The Iron Age I Structure on Mt. Ebal: Excavation and Interpretation 9781575066745

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The Iron Age I Structure on Mt. Ebal

Bulletin for Biblical Research Supplements Editor

Richard S. Hess, Denver Seminary Associate Editor

Craig L. Blomberg, Denver Seminary

Advisory Board Leslie C. Allen Fuller Theological Seminary Donald A. Carson Trinity Evangelical Divinity School Donald A. Hagner Fuller Theological Seminary Karen H. Jobes Wheaton College

I. Howard Marshall University of Aberdeen Elmer A. Martens Mennonite Brethren Biblical Seminary Bruce K. Waltke Knox Theological Seminary Edwin M. Yamauchi Miami University

 1. Bridging the Gap: Ritual and Ritual Texts in the Bible, by Gerald A. Klingbeil  2. War in the Bible and Terrorism in the Twenty-First Century, edited by Richard S. Hess and Elmer A. Martens  3. Critical Issues in Early Israelite History, edited by Richard S. Hess, Gerald A. Klingbeil, and Paul J. Ray Jr.  4. Poetic Imagination in Proverbs: Variant Repetitions and the Nature of Poetry, by Knut Martin Heim  5. Divine Sabbath Work, by Michael H. Burer  6. The Iron Age I Structure on Mt. Ebal: Excavation and Interpretation, by Ralph K. Hawkins

The Iron Age I Structure on Mt. Ebal Excavation and Interpretation

Ralph K. Hawkins

Winona Lake, Indiana Eisenbrauns 2012

© Copyright 2012 Eisenbrauns All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. www.eisenbrauns.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Hawkins, Ralph K. The Iron Age I structure on Mt. Ebal : excavation and interpretation / by Ralph K. Hawkins.    p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-57506-243-3 (hardback : alk. paper) 1.  Ebal, Mount (West Bank)—Antiquities.  2.  Excavations (Archaeology)—West Bank—Ebal, Mount.  3.  Iron age—Israel.  4.  West Bank—Antiquities.  5.  Bible. O.T.—Antiquities.  6.  Bible. O.T. Joshua—Criticism, interpretation, etc.  I.  Title. DS110.E23H39 2012 933′.53—dc23 2012018594 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. ♾™

Contents Preface and Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  ix Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  1 1.  Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure . . . . . . . . .  4 Overview of the Survey of Manassesh  4 Overview of the Discovery and Excavation of the Mt. Ebal Complex  7 Overview of Zertal’s Conclusions Regarding the Ebal Site  11 Methodology and Criteria for the Identification of the Site  15

2.  Analysis of the Ebal Installation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 Location and Layout of the Site  30 Stratum II  32 Stratum IB  39 Stratum IA  53 Pottery 54 Stone and Metal Artifacts  60 Faunal Remains  63 The Faunal Assemblage  63 Two Egyptianized Scarabs from Mt. Ebal  66 Conclusion 72

3.  Physical Parallels to el-Burnat: Domestic and Military . . . . . 73 Village 73 Farmstead 78 House or Other Domestic Space  81 The Central Structure at Mt. Ebal and the Four-Room House  87 Watchtower 88 The Biblical Term Migdāl and Ancient Watchtowers  89 Towers in the Late Bronze Age  90 Towers in Iron Age I  92 v

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Contents The Tower of Shechem  97 Conclusion 117

4.  Physical Parallels to El-Burnat: Religious Structures . . . . . . 118 Gilgalim 118 Altars 123 Early to Middle Bronze Age  124 Late Bronze Age  129 Iron Age  135 Discussion 146 Conclusion 150

5.  Literary Parallels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Location of the Site  151 Stratum II  153 Stratum IB  155 The Faunal Assemblage from Mt. Ebal  179 Conclusion 182

6.  The Ebal Structure in Context: The Ebal Installation, the Survey of Manasseh, and the Emergence of Israel . . . . . 184 Historical and Sociological Considerations of the Mt. Ebal Site  184 The Amphictyony Hypothesis  185 The Mt. Ebal Site and Biblical Tradition  193 Scholarly Response  198 An Overview of Regional Surveys in Israel  200 Objections 212 The Survey of Manasseh Compared with Joshua, Judges, and the Question of Israelite Origins  216 Conclusion 219

Summary and Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229 Indexes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277 Index of Authors  277 Index of Scripture  282 Index of Sites and Geographical Names  285

Preface and Acknowledgments This book is a substantially revised version of the Ph.D. dissertation that I submitted to Andrews University in 2007. I would like to express my thanks to Randall W. Younker, my faculty adviser, and Drs. Merling, LaBianca, and Davidson, all of whom served on my dissertation committee. Dr.  Richard Hess, my external examiner, made a number of helpful criticisms that went a long way toward improving the content of my dissertation and, ultimately, transforming it into a book. Since I defended the dissertation in 2007, he has patiently worked with me in the role of editor as I have repeatedly added to and revised the work. My special thanks go to Dr. Adam Zertal, under whom I first worked in the field as a volunteer in the mid-to-late 1990s. It was the lectures he gave in the field school at el-Aḥwat that awakened my thoughts to the possibility of actually pursuing archaeology as a career, and it was while we were sitting around the fire one night that I asked him whether he thought the Mt. Ebal structure would make a good dissertation topic for me if I were to pursue a Ph.D. Although he advised against it, my imagination had already been taken captive by the subject, and I have spent the better part of the last ten years absorbed with it, along with the subject of Israelite origins. Dr. Zertal was more than helpful to me in my research. Between the years 2002 and 2006, he corresponded and shared photographs and other unpublished materials with me and, in 2007, he took a week out of his busy schedule to host me in Israel as I sought to finalize my research for the dissertation. In addition to hosting my father and me for a wonderful dinner with him and his wife, Judith, Dr. Zertal personally showed me the Ebal materials in the University of Haifa archaeological laboratory and in the museum of Kibbutz Ein-Shemer, took me through the Jordan Valley on a tour of some of the work done by the survey, included me in the regular work of the survey and, finally, arranged a military escort to transport us to Mt. Ebal, where we were able to take as much time as necessary to examine every facet of the site. Any errors related to the factual details about the Ebal site and/or the survey of Manasseh are, of course, my own. I would like to express my gratitude to the Andrews University Seminary for support through the Doctor of Theology Scholarship from 2002 vii

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Preface and Acknowledgments

to 2007; the Rock Island Arsenal Historical Society for the Richard C. Ma­guire Scholarship in 2006; the Midwest Society of Biblical Literature for the Graduate Student Paper Competition Prize in 2005; the Catholic Biblical Association for the award of the Memorial Stipend from 2003 to 2007; the staff of the Young Library at Kentucky Christian University for helping me track down numerous materials from 2008 to 2010; and Charles E. Isom for financial support in 2007. I would like to thank the brothers of St. Gregory’s Abbey, who graciously hosted me during multiple writing retreats each year from 2004 to 2008, often when I had little to contribute to the monastery. Most of the original dissertation and many of the revisions were written there in the quiet of the guest house or in the library. I appreciate Abbot Andrew, Father William, and the willingness of all the monks not only to house me but also to allow me to share worship, the Eucharist, their daily bread, and conversation. I received additional help with revisions from my students, including Theresa Preece, Serena Barr, Marion Clifton, and David Hunter, to each of whom I extend my appreciation. I would also like to express a special thanks to Chervis Isom Jr., who often served as a benefactor to me throughout my pursuit of the Ph.D. His financial support was integral to the original completion of the dissertation, out of which this volume has developed. My parents, Raymond and Dale Hawkins, have been a constant source of encouragement. Finally, my wife, Cathy, and our children, Hannah, Sarah, Mary, and Adam, have all been the inspiration for my work. My thanks go to them for the sacrifices they have made to allow me to complete this volume. Soli Deo Gloria.

Abbreviations General CP cooking pot EA El-Amarna Ha hectares LXX Septuagint (Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible) M.R. map registration number MT Masoretic Text nrsv New Revised Standard Version NT New Testament OT Old Testament

Reference Works AASOR AB ABD

Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman et al. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday, 1992 ABRL Anchor Bible Reference Library ADAJ Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan AnBib Analecta Biblica ANET Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. 3rd ed. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969 ARA Annual Review of Anthropology ASORAR American Schools of Oriental Research Archaeological Reports AUSS Andrews University Seminary Studies BA Biblical Archaeologist BAR Biblical Archaeology Review BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research BASORSup Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research: Supplement Series BBRSup Bulletin for Biblical Research: Supplement Series BHS Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Edited by K. Elliger and W. Rudolph. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1983 Bib Biblica BJS Brown Judaic Studies BO Bibliotheca Orientalis BSac Bibliotheca sacra BTB Biblical Theology Bulletin

ix

x BWANT BZ BZAW CBQ CHANE DCH

Abbreviations

Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. Edited by D. J. A. Clines. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 1993– DJD Discoveries in the Judaean Desert EAEHL Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. Edited by M. Avi-Yonah. 4 vols. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1975 EncJud Encyclopedia Judaica. Edited by F. Skolnik and M. Berenbaum. 22 vols. 2nd ed. Detroit: Macmillan, 2007 ErIsr Eretz-Israel ESHM European Seminar in Historical Methodology ESI Excavations and Surveys in Israel HALOT Koehler, L., W. Baumgartner, and J. J. Stamm. The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament: Study Edition. Translated and edited under the supervision of M. E. J. Richardson. 2 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2001 HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs HSS Harvard Semitic Studies HTR Harvard Theological Review IAAR Israel Antiquities Authority Report ICC International Critical Commentary IDB The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by G. A. Buttrick. 4 vols. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1962. IEJ Israel Exploration Journal ISBE International Standard Bible Encyclopedia. Edited by G. W. Bromiley. 4 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1979–88 JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JETS Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society JMA Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JPOS Journal of the Palestine Oriental Society JPSTC Jewish Publication Society Torah Commentary JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series LHB/OTS Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies MDOG Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft MSIATAU Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University NAC New American Commentary NCBC New Century Bible Commentary NEA Near Eastern Archaeology NEAEHL The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. Edited by E. Stern. 5 vols. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Carta, 1993

Abbreviations NEASB NICOT OBO OEAE OEANE OIP OJA OLA OTE OTL OTS PEQ PIA QDAP RB RBL RGG SAHL SAOC SBLSBS SBLSP SBT SBTS SDBANE SHCANE SJLA SJOT SJT SP STDJ SWBA TA TDOT TLOT TOTC TWOT TynBul UMM VT VTSup

xi

Near East Archaeological Society Bulletin New International Commentary on the Old Testament Orbis biblicus et orientalis The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Edited by D. B. Redford. 3 vols. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001 The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East. Edited by E. M. Meyers. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997 Oriental Institute Publications Oxford Journal of Archaeology Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta Old Testament Essays Old Testament Library Old Testament Series Palestine Exploration Quarterly Publications of the Institute of Archaeology Quarterly of the Department of Antiquities of Palestine Revue biblique Review of Biblical Literature Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Edited by K. Galling. 7 vols. 3rd ed. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization Society of Biblical Literature: Sources for Biblical Study Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Studies in Biblical Theology Sources for Biblical and Theological Study Studies in the Department of Bible and Ancient Near East Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Southwestern Journal of Theology Sacra pagina Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah The Social World of Biblical Antiquity Tel Aviv Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren. Translated by J. T. Willis, G. W. Bromiley, and D. E. Green. 15 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974–2006 Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament. Edited by E. Jenni and C. Westermann. Translated by M. E. Biddle. 3 vols. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1997. Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament. Edited by R. L. Harris, G  L. Archer Jr., and B. K. Waltke. 2 vols. Chicago: Moody Press, 1980 Tyndale Bulletin University Museum Monograph Vetus Testamentum Vetus Testamentum Supplements

xii WBC YNER ZAW ZDPV

Abbreviations Word Biblical Commentary Yale Near Eastern Researches Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins

Introduction In Josh 8:30–35, Israel constructs an altar on Mt. Ebal in fulfillment of the command of Deut 27:1–8. This structure had very important social, political, and religious implications for Israel, for it was the first structure to be built after the people entered the land of Canaan. Once the altar was completed, sacrifices were to be offered on it, and a renewal of the covenant was to be carried out (patterned after the ritual of Deut 31:9–13). Following the Israelites’ penetration into the hill country, the covenant renewal was necessary to integrate the people into the covenant who had not been a part of the Sinai experience (Rowton 1953: 46–60). The sanctity of the event certainly surpassed in significance the first covenant ceremony at Sinai for those who were only now being officially assimilated into the people of Israel. The event was significant enough to establish nearby Shechem as the tribal league shrine (Campbell and Wright 1969: 104–16). This ceremony of covenant renewal was the first political and religious ceremony that the Israelites undertook following their entry into the land and, as a covenant ratification, it could be described as their ratification as a nation or, at least, as “a crucial point in the crystallization of the new Israelite entity” (Zertal 1994: 66). The altar on Mt. Ebal and its concomitant ceremony were, therefore, according to the claims of the Hebrew Bible, of supreme importance in the life of ancient Israel. In 1980, during the survey of the territory of Manasseh, Israeli archaeologist Adam Zertal discovered a site on Mt. Ebal dating to the period of Iron I, during which the Israelites began to sedentarize in the central hill country of Canaan (for an overview of the survey, see Zertal 1993b: 1311– 12). The site is known in Arabic as el-Burnat and lies on a mountain ridge high above sea level, far from any roads. The site was excavated over eight seasons, from 1982 to 1989, under the auspices of the University of Haifa and the Israel Exploration Society. In 1985, Zertal published an article in which he suggested that the structure on Ebal may have been the altar of Josh 8:30–35 (Zertal 1985: 26–43). Zertal’s article was poorly received by the scholarly community, and his conclusions were dismissed without serious analysis. This was due, in part, to the fact that he had published his claims in the popularly written journal, Biblical Archaeology Review, without having first made a case for his views in the purely scientific journals. 1 Nothing more 1.  Zertal had presented an overview of the Ebal findings at the 1986 meeting of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, which were subsequently published as “A Cultic Center with a Burnt-Offering Altar from Early Iron Age I Period at Mt. Ebal,” in “Wunschet Jerusalem Frieden”: Collected Communications to the XIIth Congress

1

2

Introduction

than a brief scholarly exchange followed Zertal’s publication, in which his thesis was summarily dismissed as either a watchtower (see p. 88; Kempinski 1986: 42–49; Zertal 1986: 43, 49–53) or, as William Dever jokingly claimed, a barbecue site (Dever 1997: 34). Since the appearance of these articles, no scholarly congress or colloquium has ever been held regarding the Mt. Ebal excavations. The Mt. Ebal excavations, however, may be very important in the discussion of the emergence of ancient Israel. The common assumption in biblical scholarship today is that Israel emerged from the indigenous peoples of Canaan (see Younger 1999: 176–206) and that the biblical books of Joshua– Judges were written in the Josianic period as political propaganda to solidify Israel’s national identity (e.g., Soggin 1972: 131). Since Martin Noth first proposed his theory of the “Deuteronomistic History,” 2 it has become more or less standard for scholars of Israel’s origins to build their theories on these foundations. Archaeologists as well, pointing to continuity in material culture, have argued that the idea of an early Israel must have been a later fabrication and that later Israelites originated from the autochthonous population (e.g., Hayes and Miller 1977: 255, 262). Finkelstein and Naʾaman (1994: 13) have recently argued that a combination of archaeological and historical research demonstrates that the biblical account of the conquest and occupation of Canaan is entirely divorced from historical reality. Instead, it proves the correctness of the literary-critical approach to the biblical text. The biblical descriptions of the origin and early history of the people of Israel are not dissimilar from narratives on the origins of other peoples, which likewise do not withstand the test of historical criticism.

These authors go on to suggest that equating any material culture remains from the Iron I highlands with an Israelite ethnic identity is “dubious,” of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament (ed. Matthias Augustin Klaus and Dietrich Schunck; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1988), 137–54. There were other reasons that scholars may have wanted to avoid taking a position on Ebal, such as its location in the West Bank, as well as the fact that Samaritan clergy had taken public positions against it. These religious and political problems surrounding the site and their implications for its promotion are outlined in Milt Machlin, Joshua’s Altar: The Dig at Mount Ebal (New York: Morrow, 1991), 44–76, passim. 2. Martin Noth articulated these ideas in A History of Pentateuchal Traditions (trans. and intro. B. W. Anderson; Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1972), and The History of Israel (trans. P. R. Ackroyd from the 2nd ed. of Geschichte Israels; New York: Harper, 1960). Noth believed that, since the books immediately following Deuteronomy shared its theology and style, the same author or authors must have composed them. Based on this theory, the entire section from Deuteronomy through 2 Kings has, therefore, come to be known as the “Deuteronomistic History.” Writing during the Josianic era, the authors of this history were influenced by the prophets. In composing their history, they were attempting to show how the downfall of the Northern and Southern Kingdoms of Israel was the result of the nation’s repeated violation of the covenant.

Introduction

3

“since there was no political entity named Israel before the late eleventh century b.c.e.” (Finkelstein and Naʾaman 1994: 13). Naʾaman himself suggests that the literary sources on which Joshua was based did not originate until the eighth century b.c.e. and were thus “hundreds of years remote from the time when the events described therein took place” (Naʾaman 1994: 222). John Van Seters has argued that the account of the earliest history of Israel was a complete invention (Van Seters 1983). If Zertal’s Iron I structure on Ebal is the altar of Josh 8:30–35, there could be important implications for the understanding of Israelite origins and for the Documentary Hypothesis. Writing about the importance of the discussion of the nature of the Ebal site, Zertal (1997: 77–78) has said: It is not by chance that not a single archaeologist has responded seriously to my scientific report on Mt. Ebal. It is not by chance that a serious congress has never been convened to address openly the Mt. Ebal finds, even though many less important matters have been discussed. The reason is that Mt. Ebal presents hard evidence for the existence of an early Israelite cult place, presumably related to the biblical account of Deuteronomy 27 and Joshua 8:30– 35. The reason is that if Mt. Ebal so powerfully corroborates the Bible, some of the highly sophisticated theories based on ongoing intellectual speculation (without really examining the field data) will have to go back to square one.

While not taking a position on the cultic nature of the Ebal site, Lawrence Stager of Harvard has concurred about the potential significance of the site, if the cultic nature and its connection with Josh 8:30–35 were verified. In an interview, he said that, under those circumstances, Old Testament scholars would have to “go back to kindergarten” (Machlin 1991: 235). In this book, I review the excavation on Mt. Ebal and its results, including the scarabs, seals, and animal bones found there. I examine the architecture of the site in relation to Mesopotamian watchtowers, altars, and the descriptions of altars in mishnaic materials, Ezekiel, and Deuteronomic passages. The question whether there may or may not be a connection between this Iron I structure and the altar of Josh 8:30–35 is also considered. This book examines the Mt. Ebal site using a comparative method in examining both the physical data (see Trigger 2003: 15–39) and the textual data (Hallo 1980: 1–26; Walton 2006: 15–40). I begin by analyzing the site and its artifacts and then comparing it with the alternative proposals and literary traditions. Ultimately, I seek to place Ebal in its broader regional context, in order to determine how it might relate to the larger settlement picture of Iron Age I. The scope is primarily limited to an analysis of the physical data acquired during the Mt. Ebal excavations. I am not, however, attempting to produce a “final report.” Instead, my primary purpose is to examine the data with a view to determining the nature and function of the site. Issues related to the site’s possible relation to Josh 8:30–35 are relegated to the final chapter.

Chapter 1

Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure Overview of the Survey of Manasseh Geographical and archaeological surveys of western Palestine in the 20th century mostly concentrated on Transjordan, the Negev, and the Galilee (for an overview of the surveys, see Finkelstein 1988: 34–117). Although these are important areas, they are actually on the biblical periphery. It was widely agreed that the origins of Israel should be sought in the central hill country, where three of the early capitals of the Israelite kingdom were located: Shechem, Tirzah, and Samaria. E. Sellin excavated at Shechem in 1913–14 and in 1926–27; G. A. Reisner and C. S. Fisher excavated at Samaria–Sebaste from 1908 to 1910, excavations that were continued by the Palestine Exploration Fund from 1931 to 1935; and the Shechem excavations were renewed from 1956 to 1964 by the Drew-McCormick expedition. 1 Other important work in the region was done by de Vaux at Tell el-Farʿah (North), identified as Tirzah, from 1946 to 1960; and J. P. Free at Tell Dothan from 1953 to 1960, though Free’s results have only been partially published. 2 While these excavation projects were valuable, no systematic survey was made before the 1960s. An emergency survey conducted by Z. Kallai, R.  Gophna, and Y.  Porat was conducted from 1967 to 1968, and this provided the first glimpse of the settlement history and archaeology of the region (Gophna and Kochavi 1966: 143–144; Gophna and Porat 1972: 195–241; Kallai 1972: 151–193). A comprehensive survey of the region began in 1978 on behalf of Tel Aviv University, Haifa University, and Israel Exploration Society under the direction of Israeli archaeologist Adam Zertal (Zertal 1993b: 1311–12). The Manasseh survey team covered more than 965 sq. mi. (2,500 sq. km) by foot, which is about 80 percent of the central hill country area. The survey territory extended from the Jordan Valley to the Mediterranean 1.  Sellin 1914: 35–40, 204–7; Reisner, Fisher, and Lyon 1924; Crowfoot, Kenyon, and Sukenik 1942; Crowfoot, Crowfoot, and Kenyon 1957; Wright 1965; D. P. Cole 1984; and Campbell 1991. 2. De Vaux 1947: 394–433, 573–589; 1948: 544–580; 1949: 102–138; 1951: 393–430, 566– 590; 1952: 551–583; 1955: 541–589; 1957: 552–580; 1961: 557–592; 1962: 212–253; Free 1953: 16–20; 1954: 14–20; 1955: 3–9; 1956: 11–17; 1958: 10–18; 1959: 22–29; 1960: 6–15; 1956: 43–48; and Master et al. 2005.

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Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure

5

Figure 1. Map of the survey area (Zertal 2004: 10).

coastal plain, which provided a cross-section of western Palestine (Fig. 1). This in turn enabled scholars to compare various geographical units. More than 200 Iron Age I sites were processed (Zertal 1998b: 240; this number has risen to about 450 since the 1998 publication), 3 producing a wealth of data regarding the central hill country settlement from ca. 1250 to 1000 b.c.e. Due to its high yield of new information, the survey of Manasseh has been called “one of the most important ever undertaken in the land of Israel” (Finkelstein 1988: 89). 3.  By processing these sites, a computer-generated profile of an Iron Age I site was created using a seven-point methodology. “An Iron I site was defined as one yielding Iron Age I pottery, in some cases with characteristic architecture and settlement pattern, based upon past excavations of hill country sites with remains dated to 1250–1000 b.c.e.” (Zertal 1998b: 240).

6

Chapter 1

The survey team examined the pattern of settlement in the Manasseh territory from the beginning of the Chalcolithic (ca. 4500–3150 b.c.e.) to the end of the Ottoman (1516–1917 c.e.) periods. For the purposes of this study, the periods ranging from Middle Bronze Age II to Iron Age I are of particular interest. Findings from each of the periods within this range are as follows (Zertal 2004: 52–54): 1. Middle Bronze Age IIB (ca. 1750–1550 b.c.e.). This was a prosperous time in Canaan. The population was high in number, lived in fortified towns, and had a rich material culture. Seventy-two settlements were established in the Manassite territory during this period as the result of “a considerable ‘wave’ of settlement” that also began in this period. This number is double that of Early Bronze Age I. 2. Late Bronze Age (1550–1200 b.c.e.). The number of settlements “sharply declined” in this period, with only a quarter of the MB IIB sites remaining. Zertal attributes this decline “mainly to the destruction of the highland settlements by the pharaohs of the New Kingdom who eliminated the ‘Hyksos’ entity.” This accords well with the general historical picture, since the New Kingdom pharaohs incorporated Canaan into the Egyptian Empire during this period, draining the economy of the region through taxation and occasionally putting down rebellions and deporting parts of the population. The fact that culture suffered and that populations and the number of settlements declined during this period is now well known (Gonen 1992: 211–57). No new sites were established in the Manassite territory during this period. 3. Iron Age I (1200–1000 b.c.e.). During Iron Age I, there was a large increase in settlements. Fifty-six settlements with pottery from this period were found in the Shechem syncline, three times the number of Late Bronze sites. Thirty-eight of these sites were established on virgin soil or rebuilt after having been abandoned for some time. This considerable increase in settlements has been interpreted as “the penetration of an outside population.”

Each site surveyed was categorized by type, with 19 types defined (Zertal 2004: 18–19). These included: tell, fortified tell, large ruin, medium-sized ruin, small-sized ruin, fortification, Arab village, enclosure, city enclosure, ancient cemetery, ancient military camp, fortress, farm, structure, ancient road, cairn, sheikh’s tomb, prehistoric site, and cave. The list does not include “cultic” as one of the types, though Dhahrat et-Tawileh (the “Bull Site”) and el-Burnat are both understood to be cultic in nature (Zertal 2004: 178–79, 532–33). Dhahrat et-Tawileh is categorized as an enclosure and small cairn and el-Burnat as an enclosure. Other sites, such as el-ʿUnuq, Bedhat esh-Shaʿab, Masuʾa, and Yafit (3), also typed as enclosures, have been understood to have some cultic function as well (see chap. 3; and Zertal 1996: 394–97; 2005: 238–42, 305–7, 333–37). Zertal notes that “in many instances one definition is insufficient” and that “site characterization is flexible and open to additions and changes” (2004: 18).

Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure

7

Figure 2.  View of the site from the slopes of Mt. Ebal, looking east (photo by the author).

Overview of the Discovery and Excavation of the Mt. Ebal Complex On April 6, 1980, in the course of the survey of the territory of Manasseh, Zertal discovered a site on Mt. Ebal dating to the Iron Age I (1200–1000 b.c.e.), the period during which the Israelite sedentarization in the central hill country of Canaan began. The site is known in Arabic as el-Burnat Sitti Salaamiyya and lies on a mountain ridge high above sea level (3,083 ft.; 940 m), far from any roads (M.R. 1773.1829; fig. 2 above). The site lies 492 ft. (150 m) below the peak of Mt. Ebal and 82 ft. (25 m) above its surroundings (Zertal 1983: 72). From the site, one can see eastern Samaria and the Wadi Farʿah, although Tell Balâṭah (ancient Shechem) cannot be seen. Twelve sites were discovered on Mt. Ebal in the survey of the Manasseh hill country, but el-Burnat is the only one of these that dates to the Iron Age. The initial excavation season was short—October 15–29, 1982—and was accomplished by A. Zertal, Z. Lederman (architect), S. Pipano, S. Yosef, and some volunteers (Zertal 1984: 55). Excavations continued over eight seasons, from 1982 to 1989.

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Chapter 1

Figure 3. General plan of the enclosure (Zertal 1986–87: 107, fig. 2). Used with permisision.

El-Burnat is essentially a one-period site, consisting of Stratum II, a Late Bronze village/campsite that was remodeled as Stratum IB (ca. 1200–1140 b.c.e.) and, finally, abandoned in Stratum IA (ca. 1140 b.c.e.). Stratum II In this, the earliest stratum, Areas A and B (fig. 3)—the main building complex and a court to its west—were excavated. During this founding period of the site, easily distinguished from the later fill of Stratum IB, a construction was built on bedrock on the ridge of the mountain. This structure was divided into smaller sections by two thin walls. East of the center of the structure was a depression in the floor in which a circular stone repository 7 ft. (2 m) in diameter was located. The depression and the surrounding floor contained a layer of ash and charred animal bones. A nearby rock exhibited a depression that the excavator interpreted as a votive deposit or favissa. This depression in the stone held hammerstones and a decorated vessel of porous volcanic rock, interpreted as a chalice. A sounding conducted outside the building revealed an area that contained scattered plain hearths, excessive ash, potsherds, and animal bones, all resting on bedrock. In Area B, 82 ft. (25 m) west and northwest of the structure in Area A, a retaining wall was built of large stones. This was abutted by a 53 × 30 ft. (16 × 9 m) four-room house, oriented northwest–southeast, with inner walls one stone in width and doorjambs constructed of stone slabs. The house consisted of three long, parallel rooms, the easternmost of which contained

Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure

9

a silo in which a complete storage jar was found in situ. The floor of the house was thin and made of well-packed earth but with no ash or animal bones. Various kinds of pottery were found on the floor, including an oil lamp, storage jars, bowls, and a collared-rim jar. An interesting collection of collared-rim jars was arranged similarly to a collection in Area C at Shiloh that was found in the 1988–89 seasons. This collection was found in a group in the center of Area B, just south of the four-room house. This area was divided into separate units or compartments, where the eight pithoi stood in pairs. Shiloh’s Area C contained a similarly arranged grouping. Stratum IB The site underwent significant modification during this phase. The prominent feature of El-Burnat is a rectilinear structure built of unhewn stones and measuring 30 × 46 ft. (9 × 14 m) that was built above the earlier construction in Area A. This structure has no floor or entrance, and two of its internal walls come partway to the center but do not meet (1985: 31–32). The interior of the main structure seems to have been deliberately filled with layers of bones from male bulls, caprovids, and fallow deer; ash, and Iron I pottery—including a whole collared-rim pithos (Zertal 1986–87: 113). On the exterior of the main structure, 3.9 ft. (1.2 m) below the top, is a small ledge that partially encircles the entire structure (Zertal 1985: 38). On the SE side is what has been interpreted as a ramp, 3.9 ft. (1.2 m) wide, which descends for 23 ft. (7 m) at a 22-degree incline from a height of 7 ft. (2 m) at its NW end (1985: 32). On each side of this ramp are two paved courtyards, totaling 89 × 23 ft. (27 × 7 m), each of which includes a number of stone installations that are filled with bones, ash, jars, jugs, juglets, and pyxides (Zertal 1983: 22; 1985: 34–35). Surrounding the central structure is a thin enclosure wall 3 ft. (1 m) high and 361 ft. (110 m) long. Area B underwent changes, because the entire area of the four-room house was paved with medium-sized stones to make a paved court in front of the main complex. The court was ca. 33 ft. (ca. 10 m) wide and 164 ft. (50 m) long. A gate (Locus 220), 23 ft. (7 m) wide, with three steps that descended to this courtyard was also added (Zertal 1985: 34). Additional installations are located in this enclosure. About 23 ft. (7 m) to the west and beyond the thin wall, a retaining wall 5.6–8.2 ft. (1.7–2.5 m) in width extends for 820 ft. (250 m; Zertal 1986–87: 108). The finds related to Stratum IB are discussed in more detail in chap. 2. A list includes: 1. Pottery (Zertal 1986–87: 124–47) a. Kraters (69) with straight walls and covered rims b. Cooking pots (51), mostly with plain rims or with a ridge just below the lip

Chapter 1

10 c. d. e. f. g.

Jars (49); some feature punctured handles Pithoi (250); 84% are collar rimmed Jugs (142); the “man’s-face” appears on many of these Biconical jug (1) Juglets (47)

2. Various finds (Zertal 1986–87: 148–50) a. b. c. d. e.

Bronze loop earring Bronze ingot Iron nail (1986–87: 150) 32 sandstone basins (1986–87: 148) No sickle blades (1986–87: 148)

3. Scarabs a. Scarab 1. Found in Area A. Bears a pattern that seems to have been characteristic of the 19th Dynasty and may be dated to ca. 1250– 1200 b.c.e. (Brandl 1986–87: 168–69) b. Scarab 2. Found in association with one of the installations outside the central structure. A Thuthmos III commemorative scarab, also dating to the second half of the 13th century b.c.e. 4. Floral remains (Liphschitz 1986–87: 190–91) a. Ash of terebinth b. Ash of Kermesian oak c. Remains of olive and almond 5. Faunal remains a. Caprovids make up 65% of the bone assemblage; 81% of them had been burned, and 44% of the burned remains were found in the central structure b. Cattle make up 21% of the assemblage, with half of the remains located in the main structure c. Fallow deer contribute 10% of the assemblage; 63% of these remains come from the central structure d. Mottled polecat (a local species called Vormella peregusna). Not burned e. Red-Billed Chukar partridge (a local game bird called Alectoris Cypriotes). Not burned f. Arabian rock pigeon (Columba livia). Not burned g. Falcon. Not burned h. Fish (in the central structure). Not burned i. Cardium shell of Mediterranean Glycymerys violacescens (Horwitz 1986–87: 173). Not burned j. No equids, pigs, or carnivores

Many of the bones were butchered at the joints and roasted on an open flame (Kolska-Horwitz 1986–87: 179–80).

Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure

11

Stratum IA In Stratum IA, the site appears to have been covered with stones in both Areas A and B sometime around 1140 b.c.e. (Zertal 1986–87: 123). This appears to have been done deliberately in order to protect the site.

Overview of Zertal’s Conclusions Regarding the Ebal Site Both phases of this site were understood by Zertal as having been cultic. Stratum II, the earliest phase, was understood to have been a small cult site where feasts or ceremonies were held and sacrifices were offered. Since the site was fairly small during this phase, we assume that it served either as a family or a tribal cult site, the participants of which lived in the adjoining four-room house in Area B. Stratum IB was also interpreted as cultic in nature. During this phase, the site was understood to have evolved into a main cult site for the Israelite settlers. Dwelling places were removed, and the main structure during this phase was interpreted as a paved bāmâ on which ritual ceremonies took place. 4 The double sloping wall between the two courts in the central structure was interpreted as a “double ramp.” This main structure was seen to have been the focal point of ceremonies for a large assembly, who could enter processionally through the staired entryway in Area B. The installations around it were regarded as having been built for the express purpose of depositing offerings by those in attendance. Zertal summarizes: 4.  The term bāmâ comes from the Hebrew ‫בָּמָה‬, which can refer to a “ridge” or “high ground” (e.g., Deut 32:13). In the Hebrew Bible, the topographical meaning of the term is transferred to the cultic arena, in which the term bāmâ is used primarily for a “cultic high place” (e.g., 1 Sam 9:12). In these usages, the term bāmâ is probably intended to denote not only the cultic area but also its form, which rose above the surrounding terrain. Each bāmâ apparently included an altar for offering sacrifices (e.g., 2 Kgs 21:3; 2 Chr 14:2[3]; see the discussion in K.-D. Schunck, “‫ בָּמָה‬bāmâ,” TDOT 2:139–45). Even though the biblical use of the term may be suggestive, precise definitions of the term have not been reached through either etymology or archaeology. In LaRocca-Pitts’s study of cultic terms in the Bible (2001: 127–33), she notes the inconsistent use of the term by scholars in both fields. The root of bāmâ is obscure, and the resulting inconclusive etymological analyses and inconsistent usage by biblical scholars are evidence of this fact. Similarly, Israeli archaeologists have often used this archaic biblical term indiscriminately and without uniformity to identify all sorts of open-air cultic sites, without due consideration given to formal or architectural criteria. LaRocca-Pitts explains that “no studies have successfully identified any archaeological installations specifically as bāmôt as opposed to shrines or temples or other types of cultic structures” and concludes that, without additional inscriptional evidence, this situation will probably continue. M. Haran (1985: 13–42) tries to make these distinctions, but it seems to me that his criteria are not all valid. Following a tendency among Israeli archaeologists, I will occasionally use the term bāmâ as a general term for an “altar.”

12

Chapter 1 The structure on Mt. Ebal can be compared to a large burnt offering altar, with a ramp leading up to it and ledges around it in the image of a stepped building. We therefore suggest that this was an open cultic site with an altar, surrounded by a temenos, 5 entered by a ceremonial entrance, with installations around it containing offerings of the worshippers who came to the site or remains of previous sacrifices. (Zertal 1986–87: 156)

The biblical tradition contains two passages that describe the construction of a central cultic structure on Mt. Ebal. Deuteronomy 27 records a command given to the Israelites to build an altar on Mt. Ebal once they had entered the land of Canaan, and Josh 8:30–35 purports to recount how they carried out this command. The presence of these traditions suggests to Zertal that “the question must be raised as to whether there is a connection between the biblical tradition and the finds from the site.” Zertal qualifies this by noting that “no conclusive answer can be given,” though he goes on to stress that el-Burnat “is the only transitional Late Bronze Age / Iron Age site existing on the mountain” (Zertal 1986–87: 158). In the previous year, in his popularly written account of the discovery and excavation of the Ebal site, the connection is implied more strongly (Zertal 1985), especially by its sensational title: “Has Joshua’s Altar Been Found on Mt. Ebal?” Zertal argues extensively for the identification of the main structure as an altar, notes the Deut 27 and Josh 8 passages, and then asks: “Is the cult center altar unearthed by us on Mt. Ebal the one mentioned in the Bible? How can one judge such a fundamental issue? What criteria should we use for such a judgment?” (1985: 35–41, 43). While Zertal’s may not explicitly conclude that the Ebal structure was Joshua’s altar, and despite his qualification that “certainty as yet eludes us” and that “we must say that the case has not been proven,” the implication is clear: “It may be said with all scientific restraint that there must be a connection between the strong, important and authentic Biblical tradition that identifies Mt. Ebal as a central Israelite cultic center and the gathering place of the Israelite tribes, on the one hand, and the site unearthed by us, on the other” (1985: 43). The cultic interpretation of the site of el-Burnat and its possible association with the altar of Josh 8:30–35 have been points of controversy from which many scholars have wanted to distance themselves. Zertal has been derogatorily portrayed as having assumed a biblical association for the site prior to excavating. Rainey’s immediate reaction was to argue that “the entire interpretation by Zertal is a fabrication of wishful thinking and partial evidence” and that it should be dismissed as “a blatant phony” (Rainey 1986: 66). Kempinski asserted that “it seems that from the beginning Zertal really thought he had discovered ‘Joshua’s altar’” and that, by 1982, during the first season of excavation, “notices had already appeared in the Israeli daily 5.  An enclosure wall (τέμενος) that separates a holy precinct from other, secular parts of a site.

Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure

13

press that the altar that Joshua had built on Mt. Ebal, according to Joshua 8:30–35, was being excavated” (Kempinski 1986: 42). Kempinski reports that, when Zertal first led him (Kempinski), Benjamin Mazar, and Amihai Mazar to the site in October 1982, Zertal “described the wall surrounding the square structure as a temenos wall, thus implying the cultic nature of the site” (Kempinski 1986: 44) The first appearance of an announcement in the popular press regarding the excavations at el-Burnat, however, was actually in the Sunday, November 3, 1983, issue of Ha-aretz. This article did refer to Ebal as an “altar” site. But Zertal notes that “this was exactly a year after the time that Kempinski indicates that the news was already in the Israeli daily press, during his visit in 1982” (Zertal 1986: 49). Zertal also stresses that, in 1982, when Kempinski visited the site, “no one would or could have used the term ‘altar,’ because at that time we had no idea what the nature of the site was.” In 1984, after four seasons of excavation, 6 Zertal did note that “the unique character of the site and the importance of Mt. Ebal in the biblical tradition (e.g., Deut 27; Josh 8) [had] made excavation desirable” (Zertal 1984: 55). The following year, Zertal specifically stated that he had initially thought he was working with an ordinary settlement: “our initial thought was that this was a farmhouse or perhaps a watchtower” (Zertal 1985: 30–31). Zertal reiterated this point later in his response to Kempinski (Zertal 1986: 49). He explained that the purpose of the excavation of the Ebal site had to do with “the need to explore a site from the Israelite settlement period in the territory of Manasseh. Such sites in Manasseh were important to Biblical history and none had been explored archaeologically” (Zertal 1986: 49). The excavation of el-Burnat, in other words, was to be a benchmark site for the survey of Manasseh. In 1985, Zertal published a popularly written article in BAR in which he associated the Ebal structure with the altar of Josh 8:30–35 (Zertal 1985: 26–43). This article elicited a number of reactions, mostly dismissive, which I briefly examine in the discussion below about methodology. The following year, Zertal (1988c: 137–54) presented an overview of the Ebal findings at the 1986 meeting of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament. Here, Zertal still “suggested” that the structure at Mt. Ebal was an altar and that it may be associated with the early Israelites, though he was a bit more tentative in his association of the structure with Josh 8:30–35. Zertal suggested that, in light of the biblical text, “an inevitable question must be raised, whether it can be a connection between the biblical tradition and the site at Ebal or not.” He concluded that the site “is connected to the biblical tradition,” though, as Soggin (1988: 119 n. 10) noted, “Zertal does not insist any longer that the altar was Joshua’s.” 6.  1982: one season; 1983: two seasons; 1984: one season (Zertal 1986: 49).

14

Chapter 1

When Zertal published his preliminary report in 1986–87, after documenting the excavation of Ebal and its concomitant data, he paid a great deal of attention to other potential interpretations of the Stratum IB structure as a domestic quarter, a storehouse, or a tower. After having ruled these out as viable options, Zertal concluded that the site must have been cultic in nature. He then devoted 8 pages—about 13 percent of the article—to exploring the sort of cultic site that Ebal may have been, the way it relates to the biblical text, and what role it played in the Israelite settlement. In the end, although Zertal acknowledged that it was his “opinion [that] the main complex at Mount Ebal is indeed an altar,” he also stressed that the very existence of el-Burnat as an Iron Age I site on Mt. Ebal itself raises the question “whether there is a connection between the biblical tradition and the finds from the site.” At the same time, he acknowledges that “no conclusive answer can be given,” and that he is hopeful that “further research will be able to contribute more information to answer this crucial question” (Zertal 1986–87: 151–61). Despite Zertal’s qualifying statements, G. Gilmour has criticized the fact that Zertal set forth conclusions identifying the site as cultic in nature in his preliminary report. He argues that Zertal’s interpretation “compromises a comparative approach” because his “identification of the site’s function dominates the report in a manner that precludes an objective reading of the basic archaeological facts.” Gilmour wonders “how the report may have differed if the site was excavated and written up by another archaeologist with a more open mind as to the site’s identity and function.” Though he notes that “Zertal may be right—the structure may be an altar,” he laments that “we are invited to accept his word for it, and this precludes genuine debate” (Gilmour 1995: 119–20). Gilmour’s criticisms are overstated. It is true that, in the past, the agenda for studying ancient Near Eastern religions was set by reference to biblical texts (Nakhai 2001: 5–18), and interpreters were quick to assign a cultic interpretation to unexplained archaeological sites or material remains. Shiloh has referred to “the method that prevailed in the past, according to which a cultic interpretation [was to be] bestowed on every unusual structure or other object to which such a designation could conceivably be attached” (Shiloh 1979: 148). New approaches seek to accept archaeology as an “independent witness” completely autonomous from the biblical text (Dever 1987: 219–22). However, if archaeological data are to be accepted as a witness at all, they must still be interpreted, and interpretive strategies are a standard topic of discussion in archaeological handbooks (e.g., Holladay 2003: 44). The very motivation for the archaeological enterprise is for researching and comparing the material culture, which means that “a major research focus is the development of classification systems and typology” (Ortiz 2005: 67). To argue that Zertal should have left the interpretation of the site to others is to suggest that archaeologists should not engage the ba-

Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure

15

sic arenas of inquiry that make up the archaeological task: material cultural studies, historical reconstruction, and anthropological processes. Zertal has done no more or less than other archaeologists who have offered interpretations of the sites they have excavated. The question that remains is how subsequent researchers are themselves to evaluate the site on Mt. Ebal.

Methodology and Criteria for the Identification of the Site So far, there has been little discussion of the actual archaeological data related to Mt. Ebal. Instead, both archaeologists and biblical scholars repeat arguments that the date and nature of the book of Joshua are the primary reasons for ruling out the Ebal site as having a biblical connection. Soggin wrote, “I must object to A. Zertal’s way of using the biblical evidence” and lamented that “such use, or rather misuse, of biblical texts is unfortunately not unknown among archaeologists” (Soggin 1988: 116, 119 n. 10). He states that “the late dating of Josh 8:30–35 is something about which all non‘fundamentalist’ scholars agree” (Soggin 1988: 117). Kempinski’s objections, already noted, rested in part on arguments about Deuteronomic origins of the Joshua material (Kempinski 1986: 48). Whereas Coogan has been open to a cultic understanding of the site (Coogan 1987: 1–8), he suggests that Ebal is a Canaanite site, a conclusion that seems to be conditioned by Deuteronomic understandings of the Joshua material. Coogan explains that, “since the division of the land in Joshua is an ideal picture . . . the mere presence of premonarchic remains within the ideal tribal boundaries does not require their construction or use by the members of that tribe” (Coogan 1990: 27). Dever’s joking dismissal of the “altar” as “a picnic site where barbecues were enjoyed by families on Saturday afternoons” is also undergirded by an understanding of the biblical text as having postexilic origins, despite his call on repeated occasions for a specifically archaeological approach to the reconstruction of ancient Israelite religion (Dever 1992: 28, 34; 1987: 209–10; 2002: 11–33). Evangelical scholars have been no quicker to make a biblical connection with the Ebal structure. Here again, the reasons are not archaeological but biblical: “The current dating of the site does not fit with Biblical chronology, which suggests an earlier, fourteenth century (ca. 1400 b.c.e.) date for Joshua and the conquest” (Kaiser and Garrett 2005: 288). It seems clear, therefore, that many of the reactions against Zertal’s conclusions about Ebal seem to be based on biblical interpretive approaches rather than on the archaeological data themselves. 7 My goal in this book is to consider the archaeological evidence associated with Mt. Ebal and whether the data themselves point to a specific interpretation of the site. Two methodological issues should be discussed at 7.  For additional reasons that scholars may have wanted to avoid taking a position on Ebal, see the introduction, n. 1.

16

Chapter 1

the outset, the first of which concerns the underlying theoretical assumptions. In the early 1980s, W. G. Dever (1983: 571–87) noted that “archaeology of either the ‘biblical’ or the ‘secular’ persuasion has scarcely augmented our understanding of the actual cult in ancient Israel in any specific and fundamental way.” At that time, there were no major temples or cultic sites dating to Iron Age I at all. In an endnote, Dever noted the discovery of the Bull site subsequent to the completion of his chapter. The Mt. Ebal site had been discovered in 1980, but it was not announced until November of 1983 or published in popular or scholarly forums until subsequent years (Zertal 1983: 72; 1984: 55; 1985; 26–43; 1986: 43, 49–53; 1986–87: 105–65; 1988c: 137–54). Twenty-five years later, these two sites remain the only locations set forth as major Israelite cult sites in Iron Age I. Whether the cultic identification of these sites is accepted or rejected, it is widely recognized that there are no other major temple/cult sites dating to Iron Age I that can be identified with the Israelites (e.g., Ortiz 2005: 71; Fritz 2005: 87). In his programmatic essay, Dever suggested that, in order to investigate the ancient Israelite cult, “our strategy in Syro-Palestinian archaeology must be deliberately to seek to locate potential cultic sites and areas in Israel, Jordan, Egypt, and Syria, and to complete large-scale exposure of appropriate Late Bronze and Iron Age levels, using the most sophisticated methods of data retrieval” (Dever 1983: 580). In setting forth the strategy that should be adopted for these pursuits, Dever stated that ongoing archaeological work should be (1) systemic, (2) processual, and (3) scientific. With regard to the systemic dimension of archaeology, Dever stressed that material evidence for extinct societies must be examined “in total cultural and environmental context, which entails the use of extensive multi-disciplinary and comparative (or ‘crosscultural’) methods.” The processual dimension is concerned “primarily with the variability of human behavior and thus seeks ‘laws’ or patterns of cultural adaptations and change.” And with regard to the scientific, Dever noted that, in addition to excavation, archaeology should concentrate more on “the formulation and testing of hypotheses, i.e., to specific problem-solving” (Dever 1983: 580). Dever appears to have found his theoretical base in the “new archaeology” of Lewis R. Binford, who was the first to advocate processual archaeology. Binford (1968: 313–41) argued that archaeology should not just describe the past but should explain it. Working from the foundation of cultural evolutionism, processual archaeologists suggest that culture can be defined as the physical means of environmental adaptation by humans. Since human adaptation was relative to the environment, it should therefore be both understandable and scientifically predictable. Culture change, therefore, should happen in a predictable framework that can be understood by the analysis of its components and therefore completely reconstructed; hence the term processual or functional-processual archaeology. During the late 1960s

Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure

17

and early 1970s, Kent Flannery eschewed the trivial nature of some of the so-called laws of processual archaeology and felt that more attention should be placed on the ideological and symbolic aspects of societies. Nevertheless, he subscribed to the same positivist and materialist approaches of processual archaeology. Flannery made the case that “systems theory” could be used in archaeology to approach cultural questions in an unbiased manner. He viewed human behavior “as a point of overlap (or ‘articulation’) between a vast number of systems each of which encompasses both cultural and noncultural phenomena—often much more of the latter” (Flannery 1967: 120). Flannery explained the strategy of processual archaeology as a process of isolating each system and studying it as a separate variable, with the ultimate goal of making “a reconstruction of the entire pattern of articulation, along with all related systems,” and he claimed that this was the only way that archaeologists could examine other cultures without the influence of their own cultural biases. With regard to material remains and the Israelite cult, Dever (1983: 580) concludes that “‘processual’ for our purposes implies that archaeology is capable of discerning in material remains evidence of how religion may have functioned in the adaptation of an ancient society to its natural and cultural environment, how cultic practice expressed and validated the belief-systems of that society, and how both evolved through time and circumstance.” In the 1980s, some archaeologists began to react to the positivism and materialism of processual archaeology. Ian Hodder was one of the strongest critics of the scientific method of processual archaeology and promoted instead a postprocessual or contextual archaeology. He insisted (1986) that archaeology is not “an experimental discipline,” by which he meant that its theories on cultural change cannot be verified by experiments. This led him to question whether archaeological investigation could produce a complete reconstruction of culture change. He suggested, instead, that what is considered “true” by the archaeologist is simply what seems to him or her to be the most reasonable explanation for a given body of data. In contradistinction to Flannery, Hodder deduced therefore that the conclusions reached by archaeologists would always be influenced by personal biases. Dever has welcomed the emergence of postprocessualism, and he summarizes its distinctions as follows (Dever 2003b: 516–18). Postprocessual archaeology (1) is reactionary, skeptical of “positivist” presuppositions; (2) emphasizes culture, not as “adaptation to the natural environment,” but in a larger contextual archaeology; (3) disavows determinist explanations for culture change in preference to more “probabilistic” explanations; (4) is concerned with epistemological questions about the past; (5) has an approach to history that seeks to understand purpose and thought; and (6) seeks to establish “the meaning of things,” while “eschewing both the determinist notion that meaning is external and functionalist and the relativist notion that all assignments of meaning are equally valid.” With regard to this final

18

Chapter 1

point, Dever notes the tendency among postprocessual archaeologists to use the metaphor of “reading”—“that is, of interpreting material culture remains much in the same way as one would read texts, the other primary source for history-writing.” He calls attention to Hodder’s references to “con-textual archaeology”—that is, “archaeology with texts” (see Hodder 1986: 118–46). Dever praises postprocessualism’s rejection of the functionalism and determinism of much of the “New Archaeology,” its attempt to “read” material culture, its social consciousness, and its reestablishment of history-writing as an important goal of archaeology. In recent years, a new perspective has emerged that claims to transcend the limitations of the functional-processual archaeology of the 1970s without rejecting its positive achievements and thus distinguishes itself from what it perceives to be the “relativism” of postprocessualism (Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 496). This approach, known as cognitive-processual archaeology, “sees itself in the mainstream of thinking, the direct inheritor of the functional-processual archaeology of 20 years ago” (Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 496; see also Flannery and Marcus 1983; Renfrew and Zubrow 1994). Renfrew and Bahn (2004: 496–97) enumerate seven ways in which cognitiveprocessual archaeology varies from its functional-processual forerunner: 1. It strives to utilize data about the cognitive and symbolic dimensions of early societies into its reconstructions. 2. It acknowledges ideology as an active force within societies that will often be part of the explanation for culture change. 3. Material culture is regarded as an active factor in representing the world in which people live (i.e., Hodder’s idea of material culture as a meaningfully reconstructed text). 4. Internal conflict is acknowledged as having had a significant role within societies and as something that must be considered in the formulation of reconstructions (e.g., Marxist archaeology). 5. A replacement of the limited view of historical explanation as entirely related to the human individual with a more nuanced and broader view (e.g., cyclical change, long-term trends). 6. Takes into consideration the creative role of the individual. 7. Rejects an extreme “positivist” view of the philosophy of science.

Based on the points enumerated by Renfrew and Bahn, cognitive-processual archaeology is primarily concerned with (a) the combination of the cognitive and symbolic with other features of early societies; and (b) the role of ideology as an active organizational force. Cognitive-processualism, which is the essential core of processual archaeology substantially tempered by the recognition that ideology is an active force within societies, is probably the dominant approach to archaeology today, and it is the theoretical approach taken in this volume. These seven points enumerated by Renfrew and Bahn are integral to my assessment and interpretation of the Iron Age I site on Mt. Ebal.

Discovery and Excavation of the Ebal Structure

19

The second methodological issue is the specific system of principles that are used in determining whether cultic activity can be identified at the Mt.  Ebal site. The process of identifying cultic activity in archaeological contexts is a subject with its own long history of controversy. Prior to the last quarter of the 20th century, a comprehensive, theoretical approach to identifying cultic sites had not been devised. A number of works have made important contributions toward filling this gap—one of the earliest and probably the most influential being Colin Renfrew’s study of the sanctuary at Phylakopi on the Aegean island of Melos, The Archaeology of Cult: The Sanctuary at Phylakopi (1985). Renfrew (1985: 17) seeks to define and interpret religion anthropologically, claiming that religious beliefs form a “more or less coherent system or structure, to which the cult observances relate.” The cult observances have four primary transcendent or supernatural objectives, which are: to focus the attention of worshipers, to create a boundary zone between this world and the next, to demonstrate the presence of the deity, and to allow for participation and offering (Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 416–17). This essential “structure in the belief system should engender pattern in cult practice, and it is this which we as archaeologists may hope to discern” (Renfrew 1985: 1–4, 11–26). Renfrew then seeks to elicit behavioral and material correlates from belief systems that may be clearly identified in the archaeological record. Renfrew’s correlates, however, are designed for identifying cultic sites built for centralized public worship rather than decentralized private worship, a shortcoming that Renfrew himself notes. During Iron Age I, the primary period under consideration in this book, sacred places were eclectic and included pilgrimage sanctuaries (Shiloh), open-air sanctuaries (e.g., “Bull Site”), village sanctuaries (e.g., Hazor, Dan, ʿAi, et al.), domestic sanctuaries (e.g., Megiddo, Tell el-Wawiyat, et al.), and possibly gateway sanctuaries (Tall al-ʿUmayri?). “The type of sacred places at which the Iron I settlers worshipped—small and simple—stands in contrast to the single large fortified Canaanite sanctuary (Shechem) of the same period” (Nakhai 2001: 170–76). This contrast applies as well to the public cult sites that Renfrew’s correlates are designed to identify. Without modification, therefore, Renfrew’s methodology is insufficient for use in identifying cultic sites in Iron Age I Israel. The first theoretical statement specifically dealing with the Palestinian context appears to have been made by M. D. Coogan (1987: 1–8), prompted by the discovery and publication of data related to the “Bull Site” and the Mt. Ebal site. Coogan proposed four basic criteria that could be used in cases in which decisive written evidence is lacking: 1. Isolation. “In most cultures,” Coogan notes, “there is a conscious separation between the holy and the profane.” 8 One of the ways this finds expression 8.  Coogan 1987: 2; cf. also Zevit 2002: 73–81.

20

Chapter 1 is in a temenos wall (τέμενος) that separates a holy precinct from other, secular parts of the site. Examples of this can be found in the Middle Bronze IIB at Tell Kittan Stratum IV; in the Late Bronze Age at the Temple of Baal at Ugarit, at the Bipartite Temple in Area H of the Lower city of Hazor, at Temple 2048 at Megiddo, in Shechem Field VI, and at Tell Mevorakh; and in the Iron Age II at Dan and Tell Qasile Stratum X, among others. 9 2. Exotic Materials. Material such as miniature vessels, figurines, rare or costly items, usually atypical of other contexts, are often found at cultic sites. Coogan notes the problems associated with the use of “incense burners” and figurines for the identification of cult sites, because neither of these necessarily had a cultic function. Indeed, figurines are found in random excavation contexts and cannot always be interpreted, because there is rarely written evidence related to their usage. In many cases, their interpretation has been a matter of conjecture (Black and Green 2000: 116–17). However, when exotic materials are considered cumulatively as part of the overall archaeological repertoire, they may contribute to an understanding of the nature of a site. 3. Continuity. Sites regarded as holy often retain the appellation of holiness in the future. Coogan cites several examples, including the successive sanctuaries at Beth-shean, whose usage continued from the Late Bronze Age into the Iron Ages, and the Fosse Temples at Lachish, which also experienced multiperiod usage. If a site is currently used for cultic purposes and appears to have experienced the same sort of usage in previous periods, then the principle of continuity may be projected backward in time to argue for the cultic identification of a site. 4. Parallels. Sites that share similar functions will also tend to share similar morphological characteristics, in terms of both architecture and other material paraphernalia, particularly when they date to the same period. “Thus, building plans, altars, pedestals, and the like should show resemblance to cultic installations known from written or non-written sources.” Coogan attributes this to the natural tendency toward conservatism— both human and religious.

Using these four criteria, Coogan rules out a cultic function for the “Bull Site” on the basis of an absence of exotic materials other than the bull figurine and because he sees the architectural evidence as “too fragmentary to adduce convincing parallels or to indicate isolation” (Coogan 1987: 5). The Mt. Ebal site, on the other hand, is accepted by Coogan as cultic because of its isolation, exotic material, and the fact that “convincing parallels can be made.” A. Mazar has demonstrated the shortcomings of Coogan’s four criteria for the identification of cultic sites, noting that a number of clearly identified cult places and temples in ancient Israel do not conform to all of 9.  Eisenberg 1977: 79–80; Schaeffer 1931: fig. 2; 1933: fig. 14; Yadin et al. 1989: fig. 4, pl. 38; Loud 1948: fig. 247; A. Mazar 1992b: 171; G. R. H. Wright 1975: 60–61; Stern 1984: 31; Biran 1998: 40; A. Mazar 1980: 71.

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Coogan’s criteria. In relation to the requirement of “isolation,” for example, Mazar notes that “the temples at Tell Qasile, a temple in area A at Hazor, the temple at Arad and others all fail to meet this criterion, yet they are all clearly temples” (A. Mazar 1988: 45). With regard to the requirement of the presence of “exotic materials”: they may not always be present in a cultic site. Their absence may be due to the site’s having been abandoned in its final phases or having been robbed out at a later time. As examples, Mazar notes that exotic materials were not found at the Chalcolithic temple at En-gedi, the Early Bronze temples at Megiddo, the Canaanite temple 2048 at Megiddo, or the Shechem temples. “Continuity” is not a viable requirement either: it may not always be present, especially in the case of Iron Age I settlement sites, which are often one-period sites (as are both the “Bull Site” and the Mt. Ebal site). Finally, Mazar notes that “parallels,” Coogan’s fourth criteria, may not be possible to find for every piece of archaeological data; and, “if we expect to find parallels to every new archaeological feature, we probably will never be able to advance our research in this field of study.” Both the “Bull Site” and the Mt. Ebal site have only limited parallels. On the whole, then, Coogan’s criteria may be helpful for considering the nature of the Ebal site, but it is inadequate for reaching definite conclusions. Another attempt at establishing a methodology for the identification of cultic sites, albeit in Iron Age II, was made by Holladay, in his article “Religion in Israel and Judah under the Monarchy: An Explicitly Archaeological Approach” (1987: 249–99). Because he believes that “the biblical tradition, however polyvalent it may seem, is the continuously edited, consciously selected, generally prescriptive literary tradition of a very small hierarchy,” Holladay seeks to devise a method that has no “regard for special considerations.” Holladay identifies four classes of data available for the reconstruction of the religion: architectural, artifactual, artistic, and epigraphic. He works from the material to the theoretical by first reviewing the architecture and artifacts of recently discovered sites that have been identified as sanctuaries, shrines, and cult areas, after which he seeks to develop a model based on the clustered phenomena of the aforementioned sites. For most Israelite and Judean cult places, the distinguishing artifacts seem to be the horned incense altar, tall “cult” stands, “incense bowls,” lamps, stela-form stones, pottery vessels (both ordinary and cultic), and sometimes figurines. Chalices appear in the earlier periods. Benches, podia, and sometimes altars for burnt offerings are included among the immobilia. Holladay sets forth an operative hypothesis based on a distinction between sites of “established worship” and “tolerated nonconformist worship,” or “state” and “local” worship, which should be distinguishable archaeologically. Inherent within this model is the idea that one of the major goals of the religious establishment was to promote national unity and a feeling of distinctiveness vis-à-vis neighboring states. On this assumption, established religion should then be national in scope and distinguishable at

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the town and national levels by (a) a concentration of cultic apparatus and (b) distinctive architectural traits suited to the function of the cultus. “In the truest sense of the term,” he writes, “these are ‘public buildings’” (Holladay 1987: 268). Holladay notes specifically that, “since the temple, sanctuary, or shrine is intended to be an important part of the general cultural milieu of the populace, the building should not be a ‘closed box.’ A significant part of the sanctuary might reasonably be expected to be open to public view, even if access to certain more sacred portions of the structure were reserved to priests” (Holladay 1987: 289–90 n. 98). In other words, “as an important official building and divine correlate to the palace of the king, governor, or appointed official, the shrine of the deity should exhibit traces of monumental architecture appropriate to the level of political organization” (1987: 268). Holladay hypothesizes that “nonconformist” religion, on the other hand, serves a completely different social function. It is designed “to remedy perceived deficiencies in the established religion,” examples of which might be the failure of the “establishment” cultus to allow full access by women and/or the failure to include various aspects of divinity in its worship (1987: 269–270). Locations of tolerated “nonconformist” worship “should be archaeologically distinguishable (a) by localized concentrations of material correlates of cultic activity and (b) by distinctive architectural traits vis-àvis the ‘Established’ sanctuaries.” Holladay explains that political considerations by themselves would probably indicate that any “tolerated nonconformist” shrine would be smaller in scale than “establishment” shrines at a similar plane of political organization. Nonconformist shrines of this sort would not have been an integral part of the town plan because they were not government sponsored. This would suggest that they should not be expected to be situated in ideal locations. One might expect that, in a built-up town site, these nonconformist cult sites would reveal an oblique access plan. This means that, even if this site were in plain view, it might have outward indications of its “private” association. Individuals associated with a nonconformist site would probably have modified the establishment cultus in order to make it clear that theirs was not an exact derivation of the state cultus, “although it seems reasonable to suppose that there might be a possible tendency toward mutual accommodation through time.” In smaller territories surrounded with more culturally developed neighbors, one might assume that the nonconformist cult or group would display unambiguous indications of “foreign” influence. This kind of cultural borrowing, however, may vary depending on what the flaws of the establishment cultus were perceived to be. In other words, if there were cult symbols, amulets, or maybe even specialized cultic equipment from other cultures, one might expect to find some integration of these by a nonconformist cult seeking to distinguish itself from the establishment cultus. Holladay postulates that, since this kind of nonconformist religion lies outside the auspices

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of “official” religion, it may have been regional in scope, with some variability between neighboring regions. Other writers have built on this distinction between official and popular religion. S.  Ackerman wrote one of the first book-length treatments on the subject of folk religion, entitled Under Every Green Tree: Popular Religion in Sixth-Century Judah, in which she used the term popular religion throughout. She defined it mainly as “an alternate vision, a non-priestly, non-Deuteronomistic, non-prophetic view of what Yahwism was” (Ackerman 1992: 1–2). S. Niditch produced the first synthesis of ancient Israelite religion by a woman scholar, entitled simply Ancient Israelite Religion (Niditch 1997). In this volume, Niditch pays attention to the larger social setting, including the role of women, in the religious beliefs and practices of ancient Israel. She argues that a single world view is implied in the Bible, although the Israelites were not a monolothic community over time “or at any given time.” She explains the Bible as a product of the “establishment,” to use Holladay’s terminology. Niditch argues that what one finds in the Bible is the biased product of a particular group of pro-Davidic men, based in Jerusalem and that it is not representative of the thought of all Israelites throughout the course of Israel’s long social history. She insists that the materials included in the Hebrew Bible were culled by this elite group from a much broader range of traditional Israelite materials, of which only hints are preserved therein and that the final product represents the thought of only a small minority in a much larger culture. One of Niditch’s primary concerns, therefore, is discovering what the others believed. The recent work by W. G. Dever, Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel (2005), continues to build on the idea of a distinction between state and folk religion, which he seeks to demonstrate through extensive use of archaeological data. Dever defines religion as “essentially the practice of the majority” (2005: 59–60) and argues that this “religion arises out of the exigencies of real-life experience.” By this, he means that religion originates in responses to experience—that is, rituals related to rites of passage (birth, transition to adulthood, marriage, and death), agricultural cycles, and so on. In this paradigm, theological articulations and the “official” cult only developed later, and only then as a reaction against widespread and unapproved folk practices. For Dever, “abstract theological concepts” are only developed by the “clerical establishment,” the “literati,” “in this case, the right-wing, ultranationalist religious parties who wrote the Bible.” The sophisticated religion of the Hebrew Bible would have been unknown to common Israelites and, if they had been made aware of it, it would have seemed irrelevant to them. The reason for this, Dever argues, is that the religious practices of the common people “were informed not by the canonical literary tradition and its late, ‘orthodox’ ideals, but rather by centuries-old religious myths and rituals, many of them going back to Canaanite Bronze Age traditions.”

