Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections

S OCIOLINGUISTIC IDENTITIES AND E GYPTIAN I MPERIALISM IN THE E ARLY L ATE

B RONZE A GE L EVANT

Marwan Kilani
Freie Universität Berlin; Swiss National Science Foundation

ABSTRACT
In a previous paper I presented an analysis of the geographical distribution and linguistic affiliation of the
names of local rulers attested in the Amarna letters. There I argued that these names are not scattered at
random, but rather that their distribution shows that names having the same linguistic matrix are distributed
in geographically well-defined clusters. Moreover, the analysis of the sociolinguistic context of such names
made it possible to argue that their distribution is not specific of the Amarna period, but seems to reflect, at
least to some extent, the socio-linguistic landscape of the region before the establishment of the Egyptian
domination on the area. On the basis of these observations, in the conclusions of that previous article I
noticed that a preliminary survey of the evidence suggests a correlation between such socio-linguistic
landscape and the geographical developments of the military campaigns of Thutmose III and Amenhotep
II. The present article focuses on this correlation in order to assess its significance for our understanding of
the Eighteenth Dynasty Egyptian imperialism in the Levant.

INTRODUCTION showed that the names are distributed according to

The names of local rulers attested in the Amarna letters
have often been studied, but the patterns underlying
their geographical distribution, and its likely socio-
historical meanings, have rarely been discussed. A
previous paper of mine offered a first assessment of
this question.1 The results obtained in that paper
provides the foundation for the present article; it is
therefore useful to briefly summarize them.
The idea at the basis of that paper was simple:
plotting the names of rulers on a map of the Levant,
and checking if the geographical distribution of
names with different linguistic was completely
random or if instead it reflected some coherent and
therefore potentially meaningful patterns. The
results of the analysis, performed through a series of
specifically designed script for the QGIS geographic
information system application, were positive and
well-defined regional patterns. In particular, as I
point out in the previous article, the area south of the
Carmel Range, the area east and north of the Sea of
Galilee, as well as the northern Levantine coast,
north of the Galilee and west of the Lebanon range
are characterized by coherent and well-defined
clusters of West Semitic names. By contrast, the
corridor going through the Beqa’a valley from the
areas east of the Akkar plain to Damascus and south
of it is characterized by cities having rulers bearing
non-West Semitic names. Finally, the area of the
Plain of Asher and the Jezreel Valley is characterized
by a scattered presence of both West Semitic and
non-West Semitic names that are so intermixed as to
prevent the definition of any substantial cluster. The
patterns just described are summarized in FIGURE 1.
The sociocultural context of these names has then

Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections | EgyptianExpedition.org |vol. 28 (December 2020) | 47–64

 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
FIGURE 1: BLUE: areas with rulers bearing West Semitic names.
YELLOW: areas with rulers bearing non-West Semitic names. GREEN:
zones of contact, interference and intermixing of the two traditions.
Note that the Akkar plain is green even though no ruler with non-
West Semitic names is attested in the Amarna letters, both because
we know that at the time of Thutmose III the region was controlled
by Tunip, which likely had a ruling class belonging to a Hurrian
tradition, and because all of the post-Amarna rulers of Amurru had
Hurrian names (see below). The region was therefore a point of
contact between the two traditions. The borders of the different
zones are obviously tentative, mainly shaped on mountains and
other potential natural boundaries. Numbers refer to cities: their
coordinates, names, attestations in the Amarna corpus, rulers and
linguistic background of the rulers’ names are presented in TABLE 1.
For a detailed description of how this map has been developed, see
Kilani 2020.
been assessed through a cross-cultural theoretical
frame: the picture resulting from that analysis
strongly suggested that the rulers bearing non-West
Semitic names were likely using them because they
48
perceived them as deriving from their own native
linguistic tradition, rather than just because of non-
well-defined cultural contacts with hypothetical
distinct speakers of those languages. This, in turn,
suggested that the linguistic distribution of the
names in the Amarna period must have reflected, at
least in part, a much earlier sociolinguistic landscape,
which is likely to have pre-dated the establishment
of the Egyptian Empire in the region; no socio-
historical phenomenon that could explain the spread
of such tradition of non-West Semitic names can be
detected during the Egyptian domination. At the
same time, a preliminary survey of the sources
revealed a striking correlation between the geographic
distribution of these names and the geographic
patterns underlying the development of the military
campaigns of Thutmose III and Amenhotep II. The
present article aims at exploring this correlation and
its potential historical meaning.
Before moving to that, however, a terminological
note: in the previous article I introduced two terms
that I am using also in this paper. They are tradition,
referring to “ensembles of material and/or linguistic
and/or socio-cultural practices and customs shared
by multiple non-kin individuals, which can be seen
and used as aggregating factor in the (self-)definition
of relevant social clusters,” and dzuk, referring to
“group of people who adhere to a given tradition.”
For a discussion of these terms, see my previous
article.2
§1: NAMES AND CAMPAIGNS: A CORRELATION
It is well known that during his military campaigns
Thutmose III marched across the whole Levant.
However, if one looks at the evidence, one can notice
that he did not fight everywhere, and his battles took
place only in specific areas. In his first campaign he
marched through the southern Levant and fought in
the area of Megiddo, in the Jezreel Valley. It is not
known where he fought his second, third, and fourth
campaigns.3 Campaigns five, six, and seven focused
on the north, with fighting taking place first in the
Akkar plain, which at the time was controlled by
Tunip,4 a city that likely had a Hurrian ruling class,5
and then in the northern Beqa’a, in the area of
Qadesh. Finally, in his eighth campaign Thutmose
III ventured toward the Orontes and inner Syria,
attacking the areas of Aleppo and Qatna.6
If we compare the geographic distribution of these
military confrontations with that of the West Semitic
and non-West Semitic names (as summarized in
F IGURE 1 and TABLE 1), a clear correlation emerges:
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism

TABLE 1: KEY: HU = Hurrian; IA = Indo-Aryan; l.u. = language uncertain (= non-West Semitic); WS = West Semitic; ? = “possiblyʺ (con-
tinued on next page).

ID MODERN SITE AMARNA NAME LONGITUDE LATITUDE

RULER RULER’S NAME ATTESTATIONS MORAN 1992 HESS 1993

1 Rehob = Tell Sarem — 35.4982 32.4571

RULER Balu-UR.SAG EA 249:2; 250:2 WS WS

2 Tel Yoqneʿam — 35.1000 32.6500

RULER 1 Balu-Mehir EA 245:44; 257:3; 258:2; 259:2 WS WS

RULER 2 Wiktasu EA 221:4; 222:3 l.u. WS?

3 Tell el-Mukharkhash — 35.4667 32.6500

RULER 1 Baduzana EA 239:3 — IA?

RULER 2 Bayadi EA 238:2 l.u. IA?

4 Akko = Tell el Fukhar Akka 35.0667 32.9167

RULER 1 Satatna EA 8:19, 8:38; 233:4; 234:3; 235:5; 238:23 l.u. IA?

EA 8:19; 85:21; 232:3; 245:31;

RULER 2 Surata l.u. IA
245:33; 245:41; 245:43; 366:2

5 Tell Keisan Akšapa 35.1500 32.8667

RULER 1 Endaruta EA 223:4; 366:23; 367:1 l.u. IA

6 Tell ʿAshtara Aštartu 36.0200 32.8100

RULER 1 Ayyab EA 256:6; 256:13; 364:2 WS WS

RULER 2 Biridašwa EA 196:41; 197:7; 197:15; 197:33 l.u. IA

RULER 3 Daša EA 53:58; 56:16 — IA

7 Beirut Biruta 35.5167 33.9000

EA 136:29; 137:15; 137:66; 137:69; 137:88;

RULER 1 Ammunira WS WS
138:52-53; 138:132; 141:3; 142:2; 143:3

EA 83:26; 85:29; 85:42; 97:2; 98:2; 103:19; 105:31;

105:75; 105:85; 106:19; 113:8; 113:12; 113:47;
RULER 2 Yapa-Hadda WS WS
114:16; 114:59; 114:69; 116:25; 116:40; 116:51;
117:65; 119:57; 120:2

8 Damascus Di/umasqu 36.2833 33.5000

EA 7:75; 52:45; 53:34; 129:82; 151:62; 189:6;

RULER 1 Biryawaza 189:r2; 189:9; 189:25; 194:2; 195:4; 196:2; 197:17; l.u. IA?
234:13; 234:26; 250:24

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 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism

TABLE 1: (continued from previous page) KEY: HU = Hurrian; IA = Indo-Aryan; l.u. = language uncertain (= non-West Semitic); WS = West
Semitic; ? = “possiblyʺ (continued on next page).

ID MODERN SITE AMARNA NAME LONGITUDE LATITUDE

RULER RULER’S NAME ATTESTATIONS MORAN 1992 HESS 1993

9 Tell Gezer Gazru 34.9167 31.8500

RULER 1 Adda-Danu EA 292:3; 293:3 WS WS

EA 249:5; 249:6; 249:16; 249:30; 250:32; 250:36;

250:39; 250:54; 250:56; 254:27; 254:29; 267:4;
RULER 2 Milkilu WS WS
268:3; 269:4; 270:4; 271:4; 273:24; 287:29; 289:5;
289:11; 289:25; 290:6; 290:26; 369:1

RULER 3 Yapahu EA 297:3; 298:4; 299:3; 378:3 WS WS

10 Tell eṣ-Ṣafi Gimtu 34.8333 31.6833

RULER 1 Abdi-Astarti EA 63:3; 64:3; 65:3 WS WS

EA 271:12; 278:4; 279:4; 280:4; 281:5; 282:3;

RULER 2 Šuwardata l.u. IA
283:3; 283:32; 284:2; 290:6; 290:27; 366:3

11 Jatt in the Sharon Gintikirmil 35.0333 32.3833

EA 249:8; 263:33; 264:2; 265:2; 266:4; 289:11;

RULER 1 Tagi HU HU
289:19; 289:25

12 Byblos Gubla 35.6500 34.1167

RULER 1 Ili-Rapih EA 128:21; 139:2; 140:3 WS WS

EA 68:1; 71:2; 73:2; 74:1; 75:1; 76:1; 77:2; 78:1;

79:1; 82:3; 83:1; 83:40; 84:3; 85:2; 85:24; 86:2;
87:3; 88:1; 89:1; 90:3; 92:1; 92:35; 93:2; 94:1; 95:2;
96:1; 102:3; 103:2; 104:3; 105:1; 105:88; 106:1;
106:14; 106:31; 107:1; 108:1; 109:1; 110:2; 111:3;
RULER 2 Rib-Addi WS WS
112:1; 113:24; 116:1; 117:1; 118:3; 119:1; 119:19;
119:34; 121:1; 121:23; 122:1; 123:1; 124:2; 124:6;
124:18; 125:2; 126:1; 129:1; 129:45; 130:3; 132:2;
136:2; 137:1; 138:2; 138:66; 138:90; 138:111;
142:21; 362:1

13 Tell Îizzin Hasi 36.1000 33.9500

RULER 1 Ildayyi EA 175:3 WS? WS

RULER 2 Mayarzana EA 185:3 l.u. IA?

14 Tel Hazor Haṣura 35.5667 33.0167

RULER 1 Abdi-Tirshi EA 228:3 WS WS

15 Tell ʿArqa Irqata 36.0333 34.5167

RULER 1 Aduna EA 75:25; 140:10 WS WS

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 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism

TABLE 1: (continued from previous page) KEY: HU = Hurrian; IA = Indo-Aryan; l.u. = language uncertain (= non-West Semitic); WS = West
Semitic; ? = “possiblyʺ (continued on next page).

ID MODERN SITE AMARNA NAME LONGITUDE LATITUDE

RULER RULER’S NAME ATTESTATIONS MORAN 1992 HESS 1993

16 Kamid el-Loz Kumidu 35.8000 33.6000

RULER 1 Arašša EA 198:4 l.u. HU

17 Lachish = Tell ed-Duweir Lakiša, Lakis/šu 34.8333 31.5500

RULER 1 Šipti-Baʿla EA 330:3; 331:4; 332:3; 333:5; 333:9 WS WS

RULER 2 Yabni-Ilu EA 328:4 WS WS

RULER 3 Zimredda EA 288:43; 329:5; 333:6; 333:9 WS WS

18 Tel Megiddo Magidda 35.1833 32.5833

RULER 1 Biridiya EA 242:3; 243:3; 244:3; 246:3; 248:19; 365:3 l.u. IA?

19 Tabaqat FaHl Pihilu 35.6167 32.4500

RULER 1 Mut-bahli EA 255:3; 256:2; 256:5 WS WS

20 Tell el-Mišrife Qaṭna 36.8500 34.8333

RULER 1 Akizzi EA 52:2; 53:2; 54:2; 55:2; 57:2 l.u. HU

21 Tell Nebi Mend Qidšu 36.5167 34.5667

EA 53:8; 53:11; 53:24; 53:37; 53:60; 54:22; 54:28;

RULER 1 Atakama 56:23; 56:27; 140:25; 151:59; 174:11; 175:9; 176:9; l.u. IA
189:2; 189:r20; 197:31; 363:9

22 Shechem Šakmu 35.2819 32.2136

EA 237:2; 244:11; 244:17; 244:29; 244:38; 244:41;

245:6; 245:25; 245:43; 246:r6; 249:17; 249:29;
250:6; 250:11; 250:14; 250:16; 250:26; 250:30;
RULER 1 Labayu WS WS
250:36; 250:39; 250:40; 250:54; 252:3; 253:2;
255:15; 263:34; 280:30; 280:33; 287:30; 289:6;
289:22

23 Tel Shimron Šamhuna 35.21430 32.70361

RULER 1 Šamu-Adda EA 225:3 WS WS

24 Tell esh-Shihab (?) Šashimi 35.9833 32.6833

RULER 1 Abdi-Milki EA 203.3 WS WS

25 Sidon Ṣiduna 35.3833 33.5500

EA 83:26; 103:18; 106:20; 144:4; 145:3; 146:15;

RULER 1 Zimredda 147:66; 149:49; 149:57; 149:68; 151:11; 151:65; WS WS
152:7; 154:23;

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 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism

TABLE 1: (continued from previous page) KEY: HU = Hurrian; IA = Indo-Aryan; l.u. = language uncertain (= non-West Semitic); WS = West
Semitic; ? = “possibly.”

