuffs prepared in specific vessels, like the cooking pots ubiquitous at Iron Age sites, is rarely possible.4 Even more problematic is the matter of understanding the context and meaning of food-processing activities. Archaeologists recover things, not people; the objects are silent about the interactions women had with others in their households and in communities as they carried out their daily tasks. Nor do objects indicate the sacral meanings inherent in the food they help produce nor the personal meaning involved for the women who used them. Situating women’s food-production activities within the human context of their households and communities means engaging ethnographic data and embedding archaeological and textual information about women’s food production in a “comparative ethnographic matrix” (Allison 1999: 2–3).5 Although we cannot observe the past directly, we can infer much about it by using information from similar communities of the recent past, in particular those in the same geographic area and with the same subsistence patterns as the past community (Watson 1999). Ethnographic reports about extant Middle Eastern or Mediterranean communities are most relevant for comparison to Iron Age Israel and provide useful information about gender dynamics relating to food production. Also valuable are observations by travelers to or residents of Palestine before the advent of modernity. As long as ethnographic comparisons take into account the discontinuities as well as the similarities between ancient Israel and a more recent community, analogic reasoning can produce reasonably accurate results. Using ethnographic data also helps counteract the dangers of presentism, whereby present-day attitudes about women’s labor are projected onto the biblical past. Emic perspectives on women’s tasks may be radically different from current views (Meyers 2013: 117–24). One example would be the way, in today’s industrialized world, women’s tasks are often considered less valuable than those of men. Because information from analogous premodern groups invalidates that perspective, Israelite attitudes about women and household cooking must be evaluated in relation to views in traditional communities rather than modern Western ones.

WOMEN AND FOOD PREPARATION Examining women’s food-processing activities must be selective. Women were usually responsible for preparing all the foods consumed in their households, even the meat of animals (so Ackerman 2012: 147; see 1 Sam. 28:24), which were probably an occasional (as on festivals) rather than regular part of the Israelite diet (contra MacDonald 2008, who relies mainly on data from urban sites). Among the woman’s tasks in Proverbs 31 is supplying “food” (NRSV) or “human nourishment” (Wagner1986: 353) for her household (v. 15). Still, we can learn most about women’s food production by focusing on the preparation of one particular foodstuff, grains, for several reasons: (1) grains were the major and essential part of the Israelite diet;6 (2) grain-processing tasks were performed frequently, probably daily, unlike virtually every other food-processing activity; and (3)

See Chapter 12 in this volume. See also Chapters 13 and 14 in this volume. 6  In virtually all agricultural societies complex carbohydrates (grains or tubers) became the “subsistence mainstay” or “core” element of daily fare (Mintz 1994: 106–7). 4  5 

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grain-processing, having left more substantial traces in the archaeological record than have other food-related tasks, has clear archaeological correlates. Women’s responsibility for many other food-producing activities, some only seasonal, must first be noted. Ethnographic data indicate that women would have made cheese or other dairy products, set fresh fruits and legumes to dry, and prepared vegetables in stews (e.g., Lutfiyya 1966: 114; Watson 1979: 61, 208, 299; Wilson 1906: 132–3; cf. Judg. 4:19; 5:25; see also Murdock and Provost 1973: 210). Their role in other foodproducing tasks, especially transforming grapes and olives into wine and oil, is uncertain. Judges 9:27 and Amos 9:13 mention men treading the harvested grapes, and Mic. 6:15 refers to men treading both grapes and olives. Ethnographic reports mention women crushing olives (Amiry and Tamari 1989: 36; Chernoff 1999: 14). Olive presses found in Iron Age domiciles in larger settlements perhaps indicate household production involving women.7 Smaller settlements apparently had communal presses (Faust 2011). The primacy of grain in the Israelite diet is signaled by its place in the Mediterranean triad (grain, wine, and oil) mentioned frequently in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Deut. 7:13; 2 Kgs. 8:32; Jer. 31:12; Hos. 2:8 [Hebrew 2:10]; Joel 2:19); “grain” is always first in these texts.8 Note, too, the biblical use of leḥem (“bread”) to denote food more generally.9 For example, Jacob invites his kin “to eat bread” (NRSV, Gen. 31:54; see also Gen. 43:32; 2 Kgs. 4:8), that is, to “have a meal” (cf. NJPS, “to partake of the meal”), a repast that surely focuses not on bread but on meat from the sacrifice (zebaḥ) he first makes.10 Ethnography also shows the dominance of grains. Estimates vary, but until industrialization changed food-consumption patterns, about 70 percent of an average person’s caloric intake in the Mediterranean world came from grain products (Grigg 1999: 401). Bread constituted 78 percent of the daily diet in Sardinia in the 1930s (Le Lannou, 1941: 288). Palestinian farmers studied in the 1960s consumed 0.5 to 1 kg of bread, which sometimes was the entire meal, each day (Lutfiyya 1966: 112; Wilson 1906: 122, 124; see also, for Iran, Watson 1979: 204, 205, 208; cf. Broshi 2001: 123–4). Because grain products are readily available today, it is easy to overlook the complex technological processes, requiring considerable amounts of time and energy, necessary in biblical antiquity to make grain edible. Plowing, sowing, and tending the crop were largely men’s tasks, as attested in biblical texts (e.g., 1 Kgs. 19:19; Amos 9:13) and by ethnography (Amiry and Tamari 1989: 34; Grant 1907: 133), although women might pull weeds and bundle them for fodder (Wilson 1906: 203). Women contributed to harvesting, threshing, and winnowing grains (Ebeling 2016; see also Amiry and Tamari 1989: 34–40; Grant 1907: 135; Lutfiyya 1966: 31; Whittaker 2000: 63; Wilson 1906: 205). Once the grains were separated from the chaff, women began the work of converting them to edible form. Grains might be roasted to produce parched kernels (qālî; see, inter alia, 2 Sam. 17:28) or cracked and boiled to make gruel,11 but most often they were consumed as bread. Transforming grain

Note that women were oil pressers in Sumerian estates (Waetzoldt 1987: 121). See also Chapter 19 in this volume. 9  The Semitic root for leḥem may originally have meant “solid food” or “primary food” (Dommershausen 1995: 521–4). The Hebrew Bible has some ten different terms for bread, according to shape and mode of preparation; but leḥem is most common, appearing nearly 300 times (Reed 1992: 778). 10  In traditional Greek villages, people said “to eat bread” when they meant to have a meal (du Boulay 1974: 56). Even now, sharing a meal is expressed metaphorically as “to break bread’’ together. 11  Palmer (2002: 179–82, 187–9) describes the many ways Jordanian peasant women prepared grains. 7  8 

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to bread involved several steps, two of which are visible in the archaeological record: grinding the grain into flour, and baking the dough created by mixing flour with water and perhaps other ingredients.

Flour Production To produce flour, grains were placed on the concave upper surface of a large, flat-bottomed stone basin or tray, variously called a “grindstone,” “quern,” “saddle quern,” or “grinding slab” (the term used here).12 A typical grinding slab is about 30 × 60 cm, although some are smaller or larger. Then a convex, loaf-shaped stone, usually about 15 × 25 cm, is called a “grinder” or “handstone” (the term used here) and is rubbed over the grains in a toand-fro motion to pulverize them. These sets of an upper handstone and a lower grinding slab are probably indicated by the dual form rēḥayim, often anachronistically rendered “millstones” (NJPS and NRSV translations of Num. 11:8).13 The handstone is probably the rekeb (“upper millstone”) of Deut. 24:6. It appears as a woman’s tool in Judg. 9:53 and 2 Sam. 11:21, where the woman of Thebez casts a “handstone” (my translation of pelaḥ rekeb; cf. NRSV “upper millstone”) from a tower to kill the upstart Abimelech and save her town. The importance of grinding is evident in the prohibition of taking grinding tools in pledge (Deut. 24:6), for a household lacking them would mean starvation. Conversely, the sound of “grinding stones” (my translation; cf. NRSV “millstones”) in Jer. 25:10 indicates happy family life, presumably because there is sufficient food. Grinding grain was an arduous task for several reasons. One is the weight of the tools. The handstones found at Beersheba, for example, weigh from about 0.5 kg to over 5 kg (Paz 2016: 1262). Another factor is the position required to use the tools. To work effectively a woman’s toes would be bent against the ground as she pushed forward with the handstone on the grinding slab, keeping her body parallel to the ground.14 A third factor is the time-consuming nature of the task. Only small amounts of grain could be processed at one time (Hovers 1996: 185); thus it took roughly an hour to produce about 0.8 kg of flour (Broshi 2001: 125).15 Given the consumption rate (noted above) of 0.5 kg to 1 kg of flour a day, with children consuming less than adults, an average nuclear family of two adults and four children would require 1.8 to 3 kg of flour and thus two to four hours of grinding per day. One ethnographic report mentions that village women spent five hours each day grinding, from “early in the morning, long before daybreak, and far on into the night” (Wilson 1906: 117). Archaeologists have recovered grinding tools in virtually all domiciles in which artifacts are preserved in situ. This ubiquity implies that every household produced its own flour, with women in every household using them daily (Cohen-Weinberger 2001: 228). An

See also Chapter 11 in this volume. “Millstones” technically refers to milling machines (e.g., Olynthus mills, rotary mills, and donkey mills), which are more advanced––and thus require less human energy—than do grinding slabs and handstones (Meyers 2008: 65–6). Millstones don’t emerge in the Levant until the Hellenistic period and later. 14  Statuettes from Egyptian model shrines (e.g., Boston Museum of Fine Arts, 21.2601; https://collections.mfa. org/objects/144023) show women grinding grain in this position. Although these statuettes predate the Iron Age, they likely portray the way grinding tools were used in ancient Israel. Grinding technology remained virtually the same in the ancient Near East until the Hellenistic-Roman period (Meyers 2008). 15  Broshi’s calculations refer to the “handmill,” by which is probably meant the rotary mill that was introduced to Palestine in the Roman period and was more efficient than the slab-and-handstone sets of earlier periods. Thus he likely underestimates the time required to produce enough flour for daily use. 12  13 

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important feature of the grinding stones is that several sets have been discovered in some Iron Age dwellings. For example, multiple grinding slabs and handstones were found in domiciles at ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah (Finkelstein 1986: 93–4). Similarly, two (and perhaps three) of the four grinding slabs from Qeiyafa were found in one building (Garfinkel 2009: 175– 81). And two grinding slabs and two handstones were recovered in the main room of a large four-room house at Beth Shean (Yahalom-Mack and Mazar 2006: 488, Table 13.5). The existence of multiple grinding sets in one household suggests that several women were processing grain concurrently. Working side-by-side at the same task is an example of simple task simultaneity (Wilk and Rathje 1982: 622), a useful way of organizing timeconsuming labor. Given the many hours required to produce enough flour for a family, grinding together surely made the task less onerous for women. Although no Hebrew Bible texts are relevant (but see Matt. 24:41 = Luke 17:35), ethnographic literature abounds with descriptions of women easing this laborious activity by working together, singing and chatting (Goody 1982: 69). Whether these women were members of an extended family or women from neighboring households cannot be determined; either or both circumstances likely obtained. However, a subsequent step in the daily routine of bread production—baking the loaves—certainly involved women from the same neighborhood, not only the same family.

Bread Baking Once the dough was mixed, kneaded, and set to rest, it was formed into loaves that were then baked in an oven, probably biblical tannûr, which appears fifteen times in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Exod. 8:3 [Hebrew 7:28]).16 Just as the location of grinding stones indicates that women performed this task together, the location of ovens indicates that women baked bread together. An examination of 235 ovens from eighteen Iron Age sites reveals that almost half of the ovens are found in outdoor areas (e.g., exterior courtyards, streets, and open places between dwellings); the others are found in interior spaces (Baadsgaard 2008). Outdoor and indoor ovens were probably used seasonally, with the interior ones used in inclement weather. A woman likely used more than one oven: one inside her dwelling, and another in outdoor space. Ovens in outdoor space, which are consistently larger than indoor ones (Baadsgaard 2008: 29, Table 2-3), are typically located in spaces accessible to several households. This is especially the case for dwellings lacking interior ovens, as for some at Tel el-Far‘ah (N) (Chambon 1984: Plans II and III). Large ovens in locations accessible to several dwellings are strong indicators that women from multiple households shared an oven. This usage pattern is fuel efficient; it is also labor efficient, for the work of collecting fuel and building a fire is pooled. A biblical text (Lev. 26:26) refers to women sharing an oven––ten women would share an oven in times of scarcity, with fewer presumably sharing an oven in normal times.17 Moreover, various cooking and grinding utensils, as well as items used in women’s other tasks (e.g., textile work), are typically found in association with ovens at Iron Age sites, suggesting that women gathered near ovens to bake bread and also perform other household activities. One of those activities may have been brewing beer, which was technologically related to bread production (Ebeling and Homans 2008).18 See Chapter 14 in this volume. A postbiblical text mentions three women preparing dough together but using only one oven (m. Pesaḥ. 3:4; see also y. Pesaḥ. 3, 30b). 18  See Chapter 5 in this volume. 16  17 

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Ethnographic evidence shows communal ovens to have been a part of Mediterranean life since antiquity, well into the twenty-first century in some premodern communities. Seven or eight women used the same oven in southeastern Turkey (Parker 2011: 611). In traditional Greek villages, five or six families would share an oven, which was a communal gathering place for women (Dimen 1986: 61; Hart 1992: 28, 61–5). The same was true in Palestinian villages, where several families or even an entire section of a village used a single oven (Amiry and Tamari 1989: 20; van der Steen 1991: 141–2; Wilson 1906: 120). With multiple families using one oven, the women would set up a rotation, each providing fuel on a given day (Wilson 1906: 121). When women gathered to bake, they also chatted and exchanged news (Amiry and Tamari 1989: 25; Grant 1907: 78–9; Lutfiyya 1966: 31). These regular gatherings of neighborhood women had significance for their lives and their communities (more below).

BEYOND NUTRITION: CULTURAL ASPECTS OF FOOD PREPARATION Religious Dimension What people ate was more than a matter of nutrition; everyday eating patterns— foodways—also had sacral features (Meyers 2014a: 235–7). The biblical prominence of national religious institutions––priesthood, sacrifice, tabernacle, and temple––has often precluded serious attention to household religious activities. Yet those activities were arguably the primary and most common aspect of the religious lives of most Israelites, and women had essential roles in sacral household activities, many of which involved food or its preparation. The biblical dietary texts, which mainly regulate animal consumption (Leviticus 11; Deut. 14:3-20) and provide instructions for the slaughter and cooking of animals (Exod. 23:19; Deut. 12:16; 14:21), likely had little relevance to women’s daily food-preparation activities, for animal protein was probably not a regular part of daily fare for most people. Yet those texts attest to a sacral dimension of food consumption.19 Sanctity related to bread production appears in the directive to offer a piece of bread dough to Yahweh (Num. 15:19-21) in order to secure God’s blessing (bərâkâ) for the household (Ezek. 44:30b). This bread-dough ritual reflects a belief about the sanctity of bread, as do rituals associated with preparing bread dough recorded among Middle Eastern women in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Muslim women preparing dough would say “bism allâh” (‘in the name of God”), and Christian women would make the sign of the cross on the dough (Blackman 1927: 219; Canaan 1962: 41). These gestures reflect the acknowledgment of bread as life, as a sacred commodity essential to survival, and they likely go back to antiquity (see Lesko 2008: 202). Another example of the sanctity of bread in communities throughout the Middle East is that people who drop a piece of bread immediately pick it up, kiss it, and touch it to their forehead (Ammar 1954: 34; Canaan 1962: 43; Ciezadlo 2011: 243; Luftiyya 1966: 112). Bread is called ‘âš, which literally means “life” in Arabic (Ammar 1954: 34; Canaan 1962: 43). Moreover, just as the Ezekiel passage cited above links bread with blessing, so too do the traditional Middle Eastern villagers who believe that disrespectful treatment

19 

See also the discussion in Chapters 4, 24, 28, and 29 in this volume.

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of bread causes “‘baraka’ [“blessing”] to fly from the house” (Ammar 1954: 34) and that omitting pious aspects of bread-baking will cause God’s “blessing” to leave their houses (Canaan 1962: 41). Just as bread is sacred in traditional societies, so are daily meals inherently religious (e.g., du Boulay 1974: 55; Dubisch 1986: 203). They may be designated as such in ways not visible or even familiar to us––by words or gestures or even food choices. Slight “elaborations of quotidian acts of eating, drinking, cooking, serving, pouring” might mark any or every meal as “religious” (Smith 2003: 26). Archaeological evidence bears this out for ancient Israel. Schmitt’s detailed survey (2012a: 57–175) of the contents of Israelite dwellings shows the frequent presence of cultic items in association with vessels for food preparation and consumption (e.g., at Tell Halif; Hardin 2010: 136–42). Domestic ritual activities were likely daily offerings and gifts presented to ancestors and deities (Schmitt 2012b: 225).20 Indeed, daily household meals are arguably the foundations on which sacrificial events at shrines are constructed (see Stowers 2008: 12). As Mary Douglas has argued, mundane meals and extraordinary eating are intertwined systems of meaning, metaphors of each other (cited in Sutton 2001: 20). In preparing daily fare, Israelite women thereby carried out important household religious activities, invoking the presence and blessings of deities or ancestors. The biblical references to women making “cakes” and pouring libations (Jer. 7:18-20; 44:15-25) attest to women providing food and drink offerings. They believed the offerings would bring prosperity, for they had “plenty of food, and prospered, and saw no misfortune” as long as they made those offerings (Jer. 44:17). Food also factored in the regular feast days that Israelites celebrated––seasonally, monthly, and weekly––and in special feasts marking life-cycle events (see Meyers 2014a: 229–35), for feasts were ritualized meals typically involving special foods (Hayden 2001: 28).21 Archaeological evidence attests to the presence of feasting in village or neighborhood shrines, with families participating in communal sacral events, as well as in individual households (Schmitt 2012b: 224–8, 229–33). The presence of artifacts of feasting––vessels for food and drink consumption––signifies the important role of women as food-preparers for family and community feasts. Moreover, as anthropologists have noted, festival cooking is “by definition a collective task done by circles of women whose labor helps bind together communities” (Tierney and Ohnuki-Tierney 2012: 121).

Social Function Food production in ancient Israel was often a social fact. The presence of several grinding sets near each other and of ovens serving several households indicates that women often worked in proximity to each other.22 Bread preparation areas were thus social spaces (Chernoff 1999: 9, 14). Making bread and preparing for feasts were interactions that produced relationships, and those relationships were hardly casual or frivolous features of women’s lives. Rather they were an “organizationally innovative response to human needs” (March and Taqqu 1986: 9–11). This is especially true in environments, like

In ancient West Asia a small portion of bread (kispu) was set aside for deceased ancestors, as their names were invoked, at household meals (van der Toorn 2008: 26). 21  See Chapter 17 in this volume. 22  Other household activities (e.g., weaving and making household implements and installations), which occurred sporadically, were also joint activities (Meyers 2013: 133–5). 20 

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that of ancient Israel, where community resources are limited or non-existent and where people depend on each other (see du Boulay (1974: 214, 217). In such contexts, informal women’s associations––or women’s networks (Maher 1976: 51)––are instrumental for maintaining households and the communities in which they are embedded. In addition to providing companionship, which relieves the tedium of daily tasks, the many hours women spend together create a communication mechanism typical in traditional Mediterranean communities. In rural Greece, women’s daily gatherings are opportunities to get to know each other and to share information (Sutton 2001: 131). In Palestinian villages women would exchange news while their bread baked (Amiry and Tamari 1989: 25). In southeastern Turkey, village women valued working together as a time to socialize and also share ideas and information (Parker 2011: 622–3; see also Chernoff 1999: 8). Perhaps the dynamics of women’s interactions are best expressed in this observation: “Women are the typical channels of social information. While they prepare the dough and bake the bread, they make an X-ray of the town” (Counihan 1999: 32–3). This information has an important social function. Women’s familiarity with each other builds solidarity, and women who work together typically rally to each other’s assistance. They know when a neighbor has a problem, and their connectedness obliges them to give help. Sometimes the assistance may be mundane, like lending a necessary cooking tool; other times it provides aid in a household mishap or emergency, like an illness or accident. Women’s social networks become de facto mutual-aid societies (du Boulay 1974: 215; March and Taqqu 1986: 58–9). Indeed, a household crisis in a traditional society can be ameliorated only through the assistance of people from other households. Although informal and barely visible in comparison with more formal and visible male community organizations (like groups of elders and officers in ancient Israel, e.g., Josh. 23:2), women’s informal networks are no less important in meeting people’s needs and contributing to the survival of their communities. Several biblical passages attest to the existence of women’s informal networks in ancient Israel (Meyers 2003: 194–7). In the well-known narrative of Ruth and her beloved mother-in-law Naomi, women’s groups frame Ruth’s experience in Naomi’s hometown. When Ruth and Naomi enter Bethlehem, “the women”––presumably Naomi’s cohort–– are the ones who greet them even though the whole town was aware of their arrival (Ruth 1:19). Then at the end of the book, the “neighborhood women” (šəkēnôt) name Ruth’s newborn son (Ruth 4:17). Another passage mentions a group of women attending a parturient mother (1 Sam. 4:20). Indeed, assistance at childbirth is a typical function of women’s networks (March and Taqqu 1986: 38). Šəkēnôt also appear in the Exodus story when Israelite women seek resources for their imminent journey out of Egypt from their female Egyptian neighbors (Exod. 3.22). And the prophet Elisha instructs a woman to “borrow vessels from all your neighbors” (2 Kgs. 4.3).23 Another term for “female neighbor” (rə’ût) appears in Jer. 9:20 (Hebrew 9:19) to denote a cohort of women mourners. Women’s support for each other also takes the form of technical assistance or instruction. The household is a primary site of technologies in premodern societies. Women who transform raw products into cooked foods (and who make other household

In this instance, which uses the masculine form of “neighbors,” the word is likely used inclusively to denote both female and male neighbors, for women typically control domestic food supplies and containers. 23 

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commodities like textiles, tools, ovens, etc.), as did Israelite women, have technological expertise that is transmitted within households (more below) and also across households. Inevitably, some women are more skilled than others in the many technical processes involved in preparing foods, and the information-sharing aspect of informal networks includes sharing specialized knowledge about food-preparation and other household technologies. Women’s social networks are vital for “the development and dissemination of technologies” and are “far more influential than is often assumed” (Parker 2011: 623).

Other Features Women’s role in food preparation had other significant implications for women’s lives. At least one of those implications is a negative one, directly related to grinding grain. The back-and-forth movement holding a heavy handstone in a bent-over position, for hours at a time, likely caused “repetitive stress injuries” that were uncomfortable if not often painful or debilitating (Molleson 1994). But other consequences of women’s foodpreparation activities were favorable. The myriad tasks associated with food preparation can be situated within a larger concept of “housecraft” (Sutton 2016: 351). Cooking involved a woman’s judgment in organizing a household’s time, labor, and resources. Women who control the production of food also control its distribution under most circumstances (see Lev. 26:26). A woman’s control of these factors in traditional societies is a source of considerable female power (Sutton 2016: 351). There may be other components of female identity in premodern societies, but “the power of women has often derived from the power of food” (Counihan 1999: 46). An American author who often writes on feminist themes has this to say about women, food, and power: For food, in fact, preserves the silenced history of women’s power. … Adept at the mysteries of creating bread from a cup of water, a handful of flour, a pinch of salt, a woman serves up the loaf that is the bread of life—exhibiting in the bowls and retorts of her domestic alchemy the awesome power of transforming matter into nurturance. (Chernin 1985: 200) Similarly, Goody (1982: 70) reports that in traditional societies women who transform raw materials into food are considered to have special knowledge––the ability to “work … wonders.” Food preparation gave women the experience of power.24 Another dimension of the specialized skills and technological knowledge involved in the production of food and other household commodities was a pedagogical one. Women may have shared this knowledge with their female cohort, but perhaps more important was their role in transmitting it to the next generation, to their daughters and granddaughters. Women taught them the technological knowledge and technical skills required to perform women’s contributions to the household economy (Meyers 2021: 16–20). Food preparation forms a system of knowledge controlled by women (see Sutton 2016: 356), and daughters were de facto apprentices being socialized into their future role as housecraft managers. Food preparation engaged women in a fundamental aspect of motherhood––the transmission of food-preparations skills, along with the associated family and community values and lore, across generations. Mothers bring “tradition

Conversely, when food becomes available commercially, women’s household power decreases (Palmer 2002: 192). 24 

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through food into daily life” (Sutton 2016), an educative process that makes them household sages (Fontaine 1990: 161). Personal gratification is another inevitable consequence of women’s skill in food preparation. A little recognized concomitant of their technical expertise is the valued sense of self accompanying the ability to provide commodities necessary for survival. Similar gratification is associated with the food-related ritual activities carried out by women in daily life and for festal occasions (Meyers 2013: 169–70). From our twentyfirst-century perspective preparing foods for everyday, seasonal, and celebratory rituals may seem like a trivial aspect of religious life, but ethnographic observations indicate how important food was in the religious lives of women in traditional societies (e.g., Sered 1992). Women in charge of sacral food practices were performing ritual acts and thereby had leadership roles in household religion; they were ritual experts for many household religious practices no less than priests were at supra-household shrines.

CONCLUDING COMMENTS Preparing food was an economic activity, no less important to household survival than growing crops or livestock. The tendency in modern feminism to view cooking as simply a domestic chore or practical activity often precludes awareness of the dynamics of women’s role in food preparation in traditional societies. Yet, with its social, religious, and other concomitants, food preparation in ancient Israel transcended its physicality and must be seen in its larger context. To assign differential value to the division of labor in which women are linked with food preparation and thus are seen as having less prestige or value than men is to succumb to androcentric assumptions of essentialism. Indeed, the very idea of discrete female and male prestige may be inappropriate in “contexts where notions such as gender complementarity outweigh those of hierarchy” (Gilchrist 1999: 52). When women’s labor transforms raw materials that men produce into products that are life-sustaining and are also essential elements in the fabric of social and religious life, gender hierarchies become irrelevant. Moreover, the technological knowledge embedded in food production was arguably equal to if not more complex than the male technologies of growing crops and animals. Women’s technologies and food-processing knowledge cannot be ignored in assessing any society (see McGaw 1996). Ethnographic evidence supports the notion of gender complementarity in ancient Israelite agrarian households. In Muslim Palestinian households in the early twentieth century, peasant women were the equals of their husbands, unlike in towns, and occasionally ruled the household (Wilson 1906: 103). Similarly, Egyptian village women might seem subordinate but were, in fact, the managers of the household (Ammar 1954: 50). And Iranian peasant women had a great deal of household authority and sometimes complete control (Watson 1979: 226). Men may have dominated in supra-household matters, but women’s dominance of food production (and other household technologies) precluded subordination in most aspects of household life.25 Preparing food was a cultural as well as physical act. In their daily activities of transforming raw materials to cooked substances Israelite women were engaged in processes that encoded values and maintained identity. Moreover, in preparing special

Because of women’s household authority, the validity of the patriarchy designation for ancient Israel can be contested (Meyers 2013: 193–9; 2014c). 25 

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foods for celebratory and festal meals, they provided vehicles for conveying and preserving family and communal memory and sanctity. A household’s food culture, practiced and transmitted by women, helped maintain the household as a social unit and connect it to other units. All told, the gender-specific nature of food preparation in Israelite households situated women as significant cultural actors.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Baadsgaard, A. (2008), “A Taste of Women’s Sociality; Cooking as Cooperative Labor in Iron Age Syro-Palestine,” in B. A. Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 13–44, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars. This article, which focuses on baking, relates the location of ovens to women’s socially meaningful interaction. Ebeling, J. and Homans, M. M. (2008), “Baking and Brewing Beer in the Israelite Household: A Study of Woman’s Cooking Technology,” in B. A. Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 45–62, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars. Using artistic, literary, and archaeological materials, this essay argues that Israelite women as bread-makers were also brewers. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat?: Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. This book uses biblical texts, archaeological materials, and anthropological sources to determine the components of the Israelite diet. Meyers, C. (2013), Rediscovering Eve; Ancient Israelite Women in Context, New York: Oxford University Press. This overview of ordinary Israelite women includes a discussion of women’s economic roles, especially food production, and what they mean for gender relationships. Sutton, D. (2016), “The Anthropology of Cooking,” in J. A. Klein and J. L. Watson (eds.), Handbook of Food and Anthropology, 349–69, London: Bloomsbury Academic. This essay examines how cooking skills are performed and transmitted, often in gendered forms.

REFERENCES Ackerman, S. (2012), “Household Religion, Family Religion, and Women’s Religion in Ancient Israel,” in J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan (eds.), Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, 127–58, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Allison, P. M. (1999), “Introduction,” in P. M. Allison (ed.), The Archaeology of Household Activities, 1–18, London: Routledge. Ammar, H. (1954), Growing up in an Egyptian Village: Silwa, Province of Aswan, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Amiry, S. and Tamari, V. (1989), The Palestinian Village Home, London: British Museum Publications Ltd. Baadsgaard, A. (2008), “A Taste of Women’s Sociality; Cooking as Cooperative Labor in Iron Age Syro-Palestine,” in B. A. Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 13–44, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars. Blackman, W. S. (1927), The Fellāḥīn of Upper Egypt: Their Religious, Social and Industrial Life To-day with Special Reference to Survivals from Ancient Times, London: Harrap. du Boulay, J. (1974), Portrait of a Greek Mountain Village, Oxford: Clarendon Press.

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Broshi, M. (2001), Bread, Wine, Walls, and Scrolls, JSOTSup 86, London: Sheffield Academic Press. Canaan, T. (1962), “Superstition and Folklore about Bread,” BASOR 167: 336–47. Chambon, A. (1984), Tell el-Far‘ah I: L’Âge du fer, Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations 31, Paris: Association pour la Diffusion de la Pensée Française. Chernin, K. (1985), The History of the Hungry Self: Women, Eating, and Identity, New York: Harper and Row. Chernoff, M. (1999), “Gender, Family and Farming in Turkish Agricultural Villages: Multiple Perspectives on The Past,” Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of ASOR, Cambridge, MA. Ciezadlo, A. (2011), Day of Honey: A Memoir of Food, Love, and War, NY: Free Press. Cohen-Weinberger, A. (2001), “Ground Stone Objects,” in A. Mazar and N. Panitz-Cohen, Timnah (Tel Batash) II: The Finds from the First Millennium bce, Text, Qedem 42, 225–38, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Counihan, C. M. (1999), The Anthropology of Food and the Body: Gender, Meaning, and Power, New York: Routledge. Dimen, M. (1986), “Servants and Sentries; Women, Power, and Social Reproduction in Kriorisi,” in J. Dubisch (ed.), Gender and Power in Rural Greece, 53–67, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Dommershausen, W. (1995), “leḥem,” in G. J. Botterweck, H. Ringgren, and H.-J. Fabry (eds.), D. E. Green (trans.), TDOT 7: 521–9, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Dubisch, J. (1986), “Culture Enters through the Kitchen: Women, Food, and Social Boundaries in Rural Greece,” in J. Dubisch (ed.), Gender and Power in Rural Greece, 195–214, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ebeling, J. (2016), “Engendering the Israelite Harvests,” NEA 79: 186–94. Ebeling, J. and Homans, M. M. (2008), “Baking and Brewing Beer in the Israelite Household: A Study of Woman’s Cooking Technology,” in B. A. Nakhai (ed.), The World of Women in the Ancient and Classical Near East, 45–62, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars. Faust, A. (2011), “Household Economies in the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah,” in A. YasurLandau, J. Ebeling, and L. Mazow (eds.), Household Archaeology in the Bronze and Iron Age Levant, 255–73, Leiden: Brill. Finkelstein, I. (1986), ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah: An Early Iron Age Site near Rosh Ha’ayin, Israel, BAR International Series 299, Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. Fontaine, C. L. (1990), “The Sage in the Family and Tribe,” in J. G. Gammie and L. G. Perdue (eds.), The Sage in Israel and the Ancient Near East, 155–64, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Garfinkel, Y. (2009), “Stone and Metal Artifacts,” in Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 1; Excavation Report 2007–2008, 175–94, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Gilchrist, R. (1999), Gender and Archaeology: Contesting the Past, London: Routledge. Goody, J. (1982), Cooking Class, and Cuisine, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grant, E. (1907), The People of Palestine, Philadelphia: Lippincott. Grigg, D. (1999), “Food Consumption in the Mediterranean Region,” Journal of Economic and Social Geography (Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie) 90: 391–409. Hardin, J. W. (2010), Lahav II: Households and the Use of Domestic Space in Iron II Halif: An Archaeology of Destruction, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Hart, L. K. (1992), Time, Religion, and Social Experience in Rural Greece, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

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Hayden, B. (2001), “Fabulous Feasts: Prolegomenon to the Importance of Feasting,” in M. Dietler and B. Hayden (eds.), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, 23–64, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution. Hovers, E. (1996), “The Groundstone Industry,” in D. T. Ariel and A. de Groot (eds.), Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985 Directed by Yigal Shiloh, Volume 4: Various Reports, Qedem 35, 171–203, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Le Lannou, M. (1941), Patres e paysans de la Sardaigne, Tours: Arrault. Lenski, G. E. (1984), Power and Privilege: A Theory of Social Stratification, Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Lesko, B. S. (2008), “Household and Domestic Religion in Ancient Egypt,” in J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan (eds.), Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, 197–209, Malden, MA: Blackwell. Limet, H. (1987), “The Cuisine of Ancient Sumer,” trans. J. Glass, BA 50: 132–40. Lupton, D. (1996), Food, the Body and the Self, London: Sage. Lutfiyya, A. M. (1966), Baytīn a Jordanian Village: A Study of Social Institutions and Social Changes in a Folk Community, The Hague: Mouton. MacDonald, N. (2008), What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat?: Diet in Biblical Times, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Maher, V. (1976), “Kin, Clients, and Accomplices: Relationships among Women in Morocco,” in D. L. Barber and S. Allen (eds.), Sexual Divisions and Society: Process and Change, 52–75, London: Tavistock. March, K. S. and Taqqu, R. L. (1986), Women’s Informal Associations in Developing Countries, Boulder, CO: Westview. McGaw, J. A. (1996), “Reconceiving Technology; Why Feminine Technologies Matter,” in R. P. Wright (ed.), Gender and Archaeology, 52–75, Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press. Meyers, C. (2003), “Everyday Life in Biblical Israel: Women’s Social Networks,” in R. E. Averbeck, M. W. Chavalas, and D. B. Weisberg (eds.), Life and Culture in the Ancient Near East, 425–44, Bethesda, MD: CDL Press. Meyers, C. (2008), “Grinding to a Halt: Gender and the Changing Technology of Flour Production in Roman Galilee,” in S. Montón-Subías and M. Sánchez-Romero (eds.), Engendering Social Dynamics: The Archaeology of Maintenance Activities, 65–74, Oxford: Archaeopress. Meyers, C. (2011), “Archaeology—A Window into Women’s Lives,” in I. Fischer and M. N. Puerto, with A. Taschl-Erber (eds.), Torah, 61–108, Volume 1.1 of I. Fischer, M. N. Puerto, J. Økland, A. Valerio, and C. de Groot (eds.), The Bible and Women: An Encyclopedia of Exegesis and Cultural History, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Meyers, C. (2013), Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context, New York: Oxford University Press. Meyers, C. (2014a), “Feast Days and Food Ways: Religious Dimensions of Household Life,” in R. Albertz, B. A. Nakhai, S. M. Olyan, and R. Schmidt (eds.), Family and Household Religion: Toward a Synthesis of Old Testament Studies, Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Cultural Studies, 225–50, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Meyers, C. (2014b), “Menu: Royal Repasts and Social Class in Biblical Israel,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 129–47, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Meyers, C. (2014c), “Was Ancient Israel a Patriarchal Society?” JBL 133: 8–27.

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Meyers, C. (2016), “Double Vision: Textual and Archaeological Images of Women,” HBAI 5: 112–31. Meyers, C. (2021), “Mother’s Wisdom: Technical Training and Lessons for Life,” in T. M. Lemos, J. Rosenblum, K. Stern, and D. Ballentine (eds.), With the Loyal You Show Yourself Loyal: Essays on Relationships in the Hebrew Bible in Honor of Saul M. Olyan, Ancient Israel and Its Literature 42, 13–28, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Mintz, S. (1994), “Eating and Being: What Food Means,” in N. Harriss-White and R. Hofenberg (eds.), Food—Multidisciplinary Perspectives, 102–15, Oxford: Blackwell. Molleson, T. (1994), “The Eloquent Bones of Abu Hureyra,” SA 271: 70–5. Murdock, G. P. and Provost, C. (1973), “Factors in the Division of Labor by Sex: A CrossCultural Analysis,” Ethnology 12: 203–25. Nemet-Nejat, K. R. (1998), Daily Life in Ancient Mesopotamia, Westport, CT: Greenwood. Palmer, C. (2002), “Milk and Cereals: Identifying Food and Food Identity among Fallāḥīn and Bedouin in Jordan,” Levant 34: 173–95. Parker, B. J. (2011), “Bread Ovens; Social Networks and Gendered Space: An Ethnoarchaeological Study if Tandir Ovens in Southeastern Anatolia,” American Antiquity 76: 603–27. Paz, Y. (2016), “Stone Tools,” in Z. Herzog and L. Singer-Avitz (eds.), Beersheba III, the Early Iron IIA Enclosed Settlement and the Late Iron IIA-IIB Cities: Volume III, Artifacts, Ecofacts and Concluding Studies, 1258–1304, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Reed, S. A. (1992), “Bread,” ABD 1: 777–80. Robins, G. (1993), Women in Ancient Egypt, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Schmitt, R. (2012a), “Elements of Domestic Cult in Ancient Israel,” in R. Albertz, and. R. Schmidt, Family and Household Religion in Ancient Israel and the Levant, 57–219, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Schmitt, R. (2012b), “Typology of Iron Age Cult Places,” in R. Albertz and. R. Schmidt, Family and Household Religion in Ancient Israel and the Levant, 220–44, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Sered, S. S. (1992), Women as Ritual Experts: The Religious Lives of Elderly Jewish Women in Jerusalem, New York: Oxford University Press. Smith, J. D. (2003), “Here, There, and Anywhere,” in S. Noegal, J. Walker, and B. Wheeler (eds.), Prayer, Magic, and the Stars in the Ancient and Late Antique World, 21–36, University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. van den Steen, J. (1991), “The Iron Age Bread Ovens from Tell Deir ‘Alla,” ADAJ 35: 135–53. Stowers, S. (2008), “Theorizing Ancient Household Religion,” in J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan (eds.), Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, 5–19, Malden, MA: Blackwell. Subías, S. M. (2002), “Cooking in Zooarchaeology: Is This Issue Still Raw?” in N. Milner and P. Miracle (eds.), Consuming Passions and Patterns of Consumption, 7–15, Cambridge: University of Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Sutton, D. (2001), Remembrance of Repasts: An Anthropology of Food and Memory, Oxford: Ber. Sutton, D. (2014), “Cooking is Good to Think,” Body and Society 29: 133–48. Sutton, D. (2016), “The Anthropology of Cooking,” in J. A. Klein and J. L. Watson (eds.), Handbook of Food and Anthropology, 349–69, London: Bloomsbury Academic. Tierney, R. K. and Ohnuki-Tierney, O. (2012), “Anthropology of Food,” in J. M. Pilcher (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Food History, 117–34, Oxford: Oxford University Press. https://

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www.oxfordhandbooks.com/view/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199729937.001.0001/oxfordhb9780199729937-e-7 van der Toorn, K. (2008), “Family Religion in Second Millennium West Asia (Mesopotamia, Emar, Nuzi),” in J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan (eds.), Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, 20–36, Malden, MA: Blackwell. Waetzoldt, H. (1987), “Compensation of Craft Workers and Officials in the Ur III Period,” in M. A. Powell (ed.), M. Powell (trans.), Labor in the Ancient Near East, 117–42, New Haven: American Oriental Society. Wagner, S. (1986), “ṭārap; ṭerep; ṭerēpâ; ṭārāp,” TDOT 5: 350–7. Watson, P. J. (1979), Archaeological Ethnography in Western Iran, Viking Fund Publications in Anthropology 57, Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Watson, P. J. (1999), “Ethnographic Analogy and Ethnoarchaeology,” in T. Capitan (ed.), Archaeology, History and Culture in Palestine and the Near East: Essays in Memory of Albert E. Glock, 47–65, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Whittaker J. (2000), “The Ethnoarchaeology of Threshing in Cyprus,” NEA 63: 62–9. Wilk, R. R. and Rathje, W. L. (1982), “Household Archaeology,” American Behavioral Scientist 25: 617–39. Wilson, C. T. (1906), Peasant Life in the Holy Land, London: John Murray. Yahalom-Mack, N. and Mazar, A. (2006), “Various Finds from the Iron Age II Strata in Areas P and S,” in A. Mazar, Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Volume I: From the Late Bronze Age IIB to the Medieval Period, 468–504, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

CHAPTER 23

Food in Canaanite Myth JOSEPH LAM

INTRODUCTION It is widely recognized that the discovery of the Ugaritic texts in the first half of the twentieth century revolutionized our understanding of the Hebrew Bible, particularly in terms of its mythological background. For it is in these Ugaritic stories that we read of the acts of divine figures who are mentioned in the Bible but whose mythological roles have been obscured, suppressed, or transformed by the biblical writers: gods like El (Ugaritic ’Ilu),1 Baal (Ugaritic Ba‘lu),2 Asherah (Ugaritic ’Aṯiratu),3 among others (Greenfield 1987: 546–9; Smith 2002: 19–64). In this and other respects, the Ugaritic texts provide us an unparalleled glimpse into Canaanite mythology—with “Canaanite” here serving as an umbrella term for the broad cultural setting out of which the texts of the Hebrew Bible emerged.4 Indeed, when formulated in this way, the Ugaritic materials can be understood as an especially important source for the examination of the Hebrew Bible in relation to its ancient Israelite context. Recently, in a set of reflections on Israelite religion and the Ugaritic texts, Mark Smith introduced the crucial theoretical qualification that “[t]he major

Of course, in many places in the Hebrew Bible where the term ’ēl is found, it is ambiguous as to whether it denotes a deity “El” (as distinct from Yahweh) or the more generic title of “God” (as applied to Yahweh), not to mention its additional function as a common noun for “a god, a deity.” In Ugaritic, the term ’ilu is similarly ambiguous between the name of the high god and the common noun. 2  The Ugaritic word ba‘lu means “lord, master,” which is in keeping with the role of this storm-god as the patron deity of Ugarit. 3  The etymology of this divine name is uncertain, but the most common suggestion is that it represents an abbreviation of a longer epithet rbt aṯrt ym meaning “lady who treads on the sea” (for discussion, see Rahmouni 2008: 281–5). This goddess is the consort of El. 4  Though the complexities and pitfalls of the term “Canaanite” have been much discussed, the term is retained in the title of this essay in keeping with conventional usage. The problems, in brief, are several. On the technical side, many scholars question the appropriateness of the term either as a linguistic designation for the Ugaritic language or as a geographical label (“Canaan”) for a region that includes ancient Ugarit (for a useful summary, see Pardee 2001). Indeed, the present author would not consider Ugarit(ic) to be “Canaanite” in either of these senses. At a more general level, the use of “Canaanite” to designate a broad cultural continuum, though still defensible, is also viewed by some as problematic for the implicit opposition it sets up between “Israelite” and “Canaanite” religious practices, thereby uncritically re-inscribing the ideological construction of the biblical authors and potentially reducing Ugaritic to a mere foil for the Hebrew Bible (for discussion, see Hillers 1985). Even with these problems, the term “Canaanite myth” can be retained so long as one recognizes that (i) our use of the Ugaritic texts as the primary source for Canaanite mythological ideas is borne entirely out of necessity, since no other comparable body of detailed textual sources exists for such a purpose; (ii) the Ugaritic texts and the Hebrew Bible ought to be viewed as mutually illuminating, with complex dimensions of both continuity and discontinuity between them. 1 

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narratives of the Bible are not simply representations or juxtapositions of representation, but juxtapositions of competing or hostile representations and compromises on the part of [various] tradents” (2007: 10). That is, not only do biblical texts include multiple ideological viewpoints, but their long subsequent history of literary development greatly complicates the comparative task, whether in relation to Ugaritic, Mesopotamian, or other ancient Near Eastern materials. Still, given their cultural proximity to the setting of the earliest biblical traditions, the Ugaritic texts remain crucial in helping us to discern the developments that might have taken place: The Bible has traveled a considerable distance not only from the literary and religious antecedents found in the Ugaritic texts; it has traveled a great distance from its own Israelite past. The Ugaritic texts help us see some of the various displacements that the older religion of ancient Israel may have experienced under the influence of later developments in Israel. (Smith 2007: 11) It is with these theoretical considerations in mind that we take up the present topic of food in Canaanite myth. Even a cursory examination of the Ugaritic mythological texts reveals the frequency with which the themes of food, and particularly feasting, appear. In fact, mentions of the serving of food and drink punctuate numerous episodes in the Baal, Aqhat, and Kirta stories as well as other texts with mythological themes at Ugarit.5 Yet, it is also clear that noticeable differences of genre and ideology contribute to the gap between the role that food plays in Ugaritic literature vis-à-vis the Hebrew Bible. In what follows, the focus will be to elucidate the Ugaritic mythological picture as fully as possible on its own terms. Then, some comments will be offered on how the biblical texts might have “traveled” from their earlier Israelite past.

