Wall Fragments in the Jordan Valley

Most of us have no idea of what treasures might rest under our feet. And then, perhaps, the wind blows, some rain falls, a shovel turns, and you see what no human has seen in years, maybe thousands of years.

So it was just fifty-seven years ago at a site known as Deir Alla, 13 miles east of the Jordan River and 27 miles northwest of the current Jordanian capital of Amman. There and then, an Arab foreman working with a group of archaeologists led by Prof. Henk J. Franken of the University of Leiden discovered fragments of a story that had been written many centuries earlier in red and black paint on a plaster wall. Recovery, preservation, restoration, and reassembly of the plaster fragments was a multi-year effort which led first to framed reconstructions being sent to the Amman Archaeological Museum and, subsequently, the publication of a book.  

What could have caused the wall to collapse and shatter? And could that cause help us understand when the wall might have fallen? The answers came from a convergence of investigations at different sites in modern Israel and Jordan, sometimes utilizing different approaches. The sites ranged from Hazor in the north of Israel to Ein Hatseva in the south.  The Jordanian site of Deir Alla lies midway between the two. What these sites have in common, and in common with other sites like Gezer, Lachish, and Tell ej-Judeidah (Tel Goded), is that they all sustained damage consistent with earthquake debris in areas stratigraphically contained to the middle of the Eighth Century BCE. In 2021, the Israel Antiquities Authority (“IAA”) announced evidence in Jerusalem, as well, of a powerful ancient earthquake around that time.  

Nurit Feig, a senior archaeologist at IAA, has summarized the dating of the quake as follows: Israeli archeologist Yigael Yadin claims that quake occurred around 760 BCE, while American geologist Stephan A. Austin and others have set the date ten years later, at about 750 BCE.

In short, during that period, the region experienced a strong earthquake along the Dead Sea Transform Fault System, also known as the Dead Sea Fault (“DSF”) or Rift. The DSF runs along a north-south line extending about 620 miles from the east-west Anatolian Fault line in the north to the Gulf of Aqaba in the south where is separates the Africa and Arabia tectonic plates.

Having studied the pattern and intensity of the damage at diverse sites, Austin identified the epicenter of the quake as north of present-day Israel, likely in modern Lebanon. He further contends that the magnitude was at least 7.8 “but more likely 8.2”. 

Analysis of the unique wall writing at Deir Allah is consistent with the geological findings regarding the collapse of the wall. According to Andre Lemaire, a professor of Hebrew and Aramaic Philology and Epigraphy in the Department of Historical and Philological Science at the Sorbonne in Paris, radiocarbon dating tests of the inscriptions placed the writing at 800 BCE, plus or minus 70 years. Similarly, the late Joseph Naveh, then professor emeritus of Ancient Semitic Epigraphy and Palaeography at Hebrew University in Jerusalem, analyzed the shape and form of the letters.  He called the writing “cursive Aramaic script” from the middle of the Eighth Century BCE or even a decade or two earlier. Consequently, there is an interdisciplinary consensus of sorts that an earthquake of considerable magnitude caused serious damage in the subject area between 770 and 730 BCE, most probably in the middle of that period.

While precision is to be favored, the range of these dates is relatively small. It may even be that there was more than one incident around this time, even a series of tremors. Whatever happened, though, qualifies as one of those seminal events, like the assassination of a political leader or a pandemic, which are preserved in the cultural consciousness of the communities that experienced it and from which point subsequent events are measured.

Indeed, the quake that leveled numerous communities in the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah had that precise impact. The biblical Book of Amos begins by noting that the prophet began to prophesy during the reigns of King Uzziah of Judah (r ~783-742 BCE) and King Jeroboam of Israel (r ~786-746 BCE). The dates of their reigns are approximate, but appear to overlap between about 783 and 746 BCE.  As noted by Nurit Feig, among others, the Book of Amos refers to the time of his service activity as “two years before the earthquake” (Amos 1:1), an event to which the author presumed all who heard or read Amos’s words would relate. She also points out that Zachariah, writing more than two centuries after the event, also invoked the specter of the earthquake “in the days of King Uzziah.” (Zach. 14:5). Significant seismic activity between 770 BCE and 750 BCE would fall comfortably within the period in which both Uzziah and Jeroboam II were in power.

