Yuval Levavi—
The Yale Babylonian Collection houses tens of thousands of cuneiform-inscribed artifacts of various sizes, genres, and lengths. It is a treasure trove of the earliest writing cultures, representing over 3,000 years of cuneiform writing. This includes great literary works like the Epic of Gilgamesh, the passionate poetry of the 4,200-year-old poet-princess Enheduanna, ancient magic spells, correspondences of great kings of old, and even mathematical puzzles tasking young students to approximate the square root of 2.
A much less glamorous text group, though nonetheless quite numerous (about a tenth of the entire collection), consists of small, unimpressive tablets usually not exceeding the size of a credit card. These mostly mundane and laconic texts were written in the reigns of some of the most famous great kings of the Ancient Near East, such as Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon and Cyrus the Great of Persia, and are the remnants of an ancient archive once housed in the Eanna, the temple of the goddess Ištar, from the city of Uruk (modern Warka, Biblical Erech, Genesis 10:10, about 160 miles south of Baghdad).
The Babylonian administrators running the temple did not write poetry. Instead, they produced mostly formulaic administrative and legal records, ensuring there were no interruptions in the cult, preventing deficits in the storerooms, and dealing with discontented employees.
Many of these texts can easily be said to be boring. A typical short note goes:
“3 lustrous gold sun-disks, 1 necklace of cylinder seal shaped beads of various sizes, and 31 golden rosettes; the total gold jewelry of the Lady-of-Uruk (= Ištar) that is in the repair box. Month XII, day 1, year 17 of Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon. (YOS 24, 24)”
But when dozens of such records are examined together, we can start reconstructing the actual day-to-day life in one of the most important Babylonian temples in its heyday. We can reconstruct the crowns, chariots, and pedestals of the great statues of the Babylonian gods: their lavish dresses, the weight of gold, silver, and precious stones they wore, and the ornaments shaped like lions, winged creatures, flowers, stars, rosettes, as well as the somewhat underwhelming squares.
In the above case, our bureaucrats carefully documented all that was removed from a cult statue, the name of the craftsman receiving it to be repaired, and of course the exact date.
To maintain the cult, an array of craftsmen and specialists were employed by the temple. Alongside the goldsmiths, there were blacksmiths, bronzesmiths, jewelers, seal cutters, potters, weavers, linen weavers, weavers specializing in colored wool, various carpenters (specializing in doors, fine woodwork, and large timbers), leatherworkers, launderers, and many more. All these employees, along with numerous external contractors and day laborers, were managed by the temple administrators, producing an elaborate bureaucracy and countless clay tablets to keep everything in order.
Many inventories were kept, not only of movables or precious goods, but also of people. Thus we hear, for example, of eight men that were sent to work in Babylon, the capital, including the boatman who’d drive them. Alas, the tablet also notes that their salaries for the month III (May-June) are missing (YOS 24, 291). The men were sent on their way anyway, and the problem would have to be taken care of later.
The dry administrative and legal formulae often hide dramatic events, even if only on the personal level, but also small stories of simple human experiences, for better or for worse.
Naturally, the legal texts often deal with men in varied distress. Thus we hear, for example, of two priests who were brought before the head administrator and the royal commissioner for interrogation (YOS 24, 311). These were no low-level priests but among the few who had access to the sacred cella of Ištar, a privilege not granted to many. The space was packed. Apart from the two priests, the guards who led them, and no less than six witnesses—all distinguished members of the temple community—there was also a single box at the center: the safe box of the Goddess, which housed her precious ornaments. The scene was tense. The royal commissioner, pacing dramatically (so I imagine), suddenly stopped, turned, and demanded, “Why is it opened?” His voice echoed in the silence that followed. The two priests, after a brief pause, responded, “There was an order before us stating: ‘Open it.’” Their words hung in the air. Surprisingly (and somewhat disappointingly for us), this simple explanation marked the end of the interrogation.
Another case involved a certain Karēa who found himself arrested by a taxman of the temple, accused of an unclear crime (YOS 24, 296). In prison, he fell gravely ill. His condition deteriorated to the point where the taxman, fearing the consequences of his death, transferred him in shackles to Bēl-ušallim, a healer of some repute. Bēl-ušallim accepted responsibility for the prisoner, guaranteeing to the taxman that he would be present whenever demanded. The agreement was clear: the day the taxman required Karēa’s presence, Bēl-ušallim would bring him forth and hand him over. If he failed to do so, he would bear the guilt of an offense against both god and king.
This care for the sick was not unique. In fact, several expenditure lists record salaries drawn specifically for sick temple serfs during periods they were unable to work. These serfs (Akkadian širku) were neither slaves nor fully free. They owed service to the temple, which could have taken many forms and contexts. Some were manual laborers, some were specialized craftsmen, and some even rose to powerful positions in the temple, managing and controlling significant funds and resources. They were free to marry, work, and live their lives but were still answerable to the temple on demand.
Thus, even with this primitive (and very limited) form of healthcare, it is not surprising that some temple serfs made a run for it. Once in a while, the temple even sent men to catch runaway serfs, but the cost-benefit of these attempts was not worth it for the temple for the most part. Once the actual escape was successful, it was not too difficult to blend into the crowded Babylonian cities.
While the epic tales and grand literature of ancient Mesopotamia often captivate our imagination, it is the mundane and meticulous administrative records of Eanna’s Temple of Ishtar that offer an unmediated glimpse into everyday life in Babylonia in its heyday. The tablets reveal a vibrant picture, illuminating the lives of the people who lived and worked within the temple walls. From accounting and logistics to addressing personal dramas, these tiny, dried mud tablets uncover a complex web of bureaucracy, craftsmanship, and personal stories that bring the ancient world to life in a uniquely vivid way.
Yuval Levavi received his PhD from the University of Vienna in 2016 and works at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Elizabeth E. Payne was a conservator in the Yale Babylonian Collection and now works at the Ashe County Public Library.
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