Archaeological Views: From Monk to Archaeologist

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Archaeology was not in my mind nor in my parents’ minds when, in 1950, at the age of 14, I departed the island of Samos, Greece. The destination for my migration was Jerusalem to study theology and become a monk in the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate. Six years later, when I was 20, my father’s desire was fulfilled when I undertook the vow of monasticism and was ordained deacon in a solemn ceremony at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

As a deacon and an obedient member of the “Holy Sepulchre Brotherhood” of the Patriarchate, I was sent to serve the Greek Orthodox Church in Nazareth. Two years later, in 1958, I applied for higher theological studies at the University of Athens, but the then-Patriarch Benedictos had a much different idea: Instead, he urged me to complete my academic education in Biblical studies at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. For my B.A. studies, I chose the history of ancient Israel and archaeology. For my M.A. and Ph.D. degrees, classical archaeology was my field of specialization.

The patriarchal exhortation favoring the Hebrew University, on one hand, and my deliberate decision to complete my academic education in archaeology, on the other, drastically changed my life. While still a student, in 1964, I reneged on my vow of monasticism and reverted to a lay life, though retaining my faith within the Greek Orthodox Church.

I feel content with what I have accomplished. Archaeology has indeed changed my lifestyle. The dry pottery sherds, the ancient coins and artifacts, the stone blocks and all the other remnants of antiquity with which I have dealt for many years have implanted in me a strong sense of love and respect for, and confidence in, humans and history. I learned how much we, living in the 21st century, owe to our predecessors and how strongly our modern technology and culture is indebted to the accomplishments of our ancestors. Excavating an ancient site, either as field supervisor or as director (I have done both), I realized how privileged I was to be able to look back at this history and touch it with my own hands.

I clearly remember the sense of sureness I felt one day, while I was supervising in area D at Tel Dan. I stood on the edge of a deep square measuring 4 by 4 meters (13 x 13 feet), looking down at the layers of human occupation, to the various “strata,” as we archaeologists call the layers. The smoothly justified layers reflected in the vertical section of the square gave me the feeling that I was standing safe, exultant but also reflective, on the top of a solid platform. I was safe because the soles of my feet were planted on a long-lasting and highly varied human experience. I was exultant that our era and our modern culture was a participant in this process of continuity. At the same time I also realized how frivolously history deals with past eras and cultures. No matter how brilliant ancient eras and civilizations were, in the final stratigraphical counting, each of them is represented by only a thin layer of debris and ashes.

Through the skeletal remains, archaeology also bestowed on me the privilege to discern the joy, despair, agony and suffering of those remote ancestors. In 1969 I excavated a Jewish family tomb in the suburbs of Jerusalem that dated to the first century A.D. After the skeletal remains found in the tomb were examined, I was among the first to realize how miserable almost all of the members of the family buried in the cave had been. Some of them died of starvation; others were violently killed. One of them, whose name, Yehohanan, was inscribed on his ossuary, had been crucified. The story of Yehohanan and his dramatic death on the cross helped me to understand the agony of thousands of people, both innocent and guilty, who were executed in the same way during the Roman period.

In my professional career I have been aware of three important axioms: First, archaeology is not an exact science. Second, the interpretation of finds is usually subjective. Third, the final conclusions need to be substantiated through multi-disciplinary collaboration. If these axioms are not carefully observed, the results of a dig may lead to historical perversions.

I learned these axioms gradually and by dint of hard work. In the excavation of Biblical Dan, where I participated for 12 seasons, I learned the value and necessity of team work. At the excavations I directed at ancient Capernaum for eight seasons, I carefully listened to the opinions of others. During my 18 seasons of digging at Caesarea-Philippi, I cooperated harmoniously with my associates.

Looking back at my life, I do not regret the dramatic decision I made in 1964. My 42 years of archaeological practice have broadened the horizons of my knowledge, hammered into shape my sociability and strengthened my faith in God more than monasticism could have.

Archaeology was not in my mind nor in my parents’ minds when, in 1950, at the age of 14, I departed the island of Samos, Greece. The destination for my migration was Jerusalem to study theology and become a monk in the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate. Six years later, when I was 20, my father’s desire was fulfilled when I undertook the vow of monasticism and was ordained deacon in a solemn ceremony at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. As a deacon and an obedient member of the “Holy Sepulchre Brotherhood” of the Patriarchate, I was sent to serve […]