We paralleled the Dead Sea for much of our drive to Masada. The saltiest water body in the world, nothing but some hearty baceteria lives in this 234 square mile sea, but its minerals and salts are world renowned for skincare and cosmetic manufacture. The sea is beautiful – aquamarine blue set against a hazy white sky, a reddish brown coast with white shoreline both from waves and a bit of salt residue. Shooti explained that the shoreline in many places was rife with sink holes, areas where the soggy ground has collapsed.
Occasionally, we would pass what might be considered an oasis – areas of palm trees growing in the desert. Much of these oasis are in fact tended by farmers living in area kibbutzes – a collective community of people who farm and are living self supporting lifestyles.
Well versed in history of the Dead Sea Scrolls from our museum visit yesterday, we stopped to see Qu’ am, the cave where the scrolls were found in clay jars by Bedouin wanderers. Supposedly the young shephards were throwing rocks at the opening and were startled to hear something break; climbing into the cave, they found a cracked clay jar containing the ancient papyrus documents.
We arrived at Masada, the ancient cliff top fortress built by King Herod around 35 BCE and took a cable car up to its remains, 460 feet above the Dead Sea. We nudged our way to the car’s window for an amazing view of the desert landscape and sea.
Masada has become a symbol to Israelis of their people’s strength, courage and willingness to do what needs to be done. Its story is sobering and forces one to reflect on the choice this Jewish community made.
More a personal safe house for the despised ruler than a fortress, Herod spent several years here with his family in 42 BCE. The fortress was abandoned upon Herod’s death. Almost fifty years later, a small community of Jews settled in the abandoned fort to live a peaceful life away from persecution. However, in 73 AD, the Romans intent on subjugating the Jews after the Jewish revolt, marched upon the fort with thousands of soldiers. Elazar Ben Yair and his commune of 960 Jews initially resisted but later chose to commit suicide rather than succumb and live as Roman slaves.
Wandering through the fort thinking about the tragedy that occurred here, it was hard to focus on the engineering genius of the place. The palaces, water system and baths were advanced for their time. Bits and pieces of the painted tile decorating the bath were still visible.
After our visit, we headed to Kaila Beach for lunch. Here, the cooks prepared a large pot of steaming rice, vegetables and chicken that took two men to lift, dump and serve. They ladled huge portions on the plates to complement the salad, bread, cut vegetables and hummus that was already on the table. Yet another supersized lunch!
We ate quickly to maximize our floating time in the Dead Sea. The temperature below sea level was almost 10 degrees warmer than at Masada – the sun was shining so as long as the water was not too cold, we should be comfortable. Donning our bathing suits and water shoes, we hiked down to the beach past the lowest bar in the world.
Fortunately, the water was warm and we enjoyed a fifteen minute float in the salty sea. We lathered ourselves with mud from the shoreline, waded in, sat down and immediately floated as if supported by a chair. We were surprised to discover from a quick taste of the water, that it was more bitter than salty. Kaila Beach was a lot less rocky than the place I’d floated on my prior trip. However, as I stood up to walk out of the water, I tripped on a large submerged chunk of concrete on the bottom, scratching my leg. The cut bleed profusely but much to my amazement, the salt did not burn my leg. Walking back to the changing room, I could not staunch the slow drip of blood trailing down the front of my calf. Worried about soiling my clean pair of pants, I ended up putting an extra panty liner I had in my backpack on the wound to help stop the bleeding.
Skin tingling from our mudbath and float, we headed back to the hotel. We plan to visit Bethlehem this afternoon but need to switch guides – Shooti as an Israeli Jew is not allowed to guide in Bethlehem as it is in area of the West Bank under Palenstinian Authority so Joseph will take over.
I would not have visited Bethlehem a second time except my husband had not been. The Church of the Nativity with its silver star representing the birthplace of Jesus is not very impressive but I wanted my husband to visit a Palestinian occupied territory. So off we drove to Bethlehem. We spent all of 30 mins in the church; fortunately we were able to line jump to enter the crypt behind the golden altar to see the birthplace.
Four people at a time were permitted to enter the grotto through a marble passageway at the side of the golden altar. Crouching low, eyes adjusting to the darkness, we approached a large silver star on the floor.
Peering thorugh the plexiglass covering on the star, one could see the ground below, believed by many to be the location of the manger where Christ was born. Once again, people were prostrating themselves and kissing the star. A touch was fine for me.
We spent a few more minutes exploring the church – it was first built around 330 AD by Constantine to commemorate the birth of Jesus, destroyed a few hundred years later, rebuilt and then restored, repaired and expanded over the ages. Now a UNESCO World Heritage site, it is one of the oldest major churches in the Holy Land. Rays of late afternoon sun shone through the high oval windows creating laser like beams of light in the dark interior.
We exited the church through a canopied cobblestone courtyard, taking a few moments to study the murals on the walls. Surrounding the church are three different monasteries – one Roman Catholic, one Greek Orthodox and one Armenian Apostolic, yet another example of the separateness of each sect.
The contrast between the Palestinian and Jewish occupied areas is immediately visible. Palenstinian territories are poorer, dirtier and filled with political graffiti. A mural adorned a fence promoting freedom of press and decrying the murder of Palestinian American journalist Shireen Abu Akleh who was gunned down by an Israeli soldier claiming it was an unintentional hit meant for armed gunmen. Later investigations deemed the bullet was targeted at the journalist despite her PRESS insignia being clearly visible.
We had difficulty leaving Bethlehem because a nearby checkpoint was closed. Consequently, we had to drive to another checkpoint to be cleared to reenter Israeli territory and were late getting back to the hotel. Rushing to dress for dinner, we caught a shuttle fifteen minutes later to the Jaffa Gate in Old Jerusalem. From there it was a short walk to Bulghourji Restaurant for dinner and local entertainment. The room was magical – an enclosed patio with several large trees covered in twinkling lights growing in its midst. Three female musicians playing traditional folk instruments entertained us during dinner; the lead singer had a haunting voice and chanted more so than sang reminiscent of wailing at the western wall.
We were tired from a packed day so did not linger over dinner. Tomorrow we have an early morning flight to a new destination, Samakand, Uzbekistan.