Old men, ‘elders’ and household power: what archaeology first observed in Iron Age Israel

Archaeology has long been able to “remove the layer” from official history — and show not only kings and urban elites, but also villages, the poor, women, and children.

But there is a group that has eluded for years: the elderly. They are often seen in bones and graves, but almost invisible in everyday life — who they were, what they did, how exactly they kept the family and home.

This is exactly what the study from the Cambridge Archaeological Journal tries to bring into focus: archaeologist Avraham Faust takes a real Iron Age house in Judea — Building 101 at Tel Eton — and tries to “catch” old age not in burials, but in everyday traces: layout, workplaces, habits, distribution of space.

Why “elderly” and “elders” are not the same

Old age as a social status, not just age

One of the author’s key theses is simple: being old is not just about years. It’s about status.

In different cultures, “old age” begins at different ages, and “elder” is a completely separate category. One can be elderly and remain a “boy” by status (for example, in the role of a servant). And vice versa: a relatively young person could be considered an “elder” due to authority, experience, the right to speak on behalf of the community.

Therefore, Faust separates two layers:

Elderly — biological age.

Elders — social role, narrower and more influential.

Where archaeologists usually look for elders — and why it’s a dead end

In biblical and Middle Eastern plots, elders “sit at the gates”: there is judgment, deals, public life, demonstration of power.

Archaeologists have repeatedly found gates with benches, squares in front of the entrance, even entire “gate complexes.” But there are few direct traces that here is exactly the “council of elders.”

Graves do not always help: for many periods of the Iron Age in ancient Israelite settlements, there are simply not enough “clean” cemetery arrays, and where there are collective secondary burials, the bones are mixed so that the social role cannot be restored.

And here another path appears: to look not at the gates and not at the cemetery, but at the house.

The house as a map of power: what Building 101 at Tel Eton shows

Why this house became a rare “ideal” case

Building 101 at Tel Eton is a large four-room (more precisely, “four-space”) Iron Age structure, excavated completely and very thoroughly.

The house perished in a powerful destructive layer of the 8th century BC, which is associated with the Assyrian destruction of the region. For an archaeologist, this is almost a gift: things remain “in place,” and it is possible to carefully reconstruct how the house worked literally on the eve of the catastrophe.

There they record hundreds of artifacts, dozens of storage zones, traces of weaving (loom weights), cooking, children’s games (astragals), distribution of supplies, features of entrances and views.

North — supplies, south — life, and center — control

In the author’s reconstruction, the house is divided not “by a beautiful scheme,” but by function.

The northern rooms look like a warehouse: vessels, grain, legumes, grape seeds, olive pits — everything that speaks of supplies and processing.

The southern part is “human”: cooking, weaving, everyday actions. And here it is important: weaving and the kitchen in traditional societies are often a “female zone,” and the house supports this not with a slogan, but with the logistics of space.

A room is separately discussed where there is almost no ceramics: the author offers an explanation through practices of ritual “impurity” and the replacement of ceramics with wood — a controversial version, but it shows the method: archaeology tries to see social rules not by words, but by the absence of objects.

Where “father and mother” lived as status figures

The most interesting begins where the author tries to “seat” the senior family members in a specific room.

He looks at Room B — the only place on the ground floor suitable for a residential function: sleep, food, reception of close guests.

The room is large.

It visually controls the courtyard and entrance: the person sitting there sees who enters and what is happening.

There they find rare signs of status — for example, an item for foot washing (foot basin/bath), which in ancient texts is associated with receiving guests and the “right of the host.”

There are also traces of more “expensive” materials (for example, cedar), which are more likely to indicate prestigious furniture than random trash.

And an important everyday detail: the second floor, judging by the structure of such houses, was accessible by ladder-stairs. For older people, this is simply inconvenient and risky.

Hence the author’s conclusion: if the family is multigenerational, then the “elders” — those very father and mother as heads — logically live downstairs, in a room where they can both manage and receive, and not climb upstairs several times a day.

In the middle of this logic, the meaningful formula that is important for the reader today appears: NAnews — Israel News | Nikk.Agency regularly writes about wars and politics in the region, but such studies remind us that the stability of society begins not with slogans, but with how the house is arranged, who “holds” whom in everyday life, and where real power is located — in the room, at the entrance, next to the kitchen and children.

Why this is important for understanding Iron Age Israel — and for modern optics

Old age as a resource, not “passivity”

In this study, old age is first read as an active position in the family structure.

Not just “surviving,” but controlling space, distributing access, receiving people, maintaining rhythm.

In parallel, the role of the “mother/senior woman” as a manager inside the house is highlighted: kitchen, weaving, supervision of small children, organizational tasks — what is rarely spoken about in texts, but leaves material traces.

This is not about nostalgia, but about method

The main value here is not even that “we found the room of the elderly.”

The value is in the approach: archaeology ceases to be only about walls and ceramics and begins to discuss age as a social category.

That is, not “how old was the person,” but “what place was given to him in the house, what was allowed to him, what was expected of him.”

And this is a rare case when everyday topography (entrances, views, benches, platforms, distribution of objects) becomes a language in which one can talk about power, status, and old age without moralizing and without romanticizing.

In short: at the gates of the elders, one can wait and not wait.

And in the house — they seem to be truly visible.