THE PROMINENCE OF FOOD IN UGARITIC MYTH Food is prominent in Ugaritic myth because the deities are understood as royal figures who regularly convene over shared meals. As anthropomorphic beings, the gods eat and drink; as royalty, the meals in which they participate tend not to be ordinary affairs, but “feasts” in the sense of having communal or ritual significance (Dietler 2001; 1996).6 This aspect of divine description is a point of notable contrast with the Hebrew Bible, for the Israelite god Yahweh is not typically or prominently portrayed as consuming food in any straightforward way, even if vestiges of such a conception are preserved

For the purposes of the present study, this is understood to include the major mythological cycles of Baal, Aqhat, and Kirta; a number of shorter or more fragmentary myths such as the Rapa’ūma texts (KTU 1.20–1.22) and the myth of Dawn and Dusk (i.e., Shahar-and-Shalim; KTU 1.23); and the so-called “paramythological” texts (Pardee 1988), which can combine mythological and practical elements. All of these texts are characterized by the consistent use of poetic parallelism, and together they appear to reflect a reasonably coherent mythological “universe” of deities and their mutual interactions. 6  For Dietler, “‘[f]east’ is an analytical rubric used to describe forms of ritual activity that involve the communal consumption of food and drink. Rituals of this kind play many important social, economic, and political roles in the lives of peoples around the world” (2001: 65). At the same time, he emphasizes “that identifying feasts as ritual activity does not mean that they are necessarily highly elaborate ceremonies” (2001: 67). In the present study, one must also keep in mind that we are dealing with literary representations of feasts and not the practices of feasts themselves. 5 

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sporadically in the biblical texts.7 At Ugarit, this conception of the deities and their consumption of food offers a basis for unifying the literary depictions with the realm of ritual practice: as Dennis Pardee observes in a summary of the ritual corpus at Ugarit, “[t]here can be little doubt that the animal sacrifices and the vegetal offerings” that are repeatedly enumerated in the ritual texts “were considered at some level to provide the gods with food” (2002: 226). The mythological texts, however, augment this picture by depicting the gods in their personal interactions with one another; and feasts, with all their symbolic features, serve as the social setting par excellence in which these interactions acquire significance.8

THE LANGUAGE AND PRACTICALITIES OF FEASTING In the Ugaritic mythological texts, a number of general terms are used to describe feasting, many of which have cognates in Biblical Hebrew (BH) and are potentially illuminating for Hebrew usage. Most common is the verb LḤM (“to eat;”9 cf. BH leḥem, “bread/ food”), which designates the core activity of the feast, along with ṮRM (“to dine”) which sometimes appears with it in poetic parallelism; both can denote the overall activity of partaking in a banquet. The verb ‘ŠR (D: “to invite, serve [a feast]”) designates the activity of hosting and can sometimes be found with the cognate accusative ‘šrt (“banquet”—i.e., ‘ŠR ‘šrt, “to give a banquet”). In terms of drinking, the regular terms are ŠTY (“to drink;” cf. BH šātâ) and ŠQY (D/Š: “to give drink;” cf. BH hišqâ). Worthy of special mention are the pair of verbs DBḤ (cf. BH zābaḥ) and ṬBḤ (cf. BH ṭābaḥ), both of which relate (at least originally) to the action of slaughtering an animal for food. The distinction between these verbs is usually explained as that of religious sacrifice vs. non-religious slaughter, partly under the influence of BH usage. While such a distinction is not without merit for Ugaritic (especially in the ritual texts), it is not entirely adequate as a description of usage in the mythological texts, where the gods themselves are said to perform both the actions of DBḤ and ṬBḤ. In fact, the only reliable distinction between the usage of these Ugaritic verbs is syntactic: ṬBḤ regularly requires a direct object indicating the type of animal to be slaughtered, whereas DBḤ can be used intransitively to mean “to hold a feast (involving the consumption of slaughtered animals).”10

As will be discussed later, in a number of instances in the Priestly texts, offerings are described as “food” (leḥem) for Yahweh, e.g., Lev. 3:11; 3:16, et passim. Also, Yahweh is described as smelling the aroma of sacrifices that are offered up (based on the Hebrew phrase rēaḥ nîḥôaḥ: Gen. 8:21, Lev. 1:9, et passim). For more on the implications for the Hebrew Bible, see the last section of this essay (“Implications for the Hebrew Bible”). 8  H. L. J. Vanstiphout, in a discussion of the banquet theme in ancient Mesopotamian literature, describes three different literary functions of such scenes: (1) they can represent “a substantial structural element, by which [he means] that the narrative slot could not very well be filled by another occurrence;” (2) they can serve as “a formal nexus,” that is, “a point where significant developments in a story start;” and (3) “the banquet itself” can serve as “an occasion—the occasion par excellence—for making far-reaching decisions” (1992: 10–11). As we shall see, this overview offers useful insights for comparison with Ugaritic though perhaps is inadequate as a narrow rubric. 9  This root also shows up in the Š-stem (with the expected meaning “to feed, cause to eat”), and probably also in the D-stem (again with the meaning “to feed”), if the interpretation of Dani’il’s actions in KTU 1.17 I are correctly understood as him feeding the gods (see Wright 2001: 22–6). 10  To be clear, DBḤ is attested with a syntax resembling the usage of ṬBḤ as well: e.g., KTU 1.114 1, “El slaughters game in his house” (il dbḥ b bth mṣd). 7 

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Within descriptions of feasts, the foods that are served—where specified—consist almost exclusively of meat and wine, along with bread as a standard staple.11 This nutritiously unbalanced situation underscores the social context of eating in these stories: since the gods are royal figures, the food they eat is the luxurious fare of palace banquets (see Lloyd 1990: 190). This is reflected in the prevalence of meat, a prime example of the idea of conspicuous consumption.12 One particularly elaborate depiction of the largesse of a royal banquet is found in the Baal Cycle, in a scene that occurs after the completion of Baal’s palace: KTU 1.4 VI 40–59 [Baal] slaughters oxen [and] flock-animals, he fells bulls and fatling rams, yearling calves, lambs (and) great numbers of kids. He invites his brothers into his house, his kin into his palace, he invites the seventy sons of Athirat. He provides the gods with rams (and) wi[ne], he provides the goddesses with ewes, he provides the gods with bulls (and) wi[ne], he provides the goddesses with cows, he provides the gods with thrones (and) wi[ne], he provides the goddesses with chairs, he provides the gods with jars of wine, he provides the goddesses with bowls. While the gods ate and drank, they were provided with sucklings, with a salted knife, a cut of fatling. They drink wine from goblets, The bl[ood of trees from] golden c[ups]. Though the language here is largely formulaic, the way in which the formulae are combined results in an especially elaborate picture.13 The passage is not without difficulties; the ambiguity resulting from the damage on the right side of the column of the tablet has elicited several divergent interpretations of this passage, so the precise reconstruction

The noun lḥm in Ugaritic, as in Hebrew, is ambiguous as to whether it denotes “food” in general or “bread” in particular—this is true even in the cognate-accusative phrase LḤM lḥm (“to eat bread/food”). Generally, however, in depictions of divine fare, it is meat and not bread that was a marker of lavishness. In an illuminating detail from the Kirta story, huge amounts of baked wheat bread are prepared for his town in preparation for a military campaign (KTU 1.14 II 29–30, 1.14 IV 10–11), underscoring its function as a basic staple. 12  As Fieldhouse observes: “In general, the foods used for feasting are (a) scarce, (b) high quality, (c) often expensive, (d) difficult and time-consuming to prepare” (1986: 92; quoted in Lloyd 1990: 190)—all of which apply to the preparation of meat in antiquity. 13  Specifically, the beginning of this passage is duplicated in KTU 1.22 I 12–14 as well as in the broken context of KTU 1.1 IV 30–32 (for a discussion of the formulaic language here, see Lloyd 1990: 171–3). As for the parallels with the end of the passage (particularly the phrase b ḥrb mlḥt qṣ mri, “with a salted knife, a cut of fatling”), see Wright (2001: 101–5). 11 

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offered here attempts to balance both epigraphic and philological considerations.14 Particularly interesting is the gendered pattern of the animals that are served: the male gods are served rams (krm) and bulls (alpm), while the female goddesses are served ewes (ḫprt) and cows (arḫt); the possible omission of “wine” (yn) from the ends of the lines corresponding to the goddesses may or may not reflect a continuation of this gendered distinction.15 Whatever the precise interpretation of the individual details, the overall picture is that of a lavish, meat-filled affair, accompanied by drinks flowing freely. Although the animals in the above description are all domesticated types, that is not always the case in Ugaritic. For instance, KTU 1.114 begins with El serving “(wild) game” (mṣd) and “prey” (ṣd) to the other gods. Another passage, from the Baal Cycle, depicts the goddess Anat slaughtering (ṭbḥ) a series of animals that most interpreters understand as including categories of wild beasts (KTU 1.6 I 18–29). This pattern is not only restricted to when divine entities provide the food, for king Kirta is urged also to use “game” (mṣd) to attract Baal, the son of Dagan (KTU 1.14 I 26, 1.14 IV 8). Biblical scholars will certainly be familiar with the Israelite prohibition against the sacrifice of wild animals, and it is worth asking to what extent the Ugaritic and Israelite situations might be mutually illuminating. While some would propose modifying the interpretation of Ugaritic mṣd/ṣd to “food” (in general) based on an alternate Semitic root meaning “provisions,”16 thus bringing the Ugaritic situation more in line with the Israelite one, in this case it would seem more prudent to retain the interpretation of “(wild) game” for mṣd/ṣd and accept that the difference is owing to ideological features particular to the Israelite (specifically, Priestly) system. Ronald Hendel offers a plausible explanation of the underlying conception for the latter when he writes that [d]omestic animals were truly domestic—of the domus, “house”—in Israelite households. The analogy between the Israelite and the domestic livestock make the latter an apt gift and even a symbolic counterpart for the worshiper, who sacrifices a The primary issue of interpretation concerns whether the specific entities mentioned in lines 47–54 (krm, ḫprt, alpm, arḫt, etc.) are designations for the divinized figures in attendance (e.g., “ram-gods,” “ewe-goddesses,” etc., modifying the preceding word ilm or ilht in each line) or whether they are the items (animals and otherwise) being provided for the gods and goddesses. On this point, I prefer the second option, following Pardee (1997a: 262), Smith and Pitard (2009: 594–5), and others (and against De Moor [1987: 60–1]; Dietrich and Loretz [1997: 1167] and Wyatt [2002: 107–8]). However, in contrast to both Smith and Pitard (2009), who deny the restoration of {yn} anywhere in lines 47–52 (and instead take the visible {y} at the end of lines 47, 49, and 51 as the prefix element to the verbs in lines 48, 50, and 52 respectively), and to Pardee (1997a: 262), who would restore {yn} at the end of all six of those lines (despite the bit of space and lack of a word divider at the end of what is preserved of lines 52 and 54—for the best available published photo, see the DVD accompanying Smith and Pitard [2009]), I propose that {yn} be restored only in the odd lines 47, 49, and 51, leading to two further interpretive possibilities: either (i) the omission in the even lines reflects a gendered distinction whereby wine is served to the male deities but is withheld from the female deities; or (ii) the instances of {yn} at the end of the preceding odd-numbered lines are doing “double-duty” for each of the pairs of statements regarding gods and goddesses (e.g., “he provides the gods with rams [and] wine; [along with wine] he provides the goddesses with ewes”—lines 47–48). (D. Pardee [personal communication] confirms that the epigraphic side of this proposal, at least, is possible given the traces visible on the tablet.) 15  In addition to the present context, some see in the language of KTU 1.3 I 13–15 (“a holy cup women may not look upon, a goblet Athirat may not eye”) a similar hint of a cultural restriction relating to women and wine at Ugarit (see Belnap 2008: 64). But it may also be possible to see the particles l in lines 14 and 15 as asseveratives instead of negatives, which would change the meaning entirely (Watson 1996: 315). 16  One of the problems with this alternative solution is that it does not make good syntactic sense for KTU 1.114 1, where mṣd is the direct object of the verb DBḤ “to slaughter” (for this and other arguments, see Pardee 1988: 27–33). 14 

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creature analogous to him/herself to God. Hence sacrificial animals are restricted to the domestic side of the domestic/wild distinction. (Hendel 2007: 136). Similarly, Jacob Milgrom sees a “conscious effort” on the part of the Priestly writers “to restrict the sacrificial quadrupeds to a narrower range of edible animals, namely, the domesticated species, as a model for the differentiation between priests and ordinary Israelites” (1991: 723). By contrast, in Ugaritic mythology, “it appears that the gods were perceived as regularly dining on a combination of wild and domesticated beasts” (Pardee 1997a: 269 n. 242). The differences in genre and function between the texts being compared (namely, the Ugaritic mythological narratives and the Priestly legislation) are also relevant here, for the vast majority of animals attested as offerings in the Ugaritic ritual texts are domesticated.17 Thus, the preference for domesticated animals in sacrificial practice might be understood as a more basic anthropological reality,18 with the Ugaritic and Israelite literary texts representing distinct ideological constructions around two sets of similar sacrificial practices. As for drink, the royal beverage of choice at Ugarit was undoubtedly wine (and not beer), as widely attested in the administration, literature, and iconography of the site during the Late Bronze Age (Caubet 2013: 226–37; Heltzer 1990: 119–35; Matoïan 2013: 61–76; Matoïan and Vita 2018: 299–318; Zamora 2000). The standard term that one encounters in the texts is yn (“wine,” cf. BH yayin), with trṯ (“new wine;” cf. BH tîrôš), ḫmr (“foaming wine,”19 cf. BH ḥemer), and the metaphorical phrase dm ‘ṣm (lit., “blood of trees”) as alternate designations. The ideological importance of wine and drinking in mythological contexts can be seen in texts such as KTU 1.108, which begins by enjoining multiple deities to “drink” (ŠTY)20 and ends by extolling the power of the god Rapi’u;21 and KTU 1.114, which portrays El as regaling the other gods with food and drink, getting them drunk,22 then becoming so intoxicated himself that he stumbles in his

One possible exception might be found the terms ynt “dove” and ynt qrt, “city-dove,” for if the latter term specifically implies a domesticated dove, then the first term might be thought of as designating a wild dove (Pardee 1988: 28). Even with this possible (minor) exception, one must not overlook the otherwise broad similarities between the Ugaritic and Israelite situations in terms of basic practice (Pardee 2002: 233–5). 18  J. Z. Smith famously asserted that “[a]nimal sacrifice appears to be, universally, the ritual killing of a domesticated animal by agrarian or pastoralist societies” (1987: 197). Even if some exceptions to this “universal” picture exist (and I readily defer to other experts on this point), it would seem that the basic pattern Smith observes is widespread enough to justify it being a useful generalization. 19  This is presumably in reference to wine still close to the fermentation stage (Pardee 1997b: 276 n. 10). 20  It is theoretically possible that the verbs in this text (KTU 1.108) containing the letters š-t (e.g., yšt in lines 1 [2x], 10, and 13, and tšt in line 6) instead represent forms of the middle-weak verb √ŠT meaning “to place” (hence, “may DN be established”). However, as Pardee (2002: 193) argues, such an interpretation leaves quite a bit of ambiguity as to what the “establishment” would represent, whereas we have “excellent parallels for deities participating in drinking feasts” (see further Pardee 2002: 204 n. 1). In fairness to the non-drinking interpretation, it must be acknowledged that the text does not contain the word yn “wine” (unless it is to be restored in the break at the beginning of line 1—see Pardee 1988: 83). 21  As is so often the case with Ugaritic and other cuneiform tablets, only a fragment containing the very beginning and very end of this text is preserved (for photo, see Pardee 1988: 77). The genre of this text is also debated; Wyatt calls it “[a] hymnic prayer accompanying libations” (2002: 395), while Pardee characterizes it as “an invitation to the deities invoked to join in a feast as which Rāpi’u, the first deity named, is described as requesting of Ba‘lu that he transmit the powers of the Rapa’ūma to the living king” (Pardee 2002: 193). 22  Described in formulaic fashion: “The gods eat and drink; they drink wine to satiation, new wine until intoxication (‘d škr)” (KTU 1.114 2–4). 17 

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own house, falling over in his own excrement.23 This latter text contains the interesting detail of El as having his own marziḥu—a social institution known also from nonliterary texts at Ugarit and whose central activity was apparently the consumption of wine.24 In any case, both these texts illustrate that the consumption of wine was a prestigious activity, befitting the gods even (or especially) in excess.25 The sequence in which eating and drinking take place in portrayals of feasting may also have significance. Wright has observed a general pattern in which such descriptions “put eating before drinking and … devote more attention to drinking than to eating” (2001: 118).26 He explains these patterns as reflecting the nuanced roles that the two components play in a typical feast: “The placement of solid food first indicates that it is primary, but the space devoted to drink shows that it is an important ‘recreational’ or socializing supplement” (Wright 2001: 118). To this I would add that the fooddrink sequence might in certain instances imply (as in KTU 1.114) that drinking was the climactic component of the feasting event. As Smith and Pitard state, “[d]rinking appears to be the hallmark of the high life in the pantheon” at Ugarit (2009: 112). The special focus on the “cup” (ks; also krpn, “goblet”) in a number of descriptions of feasting (e.g., KTU 1.3 I 8–15; 1.15 II 16–20; et passim) also reinforces this idea.27 In addition to the basic varieties of meat and wine, other foods are occasionally mentioned. “Honey” (nbt; cf. BH nōpet) is mentioned in poetic parallelism with wine in Kirta as among the victuals appropriate for El and Baal (KTU 1.14 II 19; 1.14 IV 2). In a passage from one of the Rapa’ūma texts, in addition to the standard array of slaughtered animals, one finds “olive oil” (zt), “dates” (kš), and “fruit” (pr) placed before the participants (KTU 1.22 I 15–16).28 In other cases, the specific cut or portion of meat is identified: for example, nšb (“haunch[?]”) and ktp (“shoulder-cut”) in KTU 1.114 10–11. As for the procedures surrounding feasting, the mythological texts provide only incidental details. Regarding the preparation of food, in a scene from the Baal Cycle

First, El “stumbles” (yštql, line 17) in his own house (see Wyatt 2002: 410 n. 33), necessitating that he be carried along by the double-deity Thukamuna-and-Shunama (lines 18–19) in a picture reminiscent of one of the stereotypical responsibilities of the “righteous son” in the famous passage on that theme in the Aqhat story (KTU 1.17 i 30–31 with parallels; see Wyatt 2002: 410 n. 37). Subsequently, he falls “in his own feces and his urine” (b ḫrih w ṯnth, line 21). 24  For overviews of the evidence of this institution in Northwest Semitic sources, see McLaughlin (2001); O’Connor (1986); and Bryan (1973). 25  To those who consider the portrayal of El in KTU 1.114 as indicative of a slighting of his character or cult, Wyatt offers the important corrective that such an approach “is not only to import an alien ethic (indeed an absurdly moralistic posturing) into the interpretation of ancient texts, but to misconstrue the symbolic parameters of this kind of mythology. El’s behavior, like that of Thor, Soma, Zeus and other gods with gargantuan appetites for liquor, is regarded as heroic” (Wyatt 2002: 405). 26  The sequence of eating before drinking is reflected even at the level of terminology: as far as I am aware, whenever a verb for eating (LḤM, ’KL, or their derivatives) is closely paired in poetry with a verb for drinking (either ŠTY or the Š-stem of ŠQY), the “eating” verb always precedes the “drinking” one (KTU 1.4 III 40; 1.4 IV 35; 1.4 IV 35–36; 1.4 V 48; 1.4 VI 55; 1.5 I 24–25; 1.5 IV 12(?); 1.6 VI 43–44; 1.15 IV 27; 1.15 V 10; 1.15 VI 2; 1.15 VI 4; 1.17 I 2–3; 1.17 I 7–8; 1.17 I 10; 1.17 I 12–13; 1.17 I 21–22; 1.17 II 30–31; 1.17 II 32–33; 1.17 II 34–35; 1.17 II 37–38; 1.17 V 19; 1.20 I 6–7; 1.22 I 21–22; 1.22 I 23–24; 1.23 6; 1.23 71–72; 1.88 3; 1.114 2–3; 1.169 6–7; references culled from Cunchillos, Vita, Zamora, and Cervigón [2003]). For more on this sequence in the literary portrayal of banquets in the ancient Near East, including in the Hebrew Bible, see Lichtenstein (1968: 24–30). 27  See Belnap (2008: 167–85) for a discussion of the role of the cup in divine blessing. For more on drinking vessels in Late Bronze and Iron Age Levantine contexts, see Koller (2012). 28  For a recent detailed analysis of this group of texts, see Pardee (2011). 23 

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FIGURE 23.1  A banquet scene at Ugarit. (Schaeffer 1966: 3 [fig. 1])

in which Athirat prepares food for El, “she puts a pot (ḫptr) on the fire, a stew-pot (ḫbrṯ) on top of the coals” (KTU 1.4 II 8–9). In a passage from Kirta describing the king’s provisioning of the town, it is said that the king has bread “baked” for the people (yip, from ’PY; KTU 1.14 II 30, 1.14 IV 11). When it comes to serving the food, the use of tables (ṯlḥn[t]) is standard; chairs (ksat) or thrones (kḥṯm) are also mentioned on occasion (e.g., KTU 1.4 VI 51–52). Since in KTU 1.114 5–6 we encounter the image of a dog “under the tables” (tḥt ṯlḥnt), the ṯlḥn at Ugarit was undoubtedly “a sturdy and important piece of equipment, standing on legs and providing a flat surface” (HALOT, s.v. “šulḥān”). At the same time, the regular appearance of the plural form ṯlḥnt in feasting contexts might suggest (perhaps) separate tables for each of the participants rather than a large communal table. In KTU 1.3 II 20–22, part of the “bloodbath of Anat” episode, the goddess apparently arranges “chairs” (ksat), “tables” (ṯlḥnt), and “footstools” (hdmm) for a group of unsuspecting warriors, luring them with the prospect of a feast only to massacre them.29 Figure 23.1 shows one of the few iconographic representations of banqueting furniture we have at Ugarit.30 The majority of these banquets are assumed to take place in the homes of the gods and kings who appear in the tales—that is, in palace contexts. This is evident in the feast episode, mentioned earlier, which takes place immediately after the completion of Baal’s palace (KTU 1.4 IV). In KTU 1.22 I 24, from the Rapa’ūma texts, a bt ikl (“house of eating”—i.e., “banquet-hall”), located on one of the summits of Lebanon, is identified as the place of the feast. On a different note, a fascinating line from the Kirta story describes the king’s practice of welcoming his guests: “To enter his house he allows, but to exit he

This passage as a whole has elicited a wide range of interpretations, many of which have ritual implications; for more details, see Walls (1992: 163–6); Smith and Pitard (2009: 127–94). 30  According to Caubet (2013: 228), “the identity of the participants in the ritual [in this image] … is unclear … : possibly another royal personage, or the god El, attended by Baal.” 29 

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does not allow” (‘rb [b]th ytn w yṣu l ytn, KTU 1.15 II 9–10). Edward Greenstein explains that this is to be “[u]nderstood as a gesture of hospitality, not constraint” (1997: 44 n. 62). The normal expectation was that the banquet would be filled with merriment. In the feast for Baal at the beginning of KTU 1.3, we find music in the form of a singer performing after the food and drink (KTU 1.3 I 18–22). By contrast, a different passage from the Baal Cycle gives a description of what an unhappy feast looks like: KTU 1.4 III 10–22 Mightiest Baal answers, the Cloud-Rider recounts: He rose up, stood, and scorned me, he rose up and spat on me in the midst of the assembly of the sons of El. […] was set upon my table, dishonor (qlt) in the cup I drank. There are two feasts (dbḥm) that Baal hates, three (that) the Cloud-Rider (hates): A feast of shame (bṯt) and a feast of low quality (dnt), and a feast of the misbehavior (tdmmt) of maidservants. For shame was indeed seen in it, for the misbehavior of maidservants (was) in it. Unfortunately, there is uncertainty as to the broader narrative context of this monologue of Baal, including the identity of the figure who “rose up” and “scorned” Baal.31 Still, the passage is interesting in its allusion to the standards of decorum that were understood to characterize the proper feast, and which were violated in this case. Of the three terms in the summation of the types of feasts that Baal hates, the first (bṯt) is the clearest, not only because of its uncontroversial BH cognate (bōšet, “shame”) but also because of the immediately language for scorn and disgrace in the preceding lines—in the first instance, then, bṯt denotes the “shame” of Baal being insulted. The second and third terms are much debated;32 in the interpretation presented here, they would refer to the “low quality” of the food (note the undesirable victuals placed on the table and cup of Baal in the preceding lines) as well as the “misbehavior” of the maidservants at the feast, perhaps as a secondary result of the initial “scorn.” In addition to its function in the narrative as a description of an improper feast, this passage may also have cultic significance at Ugarit. First, the proverbial character of the list of things Baal hates, with its numerical progression (“two … three … ”), is consistent with the possibility that an independent oral tradition might be involved (Roth 1965: 80–1).33 Furthermore, the use of the term dbḥ (“feast”) throughout the passage, which

Smith and Pitard (2009: 472) suggest that it is Yamm. Pardee (1997a: 258), by contrast, renders the verbs as plurals, leaving open the possibility of a more general identification. 32  For discussion of some of the possibilities, see Smith and Pitard (2009: 476–8). 33  Smith and Pitard (2009: 476 n. 14) dismiss this suggestion, but I do not see it as necessarily incompatible with the notion that the form of the saying could still reasonably make sense in its current literary context. That said, though I am more amenable to the proverbial nature of the numerical saying here, I do not follow Roth’s specific interpretation of the passage as a whole. 31 

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is a standard term in the Ugaritic ritual texts for both a generic “sacrifice” as well as a “sacrificial procedure,” could easily have prompted a connection with cultic practice. If so, then “[t]he three terms appear to cover three criteria for judging the quality of a [sacrificial] feast: the appropriateness of the sacrificial victim, its quality, and the service” (Pardee 1997a: 258 n. 144).34

THE SOCIAL DYNAMICS OF FEASTING As already mentioned, eating and drinking, especially in elaborate contexts of feasting, have important social implications. Consequently, the portrayal of such scenes can encode various nuances of social and political interaction. As Susan Pollock states, “[t]he pervasive and communicative features of commensality also make it politically malleable … involv[ing] the manipulation of meanings associated with food and beverages through their presentation and consumption in the service of political, religious, and other social goals” (2002: 19). In the mythological contexts that we have been examining, this is reflected in the dynamics observable in the literary portrayals of the feasts and their participants. Not surprisingly, in the Kirta and Aqhat stories, which involve human interactions with the divine, the offering of food—often couched in the language of banqueting—can accompany an appeal to the gods for a tangible need. A quintessential example of this is found in the Kirta story, where the protagonist, King Kirta, is enjoined by the god El in a dream to enlist the help of both him and Baal as part of the plan he is to follow to obtain a wife: KTU 1.14 II 9–26 You shall wash yourself and put on red makeup, wash your hands to the elbow, your fingers as far as the shoulder. Enter the shade of your tent: take a lamb in your hand, a sacrificial lamb in your right hand, a kid in both hands, all your food which is of choice quality. Take a flyer, a bird of sacrifice. Pour wine into a cup of silver, honey into a cup of gold. Go up to the summit of the tower, yes, go up to the summit of the tower, mount the shoulders of the wall. Lift up your hands to heaven, sacrifice to the Bull, your father El. Bring down Baal with your sacrifice, the son of Dagan with your game. Recently, Roche-Hawley (2016) has suggested that this passage might represent a veiled reference to the damage sustained by the Temple of Baal on the acropolis of Ugarit in the thirteenth century (see also Callot 2011: 61–2). 34 

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This description is less of a shared meal than of a ritual offering given to the pair of high deities, El and Baal. Nonetheless, the idea of the offerings as food to attract the gods is clear in the text. This passage, in terms of the dynamics of divine invitation, is also reminiscent of the only preserved text of a direct prayer in Ugaritic, KTU 1.119 26–36, which is an appeal to Baal and also imagines a military context—though, in that case, the situation described is that of an enemy encroaching upon the city walls, not of a military expedition abroad. Later in the Kirta story, after the king is successful in obtaining a wife in Hurray, he holds a banquet to which he invites the assembly of the gods (KTU 1.15 II 1–28). Though the description of the lead-up to the feast is broken off, the preserved portions describe Baal asking El to bless (BRK) Kirta, apparently right after the gods arrive (lines 11–12). El gladly obliges this request by essentially giving a toast to the human king: “[El] takes a cup in his hand, a goblet in (his) [righ]t hand; he indeed blesses [his servant]” (lines 16–19). In a similar way, the first three feast events preserved in the Aqhat tale all involve Dani’il, the human protagonist, serving food in appeal for, or in response to, divine blessing. David Wright describes these as “felicitous” feasts (following the terminology of Ronald Grimes)—that is, feasts that achieve their intended goal (2001: 19). In the first, Dani’il offers food and drink to the gods over seven days in an appeal for them to intervene in his lack of a son (KTU 1.17 I 1–16). The second has Dani’il specifically feeding the Kotharat, goddesses of childbirth, in order that his wife might conceive and bear the promised son (KTU 1.17 II 26–42). In the third of these successful feasting episodes, Dani’il, with the help of Lady Danatay, serves a meal to the craftsman double-deity, Kothar-and-Hasis, upon seeing the god approaching with a gift of a bow and arrows (KTU 1.17 V 3–33).35 These successful human-divine feasts tend to emphasize the profound dependence that humans have on the gods for tangible provision, help, and blessing. This pattern is discernible even in cases of “infelicitous” or “failed” feasts, for in such cases the failure is typically accompanied by a violation of the norms that characterize non-problematic feasts. For example, in the Aqhat story, the refusal of Aqhat to relinquish the coveted bow to Anat takes place during a feast (KTU 1.17 VI 2–55), which Wright argues must have been held in Dani’il’s home (2001: 107). Assuming Dani’il is indeed the host, this scene offers a sharp contrast with the previous human-hosted feasts in the Aqhat story. Instead of fostering harmony and prompting celebration, the interaction between Anat and Aqhat is a total disaster.36 Most notably, Anat violates a norm by asking for more than is offered, from a mortal no less, while Aqhat’s contemptuous reaction to the goddess is similarly inappropriate by the expectations governing a human response to a divine request. Further on in the story, we encounter another example of a disastrous feast: while Aqhat partakes in a meal, presumably marking some special occasion,37 Anat plots and carries out his murder with the assistance of her underling Yaṭupan (KTU 1.18 IV 11–37). The failure of this feast could not be more striking: instead of enjoying a festive meal, Aqhat is struck on the head by Yaṭupan and killed.

As Wright observes, while the first two feasts “seek mainly to obtain blessing from the deities,” in this third feast, “the meal is more clearly for hospitality and thanksgiving” (2001: 91). 36  Working from the categories of ritual infelicity developed by Grimes, Wright considers this feast to be “infelicitous in five ways … [namely,] nonplay, hitch, insincerity, flop, and violation” (2001: 114; italics original). 37  Wright argues, on the basis of specific indications in the text, “that the meal was not simply for nourishment or a ‘lunch-break’ but was an elaborate or even ritualized occasion” (2001: 132). 35 

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In the Baal Cycle, which takes place entirely in the divine realm, feasts are the primary narrative device through which the interactions and relative standing of the gods are expressed. As Dan Belnap observes, the story is characterized “by the use of meals, both in the presentation and in the preparation, for political ends. Not only does the meal reaffirm or create loyalty, it also is the mechanism by which … movement within the divine hierarchy” is conveyed (2008: 122). A number of examples can be offered to illustrate these dynamics. Two passages from the first two tablets of the Baal Cycle, despite challenges surrounding their interpretation, have been understood as playing crucial roles in the unfolding of the conflict between Baal and the sea-god Yamm.38 The first of these, KTU 1.1 IV 1–32, is difficult because of its fragmentary state of preservation. However, enough words and phrases are preserved to support the idea that a feast is being described, probably with El as the host.39 Based partly on several appearances of the verb pr‘ (“to pronounce,” sometimes with šm, “name”) in the text, in one case plausibly referring to Yamm (w pr‘ šm ym[…], “and he pronounces the name of Yamm[…],” KTU 1.1 IV 15), many interpreters see this feast as a setting in which El grants some sort of authority to Yamm (Pardee 1997a: 245 n. 32; Smith 1994: 149–50; Tugendhaft 2018: 79–81). This passage would then serve to explain why El favors Yamm over Baal later in the story (following the conventional order of the tablets). If this reconstruction is correct, it would illustrate the importance of the feast as the occasion for a divine conferral of power. Even if one might challenge certain aspects of the interpretation just described, the length of this feasting episode alone confirms its narrative importance. A second example is a feast occurring at precisely the moment that Yamm’s messengers confront the divine assembly presided over by El, demanding that they give up Baal.40 Just as the messengers arrive, it is said that the gods happened to be sitting down to dine. The passage is unlike the previous one in that the text and broader context are extremely well preserved; however, the main interpretive difficulty concerns the connotations of a specific verbal phrase. The actual description of the feast is short and reads as follows: KTU 1.2 I 20–21 Meanwhile the gods sit down to eat, the sons of the Holy One to dine— Baal stands next to El. The phrase translated here as “stands next to” is qm ‘l, and various attempts at translating it have been proposed, with slightly different implications for the situation being imagined: “waits on” (Smith 1994: 266); “attending on” (Pardee 1997a: 246); “stood by” (Wyatt 2002: 60); “stand bei” (Dietrich and Loretz 1997: 1121). Most recently, Aaron Tugendhaft has argued that the phrase is best understood as conveying a sense of

Note that the word yammu in Ugaritic means “sea.” Some of the vocabulary in this passage that is suggestive of a feast are: e.g., ṣḥ “he invited (to a feast)” (lines 2 and 4), il yṯb “El sits” (line 4), krpn b klat yd “a goblet in both hands” (line 10), il dbḥ “El serves a feast” (line 28), and ṭbḥ alp[m] “he slaughters oxe[n]” (line 30). 40  As Tugendhaft observes, the image here is of a king (Yamm) sending “messengers … tasked with the capture of an individual who refuses to show obeisance to the king” (2018: 89), akin to the status of a political fugitive. 38  39 

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antagonism, so “to stand up to/against” or the like (2018: 83–4).41 In my view, the phrase is primarily designating the physical proximity of Baal to El in the feast as a narratival device for raising the question of El’s commitment to Baal: would El remain “close” to Baal upon hearing the demand from Yamm’s messengers to hand Baal over? The answer, of course, is no, as we discover from the subsequent narrative, but the setting of this detail again at a feast underscores the central role of the feast as a social arena in which the relationships between the divine rulers are negotiated. In the first column of KTU 1.3, there is a well-preserved passage in which Baal is feasted. Since the first twenty-five lines or so of the column are missing (Herdner 1963: 14), and given the significant uncertainties regarding whether KTU 1.2 is continuous with KTU 1.3, we again cannot ascribe an immediate narrative context for the feast with any confidence.42 Most scholars assume that the passage is, at some level, a celebration of his defeat of Yamm, and this would indeed make sense of the detail in the text in which a good-voiced youth sings in praise of Baal (KTU 1.3 I 18–22). However, as Smith and Pitard point out, the feast described here “shows one outstanding feature compared to other such scenes in ancient Near Eastern literature: Baal celebrates his victory without his divine peers” (2009: 102; cited in Tugendhaft 2018: 109). This striking detail can be understood as an indication of the ambiguity of Baal’s status at this point in the narrative, before the completion of his palace (Belnap 2008: 58). Another important feast-event in the Baal Cycle that takes place immediately after Baal’s palace is completed is found in KTU 1.4 VI 40–59—this passage was quoted earlier to illustrate the lavish varieties of animals that can be provided at a feast. Given its context, the narrative function is more clear: this is an inaugural banquet, celebrating the achievement that the palace represents and elevating the prestige of Baal in the process. The holding of a banquet after the building of a palace is a recognized trope and practice in the ancient Near East. An Amarna letter (EA 3), from the Babylonian king KadashmanEnlil, describes an invitation to the king of Egypt to partake in food and drink in a new house that the Babylonian king built (Moran 1992: 7; see Tugendhaft 2018: 102). In the Hebrew Bible, one is reminded of the sacrificial feast that Solomon holds after the completion of the temple and palace in Jerusalem (1 Kgs. 8:62–65). Another especially elaborate example is the description of the ninth-century Assyrian king Ashurnasirpal II’s inauguration of his palace at the new capital of Calah (Kalhu): When I (Ashurnasirpal) consecrated the palace of Calah, 47,074 men (and) women who were invited from every part of my land, 5,000 dignitaries (and) envoys of the people of the lands Suḫu, Ḫindānu, Patinu, Ḫatti, Tyre, Sidon, Gurgumu, Malidu, Ḫubušku, Gilzānu, Kummu, (and) Muṣaṣiru, 16,000 people of Calah, (and) 1,500 zarīqū of my palace, all of them—altogether 69,574 (including) those summoned from all lands and the people of Calah—for ten days I gave them food, I gave them drink, I had them bathed, I had them anointed. (Thus) did I honour them (and) send them back to their lands in peace and joy. (Grayson 1991: 293)

A similar interpretation is reflected in the translation of Caquot, Sznycer, and Herdner: “Ba‘al se tient debout tout contre El” (1974: 130). 42  The questions regarding the continuity of KTU 1.2 with KTU 1.3 (see Smith 1994: 2–19; Smith and Pitard 2009: 9–10) have now been further complicated by Pardee’s recent re-evaluation of the traditional ordering of the columns of KTU 1.2 based on epigraphic considerations (2012: 69–72; 2007; see also Tugendhaft 2018: 84–7). 41 

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Moreover, in terms of the narrative context, the identification of the banqueters in attendance in KTU 1.4 IV 44–46 is not incidental: they are “his brothers” (aḫh), “his kin” (aryh), and “the seventy children of Athirat” (šb’m bn aṯrt). One of the most intriguing aspects of the portrayal of Baal in the Baal Cycle is his “double paternity”—that is, while he is generically a “son of El” by virtue of his being one of the gods,43 he is also called by the epithet “son of Dagan.” A number of explanations have been offered to explain this situation, from cultural contact to its potential encoding of political realities (AyaliDarshan 2013: 651–7; Pardee 2012: 75–7; Smith 1994: 91–4), but at the literary level, this results in a notable “tension between the family of El and Baal” in the story (Smith 1994: 91). Given this tension, and that the precise rationale for building the palace is that “Baal has no house like the (other) gods” (a refrain throughout the narrative: for example, KTU 1.3 V 38–39; 1.4 IV 50–51; et passim), the presence of Baal’s siblings at this feast of KTU 1.4 IV highlights the ongoing problematic nature of this status. While the completion of the palace no doubt elevates Baal to a kind of equality with the other gods, the question remains as to whether it is sufficient to overcome the familial tensions involved.44 The feast in KTU 1.4 IV, with its elaborate description and gendered features (of male animals served to male deities and female animals served to female deities), becomes a literary means for heightening this question. A final example from the Baal Cycle dealing not with a feast, but with the dynamics surrounding invitations to them, is found in Mot’s45 response to Baal (through messengers) in KTU 1.5 I.46 Although the passage is (again) plagued with interpretive problems, the notion of some sort of invitation to a feast appears central to the development of the narrative, regardless of how one resolves the issues. Mot begins the response in question by describing the voraciousness of his appetite (lit. “throat,” Ugaritic npš) via a series of metaphors. At the end of the speech,47 Mot declares that Baal is to go down into his “throat,” which amounts to death since Mot’s throat is the portal to the underworld. Near the middle of the response is the following crucial set of lines: KTU 1.5 I 22–27 So48 Baal has invited me along with my brothers, Hadd has summoned me along with my kin, As Smith (1994: 91) notes, El is explicitly called Baal’s “father” in a number of places (KTU 1.3 V 35 et passim). Pardee argues that “perhaps … Ba‘lu was the son of Dagan whom ’Ilu had adopted” (2012: 76) and so was not a son of Athirat, and that these family dynamics may lie behind the shaping of the myth as we have it. Smith and Pitard also point out that, despite this feast that Baal holds for the sons of Athirat, “he eventually fights and defeats them in 1.6 V 1–4” (2009: 310). 45  The Ugaritic word môtu, which furnishes the name of this deity, means “death.” 46  A fully preserved version of the response would have included both the narration of Mot’s instructions to his messengers (now mostly lost in the damaged portions of KTU 1.4 VIII, though the very end is preserved in KTU 1.5 I 1–8) as well as the carrying out of those instructions (the first part of which is preserved in KTU 1.5 I 12–27, with increased damage in lines 28–31, which can mostly be restored on the basis of lines 1–8). 47  The end of the message is restored based on the first eight lines of the column, KTU 1.5 I 1–8 (see previous note). 48  The beginning of this poetic line-segment, which occurs in line 22 of the column, reads kl (which follows KTU and has been confirmed as “certain” via personal communication with D. Pardee, who has collated the tablet). As for the analysis of the text, the letter sequence kl in this context can only make sense as a combination of an adverbial k + another particle l; the next question is whether the l is an asseverative (“indeed”) or a negative (“not”). The most common interpretation takes it as an asseverative and renders the following verbs ṣḥn and qran as imperatives (as appears to be the assumption of Pardee 1997a: 265, and of Smith 1997: 142, who reads k[n] in line 22 but with the same effect as k + asseverative l). However, this is problematic because “nowhere … in Semitic do we find asseverative *la- with an imperative” (Huehnergard 1983: 591). The alternative that Wyatt 43 

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to eat food with my brothers, and to drink wine with my kin. But have you forgotten,49 O Baal, that I can pierce you? In the understanding of the passage as presented here, Mot would be reiterating—with more than a tinge of sarcasm—an invitation to a feast that occurred earlier in the story (but which is no longer preserved). In KTU 1.4 VII 43–52, after Baal was established in his palace, and after the inaugural banquet was held, Baal declares his desire to send envoys to Mot to incite him in some way. The idea that this has something to do with the competition between Baal and Mot for kingship is clearly indicated in the statement, “it is I alone who reigns over the gods” (aḥdy d ymlk ‘l ilm, KTU 1.4 VII 49–50), which represents either Baal’s inner monologue or Baal’s understanding of Mot’s thoughts. The exact content of the subsequent message that he dictates to his messengers is not preserved (it begins in KTU 1.4 VIII 29–37, but the lines following are broken off), but it is certainly possible that it contained an explicit invitation to another feast at Baal’s new palace (distinct from the one already described in KTU 1.4 VI 40–59) in which Baal intended to confront Mot.50 If this reconstruction is correct, then Mot’s reply to Baal in KTU 1.5 I 11–35 (with restorations) would be prefiguring that the result of the invitation would not be what Baal intends. Mot’s appetite is endless, first of all, as he himself declares, which makes inviting him to a feast an unwise decision (after all, no rational host would want such a voracious guest!). But far worse than that (for Baal) is that Mot would eventually prevail by swallowing the storm-god (KTU 1.5 I 6–8; 1.5 II 2–6; 1.6 II 21–23). Perhaps what is also motivating Mot’s hostile response here, as assumed by many commentators,51 is that Mot never received an invitation to the previous inaugural banquet, a meal attended by all his kin, the other children of Athirat. Indeed, the description of that feast in KTU 1.4 VI made no mention of Mot, and it would not make sense for Baal to have to invite Mot, just to confront him, had Mot been at the inaugural banquet to begin with. If so, then by the implicit rules of commensality, Mot could rightly suppose that he had been slighted by the initial non-invitation. As Wyatt explains, “Baal’s omission of Mot from an invitation which did include his brothers is rightly construed by him as a deliberate

(2002: 199 n. 22) offers, which takes the l as a negative and the verbs ṣḥn and qran as suffix conjugations (hence “[he] did not invite me” and “[he] did not summon me” respectively), is also unlikely (despite its attractiveness in terms of reconstructing the narrative) because the deletion of l before the second verb form (qran) would apparently violate the rules governing the ellipsis of negative particles in Ugaritic: “[t]he negative [in Ugaritic] never elides without its verbal predicate,” which is not true of the asseverative (Miller 1999: 349; on the contrast with the BH situation mentioned in that article; see also Miller 2005; Miller-Naudé and Naudé 2017: 310–11). In view of these considerations, the only plausible option left is to interpret the l as an asseverative but the verbs ṣḥn and qran as suffix conjugations, yielding the translation provided and following Gibson (1977: 69). The narrative implications (as I see them) are elaborated in the discussion to follow. 49  Here taking the verb nšt (KTU 1.5 I 26) as a suffix conjugation form of NŠY (“to forget”—e.g., Pardee 1997a: 265; Wyatt 2002: 119). 50  While the idea that Baal’s initial message may have contained an explicit invitation of some kind must remain conjectural, it is worth noting that the word ṣḥt does appear in KTU 1.4 VIII 42, a word which is plausibly related to the verb ṢḤ (“to invite”). 51  This is true of interpreters who adopt different solutions to the translation of KTU 1.5 I 22–27; see, e.g., Tugendhaft 2018: 112–13; and Wyatt 2002: 119 n. 22 (whose interpretation makes the non-invitation to the inaugural feast the central issue).

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insult. The consequence, which will be disastrous for Baal, is that Mot, excluded from the feast, is not bound by ties of commensality to Baal. This is the classic ‘wicked fairy’ or ‘exclusion from the feast’ motif” (2002: 119 n. 24). In light of this, now that Baal does invite Mot (though with perhaps sinister intentions), Mot is not inclined to react kindly and also not obligated to refrain from taking hostile action of his own. Thus, the conventions around commensality play a crucial role in the presentation of the conflict between Baal and Mot in the myth.

IMPLICATIONS FOR THE HEBREW BIBLE As noted earlier, the fundamental differences between the role that Yahweh plays in the Hebrew Bible and the roles of the gods in the overtly polytheistic world of Canaanite myth precludes any simple comparison between the two when it comes to the theme of feasting. Rather, the details we glean from the Ugaritic texts are best understood as illuminating the general and sometimes distant background of the biblical texts, a background which might have been subsequently obscured or transformed. Take the example of sacrifice and its portrayal in the Hebrew Bible. In light of what we find in the Ugaritic texts, as well as the broader pattern of the “care and feeding of the gods” that is widely acknowledged as underlying ancient Near Eastern cultic practices,52 it would seem that sacrifice in ancient Israel was understood also at some level as the serving of food to Yahweh. Yet, such a notion is not necessarily obvious in the biblical texts. Menahem Haran makes the claim, regarding the Priestly writers, that they “did not envisage their God in such a form as to be in daily need of food, incense, and light” (1985: 221). Furthermore, it is possible to see, in the texts of the so-called “prophetic critique” of sacrifice (e.g., 1 Sam. 15:22-23; Isa. 1:11-15; Jer. 7:21-23; Amos 5:21-24; Mic. 6:6-8) at least a suggestion that Yahweh did not require sacrifices for sustenance.53 This sort of rhetorical move can also be detected in Ps. 50:12-13, in which Yahweh declares: “If I were hungry, I would not tell you; for the world and what fills it is mine. Do I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of he-goats?” Possible indications of an earlier history in which the notion of divine food was more prominent include the recurring phrase “food (leḥem) to Yahweh/God” in the Priestly texts as a description of certain altar sacrifices (e.g., Lev. 3:11, 16, 21:6, 8, 21; Num. 28:2, 24), as well as the phrase rēaḥ nîḥôaḥ (e.g., Gen. 8:21; Lev. 1:9; et passim), used to describe the sweetness of the aroma of sacrifices to Yahweh. However, in the latter case, the focus on aroma as opposed to taste or consumption can be understood as the muting of a more overt anthropomorphism. As Hendel argues: “God’s portion [of the sacrifice] is appropriate to his metaphysical station—it is supercooked, becomes wholly non-material, and rises to heaven. God’s reception of his portion also differs from human consumption: he smells the pleasant aroma rather than eating solid food” (2007: 143). Beyond the altar sacrifices, one can also point to the regular setting down of the “bread

See, e.g., Oppenheim (1977: 183–98); Haran (1985: 221–4). Particularly interesting is the possible preservation of a tradition that Yahweh did not require Israel to offer sacrifices during the forty years in the wilderness (Amos 5:25; cf. Jer. 7:22), though this interpretation is controversial (for counterarguments, see Andersen and Freedman 1989: 531–2; Eidevall 2017: 170–1). More broadly speaking, a lively debate continues regarding the extent to which these texts truly advocate a rejection of the practice of sacrifice in ancient Israel. For discussion, see Barton (2007); Hendel (2012); Klawans (2006: 75–100). 52  53 

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of the Presence” (i.e., “shewbread”—BH leḥem pānîm) on a table in the tabernacle, as a visual expression of serving food to the deity (Exod. 25:30; Lev. 24:5–9; see Haran 1985: 209–10).54 An important requirement of biblical sacrifices is that the animals be unblemished (BH tāmîm), which by itself does not imply a food-based conception of a sacrifice, since the idea of quality is equally crucial to a gift-based understanding. Nonetheless, the two conceptions are not, in principle, mutually exclusive. It should be noted, however, that the quality of the food served to the gods in Ugaritic mythology is mostly assumed rather than asserted, since it is lavishness that is the main consideration—with the possible exception of the passage KTU 1.4 III 10–22 discussed earlier (listing the types of feasts that Baal hates). In the late prophetic book of Malachi, there appears to be a more explicit equating of the sacrificial altar with Yahweh’s table, with a concomitant emphasis on the quality of the sacrifices offered: You say: “How have we despised your name?” By bringing polluted food (leḥem məgō’āl) onto my altar. And you say: “How have we polluted you?” By saying, “the table (šulḥān) of Yahweh is to be despised.” And when you bring a blind animal for sacrifice, is that not wrong? And when you bring a lame animal, or a sick animal, is that not wrong? Offer it to your governor: would he accept you or show you favor?—says Yahweh of hosts. (Mal. 1:6-8) In addition to the broad typological correspondences between biblical sacrifice and divine food, one also finds a number of biblical passages, often in poetic contexts, in which the idea of a divine feast functions as a metaphor (Korpel 1990: 411–13), and these reflect a variety of different configurations of the metaphorical pattern.55 A few examples will suffice to illustrate some of the possibilities, with special attention given to those with potential Ugaritic mythological connections. The text of Isa. 25:6-8 begins with a fairly straightforward extension of the pattern of metaphor, by portraying the future blessing of the nations as a joyous feast: “On this mountain, Yahweh of hosts will prepare for all the peoples a feast (mišteh) of fat things, a feast (mišteh) of excellent wines, fat things with marrow, excellent wines well refined” (v. 6). However, in the following verses, we find an interesting poetic twist, in which it is said that Yahweh “will swallow up death forever” (billa‘ hammāwet lāneṣaḥ; v. 8). This appears to be an unmistakable allusion to the tradition represented in the conflict between Baal and Mot (cf. Cho and Fu 2013: 120–32; Hays 2015: 320), with the reversal that it is death (Mot) being swallowed and not the one doing the swallowing.56 Even apart from the Canaanite mythological allusion, however, the poetic development of the metaphor is interesting, in that the “food” of the feast is not lavish fare, but—for Yahweh—the very powers in the world inimical to

Haran argues, further, that “[t]here are signs that, originally, there was also a drink-offering on the table to correspond to the human need for drink” (1985: 216). 55  On the idea of metaphorical patterns or families, see Lam (2016: 4–6, 10–14). 56  Cho and Fu (2013: 124) argue that “the prophet of Isa 25:8aα … invites his reader [initially] to mishear and to mistake death as the swallowing agent at the feast,” with the subsequent phrase “forc[ing] the reader to reread the ambiguous words … and discover in them a still more shocking meaning: Death will consume nothing. Rather, yhwh will swallow death in perpetuity.” Hays (2015: 320) acknowledges the “Swallowing Death” theme but also draws attention to a possible connection with “the image of the blessed dead feasting with a god.” 54 

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life. Thus, while the peoples consume for sustenance, Yahweh “consumes” as an act of conquering. A rather different example of the use of the feast as metaphor is found in Ezek. 39:1720, occurring as part of the broader section of the book on the forces of Gog. There, Yahweh invites the birds and wild animals to a feast (zebaḥ, v. 17) in which the main course consists of the flesh and blood of enemy soldiers. This is highly reminiscent of the “bloodbath of Anat” episode (KTU 1.3 II), both in content and in tone, with the important distinction that it is not the deity who is doing the gorging, but the scavenging birds and animals who are invited to the morbid feast. The imagery of the bloodbath of Anat has also been compared to biblical passages in which not Yahweh, but his “sword” (ḥereb), consumes his enemies (Smith and Pitard 2009: 162). For instance: “I will make my arrows drunk with blood, and my sword will eat flesh—(drunk) with the blood of the slain and captives, (flesh) from the heads of the long-haired enemy” (Deut. 32:42); “Yahweh has a sword which is sated with blood, it is gorged with fat, with the blood of lambs and goats, with the fat of kidneys of rams. For Yahweh has a sacrifice (zebaḥ) in Botsrah, and a great slaughter (ṭebaḥ gādôl) in the land of Edom” (Isa. 34:6). This metaphor is made possible by a feature of BH lexicography wherein swords are conventionally said to “eat” (’ākal) their victims, and the cutting blade of a sword is referred to as its “mouth” (peh). Thus, by extension, a great massacre wrought by the sword can be described metaphorically as a violent “feast” in which the weapon partakes. Finally, one of the most famous and beloved chapters of the Hebrew Bible, Psalm 23, contains the imagery of a feast: “You arrange a table (šulḥān) before me in front of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows” (Ps. 23:5). Unlike ṯlḥn in Ugaritic, the term šulḥān in BH is not uniformly understood by interpreters to refer to a piece of furniture with legs and a top; both BDB and HALOT suggest the possibility that the word originally denoted a “skin or leather mat spread on [the] ground” (BDB, s.v. “šulḥān;” cf. HALOT, s.v. “šulḥān”). For this reason, Clines (2006: 77–8) prefers the more abstract rendering of the phrase as “spread a banquet” instead of “prepare a table.” This is not impossible, but on balance, the simultaneous mention of an overflowing cup, especially in light of the prominence of the drinking cup in Ugaritic feasts as well as the reference to the psalmist dwelling in the house of Yahweh in v. 6, make the interpretation of šulḥān in this context as a piece of furniture equally if not more plausible.57 In fact, envisioning this feast as being held in a palace (and not a pasture) also helps to explain the other detail in this verse: namely, that the table is being set “in the presence of one’s enemies.” As we have seen from the Baal Cycle, palaces (especially mythological ones) were not free from the presence of adversaries; foreign dignitaries of varying political allegiances passed through as a matter of course, and feast invitations could include not only guests of ambiguous allegiance but even one’s most fearsome rival (Baal and Mot). Moreover, the individual-sized banquet table assumed in the Ugaritic texts (see Figure 23.1) makes the possibility of “enemies” in the vicinity (i.e., elsewhere in a larger banquet hall) much easier to visualize. Against this background, any remaining sense of incongruity in the metaphor would certainly fall within the normal bounds of poetic license. After all, is not the point of the psalm to emphasize Yahweh’s exceptional commitment to the

Clines’s reading of the psalm is also idiosyncratic in his insistence on a hyperliteral construal of the “sheep” metaphor from the beginning of the poem as applying to every verse in the psalm (2010; 2006). Thus, in his understanding, šulḥān can’t be a table because sheep eat “food spread on the ground” (Clines 2006: 78 n. 17). 57 

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psalmist, even when the psalmist is faced with a close confrontation with an enemy? Thus, the conventions of ancient Near Eastern commensal politics offer a promising way of thinking through the poetic implications of Psa. 23:5.58 In sum, these and other manifestations of food and feasting attest to the persistence, but also flexibility, of these themes within the Hebrew Bible. The Ugaritic mythological texts, when read with a careful eye to the conventions that operate around food and drink, provide us the symbolic clues for elucidating both the meaning and history of these biblical conceptions.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Belnap, D. (2008), Fillets of Fatling and Goblets of Gold: The Use of Meal Events in the Ritual Imagery in the Ugaritic Mythological and Epic Texts, Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias. A recent treatment of meal events in the Ugaritic mythological texts, offering a useful overview of both the narrative settings of the various episodes and the secondary literature. Caubet, A. (2013), “Of Banquets, Horses and Women in Late Bronze Age Ugarit,” in J. Aruz, S. B. Graff, and Y. Rakic (eds.), Cultures in Contact: From Mesopotamia to the Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C., 226–37, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. This richly illustrated article offers an overview of the material artifacts from Ugarit that bear some relation to the theme of banqueting. Hallo, W. W. and Younger, K. L. (eds.), “West Semitic Canonical Compositions,” COS 1: 237–375. See comment after Wyatt. Parker, S. B. (ed.), Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, WAW 9, Atlanta: Scholars Press. See comment after Wyatt. Wright, D. P. (2001), Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation Rites in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. This is an illuminating book that provides a close reading of the Aqhat story in light of the ritual events it narrates, many of which are feasts; theoretically informed and carefully argued. Wyatt, N. (2002), Religious Texts from Ugarit, 2nd edn., London: Sheffield Academic. Together these offer thoughtful and expert English translations of the Ugaritic texts cited in the present study, along with notes and commentary; where the translations differ significantly, they usually reflect the major interpretive options discussed in the secondary literature.

REFERENCES Adam, K.-P. (2014), “Feasting and Foodways in Psalm 23 and the Contribution of Redaction Criticism to the Interpretation of Meals,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 223–55, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Andersen, F. I. and Freedman, D. N. (1989), Amos: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 24a, New York: Doubleday.

For a more detailed consideration of how the meal scene functions within Psalm 23 in light of iconographic parallels, including the theme of the inclusion of enemies, see Adam (2014: 241–8). 58 

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Ayali-Darshan, N. (2013), “Baal, Son of Dagan: In Search of Baal’s Double Paternity,” JAOS 133: 651–7. Barton, J. (2007), “The Prophets and the Cult,” in J. Day (ed.), Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, 111–22, LHBOTS 422, London: T&T Clark. Belnap, D. (2008), Fillets of Fatling and Goblets of Gold: The Use of Meal Events in the Ritual Imagery in the Ugaritic Mythological and Epic Texts, Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias. Bryan, D. B. (1973), “Texts Relating to the Marzeaḥ: A Study of an Ancient Semitic Institution,” PhD diss., Johns Hopkins University. Callot, O. (2011), Les sanctuaires de l’acropole d’Ougarit: Les temples de Baal et de Dagan, Lyon: Publications de la Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée. Caquot, A., Sznycer, M., and Herdner, A. (1974), Textes ougaritiques, Tome I: Mythes et legends, Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf. Caubet, A. (2013), “Of Banquets, Horses and Women in Late Bronze Age Ugarit,” in J. Aruz, S. B. Graff, and Y. Rakic (eds.), Cultures in Contact: From Mesopotamia to the Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C., 226–37, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Cho, P. K.-K. and Fu, J. (2013), “Death and Feasting in the Isaiah Apocalypse (Isaiah 25:6–8),” in J. T. Hibbard and H. C. P. Kim (eds.), Formation and Intertextuality in Isaiah 24–27, AIL 17, 117–42, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Clines, D. J. A. (2006), “Translating Psalm 23,” in R. Rezetko, T. H. Lim, and W. B. Aucker (eds.), Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld, 67–80, Leiden: Brill. Clines, D. J. A. (2010), “Psalm 23 and Method: Reading a David Psalm,” in T. Linafelt, T. Beal, and C. V. Camp (eds.), The Fate of King David: The Past and Present of a Biblical Icon, 174–83, LHBOTS 500, New York: T&T Clark. Cunchillos, J.-L., Vita, J.-P., Zamora, J.-Á., and Cervigón, R. (2003), A Concordance of Ugaritic Words, Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas. https://www.academia. edu/500138/A_Concordance_of_Ugaritic_Words_CUW_all_versions_ De Moor, J. C. (1987), An Anthology of Religious Texts from Ugarit, Leiden: Brill. Dietler, M. (1996), “Feasts and Commensal Politics in the Political Economy: Food, Power, and Status in Prehistoric Europe,” in P. Wiessner and W. Schiefenhövel (eds.), Food and the Status Quest: An Interdisciplinary Perspective, 87–125, Oxford: Berghahn. Dietler, M. (2001), “Theorizing the Feast: Rituals of Consumption, Commensal Politics, and Power in African Contexts,” in M. Dietler and B. Hayden (eds.), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, 65–114, Washington: Smithsonian Institution. Dietrich, M. and Loretz, O. (1997), Mythen und Epen IV, TUAT III/6, Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Dietrich, M., Loretz, O., and Sanmartín, J. (2013), Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani und anderen Orten, Dritte, erweiterte Auflage, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Eidevall, G. (2017), Amos: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 24G, New Haven: Yale University Press. Fieldhouse, P. (1986), Food and Nutrition: Customs and Culture, London: Croom Helm. Gibson, J. C. L. (1977), Canaanite Myths and Legends, 2nd edn., London: T&T Clark. Grayson, A. K. (1991), Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC, I (1114–859 BC), Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods 2, Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Greenfield, J. (1987), “The Hebrew Bible and Canaanite Literature,” in R. Alter and F. Kermode (eds.), The Literary Guide to the Bible, 545–60, Cambridge, MA: Belknap.

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Greenstein, E. L. (1997), “Kirta,” in S. B. Parker (ed.), Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, 9–48, WAW 9, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Haran, M. (1985), Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into Biblical Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Hays, C. B. (2015), A Covenant with Death: Death in the Iron Age II and Its Rhetorical Uses in Proto-Isaiah, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Heltzer, M. (1990), “Vineyard and Wine at Ugarit (Property and Distribution),” UF 22: 119–35. Hendel, R. (2007), ‘Table and Altar: The Anthropology of Food in the Priestly Tora,” in R. B. Coote and N. K. Gottwald (eds.), To Break Every Yoke: Essays in Honor of Marvin L. Chaney, 131–48, SWBA 2nd. series 3 Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Hendel, R. (2012), “Away from Ritual: The Prophetic Critique,” in S. M. Olyan (ed.), Social Theory and the Study of Israelite Religion: Essays in Retrospect and Prospect, SBL RBS 71, 59–79, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Herdner, A. (1963), Corpus des tablettes en cunéiformes alphabétiques découvertes à Ras Shamra de 1929 à 1939, Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, Geuthner. Hillers, D. R. (1985), “Analyzing the Abominable: Our Understanding of Canaanite Religion,” JQR 75: 253–69. Huehnergard, J. (1983), “Asseverative *la and Hypothetical *lu/law in Semitic,” JAOS 103: 569–93. Klawans, J. (2006), Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism, New York: Oxford University Press. Koller, A. (2012), “The Kos in the Levant: Thoughts on its Distribution, Function, and Spread from the Late Bronze to the Iron Age II,” in G. Galil, A. Gilboa, A. M. Maeir, and D. Kahn (eds.), The Ancient Near East in the 12th–10th Centuries bce, Culture and History: Proceedings of the International Conference held at the University of Haifa, 2–5 May, 2010, 269–90, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Korpel, M. C. A. (1990), A Rift in the Clouds: Ugaritic and Hebrew Descriptions of the Divine, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. KTU = Dietrich, Loretz, and Sanmartín 2013. Lam, J. (2016), Patterns of Sin in the Hebrew Bible: Metaphor, Culture, and the Making of a Religious Concept, New York: Oxford University Press. Lichtenstein, M. (1968), “The Banquet Motifs in Keret and in Proverbs 9,” JANES 1: 19–31. Lloyd, J. B. (1990), “The Banquet Theme in Ugaritic Narrative,” UF 22: 169–93. Matoïan, V. (2013), “Du vin pour le délice de l’assoiffé,” in O. Loretz, S. Ribichini, W. G. E. Watson, and J.-Á. Zamora (eds.), Ritual, Religion and Reason: Studies in the Ancient World in Honour of Paolo Xella, 61–76, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Matoïan, V. and Vita, J.-P (2018), “The Administration of Wine at Ugarit,” WO 48: 299–318. McLaughlin, J. L. (2001), The marzēaḥ in the Prophetic Literature: References and Allusions in Light oft he Extra-Biblical Evidence, Leiden: Brill. Milgrom, J. (1991), Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, New York: Doubleday. Miller, C. L. (1999), “Patterns of Ellipsis in Ugaritic Poetry,” UF 31: 333–72. Miller, C. L. (2005), “Ellipsis Involving Negation in Biblical Poetry,” in R. L. Troxel, K. G. Friebel, and D. R. Magary (eds.), Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, 37–52, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Miller-Naudé, C. L. and Naudé, J. A. (2017), “The Scope of Negation Inside and Outside the Biblical Hebrew Prepositional Phrase,” in A. Moshavi and T. Notarius (eds.), Advances in Biblical Hebrew Linguistics: Data, Methods, and Analyses, 297–319, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Moran, W. L. (1992), The Amarna Letters, Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. O’Connor, M. (1986), “Northwest Semitic Designations for Elective Social Affinities,” JANES 18: 67–80. Oppenheim, A. L. (1977), Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization, rev. edn. completed by E. Reiner, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Pardee, D. (1988), Les textes para-mythologiques de la 24e campagne (1961), Ras ShamraOugarit IV, Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Pardee, D. (1997a), “The Ba‘lu Myth,” COS 1: 241–74. Pardee, D. (1997b), “Dawn and Dusk (The Birth of the Gracious and Beautiful Gods),” COS 1: 274–83. Pardee, D. (2001), “Canaan,” in L. G. Perdue (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to the Hebrew Bible, 151–68, Oxford: Blackwell. Pardee, D. (2002), Ritual and Cult at Ugarit, WAW 10, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Pardee, D. (2007), “RS 3.367, Colonne ‘IV’: étude épigraphique suivie de quelques remarques philologiques,” in W. G. E. Watson (ed.), “He unfurrowed his brow and laughed”: Essays in Honour of Professor Nicolas Wyatt, 227–47, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Pardee, D. (2011), “Nouvelle étude épigraphique et littéraire des textes fragmentaires en langue ougaritique dits ‘Les Rephaïm’ (CTA 20–22),” Or N.S 80: 1–65. Pardee, D. (2012), The Ugaritic Texts and the Origins of West-Semitic Literary Composition, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pollock, S. (2002), “Feasts, Funerals, and Fast Food in Early Mesopotamian States,” in T. L. Bray (ed.), The Archaeology and Politics of Food and Feasting in Early States and Empires, 17–38, New York: Kluwer. Rahmouni, A. (2008), Divine Epithets in the Ugaritic Alphabetic Texts, trans. J. N. Ford, Leiden: Brill. Roche-Hawley, C. (2016), “La reconstruction du temple de Ba‘lu à Ougarit au XIIIe siècle av. J.-C.: entre mythe et réalité,” in Y. Lafond and V. Michel (eds.), Espaces sacrés dan la méditerranée antique, 83–93, Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes. Roth, W. M. W. (1965), Numerical Sayings in the Old Testament: A Form-Critical Study, Leiden: Brill. Schaeffer, C. F. A. (1966), “Nouveaux témoignages du culte de El et de Baal à Ras ShamraUgarit et ailleurs en Syrie-Palestine,” Syria 43: 1–19. Smith, J. Z. (1987), “The Domestication of Sacrifice,” in R. G. Hammerton-Kelly (ed.), Violent Origins: Walter Burkert, René Girard, and Jonathan Z. Smith on Ritual Killing and Cultural Formation, 191–205, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Smith, M. S. (1994), The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, Volume I: Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU 1.1–1.2, Leiden: Brill. Smith, M. S. (1997), The Baal Cycle,” in S. B. Parker (ed.), Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, 81–180, WAW 9, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Smith, M. S. (2002), The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel, 2nd edn., Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Smith, M. S. (2007), “Recent Study of Israelite Religion in Light of the Ugaritic Texts,” in K. L. Younger (ed.), Ugarit at Seventy-Five, 1–25, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Smith, M. S. and Pitard, W. T. (2009), The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, Volume II: Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU/CAT 1.3–1.4, Leiden: Brill. Tugendhaft, A. (2018), Baal and the Politics of Poetry, London: Routledge. Vanstiphout, H. L. J. (1992), “The Banquet Scene in the Mesopotamian Debate Poems,” in R. Gyselen (ed.), Banquets d’Orient, 9–21, Bures-sur-Yvette, France: Groupe pour l’Étude de la Civilization du Moyen-Orient. Walls, N. H. (1992), The Goddess Anat in Ugaritic Myth, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Watson, W. G. E. (1996), “An Antecedent to Aṯirat and ‘Anat?” in N. Wyatt, W. G. E. Watson, and J. B. Lloyd (eds.), Ugarit, Religion and Culture: Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Ugarit, Religion and Culture, Edinburgh, July 1194; Essays Presented in Honour of Professor John C. L. Gibson, 315–26, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Wright, D. P. (2001), Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation Rites in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Wyatt, N. (2002), Religious Texts from Ugarit, 2nd edn., London: Sheffield Academic. Zamora, J.-Á. (2000), La vid y el vino en Ugarit, Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas.

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CHAPTER 24

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INTRODUCTION This chapter examines archaeological data pertaining to food and ethnic identity in the southern Levant during the Iron Age. It begins with an outline of the scope of the southern Levantine diet, paying particular attention to the issue of food insecurity. The fear of not having enough food was probably of greater daily concern than affirming or rejecting identity. Next, this chapter critiques the zooarchaeological evidence for the taboos, especially of pigs, that are codified in the Biblical texts. While finding some evidence to support an avoidance of pigs, I argue that projecting the pig taboo as it is known from medieval-modern Judaism and Islam is anachronistic. It is instead necessary to approach the pig taboo as something that evolved over time, perhaps beginning in the context of political consolidation in the Kingdom of Judah. This chapter stresses that the meaning of the pig taboo in the Iron Age was fundamentally different from that of today and, indeed, the Classical and medieval periods. Finally, the promise of examining the consumption of other foods forbidden in Leviticus is considered in the attempt to more broadly define an Israelite food identity.

THE MEANING OF FOOD AND FOOD STUDIES Food is a powerful tool for examining inter- and intra-cultural dynamics. The root of this power lies in the social relations necessary to produce or otherwise acquire sustenance. Obtaining food serves as a nexus, perhaps the nexus that binds people together. Additionally, food offers humans a medium through which to channel their creativity. Like sex, housing, clothing, and language, food is not only a core feature of the human experience that fulfills an obvious biological necessity, but one that presents humans with a dizzying diversity of options—there is an incalculable number of ways to forage or grow food, cook it, serve it, and eat it. That makes food an arena ripe for social negotiation and meaning. Anthropologists and archaeologists have used food to shed light on patterns of social status and class/caste politics (Appadurai 1981; Goody 1982; Price et al. 2017), hegemony and colonial power (Dawdy 2010; Mintz 1985), ethnic boundaries (Gifford-Gonzalez and Sunseri 2007; McKee 1987; Stein 2012), gender dynamics (Counihan and Kaplan 1998), and religious/ritual experience (Dietler and Hayden 2001; Rappaport 1967; Wiessner 2001)—among other sociocultural dynamics (Mintz and Du Bois 2002; Twiss 2012). Food affirms group belonging; it can serve as ingestible identity. But it also marks boundaries within and between groups. Appadurai’s (1981) concept of “gastro-politics”

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reminds us that the contexts surrounding the cooking, serving, and consuming food are potent arenas both for asserting equality and for substantiating inequality. In some cases, people may develop a sense of disgust for the food practices of others, which can evolve into powerful metonyms for prejudice. Beyond anthropology, food offers plenty for philosophical reflection. In the Bible, the human need of food, and its production of it, is God’s curse for eating of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil: “cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life” (Gen. 3:17).1 Yet for Ibn Khaldun, one of the earliest historiographers of the Middle East, food was a sign of Allah’s leniency—a lifeform’s singular requirement for self-perpetuation. Food is a blessing, but one that comes with deep social and political undertones; Ibn Khaldun also noted that a person could obtain food reliably and consistently only by entering into relations with other human beings— forming “civilization,” as he puts it (Muqaddimah, Book I, First Prefatory Discussion). In a sense, then, one could argue that if humans are indeed a “political animal” (Aristotle, Pol. I.2) or possess a “human essence” created through their social relations (Marx, Theses on Feuerbach, section VI), it is because of the need to work together to obtain food (and other necessities). Flipping the old adage “one does not live by bread alone” on its head: it is precisely because one cannot get bread alone that one does not live solely by it. Obtaining food may well be the origin of human sociability, as Ibn Khaldun argues, but it is undeniable that the acquisition of food is social. And therein lies the root of food’s incredible cultural significance and power. No human being finds or produces food without techniques, tools, knowledge, or labor acquired from others. Even one’s own labor spent in the acquisition of food intimately connects one to other human beings. For Marx, the human “species-being” is defined by conscious reflection during the labor process (Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844, section 24; Capital, Chapter 7.1). While seemingly taking place at the level of the individual, this is inherently social. Labor, that uniquely human form of work, involves planning, coordination, foresight, communication, and abstraction. It gives rise to, and is made possible by, ritual, gender roles, politics, religion, and technology. Human “toil,” as Genesis puts it, proceeds from and reproduces society. If food is made inherently social through its production/acquisition, so too is its consumption a social act imbued with meaning. Consumption reflects production, recalling it and bringing it to its end. It is no surprise, therefore, that people universally consider eating with others ideal, while eating alone pitiful, anti-social, and/or animalistic (Goody 1982: 206). Eating alone rejects the inherently social essence of food. In the Abrahamic traditions, eating directly connects one to God, the ultimate creator of all food (e.g., Gen. 9:3). Through proper blessings, even the hermit need not eat alone. On the other hand, sharing food with others is a moral imperative (e.g., Isa. 58:7; Prov. 22:9). Occasionally, explicit commands to eat together are made: “The Messenger of Allah said ‘Eat together and do not eat separately, for the blessing is in being together’” (Sunah Ibn Majah vol. 4, Book 29, Hadith 3287). These passages reinforce the idea that that through sharing and consuming food with others, one affirms one’s obligations to God and community. Recognizing the power of food, in recent years, biblical scholars have sought to use food to shed light on the cultures of the Israelites and their neighbors (e.g., Fu and Altmann

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Unless otherwise indicated, all Bible translations are from the NRSV.

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2014; MacDonald 2008; Shafer-Elliott 2013). One can detect several motivations at play. Studying food ties biblical archaeology more closely to anthropological archaeology. It makes it more appealing to prehistorians. Additionally, the study of food makes use of the scientific techniques that have revolutionized the field of archaeology, thus connecting biblical archaeology to the most up-to-date and cutting-edge method and theory. These connections help legitimize biblical archaeology, offering some freedom from the tyranny of texts. On the other hand, in studying food and deploying modern methodological techniques, there is a real risk of fetishization and obfuscation. Armed with “STEM,” biblical archaeologists can deploy au courant methods to attract attention to their preconceived notions of Israelite life, avoid rigorous counterargument in publication and peer-review, and launder their ideas as fact in press releases to the public. One form this abuse takes is the essentialization of the Israelite and Philistine identity. There has been an alarming development over the past two decades in which food remains (especially pig bones) have been uncritically equated with ethnicity, to the point that real data are thrown out or explained away as problematic when they do not fit the desired narrative. The only solution is to mandate a broad and general education in scientific techniques. It is imperative that twenty-first-century biblical archaeologists become familiar with methods and, though they may not be specialists, read results with eyes turned critically to sampling procedures, laboratory protocols, statistical analyses, and anthropological/ historical interpretations of the results.

WHAT DID THE ISRAELITES EAT? Establishing the basic sources of food is the first step towards answering some of the more interesting cultural questions about the significance of food. Examinations of the “biblical diet” based primarily on textual analysis, but also including archaeological data, already exist in digestible format for the public (Borowski 1987; MacDonald 2008). The following paragraphs build on these reviews and provide a synthesis of recent contributions from archaeological science.2

Cereals The core of the ancient Israelite diet, like that of the rest of the Near East, was composed of cereals. This was likely eaten in the form of breads, although porridges and beer may also have been common despite their poor attestation in biblical sources.3 Various types of wheat were consumed and in different proportions. Free-threshing durum wheat and hulled emmer wheat were probably the most common types grown in the Jezreel and Jordan River Valleys (MacDonald 2008: 20) as well as the Galilee and Shephelah (Riehl and Nesbitt 2003: 303). Other varieties were also grown; for example, Weiss and Kislev’s (2004) analysis of the seventh-century bce Ashkelon archaeobotanical assemblage suggests a prevalence of small-grained wheat (T. parvicoccum). In addition to wheat, barley, a cereal somewhat more resistant to salinity and low rainfall, was also grown. Sixrow hulled barley was the dominant cereal, for example, at Tell Qasile (Riehl and Nesbitt

2  3 

See also Chapter 19 in this volume. See also the discussion in Chapter 5 in this volume.

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2003: 303) and in the small assemblage of cereal grains from Iron II Megiddo (Liphschitz 2000: 493). The processing of cereal was an important and time-consuming domestic activity. Identifying cereal-processing areas from archeological finds alone is complex and researchers often disagree about the interpretation of features. In their analysis of alleged threshing floors at Iron I Megiddo, Shahack-Gross et al. (2015) concluded from micromorphological data that the installations, in fact, represent household refuse heaps. Much of our evidence comes from grinding stones and slabs. Grinding slabs have been excavated from within four-room houses at Izbet Ṣarṭah and a large grinding installation set on a raised earth platform was found within a house at ninth century bce Tel Reḥov (Ebeling and Rowan 2004: 114–15). It is important to note that grinding grain was the near-exclusive domain of women.4 However, some texts refer to the use of male prisoners or slaves in grinding facilities (e.g., Samson in Judg. 16:21) (see also van der Toorn 1986). This feminization of prisoner/slave labor, the bending of gender categories to reflect power dynamics, is a potent example of how food and its preparation are actively mobilized on a daily level as symbolic of sociocultural structures and identity beyond ethnicity.

Legumes Legumes add complementary amino acids, especially lysine, to a diet heavy in cereals and fix nitrogen in soils depleted by cereal cultivation (MacDonald 2008: 28). Lentils were the most important (Olsvig-Whittaker et al. 2015). Chickpeas, bitter vetch, fava beans were also grown. Archaeobotanical data have also shed light on an unexpected legume: grass pea (Lathryus sativus). Grass pea is hardy and nutritious but contains the neurotoxin Oxalyldiaminopropionic acid responsible for the motor neuron degenerative disease lathyrism. Grass pea seeds have been recovered from seventh-century Ashkelon, eleventh-century Tell Qasile, and early-twelfth-century Tel Miqne-Ekron (Mahler-Slasky and Kislev 2010). Because of its near-exclusive popularity at Philistine sites and ostensible connections to the Aegean world (e.g., Middle Bronze II Tel Nami), Mahler-Slasky and Kislev (2010) have argued that grass pea was an “ethnic food”—a food, like pork, not eaten (often) by Israelites and other neighboring groups. Grass pea is thus one of several indications of unique Philistine foodways.

Wine, Oil, and Other Crops Viticulture and wine are mentioned frequently in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Deut.16:13; 2 Sam. 16:1), and extra-biblical sources, such as the so-called Assyrian Wine Lists (KinnierWilson 1972), attest to its frequency in royal courts and elite manors in the Iron Age. Scientific analyses have corroborated the importance of wine. Archaeobotanical analysis indicates an uptick in grape pip remains from archaeological sites in the Iron Age compared to the Middle and Late Bronze Age (Riehl 2009: 109). Large numbers of pips and other remains of grapes have been found in quite high abundances at several archaeological sites (e.g., Ashkelon: Weiss and Kislev 2004: 4). This may have been a result of the result of a wetter climate, or perhaps the construction of terraces/irrigation channels to improve soil moisture levels in marginal regions such as the Shephelah (Riehl and Shai 2015: 303). There is also evidence for wine storage and consumption. Koh et al.’s residue analysis

4 

See Chapter 22 in this volume.

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of ceramics from the courtyard of a Middle Bronze palace at Tel Kabri has revealed the presence of tartaric and syringic acids, both signatures of wine storage (Koh et al. 2014). Olives and flax are also well attested to in Biblical and archaeobotanical records (Riehl and Shai 2015). The carved stone features of olive presses are a regular find at archaeological sites, as are olive stones, which preserve well in the archaeological record (Riehl and Nesbitt 2003: 303; Riehl and Shai 2015; Weiss and Kislev 2004: 4). Meanwhile, pollen records indicate a spike in Olea pollen during the Iron I (1150–950 bce), especially in cores drilled in the Sea of Galilee (Langgut et al. 2015). Flax, a plant that requires substantial water to grow, became more abundant in the Iron Age compared to preceding periods (Riehl 2009: 108). The recovery of one million flax seeds at Iron I Beth Shean speaks to the importance of this crop, which can be grown for textile production or for its oil (Kislev et al. 2011: 581). A variety of other edible plants have been found in the archaeobotanical record, some of which are not recorded in biblical or other texts. For example, remains of hackberry (Celtis australis) were found at Tel Reḥov and Tel Jezreel (Simchoni and Kislev 2011) and apricot (Prunus armeniaca) in the City of David (Frumin et al. 2015). Other native fruit trees, such as figs and pomegranates, were also grown (Riehl and Shai 2015: 526; Ward 2003). It also appears that the Iron Age saw the earliest cultivation in the Levant of exotic plants for spices/drugs, including sycamore, cumin, coriander, bay tree, and opium poppy. Interestingly, all of these plants appear first at Philistine sites such as Ashkelon and Miqne-Ekron (Frumin et al. 2015).

Animal Products Rounding out the Iron Age diet was protein derived from the meat and milk of sheep, goats, and cattle (Sasson 2008; 2010; Sapir-Hen et al. 2014).5 Sheep and goats, in roughly equal proportions, comprise 70–90 percent of the animal bones at Israelite sites in the Iron I and Iron II (Sasson 2010: 31–5). Based on demographic data and the proportions of sheep to goat, Sasson (2008: 127–8) argues that sheep and goat herders practiced generalized, risk-minimizing husbandry throughout the Iron I and through the rise of territorial states in the Iron II period. There was potentially more specialized production focused on wool or milk in the Iron IIC, with evidence for delayed kill-off at Tel Moza (Sapir-Hen et al. 2014: 108). Pigs generally represent [temple building] > peace/security, the complex surrounding 2 Samuel 7 with the multiple meanings of house as palace/temple and succession/dynasty, and the use of a commensal politics of the table. That is to say, the basic conception of household as those who share at the table is exemplified in the idea of the patrimonial household, one that can be expanded to include a dynastic house and temple (see, e.g., Stager 2003). This brings a discussion back to the use, not only of food but also the idea of table, to frame at least a larger portion of the DtrH (Judg. 1:7/2 Kgs. 25:27-30). The foregoing discussion strongly suggests an awareness of this trope. A second theme, although not noted in the above discussion, concerns the ways in which female agency appears in these passages. Women are featured in the giving of hospitality (Rahab, Josh. 2:1; Jael, Judg. 4:18-19; the widow of Zarephath, 1 Kgs. 17:1013); as central figures related to kings, such as the medium of En-Dor (1 Sam. 28:22-25) and the wise Abigail, whose decisive actions avert disaster (1 Sam. 25:18-19, 35). The agency shown by these women in the arena of food likely stems from the primacy of women as preparers of food, which gives them a certain amount of household power (e.g., Meyers 2013: 168).31 Yet comparative studies show that dominance in one area, even a fixed space, does not mean dominance throughout (Appadurai 1981; Bourdieu 1990). The implicitly tenuous nature of women’s power is apparent—while fasting, Hannah must be recognized by Eli for her prayers to be answered (1 Sam. 1:9-18); Tamar is raped by Amnon while cooking (2 Samuel 13; see, Shafer-Elliott 2013: 165–74; Pace 2018); and Jezebel becomes a byword, her fate perhaps the most striking within DtrH (2 Kgs. 9:34-37; Appler 1999). Although the Queen of Sheba takes action to investigate Solomon’s wisdom, her observations at Solomon’s table lead to his exaltation (1 Kgs. 10:8-9). In some ways, these acts are highlighted. Abimelech expresses shame at receiving a fatal wound from a woman by a millstone in Judg. 9:53-55, thereby underscoring the depths to which he had fallen. Thus, although women are given prominent roles related to food in D and DtrH, their actions are often presented in the narrative as outliers that indicate a society at its limits, whether or not that was actually the case in Israelite society. On a final note, can the focus of D and DtrH on food be connected to some specific periods, such as a focus on meat during scarcity (see, e.g., Altmann 2014; Magness 2014), or as a result of the process of state formation that requires the legitimacy conferred by a large social event? While such considerations may be valid, a cautious note is also in order: the primal necessity of food together with its easy symbolic valence may well resonate no matter the era, for the sensory aspects of food for its sensory aspects tie it together with memory (Sutton 2001). This quality of food could have provided a tangible and accessible avenue into the past, a digestible way of community formation. Food and its remembrance thus become, as stressed in these books, a kernel of identity around which the past is celebrated and kept for the future.

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See, e.g., the discussions in Chapters 23 and 25 in this volume. See the discussion in Chapter 22 in this volume.

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SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Douglas, M. (1966), “The Abominations of Leviticus,” in Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo, 42–58, London: Routledge. An important and widely cited study on the prohibitions in Leviticus and Deuteronomy that rationally focuses on their sociological and didactic function. MacDonald, N. (2008), Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament, Oxford: Oxford University Press. This volume, which brings together textual and archaeological sources on food in the Hebrew Bible, helped to establish the field of food studies in biblical scholarship. Römer, T. (2007), The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction, New York: T&T Clark. Originally published 2005. Clear and readable contribution to the history of scholarship of the Deuteronomistic History. Stager, L. E. (1985), “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel,” BASOR 260: 1–35. Articulates the family structure of ancient Israel from an archaeological and textual synthesis.

REFERENCES Adam, K.-P. (2007), Saul und David in der judäischen Geschichtsschreibung. Studien zu 1 Samuel 16–2 Samuel 5, FAT 51, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Adam, K.-P. (2014), “Feasting and Foodways in Psalm 23 and the Contribution of Redaction Criticism to the Interpretation of Meals,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 223–55, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Albenda, P. (1974), “Grapevines in Ashurbanipal’s Garden,” BASOR 215: 5–17. Altmann, P. F. (2011), Festive Meals in Ancient Israel: Deuteronomy’s Identity Politics in Their Ancient Near Eastern Context, BZAW 424, Berlin and New York: de Gruyter. Altmann, P. F. (2014), “Feast and Famine: Theoretical and Comparative Perspectives on Lack as a Backdrop for Plenty in the Hebrew Bible,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 149–78, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Appadurai, A. (1981), “Gastro-Politics in Hindu South Asia,” Symbolism and Cognition, American Ethnologist 8: 494–511. Appadurai, A. (1986), “Commodities and the Politics of Value,” in A. Appadurai (ed.), The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, 3–63, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Appler, D. A. (1999), “From Queen to Cuisine: Food Imagery in the Jezebel Narrative,” in A. Brenner and J. W. van Henten (eds.), Food and Drink in the Biblical Worlds, Semeia 86, 55–71. Belnap, D. (2008), Fillets of Fatling and Goblets of Gold: The Use of Meal Events in the Ritual Imagery in the Ugaritic Mythological and Epic Texts, Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. Bourdieu, P. (1990), “Appendix: The Kabyle House or the World Reversed,” in R. Nice (trans.), The Logic of Practice, 271–83, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Cogan, M. (2001), 1 Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 10, New York: Doubleday. DeMarrais, E., Castillo, L. J., and Earle, T. (1996), “Ideology, Materialization, and Power Strategies,” Current Anthropology 37: 15–31.

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Dietler, M. (2001), “Theorizing the Feast: Rituals of Consumption, Commensal Politics, and Power in African Contexts,” in M. Dietler and B. Hayden (eds.), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, 65–114, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution. Dietrich, W. (2012), “Essen und Trinken—ein zentrales Nebenthema in den Samuelbüchern,” in W. Dietrich (ed.), Die Samuelbücher im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk: Studien zu den Geschichtsüberlieferungen des Alten Testaments II, 81–95, Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer. Dietrich, W. (2015), Samuel, Teilband 2, 1Sam 13-26, BKAT VIII/2, Neukirchen-Vluyn, Germany: Neukirchener Theologie. Douglas, M. (1966), “The Abominations of Leviticus,” in Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo, 42–58, London: Routledge. Douglas, M. (1975), “Deciphering a Meal,” in Implicit Meanings: Essays in Anthropology, 249–75, London and Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Ermidoro, S. (2015), Commensality and Ceremonial Meals in the Neo-Assyrian Period, Antichistica 8, Studi Orientali 3, Venice: Edizioni Ca’ Foscari-Digital Publishing. Franklin, N., Ebeling, J., Guillaume, P., and Appler, D. (2020), “An Ancient Winery at Jezreel, Israel,” Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology & Heritage Studies 8: 58–78. Fu, J. and Altmann, P. (2014), “Feasting: Backgrounds, Theoretical Perspectives, and Introductions,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 1–31, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Fu, J. and Dobereiner, J. (2012), “Networking the Feast: Theoretical and Methodological Perspectives in Archaeology,” Paper presented at the Society for American Archaeology, Memphis, TN. Goldstein, R. (2014), “The Provision of Food to the Aramaean Captives in II Reg 6,22-23,” ZAW 126: 101–5. Greer, J. S. (2013), Dinner at Dan: Biblical and Archaeological Evidence for Sacred Feasts at Iron Age II Tel Dan and Their Significance, Boston: Bill. Greer, J. S. (2020), “Drinking the Dregs of the Divine: Daniel 5 and the Motif of ‘King and Cup’ in its Ancient Near Eastern Context,” JNES 79: 99–112. Hayden, B. and Villeneuve, S. (2011), “A Century of Feasting Studies,” Annual Review of Anthropology 40: 433–49. Hutton, J. M. (2009), The Transjordanian Palimpsest: The Overwritten Texts of Personal Exile and Transformation in the Deuteronomistic History, BZAW 396, Berlin and New York: de Gruyter. King, P. J. and Stager, L. E. (2001), Life in Biblical Israel, LAI, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Klein, J. (2002), David versus Saul: Ein Beitrag zum Erzählsystem der Samuelbücher, Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer. Klingbeil, G. A. (2006), “‘Momentaufnahmen’ of Israelite Religion: The Importance of the Communal Meal in Narrative Texts in I/II Regum and Their Ritual Dimension,” ZAW 118: 22–45. Knapp, A. (2013), “David and Hattushili III: The Impact of Genre and a Response to J. Randall Short,” VT 63, no. 2: 261–75. Koch, I. (2014), “Goose Keeping, Elite Emulation and Egyptianized Feasting at Late Bronze Lachish,” Tel Aviv 41: 161–79. Levi-Strauss, C. (2012), “The Culinary Triangle,” in C. Counihan and P. Van Esterik (eds.), Food and Culture: A Reader, 3rd edn., 40–7, New York and London: Routledge. Liverani, M. (2004), “Adapa, Guest of the Gods,” in Myth and Politics in Ancient Near Eastern Historiography, editorial apparatus by Z. Bahrani and M. Van der Mieroop, 3–23, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

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Loud, G. (1939), The Megiddo Ivories, OIP 52, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. MacDonald, N. (2008), Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Machinist, P. (1994), “Outsiders or Insiders: The Biblical View of Emergent Israel and Its Contexts,” in L. J. Silverstein and R. L. Cohn (eds.), The Other in Jewish Thought and History: Constructions of Jewish Culture and Identity, 35–60, New York: New York University Press. Magness, J. (2014), “Conspicuous Consumption: Dining on Meat in the Ancient Mediterranean World and Near East,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 33–59, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Mauss, M. (1967), The Gift: Forms and Functions of Exchange in Primitive Societies, trans. I. Cunnison, New York: W. W. Norton. Originally published 1922. McCarter, P. K., Jr. (1980), “The Apology of David,” JBL 99: 489–504. Meyers, C. (2013), Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Meyers, C. (2014), “Menu: Royal Repasts and Social Class in Biblical Israel,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 129–47, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Mulder, M. J. (1998), 1 Kings. Volume 1: 1 Kings 1-11, HCOT, Leuven: Peeters. Nihan, C. (1994), “L’injustice des fils de Samuel, au tournant d’une époque (Quelques remarques sur la fonction de 1 Samuel 8.1-5 dans son context littéraire),” Biblische Notizen 94: 26–32. Olyan, S. (2008), “Mary Douglas’s Holiness/Wholeness Paradigm: Its Potential for Insight and Its Limitations,” JHebS 8. doi:10.5508/jhs.2008.v8.a10. Pace, L. (2018), “Food and Female Vulnerability in 1 and 2 Samuel,” Paper presented at the Society of Biblical Literature, Denver, CO. Parpola, S. (2004), “Leftovers of God and King: On the Distribution of Meat at the Assyrian and Achaemenid Imperial Courts,” in C. Grottanelli and L. Milano (eds.), Food and Identity in the Ancient World, HANE/S 9, 281–312, Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Editrice e Libreria. Polzin, R. (1989), Samuel and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History. Part Two: 1 Samuel, Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Reis, P. T. (1997), “Eating the Blood: Saul and the Witch of Endor,” JSOT 73: 2–23. Römer, T. (2007), The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction, New York: T&T Clark. Originally published 2005. Sapir-Hen, L., Gadot, Y., and Finkelstein, I. (2013), “Pig Husbandry in Iron Age Israel and Judah: New Insights Regarding the Origin of the ‘Taboo,’” ZDPV 129: 1–20. Schloen, J. D. (2001), The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East, Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant 2, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Shafer-Elliott, C. (2013), Food in Ancient Judah: Domestic Cooking in the Time of the Hebrew Bible, Sheffield: Equinox. Sharon, D. M. (2002), Patterns of Destiny: Narrative Structures of Foundation and Doom in the Hebrew Bible, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Stager, L. E. (1985), “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel,” BASOR 260: 1–35. Stager, L. E. (2003), “The Patrimonial Kingdom of Solomon,” in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, 63–74, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Stronach, D. (1990), “The Garden as a Political Statement: Some Case Studies from the Near East in the First Millennium B.C.,” Bulletin of the Asia Institute, New Series 4: 171–80. Struble, E. J. and Herrmann, V. R. (2009), “An Eternal Feast at Sam’al: The New Iron Age Mortuary Stele from Zincirli in Context,” BASOR 356: 15–49. Sutton, D. (2001), Remembrance of Repasts: An Anthropology of Food and Memory, Oxford and New York: Berg. Sweeney, M. A. (2013), I & II Kings: A Commentary, OTL, Louisville: John Knox. Originally published 2007. Thomason, A. K. (2001), “Representations of the North Syrian Landscape in Neo-Assyrian Art,” BASOR 323: 63–96. Wright, D. P. (2001), Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation Rites in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

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CHAPTER 30

Food in the Latter Prophets ANDREW T. ABERNETHY

INTRODUCTION The task of this chapter is to survey food and drink within the Latter Prophets (Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the Twelve). Mentions of food and drink occur in over 500 verses across this corpus. One could approach this topic by using texts as a window into the historical realities behind the text. For instance, scholars often use the parable of the vineyard in Isa. 5:1-7 to reconstruct the process of viticulture in ancient Israel (Matthews 1999; Walsh 2000: 87–110). Similarly, the mention of fasting in Zech. 7:5-6 provides insight into religious practice in exile and beyond (Hoffman 2003). Or, one could explore the destruction of food sources by empires as part of their military tactics (Abernethy 2014: 29–34; 2018: 345–6). Although not disconnected from ancient historical realities, this study utilizes a literary approach, as the Latter Prophets is a literary corpus, and the task here is to explore how food and drink operate within these texts. How do texts that mention food and drink figure into the communicative aims of a given prophetic book? The approach adopted here, following Paul Ricœur (1981: 93; italics added), probes how food and drink contribute to “the world unfolded in front of” these biblical texts. If “an entire ‘world’ … is present in and signified by food” (Barthes 2008: 32), how does the world signifying power of food contribute to the world creating power of texts? We will move book-bybook through the Latter Prophets to consider how food and drink figure into each book’s communicative aims. It will be impossible to examine every occurrence, so representative texts will expose the most common and distinct functions of food and drink within the vision of a given biblical book.

ISAIAH Three themes pertaining to food and drink are most significant for grasping its role in Isaiah.1

Obedience From the book’s opening chapter, eating is at the fore as an incentive for obedience. Having diagnosed Zion’s ills as stemming from a religiosity that is devoid of societal

In 2008, Nathan MacDonald noted that food and drink in the Latter Prophets is an underexamined topic (2008: 219). This led to the volume Eating in Isaiah (Abernethy 2014). The insights below are summaries from that work. 1 

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justice (1:2-17), the “rhetorical climax” of Chapter 1 (Williamson 2006: 196) sets two possible outcomes before the audience: “If you are willing and you listen, you will eat the good of the land; but if you refuse and are resistant, you will be eaten by the sword” (1:1920).2 By using the same verbal root for “eating” (’kl) in the apodosis of each sentence, two horizons emerge—worlds of eating or being eaten. The pivot between these destinies is whether or not one heeds God’s word. By promising food, the prophet taps into a cultural practice of envisaging an era of blessing (e.g., Lev. 26:4-10; Deut. 8:7-10; 11:812; 28:3, 11, 30, 33), but the rhetoric of this promise gains strength against the backdrop of foreigners devouring (’kl) Judah’s food supply (Isa. 1:7) (Abernethy 2014: 26-34). Amidst depletion and the threat of further devastation to the food supply (1:5-7), a new era of eating awaits those who heed God’s word. Beginning the canonical book of Isaiah with the promise of eating, conditioned upon obedience, seems strategic in light of linguistic and conceptual similarities with Isaiah 55. As a hinge chapter between Isaiah 40–54 and 56–66, Isaiah 55 opens with a summons for response: “Ah, all who thirst, come to the waters; whoever has no money, come, buy, and eat! Come and buy without silver, and without money wine and milk. Why are you weighing silver for what is not bread? Why do you labor for what does not satisfy? Listen intently to me and eat what is good” (55:1-2). Some believe the scene here depicts God inviting the audience to join his feast (Clifford 1983). It would be odd, however, for a call to a feast to utilize language of economic exchange, such as “buy,” “money,” and “weighing out silver.” For this reason, the image mostly likely envisions God taking up the persona of a merchant in the market (Korpel 1996: 49–50). Language in these verses resonates with passages in Isaiah 40–55, calling to mind God’s promises to pour out water for the thirsty (41:17-20; 43:16-21; 44:3; 48:20-21; 49:9-10) and contrasting God’s free provision with idols who drain the funds of their worshipers (40:19; 43:24; 46:5-6) (Abernethy 2014: 120–35). The vision, then, is of a merchant God who invites customers to freely receive the restoration only God can provide with only the requirement to “listen intently and eat what is good” (55:2). The linguistic associations between 55:2 and 1:19 are striking, as both anchor the prospect of eating (’kl) what is good (ṭwb) in listening (šm‘) to God. These correspondences forge bonds across structurally strategic chapters to double down on obedience to God—whether by pursuing justice (1:2-20) or by turning to God instead of idols (chs. 40–55). In Isaiah 65–66, the conclusion of the book, eating demarcates those who are “out” or “in” in view of eschatological judgment and salvific transformation. Those who violate dietary regulations as they participate in cult of the dead ceremonies by eating swine, decaying meat, and mice (65:4; 66:17), or who dine with other gods (65:11), will be excluded and experience the sword (65:12; cf. 1:20). On the other hand, a positive future awaits God’s servants: “Behold, my servants will eat!” (65:13b). Since a major topic in Isaiah 56–66 is to define these “servants” (Beuken 1990) as those who obey God and tremble at his word, even if they are foreigners (56:1–8), this declaration relates conceptually with Isa. 1:19 and 55:1-3. The world opened up in front of the text by the associations across chapters 1, 55, and 65–66 is one where eating, symbolic of divine favor, awaits those who obey God, whether when imperial threat looms (1:19-20), uncertainty clouds exilic futures (55:1-3), or as servants await inclusion within a more ultimate act of judgment and salvation (65:13).

2 

All English translations are the author’s own, unless otherwise noted.

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Grapes of Wrath The most well-known passage related to food from Isaiah is the parable of the vineyard in Isa. 5:1-7.3 This “juridical parable” (Yee 1981) waxes eloquently about a vine keeper whose care for his vineyard results in putrid instead of the hoped-for luxurious grapes. As a result, the vine keeper will bring the vineyard to ruin as he removes the vineyard’s protection and its water supply (5:5-6). The parable serves as a lens for divine disappointment over the putrid injustice growing within Israel; God hoped for justice but instead finds outcry (5:7). Its rhetorical potency is striking, and R. P. Carroll (1999) elevates it within his survey of food and drink in the Latter Prophets by entitling his essay: “YHWH’s Sour Grapes.” The parable resonates with the woes that follow in Chapter 5, where the prophet confronts those confiscating fields from the poor and intoxicating themselves with wine (5:8-12, 22). The batch of rotten grapes abuses the source (fields) and fruit (wine) of the vine. Near the end of the book, viticultural imagery surfaces yet again in conjunction with YHWH’s violent judgment. Although in 5:1-7 the grapes awaiting punishment are Israel and Judah, the scope of wrath in Isa. 63:1-6 expands to the nations. YHWH returns in red garments from Edom, and explains why his clothes are this color: “A trough I have tread by myself, and there was no one with me from the nations; I was treading them in my anger, and I was trampling them in my wrath, and their juice would splatter upon my garments” (63:3). Appealing to the widely recognizable practice of grape treading, always a joyous occasion (Irudayaraj 2017: 116–18), the prophet transforms it into a scene of wrath where the juices signify the horror of bursting bodies rather than the celebration of luscious grapes.

Politics and Sovereignty A third major theme pertaining to food and drink in Isaiah is their centrality in international relations. One need only read the Rabshakeh’s political trash talk: Has my Lord sent me to speak these words to you [officials] and your Lord and not the people sitting on the wall who will eat their dung and drink their urine with you? …. Come out to me, and eat each from his own vine and each from his fig tree … and I will take you to a land like your land, a land of grain and new wine, a land of food and vineyards. (36:12, 16-17) According to the Rabshakeh, resisting will lead to eating excrement, while submitting to Assyria will result in a new era of peaceful eating, although it would require Israel to adopt a new narrative with a god-substitute now providing salvation and the provision of a new “promised land.” It is not only the Rabshakeh who leverages food and drink within political discourse; the prophet also co-opts such language for his own purposes. Negatively, Isaiah offers a prophetic vantage point on the imperial tactic of food loss. In Isaiah 1, as noted above, the book opens by addressing an audience whose cultivatable land (’ădāmâ) was being consumed (’kl) by foreigners (1:7). Other prophets bear witness to the loss of food sources amidst military invasion (Jer. 4:26; 5:10, 17; 8:16; 46:31-33; Ezek. 25:4; Joel 3 

See also the discussion of this passage and of viticulture in Chapter 7 of this volume.

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1:7, 9-10), and this reflects the pattern of ancient armies campaigning during harvest season in order to amply supply its troops and to induce psychological warfare upon the land’s inhabitants (Abernethy 2014: 29–33). The threat to food supply is also apparent in Chapter 3, where the siege of a city involves food and water being cut off (3:1). Although these verses express the hardship Judah has and would experience via enemies such as Assyria and Babylon, Isaiah depicts YHWH who sovereignly uses these tactics to judge the people. As Assyria and Babylon siege Israel and Judah, YHWH, according to the prophet, was supervening (1:5-7; 3:1). There is also a positive utilization of political food discourse in Isaiah, most apparent in Isa. 25:6-8, the only eschatological banquet scene in prophetic literature: “And YHWH of Hosts will make for all the peoples on this mountain a luxurious feast, a feast of dregs, fatty marrows and refined dregs, and he will swallow on this mount the covering, namely that covering over all the peoples, and the woven cover over all peoples. He will swallow death forever.” Some argue that this is a covenant feast (Hagelia 2003), or a mythical victory feast (Millar 1976: 71–102). Even if mythic and covenant elements are present, this is predominately a royal feast, where YHWH displays his rule and the nature of his kingdom (Abernethy 2018: 395–99). As MacDonald (2008: 191–4) observes, Chapter 24 ends with YHWH of Hosts “reigning” (mlk) on Mount Zion. As 25:6 continues the scene “on this mountain,” YHWH’s rule manifests itself. This becomes further apparent when one notes the international emphasis of YHWH’s feast, which is for “all peoples” (25:6, 7). One sees a similar royal feast reflected in a garden banquet relief from Ashurnasirpal II (ca. 879 bce), an Assyrian king who established Calah as the new capital of Assyria: When I inaugurated the palace at Calah I treated for ten days with food and drink 47,074 persons, men and women, who were bid to come from across my entire country, [also] 5000 important persons, delegates from the country Suhu, from Hindana, Hattina, Hatti, Tyre, Sidon, Gurguma, Malida, Hubushka, Gilzana, Kuma [and] Musasir, [also] 16,000 inhabitants of Calah from all ways of life, 1500 officials of all my palaces, altogether 69,574 invited guests from all the [mentioned] countries including the people of Calah; I [furthermore] provided them with the means to clean and anoint themselves. I did them due honors and sent them back, healthy and happy, to their own countries. (ANET, 561) The international scope is apparent here, as delegates from polities that were not under the dominion of Assyria came from nearby in Mesopotamia (Suhu [central Euphrates]; Hindana [north of Mari]), from Phoenicia (Tyre; Sidon), and from Asia Minor (Hatti; Musasir; Gurguma). The meal scene becomes an occasion for expressing the king’s generosity and the international reach of his kingdom. In Isa. 25:6-8, the feast is an occasion for displaying the universality of YHWH’s coming reign and his power over the mythic symbol, Death (Cho and Fu 2013). In summary, eating figures into the world unfolded in front of the text of Isaiah. The prospect of either eating or being eaten (1:19) incentivizes obedience. Additionally, viticulture creates lenses for viewing a failing community as a disappointing crop of grapes and YHWH’s judgment of the nations. Finally, prophetic rhetoric draws upon imperial tactics pertaining to food to endorse YHWH’s sovereignty. These themes integrate around Isaiah’s anticipation of YHWH’s rule from Zion when the wicked receive their just deserts and when all nations feast at the international capital and when the obedient enjoy the fertility of the land.

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JEREMIAH The book of Jeremiah is notorious for its seemingly haphazard arrangement, yet scholars (Kessler 2004) generally agree that Chapter 1 strategically introduces Masoretic Text Jeremiah, that Chapter 25 is a transitional hinge, and that the oracles against Babylon in chapters 50–51 are the climactic conclusion in the book’s current form. Significantly, the two most dominant uses of food and drink in Jeremiah surface in these chapters, and will occupy our attention below: uprooting and planting (1:10) and the cup of wrath (25:15-29; 51:7).

Uprooting and Planting The most strategic verse in the book’s opening chapter is Jer. 1:10: “See, I have appointed you this day over nations and over kingdoms to uproot [nātaš] and to tear down, to ruin and to break down, to build and to plant [nāṭa‘].” In particular, various combinations of the verbs in the final six infinitives recur throughout the book of Jeremiah, taking on a programmatic function at the outset. Of most interest to us are the two infinitives that frame the list: “to uproot [nātaš] … to plant [nāṭa‘].” What is the significance of the horticultural imagery in Jer. 1:10? The two most significant studies on this topic are beneficial, yet lacking. The most extensive study is by Job Jindo (2010: 151–240). He utilizes cognitive linguistics to conceptualize the role of plant imagery in Jeremiah 1–24. The combination of the four negative outcomes and two positive outcomes in Jer. 1:10 fits within a “bipolar structure of prosperity and destruction” (Jindo 2010: 168; cf. 174–5). At a propositional level, the content conveyed by Jer. 1:10 is that of coming destruction and restoration, as many scholars observe. Jindo (2010: 175–6) argues, however, that there is more to Jer. 1:10 than the propositional, for the infinitives divide conceptually according to architecture (tear down; ruin; break down; build) and horticulture (uproot; plant). Horticulture, then, becomes “a specific way to perceive the proposition” (Jindo 2010: 176). This leads Jindo into an extensive analysis of plant imagery in Jeremiah 1–24. Jindo’s instincts are certainly correct to move beyond bare propositional content in one’s explanation of 1:10; the horticultural texture must be considered. Jindo becomes open to critique, however, when he establishes the Royal Garden concept as the domain through which the metaphors of God as planter and Israel as a plant should be understood. In this schema (Jindo 2010: 152–74), God, the divine king, has a royal garden (the temple, city, and land of Israel), within which he has planted his plants (Israel) and has a keeper of his garden (Jeremiah). Depending upon the “produce,” the king will cause the garden to thrive or bring it to ruin. Although this domain is more apparent in texts like Genesis 2–3, Exod. 15:17, and Ezek. 36:35-36, Jindo’s tendency to squeeze Jeremiah’s uses of the plant metaphor into this mythopoetic outlook leaves his treatment wanting. A second significant study is by Robert Bach (1961). Unlike Jindo, who pays scant attention to the occurrences of nātaš (“to uproot”) and nāṭa‘ (“to plant”) after 1:10, Bach considers the six passages where these verbs occur together in Jeremiah. Bach (1961: 8–9) classifies the variety of literary forms within which the verbs occur: an unconditional promise of salvation (24:6); a conditional promise of salvation (42:10); a theoretical discussion about God’s judicial actions (18:7, 9); a secondary comment on YHWH’s actions (45:4); and a paradigmatic statement of judgment and salvation (1:10). Amidst this variety, Bach (1961: 11–12) identifies three commonalties in the uses of the verb pair: (1) they are always figurative; (2) God is always the subject; (3) the object is always people(s). Although these points are helpful, Bach falls prey to Jindo’s critique of a

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tendency to abstract God’s acts of saving or judging people(s) from the cognitive lens of horticultural imagery. Below, we attempt to better grasp the conceptual import of horticultural imagery in Jeremiah by considering the use of the two verbs from Jer. 1:10 throughout the book. We begin with God as planter before moving on to Israel as planter. God as Planter of Israel When the verbs nātaš (“to uproot”) and nāṭa‘ (“to plant”) occur in Jeremiah, nātaš is always metaphorical (1:10; 12:14, 15, 17; 18:7; 24:6; 31:28, 40; 42:10; 45:4), while nāṭa‘ is metaphorical in ten (1:10; 2:21; 11:17; 12:2; 18:9; 24:6; 31:28; 32:41; 42:10; 45:4) of its fifteen occurrences. When they occur together, as Bach notes, they are always figurative, with God always the subject, and people(s) as the object. Although an extensive analysis is not possible here, several insights from these passages will prove helpful in better grasping the import of horticulture into the schema of judgment and salvation. First, the notion of God planting and uprooting is closely connected to the Promised Land. Jeremiah 2 recounts God’s historic care for Israel in bringing them out of Egypt, through the wilderness, and into “a land of fertility [hakkarmel] to eat its fruit and its goodness” (2:7). This reality is further captured in 2:21 when God says: “I myself planted [nāṭa‘] you as a choice vine, an entirely faithful seed. How have you changed towards me into a rebellious, foreign vine?” The sense is that God planted Israel in the land of promise, expecting faithfulness, but they instead have prostituted themselves across the land in idolatry (2:20). Judgment will manifest itself through “uprooting” Israel from the land of promise. In Jeremiah 45, the final pericope before the Oracles Against the Nations, the chronology shifts back to the fourth year of Jehoiakim (605 bce), the very year when Nebuchadnezzar’s reach extends to the Levant. This “flashback” to earlier in the story at the end of the book summarizes what has been recounted: “Behold, what I have built, I am tearing down and what I have planted, I am uprooting, namely, the entire land” (45:4). How “uprooting” [nātaš] relates to Israel’s removal from the land of promise is also apparent in God’s promises to again plant Israel in the land. “After I pluck them up … I will restore them, each to his inheritance and each to his land” (12:15). Of the exiles, God says: “I will bring them back to this land … I will plant [nāṭa‘] them, and not pluck them up [nātaš]” (24:6). In a passage from the Book of Consolation—a collection of promises found in chapters 30–33—Jer. 32:41 reads: “I will rejoice over them to do them good, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness.” God even promises to “plant” those remaining in Judah after the fall of Jerusalem and not “uproot” them if they remain in the land (42:10). Thus, the horticultural metaphor of “planting” and “uprooting” informs the judgment and promise proposition through a connection to the land of promise. Second, the recognition that plants bear fruit makes horticultural imagery apt for expressing God’s assessment of Israel’s fruit. This is apparent in the quote of Jer. 2:21 above; God planted Israel with a faithful [’emet] seed, yet it became a rebellious (swr) vine. Israel’s idolatry is what God has in mind (2:20). Also, in Jer. 11:16-17, we read: “A luxurious olive tree with fruit of beautiful form, YHWH has called you … Now, YHWH of Hosts, the one who planted [nāṭa‘] you, has decreed calamity over you because of the evil of the house of Israel and the house of Judah.” The olive tree that at one time had beautiful fruit—planted by God himself—has a destiny of destruction, for idolatry is not the fruit God deems lovely.

