BIBLE HISTORY DAILY

Dig Tales

BAS Dig Scholarship winners share their stories

Every year, the Biblical Archaeology Society offers dig scholarships to selected applicants who wish to participate in a dig and demonstrate sufficient need. In this Bible History Daily article, a few of our 2025 BAS Dig Scholarship winners share what made their dig experiences so special. All images courtesy the authors unless otherwise noted.

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Carolyn Rock

El-Araj, Israel

If I ever had to pick a dream job, it would have been to dig as an archaeologist in the lands of the Bible. Through hard work and determination, I did eventually become a professional archaeologist, though circumstances restricted work to the southeastern United States where jobs were steady and secure. I thoroughly enjoyed my career, but that desire to relate more to my spiritual side drew me back time and again to news of archaeological discoveries in the Holy Land. It wasn’t until retirement that I had more time for recreation, and began a subscription to Biblical Archaeology Review magazine. What a surprise to find not only a list of volunteer digs but also an invitation to apply for a scholarship! I applied on a whim and a prayer, realizing that someone like me in her 70s would likely not get a scholarship when so many students with promising futures would be the more likely recipients. Imagine my surprise when I received the scholarship acceptance letter; I can only say it was divine intervention to propel me on to a trip of a lifetime within just a few short months.

My chosen dig site was El-Araj on the Sea of Galilee, the probable location of Bethsaida of the New Testament, the hometown of Peter, Andrew, and Phillip. Prior years of excavation at that site had uncovered a Byzantine-era basilica and monastery, overlying first and second-century Roman ruins. A mosaic in this basilica revealed a Greek inscription dedicating the church to the “chief of the apostles” who holds the keys to the kingdom of heaven—further evidence that this could be the true location of Peter’s town of Bethsaida. The site has caused quite an unexpected stir, as during our dig we were visited by Vatican TV, CBN (Christian Broadcasting Network), and Haaretz. One of the future goals of the team, led by professors Mordechai Aviam and Steven Notley, is to find more evidence that this place was a Roman polis, the city called Bethsaida-Julias, the town where Jesus would have visited and performed miracles.

This fall, our excavations consisted of three teams working in three different areas of the site. The Russian-Israeli team worked close to the basilica to continue below the Byzantine occupation levels. Another Israeli team was tasked with continuing in a different excavation unit down past the Roman layer and into a pre-Roman Hasmonean occupation. Our American team began a brand-new excavation square starting at the surface. I rather enjoyed this task so we could witness the process of opening up a unit and discovering its contents from the top down.

I was eager to contribute my years of archaeological experience to the cause of the site, but was shocked when handed a pickaxe and a bucket! I had never used pickaxes before, only machetes and axes, shovels and trowels. The ground was so rocky and hard that the only way to break up the earth was with blow after blow of the pick. Nevertheless, our team took to the pickaxe with tremendous enthusiasm, as every strike of the pick meant a possible treasure uncovered. Was that a jar handle? A medieval plate? A Roman pot rim? The anticipation was infectious, it was the thrill of the hunt. The pottery was almost as abundant as the rocks. Our top layers contained a mixed assortment of fragments of 12th-century Crusader sugar pots, Islamic glazed and decorated earthenware, Roman-period ceramics, mixed with a few fishing weights and coins. It was a wonderful crash course in dating centuries of artifacts. One of the ceramic fragments recovered was of special interest to us. It was a Herodian knife-pared lamp nozzle. These were only made in Jerusalem before 70 CE. As Dr. Notley explained, this means that someone likely walked to Jerusalem and returned to Bethsaida with a small lamp to remember their time in the Holy City.

Just as we were getting to the end of the disturbed layers, three of us were sent to help the Israeli team dig through some of the levels of a Roman-era house. I was assigned a small room of the house and happily picked away at clods of dirt containing first and second century Roman-era pottery. Soon, evidence of a stone floor showed up on one side of the room, and my cell-mates in the next room recovered some delicate glass jars and portions of a limestone vessel. Such stone vessels were commonly used by the Jewish population on account of ritual purification issues, so we were excited to find these artifact types. After all, Bethsaida was probably a predominantly Jewish town. Meanwhile, the Israelis at the other end of the unit had reached below the Roman level to the floor of a Hasmonean (pre-Roman) occupation, revealing that the Hasmoneans had expanded their territory to the northern shores of the Sea of Galilee.