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Israelite religion did incorporate elements of Canaanite religion intermittently, throughout its history. For example, Asherah images were made in ancient Israel, both by private individuals and by commission of the government, which the Bible acknowledges, a fact that has been recognized for many years (e.g., 1 Kgs 16:32–33; 2 Kgs 18:3–4; 23:4ff.; see Reed 1949). It is not clear, however, that these sorts of nonorthodox practices were peculiar to a particular element in Israelite society, as has been claimed. Instead, the evidence seems to make it clear that these practices cut across economic strata. Biblical and archaeological data indicate that nonorthodox elements of Yahwism could be found at “establishment” cultic centers (e.g., Samaria and Jerusalem), as well as at more peripheral locations or “nonconformist” cultic centers (e.g., Khirbet el-Qom and Kuntillet ʿAjrud). These data have led P. D. Miller (2002: 51) to prefer the term heterodox Yahwism over terms that refer to a dichotomy between state and folk religion. For Miller, heterodox Yahwism is, by definition, “an amalgam of [pure Yahwism blended with foreign elements], together with particular practices that came into conflict with some of the facets of more orthodox Yahwism or were not customarily a part of it.” While the relationship between state and folk religion may be more fluid than some scholars have allowed, Holladay’s initial operative hypothesis has merit. In addition, although his model is primarily designed for use in Iron Age II, he includes the “Bull Site” among sites that he assesses (Holladay 1987: 272). It may be, therefore, that Holladay’s model can contribute to an understanding of the nature of the Mt. Ebal site as well. G.  Gilmour, in his 1995 dissertation, sought to address the need for a theoretical approach to the identification of cultic sites by devising a “continuum of probability” to assess the likelihood of a given site’s cultic nature. Gilmour’s degrees of probability range from zero (not cultic) to ten (definitely cultic) and are based on the three typical variables of architecture, artifacts, and continuity of use (Gilmour 1995: 10–11). Temples would obviously be assigned the highest numbers, because they include all three variables, while sites and loci with only partial evidence would be assigned lower numbers (Gilmour 2000: 286–88). Gilmour claims that his methodology provides the means for a “standardization of approach,” and that his assignation of numerical values was “arbitrary but consistent.” This model, however, is somewhat ambiguous, because Gilmour states that “any numerical value on the continuum indicates the presence of some evidence of cult” (1995: 12). He explains that, “while a higher rating on the probability continuum indicates a greater probability of cultic identity, a lower rating does not necessarily mean that a site has a proportionately lower probability of cultic identity.” Instead, it simply “may reflect the absence of information with which to assess that site or locus,” for whatever reason. Gilmour notes that “it is important to stress that a low rating on the probability continuum does not necessarily imply that a site or locus is not cultic.” Thus, while Gilmour may register skepticism about a site’s cultic nature, Gilmour’s as-

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signment of even one point to it allows for the possibility that it is cultic in nature. This ambiguity has led Z. Zevit, in his monumental work The Religions of Ancient Israel (2001), to prefer Renfrew’s system of correlates referring to behaviors, which he has modified to reflect the possibilities of Iron Age Syria–Palestine: 1. Rituals may be performed in a place of natural significance such as a cave, spring, mountain top, or grove of trees. 2. They may be performed in a place of historical significance, for example, the site of a theophany to an ancestor or of a famous event, or a grave. 3. They may take place in an enclosure, a room, or a building set aside for their performance. 4. Rituals may involve public and/or secret aspects, the practice of which will be reflected in architecture. 5. Worship involves prayer and prescribed movements that may be reflected in architecture or iconography. 6. Architecture and appurtenances may reflect the points of major concern and the focus of attention. 7. Cult images, icons, or aniconic representations of the deity or of deities may be present. 8. Special facilities such as benches, altars, hearths, basins, storage bins, or jars necessary for the rituals may be present. 9. Sacrifice may be practiced. 10. Food and drink may be brought and either presented, consumed, or libated. 11. Material objects such as votives may be presented. The act of offering may entail breakage. 12. The ritual area may have repeated symbols or redundant appurtenances. 13. The physical plan of a building or of a site may reflect the concepts of ritual cleanliness and gradations of sanctity. 14. The structure and its appurtenances may reflect a significant investment of wealth. (Zevit 2001: 82; adapted from Renfrew 1985: 19–20)

Although Zevit has been called a “positivist,” most reviewers have noted his judicious application of his methodology and his tendency not to interpret the evidence when the data are insufficient. 10 Zevit himself notes the special difficulties that one faces when examining an archaeological site or locus with the purpose of determining whether it had a cultic function: Studying an excavated site with this list in hand, while checking off a number of items from the preceding list, would not necessarily mark a site as cultic. For example, items 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 14 could be checked off in a wealthy home or a major administrative center, even if figurines were included in the 10.  For the accusation of “positivism,” see, e.g., Dever 2005: 46; for reviews, see Nakhai 2003a: 46; Burnett 2006; Hess 2002: 6–7; Klingbeil 2003: 157–60; Mandell 2003: Noegel 2002–3: 2–3; Ortiz 2004a: 499–500.

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Chapter 1 finds. However, a smaller list of items such as 7, 8, and 12 alone could indicate a cult site even in a humble structure. Since many types of vessels such as bowls, stands, lamps, and installations such as basins, bins, and niches have domestic applications, these, in and of themselves, cannot establish a cultic interpretation for a site, even though they are characteristic of some such sites. One rule of thumb in this problematic area is to eliminate from cultic consideration any assemblage explicable as domestic or at least as non-cultic in light of what is known about the society. This rule, however, should not eliminate from consideration as cultic a site where common objects occur in uncommon quantities or atypical arrangements.

Zevit’s care has led him to rule out some sites that have often been interpreted as cultic, including the cult complex from Arad Stratum XII, Ein Gev, a late 9th-century Jerusalem cult room, Makmish, Tell Michal, the Stratum VA “Davidic” gate at Megiddo, the 8th-to-7th-century b.c.e. Samaria shrine, and the Taʿanach cultic area. 11 On the other hand, Zevit identifies as cultic some sites that have sometimes been rejected as such, including Giloh, Ḥorvat Radum, the “Bull Site,” and Mt. Ebal. 12 It appears that Zevit “takes nothing for granted” and that he “puts to the test each identification of a site” (Spronk 2003: 674) when it comes to cultic identification. In a dust-jacket endorsement, W. G. Dever described Zevit’s work as “the most ambitious, the most sophisticated, the most important study of ancient Israelite religion ever undertaken.” Despite Zevit’s careful application of his methodology and his willingness to rule out some sites that have usually been interpreted as cultic, his approach has received criticism. In a lengthy review article, Smith (2004: 175) states that “the degree to which Renfrew’s criteria truly offer an objective or scientific basis for identifying cultic spaces is a matter of debate, which in turn affects the objective or scientific basis for Zevit’s procedure.” Though Smith casts doubt on Renfrew’s criteria (and hence, Zevit’s) with these remarks, he does not actually identify specific problems with the list of correlates. This is not to say that Renfrew’s archaeological indicators of ritual are without flaw. Indeed, Renfrew had already noted, as discussed above, that his correlates were designed for identifying cultic sites built for centralized public worship rather than decentralized private worship, and he later noted at least two additional shortcomings of his approach (Renfrew 1985: 22; Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 414–16). First, “belief systems are not always given expression in material culture” and, when they are, “there 11.  Zevit 2001: 157–58, 201, 206, 218, 219, 231, 234, 235–37; Gilmour (1995: 69–70, 122, 127, 204) rates the cult complex from Arad Stratum XII at 0, the late 9th-century Jerusalem cult room at 3, Tel Michal at 5, and the Taʿanach cultic area at 3. 12.  Zevit 2001: 176–80, 196–201. For the “Bull Site,” Coogan (1987: 5) finds a cultic identification “unlikely,” Gilmour (1995: 92) rates it a 4, and Kitchen (2003: 231) suggests that the site could easily be explained using a “domestic” appellation. Gilmour (1995: 118) rates the Mt. Ebal site a 2.

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is the problem that such actions are not always clearly separated from the other actions of everyday life.” When belief systems are articulated through material culture, these expressions “can be embedded within everyday functional activity and thus difficult to distinguish from it archaeologically” (Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 416). Second, “only a few of these criteria will be fulfilled in any single archaeological context,” in which case, the data may be insufficient for a complete understanding of the nature of the site. As an example of these difficulties with the identification of cult sites, Renfrew cites his excavation of the Sanctuary at Phylakopi on the Aegean island of Melos that dates from the 15th to 12th centuries b.c.e. (Renfrew 1985). Renfrew notes the discovery of two adjacent rooms with platforms that may have served as altars. A rich figurative assemblage, including some human depictions, was located in these rooms, thus fulfilling some of the criteria for a cult site. Renfrew goes on to explain, however, that, “although the assemblage was perfectly consonant with a cult usage, the arguments did not seem completely conclusive.” Phylakopi was subsequently compared with other sites in Crete that were recognized cult sites. When it was determined that Phylakopi shared similar features with the Cretan cult sites, it was concluded that Phylakopi could also be identified as a cultic site. Renfrew and Bahn (Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 417) conclude that “one such occurrence [of a given characteristic] might have been attributable to special factors, but the discovery of several with closely comparable features suggested a pattern for which the explanation of religious ritual seemed the only plausible one.” Renfrew and Bahn supplement this discussion with a notation that a cultic identification will obviously be more easily made if there is an overt iconography in the symbols used at the site. Renfrew is not therefore suggesting that his list of correlates can woodenly be applied to any given site in order to deduce a cultic identification. The analysis of a given site must indeed be based on the material remains within that site, but it must also take other factors into consideration, including the total assemblage, comparable sites and their assemblages, iconographic remains, and, as discussed above, relevant texts. Each of the aforementioned methodologies has been important to develop a better understanding of cultic sites in ancient Syria–Palestine. Renfrew’s four essential transcendent objectives of cultic activity—focus of attention, development of a boundary zone between this world and the next, demonstration of the presence of the deity, and allowance for participation and offering—engender a series of behavioral and material correlates. Although these are useful as a theoretical reference point, they are limited by their design for the identification of cultic sites built specifically for public or communal use, which precludes their use in identifying small, rural, private, or domestic cultic sites due to the facts that belief systems are not always given expression in material culture and that only a few of the criteria may be fulfilled in a particular archaeological context. Though Coogan does

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not cite Renfrew, his four criteria of isolation, exotic materials, continuity, and parallels seem to build on his methodology in a way that is useful, though ultimately limited, in a Palestinian setting. The work of Holladay, though geared toward the study of Iron Age II cult sites makes an important contribution in terms of its distinction between the interests that might be expressed in the architecture and appurtenances of “establishment” cultic sites versus “nonconformist” cultic sites. Gilmour’s continuum of probability seems too ambiguous to provide the standardized approach he hopes for, though his analyses are useful in that they rely on the typical variables of architecture, artifacts, and continuity of use. I would note, with T. W. Davis (2004: 28), that “the flaws of a model are not fatal to its source” and suggest that Zevit’s adapted typology is the most comprehensive in developing an extended list of behavioral correlates designed specifically for a Syro-Palestinian setting. In this book, I interact with all of these models when they are relevant, and I take into consideration especially the cultic assessments of Gilmour or Zevit, because they assign numerical evaluations of probability for cultic identification (Gilmour) or list the number of behavior correlates (Zevit). In chap. 2, I analyze the data related to the Ebal installations. This includes examinations of the layout of the site; the ceramic inventory and its implications for dating the site; vessels and the stone installations in which they were found; bone remains; scarabs and other pottery fragments; and the central structure and the condition in which it was found. All of these pieces of data are examined in an effort to determine the nature of the Ebal installation, and tentative conclusions are drawn. While there has never been a scholarly colloquium held to analyze the Ebal findings, there have been a few alternative explanations of the installation that have appeared in print. In chap. 3, I critically review these alternative interpretations and look for physical parallels among domestic and military structures. This includes examinations of Kempinski’s argument that the Ebal structure is a watchtower, Rainey’s suggestion that the remains are those of a manor house, and Dever’s proposal that the site was simply a popular outdoor barbecue site. Each of these arguments is reviewed, in turn, and compared with the data collected in chap. 2. This comparative approach seeks to determine whether their proposed, alternative interpretations match the existing artifactual remains or whether the site is anomalous—as the excavator claims. Chapter 4 is a consideration of parallels among religious sites and structures, including a series of Jordan Valley sites dubbed gilgalim, as well as Bronze and Iron Age altars. In chap. 5, I turn to literary sources, reviewing the architectural tradition of altars in an effort to determine the potential veracity of identifying the Ebal structure as an altar. A comparative analysis is undertaken toward this end, beginning in the Mishnaic period and working backward through the altar descriptions in the Hebrew Bible. This will include a study of the

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Mishnaic tractate Middot, Ezekiel’s visionary altar, Solomon’s Temple altar, the Tabernacle altar, and Deuteronomic instructions for the construction of an altar. The architectural traditions of Mesopotamia are also considered. The question addressed is whether a uniform tradition of altar architecture can be detected and, if so, whether it can help in determining the nature and function of the Ebal site. This chapter also takes a comparative approach, seeking to determine whether the Ebal structure reflects the literary architectural traditions of altar construction. Chapter 6 builds on all the aforementioned data and draws conclusions about the nature and function of the Ebal installation. The question how the Mt. Ebal site relates to the larger settlement picture presented by the survey of Manasseh is addressed, as well as what it might contribute toward understanding the identity of the settlers in the central hill country of Canaan in the 13th century b.c.e. The final chapter is a review of what we have discovered and my conclusions.

Chapter 2

Analysis of the Ebal Installation Location and Layout of the Site Location of the Site El-Burnat is the sole Iron Age I site located on Mt. Ebal. Twelve sites were discovered, one of which was dated to Middle Bronze Age IIB and the remainder of which dated to the Persian period and later. El-Burnat is located northeast of Mt. Ebal’s peak, which ascends to the north of the valley of Shechem (fig. 4). It is 3,080 ft. (940 m) above sea level. Tell Balâṭah (ancient Shechem) lies at the base of the southern slope of Mt. Ebal. On the northern slope, Mt. Ebal descends in a series of four terraces, on the second of which lies el-Burnat (Zertal 1986–87: 106). Wadi Abrad can be seen to the east, and Wadi Farʿah to the northeast. The southwestern slope is moderate, and it descends into a valley where a path connects it to ʿAsireh esh-Shemaliyeh (Zertal 1992a: 485). This path, as already noted by Conder and Kitchener in their 19th-century survey, is the only path in existence on Mt. Ebal (Conder and Kitchener 1882: xi, cited in Zertal 1986–87: 106). The remote location of el-Burnat contributed to Zertal’s conclusion that the site was cultic in nature (Zertal 1985: 38). As noted above, the only path on or around Mt. Ebal is the one connecting it to ʿAsireh esh-Shemaliyeh. Zertal notes that “Mt. Ebal has always been an obstacle to transportation. All transportation routes have avoided it” (Zertal 1985: 31). In addition, there are no Iron Age settlements in the vicinity (Zertal 2004: 527–48). This remoteness is in conformity with the first of M. Coogan’s criteria for cultic interpretation: isolation (Coogan 1987: 2). A. Mazar, however, has questioned the requirement of “isolation” as a criterion for a cultic site (1998: 45). The first of Z. Zevit’s behavioral/material correlates, which notes that “rituals may be performed in a place of natural significance such as a cave, spring, mountain top, or grove of trees” (Zevit 2001: 82), is more nuanced and may explain more accurately the characteristic Coogan was seeking to describe with his term “isolation.” El-Burnat is isolated and does capitalize on features of natural topographic significance. Layout of the Site The typical Iron Age I settlements are hamlets or small villages often laid out in the ḥāṣēr style (‫ ; ָחצֵר‬Herzog 1992b: 233). Settlements that followed this pattern were oval-shaped with a large open space in the center. 30

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Figure 4.  Mt. Ebal in relation to the vicinity (Zertal 1986–87: 106, fig. 1).

The buildings faced the center and encircled the settlement, forming a courtyard, probably for penning the herds of the inhabitants at night, and also providing some measure of defense. Ḥorvat ʿOvot, Shiloh, Giloh, ʿAi, ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah, Tell Masos, and Tell Esdar are all arranged according to this plan. The plan of the Ebal site is very simple. It consists merely of an enclosure with an isolated building in the center. Clearly, the site is not a hamlet or village, though it has been suggested that the site may be a farmstead or an isolated watchtower. 1 These interpretations are examined in chap. 3. 1.  For interpretation as a farmstead, see Fritz 1993: 185; 2005: 87; as an isolated watchtower, see Kempinski 1986.

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Figure 5.  Plan of Stratum II, Area A (upper left, with central structure of Stratum IB superimposed) and Area B (lower right) (Zertal 1986–87: 110, fig. 3).

Stratum II Area A Partial remains of the Stratum II occupation were uncovered under the central structure of Stratum IB and under the southern courtyard associated with the central structure (fig. 5). These remains included Walls 18 and 36 (both fragmentary), Surface 61, Pit 250, and Installation 94 (fig. 5), all located under the central structure. Surface 61 lies on bedrock underneath the fill of the Stratum IB central structure. An ancient building was clearly built on this surface. Walls 18 and 36 were clearly a part of this ancient building, though the relationship between them is not clear. Of special interest in Stratum II of Area A is Installation 94, which was located “in the exact center of the overlying building” between Walls 13 and

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Figure 6.  Installation 94, located in center of overlying Stratum IB structure (Zertal 1985: 31).

Figure 7.  Installation 108 in Courtyard 103 of Temple 118, Tell Qasile (A. Mazar 1980: pl. 18, fig. 1).

16 (Zertal 1986–87: 110). Walls 18 and 36 did not, therefore, connect, since Installation 94 created “an obstacle for passage between the two spaces.” This installation is round, 6.6  ft. (2 m) in diameter, and constructed of medium-sized stones (fig. 6). It contained a layer of ash and animal bones 3.9 in. (10 cm) deep, some of which were burned. Zertal points to a similar structure discovered in the Philistine temple at Tell Qasile, excavated by A. Mazar (1980: 51). This structure was discovered in a large, open courtyard (Courtyard 103) surrounding Temple 118 of Stratum XI, dating to ca. 1100– 1050 b.c.e. (Mazar 1980: 11). The installation (108) consisted of a large stone slab, which was surrounded by “an irregular circle of stones” measuring

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Figure 8.  Pumice chalice from Pit 250 (Zertal 1986: 53; 1986– 87: 149, fig. 21).

4.8 ft. (1.45 m) in diameter (fig. 7). Mazar interpreted this installation as “a sacrificial altar” (1980: 51). Pit 250, also located underneath the central structure of Stratum IB, borders Surface 61. It contained hammerstones, pottery sherds that were able to be reconstructed into whole vessels, and a chalice. The chalice was unique, with no exact parallels. It was made of porous, lightweight volcanic rock (fig. 8). Zertal suggests that it shares similarities with a group of stone vessels found in a Hathor cave associated with an Egyptian temple at Serâbît el-Khâdim in Sinai (Zertal 1986–87: 148–49). Petrie described all of these vessels as “altars” (figs. 9–10). Altars 14 and 15 are very plain, with no.  15 having been chipped and no.  14 having been dressed. Number 13 is well finished. Vessel no. 3, according to Petrie, was originally quite elaborate, though its top has not survived. The top originally had a cup-hollow 9 in. (22.86 cm) wide and 4 in. (10.16 cm) deep. Altar no. 4 is the tallest of the vessels, measuring 22 in. (55.9 cm) in height, and it is the primary vessels that Zertal points to for a parallel. This vessel has a cup-hollow on the top measuring 3½ in. (8.9 cm) wide and 1 in. (2.5 cm) deep. Many of these vessels appear to have been intended for incense, and the top of altar 13 specifically was burned “for about a quarter of an inch inwards, black outside and discoloured below” (Petrie 1906: 133). Petrie notes that nos. 1–2, 7, and 12 are similar to the vase-altars of the Egyptian XIIth Dynasty, though the corpus as a whole

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Figure 9.  “Altars” from the Hathor cave at Serâbît el-Khâdim in Sinai (Petrie 1906: fig. 142).

dates to the XIXth and XXth Dynasties (Petrie 1906: 94–95). Regardless of their exact function, the vessels were clearly from a cultic context in the Serâbît el-Khâdim temple. Based on the finds associated with Pit 250 at el-Burnat, Zertal concludes that it “may have been used as a favissa, just before it was sealed by the fill of Stratum IB” (Zertal 1986–87: 111). Large amounts of ash, coals, and burned wood and animal bones were found on the nearby bedrock, as well as some scattered hearthstones and restorable pottery vessels. “The picture, as suggested by the burnt bones, is one of cooking, roasting and/or sacrificing, which apparently took place on bedrock in the open.” Based on the artifacts discovered in Area A of Stratum II, Gilmour concludes that, “while there are no overtly cultic items such as cult stands or kernoi in the assemblage, the quantitative analysis suggests it is not a domestic assemblage” (Gilmour 1995: 111). The quantity of cooking pots was very low (5%), while the quantities of collared-rim pithoi (28.5%) and other storage jars (11.6%) and jugs (19.3%) were very high (Zertal 1986–87: 124–47).

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Figure 10.  More “altars” from the Hathor cave at Serâbît el-Khâdim in Sinai (Petrie 1906: fig. 143).

If Area A of Stratum II is part of a cultic complex, the question is raised about the nature of the structure that included Walls 18 and 36 (see fig. 11). If Installation 94 was an altar and Pit 250 a favissa, it could be that the adjacent walls were part of a ‫( ִל ֹ ְשּכָה‬liškâ), which may have served as a sacrificial hall, a vestry or priest’s chambers, or a storage room. In the Hebrew Bible, ‫ִל ֹ ְשּכֹות‬ often refer to a room in a sanctuary where sacrificial meals were eaten (see 1 Sam 1:9; Jer 35:2). Kellermann (1997: 35) notes the implication in 1 Sam 9:22 that, when Samuel brought Saul and his servant-boy into the ‫ל ֹ ְשּכָה‬, ִ there was room for about 30 participants. In the Vulgate, the ‫ ִל ֹ ְשּכָה‬of 1 Sam 9:22 is translated using the Latin word triclinium, a term for a room with three couches surrounding a table. This translation, though based on later Roman culture, finds viability in the substantial archaeological evidence for rooms associated with ancient Near Eastern temples used for the consumption of

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37

sacrificial meals (Starcky 1949: 62–67). The ‫ ִל ֹ ְשּכֹות‬may also have served as a vestry, priest’s chambers, or storage room (Kellermann 1997: 35–38), all of which were essential components of most local sanctuaries in ancient Israel. In temples, they were sometimes located at the back of the building, behind the raised platform, or on one or both sides of the temple (Mazar 1980: 70–71; Stern 1984: 30). In sanctuaries with a raised cella, they were located on both of its sides (Stern 1984: 30). The Stratum II remains are too fragmentary for a reconstruction of the ancient building, though finding a storage facility of some sort in relation to a cultic area would be consistent with what is known about sanctuary design. Area B Stratum II of Area B contained the inner enclosure wall (Wall 29), abutted by a coarse domestic-type four-room house built on bedrock (Zertal 1986–87: 111–12; and see fig. 5 above). The building’s three long rooms are oriented northwest–southeast and are parallel to Wall 29. A broad room is located at the rear, in the northwestern part of the building. The building contained pottery, including lamps and a collared-rim pithos. The relationship between Areas A and B is not a direct stratigraphical relationship, though both areas are connected by Wall 32 and are “covered by the unified plan of Stratum IB.” Hence, their connection is implicit. The presence of a four-room house raises the issue of ethnicity. Zertal notes that “the four-room house is considered characteristic of the settling Israelites.” When the four-room house sprang up in the hill country on both sides of Iron I, early excavators proposed that it was a new, specifically “Israelite” form. Yigal Shiloh (1970: 180–90) was a pioneer of this interpretation. Critics claim to have found a few houses of this style at non-Israelite locations (Megiddo, Philistia, et al.), bringing the theory under question (see Edelman 1996: 44–45). Some of the examples presented by critics, however, do not fall within the four-room house category—their overall configurations are completely different. In other cases, such as Building B at Tall al-ʿUmayri, the four-room house design is clear (Herr 2000: 167–79). Younker suggested that, “in light of the various traditions of Israelites living outside their homeland (e.g., Ruth’s family in Moab), the question should perhaps remain open for the present” (Younker 2003a: 371–72). Regardless of its origin, the four-room house achieved a dominant position in Israelite architecture during the Iron Age. In exploring the reasons for this, Bunimovitz and Faust have recently made a convincing case that the four-room house may be understood as not only an ethnic marker but, more than this, “a symbolic expression of the Israelite mind—that is, their ethos or worldview” (Bunimovitz and Faust 2002: 36). Zertal argues that “the fact that a four-room house was unearthed in Stratum II at Mount Ebal already in the second half of the 13th century gives support to its Israelite origins” (Zertal 1986–87: 113).

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Figure 11.  The central structure of Stratum IB (Area A; Zertal 1986–87: 114, fig. 5).

If Area A is understood as a cultic installation, then the nearby four-room house may have been the residence of those who serviced it. Sanctuaries often had residential houses located near them to house cultic personnel. For example, a multiroom house with a courtyard stood near Building 5988, a Late Bronze Age sanctuary in Shechem Field IX (Bull et al. 1965: 11). The house and the sanctuary were separated only by an alley, which provided access to the sanctuary. A residential complex located near the Late Bronze Age sanctuary at Tell Deir ʿAlla contained specialized objects, suggesting that the complex housed cultic personnel (Franken 1969: 19–20; 1975: 322). In Stratum II of the Mt. Ebal site, Areas A and B, taken together, appear to be a modest cultic site with a four-room house that may have “served as a residence for the people who were in charge of the cultic place on the ridge above” (Zertal 1986–87: 151).

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39

Figure 12.  The central structure of Stratum IB (Area A), looking northwest (Zertal 1993a: 376).

Stratum IB Area A The primary features of Stratum IB are its central structure, the surrounding walls and the courtyards, a double wall between the courtyards, and a number of installations around the structure. These are each discussed in turn. The Central Structure The main feature of Stratum IB was a sizable structure built of large, unhewn stones, located in Area A (figs. 11–12). This central structure rises 10.7 ft. (3.3 m) above the bedrock, and its corners are oriented toward the four compass points with less than one degree of error (Zertal 1986–87: 113–14). The outer dimensions of the structure are: Wall 15 (northeast): 28.7 ft. (8.8 m) Wall 9 (southwest): 30 ft. (9.0 m) Wall 14 (northwest): 23 ft. (7.0 m) Wall 8 (southeast): 23 ft. (7.0 m)

Each of these walls is approximately 4.5 ft. (1.4 m) wide, producing a space inside the structure of 323 sq.  ft. (30 sq.  m). This interior space was then further divided into two extended spaces by Walls 16 and 13, with an opening between them (fig. 11). These inner walls were constructed to the same height as the exterior walls. The main structure at Ebal was filled with layers containing earth, stones, ashes, animal bones, and potsherds—each in different combinations (fig.  13). Kempinski (1986: 48) wrote that “this fill

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Figure 13.  The “fill” inside the central structure (Zertal 1985: 30).

appeared to me to be simply destruction debris from the destroyed watchtower. Or it could have been deliberately laid to create a surface or podium on which to build the tower in a later period.” Instead of consisting of random collapse, however, there were four distinct layers within the fill. These were labeled A–D, from bottom to top (fig. 14). 1. Pure black ash, containing numerous animal bones and sherds. This material made up a thin, evenly spread layer over the floor of Stratum II, primarily in the western and eastern parts of the structure. 2. Primarily made up of stones and earth, with a few bones and sherds, and measuring about 24 in. (60 cm) thick. 3. This layer, consisting of 24 in. (60 cm) of pure black ash, had a large concentration of animal bones and pottery. 4. The final layer was primarily composed of stones and may have been a rough paving designed to seal the contents of the structure.

Zertal (1986–87: 114–15) concluded that “the layers inside the structure were apparently all laid at the same time, since they are evenly spread throughout (except at the sides from which they were poured), and the sherds in all of them are homogeneous.” Outside, near the eastern corner of the main structure, an accumulation of material was found that was “identical in nature to Layer C of the fill inside the structure, and likewise containing many cattle bones.” It seems, therefore, “that this deposit originated from

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41

Figure 14.  Layers A–D of the “fill” within the central structure. Section C-C (Stratum IB; Zertal 1986–87: 118, fig. 8).

the fill material inside the structure and spilled out when its eastern corner collapsed.” Anson Rainey argues that “an altar would not be filled with animal bones” and that “you do not dig rooms or ash pits in an altar” (Rainey 1986: 66; 2005; 2009: 186*). It is true that this feature of the central structure is without parallel in the corpus of known altars in ancient Syria–Palestine. This argument is based on several factors, including the understanding of the site as a three-phase village, which is examined in chap. 3, on the lack of parallels in altar architecture, which will be discussed in chap. 4, and biblical textual understandings of altar architecture, which will be examined in chap. 5. Kempinski (1986: 42, 44–49) has argued that the Mt. Ebal site should be understood as a three-phase village, an argument which shall be examined in detail in chapter 3. Kempinski argues that the central structure at Mt. Ebal was the second of three phases, and should be understood as a two-room or three-room house. Phase 3 followed the destruction of phase 2, after which the inhabitants sought to improve security by building a watchtower atop the ruins of the phase 2 domestic structure. The central structure, therefore, according to Kempinski, is to be understood as the foundation of a later watchtower. A. Rainey, G. Ahlström, V. Fritz, and W. Dever all followed this interpretation of the site (Rainey 1986: 66; 2009: 186*; Ahlström 1993: 366; Fritz 1993: 185; Dever 1992: 32–34). The unusual central structure, however, does not seem to have had an entrance or a floor. It appears that the Stratum II surface would not have successfully functioned as a floor for the Stratum IB structure either, due to its irregularity and the fact that installation 94 creates an obstacle between Walls 13 and 16 (Zertal 1986–87: 115). Rather than having been built as an ordinary building, apparently the Stratum IB structure was built as an

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Figure 15.  Plaster from Mt. Ebal (courtesy of Raymond A. Hawkins).

elevated stage of some kind. Following its construction, it was apparently filled with deposits from Stratum II around the site. Additional features of the fill that should be mentioned are the 20 pieces of white plaster, about 3 cm thick and carefully organized in layers, that were found in the middle of the northern part of the fill (see fig. 15; and Zertal 1986–87: 113). Traces of plaster were also found in Area B in both Stratum II and Stratum IA. The use of plaster for interiors, and hydraulic plaster for cisterns and other water installations did not become widespread in ancient Israel until the Hellenistic period (Reich 1992a: 9). Prior to that time, it appears to have been used primarily in association with official structures (e.g., fortifications) or sacred areas, which are often set apart from the residence of the average town dweller by the use of uncommon building materials (among other things). A number of sites where plaster was utilized in a sacred area have been discovered in ancient Israel ranging across several periods. In the Middle Bronze IIC, a favissa set into the floor of the inner chamber of the Fortress Temple at Shechem was plastered, and the surface in front of the stela at the Gezer High Place was plastered (at Shechem, G. E. Wright 1965: 87–91; at Gezer, Dever 1973: 68–70). In the Late Bronze Age, in the Field B monumental building at Tall al-ʿUmayri, a cultic niche was found coated with a thin layer of plaster. The niche contained five natural limestone standing stones securely set into a stepped layer of thick

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43

plaster (Bramlett 2005: 233). An offering bench along the rear wall of the Stratum VIIA Temple 2048 (LBA) was covered with a layer of rough stones and plaster (Kempinski 1989: 183). At Tell Ṣafuṭ, in the Baqʿah Valley, a room containing several cultic objects, including a footed ceramic vessel and a bronze figurine of a seated deity, was coated with red plaster (Wimmer 1997: 448–50). The floor and altar of Building 5988 in Shechem Field IX was plastered (Bull et al. 1965: 11). The walls of the Stratum XI sanctuary at Tell Mevorakh were thickly plastered (Stern 1984: 4–6). The floor of the Stratum III sanctuary at Jaffa was plastered. Very little plaster has been found in Iron Age I, though it does appear in cultic contexts in some sites. These include a brick altar in Area G of Stratum XIII Ashdod and a courtyard associated with the Stratum X sanctuary at Tell Qasile (Ashdod, M. Dothan 1979: 127–28; Tell Qasile, A. Mazar 1980: 47–56). While the appearance of plaster at Mt. Ebal does not necessarily imply a cultic identification, it certainly contributes to the uniqueness of the site in its Iron Age I setting. The Surrounding Wall Complex The central structure was bordered on three sides by supplementary walls (fig.  11). These were all the same height and approximately 31 in. (80 cm) below the top of the main building (fig. 16). Wall 20 is parallel to Wall 14 of the main structure, Wall 12 is parallel to Wall 8, Wall 21 runs generally in the same direction as Wall 12, and Walls 7 and 10 parallel interior Wall 9. These walls create a veranda-like ledge around the central structure (Zertal 1986–87: 115–17). These features of the main structure have not been contested. The Courtyards Well-paved, squarish courtyards lie in front of the central structure on the northern and southern sides (fig. 11) and appear to have been integral parts of its architectural design. The southern courtyard lies inside Walls 2, 5, 58, and 10, and measures 20 × 26 ft. (6 × 8 m) on the outside and 377 sq. ft. (35 sq. m) on the inside. The northern courtyard is surrounded by Walls 4, 3, and 7, measures 20 × 21.6 ft. (6 × 6.6 m) on the inside, and is about 215 sq. ft. (20 sq. m) in area. The northern courtyard appears to have been entered by three steps, “built along the width of the courtyard” (Zertal 1986–87: 117). Wall 3 (fig. 11) appears to have been the top step of this broad stairway, built “on the same level as the paving of the northern courtyard.” It is not clear whether the southern courtyard had an entrance. Each of the courtyards contained a number of stone installations that had been built into the paving (fig. 11). In the southern courtyard, Locus 17 contained ash and animal bones that had been burned to some extent; Installation 53 contained the remains of a jar; and Installation 51 contained an intact whole juglet that had been positioned on a horizontal stone. Installations in the northern courtyard held a complete juglet (Locus 42), ash and

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Figure 16.  Walls bordering the central structure (from Zertal 1986–87: 116, fig. 7).

animal bones (Locus 64), a whole three-handled jar-jug (Locus 24A), and an entire three-handled jug (Locus 24). In addition to the installations, four rings of stones encircling flat stones in their centers were discovered on the top of the pavement within the courtyards. Each of these measured approximately 1 m in diameter. The purpose of these encirclements remains unknown. The Double Wall (“Ramp”) between the Courtyards Walls 2 and 7 are parallel and rise diagonally from the southwest to the top of the central structure (fig. 11, fig. 17). Wall 2 is 23 ft. (7 m) long and 3.9 ft. (1.2 m) wide. From ground level, where it adjoins Walls 3 and 5, it rises at a gradient of 22 degrees until it abuts Wall 9. Since Wall 2 is an integral part of Walls 3 and 5, “which in turn are part of the surrounding wall complex, it appears that all these elements were built in the same phase” (Zertal 1986–87: 117). Wall 7, on the other hand, has no clear purpose, and “it may have served as a secondary ramp leading up to the ledges of the main structure.” Zertal interpreted Wall 2 as a “ramp” instead of as a normal partitioning wall. This conclusion was based on the disparity between the inner and outer ends of the wall: “Were it an ordinary wall, its outer end would have joined walls of approximately the same height as the main structure, whereas Walls 3 and 5 are low ‘framewalls,’ whose function was to retain the floors of the open courtyard” (Zertal 1986–87: 117). The interpretation of this double wall as a “ramp” drew strong objections from A. Kempinski, who argued that it was much too narrow for such usage. The double wall is just over three feet wide, Kempinski notes, which “would be a dangerous passageway whether a ramp or steps. Imagine climbing up to the altar by so narrow a passage, especially if one was taking a sheep, goat or cow up with him” (Kempinski 1986: 45). Alternatively, Kempinski understood the structure as “nothing more than a wall of a room or courtyard that slopes down the hill.” The reason that the double wall was higher at its closest point to the central structure, according to Kempinski, was that it was protected from the falling debris of a collapsing (Kempinski’s reconstructed phase-two) tower. The portion of the wall farthest from the central structure was cut down in the collapse,

Analysis of the Ebal Installation

45

Figure 17.  The “double wall” between the courtyards (Zertal 1985: 34).

however, and thus the wall acquired the appearance of a slope. This damage pattern is “a common phenomenon in archaeological excavations.” In reply to Kempinski’s argument, Zertal (1986b: 51) explained that “the ramp cannot under any circumstances be a wall.” He explained that “the steps that provided access into the courtyards show that there could never have been a freestanding wall where the ramp is because there were no walls on the western (outside) line of the courtyards.” Zevit (2001: 197 n. 121) has argued that “the structural elements which Kempinski disassociated from each other in his proposed three-phase schematic history are actually bonded together in the original construction project and are not to be separated or disassociated from each other.” Coogan (1987: 2) agrees that the structure under question was “a wall which may have served as a ramp leading to the top of the filled chamber.” The Installations To the north, south, and east of the main structure, 70 to 80 apparatuses were discovered that Zertal termed “installations.” These consist of stonebordered circles, squares, or rectangles, and of irregular shapes that range in diameter from ca. 12 to 28 in. (ca. 30–70 cm; see fig. 18; Zertal 1986–87: 117– 18). These are intermingled and, in some cases, built over each other. Zertal suggests that “they probably represent at least two stages of use (Strata II and IB), but their stratigraphic relation to each other is not always clear.”

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Figure 18.  “Installations” in the courtyard of the central structure (Zertal 1985: 31).

These small structures were concentrated in the north, and “about half of them contained vessels or parts of vessels: pithoi, jars, bowls, jugs, and a few cooking pots.” Some of these were votive vessels. Scarab 2 was found in one of these structures associated with Walls 17, 44, and 22 (see below). Some of the apparatuses were empty, and none contained any ash or bone remains. Zertal concluded that, “in view of their great number, their concentration around the main structure and the presence of votive vessels, we interpret these installations as places for visitors to a sacred place to leave their offering vessels” (Zertal 1986–87: 118). In his comparison of the Ebal site with other Iron I sites, Gilmour hypothesizes that, “from [Zertal’s] description they sound like small silos” (Gilmour 1995: 116). Silos were a key means by which the central hill country settlers adapted to their new environment, and they have been discovered in most of the Israelite settlement sites, including Dan, Tell Deir ʿAlla, Tell Zeror, ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah and Tell Beit Mirsim. Borowski (2002: 71–75) distinguishes between two types of subterranean storage facilities: grain pits and silos. Grain pits are the most ubiquitous and have been discovered in both southern and northern sites. Grain pits are usually located in close relationship to domestic dwelling areas and are often up to five feet in diameter and up to or more than three feet deep. In Stratum II at ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah, dozens of silos, crowded together, surrounded a four-room house (Finkelstein 1988: 75, 265). In Stratum III of Iron I Bethshemesh, grain pits were located inside the houses (Herzog 1992b: 237). This

Analysis of the Ebal Installation

47

was also the case at Shechem, where the main living room contained a grain pit and, in the kitchen, next to a saddle quern and grinding stone for flour, another grain pit was located (Toombs and Wright 1963: 39). The size of these pits varied. At ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah, where these pits (Finkelstein uses the term “silos”) were particularly prolific, the capacity was very large, with silos typically ranging from 3 to 7 ft. (1–2 m) in diameter, lined with stones, and either paved with small pebbles or built directly on bedrock (Finkelstein 1988: 265). Borowski concludes that the closeness of these installations to residential areas, where domestic activities such as cooking took place, suggests that they were designed to allow convenient access to a family’s grain supplies for their daily needs. Borowski’s (2002: 74–75) second category of subterranean storage facilities is silos, which he distinguishes from grain pits by their larger size and proximity to public areas and structures. Silos were typically lined with stones or plastered, and they were designed for the storage of quantities of grain much greater than could be held by the domestically used grain pits. Borowski cites examples from Beth-shemesh, Hazor, and Megiddo, where each of the facilities was much larger in size and were located in areas that seem to suggest institutional or governmental ownership. The silo at Bethshemesh, for example, was built next to a large building that the excavators termed the “residency,” which resembled a citadel. This silo was about 23 ft. (7 m) in diameter and 18.7 ft. (5.7 m) deep. The excavators speculated that the “residency” may have been the dwelling of the district governor and that the silo may have been connected with the city’s economic organization (Grant and Wright 1939: 71; cited by Borowski 2002: 74). Both of the silos at Hazor and Megiddo suggest similar relationships to governmental or administrative structures, and their sizes are reflective of such roles, with Hazor measuring 16 ft. (5 m) deep and Megiddo 23 ft. (7 m) deep. Borowski concludes that “the large size of the silos described above suggests that they were not owned by an individual but by a large social organization, such as the state. . . . Therefore, on the basis of size and location I suggest that these structures were the property of institutions and should be distinguished from grain-pits by the term silos.” However, the size and arrangement of the el-Burnat “silos” do not conform to the typical construction or arrangement of these silos. The stonebordered circles around the central structure are tiny in comparison with either the typical grain pit or the silo. Despite the objections raised by Gilmour to the identification of these apparatuses as “installations,” Zertal’s interpretation of them as “installations” for the placement of pottery vessels around a cultic structure seems to be the most straightforward understanding. While many of the vessels found in these installations were noncultic (pithoi, jars, bowls, jugs, and cooking pots), the presence of noncultic pottery in the apparatuses does not mitigate against their identification as cultic installations. As R. Amiran (1970: 302) has noted,

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Chapter 2 [M]any ordinary household vessels were also used for cultic purposes in temples and sanctuaries, to judge from the abundance of such common pottery found among the furniture, for example, of the Early Bronze III sanctuary at ʿAi, or in the Late Bronze Temple at Lachish, or in the Iron II A (the Solomonic Stratum) house-shrine at Megiddo. These domestic vessels, when found in temples, appear also to have had a cultic function.

As he noted in his preliminary report, “[T]he custom of placing pottery vessels around a ritual structure has deep roots in Near Eastern traditions.” Zertal cites examples of this practice from the Middle Bronze to Late Bronze Age from all over the Near East, from the western Mediterranean to the southern Levant (Zertal 1986–87: 118–19). Area B: Courtyard 139 and Entrance Structure 220 Whereas Area B was a domestic area, including a four-room house, in Stratum II, it was turned into a large quad (Locus 139) in Stratum IB (fig. 19). This quad, or courtyard, served as “a kind of platform in front of the main complex” (Zertal 1986–87: 119–20), with a broad staircase at its northern end (Entrance 220). During Stratum IB, the domestic area was filled and leveled for the construction of the Stratum IB paved courtyard and entryway. In addition, Wall 32 was built on bedrock, separating the central structure from the courtyard. Locus 139 and Entrance 220 are stratigraphically connected. Entrance 220, which is 24.6 × 30 ft. (7.5 × 9.0 m) with a northwest–southeast axis, is made up of Wall 70 and Wall 71 and includes three steps constructed and paved with stone slabs. This entryway does not fit the normal paradigm for Iron Age I entrance passages and gateways. In Iron I settlements arranged according to the ḥāṣēr (‫ ) ָחצֵר‬plan, “the entrance was placed in a space intentionally left between two houses and was sometimes guarded by two rooms that made the passage narrower” (Herzog 1992b: 233). While entrances known from Iron II are typically fortified gate entrances—such as at Hazor, Megiddo, and Gezer (Barkay 1992: 307)—monumental structures and fortified gates are virtually unknown in the Israelite settlement sites (Mazar 1990a: 344). Instead, entryways are usually simple and narrow. The entryway at ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah, for example, was on the eastern side of the site and “through a narrow opening between two Monolithic jambs” (Finkelstein 1988: 74), which then led onto a paved atrium. At another Iron I site, the “Bull Site,” Mazar has proposed a possible entrance on the eastern side of the elliptical wall, where “one can observe remains of narrower walls running east–west” (Mazar 1982: 33). The entrance to el-Burnat does not fit into these patterns. It is unusually wide (23 ft; 7 m) and seems designed to facilitate the simultaneous entry of multiple individuals. This and the lack of defensive walls led Zertal to conclude that Entrance 220 was designed for a ceremonial function (Zertal 1986–87: 121).

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Figure 19.  Plan of Stratum IB (Zertal 1986–87: 120, fig. 9).

Area C Area C was made up of an area of open ground, dubbed the “corral,” and located on the northern part of the site near the intersection of Walls 78, 99, and 77, the last of which was an inner enclosure wall (fig. 20). This area appears to have been built contemporaneously with the rest of Stratum IB, because the only sherds discovered were from Iron Age I, and the enclosure walls seem to be part of the site design during this period (Zertal 1986–87: 122–3). Wall 78 measures 8.2 ft. (2.5 m) wide and is constructed of medium-sized fieldstones. Wall 99 is 5.6 ft. (1.7 m) wide and probably stood

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Figure 20. Area C  (Zertal 1986–87: 122, fig. 10).

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at an original height of about 35 in. (90 cm), and its foundations were laid in shallow trenches rather than on bedrock (Zertal 1986–87: 121). Wall 77 is the narrowest of the walls, measuring only 24 in. (60 cm) wide. “Because of the unusual entrance structure, the limited height of the walls and the fact that the weakest wall was built on the weakest line,” Zertal interpreted these walls as “enclosure walls” rather than as defensive walls. Fortifications are seldom found in Iron Age I strata in ancient Israel. A “massive and well built” double outer wall enclosed the site of Giloh on at least its southern, eastern, and northeastern sides (A. Mazar 1981: 12–18), but this appears to be exceptional in this early period. Though fortifications became common in the Iron Age II, close parallels to the fortifications at Giloh do not appear until the end of the 11th-century b.c.e., at Tell el-Fûl (Lapp 1993: 445–48). At most early Israelite sites, the settlements were arranged in a ḥāṣēr (‫ ) ָחצֵר‬plan, with the houses arranged in a ring with the backs of the houses forming something of a protective belt (Herzog 1992b: 233). At sites arranged in this plan, the walls were always either formed or abutted by buildings. Surrounding walls were seldom, if ever, built to encircle vacant ground. The one Iron Age I site where such a similar phenomenon occurs is at A. Mazar’s “Bull Site,” located on the top of a ridge in the north Samaria hills (1982: 27–42). The site consisted of a wall surrounding an elliptical area, measuring 69 ft. (21 m) east to west and 75 ft. (23 m) from south to north (fig.  21). Almost no remains were found on the northern side of the site, and the primary find in the southern area was a stone installation identified as a bāmâ, or offering altar. The site was devoid of any other buildings, structures, or installations. Based on the location, site design, and physical remains from the site, Mazar concluded that the site was “a cult place composed of a massive stone enclosure with certain installations inside.” While some scholars have contested the cultic nature of the site, Mazar seems to have successfully defended this interpretation. 2 Kempinski compared the walls at the Mt. Ebal site with the walls at Giloh (1986: 44), implying that this similarity made el-Burnat unexceptional. As noted above, however, the walls are quite dissimilar. The walls at Giloh are massive, built of large stones laid in a double row, with a fill of smaller stones in between, anticipating the later casemate walls (A. Mazar 1981: 12–18). The walls of Giloh were preserved in some places to 6.06 ft. (1.85 m) wide and 3 ft. (1 m) high. While the width of the Ebal walls are similar, their construction is, again, of medium sized stones, built very low and built on shallow trenches rather than on bedrock (see above). Fritz argued that the walls at the Ebal site “are a well known phenomenon from other sites of that period and can easily be understood in connection with animal 2.  For a contestation of the cultic nature of the site, see Coogan 1987: 1–8; for its defense, see A. Mazar 1998: 45.

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Figure 21.  Plan of the “Bull Site” (A. Mazar 1982: 34, fig. 5).

husbandry” (Fritz 1993: 185). The design of a large site encompassed by a wall expressly for use as an animal pen, however, is unknown among Iron I settlement sites. Two types of sites facilitated the corralling of animals. The first was laid out as a cluster of pens. Herzog interprets the design at Giloh as a cluster of pens, where “the settlement . . . comprised five pens which served as dwellings for five families and their herds” (Herzog 1992b: 232–33). He suggests that “similar pens [probably] existed at other sites in the hill country.” The other type of site facilitating the corralling of animals was the “enclosed settlement,” where the entire settlement was arranged in a ḥāṣēr (‫ ) ָחצֵר‬plan, with the houses arranged in a ring, and the backs of the houses forming something of a protective belt. In these enclosed settlements, “the centre of the settlement served as a court, probably for penning the herds of the residents at night.” In addition, at sites arranged in this plan, the walls were always either formed or abutted by buildings. The walls at the Ebal site

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do not correspond with known features of sites where animal husbandry was practiced. The walls at el-Burnat do not seem to have served a clear purpose other than to divide the site into demarcated areas. This observation comports with numbers 3, 6, and 13 of Zevit’s physical/behavioral correlates.

Stratum IA In Stratum IA, parts of the main structure in Area A were covered over with stones, as well as portions of Area B (Zertal 1986–87: 123–24). Although it is possible that the accumulation may have accrued due to field cleaning in later periods, it appears instead that the stones were deliberately placed on top of Areas A and B. This conclusion is based on the fact that a new wall, Wall 1 (fig. 11), was added in Stratum IA that was “not an organic part of the structure.” Wall 1 appears to have been built for the sole purpose of supporting the stones placed on top of Wall 12. Wall 1 was built atop the southeastern ledge of the main structure, thereby obstructing access onto it—a fact that confirms that the ledges went out of use in Stratum IA. Similar constructions were found on the northwestern side of the central structure. Based on the nonutilitarian nature of the accumulation of stones in Stratum IA and their uniform placement over the site, Zertal concluded that “before the final abandonment the site was deliberately ‘buried’ by a layer of stones” (Zertal 1986–87: 124). Zertal notes that “the protection of sacred places by burying them is a well-known phenomenon in the Near East, including Israel” (Zertal 1992c: 256). In a study by D. Ussishkin (Ussishkin 1970: 124), the writer postulated the existence of “a Syro-Hittite ritual custom of burying monuments.” While some monuments were destroyed, incorporated in secondary usages, or carried away by conquerors, Ussishkin notes that in cases from Alalakh, Hazor, Zinçirli, and Arslantepe near Malatya, gate-lions and royal statues seem clearly to have been “intentionally buried in the ground with much care.” In several of the cases examined, the burials required significant investiture of effort, “and the repetition of similar phenomena in four places . . . rules out the possibility that the parallelism in all cases is accidental. Therefore the existence of analogous ritual burials . . . seems to be established” (Ussishkin 1970: 127). This practice clearly prevailed in Canaan and throughout the Near East (Naʾaman 1986: 274–75). Early examples include the burial of statues at the Abu Temple at Tell Asmar, while a more relevant example is found at the temples of Tell Qasile, where Favissa 125 seems to have been built for the express purpose of burying cult objects when they went out of use (for Tell Asmar, see Frankfort 1939: 3–4; for Tell Qasile, see A. Mazar 1980: 25, 73). This custom was not restricted to the burial of monuments but appears to have included the covering over of sacred sites in their entirety. At Tell Arad, the stelae and the horned incense altars at the entrance to the inner sanctum were all overturned, and the entire area was covered with a

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deep fill at the end of Stratum VII, when the temple went out of use (Dever 2006: 312). At Megiddo, a 10th-century shrine (Shrine 338) usually dated to the Solomonic period contained an offering table and bench and six cultic stelae, along with horned and round stone altars and a stone basin in the courtyard (Ussishkin 1989: 154–62). The shrine was originally excavated by G. Schumacher, who discovered that, even after the shrine had gone out of use, it remained in complete and perfect order. In an analysis of Schumacher’s findings, Ussishkin (1989: 154–66) observes that the chamber’s walls still stood to a height of about 2.50 m, while the two massive stelae and the four “cult columns” were found still fixed firmly in the ground and standing upright. The “idol” was found in situ on top of the southernmost “column,” and a variety of clay vessels and other objects that had been left in the shrine were discovered intact. Of special significance, Ussishkin notes, the only entrance to the shrine was discovered by Schumacher to have been blocked, and the shrine had deliberately been filled with earth, with everything inside left as it was. This burial was quite intentional and required some investment of labor. Ussishkin concludes that the chamber, or at least the upper portion of it, must have been filled from above. This could have been accomplished by filling through the windows or through apertures made in the roof. Since the walls were preserved just above the tops of the stelae, it can be deduced that the shrine was buried to that level intentionally. It also appears that the walls were buried from the outside, since they would not otherwise have been preserved to that height through the subsequent millennia. The evidence shows that the shrine was deliberately buried, once it had gone out of use. The purpose of ritual burials of this sort, both of statues and of cult sites themselves, is not completely clear. In cases when a site was destroyed by invading forces, the inhabitants may have buried their statues to prevent their destruction by invaders. Conversely, conquerors may have buried the monuments in an effort to eradicate their magical powers (Ussishkin 1970: 128). In sites where a shrine or cella was covered over, the purpose seems to have been to prevent other usage. The unusual covering over of el-Burnat in Stratum IB may have been similar to one of these parallels. Since there is no destruction level at the site, the covering may be explained as an attempt to prevent further usage.

Pottery The pottery of the Ebal site included bowls, kraters, cooking pots, jars, jugs and juglets, pithoi, and chalices. Basically, “the ceramic inventory at Mount Ebal is a homogeneous, well dated and short-lived assemblage” (Zertal 1986–87: 140). Zertal summarizes: About 70 percent of the pottery vessels are large collar-rim storage jars, which are known to have been the principle storage vessels of the newly settled

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Figure 22.  Collared-rim storage pithos (adapted from Zertal 1986–87: 131, fig. 13).

Israelites. About 20 percent of the pottery vessels are jugs and chalices. The balance are small vessels, mostly votive, specially made by hand for ritual use. We found only a small quantity of common domestic pottery, such as cooking pots. (Zertal 1985: 34–35)

Zertal has candidly observed that 3 percent of the pottery of Stratum II was in the Late Bronze Age tradition (Zertal 1986–87: 137). He explains that “this stage apparently represents the interrelationship between Israelites and Canaanites during the 13th century b.c.e.” (Zertal 1992c: 257). “The rest of the pottery,” Zertal notes, “was typical ‘Israelite,’” resembling the inventory of Giloh, ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah, Raddanah, Shiloh, Israelite ʿAi, Taʿanach, etc.” Finkelstein, however, has argued that the pottery chronology at the Ebal site must be understood differently. He explains that, “chronologically, the ceramic assemblage must be understood to reflect material accumulated throughout the entire period of activity in each level. According to the material presented so far, the end of Stratum II may be dated to the middle or even the second half of the 12th century, and Stratum I shortly after” (Finkel­stein 1988: 85). He notes especially the three-handled jug, the only parallels for which were found in Qasile Stratum X and Shiloh in the first half of the 11th century b.c.e. (Finkelstein 1988: 85; Bunimovitz and Finkelstein 1993: 158; see discussion below). Finkelstein’s argument, however, ignores the fact that pottery sequences always overlap. Pottery forms do not disappear homogeneously, only to be replaced by other homogeneous pottery forms. Rather, pottery forms only gradually decline and give way to others (Lapp 1992: 433–4). Pitkänen (2004: 180) notes that, “if Late

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Figure 23.  Collared-rim pithos in Ebal floor (Kempinski 1986: 45).

Bronze vessels were still attested at Mount Ebal, it is conceivable that the combination jar-jug in question had a reasonably long period of use even though it is rare among finds.” Aside from the issue of dating the site, the pottery repertoire contributes to the discussion of whether the site may or may not be identified as cultic in nature. The presence of collared-rim storage jars has been a point of some controversy. As mentioned above, about 70 percent of the pottery vessels are large collared-rim pithoi (fig. 22) which, Zertal writes, “are known to have been the principle storage vessels of the newly settled Israelites” (Zertal 1985: 34). This identification, first made by Albright, has been contested. 3 Despite the protestations, there seem to be good reasons for continuing to regard the collared-rim storage jar as “Israelite” (see, e.g., Bunimovitz and Yasur-Landau 1996: 93; Killebrew 2001: 377–98; 177–81). When Kempinski first visited the site in 1982, he observed a large, collared-rim pithos that “appeared sunk into the floor inside the [central] structure” (see fig. 23; and see Kempinski 1986: 44). Kempinski mused that “one would hardly expect to find a whole storage jar inside an altar—if it were an altar!” Zertal (1985: 49) had already emphasized that the installations at the bottom of the central structure belonged to an earlier stage of the site—Stratum II. He reemphasized this in his response to Kempinski and in the preliminary report for the Ebal site (see Zertal 1986b: 49; 1986–87: 134). If the understanding of el-Burnat as a two-phased site including Stratum II and Stratum IB is correct, then the collared-rim jar 3.  For his initial identification, see Albright 1937: 25; 1971: 118; for its contestation, see Edelman 1996: 42–44 and the citations there.

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Figure 24.  Three-handled jar from Mt. Ebal (Zertal 1986–87: 133, fig. 14).

at the bottom of the central structure does not contribute to its identification as a domestic structure but, instead, predates it. The aforementioned collared-rim pithos was certainly not the only one discovered at the site. As mentioned above, these items account for about 70 percent of the pottery vessels. Ahlström argued that the preponderance of collared-rim storage jars runs counter to the identification of el-Burnat as a cultic site (Ahlström 1993: 366). A prevalence of collared-rim pithoi, however, seems irrelevant to the question of whether the Ebal site is or is not cultic in nature. Zertal notes in his report that “the wide representation of the collared-rim pithos in all the hill country Iron Age I sites suggests that this vessel was used as the main container for storing water. Apparently, few water cisterns were hewn by the new settlers in the 13th–12th centuries b.c.e. and they must have been dependent upon perennial water sources during the formative stage of their sedentarization” (Zertal 1986–87: 136). It appears that the rock-hewn and plastered cistern did not appear at settlement sites until the 11th century b.c.e. and, until then, “the solution of the water problem of the early settlements can be found in the collared-rim pithoi” (Zertal 1988b: 350–52). If this understanding of water procurement and storage is correct, it seems logical that a high percentage of these vessels would appear at any settlement site, regardless of whether it was cultic in nature. Cooking pots appear in very low numbers at el-Burnat in both Strata II and I.  While cooking pots account for 15 to 20 percent at domestic sites such as Giloh and ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah, they constitute only 5 percent at the Mt. Ebal site. Zertal notes that “this may possibly be a characteristic of a cultic site, since the same phenomenon appears at Tell Qasile” (Zertal 1986–87:

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Figure 25. Three-handled jug from Tell Qasile (A. Mazar 1985: 63, fig. 49:1).

129–30). There were no complete cooking pots discovered at Ebal, and the reconstructed data come solely from rim sherds, which are discussed again in chap. 5. There are several new and unique kinds of pottery that appear at elBurnat: the three-handled jug and different kinds of votive vessels. These types are not found at sites of the same period, such as at Taʿanach, Tell el-Farʿah (N), Megiddo, Hazor, Giloh, and ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah. This “may be due to the cultic nature of the site at Mount Ebal,” which “may also account for the rarity of the cooking pots” (Zertal 1986–87: 142). The first is the threehandled jug, which is characterized by two loop handles on its body and another handle at its neck (fig. 24). Six restorable three-handled jars were found at Mt. Ebal, though “elsewhere [this type of jar] is very rare” (Zertal 1986–87: 132–34). The only parallel for this vessel was found at Tell Qasile in a domestic building (no.  225) of Stratum X, adjacent to the Philistine temple (fig. 25). Mazar postulated that this building was a priestly dwelling (Mazar 1985a: 45, 75). Mazar describes the three-handled jug found there as “a unique combination of jar and jug” and notes that it “is unparalleled elsewhere” (1985a: 64). At el-Burnat, five of the six three-handled jars were found in the constructions that Zertal interpreted as “installations.” The rarity of this vessel along with its appearance at a clear cultic site and the form of its usage at el-Burnat may indicate that it was cultic in nature.

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There were two kinds of juglets at el-Burnat with a possible cultic usage. One is the small juglet with a pointed base (fig.  26). Many sherds of this sort of vessel were discovered in Stratum IB. One juglet was found in an installation and, therefore, may have been a votive vessel. Another kind of juglet belongs to a group of juglets with a single handle that extends from the rim to the shoulder (fig. 27). One of these juglets, found in Stratum IB, was able to be completely restored. This vessel has parallels in Megiddo VII–VI and Hazor XII (Zertal 1986–87: 140). This jug­let was also found in an installation and may, therefore, have been a votive vessel deposited as an offering. Two vessels found in Stratum II seem clearly iden- Figure 26.  Votive juglet from Mt. Ebal tified as chalices (fig. 28). A chalice foot (fig. 28, top) (Zertal 1986–87: 145, was found in Locus 157, the fill of the main structure. fig. 18). This chalice foot was made of light-colored, welllevigated clay, with an outward flaring rim. This chalice has parallels at Megiddo VII and Hazor XIII (Zertal 1986–87: 137) and varies in structure from the typical Iron Age I chalice. The second chalice (fig. 28, below), also found in the fill of the central structure, has several parallels, including Megiddo VII and the Megiddo Late Bronze tombs, Hazor XIII, and Tell Mevorakh X. Gil­mour (1995: 115) has raised valid questions about the pottery assemblage. He suggests that a brief comparison of aspects of the Mt. Ebal site and other Iron I sites is appropriate at this point. If the pottery assemblages of five settlement sites are considered, it is clear that the Mt. Ebal assemblage falls neatly into the pattern of these sites. Zertal notes the relatively low proportion of cooking pots at Mt. Ebal as supportive of its cultic identity. Yet at ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah III, where more domestic buildings have been excavated than at Giloh, for example, a very low proportion of cooking pots was also recorded. In a similar manner, the very low percentage of collared-rim store jars at ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah III does not make it any less a settlement site. The fact that the site shares certain common forms of pottery with other noncultic sites seems to be countered by the presence of new and unique forms, as well as the relatively high percentages of jugs, chalices, and small votive vessels. When the data are considered cumulatively, they do not appear to comport with a typical domestic assemblage. Gilmour (1995: 111) agrees that, “while there are no overtly cultic items such as cult stands or kernoi in the assemblage, the quantitative analysis suggests it is not a domestic assemblage.” Coogan (1987: 2) is in agreement that “significant numbers of elements of the ordinary domestic ceramic repertoire” are absent from the site. Zevit (2001: 201) also notes that, while the ceramic inventory is “conventional,” it “does not exhibit a

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Figure 27.  Single-handled juglet from el-Burnat (Zertal 1986–87: 145, fig. 18).

normal range of household utensils, while the spatial distribution of pottery over the site and in the installations is at odds with any known pattern of domestic use.” Numbers 8, 10, and (though he does not cite it) 11 of Zevit’s physical/behavioral correlates seem to comport with the pottery repertoire at el-Burnat.

Stone and Metal Artifacts The stone containers and tools at el-Burnat “present a picture relatively close to that known for other Iron Age I sites in the hill country,” though there are important differences (Zertal 1986–87: 148). Among the artifacts found were the usual querns, “basins,” hammers, weight stones, and flint tools. An exceptional find was the pumice chalice from Pit 250 (discussed above). In his discussion of flint tools, Zertal notes that flint sickle blades are “conspicuous by their absence,” since they are “typical of the agricultural Iron Age I sites” (Zertal 1986–87: 148). The sickle was indeed the principle tool for harvesting in Iron Age Israel (Borowski 2002: 61–2), and flint sickle blades have been found in Iron Age I strata at Tell Qasile, Megiddo, Tell el-Fûl, Tell Deir ʿAlla, Bethel, Beth-shemesh, and other sites and continued

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Figure 28.  Chalice foot (above) and rim (below) (Zertal 1986–87: 129, fig. 12).

to be used in Iron Age II (for references, see Borowski 2002: 62). Zertal notes that sickle blades were found in most of the Iron Age I sites covered in the survey of Manasseh; hence, the anomaly of their absence at el-Burnat. Interestingly, although sickle blades were absent, several flint knives, which are seldom found in Iron Age I sites, were discovered. The absence of sickles and the presence of flint knives add to the unique character of the site of el-Burnat. In the north side of the fill of the central structure, within layer C (Locus 249), a four-sided (sides A–D) trapezoidal stone seal was found. The seal, made of soft white limestone and decorated with drillings and grooves, shows poor workmanship and is badly preserved. Sides C and D, however, are of special interest. Side D is divided by two longitudinal lines crossed by three lines running breadth-wise (Brandl 1986–87: 167, fig. 1.1). This pattern is similar to the “grid pattern” that is particularly known from Iron Age I but appears to have also been produced in Iron Age II (see Keel 1990: 380ff.; Eggler et al. 2002: 270). A number of seals bearing this grid pattern were found at Tall al-ʿUmayri during the 1984–2000 excavation seasons. 4 In some cases, the exact findspot of the ʿUmayri seals is not certain, making a definitive dating difficult (Eggler et al. 2002: 260). Side C of the Ebal seal is especially interesting. It is decorated with six lines that combine to form a rectangular structure, along with five drill marks (fig. 29). This seal bears some resemblance to ʿUmayri no. 50 (Eggler et al. 2002: 271, fig.  50), though the grid pattern there has no borderline, while the outside lines on the Ebal seal appear to form a rectangular shape (Brandl 1986–87: 171). The rectangular shape depicted on the Ebal seal is similar to the shape of the main building in Area A of Stratum IB and may be intended as a depiction of the plan of the central structure (A. Zertal, personal communication). Scenes of sacred areas are common motifs of 4. See ʿUmayri nos. 39, 50, 64 Side A, 78; with additional drilling holes, see ʿUmayri nos. 14, 30, 58, 67.

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Figure 29.  Side C of the Ebal seal (courtesy of Raymond A. Hawkins).

stamp seals from a variety of contexts. The representation of a worshiper facing cult symbols placed on an altar was a popular Neo-Babylonian motif, though these images are certainly stylized depictions and not site plans. 5 Three Late Cypriot cylinder seals from Salamis seem to contain depictions of an altar in their centers (Mazoni 1986: pls. 34:71, 72; 35:92). Of particular relevance may be the stone seal found in Stratum IX at Arad with a peculiar design that was interpreted as a representation of the general layout of the fortress (fig. 30). Aharoni (1968: 8) explained his interpretation of the glyptic as follows: Visible are the wall, the narrow corridor between the store to the right and the temple to the left, the rectangular court and, behind it, the areas of the dwellings and work shops. The temple is depicted as a high, rounded structure. Had the temple really a rounded roof, or is this only an artistic expression of its outstanding importance?

If Aharoni’s understanding of the Arad seal is correct, it may be suggestive of an understanding of the glyptic on the Ebal seal as a plan of the central structure. It should be noted that the seal is decorated with dots or perforations similar to that found on the handles of the Ebal pottery (see above). If these marks on the pottery are indicative of some administrative significance (Finkelstein 1988: 287) and if Ebal is understood as a cultic site, then it may be that the Ebal seal had something to do with the cult practice or that it belonged to cultic personnel. In a recent article, Beeri and Ben-Yosef (2010: 410–29) have made a convincing argument that the dice were prob5. E.g., Eggler et al. 2002: 289, fig. 75; Harding 1949: 351, fig. 3; 1950: 46, no. 33, pls. 13:2, 15:9; Wimmer 1987: 171–72, fig. 9; and others.

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Figure 30.  Stone seal from Arad Stratum IX (Aharoni 1968: 9).

ably used for prognostication in practices referred to in the Hebrew Bible as “casting lots” or “Urim and Thummim.” The discovery of the seal in Layer C of the fill of the central structure suggests an identification with the central structure. Metal objects were found in abundance at el-Burnat. “Nearly fifty bronze, iron, silver and gold items were unearthed and registered in seven seasons. In comparison, only eight metal items were found in the large area excavated at ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah” (Zertal 1986–87: 150). Of special interest were six bracelets of bronze, a “typical product of the Late Bronze–Early Iron Ages.” Zertal cites parallels at ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah and the Late Bronze–Iron Age I miners’ shrine at Timna. At the Timna Hathor mining sanctuary, many of these bracelets had apparently been deposited as votive offerings (Rothenberg 1993: 1483–84; 1983–84: fig.  51). Like the flint knives, the abundance of these bronze bracelets and their parallels in clear contexts of sanctuary offerings add to the picture of el-Burnat as a cultic site.

Faunal Remains If el-Burnat was used for cultic purposes that included animal sacrifices, “then the faunal assemblage should reflect this and differ from that at living sites where animals were exploited for consumption, secondary products or labor” (Horwitz 1986–87: 173). The excavation yielded 2,862 bones, making it one of the largest samples ever studied in Israel. Of these bone remains, 770 (27%) were identifiable. Analysis of these remains revealed that 741 (96%) of the bones represented four species of large mammals: sheep, goat, cattle, and fallow deer. The remaining 4% comprised a marbled polecat, an unidentified small carnivore, a hedgehog, tortoise, starred lizard, an unidentified reptile, a mole rat, partridge, rock dove, an unidentified bird of prey, a gray lag-goose, and an as-yet-unidentified species of fish. These remains were classified in eight provenances throughout the site, with the majority having been found in the main structure.

The Faunal Assemblage Sheep and Goats “Sheep and goat remains dominated the assemblage in all areas representing 65% of all the diagnostic bones” (Horwitz 1986–87: 174). The numbers of sheep/goat hind- and forelimbs present were almost equal.

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Fallow Deer “One of the most intriguing finds was the high incidence of fallow deer (Dama dama mesopotamica) remains, which comprised 10% of the total diagnostic bone sample” (Horwitz 1986–87: 174). These remains were highly concentrated in the main structure (20% of all bones identified from this provenance) and appear to have originated from at least six animals, one of which was male. Cattle Domestic cattle remains compose 21% of the total identifiable bone remains found at the Ebal site and, although they were present in all provenances, “there is a slightly higher concentration in the area of the main structure, northeast of the main structure (perhaps debris spilled from the fill of this structure) and west of the main structure . . . which may reflect some special activity preference” (Horwitz 1986–87: 174–75). Most of the cattle remains were from adult males. Small Faunal Remains Besides the bones of large mammals, 29 bones (4% of the diagnostic sample) were excavated from other species (mentioned earlier). The rodent and reptile remains appear to be recent and are probably intrusive, but the fish, polecat, and bird bones seem to belong to the primary assemblage (Horwitz 1986–87: 176). Molluscs and Shells Various fragments of molluscs and shells were found, the most interesting of which is the fragment of a Mediterranean marine shell (Glycymerys violacescens) that was found west of the main structure (Horwitz 1986– 87: 177). Burned Bones There were 128 burned bones (4% of the total bone sample) found, 57 (44%) of which came from the main structure and courtyards (Horwitz 1986–87: 177). Cut Marks “Cut marks were present on 25 bones (3% of the diagnostic material) from the site” (Horwitz 1986–87: 177–78). Three fallow deer antlers had deep cut marks, presumably from removing the antlers. “The cut marks on the bones of sheep, goats and cattle were primarily on lower foot bones such as metapodia, astragali, calcanea and phalanges. These cut marks take the form of parallel lines almost horizontal to the axis of the bone.”

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Discussion of Faunal Assemblage Horwitz brings out in her discussion the differences between the bone remains from the central structure and those from other parts of the site. She makes the following points regarding the central structure (Horwitz 1986–87: 178–79): 1. It contains a very high concentration of bone material. 2. Fallow deer make up a high concentration of the bone remains here— 21 percent compared to the 5 percent in all the other areas combined. 3. Fifty-seven of the 128 burnt bones recovered at the site were found in the main structure. 4. Nine out of the 25 bones with cut marks came from the central structure. 5. Fish remains were all from the main structure (but could have been an intrusive element).

Throughout the site, caprovines were the dominant group, followed by cattle and, lastly, by fallow deer. The data suggest that this is not an accident of preservation or similar factors but indicates some sort of specialized activity at Ebal’s main building. Cut marks indicate that the animals were butchered or dismembered. Circular cut marks indicate the removal of skin. Other cut marks are “indicative of butchery or dismemberment practices” (Horwitz 1986–87: 180–81), and “the burnt bones point to the use of fire, although it is impossible to tell whether this was the result of cooking, roasting, sacrificial burning or the burning of defleshed bones.” There are a number of interesting differences between Ebal and other Iron Age habitation sites that Horwitz also explains. 1. The species present. Donkeys, horses, pigs, carnivores, and gazelles are all absent from Ebal. The lack of gazelles and pigs is especially interesting because these animals are present in the immediate vicinity of the site, as Liphschitz’s paleobotanical report shows (Liphschitz 1986–87: 191). Horwitz suggests that “the species represented and their frequencies suggest that only edible animals are present at Mount Ebal, while at the other sites animals possibly used for various purposes (such as equids) are present” (Horwitz 1986–87: 181–82). The proportion of remains from foreparts (metatarsals, metacarpals, astragali, calcanea, and phalanges) is higher at Ebal than at other Iron Age sites. 2. Number and distribution of burned or scorched bones. In the Iron Age II levels in the City of David, only 8 out of 2,000 bones were scorched. At Ebal, 17% of the diagnostic sample (128 bones) is burned (Horwitz 1986–87: 182–83). In comparing this fact with the data from the City of David, Horwitz concludes that the burned material from Ebal is “slightly, but not significantly, higher in proportion to the total bone sample.” She observes that the most outstanding feature of the Ebal burned material is its concentration in the area of the central structure, where 57 of the 128 bones were found. This

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Horwitz summarizes that the Ebal site reflects “a pastoral economy based primarily on caprovine herding and to a lesser extent cattle. In addition, the high proportion of hunted animals (fallow deer) supports the hypothesis of a nomadic or semi-nomadic society” (1986–87: 187). She suggests, however, that “the Ebal faunal assemblage represents a narrow range of activities either in function or time.” Edelman suggests that “the presence of exotic materials and huge amounts of animal bones, including deer, tend to favor a cultic use for the site” (Edelman 1996: 50 n. 56).

Two Egyptianized Scarabs from Mt. Ebal Two Egyptian-style scarabs were found at the Mt. Ebal site. These have been used to aid in establishing the Iron I date for the site. Before examining the scarabs themselves, I suggest that a word of introduction about scarabs and their use in dating is in order. Background, Function, and Role of Scarabs in Dating Scarabs, of Egyptian origin, were stone images of the black dung beetle (Ateuchus sacer). The scarab was a representative of the sun-god, since the dung beetle rolled a ball of dung across the ground in a way that recalled the way the sun-god moved the sun disk across the sky. In the hieroglyphic script, the image of the scarab served to convey the idea of “being,” “becoming,” or “coming into existence.” This probably explains why the scarabshaped seal continued to be very popular as jewelry, talismans, and seals for centuries after they first appeared in the VIth Dynasty. Scarabs used as private seals would be inscribed with the name and title of the owner, often an official, and are therefore sometimes useful for dating purposes. However, there are complicating factors. Elizabeth Platt (1992: 829) explains that seals do not necessarily display the name of the actual owner. Instead, the imprinted name may suggest a relationship between the individual who carried the seal and the person whose name was impressed thereon, such as that of a subordinate officer or servant. In addition, an item of jewelry could be an heirloom, or it could be a commemorative replica, or it may have been designed in an archaic style in a workroom that also produced contemporary pieces. Indeed, the name Thutmose III, who was pharaoh during Late Bronze Age I, which was probably the greatest period of Egypt’s empire, was the most popular theme for scarabs not only in Egypt but also in ancient Israel for centuries after his death. In addition, many scarabs appear to have been inscribed with royal names because of protective powers assumed to be inherent in those names. The name of the 15thcentury pharaoh Thutmose III again serves as an example. Siegfried Horn (1966: 509–10) observes that Thutmose’s name, Mn-hpr-Rʿ, meaning “May

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[the sun-god] Re continue to bring into existence,” apparently conveyed the meaning of the beetle so well that scarabs using this name continued to be copied for centuries. He notes that G. A. Reisner, during his excavations at Giza, found Thutmose III scarabs on mummies from the 2nd century c.e., placed there as protective charms even 16 centuries after the death of the great pharaoh. For these reasons, scarabs are poor criteria for chronological purposes. Horn suggests that, at best, they may help to indicate the terminus a quo or earliest possible date that could be given to the archaeological context in which they were found. Many archaeological reports suffer from the misconception that dated scarabs can help to settle historical questions of archaeological remains. For the aforementioned reasons, we must exercise caution in assessing the contribution of the two Egyptianized scarabs to the dating of the Mt. Ebal site. The Ebal Scarabs Scarab 1 Scarab 1, found in Area A of the Ebal excavation measures 0.7 in. (17.5 mm) in length, 0.5 in. (13 mm) in width, and 0.3 in. (7.5 mm) in height. It is a mold formed of faience with a yellowish glaze and has been described as careless in its workmanship. As is typical of scarabs, this one was pierced through prior to being fired and, although it has a chip in its base, it is otherwise in an excellent state of preservation. The outline of the beetle on the back is very simplified—“a bare outline of the anatomy of the beetle it is intended to represent”—(fig. 31) and, according to the report, is common from the 12th to 26th Dynasties and later (Brandl 1986–87: 166). The execution of the side of the scarab helps to narrow the time frame. It seems to have been “carelessly executed, with only two vertical lines representing the three legs.” This pattern is reported to have been characteristic of the XIXth Dynasty in particular. The base has a symmetrical pattern enclosed within an oval frame. The pattern consists of a four-petal rosette, two of which are decorated with diagonal striation. Between each of the four petals is a cobra suspended from a coiled branch. Two of the cobra heads are well formed, while the other two are more stylized. This pattern may be important for dating the scarab, because it has few parallels. The locations of the finds and their parallels are as follows: 1. Egypt. Tomb 202 in Cemetery E at Riqqeh produced a matching scarab (Engelbach 1915: pls. 18:92; 46; 48). Despite some mixing of the contents of Tomb 202 with those of an adjacent tomb, the scarab is believed to date to the XIXth Dynasty, “as all five scarabs in Tomb 202 are dated to Ramesses II whereas the scarabs of adjacent Tomb 201 have a greater range” (Brandl 1986–87: 168).

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Figure 31.  Scarab 1 (Brandl 1986–87: 167, fig. 1; drawing by Rachel Solar under the supervision of Baruch Brandl; used by permission). 2. Israel. A parallel was found in Tomb 914 at Tell el-Farʿah (S), which is dated to the XIXth Dynasty by two scarabs (Macdonald, Starkey, and Harding 1932: pl. 48:23). One of these bears a shortened form of the name of Ramesses II, while the other bears the name of Merneptah, his son. 3. Israel. A second parallel was discovered at Tell el-Farʿah (S), this one from Tomb 960, and spans the XIXth and XXth Dynasties, as shown by scarabs with the names Ramesses II and Ramesses IV. This scarab is included in A. Rowe’s 1936 catalog of Egyptian scarabs, which dates it to the XIXth Dynasty (Rowe 1936: no. 796). 4. Israel. This parallel comes from Megiddo (Loud 1948: pls. 152, 169) and is also dated to the XIXth Dynasty. 5. Israel. Tomb 4 at Yavneh, dated to the XIXth Dynasty by four additional scarabs characteristic of that period, produced another parallel. Two of the four additional scarabs bear the name of Ramesses II—one in full and another in an abbreviated form (unpublished: nos. 60-950 to 60-954). 6. Cyprus. This final parallel comes from a tomb in Kition, Cyprus; the end of the tomb’s use has been dated to ca. 1225 b.c.e. (Leclant 1974: 149–50).

Brandl’s criteria for dating Scarab 1 are “its side type and the parallels to the motif on its base,” which, according to Rowe, are “dated exclusively to the 19th Dynasty” (Brandl 1986–87: 168–69). Brandl concludes: The parallels are all dated to Ramesses II and his 19th Dynasty successors, except for the scarab from Tomb 960 at Tell el-Farʿah (S), which would, prima facie, indicate the continued production of the type into the reign of Ramesses IV of the 20th Dynasty. However, since there are no objects in this tomb datable to any of the kings between Ramesses II and Ramesses IV, we assume there was a gap in the use of the tomb. Of the two periods in which the tomb was used, the parallels indicate that the scarab is to be attributed to the first. In conclusion, Scarab No. 1 from Mount Ebal should be dated to the second half of the 13th century b.c.e.

Scarab 2 Scarab no. 2, found in the fifth season of excavation, measures 0.56 in. (14.25 mm) in length, 0.4 in. (11 mm) in width, and 0.3 in. (6.5 mm) in height

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Figure 32.  Scarab 2 (Brandl 1986–87: 167, fig. 1; drawing by Rachel Solar under the supervision of Baruch Brandl; used by permission).

and is a mold formed of faience, coated with a white glaze, made with mediocre workmanship. Like Scarab no. 1, Scarab no. 2 was pierced through lengthwise prior to being fired. A chip has partly damaged the design, but the piece is otherwise well preserved. The back of Scarab 2 appears to have been “carefully executed in a highly naturalistic manner” and, according to Rowe, matches a type “common between the 12th and 25th Dynasties” (see fig. 32; and Brandl 1986–87: 169). A cartouche on the right side of the scarab encompasses the name Mn-hpr-Rʿ, the prenomen of Thutmos III of the XVIIIth Dynasty. An archer is depicted on the left side who is squatting with a bow in hand, and two ostrich feathers adorn his head. The figure is the hieroglyph for “army,” “troop,” or “soldier” (Gardiner 1973: sign list A-12). A lizard is located above the archer that reads “much” or “multitude” (Gardiner 1973: sign list I-1). Beneath the archer is the sign for “lord” (Gardiner 1973: sign list V-30). Brandl therefore translates the scarab title as follows: “Thutmos III, lord of many troops” (Brandl 1986–87: 169). He concludes that “the scarab thus belongs to the class of royal scarabs, and specifically to the subgroup of scarabs commemorating an event or title related to the king or to the royal family.” Brandl identifies four parallels, only one of which shares exactly the same details. Three of the parallels are unprovenanced. The location of the finds and their parallels are as follows: 1. The Timins collection. This collection contains an exact parallel in both form and text, though its provenance is unknown (Newberry 1907: pl. 8:26). 2. British Museum. This scarab contains a royal name dating to the XVIIIth Dynasty, along with an archer and a lizard (Hall 1913: no. 671). Unlike Ebal’s Scarab no. 2, this scarab’s cartouche is above the archer, and the lizard is behind him. 3. British Museum. This scarab is also unprovenanced and, like the previous example, dated to the XVIIIth Dynasty on the basis of the royal name appearing on it (Hall 1913: no. 672). 4. Israel. A scarab was found in Tomb 935 at Tell el-Farʿah (S) featuring a lizard, an archer holding a simple bow, and the sign for “lord” above the archer (Macdonald, Starkey, and Harding 1932: pl. 53:220). Two other scarabs in the tomb as well as a seal bear the name of Ramesses II, and two

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additional scarabs bear an abbreviated form of his name. These artifacts and a characteristic 13th-century b.c.e. ceramic assemblage securely date Tomb 935 to the reign of Ramesses II.

In assessing how these parallels help to date Scarab no. 2 from Mt. Ebal, Brandl (1986–87: 170) concluded that three criteria must be considered. These are: (1) the most common date of the scarabs with greatest similarity in their formal details; (2) the most frequent date for commemorative scarabs of Thothmes III, and (3) the date of Tomb 935 at Tell el-Farʿah (S). When these criteria are applied to the foregoing parallels, all their dates fall in the same range, the latter part of the reign of Ramesses II, which was the second half of the 13th century b.c.e. Brandl’s dating of these rare decorative motifs is independent of the dating of the local pottery; is based on parallels from Israel, Egypt, Cyprus, and Transjordan; and, as stated, points to a date in the second half of the 13th century b.c.e. In light of the aforementioned cautions related to using scarabs in dating, the least one can say is that the mid-to-late 13th-century date can be taken as a terminus post quem for the construction of the Ebal site—in other words, the site could not have been built any earlier than the 13th century b.c.e. The Provenance of the Ebal Scarabs In 1992, Brown University hosted a scholarly conference on the Egyptian evidence for the exodus. In his paper “Exodus and Archaeological Reality,” James Weinstein discussed the two design scarabs from Mt. Ebal. The scarabs under discussion here were attributed by Zertal to Stratum II of the Ebal site, which dates to the 13th century b.c.e. The later stratum of the site, Stratum I, dates to the 12th century b.c.e. Weinstein stated that “the attribution of the two scarabs to Stratum II seems less than a certainty” (Weinstein 1997: 88–89). Because of this lack of certainty, Weinstein suggested that “there is little reason to favor the late-13th-century b.c.e. date over the early 12th century b.c.e. for the beginning of the Mt. Ebal site.” He concluded that “precise dating of the Mt. Ebal building on the basis of the two design scarabs is not feasible.” While the previous discussion on the form and content of the Ebal scarabs does establish a terminus post quem for the site, the question of provenance could raise doubts about the 13thcentury b.c.e. date. Although Weinstein does not give any reasons to justify his criticisms of the dating of the Ebal site, a word about the locations in which the two scarabs were found may help to establish the date. Scarab 1 As discussed above, the main structure at Ebal was filled with layers containing earth, stones, ashes, animal bones, and potsherds—each in different combinations. Four distinct layers were recognized, and labeled A–D, from bottom to top (Zertal 1986–87: 113–14). Scarab no. 1 was discovered in

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Layer C. If its association with Layer C in the main structure is correct, then Scarab no. 1, dated by Brandl to the second half of the reign of Ramesses II, can be regarded as accurately reflecting a terminus post quem of the mid-tolate 13th century b.c.e. for the founding of the site. Scarab 2 Scarab 2 was found in association with 70–80 installations that were uncovered to the north, south, and east of the central complex, consisting of circles, squares, and rectangles dug into the ground and bordered with crudely arranged stones (see fig. 11). In some cases, these installations are intermixed and built one on the other, and “their stratigraphic relation to each other is not always clear” (Zertal 1986–87: 117–18). Many of these installations are connected to the central complex by walls. Walls 17, 44, and 22 encompass several gift installations, and it was in one of these that Scarab no. 2 was discovered (fig. 11). Zertal explains that “the stratigraphical position of the scarab could not be fixed, because of the mixture of the Strata II and I installations, but its deep location hints at Stratum II.” More recently, Zertal has explained that, while “the installations north of the altar were in use in both strata . . . there seems to be stratification in levels for these little constructions. So I believe there is little doubt, if at all, about its (the scarab’s) dating” (Zertal 2003). The provenance of Scarabs 1 and 2 seems relatively well established. It seems safe, therefore, to associate them with Stratum II, which points to a mid-to-late 13th-century b.c.e. date for the founding of the Mt. Ebal site. Even Israel Finkelstein—at least in 1988—concluded that, unless later parallels were found for these scarabs, “they constitute the single, direct, definite piece of archaeological evidence for the existence of an Israelite settlement site as early as the late 13th century b.c.e.” (Finkelstein 1988: 321). The dating of the Mt. Ebal site does not rest solely on the two scarabs but also on the pottery. Additionally, we must recall that, in using the scarabs to aid in establishing a time frame for the site, Zertal and Brandl settled on a date within the last half of the 13th century, ca. 1250–1000. Weinstein’s insistence that the site may date to the 12th century rather than the 13th is rather innocuous. Zertal has responded, “I don’t see the big difference in time (maybe 20 years!). If you show me an Iron Age I site with more accurate dating, it will surprise me” (Zertal 2003: 1). Although Weinstein seems to suggest that a 12th-century date would discredit Zertal’s hypothesis, the margin between a late 13th-century date and a 12th-century date is, indeed, small. Most scholars—even those who dispute Zertal’s cultic identification of the site—accept a late-13th-century date for the Mt. Ebal installation. 6

6.  Ahlström 1993: 366; Coogan 1987: 1–8; Dever 1990: 132–33; Finkelstein 1988: 82–85; Fritz 1995: 70; A. Mazar 1990a: 348–50; Zevit 2001: 196–201.

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Conclusion The site at Mt. Ebal appears to match numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, and 14 of Zevit’s physical/behavioral correlates, which is 85% of them. 7 Although various features of the site and its artifacts may be common to domestic or other types of sites, when viewed as a whole the site suggests a cultic identification. Some of the scholars who agree with a cultic (either general or specific) identification of the site on Mt. Ebal, either explicitly or implicitly, are: Anbar, Ben-Noon, Bloch-Smith, Nakhai, Block, Browning, Christensen, Coogan, Edelman, Elitzur, Nir-Zevi, Faust, Gilmour, Hess, Isserlin, Kelm, Killebrew, Kitchen, Lemaire, Mazar, Mussel, Naʾaman, Noort, Ortiz, Pitkänen, Provan, Longman, Long, Schoville, Strange, van der Steen, Waltke, and Zevit. 8 7.  Zevit only notes the correspondence of the site and its central structure with correlates 1, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, and 13 (2001: 201), yielding a correspondence of 57%. 8.  Anbar 1985b: 352; Ben-Noon 1985; Bloch-Smith and Nakhai 1999: 76–77; Block 1998: 602; Browning 1998: 33–34; Christensen 2002: 654; Coogan 1987: 1–8; Edelman 1996: 50 n. 56; Elitzur and Nir-Zevi 2003: 34; Faust 2006: 114; Gilmour 1995: 218–20; Hess 1993: 136–37, 139; 1996: 174; Isserlin 1998: 242; Kelm 1991: 197; Killebrew 2005: 159–60; Kitchen 2003: 232–34; Lemaire 1990: 199–201; A. Mazar 1990a: 348–50; 1992a: 293–94; Mussel 1993: 174–75; Naʾaman 1986: 259–80; Noort 1997: 168–70; Ortiz 2005: 71; Pitkänen 2004: 167–85; Provan, Longman, and Long 2003: 185–87; Schoville 2001: 23–24; van der Steen 2004: 73; Strange 1994: 158–59; Waltke 1994: 246; and Zevit 2001: 196–201.

Chapter 3

Physical Parallels to el-Burnat: Domestic and Military Chapter 2 provides an overview of el-Burnat/Ebal itself, examining each element of the site in light of the excavator’s interpretation of it as a cultic place. In continuing our attempts to determine whether el-Burnat is a cultic site or some other type of site, in chap. 3 we seek possible physical parallels to the Ebal site from among domestic and military structures. Discussion of the first two potential parallels, village and farmstead, focuses on site layout; the third and fourth potential parallels, house and watchtower, aid in our identification of the Ebal site’s central structure.

Village Kempinski wrote that, when he visited the site, el-Burnat “appeared to be the remains of a small settlement enclosed by a wall” (Kempinski 1986: 44). He understood the site to be a three-phase village that, according to him, was “not at all rare during Iron Age I.” Some contemporary scholars have reconstructed Iron Age I villages as having been settled in three phases. In some of the earliest sites dating to the Late Bronze–Iron I transition period, there were strata devoid of any building remains other than pits, “which contained finds which indicated that they served a population which resided on the site” (Herzog 1992b: 232). Ovens were sometimes located near these pits. “It is commonly accepted that huts or tents, remains of which have not been preserved, were the dwellings while the pits served as silos” (see fig. 33, p. 74). Some pits have been found full of pottery, mainly storage vessels, while others have been found lined with stone. Seven pits, all reaching depths of over 3 m2, were uncovered in Stratum IX at Tel Beer-sheba. At Tell Deir ʿAlla, pits were discovered with adjacent depressions for hut poles, while pit no. 1321 at Beer-sheba yielded clear evidence of having been used as a dwelling. Herzog concludes that “the wide distribution of hut settlements leads to the conclusion that this model of settlement was used by a population in the transition stage from nomadism to permanent settlement.” Kempinski argued that an early phase of settlement could be identified at el-Burnat during which seminomadic peasants occupied the site. “They lived in tents or huts. Few architectural remains from these structures have survived. The principal occupational remains are pits, bins and small installations” (see 73

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Figure 33.  Settlement consisting of huts and pits (adapted from Herzog 1992b: 232).

Figure 34.  Kempinski’s “Phase 1” of the Mt. Ebal site (Kempinski 1986: 46).

fig. 34; quotation from Kempinski 1986: 44). This reconstruction was purely hypothetical and hinged on whether the central structure in Area A of Stratum IB was built in phases or whether it was all of a piece. This question is addressed in the discussion of watchtowers below. The next step in this supposed transition to sedentarization was the establishment of elliptical sites. Villages established early in the period of Israelite settlement consisted of a band of broad rooms arranged in an ellipse (‫ ָחצֵר‬, ḥāṣēr) with a large open space in the center. These broad rooms faced the center and encircled the settlement, forming a courtyard, probably for penning the herds of the inhabitants at night and also providing some measure of defense. This pattern can be seen, for example, at ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah Stratum III, which was founded around the end of the 13th or the beginning of the 12th century b.c.e., making it one of the earliest known Israelite sites (Finkelstein 1988: 34–117). Stratum III of this site comprised a ring of rooms surrounding a broad central courtyard in which several stonelined silos were discovered (fig. 35).

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Figure 35.  Plan of ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah Stratum III (Finkelstein 1988: 239, fig. 76).

A larger settlement of this type, though following the same basic pattern, was discovered at Tell Esdar (fig. 36). Stratum III, inhabited during the 11th century b.c.e., differed from ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah in that it was made up of real buildings rather than simply broad rooms (Kochavi 1969: 23–26). Its layout, however, was the same. According to Aharoni’s reconstruction, the site comprised about 20 of these rectangular houses, the long walls of which paralleled the perimeter of the site (Aharoni 1976: 69). Similar sites have been discovered in locations ranging from the Upper Galilee to the Negev. The third and final phase in this transition consists of sites with a peripheral belt of pillared houses. Finkelstein argues that “this type of site-plan apparently originated in the elliptical settlements” discussed above (Finkelstein 1988: 250–54). In this case, however, rather than broad rooms forming an ellipse, actual houses are arranged in an ellipse. The broad rooms serve as the rear room of these houses, as can clearly be seen in the schematic of Beer-sheba Stratum VII (fig. 37). Finkelstein understands this third stage as representing a development of phase 2, with the houses being expansions of the rear broad rooms and continuing to be built in an ellipse. Fritz (1995: 69), however, distinguishes these settlements from elliptical villages and explains that they are characterized by

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Figure 36.  Tell Esdar. Plan of the Stratum III settlement (Finkelstein 1988: 38, fig. 3). indiscriminate construction that has taken place on the site, in the form of individual buildings or complexes consisting of several houses. Streets of varying width and irregular open areas or squares are left open between the individual units. The houses were positioned without planning of any kind, in accordance with the agglomerated way of building, and the edge of the building is left open.

Fritz terms these settlements “agglomerated villages.” Similarly, Herzog (1992b: 235–37) understands a typical agglomerated site such as ʿAi as not having a peripheral belt of buildings (fig. 38) but as having developed “gradually, in an unplanned fashion, until it was entirely filled up with buildings. This settlement [ʿAi] is in fact an example of agglutinative growth in which a settlement that begins with sporadic houses comes to be filled up during its entire existence.” Finkelstein (1988: 252) differs, however, noting that a group of contiguous two- to four-room houses was excavated on ʿAi’s outer

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Figure 37.  Beer-sheba Stratum VII (Finkelstein 1988: 40, fig. 4).

edge and that their broad rooms contributed toward the formation of a peripheral belt. He notes that, “seen from the outside, the wall would have appeared to have had offsets and insets.” Whether this third group of sites is understood as the development of an elliptically established settlement or as a group of randomly built, agglomerated houses—in either case, the central court feature is absent. Every area of the settlement is covered with dwellings. Herzog (1992b: 233) suggests that “it may be surmised, therefore, that these settlements evolved as a result of the transition to permanent settlement, increasing the utilization of the land for cultivation while decreasing the extent of sheep and cattle herding.” Kempinski (1986: 42, 44– 49) argued that the Mt. Ebal site should be understood as a three-phase village, with specific parts of the site associated with various phases. This interpretation is examined below in the discussion about the watchtower. At this point, on a more general note, I merely observe that the plan of the Mt. Ebal site, in contrast to the highland villages of the period of Israelite sedentarization, is very simple. In Stratum IB, it consists merely of an enclosure with an isolated building in its center. Finkelstein (1988: 244) notes

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Figure 38.  Plan of ʿAi (et-Tell), an agglomerated city (Herzog 1992b: 235).

that the plan of Giloh, which is similar to that of Ebal, “is unrelated” to the plans of the elliptical sites of the settlement period. Clearly, the Ebal site is not a hamlet or village.

Farmstead V.  Fritz identifies a “farmstead” as a separate type of settlement from ring-shaped villages and agglomerated villages (Fritz 1995: 69–70), though this distinction seems artificial. Fritz defines a farmstead as referring to single buildings or to a group of buildings surrounded by a widely-extending wall. This wall did not serve a defensive purpose but probably formed an enclosure for domestic animals. The farmstead can consist of several build-

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ings which were erected in the vicinity of the main building as economic need dictated. 1

Based on this definition, Fritz has suggested and continues to maintain that the Mt. Ebal site should probably be interpreted as a farmstead. He writes that “the plan of the Early Iron Age remains atop Mount Ebal clearly indicates that it was not a cultic site. The walls excavated by A. Zertal belonged to a small domestic structure of several strata and do not form any kind of rectangular altar. The walls enclosing a large area to the south and to the west of the building are a well known phenomenon from other sites of that period and can easily be understood in connection with animal husbandry. The bones, mainly of sheep, goats, cattle and fallow deer, are common in domestic contexts” (Fritz 1995: 185). Fritz has maintained this position, recently summarizing it thus: “The so-called sanctuary discovered on Mount Ebal was probably a farmstead” (Fritz 2005: 87), though the only analogy he has provided to date is the site of Giloh, the interpretation of which is more complex than simple identification as a “farmstead.” 2 Surveys have produced an extensive body of data documenting hinterland farmsteads. 3 David Hopkins (1985: 306–7) has synthesized much of the available information, and a complex picture of early Iron Age highlands farming is emerging. According to Hopkins, “Surface dating has demonstrated the association of farmsteads with periods of high-intensity land use, a barometer of the growth of the urban sphere and its sway over the surrounding territory.” This means that the advent of farmsteads was connected with intensified security conditions and the emergent demand for specific economic commodities—that is, wares that could be used to produce income. In harmony with the design of the farmstead to meet these demands, “rock-cut wine presses, cup holes, reservoirs, cisterns, and caves, along with terrace and perimeter walls, comprise a constellation of activity loci that was probably constructed contemporaneously with the farmstead building” (Hopkins 1997: 306; see also LaBianca 1991: 267). Based on these and other data, Hopkins suggests that, while the term farmstead has generally connoted a difficult rural existence, “Iron Age farmsteads may well represent the penetration of the countryside by the managerial arm of the city-based administration.” R.  D. Miller, in a recent attempt to use a Gravity Model to plot interrelations between Iron I highland sites in order to reconstruct the social history of Israel in the 12th and 11th centuries b.c.e., draws similar conclusions about the possible economic role of rural sites (R.  D. Miller 2005: 1.  For a more detailed discussion of “farmsteads,” see Younker 1991b: 335–42. 2.  Fritz 2005: 87; for his discussion of Giloh, see Fritz 1995: 70. The site of Giloh is assessed under the discussion of watchtowers, below. 3. E.g., LaBianca 1991: 266–68; Younker 1991a: 269–334; 1991b: 335–42; and Christopherson 1997a: 250–90; 1997b: 291–307.

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29–103). He identifies four administrative systems in the heartland of Iron Age Israel, the largest of which is Tell Balâṭah (Shechem), in which Mt. Ebal is located. According to Miller’s analysis, while most of the villages were self-sufficient, they presented tribute in cash crops or conscripted labor to higher levels of economic centers, although without a specialized administrative apparatus. Viticulture was the dominant economy in the Gerizim and Ebal massif and, while olives were rare, they were found at el-Burnat. 4 Pomegranates and figs would also have been harvested on the western slopes of Mt. Ebal. Remains of caprovids and cattle were found at el-Burnat, and red deer and fallow deer could also have been hunted (Horwitz 1986–87: 174–75, 177, 179). Foreign goods are found in the centers, but they are also found in the villages. Miller seems to suggest that the Ramesses II scarab, iron nail, and a Mediterranean Cardium shell are all “evidence for exchange” at el-Burnat (Zertal 1986: 52; 1986–87: 150; and Horwitz 1986–87: 173). In harmony with this reconstructed role as a satellite of Tell Balâṭah, Miller suggests that the walls at the Mt. Ebal site must have been built “by conscripted labor” (R. D. Miller 2005: 79). Miller’s study raises important issues regarding the reconstruction of societal structures in the highlands. He is not explicit in his reconstruction of el-Burnat, though it seems that he understands it as a center for production and exchange. This is a suggestion that has been made before. B. Rosen (1992: 346) raised the possibility of this interpretation when he observed that at the end of the Bronze Age the Egyptian administration in Canaan as well as the elite of the local city-states collected and reallocated resources and that this process was carried out by the royal administration in Iron Age II. What we do not know, he pointed out, is how and to what extent such exchange mechanisms functioned during Iron Age I. He raised the question whether the supposed religious centers, such as Shiloh and Mt. Ebal, played this role or whether the contemporary Canaanite cities functioned as markets for the populace in the highlands. While Rosen’s and Miller’s hypotheses raise important questions, an understanding of el-Burnat as a commercial center seems to go beyond the evidence. Sickle blades used to harvest winter crops and olive presses, winepresses, and storage facilities used in processing and storing food products are all completely absent from Mt. Ebal (Zertal 1986–87: 152). Several of Edelman’s (2006a: 5–6) criticisms of R. D. Miller’s book are especially relevant for assessing el-Burnat’s role as a subsidiary site of Tell Balâ­ṭah. First, Edelman observes that Miller’s supposition that all the highland sites were settled concurrently during Iron I goes against common archaeological and anthropological working models and contradicts his own observation that, according to its excavators, Tell Balâṭah was uninhabited 4.  For viticulture in the Gerizim and Ebal massif, see R. D. Miller 2005: 59; see also 2003: 289–309; for olives at el-Burnat, see Liphschitz 1986–87: 100–191.

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in the 11th century. Second, Edelman argues that the four chiefdoms Miller identifies in Mt. Ephraim and the Samarian hills do not link with road systems that connect the highlands to the coast, although the presence of trade items in these areas make it obvious that their inhabitants had regular interactions with the lowlands. Third, Miller’s deduction that fortification walls are proof of drafted labor is feasible, but it is not the only explanation for the production of such “public” buildings. In situations where defense is a shared concern, a community may choose to cooperate in the construction of a mutually beneficial protective wall. Edelman concludes, in part, that “it is still premature to attempt to establish the political configurations that existed at this time in this region.” The identification of the Ebal site as a farmstead does not comport with current knowledge of animal husbandry in ancient Israel. Large sites encompassed by a wall and used expressly as animal pens are unknown as an Iron I settlement site design. Two types of sites facilitated the corralling of animals. The first was laid out as a cluster of pens. Herzog interprets the design at Giloh—the only site that Fritz provides as an analogy to Ebal as a farmstead—as a cluster of pens: “The settlement . . . comprised five pens which served as dwellings for five families and their herds” (Herzog 1992b: 232–33; Fritz 1995: 70). He suggests that “similar pens existed at other sites in the hill country.” The other type of site for corralling animals was the “enclosed settlement.” In this case, the entire settlement was arranged in a ḥāṣēr (‫ ) ָחצֵר‬plan, with the houses arranged in a ring and the backs of the houses forming something of a protective belt. In these enclosed settlements, “the centre of the settlement served as a court, probably for penning the herds of the residents at night.” It is generally accepted that villages were “the home base” for ancient Palestinian transhumants (Myers 2000: 1355). In addition, at sites arranged in the ḥāṣēr plan, the walls were either formed by or butted against the buildings. The walls at the Ebal site do not correspond to the known features of sites where animal husbandry was practiced.

House or Other Domestic Space The identification of the central structure in Area A of the Ebal site as a house or other domestic space relates back to Kempinski’s interpretation of el-Burnat as a three-phase village. As discussed, Kempinski saw the site as having been founded as a settlement of tents or huts surrounded by pits, bins, and small installations. In the second phase of this village, the settlers built “more stable habitation units” (Kempinski 1986: 44). “At this time,” writes Kempinski, “a two-room or perhaps a three-room house was built in the center of the settlement,” and the site was enclosed with a wall (fig. 39). Anson Rainey followed him in the interpretation of the central structure as a house (1986: 66). Rainey argued that “you do not dig rooms . . . in an altar” (2005; 2009: 186*). In order to assess whether the central structure at

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Figure 39.  Kempinski’s “Phase 2” interpretation of el-Burnat as a domestic structure (Kempinski 1986: 46).

Figure 40.  The four-room house at Tell en-Nasbeh. Photo reproduced by the courtesy of the Bade Museum, Pacific School of Religion.

el-Burnat may be identified as a house, we must first analyze the design and purpose of four-room houses. The Four-Room “Israelite” House William F. Badè first discovered a four-room building at Tell en-Nasbeh (Mizpah) in 1927 (fig. 40). At first, he thought it was a temple, and he held a

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Figure 41.  Reconstruction of the four-room house (King and Stager 2001: 29).

Figure 42.  Four-room house floor plans (Bunimovitz and Faust 2002: 34).

church service in its ruins. We now know that the type of building he discovered was actually the characteristic house of Iron Age (1200–586 b.c.e.) Israelites (Shiloh 1970: 180–190; 1978: 36–51; Stager 1985: 11–23). The fourroom house predominated in ancient Israel. King and Stager have synthesized the available data on the four-room house in their book Life in Biblical Israel (2001: 28–29). The four-room house was “rectilinear,” with two, three, or four rooms (figs. 41–43). Its basic architecture can be summarized as follows: Two rows of stone pillars separated the central, larger room from the two parallel side rooms. These three parallel rooms extended from a perpendicular “broad room” running the width of the building. This back room formed one of the four main exterior walls of the rectangular house. The entrance to the house was on the short side and led from the exterior courtyard into the large central room. The broad room across the back served mainly for

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Figure 43.  Plans of the ubiquitous four-room houses in Israel (adapted from Faust and Bunimovitz 2003: 23).

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storage. These houses were typically built of sun-dried mud bricks that were sealed and plastered on the outside to prevent deterioration. The floors were made of beaten earth, and the walls were built on two or three courses of foundation stones. The first story averaged less than 7 ft. (2 m) in height. Four-room houses tended to have simple furnishings, including bedding, kitchen utensils (such as storage jars, water jugs, cooking pots, etc.), looms, and vessels for grinding and crushing. Provisions such as grain would be kept in large storage jars. Hearths were sometimes simply holes in the ground where fires were built for cooking or warmth. In other cases, the hearths were raised or even freestanding features. The central corridor on the ground level of the four-room house was often occupied by storage, livestock, and/or workshops, while the narrower side rooms served as stables and shelters for livestock. The floors of the central room were made of either beaten earth or plaster, while the side rooms were often paved with cobbles or flagstones. The roof and upper story, accessed by an outdoor stairway, served as the main living area. The roof was often used for sleeping in warmer months, and worship was sometimes carried out there as well. One would enter through a wooden door from an outside courtyard, where a mud-brick oven for baking and cooking was located. Most of the cooking would have been done in this outer courtyard. Occasionally the oven was located in the central room of the house. The four-room house design was ubiquitous for 600 years, appearing in all strata of Israelite society from the period of the settlement until the exile (fig. 43). The ubiquity of the style testifies to its successful design for a people “requiring facilities for managing mixed agricultural pursuits” (Holladay 1992: 316; see also Holladay 1997). Ethnographic analogies led to the conclusion that has continued to hold sway to the present time, that the four-room house was first and foremost a successful adaptation to farm life: The ground floor had space allocated for food processing, small craft production, stabling and storage; the second floor was suitable for dining, sleeping, and other activities. . . . Its longevity attests to its continuing suitability not only to the environment . . . but also for the socioeconomic unit housed in it—for the most part, rural families who farmed and raised livestock. (Stager 1985: 17)

Bunimovitz and Faust (2003: 25) argue, however, that the “functional explanation” of the four-room house leaves several questions unanswered. While accrediting the usage of the four-room house in Israelite society to its aptness for daily life may be an attractive contention, it does not adequately explain why this particular architectural form dominated throughout the Iron Age and even became a “cultural phenomenon.” As Faust and Bunimovitz observe, “There were houses typical of other periods that functioned well, but none of them achieved such a dominant position in the architectural landscape of their time. Moreover, none were so uniform in plan.”

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Faust and Bunimovitz suggest that the omnipresence of the four-room house argues against the functional theory, and they move on to explore the social aspects of the four-room house. They argue that the four-room house is indicative of ancient Israel. It was not just a style of architecture that evolved from functional necessity, but it actually reflected the Israelite mind. They identify four ways in which the four-room house did this: 1. Purity and space syntax. Extending a path of thought previously taken by Moshe Weinfeld, Bunimovitz and Faust suggest that the four-room house may have facilitated the separation between purity and impurity. An example of this would be the avoidance of a woman during menstruation. “Indeed, on examining the four-room plan one can immediately recognize its greatest merit, which is maximum privacy. Once the central space of the building, whether an open or roofed courtyard was entered, each of the rooms could be entered directly without going through adjacent spaces.” Even if an “unclean” person lived in the house, purity could be strictly maintained, since each room could be entered directly from the central space without passing through other rooms. This special quality does not seem to be present in other dwelling structures in the Late Bronze and Iron Age. 2. Ideology. Another implication of this “access analysis” “is the correspondence between its nonhierarchical configuration and the ‘democratic’ or egalitarian ethos of Israelite society.” While houses in many contemporary ethnographic examples often manifest “a hierarchical grading of accessibility and structural depth of spaces within the house related to generational and in some cases gender-based status distinctions (or both),” the four-room house “lacks ‘depth’ or access hierarchy and expresses a more egalitarian spirit than . . . contemporaneous” examples. 3. Nonverbal communication. Using the terms “canonical” and “indexical,” Bunimovitz and Faust suggest that the four-room house both reminds the occupants of the principles (discussed in points 1–2) embodied in the house’s architecture and communicates a message to others—both in and outside the community—that identifies the occupants as part of the community and enhances the coherence of the community. 4. Order and dominance. Drawing on Mary Douglas’s theory that many of the holiness laws were actually about order (Douglas 1966), Bunimovitz and Faust suggest the same interpretive schema for understanding “the astonishing dominance of the four-room house plan on almost all levels of Israelite architectural design.” They explain that, “if the Israelites were deeply engaged with unity and ‘order’ as a negation of separateness and confusion, then these concepts must have percolated through all spheres of daily life, including material culture.”

Bunimovitz and Faust conclude, Thus, it can be surmised that once the four-room house took shape and was formalized as the container and embodiment of the Israelite lifestyle and symbolic “order,” it became the “right” house type and, hence, its great popularity. Building according to other architectural schemes must have been considered

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a deviation from the norm and possibly a violation of the holy “order.” (Bunimovitz and Faust: 2003: 415–19)

The Central Structure at Mt. Ebal and the Four-Room House The review of the data on the four-room house has shown that the fourroom house and its derivatives are the most predominant house plan in Iron Age Israel. When one compares the plan of Mt. Ebal’s central structure with the four-room house floor plans included above (figs. 41–43) and with the construction and nature of the four-room house, it seems clear that “the architecture of the main complex is completely different from that of any known domestic building” (Zertal 1986–87: 151–52). Zertal notes three features of early Iron Age domestic structures that are conspicuously absent from Ebal: 1. Column construction. This is widely recognized as one of the major innovations of the time, and its origin is widely debated (see Finkelstein 1988: 254–59; A. Mazar 1992a: 288–89). The interior spaces of most houses in the early Iron Age contained freestanding pillars that were apparently used to divide the courtyards of the houses into roofed and unroofed areas (Mazar 1992a: 288) as well as supporting the roof. Columns were also built into the walls to reinforce the frame and were used as doorposts. There were no columns discovered in the main structure at Mt. Ebal. 2. Doorway construction. The northern courtyard of el-Burnat appears to have been entered by three steps, “built along the width of the courtyard” (Zertal 1986–87: 117), with Wall 3 (fig. 11) apparently serving as the top step of this broad stairway. This opening was “built on the same level as the paving of the northern courtyard.” This is completely different, however, from typical Iron Age I doorways. Doorways in Iron Age I were usually constructed of stone pillars and included a threshold and lintels of large stones (Breamer 1982: 130–33). In most cases of the four-room house, the entrance was in the central space (Netzer 1992: 194). No doorway or entryway of any kind was found in the central structure of el-Burnat. 3. Stairway. Though this has been debated, the standard Israelite house apparently included a staircase leading up to a second story (Holladay 1997: 105–9; Netzer 1992: 193–201). In Iron Age houses, stairways consisted of a thick wall built against one of the walls of the house, with steps either of field stones or of hewn stones (Reich 1992a: 14; Netzer 1992: 197–98). The central structure of el-Burnat did not contain a stairway and, unless a wooden ladder was used, the only way to reach the main structure from the courtyards was by using the stone ramp between them.

In addition to the lack of columns, doorway, and stairway, there are other problems with the identification of el-Burnat as a house. It does not seem to have had a floor. It appears that the Stratum II surface would not have functioned well as a floor because of its irregularity. Additionally, installation 94

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Figure 44.  Kempinski’s reconstruction of el-Burnat as a phase 3 “tower” (Kempinski 1986: 46).

creates an obstacle between Walls 13 and 16 (see fig. 11). If the foregoing interpretations of the architectural components of the Ebal structure hold, then the case made by Kempinski and Rainey that the Ebal structure is a house cannot be maintained.

Watchtower The most popular alternative understanding of the Mt. Ebal site is that it was an isolated watchtower. Kempinski (1986: 42, 44–49) first argued that the Mt. Ebal site should be understood as a three-phase village. He argued that the central structure at Mt. Ebal was the second of three phases and should be understood as a two-room or three-room house. This second phase was followed by a third, which Kempinski explains as follows. The third phase of the settlement followed the destruction of phase 2, perhaps by the Canaanites from nearby Shechem or possibly by the Philistines who invaded the area in about 1070 b.c.e.; or was this phase destroyed in an Israelite intertribal clash? In any event, the phase 2 settlement was destroyed, thus demonstrating the need to improve security with a watchtower. In phase 3, a watchtower was built; debris was probably added to the inside of the phase 2 building to create a podium for the watchtower—a common feature of Iron Age watchtowers, such as, for example, at Giloh. The remains of the phase 2 building were also used for the courtyard of the watchtower. In Kempinski’s third phase, therefore, the central structure is to be understood as the foundation of a watchtower, built on top of

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the earlier domestic structure (fig. 44). The material inside the structure that Zertal interpreted as layers A–D was “simply destruction debris from the destroyed watchtower.” G. Ahlström, A. A. Burke, W. G. Dever, V. Fritz, N. Naʾaman, and A. Rainey all followed this interpretation of the site. 5 In order to evaluate the hypothetical reconstruction of el-Burnat as a watchtower, I must review the meaning of the term watchtower and discuss the use of watchtowers in Iron Age I. I also examine the site of Giloh in some detail and consider the cultic meaning that may be attached to towers in some cases. I then conclude with a discussion of the extent to which elBurnat accords with these data.

The Biblical Term Migdāl and Ancient Watchtowers The Hebrew term migdāl (‫)מ ְגָּדל‬, ִ “tower,” is a derivative of gādal (‫“ )ּגָדַ ל‬to become great or important,” “probably deriving from early times when the tower was the largest (greatest) structure in a town” (Smick 1980: 151). Aside from its appearance as a component of proper names, the term migdāl is used 34 times in the Hebrew Bible to describe structures with a variety of purposes. E. B. Banning has categorized these towers in four groups (Banning 1992: 622–23): 1. Agricultural field buildings, farm houses, and field clearances. Banning writes that contemporary examples suggest that the most widespread purpose for secluded rural towers was agricultural. This corresponds well with the biblical usage of the term, which is often in association with fields, orchards, vineyards, and winepresses (Isa 5:2; 2 Chr 26:10; et al.). While towers could be state sponsored and, therefore, make an important political statement (Borowski 2002: 106), Banning explains that “the most common function of these towers may have been to store agricultural equipment and produce, to provide a lookout for farmers protecting their crops from thieves or animals, to house farmers temporarily while they worked in fields at a distance from their home villages, and only incidentally to hide villagers during times of social conflict.” 6 Some small rural towers probably had pastoral functions while, in some stony areas, large stone “towers” were human dwellings. The most common stone “structures” are actually stone clearance heaps that could easily be mistaken for a migdāl because they range in height from a few feet to as many as 27 ft. (Negev and Gibson 2001: 479). 2. Route markers, tombs, and memorials. Both stone heaps and towers were sometimes erected to mark roads in the desert. These sorts of signs were essential in cases such as faint tracks through a desert area. The usual Hebrew word for such heaps was ‫ ( ִצּיּון‬ṣîyyûn). Stone heaps also often functioned as burial monuments (e.g., Gen 35:20; 2 Kgs 23:17; et al.). 5.  Ahlström 1993: 366; Burke 2007: 44; Dever 1992: 32–34; Fritz 1993: 185; Naʾaman 1986: 259-80; Rainey 1986: 66; 2009: 186*. 6.  Borowski 2002: 106; see also Younker 1991b: 336–37.

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Chapter 3 1. Defense towers. One of the most common interpretations of towers is that they served in military defense and communication networks. Towers are often mentioned in the Hebrew Bible in these sorts of contexts (2 Kgs 17:9; 2 Chr 14:7; 20:24; et al.). Similarly, it is clear from pre-Islamic sources that some towers did indeed function within chains of fire-signal stations. In the Hebrew Bible, migdāl is used to describe a variety of structures, including towers in the fortifications of a town or city (e.g., 2 Kgs 14:7), a stronghold inside a town (e.g., Judg 9:51), or a remote fortress (e.g., 2 Chr 27:4). In the hinterland of the Madaba Plains, fortified farmsteads included central “towers” or buildings ranging in size from ca. 10 ft. × 10 ft. to ca. 49 ft. × 52 ft. (ca. 3.00 m × 3.00 m to ca. 15.00 m × 16.00 m) and larger, most of which were initially built during Iron II (Younker 1991b: 337). 2. Place-names and temple towers. The term migdal also appears in the Hebrew Bible as a component of a number of place-names, such as Migdāl Eder (Gen 35:21); Migdāl El ( Josh 19:38); Migdāl Gad ( Josh 15:37); Migdāl Penuel ( Judg 8:8–9, 17); and so on. These were places that were associated with cultic traditions prior to the Israelite period, which led B.  Mazar (1962: 634–5) to conclude that the word migdāl might have had a cultic meaning as well. These place-names may refer to fortresses, fortified towns, or towns with a towered temple as one of their central structures. The terms migdal and magdal are also used in the toponym lists of Thutmosis III and in the Tell el-Amarna tablets. 7

In Kempinski’s hypothetical reconstruction, the central structure of Mt. Ebal originated as a dwelling and was later converted into what Rainey describes as “a typical watchtower” (Rainey 1986: 66; 2009: 186*). It is not clear, however, that a “typical” form can be established for watchtowers in Iron Age I, for very few have been discovered—if any. The archaeological data for towers in the Late Bronze Age and Iron Age I are reviewed below for the purpose of comparison with the central structure of el-Burnat.

Towers in the Late Bronze Age Freestanding towers and forts are unknown from the Late Bronze Age. Towers were usually connected with fortification systems or temples. In both the Middle Bronze Age and the Late Bronze Age, city-gate systems often included towers. Town fortifications have been found at Hazor, Megiddo, Jericho, Shechem, Lachish, Gezer, Tell el-Jarish, Tell el-Farʿah (south), Tell el-Ajjul, and Tell en-Nejileh, and gate fortifications have been found at Tell Dan, Ashkelon, Megiddo, Hazor, Shechem, Tell el-Farʿah (north), Beth-shemesh, and Gezer. Towers at Tell el-Farʿah (south), Bethshemesh, and Hazor were subdivided into rooms. Numerous examples of temples are known from Syria–Palestine (fig. 45). In Syria, there are the temples of Baal and Dagan at Ugarit, Carchemish, Ebenda II–I, Kamid el-

7.  ANET: 243, 247, 259; e.g., EA 69.20; 70.9; 185.29; 186.28; 234; 256.26.

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Figure 45.  Late Bronze and Iron Age I temples in ancient Israel (Dever 1987: 224, fig. 15).

Lôz, Mumbaqat, and Meskene. 8 In Israel and Jordan, there are the Stratum VIIA Temple 2048 at Megiddo, the Strata IX, VIII, and VII temples at Beth-shean, the Fosse I–III temples at Lachish, the Area C Stele, Area H Orthostat, Area A Longroom and Area F Square temples at Hazor, the Field V Migdāl temple 2 at Shechem, the “Airport Temple” at Amman, the Mt. Gerizim/Tananir temple, the Deir ʿAlla Sanctuary, the Timnah temple, the Jaffa “Lion Temple,” the temples at Shiqmonah, at Tell Kittan III, and at Tell Mevorakh XI–IX, and the Level VII “Summit Temple” at Lachish. 9 8. At Ugarit: C. F. A. Schaeffer 1931: 9, fig. 2; at Carchemish: C. L. Woolley 1952: 167– 71; at Ebenda II–I: Naumann 1971: 464, fig. 600; at Kamid el-Lôz: Naumann 1982: 17–29, figs. 3–4; at Mumbaqat: Orthmann and Kühne 1974: 53–97; and at Meskene: Margueron 1975: 53–85. 9.  Megiddo: Loud 1948; the Strata IX, VIII, and VII temples at Beth-shean: Rowe 1940: 6–12, fig. 3; the Fosse I–III temples at Lachish: Tufnell 1940; the Area C Stele, Area H Orthostat, Area A Longroom, and Area F Square temples at Hazor: Yadin 1972; 1975; the Field V Migdāl temple 2 at Shechem: G. E. Wright 1965: 95–102; the “Airport Temple”

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These temples are mostly of the Langbau type, with either two or three rooms along a central axis. Three of the Palestinian temples, however, are of a type “noteworthy for its monumental dimensions and standard plan” (Gonen 1992: 223–29). These temples, termed “Migdāl temples,” have been discovered at Megiddo, Shechem, and Hazor. The walls of the migdāl temples are very thick, a characteristic that gives them the appearance of a fortress. This impression is heightened by the well-built towers bordering the entrance to the building. The layout is symmetrical along a longitudinal alignment, on which the entrances are situated. The focus of the cult—a niche or altar—was located at the far end of this axis, adjacent to or within the rear wall of the temple. Gonen notes that three sites, Beth-shean, Lachish, and Timnah, have temples that show Egyptian influence either in their layout or in some details of their construction. This should be expected, in light of Egyptian hegemony in Canaan in the Late Bronze Age. In light of this, “It is astonishing to discover how small the influence of Egypt was on Canaanite temples and cult.” 10

Towers in Iron Age I In the latter stages of the Bronze Age, many of the great military empires declined. An apparent result was a decline in Canaanite fortifications in the Iron Age I. As shown in the discussion of the village, there were no fortifications that can be attributed to the period of the Iron Age I highland settlements. Again, these settlements consisted primarily of houses arranged in a circle that formed only a superficial barrier. The earliest known Iron Age fortifications in the central hill country and in the Shephelah are the casemate walls at Tell en-Nasbeh, Tell Beit Mirsim, and Beth-shemesh, but these do not appear until Iron Age II (Herzog 1992b: 271). Until very recently, no examples of freestanding towers had been found in the surveys of Manasseh or Ephraim (Finkelstein 1988: 119–204). In 1995, Zertal reported on three Iron Age road fortresses with watchtowers located in the Jordan Valley that had recently been surveyed and studied by the Manasseh Hill Country Project (Zertal 1995: 255–73). The first of these sites was Khirbet eš-Šaqq ( M.R. 1975 1945), an Iron Age II site located in the vicinity of Wadi Maliḥ (see Zertal 2007: 272–74), consisting of a (presumed) casemate wall, a rectangular building, and a cirat Amman: Hennessey 1966: 155–62; Herr 1984; the Mt. Gerizim/Tananir temple: Boling 1975: 33–85; the Deir ʿAlla sanctuary: Franken 1962: 378–82; 1969: 19–22; the Timnah temple: Rothenberg 1972: 125–79; the Jaffa “Lion Temple”: Kaplan 1974: 135–36; at Shiqmonah: Elgavish 1977: 122–23; at Tel Kittan III: Eisenberg 1977: 77–81; at Tell Mevorakh XI–IX: Stern 1984; and the Level VII “Summit Temple” at Lachish: Ussishkin et al.: 1978. 10.  Gonen 1992: 229; for Egyptian temples, see Gundlach 2001: 363–79; Murray 2002; Shafer 1997; and Wimmer 1990: 1065–66.

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Figure 46.  Khirbet eš-Šaqq (Zertal 1995: 257, fig. 4).

cular tower (fig. 46). The possible casemate wall is visible in several locations on the site, and the presumed area enclosed within the wall amounts to 5,248 sq. ft. (1,600 sq. m). The circular tower measures 64.9 ft. (19.8 m) in diameter, is almost a perfect circle, and is “undoubtedly the main part of the site” (Zertal 1995: 258). Its design consists of three concentric stone walls. The outside wall measures 3 ft. (1 m) in width, while the inner ones are both ca. 2.6 ft. (ca. 0.8 m) wide. The three walls form inner rings that contain “cells” or “chambers” and are connected by entrances. There are also entrances that lead into the inner courtyard. An entrance to the entire structure is located on the eastern side of the building. The rectangular building measures 46 × 29 ft. (14 × 9 m) and consists of six chambers or rooms surrounding a central hallway with an entrance on the western side. The pottery discovered at Khirbet eš-Šaqq dates the site to Iron Age II, between the 10th and 7th centuries b.c.e. The site seems to have been deliberately located in a strategic position for guarding the entrance to the ancient road that ascended from the Beth-shean Valley up the Wadi Maliḥ pass and into the central hill country. The second site, Khirbet el-Makhruq (M.R. 1983 1707), is located 16 mi. (25 km) south of Khirbet eš-Šaqq on a rocky escarpment above the Jordan Valley to the east and Wadi Farʿah to the south (Zertal 2007: 639–42). This places it in a strategic position to guard the principal crossroad of the Jordan Valley between Beth-shean and Jericho. The site was occupied during EB II and was later overlaid by an Iron Age II fortress, which was made up

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Figure 47.  Rectangular building at Khirbet el-Makhruq (Zertal 1995: 259, fig. 5).

Figure 48.  Circular tower at Khirbet el-Makhruq (Zertal 1995: 260, fig. 6).

of a rectangular building and a circular tower, both of which were virtually the same as the buildings at Khirbet eš-Šaqq. The rectangular building in Area A, which was built in two phases, was described in its second phase as a “tower” by the original excavator, Z. Yeivin (fig. 47). It measured 49 × 33 ft. (15 × 10 m) in its earliest phase and was later enlarged to 79 × 66 ft. (24 × 20 m) in the latter phase. Area B contains a circular tower measuring 64 ft. (19.5 m) in diameter, built atop a brick EB II building (fig. 48). This tower, like the tower at Khirbet eš-Šaqq, is made up of three concentric stone walls. The outside wall is 64 ft. (19.5 m) in diameter, the second ca. 33 ft. (ca. 10 m) in diameter, and the inner circle 26 ft. (8 m) in diameter. The interior of the

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Figure 49.  The circular tower at Rujm Abu Mukheir (Zertal 1995: 261, fig. 8).

tower was level and paved with small stones. These two appear to have been isolated towers. The third fortress site explored by the survey team was Rujm Abu Mukheir (M. R. 1898 1626), situated 6 mi. (10 km) southwest of Khirbet elMakhruq, which was a strategic position for guarding a nearby pass from the Jordan Valley that had a well-paved Roman road. This site apparently consisted of a sole tower that was 62 ft. (19 m) in diameter and constructed of large fieldstones, with remains of a wall nearby. Like the aforementioned towers, this tower was built on a plan consisting of three concentric circles (fig. 49). The tower was 34.1  ft. (10.4 m) in diameter, with an inner circle measuring 28.5 ft. (8.7 m) in diameter. The walls are 3.9 ft. (1.2 m) thick and were preserved to a height of 10 ft. (3 m). The Manasseh survey found remains of walls near the circular tower, but they were covered by the earlier excavation dumps. Based on these findings, it appears that Rujm Abu Mukheir would also have contained a rectangular building. Khirbet eš-Šaqq, Khirbet el-Makhruq, and Rujm Abu Mukheir all share a similar architectural layout. This suggests that they were part of a royal fortification system. The earliest pottery found at Khirbet eš-Šaqq dates to the 10th century b.c.e., while Khirbet el-Makhruq has yielded the latest pottery, dating from the 10th to 9th centuries b.c.e. An earlier fortress may have been located at Munṭar eš-Šaqq, where the pottery dated from the end of the 12th century b.c.e. to the end of the 11th century b.c.e. At this small site, remnants of a casemate wall were found encircling a heap of stones, which may cover a main building (fig. 50). This earlier fortress may have been “intended to dominate the entire region and the road,” while the site of Khirbet eš-Šaqq, lower and closer to the road, was then later chosen as part of the new royal system of fortification. Zertal concludes that, if this

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Figure 50.  Iron Age fortress at Munṭar eš-Šaqq. Central heap of stones located in shaded area (Zertal 1995: 264, fig. 10).

is the case, then the last quarter of the 10th century b.c.e. should be projected as a terminus post quem for the construction of the defense network that included Kh. eš-Šaqq, Kh. el-Makhruq, and Rujm Abu Mukheir. The latest feasible date for its construction is probably in the first quarter of the 9th century b.c.e. Zertal suggests that, based on the dates indicated by the pottery, these three fortresses may be dated to the reign of King Solomon (965–928 b.c.e.), though the reigns of Jeroboam I (928–907 b.c.e.) and Ahab (871–851 b.c.e.) would be viable alternatives. These Iron Age I towers in the Jordan Valley are unique, and no other circular towers were found in ancient Israel until the Hellenistic period. 11 Circular towers did begin to appear east of the Jordan in Ammon during Iron Age II, and it has been suggested by Zertal that these may have been 11.  The Neolithic tower at Jericho is a unique exception (Kenyon 1981: 6–7). Rogem Hiri (Rujm el-Hiri), in the central Lower Golan, is a circular megalithic monument, though its plan, function, and date all differ from the Iron Age I towers. Rogem Hiri is essentially a central cairn that functioned as a burial chamber and was surrounded by four concentric walls. Though Iron Age potsherds were recovered at the site, its primary periods of use appear to have been the Early Bronze Age and the later phases of the Late Bronze Age (Kochavi 1990: 725–37; Mizrachi and Zohar 1993: 1286–87; Zohar 2007: 828–30).

