Dan Gill’s new understanding of Jerusalem’s underground water installations, including Hezekiah’s famous tunnel, raises once more the question of the significance of the monumental inscription found in the tunnel recording the meeting of the two teams of tunnelers digging from opposite directions.
This inscription is not the only ancient mention of Hezekiah’s tunnel. It is also referred to in two books of the Bible (2 Kings and 2 Chronicles), and in an apocryphal book known as Ecclesiasticus or the Wisdom of Ben Sirach.a
But all three of these literary references reflect a distinctly different viewpoint from the inscription in the tunnel itself.
Indeed, the first Biblical reference, in 2 Kings 20:20, may contain a paraphrase from a document referred to in the Bible as the Chronicles of the Kings of Judah. In the passage from Kings, we read that Hezekiah “made the pool and the watercourse and brought the water into the city.” The author of Kings goes on to claim that “they [this and other unspecified achievements] are written in the Chronicles of the Kings of Judah.” This document may, in turn, have incorporated material from royal inscriptions.1 If we transpose the narrative statement in Kings into the first person—“I made the pool and the watercourse and brought the water into the city”—it would fit perfectly into a royal inscription. Indeed, a comparable claim is made by King Mesha of Moab in his famous memorial inscription known as the Mesha stela (lines 23–24): “I made the retaining walls of the shaf[t to the spr]ing insi[de] the city [of Qarhoh].”b
Whether or not the reference in 2 Kings 22:20 goes back to an actual royal inscription, later incorporated into the Chronicles of the Kings of Judah, the wording preserved in Kings conveys the official point of view: The king is the subject of the sentence and the only actor in the account. He is responsible for the construction of both tunnel and pool, and for the result: the provision of water within the city.
A later Biblical book gives another account: “Hezekiah blocked up the upper outlet of the waters of the Gihon, and directed them down to the west of the city of David” (2 Chronicles 32:30). The Chronicler continues the tradition of attributing such activities to the king.
Ecclesiasticus maintains this same royal perspective, even though the author’s poetic imagination envisages the physical labor involved: “Hezekiah fortified his city, directing water into it; with bronzec he hacked through rocks and dammed up the water into a pool” (Ecclesiasticus 48:17).
By contrast, the Siloam inscription is not only the oldest of the accounts—older even than the royal monument or the Chronicles of the Kings of Judah that may lie behind the notice in the Biblical book of Kings—but it preserves an entirely different perspective: The Siloam inscription is written from the viewpoint, not of the king, but of those involved in the work.
The Siloam inscription was chiseled into the rock wall of the tunnel about 20 feet from the southern 037end. A rectangular space on the wall was carefully smoothed, and the text was then written on the smoother bottom half of the polished surface.d It reads:
“[ … ] breakthrough hbqn. And this was the account of the breakthrough [hbqn].
While the laborers were still working with their picks, each toward the other, and while there were still three cubits to be broken through [hbqn], the voice of each was heard calling to the other, because there was a zdhe in the rock to the south and to the north. And at the moment of the breakthrough [hbqn] the laborers struck each toward the other, pick against pick.
Then the water flowed from the spring to the pool for 1,200 cubits. And the height of the rock above the heads of the laborers was 100 cubits.”
The general structure of the inscription is clear: It begins with two headings. The first heading consists of two words, the first of which is no longer readable. The second word, often translated “tunnel,” is probably better understood as “breakthrough,” in the same way as the three later occurrences of this word; that is, it refers to the climactic moment of the whole operation, the breakthrough, which is the main subject of the inscription.
The second heading follows. It is a complete sentence: “And this was the account of the breakthrough.” The perfect verb “was” is striking. The same phrase without the verb is used several times in the Bible, meaning: “This is an account of the …” (Deuteronomy 15:2, 19:4; 1 Kings 9:15). “Is” in Hebrew is understood, but not expressed. The expressed verb “was” in the inscription puts the account itself in the past—“this was the account of the … ,” which suggests that the writer is recording a report that he had heard. Certainly what follows can only be based on an eyewitness report by one of the handful of people present at the last stages of the project and on information provided by the supervising engineer. No one else would know the height of the rock.
