N.B. Out of respect to the fact that this work is currently unpublished, I feel obliged to leave out one or two cool things and generally gloss over the details – apparently there are risks of vandalism and theft at the site so I will not specify the name or location. When the publication comes out, relatively soon, it’s my understanding that it’ll be publicly available so rest assured I’ll bring it up again.
Wandering through the Ramallah Museum I strike up a conversation with the friendly curator (one of the first words I learn in every language is ‘archaeologist’: I’m still at that early stage where I’m giddy with the concept of calling myself one. “Al-attar”, I routinely mispronounce).
“I’ve been travelling around,” I say, “looking for digs. I hear field season’s over in Palestine now though.”
“Actually,” he says, smiling, “I know a guy.”
So the dig I’ve wangled my way onto is courtesy of Birzeit University, Birzeit – a university town some ten minutes out of Ramallah. Dr. Hamid Saleh is leading the excavations here at this early Byzantine village (i.e. before the Islamic conquest in the mid-seventh century), as an opportunity to train his large number of students, ranging from first years to Masters students. Some of them are first-timers on site, whilst others have seen it all. In-house excavations are generally like this: it’s a good model educationally, allowing students to learn as they go both under professional supervision and with the assistance of contemporaries. I only spent a week here, but it’s better than nothing.
I find myself, for the first time in my life, supervising. Fortunately for the data I end up supervising a desperate search for bedrock that comes up empty.
My main square, before I failed to find rock. Personally I blame whoever built the terraces on these rolling hills: everywhere else they were like ‘bedrock? No problem!’.
Much cooler stuff is happening around the basilica. I use basilica in the architectural sense, as structures that evolved out of the pre-Christian Roman Period into the default style for Orthodox buildings after the adoption of Christianity. Often relatively modest things, the one we’ve got here is no more than 10 x 20m in area, but it’s very well preserved and is frankly really nice. This has all been done before I got here, in the space of three weeks: for supposedly new students they know how to work.
Incidentally, this is all geometric mosaics under there. It’s a real shame you can’t see them.
This view is running along the nave of the church away from the altar, before the recovery of the mosaics ,which will be reburied under breathable material and sand just in case someone else wants a look. The atrium or open courtyard also borrowed from Roman architecture doesn’t seem to have survived but the narthex has: the narthex, an officially unconsecrated area of the church structure, was for the purpose of permitting heathens to enter the church for baptism and general ‘ooh, look at the artwork’ chicanery (the facetious jerk in me wants to call this the ‘try before you buy’ room). These things stop appearing in structures once Christianity is dominant in an area, and as such can either be used as an upper limit for construction dates (when the Christian trajectory of a province is known) or as an insight into Christianity’s status in an area (when the construction date is known). To make this a little easier to visualise I’ve stolen a map from Wikipedia.
From Wikipedia, a floor plan of Old St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City
The basilica we’ve got our hands on seems to have fewer aisles than this one – Greek and Latin churches are different long before the Schism – but balances this out with a sacristy (base for the priest) at the back, sadly collapsed along with the NE wall. This collapse seems to me to signal the end of the settlement, probably not long after the rise of the Umayyad Caliphate and the socio-populational upheaval implied: the only indication that anything happened afterwards is the fact that the terracing stones clearly came from buildings here.
The one thing that I’m curious about is the basilica’s position relative to the rest of the settlement. There’s been a bit of work done on an unidentified public building to the west, where most of the settlement is (a modern road runs just E of the basilica and cuts off any remains from there, but it seems that it sits on the settlement’s E edge anyway). This itself is only halfway up the hill, but the basilica sits at the bottom. I always thought that religious buildings went on high ground: seeing as we’ve got hints of a Roman presence maybe the structures of the time simply made this impractical.
Back on the road: stay tuned for more oversimplification and self-regarding waffle.
You know Jericho. Seriously, you do: it’s one of those Old Testament stories that we’ve all heard of. The Israelites invade Canaan, sweeping all before them until they reach the grand city of Jericho, thick-walled and belligerent. Joshua pulls his stunt with marches and trumpets and the walls come down, and that’s that. Suddenly and briefly this unknown city of a barely known people is thrust onto the world stage, and then disappears from the Biblical narrative.
To be fair to Jericho though, the Israelite invasion is barely an eyeblink of its time. Excavations at Jericho in the early 50s by the fantastic Kathleen Kenyon, whose work pioneered archaeological principles like stratigraphy, took the site of Tel-es-Sultan just north of modern Jericho, and what she found made it abundantly clear that Jericho was a damn sight older than Joshua, the Bible, Canaan, Egypt or the concept of monotheism.
This tower, some four metres tall, dominates the defensive walls of its period. This period, incidentally, is the pre-pottery Neolithic – approximately 9400 BC. The defensive structures enclosed what was a sizable city-state, comparable to Catal Hoyuk. Indeed, the Palestinian Authority goes so far to market it as ‘the oldest city in the world’, celebrating its 10000th anniversary in 2007. Claims of ‘oldest’ are never possible to substantiate, as radiocarbon dates (also pioneered by Kenyon, in fact) still give error margins of +-400 years for such old material, and of course we’ve not excavated everywhere: Jericho can, however, make a reasonable claim to oldest continuously occupied city, which is also pretty cool.