ID MODERN SITE AMARNA NAME LONGITUDE LATITUDE

RULER RULER’S NAME ATTESTATIONS MORAN 1992 HESS 1993

26 Izraʾ Ṣiribašani 36.24985 32.84540

RULER 1 Artamanya EA 201:3 l.u. WS

27 Tyre Ṣurru 35.1833 33.2667

RULER 1 [Adda-]Danu EA 295:3 WS WS

EA 146:2; 147:2; 148:2; 149:2; 150:2; 151:2; 152:2;

RULER 2 Abi-Milku WS WS
152:55; 153:2; 154:2; 155:2

28 Ashdod Tianna? 34.6500 31.8000

RULER 1 Yaxtiru EA 296:4 WS WS

29 Ras Shamra Ugarit(u) 35.7833 35.6000

RULER 1 Niqm-Adda EA 49:2 WS WS

30 Tell Jemmeh Yurṣa 34.4440 31.3890

RULER 1 Pu-bahla EA 314:3; 315:3; 316:3; 316:17 WS WS

Thutmose was fighting in those areas controlled by
rulers with non-West Semitic names,7 but not in
those with rulers with West Semitic names. Further-
more, these latter regions, namely the southern
Levant and the Lebanese coast, appear to have
provided strategic support and to have been
departure bases for the Egyptian incursions in
hostile territory. In particular, Thutmose III celebrated
a festival in Gaza and held a council of war in
Yehem, probably near modern Kirbet Yemmah, just
south of the Carmel range.8 During the council it was
reported that the enemies were expected to be
waiting farther ahead on one of the roads.9 Therefore,
since the enemies were clearly ahead of Thutmose’s
army, it can be suggested that at that moment the
Egyptians were not yet in hostile territory. Although
it is true that this episode of the Annals has an
undeniable literary flavor and therefore the
performance of the king and of his generals can
hardly be taken as historically accurate, at the same
time there is no reason to deny that some form of
council did occur a few days before the battle and
that it took place in Yehem.10 These details are rea-
sonable enough and sufficiently literally insignificant
to be plausible. Redford11 implicitly agrees with this
reading of the passage, and even suggests that the
Yehem stop may have been used to define the dispo-
sition of the line of march before the last leg to
Megiddo.
As for the cities of the Lebanese coast, there is no
evidence that the Egyptians conquered them by force
or fought any battle there. Rather, there are clues
suggesting that at least some of them may have
submitted themselves to the Egyptians within the
frame of diplomatic agreements and possibly even
through some kind of formal written treaty, rather
than with the usual loyalty oath.12 At the same time,
there is clear evidence that the cities of the Lebanese
coast, and Byblos in particular, played a crucial role in
Thutmose’s later campaigns, by both acting as starting
bases for his incursions in inner Syria and by actively
supporting the Egyptian army in various ways.13
These correlations between the distribution of the
names in the Amarna period and the military
activities of Thutmose III are too precise to be due to
chance, and they call for a reflection not only on

