ANCIENT ISRAEL

ANCIENT ISRAEL

What Do We Know
and How Do We Know It?

Revised Edition

Lester L. Grabbe

Bloomsbury T&T Clark

An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
 Bloomsbury T&T Clark
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First published 2007.

This revised edition first published 2017.

© Lester L. Grabbe, 2017

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to be identified as Author of this work.

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 Dedicated to

Professor Loren R. Fisher

The European Seminar in Historical Methodology
My History of Israel students over a quarter of a century
 C on t en t s

Contents vii
Abbreviations xiii
Preface to the Second Edition xix
Preface to the First Edition xxi

Part I
Introduction

Chapter 1
The Principles and Methods of Investigating
the History of Ancient Israel 3
1.1 Aims 3
1.2 Concepts and Complications:
The Question of Sources and Methods 4
1.2.1 The Place of the Social Sciences 4
1.2.2 The Longue Durée 5
1.2.3 The Model and Method of Classical Studies 6
1.2.4 Using Archaeology as a Source 6
1.2.4.1 General Comments 7
1.2.4.2 Terminology of Archaeological Periods 11
1.2.4.3 Use of Survey Data 12
1.2.4.4 The Debate Over the ‘Low Chronology’ 13
1.2.4.5 Estimating Population 16
1.2.4.6 The Stratigraphy of Samaria 17
1.2.4.7 Reinterpretation of the Jochan Seal 17
1.2.4.8 Problems with Forgeries 17
1.2.5 Ethnicity 19
1.2.6 Ideology and Neo-Fundamentalism 22
1.2.7 ‘Maximalists’, ‘Minimalists’
and the ad hominem Argument 24
1.3 The Contemporary Practice of Writing Israel’s History 26
1.3.1 Developments in General Historiography 26
1.3.2 Forty Years of Debate Among Biblical Scholars 31
1.3.3 Principles of Historical Method Used in this Book 37
viii Contents

Part II
Historical Investigations

Chapter 2
Second Millennium:
Middle and Late Bronze Ages (2000–1300 BCE) 41
2.1 Sources 41
2.1.1 Archaeology 41
2.1.2 Egyptian Texts 44
2.1.2.1 Execration Texts 44
2.1.2.2 Amarna Letters 44
2.1.2.3 The Story of Sinuhe 47
2.1.3 Ugaritic Texts 47
2.1.4 Mesopotamian Texts 48
2.1.5 Biblical Text 48
2.2 Analysis 49
2.2.1 Peoples/Ethnic and Social Groups 49
2.2.1.1 Hyksos 49
2.2.1.2 Amorites (Amurru) 50
2.2.1.3 ‘Apiru/Ḫaberu 52
2.2.1.4 Shasu (Shosu, Š3św, Sutu) 53
2.2.1.5 Canaanites 55
2.2.2 Question of the Patriarchs 57
2.3 Synthesis 60
2.3.1 First Part of Second Millennium
(ca. 2000–1600/1500 BCE) 62
2.3.1.1 Egypt 62
2.3.1.2 Old Assyrian Period (ca. 2000–1750) 62
2.3.1.3 Old Babylonian Period (2000–1600) 62
2.3.1.4 Hittites 63
2.3.1.5 Northern Syria 63
2.3.2 Second Part of the Second Millennium
(1600/1500–1200 BCE) 64
2.3.2.1 Egypt 64
2.3.2.2 Mesopotamia 67
2.3.2.3 Hittite Empire (ca. 1400–1200 BCE) 68
2.3.2.4 Mitanni Kingdom (ca. 1600–1350 BCE) 68
2.3.2.5 Ugarit 70
2.3.3 Palestine 70
 Contents ix

Chapter 3
Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE):
From Settlement to Statehood 71
3.1 Sources 71
3.1.1 Archaeology 71
3.1.1.1 Analysis 83
3.1.2 Merenptah Stela 85
3.1.3 Medinet Habu and Related Inscriptions 88
3.1.4 Report of Wenamun 89
3.1.5 Shoshenq I’s Palestinian Inscription 89
3.1.6 Biblical Text 91
3.1.6.1 Pentateuch 91
3.1.6.2 Deuteronomistic History (DtrH) 92
3.2 Analysis 92
3.2.1 The Question of the Exodus 92
3.2.2 The Sea Peoples and the Philistines 99
3.2.2.1 The Coming of the Sea Peoples 99
3.2.2.2 The Development of the Philistines 106
3.2.3 Transjordan 110
3.2.4 From Settlement to Statehood 115
3.2.4.1 Joshua and Judges 116
3.2.4.2 The Settlement 120
3.2.4.3 ‘Tribes’ and ‘Nomads’ 130
3.2.4.4 Anthropological Models of Statehood 134
3.2.4.5 The Early Monarchy: Saul, Samuel, David,
and Solomon Traditions 138
3.2.5 Writing, Literacy and Bureaucracy 150
3.3 Synthesis 154

Chapter 4
Iron IIB (900–720): Rise and Fall of the Northern Kingdom 159
4.1 Sources 159
4.1.1 Archaeology 159
4.1.2 Hebrew Inscriptions 164
4.1.3 Aramaic Inscriptions 165
4.1.3.1 Tel Dan 165
4.1.3.2 Melqart Inscription 166
4.1.3.3 Zakkur Inscription 166
4.1.4 Mesha Stela 167
4.1.5 Assyrian Sources 167
4.1.6 Phoenician History of Menander of Ephesus 172
x Contents

4.1.7 Biblical Text 172

4.1.7.1 1 Kings 16.15–2 Kings 17.41
(2 Chronicles 18–28):
Outline of the Contents 173
4.1.7.2 Analysis 176
4.2 Analysis 178
4.2.1 Dividing of the Kingdom (1 Kings 12–14) 178
4.2.2 Rulers of Judah and Israel to Omri (1 Kings 15.1‒16.20) 179
4.2.3 Ahab 181
4.2.4 Israel and Moab 184
4.2.5 The Aramaeans 186
4.2.6 From Jehu to the End of the Northern Kingdom
(2 Kings 9–16) 189
4.2.7 Fall of Samaria 191
4.2.8 Development of Religion 193
4.2.8.1 The God Yhwh 193
4.2.8.2 Other Deities and Worship 196
4.2.8.3 Temple Religion versus ‘Popular’/‘Folk’/
‘Family’ Religion 202
4.2.8.4 Development of Monotheism 204
4.3 Synthesis 206
4.3.1 Biblical Data Confirmed 207
4.3.2 Biblical Data Not Confirmed, Though They
May Be Correct 208
4.3.3 Biblical Picture Incorrect 208
4.3.4 Biblical Picture Omits/has Gaps 208

Chapter 5
Iron IIC (720–539 BCE):
Peak and Decline of Judah 210
5.1 Sources 210
5.1.1 Archaeology 210
5.1.1.1 Conclusions with Regard to Archaeology 220
5.1.2 Palestinian Inscriptions 221
5.1.2.1 The Adon Papyrus 221
5.1.2.2 Meṣad Ḥashavyahu 222
5.1.2.3 Arad Ostraca 222
5.1.2.4 Lachish Letters 223
5.1.2.5 The Ashyahu Ostracon 223
5.1.2.6 Seals and Bullae 223
5.1.3 Assyrian Sources 228
5.1.3.1 Sargon II (721–705 BCE) 228
5.1.3.2 Sennacherib (705–681 BCE) 229
5.1.3.3 Esarhaddon (681–669 BCE) 229
5.1.3.4 Ashurbanipal (669–627 BCE) 230
 Contents xi

5.1.4 Babylonian Sources 231

5.1.4.1 Nabopolassar (626–605 BCE) 231
5.1.4.2 Nebuchadnezzar II (605–562 BCE) 231
5.1.4.3 Jehoiachin Documents 232
5.1.4.4 Texts from āl-Yāhūdu and Našar 233
5.1.5 Egyptian Source: Psammetichus Inscription 233
5.1.6 The Biblical Story: 2 Kings 21–25 and Parallels 234
5.1.6.1 2 Kings//2 Chronicles 234
5.1.6.2 Jeremiah 236
5.1.6.3 Ezekiel 236
5.1.6.4 Ezra 237
5.1.6.5 Daniel 237
5.1.6.6 Analysis of the Text 237
5.2 Analysis 238
5.2.1 Hezekiah 238
5.2.2 Manasseh 244
5.2.3 Amon 247
5.2.4 Josiah 247
5.2.5 Jehoahaz 251
5.2.6 Jehoiakim 251
5.2.7 Jehoiachin 252
5.2.8 Zedekiah 252
5.2.9 The Case of Jeremiah 253
5.2.10 The Case of Nebuchadnezzar 254
5.2.11 The ‘Exile’ 255
5.3 Synthesis 255
5.3.1 Biblical Data Confirmed 256
5.3.2 Biblical Data Not Confirmed, Though They
May Be Correct 257
5.3.3 Biblical Picture is Most Likely Incorrect 258
5.3.4 Biblical Picture Omits/Has Gaps 258

Part III
Conclusions

Chapter 6
‘The End of the Matter’:
What Can We Say about Israelite and Judahite History? 263

Bibliography 270
Index of References 341
Index of Authors 349
Index of Subjects 355
 A b b rev i at i ons

AASOR Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research

AB Anchor Bible
ABD Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by David Noel Freedman. 6 vols.
Garden City, NY, 1992
ACEBT Amsterdamse Cahiers voor Exegese en bijbelse Theologie
ADPV Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins
AEL Ancient Egyptian Literature. Edited by M. Lichtheim. 3 vols;
Berkeley, 1971–80
AfO Archiv für Orientforschung
AGAJU Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des
Urchristentums
AHI Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions: Corpus and Concordance. Graham
I. Davies. Cambridge, 1991
AJA American Journal of Archaeology
ALASPM Abhandlungen zur Literature Alt-Syren-Palästinas und
Mesopotamiens
ALGHJ Arbeiten zur Literatur und Geschichte des hellenistischen
Judentums
AnBib Analecta biblica
ANET Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited
by James B. Pritchard. 3rd ed. with Supplement. Princeton, 1969
AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament
AP Cowley, A. Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century B.C. 1923. Repr.
Osnabruck, 1967
ARAB Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia. Daniel David
Luckenbill. 4 vols. 1926–27. Repr. London, 1989
ASOR American Schools of Oriental Research
ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch
AUSS Andrews University Seminary Studies
BA Biblical Archeologist
BAR Biblical Archaeology Review
BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research
BBB Bonner biblische Beiträge
BCE Before the Common Era (= BC)
xiv Abbreviations

BETL Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium

BHS Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Edited by K. Elliger and
W. Rudolph. Stuttgart, 1983
Bib Biblica
BibOr Biblica et orientalia
BIS Biblical Interpretation Series
BJRL Bulletin of the John Rylands Library
BN Biblische Notizen
BO Bibliotheca Orientalis
BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament
BZ Biblische Zeitschrift
BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
CAH Cambridge Ancient History
CBC Century Bible Commentary
CBET Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology
CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly
CBQMS Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series
CBR Currents in Biblical Research
CHANE Culture and History of the Ancient Near East
CIS Corpus Inscriptionum semiticarum
CML Canaanite Myths and Legends. Edited by J. C. L. Gibson, 2nd ed.
Edinburgh, 1978
ConBOT Conjectanea biblica, Old Testament
CoS The Context of Scripture. Edited by W. W. Hallo. 3 vols.
Leiden, 1997–2003
CRAIBL Comptes rendus de l’Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres
CRBS Currents in Research: Biblical Studies
DDD Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Edited by K. van
der Toorn, B. Becking, and P. W. van der Horst. 2nd ed. Leiden,
1999
DSD Dead Sea Discoveries
DtrH Deuteronomistic History
EA el-Amarna letters
EB Early Bronze Age
EI Eretz-Israel
ESHM European Seminar in Historical Methodology
ET English translation
EvT Evangelische Theologie
FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament
FOTL Forms of the Old Testament Literature
FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen
Testaments
 Abbreviations xv

FS Festschrift
HAT Handbuch zum Alten Testament
HdA Handbuch der Archäologie
HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs
HSS Harvard Semitic Studies
HTR Harvard Theological Review
HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual
ICC International Critical Commentary
IDB Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by G. A. Buttrick. 4
vols. Nashville, 1962
IDBSup Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible: Supplementary Volume.
Edited by K. Crim. Nashville, 1976
IEJ Israel Exploration Journal
IOS Israel Oriental Society
JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia
University
JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society
JARCE Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies
JEA Journal of Egyptian Archaeology
JESHO Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JNSL Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages
JQR Jewish Quarterly Review
JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament
JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplements Series
JSPSup Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha: Supplement Series
JSS Journal of Semitic Studies
JTS Journal of Theological Studies
KAI Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften. H. Donner and W.
Röllig, mit einem Beitrag von O. Rössler. Vols 1–3. Wiesbaden,
1962–64
KAT Kommentar zum Alten Testament
KTU Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit. Edited by Manfried
Dietrich, Oswald Loretz, and Joaquín Sanmartín. Münster, 2013.
3rd enl. ed. of KTU: The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit,
Ras Ibn Hani, and Other Places. Edited by Manfried Dietrich,
Oswald Loretz, and Joaquín Sanmartín. Münster, 1995 (= CTU)
LB Late Bronze Age
LC Low Chronology (see §1.2.4.4)
LCL Loeb Classical Library
xvi Abbreviations

LdÄ Lexikon der Ägyptologie. Edited by Wolfgang Helck, Eberhard

Otto and Wolfhart Westendorf. 5 vols. Wiesbaden, 1975­–92
LHBOTS Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies
LXX Septuagint version of the Old Testament
MB Middle Bronze Age
MCC Modified Conventional Chronology (see §1.2.4.4)
MT Masoretic text
NEA Near Eastern Archaeology
NEAEHL New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy
Land. Edited by Ephraim Stern. 4 vols. New York and Jerusalem,
1992. 5 Supplementary Volume (2008)
NEB Neue Echter Bibel
OBO Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis
OEANE The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East. Edited
by Eric M. Meyers. 5 vols. New York, 1997
OLA Orientalia lovaniensia analecta
Or Orientalia
OT Old Testament/Hebrew Bible
OTL Old Testament Library
OTS Oudtestamentische Studiën
PAPS Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society
PdÄ Probleme der Ägyptologie
PEQ Palestine Exploration Quarterly
PJb Palästina-Jahrbuch
RB Revue Biblique
RBL Review of Biblical Literature
RIMA The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods
SAAS State Archives of Assyria Studies
SAHL Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant
SANE Studies on the Ancient Near East
SBL Society of Biblical Literature
SBLABS Society of Biblical Literature Archaeology and Biblical Studies
SBLASP SBL Abstracts and Seminar Papers
SBLBMI SBL Bible and its Modern Interpreters
SBLDS SBL Dissertation Series
SBLMS SBL Monograph Series
SBLSBL SBL Studies in Biblical Literature
SBLSBS SBL Sources for Biblical Study
SBLSCS SBL Septuagint and Cognate Studies
SBLSymS Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series
SBLTT SBL Texts and Translations
SBT Studies in Biblical Theology
 Abbreviations xvii

SEL Studi epigrafici e linguistici

SemeiaSt Semeia Studies
SHANE Studies in the History of the Ancient Near East
SHCANE Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East
SJOT Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament
SNTSMS Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series
SWBA Social World of Biblical Antiquity
TA Tel Aviv
TAD Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt: 1–4. Bezalel
Porten and Ada Yardeni. Hebrew University, Department of the
History of the Jewish People, Texts and Studies for Students.
Jerusalem, 1986–99
TDOT Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by G.
Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. Translated by John T.
Willis et al. 15 vols. Grand Rapids, 1974–
TRu Theologische Rundshau
TSAJ Texte und Studien zum Antiken Judentum
TSSI Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions. J. C. L. Gibson. Oxford,
1973–81
ThWAT Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament. Edited by G.
Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. Stuttgart, 1970–2000
TZ Theologische Zeitschrift
UF Ugarit-Forschung
VT Vetus Testamentum
VTSup Supplements to Vetus Testamentum
WBC Word Bible Commentary
WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament
ZA Zeitschrift für Assyrologie
ZAH Zeitschrift für Althebräistik
ZAR Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte
ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
ZDPV Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins
ZTK Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche
§ Marks the sections of the text for cross-referencing
 P r efa c e to t h e S econ d E di t i on

The field of the history of ancient Israel is changing so rapidly that after
only a decade it is time to come out with a new edition. A number of
changes have been made, including both updating and new material. In
many ways the volume remains ‘prolegomena’ as originally conceived,
but the additions to the text put it on the road to a comprehensive history
(albeit a short one). The following are some of the changes made:

• Chapter 1 has been slightly updated.

• Chapter 2 has been updated and expanded, especially in the sections
relating to Egypt, including §§2.1.2, 2.2.1, 2.3.2.
• Chapter 3 on the beginnings of Israel has had the text considerably
revised and also updated, including §§3.1 and 3.2.
• Chapters 4 and 5 have had a number of expansions, especially in §4.2
and §5.2, to give a more comprehensive survey of the Israelite and
Judahite kings.
• For Egyptian dates, the system worked out by Hornung et al. 2006
is used.

I regret that it was not possible to take account of two recent histories
that have just appeared: Frevel 2016; Knauf and Guillaume 2016. On a
personal note, I would like to thank Professor William G. Dever for his
helpful review of the first edition of this book in BASOR (357 [2010]:
79–83), and also for his kind and generous references to it in other
publications. After an initial (somewhat hostile!) encounter, we came to
better understand each other and, more important, for each to respect the
work that the other does. Although we are far from being in complete
agreement – and our individual rhetoric is quite different – I believe we
share a similar view on many issues (not least, postmodernism!).

Kingston-upon-Hull, UK
4 July 2016
 P r efa c e to t h e F i r st E di ti on

Throughout the writing of this book, its working title was, Prolegomena
to a History of Israel: What Do We Know and How Do We Know it? In the
back of my mind, though, I think I realized it would not be the final title. It
was the publisher who objected on the grounds that it would not be readily
understood by some of its intended readership. The subtitle expresses
what I have been trying to do, and the ‘Aims’ (§1.1) explain in detail. It is
with some regret that it has not been possible to use my original title, but
perhaps to have done so would have been an act of hubris – at least, some
of my colleagues might have thought so.
This book is, however, not a history of Israel but the preparation – the
prolegomena – for such a history. It is aimed initially at scholars, with
the intent of contributing to the current debate. By laying out as clearly
as possible the main primary sources and drawing attention to the areas
of debate and the arguments being advanced, I hope to give a snapshot of
the field at the present time. Yet as always, I want to reach other audiences
as well and have attempted to make some concessions for them, such
as giving both the Hebrew script and transliteration. These secondary
audiences include scholars who do not work primarily in history but
who would like a useful overview and reference; scholars who may be
historians but not specialists in Hebrew Bible or ancient Israel; students
who might find that the book would serve as a useful text. In that vein, I
have tried to make the data accessible and provide sufficient information
even to non-specialists, even if this is sometimes by way of referring the
reader to some relevant bibliography. Such a small book can cover only
so much, but within the confines of the space allotted I hope to have given
a helpful – and thoughtful – account about the problems and methods for
writing a history.
There are many people whom I could thank for discussion, inspiration
and other help provided, but this could be a very long list. In addition
to those to whom the book is dedicated, I shall limit my thanks to the
following: Jim Eisenbraun, for making available a copy of the Amihai
Mazar Festschrift before formal publication; Benyamin Sass, for a copy of
xxii Preface to the First Edition

his book on the alphabet; my student Kwanghyun Ryu for bringing some
bibliographical items to my attention.
My first class in the history of Israel was in 1970 with Professor Loren
R. Fisher. Although my perspective at the time was not in line with his, I
still managed to learn a great deal and to begin a journey on the road to
learning a critical approach to the Bible.
In the decade since the European Seminar on Methodology in Israel’s
History (now shortened to European Seminar in Historical Methodology)
had its first meeting, I have learned an enormous amount from my peers
in the UK, on the Continent, from Israel and elsewhere. My main reason
for founding the Seminar was to get scholars of different views and
approaches to talk to each other. I was also hoping for a gradual narrowing
of the range of opinions, which does not seem to have happened, but I
think we have all become clearer about our own opinions and also those
of others in the Seminar. In the process, I think some useful volumes have
been produced for the wider scholarly world.
British universities have traditionally focused on undergraduates. For
almost 25 years I have offered an optional module in the History of Israel
on a regular basis. Because students in the class are new to the subject,
most of my learning has come from repeatedly having to go over the
material in preparation for the class rather than directly from students. But
during that time I have had some interesting essays and found teaching the
class very rewarding.

Kingston-upon-Hull, UK
13 October 2006
 Part I

I n t rod uct i on
 Chapter 1

T he P ri n ci p l es a n d M e thods o f
I nv e s t i gat i n g t h e H i s tory of A nci e nt I sr ae l

1.1 Aims

This book is not a history of ancient Israel as such (though this second
edition takes it further down that path), but it is primarily the preparation
for such a history. Its purpose is to survey the sources and summarize the
data available for writing such a history, and then evaluate the various
interpretations of these data for reconstructing a history of Israel. It is,
in fact, ‘prolegomena to a history of Israel’. It asks: What do we actually
know? On what basis can we claim to have knowledge of ancient Israel?
Simple questions, but the answers are far from simple. In order to address
them, each chapter has three main parts:

1. Original sources. In this section the pertinent sources for a history

of Palestine are surveyed and discussed, with relevant publications,
translations and secondary studies.
2. Analysis. In this section specific topics will be examined, the data
from the sources critically discussed and the various theories that
have been advanced will be considered and evaluated.
3. Synthesis. Here the main issues will be summarized and an attempt
made to outline how I would put all the data together and would
understand the history of Israel for the period covered by the chapter.

The principles along which I shall work are summarized in §1.3.3

below, but first I want to survey some of the main questions that inform
these principles and the main areas relevant for writing a history of
ancient Israel today.
4 Ancient Israel

1.2 Concepts and Complications:

The Question of Sources and Methods

This section will take up several different issues that are relevant for
writing a history. These might seem somewhat miscellaneous, but each
(potentially) affects the reconstruction of ancient history and requires
some knowledge or background on the part of the reader.

1.2.1 The Place of the Social Sciences

Although many biblical scholars make use of the social sciences, it is
probably fair to say that Hebrew Bible/OT studies have still not fully incor-
porated the social sciences into their frame of reference. Not all studies
relating to the Bible require use of the social sciences, but many studies
that one sees do not go behind the biblical text, even though making use
of insights from anthropology or sociology would give a better and more
complete perspective. There is no question that anyone working on the
history of ancient Israel needs to make full use of the contributions that
can be brought in from the many social scientific studies.
The world of the social sciences is too large for a proper survey here,
but for many points within the present study social scientific literature will
be cited. I shall not normally make a hard and fast distinction between
the terms ‘social anthropology’ (normal British usage) and ‘cultural
anthropology’ (normal American usage), and professionals themselves
do not always find it easy to distinguish anthropology from sociology.
Archaeology has benefitted from the social sciences in recent years, and
archaeology of all periods now routinely incorporates a great deal from
anthropology. Some examples of areas where social theory and anthro-
pology are invoked in this study are the settlement (§3.2.4.2), nomads
and tribes (§3.2.4.3) and state formation (§3.2.4.4), but the social sciences
leaven the work at many points and are essential for proper historical
work in antiquity.
Unfortunately, biblical scholars have tended to be quite naive in their
use of social anthropology, seeming to follow a stereotyped formula as
follows: fish out a theory found in an elementary textbook or – prefer-
ably – one that is starting to make ground as a respectable topic. Take
this theory, pick a set of unsuspecting biblical data, read the theory into
the data, throw in some half-understood sociological vocabulary and –
presto! – another sociological study. Therefore, some points to be kept in
mind include the following (cf. Grabbe 2001c: 121):
 1. The Principles and Methods 5

1. Theories derived from the social sciences are simply models to

be tested against the biblical and other data, not conclusions to be
imposed on the sources. They are simply analogies based on one or
more cultures. They are not ‘facts’ that can then be taken as givens
by biblical scholars but are interpretations, to be critically examined
against the data and then modified or discarded where necessary.
2. The function of sociological theories is to interrogate the textual or
other data. The texts themselves may be read uncritically, as if they
provided immediate access to the ancient society. It is easy to forget
that the biblical texts cannot be treated like anthropological reports.
3. A related danger is to overinterpret – to find a lot more data in a
passage than is warranted because of applying the sociological
theory. Cross-cultural comparisons allow us to ask questions, to look
at familiar data in a new light, to think in new directions. However,
we cannot go beyond the data there, and hair-splitting interpreta-
tions – sometimes based on dubious linguistic analysis (cf. Barr
1961) – should be treated as the speculation they usually represent.
4. One of the most problematic tendencies in scholarship is that of
reading modern ethical and theological concerns into the data.
Biblical scholars are in the habit of making statements about the text
based on theological bias and calling it sociological analysis. What
should be sociological description becomes in fact an ideological
value judgment. Too often sociological theory is simply a vehicle
to import preconceived views about the biblical text. The city/urban
is bad; the country/rural is good. The rich/ruling class is bad; the
poor are good. The Canaanite city-states are bad; the refugee slave/
peasant/proto-Israelite highland settler is good. The monarchy, social
status, the economic situation, class divisions, urbanism and the like
are all presented from the point of view of what a modern liberal,
middle-class biblical scholar with a social conscience would consider
acceptable.

1.2.2 The Longue Durée

One of the insights often forgotten in historical discussion is the extent to
which any history is shaped by long-term factors that are usually outside
the actors’ control: physical geography (the geology, climate, vegetation,
types of agricultural land, routes of communication and other physical
surroundings), the availability of natural resources and the necessities of
life (traditional lifestyles and modes of making a living) and long-term
historical events (population movements, rise and fall of empires and
nations, traditional alliances, old feuds and rivalries). It was the insight
6 Ancient Israel

of the Annales school of historiography that different aspects of history

have their own rhythm and temporal progress (for example, I. Finkelstein
has drawn attention to the long-term cycling between settlement and
pastoralism [§3.2.4.2]). Some historical constituents tend to change very
slowly; others change much more quickly. This led F. Braudel (1980:
25–54) to divide history into three levels: (a) the level of events (histoire
événementielle), the individual happenings on a short-term basis (though
these do not necessarily escape the influence or sometimes even the deter-
mination of geography and environment); (b) the medium-term processes
(histoire conjonctures); (c) the changes over long periods of time, affected
by such issues as landscape, geology and climate (longue durée).

1.2.3 The Model and Method of Classical Studies

What is sometimes forgotten by historians of ancient Israel is that histo-
rians of ancient Greece and Rome have had to work with sources often
very similar to those relied on by ‘biblical’ historians. For centuries
classical historians had to rely primarily on the ancient written accounts.
Some of these, such as Thucydides, were high quality, but for vast
stretches of ancient history the surviving accounts were of poor or
uncertain quality. Classical historians had to try to extract historical data
from dodgy sources, writings lost in antiquity but used by surviving
accounts, histories of various qualities, accounts written long after the
original events, and writings that were not intended to be histories as such.
There were also some inscriptions, and more recently archaeology has
begun to take on a more important place in historical reconstruction. As
will be clear, many of the classical sources provide much the same sorts
of literature, information, and methodological problems as the Bible does
to historians of Israel. Those of us writing on ancient Israel have much to
learn from the Greek and Latin historians who have been doing their work
for far longer than we.

1.2.4 Using Archaeology as a Source

All historical work requires sources, by which is meant the source of
data or information. Thus, ‘source’ includes not just literature or inscrip-
tions but archaeology, surveys, demographic studies and so on. Any
ancient history should depend as far as possible on ‘primary sources’,
the principle already laid down by von Ranke (§1.3.1). This means that
artifactual evidence – archaeology and material culture – is extremely
important. In contrast to the old way of beginning with the text, historical
reconstruction should start with the longue durée (geology, climate,
 1. The Principles and Methods 7

environment), and then move on to inscriptions and archaeology. These

furnish information not found in texts and also provide an objectivity not
possessed by texts because they provide actual realia from the past. The
importance of archaeology cannot, therefore, be overestimated.

1.2.4.1 General Comments

The use of archaeology for historical reconstruction is as complicated
as the use of texts. The material data have to be interpreted just as much
as textual data. Artifacts by themselves are mute. They speak only when
interrogated and given a context by the archaeologist and the historian.
Much depends on the skill and technical understanding of the excavators
and the careful recording of the archaeological data. As David Ussishkin
(2007b: 132) has put it:

The need for objectivity in archaeological research must be emphasized:

Firstly, most data can usually be interpreted in more than one way: this or
that wall can be assigned to the upper level but it may also be assigned to the
lower. Or this and that storage jar can be assigned to a floor, but also to a pit
dug from above. Or the uncovered fragment could be part of a bowl but it
also resembles a jug. And so forth. Secondly, the archaeologist bears a great
responsibility as in most cases he cannot repeat the discovery: uncovering
the data is also the destruction of the data. For example, the archaeologist
uncovers a jar lying in the debris – once he has extracted the jar we cannot
repeat the discovery and study afresh the context of the same jar. Taking into
account all the above I feel that the work of the archaeologist resembles that
of a police detective, whose primary task when dealing with a case is to sort
out the facts, and to interpret them in the most objective manner possible.
Indeed, as I often state in lectures and in writing, I feel that my mentors are
Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot and their colleagues.

The past four decades have seen some significant changes in archaeo-
logical theory and method, some of which has had its impact on the
archaeology of Palestine. This can only briefly be surveyed here. It is
probably fair to say that the ‘Biblical Archaeology’ mode of operation
had dominated the archaeology of Palestine up to the death of Albright
who was its foremost practitioner (Dever 2001: 57–9). Perhaps it might
be characterized in the phrase often quoted from Yigael Yadin, working
with a spade in one hand and the Bible in the other. In other words, the
Bible constituted the guide for interpreting the archaeology. ‘Biblical
Archaeology’ was very much in the traditional cultural-historical archae-
ology mode, in which an emphasis was placed on describing, reconstructing
history, explaining developments by cultural contact and diffusion and
8 Ancient Israel

migration, and the identification of ethnicity with material culture – ‘pots

equal people’ (cf. Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 40–2). It was partly the
changes more broadly in archaeology that caused a serious questioning of
both the historicity of the Bible (§1.3.2) and the assumptions of ‘Biblical
Archaeology’ in the 1970s. W. G. Dever (1981, 1985) was one of the main
scholars who drew attention to how the changes happening in the broader
field of archaeology were eroding the old ‘Biblical Archaeology’.
What is usually termed ‘processual archaeology’ – though often
called the ‘New Archaeology’ – arose in the 1960s (Redman 1999: 60–5;
Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 41–2, 473–84). It was an attempt to put archae-
ology on a more scientific basis, looking to anthropology and statistical
and systems analysis. The general view was that society was a system,
made up of a set of subsystems (subsistence, trade, technologies, etc.),
and cultural change was to be explained by the processes and interac-
tions of systems, especially as these adapted to their environment(s).
Archaeology was an objective discipline, with the aim of explaining (not
just describing) by logical argument and by the use of hypotheses and
models that were, however, to be rigorously tested.
In the late 1980s and early 1990s a reaction developed to what was
seen as the excessively mechanistic approach of the New Archaeology:
it was too determinative, ignored the place of the individual and did not
recognize the subjective element in all archaeological interpretation.
This was ‘post-processual archaeology’, or ‘interpretive archaeology’ as
some preferred to call it (Redman 1999: 65–9; Shanks and Hodder 1995;
Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 494–6). It had many parallels with the postmod-
ernist movement in literature and other cultural fields taking place at
the same time. Some of its main features are the following (Shanks and
Hodder 1995: 5):

• It focuses on contextual concerns, including the natural environment

but also the socio-cultural environment.
• All social activity (including doing archaeology) has to do with
meaning and interpretation – making sense of things. Hence, the
designation ‘interpretative archaeology’.
• The person and work of the interpreter is explicitly recognized.
• Archaeology works in the present, constructing knowledge, narra-
tives and the like from the remains of the past. It ‘reads’ material
culture like a ‘text’.
• There is no final or definitive account of the past; archaeology is a
continuing process.
 1. The Principles and Methods 9

• Interpretations of society are less concerned with causes than making

sense of things.
• Possible interpretations are multiple: different interpretations for the
same set of data are possible.

This does not mean that the New Archaeology disappeared; on the
contrary, its procedures still dominate the work of most archaeologists.
But the insights of post-processual archaeology have also been recog-
nized. It is probably the case that the dominant approach now is what has
been called ‘cognitive-processual archaeology’, which seems to be the
basic core of processual archaeology but well leavened by the interpretive
approach (Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 496–501; cf. Redman 1999: 69–72).
The main ways in which it differs from processual archaeology are given
as the following (Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 496–7):

• It seeks to incorporate information about cognitive and symbolic

aspects of society.
• It recognizes that ideology is an active force within society and on
individuals.
• Material culture is an active factor in the process by which individuals
and society construct their world.
• Internal conflict within societies has to be taken into account.
• The creative role of the individual has to be recognized.
• Facts can no longer be considered independent of theory, nor are
there universal ‘laws of culture process’ on the analogy of physical
laws.

Most Palestinian archaeologists would probably pay strong lip-service

to the ‘cognitive-processual’ approach, though it appears that most do not
agonize a lot over theoretical method: they excavate as they have been
taught and as their experience has informed their work over the years. But
it is also the same with historians of my acquaintance – they just get on
with it without long debates over the historical method. As Dever noted,
however:

The result is that Syro-Palestinian archaeologists, despite some rapproche-

ment with the field of anthropology in recent years, are still dismissed by
our colleagues as parochial, naïve, and incapable of contributing anything
to the advance of archaeology as a discipline. Again, some of our more
Neanderthal colleagues ridicule any desire to be in the mainstream, but they
are terribly wrong. (Dever 2003b: 515)
10 Ancient Israel

As is clearly evident, the debate still continues about the place of

the Bible in archaeological interpretation. One can say that the ‘biblical
archaeology’ of Albright and Yadin still has considerable influence on
Palestinian archaeology. For some, at least, the Bible still seems to play
a central role in the intepretation of Palestinian archaeology. Apart from
that we need to consider two cautions relating to the use of archaeology
in biblical interpretation.
First is the one that was being discussed above: failure to recognize
that the use of archaeological data is just as subjective and interpretative
as data from texts. Some archaeologists (and others) give the impression
that it is objective, that archaeology somehow speaks by itself. Many
times in the past we were assured that archaeology ‘proved’ this or that
scenario. Some of that is still around, but most recognize the need for an
interpretative context and the limitations of the science.
The second danger is the exact opposite: to assume that archaeo-
logical data is no more objective than textual data. Such an approach has
mistakenly led some to discount its value:

…in the modern period of historiography it has sometimes been assumed

that archaeological remains offer us the prospect of grounding historical
statements in something more solid than testimony… This kind of view of
the nature of archaeological evidence has been common among historians of
Israel, even where they have somtimes recognized that it cannot be entirely
correct and have found space in one part of their minds for the contrary
idea…that archaeological data are no more ‘objective’ or ‘neutral’ than other
sorts… In fact, all archaeologists tell us stories about the past that are just
as ideologically loaded as any other historical narrative and are certainly
not simply a neutral recounting of the facts. (Provan, Long and Longman
2003: 63)

While this quote recognizes that artifacts indeed have to be interpreted,

just as do texts, it ignores the major difference between the two sets of
data: the archaeological data actually existed in real life – the artifacts
are realia (apart from some faked artifacts – see below). Texts, on the
other hand, are products of the imagination. The content of a text always
contains human invention, and it is always possible that a text is entirely
fantasy.
Archaeology is especially important because it has the potential of
providing a separate witness to history and a source of distinct and
independent data. Archaeology can help to confirm or disconfirm the
reliability of texts. The proper attention to archaeology is vital for any
 1. The Principles and Methods 11

history of ancient Israel, and it is my intention to try to give it the promi-

nence it deserves. But a number of studies in recent years have pointed
out some long-term problems of interpretation in Palestinian archaeology.
Not everyone will agree with some of the interpretations proposed, but the
reader should be aware that some major reorientations are being called for
by some archaeologists. Notice some of these:

1.2.4.2 Terminology of Archaeological Periods

A number of slightly different archaeological schemes, divisions and
datings are used. One scheme of EB and MB (Albright 1932: 8–18;
NEAEHL IV, 1529) divides EB I (ca. 3300–3000), EB II (ca. 3000–2700
BCE), EB III (2700–2200 BCE), MB I (2200–2000 BCE), MB IIA
(2000–1750 BCE), MB IIB (1750–1550 BCE), or possibly three MB
divisions: MB IIA–C. However, MB I is often labelled EB IV or
Intermediate Bronze (Dever 1977: 82–9; Finkelstein 1995a: 87–8), in
which case the MB (Dever 1987: 149–50; Ilan 1998: 297) is divided into
MB I (ca. 2000–1800 BCE), MB II (ca. 1800–1650 BCE), and MB III (ca.
1650–1500 BCE), though some want to divide MB only into MB I and
MB II. In spite of these differences, this concerns only the background
history of the second millennium BCE.
For the history of ancient Israel, a major issue arises over the end of
LB, beginning of Iron I and end of Iron I (also, some divide Iron I into IA
and IB). This, though, is not the main difficulty. The real problem is that
at the moment there is no agreed terminology among archaeologists for
the period from about 1000 BCE to the fall of Jerusalem in 587/586 BCE.
Some schemes are based on supposed ‘historical’ periods, which can be
question-begging since most schemes tend to associate certain artifacts
with particular historical periods. After the Hazor excavations of the 1950s
(so Barkay 1992: 305), Aharoni and Amiran proposed Iron II (1000–840
BCE) and Iron III (840–586 BCE), but the Encyclopedia of Archaeological
Excavations in the Holy Land (when first published in Hebrew in 1970
but also maintained in the English translation [Avi-Yonah and Stern (eds)
1975–78: IV, 1226]), had the following scheme: Iron IIA (1000–900), IIB
(900–800), IIC (800–586). W. G. Dever notes that American archaeolo-
gists tend to begin Iron II about 920 BCE, whereas Israeli archaeologists
usually begin it about 1000 BCE (Dever 1998b: 416). His own treatment
ends Iron IIA at 722 and Iron IIB at 586 BCE. However, the editor of the
volume to which Dever contributes (Levy 1998: x–xvi, esp. xvi) divides
as follows: IIA (1000–900); IIB (900–700); IIC (700–586). But even
among Israeli writers Iron II is differently divided. Barkay proposed Iron
12 Ancient Israel

IIA (10th–9th centuries BCE), Iron IIb (8th), IIIa (7th and early 6th), IIIb
(586 to the late 6th BCE). The NEAEHL used the terminology Iron IIA
(1000–900 BCE), IIB (900–700), IIC (700–586), Babylonian and Persian
periods (586–332). However, A. Mazar (1993) divided slightly differ-
ently, with Iron IIA (1000–925 BCE), IIB (925–720), IIC (720–586).
H. Weippert (1988) differed from them all, with Iron IIA (1000–900
BCE), IIB (925/900–850), IIC (850–587).
This only-partially controlled chaos means that readers must always
pay attention to the scheme used by the individual author, and the indi-
vidual author ought (though does not necessarily do so) to indicate to the
reader the particular scheme being used. The present book is divided into
chapters that cover particular periods of time, without being water-tight
compartments. But because it draws on a great variety of archaeological
writings, it will quote the data according to the scheme used by the
particular writer. I have tried to give preference to the archaeological
period (LB, Iron I, Iron IIA, etc.) rather than a date; however, if a specific
date or even century is given, an indication of who is doing the dating is
normally provided. This has been complicated by the LC, since material
culture conventionally dated to the tenth century BCE would usually be
dated to the ninth according to the LC. However, as noted at §1.2.4.4, I do
not normally use the LC because it is still so controversial (except where
I note specifically that an author follows it).

1.2.4.3 Use of Survey Data

The archaeology of Palestine was transformed in the 1980s by the
execution of large-scale surveys and the use of their results. The impor-
tance and value of these surveys will become clear in the archaeological
survey of each chapter. Yet the proper use of survey data also requires that
one be aware of the weaknesses of surveys, in comparison with actual
excavation results. Two examples of those drawing attention to problems
are G. Lehmann (2003: 123–5) and O. Lipschits (2004: 101–3; 2005:
259–60 n. 249). Some surveys have been conducted much more rigor-
ously than others. A lot depends on the thoroughness of the collection of
surface pottery, but surface pottery is not always a good indicator of the
actual periods of habitation. Similarly, the estimation of site size – which
is very important for demographical calculations – can be quite difficult.
Yet Lehmann, Lipschits and others go on to point out the value and
importance of surveys, in spite of potential problems. The same applies to
salvage excavations (Lipschits 2004: 101–3).
 1. The Principles and Methods 13

1.2.4.4 The Debate Over the ‘Low Chronology’

One of the most controversial but also potentially important developments
is Israel Finkelstein’s ‘Low Chronology’ (LC). This thesis, advanced in its
first full form in the mid-1990s, dated most of the events and finds of the
Iron I and Iron IIA about a century later than had been common among
archaeologists. Finkelstein’s original study (Finkelstein 1996a) argued
that conventional chronology is based on the twin pillars of the stratig-
raphy of Megiddo and the Philistine Bichrome ware. Since then the debate
has widened considerably to take in radiocarbon dating, correlation with
the Aegean, the context of the Assyrian expansion in the ninth century
and other factors. A major opponent of the LC has been Amihai Mazar
(2005) who has developed what he calls the ‘Modified Conventional
Chronology’ (MCC). This is similar to the traditional chronology but
extends the Iron IIA from 980 to 830, that is, covering most of both the
tenth and the ninth centuries. This allows three major pottery periods (Iron
IB, Iron IIA, Iron IIB), each lasting about 150 years, in the 450 years
between approximately 1150 and 700 BCE.
The following are some of the main issues around which the argu-
ments – pro and con – have revolved:

1. The biblical data. Finkelstein points out that conventional dating is

strongly – if not always explicitly – influenced by the biblical text
(e.g., 2005a: 34). This sometimes leads to circular arguments in
which the argument depends on the biblical text and moves around
to arguing that the data support the biblical text. A good example is
Shoshenq’s invasion (see next point). Yet all parties have appealed to
the biblical text in the discussion of the two key sites of Samaria and
Jezreel (Ussishkin 2007a; Finkelstein 2005a: 36–8).
2. The invasion of Shoshenq. This event has been a central benchmark
for dating historical and archaeological data, yet the dating of when
it happened has depended on the biblical text, since 1 Kgs 14.25-28
puts it in the fifth year of Rehoboam (Finkelstein 1996a: 180). A
recent Egyptological evaluation has dated the event to 917 BCE
(Shortland 2005), but P. S. Ash has shown that it could be anytime
in the period 970 to 915 BCE (1999: 30–1). Yet this is not the end of
the matter, because it is not clear exactly what sort of measures were
taken by Shoshenq. It had been assumed that his invasion resulted
in widespread destruction of sites, but it has been argued that if
Shoshenq planned to use Megiddo as the place to plant his royal
stela, he would hardly have destroyed the site (Ussishkin 2007a). In
14 Ancient Israel

fact, it ‘has not been proven that any sites were destroyed by Shishak
in 925 B.C.E., and the attribution of destruction layers to the end of
the tenth century at many sites is mere conjecture’ (Barkay 1992:
306–7).
3. Implications for the Aegean and other Mediterranean areas. N.
Coldstream (2003: 256) argues that the LC best fits the situation in the
Aegean, but A. Mazar (2004) stands against this. Yet Killebrew (2008)
also relates the situation in Philistia to the broader Mediterranean
pottery context and agrees that the LC ‘with some minor revisions’
would best fit the situation elsewhere in the Mediterranean: see next
point.
4. The development and dating of Philistine Monochrome and Bichrome
pottery. It seems to be generally agreed that Philistine Monochrome
(or Mycenaean IIIC:1b or Mycenaean IIIC Early to Middle) appears
in the late twelfth century, developing from imported Mycenaean
IIIC:la (Mycenaean IIIC Early or Late Helladic IIIC Early). The
Egyptian Twentieth Dynasty and the Egyptian presence in Palestine
came to an end about 1140/1130 (Mazar 2007). Yet no Philistine
Monochrome ware appears together with Egyptian pottery of the
Twentieth Dynasty, not even in nearby sites such as Tel Batash and
Tel Mor, which suggests that Philistine Monochrome is post-1135
BCE, while Philistine Bichrome is even later – the eleventh and
perhaps much of the tenth century but not before 1100 BCE
(Finkelstein 1995b: 218–20, 224; 2005a: 33). A. Mazar (2008)
responds: (1) Canaanite pottery assembly in Ashdod XIII and Tel
Miqne is typical of the thirteenth and beginning of the twelfth
centuries BCE, and Lachish VI must have been contemporary; (2)
local Mycenaean IIIC is inspired by the Mycenaean IIIC pottery in
Cyprus but this disappears after the mid-twelfth century; (3) although
D. Ussishkin and Finkelstein claim it is inconceivable that locally
made Mycenaean IIIC did not reach contemporary sites in Philistia
and the Shephelah, this ignores cultural factors that could limit it to
a few urban centres; the early stage of Philistine settlement lasted
perhaps only a generation, and Lachish is at least 25 km from the
major Philistine cities which is sufficient to create a cultural border;
(4) the Philistine settlement was possible perhaps because of the state
of the Egyptian domination of Canaan at this time, and Philistine
Bichrome pottery slowly emerged as a hybrid style later, probably
during the last quarter of the twelfth century.
 1. The Principles and Methods 15

Yet in a thorough study of the Aegean-style pottery A. E.

Killebrew (2008) argues that the high chronology (two-wave theory)
would date the Philistine Monochrome (Mycenaean IIIC:1b) to
about 1200 BCE as the result of an early proto-Philistine wave of
Sea Peoples, while the middle chronology would date this pottery
to about 1175 BCE, with the Bichrome developing from it in the
mid-twelfth century. Such datings are becoming more problematic
in light of the increasing consensus that Mycenaean IIIC:1b should
be equated to Mycenaean IIIC Early (into Middle) which is dated
to the mid-twelfth. With some revisions (such as dating the initial
appearance of Mycenaean IIIC Early phase 2 to about 1160 BCE),
the low chronology would best fit the dating of Mycenaean IIIC
Early to Middle at other sites in the eastern Mediterranean and
would also provide a more reasonable dating of Bichrome to the
eleventh continuing into the tenth, based on LB II–Iron I stratigraphic
sequences at both Tel Miqne and Ashdod.
5. Pottery assemblages and the dating of various strata. Here there is a
surprising difference of interpretation between professional archaeol-
ogists whom one would expect to agree about the facts in the ground:
the relationship between the strata in the sites of Hazor, Samaria,
Jezreel and Megiddo; the interpretation of Jerusalem; the dating of
Lachish; the dating of the Negev destruction.
6. The gap in the ninth century. Current dating leaves a strange gap in
the ninth century in the dating of archaeological remains (Finkelstein
1996a). We have much in the tenth and the eighth centuries but
not the ninth, leaving a very thin stratigraphy over 350 years. For
example, Tel Miqne and Tel Batash have thick accummulations
related to Philistine Bichrome ware, a ninth-century gap, then limited
Iron II remains. Other sites show a similar gap: Tell Halif, Tel Mor,
Tell Beit Mirsim, Ashdod, Tel Haror, Gezer, Jerusalem. The LC
closes the unexplained gap between monumental architectures of the
tenth century and evidence of public administration for the late ninth
to the eighth centuries BCE.
7. Downgrading or elimination of the united monarchy. The monuments
previously associated with the united monarchy are redated from the
second half of the tenth century to the early ninth. It strips the united
monarchy of its monumental buildings, including ashlar masonry and
proto-Ionic columns. We have evidence of fortifications in the tenth
century, but the main mounds in the north (Megiddo and Gezer) and
the south (Beersheba and Lachish) only date to the ninth century
or later. This means that the strong and historically attested Omri
16 Ancient Israel

kingdom is the first state in Palestine and preceded the geographi-

cally weaker Judah. Taking a global perspective, this is what one
would expect rather than the anomalous Jerusalem-centred and
Judah-dominated kingdom of David and Solomon.
8. Radiocarbon dates. This is the most recent attempt to find a way to
pin down the matter of dating and has great potential. Yet a database
of radiometric dates from a wide variety of sites is needed; such is
now being developed and may resolve the issue (Sharon et al. 2005;
Sharon et al. 2008). In the meantime, there are significant differences
in interpretation. The reasons for this have been well laid out by
A. Mazar:

The many stages of selecting the samples, the pre-treatment, the method
and process of dating, and the wide standard deviation of Accelerator
Mass Spectrometry dates may create a consistent bias, outliers or an
incoherent series of dates. The calibration process adds further problems,
related to the nature of the calibration curve in each period. In our case,
there are two difficulties: one is the many wiggles and the shape of the
curve for the 12th–11th centuries BCE. This leads to a wide variety of
possible calibrated dates within the 12–11th centuries BCE. The other
problem is the plateau between 880 and 830 BCE, and the curve relating
to the last third of the 10th century BCE, which in certain parts is at the
same height as the 9th century BCE plateau. In many cases the calibrated
dates of a single radiocarbon date is [sic] in both the 10th and the 9th
centuries BCE, and in the 9th century BCE more precise dates between
880 and 830 BCE are impossible. These limitations are frustrating, and
make close dating during this time frame a difficult task. It seems that in
a debate like ours, over a time-span of about 80 years, we push the radio-
metric method to the edges of its capability, and perhaps even beyond
that limit. (Mazar 2005: 22)

The result is that a variety of radiocarbon dates have been made at key
sites, with some arguing that they support the MCC (Mazar 2005: 22–3;
Mazar et al. 2005); and others, that they support the LC (Finkelstein
and Piasetzky 2003; Piasetzky and Finkelstein 2005; Finkelstein 2005b;
Sharon et al. 2005; Sharon et al. 2008).

1.2.4.5 Estimating Population

One area where much has been learned in recent years is that of estimating
the population of an area (town, village, region) in ancient times. The
result is that current estimates are often greatly different from those found
 1. The Principles and Methods 17

in older literature, which were often based on textual sources. In most

cases the population estimate by scholars today is much lower than that in
literature even a few decades old. See especially the articles of Zorn 1994;
Geva 2014; cf. also Shiloh 1980; Van Beek 1982.

1.2.4.6 The Stratigraphy of Samaria

For many years Samaria was used as a model for interpreting other sites.
The ancient site was excavated by the Harvard University expedition in
1908–10 and then under a combined expedition under J. W. Crowfoot in
1931–35; a few isolated digs have taken place since then. As part of the
Crowfoot expedition, Kathleen Kenyon presented the stratigraphy of the
site (1942). R. Tappy has compared the published interpretation from that
in Kenyon’s notes and found many discrepancies (1992, 2001; §4.1.1).

1.2.4.7 Reinterpretation of the Jochan Seal

The following bulla, once dated to the time of Jeremiah, should now
be placed in the late eighth century: ‘Belonging to Eliaqim servant of
Yochan’ (‫לאליקם נער יוכן‬: Gogel 1998: 467 [Beth Shemesh seal 2], 492
[Ramat Rahel seal 8], 494 [Tell Beit Mirsim seal 1]; AHI: 100.108;
100.277; 100.486; Garfinkel 1990). Impressions of this seal on jar handles
were found at Tell Beit Mirsim and Beth Shemesh, and eventually at
Ramat Rahel. When impressions of this seal were first found, the name
Yochan or Yochin was thought to be a version of King Jehoiachin’s name.
Based on the interpretation of W. F. Albright scholars long took this as the
seal of Jehoiachin’s steward, which resulted in the misdating of the strata
where they were originally found and those strata elsewhere thought to
be parallel. In Garfinkel’s words this caused ‘sixty years of confusion’ in
Palestinian archaeology. Although this interpretation is still widespread,
especially in more general works, it has now been completely reassessed
by specialists (Ussishkin 1976, 1977; Garfinkel 1990). Even if some
aspects of the seals and their owners have still not been clarified, they
have now been dated to the period before 701 BCE.

1.2.4.8 Problems with Forgeries

Becoming much more prominent in recent years is another danger: the
faking of antiquities being traded on the market (Rollston 2003). This has
been especially a problem with seal impressions, but recently inscribed
objects have appeared. A number of these have been exposed with more
or less a scholarly consensus (e.g., the Jehoash inscription [see at §4.1.2]),
but there are others still in dispute. The good side of this is that objects
18 Ancient Israel

found in properly controlled excavations are accepted as authentic. A

genuine archaeological context is usually sufficient guarantee that the
finds are genuine. Very seldom has the authenticity of such objects been
questioned (though some have queried the Tel Dan inscription [§4.1.3.1]).
As more and more items are obtained through the antiquities market,
the bigger the potential problem becomes. We now find that a number of
discoveries hailed as evidence of the biblical account are questionable
or even out-and-out fakes. To take one cherished example, even the
famous Berekyahu ben Neriyahu seal impressions, alleged to belong to
the scribe of Jeremiah, now seem to be forgeries. The first one found was
published by Avigad (1978). More recently another has allegedly been
discovered and was published by Deutsch and Heltzer (1994: 37–8) and
Shanks (1996). This latter seal impression was part of the indictment
against Robert Deutsch and Raphael Brown (Rollston and Vaughn 2005:
4). It is hardly unusual that Avigad (1978; 1986) put particular emphasis
on the Baruch seal impression when he set about publishing the lot of
seals of which they were a part, the so-called ‘Burnt Archive’. Avigad
also asserted that there ‘was no reason to suspect their authenticity, and
I seriously doubt whether it would be possible to forge such burnt and
damaged bullae’ (1986: 13). The recent investigation by Goren and Arie
seems to have settled the question: they are not authentic (2014).
We may be rapidly coming to the point of having to take a ‘Popperian’
view of the situation. By this, I mean that antiquities not obtained within
a proper archaeological context can never be authenticated; they can only
be falsified. That is, just as a scientific theory – according to Karl Popper
(1959) – can never be proved but only falsified, so antiquities-market
artifacts that have not been falsified will still retain a certain aura of uncer-
tainty. There is an unfortunate air of naive arrogance on the part of some
technical scholars. C. Rollston (2003: 183–6) tells of a laboratory which
managed to create a fake patina that would pass most tests for authenticity,
yet the very people able to do this took the stance that forgers would not
be able to do the same. Many intelligent people through the ages have
underestimated the ability of frauds and cheats to fool them, to their cost.
When potentially large sums of money are at stake, it is worth the while
of a good forger to invest the necessary time, money and equipment to
produce a plausible counterfeit. And those who think that antiquities
cannot be so cleverly forged that they cannot fool modern laboratory tests
or the judgment of expert epigraphers ought to read some of the recent
discussions of the subject (for a sample, see Cook 2005; Goren 2005;
Goren et al. 2004; Lemaire 2005; Rollston 2003, 2004, 2005; Rollston
and Vaughn 2005; Vaughn and Dobler 2005; Vaughn and Rollston 2005).
 1. The Principles and Methods 19

It is not surprising that some epigraphers do not accept the judgment

of the Israel Antiquity Authority’s committees on various objects, and
it is quite fair for them to present their arguments (e.g., Lemaire 2005).
But headlines such as ‘Forgery Hysteria Grips Israel: Is Everything a
Fake?’ can leave non-specialists with a rather distorted picture of what is
consensus and what is genuine controversy. Museums around the world
are filled with artifacts relating to ancient Israel and Judah that no one
questions. It is the unprovenanced objects sold on the antiquities market
that cause the problems.

1.2.5 Ethnicity
The question of ethnicity has been much discussed in recent decades,
not only in biblical studies but also in social anthropology. Particular
problems are those of group identity and identifying ethnic groups from
material culture (i.e., can this be done from archaeology alone?). There
is a problem already at the beginning of the discussion: What does one
mean by ‘ethnic’ or ‘ethnicity’? At the most basic level, it has to do with
the Greek word ethnos which is variously translated as ‘people, nation,
race’. But this only partially answers our question. The basic issue is that
throughout the historical sources are the names of groups and peoples,
from the frequent naming of ‘Israel’ and ‘Judah’ and continuing down
to obscure groups mentioned only once or twice in extant sources. How
do we characterize these groups, who are often little more than names?
Do we think of them in social terms, kinship terms (lineal? segmental?
tribal?), ethnic terms or what? Was the name in the source their name
for themselves or something alien that they never used? How we treat
these groups in a historical discussion needs to take into account recent
discussions of ‘ethnicity’ and ‘(ethnic) identity’. In most cases, we have
no information beyond the textual data, though sometimes there is also
material culture – or at least some scholars have brought material culture
into the discussion of ethnicity/identity.
There have been different approaches to ethnicity not only in biblical
scholarship (Brett 1996; Sparks 1998; Killebrew 2005: 8–16) but exten-
sively in anthropological study (Shennan [ed.] 1989; Hutchinson and
Smith [eds] 1996; Sokolovskii and Tishkov 1996; Keyes 1997). A view
that ethnicity should be seen mainly in biological terms (ethnic groups
have a common ancestry or kinship or genetic pool) is widely rejected but
has contributed the important insight that ethnic groups generally define
themselves in kinship or quasi-kinship terms. Others saw the question in
terms of distinct cultures, but this was problematic in that cultural groups
do not always develop an ethnic identity or group consciousness. There
20 Ancient Israel

is also the fact that there is a ‘primordial’ quality to ethnic identity in

which the group’s distinctiveness – ‘we/they’ – is essential (Geertz 1973:
255–310; Keyes 1997). The classic study is that of F. Barth (1969) who
pointed to the importance of inter-group boundary mechanisms: ethnic
groups define themselves in contrast with other groups (‘self-ascription’),
often by a minimum of explicit (even trivial) differences. He explicitly
rejected the use of an inventory of cultural traits (as Kletter [2006: 579]
points out, W. Dever [1993: 22*–24*; 1995b: 201; 2003a: 192–3] seems to
have misunderstood Barth in this regard and adopted the very definition
that Barth criticizes). But there has been a good deal of discussion since
Barth (Kamp and Yoffee 1980; Shennan [ed.] 1989; Hutchinson and
Smith [eds] 1996; Finkelstein 1997; Jones 1997; Bloch-Smith 2003;
Kletter 2006).
Because our knowledge of groups in the ancient Near East is based on
texts rather than a direct study of living peoples, we are limited by what
the texts tell us. This means that the task of penetrating to identity and
ethnicity is often very complicated. For example, the biblical text tells
us what was distinctive about Israelites and Judahites that made them
different from the surrounding peoples, but what we have are the views
of the biblical writers, not necessarily of the average Israelite or Judahite
who might have seen his or her identity in quite different terms. For many
groups (e.g., the Canaanites) we have only the views of their opponents
and do not know how they regarded themselves. An interesting example
is the situation in the Persian period, with the text of Ezra making a sharp
distinction between ‘Israel’ and the ‘peoples of the land(s)’, but there is
reason to think that both groups were Judahites and did not necessarily
regard themselves as separate in the way that the textual writer portrays it
(Grabbe 2004a: 285–8).
Trying to find a definition of an ethnic group is still not easy. Recent
treatments tend to recognize the fluidity of ethnic identity (an insight
from Barth), and any definition must recognize that. Kamp and Yoffee
stated that most sociologists and anthropologists saw an ethnic group as
‘a number of individuals who see themselves as being alike by virtue of
a common ancestry, real or fictitious, and who are so regarded by others’
(1980: 88). Kletter follows A. D. Smith in seeing an ethnic group as:

…a group of people who share most – but not necessarily all – of the
following: (1) a collective proper name; (2) a myth of common ancestry;
(3) historical memories; (4) one or more differentiating elements of
common culture; (5) an association with a specific homeland (which may
be symbolic, without physical control of the homeland); and (6) a sense of
solidarity among at least parts of the group. (Kletter 2006: 574)
 1. The Principles and Methods 21

Sokolovskii and Tishkov give a similar definition and suggest that it

‘opens further avenues for integration of anthropological, political and
psychological knowledge in understanding of ethnic phenomena’ (1996:
192). Of particular interest is that self-identity may be strongly based on
religion, myth and law, areas which have traditionally been studied with
regard to ancient Israel.
Yet even such carefully thought out definitions can be in danger of
restricting the recognition of how complex the matter is in the real world.
Politicians may mount a self-serving campaign to encourage their constit-
uents to think of themselves as of a particular ethnic group. Individuals
might adopt a particular ethnic identity for the sake of social or economic
advantage or even as a strategy for survival. An ethnic group can grow
out of what were once different ethnic groups (as will be argued below
in reference to Israel [§§3.2.4; 3.3]). The fact that a name occurs in a text
does not necessarily tell us whether it represents an ethnic group. As will
be discussed below (§2.2.1.5), the term ‘Canaanite’ probably applies to
territory rather than ethnicity; that is, a ‘Canaanite’ seems to be the inhab-
itant of a region or land rather than the member of an ethnic group.
Finally, we come to an issue being very much debated at the present:
the question of whether ethnic identity can be determined from material
culture – also known as the ‘pots equal people’ debate. Relating material
culture to ethnicity is fraught with problems (Edelman 1996b; Skjeggestad
1992). It is interesting that most of Kletter’s six elements relating to
ethnic identity leave no trace in the archaeology record. Also, differences
or similarity in material culture do not necessarily show differences or
identity in ethnicity: they may be the result of similar or diverse environ-
ments (Finkelstein 1998b: 359, 365) or similar or diverse lifestyles.
Nevertheless, attempts continue to be made to find ways through the
obstacles and develop approaches that can successfully relate ethnicity
and archaeology (cf. Redmount 1995; Killebrew 2005; R. D. Miller 2004;
Kamp and Yoffee 1980; Jones 1997; Finkelstein 1997; Dever 1993; 1995b;
2003a: 191–200). Yet any list of particular traits in the material culture is
likely to be problematic, whether we think of pottery, architecture, diet
or even language. The traditional list of ‘Israelite ethnic markers’ have
evaporated as exclusive indicators: four-room pillared house, collar-rim
jar, abstinence from pork (Bloch-Smith 2003: 406–11; Kamp and Yoffee
1980; Kletter 2006: 579; Hesse and Wapnish 1997). What is clear is that
there ‘is no list of material traits that can cause “ancient Israel to stand up”
independently, without the help of written sources’ (Kletter 2006: 579).
22 Ancient Israel

It is interesting that neither Dever nor Killebrew identify Israel and her
neighbours from material culture alone. On the other hand, we do have
some written sources for ancient Israel, and why should we not use them?
Particular traits might not prove an ethnic identity, but the clustering of
certain traits might be diagnostic if combined with particular types of
textual data. From Killebrew’s data it strikes me that the archaeology most
clearly shows the presence of Egyptians (administrators, soldiers, etc.)
and the Philistine settlement. Yet Bunimovitz (1990) argues that the actual
material culture at the Philistine sites is a mixed one, and some ‘Philistine’
pottery is found in what are usually regarded as non-Philistine areas. Most
importantly, for disputed sites the material culture has not been able to
decide the question of who lived there (Finkelstein 1997: 220–1). We can
end this preliminary discussion by asking three questions:

• Was ‘Israel’ an ethnic group? The answer is that both the people
themselves and outsiders saw a group identity that we would call
ethnic. The fact that a diversity of groups may have contributed to
their makeup (cf. §3.2.4.4) – indeed, most probably did – does not
negate ethnic identity (pace Lemche 1998b: 20–1).
• Were ‘Judah/Judahites’ to be identified as ‘Israel/Israelites’? Within
the biblical text they seem to be seen as one ethnic group, yet they
are never identified as such by outsiders. Judah/Judahites are never
called Israel/Israelites in any non-Jewish literature or documents
until the beginning of the Common Era.
• How do ‘tribes’ relate to the question? This issue is discussed below
(§3.2.4.3).

1.2.6 Ideology and Neo-Fundamentalism

A fact all historians and scholars live with is the subjective nature of much
argument (Grabbe 2002). It has been explicitly recognized in postmod-
ernism (§1.3.1), but it was known long before that. Complete objectivity
is an unobtainable ideal (many reject it even as an ideal), but most histo-
rians think that an effort should be made to be dispassionate in evaluating
and arguing a case (§1.3.1). Yet S. Sandmel (1979) drew attention to a
tendency we all live with: to rely on the ‘comfortable theory’. What he
pointed out was the extent to which we as scholars – and despite our
implied adherence to critical thought – tend to gravitate toward those
theories or views that we find most congenial: ‘A comfortable theory is
one which satisfies the needs of the interpreter, whether theological or
only personal, when the evidence can seem to point in one of two opposite
 1. The Principles and Methods 23

directions’ (Sandmel 1979: 139). To give my own interpretation of

Sandmel’s thesis, the comfortable theory is not a disinterested search for
the ‘facts’, the ‘truth’ or whatever term one wishes to use, but a means of
maintaining our position with the least amount of effort. When Sandmel
exposed the ‘comfortable theory’, he did not exempt himself from his own
strictures, nor can I. Sandmel admitted that he was as susceptible to the
seductive comfortable theory as the next man, and I have to own up to the
same temptations. We all have our own comfortable theories. Perhaps we
would like to think that we have thought them through carefully and are
willing to change our minds if the facts show otherwise, but whether in
practice that is true is not something we individually can judge alone – our
peers might have definite views on the matter! (For further thoughts along
this line, see Grabbe 2011a.)
We also all have ideologies that make us gravitate toward certain
‘comfortable theories’. Some use this, however, to argue that one theory
is as good as another (some postmodernists) or that a fundamentalist
interpretation of the Bible is as valid as a critical one. The postmodernist
question is dealt with elsewhere (§1.3.1), but here we need to confront
directly and explicitly the neo-fundamentalist approach to scholarship that
is very much in evidence in some areas (Grabbe 1987; 2002). The term
‘maximal conservatism’ was coined by J. Barr (1977: 85–9). He notes that
instead of advancing a dogmatic approach, conservative evangelicals will
often adopt a position that can be defended from a critical point of view but
is the one that is closest to the biblical picture. A ‘maximal conservative’
interpretation may be adopted by someone who is not a true fundamen-
talist. The old fundamentalism was generally easy to identify because it
was blatantly and unequivocably apologetic about the Bible. Indeed, it
was not unusual for the tone to be anti-intellectual. Neo-fundamentalism
is just as fundamentalist, but it tends to cloak its defence of the Bible in
the rhetoric of scholarship.
A truly fundamentalist approach will usually show itself by the assump-
tion that the Bible is inerrant in the autographs, whereas a ‘maximal
conservative’ approach will usually have moved away from such a stance.
(Barr does not seem to make a distinction between ‘conservative evangel-
ical’ and ‘fundamentalist’, but in my own experience there is a distance
between those conservatively inclined and the true fundamentalist who
believes in ‘the inerrancy of the Scriptures’.) However, in practice it is
not always easy to tell the difference between the two. The neo-fundamen-
talist will often adopt a maximal conservative approach without admitting
the true guiding principle of his or her work in biblical studies. On the
24 Ancient Israel

other hand, a fundamentalist approach does not have to be confined to the

Bible-believers. A dogmatic scepticism that continually looks for a way to
reject or denigrate the biblical text can be as ‘fundamentalist’ in its own
way as a refusal to allow the Bible to be wrong. This attitude was well
addressed by Hans Barstad in his essay on ‘bibliophobia’ (Barstad 1998).
There is no permanent state of purity nor any established chair of right-
eousness in scholarship. Even if one suspects that a scholarly position or
theory is ideologically motivated – whether from biblical fundamentalism
or some other ideology – one should evaluate the position on the basis of
stated arguments. Trying to second guess motives has become too much
of a pastime in the academy. This brings us to a related issue: the ad
hominem argument.

1.2.7 ‘Maximalists’, ‘Minimalists’ and the ad hominem Argument

As noted below (§1.3.2), the history debate took on an unwelcome
shrillness in the 1990s. The tendency for ad hominem argument and
personal attacks was especially evident in the debate over ‘minimalism’
and ‘maximalism’. These terms have come into common usage in recent
years to characterize the approach of scholars to reconstructing the
history of Israel. These have been defined as follows: ‘minimalist’: one
who accepts the biblical text only when it can be confirmed from other
sources; ‘maximalist’: one who accepts the biblical text unless it can be
proved wrong (Knauf 1991c: 171, though W. Hallo claims to have coined
the terms [2005: 50; 1980: 3–5, nn. 4, 11, 12, 23, 55]). This designation
has a certain usefulness in that it captures the dichotomy in how different
scholars approach history and thus helps to explain and characterize some
radical differences of interpretation of the same data. Yet in the end it is
mainly a hindrance to discussion, for several reasons:

• Almost all scholars are minimalists in certain parts of history. That is,
most scholars have now abandoned the picture of the biblical text for
the ‘patriarchal period’ and the settlement in the land. Even though
many still accept the concept of a united monarchy, few would follow
the picture of David and Solomon’s kingdom as found in Samuel–
Kings or Chronicles.
• There are very few true maximalists, that is, those who accept the
testimony of the Bible unless it be falsified. Indeed, the only history
known to me so far written that one could call ‘maximalist’ is that
of Provan, Long and Longman (2003; reviewed in Grabbe 2004c,
2011b).
 1. The Principles and Methods 25

• Some of those pursuing a minimalist interpretation sometimes give

the impression that they alone are exercising methodological rigour
and that they are eschewing the subjective interpretations of others.
This can be misleading, since all historical work is done within a
theoretical framework. Apart from total scepticism, all attempts to
understand the past make certain assumptions and depend on certain
data. Thus, reconstructing the history of Palestine based purely on
archaeology might seem more methodologically ‘pure’ than using
texts, but this fails to realize that the context for the archaeologi-
cal interpretation has been created by considerable use of texts
(J. M. Miller 1991; Ahlström 1991; Na’aman 2013; Dever [2001: 88;
2005: 77] seems to have misunderstood this point). Some who adopt
the label ‘minimalist’ have drawn enthusiastically on reconstruc-
tions based on texts when it suits their purpose (for an example, see
Grabbe 2000d).

It has become common in recent years to introduce personal motives

into arguments: ‘so-and-so takes this position because he/she is/thinks/
believes this or that’. Unfortunately, we can always find reasons to say
that someone takes a scholarly position because of personal or ideological
motives (see the well-founded plea of Lemche 2000). Such statements
have no place in scholarly argument. In fact, there is probably not a one of
us who has not taken a position on some issue for personal reasons, even if
totally unconscious of this motive. As suggested above (§1.2.6) I am very
sensitive to arguments or positions that seem to arise from a fundamen-
talist stance with regard to the Bible. Yet, as John Emerton once remarked
from the floor in a conference, we should reply to the specific arguments
rather than what we think might lie behind them (cf. Grabbe 1987).
To take just one example, two British scholars published an article
putting the case for dating the Siloam inscription to the Maccabaean
period (§5.1.1). This was attacked in an article by a number of scholars
which had the heading of ‘pseudo-scholarship’. Some of those who
published in the article made some relevant and serious points, but the
main abuse of editorial privilege was the header of ‘pseudo-scholarship’.
No doubt it was supplied by the editorial staff, not the contributors, but
it served to prejudice the readership from the start. The redating of the
Siloam inscription may be wrong – and most so far think it is – but it is
not ‘pseudo-scholarship’, and such ad hominem comments do not belong
in scholarly writing or debate.
26 Ancient Israel

1.3 The Contemporary Practice of Writing Israel’s History

It would probably not be an exaggeration to say that there is something

of a ‘crisis’ – or at least a major impasse between two basic positions –
with regard to the history of Israel. It is unfortunate but true that many
of those taking a position are not really historians and do not seem to
understand the issues well enough to qualify for entrance into the debate
(not every biblical scholar is a historian!). But the existing fact – which
underpins my reasons for writing this book – is that at present there is a
major debate about writing the history of ‘ancient Israel’ (this term is used
for convenience; some would prefer terms such as ‘ancient Palestine’ or
‘southern Syria’ or ‘the Levant’). This has been widely – but inaccurately
– characterized as a debate between ‘minimalists’ and ‘maximalists’.
Such a characterization is a caricature since it fails to note the wide
variety of positions or principles of working among different scholars (on
‘minimalists’ and ‘maximalists’ see the discussion at §1.2.7).
In order to understand this debate – taken up in detail in the subsequent
chapters of this book – it is useful to indicate how things have developed
and where we stand generally in relation to historical study. I shall, first,
give a survey of the debate about writing history in general, and then
indicate how the writing, specifically of Israelite history, has developed in
the past 40 years or so.

1.3.1 Developments in General Historiography

In order to discuss the history of ancient Israel, it is useful to survey how
the science of historiography has evolved in recent times (for a more
detailed survey and bibliography, see Grabbe 2004a: 2–10). It is fair to
say that the principles developed by Thucydides almost 1500 years ago in
many ways still guide the historian (cf. Grabbe 2001b), yet much has also
been learned in the past couple of centuries.
In the nineteenth century, important developments toward the modern
study of history were made by Leopold von Ranke, but he is often mis-
understood: he belonged to the Romantic tradition and believed in the
importance of intuition in historical reconstruction, as well as careful
research based on documentation. Ranke’s contributions can be summa-
rized under three headings (Evans 1997: 16–18): (a) establishing history
as a discipline separate from both philosophy and literature, (b) seeing the
past in its own terms rather than judging by the standards of the present
and (c) a critical method of source criticism based on philological princi-
ples. He made the important distinction between primary and secondary
sources (Iggers 1997: 24). In his view the goal was to write history ‘as it
really [or “essentially”] happened’ (‘wie es eigentlich gewesen ist’). This
 1. The Principles and Methods 27

famous quote, important as it is as a symbol, is often misapprehended.

The context for Ranke’s statement was that, contrary to previous histo-
rians who saw it as their right to pronounce judgment on history, he felt
the responsibility of the historian was only to write what had happened,
not moralize about it. Perhaps the most far-reaching impact came from
the new discipline of the social sciences, toward the end of the nineteenth
century. There was a shift in emphasis to social and economic trends rather
than the actions of individuals in the political sphere. This application of
the social sciences to historical study had its major impact after World
War II. Especially important was the ‘Annales School’, of whom one of
its leading proponents was F. Braudel; they emphasized the significance
of the longue durée perspective (§1.2.2).
A watershed was marked in the 1960s with what is often called the
‘linguistic turn’ in historical study. There were several trends. Some of
these were important developments but did not cause a major break with
the past, such as the desire to write history ‘from below’ – to focus on the
effect events had on individuals, the common people; to write the story
of the ordinary soldier or the ordinary citizen; to recognize the common
omission of women and other minorities from conventional histories.
The ‘grand narrative’ so characteristic of some world histories of the
nineteenth century and earlier had by and large already been rejected, but
the tendency for many historians was now to work on what some called
‘micro-histories’. The optimistic view of continual progress gave way to
a more sceptical view of such a perspective. Finally, there was the debate
on epistemology that had been underway for a long time in philosophy
and elsewhere, owing much to Friedrich Nietzsche and Jacob Burckhardt.
At this time a radical questioning undermined the two major assump-
tions that had undergirded historical work from Thucydides to Braudel:
the correspondence theory of history and the view that human intentions
were the basis of human actions. This fundamental questioning came from
what has broadly been called ‘postmodernism’, though in fact a great
many different considerations – philosophical, literary, linguistic, anthro-
pological, feminist – fed into the debate on historical methodology. The
view now championed by some was that objective historical inquiry was
not possible. How to define or characterize ‘postmodernism’ as it applies
to history is not an easy task since postmodernists themselves often seem
to avoid a positive statement of their historical method. One useful way
of summarizing the movement, however, may be the following (Appleby,
Hunt and Jacob 1994: 198–237; Iggers 1997: 6–16, 118–33; Zagorin
1999):
28 Ancient Israel

• There is no essential difference between history and literature,

between a historical narrative and a narrative of fiction. In the
words of Hayden White, ‘historical narratives are verbal fictions,
the contents of which are as much invented as found and the forms
of which have more in common with their counterparts in literature
than they have with those in the sciences’ (1978: 82, italics in the
original).
• The world of the text is self-contained; nothing exists outside the
text, because no reality can transcend the discourse that expresses it.
• There is no possibility of certain knowledge; there is no truth, only
ideology. ‘The basic idea of postmodern theory of historiography is
the denial that historical writing refers to an actual historical past’
(Iggers 1997: 118), that there is an objective truth separate from
the subjective thought of the historian. Or one could point to the
statement of Foucault that ‘reality does not exist, that only language
exists’ (Iggers 1997: 133).
• The text can be interpreted in multiple ways. Authorial intent is an
illusion. Texts conceal as much as they reveal, which means they
need to be deconstructed to bring out the hidden assumptions, contra-
dictions and gaps; furthermore, meaning is always deferred.
• The ‘grand narrative’ is at an end, to be replaced by fragmentation,
with many different even competing histories and the inclusion of
groups formerly omitted or marginalized. The key phrase is ‘history
from below’ but also a shift to a focus on culture.

The radical antihistoristic elements of postmodernism are not in

fact completely unexpected, as a close scrutiny of the developments in
historical theory in the past two centuries shows (cf. Grabbe 2004a: 2–6).
Nevertheless, the debate about postmodernism continues in a vigorous
fashion among professional historians, at least in some parts of the
Academy in English-speaking scholarship. One of the main advocates for
a postmodern perspective in history, Keith Jenkins, has recently produced
a ‘postmodernist reader’ (1997) that tries to bring together some of the
most influential articles in the debate. In a long introduction he lays out the
main issues, with a defence of his own approach. One can find a similar
advocacy of postmodernism, though perhaps less flamboyantly presented,
by Alun Munslow (1997), but the past few years have been especially
characterized by a strong resistance movement. Joyce Appleby, Lynn
Hunt and Margaret Jacob (1994) produced a book which might appear
at first to have a postmodern agenda in its assault on the way ‘outsiders’
 1. The Principles and Methods 29

(women and other minorities) have been excluded or neglected. Yet a

good part of their text is a strong attack on such postmodern gurus as
Foucault and Derrida.
A book achieving widespread circulation in the UK is Evans’s In
Defence of History (1997), which is written for a non-technical readership.
It actually tries to explain clearly the different approaches of recent
writers on historiography and is not just an assault on the postmodern,
but it ultimately rejects postmodernism from being the way forward
even if the relevance of some aspects of it is accepted. A wide-ranging
attack on a number of recent trends in history-writing, as the title The
Killing of History already makes quite plain, has been carried out by
Keith Windschuttle (1996). He covers more than postmodernism, and
such figures as Derrida are mentioned mainly in passing; however, he has
a long chapter attacking Foucault whom he sees as the main culprit in
undermining the traditional study of history. Although the title and style
might suggest an irresponsible blunderbuss attack on ill-defined targets,
the book makes a number of effective points despite some shortcomings
(D. Gordon 1999). C. B. McCullagh (1998) has tried to steer a middle way
by recognizing that the critics have not always presented the arguments of
the postmodernists fairly and by himself giving due weight to the postmod-
ernist positions; nevertheless, taking into consideration the valid points
about subjectiveness and the place of language in reality, he still concludes
that historical knowledge is possible (cf. also McCullagh 1991).
In the end, however, one can only agree with the observation that ‘the
majority of professional historians…as usual, appear to ignore theoretical
issues and would prefer to be left undisturbed to get on with their work
while no doubt hoping the postmodernist challenge will eventually go
away’ (Zagorin 1999: 2). This certainly fits the attitudes of most histo-
rians I know in my own university who seem to have little interest in the
debates on theory. Perez Zagorin has recently divided the reactions to the
‘linguistic turn’ into three sorts (1999: 3). Whether another division might
be truer to the real situation is for others to say, but Zagorin’s three-fold
categorization is certainly clearer and more understandable than the rather
confusing attempt to find five different positions by Jenkins (1997: 21–4):

• ‘Some who evince great alarm at the incursions of postmodernism,

considering the latter as a new kind of nihilism threatening the very
existence of history as an intellectual discipline, and who tend to
regard themselves as a beleaguered minority defending the citadel of
reason against its hordes of enemies’ (e.g., K. Windschuttle).
30 Ancient Israel

• A small number of those who have embraced postmodernism (e.g.,

K. Jenkins).
• Those who feel that historians still have something to learn from the
challenges and questions raised by postmodernism but have rejected
it as a framework or at least its more extreme conclusions (e.g., R.
J. Evans).

Among historians there is at present no uniform answer to the question

of the value – or not – of postmodernism in historical study. What we see
is a reluctance among practising historians to give up the idea that there
is some connection between what they write and past reality, though the
cogency of some of the main features of recent theoretical movements is
recognized (covertly if not overtly). Iggers summarizes it this way:

There is therefore a difference between a theory that denies any claim to

reality in historical accounts and a historiography that is fully conscious of
the complexity of historical knowledge but still assumes that real people had
real thoughts and feelings that led to real actions that, within limits, can be
known and reconstructed. (Iggers 1997: 119)

So what might we conclude from this very brief survey of historical

theory and methodology in the past few centuries? No doubt a number of
points could be made, but I draw primarily four conclusions:

1. Although put in a particularly stringent manner by the postmod-

ernists and their predecessors such as Nietzsche, the question of
epistemology has been discussed at length by historians through the
centuries.
2. The idea that past historians worked in a positivistic mechanical
fashion, to produce what they saw as objective descriptions of ‘what
actually happened’, is a caricature. The history of historical writing
is one of self-critique (or at least criticism of the past generation),
questioning of rules and attempts to come to grips with an often-
difficult profession.
3. The place of the imagination and the subjective insight of the
practising historian has been widely recognized through the past
two centuries and more. Despite the occasional temporary reign of
positivism, the subjective nature of the task and the important contri-
bution made by the individual interpreter have usually been taken for
granted.
 1. The Principles and Methods 31

4. Perhaps one of the most far-reaching developments has been the

embracing of the social sciences and the recognition that history
should include all facets of life – economics, the structure and
complexity of society, the lives of ordinary people, the material
culture, both high and low literature, ideology and beliefs.