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In summary, assimilating “to uproot … and to plant” into a generic melting pot of judgment and restoration does not do justice to how the horticultural imagery informs the expression. Given the natural connection between plants and the ground, it is unsurprising that the promised land informs the imagery in Jeremiah along a salvationhistorical spectrum: God had planted Israel in the land, God will uproot them via exile and will plant Israel back in the land again. Furthermore, since assessing the fruit of plants is a regular task for a farmer, horticultural imagery enables the prophet to capture divine displeasure with the idolatrous ways of Israel. Israel as Planter The impact on the land due to Judah’s punishment is apparent (see Hayes 2002: 65–127). God looks over the land, and the fruitful land has become a wilderness (4:26). Military invasions are often the cause (5:17; cf. 5:10), but God will take away their harvest, leaving no grapes on the vine or figs on the tree (8:13; cf. 46:31-33). No rain comes upon the earth, so the ground is dismayed (14:4). The land of promise is in rough shape. Gunter Wittenberg (2002) asks what the “uprooting and planting” metaphor reveals about Israel’s restoration in the land—a question no doubt informed by his context in South Africa. In Jer. 29:5, 28, the prophet demands the exiles “build houses, and inhabit; plant gardens, and eat their fruit.” The verbal resonance around building and planting in Jer. 1:10 and Jer. 29: 5, 28 is strong. For the exiles, God had brought an end to Israel’s building and planting in the land by tearing down and uprooting Israel, but they would carry on with building and planting in Babylonian exile. Jeremiah anticipates, however, a time when building and planting would occur again in the Promised Land. In the Book of Consolation—a collection of promises in chs. 30–33—the prophet declares to Israel that “again, you will plant vineyards … the planters will plant and they will rejoice” (31:5). The promise of vineyards arises again in Jeremiah’s deed purchase: “Houses, fields, and vineyards will be acquired again in this land” (32:15). Wittenberg (2002: 64) captures well the place of agriculture in Jeremiah’s program of renewal: Just as disaster did not only involve the destruction of houses … but also the “plucking out” which meant exile and devastation of the whole agricultural support base, so hope for restoration does not only involve “building up,” rebuilding of the community in new dwellings, settlements and towns, but also the “planting” of this community and its cultivating the land. Thus, the programmatic vision of “planting” in 1:10 looks forward to a time when Israel will again be planted by God in the land of promise, and Israel will resume the blessing of planting crops in the land again.

The Cup of Wrath The “cup of wrath” is a trope that occurs throughout the Hebrew Bible (Isa. 51:17-23; Jer. 25:15, 17, 27-28; Ezek. 23:31-33; Obad. 16; Hab. 2:16; Zech. 12:2; Pss. 60:5; 75:9; Job 21:20; Lam. 4:21; see Christensen 1975: 201–8). In Jeremiah 25, the “cup of wrath” takes center stage. Jeremiah takes the “cup of the wine, namely wrath” (25:15) from YHWH and has Judah and Jerusalem, Egypt, Philistia, Edom, Moab, Amon, Tyre, Sidon, the coastlands, and nations surrounding Mesopotamia drink from the cup. Last of all, Babylon (“King of Sheshak”) will have its turn to drink it (25:26). Indeed, this is a cup no nation will be able to refuse (25:28).

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There is a range of opinions on how to understand “the cup of wrath” in Jeremiah. McKane (1980) argues that the “trial by ordeal” in Num. 5:16-28 is in the background. In Numbers 5, a woman suspected of adultery would enter into trial by drinking holy water with dust from the tabernacle and ink from curses mixed in. If she is guilty, she will miscarry; if not, she will have the child. The logic in this trial is that the holy elements (the water, dust, ink) will become a poison if consumed by someone who is unholy (McKane 1980: 477). Since the “cup of wine” in Jeremiah 25 is YHWH’s, this makes its contents holy. When the nations ingest it, the proof of their guilt becomes evident when this cup of wine “destroys the rationality of those who drink the cup and sets them on the path of self-destruction” (McKane 1980: 491).4 Since the context is not that of trial but of judgment, it seems unlikely a reader would interpret the ingestion of wine as both an occasion to prove guilt and enact judgment. More promisingly, Else Holt (2011) draws upon the negativity associated with drunkenness in Jeremiah and the Hebrew Bible to illuminate the cup of wrath in Jeremiah 25. Holt astutely observes how drunkenness makes a person or nation vulnerable to power, especially military power (Jer. 13:13-14; Ezek. 23:31-34; Lam. 4:21). In Jer. 25:15-16, then, the nations will find themselves “utterly vulnerable to military defeat” and overtaken by “the madness of drunkenness.” The threat of the sword in such a compromised state makes “the cup of wrath an image of terror.” Holt (2011: 215) explains: it is “the madness of drunkenness which makes this war especially horrific; a war where people stagger about like maniacs oblivious to their surroundings; a war where the sword is far more terrifying than an ordinary weapon, because one loses all control.” The nations, then, will not only be vulnerable to superpowers, but will be gripped by sheer terror as their perception of reality is greatly altered by the cup of wrath. Although Holt’s position is more probable than McKane’s, her view needs refinement. First, she focuses exclusively on one outcome of drinking the cup as expressed in 25:16 (“madness” [hll]), but she does not factor in how the preceding verb (“quake” [g’š]) and verses 27-28 contribute to her analysis. Verse 16 reads: “they will drink, quake, and go mad because of the sword which I am sending among them.” The only other occasion where the verb for “quake” applies to humanity in the Hebrew Bible is Job 34:20: “In a moment, they will die, the middle of the night; a people will quake [g’š], they will pass away.” The other uses of the term to refer to cosmological upheavals (2 Sam. 22:8; Jer. 5:22; 46:7-8; Psa. 18:8). Jeremiah 25:16 does not seem to view drinking the “cup” as an initial affect (vulnerability and panic) that leads to a more treacherous outcome (destruction via warfare); instead, “quaking” and “going mad” are summative expressions of ruin in and of themselves. This suggestion finds confirmation when one compares 25:16 with 25:27 (“drink, get drunk, vomit, fall, and do not rise because of the sword that I am sending among you”). In both verses, the verb “to drink” [šātâ] and the phrase “because of the sword that I am sending among [you/them]” are the same. Also, “quake and go mad” (25:16) corresponds with “get drunk, vomit, fall, and do not rise” (25:27). Since the latter clearly calls to mind death by intoxication, the former is also a statement of ruin instead of a means to an end (madness that makes one disadvantaged in the face of the sword). These verses draw upon dangers

McKane’s need to connect the cup of wine with the destruction of rationality is to make sense of the statement: “they will drink, quake, and go mad because of the sword which I am sending among them” (25:16). Amidst terror from the sword, these nations will lose all rationality, leading to their destruction. 4 

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of drinking alcohol likely known in the ancient world; alcohol poisoning can cause seizures, psychosis, and death.5 A second layer of enrichment for Holt’s argument is exploring how Babylon is both the “cup of wrath” and the “sword” in Chapter 25. In 25:1-14, the pattern is that God will bring Babylon against Judah and the surrounding nations (25:9) to judge them, yet after seventy years God will punish Babylon (25:12). A similar temporal schema unfolds in 25:15-29: first Judah will drink the cup of wrath, along with neighboring countries, and then “after them” the King of Babylon will drink the cup of wrath (25:26). Presumably, then, Babylon is the cup of divine wrath that the nations drink. This is made explicit in Jer. 51:7, where Babylon is referred to as God’s cup: “Babylon was a cup [kôs] of gold in the hand of YHWH, making drunk the entire earth; from its wine [yayin] the nations drank [šātâ], therefore the nations went mad [hll].” In 25:16 and 27, the consequences of drinking the cup are directly tied to “the sword” which God was sending between them, suggesting that the cup and the sword are closely related. Also, it is natural to continue the frame of reference from Jeremiah 25:1-14 into a reading of 25:15-29. Just as God will use Nebuchadnezzar to make Judah into a “desolation [šammâ], hissing [šerēqâ], and perpetual wasteland [ḥorbâ]” (25:9; cf. 25:11), so the cup of wrath (i.e., Babylon) will make Jerusalem, the cities of Judah, and its kings and princes into a “wasteland [ḥorbâ], desolation [šammâ], hissing [šerēqâ], and curse” (25:18). The “sword” also symbolizes warfare undertaken by Babylon (Christensen 1975: 199) against Judah and the nations in Jeremiah (20:4; 21:7). So, if Babylon is both the “cup of wrath” and the “sword,” both expressing ruin awaiting Judah as God’s wrathful judgment, what does the “cup” imagery uniquely express that the sword does not? Three suggestions are made: (1) drinking (e.g., ingestion) adds to the horror of having to participate in one’s own death by swallowing (“you shall certainly drink!” 26:28); (2) the ruinous outcomes of drinking make it an apt metaphor for judgment; (3) since drinking wine and dining are typically occasions of merriment, the “cup of wrath” fits into the shock of reversal so important in prophetic rhetoric. In summary, the world unfolding before the reader of Jeremiah is one where God can uproot a rebellious vine, the people Israel, and after exile replant them in the land of promise, where they will resume their planting efforts. Jeremiah offers a vision where YHWH turns the tables on his own nation and the nations of the world by forcing them to drink his cup of wrath, a cup that Babylon will have to drink too.

EZEKIEL At times, the book of Ezekiel employs the food motif in ways similar to Isaiah and Jeremiah. Like these prophets, Ezekiel uses the “vine” as a metaphor for Israel (chs. 15, 17), warns of the cup of wrath (23:31–34), promises that Israel will again plant vineyards (28:26), and even quotes a proverb similar to Jeremiah (18:1; cf. Jer. 31:2930; see Hutton 2009). The uniqueness of the eating motif in Ezekiel among the prophets becomes unmistakable when one looks at the motif across the three major sections of the book: Ezekiel’s Initiation (chs. 1–5); Declarations of Judgment (chs. 6–32); Eras of Restoration (chs. 33–48).6 See Chapter 20 in this volume for discussion of drunkenness. As with any prophetic book, there are numerous ways to articulate Ezekiel’s structure, with the most common being 1–24 (Doom for Judah); 25–32 (Doom for the Nations); 33–48 (Restoration). The structure in this chapter recognizes, with Odell (1998), the important position of the call narrative at the start of the book and combines the oracles of judgment against Judah and the nations. 5  6 

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Ezekiel’s Initiation Although scholars typically divide Ezekiel 1–5 on form-critical grounds, Margaret Odell (1998) convincingly argues that Ezekiel’s “call” (1:1–3:15) and “symbolic acts” (3:16–5:17) belong together in depicting Ezekiel’s transition through liminal space from his priestly identity to the role of a prophet in exile. Odell (1998: 243–4) argues that the scroll Ezekiel eats does not represent words the prophet is to proclaim but rather “the judgment itself and its consequences. By eating the scroll, Ezekiel takes into his inner being the fate of his people.” She notes that the noun “word” (dābār) does not occur in these verses, and she draws a parallel with priests bearing the guilt of the people in Leviticus 8–9. Without access to the sanctuary, Ezekiel transitions towards his prophetic role of bearing the curses of his people by eating the scroll. Although insightful, Odell’s approach is difficult to reconcile with the text itself. In Ezek. 3:1, God says: “Eat this scroll and go speak (dābar) to the house of Israel.” Then, immediately after the narration of Ezekiel’s eating, God says: “Go to the house of Israel and speak [dābar] my words [dābār] to them” (3:4). The event of “eating” God’s scroll intertwines with Ezekiel’s preparation to proclaim the words he swallowed. The irony is that the words written on the scroll are “lamentation, sighing, and woe” (2:10), yet the scroll tastes “sweet [mātôq] like honey” (3:3). The significance of the “sweetness” of the scroll emerges via contrast with merî (“contentiousness; bitterness”) and the related adjective mar (“bitter”; cf. contrast with “sweet” [mātôq] in Isa. 5:20; Prov. 27:7). Within Ezekiel 2–3, Israel is described as merî seven times (2:6, 7, 8 [twice]; 3:9, 2627), preparing Ezekiel for the fact that this “contentious” people will not listen to his words. Ezekiel enters this futile task, also bitter; he says: “I went bitterly [mar], in the anger of my spirit” (3:14). As the bitter prophet addresses a house of bitter contention, the sensory experience of tasting the sweetness of the divine word, even if it expresses “lamentation, sighing, and woe,” prepares the prophet to move forward in proclaiming what is truly a “sweet” word, even if he is bitter about having to proclaim it to such a bitter people. Although Odell wishes to establish a strong parallel between priests who bear the guilt of the people in their ordination (Leviticus 8–9) and Ezekiel eating the scroll, this parallel is unlikely; Ezekiel’s ingestion of the scroll ties more closely into the prophetic tradition of God granting the words the prophet is to speak (cf. Isaiah 6; Jeremiah 1). The ingestion of the scroll contributes to Ezekiel’s transition from priest to prophet. Another scene involving eating contributes to Ezekiel’s shift from priest to prophet. In Chapter 4, Ezekiel enacts the coming siege of Jerusalem by preparing rations of food (4:911) and baking them over dung (4:12-14). In doing so, Ezekiel not only prophetically identifies with the coming suffering back at home, but he wrestles with the grim reality that amid crisis and in exile the priestly dietary laws will require flexibility for the sake of survival. Through these symbolic acts of eating, the exilic priest continues his transition into the role of exilic prophet.

Declaring Judgment In chapters 6–32, judgment against Jerusalem and the nations (chs. 25–32) is the predominate tone. On the one hand are indictments against Jerusalem for their eating habits: they sacrifice children as food to idols (16:20; 23:37) and eat at mountain shrines (18:6, 11, 15; 22:9). Obviously, these acts violate priestly demands for exclusive

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worship of YHWH and centralization in Jerusalem.7 These cultic indictments prepare for a reinstitution of proper eating in conjunction with the temple later in the book. On the other hand, eating figures in the prophetic depiction of judgment. A prominent expression of this is famine amidst siege, inside of the city (7:15; 14:12). In Ezekiel’s vision, famine is not merely a rural, agrarian plight resulting from cosmological drought, as in the book of Genesis; it is urban, when food supplies dwindle and the supply chain is cut off during a siege (6:11, 12; 7:15; 12:16; 14:13, 21). God prepares Ezekiel for this reality, warning that famine will be so severe that parents will eat their own children (5:10, 12, 16-17). Additionally, God speaks of Jerusalem as a pot (Warren 2014), with those slain within it as the meat (11:7-11); after the meal, the pot will smolder in the coals a bit longer so the impurities melt away (24:3-12). Not only does the prophet appeal to eating, literally and metaphorically, to express judgment for Judah, but a unique expression of this applies to Egypt and eventually extends to all nations. In Ezek. 29:5, the carcasses of Egypt become food to the beasts and birds. This scene reaches an international scale in Ezek. 39:4 and 17-20, where the nations who fall to Israel will become food for animals and birds to feast upon.

Eras of Restoration As the final third of the book shifts toward envisaging eras of restoration beyond exile (chs. 33–48), Ezekiel promises a time when there will be no more famine (34:29; 36:29), when the mountains of Israel will again produce fruit (36:8), and when the land and trees will again yield crops and fruit (36:29-30).8 Such promises contrast starkly with the warning of famine in the previous section of Ezekiel. Perhaps most unique to Ezekiel in comparison to the other prophets, however, is the attention he grants to cultic eating in the eschatological temple in chapters 40–48. Within the Most Holy Place, the altar [mizbēaḥ] is called “the table [šulḥan] which is before YHWH” (41:22). Rooms are dedicated to the north and south, where priests “will eat what they brought near to YHWH, the most holy offerings” (42:13). Although priests can eat in those rooms, it is only the prince who may eat in the gate of the courtyard (44:3). Also, specific prohibitions are given to the priests, reminding them not to drink wine in the inner court (44:21) and that they cannot eat anything found dead already (44:29-31). Although the focus is primarily upon proper eating by the priests and prince (cf. 45:13, 23–24) within the temple, before God’s table, the purview expands in the final two chapters. Trees with fruits that are able to bring healing will be accessible along the river that stretches from the temple to the Dead Sea, giving life to the desolate Jordan River valley (47:12). Additionally, taking on a vocation similar to Adam and Eve (Gen. 2:15), representatives from “all the tribes of Israel” (Ezek. 48:18-19) will farm a section of the land in order to provide food for those serving in the temple city. The “eating” motif in chapters 40–48, then, resonates with the emphases at the close of the book. This is a vision where priests, prince, and nation will no longer worship in an abhorrent manner, as was confronted in chs. 6–32. Instead, priest, prince, and people will eat and cultivate

Susan Ackerman (1989) argues unconvincingly that Ezek. 8:7-13 portrays a marzēaḥ. See McLaughlin (2001: 196–205), and Chapter 18 in this volume. 8  On the restoration of the land and its parallel with the Garden of Eden in Ezekiel 36, see Kutsko (2000: 128–32). 7 

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food in a way that properly aligns with the one whose glory will again inhabit the temple, bringing life to the surrounding desolation.

THE TWELVE The Book of the Twelve offers its own prophetic vision of divine action towards Israel, Judah, and the nations from the pre-exilic to the post-exilic eras. Although there could be benefit in reflecting on the eating motif in each of the twelve books, I will limit my observations due to the interest of space to several ways the eating motif may figure into the Twelve as one book.9

Paradise in Waiting The first three books of the Twelve culminate with paradisiacal visions of flourishing agriculture.10 Both main portions of the book of Hosea (chs. 1–3; 4–14) express a movement from indictment and judgment to restoration through agriculture. Hosea’s final child, Jezreel whose name in Hebrew means “God will sow,” signifies both the geographic location where judgment will occur and an avenue for hope through its etymology, when “God will sow” the people in the land (2:25 [Eng. 2:23]). This metaphorical use of vegetation merges with the literal in Chapter 2, as idolatrous Israel will have their grain and wine removed (2:7 [Eng. 2:5]; 2:10 [Eng. 2:8]; 2:11 [Eng. 2:9]; 2:14 [Eng. 2:12]) yet can count on God to restore their “grain, wine, and oil” (2:24 [Eng. 2:22]). In Chapters 4–14, of Israel it is said, “their root is dried up, and they do not produce fruit” (9:16), but at the conclusion of the book God promises: “I will be like dew to Israel, and [Israel] will blossom like the lily … its glory will be like an olive tree … they will grow corn and blossom like the vine, and its remembrance will be like the wine of Lebanon” (Hos. 14:6– 8). While these final verses are certainly metaphorical, it is likely that using agricultural imagery would signal an end to Israel’s judgment, which included a dried-up land (4:3), barren fields (5:7), and failing wine (9:2). The book of Joel also culminates with a vision of eating. In 1:1–2:27, the scene of locusts devouring Judah’s crops gives way to an era of renewal (2:25). The “vine” (gepen) and “fig tree” (te’ēnâ) that initially dry up (1:7, 12) will again yield produce (2:22). Although “grain” (dāgān), “new wine” (tîrôš), and “olive oil” (yiṣhār) wither (1:10; cf. 1:5), God will restore these very goods (2:19). This impulse toward recovering fertile land culminates at the end of the book: “the mountains will drip sweet wine [‘asîs], and the hills will flow with milk” (4:18a [Eng. 3:18a]). The book of Amos concludes in a fashion very similar to Joel. Agricultural bounty will be so great that the “mountains will drip sweet wine [‘asîs]” (Amos 9:13). What is more, “they will plant vineyards, and drink their wine [yayin]; they will make gardens and eat their fruit” (9:14). In contrast to the marzēaḥ feast (Greer 2007; McLaughlin 2001: 80–109)—a social event, often involving the wealthy, consuming large amounts of wine, and cultic behaviors pertaining to the dead—that the prophet critiques (6:1–7), where the oppressive elite drank wine (yayin) by the bowl (6:5), the remnant will drink wine (yayin) in the paradisiacal restoration (9:13-14). Like Hosea and Jeremiah (Wittenberg 2002: 64),

Nogalski (2007: 128–30) identifies the fertility of the land as a recurring theme across The Twelve. The language of “paradise” to describe these scenes comes from G. Eidevall’s work on Hosea 14 (1996: 208–23, 243–6). 9 

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the depiction of physical restoration overlaps with the metaphorical, as God states that he will again plant (nāṭa‘) them in the ground, promising never to uproot (nātaš) them (9:15). It is striking that the first three books of the Twelve all conclude with visions of fertility infused with vegetative motifs. There is a long tradition, dating back to at least the second century bce, of recognizing the Twelve as one book that comprises twelve book units. With Hosea and Amos anchoring the opening of the Twelve in the realities of the eighth century, it is natural to have the expectation that paradise would be restored upon return from exile. In Hag. 1:11, the triad of “grain, wine, and olive oil” resurfaces for the first time since Hosea (2:24) and Joel (1:10; 2:19), but does not describe the restoration expected in the postexilic era. Instead, God has called a famine against their “grain, wine, and olive oil” (Hag. 1:11). As a result, Haggai recasts the vision of paradisiacal restoration beyond the (initial) return from exile. Although the “vine, fig, pomegranate, and olive tree” bear no fruit (2:19), God’s blessing would overtake this post-exilic reality sometime soon. Zechariah extends the hopes of eating further beyond return from exile: “Every pot in Jerusalem and in Judah will be holy to YHWH of Hosts, and all those sacrificing will come and take from them and will cook with them” (14:20-21). Unlike Ezekiel, who focuses upon eating by priests and prince, Zechariah expresses an interest in “everyone who sacrifices,” presumably including those who come from “all the clans of the earth to Jerusalem to worship the King, YHWH of Hosts” (14:17). Although the feast in Zechariah 14 would be an ideal way to end the Twelve, the compilers place Malachi as the final book, returning the reader to the present reality. The people are bringing “defiled food” to God’s altar, offering animals that are sickly, blind, and lame (1:7-8, 13). Yet, if they fill God’s house with “food” by tithing (3:9-10), God promises to bless them, with the floodgates of heaven opening, fruit springing up from the ground, and the vine no longer failing (3:10-11). Thus, the eating motif in the Twelve contributes to the “paradise in waiting” tension; even after exile, Judah and Jerusalem still await an era when the fruit of the land is bountiful and wine overflows. Habakkuk’s conclusion certainly captures the posture of trust this motif promotes across the Twelve: “If the fig does not blossom, and there is no produce on the vines; the crop of the olive tree fails, and the fields make no food … yet I will exult in YHWH, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation” (3:17-8).

Peace Another way the eating motif figures into the Twelve is to capture an era of peace when oppression will cease. Of Micah, Ellen Davis (2009: 157) states: “No prophet offers a more vivid and thorough evocation and critique of the state-controlled food economy.” This is most obvious in Micah 6—the leaders are using a “skimpy ephah” (Davis 2009: 157) and deceptive scales and weights to fill their storehouses with “wicked treasures” (6:10-11). In contrast to the urbanized oppression of the moment, Micah hopes for an era of peace in Zion, where “each will dwell under one’s own vine, under one’s own fig, without anyone causing terror” (4:4; cf. Zeph. 3:13). In nearly identical language, Zechariah appeals to the realm of agriculture to express hope for a peaceful future. A new era of leadership under the Priest and the Branch will also create a context when “each will dwell under one’s own vine, under one’s own fig” (Zech. 3:10). In summary, the motif of eating across the Twelve figures into hopes for an era when peace and blessing, evident in the fertility of the ground, will replace one of living

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under oppressive rulers and under the judgment of God. There are, however, other associations across the Twelve one might pursue including fasting (Joel 1:14; 2:13, 14; Jonah 3:5), the cup of wrath (Obad. 16; Hab. 2:16; Zech. 12:2), devouring lions (Hos. 13:7; Nah. 2:11-12), and cosmological curse and blessing (Amos 4:9; Hag. 2:16-17; Zech. 8:12; 10:1).

CONCLUSION A survey of a motif that occurs over 500 times across a corpus as large and diverse as the Latter Prophets is naturally selective. The aim here has been to ponder how the eating motif figures into the vision of these books. In Isaiah, eating prompts obedience (“my servants shall eat!”), captures the rottenness of God’s people and the bloody judgment awaiting (grapes), and asserts the sovereignty of YHWH. In Jeremiah, uprooting and planting express the ensuing estrangement of Israel for their land and hopes for renewal back in the land, and the “cup” signifies the irresistible judgment coming to all nations, including Judah and ultimately their nemesis Babylon. In Ezekiel, ingesting a scroll and eating unclean food prepares Ezekiel for his task as prophet, and specifications about parameters for eating in the eschatological temple signify how cultic eating expresses hope for renewal of life before the glory of YHWH. In the Twelve, the prospect of bountiful agriculture and hopes for life under the vine expose the prophetic call for faithfulness as one awaits the fulfillment of these promises. The profusion of food-related language across the Latter Prophets reminds us that the “stuff” of daily life and politics animates the rhetoric of the prophets.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Abernethy, A. T. (2014), Eating in Isaiah: Approaching Food and Drink in Isaiah’s Structure and Message, BibInt 131, Leiden: Brill. An extensive analysis of eating across the major sections of Isaiah. Carroll, R. P. (1999), “YHWH’s Sour Grapes: Images of Food and Drink in the Prophetic Discourses of the Hebrew Bible,” in A. Brenner and J. W. van Henten (eds.), Food and Drink in the Biblical Worlds, Semeia 86, 113–31, Atlanta: SBL. The first overview of “eating” in the Latter Prophets. Davis, E. F. (2009), Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chapters 7 and 9 in the volume coordinate the agrarian messages of eighth-century prophets (Hosea, Amos, and Micah) and Isaiah with twenty-first-century agrarian prophets, especially Wendell Berry. Jindo, J. (2010), Biblical Metaphor Reconsidered: A Cognitive Approach to Poetic Prophecy in Jeremiah 1–24, HSM 64, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Chapter 5 contains nearly 100 pages on vegetation in the mythopoetic outlook of ancient Israel and how Jeremiah’s use of the vegetation metaphor fits in. McLaughlin, J. L. (2001), The Marzēaḥ in the Prophetic Literature: References and Allusions in Light of the Extra-Biblical Evidence, VTSup 86, Leiden: Brill. A careful assessment of texts in the prophets (Isa. 5:11-13; 28:1-4; 28:7-8; 56:9-57:13; Jer. 16:5-9; Ezek. 8:7-13; 39:17-20; Hos. 4:16-19; 9:1-6; Amos 2:7-8; 4:1; 6:1, 3-7) that may refer to the marzēaḥ template.

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REFERENCES Abernethy, A. T. (2014), Eating in Isaiah: Approaching Food and Drink in Isaiah’s Structure and Message, BibInt 131, Leiden: Brill. Abernethy, A. T. (2018), “The Ruined Vineyard Motif in Isaiah 1–39: Insights from Cognitive Linguistics,” Biblica 99: 334–50. Ackerman, S. (1989), “A Marzēah in Ezekiel 8:7–13,” HTR 82: 267–81. Bach, R. (1961), “Bauen und Pflanzen,” in R. Rendtorff and K. Koch (eds.), Studien zur Theologie der alttestamentlichen Ṻberlieferung, 7–32, Duisberg: Neukirchener. Barthes, R. (2008), “Toward a Psychology of Contemporary Food Consumption,” in C. Counihan and P. V. Esterik (eds.), Food and Culture: A Reader, 2nd edn., 28–35, New York: Routledge. Beuken, W. A. M. (1990), “The Main Theme of Trito-Isaiah: ‘The Servants of YHWH’,” JSOT 47: 67–87. Carroll, R. P. (1999), “YHWH’s Sour Grapes: Images of Food and Drink in the Prophetic Discourses of the Hebrew Bible,” in A. Brenner and J. W. van Henten (eds.), Food and Drink in the Biblical Worlds, Semeia 86, 113–31, Atlanta: SBL. Cho, P. K.-K. and Fu, J. (2013), “Death and Feasting in the Isaiah Apocalypse (Isaiah 25:6–8),” in J. T. Hibbard and H. C. P. Kim (eds.), Formation and Intertextuality in Isaiah 24–27, 117–42, AIL 17, Atlanta: SBL. Christensen, D. L. (1975), Prophecy and War in Ancient Israel: Studies in the Oracles against the Nations in Old Testament Prophecy, Berkeley: BIBAL. Clifford, R. J. (1983), “Isaiah 55: Invitation to a Feast,” in C. L. Meyers and M. O’Connor (eds.), The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Sixtieth Birthday, 27–35, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Davis, E. F. (2009), Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eidevall, G. (1996), Grapes in the Desert: Metaphors, Models, and Themes in Hosea 4–14, Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Greer, J. S. (2007), “A Marzeaḥ and a Mizraq: A Prophet’s Mêlée with Religious Diversity in Amos 6:4–7,” JSOT 32: 243–62. Hagelia, H. (2003), “Meal on Mount Zion—Does Isa 24: 6–8 Describe a Covenant Meal?” SEÅ 68: 73–95. Hayes, K. M. (2002), “The Earth Mourns”: Prophetic Metaphor and Oral Aesthetic, Atlanta: SBL. Hoffman, Y. (2003), “The Fasts in the Book of Zechariah and the Fashioning of National Remembrance,” in O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the NeoBabylonian Period, 169–218, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Holt, E. (2011), “King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, My Servant, and the Cup of Wrath: Jeremiah’s Fantasies and the Hope of Violence,” in A. R. P. Diamond and J. Stulman (eds.), Jeremiah (Dis)Placed: New Directions in Writing/Reading Jeremiah, 209–18, LHBOTS 529, New York: T&T Clark. Hutton, R. R. (2009), “Are the Parents Still Eating Sour Grapes? Jeremiah’s Use of the Māšāl in Contrast to Ezekiel,” CBQ 71: 275–85. Irudayaraj, D. S. (2017), Violence, Otherness and Identity in Isaiah 63: 1–6:The Trampling One Coming from Edom, LHBOTS 633, New York: Bloomsbury. Kessler, M. (2004), “The Scaffolding of the Book of Jeremiah,” in M. Kessler (ed.), Reading the Book of Jeremiah: A Search for Coherence, 57–66, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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Korpel, M. C. A. (1996), “Metaphors in Isaiah lv,” VT 46: 43–55. Kutsko, J. F. (2000), Between Heaven and Earth: Divine Presence and Absence in the Book of Ezekiel, BJS 7, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Matthews, V. H. (1999), “Treading the Winepress: Actual and Metaphorical Viticulture in the Ancient Near East,” in A. Brenner and J. W. van Henten (eds.), Food and Drink in the Biblical Worlds, Semeia 86, 19–32, Atlanta: SBL. MacDonald, N. (2008), Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament, Oxford: Oxford University Press. McKane, W. (1980), “Poison, Trail by Ordeal and the Cup of Wrath,” VT 30: 574–92. McLaughlin, J. L. (2001), The Marzēaḥ in the Prophetic Literature: References and Allusions in Light of the Extra-Biblical Evidence, VTSup 86, Leiden: Brill. Millar, W. R. (1976), Isaiah 24–27 and the Origin of Apocalyptic, Missoula, MT: Scholars. Nogalski, J. D. (2007), “Recurring Themes in the Book of the Twelve: Creating Points of Contact for a Theological Reading,” Int 61: 125–36. Odell, M. S. (1998), “You Are What You Eat: Ezekiel and the Scroll,” JBL 117: 229–48. Ricoeur, P. (1981), Hermeneutics and the Human Sciences, ed. and trans. J. B. Thompson, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Walsh, C. E. (2000), The Fruit of the Vine: Viticulture in Ancient Israel, HSM 60, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Warren, N. (2014), “A Cannibal Feast in Ezekiel,” JSOT 38: 501–12. Williamson, H. G. M. (2006), A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 1–5, ICC, London: T&T Clark. Wittenberg, G. (2002), “‘… to Build and to Plant’ (Jer. 1:10): The Message of Jeremiah as a Source of Hope for the Exilic Community and Its Relevance for Community Building in South Africa,” JTSA 112: 57–67. Yee, G. A. (1981), “A Form-Critical Study of Isaiah 5: 1–7 as a Song and a Juridical Parable,” CBQ 43: 30–40.

CHAPTER 31

Food in the Writings KLAUS-PETER ADAM

INTRODUCTION A plethora of historical and literary contexts in the Writings of the Hebrew Bible involve food and feasting.1 The material in this part of the canon of the Hebrew Bible comes from various cultural and historical backgrounds. The Writings span a long period, with some parts deeply rooted in preexilic Israel (e.g., passages in Proverbs 10–31, parts of Psalms, parts of Job), while others originate in the Persian period (539–333 bce, e.g., parts of Proverbs 1–9, Ruth, Ezra, Nehemiah, 1 and 2 Chronicles), or even the Hellenistic period (post-333 bce; parts of Proverbs 1–9, Ecclesiastes, Esther, Daniel). Some food traditions and dietary habits in the first millennium bce southern Levant represent typical features of a cultural longue durée, that is, a priority of long-term cultural and historical structures—for instance, the royal banquet set in a court context—or cultural patterns, such as the Greek symposion, that may inform food traditions in Writings from the Hellenistic period.2 This brief overview portrays selected occurrences of food and of meals in the Writings and presents several theoretical approaches that help to shed light on food and eating.

PSALMS Food and eating fundamentally shape the human experience, and the psalms reflect on it in many ways. In light of the complexity of the references to food, this overview juxtaposes selected, partly overlapping perspectives on food and food consumption in Psalms.3

Sanctuary and Offerings Psalms refers to two pivotal exchanges of food between humans and deity. On the one hand, food is a provision of the deity and, consequently, some psalms relate food with Ketuvim (Psalms, Proverbs, Job, the five Megillot [Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Esther], Daniel, Ezra, Nehemiah, and 1 and 2 Chronicles) is the third part of the Jewish canon following the Torah (Pentateuch) and the Neviim (Prophets). 2  Longue durée is the term of the historian Fernand Braudel from the French Annales School, literally “long duration”; it is used to describe the long-term gradual processes of societal change in opposition to the category of historical events. 3  This discussion brackets out the many methodological questions of Psalter exegesis. For an orientation on methodology and interpretational approaches to Psalms, see, for instance, Zenger (2010) or Brown (2014). See, on source-critical and tradition-historical analysis, for instance, Hartenstein and Janowski 2012–18; on a redaction-historical approach, see Hossfeld and Zenger (2005 2011). For a broad study on meals in the Psalms see Reed (1987), for a study in two individual Psalms see, for instance, Riede (2010). 1 

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the sanctuary as a space where the psalmist would receive gifts (e.g., the cup/drink in Ps. 16:5-6; 23:5). On the other hand, petitioners would bring food for sacrifices and burnt offerings for the deity’s (virtual) consumption (Ps. 27:6 “I will offer in his tent”; 40:7; 50:8-9, 13; 51:18-21). In the latter case, Ps. 50:13 uses a rhetorical question to reject any naïve misunderstanding of the deity’s actual consumption of offerings in analogy to humans: “Do I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?”4 Psalms alludes to three types of meals: first, an offering meal; second, recollections of repasts during the wandering in the wilderness; and third, feeding of the dead. First, Psalms mentions zebaḥ (meals) at the temple (Ps. 27:6 “I will offer in his tent”; 40:7; 50:5, 8-9; 51:18-19). One sub-form of such offerings was the thanksgiving meal. It represents a particular form of the šǝlamîm offering (Exod. 20:24; Lev. 17:5; Num. 15:8; Deut. 27:7; 1 Sam. 10:8; 13:9; Prov. 7:14). This offering type has been related to Northwest Semitic offerings, Phoenician-Punic offerings, possibly Hebrew inscriptions from Iron Age Arad, as well as ancient inscriptions from South Arabia (Seidl 1995: 104). The semantics of the Hebrew term and the contexts of its use allow for a tentative translation as “community offering” and would include animal slaughter as an “offering of well-being” or a “concluding offering” (Seidl 1995: 110). These offerings were brought by individuals to fulfill vows taken in distress (Lev. 17:5) and serve to commemorate the supplicant’s salvation in the community gathering at the sanctuary (Ps. 22:23; 22:22 ET) in connection with a sponsored meal at a public thanksgiving feast (Jon. 2:10; 2:9 ET; “the poor shall eat and be satisfied” Ps. 22:26; cf. also “thanksgiving sacrifices” Ps. 107:22; 116:17). A second type of meal relates to the Exodus tradition with references to the feeding of the Israelites in the wilderness (Ps 105:40-41; cf. 36-37; see on food in the wilderness tradition Stinson 2017) and the providence of Manna in Ps. 78:18-31 (cf. Exodus 16 and Numbers 11). A third type of meal in Psalms refers to the feeding of the dead in a sacrificial meal (perhaps alluded to in Ps. 16:3-4). The evidence for feeding the dead in both textual (Deut. 26:14; Jer. 14:7 with LXX; Hos. 9:4; Job 21:25; Sir. 30:18; and Tob. 4:17) and archaeological data from burials indicate the existence of this practice in ancient Israel (Suriano 2018: 155).5 Depending on the translation and interpretation of Ps 16:3 as “the holy ones in the land” or as “the saints in the earth” (trans. my own with both possible), this latter passage may, literally understood, refer to a libation for the dead. “Drink offerings of blood” may be taken literally; alternatively, it can be read as a metaphor for wine (Suriano 2018: 226–7) as the “blood of the grapes” (Gen. 49:11; Deut. 32:14). In any case, Ps. 16:3-4 MT judges such libations favorably when brought to YHWH and not to other gods (Schmidt 1994: 264). Similarly, Ps. 106:28 refers to the “sacrifices offered to the dead,” probably dependent on Num. 25:2, “the sacrifices of their gods” and, in its context, this may refer to a polemic against foreign gods, understood as “lifeless” or “dead.”

Eating as Quotidian and as Festive Activity on the “Beautiful Day” Seen through an anthropological lens, a feast in multiple ways often represents the opposite of everyday experience (Dietler and Hayden 2001; cf. Wright 2010: 213–17).

4  5 

Translations (ET) are NRSV unless otherwise noted. NRSV “the lord” is rendered as YHWH. See also Chapter 18 in this volume.

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For instance, in contrast to frequent exposure to scarcity,6 feasts typically feature abundance, conceived of as a surplus of food.7 In the Writings, allusions to food often mirror the highly patterned cultural spaces of feasting in their differences from quotidian meals. For example, abundance of food features as a literary topos that can include descriptions of the richness of meals. Indeed, descriptions of food and its consumption in festive contexts often follow conventions best recognized in comparison with neighboring ancient cultures. Janowski (2004; 2013: 272–3) sees festive meals in Psalms as informed by the “beautiful day,” a cultural concept (Assmann 1991: 200–4) to describe the essence of feasting in Eighteenth Dynasty Egypt (ca. 1550–1295 bce). The beautiful day is characterized by abundance in contrast to wantonness, hunger, and thirst.

Feasting and Food Consumption in the Context of the Royal Audience If the sanctuary functions as a throne room, the deity takes the king’s role. Informed by a hierarchical, defined communicative setting, an encounter with the deity in the sanctuary is analogous to petitioning the king and, accordingly, follows the protocol of a royal audience. If the supplicant is favorably received, the deity in the role of the superior (virtual) host of the temple accepts him; whether this may imply that the guest will be invited to a drink (cf. Ps 23:5b, “my cup overflows”) or a meal.8 The guests find themselves (virtually or in reality) in the deity’s presence in the royal throne room where they hope to receive “good” (or “see the beauty/favor of YHWH,” Ps. 27:4 trans. my own) and where they might remain for a long period (Pss. 16:1b, 8; 23:69; e.g., Machinist 2011). The thematic group of the YHWH-king-Psalms (29, 47, 93, 95–99) elaborates on the divine throne council in the royal palace. The numerous references to the deity as provider of food are rooted in YHWH’s royal role (Ps. 104:14-15, cf. 145:14-17; Ps. 107:9, cf. 146:7); that is, the enthroned host in the temple. YHWH’s provision of food can include rain for plant growth (e.g., Ps. 104:13-15, cf. Ps. 147:8), and animal sustenance (Ps. 147:9, cf. Job 38:41), and may include the collective of the city (Ps. 147:14 Zion) or, more generally, “all flesh” (Ps. 136:25). Psalm 104:14-15 and the final Hallel Psalms10 146–150 (in MT) explicitly elaborate on YHWH’s provision of food. God’s royal power involves “causing the grass to grow for the livestock and plants for man to cultivate; that he may bring forth food from the earth, and wine to gladden the heart of man … and bread to strengthen man’s heart” (transl. my own). Here, Psalm 104 highlights the deity’s food provision in an extended reflection on the food chain that includes animals of prey and birds. Ultimately, the deity is the source of all food (Ps. 104:27-28, cf. 145:15-16). Various other symbols illustrate the nourishing aspects of the deity. In the Levant, the tradition of the storm god causing the winter rains is of critical relevance. The Canaanite weather god (Baal) is known from texts from Ugarit, present-day Ras Shamra See Chapter 21 in this volume. See the discussion in Chapter 17 in this volume. 8  Verse numbers in Psalms mention first the Hebrew text (MT); the verse number in the English text may be different. 9  Cf. also the recurring meeting of the throne council in Psalm 82, albeit without allusion to a meal. 10  Hallel Psalms, derived from hll II pi’el to praise, a designation for a group of Psalms in the Psalter, here, the daily or final Hallel that concludes the book of Psalms. 6  7 

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in Syria. According to the myth, the weather god causes winter storms, with one passage mentioning the providing of rains on the land from his temple (Smith and Pitard 2008: 3–5). This informs the idea that YHWH “feeds” (my translation; NRSV “watered”) the trees he planted (Ps 104:16). The sanctuary as real or virtual cultural space where the deity hosts feasts is rooted in the royal character of the deity. As an architectural structure, the sanctuary epitomizes YHWH’s throne room as the epicenter of divine administrative and royal executive power. In the sanctuary the deity would appear to petitioners who “seek his face” (Ps. 27:8). A typical encounter with the deity in the sanctuary would take place in this way, notwithstanding that access to the temple was limited to priests according to the Priestly strands of biblical tradition. The experience of the royal audience signals the deity’s role as king and guarantor of justice and blessings (Hartenstein 2008: 71–8, 244– 62; Janowski and Zenger 2004: 89). In the agrarian society of ancient Israel, the harvest was essential to secure food, as seen in the so-called Psalms of Ascent (120–34), which include a blessing typical for such a society. For instance, Ps. 128:2 construes food as the epitome of blessings at large: “You shall eat the fruit of the labor of your hands; you shall be happy, and it shall go well with you.” In doing so, food is conceptualized as the fruit of labor.

PROVERBS Three perspectives on Proverbs may best indicate the evidence of food and eating: food as the product of labor, ethical notions connected with food consumption, and the banquet of Woman Wisdom in Proverbs 9.11

Food as the Product of Labor The understanding of food as a product of labor informs a number of metaphors in Proverbs. Proverbs uses food metaphors to express the need to work. As in contemporary English, bread is a metaphor for one’s livelihood earned through work, for tilling the soil ensures bread (Prov. 12:11; 28:19), whereas poverty is the result of laziness: “open your eyes, and you will have plenty of bread” (Prov. 20:13). Yet Proverbs is realistic that gaining a means of survival with bread may motivate an individual to transgress (Prov. 28:21) through either bribe or theft (Fox 2009: 829). Proverbs also criticizes unfair gain for one’s sustenance. While “bread gained by deceit is sweet,” in a variation of the deed-destiny nexus,12 the logical connection between a person’s actions and the consequences (see Schipper 2019: 32) means that “afterward the mouth will be full of gravel” (Prov. 20:17).

Ethical Notions Relating to Food Consumption Ethical notions connected with food consumption are found several times in Proverbs. In biblical literature food and feasting as expressions of abundance become, on the one hand, the quintessential social space in which fairness and righteousness are vindicated Unlike Psalms, references to cultic contexts of food are largely absent; but see the well-being offering (šǝlamîm) Prov. 7:14, in parallelism with personal vows (nederîm). 12  The deed-destiny nexus is a principle of wisdom literature suggesting that certain actions will bring about a consequence for the agent. 11 

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and, on the other hand, where judgment for the wicked becomes apparent. The literary motif of “judgement at the table” (MacDonald 2008: 167) serves as a lens through which Proverbs and other wisdom writings analyze and criticize social differences as they become apparent in systems of commensality. This applies to both the assumedly older material of Proverbs 10–29 that stem from preexilic to postexilic periods, as well as to later Persian and Hellenistic material in Proverbs 1–9.13 Wisdom literature discusses social stratification, particularly inequality, through the lens of meal practice in two ways. First, it invites a self-reflection about the participant’s own social status; second, it seeks to discern the status differences between participants in a meal. The latter requires careful distinctions of the social surroundings. As a consequence, Proverbs warns about eating with individuals perceived to be unfair (“wicked”), those accused of violence, in analogy to the context of the wicked in Ps. 1:1. The theological vantage point of Proverbs is the conviction of the deity’s provision for the wise and just as expressed in a food metaphor, namely, that God will not let the righteous go hungry (Prov. 10:3; cf. Ps. 37:25).14 Proverbs describes social stratigraphy as reflected in the quality of food served in meals. Proverbs criticizes commensality with unsavory individuals: “Do not eat the bread of the stingy; do not desire their delicacies” (Prov. 23:6; on a thematic parallel from Egypt, see Fox 2009: 727) and points to the critical social context of meals. For instance, Prov. 15:17 reads: “Better is a dinner of vegetables where love is than a fatted ox and hatred with it.” Warnings against commensality with the wicked, which continue in later parts of Proverbs, develop along three different lines. First, the rejection of unfair behavior develops food-based lexicography. For instance, following the pattern of the two ways, Prov. 4:17 creates a metaphor of the “bread of wickedness” and the “wine of violence.” Second, by expanding the deed-destiny nexus into an unspecified future, Proverbs encourages the student of wisdom to overcome and to dissolve what they perceive as social injustice. Sharing bread leads to virtual commensality with the poor, an effort that the deed-destiny nexus will, ultimately, reward. Proverbs 22:9 notes: “Who is generous [literally, ‘the one good of eye’] is blessed, for he shares his bread with the poor” (trans. my own). Continuing this line of thought, Prov. 25:21-22 refers to the extreme case of sharing one’s meal and water even with an enemy for the sake of divine retribution. The praise of the industrious woman in Prov. 31:27 lauds her organization of the household, as she “does not eat the bread of idleness,” a metaphor for indulging in laziness. Third, in line with earlier traditions, the topos of an invitation to a festive banquet serves as a framework in which meals become teachable moments for the wisdom teacher.

Wisdom’s Invitation to a Banquet The influence of late Persian contexts can be seen in the opening part of Proverbs 1–9 with Woman Wisdom’s invitation to a banquet.15 The motif of the personified Wisdom’s invitation to a banquet includes a preconception of the negative consequences of the The motif also appears in other wisdom writings, for instance, Job 24:4-11 and Ben Sira, see on the latter Rapp (2012). On the dating and context of Proverbs 1–9, see Schipper (2019: 47–60); on the dating of Proverbs 10–29, see Fox (2001: 6–12; 2009: 499–506). 14  Postexilic psalms also criticize the consumption of special foods that are available because of an unfair acquisition of wealth. Psalm 141:4 rejects commensality with unjust individuals as evil and in compliance with unfair deeds. 15  Alternatively, for a Hellenistic dating, see, e.g., Loader (2014: 9–10); Fox (2000: 6–12). 13 

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rejection of her offer. For instance, it criticizes the decision of the invited guest to eat random food on their way (1:31). Allusions to food as “bread of wickedness” and to the “wine of violence” (4:17) ascribe particular patterns of ethical misbehavior as “deep darkness” and distinguish it from the “path of the righteous” that “is like the light of dawn” (4:18-19). Building on the theme of judgment at the table, the contrast between the wicked and the just and their meals is starker. In a synesthetic association of words with taste, the honey-dripping lips of the foreign woman are said to turn into bitter wormwood and a sharp sword when swallowed (5:3-4). In a culminating episode, Proverbs 9 elaborates the scenario of a path leading to death rather than life, a contrast mentioned already in Prov. 2:18-22 and 5:5-6. The climax of the two-way pattern in Proverbs 1–9 can be seen in the contrast of the scenes between the meal of Woman Wisdom and the meal of Woman Folly in Proverbs 9. In preparation for the meal, Woman Wisdom slaughters animals, mixes wine, and sends out the invitation to the meal through servants (Prov. 9:1-5), clearly representing female management of her house (9:1). Commensality with Woman Wisdom results in knowledge, wisdom, and the rejection of foolishness (Prov. 9:6). Her meal is painted in stark contrast to Woman Folly’s, whose water is stolen, whose sweet-tasting bread is eaten clandestinely and takes place in the netherworld (Prov. 9:17-18).

JOB This book about the suffering of a just man features both sacrificial contexts and everyday meals. Compositionally, the book has multiple parts; a prose narrative consisting of two complete episodes (1:1-22; 2:1-10) and a concluding section (42:11-17) bookend a complex sequence of poetic speeches and poems. This overview focuses on the prose narratives that prominently feature banquets (mišteh, Job 1:4-5), which include the drinking of wine (yayin, Job 1:18), as festive periods for Job’s family. Set in the polyphonic discourse on Job’s justice in a wisdom context (Newsom 2003: 3–31), these festive situations in the prose narrative also function on a conceptual level in the moral discourse of the book. For instance, the motif of the meals of Job’s children reflects the themes of potential sin and divine sanction. As a precautionary measure before each feast, Job is said to sanctify his sons and daughters through burnt offerings early in the morning (Job 1:5). This rite demonstrates his deep piety and, at the same time, on the level of the moral discourse, sets the stage for the impending deaths of his children and their restitution in the closing scene of 42:11-17 (Newsom 2003: 53). The narrative presents the death of the children itself in the context of the artful climax of a first set of tribulations (Job 1:13-19) that alternate between military raids of the Sabeans and Chaldeans (vv. 15, 17) and disasters of fire and wind (vv. 16, 19). In an inclusion (vv. 13, 19), the children’s festive dining sets the stage for the messengers’ reports of a series of destructive events that concludes in an artistically composed finale, as an unusual “great wind” hits Job’s children during their gatherings (Habel 1985: 92). Job’s children die, in a moment that symbolizes the celebratory climax of the clan’s social life, at a festive meal hosted by the eldest brother. The final feast in Job 42:11-18 celebrates the restoration of Job’s previous social status and wealth. Arranged in symmetry as the fourth element of the prose tale scenes (1:1-5; 1:6-22; 2:1-10; 42:11-18), this final scene mirrors the idyllic setting of the prose tale’s opening scene (Newsom 2003: 53). In the social setting of the festive meal, the protagonist celebrates with his siblings and his friends who knew him from before; “they

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showed him sympathy and comforted him” (42:11) over his misfortunes. Conceptually, this meal in Job’s house modifies the earlier meals by its different setting. In contrast with the feasts of the children as the setting of the catastrophic destruction, now Job hosts at a table with his siblings, which serves as the “setting for his restoration” (Cho 2014: 249). Thus, seen on the level of the plot at large and as framed with 1:1-5, this festive meal at the end of the book represents the protagonist’s divine vindication (Habel 1985: 584). It functions as a token of the fulfillment of social life and YHWH’s blessing of Job (42:12) that exceeds Job’s previous life (Newsom 2003: 62). Beyond the relevance of meals in the overall context of the theme of the righteous sufferer, the book of Job connects meals with typical themes of wisdom like justice and righteousness. This thematic thread is found in other parts of the book too, with the motif of the judgment at the table in Job 24:4-6 and the search of the poor for food: “[The wicked] thrust the needy off the road; the poor of the earth all hide themselves. Like wild asses in the desert they go out to their toil, scavenging in the wasteland food for their young. They reap in a field not their own and they glean in the vineyard of the wicked.” Overall in the prose section of Job, meals are tokens of an artistically presented kinshipbased society of a sheikh. Meals serve as aesthetic devices to present the didactic narrative of the prose tale within a world of clear values (Newsom 2003: 18).16

THE FIVE SCROLLS (MEGILLOT): SONG OF SONGS, RUTH, LAMENTATIONS, ECCLESIASTES, ESTHER Song of Songs Song of Songs is a dialogue in verse form between two lovers, a woman and a man. This book of rapidly changing scenes, speakers, and motifs is driven by euphoria that unfolds between the two. As a literary work attributed to Solomon (1:1), most scholars date this book between the fourth and second century bce (e.g., Hayes 2018: 550) or to the Persian period (sixth to fourth centuries bce; e.g., Murphy 1990: 4). While the analysis of its literary structure is contested (Exum 2005: 39), the book’s contribution to the lexicography of food is widely accepted. Besides references to eating (4:16; 5:1), getting drunk (5:1), and drinking (5:1, twice), the book features an impressive list of foods: “fruits” (4:16), grapes as fruit of vines (8:11-12), wheat (7:2), figs (2:13), mandrakes (7:13), pomegranate(s) (4:3, 13; 6:7, 11; 7:12; 8:2), nuts (6:11), raisins (2:5), honey (4:11; 5:1), milk (4:11; 5:1, 12), wine (1:2, 4; 2:4; 4:10; 5:1; 7:9; 8:2), mixed or spiced wine (7:3; ET 7:2), water (4:15; 5:12; 8:7), honey(comb) (4:11), juice (8:2), and oil (1:3, twice; 4:10).17 A number of food metaphors refer to the encounter between the woman and the man as well as to their bodies. Metaphors for the female body include the pomegranate orchard (4:13); notions of her body include spices (frankincense, myrrh) next to cosmetics (aloe 4:14), the garden fountain (4:15), wine, and wheat (7:2). In addition, the woman’s stature is compared to a palm tree, her breasts to clusters of dates, her breath to the scent of apples (7:8), and her kisses to wine (7:9). The description of the male body (5:10-16)

16  17 

For further scholarship on Job, see Hartley (1988), Balentine (2008), and Seow (2013). See Brenner (1999: 104).