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Figure 51.  A square tower found 150 m west of el-Aḥwat (Zertal 2002: 22).

modeled on the Iron Age I towers of the Jordan Valley (e.g., Thompson 2000: 482–89; Younker 1991b: 335–42; Zertal 1995: 271). Bronze and Iron Age towers in ancient Israel are usually either square or semicircular (Yadin 1963: 313, 322–30). A fortified Iron Age I site was discovered in 1992 by the survey of Manasseh. 12 A tower was found in the Mediterranean maquis about 137 yds. (150 m) west of the site (fig. 51). The tower apparently functioned as a foreguard post because it was raised high above the forest (Zertal 2002: 20). The el-Aḥwat tower is square in plan, is hollow, and is not built on a platform. As seen from this discussion, there is a dearth of Iron Age I towers with which to compare el-Burnat. Although towers did exist as components of fortifications or temples in the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, they did not exist as freestanding units. In Iron Age I, no examples of fortifications and temples have been found, and it appears that they were not built in ancient Israel during this period.

The Tower of Shechem A special case is the “Tower of Shechem” (‫ל־ׁשכֶם‬ ֶ ַ‫מ ְגּד‬, ִ migdal-šěkem), which in the Hebrew Bible is, together with its stronghold ( ‫יח‬ ַ ‫צְִר‬, ṣĕrîaḥ), called “the house of El-berith” or “the temple of El-berith” (‫ּבֵת אֵל ְּבִרית‬, bêt ʾēl bĕrît; Judg 9:46–49). The book of Judges describes the destruction of this site by Abimelech (v. 49). E. Sellin carried out excavations at Shechem (Tell 12.  Zertal and Romano 1999: 32–34; Finkelstein (2002: 187–99), however, argues that the walls date to the Roman period.

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Balâṭah, M.R. 177 179) from 1913 to 1914 and 1926 to 1927, followed by G. E. Wright and B. W. Anderson from 1956 to 1968 (Campbell 1993: 1347). Robert Bull was the field supervisor of Field VI, the location of the sacred precinct. Over the course of these excavations, a series of four temples was identified, consisting of four consecutive stages of buildings (Tower-temple 1-a to 2-b). Wright and Bull understood the fortress-temple as having existed in phases. They dated the construction of the first phase, which they designated Temple 1, to the end of the Middle Bronze Age (ca. 1650–1550 b.c.e.). According to their reckoning, Temple 1 only existed for about 100 years, after which it experienced a gap in occupation until about 1450 b.c.e., at which time it was replaced with a smaller and completely different temple built on its ruins. This second temple was designated Temple 2 (G. E. Wright 1965: 87–100). Despite its smaller size and the difference in plan, the LB Temple 2-b was identified as a migdāl temple and as the temple of El-berith mentioned in Judg 9 (see the stratigraphy chart in Campbell 2002: 8–9). Lawrence Stager, however, has recently argued that there never was a Temple 2 and that Wright and Bull misidentified it, in part, because of the difficulties created by the excavation methods of the Austro-German team that had preceded them (Stager 1999: 229–34). Wright and Bull, therefore, identified Temple 2 on inadequate remains, just two walls, which they believed formed a room that was 200 m² (ca. 2,153 ft.²; see Wright 1965: 66–84). Stager has argued that Walls 5703 and 5704 were simply the lower courses of Walls 5903 and 5904 and were part of Building 5900, which was dubbed the Granary. By reclaiming Walls 5703 and 5704 for Building 5900, “Temple 2” is eliminated. Based on this and other evidence, Stager argues that Temple 1 continued in use from Middle Bronze Age II into Iron Age I and that it is the temple referred to in Judg 9. Temple 1 measured 69.5 × 86.3 ft. (21.2 × 26.3 m), with walls measuring more than 16 ft. (5 m) thick. Two rows of three pillars each supported the roof, and massive towers flanked the entrance. The towers appear to have contained stairwells. The cella included six column-bases and an alcove for an image of the god. The entire building was oriented precisely to the four cardinal points of the compass. Study of the Judges narrative, however, has raised some questions about the identification of Shechem Temple 1 as the Tower of Shechem. In the narrative, Abimelech had attempted to establish a monarchy in the citystate of Shechem ( Judg 9:1–6). When the people failed to maintain their loyalty to him, however, he laid siege to the city (vv. 22–41). The text then relates that the people of Shechem tried to resume their normal activities: 42

On the following day the people went out into the fields. When Abimelech was told, 43he took his troops and divided them into three companies, and lay in wait in the fields. When he looked and saw the people coming out of the city, he rose against them and killed them. 44Abimelech and the company that was with him rushed forward and stood at the entrance of the gate of the city, while the two companies rushed on all who were in the fields and killed

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them. 45Abimelech fought against the city all that day; he took the city, and killed the people that were in it; and he razed the city and sowed it with salt. ( Judg 9:42–45 nrsv)

Abimelech attacked the citizens of Shechem as they worked in the fields and then attacked the city itself. He and the troops with him took up positions outside the city gate and, after fighting all day, captured the city. Abimelech then slaughtered the inhabitants of Shechem, leveled the city, and spread salt over it. The paragraph that follows raises interesting questions about the identification of the Tower of Shechem: 46

When all the lords of the Tower of Shechem heard of it, they entered the stronghold of the temple of El-berith. 47Abimelech was told that all the lords of the Tower of Shechem were gathered together. 48So Abimelech went up to Mount Zalmon, he and all the troops that were with him. Abimelech took an ax in his hand, cut down a bundle of brushwood, and took it up and laid it on his shoulder. Then he said to the troops with him, “What you have seen me do, do quickly, as I have done.” 49So every one of the troops cut down a bundle and following Abimelech put it against the stronghold, and they set the stronghold on fire over them, so that all the people of the Tower of Shechem also died, about a thousand men and women. ( Judg 9:46–49 nrsv)

In this narrative, the final destruction of the city of Shechem seems to happen in v. 45. Only afterward does the gathering in the Tower of Shechem occur (v. 46). Several commentators have concluded that the tower must have been located “apart from the city of Shechem” (Burney 1930: 286; Soggin 1984: 181; 1998: 116; Naʾaman 1986). Soggin (1984: 181) suggested that the Tower of Shechem was a suburb of Shechem, and he tentatively identified it with the Iron Age I site on Mt. Ebal, arguing that the Mt. Ebal site is a migdāl temple. N. Naʾaman (1986: 259–80) also identified el-Burnat as the Tower of Shechem. D. I. Block (1999: 331) noted the seeming confusion between vv. 42–45, which portrays Abimelech as having completely destroyed Shechem, and vv.  46–49, which report the destruction of the Tower of Shechem. Block harmonized these paragraphs by proposing that Abimilech had won a resounding victory over Shechem but that “not every corner of the city had fallen to him.” He suggested that the foregoing verses seem to recount his destruction of the lower part of the city but not the acropolis where the temple fortress stood. People lived and carried on their daily activities in the lower city, which took up the larger portion of the city. It was this area, Block proposed, that was destroyed. The citadel and the temple of ElBerith, however, which were located at the peak of the acropolis and stood as the last line of defensive personnel and structures, remained standing. It was to these structures that the lords of Shechem, who were responsible for the protection of the city, had fled. This seems to be the most natural understanding of the text, and Shechem Temple 1 seems to continue to be

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the most likely candidate for the Tower of Shechem (Hawkins 2009b: 221; Reed 1962: 315). The identification of el-Burnat as the Tower of Shechem does not seem possible, because its architecture does not resemble a migdāl temple, nor does it evince any destruction levels. While the Tower of Shechem may have been a suburb of Shechem, as Soggin proposes, it seems extremely unlikely that it can be identified with el-Burnat. The only site with any real similarity to the Mt. Ebal site is Giloh, which I next examine in some detail. Giloh The site of Giloh is located at the center of a West Bank suburb with the same name located southwest of Jerusalem (M. R. 1676 1264; A. Mazar 1981: 1–36). The site is located on the high point of a long ridge at an elevation of 2,739 ft. (835 m) above sea level, overlooking the surroundings of Jerusalem. The location of the site does not accord with the normal features that influenced site selection: There is no water supply nearby, no good fertile land, and the main north–south road is 1 mi. (2 km) away. Mazar observes that it does not provide a suitable surface but is split into large boulders and fissures that make the area difficult to traverse. This setting would not have been amenable to agriculture. The brief occupational history of the site and its desertion prior to the period of the monarchy demonstrate its unsuitability for permanent settlement. There are other sites, however, that can be associated with the early Israelite settlers that are located in similarly inaccessible places. These settings, while they are isolated and difficult to access, have natural defense characteristics and extensive views. A number of sites have been found in these sorts of locations, such as Tell el-Fûl, Kh. Raddanah, and Kh. Umm et-Talaʿ, which is the only other single-period Iron Age I site so far found in the Judean Hills. In the mountains of Galilee and Samaria, settlement sites have been found in similar locations that were probably chosen based on security considerations. Concerns about defense sometimes led the settlers to choose locations that provided natural security over locations that might have been more hospitable for agriculture. Excavations were carried out at the site in 1978, 1979, and 1982–84 (fig. 52). In Area A, located at the summit of the site, a square watchtower was uncovered. The structure was constructed in Iron Age II and was reused during the Middle Ages. While this tower was founded on bedrock, between its foundations and sealed under its floor, Iron Age I building remains were discovered that consisted of “a corner of two walls built of large unworked stones” (A. Mazar 1981: 5). Sherds of collar-rimmed jars and cooking pots dating to Iron I were found in association with these remains. Subsequent soundings led to the discovery of Iron Age walls; though no further building activity was discerned here. Area C revealed a large dwelling (Building 8), and Area D exposed fragmentary building remains, disturbed by Byzantine or medieval

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Figure 52.  Plan of and building remains at Giloh (A. Mazar 1990: 78, fig. 1).

construction activities. Despite the disturbances from later building activities, two thin segments here did reveal an immense double wall, which may have been the remains of a fortified building or an outer fortification of the site. At the eastern edges of the site, in Area F, a survey was conducted and short soundings made “along what seemed to be a fortification wall” at the south-southeastern edges of the site. The Building Remains Building 8 The best-preserved construction on the site is building 8, which appears to be an early example of a four-room house (fig. 53). Wall 55, the southern exterior wall, is the best preserved, still standing to a height of two or three courses. Wall 55 demonstrates the “crude building technique” used in

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constructing the building with large unworked stones, 1.6–2.3 ft. (0.5–0.7 m) in length and width. These stones were not laid in any order. The width of the wall was only one stone wide, and the gaps between the stones were not filled in. The entrance was at the southern end of the building, between Wall 55 and Wall 43. The outside dimensions of the building are about 44.6 × 36.7 ft. (13.6 × 11.2 m; for a full discussion of the interior layout, see A. Mazar 1981: 6–11). The Iron Age I Tower (Building 105) At the northern hillock of the site, overlooking the Valley of Rephaim (Area G), was a structure that is unique in Iron Age I and has been interpreted as the foundation of a tower (figs. 54–55). The structure had been “massively disturbed” (A. Mazar 1990b: 77–82) but, in spite of later intrusions, “the lowest courses of the Iron Age I stone structure were well preserved just below the topsoil, particularly in the northern part of the hillock.” The structure, designated Building 105, was built directly on bedrock, and its remains include a solid stone foundation that measures 36.86 ft. (11.24 m) on its eastern side, 37.98 ft. (11.58 m) on its western side, and 36 ft. (11 m) on its northern side. The southern side was destroyed by later building. The structure is almost an exact square, totaling about 1,345 sq ft. (125 sq. m) in area. The interior of the structure was filled with field stones of various sizes, all positioned arbitrarily. Mazar describes the structure as follows: This stone fill was preserved in the centre to 1.1 m., higher than the top of the foundation in the north-eastern corner, showing that the structure was heavily eroded; the stone foundation must have originally stood at least as high as the highest preserved point of its core. As the structure is built on a slope running north–south, it may be conjectured that its northern face had at least six courses of stones, reaching a height of about 7 ft. (2 m) above the surrounding bedrock. (A. Mazar 1990: 80)

A shallow layer of topsoil covered the structure, in which were found some sherds of collar-rimmed jars. The area on the northern and eastern sides of this structure is rocky terrain that shows no evidence of settlement. This structure was, therefore, situated on the northeastern perimeter of the site. The site was not completely isolated, however, because insubstantial remains of buildings that had been attached to this structure at its southwestern corner were found. These remains included a corner of two stone walls, perpendicular and parallel to the square structure, which had been built on bedrock. Also found was a beaten earth floor (Locus 107) that included sherds of cooking pots, a bowl, and a collar-rimmed jar. These remains and others found above the stone construction “indicate that the tower in Area G was part of the Iron Age I settlement found in other areas at Giloh.” Also included among the finds from Locus 107 was a well-preserved 9-in. (22 cm) long bronze dagger “of a type common in the Late Bronze Age which continues into the Iron

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Figure 53.  Plan of building 8, Area C (A. Mazar 1981: 7, fig. 3).

Age I.” Mazar interprets the dagger as reinforcing the military function of Building 105. Mazar concludes that this large, well-built stone structure should be interpreted “either as a raised platform or as the foundation of a tower” (A. Mazar 1990b: 82). In considering these options, Mazar writes: “The first explanation does not seem plausible to me, as I cannot think of a function

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Figure 54.  Plan and section of the structure in Area G (A. Mazar 1990b: 79, fig. 2).

for such an immense platform. The structure should thus be interpreted as the foundation of a large free-standing tower” (followed by Burke 2007: 43–44). Mazar suggests that the stone structure was perhaps a podium for a superstructure, which may have been constructed of perishable materials, such as timber or mud bricks, though no evidence supporting either of these interpretations was discovered. The Iron Age II Tower In the first two seasons of excavation (1978–79), the square foundation of an Iron Age II tower was uncovered in Area A (fig. 52). This structure was built at the highest topographical point of the site, which gave it a wideranging view in several directions and was probably an important factor in the selection of this particular location for the construction of a tower.

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Figure 55.  The Iron Age I structure in Area G (A. Mazar 1994: 85, fig. 7).

The remains of this tower include a raised stone plinth (fig. 56–57), built without mortar as a perfect square measuring 36.57 × 36.57 ft. (11.15 × 11.15 m; A.  Mazar 1990b: 96–98). The outer walls, built mostly on bedrock, are 6.88–7.21 ft. (2.10–2.20 m) wide and are built of large stones that are roughly dressed on their exterior side. Wall 52, 5.41  ft. (1.65 m) wide and built of smaller stones, served as a partition wall inside this structure. The stone walls served as the framework for a solid stone fill, which Walls 53 and 56 also helped to support. The height of preservation of the outer walls varies. The interior of the structure was filled with field stones, densely arranged, and 4.59 ft. (1.40 m) at its deepest point. Mazar concludes that the structure must have been “a free-standing podium which carried a superstructure, perhaps built of timber” and that “the massiveness of the stone podium and its size indicate that the tower may have reached a height of some 6–8 m. It may have had several floors, and thus a considerable internal area.” It is postulated that a staircase provided entrance on the northern side, where the badly disturbed foundation of a wall may have functioned as the base of the staircase.

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Figure 56.  The Iron Age II tower in Area A (A. Mazar 1993: 519).

Mazar (1990b: 100–101) points to towers found at Tell en-Nasbeh and Hazor for parallels. Two freestanding towers probably dating to the late 10th century b.c.e. were found outside the early city wall and inside the Iron Age II wall (McCown 1947). A similar tower was found at the northern end of Hazor, just outside the Strata IX–V citadel (Yadin et al. 1960: pl. 205). While these two towers are similar in plan to the Giloh Iron Age II tower, Mazar notes that they are not freestanding but are, instead, part of the fortification systems of these cities (A. Mazar 1990b: 100). Freestanding parallels are known, however, from Iron Age II, and Mazar points to examples at Tell el-Fûl and French Hill (for el-Fûl, see Graham 1981: 5–11, 23–27; for French Hill, see Negbi 1969). These two towers and the tower at Giloh are all positioned on elevated crests looking out over Jerusalem and the various routes to the capital city. Mazar notes that the building of solid stone plinths was a characteristic feature of Iron Age II construction, pointing to the platform for the “palace fort” at Lachish and in the cultic area at Dan, as well as smaller examples at French Hill, En-gedi, and Hazor. Significantly for this study, he suggests that the Iron Age I tower at Giloh (Area G) and possibly also the central structure at Mt. Ebal are the earliest examples of this Iron Age architectural convention. The Inner Enclosures Remains of a wide, open courtyard encircled by enclosure walls were discovered south of Building 8 (A. Mazar 1981: 12). The eastern wall was able

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Figure 57.  The Iron Age II plinth in Giloh’s Area A (A. Mazar 1990: 97, fig. 10).

to be traced for 49 ft. (15 m) south of Building 8. To the west of this wall lay the courtyard, a low, smooth area measuring 30 × 85 ft. (9 × 26 m). The courtyard was bordered on the western side by another wall made of large,

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unhewn stones (fig. 52). The courtyard was enclosed by the outer wall of the settlement to the south. A stone installation of unknown function lay at the northeast corner. Mazar suggests that the large enclosed courtyard may have been a paddock for the flocks and herds of a family or small clan that lived in the surrounding buildings. The secluded and protected courtyard kept the livestock safe and could serve as a central location for family or clan activities. This sort of connection between a fenced open space and a built-up area is unknown in other sites of the same time period and therefore provides an interesting contribution to the study of the plans of settlement sites. Other walls discovered in the excavation and survey suggest a pattern of walls that divided the entire area of the site into several large units and may have been similar to the site discussed above. The Outer Fortification Walls The survey and excavations exposed a double outer wall that surrounded the site on its southern, eastern, and northeastern sides. Two massive walls were uncovered in Area E, parallel to one another (A. Mazar 1981: 12–16). The northern, outer wall (Wall 66), built of large stones laid in a double row, was preserved to a height of only one course and was 6.2 ft. (1.9 m) in width. Wall 65 was discovered 8.2 ft. (2.5 m) south of Wall 66. It was built of two rows of large stones with a fill of smaller stones between and measured 6.06  ft. (1.85 m) wide and 3.28  ft. (1 m) high. The walls continue for 42  ft. (12.8 m), and their arrangement “recalls the later casemate walls surrounding Israelite cities and fortresses.” Mazar cites the corner of the fort at Tell el-Fûl as closest in similarity, both in date and location. However, the walls at Giloh cannot yet be identified as casemate walls, because no partition walls have yet been found in the excavated areas. Mazar proposes, instead, the definition of “double wall” for the walls at Giloh until the matter is further clarified. This double wall continued east for about 39  ft. (12 m), where it then angled south and could be followed for approximately 328 ft. (100 m). Partial excavations were carried out along this length (Area F) that revealed traces of the outer wall and some adjacent buildings (fig. 58), though it was all badly eroded. A 20-ft. (6-m) section of Wall 91, the outermost wall of the site, was exposed here. At this particular point, the wall was well preserved, built of large unhewn stones, and measured 4.9  ft. (1.5 m) wide. The wall was badly eroded north and south of this section, though the foundation was discernible for 66 ft. (20 m). The foundation of the wall in this area was poorly constructed with unevenly laid stones and apparently without using the double-wall plan found at the northern part of the site, though scanty remains of a dwelling (Building 80) were preserved inside the outer wall in Squares B:10–11. These remains included Wall 89, which was preserved for 26 ft. (8 m), and Walls 90 and 96, which extend west from Wall 89. It may be assumed that these walls continued toward the west, though they reach

Physical Parallels to el-Burnat: Domestic and Military

Figure 58.  Giloh’s outer fortification wall (A. Mazar 1981: 15, fig. 5).

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bedrock after just a few meters; their remains beyond this point were destroyed by erosion. Partially enclosed by these three walls was a room with a beaten-earth floor, where fragments of two collar-rimmed storage jars were found lying in sheets of organic material and ashes. A 5.9-ft. (1.8-m) gap was found between the outer wall and Building 80 and apparently served as a passageway. The wall could not be defined on the western and northwestern sides of the site. The internal chronology of the site is unclear, so at what point in Giloh’s history the walls were built is unknown. The differences in the quality of the outer wall suggest to Mazar that it was not a homogenous project but was probably built in parts by different groups of residents. It may be that several clans or families that occupied the site were responsible for building various parts of the wall, which would explain the heterogeneity of building techniques visible in its construction. In any case, there seems to be little doubt that the remains were originally intended to have been fortifications. As discussed above, fortifications are seldom found in Iron Age I strata in Israel, though Mazar does point to massive city walls that were found in association with collar-rimmed fragments at Bethel, Beth-Zur, Gibeon, and possibly also Shiloh. Although the evidence from all these sites is partial, Mazar argues that they all point to a phenomenon that “cannot be ignored: it seems that during the twelfth–eleventh centuries b.c.e. fortified towns did exist in the central Judean mountains and north of Jerusalem” (A. Mazar 1981: 17). In the complex ethno-political situation in the vicinity of Jerusalem, various Israelite tribes 13 lived side by side with Jebusites and Hivites. Other dangers presented themselves on the periphery of this region, such as the ascendancy of the Philistines and Midianite incursions. These situations made it necessary to construct fortification walls even around small villages such as Giloh, and we can deduce that the inhabitants of other settlements also wanted to defend themselves and that they sought to do so either by erecting the outer buildings in a continual line around the site or by constructing a defensive wall similar to the wall at Giloh. Settlement villages that have been excavated at ʿAi, Khirbet Raddanah, and Tell el-Fûl have not revealed fortifications of this kind. ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah, however, apparently was surrounded by a defensive wall similar to that found at Giloh (Finkel­stein 1993: 652–53), though it does not appear to have been continuous. It appears that, at least in some cases, the Israelites built fortifications even in the very early stages of their settlement. The Pottery The pottery repertoire from Giloh is similar to pottery from other central hill country sites and includes collar-rimmed storage jars, small storage 13.  Benjamin, Judah and, farther south, Caleb.

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jars, and cooking pots. The ceramic assemblage is quite limited and follows local Canaanite traditions. No decorated pottery was found. The pottery suggests that the site was settled in the 12th century b.c.e. and may have been abandoned in the 11th century b.c.e. (A. Mazar 1981: 18–31; 1990b: 80– 82, 84–89, 90–92, 98–99). Additional Finds Stone Objects Few other items were found at Giloh apart from the pottery sherds and the bronze dagger from Area G. Limestone saddle querns (Area C), flint or limestone pestles ranging from 2 to 3 in. (6–8 cm) in diameter, and one flint knife (A. Mazar 1990b: 89) were also found. Animal Bones There were very few animal remains and no botanical remains found at Giloh, “perhaps due to the proximity of the occupation debris to the surface soil” (A. Mazar 1990: 89). Ten bones were identified from cows (6), sheep or goats (2), and donkeys (2). Middle Bronze Age Pottery In Area F, a few sherds of Middle Bronze Age II pottery were found, including a slim bowl, some molded jar rims, the base of a dipper juglet, and some fragments of cooking pots with straight sides and rope decoration. Mazar explains that “these sherds indicate some activity at our site during the MB II, a time when large villages prospered along the Valley of Rephaim, due north of Giloh” (A. Mazar 1990b: 90). Identification of the Site No source exists for the precise association of Giloh with any known historical place-name. Mazar proposes an identification with Baal Perazim as a “speculative” possibility, based on David’s defeat of the Philistines at Baal Perazim, which was said to be near the Valley of Rephaim (2 Sam 5:20; 1 Chr 14:11). A “Mount Perazim” is also mentioned in Isaiah in association with the “Valley of Gibeon.” Giloh is situated on the summit of a major ridge overlooking the Valley of Rephaim, and it does contain remains from the time of the judges and the time of David. Mazar therefore suggests that Giloh be identified with ancient Baal Perazim (A. Mazar 1981: 31–32). He also notes that “the component ‘Baal,’ known from other place-names in the Israelite settlement territory, must signify a cult of Baal which took place here and left its traces in the name” (see further A. Mazar 1994: 89–90). Nature of the Site Based on the architectural features and the generally poor material culture, A. Mazar initially identified the site of Giloh as a “fortified herdsmen’s

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village.” 14 The fortification wall was apparently only partial, surrounding the southern area (Areas B, C, F, and E) but not the vicinity north of Area E, though habitation was evidenced in this area (Areas D and A). Mazar suggested that the site comprised two parts: the southern portion of the site was protected by a wall for defense and included a few residential structures built beside large pens where herds were probably kept, while the northern portion of the site comprised the colossal tower and perhaps a few nearby buildings. It is not clear whether the northern portion of the site was surrounded by a protective wall. The economic base of the inhabitants of Giloh is unclear. The absence of animal bones and botanical remains contributes to this obscurity. The presence of grinding stones suggests that flour was ground at the site, though the absence of fertile land at the site and the distance from a regular water source point away from any kind of agricultural function for the site and may explain its eventual abandonment in Iron Age I. Instead, the apparent division of the site into pens has suggested to Mazar “the significant role of animal husbandry at the site” (1994: 89). Mazar’s identification of Iron Age I Giloh as a “fortified herdsmen’s village” is difficult (as already noted by Mazar himself ). Its primary area of difficulty is the unsuitability of the topography. Farms were rarely located on the tops of hills in the central hill country. In antiquity, vineyards thrived on hillsides, and the farms were typically located either on the slopes or at the foot of the mountain. Cato, the 3rd-century Roman agronomist, said that the ideal farm should be located at the foot of a mountain so that the slopes can be used for vineyards. Hillside vineyards would thrive because of the natural drainage system created by location; could be easily guarded from the hilltop; and, since fruit cultivation required an investment of several years, slope cultivation kept the vineyards out of the way, freeing up the valley beds for grain (typically, the valley beds also had the more fertile soils). Cultivation on hillsides required special techniques to prevent soil erosion and water runoff. Israelites constructed tiers of flat earthen terraces on the slopes, with stone retaining walls to support them. This transformed the hillsides into a series of flat, narrow plains suitable for farming. Today, agricultural terraces cover more than 50 percent of the Judean Hills, and they must have been more common in antiquity. The location of Iron Age I Giloh on the top of a ridge composed of hard Cenomanian dolomite, a problematic surface that would have made the area difficult to traverse much less to carry out agricultural work, seems to mitigate against the farm interpretation. This will be discussed further below. In Iron Age II, a large tower was built at the highest topographical point of the site, from which there is a line of sight in multiple directions. Bethlehem and the Judean Desert are visible to the southeast; the ridges west, north, and northeast of Jerusalem, including the ridges of Nebi Samwil, Tell 14. A. Mazar 1981: 32; 1990b: 92; 1994; 89.

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el-Fûl, Mt. Scopus, the Mount of Olives, and the Temple Mount, are all visible. This visibility may have been one of the chief reasons for the construction of the watchtower at Iron Age II Giloh. A. Mazar (1990b: 96) suggests that Iron Age II Giloh may, therefore, have been “part of a planned system intended to protect the approaches to Jerusalem and serve as the ‘eyes’ of the capital, which is located on a low saddle surrounded by higher ridges on almost all sides.” One of the main purposes of such a system of towers and forts, Mazar suggested, “was to create a continuous line along which fire signals could easily be transmitted” (A. Mazar 1990b: 96; see also Mazar 1994: 78–91). Mazar (1990b: 96) described this line of sight as follows: From the tower at Giloh one can easily see an Iron Age fort at Ḥ. ʿEres, west of Kibbutz Maʿaleh ha-Ḥamishah, from which one can see the coastal plain and the Beth Ḥoron ascent, where the main road leading to Jerusalem from the coastal plain passed. The Iron Age towers discovered at Tell el-Ful and on French Hill and the palace-fort at Ramat Raḥel are also visible from Giloh, thus establishing eye contact within a chain of strategic positions around Jerusalem. This location of the watch tower at Giloh explains its strategic importance, although it is about two kilometers west of the main road leading from Jerusalem to Hebron.

This understanding of the Iron Age II tower at Giloh comports well with the developing understanding of the fortified boundaries of the Judean monarchy (Stern 2001: 130–65; Barkay, Fantalkin, and Tal 2002: 49–71). The Special Case of Building 105 and the Relationship of Giloh to Mt. Ebal The discovery of the Iron Age I structure (Building 105) since A. Mazar’s initial publication on Giloh in 1981 raises special questions about the nature of Giloh in Iron Age I. Mazar (1990b: 92–93) suggested three alternate understandings of the site in this period: 1. The tower may have been the stronghold of a feudal landowner or owner of herds such as, for example, Nabal, whom the Bible describes as a “great man” (‫)אׁש ּגָדֹול‬. ִ 2. It may have been built by an egalitarian community for the purpose of establishing a common stronghold against potential danger. 3. The Iron Age I tower may have been an outlying position of CanaaniteJebusite Jerusalem.

Regardless of which specific interpretation is chosen for the site, Mazar understands it to have had at least a partial military purpose in Iron Age I. He explains that, regardless of the way one interprets the site, the very fact that such a solid public structure existed in one, and possibly two, Iron Age hill country villages adds a new facet to the character of these sites. In addition, the discovery of bronze weapons in a number of sites of this period must

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be considered. 15 It appears that at least some military organization and defense activities were a component of the culture shared by these villages. Mazar notes that Building 105, which he interprets as a “solid tower,” “is a unique architectural feature in the Iron Age I” (A. Mazar 1990b: 84). The only structure for which Mazar finds comparison is the central structure of Area A at Mt. Ebal. Together, these two structures are the sole public buildings known from any of the Iron Age I settlement sites of the central hill country. Some scholars who disagree with a cultic interpretation of the Ebal site have pointed to the identification of Giloh’s Building 105 as a tower as an assured result. By analogy, they then identify the central structure at Ebal as a watchtower as well (Burke 2007: 43–44; Kempinski 1986: 44; A. Mazar 1990b: 84, 92–93; 1992a: 294; 1994: 85–86). The identification of Building 105 as a tower, however, is not certain. Mazar does cite 3 examples of Iron Age I buildings with military functions, including (1) the casemate fortress on Har Adir in Upper Galilee, (2)  the great fortress-palace at Tell el-Fûl, and (3) the fort-like Building 402 at Tell Masos. Har Adir is one of 3 excavated settlements out of 25 discovered in the Upper Galilee (A.  Mazar 1992a: 285). Most of the sites surveyed were small villages of 1–1.2 acres (4–5 dunams). The Har Adir site, by contrast, was a well-planned fortress that was an exception to the typical settlement pattern of this region (D. Davies 1980: 4). It did not, however, contain any freestanding towers, and it dates to the 12th/11th centuries b.c.e. Tell el-Fûl was also a large fortress, also dating to the 12th–11th centuries b.c.e. (Lapp 1993: 445–48). It also contained no freestanding towers. The third building to which Mazar points, at Tell Masos (Building 402), was also a fortress. 16 In comparing these structures with Building 105 at Giloh, Mazar already noted that these structures “all belong to the eleventh century b.c.e. and are more complex in plan than [the Giloh building]” (A. Mazar 1990b: 84). The only other contemporaneous parallel suggested by Mazar was the Mt. Ebal site. However, there are several problems with comparing Mt. Ebal with Giloh: 1. Giloh’s Building 105 is positioned 55 m to the north on the outside of the “double-wall” that surrounds the site (Zertal 1995: 272). 2. Whereas the Iron Age II tower at Giloh stands on its summit, Building 105, like the central structure at Mt. Ebal, is positioned some distance (3 m) below the peak of the northern slope of the knoll (Zertal 1995: 273). 3. Giloh’s Building 105 is completely different from the central structure of Ebal’s Area A. Whereas Building 105 consists of a “foundation block” of solid stone fill, Ebal’s central structure is a building built of walls with both inner and outer faces and filled with a structural “fill.” This is a difference 15.  Bronze daggers have been found at Giloh and Hazor Stratum IX, and bronze arrowheads at el-Khadr. 16.  Fritz and Kempinski 1983; for an overview of the excavations, see Kempinski 1993: 986–89.

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already noted by Mazar (1990b: 84), though he suggested that “the final result in both cases is similar, i.e., a solid foundation for a possible superstructure.” It does not seem warranted, either, to draw conclusions about the nature of Building 105 based on the design of the Iron Age II tower in Giloh’s Area A. This tower has one interior partition wall reinforced with two crosswalls. It is not, therefore, an exact parallel either. In addition, it postdates the Iron Age I structures by up to 500 years. 4. The solid base of Giloh’s Building 105 seems to complicate its identification as a watchtower, since the building of solid stone plinths does not appear to have emerged as a feature of towers until Iron Age II. “All that a ‘watch-tower’ necessitated in that particular topography,” notes Zevit, “was a very narrow hollow structure a few meters high. It could not have been intended to withstand sieges and assaults” (Zevit 2001: 198 n. 122). 5. The nature of the superstructure that may have been built atop the foundation of Giloh’s Building 105 remains uncertain (Zertal 1995: 273). a. An elevated superstructure built of mud brick would probably have left some remains. Mazar noted that “no evidence [of a mud-brick superstructure] was detected” (A. Mazar 1990b: 82). b. A superstructure of wood would have been unlikely due to the paucity of wood in the environs (stressed in A. Mazar 1981: 4).

In light of these difficulties with identifying Giloh as a watchtower, Zevit (2001: 197–98) has suggested that, if el-Burnat is accepted as a cultic site, it may be that Giloh should be reexamined “with Renfrew’s list of behavioral correlates in hand and the Mt. Ebal site in mind.” Zevit offers the following points for a hypothetical reconstruction of Iron Age I Giloh as a cultic site: 1. If Giloh were understood as an altar or offering platform, then the flimsy structures attached to it “may have served purposes similar to the installations within the ramps at the Ebal structure.” 2. The bronze dagger found in Locus 107, adjacent to Building 105, may have been used for butchering or slaughtering. The dagger does not by itself establish a military identify for this structure, as Mazar suggests (Zevit 2001: 198 n. 122; see A. Mazar 1990b: 82). Knives are often found in sanctuaries (e.g., Tell Mevorakh, Tell Kittan). 3. If a cultic identification of some kind were accepted in place of a military identification, then the contiguous “farm” and other constructions may be considered the abode of a family of priests who cared for the site.

While this reconstruction may be speculative, the least that can be said is that a partial cultic function is not out of the realm of possibility for Giloh. In fact, as Zertal has noted (1995: 273), while Mazar postulated an identification of the site as a fortified herdsmen’s village, he also suggested at least a partial cultic understanding of the site in his identification of it with Baal Perazim (2 Sam 5:20; 1 Chr 14:11) and Mt. Perazim (Isa 28:21). Assuming the correctness of the toponymic association, Mazar suggested that “the component ‘Baal,’ known from other place names in the Israelite settlement territory, must signify a cult of Baal which took place here and left its

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traces in the name” (A. Mazar 1981: 32). In this case, the stone Building 105 could be a bāmâ or other cultic structure. This sort of identification might complement its location and lack of superstructure material; furthermore, the name “Baal” is a component of the name of the site with which Giloh can probably be identified. In any case, while the nature of Giloh may be unclear, what is clear is that Kempinski’s (1986: 44) citation of Giloh as his only example for the ubiquity of building podiums for watchtowers in the Iron Age I is insufficient. The Central Structure of El-Burnat and Its Possible Identification as a Watchtower In light of the foregoing discussion, it is appropriate now to ask whether the central structure of Area A at Mt. Ebal may or may not be identified as a watchtower. Central to its identification as a watchtower by Kempinski and others has been an understanding of the site as being built in stages, as well as an identification of the site as a watchtower by analogy. The fill of the main structure, which consisted of distinct layers rather than the random collapse that would normally result from destruction debris falling from an upper story, suggests that the central structure of Stratum IB was built as a single unit (see chap. 2) rather than in phases. Consequently, the structure must be evaluated on the basis of its architecture. In his preliminary report, Zertal already noted a number of difficulties with identifying the main building as a watchtower (Zertal 1986–87: 153). 1. Towers usually functioned as part of a fortification system related to a centralized military institution. Though the Manasseh survey did reveal a network of towers in the Jordan Valley in Iron Age II, there is no evidence of any kind of centralized military network in Iron Age I. 2. The topographical location of the Ebal site does not comport with that necessitated by a tower. As I noted in chap. 1, el-Burnat is located on a high hill, far from any roads, and it does not appear that security conditions were considered in the selection of the site. There are no roads nearby for a watchtower to observe. 3. The Ebal site is not surrounded by a wall for defense. The western side of the site, which is the most vulnerable, has only an insubstantial enclosure wall around it. In addition, the entrance to the site does not comport with concerns of defensibility. 4. As discussed above, the architectural elements do not correspond with those of a tower. 5. There is no evidence that the central structure was either the basement or the foundation of a superstructure of some other unknown function. The amount of stone debris is inadequate for a second story. In addition, there were no bricks or materials for making bricks found at the site.

As discussed above, there have been no watchtowers dating to Iron Age I found in the surveys of either Manasseh or Ephraim ( except for the tower

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outside el-Aḥwat, which is probably not to be identified as Israelite). Zertal suggests that “the reason may lie in the socio-economic structure of the farmers and herders who occupied the hill country at this time” (Zertal 1986: 153). As discussed above, the settlement pattern found in the surveys primarily consisted of small, remote sites, with restricted-cultivation areas outside these villages. Only during Iron Age II, when the fields expanded farther away from the village centers, did watchtowers appear for the purpose of guarding the crops. In light of these points, the identification of the central structure in Area A as a watchtower does not seem likely.

Conclusion In this chapter, we consider potential physical parallels for the Iron Age I site at Mt. Ebal, including the village, farmstead, house, and watchtower. Kempinski reconstructed the site as a three-phase village, with the earliest phase consisting of a cluster of huts and pits, followed by a second phase in which a domestic structure was built in the center of the settlement, and then a third, in which a watchtower was built atop the earlier house. However, the simple plan of the Ebal site—an enclosure with an isolated building in its center—does not appear compatible with the layout of a typical highland village. The identification of Ebal as a farmstead can be ruled out on the basis of features that we know of sites where animal husbandry was practiced. Based on substantial data that we have on the form and function of the four-room house, it also seems clear that the central structure of Ebal’s Area A cannot be understood as domestic architecture. Furthermore, understanding this building as an isolated watchtower is unlikely, in light of the absence of parallels in Iron Age I and in light of several special architectural elements of the main structure at Mt. Ebal. There are some similarities between the central structure of Ebal Stratum IB with Building 105 of the site of Giloh (the function of which is unclear). Although some parallels between Mt. Ebal/el-Burnat and the domestic and military structures examined in this chapter do exist, they are partial, and Mt. Ebal essentially remains unique among the Iron Age I settlement sites.

Chapter 4

Physical Parallels to El-Burnat: Religious Structures In chap.3, we look at possible physical parallels to the Ebal site from among domestic and military structures, including villages, farmsteads, houses, and watchtowers. In this chapter, I focus on both the site layout and the central structure and include an examination of gilgalim and altars.

Gilgalim In terms of the layout of the site as a whole, the Ebal site most closely resembles a number of other sites discovered by the survey of Manasseh—all in the Jordan Valley—but these sites’ enclosures are designed in the shape of a “sandal,” and this shape was not dictated by the topography. These sites include el-ʿUnuq, Bedhat esh-Shaʿab, Masuʾa, and Yafit (3), all of which have been typed by the survey as enclosures. 1 Each of these sites shares a number of characteristics with the Mt. Ebal/el-Burnat site. The first of these sites to be published was el-ʿUnuq (see fig. 59; and see Zertal 1991: 42–43; 1996: 394–97). This site is a large enclosure (3.73 acres; 1.49 hectares) on an isolated hilltop in the Wadi el-Farʿah. The enclosure is elliptical in shape, measuring 272 yds. (250 m) long and 76 yds. (70 m) wide. It is surrounded by a well-built wall of large unworked field stones constructed in a double row. The enclosure is subdivided into two unequal parts, with the smaller division in the north and the larger in the south. Although other structures may have been built inside the wall, no buildings have been discerned. There is, however, a round stone pile 16 ft. (5 m) in diameter located in the southern tip. Zertal suggests that this heap probably covered a round structure (Zertal 1996: 395). The enclosure is not a village, town, or settlement, because it does not seem to have had any permanent residential structures inside it, and the wall seems too monumental for the site to have been designed for the corralling of sheep or for other agricultural purposes (Zertal 1991: 43). A considerable amount of pottery was found at the site, however, the repertoire of which was very similar to that of Stratum 2 at Mt. Ebal: 70% Iron IA, 20% “Einun,” and 10% Iron II (Zertal 1996: 395). Many of the sherds bore the indentations that are common to Manassite 1. El-ʿUnuq (Zertal 1996: 394–97); Bedhat esh-Shaʿab (Zertal 2005: 238–42); Masuʾa (Zertal 2005: 305–7); and Yafit (3) (Zertal 2005: 333–37).

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Figure 59. Plan of el-ʿUnuq (Zertal 1996: 396).

and Ephraimite pottery (Zertal 1994: 54–55; 1996: 395; cf. Finkelstein 1988: 286–87). Bedhat esh-Shaʿab, located east of el-ʿUnuq and near the Jordan River Road, was explored by the survey in 1989 and excavated over two seasons, during 2002–3 (Zertal 2005: 238–42; Ben-Yosef 2005: 724–70; Zertal and Ben-Yosef 2009: 517–29). The site is 3 acres (13 dunams) in area and is elliptical or “sandal”-shaped, with a larger quadrant in the top part of the site (Area A) and a smaller quadrant in the lower area (Area B; see fig. 60). These two areas are partially separated by two subdivided spaces (Areas D and E), though there is an open space that connects them (Area C). A round structure is located in the top right quadrant of the site (section A4) that has been dubbed a bāmâ (fig. 61). The bāmâ has a floor around most of it that was covered with animal bones as well as pottery and cooking vessels. A cut was made next to the bāmâ, revealing early Iron Age I pottery under the floor. The pottery was a homogeneous assemblage dating to the late 13th and early 12th centuries b.c.e. (Zertal 2005: 743–52). Aside from the bāmâ, no other structure is located in the site. Bedhat esh-Shaʿab is surrounded by a wall made of two lines of stones similar to the wall at el-ʿUnuq, and the site as a whole is located under a slope that partially encircles the complex, forming something like a huge amphitheatre (fig. 62). If Bedhat esh-Shaʿab

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Figure 60.  Plan of Bedhat esh-Shaʿab (Zertal 2005: 728).

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Figure 61.  The bāmâ in Area A (courtesy of Ralph K. Hawkins).

had some sort of cultic function, the slopes around and above it would have made ideal places for a large assembly to see and hear proceedings. El-ʿUnuq, Bedhat esh-Shaʿab, and the other enclosures are all located in the low ground of the plains, some of them have internal divisions, and all contain Iron Age I and, in some cases, Iron Age II, pottery sherds. These structures are unique in the Mediterranean region in this period and appear to have been built by seminomads who used a pottery repertoire similar to that of the new population group that entered Canaan from the east (see chap. 5). Zertal (1991: 42–43; 1998: 247) has suggested calling these sites gilgalim, a term that connotes gathering places (Kotter 1992: 1022–24; Levine 2007: 572–73). It has long been recognized that “Gilgal” is not a place-name but, more likely, is a type of fortified encampment. Rather than identifying it as a site name, Waltke simply defines it as “a circle of stones” (though with a question mark: Waltke 1980: 164). The name seems to mean something like “circle [of stones],” a meaning apparently derived from a duplication of the root ‫( ָּגלַל‬gālal ), “to roll” (cf. Josh 5:9). The MT refers to at least three, and possibly five different locations identified as “Gilgal” in both the north and the south (Kotter 1992: 1022). Most of these gilgalim appear to have had a cultic function. A Gilgal served as the site of the circumcision of the generation of Israelites born during the wilderness wanderings and site of their celebration of the Passover ( Josh 5:2–11). A Gilgal was located near Mt. Ebal and Mt. Gerizim, where the Israelites renewed their covenant with Yhwh during the settlement (Deut

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Figure 62.  The slope encircling Bedhat esh-Shaʿab (courtesy of Raymond A. Hawkins).

11:30; Josh 8:30–35). A Gilgal served as the site where the Israelites camped and from which they launched their sorties during the period of the settlement and where the tribal territories were allotted (Merling 1997: 199–205; see also Josh 15–19). A Gilgal became an important cultic center during the time of Samuel, and a Gilgal was where some men of Judah welcomed David back from exile after the death of his son Absalom (1 Sam 7:16; 2 Sam 19:15). Gilgal is not mentioned again until it appears in the Minor Prophets. Although Micah cites Gilgal positively in a rehearsal of Yhwh’s deliverance of the early Israelites, the name features in Hosea and Amos as a site of apostate worship (Mic 6:5; Hos 4:15; 9:15; 12:11; Amos 4:4–5, 15). Many of the aforementioned sites had a cultic function. If the fortified encampments of the Jordan Valley, located among the earliest sites of the Israelite settlement (see chap. 5), are understood as gilgalim, then they may represent the movement of early Israel’s cultic center as it migrated westward. In the earliest sites, the settlers constructed simple bāmôt, whereas, when they began to sedentarize in the central hill country of Manasseh, they constructed a cultic site that could function in a more central capacity.

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Altars Throughout the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, archaeological data in Canaan attest to the importance of sacrifice as the principal method of performing ritual. Nakhai (2003b: 347) notes that, “for Canaanites, sacrifice was the sacred rite, the primary focus of religious ritual, and the means by which people defined their relationship to each other and to their gods.” The emphasis on sacrifice continued among the Iron Age Israelites (cf. G. A. Anderson 1992: 870–86), though worship appears to have been somewhat idiosyncratic in that religion and places of worship seem to have been “tailored to meet the customs and needs of individual worshiping groups” (Alpert Nakhai 2001: 192). Accordingly, the “altar” appears throughout all the aforementioned periods as a key appurtenance of cultic sites. The Hebrew word, ‫( ִמ ְזּב ֵַח‬mizbēaḥ), comes from the root ‫( זָבַח‬zāvaḥ), which means “to slaughter.” The altar was originally the place where sacrificial slaughter was performed, though by biblical times animals were no longer slaughtered on the altar itself but nearby (Milgrom 1971: 760). In ancient Israel, in addition to animal offerings, grain, wine, and incense were offered on the altar, and the altar also served nonsacrificial purposes, such as serving as a witness (e.g., Josh 22:26–29) and providing asylum (1 Kgs 1:50; 2:28). Altars are found everywhere throughout the ancient Near East, but here I look at selected altars as possible physical parallels to the Ebal site. This will not be a comprehensive study of all altars, but I will consider only altars that are closest in time and place. At the outset, the difficulties with terminology should be noted. LaRocca-Pitts has recently explored these issues in her published dissertation, “Of Wood and Stone”: The Significance of Israelite Cultic Items in the Bible and Its Early Interpreters (2001), and has noted the inconsistency with which archaeologists have used the terms bāmâ and mizbēaḥ (2001: 130–33, 229–30, 241–42). Archaeologists have identified platforms, structures, enclosures, altars, and tumuli dating from the Early Bronze Age through the Iron Age as bāmôt, basically treating bāmâ and mizbēaḥ as synonyms. LaRocca-Pitts (2001: 132) writes that the use of the term bāmāh . . . simply illustrates the complication of ancient Hebrew terms being borrowed into Modern Hebrew without a specific semantic range or specialized usage being borrowed along with them. Unfortunately, Israeli archaeologists often use the archaic biblical Hebrew term bāmāh to identify all types of open air cultic sites, without regard to formal or architectural criteria. This has led to a multiplicity of excavators reporting the presence of bāmôt without a general consensus of what the term actually means, either in modern or ancient usage.

Likewise, biblical commentators often indiscriminately understand references to bāmôt without any architectural specificity (Barrick 1996: 621, 623 n. 14). Nakhai (2001: 162) has summarized four interpretations of the bāmâ

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that have predominated among both archaeologists and biblical interpreters until very recently: (1) a primitive, open-air installation located on a natural hilltop, equipped with some combination of sacred pole(s), standing stones, and possibly an altar; (2) an artifially elevated platform upon which religious rites were carried out; (3) an altar; and (4) a mortuary installation. 2 While Nakhai suggests that the first interpretation is probably the most prevalent, the third seems just as widely held and, as Barrick notes, dates at least as far back as Jerome (Nakhai 2001: 162, citing Dever 1994; Barrick 1996: 641). Barrick (1996: 641) argues, however, that bāmâ and mizbēaḥ are not synonyms, and he suggests that the bāmâ was the sanctuary complex that contained the mizbēaḥ. It is not clear, however, that such distinctions can be made. As LaRocca-Pitts (2001: 133) has noted, “At present, no studies have successfully identified any archaeological installations specifically as bāmôt as opposed to shrines or temples or other types of cultic structures.” While recognizing the fact that definitions of both the terms bāmâ and mizbēaḥ have not been definitively clarified and are not consistently used, I follow the usages of the excavators in relation to their respective sites.

Early to Middle Bronze Age Megiddo The sacred precinct at Megiddo (Area BB) contains temples dating back to the Early Bronze Age (see Ussishkin 1997: 460–69). A large circular structure, measuring 26 ft. (8 m) in diameter and 4.9 ft. (1.5 m) high, dates to Early Bronze II (fig. 63). A flight of steps led to the top of the structure on its southeast side, and an enclosure wall was built around it, apparently accessed by an entrance on the southeast. Within this wall, large quantities of animal bones and broken pottery were discovered. The structure was identified as an altar (4017), an interpretation that was reinforced by the renewed excavations at Megiddo by Tel Aviv University and Pennsylvania State University (Loud 1948: 57–105; Finkelstein and Ussishkin 2000: 71). The center of cultic activity at Megiddo was apparently altar 4017 from the later part of the Early Bronze Age and Middle Bronze Age I. At some time during period of stratum XVII, Temple 4040 was built north of the altar (fig. 64). This new temple was an innovation in the architectural forms of ancient Israel and is similar to the Anatolian “Megaron” temples (Kempinski 1989: 175–76). Temple 4040 is of a broad-room type with a platform (or altar) set against the wall directly opposite the doorway (see Ben-Tor 1992: 2.  For view (1) of an open-air installation located on a natural hilltop equipped with some combination of sacred pole(s), standing stones, and possibly altar(s), see, e.g., Mac­ alister 1912: 381–406; for (2) an artificially elevated platform upon which religious rites were carried out, see, e.g., Biran 1981: 142–45; P. D. Miller 1985: 228; Vaughan 1974: 55; for (3) an altar, see, e.g., Yadin 1976: 8; Haran 1981: 33; 1988; and (4) a mortuary installation, see, e.g., Albright 1957; 1969: 102.

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Figure 63. Altar 4017 at Me­giddo (courtesy of Raymond A. Hawkins).

Figure 64. Temple 4040 at Megiddo (at right of altar 4017; courtesy of Raymond A. Hawkins).

87; A. Mazar 1980: 62–68; Stern 1984: 28–36). In the Middle Bronze I village, temple 4040 was restored on a modest scale with an altar and a number of stelae, each about 3 ft. (1 m) in height (Kempinski 1989: 178–80). Tell el- Ḥayyat This Bronze Age village, located 1.2 mi. (2 km) east of the Jordan River and 4.3  mi. (7 km) southwest of Pella, was occupied during the Middle

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Figure 65. Phases of the temple at Tell el-Ḥayyat (Magness-Gardiner and Falconer 1994: 137).

Bronze, Late Bronze, and Iron Ages (see Falconer and Magness-Gardiner 1997: 487–88; Falconer 2001: 278–79). Tell el-Ḥayyat measured only about 1.2 acres (0.5 hectare) and would have housed approximately 150 people or less. The earliest architecture in the hamlet consists of a small mud-brick shrine built in a central location (MB IIA), which was enlarged throughout the Middle Bronze Age (MB IIB and C; fig. 65). As the sanctuaries were modified, they exceeded the size of Ḥayyat’s dwellings. The sanctuaries correspond with the Levantine, Syrian, and Egyptian migdāl temples (Falconer 2001: 278). In addition to a low bench, stone pedestal, and one or

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more maṣṣēbôt, a stepped, mud-brick altar was built in the northeast corner just inside the door. Magness-Gardiner and Falconer have carried out a detailed study of the quality, quantity, and distribution of the contents of the temple, “in order to assess the structural distinction between the temple and non-temple on the site” (1994: 140). Highlighting their agreement with Renfrew’s suggestion that ritual is conducted in a special, distinctive manner of action (Renfrew 1994: 51), they note that “depositional patterns of faunal and floral remains, and ceramic vessels for processing and storing food illuminate ritual activities and their integration in village economies” (Magness-Gardiner and Falconer 1994: 140–48). In discussing the patterns of bone deposition, Magness-Gardiner and Falconer report that approximately 95 percent of the animal bones that were identifiable belonged to domesticated sheep, goats, pigs, and cattle. Fundamental distinctions emerge when the domestic bone assemblages are compared with bones from temples. In the temple interiors, sheep and goat remains predominate, while ovicaprid and pig bones predominate in the domestic structures. Since goats generate more “secondary products” and are thus well suited for transport and exchange, the greater sheep-to-goat ratio in the temple and domestic contexts at Tell el-Ḥayyat suggests that the ovicaprid husbandry there was not completely market oriented. The excavators conclude that the absence of pig bones in the temple setting—especially because of its complete contrast to the high occurrence of sheep and goat bones—probably indicates the presence of ritual banning. This is in harmony with textual descriptions from Mari, Ugarit, Emar, and Israel that specify sheep, goat, and cattle as appropriate sacrifices. Deposition of macrobotanical remains shows that consumption of plant foods was also a major focus of activity in the temple compound. Ceramic assemblages are quite similar for both temple and domestic contexts, though they exhibit significantly different functions for similar individual items (Magness-Gardiner and Falconer 1994: 148–56). A study of the patterns on symbolic objects and on objects of intrinsic value also shows some similarities and contrasts between domestic and temple use. The physical remains and their patterning at Tell el-Ḥayyat serve as material correlates of the village’s ritual beliefs and behavior. Tell ed- Dabʿa At Tell ed-Dabʿa , the Hyksos capital of Avaris, in the eastern Delta area of Egypt, M. Bietak excavated the largest Canaanite temple ever discovered. Rather than a migdāl temple, however, this was an example of the more typical long-axis Canaanite temple, divided into three separate rooms, with the innermost room serving as the “holy of holies” (Bietak 1979: 247–53, figs. 8 –9; see A. Mazar 1980: 62–68). The temple measured ca. 107.3 × 70.2 ft. (32.7 × 21.4 m), and its double walls were 13–16 ft. (4–5 m) thick. In front of the temple was a large, open-air courtyard measuring 70.5 × 110.9 ft. (21.5 × 33.8 m), along with favissae filled with bones and pottery. In the courtyard, about

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Figure 66. The Migdāl Temple at Shechem (G. R. H. Wright 2002: 98).

70 ft. (21 m) from the main entrance stood a large altar for animal sacrifice (Bietak 1996: 36–40, fig. 30). The altar was built of mud bricks and was covered with ashes and bones. Tree pits were found next to the altar, and several charred acorns were found on the altar. This combination suggests the presence of sacred trees in the temple courtyard, a common phenomenon in ancient cultic sites (see LaRocca-Pitts 2001: 161–249). The acorn pits on the altar suggest that the sacred trees must have been evergreen oaks transplanted from Canaan. The temple probably served the Asiatic immigrants who were settled to the south of the Middle Kingdom town (stratum H) around 1750 b.c.e. and following. Shechem Shechem’s Migdāl Temple was located just inside the northern city gate (fig. 66). In the courtyard in front of the temple, about 21.33 ft. (6.5 m) before the entrance, Sellin uncovered what was either the platform of an altar or the altar itself (G. E. Wright 1965: 83; Galling 1937: 14). The large rectangular structure made of earth and stone measured 7.21 ft. (2.20 m) long, 5.41 ft. (1.65 m) wide, and 14 in. (35 cm) high. The stones had been flattened on top. An open-air altar of this size was probably intended for animal sacrifice. In accordance with Stager’s argument that Temple 1 continued in use

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Figure 67. Stepped structure in the Temple of the Rhytons (Yon 2006: 81).

until the general destruction of the city (ca. 1100 b.c.e.), the altar and other cultic appurtenances would also have continued in use (Stager 1999: 232).

Late Bronze Age Ugarit The administrative center of a kingdom on the Syrian coast, Ugarit was also a center of trade, government, and religion (see DeVries 1997: 83–89). The importance of Ugarit has been brought to light by the publication of thousands of the clay tablets found there that contained information about its culture, government, and religion (see, e.g., Young 1981; Craigie 1983). Ugarit contained many temples, among which the best known are the Temples of Baal and Dagon (Yon 1992: 695–721). Other religious structures were located across the tell, interspersed with shops and workshops. One of these was the Temple of the Rhytons, so called because of the large number of rhytons found inside it. The building’s architecture is typical of Late Bronze Age Near Eastern sanctuaries (Yon 2006: figs. 44, 47). A vestibule leads into a main hall that was rectangular in shape (ca. 20 × 23 ft.; 6 × 7 m). A sacristy is located in the northeastern corner, and benches line the northern and western walls. A stepped structure is located in the center of the eastern wall (fig. 67). The structure consists of four stone steps, though only three are visible in their final state. The fourth step is surrounded by the

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most recent floor. The upper row of the platform is 7.5 ft. (2.30 m) long by 17.1–17.5 in. (43.5–44.5 cm) wide and is made of two blocks that were carefully cut in order to match. The upper step is of a higher quality than the steps that support it, suggesting that it had a special function. In addition, the platform does not proceed to a passageway, making it clear that this was not a stairway. Based on the position of this structure on the central axis of the room, Yon concludes that it had some “important role in the use of the room and the activities pertaining to it” (Yon 1996: 410). She notes that the upper, flat surface (7.5 ft. by almost 17.5 in.; 2.3 m by almost 45 cm) “was enough room to support offerings, figurines and even steles or statues” and that “a comparison with other contemporary cult places (in Palestine, for example) suggests that it was an offering platform” (1996: 410). If the structure is correctly identified as an altar, then its construction with three tiers should especially be noted. Hazor Throughout much of the second millennium b.c.e., Hazor was the largest city in the southern Levant and was closely associated with the large and powerful Bronze Age city-states in Syria. Texts discovered at Mari, in Syria, Tell el-Amarna, Egypt, and in Hazor itself describe the role of the Canaanite city in international trade and diplomacy and suggest that, during the New Kingdom period, while most of Canaan was under Egyptian control, Hazor maintained independence. The Late Bronze Age city was destroyed sometime in the 13th century b.c.e. Garstang conducted soundings at the site of Hazor in 1928, but excavations were not carried out until almost 30 years later, when the James A. Rothschild Expedition was launched under the direction of the late Yigael Yadin (see Yadin 1970; 1975; 1993: 594–603; Ben-Tor 1993: 604–6). Excavations have since been renewed under A. BenTor (1997: 107–27; 1998: 457–67). The renewed excavation project has focused much attention on the Late Bronze Age (ca. 1550–1200 b.c.e.) remains at Hazor, especially the Canaanite palace discovered in Area A of the Upper City. Yadin had uncovered a corner of this massive structure during his excavations and dated it to the Middle Bronze Age; the current excavations have shown, however, that it should be dated to the Late Bronze Age. The palace exterior features decorative, Syrian-style basalt orthostats forming a zigzag-shaped outer wall, a paved outdoor courtyard with a cultic platform or altar in its center, a raised entrance porch with the remains of two huge column bases, and two guard rooms flanking the entrance. The palace core is dominated by a central throne room, which was constructed of mud-brick walls faced with basalt orthostats and a floor built of planks of expensive cedar of Lebanon. The architectural plan parallels plans of Syrian palaces, especially the plan of Alalakh in northwestern Syria (Ben-Tor and Rubiato 1999: 28–29). Among the many artifacts recovered from the palace are fragments of ivory plaques and boxes, cylinder seals and beads,

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Figure 68. Altar in the courtyard of the Canaanite palace, Hazor (courtesy of Raymond Hawkins).

figurines, two bronze statues of kings or deities, and the largest Bronze Age anthropomorphic statue ever found in Israel, made of basalt and standing over 3 ft. tall. The platform or podium in the center of the courtyard in front of the palace (fig. 68) does seem to have served as an altar (S. Zuckerman, personal communication, 2007). Although the final report of the architecture and related finds at Hazor is still in preparation, J. Lev-Tov and K. McGeough (2007: 85–111) have published a study based on the archaeozoological finds associated with the podium and courtyard and their interpretation. The authors note several factors that point to its identification as an altar. First, in addition to being the location of the podium, the courtyard connected the palace and an adjacent temple. The courtyard-with-altar arrangement is similar to contemporary sites in Syria (Ben-Tor and Rubiato 1999: 29). This arrangement suggests an association of the podium with ritual events. Second, the size and context of the faunal assemblage associated with the courtyard and altar suggest a cultic identification of the structure. Almost 17,000 pieces of bone were found in the course of the excavation of the courtyard. Rather than being strewn around the courtyard, the vast majority of them were found in contexts abutting the altar. A third indicator of the cultic nature of the installation may be the six polished astragali (ankle

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bones) found in the assemblage associated with the courtyard and altar. As Gilmour (1997: 167–75) has shown, astragali appear to have been used for divination in the ancient Near East and elsewhere. Lev-Tov and McGeough assert that, “given the assemblage’s size and inclusion of special bones, . . . this faunal assemblage resulted from sacrifices and associated feasts” (2007: 95). The authors note the demonstration by a number of prior studies that feasts held for religious occasions were used as tools for social inclusion and exclusion (e.g., Fleming 1996; Lambert 1993; Leichty 1993; and others). Lev-Tov and McGeough draw on cuneiform texts from Emar in which numerous festivals are described to show how identity was created and manipulated through ancient Near Eastern religious feasts. Focusing on three festivals in particular—the installation of the nin.dingir priestess, the Mashartu, and the Zukru—the authors note a number of features related to identity formation. The Emar festivals appear to have been characterized by wide-ranging community participation. Apparently, the majority of the residents of the community participated in the nin.dingir installation and the Zukru Festival. In addition, many of the residents supported these feasts through labor as well as through provision of materials, especially food products. While other studies (e.g., Fleming 1996) have emphasized the creation of unity, based on the democratic nature of these festivals, Lev-Tov and McGeough (2007: 93) emphasize the aspect of identity formation that features in some of these feasts. The nin.dingir Festival, in which the identity of a young woman was transferred from the secular to the sacred realm, seems to have had identity formation as the center of its purpose. In the Zukru, social relationships were reified “by reaffirming the centrality of the worship of Dagan and unifying the town through religious feasts.” Forms of hierarchy were also publicly enacted or publicly recognized at the Emar feasts. The monarch was the major provider of fare, and the participation of the community, therefore, meant that it actively acknowledged the authority and munificence of the king, confirming his position as leader. Some people were allowed to feast inside the temple confines, while others were limited to the areas outside. The wealth of the cult was secured by extending its influence beyond the sacred precinct. In summary, Lev-Tov and McGeough (2007: 94) note that, “at Emar, the feast within the festival was a period of broad communal participation in public rituals. Such feasts were organized hierarchically, and while they allowed the community to participate in collective activities, they were nonetheless events at which social roles were demonstrated and reaffirmed rather than leveled.” The Emar texts are also very explicit about which portions of sacrificial animals were to be given to various participants or groups of participants during the course of the festival, further contributing to the creation or reifying of the social identities of festival participants (Lev-Tov and McGeough 2007: 104– 7). The various feasts at Emar were “parts of larger ceremonies designed to

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Figure 69. Tell Mevorakh, Stratum XI (Stern 1984: 161).

move individuals from one identity to another” or to “reify the social identities of all the participants, collectively and as individuals.” By analogy, Lev-Tov and McGeough (2007: 95) assert that the altar in the courtyard of the Canaanite palace at Hazor was the product of sacrifices and associated feasts. They suggest that the location of the feasting in the courtyard had implications for identity expression, in that “those doing the feasting chose an exclusive area to which only temple personnel and royalty would have had access.” The feasts in the courtyard, therefore, “defined a separate identity based partly on their exclusivity.” The location of the feast and the proportion of cattle bones suggest the sponsorship and possible participation of the king or other important figures at Hazor. The courtyard assemblage also suggests that nonroyal residents brought food for the feasts. In light of the fact that many of the altar sites included in this study show evidence of the preparation of food in the sacred area, the study of Lev-Tov and McGeough makes an important contribution in considering the possible functions of these meals. Tell Mevorakh Tell Mevorakh is a small mound (0.24 acres; 1 dunam) on the south bank of the Crocodile River (naḥal hātannînîm), which runs between the Plain of Sharon and the Carmel coast (Stern 1984: 1–27). Strata XI–X contained the remains of a large building that covered the entire mound. The building is oriented east–west and measures 33 × 16 ft. (10 × 5 m). Beaten-lime plaster covered both the floors and walls. An altar with five steps leading up to it was located along the rear wall (fig. 69). The altar was rectangular in shape

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Figure 70. Phases I–III of the Fosse Temple, Lachish (Ussishkin 1993: 899).

and measured 5  ft. long  ×  3.3 ft. wide  ×  3.3  ft. high (1.5 m long  ×  1.0 m wide and 1.0 m high). The imprint of a small column was found in the lime floor in the corner of the platform, suggesting that the altar may have been canopied. Sunk into the floor in one of the altar’s lower surfaces was a store-jar. Benches were built along parts of the western, northern, and eastern walls, extending more than 26 ft. (8 m) in length, and a limestone libation table was incorporated into wall 36 of stratum VI (Stern 1978: fig. 26). A round refuse pit, identified as a favissa (locus 256), was found to have been cut through the lime floor. It measured ca. 1.6 ft. (0.5 m) in depth and was found to be empty. The finds in the building (Stern 1984: 10–27) included Mitannianstyle cylinder seals, two faience plaques, two cups, bronze cymbals, a bronze knife, a ring decorated with a palmette, a knife, javelin, and arrowheads. The pottery repertoire included a number of imported white-slip Cypriot “milk bowls” as well as local ware, including a tankard, Cypriot base-ring and monochrome bowls, and jars, jugs, juglets, bowls, lamps, and decorated chalices and goblets. The majority of the vessels were open in form and would therefore have been suitable for food presentation and/or consumption. The only find that may be indicative of the nature of the cult practiced here was an 8-in. (20-cm)-long bronze snake that resembles others found in the Hazor and Timnah temples. When one considers the cumulative data from the Mevorakh public building, “its form, interior installations, and especially its finds leave no doubt that it should be interpreted as a sanctuary” (Stern 1993: 1032–33). The site apparently served as a wayside sanctuary from the 15th through the 13th centuries b.c.e. Lachish In the Late Bronze Age, a temple was built in the abandoned fosse near the northwest corner of the mound (Tufnell et al. 1940: 14). The temple

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underwent three phases (phases I–III; see fig. 70). Fosse Temple I was a modest building made up of a main hall (16 × 33 ft.; 5 × 10 m) and two side rooms. Fosse Temple II was larger and consisted of a main hall enlarged into a square (33 × 33 ft.; 10 × 10 m), the ceiling of which was supported by four columns. The walls of the phase II temple were lined with benches where offerings could be placed, and an altar was built abutting the southern wall. Additional rooms located to the north and south of the main hall were constructed. Fosse Temple III followed the same basic plan as Fosse Temple II, but another room, located on the south side of the building, was added during this phase. A cultic niche was built into the southern wall, and an altar of mud bricks was built against the front and was slightly higher than its platform. Three steps were added on the west side, and the whole structure was plastered white (Tufnell et al. 1940: 40). A facing of mud bricks was added to the back of the shrine. A hearth was located at the base of the altar, and to the west of the shrine stood a narrow cupboard of plastered mud containing lamps. Between the cupboard and the steps stood a tall ceramic libation stand and, on the east side of the shrine, a large four-handled pottery bin. The libation stand was for liquid offerings and the bin for solid offerings. The assemblage found in Fosse Temple III was rich and included cultic pottery vessels, offering bowls, imported Cypriot and Mycenean ware, ivory objects and fragments of figurines, jewelry, scarabs, and vessels made of alabaster, faience, and glass. In addition to other exotic finds (see Tufnell et al. 1940: 59–87), a ring with the name of Ramesses II imprinted on it was found in a pit connected with Temple III. Of special interest were data indicating that food was prepared and that sacral meals were eaten in the Fosse Temple. These data include a food whisk and a knife made of bronze, as well as quantities of bones from the offerings found among the bowls around the altar (Tufnell 1940: 65, 93–94). The animal bones included sheep (or goat), ox, and gazelle or ibex. The excavators point out two noteworthy features of the animal remains in the Fosse Temple: first, the animals were all quite young and, second, virutally all of the bones that could be identified were metacarpals of the right foreleg. These features were characteristic of the bones from all three structures.