1.3.2 Forty Years of Debate Among Biblical Scholars

The survey in the previous section was given as background to the present
debate on the history of ancient Israel (for a more detailed discussion
of the debate in this section, see Grabbe 2000b). If we go back to the
1960s we find a remarkable consensus on many issues, the differences
often largely limited to those between the two schools of Albright and
Alt–Noth. Their views on history were available in convenient summary
in the histories of Israel by J. Bright (1959 [1st edn]; 1980 [3rd edn]) and
M. Noth (1956/1960). At that time there were two views of the Israelite
occupation of the land, the Albright interpretation and the Alt–Noth inter-
pretation of a peaceful infiltration. The Albright interpretation was widely
accepted in North America and strongly defended on archaeological
grounds by Albright, G. Ernest Wright, Yigael Yadin and others. As far
as the ‘patriarchal age’ was concerned, the Albright school accepted that
the Genesis account was made up of a variety of sources and could not
be taken at face value. Nevertheless, it argued for ‘essential historicity’,
again claiming the support of ancient Near Eastern texts. The Alt–Noth
school accepted the Wellhausen dictum that the narratives reflected the
time when they were written, though Alt still wished to extract data about
pre-settlement religion from the narratives.
Already, however, there were signs of changes to come. A little article
by George Mendenhall (1962), only sparsely documented and really only
a programmatic outline, presented a rather radical reinterpretation of the
settlement as a peasant revolt. Then, not long after Albright’s death, a
study challenging some of his basic conclusions on the patriarchs was
published by T. L. Thompson (1974). Some months later another work
on the same subject with similar conclusions, despite a quite different
approach, was published by John Van Seters (1975). The death knell to an
American consensus was sounded; it was the beginning of a rapid end for
the historical patriarchs. The year 1975 also provided what proved to be a
diversion in the debate – perhaps more accurately described as a sideshow
– with the discovery of the Ebla tablets. Exaggerated claims were made
that soon had to be retracted, with much embarrassment (Freedman 1978).
This should serve as a cautionary tale to those who leap in to ‘defend’ the
Bible by new discoveries that have been studied only incompletely.
32 Ancient Israel

Following the rapid fall of support for the patriarchal narratives,

the various models of the conquest came under scrutiny. The volume
edited by Hayes and Miller (1977) represented the best of conventional
scholarship but was already starting to move in new directions. On the
patriarchal period, the knife continued to be driven in (e.g., William
Dever’s survey of the archaeology in the second millennium illustrated
the difficulties for the patriarchal narratives). On the Israelite settlement,
Miller’s contribution gave a thorough critique of the Albright position
and ultimately rejected it (Hayes and Miller 1977: 270–4; cf. Miller
1979). His conclusions present a picture emphasizing the development of
Israel from internal populations and also from the Sea Peoples or tribes
forced to migrate in their wake, and expresses some scepticism toward
the significance of nomadic incursions. Then in 1979 appeared Norman
Gottwald’s long-awaited study that provided the academic underpinning
for Mendenhall’s programmatic article almost two decades earlier, and
it caused immediate stir and debate. The conquest model was defended
by Yigael Yadin in an article published only a couple of years before
his death, but this was its swan song (Yadin 1982; cf. Yadin 1979); for
practical purposes, it was already dead. A collection edited by Freedman
and Graf and strongly espousing the Mendenhall–Gottwald thesis was
published in 1983, though it was notable especially for the trenchant
essay by Mendenhall attacking and disowning Gottwald’s approach
(Mendenhall 1983).
In the 1980s new developments and discussion shifted to a much more
international arena (much of the debate through the 1970s had been carried
on in North America). N. P. Lemche (1985) published a sociological study
of Israelite origins that included a major critique of Gottwald, but while
differing from Gottwald on many points, including the concept of an
internal revolt, Lemche’s final picture was of an internal development
of the indigenous population. Several new histories of Israel appeared
in the mid-1980s. Writing in Italian, A. Soggin (1984) began with David
and waited until after dealing with the ‘empire under Solomon’ to discuss
the pre-monarchic period (see the survey of Soggin’s developing thought
in Grabbe 2011c). H. Donner (1984, 1986) completed his history which
was firmly in the Alt–Noth tradition. Miller and Hayes (1986) drew on
the insights of both North American and Continental scholars. Sheffield
Academic Press launched a new series, The Social World of Biblical
Antiquity, with a number of monographs applying sociology and archae-
ology to late-second and early-first-millennium BCE Palestine (e.g., Frick
1985).
 1. The Principles and Methods 33

On the archaeological side, M. Weippert (1979) defended the classic

Alt–Noth hypothesis of the settlement, but in an article appearing the next
year V. Fritz (1980; cf. Fritz 1981) was already developing a model which
looked remarkably like a synthesis of the Alt–Noth and the Mendenhall–
Gottwald models, which he referred to as the ‘symbiosis hypothesis’. The
large-scale archaeological surveys undertaken in Israel brought to bear a
whole new range of data, and a new generation of Israeli archaeologists
began to break through the archaeological tradition strongly influenced by
Albright. Israel Finkelstein (1988) appeared in English with a full-blown
exposition of his model of the Israelite settlement which delineated a
revised version of the original Alt model (but with the full archaeological
backing which Alt had never had available) and also drawing on the
Mendenhall–Gottwald model. Finally, Helga Weippert (1988) published
an archaeological handbook which summarized the results of Palestinian
archaeology to the Persian period. The impact of the new archaeological
assessment cannot be overestimated, and the discussion gained a whole
new basis which outdated all that had gone before.
Through the 1980s the areas of interest began to shift. The settlement
and what preceded it remained of intense concern, but now the first part
of the Israelite monarchy came firmly into focus. Up until this time,
the debate about Israel’s origins had concerned the patriarchs and the
settlement, with history securely beginning at the reign of Saul. Yet
already in 1986 Miller was asking questions about the reliability of the
Saul, David and Solomon traditions:

When it first appeared a decade ago, my treatment of Solomon generally

seems to have been regarded as overly skeptical, especially in view of what
was believed to be strong archaeological evidence in Solomon’s behalf.
Alan Millard and William Dever were particularly outspoken on this matter.
Nowadays, my treatment seems to be viewed as rather traditional and
conservative. (J. M. Miller 1997a: 12–13)

However, the real shaker was the collection of essays by G. Garbini

(1986) whose rapid translation into English facilitated its impact. Garbini
was known primarily for his work in Northwest Semitic philology, rather
than biblical scholarship, and a number of his comments arise out of the
particular tradition of biblical scholarship in Italy, which look somewhat
odd to those in the Germanic/Anglo-Saxon tradition. Yet despite its
weaknesses, Garbini’s collection of essays attacked some fundamental
consensuses in OT scholarship, not least that of the Solomonic kingdom.
34 Ancient Israel

Sometimes influenced by Garbini’s radical book, but sometimes

independently of it, a number of scholars were critiquing the consensus
about the Israelite monarchy. R. Coote and K. Whitelam (1987) had done a
sociological study which encompassed not only the settlement as such but
took in the development of the Israelite monarchy. E. A. Knauf produced
two books (1985, 1988) which ignored the emphasis on Israel and instead
concentrated on other Palestinian peoples (anticipating the ‘Palestinian’
arguments of the 1990s – see below), but his critical treatment of all
sources and his scepticism toward the biblical text, until verified, was
very much in line with the work of others in this decade. H. M. Niemann
(1993) argued that Israel did not become a state until the time of Omri;
and Judah, until the time of Uzziah. Diana Edelman (1991, 1996a) did a
search for the ‘historical Saul’. Perhaps the most influential book, though,
was ostensibly an investigation of another subject. D. W. Jamieson-Drake
(1991) was asking about the existence of scribal schools, but to answer
the question he addressed the issue of when Jerusalem might have become
the capital of a major political entity, concluding this was not until the late
eighth century.
It would be wrong to assume, however, that the sceptical trend was
the only one. Although the abandonment of the patriarchal period and the
conquest model was almost universal, the majority of scholars remained
within the consensus that we knew a lot about Israelite and Judaean
history at least from the time of David. Among the archaeologists a
rigorous debate has been going on for some time between members of the
‘Tel Aviv school’ (e.g., Finkelstein 1981; Ussishkin 1980b; Finkelstein
and Na’aman [eds] 1994) and several American archaeologists such as
William Dever and Lawrence Stager over the attribution of certain finds
to the Solomonic age. However, Dever in particular fronted opposition to
those casting doubts on our knowledge of the David and Solomonic age
(Dever 1982, 1996; cf. Dever 1998a).
With the coming of the 1990s there was a decade which saw a real
explosion of new ideas and challenges to consensuses. Particularly
eventful was the year 1992. The Anchor Bible Dictionary appeared
(though many of its articles were actually completed in the late 1980s).
The multiple-author entry on ‘Israel, History of’ (ABD III, 526–76)
will probably become recognized as a classic, with Lemche on the
Pre-Monarchic Period, Dever on Archaeology and the ‘Conquest’, and
R. P. Carroll on the Post-Monarchic Period. Also published in 1992 was
Thompson’s book on the early history of the Israelite people, but the book
which in many ways made the greatest impact in that year came from a
surprising quarter: this was P. R. Davies’ In Search of ‘Ancient Israel’.
 1. The Principles and Methods 35

I say ‘surprising’ because Davies made no claim to originality; his aim

was to translate and expound some of the recent trends and their basis for
students (1992: 7). Yet his book caused a storm: eliciting reviews, such as
that by Iain Provan published in the Journal of Biblical Literature (1995),
along with responses from Davies and Thompson. The publication of
the Tel Dan ‘Ben-David’ inscription brought a great flurry of claims and
counterclaims (§4.1.3.1). G. Ahlström’s opus magnum was published
posthumously in 1993. The title of Keith Whitelam’s 1996 book, The
Invention of Ancient Israel, with the provocative subtitle of The Silencing
of Palestinian History, was a harbinger of what has been probably the
greatest stimulus to controversy. In the same year, Lemche brought out
a full-scale treatment of the pre-monarchic period (1996a), and the next
year a collection of essays on archaeology and history had papers from
a number of the protagonists in the debate (Silberman and Small [eds]
1997). The most recent contribution on the issue of the early monarchy is
the volume, The Age of Solomon (Handy [ed.] 1997), which lays out the
main issues and positions for the early monarchy.
Unfortunately, the next few years saw the debate take on a shrillness
and ad hominem character that it had not seemed to possess before. The
long debate between the Tel Aviv and American archaeologists was
made by those who differed in a good-natured way but had no personal
animosity. The sharp exchanges which have come to the surface since the
early 1990s are of a different and more ominous quality (e.g., Dever et
al. 1997). The terms ‘maximalist’ and ‘minimalist’ began to be pejorative
labels, and the term ‘nihilist’ came to be used of certain positions (Dever
1995a; cf. 1996: 45, where he clarifies and defends his use of the term,
though with evident unease). Some said the ‘minimalists’ were dangerous;
others, that they could be safely ignored. The curious anomaly of
dangerous people who can be safely ignored serves as a symbol of the
unhelpful way in which the debate has moved. One has the sense that it
has ceased to be a matter of academic disagreement and has become an
emotive and personal issue.
This was hardly a one-sided fight, however; there has been intimation
that those who defended the status quo were nothing but biblical funda-
mentalists, which was not usually the case. This led to a hardening of
stances and a tendency to defend established positions rather than debat-
ing the issues in a genuine desire to understand the other side. But when
things become so ugly that some begin to use the term ‘anti-Semitic’
of particular academic positions, one begins to despair of any chance
of a proper scholarly exchange. It was my frustration over this lack of
genuine debate that led to the founding of the European Seminar on
36 Ancient Israel

Methodology in Israel’s History in 1995, with the aim of moving past the
‘minimalist’/‘maximalist’ dichotomy by assembling a group of mature
scholars working in the field of history who were willing and able to talk
to each other, whatever their positions or disagreements (see Grabbe [ed.]
1997; [ed.] 1998; [ed.] 2001; [ed.] 2003; [ed.] 2005; [ed.] 2007; [ed.]
2008; [ed.] 2010; [ed.] 2011; [ed.] 2017; [ed.] forthcoming).
The impression that one has now is that the debate has settled down.
Although they do not seem to admit it, the minimalists have triumphed
in many ways. That is, most scholars reject the historicity of the ‘patri-
archal period’, see the settlement as mostly made up of indigenous
inhabitants of Canaan and are cautious about the early monarchy. The
exodus is rejected or assumed to be based on an event much different
from the biblical account. On the other hand, there is not the widespread
rejection of the biblical text as a historical source that one finds among
the main minimalists. There are few, if any, maximalists (defined as
those accepting the biblical text unless it can be absolutely disproved) in
mainstream scholarship, only on the more fundamentalist fringes. Most
who write on the history of ancient Israel now take a position that accepts
some minimalist positions (as just noted) but is also willing to make use
of the biblical text as one of the sources in reconstructing the history
of Israel and Judah. (This, incidently, was the position of most of those
participating in the European Seminar in Historical Methodology.) The
European Seminar had its final meeting in 2012, since it was felt by most
of us that this particular group had gone as far as it could (see Grabbe
[ed.] forthcoming). However, some younger scholars in Europe and in
North America seem to be carrying on the debate in some fashion, which
is welcome.
Religion is properly a part of any discussion of the history of Israel.
Alt, Mendenhall and Gottwald all seem to have been concerned to hold
onto the religion in the early traditions while dismissing the history
(Lemche 1985: 413–15). Yet the debate in this area has to some extent
been carried on in its own way. For over two decades after Georg Fohrer’s
classic history (1968/1972) little of major significance appeared (Schmidt
[1983] understood his work, strangely, as ‘standing midway between a
“history of Israelite religion” and a “theology of the Old Testament”’,
while Cross’s [1973] sections on religion had mostly been published
sometime before), though a number of relevant individual studies were
published (e.g., Albertz 1978). Nevertheless, a great deal of work was
being done in individual areas under the stimulus of new discoveries and
new questions. Perhaps the most significant new finds were the Kuntillet
‘Ajrud and Khirbet el-Qôm inscriptions which implied that Yhwh had a
 1. The Principles and Methods 37

consort. A perennial question is when monotheism developed in Israel,

and also whether aniconism was always a feature of Yhwh worship. Mark
Smith’s monograph came out in 1990, written primarily from a Northwest
Semitic perspective (2nd edn 2002). This was followed in 1992 by the
most thorough synthesis to date, by Rainer Albertz (ET 1994), which
made use of all sources, textual, archaeological and ancient Near Eastern.
Following Albertz’s work, a plethora of monographs and collections have
appeared, and the debate on Israel’s religion is as energetic as that on the
history in general (see further at §4.2.8).

1.3.3 Principles of Historical Method Used in this Book

As noted above (§1.1), the present book is not a full history as such but
an attempt to discuss the issues relating to writing a history (cf. Grabbe
2004a: 13–16), though most of the areas that would be controversial are
dealt with in one way or another. Therefore, the principles that follow
do not form a full list of principles for writing a full history; rather
they indicate why certain decisions are taken and paths followed in the
discussion that follows in subsequent chapters of this book.

1. All potential sources should be considered. Nothing should be ruled

out a priori. After a full critical evaluation has been undertaken, some
sources might be excluded, but this is only a posteriori.
2. Preference should be given to primary sources, that is, those contem-
porary or nearly contemporary with the events being described (a
concept expounded by L. von Ranke [Iggers 1997: 24; Knauf 1991a:
46]). This means archaeology and inscriptions. The biblical text is
almost always a secondary source, written and edited long after the
events ostensibly described. In some cases, the text may depend on
earlier sources, but these sources were edited and adapted; in any
case the source has to be dug out from the present context.
3. The context of the longue durée must always be recognized and
given an essential part in the interpretation (§1.2.2). One of the
factors often forgotten is the difference between Israel in the north
and Judah in the south. There was a considerable disparity of natural
resources and economy between the two, with Judah continually
the poorer. There are reasons for this (Lehmann 2003: 149–62; Ofer
1994: 93–5). In Judah the agriculture was largely subsistence and
disadvantaged by lack of good soil for grain-growing and rainfall of
300–500 mm per annum. The better soils around Hebron had their
value reduced by low rainfall. This meant that pastoralism was an
important pursuit. In competition with Israel, Judah definitely came
38 Ancient Israel

off second best. When Palestine enters the inscriptions of other

nations, such as the Assyrians, in the first millennium BCE, there is
already a division between Israel and Judah. This long-term division
is also hinted at in a number of biblical passages (2 Sam. 2.4; 5.4;
Judg. 5), in spite of a supposed twelve-tribe nation.
4. Each episode or event has to be judged on its own merits. Even
secondary sources have their uses, while primary sources may well
contradict one another. Historical reconstruction requires all data to
be used, critically scrutinized, evaluated and a judgment made as to
the most likely scenario in the light of all that is known.
5. All reconstructions are provisional. New data, new perspectives, new
theories may suggest other – better–ways to interpret the data. This
openness to new ways of thinking and new configurations of events
always needs to be there.
6. All reconstructions have to be argued for. There can be no default
position. You cannot just follow the text unless it can be disproved
(sometimes expressed in the nonsensical phrase, ‘innocent until
proved guilty’ – as if the text was a defendant in court; if there is a
forensic analogy, the text is a witness whose veracity must be probed
and tested). The only valid arguments are historical ones. Ideology,
utility, theology, morality, politics, authority – none of these has a
place in judging how to reconstruct an event. The only argumentation
allowed is that based on historical principles. Naturally, subjectivity
is inevitable in the process, and all historians are human and have
their weaknesses and blindspots. This is why each must argue for
their viewpoint and then subject the result to the judgment of peers,
who are also human and subjective.
 Part II

H i s tori c a l I n v es ti gat i ons

 Chapter 2

S ec on d M i l l en ni um :
M i ddl e a n d L at e B r on z e A g e s ( 2000–1300 BCE)

The Bible begins the story of Israel with creation, or at least with the
survivors from the Noachian flood. In many ways Abraham is presented
as the first Israelite – even if Israel is made out to be his grandson. This is
why most histories of Israel have begun their story sometime in the second
millennium BCE, some earlier and some later. The second millennium is a
lot of space to cover, but this chapter gives a brief survey, though focusing
on those issues that have been associated with writing a history of Israel.

2.1 Sources

2.1.1 Archaeology
The Middle and Late Bronze Ages cover much of the second millennium
BCE, MB extending over approximately 2000–1500 BCE, and LB about
1500 to 1200 BCE. These divisions are not exact and are to some extent
artificial, but they broadly represent significant differences in culture and
society, as well as historical background. As noted earlier, terminology for
archaeological periods is not consistent (§1.2.4.2). The scheme used here
(cf. Dever 1987: 149–50; Ilan 1998: 297) is:

MB I (ca. 2000–1800 BCE)

MB II (ca. 1800–1650 BCE)
MB III (ca. 1650–1500 BCE)
LB I (ca. 1500–1400 BCE)
LB IIA (ca. 1400–1300 BCE)
LB IIB (ca. 1300–1200 BCE)

These dates are in part based on historical events, whereas the cultures
recorded by archaeology do not always follow the historical periods
marked off by events. Needless to say, there is much disagreement, with
many beginning the LB in 1550 or even 1600 BCE.
42 Ancient Israel

Middle Bronze Age I–III has become better known in recent years
(Dever 1977, 1987; Finkelstein 1993; LaBianca 1997; Ilan 1998; Steiner
and Killebrew [eds] 2014: 401–94). It seems to have been an era of
considerable urbanism: one estimate puts the urban population at half
as great again as the rural population (Ilan 1998: 305). Many sites were
fortified (Finkelstein 1993), and ‘a proliferation of massive fortifications
is the single most characteristic feature of the fully developed phases of
the period’ (Dever 1987: 153): an estimated 65 per cent of the population
lived in a few fortified sites of 20 hectares or more. In MB I an unprec-
edented surge in settlement swept the hill country, large sites including
Shechem, Dothan, Shiloh, Tell el-Far’ah North, Hebron, Beth-zur and
Jerusalem (Finkelstein 1993: 117–18). About 75 per cent of the population
seems to have lived between Shechem and the Jezreel Valley. In the areas
of Ephraim and Manasseh there was a definite extension into the western
part of the regions. But this settlement in the central hill country began
only later, in MB II. In MB II–III almost every site seems to have been
fortified, down to as small as 8–16 dunums.
Dever (1987: 153) suggests that the larger sites were in fact city-states.
How one is to relate this conclusion with S. Bunimovitz’s argument that,
following the Rank Size Index, the southern coastal plain and the Jezreel
Valley were more integrated in MB than LB (1998: 323) is not clear. D.
Ilan (1998: 300–301) suggests that the cultural changes coming about in
MB were in part caused by immigration of a new population into Canaan
(possibly the Amorites and perhaps others such as the Hurrians), even
though the ‘diffusionist’ explanation has ceased to be very popular (on
the Amorites, see §2.2.1.2). There is evidence of trade with Syria and
Mesopotamia, with Hazor as the main ‘gateway’ for Canaan (Ilan 1998:
306–8). There was also extensive trade with Egypt, the main trading
centre being Tell el-Dab’a. At first most commerce was with the northern
Syrian coast (especially Byblos), but it gradually shifted south. The
Middle Bronze Age ended with widespread collapse, often ascribed to
the conquest of Avaris and the expulsion of the Hyksos from Egypt (ca.
1550 BCE), and/or subsequent campaigns by Thutmose III and other
Eighteenth Dynasty rulers (Ilan 1998: 314–15). There is now a tendency
to see other causes (or additional causes) and also to recognize that the
collapse was complex and spread over a considerable period of time. Also,
there was considerable cultural continuity with the following LB.
The socio-cultural changes at the end of MB ‘reshaped the social
landscape of Palestine and had a profound, long-term impact on Canaanite
society’ (Bunimovitz 1998: 320). Although some have seen a major shift
 2. Second Millennium 43

away from urbanism in LB, Bunimovitz (1998: 324) argues against this:
urbanism was different in scale but the balance between urban and rural
remained much the same. The urban centres were considerably smaller
but so was the rural sector. A region of major interest, because of its impli-
cations for the Israelite settlement, is the highlands: they contained hardly
any settlement throughout much of LB (Finkelstein 1988: 339–45). The
argument is that pastoralists were the main inhabitants of the hill country
on both sides of the Jordan (Finkelstein 1988: 339–45; 1993: 119; 1998c;
Ilan 1998: 324). In general the Canaanite city-states were underpopulated
and short of manpower (Bunimovitz 1998: 326–7). This is no doubt to be
related to the frequent mention in the Amarna letters of the ‘Apiru and
other groups on the margins of society (§2.2.1.3). The Late Bronze Age
ended with a major collapse that seems to have affected the whole of the
eastern Mediterranean (§3.1.1).
One issue concerns the cities or sites mentioned in Genesis in connection
with the patriarchs (Dever 1977). Albright (1961) had argued that the
patriarchal narratives fitted what is commonly called the EB IV period
(2200–2000 BCE, though he attempted to date it as late as 1900 or even
1800 BCE). Unfortunately, neither his placement of the patriarchs nor that
of others who have tried to put them in the early second millennnium BCE
can be supported:

A date in MB I [= EB IV or Intermediate Bronze] is ruled out for the

patriarchs simply because the latest evidence shows that the main centres
traditionally associated with their movements, pace Albright, are conspicu-
ously lacking in MB I remains… To date, not a single MB IIA [= MB I]
site has been found in all of southern Transjordan or the Negeb – one of the
principal arenas of patriarchal activities in Genesis. (Dever 1977: 99, 102)

At Beersheba (Gen. 21–22) there was a settlement gap between the

Chalcolithic and Iron I – no MB remains at all (Herzog 1997; Rainey
1984: 94). Attempts to find the ‘cities of the plain’ (Gen. 19.24-29) have
failed (Dever 1977: 101). It is difficult to find a period in the early or
middle second millennium BCE when all sites in the patriarchal narratives
were settled; on the contrary, it appears to be not until Iron I that this was
so (Clark 1977: 147). On the other hand, many of the main cities known to
have existed in MB are completely absent from the patriarchal narratives
(Finkelstein and Silberman 2001: 321–3). For further information on the
patriarchs, see §2.2.2.
44 Ancient Israel

2.1.2 Egyptian Texts

The situation in Palestine is known mainly through Egyptian texts.
Although the main source is the Amarna tablets, there are various royal
and other inscriptions (see the basic collection in AEL I–III; also Redford
1992a). Some of these are cited in the discussions below. From a historical
point of view, the Merenptah Stela is very important (§3.1.2).

2.1.2.1 Execration Texts

The Egyptian Execration Texts (Helck 1971: 44–67; Seidlmayer 2001;
Redford 1992b; ANET 328–9; CoS I, 50–2) were ceramic objects on which
the names of enemies or potential enemies to be cursed were written. The
object was then broken to effect the curses. Two sets of broken pieces,
dated to the Twelfth or Thirteenth Dynasty (nineteenth or eighteenth
centuries BCE) have been found which included names in the Palestinian
area. The main value of these is topographical, to show which cities
existed in Palestine in particular periods, since only names and no other
information is given. Included are apparently sites in Phoenicia (Byblos,
Tyre), Syria (Damascus), some sites in Transjordan (such as Pella), but
also Aphek, Ashtaroth, Akko, Laish, Hazor, Rehov, Megiddo, Beth-shean,
Ekron, Beth-shemesh, Lod and Ashkelon; Shechem and Jerusalem are the
only two highland sites in the extant texts (though the reading ‘Jerusalem’
has been questioned [Na’aman 1992a: 278–79]). Some personal names
also occur, ‘Amorite’ in form, with apparently no Hurrian or Indo-Iranian
ones. An argument has been made that the two sets of texts attest to a
gradual sedentarizing and urbanizing of the countryside, but this view has
been challenged (Redford 1992b). We do know that the Ephraimite hill
country, as well as extensive sections of Syria, are absent from the texts.

2.1.2.2 Amarna Letters

Our most extensive information on Canaan comes from the fourteenth
century BCE, in the Amarna letters (Moran 1992; ANET 483–90; CoS III,
237–42). At this time, Palestine was a part of the Egyptian New Kingdom.
The letters belonged to the archive of Amenhotep IV, better known as
Akhenaten (1353–1336 BCE), in the capital of Amarna that he built on
a new site. After his death, the capital was abandoned, which is probably
why the archive was not eventually discarded. The letters are written
in Akkadian which seems to have been the language of international
communication at the time. When the city was excavated in the nineteenth
century, among the recovered archives were copies of correspondence
between the Egyptian administration and their vassals in other regions,
 2. Second Millennium 45

as well as with other major powers. Many of the letters are from local
chieftains or city-states in Palestine (including Jerusalem) and tell of the
situation there. These so-called ‘Amarna letters’ give us a unique insight
into events in Palestine during this period.
The city of Ugarit is mentioned in the Amarna letters (e.g., EA 1, 45,
89, 98, 126, 151), though it was not a vassal of Egypt. But we know
of a number of the northern polities in Syria that were south of Ugarit
and under Egyptian control, including Amurru (EA 60–62, 73–76, etc.),
Byblos (Gubla: EA 67–140, etc.), Sidon (Ṣiduna: EA 83, 85, 92, 101,
103, 114, 144–49, etc.), and Tyre (Ṣurru: EA 77, 89, 92, 101, etc.). Our
information for the area of Phoenicia and Syria is more extensive than that
for Canaan, because of the voluminous correspondence of Rib-Hadda of
Byblos (most of the letters in EA 67–140). These letters tell us especially
about the activities of ‘Abdi-Aširta and Aziru of Amurru. Unfortunately,
they tell us little about what was going on further south, except to
affirm Egyptian control of the whole area. However, our concern is not
primarily with the area of Lebanon and Syria but the area of Palestine or
Canaan. Fortunately, we have quite a few letters from the area of Canaan
itself. We know of the main city-states of Hazor, Megiddo, Shechem,
Jerusalem, Gezer, Gath, Ashkelon and Lachish. The Amarna letters
describe a situation in which the various city-states are jockeying for
position, whether to gain power and territory or to defend themselves
against takeover by neighbouring city-states or perhaps even a combi-
nation of both. Among those who wrote letters to the Pharaoh was the
king of Jerusalem (Urusalim). We have six letters from him (EA 285–90),
plus a couple of other letters that refer to him (EA 284, 366). The king of
Jerusalem is called ‘Abdi-Ḫeba. Other kings include Suwardata of Gath
and Lab’aya of Shechem. Other cities mentioned are Gaza (EA 129, 287,
296), Ashkelon (EA 187, 320–1, 322, 370), Gezer (EA 253, 254, 287, etc.)
and Lachish (EA 287, 288, 328, 329, 335).
The name of the king of Jerusalem (Urusalim), ‘Abdi-Ḫeba, means
‘servant of the (Hurrian) goddess Ḫeba’; however, as far as we can tell
he was a native Canaanite, one of the many kinglets of the Canaanite
city-states. In the passages that follow, the term used for the head of the
various city states is usually ḫazannu which normally means ‘mayor’ or
chief administrator of a city; however, it is used here of the petty kings
of the city-states. The Akkadian term for king, šarru, seldom occurs for
the rulers of the city-states. We have six letters from ‘Abdi-Ḫeba (EA
285-90), plus a couple of other letters that refer to him (EA 284, 366).
Here is one (EA 287):
46 Ancient Israel

May the [kin]g know (that) all the lands are [at] peace (with one another),
but I am at war. May the king provide for his land. Consider the lands of
Gazru, Ašqaluna, and L[akis]i. They have given them food, oil, and any
other requirement. So may the king provide for archers and the mayors will
belong to the king, my lord. But if there are no archers, then the ki[ng] will
have neither lands nor mayors. Consider Jerusalem! This neither my father
nor m[y] mother gave to me. The [str]ong hand: …(arm) [of the king] gave
it to me. Consider the deed! This is the deed of Milkilu and the deed of
the sons of Lab’ayu, who have given the land of the king <to> the ‘Apiru.
(Moran 1992: 328)

As will be clear, we need to keep in mind that only ‘Abdi-Ḫeba’s side of

the story is given in his letters. His claims to loyalty and being a victim
of treacherous neighbours need to be considered alongside other letters,
letters from those very same neighbours who accuse him of treachery,
aggression and disloyalty toward the Pharaoh! (e.g., EA 280).
As already noted, what we can find from the various letters is that there
were a number of competing city-states. They squabble among themselves
and complain to the Pharaoh, each manoeuvring for position and seeking
advantage for itself in competition with its neighbours, constantly playing
off one another in relation to the Egyptian king. A combination of the
Amarna letters, archaeology and a recent petrographic examination of
the clay composition of the letters allows us to reconstruct some of the
interactions of the various city-states at this time (Goren, Finkelstein
and Na’aman 2004). Two of those who have written on the city-states in
Canaan are Nadav Na’aman (e.g., 1992a, 1997c) and Israel Finkelstein
(e.g., 1996c; 2013: 13–22). Although Na’aman and Finkelstein have a
number of differences in their reconstruction of the system of city-states,
the general picture they paint is still remarkably similar (in addition to
Goren, Finkelstein and Na’aman 2004, see Finkelstein and Na’aman
2005). They agree that there were about 20–25 city-states in Canaan
(not to mention the other city-states in Lebanon and Syria). They also
disagree about whether the city-state boundaries included all the land (so
Finkelstein) or omitted a certain amount of ‘no-man’s-land’ (Na’aman).
One of the main players was Lab’ayu of Shechem. He protests his
loyalty to the Egyptian king, but ‘Abdi-Ḫeba and others accuse him of
aggressive tactics (EA 244):

Thus says Biridiya, the loyal servant of the king… May the king, my lord,
be apprised that since the regular army went back (to Egypt), Lab’ayu has
made war against me so that we are unable to pluck the sheep (or) complete
the harvest. We can’t even go out the city gate because of Lab’ayu since
 2. Second Millennium 47

he found out that regular troops are not c[oming fo]rth. And no[w] he is
determin[ed] to take Megiddo. So may the king please rescue his city; let
not Lab’ayu seize it! (Rainey 2015a: 1, #244)

After his death, his sons are alleged to have carried on the same way
(EA246, 250, 287, 289). What we appear to have here is a coalition of
city-states, led by Shechem, that was seeking to seize control of territory
that would allow them to control the main trade routes through Palestine:
the coastal route connecting Egypt to Lebanon, Syria and beyond and
the King’s Highway that extended from the Gulf of Aqaba through the
Jordan Valley and on up to Damascus (Finkelstein and Na’aman 2005).
With Lab’ayu were Gezer, Ginti-kirmil, Tel Yoqne‘am, Anaharath, and
eventually Pehel or Pella (Piḫilu), Ashtaroth and the city of the kinglet
Yashdata (perhaps Taanach). Opposing them (perhaps simply for self-
defence) was another coalition of Megiddo, Rehov, Achshaph, Acco,
Gath, and perhaps Hazor. The thrust of the Lab’ayu axis threatened to
divide the rest of Egyptian Canaan into two disconnected parts, a northern
grouping (the anti-Shechem alliance listed above) and a southern one of
Jerusalem, Gath, Ashkelon and Lachish. Lab’ayu apparently intended
to take Shim‘on or Shimron (Shamḫuna) in the Jezreel Valley, which
would allow him to encircle those opposing him in the rest of the Jezreel
Valley, including the Egyptian centre at Beth-shean. If he had been able to
achieve his evident territorial ambitions, this would have given him a base
from which he could manipulate trade and might even endanger Egyptian
control of the region. Eventually, Egypt acted to sort out Lab’ayu’s
rebellion and apparently executed him (cf. EA 245, 250, 253, 254, 280).
One term that appears several times is ‘Apiru (§2.2.1.3).

2.1.2.3 The Story of Sinuhe

Although some have taken this as an actual account of personal experi-
ences, it seems to be a piece of literature (AEL I, 222–35; Baines 1982). Its
main theme seems to focus on the disadvantages of being removed from
one’s country of Egypt, but it makes reference to a number of data relating
to Syria and Palestine that seem to represent a contemporary description
(Simpson 1984; Rainey 1972).

2.1.3 Ugaritic Texts

The city-state of Ugarit on the Mediterranean coast opposite Cyprus has
become quite important for OT study. The city was known about through
the Amarna letters but was not discovered until about 1928 in the area of
Ras Shamra in Syria. Tablets written in an unknown language and script
48 Ancient Israel

were unearthed quite quickly. The script was written on clay tablets in
wedge shapes but, unlike cuneiform, was clearly an alphabet of 29 letters.
The script and language were deciphered within a couple of years, and
some of the important tablets were already translated before World War
II. Excavations still continue, and tablets have even been found in recent
years. The language belongs to Northwest Semitic, the sub-family which
also includes Hebrew, Aramaic and Phoenician.
Ugarit already existed as an independent entity in the eighteenth
century, but it reached its height during the Amarna period (fourteenth
century). We have correspondence between Egypt and Ugarit in the
Amarna tablets and in texts from Ugarit. The city was apparently
destroyed sometime before 1200 BCE, whether by the Sea Peoples (as
often alleged) or others. When the Ugaritic texts were first deciphered
about 1930, their importance for the mythology and literary world of the
Israelites was quickly recognized. Many of the texts are in alphabetic
cuneiform and the Ugaritic language (KTU; CML; Parker 1997). But
other texts were in Akkadian and even Hurrian, and many of these have
more direct relevance for the history of the eastern Mediterranean in the
second millennium BCE. Although Ugarit and the Ugaritic texts have
often been used to reconstruct Canaanite culture, mythology and religion,
Ugarit seems to have been considered outside of Canaan (Grabbe 1994b).
The Ugaritic texts provide some historical information for the Amarna
age, though this is usually in the way of general background since they
do not usually mention Palestine directly. (For general information on the
Ugaritic texts and the history of Ugarit, see especially Watson and Wyatt
[eds] 1999.)

2.1.4 Mesopotamian Texts

Most of the Mesopotamian texts do not mention Palestine, though there
seems to have been trade between Hazor and Mari (§2.1.1). These texts
are important for other sorts of information, and they have been invoked
in the past for information relating to the patriarchs. The Mari texts, first
discovered in the 1930s, are still being published; a collection of letters
in translation is now available (Heimpel 2003). The Nuzi tablets, which
brought in the discussion about the patriarchs, are also still in the process
of publication (for example, Maidman 1994).

2.1.5 Biblical Text

The main biblical source that might fit the Late Bronze is the Heptateuch:
Genesis to Judges. The question is how much the author(s) or compiler(s)
knew about the events described. Not long ago, it was a strong consensus
of scholarship that the Pentateuch and perhaps even some of the other
 2. Second Millennium 49

books were compiled mainly from four sources: the Yahwist (J), the
Elohist (E), the Deuteronomist (D), and the priestly writer (P). Many
would still agree with that, up to a point, but opinion is much more
diverse (Dubovský, Markl and Sonnet [eds] 2016). Basically, the old
consensus that had developed around the Documentary Hypothesis has
gone, though there is nothing to take its place (Rendtorff 1997; Whybray
1987). Some still accept the Documentary Hypothesis in much its original
form, but many accept only aspects of it or at least put a question mark
by it. There has also been much debate around the J source (Rendtorff
1997: 53–55) and the P source (Grabbe 1997b). It seems clear that the
Pentateuch was put together in the Persian period (Grabbe 2004a: 331–43;
2006c, 2013, 2016). If so, it seems unlikely that a substantial memory of
second-millennium events is to be found in it. True, many traditions in
the Pentateuch are accepted to be pre-exilic (for example, Deuteronomy
is still widely dated to the seventh century BCE), but that is still half a
millennium from the end of the Late Bronze, and a thousand years later
than a conventional dating for the patriarchs. An evaluation of the patri-
archal tradition on its own terms confirms this a priori position (§2.2.2).
For a discussion of Joshua and Judges, as well as the Deuteronomistic
History in general, see §3.1.6.2.

2.2 Analysis

2.2.1 Peoples/Ethnic and Social Groups

A number of different groups are found in our sources, mainly Egyptian
inscriptions and Amarna letters, which have at one time or another been
connected with the origins of Israel but are also important for the history
of ancient Palestine. Here are mentioned those that are important in the
second millennium BCE (for the Sea Peoples and Philistines, see §3.2.2;
for the Aramaeans, see §4.2.5). On the general question of labelling such
peoples as ‘ethnic groups’, see the discussion at §1.2.5.

2.2.1.1 Hyksos
This was a group of people who became temporary rulers of Egypt but
were said to be foreigners associated with Asia (Weinstein 1997a; Oren
[ed.] 1997; Redford and Weinstein 1992; Redford 1970b; the monograph
of Van Seters [1966] marked a milestone in study of the Hyksos but
appeared before major archaeological data were available from Egypt).
They ruled during the Second Intermediate Period, making up the
Fifteenth Dynasty of the traditional kinglist. One of the main textual
sources remains Manetho, as mediated by Josephus and Julius Africanus
(Waddell [ed.] 1940), but some native Egyptian sources are also available
50 Ancient Israel

(Redford 1997a), as is archaeology (Bietak 1997; Redmount 1995). The

Egyptian name ḥq3w ḫ3swt means ‘rulers of foreign lands’ and seems to
have been their name for the actual Hyksos rulers, whereas the people are
often referred to as ‘3mw ‘Asiatics’. The names known from scarabs and
other written sources appear to be Northwest Semitic.
It was once argued that there was a ‘Hyksos invasion’, part of a large
Amorite (§2.2.1.2 below) population movement. It is more commonly
argued now that ‘Asiatics’ gradually settled in the eastern part of the delta
during the late Twelfth and Thirteenth Dynasties, possibly as slaves or
mercenaries. They took over rule to found the Fifteenth Dynasty, with six
kings over 108 years. The question of whether it was a gradual process
or a sudden coup is still debated. During the time of their rule there was
evidently extensive trade with the Levantine coast, Cyprus and possibly
even the Aegean (Betancourt 1997). According to the Egyptian texts, they
were expelled into Palestine by Kamose and by his brother Ahmose who
founded the Eighteenth Dynasty. Ahmose went on to take the Hyksos
centre of Sharuhen (perhaps Tell el-‘Ajjul or Tel Harar). The question
of where the Hyksos came from seems to have a firm answer (or partial
answer): the archaeology indicates a population largely (at least in the
core Hyksos area) made up of those heavily influenced by Canaanite
culture (Bietak 1997; McGovern and Harbottle 1997; Redmount 1995).
Neutron Activation Analysis indicates that many amphora with imported
goods were manufactured in southern Palestine (McGovern and Harbottle
1997), though Bietak (1997: 98–9) continues to argue a connection with
the northern Levant, specifically Byblos, because of the architecture.

2.2.1.2 Amorites (Amurru)

The Amorites are often thought to be important for the early history of
Israel (Buccellati 1966, 1997; Gelb 1961). The Bible presents them as
a pre-Israelite people in the Palestinian region (e.g., Gen. 15.21; Exod.
13.5), sometimes associated with the hill country (Num. 13.29; Deut.
1.7, 44) but also with the Transjordanian region (Num. 21.13, 26). For
example, they are mentioned as being among Israel’s ancestors in Ezek.
16.3, though interesingly they were also supposedly one of the peoples
opposing Israel on its way to Canaan (Num. 21.21-32). They are known
mainly from two sorts of information: (1) their names in cuneiform
sources which are Northwest Semitic in structure and different from the
Akkadian names (Huffmon 1965; Gelb 1980); (2) references to them in
cuneiform sources, usually by the Sumerogram mar.tu. As far as archae-
ology is concerned, nothing distinctive has been found to relate to them.
 2. Second Millennium 51

From the late third millennium (2500–2000) they are referred to in

texts from Ebla and southern Mesopotamia (usually by the label mar.
tu). In the Old Babylonian period (1900–1600), many northwestern
names are found and are identified as ‘Amorite’ by their structure, though
the individual who bore them is seldom said to be Amorite. They are
especially associated with the city-state of Mari on the Euphrates. Amorite
tribes include the ‘sons of the south’ (or ‘southerners’) and ‘sons of the
north’ (or ‘northerners’). The name of the first attracted attention since it
was equivalent to ‘Benjaminites’; however, the reading has been disputed.
The last part of the name, Yamīna, apparently referring to the right-hand
(or southern) bank of the Euphrates, is clear, but the first part of the name
is written in Sumerograms dumu.meš ‘sons (of)’. The question is whether
it should be read as Akkadian mārū(-yamīna) or as Northwest Semitic
bini(-yamīna) (Tadmor 1958a; Anbar 1991: 83–4 n. 324). Gelb (1961:
37–8) suggests that ‘sons’ is only a semantic indicator of a tribal name and
that it is appropriate to refer only to Yaminites. In any case, there is the
parallel tribe of dumu.meš-si-im-a-al ‘sons of the north’ (or ‘northerners’).
The similarity to the biblical Benjaminites seems coincidental, even if the
name is read Bini-Yamīna and not Mārū-Yamīna or just Yamīna.
Many of the descriptions make them nomadic pastoralists, and one text
refers to the Amorite as a ‘tent dweller [buffeted?] by wind and rain…
the one who digs up mushrooms at the foot of the mountain, who does
not know how to…bend his knee, who eats uncooked meat, who in his
lifetime does not have a house, who on the day of his death will not be
buried’ (Buccellati 1966: 92–3, see also 324–30). Although many of the
Amorites were tribal and engaged in pastoralism, this was not true of
all of them (Kamp and Yoffee 1980: 89–94). There are texts which refer
to Amorites in an urban setting. Also, rather than being seen always as
unruly, wild and hostile, they seem to be well blended into Sumerian
society. In the Ur III period they are ‘fully integrated in every facet of the
Mesopotamian social landscape. Amorites were pastoralists, agricultur-
alists, country dwellers and city dwellers’ (Kamp and Yoffee 1980: 98).
By the late Bronze Age, references to Amorites (Amurru) disappear from
the Mesopotamian texts except as a general reference for the region to the
west. However, a ‘kingdom of Amurru’ in Syria is known from references
in the Amarna letters, Ugaritic texts and the texts from the Hittite capital
at Boğazköy in Anatolia (Gelb 1961: 41–2); some Mari texts suggest
that it already existed several centuries earlier than the Amarna period
(Gelb 1961: 47). It was located west of the Euphrates, in Syria, between
Lebanon and Damascus; apparently a section of the territory extended as
far as the Mediterranean (Gelb 1961: 42).
52 Ancient Israel

There are disagreements over Amorite origins. In the past it has

been common to label them nomads on the fringes of civilization in the
Euphrates region, and some texts seem to give support to this picture.
Others think they were originally farmers in a narrow region of the
mid-Euphrates who expanded their territory by moving into the steppe
and taking up sheepbreeding. Some cuneiform texts consider them as
uncultured, semi-wild people of the wilderness, but this is mainly a biased
view. Their names are important because Semitic names had meaning,
being sometimes a complete sentence (e.g., ‘God has blessed’), which
allows the grammar of the language to be partially reconstructed by names
alone. Their language was Northwest Semitic and in the same language
family as Hebrew, Aramaic, Phoenician and Ugaritic. This suggests a
closer affinity with these people, at least in their origins, than to the
eastern Assyrians and Babylonians. As for their descendants, it may be
significant that several Aramaean groups and even states arose in the early
first millennium in the same areas that the Amorites had earlier inhabited,
which might suggest that the Aramaeans – at least in part – descended
from the earlier Amorites.

2.2.1.3 ‘Apiru/Ḫaberu
One term that appears several times in second millennium texts is
“Apiru’ or possibly ‘Ḫapiru’ or ‘Ḫaberu’ (Na’aman 1986c; Lemche
1992a; Gottwald 1979: 397–409; Loretz 1984, but see the review of
Na’aman [1988b]), often written in cuneiform with the Sumerograms
sa.gaz; Ugaritic: ‘pr; Egyptian ‘prw. When these texts were first studied
a century or so ago, it was assumed that it was an ethnic term related to
‘Hebrew’. Many modern scholars agree that the term ‘Apiru and Hebrew
are cognate, but that neither was originally an ethnic term but a social
designation: the word seems originally to mean someone outside the
social system or an outlaw (Gottwald 1979: 401, 404) or a refugee or
migrant (Na’aman 1986c; Lemche 1992a). In the early texts it appears
to have a merely descriptive meaning of ‘migrant’. People were always
temporarily in this category because they would soon be integrated into
the (new) society and location. Yet migrants often took on employment
that might be considered marginal by the natives, such as becoming
mercenaries. Or on occasion they might become brigands as the easiest or
even the only way to survive. Šuwardata (apparently ruler of Gath, though
there are several possibilities) and ‘Abdi-Ḫeba, ruler of Jerusalem, were
able to make common cause when they were both threatened by ‘Apiru,
as indicated in EA 366 (letter from Šuwardata):
 2. Second Millennium 53

May the king, my lord, be informed that the ‘Apiru that rose up…against
the lands, the god of the king, my lord, gave to me, and I smote him. And
may the king, my lord, be informed that all my brothers have abandoned
me. Only ‘Abdi-Ḫeba and I have been at war with (that) ‘Apiru. Surata,
the ruler of Akka, and Endaruta, the ruler of Akšapa, (these) two also have
come to my aid…with 50 chariots, and now they are on my side in the war.
(Moran 1992: 364)

In the Amarna letters many of those labelled ‘Apiru seem to have sold
themselves as mercenaries to the highest bidder, while others turned to
raiding or stealing. Therefore, the term not infrequently has a pejorative
connotation along the lines of ‘outlaw’ or ‘bandit’, and was used of one’s
enemies, regardless of whether they were truly ‘Apiru (EA 68, 185,
186). In some cases, the writer accuses fellow kings of city-states of
siding with the ‘Apiru or employing them against the Pharaoh’s interests
(EA 286, 287, 288, 289) or asserts that the ‘Apiru would take over (EA
366) or even that the rulers themselves are becoming ‘Apiru (EA 67,
288). In the biblical text the word has become an ethnic term, used by
Israelite and Judahite writers only for themselves, or by outsiders such
as the Philistines, perhaps as a way of satirizing the outsiders (Na’aman
1986c). In some passages in the laws, however, it seems to have much
of the original base meaning of one who was likely to be vulnerable and
poor and in need of legal protection, perhaps even a slave (Exod. 21.2;
Deut. 15.12; Jer. 34.9, 14). Idrimi, king of Alalakh, joins ‘Apiru when he
himself becomes a refugee:

An evil deed happened in Halab, the seat of my family, and we fled to the
people of Emar… (So) I took with me my horse, my chariot, and my groom,
went away and crossed over the desert country and even entered into the
region of the Sutian warriors…but the next day I moved on and went to the
land of Canaan. I stayed in Ammia in the land of Caanan [sic]; in Ammia
lived (also) natives of Halab, of the country Mukishkhi, of the country Ni’
and also warriors from the country Ama’e… There I grew up and stayed for
a long time. For seven years I lived among the Hapiru-people. (ANET 557;
Greenberg 1955: 20)

2.2.1.4 Shasu (Shosu, Š3św, Sutu)

A group referred to in a number of Egyptian texts (Giveon 1971) are the
Š3św, usually transcribed as Shasu or Shosu (Redford 1990: 68–75;
1992a: 269–80; M. Weippert 1974; Ward 1972, 1992); Akkadian texts,
such as the Amarna tablets, seem to refer to the same group as Sutu (EA
16, 122, 123, 169, 195, 297, 318). They are often associated with the area
54 Ancient Israel

of southern Transjordan in Egyptian texts (Redford 1992a: 272–3). Seti I

conducted an Asian campaign in which he defeated the Shasu from the
fortress of Sile to (the city of) Canaan (= Gaza?) (ANET 254; Giveon
1971: #11). In a frontier report from the Papyrus Anastasi VI (ANET 259;
Giveon 1971: #37) the Shasu tribes are allowed to pass the fortress with
their cattle. Several texts mention geographical areas associated with the
Shasu (Giveon 1971: ## 6a; 16a): ‘the land of the Shasu Samath’ (t3 š3św
smt; šsw smt), ‘the land of the Shasu Yahu’ (t3 š3św Yh[w]; šsw yhw), ‘the
land of the Shasu Trbr’ (t3 š3św trbr); ‘Seir (in the land of) the Shasu’ (šsw
s’rr); ‘Laban (in the land of) the Shasu’ (šsw rbn); šsw psps ‘Pyspys (in
the land of) the Shasu’; šsw wrbwr ‘Arbel (?) (in the land of) the Shasu’.
Ramesses II claimed to have destroyed the land of the Shasu and captured
the mountain of Seir (Giveon 1971: #25). Reference is also made to the
tribes of the Shasu of Edom (Giveon 1971: #37). This locates the Shasu
in the area of Edom, Seir and Transjordan east of the Arabah.
But the question is complicated by the fact that Shasu are mentioned
in lists that include toponyms from other areas, some as far away as
Mesopotamia (Giveon 1971: ## 4, 5, 6, 7, 48). Also, Ramesses II’s version
of the battle of Qadesh refers to the capture of two Shasu who are spying
for the Hittites (Giveon 1971: #14). None of these examples proves that
Shasu came from other regions, since the topographical lists have diverse
names, and the spies accompanying an army would not necessarily remain
in their home territory. But another list seems to include mainly names
from northern Palestine or northern Syria (Giveon 1971: #13; cf. #12);
however, since not all sites can be identified, it is not decisive. The term
‘Shasu’ is variously taken as a socioethnic group, a sociocultural group,
or a geographical location (Hasel 1998: 220). However, up to the time of
Ramesses II, the hill-country determinative is consistently used of them
in texts, and differences from that in some later texts is explicable, which
means that the name refers to a geographical location (Hasel 1998: 220–5).
From the data so far known, it seems most likely that where there are
geographical indications, the Shasu are usually associated with a specific
area around the southern and eastern part of the Dead Sea (Redford 1992a:
272–3), the old area of Edom, Seir and southern Transjordan. If this is
correct, it undermines Ward’s statement (1992) that the Shasu represent
‘not an ethnic group but rather a social class’. His is a peculiar assertion
since a social class is not usually said to be a people and to have their own
country, while the text and the normal determinative used with the Shasu
indicate both a people and a territory.
 2. Second Millennium 55

It also often seems to be assumed that the Shasu were all pastoral
nomads (or just ‘nomads’ or ‘semi-nomads’). We shall be discussing the
question of nomads generally (§3.2.4.3), but as noted in the discussion,
nomadic pastoralism covers a wide-ranging spectrum and can include
those who raise crops, engage in trade, or even go raiding or robbing
caravans, alongside their livestock husbandry. A nomadic lifestyle would
have been best suited to the desert fringe around the southern end of the
Dead Sea, but the Shasu may also have inhabited more fertile areas and
engaged in farming, arboriculture, raiding, trade, and perhaps even copper
smelting (Levy, Adams and Muniz 2004; Levy 2009b). One Egyptian
inscription does say that Ramesses II destroyed the ‘tents’ of the Shasu,
using the common Semitic term ‘ōhel (Hasel 1998: 224). But it is not at all
established from the few texts that we have of the Shasu that their lifestyle
is exclusively nomadic: we do not appear to have enough information
from texts or archaeology to be definitive. The Shasu do not just wander
around indiscriminately but make up a Shasu country or territory (though,
as we shall see, nomadic pastoralists do not just ‘wander’ but migrate
purposefully). Although we know that pastoralism was characteristic of
some or possibly even most Shasu, we cannot say that this was the sole
means of livelihood of all of them: pastoralism is part of the general way
of living among settled peoples as well. But some inscriptions seem to
suggest that Shasu also live in towns (Giveon 1971: 114–15, #32; 240–1).
On the question of the Shasu and Israel, see §3.2.4.2.

2.2.1.5 Canaanites
In the biblical text the ‘land of Canaan’ is the common way of referring to
the area on the western side of the Jordan; similarly, the ‘Canaanites’ are
the inhabitants of this region. The Canaanites (sometimes listed as several
different tribes [see below]) are the traditional enemies of the Israelites
and also the bad example of the traits and practices that they are to avoid
(Lev. 18.3; Deut. 12.29-31; 18.9). Lemche (1991) makes a good case for
the biblical picture of the Canaanites being a literary construct, based
on certain ideologies. If he is correct, one cannot rely on the Bible for
information on the historical Canaanites. Lemche goes on to argue that in
other sources as well the term ‘Canaan/ites’ had no precise geographical
or ethnic content. Contrary to Lemche, however, original sources from the
second millennium BCE and elsewhere indicate a geographical content
to Canaan and Canaanite that is as specific and meaningful as many
other such names in the texts (Na’aman 1994b; Hess 1998; Killebrew
2005: 93–148; Rainey 1996; cf. the response in Lemche 1996b, 1998c).
56 Ancient Israel

I see no difference in the many references in the Amarna letters to other

geographical or ethnic entities. Many passages are not very specific, of
course, but a ‘passport’ from the king of Mitanni to the ‘kings of Canaan’
to allow his messenger to pass (EA 30) must have had some practical
purpose. Similarly, a number of the texts available are legal texts, such
as a note of indebtedness in which the debtor is identified as a ‘man of
Canaan’ (lú uru Ki-in-a-ni7ki: Rainey 1996: 3; Na’aman 1999: 32).
Lemche (1991: 152) makes the point that no one would have referred
to himself as a Canaanite. Whether that is true is debatable (cf. Na’aman
1994b: 408), though it might be true if the term was primarily a
geographical designation. But there are many examples in history of a
group of people who are known mainly by a name – even a pejorative
name – given to them by outsiders (for example, the names for the Sioux
Indians and the Eskimos in North America meant ‘enemy’). The present-
day trend to call aboriginal groups by their own designation does not
negate the fact that the group had an identity – even an ethnic idenity – in
spite of the use of a name that they themselves might have rejected. Also,
we do not have to know precise borders to a geographical area or territory
before the name has meaning. How many of us could give a precise delin-
eation of the Sahara, even though we all know basically what it refers to?
From the indication in the Egyptian, Ugaritic and Mesopotamian
sources ‘Canaan’ referred to what we call Palestine and Phoenicia
(Killebrew 2005: 94). Within that territory was a variety of ethnic groups.
Perhaps all the inhabitants of this region had a tribal or ethnic name for
themselves, in which case ‘Canaanite’ was an outsider’s term for any
inhabitant of the region. If so, our term ‘Canaanite’ as a contrast with
‘Israelite’ is nonsense: Israelites were as much Canaanite as anyone else
(Grabbe 1994b). Most of the references to Canaanite/Canaanites seem
to be geographical and support Killebrew’s decision to use it as a purely
geographical term. Yet the term seems to be ethnic in the biblical text (and
this might also be the case in a few ancient Near Eastern passages). It is
easy to explain this as a misunderstanding, especially in the light of other
biblical distortions with regard to the historical Canaanites. But there is
enough imprecision in our data to make us back away from dogmatic
statements. ‘Canaan/ite’ had meaning in antiquity, but whether we yet
have the precise usage pinned down might still be debated.
The biblical text’s references to Canaanites sometimes appears to be
generic, including all the inhabitants of the land of Canaan (Gen. 12.6;
Deut. 11.30; 21.1; Josh. 3.10; 5.1; 17.16, 18; Judg. 1.9-17, 27-33). At
other times, the Canaanites seem to be just one of a number of peoples
living in the land: Kenites, Kenizzites, Kadmonites, Hittites, Perizzites,
 2. Second Millennium 57

Rephaim, Amorites, Canaanites, Girgashites, Jebusites (Gen. 15.19-21);

Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites, Jebusites (Exod. 3.8;
23.23; 34.11; Deut. 20.17; Josh. 9.1; Judg. 3.5); Hittites, Girgashites,
Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites, Jebusites (Deut. 7.1; Josh.
24.11); Canaanites, Hittites, Perizzites, Jebusites, Ammonites, Moabites,
Egyptians, Amorites (Ezra 9.1). Also of interest are the Horites, though
these are associated with Seir/Edom and do not feature in the other lists
(Gen. 14.6; 36.20-30; Deut. 2.12, 22). How are we to understand these
lists? Na’aman (1994c: 239–43; 1994d) argues that a major displacement
of peoples occurred at the end of LB, at which time a number of ‘north-
erners’ migrated into Palestine, including a number of peoples from
Anatolia, such as the Hittites, Hivites, Girgashites and Jebusites (the
Perizzites are so far unattested outside the Bible). If so, far from being
enemies of Israel, they may have been one of the constituents of the devel-
oping ethnic group in the Palestinian highlands (§3.3).
To confuse matters, there is the archaeological usage of ‘Canaanite’
to refer to the material culture in Palestine that preceded Phoenician, etc.
(Sharon and Gilboa 2013).

2.2.2 Question of the Patriarchs

The question of the narratives about the ‘patriarchs’ – those who are
made the ancestors of Israel in Genesis – was strongly debated in the
mid-twentieth century. A variety of views was advanced. Perhaps the
most exotic was that of C. H. Gordon (1958, 1963) who argued that
Abraham was a ‘merchant prince’ who lived in the Amarna period, for
which he found parallels in the Ugaritic and other ancient Near Eastern
texts. Alt and Noth had followed Wellhausen’s dictum that the contents
of the texts reflected the history of the age in which they were composed.
Alt’s interest in the patriarchal texts was mainly in the religion reflected
there (cf. Alt 1966). But the Albright school was particularly effective in
promoting the idea that the patriarchal traditions contained ‘substantial
historicity’; the following statement by J. Bright is exemplary:

When the traditions are examined in the light of the evidence, the first
assertion to be made is that already suggested, namely, that the stories
of the patriarchs fit authentically in the milieu of the second millennium,
specifically in that of the centuries sketched in the preceding chapter
[twentieth to seventeenth centuries BCE], far better than in that of any later
period. The evidence is so massive and many-sided that we cannot begin to
review it all. (Bright 1980: 77)
58 Ancient Israel

The basic problem was that the only information preserved was what
could be found in the text of Genesis – there was no direct external
confirmation, either epigraphic or literary. A number of further problems
presented themselves, such as the following:
1. Except for Jacob/Israel the references to the patriarchs are attested in
Israelite tradition only late. Apart from the Genesis texts, Abraham
(1 Kgs 13.36; 2 Kgs 13.23; Isa. 29.22; Micah 7.20) and Isaac (1 Kgs
18.36; 2 Kgs 13.23; Amos 7.9, 16; Jer. 33.26) are little mentioned. R.
E. Clements expressed the view that ‘in the preexilic prophets, there
is no authentic reference to the Abraham traditions. Mic. 7:20 is a
postexilic oracle, as is also probably Isa. 29:22’ (TDOT I, 57).
2. The patriarchal narratives in Genesis in their present form reflect a
later time, with many anachronistic details: the Philistines are in the
land long before the migration of the Sea Peoples; Arameans (Gen.
22.21; 24.10) who are first attested about 1100 BCE in an inscription
of Tiglath-Pileser I; Arabs who first occur about the ninth century
(Gen. 26.12-18); the Chaldaeans (Gen. 11.28) are attested after
1000 BCE but are mainly important in the Neo-Babylonian period
(Ramsey 1981: 40–2) – while the migration from Ur has an inter-
esting parallel to the return from exile. There has been something of
a debate over the presence of camels in Genesis: Albright had argued
that this was anachronistic and made Abraham a donkey caravanner,
but Gordon and also some conservatives had claimed evidence for
the domestication of camels at an earlier time. The most recent
evidence for the domesticated camel in Palestine, however, seems to
be no earlier than the Iron Age, with the concentration of bones at
Tell Jemmeh, apparently a caravan centre, focusing on the seventh
century BCE (Wapnish 1997; Zarins 1978; Na’aman 1994c: 225–7;
Finkelstein and Silberman 2001: 37).
3. Archaeology has sometimes been drawn on in support of ‘substantial
historicity’, but the most recent study is mainly negative (see §2.1.1
above).
4. Chronology is a significant issue: if the patriarchs are historical,
when did they live? If the narratives are reliable, reliable for when?
Some writers act as if the chronology can be taken for granted, but
it cannot be. Having asserted how well the narratives fit the early
second millennium (as quoted above), Bright then went on to admit:

Granting the above, does the evidence allow us to fix the date of the
patriarchs with greater precision? Unfortunately, it does not. The most
that can be said, disappointing though it is, is that the events reflected in
Gen. chs. 12–50, for the most part, fit best in the period already described,
 2. Second Millennium 59

i.e., between about the twentieth and seventeenth centuries (MB II). But
we lack the evidence to fix the patriarchs in any particular century or
centuries and we have, moreover, to face the possibility that the patri-
archal stories combine the memory of events that took place over a yet
wider span of time. (Bright 1980: 83)

In fact, a number of other scholars dated the patriarchs many

centuries later than Albright and Bright: later in MB, in LB and even
in Iron I (Dever 1977: 93–6; Clark 1977: 143–8).
5. Mode of life. It was once assumed that the patriarchs were nomadic
and that this was uniquely in line with the early-second-millennium
BCE context (Ramsey 1981: 34–6). Much discussion has taken place
in the past few decades, undermining this argument (§3.2.4.3).
6. Names. Many parallels can be found to the names in the patri-
archal narratives. Bright asserted that they fitted the early second
millennium, but a number of his examples actually came from later
than the first few centuries of the second millennium. Names cannot
be proof, of course, because the patriarchal names can all be found in
the telephone book of almost any large Western city today; however,
it is interesting that a number of the names do not recur in the Israelite
tradition until the Graeco-Roman period. But as Thompson (1974:
35) points out, most of the names are typical Northwest Semitic
in structure. Some of the names for Abraham’s ancestors in Gen.
11.20-32 are actually topographical names in the region of Haran, as
known from Mesopotamian texts (N. Schneider 1952: Serug, Nahor,
Terah, Haran). On the name Benjamin, supposedly known from the
Mari texts, see §2.2.1.2.
7. Customs have been one of the main pieces of evidence. A good
example of this is E. A. Speiser’s commentary on Genesis (1964).
Drawing extensively on the Nuzi texts, he used them to illustrate
many passages in the patriarchal narratives. Yet at times his argument
was not that the biblical custom could be found in the Nuzi text
but that the custom from the Nuzi text was not understood by the
biblical writer – a rather strange way of arguing for authenticity and
reliability. In fact, many of the customs are not parallel to the biblical
passage, or either the Nuzi text or the biblical text have been misun-
derstood or misrepresented: for example, the idea that Eliezer was
an heir because he was an adopted son of Abraham but would not
inherit once Isaac was born was actually contrary to the Nuzi custom
(Thompson 1974: 203–30; Donner 1969). Abraham’s and Isaac’s
passing of their wives off as sisters (Gen. 12.10-20; 20.1-2; 26.1-11)
was said to reflect a Hurrian custom of adopting the wife as a sister.
60 Ancient Israel

The biblical text does not actually suggest such an adoption (Speiser
argued that the Genesis writer no longer understood this custom),
but the Nuzi practice was actually misapprehended by some modern
scholars (Greengus 1975; Eichler 1977). The best parallel to Genesis
23 seems to come from the Neo-Babylonian period (Tucker 1966;
Petschow 1965). In the end, none of the alleged customs demon-
strating an early-second-millennium background for the patriarchal
stories seems to have stood up.

2.3 Synthesis
The story of Israel and Judah began as such only at the end of the second
millennium BCE. Yet a full understanding requires a knowledge of the
history of Palestine throughout the second millennium and even more
broadly the history of the ancient Near East. Only a brief outline can
be given here, the main sources being the Cambridge Ancient History
(CAH), Klengel (1992), Kuhrt (1995) and Van De Mieroop (2004). In the
discussion that follows I shall divide treatment into early and later second
millennium, but the line dividing the two is really a broad band stretching
from about 1600 to about 1500 BCE.
The Middle and Late Bronze Ages cover much of the second millennium
BCE. Approximately 2000 BCE marks the end of the Early Bronze IV
(or Intermediate Bronze, in some terminology) and the beginning of the
Middle Bronze but also the end of the Ur III Period and beginning of the
Old Assyrian Period in Mesopotamia and the end of the First Intermediate
Period and beginning of the Middle Kingdom in Egypt. Then the point of
about 1600/1500 BCE marks the transition to the Late Bronze Age and
also the end of the Second Intermediate Period and beginning of the New
Kingdom in Egypt, and the beginning of the Hittite Old Kingdom. The
late Bronze Age is usually seen as ending about 1200 BCE, though some
have argued that it should be later, perhaps in the latter half of the twelfth
century, while a recent article would put it much earlier (Meitlis 2008).
Chronology for the second millennium BCE is often not certain (Van
De Mieroop 2004: 4). There are a few astronomical dates, which are very
precious but not very frequent. Events can also be co-ordinated by linking
them to the same event as recorded or mentioned in other regions. For
the most part, there are only a few fixed dates, with everything else fitted
around them. Basically, the earlier an episode the less certain its dating.
Over the years, three basic chronological schemes have been proposed, a
high, middle, and low chronology. In Mesopotamia, it all depends on the
dating of Hammurabi. In the early second millennium, up to 50 or more
 2. Second Millennium 61

years separate the higher from the lower chronology; in the late second
millennium, the differences are more like a decade (see further Dever
1990; Weinstein 1991, 1992; Hoffmeier 1990, 1991).
About 3000 BCE writing seems to have originated in both Egypt
and Mesopotamia, beginning the historic period for both regions. The
Egyptian priest Manetho, writing in Greek under Ptolemaic rule about
300 BCE, divided Egyptian history into 30 dynasties (Waddell 1940).
Although it is now recognized that Manetho’s divisions were not always
justified and some of these dynasties were contemporaneous rather than
consecutive, the dynasties became the framework for writers on Egyptian
history even to the present, despite better sources for certain periods.
According to Manetho, the first real king of Egypt was Menes who united
Upper and Lower Egypt about 3000 BCE and initiated the First Dynasty.
The Early Dynastic Period consisted of Dynasties 1–2 (ca. 3000–2700
BCE). The Old Kingdom covered Dynasties 3–6 (ca. 2700–2150 BCE),
during which time most of the pyramids were built. The Old Kingdom
ended with what is called the First Intermediate Period (ca. 2150–2050
BCE), a time of turmoil which Egyptian writers, with their emphasis
on order, found particularly abhorrent. This included the short-lived
Dynasties 7 and 8, when order (in the sense of strong central government)
began to break down, and then Dynasties 9–10, and finally Dynasty 11
during which central control was re-established.
The first civilization in Mesopotamia was in the southern region of
Sumeria. The Sumerians spoke a language not related to any other known
language, and it was for this language that the writing system on clay
tablets was developed. This was originally pictograms, but it soon became
clear that it was easier to outline the figures by jabbing the triangular
point of the stylus into the clay than to try to draw with it. Thus, the picto-
grams soon evolved into characters made up of wedge-shaped marks;
hence, the name cuneiform. Sumeria as a power came to its peak with
the Ur III period (ca. 2100–2000 BCE), when the city of Ur dominated
the region. After that the history of Mesopotamia belongs mainly to the
Semitic peoples further north, known as Akkadians (from the city Agade
or Akkad), a collective term for both the Assyrians in the north and on
the Tigris and the Babylonians on the Euphrates. They adopted Sumerian
culture (much as the Romans adopted Greek culture), including the
writing system even though it was not well designed for writing a Semitic
language such as Akkadian. Texts in the Sumerian language continued to
be copied and even new ones written well into the first millennium BCE,
but Sumerian was probably a dead language during most or all of this
time and used only for literary purposes, much as Latin was in the Middle
Ages.
62 Ancient Israel

2.3.1 First Part of Second Millennium (ca. 2000–1600/1500 BCE)

2.3.1.1 Egypt
The Middle Kingdom (ca. 2050–1700) was made up of Dynasties 11–12.
The Twelfth Dynasty was one of the most famous, reaching a height of
power and culture. However, it ended in the Second Intermediate Period
(ca. 1700–1550). This encompassed Dynasties 13–17. The length of the
individual dynasties is uncertain, but some of them were contempora-
neous. In many cases we have nothing more than the names of the kings
within the dynasties, though even here there are questions. The Second
Intermediate Period was dominated by the Hyksos (§2.2.1.1).

2.3.1.2 Old Assyrian Period (ca. 2000–1750)

With the collapse of Sumerian power, the Assyrians and Babylonians
tended to dominate Mesopotamian history for the next 1500 years until
the Persian conquest. The Assyrians were known much of this time for
their military prowess, but early in the second millennium they conquered
through trade, by establishing a trading empire in Anatolia. This was done
by merchants (rather than government) who set up trading colonies in
different cities by agreement with the city rulers (Larson 1976). Charters
were drawn up giving the merchants certain rights, some of which have
been preserved. The trade was mainly in textiles and tin (needed to make
bronze, the principal metal of this time). One of the figures who promoted
this sort of trading empire was Shamshi-Adad I (ca. 1800 BCE) who was
an older contemporary of Hammurabi and (like Hammurabi) of Amorite
ancestry (see §2.2.1.2 on the Amorites). He also conquered Ashur and
brought the variety of Assyrian city-states under his control, but the
empire collapsed after his death. For the next two or three centuries, we
know little about Assyria.

2.3.1.3 Old Babylonian Period (2000–1600)

The height of Babylonian greatness came in the early second millennium,
not to be equalled until the brief Neo-Babylonian empire (605–539
BCE). There were several rival states (Isin, Larsa and Babylonia), but
the area was united by Hammurabi of Babylon. The date of his reign
is very important for the chronology of this period but varies widely
between those advocating the high, middle, or low chronology: his dates
vary from ca. 1850–1800 to 1800–1750 to 1730–1680 BCE. Hammurabi
conquered many cities of the region, including the city-state of Mari on
the Euphrates. After the death of Hammurabi, Babylonia declined over the
next 150 years. It was finally devastated by a Hittite attack under Mursilis
 2. Second Millennium 63

I about 1600 BCE. This weakened the state considerably and allowed it
to be taken over by the Kassites, usually thought to have come from the
Zagros mountains. The Kassites are usually seen in much the same way
as the barbarian tribes who destroyed Rome. Babylonia was controlled by
the Kassites for the next three centuries until about 1150.

2.3.1.4 Hittites
The original inhabitants of Asia Minor were a group often referred to as
the Hatti. During the early second millennium BCE an Indo-European
people, the Hittites, infiltrated the country and became the ruling class.
They developed their own writing system, Hittite hieroglyphic, but
also used Akkadian cuneiform writing. It is uncertain how the empire
developed (compare the situation in the Old Assyrian period). The Hittite
Old Kingdom straddled the line between the Middle and Late Bronze Age
(ca. 1650–1500). A number of historical texts have survived from this
period. Mursilis I conquered Aleppo and Babylonia, opening the way for
the Kassite invasion; however, palace revolutions and Hurrian pressure
weakened the state.

2.3.1.5 Northern Syria

The sources for Syria are limited, but there are two main ones: the Mari
texts and the Alalakh tablets. Mari was a city-state on the Euphrates in
northern Syria. It has become quite famous because excavations begin-
ning in the 1930s have turned up many texts of diverse sorts, including
prophetic texts that predicted the defeat of Hammurabi. The kingdom
was ruled by various Amorite dynasties. Alalaḫ was further west. About
500 texts were found in the excavations of the city, mainly from two
periods: about 1700 BCE and the fifteenth century. They are mostly lists
of various sorts: inventories, rations, landholdings, loans, etc. They thus
tell us mainly about social, legal and economic aspects of the people,
though there are some documents about historical events. We also know
something about the city-state of Yamhad (modern Aleppo). There are
only scattered references, but these indicate a substantial state during the
Old Babylonian period, strong enough to resist the moves of Shamshi-
Adad I to take control. The city of Yamhad was destroyed by the Hittite
king Mursilis I about 1600 BCE.
A group of people known from Mari and northern Syria – but also in
central Mesopotomia – were the Amorites; on them see §2.2.1.2.
64 Ancient Israel

2.3.2 Second Part of the Second Millennium (1600/1500–1200 BCE)

2.3.2.1 Egypt
For this period the most important background is Egyptian history, though
this of necessity brings in the Hittites and Mitanni at various points. The
end of the Second Intermediate Period (on this see especially Ryholt
1997) ushered in the Egyptian New Kingdom, consisting of Dynasties
18–20 (ca. 1550–1050 BCE), which was a high point in the history of
Egypt. It was also the time in which we first find mention of Israel in
an extra-biblical source and provides the possible background to the
supposed events of the exodus and conquest of the land by Israel (but see
below). Dynasty 18 was responsible for the ‘expulsion’ of the Hyksos (see
§2.2.1.1 for the complications to what had happened). The New Kingdom
rulers first secured their northern and southern borders and then began to
expand into Nubia and Syro-Palestine. Ahmose (ca. 1539–1515 BCE) is
conventionally the founder of the New Kingdom and first king of the 18th
Dynasty. He conquered the city of Sharuhen, which seems to be the city
mentioned in Josh. 19.6 and is often identified with Tell el-Far‘ah South.
This meant that Egypt had nothing immediately to fear across the Sinai,
because with Sharuhen gone, there was no other metropolitan state in
Canaan of significance south of Hazor (Redford 2003: 190 + n. 24).
Some reference books mention expeditions by other early New
Kingdom rulers, such as Amenhotep I, Thutmose II, and Hatshepsut.
These campaigns are deduced from small amounts of information.
Redford (1992a: 149) is dubious of all but the excursion of Thutmose I in
the period of 70 or 80 years between Ahmose’s expulsion of the Hyksos
and Thutmose III’s taking of Megiddo. What we find is that for the next
three-quarters of a century after the expulsion of the Hyksos, the Egyptian
pharaohs concentrated on extending their borders south into Nubia.
However, during this period the new state of Mitanni was developing its
strength and extending its territory. Egypt ignored it for the time being,
but Thutmoses I (ca. 1493–1483 BCE) may have begun to see a danger (so
Redford 1992a: 146–9) and responded with an expedition to the Euphrates
and the Mitanni territory. We know little about this, though he appar-
ently set up a stela on the Euphrates. For the next 40 years, however, the
Mitanni threat seems to have been neglected. A razzia against the Shasu is
sometimes ascribed to Thutmose II (ca. 1482–1480). His wife, the famous
queen Hatshepsut, ruled jointly as regent with their son Thutmose III,
though she claimed sole rulership at times (ca. 1479–1458 BCE).
Because of his habit of having his various activities recorded in
day-books (Redford 2003), we happen to know a lot about what Thutmose
III did during his long reign which covered a good portion of the fifteenth
century (ca. 1479–1425). He already began his campaigns into Palestine
 2. Second Millennium 65

during his co-rulership with his mother and made many expeditions
when he became sole ruler. A couple of his campaigns to the north can
be mentioned in which he exhibited brilliance as a battlefield strategist.
Perhaps the most famous exploit of Thutmose III was in his 22nd year
(the 1st year of sole reign) when he took Megiddo by the bold move of
leading his army directly through a narrow pass in the Carmel ridge. This
was followed in year 33 by an exploit in which he defeated Mitanni. It
was under Thutmose III that the Egyptian empire reached its farthest
expansion to the north.
He was followed by Amenhotep (Amenophis) II (ca. 1425–1400 BCE)
who continued to keep the pressure on the northern frontier. He made
forays into Syria-Palestine during his 3rd, 7th, and 9th regnal years. In his
7th year, he came against Mitanni and its allies, including Ugarit. Follow-
ing him, however, there seems to be a hiatus for several rulers, though this
could be because the internal administrative system in Canaan and Syria
was working reasonably well. For example, there were apparently no
expeditions to the north under either Thutmose IV (1400–1390 BCE) or
Amenhotep III (1390–1353 BCE). But this was supposedly because these
territories had been brought thoroughly into line (Redford 1992a: 169).
It was mainly under Amenhotep IV, better known as Akhenaten (1353–
1336) that the Amarna texts were written (Redford 1984). The priesthood
and temples had been dominated by the cult of Amen Re, but Amenophis
promoted the cult of Aten (the sun disc). This ‘religious reform’ is still
debated by modern scholars, though the idea that it was the first example
of monotheism is probably exaggerated. Amenophis changed his name
to Akhenaten and built an entirely new city as his capital, what is now
Tell el-Amarna, giving the name ‘Amarna period’ to the mid-fourteenth
century BCE. After Akhenaten’s short reign of 16 years, his name
was blackened and even erased from inscriptions and monuments. The
powerful priesthood of Amen Re seems to have been partly behind this.
In any case, his new capital was abandoned. During the ‘Amarna period’
most of the territory of Palestine and Syria seems to have been claimed by
the Egyptians and by various vassal city-state rulers. Some of the Amarna
tablets were written during the reigns of the last Amarna kings (including
Smenkhkare‘ [1336–1334 BCE] and Nefernefruaten [1334–? BCE]),
but apart from Horemheb, these Pharaohs seem to have accomplished
little. Horemheb (1319–1292 BCE) was apparently the real leader of the
country when Tutankhamun (?–1324 BCE) came to the throne as a boy.
Reliefs in his tomb (found in 1975) indicate that he undertook campaigns
into Syria and Nubia on Tutankamun’s behalf. He claims that ‘his name
was famous in the land of the Hittites’ (H. D. Schneider 2001: II, 116). He
was outmanoeuvred by others at the end of Tutankamun’s life, and Aya
66 Ancient Israel

(1323–1320 BCE) succeeded him. It was only when Aya’s short reign
ended that Horemheb took the throne, though we know of no campaigns
to the north after this.
The founder of the new 19th Dynasty was Ramesses I (1292–1291
BCE), though Horemheb is credited with guiding the transition. Ramesses
I was aged and reigned only a year or so before Seti I (1290–1279 BCE)
took over to act like a new Thutmoses III. The thirteenth century is domi-
nated by active pharaohs who exerted themselves in maintaining their
northern possessions. Seti led an expedition against the Shasu in southern
Palestine. This campaign took place as part of one directed at Tyre,
which was also subdued, and brought the chiefs of Palestine in general
into line. He later attacked Amurru and retook the town of Qadesh. In
another campaign he marched against the Hittites in the Orontes Valley of
northern Syria. His successor Ramesses II (1279–1213 BCE) had a long
reign of 66 years and was a great military leader, at least in his younger
years. He had a campaign up the Mediterranean coast to Phoenicia and
perhaps to Amurru in his 4th year. The next year was the famous battle
of Qadesh. Although Ramesses retrieved the battle from a Hittite ambush
and it was more or less a standoff, on balance it was probably a defeat
for the Egyptians. The result was that Palestine rebelled against Egyptian
rule; however, after three years he retaliated and took many towns. He
continued to pacify his northern territories in year 10 and also in some
undated expeditions. In year 21 Hatti proposed a treaty, which Ramesses
accepted, but Egypt never recovered Qadesh, Amurru, or Ugarit. Strangely,
though, it is often proposed that the exodus and/or conquest of Canaan by
the Israelites took place under his reign – apparently overlooking that he
was one of the strongest of the pharaohs who had a firm hold of the whole
region well into Syria and reigned for so much of the thirteenth century.
Ramesses II’s long life meant that he outlived several of his sons who
had been designated his successor. He was succeeded by his thirteenth son
Merenptah (1213–1203 BCE) who was already middle aged. Merenptah
had been a successful military leader, but this was behind him. However,
Egypt suffered a Libyan invasion allied with a number of the Sea Peoples
in the 5th year of his reign. They were met in the western Delta region and
defeated. Merenptah’s inscription is mainly devoted to the Libyan victory
but also includes some Palestinian cities plus Israel at the end (§3.1.2).
How they relate to the Libyan invasion – if at all – is unclear. Several
short-reigning figures, some perhaps reigning simultaneously, followed
Merenptah. Sethnakhte (1190–1188 BCE), who was probably a military
leader, began the 20th Dynasty when Towsre (wife of Seti II) died without
issue. His son became Ramesses III (1187–1157 BCE), the second king
and one of the most successful rulers of the dynasty. His reign is best
 2. Second Millennium 67

known for at least two alleged defeats of the Sea Peoples in his eighth
year (ca. 1175 BCE). There are many questions about the Sea Peoples (see
§3.2.2). Ramesses III was succeeded by his fifth son (the others all having
died) who became Ramesses IV (1156–1150 BCE).
By this time Egyptian power over Canaan was weakening, but Ramesses
IV might still have maintained an Egyptian toehold since scarabs of him
have been found in Beth Shean and Lachish (Yasur-Landau 2010: 316).
The problem is that scarabs of Ramesses III are not followed by Ramesses
IV in Ashkelon XII (but instead by those of Ramesses VI). The Egyptians
might even have clung on to some power until Ramesses VI (1145–1139
BCE), since a statue of him was found in Megiddo: it is hardly likely that
a hostile population would have erected or maintained this statue. (Also,
scarabs of him are found with those of Ramesses III in Ashkelon XII, but
strangely not those of Ramesses IV, as we noted.) Toward the end of the
20th Dynasty, Egypt became divided into north and south, and control
over Palestine was gradually lost (probably ca. 1130 BCE [§3.1.1]). It was
succeeded by the Third Intermediate Period which lasted 400 years until
the Saite period (beginning 664 BCE).

2.3.2.2 Mesopotamia
The period of Kassite rule in Babylon was a lengthy one (1600–1150
BCE). Not much is known, though the older view that the Kassites were
seen as foreigners and illegitimate probably requires revision. Interest-
ingly, the rulers were designated as ‘kings of Babylonia’, that is, the
whole region, whereas previous kings had been kings of a particular city-
state. The Amarna archives contain communications between Egypt and
Babylonia, indicating that Kassite Babylon was an international power.
Kassite rule was weakened by conflict with the Assyrians, and rule of
Babylonia was replaced by rule from the city of Isin (Second Dynasty).
The Aramaean incursions caused problems, as did Elam (a power in the
area later to be settled by the Persians). Nebuchadnezzar I (ca. 1100 BCE)
defeated Elam and brought a revival of Babylonia’s fortunes for a time.
In Assyria there was a 400-year ‘dark age’ from about 1750 BCE to the
beginning of the Middle Assyrian period (ca. 1350–1050 BCE) during
which time we have little information on Assyria. The expansion of
Mitanni had brought about the loss of Assyrian independence (ca. 1400
BCE), but the defeat of Mitanni by the Hittites gave Assyria its chance
to regain independence and begin to exert itself again. The Assyrians
took some territory from Mitanni, including the region of Nineveh,
and eventually Mitanni itself (ca. 1300 BCE), now setting their borders
directly on the Hittite Empire. Contacts were re-established with Egypt
(known from the Amarna archives), and the Babylonians began to worry
68 Ancient Israel

about the new Assyrian strength as the latter shifted the boundary between
the two powers further south. It was not long before the Assyrians took
control of Babylon for a time (ca. 1200 BCE). Toward the end of this
period the Aramaeans became a threat by launching raids on Assyrian
territory and even taking some of it temporarily (§4.2.5).

2.3.2.3 Hittite Empire (ca. 1400–1200 BCE)

The term ‘Hittite Middle Kingdom’ was once used but has now generally
been rejected as a concept. The Hittite empire is also known as the ‘Hittite
New Kingdom’. As the Hittite strength grew, Egypt and Mitanni attempted
to counter it. The powerful Šuppiluliumas I (ca. 1350 BCE) conquered
northern Syria and made Mitannni into a protectorate. An attempt to
establish good relations with Egypt was thwarted, however. The conflict
with Egypt culminated in the battle of Qadesh (ca. 1300 BCE) between
Ramesses II and Muwatallis II, leading to a treaty between Ramesses and
Muwatallis’s successor Hattusilis III (ca. 1275 BCE). The kingdom seems
to have come to an end by internal decline rather than being destroyed
by the Sea Peoples as was once thought. It was succeeded by a series of
Neo-Hittite states that carried on for another 500 years.

2.3.2.4 Mitanni Kingdom (ca. 1600–1350 BCE)

The kingdom of Mitanni was once thought to be composed of two
different populations. The main group were the Hurrians, a people who
penetrated into northern Mesopotamia and Syria in the early second
millennium BCE. We know that Hurrians were found among the popula-
tions of many cities across Asia Minor and northern Syria, though most
of the penetration into Syria came after 1500. Their leaders were believed
to be Indo-Aryan, some of the ancestors of the migration of people from
southern Russia into Iran and northern India. Their names and some of
the few words of their language were also thought to support this. One
word borrowed by many languages across the region was maryannu
‘charioteer’, a word supposedly known from Sanskrit. However, although
Indo-Iranian influence can be demonstrated, it is now thought to have
been exaggerated, and claims are now made that the word maryannu is
Hurrian in origin.
The kingdom of Mitanni was made up of a union of Hurrian and
Amorite states. As it expanded it clashed with Egypt, but it concluded a
treaty with Thutmose IV about 1400 BCE. The Hittite king Šuppiluliumas
made Mitanni into a protectorate (ca. 1350 BCE), which allowed Assyria
to gain independence and expand. Not long afterward (ca. 1300 BCE),
Mitanni was destroyed by the Assyrians who took control of their
territory, despite its being a supposed Hittite possession.
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70 Ancient Israel

2.3.2.5 Ugarit
On this city-state, see §2.1.3.

2.3.3 Palestine
Once the biblical text is eliminated as having little to tell us about the
second millennium BCE, we are mainly dependent on archaeology
(summarized at §2.1.1), but we do have some inscriptions. It is important
to bear in mind that throughout the second millennium BCE, Palestine
was mostly under the thumb of Egypt. The history of the region is the
history of an Egyptian appendage. The Execration Texts (§2.1.2.1) give
the names of some cities. There are also a few texts describing individual
episodes, such as the capture of Joppa by the commander Djehuty under
Thutmose III (Goedicke 1968, though this seems to be legend with a
historical core), as well as accounts of military forays into Palestine and
Syria by various Egyptian kings (e.g., the taking of Megiddo by Thutmose
III [ANET 234–8] or the campaigns of Seti I into Palestine and Syria
[ANET 254–5]). The story of Sinuhe also offers insights (§2.1.2.3). It is
the Amarna Letters, however, that give us a real look through the keyhole
into the Palestine of the fourteenth century BCE (§2.1.2.2). The rulers of
a number of cities are named and an account (often distorted, of course)
of their activities is recorded for the Pharaoh by their neighbours (and
rivals). Of particular interest are the kings of Shechem and Jerusalem
who seem to dominate the highlands. The important period of transition
between the LB and Iron I Ages is discussed in the next chapter (§§3.1.1;
3.2.4).
 Chapter 3

L at e B r on z e to I ron IIA ( ca . 1300–900 BCE) :

F r om S et t l em en t to S tat e hood

This chapter covers a long period of about four centuries or more. No

doubt many will feel that this is too long a period of time to be covered by
one chapter, especially considering the importance of this period for the
current debate. Yet this chapter encompasses such a long period of time
precisely because interpretations vary so widely. If Iron I had been dealt
with in a separate chapter from Iron IIA, it would give the impression
of favouring one side of the debate over the other. For Finkelstein’s Iron
I extends through much of the tenth century, contrary to conventional
chronology. Thus, it seemed best to treat this whole period together, even
if it makes for a rather long chapter.