The two weeks went by in a flash, just too fast. I will miss the camaraderie of the dig, everyone working as a team with a common purpose. Not once did I hear anyone complain; I suppose the excitement and anticipation of new discoveries trumped the sore muscles and body aches. It helped that our field directors were enthusiastic and more than willing to share their knowledge. I was happy to be part of a group that was able to connect a few pieces to the giant jigsaw puzzle they call El-Araj.

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Julio Barcudi Godoy

Azekah, Israel

This summer, I had the privilege of joining the archaeological expedition at Tel Azekah, in the Judean Shephelah. It was my first-ever experience in an archaeological excavation, and without doubt one of the most formative experiences of my life.

The routine was demanding: By 4:45 am, we had to be ready to leave for the site, and soon after the fieldwork began. The physical effort was considerable—pickaxes, trowels, buckets of earth under the hot Israeli summer sun—but each day brought with it the expectation of new discoveries.

I was part of the team working in Area G, where we experienced one of the most exciting moments of the season: the discovery of a tabun (oven) that contained Persian-period pottery. The meaning of this find is not yet fully understood, but the excitement it generated among the team was unforgettable. At the same time, we were also working to understand a massive Byzantine wall, whose function still remains unclear. This will surely be one of the main questions for the next excavation season.

The experience, however, was not limited to the field. After the morning’s digging came the pottery washing sessions, and in the afternoons we attended lectures, classes, and archaeological site visits throughout the region. This educational component gave great depth to the experience. In just two weeks, I gained not only technical skills but also a broader framework for understanding the finds.

Another fundamental aspect was community life. I shared the experience with students—most from Tel Aviv University—together with international volunteers and experienced archaeologists. This diversity of backgrounds and perspectives greatly enriched my learning. Beyond the discoveries themselves, I will always remember the conversations, cultural exchanges, and spirit of collaboration that animated each day.

As a student of sacred scripture with a focus on history and archaeology, this first field experience allowed me to touch with my own hands what I had until now only studied in books. Direct contact with the soil and with the material remains of the past opened new perspectives for me, showing how academic research can be connected with the real lives of the ancient people of the biblical world.

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Alexandria Crosby

Antiochia ad Cragum, Turkey

One summer day in Gazipaşa, Turkey, another student volunteer and I were assigned to clear brush from a room lower and more isolated than the rest of the site. Descending by ladder, we discovered it filled with spiky plants, sticky webs, and an army of large spiders and crickets. Fearing being bitten by something venomous, I jerked every time a stray hair brushed my neck or a plant grazed my arm. We hacked away the overgrowth and nervously checked ourselves for eight-legged hitchhikers before climbing back up, dusty, sweaty, and unbitten. By week’s end, I’d grown accustomed to seeing camel spiders, scorpions, and snakes.

Excavations have taken place here for over two decades by the Antiochia ad Cragum Archaeological Research Project (ACARP), led by Michael Hoff of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, who gave us an intriguing site tour. Antiochia ad Cragum, on the Mediterranean coast in modern Antalya, Turkey, was founded around 170 BCE by the Seleucid Empire and flourished during the Roman and Byzantine periods. The city was historically a haven for Cilician pirates in the first century BCE before coming under Roman control after Pompey’s naval victory. Dr. Hoff explained that Roman bath complexes, the main areas being excavated this season, were integral to daily life—designed for hygiene, relaxation, and socializing. These featured a sequence of cold, warm, and hot rooms heated from beneath the floor. Water flowed continuously by gravity-fed pressure from an elevated aqueduct nearby—as evidenced by worn depressions and smoothed marble pavers. Nearby, skeletons were uncovered—one with a fatal head wound and signs of scurvy—and over 2,600 coins from across Europe, indicating medieval pirate activity.

Under the guidance of University of Houston professor Dr. Leticia Rodriguez, I helped excavate the Small Bath complex. We started our day before sunrise and every meal with black tea. Alongside excavation, I washed pottery and bones, attended lectures on Roman architecture and conservation, and went swimming every Friday afternoon.

Weekly excursions took us to sites like Aspendos and Syedra, and museums in Alanya and Antalya. I was excited to see that some of the Alanya museum artifacts came from Antiochia ad Cragum. It struck me that the items on display were all Turkish heritage, originating from the country’s land and people, unlike many artifacts in Western museums. This expanded my awareness of museum ethics, especially after experiencing nearly every stage of the artifacts’ lifecycle—from excavation and conservation to cataloging museum collections.