Balaam at Deir Alla

The wall fragments at Deir Alla were found in two locations and fit together into two combinations, as to which Carl S. Erlich, a professor of History and humanities at York University in Toronto, says that the first “is better preserved and much easier to interpret than the very fragmentary second.” Combination I begins with what amounts to an introductory title: “The misfortunes of the book of Balaam s[on of Beo]r.” Those familiar with the Torah and the Hebrew Bible will recognize the name and lineage of a character called Balaam, a name that appears numerous times in these texts, as discussed below.

In the story found at Deir Alla (supplemented by educated inserts of missing letters), Balaam is identified as a “divine seer” whose national identity is not disclosed. According to Erlich, the story relates that he was visited one night by the Shaddai-gods and had a vision “in accordance with El’s utterance.” Balaam was also told that no one would survive the historic debacle that was described to him.

The next day Balaam “summoned the heads of the assembly” and told them that a group of gods who opposed El have ordered two gods, Shagar and Ishtar (the names and titles vary depending on the interpreter), to block the sun’s rays with a cloud and that the darkness would “provoke terror.” Balaam, though, apparently found a way to disrupt the plans of the anti-El faction and preempted the impending catastrophe. His success was then recognized approvingly by the wall story. 

Of course, from this wall story alone we do not know, and cannot tell, whether Balaam was a real person or, like Robinson Crusoe and Huckleberry Finn, based on a real person, or, perhaps, a purely fictional invention like Mary Poppins and Harry Potter.

Similarly, from the wall story alone, we do not know, and cannot tell, whether, if Balaam was a real person, he lived at or around the time his exploits were memorialized on the wall or earlier, and, if earlier, how many years earlier. On this issue, Prof. Lemaire has suggested that the language of the inscription, as reconstructed, “is clearly northwest Semitic.” While he acknowledges that others think it is a Canaanite dialect closer to Hebrew and Ammonite, Lemaire sees “many features of old Aramaic” in the text. And he further suggests that the original story “was edited hundreds of years before” the version on the wall at Deir Alla was placed there.

Prof. Erlich is more circumspect. He recognizes that there are features in the text that “point to” Aramaic and those “closer to” Hebrew/Canaanite. Consequently, he opines, “The best that we can say for certainty is that the language of the Deir ‘Alla inscription is close to but unlike anything else thus far discovered.”

Balaam in the Torah

A more extensive story of a character named Balaam is found in the biblical Book of Numbers. The story follows the reported advance of the Israelites to the steppes of Moab, across the Jordan river from Jericho, as they near the end of their journey to the Promised Land. (Num. 22:1.) Alarmed at the arrival of the numerous Israelites, and understanding that a man named Balaam had the power to issue effective blessings and curses, Balak, King of Moab, sent messengers to invite Balaam to come to Moab and curse the Israelites. (Num. 22:2-6.)

In the Book of Numbers, Balaam’s national identity is somewhat murky. Initially, he is said to be at Pethor, a city located near an unnamed river in his people’s land, the kin being not specified. (Num. 22.5.) Later, Balaam claims to be from Aram, near the eastern mountains. (Num. 23:7.) Conceivably, this locale references a once large area in present-day Syria with boundaries, like most entities of the day, that shifted from time to time. Deuteronomy places Balaam more specifically, in Pethor of Aram-naharaim. (Deut. 23:5). While clearer, this locates Balaam’s home between the Euphrates and Tigris rivers and in ancient Mesopotamia, near the border of present-day Syria and Iraq, and over four hundred miles from the battlefield in Moab.