3.1 Sources

3.1.1 Archaeology
One of the most significant areas of discussion is that relating to
chronol­ogy, specifically the debate about the ‘low chronology’. This
is summarized above (§1.2.4.4), with that section presupposed in the
discussion here. Because of the debate over chronology, the following
archaeological survey will attempt as far as possible to refer to archaeo-
logical periods (Iron I, Iron IIA, Iron IIB) rather than specific dates. Note
that the LC and MCC coincide from the eighth and seventh centuries
onward (Finkelstein 1999a: 39). It is generally agreed that Iron IIB ends,
and Iron IIC (or, as some prefer, Iron III) begins, with the fall of Samaria
and/or the invasion of Sennacherib (ca. 720/701 BCE; see the charts in
Mazar 2005; cf. Ofer 2001: 30–1). The stratigraphic and chronological
framework for the Iron Age in Palestine is based on several key sites:
Megiddo, Lachish, Jerusalem and Samaria (Ussishkin 2007b). Jerusalem
is probably the most contested site of all those in the whole of Palestine. It
is vital for the period covering the so-called ‘united monarchy’. Finally, as
noted above, the invasion of Shoshenq has been used extensively to date
72 Ancient Israel

specific sites with a destruction layer. Yet whether Shoshenq’s topographi-

cal list relates an actual invasion of his or is only a traditional compilation
is very much a debatable point. In any case, a widespread destruction
by Shoshenq is by no means a certainty. Also, as Ussishkin points out,
Shoshenq’s treatment of various sites may have differed; for example, the
stela erected in Megiddo suggests a site occupied rather than destroyed.
The LB ended with a major collapse that seems to have affected the
whole of the eastern Mediterranean (Cline 2014; Drews 1993; Ward and
Joukowsky [eds] 1992). This is no doubt to be related to the frequent
mention in the Amarna letters of the ‘Apiru and other groups on the
margins of society: the rural decline left a vacuum that ‘Apiru and Shasu
moved into (Steen 2017). In any case, the general prosperity of the LB
age in Palestine came to an abrupt end sometime about 1200 BCE with
the destruction of the main centres: Akko, Hazor, Megiddo, Beth-Shean,
Lachish, Ashdod. Yet the ‘conventional wisdom’ that the Palestinian city-
state system came to an end at this time oversimplifies what happened
(Finkelstein 2003a: 75–9). Some city-states probably did decline or
disappear with the destruction of their urban centres, but the rural sector
generally experienced continuity, both demographically and culturally,
as is indicated by such sites as Tel Menorah, Tell el-Wawiyat and ‘Ein
Zippori. The peasants in the vicinity of the ruined LB cities lived as they
already had, and the northern valleys remained densely settled. In Iron
I (eleventh century, according to Finkelstein) the main centres began to
recover, the main exceptions being Lachish and Hazor. This ‘new Canaan’
was prosperous because of stability in the rural sector and trade with
Phoenicia, Cyprus and even further afield.
If we begin with the site farthest north, the current excavators of
Hazor have retained Y. Yadin’s assignment of stratum X to the tenth
century and stratum VIII to the Omride dynasty (Ben-Tor 2000; Mazar
2008). Although some 14C dates contradict this, Mazar notes that it seems
difficult to compress strata XB to VIII into 70 years in the ninth century,
as required by the LC (see Finkelstein’s response in 2005a: 38). The
conventional view equates Megiddo VA–IVB, Hazor X, Gezer VIII and
Beersheba V – all seen as evidence for the united monarchy (Finkelstein
1996a: 177). Thus, according to Mazar (2008), Yadin’s thesis of Solomonic
architecture at the three sites (Megiddo, Hazor and Gezer) might still be
correct. Finkelstein (1999b: 59) argues, however, that Yadin’s equation of
Hazor X with the time of Solomon creates chaos with strata IX, VIII and
VII, leaving no place for the important activities of Hazael in northern
Israel. A. Zarzeki-Peleg’s study of the pottery assemblages connects
Megiddo VIA with Jokneam XVII, while Hazor XB is later (1997: 284).
Thus, Finkelstein (1999b: 60) argues, Hazor X was built by the Omrides.
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 73

If we move back to LB, A. Ben-Tor (1998) is apparently still of the

opinion that the Israelites destroyed Hazor XIII and then settled it in
stratum XII (thus continuing to agree – more or less – with Yadin’s inter-
pretation). D. Ben-Ami (2001) gives a somewhat different interpretation.
He makes several corrections to previous interpretations (2001: 165–70,
my formulation). First, the destroyers of LB Hazor (stratum XIII) left
the site desolate and uninhabited. However, the ‘impressive Late Bronze
city of Hazor with its magnificence, monumentality, high status and
influence…underwent a violent destruction that apparently cannot be
related to the process of early Israelite settlement in Canaan’ (Ben-Ami
2001: 168–9). Second, there was a gap in settlement for a period of time.
Third, the settlement of Iron I was a temporary encampment whose pres-
ence was indicated by a large number of refuse pits. Fourth, although the
identity of those in this encampment is unknown, the material culture is
new, with substantial differences that suggest a different population. Fifth,
Yadin’s identification of two separate settlement strata (XII and XI) is
unsupported and only one occupational phase is indicated by the remains.
In the upper Galilee the ceramic continuity from LB II to Iron I
indicates that the population was indigenous rather than immigrants as
pictured by the biblical text (Josh. 19.24-48; Bloch-Smith and Nakhai
1999: 81). Settlement of the Jezreel and Beth-Shean valleys flourished in
LB, with a significant Egyptian presence at the administrative centres of
Megiddo and Beth-Shean. The collapse of Egyptian dominance resulted
in a general decline, with an impoverished culture (Bloch-Smith and
Nakhai 1999: 81–8). A number of small settlements existed in this area,
the majority established in the twelfth and eleventh centuries, with a
material culture suggesting continuity with LB (Gal 1992: 84, 92). The
suggestion that a new population took control (Bloch-Smith and Nakhai
1999: 83) appears to have little or no archaeological support.
Late Bronze II Megiddo (strata VIII/VIIB–VIIA), with an estimated
area of 11 hectares, was one of the most prominent cities of Palestine
(Finkelstein, Ussishkin and Halpern 2000: 593). With its monumental
buildings it appears to have been the city-state centre for the king and his
elite supporters. Megiddo thus seems to provide a good example of the
nature of the major city-states in Canaan during the later part of LB (over
30 sites were apparently subordinate to Megiddo), though the LB city was
apparently unfortified. The absolute dating of the LB II strata is not clear:
according to Finkelstein, stratum VIII can hardly post-date the mid-four-
teenth century; it is unlikely that there was no palace during the Amarna
period. Stratum VIIB alone would represent the city of the thirteenth
century. Stratum VIIA was then built in the late thirteenth century and
destroyed in the second half of the twelfth. Strata VIII–VIIA therefore all
74 Ancient Israel

represent one phase of urban continuity. Ussishkin agrees that Megiddo

was continuously settled throughout LB, including the Amarna period,
but the character of settlement was not uniform throughout the time.
Significantly, most or all the monumental buildings were constructed after
the Amarna period, while the Amarna settlement was relatively modest.
The conclusion seems to be that the stratum VIII royal palace and gate-
house and some other public buildings were constructed in the thirteenth
century.
Megiddo VIIA was destroyed in the second half of the twelfth century;
rebuilt as VIB in Iron I it began to prosper again in VIA (Finkelstein,
Ussishkin and Halpern 2000: 594–5). This city was destroyed in a major
conflagration. Megiddo VB was very different in character, with Iron
Age traits in its material culture and layout (Finkelstein, Ussishkin and
Halpern 2000: 595–6). In the transition from VIA to VB there is a change
both in the pottery tradition and the layout of the city; nevertheless, it
remained an imposing administrative centre (Finkelstein, Ussishkin and
Halpern 2000: 597). Ussishkin (2007a) argues that Megiddo stratum
VA–IVB or parts of it preceded the Omri dynasty and that this stratum (or
the preceding stratum VB) was probably the city captured by Shoshenq
in the late tenth century; however, Shoshenq did not destroy the city but
intended to make it his administrative centre. For a discussion of Megiddo
in relation to Samaria and Jezreel, see §4.1.1.
Thus, it seems that at least in the northern part of the country, LB
Canaan rose again in the late eleventh and early tenth centuries from the
blow of the mid-twelfth century (Finkelstein 2003a: 77). Other city-states
seem to have emerged at that time, at Tel Kinneret, Tel Rehov, Tel Dor and
possibly Tel Keisan. Iron I Kinneret replaced LB Hazor as the centre of
the upper Jordan Valley, while Iron I Tel Rehov was probably the focus of
a territorial entity that covered the Beth-Shean and eastern Jezreel Valley.
Late Bronze Tel Keisan continued to prosper and seems to have served
as the central site of the northern coastal plain (including Akko, and Tell
Abu Hawam IVA as its port). Iron I Dor dominated the coastal plain of
the Carmel Ridge and possibly replaced LB Gath (Jatt) as the main centre
of the region.
It has long been suggested that a number of innovations in technology
took place in the central highlands: terracing, plastered cisterns, the
‘Israelite house’, collared-rim jars and iron (Dever 2003a: 113–25).
Unfortunately, it seems there is no list of technologies that is exclusive to
this region and time or that can serve as ‘Israelite ethnic markers’ (§1.2.5;
Killebrew 2005: 171–81; Bloch-Smith 2003: 406–11; Kletter 2006: 579;
Hesse and Wapnish 1997). Terracing was used as early as EB; the early
Iron Age settlers in the highlands made use of an existing technology
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 75

(S. Gibson 2001). It is now argued that the collared-rim jar was already in
use in the thirteenth century along the Levantine coast and is the product
of a particular lifestyle or economy (such as the distribution of rations
to employees) and is not exclusive to the Cisjordan highlands or Israel
(Killebrew 2001; Raban 2001; Herr 2001). A. Faust and S. Bunimovitz
(2003) recently argued that the four-room house was particularly Israelite,
though they admit that a few such houses occur elsewhere, including in
Transjordan. Iron seems to have been little used, despite the name ‘Iron
I’: weapons and tools were mainly bronze (Bloch-Smith 2003: 417–20).
In this context of unique technologies, the question of pork consumption
has also often been discussed, as an ethnic indicator. The subject is a
complicated one, though there is a considerable drop in evidence for
swine in the highlands during Iron I and Iron II, in contrast to LB and also
the coastal plain where pigs remained a part of the diet. But Hesse and
Wapnish conclude that ‘no human behavioral evidence exists to indicate
that pig avoidance was unique to any particular group in the ancient Near
East… Lots of people, for lots of reasons, were not eating pork’ (1997:
261). S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman (2008) found that the total absence
of pig bones in Beth-Shemesh in Iron I was consistent with the minimal
percentage of pig bones in the hill country, in contrast to sites identified
as Philistine. Beth-Shemesh became a sensitive seismograph for social
changes between the regions, one such conspicuous boundary being pork
avoidance. This allows that the pig taboo as an ethnic marker might have
begun in the Shephelah and extended into the highlands, rather than the
other way round.
For the area of Ephraim we have the preliminary survey results
(Finkelstein 1988–89: esp. 144–54; Finkelstein 1988: 121–204). The
late Bronze Age had seen a demographic decline, but Iron I produced
a ‘settlement wave of unprecedented intensity’, especially in the desert
fringe and the northern central range (Finkelstein 1988–89: 146). This
produced a pattern of major centres accompanied by a peripheral popula-
tion. Finkelstein (1988–89: 148) argues that the population was densest in
the east at the beginning of Iron I but then moved toward the west, with
the cereal/animal husbandry economy also shifting toward a horticultural
one; however, Bloch-Smith and Nakhai (1999: 71) assert that the archaeo-
logical data do not support either of these conclusions. Yet a comparison
of Iron I and Iron II does indicate just such a population shift (Finkelstein
1998b: 357). Regardless, it does appear that the Ephraimite and Manassite
regions had the densest population of any region west of the Jordan.
Settlement of the less favourable slopes and foothills, with trees and brush
to be cleared, came later in Iron I and continued into Iron II. In Iron II
almost all the regions of Ephraim were intensively settled (Finkelstein
76 Ancient Israel

1988–89: 151–4). Compared with Iron I, the population had shifted west,
with some of the large sites in the east abandoned: Shiloh, ‘Ai and Khirbit
Raddana. Sufficient grain was grown in some regions, apparently, to allow
the western regions to concentrate on the important wine and oil produc-
tion. In the southern central range of the Ephraimite hills some sites were
abandoned and a fall in the population generally occurred in this region.
In LB and early Iron I, a clear difference separated the north and south
in the central hill country between the Jezreel and Beersheba valleys
(Finkelstein 1998b: 361; 1999a: 43–4). The north experienced significant
continuity, with most of the main sites continuing from LB into Iron I.
The Negev and Judaean hills had hardly any sedentary sites in LB; this
long settlement gap came to an end in early Iron I. There was a large
increase in small sites in early Iron I, especially in the central hill country
(Stager 1998b: 134–7; Dever 2003a: 97–100). This increase was largely
in the north, especially in the areas of Ephraim and Manasseh, and almost
entirely north of Jerusalem. The Judaean hills had hardly any new sites in
the early Iron I, and the region still remained highly pastoral (Finkelstein
1988: 52–3).
With regard to the Judaean hills, however, we find a significant differ-
ence of opinion. Most of the early Iron I sites were between Jerusalem
and Hebron, with hardly any south of Hebron. According to A. Ofer the
mid-eleventh to the tenth centuries saw a rapid growth in the Judaean
hills, including the more peripheral areas (Ofer 1994: 102–4). Based on
his survey results, Ofer (1994, 2001) argued that from the mid-eleventh to
the eighth century the population nearly doubled in each century. To Iron
IIA (a single identifiable ceramic stage) are to be assigned Tel Qasileh XI–
IX, Izbet-ṣartah II–I, Beersheba VIII–VI, Tel Edar III–II and Arad XII–XI
(Ofer 2001: 30–1). We see the beginning of settlement in the pasture areas,
and the first inhabitants of the desert fringe sites (e.g., Tekoah, ha-Qain,
Ma’on, Carmel). The Shephelah only began to be populated at this date.
Some of Ofer’s interpretation has been challenged. G. Lehmann
(2003) criticized Ofer’s survey from a methodological point of view
(citing a recent publication of A. Faust). He noted that deciding between
the conclusions of Ofer and Faust was currently impossible because the
political situation prevented the necessary testing. Nevertheless, Lehmann
(2003: 133, 141, 157) went on to argue, in contrast to Ofer, for a much
smaller settled area and a population more like 10,000 in Iron I and
16,000 in Iron IIA Judah (including Jerusalem), but these are maxima: he
reckoned Iron IIA at 5000 to 10,000, with Iron I correspondingly less. The
built-up area of the Shephelah was twice as large as Judah in Iron I and
perhaps even three times as large in Iron IIA (2003: 134). Yet Z. Herzog
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 77

and L. Singer-Avitz (2004: 220) critiqued Lehmann for nevertheless

accepting too many of Ofer’s data without question, though their study
confirmed the view that the highlands of Judah (including Jerusalem – see
below) were relatively sparsely settled, in contrast to the lowlands.
From a broader perspective the population density of the Judaean
hills was significantly less than the areas to the north. Ofer (1994: 107)
notes the difference between the results of the Judaean hills survey and
those of the Manasseh hill country and the land of Ephraim surveys. In
Iron I Ephraim and Manasseh were four times that of the Judaean hills,
and twice that in Iron IIA. In the northern highlands most of the LB sites
continued to be inhabited in Iron I, in contrast to the Judaean highlands
which had almost no LB settlements (Finkelstein 1999a: 43–4). Many
highland settlements disappeared in the later Iron I (Bloch-Smith and
Nakhai 1999: 78). Growth in the Judaean hills was slow from Iron I to
Iron IIA, in contrast, for example, with Benjamin where the growth was
243 per cent (Lehmann 2003: 134). Penetration into the desert fringe
and an increase in the population of the southern regions of the Judaean
hills in general characterized Iron IIA (Ofer 1994: 104). The continuity
of settlement from Iron I to Iron II was over 70 per cent, but the villages
increased in Iron II, with 60 per cent new (Lehmann 2003: 147–50).
Unlike Iron I, the sites were not at the highest elevation but tended to be
in the middle slopes, suggesting that the settlers were feeling more secure.
The more important settlements lined up with the north–south watershed
in both Iron I and IIA. The settlement peak came about in the eighth
century (Ofer 1994: 105). This all suggests that developments in the
central territory of Judah lagged significantly behind those of the north,
which has implications for evaluating state development in general and
the united monarchy in particular.
As noted above, Jerusalem is probably the most contested site in
Palestine. The main question is what kind of a settlement Jerusalem was
in Iron IIA: was it a minor settlement, perhaps a large village or possibly
a citadel but not a city, or was it the capital of a flourishing – or at least
an emerging – state? Assessments differ considerably, with Ussishkin,
Finkelstein, Steiner, Herzog, Lehmann and Singer-Avitz supporting a
minimal settlement; but many (including A. Mazar and, especially,
Cahill) arguing for the latter. Using Rank Size Theory, Ofer had argued
that the graph of settled sites required Jerusalem to be included as the
capital for the Judaean hill country to follow the expected pattern (1994:
97–8, 102–4); however, Lehmann’s Rank Size analysis shows just the
opposite (2003: 149–51). D. W. Jamieson-Drake (1991) was one of the
first who queried the status of Jerusalem, concluding that it did not have
78 Ancient Israel

the characteristics of a capital city, including monumental architecture,

until the eighth century BCE. Jamieson-Drake has been much criticized
for gaps in his data, but it seems that he was right as far as he went, though
he gave an incomplete description (Steiner 2001: 284).
J. M. Cahill (2003, 2004) has been one of the most vociferous voices
arguing for a substantial city as early as the tenth century. She dates the
‘stepped stone structure’ to the Late Bronze/early Iron transition, arguing
that both the stepped mantle and the terraces below it were built together
as a single architectural unit (Cahill 2003: 42). The fortification wall built
during the Middle Bronze Age remained standing and was repaired and
used until Iron IIB (2003: 71). Cahill summarizes her conclusions for the
tenth century:

My own view is that the archaeological evidence demonstrates that during

the time of Israel’s United Monarchy, Jerusalem was fortified, was served
by two complex water-supply systems and was populated by a socially
stratified society that constructed at least two new residential quarters – one
located inside and the other located outside the city’s fortification wall.
(Cahill 2004: 20)

Reinforcing Cahill’s interpretation, it has recently been argued that a

building at the top of the ‘stepped stone structure’ dates to David’s time
and could be his palace (E. Mazar 2006), though the proper archaeological
details have not been published; however, acceptance of her interpretation
is by no means universal, if conversations with other archaeologists
are anything to go by. The ‘stepped stone structure’ is itself the subject
of considerable dispute, with several positions being taken (Lehmann
2003: 134–6). In contrast to Cahill, Steiner (1994; 1998; 2003b: 351–61)
argues from Kenyon’s excavations that the stepped stone structure was
quite different in extension and construction method from the terrace
system. Where the terraces existed, only a mantle of stones was added,
but where there were no terraces the structure was built up from bedrock.
The dating and construction is confirmed by the pottery in the fill of the
terraces which was Iron I, with no mix of later material. Steiner would
date its construction to the tenth or early ninth century. In sum, the terrace
and stepped structure systems do not have similar boundaries, identical
pottery or the same construction techniques. From Kenyon’s excavations
she feels there is enough evidence to show that the structure went out of
use in the late eighth or early seventh century BCE when a new city wall
was built further down the slope.
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 79

As described by Steiner (2001, 2003a, 2003b), Jerusalem of the tenth

and ninth centuries was a small town occupied mainly by public buildings,
not exceeding 12 hectares and with approximately 2000 inhabitants
(compare this with Lehmann’s 2 hectares and 300–600 inhabitants in Iron
I, and 4 hectares and 600–1200 inhabitants in Iron IIA [Lehmann 2003:
135–6]). It exhibits the characteristics of a regional administrative centre
or the capital of a small, newly established state, the towns of Megiddo,
Hazor, Gezer and Lachish showing similar characteristics at the same
time. Excavations on the Ophel show the earliest buildings there date only
from the ninth century. E. Mazar had argued that the fortified complex of
this area south of the Temple Mount had been constructed as early as the
ninth century, but the more likely date is between the eighth and the early
sixth centuries BCE (Killebrew 2003: 336). E. A. Knauf (2000a) argues
that the centre of the Davidic city has not been found because it would
have been the area north of the Ophel, the area of the Temple Mount.
Although it is not possible to test this hypothesis now, that section of the
hill was a militarily strategic area and would have had to be incorporated
into any settlement on the southeastern hill.
The argument that the MB wall was used as a city wall in LB, Iron
I, and Iron IIA and IIB has no archaeological support: Jerusalem lacked
a fortification wall until the mid-eighth century when the MB IIB wall
was partially built over and partially reused for a new fortification wall
(Killebrew 2003: 334; Ussishkin 2003b: 110–11). This is supported
by recent excavations, such as the one at the Givati parking lot, which
showed that there were no IA IIA fortifications on the southeast ridge
(‘City of David’ settlement); rather, ‘all Iron Age fortification compo-
nents unearthed in Jerusalem are the outcome of one comprehensive
building operation that took place at the close of the 8th century BCE’
(Ben-Ami 2014). The lack of other finds relating to fortification suggests
that Jerusalem was unwalled and unfortified between LB and Iron IIB
(sixteenth to mid-eighth centuries), and thus Jerusalem was ‘at best
modest’ (Killebrew 2003: 334). Also, the elaborate water system of MB
IIB went out of use until the eighth/seventh centuries (Warren’s shaft
never served as a water system), as shown by the excavations of Reich
and Shukron (Killebrew 2003: 334–5).
In the transition from LB to Iron I the Shephelah suffered a massive
demographic decline, with 67 sites in LB but 25 in Iron I, and a reduction
of settled area from 105 hectares to 60 hectares (Finkelstein 1999a: 44).
The Shephelah sites seem to have prospered in the later Iron I (Bloch-
Smith and Nakhai 1999: 102–3). A number of lowland features of Iron
80 Ancient Israel

I later became characteristic of highland Iron II, primarily the collared-

rim storejars, the four-room house and the bench tombs. This indicates a
movement of some lowland peoples to the east and north (Bloch-Smith
and Nakhai 1999: 103). Y. Dagan (2004: 2680–1) concluded that in Iron
IIA the sites developed slowly as the process of Judaean settlement began,
with many ‘dispersed’ and ‘isolated’ structures, a situation unknown
in earlier periods, indicating a period of stability. With regard to the
central site of Lachish, it was rebuilt after a long habitation gap in Iron
I (Ussishkin [ed.] 2004: I, 76–87). Although little remains of this city
(level V), the inhabitants seem to be a new people with a new material
culture. Some have wanted to date level V to the tenth century and
connect it with the invasion of Shoshenq, but the latter’s inscription does
not mention Lachish (nor any place in Judah proper except Arad), nor has
any destruction layer been uncovered. Based on O. Zimhoni’s study of the
pottery (2004: IV, 1707) Ussishkin dated level IV to the mid-ninth century
BCE and level V to the first half of the ninth. (This incidentally supports
the LC, but Ussishkin notes that the interpretation is not conclusive.) If
Lachish V dates to the ninth, Rehoboam could not have fortified the site
(2 Chron. 11.5-12, 23) nor would Shoshenq have destroyed it.
The recently excavated Khirbet Qeiyafa has been the occasion of much
discussion, in large part because of the claims of the excavators that the
site was Judahite and disproved those who doubted the biblical account
of David (Garfinkel 2011; Garfinkel, Ganor and Hasel 2012a, 2012b;
Garfinkel et al. 2012). Their conclusions about the archaeology of the site
were criticized by Yehuda Dagan (2009) who had done a surface survey of
the area. Although Dagan’s objections are well-taken, there is the caveat
that surface surveys have some problems of their own (§1.2.4.3). The
excavators noted that Qeiyafa seemed to be a short-lived site that was in
existence only for some decades before being destroyed or abandoned
(until the Hellenistic period). Based on 14C dating, they put it in the
period of about 1025–975 BCE (Garfinkel and Kang 2011; Garfinkel et
al. 2012; Garfinkel et al. 2015); however, this dating has been attacked on
methodological grounds with the argument that raw 14C dates need to be
integrated with all the data, including pottery and other aspects of material
culture. Based on this approach, Finkelstein and Fantalkin (2012) argue
for a broader dating of about 1050–915 BCE; they even suggest that the
site might have been brought to an end by Shoshenq I’s invasion. There
is also controversy over whether the site is Judahite, as the excavators
claimed, or whether it might be Israelite (Finkelstein and Fantalkin 2012)
or even Canaanite (Na’aman 2010). The argument that it is to be identified
with biblical Shaaraim has also been opposed, with others identifying it
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 81

as Gob (Na’aman 2008; Finkelstein and Fantalkin 2012: 46–8). In short,

the implications of the site are still hotly disputed, and it is likely to take
some time for any sort of consensus to develop. (On the Qeiyafa ostracon,
see §3.2.5.)
It is often assumed that Judah controlled the Shephelah from an early
time, but a number of scholars have recently argued that this important
foothill region remained a source of contention until well into the ninth
century BCE or even later. N. Na’aman (2013: 263–4) argued that
Judah was already making inroads by perhaps the first half of the ninth
century. However, a recent study by G. Lehmann and M. H. Niemann
(2014) argued that the Shephelah settlements show a material culture
independent of both Philistia and the highlands; however, as the largest
city in the region (Maeir 2012b) Gath dominated the area, including the
Shephelah. It was only after the destruction of Gath by Hazael about 835
BCE that Judah was able to expand into the Shephelah. Na’aman (2013)
is quite correct that Judah probably had a non-aggression pact with Gath,
but such an agreement is unlikely to have allowed Judah to expand at
Philistine expense. On the other hand, Israel and Judah may well have
been vassals – or at least junior partners – with Damascus, who allowed
them to expand into new territory. Yet based on his excavations of eṣ-Ṣafi/
Gath, Maeir (2012b: 247–50) argues that Gath was probably occupied
by Judah in perhaps the mid-eighth century, which means that Judah
occupied the whole of the Shephelah (as far as Philistia) only in the late
eighth century, perhaps as late as the reign of Hezekiah.
In the Negev there was a settlement gap throughout LB but a renewal
in population came in Iron I. The Beersheba valley is normally too arid for
farming, but there have been a few periods of sufficient rainfall, including
the period from the thirteenth to the tenth centuries (Herzog 1994: 125–6).
This increased fertility and the peaceful conditions (apparently), and led
to population growth (approx. 1000 in the eleventh century). New settle-
ments included Tel Masos, Arad, Tel Haror, Tel Sera‘, Tel Esdar, Tel
Beersheba, Nahal Yattir and other sites. Some sites (e.g., Tel Sera‘ and
Tel Haror) were settled by Philistines, but the identity of those moving
into other sites is controversial (see the survey in Herzog 1994: 146–8).
The biblical text mentions a number of groups associated with this region:
Judah and related groups, Simeon, Amalekites, Canaanites, Kenites,
Calebites and so on.
A large number of sites were identified in the Negev Highlands
around Qadesh-barnea in archaeological surveys, about 50 of which
were identified as ‘Israelite fortresses’, perhaps built by Solomon (e.g.,
Aharoni 1967). However, a number of scholars have now questioned this
82 Ancient Israel

interpretation, arguing that they were desert settlements of local people

who were possibly changing from a nomadic to a more settled lifestyle
(see the summary in Finkelstein 1995a: 103–14; also Na’aman 1992c).
The main reason is that the location of the sites and their construction does
not fit what would be expected of fortresses; furthermore, there was no
renewal of them at a later time when Judah definitely controlled this area.
Finkelstein went on to develop the thesis of a polity, perhaps a ‘chiefdom’,
centred on Tel Masos that grew up when the population took control of
trade in the region (Finkelstein 1995a: 114–26; 2013: 126–7; Fantalkin
and Finkelstein 2006). Copper from the area (see below) probably formed
an important part of this trade, and when the copper trade declined, the
‘Tel Masos polity’ also declined. The Tel Masos ‘chiefdom’ was not
conquered by Shoshenq I; on the contrary, Egyptian interest in the copper
trade led to its expansion at this time
The transition from Iron I to Iron IIA was marked by a significant
abandonment of settlements. Tel Masos was destroyed or abandoned, but
it was rebuilt as a small fortress, and a number of other fortresses were
also established. It has been argued that these changes were the result of
intervention by the Jerusalem monarchy, but ‘the spatial distribution of
the sites in the valley and the demographic estimates does not support this
model’; rather, a good case can be made that the cause was environmental
(Herzog 1994: 143–5). Other suggestions are expanding highland settle-
ments or Shoshenq’s invasion (Finkelstein 2003a: 78–9). Certainly, the
sites most uncontroversially associated with the campaign of Shoshenq are
found in the Negev. The ‘Greater Arad’ of Shoshenq is generally agreed to
be Tel Arad (Finkelstein 1999a: 38–9). Arad has been much debated over
the years, with later studies substantially disagreeing with the original
excavator’s. Stratum XI had been identified with Shoshenq’s invasion,
but Zimhoni (1985) and A. Mazar and E. Netzer (1986) concluded that
XI must be later than the tenth century, which would make stratum XII
the Shoshenq level. The latest excavator Z. Herzog (2001; 2002: 58–72)
agrees with this. Thus Arad XI and Beersheba V (with the first Iron Age
fortifications in Judah) must be in the ninth century.
An important aspect of the economy at this time (as already mentioned
above) is copper production and trade. This centred primarily in the
Arabah around the sites of Khirbat en-Nahas and Wadi Faynan (or
Feinan). (On these sites, see §3.2.3.) Yet copper was also produced
elsewhere, including Khirbet Mana‘iyah in southern Transjordan and
Timna in the southern Negev (Ben-Yosef 2012; Ben-Yosef et al. 2012).
According to a number of hypotheses, control of the copper supply was
the primary driver behind a number of events in the Late Bronze/Iron I
(see further above and at §3.2.3)
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 83

3.1.1.1 Analysis
There is wide agreement that Arad XII and related Negev sites are
to be related to Shoshenq’s invasion (Mazar 2007, 2008). The use of
Shoshenq’s list of cities provided a chronological anchor of crucial impor-
tance (Ussishkin 2007b). Albright’s assumption that Shoshenq destroyed
the whole country has been widely accepted, but his actions might have
been varied: the erection of a royal stela at Megiddo shows that Shoshenq
aimed to hold the city, not destroy it. Thus, his list is useless as a secure
archaeological and chronological anchor, the only possible exception
being Arad XII. If Arad XII dates to the second half of the tenth century
and not later, this affects the dating of Lachish V, Tel Beit Mirsim B and
Tel Beersheba VII; however, Ussishkin (2007b) has some doubts about
the reliability even of this synchronization.
The main advantage of the ‘low chronology’ is that it closes the ‘dark
age’ of the ninth century (Finkelstein 1996a: 184–5). Its main disadvantage
is that it changes the entire understanding of the emergence of the Israelite
state. The monuments previously associated with the united monarchy are
redated from the second half of the tenth century to the early ninth. The
‘low chronology’ forces reconsideration of several issues relating to the
archaeology of proto-Israel. In the hill country, settlements of the tenth
century are not much different from those of the eleventh; thus, the real
transformation came about 900 BCE rather than about 1000 BCE, which
has consequences for a united monarchy. In the northern highlands this
transformation brought significant growth in the number and size of sites
and expansion into new frontiers and niches, while the southern highlands
were only sparsely settled in early Iron II.
‘Accepting the Low Chronology means stripping the United Monarchy
of monumental buildings’ (Finkelstein 1996a: 185). According to
Finkelstein (1999b: 39) many of the strata dated to the eleventh century
should now be dated to the tenth (Megiddo VIA; Beth-Shean Upper VI,
Tel Hadar IV, Jokneam XVII, Beersheba VII, Arad XII). Important for
our purposes are those redated to the ninth century according to the LC:
Megiddo VA–IVB, Beersheba V, Arad XI. Those strata dated to the eighth
and seventh centuries are not affected. The main mounds in both the north
and the south (Megiddo, Gezer, Beersheba, Lachish) would be dated to
the ninth century BCE or even later. Although inscribed seals and impres-
sions are known from the mid-ninth century, they are mainly found from
the eighth century onwards. Finally, the LC closes the unexplained gap
between the monumental architecture traditionally assigned to the tenth
century and the evidence of public administration for which we have
clues in the late ninth to the eighth. In sum, the tenth century is closer to
the previous period than to Iron II; the real revolution came in the ninth
84 Ancient Israel

century, more in the north than the south. The line between Iron I and
Iron II came in the early ninth century rather than about 1000 BCE. The
kingdom of David and Solomon would have been a chiefdom or early
state but without monumental construction or advanced administration
(cf. the early Ottoman Turks or Shechem in the Amarna age).
Mazar’s MCC seems to have been fairly widely accepted (even by
Finkelstein’s colleague, Na’aman [2013: 262]), but its extended Iron IIA
spanning both the tenth and ninth centuries means that ‘it would make
the position of those who wish to utilize archaeology for secure historical
interpretation of the tenth–ninth centuries BCE harder to sustain’ (Mazar
2007; cf. 2008). It also means that events that were dated to the tenth
century in conventional chronology – and which the LC dates to the
ninth century – are left unspecific in the MCC. Ussishkin has expressed
his pessimism about resolving the issues about chronology by normal
archaeological methods, referring to the:

ambiguity of clear stratigraphic evidence in many sites, and the difficulty

of comparing pottery from different regions of the country. Hence there are
possibilities for different interpretations and different chronologies. In my
view, as long as no new additional data are available, it would be impossible
to solve the chronological differences being debated at present. (Ussishkin
2007b: 139)

He goes on to refer to radiocarbon dating, a ‘method that has been

enthusiastically adopted’ by some scholars on both sides of the debate, but
‘this method is far from providing conclusive and perfect results’, for ‘the
interpretation of the same 14C tests can be fitted to different ideologies’
(Ussishkin 2007b: 139). As quoted above, Mazar has noted the problems
with radiocarbon dating but, nevertheless, refers to the results that he feels
support his case. It may be that radiocarbon data will lead to a resolution
or partial resolution of the debate, but this is likely to be only after a
substantial database has been established (Sharon et al. 2005).
Another conclusion (only partially divorced from the chronology
debate) is the difference between the development in northern Palestine as
contrasted with southern Palestine. This was largely due to geographical
factors: topography, geology, soil, rainfall, climate in general. The northern
region, both the hill country and the lowlands, was much more suited to
settlement, farming and fertility in general. The region of Judah was less
fertile, had a lower density of population, and developed economically
more slowly than Samaria. When one considers the longue durée, it would
have been extraordinary for the Judaean highlands to dominate the north
in Iron I or IIA. A number of archaeologists argue that the archaeology
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 85

does not support the text which depicts a Judaean-highland-centred united

monarchy. Those who do argue for archaeological support for the united
monarchy generally do so by explicit – or implicit – appeal to the biblical
text as the guide for interpreting the archaeology.
Jerusalem remains an area of considerable controversy, but those who
maintain that Jerusalem did not develop into a substantial city until Iron
IIB have current archaeology on their side (though the building recently
found by E. Mazar has intriguing possibilities). Those who maintain an
earlier development must argue on the basis of what is presumed to have
disappeared or what might be found in the future. This is why a substantial
argument is now made that the Northern Kingdom (in the form of the
Omride dynasty) was the prior development to a state in the ninth century,
with Judah coming along more slowly, reaching its height only in the
eighth century. But the debate continues.

3.1.2 Merenptah Stela

An inscription in the name of Merenptah, dating to his fifth year (conven-
tionally dated to 1207 BCE, though Kitchen insists it is 1209/1208,
while Hornung et al. 2006 also seem to put it the same as Kitchen), has
the first known reference to Israel and the only reference until the ninth
century. Accompanying it are reliefs from the Karnak temple that have
been associated with some of the events described in the poem (on these,
see below). Most of the inscription is about Merenptah’s defeating the
Libyans who attempted to conquer Egypt, along with help from a revolt
in Nubia. It is only right at the end that statements are made about other
peoples supposedly conquered by Merenptah, one of which seems to be
Israel:

Tjehenu is seized, Khatte is pacified,

Pekana’an (Gaza) is plundered most grievously
Ashkelon is brought in and Gezer captured,
Yeno’am is turned into something annihilated,
Israel is stripped bare, wholly lacking seed!
[Ysr3r fk(w) bn prt.f]
Kharu has become a widow for Egypt
And all lands are together at peace.
(translation of Redford [1986b: 197];
textual quote from Niccacci 1997: 64)

Although the reading ‘Israel’ (for Egyptian Ysr3r) has been widely
accepted, not everyone agrees. For example, the name Ysr3r has been
read as ‘Jezreel’, as well as some less credible renderings (Eissfeldt 1965;
86 Ancient Israel

Margalith 1990: 228–30; Hasel 1998: 195–8; Hjelm and Thompson 2002:
13–16). From a philological point of view, this seems an unlikely reading,
as do some of the other suggestions (Hasel 1998: 197–8; Kitchen 2004:
270–1; cf. Dever 2009). All in all, it seems that the reference to Israel is
reasonably secure. Much debate has centred around the determinative
(cf. Yurco 1986: 190 n. 3; Hasel 1998: 198–9). The other three names
have the three-hills and throw-stick signs, which are normally used for
a foreign territory, whereas Israel has a seated man and woman with the
throw-stick, which suggests a people rather than a fixed geographical site.
These data have been used in arguments about Israel’s origins (§3.2.4.2).
Another question concerns the phrase ‘his seed is not’ (bn prt.f). It has
often been taken metaphorically to refer to ‘descendants, offspring’ (e.g.,
Niccacci 1997: 92–3), but recently it has been argued that this means
‘grain’, suggesting that Israel is a sedentary community of agriculturists at
this time (Hasel 1998: 201–3; 2003: 20–6). Rainey (2001) argues strongly
that it should be understood as ‘descendants’, though this translation is
taken as evidence for his own interpretation of how Israel originated.
The question is, is this inscription only a piece of royal propaganda – a
triumph-hymn – with little or no historical value (cf. Hjelm and Thompson
2002)? It is one of four sorts of royal inscription and includes extravagant
praise of the king as a matter of course, but this by itself does not resolve
the matter because factual material is also included at relevant points in
such inscriptions (Kitchen 2004: 260–5). The argument – really, more
of an assertion – that Israel is only an eponym (‘analogous to Genesis’
Israel: the patriarch of all Palestine’s peoples’) ignores the determinative,
which is plural and which refers to a people. According to Kitchen (2004:
271) the oft-made statement that a number of errors in determinatives
are found in the inscription is incorrect. As for Israel’s being paired with
Kharu, this is only one possible analysis. In fact, a number of different
literary structures have been seen in the passage (summarized in Hasel
1998: 257–71). There is also the question of whether Pekana’an refers to
‘Canaan’ or ‘Gaza’ (Hasel 2003 argues it is the former). In spite of Hjelm
and Thompson, the conclusion that this inscription ‘has been considered
correctly as concrete proof of an Israel in Palestine around 1200 BCE’
(Lemche 1998a: 75) remains the most reasonable one.
More controversial are the reliefs (Redford 1986b; Yurco 1986; 1997:
28–42; Hasel 1998: 199–201; 2003; Dijkstra 2011, 2017). The reliefs in
question depict ten different scenes: the first four are the main ones, which
picture the Pharaoh triumphant in battle; the fifth pictures bound Shasu
prisoners; and the sixth shows Canaanite captives being led to a chariot.
Redford (1986b) has argued that the inscriptions originally related to
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 87

Rameses II and have been altered to fit later rulers, and there is no reason
to associate all of them with Merenptah who was in poor health and
decrepit when he came to the throne. There ‘is absolutely no evidence that
Merenptah attacked all these places during his short reign. To the best of
our knowledge, during his rule there occurred no triumph over Khatte…
nor any defeat of Gaza or Yeno’am’ (Redford 1986b: 197).
F. Yurco has argued (against Redford) that the first four reliefs can be
equated with the four names in the inscription (Yurco 1986; 1997: 28–42).
In other words, scene 1 describes the conquest of Ashkelon; scene 2, of
Gezer; scene 3, of Yano’am; and scene 4, of Israel. He concludes that
the scenes pictured agree with the determinative that accompanies each
name, with the first three shown as cities and the fourth (Israel) as a
people but not a city. Yurco’s argument that the reliefs are to be ascribed
to Merenptah seems to have won over some (cf. Kitchen 2004: 268–70) –
though Redford seems to maintain his position (1992a: 275 n. 85). But
the equation of the reliefs with the four names in the inscription is rather
less secure (Rainey 2001: 68–74). In only the first scene is the site named
(Ashkelon), but no names are found in scenes 2–4. Also, it may be that
there were once other scenes on the wall that are now missing because
of deterioration of the structure. Thus, the relating of specific names to
specific scenes is much more hypothetical than Yurco seems to allow.
The interpretation of the reliefs is important to the various antagonists
primarily because of the identity of the peoples being defeated. Yurco’s
main concern seems to focus on the dress of those fighting the Egyptians.
He argues that the defeated Israelites have the typical dress of the
Canaanites, providing evidence that Israelites were like (and thus arose
from) the Canaanites. Rainey (2001: 72–4) argues that, on the contrary,
the Israelites are to be identified with another group who are pictured in
scene 5: the Shasu (also Redford 1986b: 199–200). Although this seems
to be a definite possibility, his arguments for a positive identification seem
to be no stronger than those of Yurco for the Canaanites.
M. Dijkstra (2011, 2017) agrees with Redford that a succession of
rulers copied or imitated reliefs of Ramesses II at Karnak, so that the
reliefs are best seen as examples of long-term political claims about the
Levant. The ‘Victory’ inscription is mainly about the Libyan war in which
the Libyan leader used elements of the Sea Peoples as mercenaries. The
Sea Peoples are not always easy to distinguish from the Shasu, and the
lower register on the wall seems to picture a standard coalition of Asiatics,
Shasu and representatives of the Sea Peoples. There is considerable doubt
about a clear parallelism between the reliefs and the text, and we cannot
be sure that an attempt is being made to represent ‘Israel’. ‘Israel’ was on
the margin of Egypt’s interest until at least 1100 BCE.
88 Ancient Israel

Finally, there is the question of where Israel is supposed to reside. A

number have asserted that it refers to the hill country (e.g., Dever 2001:
118–19). Kitchen (2004) argues that each name refers to a section of
Palestine: Ashkelon to the coast, Gezer to the inland area, Yano’am to the
Galilee; therefore, Israel would refer to the hill country. This is far from
cogent. There is nothing in the inscription to suggest that the individual
names were meant to refer to a specific part of the country – Merenptah
may just be listing sites and peoples conquered. Also, the sections of
Palestine listed for the first three names by Kitchen do not cover all the
territory except the hill country: what of the valley of Jezreel, the Jordan
Valley, the Negev, the Transjordanian region, the plain of Sharon and
so on? N. Na’aman (1994c: 247–9) points out that it is possible that the
author mentioned the cities first and then the people, so there was no
sequential listing. The conjectured location is highly speculative: some
put ‘Israel’ in the area of Shechem, but the Egyptians called it ‘the land
of Shechem’ or ‘the mountain of Shechem’; putting Israel in Manasseh
is nothing more than guesswork. In conclusion, it is ‘best to refrain from
building on this isolated reference any hypothesis concerning the location
and formulation of Israel at that time’ (Na’aman 1994c: 249). Thus, no
argument has so far been presented to pin down the exact location in the
land of this entity Israel. Ultimately, the only thing we can say is that the
inscription proves there was an entity called ‘Israel’ in Palestine about
1200 BCE. This is an important datum, but it does not allow us to be
certain of where it was located (if indeed there was a single location) or
the precise organization or status of this entity ‘Israel’.

3.1.3 Medinet Habu and Related Inscriptions

Rameses III’s temple at Medinet Habu is very important for reliefs and
inscriptions that relate to the invasion and defeat of the Sea Peoples (ANET
262–6; ARE IV, §§59–82; O’Connor 2000; Wachsmann 2000), along with
a few other sources of lesser importance (Redford 2000: 8). These are not
straightforward historical accounts but require a fully critical approach;
nevertheless, with a careful reading much can be learned (Redford 2000;
see also §3.2.2 below). The following excerpt is taken from ANET (italics
and square brackets in the original):

(16) …The foreign countries made a conspiracy in their islands. All at

once the lands were removed and scattered in the fray. No land could stand
before their arms, from Hatti, Kode, Carchemish, Arzawa, and Alashiya
on, being cut off at [one time]. A camp [was set up] in one place in Amor.
They desolated its people, and its land was like that which has never come
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 89

into being. They were coming forward toward Egypt, while the flame was
prepared before them. Their confederation was the Philistines, Tjeker,
Shekelesh, Denye(n), and Weshesh, lands united. They laid their hands
upon the lands as far as the circuit of the earth… I organized my frontier in
Djahi, prepared before them: – princes, commanders of garrisons, (20) and
maryanu. I have the river-mouths prepared like a strong wall, with warships,
galleys and coasters. (ANET 262)

For further on the interpretation of this text, see §3.2.2 below.

3.1.4 Report of Wenamun

One interesting text is the Report of Wenamun, about a journey to the
Phoenician and Palestinian area (AEL II, 224–30; Helck 1986). The text
is usually dated to the early eleventh century BCE, allegedly before Egypt
lost its hold on the region. It is evidently a work of fiction but appears
to give some useful insights into the relationship between Egypt and the
Phoenician area and may contain some helpful incidental details.

3.1.5 Shoshenq I’s Palestinian Inscription

According to 1 Kgs 14.25-28 a King Shishak of Egypt came up against
Jerusalem in Rehoboam’s fifth year and took all the treasures of the
temple. When an inscription of Shoshenq I (ca. 943–923 BCE), founder
of the 22nd Dynasty, was found at Karnak listing many topographical sites
in Palestine, a connection was made with the passage in the Bible and
has been the standard view ever since. All seem to agree that Shoshenq’s
expedition was a signal event in Israel’s history, but precisely what
happened on the ground and even when the invasion took place is consid-
erably disputed. The conventional view is heavily informed by the Bible.
According to it, Shoshenq’s army made a number of destructive raids on
various parts of Palestine, destroying many sites in the Negev and even
as far north as Megiddo; however, Jerusalem did not fall because the
Pharaoh was bought off by Rehoboam.
A number of studies have addressed the issue of Israel/Judah and
Shoshenq’s ‘invasion’ beginning with M. Noth’s study in 1938 (for
a survey of earlier studies, see K. A. Wilson 2005; also Helck 1971:
238–45; Schipper 1999: 119–32; Ash 1999: 50–6; Na’aman 1992c;
Finkelstein 2002c). Most have assumed that Shoshenq conducted an
invasion of Palestine, that the inscription gives some sort of invasion
route, that the inscription can be reconciled with the biblical text and that
the archaeology matches the inscription. There have, nevertheless, been
some problems, especially the fact that Israel and Judah are not mentioned
90 Ancient Israel

specifically, that no site in Judah occurs in the inscription, that the

toponyms cannot be worked into any sort of itinerary sequence and that
the biblical text says nothing about an invasion of the Northern Kingdom.
It might not be surprising that a Jerusalem scribe did not record the
details of Shoshenq’s raids on Israel, but why omit the destructive attacks
on the Negev, which was a part of Judah – at least, in the eyes of the
Bible? Leaving aside the Jerusalem question, there is still considerable
disagreement about how to interpret Shoshenq’s inscription. Was it a raid
or primarily an occupation – albeit temporary – of the land? Various expla-
nations have been given of the order of toponyms as they might relate to
the progress of the invasion, but none has been completely convincing.
Now, however, K. Wilson has investigated Shoshenq’s inscription in the
context of other Egyptian triumphal inscriptions. He concludes:

• Triumphal inscriptions were designed to extol the Pharaoh’s exploits,

not provide historical data.
• The reliefs glorify all the exploits of the king rather than a particular
campaign.
• The topographical lists are not laid out according to any system that
allows a reconstruction of the military route.
• The sites listed may in some cases be those attacked, but others not
attacked – indeed, friendly towns and allies – might be listed as well.
• The lists were apparently drawn in part from military records and
onomastical lists, which means that some data of value for certain
purposes may be included.

The implications of these conclusions are considerable. Rather than

recording a particular campaign into Palestine, Shoshenq’s inscription
may include more than one (as maintained by Knauf 2008a). This would
help to explain the vague nature of the inscriptions that accompany the
topographical lists, without clarifying the reasons for or objectives of the
‘invasion’. In any case, the precise nature and progress of the campaign(s)
cannot be worked out. More puzzling is the lack of any reference to Judah
or Jerusalem as such. The argument is that this was in a section of the
inscription that is no longer readable. This argument is still maintained
by the latest study of the Shoshenq inscription by Kevin Wilson (2005). It
must be said that this argument, while possible, is not compelling. Another
obvious interpretation is that Shoshenq bypassed Judah – or at least, the
Judaean highlands – because it did not suit his purpose, and the biblical
writer got it wrong. Interestingly, the solution that seems to be agreed on
by both A. Mazar (2008: 107–10) and Fantalkin and Finkelstein et al.
(2008: 37–9) is that Shoshenq was indeed interested in Judah because of
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 91

the copper trade. This could make Jerusalem not just a stage in the invasion
but its main object (though not Finkelstein’s view). This is an interesting
interpretation, though one might ask why Shoshenq then pushed on north
as far as the Jezreel Valley if he had already reached his objective.
Finkelstein, among others, argues that the main phase of prosperity was
post-Shoshenq and that the sites in the south were primarily not destroyed
but abandoned (Finkelstein et al. 2008). They point out that Shoshenq
also does not mention the Philistine cities, which could be significant.
Finkelstein interprets this as evidence for their control of the copper trade.
But whether or not that is right, we have to ask why the Philistines were
omitted. If the Egyptian expedition was a general attack on Palestinian
cities in Israel and Judah, why should the Philistine plain be left out?
Could these cities have a particular relationship with Egypt? Or was the
Shoshenq operation a more complex one? David Ussishkin (2008: 205–6)
makes the reasonable argument that Shoshenq would hardly set up his
stela in a ruined city, but suggests that Megiddo was not just attacked but
was occupied to become a regional headquarters. To me, this calls for a
rethink of how destructive Shoshenq’s raid was, as opposed to dominance
and intimidation.
A final question is when this raid took place. The biblical text places it
under Rehoboam, but some have wanted to put it earlier, under Solomon’s
time (see the discussion and references in Finkelstein 2002c: 110; see also
Niemann 1997: 297–9). We do not know within Shoshenq’s reign when
the excursion took place: some want to place it early in his reign but
others prefer later. Too many simply project into Egyptian history the date
they have calculated for Rehoboam’s reign. Thus, the lack of knowledge
about the date of Shoshenq’s campaign, its precise nature and the dating
of Solomon’s rule all contribute to a great deal of uncertainty

3.1.6 Biblical Text

Most of the texts of relevance to this time period are from the Pentateuch
or the Deuteronomistic History (DtrH). Both of these are collections that
scholarly consensus regards as late compilations but possibly having early
material in certain sections. A detailed analysis is not possible here, but
some of the main issues relating to historicity will be touched on.

3.1.6.1 Pentateuch
The Pentateuch has already been discussed (see §2.1.5). The main texts
relevant for Israel’s settlement in the land are the books of Exodus and
Numbers. These revolve around the exodus and are discussed below
specifically with regard to the exodus (§3.2.1). For texts relating to the
settlement, see the next section and §3.2.4.1.
92 Ancient Israel

3.1.6.2 Deuteronomistic History (DtrH)

The composition of DtrH continues to be debated (Römer 2005; Lipschits
2005: 272–304; O’Brien 1989; Campbell and O’Brien 2000). Most
specialists choose between an ascription to either a twofold composition,
the first edition in the late seventh century and the second in the exilic
period, or a single composition in the sixth century (though there are
several variants of these, especially of the latter, since edits and additions
are proposed for the single composition). In each case, the compiler(s)
would have used a variety of traditions, as well as making their own edits
and additions. On the question of Joshua and history, see N. Na’aman
(1994c) and E. A. Knauf (2008b; 2010a). A survey of recent scholarship
on Judges is given by K. M. Craig (2003): see also Knauf (2010b). The
historicity of Kings has also been much discussed, recently summarized
by Avioz (2005); also Grabbe 2016. I have argued that the DtrH used a
Judahite chronicle for information on the Judahite and Israelite kings from
the early ninth century (§4.1.7.2), but this generally does not help us in
this chapter. For further information on Joshua and Judges as they relate
to the Late Bronze Age, see §3.2.4.1.

3.2 Analysis
Several controversial issues need to be discussed at some length in this
section, relating to the history of biblical scholarship (e.g., the exodus and
conquest) as well as to current issues. Some of these may no longer be
live issues in the minds of many but are still discussed and still accepted
by some.

3.2.1 The Question of the Exodus

The idea that the ancestors of Israel were in Egypt for a period, that
they were oppressed, that they came out of Egypt ‘with a high hand’
(Exod. 14.8) and that they entered the promised land after a period in the
wilderness is a major concept in the biblical text. How historical is this?
The last part of the picture – the conquest of the land of Canaan – will be
discussed below, but here we focus on the general question of the exodus.
Two recent works have a good deal of information on this question
(Grabbe 2014; Levy, Schneider and Propp [eds] 2015). Several issues are
involved:

1. The exodus tradition in the biblical text. The vast bulk of the
Pentateuchal text describing the exodus and related events seems
to be quite late (Albertz 1994: 23–4, 42–5: ‘exilic or early post-
exilic’). The question is whether the exodus is presupposed in early
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 93

texts. It was once widely argued that the exodus was embodied in
certain passages quoting an early Israelite ‘credo’ (Rad 1965), but
subsequent study suggested that some of these passages (e.g., Deut.
6.21-23; 26.5-9; Josh. 24.2-13) were actually late (Nicholson 1973:
esp. 20–7). Some point out that Hosea (12.1; 13.4), for example,
presupposes the exodus tradition. Not everyone is confident any
longer in such literary analysis; in any case, this would take us back
only to the eighth century, long after the alleged event. Whatever the
reality, it is clothed in a thick layer of mythical interpretation (cf.
Assmann 2015; Berner 2015; Finkelstein 2015; Hendel 2015; Maeir
2015; Propp 2015; Römer 2015; Russell 2015; Schmid 2015). The
Pharaoh is a generic figure, without a name. A series of ten miracles
is enacted – and attempts to find naturalistic explanations (e.g., Hort
1957) miss the point: the aim of the narrative is to magnify the power
of Yhwh and his servant Moses. In looking at various naturalistic
models, Mark Harris (2015) is quite right to ‘question whether such
a model provides a good reading of the text of Exodus 14–15’ (italics
in the original omitted). According to the plain statement of the text,
600,000 men of military age came out; with the elderly, women and
children, the number would have been at least three or four million
(Grabbe 2000c). The crossing of the Red Sea seems to mix a more
naturalistic account, in which an east wind moves the waters (Exod.
14.21), with a more miraculous one in which the sea divides and the
water stands on either side like walls (Exod. 14.22-29). F. M. Cross
(1973: 121–44) attempted to argue that a naturalistic account, in
which the Egyptians died in a storm as they pursued the Israelites
across the sea in boats, is reflected in Exod. 15.7, but his philological
analysis is flawed (Grabbe 1993b). Thus, even if Exodus 15 is an
example of early poetry as some argue (e.g., Robertson 1972; Cross
and Freedman 1955; Cross 1973: 121–44; Hendel 2015), it does
not appear to give a picture different from the surrounding narrative
(for the argument that Exodus 15 is not early, see Noth 1962). The
biblical text does not provide any particular time for Israel’s coming
out of Egypt, and a number of the dates assigned to the event depend
on data not really relating to the exodus itself (e.g., the settlement,
the Merenptah Stela).
2. Semites in Egypt. A number of Egyptian texts from the second
millennium BCE mention peoples who were non-Egyptian and
probably Semitic (see the survey in Malamat 1997). The Egyptian
texts refer to ‘foreigners’ under the categories of ‘Asiatics’ (‘3mw),
Nubians and Libyans (Leahy 2001: 548). None of the ‘Asiatics’
mentioned in Egyptian texts is referred to in such a way as to make
94 Ancient Israel

one identify them with Israelites (though see the discussion on the
Shasu at §2.2.1.4). What it does indicate is that the idea of people
from Syro-Palestine – including possibly some early Israelites –
living for a time in Egypt is not in and of itself problematic. One text
refers to Shasu bringing their livestock into Egypt (Giveon 1971:
#37). Yet there were also Egyptian traditions of a Semitic (or Asiatic)
people in Egypt who were driven out, probably based at least in
part on a memory of Hyksos rule (Redford 2015). In that sense, the
biblical story has an Egyptian precedent.
3. The Merenptah Stela (see §3.1.2 for a full discussion). Appeals to this
text as evidence for the exodus are very problematic. The inscription
provides no evidence for any sojourn in Egypt for those identified in
the text as ‘Israel’. The ‘Israel’ mentioned there seems to be a people
not yet settled, while the country is firmly under Egyptian control.
The inscription does not presuppose an Israel anything like that
depicted in Joshua or Judges.
4. References in Egyptian texts (Frerichs and Lesko 1997; G. I. Davies
2004). There is nothing in Egyptian texts that could be related to the
story in the book of Exodus. It is not just a question of the official
ignoring of defeats of the Pharaoh and his army. There is no period
in the second half of the second millennium BCE when Egypt was
subject to a series of plagues, death of children, physical disruption
of the country and the loss of huge numbers of its inhabitants (cf.
§2.3.2.1). Occasionally, a scholar has seen a remarkable resemblance
between Moses and an Egyptian official, but the arguments have not
met widespread acceptance. At most, one could say that a memory
of the Egyptian figure was used to create the figure of Moses in the
biblical text. G. I. Davies (2004) surveys almost all the evidence
available, but little of it is very compelling; indeed, he finds the
attempts to equate the exodus tradition with certain figures known
from Egyptian sources ‘not very convincing’. (Thus, his conclusion
that the exodus ‘tradition is a priori unlikely to have been invented’
appears tacked on rather than arising from his data.)
5. Egyptological elements in the exodus narrative. Some have argued
that elements within the text fit the period of Rameses II (Hoffmeier
1997), but this is not sufficient; one must show that they do not fit
any other period in history (see nos. 6–7 below). It has been widely
accepted that there are names and other references that suggest
some knowledge of Egypt in the exodus narrative, but how early are
they? What is notable is that there are few incidental or accidental
references to Egypt, such as one might expect, unlike some other
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 95

biblical passages such as found in Isaiah and Jeremiah; most of what

is present is topographical (Redford 1987: 138). More important, a
number of the Egyptian elements in the exodus story are anachro-
nistic (see next points). There is no agreement among Egyptologists
about elements that could only be dated to an early period.
6. Exodus 1–11: topographical names. A reference to the ‘land of
Goshen’ does not occur in texts (Redford 1987: 138–49); most now
agree that the name arose from the name of the Qedarite leader
Geshem in the Persian period (Van Seters 2001: 267–9; cf. Grabbe
2014: 70–1). The cities Rameses (Pi-Ramesse) and Pithom (Exod.
1.11) are not clearly from the Ramesside period. The first problem is
identification of the sites in question. Pi-Ramesse is widely identified
with Qantir (Pusch 2001; Bietak 1987: 164; Hoffmeier 1997: 117),
though Redford asked where the ‘Pi’ (Egyptian pr ‘house’) of
Pi-Ramesse had gone (1963: 408–10; 1987: 138–9; but cf. Helck
1965). Also, the Hebrew spelling of the name is a late form of trans-
literation (Hoch 1994). No agreement about the identity of Pithom
(Egyptian pr-‘Itm ‘the house of Atum’) has been reached (Wei 1992).
Many argue for Tell el-Maskhuta (Redford 1963: 403–8; Holladay
2001), but this site was not settled between the sixteenth and the
seventh centuries. The nearby site of Tell el-Ratabah is another
possibility, but it was reoccupied only about 1200 BCE (Wei 1992;
Dever 1997a: 70–1). It is therefore difficult to understand Davies’
statement that ‘they are more likely as a pair to belong to a tradition
that originated in the Ramesside period than to a later time’ (2004:
30). If Tell el-Maskhuta was known as ‘Pithom’ from about 600 BCE
(G. I. Davies 2004: 30) and topographical names with ‘Rameses’
were also widespread in the first millennium BCE (Redford 1987:
139), this argues that the tradition of Exod. 1.11 was likely to be
late, rather than Ramesside. Sile (Ṯrw) was an important site in the
New Kingdom, and the Israelites would have had to pass it, yet it
is not mentioned in the text of Exodus. To sum up, a number of the
toponyms cannot be Ramesside; on the other hand, all are known in
the Saite or later periods (eighth–fifth centuries BCE: Grabbe 2014:
70–7).
7. The supposed route of the exodus from Egypt. Some have argued that
the route of the Israelites’ journeyings in the Bible matches the actual
topography and Egyptian settlements on the ground (Hoffmeier 2005;
Krahmalkov 1994). A more careful look shows, however, that the
text does not reflect the fifteenth or thirteenth centuries BCE but the
seventh or eighth (MacDonald 2000: 63–100; Dever 2003a: 18–20;
96 Ancient Israel

Finkelstein 2015). Some of the itineraries are rather vague, showing

little actual knowledge of the topography supposedly being described
(Deut. 2.1-25; Num. 21.10-20), with Num. 33.1-49 going the farthest
in suggesting knowledge of a real travel route (MacDonald 2000: 98).
Only at the end of Iron II (but not Iron I or early Iron II) were most of
the sites that can be identified actually occupied. Most scholars argue
that the itineraries in Exodus and in Numbers 33 are the result of late
editing of several different traditions that do not presuppose the same
route (Haran 1976; G. I. Davies 1990).
8. Conquest of the Transjordanian region. Trying to extract historical
data from this tradition is difficult. There is some indication, for
example, that at least some of the peoples listed in the tradition
are simply creations from the names of mythical figures. Some of
the most feared inhabitants of the land are the Anakim who are
descended from the Rephaim (Num. 13.35; cf. Deut 1.28; 2.10, 11,
21; 9.2; Josh. 11.21-22; 14.12, 15; 15.14). One of the main figures
is Og of Bashan. He is said to be from the remnant of the Rephaim
and dwells in Ashtarot and Edrei (Num. 21.33-35; Deut. 1.4; 3.10-11;
Josh. 9.10; 12.4; 13.12; cf. Num. 13.33). These names are significant.
Other passages (such as Job 26.5; Ps. 88.11-13; Isa. 26.14, 19; Prov.
9.18), as well as the Ugaritic texts, associate the Rephaim with the
dead. The god Rapha’u of an Ugaritic incantation seems to dwell in
Ashtarot and Edrei (KTU 1.108). Thus, it appears that myth has been
historicized, and the shades of the dead have been turned into ethno-
graphical entities. The writer seems at times to have taken traditional
or mythical names and used them to create a narrative about ethnic
groups. There is also some evidence that the writer has drawn on
topographical knowledge of the eighth or seventh centuries to draw
up his list of journeys.
9. Archaeological evidence. No event of the size and extent of the exodus
could have failed to leave significant archaeological remains. Israel’s
itinerary has already been discussed (point #7 above). According to
the book of Numbers (10.11; 12.16; 13.26; 20.1, 22; 33.36) much
of the 40 years of ‘wandering’ was spent near Qadesh-Barnea. This
and related sites in Sinai and southern Palestine should yield ample
evidence of a large population in this region. Yet we find nothing
(Finkelstein and Silberman 2001: 62–4). Qadesh (Tell el-Qudeirat)
itself has been extensively excavated but shows no habitation
between the Middle Bronze Age and the tenth century BCE (Cohen
1981, 1997; Dever 2003a: 19–20) or even later (Ussishkin 1995a).
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 97

Opinions about the historicity of the exodus are divided. Despite the
efforts of some fundamentalist arguments, there is no way to salvage the
biblical text as a description of a historical event. A large population of
Israelites, living in their own section of the country, did not march out of
an Egypt devastated by various plagues and despoiled of its wealth and
spend 40 years in the wilderness before conquering the Canaanites. The
situation can be summarized as follows:

• Although there may well be early elements within the exodus

narrative, some perhaps even going back to Ramesside times, the
form of the story as we presently have it in Exodus and Numbers
contains data that are most closely associated with the Saite and
Persian periods, or about the seventh to fifth centuries BCE. Only
some of the details could fit the Egyptian New Kingdom, but almost
all could have a home in the Late Kingdom. It is not sufficient to
point to early elements in a text to demonstrate an early date for
it. Early elements can be found in late texts, but not vice versa.
Ultimately, judging the date of a text depends on a variety of factors,
but the final form of a text can be no earlier than the latest element in
it. In some cases, it has been argued that an early text has ‘only been
updated’. But how is ‘updating’ different from editing or revising or
rewriting that literary critics have traditionally appealed to? It means
that the text has been interfered with and does not necessarily reflect
the data or message of the original text.
• No Egyptian document, inscription, or piece of iconography depicts,
describes, or refers to an exodus as described in the Bible. There are no
Egyptian references of any kind that relate to Joseph, the descendants
of Jacob, Moses, the ten plagues, or the exodus. It does seem strange
that there is not even a hint in Egyptian literature, iconography, or
legend that any of this happened. The Israelite narrator never puts a
name to Pharaoh or any of the other Egyptians, a surprising omission
if we were dealing with a contemporary historical document.
• It is even stranger that there is no early archaeology relating to the
Israelites in the major areas of the exodus, especially around Qadesh-
barnea or further north in the Transjordanian region.
• The Amarna texts do not describe a situation in Palestine anything
like the narrative in Joshua or Judges. This rules out an exodus before
the mid-fourteenth century BCE, contra some conservatives who still
opt for a fifteenth-century date. Other Egyptian texts in fact rule out
an exodus at all during the 18th and 19th Dynasties (see §2.3.2.1).
98 Ancient Israel

• The reference to Israel in the Merenptah stela does not presuppose

an Israel anything like that of Joshua or the Judges. The ‘Israel’ men-
tioned there seems to be a people not yet settled, while the country
is firmly under Egyptian control. Where this Israel is located is also
unclear.
• The exodus story has a place in the Israel of the eighth century BCE or
perhaps a bit earlier. Some argue that the earliest version of the story
is found in Exodus 15, yet it probably does not take us much further
back in time. In any case, the exodus narrative of the Pentateuch is
not so early, with influences and details from a much later time. The
story as we have it is not a monolith but is made up of elements from
a variety of periods and milieus. On the other hand, various natural-
istic explanations (whether of the plagues or a volcanic eruption or an
earthquake/tsunami) do violence to the text and provide no support to
the literalistic interpretation of some fundamentalists.

This does not rule out the possibility that the text contains a distant –
and distorted – memory of an actual event. Some feel that the tradition is
so strong in the Bible that some actual event must lie behind it, though it
might be only a small group of (slave?) escapees fleeing Egypt (a view
long and widely held). This is accepted even by some of those proposing
theories about the indigenous origin of Israel in Canaan (see §3.2.4.2;
Na’aman 2015 suggests the tradition originates from Egyptian oppression
in Canaan itself). Some think it might even be a hazy remembrance of
the Hyksos expulsion from Egypt in the sixteenth century BCE (e.g., the
Egyptologist A. Gardiner [1933]). E. A. Knauf (2010c: 242–3) suggests
it might originate from the return of Israelites initially taken captive by
Merenptah.
Yet others point out that there is no necessity for assuming there was
an exodus in the early history of Israel (Dever 2003a: 7–21). There is no
external evidence for such an event, and any arguments must depend on
the biblical tradition; however, since we know of many Egyptian connec-
tions with Israel and Judah at later times, from the time of the monarchy
to the Persian and Hellenistic periods (cf. Isa. 19.19-25; Jer. 42–44), this
could have been sufficient to give rise to the story in the biblical text.
Many scholars now agree that there is little clear evidence that the biblical
tradition is an early one.
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 99

3.2.2 The Sea Peoples and the Philistines

3.2.2.1 The Coming of the Sea Peoples
We know about the Sea Peoples from a number of sources (see the survey
in Noort 1994; also Oren [ed.] 2000; Ehrlich 1996: 1–21). The main
sources for the Philistines are the Egyptian texts, primarily the Medinet
Habu reliefs and inscriptions (§3.1.3), and the material culture. About
these, however, there is considerable debate.
The Philistines were one of the components of the Sea Peoples who
migrated from the wider Aegean area in the late second millennium
BCE. As C. Ehrlich (1996: 9–13; cf. also Morris 2005: 694–707)
indicates, there are two main interpretations (depending heavily on the
Medinet Habu inscriptions and other documents but also bringing archae-
ological data into the question). The ‘maximalist’ interpretation argues
that Ramesses III fought a coalition of Sea Peoples (Peleset [Philistines],
Sherden, Tjeker, Shekelesh, Denyen, Tresh and Weshesh) in both sea
and land battles, defeated them and forced (or allowed) them to settle in
fortresses and cities in the Palestinian (Philistine) coastal plain (Dothan
and Ben-Shlomo 2013). This would have been in his eighth year (roughly
1175 BCE). This view is still found in much secondary literature.
This has since been partially contradicted by archaeology, which shows
that Egyptianizing material culture preceded the coming of the Philistines
in the area but disappeared with their settlement. The main indication of
the Sea Peoples/Philistines in the coastal plain of Palestine is the material
culture. Important in this discussion is locally produced Mycenaean IIIC:1
pottery (sometimes referred to as ‘Philistine monochrome’). It was not
itself imported but was influenced by the LH IIIC:1 pottery of the Aegean
and/or Cyprus. These indicators of Philistine settlement are generally
found unmixed with Egyptianizing material remains. This is important
because it strongly suggests that the Philistine settlement and Egyptian
rule were opposed to one another.
Recently, however, scholars have emphasized the need for a more
nuanced reading of the sources which recognizes the diversity of possi-
bilities of interpreting Philistine origins. A second or ‘minimalist’
interpretation argues that the nature of Pharaonic inscriptions needs to be
taken into account. Ramesses III’s claims are conventional propaganda,
either created from a long literary tradition or a compilation building up
a minor episode into an earth-shaking threat to Egypt from which the
divine Pharaoh delivered her, as was his duty and function (cf. Morris
2005: 696–9). (It should be noted that at least two of Ramesses III’s
campaigns celebrated in Medinet Habu, his victories over the Nubians and
Asiatics, are completely made up according to Noort [1994: 108], though
100 Ancient Israel

Morris [2005: 782–85] accepts there was minor military interaction with
Nubia.) These leave the interpretation much more open, ultimately taking
into account the material culture from the archaeology. The result for
some was to argue that rather than being due to an invading force, the
Aegeanizing material culture is the product of trade. Such a conclusion
illustrates the need for reevaluating the evidence, considering new ideas
and possibilities. Yet after a period of rethinking, most researchers at the
present reject purely trade influence (however important it may have been
in the process) but favour the idea of an outside population coming to
settle in the area of Philistia, as the Egyptian inscriptions suggest, though
the process was probably a more complex one than a simple reading of the
Egyptian material indicates (as we shall discuss below). Although there
are many problems of interpretation, several points about the Sea Peoples
emerge with a reasonable probability from the reliefs and inscriptions
(cf. Redford 2000: 12–13; Morris 2005: 691–715; Yasur-Landau 2010;
Killebrew 2005: 197–245):

1. They come from ‘islands in the midst of the sea’, which meant
Crete and the Aegean archipelago to the Egyptians (cf. the biblical
‘Caphtor’ [Amos 9.7; Jer. 47.4] which seems to mean the same thing
[Drews 1998]).
2. They seem to have been well organized and well led (though this does
not appear in the reliefs which, by their very nature, picture defeat
and chaos); however, it was not necessarily a unified movement,
but different groups at different times. Five (sometimes more) tribes
are listed, of which the ‘Philistines’ (prst) are only one (see the list
above).
3. The presence not just of warriors (the only ones pictured in the sea
battle) but also of families and livestock, with household goods in ox
carts, suggests the migration of peoples rather than just an army of
conquest. These migrants (women, children and elders are depicted)
evidently came overland from Anatolia. The Egyptian and other
ancient Near Eastern texts have been interpreted to conclude that
the Sea Peoples assisted in bringing an end to the Hittite empire, the
kingdom of Ugarit and the city-state of Amurru. But more recent
study has been more sceptical and noted that a good deal has been
read into the texts; in any case, there were probably multiple causes
for the downfall or destruction of these civilizations (Kuhrt 1995:
386–93). The archaeology shows no destruction for the Phoenician
area, however, which leads to the proposal that at least the march
south down the coast between Byblos and Dor was more or less
peaceful (Yasur-Landau 2010: 168–71).
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 101

4. A sea battle seems to have taken place in the region of the Nile delta
(as r-ḥ3wt ‘river mouths’ implies), but the land battle is more of a
problem. Some (e.g., Redford 2000: 13) think the land battle was
also in northern Egypt, but the inscription names ‘Djahy’ which can
refer to the Phoenician coast. Three permutations concerning the
relationship of the land and sea battles are possible (Ehrlich 1996:
9 n. 45), but the main question relates to the land battle. Ussishkin
(2008) argues that since Egypt controlled Megiddo, the land part
of the movement would have been stopped in northern Palestine.
Ussishkin’s view is supported in some ways by the recent book by E.
Morris who comments in a footnote:

There is nothing in either the reliefs or the texts that supports the suppo-
sition…that the land battle had occurred near the mouth of the Pelusiac
branch of the Nile. Indeed, Ramesses III’s referral of the matter to
vassals, garrison troops, and maryannu-warriors would argue strongly
against an Egyptian locale. (Morris 2005: 697 n. 16)

The strength of the Twentieth Egyptian Dynasty is attested by

Morris (2005: 703–5) who notes the number of Egyptian fortresses
and sites, yet Yasur-Landau still doubts that the Egyptian garrison
severely hindered the movement of the migrating Sea Peoples (2010:
340). Ramesses III’s ‘victory’ might have been an attack on a few
contingents of migrating peoples but hardly the bulk of them.
5. There is a debate over whether the Philistines were forcibly settled
in the coastal plain by the Egyptians or whether they took the area by
force, in spite of what the Egyptians could do. Barako has recently
argued, primarily from archaeology, that the ‘Egyptians were not in
Philistia during this period because the Philistines were there instead;
and not as garrisoned prisoners-of-war but, rather, as an intrusive
population hostile to Egypt’ (2013: 51). While Morris presents both
views, he also argues that Ramesses III may well have encouraged
the Sea Peoples to settle the Philistine plain (2005: 698–709).
6. The immigration into the Philistine coastal plain may have been
a prolonged one (Yasur-Landau suggests ‘a time frame of fifty to
seventy-five years’ [2010: 320]; Killebrew [2005: 234] suggests a
century or more). This is rather wide of the single invasion and battle
in Ramesses III’s eighth year that the textual data and some past
interpretations have given us. In any case, by the later twelfth century
BCE, Egypt no longer had the strength to prevent the Sea Peoples’
migration.
102 Ancient Israel

We shall consider this picture in more detail after considering another

pressing question: When did the Sea Peoples settle in Palestine? This
question has been given three different answers (Yasur-Landau 2010:
315–20; Killebrew 2005: 232). One theory, the ‘high chronology’ (or two-
wave theory), would date the Mycenaean IIIC Early (Mycenaean IIIC:1b)
to about 1200 BCE, the result of an early proto-Philistine wave of Sea
Peoples. However, with the finding of Myc IIIC:1 pottery, another view
developed that a first wave of Philistine settlement appeared perhaps in
the later thirteenth century BCE, but the main settlement (with Philistine
Bichrome Ware) in the early twelfth century. This ‘high chronology’,
which was favoured by Moshe and Trude Dothan, pioneers in excavating
the Philistine area, has now been generally rejected (even by Trude Dothan
[see Dothan and Zukerman 2004; Dothan and Ben-Shlomo 2013]).
The most widely followed theory, the ‘middle chronology’, depends
on Ramesses III’s inscription that he defeated the Sea Peoples in his
eighth year or about 1175 BCE. This would date Mycenaean IIIC Early
to about 1175 BCE and the Bichrome that developed from it to the
mid-twelfth century BCE. This theory is becoming more problematic
in light of the increasing consensus that Mycenaean IIIC:1b should be
equated to Mycenaean IIIC Early to Middle, which should be dated to the
mid-twelfth (Killebrew 2005: 232).
Israel Finkelstein (1995b) and David Ussishkin (2008), however,
argued for a ‘low chronology’, which places the initial wave after about
1140 or 1130 BCE, after the Egyptian control of the area had effectively
vanished. The low chronology theorizes that Mycenaean IIIC:1b appeared
only after about 1140 BCE and the date of the Bichrome pottery even later
into the eleventh century.
The choice at the moment seems to be between the ‘middle’ and the
‘low’ chronologies. A brief discussion of some of the arguments can
be given here. Ussishkin (2008) has pointed out that, for all practical
purposes, no Philistine pottery – Monochrome or Bichrome – was found
at Lachish, even though such pottery was uncovered at the not-too-distant
sites of Tel Zafit and Tel Miqne. This indicates that Philistine pottery post-
dates the Lachish settlement, viz., 1130 BCE. This argument (albeit, one
from silence) goes against the ‘Mazar-Singer-Stager hypothesis’ that lack
of ‘Philistine’ pottery is due to cultural factors. The inevitable conclusion
(according to Ussishkin) is that the Philistine settlement of the coastal
plain must postdate 1130 BCE.
Amihai Mazar (2008) responds that Ussishkin’s and Finkelstein’s
arguments that contemporary sites should yield similar pottery assem-
blages in a geographical zone is correct in principle but should not be
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 103

rigidly applied when dealing with specific cases such as this. They claim
that it is inconceivable that local Mycenaean IIIC pottery did not reach
contemporary sites in Philistia and the Shephelah but, according to Mazar,
this ignores cultural factors that could limit particular pottery to a few
urban centres. They think lack of such pottery means a settlement gap,
but such a widespread occupational gap is unfeasible and also negated
by finds at such sites as Gezer. The early stage of Philistine settlement
lasted perhaps only a generation. Lachish is at least 25 km from the major
Philistine cities, sufficient to create a cultural border.
These differences between archaeologists may seem confusing, but
they are no more significant than those between interpretations of the
inscriptional data. What we have to recognize are some major divergences
between the various models for understanding the settlement of the Sea
Peoples and the early history of the Philistines. The archaeology is vital,
but it is also very interpretative at certain points. Yet the archaeology also
provides data that seem to give a much clearer picture in certain areas.
To take an example, Finkelstein (1996b) has compared the settlement
patterns in the coastal plain between LB and Iron I, and this appears to
lead to more definitive conclusions: in LB the area of the coastal plain
that became Philistia seems to have been the most densely populated in
Palestine, with many sites of a variety of sizes (about 100, covering about
175 hectares, though there were more sites in the Shephelah than in the
coastal plain). About 80 per cent of the Iron I sites had been settled in LB,
but there had been a drastic decline in numbers, down to about half the
number in LB. On the other hand, the proportion of large sites is up (from
about half to three-quarters), while medium-sized sites almost disappear.
Even though the number of sites is considerably reduced, it is mainly the
smaller sites that no longer exist. Because there are proportionally larger
sites (even though fewer), the total built-up area remains much the same.
The result is a major reduction in rural sites but a considerable expansion
in urban settlement.
Finkelstein goes on to note that the major LB sites were Gezer, Gath,
Lachish, Ashkelon, Gaza and Yurza. These continued into Iron I, with
two exceptions: Lachish was abandoned (as was Tel Harasim), but Tel
Miqne-Ekron had grown considerably. Ashdod and Ekron appear to be the
strongest towns in the region, with Ashkelon and Gath the weakest (unless
Ashkelon controlled Jaffa). The estimated population is 35,000 for LB and
30,000 for Iron I. This compares with 44,000 for the central hill country
in Iron I (but only 2,200 of these were in the Judaean hills). Considering
that few new sites were established in Iron I, and the total built-up area
was also very similar, this suggests that the number of new settlers – the
104 Ancient Israel

Philistines – were few. This confirms what a number of scholars had been
arguing: the Philistines settled among the indigenous Canaanite popula-
tion, perhaps as an elite. One result of this is that the material culture in
the region included both Philistine and Canaanite elements (Bunimovitz
1990). But if the Philistines were so few, this argues against a major
invasion force that some postulate (25,000 or 30,000, for example).
The recent studies of the pottery by A. E. Killebrew (2005: 219–30;
2008; cf. 2000) are an important addition to our knowledge of the
period. At Tell Miqne/Ekron stratum VII shows the sudden appearance
of quantities of locally produced Aegean-inspired Mycenaean IIIC Early
and associated assemblages. In stratum VI Mycenaean IIIC and Bichrome
appear together throughout, showing the development from Mycenaean
IIIC to Bichrome. Finally, in stratum V Mycenaean IIIC disappears and
Bichrome becomes the predominant decorated ware. Killebrew concludes
that, with ‘some minor revisions’, the low chronology would best fit
the dating of Mycenaean IIIC Early–Middle at other sites in the eastern
Mediterranean and would also provide a more reasonable dating of
Bichrome to the eleventh century (continuing into the tenth [2008: 64–5;
2005: 232]). This conclusion is based on the LB II to IA I stratigraphic
sequences at both Tel Miqne and Ashdod. This seems to provide some
support for the interpretation of Finkelstein (1995b) and Ussishkin, that
the Philistine settlement was later than Ramesses III’s eighth year. Yet she
emphasizes the complexity of the Philistine immigration process, which
militates against a simple chronological reconstruction.
T. J. Barako (2013) has tackled the problem by comparing the contiguous
cities of Ashdod and Tel Mor (and Killebrew and Lehmann [2013: 9] cite
it with approval). Ashdod shows a destruction layer at the end of the LB.
The LB stratum (VIII) shows Egyptianizing pottery and other finds that
suggest that the Egyptians were controlling a Canaanite population. The
early IA I stratum (VII), however, is completely dominated by Philistine
material culture, and without an Egyptianizing admixture. On the other
hand, Tel Mor’s remains in both LB and early IA I show Egyptianizing
without any break.
The solution may lie in the nature of the ‘Philistine invasion’ (as
Killebrew already hinted at above). It appears that its violent character, at
least in part, cannot be brushed aside, as Aren Maeir comments:

the cause behind these destructions is very likely the Sea Peoples – even if
this is not to be seen as a uniform conquest of Philistia. Thus, while I would
hardly adhere to a ‘D-Day like event’…, I believe that one cannot see the
process of the arrival of the Philistines as a peaceful event in which foreign
groups slowly arrived and were amicably accepted by the local Canaanites.
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 105

Rather, this most probably was a complex process – including both violent
interactions and peaceful integration. I would suspect that a likely scenario…
would be that non-local leaders deposed the local Canaanite elites (and the
destruction of the LB building in Area E which is most probably a public
oriented building would fit in with this scenario) – while in most cases
retaining connections and integrating with other elements of the original
Canaanite population. This then would explain the evidence of partial
destructions such as at Ekron and Ashdod, and the fact that the Philistine
cities retained their original Canaanite names… (Maeir [ed.] 2012: 18)

Yet Maeir has been among those who have argued for looking at the
Philistine settlement in all its complexity. He and several colleagues have
recently tackled the question of the Philistine invasion/settlement from
the point of view of ‘acculturation’, ‘hybridization’, or whatever term
one wishes to use (Davis, Maeir and Hitchcock 2015; Hitchcock and
Maeir 2013). This recognizes the complicated product that arose from the
Philistine settlement in Canaan. Maeir and his colleagues have adopted
the term ‘entangled’ to describe the way in which the culture of native
Canaanites and the incoming Philistines affected one another to produce
the culture that is sometimes called ‘Philistine’ but which also includes
clear Canaanite aspects. It helps to explain the complex nature of the
cultural processes reflected in the literary and archaeological records.
Thus, Maeir is not espousing a return to the old simplistic picture of a
Philistine invasion. On the contrary, he cites with approval the scenario
suggested by Assaf Yasur-Landau (2010: 315–34) which resolves the
problem of chronology by proposing that the Philistine settlement took
place over a lengthy period of time, with different phases, as is normal
for migration and settlement processes that have been studied. According
to Yasur-Landau (cf. also Killebrew 2005: 230–1), the immediate origin
of the Sea Peoples may have been Cyprus and perhaps even Asia Minor
(even if the ultimate origin was the eastern Aegean), and the settlements
there may have been established not many years before those in Palestine.
The number migrating was probably only a few thousand, far fewer than
the 25 or 30 thousand often proposed. The first wave of a small number of
scout or pioneering immigrants could have come shortly after 1200 BCE,
to be followed by much larger waves. When Ramesses III realized what
was happening, he attempted to stem the flow about 1175 BCE (though
probably not a single event in that year but over a period of time) but is
likely to have had only small success.
The incoming Philistines and the other tribes of the Sea Peoples
settled to some extent independently along the coast and in the coastal
plain. Trade links were no doubt a part of this process, but trade alone
106 Ancient Israel

does not explain the southern settlement (the areas to the north may have
a different history [see Sharon and Gilboa 2013; Gilboa 2005 on the
situation in Dor]). There was some destruction of the earlier Canaanite
settlement, but a massacre of the previous inhabitants and a wholesale
destruction of their habitation was not to the Philistine advantage. In many
cases, the new settlers took their places without major violence, though
they seem to have dominated the original population. The material culture
shows this creative synthesis made up of elements from the two sides, the
Canaanite and the Sea People.

3.2.2.2 The Development of the Philistines

According to the biblical text the Philistines were the main enemy of
Israel through much of its early history. This picture is manifestly wrong
in certain parts; for example, the Philistines have been anachronistically
projected back as settled in the land in the early second millennium BCE
(Gen. 21.22-34; 26.1-18; Finkelstein [2002b: 152–4] suggests that this
reflects an eighth- or seventh-century context). Yet other parts of the
biblical picture may be correct; we can know only after looking at it
carefully. They surface again in the book of Judges, especially in the story
of Samson, but the main account is in the books of Samuel.
At this point, there is potential engagement between biblical text and
archaeology. Israel Finkelstein, for example, has argued that the actual
context for the main Philistine narrative in 1 Samuel is the seventh century
BCE (2002b). Others see evidence of some earlier memory there (Na’aman
1996a, 2002b); for example, the Ark Narrative is not intrinsically unbeliev­
able overall. Unfortunately, many of the welcome archaeological finds do
not impinge directly on the Bible. For example, the pebbled hearth that
Aren Maeir has noted as characteristic of the Philistine area for many
centuries seems to have no reflex in the biblical text (2012a: 354–5). Here
are some examples where text and archaeology interact:
Lists of Philistine Cities. Several lists of Philistine cities are found
(Josh. 11.22; 19.43; Judg. 1.18; 1 Sam. 6.17; Jer. 25.20; 2 Chron. 26.6).
1 Samuel 6.17 lists five cities that have become known as the Philistine
Pentapolis: Ashdod, Gaza, Ashkelon, Gath and Ekron. Gath was destroyed
by the Aramaean king Hazael about 830 BCE and ceased to be a major
Philistine site (2 Kgs 2.18; Maeir and Uziel 2007: 31–5). The biblical text
seems to remember the original importance of Gath, which suggests an
early memory (Na’aman 2002b: 210–12). Whether the cities were united
into some sort of Pentapolis, with a council of seranim making decisions
for it as pictured in the text (e.g., 1 Sam. 5.8, 11), is a separate question.
With Gath and Ekron both roughly the same size but also much larger
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 107

than the other three cities in the Iron I and early Iron IIA (Maeir and
Uziel 2007), would they have been content to share power and authority
equally with the smaller cities? Would they not have been rivals in at least
certain ways? These data do not seem to be reflected in the text in any
way. As Niemann notes, ‘The treatment of the five Philistine main sites
as a unified block was not historical: it was an element of “theological
historical writing” projected back’ (2003, my translation). We also have
the statement in 1 Sam. 7.14 that the cities of Gath to Ekron were returned
to Israel after the ark incident. This is clearly unhistorical in the light of
archaeology: we have no evidence of Israelite/Judahite occupation in the
material culture of this time. Indeed, 1 Sam. 17.52 evidently has Ekron
in Philistine hands when David was young, not too many years afterward
(Gath will be further discussed at §3.2.4.5).
Architecture of Philistine Temples. The placement of the pillars
supporting the roof in the Philistine temple in Judg. 16.25-30 looks like a
match to those found in archaeological excavations, where pillars placed
closely side by side support the roof (Maeir [ed.] 2012: 29–30). Yet we
must qualify this positive statement with two more negative ones. First,
the statement that there were people on the roof who could observe events
on the ground floor of the temple (as if overlooking an unroofed courtyard)
is not confirmed by anything so far found. Secondly, this description of
a Philistine temple could be quite late, since temples existed in Philistine
towns until very late (note 1 Macc. 10.84; 11.4).
Achish, King of Gath. A number of biblical passages refer to Achish,
king of Gath (‫מלך גת‬: 1 Sam. 21.11, 13; 27.2-4, 11; 1 Kgs 2.39). This is
the only evidence for such a person; however, we have an inscription from
the seventh century that reads partially as follows (in the translation of the
publishers: Gitin, Dothan and Naveh 1997: 9):

1. The temple (which) he built, ’kyš son of Padi, son of

2. Ysd, son of Ada, son of Ya‘ir, ruler of Ekron,
3. for Ptgyh his lady….

Thus, in the seventh century there was an Achish (‫ )אכיש‬who was

ruler (‫ )שר‬of Ekron. Finkelstein suggests that the author of the narrative
(written in the seventh century) made use of the name of a contemporary
ruler in the area of Philistia, but because Gath was already strongly in the
David tradition, he made Achish a ruler of Gath (2002b: 133–6). This is
a reasonable argument, but it seems to me that those who see Achish as a
ruler of Gath in an early tradition about David also present a reasonable
picture. W. Dietrich (2012: 94) argues against Finkelstein’s interpretation,
108 Ancient Israel

citing the label of Achish as king of Gath (1 Kgs 2.39). However, the
reference to the figure of Achish in the Ekron inscription as ‫שר‬, which
seems to me likely to be equivalent to ‫מלך‬, would actually bolster
Finkelstein’s argument. At the moment, I see no way of demonstrating for
certain whether Achish is a late introduction into the narrative or an early
element in the tradition.
Metallurgy. One passage that is often mentioned, though seldom dis-
cussed in proper depth, is 1 Sam. 13.19-21. The translation of the passage
is quite different in modern translations from traditional ones, such as the
Luther Bibel and the Authorized Version, partly because of archaeology
(though the text is difficult and probably corrupt), primarily because of the
finding of weights of two thirds of a shekel with the word pym on them,
which seems to be the import of the word pîm in this passage. Basically,
this passage says that the Philistines control the working of metal, and that
for repair or sharpening of farming implements Israelites had to travel to
the Philistines and pay them. The passage is somewhat difficult, partly
because it may be corrupt and partly because the instruments listed are
not all clearly identified, though their status as metal farm tools seems
obvious from the context. What is done to them by the Philistine metal
workers is also not certain. To renew a ploughshare that had been blunted
or even damaged by stones would probably cost two-thirds of a sheqel
(the value of a pîm), but this would seem extremely expensive simply to
sharpen a sickle. Moreover, the Israelite farmer could easily have found
appropriate whet stones in the environment to use to sharpen a sickle or
mattock.
In the last few years several excavations have turned up data about
metalworking in the Levant at the end of the Bronze and beginning of the
Iron Age. The basic situation that emerges from what is presently known
is that bronze dominated metal usage until about 1000 BCE, at which
point the balance shifted heavily to iron. Yet in the Late Bronze Age and
the early Iron Age, both copper-based and iron-based tools and weapons
were in use. Carburized steel technology had developed by the twelfth
century, so what had changed around 1000 BCE was one of proportions
of use, not a change of technology (Gottlieb 2010: 89–90).
It was once claimed that the Hittites first monopolized iron production
and that the Philistines then took that position in the Levant; however, it is
now widely believed that that position has been disproved (Stech-Wheeler
et al. 1981). Yet quite a few commentators have still accepted the view
that 1 Sam. 13.19-21 was basically true and showed that the Philistines
controlled or limited Israelite metallurgical skills (cf. Niemann 2013:
262–3; Dietrich 2007: 156, 213). It should be noted that 1 Sam. 13.19-22
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 109

does not specify iron; the tools and weapons in the passage could just as
well have been bronze. A recent survey by Yulia Gottlieb (2010), which
takes into account a variety of earlier studies, looks at the beginnings of
the use of iron in Palestine in the early Iron Age. It is only in the Iron IIA
(tenth century), that iron begins to displace bronze as the technology to
make carburized steel develops. However, she notes that our data for the
Shephelah and the highlands are sparse, and her statistics are primarily
reliable for the North (especially Megiddo and Beth Shean) and the
South (the Negev and the Beersheba Valley). In the central highlands
the stratigraphy is problematic, but in Iron I and early Iron IIA bronze
seems to have prevailed for agricultural implements in sites like Khirbet
Raddana, though iron is predominant at Bethel and et-Tell. Interestingly,
older settled areas seem to have been more conservative and continued to
prefer bronze even while newer settlements (such as in the Negev) had
focused on iron.
For the Shephelah, copper-based artefacts predominate until late Iron
IIA, while for the area of Philistia, the first iron tools seem to be as late
as Iron IIB. Gottlieb’s article was written before the important metal-
working facility was found at Gath/Tel eṣ-Ṣafi (Maeir 2012a: 367–8;
Maeir [ed.] 2012: 27–8; Eliyahu-Behar 2012). Gath has provided the first
physical evidence on the state of metallurgy technology in Philistia in the
early Iron Age. Both bronze and iron working are attested for the early
Iron IIA, once again indicating the importance of both metals at this time.
But what we do not find is any indication that the Philistines controlled
metal technology. As Aren Maeir notes, ‘one cannot speak of a Philistine
monopoly on metal production in the late Iron I and early Iron IIA (the
available evidence from the ancient Levant does not support this suppo-
sition)’ (2012a: 367). It seems to me an absurd notion that Israelites had
to go to Philistia just to sharpen their farm implements, not only paying
a very high price but also taking the time and trouble to travel there and
back. What we find in 1 Sam. 13.19-22 is a statement of theology, not
contemporary metal technology.
Military Data. We first have the question of Goliath’s armour. Although
there are a few who argue that it reflects Iron Age I (Singer 2013: 20, 25,
27), many have followed Kurt Galling in maintaining that ‘the narrator…
has put together the wholly singular weaponry of Goliath from diverse
elements of military equipment known to him’ at a rather later time
(1966). Finkelstein has argued that Goliath’s armoury represents a Greek
hoplite soldier of the seventh century, though he also recognizes that some
parts of the description fit Assyrian equipage (2002b: 145–6). This last
point complicates matters: is an actual soldier with his weaponry being
110 Ancient Israel

described, or is the image of Goliath simply made up eclectically (as

Galling seems to be saying)? In either case, though, a later time than the
Iron I or early Iron II is being represented.
As for the Cherethites and Pelethites, Finkelstein notes that Cherethites
and Pelethites do not occur among the groups of Sea Peoples (2002b:
148–50). He follows Albright in interpreting Pelethites as a reference to
Greek peltasts (peltastai) or light infantry (from their pelte or light shield).
Again, he relates them to the Greek mercenary troops widely used in the
seventh century. John Van Seters has similarly argued the question at
some length (see at §3.2.4.5).

