My trip to Israel this summer was the first time I've really experienced the desert. I live in a desert-adjacent area, but so far I've kept my hiking to a minimum. Israel's desert, as you may know from experience or from Biblical narratives, is quite serious - one feels like one is standing in the blast of a hot hair dryer, even at 4am (more on that in a moment). I couldn't help notice that at every tourist destination, there was much talk about water.
I stayed at a hotel in East Jerusalem, partly because it was close to the Episcopal Cathedral. I dropped in for a service, then walked around to look at the decor. I couldn't help but notice the full-immersion baptismal font.
This is pretty intense for Episcopalians, who wouldn't normally want to get their linen trousers wet, but a trip to the archaeological site by the Western Wall soon clarified things.
This is an old-school mikvah, a purification bath where people could undergo ritual cleansing before approaching the temple. I particularly like this one, with the divider down the middle to separate the clean from the unclean. This is part of the elaborate hydraulic infrastructure surrounding Herod the Great's Second Temple. During my day at the Western Wall (of said Temple), I took the much-recommended tunnel tour, which allows one to walk the full length of the Wall underground. The tour guide made much of Herod's architectural genius, continually noting the effective water system in and around the Temple. At the end of the wall, the guide did offer a caveat, reminding us that while Herod was a great builder, he was also a deranged and paranoid murderer (see Innocents, Slaughter of the) whose victims included his own wife and children.
I got to enjoy more of Herod's dubious greatness in Masada, a city built on top of a mountain by the Dead Sea, constructed to be virtually self-sufficient so as to survive a siege. The "thing to do" is to climb Masada at sunrise, partly because it's unbearably hot at any other time of day, and partly because it commemorates Masada's last stand. Its last inhabitants were able to resist the Roman invaders, as the city was well fortified and the only access route is a narrow winding path. That is, until the Romans, who wouldn't take no for an answer, decided to build a ramp up the side of the mountain. The Romans finished their ramp and breached the walls at dawn, only to find the inhabitants of Masada had committed mass suicide. It's all a bit grim. I arrived at 4am, put on my hiking boots, and headed for the top with a group of young soldiers on a field trip. Just as I set out, my taxi driver ran after me with another bottle of water, just in case. It was a good thing too, as the climb was long and broiling, even without the sun.
Here I am in Herod's summer palace, which is a dramatic cliff-trail walk from the elaborate baths (complete with caldarium, tepidarium, and frigidarium) and multiple cisterns that would keep the city supplied with water even through seemingly constant drought, not to mention the pools for Dead Sea water, with its healing properties.
These fierce birds frequent the area (one managed to steal some of my breakfast later that morning - I turned my back and was suddenly missing a knish), and this one was helpfully pointing out highlights on the interpretive model of the site. The palace is in the lower left corner, and the bird is standing near the swimming pool, a true luxury in the desert. This was an impressive, if somewhat hyperbolic use of water, and I imagined that it would make life in Masada quite bearable.
After a couple of hours I decided to start my descent, but just before leaving I walked past a small tour group, where the guide was talking about Herod's personality problems. He described him as utterly paranoid, convinced that everyone, from neighbouring tribes to his own family, were out to kill him. The guide then asked his group "Do you know Herod's preferred method of murder?" I slowed down, eager to hear the lurid answer: "Drowning."