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includes a comparison of his lips with myrrh (5:13), and he is pictured as an apple tree in a forest (2:3).18 The female speaker compares her encounter with the beloved as being led by him to the “banqueting house” (2:4, literally a “house of wine”). The courtship uses food metaphors, for instance, sweet fruit, such as raisins and apples (2:5). Other comparisons of the encounter with a vineyard and fruit garden are found multiple times (grapes, pomegranates; 7:12). The woman invites the man to her house where she will serve him spiced wine and pomegranate juice (8:2). Gender studies on the Song of Songs have yielded rich results.19 They have unveiled both the beauty and the gendered nature of food metaphors, for instance, the poetic metaphor of sweetness for the physical encounter between male and female lovers. These references to “sweetness” are used in both general and specific terms. The male lover’s speech or mouth is “sweet” (5:16); the fruit of the tree is “sweet,” likely a reference to kissing (2:3; Brenner 1999: 104). Feminist hermeneutics have deconstructed the gendered use of the metaphors for the male lover. The male is an individual with agency and is described as active; he “eats and drinks his female lover” (in the interpretation of Brenner 1999: 108–9). Meanwhile the metaphors for the female, perceived as an object acted upon, imply a gradual lack of agency. Her being “sweet” refers not only to fruit but also to honey as consumed. The garden metaphors and the metaphors for arable, cultivated land similarly convey object status (Brenner 1999: 109).

Ruth The book juxtaposes two protagonists: Ruth (1:4, 22; 2:2, 4, 6, 21; 4:5, 10), a foreigner (2:10) from Moab, Israel’s archenemy (Deut. 23:3-6); and Boaz, the landowning male from Bethlehem associated with the polity of Israel.20 Set in an agrarian context at harvest time, in a first scene (2:8-16), the highly respected male landowner generously models rules of welfare for impoverished sojourners by allowing and even enabling gleaning during the harvest season (see, e.g., Lev. 23:22) and secures access to water drawn by his own men (2:9) for the poor, shunned, female refugee. The gleaning exceeds expectations, yielding an ephah, 30–40 liters (2:17), and thus secures the survival of Ruth and her mother-in-law. In particular, Boaz’s invitation of Ruth to commensality for a meal that is the product of Boaz’s clan (2:14) may, beyond what on the plot’s surface appears to be generosity towards a stranger, have a more specific meaning when seen through the lens of anthropological theory. The invitation to share food may point to the initiation of a processual creation of a kinship bond. The ongoing feeding of an individual who was originally a foreigner, suggests anthropological theory, can lead to establishing a kinship relation with a foreigner (Chapman 2020). After the gleaning, the shared meal of the refugee women functions in the trajectory of the book as a prelude to their attempt to enter into a legal relationship with the landowner and to actively seek kinship formation. They plan this effort after drinking and eating (3:3) when Boaz’s “mind (literally ‘heart’) is good” (3:7, trans. my own). Following the advice of her mother-in-law, Ruth goes to the landowner’s house, although

See Chapter 8 on the problem of translating tappûaḥ in the Song of Songs as “apple.” See, for instance, on possible female authorship, Goitein 1957/1993: 66; on the comparable genre of Arabic love poetry designated to the passages that depict the attractions of the human body, see Meyers (1986: 211). 20  For aspects of dating, see Lee 2009 867; for the genre of the book, see Berlin 2010. 18 

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she is neither invited nor known to participants of the feast. In private she requests to be integrated into the kin of Boaz, making him her next of kin. In a subsequent scene, in the morning after Ruth spent the night in Boaz’s house, he offers her grain. The book connects the grain harvest and the fertility of Ruth (Green 1982: 56). Grain or grainbased foods are essential to nutrition and typically contributed over half of the caloric intake of an Israelite (MacDonald 2008: 60). The transfer of grain as a staple starch from Boaz functions in the plot as an anticipatory sign of the approval of Ruth’s petition, pending closer kin who might take up the legal function of a redeemer. Boaz offers Ruth six (measures of) barley (3:15), an amount that presumably secures the survival of Ruth and her mother-in-law Naomi. In the symbolic system of the narrative at large, gifts of grain and the provision of water ensure the immediate survival of the two female women. At the same time the sequence of events in the book illustrates the gradual transformation of Ruth as a foreigner from Moab into a member of the kin (Chapman 2020). The plot artfully employs these gifts to show the integration of a foreigner through the food supply chain of the community. By the time of the marriage between Ruth and Boaz and her conception of their son (4:13), Ruth is already integrated into the kin by a “food-based transformation” (Chapman 2020). In the genealogy this tie of kinship serves as a pivotal anticipatory symbol of the future king David (4:21, Altmann 2012: 25).

Lamentations Written in acrostic poems, this book reflects on Judah’s situation under occupation, retrospectively after the Babylonian conquest. Lamentations mentions multiple food shortages and famine. In 2:12 the pair, “grain and wine” (trans. my own; NRSV “bread”) represents storable food one may expect to consume during a siege rather than fresh, perishable food; the latter is usually referred to with the more common pair “(fresh) juice and bread” (Berlin 2002: 72). Lamentations 4:9 describes the suffering and death from famine: “Happier were those pierced by the sword than those pierced by hunger,” which is caused through lack of “the produce of the field.” This may be a reference to weakness caused by famine and malnutrition (Berlin 2002: 108). The prayer of Lamentations 5 seems to reflect a situation after the conquest, with a city suffering under occupation rather than under acute siege. Lamentations 5:9-10 deplores the devastating state of the inhabitants, who now have to pay for commodities of drinking water and firewood (5:4), in a situation of economic and social breakdown as a result of the conquest. In a double entendre, Lam. 5:9 alludes to the life-threatening situation in which the inhabitants get their bread, metaphorically “because of the sword in the wilderness” (literally, “in the face of desertlike drought”; see Berlin 2002: 114), that is, in a state that would cause malnutrition and skin inflammations as described in the following verse (Berlin 2002: 122). A poem over the destruction of Jerusalem in Lamentations 2 concludes in vv. 20-22 with a supplicatory prayer for Jerusalem. This prayer refers to the starving of the city’s inhabitants and, in a rhetorical question, mentions the reversal of the natural process, from mothers who feed their children to the cannibalism of women who eat them (2:20). The motif also appears in 4:10 (“boiled their own children”) and in descriptions of famine (e.g., Lev. 25:29; Deut. 28:53-57; 2 Kgs. 6:26-30; Jer. 19:9; Ezek. 5:10; see Berlin 2002: 75). One of the most hopeful passages of the book is 4:21-22, which announces the destruction of Judah’s archenemy Edom as a result of them drinking the cup, a reference to the prophetic metaphor of the poisonous cup of wrath as a symbol for impending doom (e.g., Jer. 25:15-29; 49:12; 51:7; Ezek. 23:31-34).

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Ecclesiastes Written in the late Persian or Hellenistic period, Ecclesiastes is in many ways unique in the Hebrew Bible. It criticizes fundamental convictions of wisdom theology, is in tension with much of historical and prophetic tradition, and has parallels to ancient Near Eastern wisdom texts and Greek philosophy from the Stoics to Epicurus (Witte 2012: 609). The book repeatedly expresses the relevance of the quotidian enjoyment of food and beverages in light of the arbitrary and burdensome nature of life. For instance, Eccl. 2:24, 3:13, 8:15, and 9:7 give advice to enjoy life, expressed with the metaphor of “to eat and drink, and find enjoyment in their toil” (2:24). While this verse is often translated to the effect that there is nothing better for human beings than to eat, drink, and enjoy something good, this would contrast with a devaluation of all conceivable goods (Krüger 2004: 72). The Masoretic Text’s understanding of “nothing good comes about through man. … That he can eat and drink … that also comes from the hand of the Deity” (transl. from Krüger 2004: 58) is in accord with the principle that nothing good comes about through humans. Other passages add various reasons to adopt this mental framework, for instance, the pragmatic virtual comparison: “for there is nothing better for people under the sun than to eat, and drink, and enjoy themselves, for this will go with them in their toil through the days of life that God gives them under the sun” (8:15). A more theological rationale in Ecclesiastes is the understanding of food and drink as gifts received from God (Eccl. 2:25, cf. 3:13) and, consequently, to be enjoyed as part of the human condition. Brushing aside criticisms of eating in light of a general reflection on life’s futility, in a theological move that directly addresses the reader in the second-person singular, Ecclesiastes adds a fundamental theological vindication of such behavior: “Go, eat your bread with enjoyment, … for God has long ago approved what you do” (Eccl. 9:7). In the larger framework of the book, while referring to the futility and randomness of all human activity, Eccl. 5:17-18 explicitly points out the arbitrariness of life as such and likens the human inability of foreseeing their future to eating and enjoying a meal “in darkness,” even with respect to the problems of wealth and poverty in 5:15-16 (Krüger 2004: 118). Reflecting on the arbitrariness of hunger and satisfaction with food leads Ecclesiastes to a number of conclusions. While in general encouraging working for food, Ecclesiastes also demonstrates the fortuitous character of such activity and the potential lack of success. Pointing to the arbitrariness of human life, Eccl. 9:11 warns against entitlement based on one’s social position, competency, and origin, with a reference that time and chance affect all humans and that the wise may not be able to have daily bread. As is the case with the preceding wisdom traditions, in an exhortation in 11:1-2, Ecclesiastes expects the sharing of food with others as a form of charity that, following the logic of the deed-destiny nexus, will result in a divine interference with one’s destiny (for possible interpretations see Krüger 2004: 192).

Esther The meal scenes in the Masoretic (Hebrew) version of the book of Esther (the Greek version is significantly longer) are conceived as drinking scenes (mištēh hayayin; Est. 5:6; 7:2, 7, cf. Sir.21 34:31; 35:5; 49:1), as banquets (Est. 5:14; 8:17; 9:19), and Sirach (Greek), or the Wisdom of Jesus Son of Sirach (see Sir. 50:27), dates to ca. 180 bce. A deuterocanonical book included in the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox canon, it is also called Ecclesiasticus. 21 

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as days of festive joy (Est. 9:17-18, 22) in the tradition of the symposium (cf. 1 Sam. 25:36; Isa. 5:12; also Est. 1:3, 5, 9; 2:18; 5:4-5, 8, 12; 6:14). Held at the royal court, these meals reflect the symbolism of royal feasting: they are based on the expectation that the king would provide for his courtiers, and they symbolize the communicative space typical of the royal court. Featured prominently in the plot of Esther, these festive royal meals shape the book’s outline and composition. The plot unfolds along a sequence of meals (Fox 2001: 157; Levenson 1996: 5–6) or fasts, with, as a final banquet, the Purim celebration with which the book ends, providing an etiology for Purim.

1:2-4

Ahasuerus’ banquet for the nobles

1:5-8

Ahasuerus’ banquet for the whole people of Susa

1:9

Vashti’s banquet for the women

2:18

Banquet on Esther’s enthronement (tax amnesty, donation to the people)

3:15

Ahasuerus’ and Haman’s drinking session after issuing the decree

4:3 4:15-16

Mourning, fasting, weeping and lament among the Jews Three-day fast of Esther and the Jews in Susa

5:6-8

Esther’s first banquet with Ahasuerus and Haman

7:1-9

Esther’s second banquet with Ahasuerus and Haman

8:17

Festive meal of the Jewish population after Mordecai’s counter-edict

9:17,19 9:18

Celebration of Purim on the 13th/14th Adar22 Purim in Susa on the 13th/14th/15th Adar

The themes of the book of Esther are typical of a diaspora novella that depicts a Jew living in a foreign court, in this case the royal court in Susa in Achaemenid Persia (cf. Ezra 4:9; Neh. 1:1). By default in a diaspora novella, the plot refers to national patterns and identities relating to food, its production and consumption. In postexilic literature, as Judeans established more diaspora communities, this theme became prominent (MacDonald 2008: 196) and illustrates an ongoing and diverse discourse on Jewish dietary customs.23 Featuring a Jewish protagonist in a foreign royal court, the novella leaves open specific dietary restrictions. Esther is given “her portion of food” (2:9), yet there is no explicit hint of dietary restrictions, unlike in Dan. 1:15 (see below). The longer, Septuagint (LXX) version of Esther, or Additions to Esther, fills in this gap and suggests that she refrains from food at royal banquets (Add. Est. 14:17). A good reason for the emphasis on commensality in Esther is the existential necessity to eat and drink as a daily activity for survival, a pivotal theme of the book.

Adar, probably from the Babylonian month of Addaru, is the last month of the Jewish year. On subsequent discourses on food and Jewish identity in the diaspora, especially in early rabbinic times, see Rosenblum (2010). 22  23 

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Another aspect of food consumption and feasting in Esther is the presence of fasting: first, in response to threats of life through a royal edict (4:3); and second, in solidarity with the larger population of Susa (4:15-16).24 Naturally, at the royal court banquets could be held in exceptional situations. They could function as the setting for a hostile climax; for instance, after the first drinking banquet in 1:5-8, Queen Vashti is condemned and banished. Similarly, Haman is hanged as a result of a controversy that ensues on the occasion of a banquet (7:9-10).

DANIEL, EZRA, NEHEMIAH, AND 1 AND 2 CHRONICLES “Feasting” as “analytical rubric used to describe a form of ritual activity that involves the communal consumption of food and drink” (Dietler 2001: 65) specifies food consumption in defined social spaces. Typical social settings derived from this analysis inform the representation of meals and food consumption. The books of Daniel, Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles frequently reference royal feasting and food associated with the royal court (Dietler 2001: 75–88; Meyers 2014: 144–5).

Daniel The book of Daniel prominently features two food topics relevant to Hellenistic Judaism: dietary regulations, and the hubris at play in royal banquets.25 First, Daniel points to food practices that relate to Jewish cultural identity in Hellenistic culture. The plot uses the motif of food provision at the foreign king’s court. The protagonists are youths from Judean families raised at the Babylonian court. Under the guidance of Daniel, they reject their allotted food portions, including wine (Dan. 1:5, 8), in favor of a vegetable diet (v. 12) in compliance with their dietary rules.26 The narrative reflects priestly materials in Leviticus 11,27 unlike other (Hellenistic) diaspora novellas (e.g., Tob. 1:10-11; Jdt. 10:5) and the Hellenistic books of Maccabees (1 Macc. 1:62-63; 12:1-4; 2 Maccabees 6–7). In negotiation with the palace administration, Daniel and his friends first receive a period of ten days and then permanent permission to refrain from eating food served by the king and from drinking wine at the court. This discourse about Jewish dietary patterns within the book highlights the positive effect of a vegetarian diet in accordance with Jewish tradition by pointing to the exceeding physical and cognitive strength of the young men at court. Second, the widespread perception of the king as supplier of food for his subjects is a typical expression of royal ideology in antiquity. In a juxtaposition of the deity’s role as the supplier of food, the narrative tradition in Daniel fundamentally challenges and questions this claim. In a theological move, the royal identity of the earthly king is contrasted with the Jewish deity, YHWH, as the heavenly provider of food (e.g., Ps. 104:27-28; 145:15-16). Daniel 5 frames this discourse in a literary context of a meal sponsored by the Babylonian king Belshazzar. The narrative presents in detail the king as a quintessential figure of royal hubris. The intoxicated king commands that vessels from the Jerusalem temple, plundered by Nebuchadnezzar, be used in order to profane

See the discussion of fasting in Chapter 21 in this volume. On dating and the historical and literary background, see Collins (1993). 26  On the discourse on vegetarianism in biblical exegesis and Talmudic literature, see Shemesh (2006). 27  See the discussion in Chapter 28 in this volume.

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them by drinking wine from them at a great banquet (Dan. 5:1-4, 23). The appearance of an oracle written on the wall of the banquet hall prompts Belshazzar to invite Daniel’s interpretation. Specifically referencing the ruler’s profanation of the temple vessels during the banquet and thus unmasking the religious dimension of the meal as a frivolous act in the veneration of foreign gods (alluding to idols of silver, gold, iron, bronze, wood, stone), Daniel 5 (vv. 20-22) reveals Belshazzar’s hubris that despises the royal power of the Most High God. Here, the banquet is the epitome of royal hubris that Daniel, as the prophetic character, dismantles. As a faithful believer in the power of the Most High God, Daniel’s interpretation of the oracle predicts Belshazzar’s impending death (5:21-23).

Ezra The specific meaning of food in Ezra is best presented mainly in the context of the function of the first part of Ezra 1–6.28 Here, food consumption serves the legitimization of the power and authority of the collective of the temple builders.29 This part of Ezra refers to a variety of groups, who, by way of telling their narrative, claim the reconstruction of the temple. One of these groups is the exiles. The oldest part of the temple-building chronicle (Ezra 4:24–6:15), ending with the completion of the temple, did not yet include a meal scene. This changes when at a second, later stage 6:16-18 is added, listing now three collectives: “the people of Israel, the priests and the Levites, and the rest of the returned exiles, celebrated the dedication of this house of God with joy.” The hyperbolic number of 100 bulls, 200 rams, 400 lambs and, in addition 12 male goats for the 12 tribes “for all Israel” (Ezra 6:17) is probably meant to demonstrate the organizational capability of these priestly groups for offerings at the temple; ultimately, it legitimizes their function at the temple. The picture changes when a supplementary scene of a Passover meal (6:19-22) is added, to follow the offering. It now concludes the report of the dedication of the temple with a list of five groups participating in the Passover meal at the temple dedication: the sons of the exiles, who prepare the Passover (6:19); the priests, the Levites, also preparing for Passover (6:20), who are not mentioned in the older sources (cf. Exod. 12:6; Deut. 16:2); the Israelites not in exile; the exiles, and, finally, all who had separated themselves from the non-Jewish ethnicities in the surroundings, namely, proselytes (Williamson 1985: 85). This extensive list of festival gatherers differs from the reference to one specific group of the exiles claiming to be builders of the temple, for instance, in 4:1-5. Once the temple is built, 6:19-22 describes an inclusive Passover meal that gathers together five different segments of society. This is an example for the relevance of food consumption around the installation of the temple. More specifically, this meal has an integrative function in the narrative of Second Temple Judah: Instead of limiting Passover to the returning exiles as those responsible for building the Second Temple, this meal functions as a cipher to mark the inclusion of the various factions of the people. To the same context belongs the subsequent remark in v. 22 that reports the extension of Passover through a celebration

The present composition of Ezra-Nehemiah consists of two parts: Ezra 1–6 portray the mission of Sheshbazzar, Zerubbabel, Jeshua (identical with Joshua in Haggai and Zechariah), and the building of the Second Temple; and 7–10 describe Ezra’s mission and the community’s practice of Torah. See Kratz (2005: 49–62, 84); Williamson (1985: xxiii–xxxii); on the sources in Ezra also Fried (2014: 151–64). 29  In the oldest sources of Ezra-Nehemiah, Ezra 1–6 appear to be composed around the passages Ezra 4:24; 5:1–6:15 as its core. This independent (Aramaic) source could be called a report or chronicle of the building of the temple. 28 

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of the festival of unleavened bread “with joy” (cf. 2 Chron. 23:18; 29:30). This extended joyful feast is to be understood as the expression for the successful international support for the temple building project through the “King of Assyria.”30 Other references to food in Ezra 6 play a role in legitimizing the priestly cult through the use of Persian authority: the royal authorization of Darius is used to rebuild the temple in 6:1-12. Tattenai, the governor of the entire province “beyond the river”31 is told to “keep away” and “let alone” (6:6-7) the Jewish governor. The governor of the province at large must limit himself to overseeing the financing of the offerings for the temple in Jerusalem (6:8): sacrificial animals, wheat, salt, wine, and oil (6:9). These provisions are situated in the larger context of legitimizing the priestly cult as administered by a governor on behalf of the Persian king and subsidized by the larger province “Beyond the River.” In another episode, the Sidonians and the Tyrians are given “food, drink, and oil” in exchange for precious cedarwood, unavailable in Palestine, as building material (Ezra 3:7). The use of food to barter for temple-building supplies legitimizes the people’s group effort to rebuild the temple. In a fasting ritual in 10:6, Ezra withdraws and refrains from food and water as a token of his mourning the exiles’ intermarriage with foreign women. This mourning behavior shows his deep concern for the situation (Williamson 1985: 151).

Nehemiah The core of the book of Nehemiah 1–13 is the so-called Nehemiah memoir (Neh. 1:1– 7:5), which stretches from Nehemiah’s posting as cupbearer of King Artaxerxes I to his self-chosen mission to rebuild Jerusalem (Kratz 2005: 63–8). This literary unit refers several times to food and meals. Distress caused by a severe shortage of grain is described in the Nehemiah memoir in Neh. 5:2-3 followed by a report of measures to alleviate the social imbalance. Financial reforms, such as the end of taking usury and a loan renewal program for money and grain and including the restitution of fields, vineyards, and olive orchards (Neh. 5:11-12), would enable a more secure future. In the context of these reforms, food in 5:14-19 is a celebratory meal specifically for those rebuilding Jerusalem’s wall. The meal is part of the larger context of the confrontation between its builders and the enemies who sought to undermine its restoration (4:9). It may be that Nehemiah’s banqueting with the builders of the wall was originally not so much a victory celebration but rather a form of daily commensality in support of building the wall (Wright 2010: 351). These measures, in which the memoir interweaves the meals, might best be understood as “performativecommunicative” in nature. They serve to legitimize Nehemiah, as a literary device, with his banqueting a statement about his intention as a performative act. Pointing to the banquet vis-à-vis the deity features a “communicative” aspect with the speaker as he requests the acts be remembered for his good (5:19). In the historical framework of the Achaemenid Empire, the feeding of the wall builders serves to commemorate Nehemiah’s role as mimicking the generosity of the great king (Artaxerxes I). At the same time, the report seeks to emphasize that Nehemiah is independent from the imposed taxation of

If not a scribal error, this should be understood as a stereotyped description of a foreign ruler alluding to the Mesopotamian empire that had once fiercely opposed Israel (Williamson 1985: 85). 31  That is, the area west of the Euphrates, as seen from the perspective of the Achaemenid Empire. 30 

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Achaemenid Persia, as the protagonist insists that he “did not demand the food allowance of the governor” (5:18; Wright 2010: 351). The book also refers to the “functional” aspect of food through Nehemiah’s role as cupbearer to Artaxerxes. In this intimate role, on the occasion of a royal banquet Nehemiah manages initially to convince the great king of his project to help rebuild the Judean capital (Neh. 2:1-8). On the conceptual level, Nehemiah’s provision of food and drink, in presenting a lavish feast with beef, lamb, poultry, and “skins of wine in abundance” (5:18), is a literary strategic move that illustrates Nehemiah’s capability to ease potential or de facto tensions among the builders (5:1-13). It also models a practice of economic solidarity needed in the crisis that builds the backdrop of the feasting.

1 and 2 Chronicles In Chronicles, collective food consumption in public festivals occurs at important points in the narrative.32 The celebration of these meals in community is central to the historiography of the Chronicler as it reflects the various stages from the United Monarchy under David and Solomon, to the end of the kingdom of Judah. The specific, oftentimes hyperbolic figures of food consumed at feasts are meant to illustrate the respective ruler’s honor in relation to his successors and followers in the dynastic line. They also serve to mark the relevance of the occasion, for instance, for the inauguration of the temple in 2 Chronicles 7. The following presents selected reports of food consumption. Meals can demonstrate “the acquisition or creation of social (and economic) power” (Dietler 2001: 76). A typical example is the celebration of the recounting of royal history in 1 Chron. 12:40-41. The Israelite tribes mobilize at Ziklag in support of David, the founder of the Judahite dynasty and make him king in Hebron through a festive meal: “They were there with David for three days, eating and drinking, for their kindred had provided for them” (12:39). The next national event in which food consumption plays a role is the transportation of the ark to Jerusalem in 1 Chron. 15:25–16:3 based on 2 Sam. 6:12-19a (see Klein 2012: 347). The text mentions offerings ending in public food distribution (16:3) on the occasion of the ark’s arrival at the temple. It includes burnt offerings, during which the entire animal is completely incinerated, and “offerings of well-being,” in which worshippers would consume most of the food (cf. Lev. 3:1-17). The public feast concludes with a blessing and the distribution of food to the participants—a loaf of bread, a roll (meaning of Hebrew term uncertain; ET: “meat”), and a raisin cake to each Israelite, female and male (1 Chron. 16:2-3). These celebrations of royal leaders and the people may be seen within a tradition of collective feasting during specific situations, for instance, the banquet at Sinai under the guidance of Moses with Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, and the seventy elders (Exod. 24:1-11). Leading up to the installation of Solomon, the highlight in the dynastic succession, 1 Chron. 29:20-22 reports festive activities as the marker of royal wealth. After the conclusion of his prayer, David leads the assembly in anointing the future king in an elaborate liturgical framework. It begins with everyone blessing YHWH and bowing Victory campaigns typically refrain from references to consuming the spoil, avoiding possible trespassing of dietary laws. For instance, 2 Chron. 20:25-28 mentions the celebration after an unexpected victory over their enemies that made it possible for the people of Judah and Jerusalem to take spoil, including livestock (according to the Greek text v. 25). The subsequent victory celebration consists of a procession leading to the temple, accompanied by the music of harps, lyres, and trumpets, without reference to food. 32 

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down in front of the king (proskynesis).33 Then the burnt offering is presented to YHWH (1,000 bulls, 1,000 rams, and 1,000 lambs) together with libations. A collective meal in YHWH’s presence follows and culminates in the anointing of Solomon as king and Zadok as priest. Such offering feasts as part of a king’s enthronement are mentioned on the occasion of Adonijah’s attempt to claim the throne (1 Kgs. 1:9-10, 25-26).34 The actual enthronement ceremony on the occasion of Solomon’s reign (2 Chron. 7:110; cf. 1 Kgs. 8:62-64) includes multiple offerings, the first round of which is miraculously consumed by fire from heaven and draws the glory of YHWH to enter the temple. Subsequent offerings include enormous amounts of 22,000 oxen and 120,000 sheep. These likely hyperbolic figures emphasize the importance of this occasion and serve to position Solomon in relation to other rulers of the Davidic dynasty. The number 120,000 may represent all Israel, with 10,000 for each tribe. By way of comparison, David offers 1,000 each of bulls, rams, and lambs after his final speech (1 Chron. 29:21).35 Exceeding other kings, in Solomon’s case, due to their amount, as the report notes, the animals had to be brought into the open court (2 Chron. 7:7). The subsequent festival of all Israel then continues for seven days (2 Chron. 7:8; cf. 1 Kgs. 8:65). On the occasion of Hezekiah’s reform, a sin offering with seven each of bulls, rams, lambs, and male goats (2 Chron. 29:20-24) is made at the renewal of the temple service during his reign (2 Chron. 29:35). Subsequently, the assembly brings sacrifices and thank offerings (600 bulls, 3,000 sheep) and burnt offerings (70 bulls, 100 rams, 200 lambs) in addition to well-being and drink offerings (2 Chron. 29:30-36). 2 Chronicles 30:13-27 commemorates Hezekiah’s national Passover celebration as unrivaled since Solomon’s time (v. 26). For this, Hezekiah gathers people from all Israel (30:1). The celebration of the Festival of Unleavened Bread lasts seven days, during which the people eat the “food of the festival” (v. 22). The people receive food from Hezekiah: “a thousand bulls and seven thousand sheep for offerings, and the officials gave the assembly a thousand bulls and ten thousand sheep” (v. 24). The festival is celebrated “with gladness” (v. 23; see Ezra 6:16, 22; Neh. 8:17) or victoriously in light of the possibility of rebuilding the temple. Hezekiah’s food donation is a reference to the two-week festival on the occasion of the dedication of the temple (2 Chron. 7:8-9) and thus points to the parallel between Solomon and Hezekiah as two hailed rulers in the Chronicler’s historiography (Klein 201: 440).

CONCLUSION The depiction of food and food consumption in the Writings in the Hebrew Bible originates from various cultural backgrounds and emerges against the backdrop of distinct historical and social situations. The diversity of Writings, a canon-determined selection within the Hebrew Bible, allows neither to offer general definitions nor to describe overarching historical trends in food consumption or meals in ancient Israel. This overview thus pursued the modest goal of listing various features.

In biblical contexts, bowing down, usually of a hierarchically lower person before a higher-ranking individual, is a ceremonial act. 34  See the discussion in Chapter 29 in this volume. 35  By comparison, on the occasion of the temple cleansing, Hezekiah offers seven each of bulls, rams, lambs, and goats (2 Chron. 20:32-36; see further Klein 2012: 106–7). 33 

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As an aspect of the cultural longue durée that shapes the diet and the commensal politics of feasting, royal symbolism is widely used in Writings, giving ample room for the presentation of court context in various ways. In particular, the setting of royal feasts and their implied hierarchical structure are relevant in a number of genres, with traditions of the (royal) court remaining present even after the end of the monarchy. Psalms refers to the space of the temple with its underlying symbolism of the royal audience scene as a fundamental stream of tradition that underlies the consumption of food, while Psalms also generally emphasizes meals and eating in the contexts of feasts and at the temple. Some Writings (in particular from the exilic and Second Temple periods) on diaspora Judaism (e.g., Daniel) put dietary rules in the forefront as elements to establish Judean alterity in the setting of a foreign empire’s royal court. In hierarchical frameworks, invitations to a meal often carry a legitimizing function for leaders or factions of the society (Ezra, Nehemiah). Furthermore, in a plotline, food may serve to indicate hospitality of a rich individual for the poor (Ruth), or as metaphor in a poetic description of body parts (Song of Songs). A major cultural shift in meal practice is, for instance, the new gender role of a woman’s invitation to the meal as a token of instruction in Proverbs 1–9 that serves as a framing of the older collection of Proverbs in the Persian or Hellenistic period.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Assmann, J. (1991), “Der schöne Tag: Sinnlichkeit und Vergänglichkeit im altägyptischen Fest,” in J. Assmann (ed.), Stein und Zeit: Mensch und Gesellschaft im Alten Ägypten, 200–37, München: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. A contribution to the phenomenology of feasting and meals in ancient Egypt as depicted in scenes of Eighteenth Dynasty (1500–1300 bce) graves of government officials that point to numerous aspects of commensality, such as a shared experience of taste in a communal setting and feasting as part of the construct of “the beautiful day” as opposed to everyday life experience. Ehrensperger, K., MacDonald, N., and Rehmann, L. S. (eds.) (2012), Decisive Meals: Table Politics in Biblical Literature, London/New York: T&T Clark. This collection of essays features studies on food and foodways in biblical books. Hartenstein, F. (2008), Das Angesicht JHWHs. Studien zu seinem höfischen und kultischen Bedeutungshintergrund in den Psalmen und in Exodus 32-34, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Focusing on Psalms, this monograph describes the iconographic and conceptual background of the introductory and audience scene in ancient Near Eastern iconography and draws out its relevance for the “face” of the deity, namely for feasting at the temple. Janowski, B. (2013), Arguing with God. A Theological Anthropology of the Psalms, trans. A. Siedlecki, Louisville: Westminster John Knox (German: Konfliktgespräche mit Gott: Eine Anthropologie der Psalmen, 2nd edn., Vluyn: Neukirchener: Neukirchen, 2009). In this volume, Psalm 30 serves as a case study on sacrifice, feasting, praise of the deity, food, and cult in Israel that also includes iconographic sources. Janowski, B. and Zenger, E. (2004), “Jenseits des Alltags: Fest und Opfer als religiöse Komponente zur Alltagswelt im alten Israel,” Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 18, Das Fest: Jenseits des Alltags, 63–102, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener. Janowski and Zenger offer a broad overview of feasting in ancient Israel. Meyers, C. (2014), “Menu: Royal Repasts and Social Class in Biblical Israel,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 129–47, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.

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This essay discusses feasting and food in royal contexts in biblical Israel, presents textual evidence for royal feasts, including a comparative perspective on royal food habits at ancient Near Eastern courts, and provides a systematic analysis of three patterns of commensal politics of royal meals as presented in biblical texts. Wright, J. (2010), “Commensal Politics in Ancient Western Asia: The Background to Nehemiah’s Feasting (Part I and II),” ZAW 12: 212–33, 333–52. Wright presents a condensed description of anthropological and cultural historical backgrounds of eating and commensality in the ancient Near East from the third to the first millennium bce. The articles include political aspects of commensality specifically in Israel and Judah, traditions of the meal after military victory, and tributes brought to victorious rulers.

REFERENCES Altmann, P. (2012), “Everyday Meals for Extraordinary People: Eating and Assimilation in the Book of Ruth,” in K. Ehrensperger, N. MacDonald, and L. S. Rehmann (eds.), Decisive Meals: Table Politics in Biblical Literature, 15–26, London/New York: T&T Clark. Assmann, J. (1991), “Der schöne Tag. Sinnlichkeit und Vergänglichkeit im altägyptischen Fest,” in J. Assmann (ed.), Stein und Zeit. Mensch und Gesellschaft im Alten Ägypten, 200–37, München: Wilhelm Fink. Balentine, S. E. (2008), “Job, Book of,” NIDB 3: 319–36. Berlin, A. (2002), Lamentations: A Commentary, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Berlin, A. (2010), “Legal Fiction: Levirate cum Land Redemption in Ruth,” Journal of Ancient Judaism 1: 3–18. Brenner, A. (1999), “The Food of Love: Gendered Food and Food Imagery in the Song of Songs,” in A. Brenner and J. W. van Henten (eds.), Food and Drink in the Biblical World, Semeia 86, 101–12, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Brown, W. P. (ed.) (2014), The Oxford Handbook of the Psalms, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chapman, C. (2020), “The Substance of Kinship: How Ruth the Moabite Became a Daughter in Judah,” TheTorah.com, May 21. https://www.thetorah.com/article/the-substance-ofkinship-how-ruth-the-moabite-became-a-daughter-in-judah Collins, J. J. (1993), Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel, Minneapolis: Fortress. Cho, P. K.-K. (2014), “The Integrity of Job 1 and 42:11-17,” CBQ 76: 230–51. Dietler, M. (2001), “Theorizing the Feast: Rituals of Consumption, Commensal Politics, and Power in African Contexts,” in M. Dietler and B. Hayden (eds.), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, 65–114, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institute Press. Dietler, M. and Hayden, B. (eds.) (2001), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institute Press. Exum, J. C. (2005), Song of Songs: A Commentary, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Fox, M. V. (2000), Proverbs 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 18A, New York/London: Doubleday. Fox, M. V. (2001), Character and Ideology in the Book of Esther, 2nd edn., Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Fox, M. V. (2009), Proverbs 10–31: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 18B, New Haven: Yale University Press.

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Fried, L. S. (2014), Ezra and the Law in History and Tradition, Columbia: University of South Carolina Press. Goitein, S. D. (1993), “The Song of Songs: A Female Composition,” in A. Brenner (ed.), The Feminist Companion to the Song of Songs, Sheffield: Academic Press, 58–66 (odp 1957). Green, B. (1982), “The Plot of the Biblical Story of Ruth,” JSOT 23: 55–68. Habel, N. C. (1985), The Book of Job: A Commentary, London: SCM Press. Hartenstein, F. (2008), Das Angesicht JHWH: Studien zu seinem höfischen und kultischen Bedeutungshintergrund in den Psalmen und in Exodus 32–34, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Hartenstein, F. and Janowski, B. (2012–18), Psalmen, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Hartley, J. E. (1988), The Book of Job, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Hayes, K. M. (2018), “Song of Songs,” in J. E. Aguilar Chiu, R. J. Clifford, C. J. Dempsey, E. M. Schuller, T. D. Stegman, and R. D. Witherup (eds.), The Paulist Biblical Commentary, 550–8, New York: Paulist. Hossfeld, F.-L. and Zenger, E. (2005), Psalms 2: A Commentary on Psalms 51–100, Minneapolis: Fortress. Hossfeld, F.-L. and Zenger, E. (2011), Psalms 3: A Commentary on Psalms 101–150, Minneapolis: Fortress. Janowski, B. and Zenger, E. (2004), “Jenseits des Alltags: Fest und Opfer als religiöse Komponente zur Alltagswelt im alten Israel,” Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 18: 63–102. Klein, R. W. (2012), 2 Chronicles: A Commentary, Minneapolis: Fortress. Kratz, R. G. (2005), The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament, trans. J. Bowden, London: T&T Clark. Krüger, T. (2004), Qoheleth: A Commentary, Minneapolis: Fortress. Lee, E. (2009), “Ruth, Book of,” NIDB 4: 865–8. Levenson, J. D. (1996), Esther: A Commentary, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Loader, J. A. (2014), Proverbs 1–9, HCOT, Leuven: Peeters. MacDonald, N. (2008), Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Machinist, P. (2011), “How Gods Die, Biblically and Otherwise: A Problem of Cosmic Restructuring,” in B. Pongratz-Leisten (ed.), Reconsidering the Concept of Revolutionary Monotheism, 189–240, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Meyers, C. (1986), “Gender Imagery in the Song of Songs,” HAR 10: 209–23. Meyers, C. (2014), “Menu: Royal Repasts and Social Class in Biblical Israel,” in P. Altmann and J. Fu (eds.), Feasting in the Archaeology and Texts of the Bible and the Ancient Near East, 129–47, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Murphy, R. E. (1990), The Song of Songs: A Commentary on the Book of Canticles or the Song of Songs, Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress. Newsom, C. A. (2003), The Book of Job. A Contest of Moral Imaginations, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rapp, U. (2012), “You Are How You Eat. How Eating and Drinking Behaviour Identifies the Wise According to Jesus Ben Sirach,” in K. Ehrensperger, N. MacDonald, and L. S. Rehmann (eds.), Decisive Meals: Table Politics in Biblical Literature, 42–61, LNTS 449, London/New York: T&T Clark. Reed, S. A. (1987), “Food in the Psalms,” PhD diss., Claremont Graduate School. Riede, P. (2010). “‘Du bereitest vor mir einen Tisch’: Zum Tischmotiv in den Psalmen 23 und 69,” in P. Van Hecke and A. Labahn (eds.), Metaphors in the Psalms, 217–33, Leuven: Peeters.

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Rosenblum, J. D. (2010), Food and Identity in Early Rabbinic Judaism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Seidl, T. (1995), “‫ שׁלמים‬selāmîm,” TDOT 8: 101–11. Seow, C. L. (2013), Job 1–21 Interpretation and Commentary, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Schipper, B. U. (2019), Proverbs 1–15: A Commentary on the Book of Proverbs 1:1-15:33, trans. S. Germany, Minneapolis: Fortress. Schmidt, B. B. (1994), Israel’s Beneficent Dead: Ancestor Cult and Necromancy in Ancient Israelite Religion and Tradition, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Shemesh, Y. (2006), “Vegetarian Ideology in Talmudic Literature and Traditional Biblical Exegesis,” Review of Rabbinic Judaism 9: 141–66. Smith, M. S. and Pitard, W. T. (2008), The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, Volume II, Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU/CAT 1.3-1.4, Leiden: Brill. Stinson, M. A. (2017), “A Table in the Wilderness? The Rhetorical Function of Food Language in Psalm 78,” PhD diss., University of Bristol. Suriano, M. J. (2018), A History of Death in the Hebrew Bible, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Williamson, H. G. M. (1985), Ezra–Nehemiah, WBC 16, Waco: Word. Witte, M. (2012), “Ecclesiastes (Solomon, the Preacher),” in A. Berlejung, J. C. Gertz, and K. Schmid (eds.), The T&T Clark Handbook of the Old Testament, 605–15, London/New York: T&T Clark. Wright, J. L. (2010), “Commensal Politics in Ancient Western Asia: The Background to Nehemiah’s Feasting (Part II),” ZAW 12: 333–52. Zenger, E. (ed.) (2010), The Composition of the Book of Psalms, Leuven: Peeters.

SUBJECT INDEX

Abigail 515 n.12, 518, 523 Abimelech 113, 135, 188, 387, 517, 523 Abraham 22, 61, 135, 186–8, 302, 373, 428, 486, 499, 501 Absalom 50, 105, 136, 150, 302, 519 Abu al-Kharaz, Tell 106 abundant food 7, 70, 174, 298, 357, 372, 377, 476, 500, 512, 547–8 Achaemenid Empire 306, 555, 558–9, 558 n.31. See also Persian Period Achziv 19, 201 n.5, 253 Adonijah 303, 515 n.12, 519, 560 Aegean 27, 37, 64 n.8, 67, 81, 88–9, 197 n.1, 206, 225, 240, 248, 284, 305, 426, 432, 452 n.15. See also Greece agriculture 17, 23, 37, 39, 41, 51, 85, 103, 165, 267, 336, 374, 467–8, 498, 535, 540, 542. See also farming. agrarian society 1, 41, 85, 91, 251, 256, 257 n.8, 261, 345, 357, 383–4, 393, 404 n.18, 477, 498–9, 539, 548, 552; agricultural festival 304, 306, 514, 516, 520; commodity 120, 251, 256, 257 n.8, 429, 470; crop diseases 269; (bǝ’ušîm/bâ’šâ 270; šiddapôn 270; yērāqôn 270); cultivation of vineyard 126–8, 500; farmers 60, 62, 103, 110, 126–30, 238, 251, 261, 337, 342, 386, 498, 535; fertility 20, 41, 140, 143, 357, 363, 532, 534, 540 n.9, 553; glean/gleaning 141, 211, 217, 414, 513, 551–2; harvests 6, 23, 27, 29–30, 101–4, 149, 158, 188, 251, 261, 341, 469, 471, 514, 532, 552; (activities 127, 363; barley 103–4, 303, 306, 469; cereal 103–4, 110, 268, 278, 304; figs 142, 146; grains 104–5, 141, 252, 358, 470, 553; grapes (pruning) 108, 126–8, 130–1, 134–5, 141, 365, 386, 469–70; olives 114–15, 144; wheat 29, 103–5, 469, 516; wine 362, 364); intensive 31, 85–7; irrigation 19, 28, 114 n.3, 129, 426; plow (maḥărešet) 86, 90, 103–4, 386, 468, 476; premodern 20, 383 n.2; and rainfall (see rain/rainfall); soils for (see soils); spoilage of agricultural production

268–73; (fermentation 282; prevention (drying) 278–9); subsistence 59–62, 70; without irrigation (dry farming) 30, 101, 129, 498 Ahab 340, 370, 377, 521 ‘Ain Dara 429 alabastra/alabastron 253, 253 n.4 Al-Aliya 428 Amarna Letters 68, 120, 411 amino acids 151, 268, 281, 426 Amnon 108, 136, 302, 361, 383, 487, 519, 523 amphoriskoi 253, 253 n.4 Anatolia 27, 37, 80, 166, 227, 239 n.2, 284, 305–6, 448 n.8, 474 n.30 ancestors 7–8, 22, 30 n.13, 61, 125–6, 177, 327–30, 373, 390, 390 n.20, 501 ancient Near East: beer 108; cereals 99; domesticated animals in 80–1; donkeys in 79; feasts and festivals in 305–6, 311; herds 82–4, 86; insects 90; pigs/pork (ban of) 87–8 (see also animals, pigs); wine technology for 126 aniconism 445 animals 4–5, 7, 11, 44, 48–51, 87 n.12, 335, 337, 343, 353, 374, 412, 416, 496–7, 504, 508, 512, 539, 547. See also birds, fish, wild game/species. agricultural spoilage by 269; animal husbandry 37, 39, 41, 51, 59, 82, 87, 91, 165, 429, 475, 477, 499; animal remains 11, 48, 61, 67, 87–8, 91, 171–2, 178, 307–10, 341, 343, 429, 433, 435; breed/breeding 77–8, 78 n.3, 475, 504; butchering 67, 80–1, 84–5, 91, 188–9, 191–2, 194, 223, 273, 275–6, 279, 308, 335, 457; carcasses 80–1, 84–7, 165, 192, 275–6, 279, 513, 516, 539; carnivores 80, 176–7, 504; dog 77, 80–1, 178, 406, 432, 435, 488, 521; domesticated (see domesticated animals); draft (oxen) 104, 468; excessive consumption by 356; faunal assemblages 81–2, 84–6, 88–9, 307–8, 310, 341, 343, 429; herd (sheep/goats/cattle) 81–6, 90,

566

343, 427, 429, 468; (Bovidae/bovids 81, 81 n.5; Caprinae/caprids 81 n.5, 82–3; oxen 85–6); herdsman husbandry 61; pigs 4–5, 86–9, 177, 300, 338, 343, 423, 428–35, 468, 503–4, 513; (taboo 428–35; history of swine 429; and identity 431–4; misuse/abuse of zooarchaeological data 430; and people 430–1); protein 3, 5, 343, 389, 427, 498, 507 (see also meat [bāśār]); ruminant 228, 503–4; sacrificial (zebaḥ)/offering 2, 2 n.4, 77, 79, 84 n.7, 383, 401, 404 n.18, 416, 468, 504, 507; (bulls 402–3, 403 n.14, 408, 414, 459, 476, 546, 557, 560, 560 n.35; cows 85, 310, 338, 353, 402–3, 403 n.14, 475, 500; dog 81; donkey 79; ewes 219, 402–3, 403 n.14, 475; herds 82–3; rams 70, 402–3, 403 n.14, 416, 474–5, 557, 560, 560 n.35; ṭābaḥ (ṬBḤ) 401, 401 n.10; zābaḥ (DBḤ) 401, 401 n.10, 403 n.16); secondary products 77, 80, 88, 178, 277–8, 283; slaughter (ṭbḥ) 77, 85, 191, 276, 308, 335, 343, 353, 389, 401, 403, 416, 546; trade 80, 335, 341; for transportation 78–80, 468; wild fauna (see wild game/species) animal-headed cups 447, 448 n.8 anthropology 2, 7, 41, 337, 424, 511, 552; cultural/transcultural 496, 498, 505–6, 508; food 2 n.3; physical 10 n.15 anthropomorphism 414, 506 Aphek 427, 435 apostasy 355 Arad 22, 140, 252, 254–5, 280. See also inscriptions/epigraphy, Arad letters archaeological sites (excavations) 11, 17, 20, 22, 24, 43, 50, 60–1, 64–5, 67, 77–8, 85, 88, 139, 152, 158, 161, 175, 177, 193, 197, 237, 242, 269, 279, 282, 336, 384, 426–7, 504. See also remains, archaeological; burial sites 321 n.3, 322, 325, 330 (see also tombs); domiciles 42, 330, 384, 386–8; F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif 44–6, 49; installations found in 240–5; (hearths 240–1; ovens 241–5, 388–9); Jerusalem 339; Jezreel 521 n.28; Jordan Valley Natufian site of Mallaha 80; Ketef Hinnom 325–6; Lachish, of Lahav Research Project at Tell Halif 46; lowland sites/highland settlement 20; Ohalo II 100; stone pyxis from Tell Tayinat 458; Tanit and Elissa 67; techniques 171; Tekke 456, 460

SUBJECT INDEX

archaeobotanical studies 100, 102, 105–6, 110, 120, 177, 189, 269, 280, 342, 390, 425–7 aroma/aromatic 152, 157–9, 162, 166, 220, 228, 340, 401 n.7, 414, 483 Artaxerxes I 558–9 artifacts: cosmetic 458; macro-artifacts 10; micro-artifacts 11 n.17, 46, 48; ordinary household 384 Ashkelon 66–7, 69, 89, 120, 172, 175, 241, 282, 322, 425–7, 429. See also Philistia/ Philistines Ashurnasirpal II 132, 306, 411. See also NeoAssyrians. feast of 85, 87, 90, 520 n.26 Assyria/Assyrian 166 n.13, 204, 311, 341, 434, 454, 456 n.24, 457 n.29, 460. See also Neo-Assyrians. Calah 306, 411, 532; Late Assyrian 372; Old Assyrian caravan trade 58; Rabshakeh (chief cupbearer) 522, 531; Wine Lists 426 Awarku 476 Babylon period 26, 58, 173, 186, 374, 383, 473, 532–3, 535, 537, 542; Addaru 555 n.22; deities 361; Late Babylonian 371; Listenwissenschaft 497; Neo-Babylonian 79, 188; Old Babylonian (recipes) 64, 149, 159–64, 166, 166 n.13, 193, 306 bacteria 273, 276; acetic-acid 282; aerobic 273–4; anaerobic 274, 281–2; Bacillus searothermophilus 276; Bacillus subtilis 276; Clostridium botulinum (botulism) 274; Clostridium perfringens 274; Escherichia coli (E. coli) 274, 277; heat treatment/cooking 283–4; lactic acid 278, 282 n.10; Lactobacillus 278; Lactococcus 278; Pseudomonas 278; Salmonella 274, 276; Staphyloccucus 276; Staphylococcus aureus 274, 277; Streptococcus 276; yeast 107, 109, 131, 273, 278, 282–3, 341 banquet/šrt (ceremonial drinking) 134–6, 299, 302–3, 401–2, 405 n.26, 406, 409, 448, 454, 456, 520, 520 n.22, 550, 555, 557. See also feasts/feasting (mišteh) (and festivals [ḥaggîm]). banquet hall 406; banqueting scenes 454–6, 521; banquet theme 305, 401 n.8; eschatological 532; Megiddo ivories 159–62 448–9 (see also iconography); royal court 555–6; White Obelisk 454, 454 n.20; wisdom’s invitation to 549–50

SUBJECT INDEX

barley (śĕōrâ) 5, 23, 63, 68–9, 99, 102, 105, 107, 134, 199, 342, 425, 468–9, 483; domesticated/domestication of 100–1; grinding 482; six-row 101, 425; two-row (Hordeum distichum) 101, 106; wild 99–101 Barzillai the Gileadite 303, 460 basin 115–16, 118, 130, 144, 197, 282, 353, 387 Batash, Tel (Timnah) 43, 115, 117–18, 144, 146, 190–1, 201 n.5, 202, 219, 246 n.6, 302 bat/bath 64, 64 n.9, 257 n.8, 471 n.14, 472 Bedouin 80, 238, 277–8, 337, 340–1 beer. See beverages/drink (šātāh) Beersheba 22, 43, 50, 67, 82, 104, 144–5, 147, 176, 241, 384 n.3, 387, 471 n.15 Beit Mirsim, Tell 43, 50, 104, 115, 258 Belshazzar 303, 556–7 Bethlehem 62, 373, 391, 552 Beth-Shemesh Tombs 64, 115, 142, 146, 151, 254, 322–5 beverages/drink (šātāh) 4, 4 n.8, 6–9, 11, 297, 302, 408, 468, 500; alcoholic 7, 108–9, 282, 298, 537; (consuming excessive (see drinking, excessive); drinking as social action 133–6; inebriation 125, 359, 364); beer (šēkār) 5, 99, 106, 108–10, 125, 282, 282 n.11, 341, 358, 358 n.5, 363, 483; (lowalcohol 110); drinking vessels 132, 405 n.27 (see also specific vessels); fermented 109, 193, 221, 223, 230, 280, 341, 364; milk (see milk [ḥalab]/milk products); recreation of (ancient Israel) 9; strong drink/wine 109–10, 341; water (see water [mayim]) biomes 22 birds 173–6, 416, 467, 504, 539, 547; agricultural spoilage by 269; chickens 174–6, 178, 339, 475; eggs/eggshell 174–6, 339; hunting 173–5; liming 173–4; for meat 339, 358, 500; migratory 173; ostrich eggshell 175; pigeons 175 blood 416, 513; ban of blood consumption 84, 497; bloodbath of Anat 406, 416; blood of grapes 132, 546; taboo 502–3 Boaz 552–3 bowls 191, 205, 208, 308, 310, 456–60, 456 n.25, 458 n.30; bell-shaped 206; gold/ silver 454 n.22, 457 n.27; handmade 222; kneading (mišʿărōt) 107, 189, 482; kratertype 50, 197, 206; metal 456 n.24, 460; mixing 222, 360 bread (leḥem) 99, 101, 105–8, 110, 151, 166, 187, 327 n.8, 337–8, 340, 342,