3.2.3 Transjordan
Until the coming of the Assyrians, most of our knowledge about the
Transjordanian region derives from archaeology and the biblical text.
A small amount of information occurs in Egyptian texts (Kitchen 1992;
Worschech 1997; see also, with regard to the Shasu, §2.2.1.4), and
beginning in the late ninth century or about 800 BCE we have some native
inscriptions. The documentation is not great, but it is fortunate that several
recent treatments of the archaeology are available (Routledge 2004, 2008;
Steen 2004; MacDonald, Adams and Bienkowski [eds] 2001; Finkelstein
1995a; Bienkowski [ed.] 1992; Edelman [ed.] 1995a; J. M. Miller 1991;
Sawyer and Clines [eds] 1983). This includes the important sites of Tall
Hisbân (Geraty and LaBianca [eds] 1987–98) and Tall al-‘Umayri (Herr
et al. [eds] 1989–2002). Much of what we know about the archaeology
depends on surface surveys since only relatively few sites in the areas of
ancient Ammon, Moab and Edom have been excavated. As already noted
(§1.2.4.3), surface surveys have certain limitations. This is evident in the
Transjordan surveys since they have yielded surprisingly different results
in some cases, especially disconcerting when this involves overlapping
areas in the surveys. These can generally be explained (Miller 1992:
79–80), but it illustrates some of the problems.
In his well-known survey of the Transjordan, Nelson Glueck reached
some conclusions that are still influential (see the references and discussion
in Sauer 1986). His two main conclusions were (1) that the southern
Transjordanian region showed a settlement gap between EB and the end
of LB (also between late Iron II and the Persian period) and (2) that a
chain of defensive forts marked the borders of the three kingdoms already
in Iron I. Sauer questioned the first of these conclusions, arguing that more
recent research showed major tell sites in the MB and LB in northern and
central Transjordan, suggesting a system of city-states similar to those on
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 111

the west side of the Jordan. The second of Glueck’s conclusions has been
widely criticized: the evidence for a chain of border fortresses is skimpy
at best (J. M. Miller 1992: 79, 87–8; Steen 2004: 80–1).
In the twenty years since Sauer wrote, his conclusions have themselves
been subjected to scrutiny, especially since, in the meantime, a number of
surveys have reported. Many scholars now feel that Glueck had it largely
correct: only a sparse sedentary population was present in MB and LB,
but there was an explosion of settlement in the early Iron Age (Miller
1992: 80; Dearman 1992: 72–3; Steen 2004: 89–90). The problem seems
to be the interpretation of the surface surveys, for the excavated sites
have generally shown little in the way of LB settlement. The indications
are that there was a greater sedentary population in the north: in general,
the density of settlement decreases as one moves from north to south in
Transjordan (LaBianca and Younker 1998: 406). Glueck’s southern gap
in LB (south of the Wadi Mujib) largely remains: not that there were
no inhabitants but that the population in that region was almost entirely
nomadic.
Borders are usually difficult to determine from archaeology, and the
borders indicated in the biblical text cannot be considered as necessarily
accurate (MacDonald 1999: 30–9; Bloch-Smith and Nakhai 1999: 106–7).
Yet the textual indications for the locations of Ammon, Moab and Edom
are reasonably consistent around a core region in each case. New Kingdom
Egyptian texts already have references to Moab (Rameses II), Edom
(Merenptah) and Seir (Rameses II) (Kitchen 1992; J. M. Miller 1992:
77–8; Ahituv 1984). Ammon seems to appear first by name in an eighth-
century inscription of Tiglath-pileser III (Tadmor 1994: 170–1 [Summary
Inscription 7:10]), though it is now argued that there may already be a
reference in the Kurkh Monolith inscription of Shalmaneser III a century
earlier (ca. 853 BCE; Tyson 2014: 72–5). Although it has been proposed
that some Ammonite settlements are mentioned in Egyptian texts, this
has also been doubted (Steen 2004: 11–12, 50); however, the archaeology
suggests that the collapse of city-states toward the end of the LB II led
to many rural villages with agricultural settlements (Fischer 2014: 573).
Ammon is associated with the section of the Transjordanian plateau south
of the Jabbok River (Wadi az-Zarqa) (Steen 2004: 50–1). At its largest
extent it was perhaps the territory between the Jabbok and Arnon (Wadi
al-Mujib) and between the Jordan and the desert to the east (MacDonald
1999: 38–9). The southern border probably fluctuated as the fortunes of
Ammon and Moab waxed and waned. Although in Ammon the settlement
gap inferred by Glueck has been shown not to exist, since several fortified
112 Ancient Israel

sites have subsequently been excavated (Tall al-Umayri, Tall Sahab, Tall
Safrut, Khirbat Umm ad-Dananir), the LB settlement was nevertheless
sparse (Bienkowski 1992a: 5–6; Steen 2004: 51). The existing settlements
centred on Amman and the Baq’ah Valley (Bloch-Smith and Nakhai 1999:
109–11); this area seems to have been the end of a trade route and served
as a trade market (Steen 2004: 297–8). The end of LB saw an increase of
settlements, but they tended to be small and fortified (Steen 2004: 304). At
the transition into Iron I, however, some of the major sites were destroyed
or suffered reduction, perhaps as a consequence of the collapse of the
market system and trade with the Jordan Valley (Steen 2004: 305–6).
Then, many sites were abandoned or even destroyed at the end of Iron
I. For example, ‘Umayri was apparently destroyed by hostile attack and
extensively reoccupied only in the seventh century BCE. Two-thirds of
excavated sites show a gap in late Iron I, though it has been suggested
that this is a scholarly artifact resulting from poor pottery chronology
or survey information (Bloch-Smith and Nakhai 1999: 111). Herr notes:
‘The early centuries of Iron II are presently very difficult to document in
all of Transjordan’ (1997: 132). Little has been found that can be related to
the tenth century, which has implications for the biblical passages relating
David and Ammon.
Moab seemed to have been focused on Wadi al-Mujib (Bienkowski
1992a: 1). Its southern border is usually seen as Wadi al-Hasa, but most
of the places associated with Moab are in fact north of the Mujib. Moab’s
northern border probably moved up and down, depending on the balance
of power in Ammon and Moab’s relationship. Although the settlement
of LB is meagre overall, there may have been an increase in settlement
in the area south of Wadi Mujib; in any case, there was a sudden growth
in fortified settlements at the beginning of Iron I (Steen 2004: 305),
with a steady increase of occupation through Iron I to a peak in Iron II
(Bienkowski 1992a: 5–6; Miller 1992: 80; Bloch-Smith and Nakhai 1999:
114). Others assert that walled settlements were infrequent in LB and Iron
I, but with fortified outposts and watchtowers reaching a high point in
Iron II (Dearman 1992: 73; LaBianca and Younker 1998: 407). It has been
argued that the archaeology of Iron IIB reflects the situation described
in the Mesha Stela, though the incompleteness of the data at present is
admitted (Harrison and Barlow 2005: 184–5, 188). The radiometric dates
determined from Tall Madaba samples cluster either side of the date 850
BCE, which well fits the time of Mesha and his activities.
The area of Edom was originally south of Wadi al-Haba (perhaps
down to Wadi Hisma) and east of the Wadi Arabah (Bienkowski 1992a:
1). Sauer (1986) attempted to show that Glueck was wrong about the
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 113

sparseness of settlement in this region in the Late Bronze and early Iron
Ages; his efforts have been both rejected (Hart 1992: 93) and accepted
(Finkelstein 1995a: 135). MacDonald (1994: 242) noted that there was
no LB evidence and also Iron I evidence only in the northern part of the
traditional Edomite territory to the east of the Wadi Arabah. Since the
occupation of the main sites of Busayrah, Tawilan and Umm al-Biyara
showed no settlement before the seventh century BCE, it was possible
that the ‘Iron I’ sherds were actually from Iron II (Bienkowski 1992b;
Bloch-Smith and Nakhai 1999: 114). This has initiated an on-going debate
between Bienkowski and Finkelstein; the latter has argued that Glueck
was right and that there was continuous Iron Age settlement in southern
Transjordan.
Bienkowski (1992b, 1992c) argues that Finkelstein has mistakenly
dated sherds to Iron I by using parallels from Palestine and northern
Transjordan, and that he has further ignored the fact that Iron II strata lie
directly on the bedrock in many excavated sites (though Busayrah has not
been sufficiently studied to say for certain). Finkelstein responds that the
dating of Edomite sites has depended on C. M. Bennett’s chronological
sequence based on the find of a seal impression at Umm al-Biyara with the
royal name ‘Qos-Gabr’, an Edomite ruler known from the inscriptions of
Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal (Finkelstein 1992a, 1992b; 1995a: 131–2;
also Bienkowski 1992b: 99; Levy et al. 2005: 132). The stratigraphy of
Edomite sites is far from clear, and it was the highland custom to remove
earlier material in order to establish walls on bedrock. The differences
between these two scholars hinges a good deal on pottery assemblages: a
debate for archaeologists to carry on. For example, a recent study of the
collared-rim pithoi (a pottery type appealed to specifically by Finkelstein)
concludes that the pithoi are found in Iron II at al-‘Umayri and are thus
not diagnostic for Iron I (Herr 2001). In any case, the two different inter-
pretations lead to different reconstructions of early Edomite history.
All seem to agree that in LB the inhabitants were nomadic groups
whom the Egyptians referred to as shasu. According to Bienkowski
(1992a: 8) and others, this would have continued through Iron I as well
(except for some settlement in northern Edom) before a major process
of sedentarization in the eighth or seventh centuries (though the extent
of mountainous terrain meant that it did not become fully urban). The
resumption of mining in Faynan may have helped with this (the mining
activity, which began in the EB there, had been in abeyance for a
millennium), as well as the Arabian trade and the general conditions of
peace and stability under Assyrian domination. According to Finkelstein
(1995a: 135–7) settlement in Edom was parallel to the settlement of the
114 Ancient Israel

hill country in Palestine and northern Transjordan, though the southern

Transjordan was more marginal and yielded small sites. The Edomite
state of Iron II had its roots in the sedentary occupation of Iron I. The
settlement history was thus not particularly different from that of Moab
and the northern Transjordan. All seem to agree that the peak of settlement
was in the eighth to seventh centuries and allowed Edomite influence to
spread west of the Wadi Arabah.
Now a new perspective has been given by excavations at Khirbat
en-Nahas and the application of 14C analysis to samples taken from slag
heaps (see especially Levy, Najjar and Ben-Yosef [eds] 2014; also Levy
et al. 2004; Levy et al. 2005; Higham et al. 2005). They point to two
crucial physiographic attributes: (1) an abundant ore deposit that allowed
major copper mining and production and (2) a landscape divided between
highlands, with some sections having sufficient rainfall to provide fertile
agricultural land, and lowlands that could be farmed only with irrigation
but also containing the copper deposits. The debate about early Edomite
chronology seems to have been partially settled by radiocarbon dating
(so Levy et al. [2004] argue) because their sampling shows that copper-
working at Faynan (Feinan) took place at least as early as the tenth century
BCE, with an expansion from about 950 BCE (Higham et al. 2005: 177).
This metal production occurred over a century or a century and a half
but ceased by the end of the ninth century. Levy et al. (2005: 160) argue
against Finkelstein (2005c), making the point that the fortress at the site
is associated with metal production dated to the mid-ninth century at the
latest and thus pre-Assyrian (with contemporary radiocarbon dates found
at satellite sites) and that the fortress at Khirbat en-Nahas did not exist
in the eighth century when the Assyrian palace was extant at Busayra.
But their argument relates primarily to Finkelstein’s LC thesis in general
(though they admit that the sample size is too small to resolve all of the
issues of the LC [Levy et al. 2005: 158]). In fact, the early dating of metal-
working at Faynan seems to provide some support for Finkelstein in his
debate with Bienkowsky over the settlement of Edom in the early Iron
period (Levy et al. 2005: 158).
However, some of the conclusions of Levy et al. have been strongly
critiqued by E. van der Steen and P. Bienkowski (2005, 2005–2006,
2006). One area of particular focus is the technical side of 14C dating and
Bayesian analysis. They argue that the figures of Levy et al. look to be
skewed to give a result about a century earlier than normal calibration
would lead to. Attempts at clarification by Levy et al. have not laid these
concerns to rest. A further question concerns the conclusion from the
Khirbat en-Nahas excavations that ‘perhaps the emergence of the kingdom
of Edom…began some 200–300 years earlier than previously assumed’
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 115

(Levy et al. 2005: 157). This seems to ignore the level of settlement
evidence known from actual excavations and surveys (Herr and Najjar
2001: 338; Bienkowski 1992a: 3). The existence of metal working does
not contradict the other archaeological evidence nor necessarily imply
a complex social organization in Edom at this time. E. A. Knauf – who
had anticipated some of the Khirbat en-Nahas Project’s findings – argued
that the Faynan mining concern was controlled from west of the Wadi
Arabah during Iron I (1992: 49), a point also made by van der Steen and
Bienkowski (2005, 2005–2006). Neither do the new radiocarbon dates
have to confirm the statement about Edomite chiefs in Gen. 36.31 (Levy
et al. 2005: 158; similarly Finkelstein 1995a: 136). The argument that
Genesis 36 is a description of the situation in the seventh or sixth century
is still a strong one (e.g., Knauf 1992: 49). The new information from
Khirbat en-Nahas is to be welcomed and will no doubt have implications
for the history of Edom, but it has to be evaluated with other evidence. It
is still too early in the debate to start drawing far-reaching conclusions.
The Transjordan in Iron IIB and beyond is discussed in subsequent
chapters.

3.2.4 From Settlement to Statehood

The end of the LB was marked by decline and widespread destruction of
cities (§2.1.1). However, this varied from region to region. In Palestine the
decline or destruction of coastal cities was not always matched by inland
sites. In the northern valleys (especially Jezreel and Beth-Shean) and the
northern hill country in the regions of Ephraim and Manasseh, the small
settlements show a large continuum in material culture, suggesting that it
was the indigenous population that settled there.
The first certain mention of Israel is by Merenptah, in relation to a
campaign about 1208 BCE. This shows that Israel was already in exist-
ence at the end of the LB, even though developments in the IA I have
often been emphasized in publications on the subject. However, Manfred
Görg has argued that the name occurs even earlier in another Egyptian
inscription (Görg 2001; Veen, Theis and Görg 2010; Veen and Zwickel
2014). If he is correct, nothing is added to our knowledge except the
occurrence of the name, yet it would show that such an entity – whatever
it consisted of – existed at an earlier time than 1208. The inscription
has been dated to the time of Ramesses II (early thirteenth century) or
possibly even earlier in the fourteenth century BCE. However, some
Egyptologists are not convinced, for philological reasons (e.g. Hoffmeier
2007). Thus, the approximate date of 1208 BCE remains the first clear
reference to Israel.
116 Ancient Israel

A further consideration is the obvious one (as pointed out by Knauf

2017): Israel originated in the LBA. If an ‘Israel’ was already in existence
about 1208 – or possibly even as early as the fourteenth century BCE –
this raises the question of where it was located. Since the expansion in
the central highlands was mainly a phenomenon of the IA I, could that
region and/or the people in it be called ‘Israel’ already in the rather
more sparsely populated end of the LBA? (This will be discussed below:
§3.2.4.2.) The question is how to interpret this information from archae-
ology and inscriptions: How did Israel originate? How useful are the data
in the biblical text, or did Israel and Judah come into existence in largely
different ways?

3.2.4.1 Joshua and Judges

Joshua and Judges are also placed by many scholars in the Deuteronomistic
History (DtrH; on the DtrH, see the discussion at §3.1.6.2). The book of
Joshua describes how the Israelites crossed the Jordan (Josh. 1–5) and
conquered the land in only five years, the major cities taken being Jericho,
Ai, Makkedah, Libnah, Lachish, Hebron, Debir and Hazor (cf. also Josh.
12.9-24), while Gibeon and Kiriath-Jearim submitted without a fight
(Josh. 9). Some decades ago the broad picture of the conquest of Canaan
by the Israelites was widely accepted in parts of scholarship, especially
in North America, where the ‘Albright hypothesis’ was very influential
(see §3.2.4.2). The surprising thing is that when the reader moves from
Joshua – where the land was conquered and divided up – to Judges, there
is something of a shock, since the land seems far from under Israelite
control. Granted, here and there are statements in Joshua that suggest that
everything was not conquered all at once (e.g., Josh. 17.14-17), which
means that something of a mixed message comes across. Nevertheless,
the dominant impression is that it was all settled after five years. This
is especially the impression left by Josh. 11.23; 14.15; 21.41-43 and
Joshua 13–19 where the land is divided up among the various tribes. The
‘Albright’ or ‘conquest’ hypothesis is generally not accepted anymore,
and the question to be asked is whether any of the book of Joshua can
be taken as historical. Many would now answer this in the negative (e.g.,
Na’aman 1994c: 249–81; Van Seters 1990; J. M. Miller 1977). Some lists
seem to relate to a much later time and situation (cf. Na’aman 2005 on
Josh. 15.21-62; 18.21-28; 19.2-8, 40-46).
Judges comes across quite differently from Joshua: far from being
conquered and under Israelite rule, the lowlands and many of the main
cities are still controlled by the Canaanites who fight with chariots of
iron (Judg. 1). As noted above, if one had read Joshua for the first time
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 117

and then moved to Judges without knowing anything about its contents,
it would produce considerable consternation, because a number of the
things supposedly accomplished in Joshua have to be done again (e.g.,
Judg. 1.19-36 versus Josh. 16–19). The book of Judges is mainly made
up of a series of episodes which follow a common pattern: Israel sins, is
punished by being made subjects of a foreign people, cries to Yhwh and
has a deliverer sent who leads them in throwing off the the foreign yoke
– following a 40/80 year cycle. This structure is clear through much of
the book. These stories, in addition to their entertainment value, had an
important moral content, which is probably the main reason they were
told. But our concern is with their historicity.
The general picture of Judges has often been one of an authentic
representation of pre-state Israelite society, and this may indeed be the
case. As has long been recognized, the narrative of Judges is divided
between heroic deliverers (‘major judges’) and civic leaders (‘minor
judges’). The latter get little actual space but are presented in two brief
lists (Judg. 10.1-5; 12.7-15). Shamgar ben Anath has a curious name,
because it suggests a worshipper of the goddess Anat (Judg. 3.31; 5.6; cf
§4.2.8). The judge named Jerubbaal is only later identified with Gideon
(Judg. 6–8; 6.32 gives a nonsensical etymology of his name; it means
something like ‘Let Baal be great’). Abimelech (son of Gideon) looks like
the king of a Canaanite city-state (Judg. 9). Jephthah occurs in the list of
‘minor judges’ but also appears as a heroic figure, whereas Samson seems
independent of the other deliverer stories. One cannot rule out that some
actual historical core can be found in the ‘deliverer’ stories, but when we
turn the statement around, demonstrating such a core of history is very
difficult. B. Halpern (1988) argued for such a core of historicity in the
Ehud/Eglon story, but E. A. Knauf (1991b) has cast considerable doubt
on his argument by showing that ‘Ehud’ was a Benjaminite clan, and
Eglon a town in the Judaean foothills. Despite references to ‘all Israel’
only one or two tribes are normally involved in the action in an episode;
the Song of Deborah (Judg. 5) is the only passage with more than two
tribes. Thus, here and there may be reliable early traditions, but demon-
strating them is difficult; the book is generally too problematic to use as
a historical source. Two points relating to history, however, can be made
about the book of Judges: first, the picture of a tribal society without a
unified leadership engaging in uncoordinated local actions seems to fit
the society of the hill country in IA I, as evidenced by the archaeology.
To what extent the individual episodes and individuals laid out in the text
relate to history is another question, very difficult to answer: the book is
generally too problematic to use as a historical source. Knauf (2010b)
118 Ancient Israel

has suggested some elements within the book that meet the criteria for
historical data, but these are few. Secondly, perhaps the one exception to
the historical ambiguity of the text is the Song of Deborah in Judges 5
(cf. Knauf 2005b). It has often been argued that the ‘Song of Deborah’ is
an example of early poetry (Robertson 1972; Knauf 2005b), which would
suggest that it was written close to the events described (Stager 1988a; see
the summary of arguments in Lindars 1995: 212–17). The list of Israelite
tribes differs in several ways from all other lists (see below), which might
demonstrate an independent tradition and one possibly earlier than other
traditions. Nevertheless, a number of scholars have argued that the Song
of Deborah shows signs of lateness (e.g., Diebner 1995; Lindars 1995:
213–15), and assuming that it is more trustworthy as a historical source is
misplaced confidence. As A. E. Knauf (2005b) argues, the original poem
was perhaps tenth or ninth century BCE, but it was likely composed in
an Israelite court and also underwent a later redaction. P. D. Guest has
recently argued that far from being a compilation of different sources, the
book of Judges shows the marks of unitary authorship that produced a
‘crafted history’ of the period: ‘Although the text presents itself as history,
it should not be mistaken for such’ (1998: 61). In one area, however,
Judges may reflect an older linguistic usage: the title ‘judge’ (Hebrew
‫ שופט‬šôfēṭ). Although the word means ‘judge’ in a judicial sense in most
Hebrew usage, the reference to an individual in Judges means something
like ‘political/military leader’ (Niehr 1994). All in all, here is an early text
that may be the closest we have to a primary source in the Heptateuch.
Judges 5 ostensibly covers the same ground as the narrative in Judges
4 – the oppression of Sisera and his subsequent defeat and death. The
archaic language of the poem has made it the earliest or one of the
earliest passages in the Hebrew Bible. Estimates of the date vary, but
the tenth century BCE may not be too far wrong (Knauf 2005b). One
of the significant features of the poem is its listing of many of the tribes
of Israel. Yet this list is remarkable for several reasons. First, two tribes
which are otherwise unknown are named: Machir and Gilead (Judg. 5.14,
17). Machir seems to stand in place of Manasseh which is found in other
lists (in some genealogies, Machir is said to be a son of Manasseh [Gen.
50.23; Num. 27.1]). Similarly, Gilead is found instead of Gad (Gilead
is elsewhere said to be the son of Machir [1 Chron. 2.21; 7.14]). What
this shows is that the list of 12 tribes (or 13, if Ephraim and Manasseh
are listed separately instead of Joseph), known from a number of lists
(e.g., Deut. 27.12-13; 1 Chron. 2.1-2), is not the original list but the final
development.
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 119

The second feature of the poem is the absence of Judah, Simeon, and
Levi. As the priestly tribe, the Levites’ absence might be expected. Simeon
sometimes had a close association with Levi (e.g., Gen. 34.25-31; 49.5);
in any case, Simeon is strangely said to have its heritage inside Judahite
territory (Josh. 19.1-9); finally, the tribe seems to disappear from the text
after Judges 1. The absence of Judah is very notable, however, because
it shows what can also be inferred from other passages: Judah was origi-
nally separate from Israel. This is important, because the relationship of
Judah with Israel is one of the areas in which the data clash strongly with
the surface narrative of the biblical text. According to Gen. 35.22-26 and
many other passages, Judah was one of twelve brothers of a single father,
Jacob/Israel, and Judah was thus just one of twelve tribes. There was
nothing about his birth to single Judah out from his brothers or to single
out the tribe of Judah from the other tribes. Yet it is obvious historically
that Judah had its own national identity and was separate from and a rival
of Israel from an early period. It is worth noticing some of these points,
even though they are by no means new:

• Judges 5: Judah is not even mentioned in this early poem which

names most of the tribes.
• Elsewhere in Judges Judah is seldom mentioned with other tribes.
In ch. 1, they take Simeon with them in conquering their territory
(1.3, 17), but as is well known Simeon then disappears from the text.
In ch. 11, Judah is attacked by the Ammonites, but the resistance is
“Israel” (the situation with “Ephraim” is a side issue [12.1]). Judah is
supposed to go first in attacking Benjamin in 20.18.
• There is no evidence that Saul’s territory included Judah.
• David ruled first over Judah alone for seven years (2 Sam. 2.11).
• After the reigns of David and Solomon, Israel and Judah split – or did
they simply revert to their original situation?

Thus, the Song of Deborah gives us a peek through the keyhole, as it

were, to see an earlier situation that the text has generally displaced with
other traditions or interpretations.
A third point is that two of the tribes seem to be maritime figures: Dan
and Asher (5.17). Since the tribes are not otherwise associated with the
sea, this is sometimes explained away as a misunderstanding (e.g., Stager
1988). Although other explanations are possible, the association with the
sea seems to be the most immediate interpretation. Again, this might show
a different tradition about these two tribes than is found elsewhere in the
Hebrew Bible.
120 Ancient Israel

Finally, there is the allegation that some of the tribes (e.g., Reuben) did
not participate in the fight against Sisera because they were pastoralists
(Stager 1988). This is possible, but it seems doubtful that the mode of
livelihood was a primary factor in whether or not a tribe joined with
others. Historically, pastoralists have often combined their livelihood with
raiding and fighting. The inference seems to be based on insufficient data.

3.2.4.2 The Settlement

Over the past 40 to 50 years a great deal of debate has centred on the
question of how Israel got into the land and eventually became a nation
(see the survey in Ramsey 1981; McDermott 1998; Killebrew 2006).
Until the 1960s most scholars favoured one of two models, the ‘conquest
model’ of the Albright school and the ‘peaceful infiltration model’ of
the Alt–Noth school. Then, in 1962, a programmatic article by G. E.
Mendenhall in a semi-popular journal outlined a third theory, but its real
development came in the late 1970s: the Mendenhall–Gottwald theory of
an internal revolt. Much debate has centred on these, and understanding
them is still important for getting at the historical situation
The Albright model of a unified conquest was heavily influenced by the
biblical text, though it would be incorrect to conclude that it was only a
paraphrase of Joshua. Albright initially dated the conquest to the fifteenth
century BCE, but then N. Glueck conducted a survey of the Transjordanian
region in the years 1932‒47 (Glueck 1934–51; 1970: 152–4; §3.2.3).
Since Glueck concluded that these regions were uninhabited until the
thirteenth century, Albright redated the conquest to the thirteenth century,
a position he continued to maintain until his death. Although ostensibly
based on archaeology, it had an uncanny resemblance to the first half of
Joshua. In some ways, this was more apparent than real, but it allowed
the conservative tendency to maintain academic respectability while still
really following the biblical text. In 1977 J. M. Miller gave a thorough
critique of the Albright position and ultimately rejected it (Hayes and
Miller 1977: 254–62, 270–7; also J. M. Miller 1979). His conclusions
presented a picture emphasizing the development of Israel from internal
populations and also from the Sea Peoples or tribes forced to migrate in
their wake, and expressed some scepticism toward the significance of
nomadic incursions. The position continued to be stoutly defended by Y.
Yadin, even in one of the last of his articles to be published (Yadin 1979,
1982), but by then it was being widely abandoned by scholars. There
have been a few die-hard defences by conservative evangelicals (e.g.,
Wood 1990; cf. Bimson 1981; discussed below). Thus, one is somewhat
disconcerted to find a mainstream archaeologist trot out the thesis again,
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 121

apparently without realizing that biblical scholarship has abandoned the

position (Ben-Tor 1998, but cf. Ben-Ami 2001). The ‘conquest’ model is
now only of historical interest, but it should alert scholars to the fact that
vociferous adherence by large numbers of academics is no guarantee that
a particular theory will stand the test of time.
As already noted in the discussion of the exodus, a couple of conserv-
ative evangelical scholars continue to argue for a fifteenth-century exodus
and conquest much as the Pentateuch and Joshua describe them. These are
John Bimson (1981) and Bryant Wood (1990, 2005, 2007). Whereas the
views of Albright and others became dominant in their interpretation that
Joshua came at the end of the Late Bronze, Bimson’s main contribution
to the debate was to show how fragile the archaeological support was for
the Albright thesis, although his aim was to undermine Albright’s dating
rather than the conquest model as such. Similarly, Wood has argued from
archaeology for a redating of the exodus and conquest, even though his
arguments have not been published in a proper peer-reviewed context. The
problem with their redating of the exodus was already discussed above.
Their views on the ‘conquest’ also seem to have gained no followers (even
the conservative James Hoffmeier [2007] has attacked Wood’s arguments
for the fifteenth century). Further evidence against their views are found
in §2.3.2.1.
The ‘peaceful infiltration’ model of Alt and Noth has better stood the
test of time in certain ways than Albright’s. It continued to find adherents
among archaeologists in the 1980s and even the 1990s (e.g., Zertal 1994).
Yet a number of criticisms had been levelled at it that rendered the thesis
in its original form untenable. One was that the desert could not produce
sufficient nomads to populate the hill country in Iron I (see Chaney 1983;
but this is disputed by Finkelstein 1988: 308; cf. Rainey 2001: 67–8).
Another was that nomads adopt this lifestyle out of necessity and want
nothing more than the chance to settle down: in fact, the ‘nomadic’ mode
of life takes many forms, and those who engage in it are no more likely
to change than those in other forms of subsistence agrarian activity (see
the discussion in Lemche 1985: 136–47; Dever 2003a: 50–2). Yet recently
Thomas Levy and Augustin Holl (2002) have pointed to the analogy of the
Shuwa-Arabs of Chad and argued that the situation there is very similar
to that postulated by the peaceful infiltration thesis (see below), showing
that at least aspects of the theory are still viable.
The ‘Mendenhall–Gottwald thesis’ is widely used to designate the
internal revolt model. Gottwald’s 1979 study was the academic under-
pinning for Mendenhall’s programmatic thesis almost two decades earlier.
A collection strongly espousing the Mendenhall–Gottwald thesis was
122 Ancient Israel

notable for the trenchant essay by Mendenhall attacking and disowning

Gottwald’s approach (Mendenhall 1983). Although noting some of the
genuine differences between the two scholars, it has not stopped the
hyphenated designation for this model. N. P. Lemche, while expressing
his appreciation of Gottwald’s use of sociology, presented a major critique
of his work (1985; also Finkelstein 1988: 306–14). Although differing
from Gottwald on many points, including the concept of an internal revolt,
Lemche’s final picture was of an internal development of the indigenous
population. In his view, though, it was not urban residents who fled
oppression of the city-states but members of the rural peasantry who went
up into the hill country to escape taxes (Lemche 1985: 427–32).
The three models that dominated the twentieth century are no longer
equal alternatives. An examination of their strengths and weaknesses
has already suggested which way scholarship has moved. The Albright
thesis of a unified conquest has all but been abandoned by mainstream
critical scholarship and continues to be pressed only by a few conservative
scholars. The reason is that much of the support has simply evaporated,
in particular the evidence that was once seen as its main strength: the
archaeology. In the past quarter of a century most of the discussion has
revolved around the Alt–Noth and the Mendenhall–Gottwald theories
and has focused on archaeology and on social-scientific models. Neither
model is seen to be adequate in itself, and much of recent thinking has
combined aspects of both.
A number of variants of these three have subsequently been developed.
The ‘symbiosis theory’ of V. Fritz (1981, 1987) is really a variant of the
Alt–Noth thesis, though it also incorporates insights from Mendenhall–
Gottwald (yet, surprisingly, Levy and Holl [2002: 89] regard it as one of
the least likely models). Fritz points to the similarity of the material culture
of the highland settlers to that found in the territories of the Canaanite
city-states, but also differences. This shows that the new population
(assumed to be pastoralists) was not the same as the Canaanites but was
in close contact with them over several generations. This population
eventually settled down, their material culture showing a lot in common
with Canaanite culture but also with enough differences to distinguish
them. The problem with this theory is that all objections to the Peaceful
Infiltration theory apply.
We can summarize by saying that the three main models that dominated
the twentieth century have long since ceased to be equal alternatives in the
twenty-first century; indeed, none of them seems to be accepted anymore
in its original form.
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 123

However, a new consensus looks to be emerging. Although there are

a number of variants of it, it seems to cluster around the view that Israel
emerged in the highlands of Canaan largely from native inhabitants.
A. E. Killebrew (2005: 149–96; 2006) has used the term ‘mixed multitude’
for this thesis, which serves as a good description for many of the views.
Although Killebrew gives a succinct and persuasive argument for her
case, she admits that the thesis did not originate with her. Indeed, it has
been put forward in some form or other (though often briefly and without
supporting argumentation) by a number of researchers going back at least
to the mid-1980s (Ahlström 1986: 57–83; cf. Dever 1992a; Finkelstein
and Na’aman [eds] 1994: 13–14). According to this theory, the population
that became Israel was made up of a diverse group of people:

…demographic redistribution and an increase in the settled population,

especially in the central hill country and Transjordanian highlands. These
inhabitants most likely comprised different elements of Late Bronze Age
society, namely, the rural Canaanite population, displaced peasants and pas-
toralists, and lawless ‘apiru and shasu. Outside elements probably included
other marginal groups, such as fugitive or ‘runaway’ Semitic slaves from
Twentieth-Dynasty New Kingdom Egypt… Other nonindigenous groups,
such as Midianites, Kenites, and Amalekites, perhaps connected with the
control of camel caravan trade routes between Arabia and Canaan, may have
constituted an essential element of this ‘mixed multitude’. (Killebrew 2006:
571)

Although most accept that early Israel was made up of a variety of groups,
some tend to favour a single group as making up the bulk of the people.
A survey of some of the more recent views will help to illustrate both the
common core and the diversity of the specific theories.
I. Finkelstein produced what seems to be a true merging of Alt–Noth
and Mendenhall–Gottwald, with a firm archaeological base (Finkelstein
1988). Much of his study is on the archaeology of developments during
Iron I and documents the unprecedented growth of population in the hill
country through this period. Although accepting that the new population
included a number of elements, he especially argued that the spectacular
growth came about because a large nomadic population settled down.
The nomads did not come from the ‘deep’ desert region, however, but
were the descendants of those who left settled life for a pastoral lifestyle
in the Middle Bronze Age because of adverse conditions. He argues that
the region went through a regular long-term cycle of people moving from
settled life to nomadic life and back again, depending on climatic and
economic cycles. Thus, the new population of the hill country was made
124 Ancient Israel

up of nomadic pastoralists different from the Canaanites (as Alt–Noth

proposed) but they were part of the indigenous population (as argued by
Mendenhall–Gottwald). He notes that the earliest settlements in the areas
of Ephraim, Manasseh and Benjamin were on the desert fringe; they also
often settled near Canaanite cities (Finkelstein 1988: 310).
Finkelstein’s thesis has been critiqued mainly on the basis that the
archaeology of the Iron I hill-country settlements does not indicate
nomadic influence on the material culture (Dever 1992a, 1998a). Also, the
studies of pastoralists indicate that pastoralism is often not an exclusive
lifestyle but one activity of people who also engage in agriculture
(Lemche 1985: 136–47; Killebrew 2006: 565). This is true, but it does not
strike at the heart of Finkelstein’s proposal. More important are studies of
Palestinian nomads in recent times who lived and moved freely among the
settled areas and peasant farmers. Dever refers to these in his criticisms
of Finkelstein (Dever 1998a: 222–9). As G. Lehmann (2003: 155) points
out, however, ‘it is impossible to estimate the number or the impact of
nomadic pastoralists in Iron Age Judah’. More important is the context
argued for by Finkelstein: the alternating cycles of sedentary agriculture
and pastoralism that he sees as determining settlement and the lifestyle of
the inhabitants in Palestine from at least the third millennium BCE.
N. Na’aman (1994c) associates the origins of Israel with the wider devel-
opments in the eastern Mediterranean. The thirteenth to eleventh centuries
brought the settlement of peripheral areas contemporary with the collapse
of urban culture in the entire Aegean–Anatolian–Syro-Palestinian region
and the migration of large groups on the boundaries of Mesopotamia.
At no other time was the disruption of urban culture in Anatolia and
Syro-Palestine (reaching as far as the Aegean and the Balkans) so
complete as in the twelfth century. The Arameans gradually took over
large tracts in Mesopotamia and Syria. Large-scale migration in Iron I
because of destruction in Asia Minor means that various groups reached
Canaan and played an important part in settlement: Hittites in Hebron;
Hivites in western Benjamin and perhaps around Shechem; Jebusites from
the Hittite empire; Girgashites from Anatolia. Only two of the alleged
seven pre-Israelite nations were autochthonous. These groups may have
helped break Egyptian rule. Traditions about patriarchal migrations to
Egypt are best understood against this background; similarly, stories of
coming out of Egypt such as the exodus should be understood as vaguely
remembered background rather than routine migration of pastoral groups.
Thus, the overall picture does not support the assumption that the Iron I
settlement was only an internal Palestinian one or settlers only from local
Canaanite elements. The various groups entering Canaan joined the local
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 125

uprooted and pastoral groups, which led to an increase in pastoral and

bandit splinter groups that upset the urban–nomad balance and induced
the nomads to settle down: ‘The model that emerges from my analysis is
of small and larger groups of variegated ethnic and cultural background
who settled during a long period and slowly and gradually started cooper-
ating in the new environment’ (Na’aman 1994c: 246).
The recent study of E. van der Steen (2004: 306–10) lends support to
this thesis. She argues that the trading collapse in Ammon caused inhab-
itants to migrate not only into Moab but also into the Jordan Valley. There
the pressure of population caused further migration into the hill country
west of the Jordan. It may be that there was a partial vacuum there at
this time because Merenptah (or Rameses II) had ‘laid waste Israel’
(Merenptah Stela) who may have been living in the northern hill country,
in her interpretation.
Z. Herzog (2002: 89–92) draws attention to the current ‘fluid’ concept
of ethnicity that undermines attempts to identify ethnic borders. In the
Beersheba valley in Iron I a variety of different groups seems to have lived
(according to the bibical text), with a relatively uniform material culture.
Here the groups mixed and combined in a complex social composition.
Using the Beersheba valley as a model, Herzog argues that the larger
settlement and the emergence of an Israelite identity should be understood
from an ‘interactive-combined model’ in which ‘a community identity is
created from the development and combination of various social groups.
Clearly, in different regions there were different combinations of commu-
nities, simultaneous with inter-regional mixing and blending’ (2002: 92).
Accepting the ‘mixed multitude’ thesis for the origin of Israel still leaves
a number of questions unanswered. Some researchers have argued that the
early Israelites were primarily from one particular group. At the moment,
there is a considerable debate between those who say that the early
Israelites were mainly ‘Canaanite’ and those who argue that they arose
from the Shasu. For example, although differing from Gottwald on many
points, including the concept of an internal revolt, Lemche’s final picture
was of an internal development of the indigenous population. In his view,
though, it was not urban residents who fled oppression of the city-states
but members of the Canaanite rural peasantry who went up into the hill
country to escape taxes (1985: 427–32).
More recently, Dever has been a major voice in urging the case for
postulating the Canaanite origin of the highland settlers who became
Israel (his ‘Proto-Israelites’). In his view, the basis of the highland settle-
ments were farmers and others withdrawing from the systems collapse of
the Canaanite lowlands (see especially Dever 2003a: 167–89). The idea
126 Ancient Israel

that these new settlers were ‘nomads’ or ‘semi-nomads’ settling down is

anathema to him. He argues that there is no evidence that nomadic types
are generally willing to become agriculturalists; also, there would not
have been sufficient nomadic pastoralists in the region to account for
the population growth. This position is somewhat surprising in light of
Dever’s recent archaeological report on two Early Bronze IV sites (Dever
2014). Although the sites are some centuries before the IA I and Dever
ascribes them to nomadic pastoralists, he notes that pastoral nomadism
covers a broad spectrum of habitation styles, including those who planted
crops in their summer pasture area and returned to harvest them, as well
as engaging in trade and perhaps even metallurgy (Dever 2014: 231–5).
He also suggests that the pastoral nomads who occupied these sites were
Canaanites who left a sedentary lifestyle for particular reasons.
But if they could become pastoral nomads, could not they revert to
a more settled lifestyle? Modern anthropological studies have shown
that there are a variety of examples of a shift from a nomadic lifestyle
to a sedentary one (see §3.2.4.3 on the whole question). This is not
theoretical but comes from study of societies which have actually made
the voluntary move from nomadism to sedentarianism. To give three
examples of different forms of adaptation, the first example is of the Sebei
of East Africa who made the shift from nomadic pastoralism to sedentary
cultivation (Goldschmidt 1980). This was not from coercion but done
voluntarily because it was seen as advantageous to themselves. For the
second example, some of the Yoruk of southeast Turkey remained pasto-
ralists but others chose to settle down and become village cultivators.
This was because of economic circumstances which militated against the
entire group’s remaining pastoralists. Although the process was subject
to adverse conditions, the shift in lifestyle was entered into voluntarily
by those who left pastoralism for cultivation. A third example is nomadic
groups who drastically reduced their adherence to the nomadic way of life
while not giving it up entirely. This includes the Bedouin of the Beqaa
Valley of Lebanon (Chatty 1980) and nomads of Baluchistan (Salzman
1980b). Thus, to argue that pastoralists do not settle down is to ignore
many known examples where this has precisely taken place.
Others have argued that the Israelites arose from the Shasu. Such
has been proposed by Rainey (2001) and Redford (1990: 73–5; 1992a:
267–80), plus a number of others. This is partly based on the reliefs
associated with Merenptah’s supposed conquests. Some argue that the
‘Israel’ of the inscription is to be identified with the Shasu of the reliefs.
In my view, this goes far beyond the evidence. The equation of the reliefs
with entities in the inscription is more ingenious than convincing. In any
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 127

case, it seems that the texts distinguish the Israelites, Canaanites and
Shasu. This does not mean that both Shasu and Canaanites could not
have joined the settlers who became Israel, but once Israel had its own
identity (as indicated by the Merenptah inscription) it was seen as separate
from both the Canaanites and Shasu. (See further §3.1.2 in relation to the
Merenptah inscriptions.)
Recently, Avraham Faust (e.g., 2006) has been an outspoken defender
of the Shasu thesis. His position is that the highland culture shows mainly
discontinuity, which militates against the settlers being Canaanites. Rather,
they are mainly the Shasu who have changed their lifestyle because of
various circumstances. Faust is quite right to argue that some of the settlers
in the highlands could have been Shasu settling down (in opposition to
Dever), as discussed at §3.2.4.3. Yet his rejection of the importance of
Canaanites in the settlement process seems misplaced, based mainly on
the argument of discontinuity between LB material culture and that of the
IA I. The general view among other archaeologists seems to be that there
is a great deal of continuity (see especially Killebrew 2005: 171–81). The
most important of these continuities is in the pottery: ‘Iron I highland
pottery…is remarkable for its continuity with Late Bronze Age ceramic
traditions’, including the collared-rim jar which is a continuation of the
Canaanite jar tradition (Killebrew 2005: 177–81). Also, contrary to Faust,
many argue with regard to the three- or four-room house that ‘its roots go
back to Late Bronze Age Canaanite architecture’ (Killebrew 2005: 174
plus n. 65). The main discontinuity Faust can point to is that of burials, but
this is a disputed area (cf. Kletter 2002; the IA cemetery at Wadi Fidan 40
[Levy, Adams and Muniz 2004; Levy 2009a]); in any case, one expects a
certain amount of discontinuity in light of the different environment and
circumstances of the highland settlers.
Furthermore, Faust discounts or ignores some important continuities
pointed out by Dever (2003a: 168). Two of these are language (the
Israelites spoke a form of Canaanite) and religion (Israelite religion was
essentially the Northwest Semitic religion shared by Canaanites and
others in the region). Finally, we need to consider the arguments of Hasel
about the Shasu. He draws up a comparison of Israel as described in the
Merenptah inscription and the characteristics of the Shasu, and concludes
that they differ from each other in three main points (Hasel 1998: 236–9).
This would seem to support Israel’s origins from Canaanites. Hasel’s
arguments are well taken and have weight; however, each characteristic is
also based on slender evidence and can be debated. What his arguments
do not seem to do is rule out that Israel could (whether in part or as a
whole) have originated from a Shasu population settling down.
128 Ancient Israel

However, an important fact must be emphasized with regard to the

two main authors being compared here: each author – Dever and Faust –
undermines his own argument! This is because Dever accepts that some of
the new settlers were likely to have been pastoral nomads, including Shasu
(Dever 2003a: 181–2). Likewise, Faust allows that some of the settlers
came from the Canaanite lowlands: ‘it seems as if ancient Israel was
composed of peoples who came from various backgrounds:…[including]
settled Canaanites who for various reasons changed their identity… In
the end it is likely that many, if not most, Israelites had Canaanite origins’
(Faust 2006: 186). So, in making such a concession in the individual
positions, each actually negates his main argument which focuses only
on one group. From a broader perspective, though, these two positions
reinforce the ‘mixed multitude’ thesis because each concedes that there is
more than one component to the original highland settlements.
To conclude this discussion, I want to make several observations that
are relevant the highland settlements and the rise of Israel:

1. Many of the inhabitants of Canaanite cities were not ‘urbanites’

as we think of the term. That is, they were not scribes or admin-
istrators but simply agriculturalists who lived in the city. We have
plenty of evidence of this even in modern times in quite large Third
World cities where the majority of the inhabitants leave each day to
tend their cultivated areas (Grabbe 2001c). Therefore, the idea that
Canaanite city dwellers could not be among those in the IA I highland
settlements is mistaken.
2. Some of those settling the highlands would logically have been
Canaanite peasants and farmers from villages and farmsteads sur-
rounding the Canaanite cities, but also those who had lived within
the city walls.
3. As discussed above with regard to the Shasu, the assumption that they
were all ‘nomads’ or ‘semi-nomads’ is not at all established from the
few texts that we have of them (§2.2.1.4). They do not just wander
around indiscriminately but make up a Shasu country or territory.
Although we know that pastoralism was characteristic of some or
possibly even most, we cannot say that this was the sole means of
livelihood of all of them: pastoralism is part of the general way of
living among settled peoples as well. Some inscriptions indicate that
Shasu are also associated with certain cities.
4. Although the idea that nomads naturally settle down or even want to
settle down has been shown to be an outdated concept, this does not
mean that pastoralists do not sometimes move to cultivation and a
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 129

settled lifestyle. It is true that among modern examples, we often find

that pastoralists who give up their lifestyle do so because of govern-
mental coersion. Yet it is also a fact that we have many examples in
which pastoralists change – without government coersion – to a more
settled way of living (§3.2.4.3).

It seems a reasonable conclusion that the highlands settlers included

Shasu, either because the Shasu were less monocultural in their way of
living than often assumed or because some of them moved from mobile
pastoralism to a more settled way of living (or perhaps both). Yet it is also
likely that the settlers included people of the Canaanite lowlands who left
their villages and farms, and even the Canaanite cities, and made these
remote regions their home. Those who fled to the highlands were often
designated as ‘apiru in Egyptian sources, but that tells us little other than
that they were seen as displaced persons and potential troublemakers. The
term is not necessarily a designation of a particular lifestyle. It is true that
the ‘apiru might well be raiders or mercenaries, and some of those living
in the highlands might well have taken up both occupations. But just as
the medieval Vikings were also farmers and settlers, as well as warriors
and raiders, so those called ‘apiru pursued more than one way of making
a living. Many or perhaps even most of them engaged in raising crops
and livestock instead of or even in addition to those activities that the
Egyptians objected to.
Yet we still face a further problem: the large expansion of settlement
in the highlands took place in IA I, yet Israel seems to have originated
before this, in the LBA. If an ‘Israel’ was already in existence by 1208
BCE or possibly even earlier, then where was it located? Could the
highland population already be called ‘Israel’ even before this significant
expansion? This seems unlikely. Thus, we have to assume either that a
population associated with the highlands was already called Israel before
the IA I settlement or that Israel actually originated elsewhere and only
subsequently became associated with the population of the hill country.
In the former case, it might be that some of the Shasu or related groups
were called ‘Israel’. So far, no such group is attested in our literary or
archaeological sources, but we might need to look harder. With regard to
the latter case, we are hard put to find a group, in the Egyptian realm but
outside the Palestinian highlands, that could identified with Israel.
Faust has suggested that the settlement process already started in the
thirteenth century (2006: 160). A recent study by Yitzhak Meitlis (2008)
seems to go even further. Based on LB pottery found in IA I contexts,
he argues that LB pottery was not easily distinguished from early IA I
130 Ancient Israel

pottery. He concludes that IA I began much earlier than often dated. If

he is right, it may be that the highland settlement was underway earlier
than the time of Merenptah. This would also fit with those Egyptologists
who think they have found references to Israel perhaps even as early as
the fourteenth century BCE. Thus, either the highland settlements began
much earlier than normally dated, or the Israel of the early Egyptian
sources was located elsewhere. This is a case where new archaeological
(or perhaps even textual) discoveries may help us to resolve what remains
a difficulty in our historical reconstruction.

3.2.4.3 ‘Tribes’ and ‘Nomads’

Several issues debated among social anthropologists have been intertwined
with the discussions on the origins of Israel, including ‘tribes/tribalism’
and ‘nomads/nomadism’. First, ‘tribes’ and ‘tribalism’ are an aspect of the
debate over ethnicity (Rogerson 1978: 86–101; Lemche 1985: 202–44;
McNutt 1999: 75–94; Gottwald 1979: 293–341). ‘Ethnic group’ is now
often used where ‘tribe’ would have been used in the past. ‘Tribe’ is of
course the English word but is frequently the translation of Hebrew ‫שבט‬
(šēveṭ) and ‫( מטה‬maṭṭeh). The term has been widely discussed in anthro-
pology (Helm [ed.] 1968; M. H. Fried 1968, 1975; Kamp and Yoffee 1980:
88–9; Lemche 1985: 202–44; Khoury and Kostiner [eds] 1990) without
any consensus, except that the term is problematic. M. H. Fried (1968:
4–5) stated that the ‘single most egregious case of meaninglessness’ was
the word ‘race’, but ‘tribe’ was not far behind: thus, many anthropologists
avoid using the term. Yet because of its frequent application in the context
of Hebrew Bible study, the word ‘tribe’ cannot be avoided. Many seem to
agree that ancient Israel was a segmentary society, that is, one organized
according to (supposed) descent and kinship (but see Rogerson 1986,
though he suggests that Israel might have been closer to a segmentary
state). The relationship between various Israelites (and also other peoples)
was expressed by the creation and use of genealogies (R. R. Wilson
1977; Johnson 1988; Levin 2001). In most societies, ancient and modern,
genealogies do not necessarily show actual biological relationship or
descent but social relationships between members and sections of society.
Biblical genealogies also seem to have had this function.
A theory once popular among biblical scholars was that pre-monarchic
Israel was organized as an ‘amphictyony’ (Noth 1930; 1960: 85–109;
Gottwald 1979: 345–57), a tribal league organized around a central shrine.
After considerable critique of the thesis in the 1960s and especially the
1970s (e.g., Geus 1976; Mayes 1974; Lemche 1977), this model was
generally abandoned. Both it and Gottwald’s alternative model placed a
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 131

great deal of emphasis on tribes and a specific confederation of Israelite

tribes (Gottwald 1979: 358–86; but see the more cautious view in
Gottwald 1993: 177–82). One of the problems is making the tribe the key
social unit. Apart from the book of Judges, the text gives little collective
function to the tribes. Most collective activity is carried out by small
groups, and the tribes appear to be mainly territorial units (H. Weippert
1973; Geus 1976: 211; Lemche 1985: 71). That is, references to tribes
were usually a reference to geography; this clarifies most of the Bible
references to Israelite tribes. The people within a specific territory were
generally assumed to be of a common lineage, but since property was seen
as belonging by right to a specific lineage (Lev. 25.13-16, 23-28), the two
went together.
The essential problem is that ‘tribe’ has come to be used of social and/
or political units of different sorts. The difficulty is not unique to English
usage but extends to the biblical text itself. A variety of terms are used
in Hebrew to designate divisions of the Israelites, and their significance
is widely assumed to be the following (Rogerson 1978: 93–4): ‫שבט‬
(šēveṭ); ‫( מטה‬maṭṭeh) ‘tribe’; ‫( משפחה‬mišpāḥāh) ‘family, clan’; ‫בית אב‬
(bêt-’āv) ‘extended family’. Yet the terms are often used interchangeably,
as Rogerson points out (cf. Exod. 6.16-25; Judg. 17.7; Amos 3.1).
Furthermore, an entity that would be called a tribe in the modern context
of any east African ethnic group would correspond to the entirety of the
Israelites, not the individual members of the ‘twelve tribes’ (Mojola 1998:
26). What this means is that we should be careful about making any social
assumptions about the individual Israelite ‘tribes’. It seems likely that
the system of twelve tribes in the biblical tradition is a late development,
perhaps as late as the sixth century (Macchi 1999: 272–80). M. Noth’s
(1930; 1960: 85–7) analysis of the various lists, showing two types of lists
(one with Levi and Joseph, another without Levi but with Ephraim and
Manasseh instead of Joseph), has been quite influential. More recent study
confirms that there are two systems, but argues that they have been edited
together into the scheme of twelve tribes; that is, the twelve-fold system
is a late development (Macchi 1999; Kallai 1995, 1999).
Associated with the question of tribalism is that of nomads or pastoral
nomads and the nomadic lifestyle. Through much of the twentieth century
many biblical scholars saw the origin of Israel from a nomadic lifestyle
(or ‘semi-nomads’). The assumption of the Alt–Noth school (§3.2.4.2),
but also others, was that a nomadic existence explained much about the
early Israelite traditions (with special emphasis on their religion [§4.2.8]).
One of the critiques coming from those who embraced the Mendenhall–
Gottwald thesis was that nomadism was not the key to understanding
132 Ancient Israel

early Israel (Chaney 1983), but the place of ‘nomads’ (or ‘pastoralists’)
in the origins of Israel has not been given up (see the discussion of
Finkelstein above [§3.2.4.2]). But now there is a much more sophisticated
understanding of the question, though some of the anthropological studies
one still sees cited have been superseded.
Earlier discussions especially focused on the work of J. R. Kupper,
J. T. Luke and M. B. Rowton (see the summary in Kamp and Yoffee 1980:
90–2). Unfortunately, models were developed on these studies by biblical
scholars who were apparently unaware of the wide range of nomadic/
pastoralist modes of living (Irons and Dyson-Hudson [eds] 1972; Nelson
[ed.] 1973; Kamp and Yoffee 1980: 92–4; Lemche 1985: 84–163;
Khazanov 1994; Staubli 1991; Salzman 2004; Szuchman [ed.] 2009).
The main problem was the assumption of bipolar opposites: sedentary/
nomadic, agriculturalist/pastoralist, rural/urban, village/city (Mohammed
1973; Kamp and Yoffee 1980: 93; Lemche 1985: 198–201). This is
despite the fact that a number of researchers recognized that pastoralists
and farmers generally had a mutually beneficial relationship and usually
lived together in harmony.
What was often forgotten was that ‘pastoral nomad’ covers a wide
spectrum of living modes, from those who grow crops alongside their
animal husbandry and have close contacts with the settled community to
those who live away from the settled areas and have a very mobile way
of life. Philip Salzman summarizes the situation, by saying that we must
reject an evolutionary view that

would not at all correspond to life in the Middle East and North Africa,
where nomadization and sedentarization have been ongoing complementary
processes for millennia… People settled when it seemed beneficial to do
so and became nomadic for the same reason… We must also keep in mind
that ‘settled’ and ‘nomadic,’ rather than being two types, are better thought
of as opposite ends of a continuum with many gradations of stability and
mobility. (Salzman 2004: 34)

He suggests a model of sedentarization that is much more nuanced to the

realities of actual groups studied by modern anthropologists:

…it is necessary to propose a further model…in which sedentarization is

seen not so much as a forced, coerced, unavoidable process, to which no
conceivable alternative but annihilation could exist, but rather as (in very
many cases) a voluntary, uncoerced shift from one available pattern to
another in response to changing pressures, constraints, and opportunities
both internal and external to the society.
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 133

Salzman (2004: 23–41) went on to make a number of proposals that give

a perspective rather different from that found in many writings on the
subject. I list some of the ones that seem most relevant here (my own
formulation):

• Nomadism is a way of coping with a situation of scarce and unpre-

dictable resources.
• Nomads do not usually concentrate on only one activity of production
such as pastoralism but combine it with other activities such as grain
cultivation, arboriculture, viticulture, fishing, or trading. There are
nomadic agriculturalists as well as nomadic pastoralists.
• Nomadism is not necessarily connected to political structure or
economic situation. The nomads’ relationship to the political and
economic situation varies greatly from community to community.
• Nomads vary greatly in structure, from egalitarian, acephalus,
decentralized peoples to weak chiefdoms to very hierarchical and
centralized entities. Nomadic pastoralists tend to be the former
(decentralized) and in the more remote regions, while the more
centralized and hierarchical tend to be sedentary or associated with
agricultural settlements, cities, etc.
• Nomads are not a particular kind of people but a variety of peoples
who use a particular strategy (household mobility) to carry out
productive activities and to defend themselves. Nomadism is not
their life goal or raison d’être: they migrate to live. Given other
circumstances they might choose a non-nomadic way of life.
• Those that we call ‘nomads’ might in other contexts go by a variety
of other names: peasants, warriors, tribal people, peaceful civilians.
The label ‘nomad’ (or ‘pastoralist’) captures only a portion of their
way of life, characteristics, and identity.

It is important to keep in mind that (a) a people might include both

pastoralists and agriculturalists, or (b) even the same individuals might
carry on both crop-growing and animal-herding, and (c) people could
cycle lifestyles, being sometimes pastoralists and sometimes settled
agriculturalists, not to mention the many stages in between.
Some general comments will summarize the discussion:

1. The ubiquitous reference to ‘tribes’ in the Bible, including in some

possibly early passages, suggest that Israelite society was eventually
‘tribalized’. Yet if Israel and Judah grew out of a coalescing of
various elements (pastoralists, agriculturalists, Transjordanians, etc.),
‘tribes’ may have developed later rather than earlier.
134 Ancient Israel

2. In any case, tribalization seems to have had little practical effect,

since we see little evidence that society was organized by tribes
for administrative purposes or collective action. The twelve-tribe
scheme, known from many biblical passages, is likely to be a late
development, created for ideological purposes.
3. The once-common assumption that early Israel consisted of a tribal
league (whether Noth’s ‘amphictyony’ or something related) is still
influential in some circles, even though generally thought to have
been refuted.
4. If, as argued (§§3.2.4.2; 3.3), Israel and Judah developed from a
variety of indigenous peoples who inhabited the highlands, it is likely
that this mixture included pastoralists and transhumants. Thus, the
study of ‘nomads’ in its broadest sense is still relevant to early Israel,
but the great variety of types, lifestyles and combinations has to be
recognized: ‘categories and labels (such as “nomadic pastoralists”)
tend to over-simplify and distort the multiresource economies that
most nomads have and the versatile, multipurpose nomadism that
they use to the fullest’ (Salzman 2004: 24).

3.2.4.4 Anthropological Models of Statehood

The question of statehood for Israel and Judah cannot easily be disas-
sociated from that of the settlement: the settlement and the rise of the
monarchy seem ultimately to be part of the same process. This does not
suggest that, once those who became Israel settled down, a state was
inevitable, but the settlement – its nature, its development, the resources
available – are all determining factors in the progress toward statehood.
One followed from and presupposed the other.
In recent years there has been much discussion among anthropologists
and archaeologists about the nature of states, the types of states, how
states develop and what precedes them. It is not unusual for discussions
about the rise of Israel to make some reference to this discussion, but it
must be said that most writings by biblical scholars do not give a thorough
treatment of the subject. It is fair to say that when anthropological studies
on state development are mentioned, it is not infrequently to expound one
and follow it without serious discussion of other possibilities or critique of
the one being followed. The literature on the subject is quite substantial,
especially if one takes into account everything written since the seminal
work by M. Fortes and E. Evans-Pritchard (1940). No attempt will be
made here to trace the discussion over the decades, but several points
can be made in order to summarize the most important considerations for
discussion in the present:
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 135

1. Much of the discussion, at least until recently, has been based on

evolutionary models (Redman 1999: 49–53; Gosden 1999: 476–82;
Renfrew and Bahn 2004: 178–82; Yoffee 2005: 22–41). A popular
one has been the model of E. R. Service (1962) in which civilization
developed through the stages of bands, tribes, chiefdoms and finally
states. Evolutionary models do not have to force everything into a
rigid pattern nor suggest inevitability (Feinman and Marcus [eds]
1998: 5–6). N. Yoffee fully accepts the concept of social evolution,
but his recent study is a sustained critique of the widely regarded
‘neo-evolutionary model’ (Yoffee 2005: 22–41).
2. The various models of statehood are ideal types, but there is a danger
of elevating ideal types to reality. Reality is always much more
complicated, while ideal types only serve as a means of investigation
and comparison. Within the various types there is a great deal of
variation. To pick one sociological model and argue from it without
considering others or without critiquing the models themselves is to
be naive and uncritical.
3. The concept of chiefdom – so beloved of studies on the development
of statehood in Israel and Judah – has been much criticized (Yoffee
2005: 22–31). See further on this below.

The types of early states have been discussed in the anthropological

literature, with a bewildering variety of models: city-states, territorial
states, regional states, segmentary states, tribal states, ethnic states. The
term ‘city-state’ frequently comes up in discussions relating to ancient
Palestine, yet a recent collection found the term problematic (Feinman
and Marcus [eds] 1998: 8–10). B. Trigger (2003: 92–113) divides early
states into the ‘city-state’ and ‘the territorial state’; yet, disconcertingly,
toward the end of his discussion he suddenly introduces the ‘regional
state/kingdom’ without discussing what it is or how it relates to the other
two. ‘Regional state’ is also used by T. J. Barfield (1990), but he seems to
be using the term in a different sense from Trigger.
A number of the recent theorists on the rise of the Israelite and Judahite
states have worked with the model of the chiefdom. Of recent works
R. D. Miller II argues that Israel began as a ‘complex chiefdom’ (2005:
esp. 6–14):

Those having an intermediate level or levels of ‘subchiefs’ between the

paramount and the people… It is complex chiefdoms that develop into states
and that one would expect to find in Israel on the threshold of Monarchy.
(Miller 2005: 8)
136 Ancient Israel

Three main characteristics are said to be associated with complex

chiefdoms: (1) tribute mobilization, (2) cycling (between two or three
levels of control) and (3) sacralization. Unfortunately, Miller does not
appear to take account of the debate. For example, he makes little refer-
ence to the critique of the chiefdom concept (e.g., Yoffee 2005: 22–31)
and none to those who argue that the chiefdom is an alternative to the
state, that is, that chiefdoms do not develop into states (cf. Yoffee 2005:
26–7). His statement that it is the complex chiefdom that develops into
the state also does not seem to recognize that the complex chiefdom might
well cycle into a ‘simple chiefdom’.
N. Yoffee (2005) both critiques the ‘neo-evolutionary’ thesis and also
makes his own proposals about the development of the state. His thesis
seems to be expressed in the following statement:

New social roles and new forms of social relations emerged alongside,
and to an extent supplanted, exclusive kinship rules (of marriages and
the status of children) that also functioned as the framework for relations
of production. Leadership, exercised by shamans, expert hunters, and
charismatic individuals, gave way to formalized ideologies in which the
accumulation of wealth and high status were seen as rightfully belonging to
leaders whose roles were, among other things, to ‘make inequality enchant’.
As social relations were transformed into relations of domination, new
ideologies led to the acquiescence of subjects in their own domination and
the production of their own subordination (Godelier 1986). The new ideol-
ogies of state, which were inextricable from the changing social relations
that gave them birth, thus depicted how dominant leaders ‘served’ those
who daily and perpetually served them… The earliest states, thus, consisted
of a political center with its own leadership structure, specialized activities,
and personnel, but also included numerous differentiated groups. These
social groups continuously changed in their organization and membership
in relation to the needs and goals, strengths and weaknesses of the political
center. (2005: 32–4)

According to Yoffee (2005: 34–8) the critical processes of social and

economic differentiation and political integration come about through
the various forms of power that had to be in place before the earliest
states could evolve: economic power (agricultural production, mercantile
activity), social power (elites at both the state and local level, creation
or adaptation of symbols of cultural commonality) and political power
(bureaucratic administration, military organization, legal system, taxation
structure). Although ancient states were unlikely to have passed through a
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 137

chiefdom-like stage, he accepts and even presses the concept of city-state

(2005: 42–62). He mentions in passing ‘Yoffee’s rule’: ‘If you can argue
whether a society is a state or isn’t, then it isn’t’ (2005: 41).
A. H. Joffe proposes the model of the ‘ethnic state’ for the rise of
secondary states in the southern Levant, meaning Israel, Judah, Ammon,
Moab and finally Edom. By ‘ethnic state’ he means:

Polities integrated by means of identity, especially ethnicity, and which

are territorially based…they are novel and historically contingent political
systems which appear in the Levant during the first millennium BCE thanks
to the confluence of several factors, not least of all the collapse of imperial
domination and the longstanding city-state system. (2002: 426)

Joffe focuses on the archaeology and extra-biblical texts rather than the
biblical accounts.
Based on fragmented evidence from the material culture (e.g., a series of
palatial structures in bit-ḫilani style; proto-Aeolic capitals; red-burnished
Phoenician-style tableware) Joffe identifies a state in the Cisjordan region
already in the tenth century (2002: 440–6). The similarity of construction
styles at Megiddo, Hazor and Gezer indicates they were part of a larger
political unit, but all three seem to be in border areas. What the centre
might be is not known. In spite of some marks of royal ideology, other
significant ones are missing: representational art, monumental inscrip-
tions, inscribed or decorated objects, inscribed or uninscribed seals or
weights. Although Joffe insists on calling it a state, he admits it was
fragile, hardly integrated and had little in the way of meaningful ethnic
unity. In any case, much depends on following the conventional dating: if
the LC turns out to be correct, the postulated development of the ethnic
states will be somewhat different.
Other types of early state are sometimes postulated. The term
‘segmentary state’ seems to have been coined by A. W. Southall (1956).
In a more recent article, J. W. Rogerson argued that ancient Israel was not
a segmentary society but approached being a segmentary state (1986).
The concept has come under considerable criticism, and Southall himself
eventually gave it up (Marcus and Feinman 1998: 7–8). Another is ‘tribal
state’, of which three sorts are proposed: (1) one tribal elite or dynasty
conquers and rules over a heterogeneous population; (2) a non-tribal
dynasty is brought to power by and depends on tribal support; (3) the
rulers attempt to eliminate tribalism but promote a national ideology of
integration that resembles tribal ideology (Tapper 1990: 69). Inspired by
138 Ancient Israel

M. Weber, L. E. Stager (1985a: 25–8), followed by D. Schloen (2001) and

D. M. Master (2001), proposed the archetype of the patrimonial state. This
is modelled on the household, in which leadership is vested by tradition
in the patriarchal figure. In a recent book on the rise of Moab as a state,
however, B. Routledge considered but rejected both these popular ‘local
models’ of state formation, ‘tribal states’ and ‘patrimonial states’ (2004:
115–23).
One of the points made in a number of studies is the importance of
ideology to the founding of states (Caton 1990; also to ethnic identity:
§1.2.4). ‘Ideology’ can of course cover a number of different perspectives,
including that of religion. For example, E. Gellner (1981) has demon-
strated the significance of saints and religious leaders for the development
or maintenance of chiefdoms in early Islamic history (also Tapper 1990:
65). In this light, the suggestion of Gottwald and others that Yahwism was
important to the development of early Israel takes on a new significance.
We also have to consider the place of law, which can play a similar role.
In Israel law included not just civil law but moral and religious law.
Unfortunately, it becomes a matter of speculation at this point because we
have so little evidence, but see further at §3.3.

3.2.4.5 The Early Monarchy: Saul, Samuel, David, and Solomon

Traditions
It has often been assumed in the past that with the reigns of Saul and
David we begin to get into the historical period. In Noth’s classic theory,
1 Samuel 13 to 2 Kings 2 was thought to have been made up of several
blocks of tradition that were given only minor editing (including some
formulaic introductions and transitional passages) before being incorpo-
rated into the DtrH (Noth 1981: 54–7). More recent analysis has not been
as optimistic about finding early narratives, but the stories of Saul and
David show evidence of a variety of traditions: there is a pro-Saul bias in
the Saul traditions and anti-David perspectives in the Davidic material.
There are also some essential differences between them and the Solomon
narrative.
Saul. He was a problem for the narrator of 1–2 Samuel, which is an
excellent reason for believing he was a historical personage. It seems clear
that the narrator wanted to tell the story of David but had to deal with
Saul as well, even though he would rather have ignored or forgotten about
him. According to narrative logic, the rulership and dynasty should have
begun with David. The whole story of the monarchy is of the legitimacy
of the Davidic dynasty and the illegitimacy of the northern kingship.
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 139

The Northern Kingdom should not have existed, and the northern kings
were presented as usurpers. But how is this to be explained, if David was
also a usurper – not part of the dynasty originally chosen by God? The
narrator of 1 Samuel has to present it that Saul’s dynasty was not just
wiped out, but that his descendants were null and void as far as kingship
was concerned – a rather strange concept, if it was the king and dynasty
originally chosen and anointed by Yhwh. If Saul’s rulership and dynasty
could be overturned, why not that of David? Yet the narrative insists on
treating them quite differently.
Thus, it seems that the narrator was stuck with Saul and his family. The
existence of Saul as the first king of Israel does not strike one as a likely
fictional scenario, even if some aspects of the relationship and interaction
between Saul and David could easily find their place in a work of fiction.
The tradition was too firmly settled and known to the people to be given
major changes, such as dropping Saul altogether. Even though there is
absolutely no evidence for Saul apart from the biblical text, there is a good
prima facie case for believing there was a historical Saul.
What else can we say with more or less confidence about this figure?
As has long been observed, 2 Sam. 2.9 describes Ishbaal (or Ishbosheth)
as ruling over ‘Gilead, the Ashurites, Jezrel, Ephraim, and Benjamin’.
This is reasonably the territory ascribed to Saul. It is especially important
because it does not include Judah, for reasons which will be discussed
below under David. Apart from some territory on the other side of the
Jordan, the core of the fiefdom is the central hill country, which archae-
ology suggests is the centre of the Iron I settlement area. Many of Saul’s
activities could have been accomplished in two years (cf. 1 Sam. 13.1).
Much of the Saul tradition involves fighting against the Philistines.
Yet he was supposed to have originally made his name by fighting the
Amalekites (1 Sam. 15). On the surface, this appears unlikely, since the
territory of the Amalekites was presumed to have been in the Negev (Num.
13.29). That is a valid objection, since Saul’s territory does not appear to
have included Judah, much less the areas to the south of it. Diana Edelman
(1986) has argued, however, that Saul attacked Amalekites who were
living in the region of Samaria. This is much more credible as a historical
event.
It is plausible that Saul fought the Philistines, but it is more likely
that Saul attacked them than the other way round. Philistines had lived
happily in the coastal region for well over a century. The Shephelah acted
as a transition zone, and there was opportunity for Philistines to expand
if they had wanted to do so, without moving into the highlands. The ones
140 Ancient Israel

aiming to expand their territory seem to have been the Israelites. Probably,
the highlanders made periodic raids into the prosperous lowlands, though
that may have forced the Philistines to send troops occasionally on retali-
atory incursions into the highlands. But the idea that the Philistines were
wanting to expand their territory into the highlands at this time looks
unlikely. This interpretation seems to be supported by the archaeology.
The Galilee region prospered during the Iron I for the most part, but
some of the main sites were destroyed at the end of IA I (Finkelstein).
Radiocarbon dating now suggests that these destructions were not a
unitary event but happened over a period of some decades. The subse-
quent material culture suggests that invaders from the highlands were the
cause of the destructions. This would seem to confirm the view that the
highlanders – Israel – were expanding out of their core territory. If so, they
would probably have also been expanding south, into Philistine territory.
Rather than being the victims in the clash with the Philistines, Israel may
have been the instigators.
Let us note some salient points about the Saul tradition. First of all, Saul
looks like a chieftain, with a court that meets under a tree (1 Sam. 22.6).
We have two versions of how he became king: one is that he was anointed
by Samuel (1 Sam. 9.1–10.16 [10.23] + 13.2–14.52), which looks like a
biased account from a prophetic source that wants to make Saul subor-
dinate to Samuel; the other – more likely to be reliable – is that he arose as
a deliverer (1 Sam. 11.1-15). A recent analysis of the Saul tradition finds a
historical core, though this has been filtered through the distorting lenses
of Davidic court circles, prophetic circles, Deuteronomistic perspec-
tives and anti-monarchic views (Shalom Brooks 2005). The stories of
killing the priests of Nob or the Gibeonites are probably later calumnies.
According to Shalom Brooks the population in the central highlands was
already moving toward a new socioeconomic situation characterized by
a developing centralization. This was the background for the rise of the
monarchy. Saul was a successful leader, the first to develop a standing
army, who had the support of the people. Saul was not only able to unite
the Israelite tribes (she includes Judah, though I think this unlikely, as
explained in the section on David) but also to incorporate Canaanites and
other minority groups into the emerging state. Loyalty to Saul continued
after his death, creating rebellions and other problems for David; indeed,
David almost wrecked the monarchy by his sabotage of Saul’s rule in
order to gain the throne for himself.
Similarly, D. Edelman (1991, 1996a) sees the historical Saul as
the petty king of Gibeon with Benjaminite roots who expanded into
surrounding territory to create a state called ‘Israel’. Attempts to control
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 141

local trade routes and find markets brought him into conflict with the
Philistines and other independent states. He died trying to expand into the
Jezreel–Beth She’an corridor.
Samuel. At this point we should consider the figure of Samuel who plays
such an important part in the account of Saul but also at the beginning of
the story of David. Samuel seems to fill the role in the narratives about
Saul and David that Merlin does in the King Arthur story. Although his
activities are sometimes centre stage, his purpose is to choose and anoint
the person to be king. Merlin is a sort of shaman figure, which means that
he functions in both prophetic and priestly activities. Certainly, Samuel is
both priest and prophet, but he is also a political leader for part of his life.
We do not normally expect either priest or prophet to be the king (or a
similar figure), yet after the fall of the monarchy the high priest of Judah
was also a political leader of the Jewish community and sometimes had
prophetic functions (Grabbe 2004a: 230–4).
In the present text Samuel is in many ways the linchpin that connects
the Saul and David traditions. He anointed the first king but, after Saul
was rejected by Yhwh, he then anointed David. Yet many literary critics
have argued that the prophetic figure who first anointed Saul (1 Sam.
10.1) was originally an anonymous figure. This might suggest that Samuel
should be better associated with David, and that he has been brought into
the Saul tradition secondarily. Yet Samuel’s original circuit of cities where
he carried out his priestly duties were Bethel, Gilgal, Mizpah and Ramah,
all places in the North, and not everyone wants to replace the Samuel
anointing Saul with an anonymous holy man. Whether Samuel should
be inserted into 1 Samuel 9–10 (as he is now) or not, he could well have
been an important shamanistic figure and king maker in the period at the
beginnings of an Israelite state. He could then have been active in the rise
of Saul but became disillusioned with him, at which point he would have
looked around for a replacement.
One would have expected a religious figure – priest or prophet – to
have been associated with the rise of the monarchy in Israel. One might
think of the archbishop of Canterbury in English history. Although the
archbishop was a religious figure, he had considerable power, including
the power to crown the monarch. We also know that some archbishops
were very political, even holding political office along with their ecclesi-
astical duties. The history of the English monarchy includes the activities
of many of the Canterbury archbishops. From that perspective, Samuel
who had both priestly and prophetic functions, as well as a community
leadership role, would have been a necessary figure. In that sense, his
general activities in both the Saul and David traditions are credible.
142 Ancient Israel

However, some of the activities ascribed to Samuel are unlikely to be

historical. His function as a mouthpiece for anti-monarchic speeches is
one of these. Many of the passages that express hostility toward kingship
for Israel (e.g., 1 Sam. 8) are probably late (though as so often, the matter
is complicated [cf. Dietrich 2011: 42*–3*]).
David. A number of recent studies attempt to analyse the David story
(Brettler 1995: 91–111; McKenzie 2000; Halpern 2001; Finkelstein and
Silberman 2006). One of the concerns in the early part of the story is to
legitimate David – strongly suggesting that David was a usurper, as we
shall see. Another concern is that he is inextricably associated with Judah.
This is important, because the relationship of Judah with Israel is one of
the areas in which the data clash strongly with the surface narrative of the
biblical text. It has long been known and accepted that Judah had its own
national identity and was separate from and a rival of Israel from an early
period (discussed at §3.2.4.1).
What we find in 1–2 Samuel is the story of a young Judahite warrior
made good. He seems to have grown up in a society that was not heavily
stratified; nevertheless, there was no doubt tribal leadership, with Judahite
elders and perhaps even a tribal chieftain or chieftains. Was David the heir
of one of these tribal leaders? There are also some hints that his family
was not so humble. After all, he was brought into Saul’s court, unlikely
to happen to a complete nobody. In any case, David became some sort
of ‘apiru leader: surprisingly, this image appears to be agreed on by
two archaeologists who otherwise take somewhat different views on the
‘United Monarchy’ (Mazar 2007: 164–5; Finkelstein 2001: 107–8).
According to the text of 2 Samuel, David continued Saul’s fight with the
Philistines, especially in 5.17-25 and 8.1. Yet several scholars have argued
that the reality was different, and that David may not have fought with
the Philistines but arranged a truce that allowed a peaceful co-existence
throughout his reign (Niemann 2013: 259–60; Dietrich 2012: 95–8).
There are a number of arguments in support of this. First, David’s wars
with the Philistines in 2 Sam. 5.17-25 seem only a passing episode, with
little consequence; indeed, taking little space to describe. The motive for
the Philistines to attack him also looks rather trumped up. Niemann notes
that these campaigns (and the statement in 2 Sam. 5.25) fit Saul better
and were probably borrowed from the Saulide tradition. Secondly, David
does not defeat the Philistines (only the tacked on summary statement in
2 Sam. 5.25 claims this), yet the threat simply disappears from the text.
Thirdly, we also have the reference to the 600 warriors from Gath, under
the command of Itai, who assist David at the time of Abalom’s rebellion
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 143

(2 Sam. 15.18-22). Fourthly, Achish king of Gath is clearly at peace with

Solomon after the time of David (1 Kgs 2.39-40). Finally, some argue
that Judah had expanded into the Shephelah in the first half of the ninth
century (but see at §3.1.1); in any case, there is no evidence of conflict
with Gath which would have dominated the area as a large city at this
time (Na’aman 2010: 516–17; 2013: 264). This indicates that an earlier
agreement (presumably the one made in the time of David) was still in
effect.
Yet if David did not fight with the Philistines, was he seeking an essential
expansion of his territory? According to 2 Samuel, David fought a variety
of the surrounding peoples and expanded his territory to the north and
east and south, into Moab, Ammon, Edom and the region of Aramaean
rule (2 Sam. 8; 10.1–11.1; 12.26-31). The extension of control into Edom
and Transjordan is credible, but defeat of the Aramaeans – even placing
a garrison in Damascus (2 Sam. 8.6) – looks contrived. Now, Nadav
Na’aman has presented a compelling case that this fight against and defeat
of Hadadezer of Zobah is a literary creation, based on the Aramaean king
Hazael in the ninth century (Na’aman 2002b: 207–10). However, he goes
on to argue that David’s conquest of Moab was also a literary creation,
aiming to counter the defeat of Israel by Moab under Mesha; that the
defeat of Ammon was devised to compensate for the cruelty inflicted by
the Ammonites on Israel as outlined in Amos 1.13; and that David’s defeat
of Edom was borrowed from Amaziah’s later victory over the Edomites
(2 Kgs 14.7 [Na’aman 2002b: 212–14]). In the end, Na’aman sees in
the story of David’s conquests only a few historical elements, viz., the
conquest of Jerusalem and the subjugation of the Philistines (Na’aman
2002b: 215). As we have seen above, however, it looks as if the driving of
the Philistines from the central hill country is also a literary creation! This
leaves us with the taking of Jerusalem, though I would argue that here we
do have a genuine historical datum.
With regard to Jerusalem, the stories in Judges seem to remember
a Jerusalem that came into Israelite hands only relatively late and
continued to have the earlier people as a part of the population for some
time afterward. What the various traditions suggest, therefore, is that
there was a collective folk memory of a time when Jerusalem was not
Israelite, and even that it came into Israelite hands much later than some
of the surrounding territory. This is a remarkable memory, especially if
we keep in mind that it would have been more convenient to believe that
Jerusalem was conquered with the rest of the territory and divided up by
the Israelites without any complications.
144 Ancient Israel

Yet the text acknowledges complications: Jerusalem is sometimes the

property of Judah (Josh. 15.63; cf. Judg. 1.8) and sometimes within the
territory of Benjamin (Josh. 18.28; Judg. 1.21). In both cases, it recognizes
that some of the original inhabitants, the Jebusites, continued to live in the
city, alongside the Judahites (Josh. 15.63; Judg. 1.21) or Benjaminites
(Judg. 1.21). In spite of this tradition, 2 Sam. 5.6-6 requires David to
conquer the city from the Jebusites again. What sort of entity Jerusalem
was is not clear. The story suggests a type of fortress, though this does
not mean a large or grand settlement, as is confirmed by the image of the
Jebusite king of Jerusalem who does his own physical threshing of grain
at his threshing floor which occupies a central point on the ridge (2 Sam.
24.20-23). David’s sons acted as priests at this time, possibly even before
he took Jerusalem (2 Sam. 8.17). In any case, David made the Jebusite
priest Zadok one of his two chief priests, as has long been recognized (cf.
Grabbe 2003).
Having argued that there is a historical core to both the Saulide and
Davidide traditions, we must now ask whether there is any connection
between them. The David traditions in the present narrative are in part
bound up with the Saul traditions, and they need to be evaluated together.
Granted, the present redacted text has the traditions heavily intertwined,
but was that the case in the beginning? Can we simply see two sets of
traditions, one of which described in some way the first northern king,
while the other independently had the first southern king at its core? Such
an interpretation is quite believable in itself and has the merit of being
simple. Why must we complicate the story more than is necessary, even
though the redactors certainly did? Yet a closer examination exposes
greater complexity. Note the following: There is first of all the saying,
`Saul has slain his thousands, but David his tens of thousands’ (1 Sam.
18.7; 21.12; 29.5). Not a major datum but nevertheless one worth noting,
and one likely to be early according to some commentators (e.g., Dietrich
2007: 204–5). If this is an early saying, where did it come from if the
David and Saul traditions were originally separate?
Secondly, one of the major characteristics of the David tradition is the
extent to which his reign is legitimated (strongly suggesting that David
was a usurper [Shalom Brooks 2005: Chapter 4]):

• Comes as an apprentice to Saul’s court (1 Sam. 16.14-23).

• Performs personal duties for Saul’s health (1 Sam. 16.14-23).
• Fights as a champion against Israel’s enemies (1 Sam. 17).
• Marries the king’s daughter (1 Sam. 18.17-27).
• Wins her hand by warrior-worthy deeds (1 Sam. 18.25-27).
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 145

• Anointed by a prophet-priest (1 Sam. 16.1-13).

• Even the king’s son and heir recognizes David’s right to rule (1 Sam.
18.1; 20.12-17; 23.16-18).

Why go to all this trouble to make David’s rule legitimate if he had been
accepted as the first king of Judah by the tradition? This suggests that
the present picture of the text (that he was not the first king but actually
effected a change of dynasty) was not a secondary creation but one
already there in the tradition when the text was redacted.
Thirdly, one could take the example of Michal. She could have been
added to the tradition simply to give a further negative picture of Saul,
since her story is ultimately a negative one in which she is rejected and
childless, though remaining David’s wife. But her story is more compli-
cated and interesting than this. For example, she helps David escape from
her father by a clever deception (1 Sam. 19.11-17). After she was married
to another man, David expended some effort to get her back (2 Sam.
3.12-16).
Fourthly, there is also the story of Jonathan. Again, he could serve
just as another reason to bolster David’s legitimacy: even the heir to the
throne supports David’s right instead of his own. But why make him such
an integral part of the story, if that were his only purpose? Not least is the
question of why Jonathan did not succeed his father. The many hazards to
an heir not only growing up but acquiring the necessary military prowess
and confidence of the troops meant that prime heirs did not always gain
the throne. But we might have expected a different sort of story, if it was
simply a literary invention to enhance David’s right to the throne.
Finally, we have to ask: If the Saul tradition was simply about the first
king of Israel, separate from Judah, what happened to his dynasty? We
know that at a later time, kings well attested in historical sources ruled
over Israel. But if the Saul tradition was completely independent of the
David one, what happened to the Israelite monarchy that had begun with
Saul? Did it simply peter out? If so, what filled the vacuum, and how did
it get started up again? It is such questions that make us turn to the David
tradition and ask whether it is perhaps correct that David in some way was
the successor to the throne of the inchoate state of Israel begun by Saul.
It is as if the Davidic and Solomonic traditions are necessary to fill
the gap between Saul and the history of the two kingdoms or monarchies
of Israel and Judah. If so, then the concept of the ‘united monarchy’ is
perhaps correct, after all – but only in a particular sense. That is, the first
king Saul ruled over a portion of the central highlands, though appar-
ently not Judah. The Judahite David – possibly a tribal leader of Judah
146 Ancient Israel

or perhaps even a sort of king of Judah – took over from Saul (or Saul’s
son), establishing some sort of rule over both the northern highlands and
the Judaean highlands.
We can now draw some conclusions about the historicity of the David
tradition. In the biblical story, David fits the image of the hero figure;
there are many folkloristic elements and a variety of traditions; yet there
are also traditions with some interesting twists, such as the willingness to
acknowledge some of David’s weaknesses, the need to legitimate David
from a variety of angles – suggesting that he was not seen as legitimate
by everyone – and the admission that David did not do certain things that
we might have expected. To summarize, we can note some of the points
that emerge from a look at the Saul and David traditions:

• The tradition recognizes that David was not the first king.
• Saul came to the throne probably as a military leader by popular
acclaim (1 Sam. 11.1-15), whereas the prophetic tradition that the
king was subject to Samuel’s choice and censure (1 Sam. 9.1–10.16;
10.23; 13.2–14.52) is unrealistic.
• The apparent boundaries of Saul’s kingdom (2 Sam. 2.9) are reason-
ably in line with the natural and demographic resources in Cisjordan.
• A strong link is made between David’s rise and Saul’s court, but
much of this looks like a deliberate attempt to legitimate David as
king from a variety of angles: anointing by Samuel (1 Sam. 16.1-13);
armour-bearer in Saul’s court, who plays the lyre for him personally
(1 Sam. 16.14-23); slaying of Goliath (1 Sam. 17); marriage to Saul’s
daughter (1 Sam. 18.17-27).
• Contrary to expectations David does not build a temple (though a
strenuous effort is made for him to do everything short of the actual
building, especially in 1 Chron. 28–29).
• Both Saul and David were mainly military leaders.
• The text itself does not suggest an extensive administrative apparatus
in the case of either Saul or David.