One of the most rewarding aspects of my time abroad was engaging in meaningful conversations with Turkish professors and students about philosophy, religion, and geopolitics. Some of my new friends even called me by a Turkish name, İskenderiye—its linguistic evolution from Alexandros the Great in Greek to Arabic to Turkish is fascinating. I realized as a foreigner how much identity shifts depending on one’s geography, language, and cultural background.

My desire to travel, academic interests, and personal aspirations lead me to pursue a deeper understanding of humanity. I’m drawn to what the past can reveal about our modern world—whether by something waiting to be read, a new insight from someone I’ve met, something hidden in the dirt, or an artifact collecting dust in a museum. My time abroad reshaped how I think about culture, language, identity, and global citizenship. I can now continue in university with strengthened technical skills, a broader perspective, and deeper sense of purpose.

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Brenna McLain

Iklaina, Greece

This summer, I had the opportunity to spend three weeks in Pylos, Greece, where I participated as a student in the Iklaina Archaeological Project. Located in the southwestern Peloponnese, the palace at Iklaina serves as a vital resource in investigating the inception of states and governments during the Late Bronze Age (c. 1550–1200 BCE). Overlooking endless rows of olive trees stretching to the Ionian Sea, its presence as a major administrative and industrial center is unquestionable. Under the direction of Dr. Michael Cosmopoulos, the project has been active since 2006 and continues to thrive due to the efforts of its prodigious staff, as well as the array of students who join the excavation season every summer. The site, consisting of both a palatial center as well as a collection of residences, is unique to the region due to the presence of a Cyclopean terrace. Once supporting multi-story buildings of stone, mudbrick, and wood, the presence of Cyclopean masonry emphasizes the site’s significance as well as the impressiveness of its construction. In a wider context, the palace at Iklaina is located within the Hither province, a region that was controlled by the palace of Nestor. Named after the mythical king Nestor, the palace theoretically presided over the palace at Iklaina from 1450 BCE until its destruction in 1250 BCE. During the 2025 excavation season, we focused our attention on the residential section, where we aimed to better understand the layout of these structures as well as the material culture therein.

Having past excavation experience, I knew what I could expect involving the physical demands, long hours, and hot weather, and welcomed them as a necessary part of the archaeological process. One thing I did not expect, however, was the sheer gorgeousness of the site and the nearby town. The mountainous views, the crystal clear waters, and the array of colorful vegetation confirmed that I had entered another world. I often ruminated on the fact that the mountain ranges, wildflowers, and oleander trees I admired were of the same variety the Mycenaeans might have cherished thousands of years ago. For three weeks, I spent my days excavating, attending classes, getting to know my fellow excavators, and taking nightly swims in the harbor after dinner. Apart from field work, I had the opportunity to work independently in the lab, where I completed a report on a collection of micaceous coarse ware. Aside from my report, I frequently washed pottery and assisted in sorting heavy fraction. I highly enjoyed contributing to the lab as it gave me a sense of duty and a glimpse of what I could be doing in the future.

What meant the most to me, however, was the overwhelming sense of community. Above all, archaeology is a collaborative effort, and it is clear that decades of excavation have forged lifelong friendships between not only the professors, but also the graduate students. Being a part of this team gave me a sense of belonging and purpose, making the Iklaina Archaeological Project much more than an archaeological endeavor. The only unsavory aspect of this trip was leaving, and to everyone involved, I am very grateful.

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Martin Schneider

Sanisera, Spain

I participated in the Sanisera Archaeology Institute’s field school, excavating a late Roman and early Christian basilica on the north coast of Menorca, Spain. Sanisera, founded in the late Republican period and occupied through the Roman, Vandal, and Byzantine phases (first–ninth centuries CE), once spanned 60,000 square meters and included a military camp, harbor, and numerous ecclesiastical structures. Abandoned around the tenth century, Sanisera’s location overlooking the bay of Sanitja made it a vital hub for Mediterranean trade. Excavations have revealed two basilicas and seven necropoleis, built in the late fourth and early fifth centuries, containing more than 120 graves and the skeletal remains of over 600 individuals.

Our session centered on Necropolis 03, the largest complex at the site, with 33 graves. The structure consists of stone foundations, preserved to knee height, outlining rectangular chambers that form the basilica’s architectural shape and a dense mortuary zone of slab-covered graves within the church. The excavation aimed to trace the basilica’s boundaries, clarify the sequence of its chambers and graves, and place its use within the broader context of Sanisera’s late antique Christian community.