Iron Age B. A. Nakhai describes sacred places of the Iron Age I as “eclectic” (2001: 176). These included a sanctuary at Shiloh (which has not been recovered archaeologically), and open-air sites at Dhahrat et-Tawileh (the “Bull Site”) and possibly Mt. Ebal (Nakhai does not include the latter). Cultic installations or sanctuaries also often stood in the midst of domestic structures, in gateways, and sometimes in contexts associated with metalworking. The religious landscape began to change in Iron Age II. When the monarchy emerged in Jerusalem, change began to occur in the nature of Israelite worship sites. Sanctuaries from the monarchical period (10th century) exhibit

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Figure 71. The altar near Shiloh (Elitzur and Nir-Zevi 2004: 34).

increasing similarity—a fact that is reflected in the architecture, cultic artifacts, and locations of these sites. Village sanctuaries became the principal places of worship in Israel but, at the same time, they increasingly became political tools of the monarchy. Sites that include altars with a possible relevance to our discussion include the following. The Altar near Shiloh A structure hewn out of the natural rock has recently been discovered in the hill country near Shiloh by Elitzur and Nir-Zevi, who identify it as an altar (Elitzur and Nir-Zevi 2003: 30–36) (fig. 71). The structure, cut from a large piece of limestone that must have broken off the natural rock on the hillside above, is located 0.9 mi. (1.5 km) west of Tell Shiloh, about 110 yds. (120 m) above the bed of the wadi. The structure is nearly square, and its corners point toward the four cardinal points of the compass, while its sides

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are aligned with the diagonal directions (northeast, northwest, southwest, and southeast). Four “horns” are carved from the original rock on top of the structure. The height of the edifice is not consistent, and ranges from ca. 7–8 ft. (ca. 2–2.5 m) in height, and the heights of the “horns” range from 15 to 30 in. (37–75 cm). 3 A piece of rock (ca. 7 × 8 cm and 2–3 cm thick) was found at the base of the structure that appears to have been part of its upper layer. This fragment was blackened and had been “clearly burnt at a very high temperature” (Elitzur and Nir-Zevi 2003: 32). The identification of this structure as an altar and its dating are both unclear due to the lack of any archaeological context and the absence of any associated finds. The edifice does have one other parallel, however, which is another rock-hewn construction found at Tell Seraʿ, on the slope below ancient Zorah, which has been dubbed “Manoah’s altar” (Yeivin 1964: 150– 52). This structure is also hewn from the natural rock outside an ancient settlement, and it shares similar dimensions with the construction near Shiloh. Elitzur and Nir-Zevi (2003: 34) propose that “it is reasonable to assume that an altar in this region must be a relatively early artifact—at any rate, it cannot be post-exilic.” In seeking to identify a time frame for this structure, they suggest that one might compare its orientation with that of the Ebal structure and the Shechem temple. They tentatively conclude that this structure and possibly also “Manoah’s altar” belong to the same period as the aforementioned structures: Late Bronze or Iron I. These conclusions, however, are highly speculative and, since there is no archaeological context, both its identification as an altar and its date remain open to question. Megiddo At Megiddo, a number of shrines were discovered in Stratum VA–IVB, which appears to have been part of a massive royal building project. Shrines 338 and 2081 mirrored the palace complexes with which they were associated (Palace 1723 and Palace 6000) in terms of their construction materials and style. Shrine 2081 was itself a massive building, with walls about 1 m thick. Two upright stones, each about 4.9 ft. (1.5 m high), were found embedded in the stone-paved floor of the entrance. These probably had a cultic function similar to the large stelae found in Schumacher’s shrine (Ussishkin 1989: 170–72). The monumental doorway was made of ashlar masonry and may have been decorated with proto-Ionic capitals, suggested by the discovery of capital of this sort that was reused as a building stone in the wall of a Stratum III room (1051). The shrine contained numerous finds that identify the building as cultic, including portable horned altars, an offering table, chalices, juglets and other vessels, burned grain, and a bowl of astragali (sheep or goat). 3.  For more measurements from more points on the altar, see Elitzur and Nir-Zevi 2003: 31.

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A number of stones cut in one-eighth segments of a sphere with a radius of 1.6 ft. (0.5 m) were found in square L8 of Stratum IV. Lamon and Shipton noted the similarity of these stones with the stones of horned altars but included them as part of the reconstruction of the Palace 1723 tower. Ussishkin notes their similarity to the horns of the altar in Tel Beer-sheba and to a similar stone found in the cultic complex at Tel Dan. 4 Ussishkin concludes that probably the stones at Megiddo belonged to a similar altar. Zevit (2001: 226) considers them to belong to at least one and possibly two large altars, which he has calculated would have had a surface area of 24.22 sq. ft. (2.25 sq. m) minimum, making it slightly smaller than the altars at Arad and Beer-sheba. Zevit notes, however, that the Megiddo horns “are larger than those on the Beer Sheba altar, and this factor alone suggests that a more massive structure should be imagined.” He concludes that “even the minimal size proposed above allows that if my interpretation of these artifacts is correct, they might have been part of a large altar used for blood offerings.” Nakhai (2001: 177) concludes that “the thickness of the building’s walls, the possibility that the ashlar doorway was capped with a proto-Ionic capital, the large horned altar in the courtyard and the building’s location indicate that Shrine 2081’s function was public rather than domestic.” Tel Rehov Tel Rehov (Tell es-Sarem) is a major, 25-acre (10.11-hectare) mound located about 3 miles south of Beth-shean and 6 miles west of Pella (Negev and Gibson 2001: 433–35) . The location of the site at the intersection of the Jezreel and Jordan valleys likely made it an important site in antiquity. Tel Rehov was occupied from the Late Bronze Age to Iron Age II. After the destruction of the Canaanite village, an Israelite town was established in the early 10th century b.c.e. (Stratum VI), and new buildings were erected at Tel Rehov during the later 10th century b.c.e. (Stratum V), including a sanctuary located on the northeastern part of the mound. The sanctuary was discovered in Area E (A. Mazar 1999: 23–28), where parts of a well-preserved building were exposed in the south, with a courtyard in the northwest and a cultic corner and a building to its west (fig. 72). The building consisted of two rooms, one (the western) poorly preserved and the other (eastern) well preserved, built of mud brick, and coated with plaster. The courtyard to the north and west of the building consisted of a compact earth floor along with bits of gravel. A number of ovens and circular clay installations similar to ovens were discovered in this area and may attest to the preparation of sacred meals. A square mud-brick platform was found in Squares D–E15, measuring 10 × 11.64 ft. (3 × 3.55 m). It was elevated to a height of about 1.3  ft. (0.4  m) above the surrounding pavement. A smaller square installation (3.3  × 3.3  ft.; 4.  For the altar at Tel Beer-sheba, see Aharoni 1974: 2–6; for the cultic complex at Tel Dan, see Biran 1994: 202, fig. 161.

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Figure 72. Tel Rehov, Area E (A. Mazar 1999: 24).

1.0  ×  1.0 m), constructed of fieldstones and large river pebbles, was built on top of the platform, and rose to a height of 1.08 ft. (0.33 m). Four larger stones stood on the south side of the platform, and a large flat slab of limestone (2.3 × 1.6 ft.; 0.7 × 0.5 m) was positioned on top of five smaller stones in front of it. The limestone slab may have served as an offering table. Debris next to the platform contained fragments of a ceramic cult stand. A. Mazar (1999: 27) has interpreted this complex as a cultic complex:

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It appears that this complex was a high place (bāmāh) serving the vicinity. The standing stones can be interpreted as maṣṣēbôt standing on a ritual platform at the edge of a spacious courtyard, where a number of ovens and other installations were used for preparing sacred meals. The flat stone in front of the platform may be an offering table, with the pottery cult stand being used similarly to the small stone altars known from Megiddo and elsewhere. The flat top of these stands could be used for burning offerings, such as pigeons.

In front and east of the podium, numerous animal bones were found, including many bones of wild goat, “suggesting that this animal was used specifically for ritual here.” Several chalices were found among the pottery to the southeast of the open area, “a further indication of cultic activity.” The area seems to provide clear evidence of a cultic center that probably served a small group of people, such as an extended family that lived in the immediate area. Tell Qasile Tell Qasile is a small mound of approximately 4 acres (16 dunams), located about 0.9 mi. (1.5 km) east of the Mediterranean coast on a ridge on the north bank of the Yarkon River (A. Mazar 1980: 33–41; 1997c: 373–76). The proximity of Tell Qasile to the river and the coast made the site a center of maritime trade, which, along with agriculture, was an important feature of the city’s economy. The major period of occupation at Tell Qasile was during Iron Age I, when the site was probably founded by the Philistines “in the framework of their expansion from the nucleus of their settlement area in the heart of Philistia” (Negev and Gibson 2001: 415). The Iron Age sacred area at Tell Qasile is of special importance, because it is the only cultic site in ancient Philistia that has been fully excavated. What began as a modest shrine in Stratum XII (1150–1100 b.c.e.) went out of use in Stratum XI (1100–1050 b.c.e.), when it was replaced by a larger temple with stone walls, benches along its walls, an inner room that apparently functioned as a treasury, and a holy of holies in a niche on the opposite side of the building from the entrance. In Stratum X, the previous temple was rebuilt and enlarged to form Temple 131 (fig. 73). On the east side of the building, an antechamber was added, increasing the building’s outer dimensions to 26.2  ×  47.6  ft. (8.0 × 14.5 m) with an area of 1,249 sq. ft. (116 sq. m). The antechamber created a bent-axis approach to the main hall. Within the antechamber and the main hall, stepped benches were built along the walls, and the walls, benches, and floor were plastered. Two cylindrical stone bases supporting wooden columns were installed in the long axis of the hall, and an elevated platform was constructed in the center of the west wall, on the opposite side of the room from the entrance into the main hall. This location created an unobstructed line of sight to the raised platform from the entrance to the sanctuary. The platform was made of brick and measured 3.7 × 4.3 ft.

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Figure 73. Temple 131 at Tell Qasile, Stratum X (A. Mazar 1980: 36).

(1.1 × 1.3 m), with an original height of 2.9 ft. (0.9 m). Two steps on the south side of the platform led to its upper surface. The structure and its steps were plastered on all sides. Most of the artifacts discovered within Temple 131 were lying around the aforementioned raised platform or in a nearby locus (Locus 134). East of the raised platform, a ceramic naos was found on the floor and, near the middle of the southern bench, a cult stand decorated with animal figures. Other finds in the vicinity included an iron bracelet, a bronze ax-adz, the top part of a cylindrical cult stand decorated with human figures, a fragment of a large ritual bowl, and a ceramic lamp. Other ceramic remains were scattered

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about, suggesting that “during the destruction of the temple cult objects were smashed and scattered about” (A. Mazar 1980: 39). A narrow cell (Room 188) was situated behind the elevated platform to serve as a treasury. In contrast to the rest of the temple, the floors of the 4.4 × 10.49 ft. (1.4 × 3.2 m) room were made of beaten earth, and the walls were not plastered. More than 100 pottery vessels were found on the floor. A pile at the northern end included bowls, jugs, juglets, flasks, decorated Philistine vessels, a cult bowl with a tube-shaped rim, and a vessel in the shape of a pomegranate. Other pottery fragments were found in the northeast and center of the chamber. It seems clear that this room served as a storage room for offering vessels. North and east of Temple 131, a stone wall formed a courtyard and thus enclosed the sacred building. A square foundation was found within the courtyard measuring 4.3 × 4.9 ft. (1.3 × 1.5 m) and built of stones measuring 1.1– 1.9 ft. (0.4–0.6 m) in length. The structure is flat on top and juts 0.3–0.5 ft. (0.1–0.2 m) above the level of the courtyard floor. The form and position of the structure suggest that it was the base of a sacrificial altar, which was constructed in a prudently chosen location. While the altar was located at the front of the temple, it was positioned off to one side “so as to leave the area before the entrance free for movement” (A. Mazar 1980: 41). No special finds came from the altar itself or nearby loci. Tel Dan The earliest archaeological evidence of cultic practice at Tel Dan dates to the 10th century b.c.e., the time of Jeroboam I, who established the Northern Kingdom of Israel following the death of Solomon. In order to legitimize his kingdom and create an alternative to the Solomonic temple in Jerusalem (1 Kgs 12:27–31), he built sanctuaries at Bethel and Dan. The late-10th to early-9th-century b.c.e. cultic precinct at Dan occupied about 197 × 148 ft. (60 × 45 m; Biran 1994: 168, 182–83, figs. 143–44). In the northern part of this precinct, remains of a massive structure built of large, dressed blocks were uncovered. The face of this structure, dubbed “Bamah A,” has been exposed for about 59 ft. (18 m) on its southern side. A 92 × 56 ft. (28  ×  17  m) complex was located south of Bamah A that included a main building, roofed storerooms, a cobbled courtyard, a pool installation, and a sunken basin. Three storerooms were located at the northern end of the central complex (Biran 1985: 187–89). The main feature of the central complex is an approximately 24.6 × 16 ft. (7.5 × 5 m) structure of basalt boulders, incompletely covered with two layers of massive travertine blocks (Biran 1994: 172–73). This may have been the foundation of a sacrificial altar that originally reached a greater height. A courtyard of cobbled stones originally surrounded the structure. On this surface were found a decorated incense stand, the head of a male figurine, and a ceramic bowl containing small animal bones incised on its base with

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Figure 74. The Stratum X temple at Arad (courtesy of Raymond Hawkins).

a trident. There were no signs of burning, collapsed brick or roofing found here, a fact that suggests that the cobbling was part of an open-air interior courtyard with a central altar in its midst. The central structure was renovated in the mid-9th century and again in the early 8th century b.c.e. (Biran 1982: 15–43). During Stratum III, Bamah B was constructed, measuring 59.13 ft. (18.0 m; north face), 61.1 ft. (18.6  m; west face), 60.3 ft. (18.4 m; south face), and 61.7 ft. (18.8 m; west face), with diagonals measuring 85.6 ft. (26.1 m; northeast–southwest) and 85.4 ft. (26.1 m; northwest–southeast). The structure is built on three sides with finely dressed ashlars laid in header-and-stretcher fashion, while only the corners of the northern side are built of ashlars, the rest being constructed of rough basalt boulders. The stones are dressed in the classic technique of Israelite royal buildings in the 9th–8th centuries b.c.e. In the northwest corner of the temenos, a 3 × 3 ft. (1 × 1 m) installation (probably an altar) was found and, in the southwest corner, a large, horn-shaped stone that may have been part of an altar was also found. The horn-shaped stone was 20 in. (50 cm) high with a base diameter of 15 in. (39 cm). Biran notes the similarity of this horn with the horn found at Megiddo (see above) and conjectures that, “if we are right in assuming that the proportion of the horn to the height of the altar is about 1:6, the altar would have been 3 m., or 6 royal cubits, high” (Biran 1994: 203).

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Figure 75. The courtyard altar in Stratum X, Arad (courtesy of Raymond Hawkins).

Tell Arad Tell Arad is located in the northeastern Negev Desert, on the border of Judah, on the main road to Edom. In Iron Age II (Stratum X), a tripartitestyle sanctuary oriented on an east–west axis was built in the northwestern corner of the royal fortress (fig. 74). The building consisted of a main broad-room hall with plastered benches along its walls. In the center of the western long wall was a compartment that served as the naos, accessed by four shallow steps. Two limestone incense altars flanked the steps, and a rounded stela showing traces of red paint was found inside the naos (Herzog 1997: 175). A rectangular courtyard (12.00 × 7.50 m) with a stone pavement lay in front of the sanctuary. Rooms flanked the courtyard on three sides. A large altar of unhewn fieldstones laid in mud mortar (fig. 75) stood on the east side of the courtyard. A flint slab with plastered channels covered the top of the altar. The altar measured 7.87 × 7.21 ft. (2.40 × 2.20 m) and was elevated about 4.92 ft. (1.50 m) above the floor. A stone step, or bench, was positioned at the base on the southern side, and a small compartment was found next to the altar on the western side, where a red-slipped clay incense burner was found, suggesting the compartment’s function as a storage area for cultic appurtenances (Herzog 1997: 175).

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There is no doubt about the cultic nature of this building and its identity as an Israelite temple (Dever 2006: 310–16). Cultic paraphernalia were found in and around the sanctuary and its courtyard, including a ceramic stand, a stone basin, and a small bronze figurine of a lion. Pottery kilns were found near the entrance to the sanctuary, which apparently supplied its sacral vessels. Over 200 ostraca dating to the time of the monarchy were found, several of which contain the theophoric Yahwistic component yau, such as in Gadyau and Ghemaryau (Aharoni 1968: 11). Some ostraca were found in rooms adjacent to the temple and apparently connected to it. Seven of these contain the names of individuals (e.g., Eshyahu son of Ezer, son of Hemda), and two contain the names of the priestly families of Me­remoth and Ashur, both of which are well known from the Bible. These may have been related to the assignment of temple duties. Two offering dishes found at the base of the altar bear the inscribed letters qoph and kaph, which F. M. Cross understood to be an abbreviation for the phrase ‫קדש כהנים‬, meaning “holy to the priests” (1979: 75–78) and suggested that these bowls were used for the portions of the offerings that were dedicated to the temple priesthood, thus attesting to cultic consumption at the site. The site clearly served as a kind of royal border sanctuary (F. M. Cross 1979: 75–78; Aharoni 1968: 27–32). Tel Beer-sheba Tel Beer-sheba is located in the northern Negev, on a hill above the Beersheba and Hebron valleys. The principal period represented on the mound is Iron Age II, when the settlement was fortified and expanded to cover the entire surface of the summit of the tell (2.8 acres). Throughout Iron Age II, the city was built and destroyed four times, the stages of which are termed Strata V–II. The best preserved of these periods is Stratum II, which has been excavated almost completely. Excavations have exposed one of the most complete plans of a small Israelite city (Herzog 1993: 170–73). A square surrounded by several rooms and interpreted as an inn was located inside the city gate. The western quarter of the city contained three four-room houses. A building constructed of ashlars was located near the gate and may have been the governor’s residence. Other structures located near the gate have been interpreted as storehouses. The city contained a sophisticated water supply system and an elaborate drainage system that emptied outside the gate. A series of large ashlars was found in secondary usage in the construction of the walls of one of the aforementioned storehouses. When reassembled, they formed a large horned altar measuring 5.2 × 5.2 ft. (1.6 × 1.6 m; see fig. 76). Aharoni (1974: 2–6) believed that the altar attested to the presence of a temple in the city during the early centuries of the Divided Monarchy. He suggested that the temple had been dismantled during the cultic reform of Hezekiah of Judah, similar to the cessation of use of the temple at Arad, though its location is not certain. Herzog and Rainey have proposed that

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Figure 76. A model of a reconstruction of the Tel Beer-sheba altar (courtesy of Raymond Hawkins).

it would have stood in the place where Building 32 was later built (Herzog 1978: 40; Rainey 1994: 333–54). Four stones from the upper surface of the altar, found during the eighth season of excavation, showed clear signs of burning, which indicates that the altar had in fact been used for sacrificial purposes.

Discussion The survey above includes several types of altars, all of which can be discussed in the context of the altar typology outlined by Robert Haak (1992: 162–67; 1997: 80–81). Haak divides altars into two basic categories: altars found outside buildings (type I) and altars found inside structures (type II). Each of these categories also has several subcategories. 1. Rock Altars: Type Ia. The rock altar is a freestanding altar carved from the natural rock, unassociated with any structure. The altars near Shiloh and Tell Seraʿ are both examples of the rock altar. Haak notes the difficulty in dating these kinds of structures (see above). 2. Open Altars: Type Ib. This kind of altar was similar to the rock altar, in that it was unassociated with a sacred building, though it was constructed with stones rather than being carved from the natural rock. Altar 4017 at Megiddo is an example of the type Ib open altar. 3. Enclosed Altars: Type Ic. These altars were located within the forecourt of temple complexes, apparently intended for burnt offerings. Haak notes

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that this kind of altar was especially common in the Bronze and Iron Ages (Haak 1997: 80). 4. Incense Altars: Type IIa. This category consists of stone or ceramic stands used for the burning of incense. 5. Presentation Altars: Type IIb. Haak suggests that this kind of altar is also found within temples and related buildings but that it is not associated with burning. Instead, offerings, such as grain, could be placed on the type IIb altar, which sometimes took the form of plastered benches or tables or even ceramic stands. 6. Libation Altars: Type IIc. This group is made up of installations with depressions, such as large stone basins, stone tables, or bowls positioned on ceramic stands, designed to receive liquid offerings. The type IIc altar is found both inside and outside temples.

As noted in this partial survey, many of the altars located in Israel and Syria during the Bronze and Iron Ages were associated with temples. Many of these were type IIb altars, located inside the temple, including the altars at Megiddo Temple 4040 (MB), Tell el-Ḥayyat (MB), Tell ed-Dabʿa (MB), the Temple of the Rhytons (LB), Tell Mevorakh (LB), Lachish (LB), Tell Qasile (Iron I), Arad (Iron II), and Beer-sheba (Iron II). Type Ic altars, located in a courtyard associated with a cultic building or palace, include the altars connected with the Migdāl Temple at Shechem (MB), the Canaanite palace at Hazor (LB), Megiddo Shrine 2081 (Iron I), Tel Rehov (Iron I), and Dan (Iron II). Type Ia and Ib altars, which appear to have been completely freestanding, include the large round altar (4017) in Early Bronze Age Megiddo (type Ib) and the possibly Late Bronze or Iron Age I four-horned altar near Shiloh (type Ia). In Iron Age I, no Israelite temple or undisputed public sanctuary site has been discovered. A pilgrimage site apparently existed at Shiloh, but it has not survived (Finkelstein, Bunimovitz, and Lederman 1993: 385–88). The “Bull Site” was probably an open-air sanctuary, though it did not contain an altar. If the central structure of Stratum IB at Mt. Ebal is identified as an altar, it would feature here as a type Ib altar. Two type Ia altars may date to Iron Age I (if not Late Bronze Age): “Manoah’s altar,” near Zorah; and the four-horned altar discovered near Shiloh. The most common cultic sites were village sanctuaries, small and devoid of architectural features and known primarily from assemblages of cultic objects (Nakhai 2001: 170, 176). In Iron Age II, during the period of the United Monarchy, sanctuaries begin to display a standardization of architecture, cultic artifacts, and construction site chosen. Nakhai (2001: 176) notes that “the town became the predominant place of worship in Israel but it also increasingly became a political tool of the monarchy.” This is consistent with J. S. Holladay’s (1987: 272, table 2) description of cult sites in Iron Age II. A few features of the altars surveyed are especially interesting for analyzing the central structure of Stratum IB at Mt. Ebal.

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Association with Sacred Meals Many of the sanctuaries and their associated altars yielded evidence that food was prepared, and sacral meals were consumed in their vicinity—a feature shared by the Ebal site. As we discussed in chap. 2, we infer from the faunal remains at Ebal, one of the largest samples ever studied in Israel, that a narrow range of activities took place at the site and that these activities clearly included both food and water consumption (Horwitz 1986–87: 187). The material remains that led Dever to jokingly dismiss the site as “a picnic site where barbecues were enjoyed by families on Saturday afternoons” (Dever 1992: 34) may in fact reinforce the cultic nature of the site. Orientation Most altars discovered in ancient Israel are oriented so that the sides are aligned east–west. The altar at Arad, for example, which stands in the court of a temple, is oriented east–west. The biblical Tabernacle and the Temple are both understood to have been aligned east–west (Zebaḥim 62B). Interestingly, the newly discovered structure near Shiloh, the Tell Seraʿ edifice (“Manoah’s altar”), the Shechem altar, and the Mt. Ebal structure all share the feature that their corners are oriented with the compass points. Alignment of the corners with the four points of the compass and the sides with the diagonals seems to be a characteristic of Mesopotamian temples (Margueron 1997: 165–69; Roaf 1995: 423–41). A closer parallel is found in the open-air sanctuaries in the southern Negev and eastern Sinai, the corners of which are oriented to the compass points (Avner 1993: 166–81). These cultic sites, numbering well over 100, all contain one or more maṣṣēbôt, which may represent deities or ancestral spirits, or they may serve as memorial stelae rather than as a representation of a deity (Hess 2007: 198–99). In any case, their apparent cultic significance and their location in a West Semitic context may provide a background for the east–west orientation of altars. Steps The third interesting feature of the altars is the presence or absence of steps. W. F. Albright thought that the idea of an altar with steps had been derived from the components of the Mesopotamian ziggurat (Albright 1920: 139), though it is now clear that a Syro-Palestinian background can be established for this tradition. In Syria–Palestine, there have been a number of altars discovered that were mounted by steps, including the Early Bronze Age altar (4017) at Megiddo that was ascended by a flight of seven steps; the altar in the Late Bronze Age Temple of the Rhytons that was mounted by three steps; and the altar at Tell Mevorakh by five. Horns Horns, projections from the corners, were another feature of Israelite altars that Albright believed was derived from Mesopotamia, particularly

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from the architecture of the ziggurat (Albright 1942: 150–52). These are found on numerous examples of smaller incense altars (see Gitin 2002: 95– 123), as well as on the altar near Shiloh and the Beer-sheba altar, surveyed above. Although the precise significance of the horns is not known, they seem to have derived from the general ancient Near Eastern background of astral cults and bull worship (DeVries 2000: 608; Zevit 2001: 306–9; see especially Süring 1980). In Israel, the horns may have symbolized the strength of the deity or a type of holy mountain—that is, the dwelling place of the deity (DeVries 2000: 608). Regardless of the exact meaning of the symbol, it is now known that they need not have derived from Mesopotamia. They are known from Canaanite contexts, from excavations in Cyprus, and from other locations throughout the Near East. 5 The survey above included two-horned altars, the altar near Shiloh (Late Bronze–Iron I), and the Beersheba altar (Stratum II). In addition, it was noted that horn-shaped stones were found that attest the presence of horned altars at 10th-century Megiddo (Shrine 2081) and at 8th-century Dan (Stratum II). The central structure at Mt. Ebal was not found with horns on its corners. Several large stones were found spread around the structure that could have served as horns. None of these, however, was shaped or worked; thus, those stones cannot conclusively be identified as horns or ruled out (A. Zertal, private communication, 2007). Stone-shaped horns located on the top corners of an altar of unhewn stones would have been in a vulnerable position, and one would not find it surprising if they were dislodged over time. In the cases of Megiddo and Dan, horn-shaped stones found lying on the ground in the sacred area have suggested the presence of horned altars that did not survive. In the case of the altar at Arad, which was, like the Ebal structure, also built of unhewn stones, horns are also lacking. Interestingly, in the case of Ebal and Arad, the structures appear to have been covered when they went out of use. In addition, the removal of horns was apparently a sign of the decommission or destruction of an altar in biblical tradition (e.g., Amos 3:14). Whether the presence of horns was optional on variously built altars (which does not seem likely, due to their importance in the biblical tradition), or whether the horns simply did not survive, their absence does not preclude the identification of the Ebal structure as an altar, since they were also absent from altars at Zorah (Manoah’s altar), Arad, and other structures clearly identified as altars. Size The review of altars above reveals some interesting parallels for comparing the sizes of altar structures. The Late Bronze Age altars found at the temples of Shechem, Megiddo, and other sites are all cube-shaped and 5. For Canaanite contexts, see Stendebach 1976: 190–92; for Cyprus, see Karageorghis 1981; and Ionas 1985; for other Near Eastern locations, see Yavis 1949: 165–66.

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medium in size, ranging from 3 to 7 ft. (1–2 m) on each side. These are all different from the large structure at Mt. Ebal. The altar in Stratum X of the Israelite fortress at Arad (9th century b.c.e.) is similar to the Mt. Ebal structure in construction: it is built of unhewn stones with a fill. However, it is a medium-sized altar and does not have the special characteristics of the larger structure at Mt. Ebal. The 8th-century altar from Tel Beer-sheba (Stratum II) is small by comparison with Mt. Ebal. Fill The fill of the main structure at Ebal with layers of earth, stones, ashes, animal bones, and potsherds (discussed in chap. 2) remains a unique feature of the building. There are no altars with bone or ash fills in the corpus of known altars in ancient Syria–Palestine. The medium-sized altar at Arad is built of unhewn stones with a fill but not of bone or ash. This lack of physical parallels has led Kempinski and Rainey both to rule out its possible interpretation as an altar (see the discussion in chap. 2, along with the references there). There are literary parallels for this feature, however, that may contribute to our discussion of the Ebal structure. These are discussed in chap. 5. Distribution Zertal (1994: 63) suggests that “large burnt-offering altars were erected in central cultic places, such as Gibeon, Bethel, Shechem and probably Dan, whereas smaller and less complex structures were used in secondary sites, such as Arad.” One of the chief aims in the religious reforms of Hezekiah and Josiah during the 8th and 7th centuries was to demolish “the high places and the altars” (2 Kgs 18:4; 23:1–20; 2 Chr 31:1; 34:3). 6 Aside from the recovery of the altars of Arad and Beer-sheba, which appear to have been buried and/or dismantled during the reforms, no other sites of this sort have survived. The high place at Mt. Ebal was probably overlooked in later reforms because it had gone out of use long before the institution of the monarchy.

Conclusion In this chapter, we consider physical parallels for the Iron Age I site at Mt. Ebal from the Jordan Valley gilgalim and from Bronze and Iron Age altars. The overall layout of the Mt. Ebal site most closely resembles the Jordan Valley gilgalim, and the central structure itself is a type Ib open altar. Although parallels exist between the Mt. Ebal site and both of the aforementioned sorts of sites and structures, the parallels are only partial, and Mt. Ebal remains unique among the settlement sites of Iron Age I. 6.  For Hezekiah, see Kuan 2007: 818–21; for Josiah, see Althann 1992: 1015–18.

Chapter 5

Literary Parallels In this chapter, we turn to literary sources, comparing the various elements of the Iron Age I site at Mt. Ebal and its central structure with biblical and other literary data that may be relevant to potential interpretation of the site as a cultic installation. The outline of this chapter essentially follows chap. 1’s outline, in that each element of the site in Stratum II and Stratum IA is compared with the biblical materials. I especially focus on the Israelite architectural tradition of altars in an effort to determine the accuracy of identifying the Ebal structure as an altar. A comparative analysis will be undertaken toward this end, beginning in the First Temple period and working forward through the altar descriptions in the Hebrew Bible. This will include a study of the Tabernacle altar, the First Temple altar, Ahaz’s new altar, Ezekiel’s visionary altar, and tractate Middot in the Mishnah. The architectural traditions of Mesopotamia will also be considered. The question that is addressed here is whether a uniform tradition of altar architecture can be detected and, if so, whether it helps in determining the nature and function of the Ebal site.

Location of the Site The location of the Mt. Ebal site has been one of the reasons some scholars have protested against associating it with the altar of Josh 8:30–35. In his 1986 article, Kempinski argued that the earliest versions of Deut 27 and Josh 8 “probably placed the altar on nearby Mt. Gerizim, which is where the Samaritan version placed it.” Without offering any reason for considering the Samaritan version more reliable than the biblical materials, Kempinski simply noted that “the Samaritans still preserve and celebrate what they believe to be the traditional site of Joshua’s altar” (on Mt. Gerizim), which has been associated with Jebel et-Tor (M.R. 175 178). Kempinski’s reference is to the Samaritan Pentateuch (henceforth SP), which consists of the Samaritan version of the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, the canon of the Samaritan community. The SP differs from the MT in various ideological, phonological, and orthographic particulars; its main ideological change is the central place of worship, which is on Mt. Gerizim. Of particular relevance here is that the SP’s version of Deut 27:4, where the Israelites were commanded to build an altar when they had entered the land, reads “Mt. Gerizim” instead of “Mt. Ebal.” Debate about the presumed change from 151

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Figure 77. The Ebal structure in relation to Mt. Gerazim (Zertal 1985: 28).

Ebal to Gerazim is quite ancient (see Josephus, Ant. 13.3.4, §§74–79). Van der Meer has carried out a detailed study of Josh 8:30–35, in which he concluded that the Vorlage of this passage was essentially identical to the MT, and Waltke has shown that the SP probably originated as a sectarian recension ca. 100 b.c.e. E. Eshel and H. Eshel have recently dated it to the 2nd century b.c.e., generally (Eshel and Eshel 2003: 215–40). Though a detailed analysis of the Samaritan Pentateuch goes beyond the scope of this work, note that, while there are contemporary scholars who accept the reading “Mt. Gerizim,” the original reading of “Mt. Ebal” has wide support. Additionally, it is possible that the current location of Mt. Gerizim was not the same in ancient times (Pitkänen 2004: 184). Eusebius believed that the Samaritan identification of Jebel et-Tor as Mt. Gerizim was incorrect. No Iron Age remains have been discovered on Jebel et-Tor. If one assumes that Deut 11:29–30 and 27:2–8 reflect the original reading of “Mt. Ebal,” the location of el-Burnat does raise questions. It is not on the very peak of Mt. Ebal; instead, it is located on the second of the four terraces descending along the eastern side of the mountain. Mt. Gerazim cannot even be seen from the site (see fig. 77; and see Zertal 1985: 41–42) . This may seem to be in contradiction to the injunction of Deut 11:29–30 and 27:2–8. However, as Zertal himself noted, while Deut 11:29 does state that the curses are to be read ‫על הר עיבל‬, or “on Mount Ebal,” Deut 27:4 states

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that the structure is to be built ‫בהר עיבל‬. Both the instruction in Deut 27:4 and the account of its fulfillment in Josh 8:30 begin with the preposition ‫ב‬, which has “in” as its primary meaning (BDB 88). The MT typically uses the preposition ‫ ב‬in cases where English would use “on” or “upon” (e.g., Exod 24:17; Deut 1:16; 1 Kgs 11:7; 19:11; et al.). BDB explains this as a Hebrew idiom used “even in cases where we could hardly avoid saying ‘on’” (BDB 88). The preposition ‫ ב‬can also be translated “at” in English (see DCH 2:82; Holladay 1988: 32; Waltke and O’Connor 1990: 196), which is the jpsv’s translation in Deut 11:29. Biblical commentators do not comment on the significance or lack thereof of the use of different prepositions in Deut 11:29, 27:4; and Josh 8:30. Zertal has suggested, however, that the use of the ‫ ב‬rather than ‫ על‬may hint “that Joshua’s altar was not at the top of the mountain” and that it could have been located on one of the slopes. The event also need not have taken place at the site of the altar (Zertal 1985: 43; see also Pitkänen 2004: 184).

Stratum II Stratum II included partial remains uncovered in Area A and an inner enclosure wall abutted by a four-room house in Area B. Area A Partial remains of the Stratum II occupation of the site were uncovered beneath the central structure of Stratum IB and beneath the southern courtyard connected with the central structure. These remains included fragmentary remains of Walls 18 and 36, Surface 61, Pit 250, and Installation 94. Installation 94 (fig. 6, p.  33), located precisely in the center of the overlying building, between Walls 13 and 16, may have been cultic in nature. This platform was built on bedrock and contained remnants of ash and animal bones. It appears to have been used for sacrifice during the earliest period of the site. Ben-Noon suggests that “foundation offerings” were made in Installation 94 (Ben-Noon 1985: 142) preceding the construction of the Stratum IA cultic structure. Foundation offerings were well known in the ancient world, particularly at the foundation of a city or a building (Ellis 1968). Sometimes a human victim would be walled up alive or an animal would be slaughtered and its blood poured over the foundation stone (Ellis 1968: 35–45; Gaster 1962: 154). The general omission of foundation offerings in the various building descriptions in the Hebrew Bible probably indicate Israelite opposition to the concept because of its pagan notions. The death of the sons of Hiel when he rebuilt the city of Jericho in the 9th century may have been due to his sacrifice of them as foundation offerings (1 Kgs 16:34). The note about Hiel appears at the end of the Deuteronomistic condemnation of Ahab (1  Kgs 16:32–33) and as an example of the way the people of Israel at large had come to ignore Yhwh’s direct commands completely.

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The foundation of the Temple is specifically mentioned in biblical descriptions and in later prophecies, but in none of these passages is a foundation offering specifically mentioned (1  Kgs 6:37; Ezra 3:1–11; Hag 2:15, 18). The construction of an altar for the Second Temple did precede the building of the divine shrine itself and, once this altar had been constructed, offerings were made on it (Ezra 3:3–6). It may be that the inaugural offering served as a foundation offering for the Second Temple, which was yet to be built. However, Ezra 3:6 indicates that these sacrifices were not connected to the laying of the Temple’s foundations because of fear of the neighboring peoples. According to Ezra 3:10–11, it was not until the second year after the Israelites had arrived in Jerusalem that the foundations were laid, and this process was indeed accompanied by worship: ‫ָׁשים ַּבחֲצ ֹ ְצרֹות ְוה ְַלִוּיִם ְּבנֵי־ ָאסָף‬ ִ ‫הנִים ְמ ֻלּב‬ ֲֹ ‫ֲמידּו הַּכ‬ ִ ‫ִּסדּו הַּבֹנִים אֶת־הֵיכַל יְהוָה ַוּיַע‬ ְ ‫ ְ וי‬10 ְ ‫ּב ְַמ ִצ ְלּתַ יִם ְל ַהּלֵל אֶת־יְהוָה עַל־יְדֵ י ָּדִויד ֶמל‬ ‫ִׂש ָראֵל׃‬ ְ ‫ֶך־י‬ ‫ִׂש ָראֵל ְוכָל־ ָהעָם הִֵריעּו ְתרּועָה‬ ְ ‫י־לעֹולָם ח ְַסּדֹו עַל־י‬ ְ ‫ּובהֹודֹת לַיהוָה ִּכי טֹוב ִּכ‬ ְ ‫   ַוּיַעֲנּו ְּב ַהּלֵל‬11 ‫ְגדֹולָה ְב ַהּלֵל לַיהוָה עַל הּוסַד ּבֵית־יְהוָה׃‬ 10 When the builders laid the foundation of the temple of the Lord, the priests in their vestments were stationed to praise the Lord with trumpets, and the Levites, the sons of Asaph, with cymbals, according to the directions of King David of Israel; 11and they sang responsively, praising and giving thanks to the Lord, “For he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever toward Israel.” And all the people responded with a great shout when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid. (nrsv)

It may be that, in the case of the laying of the foundations for the Second Temple, the responsive singing (v. 11) served as the sanctifying offering. Or, again, it may be that the foundation offering was shunned altogether. The text does specify that the Second Temple altar was erected on its old foundations (Ezra 3:3), which certainly reinforced its continuity with the First Temple. The phenomenon of a foundation offering is possibly illustrated by the offering that Gideon made during his encounter with the angel of the Lord in Judg 6:11–32 (Ben-Noon 1985: 142). Not recognizing that it was the angel of the Lord who was speaking with him, Gideon argued with the envoy over whether the Lord was really with him and his people ( Judg 6:13, 15). Following the envoy’s reassurances, Gideon asked him to wait while he prepared an offering for Yhwh (vv. 18–19). The nature and size of the gifts prepared by Gideon suggest that he was preparing them as an offering for the gods/a god (Block 1999: 263). He brought the offering to him on a rock under the oak “and presented them” (v. 19, nrsv), or “he worshiped” (LXX). After Gideon had placed the offerings on the rock, they burst into flames and were consumed, and the envoy disappeared in the flames as well (v. 21). Gideon immediately realized he had seen the Lord’s face (v. 22), and he built an altar atop the stone where he had made the initial offering (v. 24), in order to commemorate this theophany.

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Ben-Noon suggests that the account in Judg 6 is similar to the case of offerings made in Locus 94 during Stratum II, followed by the construction of a more permanent cultic structure in Stratum IA (Ben-Noon 1985: 142). The initial offering may have been connected to the establishment of the site and the sanctifying of it, “perhaps by a group of people that were sent for this purpose.” The main structure was then built on top of the first platform at a later stage. Whether offerings made here are to be understood as foundation offerings or not, the continuity between Stratum II’s Locus 94 and the subsequently built cultic structure of Stratum IA is clear. The main structure was intentionally located directly over Locus 94, apparently because of the consecrated nature of the site. Area B In Stratum II, Area B contained an inner enclosure wall (Wall 29) with an adjacent domestic dwelling. This recalls the Tabernacle structure, the interior space of which was subdivided into three zones. These are, in descending order of holiness: the Holy of Holies, the Holy Place, and the Outer Court (Exod 25:1–31:17). These three zones of the Tabernacle were unequal sections, two of which were inside and were separated by a dividing curtain called the pārōket (‫( ) ָּפרֺכֶת‬Exod 26:31), a word may be derived from a stem that means “to bar the way” or to “mark off an area” (Sarna 1991: 171). A secְ ‫) ָמס‬, on the eastern side of the Holy Place, cordoned ond screen, the māsāk (‫ָך‬ it from the Outer Court. The inner enclosure walls at Ebal do not seem to have served a clear purpose other than to divide the site into demarcated areas. Both Ben-Noon and Zevit identify the wall as a temenos and suggest a purpose similar to that of the Tabernacle partitions (Ben-Noon 1985: 142– 43; Zevit 2001: 200). The adjacent domestic dwelling may have been a liškâ (‫)ל ֹ ְשּכָה‬, ִ a term that the author(s) of the book of 1 Samuel used for a structure or room connected with the bāmâ, where Samuel presided over ceremonies (1 Sam 9:19). The term is most often used in the Hebrew Bible with reference to the three tiers of rooms allocated to priests, singers, and keepers of the Temple (Ezek 40:17, 38, 44–46; 41:10; et al.), though it came to be used of storerooms (Ezra 8:29; Neh 10:38–40) and personal chambers (Ezra 10:6; Neh 13:4, 5, 8, 9) during the time of Ezra and Nehemiah. The term is also used in the book of Jeremiah to refer to the scribe’s room within the palace ( Jer 36:12, 20, 21). Biran appropriated the term for the long tripartite building (Room 2746) west of the high place at Dan, though he acknowledged the uncertainty about whether the biblical liškâ was similar to the building at Dan (Biran 1994: 210–14).

Stratum IB The primary feature of Stratum IB is the central structure, with its surrounding walls, courtyards, a double wall between the courtyards, and the installations around the structure. The ways in which each of these

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constructions may correspond with biblical and other descriptions of cultic paraphernalia are examined below, in turn. The Central Structure In chap. 1, we ruled out the identification of the central structure as an ordinary building and, instead, accepted that it appears to have been built as an elevated stage of some kind. The excavator’s identification of the structure as an altar must be considered in relation to biblical traditions regarding altar construction. In the section that follows, I review traditions from both the First and the Second Temple periods. Biblical Altar Descriptions in the First Temple Period The Earthen Altar Instructions for the construction of earthen altars are given in Exod 20:24–26: ָ‫ֶת־ּב ָקרֶך‬ ְ ‫ֶת־ׁש ָלמֶיךָ אֶת־צֹאנְךָ ְוא‬ ְ ‫ֲׂשה־ּלִי ְוזָב ְַח ָּת ָעלָיו אֶת־עֹל ֶֹתיךָ ְוא‬ ֶ ‫ֲדמָה ּתַ ע‬ ָ ‫ מ ְזּבַח א‬ ִ 24 ‫ֶת־ׁש ִמי אָבֹוא ֵאלֶיךָ ּובֵרַ ְכ ִּתיךָ׃‬ ְ ‫ְּכיר א‬ ִ ‫ֲׁשר ַאז‬ ֶ ‫ְּבכָל־ ַהּמָקֹום א‬ ‫ֶתהֶן ָּגזִית ִּכי ח ְַר ְּבךָ ֵהנ ְַפ ָּת ָעלֶי ָה ו ְַּתח ְַל ֶלהָ׃‬ ְ ‫א־ת ְבנֶה א‬ ִ ֹ ‫ֲׂשה־ּלִי ל‬ ֶ ‫א ָבנִים ּתַ ע‬ ֲ ‫ם־מ ְזּבַח‬ ִ ‫ ְ ו ִא‬25 ‫ָתךָ ָעלָיו׃‬ ְ ‫ֶרו‬ ְ ‫א־תָּגלֶה ע‬ ִ ֹ ‫ֲׁשר ל‬ ֶ ‫ְּב ִחי א‬ ְ ‫ַל־מז‬ ִ ‫ ְ ולֹא־תַ עֲלֶה ְב ַמעֲלֹת ע‬26 24

You need make for me only an altar of earth and sacrifice on it your burnt offerings and your offerings of well-being, your sheep and your oxen; in every place where I cause my name to be remembered I will come to you and bless you. 25But if you make for me an altar of stone, do not build it of hewn stones; for if you use a chisel upon it you profane it. 26You shall not go up by steps to my altar, so that your nakedness may not be exposed on it. (nrsv)

These verses mention two kinds of altars, one of which was made by heaping up a pile of earth in an open field (v. 24) and the other by assembling unworked stones (v. 25). The specification of an earthen altar and an altar of unworked stones has generally been taken as a sign of the antiquity of these instructions (Wellhausen 1957: 29–30; Noth 1966: 176–77). Heger (1999: 100) argued, on the basis of use of the term “sword” (‫ ) ֶחרֶב‬rather than an “iron” (‫ )ּב ְַרזֶל‬tool, that the Exod 20 law is very early, probably dating to the Late Bronze Age. 1 Sarna (1991: 116) suggests that “these laws [were] addressed to the individual, [and they] reflect and regulate the altars and worship that characterized the popular lay religion before the implementation of Deuteronomic law concentrated all sacrificial worship exclusively in one official national-religious center.” The altars referred to here belong 1.  Heger argues that the term “iron” is absent in earlier writings and that it occurs only in later writings. This is based, however, on his source-critical divisions of the pentateuchal materials. Except for one occurrence in Gen 4:22, the term ‫ ּב ְַרזֶל‬appears only in Deuteronomy.

Literary Parallels

157

to the category of those built impromptu by Noah, the patriarchs, Gideon, Manoah, and others. 2 Conspicuous by its deficiency here is “the absence of any specifications concerning the dimensions of the altar, its length, width, and height, whether it was round, square or oblong, whether its base and the top were equal or there was a gradual decrease of its size, and whether there were horns” (Heger 1999: 106). In addition, the orientation of the structure is not stipulated. One concern the text does specifically address is the height of these stone altars, which would probably have prevented individuals from ascending them without “some form of boost” (Zevit 2001: 199). The only stipulation made by the biblical text is that steps should not be used (Exod 20:26). This explicit prohibition suggests that an alternate means of ascending the altar, such as a ramp, would be permissible. The Tabernacle Altar The traditions about the Tabernacle are “generally regarded as the literary creation of the Priestly writer (P), whose design incorporates features from various Israelite sanctuaries” (Koester 2000: 1270). The fact that the Tabernacle altar was itself “a movable replica of the altar in the Temple” also suggested this possibility to de Vaux, who argued that much of this description is merely an idealization: the desert sanctuary is conceived as a collapsible temple, exactly half as big as the Temple of Jerusalem, which served as a model for this reconstruction. However, not everything in the description is made up, and the notion of a “prefabricated” sanctuary clashes with the idea—so firmly rooted in tradition that the authors of this description could not wholly remove it—that the dwelling was a tent. (de Vaux 1997: 296–97, 410)

He suggests that the ancestors of the Israelites would have had a portable sanctuary, but that it was a much more simple tent, “like their own dwellingplaces.” Koester agrees, noting that “the covering of goat hair and leather recalls the simple tent sanctuary mentioned in the earlier sources” (Koester 2000: 1270). Koester notes the argument of some scholars, who have claimed that “the Priestly writer sought to legitimate the cult of his own time by projecting it back into the wilderness period.” Patrick Miller, however, points to other material outside the Tabernacle tradition that substantiates that the central symbol of Yhwh’s presence was a tent, and Gordon notes the substantial archaeological and historical evidence for portable tent shrines. 3 In addition, the Priestly report of the building of the Tabernacle may be more reliable than has been recognized (Hurowitz 1985: 21–30). 2.  Noah (Gen 8:20), the patriarchs (Gen 12:7–8; 13:18; 22:9; 26:25; et al.), Gideon ( Judg 6:20–21), Manoah ( Judg 13:19–20). See also the discussion in Zevit 1996: 53–62. 3.  P. D. Miller 2000: 90–93; Gordon and Rendsberg 1997: 166; see also Singer 1978: 16–25; Sarna 1986: 190–220.

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The instructions for the design and building of the Tabernacle altar are given in Exod 27:1–8: ְ ‫ׁש ִּטים ָחמֵׁש אַּמֹות אֹר‬ ‫ִהיֶה ה ִַּמ ְז ֵּב ַח‬ ְ ‫בּוע י‬ ַ ‫ֶך ְו ָחמֵׁש אַּמֹות רֹחַב ָר‬ ִ ‫ית אֶת־ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח עֲצֵי‬ ָ ‫ָׂש‬ ִ ‫ ְ וע‬1 ‫ׁשלֹׁש אַּמֹות קֹמָתֹו׃‬ ָ ‫ְו‬ ‫ׁשת׃‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ית אֹתֹו נְח‬ ָ ‫ית קַ ְרנ ָֹתיו עַל א ְַרּבַע ִּפּנ ָֹתיו ִמּמֶּנּו ִּת ְהיֶיןָ קַ ְרנ ָֹתיו ְו ִצ ִּפ‬ ָ ‫ָׂש‬ ִ ‫ ְ וע‬2 ‫ׁשת׃‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ֲׂשה נְח‬ ֶ ‫ְלג ָֹתיו ּומ ְַחּת ָֹתיו ְלכָל־ ֵּכלָיו ּתַ ע‬ ְ ‫ּומז‬ ִ ‫ּומז ְְרק ָֹתיו‬ ִ ‫ית ִּסיר ָֹתיו ְלדַ ּשְׁנֹו ְויָעָיו‬ ָ ‫ָׂש‬ ִ ‫ ְ וע‬3 ‫ׁשת עַל א ְַרּבַע‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ֶׁשת א ְַרּבַע ט ְַּבעֹת נְח‬ ֶ ‫ית עַל־ ָהר‬ ָ ‫ָׂש‬ ִ ‫ׁשת ְוע‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ֶׁשת נְח‬ ֶ ‫ית ּלֹו ִמ ְכּבָר ַמעֲׂשֵ ה ר‬ ָ ‫ָׂש‬ ִ ‫ ְ וע‬4 ‫צֹותיו׃‬ ָ ‫ְק‬ ‫ֲצי ה ִַּמ ְז ֵּבחַ׃‬ ִ ‫ֶׁשת עַד ח‬ ֶ ‫ְתה ָהר‬ ָ ‫ָּטה ְו ָהי‬ ָ ‫ ְ ונָתַ ָּתה א ָֹתּה ּתַ חַת ּכ ְַרּכֹב ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ִמּלְמ‬5 ‫ׁשת׃‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ית א ָֹתם נְח‬ ָ ‫ׁש ִּטים ְו ִצ ִּפ‬ ִ ‫ית ב ִַּדים ל ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ּבַּדֵ י עֲצֵי‬ ָ ‫ָׂש‬ ִ ‫ ְ וע‬6 ‫ַל־ׁשּתֵ י צ ְַלעֹת ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ִּב ְׂשאֵת אֹתֹו׃‬ ְ ‫ ְ והּובָא אֶת־ּבַָּדיו ּבַּטַ ּבָעֹת ְוהָיּו ַהּב ִַּדים ע‬7 ‫ֶראָה א ְֹתךָ ָּבהָר ּכֵן יַעֲׂשּו׃‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר ה‬ ֶ ‫ֲׂשה אֹתֹו ַּכא‬ ֶ ‫  נְבּוב לֻחֹת ּתַ ע‬8 1

You shall make the altar of acacia wood, five cubits long and five cubits wide; the altar shall be square, and it shall be three cubits high. 2You shall make horns for it on its four corners; its horns shall be of one piece with it, and you shall overlay it with bronze. 3You shall make pots for it to receive its ashes, and shovels and basins and forks and firepans; you shall make all its utensils of bronze. 4You shall also make for it a grating, a network of bronze; and on the net you shall make four bronze rings at its four corners. 5You shall set it under the ledge of the altar so that the net shall extend halfway down the altar. 6You shall make poles for the altar, poles of acacia wood, and overlay them with bronze; 7the poles shall be put through the rings, so that the poles shall be on the two sides of the altar when it is carried. 8You shall make it hollow, with boards. They shall be made just as you were shown on the mountain. (nrsv)

The details of the construction of the Tabernacle altar are complicated and are not precisely understood. The dimensions of this altar are fairly unambiguous, ca. 7.5 × 7.5 × 4.5 ft. Four horns crowned the top, one at each of the four corners. The position and purpose of the ‫( ִמ ְכּבָר‬mikbār), generally understood as a “grate” or “strainer” (v. 4), is not entirely clear. The “grating” is also described as a ‫ֺׁשת‬ ֶ ‫ֶׁשת ְנח‬ ֶ ‫( ַמעֲׁשֵה ר‬maʿăšēh rešet nĕḥōšet), or “a network of bronze.” This may have been a system of gratings, one of which was located inside the altar, halfway up from ground level, on which rested the wood for the fire. Another grating may have been situated farther up, on which the meat would have been barbecued. The upper grating would have allowed for the oxygenation of the fire below, as well as for fat and ashes to drip down (for additional discussion, see Zevit 2001: 288–89). It is not clear from the textual description how the “grating” and the “network of bronze” relate to one another or how they were designed within the altar. Many interpreters speculate that the presence of the grate inside the altar necessitated its hollowness, 4 a feature of the design made explicit in the text (v. 8). This understanding, however, has led some commentators to 4.  E.g., R. A. Cole 1973: 196; Durham 1987: 376; Hyatt 1971: 276; Kaiser 1990: 463; Keil and Delitzsch 1866: 443; Stuart 2006: 595–96.

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conclude that a hollow wooden box overlaid with bronze could not have withstood the great heat that would have been necessary in offering sacrifices and that the Tabernacle altar described in Exodus must have simply been “a hypothetical structure” (Meyers 2005: 237; cf. also Hyatt 1971: 276). It seems unlikely, however, that the hollow interior of the altar was intended to remain empty. The altar was probably designed with a hollow interior in order to be filled with earth when it was in use, “since any fire built inside the upper half would have eventually destroyed the altar from the intense heat” (Kaiser 1990: 463). The earth would have supported the exterior structure and protected the wooden structure below. Filling the altar with earth or uncut stones would also bring the altar into correspondence with the requirement of Exod 20:24 that the altar be “an altar of earth” (R. A. Cole 1973: 196; Sarna 1991: 172). It seems clear then that the Tabernacle altar was envisioned as a hollow frame, with the lower half filled with earth or unhewn stones and the upper half occupied by the “network of bronze.” The wood for the fire would be situated on one grate, above the earth or unhewn stones, while the sacrifices would be positioned on another grate above. That ashes would drip down and accumulate in the earth or unhewn stones below is clear from the fact that the instructions for the construction of the altar also call for the manufacture of “pots for it to receive its ashes, and shovels and basins and forks and firepans,” all of which were to be made of bronze (Exod 27:3). The text specifically states that these tools were to be made to cope with the accumulation of ash inside the altar and on its surface. This becomes even more clear from the account of Jeroboam’s new altar at Bethel, which “burst open,” spilling ashes everywhere (1 Kgs 13:5). Mishnaic traditions, which are discussed below, also support the tradition that the altar of the Holy Place contained ashes. Rainey’s argument that there would not be “ash pits” in an altar belies the textual traditions that reflect this design (Rainey 1986: 66; 2005; 2009: 186*). The Ebal structure recalls these textual traditions in that the large, unhewn stones act as a frame for the interior (Ben-Noon 1985: 147), which was filled with layers of earth, stones, ashes, animal bones, and potsherds. A final point about the external appearance of the Tabernacle altar is that the grate that was placed midway between the top and the bottom of the squarish structure contributed to the “stepped” appearance of the altar. This feature adds to the similarity (if only loosely) of the Tabernacle altar to the altars mentioned above. The First Temple Altar The account of the First Temple in 1 Kgs 6–7 contains no description of the altar of burnt offering. De Vaux (1997: 410) argued that the description of Solomon’s altar was “suppressed” by the later editor of these passages, possibly “because it was not the kind of altar demanded by the customs and

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laws of Israel (Ex. 20.24–26); it was, in fact, a type used by the Phoenicians.” Dillard (1987: 34), on the other hand, suggested that the “omission in Kings should probably be attributed to a homoioarchon with ‫ ויעש‬at 1 Kgs 7.22– 23.” The phenomenon of homoioarcton refers to the “erroneous omission of a section” due to the repeated appearance of the “identical beginning” of one or more words in the same context in a similar way. E. Tov (1992: 238) explains that, “in these cases, the eye of the copyist (or translator) jumped from the first appearance of a word (or words) to its (their) second appearance, so that in the copied text (or translation) the intervening section was omitted together with one of the repeated elements.” This may be a viable possibility, based on the repeated occurrence of ‫ָׂשה‬ ָ ‫“( ע‬to do, fashion”) in the text. If the author or editor of 1 Kings was working from a source in which the lines in the description of the Temple furnishings began with ‫( ַוּיַעַׂש‬as is the case in 2 Chr 4:1–18), then a homoioarcton could have occurred. Another possible reason for the absence of a description of the sacrificial altar in the account of the building of the First Temple may be that Solomon did not build an altar but retained the altar used or made by King David (2 Sam 16:17; 24:21; Milgrom 1971: 762). The silence of the text with regard to this important feature of the First Temple is enigmatic. The brief description of the altar by the Chronicler, reads as follows: 2 Chronicles 4:1 ֹ:‫ֶׂשר אַּמֹות קֹומָתו‬ ֶ ‫ֶׂשִרים ַאּמָה ָר ְחּבֹו ְוע‬ ְ ‫ָרּכֹו ְוע‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשִרים ַאּמָה א‬ ְ ‫ׁשת ע‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ַוּיַעַׂש ִמ ְזּבַח נְח‬ He made an altar of bronze, twenty cubits long, twenty cubits wide, and ten cubits high. (nrsv)

The dimensions are similar to those described by Ezekiel (Ezek 43:13–17). The altar described by the Chronicler appears also to have been a step altar with a square base of 20 cubits on each side, with several smaller platforms above, reaching a height of 10 cubits above the base. The altar seems to have shared the appearance of the aforementioned altars—at least in a general way. Ahaz’s New Altar The Bible reports that, during the 8th century b.c.e., a new altar for the Temple replaced the old. This occurred when the Judean king, Ahaz, traveled to Damascus to meet Tiglath-pileser of Assyria and was impressed by the altar there. 2 Kings 16:10–14 reads: ְ ‫ֶך ָאחָז ִל ְקרַ את ִּת ְגלַת ִּפ ְל ֶאסֶר ֶמל‬ ְ ‫ֶך ַה ֶּמל‬ ְ ‫   ַוּיֵל‬10 ‫ֲׁשר‬ ֶ ‫ֶׂשק ַוּי ְַרא אֶת־ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח א‬ ֶ ‫ֶך־ ַאּשּׁור ּדּוּמ‬ ְ : ‫ֶת־ּדמּות ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ְואֶת־ּתַ ְבנִיתֹו ְלכָל־ ַמעֲׂשֵ הּו‬ ְ ‫ֶל־אּורּיָה הַּכֹהֵן א‬ ִ ‫ִׁשלַח ַה ֶּמלֶך ָאחָז א‬ ְ ‫ָׂשק ַוּי‬ ֶ ‫ְּבדַ ּמ‬ ְ ‫ר־ׁשלַח ַה ֶּמל‬ ‫אּורּיָה הַּכֹהֵן‬ ִ ‫ָׂשה‬ ָ ‫ֶׂשק ּכֵן ע‬ ֶ ‫ֶך ָאחָז ִמּדַ ּמ‬ ָ ‫ֲׁש‬ ֶ ‫אּורּיָה הַּכֹהֵן אֶת־ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ְּככֹל א‬ ִ ‫   ַו ִּיבֶן‬11 ְ ‫עַד־ּבֹוא ַה ֶּמל‬ : ‫ָׂשק‬ ֶ ‫ֶך־ ָאחָז ִמּדַ ּמ‬ ְ ְ ְ : ‫ִקרַ ב ַה ֶּמלֶך עַל־ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ַוּיַעַל ָעלָיו‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשק ַוּי ְַרא ַה ֶּמלֶך אֶת־ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ַוּי‬ ֶ ‫   ַוּיָבֹא ַה ֶּמלֶך ִמּדַ ּמ‬12 ‫ֲׁשר־לֹו עַל־‬ ֶ ‫ָמים א‬ ִ ‫ִסּכֹו ַו ִּיזְרֹק אֶת־ּדַ ם־ ַהּשְׁל‬ ְ ‫ֶת־מ ְנחָתֹו ַוּיַּס ְֵך אֶת־נ‬ ִ ‫   ַוּי ְַקטֵר אֶת־עֹלָתֹו ְוא‬13 : ‫ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח‬

Literary Parallels

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‫ּומּבֵין ּבֵית‬ ִ ‫ֲׁשר ִל ְפנֵי יְהוָה ַוּי ְַקרֵ ב ֵמאֵת ְּפנֵי ַה ַּביִת ִמּבֵין ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח‬ ֶ ‫ׁשת א‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ ְ ואֵת ה ִַּמ ְזּבַח ַהּנְח‬14 ְ ‫יְהוָה ַוּיִּתֵ ן אֹתֹו עַל־יֶר‬ : ‫ֶך ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח צָפֹונָה‬ 10

When King Ahaz went to Damascus to meet King Tiglath-pileser of Assyria, he saw the altar that was at Damascus. King Ahaz sent to the priest Uriah a model of the altar, and its pattern, exact in all its details. 11The priest Uriah built the altar; in accordance with all that King Ahaz had sent from Damascus, just so did the priest Uriah build it, before King Ahaz arrived from Damascus. 12When the king came from Damascus, the king viewed the altar. Then the king drew near to the altar, went up on it, 13and offered his burnt offering and his grain offering, poured his drink offering, and dashed the blood of his offerings of well-being against the altar. 14The bronze altar that was before the Lord he removed from the front of the house, from the place between his altar and the house of the Lord, and put it on the north side of his altar. (nrsv)

While this may have involved a move away from Yahwism, it may have simply been “an aesthetic preference for a Syro-Phoenician or Aram type altar reused for Yahweh worship” (Wiseman 1993: 262). In any case, although there is no physical description of the new altar, the text clearly suggests a Syro-Palestinian-Mesopotamian influence on the Israelite altar (see further below). Ezekiel’s Future Temple Altar Writing some time in the 6th century b.c.e., Ezekiel described what he envisioned the altar in the future Temple to look like. In explicit detail, he presented the design of the altar and its dimensions. Ezekiel 43:13–17 ‫ּוגבּולָּה אֶל־‬ ְ ‫ ְ ו ֵאּלֶה ִמּדֹות ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ָּבאַּמֹות ַאּמָה ַאּמָה וָטֹפַח ְוחֵיק ָה ַאּמָה ְו ַאּמָה־רֹחַב‬13 : ַ‫ָביב זֶרֶת ָה ֶאחָד ְוזֶה ּגַב ה ִַּמ ְזּבֵח‬ ִ ‫ָתּה ס‬ ָ ‫ְׂשפ‬ ‫ָרה ה ְַּק ַטּנָה‬ ָ ‫העֲז‬ ֳ ‫ׁשּתַ יִם אַּמֹות ְורֹחַב ַאּמָה ֶאחָת ּו ֵמ‬ ְ ‫  ּו ֵמחֵיק ָה ָארֶץ עַד־ ָהעֲזָרָה הַּתַ ְחּתֹונָה‬14 :‫עַד־ ָהעֲזָרָה ַהּגְדֹולָה א ְַרּבַע אַּמֹות ְורֹחַב ָה ַאּמָה‬ :‫ּולמ ְַעלָה ה ְַּק ָרנֹות א ְַרּבַע‬ ְ ]‫ֲריאֵל‬ ִ‫ֲראֵיל) [ּו ֵמ ָהא‬ ִ‫ ְ ו ַהה ְַראֵל א ְַרּבַע אַּמֹות (ּו ֵמ ָהא‬15 ְ ‫ֶׂשרֵ ה אֹר‬ :‫בּוע אֶל א ְַר ַּבעַת ְר ָבעָיו‬ ַ ‫ֶׂשרֵ ה רֹחַב ָר‬ ְ ‫ׁשּתֵ ים ע‬ ְ ‫ֶך ִּב‬ ְ ‫ׁשּתֵ ים ע‬ ְ ]‫ֲריאֵל‬ ִ‫[ו ָהא‬ ְ )‫ֲראֵיל‬ ִ‫ (ו ָהא‬ ְ 16 ְ ‫ֶׂשרֵה אֹר‬ ‫אֹותּה‬ ָ ‫ָביב‬ ִ ‫ֶׂשרֵ ה רֹחַב אֶל א ְַר ַּבעַת ְר ָבעֶי ָה ְו ַהּגְבּול ס‬ ְ ‫ֶך ְּבא ְַרּבַע ע‬ ְ ‫ ְ ו ָהעֲזָרָה א ְַרּבַע ע‬17 :‫ָביב ּו ַמעֲלֹתֵ הּו ְּפנֹות ָק ִדים‬ ִ ‫ֲצי ָה ַאּמָה ְו ַהחֵיק־לָּה ַאּמָה ס‬ ִ‫ח‬ 13

These are the dimensions of the altar by cubits (the cubit being one cubit and a handbreadth): its base shall be one cubit high, and one cubit wide, with a rim of one span around its edge. This shall be the height of the altar: 14From the base on the ground to the lower ledge, two cubits, with a width of one cubit; and from the smaller ledge to the larger ledge, four cubits, with a width of one cubit; 15and the altar hearth, four cubits; and from the altar hearth projecting upward, four horns. 16The altar hearth shall be square, twelve cubits long by twelve wide. 17The ledge also shall be square, fourteen cubits long by fourteen wide, with a rim around it half a cubit wide, and its surrounding base, one cubit. Its steps shall face east. (nrsv)

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Figure 78. A reconstruction of Ezekiel’s future altar (Taylor 1969: 267; reproduced by permission of InterVarsity Press U.S.A. and Inter-Varsity Press U.K.).

