Posted on 08/03/2004 5:58:56 AM PDT by sinanju
Ransacked West Bank antiquities turn into black-market gold
On a small stone patio, surrounded by 2,000-year-old olive trees and piles of ancient pottery, Ahmed takes a deep breath as the smell of freshly slaughtered goat baked with okra and tomatoes wafts from his window.
The ritual of sharing a homemade meal from an animal reared in his yard is nothing new for the herder-turned-grave-robber on days when his friends come to visit.
To his left sits a once-affluent and significant Palestinian antiquities dealer in a pin-striped shirt, and to his right an Israeli antiquities hunter, who has ventured beyond the Israeli road blocks and fences to sneak into Palestinian territory for the mom-and-pop black-market trading on Ahmed's hidden porch.
The sound of roosters echoes behind them, as they pass around ancient clay jugs, figurines, chalices, arrow-heads and coins caked with mud.
Ahmed has always loved to dig in the earth, ever since he was a young boy, and the winter rains would turn over the topsoil to reveal hidden treasures. A little spit and then a rub on his jeans would expose coin after coin - although the market in his tiny village near Nablus would not accept them as currency, he remembers laughing.
At age 37, Ahmed still digs the same earth, albeit deeper, and now understands its prestigious legacy. Samaria has witnessed the struggles of at least 10 eras: Canaanite, Israelite, Assyrian, Babylonian, Persian, Greek, Hasmonean, Samaritan, Roman and Byzantine. It served for 2,900 years prior as the capital of the Israelite tribes, and according to Christian tradition is the burial site of the head of John the Baptist.
Over the years, Ahmed has fine-tuned his ability to read the landscape's secrets. From the color, shape and texture of the earth and foliage, he is able to guess what lies beneath.
"The Palestinians know more than the archeologists," snickers the Israeli buyer, Tal.
Though Ahmed has become addicted to the thrill of uncovering a find, and is more interested in supporting his family than in proving historical or political facts, he has become one of a cadre of West Bank Palestinians who some say are stealing away - and others claim are unwittingly saving - the clues to the remaining history of ancient Israel and ancient Palestine.
"It's worse since the intifada started," Ahmed says, twisting his mouth into a frown. "There is no [other] work - so everyone digs."
GRAVE-ROBBING AND other digging has become an illicit but competitive profession for some West Bank villagers. On a typical morning, Ahmed says he is just one of dozens of locals toting a pick and shovel. The topsoil reveals pile after pile of recently unearthed dirt. Those going deeper tear through the layers of history with bulldozers.
"In Sebastia, it's like an Emmenthal cheese, full of holes," says Tal.
Unlike the authorized, supervised and documented digs with professional archeologists that dotted the area before the Oslo Accords ceded control of the area to the Palestinian Authority in 1994, the diggers today are herders, waiters and lawyers, who can find no other way to make a living.
Ron Kehati, the commerce inspector for the Israel Antiquities Authority, whose staff hunts antiquities thieves, estimates that illegal digging in the Palestinian areas is up more than 50 percent.
"Since the Palestinian Authority is over there, many people trade in illegal antiquities. After the PA or Palestinian police or whoever finds it, it all gets sold - it never gets to a Palestinian museum," he says. "Palestinians have histories as we do; [so] if they keep the land, they should also preserve the history of the land."
While the IAA worries about antiquities disappearing, archeologists cringe as amateurs ignore the rules of digging, recording and preserving historical sites.
"In the next generation we won't be able to see and enjoy what's there. It is an archeologically magnificent site that has a lot to offer tourists and archeologists," says archeologist and tour guide Ronen Bitan. "Who rules the land doesn't matter, as long as it is being preserved. It's a shame as an archeologist, regardless of political opinion, when my legacy is being ruined: that's a real tragedy."
The PA did set up an Antiquities Authority after Oslo, but Israeli officials say it disintegrated in recent years. The PAA head, Dr. Hamdan Taha, was in Morocco at press time and could not be reached for comment.
Palestinian archaeologists have protested that the closures preventing Palestinians from working in Israel has led the unemployed to take-up illegal digging. Bir Zeit University's Institute of Archaeology head, Hamed Salem, who was also abroad at press time, presented a paper recently to the World Archeological Congress saying that "Palestinian heritage work faces internal and external difficulties due to shortage of well-trained staff, limited funding and lack of authority to implement a comprehensive archaeology program under occupation and thus protect archaeological sites from plundering and destruction."
"Jewish antiquities will be lost," charges Tal, who likes to believe that he - with the help of his Palestinian accomplices - is redeeming Jewish history by carting it piece-by-piece back across the Green Line, where it will be preserved.
According to the law, however, Tal is a criminal. No antiquities may be taken from the West Bank into Israel. If caught, he could face fines and up to three years in prison.
But on Ahmed's porch littered with antiquities he feels secure.
"Two," he says, speaking in the thousands of dollars, for a box of the pottery and wares he has picked through.
"No, I want three," says Eyad, the Palestinian dealer, in perfect Hebrew. "Between you and me, two and a half. If I give you two, that leaves nothing for me. You trust me or not?"
