When I try to pry memories from my childhood about real places in the world that truly fascinated me, the Dead Sea floats to the surface along with several other locations. Why the Dead Sea? It’s water that you can’t sink in. This had great appeal to me as a non-swimming child. Here would be an opportunity to get into deep water without drowning. I was terribly afraid of water—or at least of drowning in it. Dad could not swim either, but he was fond of explaining why. “My mother always told me not to go near water until I could swim.” (Huh!?)
It sort of made sense. But hearing about the Dead Sea made room for possibilities. Only one problem. It was on the other side of the world. For a poor country boy it could only be a dream, but one could imagine it. I could picture myself laying back in the water and gazing at an azure blue sky, listening to the gently lapping water, smelling and tasting the salt in the air, exhilarating in the feeling of weightlessness. But as well as it could be imagined, it seemed impossible that it would ever happen. Sort of like flying with wings strapped onto my arms—another boyhood dream—and one that could never happen.
But…
We were here! We were really at the Dead Sea. I still cannot believe that only two of us ten went into the water. How could anyone NOT go in? I don’t know. But for the two of us who dared to face the “slimy water” and wade out into its depths until the buoyancy lifted our feet from the bottom, it was all a child could dream of.
It was morning now, about 8 AM, and November. But at this location on the earth—a place that can be unbearably hot in the summer—November was the perfect time for a swim.
After eating our breakfast, Gene and I donned our trunks and took the quarter-mile hike to the beach. The water was bluer than I had imagined it could be. Amazingly blue. The beach was white with salt, and soft to the feet. The air was warm and perfect for a dip. The water was pleasant and cool, not at all requiring the slow agonizing wade that one takes to get into the cold waters of the Great Lakes. Of course, in the Great Lakes, the best way to get into the water is to avoid the slow cringing walk, by running madly and plunging wildly into the frigid waves. Never mind the crazy people who actually chop a hole in ice and go for polar bear swims. That, in my mind, is a display of insanity.
The Dead Sea, on the hand, was cool, yet inviting. And amazing clear. I’ve never been to the Bahamas, but this was as near to the pictures as any place could be. The water was instantly welcoming to an old grown-up boy who had dreamt of this moment for over 50 years. We waded out until we were in mid-chest depth, and at that level we became suspended. It was magical. It was marvelous. It was nearly miraculous. And yes, it felt slimy, although slippery is a word that I would rather use to describe it.
Floating vertically, I slowly pulled up my legs and gently laid back, and it was true. The childhood dream was true. Crystalline waters, azure blue sky, tiny whispering waves tickling my ears, a feeling of weightlessness. As if the trip to Israel was not gift enough, this moment was worth the wait.
I could have stayed here for a long time. It was one of the most pleasant feelings to lay back and totally relax, defying the gravitational forces that would otherwise cause a body to disappear beneath the surface. This was living. I could understand why old King Herod had come to this place. A King can have anything he wants. Right? What more could he want than this?
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| The water was about four feet deep here. We couldn't walk out any further without being lifted from our feet. My brother Gene on the right. I'm on the left. |
* * *
Our next event for the day was a visit to Masada. This was an exciting place to visit for some of the family. However, for me, I could have skipped it and not felt cheated. This hilltop fortress is not mentioned in the Bible, but it was developed in this harsh wilderness place by none other than the infamous Herod the Great, who is mentioned in the Bible. He built a palace complex on this very steep, inaccessible hilltop of twenty-three acres, and circled the plateau with a thick wall that he believed to be impenetrable. It was a place where he could go to protect himself from enemies, or to go for relaxation from the hustle and bustle of Kingly life.
We rode a cable car to get to the top, and as much as I don’t trust those very thin wires to carry an enormous amount of weight, we made it safely. From the top, one could look out over the Judean wilderness to the west, and the Dead Sea to the east. You have to hand it to Herod, he knew how to accomplish a great feat in the construction of this place. It makes one wonder how many lives were lost during the construction of the walls on this high plateau that dropped almost vertically on all sides.