Solomon. The narrative about Solomon’s reign (1 Kgs 2–11) seems to

be rather different from those about Saul and David. One is immediately
struck by how uniform it is. Although the text shows signs of editing (for
there are some repetitions and signs of unevenness), it is essentially a
folktale about an Oriental potentate – it is a royal legend or Königsnovelle.
Almost from start to finish Solomon fits the image of the great ‘oriental
emperor’. He controls a vast territory and possesses great wealth, with
absolute sovereignty over his subjects. Of course, he marries the daughter
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 147

of a country of similar power – suggesting equality with Egypt in this

case – and harnesses the best craftsmen and materials from legendary Tyre
to build his city. His capital city consists of great palaces and a magnificent
temple, with gold like dust and silver so abundant it is of little account.
His household overflows with luxuries, his table groans under the weight
of exotic fruits, meats from rare animals and every sort of desirable food
for consumption. His wisdom is legendary, and he exceeds all others in
intellectual skills. His reputation reaches far and wide, and rulers from
distant lands travel to see such a supreme example of power, wealth and
wisdom – only to find that the reports were understated. His ships travel
to the ends of the earth for rare and astonishing goods.
I find it difficult to discover much in the Solomon story that strikes me
as likely to be historical. Although the story of David has him expanding
his territory via conquests, there is nothing to suggest that he rules all
the land between Egypt and the Euphrates, yet this is the territory that
Solomon controls, even though he fought no battles (1 Kgs 5.1, 4). There
is not a hint that David could monopolize the trade in horses between
Egypt and Mesopotamia (1 Kgs 10.28-29). As for the wealth invested in
the House for Yhwh, this is commensurate with the quantity of gold that
Solomon receives each year: 666 talents plus the revenue from trade, etc.
(1 Kgs 10.14-15). Only a great empire, such as that of the later Persians,
could collect so much wealth: according to Herodotus (3.91) the Persians
collected 14,560 talents of silver in tribute annually – the equivalent of
1120 talents of gold. The idea that Solomon could raise 666 talents of gold
plus much additional wealth each year is a gross flight of fancy on the
part of the writer. In this story, though, the height of marvels is Solomon’s
great wisdom (1 Kgs 10.3, 68, 23-24), even if we are given little in the
way of examples of how this is demonstrated.
I do not discount the existence of a King Solomon. His name echoing
the old god of Jerusalem (Shalim/Shalem) is suggestive of reality rather
than simply the piety of the David story. Also, he began his reign with the
bloody elimination of rivals, though the idea that he took his throne in the
midst of adversity which he overcame could be a part of the stereotype,
and the writer probably saw nothing bad in this. But, overall, I can find
little in the Solomon story that looks on the face of it to be historically
reliable. Yet I am intrigued by the story that he built the Jerusalem temple.
This sort of story is what we might expect, and the description of the
wealth and rare construction of the temple fits well the legend. Yet David
– the expected temple-builder – did not construct it, and we find nothing
in the stories of the later kings that might hide such a building (with the
possible exception of Jehoash who is said to collect money to repair the
148 Ancient Israel

temple: 2 Kgs 12). This suggests that a temple was built in Jerusalem at
a fairly early time. If David did not build it, then who? Possibly here we
have a genuine remembrance that has been expanded into a great legend.
E. A. Knauf (1997) thinks that Solomon was historical but that
he differed considerably from the biblical picture. The king’s name
shows that he was non-Judaean in origin. The Bathsheba story was not
suppressed because there was a worse story: Solomon was not David’s
son. Knauf has tried to reconstruct some early sources. He sees 1 Kgs
8.12-13 as an early text quoting an incomplete royal building inscription
which confirms Solomon’s place in association with the temple (though
perhaps only establishing a cult in a pre-existent temple rather than a
temple builder as such). In 1 Kings 1–2 (a text probably from the seventh
century) he sees glimpses of Solomon as the puppet of the Jerusalem elite
on whom he turns and whom he eliminates. He concludes that Solomon
was the son of a Jerusalem mother but not necessarily of a Judaean father.
He became king through a coup d’état by getting rid of the Jerusalem
elite. He was no monotheist, because the Judaean tribal deity Yhwh had
only a subordinate position in the Jerusalem pantheon.
In a long survey of the Solomonic tradition M. H. Niemann (1997) argues
that Solomon’s alleged building programme of cities and monumental
buildings cannot be confirmed archaeologically. Instead, we find evidence
of a series of representatives (often relatives) who were sent to the northern
areas as the first attempt to build a network of loyalty in an area that had
not yet declared for Solomon’s rule. Solomon might have indeed married
the daughter of an Egyptian pharaoh, according to Niemann, but this
would have been because he was a vassal of that pharaoh (Shoshenq?).
This could be the reason that Jerusalem is not found on the Shoshenq
inscription (but see below on Solomon’s alleged marriage).
N. Na’aman (1997d) also analysed the account of Solomon for the
existence of sources. He accepts that the early ‘chronicle of Israelite
kings’ was created in the eighth century and thus rather later than
Solomon; however, the Deuteronomist also had the ‘Book of the Acts
of Solomon’ (1 Kgs 11.41), which Na’aman tries to reconstruct. Some
episodes were invented by the post-Deuteronomic redactor, including the
Queen of Sheba and the description of the temple (based on a description
of the temple of his own times). Na’aman concludes that only in the late
redaction do we have a picture of a ruler of an empire and a great sage.
Although I agree that there was a ‘Chonicle of the Kings of Judah’ (Grabbe
2006b), I am more sceptical of a ‘Book of the Acts of Solomon’. If such
existed, it might have provided some historical facts, but we could not be
sure without a careful analysis. But were such writings being produced
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 149

this early? Administrative documents, yes, but not the sort of biographical
writing envisaged here (§3.2.5). Thus, here and there might be a verse
that reflects the historical Solomon, but to my mind the Solomon story is
the most problematic, providing the thickest cloud of obscurity over the
history that lies behind it.
The episode relating to the queen of Sheba illustrates the historical
problem (1 Kgs 10.1-13). Although I have characterized the Solomon
story on the whole as an ‘Oriental tale’, the Sheba story has all the marks
of a folk tale (though it has been incorporated into the text by a literary
writer). The main figure has no name: she is simply ‘the queen of Sheba’.
She herself is a representative of wealth, wisdom and power. Yet her
function in the story is to marvel at all that Solomon and Jerusalem have
to show her: in spite of all her own wealth and wisdom, Solomon’s are
much greater. He leaves her speechless. The story is often defended as
historical by explaining it as a journey to establish trade relations between
southern Arabia and Israel (e.g., Malamat 1982: 191, 204; Kitchen 1997),
yet the biblical text says not a word about such a purpose. On the contrary,
according to 1 Kgs 10.1, the queen of Sheba came to Solomon ‘to test
him with riddles’. Attempts have been made to authenticate the story
by appealing to developments in southern Arabia by the tenth century.
However, Mario Liverani encapsulates the problem in a nutshell:

It was easy to decorate details that were otherwise authentic, but far more
banal, with colourful fictional features. For examples, opening up trading
links with the Yemen in the tenth century is not anachronistic; but the story
of the Queen of Sheba’s visit is too much like a fairy-tale in style and in use
of narrative themes to be regarded as anything other than a romance from
the Persian era. (Liverani 2005: 315).

A major question relating to Solomon are the Israelite relations with

Egypt. Solomon is not only said to marry Pharaoh’s daughter but to have
received Gezer as a wedding gift from her father. Some have identified
the king in question as Siamun (ca. 986–968), the next to last king of the
21st Dynasty. There are a number of arguments against this interpretation
(Schipper 1999: 19–35; Ash 1999: 37–46). Briefly, a relief that some have
interpreted as showing an incursion into Palestine by Siamun has probably
been misinterpreted, and Siamun is not likely to have made any such
expedition to the east. Although there are some destruction layers in Gezer
and elsewhere in Philistia, the cause is not known, and no indications of
Egyptian involvement is found in the material culture. It also seems rather
unlikely that the Pharaoh would have given a destroyed city as a wedding
gift to Solomon. Finally, the main destruction layer in Gezer is probably
150 Ancient Israel

to be ascribed to Shoshenq I. Indeed, some argue that Shoshenq’s invasion

was actually during Solomon’s reign rather than after his death (see the
discussion at §3.1.5). As for Solomon’s marriage to Pharaoh’s daughter,
many Egyptologists are of the opinion that it is very unlikely since it was
clearly the custom for the reigning king to marry his daughters only to
those within Egypt itself, not foreigners (Ash 1999: 112–19). Although
some have claimed to find examples in which this was done during
the Third Intermediate Period, no examples of a marriage of a reigning
Egyptian king’s daughter to a foreign ruler have in fact been found
(Schipper 1999: 84–90). Schipper mentions two possibilities that might
explain this biblical tradition (2000: that the reference was to a building,
not a person, or that the person was someone from the court perhaps
distantly related to the Pharaoh), but neither allows a literal reading of the
biblical tradition or supports the view that Solomon was seen as an equal
with the Egyptian king. As Ash concludes, ‘it is best at this time to avoid
placing any weight on the reports of Solomon’s marriage to an Egyptian
princess’ (1999: 119).

3.2.5 Writing, Literacy and Bureaucracy

The Proto-Canaanite alphabet is attested as early as the fourteenth
century BCE, but the standard view of its development into the Hebrew,
Phoenician and Aramaic alphabets of Iron IIA is now contested. A
concomitant debate concerns the development of official written texts:
seals, inventories, documents, records, diaries and the like. Finally, there
is the question of how early and how widespread knowledge of writing
was within the wider population. (See in general Schmidt [ed.] 2015.)
B. Sass (2005) has recently re-evaluated the development of the
Northwest Semitic alphabet. The conventional view had been that the
latest Proto-Canaanite inscriptions were to be dated to the eleventh
century, followed by the early monumental inscriptions from Byblos
in the tenth century (the Ahiram sarcophagus being placed about 1000
BCE). The earliest examples of the Aramaic and Greek alphabets were
also placed in the eleventh century, even though the actual evidence
suggested this was two and a half centuries too early (Sass 2005: 14). Sass
himself sees no problem with the relative chronology but argues that the
absolute chronology should be lowered by about 250 years for many of
the diagnostic inscriptions (see the chart in 2005: 73).
Currently, there is a dearth of monumental and other inscriptions that
one associates with a functioning state until the ninth century. Sass (2005:
60) argues that the lack of monumental inscriptions is a reflection of the
true state of affairs – there were few such inscriptions produced at that time
(the lack of finds after so much archaeological work over many decades
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 151

is definitive). On the other hand, administrative documents have not been

found because they were probably written on perishable material. The
finds of bullae that once sealed documents is one of the main indicators
(Lemaire 1981; Sass 2005: 51; cf. Reich, Shukron and Lernau 2008).
The recent find of the Khirbet Qeiyafa ostracon adds to the small
repertoire inscriptional material from this period but hardly changes the
overall picture, contrary to some exaggerated claims made about it (for an
overview, see Rollston 2011; also Galil 2009). Some argue that the site is
Judahite and connected with David’s kingdom (see at §3.1.1) and that the
language of the inscription is Hebrew (albeit in Early Alphabetic script),
connecting it with the Judahite administration. Others argue, however, that
the language cannot presently be identified with Hebrew, and a number of
other possibilities remain (Rollston 2011: 71–6; Na’aman 2010: 512–13).
At present, the attempts at reading have not yielded much in the way of
an intelligent message, with considerable differences between specialists.
As Rollston notes,

It must be stated candidly that there are no references to precise kings or

particular kingdoms, nor are there precise data about specific conquests,
hegemony, military officials, military movements, border disputes, national
public works, building projects, monumental dedicatory acts, precise
administrative activities or provisions for those in the employ of the state…
Furthermore, this inscription cannot be used as the basis for claims about
the levels of literacy, the spread of literacy or the literacy of non-elites…
In sum, the field of scholarship must be very cautious about saddling this
document with freight that it cannot readily carry. (Rollston 2011: 79)

What does all this say about the development of a bureaucracy, which
in turn is usually taken as evidence of a fully fledged state? We should first
be aware that a state can exist without the existence of writing (Trigger
2003: 595–8). Bureaucracy can exist without writing, and a state does not
need an enormously complicated bureaucracy to be a state. Ancient Israel
and Judah were not Mesopotamia or Egypt. The scribal structure needed
to carry out the necessary administrative tasks might have been a fairly
minimal one, with scribes trained by apprenticeship rather than in scribal
schools, and the scribal office perhaps handed down from father to son
(Grabbe 1995: 160–1, 173–4).
On the other hand, the kingdom of Solomon as described in the biblical
text would have required an extensive bureaucracy to co-ordinate all
the various governmental activities ascribed to his reign. Rather than a
sophisticated administrative apparatus at the beginning of Israelite state-
hood (which is the picture given to us in the Bible), there are increasing
signs of the spread of writing and literacy as time goes on, with the climax
152 Ancient Israel

reached in seventh-century BCE Judah. This ‘explosion of writing’ has

been explained as evidence of an increase in the bureaucracy (Finkel-
stein and Silberman 2001: 270; Stern 2001: 169). The finds indicate a
greater quantity of written objects preserved from the seventh century –
seals, seal impressions, ostraca and inscribed weights (Finkelstein and
Silberman 2001: 270, 280–1; Stern 2001: 169–200) – seeming evidence
that Judah had become a fully developed state by this time (Finkelstein
and Silberman 2001: 281, 284). Thus, the sorts of written objects cata-
logued here do look like the type of written material that would be the
product of the bureaucracy and state administration, but this was long
after the tenth century.
The extent of literacy among the population has been much debated, but
in order to understand ancient Judaism fully, we must keep in mind that it
was mainly an oral society, like most other societies of the ancient Near
East (W. V. Harris 1989; Niditch 1996; Young 1998). Although writing
was known in both Egypt and Mesopotamia from about 3000 BCE,
writing in many cases was quite complicated and primarily in the hands
of professional scribes. Most people in the ancient world were not literate,
even in cultures with an alphabetic script, and we have no indication that
the Jews were any different from their Near Eastern neighbours. Ability
to write one’s name or decipher a seal inscription implies a different
concept of literacy than the capacity to read, understand and write long
documents (cf. Street 1984; Niditch 1996: 39–45). A society can know
writing and still be an oral society (M. C. A. Macdonald 2005). If Jewish
literacy at the turn of the era was no more than about 3–5 per cent (Hezser
2001: 496), it would have been correspondingly less in a largely peasant
population in the early centuries of Northwest Semitic writing. If there
had been lengthy written material, who would have read it?
All examples of writing we have from Palestine in this era are short and
functional. Estimates of how early we have inscriptions in Palestine vary.
N. Na’aman (1994c: 219–22) pointed out that there were no pre-eighth-
century alphabetic writings in the area of Israel and Judah (except for the
Gezer calendar which he suggested was probably Canaanite). The spread
of alphabetic writing did not antedate the mid-eighth century, and not
a single inscription has been found in Jerusalem before the late eighth
century. This was more than a decade ago; things have changed but not by
much. To the tenth century Renz (1995) attributes the Gezer calendar and
three short inscriptions from Tel Batash, Tel ’Amal and Rosh Zayit – to
which he adds two brief inscriptions from Beth-Shemesh and Tel Rehov
VI. In addition to the four Arad ostraca that Renz attributes to the ninth
century, along with the short inscription from Tell el-Hammah and the
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 153

Kuntillet ‘Ajrud inscription, he would include two from Tel Rehov IV

(see also Mazar 2007: 164). Even if there had been widespread functional
literacy, there was very little written material available.
As already noted above, by the seventh century there was a significant
increase in written artifacts, which has been interpreted as demonstrating
a greater degree of literacy in Judah at this time. Indeed, it has been
associated with the rise of the Deuteronomic movement and the promul-
gation of Deuteronomy under Josiah:

The very fact that a written law code suddenly appeared at this time meshes
well with the archaeological record of the spread of literacy in Judah… The
report of the appearance of a definitive written text and its public reading
by the king accords with the evidence for the sudden, dramatic spread of
literacy in seventh-century Judah… Writing joined preaching as a medium
for advancing a set of quite revolutionary political, religious, and social
ideas. (Finkelstein and Silberman 2001: 280–1, 284)

I am not so sure that the inferences drawn here are justified: the
increases are generally those associated with the bureaucracy and scribal
bureaucrats. The increase in written material of this sort would not neces-
sarily indicate an increase of general literacy in the population. There are
also levels of literacy: the ability to read the short inscription on a seal
impression or even an administrative document does not demonstrate the
reading of long religious documents. If Deuteronomy was really produced
at this time – a view widely held but also disputed (§3.1.6.2) – the writers
were naturally literate. But it does not follow that there was greater
literacy in the general population. There is no evidence of multiple copies
of the document or that people were reading it for themselves; on the
contrary, it was by public teaching – perhaps including public reading –
that it would have been promulgated (cf. Deut. 31.10-13).
The archaeological finds of seals, seal impressions and ostraca give
no support to the view that ‘writing joined preaching for advancing a set
of quite revolutionary political, religious, and social ideas’. Where are
such ideas promulgated in the seal impressions and ostraca? Granted,
the apparent move to aniconic inscriptions on seals may be a datum
giving evidence of the spread of Josiah’s reform. But the mere presence
of aniconic seals is not an overt means of propagating the revolutionary
ideals that accompanied such a reform. The move away from iconography
would be a consequence of such a reform, not the vehicle for advancing
it. The changes in seal impressions would probably have been noted
consciously only by a very few.
154 Ancient Israel

The much-debated issue of schools in ancient Israel (Lemaire 1981;

Millard 1985; Crenshaw 1985; 1998: 85–113; Haran 1988; Grabbe
1995: 171–4) includes two separate questions. Did schools exist to teach
scribes? The answer is, possibly, but the case is not proved. Although
scribes were trained in schools in ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, the
scribal needs for a small entity such as Judah could probably be met
by a form of apprenticeship. The second issue is, did schools exist for
general public education? The answer is definitely negative. If there were
schools for others than scribes, they would have been for the wealthy and
aristocratic, though these could probably afford to hire tutors. Apart from
scribal schools, schools are first attested in the Greek period.

3.3 Synthesis

The context for this chapter has been the eastern Mediterranean and
ancient Near East during the latter part of LB and the beginning of the
Iron Age. The end of LB saw a general collapse of trade and communi-
cation, with many cities destroyed along the Mediterranean coast and
sometimes further inland. The late Bronze Age had been what S. Sherratt
unapologetically refers to as a period of ‘globalization’ (Sherratt 2003),
which means that the collapse had a far-reaching effect on the various
cultures in the region from about 1200 BCE. It was about this time that
Egypt withdrew from Palestine, now thought by many to be about 1130
BCE. Concomitant with this was a remarkable increase in settlement in
the highlands, mainly small sites. Yet the city-state system of Palestine
and Syria did not come to an end as such. The rural sector certainly
experienced continuity, with the peasants in the vicinity of the ruined LB
cities living as they always had. Especially in the northern valleys the
population remained dense. Then, in Iron I the main urban centres began
to recover, including the development of trade with Phoenicia, Cyprus
and beyond. In a few cases, even new city-states emerged, especially to
replace those that had declined or disappeared.
It was in the time frame of this chapter that we began the history of
Israel proper, for in many ways, we can say that ‘Israel’ begins with
Merenptah. Something called Israel existed in the Palestinian region about
1200 BCE, and it appears to have been a people. Exactly where this people
lived, what/who constituted it, where it got its name and its relationship to
the Israel of the Bible are all questions. Some will say that the answer is
obvious, but others will point out that this is not the same as proof. It has
long been suggested that a number of innovations in technology took place
in the central highlands: terracing, plastered cisterns, the ‘Israelite house’,
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 155

collared-rim jars and the use of iron; also the absence of pig husbandry has
been seen as significant (§§1.2.5; 3.1.1). Unfortunately, it seems there is
no list of technologies or practices that is exclusive to this region and time
or that can serve as ‘Israelite ethnic markers’. On the contrary, it seems
that a variety of ethnic groups (Hittites, Hurrians, Jebusites, Girgashites,
Amorites, Shasu [?], etc.), as well as social elements (‘apiru, Shasu [?],
pastoralists settling down, peasants fleeing the lowlands, etc.), settled the
hill country on both sides of the Jordan in Iron I, if our written sources are
anything to go by. Some of the tribal and other groups known to us from
biblical genealogies might have originated in this period, though we know
that others are probably much later creations. Local leaders might have
given rise to some of the stories in the book of Judges, but it is doubtful
if much historical memory remains here, even if the general picture of a
disunited series of autonomous (or partially autonomous) peoples is quite
believable. Some still invoke the exodus tradition: although mainstream
scholarship has long rejected the origin of Israel in this way, there is still
a widespread view that some of the Israelites may have come from a
temporary sojourn in Egypt. It can be neither proved nor disproved.
Eventually the kingdoms of Israel and Judah developed in this region.
What was the process? Perhaps one important factor was a growth in
population: a critical mass of settlers was reached without which certain
things could not happen, but this was more significant in the north and
decreased as one went south, with the area south of Jerusalem still
being mainly pastoral. It seems that at some point a dominant ethnic
consciousness came about in this region. Part of the reason might be by
force: an ‘Israelite’ group might have conquered or otherwise taken over
some other smaller groups and assimilated them (as suggested in Joshua
and Judges). But it is doubtful if that was sufficient. Here the suggestion
of Mendenhall, Gottwald and others might have some theoretical validity,
even if they provided no concrete evidence: Yahwism. One of the charac-
teristics – and constituents – of an ethnic group is a set of common myths
and ideologies, which can include religion (§1.2.5; §3.2.4.4). Israelite
society was long polytheistic, but Yhwh did function in some way as
a national god and seems to have been the most widely honoured deity
(§4.2.8). Thus, it is possible that Israel partly coalesced around Yhwh but,
even if true, this would have been only one factor; it would be simplistic
to suggest that this was the only factor. Indeed, we do not know for
certain to what extent the hill peoples saw themselves as a single ethnic
group, but the question becomes relevant if we start discussing Israel as
an ‘ethnic state’.
156 Ancient Israel

We can now ask how and why Israel and Judah developed into states,
for we almost all agree that they eventually became states. The problem
is that the current debate makes it difficult to come to firm conclusions
about the archaeology (§3.1.1), especially with the debate over the LC
(§1.2.4.4), but the archaeology does put limits on what can and cannot
have happened. For many anthropologists, the formation of the Israelite
and Judahite states would probably be explained from impersonal social
and political forces, but others would allow a personal element into the
mix, such as the presence of a dynamic charismatic leader. For example,
Coote and Whitelam (1987) explain the rise of Israel as a state as due
to the combination of pressure on highland resources as the population
expanded and pressure from the Philistines in the lowlands. This follows a
long line of scholars seeing the ‘Philistine threat’ as in some way pressing
the Israelites into initiating a monarchy.
Yet there are some objections to these proposals. First, there is no
evidence that the ‘bearing capacity’ of the highlands had been reached; in
other words, archaeological surveys suggest that the highland population
could still have been sustained by local resources without having to
expand: the same population or greater could be found there in other
periods (cf. Finkelstein 1999a; Broshi and Finkelstein 1992). Second, was
there any impetus for the lowlanders to expand into the highlands since
they also still had room to grow (Finkelstein 1998c: 24)? Thus, if there
was friction between the Israelites and Philistines, it is likely to have been
the Israelites who initiated it – perhaps making raids on the Philistines.
But considering this explanation inadequate does not answer the question
of why the highland settlements coalesced into a state.
By rights we would expect the first secondary state in Palestine to arise
in the coastal plain, but here the Philistine city-states were successful, and
there seems to have been no impetus to form a larger unit. The next area
would be the northern region, perhaps the northern valleys or hill country.
It is precisely in this area that the Omride kingdom emerged, which is one
of the reasons that some scholars think this was the first Israelite state.
The problem is what to do with the biblical traditions about the rise of
the Israelite kingship. The idea that Israel was under divine rule but had
Samuel anoint a king chosen by Yhwh is of course pure theology, not
history. Should we simply dismiss the whole of the biblical account as too
difficult to deal with? This is perhaps tempting, and some have certainly
followed this approach. Yet more considered analyses suggest that there is
history behind the stories of the ‘united monarchy’, even if precisely what
sort of history is a matter of debate.
 3. Late Bronze to Iron IIA (ca. 1300–900 BCE) 157

I believe there is sufficient evidence to assert that Saul, David and

Solomon existed. Saul was evidently the first king, was primarily a
military leader and was overthrown by David who subsequently met a
lot of opposition, including from Judah. If anything resembling a united
Israel – a territorial state – came about under David, it would have
been an unusual development. One can hardly claim that it would be
impossible, but it seems reasonable to conclude that in the light of all
circumstances it would not be very likely. On the other hand, perhaps
a city-state, much like the city-states of Shechem under Lab’aya or of
Jerusalem under ‘Abdi-Ḫeba, would be feasible. Much in the David
tradition would be compatible with that. The archaeology does not yet
support this, but most do not see the existence of a citadel of the ruler
in an otherwise small settlement at Jerusalem as being contradicted by
the archaeology currently available. But a Jerusalem city-state is not the
same as the ‘united monarchy’ of the Bible. It seems unlikely that David
controlled anything beyond a limited territory centred on the southern hill
country and Jerusalem. This might have overlapped with territory earlier
controlled by Saul, which would lead to some of the biblical traditions
that made David the usurper and successor of Saul.
When all is said and done, I fail to find a major distinction between the
views of I. Finkelstein and A. Mazar. Mazar states:

It is certain that much of the biblical narrative concerning David and

Solomon is mere fiction and embellishment written by later authors… I
would compare the potential achievements of David to those of an earlier
hill country leader, namely Labayu, the habiru leader from Shechem…
David can be envisioned as a ruler similar to Labayu, except that he operated
in a time free of intervention by the Egyptians or any other foreign power,
and when the Canaanite cities were in decline. In such an environment, a
talented and charismatic leader, politically astute, and in control of a small
yet effective military power, may have taken hold of a large part of a small
country like the Land of Israel and controlled diverse population groups
under his regime from his stronghold in Jerusalem, which can be identified
archaeologically. Such a regime does not necessitate a particularly large and
populated capital city. David’s Jerusalem can be compared to a medieval
Burg, surrounded by a medium-sized town, and yet it could well be the
centre of a meaningful polity. The only power that stood in David’s way
consisted of the Philistine cities, which, as archaeology tells us, were large
and fortified urban centres during this time. Indeed the biblical historiog-
rapher excludes them from David’s conquered territories. (Mazar 2007:
164–5)
158 Ancient Israel

Finkelstein states:

We may still be able to identify in them [the stories of David] the action
of a local chieftain who moves with his gang to the south of Hebron, in
the Judean Desert and in the Shephelah, far from the control of the central
government in the highlands further to the north. David takes over Hebron,
the second most important Iron Age town in the highlands of Judah and
the centre of his theatre of operations, and then expands to the north and
conquers Jerusalem, the traditional centre of government in the southern
hill country. David, according to these stories, is a typical Apiru leader, who
manages to establish a new dynasty in Jerusalem. (Finkelstein 2001: 107–8)

We now come to what many consider the central question: Was there
a ‘united monarchy’? The question cannot be given a proper answer at
this time, certainly not until the question of the LC is settled. But a partial
answer can be given with some emphasis: not as the Bible pictures it.
 Chapter 4

I r on IIB (900–720): R ise an d F al l o f the

N o rt h er n K in gdo m

For the first time since the Merenptah inscription, it is in the reign of Omri
that we finally begin to find extra-biblical data (apart from archaeology)
with which to compare the picture given by the biblical text. Some are
arguing that this is where the story of Israel begins – that Omri founded
the first state in Palestine. In any case, the ninth and eighth centuries are
dominated by the kingdom of Israel or Northern Kingdom.

4.1 Sources

4.1.1 Archaeology
One of the most significant areas of debate for this period is that of
chronology. Because of the arguments of the LC hypothesis, some events
conventionally dated to the tenth century would be in the ninth instead, if
this scenario should turn out to be correct (see §1.2.4.4 for a discussion).
For example, as noted earlier (§3.1.1), Finkelstein dates Hazor X to the
time of Omri, or the ninth century.
The lower Galilee and the Jezreel Valley contained sites that were
key to Israel in this period. Jezreel was the second main urban site in the
region of Samaria, alongside the city of Samaria. There is evidence that,
like Samaria, Jezreel was already settled in the tenth century BCE, before
Omride rule (Zimhoni 1997; Ussishkin and Woodhead 1997: 68). The
excavations there have suggested a new correlation with other contem-
porary sites at Megiddo and Taanach. Although it is not certain, the city
gate seems to be of a six-chambered variety (Ussishkin and Woodhead
1997: 69; Ussishkin 2000: 248–50). This phase of Jezreel seems to be
contemporary with Megiddo VA–IVB, with both destroyed at the same
time; however, Ussishkin (2007a) argues that Megiddo VA–IVB was
constructed earlier, though not long before, and was taken by Shoshenq
I (though only occupied by him, not destroyed). Based on the biblical
160 Ancient Israel

narrative the main settlement Jezreel is usually ascribed to the Omrides

(1 Kgs 18.45; 21.1), but it did not last long, perhaps being destroyed in
Jehu’s revolt (ca. 842 BCE), but more likely by Hazael in the late ninth
century (Ussishkin 2007a; Na’aman 1997b: 125–7). (For N. Franklin’s
views on Megiddo, Jezreel and Samaria, see below.)
Samaria is a critical site because its founding is directly associated
with a historical event known from the Bible (1 Kgs 16.23-28). R. Tappy
(1992, 2001) found, however, that the interpretation and dating methods
used by K. Kenyon were flawed (§1.2.4.6). D. Ussishkin (2007b) points
out that Omri’s Palace and Inner Wall (Wall 161) belong to Kenyon’s
Pottery Period I, and Casemate Wall, Ostraca Building and the building
in the centre to Pottery Period II (though Franklin dates the Inner Wall
to Period II). Structures in Pottery Period I continued in use in Pottery
Period II. Since Ussishkin thinks the ‘floors’ are layers of natural soil,
not laid floors, he argues that the structures of Periods I and II are all
contemporary and built according to a single scheme and orientation. The
dating of the acropolis is based primarily on the biblical evidence, with
its construction assumed to be during the reigns of Omri and Ahab. That
it was a sort of capital of the Omride kings is shown by the monumental
architecture, as well as numerous Hebrew ostraca of an administrative
nature and also Phoenician ivory carvings.
Building on Tappy’s insights, N. Franklin (2004, 2005, 2006, 2008)
has come up with a radically new interpretation of the remains from
Samaria. The use of Samaria as a chronological anchor is based on the
biblical narrative. Building Period 0 is the earliest, including primarily
rock-cut cisterns and associated wine and oil preparation areas. Two
rock-cut tombs have been identified as tombs of Omride kings below the
Building Period I palace. In Franklin’s view Building Period I covered
all of the Omride dynasty and part of Jehu’s. Building Period II consisted
of a new regime during which time the summit of Samaria became a
strictly administrative centre. A correlation between Megiddo VA–IVB
and Samaria Building Period I is indicated by mason marks in situ at
Megiddo and Samaria. Megiddo Palace 1723 and Samaria I Palace use a
0.45m Egyptian cubit. Both Megiddo VA–IVB and Samaria I, on the one
hand, and Megiddo IVA and Samaria Building Period II, on the other,
have architectural similarities. The ground plans of Megiddo IVA and
Samaria II are laid out using the Assyrian cubit of 0.495 m. These consid-
erations all show that Megiddo IVA and Samaria II building methods
were very different from the previous strata. Thus Samaria Building
Period II is not a sequential addition to Building Period I. Only Samaria
I is dated to the ninth century.
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 161

Finally, we come to the end of the Northern Kingdom. According

to 2 Kgs 17.5-6, 23-24, the Assyrians besieged Samaria for three years
before taking it and deporting all the inhabitants of the kingdom to
Mesopotamia, replacing them with peoples from Mesopotamia. From
an archaeological point of view there are some problems with this
scenario. There is no burn layer or other evidence of destruction for
Samaria, raising questions about the 2 Kgs 17.5-6 statement that Samaria
was besieged for three years. As for the displacement of peoples, A.
Zertal (1989; 1990: 12–14) has analysed the finds of a wedge-shaped
decorated bowl from a confined area in the old territory of Manasseh.
He argues that this pottery feature shows the settlement area of those
Mesopotamians brought into Samaria in the late eighth century. This
region, with Tell el-Far’ah (north) at its centre but with Samaria on its
edge, is only a small part of the province of Samaria. If Zertal’s analysis
is accepted, the entire former kingdom of Samaria was not involved nor
was the entire population deported. Zertal (1989: 82–3) estimates that the
imported population was no more than a few thousand, and deportation
affected not more than 10 per cent of the Israelite population, the vast
majority of which continued to live in Samaria. How all this might relate
to the text is discussed below (§4.2.7).
Almost all the regions of Ephraim were intensively settled (Finkelstein
1988–89: 151–4). Compared with Iron I, the population had shifted west,
with some of the large sites in the east abandoned: Shiloh, ‘Ai and Khirbit
Raddana. Part of the reason seems to be the economic importance of horti-
culture, for which the slopes and foothills were better suited. Sufficient
grain was grown in some regions, apparently, to allow the western regions
to concentrate on the important wine and oil production. In the southern
central range of the Ephraimite hills some sites were abandoned and a
fall in the population generally in this region is probably to be explained
by border conflicts and tensions between the kingdom of Israel and the
kingdom of Judah. The population seems to have reached its peak in the
mid-eighth century.
The Shephelah only began to be populated in Iron IIA. In Iron IIB we
witness an impressive growth of settlement numbers in the whole area
of Judah. This included strata IV–III of Lachish and the parallel strata
in other sites. Y. Dagan (2004: 2680–1) concluded that in the Shephelah
in Iron IIA and IIB the sites developed slowly as the process of Judaean
settlement began, with 731 sites in Iron IIB. The prosperity of the period
reached its zenith in the eighth century. The Shephelah (with about 2500
settled dunams) and Benjamin overshadowed the Judaean highlands.
This ends, of course, with the massive destruction by Sennacherib in all
162 Ancient Israel

areas south and west of Jerusalem. Lachish III is an important chrono-

logical indicator since it seems to have been destroyed by Sennacherib
in 701 BCE.
As for the Judaean hills, some of the differences in interpretation were
discussed above (§3.1.1). A. Ofer (1994, 2001) had argued that from the
mid-eleventh to the eighth century the population nearly doubled in each
century. In the ninth century this included 66 settlements covering 50
hectares; in the eighth, 88 settlements covering 90 hectares, which would
mean a population of about 22,000–23,000. Any discussion of Jerusalem
has to take account of the debate over the state of the city in the tenth
and ninth centuries and the question of the united monarchy, which is
discussed in the previous chapter (§3.1.1). Regardless of the answers,
all agree that the archaeology of Jerusalem in the eighth century shows a
significant city and the capital of a fully fledged state. Excavations on the
Ophel show the earliest buildings there date only from the ninth century.
E. Mazar had argued that the fortified complex of this area south of the
Temple Mount had been constructed as early as the ninth century, but they
more likely date between the eighth and the early sixth centuries BCE
(Killebrew 2003: 336). E. A. Knauf (2000a) argues that the centre of the
Davidic city has not been found because it would have been the area north
of the Ophel, the area of the Temple Mount. Although it is not possible to
test this hypothesis now, that section of the hill was a militarily strategic
area and would have had to have been incorporated into any settlement on
the southeastern hill. The argument that the MB wall was used as a city
wall in LB, Iron I, and Iron IIA and IIB has no support; Jerusalem lacked
a fortification wall until the mid-eighth century (Killebrew 2003: 334).
From the late eighth century there is plenty of evidence for Jerusalem as
a major urban centre.
One of the main controversies over a number of decades has to do
with the size of Jerusalem in the last part of the Judahite monarchy
(Geva 2003). Researchers have been divided with regard to when the
fortified area expanded out of the southeastern ridge to include the south-
western hill. The ‘minimalist’ view was prevalent in the mid-twentieth
century, while the ‘maximalists’ disagreed among themselves as to when
expansion took place. Minimalists pointed to lack of archaeological
finds on the southwestern hill, because the excavations of Kenyon and
Tushingham on the eastern slope of the southwestern hill found nothing
from the end of the monarchy. However, N. Avigad conducted excava-
tions in the Jewish Quarter in 1969–82 (Avigad and Geva 2000). A
significant find was a massive wall that Avigad identified with the ‘Broad
Wall’ of Neh. 3.8. This settlement on the southwestern hill began in the
mid-eighth century BCE. It was natural to associate the Broad Wall and
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 163

other building activity with the reign of Hezekiah. This wall went out of
use not long after it was built, and a new wall was constructed north of
it in the seventh century (§5.1.1). New suburbs seem to have been estab-
lished: mišneh (2 Kgs 22.14; Zeph. 1.10: a new residential quarter on the
southwestern hill) and the maktēš (Zeph. 1.11: apparently the name of the
central valley). Jerusalem experienced unprecedented growth, reaching
60 hectares (the southwestern hill 45). Geva gives a conservative estimate
of the population in the eighth century as 6,000–7,000 (in contrast to
Broshi’s 20,000 [2001]). The indications are that the southwestern hill
was sparsely settled, but there was also an expansion to the north. The
earliest tombs to the west of the city in Ketef Hinnom and Mamilla are
also dated to the eighth century (Reich and Shukron 2003: 211).
Recent excavations near the Gihon Spring have yielded some results
that have been dated to the eighth century BCE (Reich, Shukron and
Lernau 2008). A house was built in an abandoned pool, with the floor level
created by fill presumably taken from the immediately surrounding area.
The pottery from this fill was different from other late Iron pottery found
in the area in a decade of digging: this pottery was more like Lachish IV
or at least the early eighth century BCE and possibly the late ninth (a final
verdict awaits completion of the sifting process). Four scaraboid seals,
four scarabs and fragments of approximately 150 clay bullae bearing
impressions were found (probably the remains from documents that had
been unsealed). All are anepigraphic, but motifs include pseudo-hiero-
glyphs, proto-Ionic capitals, winged suns, winged griffins and an almost
complete Phoenician ship. Overall, the collection points to the Phoenician
realm. The large number of bullae and the seals, plus a 15-holed plaque
(apparently a scribal device with a time-keeping function), point to a
nearby administrative centre in the late ninth century. It might be that
this shows the introduction of record-keeping and bureaucracy into Judah
directly or indirectly through the services of the Omride kingdom (with
its Phoenician connections).
In the Beersheba valley, it is now accepted that Arad XI and Beersheba
V (with the first Iron Age fortifications in Judah) must be in the ninth
century (Herzog 2001; 2002: 58–72). Herzog associates strata XI–VI with
the Iron II period. Much controversy has centred around the temple on the
site. The building of the temple’s intial stage was associated with stratum
X, which now needs to be dated to the eighth century; the second phase,
with stratum IX (the stela and incense altars were used with this phase);
the temple no longer existed in stratum VIII. Thus, the temple was built in
the eighth century and dismantled about 715 BCE, having lasted no more
than about 40 years (see further at §5.1.1). Much of strata VII and VI were
removed by Hellenistic and Roman builders.
164 Ancient Israel

Considerable changes took place in the Beersheba valley and region

during the ninth and eighth centuries (Herzog 2002: 94–9). The climate
worsened at the beginning of the ninth century, which made cultivation
much more difficult in this marginal region. This seems to have coincided
with the establishment of a regional administrative–military centre in
place of the agricultural settlements, taking in Arad XI, Beersheba V, Tel
Masos I and Tel Malḥata. The population of the area nevertheless appears
to have remained much the same, no more than about 1,000. A major
cultural shift took place between the ninth and eighth centuries, with a
completely different pottery assemblage for Arad X–XIII and Beersheba
III–II. The massive fortifications of Beersheba IV and Arad XI were razed
to the ground, followed by a much weaker replacement build (Herzog and
Singer-Avitz 2004: 230). If the initial destruction was caused by enemy
action, the replacement defences would have attempted to be at least as
strong as those that had stood there before. Hence, a natural disaster such
as an earthquake seems to be the cause. In the eighth century Tel ‘Ira
VII was resettled, and fortresses were built at Kadesh Barnea and Tell
el-Kheleifeh. The settled area was twice that of the ninth century. There
is also evidence for Beersheba as a ‘gateway community’ (supply station)
for the trade route(s) from Arabia at this time (Singer-Avitz 1999).
The archaeology does confirm some textual hints at outside influences
(Phoenicia, Syria, Neo-Hittite) on the Northern Kingdom (Barkay 1992:
306, 335–8). Most basic was Cypro-Phoenician pottery (Barkay 1992:
338). The ivories found in Samaria and elsewhere tend to be seen as
showing Phoenician influence (Barkay 1992: 320–3). Many of the
monumental and administrative buildings in the north appeared to be
influenced by bit-ḫilani architecture known earlier from Syria (Reich
1992: 202–6; Barkay 1992: 310). Ashlar masonry (including the paving
of square areas) and proto-Aeolic capitals are also often thought to be
Phoenician imports (Stern 1992: 302–5).

4.1.2 Hebrew Inscriptions

The number of Hebrew inscriptions for this period is surprisingly small.
This fact is one of the supports used by those who argue that writing only
began to be used extensively in the latter part of the monarchy (§3.2.5).
What we have are mostly ostraca (Renz 1995: I, 40–144). The main texts –
those with legible text of any length – are the Kuntillet ‘Ajrud inscriptions
(Gogel 1998: #6.1.14) and the Samarian ostraca (Gogel 1998: #6.1.21;
TSSI #1; Lemaire 1977). The former are mainly of religious interest and
are discussed below in that context (§4.2.8). The Samarian ostraca are
usually dated to the early eighth century and explained as administrative
documents relating to wine and oil brought into the city from outside
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 165

(Kaufman 1992). H. M. Niemann (2007) has recently explained them

differently: they document attempts by Jehoash and Jeroboam II to inte-
grate the traditional tribal links into their personal power network. It was
the practice to have elite members of the clans reside as ‘honoured guests’
in Samaria for shorter or longer periods of time, stabilizing political links
between the Samarian king (warlord) and the surrounding clans. Wine and
oil were sent from their local constituents to the clan members residing in
Samaria, and the ostraca are to be explained as receipts for these goods.
The ostraca are an important source of data on names of people in ancient
Israel.
A recent object of controversy is the so-called Jehoash inscription. This
was not found in a proper archaeological context but appeared on the
antiquities market, the provenance and acquisition history unknown. The
owner of the object was taken to court by the Israel Antiquities Authority,
but the judge eventually ruled that forgery by the owner was unproved,
though he admitted that the court could not pronounce it authentic,
according to news reports. One professional geological analysis found
signs of a modern forgery (Goren et al. 2004), but another professional
group (Rosenfeld et al. 2009) found no such indications but concluded
that the inscription had an apparent age of about the third century BCE
(long after the time of Jehoash but still ancient); yet they attempted to
explain how a tablet originally from the eighth century BCE might acquire
the characteristics dating it 500 years later. However, analysis by philolo-
gists has created a scholarly consensus that the inscription is a modern
forgery whose language shows signs of a speaker of modern Hebrew
(Greenstein 2012), a conclusion accepted here. Hence, this will not be
used as a source. For a general discussion on forgeries, see §1.2.4.8.

4.1.3 Aramaic Inscriptions

4.1.3.1 Tel Dan
Perhaps one of the most interesting texts is the one recently found at
Tel Dan, which already has a considerable bibliography (Athas 2003;
Kottsieper 2007). The following is my reading of the first fragment found
in 1993 (Biran and Naveh 1993) with a minimum of reconstruction:

] my father went up [
my father lay down (died?). He went to [ Is-]
rael earlier in the land. My father [ (or ‘in the land of my father’)
I – Hadad went before me [
x my king. And I killed of [them chari-]
ot and thousands (or 2000) of riders [
king of Israel. And I kill[ed
166 Ancient Israel

xx ‘house of David’ (bytdwd). And I set [

xx the land. They x[
another, and xxxx [ ki-
ng over Is[rael
siege over [

The second fragment (actually two fragments that fit together) does not
clearly join onto the first, and the reconstruction based on putting the two
together strikes me as purely speculative (cf. Athas 2003: 175–91). I read
the second fragment as follows, with little hypothetical reconstruction:

] and cut [
] battle/fought against xx [
]x and went up the king x [
] and Hadad made king [
] I went up from Sheva’/seven [
seven]ty tied/harnessed x[
]rm son [
]yahu son [

This inscription has been subject to a number of interpretations, some

of which are quite compelling, but they rely generally on the recon-
struction of the original editors. However, it does seem to me that in the
last two lines above, the restoration of ‘J(eh)oram’ is virtually certain, and
of ‘Ahaziah’ quite reasonable. If so, this favours assigning the inscription
to Hazael and the interpetations that follow from it. Finally, there have
been some isolated doubts about the authenticity of one or more of the
fragments, but these have not been convincing (Athas 2003: 22–35, 70–2).

4.1.3.2 Melqart Inscription

This is dated to the ninth or early eighth century BCE. A number of
the older readings must now be discarded in the light of recent study. It
mentions ‘Bir-Ha[dad], son of ‘Attar-hamek, king of Aram’ (Pitard 1988:
272; cf. Puech 1992).

4.1.3.3 Zakkur Inscription

The Zakkur Inscription is dated to about 800 BCE.

The monument which Zakkur, king of Hamath and Lu’ash, set up for El-wer
[in Apish]… Bar-Hadad, son of Hazael, king of Aram, united against me
s[even]teen kings: Bar-Hadad and his army, Bar-Gush and his army, the
king of Que and his army, the king of ‘Amuq and his army, the king of
Gurgum and his army, the king of Sam’al and his army, the king of Meliz
and his army [ ] seven[teen], they and their armies. (CoS II,155 [text 2.35])
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 167

4.1.4 Mesha Stela

The importance of the Mesha Stela or the Moabite stone has long been
recognized. The exact date of the inscription is difficult because it depends
largely on assumptions about the historical context (Lemaire 1994a,
1994b; Na’aman 2007a). For the purposes of this exercise, we cannot take
that context for granted; however, the text is likely to date from the ninth
or eighth century BCE. Only lines 1–9 are given here:

I am Mesha, the son of Kemosh[-yatti], the king of Moab, the Dibonite. My

father was king over Moab for thirty years, and I was king after my father.
And I made this high-place for Kemosh in Karchoh, […] because he has
delivered me from all kings(?), and because he has made me look down on
all my enemies. Omri was the king of Israel, and he oppressed Moab for
many days, for Kemosh was angry with his land. And his son succeeded
him, and he said – he too – ‘I will oppress Moab!’ In my days did he say
[so], but I looked down on him and on his house, and Israel has gone to
ruin, yes, it has gone to ruin for ever! And Omri had taken possession of the
whole la[n]d of Medeba, and he lived there (in) his days and half the days
of his son, forty years, but Kemosh [resto]red it in my days. And I built
Baal Meon, and I made in it a water reservoir, and I built Kiriathaim. (CoS
II, 137 [text 2.23])

The historical implications are discussed in some detail below (§4.2.4).

4.1.5 Assyrian Sources

In the Kurkh Monolith which details Shalmaneser III’s campaign in his
sixth year (853 BCE), he describes the force that met him after he had
worked his way as far as Qarqar on the Orontes in northern Syria:

1,200 chariots, 1,200 cavalry, 20,000 footsoldiers of Adad-idri ‘of

Aram-Damascus ([šá kur]-anše-šú)’; 700 chariots, 700 cavalry, 10,000
footsoldiers of Irhuleni, ‘the Hamathite (kur A-mat-a-a)’; 2,000 chariots [2
lim giš.gigir.meš], 10,000 footsoldiers of Ahab (mA-ha-ab-bu) ‘the Israelite
(kur Sir-’-la-a-a)’…these 12 kings, he brought as his allies. They came
against me to [wage] war and fight. In the exalted might which Ashur my
lord gave me (and) with the strong weapons which Nergal, who goes before
me, presented to me, I fought with them. I defeated them from Qarqar to
Gilzau. I slew 14,000 of their soldiers with the weapons (and) rained, like
the god Adad, the destructive flood upon them. (Yamada 2000: 156–7, 162)

The Baghdad Text (Grayson 1996: 32–41 [A.0.102.6]) and the Calah
Annals (Grayson 1996: 42–8 [A.0.102.8]) indicate that the coalition
continued to oppose the Assyrians successfully for many years –
Shalmaneser’s 10th year: opposed by Hadadezer of Damascus, Irḫulēnu
168 Ancient Israel

of Hamath, together with a coalition of twelve kings; 11th year: opposed

by Hadadezer, Irḫulēnu, together with a coalition of twelve kings; 14th
year: Shalmaneser has an army of 120,000; opposed by Hadadezer,
Irḫulēnu, together with a coalition of twelve kings. However, in his 18th
year, the situation is different (Aššur Basalt Statue):

I defeated Adad-idri of Damascus with 12 kings, his helpers, and laid down
29,000 of his brave fighters like reeds. The remainder of his army, I cast into
the Orontes river. They fled to save their life. Adad-idri died. Hazael, son
of a nobody [dumu la ma-ma-na], took the throne. He mustered his large
army and came against me to wage war. I fought with him and defeated
him (and) took off the wall of his camp. Hazael fled to save his own life. I
pursued (him) as far as Damascus, his royal city. (Yamada 2000: 188–9; cf.
also Grayson 1996: 118 [A.0.102.40: i 14–35]; ANET 280)

The Kurba’il Statue gives some similar information but also adds data
not in the other inscriptions:

In my eighteenth regnal year, I crossed the Euphrates for the sixteenth

time, Hazael of Damascus trusted in the massed might of his troops; and
he mustered his army in great numbers… I decisively defeated him. I felled
with the sword 16,000 of his men-of-arms. I took away from him 1,121 of
his chariots, 470 of his cavalry, together with his camp. In order to save his
life he ran away. I pursued after him. I confined him in Damascus, his royal
city… At that time I received the tribute of the Tyrians, the Sidonians, and
Jehu (Ia-ú-a), (the man) of Bīt-ḫumrî (Omri). (CoS II, 268; cf. also Grayson
1996: 60 [A.0.102.12: 21-30])

On the designation of Jehu as dumu mḫu-um-ri-i, often translated as

‘son of Omri’, see below (§4.2.3).
Shalmaneser’s successor, Shamshi-Adad V (823–811), had to deal
with a rebellion that had begun under Shalmaneser III, and the west of
the empire was more or less abandoned during his reign. As will be seen
below, this left the opportunity for Damascus to have a free hand against
its neighbours. (It is widely thought that Šamši-Adad and his mother
formed the basis of the Nimrod and Semiramis legend [Grabbe 2003b:
122–5].) The next king, Adad-Narari III (810–783), had a long reign with
important campaigns to both the east and the west.
He renewed campaigns to Syria and the Mediterranean (ca. 805–796),
though the number of campaigns is uncertain. According to the el-Rimah
inscription,
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 169

In one year I subdued the entire lands Amurru (and) Ḫatti. I imposed upon
them tax (and) tribute forever. I (text ‘he’) received 2000 talents of silver,
1000 talents of copper, 2000 talents of iron, 3000 linen garments with
multi-coloured trim – the tribute from Mari, the Damascene. I (text ‘he’)
received the tribute of Joash (Iu’asu), the Samaritan, (and) of the people of
Tyre (and) Sidon. (Grayson 1996: 211 [A.0.104.7.4-8]; cf. Page 1968: 143;
ANET 281–2)

‘Iu-’a-su of Samaria (Sa-me-ri-na-a-a) [var. land of Omri (ḫu-um-ri-i)]’

is almost certainly Joash of Israel (M. Weippert 1978, which corrects the
view expressed by McCarter [1974] that Iuasu should be taken as Jehu).
More difficult is Mari of Damascus. Mari can be simply the Aramaic
title, ‘my lord’ rather than a personal name. It has been suggested that the
Assyrians referred to the Aramaean leader by this term because they were
uncertain as to who he was (Lipiński 2000: 390–1). The Arslan Tash ivory
might suggest that this was Hazael: ‘[]xx ‘m’ to our lord (mr’n) Hazael in
the year [of the tak]ing of Ḥ[]’ (Puech 1981: 544–62). A similar message
is found on the Hazael booty inscriptions which seems to read something
along the line of the following: ‘That which Hadad (?) gave to our lord
(mr’n) Hazael from Umeq in the year that our lord crossed over the river’
(Eph’al and Naveh 1989: 192–200; also Lipiński 2000: 388). The name
in the Eretria horse-blinder inscription seems to have a b as the last letter
of the name, though this could be a scribal idiosyncracy. Others, however,
would identify Mari with Bar-Hadad son of Hazael (Pitard 1987: 165–6;
Millard and Tadmor 1973: 63 n. 22; Kuan 1995: 81 n. 46).
The next 40 years (782–745 BCE) are rather obscure in Assyrian
history. The period seems to be characterized by weak rulers and strong
officials. Military campaigns were not always led by the king, and there
were non-campaign years. It was basically a time of contracting borders
and major problems with Urartu, with the Assyrians losing their hold on
the west. However, the tartanu (vice-regent) Šamši-Ilu was an important
figure in the region. The Maras Museum inscription describes how he took
tribute from Damascus in the time of Shalmaneser IV (782–773 BCE):

When Šamši-ilu, the field marshal, marched to Damascus, the tribute

of Ḫadiiāni, the Damascene – silver, gold, copper, his royal bed, his
royal couch, his daughter with her extensive dowry, the property of his
palace without number – I received from him (Ḫadiiāni). On my return
(from Damascus) I gave this boundary stone to Ušpilulume, king of the
Kummuḫites. (Grayson 1996: 240 [A.0.105.1.4-13])
170 Ancient Israel

Tiglath-pileser III (744–727 BCE) was probably a usurper. Little

building activity seems to have taken place because of the extensive
campaigns. The three-fold system of vassalage was perfected under
Tiglath-pileser. Campaigns to the west took place in 743, 738 and through
the period 734–732. Annals 19* (lines 9–11) mention the rebellion of
Azriyau in 738 BCE:

19 districts of Hamath together with the cities of their environs, which are
on the seacoast of the west, which in rebellion were seized for Azriyau, I
annexed to Assyria. I placed two of my eunuchs over them as governors.
(Tadmor 1994: 62–3)

This Azriyau was early identified with Azariah (= Uzziah) of Judah

(2 Kgs 15.1-7), partly based on the mistaken assumption that another
Assyrian inscription referred to ‘Azriyau of Yaudi’ (Tadmor 1961; 1994:
273–4). This identification has been largely abandoned, partly because
Azriyau’s country is not known and partly because the coalition led by
Azriyau seems to be made up of states in the area of central and northern
Syria (Kuan 1995: 149 n. 57).
Tiglath-pileser III’s tribute list in the Calah Annals 13* and 14* tells of
the tribute collected about 738–737 BCE (Annal 13*, line 10, to 14*, line
5):

The tribute of Kushtashpi of Kummuh, Rezin (Rahianu) of Damascus,

Menahem of Samaria, Hiram of Tyre, Sibittibi’il of Byblos, Urikki of Que,
Pisiris of Carchemish, Eni-il of Hamath, Panammu of Sam’al…I received.
(Tadmor 1994: 69–71)

Summary Inscription 4 (lines 7–20) describes the final destruction of

Damascus and the change of king in Israel (ca. 732 BCE):

The ent[ire] wide land of [Bit-Haza’i]li (Aram) I annexed to Assyria. [I

plac]ed [x eunuchs over them] as governors. Hanunu of Gaza, [who] fle[d
before] my weapons, (and) escaped [to] Egypt – Gaza […his royal city,
I conquered/entered] his property (and) his gods [I despoiled/seized. A
(statue) bearing the image of the gods my lo]rds and my (own) royal image
[out of gold I fashioned.] In the palace [of Gaza] I set (it) up (and) I counted
it among the gods of their land; [their…] I established. As for [him (i.e.
Hanunu), the fear of my majesty] overwhelmed him and like a bird he flew
(back) [from Egypt] […] I returned him to his position and his […I turned
into an Assyrian emporium. Gold,] silver, multi-coloured garments, linen
garments, large [horses,]… […] I received. The land of Bit-Humria (Israel),
[…its] ‘auxiliary army’, […] all of its people, […] I carried off [to] Assyria.
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 171

Peqah, their king [I/they killed] and I installed Hoshea [as king] over them.
10 talents of gold, x talents of silver, [with] their [property] I received from
them and [to Assyria I car]ried them. As for Samsi, the queen of the Arabs,
at Mount Saqurri I de[feated 9,400] (of her people). (Tadmor 1994: 138–41)

The actual siege of Damascus is described in Tiglath-pileser III’s Calah

Annals 23. Summary Inscription 7 also tells us that Jehoahaz king of
Judah (mIa-ú-ha-zi kurIa-ú-da-a+a) paid tribute about this time (reverse,
lines 10′–12′):

10′ [Ma]tanbi’il of Arvad, Sanipu of Ammon, Salamanu of Moab, [……]

11′ [Mi]tinti of Ashkelon, Jehoahaz of Judah, Qaushmalaka of Edom,
Muṣ… […of……]
12′ (and) Hanunu of Gaza… (Tadmor 1994: 170–1)

The fall of Samaria is actually claimed by two kings. First is Shalmaneser

V (726–722 BCE) who apparently as crown prince had acted as chief
administrator while his father was campaigning. Little is known of him
apart from his siege of Samaria, as recorded in Babylonian Chronicle 1
(i 27–31):

On the twenty-fifth day of the month Tebet Shalmaneser (V) ascended

the throne in Assyria <and Akkad>. He ravaged Samaria. The fifth year:
Shalmaneser (V) died in the month Tebet. For five years Shalmaneser (V)
ruled Akkad and Assyria. On the twelfth day of the month Tebet Sargon (II)
ascended the throne in Assyria. (Grayson 1975: 73)

The editor has put ‘Samaria’ in italics, but it seems to be agreed by

consensus that the uruŠá-ma/ba-ra-’-in of the text should be so read.
However, Sargon II claims in his Annals to have conquered Samaria:

In the begin[ning of my reign when I took (my) seat on the royal throne
and was crowned with a lordly crown, the Sama]rians, [who agreed with
(another) hostile king not to continue their slavery and not to deliver
tribute and who started hostility in the strength of……who b]ring about my
triumph, [I fought] w[ith them and completed their defeat. 27280 (or 27290)
people, who lived therein, with their chariots, I] carried off (as) spoil. 50
chariots (for) my royal bodyguard [I mustered from among them and the
rest of them I settled in the midst of Assyria (= Assyria proper). The city
of Samaria I re]settled and made it greater than before. People of the lands
conque[red by my own hand (= by myself) I brought there. My courtier I
placed over them as governor and duties and] tax I imposed upon them as
on Assyrians. (Tadmor 1958b: 34)
172 Ancient Israel

The Nimrud Prism, which is better preserved, is parallel and gives

similar information (Tadmor 1958b: 34).

4.1.6 Phoenician History of Menander of Ephesus

Unfortunately, we have little historical material on Phoenicia, and what
little there is comes mainly from classical writers. Menander of Ephesus
is alleged to have written a Phoenician History using ancient records. A
relevant passage for purposes of this paper is the following:

This rainless time is also mentioned by Menander in his account of the acts
of Ithōbalos, the king of Tyre, in these words: ‘There was a drought in his
reign, which lasted from the month of Hyperberetaios until the month of
Hyperberetaios in the following year. But he made supplication to the gods,
whereupon a heavy thunderstorm broke out. He it was who founded the city
of Botrys in Phoenicia, and Auza in Libya.’ This, then, is what Menander
wrote, referring to the drought which came in Achab’s reign, for it was in
his time that Ithōbalos was king of Tyre. (Quoted by Josephus, Ant. 8.13.2
§324.)

There are many questions. What was his source? Was it a genuine
Phoenician one or simply another Greek writer? Was the source (if there
was one) in Greek or Phoenician? Who made the connection with the
father of Jezebel, Josephus or his source?
A Phoenician sarcophagus inscription from Byblos may have some
useful information: ‘The sarcophagus that ‘Ittoba’l, son of ‘Ahirom, the
king of Byblos, made for ‘Ahirom, his father, when he placed him in
eternity’ (CoS II, 181 [text 2.55]). Exactly when to date this can only be
guessed. The name of the son is the same as the father of Jezebel, but
was this only a common name for Phoenician kings? This individual is
king of Byblos, not Tyre, though Sidon may have been a general term for
‘Phoenician’ by outside writers at the time.

4.1.7 Biblical Text

Unlike Chapters 2 and 3 where large amounts of text are covered, only
a few chapters are involved here; therefore, a more detailed outline of
contents is presented. Because the books of Chronicles focus on Judah,
parallels in 2 Chronicles to the Ahab story are only sporadic. They are
listed where they occur, but this is not very often. (See further Grabbe
2016.)
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 173

4.1.7.1 1 Kings 16.15–2 Kings 17.41 (2 Chronicles 18–28): Outline of

the Contents

1 Kgs 16.15-28: The reign of Omri.

16.15-20: Zimri reigns seven days in Tirzeh after a coup but is
defeated by the army commander Omri and commits suicide.
16.21-22: The people are split between Omri and Tibni, but Omri
defeats and kills the latter.
16.23-24: Omri reigns 12 years, buys a hill and founds the city of
Samaria.
16.25-28: Omri’s reign is given a theological summary without
additional information.
1 Kgs 16.29-34: A theologizing summary of Ahab’s reign.
16.29-33: Ahab reigns 22 years, marries Jezebel and worships Baal,
building a temple to Baal in Samaria.
16.34: Hiel builds Jericho at the expense of his first born and
youngest sons.
1 Kgs 17–19: Various tales centring on Elijah the prophet/man of God.
17.1-6: Elijah declares a famine to Ahab, then hides where he is fed
by ravens.
17.7-16: Elijah lives with a widow where they are fed miraculously.
17.17-24: Elijah heals/raises to life the son of the widow.
18.1-46: Elijah’s contest with the prophets of Baal and the end of
the drought.
19.1-14: Elijah flees to Horeb from the wrath of Jezebel.
19.15-18: Elijah is sent to anoint Hazael, Jehu and Elisha.
19.19-21: Elisha leaves his farming to follow Elijah.
1 Kgs 20: Ahab and the attack of the Aramaeans.
20.1-21: Ben-Hadad threatens Ahab but is defeated by Israel at the
word of a prophet.
20.22-30: The prophet warns of a second invasion, but the Aramaeans
are defeated at the word of a man of God.
20.31-34: Ben-Hadad surrenders to Ahab who spares his life;
Ben-Hadad promises to return the towns taken from Ahab’s father
by his father, and to let Israel set up bazaars in Damascus as his father
did in Samaria.
20.35-43: A prophet has himself wounded and appears to Ahab as a
sign of his error in releasing Ben-Hadad.
1 Kgs 21: Ahab and Naboth’s vineyard.
21.1-16: Ahab takes Naboth’s vineyard.
21.17-26: Elijah prophesies against Ahab and his house.
21.27-29: Ahab repents and the prophecy against him is postponed
to his son’s time.
174 Ancient Israel

1 Kgs 22//2 Chron. 18: Story of Ahab’s death.

22.1-5//18.1-4: Ahab asks Jehoshaphat for help in retaking
Ramothgilead.
22.6-28//18.5-27: Prophets are consulted, including Micaiah who
prophesies defeat for Ahab.
22.29-38//18.28-34: Ahab is killed in battle, fulfilling Yhwh’s word.
22.39-40: Summary of Ahab’s reign, including the ‘ivory house’ that
he built.
22.41-51//20.31–21.3: Summary of Jehoshaphat’s reign, including
his ‘righteousness’ and his failed plan to send ships of Tarshish to
Ophir for gold.
22.52-54: Ahaziah son of Ahab becomes king and reigns two years.
2 Kgs 1: Ahaziah dies at the word of Elijah for enquiring of Baal-Zebub
(most of the chapter concerns the efforts to get Elijah to come and visit the
king on his sick bed).
2 Kgs 2: Elijah is taken to heaven and Elisha assumes his mantle.
2 Kgs 3: Coalition of kings attack Moab.
3.1-3: Jehoram becomes king over Israel.
3.4-9: Mesha the king of Moab rebels against Jehoram who assembles
a coalition of Israel, Judah and Edom.
3.9-20: The kings are delivered from lack of water by Elisha.
3.21-27: Moab is defeated but Israel withdraws after Mesha sacrifices
the crown prince.
2 Kgs 4.1–8.15: tales about Elisha.
4.1-44: Various tales of Elisha.
5.1-27: Elisha heals Naaman the Aramaean commander.
6.1-7: Elisha makes an axehead float.
6.8-23: Elisha delivers the Aramaean army into the king of Israel’s
hand, and the Aramaeans stop invading the land of Israel.
6.24–7.20: Ben-Hadad besieges Samaria, but the Aramaeans flee and
the city is delivered through Elisha.
8.1-6: Elisha helps the woman whose son he had revived.
8.7-15: Elisha prophesies that Hazael will replace the ill Ben-Hadad,
and the former assassinates the latter.
2 Kgs 8.16-24//2 Chron. 21.4-11; 21.20–22.1: Summary of the reign of
Joram son of Jehoshaphat over Judah: he marries Athaliah, daughter of
Ahab; Edom gains its independence at this time.
2 Kgs 8.25-29//2 Chron. 22.2-6: Joram of Judah dies and his son Ahaziah
reigns; Joram of Israel fights alongside Ahaziah against Hazael and the
Aramaeans at Ramoth-Gilead and is wounded.
2 Kgs 9–10: Jehu stages a coup and takes the throne.
9.1-14: Elisha sends a disciple to anoint Jehu king in Ramoth-Gilead.
9.15-29//22.7-9: Jehu kills Joram of Israel and Ahaziah of Judah.
9.30-37: Jehu kills Jezebel.
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 175

10.1-11: Jehu causes Ahab’s offspring to be killed.

10.12-14: Relatives of Ahaziah are killed.
10.15-17: Jehu takes Jehonadab the Rechabite to witness his slaughter
of the rest of Ahab’s house.
10.18-28: Jehu slaughters the worshippers of Baal and removes Baal
worship from Israel.
10.29-31: Yet Jehu does not follow the Torah or remove worship at
Bethel and Dan.
10.32-33: Hazael takes Israelite land east of the Jordan.
10.34-36: Summary of Jehu’s reign.
2 Kgs 11–12//2 Chron. 22.10-24.14: Coup of Joash and his reign over Judah.
11.1-20//22.10–23.21: Execution of Athaliah and the installation of
Joash on the throne in Jerusalem.
12.1-17//24.1-14: Joash has money collected to repair Yhwh’s house.
12.18-19: Hazael of Aram comes against Jerusalem, but Joash buys
him off.
12.20-22: Joash’s death and summary of his reign.
2 Kgs 13.1-9: Reign of Jehoahaz son of Jehu.
13.1-2: Summary of Jehoahaz’s reign.
13.3: Israel afflicted by Hazael and Ben-Hadad of Aram.
13.4-6: Israel gains freedom from Aram despite remaining in the sins
of Jeroboam.
13.7: Jehoahaz had been left with only a small military force.
13.8-9: Jehoahaz’s death and summary of his reign.
2 Kgs 13.10-25: Reign of Jehoash of Israel.
13.10-13: Summary of Jehoash’s reign.
13.14-19: Elisha on his death bed offers to Jehoash a sign of defeat
of Aram.
13.20-21: Death of Elisha and resurrection of corpse by his bones.
13.22-25: Jehoash son of Jehoahaz begins to recover territory from
Ben-Hadad.
2 Kgs 14.1-22//2 Chron. 25.1–26.2: Reign of Amaziah of Judah.
14.1-6//25.1-4: How he was righteous (though he did not remove the
country shrines).
14.7//25.5-16: Defeat of the Edomites (version in 2 Chronicles is
greatly expanded, with anecdotes about prophets).
14.8-14//25.17-24: Challenges Jehoash of Israel to battle and is
defeated and Jerusalem sacked.
14.15-16: Death of Jehoash of Israel and summary of his reign.
14.17-20//25.25-28: Amaziah is assassinated in a conspiracy;
summary of his reign.
14.21-22//26.1-2: Azariah (Uzziah) made king of Judah; restores
Elath (Eloth) to Judah.
176 Ancient Israel

2 Kgs 14.23-29: Jeroboam becomes king of Israel; restores territory from

Lebo-Hamath to the sea of Arabah, including Damascus and Hamath,
according to the word of Jonah.
2 Kgs 15.1-7//26.3-23: Reign of Azariah (Uzziah) who is righteous but
becomes a leper.
2 Kgs 15.8-12: Zechariah becomes king of Israel but is assassinated, as last
of Jehu dynasty.
2 Kgs 15.13-15: Shallum reigns one month.
2 Kgs 15.16-22: Menahem is king over Israel; Pul of Assyria invades and
Menahem gives him 10,000 talents.
2 Kgs 15.23-26: Reign of Pekahiah of Israel.
2 Kgs 15.27-31: Reign of Pekah of Israel; Tiglath-pileser invades and takes
northern Israel.
2 Kgs 15.32-38//2 Chron. 27.1-9: Reign of Jotham of Judah; attacked by
Rezin of Aram and Pekah.
2 Kgs 16//2 Chron. 28: Reign of Ahaz of Judah.
16.1-4//28.1-4: Theologizing summary of Ahaz’s reign.
16.5-9//28.5-19: Syro-Ephraimite war.
16.10-16//28.20-27: Ahaz makes an altar like the one of Tiglath-
pileser in Damascus.
2 Kgs 17: Fall of Samaria.

4.1.7.2 Analysis
Any modern historians worth their salt would immediately recognize
that not all the material in the biblical text is of the same quality. First,
leaving aside for the moment the long tradition of source and redaction
criticism among biblical scholars, a careful reading of this lengthy stretch
of text will still detect that along with narratives giving the impression
of describing unfolding events are other sorts of material that look
distinctly legendary. This especially applies to stories in which the chief
protagonist is a prophet. Thus, whereas the reign of Omri is described
succinctly and with the prima facie appearance of factuality, the reign
of Ahab is dominated by stories about the prophets Elijah and Elisha. A
second point that would be obvious to a modern historian is that here and
there are theological summaries and that the overall perspective is one of
theological judgment (e.g., the success and failure of kings is according to
whether they have been ‘righteous’ or ‘wicked’ according to the religious
code of the writer). Moral judgment on rulers is not in itself unusual in
ancient writings, including the Greek historians. Nevertheless, it would be
noticeable to a modern historian and would need to be taken account of
(see further Grabbe 2001b).
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 177

In fact, if we look carefully at the material stretching from 1 Kings 16

to 2 Kings 17, we see few passages of any length that seem to be staight-
forward narratives. On the contrary, the whole section is dominated by
prophetic stories or theological interests. For example, an entire chapter
is devoted to the reign of Joash of Judah (2 Kgs 12), yet most of the
space concerns how money was collected for the repair of the house of
Yhwh. There is little from 1 Kings 17 to 2 Kings 9 that does not relate to
Elijah and Elisha. Much of this long section of 15 chapters is a series of
prophetic stories and anecdotes. Some of these relate to national events,
but a good deal is purely focused on the doings of the prophet.
We have one new development, however, which is very important for
the question of historicity. Beginning with the narrative of the ‘divided
monarchy’ the DtrH seems to make use of a new source: a ‘Chronicle of
the Kings of Judah’ (Grabbe 2006b). Considering the widespread evidence
for such chronicles in the ancient Near East, it seems unlikely that the
author was inventing fictitious sources. The ‘Chronicle of the Kings of
Judah’ seems to have provided the framework for the ‘divided monarchy’,
but it was supplemented by much other material. The data that might have
come from a chronicle are not extensive and could be explained as coming
from a fairly concise chronicle such as we find in Mesopotamia.
The text refers to both the ‘Chronicle of the Kings of Israel’ and the
‘Chronicle of the Kings of Judah’, and it has usually been assumed that
the author used two sources, which he synchronized himself. I have
proposed that it is not necessary to assume two chronicles since all the
chronicle data in 1 and 2 Kings could have come from a single chronicle,
the ‘Chronicle of the Kings of Judah’. The synchronic data about the kings
of Israel would have been present in the ‘Chronicle of the Kings of Judah’.
This chronicle had several characteristics:

• Basic accession data but also including the name of the king’s mother.
• Data on its main neighbour and rival, the kingdom of Israel, including
the synchronic data.
• Brief notes on major events in the king’s reign. These were not neces-
sarily stereotyped but could include a wide variety of data relating to
the military, politics, building activities, personal matters relating to
the king (e.g., major illnesses) and the cult. This was not according
to a rigid formula.

As will be seen, some of the other sources may sometimes have

contained reliable historical data, but most of the data in the text confirmed
by external data as reliable could have come from such a chronicle. This
means that the bulk of the DtrH’s text is not of great value for historical
178 Ancient Israel

events, though it can be of use for sociological study and of course for
literary, theological and other non-historical disciplines of the Hebrew
Bible. The use of stereotyped and formulaic language is not unusual in
chronicles, but it is a way of organizing data, not necessarily of distorting
it. So far, there is good evidence that the chronicle-type material in 1 and
2 Kings is fairly reliable (see further at §4.3).

4.2 Analysis

4.2.1 Dividing of the Kingdom (1 Kings 12–14)

The death of Solomon and the ascension of Rehoboam to the throne marks
a major watershed in the narrative of the Israelite monarchy. According
to the surface picture of the biblical story, a single nation of Israel split
into two rival nations. More careful consideration of the geo-political
facts, as well as a number of biblical passages that are easily overlooked,
shows that the union of two ethnic groups under David was an artificial
one (§3.2.4.2). Judah had originally been separate from the other tribes
and was only temporarily united into one nation with Israel under David.
Thus, rather than a split as such, this was really a reversion to an older
situation. Perhaps the surprising fact is that they stayed together for so
long. The two nations of course shared a good deal of culture and history,
but they were not naturally one nation and did not stay that way for long.
Whatever his faults, Solomon managed to keep the country together
throughout his monarchy. Thus, although there had not been a United
Monarchy as depicted in the biblical text, a union of sorts had been
effected by David and kept in place by his successor. Yet Solomon had
evidently got the backs up of many people because of his administrative
burdens; one can assume that heavy taxes was one of these. We know
about these tensions from the demands made by the people to Rehoboam,
‘Your father made harsh our yoke: now if you lighten your father’s hard
service and the heavy yoke that he imposed on us, we shall serve you’
(1 Kgs 12.4). According to the biblical story, Rehoboam ignored the
advice of the elders, which was to accommodate the reasonable demands
of the people, and followed the advice of his young advisors who wanted
him to give a brutal reply to them. Although we cannot be confident
of the details, the split of the kingdom back into Judah and Israel after
Solomon’s death seems to be correctly remembered by the text. The rule
of Solomon’s son Rehoboam was accepted by Judah, but Israel chose to
go with Jeroboam as ruler: he is represented as having been in charge of
corvée labour during part of Solomon’s reign. (On Jeroboam, see Grabbe
forthcoming.)
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 179

4.2.2 Rulers of Judah and Israel to Omri (1 Kings 15.1‒16.20)

Under the rule of Abijam, son of Rehoboam, in Jerusalem, the war with
Jeroboam, begun under his father, continued. Otherwise, much of his rule
is a blank. We do not even know whether his successor Asa was his son or
his brother: 1 Kgs 15.8 says Asa was Abijam’s son, but his mother was the
same as Abijam’s (1 Kgs 15.10; the words for ‘father’ [’āv] and ‘brother’
[’āḥ] are similar in Hebrew).
The short description of Asa’s reign focuses on his righteousness, but
the question is how much of the data might have come from an official
chronicle, as opposed to the contribution of the Deuteronomist who was
interpreting any information from a source and also making theological
statements and judgments. The following could have come from an
official annal, because they are the sort of things that a court chronicle
might well record:

• Deposed the queen mother (Maacah who was his mother or possibly
his grandmother).
• Deposited his father’s and his own votive objects in the temple.
• Bribed the Aramaean Bar-Hadad son of Tabrimmon son of Hezion
to attack Israel (so Baasha would cease to build Ramah that blocked
movement from Judah to the north).
• Built Geba and Mizpah of Benjamin.
• Had an ailment in his feet.

The removal of the queen mother is a unique event in biblical history,

partly because it is the only passage talking about a queen mother. If the
queen mother had an official function in the Judahite monarchy, we have
no information on it. According to the Deuteronomist’s theological inter-
pretation, she was removed from office because she made a cult object for
Asherah. This appears prima facie unlikely, since it has recently become
acknowledged that according to Israelite belief Yhwh had a female consort
Asherah (§4.2.8). This female ‘partner’ was eventually dropped, but that
apparently did not happen until the seventh century, several centuries after
Asa. Thus, the statement that the queen mother was removed because of
making an Asherah cult object is likely to be a Deuteronomistic inter-
pretation rather than information from a chronicle. The same judgment
applies to Asa’s removing the qedēšîm from the land. This term has often
been translated as ‘male cult prostitute’, but this is now generally rejected:
there is little or no evidence of cult prostitution (whether male or female)
in Canaanite religion, as was once assumed. (On these points relating to
religion, see further at §4.2.8.)
180 Ancient Israel

The information on bribing Bar-Hadad looks more authentic. The

question is whether Israelite territory extended this far north at that time.
Thus, the Deuteronomist might have had useful information, but it is also
possible that he is creating a scenario from knowledge of Israelite territory
at a later time. Our problem is that our knowledge of the Aramaean
kingdoms that dominated Syrian history in the first millennium BCE is
defective, which often makes difficult judging biblical statements on the
question. There is also the matter of Asa’s defeating Zerah the Cushite
(‘Ethiopian’), though this episode is found only in 2 Chron. 14.8-14 and
is absent from 1 Kings. Some have tried to defend this as authentic even
though the DtrH of Kings knows nothing about it. It was once suggested
that ‘Zerah’ was a reflex of the name of Pharaoh Osorkon I who lived
about this time, but Egyptian philologists now refute any connection
between the names. The name is neither Nubian nor Egyptian but biblical:
Gen. 36.17; Josh. 7.1; 1 Chron. 1.37; Neh. 11.24. The Egyptologist B. U.
Schipper examined the story in the light of biblical and Egyptian consid-
erations and concluded that 2 Chron. 14.8-14 is ‘in no way a historical
document from the ninth century but an example of Old Testament
theology from the post-exilic period’ (1999: 133–9, my translation from
p. 139).
Several short-lived rulers of the Northern Kingdom filled in the time
between Jeroboam and Omri: Nadab, Baasha, and Elah. Elah’s chariot
commander Zimri killed him while he was drinking in the capital Tirzah.
But Zimri lasted only seven days, because the army chose their commander
Omri who then besieged Zimri in Tirzah, and the latter committed suicide
(1 Kgs 16.15-20). Omri consolidated his rule by defeating a rival Tibni
who also had a following among the people (1 Kgs 16.21-22). Thus, Omri
became king only 50 years after the death of Solomon, if the figures of
the MT can be trusted.
Omri purchased the hill of Shemer and founded a new capital for
the Northern Kingdom, Samaria. Otherwise, he is simply dismissed as
wicked. Yet we know from Assyrian texts that Omri was a significant
individual who gave his name to his kingdom: the Assyrians long called
it Bit-Ḫumri (‘House of Omri’). The Assyrian records thus confirm the
existence and importance of Omri, though they say nothing further about
him. Yet we also find a reference to Omri in the stela left by Mesha, the
king of Moab, about 800 BCE (§§4.1.4; 4.2.4), which states that Omri
‘oppressed’ Moab for his lifetime and half the lifetime of his son, 40
years, before Mesha threw off the Israelite yoke. In this case, there is a
remarkable coincidence between the biblical and the extra-biblical data.
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 181

4.2.3 Ahab
With Omri and especially with his son Ahab we start to find extra-biblical
references that supplement the biblical data. Far from removing problems
and difficulties, however, such extra-biblical sources often only raise
new ones, especially when it comes to reconciling the biblical text with
the primary sources. Also, much of the biblical text is taken up with the
prophetic legend of Elijah the prophet. We begin the story with the battle
of Qarqar in 853 BCE. The battle is described in an Assyrian text (see the
quote at §4.1.5) in which Ahab is part of a coalition against the Assyrians.
This is very surprising on the surface, since he is here allied with the
Aramaeans, yet the biblical text makes the Aramaeans a major enemy of
Ahab. We know that several decades later, Aram was an enemy because
its king Hazael fought Johoram (or Joram), Ahab’s son, and wounded him
(2 Kgs 8.28-29).
The question is, what happened between Ahab’s coalition with
Hadadezer and the oppression of Israel by Hazael? According to the
biblical text Ahab fought the Aramaeans. This seems to go contrary to
the Assyrian inscriptions and M. Astour (1971), for example, argued
that Jehoram was recovering from wounds received fighting against the
Assyrians rather than the Aramaeans when Jehu’s coup took place. Astour
interprets Jehu’s revolt as a move by a pro-Assyrian faction. N. Na’aman
(2007b: 410–11) argues that Ahab was killed fighting the Assyrians. But
some have been willing to argue that the biblical picture is not entirely
wrong. That is, Ahab’s alliance with the Aramaeans was a matter of
necessity before a common enemy, but this did not prevent national
concerns from taking over when the Assyrians were not threatening. Thus,
the biblical representation of Ahab as fighting the Aramaeans toward the
end of his reign is correct according to several interpreters (Bright [1980:
247] argued this). Basing himself on the Tel Dan inscription, Lipiński
(2000: 373–80) has recently argued that not only had Ahab already fallen
out with Hadadezer but that Jehoram and Ahaziah were slain by Hazael,
not Jehu. As already noted above, however, the reconstruction of the Tel
Dan inscription is not as certain as this interpretation implies. Others are
willing to believe that the Israelites and Aramaeans fell out late in the
reign of Jehoram, and that the latter was indeed wounded fighting with
Hazael over possession of Ramoth-Gilead (2 Kgs 9.14-15: Kuan 1995:
55–9).
Thus, according to the Assyrian records Ahab was an ally of the
Aramaeans and an enemy of the Assyrians, whereas the biblical text
makes Ahab an enemy of the Aramaeans and does not even mention the
182 Ancient Israel

Assyrians at all. Most historians believe that the biblical writer has given
us a false picture, perhaps because of a misreading of his sources (for
a detailed discussion, see Grabbe 2012). The biblical text implies that
the alliance with the Phoenicians was important to Ahab, with Ahab’s
marriage to Jezebel no doubt a means of sealing the alliance. This
alliance is not directly attested in the non-biblical sources, but a number
of the extra-biblical sources imply such a relationship. First, the name of
Jezebel’s father Ethbaal (Ittobaal) seems to have been mentioned in the
sources used by Menander of Ephesus (§4.1.6). Second, in the Kurkh
Monolith Tyre and Sidon are not mentioned, either as paying tribute to
Shalmaneser III or as members of the alliance of twelve kings. This would
be explained if their armies were counted along with Israel’s.
One of the areas often discussed is the number of chariots possessed
by Ahab. The text clearly reads ‘2,000 chariots’ (2 lim giš.gigir.meš),
so the problems of trying to read a damaged text do not apply here. Yet
the text is often emended. For example, D. Wiseman’s translation in
1958 reads ‘200 chariots’ without so much as a footnote or comment
to indicate that the text has been emended (1958: 47). Perhaps the best
defence of the view that ‘2,000’ should be emended to ‘200’ has been
given by N. Na’aman, the main argument being that such a large force
could not have been sustained by the Israelite economy (Na’aman 1976).
However, this argument is not decisive for at least two reasons. The first
is that the resources needed to maintain a large force of horses is not the
precise equivalent of the economic support needed for manufacturing and
supplying a modern tank regiment. Two thousand chariots would need
a large herd of horses, but these would not necessarily have been kept
permanently in stalls. Grassland unsuitable for crops could still provide
good grazing for horses kept in reserve until a national emergency arose.
A second point to consider is that this force may not have been supplied
by the kingdom of Israel alone (Kuan 1995: 39–47). Here the biblical text
may be useful. 1 Kings 22.4 suggests that Judah was subordinate to Israel,
perhaps being a vassal, as was Moab. Also as noted above, Tyre and
Sidon are not mentioned in Shalmaneser’s inscription, either as opposing
his advance or as paying tribute. Since Tyre and Sidon are often listed as
paying tribute in Assyrian inscriptions, it would be surprising if they were
omitted by accident. However, if they were allies of Israel (as indeed they
are so presented by the biblical text), they would be neither paying tribute
to Assyria nor listed separately in the inscription. Much has been made
by some writers about the designation of Jehu as ‘son of Omri’, as some
translations render it. One explanation is that the writer of the inscription
did not know that Jehu was not a son of Omri but a usurper to the throne.
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 183

However, the other inscriptions of Shalmaneser show that the Sumerogram

dumu ‘son of’ is used in a number of cases simply to designate a citizen of
a particular country (hence, the translation ‘man of’), though the person so
designated usually happens to be the king. See the designation of Adramu
king of Hamath as dumu A-gu-ú-si, Aḫunu king of Adini as dumu A-di-ni
and Ḫaiiānu king of Gabbari as dumu Gab-ba-ri in the Kurkh Monolith
(Grayson 1996: 17–18 [A.0.102.2: 15, 24, 27]) (also the discussion in
Tadmor 1973: 149; Kuan 1995: 52–3 n. 167).
An important question is what type of kingdom Ahab ruled. M. H.
Niemann has argued that Omri and Ahab’s state was a military adminis-
tration, with them as the war leaders (1993). Providing support for this
interpretation are the Samarian ostraca (§4.1.2), which show attempts by
the rulers to integrate the traditional tribal links into their personal power
network. They did this by having the elite members of the clans reside
as ‘honoured guests’ in Samaria for shorter or longer periods of time.
Wine and oil were sent from their local constituents to the clan members
residing in Samaria, and these ostraca were receipts for the goods. This
practice served to stabilize political links between the Samarian king
or warlord and the surrounding clans. As for Judah’s relationship to the
Northern Kingdom, leadership had passed to the Kingdom of Israel which
had the greater concentration of natural resources and wealth potential.
The rise of the Omri dynasty established the kingdom of Israel as the
dominant power in the region and led to a true Israelite state. Whether
Judah was its vassal, as a number have suggested (cf. 1 Kgs 22.4; also
Knauf 2007), or just its junior partner, as Na’aman has recently argued
(2013: 258–61), probably makes little difference. What is important is the
positive effect that the Omride Israel had on Judah (even if the Bible sees
it differently). This was recently discussed by O. Sergi (2013) who notes
that the Omrides allied themselves with the House of David. It was this
that led to the expansion of Judah south into the Negev and west into the
Shephelah and aided its political development.
The focus of the biblical text is (not surprisingly) on the religious
question, with Jezebel as the clear villain of the situation. This probably
misrepresents things on all sides. On the question of Baal, we have to keep
in mind that the writer/editor is a later Judahite writer with a particular
view of worship. At the time of Ahab both Israel and Judah were polythe-
istic societies. Also, the House of Baal was apparently built for Jezebel as
a private royal chapel, since she herself was a Phoenician and considered
Baal as her chief deity. Finally, Ahab was himself a worshipper of Yhwh.
His chief palace overseer Obadiah was a devoted Yhwh worshipper, and
Ahab could hardly have been ignorant of that (1 Kgs 17.3). Furthermore,
184 Ancient Israel

his two sons had theophoric names that contained a form of the divine
name Yhwh (Ahaziah [1 Kgs 22.40] and Jehoram [2 Kgs 1.17]), which
would hardly have been the case if he had been a Baal worshipper.