Ezekiel’s altar was to have a number of ledges (v.  14), creating a stepped tower (fig. 78). As early as 1920, William F. Albright noted that the Israelite altar had a striking resemblance to the Babylonian stage tower (Albright 1920: 139). He concluded that “the Jewish altar . . . was certainly based on Mesopotamian models, coming through Phoenicia.” In his classic work Archaeology and the Religion of Israel, Albright (1942: 150–52) made linguistic connections between the various components of Ezekiel’s altar and the complementary components of the Mesopotamian ziggurat. The “base on the ground” (v. 14) is ‫ ( חֵיק ָה ָארֶץ‬ḥêq hāʾāreṣ), which Albright understood to be the foundation of the altar. He derived it from the Assyrian irat kigalli, “commonly used to denote the foundation of a temple tower” (Albright 1920: 140). According to this interpretation, ‫ חֵיק‬would be a foundation for the altar, “set

Literary Parallels

163

into the ground” (André 1980: 356). The “altar hearth” (v. 15) refers to the highest stage of the altar, its ‫( ה ְַראֵל‬harʾēl ). According to Albright, the translation “hearth” is erroneous and should be seen to derive from the Akkadian Arallu. Albright (1942: 151–52) explained that Arallu “has the dual sense of ‘underworld’ and ‘mountain of the gods,’” the cosmic mountain in which the gods were born and reared according to an Assyrian text. He defined the expression harʾēl as “mountain of God” and understood it as a popular etymology of the Akkadian loanword. Albright noted further that the Mesopotamian temple tower was also built in stages and that its summit was similarly called ziqquratu, which literally means “mountain peak” and that Sumerian names of temple towers often refer to them as cosmic mountains (khursag or kur). He saw these parallels as providing the background for the unusual designation of the foundation platform (Akkadian temennu) of both the Mesopotamian temple tower and the Israelite altar as the “bosom of the earth.” Other parallels between the Mesopotamian temple towers and the Israelite altar include adornment of the summit with four horns as well as orientation to the points of the compass. “In any case,” Albright concluded, “we may safely regard the form of the altar, together with its symbolism, as derived from Phoenicia, where it went back to older Canaanite borrowings from Mesopotamia” (Albright 1942: 152). Albright’s argument for a Mesopotamian derivation of the Israelite’s architectural traditions was fashionable for some time, though many scholars have contested it in more recent times. 5 Syro-Palestinian culture did have a “generally hybrid nature,” often influenced by Mesopotamian and even Egyptian traditions, and so common architectural elements should not be surprising (Noth 1960: 208; cf. Wood 1935; Zevit 2007: 189). However, as Block has recently noted, while some of the technical vocabulary in Ezekiel’s altar description may be illuminated by Akkadian cognates, “The resemblances with the Solomonic altar are much more striking” (Block 1998: 596). The aggregate length of the sides, which amounts to 18  ×  18 cubits, is similar to the 20 cubits square of the First Temple altar (2 Chr 4:1). The horns, of course, were a customary feature of Palestinian altars (e.g., 1 Kgs 2:28). The height of Ezekiel’s altar, which appears to have been 9 cubits, is similar to the 10 cubits of the Solomonic altar. Block concludes that “the details of Ezekiel’s altar reflect either firsthand familiarity with the pre­ exilic altar, or an ancient document or tradition describing it.” Indeed, it appears that temples and altars were renovated with great conservatism (e.g., Ezra 3:3; 1 Macc 4:47). It may therefore be that the building instructions for 5.  For arguments that the Israelite architectural traditions were derived from Mesopotamian sources, see the references in Block 1998: 596. For recent contestation of this theory, see, e.g., Zimmerli 1980: 425–27.

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Ezekiel’s altar mirror the fixed form of the altar in the Jerusalem Temple. In any case, the features of the altar described in Ezekiel all have parallels in the altar architecture of the western Mediterranean and the southern Levant (chap. 3, above). The Second Temple Altar The Hebrew Bible does not give any information about the Second Temple altar. There are, however, five nonbiblical sources that provide some information: the Letter of Aristeas, Pseudo-Hecataeus, Josephus, the Temple Scroll, and the Mishnah. The Letter of Aristeas. The Letter of Aristeas gives little specific information. It simply reports: Ἥ τε τοῦ θυσιαστηρίου κατασκευὴ [συμμέτρως ἔχουσαν] πρὸς τὸν τόπον καὶ τὰ θύματα διὰ τοῦ πυρὸς ἐξαναλούμενα τὴν διοικοδομὴν εἶχε , τῆς δ’ἀναβάσεως τῆς πρὸς αὐτό, πρὸς τὴν εὐκοσμίαν ἔχοντος τοῦ τόπου καθηκόντως τὸ κλίμα τῶν λειτουργούντων ἱερέων κεκαλυμμένων μέχρι τῶν σπυρῶν βυσσίνοις χιτῶσιν. (Let. Aris. 87) The altar was built of a size in keeping with the place and with the sacrifices which were consumed by fire, and the ascent to it was on a like scale. The place was approached by a gradual slope from a proper regard for decency, and the ministering priests were clad in “coats of fine linen” reaching to the ankles. (Thackeray 1918: 41)

The size of the altar is generalized. Aristeas refers to the fact that sacrifices were consumed thereon (ἐξαναλούμενα) and that the structure had a means of “ascent” (τῆς δ’ἀναβάσεως). It is not stated whether this ascent consisted of stairs or a ramp, though Aristeas does mention that the ascent provided “for decency” (πρὸς τὴν εὐκοσμίαν), probably an allusion to Exod 20:26. The extent to which the Letter of Aristeas can be regarded as reliable is unclear. While it claims to be an eyewitness account of events that occurred in the 3rd century b.c.e., it seems instead to have been a work of Jewish propaganda written in Alexandria, probably just after 200 b.c.e. (Eissfeldt 1965: 603–6; Greenspoon 2006: 260–61; Mueller 2000: 101; Shutt 1992: 380–82). This may not imply unreliability in every respect, however. For, while the Letter of Aristeas was, to some degree, propagandistic, “Given the extended reflections on Jewish Law, the temple, Palestine, and the wise counsel of the translators, it seems clear that the primary purpose was to promote a better understanding of Judaism in an Egyptian environment” (Mueller 2000: 101). This suggests that the author wanted to maintain as much accuracy as possible. Due to the lack of details about the Temple and its appurtenances, however, the Letter of Aristeas has little to contribute to the discussion of Second Temple altar. Pseudo-Hecataeus.  Pseudo-Hecataeus is more specific than the Letter of Aristeas. Unfortunately, the text is not extant but is preserved only in part within Josephus, who quotes Hecataeus as follows:

Literary Parallels

165

δ’ἐστὶ κατὰ μέσον μάλιστα τῆς πόλεως περίβολος λίθινος μῆκος ὡς πεντάπλεθρος εὖρος δὲ πηχῶν εὖρος ἔχων διπλᾶς πύλας ἐν ᾧ βωμός ἐστι τετράγωνος ἀτμήτων συλλέκτων ἀργῶν λίθων οὕτως συγκείμενος πλευρὰν μὲν ἑκάστην εἴκοσι πηχῶν ὕψος δὲ δεκάπηχυ καὶ παρ’αὐτὸν οἴκημα μέγα οὗ βωμός ἐστι καὶ λυχνίον ἀμφότερα χρυσᾶ. (Ag. Ap. 1.198) There is about the middle of the city, a wall of stone, the length of which is five hundred feet, and the breadth a hundred cubits, with double cloisters; wherein there is a square altar, not made of hewn stone, but composed of white stones gathered together, having each side twenty cubits long, and its altitude ten cubits. Hard by it is a large edifice, wherein there is an altar and a candlestick, both of gold. (Whiston 1987: 785–86)

The account indicates that a square altar stood in the court of the Temple. This altar, according to the text, was built of untrimmed stones. Hecataeus reports the dimensions of the sacrificial altar as having been 20 cubits in width and 10 cubits in height. These are the same dimensions as those given in 2 Chr 4:1. In addition, the description is given as if it had been built in accordance with the law of Exod 20:25. Hecataeus is generally not considered to be a very reliable historical source (see Fraser 1972: 496–505; Burton 1972). Hecataeus of Abdera was a Greek who arrived in Egypt at the end of the 4th century b.c.e., where he wrote his Aegyptiaca, from which Josephus quotes. Hecataeus apparently immigrated to Egypt as one of the Greek conquerors who came to settle following Alexander’s conquests. These Hellenists, at least in part, could be described as “intellectuals and officials who were bilingual, knew the heritage of both cultures, created religious syncretisms, and, most importantly, invented a new national identity” (Mendels 1992: 21). As part of this class, Hecataeus would have been looking for a history that provided ties to the new homeland. It appears that Hecataeus took the information he had received from his sources and the data he had gathered from his own firsthand research in Egypt, and he synthesized them with his Greek understanding. The conceptual outcome was a hybrid of Egyptian and Greek thought, which Hecataeus then organized in a unified, linear, and chronological structure. His new history was in harmony with the character of the Hellenistic melting pot, but it does not meet the criteria of “real” history and is thought to be a fabricated history with a treatment of political and social issues that is primarily maudlin in character. As a Greek immigrant to the Near East, Hecataeus may not have known the language or the sites or the indigenous people. Again, the dimensions match those given in 2 Chr 4:1. This does not necessarily imply unreliability. While the facts presented in Hecataeus match those of the biblical text, this could be because of his dependence on the Bible or because he was presenting the actual measurements of the Temple altar (see Mueller 2000: 1096–97). Due to the authorship, provenance, and the nature of the source, however, we must question the accuracy of the description. Even though scholars consider Hecataeus’s

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work to be more propagandistic than historical, however, it does accurately reflect the tradition of the altar dimensions given in 2 Chronicles. Josephus.  There are two passages in Josephus that briefly describe the Temple altar. The first appears in The Wars of the Jews and follows a general description of the appearance of the outside of the Temple (  J.W. 5.222–24), in front of which which the altar stood: πρὸ αὐτοῦ δ’ὁ βωμὸς πεντεκαίδεκα μὲν ὕψος ἦν πήχεων εὖρος δὲ καὶ μῆκος ἐκτείνων ἴσον ἀνὰ πεντήκοντα πήχεις τετράγωνος ἵδρυτο κερατοειδεῖς προανέχων γωνίας καὶ ἀπὸ μεσημβρίας ἐπ’αὐτὸν ἄνοδος ἠρέμα προσάντης ὑπτίαστο κατεσκευάσθη δὲ ἄνευ σιδήρου καὶ οὐδέποτ’ἔψαυεν αὐτοῦ σίδηρος. (J.W. 5.225) Before this temple stood the altar, fifteen cubits high, and equal both in length and breadth; each of which dimensions was fifty cubits. The figure it was built in was a square, and it had corners like horns; and the passage up to it was by an insensible acclivity. It was formed without any iron tool, nor did any such iron tool so much as touch it at any time. (Whiston 1987: 708)

In his second description, in Against Apion, Josephus actually quotes Hecataeus of Abdera, whose passage was discussed, in part, above. The description of the altar appears in Josephus’s quote of Hecataeus’s report of the city of Jerusalem: 196 ἐστιν ἀλλὰ μὴν ὅτι καὶ τὴν πόλιν αὐτὴν τὰ Ἱεροσόλυμα καλλίστην τε καὶ μεγίστην ἐκ παλαιοτάτου κατοικοῦμεν καὶ περὶ πλήθους ἀνδρῶν καὶ περὶ τῆς τοῦ νεὼ κατασκευῆς οὕτως αὐτὸς διηγεῖται 197 ἔστι γὰρ τῶν Ἰουδαίων τὰ μὲν πολλὰ ὀχυρώματα κατὰ τὴν χώραν καὶ κῶμαι μία δὲ πόλις ὀχυρὰ πεντήκοντα μάλιστα σταδίων τὴν περίμετρον ἥν οἰκοῦσι μὲν ἀνθρώπων περὶ δώδεκα 198 μυριάδες καλοῦσι δ’αὐτὴν Ἱεροσόλυμα ἐνταῦθα δ’ἐστὶ κατὰ μέσον μάλιστα τῆς πόλεως περίβολος λίθινος μῆκος ὡς πεντάπλεθρος εὖρος δὲ πηχῶν εὖρος ἔχων διπλᾶς πύλας ἐν ᾧ βωμός ἐστι τετράγωνος ἀτμήτων συλλέκτων ἀργῶν λίθων οὕτως συγκείμενος πλευρὰν μὲν ἑκάστην εἴκοσι πηχῶν ὕψος δὲ δεκάπηχυ καὶ παρ’αὐτὸν οἴκημα μέγα οὗ βωμός ἐστι καὶ λυχνίον ἀμφότερα χρυσᾶ. ( Ag. Ap. 1.196–98) The same man [Hecataeus] describes our city Jerusalem also itself as of a most excellent structure, and very large, and inhabited from the most ancient times. He also discourses of the multitude of men in it, and of the construction of our temple, after the following manner: “There are many strong places and villages (says he) in the country of Judea: but one strong city there is, about fifty furlongs in circumference, which is inhabited by a hundred and twenty thousand men, or thereabouts; they call it Jerusalem. There is about the middle of the city, a wall of stone, the length of which is five hundred feet, and the breadth a hundred cubits, with double cloisters; wherein there is a square altar, not made of hewn stone, but composed of white stones gathered together, having each side twenty cubits long, and its altitude ten cubits. Hard by it is a large edifice, wherein there is an altar and a candlestick, both of gold. (Whiston 1987: 785–86)

The reliability of the works of Josephus has long been a subject of debate. He seems to have been ignored by secular writers in the earliest centuries

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167

c.e., though he was considered highly influential by the Church Fathers (Feldman 1992: 995). The accounts of Josephus are often “highly rhetorical and cannot be taken at face value” (Mason 2000: 737). Indeed, some of his works contradict themselves and contain other disparities (Feldman 1992: 983ff.). There are, however, some reasons that Josephus’s works should be taken seriously and not dismissed too lightly. For example, in Against Apion (Barclay 1998: 196), Josephus declares at the outset that his primary concern is to prove the antiquity of the Jews in the face of persistent doubts arising from the lack of reference to Jews in Greek literature (1.1–5). The tone with which he introduces this topic indicates that the apparent novelty of the Jews is a topic of “slander,” perpetuated by people whom Josephus considers to be motivated by malice. In other words, the reputation of the Jews is at stake.

These concerns, along with precautions necessary to avoid damning charges by his detractors (Wacholder 1993: 383–4), may have led to a concern for accuracy on the part of Josephus. In addition, Josephus’s description of the Temple in The Wars of the Jews may have been based on his own participation in it as a priest. By these points, I do not mean to indicate that Josephus should be regarded as completely reliable and unbiased but simply that he should be treated seriously as a historical source. In The Wars of the Jews, Josephus describes the altar as built of unhewn stones, with horns on its corners, square in shape, measuring 15 cubits on all sides, and with an “acclivity” for use in ascending to its surface. In Against Apion, Josephus quotes from Hecataeus, who describes the altar as a square structure, built of unhewn stones. The measurement varies, however, from what is provided in The Wars of the Jews and is given here as 20 cubits long on its side and 10 cubits in height. The reason for the disparity between the measurements is not entirely clear. The cubit was a standard form of measurement used throughout the ancient Near East, based on the lengths of forearms (cubits) or portions thereof, and subdivided into palms of four or five fingers and sometimes smaller subdivisions (Bienkowski 2000: 318). It appears, however, that varying metrological standards were used in biblical and postbiblical Jewish sources, making the determination of the exact size of cubits in these materials problematic (Powell 1992: 899–900). Hubbard suggested that perhaps Josephus did not measure the buildings himself but quoted from the ancient records that were available to him (Hubbard 1966: 130–54). 6 Either one or a combination of these factors may explain the disparity in Josephus’s description of the measurements of the Second Temple  altar.

6.  I owe this reference to L.  H. Feldman (1984: 751), who includes extensive bibliography on the relationship between Josephus and the archaeology of Jerusalem (1984: 748–53).

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The Temple Scroll.  The instructions regarding the building of the Temple altar appear in col. XII of the Temple Scroll, a portion that was in such a poor state of preservation that Geza Vermes chose not to translate it in his English translation of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Vermes 1997: 190). In the principal edition, Yigael Yadin (1983b: 47–49) offered the following reconstruction and translation: [ ] . . . [ ]   1 [ ] . . . . . . [ ]   2 [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ]   3 [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ]   4 [ ] . . . . . . [ ]   5 [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   6 [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   7 ‫ל ויתודמ ויהי‬. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   8 ‫ [הנפ המאו‬ ] ‫ [הנ‬ ] ‫םיר‬. . . . . . . . . . . . . .   9 ‫ ולוכ יונב ם‬. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 [‫לוכ השע]ת‬. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ] [‫ םי[נב]א‬11 ‫ ו‬. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‫ תורוש )?( ב‬12 ‫ עת[ול הש‬. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‫ [ונפו וי]וית‬ ](?)‫ רקו‬13 [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‫ [א ל‬ ]. . . 14 [ ]. . . . . . . ‫ נקיו [מ‬. . . . . . . . ‫ ]ועשיתה ע‬15   1    2    3    4    5    6    7    8    9  10  11  12  13  14  15 

[ ] . . . [ ] [ ] . . . . [ ] [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ] [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ] [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . its measurements(?) shall be . . . . . . . . . XXX [ ] XX [ ] corner, and a cubit [ ] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . all built of [ s]ton[es] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . you shall] make all (its) courses(?) X . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and its(?) XX [ ] and [its] corn[ers] you shall m]ake for it . . . [ ] X X . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ] its(?) [b]bowls(?) . . . and you shall make(?) X . . . . [ ]

Yadin (1985: 145–146) suggested that “a few surviving decipherable words offered an opening suggestion for a possible reconstruction of the plan of this altar, such as that its horns and its corners [were] all built of [unhewn ?] stones,” or “twenty [cubits from cor]ner to corner.” These were only enough to indicate that it was to be an altar of stones, at least 20 × 20 cubits. Yadin turned to other references to the altar in other parts of the scroll to supplement col. XII. The description of the ritual of burnt offerings on the day of ordination in col. XVI provides additional details about the altar (Yadin 1983b: 71):

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‫ [מזבח ואת כול]לפר הקהל ויתן מדמו באצבעו על קרנות ה‬16 ‫ [חלבו את]בע פנות עזרת המזבח ואת[ל אר] דמו יזרוק ע‬17 16

with the bull for the assembly; he shall put some of its blood with his finger on the horns of the [altar, and all the rest of] 17 its blood he shall sprinkle o[n the f]our corners of the ledge of the altar, and [its fat and]

Any remaining blood was to be carefully dispensed with in ritual fashion (Yadin 1983b: 68): [  ‫ [המזבח ואת הדם] ⸣י̇שפוכו סביב על ̇א⸢[ר]⸣ ̇ב ̇ע פנות עזרת ̇ה⸢[מזבח‬03 03

[altar, and the (rest of ) the blood] they shall pour around on the f[ou]r corners of the ledge of the [altar ]. (11QTa XVI 03)

Likewise, the text dealing with the Feast of the Wood Offering provides additional minor details (Yadin 1983b: 105–6): ‫ [ח]דמו באצבעו על ארבע קרנות מזב[ן מ]דמו למזבח במזרק ונת‬12 ‫ [ד] העולה ועל ארבע פנות עזרת המזבח וזרק את דמו על יסו‬13 ‫ עזרת המזבח סביב ואת חלבו יקטיר המזבח החלב המכסה את‬14 12

blood on the altar in a basin, and pu[t some of] its blood with his finger on the four horns of the alta[r] 13 of the burnt offering and on the four corners of the ledge of the altar, and pour its blood on the bas[e] 14 of the ledge of the altar all around; and its fat he shall burn upon the altar, the fat that covers the. (11QTa XXIII 12–14)

Yadin notes that the only other occurance of the expression “the four corners of the ledge of the altar” is found in Ezekiel’s description of the altar, the wording of which is very similar to that of the Temple Scroll (Ezek 43:20): Ezekiel 43:20 ‫את‬ ָ ֵ‫ָביב ְו ִחּט‬ ִ ‫ָרה ְואֶל־ ַהּגְבּול ס‬ ָ ‫ְולָקַ ְח ָּת ִמָּדמֹו ְונָתַ ָּתה עַל־א ְַרּבַע קַ ְרנ ָֹתיו ְואֶל־א ְַרּבַע ִּפּנֹות ָהעֲז‬ ‫אֹותֹו ְו ִכּפ ְַר ָּתהּו׃‬ 20

And you shall take some of its blood, and put it on the four horns of the altar, and on the four corners of the ledge, and upon the rim all around; thus you shall purify it and make atonement for it. (nrsv)

He also notes that Ezekiel’s mention of the “altar ledge” occurs in the context of the construction of the altar (cited above, pp. 161–161). Based on these correspondences, Yadin (1983: 240) argues that “it is evident . . . that the altar of burnt offerings described in the scroll is similar to that in Ezekiel [and] based on the above restoration . . . it becomes clear that the subject matter of the column is the great altar of burnt offering, built of stone, with a ledge, corners and horns, and at least 20 cubits in dimension.”

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The question of the reliability of the Temple Scroll centers on its genre, method, and sources. The text has been called a pseudepigraph, a Book of the Law, and a “Rewritten Bible” (for recent bibliography on the Temple Scroll, see Zahn 2005: 435–58). Stegemann (1989: 134) argues that, though this part of the Temple Scroll is no re-working of one specific section of the Bible . . . all its ingredients are gathered together from biblical passages, mainly from the cultic instructions of the Pentateuch, from the description of the temple of Solomon in 1 Kgs 6–8, from the ideas of Ezek 40–48, and from some other sources related to the temple and to the areas of holiness for Israel.

The resemblance of the Temple Scroll’s altar to Ezekiel’s altar is close, though, if Yadin’s translation of 20  ×  20 cubits is correct, then the dimensions of Ezekiel’s altar are different: 12 × 12 (Ezek 43:13–17; the 20 × 20 dimensions do appear in 2 Chr 4:1, however, where Solomon built “an altar of bronze, twenty cubits long, and twenty cubits wide, and ten cubits high”). Yadin suggests that the author of the Temple Scroll may have been trying to harmonize the descriptions in Ezekiel and Chronicles (Yadin 1985: 146). One of the interesting features of the Temple Scroll is that, when it quotes a biblical passage that presents God’s words in third person, it changes them to first person. It is clear that the author intended to make a claim for the inspiration of the Temple Scroll. VanderKam (1994: 157) suggests that the uniqueness of the Qumran literature as a Jewish library from the final centuries b.c.e. and the 1st century c.e. provides an opportunity to measure the evidence for a “canonical” consciousness among the inhabitants of Qumran. While the Qumran library makes it clear that its authors had a very high view of the books of the Law and the Prophets, as well as Psalms and Daniel, it also confirms that they regarded other books as being authoritative, including Jubilees, parts of 1 Enoch, the commentaries, and the Temple Scroll. Either the Qumran inhabitants did not have an exactly defined or closed list of books that constituted their “canon,” or they included these additional books as being inspired, that were not included in the later, final Hebrew Bible. It is very clear that the Qumran community understood their Teacher as having inspiration and that they continued to receive revelation through him in their own day. The fact that the Temple Scroll was never accepted as “canonical” “is not as important as the fact that the possibility of its being accepted was expected” (Swanson 1995: 7). The Temple Scroll was apparently written with the intention of being authoritative (see Stegemann 1987: 28–35). The Temple Scroll’s use of the biblical text for source material and its possible pseudepigraphic genre do not neccessarily preclude its accuracy. The Temple Scroll may have been the product of disaffected Levitical priestly circles (Brook 1992: 282; Mink 1987: 28). This theory warrants consideration, because the author(s) of the Temple Scroll clearly possessed vast knowl-

Literary Parallels

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edge of the Torah, the Temple, and its cult. Although the recent theory does not prove the reliability of the Temple Scroll, it suggests that its production did not simply involve a reworking of biblical sources and that it may have drawn on firsthand or communal knowledge of the Temple itself. The Mishnah.  The fifth source, the Mishnah, gives a much more detailed description. The last two tractates of Seder Qodašim—Tamid and Middot—give an account of the daily procedures of the Temple and its structure. These two tractates depart from the Mishnah’s usual legal style and undertake a descriptive approach, reporting what was done in the Temple and how it was laid out. The focus of tractate Middot, or “measures,” is on describing the architecture of the Second Temple. It describes the Herodian altar as consisting of four blocks that increased from 24 × 24 cubits at the top to a base of 32 × 32. The text reads as follows: ‫ּוׁשּתַ יִם ָעלָה ַאּמָה‬ ְ ‫ׁשים‬ ִ ֹ ‫ׁשל‬ ְ ‫ּוׁשּתַ יִם עַל‬ ְ ‫ׁשים‬ ִ ֹ ‫ׁשל‬ ְ ‫הַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ָהיָה‬ ‫ׁשים ָעלָה ָחמֵׁש ְו ָכנַס ַאּמָה‬ ִ ֹ ‫ׁשל‬ ְ ‫ׁשים עַל‬ ִ ֹ ‫ׁשל‬ ְ ‫ִמצָא‬ ְ ‫ְו ָכנַס ַאּמָה זֶה ַהיְסֹוד נ‬ ‫ּוׁשמֹונֶה ְמקֹום ה ְַּק ָרנֹות‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשִרים‬ ְ ‫ּוׁשמֹונֶה עַל ע‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשִרים‬ ְ ‫ִמצָא ע‬ ְ ‫זֶה הּסֹובֵב נ‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשִרים ְוׁשֵׁש ְמקֹום ִה‬ ‫ּלּוך‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשִרים ְוׁשֵׁש עַל ע‬ ְ ‫ִמצָא ע‬ ְ ‫ַאּמָה ִמזֶּה ְו ַאּמָה ִמזֶּה נ‬ .‫ֲרכָה‬ ָ ‫ֶׂשִרים ְוא ְַרּבַע ְמקֹום ַמע‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשִרים ְוא ְַרּבַע עַל ע‬ ְ ‫ִמצָא ע‬ ְ ‫ נ‬.‫הנִים ַאּמָה ִמּזֶה ְו ַאּמָה ִמּזֶה‬ ֲֹ ‫רַ ְגלֵי הַּכ‬ ‫ֶׂשרים ּכֹונֵס ְועֹולֶה‬ ִ ‫ׁשמֹונֶה ְוע‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשִרים עַל‬ ְ ‫ׁשמֹונֶה ְוע‬ ְ ‫ָאמַר רַ ִּבי יֹוסֵי׃ ִמ ְּת ִחּלָה לֹא ָהיָה ֶאּלָא‬ ‫ֶׂשִרים‬ ְ ‫ֲרכָה ע‬ ָ ‫ִמצָא ְמקֹום ַה ַּמע‬ ְ ‫ׁשּנ‬ ֶ ‫ְב ִמָּדה זֹו עַד‬ .‫ֶׁשרים‬ ִ ‫עַל ע‬ ‫הֹוסיפּו ָעלָיו א ְַרּבַע אַּמֹות ִמן הַָּדרֹום‬ ִ ‫ׂשעָלּו ְבנֵי הַּגֹולָה‬ ֶ ‫ּוכ‬ ְ ‫ׁשּתֵ ים‬ ְ ‫ֲריאֵל‬ ִ‫אמַר׃ ְו ָהא‬ ֱ ֶ‫ׁשּנ‬ ֶ ‫ְוא ְַרּבַע אַּמֹות ִמן ַה ַּמעֲרַ ב ְּכ ִמין ַּגּמָא‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשרֵה אֹר‬ ‫ׁשּתֵ ים‬ ְ ‫ׁשאֵינֹו ֶאּלָא‬ ֶ ‫ֶׂש ֵרה רֹחַב ָרבּוע יָכֹול‬ ְ ‫ׁשּתֵ ים ע‬ ְ ‫ֶך ִּב‬ ְ‫ע‬ ‫ׁשהּוא אֹומֵר׃ אֶל א ְַר ַּבעַת ְר ָבעָיו‬ ֶ ‫ֶׂשרֵה ְּכ‬ ְ ‫ׁשּתֵ ים ע‬ ְ ‫ֶׂשרֵה עַל‬ ְ‫ע‬ ‫ֶׂשרֵ ה ַאּמָה ְלכָל רּו ַח‬ ְ ‫ׁשּתֵ ים ע‬ ְ ‫ֶמצַע הּוא מֹודֵ ד‬ ְ ‫ׁש ִּמן ָהא‬ ֶ ‫ְמ ַלּמֵד‬ ‫ֶמצַע ְלח ְַב ִּדיל ּבֵין הַָּד ִמים‬ ְ ‫חֹוגרֹו ָבא‬ ְ ‫ׁשל ִס ְקרָא‬ ֶ ‫ְוחּוט‬ ‫ֶל יֹונִים לַָּד ִמים הַּתַ ְחּתֹונִים ְו ַהיְסֹוד ָהיָה ְמ ַהּל ְֵך עַל ְ ּפנֵי כָל‬ ְ ‫ָהע‬ ‫ְרח ַאּמָה ַאחַת‬ ָ ‫ַה ַּמעֲרָב ְואֹוכֵל ּבַָּדרֹום ַאּמָה ַאחַת ּוב ִַּמז‬ A. The altar was thirty-two by thirty-two [cubits] [at the base]. B. It rose by one cubit and drew in by one cubit [on every side]. C. This is the foundation. D. Thus was left [an area] thirty cubits by thirty. E. It rose by five cubits and drew in by one cubit. F. This is the circuit. G. Thus was left [an area] twenty-eight by twenty-eight. H. The area of the horns is a cubit on this side and a cubit on that side. I. Thus was left [an area] twenty-six by twenty-six. J. The place for the passage of the priests is a cubit on this side and a cubit on that side. K. Thus was left [an area] twenty-four by twenty-four [as] the place for the [altar] fire. L. Said R. Yose, “At the outset it was only twenty-eight by twenty-eight. It draws in and rises in this same measure, so that the area for the altar fire turns out to be twenty by twenty [II Chron. 4.1].

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Figure 79. A reconstruction of the Second Temple altar from m. Middot 3:1 (Zertal 1985: 37).

M. “But when the men of the Exile came up, they added four cubits at the south and four cubits at the west, in the shape of a gamma, N. “since it is said, And the altar hearth shall be twelve cubits long by twelve broad, square (Ezek 43.16). O. “Is it possible that it should be only twelve by twelve? P. “But when it also says, In the four quarters thereof, it teaches that from the middle one measures twelve cubits in all directions” [so that the area for the altar fire must be twenty-four by twenty-four]. Q. And a red line goes around it at the middle, to effect a separation between the drops of blood which are tossed on the top and the drops of blood which are tossed on the bottom. R. And the foundation extended all the length of the north side and all the length of the west side, S. and projects one cubit to the south and one cubit to the east. (Mid. 3:1; Neusner 1988: 877–88)

According to this description, the square altar had a base, a ledge, and an upper tier. The base, called the ‫יְסֹוד‬, measured 32 cubits wide. One cubit from the base, the altar narrowed to 30 cubits, leaving a 2-cubit ledge. The Mishnah calls this ledge a “circuit” (line F), or a “surround.” The word ‫סֹובֵב‬ is literally “that which surrounds” (Scherman and Zlotowitz 2005: 83). Five cubits higher, the altar again narrowed to 28 cubits, leaving another 2-cubit ledge or surround. This second ledge, created by the second narrowing,

Literary Parallels

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curved around and down the ramp leading to the altar. This “small ramp” seems to have been made for the priest to ascend to the “surround” (fig. 79). The Mishnah envisioned an altar that followed a progression of ascending and indenting for its base, ledge, place of the horns, and walkway for the priests. There is another important feature of the description of the altar in tractate Middot that has a direct bearing on our discussion. As mentioned above, Rainey has repeatedly argued that one would not find “ash pits” in an altar (Rainey 1986: 66; 2005; 2009: 186*). As the discussion of the Tabernacle altar and Jeroboam’s altar at Bethel showed, however, the biblical traditions seemed to envision a structure that was at least partially hollow and that accumulated ash on its surface, in its interior, or both. The Mishnah preserves this same tradition in m. Middot 2.2, with the following description: ‫ֲלין ָּב ֵאפֶר עַל ַּגּבֵי הַּתַ פּוחַ׃‬ ִ ‫ַמע‬ ‫ֶמצַע ה ִַּמ ְז ֵּב ַח‬ ְ ‫פּוח ָהיָה ְבא‬ ַ ַ‫ְות‬ ‫ׁשלֹׁש מֵאֹות ּכֹור‬ ְ ‫ָמים ָעלָיו ִּכ‬ ִ ‫ְפע‬ ‫ׁשהּוא נֹוי ל ִַּמ ְז ֵּבחַ׃‬ ֶ ‫ׁשנִין אֹותֹו ִמ ְפנֵי‬ ְ ַ‫ָלים לֹא הָיּו ְמד‬ ִ ‫ָרג‬ ְ ‫ּוב‬ ‫ׁשן׃‬ ֶ ‫ְהֹוציא אֶת הֶַּד‬ ִ ‫ִת ַעּצֵל הַּכֹהֵן ִמּל‬ ְ ‫ִמּיָמָין לֹא נ‬ They piled up the ashes on top of the mound. And a mound was in the center of the altar; at times there were about three hundred kor [of ashes] on it. And on the festivals they would not remove them, because they were an adornment for the altar. In their days, the priest was not negligent about the extraction of the ashes. (my translation)

This passage states that an accumulation of ash was allowed to build up on the altar and that this buildup was piled up into a mound. The mound was a large pile of ashes located in the middle of the top of the altar. It is called a ‫פּוח‬ ַ ַ‫ּת‬, which literally means “apple,” probably with reference to its round shape. The text reports that, at times, there was as many as 300 ‫ּכֹור‬ (kôrs) of ashes situated in the center of the altar. Since a ‫ ּכֹור‬was a unit of measurement equaling about 34 gals. (150 liters), 7 300 ‫ ּכֹור‬would amount to about 3,405 gals. (15,000 L). This is approximately 530 cu. ft. The Gemara (29a) explains that this figure is an exaggeration because that the priests would not have allowed the mound to grow this large. Nevertheless, it attests to a tradition that ashes accumulated within or upon the altar. These ashes were not removed all during the three major festivals, even though the mound grew very large. The reason given is that the accumulation of ashes was considered to be an “adornment” for the altar. This view is attested by rabbinic commentators, who viewed the ‫פּוח‬ ַ ַ‫ ּת‬in a positive light as evidence that the altar was not idle but was the site of an abundance of sacrifices (see the references in Elan 2005: 39–40). 7.  King and Stager 2001: 200. For the difficulties with biblical and postbiblical weights and measures, see Powell 1992: 897–908; for postbiblical usage, see Jastrow 1975: 625.

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Discussions about the reliability of the Mishnah are complex. Roland de Vaux suggested that the “perfect harmony” of the mishnaic description with the biblical texts is “disconcerting rather than probative” (de  Vaux 1997: 412–13). Jacob Neusner, the undisputed dean of mishnaic studies, has recently argued that the Mishnah is to be understood, in many ways, as philosophy (Neusner 1981; 1991). This does not mean, however, that Neusner understands the contents of the Mishnah to be subjective or unreliable. On the contrary, he argues for “one whole Torah,” oral and written, which should be read as a single, coherent statement. Each of these components of the Torah—the oral and the written—states the same message as the other, the written part consisting in particular of stories and cases and the oral part comprising generalizations and rules. Neusner (1999: 1–2) explains that “the Oral Torah then identifies the moral of the stories of the Written Torah and recasts the moral into social norms, and the Oral Torah further translates Scripture’s cases into governing rules yielding uniform procedures and regulations.” For Neusner, the Mishnah only recapitulates and refines the halakic statements of Scripture but does not innovate beyond their intended meaning. This is an important understanding because, with it, “we narrow the limits of what the Oral Torah (in theory at least) can have contributed.” Throughout the various divisions of the Mishnah, Neusner finds nothing new invented by the writers. He concludes: “In those recapitulative and subordinate category-formations, we find ourselves wholly within the framework of the ideas systematically spelled out of the Written Torah. . . . I find nothing in the Halakhah that contributes other than a derivative refinement of Scripture’s own facts within Scripture’s own hermeneutics for the topic at hand.” Although interpreters may disagree with Neusner’s understanding of the Mishnah’s relationship to the written Torah, his arguments for the conservatism of the mishnaic authors are important. The Mishnah does tend to be “concise, usually citing only accepted decisions and major dissents” and has as its aim “to preserve and enhance the oral tradition rather than supplant it” (Klatzkin 2000: 906). In light of this tendency, it may be that m. Middot preserved an accurate description of the Second Temple altar. Apparent contradictions between the Mishnah and Josephus may not indicate that either source is wholly wrong but that the layout of the building changed over time (Goodman 2005: 460). The Mishnah clearly preserves traditions of (1) an altar that followed a progression of ascending and indenting from its base to the ledge, (2) the place of the horns and the walkway for the priests, and (3) the accumulation of ashes within or upon the altar. Israelite Altar Architecture and Mt. Ebal Despite disagreements about the dating of the materials, the traditions about Israelite altar architecture seem to reveal a striking degree of conti-

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nuity. From the descriptions given in the various sources, Zertal compiles some basic attributes and specifications of a burnt offering altar, including its size, design, building materials, stairs (or ramps), and horns. Burnt offering altars were large, square edifices, ranging in length and breadth from 9 to 10 m and in height from 5 to 6 m. They were usually built with two or three ledges, or steps, each one progressively higher and smaller. This stepped arrangement, according to Albright, was an essential feature of the altar that may have originated in Mesopotamian cultic structures. Commenting on the implications of the regularity of these general features, Zertal (1986–87: 156) explains that “the similarity of both the general concept of the burnt offering altars and their individual attributes indicates continuity from the First to the Second Temple periods, a common phenomenon in sacred structures.” Thus, a uniform tradition of altar architecture is detected. Ben-Noon (1985: 140–141) has reviewed biblical passages relevant to the aforementioned features of altars and has compiled a list of principles that can be said to characterize biblical altars in general: 1. 4 horns, 2. square corners, 3. identical length and width, 4. a foundation or base, 5. an inclined ramp, and 6. whole stones (although altars of earth and the altar of brass also exist, whole stones are specifically mentioned in regard to the altar on Mt. Ebal).

With regard to number 1, the characteristic 4 horns were not found on the central structure at the Ebal site. However, as mentioned above (chap. 3), several large stones were found spread around the structure that could have served as horns. These were all unworked, however, and thus cannot be decisively identified as horns. The possibility that the central structure originally had four horns must be left open. With regard to number 3, the width of the structure at Ebal is not equal to its length—in other words, it is not “square.” Instead, it is rectangular in shape. Ben-Noon seeks to explain the variance of the Ebal structure with his third criterion through an unusual exegetical approach. The altar descriptions in both the Pentateuch and Ezekiel specify that these altars “shall be square” (nrsv). Ben-Noon notes that, in both of these passages, the specification of “square” appears in addition to the measurements. Since the dimensions are already given, he suggests that this expression may refer not to the measurements but the straight angle of the corners (Ben-Noon 1985: 139). Ben-Noon’s criterion 3, however, does not seem to me to be applicable throughout the Bible. Specific altar measurements are mentioned in the Bible only with regard to the Tabernacle and Temple altars (Exod 27:1–2; chap. 30; 2 Chr 4:1; 7:7; 1 Kgs 8:64). Although these altars were square (their

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length and width were identical), there are no fixed measurements given for altars in general throughout the Bible, and the dimensions do seem to change from one altar to the next. A more plausible explanation for the rectangular shape of the Ebal structure in contrast to the square altars of the Tabernacle and Temple altars may be that it was reminiscent of the altar of unworked stones (Exod 20:25) rather than the latter structures. There are two factors not listed in Ben-Noon’s six criteria that should be included in our discussion. The first has to do with the orientation of the altar in relation to the compass points. As we have seen, the corners of the Ebal structure, like the Mesopotamian temple towers, face the cardinal points of the compass. Nothing clear is stated in the biblical texts, however, about the position of an altar in relation to the compass points, with the exception of the fact that the burnt offering altar was located in the courtyard of the Tabernacle, which is usually explained to mean that the altar was placed on the north–south axis, with its northern side opposite the entrance (Exod 26; see Ben-Noon 1985: 141). The orientation of the corners of the Iron Age I structure on Mt. Ebal does not seem to contradict biblical commands about altar building. The second factor that should be mentioned is the “fill” within the Ebal structure. Kempinski (1986: 48) had originally concluded that the fill must have been the debris of a destroyed watchtower or that it may have been laid intentionally to create a surface on which to build a later tower. Rainey, who has been the most vocal opponent of the altar theory, has repeated this argument in several publications over the years. He has repeatedly insisted that one would not find ash fill in an altar (Rainey 1986: 66; 2005; 2009: 186*). The biblical and extrabiblical documents, however, while not completely clear about the design of the altars under discussion, 8 do retain the tradition that the Second Temple altar and its antecedents, as well as alternate altars such as the one constructed by Jeroboam were either filled with ash remains or had a substantial ash accumulation on their surfaces. It is true that this feature of the Ebal structure is unparalleled in the corpus of known altars, and yet it is not out of keeping with the literary traditions. The repeated argument that one would not find an ash fill in an altar is insufficient. To conclude the discussion of literary parallels for the central structure of Stratum IB, only one of Ben-Noon’s six biblical principles is not fulfilled in the present site—the width is not identical to the length—and I have shown that this criterion is not applicable. Ben-Noon concludes, “It appears to me that the similarities tip the scales with the reality of a ramp and foundations, four corners, the building with unworked stones, together with the lack of an entrance, combine to make a description that only an ‘al8.  That is, whether they were hollow and, if so, whether this hollowness was complete or partial; whether there was a partial fill of earth and/or unhewn stones; and so on.

Literary Parallels

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tar’ can explain” (Ben-Noon 1985: 141). The Mt. Ebal structure is most reminiscent of the altar of unworked stones described in Exodus. The prohibition of Exod 20:25 against working the stones to be used in the construction of a stone altar is repeated in Deut 27:5–6 and in the command to build an altar on Mt. Ebal. Joshua 8:31, in turn, specifically cites Exod 20:24–25 in its report of Joshua’s fulfillment of that command. While the Iron Age I structure cannot definitely be associated with the structure described in Josh 8:30–35, the structure can be compared “to what is implied by the early altar law of Exod 20:25 and may be considered a most elaborate example of the stone field altar” (see fig. 80; and see Zevit 2001: 199–200). Surrounding Wall Complex In all temples and sanctuaries, “the sacred area must be well demarcated to separate it from the profane space outside” (Sarna 1991: 173; see also Zevit 2002: 73–81). The Tabernacle structure itself was divided into three zones, which are, in descending order of holiness: the Holy of Holies, the Holy Place, and the Outer Court (Exod 25:1–31:17). Each of these zones was demarcated by a curtain, and detailed instructions are given for the enclosure of the entire Tabernacle compound as a ḥāṣēr (‫ ; ָחצֵר‬Exod 27:9–19). The entire area constituted a quadrangle measuring 100 cubits on the north and south sides, and 50 cubits on the east and west sides, yielding a total of 5,000 sq. cubits. In the commandments regulating the eating of offerings, the Torah distinguishes between meals that are to be eaten in the courtyard of the Tabernacle and meals that have a lesser degree of holiness and may, therefore, be eaten outside the courtyard. 9 As discussed in chap. 2, the outer walls of the Ebal site are built of medium-sized fieldstones to a height of about 35.4 in. (90 cm), with foundations laid in shallow trenches rather than on bedrock. They seem to serve as a temenos rather than as a defensive wall and may recall the Torah’s aforementioned prescriptions about the demarcation of space (fig. 81). The Ramps between the Courtyards See the discussion of the “earthen altar,” above. The Installations Some of the installations surrounding the central structure contained ashes and bones, while others contained a single vessel or a flat rock. BenNoon has drawn attention to the great concentration of these installations on the northwestern and southwestern sides of the central structure. The Torah stipulates that, when a burnt offering is made, “it shall be slaughtered 9.  For meals to be eaten in the courtyard of the Tabernacle, see Lev 6:9–10; 7:6. See also Milgrom 1991: 392–94, 754–55. For meals that must be eaten outside the courtyard, see Lev 7:11–20; 10:14; see also Levine 1989: 42–44.

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Figure 80. Artist’s reconstruction of el-Burnat (Zertal 1985: 36).

on the north side of the altar before the Lord” (Lev 1:11). Since the Taber­ nacle and Temple faced the west, the phrase “before the Lord” hints that the west was the place of slaughter (Ben-Noon 1985: 142). This is the place of the greatest concentration of these installations (specifically those consisting of a flat rock), which may have been slaughtering installations. Area B: Courtyard 139 and Entrance Structure 220 The large entrance is located in the surrounding wall precisely to the west of the western corner of the central structure (fig. 19). Ben-Noon (1985: 143) tell us to assume that this orientation is not accidental, since the west is such an important direction in the Torah. Like many ancient peoples, the rising sun gave the Israelites their basic direction (Childs 1962: 608). The West, therefore, was the “rear” (‫אַחוֹר‬, ʾaḥôr). It was also referred to simply as the “sea” (‫ )יָם‬or, more frequently, as the “place of the setting sun” (‫מָבוֹא‬ ָ‫שֶׁמֶשׁ מַע‬, mābôʾ šemeš maʿărāb). Both the Tabernacle and the Temple faced ‫ֲרב‬ west. In addition to the location of Entrance Structure 220 to the west of the western corner of the central structure, the west is also the direction of the pinnacle of Mt. Ebal. Area C Area C, located in the northernmost corner from the central structure, was composed of open ground (fig. 15) and has been dubbed the “corral.” Zevit has suggested that “the arrangement of the inner temenos suggests that its northernmost corner, cut off from the altar area, may have been used for

Literary Parallels

179

Figure 81. Artist’s reconstruction of the inner and outer enclosures at Mt. Ebal (Zertal 1986–87: 159).

some specialized activity such as the storage or perhaps the butchering of animals prior to their parts being presented on the altar” (Zevit 2001: 200).

The Faunal Assemblage from Mt. Ebal In the last several pages of her report, Horwitz discusses two problems raised by Zertal’s dating of the site to the Early Israelite period and his interpretation of its main structure as an altar. These problems are associated with the relation between the animal remains found at the Ebal site and the Mosaic laws. The laws pertaining to animals permitted for consumption and/or sacrifice, Lev 11 and Deut 14, allow for the use of domesticated sheep, goats, and cattle. Wild animals allowed by the legislation include gazelles and deer (Deut 14:5). Exactly what kind of deer is unclear, since three species are known from this region: fallow deer, red deer, and roe deer. Many translations use the term “fallow deer.” Sheep, goat, cattle, and fallow deer, all regarded by the Law as consumable animals, are present at Mt. Ebal. All other animals found at the site are listed as unclean (Lev 11; Deut 14), “but it is uncertain if they belong to the Iron Age deposits” (Horwitz 1986–87: 186). The problem arises when one compares the Ebal bone remains with the biblical materials: The two passages (Deut. 27 and Jos. 8) that mention the building of an altar on Mt. Ebal refer to two types of sacrificial offerings: the burnt offering and the peace offering. Both offerings refer only to domesticated animals (sheep, goats, and cattle) as well as turtledoves and pigeons. No mention is made concerning the acceptability of wild animals for sacrifice, even if they were permitted for consumption.

After describing the burnt and peace offerings, Horwitz concludes:

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The Mount Ebal faunal assemblage is comprised mainly of sheep, goats and cattle, all of which are prescribed sacrificial animals. However, the fallow deer remains appear to fall outside of the prescribed laws for offerings as stated in Deuteronomy, Joshua and Leviticus. It was not possible to determine the age or sex of the domestic animals, although the fallow deer remains show great homogeneity of age (prime adults) and the presence of at least one male animal. In addition, the distribution of body parts of the various species shows no significant differences to those from other Iron Age sites, a feature that would be expected from a ritual/sacrificial site as opposed to a settlement. The cut marks on the fallow deer cranium are suggestive of skinning, and the presence of burnt fallow deer antlers is of interest in the light of the practice of burning the whole animal (including the head) for the burnt offering. However, the use of wild animals, such as fallow deer, for sacrifice does not appear to be sanctioned by Mosaic law.

Although fallow deer were not intended for sacrifice, they are kosher in the Hebrew Bible. Zertal has suggested that “it may be that in this early stage of religion they [the ancient Israelites] sacrificed deer” (Zertal 1998a). Diana Edelman is inclined to see the Ebal site as cultic in nature despite the presence of the deer remains. She suggests that “the presence of exotic materials and huge amounts of animal bones, including deer, tend to favor a cultic use for the site” (Edelman 1996: 50 n. 56). There does not seem to be sufficient basis, however, for postulating that at some point fallow deer and other deer were offered. R. D. Miller (2009) recently suggested a link between the deer remains and ancient shamanistic practices. Half of the deer bones are cranial, which suggests that the animals’ antlers were being sought for some reason. Miller suggests that antlers may have been used at Ebal in ways similar to shamanistic usages. Indeed, shamanistic masks, which were a particularly important element of a shaman’s garments, were often decorated with antlers, which appear to have had a variety of symbolic meanings. Rock-art from Neolithic and Bronze Age sites in Siberia and Central Asia, for example, show shamanistic headgear furnished with horns (Devlet 2001: 50–54), and similar images are seen in bronzes from western Siberia (Fedorova 2001: 57–59). The rationale for incorporating antlers and other horns into shamanistic masks has been a subject of speculation. Since antlers resemble a plant’s roots, it has been thought that they represented a metaphorical “family tree,” symbolizing links with shamanistic ancestors. It has also been suggested that each tine of the antlers served as a container for a “helping spirit” and that the antlers as a whole therefore may have symbolized the number of “helping spirits” that the shaman could call upon. In any case, masks and shamanistic costumes as a whole played an important role in shamanistic rituals and techniques of ecstasy. The masks apparently announced “the incarnation of a mythical personage,” such as an ancestor, a mythical animal, or even a god. The costume transubstantiated the

Literary Parallels

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shaman into “a superhuman being” (Eliade 2004: 167–68). Although making cross-cultural comparisons is laden with problems and must be undertaken with great caution (see Overholt 1982: 55–78), it is true that the Classical, ecstatic cults of the Greeks and Romans and some aspects of ancient Near Eastern religion all shared certain characteristics of a shamanistic heritage (Price 2001: 6–7). Shamanism itself is a disputed category (see Atkinson 1992), yet categorizing it is useful for pointing to worldwide phenomena and has provided a useful analogy for the social-psychological study of the biblical prophets (e.g., Overholt 1986). While classical prophecy is generally thought to have begun only with Amos, around the middle of the 8th century b.c.e., Blenkinsopp (1995: 129) eschews the terminology “primitive” and “classical” and suggests that “it is also necessary to reckon with the limitations of our sources, with respect to both what they do not tell us and the way in which what they do tell us has been shaped by the presuppositions and beliefs of a much later time.” Blenkinsopp suggests that the biblical history of prophecy is “conformed to and structured by the ideology of the Deuteronomic school,” which saw prophecy as unnecessary as long as Moses’ leadership continued in the guidance of Moses’ successor, Joshua. While prophecy is largely absent in Deuteronomic materials, Deborah is called a prophetess ( Judg 4:4), along with an unnamed prophet who confronts the Israelites about the inadequacy of their response to Yhwh’s gracious acts on their behalf ( Judg 6:7–10). In addition, Samuel, who is the last of the “judges” (‫ְטים‬ ִ ‫)שֹׁפ‬, is also called a prophet (1 Sam 3:20). Although the sources do not discuss prophets in the premonarchic period in ancient Israel, prophets clearly existed (see Buller 2003: 662–66). Israelite prophets appear to have at least sometimes used ecstasy to attain a heightened sensitivity to the spiritual, in ways similar to those used in shamanism (e.g., Matthews and Benjamin 1993: 213). Biblical sources do not discuss the attire of these early figures, so we cannot know whether they used costumes or headgear. One instance is recounted in the historical literature, however, when the king of Israel and King Jehoshaphat of Judah were sitting on their thrones at the threshing floor at the entrance of the gate of Samaria, “and all the prophets were prophesying before them” (1  Kgs 22:10). One of the sons of the prophets made for himself a pair of iron horns and said, “Thus says the Lord: With these you shall gore the Arameans until they are destroyed” (v. 11). Although the symbolic act of this prophet was clearly intended to portray the power of a goring ox, a common image in ancient Near Eastern literature and art (see Cogan 2000: 491 for references), it does demonstrate at least one use of headgear in prophesying. Further exploration of the possible links between shamanistic practices and prophecy go beyond the scope of this study, but suffice it to say that, if such a connection were established, the deer remains at Ebal could suggest a ritual function for the site.

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Besides the possible use of antlers for ritual purposes, animal bones in general had great symbolic significance among ancient hunting peoples, who often thought of bones as representing “the final source of life, both human and animal, the source from which the species is reconstituted at will” (Eliade 2004: 159–60). The bones of game were typically not broken but carefully gathered up and disposed of according to custom, which sometimes involved burial or placement on a platform. This was apparently thought to contribute to the preservation of the animal’s “soul” and therefore of the species. The fact that 63% of the deer remains were “buried” in the altar may suggest some kind of apotropaic function either for the hunter(s), the prey, or both. Ben-Noon has proposed an alternative understanding of these deer remains that may seem more secure, at least on the basis of present knowledge. He suggests that there was a quasi-gift offering of the leftover vessels and feasts that were eaten in purity or holiness. These were brought as a popular voluntary donation for the filling of the interior of the altar. The remains may also have been leftovers from the holy feast of those who inaugurated the site (Ben-Noon 1985: 142). This may be reminiscent of the offerings of the leaders of Israel at the inauguration of the altar in Num  7. These offerings included vessels of silver filled with fine flour, a golden spoon filled with incense, and a list of burnt offerings and peace offerings. Another possible parallel is the general donation collected for the establishing of the Tabernacle (Exod 35:21–36:7). Besides these issues, the faunal assemblage provides additional data that are suggestive of a cultic identification for the site. Among the faunal materials, the proportion of remains from foreparts (metatarsal, metacarpal, astragalus, calcaneum, and phalange) is higher at Ebal than at other Iron Age sites. This higher proportion may be related to the biblical traditions that the Israelites were to sacrifice the right foreleg of the animal and to give the right hind leg to the priests (Exod 29:22; Lev 7:28–36; Horwitz 1986–87: 182); see Ben-Tor 1980: 31–48).

Conclusion In this chapter, I take the data from chap. 1 and compare it with the literary traditions of the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple extrabiblical sources that include descriptions of ancient Israelite altar sites. This includes reviewing the instructions regarding the Tabernacle altar, the First Temple altar, Ahaz’s altar, Ezekiel’s future Temple altar, and the Second Temple altar. Many of the features of the Ebal site in its entirety are best explained by a cultic interpretation, and the central structure itself conforms to most of the biblical principles of Israelite altar architecture (Ben-Noon 1985: 141). Among those who accept a general identification of the site as cultic in nature without comment on the specific character of the site as “Israelite” or

Literary Parallels

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as an “altar” are Anbar (1985b: 352) and Lemaire (1990: 199–201). Those who seem to accept an identification for the site at Mt. Ebal as either an Israelite altar or another cultic installation are Ben-Noon; Block; Browning; Christensen; Edelman; Elitzur and Nir-Zevi; Faust; Finkelstein; Gilmour; Hess; Isserlin; Kelm; Killebrew; Kitchen; A.  Mazar; Mussel; Ortiz; Pitkänen; Provan, Longman, and Long; Schoville; Strange; van der Steen; Waltke; and Zevit. 10 10.  Ben-Noon 1985; Block 1998: 602; Browning 1998: 33–34; Christensen 2002: 654; Edelman 1996: 50 n. 56; Elitzur and Nir-Zevi 2003: 34; Faust 2006: 114; Finkelstein 1988: 32–35; Gilmour 1995: 218–20; Hess 1993: 136–37, 139; 1996: 174; Isserlin 1998: 242; Kelm 1991: 197; Killebrew 2005: 159–60; Kitchen 2003: 232–34; A. Mazar 1990b: 348–50; 1992a: 293–94; Mussel 1993: 174–75; Ortiz 2005: 71; Pitkänen 2004: 184–85; Provan, Longman, and Long 2003: 185–87; Schoville 2001: 23–24; Strange 1994: 158–59; van der Steen 2004: 73; Waltke 1994: 246; and Zevit 2001: 196–201.

Chapter 6

The Ebal Structure in Context The Ebal Installation, the Survey of Manasseh, and the Emergence of Israel In this chapter, I review the possibility that the site on Mt. Ebal functioned as a tribal cultic center for the central hill country settlers in Iron Age I, and I reconsider Martin Noth’s rejected amphictyony hypothesis. Scholarly responses to the possibility of el-Burnat as a central cultic site are briefly considered, along with the biblical notion of “all Israel.” Most importantly, I seek to understand the Ebal site by looking at it in the context of the new picture of the Iron Age I settlement process of the central hill country that is emerging from archaeological surveys.

Historical and Sociological Considerations of the Mt. Ebal Site The Mt. Ebal site is one of the earliest of the newly settled Israelite sites in the central hill country in Iron Age I. Zertal suggests that “the existence of a cultic-center should be interpreted as an indicator of social organization” (Zertal 1988c: 144). As seen in chaps. 1–2 above, food and water were both consumed at the site, though food does not appear to have been produced there, nor were wells dug. Sickle blades for use in the harvesting of winter crops were absent from the site, as were olive presses, winepresses, or storage facilities, all of which would have been required for the processing and storage of food products. The pottery repertoire also points away from an identification of the site as being involved in food production. About 70% of the pottery consisted of large collar-rimmed storage jars, which are known to have been the principal storage vessels of the newly settled Israelites. As discussed above, Ahlström argued that the prevalence of collar-rimmed pithoi at the site mitigated against the identification of el-Burnat as a cultic site (Ahlström 1993: 366). As Zertal has shown, however, the collar-rimmed pithoi appear to have been the main vessel for storing water at highland sites (Zertal 1988b: 350–52); therefore, it seems that a high percentage of this vessel type would appear at any settlement site, whether it was cultic in nature or not. About 20% of the pottery vessels are jugs and chalices. The balance of the pottery consisted of small vessels, mostly votive, made especially for ritual use. The percentage of domestic 184

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vessels was very small, and cooking pots made up only 5% of the total pottery repertoire. In addition to these types, several new kinds of pottery appear at the Ebal site, including the three-handled jar-jug, the three-handled jug, and votive vessels. A number of chalices of types attested in other cultic contexts were found. A quantitative analysis suggests that the Ebal pottery repertoire does not represent a domestic assemblage (Coogan 1987: 2; Gilmour 1995: 111; Zevit 2001: 201). The faunal remains made up one of the largest samples ever studied in Israel and also suggested that a narrow range of activities took place at the site—narrow either in function or in time (Horwitz 1986–87: 187). These activities clearly included both food and water consumption. Zertal has suggested that the size of the enclosure and its main building considered together with the amount of specific types of pottery and bones may hint at a tribal or multitribal society (Zertal 1988c: 144). The reason for this is that the aforementioned elements would have had to be collected and disseminated in an organized way, which implies some sort of federalized leadership for the operation of the site. The transition from Stratum II to Stratum IB may attest these sorts of social development. The Stratum II occupation comprised primarily Locus 94, a nearby favissa, a four-room house, and a retaining wall. During this earliest phase, the site may have been a small cult site where feasts or ceremonies were held, and sacrifices were offered. Since the site was fairly small during this phase, it may have served as either a family or a tribal cult site, the attendants of which lived in the four-room house bordering it in Area B. In Stratum IB, the site underwent substantial modification, which included the removal of the domestic building in Area B, the construction of the central structure in Area A, and the building of an enclosure wall surrounding the central structure. It may be that in this phase the site evolved into a main cult site of area settlers, with the main structure being built either as an altar or as a paved bāmâ that served as the focal point of ceremonies for assembled groups. The low height of the western enclosure wall would have permitted continual visibility of the central structure for individuals in the outer areas. A main cult site for area settlers is also suggested by the large number of pottery vessels found in the depositories around the central structure, which may have been the remains of offerings that had been brought by either pilgrims or local visitors to the site.

