What’s it like to visit an Antiquities dealer?
Shades of Amelia Peabody! I was curious, but also suspicious.
And what a surprising turn of events that visit in fall 2022 proved to be.
At the Antiquities Dealer
We walked a few blocks from Jerusalem’s Garden Tomb, turned down a pretty lane, and knocked on an ancient door.
The antiquities dealer (Dealer) smiled and invited us in.
I’d tagged along for curiosity’s sake. When I think of antiquities dealers, particularly in the Middle East, my mind flashes to Elizabeth Peter’s archaeology novels straddling the 19th and 20th centuries in Egypt.
(all photos by author)
Written as a parody of Rider Haggard’s novels, Amelia Peabody and her dashing husband Emerson Radcliffe constantly foiled “bad guy” antiquities dealers.
I was a journalist on this outing–as I told our host. He said I could ask all the questions I liked.
While I took my seat, the three men with me (husband, friend, guide) accepted glasses of whiskey, and we settled in to talk.
What were we seeking?
I’m not sure how this outing occurred. Dealer (I didn’t write down his name) was a friend of our guide’s and M. thought several of us would find this an interesting experience.
Perhaps S. sought an item. I didn’t know. R and I were not looking.
At least I didn’t think so.
Still, I marveled at chatting in a dusty room full of items the like of which I’d never seen outside of museum displays.
While I’m not exactly a stranger to historic items, I usually wear white curator gloves in a library. I’ve never touched an object more than 200 years old.
Here, though, the dealer casually handed me an 11-13th-century Byzantine cross.
What is an antiquities dealer?
While the men sipped their whiskey, I asked questions.
(For the record, I identified myself as a journalist. He gave me permission to ask questions and quote him.)
Born and raised in Scotland, the dealer studied archaeology and history. I smiled at his Scottish-accented English with an Arabic lilt.
After he graduated 40 years ago, the dealer moved to the Middle East where he’s been ever since.
Why?
“The game’s the thing and if you enjoy the game, that is everything. I’m a hunter,” he shrugged. “I enjoy the hunt. I make a little money.”
He kept handing us ancient items to inspect, commenting, “That’s from the Iron Age first temple period; there’s been some restoration.”
First temple period? That makes it at least, at least, 2500 years old.
The dealer buys the antiquities from bona fide dealers he knows throughout the world. His reputation is wide—he brokered the sale of important archaeological items to libraries and museums.
After he inspects an item and buys it, he doesn’t clean it. “I leave them the way they are. That enables the buyer to see exactly what they are purchasing.”
“Do you have anything younger?”
I worried about holding something so old and dropping it.
R suggested we sought something “younger.”
The dealer brought out clay “slipper lamps” for our inspection. Israeli, Syrian, and Jordanian-made 1500-or so years before, they’re still usable with a cotton wick and olive oil.
Called “slipper lamps” because of their shape, the dealer explained their only true value is for education. He bought the one on the left (below) north of Jerusalem in Ramallah.
He pointed out the unique cross signified “the light of Christ shines to all.”
The decoration indicated it was made in the Holy Land, probably during the fourth or fifth century. (Or after Roman Emperor Constantine became a Christian circa 312).
“After that time, people were able to display Christian symbols openly,” the dealer explained.
Previous to that, Christian symbols invited persecution.
The middle item is a clay lamp mold made about the fourth century BC in North Africa. He called it “red slip wear.”
The slipper lamp on the right, casually sitting on ancient metal crosses and an eighth-century bronze blade, came from Tunisia, and sports a Christogram (a mark that forms an abbreviation for Jesus Christ).
“Inscriptions are the most important item in aging things,” Dealer laughed. “Nothing comes with a sign attached saying, ‘made in 784 BC.'”
“What about forgeries?”
He gazed at me, weighing his words. “I never sell a forgery, but I give them away.”
The Antiquities Dealer makes some deals.
S. made a few purchases, and then to my surprise, R picked up a clay lamp. “How much is this?”
I looked at him over the top of my glasses.
“It’s an open-mouth pinch lamp from the first Temple. It would have been made 500-1000 BCE.” He shrugged. “$150.”
Hmm. The dealer and I were the only people not drinking whiskey.
R bought it. “A housewarming gift. And you’ll get a story,” my husband added.
He’s used it at church ever since as an object lesson and a wonder to Sunday school kids and adults alike.
He refers to it as an “ancient light bulb,” and lights it using olive oil and a piece of cotton shirt.
The final item sobered me.
Archaeologists digging through through the rubble of the 586 BC destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians, made an interesting discovery.
According to the antiquities dealer, every household owned one of these idols: Sidonian goddess Ashtoreth.
I have no way of proving his comment, but it’s troubled me ever since.
Every household? All the Jews practiced syncretism?
What we leave behind can define us.
Visting an antiquities dealer left me examining my own household items more critically.
Other than the pinch lamp, however, I don’t think anything else we own will last 2700 years.
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Thank you for bringing us along on your visit to the antiquities dealer. And for teaching me a new word.