On the top, the quantity of walls, rooms, and remains of buildings is remarkable. One such room housed a bath area that was heated by steam coming through tiles—a virtual sauna for a king who spared himself no luxury. I could imagine the old boy laying there soaking in the steam while servants kept the fire stoked and concubines tended to his every whim.
The most notable historical fact about Masada is how a group of Jewish Zealots sequestered themselves here as part of the revolt against the Romans around 70 AD. Herod had died a couple years after Jesus was born (yes, this was the same Herod that had tried to kill baby Jesus), and following his death, the land that he had ruled was divided between three of his surviving sons—that is, the ones he had not executed. None of them had the power or control of their evil father.
Taxation under Herod the Great had been heavy. The people of Judea, Samaria and Galilee were ready for a break. Naturally, as Jews, they wanted self rule. But Rome owned the land, and although they allowed the Herod family to reign, it was by Roman rules. It took a few years to build up to the Jewish revolt, but it happened. And when it did, Jerusalem was destroyed—as well as the temple—just as Jesus had predicted.
But here at Masada, the final Jewish hold-out took place. Right here where we were standing, the remaining free Jews had stockpiled provisions and became a thorn-in-the-flesh to the Romans. Not that they were going anywhere, or posed any threat to the Romans. They simply were not going to be allowed to defy Roman rule like this.
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| Masada as seen from our bus. |
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| At the top of Masada |
Some historians put the number at nearly 1000 people. Others have serious doubts about that, and even put the number at less than one hundred. No one knows for sure. What is known is that the Romans used Jewish slaves to build a siege ramp up to the top. Up this ramp they rolled a huge framework that contained a pendulum-type battering ram that was used to breach the wall. When they finally broke through and went in to conquer the remaining Jews, all they found were bodies. The Jews had killed themselves rather than becoming slaves.
* * *
Leaving Masada, we traveled north and made a stop at Ein Gedi. This was more to my liking. Ein Gedi is an oasis in the desert fed by several large springs year around that become streams flowing rapidly down steep descents. It was the end of the dry season when we visited, yet the waters flowed abundantly. This, in my mind, was precisely the type of water-flow the Israelites may have experienced when Moses struck the rock.
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| Stream flowing from a spring at Ein Gedi |
Our stop here was brief, and after putting our fingers in the water, observing a semi-wild herd of goat-like Ibex’s, and sighting the occasional Coney, (little animals that resemble the American woodchuck), we loaded up for our next stop—the exhibit at the Qumran Caves.
The Qumran caves are important to both Jews and Christians alike. It was here in 1947 where a Bedouin shepherd boy was the first to discover some scrolls contained in clay jars. Because of the close proximity to the Dead Sea, the world has come to know these scrolls as the Dead Sea Scrolls. Much archaeological work over the course of many years has uncovered 972 fragments of the scrolls. It is believed these copies of scriptures and other ancient writings were left hidden in the caves over 2000 years ago by a group of Jews called the Essenes. Although there are other various theories about the origins of the scrolls, no one is arguing that these are by far the oldest copies of ancient manuscripts, including the entire book of Isaiah from beginning to end, written in Hebrew.
Now here is the exciting part:
No matter what scoffers say about our beloved Bible, about how it has been invented by men, filled with mistakes because of the many transcriptions, and changed many times to suit the whims of men; and how it cannot be considered accurate, and much less the Word of God; the Dead Sea Scrolls are proof of the accuracy of our modern translations. When the Dead Sea scroll of Isaiah was studied, it was word-for-word identical to today’s standard Hebrew Bible in more than ninety-five percent of the text. The remaining small percent of variation consisted primarily of spelling alterations and “slips of pens.” There were no major doctrinal differences between the current Hebrew book of Isaiah and the Qumran texts.
