Why did we begin to bury our dead?
This question echoes through the dark corridors of Tinshemet Cave, a quiet slash in the hills of central Israel now recognized by archaeologists as one of the world’s oldest known burial sites. Discovered near the town of Shoam, the cave contains remains of early humans dating back as far as 110,000 years. The findings point to more than just the beginning of funeral rites—they offer a glimpse into our ancestors’ earliest understanding of the soul, memory, and the afterlife.
Yossi Zaidner, professor of archaeology at Hebrew University and one of the lead directors of the excavation, calls the discovery “an amazing revolutionary innovation for our species.” As he explains, “It’s actually the first time we are starting to use this behavior” (AP, July 2025). That behavior—laying the dead in fetal positions, placing their hands gently beneath their heads, and surrounding them with objects of no daily use—strongly suggests something more than practicality. It suggests reverence.
How could early humans have developed such profound rituals?
The remains, uncovered in carefully dug pits, were found with objects like animal bones, ochre pigments, and basalt stones—many of which came from far away and served no utilitarian purpose. This has led archaeologists to believe these objects were part of spiritual or ceremonial practices. “Here we see a really complex set of behaviors, not related to just food and surviving,” said Zaidner, who emphasized that the ochre was created by heating iron-rich stones, showing not just creativity but intention (AP, July 2025).
For Catholics, such findings resonate deeply. From the earliest days of the Church, Christians have buried their dead with the sign of hope—placing relics, medals, or crosses with the body, and praying for the soul. In light of Tinshemet Cave, it becomes apparent that this yearning to honor the dead may be far older than we imagined, written into the very fabric of humanity. As the Catechism teaches, “The bodies of the dead must be treated with respect and charity, in faith and hope of the Resurrection” (CCC 2300).
What does this site tell us about the human soul and our shared origin?
Tinshemet’s importance lies not only in the preservation of bones but in what those bones say. According to Christian Tryon, a professor at the University of Connecticut and associate at the Smithsonian’s Human Origins Program, the site is “one of the three or four most important sites for study of human evolution and behavior during the Paleolithic time” (AP, July 2025). The skeletons were so well-preserved that archaeologists could see the fingers interlaced, hands cradling the face—a hauntingly human pose, across millennia.
This isn’t the first such discovery in Israel. Skhul and Qafzeh Caves, found in the north decades ago, showed similar burial practices from the same period. But Tinshemet confirms the pattern with greater clarity and dating accuracy, reinforcing the idea that burial was becoming widespread at this stage of human history.
Even more intriguing is the population itself. The two full skeletons excavated from the cave have not yet been conclusively identified. They could be Homo sapiens, Neanderthals, a hybrid population—or something else entirely. Zaidner notes that the region served as “a bridge between Neanderthals from Europe and Homo sapiens from Africa,” offering opportunities for knowledge-sharing and cultural development (AP, July 2025).
This convergence of peoples and customs suggests something remarkably Catholic: that even before written language, even before organized civilization, the human heart longed for permanence, identity, and connection with the divine.
As Israel Hershkovitz, co-director of the site and a physical anthropologist at Tel Aviv University, noted, burial was not just personal—it was territorial. Cemeteries marked land. “It’s a kind of claim you make to the neighbors, saying ‘this is my territory, this part of the land belongs to my father and my forefather’” (AP, July 2025). Isn’t that, in a way, what we still say as Catholics when we bury our loved ones in consecrated ground—this body belongs to God, this soul has a homeland?
Tinshemet Cave may not offer dogmatic answers. But it speaks to an ancient reverence that transcends time and culture. It whispers of the same mystery the Church has always proclaimed: that we were made for more than dust, and even in death, we are never forgotten.
