The Land of Contrasts and Promises: One Writer’s Journey to the Holy Land

Matt Kaplan here. Seeing as Aaron recently returned from a trip to Israel with my older brother Adam, I feel that this entry is appropriate.

5:00 a.m. At least I think it was. I had lost my watch by this time, and the sun had yet to rise over the desert. I crawled out of my sleeping bag and rolled out of the tent. Thankfully, the trip from the touristy oasis “campsite” to the site of the morning sunrise hike lasted only five minutes. The sun started to illuminate the surrounding hills during the short trek to the peak.

On top of the ancient desert mountain fortress of Masada, I saw the sunrise shed light on the 2000-year-old stones and sparkle off the turquoise waters of the Dead Sea and the hills of Jordan in the distance. Down below, cars zoomed past old Roman camps on the highway while on top, armed guards nonchalantly patrolled the area. Just another morning in Israel .

Masada , and seemingly everywhere else in the country, showcased what our archaeologist tour guide Gadi referred to in his endearingly broken English as “mish mash.” Ancient and modern, secular and religious, East and West have all (sometimes violently) collided with each other to the point where separating Israel ’s long history with its tumultuous present proves tricky. At Masada , a modern tram takes visitors from the four-lane highway to the ancient fortress.

Sometimes, this mish mash presents itself almost humorously. The ruined Roman capital of Caesarea sits next to a coal-powered power plant. Pottery shards and litter lined a nearby beach. But, this being the volatile Middle East , the mish mash does present its share of issues.

For most of my morning on Masada , however, I was not concentrating on the area’s mish mash. I kept my eyes glued to the ground. I had a promise to fulfill. Before I left, my friend told me of his tradition of how whenever someone goes to Masada , they should take a rock. When someone else goes to Israel , give that rock to them so they can return it to Masada .

The tradition makes little sense to me, but I wanted to follow it. After about an hour, I settled on a small rock with the word “ Masada ” written on it in permanent marker, just in case anyone ever forgot where the rock originally came from.

The rock fulfilled my second obligation. I fulfilled my first promise with a twenty-dollar bill at a synagogue in Safed, in the north. Another friend, before leaving, asked me to donate money to charity while abroad. I unceremoniously dropped the bill in a plain metal canister, eager to rid myself of my obligation as soon as possible.

Thankfully, I had completed my promises and found the perfect rock early, so I had plenty of time to soak in the ruins and the warmth. Hiking Masada early in the morning allows the traveler to not only see the sunrise on top of a world heritage site, but also avoid strenuous activity during the daytime heat. I went in winter, but Masada is still in the desert, and it gets hot in the desert regardless of the month. I initially welcomed the heat, but I soon dreaded it as I started sweating during the hike down the mountain.

After the morning hikes, swimming in the Dead Sea at a Florida-esque, high rise-laden resort complete with a McDonald’s, provided needed relaxation. Despite all of the country’s history, Israel is a thoroughly modern Western country. Gas stations and strip malls line the highways. Even though I received warnings about the tap water and diarrhea, Israel ’s up-to-date water filtration system ensured that I received no such discomfort.

At the Dead Sea, the scenery and buoyancy served as the only reminders that I was swimming in Israel and not Florida , as the beachside resort looked thoroughly American to me. But the swimming proved a little more difficult in the Dead Sea as opposed to the Atlantic Ocean . For starters, sharp salt crystals make walking on the Dead Sea a treacherous affair. Unlike the ocean, comprised of three percent salt, the Dead Sea is 30 percent salt, making swimming difficult but making floating and lounging as easy as breathing.

After hours of salt, fresh water proved a welcome sight up the road at Ein Gedi, a desert oasis teeming with waterfalls and ibexes, a deer-like animal with curved horns.

Following a relaxing afternoon of floating and animals, the day took a different tone driving through the West Bank, the contentious region claimed by Israel and the Palestinians, en route to Jerusalem . In the midst of all Israel has to offer, ignoring the region’s political situation proves difficult.

The region’s volatility is especially evident in the Golan Heights, the mountainous region in the northwest that Syria controlled before 1967. Even forty years after the Six Day War, minefields, bombed-out buildings and old bunkers dot the region.

A few days later in Jerusalem , I noticed that one storeowner displayed three small metal pieces in his store window, metal that originated from a suicide bombing attack the occurred in front of the store. In Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, pedestrians must pass by a police checkpoint to enter an outdoor market. Armed guards stand at the entrances of many stores.

Despite the country’s necessary preoccupation with security, Israel does not feel like a police state. Israelis carried out their daily lives, shopping in the crowded outdoor markets and frequenting shops, seemingly oblivious of the array of armed personnel. Traveling the country, I felt a sense of hope from the people, a hope beyond the violence. All the Israelis I talked to spoke proudly of their country.

That night, as I drove into Jerusalem , I looked out onto the hills and the Old City with a sense of awe I had not experienced since youth. Something about how the old stones and the golden dome shimmering in the night struck a chord with me.

If one location describes Israel , it is the Old City . Armed guards protect the entrance to the Western Wall, one of the holiest sites in Judaism. In front of the wall, bearded men in black felt hats fervently prayed, while the flash from the digital cameras of tourists reflected off the wall, filled with vines and countless notes. Above it all, the gilded Dome of the Rock sparkled in the sunlight.

A few days after Jerusalem , I returned to the United States . When I finally arrived back in Boston , I talked to family and friends on the phone. I had one last promise to keep: I promised them that I would not die while in Israel .