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| Jars that contained the Dead Sea Scrolls |
I learned these facts about the book of Isaiah from searching the internet. Maybe they told us these things when we visited the site. I don’t remember. What is important to me, and what bolsters my confidence in the accuracy of the Bible, is the fact that these scriptures have not been changed for thousands of years! God’s word will be preserved no matter what. This is enough of a miracle for me.
* * *
Jerusalem.
Dear God, I’ve waited all my life for this moment. We’ve been in Israel for several days and still haven’t gotten there. We’ve seen a lot of things, and visited exciting places, but these are quickly paling when considering the next stop on our pilgrimage.
We leave the Qumran caves and wind north, heading toward “home”. Strange as it is to voice it, and stranger still the thought of experiencing it, anticipation is suddenly hitting with a before-unknown force. Jerusalem! The Jerusalem of the Bible! The Jerusalem that Jesus loved so much. The Jerusalem that Dad called his second home. Jerusalem, the most sacred place on earth for Jews and Christians alike. In a very short time we will be in Jerusalem. The thought passes deliciously through the mind, the word rolls sweetly from the tongue. Jerusalem.
We round the corner at Jericho and head west on the winding road that climbs ever upward to the Mountain of Zion. It is a nicely paved road, and we move comfortably onward in our chariot-of-luxury through the dry and rugged Judean hills. One can easily imagine the many thousands of Jews who regularly walked this path to celebrate the required feasts in Jerusalem. One can see the likely places where bandits and robbers might have hidden themselves among the desert hills and ravines, waiting for the lone traveler. It is not difficult to understand why this is the road that Jesus chose for the parable of the Good Samaritan.
Onward we climb. Jerusalem is built on Mount Zion, and it is not a terribly high mountain as we think of it, but it is still quite an elevation change from the Dead Sea at 1388 feet below sea level to Jerusalem at 2577 feet above sea level—a difference of more than 3900 feet.
The distance isn’t great—only 15.7 miles between Jericho and Jerusalem. It is late afternoon by now, the sky clear, and a lowering sun hinting of nightfall in about an hour. Our guide, as always, is very much in tune with the surroundings and the people on the bus. As we near the city, he pops a CD into the player, and the song “Jerusalem” begins filling the bus with sound. Yes, the same “Jerusalem” that we listened to several weeks before embarking on this journey. The hair is standing up on my arms now, my eyes are peeled straight ahead, straining to get the first glimpse, and suddenly it gets dark! Completely dark—except for the lights lining the Mt. Scopus Tunnel. It seems like a long tunnel, and although I didn’t know it then, we were traveling through the Mount of Olives. The song reaches its final glorious crescendo at the very moment when we burst from the tunnel. There before us in all its glory is the old city of Jerusalem. The bus full of people immediately burst into cheers and applause, and I get all choked up. This is the climax of the trip. Arrival in Jerusalem! I wonder if the Jews of Jesus day felt this way when Jerusalem came into sight. No doubt they experienced this mystical exhilaration to a much greater degree than I.
Now I understand what Dad meant when he said he always felt like he was coming home when he came to this place. It’s a mystery, really, and one cannot explain the emotion that overtakes the soul when arriving in Jerusalem. It is a spiritual experience. Yet, the intellectual part of my being would try to explain it away. It is just another place—God is everywhere. And that is true. Contrary to many deeply religious people, I have never believed that one place is more holy or sacred than another, but neither can I explain what happens when one arrives in Jerusalem. I have to admit, it almost seems that I have arrived on holy ground.
Our bus winds its way up onto the Mount of Olives then, and parks at a place where we can walk out to a wall and feast our eyes. Looking out over the many thousands of Jewish graves, and across the Kidron Valley, we gaze at the city. From our vantage point, it is a sight to behold. The great orange ball in the sky is sinking low, and gently coming to rest on the profiles of the many stone buildings. It is not possible to ask for a better closing to a day that begins with the Dead Sea and ends with a sun setting on Zion.
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| Jerusalem at sunset from the Mount of Olives |
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