Uncovering the Layers of Jerusalem: Secrets Beneath the Edicule

Beneath the heart of Jerusalem, under centuries of stone worn smooth by the footsteps of pilgrims, priests, and tourists, archaeologists are uncovering stories hidden in the soil itself.

What remains preserved in a place visited daily by countless visitors? Recent work under the Edicule—a small shrine at one of Jerusalem’s most sacred sites—has provided remarkable insights into the city’s layered history, revealing the interplay between human activity, burial practices, and cultivation over millennia.

Jerusalem is a city built on layers of human memory and labor.

Streets, walls, and houses rose over centuries, each generation shaping the city in response to both necessity and faith.

In the first century CE, the city was under Roman rule.

Roman builders quarried stone from nearby rock to construct roads, public buildings, and fortifications.

The cuts they left behind—flat faces and hollows in the bedrock—would later be repurposed by families as storage spaces or small burial chambers, often featuring shallow shelves where bones could be placed.

Two centuries later, Roman Emperor Hadrian reshaped parts of Jerusalem, raising ground levels and overlaying older surfaces with new paving.

Later still, Emperor Constantine and his mother, Saint Helena, initiated a program to mark sites tied to Christian memory, establishing churches and chapels that attracted pilgrims from across the region.

Over the following centuries, numerous rulers—including Crusaders and Ottoman authorities—continued to repair and rebuild structures, often reusing older stones when resources were scarce.

In Jerusalem, the tight urban space meant that workshops could become homes, quarries might serve as cellars, and burial chambers could lie beneath chapels built centuries later.

Archaeologists today face the challenge of understanding these layers without disturbing the sacred spaces above them.

Work at the Edicule often begins for practical reasons, such as repairing worn floor tiles.

Yet these repair projects provide rare opportunities to examine the ground beneath the shrine.

Excavations are conducted with painstaking care: hand tools, soft brushes, and wooden picks remove thin layers of soil while preserving fragile remains.

Each sample, whether soil, pottery, seeds, or tiny bone fragments, is photographed, labeled, and cataloged to maintain its precise origin.

This meticulous recording ensures that every discovery can be accurately placed within the broader story of the site.

Ground-penetrating radar and photogrammetry assist the team by mapping the hidden spaces without causing damage.

Daily plans coordinate excavation work with religious services, allowing worship to continue uninterrupted.

When human bones are uncovered, they are handled according to local law and church regulations, often leaving them in situ if required.

Meanwhile, metal fragments, carved stones, and other artifacts are stabilized by conservators before leaving the site.

This combination of careful fieldwork, precise documentation, and laboratory analysis allows archaeologists to read the layers of human activity under the shrine safely and effectively.

The findings so far are remarkable.

The initial exposure of flat faces in the bedrock revealed the traces of ancient stonecutting, confirming locations once used as quarries or workshops.

In the carved hollows, archaeologists identified small burial spaces with plaster traces and shelves for bones, evidence of local funerary practices.

Soil layers above the rock preserved tiny organic fragments, including olive pits and grape seeds, which indicate the presence of gardens or cultivated plots near the site.

Pollen analysis reinforced this view, showing that trees and vines grew in the immediate vicinity.

Other discoveries included fragments of carved marble, possibly bases from earlier architectural features, and tool marks that hint at the techniques of craftsmen working across different periods.

Thin floors of crushed stone, patches of old mortar, and pottery and lamp fragments helped establish chronological markers for the layers.

Even subtle signs, such as a dark band containing small roots or a thin layer of ash, provide clues about daily life, short-lived fires, or areas where plants once thrived.

Each layer tells a story of reuse, adaptation, and continuity, showing how the site evolved from a Roman quarry to a family burial space, then to a small garden, and eventually to a sacred shrine.

Laboratory work has been essential to understanding these discoveries.

Soil samples are floated in water to extract light organic materials, including seeds, which are cleaned, dried, and examined under microscopes.

Specialists compare the shape and structure of each seed to reference collections, identifying species and distinguishing cultivated varieties from wild types.