567

378, 386, 386 n.9, 402 n.11, 485, 492, 499, 501, 506, 519 n.21, 549–50, 558. See also wheat (ḥiṭṭâ). arranged (leḥem hamma ʿarāket) 108; baked goods 5, 101, 106–8, 284, 383; bakers (ʾōpâ) 482; bread baking 388–91, 482; Bread of the Presence (leḥem hapānîm) 108; consecrated 515 n.12, 517–18; continual (leḥem hatāmîd) 108; cooking pot 223; dough (baṣēq)/ sourdough 107, 283, 342–3, 388–9, 388 n.17, 482; (bread-dough ritual 389–90); human-orientated feast 303; installations for baking 238; (‘arṣa 239; furn 239–40; ṣāğ 238, 243; ṭābūn/taboun 238–40, 244–5; tannūr/tanānīr 239, 243–4, 247–8, 388, 482; zanṭū 238); leavened (ḥāmēṣ)/ unleavened (maṣṣôt) 107–9, 189, 223, 302, 482, 500, 514, 558; for mourning 327; offering 108, 108 n.5, 389–90, 401, 401 n.7, 414; shewbread (leḥem pānîm) 415; women in bread baking 388–91, 388 n.17 Bronze Age: Early Bronze Age 21, 25–6, 28, 30, 84, 86–7, 91, 127, 140, 142–3, 149– 50, 161, 281, 429; Late Bronze Age 19, 24–8, 24 n.8, 38, 57 n.1, 68, 79, 83, 87, 89, 101–2, 140, 142, 144, 152, 163, 174, 197 n.1, 198, 200, 205, 240, 252, 260, 305–6, 311, 322, 370, 426, 429, 446, 448 n.9, 449; Middle Bronze Age 21, 24–8, 30, 83–4, 89, 127, 143, 147, 149–50, 159, 161, 192, 243, 254, 256, 281, 322, 426–7 Burna, Tel 102, 246 Byzantine period 21, 26, 160, 175, 260, 272, 283 calories 101, 103, 140, 146, 157 n.2, 165, 260, 337–8, 340, 342–4, 358, 386, 553 Canaan/Canaanites 7, 25–6, 28, 30 n.13, 37, 61, 125–7, 140–1, 143, 145–6, 164–5, 206–7, 240, 281, 305, 399 n.4, 415, 496, 513–14; myth/mythology 399–400, 399 n.4, 414; and pigs 429; Ugarit (see Ugarit) carbohydrates 99, 150, 268, 281–2, 342, 385 n.6, 499 carved stones/orthostats 427, 445, 452 ceramics (pottery/potters) 6, 11, 48, 103, 106, 189, 197–9, 230, 261, 307, 310, 341, 384–5. See also bowls; chalices; cooking pot; cookware; juglets; jugs; Negev ware; Phoenician Fine Ware; pithoi; Samaria ware; serving vessel; stoppers; storage. ancient, analytical techniques of 227–8;

568

baking trays 223; biblical terms for vessels (Hebrew Bible) 209–11; (decanter [baqbūq yôṣēr ḥāreś] 211; dish/plate [ṣallaḥat] 210; jar [kad] 210; oil flask [ṣappaḥat] 211; pan [kîyyôr] 210, 210 n.10; as parables 211; pot [sîr] 210, 210 n.9; small jar [’asûk šāmen] 210; wine jars [niblê-ḥereś] 210); churns 220–1, 278; cleaning porous clay pots 226; dairy vs. meat containers 227; eastern Mediterranean traditional potters 217; ethnoarchaeological studies of 215–17, 230–1; food-related 198–200, 322, 326, 330; (function 198–200; quantification and size 200; sources 198); Gaza 217, 222, 230; goat-milking pot 218–19; goblets 197, 405, 409; handmade 216–18, 217 n.1, 221, 225, 227, 230; manufacturing techniques 228–30; (firing 229–30; raw material procurement and processing 228–9); and milk products 278; names of 230; potsherd/pottery sherds (ostraca) 41, 77, 105–6, 201, 240, 242, 326, 450 n.10, 469–70; pouring vessel 109, 198, 253; pyxis/pyxides 197, 197 n.1, 253, 322 n.4, 456, 458–59; in reconstructing ancient foodways 197–8; to reduce porosity 225–6; sources for identifying 186–7; storage vessels 224–5, 256–9; stone vessels 191; (’agānōt 471); in tombs 325–6; traditional repertoire of pots 218–25; (jars/bowls to process dairy products 221–2; mixing bowls 222–3; multipurpose strainers 222; water collection/processing 218–23); unglazed 216, 218, 231; use-wear traces 199, 228; wheel-thrown 217 n.1, 220, 225–7, 230; wine fermentation jars 223–4 cereals/cereal grasses [dāgān] 99–100, 342–3, 345, 425–6, 497; cereal-processing 426; domesticated cereal plants 101–2; dry farming of 101; harvests 103; (ḥermeš/ maggāl 104; threshing 104; winnowing 105); ripening stages; (’ābîb 104–5; freekeh 105; karmel 104–5); wild 100, 102, 110 chaff [mōṣ] 49, 99–100, 105–6, 237–8, 242, 247, 386 Chalcolithic period 25, 113, 119, 143, 145, 149, 161, 252, 278, 282, 429 chalices 132, 228, 282, 322, 456 n.25 Christian/Christian tradition 298, 432, 511 n.1 cisterns 22, 29, 38–9, 254, 256, 512; at Tel Arad 255 Classical Period 162, 164, 434, 454

SUBJECT INDEX

climate 5, 17, 19, 22–30; abrupt arid event 25; amelioration 24, 28; ka BP (kilo annum), climate data 24 n.6; natural disasters 27–9; paleoenvironmental reconstruction 23–6; precipitation 28–30; Syria-Palestine 22–3; unseasonal weather 29–30; vegetationclimate relationships 23; viticulture 128–31 Cognitive Grammar (CG) 485, 492 Cognitive Linguistics (CL) 8, 484–5 comestibles 158, 340 commensality 2–3, 6, 306, 328, 330, 352, 355–6, 358, 408, 417, 522, 549, 561; divine-human 502; exceptional 353; and sacrifice 507; with Woman Wisdom 550 commerce/commercial 5, 19, 25, 37, 108, 217, 223, 243 n.3, 392 n.24 commodity/commodities 5, 66, 69, 83, 90, 160, 197, 257 n.8, 339, 341, 353, 392–3, 476, 553; agricultural 120, 251, 256, 257 n.8, 429, 470; food 339, 468, 470; international (olive oil) 120–1; nonagricultural 51; stored 251–6, 261; (dairy products 254–6; grain 251–3; water 253–4; wine and oil 253) condiments 118, 152, 157–8, 340 consecration 353, 513, 515 n.12, 516 n.13, 517–18, 520 consumption of food 1, 3–7, 9–10, 46, 48, 51, 57, 59, 65, 69, 186, 188, 197, 298, 308, 351, 374, 401, 495, 497–8, 501, 512–14, 545, 547–8, 556–7, 559–60; ethical notions and 548–9; excessive 351, 365; (as blessing 356–8; in elite context 352–6); of fish 345; food serving and 204–9, 424; of meat 343–4; regulations on 502–7; spoilage and 267 cooking methods 84–5, 241, 337, 351, 424, 468, 483; baking 6, 100–1, 103, 108, 187, 223, 237–9, 238 n.1, 243–4, 248, 283, 387–90, 481–2, 485; boiling 85, 228, 278, 283, 483, 488, 502; cooking concepts 488; (change of state [bšl, ʿśh, ṣlh, qlh] 489–90; creation [ʾph, bšl, ʿśh, zyd, lbb, ʿwg] 486–8; by lexemes 491–2; make X into Y [ʾph, ʿśh] 490; remaining [bʿh, rtḥ] 491); dry heating 488–9; grilling 283; lĕbibôt 107, 487–8, 490–1; liquid cooking 488; making pottage 482–3; method of meat 84–5; other activities 483; roasting 84–5, 146, 150, 243, 516; verbs/vocabulary 484–6 cooking pot [sîr, dûd] 48, 85, 117, 197, 199–200, 210–11, 224, 226–30, 237, 241, 243–4, 309, 322, 330, 385, 483; Cypriot

SUBJECT INDEX

222–3; from hill-country sites 243; Iron Age II 203–4; porosity 225–6; roundbottomed 216, 223, 225; technology 201–3; undecorated ancient 231 cookware 132, 215–18, 220, 225, 228–31; ethnoarchaeological studies of 215–17 cuisine 84, 91, 110, 166, 197–8, 200, 202, 300, 311, 336–7, 340, 502; haute 166 n.13, 383; Levant 502; Middle Eastern 280; Persian 163; Philistine 432; regional 163, 166 n.13 cultic system 8, 46, 60, 119–20, 143, 144 n.15, 158–9, 199, 304–5, 309–10, 353, 361, 375, 390, 407, 414, 502–3, 505, 507–8, 539–40, 542, 548 n.11 cult statues of divinities 361 culture/cultural identity of food 6–7, 9–11, 99, 103, 297, 394 Cyprus 80, 174, 207, 209, 215, 219, 221, 227–9, 243, 259; cooking pots from 216–17, 225–6; Cypro-Archaic II period 243 n.4; hearths from 240; meat in 223; pottery in 218, 222, 229; silver bowl from Kourion in 454 n.22 dairy products 5, 343, 353; butter 84, 119 n.8, 189–90, 220–1, 254 n.5, 260, 283, 501; cheese 84, 220–1, 224, 227, 254–5, 260, 277, 283, 339, 345, 386, 468, 483, 501; curd (ḥemʾâ) 84, 189–90, 194, 221, 283, 483; dried yogurt cubes (trachanas) 221–2, 227; ghee 220–1, 254–5, 254 n.5, 283; jars and bowls to process 220–1; milk (see milk [ḥalab]/milk products); storage vessel 224, 254–6; yogurt 218, 220–2, 225, 227, 277, 281, 283, 339, 501 Dan, Tel 86, 119, 177, 252, 254, 258, 310–11 Dani’il 401 n.9, 409 darnel (Lolium temulentum) 268 David 30, 50, 62–3, 62 n.3, 65, 105, 132, 136, 151, 302–3, 376–8, 517–18, 522, 559 death 6, 50, 297, 319, 328–30, 415 n.56, 505, 550; of animals 77, 273; funerary rituals 452; hunger and thirst 369, 553; of infants 344; mortuary monument 452; Mot (god of death) 372, 412–15, 412 n.46; môtu (Ugaritic) 412 n.45; mourning rituals 7, 302, 326–7, 375–8; swallowing death 415 n.56, 532, 537 Deir ‘Alla, Tell 242, 280, 375–6, 378, 445 n.2 deity 29, 300–1, 306, 311, 361, 363, 412 n.45, 416, 459, 518, 518 n.18, 545–9, 556, 558. See also god/goddess. El 399

569

n.1; sacrificial offering to 329, 506–7, 516 deposition 20, 24, 84, 175, 219, 308–9, 430 n.8 Deuteronomistic History (DtrH) 511–12, 515, 521–3, 522 n.29 diets 335–41; biblical 425; contemporary 3; dietary laws in Pentateuch 2–3; dietary regulations in Leviticus 11; (bodily practices and symbolic system 505–6; deciphering classification 503–5; purity 505); Israelite 4–7, 11, 337, 342, 346, 385–6; pork-free 429; variations in 344–6 diseases 6, 86, 343, 351, 369, 374–5, 426, 431; crop 269–70; gastrointestinal 147; malaria 22; plague 29 distribution of food 5, 37, 39, 42, 57–9, 64, 84, 198, 306, 346, 392, 470, 497, 501–2, 559 divine food 414–15. See also bread (leḥem) DNA: ancient DNA (aDNA) 91, 269, 284, 431; pigs 89 domesticated animals 77–8, 87, 104, 171, 178, 353, 403, 468, 520. See also animals; wild game/species. beasts of burden 77–80; (camels 79–80, 503, 513; donkeys 47, 77–9, 78 n.3, 86, 468; dromedaries and Bactrians 78–9, 79 n.4; horses 86; mules 78, 468); cats and dogs 80–1, 435, 488; (cynophagy (dog eating) 81, 432); pigs 429; for transportation 78, 468 drainage system, natural 19–22, 28 n.11 drinking, excessive 351, 365; beer-drinkers 362 n.8; as blessing 361–5; in book of Ecclesiastes 364–5; clean/cleanliness 360 n.6, 361; in elite contexts 358–61; and god (divine approval) 364; and joyfulness (music) 362–3; rich and poor 358–9 droughts 22, 24–30, 114, 120, 129, 139, 177, 251, 351, 370–1, 374, 377 n.7. See also rain/rainfall. megadrought 25, 27–30 dwellings 5, 40, 43, 45–6, 49–50, 52, 129, 199, 241, 252, 308, 330 n.11, 388, 390, 416, 506 eating 2, 47, 297, 336–7, 365, 378, 408, 424, 530, 540–1, 555; and drinking 9, 117, 298, 302, 351, 364–5, 378, 405, 408, 523, 554, 559; before drinking 405, 405 n.26; to eat (’ākal) 188–9, 303, 401; eating events 7, 298, 302, 309, 310 n.13, 311; (divine-focused events 298–301, 303–5; in the Hebrew Bible 299; human-focused

570

events 298–303; mārzeaḥ 304, 352, 352 n.2, 539 n.7, 540; mišteh (see feasts/ feasting [mišteh] (and festivals [ḥaggîm])); engorgement/fullness 356–8; excessive 7, 351, 355, 365; glutted/gluttony 356–7; Jerome on 1; as quotidian 546–7 Ebers Papyrus 272 ecology/ecological system 24, 30, 51, 87, 101, 128, 363, 431, 496, 504 economic system/institutions 57–60, 70, 82–3, 113 n.1, 140, 142–3, 345–6, 541, 559. See also trade. agrarian/farmers 91, 126; animal 82–3, 278, 429; decisionmakers 58–9; extractive 69–70; farm-based 60; household 392; legumes 150; local markets 67–8; market/nonmarket 58–9, 66–7, 341; meat 174, 353; olive oil; (in Levantine 118; Mediterranean 144); pastoral nomadism 60–2; premodern 57; redistributive 62–6, 69, 251; (palace 62–5, 62 n.5; temple 62 n.5, 65–6); specialization 82–3; subsistence agriculture 59–60 ecosystem 5, 28 n.11 egalitarian ethos 51, 300 Egypt/Egyptians 19, 27–8, 65, 68, 80–1, 125, 127, 129, 135, 148–50, 160–1, 163, 252, 268, 272, 284, 300, 305, 336, 358, 370–1, 383, 448–9, 500–2, 514, 534–5; bakers in 108; beer/beer jars in 282, 341; bird hunting in 173–4; cubit measures 258 n.9; dried/salted fish 279; Early Dynastic Egypt 159; Egyptian tomb models (tools) 192–3; and food shortage 372–3; hekats 258; loss of appetite 375; and Mediterranean 48, 50; pigs, ban of 87 (see also animals, pigs); plagues 29 Ein-Gedi 143, 149, 203 Ekron 66–7, 81, 83, 88, 115–16, 118, 143–4, 172, 199, 246, 260, 426–7, 429. See also Philistia/Philistines Elamite 163, 166 n.13 Eli 110, 134, 210, 516–17, 523 Eliashib 64, 471–2 Elijah 29, 41, 50, 108, 119 n.9, 120, 521 Elisha 41, 50, 68, 120, 210, 391, 521 environments/environmental factors 31, 37, 40, 87, 148, 176–7, 268, 281, 283, 335–6, 338, 340–1, 346, 355; environmental changes 28; food production 17; hydrology 5, 17, 19, 21–2, 30; non-environmental 19; paleoenvironmental reconstruction 23–

SUBJECT INDEX

6, 30; physical 5, 17; regional topography 5, 30; (and differentiation 17–19 (see also Levant (southern)); vs. social factors (food shortage) 370–1; soils (see soils) epigraphy. See inscriptions/epigraphy Epipaleolithic period 100, 110 Esau 151, 487, 499 ethnic identity/ethnicity 7, 43, 89, 227, 425–6, 431, 433, 435, 505; pigs and people 431–2 (see also animals, pigs) ethnography/ethnographic evidence 6–7, 10, 50, 103, 119, 126, 187 n.2, 259, 261, 278–9, 283, 337, 344, 386, 393, 432; animal milk 277; in Bedouin 337, 341; cooking-pot 200; feasting 352; food production (women in) 385–6, 393; grains 386; hearths vs. stoves 237–8; installations 237–41, 243–5, 247, 284, 389; of social identity 432; wild plant species 340 Europe 17 n.1, 25, 27, 86, 151, 173, 185, 239 evaporation 24, 24 n.7, 160–1, 220, 226 excavations/excavators. See archaeological sites (excavations) famine (limos) 2, 7, 24, 27–8, 30, 47, 61, 68, 70, 135, 139, 152, 247, 251, 251 n.2, 260–1, 267, 345, 357, 369, 372, 374, 377, 377 n.7, 379, 428, 502, 512, 539, 541, 549, 553–4, 558; in different cultures 371–2; environmental vs. social factors 370–1; Famine Stela 372; in the Hebrew Bible 372–5; (food shortage, sword, and plague 373–5; Joseph and seven-year food shortage 373; as theme of narrative books 373); vs. hunger and thirst 369–71; intentional hunger 7 (see also fasting [ṣ-w-m]); in provision of manna 373 n.3; rā‘āb 369; starvation 345, 351, 370, 372, 374, 387, 475; and war 374–5 Far‘ah N, Tell el- 43, 388 farming 11, 38, 59–60, 351. See also agriculture. distant pasture 61; dry 30, 101, 129; herdsman husbandry 61, 66; subsistence 61, 66, 507 fasting (ṣ-w-m) 7, 369, 375–9, 501, 521, 542, 555; anticipatory 377; to avoid distress 376–8, 377 n.6; to commemorate distress 375–6; communal 376; food (and drink) as preparation 378–9; in Greek religion 375 fat 83–5, 99, 118–19, 146–7, 226, 228, 273, 281, 338–9, 343, 355

SUBJECT INDEX

feasts/feasting (mišteh) (and festivals [ḥaggîm]) 4, 7–8, 297, 374, 377, 390, 402 n.12, 414, 501, 520–1, 530, 545–7, 556. See also banquet/šrt (ceremonial drinking); eating. agricultural festival 304, 306, 514, 516, 520; akītu in Mesopotamia 306; in ancient Israel 309–10, 312; in ancient Near East 305–6, 311; appointed times (mō‘ădîm) 299–300, 304; in archaeology 307–8; brisket/breast (ḥāzeh) 308, 308 n.12; classifications of 352; (diacritical feast 300, 352, 355, 460 n.31, 520 n.25; empowering feast 300, 352; patron-role feast 300, 352, 520 n.25); communal/ community 308–11, 390, 400 n.6, 546; cooking vessels 307–8; coronation 303–4; cultic furnishings 353, 353 n.3; day of the first-fruits (yôm habbikkûrîm) 304; definition of 298–300; in Deuteronomy 513; divinity 410; drinking 134–5 (see also banquet/šrt (ceremonial drinking)); in Eighteenth Dynasty Egypt 547; elite 308, 310–11, 352–6, 352 n.2; feasting signatures 310 n.13; feast of a king (kǝmišteh hammelek) 302, 302 n.6; Feast of Ingathering (ḥag ha’āsip) 304; The Feast of Unleavened Bread celebration 103, 304, 560; Feast of Weeks 514; felicitous/ infelicitous (failed) 409, 409 n.36; Festival of Booths/Tabernacles (sukkôt) 304, 514, 520; festival of the harvest (ḥag haqqāṣîr) 304, 516; The Festival of Weeks (ḥag šāb‘ôt) 304; Festival of Yahweh (ḥag-yhwh) 304; funerary 79, 429; good day (yôm tob) 305; great feast 302–3 (mišteh gādôl), 356; in the Hebrew Bible 302–5; (oriented toward god 303–5; oriented toward humans 302–3); honor of the dead (see feeding the dead); house of feasting (bêt mišteh) 302; house of mourning (bêt ’ēbel) 302; Jubilee 304; and judgment 302, 520; and Kings 519–22; the king’s table (šulḥan hammelek) 303, 306, 521; leftovers (rēḫāti) of food 306; mārzeaḥ 352–4, 352 n.2, 354 n.4; and music 302–3, 352, 363, 518 n.17; New Moon 298, 300, 303–5, 309; of non-elites 355, 358; Passover (ḥag) 186, 298, 300, 304, 308, 311, 514, 557, 560; within patrimonial household 301, 311; patron-role 300, 352, 520 n.25; potsherd on 450 n.10; relational power of 300–2; as ritual activity 400 n.6, 401,

571

556; and Royal Audience 547–8; Sabbath 300, 304, 309, 376, 500; sacrificial meal (šelāmîm) 305, 507–8, 519, 546, 548 n.11; significance of 310–12; to slaughter (zbḥ) 305 n.9, 506; social and religious relationships 297, 301–2; social dynamics of 408–14; thanksgiving 308, 546; Trumpets 304; Ugaritic mythological texts 401–8; unhappy 407; wedding 135, 300, 302, 516; zābaḥ 305; in Zechariah 14 541 feeding the dead 7, 319, 326–30. See also tombs. bread/food of mourning (leḥem ’ônîm) 327; food of people (leḥem ’ănāšîm) 327; in Iron Age Judah 322–6; kispu (Mesopotamia) 319; in Psalms 546; ritual purity/impurity 328 fermentation 109, 131–2, 141, 197, 267, 276, 284, 483; of agricultural products 282; jars (wine) 218, 223–6, 231; with lactic acid bacteria 282 n.10; of meat products 283; of milk products 283; process of beer 109; sourdough 107, 283; spoilage prevention 281 fish (dāg/dāgāh) 171–3, 171 n.1, 178, 267, 276, 434–5; allec 283; dried 50, 279, 339; fishing 467; freshwater 171–2, 279, 339, 345; garum 283; marine 171–2, 279–80, 339, 345; prevention (drying) 279–80; remains in Jerusalem 171–2; trade 345 flavor 6, 105, 108, 147, 157–62, 164, 166, 166 n.13, 218, 220–1, 228, 280–1, 432, 483. See also tastes flax seeds 23, 30, 50, 228, 256, 427, 429 FL-Etna 3 eruption 27 flora 22, 113, 141 n.9, 310, 340 flotation technique 141, 141 n.9 flour 99, 107, 253, 259, 342, 520. See also grains. women in flour production 387–8 fodder 49, 69, 91, 99, 102, 145, 151–2, 277, 386, 435, 467–8 Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO) 267, 273 food basket, mishnaic 338, 344 foodborne illness 274 food chain 363, 547 food/food studies 423–5, 435 food insecurity 267, 346, 423, 428, 460, 522 n.29 food poisoning 274, 276. See also intoxication food preparation 3, 5, 7–8, 10, 48, 158, 185, 194, 197, 199, 336, 383–4, 495; cooking 185–6, 194 (see also cooking methods);

572

cultural aspects of 389–93; (religious activities 389–90; social function 390–2); and gender 383 (see also gender, food production); phytolith analysis 11 n.18, 91; regulations on 502–7; (blood taboo 503; cooking kid in mother’s milk 502–3; dietary regulations in Leviticus 11 503–6; ritual meals 506–7); salt in 160; and serving vessel (see ceramics (pottery/potters)) food-preservation 6, 284, 351. See also spoilage of food, prevention. meat/animal products 276; techniques; (drying 260, 276, 278–9, 340; fermentation 276; pickling 144 n.13, 260, 276, 280–1; salting 119, 144 n.13, 197, 260, 276, 279–80) food shortages. See famine (limos) food supply 67, 80, 372, 499, 530, 532, 553 food waste 267 foodways 4–5, 4 n.9, 9–11, 200, 300–1, 335, 337, 340–3, 346, 389, 429–31, 481, 496; Philistine 426, 435; pottery in reconstructing ancient 197–8; tribal 341 fossil 158, 203, 261; fossilized feces 100, 343; fossil water 23; vessel of Iron Age II 208 Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy (FTIR) 227 fruits 5, 30, 127, 130, 139–46, 336, 339, 341, 469–70, 497–8, 500, 539, 551. See also vegetables (zērōa’/yārāq). apricot 140, 260, 427; carob 140, 277; dates (tāmār)/ date palm 90, 126, 140, 142, 145, 340; (sweet syrup (děbāš) 145, 482); dried 140, 224, 251, 256, 278–9; (raisins 131, 140–1, 259–60, 279, 472, 552); figs (tə’änâ) 126–8, 130, 140–2, 340, 427, 483, 540, 551; (carbonized fig pips 142, 199; charred fig pips 141; dried 142, 260, 279); fruit trees 126, 128, 140–1, 140 n.4, 427, 454, 513; grapes (see grapes [ʿēnāb]/ wine [yāyin]); hāməsukkān (mulberry tree) 140 n.4; mulberry (měsukkān) 140, 140 n.4, 483; olives (zayit) (see olives [zayit]); pomegranate (rimmôn) 140, 142–3, 340, 427, 483, 500, 551; spoilage of 267, 269; (prevention (drying) 278); sycamore (šiqmâ)/sycomore 140, 145–6, 145 n.17; tappûaḥ (apple/apple tree) 140 n.4, 483, 552, 552 n.18 fuel 46, 141, 229, 468; charcoal as 226, 237; dung as 49, 82, 91, 238–9, 239 n.2, 242, 353, 468; olive oil in lamps 119, 144 n.15, 468; wood as 239, 242

SUBJECT INDEX

gas chromatography mass spectrometry (GCMS) 11, 11 n.19, 227 gastro-politics 423–4 gathering/ingathering, food 70, 103, 114, 127, 340, 467–8. See also hunting (land-based activities) gender, food production 3, 47–8, 383; drinking (masculinity) 360; female neighbor (rə’ût) 391, 391 n.23; gratification 393; housecraft 392; men; (bakers 383; professional cooks in elite kitchen 383); neighborhood women (šəkēnôt) 391; resources 384–5; women 383–9, 393–4, 393 n.25; (bread baking 388–91; flour production 387–8; grains/ grain-processing 385–6, 386 n.11; household activities 383, 390 n.22, 392–3; as oil pressers 386 n.7; religious activities 389–90; social function 390–2) geology 18, 20–1, 30, 485 germination process 29, 109 gestalt theory 485 Gezer 22, 143–4, 273 Gibeon/Gibeonites 131–2, 517 Gideon 188–9, 515–16 glaciers 23–5, 27 gluten 101, 107. See also protein glutton/gluttony 7, 351, 357. See also drinking, excessive; eating, excessive god/goddess 495–6, 500, 506, 511, 515, 521, 530–1, 533, 535, 537–41, 549, 554. See also deity. agricultural products and 364; Asherah (Ugaritic ’Aṯiratu) 399, 521; Baal (Ugaritic Ba‘lu)/weather god 372, 399, 412, 412 n.44, 547–8; bism allâh (in the name of god) 389; blessing (bərâkâ) 364, 389–90, 541; (grape juice 364; rewards from god 357, 364, 512); creation of 496–9; curse for eating fruit 424; (tree of knowledge 497–8); Dagon 362; divine punishment 7, 29, 136, 261, 355, 362, 374, 428, 512; eating and battle 374; El (Ugaritic ’Ilu) 399, 399 n.1, 404, 406 n.30, 408–12, 412 n.43; Enlil 371; festivals for 303–5 (see also feasts/feasting [mišteh] (and festivals [ḥaggîm])); Hadad/Hadad Statue 320, 328–9, 474–6; and human 209, 301, 364; judgment of 142–3, 375–7, 533–4, 539–40, 542; Kotharat (goddesses of childbirth) 409; male/female 403, 403 n.14, 406; Most High God 557; Mot (god of death) 372, 412–15, 412 n.46; and mourning rituals

SUBJECT INDEX

377; obedience to 189, 357, 511, 529–30; offerings/sacrifice (as divine consumption) 329, 408–9, 506–7; (animal 403, 404 n.18, 503; bread 506); as planter of Israel 534–5; Qaus 474; Yahweh/YHWH 5, 28, 105–8, 110, 119–20, 125, 130–1, 136, 146, 247, 299, 299 n.2, 301–2, 304–5, 311–12, 321, 328, 353–6, 358–60, 363–5, 374, 376–8, 389, 414 n.53, 415–16, 498, 501, 506, 513 n.9, 531–5, 537, 539, 542, 546–8, 551, 556, 559–60; (’el (god) 399 n.1, 400; in the Hebrew Bible 414–17; of Hosts 532, 541; sacrifices 401 n.7); Yamm (sea-god) 410–11 golden thistle (Scolymus maculatus) 268 grains 3–5, 63, 66, 99–106, 110, 134, 139–40, 188, 248, 259, 337–8, 341–2, 358, 371–2, 426, 468, 483, 540. See also flour. barley 103–4, 303, 306, 471; carbonized 100, 106, 109, 139, 152; cereal (see cereals/cereal grasses [dāgān]); freethreshing 101–2, 105–6, 425; grain-based edibles 5, 110, 338, 343, 346, 553; grain pits 152, 251–3, 256, 259, 261; grainprocessing by women 385–6, 386 n.11; in the Iron Age 102–6; kussemet 105; maize 99; millet (dōḥan) 99–100, 105, 107, 150, 483; parched (qālî) 105, 386; rice 99; spelt (kussemet) 105, 107, 150, 483; starches 3, 100, 225–6, 282–3, 553; wheat (see wheat [ḥiṭṭâ]); wild grain consumption 100–1 grapes (ʿēnāb)/wine (yāyin) 5, 26, 67, 140, 200, 228, 282, 337–8, 340, 353, 402, 426–7, 483, 551; drinking wine 110, 537, 556–7; (as blessing 364; as social action 133–6; vessel for 132, 353–4); fermentation jars 218, 223–6, 231; fermentation process 131–2; grape cluster 5, 125–8, 130; grape pips 127, 140, 200, 426; grapevine (gepen) 126, 132, 140–3, 454, 483, 540; production of wine 5, 20, 126–8, 131–4; pruning 127, 130, 365; raisins/dried grapes 131, 140–1, 259–60, 279, 472, 552; red wine 132, 358; spiced wine 142, 160, 552; storage 253; sweet wine (‘asîs) 159, 540; vineyard 5, 65, 125–6, 128–30, 132, 141–2, 365, 476, 512, 529, 531, 552, 558; (cultivation of 126–8, 500; sukkôt 130; terraced 130; transplanting 130; Yuḥaw’alî 470); viticulture (see viticulture/viniculture); Vitis vinifera 126 Greece 27, 64 n.8, 81, 128–9, 134, 142, 209, 228, 271–2, 391, 448 n.8

573

ḥalamut 340 Halif, Tel (Lahav) 87, 140, 143, 190, 199, 244, 325 Hallel Psalms 547, 547 n.10 Hamid, Tel 142, 433 Hannah 110, 134, 378–9, 516, 523 ḥaṣerîm 60 Hazor 21–2, 145, 273, 433, 448 n.8 Hebron 61, 64, 70, 559 Hekla eruption: 3 27, 27 n.10; 4 27 hellebore (Veratrum album/Veratrum viride) 273 Hellenistic Period 79, 102, 175–6, 243, 326, 339, 345, 375, 503–4, 545, 549, 549 n.15, 554, 561 herbivores 176 herbs 26, 107–8, 148–9, 157–60, 157 n.2, 159 n.4, 163, 166, 188, 226, 228, 340, 482–3 hermeneutics of food 495–6, 508; in creation stories 496–9; (earth [’ādām] 498; tree of knowledge 497–8); vegetarian/vegan 497–8, 507 Hesi, Tell el- 67, 273 Hezekiah 64, 158, 209, 304, 522, 560, 560 n.35 Hittites 68, 81, 87, 136, 165–6, 303, 476; Hatti 68, 370 honey (děbāš) 90, 157 n.2, 159, 164, 340, 482, 512, 551; bee honey 165–6; date honey (Phoenix dactylifera L.) 145, 164–5, 483; and spoilage 276–7 horticulture 19–20, 31, 37–9, 126–7, 143, 148, 533–5 households 38, 139, 251, 300, 391–3, 507, 518; agrarian 383–4, 393; archaeological records 42–50, 186; (architectural plan 42–4, 43 n.9; broad rooms 46–7; casemate wall 46 n.10; central rooms 48–9; construction 45–6; F7 Dwelling at Tell Halif (reconstruction of) 44–6, 49; interior spaces (ground floor) 46–9; long rooms 47–8; second floors 49–50); artifacts 384; cisterns 254; clans/lineage (mišpāḥâ/’elep) 39, 41–2, 51 n.14, 301; families (bêt ’āb) 39–41, 50, 52; (elements of 40; family tomb 330; joint family 330, 330 n.11); feasting and festivals 299, 309–12, 503, 514; house of the father (bêt ’āb) 301; kinsman protector (gō’ēl) 42; mother’s household (bêt ’ēm) 41; Muslim Palestinian 393; non-elite 445; patrimony (naḥălă)

574

40–1, 301, 525; storage 251, 261, 351, 428; tribes (šēbeṭ/maṭṭeh) 39, 42, 301; Tribes of Israel (šebaṭîm) 42; women 392 n.24, 393–4, 393 n.25; (as food producers in 384–9; household activities of 185, 247–8, 343, 385, 390, 390 n.22) hunger/hungry. See famine (limos) hunting (land-based activities) 5, 70, 77–8, 80, 173–5, 177–8, 467–8, 499. See also gathering/ingathering, food hygiene hypothesis 276 Ibn Ezra 502 Ibn Khaldun 424 ice and sediment cores 23–5, 27 iconography 8, 132, 158, 305, 321, 404, 406, 445; Neo-Assyria 454–9 (see also banquet/šrt (ceremonial drinking), White Obelisk); (banqueting scenes 454–6; bowls in banqueting scenes 456–8; Garden Relief of Ashurbanipal 455–6, 458, 460, 520 n.24; Lachish reliefs 142, 145, 455, 460; pyxides in banqueting scenes 458–9); northern Levant 452, 454; (Carchemish 452, 454, 454 n.21; Katumuwa Stele 305, 319–20, 329, 452–3, 456, 458, 460); Pozo Moro sarcophagus, Spain 450 n.12; southern Levant and Phoenicia; (Aḥirom Sarcophagus 450, 452, 459; Megiddo ivories Nos. 159–62 448–9, 450 n.10; Megiddo ivory No. 2 446–8, 450 n.10, 459; Megiddo ivory No. 160 448–9, 450 n.10, 460; Samaria ivories 450 n.10; Tell el-Far‘ah (S) 449–50; wall paintings at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud 450 n.10) infrared spectroscopy 11, 11 n.19 ingest/ingestion 1, 4, 9, 163, 337, 341, 355, 445, 497, 536–8 inheritance 40, 60, 128, 511–12, 521, 534 inscriptions/epigraphy 10, 64, 85, 114, 120, 126–8, 321, 327, 452, 467, 467 n.2, 473, 477, 546; Ammonite 8, 69, 467, 473–4, 473 n.19, 476; Aramaic 319, 319 n.1, 326, 329, 474–6, 476 n.34; (Phoenician/ Aramaic 456, 469, 474–6, 474 n.30); Assyrian royal 69; Azitiwada 476; Deir ‘Alla 378, 445 n.2; Edomite 8, 467, 473–4; (Ḥorvat ‘Uza 474); establishment of feast 476; Gezer Calendar/Manual 23, 23 n.4, 103, 114, 114 n.5, 126–7, 336–7, 468–9; Hadad/Hadad Statue 320, 328–9, 474, 476, 476 n.34; Karatepe Inscriptions 476;

SUBJECT INDEX

Katumuwa 476; Late Antique mosaic, Reḥov 336; Mesha Stele 473, 473 n.20; Moabite 8, 467, 473–4, 473 n.19, 476; in Northwest Semitic 467–9, 476, 546 (Gezer 468–9); Old Hebrew 467 n.3, 468; (Arad letters 105, 126, 128, 136, 337, 471; (Kittiyim 471–2; wheat ostracon 105); Lachish letters 105, 472–3; Samaria ostraca 41, 64, 118, 126, 128, 131, 144, 469–70; (Joint Expedition to Samaria 470, 470 n.13)); Ördekburnu inscription 329; (The Barley Letter 470; Joint Expedition to Samaria 470, 470 n.13; lamed letter 470); Šamaš-rēša-uṣur 165; Sfire Treaty 475; Tell Fakhariyeh Statue Inscription 474–5, 475 n.31; Tell Hisban Ostracon A1 474; Tell Hisban Ostracon A2 474; Tell Siran Bottle 473, 476; West Semitic royal 459; YavnehYam (Meṣad Ḥashavyahu) 470–1 insects (for food) 89–90, 467; bees/beeswax 77, 90, 165–6, 277; locusts 89–90, 371, 504; winged 504 installations, cooking 6, 10, 47–8, 103, 106, 116, 284, 384; for baking bread (see bread [leḥem], installations for baking); found in archaeological excavations 240–5; hearths 6, 47–8, 100, 284, 435, 482; (keyhole 241; Philistine 240–1, 433; round pebble 241; vs. stoves 237–8); location of 246–7; ovens 6, 47–8, 52, 186, 238–45, 388–9; (biblical references to 247–8; size variation of 245–6) intoxication 134, 274, 341, 351, 404 n.22, 536. See also food poisoning Iran 25, 84, 163; Hajji Firuz Tepe in 127; Shahr-I Sokhta 269 Iraq 454 iron 48, 104, 129, 140, 146, 151, 191, 201; deficiency 343–4 Isaac 129, 135, 302, 428, 499, 501 Islam/Islamic period 21, 160, 174, 339, 423. See also Muslim isotope analysis 30, 91, 339; oxygen (see oxygen isotope analysis); stable 24–5, 27, 336, 344 Israel/Israelite 2 n.4, 3–7, 100, 383 n.1, 390, 515; altar (mizbēaḥ) 309, 353 n.3, 414, 539; ancestors of 30 n.13; climate of 128; diet 4–7, 11, 337, 342, 346, 385–6, 425–8, 435; (animal products 427; cereals 425–6; food insecurity 428; legumes 426; wine, oil, and other crops 426–7); feasts

SUBJECT INDEX

and festivals in 309–10, 312; household religious activities 390; pigs (see animals, pigs, taboo); and Promised Land 113, 357, 497, 511, 513, 531, 535 Italy 25, 128–9, 134 ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah 388, 426 Jabesh 376 Jacob 61, 129, 135, 147, 151, 302, 373, 386, 499–500 Jehoiachin 63, 303, 311, 522 Jehu 120, 303, 457 Jemmeh, Tell (Timna‘) 79–80, 104 Jeroboam II of Israel 304, 469, 521 Jerusalem 22, 67–8, 107, 110, 120, 145, 150, 172, 203–4, 210, 217, 302, 325, 340, 345–6, 374, 376, 534–5, 538–9, 541, 553, 558–9, 559 n.32 Jews/Jewish 103, 345, 377, 431–2, 435, 511 n.1, 545 n.1, 556, 558 Jordan 100–1, 204, 341, 343 Joseph 29, 135–6, 302, 352, 370, 373, 428, 499–500, 502, 514–15 Judah 19–20, 31, 42–3, 51–2, 64–5, 67, 121, 128, 158, 165, 203–4, 208–10, 257, 302, 310, 319, 321, 323 n.5, 327, 343, 346, 371, 374–5, 434, 467, 511, 515, 520, 530, 535, 537, 541–2, 553, 559 n.32; Judahite culture 7, 23, 44, 63, 358, 433–4, 454, 472, 504, 507; (mortuary 321–2, 325–30) Judaism 423, 561; Hellenistic 556 Judean Highlands 26, 30, 38, 60–1, 114, 346 jugs 46, 129, 132, 132 n.5, 192, 197, 201, 203–4, 206–8, 218–20, 226–7, 253, 256, 258–9, 322–3, 325, 448, 483; Achziv Ware 208; beer jugs 109, 206–7, 282; cooking-jugs 203, 210, 241, 432; decanter 208, 256; fabricated 220; good jug 220, 231; handmade 219–20; Philistine jugs 221, 282; red clay 220, 225; repurposed 231; round-bottomed 225; smaller jug (pārûr, qallaḥat) 219, 483; spouted sieve 109, 218; stopper 323, 325; strainer jugs 193, 199, 206; water/water cooling 218–20, 224, 228, 232; wheel-thrown white clay 220; unglazed water 217 juglets 132, 164, 192, 197, 208–9, 218, 253, 256, 259, 322; black juglet 208, 211, 322, 325; dipper 322; glazed 224 Kabri, Tel 159, 192, 228, 279, 281, 427 Kadashman-Enlil 411

575

kashrut 3 n.6, 276 Katumuwa stele 305, 319–20, 329, 452–3, 456, 458–9. See also iconography, inscriptions/epigraphy Kekova Adasi 67 Kepce Burnu 67 khobeiza 340. See also ḥalamut/khobeiza (mallow) kinship 39, 41, 301–2, 306, 328, 330, 330 n.11, 496, 515 n.12, 551–3 Kittim 64, 64 n.8 Kuntillet ‘Ajrud 67, 445, 450 n.10 kurkar (sandstone) 21 Laban 135, 302 Lachish, Tel 43, 64, 67, 104, 140, 151, 203, 343 Lamentations 545 n.1, 551, 553 language (cooking and food vocabulary) 8, 481, 484–5, 492, 542; and practicalities of feasting 401–8 leather 119, 210, 229, 416, 468 Lebanon 19, 22, 204, 207, 406, 450, 540 legumes. See vegetables (zērōa’/yārāq) Levant (northern) 452–4. See also Zincirli Levant (southern) 5, 22, 25, 30, 37, 43–4, 59, 83, 162, 177, 259, 261, 272, 277, 279, 282–4, 306, 309, 319, 326, 423, 427, 432, 435, 445–6, 452, 460, 477, 499. See also Judah, Philistia/Philistines. beer consumption in 282; camels in 79; Central Mountains 18–19 (see also Judah); (Galilee (Lower/ Upper) 19–20, 22, 30, 38, 425; Jezreel Valley 19, 101, 343, 425, 427, 540; Judean Hill Country 19; Manasseh 19, 26 n.9, 41; Mount Ephraim 19–20, 26 n.9; Samaria 21– 2, 38, 41, 64, 68, 145, 370, 434; Shephelah 19–20, 26, 30, 65, 67, 425–6; Soreq Cave 23–4); Coastal Plain 18–19; (Carmel Ridge 19–21; Philistia/Philistines [see Philistia/ Philistines]; Phoenicia/Phoenicians [see Phoenicia/Phoenicians]; Pleistocene 21, 260; sand of 21); and hunger 370, 372; Jordan Rift 18; (Aravah 19; Dead Sea 19, 22, 24–6, 24 n.7, 31, 128, 160–1, 253, 280, 340; Jordan River 19, 22, 425, 473 n.19, 539; Lake Huleh basin 19–22; Mt. Hermon 19, 22; Sea of Galilee 19, 22–5, 31); mortuary (remains from) 321, 326; olives in 113–14; tombs 322; Transjordan Highlands 18, 31, 37 n.1; (Ammon 19, 29, 69; Bashan 19; Edom 19; Gilead 19, 29, 519; Moab 19, 29); zones of southern 18

576

liquid chromatography/mass spectrometry (LC/MS) 227 lithology 20, 23, 25, 30 livestock 26, 38, 61, 67, 69–70, 82, 99, 335, 343, 370, 393, 467, 473–4, 512, 514 longue durée (long duration) 17, 30, 57, 545, 545 n.2, 561 malnutrition 336, 344–5, 369, 475, 553. See also nutrition/nutrients/nourishment marshes 19, 21–2, 28 n.11, 160 mašîaḥ (anointed one) 120 Masoretic Text 533, 554 meals 3 n.6, 9, 50, 297, 343, 409–10, 409 n.37, 417 n.58, 499, 501, 519, 559; bread (see bread [leḥem]); Jacob-cycle 499; Joseph-cycle 499–500; in Psalms 545 n.3, 546; royal food/meal 8, 105–6, 166 n.13, 186, 300, 305–6, 400, 402, 404, 472, 532, 545, 555–6, 559, 561; sacrificial/ritual offering 2, 2 n.4, 305, 310, 414, 502, 507–8; (and commensality 507; as divine consumption 506–7) meat (bāśār) 3, 5, 60, 77, 80, 83–6, 171, 193–4, 237, 298, 341, 343, 353, 402, 402 n.12, 427, 467–8, 483, 489; birds for 339, 358, 500; cooking pots; (kourelli/ kleftico 223; ovens to roast 243; ttavades/ ttavas 223); cuts of (filet mignon) 307–8; elimination of blood from 503; lizardeaters 432; pork (ban of) 87–8, 426, 429, 435, 504; (pork avoidance 88, 429, 432–3, 435; pork consumption 430, 433, 435, 504; pork non-consumption 429, 433, 435); roasted/boiled (cooking method) 84–5; sacrificial 383, 507; spoilage of 267, 273–5; (prevention [drying] 279–80); stews (nāzîd) 85, 85 n.9, 198, 483, 488; storage and preservation 85; storage life (estimation) 274–5 medical materialism 276, 505 medicines 158, 166, 228 Mediterranean Sea 19, 21–8, 24 n.7, 31, 38, 40, 48, 50, 66, 126, 171 Mediterranean Triad 118–19, 140, 337, 386 Megiddo 11 n.16, 22, 82, 89, 104, 143, 145, 206, 242, 322, 426, 433; Megiddo ivory No. 2 446–8, 456; Megiddo ivory No. 160 448–9 Mephibosheth 63, 303, 515 n.12, 518 Mesha 69, 473

SUBJECT INDEX

metaphors, food 1, 8, 80, 136, 209–11, 303, 340, 362, 386 n.10, 390, 404, 415–16, 415 n.55, 416 n.57, 495, 515, 533–5, 537, 540–1, 546, 548–9, 551–4, 561 Michal 50, 518 microorganisms 283–4. See also organisms. Flavobacterium 279; mesophiles 268; Micrococcus 279; Penicillium 279; psychotrophs 268; thermophiles 268 Midianites 82, 515 milk (ḥalab)/milk products 80–1, 83–4, 86, 178, 219, 254, 277–8, 339, 343, 483, 512, 551; animal (goat/sheep) 277, 339, 344; and ceramic vessels 278; cheese (ḥăriṣê heḥalab/šěpôt/gěbînâ) 84, 277, 283, 339, 483; degradation 278; milking 80, 83, 220–1, 278; raw milk 219, 278, 283; spoilage of 283 mind-body dualism 2–3; men vs. women 3 (see also gender, food production) minerals 23, 140, 146, 151, 220, 228, 340 Minimum Number of Individuals (MNI) 172, 172 n.3 Miqne, Tel (Ekron) 66–7, 81, 83, 88, 115–16, 118, 143–4, 172, 199, 246, 260, 426–7, 429 Mishnah 338, 342 modernity 185, 337, 385 Moses 125, 129, 143, 305, 377–8, 378 n.8, 501, 559 Mount Ebal 309, 434 Mount Gerizim 309, 376 Moẓa, Tel 309, 427 Muslim 393, 432. See also Islam/Islamic period Nabal 61–2, 302, 362, 518, 520 Naboth 125, 340, 521, 521 n.28 Naomi 373, 391, 428, 553 Naṣbeh, Tell en- (Mispah) 50, 104, 131, 322–3 Natufian culture/period 100, 282 Nebuchadnezzar II 473, 556 Negev 19, 21–2, 25–6, 38, 60–1, 67, 79, 101, 175–6, 279 Negev Ware 217 Neo-Assyrians 8, 69, 83, 86, 89, 142, 306, 374, 448 n.8, 450 n.10, 452, 454–9, 469–70, 513 n.9, 522 n.29. See also Assyria/Assyrian. banqueting scenes 454–6; bowls in banqueting scenes 456–8; pyxides in banqueting scenes 458–9

SUBJECT INDEX

Neolithic period 81, 83, 86–7, 99–102, 110, 127, 141–2, 193, 197, 251–2, 277, 467–8; Pottery Neolithic period 197, 278, 429; Pre-pottery Neolithic C (PPNC) 269, 280 New Institutional Economics (NIE) 58–9, 71 Nile 21, 24, 27, 372 Nimrud 87, 450 n.11, 454, 456 n.24, 457, 457 n.27, 459–60 Nineveh 132, 377, 455, 458 northern kingdom of Israel/Israelite 31, 64 n.11, 88, 311, 376, 433, 470, 504 Number of Identified Species (NISP) 172, 172 n.3 nutrition/nutrients/nourishment 1–2, 99, 297, 335–7, 342–5, 383, 385, 389, 495–6. See also malnutrition; deficiency 343–4; ingestion of 4; maternal 344; from milk 339; mortality of infants 344; nutritional value 6; variations in (age/sex) 344 nuts 5, 139; almond (šāqēd) 146–7, 340, 483; pistachios/terebinth (boṭnîm) 20, 26, 47, 147, 147 n.18, 281, 340, 483; walnuts (‘ěgôz) 147, 483 offerings of food 119, 174, 302, 390, 401 n.7, 408–9, 434–5, 452, 502, 507, 513–14; burnt 119, 302, 506, 513, 519–20, 550, 559–60; community 546; concluding 546; for dead (see feeding the dead); divine (bread)/god 77, 107–8, 110, 353, 374, 408–9, 539; drink-offering 110, 390, 415 n.54; funeral 149, 164; sacrificial (šelāmîm) 2 n.4, 305, 328, 401, 404, 415, 507, 517, 541, 546; sanctuary and 545–6; temple 65, 204, 305 olives (zayit) 5, 26, 30, 38, 140, 143–5, 200, 260, 337–8, 427, 483, 512, 540; climate for 114; gathering 127; harvests of 114–15, 144; oleoculture 113–15; olive oil (šemen zayit) 5, 64, 66–7, 69, 113, 113 n.1, 132, 144, 144 n.13, 345; (commodities 120–1; consumption of 118–20; production (method/means) 115–18; šemen raḥuṣ (washed oil) 118; uses of 144 n.15); olive tree (Olea europaea) 113–14, 144–5; seasons of olive production 114; šemen mišḥâ/šemen qōdeš (anointing oil) 120, 120 n.10, 144 n.13, 353, 482–3; vernalization process 114 orchards 65, 115, 140, 551, 558

577

organic residues analysis (ORA) 159, 255, 261, 278, 281, 323, 426 organisms 1, 383. See also microorganisms oxygen isotope analysis 23–5, 23 n.5; in Glycimeris violacescens shells 24 paleomicrobiology 336 paleozoology 10 Palestine 6, 23, 79, 85, 133, 174, 217, 221, 225, 227, 229–30, 237–9, 241, 243, 245, 247, 283, 385, 387 n.15, 558; SyriaPalestine 22, 126–7 palynology 23, 27 pardēs (enclosed garden/preserve) 144 n.12 participant observation method 10 pastoralism 17, 28, 38, 470, 501; pastoral nomadism 60–2; seminomadic 61 Pentateuch 2–3, 3 n.6, 8, 302, 495–7, 495 n.2, 502, 508 perfumes 144 n.15, 158–9, 162, 166, 228, 322 Persian Period 26, 79, 158, 305–6, 329, 522 n.29, 549, 554, 561; Yehud 373 n.3 pests 77, 85, 102, 130, 218, 268; Angoumois grain moth (Sitotroga cerealella) 252; animal/birds 269–70; commensal 269; date stone beetle (Coccotrypes dactyliperda) 269; desert locusts (‘arbeh and yeleq) 270; field 269; fig moth (Ephestia cautella) 269; fumigation and ancient pesticides 272–3; fungus beetle (Alphitophagus bifasciatus) 269; grain borer (Rhyzopertha dominica) 252; granaries and storage 252; granary weevil (Sitophilus granarius) 252, 269; insect 269; insecticides 273; intentional firing 273; pea weevil (Bruchus spp.) 269 petrography 11, 11 n.19, 201 Philistia/Philistines 19, 30, 37, 66, 81, 88–9, 143, 199, 203, 206, 240–1, 248, 362, 376, 425–6, 429, 431–3, 435, 448 n.8, 504, 516, 535 Philo of Alexandria 502 Phoenician Fine Ware 208 Phoenicia/Phoenicians 19, 120–1, 127, 162, 206–7, 305, 446–54, 456, 460, 532 phytolith analysis 11, 11 n.18, 91, 100, 261 pig/pork. See animals, pig pithoi (large storage vessel) 22, 253, 257 plants 4, 337, 497; botanical remains 11, 100, 102, 106, 341; macrobotanical remains 100; mallow 340; microbotanical remains 100; paleobotany 10, 335, 340; pollen 23,