Each day began before sunrise with a bus ride to the bay of Sanitja, once a strategic Roman harbor. At the basilica, we laid out a 1-by-4-meter trench at its southeastern edge and began peeling back soil with pickaxes, trowels, and brushes. Buckets of earth were hauled out, scanned with a metal detector, and emptied into discard piles. By early afternoon, we returned to our apartment, escaping the Mediterranean heat, covered in dust and sweat, before continuing to the lab to sort pottery, catalog bones, and review notes.

Every layer revealed finds. The first layer yielded more than 50 pottery sherds from North Africa, Italy, Syria, and Marseille, along with bronze nails and a green glass lamp handle. As the trench deepened, we uncovered amphora fragments, bronze coins from the Roman and Vandal periods, and a white marble fragment from a liturgical dish. The highlight was a bronze coin of Constantine the Great (r. 306–337 CE), featuring his portrait on one side and two figures holding a banner topped by a cross, a clear symbol of early Christian Rome. This linked our trench directly to the fourth-century moment when Christianity became entwined with imperial power.

As work continued, a line of large stones appeared southeast of the basilica’s grave. Expanding the trench revealed two parallel rows extending south from the grave, with smaller stones between them, collapse rather than a third wall. Together, the rows outlined a rectangular chamber built at least a century after the basilica, showing the structure expanded and adapted to serve the community’s needs.

Over nine days, we uncovered two parallel wall foundations abutting the basilica’s southernmost grave, providing clear evidence of an adjoining chamber tied to early Christian burial practices. Alongside this architectural evidence, we recovered coins, liturgical objects, and imported pottery. Together, these finds reveal the basilica’s role not only in worship and burial, but also as a significant juncture in Mediterranean trade and exchange. Our small trench showed how even limited excavation can reveal the global reach and spiritual life of a Christian community at the empire’s edge, which endured for centuries after Rome’s fall.

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Nimesh Fonseka

Keros, Greece

The Keros Project excavates on the Greek island of Keros and the small islet of Dhaskalio just west of it. These were part of the largest Early Bronze Age settlement and the first known maritime sanctuary in the Cyclades, active from around 2800 to 2200 BCE. Dhaskalio was not a normal village but a carefully planned site with marble buildings, huge terraces, and organized craft areas for metal and obsidian working; it served as a ritual and production center in the prehistoric Aegean.

As interesting as the history is, the site itself is just as stunning. It is a small, steep hill with winding paths leading up to the summit and around each trench, covered in shrubs and crawling with tiny lizards. Anywhere you look, you see clear blue sea and, from the top, beautiful views of the surrounding islands.

I made sure to appreciate every morning. Blasting a little country music in my headphones as our boat left Koufonisia for the site, enjoying the sea breeze and passing the goat island (literally just an island with about five goats on it and a box where I think someone lives). Approaching Dhaskalio was a sight to see, not even just the first time arriving on the island but every morning. Seeing the massive strip of land from the summit down to as close to the base of the island as safely possible, slowly getting deeper and deeper, put into perspective not only how large this project was but how much work we were doing.

Each trench had about 15 or more people, with about four or five trenches running, plus a team excavating on Keros. I was lucky to be in Trench T with some amazing people under the supervision of Therese McCormick, a commercial archaeologist from Australia, and Simone Mangoni, an archaeologist and musician, which certainly made him the most talented person on Keros. They did a great job managing the trench and answering all my questions while we worked. I could not have asked for better supervisors.

When we were not digging, most of our work and learning happened at the Apotheke (our off-site research facility), where we received lectures from the many experienced team members. I mostly washed pottery at the Apotheke, but one thing that really grabbed my attention was the work of Vasilis Tzatzis, our faunal expert. I ended up sitting with him one day, going through bags of bones while he explained his process and how he identifies them. It was probably the most interesting off-site experience I had, and honestly, my only regret is that I did not ask to help him more.

Of course, I cannot talk about my time with the Keros Project without mentioning Koufonisia itself. As much as I loved the digging, the island was just unforgettable. Beautiful beaches, crystal clear water, the occasional herd of goats, and great food, especially the Koufonisia Bakery, where I was converted to an Olympiakos fan. Great orange pie, too!

Every time I do anything archaeology-related, I leave wanting something more, whether that means I made progress or found something new I want to learn about. This time, I can say both happened. I met professors, students, commercial archaeologists, and for once, I was not the only South Asian archaeologist on the dig. I took something from all of their experiences, and since leaving the Keros Project, I have reflected on what I learned and how I can use it as I keep moving forward in this field.

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