N.B. My time in Palestine is going to be out of sequence, mainly because I cannot help myself but to talk about this first. I remain of average intelligence, limited faculties and incomplete information. I beg you to do your own reading.
I entered the West Bank ten days ago. Contrary to the stories on the news, the warnings of my family and the general implications throughout Israel that Palestine is not safe, whilst in here the only reason I’ve managed to get anything done is the long succession of complete strangers who have led me around cities to my destinations, negotiated with their countrymen in Arabic on my behalf and given me advice on things to see and do without any expectation of reward. Some of them give me their phone numbers when they head off: “if you need anything at all, you call me”. This includes students, taxi drivers, shop assistants, academics and anyone else you can think of whom I’ve met. I’ve been given free food and water, reduced rates on shared taxis (servees) simply because I can’t find exact change and in-depth discussions of the political situation with people across the Palestinian political spectrum (even when we discuss Britain’s role in this travesty, it’s made clear that they acknowledge the difference between governments and their people). The English word that literally everyone knows is ‘welcome’. Their friendliness is breathtaking: if I had been walking around Scotland this clueless I would have been knifed by now.
Stepping onto the Temple Mount/Haram Ash-Sharif (hereafter Mount Moriah to make things easier) is a complicated proposition for a non-Muslim. Held by an Islamic waqf or charitable foundation since Jerusalem fell to Saladin in 1187, today it is the only Islamic-controlled territory in Jerusalem, a provision made for it in 1967 when Israel captured and annexed East Jerusalem during the Six-Day War. The Muslim authority is thus allowed to set its own terms for non-Muslim visitors: there are set times each day except Friday, and these set times are very strictly enforced.
Walking to Mount Moriah (walkway to gate on left). It almost looks as if there’s been excavation in this no-man’s land patrolled by the IDF.
The digs I obtained in the Christian Quarter were somewhat spartan. By this I mean that I was sleeping on a roof. The heat in the morning burned my face and cooked me in the sleeping bag that the cold nights demanded. Even if I had somehow survived unmolested by weather until half past eight in the morning, the sound of every church in the city trying to out-bell-ring one another is enough to wake the legions of the dead buried on the Mount of Olives (the idea there is that the closer you are to the Temple Mount the sooner you’ll be resurrected on Judgement Day, so presumably those guys are the light sleepers).
The view makes up for it though. Those blue domes there are the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the holiest site in Christendom as the traditional site of the death and resurrection of Jesus. The spire to the right is the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, interesting as one of the few Protestant sites in Jerusalem. The city itself is a beautiful maze of little churches, mosques, side alleys and souks, and the Sepulchre rises above them all, challenged only by the Dome of the Rock.
So naturally I went to have a look.
So Shabbat in Israel is taken very seriously in most of the country, with the exception of Tel Aviv. Jerusalem, of course, attracts the more dedicated members of any faith, and thus hosts a large population of Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox Jews.
You have to understand that these guys are deeply opposed to any sort of activity during Shabbat (which is Friday sunset to Saturday sunset). No work of any sort, no driving, no operation of electricity – the security devices surrounding the Western Wall actually required special rabbianic dispensation, as stepping through it would otherwise be a violation of the Orthodox interpretation of Shabbat and prevent them from accessing the Western Wall during its busiest period. Fair enough, to be honest. Since I arrived in Israel, I’ve found Shabbat to be agreeable so long as you’re prepared, and I’ve found it a good analogue to the Sunday trading hours that used to operate in Britain. 24 hours of religiously enforced rest, with the majority of businesses closed, is a good way of defending one’s right to a day off.
‘Enforced’, however, has multiple interpretations in Israel.
Important plug inbound.
I’m going to be posting for the Day of Archaeology 2012, and so should you be. Due to a series of visa-related confusions and a myriad of potential options (yes, I’m about a week behind – I’ve been through Jerusalem and you don’t even know!) I’m not actually sure where I’m going to be on June 29th but I’ll be doing something, and I will be blogging about it in-depth to talk about the actual grind of a working day. So will some 400+ others, one of whom could be you! Stuff like this can only make us even cooler than we, y’know, are, and seeing as I’d be doing it anyway it’s hardly bad for me.
It’s being run through WordPress, and all you need to do for now is email firstname.lastname@example.org to give them a heads-up that you’ll be involved. We’ll get details closer to the day. So no matter where you are or what you’re working on (it doesn’t have to be excavation: it just has to be archaeology), I suggest you start thinking. Could be fantastic.
P.S. stay tuned tomorrow for not so much a blog about Jerusalem as a blog about a Jerusalemite RIOT FANTASTIC (definitely not archaeology)