In any case, when the visitors arrived, Balaam told them that that he would listen to the Israelite God YHWH, who Balaam described as his God and would reply as YHWH might instruct.  (Num. 22:8, 18.) Balaam and YHWH then had a conversation ending with YHWH’s instruction to not curse the Israelites. (Num. 22: 7-12.)

After the first group of emissaries returned to Moab, King Balak sent another more numerous and distinguished set of officials with an enriched proposal for Balaam. Balaam repeated to this group that he could not cross YHWH’s words, and referred to YHWH as “my God.” Another evening message followed from YHWH. This time, though, Balaam received divine permission to travel to Moab, with a caution that he had to do whatever YHWH commanded. (Num. 22:15-20.)

Apparently though, prior to the time Balaam saddled his donkey and started out, YHWH changed his mind, became angry that Balaam was departing, and caused an angel with a sword drawn to block the way. (Num. 22:22-23.) Balaam did not see God’s messenger, but Balaam’s ass clearly did, balked three times at proceeding, got beaten three times by Balaam, and, finally, entered into conversation with Balaam about why Balaam was hitting her.  Ultimately, after YHWH allowed Balaam to see the armed angel, Balaam acknowledged his error and offered to turn back. The angel, however, permitted Balaam to continue his journey, but with a reminder to say only the words YHWH put in his mouth. (Num 22:23-35.)

The episode ends with Balaam’s recitation of four elegantly crafted oracles, during which he invoked divine authority, twice mentioning Shaddai, but mostly YHWH. None of these oracles contained any curse satisfactory to Balak, who got progressively enraged, but, instead, each offered praise or blessing to the Israelites, as well as a forecast of Israelite victories over Moab and Midian, among others. (Num. 22:36 – 23:24.) The story then appears to conclude tersely. It says, simply, that Balaam and Balak went their separate ways. (Num. 23:25.)

But things are rarely simple in the Torah. Before the Book of Numbers  closes, we are told two more things about Balaam. One, attributed to Moses, is that Balaam (successfully) incited Midianite women to seduce Israelite men and turn them to the worship of Midianite gods, thereby leading to a plague among the Israelites. The other is that when the Israelites sought vengeance against the Midianites, they put the sword to all the males of Midian, with named victims being the five Midianite kings and Balaam, who, the Torah implicitly claims, mystifyingly stayed in a war zone despite his own predictions of Israelite success there. (Num. 31:15-16; 31:1-8.) This is a puzzling and troublesome post-script, with a shocking end for Balaam who, after all, faithfully recited YHWH’s words in defiance of the royal patron who brought him to Moab.

Like the story on the wall at Deir Alla, the biblical story about Balak and Balaam raises a number of difficult issues. Again, we don’t know if either Balaam, or Balak for that matter, was a real person? Until recently, there was no firm evidence outside of the Hebrew Bible to think so. Then, in 2019, a noted team of archaeologists reconsidered whether a Ninth Century BCE artifact found east of the Dead Sea, and known as the Mesha Stele, might mention one or the other.

For some context, that black basalt stele contains 34 lines about the exploits of a Moabite king, Mesha, including encounters with the Kingdom of Israel and the Kingdom of Judah. As if that weren’t enough, in 1994, Prof. Lemaire caused a sensation by opining that line 31 of the stele contained a reference to the House of David. Not only had no one done so in the preceding 125 years that followed the discovery of the stele, but if Lemaire was correct, then a new potential conflict was created between the stele and the Tel Dan fragment, which was discovered in 1993 and was thought to be the first archeological find that referred to the House of David.

Lemaire’s proposal began with an undisputed letter beit, or B, in line 31 which he contended was the opening of the phrase beit David, or House of David. Some of the letters are missing in line 31, though, and, in any event, not all scholars agreed that it said what Lemaire claimed.