4.2.4 Israel and Moab

According to 2 Kings (1.1; 3.4-5) Moab was under the dominion of Israel
but managed to break free after Ahab’s death. No suggestion is made as
to who subjugated Moab in the first place. The Mesha Stela states that
Omri ‘oppressed’ Moab for his lifetime and half the lifetime of his son,
40 years, before Mesha threw off the Israelite yoke. There is a remarkable
coincidence between the biblical and the extra-biblical data, as was
noticed when the Moabite stone was first discovered. However, there are
some discrepancies that either cannot be reconciled or at least call for an
explanation.
The first query concerns the name of Omri in the Mesha Stela. It
has normally been taken as the name of a contemporary king of Israel.
However, a new interpretation has recently been given by Thomas
Thompson and Niels Peter Lemche. Lemche gives a cautious discussion,
noting the absence of Ahab, the ‘mythical’ figure of 40 years, the
reference to Jehu as the ‘son’ of Omri (in the Assyrian inscriptions),
and suggesting that the ‘mentioning of King Omri may therefore in this
inscription not be solid evidence of the existence of a king of this name
but simply a reference to the apical founder of the kingdom of Israel…
the dynastic name of the state of Israel’ (Lemche 1998b: 44–6). If so, his
‘son’ could be any king of Israel down to the fall of Samaria. Thompson
is more dogmatic:

Omri ‘dwelling in Moab’ is not a person doing anything in Transjordan. It

is a character of story, an eponym, a personification of the state, Bit Humri’s
political power and the presence of its army in eastern Palestine. We have a
text. Therefore we are dealing with the literary, not the historical. From the
historical name of Bit Humri, the Bible’s story of a King Omri as builder
of Samaria and founder of its dynasty grew just as much as had the story of
King David and his forty kings. These sprang from the eponymic function
of a truly historical Byt dwd. (Thompson 2000: 325)

Of course, the Mesha Stela gives a story, but so do all the inscrip-
tions we are dealing with, including the Assyrian ones. To what extent
a story is historical has to be resolved on grounds other than genre. Is
there evidence that Omri was a real person or only a personification of
the state Bit ḫumri? That question cannot be answered directly because
the two sources treating Omri as a person are the biblical text – which
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 185

we are trying to test – and the Moabite stone – which is in question at

the moment as a source. The only way to approach the question is to ask
whether there are helpful analogies to this situation. There are in fact some
good analogies in the person of Guš, the king of Yaḫan, an Aramaean
state around Lake Gabbūl in northern Syria. We know he was an actual
individual because he paid tribute to Ashurnasirpal II ca. 870 BCE
(Grayson 1996: 218, lines 77–78 [text A.0.101.1]). Guš was apparently
considered the founder of the state and dynasty. In 858 a ‘Hadram son of
Guš’ paid tribute to Shalmaneser III (Grayson 1996: 17 [text A.0.102.2 ii
12]: ma-ra-me dumu gu-ú-si; also p. 25 [A.0.102.3 96-97]). The reading
of the name as ‘Hadrām’ (mad-ra-me) follows E. Lipiński (2000: 196 n.
12; 212) who has based this interpretation on other inscriptional material.
The Zakkur Inscription lists a ‘Bar-Gush’ among the kings arrayed against
Zakkur (A 6). Other inscriptions refer to the state or dynasty as ‘house of
Guš’ (Bīt-Gūsi/Bīt-Agūsi in Assyrian [Lipiński 2000: 196 and nn. 11-12];
byt gš in Aramaic [KAI 223B: 10]). Similarly, Hazael is clearly attested as
king of Damascus in a number of Assyrian inscriptions, but after his death
the land of Damascus is sometimes referred to as Bit Hazael in Assyrian
inscriptions (§4.1.5).
What these two examples illustrate is that a known historical individual
(e.g., Guš, Hazael) can be taken as the founder or eponym of a dynasty,
with the dynasty named after the person (‘house of X’) and the descendants
even referred to as ‘son of X’. Thus, the expression Bīt-Ḫumri as a
reference to the state/royal house of Israel does not rule out Omri as a
historical personage. The question now is how to interpret the Moabite
stone. Does the text suggest a eponymous ancestor when it mentions Omri
or does it have in mind an actual king? First, the text refers to ‘Omri’ twice
(lines 4–5, 7) but never to ‘house of Omri’. Second, there is no reference
to ‘son of Omri’ as we have in some of the Assyrian inscriptions, where
‘dumu/mar PN’ seem to be the equivalent of ‘king/man of (the house of)
PN’. Instead, we have ‘his son’ (bnh: lines 6, 8), with a reference back
to Omri alone (though bn probably means ‘grandson’ in this context;
see next paragraph). This expression is not the same as that where an
eponymous ancestor is used to designate an individual. The language of
the Mesha Stela looks like a straightforward reference to an actual king of
Israel, not just a mythical eponym of the Israelite royal house.
A second problem is the dating of Moab’s vassalage to Israel. A period
of 40 years is mentioned, obviously a round number. Omri is associated
with the conquest of Moab; however, it is rather curious that Ahab is not
mentioned at all, though the expression ‘his son’ might have been taken
as a derogatory reference by not actually naming Ahab. We should not
186 Ancient Israel

automatically assume that the Mesha inscription gives a correct account

of the situation, since it clearly has its own biases; nevertheless, it is a
near contemporary of the events, while the biblical account of Mesha is
embedded in a prophetic legend and seems to have been written down or
at least edited long after the events. This is not the whole story, however,
because both accounts have to be treated critically. It is interesting that the
length of the reigns of Omri and Ahab together total 34 years according
to the biblical text (1 Kgs 16.23, 29), not far from 40 years. It may be
that the reigns of Omri and Ahab have been telescoped – after all, the
Moabite scribe was making a general point, not giving a blow-by-blow
historical narrative – and ‘half the reign of his son’ could be a reference
to Jehoram rather than Ahab (‘son’ being used generically for a more
remote descendant, ‘grandson’ in this case). Moab rebelled in the reign
of Jehoram according to 1 Kgs 1.1. Jehoram reigned 12 years, and if we
add 6 of these to the 34 of Omri and Ahab, we have 40. This could just
be coincidence, but it is not too improbable that the Moabite scribe was
adding up the years of the reigns in similar fashion. If so, the two accounts
in the Moabite stone and the Bible would in fact be quite close.
The reason for suggesting this interpretation is an obvious one: it
seems unlikely that Moab could have rebelled under Ahab, considering
the latter’s strength according to the Assyrian inscriptions. The logical
time to have rebelled was after Ahab’s death, when a less experienced and
weaker son was on the throne. Although the precise interpretation of the
statement in the Mesha Stela is uncertain, it seems prima facie likely that
the rebellion of Mesha took place after Ahab’s death – as the biblical text
states – but it may also be that the Mesha Stela can be reconciled with this
view, as just described.

4.2.5 The Aramaeans

The Aramaeans were very important for the history of the ancient Near
East (Lipiński 2000; Dion 1997; Pitard 1987; O’Callaghan 1948). Their
main impact was their language, which dominated the whole region from
the Mediterranean Sea to Bactria from the Assyrian empire to the coming
of Islam. They formed a number of small kingdoms, the kingdom of
Damascus being especially prominent, but many of the others make little
impact while we know little about them. The Aramaeans first appear for
certain about 1100 BCE, in a tablet of Tiglath-pileser I (Lipiński 2000:
35–40). Some are known to have settled in Mesopotamia, even in the
cities, but others seem to have carried on a nomadic or semi-nomadic
lifestyle in the region of Syria. They had the greatest impact on Israel
during the ninth and eighth centuries BCE, especially the kingdom of
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 187

Damascus. It is even suggested that Israel might have been a vassal to the
king of Damascus, in the ninth century though this is not certain (Knauf
2007).
One of the problems in the historical reconstruction of Aramaic history
for this period is the tendency to multiply ‘Ben-Hadad’s. Some writers
count up to four individuals, numbering Bar-Hadad I–IV (Dearman and
Miller 1983). The reason for such a large number of individuals is that
the biblical text has simply been harmonized with external sources, so
that wherever ‘Ben-Hadad’ has been mentioned in the biblical text, it has
been taken at face value (e.g., Bright 1980: 243; Dearman in Dearman and
Miller 1983). This ‘duplex’ method of writing history is not convincing
(on the question, see Grabbe 1997c: 64–5). This tendency has been
resisted in more critical writers, and one recent book gives only two
figures, a Bar-Hadad I and Bar-Hadad II (Miller in Dearman and Miller
1983 and Lipiński 2000: 407, who give only Bar-Hadad I and II as kings
of Damascus). 1 Kings 21 refers to a ‘Ben-Hadad’ who was active in the
time of Ahab, yet we know that the king of Damascus at this time was
Hadadezer. An explanation of the biblical picture has become widely
accepted in scholarship: 1 Kings 20–22 contains material from the later
Jehu dynasty (e.g., 2 Kgs 13) which has been mistakenly assigned to the
reign of Ahab. The hypothesis has been championed by J. M. Miller, first
in an unpublished PhD thesis, and then in a series of articles (Miller 1966,
1967, 1968; see also Pitard 1987: 114–25; Kuan 1995: 36–9). Part of the
theory is that the original stories had only the titles ‘king of Israel’ and
‘king of Judah’, without the personal names, which made it easy to insert
them wherever the editor thought fit. This hypothesis is cogent and fits
the data well, which is why it has become so widely accepted in recent
years. However, all it does is explain how the final text arose. The text as it
presently stands is completely misleading, and the correct understanding
(assuming one accepts the hypothesis) was possible only when extra-
biblical sources became available.
The Assyrian inscriptions indicate that Ahab was an ally of Hadadezer.
What, then, are we to make of the biblical passages that Ahab fought with
‘Ben-Hadad’ (1 Kgs 20–22)? The biblical writer is of course confused
over the name of the king of Damascus during Ahab’s rule and, as just
suggested, the stories making Ahab fight the Aramaeans might have been
transferred from the later history of the Jehu dynasty. But some have been
willing to argue that while Ahab’s alliance with the Aramaeans was a
matter of necessity before a common enemy, this did not prevent hostil-
ities from resuming when the Assyrians were not threatening. Thus, the
biblical representation of Ahab fighting the Aramaeans toward the end of
188 Ancient Israel

his reign is correct according to several interpreters (e.g., Lipiński 2000:

373–80). This is of course possible, but it should be noted that Assyria
was in a continual struggle with Hadadezer’s coalition from his sixth year
until at least the fourteenth year. Ahab is unlikely to have left the coalition
during this time; it is only in the eighteenth year that a new king of Israel
is mentioned, and the coalition under Hadadezer is defeated. If Ahab
fought the Aramaeans, it would have been early in his reign, not in the
last few years when he was part of the coalition organized by Hadadezer.
It was only when Ahab was out of the way that the coalition was defeated.
Once the coalition assembled by Hadadezer had broken up, Hazael
alone stood against the Assyrians. Campaigns against him are mentioned
for Shalmaneser III’s eighteenth (841 BCE) and twenty-first years (838
BCE). Then the Assyrians became occupied with troubles at home and
ignored their empire in the west for several decades. This left Hazael
and his son Ben-Hadad (Bar-Hadad) to cause problems for Israel, in
agreement with the biblical text. It is not attested directly because of
the lack of Assyrian inscriptions, but the state of affairs is presupposed
when the Assyrians once again intervened in the west under Adad-Nirari
III. A coalition including Bar-Hadad, son of Hazael, attacked Zakkur of
Hamath (Zakkur Inscription) and apparently went on to challenge the
Assyrians. Not only does the biblical text have the sequence Hazael,
followed by Bar-Hadad (Hebrew: Ben-Hadad), but the ‘saviour’ of 2 Kgs
13.5 is probably a reference to the Assyrian help. The Zakkur Inscription
probably alludes to this same anti-Assyrian coalition, whereas Zakkur
is pro-Assyrian and seems to have been delivered by Assyrian inter-
vention. The Joash of Israel who is being relieved of the oppression from
Bar-Hadad is mentioned in the el-Rimah Assyrian inscription (§4.1.5)
as paying tribute to the Assyrians. Finally, the fall of Damascus (ca. 802
BCE: for the possible dates, see Kuan 1995: 93–106), as described in the
el-Rimah and other inscriptions, would have taken the pressure off Israel
and others who were under the yoke of Damascus. About 780–775 BCE
Shamshi-ilu the Assyrian commander for the region collected tribute
from Ḫadiiāni. This would suggest that Damascus was not able to do just
anything it wished. Thus, although the biblical text cannot be confirmed
in detail, the general picture given fits the situation in the last part of the
ninth century as we know it from extra-biblical sources.
An important figure in the region and a significant opponent of the
Assyrians was Rezin of Damascus (the Akkadian is variously mRa-hi-
a-nu kurŠá-imēri-šú-a+a [Annal 13*, line 10 = Tadmor 1994: 68] and
m
Ra-qi-a-nu kurŠá-imēri-šú-a+a [Stela IIIA, line 4 = Tadmor 1994: 106],
apparently reflecting Aramaic Raḍyan). Although the ‘Syro-Ephraimite
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 189

war’ (2 Kgs 15.29; 16.5-9; Isa. 7) is not described as such in the Assyrian
annals, it is compatible with everything so far known. In the end, though,
both Rezin and his alleged ally Pekah lost out. Tiglath-pileser III took
Damascus about 732 BCE (whether he killed Rezin is not preserved) and
exiled many of the Aramaeans (Tadmor 1994: 138 [Summary Inscription
4, 7′–8′], 186 [Summary Inscription 9, reverse 3–4]).

4.2.6 From Jehu to the End of the Northern Kingdom (2 Kings 9–16)
The kings of both Israel and Judah died at the same time, whether their
death is ascribed to Jehu (so the biblical text [2 Kgs 9]) or Hazael, as a
number of recent scholars argue (e.g., Lipiński 2000: 373–80). Indeed,
some think that Hazael instigated or approved their deaths through his
vassal Jehu. Once again, we know of Jehu through the Assyrian inscrip-
tions (§4.1.5), even though the biblical text does not so much as mention
Assyria with regard to him. As mentioned above (§4.2.5), the Assyrians
ceased marching to the west for a number of decades, which left
Damascus free rein to dominate Israel. Thus, the picture of Hazael and his
son Bar-Hadad (called Ben-Hadad in the biblical text) as causing trouble
for Israel is a realistic one (2 Kgs 10.32-33; 12.18-19; 13.3-6).
The next major episode concerned the attempted coup of Athaliah
(2 Kgs 11). As the daughter of Omri (or possibly Ahab), Athialiah had
been married to Jehoram son of Jehoshaphat king of Judah (2 Kgs 8.18,
26). She was the mother to Jehoram’s son Ahaziah (who was assassinated
by Jehu), and she seized the throne of Judah after Ahaziah’s death (2 Kgs
11.1-3). Jehoram’s young son Joash was hidden away, however, to prevent
his being killed by Athaliah, according to the text. After the passage of
several years, the high priest Jehoiada arranged to have Joash crowned
king, at which point Athaliah was herself taken out and executed. Whether
things happened exactly as the text suggests is a question, but the basic
scenario looks credible: such attempted coups and rivalry over the throne
are widely attested in history. The main episode related about Joash is that
he ordered money to be collected and used to repair the temple (2 Kgs
12). After his coronation, the high priest supposedly had a temple to
Baal torn down and its priest slain (2 Kgs 11.18). Although this might be
possible, one must ask, when was this temple to Baal built and by whom,
since Jezebel’s temple to Baal had been destroyed by Jehu? One suspects
a literary creation in which Jehu’s destruction of Baal’s temple has been
duplicated here.
The next two kings of Israel were part of the Jehu dynasty. First was
Jehu’s son Jehoahaz under whom Israel was harassed and its territory
diminished by Hazael the Aramaean (2 Kgs 13.1-9). It is the small size
190 Ancient Israel

of his army and other details that make some scholars think that some
material in the Ahab cycle actually belongs to Jehoahaz but was taken
over (by accident or design) into the Ahab account (§4.2.3). He was
followed by his son Jehoash or Joash.
In Judah Amaziah succeeded his father Joash (2 Kgs 14). A number of
scholars have suggested that he was co-regent with his father for 15 years;
however, N. Na’aman argues that a scribe misread a reference to Amaziah’s
father Joash (who was king of Judah) in 2 Kgs 14.17 as a reference to
Joash the king of Israel (2013: 250–2). This would make Amaziah rule
15 years after the death of his father Joash. Whether Amaziah defeated
the Edomites as alleged in the text cannot be comfirmed (there are some
major problems with interpreting the archaeology of Edom [§3.2.3]), but
Na’aman suggests that his alleged activity in Edom was related to the
copper trade (2013: 255–8). Amaziah challenged Jehoash king of Israel
but was soundly defeated.
He was succeeded by Azariah (2 Kgs 15.1-7; called Uzziah in 2 Chron.
26) who is held up as a model of the righteous king. Yet for all his right-
eousness Azariah was stricken with leprosy. 2 Chronicles 26.16-21 gives
a theological explanation: Uzziah attempted to offer incense in breach of
the law. Yet the fact is that under the monarchy the king was the chief
cultic figure and had every right to make offerings (as the biblical text
admits for both David and Solomon [§4.2.8; Grabbe 1995: Chapter 2]).
This text appears to show a post-monarchial priestly bias. Jeroboam II,
Jehoash’s son, was the next king of Israel and a successful ruler, even
though the biblical text makes light of his reign because it judged him as
wicked. Yet even the text recognizes that Jeroboam restored the northern
part of Israel at the expense of the Aramaeans: 2 Kgs 14.26-27 is almost
apologetic that this recovery was allowed to happen! The suggestion is
that much of Syria was taken, but this is unlikely. The important historical
point, though, is that Jeroboam II reversed the ascendancy of Damascus
over Israel; however, it should be noted that the reason is primarily that
Assyria had returned to the west and was putting unstoppable pressure on
the Aramaeans (cf. Grayson 1996: 211 [A.0.104.7: 4-8]; ANET 281–2).
Jeroboam took advantage of the Assyrian attack to open another front
against Bar-Hadad ruler of Damascus.
Jeroboam’s son Zechariah lasted only six months before being assas-
sinated by Shallum, who was in turn immediately removed by Menahem
(2 Kgs 15.8-22). The main event under Menahem’s rule was that Tiglath-
pileser III (here called Pul) of Assyria came against Israel and required a
tribute of a thousand silver talents. Menahem raised the funds by requiring
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 191

50 shekels from all the ‘men of substance’ in the kingdom. Since there are
usually 3000 shekels in a talent, this suggests 60,000 ‘men of substance’
(whatever that phrase exactly means). This sounds exaggerated, but did all
the tribute come from their contribution? Are these figures even accurate?
Tiglath-pileser’s tribute list in the Calah Annals names Menahem of
Samaria as one who paid tribute to him (Tadmor 1994: 69–71), though
the amount is not given.
In Judah, Uzziah’s son Jotham is said to have been righteous; never-
theless, Rezin (Aramaic Raḍyan; see §4.2.5) of Damascus and Pekah of
Israel began an assault on Judah (the so-called ‘Syro-Ephramite war’).
However, the main attack on Judah came under Jotham’s son Ahaz
(according to both 2 Kgs 16.5-9 and Isa. 7). They did not succeed in
overcoming Judah because Ahaz sent a bribe to Tiglath-pileser III (that
is, he made himself a vassal of Assyria, which meant that he was now
required to pay an annual tribute). See the next section (§4.2.7) for details.
The main part of the account is about Ahaz’s supposed religious apostasy
in building another altar in the temple, alongside the original. As so often,
religious matters are given a disproportionate treatment in the text, which
is a good indication that the author is not attempting to write history as we
understand the term in modern times.

4.2.7 Fall of Samaria

Menahem’s son was Pekahiah, as the next king of Israel, but he was assas-
sinated by his aide Pekah who seized the throne. At some point, Pekah
apparently allied with Rezin the Aramaean (discussed in the previous
section [§4.2.6]) and attacked Judah. Although the ‘Syro-Ephraimite
war’ (2 Kgs 15.29; 16.5-9; Isa. 7) is not described as such in the Assyrian
annals, it is compatible with everything so far known. In the end,
though, both Rezin and his alleged ally Pekah lost out. Tiglath-pileser
III took Damascus about 732 BCE, killed Rezin and exiled many of
the Aramaeans (Tadmor 1994: 138 [Summary Inscription 4, 7′–8′], 186
[Summary Inscription 9, reverse 3-4]). In what is an unusually detailed
episode for comparative purposes, Summary Inscription 4 tells about how
Tiglath-pileser had Pekah removed for disloyalty and replaced by Hoshea
(Tadmor 1994: 140 [Summary Inscription 4, 15′–19′], 188 [Summary
Inscription 9, 9–11]). This is remarkably close to 2 Kgs 15.30. Perhaps the
one discrepancy is whether Tiglath-pileser or Hoshea deposed Pekah, but
this is probably a matter of wording. The removal of Pekah is not likely to
have happened without Tiglath-pileser’s ultimate say-so, and one suspects
that Hoshea acted only when he knew that he had Assyrian backing.
192 Ancient Israel

When we come to the siege and capture of Samaria and the depor-
tation of many Israelites, there are some questions, even when we look
at the Mesopotamian sources. First, there is the curious statement that
Hoshea was caught out by the Assyrians for withholding tribute and
sending messengers to ‘So king of Egypt’ for assistance (2 Kgs 17.4),
which was the cause of the siege of Samaria. But who was this So king
of Egypt, and is the story credible? The question has been much debated
(see Day 1992), but when the historical context, the biblical text and the
Egyptian philology are taken into account, the Hebrew name ‘So’ seems
to be a version of the Egyptian name Wsrkn, better known as Osorkon
IV (Schipper 1998; Kitchen 1986: 372–5, 551). At this time there were
several minor rulers in the Egyptian Delta region, but the eastern area
was controlled by Osorkon. In the end, though, Osorkon gave no help
to Hoshea, and the latter was besieged by the Assyrians. A particular
question is, what part did Shalmaneser V play and what hand did Sargon
II have in the matter? Sargon II claims to have conquered Samaria, and
some scholars have accepted these claims; however, the account in 2 Kgs
17.3-6 that this siege and capture of the city took place in the time of
Shalmaneser V is supported by the Babylonian Chronicles (§4.1.5). The
argument that the various sources can be reconciled is probably correct,
though more than one solution is possible. B. Becking argued that there
were two conquests of Samaria, one by Shalmaneser V in 723 BCE and
another by Sargon II in 720 BCE in response to a rebellion of Ilu-bi’di of
Hamath (1992, 2002). Following Becking (and Tadmor 1958b: 33–40), R.
E. Tappy (2001: 558–75) argues similarly for two campaigns; however,
M. C. Tetley (2002) has argued against the two-invasion hypothesis.
It seems likely that both Shalmaneser V and Sargon II were in some
way both involved in the end of Samaria. Yet there is no evidence in the
archaeology that the city was destroyed. Perhaps the biblical text does not
clearly envisage a destruction of the city, but the archaeological evidence
also seems to be against a wholesale deportation of the population (though
a small portion does seem to have been removed and replaced by outside
settlers [§4.1.1]). As to the question of whether the Israelites were really
taken to the places alleged in 2 Kgs 17.6 and of whether peoples from
the places listed in 2 Kgs 17.24 were actually brought in, there is now
some evidence that some movement of populations between the two
regions actually took place (Becking 2002; 1992: 61–104; Na’aman and
Zadok 2000; Oded 1979: 69–71; 2000: 91–9; Cogan and Tadmor 1988:
197, 209–10). But whether the extent of the deportation was as great as
described in the biblical text is definitely to be queried.
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 193

4.2.8 Development of Religion

This section attempts to deal with the developments of Israelite and
Judahite religion throughout the Iron Age. It is appropriate to do so in this
chapter since the biblical text suggests a religious crisis under Ahab. The
Bible pictures the Israelite religion as pure, monotheistic and different
from the false worship of all other nations and peoples. This is the surface
image, at least, and causes us little surprise. On the other hand, if one takes
a broader view (including the evidence of archaeology), Israelite worship
looks very much at home among the other Semitic religions, especially
those of the Northwest Semitic region. This is not to deny that Israelite
worship developed unique characteristics and came to establish strong
boundaries against other religions, but this took a long time to develop
(Albertz 1978, 1994; M. S. Smith 2001, 2002; Keel and Uehlinger 1998;
Becking et al. 2001; Day 2000; Edelman [ed.] 1995b; Dietrich and
Klopfenstein [eds] 1994; Nakhai 2001; Dever 2005; Gnuse 1997; DDD).

4.2.8.1 The God Yhwh

The deity most frequently and strongly associated with ancient Israel is
Yhwh. The precise pronunciation is not known, though it is often recon-
structed as Yahweh based on its appearance as Iaō (Ἰάω) in later Greek
and Latin texts (e.g., Diodorus Siculus 1.94.2; Varro, apud Lydus, De
Mensibus 4.53, pp. 110–11) and on the form of the name as it occurs in
theophorous names in Masoretic vocalization in the biblical text (-yāhû).
Apart from the biblical text, the name Yhwh is clearly attested first in
the Moabite stone or Mesha Stela from the ninth century BCE (§4.1.4):
Mesha took Nebo from Israel and dedicated the ‘vessels of Yhwh’ (‫כלי‬
‫ יהוה‬kly Yhwh) to his god Chemosh. Among the Khirbet Beit Lei inscrip-
tions (about 600 BCE; Gogel 1998: #6.1.11; G. I. Davies 1991: #15.005)
is a reference to a Yhwh who is apparently the god of Jerusalem (the
words ‘Yhwh god of’ [‫ יהוה אלהי‬Yhwh ’lhy] and ‘Jerusalem’ are clearly
visible). The name is also found in a seal from the early eighth century
(Avigad and Sass 1997: #27), allegedly found in Jerusalem, which reads
‘Miqneyaw servant of Yhwh’ (‫ מקניו עבד יהוה‬Mqnyw ‘bd Yhwh). The
ostraca from Arad (Aharoni 1981) dated to about 600 BCE contain a
number of blessings and invocations in the name of Yhwh (16.3; 18.2;
21.2, 4; 40.3). There is also a reference to the ‘house of Yhwh’ (‫בית יהוה‬
byt Yhwh) which is probably the local temple (18.9). The Lachish ostraca
(Gogel 1998: #6.1.15; TSSI #12), also evidently from the last days of the
kingdom of Judah, contain a number of invocations using the name of
Yhwh (‘may Yhwh give health/good news’; ‘as Yhwh lives’; see, e.g.,
Lachish 2.1-2, 5; 3.2-3, 9; 4.1; 5.1, 7; 6.1, 12).
194 Ancient Israel

The linguistic data attesting worship of Yhwh come from what were
both the Northern Kingdom and the Southern Kingdom. Yhwh appears
to have been a national or ethnic god, much as Chemosh was the god of
the Moabites, Qaus the god of the Edomites and so on (cf. 1 Kgs 11.33).
This does not mean that Yhwh was the only god worshipped in these
kingdoms, but he seems to have been the main object of devotion. His is
the name most widely attested. Where did Yhwh originate? This has been
a matter of intense debate over many decades, with various claims to have
found the name in Ugarit, Mesopotamia and even Ebla. None of these has
so far withstood scrutiny to general satisfaction. However, some Egyptian
inscriptions of LB mention what may be a geographical name Yhwh, with
reference to ‘the land of the Shasu Yahu’ (§2.2.1.4). Although the name
Yhw seems to be geographical, it is possible that there is a connection
with the divinity Yhwh, perhaps the region giving its name to the god
worshipped there, or even possibly the deity giving the name to the
region. However, arguments have been advanced from several quarters
that Yhwh arose out of the context of El worship (see next section); this
does not rule out a geographical origin (since the two theories could be
combined), but it illustrates the difficulties.
The etymology of the name Yhwh has been much discussed. It would
be impossible to survey and comment on the various suggestions made
over the past two centuries, but two current theories need to be explored.
Several biblical passages connect it with the verb hyy/hwy ‘to be’ (see
below), and a number of scholars accept this and make the name a form of
‘to be’, but even if this etymology is accepted, there is still a controversy.
Some take the name as a simple assertion (‘he is’/‘he exists’), but others
(especially from the Albright school) have argued that there was once a
common epithet of El as follows: ‘El who creates (heavenly) armies’ ’il
dū yahwī ṣaba’ ōt). This verbal form developed into a name, the name of
a separate deity. This makes the verb a causative of ‘to be’ (‘he causes
to be’ = ‘he creates’ [Cross 1973: 60–75]). The difficulty in knowing the
exact vocalization and form of the name makes deciding between these
theories a problem; even taking the name as ‘Yahweh’ does not solve
the question since this is potentially a base form of the verb (Qal) or a
causative (Hiphil). On the other hand, it has been argued that a derivation
from ‘to be’ is excluded but that it comes from hwy ‘to blow’ (e.g., Knauf
1984), reflecting Yhwh’s original function as a storm deity. If this is
correct, the connection with ‘to be’ in biblical passages would be a folk
(or even scribal) etymology. Deciding one’s stance on the etymology of
the name can have major implications for any theory about the origin of
the Yhwh cult.
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 195

When we turn to the biblical text, the data may well represent different
periods of time, and whether any of it can be projected back to the period
before the Israelite monarchy is a major question. From the first chapter of
Genesis the Bible abounds in the name Yhwh. It occurs frequently in the
early chapters of Genesis, in the patriarchal narratives and is the name by
which the God of Israel reveals himself to Moses in Exodus. Yet a closer
examination indicates some anomalies:
First, a great many personal names are theophorous, containing divine
elements in them such as ’El ‘God’ (including such names as ’Ab ‘Father’,
’Aḥ ‘Brother’ and the like which are now thought to refer to the deity,
perhaps conceived of as a divine father, brother, etc., or even a reference
to a literal deceased relative now conceived of as deified). Yet no name is
compounded with Yhwh before the narrative of Moses. The earliest name
is Joshua (whose name was actually changed from Hoshea [Num. 13.16]).
None of the Genesis genealogies contain names with Yhwh, and none of
Moses’ contemporaries are said to have such names. The name Yhwh
appears in names in the biblical text only during the later life of Moses.
Second, the text of Exodus suggests that Yhwh was first revealed to
Moses and not before his time. In Exod. 3.6 (usually assigned to the E
source according to the Documentary Hypothesis), the God who appears
to Moses identifies himself with the ancestral god of Abraham, Isaac and
Jacob. The text goes on to say that this God is called ‘I am’ (‫‘ אהיה‬ehyeh),
and immediately connects this name with ‘Yhwh the God of your fathers,
the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’ (Exod.
3.13-16). Exodus 6.3 (usually assigned to the P source) states that God
appeared to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob under the name of El Shaddai but
was not known to them by his name Yhwh. Thus, if these passages have
any weight, they suggest that the name of Yhwh was not known in Israel
before the time of Moses. It was these passages, among others, that A. Alt
used to develop his theory of the ‘god of the fathers’ (1966). Yhwh is
indeed the ‘god of the fathers’ in these passages, but most of Alt’s thesis
does not stand in the light of more recent discoveries (Cross 1973: 3–43).
This is only a simple analysis – even a simplistic one – of the
biblical text and ignores the whole question of Moses’ existence and
the relationship of the biblical traditions to the actual settlement of the
Israelite people in the land. However, we can still note two points: it does
conform with extra-biblical data and it suggests memory of a time when
Yhwh was not known to the Israelites but was introduced to them for the
first time. For a writer to dream up a period when Yhwh was not known
would be very surprising indeed, if everyone assumed that Yhwh had been
in Israelite possession from the beginning. Thus, to the best of our current
196 Ancient Israel

knowledge Yhwh originated in Palestine and his worship was confined to

the peoples of Palestine. There is considerable – if not universal – support
for the view that the early Egyptian inscriptions mentioning Yhw do in fact
refer to the name Yhwh and that worship of Yhwh did not originate with
Israel but was picked up sometime during the pre-settlement or settlement
period (Blenkinsopp 2008).
However, evidence has more recently been found for Yhwh worship in
the area of Syria in a text from Hamath (Dalley 1990). Based on this text,
it has even been suggested that Yhwh was not unique to Israel/Judah but
rather a deity common to a large part of Syro-Palestine (Thompson 1995a:
119 n. 13). The reference seems to be certain, but there is no supporting
evidence that Yhwh was part of general worship over the region. Rather,
it looks more likely that Yhwh worship had been transplanted from
Palestine in some way, perhaps by a royal family which had also moved
from the Palestinian region or by some other means, but remained isolated
or confined to a minority. In all the inscriptions and linguistic data from
the surrounding region, there is nothing to indicate that Yhwh was
worshipped generally over the entire region (Grabbe 2010b).

4.2.8.2 Other Deities and Worship

The references to the God of Israel in the biblical text do not just contain
the name Yhwh. Many other names and titles occur, though often trans-
lated in Bible translations as epithets or descriptions rather than rendered
as names. For example, the name ’El is used of the Israelite God but
can also mean just ‘god’ in a generic sense. This is in line with much
Northwest Semitic usage in which ’el (or the earlier form ’ilu) could
stand both for the head of the pantheon (the god El) and for the word
‘god, divinity’ in general). The name El Shaddai (or just Shaddai alone)
is also used in a number of passages in Genesis (17.1; 28.3; 35.11; 48.3;
49.25). It is also the divine name found through most of the poem of Job
and seems to be the prime divinity for the original composer of the book’s
core (the name Yhwh occurs in Job only in the framework). Genesis 14.18
attests the deity El Elyon, not known anywhere else. (Some scholars doubt
the accuracy of the text here, though the name Elyon by itself also occurs
in Num. 24.16, Deut. 32.8 and Isa. 14.14, while the Ugaritic equivalent
[ly] is applied to Baal [KTU 1.16.3.6, 8].)
Other biblical texts also suggest a time when Yhwh was not only
a deity alongside other deities but perhaps even a subordinate of El.
Scholars had long wondered whether the reading of the Hebrew text of
Deut. 32.8 was not due to a later editing because of the Septuagint text
which seemed to presuppose a different Hebrew original: the god Elyon
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 197

‘established the boundaries of the nations according to the number of the

angels of God’. The suggestion of another more original Hebrew reading
seems now to have been confirmed by a Hebrew manuscript from Qum-
ran (4QDeutj = 4Q37) which reads ‘[according to the number of] the sons
of God’ (‫ בני אלהים‬bny ’lhym). The passage goes on to say that Jacob is
Yhwh’s portion (32.9). All of these data suggest that the passage origi-
nally read something along the lines of the following:

When Elyon gave the inheritance of the nations,

When he divided the sons of Adam (or man),
He established the boundaries of the peoples
According to the number of the sons of El.
For Yhwh’s lot is his people
And Jacob his inherited portion.

This suggests that Yhwh (as one of these sons of El) inherited Israel as
his particular portion.
Such a situation in which Yhwh is merely one among the sons of El in
the divine assembly is found in Ps. 89.7-8 which reads literally:

For who in heaven compares to Yhwh?

Who is like Yhwh among the sons of the Elim (gods)?
El creates awe in the council of the Holy Ones.
He is great and strikes fear in all about him.

Here Yhwh is a son of El, among other sons, even if he is said to be

incomparable to his fellow sons of El. Similarly, Ps. 82.1 speaks of God
judging among the gods.
The concept of the divine assembly or divine council is one widespread
among Semitic pantheons. Perhaps one of the clearest examples of Yhwh
himself having a divine council is 1 Kgs 22.19-22 in which he presides
over the ‘host of heaven’ (‫ צבא השמים‬ṣěbā’ haššāmayim). In later times
this divine council was interpreted as consisting of angels who surrounded
Yhwh, but angels have only a minor place in Israelite tradition until the
post-exilic period. The Hebrew word for ‘angel’ is ‫ מלאך‬mal’ak, meaning
‘messenger’ and may be used of human messengers as well as heavenly
ones. Studies of the Northwest Semitic pantheons have shown that the
gods had various ranks, the lowest being the messenger gods (Handy
1994). These messengers spoke for the gods sending them. Similarly,
angels in the Bible speak for Yhwh; for example, Exod. 3.2-5 mentions
that ‘the mal’ak Yhwh’ appeared to Moses, but then the rest of the passage
goes on to say that ‘Yhwh said’. Thus, the messenger gods of the original
198 Ancient Israel

Northwest Semitic pantheon (and perhaps other divinities as well) became

reduced to angels in later Judaism, but the outlines of the original polythe-
istic divine council are still retained despite the monotheistic views of the
final editors of the tradition.
A number of other passages also give a mythical picture of Yhwh not
found in most biblical texts (Day 1985). They remind one of myths about
Baal known from the Ugaritic texts and even have overtones of Marduk’s
defeat of Tiamat from whose body he created the heavens and the earth
in the Babylonian creation epic Enuma Elish. Unlike Genesis 1, these
passages suggest that God created by defeating various monsters of chaos
who appear as supernatural beings. For example, in Isa. 27.1 Yhwh takes
his sword and defeats ‘Leviathan (‫ לויתן‬lwytn) the piercing (‫ ברח‬brḥ)
serpent, even Leviathan the slippery (‫‘ עקלתון‬qltwn) serpent, and he will
slay the Tannin (‫ תנין‬tnyn) in the sea’. This can be compared with Ugaritic
texts which allege that Baal defeated such monsters. One prominent Baal
myth describes Baal’s defeat of the sea god Yamm (KTU 1.2). Another
passage alludes to battles which so far have not come to light in detailed
texts. KTU 1.3.3.37–42 tells of other monsters of chaos defeated by Baal:

Did I not destroy Yamm the darling of El,

did I not make an end of Nahar the great god?
Was not the dragon (tnn) captured and vanquished?
I did destroy the wriggling (qltn) serpent,
the tyrant with seven heads.

Similarly, KTU 1.5.1.1–3 states:

For all that you smote Leviathan the slippery serpent (ltn.bṯn.brḥ) and made
an end of the wriggling (qltn) serpent…, the tyrant with seven heads?

Cf. also KTU 1.5.1.27–30. The Hebrew and Ugaritic texts are not only
similar in theme but even share some of the same basic vocabulary.
These various passages are isolated survivals of older beliefs which
had been obliterated or reinterpreted by the dominant monotheistic view
of Yhwh that controlled the final shaping of the biblical text. A few verses
escaped editing, however, confirming what we now know from inscrip-
tions: Yhwh was originally conceived as one god among many, perhaps
even subordinate to and a son of El. He created by fighting and defeating
various monsters of chaos, such as Leviathan, Tannin and Rahab, much
as Baal did in the Ugaritic texts. When monotheism became the dominant
view, these older views were simply expunged or, in some cases, they
were reinterpreted so as not to be an embarrassment to monotheistic
views.
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 199

Biblical names also suggest a plethora of deities. The names with El

are too numerous to mention (Israel, Elijah, Elisha, Samuel and so on);
more significant are Shaddai (e.g., Num. 1.5-6: Shedeur, Zurishaddai;
Num. 1.12: Ammishaddai). But perhaps most interesting are the names
with Baal. Considering the biblical polemic against Baal, one might have
expected not to see such names, but they are found in surprising contexts.
One of Saul’s sons has a name compounded with Baal: Eshbaal (‘man
of Baal’), and Jonathan’s son was Meribbaal. These names are often
overlooked because the Samuel texts actually substitute surrogate names
compounded with the word ‘shame’ (Ishbosheth [2 Sam. 2.8]; Mephi-
bosheth [2 Sam. 21.7]), but they are correctly preserved in 1 Chronicles
(8.33-34; 9.39-40).
Should we be surprised at all this since, after all, does not the biblical
text show that Israel had a penchant for ‘falling away’ from true worship
into paganism, idolatry and worship of other gods? To balance this, one
might well point to the opposition to Baal worship in the time of Elijah.
However, it is not entirely clear that this is as simple as it looks, for the
‘Baal’ of Jezebel was most likely a Phoenician god – and thus a foreign
cult – introduced into Israel. It was symbolic of a foreign queen and
would have been opposed by certain traditionalists. The fact that all the
Baal worshippers could supposedly fit into the small Baal temple (2 Kgs
10.18-28) is evidence that this was not a widespread alternative to Yhwh
worship. Further indication is found in the names of Ahab’s family and
associates. His chief minister was named Obadiah (‘servant of Yhwh’:
1 Kgs 18.3) and his two sons had Yhwh names (Ahaziah and Jehoram);
the prophets he consulted were prophets of Yhwh (1 Kgs 22.5-28).
Although the text accuses him of Baal worship (1 Kgs 16.31-32), we see
no actual evidence that he promoted Baal worship beyond the royal cult
specifically established for his wife. The opposition of Elijah and others
was probably political opposition to Jezebel, even if disguised as religious
piety. Ahab himself, by all accounts, was a Yhwh worshipper.
The ostraca found during the excavation of Samaria give a similarly
mixed picture (§4.1.2). A variety of theophorous names are found in the
texts known so far; of these eleven are compounded with Yhwh while six
have Baal. There is no way to see any social distinction in the names: one
has the impression that these were common, ordinary names about which
people would not have thought very much except perhaps in a cultic
context. It would appear that Baal and Yhwh were worshipped happily
side by side.
200 Ancient Israel

Recent finds have been even more revealing. An inscription found in

1975–76 at Kuntillet Ajrud in the Negev (dated about the eighth century
BCE) is conventionally read, ‘I blessed you by Yhwh of Samaria and by
his Asherah’ (Gogel 1998: #6.1.14; G. I. Davies 1991: #8.017, #8.021).
Similarly, in Khirbet el-Qôm near Hebron, another inscription has been
found and dated to the seventh century (Dever 1970; Gogel 1998: #6.1.12;
G. I. Davies 1991: #25.003). It is very difficult to read – partly, because it
seems to have some of the letters duplicated – and a number of readings
have been given (Zevit 2001: 359–70): the original editor A. Lemaire
translated it as: ‘Blessed be Uriah by Yhwh and <by his Asherah>, from
his enemies he has saved him’. The epigrapher Joseph Naveh read it:
‘May Uriyahu be blessed by Yahweh my guardian and by his Asherah’.
Ziony Zevit interpreted it as: ‘I blessed Uryahu to YHWH / to wit, from
his enemies…for the sake of Asheratah save him / by Abiyahu’.
These finds have created a great deal of debate because this is the first
time that any direct evidence of goddess worship had turned up (even
the Samaria ostraca had no goddess names). There was naturally some
question as to whether the ‘Asherah’ was a reference to a cult object or
to a goddess. It partly hinges on the grammatical question of whether one
can put a pronominal suffix on a proper name in the Northwest Semitic
languages. Some have suggested alternative interpretations (e.g., that
the final letter - h is not ‘his’ but a so-called locative hē or perhaps even
a vowel letter), but others argue that the grammatical problems with a
pronominal suffix can be overcome (Zevit 2001: 363–6). After consid-
erable disagreement, the consensus is moving definitely in the direction of
seeing a consort with Yhwh, a female divinity called Asherah (even if not
everyone agrees, e.g., Keel and Uehlinger 1998: 281–2). If so, this would
be quite parallel to Ugarit in which El the head of the pantheon has Athirat
(cognate with Hebrew Asherah) as his consort.
The biblical text itself suggests goddess worship in several passages:
it refers to ‘Asherah’, though at times this seems to designate a cult
object, especially when appearing in the masculine plural (‘Asherim’).
Yet a number of passages seem definitely to refer to a goddess. 1 Kings
15.13 mentions the cult object made for Asherah. This was presumably
in the temple; indeed, 2 Kgs 23.4, 7 mentions vessels of Asherah (among
others) and cult personnel dedicated to Asherah in the Jerusalem temple,
and 2 Kgs 21.7 also speaks of an image of Asherah in the temple. 1 Kings
18.19 designates ‘the prophets of Asherah’, alongside the prophets of
Baal, which can only be a reference to a goddess. Thus, the biblical text
itself preserves evidence that Asherah was worshipped – even in the
Jerusalem temple – most likely as a consort of Yhwh. Worship of the ‘host
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 201

of heaven’, referred to in 2 Kgs 17.16; 21.3; 23.4-5, is confirmed by solar

symbols found on a number of Israelite seals (Keel and Uehlinger 1998:
282–309). Jeremiah (44.17–19, 25) mentions worship of the ‘Queen of
Heaven’ who is likely to have been Asherah or Anat or perhaps even an
amalgam of the two goddesses. Yet even though the text presents these
as acts of apostasy, there is no hint that such worship was criticized or
opposed at the time. If there was criticism, it was likely to have come from
a minority movement, perhaps a ‘Yhwh-alone movement’ (as argued by
Morton Smith 1971).
One other indication is an inscription of Sargon II relating to the fall
of Samaria about 722 BCE. The Nimrud Prism states as follow (4.29–33,
minor restorations not indicated):

29) With the power of the great gods, my lords,

30) against them I fought.
31) 27,280 persons with their chariots
32) and the gods in whom they trusted, as spoil
33) I counted.

It was quite normal for the Assyrians to remove the divine images
of the people they conquered, often melting them down for the metal.
The most reasonable interpretation in the context is that these referred
to images of the Samarian gods. That is, the temple(s) of the Samarians
contained images of more than one god, and the Assyrians took these
away as spoil as was their custom.
Finally, the Jewish military colony at Elephantine was almost certainly
pre-Persian, probably being established during the Neo-Babylonian or
possibly even in the Assyrian period before the fall of Jerusalem in
587/586 BCE. The community had its own temple to Yhw (probably
pronounced Yahu or Yaho) until it was destroyed by some of the local
Egyptians (TAD A4.7–9 = AP 30–32), later being rebuilt by Persian
authority. However, a list of contributors to the cult indicates that other
divinities also had a place. Specifically listed are Eshem-Bethel and
Anat-Bethel (TAD C3.15:127–8 = AP #22:124–5) and Anat-Yahu (TAD
B7.3:3 = AP #44:3). It has been suggested that these were actually only
hypostases of Yhwh (cf. Porten 1968: 179). This is a difficult matter
to resolve, partly because these names occur only here – as if they had
ceased to have much of a function in the Elephantine religion. They no
doubt originated as goddess figures, but they may have developed in other
ways (see further Grabbe 2004a: 241–2). Perhaps we are witnessing an
evolution toward monotheism in this late period (see further below).
202 Ancient Israel

Archaeology has also given a good deal of information which confirms

this textual picture (Nakhai 2001; Dever 2005: 110–75; Vriezen 2001).
Only some brief references can be given here, though some have been
discussed elsewhere (e.g., the Arad altar [§5.1.1]). Just to give a couple
of examples, one of the most striking objects is the Taanach altar, usually
dated to the tenth century and found at what seems to be a bamah or open
air cult site (Lapp 1969: 42–4). The goddess Asherah seems to have a
prominent place on it. Another striking object is the bronze bull of the
‘Bull Site’ (A. Mazar 1982). Again, it was found as the focal point of a
cult site. It is not always possible to tell who used a particular cult site
or the god represented (is the bull Yhwh or Baal?), but the archaeology
amply demonstrates the variety of worship that texts have delineated.

4.2.8.3 Temple Religion versus ‘Popular’/‘Folk’/‘Family’ Religion

There are some problems with using the term ‘popular’ or ‘folk’ or
‘family’ religion. First, this might imply that such religion is less important
or even less religion. Such is not the case: popular/folk/family religion is
as legitimate and as much religion as any other. A second problem is a
tendency to see this type of religion in a different category from other
types of religion. This is erroneous: while perhaps having its own social
and practical characteristics, it does not differ from any other type of
religion. In the ancient Near East we can perhaps talk about three spheres
of religion: the cult of the ruler, the national cult or cult of the national
god (which might be the same as the ruler cult but not necessarily), and
local or family or ‘popular’ cults. In Israel and Judah the distance between
the temple cults and family cults might not have been that great. Yhwh
worship seems to have been widespread, and with a multitude of altars
it was common for ordinary people to attend worship in a temple (cf.
1 Sam. 1). What tends to characterize popular religion is the devotion to
a particular deity for personal concerns and favours and the practice of
the ‘esoteric arts’ for personal benefit: cults (including underworld cults)
relating to the dead, healing, curses/blessings, magic, divination (Grabbe
1995: 119–51).
Temple religion came to be perhaps the main manifestation of Israelite
religion before it became a book religion, but both these were probably
post-exilic developments. That is, temples existed in pre-exilic times,
including in Jerusalem, but it was probably only in the Persian period that
the Jerusalem temple became the only one in many people’s eyes (though
there still existed temples on Gerizim, at Elephantine, in Leontopolis and
possibly at Iraq al-Amir in Transjordan). As for Judaism as a ‘religion
of the book’, I have argued that it was a development only toward the
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 203

end of the Second Temple period (Grabbe 2000a: 317–18). The centre
of temple religion was the sacrificial cult (Grabbe 1993a: 29–43; Nakhai
2001). Although the book of Leviticus is a late writing, it is likely that
the cult described there had continued in broad outline for many centuries
(Grabbe 1993a). The book of Leviticus is not a handbook for priests as
some have suggested (Grabbe 2004b). The priestly knowledge was most
likely passed down by word of mouth and through apprenticeship training
without being committed formally to writing (at least, until very late). But
we seem to have some knowledge of the cult and priesthood in the Persian
period (Grabbe 2004a: 216–37; Schaper 2000) which can, with suitable
caution, be projected back into the period of the monarchy. One of the
differences was that during the monarchy the king was the chief religious
figure – the chief priest, you could even say (Grabbe 1995: 20–40).
A cult of the dead was evidently a widespread phenomenon in ancient
Israel, attested both from the text and archaeology (Bloch-Smith 1992;
Grabbe 1995: 141–5) – and, incidentally, another indication of polytheism.
A cult of the dead can take many forms and have many connotations, but
one type is to treat the deceased ancestors as joining the Rephaim and
becoming deified. Although the biblical text treats the Rephaim as early
inhabitants of Canaan in some passages, texts from Ugarit and Phoenicia
and even the Bible (Job 26.5; Ps. 88.11-13; Isa. 26.14, 19; Prov. 9.18)
indicate the Rephaim are associated with the dead. Necromancy was
evidently quite widely practised in ancient Israel (cf. Deut. 18.9-14;
1 Sam. 15.22-23; 28; Ezek. 21.26-27). The text in its present form naturally
condemns such practices, but it equally attests its popularity. Another cult
associated with the dead and the underworld is Molek worship. Whether
Molek is a deity or only a sacrifice is still debated (cf. Heider 1985; Day
1989; Smelik 1995), but in any case, it seems to have been a chthonic
cult associated with the underworld and with a cult of the dead. How
widespread this cult was in Palestine is debatable, but it certainly existed,
even in Jerusalem. It may also have involved child sacrifice, a subject
still controversial to debate (2 Kgs 16.3; 17.17, 31; 21.6; Jer. 7.31-32;
Day 1989; Smelik 1995). Finally, there are the teraphim mentioned in a
number of passages (1 Sam. 15.22-23; 2 Kgs 23.24; Ezek. 21.26-27; Hos.
3.4; Zech. 10.2). Recent study of the teraphim argues that they were a
common shrine to the ancestors kept in the home (Toorn 1990). Even the
future king David had one, which his wife placed in his bed to deceive
Saul’s men so that he could escape (1 Sam. 19).
A subject of considerable controversy is that of cultic prostitution.
According to some of the Greek writers, worship in Babylonian temples
required all women to prostitute themselves at one time in their lives
204 Ancient Israel

(Herodotus 1.199). We also have some evidence of ‘sacred marriage’

rites in Mesopotamia, which might have involved the king and queen or
the king and a priestess in ritual sex (Kramer 1969), though this is now
disputed (Lapinkivi 2004). Among the cult personnel at Ugarit are those
called qdšm, which some have proposed were male cultic prostitutes. This
idea is now best rejected; there is no evidence for ritual prostitution –
male or female – at Ugarit (Tarragon 1980: 138–41; Soden 1970). The
biblical text (and subsequent Jewish and Christian religious traditions)
asserts decadent sexual practices in ‘pagan’ worship, especially among the
so-called Canaanites. It was therefore easy to believe in ‘abominations’
such as sexual orgies, prostitution, sodomy and the like as a constituent
part of the cults which Israel was to eradicate (cf. Yamauchi 1973). As
already suggested above, recent study has now called into question many
of the assumptions about the ‘Canaanite’ cults and other worship in
Israel’s environment, as well as the biblical version of the development
of Israelite religion. Most of the biblical references can be interpreted as
symbolic language for religious straying, and there is really little support
for the oft-repeated assertion that cultic prostitution formed a part of the
non-Yahwistic cults (Barstad 1984: 21–33; Goodfriend and Toorn 1992;
Grabbe 2015).

4.2.8.4 Development of Monotheism

How early monotheism developed is very much a point of dispute, though
the general view today is that it was fairly late. The final form of the text
in most books bears the stamp of those who were apparently monotheistic.
In the biblical text Yhwh is clearly equated with El and with other divine
names. Since Asherah is most often a consort of El in Northwest Semitic
texts, a number of recent scholars have suggested that this equation is not
fortuitous but represents the actual origin of Yhwh, that is, that the latter
developed in the context of El worship (§4.2.8.1). In any case, it would
not be surprising for El and Yhwh to be assimilated over time even if they
were once separate deities. The various other male deities are equated with
Yhwh (except for Baal who is depicted as being in a life-or-death struggle
with Yhwh). This is a part of the process of moving toward monotheism.
Many would argue that we find monotheism already in Second Isaiah
with his denial of the existence of other gods (e.g., Albertz 1994: 417–18;
M. S. Smith 2001: 179–94; 2002: 191–9; Becking et al. 2001: 191–2;
contrast Thompson [1995a: 113] who states that Second Isaiah is an
example of ‘inclusive monotheism’): Yhwh alone is without beginning or
end, uniquely divine and God alone, the creator of the cosmos and there
is nothing like him (Isa. 46.9; 48.12-13).
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 205

The book of Deuteronomy has some statements that express similar

ideas (e.g., Deut. 4.35, 39), but these exist alongside others that seem
to accept the existence of other gods (Deut. 5.7; 6.4 [cf. M. S. Smith
2001: 153]). This could be explained by an editing process in which
the monotheistic statements were later additions to the text. Thus, many
scholars see the development of monotheism – in some circles, anyway –
during the seventh to sixth centuries BCE. For example, it has been
pointed out that astral imagery of the late eighth and seventh centuries
had disappeared from seals and seal impressions of the Jerusalem elite
by the early sixth and also the blessing and salvation functions of Yhwh’s
‘Asherah’, known from several inscriptions, had been absorbed by Yhwh
by the time of the Lachish and Arad ostraca (Uehlinger 1995, 2005). This
has been interpreted as indirect evidence of Josiah’s reform and a move in
the direction of monotheism.
A topic closely associated with the issue of monotheism is the question
of whether the worship of the Israelite god was aniconic. A number of
biblical texts forbid the use of images in worship, such as the second
commandment (Exod. 20.4; Deut. 5.8) and images are ridiculed (Isa.
40.18-20; 44.9-20; 46.1-2; Jer. 10.2-10). We know from later Jewish texts
that the use of images or living forms of any kind was considered abhorrent
and strongly rejected (Wis. 13–15; Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 44;
Testament of Job 2–5; Apocalypse of Abraham 1–8; see also the quote
from Hecataeus below). Some have argued that the worship of Yhwh
was aniconic from the beginning; that is, that the non-use of images was
a characteristic of Yhwh worship in the earlier period. Yet there are a
number of indications that images were used in divine worship in Israel
and Judah. The quotation from Sargon II above (§4.2.8.2) is already
one indication. The many ‘Astarte’ images found by archaeologists all
over Palestine is another (Moorey 2001; Stern 2001: 205–11). These by
themselves do not prove that idols were used to represent Yhwh since the
passages just mentioned could be referring to other deities, but the possi-
bility that an image of Yhwh was to be found in the Jerusalem temple at
one stage is a reasonable inference from the data just presented.
Apart from the biblical text, whose interpretation some dispute, one of
the first and best indications of monotheistic, aniconic worship is found in
Hecataeus of Abdera, a Greek writing from about 300 BCE. He describes
the Jews in Palestine in a long paragraph which was then picked up and
quoted by Diodorus of Sicily (40.3.4). The significant passage states:

But he [Moses] had no images whatsoever of the gods made for them,
being of the opinion that God is not in human form; rather the Heaven that
surrounds the earth is alone divine, and rules the universe.
206 Ancient Israel

4.3 Synthesis

By the ninth century we seem to have reached a period where there is

more agreement about the general outline of history in Palestine. There
seems to be general agreement that Omri and Ahab ruled over some
sort of state, even if the exact nature of that state is still debated (H.
M. Niemann [2007], for example, refers to Omri as the war leader of a
military administration). Judah was also a separate entity, but whether it is
called a state is more controversial: it might have been a vassal of Israel,
which in turn was a vassal of Damascus part of the time, though not under
Omri (Knauf 2007). Jerusalem could well have been much what it was in
the Amarna period, perhaps more of a city-state than anything else. Most
seem to agree, though, that sometime in the eighth century Judah had
become a territorial state.
In the ninth century the brief hiatus of freedom from the major
powers, which Palestine had enjoyed since Egypt withdrew, came to an
end. Shoshenq seems to have conducted some sort of excursion(s) into
Palestine, though the extent and the effects are currently moot, but in any
case he did not stay. But then in the early ninth century Assyria began
to make excursions to the west, and in the middle of the century are
the repeated clashes between Shalmaneser III and a coalition of twelve
kings from the Syro-Palestinian region, led by Damascus but with Ahab
an important ally. According to the Assyrian inscriptions the coalition
remained intact up to Shalmaneser’s fourteenth year (845 BCE). Between
then and the eighteenth year (841 BCE) things must have fallen apart,
for in 841 the coalition was defeated, and with Hadadezer now dead
Damascus, under a new king Hazael, alone faced the Assyrian army. In
the same year the new king of Israel, Jehu, submitted to Assyria, putting
it on the opposite side from the Aramaeans. The Assyrians continued to
cause problems for Hazael for another three years, until Shalmaneser’s
twenty-first year, but then Assyria ceased to concern itself with the
western part of its empire for the next 30 years. This left Damascus a free
hand to dominate the region, including Israel, first under the leadership of
Hazael and then under his son Bar-Hadad. This is exactly the picture of
the biblical text (2 Kgs 10.34-36; 12.18-19; 13.3, 22-25).
After the events around 800 BCE, there is not a lot of further
extra-biblical information for the next half century until the reign of
Tiglath-pileser III. The biblical text assigns a good deal of important
activity to Jeroboam II, but this individual is not mentioned by any
extra-biblical sources. About 780–775 BCE Shamshi-ilu the Assyrian
commander for the region collected tribute from Ḫadiiāni. This would
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 207

suggest that Damascus was not able to do just anything it wished. The
next king of Israel mentioned is Menahem, in Tiglath-pileser’s Annals and
in the Iran Stele III (ca. 738). For the first time in the Assyrian annals, we
also find a mention of the kingdom of Judah, in Tiglath-pileser’s Summary
Inscription 7. According to Summary Inscription 4, the Assyrian king
also annexed Gilead, Galilee and other areas of northern Israel (cf. 2 Kgs
15.29).
The Syro-Ephraimite war in 734–732 BCE is not mentioned as such
in the Assyrian records, but it is indirectly attested. The exact cause of
Damascus and Israel ganging up on Judah still escapes us, but a number
of biblical passages presuppose it. It also brought Judah into Assyria’s
sphere, though this was likely to have happened shortly, anyway. It
presaged the final fall of the Northern Kingdom. Here again the original
sources give more than one picture. Was Samaria captured by Shalmaneser
V or Sargon II? The proposal that it was taken twice – in 722 and again
in 720 BCE – has merit, but there are other explanations, such as Sargon
claiming to capture the city when all he did was deport its inhabitants.
But the basic picture of the biblical text seems to be in harmony with the
Assyrian sources, even if the details are not always reliable.
We can now summarize the results of this chapter as far as history is
concerned. In doing so, it is difficult to indicate graphically the relative
importance of the points listed below.

4.3.1 Biblical Data Confirmed

• A number of the Israelite kings and their approximate dates are

confirmed: Omri, Ahab, Jehu, Joash, Menahem, Pekah, Hoshea,
as well as probably Jehoram. Of the kings of Judah, Jehoahaz and
possibly Ahaziah are correctly remembered.
• Mesha king of Moab is correctly remembered and his breaking away
from Israelite rule (though some of the details remain questionable).
• Of the Aramaean rulers, Hazael of Damascus, his son Ben-Hadad,
and Rezin are given correctly.
• Strength of Hazael over Israel and the region.
• Strength of Ben-Hadad, son of Hazael, and his loss of power over
Israel (the Assyrian intervention is not mentioned explicitly, though
it may be alluded to).
• Menahem’s payment of tribute.
• Pekah’s defeat and death.
• Assyrian defeat of Rezin of Damascus.
208 Ancient Israel

• Hoshea of Israel as replacement for Pekah.

• Jehoahaz (also called just Ahaz) of Judah’s interaction with
Tiglathpileser III.
• Fall of Samaria to Shalmaneser V.

4.3.2 Biblical Data Not Confirmed, Though They May Be Correct

• Ahab may have fought the Aramaeans during part of his reign,
though not at the end.
• Whether any of the stories about Elijah and Elisha preserve data
about the doings of actual individuals is hard to say. It would not
be surprising if such individuals actually lived, but it would be very
unlikely that the details of their lives could be verified. Of course,
most of us would discount miraculous happenings and prescient
knowledge.
• Jehu’s revolt and coup.
• Rule of Athaliah.
• Reign of Jeroboam II.
• Syro-Ephraimite War.
• The other kings of Judah (in addition to Ahaz and perhaps Ahaziah).
• ‘Minor kings’ of Israel, such as Zechariah and Pekahiah.
• Hoshea may indeed have sought to gain help from a king of Egypt
against the Assyrians (2 Kgs 17.4)

4.3.3 Biblical Picture Incorrect

• Ahab is presented as weak militarily.

• The Aramaeans are the main enemy.
• The king of Aram is wrongly given as Ben-Hadad in the time of
Ahab.
• Asa’s defeat of Zerah the Cushite (found only in 2 Chron. 14.8-14)
looks completely invented (including the name Zerah).

4.3.4 Biblical Picture Omits/has Gaps

• The Assyrians are strangely absent from the picture until the time
of Tiglath-pileser. It is possible that the biblical writer had no
knowledge of the Assyrians in the time of Ahab, but if he did, he has
suppressed this information. If material from the later Jehu dynasty
is found in 1 Kings 20 and 22, as many scholars now believe, the
biblical writer may have placed it in the present position by mistake.
 4. Iron IIB (900–720) 209

The alternative – that the editor/compiler knew the true nature of the
material but deliberately misused it – is by no means impossible, but
the ignorant use of the material is more likely.
• Jehu’s submission to Shalmaneser III, along with his payment of
tribute, is not mentioned in the Bible.
• The submission of Joash of Israel to the Assyrians.
 Chapter 5

I ron IIC (720–539 BCE) :

P ea k a n d D ecl i n e of J udah

The end of the eighth century marked a major watershed in the history
of Israel. The Kingdom of Israel came to an end by about 720 BCE,
leaving only Judah as a semi-independent kingdom. This might seem
to have removed a major rival for Judah, but the kingdom was now an
Assyrian vassal, and Assyria was now in close proximity in the form
of the Assyrian provinces to Judah’s north: Samerina, Megiddo and
Dor. Then came Sennacherib’s invasion in 701 BCE, which was by any
reckoning a crucial event in Judah’s history. In many ways, the period of
Judah’s history between Sennacherib’s and Nebuchanezzar’s invasions is
the subject of this chapter.

5.1 Sources

5.1.1 Archaeology
This period in Judah’s history began with the invasion of Sennacherib,
which left Judah devastated (see the survey in Grabbe [ed.] 2003: 3–20).
Only Jerusalem and a few other (mostly northern) sites (e.g., Mizpah
[Tell en-Nasbeh] and Gezer) escaped the Assyrian wrath. Major sites
destroyed included Ramat-Rahel, Timnah (Tell Batash), Beth-Shemesh,
Tell Judeidah, Tel ‘Erani, Tell Beit Mirsim, Tell Halif (Tell Khuweilifeh),
Khirbet Rabud (Debir/Kiriath-Sepher) and Arad. Beersheba is often
thought to have been destroyed by Sennacherib, but E. A. Knauf now
argues against this (2002). Of 354 Judaean settlements in existence in the
late eighth century and destroyed, only 39 are presently known to have
been rebuilt in the seventh (Stern 2001: 142; cf. Finkelstein 1994a).
Central to determining Sennacherib’s destruction have been two factors:
(1) the stratigraphy of Lachish and (2) the 1,200+ lmlk seal impressions
found on storage jars in Jerusalem, Lachish and elsewhere. It has now been
determined that Sennacherib’s siege and destruction of Lachish is found
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 211

in stratum III (see references in Grabbe [ed.] 2003: 6–8). Curiously, the
siege and fall of Lachish are not mentioned in Sennacherib’s inscriptions.
As for the lmlk seals, their use was likely to have been over a rather short
period of time because of the seal impressions of named officials on them
and because lmlk jars were found in some sites (e.g., in Philistia) that did
not come under Judah’s control until Hezekiah’s reign. If their production
and use was thus over a very narrow time frame, they can be used to date
particular events in the context of Hezekiah’s rebellion and subsequent
Assyrian attack (for information on the lmlk seals, see §5.1.2.6).
One of the central questions has been the way in which Sennacherib
shut up Hezekiah ‘like a bird in a cage’. Was this by the standard siege
methods of surrounding the city by a siege mound? The difficulty has
been excavation work in Jerusalem that found evidence of this period.
A. van der Kooij (1986) examined two issues: (1) whether the Assyrian
statements imply a siege and (b) whether there is any evidence for such
a siege. Not strictly based on the archaeology, van der Kooij’s argument
involved the question of how to interpret the statements in the Assyrian
inscriptions. He concluded that the wording of the Assyrian inscriptions
did not envisage an actual siege. H. Tadmor (1985) also argued that
Jerusalem did not come under siege; indeed, the Assyrian text also implies
that it did not. More recently W. Mayer (1995, 2003) has similarly argued
that the Assyrian army did not in fact set up siege works around Jerusalem
directly. Yet just 4 km southwest of Jerusalem, Ramat Raḥel (ḫirbet ṣāliḥ)
seems to show evidence of a destruction of level VB which has 170 lmlk
jar handles associated with it (Dessel 1997; Vaughn 1999a: 102–5).
The seventh century saw great changes, yet some were positive. Stern
sums up things in this way:

The overall picture emerging from the excavations at the sites along the
Judaean Hill ridge appears to corroborate that in other parts of the Judaean
monarchy: a severe destruction followed Sennacherib’s 701 BCE campaign
at almost all sites, excluding Jerusalem. Between that date and the arrival
of the Babylonians, the country enjoyed a period of rebuilding and relative
prosperity. (Stern 2001: 163)

According to Stern (2001: 130–1), despite the widespread destruction

by Sennacherib, the rebuilding process was quite rapid. A number
of archaeologists put specific times on developments in the seventh
century; however, such a precise dating of events from archaeology can
be disputed: ‘Archaeologically, it is not easy to distinguish the finds of
the early seventh century from those of the second half of that century’
(Finkelstein and Silberman 2001: 265; cf. also 345–6). Being able
212 Ancient Israel

to distinguish the archaeology from Manasseh’s reign, as opposed to

Josiah’s, is not easy, though a number of finds go together to suggest that
the main recovery of prosperity occurred early in the century (Finkelstein
and Silberman 2001: 265–9; Stern 2001: 130–1).
Throughout the seventh century Jerusalem had no rivals, because most
of those urban areas that approached it in size and importance in the eighth
century had been destroyed by the Assyrians and had not been rebuilt
(Tatum 1991: 141–2; Steiner 2001: 285; 2003a: 76–7). Even Lachish,
which had its fortifications repaired, was only sparsely inhabited. There
seems to be general agreement that in the Judaean heartland the settlement
area in general increased in the seventh century, though it was mainly in
rural areas (including the desert fringe) or new towns or fortresses (Tatum
1991: 142; Finkelstein 1994a: 174–80). The increase in settlement area
has been explained as the accommodation of those who were forced to
leave the Shephelah when the Assyrians took it from Judaean control.
The situation varied somewhat in different parts of the country, as did
the situation in the eighth century in comparison with that in the seventh.
Not all of the country was devastated by the Assyrian army. The old area
of Benjamin (now a part of Judah north of Jerusalem) had prospered in
the late eighth century and continued to do so in the seventh, apparently
having escaped (at least to some extent) the ravages of Sennacherib (Ofer
2001: 29).
The result was that Jerusalem was left as the only real urban centre
in Judah in the seventh century (on the archaeology of Jerusalem, see
in particular the essays in Vaughn and Killebrew [eds] 2003). Yet there
is little evidence of the city’s being an administrative centre: no public
buildings were built in the seventh century, and the city seems mainly
residential (Steiner 2001: 284). It may be that the city functioned primar-
ily as a commercial and trading centre. This period also saw a huge
expansion of Jerusalem, though exactly how early that began is disputed.
Since the excavations in the Jewish Quarter in the 1970s, it is now widely
accepted that this growth took in the western hill (Geva 2003). The
expansion is thought by some to be a result of Sennacherib’s invasion,
but many now think that it began earlier, in the late eighth century BCE
(Geva 2003: 203–7; Reich and Shukron 2003; Finkelstein 1994a: 175).
One explanation for this unprecedented growth is that it was at least in
part due to immigration from the Northern Kingdom after the conquest
of Samaria and from the Shephelah after 701 BCE when a large part of it
was removed from Judaean control (Broshi 1974). The Broad Wall was
built about this time, apparently to protect this new western quarter. This
growth is also evidenced by a new quarter on the eastern slope, in which a
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 213

number of luxurious houses were constructed together with a new section

of the city wall to the east to enclose this section within the fortifications.
About this time there was also apparently expansion of settlement to the
north, into an unfortified section of the city.
Conventional estimates put the size of all Jerusalem about 600 BCE at
600 dunams or a minimum of 6,000–7,000 inhabitants (Geva 2003: 206),
but G. Barkay (as cited in Lipschits 2003: 327) thinks it was 900–1,000
dunams in size, which could mean a population of up to a maximum of
25,000 persons; however, such an estimate would take in even farms
on the edge of the built-up area (Lipschits 2003: 327 n. 14). It has been
argued that residential parts of the city to the north were damaged in
Sennacherib’s siege and remained deserted (Geva 2003: 207), but it
seems unlikely that the Assyrian army actually encamped at Jerusalem or
laid siege to the city in traditional fashion (cf. Grabbe [ed.] 2003: 8–10).
Nevertheless, both the eastern extension and the northern expansion seem
to have been abandoned before the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonians,
while the settlement on the western hill appears to have withdrawn to
within the wall (Geva 2003: 207; Reich and Shukron 2003: 217).
One site has become controversial in recent years. 2 Kings 20.20 states
that Hezekiah made the ‘pool’ (‫ )הברכה‬and the ‘conduit’ (‫ )התעלה‬and
brought water into the city. The Siloam tunnel has long been thought to
provide the evidence for the truth of this verse. J. Rogerson and P. R.
Davies (1996) challenged this consensus and sought to redate the tunnel
and its inscription to the time of the Maccabees. This identification has
been widely rejected (e.g., Hendel 1996; Norin 1998); however, E. A.
Knauf (2001b) has now argued for the reign of Manasseh as the time
of its building. Thus, the question of whether the Siloam tunnel belongs
to Hezekiah’s time is far from settled, but it well fits other trends in the
seventh century and would fall logically in the reign of Manasseh.
In the Judaean hills south of Jerusalem, Ramat Raḥel was a major
centre. The site, with its citadel, was probably destroyed at the time of
Sennacherib’s invasion. A new citadel was built in the seventh century
(stratum VA) and shows some Assyrian influence. It has often been inter-
preted as a royal palace, but why would the Judaean kings build a palace so
close to Jerusalem? N. Na’aman (2001) argues that it was Assyrian policy
to construct emporia and centres of government near the capitals of vassal
kingdoms. Ramat Raḥel would be much better explained as an Assyrian
building used as an administrative centre (though Judaeans would have
been conscripted to do the actual work). As supporting evidence, the
presence of Assyrian officials can be proposed for a number of vassal
kingdoms at this time, including Byblos, Tyre, Ashdod and Gaza.
214 Ancient Israel

According to this interpretation, economic considerations were a major

factor, with Assyria actually competing with its vassals for revenues.
No wonder anti-Assyrian rebellions broke out periodically! Assyria’s
relentless imperialism was severely damaging to its subjects. No exact
dating for the destruction of the fortress is possible, and 587 is only one
possibility. It may have been abandoned by the withdrawing Assyrians, or
even destroyed by them as they left. Yet, other interpretations are possible.
E. A. Knauf (2005a: 170–1) argues that such building projects were often
undertaken as propaganda for the ruling dynasty. It was not as if a royal
palace so close to Jerusalem was needed but simply that it proclaimed the
splendour of the king.
The Judaean hills cover the general area from just south of Jerusalem
on the north to Beersheba valley in the south, and from the Judaean
desert on the east to the descent to the coastal plain on the west, an area
of approximately 900 km2. The question of the population in the seventh
century compared to the eighth is controversial (cf. Finkelstein 1994a:
174–5). The Judaean hills survey (by A. Ofer; cf. Ofer 2001) found that
from the mid-eleventh to the eighth century the population nearly doubled
in each century, but the seventh century showed a decline compared to the
eighth. Although the number of settlements was similar (86 in the seventh,
compared to 88 in the eighth), the settled area was much less (70 hectares
in the seventh, versus 90 in the eighth). This meant a decline in population
from about 23,000 to about 17,000. Even if one slightly reinterprets the
data for less of a contrast (from 84 to 74 hectares, or 21,000 to 18,500
inhabitants), there was still a marked fall off. This could be due to a
variety of causes, but one obvious possibility is Sennacherib’s invasion
of 701 BCE.
I. Finkelstein, however, is not convinced of the contrast between the
density of population in the Judaean highlands between the eighth and
seventh centuries (Finkelstein 1994a: 174–5). He notes that ‘all major
excavated sites in the Judaean highlands were occupied in both the eighth
and seventh centuries BCE’ (1994a: 174). He makes several points (in
addition to the one about the occupation of all major excavated sites
in both the eighth and seventh centuries): that in the seventh century,
possibly Tell en-Nasbeh and Gibeon, and certainly Ramat Rahel reached
their peak, that a group of forts was established around Jerusalem, that a
system of farmhouses was established around Jerusalem and Bethlehem,
and that the Judahite population spread to nearby arid zones (Judaean
desert and Negev). Finkelstein argues that there may be reasons why the
survey shows some differences between the two centuries, but he assumes
that the Judaean hills south of Jerusalem were as densely populated in the
seventh as the eighth century.
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 215

Sennacherib’s invasion was hard on the Shephelah: the city of Lachish

was one of the major cities besieged by the Assyrians (Uehlinger
2003), but others destroyed were Tell Beit Mirsim and Beth-Shemesh.
Afterwards, the Assyrians appear to have removed a good portion of the
Shephelah from Judaean control. The late seventh and early sixth century
saw a decrease of 70 per cent in built-up areas, mostly in unwalled
villages and farmsteads and mostly in the eastern part of the region
(Finkelstein 1994a: 172–4). About 85 per cent of the eighth-century sites
were not resettled in the seventh. Archaeologists disagree about the case
of Tell Beit Mirsim. E. Stern (2001: 149) states that the town was certainly
rebuilt in the seventh century, before being destroyed by the Babylonians.
However, R. Greenberg (1993: I, 180) notes: ‘There is slight ceramic and
stratigraphic evidence for a partial reoccupation of the site in the seventh
or early sixth century BCE’. The only site that grew was Tell Miqne
(usually identified with ancient Ekron), but this area had generally been
outside Judah. Tell Batash (Timnah) was also apparently outside Judah
but likely under the control of Ekron (the pottery is mixed but Philistine
predominates).
One of the interesting phenomena of the seventh century was the
growth in settlement in the arid regions: the Negev and the eastern deserts.
En-Gedi may have been settled in the eighth. In any event, both it and
Jericho grew considerably in the second half of the seventh century, with
an unprecedented amount of settlement (59 sites) between the two sites
(Lipschits 2003: 338–9). Beersheba was abandoned at this time, but new
sites were also established at Tel Masos, Ḥorvat ‘Uza, Ḥorvat Radom, Tel
‘Ira and Aroer (Finkelstein 1994a: 175–6).
Arad has often been discussed in connection with the reign of Josiah,
but it is a site about which prominent archaeologists have come to
some significantly different conclusions, mainly because the excavator
Y. Aharoni was not able to publish a full report before his death (see
especially the summary in Manor and Heron 1992). The original inter-
pretation was that a shrine persisted through layers XI–IX, consisting of
a courtyard with a large altar, a broadroom and a small inner room appar-
ently with a stela (‫ )מצבה‬and two incense altars. Some alterations were
made over time, but in stratum VIII some significant changes were made
in the temple area: it was dismantled and much of it covered in a metre-
thick layer of earth. This activity has been associated with the cult reforms
of Hezekiah. Nevertheless, the stratigraphy, the dating of the strata,
and the possible historical events with which they are to be associated
are all disputed. D. Ussishkin (1988), for example, interpreted matters
rather differently (though depending on the preliminary publications and
interviews with some of the excavators). He noted (with others) that the
216 Ancient Israel

homogeneity of the pottery from strata X–VIII suggests a relatively short

period of time, and these layers may represent only different stages of a
single building phase. The shrine, which some had dated even as early as
stratum XI, was in fact not built until stratum VII.
Now, a new complete stratigraphical examination conducted in 1995–
96 has led to a re-evaluation, with differences from that of the original
excavator and the many studies built on it (Herzog 2001: 156–78; cf.
Uehlinger 2005). There were particular problems in relating the temple
complex to the stratigraphy by the earlier excavators, partly because of
the ‘biblical archaeology’ paradigm embraced by the excavation team
(among whom Herzog includes himself). Stratum VII elsewhere in the
site was 2.5 m above the temple floor, showing that the temple was
earlier than that (contra Ussishkin). The temple began in stratum X (not
XI, as widely believed) or the eighth century, with a second phase of
construction in stratum IX. The temple was not destroyed by fire but was
dismantled in stratum VIII (late eighth century), which Herzog attributes
to Hezekiah. The question is, though, whether the dismantling was done
to destroy the temple or, on the contrary, to protect the pillars and so on,
for future use (cf. Uehlinger 2005: 287–92; Niehr 1995: 35; Ussishkin
1988).
This settlement in the eastern and southern arid regions was short-
lived for the most part, however, collapsing at the end of the Iron Age
(Lipschits 2003: 334–7). In the eastern desert sites, there is no evidence
of physical destruction but gradual abandonment. In the Negev, a number
of the fortresses show signs of destruction (including Ḥorvat ‘Uza and
Arad and the settlement sites of Tel ‘Ira and Tel Malḥata). Other sites
appear to have been abandoned (e.g., Ḥorvat Radum). It seems that the
decline came about primarily because the areas of Judah which the arid
regions depended on for military and economic support had themselves
been destroyed by the Babylonians. The inhabitants of the settlements
gradually withdrew because they had no other choice.
The archaeology also provides data about aspects of the economy,
though this often has to be put together with other data. The Edomite
plateau gained a significant population at this time, and there are indica-
tions of contact with Arabia (Finkelstein 1994a: 177–80; Finkelstein
and Silberman 2001: 267–9). This could suggest the place of Judah in a
trade route from Arabia. We know from Assyrian sources that Gaza was
an important trading centre for the Assyrians. The seventh-century forts
at Qadesh-Barnea and Ḥaṣeva (both probably outside Judah; see below)
may have been built with the protection of this trade in mind. There is also
evidence of a major olive-oil production centre at Tel Miqne (Ekron). This
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 217

was an old Philistine city and not part of Judah; however, the olives could
not be grown locally, which leads to the inference that they would most
likely have been imported from the Samarian and Judaean highlands.
One feature of the archaeological data that particularly stands out is
the sudden increase in the quantity of written objects preserved from the
seventh century: seals/bullae, ostraca and inscribed weights (Finkelstein
and Silberman 2001: 270, 281, 284; Stern 2001: 169–200). This phenom-
enon is apparently not found in the neighbouring Assyrian provinces or
vassal states. It thus appears to be a genuine increase in the production
of written objects in Judah at the time and not just an impression created
by the accidents of discovery. A number of conclusions have been drawn
from this fact, not all of them justified (§§3.2.5; 5.2.4).
Attempts have been made to determine the borders of Judah from
archaeological data. Several sites have been put forward as an indication
of an expansion of the territory of Judah during the reign of Josiah. The
arguments are only in part based on archaeology, but the archaeology of
the sites is important: Megiddo, Meṣad Ḥashavyahu, Ḥaṣeva and Qadesh-
Barnea. With regard to Megiddo, no Judaean artifacts have been found
from the seventh century (stratum II). A consideration of the historical
situation suggests that it was more likely under Egyptian control (cf.
Na’aman 1991: 51–2), but no Egyptian artifacts have been found, either
(Finkelstein and Silberman 2001: 350). This might be the case if the
occupation was brief, whether by Josiah or the Egyptians, but the fact
is that nothing in the archaeology connects Megiddo with Josiah. With
regard to the fortresses at Ḥaṣeva and Qadesh-Barnea (cf. Cohen and
Yisrael 1995; Cohen 1981, 1997), the archaeology is ambiguous. They
seem to be of Assyrian construction (Na’aman 1991: 48). Although
Judaean artifacts have been found at Qadesh-Barnea (Judaean inscribed
weights, pottery vessels, Hebrew ostraca), the material culture is mixed
(Kletter 1999: 42). A number of ostraca were found at Qadesh-Barnea,
including two with Hebrew writing, some written in Egyptian hieratic,
and at least two with a mixture of Hebrew and Egyptian. Once again, the
connection with Josiah comes primarily from considerations other than
the archaeology. Na’aman (1991: 48–9), on the other hand, suggests that
the best way to explain the archaeology is that as the Assyrians withdrew,
the Egyptians took over.
Based on an ostracon, as well as the pottery, Meṣad Ḥashavyahu has
been a prime part of the argument for Josiah’s expansion, since it is not
only well outside the traditional territory of Judah but also on the coast,
which could suggest an effort by Judah to obtain its own outlet to the sea.
The excavations of this settlement on the coast have only recently been
218 Ancient Israel

published (Fantalkin 2001). The settlement was very short-lived, only a

couple of decades or so. From archaeological evidence alone, it was either
late seventh century or early sixth. There is actually no direct evidence
for supposing it to be linked with Josiah. A large amount of eastern Greek
pottery has suggested that a large portion of the population was Greek, but
the names in the published ostracon are Hebrew, three with the name Yahu
and one with Baal (Gogel 1998: 423–4). One theory suggests that it was a
Greek trading colony, but the location and the finds do not support this. It
is more likely that it was a settlement of Greek mercenaries, though also
with some Judaeans in various capacities (Na’aman 1991: 44–6; Fantalkin
2001: 139–47; Finkelstein and Silberman 2001: 350–1). If so, they were
probably in Egyptian service (Psammetichus I or possibly even Necho II).
The Egyptians controlled this area between the withdrawal of the Assyr-
ians and the coming of the Babylonians. For it to be settled by mercenaries
in the service of Judah is not very credible. Judaean control is even less
likely if the date of Meṣad Ḥashavyahu is lowered to 600 BCE (Kletter
1999: 42). Stern (2001: 140–2) objects, pointing to the lack of Egyptian
remains; however, the site also lacks characteristic Judaean remains (e.g.,
rosette seal impressions), and the short time of occupation might have left
no characteristic Egyptian remains (though one cooking-pot lid is possibly
Egyptian). The site could have been destroyed by the Babylonians in 604
BCE, along with Ashkelon and other areas on the coast.
Also as an indication of borders, a number of artifacts have been
considered as of potential help (Kletter 1999). These include the following:
(1) ‘Judaean pillar figurines’. Most of these are from the eighth and
seventh centuries. They show differences from pillar figurines of other
areas (such as Israel and Transjordan). It has been suggested that these
represent Asherah, though any direct proof is lacking, and little evidence
exists of a relation to the cult. But none was apparently broken deliber-
ately. (2) Inscribed scale weights. The main period of use was the seventh
century, though some are as early as the eighth. They are thus not an
invention of Josiah. Most likely common weights rather than royal, they
may represent private trade relations rather than public administration. (3)
Horse and rider figurines. Most of these are from the eighth century, but
some are dated to the seventh. Of the five types, the first type is definitely
Judaean, while types 3 and 4 are Phoenician and Transjordanian, which
means that the Judaean type is easily distinguishable from neighbouring
areas. (4) The rosette stamps (on these, see §5.1.2.6). Their distribution
leaves no doubt of their Judaean identification, but since hardly any are
found in the central hill country of Negev, it makes it hard to use them for
political borders.
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 219

Kletter (1999: 40–3) comes to several conclusions about the artifacts

in relation to Judah’s possible borders. He notes that the overwhelming
majority of artifacts are found in the Judaean heartland: 96 per cent
of Judaean pillar figures, 98 per cent of the horse and rider figures, 96
per cent of the rosette seal impressions and 75 per cent of the Judaean
inscribed weights. Various explanations have been given for those outside
the heartland, such as trade, but only the western Shephelah shows
a meaningful concentration of Judaean artifacts. Archaeology cannot
pinpoint accurate borders nor establish the political affiliation of single
sites. But the finds fit more or less with the Judaean heartland and do not
indicate large-scale expansion. They cannot prove or refute the possibility
that Josiah or another king lost or gained small areas for short durations.
Nevertheless, artifacts are varied and also of general value for political
borders: some relate to trade, some to religious beliefs.
O. Lipschits (2005: esp. 185–271) has provided the definitive account
of the archaeology of Judah in the sixth century BCE. The local pottery
assemblages show an unbroken material cultural tradition in Judah from
the end of the Iron Age into the Persian period. The settlement continuity
from Babylonian to Persian rule has made it quite difficult to distinguish
these periods. The distinction between Lachish strata 3 and 2 provides
the chronological and stratigraphic key. It is only in the mid-fifth century
that the pottery repertoires begin to include types and forms considered
typical of the Persian-period local culture. To date all destruction layers
to 587/586 in Judah is to depend on the text, not archaeology: the notion
of a demographic and material-culture gap in the sixth century BCE goes
too far. We find considerable variation across the region. In Judah there
was a sharp decline in urban life but continuity in rural settlements in
the highlands, particularly between Hebron and Benjamin. As we might
expect from the text, Jerusalem and the cities of the west were destroyed,
following which we have a collapse in the east (the Judaean desert, the
Jordan Valley, the Dead Sea region) and south (the south Shephelah
and the Negev). Benjamin and the Judaean highland, which apparently
escaped the Babylonian destruction, contained most of the population.
As for Jerusalem itself, signs of the Babylonian destruction are found
throughout the city. Surprisingly, there is no evidence of settlement from
then until the middle of the Persian period: Jerusalem seems to have
been uninhabited during the four decades or so of the ‘exilic period’.
The capital had apparently been moved to Tell en-Nasbeh (Mizpah), and
Benjamin was where most people in the province now lived.
220 Ancient Israel

5.1.1.1 Conclusions with Regard to Archaeology

1. The two important horizons in the stratigraphy of this time are the
destructions by Sennacherib and Nebuchadnezzar. They are helpful
in defining the layers relating to the seventh and early sixth century.
The stratigraphy and dating at Lachish is extremely important, and
much of the interpretation of other sites depends on their relation to
the finds at Lachish.
2. It is difficult, however, to distinguish between the early seventh
century and the second half of the century. Very specific dating by
archaeology alone is not necessarily possible. This means that asser-
tions about developments in the reign of Manasseh versus that of
Josiah or later kings (some quoted in the discussion above) need to
be looked at carefully.
3. The area of Judah where the lmlk seals are found and where
destruction seems to have taken place in relation to the events of 701
BCE is a fairly well-defined area (see especially Na’aman 1986a).
The main cities of defence were those in the Judaean hill country
and the Shephelah, with Hebron as the main hub. Most of them show
evidence both of the stamped jar handles and attack by the Assyrians.
The distribution of finds also has interesting affinities with the list of
fortified cities in 2 Chron. 11.5-10, though the exact relationship has
been much debated (Na’aman 1986a, 1988a; Garfinkel 1988; Hobbs
1994; Ben Zvi 1997).
4. There is so far no archaeological or other evidence that Jerusalem
was invested by the Assyrian army in the sense of being surrounded
by a siege mound and having an Assyrian army camped outside its
wall. It was ‘shut up’ by having the various communication routes
blocked, but the nearest evidence of the Assyrian army is presently
at Ramat Raḥel, 4 km from Jerusalem.
5. Jerusalem’s position was considerably enhanced in the seventh
century. Although the question of whether some of the main eighth-
century sites were settled seems to be answered differently by
different interpreters, the size and dominance of Jerusalem appears
to have been many times greater than any other cities. The expansion
had already begun in the eighth century, but because Sennacherib
destroyed most other towns in Judah, Jerusalem was left without a
rival. This dominance does not appear to have come about because
of greater centralization of the administration, however, since the
character of Jerusalem is that of a residential city. The Siloam tunnel,
usually assumed to have been built during the time of Hezekiah, may
well belong to the time of Manasseh.
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 221

6. The borders of Judah do not appear to have enlarged under Josiah’s

rule as is sometimes alleged. On the contrary, at the beginning of the
seventh century, there was an immediate loss of territory in that much
of the Shephelah was taken away. Perhaps to make up for this loss,
evidence exists that settlements extended into some of the arid zones
of the east and the south. There is some indication of a boundary as
far north as Bethel, but the areas of Samaria, the Galilee, the coastal
plain or Transjordan do not show any signs of Judaean expansion
(Na’aman 1991). Allegations that the borders of Judah took in areas
as far as Meṣad Ḥashavyahu and even Megiddo do not appear to
have much support in the archaeological record and would have
been brief, if at all. Despite claims to the contrary, there seems little
archaeological evidence of either political or religious centralization
in the seventh century. The evidence of cult suppression claimed for
Arad is ambiguous.
7. The archaeology provides some evidence of economic developments.
Population growth in the Negev area, objects allegedly inscribed with
Old South Arabian inscriptions (though Professor Knauf has pointed
out to me that the South Arabian connection is uncertain) and forts in
the south of the country (such as Qadesh-Barnea) may be evidence of
trade through the region of Judah. There is also evidence of olive-oil
production on a major scale at Ekron (Tel Miqre), though the olives
themselves would have had to come from elsewhere, including the
Judaean highlands.
8. The much greater number of ostraca, inscribed seals and other written
objects seems to be evidence of the development of the bureaucracy.
Whether it indicates anything else, such as an increase in literacy, is
a matter of debate (§3.2.5).
9. The Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem and the surrounding area
caused a collapse further afield, in the east and south. But Benjamin
had not suffered from the Babylonian invasion and became the centre
of the province for the next century. All the evidence suggests that
Jerusalem itself remained uninhabited from 587/586 to the beginning
of Persian rule.