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The narrative body of the inscription consists of two complex sentences and two simple sentences. The complex sentences both begin with temporal clauses: “While the laborers were still working …” and “at the moment of the breakthrough …” These concentrate our attention on two particular moments. By beginning with these two temporal clauses, the writer breaks in on the action at two particular moments toward the end of the project, and suspends the reader in those moments until the main clauses disclose what was significant about them.
The first moment is when the laborers, working toward each other, with three cubits still to go, first hear each other’s voices2 The second moment is the climax of the story: The breakthrough itself—the laborers’ picks clash against each other.
Whatever the tensions and difficulties experienced earlier in the project, they fade into oblivion in light of these final triumphs. This selectivity (rather than the language used) suggests the excitement and the sense of relief and accomplishment that these two moments must have generated.
Following this concentration on two particular moments at two particular locations in the tunnel, the inscription concludes with a move back for a broader perspective. One more narrative event is recorded: the passage of the water along the length of the tunnel. But what impresses the scribe is not the first passage of the water as an event, but rather certain enduring facts, namely, the distances involved: the length of the tunnel and its depth under the ground. What is important for him is not the visible result of the excavation, nor its benefits, but the measurements of the achievement.
This is an extraordinary inscription. Though it may be called a building inscription—it does, after all, report the completion of a construction project—it is unlike either of the types of West Semitic inscriptions normally serving that purpose. One type is written in the first person by the reigning monarch, who introduces himself and then reports his accomplishments (including buildings), usually giving credit to or seeking the favor of his god. A second type identifies the building or other construction on which it is inscribed as the gift of the king to his god. Even in the Bible, building projects are attributed to specific kings.
By contrast, the Siloam tunnel inscription makes no reference to any king and does not envisage, either by reference or implication, any relationship between the accomplishment recorded and the deity. It is written entirely in the third person, the only human subject being the laborers. It is told from the viewpoint of someone enthralled with the success of the project (the two parties’ coming together) and impressed by its sheer scale (the measurements). It reflects an emotional engagement in the outcome and a sense of pride in the success of an exceptional technical achievement. There is no trace here of the public piety or political propaganda that one might expect of the monarch who sponsored the undertaking.
This is consistent with two other facts: First, the inscription was barely visible in the limited light 20 feet inside a tunnel through which people would not normally pass. Clearly, therefore, it was not designed for public display. Second, it is anonymous.
The most probable explanation of all of these facts is that the inscription was produced by or for the engineer who planned and supervised the project. He would have had most at stake in the meeting of the two parties excavating from opposite ends of the tunnel, he would have been most proud of the (measurable!) achievement, he would have been both most interested in recording these things for posterity, and most anxious that such a record not be too conspicuous and that his own name not be displayed in it. (Such a display might be dangerous, since it was generally only kings who recorded such accomplishments.) Finally, he would have had the resources to have such an inscription prepared and executed.
The Bible recounts the official story of this extraordinary tunnel; the inscription in the tunnel preserves an unofficial version by a—if not the—leading participant in the actual project. The version in Kings gives a comprehensive overview of the project—its purpose and benefit—but it obscures the role of anyone other than the king. The tunnel inscription, on the other hand, ignores the larger context—the king’s commission or authorization of the project, the construction of a pool or reservoir at the city end of the tunnel, the final benefit to the city—but it does describe the actual experiences of the workers in the final stages of the project and gives the specific measurements of the completed project, thus expressing the excitement and pride of the individual(s) responsible for the work.
Dan Gill’s new understanding of Jerusalem’s underground water installations, including Hezekiah’s famous tunnel, raises once more the question of the significance of the monumental inscription found in the tunnel recording the meeting of the two teams of tunnelers digging from opposite directions. This inscription is not the only ancient mention of Hezekiah’s tunnel. It is also referred to in two books of the Bible (2 Kings and 2 Chronicles), and in an apocryphal book known as Ecclesiasticus or the Wisdom of Ben Sirach.a But all three of these literary references reflect a distinctly different viewpoint from the inscription in […]
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I presume that a broad area was cleared and then the part most amenable to writing was selected, like clearing ground to pitch a tent.
5.
Perhaps “split,” “crack” or “overlap”; the etymology and meaning of zdh is still disputed and remains uncertain.
Endnotes
1.
See the discussion in J. Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven and London: Yale Univ. Press, 1983), pp. 292–302, esp. 298–299.
