Ein Gedi
You’re standing knee deep in the freshest spring water in creation, a small but noisy waterfall behind you, pouring the blessing of life from the desert. Above you on either side are the chalky cliff walls of the canyon, and in the distance, below you to the East, the glass-still Dead Sea, reflecting with stunning clarity the red mountains of Moab in Jordan. Surrounding the spring-fed pool in which you stand is an oasis of desert flora, and with any luck you’ll make out shy rock badgers (hyrax) slipping in and out of the bushes, while wild mountain goats (ibex), nibble on the low branches of the acacia trees along the banks of the stream. These are the goats that give the place its name, Ein Gedi, “the spring of the goat”.
In the ancient world, this was a place of escape. Only a day’s journey through the desert from Jerusalem, a lush oasis surrounded by desolate wilderness, it was the ultimate hideout. A few miles to the south was the doomed fortress of Masada, where the last remnants of the Jewish revolt against Rome held out for six years. A short distance to the north was Qumran, where the Essenes holed up to live in seclusion and write the Dead Sea Scrolls. And here at Ein Gedi, 3,000 years ago, young David, son of Jesse, sought refuge from the paranoid fury of King Saul. Here the story plays itself out before your eyes. On either side of the canyon are caves, some inviting easy exploration and some dangerously inaccessible. According to the book of Samuel, Saul comes to Ein Gedi to hunt down David, and slips into one of the caves for a brief rest. The nimble young David dashes out from his hiding place in a cave on the opposite side of the canyon and sneaks up on Saul. Pulling out a knife, he silently slices off a piece of Saul’s cloak before sprinting back across, unnoticed.
Looking up from the spring today, you can almost hear David shouting across the canyon to Saul:
Now, my father, see! Indeed, see the edge of your robe in my hand! For in that I cut off the edge of your robe and did not kill you, know and understand that there is no evil or rebellion in my hands, and I have not sinned against you, though you are lying in wait to take my life.
—I Samuel 24
Saul tearfully forgives David, as he has done so many times before, and the Biblical narrative continues; but we remain here in the spring beneath the caves, stunned by the beauty of the place and seeking our own modern version of refuge among the rocks.
The flora and fauna, much of which is found only here, hearken back to a time tens of thousands of years ago, when chains of lakes and springs dotted the entire Middle East, but have now left Ein Gedi as a uniquely isolated ecosystem. Rare birds like the black-and-orange Tristam’s Grackle and rare trees like the Euphrates Poplar have found their own last refuge among the hyrax and the ibex.
Today one can come here in a 90-minute car ride from Jerusalem, pay the entrance fee, and walk up the slopes with busloads of boisterous schoolchildren. But the sense of escape and refuge is still with you. A well-known Israeli folk song expresses that sense of wonder in a poignant way. I sing it to myself and to anyone who is willing to listen every time I come here. Loosely translated, the chorus goes:
Ein Gedi, Ein Gedi
How did you come to flourish beneath the sun?
Ein Gedi, Ein Gedi How do streams cut through your wilderness?
Ein Gedi, Ein Gedi
The beauty in you bursts forth in glory
And the heart will ponder longingly
And the heart will ponder longingly