578

30–1; (arboreal 25–6; oak/olive 25–6, 31); pulses 30, 150, 152, 269, 278, 336, 338, 340, 483; vegetation 23, 25–6; weeds 268, 475 Plato 2–3, 134 póa (fodder) 99 porridge 5, 105, 107, 150–1, 159, 338, 425, 483, 488 pottery/potters. See ceramics (pottery/potters) precipitation 23 n.5, 25–6, 28 n.11, 30, 129. See also rain/rainfall. in biblical record 28–30; hail/hailstones 29 premodern agricultural societies 383 n.2 priestly system 403, 502, 507 Primeval History 370 production of food 2 n.4, 5, 7, 9–10, 17, 19, 23, 30–1, 41, 57, 77, 186, 197, 335, 346, 351, 467, 501, 508; and gender (see gender, food production) protein 150–2, 171, 178, 218, 221, 227, 281, 283, 339–40, 482, 499. See also gluten. animal 3, 5, 343, 389, 427, 498, 507; cereals 99 Ptolemaic period 372 Qasile, Tell 104, 120, 131, 241, 425–7 Qiri, Tel 104, 132, 140, 143, 152 Qohelet (Ecclesiastes) 363 Queen of Sheba 79, 158, 303, 520, 523 rabbinic tradition 336, 434, 502–3 radiocarbon dating method 24–5, 24 n.6 rain/rainfall 21–2, 24–8, 30, 139, 142, 345–6, 501, 504. See also droughts; precipitation. and agricultural productivity 29, 103; in ancient Israel 129; and dry farming 101; early rain 29; first rain (yôreh) 103; for olive production 114 Ramat Raḥel 64–5, 145, 158, 173, 310–11, 450 n.10 Rashbam 502 raw food/state 4, 6 refrigeration 6, 221, 231, 259 rēaḥ nîḥôaḥ 414 Reḥov, Tel 90, 165–6, 199, 277, 336, 340–1, 426–7, 435 Reisner Samaria ostraca. See inscriptions/ epigraphy, Samaria ostraca remains, archaeological 6–7, 9–10, 42, 45, 49, 103, 108, 139, 152, 279, 309, 326, 384; animal/faunal 11, 48, 61, 67, 87–8, 91, 171–2, 178, 307–10, 341, 343, 429, 433, 435; archaeobotanical 106, 108,

SUBJECT INDEX

280; cheese 283; dried meat 279; fish 67, 171–3, 279, 283, 504; food 48, 100, 102, 172, 281, 307, 425, 475; fruit 140, 142–3, 426; honey 427; human/ mortuary 100, 193, 319, 321, 323, 325–7, 329, 336, 344; insect 269, 277; legumes 151–2; macrobotanical/microbotanical 10, 100; macroscopic 11; material 6, 10 n.15, 11, 171, 175, 308, 326; microfauna 269; microzoological 10; nuts 146–7; paleobotanical 340; plant/botanical 11, 100, 102, 139, 341; spices 162; vegetables 148–51, 161; zooarchaeological 192 resins 67, 147, 157, 224–6, 228, 277; Aleppo pine (Pinus halepensis) 281; sandarac tree (Tetraclinus articulata) 281; Terebinth resins (Pistacia palestina) 281 rice 99 Rosh Ha-‘Ayin (Aphek-Antipatris) 22 Rosh Zayit, Ḥorvat 102, 143, 269 Ṣafi, Tell eṣ- (Gath) 78, 88, 91, 109, 240, 246, 282, 341, 429, 432 salt (melaḥ) 158–9, 221, 224–5, 340, 482–3, 558; extraction methods of salt 160–1; as preservative (salting) 119, 144 n.13, 197, 260, 276, 279–80 salvation 513, 533–4, 541, 546 Sam’al (Zincirli). See Zincirli Samaria Ware 208 Samson 165, 302, 340, 362, 426, 516 Sarah 135, 186–7, 486, 499, 501 Sargon II 158, 306, 448 n.8 Saul 30, 47, 50, 62–3, 65, 79, 376, 428, 516–19, 522 scanning electron microscopy 11, 11 n.19, 91; with energy dispersive spectrometry (SEMEDX) 227 Sea Peoples 24, 28, 30, 37. See also Philistia/ Philistines sedentism 61, 467 Sennacherib 128, 374, 454–5. See also NeoAssyrians sensory experiences 9, 298, 538. See also aroma/aromatic; flavor; tastes serving vessel 200–9; baking trays 204, 223, 243; biblical terms (in Hebrew Bible) 209–11; cooking pot technology 201–3; decorated vessels 207–8; imported pottery 209; Iron Age II cooking pots 203–4; open-mouthed cooking pot 204; Philistine pottery 206; Phoenician pottery 206–7

SUBJECT INDEX

sex/sexuality (in human life) 80, 136, 336, 344, 346; and food 1–2, 498, 498 n.5; vs. eating 1 Shalmaneser III 79; Black Obelisk of 457 Shasu 37, 37 n.1 Shechem 43, 61, 70, 241, 516 Sirach/Wisdom of Jesus Son of Sirach/ Ecclesiasticus 554 n.21 sitodeia (want of food) 369 soils 342, 346; alluvial 20–1, 30; alluvium 21; clay 130, 201 n.4, 215, 219–20, 227–8; dolomite 20; and geology 20–1; hamra 21–2; limestone 20, 130; loam 130; loessial 21; Mediterranean 20–1; rendzina 20–1; rocky 130, 142, 144; sedimentation/ sediments 17, 20–1, 23–5, 144, 174, 220, 224, 269, 283, 335–6; speleothems 23–4; terra rossa (red Mediterranean soil) 20–1, 129, 201 n.4; vertisols 21 Solomon 30, 63, 69, 79, 302–3, 311, 411, 519–23, 551, 559–60 South Africa 535 southern Levant. See Levant (southern) spices (bōśem/reqaḥ) 157–9, 157 n.2, 159 n.4, 166, 194, 280, 308, 435, 482. See also sweet (mātôq)/sweeteners. alliums 157, 157 n.2, 159, 161; bay laurel (ezraḥ) 163, 340; cassia (qīddah) 161–2; cinnamon/ cinnamaldehyde (kināmôn) 161–2, 199, 340; cloves (ʾēzôb) 164; coriander (gad) 159, 162–3, 340, 483; cumin (qeṣaḥ/kamôn) 159, 162–3, 280, 340, 483; dill (anethum graveolens) 162–3; fennel (andahšu) 163; frankincense (Boswellia sp.) 158, 506, 551; hyssop (Syrian Hyssop/ origanum syriacum) (see spices, zaatar); mint (ninu) 159, 163; myrrh (Commiphora myrrha) 158, 551–2; saffron (Crocus sativus) 163–4, 340; salt (see salt [melaḥ]); zaatar 164 spoilage of food 6, 267, 269; aerobic 273; agricultural products 268–73, 276; (Aspergillus 269; chemical degradation 268–9; Penicillium 269; pests (see pests); physical damage 268–9; storage life (estimation) 270–2); animal products 273–7; (butchery 275–6; fish and meat 273–5; storage life (estimation) 274–5); insect products (honey) 276–7; intentional 267; intentional firing 273; intrinsic and extrinsic parameters 268; microbial (bakery products) 283; microorganisms

579

(see microorganisms); prevention 278–84; (drying 278–80, 340; fermentation 281–3; heat treatment/cooking 283–4; oils and fats 281; pickling 280–1; resins 281; salting 280; spices 280; storage 284); storage life (estimation) 270–2 stalks 50, 100, 104, 452, 467 stoppers 109, 126, 132, 192, 257, 282, 284, 323 storage (and transport), food 39, 47, 102, 106, 118, 128, 132, 141, 152, 189–90, 198 n.2, 209, 218, 228, 244, 253–4, 256–8, 260–1, 284, 322, 342; amphorae/ torpedo jars 67, 257–8; animal skins 189, 278; baqbuq 256; baskets (ṭene‘) 67, 100, 105, 115–18, 130, 144–5, 161, 163, 189 (sal), 192–3, 197, 206, 209, 215, 229, 256, 261, 284, 338, 344, 385, 452; bedrock mortars 100; caches 89, 102, 106; ceramic vessels 256–9; chests (məgûrâ) 259, 261; dairy products 254–6; grains (āsām) 251– 3; grave goods 322; hippo jars 64 n.11, 257–8; holemouth 258; larger vessels 256, 259, 308; lmlk (lamelekh) 64, 120, 126, 128, 209, 257–8, 257 n.8, 471 n.15; oil and wine 253; other foodstuffs 256; pithoi/ pithos 22, 198, 198 n.2, 209, 254, 255–7; (collared-rim 209, 254, 257); preservatives 260; refrigeration 259; rosette jar 209, 224; sacks 6, 253, 256, 259, 261; smaller vessels 198, 256, 259, 322; stockpile (āgar) 63, 261, 372; storehouse (āsām) 65, 253, 257, 261, 373, 541; from Tel Miqne 260; unnamed tools 189–90; vessels for food storage 209, 224–5; water 253–4; wine and oil 253 storax 159, 162, 162 n.8 straws and strainers 109, 126, 192–3, 199, 206, 222 survival subsistence strategy 82, 351, 353, 357, 365 sweet (mātôq)/sweeteners 105, 157, 157 n.2, 159, 220, 223–4, 414, 538, 552; of fig 142; honey (see honey [děbāš]); sweet syrup (děbāš) 145, 482; wines 159, 540; wort 109 Sweyhat, Tell es- 281 Syria 8, 24, 31, 79, 126, 193, 223, 230, 445, 456 n.25, 548; Syria-Palestine (see Palestine); Ugarit (see Ugarit) Syro-Hittite mortuary reliefs 519 n.21. See also iconography, northern Levant, Katumuwa Stele

580

Tamar 107–8, 383, 487, 519, 523 taphonomy 430, 430 n.8 tastes 6, 9, 108–9, 134, 157, 162, 166, 166 n.13, 220, 223, 280, 414, 445, 497, 538, 550. See also flavor Ten Commandments 378, 501 terebinth (Pistacia palaestina) 20, 26, 47, 147, 281 Tetrateuch 8, 495, 495 n.2, 500, 508 Thutmose III 82 Timna‘ 79–80, 279 tombs. See also feeding the dead. at BethShemesh 322–5; bêṯ marzēaḥ 326; burial remains 323, 326; ceramic assemblages 321, 325; corpse impurity 319, 321, 325, 328–9; cup of consolation (kôs tanḥûmîm) 327; extramural 330; flask from 323; funerary rituals 321, 326–9, 429, 452; grave goods 321–2, 325–8, 330; Hadad Statue 328–9; Judahite 321, 326–7; Katumuwa Stele 305, 319–20, 329, 452–3, 456, 458–9 (see also inscriptions/ epigraphy, iconography); loculus 323 n.5; mourning the dead 7, 302, 326–7, 375–6, 378–9, 452, 501, 558; Ördekburnu inscription 329; primary burial 326–9; repository 323 n.5, 325–6, 329; rock-cut bench tomb 323, 323 n.5, 325, 328–30; secondary burial 326, 328–9 tools and utensils 6, 11, 117, 185–6, 187 n.2; cutting 188–9; (chipped stone 191; knives 188; metal objects 191; ṣōr 189); grinding and crushing 187–8; (grinding slab 107, 387–8, 387 n.13, 426; grinding stones 11, 100, 102, 106, 110, 188, 194, 384 n.3, 387–8; handmill 387 n.15; handstones (rekeb) 188, 190, 387–8, 387 n.15, 392, 482; millstone (bārēḥôy)/milling machines 187–8, 387, 387 n.13, 482; mortar (bamĕdōk) 48, 100, 106, 115, 187–8, 190–1, 490; netherstone 190–1, 193–4; quern 48, 190, 193, 387; rēḥayim 482; saddle quern 48, 193, 387; statuettes 387 n.14); handstone 107, 190, 193, 387–8, 387 n.13, 387 n.15, 392; pestles 48, 106, 190, 193; pounding 100, 106, 110, 161, 199, 228; spoon 206, 484; straws and strainers 109, 126, 192–3, 199, 206, 222; winepresses 126–7, 131, 141 n.8; wineskins 131–3, 253 Torah 434, 545 n.1, 557 n.28

SUBJECT INDEX

trade 67–70, 341. See also economic system/ institutions. administered 68–9; animal 80, 335, 341; fish 345; Iron Age market economies 341; long-distance 66–7, 70; Old Assyrian caravan trade 58; royal 68; shipwrecks 66–7 transportation; animals for 78, 468; of food/ food products 276, 467–8, 470, 477, 559 tribe (šēbeṭ/maṭṭeh) 39, 42, 301, 511, 539 Turkey 217, 220, 221, 225, 229–30, 289, 275, 389, 391, 452, 458–9; einkorn wheat in 101 Tutankhamun 149, 279 Ugarit 58, 63, 65, 68, 306, 360, 370–1, 399, 547; Anat 409, 416; animal-headed cups 448 n.8; animal sacrifice 403, 404 n.18, 408; animal slaughter 401; Aqhat 400, 400 n.5, 405 n.23, 408–9; Athirat 403 n.15, 406, 412–13, 412 n.44; Baal 372, 400, 400 n.5, 403, 405, 407–14, 408 n.34, 413 n.50, 521; Baal Cycle 372, 402, 405–7, 410–12, 416; ba‘lu (lord/master) 399 n.2, 404 n.21, 412 n.44; banquet at 406; chairs (ksat) 406; city-dove (ynt qrt) 404 n.17; dates (ks) 405; to dine (ṮRM) 401; dove (ynt) 404 n.17; to drink (ŠTY) 401, 404; to eat (LḤM) 401, 402 n.11, 405 n.26; ’el (god) 399 n.1, 399 n.3, 404–5, 406 n.30; El (yštql) 405 n.23, 405 n.25, 406, 409– 12, 412 n.43; feast/feasting 416; (language and practicalities of 401–8; as ritual activity 400 n.6, 401; social dynamics of 408–14, 410 n.40); to feed (Š-stem/Dstem) 401 n.9, 405 n.26; footstools (hdmm) 406; fruit (pr) 405; game (mṣd) 403, 403 n.16; honey (nbt) 405; ’ilu 399 n.1; to invite (ŠR) 401; Kirta 400, 400 n.5, 402 n.11, 405–6, 408–9, 452; kl 412 n.48; marziḥu 405; Mot 412–15, 412 n.46; môtu (death) 412 n.45; olive oil (zt) 405; paramythological texts 400 n.5; pot (ḫptr) 406; prominence of food in Ugaritic myth 400–1; qran 412–13 n.48; Rapa’ūma texts 400 n.5, 404 n.21, 405–6; Rapi’u 404, 404 n.21; rbt aṯrt ym (lady who treads on the sea) 399 n.3; royal beverage 404; (foaming wine (ḫmr) 404; new wine (trṯ) 404, 404 n.22, 540; restoration (yn) 357, 365, 377, 403 n.14, 404, 413, 530, 533, 535, 539–41, 539 n.8, 550–1, 558; wine

SUBJECT INDEX

(yn) 404); ṣḥn 412–13 n.48; ṣḥt 413 n.50; šulḥan (table) 416, 416 n.57, 539; tables (ṯlḥn) 406, 518 n.19; under the tables (tḥt ṯlhnt) 406; thrones (kḥṯm) 406; yammu (sea) 410 n.38 ‘Umayri, Tall al- 102, 106 United Monarchy 88, 203, 559 urbanization 63 Uriah the Hittite 136, 303, 377 Uzziah 65 vegetables (zērōa’/yārāq) 5–6, 28, 30, 38, 48, 104, 128, 139, 194, 267, 308, 336, 339–41, 426, 467, 483, 500, 549; bitter vetch 152, 340, 426; broad bean (pôl) 150–1, 340; carrots 483; chickpea (ḥāmîṣ) 139, 151, 340, 426; cucumbers (qiššû’îm) 148–9, 340, 483; cucurbits 148; fava beans 149, 426; garlic (šûm) 149–50, 159, 161, 340, 483; gourds (paqqʿuôt/pěqāʿîm) 148–9, 188, 483; grass pea 426, 432, 435; ḥalamut/khobeiza (mallow) 340; leeks (ḥāṣîr) 149–50, 159, 161, 340; okra 278; lentils (‘ădāšîm) 150–1, 340, 426, 483, 499; onions (běṣālîm) 149–50, 159, 161, 340, 483; spoilage of 267, 269; (prevention (drying) 278); peas and fenugreek 152, 340; storage of 256; watermelons (’ăbbaṭṭîhîm) 149, 483 vinegar (ḥōmeṣ) 131, 141, 224, 226, 231, 276, 280–2, 472, 483 violence against poor 355 virgin oil (washed oil) 144 vitamins 146, 151, 339–40, 343; deficiency 343–4 viticulture/viniculture 5, 19, 37, 39, 125–6, 128, 133, 140, 426, 532. See also grapes (ʿēnāb)/wine (yāyin). growth season 128–31; in Syria-Palestine (Yaa) 127 volcanic eruption 27, 29. See also FL-Etna 3 eruption; Hekla eruption

581

water (mayim) 8 n.12, 28 n.11, 341, 482, 485, 501, 513; fossil water 23; jars/jugs 218–20; natural freshwater 468; seawater 23 n.5; storage/water skin 253–4; water sources 22 Weber, Max 301 wheat (ḥiṭṭâ) 5, 29, 64, 67–9, 102, 105, 107, 199, 342, 468–9, 482, 516, 551. See also bread (leḥem); grains. bread 402 n.11; domestication of 100–1; einkorn 99, 101; emmer 99–102, 425; free-threshing 101–2, 425; grinding 482; parched 278; smallgrained 425; spelt 105, 107; Triticum aestivum (bread wheat) 102, 106; Triticum dicoccum 102, 106; Triticum durum (pasta wheat) 102, 106; Triticum parvicoccum 102; wheat ostracon (Arad letter 31) 105 whole grain 99 wild game/species 63, 77, 171, 176–8, 308, 341, 416, 520. See also animals; domesticated animals. aurochs (Bos primigenius) 177; deer 176, 178, 339; gazelle 176, 178, 339; ibex (Capra ibex nubiana) 176; lion (Panthera leo) 177; wild boars (Sus scrofa) 177–8; wild sheep (Ovis) 176 winepresses 126–7, 131, 141 n.8 wineskins 131–3, 253 words (dābār) 538 X-ray diffraction (XRD) technology 227 Yarkon River basin 21–2, 25 Yavneh 228, 341 Yaṭupan 409 Yoqne’am 162, 343, 433 yeast 107, 109, 131, 273, 278, 283, 341; fermentation 282 Zincirli 305, 319–21, 319 n.1, 326, 328–9, 452–4, 458, 476 n.34, 478

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

HEBREW BIBLE Genesis 1 495–9 503 508 1:1–2:3 497 1:1–2:4 495 1–11 495 498 1:24–26 508 1:28 495 1:29–30 8 497 1:31 496–7 2–3 495 497–500 533 2:5 496 498 2:7 497–8 508 2:9 145 2:15 495 539 2:16 498 2:16–17 497 2:19 503 508 3 497 3:6 497 3:17 424 3:17–18 370 3:17–19 373 498 3:17b-19a 498 3:19 496 4 61 n.2 496 4:2 498 501 4:26 535 7:12–17 70 7:22 414 n.53 8:4 126 8:21 401 n.7 414 8:22 23 9:3 424 497 9:4 84 497 503 9:20 130 365 498 9:20–27 361 500–1 9:21 110 125 133 10:4 471 12 373 501 12:14 61 13:10 428 14:4 535

14:8 15 16:4–6 16:5–6 16:14 18 18:5–8 18:6 18:7 18:7–8 19:1–4 19:3 20 21:6 21:8 21:8–9 21:14 21:19 21:25–31 22 24:11 24:28 25:8 25:17 25:21–33:17 25:29 25:29–34 25:30 25:34 26 26:1–2 26:7–10 26:18–33 26:30 27 27:3 27:4 27:7 27:9 27:10 27:14 27:19 27:20

501 188 135 135 22 499 501 501 107 186–7 486 343 501 501 107–8 302 61 373 501 135 n.7 302 135 106 189 501 22 22 188 254 41 329 329 499 487 151 499 499 151 340 499 61 501 428 373 22 520 499 501 499 501 501 501 501 501 501 501

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

27:25 27:27–28 27:28 27:31 27:33 28:18 29:3–11 29:5 29:21–25 29:22 29:28 30:25–43 31:5 31:13 31:19 31:54 32 32:15 32:33 35:14 35:29 36–37 37:12–17 37:21 37:25 37:25–28 37–50 39 39:6 40 40:1 40:2 40:13 40:20 40:20–22 41 41–42 41–47 41:47–49 41:54–47:26 41:54–57 41:57 42:6 42:25 42:25–35 43:11 43:22 43:26 43:31 43:32 43:32–34 43:34

125 501 141 129 364 501 501 119 499 535 135 135 302 535 499 537 353 n.3 82 106 305 386 499 535 500 119 329 141 70 108 106 70 373 499 261 498 n.5 500 108 383 520 302 520 29 373 502 428 501 70 500–1 370 502 373 373 136 259 140 146–7 165 500 373 303 386 448 135 517

583

44:2 46 47 47:13 47:13–26 47:21 47:22 47:23–26 49:11 49:29 49:33 50:7–13

136 373 502 373 29 70 502 70 70 373 132 546 329 329 328

Exodus 2:6–9 2:16 2:16–22 3:8 3:17 3:26 4:25 7:28 8:3 9:13–26 9:25 9:32 10:4–6 10:5 10:12–19 11:5 12 12ff 12:3–9 12:4 12:4–9 12:5 12:6 12:8 12:15 12:22 12:27 12:34 12:39 13:6–7 13:13 15 15:17 15:27 16 16:2–3 16:3 16:4

186 254 501 145 164 164 427 227 231 189 388 107 248 388 29 140 105 270 140 270 188 303 495 501 85–6 85 308 557 488 107 164 305 107 107 490 107 79 140 533 145 373 n.3 546 358 211 500 500

584

16:8 16:11–15 16:12 16:16 16:21 16:29ff 16:31 16:36 19:6 19:16 20:8–11 20:24 21:33–34 22:1 22:5–6 22:26–27 22:31 23:14–17 23:14–19 23:15 23:16 23:19 24:1–11 24:9–11 24:18 25:6 25:30 25–31 25:31–36 26:35 28:31–34 28:33 28:41 29 29:2 29:7 29:18 29:22 29:23 29:32 29:36 29:36–37 29:40 30:23 30:24 30:25 30:25–7 30:34–35 30:35 31:12–17 33 33:4

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

500 186 358 500 500 500 500 107 162 166 500 471 n.14 518 28 304 500 82 546 252 82 60 471 276 514 134 304 304 84 227 231 389 489 502 513 559 305 515 n.11 521 144 n.15 415 506 517 506 146 108 143 500 144 n.15 118 353 n.3 120 506 84 n.7 107 189 506 144 n.15 118–19 162 162 159 490 353 n.3 158 160 n.6 304 159 164

34:18 34:18–26 34:22 34:25 34:26 34:28 35 35:8 35:28 35:14 37:17–24 37:29 39:22–26 39:36 39:37 40:11

304 134 304 304 84 502 513 378 n.9 501 521 159 158 158 119 146 159 143 506 119 353 n.3

Leviticus 1–7 1:2 1:3 1:9 1:10 1:13 1:17 2.1 2:1–3 2:2 2:4 2:5 2:5:11 2:9 2:13 2:14 3:1 3:1–17 3:3–4 3:5 3:6 3:11 3:12 3:15ff 3:16 3:17 4:8–9 5:6 5:11 5:11–12 6:11 6:13–14 6:20 7:9

507–8 507 507 401 n.7 414 506 507 506 506 107 507 507 506 107 248 107 107 506 160 n.6 507 105 489 507 559 85 506 507 401 n.7 414 507 507 401 n.7 414 506–7 503 85 82 107 507 507 119 107 248

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

7:17 7:26 7:26–27 7:31 7:32 7:33 7:34 8–9 8:2 8:12 8:31 10 10:9 10:9–10 10:12–13 10:13 10:14 10:14–15 11 11–15 11:2b 11:4a 11:4 11:7 11:7–8 11:9a 11:9–12 11:10 11:12 11:13a 11:13–19 11:20 11:20–23 11:21a 11:22 11:23 11:27 11:27–29 11:28 11:29 11:32 11:35 11:37 11:43ff 11:44–45 11:46 11:47 14:4 14:6 15:12 16:29 31

276 84 503 503 507 84 84 507 538 189 120 383 507 125 133 341 361 507 507 507 507 171 389 495 497 503–5 512 556 505 503 503 80 338 87 503 504 503 503 503 174 504 503 89–90 504 503 270 503 503 505 503 503 210 248 505 148 505 505 503 503 164 164 210 501

585

16:31 17 17:3–4 17:5 17:10–12 17:10–14 17:11b 17:13 17:19 19:6 19:10 19:19 19:23 19:23–24 19:23–25 19:36 20:24 20:27 21 21:1 21:6 21:8 21:11 21:17 21:21 22:25 23: 23:1–44 23:2 23:4 23:4–6 23:9–14 23:13 23:14 23:15–21 23:22 23:23–5 23–25 23:27 23:31 23:34 23:37 23:39 23:39–40 23:44 24:2 24:5 24:5–9 25:3 25:5 25:8–55 25:

501 497 503 507 546 503 513 503 503 276 276 141 60 140 141 141 68 n.13 145 328 506 328 506 506 506 506 414 506 5–8 304 134 304 304 107 304 141 278 304 60 104 552 304 141 501 501 304 304 304 145 304 144 n.15 383 108 415 506 130 60 304 21–22 261

586

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

25:23 25:29 26:3–4 26:4 26:4–10 26:5 26:18–26 26:26 27:16–20 27:30–31 33–43

41 496 555 29 370 140 530 141 501 108 247 388 392 475 486 66 66 304

Numbers 4:7 5 5:16–28 6:1–8 6:3 6:15 6:19 7:13 9:1–14 9:2 9:13 10:10 11 11:4 11:4–5 11:5 11:7 11:8 11:9–10 12 13:2 13:7 13:23 14:7 14:8 15:1–16 15:4 15:5 15:6 15:7 15:8 15:9 15:19–21 17:8–11 18:11 18:17 18:18 18:21–24 19:11–13

108 506 517 536 536 516 n.13 133 280 107 189 85 107 353 303 304 304 304 546 500 148 148–9 483 500 162 187 387 490 500 160 141 164 125 140 143 496 145 507 144 n.15 141 144 n.15 141 546 144 n.15 389 146 507 85 84 66 328

19:11–17 19:11–22 19:14 19:15 19:18 21:5 22:24 24:6 24:24 25:2 26:28 26:33 28:2 28:5 28:7 28:7–10 28:11 28:16–25 28:24 28:26 29:7 29:7–11 29:12 31:27–54 33:9 34:3 35:25 36:6–9 36:7–9 36:8–9

328 328 328 325 328 164 106 130 140 471 546 41 41 n.828–29 507 414 506 118–19 109 110 304 304 414 304 501 304 304 82 145 160 120 n.10 41 41 40

Deuteronomy 1:13–17 1:25 2 2:6 3:7 3:15 3:17 3:19 5:11–12 6:3 6:11 7:12 7:12–13 7:13 8:3 8:7–8 8:7–10 8:8 8:9–10 9

29 512 304 426 512 512 514 160 512 514 145 164 512 113 144 512 512 113 n.1 261 364 386 106 512 141–2 512 530 103 113 140 143–5 165 512 378 n.8

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

9:9 9:9–10 9:16–20 9:18–19 9:18–20 9:19 11:8–12 11:10 11:10–11 11:11 11:13–15 11:14 11:17 11:18–20 11:29 12 12:5–27 12:13–14 12:15–16 12:16 12:17–19 12:18 12:20–22 12:23 12:23–25 12:23–27 12:26–27 13–15 14 14:1–2 14:2 14:3 14:3–20 14:3–21 14:4 14:7 14:8 14:11–18 14:12–18 14:19 14:19–20 14:20 14:21 14:21a 14:22–23 14:23 14:26 14:27–29 14:28–29 15:1 15:4 15:9

501 378 378 378 378 501 530 148 340 28 129 140 261 357 29 261 501 513 309 513 n.9 513 513 513 389 503 513 513 476 513 513 503 513 513 304 171 497 502 518 513 512 389 512 512 80 513 87 338 513 174 89 513 504 84 227 231 276 389 502 513 518 66 513 110 513 66 261 513 261

587

15:13–14 15:19 15:19–23 15:21–22 15:23 16 16:1–8 16:1–17 16:2 16:3 16:4 16:6 16:7 16:8 16:9 16:9–10 16:11 16:12 16:13 16:13–15 16:14 16:16 16:16–17 17:1 18:1–8 18:3 18:4 18:9–14 18:11 20:6 20:19 20:19–20 21:15–17 21:18–21 22:8 22:9 23:3–6 23:24 23:24–25 23:25–26 24:6 24:10–13 24:19–21 24:19–22 24:20 24:21 25:13 26:2 26:9 26:10–14 26:14 26:51

513 513 513 513 513 304 304 514 134 514 308 557 107 276 304 488 514 514 514 304 514 514 130 304 426 514 514 304 514 513 513 308 120 518 328 130 141 140 513 140 370 41 134 351 49 60 552 141 60 513 188 387 471 60 513 115 144 104 141 68 n.13 130 164 66 304 325–6 328 375 546 5

588

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

27:4–8 27:7 28 28:3 28:3–6 28:8 28:11 28:11–12 28:12 28:17–18 28:22 28:22–24 28:23–24 28:26 28:30 28:30–31 28:33 28:38–42 28:39 28:39–45 28:40 28:42 28:48 28:51 28:51–57 28:53–57 29:6 31:10 32 32:2 32:13 32:14 32:32 32:37–38 32:42 32:50 33:28 34:3

309 546 189 530 512 253 530 512 261 512 270 371 29 501 521 141 530 512 512 530 261 512 125 130 270 365 113 144 270 521 113 n.1 476 521 553 133 261 29 29 165 546 130 506 416 330 n.10 129 261 145

Joshua 1–12 2:1 2:6 2:15 3 3:12 3:15 5:6 5:10–12 5:11 5:11–12 7

514 523 50 50 514 160 514 145 304 278 514 515 518

7:24 8:2 8:27 8:30–31 8:30–32 8:31 9 9:4 9:21 9:23 9:26 9:27 10:11 11:8 11:14 12:3 13 13:6 13:26 14:4 15:2 15:62 17:2 18:19 22:7–8 22:23 22:26–29 23:2 24:13

515 514 514 514 309 514 515 132 189 259 515 515 515 515 29 280 514 160 189 280 147 514 160 160 41 160 514 514 514 391 113 130

Judges 1:1–7 1:7 1:16 1:26–37 2:2–3 2:10–23 3:12–23 3:13 3:20–22 4:5 4:18–19 4:19 4:21 5 5:25 5:25–30 6:3–4 6:3–6 6:4–5 6:11 6:19

522 515 517 519 523 145 207 515 515 50 145 515 145 523 189 253 386 515 515 189 386 515 515 370 61 515 515 516 108 189

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

6:25–30 7:13 9 9:7–15 9:8 9:8–9 9:12–14 9:13 9:27 9:50–57 9:53 9:53–55 13:4 13:7 13:13 13:15 14 14:5 14:8–9 14:10–11 14:10–18 14:18 15:1 15:4–5 15:5 15:19 16:21 16:23 16:23–25 16:25 16:27 18:15 18:17 19 19:6 19:9 19:22 21:19 21:19–24 21:20–21 21:21

515 515 516 113 142 145 144 n.15 144–5 141 362 131 134 362 n.7 386 516 520 188 387 523 133 125 133 516 516 489 302 141 165 277 340 516 135 516 516 516 130 516 144 516 426 516 362 133 133 40 n.4 40 n.4 135 188 362 n.7 362 n.7 362 n.7 304 516 141 132 303 516

1 Samuel 1:1–4:18 1:3 1:3–9 1:7–10 1:8 1:9 1:9–18 1:11

309 304 516 305 378 516 133 516 520 523 516

589

1:12 1:12–18 1:13 1:13–14 1:14 1:14–15 1:15 1:24 1:24–28 2:2 2:12–14 2:12–17 2:13–14 2:15–16 2:21 2:22 2:26 2:29 2:35–36 2:36 3:9–4:1 3:14 3:19–4:1 4:11 4:18 4:20 5 5:4 6:5 6:7–10 8:1–5 8:10–18 8:13 8:14–15 9 9:13 9:16 9:22 9:22–24 9:23–24 9:24 9:25–26 10:1 10:4 10:8 10:17–27 10:24 11:15 12:16–19 13:8–12 13:9 14:24–30

376 379 134 516 125 110 133 341 189 516 518 85 n.9 516 210 516 516 516 516 516 517 107 517 516 517 517 517 391 517–18 521 270 86 517 521 108 383 39 79 517 119 n.9 517 305 383 517 343 50 119 n.9 144 n.15 211 517 546 42 517 517 29 517 546 165

590

14:27 15 15:9 15:14 15:14–15 15:21 15:22–23 16:1–13 16:2 16:2–5 16:11 16:14–20 16:20 17:17 17:28 18:21 18:27 19:9–10 19:12 20 20–21 20:5 20:6 20:24 20:24–27 20:25–29 20:27 20:29 20:30–33 20:34 21 21:2–7 21:5 21:6 21:7 22:7–8 25 25:2 25:8 25:18 25:18–19 25:35 25:36 25:37 25:44 28 28:19 28:20 28:22 28:22–25 28:24 30:12

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

277 519 517 85 517 517 414 517 519 119 n.9 517 517 517 62 132 253 105 278 62 517 517 517–8 50 309 517–18 522 517 517 303 304 303 303 515 n.12 517 517 515 n.12 519 517 517–8 517–8 65 517–8 39 62 515 n.12 61 305 105 279 518 523 523 125 133 302 518 520–1 555 133 518 327 518–19 519 518–19 519 523 47 85 385 519 279 340

31 31:11–13 31:13 2 Samuel 1 1:11–12 1:12 1:12–3:35 2:1–4 2:4–9 3:20 3:35 5:1–5 6 6:12-19a 6:18–19 6:19 7 7:13–14 8:13 8:33 9 9:5–13 9:7 9:7–8 9:9–11 9:10 9:11 9:13 9:20 11:2 11:12–13 11:13 11:21 12 12:1–4 12:14–23 12:16–23 12:20 12:24–25 13 13:5 13:5–9 13:6 13:8 13:8–9 13:23 13:27 13:28 14:2

519 376 327 519

376 376 376 327 119 n.9 376 302 305 119 n.9 518 559 518 107–8 518 523 520 160 50 515 n.12 518 303 518 39 63 261 518 518 518 519 50 303 125 136 387 376 519 519 378 144 n.15 519 361 488 523 519 383 107 487 108 107–8 519 519 302 133 134 136 141 361 362 n.7 519 119

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

15:11–12 16:1 16:1–2 16:1–5 16:4 17:8 17:28 17:29 19:25–31 19:30 19:31–40 19:32–39 19:35 19:37 21 21:1 22:8 23:4 23:11

519 340 426 142 519 39 151 105 150 386 519 283 519 39 303 519 460 328 428 373 n.3 536 28 151

1 Kings 1:9 1:9–10 1:19 1:25 1:25–26 1:41 2:7 3 3:1–15 3:9 3:12 3:15 3:16–28 3:28 4:7 4:20 4:22 4:23 4:25 4:27 4:33 5 5:2–4 5:3 5:5 5:9–11 5:13 5:25 6 6:29 6:32

85 519 560 85 519 515 n.12 560 303 515 n.12 515 n.12 519 519 522 520 520 302 520 520 n.22 460 522 520 520 n.22 63 520 362 n.7 459 520–1 107 85 141–2 63 459 158 520 308 174 520 340 69 158 118 130 522 145 145

591

6:35 7:13–14 7:13–51 7:18–20 7:42 7:48 8 8:2 8:5 8:35–36 8:37 8:62–64 8:62–65 8:65 9:15–16 9:16 10 10:2 10:4–5 10:5 10:8–9 10:21 10:27 12:32–33 13:8 14:3 14:11 16:8–10 16:9 17 17:6 17:8–16 17:10–13 17:12–13 17:14 17–18 17–19 17:19–23 18:5 18:13 18:19 18:41 19:5–8 19:5–9 19:6 19:9–18 19:11 19:16 19:19 19:21 20:12 20:16

145 446 520 143 143 515 n.12 517 522 304 520 29 270 520 560 411 304 560 119 n.9 120 158 79 158 303 460 520 515 n.12 523 521 146 304 106 107 256 80 521 361 133 29 521 521 120 523 108 210 29 370 373 n.3 40 n.4 50 149 521 63 303 515 n.12 521 521 521 521 108 521 28 144 n.15 386 521 361 125

592

21 21:1–3 21:2 21:9 21:12 21:19 21:27–29 22:40 22:50 25 2 1:2 1:6 2:9 2:20 2:20–21 3:4 3:4–8 3:19 4:1–7 4:2 4:3 4:8 4:10 4:38 4:38–40 4:39 5:17 6:22–23 6:22-23a 6:23 6:23b 6:24 6:25 6:25–29 6:26–27 6:26–30 6:28–29 7:1 7:16 8:32 9:10 9:21 9:26 9:34 9:34–37 9:34–39 13 14:7 17:23 18:27 18:31

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

125 128 340 521 39 41 148 158 377 n.6 377 n.6 80 377 329–30 329–30 158 Kings 50 50 41 210 160 n.6 70 473 473 513 68 210 391 386 40 n.4 50 486 148 148 188 340 514 515 n.11 520 521 303 521 68 370 521 521 553 370 68 107 68 386 521 521 128 521 303 523 521 521 160 522 522 142

18:31–32 19:26 19:29 19:35 20:13 21:18 21:26 22:8 22:20 23:9 23:21 23:21–23 25:1–3 25:4 25:27–30 Isaiah 1 1:2–17 1:2–20 1:5–7 1:6 1:7 1:8 1:11–15 1:14 1:18 1:19 1:19–20 1:20 2:4 2:20 3:1 5 5:1–7 5:1–8 5:2 5:4 5:5–6 5:6 5:7 5:8–12 5:10 5:11–12 5:11–13 5:12 5:20 5:22 6 7:25 8:19–20

522 149 130 261 522 158 158 158 522 330 n.10 517 522 304 309 374 158 303 517 519 522–3

530–1 530 530 530 532 119 144 n.15 530–2 130 148–9 414 304 29 261 530 532 530 530 130 270 532 374 125 130 141 529 531 141 130–1 270 270 531 29 130 531 531 141 359 374 136 302 531 555 538 360 531 538 130 327

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

9:10 16:7 16:8 16:9 16:10 17:6 18:5 19.3 19:8 21:5 24:7 24:7–11 24:13 25:6 25:6–8 25:6–10 25:7 25:8a 28 28:2 28:7–8 28:17 28:25 28:28 29:9 30:13 30:23 30:24 30:29 31:9 32:9–13 33:20 34:4 34:6 36:12 36:16 36:16–17 36:17 37:30 40:19 40:20 40–54 40–55 41:7 41:17–20 43:16–21 43:24 44:3 44:15 44:19 46:5–6 47:2

146 108 130 142 141 362 115 144 130 141 327 171 n.1 119 133 362–3 115 532 302 415 460 532 311 532 415 n.56 158 29 136 360 29 105 158 86 110 133 491 261 151 303 247 261 304 142 416 374 531 142 531 374 261 530 140 n.4 361 530 530 361 530 530 530 530 108 489 530 188

593

48:20–21 49:9–10 49:26 51:17 51:17–22 51:17–23 51:21 55 55:1–2 55:1–3 55:2 55:10 56:1–8 56:11–12 56–66 57:6 58:1–14 58:3 58:5 58:7 58:10–11 61:1 61:11 62:9 63:1–6 63:3 64:1 64:8 65:3–4 65:3–5 65:4 65:8 65:11 65:12 65:13 65:13b 65–66 66:3 66:17

530 530 132 136 312 535 136 311 530 530 530 530 28 530 136 530 305 377 375 375 424 357 120 148 131 135 531 531 491 209 326 305 505 530 125 364 530 530 530 530 530 80 530

Jeremiah 1 1–24 1:10 1:11–12 1:13 2 2:7 2:20 2:21 3:3 4:26

533 538 533 533–5 146 211 534 534 534 141 534 29 531 535

594

5:10 5:12 5:17 5:22 5:26–28 6:9 7:12–14 7:18 7:18–20 7:20 7:21–23 8:13 8:16 9:19 9:20 10:4 10:5 11:16 11:16–17 11:17 12:2 12:14 12:15 12:17 13:12 13:13 13:13–14 14 14:3–6 14:4 14:7 14:7–10 14:12 14:12–16 14:13 14:15 14:18 14:19–22 15:2 16:5 16:5–8 16:6–7 16:7 16:8 16:16 18:1 18:6 18:7 18:9 18:21 19:1

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

531 535 374 142 531 535 536 355 141 309 50 108 390 140 414 142 535 531 391 391 361 149 145 534 534 534 534 534 534 132 136 536 29 374 535 546 374 374 377 n.7 374 375 375 375 374 374–5 304–5 326 375 327 327 n.8 302 171 n.1 537 209 533–4 533–4 374 211

19:9 19:13 20:4 21:7 21:9 24 24:2 24:3 24:6 25 25:1–14 25:9 25:10 25:11 25:12 25:15 25:15–16 25:15–28 25:15–29 25:16 25:17 25:18 25:26 25:27 25:27–28 25:28 26:28 27:8 27:13 28:8 29:5 29:17–18 29:28 30–33 31:5 31:12 31:13 31:14 31:28 31:29–30 31:40 32:15 32:24 32:26 32:41 34:17 34:18–20 35:6 35:8 37:21 38:2

553 50 537 374 537 374 189 130 142 533–4 533 535–6 537 537 188 387 537 537 353 535 536 136 312 533 537 553 536–7 535 537 535 537 125 133 536–7 535 535 537 374 374 374 140 535 374 140 535 534–5 130 140–1 535 144 261 386 132 356 534 537 534 535 374 374 534 374 515 n.11 133 133 108 383 482 374

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

40:10 40:12 41:8 42:10 42:17 42:22 44:13 44:15–25 44:17 44:19 45 45:4 46:7–8 46:21 46:31–33 48:32 48:32–33 48:33 49:12 50–51 51:7 51:39 52:18 52:22

142 144 n.15 142 144 n.15 144 533–4 374 374 374 390 50 390 108 534 533–4 536 47 531 535 142 141 362 136 553 533 353 533 537 553 133 302 210 143

Ezekiel 1:1–3:15 1–5 1–24 2–3 2:6 2:7 2:8 2:10 3:1 3:3 3:4 3:9 3:14 3:16–5:17 3:26–27 4 4:9 4:9–11 4:12 4:12–14 4:14 5:10 5:12 5:16–17 6:11

538 537–8 537 n.6 538 538 538 538 538 538 538 538 538 538 538 538 538 105 107 150–1 340 538 487 538 276 539 553 539 539 539

595

6:12 6–32 7:15 8:7–13 11:7 11:7–11 11:11–13 12:16 14:12 14:13 14:21 15 15:2–4 15:2 15:6 16:4 16:9 16:13 16:19 16:20 16:49 17 17:6–7 17:6–8 17:7–8 17:8 17–20 18:1 18:6 18:11 18:15 22:9 22:24 23:31–33 23:31–34 23:37 24:3–5 24:3–12 24:5 24:10 24:17 24:22 25:4 25–32 27 27:17 27:17–21 27:19 27:22 28:26 29:5

539 537–9 375 539 539 n.7 211 539 29 539 539 539 539 537 141 140 140–1 160 n.6 119 144 n.15 144 n.15 538 354 537 141 141 140 141 539 537 538 538 538 538 29 136 535 536–7 553 538 211 539 85 491 159 305 327 327 531 537 n.6 538 120 165 67 162 158 537 539

596

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

31:4 33–48 34:26 34:27 34:29 36 36:8 36:29 36:29–30 36:30 36:35–36 36:38 38:22 39:4 39:17–20 39:19–20 40–48 41:18–20 41:22 42:13 43:24 44:3 44:21 44:24 44:29–31 44:30b 45:11 45:13 45:17 45:21–24 45:23–24 45:25 46:9 46:11 46:20 46:23–24 47:10 47:11 47:12 48:18–19

140 537 537 n.6 539 29 140 539 539 n.8 539 539 539 261 533 304 29 539 305 416 539 356 539 145 539 539 160 n.6 539 133 539 304 539 389 471 n.14 539 304 304 539 304 304 304 108 108 171 n.1 160 539 539

Hosea 1–3 2:7 2:8 2:9 2:10 2:11 2:12 2:13 2:14 2:22

540 540 144 337 386 540 386 540 540 540 304 540 144 540–1

2:23 2:24 2:25 3:11 4:3 4:11 4–14 5:7 7:4 7:4–7 7:8 9:2 9:4 9:5 9:10 9:16 10:1 10:12 12:10 13:7 14 14:6 14:6–8 14:7

540 540 540 108 540 136 540 540 108 247 488 540 305 326–8 546 304 142 540 141 29 304 542 540 n.10 145 540 141

Joel 1 1:1–2:27 1–2 1:5 1:6 1:7 1:9–10 1:10 1:10–12 1:12 1:14 1:16 2 2:2–9 2:3 2:12 2:12–13 2:13 2:14 2:18–27 2:19 2:22 2:23 2:23–27 2:24–26 3:1

377 540 371 363 371 141–2 532 540 532 541 261 141–3 145 540 542 377 377 371 371 377 376 542 542 377 356–7 377 386 540–1 142 540 29 261 135 377 532

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

3:17–18 4:10

364–5 130

Amos 1:1 4:1 4:6–9 4:7 4:9 5–6 5:11 5:21 5:21–24 5:25 6:1–7 6:4 6:4–6 6:4–7 6:5 6:6 7:14 8 8:1–2 8:5–6 9:13 9:13–14 9:14 9:15

29 133 355 261 29 142 144 270 542 311 125 130 303 354 414 414 n.53 540 47 353 454 353 304 352–3 540 132 136 146 189 130 142 68 141 386 365 540 140 540 541

Obadiah 16

136 535 542

Jonah 2:10 3:5 3:5–10 3:7

[2:9 ET] 546 542 377 378

Micah 3:3 4:4 6 6:6–8 6:10–11 6:15 7:1 25:44

85 141–2 520 541 541 414 541 125 144–5 144 n.15 386 142 518

Nahum 2:11–12 3:12 3:15

542 142 270

597

Habakkuk 2:15 2:15–16 2:16 3:17 3:17–8

132 136 535 542 130 142 541

Zephaniah 1:10 1:13 2:9 3:13

280 125 365 n.10 151 541

Haggai 1:6a 1:9–11 1:11 2:11–12 2:12 2:13 2:15–19 2:16–17 2:17 2:19

363 n.9 261 541 328 144 n.15 328 261 542 29 270 142 145 259 541

Zechariah 3:10 7:2–7 7:5–6 7–8 8:12 8:18–19 8:19 10:1 10:7 12:2 14 14:5 14:16–18 14:17 14:20–21 14:21

130 142 520 541 376 529 378 542 376 376 29 542 362 136 312 535 542 541 29 303 29 541 204 541 210

Malachi 1:6–8 1:7–8 1:13 2:3 3:9–10 3:10–11 4:1 4:2

415 541 541 303 541 261 541 247 47

598

Psalms 1:1 16:1b 16:3–4 16:5–6 16:8 18:7–15 18:8 21:9 22:23 22:26 23:5 23:5b 23:6 27:4 27:6 27:8 29 35:13 36–37 37:19 37:25 40:7 45:8 47 50:5 50:8–9 50:9 50:12–13 50:13 50:14 51:7 51:18–19 51:18–21 52:8 60:3 60:5 65:9–13 69:12 69:21 75:8 75:9 78:18–31 78:24 78:47 80:8–16 80:9 80:23 81:16 82 84:4 84:6

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

549 547 546 546 547 28 536 247 [22:22 ET] 546 357 546 416–17 546 547 547 547 546 548 547 375 546 357 549 546 144 n.15 162 547 546 546 47 414 546 506 29 546 546 145 312 535 261 362 n.8 280 312 353 535 546 29 29 125 130 130 165 547 n.9 303 29

92:12 93 95–99 104 104:13–15 104:14–15 104:15 104:16 104:27–28 105:32 105:36–37 105:40–41 106:28 107:3 107:9 107:22 107:36–38 116:17 119:103 120–34 127:1–2 128:2 128:3 132:15 136:25 141:4 145:14–17 145:15–16 146–150 146:7 147 147:8 147:9 147:14 147:15–17 148 148:7–9

145 547 547 547 547 364 547 119 133 548 547 556 29 546 546 546 130 547 546 261 546 166 548 106 134 548 141 357 547 549 n.14 547 547 556 547 547 29 547 547 547 29 29 29

Proverbs 1–9 1:31 2:18–22 3:9–10 4:17 4:18–19 5:3 5:3–4 5:5–6 7:14 7:17 9 9:1

545 549–50 549 n.13 561 550 550 364 549–50 550 166 550 550 546 548 n.11 162 548 550 550

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

9:1–5 9:6 9:17–18 10:3 10:26 10–29 10–31 11:1 12:11 15:15 15:17 16:15 16:24 17:1 19:24 20:1 20:13 20:17 21:17 22:9 23:6 23:21 23:29–35 23:34 24:31 25:16 25:21–22 25:27 26:1 27:7 27:25 28:3 28:19 28:21 30:14 30:33 31 31:4–9 31:6–7 31:27

550 550 550 549 280 549 549 n.13 545 68 n.12 496 548 302 148 549 29 166 305 210 136 548 548 125 136 424 549 549 136 358 133 151 166 549 166 30 538 149 30 548 548 188 189 385 358 362 549

Job 1:1–5 1:1–22 1:3 1:4–5 1:5 1:6–22 1:12 1:13 1:13–19 1:14

550–1 550 61 302 550 134 550 550 145 550 550 103

599

1:15 1:16 1:17 1:18 1:19 2:1–10 6:6 8:12 10:10 21:20 21:25 24:4–6 24:4–11 24:11 30:7 30:27 31:40 32:19 34:20 38:41 40:15 41:7 41:23 42:11 42:11–17 42:11–18 42:12

550 550 550 550 550 550 160 340 149 283 535 328 546 551 549 n.13 125 151 491 270 132 536 547 149 171 n.1 491 327 551 550 550 551

Song of Songs 1:1 1:2 1:3 1:4 2:3 2:4 2:5 2:11–13 2:13 2:15 4:3 4:10 4:11 4:12 4:13 4:14 4:15 4:16 5:1 5:10–16 5:12 5:13 5:16

551 551 551 551 140 552 551–2 551–2 23 551 130 143 551 551 551 140 140 143 144 n.12 551 162 164 551 551 551 125 140 551 551 551 552 552

600

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

6:2 6:7 6:7 11 6:11 7:2 7:3 7:8 7:9 7:12 7:13 8:2 8:7 8:11–12 50:27

140 143 551 140–2 147 551 551 [ET 7:2] 551 125 145 551 551 142 551–2 551 41 142 159–60 551–2 551 551 554 n.21

Ruth 1 1:1 1:4 1:19 1:22 2:2 2:3–7 2:4 2:6 2:8–16 2:9 2:10 2:14 2:17 2:17–18 2:21 3:3 3:7 3:15 4:5 4:10 4:13 4:16 4:17 4:21 4:21–22

428 29 373 552 391 552 552 104 552 552 552 552 552 105 133 278 280 552 552 104 552 119 144 n.15 552 133 362 n.7 552 553 552 552 553 373 391 553 553