The Amphictyony Hypothesis If a cultic structure existed on Mt. Ebal in the 12th century b.c.e., and if it functioned as a central place of worship for the Israelite tribes, then “a reassessment of Noth’s rejected theory of Israelite amphictyony is called for” (Zertal 1998b: 244). The amphictyony hypothesis had a wide subscription for over fifty years, until it began to fall out of favor in the 1960s and 1970s

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(see the reviews in Auld 2005: 26–32; Bibb 2006: 141; Butler 1983: xxxiii– xxxv; Mayes 1992: 212–16; Sparks 1998: 120–21). The meaning of the term amphictyony is unclear and may be either the name of a tribe (Mayes 1992: 212) or a compound expression meaning “a community of those who dwell around” a sanctuary (Noth 1960: 88). In the 4th century b.c.e., the term was used by Demosthenes for a sacrosanct league that had been oriented around the shrine of Apollo at Delphi since at least the beginning of the 6th century b.c.e. Throughout its history, although political events sometimes led to changes in the identity of the members, the Delphi amphictyony maintained a constant number of 12 member cities. Later Classical writers use the term, but they apply it to groups that do not always correspond exactly to the Delphi amphictyony. Mayes (1992: 212) suggests, therefore, that “it is to this league that the term originally belongs, and only by analogy is it later applied to other leagues.” Mayes suggests that the Delphi League is the only entity to which the term amphictyony can be properly applied and that it is “the model against which the appropriateness of any analogous use of the term is to be tested.” The Delphi League was a sacrosanct consortium of 12 cities organized around a central religious shrine for the purpose of its maintenance and defense. The amphictyony established a set of rules by which they managed the finances of the amphictyony and maintained the sanctuary and its access roads on a rotating basis. The amphictyony chose delegates, called hieromnēmonēs, who were charged with organizing these tasks and who assembled during festivals to do so. Mayes notes that, though the focus of the amphictyony was cultic, its purposes were more comprehensive. The members agreed not to destroy any of the towns of the league or cut off their water supplies, in order to maintain a political balance among the members. The amphictyony did not come into existence for the sole purpose of caring for a sanctuary but also “to give cultic expression to an agreed state of mutual relations which had already been achieved.” Leagues of Greek cities, also oriented around a sanctuary, can be found in the Greek cities of Asia Minor, the most important of which was the league of Ten Ionic Cities founded in the 8th century b.c.e. Similar leagues are found in Italy as well as in other regions and time periods. The concept of Greek and Italian groupings’ being reflected in ancient Israel had been explored as early as the 19th century (see the summary in Auld 2005: 26). In the 20th century, Albrecht Alt applied the term amphictyony to premonarchic Israel, followed by the sociologist Max Weber in 1930, but it was Martin Noth who developed a comprehensive theory of an Israelite amphictyony (Alt 1929: 438–39; Weber 1952: 81ff., 90; Noth 1930). Noth (1930: 3–39; 1960: 91–109) found that the following elements of the Greek amphictyony obtained in Israel during the period prior to the monarchy: 1. Israel was the name of a league of 12 tribes that consistently maintained the number of its tribes as 12.

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2. This tribal league had a central sanctuary in which the Ark was the focus of worship. The Ark did not have a permanent resting place prior to the monarchy (2 Sam 7:6), but “it was set up in one place for a more or less prolonged period and this place then formed the central place of worship, the geographical centre of the ancient Israelite amphictyony.” 3. The ark was first at Shechem, then at Bethel, Gilgal, and finally at Shiloh. 4. The tribes recognized Yhwh as their God at Shechem in a covenant ceremony that included the making of a pact and the adoption of statutes and laws. 5. Delegates of the twelve tribes, called nesiʾim, who corresponded to the Greek hieromnēmonēs, assembled at the annual religious festivals to discuss amphictyonic affairs. 6. The amphictyonic law is reflected in part in the Covenant Code (Exod 21–23). 7. Breaches of the amphictyonic law would be punished, an example of which is the tribal action taken against Benjamin following the Gibeah crime ( Judg 19–20).

The amphictyony hypothesis was heavily criticized in the 1960s and especially the 1970s, with criticism focusing on Noth’s understanding of the Hebrew Bible’s tribal lists, the existence of a central sanctuary, and the function of the amphictyony (e.g., Chambers 1983: 39–59; de Vaux 1977: 40–47; 1978: 695–715; de Geus 1976; Mayes 1974; Lemche 1977). For the purposes of this discussion, the tribal system and the central sanctuary are of primary interest. Three issues related to the tribal system were important reasons at the foundation of the amphictyony hypothesis, and their criticism has been a major reason for the rejection of the theory as a whole. First, the argument for the origin of the number 12 for the Israelite tribes was a primary piece of evidence for an Israelite amphictyony (Noth 1930: 3–39; 1960: 87–91). De Vaux (1977: 41–42; 1978: 702–3) demonstrates, however, that the number 12 did not have the importance for the Greek amphictyonies that Noth attributed to it. De Vaux (1977: 41–42; 1978: 702–3) surveys a number of leagues and shows that the number of constituent members varied, with only Delphi strictly maintaining its number at 12. Consequently, he suggests (de Vaux 1977: 42) that the number 12 may have been symbolic and notes its frequent occurrence in Greek literature. Among the many examples that could be cited, the number of the months of the year and the signs of the Zodiac amounted to 12; groups of 12 people, animals, or things appear often in Greek literature and worship; the number of cows dedicated to Athena and bulls to Poseidon was 12; Hercules performed 12 works; there were 12 titans and 12 great gods of the pantheon. De Vaux goes on to note that the number 12 is used in the Bible “with the same symbolic value as in Greece and in Rome.” Examples include the 12 bulls under the “Sea” (1 Kgs 7:44); the 12 lions on the steps of Solomon’s throne (1 Kgs 10:20); the 12 oxen with which Elisha worked (1 Kgs 19:19); Solomon’s 12,000 horses (1 Kgs 5:6;

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10:26); the number of warriors frequently amounted to 12,000 ( Josh 8:25; Judg 21:10; 2 Sam 10:6; 17:1). Other examples could be drawn from additional Jewish literature and from the New Testament. Closer parallels for the 12 sons of Jacob and the 12 tribes of Israel can be found in the Semitic world than in the Greco-Roman world (these are discussed below). F.  M. Cross (1998: 49) concludes that “we can say no more than that the number twelve was traditional and held onto both in Israel and in Greece, even when it did not reflect reality.” The second feature of the amphictyony hypothesis that was so heavily criticized was its obvious dependence on early Israel’s existence as a tribal society. Noth’s understanding of the tribal relationship as one in which the tribes might interchange but in which the number 12 remained constant led him to speak of a “system.” He believed that the system appeared in the Hebrew Bible in two forms, depending on whether Levi is counted as one of the tribes. In system “A,” Levi is included, and the text speaks of “Joseph.” Conversely, in system “B,” Levi is not included and, instead, Joseph is divided into Manasseh and Ephraim in order to make up the number (Noth 1930: 13). In system “B,” the place left open by Levi is given to Gad. Noth suggested that the system is only reflected in its pure form in three passages: system A could be found in Gen 49, and system B only in Num 1 and 26. Noth regarded system A as older than system B, and considered these tribal conceptions to be so schematic that he imagined they must have originated in a time when the tribes were still real entities, so that a system of 12 tribes was also a real entity. Since system A assumed a “secular” tribe of Levi, he argued that the terminus a quo had to date back at least to “the time when the song of Deborah was composed, in which no system is seen” (Noth 1930: 36). The foundation of the amphictyony hypothesis on the existence Israel as 12 tribes in the premonarchic period was a major source of criticism. S. Herrmann (1969: 153), for example, rejected the idea of a 12-tribe system in the period of the judges and argued, instead, that it was inaugurated by the Davidic-Solomonic state during the process of politicization in order to establish a genealogical basis for the political unity they sought to establish. Similarly, many other scholars have argued that the system of 12 tribes in the biblical tradition is a late development of the compilers and “finds no support in the folk materials embedded in their work” (Miller and Hayes 2006: 86; see also Kallai 1995; 1999; Lemche 1985: 282–90; 1998: 102). Some scholars believe the traditions of a 12-tribe system may date as late as the 6th century b.c.e. (e.g., Macchi 1999: 272–80). Concomitantly, the idea of the 12 tribes’ having been bound by a mutual covenant with legal stipulations has, since the time of Wellhausen, been regarded as a construct of the late monarchy, especially of the Deuteronomistic school and the Priestly contributor(s) to the Pentateuch (see Oden 1987: 429–47). F. M. Cross (1998: 16) observes that, “for Wellhausen,

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the relationship between God and Israel in pre-monarchial times and in early prophecy was ‘natural,’ spontaneous, free, interior (individualistic).” Wellhausen inherited this way of thinking from the idealistic thinkers and philosophers of the Romantic Movement, borrowing directly from Vatke, and also shared the principles of Protestant antinomianism. He conceived of law as petrified, exterior, and abstract and, hence, necessarily the “perverse” product of later Judaism. The idea that early covenant forms may have existed that were sociocentric, mutual, and expressed in terms of kinship was inconceivable to Wellhausen, whose successors have continued to conceive of the covenant as having appeared relatively late in Israelite religion (e.g., McCarthy 1973; Nicholson 1986). These historic approaches to the politicization of ancient Israel seem to have been based on etic methods of understanding politicization, especially with regard to the rise of the state. Since the 1960s, the rise of the state has been seen by many anthropologists as an inevitable stage in the evolutionary process (Dever 1997a: 172). In the process of this “politicization,” “social power is concentrated in a relatively few hands, and the needs of individual households are subordinated to the needs of the rulers” (Bodley 2000: 18). This process has typically been seen as having been accompanied by at least four cultural subprocesses: taxation, specialization, militarization, and urbanization. Anthropologists have generally seen this process as a negative development. The transition from a world controlled by domestically organized cultures to one dominated by politically and commercially organized cultures first occurred when villagers surrendered their political autonomy to chiefs from other villages. This resulted in a new level of political authority, with villages gathered together under a dominant chief to form a chiefdom. Adding additional administrative levels produced the further development of a third administrative level, the state, and then a fourth, the empire. Bodley (2000: 166) argues that “the key to the politicization process is the concentration of social power in the hands of a political elite.” This is a “coercive” process with an “inherent” inequity. Bodley (2000: 18) argues that the politicization process is inherently inequitable because, in it, “rulers must devise and transmit new cultural beliefs and behaviors that will coerce or persuade people to accept their authority.” There is certainly some truth to this, since politicization naturally competes directly with the sapienization process and the concerns of separate households. 1 In this view, politicization is “a maladaptive evolutionary process that rewards a powerful, self-interested minority for promoting cultural ideas that support runaway growth harmful to others” (Bodley 2000: 167). These views have predominated since the 1960s and continue to do so today (e.g., Fried 1967; e.g., Matthews and Benjamin 1993: 159–61). Anthropologists and 1.  Sapienization is the anthropological term for the production and maintenance of human society and culture at the domestic level rather than the political level.

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archaeologists have typically turned to “trait lists” to try to identify statelevel societies. Such a trait list would include at least the following five elements (Dever 1997a: 187): 1. a topographical unit with a fortification wall, 2. dense occupation, 3. reflection of great social differentiation and centralized administration, 4. evidence of economic accumulation (surplus) and distribution, 5. constitution of a “central place.”

The study of the “archaeology of the state” has tended to rely on comparisons with these types of material remains. New inroads have been made in understanding the politicization process in ancient Israel that calls previous assumptions into question. In a very insightful article, D. M. Master (2001: 128) notes that material approaches may not be the best for understanding “politicization” in ancient Israel, and he charts a direction away from the prevailing nomenclature of development from tribe, to chiefdom, to state. Following the lead of the sociologist Max Weber, who had departed from the approach of Engels, who had understood societies on the basis of material destruction, clustering of wealth, or size, Master seeks to understand societies based on their view of the nature of law, authority, and legitimacy. He suggests that a society can either be small or large, sedentary or pastoralist, and, in either case, have the same view of authority and legitimacy. Weber (1978: 1007) devised a patrimonial model in which the forces of tradition and personal association—natural forces apparent in the ancient household—shaped the concept of authority. Societies such as ancient Israel expressed authority primarily in terms of kinship. Weber applies this logic to larger, more centralized societies, deducing the idea of a “patrimonial state.” Stager (2003b: 70) reconstructs this patrimonial state as a series of “nested households,” at the base of which was the patriarchal household, known in the Hebrew Bible as the ‫ּבֵית־אָב‬, which is literally the “house of the father.” The ‫ ּבֵית־אָב‬was manifested in the design of the pillared houses clustered in villages throughout the Iron Age. The “state” also was essentially a tribal kingdom, in which the king also functioned as the paterfamilias of his people. The king’s subjects relied on personal relationships and loyalty to the pater and expected to receive protection and support in return. The patrimonial king, therefore, managed his “house,” which included families and households in his province. The Tel Dan Stela refers to this kind of understanding when it refers to the “House of David” (byt dwd), as do Assyrian inscriptions that refer to the “House of Omri” (bit humri). Stager argues that these 9th-century references to Judah are enough evidence in themselves to demonstrate that Judah was a “‘fullfledged state’ in the eyes of its neighbors long before the end of the 8th century” (Stager 2003b: 70).

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This patrimonial state may have differed in important ways from some other ancient understandings of the state. Stager (2003b: 71) concludes that: The king, however, does not represent the apex of authority in this threetiered cosmion. This position is occupied by Yahweh (in the case of Israel), who reigns as supreme patrimonial lord, the ultimate authority over the king and the “children of Israel,” bound to him by covenant as his kindred (ʿam) or kindred-in-law. Human kingship and divine kingship, then, are moreinclusive forms of patrimonial domination. Households are nested within households up the tiers of the cosmion, each tier becoming more overarching as one moves from domestic to royal to divine levels.

The older approaches saw the Israelite monarchy as some kind of “alien” urban institution grafted onto a reluctant, egalitarian, kin-based tribal society. Through external and internal conflict, it evolved into a class-driven society dominated by oppressive urban elite. “Seen through the lens of the patrimonial model . . . [however], Israelite kingship is simply a higher level of kinship” (King and Stager 2002: 45, 62). Based on this more emic understanding of Israelite patrimonialism, “it is not so difficult to imagine a farmer such as Saul or a shepherd such as David becoming king.” This concept of the patrimonial state could be applied to earlier stages of Israel’s existence, since Yhwh would have been seen as the supreme patrimonial lord. In a series of essays on the epic traditions of early Israel, gathered together in one volume, F. M. Cross (1998: 3) argued that “the social organization of West Semitic tribal groups was grounded in kinship.” The ‫ׁשבֶט‬ ֵ (“tribe”) itself was a patrimonial group whose descendants maintained kinship with one another through marriage and bloodlines that were traced back through the male relatives to one of the twelve sons of Israel, the tribal ancestors (Matthews 2005: 521; Schloen 2001: 113–15, 135–83; Stager 1985: 18– 23); C. J. H. Wright (1992: 761). The tribal reality appears to have been modeled on the ‫ּבֵית־אָב‬, which included the senior male, his wife and children, as well as any other dependents, including unmarried daughters, daughtersin-law, or grandchildren (Hess 2005: 967; Meyers 1997: 19–21; Stager 1985: 18–20; Willis 2007: 427–29). The house of the father constituted a unit that lived together in a single home or cluster of homes. A number of such families living together in a village made up a ‫ׁש ָּפחָה‬ ְ ‫“( ִמ‬clan”; Meyers 1997: 13–19; Stager 1985: 22; Willis 2006: 679; 2007: 427–28). Clans of this sort that were grouped together in a region composed the ‫ׁשבֶט‬ ֵ (“tribe”). Based on both the biblical and extrabiblical data, Hess (2005: 967) surmises that a clan may have comprised about half a dozen extended families and a dozen nuclear families at any given time. He suggests that “in the early period this could amount to about 150 people, with perhaps 7,500 in a tribe.” The ‫“( ְז ֵקנִים‬elders”) of each level represented its interests, so that the structure of the family was transposed to the larger units (Willis 2007: 233–34). The tribe, therefore, functioned as an extended family. This grounding of ancient Israel’s social organization in kinship had far-reaching implications, in that

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these “kinship relations defined the rights and obligations, the duties, status, and privileges of tribal members, and kinship terminology provided the only language for expressing legal, political, and religious institutions” (Cross 1998: 3). L. E. Stager’s (1985: 1–34) pioneering work on Hebrew kinship terminology and the family in ancient Israel has been nothing short of revolutionary and has convincingly established that the social organization of the ancient Israelites, like the organization of other West Semitic tribal groups, was grounded in kinship. Cross (1998: 22–52) builds on the work of Stager in an examination of the use of kinship terminology in ancient Israel’s “epic literature.” This includes J and E, which Cross identifies as epic sources, “consist[ing] of prose narrative, interlarded with poetic fragments and occasionally independent poetic units, especially at crucial points in the narrative.” He argues that the epic cycle of old Israel “in its mature form was a creation of the Israelite league” and identifies special traditions that can be traced to Shechem and Gilgal, special epic lore that appears to be derived from Shiloh, Bethel, and the pilgrimage shrine at Sinai-Teman-Seiʿir (see also Cross 1973: 293–325). Cross (1998: 45) concludes that “the survival of variant streams of epic tradition from the major sanctuaries of the era of the league is significant evidence of the character of politics and religion in early Israel,” which was kinship based. It no longer seems tenable to argue that the tribal system did not come into existence until long after the settlement period (Sarna 1989: 400–403). A third key argument against the amphictyony hypothesis that is of special relevance to this study is that it depended on the acknowledgment of a central sanctuary by its constituent members. Whereas the Greek amphictyony of the 6th century b.c.e. was formed around the shrine of Apollo at Delphi, the current view is that “there is no unequivocal support for an analogous structure in pre-monarchic Israel” (Mayes 1992: 215). Current scholars emphasize the diversity and localization of Yhwh worship in early Israel. B.  D. Bibb (2006: 141) suggests that, “rather than cooperating to move their sanctuary from place to place, it is more likely that particular groups developed their own regional shrines.” This view has become almost axiomatic. F. S. Frick (2003: 271), for example, asserts that “there is no evidence, biblical or archaeological, for a central sanctuary in Palestine of the period of the judges” (see also Hayes and Miller 1977: 306–7). However, while all the details of the Greek amphictyony may not apply, the biblical materials do suggest that there were a number of early sites where the sanctuary had been located. Long ago, B. Mazar (1985: 17–18) suggested that ʾAdam (Tell ed-Dāmiyeh), near Jisr ed-Dāmiyeh, one of the important fords of the Jordan, had been an early Israelite cultic site. Mazar based this identification on a number of passages of early Hebrew poetry which, he suggested, had been mistranslated. In Ps 68, a victory song similar to the Song of Deborah, the writer proclaims that ‫ָדם‬ ָ ‫ַּתנֹות ָּבא‬ ָ ‫( לָקַ ְח ָּת מ‬v. 18).

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In accordance with its policy of using gender-neutral language, the nrsv translates the phrase as “receiving gifts from people.” Other translations read, “you received gifts from men” (e.g., niv, nasb). Mazar suggested, however, that ‫ָדם‬ ָ ‫ ָּבא‬, instead of being translated “from men,” should be translated as a preposition with a proper noun, “in Adam.” In this case, the text would read, “you have taken tribute in Adam.” In Ps 78:60, which reviews Yhwh’s historical guidance of Israel, the writer recounts Yhwh’s abandonment of ִ ‫ׁשּכַן‬ ְ ‫וַּטֹׁש ִמ‬. English translations the sanctuary as follows: ‫ָדם‬ ָ ‫ׁשּכֵן ָּבא‬ ִ ‫ׁשלֹו אֹהֶל‬ have typically taken both lines of this couplet to be referring to the same sanctuary at Shiloh, as in the nrsv’s rendering, “He abandoned his dwelling at Shiloh, the tent where he dwelt among mortals.” It may be, however, that the first line names the sanctuary at Shiloh, but the second line names a sanctuary at ʾAdam. The final passage discussed by Mazar is Hos 6, in which Yhwh laments the faithlessness of the nation of Israel. Verse 6 reports that ‫ָברּו‬ ְ ‫ָדם ע‬ ָ ‫ְו ֵהּמָה ְּכא‬ ‫בִרית‬, ְ which the niv and nasb render “Like Adam, they have broken the covenant.” Although this verse has often been understood as a reference to the primal human of Gen 1–2, this translation/interpretation seems to run counter to the overall context of the passage. Hosea 6:7–7:16 traces Israel’s covenant violation backwards through the nation’s history and finds that it had already begun during the earliest stages of the conquest. Because 6:8 deals with Gilead, where the Transjordanian tribes lived who threatened to revolt against the Israelites who lived in the hill country ( Josh 22), and v. 9 deals with Shechem, the site of Joshua’s great covenant renewal ceremony in Josh 24, it seems to make more sense that ‫ָדם‬ ָ ‫ א‬in v. 7 refers to a site. The nrsv, following this line of reasoning, translates the line “But at Adam they transgressed the covenant.” If this interpretation is correct, this confluence of references to ʾAdam suggest that it was an early Israelite cult site that preceded the sites of Shechem and Shiloh (see the discussion of the gilgalim in chap. 4). Thus, although the amphictyony hypothesis may have been pressed too far by earlier scholars, Mayes and others have suggested that the amphictyony may still provide “an analogy of some heuristic value” for premonarchic Israel (Mayes 1992: 215; e.g., Bibb 2006: 141; Sparks 1998: 120–21).

The Mt. Ebal Site and Biblical Tradition The Hebrew Bible does contain two traditions regarding an altar site on Mt. Ebal: Deut 27, which commands that this structure be built upon entry into the land of Canaan; and Josh 8:30–35, which purports to record the Israelites’ construction of the aforementioned structure. The building of the altar was to be followed by a recitation by “all Israel” ( Josh 8:33) of the Law and of its attendant blessings and curses (Deut 27:11–13). The fact that a ceremonial site is mentioned in both of these sources warrants discussion

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about the compositional history of Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History, both of which have been important to scholars who have discussed the Ebal site. For example, Soggin’s chief objection to an association of elBurnat with the altar of Josh 8:30–35 was driven by an understanding of the book as having a late date, “something about which all non-‘fundamentalist’ scholars agree” (1988: 117). The assumption of a late date for the composition of the book of Joshua was one of the reasons Kempinski could not accept a cultic identification for the site in the first place. He argued that el-Burnat could not be the site of the ceremonies described in Josh 8:30–35 because there were no Persian period remains found there (Kempinski 1986: 48) and that the site should be understood, instead, as a Canaanite site. Coogan, who did accept the cultic nature of the site, could not accept it as Israelite because of his understanding of Joshua as part of an idealized retrojection by the Deuteronomistic Historian (Coogan 1990: 27). Dever’s (1992: 28) rejection of the cultic nature of the site also appears to have been informed by an acceptance of postexilic origins for the biblical materials. As mentioned above (chap. 1), evangelical scholars who argue for an exodus–conquest in the 15th century also find the cultic identification difficult to accept. In a short article on the Mt. Ebal site in the Archaeological Study Bible, it is stated that “the current dating of the site does not fit with Biblical chronology, which suggests an earlier, fourteenth century (ca. 1400 b.c.) date for Joshua and the conquest” (Kaiser and Garrett 2005: 288). Pitkänen raised the possibility that the Stratum IB structure served as a monument, though he saw it more likely as an improved version of the Stratum II structure (Pitkänen 2004: 182–83). Other biblical texts do describe structures that were built as monuments (e.g., Josh 4; 22:9–34). Pitkänen suggests that the lack of living quarters in association with Stratum IB could corroborate the interpretation of the altar as a monument. Pitkänen recognizes, however, that animal bones were found in Stratum IB as well, which seems to suggest a continued cultic usage. Although some may hold out that the Iron Age I structure on Mt. Ebal commemorates an earlier, more transient structure, there is at present no archaeological evidence to support this hypothesis. The issues of the composition of Deuteronomy, the Deuteronomistic History, the place of Josh 8:30–35, and other questions of biblical chronology go beyond the scope of this volume. 2 My purpose here, however, is not to analyze the Ebal site on the basis of the biblical text but on the basis of archaeological data and in relation to the larger picture of the central 2.  For issues related to the composition of Deuteronomy, see the collected articles in Christensen 1993. For the Deuteronomistic History, see the collected articles in Knoppers and McConville 2000. For the place of Josh 8:30–35, see, e.g., Nihan 2007: 217–22; Noort 1997: 161–80; Richter 2007: 342–66; De Troyer 2005: 141–62.

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hill country settlement in Iron Age I (below). In any case, neither Deut 27 nor Josh 8:30–35 provides details about the role that a cultic site such as is described might play in the ongoing life of Israelite society (beyond the initial founding ceremony described). Zertal (1986–87: 157) suggests that the biblical traditions of Shiloh (1   Sam 1–10), which are considered by most scholars to date to or before the 10th century b.c.e., may supplement our knowledge regarding the usage of cultic centers of this sort (e.g., Halpern 1992: 1214–15). Activities carried out at the Shiloh shrine were: 1. Annual pilgrimages. This appears to be a family or clan pilgrimage distinct from the requirement for males to appear three times a year before Yhwh as part of a national festival (Exod 23:14–17; 34:18–24; Deut 16:16; see Haran 1969: 11–22). 2. Yearly sacrifices 3. Payment of a tithe 4. Offerings including bulls, an ephah of flour, and a vessel containing wine (1 Sam 1:24). The Hebrew word ‫( נֵבֶל‬nēbel ), usually translated “skin” (e.g., nrsv), can also refer to a large storage jar used especially for wine, oil, and grain. Kelso notes that, in references in the historical books, ‫ נֵבֶל‬appears to mean wine skin, though in the later prophetic books and in Lamentations it apparently refers to a storage jar. “This is, of course, only a coincidence, for nevel must have had both usages throughout the entire Old Testament period” (Kelso 1948: 25). Meyers argues that “a case could be made for the replacement of skins with jars for the storage and transport of commodities once taxation and trade became part of the economic picture and the stamping of ownership emerged (as evidenced in the stamped jar handles of the Iron II period)” (Meyers 1995: 84 n. 23). However, jar rims stamped with a potter’s mark in the shape of an upside-down V and dating to Iron Age I have been found at both Mt. Ebal and Tall al-ʿUmayri (Zertal 1986–87: 147; Herr 2002: 135–55). In addition, many vessels at Mt. Ebal bear puncturing or incising marks that seem to be typical of the period of the settlement of the Manassite hill country; the same sorts of marks on vessels are also found in Ephraim and in the Jezreel Valley, though it is not clear whether this feature had administrative significance or whether it was purely decorative (Zertal 1986–87: 135, 145–47; Finkelstein 1988: 285–87). 5. Parts of the meat eaten by the people (1 Sam 9:13) following the sacrifice of the animal

The layout of the Ebal site in Stratum IB, again, does suggest that it was intended to accommodate numerous individuals. The vessels in the installations may have been deposited as offerings. The burned bones and indications of cooking in some of the installations point to the possibility of the consumption of sacrificial meat on the site. The biblical traditions specifically associate feasting with the ceremonial activities undertaken at Mt. Ebal (Deut 27:7; cf. also 12:7, 17–18). Dever’s joking dismissal of the

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possible cultic nature of the site as “a picnic site where barbecues were enjoyed by families on Saturday afternoons” (Dever 1992: 34) may, in fact, reinforce the cultic nature of the site. As Zertal has observed, “though he intended to curse, he blessed!” (Zertal 1998a). Finkelstein, however, remains unconvinced about the identification of the Ebal site as the main cult site for the settlers of the area. He argues that, “historically, it is difficult to envision a supra-tribal Israelite cultic center as early as Zertal proposes, and none of the finds indicate that this site was a center for all of Israel” (Finkelstein 1988: 85). This raises the question of what the biblical writer(s) meant by the expression “all Israel” (‫ִׂש ָראֵל‬ ְ ‫; ָכּל־י‬ Josh 8:33). Did it include every person who considered himself or herself an Israelite? The phrase “all Israel,” read literally, suggests a comprehensive reference to the “whole” of Israel, or to “all” (‫ )ּכָל‬of the individuals whom Israel comprised (Sauer 1997: 615). Obviously, however, “the sense in which ‘all’ is to be taken must be gathered from the context” (Oswalt 1980: 441), and this phrase has its own usages that must be respected. Joshua 3:1 and 17 refer to “all” the Israelites as crossing the Jordan. However, the families of Reuben, Gad, and East Manasseh are excluded. In this case, the phrase is clearly not a reference to every man, woman, and child but to a limited representation. In Josh 10:15 and 43, “all Israel” is used to refer to the raiding force that carried out battles from its base camp at Gilgal. It is clear, however, that this raiding force did not constitute the totality of the Israelite tribes, since the text earlier reported that the families of Reuben, Gad, and East Manasseh were left in Transjordan when the Israelites crossed into Canaan. Instead, the raiding force of Josh 10 is drawn from the tribes. That the word “Israel” did not necessarily refer to the entire Hebrew populace but that it could refer to the overall confederal identity of Israel is made clear by its use in the “Song of Deborah.” Deborah’s hymn assumes a tribal structure with a confederal identity as “Israel,” despite the fact that, technically, not “all Israel” responded to her summons to join in defending the people against Sisera ( Judg 4–5; see further Younger 1990: 247–49). Toward the end of the book of Joshua, the term “all Israel” appears in a usage that is particularly illuminating. On at least this occasion, “all Israel” may be understood in a representative fashion instead of referring to every man, woman, and child that made up the Hebrew populace. When Joshua prepared to deliver his farewell address, the text reports that “Joshua summoned all Israel (that is, their elders, their chiefs, their judges, and their officers) and said to them, . . .” (Boling 1982: 519). Boling restores an explicative waw (‫ )ו‬from the LXX and the Syriac to the word “their elders” (‫)ל ְז ֵקנָיו‬, ִ which he renders “that is,” in the parenthetical statement. The explicative waw suggests to him that “all Israel” is being defined as “their elders, leaders, judges and officers” (Boling 1982: 522). A similar instance occurs at the covenant renewal at the end of the book of Joshua. The text reports: “Then Joshua gathered all the tribes of Israel to Shechem, and summoned the

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elders, the heads, the judges, and the officers of Israel; and they presented themselves before God” ( Josh 24:1). There is no explicative waw in any of the versions, however, and so the phrase “all Israel” could be intended to refer to the entire populace. Even if the expression “all Israel” is understood as consisting here of a smaller body made up of representative groups from each tribe, the geography of the Mt. Ebal site does not necessitate reducing the number of people present. Between the summit of Mt. Ebal and the slope on which the Iron Age I site is located, there is an expansive recessed area or dip in the mountain that might be described as a natural amphitheater. After walking parts of this large area, I saw that it could easily have accommodated tens of thousands and, in fact, was strewn with Iron Age I sherds throughout. In addition, the areas between Mt. Ebal and the Samaritan Mt. Gerizim as well as between Mt. Ebal and Jebel Kebir are situated in such a way that their acoustic and visual capacity made them ideal places for a large assembly to hear and see public proceedings (for Ebal and the Samaritan Mt. Gerizim, see Crisler 1976: 139). Finkelstein’s difficulty in seeing the site as “a supratribal cultic center . . . for all Israel” (1988: 85, italics mine) is not a difficulty raised by the geography. In any case, Josh 8:33 notes that the gathering of “all Israel” included those who were “alien as well as citizen.” Howard notes that “the word here for ‘alien’ (‫ּגֵר‬, gēr) refers to those foreigners who lived as permanent residents within Israel” (Howard 1998: 216). In contrast to individuals who came into incidental contact with Israel, 3 these were “resident aliens” who, even though they were not Israelites by birth, did enjoy certain rights among the Hebrew people (for example, see Howard 1998: 216–17). Some of these foreigners present with the Israelites at their entrance into the land of Canaan may have descended from the “mixed rabble” who joined them during their exodus from Egypt (Exod 12:38; 19:6). 4 Among other privileges, these resident aliens could participate in various cultic celebrations—providing they had been circumcised (Exod 12:43–49). However, not only had the resident aliens among the generation of Israelites participated in the “conquest,” but the Israelites themselves had not even been circumcised. As Josh 5:2–12 makes clear, the exodus generation failed to circumcise their male children. It appears, therefore, that upon its entrance into the land of Canaan, the whole of Israel was not in a covenant relationship with Yhwh, though this is not explicitly stated in the book of Joshua. If this wass the case, however, the covenant ceremony of Josh 8:30–35 was really a covenant renewal ceremony, because the Israelites (including the resident aliens) present had never had their relationship 3.  That is, travelers, traders, etc., who had few rights in Israel. See Exod 12:43; Lev 22:25; Deut 14:21; 15:3. 4.  This is speculation, however, because the word ‫ ּגֵר‬is not used.

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with Yhwh ratified through a covenant ceremony. 5 Although the exodus generation had experienced the seminal event of the establishment of the covenant at Sinai, that generation had died. This new generation, consisting of Israelites along with the “mixed rabble” who had attached themselves to them during the period of the exodus and wilderness wandering, gathered for the Ebal/Gerizim ceremony, in which they would agree to follow Yhwh. Altars played an important role in centralizing peoples in the ancient world and, here, it was not the kinship of the people that mattered but their common faith in Yhwh, whom they had all agreed to follow. 6 According to Josh 8:30–35, a cultic site on Mt. Ebal played a central role in crystallizing ancient Israel’s national consciousness at this early stage in its history. This evokes the question of whether the Iron Age I site on Mt. Ebal has a connection with these biblical traditions.

Scholarly Response As we have seen, the scholarly response to the findings at the Iron Age I site on Mt. Ebal has been mixed. Identification of the Ebal site as cultic in nature is opposed by Ahlström, Dever, Finkelstein, Fritz, Kempinski, Ottosson, and Rainey; but is accepted by Anbar, Ben-Noon, Bloch-Smith and Alpert-Nakhai, Block, Browning, Christensen, Coogan, Edelman, Elitzur and Nir-Zevi, Faust, Hess, Kelm, Killebrew, Kitchen, Lemaire, Mazar, Mussel, Naʾaman, Noort, Ortiz, Provan, Long, Longman, Schoville, van der Steen, Strange, Waltke, and Zevit. 7 M.  D. Coogan accepted a cultic 5.  The ceremony is understood as being a covenant renewal by, among others, Barker 1998: 277; Craigie 1976: 326–29; Hill 1988: 405–6; Soggin 1972: 240; cf. also Driver 1901: 294; Anbar 1985a: 306; Butler 1983: 95. The descendants of the first generation, however, would have been included in the covenant based on the idea of corporate solidarity (see Neyrey 1993: 88–91; Malina 2006: 699–700), whereas subsequent generations continually made the experiences of the first exodus generation their own by regular observance of the Passover and other feasts and observances (Verhey 1992: 668). The wilderness generation did not circumcise children born after the exodus ( Josh 5:7), which may imply that the Passover was not celebrated during the wilderness wandering, since circumcision was a prerequisite for participation in the celebration of the Passover (Exod 12:43–49; see Sarna 1991: 63–64). In Josh 5, the generation of the exodus is contrasted with the generation of the conquest/settlement, whose circumcision and celebration of the Passover serve to identify the Israelites with Yhwh and his covenantal promises and to anticipate their settlement in the land (see Hess 1996: 118–25). 6.  For discussion about the role that altars played in the ancient world, see Haak 1992: 162–67; for the importance of religion in the formation of Israelite consciousness, see Hawkins 2005: 33–36. 7.  The cultic identification is opposed by Ahlström 1993: 366; Dever 1992: 32–34; Finkelstein 1988: 84–84; Fritz 1990: 185; Kempinski 1986; Ottosson 1991: 241; and Rainey 1986: 66; 2009: 186*; and accepted by Anbar 1985b: 352; Ben-Noon 1985; Bloch-Smith and Nakhai 1999: 76–77; Block 1998: 602; Browning 1998: 33–34; Christensen 2002: 654; Coogan 1987: 1–8; Edelman 1996: 50 n. 56; Elitzur and Nir-Zevi 2003: 34; Faust 2006: 114;

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interpretation of the site but argued that “it is misleading and ultimately unhelpful for the larger historical task of a biblical archaeologist . . . to presume that [the Mt. Ebal site] was Israelite” (Coogan 1987: 1–8). However, as Christensen (2002: 654) has noted, “the fact remains that the site fits all four of his own criteria for a cultic site from archaeological remains as well as the general picture in terms of the biblical account.” In a helpful article reviewing recent survey and excavation data, Hess (1993: 137– 39) concluded that “evidence for cult centers at Mount Ebal and at Shiloh, as well as details such as the diet of the hill country inhabitants, do correlate in a variety of points with the picture of early Israel’s worship as suggested both by Biblical law codes and by the narratives of Joshua, Judges, and the books of Samuel.” Hess suggests that, ultimately, Ebal should be understood both in its Palestinian context and “in terms of the biblical recollections.” Examination of the Ebal site in light of the “biblical recollections” is not decisive, because there is disagreement about the nature and date of the biblical materials. Whether or not the biblical materials even preserve traditions rooted in the early settlement is not a question on which there is agreement. Though he acknowledges these difficulties, A. Mazar (1992a: 295) has written that “the excavator’s arguments supporting his identification of the site as a cult place are persuasive, even if we do not accept them to the last detail.” He suggests that, “as this is the only Iron Age site encountered in Zertal’s rigorous survey on Mount Ebal, it is likely that the biblical tradition refers to it.” In addition, the absence of remains from the monarchial period reinforce the antiquity of the biblical traditions in Joshua and Deuteronomy (Deut 11:29; 27:4–8; Josh 8:30–35). Mazar’s conclusions in this regard may be very important for our understanding of Israelite historiography and future attempts to relate archaeological finds to historiographical traditions. Elsewhere, Mazar writes that, “even if the traditions were not introduced into Israelite historiography until a much later period, memories from the settlement period that relate to this site could have constituted the background for the traditions concerning the covenant ceremony at Mount Ebal” (A. Mazar 2003: 88). While the evidence seems to be strongly suggestive of an identification of the Ebal site as either an altar or a bāmâ, “its origin is consistent with the dramatic settlement activity in the central hill country early in the twelfth century b.c.” (Kelm 1991: 197). To understand the site in relationship to this settlement activity, we must set it in the broader context of the archaeological surveys of the land of Israel, especially that of the Manassite territory. Hess 1993: 136–37, 139; 1996: 174; Kelm 1991: 197; Killebrew 2005: 159–60; Kitchen 2003: 232–34; Lemaire 1990: 199–201; A. Mazar 1990: 348–50; 1992: 293–94; Mussel 1993: 174– 75; Naʾaman 1986: 259–80; Noort 1997: 168–70; Ortiz 2005: 71; Provan, Long, and Longman 2003: 185–87; Schoville 2001: 23–24; van der Steen 2004: 73; Strange 1994: 158–59; Waltke 1994: 246; and Zevit 2001: 196–201.

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An Overview of Regional Surveys in Israel Galilee The region of Galilee includes the area contiguous with the west side of the Sea of Galilee and can be subdivided into Upper Galilee, which is rugged and mountainous, and Lower Galilee, where the hills are transected by four broad valleys (Arnal 2007: 514; Frankel 1992: 879–95). The settlement pattern of the Upper Galilee first began to be revealed by Aharoni, who conducted a pioneering archaeological survey of the region in the early 1950s (Aharoni 1957a), the first effort to study the Late Bronze–Iron Age I transition in a regional perspective. Since the 1950s, further survey and excavation has been conducted in the region. The comprehensive survey of western Galilee conducted by R. Frankel (1986: 304–17; 2001) has yielded new information on the Late Bronze Age settlements in the northern part of Upper Galilee. The number and size of settlements decreased, which suggests a cultural decline in the Late Bronze Age. The main centers of population were in the valleys, but at least 6 Late Bronze Age sites have been recorded, and extrabiblical sources name a few others (see Frankel 1992: 882–83). The picture of Upper Galilee that emerges from the written and archaeological data is of city-states situated in the valleys. In early Iron Age I, small settlements that had not been occupied in the Late Bronze Age began to appear, and the large settlements that had existed at Hazor and Dan in the Late Bronze Age were replaced by small settlements. 8 The Bronze Age city of Kinneret was reestablished in Iron Age I but only after a gap, and very little of the first city of this period (Stratum VI) remains. The Stratum V city was fortified with a wall, was well planned, and reflects the Canaanite traditions of the Late Bronze Age (Pakkala, Münger, and Zangenberg 2004: 17–24). Frankel’s intensive survey, covering 200 sq. km, revealed 40 sites dating to the early Iron Age, the sizes of which tended to range from 2,691 sq. ft. to 5 acres (250 sq. m to 2 ha). Most of these sites were situated on hills, and few of them had building remains (Frankel 1994: 25–34). Many of them were not founded until the latter half of the period, suggesting a delay in the establishment of villages in this region during Iron Age I. In the northernmost area of Lower Galilee, not a single Late Bronze Age site has been discovered. The southern area of Lower Galilee, however, was the fringe of the Canaanite settlement system of the Jezreel Valley and the Plain of Acco, and two major mounds have been discovered in this region. The first site, Tell Ḥannathon, which may be associated with biblical Hannathon ( Josh 19:14), extends over 12 acres (5 ha). The second, Tell Gath-Ḥepher, situated on the northern slopes of the Nazareth range, spans 8.  For the new, small settlements, see Aharoni 1957a; for Hazor, see Ben-Tor 1997; Ben-Tor and Bonfils 1997; for Dan, see Biran 1994: 125–42.

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15 acres (6 ha). A few small, rural settlements are located in the vicinity of these tells. Another major Late Bronze Age site, Tell Rekhesh, which covers an area of 10 acres (4 ha), is located in the eastern Lower Galilee. However, while the southern area of Lower Galilee did have a few major sites, the overall picture is one of sparse settlement in the Late Bronze Age. The Late Bronze Age is “one of the poorest periods in the history of Lower Galilee” (Gal 1992: 56). Gal (1994: 38) points to EA 148, which portrays the region as an area that was inhabited only by groups of ʿApiru and was contested by the kings of both Tyre and Hazor. Iron Age I marked the beginning of a major change in the settlement of Lower Galilee. In this period, around 25 sites were discovered, concentrated primarily in the southern part of the region. These were very small settlements, but they reveal a completely different configuration of settlement than the Late Bronze Age. These sites were typically established near the small springs that were characteristic of southern Lower Galilee, ranged from 0.2 to 1.0 acre (0.1–0.4 ha), and were short lived. The Jezreel and Beth-shean Valleys The Jezreel Valley is a fertile basin found between the hills around Samaria and the hills of Galilee. It served as the main road between the coast and the Jordan Valley. The Beth-shean Valley then continues toward Transjordan. Together, these valley roads functioned as part of an international system that connected Transjordan with the Mediterranean Sea, and the Jezreel and Beth-shean Valleys were located at tactical crossroads on this route. Because of the strategic location of this crossroad, these valleys saw clashes between numerous ancient powers. Because of the unusual fertility of the Jezreel Valley, which was famous for its grain production, it was the home of several important Bronze Age sites, including Megiddo and Jokneam, which both stood near the mouth of the main access road from Egypt (for Megiddo, see Ussishkin 2009: 17–27; for Jokneam, see Zuckerman 2009: 374). Likewise, the Beth-shean Valley housed several Bronze Age sites, including Beth-shean, located on Tell el-Husn, a 10-acre (4-ha) mound on the bank of the Harod River, and Rehov, one of the largest mounds in the land of Israel (25.7 acres; 10.4 ha), located between the Gilboa ridge and the Jordan River (for Beth-shean, see E. Mazar 2006; for Rehov, see A. Mazar 2009: 759). Because of the location of these sites on the major east–west highway across northern Israel, Egypt sought and appears to have successfully maintained control of them throughout the Late Bronze Age. Both cities attest occupational gaps following the loss of Egyptian hegemony, and there was a decline in the material culture of the valley cities in general (Singer 1994: 309). In late Iron Age I and early Iron Age II, some of these sites began to recover their former standard of living, and smaller sites, such as Taʿanach (Rast 1978: 3–8) and ʿAfula (Dothan 1993) began to prosper.

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The Central Hill Country The central hill country of ancient Israel included the geographical region located between the Shephelah and the Judean Wilderness; it was an almost unbroken feature that stretched south from the mountains of Lebanon to the Red Sea, broken up only by the Plain of Esdraelon. The higher elevation, more temperate climate, and greater precipitation facilitated the production of more abundant grain crops. Green (2007: 826) notes that “because of their favorable environment and agricultural fertility the hill countries of Israel and the Transjordan were heavily settled throughout antiquity.” In his seminal volume, The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement, Finkelstein (1988: 353) observed that the vast majority of all Iron Age I settlements west of the Jordan River were located in the central hill country, with 90% of them situated within the territories of Ephraim and Manasseh. I here review the surveys of Ephraim and its vicinity, as well as the territories of Benjamin and Judah, but I reserve the territory of Manasseh for extended treatment in the following section. The 1968 survey of Judea, Samaria, and the Golan already showed that Ephraim was fairly densely settled in the Early and Middle Bronze Ages but was sparsely settled in the Late Bronze Age (Gophna and Porat 1972: 196– 241). A new archaeological survey of southern Samaria was conducted from 1980 to 1987 as one component of a comprehensive regional project that also included excavations at Shiloh (Finkelstein, Bunimovitz, and Lederman 1993). Data from the survey has appeared in various published works, and the first two volumes of the final report have recently appeared. 9 The survey of southern Samaria reveals a settlement pattern similar to that of the foregoing surveys. Only nine Late Bronze Age sites have been discovered in Ephraim, including Beit Ur et-Tahta, Beitin, Tell Abu Zarad, Khirbet Seilun (Tell Shiloh), Khirbet el-Marjama, Khirbet er-Rahaya, Khirbet ʿUrma, and two unnamed sites. Beitin boasts a relatively large settlement (Finkelstein 1988: 72–73; Finkelstein et al. 1997: 518, 893). Most of the Late Bronze Age sites fell out of use at the end of this period, and the sites in which occupation did continue shrank in size. “During Iron I, . . . an influx of settlers overran the region” (Finkelstein 1988: 187). The number of newly founded sites in Iron Age I that are reported in the current publication of the southern Samaria survey stands at 134 (Finkelstein, Lederman, and Bunimovitz 1997: 893–96). Thorough archaeological surveys have been carried out in many of the areas bordering southern Samaria. The territory to the immediate south was surveyed by teams working under the auspices of the Archaeological Staff Officer for Judea and Samaria; the foothills to the west were surveyed in the 1970s by two teams, one led by the Institute of Archaeology of Tel 9.  Finkelstein (1988), for example, incorporates data from the survey. The first two volumes of the survey appear in Finkelstein and Lederman 1997.

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Aviv University and the other by Shavit; the area to the east was surveyed by Spanier, who worked under the auspices of the Archaeological Staff Officer of Judea and Samaria. 10 Farther south, the territory of Benjamin included the city of Jerusalem, where massive structures, including fortifications, dating to Middle Bronze Age II clearly indicate social organization. It is unclear, however, whether the Middle Bronze fortifications remained in use in the Late Bronze Age; there appears to be no evidence that they were repaired in this period (Murphy-O’Connor 2008: 247). The status of the Iron Age I Jebusite city is also unclear, because neither Kenyon nor Shiloh uncovered any substantial Iron Age I remains during their respective excavations on the slope of the City of David. The absence of data, however, is not conclusive, since about half of the supposed 10th-century city lies beneath the present-day Temple Mount and remains unknown archaeologically, and much of the area south of the Temple Mount has been razed to bedrock (see Cahill 2003: 13–80). One surviving feature that may be indicative of Late Bronze–Iron Age I Jerusalem is the Stepped Stone Structure in Area G of the City of David, sometimes associated with the biblical ‫( ִמּלֹוא‬millôʾ ; Hawkins 2009a: 88). This exceptionally large structure is unique in the archaeology of Iron Age Israel and appears to have functioned as the retaining wall of a large building that has not survived. The pottery found beneath its foundation fits a date during the transition from the Late Bronze Age to Iron Age I, and domestic structures built above it date from the 9th to the 8th centuries b.c.e. These factors suggest that the “stepped stone structure,” along with whatever it supported, was likely built sometime between the 13th and 10th centuries b.c.e. (see A. Mazar 1994: 72–73). During the years 2005–7, E. Mazar uncovered parts of a Large Stone Structure in the area west of area G, which she identified as King David’s palace (2 Sam 5:11; E. Mazar 2006: 16–27, 70). She dates this structure to Iron Age IIA, which corresponds with the time of David (E. Mazar 2009: 53). Her excavations have shown that the Large Stone Structure and the Stepped Stone Structure are part of the same architectural unit. A. Mazar (2006: 269–70), however, concludes that the Stepped Stone Structure should be dated to Iron Age I and that the Large Stone Structure should therefore also be dated to this period. Faust (2010: 127–28) proposes that the Large Stone Structure is the ‫( מְצוָּדה‬2 Sam 5:7), the Jebusite fortress that David took over during his conquest of Jerusalem. 11 The massive building clearly had an important role in Jerusalem from the time of its construction 10.  For the territory to the south, see Finkelstein and Magen 1993; for the foothills to the west, see Kochavi and Beit-Arieh 1994; and Shavit 1992; for the area to the east, see Spanier 1991; 1992. 11.  Faust (2010: 123–24) examines the argument of Finkelstein et al. (2007) that the date of the Large Stone Structure should be lowered to the Hellenistic period and concludes that it is untenable.

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well into Iron Age IIA. These findings are of great significance for reconstructing Jerusalem’s history in Iron Age I–IIA, because they show that, while 10th–9th-century Jerusalem may not have been a large urban center, “it cannot be claimed that the city did not exist or did not contain monumental structures” (A. Mazar 2003: 92). In the area around Jerusalem, few Iron Age I sites have been discovered. Kallai (1972: 151–93) identified 7 in the 1968 survey, but these are clustered in a limited geographical strip on the desert fringe. Dinur, Feig, and Geldstein carried out surveys in the hill country of Benjamin under the auspices of the Archaeological Staff Officer for Judea and Samaria and discovered additional Iron Age sites (see Finkelstein and Magen 1993). Only 2 distinctly Iron Age I sites in the vicinity of Jerusalem have been excavated: Tell el-Fûl, 3.1 mi. (5 km) north of the city; and Giloh, ca. 3.1 mi. (ca. 5 km) to the southwest. 12 In an area of about 97 sq. mi. (250 sq. km) around Jerusalem, however, only about 30 Iron Age I sites have been discovered. The area south of Jerusalem, in the northern part of the territory of Judah, yielded only tiny settlements in the Late Bronze Age and virtually no Iron Age I sites (Kochavi 1972: 20–21; Ofer 1994: 118–19). The Negev Desert Late Bronze Age remains are absent in the Beer-sheba Valley and the Negev Highlands (Finkelstein 1995: 101). A small enclosed settlement was built at Tell Masos in Middle Bronze Age II, which may have existed to administer economic and political contacts with pastoralists to the south. There is a gap following this period, and the site appears to have been newly settled in early Iron Age I (Kempinski 1993b: 986)—a settlement that was originally identified by the excavators as Israelite (Kempinski et al. 1981: 175). A number of features, however, make it difficult to accept the site as a typical Israelite settlement, and a consensus has emerged that its inhabitants comprised a mixture of backgrounds, including seminomads, fellahin from the southern coastal plain or the Nile Delta, and other nomadic groups such as Amalekites (see Finkelstein 1995: 117–18; Herzog 1994: 146). At the smaller site of Beer-sheba, no Late Bronze Age remains have been found, and a rudimentary settlement consisting of pits and huts was founded in the mid12th century b.c.e. (Herzog 1993: 68–70). It appears that groups of various origins gradually settled in the area during this time frame, some of whom came from the central hill country (Herzog 1994: 148).

12.  For Tell el-Fûl, see Finkelstein 1988: 56–60; A. Mazar 1994: 76–78; for Giloh, see Finkelstein 1988: 48–50; A. Mazar 1994: 78–91.

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An Overview of the Survey of Manasseh: The Importance of the Manassite Territory It has long been recognized that Manasseh played a central role in the early history of Israel (e.g., Alt 1967: 175–221; de Geus 1992: 494–96; B. Mazar 1986a: 25–49). Manasseh was given the largest allotment of territory of all the tribes in the central hill country ( Josh 17:1–13). Seventy percent of all Iron Age I sites in the country of Israel are located in the territory of the tribes of Ephraim; with the oldest having been discovered in Manasseh (Finkelstein 1988: 65–91; 353–56). De Geus (1992: 495) has suggested a number of factors that made Manasseh unique and contributed to its history: 1. A high percentage of Canaanite towns were located within its territory. 2. Manasseh was engaged to some degree in a competition with its brothertribe, Ephraim. 13 3. Each of the three successive capitals of the Kingdom of Israel was located within the territory of Manasseh. 4. The natural passageways to the Transjordan and to the King’s Highway were in the territory of Manasseh—through the Wadi Farʿah and along the Wadi Zerqa.

The biblical data suggest a picture of Manasseh as “the cradle of the Israelite clans and tribes that originated from there” (Kochavi 1985: 56). Because of the abundance of biblical material on Manasseh, scholars have been drawn to the study of Manasseh since the earliest years of the 20th century (Albright 1931: 241–51). The Survey of Manasseh Geographic and archaeological surveys in western Palestine in the 20th century mostly concentrated on Transjordan, the Negev, and the Galilee. Although these are important areas, they are actually on the biblical periphery. Even though it was widely agreed that the origins of Israel should be sought in the central hill country, these decades produced little fresh archaeological material on which to build or evaluate current theories of Israelite origins. For these and other reasons, the Manasseh survey was begun in 1978, under the direction of Israeli archaeologist Adam Zertal, and has continued now for more than a quarter of a century (Zertal 1993b: 1311–12). The Manasseh survey team has covered more than 966 sq. mi. (2,500 sq. km) by foot, which is about 80% of the central hill country area. The survey 13. De Geus notes Jacob’s blessing of the younger Ephraim instead of the older Manassh (Gen 48:13–14), whereas at other times Manasseh appears before Ephraim (e.g., Josh 16:4). De Geus also cites the exclusion of the Manassites from the list of Gideon’s allies in the war against the Midianites ( Judg 8:1), the conflict between Gilead and Ephraim known as the šibbōlet incident ( Judg 12:1–6), and Ephraim’s apparent rise to dominance by the time of the monarchy (see further de Geus 1976: 79–80).

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territory extends from the Jordan Valley to the Mediterranean coastal plain and thus provides a cross-section of western Israel–Palestine. This makes a comparison of different geographical units possible. More than 200 Iron Age I sites were processed (Zertal 1998b: 240; this number has continued to increase over the years as the survey has continued), 14 producing a wealth of data regarding the central hill country settlement from ca. 1250 to ca. 1000 b.c.e. Due to the large quantity of new data produced, the survey of Manasseh has been called “one of the most important ever undertaken in the land of Israel” (Finkelstein 1988: 89). However, while four volumes reporting the survey findings have been published in Hebrew, along with other Hebrew volumes in which Zertal interprets Israelite origins in light of the findings of the survey of Manasseh, only a few American scholars have used this material so far in reconstructing the origins of early Israel or in producing commentaries on the biblical book of Joshua. 15 With the recent publication of a number of articles in English summarizing the Manasseh survey findings and the publication of the first two volumes of The Manasseh Hill Country Survey in English, the survey data will now be more accessible to a wider readership. 16 Archaeologists and biblical scholars will now have a large body of new data to work with in seeking to reconstruct Israelite origins. In the pages that follow, I review findings from the survey that may be directly relevant to our understanding of Israel’s appearance in Canaan and to the possible place of the Mt. Ebal site in this settlement process. Discoveries Related to the Emergence of Israel Settlement Patterns The survey team examined the pattern of settlement in the Manasseh territory from the beginning of the Chalcolithic (ca. 4500–3150 b.c.e.) to the end of the Ottoman (156–1917 b.c.e.) periods. For the purposes of this 14.  As these sites were processed, a computer-generated profile of an Iron Age I site was created using a seven-point methodology. “An Iron I site was defined as one yielding Iron Age I pottery, in some cases with characteristic architecture and settlement pattern, based upon past excavations of hill-country sites with remains dated to 1250–1000 b.c.e.” (Zertal 1998: 240). 15. For the survey findings, see Zertal 1988b; 1992a; 1996; 2000; and Zertal and Mirkam 2000. Several commentaries and histories have been published over the last decade that do not cite the survey: e.g., Howard 1998; Kaiser 1998; Nelson 1997; Rasmussen 2003: 138–59; et al. The commentary on Joshua by Hess (1996) appears to have been the first commentary on Joshua to incorporate these materials; Provan, Long, and Longman (2003: 187–88) give some attention to regional surface surveys; and Younger (1999: 179) considers them in his evaluation of the current state of scholarship on the history of early Israel. 16.  Articles appearing in English that summarize the survey findings include Zertal 1993b: 1311–12; 1994: 46–69; 1998: 238–50; the first two volumes of the survey to appear in English are Zertal 2004; 2007.

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study, the periods ranging from Middle Bronze Age II to Iron Age II are of particular interest (Zertal 2004: 52–56): 1. Middle Bronze Age IIB (ca. 1750–1550 b.c.e.).  This was a prosperous time in Canaan. The population was large, the people lived in fortified towns, and they had a rich material culture. Seventy-two settlements were established in the Manassite territory during this period, as the result of “a considerable ‘wave’ of settlement” that began in this period. This number is double the number of Early Bronze Age I settlements. 2. Late Bronze Age (1550–1200 b.c.e.).  The number of settlements “sharply declined” in this period, with only a quarter of MB IIB sites remaining. Zertal attributes this decline primarily to the destruction of highland settlements by New Kingdom pharaohs who were seeking to eradicate the Hyksos. This explanation accords well with the general historical picture, since the New Kingdom pharaohs incorporated Canaan into the Egyptian Empire during this period, draining the region through taxation and, occasionally, stamping out rebellions and implementing deportation tactics. The fact that culture suffered and that populations and the number of settlements declined during this period is now well known (Gonen 1992: 212–57). No new sites were established in the Manassite territory during this period. 3. Iron Age I (1200–1000 b.c.e.).  During Iron Age I, there was a large increase in settlements. Fifty-six settlements with pottery of this period were found in the Shechem syncline, three times the number of Late Bronze sites. Thirty-eight of these sites were established on virgin soil or rebuilt after having been abandoned for some time. In the Manassite territory overall, over 200 Iron Age I sites were registered. This considerable increase in settlements has been interpreted as the incursion of an outside population. El-Burnat was one of the new sites discovered dating to this period. 4. Iron Age II (1000–721 b.c.e.).  This period witnessed a peak of settlement expansion in the Shechem syncline, with most of the Iron Age II sites being a direct continuation of the sites of the preceding period. It appears that, in most of these sites, village life continued without interruption from the time of their establishment in Late Bronze/Iron I into Iron II. 17 The survey of Manasseh has discovered a number of new sites in this period, all of which were concentrated in the Wadi Sheʿir region, particularly in the Sebastiyeh section, where Samaria would become the new capital of the Northern Kingdom of Israel. There were 35 new sites in these areas, 26 17. A.  Faust (2003: 147–50; followed by E.  Bloch-Smith 2003: 410–11) has recently argued that many Iron Age I rural sites were either abandoned, destroyed, or deserted about 50 years after having been founded. Faust argues that, following this highland abandonment, the concentration of the population then shifted to larger urban settlements (Faust 2003: 147–50), a demographic change that he associates with the process of state formation. Faust’s study cites the surveys in Judah and Samaria but not those of northern Samaria and the highlands of Benjamin and thus will not be dealt with in this discussion (see the detailed critique in Finkelstein 2005: 202–8).

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This settlement pattern over the millennium, from the start of Middle Bronze IIB to the end of Iron II, seems to point to an identification of the Iron Age I settlements as sites of Israelite settlement in the Manasseh hill country. This is crucial, in light of recent claims by Finkelstein (1991: 56) that “there was no political entity named Israel before the late-11th century.” In addition, Finkelstein and Naʾaman (1994: 17) argue that “any effort to distinguish between ‘Israelite’ and ‘non-Israelite’ hill-country sites during the twelfth to eleventh centuries b.c.e. [based on the sites’] finds is doomed to failure.” Finkelstein argues, instead, that the Iron I settlement in the central hill country was simply the “third wave of settlement” in the long-term history of the area and that “the material culture of the Iron I sites should not be viewed in ethnic perspectives” (Finkelstein 1994: 169). However, when the continuity between the Iron I and Iron II sites is viewed in contrast to the discontinuity between Late Bronze Age and Iron I sites, it “may be interpreted as an indicator of the ethnic homogeneity of the two societies” (Zertal 1998b: 242). In addition, the Merneptah Stele made it clear that, by ca. 1210 b.c.e., a group called Israel existed in Canaan, most likely in the hill country (Albright 1939: 22; Bimson 1991: 22–24; Dever 2009: 89–96; 1994: 54, 56 n. 12; 2008: 47–59; Williams 1958: 140–41). The archaeological surveys of Israel, reviewed above, suggest that the phenomenon of an intensive wave of Iron I settlements is not characteristic of the entire central hill country: settlement was intensive in Ephraim and Manasseh and the eastern part of Benjamin, but it was much more sparse in the region of Jerusalem, and even more so in Judah, farther south (A. Mazar 1994: 75). The origin of the Mt. Ebal site, therefore, is consistent with Israelite sedentarization in the central hill country early in the 13th–12th century b.c.e. Chronology of the Settlement Process A second important conclusion drawn from the survey of Manasseh arose from the analysis of the pottery assemblage from the aforementioned periods. The pottery of the more than 200 Iron I sites was analyzed according to the percentages of different kinds of cooking pots, with special attention to the development of their rims. Three types of cooking pots (fig. 82) were identified in the Manasseh territory, as follows: Type A The Type A cooking pot is a direct continuation of the Late Bronze cooking pot and has been solidly dated to the 13th century b.c.e., when it was used throughout Canaan (A. Mazar 1981: 21). This cooking pot has an averted, triangular,or “folded rim” and is “a very thick vessel, made of dark

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Figure 82.  Type A, B, and C cooking pots (adapted from Zertal 1991: 39).

brown clay with pieces of quartz in it” (Zertal 1991: 42). This Type A cooking pot predominates in the eastern areas of the Manassite territory, near the Jordan Valley. Forty-eight sites in the Jordan Valley and in the desert fringes had high percentages of these vessels. In addition, sites along the wadis Farʿah and Maliḥ, which were the ecological pipelines leading westward from Transjordan and the Jordan Valley, were replete with Type A cooking pots (Zertal 1998: 242–43). Type B The Type B cooking pot has a sharp, adze-shaped rim and is assigned primarily to the 12th century b.c.e. (A. Mazar 1981: 21–22). The use of Type B cooking pots increased in the syncline’s interior—in the eastern valleys and in central Manasseh—while the use of Type A decreased (Zertal 1991: 43). Type C The Type C cooking pot has a low ridge and is the latest in the series; it dates to the 11th and 10th centuries b.c.e. (Zertal 1994: 52–53). These pots

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Figure 83.  Pottery percentages in the Manassite territory (Zertal 1991: 41).

tend to be found in sites farther into the interior of the Manassite territory, while Types A and B are virtually absent (Zertal 1991: 43). These findings were used by Zertal to trace the settlement process chronologically. The eastern sites are replete with the earliest Type A pottery; the sites in the interior contain smaller percentages of Type A and higher percentages of the subsequent pottery style, Type B; the western sites contain only the later style of pottery, Type C (fig. 83). These data “may be interpreted as a gradual infiltration, or entrance, of elements of the Iron   I hill-country culture from east to west” (Zertal 1998b: 243). In light of these and other data, 18 Zertal postulates a three-staged process of geographical expansion (fig. 84; and see Zertal 1994: 58–59). 18.  Several features are marshaled from the survey data to argue for a distinction between the Manasseh population and the other central hill and Galilean populations. These are: settlement pattern, site size, architecture, continuity from Late Bronze to

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Figure 84. The zones of the three stages of Iron I settlement in Manasseh (Zertal 1998: 241). 1. The settlement process began in the Jordan Valley and eastern Manasseh (stage A). In this region, sites were discovered mainly along the wadis Farʿah and Maliḥ. During this stage, dating to approximately the middle of the 13th to the middle of the 12th centuries b.c.e., the settlers were seminomads, with an economy based on sheep husbandry, but they were in the process of sedentarization. 2. The second phase of settlement occurred on the desert fringes and in the eastern valleys of Manasseh (stage B) and seems to have been a later phase than the first. Many of the sites—enclosures and villages—discovered in this phase of settlement were founded adjacent to Late Bronze Age sites. This suggests, to some degree, a complementary existence. During this phase, the settlers moved to an economy based on a mixture of sheepraising and wheat and barley farming, and they may have cultivated some olive groves and vineyards. This phase involved the first step in the process Iron II, limited pottery inventory, size and inner division, diet, metallurgical finds, cult and possible cult sites, place-names, population size, and cultural connections.

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toward sedentarization, during which the Iron I people grazed their flocks in the forest-park of evergreen oak that ostensibly covered these valleys. When they settled along the fringes of the central valleys—Sanur, Dothan, and er-Rama—they undertook sedentary agriculture. Iron I sites in these locations were established either on virgin soil or on the remains of abandoned Middle Bronze Age sites. 3. The final stage of the settlement process, and the latest in the series, involved penetration into the western and northern hill country (stage C). While the sites in the valleys were ecologically rich, the population growth in these areas created the need to branch out into new regions. In this final stage, the settlers used terrace agriculture and cultivated crops that were well suited to the terra-rossa soil, such as olive trees and vineyards (fig. 84). 4. While the degree to which the proposed reconstruction of the Israelite settlement by the Manasseh survey comports with the biblical account is not yet clear, the implications could be profound. Although many opinions have been proffered in the debate about Israelite origins, no entrance from the east has ever been identified archaeologically. The traditions reflected in pentateuchal sources and in Joshua, however, speak of an entrance from the east. Zertal (1991: 37) suggests that “we now have archaeological evidence of movement from the east, which dovetails with the ecological evidence: Seminomads from the east entered the northern Jordan Valley, probably from Transjordan, grazing their flocks in the desert fringe and watering them in the streams.” An east-to-west migration pattern has not been proposed before and, if it can be sustained, suggests an outside origin for the ancient Israelites.

