Uncovering evidence for gender-related domains in archaeological contexts is almost a “mission impossible.” This statement is especially true if we adopt current attitudes and reject the typecasting of “stereotypic” male–female roles in human societies of the past according to the documentation of present-day ethnographic studies (e.g., Gero and Conkey 1991; and see Wadley, Chapter 4). However, as much as this is sound advice, in reality most archaeologists, including many of the authors in this volume, do use ethnographic data in order to decipher male–female activities from archaeological remains.
In our discussion, we limited ourselves to the Late Paleolithic (mostly referred to as the Epi-Paleolithic) and the Early Neolithic of the Middle East. We chose this time period (from ca.18,000 to 8000 BP), because it seems to be the most comparable to the late Late Stone Age and Early Iron Age in sub-Saharan Africa in terms of cultural complexity. As a result, we were only able to discuss articles in the present volume that deal with hunter-gatherers and early herders and farmers. Nonetheless, it is important to stress that the African archaeological entities are chronologically later in time than those of the Middle East.
There is a growing awareness among Middle Eastern prehistorians of the need to try to decipher the internal dynamics of prehistoric societies. These societies preceded the emergence of urban societies, metallurgy, writing systems, complex bureaucratic organizations, and, later on, empires, all of which occurred very early in that part of the world. The archaeological studies of the Neolithic phenomena in this region indicate that this early florescence is indeed linked closely to social complexity. It is therefore amazing that topics related to the current discussion of social issues, past and present, have not become the focus of prehistoric investigations. Still, a noticeable change has been observed in recent years (e.g., Henry 1985; Bar-Yosef and Belfer-Cohen 1989a,b; Kuijt 1996; Garfinkel 1994; Gopher and Orelle 1996; Cauvin 1994).
One of the main strengths of African prehistory is the presence of rock art (see Parkington, Chapter 2; Barich, Chapter 6) as well as ethnohistorical records depicting foragers and herders and their interactions (e.g., Lane, Chapter 10; Gifford-Gonzalez, Chapter 7; Casey, Chapter 5). In addition, a greater variability of archaeological information is available in African sites in comparison to sites in the Middle East. For example, the ceramic component, considered to be an important source of information concerning production, function, gender, and repertoire of symbols, is missing from the Late Paleolithic–early Neolithic entities of the Middle East. Here, pottery was introduced first to farming communities in the later Neolithic (from ca. 8400 to 7800 BP). It was adopted by forager groups in the semiarid belt only some 2,000 years later, when these groups were on the verge of either becoming herders or being replaced by them. In the Middle East, the period of coexistence of foragers and incipient farmers was of shorter duration than in African regions discussed in the present volume, because of the rapid cultural changes and acculturation processes that brought about the emergence of urban societies some 6,000 years ago.
We agree with Kent (Chapter 3), who warns that it is only in socially/politically complex societies that different gender-specific roles are visible and identifiable. Among hunter-gatherer societies, even when they were sedentary (as in the Natufian culture of the Levant), the division of labor according to gender either did not exist or is impossible to recognize archaeologically.
Even though there are large skeletal samples from the Late Paleolithic and Early Neolithic sites, there is no information concerning the deferential ratio of stable carbon isotopes in male versus female skeletons similar to that used by Parkington (Chapter 2) and Wadley (Chapter 4). This is attributable to several causes, but prominent among them are postburial diagenesis and the antiquity of burials.
In sum, the lack of several lines of evidence from the relevant prehistoric periods in the Middle East precludes gender analyses similar to those presented in other chapters in this volume. Thus, the available archaeological data from the Middle East enable us to explore gender-related issues on a more limited scale.
As Wadley describes in her article (Chapter 4), a broad-spectrum subsistence strategy prevailed in the Middle East beginning about 20,000 years ago (e.g., Flannery 1973; Hillman et al. 1989; Bar-Yosef and Belfer-Cohen 1992; Kislev et al. 1992). The sizes of Late Paleolithic sites documented in the Middle East, especially in the Levant (e.g., Goring-Morris 1988), reflect the presence of small groups of humans. In the desertic areas, most of the small sites are undoubtedly the remains of short-term hunting camps. The elongated, narrow-pointed microliths, which constitute a major part of the lithic toolkit, are interpreted as indicating the presence of bows and arrows. This interpretation is strengthened in later Natufian contexts (12,800–10,300 BP, uncalibrated) by the presence of shaft straighteners that bear the same burning marks as the typical historical examples known from North America.