Lamentations 2 2:6–7 2:12 2:20 2:20–22 2:22 4:2 4:5

553 304 553 553 553 304 210 303

4:7 4:9 4:10 4:21 4:21–22 5 5:4 5:9 5:9–10 5:10

29 553 553 136 535–6 553 553 553 553 553 247

Ecclesiastes 2:3 2:4 2:5 2:12–23 2:24 2:25 3:13 5:15–16 5:17–18 5:18 7:2 8:15 9:1 9:7 9:11 9:12 10:16–17 10:19 11:1–2 11:3 12:5 1:2–4 1:3 1:5 1:5–8 1:7 1:9 1:10 2:9 2:18 3:15 4:1–4 4:3 4:15–16 4:15–17 5:4–5 5:6 5:6–8 5:8 5:12

363 140 140 144 n.12 363 554 554 364 554 554 554 364 302 362 n.7 364 554 364 125 134 362 n.7 364 554 554 171 n.1 303 303 362 n.7 363 282 554 28 146 555 555 555 555–6 125 133 555 134 362 n.7 555 555 555 377 555–6 555–6 377 555 554 555 555 555

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

5:14 6:14 7:1–9 7:2 7:7 7–8 7:9–10 8:17 9:17 9:17–18 9:18 9:19 9:22 9:31 14:17

554 555 555 554 554 377 556 554–5 555 555 555 554 555 376 555

Daniel 1 1:5 1:5–16 1:8 1:11–16 1:12 1:15 1:16 5 5:1–4 5:1–5 5:20–22 5:21–23 5:23 7:9 9:3 9:19 10:2–3 11:30

505 63 556 303 556 148 148 556 555 148 556 557 520 557 557 557 29 378 378 378 471

Ezra 1–6 3:4 3:5 3:7 4:1–5 4:9 4:24–6:15 5:1–6:15 6 6:1–12 6:6–7 6:9 6:9–10 6:16

557 557 n.28 557 n.29 304 304 69 303 558 557 555 557 n.29 557 n.29 558 558 558 558 160 n.6 560

601

6:16–18 6:17 6:19 6:19–22 6:20 6:22 7–10 7:22 8:21–23 10:6

557 557 557 304 557 557 557 560 557 n.28 160 377 558

Nehemiah 1–13 1:1 1:1–7:5 2:1 2:1–8 2:8 3:3 3:8 3:11 4:9 5:1–13 5:2–3 5:11 5:11–12 5:14–19 5:17–18 5:18 5:19 8:13–8 8:15 8:17 9:1 9:5 9:15 9:25 10:34 12:39 13:16

558 555 558 141 559 140 144 n.12 171 n.1 280 159 108 558 559 558 145 558 558 303 559 558 304 145 560 377 n.6 369 369 144 304 171 n.1 68 171 n.1 280

1 Chronicles 1 1:7 9:30 9:31–32 9:32 10:11–12 12:38–40 12:39 12:40–41 15:25–16:3

545 471 159 383 108 376 303 559 559 559

602

INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

16:2–3 16:3 18:12 21:12 23:31 27:25–28 27:28 29:20–22 29:21

559 108 559 160 373 n.3 304 65 146 559 560

2 Chronicles 1 1:15 2:3 2:13–14 4:7 4:19 4:20 7 7:1–10 7:7 7:8 7:8–9 7:8–10 8:13 9:27 11:11 16:14 17:11 20:25–28 20:32–36 21:16 23:18 25:11 26:10 28:15 29:20–24 29:30 29:35 29:30–36 30:1 30:13–27 31:5 33:14 35:1–18 35:13

545 146 304 446 144 517 144 559 560 560 560 560 304 304 146 63 159 70 559 n.32 560 n.35 61 558 160 65 145 560 558 560 560 560 560 120 171 n.1 280 304 210

APOCRYPHA/DEUTERO-CANONICAL BOOKS Tobit 1:10–11 556 4:17 326 546 Judith 8:5–6 10:5

375 556

Sirach/Ecclesiasticus (Sir) 7:33 326 30:18 326 546 34:31 554 35:5 554 49:1 554 1 Maccabees (1 Macc) 1:47 504 1:62–63 556 6:34 140 n.4 12:1–4 556 2 Maccabees (2 Macc) 6–7 556 6:18 504 DEAD SEA SCROLLS 4QSama 302 n.6 PSEUDEPIGRAPHA Letter of Aristeas 15.143–47 504 NEW TESTAMENT Matthew 13:24–30 469 23:23 163 24:41 388 Mark 2:22

131, 133

Luke 17:35

388

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Abdelhamid, S. 253 Abernethy, A. T. 8, 529–30, 529 n.1, 532 Abou-Assaf, A. 474 Abrantes, F. 23 Abu El-Haj, N. 431 Abu Rabia, A. 340–1 Ackerman, S. 385, 539 n.7 Adam, K.-P. 8, 417 n.58, 456, 517, 520 Adamson, P. B. 284 Aharoni, Y. 18–19, 21, 105, 120, 309, 471, 471 n.15 Ahituv, S. 106 Ahmed, S. 273 Aja, A. 192 Albenda, P. 520 n.24 Albertz, R. 499, 501 Albright, W. F. 276, 282 Alcock, J. 161–2 Alexandre, Y. 457 Alhaique, F. 84 Ali, N. 220–3, 225, 229 Al-Khusaibi, M. 280 Allaby, R. G. 101 Allentuck, A. E. 429 Allison, P. M. 385 Alster, B. 306 Altmann, P. 7, 171 nn.1–2, 174, 174 n.4, 298, 300–1, 305–6, 311, 339, 370, 372–3, 373 n.3, 424–5, 454, 454 n.20, 495 n.1, 501, 504, 511, 511 n.3, 512 n.5, 513 n.9, 514 n.10, 515 n.12, 522–3, 522 n.29, 553 Álvarez-Mon, J. 456 Al-Waili, N. S. 276 Amar, Z. 118, 176 Amerine, M. A. 129, 133 Amiry, S. 115, 386, 389, 391 Ammar, H. 389–90, 393 Amrani, A. 341 Andersen, F. I. 414 n.53, 481 Anderson, E. C. 24 n.6 Anderson, E. N. 432 Anderson, G. A. 372 Aouizerat, T. 109, 218, 282, 341

Appadurai, A. 423, 445 n.3, 446, 457, 511, 522–3 Applebaum, S. 269 Appler, D. A. 521, 523 Arbesmann, R. 375, 378 Arbuckle, B. S. 91 Archer, J. E. 268 Arensberg, B. 344 Arenson, S. 160–1, 280 Arie, E. 201 Arnold, D. 369–70 Arnold, E. 91 Arnold, J. R. 24 n.6 Arranz-Otaegui, A. 101 Artzy, M. 279 Aschenbrenner, S. 128 Aster, S. Z. 222 Atici, L. 86 Aubet, M. E. 120–1 Aufrecht, W. E. 473 n.24, 474 nn.26–8 Auld, A. G. 376 Avitsur, S. 22, 226, 482 Avrahami, Y. 9 Avruch, K. 68 Ayali-Darshan, N. 412 Ayalon, A. 24 Ayalon, E. 22, 226, 252 Baadsgaard, A. 52, 246–7, 388 Bach, R. 533–4 Badr, A. 101 Bailey, C. 29 Baker, C. D. 432 Bakker-Heeres, J. A. H. 281 Bakler, N. 21 Balentine, S. E. 551 n.16 Ballard, R. D. 67, 121, 253, 258 Baly, D. 129 Bar-Giora, N. 343 Barjamovic, G. 149, 163, 165, 280 Barkay, G. 326, 330 Bar-Matthews, M. 24 Barnes, G. 267

604

Barnett, W. K. 197 Bar-Oz, G. 176, 269, 339, 343, 429 Barr, J. 484 Barstad, H. 304 Barth, F. 300 Barthes, R. 529 Barton, J. 414 n.53 Bartosiewicz, L. 86 Bar-Yosef, O. 252, 279 Basson, P. 218, 221 Baumgartner, W. 159 Beck, P. 445 n.2, 450 n.10 Beit-Arieh, I. 22, 252, 474 n.29 Belasco, W. 1–2, 6 Bell, C. M. 298, 326 Belmaker, M. 339 Belnap, D. 403 n.15, 405 n.27, 410–11 Bemiller, J. N. 283 Benenson, I. 257, 261 Bennett, J. L. 84 Ben-Shlomo, D. 143, 201, 203, 222, 241, 429, 432–3 Ben-Tor, A. 257 Ben-Yosef, E. 79 Benzaquen, M. 340 Bergman, J. 305 Berlin, A. 552 n.20, 553 Berlin, A. M. 11 Berthon, R. 78 Betancourt, P. P. 11 Beuken, W. A. M. 530 Bidmead, J. 254 Bierling, M. R. 120 Biers, W. R. 199 Biran, A. 119, 310, 325 Birot, M. 319 Blackburn, C. de W. 267 Blackman, W. S. 389 Blanton, R. E. 52 Blenkinsopp, J. 361 Bloch, G. 277 Bloch, M. R. 160 Bloch-Smith, E. 132, 280, 321–3, 327, 330 Block, D. I. 356 Bodenheimer, F. S. 500 Boëda, E. 191 Boer, R. 59 Boertien, J. 192 Boessneck, J. 79 Bogaard, A. 91 Bonatz, D. 321, 452 Bordreuil, P. 474

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Borojevic, K. 11 n.16 Borowski, O. 101, 103–5, 114 n.5, 126, 140–52, 141 n.8, 144 nn.12–13, 161, 165, 173–4, 176, 251, 256, 260, 268, 270, 279, 322, 340, 425, 468 n.8, 469 Bottéro, J. 84–5, 149–50, 159–61, 163, 194, 306 Botterweck, G. J. 303 Bouchnick, R. 84, 91, 176, 276 Bourdieu, P. 300, 523 Bowser, B. J. 199 Bozoglu, T. F. 268, 274, 279 Bozoudi, D. 221 Bradley, R. S. 23, 28 Braudel, F. 545 n.2 Braun, E. 259 Brenner, A. 1, 511 n.3, 551 n.17, 552 Bresenham, M. F. 223, 226 Brewer, D. 87 Briant, P. 306, 308 Brody, A. J. 50, 322, 326, 328 Broshi, M. 127, 133, 338, 342, 386–7, 387 n.15 Brown, W. P. 545 n.3 Brueggemann, W. 361–3 Bruins, H. J. 101 Bryan, B. M. 446 n.6, 449 Bryan, D. B. 405 n.24 Bryer, A. 221, 227 Buccellati, G. 164 Buccellati, M. K. 164 Buckley, M. 82 Bunimovitz, S. 26, 51–2, 177, 259, 321 n.3, 330 Bürge, T. 102, 106 Burke, A. 152 Burroughs, W. J. 27 Butzer, K. W. 17 Buxton, L. H. D. 220, 227 Buzaglo, E. 201 Çakirlar, C. 78 Callot, O. 408 n.34 Campbell, E. F. 241–2, 246 Canaan, T. 389–90 Canuel, N. 101, 281–2, 282 nn.10–11 Caquot, A. 411 n.41 Carroll, R. P. 355, 531 Carter, T. 445 n.3 Cartwright, C. R. 280 Cassuto, D. 51–2 Castillo, L. J. 460 n.31, 522

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Catagnoti, A. 161 Caubet, A. 303, 404, 406 n.30 Cervigón, R. 405 n.26 Chambon, G. 160 Chapman, C. R. 41, 552–3 Chapman, S. B. 373 Charles, M. P. 161 Chernin, K. 392 Chernoff, M. 386, 390–1 Childe, V. G. 86 Cho, P. K.-K. 302, 306, 312, 415, 415 n.56, 460, 532, 551 Chou, C. 6 Christensen, D. L. 535, 537 Ciezadlo, A. 389 Cinamon, G. 65 Clements, R. E. 8 n.12 Clifford, R. J. 530 Cline, E. H. 19, 21, 24 n.8, 37, 281 Clines, D. J. A. 416, 416 n.57 Cochavi-Rainey, Z. 68 Cogan, M. 519–20, 520 n.24 Coggins, R. J. 356 Cohen, A. P. 300 Cohen, M. 7, 495 n.1 Cohen, S. L. 28, 79 Cohen-Weinberger, A. 199, 201, 201 n.4, 387 Colburn, H. P. 448 n.8 Coleman-Jensen, A. 428 Collins, B. J. 81, 87, 91 Collins, J. J. 556 n.25 Collon, D. 450, 454 Connolly, B. 9 Cooke, R. 276 Cooley, R. E. 326 Cooper, A. 502 Cope, C. 84, 276 Cornelius, I. 450 n.10 Costin, C. L. 446 n.4 Cotton, H. 283 Counihan, C. M. 2 n.3, 391–2, 423 Cox, J. 129–30 Cox, J. K. 376 Crabtree, P. J. 87, 89 Cradic, M. S. 322 Cramp, L. J. E. 228 Crenshaw, J. L. 364 Cribb, R. L. D. 83 Croft, P. 343 Cross, F. M. 63, 457, 457 n.27, 468, 474 n.26 Crouch, C. L. 377 Crowfoot, G. M. 450 n.10, 470

605

Crowfoot, J. W. 450 n.10, 470 Crowley, J. L. 305 Cruz-Uribe, K. 308 Cunchillos, J.-L. 405 n.26 Curci, A. 81 Currid, J. D. 252, 273, 284 Curry, A. 277 Curtis, R. I. 276, 282–3 Dagan, A. 217 Dahl, G. 83 Dalix, A-S. 87, 87 n.12 Dalley, S. 163–4 Dalman, G. H. 103, 105, 165, 237–40, 238 n.1, 239 n.2, 242–5, 259–60, 278, 283 Dan, J. 20–1 Dando, W. A. 369 Dar, S. 59, 131 Dark, P. 269 Daunay, M.-C. 148 Dave, D. 273, 276, 280 Davis, A. R. 310 Davis, E. F. 496, 500, 541 Davis, S. J. M. 80, 84 Dawdy, S. L. 423 Dayagi-Mendels, M. 107–8, 110, 253 Dayan, T. 429 Dearman, A. 473, 473 n.20 De Blij, H. J. 127 De Certeau, M. 311, 460 n.33 Decker, E. A. 280 Deckers, K. 163 Dee, M. 281 DeGrado, J. 354 de Groot, A. 252 Dehnisch, M. 191 DeMarrais, E. 460 n.31, 522 de Menocal, P. B. 27 Demetriou, K. 218 De Moor, J. C. 403 n.14 Demsky, A. 208 Dennell, R. W. 335, 342 Dercksen, J. G. 59, 66 n.12 Dershowitz, I. 277 n.4 de Vaux, R. 2 n.4, 303 Dever, W. G. 28, 38, 297 Diener, P. 87, 428, 431 Dietler, M. 298, 300, 306, 352–3, 356, 400, 400 n.6, 423, 445 n.3, 460 n.31, 511, 520 n.25, 522, 546, 556, 559 Dietrich, M. 403 n.14, 410 Dietrich, W. 511 n.3, 517

606

Dimen, M. 389 Dobbs-Allsopp, F. W. 64, 64 nn.8–9, 115, 470, 470 n.12, 471 n.15, 472 n.17 Dobereiner, J. 511–12 Dobres, M.-A. 201 Dommershausen, W. 386 n.9 Donner, H. 305 n.9 Dothan, T. 89, 143, 206 Douglas, M. 2, 87, 276, 298–9, 390, 428, 431, 496, 504 n.13, 505–6, 513, 513 n.8, 522 Draycott, C. M. 305 Driel, G. van 58, 306 Dube, M. 496 Dubisch, J. 384, 390 Du Bois, C. M. 423 du Boulay, J. 386 n.10, 390–1 Dunseth, Z. 6 Dupras, T. L. 344 Dusar, B. 25 Earle, T. 460 n.31, 522 Ebbinghaus, S. 448 n.8 Ebeling, J. R. 3 n.5, 5, 110, 141 n.8, 190, 238, 238 n.1, 240, 242, 244–5, 245 n.5, 358, 358 n.5, 360, 386, 388, 426 Eberhart, C. 506 Edelman, D. 254 Edwards, C. J. 177 Eidevall, G. 414 n.53, 540 n.10 Einsler, L. 229 Eitam, D. 115–16, 120, 282 Eliyahu, D. 21 Ellenblum, R. 28 Elliott, M. 30 n.13 Ellison, R. 163–4 Emery, K. O. 21 Enzel, Y. 25 Eph’al, I. 374 Erbele-Küster, D. 8, 498, 506 Erikísson, J. 27 n.10 Eriksen, T. H. 300 Erkmen, O. 268, 274, 279 Erlich, A. 65, 339 Ermidoro, S. 306, 520 n.26 Evershed, R. P. 90–1, 228, 261, 278 Exner, L. J. 281, 282 Exum, J. C. 551 Fabry, H.-J. 8 n.12 Fagan, T. L. 194 Fairgrieve, S. I. 344

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Fales, F. M. 69, 69 n.14 Fall, P. L. 429 Fallon, A. E. 267 Faust, A. 38–43, 51–2, 51 n.14, 59–60, 65, 89, 120, 161, 309–10, 321 n.3, 322, 330, 386, 428–33 Feder, Y. 328 Feinman, G. M. 198 Feldman, M. H. 446, 454 n.22, 457, 458 n.30 Finkelstein, I. 26, 30, 38, 43, 65, 83, 88–9, 91, 104, 127, 246, 253, 257–8, 261, 309, 340, 342–3, 388, 431, 434 Firmage, E. 87, 90 Fisher, H. S. E. 128 Fitzmyer, J. A. 475, 475 n.32 Fleming, D. E. 87, 120, 306, 308 Fleming, S. 126–7 Flesher, P. V. M. 108 Flint, P. R. 174 Forbes, D. A. 481 Forbes, H. 273 Forbes, R. J. 126 Forman, R. T. T. 17 Forti, T. 164–5, 277 Foschino, R. 278 Foster, B. R. 371–2 Foster, C. P. 3 n.5 Fowler, K. D. 216 Fowles, S. 431 Fox, M. V. 302, 548–9, 549 n.13, 549 n.15, 555 Foxhall, L. 273 Frame, G. 165 Frank, T. 6, 49, 242, 244, 246–7, 251, 251 n.1, 253, 256–7, 259–61 Frankel, R. 118, 126, 226 Franken, H. J. 217, 229 Franklin, N. 521 n.28 Freedman, D. N. 414 n.53, 468 Freikman, M. 241, 246 Frey, C. J. 429 Frick, F. S. 39 n.3 Fried, L. S. 557 n.28 Frumin, S. 268, 280, 427, 432 Fu, J. 8, 298, 300–2, 305–6, 312, 415, 415 n.56, 424–5, 460, 511–12, 512 n.5, 515 n.12, 532 Fuller, A. H. 226 Fulton, D. N. 5, 89, 173, 175–6, 308, 310–11, 450 n.10 Gadot, Y. 28 n.11, 65, 83, 91, 310, 343

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Gafri, M. 104 Gal, Z. 60, 282, 284 Galili, E. 115, 160–1, 269, 280 Gamberoni, J. 8 n.12 Gane, R. E. 306 Garfinkel, Y. 192, 197–8, 241, 243, 246, 252, 388 Garnsey, P. 369 Garraty, C. 58 Garroway, K. H. 344 Gaspa, S. 164 Gejvall, N.-G. 81 Gelb, I. 63 Gent, H. 269 Gerson, U. 269 Gerstenberger, E. S. 505 Ghaly, A. E. 273, 276, 280 Ghantous, H. 254 Gibson, J. C. L. 413 n.48, 473 n.21, 476 n.34, 476 nn.36–7 Gifford-Gonzalez, D. 423 Gilbert, A. S. 173–4, 177 Gilboa, A. 38, 162, 199, 207 Gilchrist, R. 393 Gilibert, A. 453 Gitin, S. 10, 26, 116–18, 120, 144, 253 n.4, 257 Glusker, D. L. 281, 282 Godron, M. 17 Goitein, S. D. 552 n.19 Golani, D. 172 Goldberg, P. 21 Golden, D. A. 268–9, 273, 284 Golden, J. 278 Goldstein, R. 303, 521 Gonen, R. 322 González-Marcén, P. 186 Goody, J. 2, 300, 388, 392, 423–4 Goor, A. 126, 142–3 Gophna, R. 325 Goren, Y. 199, 201, 283 Gornitz, V. 28 Gosselain, O. 201 Gottwald, N. K. 39, 41–2 Grant, E. 273, 278, 283, 386, 389 Gravani, R. B. 282–3 Gray, J. A. 283 Greco, E. 283 Green, B. 553 Green, D. J. 372, 459, 473 n.23 Greenberg, R. 65, 261 Greene, E. 67

607

Greener, A. 30 Greenfield, H. J. 78, 84, 91, 192, 276 Greenfield, J. C. 319, 326, 399 Greenhut, Z. 252 Greenstein, E. L. 407 Greer, J. S. 7, 297–9, 301, 301 n.3, 303–8, 308 n.12, 310–11, 354 n.4, 452 n.16, 458 n.30, 511 n.3, 518 n.18, 540 Gregg, M. W. 199, 220 Grigg, D. 386 Grignon, C. 353–4 Grigson, C. 78, 80, 86, 429 Grimes, R. 409, 409 n.36, 516 n.14 Grivetti, L. 134 Gross, B. 310 Gudme, A. K. 506 Guerra-Doce, E. 282 Gur-Arieh, S. 228, 240, 242, 245 n.5, 284 Guys, M. H. 217 Haas, V. 306 Habel, N. C. 550–1 Haber, A. 429 Hackett, J. A. 445 n.2, 467 n.3 Hadjikoumis, A. 81 Hadley, J. 108 Hagelia, H. 532 Haiman, M. 60 Hakbijl, T. 273 Halawani, E. M. 276 Haldane, C. 163 Hall, G. R. 281–2 Hallote, R. 322 Halpern, B. 59 Hamilakis, Y. 1, 9, 267 Hamilton, R. W. 456 n.24 Hamori, E. J. 327 Hampe, R. 218, 226 Hansen, J. 11 Haran, M. 303, 414–15, 414 n.52, 415 n.54, 452 Hardin, J. W. 5, 10, 43, 46–8, 50, 190, 199, 257, 309, 384, 390 Hardmeier, C. 496 Harlan, J. R. 106 Harris, M. 2, 87, 300, 428, 431 Harrison, T. P. 458 Hart, L. K. 389 Hartenstein, F. 545 n.3, 548 Hartley, J. E. 551 n.16 Hartmann, A. 269, 279–80 Hastorf, C. A. 6, 9–10

608

Havadja, H. 219 Haw, S. 162, 162 n.7 Hawkins, R. K. 309 Hayashida, F. M. 108 Hayden, B. 101, 281–2, 282 nn.10–11, 300, 307, 390, 423, 511, 546 Hayes, K. M. 535, 551 Hays, C. B. 415, 415 n.56 Hecker, H. M. 87 Helbaek, H. 126 Hellwing, S. 176 Helms, M. W. 446 Heltzer, M. 65, 404 Hemingway, B. 375 Hendel, R. 403–4, 414, 414 n.53 Henton, E. 91 Herbert, S. C. 11 Herbich, I. 445 n.3 Herdner, A. 411, 411 n.41 Herrmann, V. R. 83, 108 n.5, 305, 319, 321, 329, 452, 452 n.16, 458 Herzog, Z. 43, 48, 241, 251, 309 Hess, R. 281 Hess, R. S. 306 Hesse, B. 61, 82, 84, 87–9, 87 n.12, 91, 175, 177, 298, 308, 310, 338, 343, 428–9, 431–2, 496 Hesse, P. See Wapnish, P. Hill, S. 221, 227 Hillers, D. R. 399 n.4 Hirth, K. 58 Hitchcock, L. A. 240–1, 246, 305 Hjort, A. 83 Hocking, A. D. 268–9, 283–4 Hoffman, C. 201 Hoffman, Y. 529 Hoffmeier, J. 82 Hoffner, H. 68, 166 Höflmayer, F. 281 Holladay, J. S., Jr. 45, 47–9, 482 Holt, E. 536–7 Homan, M. M. 108–10, 192, 282, 282 n.11, 358, 358 n.5, 360, 388 Homrighausen, J. 481 Honeyman, A. M. 209 Hooke, J. M. 25 Hoopes, J. W. 197 Hopf, M. 99, 113, 127, 139 n.2, 140–3, 145, 147–52, 161, 279 Hopkins, D. C. 59, 128–9, 345 Horowitz, A. 25 Horowitz, W. 68

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Hort, A. V. D. 220, 227 Horwitz, L. K. 80, 83–4, 88–9, 278, 322, 343, 345, 429, 434–5 Hossfeld, F.-L. 545 n.3 Hovers, E. 384, 387 Huehnergard, J. 412 n.48 Huerta-Espino, J. 270 Hunt, L. 191 Hunt, M. 132 Hussain, I. 273 Hussein, M. M. 457 n.27 Hutton, J. M. 511 n.1, 517–18 Hutton, R. R. 537 Ikram, S. 81, 85, 276, 279, 281 Ilan, D. 6, 252, 256 Irudayaraj, D. S. 531 Isaac, J. 337 Issar, A. S. 23–5, 27–8 Itach, G. 222 Itan, Y. 277 Jacob, I. 161–4 Jacob, W. 161–4 Jacoby, G. 320 Jaffe, Y. 430 James, F. W. 209 Jandal, J. 83 Janick, J. 148 Janowski, B. 545 n.3, 547–8 Jastrow, M. 133 Jay, J. M. 268–9, 273, 280, 284 Jenkins, N. H. 1 Jerome, N. 1 Jindo, J. 533 Joannes, F. 306 Joffe, A. H. 39 n.3, 148, 282 Johnston, P. 322, 326–7 Jones, S. 431 Julier, A. 2 n.3 Jursa, M. 58 Kader, A. A. 269 Kalisher, R. 6 Kallner, D. H. 19 Kaminska-Szymczak, J. 104 Kamp, K. A. 259 Kang, H. 243 Kaniewski, D. 22, 24–5, 27–8 Kansa, S. W. 177, 430 Kaplan, J. 178, 278 Kaplan, S. L. 423

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Katz, H. 322 Katz, S. 126–7 Kaufman, A. 24 Kaufman, I. T. 41, 469, 475 n.31 Kedar-Kopfstein, B. 303 Keel, O. 497, 502, 502 n.10 Kelhoffer, J. 90 Kellogg, S. H. 276 Kelso, J. L. 209–11, 210 n.10, 261, 482–3 Kenyon, K. M. 120, 470 Kerner, S. 6 Kessler, M. 533 Khazanov, A. 60–2 Killebrew, A. E. 203, 257, 307, 483 King, P. J. 41–2, 51, 106, 144–6, 144 n.15, 199, 260, 279, 304, 468 n.8, 512 n.5, 515 n.12 Kinnier-Wilson, J. V. 426 Kisilevitz, S. 309 Kislev, M. E. 102, 163, 174, 252–3, 269, 279–80, 425–7, 432 Klawans, J. 326, 328, 414 n.53 Kleiman, A. 64 n.11 Klein, J. A. 2, 517 Klein, R. W. 559–60, 560 n.35 Kletter, R. 310 n.13, 341 Klimscha, F. 252 Klingbeil, G. A. 306, 521 Klippel, W. E. 81 Knapp, A. 518 Knapp, A. B. 370 Kneller, M. 23 Knierim, R. 496 Knoppers, G. N. 309, 311 Koch, I. 64, 448 n.9, 520 Koehl, R. 448 n.8 Koehler, L. 159 Kofel, D. 102, 106 Koh, A. J. 11, 159, 281, 426–7 Kohl, P. 431 Köhler-Rollefson, I. 80, 429 Koller, A. 405 n.27, 450 n.10, 457, 458 n.30 Kolska-Horwitz, L. 83–4 Komaroff, A. 140 Kopytoff, I. 457 Korpel, M. C. A. 415, 530 Korsmeyer, C. 2, 267 Körting, C. 376, 379 Kozuh, M. 82 Kraemer, D. 339 Kramer, C. 200, 247, 259 Kratz, R. G. 557 n.28, 558

609

Krüger, T. 9 n.13, 364, 554 Kunin, S. D. 505 Kutluca, S. 277 Kutsko, J. F. 539 n.8 Kyriakopoulos, Y. 230 Labianca, Ø. S. 39 n.3 Lafarge, V. 278 Laffineur, R. 305 Lam, J. 7, 415 n.55 Lamberg-Karlovsky, C. C. 38 Lambert, D. 377 Lang, B. 305 Langacker, R. W. 485 Lange, S. 321, 452 Langgut, D. 25–7, 30–1, 143, 158, 163, 310, 340, 427 Langridge-Noti, E. 228 Laslett, P. 40 Lau, H. 430 Laursen, S. 162 Lazar, D. 115 Ledenbach, L. H. 278 Lederman, Z. 26, 177, 253 Lee, E. 552 n.20 Legge, A. J. 85 Le Lannou, M. 386 Lemaire, A. 120, 329, 470 n.13, 471 n.14, 472 nn.16–18 Lemos, T. M. 39 Lenski, G. E. 383 n.2 Lentacker, A. 86 Lepsius, C. R. 279 Lernau, H. 171–2, 339, 427, 435 Lernau, O. 11 n.16, 171–3, 279–80, 283, 339, 343, 504 Lesko, B. S. 389 Lev, E. 280 Levenson, J. D. 555 Levin, S. 276 Levine, B. A. 38 Levine, E. 177 Lévi-Strauss, C. 2, 4, 516 n.15 Lev-Tov, J. S. E. 5, 80–1, 83, 86–9, 306–8, 322, 341, 428–9, 432–3 Levy, T. E. 83, 297 Lewis, T. J. 304–5, 326–8 Libby, W. F. 24 n.6 Lichtenstein, M. 405 n.26 Lichtheim, M. 372 Liebowitz, A. 191 Liebowitz, H. 448–9

610

Lim, T. K. 114, 114 n.3 Limet, H. 383 Linares, V. 164 Lindenberger, J. M. 136 Liphschitz, N. 140, 426 Lipka, H. 360 Lipschits, O. 64, 257 n.8, 310 Lipton, D. 357 Lis, B. 228 Litopoulou-Tzanetaki, E. 278 Litt, T. 26 Liu, L. 100, 282 Liverani, M. 58, 62–3, 65, 68–9, 457 n.29, 515 n.11, 520 n.23 Lloyd, J. B. 402, 402 nn.12–13 Loader, J. A. 549 n.15 Loessner, M. J. 268–9, 273, 284 London, G. 6, 9 n.14, 197–8, 202–3, 206, 211, 217–19, 221–3, 225–6, 229–30 Longacre, W. A. 231 Longman, T. III. 147 Loretz, O. 403 n.14, 410 Loud, G. 518 n.17 Lubinsky, P. 164 Lucas, A. 160, 164–5 Lundbom, J. R. 355 Lupton, D. 384 Lusby, P. 276 Lutfiyya, A. M. 386, 389 Lutz, H. F. 126 Lyman, R. L. 276, 430 Macalister, R. A. S. 220 MacDonald, M. C. A. 78 MacDonald, N. 83, 86, 87 n.13, 140–1, 254 n.5, 276, 298, 300, 303, 309–10, 312, 337–8, 343, 370, 385, 425–6, 460, 467 n.1, 505, 511 n.3, 513, 515 nn.11–12, 518 n.19, 520, 529 n.1, 532, 549, 553, 555 Machado De-Melo, A. A. 276 Machinist, P. 306, 511 n.2, 547 MacHugh, D. E. 177 Mackenzie, D. 323–5 Madovi, P. B. 218 Maeir, A. M. 192, 201, 204, 206, 228, 240–1, 246 Maekawa, K. 63 Magaritz, M. 24 Magee, D. A. 177 Magness, J. 85, 202, 204, 468 n.8, 522 n.29, 523 Maher, E. F. 81, 88, 322, 343, 432

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Maher, E. G. 88 Maher, V. 391 Mahjoub, F. 147 Mahler-Slasky, Y. 426, 432 Maini, E. 81 Maisler (Mazar), B. 131–2, 120 Makarewicz, C. A. 91, 429 Makrides, G. 223 Malamat, A. 64 Malul, M. 498 Manclossi, F. 191 Manning, S. W. 370 March, K. S. 390–1 Marcus, M. 457 n.29 Marean, C. W. 429 Marom, N. 83, 174–5, 192, 307, 341, 429, 435 Marriott, J. 69 Marriott, N. G. 274, 282–3 Marshall, R. T. 278 Martin, M. A. S. 206, 282 Martin, S. R. 445 n.1 Marx, E. 277 Master, D. M. 39 n.3, 58–9, 63, 65, 67, 120, 192, 301 Masterman, E. W. G. 23, 276 Matoïan, V. 404 Matson, F. R. 220 Matthews, J. 344–5 Matthews, V. H. 4 n.7, 221 n.2, 529 Matthiae, P. 450 n.10 Mauss, M. 300, 511 Mayer-Chissick, U. 280 Mayyas, A. 281 Mazar, A. 24 n.8, 26, 38, 65, 90, 116–18, 164–5, 190–1, 199, 201, 201 n.5, 206, 208–9, 277, 340, 388, 427 Mazar, E. 172, 201 n.5, 253 Mazar, B. See Maisler (Mazar) Mazow, L. B. 3 n.5 Mazzoni, S. 453 McCarter, P. K., Jr. 86, 469, 518 McClure, S. B. 227 McCorriston, J. 101 McCown, C. C. 322–3 McDowell, A. G. 259 McGaw, J. A. 393 McGeough, K. 63, 65, 306–8 McGovern, P. E. 9, 126–7, 159–60, 163, 199, 281–2 McKane, W. 536, 536 n.4 McKee, L. W. 423

INDEX OF AUTHORS

McKinny, C. 246 McLaughlin, J. L. 304, 352 n.2, 353, 405 n.24, 539 n.7, 540 McNutt, P. 39 n.3, 200 Meadow, R. H. 430 Meiberg, L. 448 n.8 Meigs, A. S. 276 Meiri, M. 89, 91, 431 Melamed, Y. 102, 269 Mendel-Geberovich, A. 280, 470 n.13 Mershen, B. 223 Meshel, N. S. 503 Mettinger, T. N. D. 445 Meyers, C. 7, 40–3, 48, 108, 148 n.19, 166 n.13, 185, 299, 301, 304, 307, 309, 311, 330 n.11, 338, 355, 363, 370, 383–5, 387 nn.13–14, 389–93, 390 n.22, 393 n.25, 476 n.35, 496–8, 501, 511 n.3, 519–20, 520 n.26, 523, 552 n.19, 556 Michael, E. 226 Mienis, H. K. 343 Migowski, C. 25 Milanesi, C. 269 Milano, L. 166 n.13 Milevski, I. 83–4, 278 Milgrom, J. 188, 261, 276, 299, 301, 305, 404, 505 Millar, W. R. 532 Millard, A. 474 Miller, C. L. 413 n.48 Miller, G. D. 80 Miller, L. H. 22 Miller, N. F. 140 Miller, W. I. 267 Miller-Naudé, C. L. 413 n.48 Mills, B. J. 199–200 Milwright, M. 217 Mintz, S. W. 1–2, 385 n.6, 423 Mobolade, A. J. 278 Molleson, T. 193, 392 Monroe, C. M. 58, 65–6 Montón-Subías, S. 186 Moran, W. L. 411 Moreau, R. E. 173 Morris, B. 2 n.1 Moustoukki, V. 223 Mueller, N. 102 Mulder, M. J. 520 Müller, M. 3 n.5, 10 Mundo, M. 276 Murdock, G. P. 383, 386 Murphy, R. E. 551

611

Murray, M. A. 161–3, 252 Murton, B. 369 Musil, A. 277 Na’aman, N. 64 Nadali, D. 9 Nadathur, S. 151 Nadel, D. 100 Nam, R. 66, 68 Namdar, D. 113, 162, 199, 228, 281–2, 341 Naroll, R. 50 Naudé, J. A. 413 n.48 Naveh, J. 469, 471 Navon, A. 252, 273, 284 Neef, R. 280 Neev, D. 21 Negbi, O. 456 n.25 Nemet-Nejat, K. R. 383 Nesbitt, M. 425–7 Netser, M. 101 Netting, R. M. 38 Neufeld, E. 164–6, 165 n.12 Neumann, F. H. 26 Neumann, R. 228 Newsom, C. A. 550–1 Nieuwenhuyse, O. P. 83 Nissenbaum, A. 160–1 Nogalski, J. D. 376, 540 n.9 Norris, A. L. 219 North, D. 58, 66 Notley, R. S. 18–19, 22 Nowicki, S. 158 O’Connor, M. 405 n.24 Odell, M. S. 537 n.6, 538 Ofer, A. 60 Ohnuki-Tierney, E. 2, 4 n.9, 10 Ohnuki-Tierney, O. 390 Olivier, J. P. J. 165 Olsvig-Whittaker, L. 426 Olyan, S. M. 327, 513 n.8 Onnis, F. 458 n.30 Oomah, B. D. 151 Oppenheim, A. L. 176, 414 n.52 Orendi, A. 102–3, 163 Osborne, J. F. 330, 454 n.19, 458 Osborne, R. 307 Oshima, T. 68, 306 Ott, K. 496 Otto, A. 11 Ottosson, M. 8 n.11 Öztan, A. 91

612

Pace, L. 6, 523 Padilla-Zakour, O. I. 276 Palmer, C. 220–1, 277–8, 281, 283, 340, 343–4, 386 n.11, 392 n.24 Panagiotakopulu, E. 272–3, 284 Panayiotou, A. 226 Panitz-Cohen, N. 6, 90, 117–18, 164–5, 190–1, 199, 201, 208, 219, 277, 340, 427 Pardee, D. 63, 306, 319, 326, 329, 372, 399 n.4, 400 n.5, 401, 403 n.14, 403 n.16, 404, 404 n.17, 404 nn.19–21, 405 n.28, 407 n.31, 408, 410, 411 n.42, 412, 412 n.44, 412 n.48, 413 n.49, 469, 475, 476 n.34 Paris, H. S. 148 Parker, B. 69 Parker, B. J. 3 n.5, 239, 239 n.2, 389, 391–2 Parkes, C. M. 375 Parpola, S. 306, 518 n.18 Paul, S. 352 Paulette, T. S. 251, 428 Payne, S. 82–3 Paz, S. 190 Paz, Y. 384 n.3, 387 Pedrazzi, T. 253 Peretz, B. 344 Perry-Gal, L. 175–6, 339 Peters, K. 8, 482, 491 n.10 Petrie, W. M. F. 79, 450 Pfälzner, P. 251 Pierce, G. A. 5, 19, 21 Pike, S. 10 Pilaar, S. E. 82 Pinnock, F. 9, 305 Pitard, W. T. 321–3, 326–7, 403 n.14, 405, 406 n.29, 407 nn.31–3, 411, 411 n.42, 412 n.44, 416, 548 Pitt, J. I. 268–9, 283–4 Pittman, H. 454 n.20 Pleins, J. D. 481 Poinar, G. O. 281 Polanyi, K. 57 Pollock, S. 408 Polzin, R. 517 n.16 Popova, M. 277 Porada, E. 305, 450, 452 Porat, N. 261 Porter, B. W. 341, 428 Portugali, J. 39 n.3 Potts, D. T. 157, 160–1, 160 n.6, 163, 163 n.9 Powell, M. 161

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Pratico, G. D. 326 Price, M. D. 7, 423, 429, 433–4 Pritchard, J. B. 131, 142, 145 Provost, C. 383, 386 Psoni, L. 278 Pulak, C. 198 Quack, J. F. 372 Raban, A. 19, 21, 257 Radner, K. 69, 371 Rahmouni, A. 399 n.3 Rainey, A. F. 18–19, 22, 64–5 Rainville, L. 11, 11 n.17 Ramsay, J. 102 Rapoport, A. 42 Rapp, U. 549 n.13 Rappaport, R. A. 423 Rathje, W. L. 388 Redding, R. 85–8 Reed, S. A. 106–7, 386 n.9, 545 n.3 Reich, R. 279–80, 322 Reicke, B. 498 Reifenberg, A. 129 Reinhard, K. J. 336 Reis, P. T. 519 n.20 Reisner, G. A. 118, 469, 469 n.10 Reitz, E. 430 Renette, S. 454 Renfrew, C. 299 Renger, J. 58 Reynolds, F. 280 Ribar, J. W. 322 Rice, P. M. 198–9, 201, 220, 225, 227 n.3, 230 Richards, A. L. 1–2 Richardson, S. 372, 428 Ricoeur, P. 529 Riede, P. 174 n.4, 545 n.3 Riehl, S. 425–7, 429 Rigo, M. 69 Ringgren, H. 305 Rinker, P. 259 Ritter-Kaplan, H. 25, 178 Rivera, D. 281 Roberts, J. J. M. 361 Roberts, S. J. 84 Robertson, W. C. 371 Robertson Smith, W. 2–3, 2 n.1, 301 Robins, G. 383 Robinson, C. E. 134 Robinson, E. 273

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Robkin, E. E. 87, 428, 431 Roche-Hawley, C. 408 n.34 Roelfs, A. P. 270 Rogel, M. 238, 238 n.1, 240, 242, 244–5, 245 n.5 Rollefson, G. 429 Rollig, W. 305 n.9 Rollston, C. A. 8, 469, 471, 474 Römer, T. 511 n.1 Ronen, A. 21 Rosen, A. M. 11, 24, 429 Rosen, B. 256 Rosen, S. A. 60–1, 80, 191 Rosenau, E. 19 Rosenberg, D. 252 Rosenblum, J. D. 555 n.23 Roth, W. M. W. 407, 407 n.33 Routledge, B. E. 172, 341–2 Roux, V. 201 Rovira-Guardiola, C. 369 Rowan, Y. M. 190, 278, 426 Rozin, P. 267, 432 Ruane, N. J. 502, 507 Rundin, J. S. 450 n.12 Russell, J. M. 128 Ryder, M. 82, 84 Rzeuska, T. I. 257 Sahrhage, D. 279 Sakenfeld, K. D. 373 Salem, H. 217, 221–2, 229 Sallares, R. 22, 343 Samuel, D. 268 Sánchez-Romero, M. 186 Sanders, S. L. 23 n.4, 326–7, 329 Santini, L. 6 Sapir-Hen, L. 79, 83, 88–9, 91, 343, 427–9, 431–4, 504, 513 n.7 Sass, B. 284, 329, 450 n.11, 457, 457 n.26, 459 Sasson, A. 61, 82–3, 91, 278, 342, 351, 353, 427 Sasson, J. M. 84 n.7, 108 n.7, 149, 282, 306, 502–3 Sayej, G. J. 19 Scanlin, L. 151 Schaeffer, C. F. A. 406 Schellenberg, A. 9 n.13 Schiefenhövel, W. 432 Schiffer, M. B. 198–9, 201, 281 Schiller, E. 217 Schilling, M. W. 282–3

613

Schipper, B. U. 548, 549 n.13 Schloen, J. D. 38, 40–2, 58–9, 62 n.5, 301, 306, 319, 330 n.11, 458, 512 n.5, 515 n.12 Schmidt, B. B. 326–8, 546 Schmitt, R. 307, 309, 321, 326, 330 n.11, 390 Schniedewind, W. 336 Scholz, S. 3 n.5 Schramm, G. 3 n.6 Schroer, S. 248, 497 Schüssler Fiorenza, E. 3 n.5 Schuster, R. 283 Schwarcz, H. 344 Secoy, D. M. 272–3 Seeden, H. 223 Seger, J. D. 143, 242 Seidl, T. 546 Seidler, A. 377 Semple, E. C. 130 Seow, C. L. 375, 551 n.16 Sered, S. S. 393 Sergi, O. 64 Shafer-Elliott, C. 5, 9, 50, 107, 187, 222, 299, 307, 309, 425, 476 n.35, 483, 499, 501, 511 n.3, 523 Shahack-Gross, R. 91, 104, 228, 308, 426 Shai, I. 78–9, 201, 426–7 Shanse, J. 101, 281–2, 282 nn.10–11 Sharon, D. M. 519 n.21 Sharpe, H. G. 273 n.3 Sharvit, J. 115 Shemesh, Y. 556 n.26 Sherratt, A. G. 277 Sherwood, Y. 3 n.5 Shiloh, Y. 43–4, 46, 342 Shirihai, H. 173 Shohayeb, M. M. 276 Shukron, E. 279–80 Shuster, R. D. 229 Sibbesson, E. 267 Sideroff, M-L. 217 Silanikove, N. 277 Silberman, N. A. 431, 434 Silici, S. 277 Silver, M. 58 Simchoni, O. 269, 427 Simoons, F. J. 431–2 Sinclair, M. 217 Sindler, A. J. 267 Singer, I. 68 Singh, R. P. 270 Singleton, V. L. 129, 133

614

Sinopoli, C. M. 197–8 Sisma-Ventura, G. 280 Sivan, D. 21 Skibo, J. M. 198, 201, 228 Slater, G. F. 199, 220 Smith, A. E. 272–3 Smith, A. T. 39 n.3 Smith, E. 273 Smith, G. A. 23 Smith, J. D. 390 Smith, J. Z. 404 n.18 Smith, M. S. 360, 399–400, 403 n.14, 405, 406 n.29, 407 nn.31–3, 410–12, 411 n.42, 412 nn.43–4, 412 n.48, 416, 548 Smith, P. 83, 336, 344 Smith, R. H. 267, 269 Snaith, N. H. 29 Snyder, L. M. 81 Soler, J. 1, 428, 431, 505 Sonia, K. 326 Sparks, R. T. 191 Spiciarich, A. 174–5 Spiegel-Roy, P. 142–3 Stager, L. E. 19, 22, 38–9, 39 n.3, 41–2, 47–8, 51, 59, 63, 67, 88–9, 106, 118–19, 119 n.8, 129, 131, 144–6, 144 n.15, 199, 241, 260, 279, 282, 301, 468 n.8, 512 n.5, 515 n.12, 523 Stamatopoulou, M. 305 Stark, B. 58 Staubli, T. 248 Stein, G. J. 423, 430 Steinkeller, P. 162 Steinkraus, K. H. 281 Stewart, P. 174 Stiebert, J. 359–60 Stiebing, W. H. 79 Stier, O. B. 267 Stol, M. 84, 160–1, 164–5 Stoll, G. 273 Stone, B. J. 433 Stone, K. 498, 498 n.5 Stone, T. J. 373 Stowers, S. 390 Streck, M. P. 160 Stronach, D. 132, 456, 456 n.24, 459, 521 n.28 Struble, E. J. 108 n.5, 305, 321, 452–3, 452 n.16, 458 Strudwick, H. 372 Subías, S. M. 383–4 Sunseri, K. U. 423 Suriano, M. J. 7, 64, 321, 321 n.2, 323 n.5, 326, 328–9, 330 n.10, 546

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Suter, C. 459 Sutton, D. E. 9, 267, 298, 383, 390–3, 525 Sweeney, M. A. 520–1 Sweet, L. E. 221 Sznycer, M. 411 n.41 Tallis, N. 460 Talmon, S. 23, 471 Tamari, V. 115, 386, 389, 391 Tani, M. 231 Tappy, R. E. 321, 326–8, 469 Taqqu, R. L. 390–1 Taylor, J. E. 90 Taylor, J. R. 485, 488 Tchernov, E. 278 Temin, P. 59 Terpstra, T. 59 te Velde, H. 306 Thomas, H. 268 Thomason, A. K. 9, 521 n.28 Tierney, R. K. 2–3, 4 n.9, 10, 390 Tite, M. S. 284 Tooley, A. M. J. 193 Tsukimoto, A. 319 Tugendhaft, A. 410–11, 410 n.40, 411 n.42, 413 n.51 Turley, R. M. 268 Tushima, C. T. A. 501 Twiss, K. C. 4 n.9, 7, 423, 430 Tzanetakis, N. 278 Uerpmann, H. P. 176 Ulfgard, H. 304 Unwin, T. 129 Ussishkin, D. 322 Valla, F. 80 Vamosh, M. F. 105 van den Brink, E. C. M. 115 Van der Plich, J. 101 van der Steen, E. J. 240, 242, 389 van der Toorn, K. 305, 390 n.20, 426 Van der Veen, M. 157 Van Esterik, P. 2 n.3 van Henten, J. W. 511 n.3 Van Neer, W. 67, 86, 172, 260, 279 Vanstiphout, H. L. J. 401 n.8 van Zeist, W. 281 Vayntrub, J. 469 Veenhof, K. R. 58 Venturi, F. 256 Vila, E. 78, 87, 87 n.12 Villeneuve, S. 511

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Vincentelli, M. 198 Vita, J.-P. 404, 405 n.26 Vita-Finzi, C. 17 Vitto, F. 336 Von Den Driesch, A. 79 von Luschan, F. 320 von Rad, G. 133 Waerzeggers, C. 306 Waetzoldt, H. 386 n.7 Wagenaar, J. A. 304 Wagner, S. 385 Waiman-Barak, P. 207 Walls, N. H. 406 n.29 Walsh, C. E. 5, 132, 282, 529 Walton, J. T. 5–6, 59, 66, 457 n.29 Wanasundara, J. P. D. 151 Wandsnider, L. 283 Wapnish, P. 5, 78–80, 82, 84, 87, 87 n.12, 89, 91, 175–8, 298, 308, 310, 338, 343, 428–9, 431–2 Ward, C. 427 Warnock, P. 278 Warren, C. W. 217 Warren, N. 539 Wasserman, N. 375 Watson, J. L. 2 Watson, P. J. 259, 385–6, 393 Watson, W. G. E. 403 n.15 Webley, D. 21 Weide, A. 101 Weiner, S. 11, 228, 308 Weingarten, S. 283 Weiss, E. 99, 101, 120, 139 n.2, 140–3, 145, 147–52, 161, 163, 425–7 Weiss, H. 28 Weiss, Z. 113 Weissbrod, L. 269 Welch, E. 5 Wellman, N. S. 267 Welton, R. 7, 351, 507 Wevers, J. W. 356 White, K. D. 115 Whittaker, J. 386 Wicke, D. 458–9 Wiessner, P. 300, 423 Wilk, R. R. 38, 388 Wilkinson, T. J. 26 Williamson, H. G. M. 530, 557–8, 557 n.28, 558 n.30 Wilson, C. T. 386–7, 389, 393 Wilson, J. A. 127 Wimmer, S. 469 n.11, 471 n.15

615

Wing, E. 430 Winter, A. 218, 226 Winter, I. J. 306, 373, 448 n.8, 450, 454, 454 n.21, 457, 458 n.30, 459–60 Wiseman, D. J. 85, 87, 90, 158, 306 Witte, M. 554 Wittenberg, G. 535, 540 Wolde, E. J. van 485 Wolff, S. R. 119, 119 n.8 Worobo, R. W. 276 Wright, C. J. H. 40–1 Wright, D. P. 328, 401 n.9, 402 n.13, 405, 409, 409 nn.35–7, 516 n.14 Wright, G. E. 43, 46 Wright, G. R. H. 48 Wright, H. R. 24 n.8 Wright, J. C. 305, 308 Wright, J. E. 30 n.13 Wright, J. L. 303, 305, 311, 546, 558–9 Wyatt, N. 87, 360, 403 n.14, 404 n.21, 405 n.23, 405 n.25, 410, 412 n.48, 413, 413 n.49, 413 n.51 Wygnañska, Z. 79 Xu, Z. 280 Yahalom, G. 87, 90 Yahalom-Mack, N. 388 Yakar, J. 220, 229 Yasur-Landau, A. 3 n.5, 19, 21, 159, 228, 281 Yee, G. A. 501, 531 Yoder, T. R. 467 n.4 Younger, K. L., Jr. 80, 319 n.1, 320, 328–9, 475, 476 n.34 Younker, R. W. 39 n.3 Zaccagnini, C. 68 Zahn, L. M. 177 Zaitschek, D. V. 149 Zamora, J.-Á. 404, 405 n.26 Zapassky, E. 257, 261 Zarzecki-Peleg, A. 257 Zeder, M. A. 77, 82, 84–5, 87–9, 176, 428 Zenger, E. 545 n.3, 548 Zertal, A. 59–60, 309 Zevit, Z. 309 Zevulun, U. 447–8, 448 n.8 Zias, J. 344 Ziffer, I. 305, 445 n.1, 446 n.5, 447–9, 452, 456 n.23, 457 n.28 Zohar, I. 276, 279, 339 Zohar, M. 24, 27–8

616

Zohary, D. 99, 101, 113, 139 n.2, 140–3, 145, 147–52, 161, 279 Zohary, M. 127, 129, 140 n.4, 142, 147–8, 147 n.18, 150, 161–4, 268

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Zorn, J. R. 131 Zuckerman, S. 307, 448 n.8 Zukerman, A. 206 Zwickel, W. 370

617

618