Objections Zertal’s picture of the outside origins of Israel, especially the theory of an east-to-west migration pattern, has not been without opponents. Morecentrist, mainstream scholars have dismissed it as unconvincing (Stager 1998: 134–35). More-conservative scholars, associating it with Albrecht Alt’s “peaceful infiltration” theory, have not given it much attention (Younger 1999: 179–80). William G.  Dever is the only archaeologist who has specifically sought to rebut Zertal’s reconstructions. His criticisms pertain to three fronts: the survey approach, the hypothesized east-to-west movement based on the ceramic inventory, and the idea of a Transjordanian origin for the settlers. Dever’s first criticism is that the conclusions were drawn from surveys. He writes that “statistics of this sort, based as they are solely on scant materials from surface surveys, are meaningless. They certainly cannot bear the weight of Zertal’s sweeping generalizations about a Transjordanian, pastoral-nomadic origin for early Israel” (Dever 1993: 32*). He argues that “surface surveys are notorious for yielding results that are statistically invalid, or even at best somewhat misleading” (Dever 1998b: 227). This seems to be an overstatement. The archaeological survey method is not new and, over many years, survey methods have become highly developed, and surveys

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have become widely accepted tools for the study of regions and settlement patterns within these regions. 19 Nelson Glueck, Yohannan Aharoni, Zvi Gal, Moshe Kochavi, Israel Finkelstein, and other researchers have adopted the survey as a basic archaeological research tool. The Archaeological Survey of Israel has been surveying the country consistently since 1965, and the Archaeological Survey Society has established fixed procedures for carrying out scientific surveys. All surveys share the assumption that surface pottery represents archaeological periods buried in the site (Banning 2003: 164). Second, Dever (1993: 32) criticizes Zertal’s “fallacious” hypothesis of an east-to-west movement of the early hill country settlers. Dever notes that the Type A cooking pots “occur at nearly all Zertal’s sites: only the percentages differ (over 20% to the east, 5–20% to the west).” Even at the easternmost sites, some of the Type B pottery was present, albeit a smaller percentage. Dever argues that, “if there are any early cooking pots there at all, then the site was established in the early 12th century. It may have been small, it may have grown later; but it has to have been established in the earliest phase of settlement. In short, there was no general movement of peoples from east to west.” Dever writes that Zertal’s postulation of an eastto-west settlement pattern is “bogus” and that Zertal has “been seduced by the later biblical notion of outside immigration, against all current archaeological evidence” (Dever 1992: 51, 84; 1993: 27). Postulating the movement or spread of populations through the use of pottery finds, however, is not “fallacious” or “bogus.” This is, in fact, a methodology—called “width stratigraphy” (Zertal 1991: 39–41)—that has been used by many scholars, including Kenyon, Gerstenblith, Dothan, Caubet, Stager, and others in following population movements. 20 The theory of an east-to-west settlement pattern, based on a wide geographical area such as the Manassite territory, does not seem unreasonable. Furthermore, these preliminary conclusions have been tested in stratigraphic excavations at Bedhat esh-Shaʿab, Yafit (3), and Mt. Ebal, where a preponderance of type A cooking pots were found. The location of these sites in Zones A and B (fig. 84) of the settlement map of the Manassite territory corresponds with the distribution of cooking pots throughout the region. 21 Dever also insists that the presence of any Type A pottery in a site in Zone B or C means that it must have been founded in the early 12th century. He uses this logic to argue that there was no east-to-west movement but 19.  For surveys as a tool for studying regions, see Banning 2003: 164–67; Holladay 2003: 33–47; Kautz 1988: 209–22; for settlement within those regions, see Mattingly 1988: 389–400. 20. See Zertal 1991: 39–41. For use of width stratigraphy, see, e.g., Kenyon: e.g., 1979: 119ff., 212ff.; Gerstenblith: e.g., 1980: 65–84; Dothan: e.g., 1982; 1988a; 1988b; 2000; Caubet: e.g., 2000: 35–51; Stager: e.g., 1995: 334–34. 21.  For the pottery of esh-Shaʾ, see Zertal 2005: 743–52; for Yafit (3), see Zertal 2005: 333–37; for Ebal, see Zertal 1986–87: 109–11, 125–38.

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that all the sites were founded in the 13th–12th centuries b.c.e. This argument, however, ignores the fact that pottery sequences always overlap. Typically, one form gradually declines as another increases (Lapp 1992: 433–44). The distribution of Types A, B, and C cooking pots across zones A, B, and C of the Manassite territory may best be understood as revealing a settlement pattern. As Ziony Zevit (2001: 103 n. 35) has recently argued, “This distribution cannot be accounted for if all these settlements were established at the same time, if the pattern of settlement was random, or if it moved . . . from west to east.” Kitchen (2003: 228) has concluded that the explanation for the ceramic inventory of the survey of Manasseh is “humiliatingly simple (which restless, oversophisticated minds hate).” He explains that “the biblical traditions overall are unanimous that Israel came from Egypt and that they entered Canaan—prior to Joshua they had not lived in Canaan, by tradition, for centuries when their claimed ancestors passed that way ending up in Egypt. . . . Problem in essence solved.” Third, in a Brown symposium lecture, later published as Exodus: The Egyptian Evidence, Dever (1997: 75) criticizes the hypothesis that “the early Israelites were nomads from Transjordan, gradually moving across the Jordan in the process of becoming sedentarized.” The Bible indeed presents Transjordan and the Jordan Valley as key entry routes for the early Israelites (e.g., Deut 11:29–30; 27:2, 4). In 1925, Alt (1967: 175–221) had already argued that Israel’s entrance into Canaan must have been through the Jordan Valley. Dever argues, however, that there is little Late Bronze Age context for either urban sites or pastoral nomads and that efforts “to provide archaeological justification for the nomadic ideal in ancient Israel are simply nostalgia for a biblical past that never was.” He argues that “there is simply no archaeological evidence that ‘Earliest Israel’ was ever in Transjordan” (emphasis mine; Dever 1991: 88 n. 7). The noted Egyptologist Kenneth Kitchen (1998: 105) argues that Dever’s treatment of the Transjordanian phase of early Israel’s travels is “superficial,” and he points to intensive surveys that have revealed much new information. Indeed, studies of the settlement patterns and accompanying archaeological data demonstrate that there was an increase in settlement in central and northern Transjordan in Late Bronze II ( Ji 1998: 1–21; La­Bianca and Younker 1995: 399–411; van der Steen 1995: 141–58). The process of sedentarization is evidenced by the establishment of a series of both walled and unwalled settlements ( Ji 1996: 61–67). The number of sites increased in early Iron Age I ( Ji 1996: 65; van der Steen 1999: 176–92). Collared-rim jars and four-room houses appeared at a number of these sites ( Ji 1997: 19–32), a fact that, although it does not prove the ethnic identity of the inhabitants of these sites, is characteristic of the Israelite settlement in Canaan. Herr has noted the strong similarities of the material culture at Tall al-ʿUmayri with that of the highlands of Cisjordan (Herr 1998: 251–264; 2000: 167–79). It is one of the earliest Iron I sites in Israel, contemporary with Mt. Ebal and

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Giloh, contains the same limited repertoire of pottery and finds as highland sites in Cisjordan and shares a material culture most similar to the hill country north of Jerusalem, especially from the region of Shechem. The most frequent bowl type at ʿUmayri is the “Manasseh bowl.” Two collaredrim storage jars bear the same potter’s mark as some jar rims from Ebal. Some of the seals from ʿUmayri are similar to trapezoidal seals from Ebal. Over 30 seals are similar to a kind of Cisjordanian seal (Herr 2000: 175– 177). It appears that finds from Ḥesban, Jawa, and Jalul are virtually identical to ʿUmayri in several respects, and “one may entertain the possibility that these four sites represent a contemporaneous regional cultural entity.” Rainey has organized a chart that demonstrates the derivation of the Cisjordanian pottery forms from the pottery forms of Transjordan, in contrast to the opinion of Dever, who portrays the forms as having evolved from Canaanite predecessors (Rainey and Notley 2006: 130; Dever 2003: 121–25). The archaeological data do not rule out the biblical tradition that the Israelites migrated north from the outskirts of Moab to the Mishor Plains through southern and northern Gilead and into Bashan. Indeed, it seems clearly to support it (Rainey and Notley 2006: 111–12). In this debate, the survey of Manasseh has provided completely new material regarding the Jordan Valley, heretofore completely unknown archaeologically (Zertal 1998b: 238–50; 2005). As mentioned above, in the Jordan Valley, from Wadi Shubash to Wadi Aujeh, 48 sites were found, some of which were fortified enclosures and others of which were cave sites. One hundred and eight Type A pots, 17 Type B, and 21 Type C cooking pots were collected from these sites. Type A cooking pots constitute 95% of the total number of cooking pots in the fortified enclosures. “The results show some connection between the enclosures and CP type A, indicating that the enclosures, in the most part, were the earliest sites to be built west of the Jordan” (A.  Zertal, personal communication). When stages A, B, and C are examined together, it does not seem unreasonable to posit that they point to a general east-to-west pattern of settlement. The alternative understanding of Israelite origins proposed by Dever is that ancient Israel was made up of disaffected Canaanites who withdrew to the hill country during and following the Late Bronze/Iron I transition (Dever 2003: 188–221). Dever proposes a modified form of the “peasant revolt” theory, explaining that the withdrawal of the hill country settlers from Canaan was not a “flight from intolerable conditions or necessarily a revolutionary Yahwistic fervor . . . but rather simply a quest for a new society and a new lifestyle. They wanted to start over. And in the end, that was revolutionary” (2003: 178). Thus, Dever’s early Israelites were not violent revolutionaries but peaceful utopianists. He summarizes, “To my mind, land reform must have been the driving force behind, and the ultimate goal of, the early Israelite movement.” Dever compares the hill country settlement to the establishment of the 19th-century Oneida Community, the New

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Harmony community in southwestern Indiana during the same period, and the 18th-century Shaker movement. In the end, however, he admits that, in regard to the reasons behind the withdrawal and settlement of his “protoIsraelites,” his “theory is speculative . . . [with] little archaeological evidence to support it” (Dever 2003: 179). This is true. There is no archaeological evidence for a peasant rebellion in the 14th century b.c.e. The Amarna Letters, which contain diplomatic correspondence between the kings of Canaanite city-states and their Pharaonic overlords, Amenhotep III and Akhenaten, do attest to factions and power plays among the rulers of the Canaanite city-states (Moran 1992: xiii–xxxix). They do not, however, provide evidence of a peasant rebellion. 22 In addition, there is no evidence of a settlement process in the central hill country during the 14th century b.c.e. Instead, “the harmony of the Biblical text with the material finds at the survey sites . . . [supports] the view that the Iron Age I settlements were sites of Israelite settlement in the Manasseh Hill Country” (Zertal 2004: 56). Moshe Kochavi (1985: 56) has concluded that “what emerges from the archaeological evidence from the territory of Manasseh supports the biblical passages alluding to it as the cradle of the Israelite clans and tribes that eventually originated from there.” In the end, Dever’s criticisms of the theories generated by the survey of Manasseh seem to be as laden with the sorts of ideological bias that he heartily rebukes in his own writings (Dever 1998a: 39–52), for he concludes by calling Zertal a “secular fundamentalist” whose ideas are “dangerous” (Dever 1992: 84). What is dangerous about the idea of an east-to-west migration of the ancient Israelites? It may be that it harmonizes well with the biblical account, to which we now turn.

The Survey of Manasseh Compared with Joshua, Judges, and the Question of Israelite Origins Since the 19th century, scholars have assumed that the book of Joshua painted a picture of a sweeping military conquest of Canaan, while the book of Judges presented a more accurate, “alternative” account. 23 Although the study of Joshua has moved from literary-critical approaches to tradition-historical approaches, this understanding of the relationship between Joshua and Judges continues to predominate in much of contem22.  As claimed in Mendenhall 1962: 66–87; and Gottwald 1979: 401–410. It has been argued that the ʿapiru of the Amarna Letters may be associated with the invading Israelites (Waterhouse 2001: 31–42; Wood 2003: 269–71; 2005: 489), though Rainey has argued that there are linguistic and sociological problems with an association of this sort (Rainey 1995: 481–96; 2005). 23. See Dillard and Longman 1994: 109–10; see also the recent discussion and bibliography in Meier 2005: 425–29.

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porary scholarly literature. 24 In place of this focus on a supposed tension between the books of Joshua and Judges, however, some scholars have recently argued that the idea of a sweeping conquest is a modern scholarly construct imposed on the book of Joshua and that, when it is read with greater nuance, it is seen to acknowledge a more complex and protracted settlement process. 25 The text does not claim that the ancient Israelites occupied the land but that they made sorties into it and planned its apportionment. Merling has written at length about Gilgal, the site where the Israelites camped and from where they launched their sorties (Merling 1997a: 199–205). Gilgal was the place where the Israelites had camped after crossing the Jordan ( Josh 4:19), where they circumcised the new generation ( Josh 5:1–9), and where they celebrated the Passover ( Josh 5:10–12). After each circumambulation of Jericho, the Israelites returned to Gilgal ( Josh 5:14), where the Gibeonites sought out Joshua in order to establish a covenant with him ( Josh 9:6). After defeating a coalition of the kings of five key southern city-states that had formed in response to the consorting of the Gibeonites with the Israelites ( Josh 10:1–5), “Joshua returned, and all Israel with him, to the camp at Gilgal” ( Josh 10:15). Even after the southern (chaps. 9–10) and northern campaigns (chap. 11) and after the Israelites were said to have “possessed” the land (chap. 12), they were still said to have been residing in Gilgal ( Josh 14:6). And, as discussed above (chap. 3), there was probably more than one Gilgal. The book of Joshua also includes accounts of partial and unsuccessful settlements. Joshua 14–15 reports the activities of Judah, the tribe that Judg 1 identifies with subsequent efforts at settlement. Joshua 16 recounts similar failed efforts at conquest by the Ephraimites; chap. 17 by the Manassites; and in chaps. 18–22, how the remaining tribes were given land in Ephraim, Manasseh, and Judah because they were unable to settle the land allotted to them. Joshua 18 then reports that only four tribes had actually received their inheritance. The difficulty in undertaking a “conquest” of the lowlands was that the Canaanite cities were located there and that “all the Canaanites who live in the plain have chariots of iron, both those in Beth-shean and its villages and those in the Valley of Jezreel” ( Josh 17:16). The text acknowledges the fact that Canaanite cities were mainly in the lowlands and that this was apparently one of the reasons that the Israelites settled primarily in the hill country ( Josh 17:14ff.). The central hill country was sparsely populated, and entire wood-covered areas were uninhabited; here the Israelites could clear land and “switch over from a semi-nomadic 24. E.g., Callaway 1988: 53–84; Coote 1998: 557; Finkelstein and Silberman 2001: 72– 122; Frick 2003: 247–48; Pressler 2002: 127–28. 25. E.g., Davidson 1995: 100; Dillard and Longman 1994: 111–12; Hawkins 2005: 30– 36; Hess 1993: 125–42; Kitchen 1977: 90–91; 1998: 65–131; 2004: 159–63; LaSor, Hubbard, and Bush 1996: 142; Merling 1997a: 106–262; 1997b: 7–28; 2004: 41–42; Provan, Long, and Longman 2003: 148–56; Waltke 1982: 1135; Younger 1990: 197–237, 310–21; 1999: 200–205.

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existence based mainly on the breeding and growing of flocks to agriculture and permanent settlement” (Aharoni 1971: 96). As the foregoing discussion of the analysis of the pottery assemblage showed, the Israelites gradually penetrated the central hill country in an east-to-west movement. In their gradual settlement of the central hill country, however, the Israelites did not secure complete contol over all this territory, and the Canaanites apparently continued to occupy Hebron ( Josh 14:12), Jerusalem (15.63), Bethshean, Ibleam, Dor, Endor, Taʿanach, Megiddo, and Napheth ( Josh 17:11– 12). As we have seen, in the initial stages of sedentarization, many of the sites in the eastern valleys of Manasseh were founded opposite Late Bronze Age sites, which may suggest a complementary existence. Zertal (1994: 60) reasons that the older, Canaanite towns would have had control over the perennial water sources: “The new settlers had to reach agreement with the local Canaanites on the usage of their water resources. Such agreements today typify the relationships between the fellahin—the owners of the water sources—and the Bedouin—the consumers. The second stage of the settlement of the region—that in the inner valleys—was fully dependent on such agreements.” 26 The results of the Manasseh survey do not necessarily preclude conflict or military engagement between the Israelites and the indigenous peoples. Indeed, Zertal (1994: 60) himself suggests that, “in a later stage of the Iron I settlement process, the Israelites achieved control over the water sources, either by military superiority or by a process of assimilation with the autochthonous population.” The water factor was a key aspect of Israel’s rise to prominence in the land and, when the cistern was developed, it “made possible a new independence of the Israelites that soon became a political superiority” (Zertal 1988b: 352). Many current readings of the book of Joshua understand that the book of Joshua simply records the Hebrew entrance into Canaan without occupation. Although the Israelites undertook some military campaigns, “these campaigns were essentially disabling raids; they were not territorial conquests with instant Hebrew occupation. The text is very clear about this” (Kitchen 2003: 162). Again, throughout the book, Gilgal is used as something of a “staging ground” (Merling 1997a: 199–205), and the first indication of a real move in occupation beyond Gilgal does not come until Josh 18:4. Kitchen (2003: 163) concludes that, when closely read, the book of Joshua does not actually describe a “sweeping, instant conquest-with-occupation.” The text only reports burning at Jericho, ʿAi, and Hazor, which makes the search for extensive conflagration levels at other Late Bronze Age sites in order to connect them with the Israelites a moot effort. When 26.  We see a similar dependence of the Israelites on the Philistines for Iron in 1  Sam 13:21.

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this is understood, the portrayal of Judges “follows directly and easily, with no inherent contradiction.” Taken as a whole, the book of Joshua provides a much more balanced view of the Israelite settlement and/or conquest (Merling 1997b: 7–28). The Israelites migrated into Canaan from the east and, because of the Canaanite presence in the lowlands, they concentrated their settlements in the hill country. Thus, Israel’s process of settlement confined them to the hill country for some time, and this confinement turned out to be propitious. Yohanan Aharoni’s observations, written over 30 years ago, describe the long-term ramifications of their initial geographic location: It is true that during the achievement of the settlement process the blocks of tribes became separated and non-Israelite elements existed in various localities. But in the final analysis, there emerged a continuous settlement over the entire country, in the plains as well as in the hill-country, and the conditions so created made for the political and demographical unity of the land of Israel. (Aharoni 1971: 127–28; see also Younger 1999: 200)

The settlement in the hill country, which began as a necessity, ultimately became the means by which Israel arose to prominence in the region. “The necessity to settle in the mountain areas was responsible for the fact that the Israelite occupation became more than a conquest. For the first time the center of gravity of the country moved to the mountain districts, creating conditions propitious for the establishment of an independent and strong monarchy.” If the interpretation of the Iron Age I site at Mt. Ebal as a cultic site— and especially as an altar—is correct, then it may be that Israel’s national consciousness was crystalized there. When the covenant was made at Horeb (Sinai), Moses told the people that “this very day you have become the people of Yhwh your God” (Deut 27:9). Similarly, the covenant renewal at Mt. Ebal would have solidified Israel’s national awareness.

Conclusion When the Mt. Ebal site is set on the larger stage of the Israelite settlement, its origin is seen to be consisent with the dramatic settlement activity in the central hill country during the transition from the Late Bronze Age to Iron Age I. When considered in light of the traditions of Deut 27; Josh 8:30–35; and 1 Sam 1–10, el-Burnat may be seen to have had an important role in the early religious life of the central hill country settlers. In light of the important role that altars played in centralizing peoples in the ancient world, the Ebal site may have contributed toward the crystallization of Israel’s national consciousness. Joshua 8:30–35 echoes two occasions when Israel was declared to have become the people of Yhwh. The first was at Horeb (Sinai; Exod 19:3–8), and the second was on the plains of Moab (Deut

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26:16–19; 27:9–10). In both of these instances, aspects of the covenant formula are present. When Israel renewed the covenant with Yhwh in Canaan, it could again be said to have “become a nation” (Keil and Delitzsch 1866: 961), or to have reaffirmed its identity as a nation.

Summary and Conclusion On April 6, 1980, during the course of the survey of Manasseh, Adam Zertal discovered a site on Mt. Ebal dating to the Iron Age I. The site, known in Arabic as el-Burnat Sitti Salamiyya, is essentially a one-period site, founded in the Late Bronze (ca. 1250 b.c.e.; referred to as Stratum II), remodeled in the Iron Age I (ca. 1200–1140 b.c.e.; Stratum IB) and, finally, abandoned in Stratum IA (ca. 1140 b.c.e.). In Stratum II, the earliest stratum, the site consisted of a circular stone repository, 7 ft. (2 m) in diameter, with a nearby favissa, both located in Area A; and a retaining wall abutted by a four-room house in Area B. The Area A repository and the floor around it contained a layer of ash and animal bones. The favissa held hammerstones and a chalice, and a sounding conducted nearby revealed an area that contained scattered plain hearths, excessive ash, potsherds, and animal bones—all resting on bedrock. Southwest of Area A, in Area B, a retaining wall built of large stones abutted by a 53 × 30 ft. (16 × 9 m) four-room house was discovered. The site underwent significant modifications in Stratum IB. The prominent feature during this phase was a square structure built of unhewn stones and measuring 30 × 46 ft. (9 × 14 m), which was built above the earlier construction in Area A. This structure had no floor and no entrance, and its interior seems to have been filled deliberately with layers of bones of male bulls, caprovids, fallow deer, ash, and Iron I pottery. On its outside, the main structure includes a small ledge that partially encircles the entire structure. A structure that has been interpreted as a ramp is located on the southeastern site, measuring 3.9 ft. (1.2 m) wide and descending for 23 ft. (7 m) at a 22-degree incline. Adjoining this ramp on each side is a paved courtyard, totaling 89 × 23 ft. (27 × 7 m). Stone installations were located in each of these courtyards, filled with bones, ash, jars, jugs, juglets, and pyxides. The entire area of the (earlier) four-room house was paved over to make a paved court in front of the main structure, and the entire complex was surrounded by a thin enclosure wall. In the final phase of the site, Stratum IA, the entire site appears to have been deliberately covered over with stones, possibly to protect the site. The excavator, Adam Zertal, understood the site to have been cultic in both of its phases. Stratum II was understood to have been a small cultic site where feasts or ceremonies were held and sacrifices were offered. Because of the small size of the site during this phase, it was assumed that it served as either a family or a tribal cult site, the attendants of which lived in the adjoining four-room house in Area B. During Stratum IB, the site was understood to have evolved into a main cult site for the Israelite settlers. 221

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Residential structures were removed, and a bāmâ or altar was erected on top of the Area A repository. This main structure was understood to have been the focal point of ceremonies for a large assembly, who could enter processionally through the staired entryway in Area B. The installations around the central structure were regarded as having been built as places for the deposit of offerings by the individuals in attendance. The biblical tradition does contain two passages that describe the contruction of an altar on Mt. Ebal, one commanding its construction (Deut 27) and another purporting to describe it ( Josh 8:30–35). The presence of these traditions suggested to Zertal that “the question must be raised as to whether there is a connection between the biblical tradition and the finds from the site” (Zertal 1986–87: 158). Zertal’s presentation of the data included an understanding of the site as having been related to these traditions (e.g., Zertal 1985: 35–41). The overall interpretation of the site as cultic and as having a possible association with the altar of Josh 8:30–35 has been a point of scholarly controversy. Some scholars have derided both the excavator and even the possibility of a biblical association for the Ebal site, and others have been reluctant to take a position on its interpretation. As I reviewed the available data on Mt. Ebal, it seemed to me that there had been little discussion of the actual archaeological data related to the site. Instead, the objections of both archaeologists and biblical scholars alike seemed to return to arguments about the nature and date of the biblical materials as the primary reason for ruling out any biblical connection for the site. It seemed to me that conventional understandings of Israel’s history and the composition of the Deuteronomistic History predetermined a negative conclusion regarding an association of the Ebal site with Deut 27 and Josh 8:30–35. The common assumption in biblical scholarship today is that Israel emerged from the indigenous peoples of Canaan and that the biblical books of Joshua–Judges were written in the Josianic period as political propaganda to solidify Israel’s national identity (e.g., Soggin 1972: 131). Since Martin Noth first proposed his theory of the Deuteronomistic History, 1 it has become more or less standard for theories of Israel’s origins to be built on its foundations. Even archaeologists, pointing to continuity in material culture, have argued that the idea of an early Israel must have been a later fabrication and that later Israelites originated from the autochthonous 1. Martin Noth articulated these ideas in A History of Penteteuchal Traditions (1972), and The History of Israel (1960). Noth believed that, because the books immediately following Deuteronomy shared its theology and style, the same author(s) or editor(s) must have composed them. In this theory, the entire section from Deuteronomy through 2 Kings has, therefore, come to be known as the Deuteronomistic History. Writing during the Josianic era, the author(s) or editor(s) of this history were influenced by the prophets. In composing their history, they were attempting to show that the downfall of the Northern and Southern Kingdoms of Israel was the result of the nation’s repeated violation of the covenant.

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population (e.g., Hayes and Miller 1977: 255, 262). Finkelstein and Naʾaman (1994: 13) have recently argued that: [A] combination of archaeological and historical research demonstrates that the biblical account of the conquest and occupation of Canaan is entirely divorced from historical reality. Instead, it proves the correctness of the literary-critical approach to the biblical text. The biblical descriptions of the origin and early history of the people of Israel are not dissimilar from narratives on the origins of other peoples, which likewise do not withstand the test of historical criticism.

These authors go on to suggest that equating any material culture remains from the Iron I highlands with an Israelite ethnic identity is “dubious,” “since there was no political entity named Israel before the late eleventh century b.c.e.” (Finkelstein and Naʾaman 1994: 13). Naʾaman himself suggests that the literary sources on which Joshua was based do not originate until the 8th century b.c.e. “and are thus hundreds of years remote from the time when the events described therein took place” (Naʾaman 1994: 222). John Van Seters has argued that the account of the history of Israel was a complete invention (Van Seters 1983). If Zertal’s Iron I structure on Ebal were to be identified with the altar of Josh 8:30–35, there could be important implications for the understanding of Israelite origins and for understanding the Deuteronomistic History. Writing about the importance of the discussion of the nature of the Ebal site, Zertal (1997: 77–78) has said: It is not by chance that not a single archaeologist has responded seriously to my scientific report on Mt. Ebal. It is not by chance that a serious congress has never been convened to address openly the Mt. Ebal finds, even though many less important matters have been discussed. The reason is that Mt. Ebal presents hard evidence for the existence of an early Israelite cult place, presumably related to the biblical account of Deuteronomy 27 and Joshua 8:30– 35. The reason is that if Mt. Ebal so powerfully corroborates the Bible, some of the highly sophisticated theories based on ongoing intellectual speculation (without really examining the field data) will have to go back to square one.

While not taking a position on the cultic nature of the Ebal site, Lawrence Stager of Harvard has concurred about the potential significance of the site, if the cultic nature and its connection with Josh 8:30–35 were verified. In an interview, he said that, under those circumstances, Old Testament scholars would have to “go back to kindergarten” (Machlin 1991: 235). The potentially controversial implications of the interpretation of the site may be part of the reason that it has not received more than a cursory mention in the literature and that debate about it has been rancorous. In this book, I consider the archaeological data independently of the biblical text in order to determine whether the data themselves may point to a specific interpretation of the site. This raises the question of the process of

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identifying cultic activity in archaeological contexts, a subject with its own long history of controversy. In this study, I rely on Colin Renfrew’s system of behavioral correlates, as modified by Ziony Zevit, for determining cultic identifications (Zevit 2001: 82; adapted from Renfrew 1985: 19–20). In chap. 1, I overview the discovery and excavation of the Ebal site. In chap. 2, I analyze the archaeological data from the site, without reference to the biblical traditions, and compare these data with both cultic and noncultic materials in order to reach conclusions about the nature of the site itself. The Iron Age I site at Mt. Ebal appears to match numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, and 14 of Zevit’s physical/behavioral correlates, which amounts to 85% of his enumerated characteristics of cultic installations. The site was located in a place of natural and historical significance (1 and 2); the site consisted of an enclosure (3); the architecture of the site seems to reflect both cultic usage (5) and public participation (4); architecture and appurtances appear to reflect the points of concern and a focus of attention (6); the site included special facilities (8); sacrifice appears to have been practiced at the site (9); food and drink were prepared and consumed at the site (10); the material remains included votives and other objects that appear to have served as offerings (11); the physical plan of the site seems to reflect partitioning, possibly reflecting gradations of sanctity (13); and the structure reflects a substantial investment in terms of labor (14). While various features of the site and its artifacts may be common to domestic or other types of sites, the Iron Age I site at Mt. Ebal, when viewed as a whole, appears to be a cultic   site. Chapters 3 and 4 consider potential physical parallels to the Ebal site, including villages, farmsteads, houses, watchtowers, gilgalim, and altars. Kempinski reconstructed the site as a three-phase village, with the earliest phase consisting of a cluster of huts and pits, followed by a second phase in which a domestic structure was built in the center of the settlement, and then a third, in which a watchtower was built atop the earlier domestic building. I suggest that the simple plan of the Ebal site, as an enclosure with an isolated building at its center, did not comport with the layout of the typical highland village. I compare the Ebal site with known features of sites where animal husbandry was practiced, and it appears that the site cannot be understood as a farmstead. I contrast el-Burnat with domestic buildings and, based on the extensive data that we have on the form and function of the four-room house, it seems apparent that the main structure in Area A of the Mt. Ebal site cannot be interpreted as domestic. I considered whether el-Burnat might be understood as an isolated watchtower, but this understanding is unlikely based on a lack of parallels in Iron Age I and in light of the special architectural elements of the central structure. I examine certain similarities with the Iron Age I Building 105 at Giloh, but conclude that the Mt. Ebal site is fundamentally an exceptional site among other sites of the Iron Age I settlement.

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The Mt. Ebal site is also compared with a number of fortified encampments, or gilgalim, discovered in the Jordan Valley that appear to have served as cultic sites of some kind, with simple bāmôt located in them. The Ebal site shares the basic layout of these sites, though its central structure was more complex. Last, I survey a series of altars ranging from the Middle Bronze Age to Iron Age II, and many of the features of these altars are mirrored in the main building at the Mt. Ebal site, which seems to correspond to the type Ib open altar. Although there are physical parallels with the central structure at Mt. Ebal among the altars surveyed, these parallels are partial. The main building at Mt. Ebal, with its fill of ash and bone residue, is essentially unique among the Iron Age I settlement sites. In chap. 5, I follow the same general outline of chap. 1 but this time compare each of the physical elements of the Mt. Ebal site to biblical and other literary data relevant to a possible interpretation of the site as a cultic installation. In Stratum II, the fragmentary remains of Walls 18 and 36, Surface 61, Pit 250, and Installation 94 are discussed in relation to foundation offerings in the ancient Near East and in the Hebrew Bible, with the conclusion that the site was initially used for making offerings, and it was due to this consecrated nature of the site that the cultic structure of Stratum IA was later built on top of it. An enclosure wall (Wall 29) located in Area B may, based on an analogy with the pentateuchal descriptions of the tabernacle ְ ‫) ָמס‬, have functioned as a temenos that demarcated pārōket (‫ ) ָּפרֺכֶת‬and māsāk (‫ָך‬ the space nearest the cultic installation. The predominant feature of Stratum IB was the central structure with its surrounding walls and courtyards, a double wall between the courtyards, and the installations around the structure. Parallels for the Mt. Ebal site were found primarily among the gilgalim of the Jordan Valley and, for the central structure, among Syro-Palestinian altars. The central structure itself shares similarities with the type Ib open-air altar, although the Ebal structure is, itself, more elaborate and lacks exact parallels. Its fill is completely unique among the corpus of known altars from Late Bronze and Iron Age Syria–Palestine. In light of the limited physical parallels for this main structure, and in view of the excavator’s identification of it as an altar, I compare the structure with biblical and extrabiblical traditions regarding altar architecture. This comparison includes the earthen altar (Exod 20:24–26), the tabernacle altar (Exod 27:1–8), the First Temple altar (2 Chr 4:1), Ahaz’s new altar (2 Kgs 16:10–14), Ezekiel’s future Temple altar (Ezek 43:13–17), and the Second Temple altar (Let. Aris. 87–88; Josephus, Ag. Ap. 1.196–98; J. W. 5.222–25; 11QTª XVI 3, 16–17; XXIII 12–14; m. Mid. 3:1). The Mt. Ebal site appears to meet all the criteria of these traditions for the design and construction of an altar. Even though the main structure’s fill with ash and bone residue remains unique among the corpus of known altars, it does seem to recall the description of the Tabernacle altar (Exod 27:1–8), the altar of Jeroboam (1 Kgs 13:3, 5), and the later mishnaic traditions (m. Mid. 2:2). Overall,

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the central structure is most redolent of the altar of unworked stones described in Exod 20:24–26 which is, in fact, specifically cited in the report of Joshua’s building of the altar in Josh 8:31. Despite these citations by the biblical author(s), the Iron Age I structure cannot unquestionably be associated with the altar of Josh 8:30–35. However, it can be compared “to what is implied by the early altar law of Exod 20:25 and may be considered a most elaborate example of the stone field altar” (Zevit 2001: 199–200). The surrounding wall complex, installations, courtyard, entrance, and faunal assemblage are also considered in light of textual data. When considered as a whole, the Ebal site seems best explained as cultic in nature, and the main structure of Area A appears to conform to most of the biblical principles of Israelite altar architecture (Ben-Noon 1985: 141). In chap. 6, I examine the Ebal site from another angle, this time in its historical and sociological position among the new settlement sites of the central hill country in Iron Age I. In Stratum II, the site mainly comprised Locus 94, a nearby favissa, a four-room house, and a retaining wall and may have served as either a family or a tribal cult site, the attendants of which lived in the four-room house adjoining it in Area B. The site was modified substantially in Stratum IB by removing the domestic structure and building the main structure in Area A, along with an enclosure to surround it. It may be that, during this period, the site evolved into a main cult site of area settlers, with the main structure being built as either an altar or a paved bāmâ that provided the focus of rituals for groups that had gathered there. Joshua 8:30–35 does claim that an altar functioned in such a capacity for “all Israel” during the earliest period of the Israelite settlement, though it does not explain how. By analogy, the Shiloh traditions (1 Sam 1–10) suggest that, if the Ebal site was a cultic installation, it may have functioned as the site of annual pilgrimages where sacrifices were made and tithes were paid, including gifts such as bulls, flour, and wine, and where sacrificial meals were eaten. In light of the important role that altars played in centralizing peoples in the ancient world, the cultic site on Mt. Ebal may have played a fundamental role in crystallizing ancient Israel’s national consciousness even at this early stage in its history. El-Burnat, therefore, seems to fit not only the criteria for a cultic site from archaeological remains but also the general picture provided in the biblical accounts. However, while the site appears to have been either an altar or a paved bāmâ, it cannot definitively be associated with Deut 27 or Josh 8:30–35. Rather, it must ultimately be understood in relation to the overall settlement picture of the Manassite territory in which it is located. When the Ebal site is set on the larger stage of the Israelite settlement, its origin is seen to be consistent with the dramatic settlement activity in the central hill country during the transition from the Late Bronze Age to Iron Age I. When considered in light of the traditions of Deut 27, Josh 8:30–35, and 1 Samuel 1–10, el-Burnat may be seen to have had an important role in the early religious life of the central hill

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country settlers. Altars played an important role in centralizing peoples in the ancient world and, thus, the Ebal site may have contributed toward the crystallization of Israel’s national consciousness. The religious factor in the origins of Israel’s tribal unity has often been underestimated or dismissed in favor of materialistic explanations (Herion 1986: 3–33; see also Hess 1993: 125–33). Positivitistic and reductionistic views have generally seen religion as dependent on social processes instead of causing them (Herion 1986: 17). Familial, circumstantial, and economic explanations have typcially been sought to explain the coalescence of the disparate Israelite tribes into a unified confederation, or “nation.” However, as David Merling has pointed out (Merling 1997a: 229), “Religion, for good or bad, is a powerful motivator. Some may suppose that much Yahwism was a late development; even so, the peoples of earlier times had religion and it did affect their lives and history.” I have argued that, even as early as Iron Age I, it may have affected their unity (Hawkins 2005: 27–39). In light of the claim of the biblical tradition that a cultic site located on Mt. Ebal played a centralizing role of this sort in the process of Israelite sedentarization ( Josh 8:33), it does not seem unreasonable to suppose that a single site, such as el-Burnat, may have functioned in a central capacity. Those who have commented on the Mt. Ebal site have tended to do so cautiously. Even Kenneth Kitchen, who is often associated with the “maximalist” approach (Moore 2006: 135), has concluded that there may be “no final proof or disproof for either a watchtower or an altar complex (of Joshua or otherwise)” (Kitchen 2003: 234) and that, therefore, our final verdict on the Mt. Ebal site must remain “strictly, non liquet.” In this volume, however, I suggest that we can be more certain than this. The data, as we have seen, are suggestive of an interpretation of the site either as an altar or a bāmâ. James Strange (1994: 159) has even concluded that “I think we have a much better than even chance that this is indeed the altar of Joshua 8:31ff.” Whether or not it is possible to be certain, a consensus has begun to emerge that “tends to support the cultic interpretation of this early Iron I site” (Killebrew 2005: 160).

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Index of Authors Ackerman, S.  23 Aharoni, Y.  62–63, 75, 138, 145, 200, 213, 218–19 Ahlström, G.  41, 57, 71, 89, 184, 198 Albright, W. F.  56, 124, 148, 162–63, 175, 205, 208 Alt, A.  186, 205, 212, 214 Althann, R.  150 Amiran, R.  47 Anbar, M.  72, 183, 198 Anderson, B. W.  98 Anderson, G. A.  123 André, G.  163 Aristeas 164 Arnal, W. E.  200 Atkinson, J.  181 Auld, A. G.  186 Avner, U.  148 Badè, W. F.  82 Bahn, P.  18–19, 26–27 Banning, E. B.  89, 213 Barclay, J. M. G.  167 Barkay, G.  48, 113 Barker, P. A.  198 Barrick, W. B.  123–24 Beeri, R.  62 Beit-Arieh, I.  203 Benjamin, D. C.  181, 189 Ben-Noon, Y.  72, 153–55, 159, 175–78, 182–83, 198, 226 Ben-Tor, A.  124, 130–31, 182, 200 Ben-Yosef, D.  62, 119 Bibb, B. D.  186, 192–93 Bienkowski, P.  167 Bietak, M.  127–28 Bimson, J. J.  208 Binford, L. R.  16 Biran, A.  20, 124, 138, 142–43, 155, 200 Black, J. A.  20 Blenkinsopp, J.  181 Bloch-Smith, E.  72, 198, 207

277

Block, D. I.  72, 99, 154, 163, 183, 198 Bodley, J. H.  189 Boling, R. G.  92, 196 Bonfils, R.  200 Borowski, O.  46–47, 60–61, 89 Bramlett, K. V.  43 Brandl, B.  10, 61, 67–71 Breamer, F.  87 Brook, G.  170 Browning, D. C.  72, 183, 198 Bull, R. J.  38, 43, 98 Buller, B.  181 Bunimovitz, S.  37, 55–56, 83–87, 147, 202 Burke, A. A.  89, 104, 114 Burnett, J. S.  25 Burney, C. F.  99 Burton, A.  165 Bush, F. W.  217 Butler, T. C.  186, 198 Cahill, J. M.  203 Callaway, J. A.  217 Campbell, E. F., Jr.  1, 4, 98 Caubet, A.  213 Chambers, H. E.  187 Childs, B. S.  178 Christensen, D. L.  72, 183, 194, 198, 199 Christopherson, G. L.  79 Cogan, M.  181 Cole, D. P.  4 Cole, R. A.  158–59 Coogan, M. D.  15, 19–21, 26–27, 30, 45, 51, 59, 71–72, 185, 194, 198–99 Coote, R. B.  217 Craigie, P. C.  129, 198 Crisler, B. C.  197 Cross, F. M.  145, 188, 191–92 Crowfoot, G. M.  4 Crowfoot, J. W.  4

278

Index of Authors

Davidson, R. M.  217 Davies, D.  114 Davis, T. W.  28 Delitzsch, F.  158, 220 Demosthenes 186 De Troyer, K.  194 Dever, W. G.  2, 14–18, 23, 25–26, 28, 41–42, 54, 71, 89, 91, 124, 145, 148, 189–90, 194–96, 198, 208, 212–16 Devlet, E.  180 DeVries, L. F.  129, 149 Dillard, R. B.  160, 216–17 Dothan, M.  43, 201 Dothan, T.  213 Douglas, M.  86 Driver, S. R.  198 Durham, J. I.  158 Edelman, D.  37, 56, 66, 72, 80–81, 180, 183, 198 Eggler, J.  61–62 Eisenberg, E.  20, 92 Eissfeldt, O.  164 Elan, Y.  173 Elgavish, J.  92 Eliade, M.  181–82 Elitzur, Y.  72, 136–37, 183, 198 Ellis, R. S.  153 Eshel, E.  152 Eshel, H.  152 Eusebius 152 Falconer, S. E.  126, 127 Fantalkin, A.  113 Faust, A.  37, 72, 83–87, 183, 198, 203, 207 Fedorova, N.  180 Feldman, L. H.  167 Finkelstein, I.  2–5, 46–48, 55, 62, 71, 74–77, 87, 92, 97, 110, 119, 124, 147, 183, 195–98, 202–8, 213, 217, 223 Fisher, C. S.  4 Flannery, K. V.  17–18 Fleming, D.  132 Frankel, R.  200 Franken, H. J.  38, 92 Frankfort, H.  53

Fraser, P. M.  165 Free, J. P.  4 Frick, F. S.  192, 217 Fried, M. H.  189 Fritz, V.  16, 31, 41, 51–52, 71, 75–76, 78–79, 81, 89, 114, 198 Gal, Z.  201, 213 Galling, K.  128 Gardiner, A.  69 Garrett, D. A.  15, 194 Gaster, T. H.  153 Gerstenblith, P.  213 Geus, C. H. J. de  187, 205 Gibson, S.  89, 138, 140 Gilmour, G.  14, 24, 26, 28, 35, 46–47, 59, 72, 132, 183, 185 Gitin, S.  149 Glueck, N.  213 Gonen, R.  6, 92, 207 Goodman, M.  174 Gophna, R.  4, 202 Gordon, C. H.  157 Gottwald, N. K.  216 Graham, J. A.  106 Green, A.  20 Green, M. D.  202 Greenspoon, L.  164 Gundlach, R.  92 Haak, R. D.  146–47, 198 Hall, H. R.  69 Hallo, W. W.  3 Halpern, B.  195 Haran, M.  11, 124, 195 Harding, G. L.  62 Harding, L.  68–69 Hawkins, R. K.  100, 121, 198, 203, 217, 227 Hayes, J. H.  2, 188, 192, 223 Hecataeus 164–67 Heger, P.  156–57 Hennessey, J. B.  92 Herion, G. A.  227 Herr, L. G.  37, 92, 195, 214–15 Herrmann, S.  188 Herzog, Z.  30, 46, 48, 51–52, 73–74, 76–78, 81, 92, 144–45, 204

Index of Authors Hess, R .S.  25, 72, 148, 183, 191, 198–99, 206, 217, 227 Hill, A. E.  198 Hodder, I.  17–18 Holladay, J. S.  14, 21–24, 28, 85, 87, 147, 213 Holladay, W. L.  153 Hopkins, D. C.  79 Horn, S. H.  66–67 Horwitz, L. K.  10, 63–66, 80, 148, 179, 182, 185 Howard, D. M.  197, 206 Hubbard, D. A.  217 Hubbard, R. P. S.  167 Hurowitz, V. A.  157 Hyatt, J. P.  158–59 Ionas, I.  149 Isserlin, B. S. J.  72, 183 Jastrow, M.  173 Ji, C.-H. C.  214 Josephus  152, 164–67, 174, 225 Kaiser, W. C., Jr.  15, 158–59, 194, 206 Kallai, Z.  4, 188, 204 Kaplan, J.  92 Karageorghis, V.  149 Kautz, J. R., III  213 Keel, O.  61 Keil, C. F.  158, 220 Kellermann, D.  36–37 Kelm, G. L.  72, 183, 198–99 Kelso, J. L.  195 Kempinski, A.  2, 12–13, 15, 28, 31, 39, 41, 43–45, 51, 56, 73–74, 77, 81–82, 88, 90, 114, 116, 124–25, 150–51, 176, 194, 198, 204, 117 Kenyon, K. M.  4, 96, 203, 213 Killebrew, A. E.  56, 72, 183, 198–99, 227 King, P. J.  83, 173, 191 Kitchen, K. A.  26, 72, 183, 198–99, 214, 217–18, 227 Klatzkin, S.  174 Klingbeil, G. A.  25 Knoppers, G. N.  194 Kochavi, M.  4, 75, 96, 203–5, 213, 216

279

Koester, C. R.  157 Kolska-Horwitz, L.  10 Kotter, W. R.  121 Kuan, J. K.-J.  150 Kühne, H.  91 LaBianca, Ø. S.  79, 214 Lambert, W. G.  132 Lamon, R. S.  138 Lapp, N.  51, 55, 114, 214 LaRocca-Pitts, E. C.  11, 123–24, 128 LaSor, W. S.  217 Leclant, J.  68 Lederman, Z.  7, 147, 202 Leichty, E.  132 Lemaire, A.  72, 183, 198–99 Lemche, N. P.  187–88 Levine, B. A.  177 Levine, E.  121 Lev-Tov, J.  131–33 Liphschitz, N.  10, 65, 80 Longman, T., III  72, 183, 198–99, 206, 216–17 Long, V. P.  72, 183, 198–99, 206, 217 Loud, G.  20, 68, 91, 124 Lyon, D. G.  4 Macalister, R. A. S.  124 Macchi, J.-D.  188 Macdonald, E.  68–69 Machlin, M.  2, 3, 223 Magen, I.  203–4 Magness-Gardiner, B.  126–27 Malina, B. J.  198 Mandell, S.  25 Marcus, J.  18 Margueron, J.-C.  91, 148 Mason, S.  167 Master, D. M.  4, 190 Matthews, V. H.  181, 189, 191 Mattingly, G. L.  213 Mayes, A. D. H.  186–87, 192–93 Mazar, A.  13, 20–21, 30, 33–34, 37, 43, 48, 51–53, 58, 71–72, 87, 100–116, 125, 127, 138–42, 183, 198–99, 201–4, 208–9 Mazar, B.  13, 90, 192–93, 205 Mazar, E.  201, 203

280

Index of Authors

Mazoni, S.  62 McCarthy, D.  189 McConville, J. G.  194 McCown, C. C.  106 McGeough, K.  131–33 Meer, M. N. van der  152 Meier, S. A.  216 Mendels, D.  165 Mendenhall, G. E.  216 Merling, D., Sr.  122, 217–19, 227 Meyers, C.  159, 191, 195 Milgrom, J.  123, 160, 177 Miller, J. M.  2, 188, 192, 223 Miller, P. D.  24, 124, 157 Miller, R. D.  79, 80–81, 180 Mink, H. A.  170 Mizrachi, Y.  96 Moore, A. M. T.  227 Moran, W. L.  216 Mueller, J. R.  164–65 Münger, S.  200 Murphy-O’Connor, J.  203 Murray, M. A.  92 Mussel, M.-L.  72, 183, 198–99 Myers, A. C.  81 Naʾaman, N.  2–3, 53, 72, 89, 99, 198–99, 208, 223 Nakhai, B. Alpert  14, 19, 25, 72, 123–24, 135, 138, 147, 198 Naumann, R.  91 Negbi, O.  106 Negev, A.  89, 138, 140 Nelson, R.  206 Netzer, E.  87 Neusner, J.  172, 174 Newberry, P. E.  69 Neyrey, J. H.  198 Nicholson, E. W.  189 Niditch, S.  23 Nihan, C.  194 Nir-Zevi, D.  72, 136–37, 183, 198 Noegel, S. B.  25 Noort, E.  72, 194, 198, 199 Noth, M.  2, 156, 163, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 222 Notley, R. S.  215

O’Connor, M.  153 Oden, R. A., Jr.  188 Ofer, A.  204 Orthmann, W.  91 Ortiz, S. M.  14, 16, 25, 72, 183, 198–99 Oswalt, J. N.  196 Ottosson, M.  198 Overholt, T. W.  181 Pakkala, J.  200 Petrie, W. M. F.  34–36 Pipano, S.  7 Pitkänen, P.  55, 72, 152–53, 183, 194 Porat, Y.  4, 202 Powell, M. A.  167, 173 Pressler, C.  217 Price, N. S.  181 Provan, I.  72, 183, 198–99, 206, 217 Rainey, A. F.  12, 28, 41, 81, 88–90, 145, 150, 159, 173, 176, 198, 215–16 Rasmussen, C. G.  206 Rast, W. E.  201 Reed, W. L.  24, 100 Reich, R.  42, 87 Reisner, G. A.  4, 67 Rendsberg, G. A.  157 Renfrew, C.  18–19, 25–27, 28, 115, 127, 224 Richter, S. L.  194 Roaf, M.  148 Romano, A.  97 Rosen, B.  80 Rothenberg, B.  63, 92 Rowe, A.  68–69, 91 Rowton, M. B.  1 Rubiato, M. T.  130–31 Sarna, N. M.  155–57, 159, 177, 192, 198 Sauer, G.  196 Schaeffer, C. F. A.  20, 91 Scherman, N.  172 Schloen, J. D.  191 Schoville, K. N.  72, 183, 198–99 Schumacher, G.  54, 137 Schunck, K.-D.  11 Sellin, E.  4, 97, 128 Shafer, B. E.  92

Index of Authors Shavit, A.  203 Shiloh, Y.  14, 37, 83, 203 Shipton, G. M.  138 Shutt, R. J. H.  164 Silberman, N. A.  217 Singer, I.  201 Singer, S.  157 Smick, E. B.  89 Soggin, J. A.  2, 13, 15, 99–100, 194, 198, 222 Spanier, Y.  203 Sparks, K. L.  186, 193 Spronk, K.  26 Stager, L. E.  3, 83, 85, 98, 128–29, 173, 190–92, 212–13, 223 Starcky, J.  37 Starkey, J. L.  68, 69 Steen, E. J. van der  72, 183, 198–99, 214 Stegemann, H.  170 Stendebach, F.  149 Stern, E.  20, 37, 43, 92, 113, 125, 133–34 Strange, J. F.  72, 183, 198–99, 227 Stuart, D. K.  158 Sukenik, E. L.  4 Süring, M. L.  149 Tal, O.  113 Taylor, J. B.  162 Thackeray, H. St. J.  164 Thompson, H. O.  97 Toombs, L. E.  47 Trigger, B. G.  3 Tufnell, O.  91, 134–35 Ussishkin, D.  53–54, 92, 124, 134, 137–38, 201 VanderKam, J. C.  170 Van Seters, J.  3, 223 Vatke, W.  189 Vaughan, P. H.  124 Vaux, R. de  4, 157, 159, 174, 187 Verhey, A.  198 Vermes, G.  168 Wacholder, B. Z.  167 Waltke, B. K.  72, 121, 152–53, 183, 198–99, 217

281

Walton, J. H.  3 Waterhouse, S. D.  216 Weber, M.  186, 190 Weinfeld, M.  86 Weinstein, J.  70, 71 Wellhausen, J.  156, 188–89 Whiston, W.  165–66 Williams, R. J.  208 Willis, T. M.  191 Wimmer, D. H.  43, 62, 92 Wiseman, D. J.  161 Wood, B. G.  216 Wood, L. H.  163 Woolley, C. L.  91 Wright, C. J. H.  191 Wright, G. E.  1, 4, 42, 47, 91, 98, 128 Wright, G. R. H.  20, 128 Yadin, Y.  20, 91, 97, 106, 124, 130, 168–70 Yasur-Landau, A.  56 Yavis, C. G.  149 Yeivin, S.  137 Yeivin, Z.  94 Yon, M.  129–30 Yose, Rabbi  171 Yosef, S.  7 Young, G. D.  129 Younger, K. L.  2, 196, 206, 212, 217, 219 Younker, R W.  37, 79, 89–90, 97, 214 Zahn, M. M.  170 Zangenberg, J.  200 Zertal, A.  1–16, 30–35, 37–51, 53–61, 63, 70–71, 79–80, 87, 89, 92–97, 114–21, 149–50, 152–53, 172, 175, 178–80, 184–85, 195–96, 199, 205–13, 215–16, 218, 221–23 Zevit, Z.  19, 25–26, 28, 30, 45, 53, 59– 60, 71–72, 115, 138, 149, 155, 157–158, 163, 177–79, 183, 185, 198–199, 214, 224, 226 Zimmerli, W.  163 Zlotowitz, M.  172 Zohar, M.  96 Zubrow, E. B. W.  18 Zuckerman, S.  131, 201

Index of Scripture Genesis 1–2 193 4:22 156 8:20 157 12:7–8 157 13:18 157 22:9 157 26:25 157 35:20 89 35:21 90 48:13–14 205 49 188 Exodus 12:38 197 12:43 197 12:43–49  197, 198 19:3–8 219 19:6 197 20 156 20:24 159 20:24–25 177 20:24–26  156, 225, 226 20:25  165, 176, 177, 226 20:26  157, 164 21–23 187 23:14–17 195 24:17 153 25:1–31:17  155, 177 26 176 26:31 155 27:1–2 175 27:1–8  158, 225 27:3 159 27:9–19 177 29:22 182 30 175 34:18–24 195 35:21–36:7 182

Leviticus 1:11 178 6:9–10 177 7:6 177 7:11–20 177 7:28–36 182 10:14 177 11 179 22:25 197 Numbers 1 188 7 182 8 60 10–11 60 26 188 Deuteronomy 1:16 153 11:29  152, 153, 199 11:29–30  152, 214 11:30 122 12:7 195 12:17–18 195 14 179 14:5 179 14:21 197 15:3 197 16:16 195 26:16–19 220 27  3, 12, 13, 151, 193, 195, 219, 222, 223, 226 27:1–8 1 27:2  152, 214 27:4  151, 152, 153, 214 27:4–8 199 27:5–6 177 27:7 195

282

Deuteronomy (cont.) 27:9  219, 220 27:11–13 193 31:9–13 1 32:13 11 Joshua 3:1 196 3:17 196 4 194 4:19 217 5 198 5:1–9 217 5:2–11 121 5:2–12 197 5:7 198 5:9 121 5:10–12 217 5:14 217 8  12, 13, 151 8:25 188 8:30 153 8:30–35  1, 3, 12, 13, 15, 122, 151, 152, 177, 193, 194, 195, 197, 198, 199, 219, 222, 223, 226 8:31  177, 226, 227 8:33  193, 196, 197, 227 9:6 217 10 196 10:1–5 217 10:15  196, 217 10:43 196 14–15 217 14:6 217 14:12 218 15–19 122 15:37 90

Index of Scripture Joshua (cont.) 16 217 16:4 205 17:1–13 205 17:11–12 218 17:14 217 17:16 217 18 217 18:4 218 19:14 200 19:38 90 22 193 22:9–34 194 22:26–29 123 24 193 24:1 197 Judges 1 217 4–5 196 4:4 181 6 155 6:7–10 181 6:11–32 154 6:13 154 6:15 154 6:20–21 157 8:1 205 8:8–9 90 8:17 90 9 98 9:1–6 98 9:42–45 99 9:46–49  97, 99 9:51 90 12:1–6 205 13:19–20 157 19–20 187 21:10 188 1 Samuel 1–10  195, 219, 226 1:9 36 1:24 195 3:20 181 7:16 122 9:12 11 9:13 195

1 Samuel (cont.) 9:19 155 9:22 36 13:21 218 19:15 122 2 Samuel 5:7 203 5:11 203 5:20  111, 115 7:6 187 10:6 188 16:17 160 17:1 188 24:21 160

283 1 Chronicles 14:11  111, 115 2 Chronicles 4:1  160, 163, 165, 170, 175, 225 4:1–18 160 7:7 175 14:2 11 14:7 90 20:24 90 26:10 89 27:4 90 31:1 150 34:3 150

1 Kings 1:50 123 2:28  123, 163 5:6 187 6–7 159 6–8 170 6:37 154 7:44 187 8:64 175 10:20 187 10:26 188 11:7 153 12:27–31 142 13:3 225 13:5  159, 225 16:32–33  24, 153 16:34 153 19:11 153 19:19 187 22:10 181 22:11 181

Ezra 3:1–11 154 3:3  154, 163 3:3–6 154 3:6 154 3:10–11 154 8:29 155 10:6 155

2 Kings 14:7 90 16:10–14  160, 225 17:9 90 18:3–4 24 18:4 150 21:3 11 23:1 150 23:4 24 23:17 89

Jeremiah 35:2 36 36:12 155 36:20–21 155

Nehemiah 10:38–40 155 13:4–5 155 13:8–9 155 Psalms 68 192 78:60 193 Isaiah 5:2 89 28:21 115

Ezekiel 40–48 170 40:17 155 40:38 155 40:44–46 155

284

Index of Scripture

Ezekiel (cont.) 41:10 155 43:13–17  160, 161, 170, 225 43:20 169

Hosea (cont.) 6:7–7:16 193 6:8 193 9:15 122 12:11 122

Amos (cont.) 4:15 122

Hosea 4:15 122 6 193

Amos 3:14 149 4:4–5 122

Haggai 2:15 154 2:18 154

Apocrypha 1 Maccabees 4:47 163

Micah 6:5 122

Index of Sites and Geographical Names Abrad, Wadi  30 Abu Zarad, Tell  202 Acco, Plain of  200 ʾAdam (Tell ed-Dāmiyeh)  192, 193 Adir, Har  114 ʿAfula 201 Aḥwat, el-  97, 117 ʿAi (et-Tell)  19, 31, 48, 55, 76, 78, 110, 218 Ajjul, Tell el-  90 Alalakh  53, 130 Amman  91, 92 Arad  138, 143, 144, 145, 147, 148, 149, 150 Arslantepe 53 Ashdod 43 ʿAsireh esh-Shemaliyeh  30 Asmar 53 Aujeh, Wadi  215

Beth-Zur 110 Carchemish  90, 91 Dabʿa, Tell ed-  127, 147 Dāmiyeh, Jisr ed-  192 Dāmiyeh, Tell ed- see ʾAdam (Tell ed-Dāmiyeh) Dan  19, 20, 90, 106, 142, 150, 200 Dan, Tel  46, 138, 142, 147, 149, 155, 190, 200 Deir ʿAlla, Tell  38, 46, 60, 73, 91, 92 Dhahrat et-Tawileh  6, 135 Dor 218 Dothan, Tell  4, 212

Baal Perazim  111, 115 Balâṭah, Tell  7, 30, 80, 98 Baqʿah Valley  43 Bashan 215 Bedhat esh-Shaʿab  6, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 213 Beer-sheba 204 Beer-sheba, Tel  73, 75, 77, 138, 145, 146, 147, 149, 150 Beer-sheba Valley  145 Beitin 202 Beit Mirsim, Tell  46, 92 Beit Ur et-Tahta  202 Benjamin, highlands of  207 Bethel  60, 110, 142, 150, 159, 173, 187, 192 Beth-shean  91, 92, 93, 138, 218 Beth-shean Valley  201 Beth-shemesh  46, 47, 60, 90, 92

285

Ebenda  90, 91 Ein Gev  26 Endor 218 En-gedi 106 Ephraim  116, 188 Ephraim, Mt.  81, 92 Esdar, Tell  31, 75, 76 Esdraelon, Plain of  202 Farʿah, Tell el- (North)  4, 7, 30, 58, 90 Farʿah, Tell el- (South)  68, 69, 70, 90, 93 Farʿah, Wadi  118, 205, 209, 211 French Hill  106, 113 Fûl, Tell el-  51, 60, 100, 106, 108, 110, 112, 114, 204 Gath-Ḥepher, Tell  200 Gerizim, Mt.  80, 91, 92, 121, 151, 152, 197, 198 Gezer  42, 48, 90 Gibeon  110, 111, 150 Gibeon, Valley of  111

286

Index of Sites and Geographical Names

Gilboa ridge  201 Gilead  193, 205, 215 Gilgal  121, 122, 187, 192, 196, 217, 218 Giloh  26, 31, 51, 52, 55, 57, 58, 59, 78, 79, 81, 88, 89, 100, 101, 102, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 204, 215, 117 Hannathon (biblical)  200 Ḥannathon, Tell  200 Harod River  201 Ḥayyat, Tell el-  125, 126, 127, 147 Hazor  19, 20, 21, 47, 48, 53, 58, 59, 90, 91, 92, 106, 114, 130, 131, 133, 134, 147, 200, 201, 218 Hebron Valley  145 Ḥesban 215 Horeb 219 Husn, Tell el-  201 Ibleam 218 ʿIzbet Ṣarṭah  31, 46, 47, 48, 55, 57, 58, 59, 63, 74, 75, 110 Jalul 215 Jarish, Tell el-  90 Jawa 215 Jericho  90, 93, 96, 218 Jerusalem  100, 106, 110, 112, 113, 203, 204, 208, 215, 218 Jezreel Valley  138, 195, 200, 201, 217 Jokneam 201 Jordan River  201, 202 Jordan Valley  4, 28, 92, 93, 95, 96, 97, 116, 117, 118, 119, 122, 125, 138, 150, 201, 206, 209, 211, 212, 214, 215, 225 Kamid el-Lôz  90, 91 Khadr, el-  114 Kition 68 Kittan, Tell  20, 91, 92, 115 Kuntillet ʿAjrud  24 Lachish  90, 91, 92, 106, 134, 147 Madaba Plains  90 Makhruq, Khirbet el-  93, 94, 95, 96 Makmish 26

Malatya 53 Maliḥ, Wadi  92, 93, 209, 211 Manasseh  1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 13, 29, 61, 92, 95, 97, 116, 118, 122, 184, 188, 196, 202, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 221 Marjama, Khirbet el-  202 Masos, Tell  31, 114, 204 Masuʾa  6, 118 Megiddo  19, 20, 21, 26, 37, 47, 48, 54, 58, 59, 60, 68, 90, 91, 92, 124, 125, 137, 138, 140, 143, 146, 147, 148, 149, 201, 218 Melos (island)  19 Meskene 91 Mevorakh, Tell  20, 43, 59, 91, 92, 115, 133, 134, 147, 148 Michal, Tell  26 Mishor Plains  215 Mizpah see Nasbeh, Tell enMoab, plains of  219 Mumbaqat 91 Napheth 218 Nasbeh, Tell en- (Mizpah)  82, 92, 106 Nebi Samwil  112 Nejileh, Tell en-  90 Olives, Mount of  112 ʿOvot, Ḥorvat  31 Pella  125, 138 Perazim, Mt.  115 Philistia  37, 140 Phylakopi  19, 27 Qasile, Tell  20, 21, 33, 43, 53, 55, 57, 58, 60, 140, 141, 147 Qom, Khirbet el-  24 Raddanah, Khirbet  55, 100, 110 Radum, Ḥorvat  26 Rahaya, Khirbet er-  202 Rama, er-  212 Ramat Raḥel  113 Rehov, Tel (Tell es-Sarem)  138, 139, 147, 201 Rekhesh, Tell  201

Index of Sites and Geographical Names Rephaim, Valley of  102, 111 Riqqeh 67 Rujm Abu Mukheir  95, 96 Rujm el-Hiri  96 Ṣafuṭ, Tell  43, 271 Salamis 62 Samaria–Sebaste 4 Sanur 212 Šaqq, Khirbet eš-  92, 93, 94, 95, 96 Sarem, Tell es- see Rehov, Tel Scopus, Mt.  112 Seilun, Khirbet  202 Seraʿ, Tell  137, 146, 148 Serâbît el-Khâdim  34, 35, 36 Shechem  1, 4, 6, 7, 19, 20, 21, 30, 38, 42, 43, 47, 80, 88, 90, 91, 92, 97, 98, 99, 100, 128, 137, 147, 148, 149, 150, 187, 192, 193, 196, 207, 215 Sheʿir, Wadi  207 Shiloh  9, 19, 31, 55, 80, 147, 148, 187, 192, 193, 195, 199, 202 Shiloh, Tell  136 Shiqmonah  91, 92 Shubash, Wadi  215

287

Taʿanach  26, 55, 58, 201, 218 Tananir  91, 92 Tell, et-  see ʿAi Timna 63 Timnah  91, 92 Tirzah 4 Tor, Jebel et-  151, 152 Ugarit  90, 91, 127, 129 ʿUmayri, Tall al-  19, 37, 42, 61, 195, 214, 215 Umm et-Talaʿ, Khirbet  100 ʿUnuq, el-  6, 118, 119, 121 ʿUrma, Khirbet  202 Wawiyat, Tell el-  19 Yafit (3)  6, 118, 213 Yarkon River  140 Zeror, Tell  46 Zinçirli 53 Zorah  137, 147, 149