52
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
Thutmose’s strategy, but also on our understanding
of the early Egyptian imperialism in the Levant as a
whole.
In recent years Egyptology has started exploring
problematics related with social identity, social
perceptions, and non-dominant social groups. This
resulted in a refreshing proliferation of new
perspectives on these issues, in the recognition of
their importance as historical factors, and in their
fruitful integration in the scholarly debate about
multiple aspects of the ancient Egyptian society.14
In the case of the Egyptian policies and imperialism
in the Levant, some of these perspectives have
occasionally been integrated into the discussion.15
However, the concrete impact of the local Levantine
sociocultural landscape on the actual establishment
and development of the Egyptian domination in the
region and on the Egyptian society as a whole has so
far been underestimated, if not even completely
ignored.
In fact, the tendency for most of the scholarly
discussion has been to analyze these Egyptian
activities in the Levant as somehow mechanical, as
a chess match that takes place on a socioculturally
virgin, flat, and homogenously empty chessboard, in
which only the will of the two major players is really
relevant. Within this frame, local actors have little or
no influence on the Egyptian actions, being at most
a distraction and a marginal nuisance in the
background.16 Multiple studies have thus explored
various technical, tactical, and strategic aspects of
Egyptian imperialism.17 Their results are certainly
extremely valuable, but they are also somehow ideal
and abstract, because they miss a crucial dimension
in their analyses and fail to consider the impact of
the local sociocultural reality on the dynamics they
are studying.18
Since, however, the patterns mentioned above
indicate that local sociocultural elements are likely
to be relevant factors, I believe it is fundamental to
rethink our approach to the Egyptian imperialism in
the Levant.
Therefore, in section §2.2 I will discuss in more
detail the campaigns of Thutmose III, looking at
them from a new perspective in which the Egyptian
actions are reinterpreted as the result of a complex
social reality that the Egyptians were aware of and
that was shaped by multiple sociocultural forces
acting in multiple directions.
First, however, I will briefly comment on a few
terms attested in the Eighteenth Dynasty sources
53
that may reflect and refer to the Egyptian perception
of the sociocultural distinction highlighted above.
§2: NAMING PATTERNS AND THE EGYPTIAN
EXPANSION IN THE LEVANT
§2.1: 𓆼​𓄿​𓃭​𓏤​𓌙​𓀀 / 𓆼​𓄿​𓃭​𓏤𓌙​ 𓈉
​ = ḪUR – ​𓍑𓉔𓏭𓈉 = ΔAH AND
OTHER TERMS
It is well known19 that the terms 𓆼​𓄿𓃭 ​ ​𓏤𓌙​ 𓀀
​ ​and 𓆼​𓄿𓃭
​ ​𓏤𓌙​ 𓈉
​
(which I read as ḫur, as suggested elsewhere20) are
Egyptian renditions of the words “Hurrian” and
“Hurrian-inhabited land,” respectively.21 During the
Eighteenth Dynasty, when they first appear in the
Egyptian sources, those terms referred specifically to
Hurrian—or at least non-West Semitic—groups and
territories, while it has also been observed22 that the
meanings of these terms change and widen at the
end of the Eighteenth Dynasty, when they became
labels for the peoples and lands of the Levant and
Syria in general. In light of what I discussed above, I
would suggest that these terms do not necessarily
refer to a strictly “ethnically” Hurrian reality—
whatever that might mean, using Von Dassow
expression—but rather to the people who were
identified by the Egyptians, and probably identified
by themselves, as belonging to a specifically non-
West Semitic tradition. From now on, I will refer to
such tradition as the Ḫur tradition; I think that the use
of the Egyptian term is particularly suited both to
stress that this tradition was indeed recognized by
the Egyptians as distinct enough to be specifically
named and to distinguish it from the modern
concept of “Hurrian” and its possible ethno-linguistic
implicit assumptions. The people identified and
identifying themselves with this Ḫur tradition—that
is, this Ḫur dzuk23—were probably characterized by
multiple social, cultural, and linguistic features. The
use of linguistically Hurrian and Indo-Aryan names
by their elites highlighted in my previous paper was
one of them, and likely so were the worshipping of
Hurrian and Indo-Aryan deities and the use of the
Hurrian language and of occasional Indo-Aryan
words. These, of course, should not be seen as
exclusive features, and other sociocultural elements,
including some originally West Semitic ones, may
have well been part of the Ḫur tradition.
Since the Egyptians seem to have had a specific
word to refer to this non-West Semitic Ḫur tradition,
it is reasonable to assume that they may have had
some term also to refer to its West Semitic
counterpart highlighted above. However, I could not
find any word in the Egyptian texts that unambigu-
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
ously fits this description. A few possible candidates,
however, do exist.
The first is ​𓆑𓈖​𓐍​𓅱​𓌙​𓏪 fnḫw, an old term attested since
the Old Kingdom24 and clearly referring to people(s)
of the Levantine coast.25 In Ptolemaic Egypt it is
explicitly used to translate the Greek pʰoinikes, that
is, “Phoenicians.”26 This considered, it is very
tempting to associate it with a West Semitic reality,
and to see it, in the Eighteenth Dynasty, as a term
referring to the West Semitic counterpart of the non-
West Semitic 𓆼​𓄿​𓃭​𓏤​𓌙​𓀀 Ḫur. There are, however, a
couple of points that call for a cautious approach.
First of all, although it is clear that the term ​𓆑𓈖​𓐍​𓅱​𓌙​𓏪
itself refers to a population or in general to a group
of people, it is also clear that in the Eighteenth
Dynasty historical inscriptions this term seems to
appear always in the expression ​𓇾𓇾𓇾​𓆑𓈖​𓐍​𓅱​𓌙​𓏪 (et sim.),
that is, “lands of the fnḫw.”27 Therefore, this term
seems to refer to a geographical reality rather than
to a population or sociocultural group.
Moreover, the term ​𓆑𓈖​𓐍​𓅱​𓌙​𓏪 has a long historical
tradition, the fnḫw being one of the traditional
enemies of Egypt, and therefore it is possible and
even likely that in the New Kingdom its use is
somehow blurred, combining both a current
geopolitical reality and an historical tradition. At the
same time, it is also interesting to note that at some
point toward the end of the Eighteenth Dynasty—
that is, more or less when the term 𓆼​𓄿​𓃭​𓏤​𓌙​𓀀 assumes
a more general meaning of “Levantine”—​ 𓆑𓈖​𓐍​𓅱​𓌙​𓏪
seems to become exclusively a name of tradition
used only in standard formulaic contexts, without
any connection with the current actual Levantine
reality. It would be tempting to see a correlation
between these two phenomena.
The term 𓌙𓀏 aAm, another term with a long history,
also appears in the sources. 𓌙𓀏 may have originally
referred to West Semitic populations, but given its
wide and widespread use, it seems to me that in the
New Kingdom it was just a general term to refer to
Levantine people, without any main distinction
among them. This, however, is a rather preliminary
impression that would need to be substantiated by
further studies. What is clear, however, is that 𓌙𓀏
does not refer to people with a West Semitic tradition
in opposition with ​𓆼​𓄿​𓃭​𓏤​𓌙​𓀀.
Finally, another word worth mentioning here is ​
𓍑​𓉔​𓏭𓈉, DAh.28 As the determinative shows, this word
does not refer to a specific group of people, but
rather to a geographical concept. By judging from its
attestations under Thutmose III, ​𓍑​𓉔​𓏭𓈉 seems to refer
54
to the southern Levant and the costal regions of
Lebanon, which were indeed areas with West
Semitic traditions. At the same time, from a passage
of the Annals29 and from one of the so-called Festival
Hall Decrees,30 it appears that 𓍑​ 𓉔 ​ 𓏭𓈉
​ would refer also
to territories in the area of Megiddo and under the
control of Tunip in the Akkar plain, and therefore
within the political sphere of influence of non-West
Semitic entities and perceived by the Egyptians as
being part of it. Moreover, in the lists of booty of the
Annals, the term 𓍑𓉔𓏭𓈉 is also used in the expression
𓎛𓆰𓈖​𓏌𓏊𓏥𓅓
​ ​𓅡𓎡​𓈖​𓍑​𓉔​𓏭𓈉 ḥnw m bAk n DAh “vessels of Djahy
workmanship” (Urk. IV 699.8), where the word ​𓅡𓎡
“workmanship” suggests that, in the Egyptian
perception, some kind of cultural tradition was indeed
associated to the geographical concept of ​ 𓍑​𓉔𓏭𓈉 ​ .
Moreover, the fact that in other booty lists of the
same Annals the term​𓆼​𓃭𓈉 “(land of) Ḫur” is also used
in the very same way in the expression ​𓇋​𓂓𓈖𓄿 ​ 𓏋​ 𓉻𓂝
​ 𓅓​ 𓅡𓎡
​ ​
𓈖𓆼​𓃭𓈉 ʔAkUn(A) aA m bAk n ḫur “great əkōnə vessel of
Ḫur workmanship” (Urk. IV 665.16) and in a
conceptually similar way in the expression ​𓌒𓏏𓏤𓆱​𓆼𓄿 ​ ​
𓃭𓏤​𓈉 pḏt ḫur “Ḫur bow(s)” (Urk. IV 712.2), which
suggests that such DAh cultural tradition was
perceived as clearly distinct, and possibly
complementary, to the Ḫur tradition. It is therefore
clear that, although primarily geographical, the term ​
𓍑​𓉔​𓏭𓈉 may have also been conceptually associated,
within the Egyptian perception, with some form of
cultural tradition. Could thus be that ​𓍑​𓉔​𓏭𓈉 referred
to territories that Eighteenth Dynasty Egyptians
perceived as inherently associated with West
Semitic/non-Ḫur populations, although parts of them
were at the time politically under Ḫur control?31 It is
worth noticing that those areas that in the Annals are
defined as 𓍑​𓉔​𓏭𓈉 and in which Thutmose fought some
battles, namely the region of Megiddo and the Akkar
plain, are the same that emerged above as being a
contact zone between the territories with rulers
bearing West Semitic names and rulers bearing non-
West Semitic names (FIG. 1). Such agreement in the
evidence is intriguing and, I think, makes this
interpretation of the term 𓍑​𓉔𓏭𓈉 ​ worthy of attention.
At the same time, however, caution is needed, due
to the fact that ​ 𓍑​𓉔𓏭𓈉 ​ is always attested as a
geographical name (i.e., with the determinative 𓈉)
and never as a name for a population or group of
people (i.e., never with the determinative 𓀀), in
contrast with ​ 𓆼​𓃭𓈉 / 𓆼​𓄿𓃭 ​ ​𓏤𓌙​ 𓀀
​ , which, instead, is
attested as both (and with both determinatives 𓈉
and 𓀀). At any rate, these considerations are very
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
interesting, because they suggest a rather complex
and nuanced perception of the Levantine reality,
which in fact would confirm what observed above.
In general, it is clear that the terminological
situation of the West Semitic realities and traditions
is more complex than that of 𓆼​𓃭𓈉 / 𓆼​𓄿​𓃭​𓏤​𓌙​𓀀. In a way,
this should not surprise: populations with West
Semitic traditions have been present in the Levant,
and have been interacting with Egypt, since at least
the Early Bronze Age, while the evidence of contacts
between Egyptians and other Levantine non-West
Semitic traditions are definitely later. It is thus
possible that the perception of the Ḫur tradition was
somehow sharper and better defined because it was
newer and reflected a more recent sociocultural
reality. By contrast, the conceptualization and
definition of the West Semitic traditions was more
blurred (or more nuanced, distinguishing various
sub-traditions?), because it was loaded with multiple
traditional and historical layers of allusions, impli-
cations, and memories. These, however, are only
very preliminary considerations, and a complete
reassessment of the evidence, with a detailed syn-
chronic and diachronic study of the terms, their uses
and their associations would be needed to bring the
discussion further.
§2.2: THUTMOSE III’S CAMPAIGNS: A REASSESSMENT
As said, Thutmose III’s military activities show
intriguing correlations with the distribution of
names and associated traditions observed above. In
this respect, as I have already suggested elsewhere,32
Thutmose III’s preference for an approach to Qadesh
and Syria from the Levantine coast, rather than
through the Beqa’a, which many of his successors
undertook,33 may have been influenced also by the
local sociocultural landscape, rather than being the
result of only purely strategic considerations. In
particular, the Lebanese coast may have been more
collaborative toward the Egyptians specifically
because they were controlled by West Semitic
rulers,34 while the Beqa’a may have appeared as
especially hostile, and therefore strategically ill-
suited, specifically because it was dominated by rulers
who belonged to non-West Semitic dzuks and who
may have thus felt politically and socioculturally
closer to the equally non-West Semitic Mitannians.
Moreover, if we consider the patterns highlighted
above (introduction and previous paper35), the
Beqa’a and the city of Kumidi in particular stands
55
out as somehow anomalous. Such inconsistency is
worthy of attention.
In the Amarna letters Kumidi is characterized by
a ruler with non-West Semitic name. Therefore,
according to the considerations above, we may
expect it to have been actively involved in the anti-
Egyptian coalition and to have been a theater of
Egyptian military activities. However, the city is not
mentioned in the Annals and it is not attested at all
in any other Egyptian sources of the time, except
once in Thutmose’s topographical list.36
Such a silence is somehow surprising, and once
one looks at it more closely, it becomes even more
intriguing.
The position of Kumidi is very strategic. The city
controls the southern access to the Beqa’a Valley, which
was the major corridor and way of communication
of the region. Even more, the Beqa’a must have been
strategically crucial for the anti-Egyptian forces, as
it is said in the Annals that the main supporter of the
ruler of Megiddo was the ruler of Qadesh: given the
location of the two cities, the Beqa’a, with its non-
West Semitic rulers, must have been fundamental in
the establishment and functioning of such alliance.
The Egyptians must have known that, and they must
have realized the strategic value of Kumidi.
Naturally, the fact that none of the available
sources mentions any Egyptian military activity in
relation with it may simply be due to accidents of
preservation: perhaps, the conquest of Kumidi was
mentioned in those sections of the Annals that are
now lost.37
This explanation, however, seems to me rather
unlikely, especially because there are additional
circumstantial elements suggesting that Kumidi and
the Beqa’a were not under Egyptian control until at
least the eighth campaign, in year 33, and likely even
later, possibly not until the reign of Amenhotep II.
The main clue suggesting so is the fact that in the
eighth campaign Thutmose chose to approach
Qadesh by marching from Lebanon through the
Akkar plain. As mentioned above, the fact that he
did not chose to attack the city from the Beqa’a
Valley may be interpreted as due to a particularly
hostile sociocultural landscape there. This in turn
may imply that at the time the Egyptians had no
control on the valley, likely because they had not
conquered it yet.
Thutmose III may have thus preferred to
consolidate his grip first on Ḫur-controlled areas38
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
that were directly adjacent to his bases in friendly
West Semitic-controlled territories39 before stepping
up his offensive in other more outright non-West
Semitic strongholds, such as inner Syria north of
Qadesh, or the Beqa’a south of it. Moreover, in the
case of the Beqa’a, an additional practical strategic
consideration related to the geographical configuration
of the area may have also played a role. It has often
been pointed out that the strength of the Egyptian
military machine resided in their chariots. Chariots
can be easily transported, and exploited at their best,
on flat, open land.40 This is the case of the Plain of
Asher and the Jezreel Valley, and of the Akkar plain
up to Qadesh. However, the southern Beqa’a and the
way to approach it from the Upper Galilee is
different, being characterized by hills and dense
forests.41
The problems for chariots in such a landscape are
hinted at by Thutmose’s officers during the war
council before the battle of Megiddo (Urk. IV 649.14–
650.7), and they are vividly described in Papyrus
Anastasi I, which dates to the early Nineteenth
Dynasty: chariots break on uneven roads or need to
be carried on the shoulders, while men and horses
are in constant danger of ambushes (PapAn. I 23.7–
24.1). If on the one hand taking such risks on the
short42 road from Yehem to Megiddo may have been
an acceptable, calculated challenge, on the other
hand conquering a whole mountainous and heavily
forested region well within enemy territory, such as
the Upper Galilee and Southern Beqa’a, or even just
crossing such a region while it was still unconquered,
must have appeared as a rather different story, even
for the bold and audacious Thutmose.
The Egyptians may have thus decided for another
approach. In particular, they may have tried to
impose their direct control on these regions and their
difficult territory only later, once Egyptian-
controlled territories encircled the whole area both
to the south and the north. At that point, once the
non-West Semitic rulers of the Beqa’a were de facto
isolated from their fellows in Syria, it may have been
much easier to subdue them.
The fact that the only recorded battles in the area,
namely in Takhsy,43 are likely dated to the end of the
reign of Thutmose III, or even to the co-regency with
Amenhotep II, agrees with and supports this
reconstruction.44 The Takhsy campaigns can be seen
as a final step in the Egyptian conquest of the non-
West Semitic, i.e., Ḫur, polities in the northern Levant.
In fact, the very conquest of the Beqa’a may have
56
taken place from the north, from the region of
Qadesh, where the valley is wider and of much
easier access. In that way, the Egyptians could have
easily marched southward up to Kumidi, in a
territory that was relatively wide and open, thus
relatively easier for their army. From there, they
would have crossed the mountains of the Upper
Galilee, a feat that would have been strategically
much less challenging than in the other direction,
because they knew that on the other side of the
mountains there was well-known Egyptian-
controlled territory, rather than potentially hostile
and little-known lands. This scenario finds strong
support in the Egyptian sources: as appears from the
so-called Memphis stele, Amenhotep’s campaign of
year 7 is not only the first attested Egyptian
campaign to pass through the Beqa’a, but it also
seems to have done so on its way toward Egypt,
according to a north-south direction.45 It is thus
possible, and I would say even likely, that this
campaign was not only crossing the Beqa’a, but was
conquering it for the first time.
The somehow unusual brutality displayed by
Amenhotep II in dealing with the rulers of Takhsy,
described in the Amada stele (Urk. IV 1297.1-
1298.1),46 may perhaps be read in this perspective as
well: Takhsi was not only a hostile, difficult territory,
it was also the last non-West Semitic dominated
pocket that still needed to be subdued in the
northern Levant, an area that the Egyptians probably
perceived, by then, as part of their own rightful
dominions.
Amenhotep’s merciless repression and execution
of the local rulers may have thus been a symbolic
way to state and seal the Egyptian domination on the
region once and for all.47
Therefore, to sum up:
The Egyptians did not perceive the “Levant”
as a culturally monolithic entity, but rather
they recognized different groups and
traditions within it (FIG. 1), which in turn
resulted in diversified and group-specific
patterns of interactions
As a consequence, it appears that Thutmose
III’s military activities were not vaguely
aimed at the Levant in general, but rather
Egyptian hostility was directed specifically
against the territories controlled by non-
West Semitic, i.e., Ḫur, rulers. At the same
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
time, there is no evidence of direct hostility
between Thutmose III and the territories
controlled by West Semitic rulers, and
actually there are clues suggesting that the
latter actively supported the Egyptians (see
above).
If Thutmose III’s military activities in the
region are considered in the light of such
Levantine social landscape, and in the light
of the relations the Egyptians had with its
components, clear correlations emerge.
In particular: Thutmose III’s military
activities in the region were actively shaped
by such a Levantine social landscape and by
the relations the Egyptians had with its
components, as correlations between the
two are evident.
By combining all these considerations, a new
scenario to interpret Thutmose III’s campaigns in the
Levant can thus be suggested:
In a first phase, Thutmose III used (probably
supportive) West Semitic regions as bases
from which to attack nearby non-West
Semitic territories. He focused especially on
plains, probably in order to maximize the
advantage provided by the use of chariots.
The southern Levant provided the basis for
the incursion against Megiddo, in the Jezreel
Valley, and the Lebanese coast for those in
the domains of Tunip in the Akkar plain and
the territories eastward, in the direction of
Qadesh.
In this phase, the Beqa’a was not under
Egyptian control. Rather, Thutmose III may
have consciously avoided it because it was
perceived as particularly hostile, due to both
the predominance of non-West Semitic
rulers and the difficult territory in its
southern part, where the Egyptians would
have approached it.
Once the Egyptian grip had been
consolidated on the Akkar plain, Thutmose
III extended his offensive northward in the
plains of Syria toward the Euphrates.
57
Finally, once Qadesh had been securely
conquered, either at the end of the reign of
Thutmose III and/or at the beginning of that
of Amenhotep II, the Egyptians sealed their
control of the region by subduing Takhsy
and the southern Beqa’a. By doing so, they
not only quelled—possibly quite brutally—
the last pocket of resistance within what was
by then clearly their area of influence, but
they also obtained the control of the main
north-south inland road, a major strategic
achievement that will appear to be crucial
for the preservation and administration of
the empire during the reigns of Thutmose
III’s successors.
§3: AFTER THUTMOSE III
The sociocultural landscape of the region is likely to
have been a crucial factor also in later periods. Two
potential examples of that are the emergence of
Labayu and of Abdi-Ashirta and Aziru, so
prominent in the Amarna letters. The social
phenomena hiding behind these two episodes of the
Amarna correspondence have been discussed
multiple times.
For instance, in a couple of recent studies with
wider socio-historical perspectives, Finkelstein and
Na’aman48 and Morris49 pointed out how these and
similar episodes taking places in other regions and
other historical periods were characterized and
shaped by common shared factors. They observe
that these processes tend to originate in difficult,
mountainous regions, which the macroregional
empires struggled to or had little interest in trying to
efficiently control, and usually in periods when the
imperial domination was weak or under pressure.
Moreover, these entities often involved people
uprooted from their homes due to war or general
sociopolitical instability, and their fate often
correlates with their success in controlling important
commercial routes.
These are all valid considerations, with which I
agree. I think, however, that the sociocultural
landscape and the Egyptian way of dealing with its
different components are additional factors that
should also be considered. In particular, if we
compare the core regions involved with the Amurru
and Labayu’s episodes with the maps described
above, we notice that in both cases they correspond
to areas that were conquered in the early phases of
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
Thutmose III’s campaigns and were under the
control of non-West Semitic rulers but at the same
time were very close to West Semitic dominated
areas.
Together with the factors mentioned by previous
scholars, these two characteristics may have played
a role in triggering these episodes. In particular, the
proximity with West Semitic-dominated areas makes
it likely that a large share of the local population
already belonged to West Semitic dzuk before
Thutmose III’s intervention. Moreover, the Egyptian
conquest of these regions may have destabilized or
even eliminated the local non-West Semitic elites,
creating a vacuum of power that local West Semitic
figures may have tried and somehow succeeded in
filling, imposing themselves as new local leaders.
Such new West Semitic leaders, however, did
likely not come from the same social background of
the nearby established West Semitic elites. Rather,
they probably emerged from local socially
peripheral groups that may have been until then
subordinated to the non-West Semitic elites. It is
reasonable to think that the members of such
peripheral groups had mixed origins. If on the one
hand it is clear that their new leaders identified
themselves with a West Semitic tradition (as
suggested by their names in the Amarna period,
namely Labayu, Abdi-Ashirta, and Aziru), on the
other it is also likely that non-West Semitic stragglers
who certainly resulted from the Egyptian military
actions in the area may have been integrated into
their ranks in the aftermaths of the Egyptian
conquest.50
These characteristics, and these origins, set these
groups clearly apart from both the earlier Ḫur and
non-Ḫur dzuks, to the point that they are probably
better interpreted as a third new dzuk,51
characterized by a third new tradition combining
both earlier Ḫur and non-Ḫur sociocultural elements.
Such a background, and the threat they posed as
new emerging competitors for regional power,
would justify the contempt52 that the established
West Semitic elites expressed toward these new
emerging leaders.
Such analysis fits very well with the evidence
available for Amurru. We know that before
Thutmose III’s campaigns, the region up to Ullassa
was controlled by the Syrian city of Tunip, whose
elites were likely not West Semitic (see above). We
do not know much about the sociocultural landscape
58
of the Akkar plain at the time, but considering that
the coastal cities from Lebanon up to Ugarit are
consistently dominated by rulers with West Semitic
names, we can safely assume that groups with West
Semitic traditions were certainly a common component
of the population of the area.
Thutmose III conquered Ullassa for the first time
in year 29 (Urk. IV 685.8–686.10) and Sumur in year
30 (Urk. IV 689.13),53 but this was clearly not enough
to assure Egyptian domination, as he had to fight an
army of Tunip again in Ullassa in year 31 (Urk. IV
690.17–691.8). In the Annals it is said that the ruler
of Ullassa was deported to Egypt the first time the
city was conquered (Urk. IV 685.8–686.10),54 which
suggests that, at least in some cities of the region, the
local elite was removed by the Egyptians.
The resulting power vacuum seems to have been
temporarily filled, at least on the coast, by Byblos. As
I discussed elsewhere,55 there are clues suggesting
that in the wake of Thutmose III’s campaign, Byblos
extended its domination northward, possibly as far
as Sumur. Byblos’ control on these territories,
however, was probably not particularly strong and
stable, and it heavily relied on the Egyptian military
presence. We do not know who controlled the rest
of the Akkar plain—we only know that Sumur, the
main city in the region, was an Egyptian
administrative center but had no independent
ruler.56 The Egyptians, in fact, may have been the
only overreaching authority in the area, ruling over
a political reality that the removal of Tunip’s
domination left fragmented into small independent
local polities.
Amurru emerged within this frame, and probably,
at least in part, due to these conditions. Abdi-Ashirta
and Aziru, its two first attested rulers, each bore a
West Semitic name. As such, they were probably not
directly related with the likely non-West Semitic elite
of the time of the Tunip domination. At the same
time, they were not even perceived as a legitimate
peers by the established West Semitic elites, who
label him as “hapiru” and “dog” in the Amarna
letters.
They are clearly outsiders in respect to both
systems.
Their ascension to power would thus fit very well
with the hypothesis suggested above, that a new
West Semitic leadership may have emerged from
local components in territories that until Thutmose
III’s campaigns were under Ḫur control.
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
Moreover, the fact that, by contrast, the
descendants and successors of Aziru tended to bear
Hurrian names is a strong indicator of the culturally
mixed nature tradition of the dynasty.
The chronology would also be reasonable: as
previously said, the northern Lebanese coast was
conquered for the first time in year 29 of Thutmose
(Urk. IV 685.8–686.10), and again in year 31 (Urk. IV
690.17–691.8), approximately around 1448 BCE. The
Egyptian domination in the area was likely not
immediate, as Amenhotep II was still fighting
around Qadesh and Qatna at the beginning of his
reign. The situation probably stabilized more or less
definitely only a few years later, when Egypt and
Mitanni agreed on some sort of peace. We do not
know exactly when that occurred, but it was likely
soon after Amenhotep II last campaign in year 9.57
As for Abdi-Ashirta, he is first and only attested in
the letters of Amarna, especially in those of Rib-
Hadda of Byblos. Their precise absolute chronology
is difficult to establish, but it is has been convincingly
argued58 that the letters of Rib-Hadda mentioning
Abdi-Ashirta date to the reign of Amenhotep III, but
no earlier than his last decade. However, as Singer
pointed out, by the time of the Amarna letters the
process of formation and consolidation of Amurru
had already reached an advanced stage. This leaves
a period of at most 50–60 years between the
definitive Egyptian conquest of the area, and the first
attestations of Amurru as an already well developed
and expansionist new regional polity.
This sounds to me like a reasonable timeframe for
the enforcement of the new Egyptian power
structure in place of the older Ḫur one, for the self-
restructuring of the local societies in the aftermath
of the conquest, for the organization of new local
elites, and for their emergence as a new competitive
political entity able to fill the power vacuum.
As for Labayu, there is much less evidence
available,59 and therefore the whole episode is much
more difficult to assess. In principle, however, the
dynamic reconstructed for Amurru may have
worked for him as well.
Besides the Amurru and Labayu episodes,
assuming that the Egyptians recognized the existence
of different sociocultural groups in the Levant and
perceived and interacted with them in different ways
may help us understand a few other curious
phenomena recognizable in the contemporary and