5.1.2 Palestinian Inscriptions

5.1.2.1 The Adon Papyrus
The date and the sender of this document have not been preserved;
however, a Demotic notation on the back of the document has been inter-
preted as a reference to Ekron (CoS III, 132–3). The papyrus is generally
dated to the late seventh century, but this is only an educated guess. In it
222 Ancient Israel

Adon, king of a site now lost from the manuscript, calls on the Pharaoh
for help.

5.1.2.2 Meṣad Ḥashavyahu

The following translation of ostracon 1 is from Gogel:

1 May the official, my lord, hear

2 the plea of his servant. Your servant
3 is working at the harvest…
6 When your [se]rvant had finished his reaping and had stored
7 it a few days ago, Hoshayahu ben Shabay came
8 and took your servant’s garment. When I had finished
9 my reaping, at that time, a few days ago, he took your servant’s garment.
10 All my companions will testify for me, all who were reaping with me in
the heat of
11 the sun – they will testify for me that this is true. I am guiltless of an
12 in[fraction. (So) please return] my garment. If the official does (= you do)
not consider it an obligation to retur[n]
13 [your] ser[vant’s garment, then hav]e pi[ty] upon him
14 [and re]turn your [se]rvant’s [garment]. You must not remain silent.
(Gogel 1998: 423–4)

5.1.2.3 Arad Ostraca

The Arad archive is associated with a man named Eliashib who seems to
have been commander of the fortress. Ten of the ostraca speak about the
‘Kittim’, often with regard to distributing rations to them (## 1, 2, 4, 5,
7, 8, 10, 11, 14, 17). These are usually interpreted as Greek mercenaries,
but which king they served is still a moot point. The following quotation
is from Arad 18:

1 To my lord Elyashib.
2 May Yhwh concern
3 himself with your well-being. And now,
4 give Shemaryahu
5 one letek-measure, and to the Qerosite
6 give one homer-measure. Regarding
7 the matter about which you
8 gave me orders: everything is fine:
9 he is staying in
10 the house (temple) of Yhwh. (Gogel 1998: 390–1)
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 223

5.1.2.4 Lachish Letters

An important collection of ostraca was found at Lachish. Some of these
seem to have been correspondence (perhaps military) in the period not
long before the capture of Jerusalem in 587/586. Lachish 4 says:

1 May Yhw[h] cause my [lord] to hear

2 good tidings at this time!…
9 For if he [co]me[s around] during the morning tour
10 he will know that we
11 are watching the Lachish (fire-)signals, according to all the signs which
my lord
12 gave us, for we cannot see
13 Azeqah. (Gogel 1998: 417)

5.1.2.5 The Ashyahu Ostracon

An ostracon published in 1996 has been associated with the reign of
Josiah (Bordreuil, Israel and Pardee 1996, 1998). The ostracon was
obtained on the antiquities market and is of unknown provenance. More
recently I. Eph’al and J. Naveh (1998) have outlined their reasons for
‘hesitations regarding the authenticity’ of this document (plus another
ostracon published at the same time).

5.1.2.6 Seals and Bullae

One of the valuable sources of information for the eighth and seventh
centuries BCE is the seal impressions (and occasionally the actual seals
themselves) from both public officials and private individuals. A number
of these have been found in proper archaeological contexts, but many
were obtained on the antiquities market. This always leaves open the
possibility that some of the seals and impressions cited in scholarly
literature are counterfeits (§1.2.4.8). Fortunately, we have a number of
provenanced seal impressions.

5.1.2.6.1 Lmlk and Rosette Seals and Impressions

The lmlk seal impressions get their name because they all have the Hebrew
word lmlk (‘to/for the king’), either by itself or with one or more names
(Ussishkin 1977; Na’aman 1979, 1986a; Tushingham 1992; Barkay and
Vaughn 1996; Vaughn 1999a). The large number found makes them impor-
tant; furthermore, there has been considerable controversy in the past few
years about them among archaeologists. More than 1,200 lmlk seal impres-
sions have been found on storage jars in Jerusalem, Lachish and elsewhere.
They tended to be present on the four-handled jars with certain physical
224 Ancient Israel

characteristics in common, and to occur associated with one of two particu-

lar emblems: a four-winged type (in two varieties) and a two-winged type.
In some cases, ‘private seals’ are found on jars which also have the lmlk
seal impressions. On various of the lmlk seal impressions are found four
names which seem to be place names: Hebron, mmšt, Socoh and Ziph. The
jars all seem to have been produced in a single pottery centre (Mommsen,
Perlman and Yellin 1984; Na’aman 1986a: 16–17), and examples of the
four-winged seal impressions have been found in the same sealed destruc-
tion layer as the two-winged (Aharoni 1979: 394–400; 1982: 254–64;
Ussishkin 1977: 54–7; Na’aman 1979: 70–1).
The older conclusion was that the jars were produced by Hezekiah
as a storage unit important in trade but also ideal for stockpiling liquid
foodstuffs (especially wine) in anticipation of invasion (Vaughn 1999a:
152–7). Their use was likely to have been over a rather short period of
time because of the seal impressions of named officials on them, which
would not have been used for more than a few decades, and because lmlk
jars were found in some sites (e.g., in Philistia) that did not come under
Judah’s control until Hezekiah’s reign. One view was that they continued
to be used to the fall of the kingdom of Judah, but other interpreters have
seen them as confined to the reign of Hezekiah. A. Mazar (1993: 455–8)
and more recently E. Stern (2001: 174–8) have argued, however, that a
few continued to be used for some decades after Hezekiah’s death.
O. Lipschits and his colleagues have recently proposed a new thesis
about the development of lmlk and related seal use (Lipschits, Sergi and
Koch 2010, 2011; Sergi et al. 2012). They put forward the following four-
stage evolution of use (summary based on Finkelstein 2012: 75; Na’aman
2016: 111–12):

1. early lmlk impressions in use in the last quarter of the eighth century
BCE; found especially in the Shephelah and the highlands;
2. late lmlk impressions of the first half of the seventh century BCE,
found mainly in the highlands;
3. concentric incisions that gradually replaced the lmlk stamps during
the mid-seventh century BCE (about half on late lmlk handles); and
4. rosette impressions that were current in the late seventh–early sixth
centuries BCE

This position was attacked by Ussishkin, who defended the position that
the lmlk handles could be mainly dated to the period before 701 BCE
and Sennacherib’s intervention, while the rosette handles dated to the
time shortly before 587/586 and the Babylonian siege and conquest of
Jerusalem (Ussishkin 2011, 2012; reply by Lipschits 2012). Finkelstein
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 225

(2012) entered the fray with some methodological observations, but he

argued against Lipschits and colleagues that there was a more significant
recovery of Judah from Sennacherib’s devastations under Manasseh than
they had allowed, and the transition to the rosette pattern came at this
time, earlier than they had argued. Na’aman has also recently commented
on the question, arguing that although the lmlk system, including the
four- and two-winged symbols, was under royal warrant, estate owners
began marking the royal jars with their private seals as well. This ended
with the invasion of 701 BCE. After Sennacherib withdrew, employment
of private seals ceased. The two-winged symbol continued in use but the
four-winged version was dropped.
It seems to be generally accepted that the rosette seal and the concentric
circles are developed stylized forms of the four-winged and two-winged
seal impressions (Na’aman 1991: 31–3; Stern 2001: 176–8). The presence
of these is an indication of a seventh-century archaeological layer, much
as the lmlk seals are of the late eighth. Some want to date the rosette seal
impressions specifically to the reign of Josiah or Jehoiakim, but as Kletter
(1999: 34–8) argues, there is no reason for such a narrow dating. It often
seems to be taken for granted that they are royal, but the rosette motif
was widespread in the ancient Near East, and there are many examples of
non-royal use. Unlike the lmlk seal, which is dominant in the eighth, the
rosette is only one of a number of types in the seventh century.

5.1.2.6.2 Other Seals and Seal Impressions

This section gives a somewhat abbreviated summary; for more details,
see Grabbe (2006a). The bullae in Y. Shiloh’s excavations in Jerusalem
(Shiloh 1986; Shiloh and Tarler 1986; Shoham 1994, 2000; Avigad and
Sass 1997; Mykytiuk 2004: 139–47) were found in stratum 10B which
appears to cover the last few decades of the kingdom of Judah and ends
in 587/586.

• ‘Gemaryahu son of Shaphan’ (‫לגמריהו בן שׁפן‬: see the discussion

in Mykytiuk 2004: 139–47), which the stratigraphy would date to
about 630–586 BCE, a dating not contradicted by the epigraphy.
This is the same name as Gemariah son of Shaphan the scribe who
has a chamber in the temple precincts (Jer. 36.10) and is an official
in the palace (Jer. 36.12). The name Gemariah occurs in six other
provenanced inscriptions but Shaphan in only one (Mykytiuk 2004:
142 n. 133). The one missing ingredient in the seal inscription is the
title ‘scribe’ or something similar; nevertheless, the possibility of
identification of the individual in this seal with one in Jeremiah is
relatively high (Myktiuk 2004: 146).
226 Ancient Israel

• ‘Gedalyahu who is over the house’ (‫[ לגדליהו אשׁר על הבית‬Gogel

1998: 487 (Lachish seal 6); AHI: 100.149; Becking 1997: 75–8]).
This has been widely identified with the Gedaliah who was
made governor (king?) of Judah after the destruction of Jerusa-
lem in 587/586; however, this identification has been labelled
as ‘disqualified’ because if the script is dated to the mid-seventh
century (as some do), it would be too early for the individual in
Jeremiah 40–41 (Mykytiuk 2004: 235). Whether the alleged palaeo-
graphical dating is so accurate as to rule out the early sixth century
is a question (cf. Vaughn 1999b), but the existence of another
official called Gedaliah son of Pashhur (Jer. 38.61) shows that the
name was a relatively common one. Another seal with a similar
inscription (‫‘ לגדליהו עבד המלך‬Gedalyahu the servant of the king’)
is in identical script but was obtained as part of the ‘Burnt Archive’
published by Avigad (1986: 24–5). The lack of a proper provenance
is a major difficulty. Thus, one has to conclude with B. Becking
(1997: 78) that the possibility that this is from a seal belonging to
the Gedaliah of Jeremiah 40–41 is relatively low.
• ‘Milkomor the servant of Baalisha’ (‫למלכמער עבד בעלישׁע‬: Herr
1985; Becking 1993, 1997). The name ‘Baalis’ (‫ )בעליס‬was unique
to Jer. 40.14 until this seal impression was found. Since a king of
Ammonites with a name of this sort is so rare, I agree with Becking
(1997: 82) that the possibility of an identification is high, despite the
differences between the names.
• ‘Jaazaniah the servant of the king’ (‫יאזניה עבד המלך‬: AHI: 100.069;
Avigad and Sass 1997: #8). As well as the inscription, it contains the
image of a fighting cockerel. A Jaazaniah son of the Maachite (‫יאזניהו‬
‫ )בן־המעכתי‬was associated with Gedaliah at Mizpah after the fall
of Jerusalem (2 Kgs 25.23). The chances are that he was some sort
of royal official before the Babylonian siege. I would consider the
identification as of moderate probability.
• Finally, a seal found in the Shiloh excavations in Jerusalem has the
name ‘Azariah son of Hilkiah’ (‫לעזריהו בן חלקיהו‬: Gogel 1998: 485
[Jerusalem Bulla 27]; AHI: 100.827; Mykytiuk 2004: 149–52). The
high priest Hilkiah (2 Kgs 22.4-14; 23.4) had a son named Azariah
(1 Chron. 6.13; 9.11; Ezra 7.1). I would put the identification as
moderately high.
• ‘Belonging to Eliaqim servant of Yochan’; on the seal impressions
with this inscription, see §1.2.3.6.
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 227

We now come to the unprovenanced bullae. One set is that published

by N. Avigad as ‘remnants of a burnt archive from the time of Jeremiah’.
Unfortunately, they were obtained on the antiquities market and are
of unknown provenance. Avigad asserted that there ‘was no reason to
suspect their authenticity, and I seriously doubt whether it would be
possible to forge such burnt and damaged bullae’ (1986: 13). The question
of forgery cannot be so lightly dismissed: no scientific tests appear to have
been applied to these bullae. If they are authentic, the biblical parallels
are striking – which is precisely why their authenticity needs to be scruti-
nized. In some ways, these seal impressions in the ‘Burnt Archive’ are
superficially more interesting than those excavated by Shiloh and other
archaeologists because of their biblical parallels; however, this greater
incidence of biblical names in itself might arouse some suspicions: are
they ‘too good to be true’? It illustrates the problems of working with
material bought on the antiquities market.

• ‘Berekyahu son of Neriah the scribe’ (‫לברכיהו בן נריהו הספר‬: Avigad

1978; 1986: 28–9; Avigad and Sass 1997: #417; Mykytiuk 2004:
188–90). If the seal impression is authentic, the parallel to the biblical
Baruch would be impressive, but the seal is probably not authentic,
as the recent investigation by Goren and Arie (2014) concludes,
which seems now to settle the question.
• ‘Jerahmeel son of the king’ (‫לירחמאל בן המלך‬: Avigad 1978; 1986:
27–8; Avigad and Sass 1997: #414; Mykytiuk 2004: 191–6).
According to Jer. 36.26 an individual with this name and title was
one of the officials sent by Jehoiakim to arrest Jeremiah and Baruch.
• ‘Elishama servant of the king’ (‫)לאלשׁמע עבד המלך‬. Elishama the
scribe is one of the king’s officials giving a hearing to Jeremiah’s
prophecies (Jer. 36.12); he could also be designated as ‘servant of the
king’ because of his office.
• ‘Ishmael son of the king’ (‫לישׁמעאל בן המלך‬: Barkay 1993; Becking
1997: 78–80). The dating to about 600 BCE is said to be consistent
with the palaeography, but there is no confirmation from an archaeo-
logical context. As A. G. Vaughn’s detailed investigation has shown,
the palaeographic dating of seals is far from precise, with only
half a dozen letters being diagnostic (1999b). The title ‘son of the
king’ is found on a number of seals and impressions. Whether it is
a literal son of the king or only a ‘title of an official’ is not certain
(see Mykytiuk [2004: 194 n. 109] for a bibliography of discussion
on the subject). Ishmael was apparently in some way a member of
228 Ancient Israel

the royal family (2 Kgs 25.25; Jer. 41.1). Becking’s estimation is

that this had a moderate probability of being authentically identified
with the figure of Jeremiah 40 (on a scale of 1 to 10, he puts it at 5.
Similarly, Mykytiuk rates it a 2 on a scale of 1 to 3 or ‘reasonable but
uncertain’ [2004: 235]). I might put it a bit lower because the name
was not infrequent, but I think this evaluation is reasonable (though
the question of authenticity has not been seriously investigated, as
far as I know).

An important question is the relationship of the iconic to the aniconic

seals. It was observed several decades ago that there seems to have been
a move from iconic to aniconic seals (or seals with only a small amount
of ornamental decoration) in Judah between the eighth and seventh cen-
turies (Uehlinger 1993: 278–81 conveniently catalogues some of the past
discussion; see also Keel and Uehlinger 1998: Chapter 8, esp. 354–60).
This trend toward aniconic seals does seem to be genuine, as far as extant
seals are concerned, though Uehlinger (1993: 287–8) has shown that the
matter is more complicated than sometimes represented. Even though
there are other possible factors (e.g., increasing literacy), the influence
of a growing ‘Deuteronomistic movement’ is plausible. Perhaps more
significant is the loss of astral images. The coming of the Assyrians in the
eighth and seventh centuries saw a major increase in the use of Aramaean-
influenced astral imagery on seals (see Uehlinger 1995: 65–7; 2005; Keel
and Uehlinger 1998: Chapter 8). The change on Judaean seals is not so
apparent, but when they are seen in the context of other seals in the region,
the astralization of the iconography is readily identified. This imagery
disappears from Judahite seals by the late seventh century.

5.1.3 Assyrian Sources

We are fortunate in the amount of Assyrian material we possess which
is one of the main sources for the history of the ancient Near East at this
time. The relevant inscriptions are catalogued below under the particular
Assyrian king who was responsible for them.

5.1.3.1 Sargon II (721–705 BCE)

The most significant inscriptions of Sargon II are those that suggest he
conquered Jerusalem and exiled its inhabitants (Tadmor 1958b: 33–40).
Then in 716 he settled a colony of Assyrians on ‘the brook of Egypt’, the
Egyptian border (Tadmor 1958b: 35, 77–8). In 713–712 Ashdod revolted
and was conquered and turned into a colony (1958b: 79–80; ANET
286–7). The biblical text suggests that Egypt was the instigator of this
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 229

revolt (Isa. 18), and Judah may even have been tempted to join (Isa. 20).
Wisely, though, she seems to have remained aloof and did not revolt until
Sennacherib came to the throne.

5.1.3.2 Sennacherib (705–681 BCE)

The recent excavations at Lachish have not only established a good deal
about the history of Lachish but, together with the remarkable reliefs from
Sennacherib’s palace, provide a unique insight into an ancient historical
event (Ussishkin [ed.] 2004; Ussishkin 1980a, 1982). The pictorial depic-
tion of the siege and conquest of Lachish is found in Sennacherib’s palace
in the new capital of Assyria at Nineveh. These wall reliefs were already
found and described in the early days of Assyriology (Layard 1853a,
1853b).
Scholarly work on the Sennacherib inscriptions has made an important
contribution to progress in historical understanding (Levine 1983). The
various inscriptions were collected in an edition with English translation
by A. K. Grayson and J. Novotny (2012, 2014).
One of the significant recent additions to the textual repertory was
made by N. Na’aman (1974, 1979), who demonstrated that fragments
already known actually belonged together. A recent study is that of E.
Frahm (1997), while W. Mayer (2003) has now rechecked the inscriptions
and produced an edition and English translation. A study of the reliefs,
with impressive drawings by Judith Dekel, was made by D. Ussishkin
(1982). A critique of Ussishkin and others, with an extensive new inter-
pretation of the reliefs, has been given by C. Uehlinger (2003). These and
the archaeology confirm the savage attack on and destruction of Lachish
hinted at in 2 Kgs 18.14, 17.

5.1.3.3 Esarhaddon (681–669 BCE)

Sennacherib was assassinated in 681 BCE and was succeeded by the
crown prince Esarhaddon. Most of the royal inscriptions for this ruler
have been collected in Leichty (2011, in transliteration and English
translation).

I called up the kings of the country Hatti and (of the region) on the other side
of the river (Euphrates) (to wit): Ba‘lu, king of Tyre, Manasseh (Me-na-si-i),
king of Judah (Ia-ú-di) Qaushgabri, king of Edom, Musuri, king of Moab,
Sil-Bel, king of Gaza, Metinti, king of Ashkelon, Ikausu, king of Ekron,
Milkiashapa, king of Byblos, Matanba’al, king of Arvad, Abiba’al, king of
Samsimuruna, Puduil, king of Beth-Ammon, Ahimilki, king of Ashdod – 12
kings from the seacoast…10 kings from Cyprus (Iadnana) amidst the sea,
together 22 kings of Hatti, the seashore and the islands; all these I sent out
230 Ancient Israel

and made them transport under terrible difficulties, to Nineveh, the town
(where I exercise) my rulership, as building material for my palace: big
logs, long beams (and) thin boards from cedar and pine trees, products of
the Sirara and Lebanon (Lab-na-na) mountains, which had grown for a
long time into tall and strong timber, (also) from their quarries (lit.: place
of creation) in the mountains, statues of protective deities (lit.: of Lamassû
and Shêdu). (ANET 291)

5.1.3.4 Ashurbanipal (669–627 BCE)

Ashurbanipal’s reign was in many ways the height of the Assyrian empire,
but it had come to the edge of a precipice. The internal chronology of
his reign is one of the most uncertain in Assyrian history: the last of
the annals cease about 639, which leaves a gap in information until the
Nabopolassor Chronicle takes up about 626 BCE.

In my first campaign I marched against Egypt (Magan) and Ethiopia

(Meluhha). Tirhakah (Tarqû), king of Egypt (Muṣur) and Nubia (Kûsu),
whom Esarhaddon, king of Assyria, my own father, had defeated and in
whose country he (Esarhaddon) had ruled, this (same) Tirhakah forgot the
might of Ashur, Ishtar and the (other) great gods, my lords, and put his trust
upon his own power. He turned against the kings (and) regents whom my
own father had appointed in Egypt… (Then) I called up my mighty armed
forces which Ashur and Ishtar have entrusted to me and took the shortest
(lit.: straight) road to Egypt (Muṣur) and Nubia. During my march (to
Egypt) 22 kings from the seashore, the islands and the mainland…
Ba’al, king of Tyre, Manasseh (Mi-in-si-e), king of Judah (Ia-ú-di),
Qaushgabri, king of Edom…together 12 kings from the seashore, the islands
and the mainland; servants who belong to me, brought heavy gifts (tâmartu)
to me and kissed my feet. I made these kings accompany my army over the
land – as well as (over) the sea-route with their armed forces and their ships
(respectively)… Afterwards, (however), all the kings whom I had appointed
broke the oaths (sworn to) me, did not keep the agreements sworn by the
great gods, forgot that I had treated them mildly and conceived an evil
(plot)… They continued to scheme against the Assyrian army, the forces
(upon which) my rule (was based), (and) which I had stationed (in Egypt)
for their own support. (But) my officers heard about these matters, seized
their mounted messengers with their messages and (thus) learned about their
rebellious doings. They arrested these kings and put their hands and feet in
iron cuffs and fetters. The (consequences of the broken) oaths (sworn) by
Ashur, the king of the gods, befell them. I called to account those who had
sinned against the oath (sworn by) the great gods (and those) whom I had
treated (before) with clemency… Those kings who had repeatedly schemed,
they brought alive to me to Nineveh. From all of them, I had only mercy
upon Necho and granted him life. I made (a treaty) with him (protected by)
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 231

oaths which greatly surpassed (those of the former treaty)… I returned to

him Sais as residence (the place) where my own father had appointed him
king. (ANET 294–5)

Two minas of gold from the inhabitants of Bit-Ammon (matBît-Am-man-na-

a-a); one mina of gold from the inhabitants of Moab (matMu-’-ba-a-a); ten
minas of silver from the inhabitants of Judah (matIa-ú-da-a-a); […mi]nas of
silver from the inhabitants of [Edom] (mat[U-du-ma]-a-a). (ANET 301)

5.1.4 Babylonian Sources

The fall of Assyria happened quickly and for unknown reasons since
the data are missing at important points. Sin-sharra-ishkun was king for
much of the time from 627–612 when Nineveh succumbed to a coalition
of Babylonians and Medes under Nabopolassar. A remnant of the empire
continued in the west for a few more years under Ashur-uballit II who
ruled in Harran.

5.1.4.1 Nabopolassar (626–605 BCE)

He was the ruler of Babylon who allied with the Medes to bring down
the Assyrian empire and was founder of the short-lived Neo-Babylonian
empire. We know a good deal about him because of the Nabopolassar
Chronicle.

[The fourteenth year]: The king of Akkad mustered his army [and marched
to…] The king of Umman-manda [marched] towards the king of Akkad
[…]…they met one another. [40] [The k]ing of Akkad…[…Cy]axares…
brought across and they marched along the bank of the Tigris. […they
encamp]ed against Nineveh. From the month Sivan until the month Ab –
for three [months –…]…they subjected the city to a heavy siege. [On the
Nth day] of the month Ab […] they inflicted a major [defeat upon a g]reat
[people]. At that time Sin-sharra-ishkun, king of Assyria, [died]…[…]…
[45] They carried off the vast booty of the city and the temple (and) [turned]
the city into a ruin heap… [On the Nth day of the] month […Ashuruballit
(II)] [50] ascended the throne in Harran to rule Assyria. (Grayson 1975:
94–5 = Chronicle 3: 38)

5.1.4.2 Nebuchadnezzar II (605–562 BCE)

This was one of the great kings in history, even if the biblical portrait has
made him notorious. Unfortunately, we have little information after 594
BCE when Babylonian Chronicle 2 (Nabopolasser Chronicle) comes to
an end and royal inscriptions become undatable. Here is some information
from the Babylonian Chronicles:
232 Ancient Israel

[The twenty-first year]: The king of Akkad stayed home (while) Nebuchad-
nezzar (II), his eldest son (and) the crown prince, mustered [the army of
Akkad]. He took his army’s lead and marched to Carchemish which is on
the bank of the Euphrates. He crossed the river [to encounter the army of
Egypt] which was encamped at Carchemish. […] They did battle together.
The army of Egypt retreated before him. [5] He inflicted a [defeat] upon
them (and) finished them off completely… For twenty-one years Nabopo-
lassar ruled Babylon. [10] On the eighth day of the month Ab he died. In the
month Elul Nebuchadnezzar (II) returned to Babylon and on the first day of
the month Elul he ascended the royal throne in Babylon. In (his) accession
year Nebuchadnezzar (II) returned to Hattu. (Grayson 1975: 99–100 =
Chronicle 5 Obverse: 1)

The fourth year: The king of Akkad mustered his army and marched to
Hattu. [He marched about victoriously] in Hattu. In the month Kislev he
took his army’s lead and marched to Egypt. (When) the king of Egypt heard
(the news) he m[ustered] his army. They fought one another in the battlefield
and both sides suffered severe losses (lit. they inflicted a major defeat upon
one another). The king of Akkad and his army turned and [went back] to
Babylon. The fifth year: The king of Akkad stayed home (and) refitted his
numerous horses and chariotry. The sixth year: In the month Kislev the king
of Akkad mustered his army and marched to Hattu. He despatched his army
from Hattu and [10] they went off to the desert. They plundered extensively
the possessions, animals, and gods of the numerous Arabs. In the month
Adar the king went home. The seventh year: In the month Kislev the king
of Akkad mustered his army and marched to Hattu. He encamped against
the city of Judah and on the second day of the month Adar he captured the
city (and) seized (its) king. A king of his own choice he appointed in the
city (and) taking the vast tribute he brought it into Babylon. (Grayson 1975:
101–2 = Chronicle 5 Reverse: 5)

Berossus, History of Chaldaea 3 (apud Josephus, Ant. 10.11.1 §§220–26)

also mentions the death of Nabopolassar and how Nebuchadnezzar
marched across the desert to reach Babylon quickly and assert his claim
to the throne.
The later Neo-Babylonian kings are discussed at §5.2.11.

5.1.4.3 Jehoiachin Documents

Tablets from Babylon are generally believed to mention Jehoiachin who
was in captivity:

(a) To Ya’u-kīn, king [of the land of Yahudu].

(b) ½ (PI) for Ya’u kīnu, king of the land of Ya[hu-du]
2½ sila for the fi[ve]sons of the king of the land of Yahudu
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 233

4 sila for eight men, Judaeans [each] ½ [sila]

(c) ½ (PI) for Ya’u [-kīnu]
2½ sila for the five sons…….
½ (PI) for Yakū-kinu, son of the king of the land of Yakudu
2½ sila for the five sons of the king of Yakundu by the hand of Kanama.
(d) ……Ya]’u-kīnu, king of the land of Yahudu
[……the five sons of the king] of the land of Yahudu by the hand of Kanama.
(Weidner 1939; DOTT: 84–6)

5.1.4.4 Texts from āl-Yāhūdu and Našar

A preliminary report has recently been made on an archive in private
hands that was obtained on the antiquities market (Pearce 2006; 2015).
The tablets range in date from Nebuchadnezzar (year 33, ca. 572 BCE) to
Xerxes (year 13, ca. 473 BCE). Of the almost one hundred tablets, a third
each was composed at āl-Yāhūdu and Našar, with the final third composed
at Babylon and other sites. The city āl-Yāhūdu had only recently come to
light, in some texts from the Persian period (Joannès and Lemaire 1999).
It means ‘city of Judah’, but the forms uru šá lú ia-a-ḫu-du-a-a ‘city of
the Judahite’ and ālu šá luYaḫūdāia ‘city of the Jews’ also appear. These
all suggest that the city was originally named after the first inhabitants,
that is, deportees from Judah. The city seems to have been a neighbour of
Našar and in the region of Borsippa and Babylon. Of the 600 individuals
named in the text, about 120 have Yahwistic names. The texts are typical
of those one might expect to find in an archive of this nature: receipts
for sales of various sorts, promissory notes and notes of indebtedness,
and leases of property or labour. Unfortunately, there is little information
about the social status of the community members, since the profession of
individuals in the texts is seldom recorded.

5.1.5 Egyptian Source: Psammetichus Inscription

In the fourth regnal year of Pharaoh Psamtek Neferibre they sent to the
great temples of Upper and Lower Egypt, saying, ‘Pharaoh (Life, Prosperity,
Health) is going to the Land of Palestine. Let the priests come with the
bouquets of the gods of Egypt to take them to the Land of Palestine.’ And
they sent to Teudjoy saying: ‘Let a priest come with the bouquet of Amun,
in order to go to the Land of Palestine with Pharaoh’. And the priests
agreed and said to Pediese, the son of Essamtowy, ‘you are the one who,
it is agreed, ought to go to the Land of Palestine with Pharaoh. There is no
one here in the town who is able to go to the Land of Palestine except you.
Behold, you must do it, you, a scribe of the House of Life; there is nothing
they can ask you and you not be able to answer it, for you are a priest of
Amun. It is only the priests of the great gods of Egypt that are going to the
234 Ancient Israel

Land of Palestine with Pharaoh.’ And they persuaded Pediese to go to the

Land of Palestine with Pharaoh and he made his preparations. So Pediese,
son of Essamtowy, went to the Land of Palestine, and no one was with him
save his servant and an hour-priest of Isis named Osirmose. (Inscription of
Psammetichus II = Griffith 1909: II, 95–6)

5.1.6 The Biblical Story: 2 Kings 21–25 and Parallels

NB: Only passages specifically mentioning the period are considered
here. Other passages may well be from this time (e.g., the town lists of
Josh. 15, 18 and 19) but are omitted here.

5.1.6.1 2 Kings//2 Chronicles (a dash marks omissions in the parallel

writing)

21.1-18//33.1-20: Reign of Manasseh.

21.1//33.1: Manasseh begins to reign at age 12 and reigns 55 years.
21.2-9//33.2-9: He does what is evil by building altars to Baal and
an Asherah, worshipping the host of heaven, making his son to pass
through the fire, practising divination.
—//33.10-13: Manasseh taken captive to Babylon, where he repents
and turns to Yhwh.
—//33.14-17: Manasseh builds Jerusalem’s wall and removes the
religious abominations.
21.10-15//—: Yhwh speaks against Manasseh through prophets,
promising disaster on Jerusalem and to deliver the remnant of the
people to their enemies.
21.16//—: Manasseh puts the innocent to death and fills Jerusalem
with blood.
21.17//33.18: The other events of Manasseh’s reign are found in the
annals of the kings of Judah.
—//33.19: Words of Hozai recording Manasseh’s sins and his prayer
of repentance.
21.18//33.20: Manasseh dies and is buried.
21.19-26//33.21-25: Reign of Amon.
21.19//33.21: Begins reign at age 22 and reigns 2 years.
21.20-22//33.22-23: Wicked like his father.
21.23-26//33.24-25: Assassinated in a conspiracy.
22.1–23.30//34.1–35.27: Reign of Josiah.
22.1//34.1: Begins reign at age 8 and reigns 22 years.
22.2//34.2: Is righteous like David.
—//34.3-7: Begins purge of shrines and cults in his 12th year.
22.3-7//34.8-13: Josiah orders the cleansing of the temple in his 18th
year.
22.8-10//34.14-18: Finding of scroll and reading of it to Josiah.
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 235

22.11-20//34.19-28: Prophetess Huldah is consulted about the

contents of the scroll.
23.1-3//34.29-32: Josiah makes a covenant with the people to keep
the laws of the scroll.
23.4-7//—: Cleansing of the temple and the removal of the kemarim
from the shrines.
23.8-9//—: Priests of the high places brought to Jerusalem.
23.10-14//—: Other cults and objects removed from the temple and
city.
23.15-18//—: Bethel purified, including destruction of Jeroboam’s
altar.
23.19-20//—: Rest of Samaria purified of its cult places and priests.
—//34.33: Summary of Josiah’s reign.
23.21-23//35.1-19: Passover kept.
23.24//—: Divination eliminated.
23.25-27//—: Prophecy of Judah’s destruction postponed because of
Josiah’s righteousness.
23.28-30//35.20-27: Josiah’s death at the hands of Necho.
23.30-34//36.1-4: Reign of Jehoahaz.
23.31//36.2: Begins reign at age of 23 and reigns 3 months.
23.32//—: Is wicked like his fathers.
23.33-34//36.3: Removed by Pharaoh Necho and taken to Egypt, and
tribute imposed.
23.34–24.7//36.4-8: Reign of Jehoiakim.
23.35//—: Jehoiakim collects money for tribute.
23.36//36.5: Begins reign at age 25 and reigns 11 years.
23.37//36.5: Wicked like his fathers.
24.1-2//—: Vassal of Nebuchadnezzar 3 years and then rebels; raids
against Judah.
24.3-4//—: Happens because Jehoiakim sheds innocent blood.
—//36.6-7: Nebuchadnezzar takes Jehoiakim captive to Babylon.
24.5-6//36.8: Death of Jehoiakim.
24.7//—: King of Babylon had taken all land to borders of Egypt.
24.8-16//36.8-10: Reign of Jehoiachin.
24.8//36.9: Begins to reign at age 18 and reigns 3 months.
24.9//36.9: Wicked like his father.
24.10-17//36.10: Nebuchadnezzar takes the city and deports Jehoi-
achin and family to Babylon.
24.17–25.21//36.10-21: Reign of Zedekiah.
24.18//36.11: Begins reign at age 21 and rules for 11 years.
24.19-20//36.12: Wicked like Jehoiakim.
25.1-21//36.13-21: Rebels and Jerusalem taken by Nebuchadnezzar;
king and people exiled.
236 Ancient Israel

5.1.6.2 Jeremiah

22.18-19: Prophecy that Jehoiakim would have the ‘burial of an ass’.

25.1: 1st year of Nebuchadnezzar is the 4th of Jehoiakim.
32.1-2: Babylonian army besieging Jerusalem in the 10th year of Zedekiah,
which is the 18th of Nebuchadnezzar.
34.7: Only Lachish and Azekah of the fortified cities holding out against
besieging Babylonians.
37.11: The Chaldaean army lifts the siege of Jerusalem because of the
Egyptian army.
39.1: Nebuchadnezzar besieges Jerusalem in the 9th year of Zedekiah, the
10th month.
39.2: Jerusalem falls in the 11th year of Zedekiah, 9th day of 4th month.
39.3: Babylonian officers set up quarters.
39.4-7: Zedekiah taken prisoner.
39.8-10: Exile of those left in the city.
43.8-13: Prediction that Nebuchadnezzar would conquer Egypt.
44.30: Prediction that Pharaoh Hophrah would be delivered into the hands
of his enemies (Nebuchadnezzar?).
46–47: Prophecy of Nebuchadnezzar’s destruction of Egypt.
46.2: Egyptian army of Necho defeated at Carchemish by the Babylonians
in the 4th year of Jehoiakim.
52.1: Zedekiah aged 21 when he became king and reigned 11 years.
52.3-4: Jerusalem besieged in the 9th year, the 10th day of the 10th month,
by Nebuchadnezzar.
52.5-7: City falls in the 11th year, the 9th day of the 4th month.
52.8-11: Zedekiah taken prisoner to Babylon.
52.12-14: Jerusalem razed by Nebuzaradan in Nebuchadnezzar’s 19th year,
10th day of the 5th month.
52.15-16: Those left in the city exiled.
52.28-30: Captivities in 7th, 18th and 23rd year of Nebuchadnezzar.

5.1.6.3 Ezekiel

26–27: Prophecy against Tyre.

26.7: Nebuchadnezzar will come against Tyre and destroy it.
29–30: Prophecy against Egypt.
29.8-16: Egypt to be ruined and desolate 40 years, then to become the lowest
of the kingdoms.
29.17-20: Having failed to take Tyre, Nebuchadnezzar will be given Egypt
as a reward.
30.20-26: The king of Babylon will break the arms of the king of Egypt.
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 237

5.1.6.4 Ezra

4.1-4: The enemies of Judah and Benjamin – ‘the people of the land’ – were
brought to the region by Esarhaddon.
4.9-10: Men of Erech, Babylon, Susa and others had been settled in Samaria
and elsewhere in Ebir-Nari by Osnappar (Ashurbanipal?).

5.1.6.5 Daniel

1.1-2: Nebuchadnezzar besieges and takes Jerusalem in the 3rd year of

Jehoiakim.
4.1-34: Nebuchadnezzar’s ‘madness’.
5.1-30: Belshazzar, king of Babylon.

5.1.6.6 Analysis of the Text

The account of the seventh century in 2 Kings is part of the DtrH
(§3.1.6.2). Most of the text of 2 Chronicles and some parts of Jeremiah
parallel the narrative of 2 Kings. The relationship of Jeremiah to 2 Kings
is not immediately apparent, but it seems plain that 2 Chronicles is mainly
derived from 2 Kings; however, here and there are significant deviations.
The main ones are the following:

• Manasseh’s alleged captivity in Babylon and subsequent repentance

is given in 2 Chron. 33.10-17 but completely absent from 2 Kings.
• 2 Chronicles (33.14), but not 2 Kings, states that Manasseh built the
outer wall around part of Jerusalem.
• According to 2 Chron. 34.3-7 Josiah began the purge of ‘foreign’
cults in his twelfth year.
• Whereas 2 Kgs 22.21-23 mentions briefly Josiah’s Passover, 2 Chron.
35.1-19 goes into great detail about how it was celebrated.
• According to 2 Chron. 35.20-27 Josiah was killed in a battle with
Pharaoh Necho, but 2 Kgs 23.28-30 is unspecific and does not at all
imply a battle.
• According to 2 Chron. 36.6-7 Jehoiakim was taken captive to
Babylon, along with the temple vessels. On the other hand, according
to Jeremiah he was to have ‘the burial of an ass’, cast outside
Jerusalem unburied (Jer. 22.18-19).
• In spite of Josiah’s far-reaching reform programme described in
2 Kings and 2 Chronicles, Jeremiah seems strangely silent about it.

On the stories in Daniel, see §5.2.6; §5.2.11.

238 Ancient Israel

5.2 Analysis

The following section is in part organized around the names of Judaean

kings. The reason is that this particular study is asking specifically about
the bibical data: What could we regard as reliable if we had only the
Bible? Therefore, it makes sense to shape the question broadly around the
Judaean kings.

5.2.1 Hezekiah
Although we have more information about Hezekiah than many other
Judahite kings, there are considerable questions about when he began
and ended his reign, as well as events within his reign (see especially the
essays in Grabbe [ed.] 2003). The account of Hezekiah’s reign begins with
a religious and cultic reform (2 Kgs 18.3-6). This reform had been widely
accepted in scholarship (e.g., Albertz 1994: I, 180–6), but it is now also
widely questioned (e.g., Na’aman 1995a). The problem is that it looks
very much like the reform later ascribed to Josiah. Did Josiah try to revive
what failed under Hezekiah, or did the biblical writer borrow from Josiah’s
story to improve Hezekiah’s piety by literary invention? K. A. Swanson
(2002) has suggested that what lies behind the story is Hezekiah’s shift
from Egyptian religious symbolism, which had been widespread, to
aniconism and the rosette. Since the rosette was an Assyrian symbol, at
least some of the change can be ascribed to Hezekiah’s acceptance of
Assyrian subjugation.
On the question of cult reforms, there is also considerable contro-
versy. L. S. Fried (2002) argued that the archaeology of the bāmôt does
not support the alleged cult reforms of the text. In a more recent study,
Na’aman (2002a) looked at the abandonment of cult places as a result of
alleged cult reforms, with special emphasis on Arad and Beersheba; he
concluded that these represented an attempt to consolidate royal power.
Z. Herzog, however, has argued that the cancelling of the temples at Arad
and Beersheba supports the story of Hezekiah’s reform (2001: 165–7)
and continues to do so in his latest study (Herzog 2010). His is mainly
a critique of Na’aman, claiming that the latter has completely misunder-
stood the archaeology. However, he does not really respond to Knauf’s
restructuring and redating of the archaeology that places the dismantling
of the temples under Manasseh (see below). It should also be kept in mind
that David Ussishkin (1988) redated the sanctuary to the seventh century
and put the cancellation of it to the sixth century BCE. Herzog made the
curious statement:
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 239

The suggestion to interpret finds related to remains of cult at Arad and Tel
Beer-sheba as evidence of cultic reform in general, and the reform of King
Hezekiah in particular, has won the support of archaeologists and – at the
same time – the sharp criticism mainly of Historians and Biblical scholars.
(Herzog 2010: 179)

However, apart from the fact that there are archaeologists (already
noted above) who do not agree with Herzog, it should not be overlooked
that Herzog dismisses the event of a religious reform under Josiah, which
seems even more radical than dismissing a reform under Hezekiah!
The analysis of the biblical narrative has been an important part of the
discussion relating to historicity. On the invasion of Sennacherib, more
than a century ago B. Stade (1886) produced a basic analysis that has
continued to dominate the literary discussion. He noted that 18.14-16
had already been recognized as an insertion from a good source that was
early. He then argued that 18.13, 17 to 19.9a was parallel to 19.9b-37.
Neither of these narratives could be considered trustworthy historical
sources but were both ‘legendary’, even if here and there they contained
a correct historical datum. B. Childs (1967) refined Stade’s analysis, with
the following terms:

Account A: 2 Kgs 18.13-16.

Account B1: 2 Kgs 18.17–19.9a, 36-37//Isa. 36.1–37.9a
Account B2: 2 Kgs 19.9b-35//Isa. 37.9b-36

Attempts to rationalize the various narratives in the biblical text

already began in the infancy of Assyriology. In 1864 George Rawlinson
first suggested that Sennacherib had invaded twice (1864: II, 30–46),
the events of 2 Kgs 18.17–19.37 relating to this second invasion. This
conclusion was not made on the basis of the Assyrian inscriptions but the
requirements of the biblical text, as he admitted (1864: II, 439 n. 4). Thus,
the idea of reconciling the two sets of texts by postulating more than one
invasion was already present not long after the Assyrian inscriptions had
begun to give new understanding to the events of Sennacherib’s reign. The
question continued to be debated until the present, with eminent scholars
for more than one invasion (J. Jeremias, R. W. Rogers, L. L. Honor, W.
F. Albright, J. Bright) and others against it (J. Wellhausen, E. Schrader,
E. Meyer, J. A. Montgomery, J. Meinhold, A. Alt, M. Noth, A. Parrot,
A. T. Olmstead, J. Gray, H. H. Rowley) (see the survey in Grabbe [ed.]
2003: 20–34). It was W. H. Shea (1985) who advanced well beyond Bright
240 Ancient Israel

with a lengthy circumstantial argument that Sennacherib had conducted

a second invasion after 689 BCE; however, Shea’s argument was refuted
point by point by Frank Yurco (1991).
The Egyptian data were crucial to the question: When did Taharqa
take the throne and what was his age in 701 BCE? K. A. Kitchen argued
that the Egyptian inscriptions allowed only one invasion (1983; 1986:
154–61, 552–9). A. Rainey (1976), Yurco (1980: 222–3) and Kitchen
(1986: 164–70) asserted that new grammatical studies and improved
readings of the text made it now clear that Taharqa was at least 20 years
old in 701 BCE and fully capable of leading a military campaign as crown
prince. However, it should be noted that not all Egyptologists agree on
this interpretation. D. Redford (1992a: 351–3, esp. n. 163) still read the
relevant inscription as saying that Taharqa was only 20 when he came
from Nubia to Egypt in 690, while J. von Beckerath argued that Taharqa
came to Egypt in 700 BCE at the earliest and probably later (1992: 7).
Most recently, though, a new inscription has been assigned to the reign
of Taharqa (Redford 1993), and Shea (1997, 1999) has argued that this
inscription is to be connected to an invasion of Sennacherib, though
not the one in 701 BCE but a postulated ‘second invasion’. M. Cogan,
however, has dismissed this argument, pointing out that those deported by
the Egyptians could not have been the Assyrian army and that subsequent
Assyrian rule has no place for such a defeat of the Assyrian army (2001;
on the chronology of the Twenty-Fifth Dynasty, see Redford 1999). We
can sum up the situation by noting that as long as detailed information
on Sennacherib’s reign after 689 BCE remains undiscovered, we cannot
absolutely rule out a second Assyrian invasion of Judah; however, all the
available evidence presently known is against this scenario.
So how reliable are the accounts in 2 Kings 18–20? Noth gave an inter-
pretation that depended almost entirely on 2 Kgs 18.16-19 (along with the
Assyrian inscriptions); the rest of the biblical account was largely ignored
(1960: 266–9). This was essentially the consensus of the discussion by
the European Seminar in Historical Methodology (Grabbe [ed.] 2003:
308–23): Account A was the most widely accepted as reliable but Accounts
B1 and B2 were thought to be much later and unreliable compositions.
N. Na’aman (2003) argued that B1 was probably written in the mid-seventh
century. B2 was modelled on B1 but was rather later, probably in the late
Neo-Babylonian period. E. Ben Zvi (2003) put the final composition of
2 Kings 18–20 in the post-exilic period, the purpose being to contrast
Hezekiah’s experience with Zedekiah’s and explain why Jerusalem was
conquered by the Babylonians. Going against the consensus, C. R. Seitz
(1993) doubted whether the Annals of Sennacherib can be said to confirm
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 241

2 Kgs 18.14-16 and concluded that, whatever its basis in fact, Account
A must still be interpreted in the larger redactional context of 2 Kings;
it may even be intended to tone down the otherwise positive account of
Hezekiah. K. Smelik (1992) argued that historical reconstruction must be
based on 18.13-16 and Assyrian sources, which can be reconciled ‘in all
essentials’. The narratives were written as a reaction to the destruction of
the Jerusalem temple, retrojecting current problems into the past; thus,
they cannot be used for historical reconstruction of 701 but rather of 586.
W. R. Gallagher’s study (1999) ‘most closely adheres’ to the approach
that uses all sources and assumes that they are largely reliable and comes
to some quite conservative conclusions about it. He accepts that Account
A is from a separate source but rejects the division of Account B into two
separate sources and the idea that they form two accounts of the same
events. The B account as a whole is by and large reliable. He would excise
the name ‘Tirhakah’ from 19.9 but accept an Egyptian–Cushite force of
some sort. The interpretation of 19.35 as referring to a plague is looked at
sympathetically but seen as uncertain. His reconstruction of events is thus
heavily influenced by the biblical Account B read as a sequential narrative
(Account A is seen essentially as an overall summary). Yet C. Hardmeier
(1989) also took up Childs’ challenge. His solution was to dismiss any
association of 2 Kings 18–19 with Sennacherib but to connect it with
events shortly before the fall of Jerusalem. Instead of describing the siege
of Jerusalem by Sennacherib, these chapters were a fictional creation to
support those nationalists who wanted to resist the Babylonians. Written
in 588 BCE, with the same background as described in Jeremiah 37–40
(but from the opposite perspective), they held up Sennacherib’s invasion
as an exemplar of how God would intervene to save his people. When this
did not happen, the narratives were re-interpreted as an actual description
of events in the time of Hezekiah. He thus rejects the consensus that the
A narrative is an actual report of what happened. Hardmeier’s is a major
challenge to much previous thinking. Although others are willing to argue
that parts of the Hezekiah narrative (particularly the B narrative) are even
later than Hardmeier proposes (e.g., Na’aman 2003), his argument that
the entire narrative is a fictive creation goes further than most are willing
to go.
In an important study, S. Parpola (1980) showed that the name of
Sennacherib’s assassin had been wrongly interpreted for many years. It
should be read as Arda-Mulišši of which the biblical Adrammelech (2 Kgs
19.37) is a corrupt but recognizable form. A question is how to take the
visit of Merodach-baladan to Jerusalem. Because a king of Babylon,
Marduk-apla-dan actually existed, some have wanted to suggest that this
242 Ancient Israel

is a plausible story: the Babylonian king, who was rebelling against the
Assyrians, was seeking support and allies. This might seem to be a valid
argument until one considers the distance that Judah lay from Babylon
and the lack of any possibility of giving help. The story looks more like
an explanation of why Jerusalem fell to the Babylonians.
One of Childs’ main contributions to the debate was the comparison of
the Rabshakeh’s speech with that of an Assyrian document, leading Childs
to argue that the B2 biblical account reflected historical reality (1967:
78–93; Saggs 1955a, 1955b, 1956). This view seems to have gone unchal-
lenged until 1990 when an article by Ehud Ben Zvi undermined the whole
basis of the argument by showing that the alleged parallels were made
up of common biblical language, and the reference to Hezekiah’s reform
shows Deuteronomic features (1990). Following on this are studies by
Klaas Smelik (1992), who considers the speeches free compositions
by the author, and D. Rudman (2000), who points out the resemblance
of the Rabshakeh’s speech to biblical prophetic language. However,
W. R. Gallagher (1999) has recently argued that both this passage and
Isa. 10.5-19 were written close to the time of the alleged speech and are
summaries of it.
The ‘fourteenth year’ (2 Kgs 18.13) has been a major difficulty since
the Assyrian inscriptions showed that Sennacherib’s invasion was in 701
BCE. According to 2 Kgs 18.1, Hezekiah became king in Hoshea’s third
year, while Samaria fell in Hezekiah’s fourth year. If so, the events of
701 would have taken place about Hezekiah’s twenty-fifth year, not the
‘fourteenth’. Rawlinson simply emended the text to ‘twenty-seventh’,
without giving any justification for this change except to try to reconcile
the biblical and Assyrian accounts (1864: II, 434 n. 12). J. A. Montgomery
(1951: 483) also emended, to the ‘twenty-fourth year’, but he expressed
the view that the synchronism with Hoshea’s reign was an error. Several
other solutions have been advanced in the past few decades. One was by
A. K. Jenkins (1976) who argued that the ‘fourteenth year’ refers to the
invasion under Sargon II about 713–711 (Isa. 20). According to this expla-
nation the original account had an anonymous Assyrian king, but this
king was later identified with Sennacherib. This interpretation depends
on the ‘high chronology’ which makes Hezekiah’s reign about 727–698
BCE. Very recently a similar explanation was given by J. Goldberg (1999)
who argued for a ‘limited invasion’ of Palestine by Sargon II in 712
BCE, referred to in 18.13-16 and later confused with the 701 invasion.
Hayim Tadmor and Michael Cogan (1982) put forward the case that
the ‘fourteenth year’ was a reference to Hezekiah’s illness, an incident
that originally preceded the account of Sennacherib’s invasion. Since
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 243

Hezekiah’s life was extended for 15 years after his illness, this gave the
29-year total of his reign.
In 1994 Na’aman surveyed the arguments on both sides and proposed
that, though not conclusive, the balance of evidence favoured taking
the fourteenth year as correct and dating Hezekiah’s reign ca. 715–686
(1994a). Sennacherib’s inscriptions continued to be revised by scribes at
least until 691, yet Hezekiah’s death is not mentioned, making it unlikely
that he died in 698 as some have thought. The problem created with regard
to Manasseh’s reign by this dating is resolved by assuming a ten-year
co-regency between Hezekiah and his son. B. Becking (1992, 2002, 2003)
also addressed some of the questions of chronology. He has argued for the
dating of the fall of Samaria to 723 BCE, a year earlier than the conven-
tional 722. He accepts that the synchronism made by the Deuteronomic
editor between the reigns of Hoshea and Hezekiah (2 Kgs 18.9-10) is based
on Judaean archives. This means that the fourteenth year of Hezekiah has
to be either spring 715 to spring 714 or autumn 716 to autumn 715. At that
time Sargon II dispatched an expedition to Palestine that was relatively
peaceful. This may have been led by the crown prince Sennacherib. This
was the ‘first campaign’ of Sennacherib, dated to the summer of 715 BCE.
Becking thus hypothesizes two campaigns of Sennacherib, but his schema
differs from the conventional one in that the 701 invasion was his second
campaign. (For further on Becking’s chronology, see §4.2.7.)
The current situation can be stated succinctly as follows. The firmest
datum we have at the end of the eighth century is the invasion of
Sennacherib. It can be precisely calculated to 701 BCE. We have detailed
descriptions in the Assyrian sources, including mention of local Palestinian
rulers by name (e.g., Hezekiah), and the widespread destruction left a
distinct mark in the archaeological record. There is substantial agreement
that reliable memory of this is found in 2 Kgs 18.13-16, and rather less
reliable memory in various other parts of 2 Kings 18–20 (Grabbe [ed.]
2003). The ‘two-invasion’ hypothesis, although once widely accepted,
looks now to be in tatters. The main extra-biblical support has collapsed.
Although Sennacherib’s reign is poorly documented after 689 BCE, there
does not seem to be any room for another campaign to Palestine.
Although still debated, the weight of opinion seems to be that Taharqa
was capable of leading a military expedition against the Assyrians in 701
BCE, although he did not take the throne until a decade later (690 BCE).
Whether he did or not is naturally still a matter of debate, but the reason
for his mention in 2 Kgs 19.9 probably derives from his later image as
the great Egyptian (Nubian) king who stood up to Assyria (Schipper
1999: 210–28; Dion 1988). However, the chronology of Hezekiah’s reign
244 Ancient Israel

remains disputed, and the way in which Jerusalem avoided a siege is

considerably debated. How much longer Hezekiah ruled after 701 and
what events took place in his reign are not matters of agreement. Our only
information is from the biblical text, and even the sequence of events of
the original story is thought to be disturbed, making it that much more
difficult to ask questions about their basis in historical reality. For a
continuation of the debate, see Grabbe ([ed.] 2003: esp. 308–23). As for
Hezekiah’s cult reform, there is still considerable question whether such
took place, though the story might reflect some sorts of events during
Hezekiah’s reign.

5.2.2 Manasseh
What emerges from recent study is the importance of the reign of
Manasseh. Far from being a time of depravity and fear, many think it
represents a remarkable recovery from the devastations of Sennacherib.
It must have given many Judaeans a return to some sort of prosperity
and hope for the future. Of course, the name of Manasseh is one of the
blackest in the biblical text. He is perhaps equalled – but not surpassed –
only by Ahab and Jezebel. This suggests that the long reign ascribed to
him is likely to be a firm part of the tradition and thus to have some basis
in fact. Manasseh’s existence is well attested in the Assyrian inscriptions.
He is named as an apparently loyal subject paying the required tribute to
both Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal (though it has been pointed out that
Manasseh’s tribute is smaller than that of his neighbours [Finkelstein
and Silberman 2001: 265]). He also supplied military assistance for
Ashurbanipal’s attack on Egypt.
What the archaeology suggests is that Judah made a significant recov-
ery from the disaster of 701 (Finkelstein 1994a; Finkelstein and Silber­man
2001: 264–74). The important agricultural region of the Shephelah
remained sparsely populated, probably the larger part of it having been
removed from Judahite control. Elsewhere, though, settlements were
re-established in destroyed southern areas, possibly with even a popula-
tion increase. Settlements were also pushed into the marginal desert areas
to make use of all possible land for agricultural purposes. Although dating
is not easy, the suggestion is that this happened under Manasseh’s leader-
ship. Manasseh seems to have been responsible for building a city wall
(2 Chron. 33.15), which could be the one dating from the seventh century
discovered on the eastern slope of Jerusalem’s southeastern hill (Tatum
2003: 300). It has also been proposed by E. A. Knauf that Manasseh built
some prestige projects, including the Siloam tunnel (Knauf 2001b) and a
palace at Ramat Rahel (Knauf 2005a: 170).
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 245

There is also some evidence of the part played by Judah in the economy
of the Assyrian empire, a role that would have benefited the inhabitants of
Judah. The territory of Judah formed a significant link in the caravan trade
from Arabia, which the Assyrians would have controlled. The Idumaean
plateau gained a significant population at this time, with the trade route
leading through the valley of Beersheba and the southern coastal plain to
Gaza. There are indications of contact with South Arabia, and the seventh-
century forts at Qadesh-Barnea and Haseva might have been built with
the protection of this trade in mind. A major olive-oil production centre
existed at Tel Miqne (usually identified with ancient Ekron); however, the
olives were not grown locally but would most likely have been imported
from the Samarian and Judaean highlands.
Of particular interest is the apparent increase in written material. The
finds indicate a greater quantity of written objects preserved from the
seventh century: seals/bullae, ostraca and inscribed weights (Finkelstein
and Silberman 2001: 270, 280–1; Stern 2001: 169–200). This ‘explosion
of writing’ has been explained as evidence of an increase in the bureau-
cracy (Finkelstein and Silberman 2001: 270; Stern 2001: 169) and even
that Judah had become a fully developed state by this time (Finkelstein
and Silberman 2001: 281, 284). These conclusions seem quite reasonable
ones. The sorts of written objects catalogued here do look like the type
of written material that would be the product of the bureaucracy and state
administration. Whether they are evidence of greater general literacy,
however, is another issue (§§3.2.5; 5.2.4).
The question of an imposed Assyrian cult has been much debated in
recent years. From the early days of cuneiform study it was argued that
the Assyrians imposed their god Ashur on conquered peoples (interest-
ingly, apparently first proposed by George Rawlinson [McKay 1973:
1–4]). This consensus was challenged by two works that appeared about
the same time. First, J. McKay (1973) argued that there are no indica-
tions of Assyrian cults in any of the accounts of the kings under Assyrian
rule: Ahaz, Hezekiah, Manasseh, Josiah. McKay also pointed out the
importance of astral cults in the biblical account, which he ascribed to
Canaanite practices rather than Assyrian. A telling point made by McKay
is that the description of the cults set up under Manasseh and removed by
Josiah indicates they were Syro-Phoenician, not Assyrian. Independently
of McKay, M. Cogan (1974) also argued against an imposed Assyrian
cult, his focus being on the cuneiform texts to try to determine Assyrian
practice. He noted that the Assyrians made good use of the concept of
divine abandonment by the gods. Although the Assyrians occasion-
ally destroyed images and temples of recalcitrant peoples, their normal
246 Ancient Israel

practice was to take the images of native gods to Assyrian territories.

The treaties with conquered peoples invoked Ashur, and the Assyrians
certainly understood submission to Assyria as submission to Ashur,
yet this does not imply cultic obligations. Regions which were turned
into Assyrian provinces, however, were considered Assyrian and their
peoples Assyrian citizens; in such cases an Assyrian cult was established
(before ‘Ashur’s weapon’, the symbol of Assyrian rule) though native
cults were not prohibited. Then Hermann Spieckermann (1982) replied to
both monographs, though most of his arguments related more to Cogan’s
work. Cogan (1993) eventually replied to Spieckermann and, not surpris-
ingly, reaffirmed the view that there was no evidence for imposed cults
and that those described in the Bible seem to be indigenous ones. This is
unlikely to be the last word on the subject, but although Manasseh seems
to have been a loyal vassal, the cults in existence under his rule were
more likely to be old indigenous ones rather than those imposed from
the outside. Finkelstein and Silberman (2001: 265) think that there was
a return to popular religion by the people of the countryside after Heze-
kiah’s failed cultic reform (assuming there was such a reform). Others
would argue that nothing innovative from a religious point of view
happened under Manasseh; rather, he was just blamed for what had been
the traditional religion among the people for many centuries. This does
not, though, rule out foreign influence, such as from Assyro-Aramaic
astral cults (§5.2.4).
One of the most curious episodes related in the Bible is about
Manasseh’s deportation to and imprisonment in Babylon, followed by
a return to Jerusalem and his throne and by repentance for his wicked
deeds. This story is found in only one passage, significantly in Chronicles
(2 Chron. 33.10–17), but not a hint is found in 2 Kgs 21.1–18. Furthermore,
other biblical passages know nothing of Manasseh’s repentance: Jer. 15.4
speaks of Manasseh’s wickedness; 2 Kgs 23.12 says that Josiah – not
Manasseh – removed the abominations; and even 2 Chron. 33.22 says
that Amon was wicked like Manasseh. If Manasseh actually did all this,
why would the Deuteronomist omit it? He was either ignorant of the infor-
mation or he deliberately suppressed it. It is difficult to believe that if such
an incident took place he had no information, so we must assume that he
knew of Manasseh’s repentance but purposefully ignored it. Is this likely?
Yes, perhaps if the idea of an act of repentance on Manasseh’s part created
problems with his underlying pattern of presentation, but this would be a
serious reflection on the claim made by some that the Deuteronomist was
writing history.
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 247

Yet there is an interesting parallel which suggests that what is alleged

to have happened to Manasseh was not unlikely in and of itself. During
Ashurbanipal’s invasion of Egypt, some of his allies plotted to rebel. When
he discovered the plot, he removed them all from office except Necho II
who was allowed to remain on the throne (ANET 294–5). It is possible
that Manasseh was also plotting to rebel (Elat 1975b: 67). If so, he might
have been allowed to regain his throne after appropriate punishment, just
as Necho was. However, it must be admitted that this is entirely specu-
lation – there is no evidence that Manasseh plotted to rebel or that he was
punished by either of the Assyrian kings under whom he was vassal; on
the contrary, of the rebels apparently only Necho was pardoned.
As has been pointed out, having Manasseh repent would fit the
Chronicler’s purpose very well: because Manasseh lived so long, he could
have done so only if he repented of his evil deeds. To the Chronicler’s
way of thinking, length of life was a reward for obedience. Yet is it likely
that the Chronicler invented the story out of whole cloth? It is always
possible, but it seems more likely that he had knowledge – however
tenuous – of some incident involving Manasseh, which is indeed indicated
by his citation of the ‘words of Hozai’. The events under Ashurbanipal,
in which Manasseh and others had to accompany the Assyrian king in his
invasion of Egypt, might well be such a pretext. In sum, though, the story
of Manasseh’s having been arrested and taken ‘with hooks and bound in
bronze fetters’ to Babylon is unlikely.

5.2.3 Amon
We have no data on him other than what is in the Bible. He is unlikely
to have been invented. It was unusual for a king to be assassinated, and
there is nothing about Amon to give this a literary significance. Thus, it
is likely to have happened. However, the figures given for his age look
suspect: although it is theoretically possible that he had a child at age 16,
this seems highly improbable. Possibly the problem is with the age of
Josiah (see next section), though in cases of the sudden death of a king a
minor child might well take the throne.

5.2.4 Josiah
Josiah is known only from the biblical text, in spite of his important role
in the history of seventh-century Judah. Furthermore, many past recon-
structions have depended on the picture in 2 Chronicles, even in those
aspects which differ at significant points from those in 2 Kings. Neither
the surviving Babylonian nor Egyptian records contain any reference to
248 Ancient Israel

him. We are left with archaeology and the biblical text with which to
make sense of his reign, though the Egyptian material and the Babylonian
chronicles provide useful background and contextual information.
One theory that has held considerable sway for a number of decades
is that Josiah was attempting to create a ‘greater Israel’, perhaps on the
model of the Davidic kingdom. There are many obvious parallels between
Josiah and David, though one could put these down to literary creation
rather than actual activity of the ruler. The ‘righteousness’ of both kings
is the most obvious contact, but the conquest of territory is another that
many scholars have managed to glean from the biblical material: the
attempt to return to a ‘greater Israel’ and a recovery of former glory. It
has been argued that, although Josiah’s reform was indeed religious, the
basis of it was economic (Claburn 1973). Na’aman (1991: 33‒41; 2005:
210‒17) has argued, however, that there was no political vacuum which
gave Josiah room to try to found a new Davidic ‘empire’. Rather, the
declining Assyrian power in the west was matched by the growing power
of Egypt; indeed, there may have been an orderly transfer of territorial
control by mutual agreement (Na’aman 1991: 40). Miller and Hayes
(1986: 383–90) had already argued that Josiah was an Egyptian vassal his
entire reign. Na’aman has gone on to create a picture of Judah as a vassal
state during the entirety of Josiah’s reign, first under the Assyrians and
then under the Egyptians. This gave only very limited scope for expansion
of territory. There is some evidence of shifting the border as far north as
Bethel. However, the expansion further north into the Galilee or west into
the area of Philistia is unjustified from either archaeology or the text.
A further potential source of information about Judah’s boundaries
are the town lists of Joshua (15.21-62; 18.21-28; 19.2-8, 40-46). It was
argued by A. Alt that the lists of the southern tribes actually reflected
Josiah’s kingdom, and the question has now been investigated at length by
Na’aman (1991, 2005). It is impossible to summarize the detailed textual
analysis here, but the lists of Judah and Benjamin are the main ones in
question. The northern border should be set along the Bethel–Ophrah
line, which was north of the traditional border of the kingdom of Judah
(Josh. 18.21-28); Jericho is also included, though it had previously been
an Israelite town. If Josh. 21.45-47 is deleted as an addition by the editor,
the list includes the eastern Shephelah. 2 Kings 23.8 makes reference to
the territory ‘from Geba to Beersheba’, which is likely to be an indication
of Judah’s actual extent under Josiah. Therefore, the reference to Qadesh-
Barnea (if this is indeed the site indicated in Josh. 15.23) is probably to
be seen as an addition to the list, but most of the sites are no further south
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 249

than Beersheba. The main point made by Na’aman is the extent to which
archaeology (e.g., the rosette seal impressions) and other sources of data
fit with these lists in Joshua.
The ostraca from Mesad Hashavyahu do not seem to show a Judaean
outpost, as often alleged, but probably an Egyptian one with some
Judaean soldiers (Fantalkin 2001: 139–47; Na’aman 1991: 44–6; 2005:
220–2). Other names in the texts are Phoenician, for example. Neither
does the text of Ostracon 1 provide evidence of Josiah’s religious reform.
The sender of the ostracon appeals to the humanity of the recipient, not
to the law of the king or the Torah. Similarly, the Arad ostraca indicate a
contingent of Greek mercenaries in that area, which was probably in the
employ of the Egyptians.
With regard to borders, R. Kletter (1999: 40–3) considers the question
in the light of several types of artifacts. He argues that archaeology
cannot pinpoint accurate borders nor establish the political affiliation of
single sites. The overwhelming majority of the artifacts considered by
him fit more or less with the Judaean heartland and do not indicate large-
scale expansion. Various explanations have been given for those finds of
artifacts outside the heartland; however, only the western Shephelah shows
much of a concentration. Although Judaean artifacts have been found at
Qadesh-Barnea and Meṣad Ḥashavyahu (Judaean inscribed weights,
pottery vessels, Hebrew ostraca), the material culture of both sites is
mixed, as is that of the area bounded by Ekron–Gezer–Tel Batash; perhaps
a similar phenomenon occurred in the Negev. According to Kletter, they
could show a mixed population or a temporary Judaean domination; in
any case, they cannot help in defining Judah’s borders because they are
isolated sites outside any sequence of Judaean settlements. They thus
cannot prove or refute the possibility that Josiah expanded his territory
for a short duration, though the few finds outside Judah are best explained
by trade or exchange.
The significant increase in written artifacts (seals, seal impressions,
ostraca, inscribed weights) has been interpreted as demonstrating a greater
degree of literacy in Judah under Josiah. This seems to me to be doubtful;
see further the discussion under §3.2.5.
It was once conventional to accept Josiah’s reform at face value, but
the question is currently much debated (Albertz 1994: 198–201; 2005;
Lohfink 1995; P. R. Davies 2005; Knauf 2005a). We have no direct
evidence outside the biblical text, which makes us at least ask whether it is
an invention of the Deuteronomist. The alleged absence of any reference
to this reform in Jeremiah has always been a major puzzle. Some have
250 Ancient Israel

found allusions here and there, but one has to admit that they are surpris-
ingly obscure. Considering Jeremiah’s overall message and position, he
should have embraced such a reform and made copious comments about
it. Some have seen evidence in the material remains (e.g., Uehlinger 1995,
2005), but others have argued against it (e.g., Niehr 1995). The central
passage is 2 Kings 22–23, however. It is widely agreed that this passage
has been the subject of Deuteronomistic editing, leaving the question of
how much might be Deuteronomistic invention. C. Hardmeier (2005) and
C. Uehlinger (2005) argue that at the heart of 2 Kings 22–23 is a simple
list of reform measures affecting mainly Jerusalem and perhaps Bethel, to
which the Deuteronomistic editors have added an extensive superstructure
that makes the reform much more extensive in scope and geography than
the original list. Uehlinger argues that the original list – but not the much-
expanded present text – is supported by the archaeology and iconography.
Knauf, however, argues against any ‘core’ from the time of Josiah (2005a:
166–8).
2 Chronicles 34.3-7 also states that Josiah began to purge the country of
the various shrines and cults in his twelfth year (i.e., at age 20). This does
not accord with 2 Kgs 22.3-7 which has the reform follow the discovery
of the law book in the temple. This is not an easy issue to address because
the description in 2 Kings 22–23 is an idealized one: the only question
is how idealized. This is perhaps why a significant number of scholars
have accepted the statement in 2 Chron. 34.3-7 that Josiah began his
reform six years before the finding of the law book. Yet as Na’aman
(1991: 38), among others, has pointed out, the theological motives of
the writer of Chronicles have had their way here as elsewhere. He notes
that when Josiah reached the age of majority at 20, it would have been
‘unthinkable’ in the theological world of the Chronicler that he would
have done nothing about the ‘pagan’ shrines for another six years. Thus,
it was theologically desirable that Josiah begin his reform in his twelfth
year rather than wait until his eighteenth. Na’aman has also connected the
dating of the reform (which he puts in 622 BCE) with the height of the
crisis in Assyria during the revolt of Babylon in 626–623 BCE. It may
be that the Assyrian ruler Sin-shar-ishkun’s problems were sufficient to
give Josiah confidence to initiate his reforms without being in danger of
attracting Assyrian disapproval, while the Egyptians who replaced them
may not have been particularly concerned.
Until recently it was seldom if ever questioned that Josiah died in a
pitched battle (2 Chron. 35.20-24). This seems unlikely, however, since
Judah as an Egyptian vassal state is not likely to have been in a military
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 251

position to challenge the Egyptian army. On the other hand, a vassal

king would have been expected to appear before the new ruler (Necho II
[610–595 BCE] in this case) to pay homage and swear allegiance. Doubts
have been expressed about the fate of Josiah for some considerable period
of time (Na’aman 1991: 51–5, with earlier literature). 2 Kings is clearly
reticent to tell what happened, but Na’aman’s argument that Necho had
Josiah executed for suspected disloyalty of some sort makes the most
sense, not only from the general historical situation but also from a close
reading of the text in 2 Kings.

5.2.5 Jehoahaz
Beyond the biblical account (2 Kgs 23.30-34) nothing is known of him,
though he has only the brief reign of three months. What does fit is that
he would have been removed from the throne by the Egyptians who were
probably in control of the region at this time (as discussed under §5.2.4
above).

5.2.6 Jehoiakim
The reign of Jehoiakim illustrates the external politics of the ancient Near
East at this time and fits in well with them (2 Kgs 23.34‒24.6). Judah was
clearly an Egyptian vassal, since it was the Egyptians who put Jehoiakim
on the throne. But in Jehoiakim’s fourth year Nebuchadnezzar gained
control of the region after the battle of Carchemish, and Judah became the
vassal of the Babylonians. He then rebelled after three years. Why? The
answer is that in 601 BCE Nebuchadnezzar fought a costly battle with
Necho II which inflicted considerable damage on both armies; indeed, it
took the Babylonians several years to recover, as indicated by Babylonian
Chronicle 5 (§5.1.4.2). It was after this battle that Jehoiakim rebelled. It
was not until two years later that Nebuchadnezzar retaliated by fostering
raids against Judah, and it was not until late in 598 that he sent an army
against Jerusalem. 2 Chronicles 36.6 states that Nebuchadnezzar besieged
Jerusalem and took Jehoiakim captive to Babylon, while Jer. 22.18-19
predicts that he would have the ‘burial of an ass’ (i.e., his carcass would
be dragged outside Jerusalem and left exposed and unburied). Neither
appears to be what happened: from 2 Kings 24 it looks as if Jehoiakim
died a natural death only a couple of months or so before Nebuchadnezzar
set siege to Jerusalem, and it was his son who paid the price for his
rebellion. As for Dan. 1.1-2, it is completely confused, most likely based
on a misreading of the narrative in 2 Kings and 2 Chronicles (Grabbe
1987: 138–40).
252 Ancient Israel

5.2.7 Jehoiachin
Jehoiachin is well attested in both biblical and extra-biblical sources. Even
though he reigned only briefly, he became a symbol to many Judahites as
their last king. In the biblical writings his name is mentioned not only in
2 Kings and 2 Chronicles but also in Jeremiah (22.24, 28; 27.20; 28.4;
29.2; 37.1; 52.31), Ezekiel (1.2) and Esther (2.6). Jehoiachin is known
(though not by name) from the Babylonian Chronicles which tell of Nebu-
chadnezzar’s taking of Jerusalem and his carrying of the Judaean king into
captivity. Jehoiachin’s name has also been preserved in the Jehoiachin
tablets from Babylon (§5.1.4.3). Thus, this young ephemeral ruler is better
known from extra-biblical sources than the famous Josiah.

5.2.8 Zedekiah
Although many Judahites apparently considered the last legitimate king to
be Jehoiachin, the last official king of Judah is known from the Babylonian
Chronicles as the king placed on the throne by Nebuchadnezzar after his
conquest of Jerusalem in early 597 BCE (§5.1.4.3). Zedekiah’s name is
known only from the biblical text, however, since the Babylonian sources
do not give his name. We have no Mesopotamian historical sources after
594 when the Babylonian Chronicles come to an end. Yet the inscription
of Psammetichus II (595–589 BCE) describing a tour of Palestine fits a
situation in which the king of Judah was constantly looking for ways to
free himself from the overlordship of Nebuchadnezzar (§5.1.5). The book
of Jeremiah describes a number of episodes involving the king or courtiers
(see below). The rebellion and final siege and capture of Jerusalem are,
unfortunately, not known from any Mesopotamian source. Yet in view of
the detailed information confirmed for 2 Kings in the period before this,
the reasonableness (for the most part) of the picture in 2 Kings and the
general background situation in the ancient Near East, it does not take
much of a leap of faith to accept the general picture and the approximate
date for the destruction of Jerusalem.
The Egyptians were supposed to have assisted Zedekiah temporarily by
sending an army, which caused the Babylonians to lift their siege, but the
Egyptians withdrew, and the Babylonian siege was resumed (Jer. 37.4-11).
We know nothing of this from either Babylonian or Egyptian sources.
The pharaoh at the time was Apries (589–570 BCE, called Hofrah in
the biblical text [Jer. 44.30]), yet our knowledge of Pharaoh Apries from
native Egyptian sources is deficient. However, we have some information
from Greek sources that has generally been accepted by Egyptolo-
gists (Herodotus 2.161-69; Diodorus Siculus 1.68.1-6). According to
these sources, Apries brought Phoenicia into submission. Jeremiah 27.3
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 253

indicates that Tyre and Sidon supported Zedekiah’s rebellion. Apries’

actions seem to fit into this context. Although we do not know for certain
whether Jerusalem fell in 587 or 586 BCE, the overall description in
2 Kings and Jeremiah is probably reasonably accurate.

5.2.9 The Case of Jeremiah

In spite of R. P. Carroll (1986) and the problems of reading the text of
Jeremiah as a contemporary, dispassionate biography, there are a number
of statements in Jeremiah about external events that could be based only
on contemporary knowledge (Grabbe 2006a). These involve the activities
of Nebuchadnezzar and their dating. The writer knows about the battle
of Carchemish and its correct dating (Jer. 26.2). He is aware of the siege
of Lachish and Azekah (Jer. 34.6-7), a situation which has appeared in
a remarkable way in Lachish Letter #4. Only some of the statements
about Nebuchadnezzar can be checked with Mesopotamian sources, but
the exact recital of events in particular years of the king have the look of
authenticity.
In addition, Jeremiah describes the prophet’s interaction with the
Judaean kings (especially Zedekiah) and various members of the court
and temple. A whole network of supporters, opponents and relatives
appears in the book. We are unlikely to find confirmation of this infor-
mation outside the Bible. However, data from other texts – which do not
seem to be the author’s sources – may give some independent support to
the reliability of this information for the most part (cf. Long 1982). Yet
the find of a seal of ‘Baruch son of Neriah the scribe’ does not prove that
Jeremiah had a scribe named Baruch (cf. Carroll 1997: 96–100), even if
the seal is authentic (which it probably is not [§5.1.2.6.2]). An authentic
seal could help to confirm the existence of Baruch the scribe, but the
question would still remain as to whether a high government official
– as this Baruch would seem to be – would have had the interest and
leisure to serve as Jeremiah’s private scribe. As for the prophecies about
Jehoiakim’s having the ‘burial of an ass’ and Nebuchadnezzar’s conquest
of Egypt, these seem to be mistaken. Perhaps they were genuine proph-
ecies – that failed!
The book of Jeremiah contains a variety of material; I think most would
admit to that even if they did not subscribe to the specific analysis of S.
Mowinckel (1914) or others. Carroll’s sharp observations have called into
question the amount of personal material from Jeremiah himself (Carroll
1981), yet he did not explain adequately some of the material in the book.
It seems likely that some of the data there can be explained best as coming
from a contemporary writer. Unlike 2 Kings, however, the information
254 Ancient Israel

is not likely to come from a chronicle. Although it refers to international

events on occasion, a lot of it is highly individual to Jeremiah or those
around him. The best explanation seems to be that a contemporary of
Jeremiah’s did write some sort of ‘biography’ of the prophet. If this
suggestion does not commend itself, any alternative theory has to take
account of how the book has some statements that match what we know
of the wider history of the ancient Near East at the time.

5.2.10 The Case of Nebuchadnezzar

One of the most interesting points that has arisen out of this study is the
number of statements about Nebuchadnezzar in 2 Kings and Jeremiah
that accord with the contemporary sources. The rules of Jehoiakim,
Jehoiachin and Zedekiah are tied closely to Nebuchadnezzar’s reign.
The battle of Carchemish is known and given the correct chronological
position. Although Jehoiakim’s rebellion is not explained in the biblical
text, both the reason for it and the timing make sense in the light of
Nebuchadnezzar’s stand-off with Egypt in 601 BCE. The biblical account
of the Babylonian king’s taking of Jerusalem in 597 BCE fits with every-
thing we know from Mesopotamian sources. The Jehoiachin tablets
(§5.1.4.3) confirm the presence of Jehoiachin in Babylon, along with his
sons and other Judahites. Not every reference to contemporary history is
accurate (e.g., whether Nebuchadnezzar ever conquered Egypt), but the
amount of specific information is remarkable.
When it comes to Ezekiel, however, the information is much more
doubtful. It may be that Nebuchadnezzar besieged Tyre, since Ezekiel’s
original prophecy is ‘corrected’ later on. But there is no evidence for
a 40-year period of desolation for Egypt, as predicted. 2 Chronicles
seems to be dependent on 2 Kings, and none of the additional passages
is proved to have reliable information, with the possible exception of the
city wall. The one specifically relating to Nebuchadnezzar is Jehoiakim’s
Babylonian captivity, and this goes contrary not only to 2 Kings but also
the Babylonian Chronicles. As for Daniel, the writer seems to know of
Nebuchadnezzar only through the biblical text. The siege of Jerusalem
in Jehoiakim’s third year is based on a partial misunderstanding of
2 Chronicles. The other stories in Daniel about Nebuchadnezzar seem
at least in part based on legends rising out of the reign of Nabonidus.
This was first recognized by W. von Soden (1935) but confirmed in a
startling way by the discovery of 4Q Prayer of Nabonidus (see further the
discussion in Grabbe 1987).
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 255

5.2.11 The ‘Exile’

The ‘exile’ has been seen as a seminal period in Israel’s history, though
interpreted in widely different ways (Grabbe [ed.] 1998; Scott [ed.] 1997).
It now seems to be agreed that a good deal of literary production went
on during this time. The Deuteronomic History may have been compiled
during this time or, according to some, had a second edition issued in
that period (§3.1.6.2). What one thinks occurred depends a good deal
on how one responds to the ‘myth of the empty land’ (Carroll 1992;
Barstad 1996). Some have objected to this designation and insisted that
the biblical text is correct: the land was basically empty (Oded 2003). Yet
although O. Lipschits (e.g., 2005: 187 n. 11; 190 nn. 22–3) is sometimes
critical of Barstad, he takes a definite stand against the ‘myth of the empty
land’ (2004). Jerusalem itself was uninhabited (§5.1.1), but there was a
thriving settlement in the Benjamin area and also settlements here and
there in the area of Judah.
Most of our knowledge of Judah is based on archaeology, but we have
knowledge of the Neo-Babylonian kings. Most of their actions do not
appear to have had a direct effect on the people of Judah. One biblical
tradition, however, has to be considered. This is the story of Belshazzar
in Daniel 5. We know a lot about the reign of Nabonidus, the last king
of the Neo-Babylonian empire, and his son Belshazzar (Beaulieu 1989).
Although acting for his father while the latter was in Tema, Belshazzar
was nevertheless never declared king. In any case, Nabonidus had
returned to the city by the time of the Persian siege. Belshazzar is not
mentioned in the account of the fall of Babylon (though Nabonidus is) and
may not even have been alive at that point. Daniel 5 is an exciting drama
but no more than that.
For Judah during the Persian period, see Grabbe 2004a.

5.3 Synthesis

Because of the nature of the sources and the study of history in the period
of this chapter, a synthesis was already given above under §5.2 and will
not be repeated here. Thus, all that needs to be done at this point is to
indicate how the biblical text matches with the critical history of the
period.
256 Ancient Israel

5.3.1 Biblical Data Confirmed

• In broad terms, Hezekiah’s existence and revolt and Sennacherib’s

destructive invasion of Judah are supported by the Assyrian records
and by archaeology, especially relative to the city of Lachish.
• Manasseh’s existence and name are attested by the inscriptions of
both Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal.
• The one datum about Manasseh’s reign found in Chronicles, but not
in Kings, that is likely to be correct concerns his building of a city
wall (2 Chron. 33.14): something very like this was found down the
eastern slope of the southeastern hill by K. Kenyon.
• Although some of the data from seals are problematic, because of
either problems of interpretation or questions of authenticity, some
are supportive of the biblical data, to a lesser or greater extent.
Perhaps one of the most likely is the one reading ‘Gemaryahu son of
Shaphan’ (cf. Jer. 36.10, 12); another is the reference to an official
of ‘Baalisha’, king of Ammon (cf. Jer. 40.14). Moderately high in
probability is ‘Azariah son of Hilkiah’ (cf. 2 Kgs 22–23; 1 Chron.
6.13; 9.11; Ezra 7.1). Of more moderate probability is the one
reading ‘Jaazaniah the servant of the king’ (cf. 2 Kgs 25.23).
• Josiah’s religious reforms – the aspect of his reign, and of the seventh
century, of most interest to many modern scholars – are difficult
to establish in any direct way. (There are some cogent arguments
from textual analysis that a modest list of cult measures lies at the
heart of 2 Kgs 22–23 [Uehlinger 2005], but my concern here is not
primarily with inner-biblical analysis.) But the disappearance of
Yhwh’s consort and astral symbols from the iconography suggest a
significant religious change. This does not by itself establish Josiah’s
reforms but combines with other considerations to make the general
biblical account (not necessarily the details) plausible.
• Pharaoh Necho (II) and his support of the Assyrians against the
Babylonians are confirmed by Egyptian sources and especially the
Babylonian Chronicles.
• Jeremiah’s references to the battle of Carchemish and other activities
of Nebuchadnezzar (II) are remarkably accurate, suggesting they
would have been based on contemporary or near contemporary
information.
• Jehoiakim’s rebellion in Nebuchadnezzar’s fourth year fits the events
described in the Babylonian Chronicles, even though Judah is not
specifically mentioned in the entry for that year.
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 257

• Nebuchadnezzar’s attack on Jerusalem of 597, and the deposition

of one king and the replacement with another, is given substance
by the Babylonian Chronicles. Although the name of Jehoiachin is
not found in the Babylonian Chronicles, it seems confirmed by the
reference in the Jehoiachin tablets.
• One of the Lachish ostraca mentions the siege of Lachish and Azekah
(cf. Jer. 34.6-7).