Writing in 2019, archaeologists Israel Finkelstein and Nadav Na’Aman of Tel Aviv University and Thomas Romer, a professor of Hebrew Bible at the College de France in Paris, “dismiss(ed) Lemaire’s proposal” and suggested “(w)ith due caution” that the name indicated was in fact that of the Moabite King Balak. The matter did not end there, though. A few years later, and now armed with a new three-dimensional image of the stele using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and high-resolution backlit pictures of a paper squeeze of the stele, Lemaire fired back that the new technology supported his reading of the subject phrase.

As of now, the matter is not settled. But even if the Mesha Stele mentions a person named Balak, it does not prove that the person so identified is the same Balak mentioned in the Torah, where the story is set more than two centuries before the events discussed in the stele. Of course, the Balak of the stele could have served as the model for an author who later wrote the Balak/Balaam story in the Torah, but that, too, is speculation.

• What explains the different locations for Balaam’s home? And, if Deuteronomy is correct, why was it necessary to seek a seer so many miles away from the action? Given the urgency of Moabite concerns, and the undoubtedly lengthy and arduous trip to and from Mesopotamia, why not save time and trouble by finding a local visionary to curse the Israelites? Or was the author just drawing upon a well-known legend, either as a hook or as a target?

• Why bring a talking non-human animal into the story? The first and only other time in the Torah that a talking animal appeared was early on in the garden of Eden when YHWH God (the deity mentioned in Genesis) needed a creature to spur Adam and Eve to violate a clear prohibition against eating of the tree of knowledge of good and bad and no other human was around to speak. (Gen. 2:9,16-17.) By the time the Israelites reach Moab, though, there were many, many humans who could have approached Balaam to represent the interests of YHWH and been empowered to show the inadequacy of claimed special powers. Was the ass inserted to provide comedic relief during a period of continuing and relentless internal rebellions and external battles of the Israelites or did it serve another purpose?

• Having followed God’s commands and expressed how goodly the tents of Jacob were (Num. 24:5), and having accurately foretold the imminent success of the Israelites on the battlefield, why was it necessary to kill Balaam? 

To answer these questions, we need to consider both of the stories we have about Balaam, the one that was on the wall at Deir Alla and the one we can read in the Torah. We need to consider when each story was written and how the central figure is portrayed. And we need to do so critically.

When we look at the story written on the wall at Deir Alla, far from proving anything about the Torah, much less the whole Hebrew Bible, we find that the story recovered and reassembled at Deir Alla is akin to inadmissible hearsay in a conventional courtroom setting. We do not know the identity of the original author of the story, nor do we know whether the transcription of that author’s tale is accurate. Unfortunately, we cannot examine either author or scribe to help determine the veracity of authorship or the message.

Moreover, we do not know when the author wrote, for whom, and with what agenda in mind.  Whether written on a plaster wall, inscribed on papyrus or parchment, or even chiseled into stone, a story told is just a story told unless corroborated by reliable evidence external to the medium on which we read it. And, consequently,  we need to engage in these matters with considerable modesty as to their authenticity, veracity, and import.

Much the same can be said about the story of Balaam in the Torah. That is, we do not know who wrote or edited the story, nor when exactly it was written or when it  became part of the Torah text that we have received. And we have no external evidence to corroborate the story of Balak and Balaam, much less that of the talking ass. But we do have enough information about both stories which can form the foundation for some informed judgments. These are not judgments beyond a reasonable doubt, to be sure, but then, again, we are not considering criminal culpability for a misdeed. Rather, they are judgments based on the preponderance of the evidence, conclusions that are more reasonable than not.

Recall that Prof. Lemaire and Prof. Naveh considered the language and script on the wall at Deir Alla to be old and Aramaic. The situation is quite different with respect to the story in the Torah. Alexander Rofe, an emeritus professor of Bible at Hebrew University, Jerusalem, based on philological work down a century earlier by other scholars, argues that the story in the Torah is late Hebrew from the Second Temple Period.

