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Every time I go with a group to Ein Gedi, I look aside to one specific lone mountaintop and know that one day I must get back on top of it. I had been there only once, for a short moment, over 20 years ago. I was doing a two-day desert hike with a group of 12 year-olds, and I had no time to go and explore; I had to make sure nobody fell off the cliff! But I knew I’d get back some day. A few weeks ago, I finally had my chance.

I got up at a ridiculous Livnotish hour that only the desert could warrant, and drove south to Ein Gedi. On the way, I listened to the news; the only interesting thing mentioned was that “The American Football Championship” was going on; I remembered the days when for me, the world would stop on such a day (things have changed). I arrived and parked at the trailhead and as I got ready to take my first steps, I basked in the great blue winter sky that makes desert hiking so glorious this time of year.

I looked around for people, but saw none; only the ibex and the hyrax were out. I climbed to an ancient spring and flour mill, and then went off on the side trail that had grabbed my attention for so long. It was an ancient ascent up the mountain range; researchers say it’s 3,000 years old. It was a most beautiful ancient path, built in a fascinating way that allowed one to climb effectively, but at a gentle incline. Some of the trail seemed to be hanging on thin air, some on a few rocks, and some literally hewn out of the tough limestone like a shelf. It was a work of art that has lasted thousands of years - and thousands of sandals and shoes and hooves.

I reached the summit and stood on top of the plateau. I could see the entire world. The scenery was Ein Gedi-ish and breathtaking, the sky was as big as Montana’s, the Dead Sea was still dead and dying, and the cliffs were more dramatic than any movie could ever be. This, the Judean Desert, is a mixture of physicality/spirituality/history/nature - perhaps the greatest such mixture in the world. You can’t just “walk” here, you have to make a huge effort, you have to have your feet firmly on the ground, know the logic of the desert trails, carry enough water and keep your eye on the setting sun so that you’ll survive. Anybody can do it; but you have to be *present* in this world to do it right. And yet…it’s so much more. It can shake your innards. It can do something to your soul. You can’t just blow it off. It’s like caves and whiskey and guavas: you either love it or hate it, but you’ll never be apathetic about it.

I could see Mt. Yishai to the north, the Dead Sea and Jordan to the east, Masada to the south, and the Hebron hills to the west. I was on a trail that seldom is hiked, and from the summit it’s obvious that up here on this lofty perch, one would never be surprised by visitors. You can simply see down in all directions.

I had two ancient forts that I was looking for; both had been surveyed and researched, but not excavated. The first building was close to the path, on an unassuming flat area of land. It was square and had a number of rooms divided by simple stone walls built out of small stones. This was from Roman times. I looked down and picked up a few pottery shards. Just as I had read in the surveyor’s report, they were all Roman. But the main event was not here.

I moved on. A few hundred meters away, up on a commanding hill that towered above the road, was the second fort. It was round, built with huge stones, and was literally on the edge of the cliff that looked all the way down towards the oasis of Ein Gedi below. The archeologists had said: “an Israelite fort.” An Israelite fort! Three thousand years ago, just exactly at the time of David, somebody built this fort, sat in it, and had used clay utensils. The place was littered with pottery shards, all coarse and grayish, and in the inside of the inside of the fort was one small room. From here, no surprises could come. David and his men, sitting here, could survive all attackers; and there were so many who wanted his demise. Precious water was flowing 24/7 on all sides of this hill; cliffs all around; all approaches could be observed. The man who would be king survived here.

David, son of Yishai, was just a shepherd boy in Bethlehem when he was plucked out of anonymity by Samuel the Prophet. He was secretly anointed as future king, and then due to his popularity and success after his dramatic Goliath-slaying, was seen as a threat by King Saul, ruler of Israel. He, his family, and his group of 400 men were chased all over the country (and spent time as refugees in other countries, too). We know he hid out in the cliffs of Ein Gedi because it says so specifically in the Book of Samuel:

“David went from there and stayed in the desert of Ein Gedi…Saul took three thousand men…and went in search of David and his men in the cliffs of the ibex…”

And there are hints in Psalms: “A psalm of David, when he was in the Judean Desert.” And also: “The high mountains are for ibex; the boulders are a refuge for the hyrax.”

Reading David’s poems and imagining him hiding out here is one thing; but to find a fort and see thousands of pottery shards from the Israelite Period 3,000 years ago is another…

It connects.

Three thousand years later I’m standing on the same spot. But I’m not being chased. I’m here in total peace; I have food and security and freedom. We live in a very fortunate generation…thank you, King David, for reminding me of that.

I came down the mountain, saw multitudes of ibex and hyrax, and hiked past the kibbutz date-palms and mangoes to the rest-stop at the exit of the Nature Reserve. The cable television was on, and the newscaster was telling about the terrorists who made a murderous attack in Dimona in the Negev Desert. The storekeeper became agitated and said: “I didn’t move from Dimona to Ein Gedi in order to watch *this*.” And she promptly turned the television off with the remote control. But she hit the wrong button and an English-speaking sportscaster came on instead and told of the Great Superbowl Upset. An American-born hiker standing inside the store - wearing a Boston Red Sox hat - said: “No matter what channel we turn to, we get upset. Our world is getting more and more upsetting with every passing day.”

The news of Dimona hit me like a slap in the face, shaking me out of my desert naivete. Although I felt no danger in the desert, that was just one snapshot of one site at one moment. In other places today, and in other eras right here, people are (and were) trying to survive. And I thought: we need to balance our lives by making sure we have some desert quietude (or the equivalent) as well as some reality-filled newscasts (no matter how icky they are), or else we’ll be forcing ourselves into one of two extremes: la-la land nirvana, or the-world-is-a-cesspool-of-violence depression.

And always, no matter where we live or what happens to us in life, we must learn lessons from every event that passes by us – be it terrorism or football. Meaning can be found anywhere in the world; you just have to turn over a few rocks in order to find it. But in the Land of Israel, it’s just…everywhere. Even in the air you breathe. No need to turn over rocks here, unless you’re looking for snakes and scorpions.

This fort, this mountain, this desert and this land…it connects one to the past, to the present, to the future – often simultaneously. Sometimes it’s uplifting and sometimes it’s upsetting. Like caves and whiskey and guavas…it’s never boring.

But it’s always meaningful.