5.3.2 Biblical Data Not Confirmed, Though They May Be Correct

• Amon’s assassination is not likely to have been made up, especially

since he seems to have made so little impact in the history of Judah.
• Surprisingly, nothing of Josiah’s reign can be directly confirmed
from extra-biblical sources, not only his cultic reform but even his
existence, since he is not mentioned in any Assyrian or Egyptian
sources so far discovered.
• The statement of 2 Chron. 34.3-7 that Josiah began his religious
purge already in his twelfth year may be true, and many scholars
have accepted it. However, it seems unlikely; otherwise, why was
there such a reaction to finding the law book in the temple? (This
consideration is apart from the arguments of those who maintain that
the cultic reform was not a part of Josiah’s reign.)
• Ezra 4.2 refers to a deportation to Palestine under Esarhaddon, but
the exact place is not specified. Ezra 4.9-10 mentions various peoples
brought to Samaria by ‘Osnappar’, a name unknown in Assyrian
history, though some think it is a corruption of Ashurbanipal or
possibly Esarhaddon. In addition to the problems with the two
passages just noted, no such deportation is known under either
Esarhaddon or Ashurbanipal. One can only say that it is possible in
the present state of our knowledge.
• The names and actions of the various palace and temple officials with
whom Jeremiah interacts may be correctly recorded. As noted above,
there are internal data that suggest the plausibility of some of them.
There are no external data except possibly some seal inscriptions in
a few cases.
• The destruction of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar in 587/586 is likely
to be correct, given the general accuracy of such data in this section
of 2 Kings.
• Nebuchadnezzar may have besieged Tyre. The fact that Ezekiel
first says he would conquer it and then admits that he did not is an
indication of prophecies contemporary with the events.
258 Ancient Israel

5.3.3 Biblical Picture is Most Likely Incorrect

• 2 Kings has Judah throw off the Assyrian yoke under Hezekiah, and
no hint of an imposition until after the death of Josiah. This is an
omission, but it goes further: it seems to be a deliberate attempt by
the compiler to mask the fact that Josiah was a vassal, probably first
of the Assyrians and then of the Egyptians.
• 2 Chronicles 33.10-17 has Manasseh being taken captive to Babylon.
Although some event might lie behind this (§5.2.2), it is contradicted
by the silence in 2 Kings, the general image of Manasseh in the
Assyrian inscriptions (such as the lack of any indication of rebellion)
and the unlikelihood that he would have been taken to Babylon if he
had been taken captive.
• Although it is not impossible, Amon is unlikely to have had a child
at age 16.
• The picture in 2 Chron. 35.20-27 that Josiah fought a pitched battle
with Pharaoh Necho and was mortally wounded by an arrow is
contradicted by 2 Kgs 23.28-30 and looks like a literary topos.
• The 2 Chron. 36.6-7 statement that Jehoiakim was taken captive to
Babylon fits neither the picture in 2 Kings nor that in the Babylonian
Chronicles.
• The statement in Jer. 22.18-19 that Jehoiakim would have ‘the burial
of an ass’ by being thrown out without a proper burial is contradicted
by the statements in 2 Kgs 24.6 that Jehoiakim simply ‘slept with his
fathers’ – which usually means a peaceful death and burial.
• The prophecies of Jeremiah and Ezekiel that Nebuchadnezzar would
conquer Egypt and that it would remain desolate for 40 years are
contradicted by what we know of both Nebuchadnezzar’s reign and
of Egyptian history.
• Daniel seems to have known little or nothing about this period
except what the author read in the biblical text or had received in
the form of very legendary material. Jerusalem was not besieged
by Nebuchadnezzar in Jehoiakim’s third year. Nebuchadnezzar was
not mad (or whatever word one wishes to use) for seven years.
Belshazzar was not king of Babylon when the Persians captured it.

5.3.4 Biblical Picture Omits/Has Gaps

• The truly devastating effects of Hezekiah’s rebellion on the cities and
villages of Judah are only hinted at; the text is at pains to establish
Hezekiah’s faithfulness to Yhwh in his rebellion against Assyria
rather than the suffering he caused to his country and people. Also,
 5. Iron IIC (720–539 BCE) 259

as noted above, Judah remained an Assyrian vassal throughout

the reigns of Hezekiah, Manasseh and Amon, and the first part of
Josiah’s reign.
• The real achievements of Manasseh’s reign from a political, economic
and social point of view (as attested especially in the archaeology)
are completely ignored.
• The text is coy about giving the real reason for Josiah’s death. The
thesis that he was executed by Necho is plausible, though not certain,
but it is unlikely he was killed in battle.
 Part III

C on c l u s i ons
 Chapter 6

‘ T he E nd of t h e M at t er ’: W hat C an W e S ay
a b ou t I s ra el i t e a n d J udahi te H i story ?

We now return to consider our original aim: we set out to investigate

what we can know about the history of Israel and Judah, keeping in mind
questions of sources, method and current debates. This has been prole-
gomena to a history, not the history itself. It has attempted to address those
issues and questions that have to be considered and answered before any
history can be written. Just to remind ourselves, here is a brief summary
of the principles of historical method used throughout this book (§1.3.3):

• All potential sources should be considered.

• Preference should be given to original sources.
• The longue durée needs always to be kept in mind.
• Each episode or event has to be judged on its own merits.
• All reconstructions are provisional.
• All reconstructions have to be argued for.

Among the sources – and questions – considered in each chapter has

been the biblical text: To what extent is the Bible reliable – to what extent
can we use it in writing our history? Confirmed minimalists and hardened
maximalists already know the answer, it seems (though they generally
claim to be open to the facts), but most scholars do not pitch their tents
at these extreme ends of the spectrum. For those who do not immediately
embrace or reject the text, no easy answer arises from our pages: we
cannot say that the biblical text is reliable or unreliable, because it all
depends on which episode or text one has in mind.
Some cannot understand why the biblical text seems to have been so
‘vilified’, as they would see it, but the answer is simple: the fundamental
historical principle of distinguishing between primary and secondary
(tertiary, etc.) sources. Primary sources are those contemporary (or nearly
so) with the events they describe and usually have some other direct
264 Ancient Israel

connection (eyewitness report, compilation from eyewitness reports or

other good sources, proximity to the events or those involved in the
events). Secondary sources are those further removed in time and space
from the original events. The Bible is not being attacked or vilified, but it
is, unfortunately, almost always a secondary source because of the long
history of writing, compilation and editing. The complicated history of the
biblical text has been partially worked out in the past two centuries, but
there is still much unknown and much on which there is disagreement.
Primary sources are not always trustworthy, and secondary sources
may sometimes contain reliable information, and no two sources agree
entirely. Thus, the historian has to make a critical investigation of all data,
whatever the source. Yet the basic principle has to be maintained: primary
sources normally take precedent, and secondary sources normally need
some sort of confirmation.
We began with the longue durée (§1.2.2). The history of Palestine
is heavily shaped by the landscape and climate. The land is divided
between the fertile, more congenial north; the drier, less productive
south; the desert margins in the south and east. There is great variation
between the northern valleys, the central hill country, the Shephelah, the
coastal plain and the Negev. One cannot write a history in a vacuum, nor
should one advance scenarios that depend on improbable population and
material resources. The topography and similar factors resulted in many
of the same urban sites being inhabited throughout the second and first
millennium BCE. Jerusalem was important not because of great wealth
or rich resources of Judah but because the rugged terrain gave it natural
defences and made it generally not worth the effort to attack. There was
also a cycle of alternation between agrarian settlement and pastoralism
over the centuries, going up and down according to climatic, economic
and other factors. Finally, Palestine lay between great powers to the south
and north whose expansion and conflicts affected the situation of the
whole Syro-Palestinian region.
The history of Israel begins in the second millennium BCE. We do
not know when the name ‘Israel’ or an entity called Israel came into
existence, but we have the first reference to both these just before 1200
BCE. Yet texts, as well as archaeology, take us further back into the
second millennium BCE. Texts from Egypt mention a number of sites,
well-known from the first millennium BCE, that already existed centuries
earlier, including Jerusalem, Shechem, Megiddo, Akko, Lachish, Gaza,
Ashkelon and Laish. We find, for example, that the cities (city-states) of
Shechem and Jerusalem seem to have dominated the Palestinian high-
lands in the fourteenth century, according to the Amarna letters. This
 6. ‘The End of the Matter’ 265

does not mean that Jerusalem was a major urban area: it could have been
little more than a citadel or country manor (insufficient archaeological
remains have been found to tell us), but it certainly existed as the seat
of the region’s ruler. We next hear of Jerusalem as a Jebusite stronghold
which the Israelites could capture but from which they could not expel
the inhabitants (Grabbe 2003a).
In early Iron I, settlements in the highlands suddenly blossomed. About
the same time, the coastal plain was settled by a group whose material
culture seems strongly influenced by Aegean and Cypriot forms (§3.2.2).
Egyptian texts refer to the Sea Peoples who seem to have settled along
the Palestinian coast. The much later biblical text refers to a variety of
groups who inhabited the interior of Palestine, as well as the Israelites
who are associated with the highlands in some passages. Although the
biblical references are sometimes garbled or improbable, a number of the
names coincide with peoples from Syria and Asia Minor (the Amorites,
Hittites, Hurrians [Horites], Hivites, Girgashites), as well as the (indig-
enous?) Canaanites (§§2.2.1.2; 2.2.1.5). On the whole, the biblical text is
problematic for Iron I (and the earlier periods). Its picture of a massive
exodus and rapid unitary conquest do not match either written records or
archaeology, nor can much be found in the book of Judges that can be
supported, even though the general scenario of a multitude of individual,
(semi-)independent groups, each doing its own thing, seems to coincide
broadly with what we know from other sources.
When ‘Israel’ next occurs in original sources (about the mid-ninth
century BCE), it is now a kingdom in the northern part of Palestine, allied
with the Aramaean king of Damascus and others against the expanding
Assyrian empire (§4.2.1). Later Assyrian inscriptions make clear that
alongside Israel to the south was another kingdom, that of Judah. What
happened between the first mention of ‘Israel’ about 1200 BCE and the
second mention some 350 years later? We have no information from
primary written sources, only archaeology, plus we have the secondary
source of the Bible which gives a detailed picture of the rise of a
unified state under Saul, David and Solomon, followed by a split into
the two kingdoms of Israel and Judah. Does this answer our question?
Unfortunately, just as the exodus and conquest are contradicted by the
primary sources, the biblical picture of the united monarchy has some
problems associated with it.
The archaeology suggests that the inhabitants of the coastal plain were
likely to be stronger in population and resources than those in the hill
country. There is also the question of whether they would have felt the
need to expand into the highlands at this stage. It is intrinsically unlikely
266 Ancient Israel

that the highlanders would have conquered the Philistines at this point.
The extensive conquests of David and the empire of Solomon from the
‘river of Egypt’ to the Euphrates are not supported by the archaeology, the
international context or the resources available. The visit of the ‘queen of
Sheba’ simply has no support in the sources. The archaeology in Jerusalem
so far does not corroborate a massive capital city with monumental archi-
tecture. There is still hope on the part of some that such will be discovered,
but it seems unlikely that anything like the city envisaged in the Bible is
going to be found. Archaeology is very important in all this, but the debate
over the LC and 14C dating means that there is even less agreement than
usual over what can be inferred from the material culture.
Some argue for a ‘united monarchy’ on a much reduced scale, with
David perhaps more like a chieftain or the ruler of an archaic state of some
sort. The arguments sometimes hinge on seeing David as an exceptional
individual who was able to achieve this rule in spite of the expectations
that the north would achieve statehood before Judah. Much also depends
on being convinced that the biblical writer did not just invent it all – that
some sort of historical scenario lies behind the text even if the compiler
has relied on legendary material or exaggerated thinking. All this is,
of course, possible. In 1998 I gave an address that made some predic-
tions about the future of historical study (Grabbe 2000b). At that time,
I suggested that the ‘united monarchy’ might not survive but did not
predict that it would fall. Getting toward two decades later, the question
still remains. The issue remains fiercely debated, but there is little new
evidence. What seems overwhelmingly the case is that no one’s idea of
the ‘united monarchy’ bears much resemblance to the biblical description.
Although archaeology helps us bridge the gap between 1200 and 850
BCE, there is still much debate over how to interpret it and, therefore,
much debate over how much of the text we can accept. But from early in
the ‘divided monarchy’, we suddenly find aspects of the text supported
fairly consistently by external sources: the names of Israelite and (later)
Judahite kings, their relative time and order of reign, some of their deeds.
The data confirmed tend to be those in portions of the text belonging to
a particular literary formula that has long been associated with a court or
temple chronicle. Sometimes two such chronicles (one from Israel and
one from Judah) have been assumed, but I argue that the most parsimo-
nious thesis is to hypothesize a single ‘Chronicle of the Kings of Judah’
(Grabbe 2006b). In some cases, in 1 and 2 Kings much of the king’s reign
seems to be drawn from such a chronicle, but in other cases (e.g., Ahab)
we have other, more legendary, material taken from other sources (such
as prophetic legends, in the case of Ahab).
 6. ‘The End of the Matter’ 267

The first kingdom for which we have solid evidence is the Northern
Kingdom, the state founded by Omri. This fits what we would expect from
the longue durée; if there was an earlier state, we have no direct infor-
mation on it except perhaps some memory in the biblical text. This does
not mean that nothing existed before Omri in either the north or the south,
but what was there was probably not a state as such. In any case, Israel
is soon caught between the great empires to the north and south. Hardly
has Omri passed from the scene before the Assyrians are threatening. In
not much over a century, his kingdom had become an Assyrian province.
Judah seems to have been the younger brother throughout their history
and only came to flourish when Israel disappeared as a kingdom. But
Judah, too, came under the Assyrian thumb even before Samaria fell. The
seventh century was marked first by Assyrian domination, then Egyptian,
then Babylonian.
As for our knowledge of Judah, we have the same type of records
preserved that helped us with the Northern Kingdom: the same mixture
of chronicle data, oral tales, legends and other material marks the descrip-
tions of the reigns of kings until the fall of Jerusalem. In some cases,
material has clearly been inserted for theological reasons, such as the
accusations against Manasseh designed to blacken his name, and the
claims that Josiah reformed the cult even as far as Samaria. Yet there is a
gradual increase in reliability the later the narrative progresses. In the last
years of the kings of Judah, when there are times that we know what was
happening year by year, the biblical text can be remarkably accurate, and
in the last few years (after 594 BCE) when our external sources cease,
we can still have reasonable confidence that the basic narrative is correct.
Yet plenty of inaccurate biblical text can also be found, such as the book
of Daniel, which means that it must always be subject to critical analysis.
After Jerusalem fell in 587/586 BCE, there was no ‘empty land’ as was
once proposed, but the settlement varied greatly. The population overall
had been considerably reduced and was now concentrated to the north of
Jerusalem in Benjamin, and Mizpah (Tell el-Nasbeh) seems to have been
designated the administrative centre of the province by the Babylonians.
Jerusalem appears to have been uninhabited or almost so during the four
decades or so from the fall of Jerusalem until Persian rule.
This investigation has drawn attention to a number of broader points
or themes relating to writing a history of Israel. By way of a conclusion
to the study – and without repeating the general historical principles used
throughout this study (§1.3.3) – here they are:
268 Ancient Israel

1. Writing the history of ancient Israel and Judah is no different from

writing any other history. The data available and the problems
involved may be different, but this is true of writing the history of
any period or entity – each has certain unique problems and unique
features. The problems with a history of the ‘united monarchy’
are very similar to those of a history of the Trojan War. The basic
principle of giving preference to primary sources (as noted above)
only goes so far, because much of what we want to know is not
available in primary sources. Secondary sources (the biblical text and
the Homeric poems) have to be considered.
2. The minimalist argument that the biblical text cannot be used except
where there is external confirmation has often been supported in our
investigation; however, as a working principle it is inadequate. The
biblical text should always be considered: it is one of the sources for
the history of ancient Israel and needs to be treated like any other
source, being neither privileged nor rejected a priori, but handled
straightforwardly and critically. Unfortunately, the Bible is not an
‘ancient Near Eastern text’ tout court: we know the biblical text
solely from the versions (of which there are usually several) attested
only in later copies. In some cases, these copies are mediaeval,
though we are in the happy position that recent discoveries have
allowed us to obtain versions of part of the text going back to the later
centuries before the Common Era. Yet these finds show that the text
was still developing, being edited and growing until the first century
CE.
3. Particular sorts of information are more likely to be trustworthy than
others: wherever an Israelite or Judahite ruler is mentioned in an
external source, the biblical text is shown to have the genuine name,
the correct sequence of rule and the approximate time of the person’s
rule in every case where there are sufficient external comparative
sources to make a determination. Material likely to have been taken
from or based on a court or temple chronicle has, prima facie, a much
greater chance of having usable data. Prophetic stories, for example,
do not generally make good historical sources. The main point here,
however, is that the biblical text was not written as a record of the
past nor for purely antiquarian reasons. Its purpose was a theological
and religious one, as indicated already simply by the contents of the
text. There is still a gulf between the concerns of the biblical writers
and those of the historians beginning already with the ancient Greeks
(cf. Grabbe 2001b). In general, though, the later a passage is in the
history of Israel, the more reliable it is likely to be.
 6. ‘The End of the Matter’ 269

4. The most fruitful method is the multiple-source approach. Although

preference should be given to archaeological and inscriptional
sources, the use of a variety of data – archaeological, inscriptional,
contemporary textual, biblical – has turned out to give us a reasonable
grasp of some portions of the history of Israel, especially the later
part of the monarchy. It is important to study each source indepen-
dently in the initial stages of the investigation, lest one ‘contaminate’
the evidence by circular interpretation of one against the other.
Nevertheless, once the groundwork has been done and the nature of
the different sources has been understood, then they can and should
be synthesized in a rigorous way to work toward an understanding of
the history of this period.
5. The social sciences can sometimes provide important models for and
approaches to understanding the data. These models – theories – must
always be critically tested against the data and not imposed on them.
But they can be valuable in interrogating the textual and artifactual
data available and suggesting new ways of interpreting them. The
application of social anthropology to archaeology revolutionized
things in the 1970s and 1980s, but texts may similarly acquire new
significance by adding social scientific data and theoretical under-
standing to the intellectual process.
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 I n d ex of R ef ere nce s

Hebrew Bible/ Exodus 21.13 50

Old Testament 1–11 95 21.21-32 50
Genesis 1.11 95 21.26 50
11.20-32 59 3.2-5 197 21.33-35 96
11.28 58 3.6 195 24.16 196
12–50 58 3.8 57 27.1 118
12.6 56 3.13-16 195 33.1-49 96
12.10-20 59 6.3 195 33.36 96
14.6 57 6.16-25 131
14.18 196 13.5 50 Deuteronomy
15.19-21 57 14–15 93 1.4 96
15.21 50 14.21 93 1.7 50
17.1 196 14.22-29 93 1.28 96
19.24-29 43 15 93, 98 1.44 50
20.1-2 59 15.7 93 2.1-25 96
21–22 43 20.4 205 2.10 96
21.22-34 106 21.2 53 2.11 96
22.21 58 23.23 57 2.12 57
23 60 34.11 57 2.21 96
24.10 58 2.22 57
26.1-18 106 Leviticus 3.10-11 96
26.1-11 59 18.3 55 4.35 205
26.12-18 58 25.13-16 131 4.39 205
28.3 196 25.23-28 131 5.7 205
34.25-31 119 5.8 205
35.11 196 Numbers 6.4 205
35.22-26 119 1.5-6 199 6.21-23 93
36 115 1.12 199 7.1 57
36.17 180 10.11 96 9.2 96
36.20-30 57 12.16 96 11.30 56
36.31 115 13.16 195 12.29-31 55
48.3 196 13.26 96 15.12 53
49.5 119 13.29 50, 139 18.9-14 203
49.25 196 13.33 96 18.9 55
50.23 118 13.35 96 20.17 57
20.1 96 21.1 56
20.22 96 26.5-9 93
21.10-20 96 27.12-13 118
342 Index of References

Deuteronomy (cont.) 1.18 106 19 203

31.10-13 153 1.19-36 117 19.11-17 145
32.8 196 1.21 144 20.12-17 145
32.9 197 1.27-33 56 21.11 107
3.5 57 21.12 144
Joshua 3.31 117 21.13 107
1–5 116 4 118 22.6 140
3.10 56 5 38, 117–19 23.16-18 145
5.1 56 5.6 117 27.2-4 107
7.1 180 5.14 118 27.11 107
9 116 5.17 118, 119 28 203
9.1 57 6–8 117 29.5 144
9.10 96 6.32 117
11.21-22 96 10.1-5 117 2 Samuel
11.22 106 11 119 2.4 38
11.23 116 12.1 119 2.8 199
12.4 96 12.7-15 117 2.9 139, 146
13–19 116 16.25-30 107 2.11 119
13.12 96 17.7 131 3.12-16 145
14.12 96 20.18 119 5.4 38
14.15 96, 116 5.6-7 144
15 234 1 Samuel 5.17-25 142
15.14 96 1 202 5.25 142
15.21-62 116, 248 5.8 106 8 143
15.23 248 5.11 106 8.1 142
15.63 144 6.17 106 8.6 143
16–19 117 7.14 107 8.17 144
17.14-17 116 8 142 10.1–11.1 143
17.16 56 9–10 141 12.26-31 143
17.18 56 9.1–10.16 140, 146 15.18-22 143
18 234 10.1 141 21.7 199
18.21-28 116, 248 10.23 140, 146 24.20-23 144
18.28 144 11.1-15 140, 146
19 234 13 138 1 Kings
19.1-9 119 13.1 139 1–2 148
19.2-8 116, 248 13.2–14.52 146 1.1 186
19.24-48 73 13.2 140 2–11 146
19.40-46 116, 248 13.19-22 108, 109 2.39-40 143
19.43 106 13.19-21 108 2.39 107, 108
21.41-43 116 14.52 140 5.1 147
21.45-47 248 15 139 5.4 147
24.2-13 93 15.22-23 203 8.12-13 148
24.11 57 16.1-13 145, 146 10.1-13 149
16.14-23 144, 146 10.1 149
Judges 17 144, 146 10.3 147
1 116, 119 17.52 107 10.6 147
1.3 119 18.1 145 10.8 147
1.8 144 18.7 144 10.14-15 147
1.9-17 56 18.17-27 144, 146 10.23-24 147
1.17 119 18.25-27 144 10.28-29 147
 Index of References 343

11.33 194 22.5-28 199 11.1-3 189

11.41 148 22.6-28 174 11.18 189
12.4 178 22.19-22 197 12 148, 177,
13.36 58 22.29-38 174 189
14.25-28 13, 89 22.40 184 12.1-17 175
15.1–16.20 179 22.41-51 174 12.18-19 175, 189,
15.8 179 22.52-54 174 206
15.10 179 12.20-22 175
15.13 200 2 Kings 13 187
16.15-28 173 1 174 13.1-9 175, 189
16.15-20 173, 180 1.1 184 13.1-2 175
16.15 173 1.17 184 13.3-6 189
16.21-22 173, 180 2 138, 174 13.3 175, 206
16.23-28 160 2.18 106 13.4-6 175
16.23-24 173 3 174 13.5 188
16.23 186 3.1-3 174 13.7 175
16.25-28 173 3.4-9 174 13.8-9 175
16.29-34 173 3.4-5 184 13.10-25 175
16.29-33 173 3.9-20 174 13.10-13 175
16.29 186 3.21-27 174 13.14-19 175
16.31-32 199 4.1–8.15 174 13.20-21 175
16.34 173 4.1-44 174 13.22-25 175, 206
17–19 173 5.1-27 174 13.23 58
17 177 6.1-7 174 14 190
17.1-6 173 6.8-23 174 14.1-22 175
17.3 183 6.24–7.20 174 14.1-6 175
17.7-16 173 8.1-6 174 14.7 143, 175
17.17-24 173 8.7-15 174 14.8-14 175
18.1-46 173 8.16-24 174 14.15-16 175
18.3 199 8.18 189 14.17-20 175
18.19 200 8.25-29 174 14.17 190
18.36 58 8.26 189 14.21-22 175
18.45 160 8.28-29 181 14.23-29 176
19.1-14 173 9–16 189 14.26-27 190
19.15-18 173 9–10 174 15.1-7 170, 176,
19.19-21 173 9 177, 189 190
20–22 187 9.1-14 174 15.8-22 190
20 173, 208 9.14-15 181 15.8-12 176
20.1-21 173 9.15-29 174 15.13-15 176
20.22-30 173 9.30-37 174 15.16-22 176
20.31-34 173 10.1-11 175 15.23-26 176
20.35-43 173 10.12-14 175 15.27-31 176
21 173, 187 10.15-17 175 15.29 189, 191,
21.1-16 173 10.18-28 175, 199 207
21.1 160 10.29-31 175 15.32-38 176
21.17-26 173 10.32-33 175, 189 16 176
21.27-29 173 10.34-36 175, 206 16.1-4 176
22 174, 208 11–12 175 16.3 203
22.1-5 174 11 189 16.5-9 176, 189,
22.4 182, 183 11.1-20 175 191
344 Index of References

2 Kings (cont.) 22.1–23.30 234 1 Chronicles

16.10-16 176 22.1 234 1.37 180
17 176, 177 22.2 234 2.1-2 118
17.3-6 192 22.3-7 234, 250 2.21 118
17.4 192, 208 22.4-14 226 6.13 226, 256
17.5-6 161 22.8-10 234 7.14 118
17.6 192 22.11-20 235 8.33-34 199
17.16 201 22.14 163 9.11 226, 256
17.17 203 22.21-23 237 9.39-40 199
17.23-24 161 23.1-3 235 28–29 146
17.24 192 23.4-7 235
17.31 203 23.4-5 201 2 Chronicles
17.41 173 23.4 200, 226 11.5-10 220
18–20 240, 243 23.7 200 14.8-14 180, 208
18–19 241 23.8-9 235 18–28 173
18.1 242 23.8 248 18 174
18.3-6 238 23.10-14 235 18.1-4 174
18.9-10 243 23.12 246 18.5-27 174
18.13-16 239, 241– 23.15-18 235 18.28-34 174
3 23.19-20 235 20.31–21.3 174
18.13 239, 242 23.21-23 235 21.4-11 174
18.14-16 239, 241 23.24 203, 235 21.20–22.1 174
18.14 229 23.25-27 235 22.2-6 174
18.16-19 240 23.28-30 235, 237, 22.7-9 174
18.17–19.37 239 258 22.10–24.14 175
18.17–19.9 239 23.30-34 235, 251 22.10–23.21 175
18.17 229, 239 23.31 235 24.1-14 175
19.9-37 239 23.32 235 24.29-32 235
19.9-35 239 23.33-34 235 25.1–26.2 175
19.9 239, 241, 23.34–24.7 235 25.1-4 175
243 23.34–24.6 251 25.5-16 175
19.35 241 23.35 235 25.17-24 175
19.36-37 239 23.36 235 25.25-28 175
19.37 241 23.37 235 26 190
21–25 234 24 251 26.1-2 175
21.1-18 234, 246 24.1-2 235 26.3-23 176
21.1 234 24.3-4 235 26.6 106
21.2-9 234 24.5-6 235 26.16-21 190
21.3 201 24.6 258 27.1-9 176
21.6 203 24.7 235 28 176
21.7 200 24.8-16 235 28.1-4 176
21.10-15 234 24.8 235 28.5-19 176
21.16 234 24.9 235 28.20-27 176
21.17 234 24.10-17 235 33.1-20 234
21.18 234 24.17–25.21 235 33.1 234
21.19-26 234 24.18 235 33.2-9 234
21.19 234 24.19-20 235 33.10-17 237, 246,
21.20-22 234 25.1-21 235 258
21.23-26 234 25.23 226, 256 33.10-13 234
22–23 250, 256 25.25 228 33.14-17 234
 Index of References 345

33.14 237, 256 Esther 34.6-7 257

33.18 234 2.6 252 34.6-4 253
33.19 234 34.7 236
33.20 234 Job 34.9 53
33.21-25 234 26.5 96, 203 34.14 53
33.21 234 36.10 225, 256
33.22-23 234 Psalms 36.12 225, 227,
33.22 246 82.1 197 256
33.24-25 234 88.11-13 96, 203 36.26 227
34.1–35.27 234 89.7-8 197 37.1 252
34.1 234 37.4-11 252
34.2 234 Proverbs 37.11 236
34.3-7 234, 237, 9.18 96, 203 38.61 226
250, 257 39.1 236
34.8-13 234 Isaiah 39.2 236
34.14-18 234 7 189, 191 39.3 236
34.19-28 235 10.5-19 242 39.4-7 236
34.33 235 14.14 196 39.8-10 236
35.1-19 235, 237 18 229 40–41 226
35.20-27 235, 237, 19.19-25 98 40.14 226, 256
258 20 229, 242 41.1 228
35.20-24 250 26.14 96, 203 42–44 98
36.2 235 26.19 96, 203 43.8-13 236
36.3 235 27.1 198 44.17-19 201
36.4-8 235 29.22 58 44.25 201
36.5 235 36.1–37.9 239 44.30 236, 252
36.6-7 235, 237, 37.9-36 239 46–47 236
258 40.18-20 205 46.2 236
36.6 251 44.9-20 205 47.4 100
36.8-10 235 46.1-2 205 52.1 236
36.8 235 46.9 204 52.3-4 236
36.9 235 48.12-13 204 52.5-7 236
36.10-21 235 52.8-11 236
36.10 235 Jeremiah 52.12-14 236
36.11 235 7.31-32 203 52.15-16 236
36.12 235 10.2-10 205 52.28-30 236
36.13-21 235 15.4 246 52.31 252
22.18-19 236, 237,
Ezra 251, 258 Ezekiel
4.1-4 237 22.24 252 1.2 252
4.2 257 22.28 252 16.3 50
4.9-10 237, 257 25.1 236 21.26-27 203
7.1 226, 256 25.20 106 26–27 236
9.1 57 26.2 253 26.7 236
27.3 252 29–30 236
Nehemiah 27.20 252 29-17-20 236
3.8 162 28.4 252 29.8-16 236
11.24 180 29.2 252 30.20-26 236
32.1-2 236
33.26 58
346 Index of References

Daniel Josephus 18 222

1.1-2 237, 251 Antiquities 18.2 193
4.1-34 237 8.13.2 §324 172 18.9 193
5 255 10.11.1 §§220-26 232 21.2 193
5.1-30 237 21.4 193
4Q Prayer of Nabonidus 40.3 193
Hosea 254
3.4 203 Ashyahu Ostracon
12.1 93 4QDeutj = 4Q37 223
13.4 93 197
Avigad/Sass 1997
Amos Greek and Latin Texts 8 226
1.13 143 Herodotus 27 193
3.1 131 1.199 204 414 227
7.9 58 2.161-69 252 417 227
7.16 58 3.91 147
9.7 100 Beth Shemesh Seal
Diodorus Siculus 2 17
Micah 1.68.1-6 252
7.20 58 1.94.2 193 Gogel 1998
40.3.4 205 6.1.11 193
Zephaniah 6.1.12 200
1.10 163 Varro, apud Lydus 6.1.14 164, 200
1.11 163 De Mensibus 6.1.15 193
4.53 193 6.1.21 164
Zechariah 390–1 222
10.2 203 Hebrew and Aramaic 417 223
Inscriptions 423–4 218, 222
Other Jewish Texts AHI 467 17
1 Maccabees 100.69 226 485 226
10.84 107 100.108 14 487 226
11.4 107 100.149 226
100.277 14 KAI
Wisdom of Solomon 100.486 14 2 198
13–15 205 100.827 226 1.108 96
1.16.3.6 196
Apocalypse of Abraham Arad Inscriptions 1.16.3.8 196
1–8 205 (Aharoni 1981) 1.3.3.37-42 198
1 222 1.5.1.1-3 198
Liber 2 222 1.5.1.27-30 198
Antiquitatum Biblicarum 4 222 223B: 10 185
44 205 5 222
7 222 Lachish Letters
Testament of Job 8 222 2.1-2 193
2–5 205 10 222 2.5 193
11 222 3.2-3 193
14 222 3.9 193
16.3 193 4 223, 253
17 222 4.1 193
 Index of References 347

5.1 193 ARE 103 45

5.7 193 IV, §§59–82 88 114 45
6 226 122 53
6.1 193 Babylonian Chronicle 123 53
6.12 193 Calah Annals 126 45
13* 170 129 45
Mesad Hashavyahu 13*, line 10 170, 188 144–49 45
1 222, 249 14* 170 151 45
14*, line 5 170 169 53
Ramat Rahel 19*, lines 9–11 170 185 53
Seal 8 17 23 171 186 53
187 45
Renz 1995: Nabopolassar Chronicle 195 53
I, 40–144 164 3: 38 231 244 46
245 47
TAD Berossus 246 47
A4.7-9 201 History of Chaldea 250 47
B7.3:3 201 3 232 253 45, 47
C3.15:127-8 201 254 45, 47
CoS 280 46, 47
Tell Beit Mirsim seal 1 I, 50–2 44 284 45
16 II, 137 167 285–90 45
II, 155 166 286 53
TSSI II, 181 172 287 45, 47, 53
1 164 II, 268 168 288 45, 53
12 193 III, 132–3 221 289 47, 53
III, 237–42 44 296 45
Ancient Near Eastern 297 53
Texts DOTT 318 53
AEL 84–6 233 320–21 45
I, 222–35 47 322 45
II, 224–30 89 El Amarna (Moran 1992) 328 45
1 45 329 45
ANET 16 53 335 45
234–8 70 30 56 366 45, 52, 53
254–5 70 45 45 370 45
254 54 60–62 45
259 54 67–140 45 Giveon 1971
262–6 88 67 53 4, 6, 6a, 7, 12,
262 89 68 53 13, 14, 16a, 25,
280 168 73–76 45 37, 48 53
281–2 169, 190 77 45
286 228 83 45 Grayson 1976
291 230 85 45 1 i 27–31 171
294–5 231, 247 89 45 5 Obverse: 1 232
301 231 92 45 5 Reverse: 5 232
328–9 44 98 45
483–90 44 101 45
557 53
348 Index of References

Grayson 1996 1.5.1.1–3 198 Tigath-pileser III

Aššur Basalt Statue 1.5.1.27–30 198 Inscriptions (Tadmor 1994)
218 (A.0.101.1) 185 1.16.3.6 196 62–3 170
17–18 (A.0.102.2: 1.16.3.8 196 68 188
15, 24, 27) 183 1.108 96 69–71 170
17 (A.0.102.2 106 188
ii 12) 185 Merenptah Stela 138–41 171
25 (A.0.102.3 85 138 189, 191
96-97) 185 140 191
32–41 Mesha Stele 170–1 111
(A.0.102.6) 167 lines 1-9 167
42–8 line 6 185 Tell Beit Mirsim Seal
(A.0.102.8) 167 line 7 185 1 14
60 (A.0.102.12: line 8 185
21-30) 168 lines 4-5 185 Yamada 2000
118 (A.0.102.40: lines 77-78 185 156–7 167
i 14-35) 168 162 167
211 (A.0.104.7. Nimrud Prism 188-9 168
4-8) 169 4,29–33
240 (A.0.105.1 Zakkur Inscription
4-13) 169 Sargon II Inscriptions 166, 185,
(Tadmor 1958b) 188
Griffith 1909 33–40 192, 228
II, 95–6 234 34 171–2
35 228
Jehoiachin Tablets 77–8 228
252, 254, 79–80 228
257

KTU
1.2 198
1.3.3.37–42 198
 I n d ex of A ut hor s

Adams, R. B. 55, 110, 127 Bietak, M. 50, 95

Aharoni, Y. 11, 81, 193, 215, 224 Bimson, J. J. 120–1
Ahituv, S. 111 Biran, A. 165
Ahlström, G. W. 25, 35, 123 Blenkinsopp, J. 196
Albertz, R. 36–7, 92, 193, 204, 238, 249 Bloch-Smith, E. 20–1, 73–5, 77, 80,
Albright, W. F. 7, 10–11, 17, 31–3, 43, 111–13, 203
57–9, 83, 110, 116, 120–2, 194, 239 Bordreuil, P. 223
Alt, G. A. 31–3, 36, 57, 120–4, 131, 195, Braudel, F. 6, 27
239, 248 Brett, M. 19
Anbar, M. 51 Brettler, M. Z. 142
Appleby, J. 27–8 Bright, J. 31, 57–9, 181, 187, 239
Arie, E. 18, 227 Broshi, M. 156, 163, 212
Ash, P. S. 13, 89, 149–50, 166 Buccellati, G. 50–1
Assmann, J. 93 Bunimovitz, S. 42–3, 75, 104
Astour, M. C. 181
Athas, G. 165–6 Cahill, J. M. 77–8
Avigad, N. 18, 162, 193, 225–7 Campbell, A. F. 92
Avioz, M. 92 Carroll, R. P. 34, 253, 255
Avi-Yonah, M. 11 Caton, S. C. 138
Chaney, M. L. 121, 132
Bahn, P. 8–9, 135 Chatty, D. 126
Baines, J 47 Childs, B. S. 239, 241–2
Barako, T. J. 101, 104 Claburn, W. E. 248
Barfield, T. J. 135 Clark, W. M. 43, 59
Barkay, G. 11, 14, 164, 213, 223, 227 Clements, R. E. 58
Barlow, C. 112 Cline, E. H. 72
Barr, J. 5, 23 Clines, D. J. A. 110
Barstad, H. M. 24, 204, 255 Cogan, M. 192, 240, 242, 245–6
Barth, F. 20 Cohen, R. 96, 217
Beaulieu, P.-A. 255 Coldstream, N. 14
Beckerath, J. von 240 Cook, E. M. 18
Becking, B. 192–3, 204, 226–8, 243 Coote, R. 34, 156
Ben-Ami, D. 73, 79, 121 Craig Jr, K. M. 92
Ben-Yosef, E. 82, 114 Crenshaw, J. L. 154
Ben-Tor, A. 72–3 Cross Jr, F. M. 93, 194–5
Ben Zvi, E. 220, 240, 242
Berner, C. 93 Dagan, Y. 80, 161
Betancourt, P. P. 50 Dalley, S. 196
Bienkowski, P. 110, 112–15 Davies, G. I. 94–6, 193, 200
350 Index of Authors

Davies, P. R. 34–5, 213, 249 Gal, Z. 73

Davis, B. 105 Galil, G. 151
Day, J. 192–3, 198, 203 Gallagher, W. R. 241–2
Dearman, J. A. 111–12, 187 Galling, K. 109–10
Dessel, J. P. 211 Ganor, S. 80
Deutsch, R. 18 Garbini, G. 33–4
Dever, W. G. 7–9, 11, 20–2, 25, 32–5, Gardiner, A. H. 98
41–3, 59, 61, 74, 76, 86, 88, 95–6, 98, Garfinkel, Y. 17, 80, 220
121, 123–8, 193, 200, 202 Geertz, C. 20
Diebner, B.-J. 118 Gelb, I. J. 50–1
Dietrich, W. 107–8, 142, 144, 193 Gellner, E. 138
Dijkstra, M. 86–7 Geraty, L. T. 110
Dion, P. E. 186, 243 Geus, C. H. J. de 130–1
Dobler, C. P. 18 Geva, H. 17, 162–3, 212–13
Donner, H. 32, 59 Gibson, J. C. L. 75
Dothan, T. 42, 99, 102, 107 Gilboa, A. 57, 106
Drews, R. 72, 100 Gitin, S. 107
Dubovský, P. 49 Giveon, R. 53–5, 94
Dyson-Hudson, N. 132 Glueck, N. 110–13, 120
Gnuse, R. K. 193
Edelman, D. V. 21, 34, 110, 139–40, 193 Godelier, M. 136
Ehrlich, C. S. 99, 101 Goedicke, H. 70
Eichler, B. L. 60 Gogel, S. L. 17, 164, 193, 200, 218,
Eissfeldt, O. 85 222–3, 226
Elat, M. 247 Goldberg, J. 242
Eliyahu-Behar, A. 109 Goldschmidt, W. 126
Eph’al, I. 169, 223 Goodfriend, E. A. 204
Evans, R. J. 26, 29–30, 134 Gordon, C. H. 57–8
Evans-Pritchard, E. 134 Gordon, D. 29
Goren, Y. 18, 46, 165, 227
Fantalkin, A. 80–2, 218, 249 Görg, M. 115
Faust, A. 75–6, 127–9 Gosden, C. 135
Feinman, G. M. 135, 137 Gottlieb, Y. 108–109
Finkelstein, I. 6, 11, 13–16, 20–2, 33–4, Gottwald, N. K. 32–3, 36, 52, 120–25,
42–3, 46–7, 58, 71–7, 79–84, 89–91, 93, 130–131, 138, 155
96, 102–4, 106–10, 113–15, 121–4, 132, Grabbe, L. L. 4, 20, 22–6, 28, 31–2, 36–7,
140, 142, 152–3, 156–9, 161, 210–12, 48–9, 56, 92–3, 95, 128, 141, 144, 148,
214–18, 224, 244–6 151, 154, 168, 172, 176–8, 182, 187,
Fischer, P. M. 111 190, 196, 201–4, 210–11, 213, 225, 238–
Fohrer, G. 36 40, 243–4, 251, 253–5, 265–6, 268
Fortes, M. 134 Grayson, A. K. 167–9, 171, 183, 185, 190,
Frahm, E. 229 229, 231–2
Franklin, N. 160 Greenberg, M. 53
Freedman, D. N. 31–2, 93 Greenberg, R. 215
Frerichs, E. S. 94 Greengus, S. 60
Frick, F. S. 32 Greenstein, E. L. 165
Fried, L. E. 238 Griffith, F. L. 234
Fried, M. H. 130 Guest, P. D. 118
Fritz, V. 33, 122
 Index of Authors 351

Hallo, W. W. 24 Jones, S. 20–1

Halpern, B. 73–4, 117, 142 Joukowsky, M. S. 72
Handy, L. K. 35, 197
Haran, M. 59, 96, 154 Kallai, Z. 131
Harbottle, G. 50 Kamp, K. A. 20–1, 51, 130, 132
Hardmeier, C. 241, 250 Kang, H.-G. 80
Harris, M. 93 Kaufman, I. T. 165
Harris, W. V. 152 Keel, O. 193, 200–1, 228
Harrison, T. P. 112 Kenyon, K. 17, 78, 160, 162, 256
Hart, S. 113 Keyes, C. F. 19–20
Hasel, M. G. 54–5, 80, 86, 127 Khazanov, A. M. 132
Hayes, J. H. 32, 120, 248 Khoury, P. S. 130
Heider, G. C. 203 Killebrew, A. E. 14–15, 19, 21–2, 42, 55–
Heimpel, W. 48 6, 74–5, 79, 100–2, 104–5, 120, 123–4,
Helck, W. 44, 89, 95 127, 162, 212
Helm, J. 130 Kitchen, K. A. 85–8, 110–11, 149, 192,
Heltzer, M. 18 240
Hendel, R. S. 93, 213 Klengel, H. 60
Heron, G. A. 215 Kletter, R. 20–1, 74, 127, 217–19, 225,
Herr, L. G. 75, 110, 112–13, 115, 226 249
Herzog, Z. 43, 76–7, 81–2, 125, 163–4, Knauf, E. A. 24, 34, 37, 79, 90, 92, 98,
216, 238–9 115–18, 148, 162, 183, 187, 194, 206,
Hess, R. S. 55 210, 213–4, 221, 238, 244, 249–50
Hesse, B. 21, 74–5 Koch, I. 224
Hezser, C. 152 Kooij, A. van der 211
Higham, T. 114 Kostiner, J. 130
Hitchcock, L. A. 105 Kottsieper, I. 165
Hjelm, I. 86 Krahmalkov, C. R. 95
Hobbs, T. R. 220 Kramer, S. N. 204
Hodder, I. 8 Kuan, J. K.-J. 169–70, 181–3, 187–8
Hoffmeier, J. K. 61, 94–5, 115, 121 Kuhrt, A. 60, 100
Holl, A. F. C. 121–2
Hort, G. 93 LaBianca, Ø. S. 42, 110–12
Huffmon, H. B. 50 Lapinkivi, P. 204
Hunt, L. 27–8 Lapp, P. W. 202
Hutchinson, J. 19–20 Larson, M. T. 62
Layard, A. H. 229
Iggers, G. G. 26–8, 30, 37 Leahy, A. 93
Ilan, D. 11, 41–3 Lehmann, G. 12, 37, 76–9, 81, 104, 124
Irons, W. 132 Leichty, E. 229
Israel, F. 223 Lemaire, A. 18–19, 151, 154, 164, 167,
200, 233
Jacob, M. 27–8 Lemche, N. P. 22, 25, 32, 34–6, 52, 55–6,
Jamieson-Drake, D. W. 34, 77–8 86, 121–2, 124–5, 130–2, 184
Jenkins, A. K. 242 Lernau, O. 151, 163
Jenkins, K. 28–30 Lesko, L. H. 94
Joannès, F. 233 Levin, Y. 130
Joffe, A. H. 137 Levine, L. D. 229
Johnson, A. W. 130 Levy, T. E. 11, 55, 92, 113–15, 121–2, 127
352 Index of Authors

Lindars, B. 118 Munslow, A. 28

Lipiński, E. 169, 181, 185–189 Mykytiuk, L. J. 225–8
Lipschits, O. 12, 92, 213, 215–16, 219,
224–5, 255 Na’aman, N. 25, 34, 44, 46–7, 52–3,
Lohfink, N. 249 55–8, 80–2, 84, 88–9, 92, 98, 106, 116,
Long, B. O. 253 123–5, 143, 148, 151–2, 160, 167, 181–
Long, V. P. 10, 24 3, 190, 192, 213, 217–18, 220–1, 223–5,
Longman III, T. 10, 24 229, 238, 240–1, 243, 248–51
Loretz, O. 52 Najjar, M. 114–15
Nakhai, B. A. 73, 75, 77, 79–80, 111–13,
McCarter Jr, P. K. 169 193, 202–3
Macchi, J.-D. 131 Naveh, J. 107, 165, 169, 200, 223
McCullagh, C. B. 29 Nelson, C. 110, 132
McDermott, J. J. 120 Netzer, E. 82
MacDonald, B. 95–6, 110–11, 113 Niccacci, A. 85–6
Macdonald, M. C. A. 152 Nicholson, E. W. 93
McGovern, P. E. 50 Niditch, S. 152
McKay, J. W. 245 Niehr, H. 118, 216, 250
McKenzie, S. L. 142 Niemann, H. M. 34, 81, 91, 107–8, 142,
McNutt, P. 130 148, 165, 183, 206
Maeir, A. M. 81, 93, 104–7, 109 Noort, E. 99
Maidman, M. P. 48 Norin, S. 213
Malamat, A. 93, 149 Noth, M. 31–3, 57, 89, 93, 120–4, 130–1,
Manor, D. W. 215, 265 134, 138, 239–40
Marcus, J. 135, 137 Novotny, J. 229
Margalith, O. 86
Markl, D. 49 O’Brien, M. A. 92
Master, D. M. 138 O’Callaghan, R. T. 186
Mayer, W. 211, 229 O’Connor, D. 88
Mayes, A. D. H. 130 Oded, B. 192, 255
Mazar, A. 12–14, 16, 71–2, 77, 82–4, 90, Ofer, A. 37, 71, 76–7, 162, 212, 214
102–3, 142, 153, 157, 202, 224 Oren, E. D. 49, 99
Mazar, E. 78–9, 85, 162
Meitlis, Y. 60, 129 Page, S. 169
Mendenhall, G. E. 31–3, 36, 120–4, 155 Pardee, D. 223
Mieroop, M. van de 60 Parker, S. B. 48
Millard, A. R. 33, 154, 169 Parpola, S. 241
Miller, J. M. 25, 32–3, 110–12, 116, 120, Pearce, L. E. 233
187, 248 Perlman, I. 224
Miller II, R. D. 21, 135–6, Petschow, H. 60
Mohammed, A. 132 Piasetzky, E. 16
Mojola, A. O. 131 Pitard, W. T. 166, 169, 186–7
Mommsen, H. 224 Popper, K. 18
Montgomery, J. A. 239, 242 Porten, B. 201
Moorey, P. R. S. 205 Propp, W. H. C. 92–3
Moran, W. L. 44, 46, 53 Provan, I. W. 10, 24, 35
Morris, E. F. 99–101 Puech, E. 166, 169
Mowinckel, S. 253 Pusch, E. B. 95
Muniz, A. 55, 127
 Index of Authors 353

Raban, A. 75 Sherratt, S. 154

Rad, G. von 93 Shiloh, Y. 17, 42, 76, 161, 225
Rainey, A. F. 43, 47, 55–6, 86–7, 121, Shoham, Y. 225
126, 240 Shortland, A. J. 13
Ramsey, G. W. 58–9, 120 Shukron, E. 79, 151, 163, 212–13
Rawlinson, G. 239, 242, 245 Silberman, N. A. 35, 43, 58, 96, 142,
Redford, D. B. 44, 49–50, 53–4, 64–5, 152–3, 211–12, 216–18, 245–6
85–8, 94–5, 100–1, 126, 240 Simpson, W. K. 47
Redman, C. L. 8–9, 135 Singer, I. 77, 102, 109, 164
Redmount, C. A. 21, 50 Singer-Avitz, L. 77, 164
Reich, R. 79, 151, 163–4, 212–13 Small, D. 35
Rendtorff, R. 49 Smelik, K. A. D. 203, 241–2
Renfrew, C. 8–9, 135 Smith, A. D. 19–20
Renz, J. 152, 164 Smith, M. 201
Robertson, D. A. 93, 118 Smith, M. S. 193, 204, 205
Rogerson, J. W. 130–1, 137, 213 Soden, W. von 204, 254
Rollston, C. A. 17–18, 151 Soggin, J. A. 32
Römer, T. C. 92–3 Sokolovskii, S. 19, 21
Rosenfeld, A. 165 Sonnet, J.-P. 49
Rowton, M. B. 132 Southall, A. W. 137
Rudman, D. 242 Sparks, K. L. 19
Russell, S. C. 93 Speiser, E. A. 59–60
Ryholt, K. S. B. 64 Spieckermann, H. 246
Stade, B. 239
Saggs, H. W. F. 242 Stager, L. E. 34, 76, 102, 118–20, 138
Salzman, P. C. 126, 132–4 Staubli, T. 132
Sandmel, S. 22–3 Stech-Wheeler, T. 108
Sass, B. 150–1, 193, 225–7 Steen, E. van der 72, 110–12, 114–15, 125
Sauer, J. A. 110–12 Steiner, M. 42, 77–9, 212
Sawyer, J. F. A. 110 Stern, E. 11, 152, 164, 205, 210–12, 215,
Schaper, J. 203 217–18, 224–5, 245
Schipper, B. U. 89, 149–50, 180, 192, 243 Street, B. V. 152
Schloen, D. 138 Swanson, K. A. 238
Schmid, K. 93 Szuchman, J. 132
Schmidt, B. B. 36
Schmidt, W. H. 150 Tadmor, H. 51, 111, 169–72, 183, 188–9,
Schneider, N. 59 191–2, 211, 228, 242
Schneider, T. 92 Tapper, R. 137–8
Scott, J. M. 255 Tappy, R. E. 17, 160, 192
Seidlmayer, S. J. 44 Tarler, D. 225
Seitz, C. R. 240 Tarragon, J.-M. de 204
Sergi, O. 183, 224 Tatum, L. 212, 244
Service, E. 135 Tetley, M. C. 192
Shalom Brooks, S. 140, 144 Theis, C. 115
Shanks, H. 18 Thompson, T. L. 31, 34–5, 59, 86, 184,
Shanks, M. 8 196, 204
Sharon, I. 16, 57, 84, 88, 106 Tishkov, V. 19, 21
Shea, W. H. 239–40 Toorn, K. van der 203–4
Shennan, S. J. 19–20 Trigger, B. G. 135, 151
354 Index of Authors

Tucker, G. 60 Wilson, R. R. 130

Tushingham, A. D. 162, 223 Windschuttle, K. 29
Tyson, C. W. 111 Wiseman, D. J. 182
Wood, B. G. 120–1
Uehlinger, C. 193, 200–1, 205, 215–16, Woodhead, J. 159
228–9, 250, 256 Worschech, U. 110
Ussishkin, D. 7, 13–14, 17, 34, 71–4, 77, Wyatt, N. 48
79–80, 83–4, 91, 96, 101–2, 104, 159–
60, 215–16, 223–4, 229, 238 Yadin, Y. 7, 10, 31–2, 72–3, 120
Uziel, J. 106–7 Yamada, S. 167–8
Yamauchi, E. M. 204
Van De Mieroop, M. 60 Yasur-Landau, A. 100–2, 105
Van Seters, J. 31, 49, 95, 110, 116 Yellin, J. 224
Vaughn, A. G. 18, 211–12, 223–4, 226–7 Yisrael, Y. 217
Veen, P. G. van der 115 Yoffee, N. 20–1, 51, 130, 132, 135–7
Vriezen, K. J. H. 202 Young, I. M. 107, 142, 152, 178, 189, 252
Younker, R. W. 111–12
Wachsmann, S. 88 Yurco, F. J. 86–87, 240
Waddell, W. G. 49, 61
Wapnish, P. 21, 58, 74–5 Zadok, R. 144, 192
Ward, W. A. 53–4, 72 Zagorin, P. 27, 29
Watson, W. G. E. 48 Zarins, J. 58
Wei, T. F. 95 Zarzeki-Peleg, A. 72
Weidner, E. F. 233 Zertal, A. 121, 161
Weinstein, J. M. 49, 61 Zevit, Z. 200
Weippert, H. 12, 33, 53, 131, 169 Zimhoni, O. 80, 82, 159
White, H. 28 Zorn, J. R. 17
Whitelam, K. W. 34–5, 156 Zukerman, A. 102
Whybray, R. N. 49 Zwickel, W. 115
Wilson, K. A. 89–90
 I n d ex of S u b j e cts

Abdera 205 Ajjul 50

‘Abdi-Ḫeba 45–6, 52–3, 157 Ajrud 36, 153, 164, 200
Abiba’al 229 Akhenaten 44, 65
Abimelech 117 Akkad/Akkadians 61, 171, 231–2
Abiyahu 200 Akko 44, 72, 74, 264
Abraham 41, 57–9, 195, 205 Alalaḫ 63
Abu Hawam, Tell 74 Alashiya 88
Achab 172 Aleppo 63
Adad 62, 167–8, 188 alphabet 48, 150
Adad-idri 167–8 altar 176, 191, 202, 215, 235
Adad-narari III 168 Ama’e 53
Adam 197 ’Amal, Tel 152
Adar 232 Amalekites 81, 123, 139
Adini 183 Amarna 43–9, 51, 53, 56–7, 65, 67, 70,
Administration/administrators 15, 22, 44, 72–4, 84, 97, 206, 264
83–4, 128, 136, 151–2, 183, 206, 218, Amaziah 143, 175, 190
220, 245 Amenophis 65
Adon 221–2 Amman 112
Adrammelech 241 Ammia 53
Adramu 183 Ammishaddai 199
Aegean 13–15, 50, 99–100, 104–5, 124, Ammon 110–12, 125, 137, 143, 171, 229,
265 231, 256
Aeolic 137, 164 Ammonites 57, 119, 143, 226
Africanus 49 Amon 234, 246–7, 257–9
Agade 61 Amor 88
agrarian/agriculturalists 51, 121, 126, 128, Amorites 42, 50–2, 57, 62–3, 155, 265
133, 264 amphictyony 130, 134
Agūsi 185 amphora, 50
Ahab 160, 167, 172–6, 181–90, 193, 199, Amun 233
206–8, 244, 266 Amuq 166
Ahaz 176, 191, 208, 245 Amurru 45, 50–1, 66, 100, 169
Ahaziah 166, 174–5, 181, 184, 189, 199, Anakim 96
207–8 Anastasi 54
Ahimilki 229 Anat(h) 117, 201
Ahiram 150 Anatolia 51, 57, 62, 100, 124
Ahirom 172 angels 197–8
Ahmose 50, 64 aniconism 37, 238
Aḫunu 183 Annales school 6, 27
Ai 76, 116, 161
356 Index of Subjects

Anthropology/anthropologists/ Avaris 42
anthropological 4–5, 8–9, 19–21, 27, Azariah 170, 175–6, 190, 226, 256
126, 130, 132, 134–5, 156, 269 Azekah 236, 253, 257
Aphek 44 Azriyau 170
‘Apiru/ḫaberu 43, 46–7, 52–3, 72, 158
Apish 166 Ba‘al/Ba‘lu of Tyre 230
Arabah 54, 82, 112–15, 176 Baal 117, 173–5, 183–4, 189, 196, 198–
Arab/Arabia 123, 149, 164, 216, 245 200, 202, 204, 218, 234
Arad 76, 80–3, 152, 163–4, 193, 202, 205, Baal Meon 167
210, 215–16, 221–2, 238–9, 249 Baalis 226
Aram 166–7, 170, 175–6, 181, 208 Baalisha 226, 256
Aramaeans 49, 52, 68, 143, 173–4, 181, Babylon 62, 67–8, 231–7, 241–2, 246–7,
186–91, 206, 208 250–2, 254–5, 258
Arbel 54 Babylonian 12, 51, 58, 60, 62–3, 171,
architecture 21, 50, 72, 78, 83, 107, 127, 192, 198, 201, 203, 219, 221, 224, 226,
160, 164, 266 231–2, 236, 240, 242, 247–8, 251–2,
Arda-Mulišši 241 254–8, 267
Arnon 111 bamah/bāmôt 202, 238
Aroer 215 Baruch 18, 227, 253
Arslan Tash ivory 169 Bashan 96
Arvad 171, 229 Batash, Tel 14–15, 152, 210, 215, 249
Aryan 68 Bathsheba 148
Arzawa 88 Bayesian 114
Ashdod 14–15, 72, 103–6, 213, 228–9 Beersheba 15, 43, 72, 76, 81–3, 109, 125,
Asherah/Asherim 179, 200–2, 204–5, 218, 163–4, 210, 214–15, 238, 245, 248–9
234 Beit Lei, Khirbet 193
Ashkelon 44–5, 47, 67, 85, 87–8, 103, Beit Mirsim, Tell 15, 17, 83, 215
106, 171, 218, 229, 264 Bel 229
ashlar 15, 164 Belshazzar 237, 255, 258
Ashtarot(h) 44, 47, 96 Benjamin 59, 77, 119, 124, 139, 144, 161,
Ashur 62, 167, 230–1, 245–6 179, 212, 219, 221, 237, 248, 255, 267
Ashurbanipal 113, 230, 237, 244, 247, Benjaminites 51, 144
256–7 Berekyahu 18, 227
Ashurnasirpal 185 Berossus 232
Ashyahu 223 Beth-Ammon 229
Asia/Asiatics 49–50, 63, 68, 87, 93, 99, Bethel 109, 141, 175, 201, 221, 235, 248,
105, 124, 265 250
Assyria/Assyrians 38, 52, 61–2, 67–8, Bethlehem 214
110, 161, 167, 169–71, 176, 180–2, Beth-Shean 44, 47, 72–4, 83, 115
187–92, 201, 206–7, 210, 212, 214–18, Beth-Shemesh 44, 75, 152, 210, 215
220, 228–31, 242–3, 245–6, 248, 250, Beth-Zur 42
256, 258, 267 Bichrome ware 13–15, 102, 104
Astarte 205 Boğazköy 51
astral 205, 228, 245–6, 256 Borsippa 233
Aten 65 Botrys 172
Athaliah 174–5, 189, 208 bulla 17, 226
Athirat 200 bullae 18, 151, 163, 217, 223, 225, 227,
Attar 166 245
Atum 95 bureaucracy/bureaucrats 150–3, 163, 221,
Auza 172 245
 Index of Subjects 357

burial (see also ‘tombs’) 236–7, 251, 253, cult(s) 65, 148, 177, 179, 194, 199–204,
258 215, 218, 221, 234–5, 237–9, 244–6,
Burnt Archive 18, 226–7 250, 256, 267
Busayra 114 Cushite 180, 208, 241
Busayrah 113 Cyprus 14, 47, 50, 72, 99, 105, 154, 229
Byblos 42, 44–5, 50, 100, 150, 170, 172,
213, 229 Dab’a, Tell el- 42
bytdwd 166 Dagan 80, 161
Damascus 44, 47, 51, 81, 143, 167–71,
Calah 167, 170–1, 191 173, 176, 185–91, 206–7, 265
Calebites 81 Dan, Tel 18, 35, 165, 185
calendar 152 Dananir, Umm ad- 112
camels 58 David 7, 16, 24, 32–5, 78–80, 84, 91, 102,
Canaan 14, 36, 42, 44–8, 50, 53–6, 64–7, 107, 112, 119, 138–48, 151, 157–8, 166,
72–4, 86, 92, 98, 105, 116, 123–4, 203 178, 183–4, 190, 203, 234, 238, 248,
Canaanites 20, 55–7, 81, 87, 97, 104–5, 265–6
116, 122, 124, 126–8, 140, 204, 265 Debir 116, 210
Caphtor 100 Deborah 117–19
Carchemish 88, 170, 232, 236, 251, deity/ies and divinity/divinities 148, 155,
253–4, 256 183, 193–205, 230
Carmel 65, 74, 76 demographics 6, 12, 72, 75, 79, 82, 123,
Chaldaea/Chaldaeans 58, 232, 236 146, 219
Chemosh 193–4 Denye 89
chief 45, 144, 171, 176, 183, 190, 199, Denyen 99
203 Deuteronomist/Deuteronomistic History
chiefdom 82, 84, 135–7 49, 91–2, 116, 148, 179–80, 246, 249
chronicle(s) 92, 94, 148, 172–3, 175, Dibonite 167
177–9, 190, 192, 199, 230–2, 234, 237, diet 21, 75
246–8, 250–2, 254, 256–8, 266–8 divination 202, 234–5
chronology 13, 15, 58, 60–2, 71, 83–4, Djahi/Djahy 89, 101
102, 104–5, 112, 114, 150, 159, 230, Djehuty 70
240, 242–3 Documentary Hypothesis 49, 195
Cisjordan 75, 137, 146 Dor 74, 100, 106, 210
cisterns 74, 154, 160
citadel 29, 77, 157, 213, 265 Ebir-nari 237
city/urban 5, 14, 42–8, 51, 53–4, 59, 61–5, Ebla 31, 51, 194
67, 70, 72–4, 77–81, 83, 85, 87, 91, 100, economy 37, 75, 82, 182, 216, 245
103, 110–11, 113, 117, 122, 124–5, 128, Edar 76
132, 135, 137, 143–4, 147, 149, 154, Edom 54, 57, 110–15, 137, 143, 171, 174,
156–7, 159, 162–4, 168, 170–4, 192, 190, 229–31
206–7, 211–13, 215–16, 219–20, 231–3, Edomite 113–15, 216
235–6, 244, 254–6, 264–6 Edrei 96
clan 117, 131, 165, 183 Eglon 117
clans 165, 183 Egypt 42, 45–9, 60–2, 64, 66–8, 70, 85,
climate 5–6, 84, 164, 264 87, 89, 91–5, 97–9, 101, 123–4, 147,
copper 55, 82, 90–1, 108–9, 114, 169, 190 149–52, 154–5, 170, 192, 206, 208, 228,
Crete 100 230, 232–3, 235–6, 240, 244, 247–8,
cubit 160 253–4, 258, 264, 266
358 Index of Subjects

Egyptians 22, 57, 65–7, 87–8, 93, 97, Euphrates 51–2, 61–4, 147, 168, 229, 232,
100–101, 104, 113, 129, 157, 201, 217– 266
18, 240, 248–52, 258 Execration texts 44, 70
Ehud 117 exile/exilic 49, 58, 92, 180, 197, 202, 219,
‘Ein Zippori 72 236, 240, 255
Ekron 44, 103–8, 215–16, 221, 229, 245, exodus 36, 64, 66, 91–8, 121, 124, 155,
249 195, 265
’El 195, 186 Ezekiel 236, 252, 254, 257–8
Elam 67 Ezra 20, 57, 226, 237, 256–7
Elath 175
Elephantine 201–2 Far’ah 42, 64, 161
Eliaqim 17, 226 farmhouses 214
Eliashib 222 Faynan 82, 113–15
Eliezer 59 figurines 218
Elijah 173–4, 176–7, 181, 199, 208 folk religion
Elim 197 food (see also ‘diet’) 46, 147
Elish 198 forgeries 17–18, 165
Elisha 173–7, 199, 208 fortifications 15, 42, 79, 82, 163–4,
Elishama 227 212–13
elites 105, 136, 151 frontier(s) 54, 65, 83, 89
Elohist 49 fundamentalism 22–4
Eloth 175
Elyashib 222 Gabbari 183
Elyon 196–7 Gabbūl 185
Emar 53 Gad 118
empire(s) 5, 32, 62–3, 65, 67–8, 100, 124, Galilee 73, 88, 140, 159, 207, 221, 248
147–8, 168, 186, 188, 206, 230–1, 245, garrison(s) 89, 101, 143
248, 255, 265–7 gateway 42, 164
emporium/emporia 170, 217 Gath 45, 47, 52, 74, 81, 103, 106–9,
En-gedi 215 142–3
Enuma 198 Gaza 45, 54, 85–7, 103, 106, 170–1, 213,
Ephesus 172, 182 216, 229, 245, 264
Ephraim 42, 75–7, 115, 118–19, 124, 131, Geba 179, 248
139, 161 Gedaliah 226
Ephraimite 44, 75–6, 161, 176, 188, 191, Gedalyahu 226
207–8 Gemariah 225
Epigraphy/epigrapher 18–19, 58, 163, Gemaryahu 225, 256
200, 225 genealogies 118, 130, 155, 195
Erani 210 Genesis 31, 43, 48, 57–60, 86, 115,
Erech 237 195–6, 198
Eretria 169 Gerizim 202
Esarhaddon 113, 229–30, 237, 244, 256–7 Gezer 15, 45, 47, 72, 79, 83, 85, 87–8,
Esdar 81 103, 137, 149, 152, 210, 249
Eshbaal 199 Gibeon 116, 140, 214
Eshem-Bethel 201 Gibeonites 140
Essamtowy 233–4 Gideon 117
Ethbaal 182 Gihon 163
Ethiopia 230 Gilead 118, 139, 174, 181, 207
ethnicity 8, 19–21, 125, 130, 137 Gilzau 167
Girgashites 57, 124, 155, 265
 Index of Subjects 359

gods (see also deity/ies and divinity/ Hebrew 4, 11, 48, 52, 95, 118–19, 130–1,
divinities) 170, 172, 197, 199, 201, 150–1, 160, 164–5, 178–9, 188, 192,
204–5, 230, 232–3, 245–6 196–8, 200, 217–18, 223, 249
goddess 45, 117, 200–202 Hebron 37, 42, 76, 116, 124, 158, 200,
goddesses 201 219–20, 224
Goliath 109–10, 146 Hecataeus 205
Goshen 95 Helladic 14
government 61–2, 129, 158, 213, 253 Herodotus 147, 204, 252
governor(s) 170–1, 226 Hezekiah 81, 163, 211, 213, 215–16, 220,
grain 37, 76, 86, 133, 144, 161 224, 238–46, 256, 258–9
Greek 6, 19, 61, 109–10, 150, 154, 172, Hiel 173
176, 193, 203, 205, 218, 222, 249, 252 hieratic 217
griffins 163 hieroglyphs 163
Gurgum 166 highlands 43, 57, 70, 74–5, 77, 81, 83–4,
Gush 166, 185 90, 109, 114, 116, 123, 127–9, 134,
Gūsi, Bît 185 139–40, 145–6, 154, 156, 158, 161, 214,
217, 219, 221, 224, 245, 264–5
Haba, Wadi al- 112 Hilkiah 226, 256
ḫaberu/ḫabiru (see also ‘’Apiru’) 52 Hinnom 163
Hadad 165–6, 169, 173–5, 179–80, 187– Hiram of Tyre 170
90, 206–8 Ḫirbet Ṣāliḥ 211
Hadadezer 143, 167–8, 181, 187–8, 206 Hisbân 110
Hadar 83 Hisma 112
ḫadiiāni 169, 188, 206 historiography 6, 10, 26, 28–30
Hadrām 185 histoire conjonctures 6
ḫaiiānu 183 histoire événementielle 6
Halab 53 historiography 6, 10, 26, 28–30
Halif, Tell 15, 210 Hittite 51, 60, 62–3, 66–8, 100, 124, 164
Hamath 166, 168, 170, 176, 183, 188, Hittites 54, 56–7, 63–7, 108, 124, 155,
192, 196 265
Hamathite 167 Hivites 57, 124, 265
Hammah 152 Hophrah 236
Hammurabi 60, 62–3 Horeb 173
Hanunu 170–1 Horites 57, 265
Haran 59, 96, 154 horticulture 161
Harasim 103 Ḥorvat ‘Uza 215–16
Haror, Tell 15, 81 Hoshayahu 222
Harran 231 Hoshea 171, 191–2, 195, 207–8, 242–3
Hasa, Wadi al- 112 Hozai 234, 247
Ḥaṣeva 216–7 Huldah 235
Hatshepsut 64 Ḫumri(a) 170, 180, 184–5
Hatti 63, 66, 88, 229 Hurrian 44–5, 48, 59, 63, 68
Hattu 232 Hurrians 42, 68, 155, 265
Hattusilis 68 Hyksos 42, 49–50, 62, 64, 94, 98
Hawam 74
Haza’ili 170 Iadnana 229
Hazael 72, 81, 106, 143, 160, 166, 168–9, iconography 97, 153, 228, 250, 256
173–5, 181, 185, 188–9, 206–7 ideology 9, 22, 24, 28, 31, 38, 137–8
Hazor 11, 15, 42, 44–5, 47–8, 64, 72–4, Idrimi 53
79, 116, 137, 159 Idumaean 245
360 Index of Subjects

Ikausu 229 Jehu 160, 168–9, 173–6, 181–2, 184, 187,

Ilu-bi’di 192 189, 206–9
India 68 Jemmeh 58
inscription 17–18, 25, 35, 55, 58, 66, 80, Jephthah 117
85–90, 94, 97, 101–2, 107–8, 111, 115, Jerahmeel 227
126–7, 148, 151–3, 159, 165–72, 181–2, Jeremiah 17–18, 95, 201, 225–8, 236–7,
184–6, 188–9, 191, 200–201, 207, 213, 241, 249–50, 252–4, 256–8
225–6, 233–4, 240, 252 Jericho 116, 173, 215, 248
inscriptions 6–7, 36–8, 44, 49, 55, 65, Jeroboam 165, 175–6, 178–80, 190, 206,
70, 86, 88, 90, 99–100, 110, 113, 116, 208, 235
127–8, 137, 150, 152–3, 164–5, 168–9, Jerubbaal 117
181–9, 193–4, 196, 198, 205–6, 211, Jerusalem 11, 15–16, 34, 42, 44–7, 52,
221, 225, 228–9, 231, 239–40, 242–4, 70–1, 76–9, 82, 85, 89–1, 143–4, 147–9,
256–8, 265 152, 155, 157–8, 162–3, 175, 179, 193,
Ionic 15, 163 200–203, 205–6, 210–14, 219–21, 223–
‘Ira, Tel 164, 215, 216 6, 228, 234–7, 240–2, 244, 246, 250–5,
Iran(ian) 44, 68, 207 257–8, 264–7
Irḫulēnu 167–8 Jezebel 172–4, 182–3, 189, 199, 244
iron 74, 108–9, 116, 155, 169, 230 Jezreel 13, 15, 42, 47, 73–4, 76, 85, 88,
Isaac 58–9, 195 91, 115, 141, 159–60
Isaiah 95, 204 Joash 169, 175, 177, 188–90, 207, 209
Ishbosheth 139, 199 Job 96, 196, 203, 205
Ishmael 227 Jochan 17
Ishtar 230 Jokneam 72, 83
Isin 62, 67 Jonah 176
Isis 234 Jonathan 145, 199
Ithōbalos 172 Joppa 70
Ittobaal 182 Joram 174, 181
Iu’asu 169 Jordan 43, 47, 55, 74–5, 88, 111–12, 116,
ivories 164 125, 139, 155, 175, 219
Izbet-ṣartah 76 Joseph 97, 118, 131, 200
Josephus 49, 172, 232
Jaazaniah 226, 256 Joshua 49, 92, 94, 97–8, 116–17, 120–1,
Jabbok 111 155, 195, 248–9
Jaffa 103 Josiah 153, 205, 212, 215, 217–21, 223,
jar 7, 17, 21, 75, 127, 211, 220 225, 234–5, 237–9, 245–52, 256–9, 267
jars 74, 155, 210–11, 223–5 Jotham 176, 191
Jatt 74 Judeidah, Tell 210
Jebusite(s) 57, 124, 144, 155, 265 Judges 48–9, 92, 94, 97–8, 106, 116–19,
Jehoahaz 171, 175, 189–90, 207–8, 235, 131, 143, 155, 265
251
Jehoash 17, 147, 165, 175, 190 Kadmonites 56
Jehoiachin 17, 232, 235, 252, 254, 257 Kamose 50
Jehoiakim 225, 227, 235–7, 251, 253–4, Kanama 233
256, 258 Karchoh 167
Jehonadab 175 Karnak 85, 87, 89
Jehoram 174, 181, 184, 186, 189, 199, Kassite(s) 63, 67
207 Keisan, Tel 74
Jehoshaphat 174, 189 Kemosh 167
 Index of Subjects 361

Kenites 56, 81, 123 Machir 118

Kenizzites 56 Magan 230
Ketef Hinnom 163 Madaba/Medeba 112, 167
Kharu 85–6 Malḥata 164, 216
Khatte 85, 87 Mamilla 163
Kheleifeh, Tell 164 Manasseh 42, 76–7, 88, 115, 118, 124,
Khirbat 82, 112, 114–15 131, 161, 212–13, 220, 225, 229–30,
Khirbet 36, 80, 82, 109, 151, 193, 200, 234, 237–8, 243–7, 256, 258–9, 267
210 Manetho 49, 61
Khirbit 76, 161 Maras 169
Khuweilifeh, Tell el- 210 Marduk 198
kinglist 49 Mari 48, 51, 59, 62–3, 169
Kinneret 74 maryannu 68, 101
Kiriath-jearim 116 Maskhuta 95
Kiriathaim 167 Masoretic 193
Kittim 222 Masos, Tel 81–2, 164, 215
Kode 88 Matanba’al 229
Kummuḫ(ites) 169, 170 maximalists/maximalism 24, 26, 36, 162,
Kuntillet ‘Ajrud 36, 153, 164 263
Kurba’il 168 MCC 13, 16, 71, 84
Kurkh 111, 167, 182–3 Medes 231
Kushtashpi 170 Medinet Habu 88, 99
Kûsu 230 Mediterranean 14–15, 43, 47–8, 51, 66,
72, 104, 124, 154, 168, 186
Lab’aya 45, 157 Megiddo 13, 15, 44–5, 47, 64–5, 67, 70–
Laban 54 4, 79, 83, 89, 91, 101, 109, 137, 159–60,
Lachish 14–15, 45, 47, 67, 71–2, 79–80, 210, 217, 221, 264
83, 102–3, 116, 161–3, 193, 205, 210– Meliz 166
12, 215, 219–20, 223, 226, 229, 236, Melqart 166
253, 256–7, 264 Meluhha 230
Laish 44, 264 Menahem 170, 176, 190–1, 207
Lamassû 230 Menander 172, 182
Larsa 62 Menes 61
law 21, 138, 153, 190, 249–50, 257 Menorah, Tel 72
Lebanon 45–7, 51, 126, 230 Mephibosheth 199
Lebo-hamath 176 merchants/mercantile 57, 62, 136
Leontopolis 202 Meribbaal 199
Levant 26, 50, 87, 108–9, 137 Merenptah 44, 66, 85, 87–8, 93–4, 98,
Levi 119, 131 111, 115, 125–27, 130, 154, 159
Leviathan 198 Merodach 241
Libyan(s) 66, 85, 87, 93 Meṣad Ḥashavyahu 217–18, 221–2, 249
literacy 150–3, 221, 228, 245, 249 Mesha 112, 143, 167, 174, 180, 184–6,
Lod 44 193, 207
lmlk seals 211, 220, 225 Mesopotamia(ns) 42, 51, 54, 60–1, 67–8,
longue durée 5–6, 27, 37, 84, 263–4, 267 124, 147, 151–2, 154, 161, 177, 186,
Lydus 193 194, 204
Metinti 229
Maachite 226 Micaiah 174
Maccabees 213 Midianites 123
362 Index of Subjects

Milkiashapa 229 Nomads/nomadism 4, 52, 55, 121, 123–6,

Milkomor 226 128, 130–4
mišneh 163 Nubia 64–5, 85, 100, 230, 240
minimalism 24 Nubians 93, 99
Miqne 14–15, 102–4, 215–16, 245 Nuzi 48, 59–60
Miqneyaw 193
Miqre 221 Og 96
Mitanni 56, 64–5, 67–8 olives 216, 221, 245
Mizpah 141, 179, 210, 219, 226, 267 Omri(des) 15, 34, 72, 74, 159–60, 167–9,
Moab 110–12, 114, 125, 137–8, 143, 167, 173, 176, 179–6, 189, 206–7, 267
171, 174, 180, 182, 184–6, 207, 229, 231 Ophel 79, 162
Moabites 57, 194 Ophir 174
monotheism 37, 65, 198, 201, 204–5 Ophrah 248
Mor, Tel 14–15, 104 oracle 58
Moses 93–4, 97, 195, 197, 205 oral 152, 267
Mujib, Wadi al- 111–12 Orontes 66, 167–8
Mukishkhi 53 Osirmose 234
Mursilis 62–3 Osnappar 237, 257
Muṣur 230 ostraca 152–3, 160, 164–5, 183, 193, 199–
Muwatallis 68 200, 205, 217, 221–3, 245, 249, 257
Mycenaean 14–15, 99, 102–4
Palestine/Palestinian(s) 3, 7, 9–12, 14,
Naaman 174 16–17, 25–6, 32–5, 38, 42, 44–5, 47–50,
Našar 233 54, 56–8, 60, 64–7, 70–3, 77, 84, 86,
Nabonidus 254–5 88–91, 94, 96–7, 99, 101–3, 105, 109,
Nabopolassar 231–2 113–15, 124, 129, 135, 149, 152, 154,
Naboth 173 156, 159, 184, 196, 203, 205–6, 221,
Nahar 198 233–4, 242–3, 252, 257, 264–5
Nahas, Khirbat en- 82, 114–15 Panammu 170
Nahor 59 Pantheon(s) 148, 196–8, 200
Nasbeh, Tell en- 210, 214, 219, 267 Pashhur 226
Nebo 193 Passover 235, 237
Nebuchadnezzar 67, 220, 231–3, 235–7, pastoralism 6, 37, 51, 55, 124, 126, 128–
251–4, 256–8 9, 133, 264
Nebuzaradan 236 patriarchs 31, 33, 43, 48–9, 57–9
Necho 218, 230, 235–7, 247, 251, 256, peasants 72, 123, 128, 133, 154–5
258–9 Pediese 233–4
necromancy 203 Pekah/Peqah 171, 176, 189, 191, 207–8
Neferibre 233 Pekahiah 176, 191, 208
Negev 15, 76, 81–3, 88–90, 109, 139, Pekana’an 85–6
183, 200, 214–16, 218–19, 221, 249, 264 Peleg 72
Nergal 167 Peleset 99
Neriah 227, 253 Pella 44, 47
Neriyahu 18 Pelusiac 101
Nile 101 Pentateuch 48–9, 91, 98, 121
Nimrod 168 Perez 29
Nimrud 172, 201 Perizzites 56–7
Nineveh 67, 229–31 Persian(s) 12, 20, 33, 49, 62, 67, 95, 97–8,
Nob 140 110, 147, 149, 201–3, 219, 221, 233,
255, 258, 267
 Index of Subjects 363

pharaoh 45–6, 53, 70, 86, 89–90, 93–4, Rechabite 175

97, 99, 148–50, 180, 222, 233–7, 252, Rehoboam 13, 80, 89, 91, 178–9
256, 258 Rehov, Tel 44, 47, 74, 152–3
Philistia/Philistines 14, 49, 53, 58, 81, 89, religion 21, 31, 36–7, 48, 57, 127, 131,
91, 99–101, 103–4, 107–9, 139–43, 149, 138, 155, 179, 193, 201–4, 246
156, 211, 224, 248, 266 Rephaim 57, 96, 203
Phoenicia(ns) 44–5, 56, 66, 72, 154, 164, revolt 31–2, 85, 120–2, 125, 160, 181,
172, 182, 203, 252 208, 229, 250, 256
Pisiris 170 Rezin 170, 176, 188–9, 191, 207
Pithom 95 Rimah 168, 188
polytheism 203 rosette seals 223
popular/folk/family religion 202, 246 Rosh 152
populations (see also ‘demography’) 32, rural countryside
68, 120, 192
pork 21, 75 sacrifice(s) 174, 203
postmodernism 22, 27–30 Sahab 112
post-processual archaeology 8–9 Sahara 56
priest 61, 141, 144–5, 189, 203, 226, Sais 231
233–4 Saite 67, 95, 97
priestess 204 Sam’al 166, 170
priesthood 65, 203 Samaria(ns) 13, 15, 17, 71, 74, 84, 139,
priestly 49, 119, 141, 190, 203 159–1, 164–5, 169–71, 173–74, 176,
priests 140, 144, 203, 233, 235 180, 183–4, 191–2, 199–201, 207–8,
processual archaeology 8–9 212, 221, 235, 237, 242–3, 257, 267
Psamtek 233 Samath 54
Puduil 229 Samerina 210
Samsi 171
Qadesh-barnea 81, 96, 216–17, 221, 245, Samson 106, 117
249 Sanskrit 68
Qain, ha- 76 Sargon 171, 192, 201, 205, 207, 228,
Qantir 95 242–3
Qarqar 167, 181 scarabs 50, 67, 163
Qasileh 76 scribe 18, 90, 186, 190, 225, 227, 233,
Qerosite 222 253
Qôm, Khirbet el- 36, 200 scribes 128, 151–2, 154, 243
Qos/Qaus 113, 194 scroll 234–5
Qos-Gabr 113 seal 17–18, 113, 152–3, 193, 205, 210–11,
218–19, 223–7, 249, 253, 257
Rabshakeh 242 seals 17–18, 83, 137, 150, 152–3, 163,
Raddana 76, 109, 161 201, 205, 211, 217, 220–1, 223–5, 227–
radiocarbon dating 13, 16, 84, 114–15, 8, 245, 249, 256
140 sedentary 76, 86, 111, 114, 124, 126,
Radom, Horvat 215 132–3
Rahab 198 Seir 54, 57, 111
rainfall 37, 81, 84, 114 seismograph 75
Ramat Rahel 17, 214, 244 Semiramis 168
Rameses 87–8, 94–5, 111, 125 Semites/Semitic 33, 35, 37, 48, 50–2, 55,
Ramoth-gilead 174, 181 59, 61, 93–4, 123, 127, 150, 152, 193,
Ras Shamra 47 196–8, 200, 204
Ratabah, Tell el- 95
364 Index of Subjects

Sennacherib 71, 161–2, 210–15, 220, States/statehood 5, 42–3, 45–7, 52–3, 62,
224–5, 229, 239–44, 256 68, 72–4, 110–11, 115, 122, 125, 134–8,
Sera 81 141, 151, 154, 156–8, 170, 180, 184,
Seti 54, 66, 70 186, 195, 198, 201, 204–5, 213, 215,
settlement(s) 4, 6, 14, 22, 24, 31–4, 36, 217, 237, 250–1, 264, 266
42–3, 73–7, 79–83, 84, 91, 93, 95, 99, steppe 52
102–6, 109–15, 120, 124–5, 127–30, Stepped Stone Structure 78
133–4, 139, 144, 154, 156–7, 160–2, Syria(n) 26, 42, 44–7, 51, 54, 63, 65–6,
164, 195–6, 210, 212–19, 221, 244, 249, 68, 70, 124, 154, 164, 167–8, 170, 180,
255, 264–5, 267 185–6, 190, 196, 265
Shabay 222
Shaddai 195–6, 199 Taanach 47, 159, 202
Shalim/Shalem 147 Taharqa 240, 243
Shalmaneser 111, 167–9, 171, 182–3, 185, Tannin 198
188, 192, 206–9 Tarqû 230
Shalom 140, 144 Tarshish 174
shamans 136 Tash 169
Shamgar 117 Tawilan 113
Shamshi-adad 62, 168 taxation 136
Shamshi-ilu 188, 206 Tekoah 76
Shaphan 225, 256 Tema 255
Sheba 148–9, 239, 266 temple 79, 85, 88–9, 107, 146–8, 162–3,
Shechem 42, 44–7, 70, 84, 88, 124, 157, 173, 179, 189, 191, 193, 199–203, 205,
264 215–16, 222, 225, 231, 234–5, 237, 241,
Shekelesh 89, 99 250, 253, 257, 266, 268
Shephelah 14, 75–6, 79, 81, 103, 109, Terah 59
139, 143, 158, 161, 183, 212, 215, 219– teraphim 203
21, 224, 244, 248–9, 264 terracing 74, 154
Sherden 99 Teudjoy 233
Sheva 166 Tiamat 198
Shiloh 17, 42, 76, 161, 225–7 Tibni 173, 180
Shishak Shoshenq 14, 89 Tiglath-pileser 58, 111, 170–1, 176, 186,
Shoham 225 189, 191, 206–8
Shoshenq 13, 71–2, 74, 80, 82–3, 89–1, Tigris 61, 231
148, 150, 159, 206 Timnah 210, 215
Sibittibi’il 170 Tirhakah (see also ‘Taharqa’) 230, 241
Sicily 205 Tirzeh 173
Sidonians 168 Tjeker 89, 99
Sile 54, 95 tombs 80, 160, 163
Siloam 25, 213, 220, 244 Torah 175, 249
Simeon 81, 119 trade 8, 42, 47–8, 50, 55, 62, 72, 82, 90–1,
Sin 231, 250 100, 105, 112–13, 123, 126, 141, 147,
Sinai 64, 96 149, 154, 164, 190, 216, 218–19, 221,
Sirara 230 224, 245, 249
sociology 4, 32, 122 Transjordan(ians) 43–4, 54, 75, 82, 110–
Socoh 224 15, 133, 143, 184, 202, 218, 221
soils 37 Tresh 99
Solomon 16, 24, 32–3, 35, 72, 81, 84, 91, tribes/tribalism 4, 22, 32, 51, 54–5, 63,
119, 138, 143, 146–51, 157, 178, 180, 100, 105, 116–20, 130–1, 133–5, 137,
190, 265–6 140, 178, 248
 Index of Subjects 365

Tyre/Tyrians 44–5, 66, 147, 168–70, 172, Yah

182, 213, 229–30, 236, 253–54, 257 Yahudu 232–3
Yaḫan 185
Ugarit(ic) 45, 47–8, 51–2, 56–7, 65–6, 70, Yakudu 233
96, 100, 194, 196, 198, 200, 203–4 Yakū-kinu 233
‘Umayri, Tall al- 110, 112–13 Yamḫad
Umeq 169 Yamīna/Yaminites 51
Umm al-Biyara 113 Yamm 198
Umm ad-Dananir, Khirbat 112 Yano’am 87–8
Umman-manda 231 Yattir 81
Ur 51, 58, 60–1 Yaudi 170
Uriah 200 Ya’u-kīn 232
Urikki 170 Yhw/Yahu/Yaho 54, 166, 194, 196, 201,
Uzziah 34, 170, 175–6, 190–1 218, 223
Yhwh/Yahwism 36–7, 93, 117, 138–9,
vassals/vassalage 44, 81, 101, 170, 185, 141, 147–8, 155–6, 174–5, 177, 179,
214 183–4, 193–202, 204–5, 222, 234, 256,
village(s) 16, 77, 111, 126, 128–9, 132, 258
215, 258 Yochan/Yochin 17, 226

Wadi 82, 111–15, 127 Zafit, Tel 102

Warren’s shaft 79 Zagros 63
Wawiyat 72 Zarqa, Wadi az- 111
weight(s) 29, 108, 127, 137, 147, 150, Zayit, Rosh 152
152, 195, 217–19, 243, 245, 249 Zedekiah 236, 240, 252–4
Weshesh 89, 99 Zimri 173, 180
Wine/vineyard 76, 160–1, 164–5, 173, Ziph 224
183, 224

Xerxes 233