Another rainy day and this, the second and
final day we’ll have any chance to tour around the Holy Land, we are given a
few choices: North to Galilee? It will be pouring. South to Masada and the Dead Sea? It may be less a bit less rainy. Let’s go south then and we’ll take a longer
way that will allow us to come up to Masada from a southerly direction.
At the truck stop
there is a sombrero sign with Hebrew writing, but we pass on the burrito joint
and fuel up on espresso at the place that sits at the corner. I ask and no, these are not generally
Palestinians who are well represented in this place. They are Bedouins, who have migrated through
this land for millennium and are making do now with a nomadic reality amidst
borders. They’re villages, we’ve been passing on the road, all look like
reservations. My colleague, an Israeli,
suggests sadly, that no one gives a shit about them.
Driving down, past
seal level, we pull up at a scenic overpass.
Now we consider the first view off to the Dead Sea where mineral mines are
been circumscribed in the shallow turquoise water below us. “Those hills?
That’s Jordan. Former Edom. Historically what had this been? Down there?
Well, you have heard of Sodom and Gomorrah?” Immediately below us is a dry worn riverbed
and some sparse green within what is explained to me is a Wadi.
Masada is
closed. It’s too windy. The cable car isn’t running. You can see the museum. So, we do.
Dark, contemplative, with the pay stub of a Roman legionnaire and the
name tag of one of the Jewish residents of Harrod’s temple redoubt there are
many things to consider. My chum and I
review. I can take the emperors up to
Nero. Titus, son of Vespasian, was the
ruler wo destroyed Masada. There were,
upon review four other emperors between the fiddler and vespers, none of whom
reigned for more than a year. Tough
times Jews. Tough time for emperors, as
well.
Ah, but after
walking out there is a break in the clouds and the cable car is running and
soon were walking around Harrod’s palace, considering the Dead Sea, which has a
remarkable rainbow reaching across it and the Roman camp beds that encircle the
hill fort up and until the enormous ramp those great builders of the ancient
world, the Romans created to surmount this heretofore impregnable fortress only
to find everyone inside dead, resigned to departure to another world, rather
than enslavement within Pax Romana.
Heading back we
drove through the Palestinian Territory but once again, could not visit a number
of promising places. “Would you like to
see where John baptized Jesus? It’s
right over there.” “Um Sure.” And what’s that Greek Orthodox church over
there? Let’s go and visit. It is dedicated to Saint Gerasimus of
Kefalonia. Greek flags are flying. Olives are kindly being served. But even the believer among us must look up
this saint’s name and it was he, apparently who anticipated the kindness of
Saint Francis, by extracting the needle from the lion’s paw some sixteen-hundred
years ago. Over there? That’s Jericho. This?
It’s where they met the Good Samaritan in the Jesus’ parable. Over and over we pass these symbolic lodestones and consider the settlements and check points we head in to an Arab
village for some outstanding Lebanese food, and as the delicious plates and
skewers clatter on the table, one after another I actually miss China in an
aching way, that I haven’t felt for a while.
Saturday 02/08/20
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