If we do use ethnographic data, we can suggest that gathering, trapping, and snaring were probably female activities. Unfortunately, plant remains are scarce, with the exception of two well-preserved sites (Ohallo II and the Epi-Paleolithic at Abu Hureyra). In contrast, faunal assemblages are rich in bones of small mammals, reptiles, birds, and sometimes also fish (Tchernov 1975, 1993; Campana and Crabtree 1990; Davis at al. 1994; Garrard et al. 1996). It should be noted that the study of past faunas of the Middle East revealed an absence of large mammals since at least the early Upper Paleolithic. As a result, plant food and small game in such environments were of paramount importance. The hunt of small and medium-sized mammals by male task groups was probably quite important within the social realm, but it was the females who provided the basic subsistence ingredients that assured survival.
The Natufian is the cultural entity that has provided most of the known Late Paleolithic graves, and much literature has been published reporting the various aspects of these burials (e.g., Garrod and Bate 1937; Wright 1978; Byrd and Monahan 1995; Belfer-Cohen 1995; Valla 1995; Tchernov and Valla 1997). Natufian graveyards contain the relics of adult males, adult females, and children of both sexes. Graves were mostly dug pits, some of them lined with stones, and were rarely covered with stone slabs. In a few sites, the graves were marked by small cup-holes or upright, deep, breached mortars. A great variety is observed in the position (flexed or extended), composition (single or multiple), or nature (primary and secondary) of the burials. However, none of these varieties can be attributed to differential treatment according to gender or age. In the Early Natufian (12,800–11,000 BP, uncalibrated), about 10 percent of the dead were decorated, though no patterns have been observed in the choice of the individual to be decorated. The same statement holds true for the Late Natufian custom of skull removal.
The study of the skeletal material demonstrated that 60 percent of the Natufian adults can be identified by gender (Belfer-Cohen et al. 1991). Of these, about 69 percent are males. In many cases, the sexing of the remains, owing to the fragmentary state of the bones (e.g., absence of complete basins), was based on the skulls and the general robusticity of limb bones, which means a bias in identifying male remains. Hence it seems that among the 40 percent of unidentified adults, the number of females is probably quite high. This observation casts doubts on Henry’s proposal (1989) that the Natufians practiced female infanticide.
While incipient sedentism is observed among Natufian communities, fully sedentary villages are recorded in the later cultural entities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic period (10,300–7800 BP, uncalibrated). The Neolithic interaction spheres, where farmers and foragers had mutualistic relationships, has already been noted (Bar-Yosef and Belfer-Cohen 1989a). The need for the meat of wild game in farming communities led to the establishment of game drives in the neighboring steppic belt during the Pre-Pottery Neolithic B period (9300–7800 BP, uncalibrated; Bar-Yosef and Belfer-Cohen 1989a). These drives, known in the Middle East as “desert kites,” consist of two converging, low-lying stone walls that lead to an enclosure that served as the killing area (Meshel 1974; Helms and Betts 1987). This organized, communal hunt of gazelles by foragers could be explained as designed to fulfill the demand created by the large farming villages such as Ain Ghazal, where an area of some 12 hectares (Rollefson et al. 1992) accommodated an estimated population of 1,000 to 1,500 people. It is therefore interesting to note that Casey (Chapter 5), considering the importance of protein obtained from game, arrived at similar explanations. She correctly emphasizes that neither sedentism nor animal domestication necessarily reduced the need for wild protein.
Additional similarities can be drawn from Casey’s description of what is generally defined as an interaction sphere. In a previous study (Bar-Yosef and Belfer-Cohen 1989a), we indicated that the spread of the same arrowhead types across the Levant (a region of about 200,000 km2) could indicate interaction among hunters who were either farmers or foragers. Conversely, mundane, or domestic, stone tools such as adzes-axes were produced locally and do vary in their morphology. Most likely, they designate delineated territories within this Neolithic interaction sphere. Indeed, the idea of distinct, well-made projectile points serving as “little packages” of social information is clearly expressed in the finely made Kintampo Late Stone Age projectiles. The African case indicates (Casey, Chapter 5) that these projectiles had a very important function in transmitting information, and that they persist in assemblages alongside less elaborate tools that were used to perform most daily tasks. We agree with Casey’s proposal that “people who go into the far bush, or hunt at night, risk coming into contact with supernatural beings, wild animals, and other humans whose territories abut the forests on the other side. . . . Hunting and trapping in the farms and fields is . . . more pedestrian[; it is] not worthy of the elaborate preparations that a ‘real’ hunter must make when he ventures beyond the limits of the village’s fields” (Casey, Chapter 5).
