At the lowest layer of the Kishle, archaeologists discovered walls that can be dated back to the 8th century BC, showing the character of Jerusalem in the times of the First Temple period. Above those walls, archaeologists found remnants of Hasmonean walls built by the dynasty the preceded King Herod, who built the Second Temple.
Even further above, they found the remains of the large foundation walls built to support Herod’s palace, and the massive water system used to transfer water from outside the city walls into his palace and the surrounding area.
The castle of the Crusader King of Jerusalem lies on top of Herod’s palace; archaeologists discovered a series of tubs likely used by Jews to dye cloth for the Crusader royalty. Atop that layer is a structure from the Ottoman era – the period when the Kishle got its name. “Kishle” is Turkish for “barracks.” The Kishle was used in the 19th century as a military compound by Egyptian ruler Ibrahim Pasha, before being taken over by the Ottomans. The Ottomans converted it into a jail, and the British continued to use the Kishle as such during the Palestine Mandate period from 1920-1948.
Matza remembers the day his carving was discovered. He received a call from the daily newspaper Ma’ariv and from the archaeologist, Re’em, informing him of the finding. They located Matza through his younger brother Yehoshua Matza, then a well-known Likud politician.
Though Shmuel Matza was 75 at the time, he says he could still vividly remember his days in the Kishle. Today, at 89, his memory is equally as sharp.
“There were about 20 of us packed into one jail cell – criminals of all kinds, Arabs,” says Matza. “The cells were dirty and smelly, with all kinds of rats and bugs. We’d go out to the patio for our meals, which consisted of olives, yogurt, pita bread, and tea. I still remember that they served the tea in these aluminum cups that got so hot it burned our mouths when we tried to drink from them.”
Matza also remembers the period in which he fought for Israel. A Jerusalemite going back several generations, his first arrest came at age 17, when he was caught hanging flyers for the Irgun. He had joined the paramilitary group through a friend of a friend.
“It was an underground, they didn’t have an office I could go to, say ‘Good morning,’ and tell them I want to join,” Matza explains.
By 20, he was promoted to a combat role and oversaw a team of 12 young women. He was tasked with training them to use weapons: hand grenades and revolvers. The morning before their first training, Matza went to a room in a small shack in which fellow Irgun members had hidden firearms under the tile floor. He wanted to clean the shack ahead of that evening’s training. But just as Matza went outside of the shack to get a broom, a British security officer called to him, “Hey you, come over here.”
“One officer took me into an armored car and the other went straight to the room – it was like they knew [about the underground operation],” says Matza.
Though they could not prove Matza was guilty – he was in the courtyard, not the room with the guns – they arrested him and sentenced him to six months of detention.
The Kishle was his stopover.
“Since childhood, I was nationalistic,” Matza says. “But when the Second World War was about to end and there was news coming about the millions of Jews in Europe, and the British here didn’t want to give them any certificates to enter – they send boats back to Europe knowing what would happen – that is what made me want to join Etzel and fight against them.”