Moreover, while the character Balaam of Deir Alla and that found in the Book of Numbers share a name, a parent’s name, and a penchant for conversations with divinities, the two stories are quite different. The polytheist hero of Deir Alla, who saved the world from a factional dispute among deities — none of which were YHWH — is not present in the Hebrew Bible. By the time the vignette about Balaam and his ass was inserted into the Torah, YHWH was being promoted as the preeminent, if not sole, deity for the Israelites and Balaam praised YHWH (his God, too, remember) and the Israelites.

From these two different perspectives, then, we can reasonably conclude that if Balaam ever was a real person or was based on a real person, he or the model for him was gone long before the Biblical story about him was written and included in the Torah text. This conclusion is buttressed by the inclusion in the story of the unique talking ass.

In his Commentary on the Torah, Everett Fox, director of Judaica Studies at Clark University, Worcester, Massachusetts, contends that the Torah uses Balaam like other characters in the Hebrew Bible to provide “religious legitimacy for these ideas in the non-Israelite domain.” (Fox, at 765 (1995).) But that view would be stronger if all that happened was that Balaam fulfilled his promise to obey YHWH’s primary command to speak favorably about the Israelites.

Given the unrelenting mockery of Balaam in the Torah, the author of this story and the redactors who included it in the Torah, must have concluded that Balaam, and by extension, all seers and fortunetellers, had to be demeaned as fools and charlatans. This is, after all, not just an unusual bit of comedy to find in the Torah, but a quite serious lesson too.

As Prof. Rofe, has explained: the very purpose of this literary burlesque is to put a “spotlight on [Balaam’s] so-called positive traits (vision, understanding, power) and [show] that these are of no help to him; even a donkey possesses these traits and benefits from them!” And if the old ambiguous Semitic, maybe Aramaic, language on the wall at Deir Alla spoke positively of a foreign prophet, and sought to honor him, the relatively more modern and clearly Hebrew text sought to disparage him, in Rofe’s words, as “blind to God’s messenger and dumber than an ass.” To be sure, the story does serve as a sort of (relatively) light interlude among deadly conflicts afflicting the Israelites, but it is so carefully and cleverly written that something deeper must have been intended.

One clue to what was intended comes from the attribution in Deuteronomy of Balaam’s home being located in ancient Mesopotamia, a place known for divination. At first blush, as Ethan Schwartz, has noted, this location “defies narrative logic.” But, then, we are considering an essentially satirical piece featuring a talking ass, so logic is not exactly a driving force here. More importantly, according to Schwartz, Assistant Professor of Hebrew Bible at Villanova University, Balaam’s Deuteronomic residence casts him as the “quintessential diviner as well as the quintessential outsider.” Adding to Rofe’s understanding, Schwartz concludes that the Balaam story in the Torah is driven by a theological claim: YHWH’s reach extends far and wide, YHWH’s divinity is superior, and YHWH has “sole prerogative over authentic prophecy.”

The deflation of the persona of Balaam as a highly regarded foreign seer can be seen elsewhere in sections of the Torah that modern scholars believe were written no farther back in time than the mid-Seventh Century BCE. For example, in the middle of a long list of legal obligations in Deuteronomy, we are told that YHWH did not listen to Balaam and, indeed, saved the Israelites from him. (Deut. 23:4-5.) The death of Balaam, while still disturbing, is, in this light, the ultimate and deserved downfall of an unworthy (and foreign) would-be diviner. Because of its structure and language, which echoes Neo-Assyrian vassal treaties of the Seventh Century BCE, modern biblical scholars put the creation of the initial core of Deuteronomy in the “middle of the reign of King Josiah (rule 640-608 B.C.E.)” with revisions subsequently. (Fox, The Five Books of Moses, at 683); see also, The Jewish Study Bible (Berlin and Brettler, Eds., at 355 (2004)).

Similarly, in the first book in the Hebrew Bible to follow the Torah, the priestly author of Joshua called Balaam a sorcerer. (Josh. 13:22, 24:9-10; see also, Neh. 13:2.) Joshua, too, is generally seen by contemporary bible scholars as a creation of the late Seventh Century BCE, with final editing in the Sixth Century BCE (The Jewish Study Bible, at 462.)