Unfortunately, no parallels for a ceramic industry, such as that of the Kintampo or other Late Stone Age African cultures (Barich, Chapter 6; Casey, Chapter 5; MacLean, Chapter 9), existed in the Early Neolithic context of the Middle East. Thus, it is difficult to weave a tale about only males producing and using elaborate arrowheads while only females were making and using pottery. We can perhaps substitute the ceramics with the rich assemblages of ground-stone utensils, such as mortars, pestles, handstones, bowls, and the like, which are associated with domestic chores of food preparation.
Another point of difference between the Early Neolithic of the Middle East and that of the Kintampo Stone Age industries is reflected in the quality of flaked lithic tools. Although standardization of the Neolithic production of lithics is lower than in preceding Late Paleolithic cultures, and while the microlithic component is absent, there is still more standardization than that observed in the Kintampo assemblages. Perhaps this disparity reflects not only social differences regarding the status of and need for the lithic tools, but also the availability of raw material and local African traditions.
Ample evidence exists from the Middle Eastern Neolithic for the emergence of pyrotechnology for the production of lime plaster (Kingery et al. 1988). This process required the use of special pits, the accumulation of firewood and limestone fragments, and the keeping of fire burning for many hours. Researchers consider this technology as a precursor of copper smelting, which began around 6500 BP, uncalibrated) (Najjar 1994; Levy 1995). It is not impossible that labor division and symbolic connotations involved in the production of lime plaster were similar to those related to metallurgical activities and their social context, as described by McLean (Chapter 9).
The plastering of Neolithic houses enabled the inhabitants to keep them clean. Sections through the floors reveal that they were occasionally renewed. Perhaps the renewal of surface plastering occurred in ritual contexts (Goring-Morris: personal communication). The special treatment of houses during the Neolithic may reflect what Watkins (1990) called the transformation from house to home. However, when sites were abandoned, floors were often cleaned, and thus the interesting proposal (Lane, Chapter 10) to identify the internal organization of house space with either women or men is impossible to accomplish.
Neolithic plaster was used not only for covering the floors of some of the houses, but also for modeling selected skulls and creating human statues, such as those currently well known from the caches discovered in Ain Ghazal (Rollefson 1983, 1990). The plastered skulls are generally interpreted as the “cult of the ancestors” (e.g., Cauvin 1994). Morphometric descriptions of the skulls indicate that the measurements obtained best fit male skulls (Arensburg and Hershkovitz 1988). Still, definite determinations are as yet unavailable, and treatment of female skulls could have taken place as well. It is worth noting that a large number of the human statues are also genderless. In this respect they differ from the small clay figurines, common since the very early Neolithic, which are mostly female (Bar-Yosef in press a).
In such a Neolithic society, women were probably involved in the following activities: house construction, food preparation, water and wood gathering, planting fields, tending crops, taking care of domesticated animals (which were introduced since 9500 BP; Legge 1996), harvesting, as well as cleaning and refuse disposal, as suggested by Gifford-Gonzalez (Chapter 7). Archaeologists have spent a lot of energy first exposing and later observing and describing house construction and daily activities (both secular and ritual) inside the houses, in the village, and in the fields. During the incipient phase of village communities (10,300–9300 BP), early farmers expressed a level of social differentiation between adults, whose skulls were removed (males and females alike), and children, whose skeletons were left untouched (Bar-Yosef et al. 1991).
We agree entirely with Gifford-Gonzalez (Chapter 7), who notes that “Heightened disease vulnerabilities, combined with lower stock densities for herd-replacement through pastoral alliances, may have made ties to local hunting and gathering peoples a considerably more important risk-reduction strategy for pastoralists. . . . Local foraging groups could offer labor during good years for livestock and local knowledge of exploitable wild foods during bad.” A similar explanation was offered by one of us (Bar-Yosef in press b) with respect to the situation during the early part of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic B period (9300–7800 BP). During this time, sedentary farmers relied on local foragers for meat supplies and other commodities obtained in the steppic and semidesertic belt of the Middle East. The possibility that farmers and foragers at that time shared the same mating network is perhaps reflected in the great similarity among lithic assemblages, regardless of the ecological zone in which the sites are located.
In sum, it seems that we have fewer means for determining gender activities in the prehistoric context of the Middle East than African archaeologists who face the same task. Still, the issue cannot be reduced to the simple identification of activity differentiation by gender. Indeed, like Kent (Chapter 3), we believe that not all societies—either past or present—separate space according to gender or function. We also agree entirely when she asks, “What does the ability to state conclusively that men sat here and women there at a prehistoric site tell us about gender during the Stone Age or after it?”
Still, studying the role of the individual, whether male or female, in various social contexts is a new and exciting challenge for archaeologists. As noted by Parkington (Chapter 2), it reflects a transformation in archaeological thought and a shift toward accepting not only ecological or environmental but also social explanations for the changes observed in the archaeological record.