later Egyptian society. In particular, the apparent
collaboration, or at least lack of hostility, between
59
Egyptians and West Semitic dzuk may have
somehow played a role in the clearly selective
adoption of Levantine elements after Thutmose III.
For instance, the fact that in this period various West
Semitic deities60 and multiple West Semitic words61
appear in the Egyptian sources, while no Hurrian
deity and only a handful of technical Hurrian terms
seem to have been adopted,62 may indeed suggest
the presence, within the Egyptian society, of
different perceptions and different appreciations of
these two Levantine social realities.63 These aspects,
however, would need to be independently
investigated, as other potentially complex social
dynamics have certainly affected them. Such a
research is clearly beyond the scope of this paper.
ABBREVIATIONS
Urk. IV Sethe, Kurt. 1907. Urkunden der 18. Dynastie.
Dritter Band. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche
Buchhandlung.
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NOTES
1
Kilani 2020.
2
Kilani 2020.
3
Redford 2003, 210–216.
4
As can be inferred by the presence of a garrison
of Tunip in Ullassa recorded in the Annals of
Thutmose III, in year 29 (Urk. IV 685:8–686:10;
see also Kilani 2019a, 149).
5
Only one Amarna letter from the “people of
Tunip” is known (EA 59), which suggest the city
had no king at the time. In that letter, the people
of Tunip ask for the restitution of the “Son of
Aki-Teshub,” who apparently was in Egypt. The
identity of this Aki-Teshub, whose name is
Hurrian (Hess 1993, 26–27), is not clear. It is
possible, and I think even likely, that he was the
previous ruler of the city, and therefore that the
people of Tunip were asking the return of his son
being held as hostage in Egypt (so Bryce 2003,
134). None of this, however, is explicitly stated
in the letter. Moreover, it is also worth noting
that this very same letter, EA 59, contains some
glosses that are written in Hurrian, which
suggests that it was drafted in a milieu in which
this language was common. These two clues
considered, it is thus likely that the ruling class
of the city was non-West Semitic, and probably
Hurrian.
6
Redford 2003, passim.
7
In particular, Megiddo and Qadesh had rulers
bearing Indo-Aryan names, while the rulers of
Qatna had Hurrian names (see TABLE 1). As for
Tunip, see above.
8
Redford 2003, 15; Aḥituv 1984, 197–198.
9
Urk. IV 649.14–650.2
26
​𓆓𓂧𓈖𓊃𓈖𓐍𓏏𓆑𓍛𓏤𓆑𓇓𓅱𓏇𓇋𓇋𓐍𓏛𓈝𓅓[...𓂟]27​𓍿𓈖𓈐𓊪𓈖𓈖𓏏𓏭𓍯𓈐𓂋𓎛𓆰𓈖
𓊃𓅪
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
𓇋𓅱𓏏𓅱[...]28​𓆓𓂧𓊤𓅱𓇋𓇋𓅱𓀏𓏪𓇋𓅓𓊢𓂝𓂻𓁷𓏤[...]29​𓈐𓂋𓆈𓏥
(26) they (the officers) spoke before His Majesty:
“What would it be like to go […] this (27) [r]oad
which becomes narrower? It is […] (28) saying
that the enemies are there, standing upon […]
(29) [road?] being many (?).”
10
See, e.g., Mynářová 2015a,153–154.
11
Redford 2003, 22.
12
Kilani 2019a, 143–145; for the loyalty oaths see,
e.g., Mynářová 2015b, esp. 157–158.
13
Thutmose III mentions the construction of boats
in the area of Byblos (Kilani 2019a, 106, 128),
which can hardly have been accomplished
without the help of the locals. Moreover, in the
Amarna letters the king of Byblos, Rib-Hadda,
mentions the loyalty of his fathers to the
Egyptians (EA 74:5–8, 116:55–56, 118:39–44), and
more important in one letter (EA 109:5–8) he
alludes to past collaborations between his
ancestors and the ancestors of the pharaoh in the
war against Mitanni. As I argued elsewhere (Kilani
2019a, 150–151), the precise reference to Mitanni
suggests that Rib-Hadda had some specific
historical event in mind. Such collaboration(s)
must have taken place either during the reign of
Thutmose III, or at the very beginning of the
reign of Amenhotep II, before peace was reached.
14
See, for instance, the multiple studies appeared
in recent years involving discussions about
gender theories, post-colonial approaches or
cultural entanglement within Egypt and the
Egyptian society itself.
15
E.g., Galán 1995; Kilani 2016; Spalinger 2005.
16
In the case of Mitanni, the situation is somehow
different and the question of the role of local
polities and social group in the formation and
internal structure of Mitanni has indeed been
discussed, even recently. See, e.g., Cancik-
Kirschbaum et al. 2014.
17
Morris 2005; Díaz Hernández 2014; Spalinger
2005.
18
One may wonder if this is at least in part due to
an implicit and certainly mostly unconscious
colonial bias still affecting the Egyptological
discipline. Egyptology was in fact born within the
frame of western colonialism, within the frame of
modern empires whose policies were indeed
often barely affected by the local sociopolitical
62
landscape. It is not difficult to see how such a
frame may influenced the past Egyptological
perspective on the Egyptian Empire, its formation
and its interactions with the local reality. This,
however, is obviously a topic that would need
more than a footnote to be explored in an
appropriate way. Such a discussion would
certainly be interesting, but it is clearly beyond
the aims of this paper.
19
E.g., Loprieno 1995, 46.
20
For the reading ḫArw => ḫUr (U = back vowel) =>
/ḫur/, see Kilani 2019b.
21
Akkadian ḫurru, ultimately from the Hurrian
language.
22
The topic has been discussed by Pascal Vernus
(1984). Although I disagree with some of Vernus’
assumptions (e.g., I do not think that the
presence of maryannu can always be taken as a
straightforward indicator of the presence of
Hurrians, as we know of maryannu with West
Semitic names, for instance in Ugarit; see Vidal
2010), I do agree with his analysis of the written
attestations, with his premises and with his
general conclusions.
23
I use the term dzuk with the meaning “group of
people who adhere to a given tradition.” See Kilani
2020 for a brief discussion of this concept .
24
Vandersleyen 1971, 103.
25
Sethe 1917; Vandersleyen 1971; Green 1983.
26
Vandersleyen 1971, 117–118.
27
From the reign of Ahmose I: Urk. IV 18.6; Urk. IV
25.12. From the reign of Thutmose III: Urk. IV
758.6; 773.4; 807.6. See also the statue of Sat-
Amun, which likely date to the reign of
Hatshepsut or Thutmose III (Morris 2005, 160–
161, with references).
28
For the reading ḏAhy => ḏAh, where A = a front
vowel, either /a/ or /i/ see Kilani 2019b.
29
Urk. IV 687.5–9, where the city of Ardata, ​𓇋𓀁𓂋𓏤​
𓍘𓏏𓅱𓈉, modern Ardé near Tripoli in Lebanon
(Redford 2003, 63 n. 36), appears to be closely
associated with ​𓍑𓉔𓏭𓈉.
30
A very fragmentary passage mentioning some
“mountains of ḏAh,” ​ 𓈋𓅳𓊌𓏥𓍑𓉔𓏭[𓈉], which are
usually interpreted as a reference to the
mountain crossed on the way toward Megiddo
during the first campaign (Gardiner 1952, 10;
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism
Redford 2003, 129 n. 115). I do agree this is
possible, but still some caution is needed due to
the very fragmentary nature of the passage; see:
Gardiner 1952, esp. 10, pl. IV 7; Redford 2003,
129 n. 115.
31
Or even “occupation”, trying to approximate a
concept and perception by using a somehow
modern term?
32
Kilani 2019a, 238–239.
33
This, for instance, was the road preferred by
Sethi and Ramses II: see von der Way 1984;
Murnane 1990; Cavillier 2002a; Cavillier 2002b;
Obsomer 2012, 134–113.
34
The prominent role that the city of Byblos seems
to have played in the Egyptian imperial
structure at the time of Thutmose III may have
also been prompted by similar sociocultural
considerations, combined with other ideological
factors; see Kilani 2019a.
35
Kilani 2020.
36
And topographical lists are a notoriously
problematic kind of source, as the principle
underlying their composition, and therefore
their historical reliability, are far from being
clear. For discussions about the topographical
lists, see, e.g.: Redford 1982a; Redford 1982b;
Kitchen 2009.
37
Redford 2003.
38
Namely, the Plain of Asher and the Jezreel
Valley, and the Akkar plain inland toward
Qadesh—both characterized by a strong West
Semitic component—see above.
39
Namely the southern Levant and the Lebanese
coast.
40
Díaz Hernández 2014; Morris 2010.
41
For a discussion on forests and deforestation in
Lebanon see Mikesell 1969; for a discussion of
forests in Upper Galilee and Israel/Palestine,
with a distinction between natural forests and
planted ones, see Amir and Rechtman 2006.
42
Redford 2003, 26 estimates the distance to about
9 km.
43
Usually identified with the (northern?) Beqa’a.
44
The land of Takhsy is not mentioned at all in the
Annals of Thutmose, but military episodes
related with it appear in the biographies of
63
Minmose and Amenemheb. Moreover, Takhsy
plays a prominent role also in Amenhotep II’s
first campaign. All these elements suggest that
Takhsy became an Egyptian military target only
very late in the reign of Thutmose III, after the
redaction of the Annals and therefore after year
42, and possibly very close to the beginning of
Amenhotep II’s reign. It has even been
suggested that the episodes mentioned by
Minmose and Amenemheb may have taken
place during the co-regency of Amenhotep II,
and may actually be nothing but references to
his first campaign (Redford 2003, 241–244 with
refs). It is an option that I find intriguing and
somehow possible, but also very difficult to
prove. In any case, it seems clear to me that
Takhsy became the focus of one or more
Egyptian operations during the transition
between Thutmose III and Amenhotep II, which
does perfectly agree with the reconstruction
suggested in this paper.
45
Der Manuelian 1987, 56–68, fig. 19.
46
𓇍𓂻𓈖𓍛𓏤𓆑𓅓𓄫𓏏𓄣𓈖𓏏𓆑˹𓇋𓏠𓈖𓀭˺
𓋴𓌳𓄿𓌪𓂡𓈖𓆑𓅮𓀗𓅱𓀀𓏥𓐀𓅓𓌉𓏤𓆑𓆓𓊃𓆑𓃹𓈖𓏌𓅱𓏦𓅓𓅱𓏤𓈅𓈖𓍘𓐍𓋴𓏭𓈉
𓏙𓅱𓅓𓋴𓐍𓂧𓀡𓅓𓄂𓏏𓏤𓃀𓇋𓅄𓊛𓈖𓍛𓏤𓆑
𓈖𓏏𓏭𓂋𓈖𓆑𓅓𓆓𓂧(𓇳𓉼𓆣𓏦)|𓋴𓏠𓈖𓍖𓇾𓇾𓊛
𓃹𓈖𓇋𓈖𓏏𓅱𓁷𓏤𓂝𓐍𓏏𓇯𓅮𓊃𓀀𓏿𓅓𓇒𓐍𓂋𓅱𓀒𓏥𓅓𓐍𓆑𓏏𓁷𓏤𓋴𓃀𓏏𓏭𓊅𓈖𓋆𓏏𓊖
𓈖𓄿𓈖𓂧𓏏𓏦𓂋𓏇𓏏𓏏
𓊢𓂝𓈖𓋴𓏃𓈖𓏏𓅱𓊛𓅮𓎡𓇋𓇋𓐍𓂋𓅱𓀒𓂋𓇾𓐮𓏏𓈉
𓂝𓐍𓅱𓇯𓂡𓈖𓅮𓋴𓃀𓏏𓏭𓊅𓈖𓈖𓊪𓏏𓌙𓈉
𓂋𓂋𓂞𓏏𓌴𓁹𓄿˹𓏏˺𓅱𓈖𓆱𓐍𓏏𓅱𓂡𓏥[𓍛𓏤𓆑]𓂋˹𓈖𓎛𓇳𓎛˺𓎛𓈖𓂝𓆓𓏏𓇿
𓅓𓇾𓇾𓇾𓎟𓏥𓈉𓏏𓏦[𓎟]𓏌𓏤𓇾𓏤𓈅𓅘𓎛𓋴𓏭𓈉
When his majesty returned in joy to his father
Amon,
he slew with his own very weapon the seven
princes, who were in the district of Takhsy
and were placed head downward at the prow of
the ship of his majesty,
whose name was: Aakheperure-is-the-Established-
of-the-Two-Lands.
One hanged the six men of those fallen ones,
before the wall of Thebes
and those hands alike.
Then the other fallen one was taken up-river to
Nubia
and hanged [on?] the wall of Napata,
in order to cause to be manifest the victories of
his majesty, forever and ever
in all lands and foreign countries of the land of
Nehesy
 Kilani | Sociolinguistic Identities and Egyptian Imperialism

