I spent 1972–1973 with my wife and two daughters living in Israel. Julia (or Yael, as she was called for that year) was three and Elizabeth (or Elisheva) was six. Every Shabbat my wife Judith (Yehudit), the kids and I would take a tiyyul, or outing, to explore an archaeological site.

By the time we got around to exploring Hazor, the whole family was expert in picking up sherds, the ever-present fragments of pottery at archaeological sites, and deciding whether it was a “diagnostic” sherd—a rim, base or handle—or just a plain body sherd. Before we ascended the tell, we visited the little Hazor museum at the nearby kibbutz. The museum displayed a case of these diagnostic sherds, including handles that had been impressed with seals. Pointing to one of those handles, I told the kids, “See? That’s the kind of thing we want.”

Afterward, we went out to explore the tell. It was not long before Elisheva came running to us with a clay handle less than 1.5 inches long with something incised (or, as we then thought, impressed) into it. Only the sharp eyes of a child close to the ground would have noticed it. At first, I was not sure there was anything deliberately etched into it. After all, lying around for thousands of years, it would not be unusual for a sherd to be scratched and damaged. As I looked and looked at the fragmentary handle, the figure of a man emerged with a pointed hat and upturned shoes. He seemed to hold a long staff in one hand. In the other hand was something that looked like a spear that he was about to hurl.

Suppressing my excitement, I congratulated Elisheva. “You better let me hold it,” I said.

“No,” she screamed. “I found it.”

“Okay,” I said, “but be careful. It could be valuable.”

We proceeded with our exploration of the tell until we came to its water tunnel, which descends by steps carved in the rock nearly 3,000 years ago. To provide a modicum of safety for visitors, wooden slats were built over the ancient rock steps. As we descended, little light penetrated. All of a sudden Elisheva blurted out, “I dropped it.”

“Don’t move,” I said. I dropped to the ground in the dark, moving my hands lightly and cautiously on the wooden slats around her, fearful that if the little sherd fell between the slats it would be lost forever. Fortunately, I was able to retrieve it.

“Now will you let me hold it,” I said sternly. This was not a question. Elisheva, pouting for a moment, accepted my judgment.

When we returned to Jerusalem, I showed the sherd to Amnon Ben-Tor, now the Yigael Yadin Professor of Archaeology at the Hebrew University and director of the ongoing excavation of Hazor, but then simply a young archaeologist who lived in our building and who was also Yigael Yadin’s assistant.

Yigael Yadin was Israel’s most famous, glamorous and charismatic archaeologist. He was Israel’s movie star. He had dug at Masada and at the great mound of Hazor. He had found the Bar-Kochba letters in a cave in the Judean Wilderness (see “Biblical Archaeology in Focus: Yigael Yadin and Crew Make a Discovery“). He was an expert in translating the Dead Sea Scrolls. And he was a war hero: In 1948 he had led the Haganah, Israel’s pre-state army. In no time, Amnon informed me that I had an appointment at Yadin’s home to show the sherd to the great man.

The figure incised on the handle, Yadin told me, was a Syro-Hittite deity from the Late Bronze Age (13th century B.C.) in the pose known as a “Smiting God.” It demonstrated how far south Syro-Hittite influence had penetrated into Canaan. I was bowled over when Yadin suggested that I publish an article on the handle for the Israel Exploration Journal. “I really don’t know if I can,” I said. He offered to help me. I said I would be delighted to have him as the senior author. No, he encouraged me; I could do it, he said. In the end, I did do it, but with considerable help from Yadin. The article appeared shortly after we returned to Washington.¹ In a footnote, I duly acknowledged Yadin’s assistance in writing the article and noted that the sherd had been found by six-year-old Elizabeth Shanks, who had donated it to the Hazor Archaeological Expedition. In gratitude for her donation of the sherd, Yadin gave Elizabeth a small juglet from Hazor and a letter of appreciation. It read as follows: