Across North America, many people hold deep religious beliefs, especially among Protestants who account for a sizable portion of the population. Bible study remains a central activity, widely understood as a path to deepen faith. The Washington Museum of the Bible pursued this topic with vigor, pursuing connections between scriptural texts and ancient sources, and the effort gained substantial momentum beyond expectations.
In January 2011, customs officials intercepted a FedEx shipment from the United Arab Emirates addressed to the museum’s main sponsor, Hobby Lobby. The package reportedly contained handmade clay tiles described as samples for crafts. The declared value was modest, around 200 dollars. The shipment raised questions about the true origin and price of the items, which appeared to be more than simple craft tiles.
Close inspection revealed that the items were 50 cuneiform tablets created by early Mesopotamian civilizations, including the Sumerians and Akkadians, and possibly other ancient Eastern cultures. Within days, additional consignments tied to Hobby Lobby and bearing questionable customs declarations were seized. Investigations showed purchases totaling roughly 146 thousand dollars while the declared value dropped to about 1,435 dollars. The broader issue involved artifacts stolen from Iraqi museums during periods of unrest following the 2003 invasion, with looting by local gangs contributing to the losses.
Customs did not capture every item, and a number of artifacts reached the museum. A display bore the title Dream of Gilgamesh with a quote drawn from the epic, a work that shares thematic parallels with the Hebrew Bible, including flood narratives, which is often cited to illustrate Bible stories in a broader ancient context.
As outcomes unfolded, both the Dream of Gilgamesh exhibit and the related contraband items were returned. The settlement required Hobby Lobby to pay a substantial fine and to return more than five thousand items to their rightful owners, including numerous cuneiform tablets and clay seals purchased from unidentified sources for about one and a half million dollars.
Loot to save
Ancient Athens stood at the heart of Grecian cultural formation. The Parthenon, the iconic temple built between 447 and 438 BCE, remains a symbol of that era and its sculpture. Through centuries, Greece endured foreign domination, including Ottoman rule, which influenced the fate of many cultural treasures. During the late 17th century, a powder magazine at the Parthenon complex exploded after bombardment, leaving behind a legacy of looting and repurposed materials, with some statues even used in agricultural lime.
In 1798, Thomas Bruce, Earl of Elgin, became Britain’s ambassador to the Ottoman Empire. His interest in antiquities grew into a mission to preserve Greek heritage for Britain, initially by making casts of sculptures. With the help of the Neapolitan artist Giovanni Lucieri, he expanded this effort beyond mere copies, reshaping the project into a broader collection initiative.
From 1801 onward, Elgin and his associates removed pieces of sculpture from the Parthenon and other Acropolis sites, first relocating them to Malta and eventually bringing them to Britain. The export was completed in 1812, and Elgin personally funded a substantial portion of the venture. The plan was to display the works in a private collection, but personal circumstances altered the path. The pieces ultimately entered the British Museum, where they remain on display today.
Debate around the legality of Elgin’s actions has persisted since the early 19th century. Some considered the moves as robbery, while others argued that Ottoman permission existed at the time. From the modern Greek view, the Ottoman authorities held a different legal standing. In 1983 the Greek government formally requested their return, but the request was declined. Later, Britain agreed to a resolution that included making exact copies through automated methods before continuing to display the originals, showcasing a blend of preservation and contested history.
Purely British theft
The world of football has its own iconic trophies, including a gleaming golden cup associated with World Cup glory. The Jules Rimet Trophy, presented when Uruguay claimed the title in 1930, featured a gilded goddess figure holding the world aloft. The cup endured the turmoil of World War II and the uncertainties of subsequent events, even surviving a period of wartime disruption in England. Guards and security measures were intense as officials prepared for a major exhibition in the capital.
In March, a security breach occurred when the back door was forced open and a display case was breached. The thieves removed a lock and disappeared, leaving the scene in disarray. The subsequent discovery process unfolded with a complex sequence of events, including the theft of a portion of the trophy and a ransom demand sent to the Federation’s leadership. The strategy to resolve the situation involved a controlled sting operation with undercover police presence and counterfeit currency, paired with a careful approach to recovering the trophy.
The investigation revealed that the midlevel suspect was not the mastermind but a lower-tier participant seeking a quick reward. A separate canine ally, a collie named Pickles, played an unexpectedly heroic role by alerting authorities to hidden evidence, ultimately helping restore the trophy to its rightful owners. The broader narrative continued with later revelations about the true mastermind behind the theft, as reported by investigative journalists years after the event. In a separate twist, the trophy’s fate led to another curious chapter in football history when the prize was replaced in 1970 and the original went missing again in 1983, triggering ongoing debates about legacy and possession in sports governance.