"No," Tal replies. "Just kidding; I trust you. But it'll take me one year to sell these - there are no tourists."
Though wads of $100 and $50 bills eventually change hands from Tal to the others, and the deal is closed over a cardamom-laced coffee, the Israeli buyer has ventured into the small Palestinian village with bigger ambitions than smuggling ancient pottery into Israel.
The legacy of Tal's family - a long line of regional traders with a relationship to antiquities and to the earth - has left him obsessed with discovering the ancient Jewish history still buried. After recent purchases from Ahmed, and a description of where they were found, Tal has become convinced that the grave-digger has stumbled onto a mass grave of Jewish priests massacred in the First Temple period.
He knows that if he reports his suspicion to the IAA, the digger, the dealer, and he may be arrested, and their wares confiscated. And so he has come out on his own to investigate, venturing beyond the safety of Ahmed's home.
AFTER COFFEE, Ahmed's brother escorts the group in his car, past herds of animals, olive groves and crumbling whitewashed homes on the back way, in order to keep the curious group inconspicuous. He doesn't want his Palestinian neighbors to know he's marauding with Israelis, anymore than he wants to explain to the Palestinian or Israeli police what he's up to in those fields.
"Don't look out the window at people," Tal instructs this journalist, until it is time to go on foot, the neighbors out of sight. Later, he explains his many pet names for the village, including "Abu Hamas." Out at the base of what was once Samaria Hill, recently dug holes and re-opened caves - many of which are pilfered ancient tombs - create black dots against the gold soil, and in between, broken pottery litters the ground.
"This is Byzantine," says Tal, fingering a small shard. Like Ahmed, he needs only a quick glance to date it.
Combing tombs is not always worthwhile, after years of pillaging since the Byzantine and Ottoman eras.
"They belonged to Jewish and Samaritan families who were living there and using the same burial cases for generations," says archeologist and tour guide Ronen Bitan.
"They respected it. [Then] these burial plots and the site itself was plundered, especially since the Ottoman period until now. Even Mark Twain on his journey to the Holy Land [in 1867] mentions that members of the village nearby were trying to sell him antiquities. But there is a lot [of archeological value] besides the tombs: the antiques, the architecture - it is a huge city and only a small part of it has been excavated."
Ahmed understands this and takes the group of four, both on foot and by car, from site to site, each of which has its own story of what was found and what wasn't.
"For 80 days I worked in these three rooms but found nothing but one piece of pottery I sold for $200," he says.
He stops occasionally to pick sour plums and apricots growing wild.
After some 3,000 years of various civilizations dumping food, pottery and burying their bones, the earth has become rich with nitrate, he says, explaining that nitrate-rich soil grows the sweetest fruits and vegetables. He cracks open the pits of a few apricots, showing the nuts hidden inside. "It's the best earth, the best natural fertilizer," he says, chewing, and pointing out wild herbs used to make tea.
But around a bend and further up the hill, as Tal puffs out of breath, Ahmed reaches the site of contention. "Inside this hole I found only bones - human bones," he says.
He kicks the earth blended with piles of broken bones and teeth. "Here, a jawbone, you see," he says. "There must be 500 bodies buried here."
Tal is also convinced it is an ancient mass grave, but he estimates the number of bodies to be smaller - perhaps only 150, and the site a well. He kicks up the bones, too, inseparably blended with the powdery soil, and stares. "Every well is full of bodies."
A few artifacts reportedly found there the previous week help support his theory that this is evidence of a biblical story, but he describes them only "off the record."
"It's things like this that make it all worthwhile," Tal says. "If I can prove it I'll make sure the important stuff ends up in Israeli universities or museums."
Though he counts Ahmed and Eyad as kindred hunters, Tal doesn't tell them this plan, or his theory - and fear - that when Palestinian sovereignty eventually comes, an agreement will be made whereby Israel will have to return all antiquities found in the West Bank.
"When we gave back Sinai, the Israel Department of Antiquities gave back everything to Egypt that was excavated there," he says in private. "That sets a precedent, so it's likely we will eventually give back the territories and what was found and belongs to the Israel Department of Antiquities and the Israel Museum will be given back to the Palestinians.
"But we are actually saving Jewish antiquities from destruction. I'm not going to give my stuff back," says Tal.
He doesn't trust the Palestinian Authority, but he does trust Ahmed, and has left a few thousand dollars worth of merchandise sitting on the porch.
Heading back, they push the jalopy through the muddy hills, after it stalls a few times and everyone has a good laugh.
"It's not worth the risks, we risk our lives and we risk going to jail, and you cannot become rich in this business because there is very little merchandise and no collectors of Jewish things. But we are just crazy about antiquities - it's like a virus," says Tal.
"Ahmed is a career digger since he was a little kid, not like the seasonal diggers because of the intifada. The treasure-hunter thing is you always think you are going to find the thing to make you rich. But we are doing it not for the money, just for the thrill of finding something special," says Tal.
The men sit back on the porch, and Ahmed takes a deep breath, smiling, watermelon slabs piled on the coffee table, ancient pottery at his feet, and the hills of Samaria in the near distance lying in wait.
Some names have been changed.
Sounds like fun!
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