Retrojecting a revised Balaam character back to the decisive biblical battle set centuries earlier would serve quite well the purposes of later authors and redactors of the text. And understanding that old Balaam, who was written about in an ancient tongue, was replaced by a then modernist version in then contemporary Hebrew would also fit the literary and linguistic evidence nicely.

Wall Fragments, a Scroll, and Us.

So, what have we learned here?

Standing on Earth, we are often drawn to the sky. Usually, we just want to know whether it will be cloudy or clear, whether rain is in the forecast. Sometimes, we look at the stars, imagining patterns, perhaps catching a glimpse of a meteor entering the atmosphere. Occasionally, we wonder what, or, even, who is out there and if we will ever know.

Caught up in what is around and above us, we neglect to consider what is below us. But we stand on land where others may have lived and left evidence of their lives, if only we could find it. The first lesson to be learned from the excavation at Deir Alla is to remind ourselves that some very special, even unique and valuable items, might be buried right below us. In pursuit of knowledge, we need to dig and, often, keep digging.

A second lesson is that the fascinating story unearthed at Deir Alla would not have been known and cannot be understood but for the skills of geologists, archeologists, seismologists, anthropologists, epigraphers, and linguists who brought their various insights to enlighten us. We respect their inquisitiveness, their dedication, their labor, and their analyses. Even as we acknowledge that there is still much that we do not know, information that could alter or, at least, illuminate us, we still owe all of the searchers our gratitude for educating and enriching us.

A third lesson follows from Deir Alla: Scholars disagree about the importance of what it is that they have discovered. There is nothing surprising or wrong about good faith, evidence-based disagreements. Interpretations of facts may vary. We all live in bubbles, some more constrained than others. We need to reach out to people with different experiences and perspectives to assure that we can access the many valuable viewpoints which can inform us.

All of these lessons lead to a fourth: We must be modest in our conclusions. We must not claim certainty when there is doubt. We must not claim to have proof when we only have possibility. Modesty ought to follow from the doubtless unanticipated nature of the discovery at Deir Alla, and similar discoveries, which call on us sometimes to unlearn what we thought we knew.

Modesty is appropriate for two other reasons, one perhaps coincidental, and the other related to the nature of the Torah itself. The story of Balaam and his ass is found in the Torah portion titled Balak. When parashah Balak is read during the annual cycles of Torah readings on Shabbat morning, the haftarah assigned to it is from the Book of Micah. The selection from Micah ends with the prophet’s succinct and famous admonition regarding what is required of us: only that we do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God. (Micah 6:8. Translations will vary.) Whether we are engaged in one or more of the earth sciences or the study of one aspect or another of the words, language, or letters used by humankind to express its thoughts, we only know so much. We don’t know what treasures we will find with better instruments or when the next quake, flood, or dig will uncover more data and ask us to change our minds. So, as we consider what was, what might have been, what we know, and what it means, we, too, might well be served by walking humbly as we try to understand what we have not experienced directly or fully.

Finally, the Torah is nothing if not a Book (or books) of Instruction, a Sefer Ha-Torah, to use the self-referential phrase found several times in Deuteronomy (e.g., Deut. 28:61, 29:220, 31:26) and expanded over time to apply to the entire Torah we have received. Its primary purpose is to explain and teach. And that is what modern scholarship is, or certainly should be, all about. Here, then, modesty requires openness to inquiry. Disregarding facts and reasoned analysis only limits, and therefore diminishes, a text which, for all of its anachronisms and internal inconsistencies, or maybe in part because of them, remains a unique record of a people’s efforts to understand their place in the world in which they found themselves and to build a society based on principles and practices they believed to be divinely ordained. Even if it is in good faith, any attempt to foreclose robust study of this of scroll can only result in a calcification of the work. And what a terrible waste of a Book of Instruction that would be!