A Walk in the Desert

by Daniel E. Levenson

JERUSALEM- Leaving Jerusalem the bus rolls along the highway, moving quickly from a green and gray patchwork of roadways and walled gardens to the desert, where the earth takes on tones of brown and beige, mountains loom purple in the distant haze and the only man-made structures we pass are Bedouin shanties set in among the hills, flimsy shelters of corrugated metal and scavenged wood, with livestock pens and fire pits behind them. Herds of sheep and goats, an odd camel or two, make their way down a hillside along with men on horseback as they move from pasture to pasture in the sparse landscape, looking for what little sustenance these rocky hills can offer. A female antelope browses in an open field. At the trailhead we leave the bus, stepping out into cool morning air, the northern edge of the Dead Sea is visible in the distance, and on the shore beyond it, the nation of Jordan.

We begin our descent into the canyon, not knowing what lies ahead. The trail is wide at the start, birds move swiftly through the sky above us, passing from one canyon wall to the other, and our guide points out a raptor nest in the cliffs above, a loose collection of sticks wedged up among the rocks. Soon the trail narrows, we are descending into a narrow crack within the earth, a wadi, or dry river bed, which under the right conditions can turn from a narrow trail of stone and dust to a raging torrent of water sweeping away everything in its path. Fortunately for us, we have had little rain in the last few weeks, but the rusted metal drum sticking out from the edge of the trail offers evidence of the potential power of flash floods. Soon we come to the first cliff we must climb, an imposing wall of rock rising many feet above our heads, narrow metal rungs bolted every few feet up the side offer the only way up.

I am near the front of the line and watch as the hikers ahead of me step onto the first metal step and begin to hoist themselves upward, slowly and a bit shakily at first, hand over hand, one foot at a time. When it is my turn I try to remember what little I can from my limited climbing experience – keep your body in close to the rocks, always maintain at least three points of contact, and don’t look down. Unfortunately, I also remember the sensation of falling from both rock and ice, and taking a deep breath, I try to block it out and focus on moving from one rung to the next. The first goes smoothly enough, but then I get to an overhang and twice have to twist my body around to reach the next rung. One leg hanging in the air, I perform a feat of acrobatic (and decidedly ungraceful) necessity, hauling myself upward and finally over the top.

We continue on our way, passing more debris that floodwaters have deposited, pausing to look at features of geology and of seemingly miraculous plant life which has somehow managed to remain green in this impressively brown landscape. Twice more we climb our way up cliffs, before finally emerging at the top, where we have a sweeping view of the surrounding landscape. The Arab city of Jericho lies in the distance, the Dead Sea reappears, and down below us we can see the way through which we have just come, a narrow line many feet below, a ribbon running through the earth, and directly below us, three ibex grazing . On the surface of things the view from the top is one of simple beauty, a rocky gorge with the Dead Sea shimmering in the distance, the ibex below. But I am not so naïve to think that this desert is a simple place. Standing here I feel the weight of history that falls so heavily upon this landscape, centuries of religious inspiration and conflict, the rise and fall of civilizations. But today it is peaceful here, the air is cool and dry, the sky a steely grey. We turn and head down the hill, away from the gorge and the Ibex, back to the bus.

Copyright Daniel E. Levenson 2009