Pollen grains are carefully cleaned and mounted for high-powered microscopic analysis, providing a detailed record of local flora over time.

Radiocarbon dating of plant remains and optical dating of sand grains allow archaeologists to place layers within broad chronological windows, often corroborated by the presence of pottery sherds and coin fragments.

Stone fragments and mortar samples are analyzed for material composition, tool marks, and construction style, helping identify different periods of building, repair, and reuse.

The results so far provide a compelling picture of human activity in this corner of Jerusalem.

Stone faces reveal the labor of first-century workers, burial niches record local funerary customs, and plant remains testify to small-scale cultivation of olives, grapes, and other plants.

Later builders reused these stones and soil layers, adding new floors and a small chapel, while preserving traces of earlier life beneath their work.

Together, these elements create a layered narrative that reflects both continuity and change over centuries.

Importantly, the research does not attempt to link any specific grave or artifact to a named individual.

Instead, the findings illuminate broader patterns of human activity, showing how families lived, worked, and commemorated their dead.

The botanical evidence supports early textual descriptions of gardens near tombs, providing a landscape-level correlation rather than a personal one.

Soil chemistry and root traces indicate repeated small-scale planting, suggesting that local households tended trees and vines close to their homes.

These subtle signals, while modest, reveal the intimate relationship between people and the land they occupied.

The project also demonstrates the critical importance of conservation and planning.

Detailed mapping of fragile layers informs repair strategies, guiding conservators to avoid using heavy machinery in sensitive areas.

Temporary supports protect arches and other structural elements during excavation, and careful documentation ensures that every step can be reviewed by scholars worldwide.

Wider sampling across adjacent areas may reveal whether plant traces are confined to narrow patches or reflect broader cultivation, while DNA analysis of seeds could clarify whether olives and grapes were domesticated varieties.

Future studies of soil chemistry may shed light on composting practices or other forms of agricultural care.

Through meticulous fieldwork and rigorous lab analysis, researchers have begun to reconstruct a vivid picture of daily life in Jerusalem over the centuries.

Stonework, burials, plant cultivation, and repeated repairs form a layered tapestry of human presence and care.

Radiocarbon, optical, and material analyses collectively provide a reliable timeline, while cross-referencing multiple methods ensures confidence in the findings.

When discrepancies arise, researchers explore potential causes, such as later disturbances or contamination, before drawing conclusions.

Open publication of raw data, sample codes, and lab results allows other scholars to verify the findings and refine interpretations.

Ultimately, the work beneath the Edicule offers more than archaeological insight; it presents a model for careful, respectful study in sacred spaces.

The layered record of stone, soil, seeds, pollen, pottery, and coins reflects centuries of human activity, demonstrating the interplay of work, daily life, and devotion.

It also illustrates how even small fragments of evidence—tiny seeds, thin layers of soil, or modest carved stones—can illuminate larger patterns of human history.

As the project continues, archaeologists hope to expand sampling, refine dating techniques, and further map the distribution of plant traces across the broader site.

This will help answer questions about the extent of cultivation and the nature of daily life in ancient Jerusalem.

The work also sets a precedent for transparency, as public summaries and technical reports provide both scholars and local communities with accessible information, bridging the gap between science and faith.

Beneath the centuries of stone and prayer, the Edicule has revealed a human-scale story of life, death, and care.

From Roman stonecutters to families tending gardens, from burial chambers to the construction of chapels, each layer tells a chapter in the long narrative of Jerusalem.

Through careful excavation, meticulous recording, and thorough laboratory analysis, archaeologists are piecing together a continuous timeline of use and transformation, offering a rare glimpse into the rhythm of life across centuries in one of the world’s most sacred cities.

Even as the findings reveal ordinary human activity—work, burials, and cultivation—the project invites us to wonder: could these fragile layers hold even deeper secrets, traces of life or events not yet imagined?

For now, the careful record under the Edicule provides a vivid and verifiable story of Jerusalem’s past, a story still unfolding with each new season of research, offering both scientists and the public a tangible connection to the city’s rich, layered history.