47
A dynamic that, unfortunately, has been very 63
It is a cross-linguistic tendency that non-cultural
common across history, even in modern times. loanwords (i.e., words that are borrowed not
Often the worst atrocities are committed at the because they are associated with a new item,
end of the conflicts, when one feels the victory technology, or concept) are borrowed from a
is in sight, when the grip is solid and when there politically or culturally more prestigious
is no fear of widespread rebellions and fireback language, into a less prestigious one—or at least
any longer. between languages perceived by the speakers as
48
Finkelstein and Na’aman 2005. socially comparable (Haspelmath and Tadmor
2009). If we assume, as it has usually been the
49
Morris 2010.
case until now, that the Egyptians had a
50
Morris 2010, 417–418; Singer 1991, esp. 141–143. monolithic perception of the Levant and
51
Or possibly two distinct ones, one in Amurru therefore considered West Semitic speakers just
and one in the south. as conquered subjects, then the abundance of
52
Evident for instance in the use of the derogative West Semitic loanwords attested in the Egyptian
labels “hapiru” and “dog.” sources from the Eighteenth Dynasty onward
(many of which survive up into Coptic, showing
53
Kilani 2019a, 131–134.
that they are not just literary exoticisms but were
54
See Kilani 2019a, 132. indeed adopted in the spoken language) would
55
Kilani 2019a, 125–135. appear as socio- and cross-linguistically surprising
56
Kilani 2019a, 161. and exceptional (see Hoch 1994; Vycichl 1984;
Černý 1976). If, however, we assume, as
57
Freu, 2003, 65–90. suggested in this paper, that the Egyptians
58
Pryke 2010, 32–36. perceived and interacted with the various
59
As a very simple comparison, Labayu is Levantine sociocultural components in more
mentioned in only 13 Amarna Letters (Moran complex ways, and in particular if we consider
1992, 382), while the leader of Amurru Abdi- the possibility that their hostility was targeted
Ashirta is mentioned in 44 letters (Moran 1992, toward the non-West Semitic components while
379), and his son and successor Aziru in 34 the West Semitic elites were somehow neutral or
letters (Moran 1992, 380). even supportive toward the Egyptian military
ventures in the area, then this linguistic
60
E.g., Fuscaldo 1976; Zivie-Coche 1989; Cornelius
phenomenon would appear as less anomalous
1994; Collombert and Coulon 2000; Lipiński
and may be easier to explain. More specific
2005; Cornelius 2017.
studies are, however, needed to better under-
61
Hoch 1994. stand the linguistic interactions and the dynamics
62
See Schneider 2008 and Hoch 1994 for a handful underlying it.
of examples, mostly related with military
technology.

64