Blog #5

February 10, 2008

 

Desert ecology of Israel/Palestine is abundantly rich in flora and fauna. By some calculations, 47,000 species have been identified in this tiny country about the size of Massachusetts. From mountain to coastal water regions, one glorious desert beauty draws all creatures into the mystery of her terrain. It is not difficult to imagine why Hagar or Jesus or Mohammed would have been inspired and uplifted, even in the most difficult of times, in this diverse desert beauty.

 

My own fascination with the desert began among Native Americans in Zuni, New Mexico. Zuni brothers and sisters nurtured a sense of awe and a practice of gratitude for the abundant gifts that flow from Mother Earth. Wondrous carpets of tender, colorful wildflowers would appear in years of abundant rainfall. A change in mood fell over the desert at this time of year in Zuni—the renewal of life and the paschal cycles of living, dying and rebirth took over the energy of the Pueblo. The children in my junior high classes taught me that, in the Springtime, one walks carefully on the desert floor, respectful and protective of the life under our feet. I am grateful for their sensitivity—it has been a compass guiding my Spring encounters with human and non-human creatures ever since.

 

Inspired by this territory, the author of Song of Songs (1:13) provides a wonderful image of the lover who speaks of her beloved as “a cluster of camphor in the vineyards of Ein Gedi.” If there is a place in Israel and Palestine that sweeps up one’s soul into the energy of the desert, it is indeed this diverse, sun-dripped mountainous region of the roaming ibex. (see photo)  

 

Dead Sea: The lowest point on Earth, the Dead Sea (Yam Ha-Melah in Hebrew) was named by Monks who could see no life forms in the sea’s waters. It is also referred to as the “naval of the earth” as it is the deepest impression on the surface of earth’s body. As it turns out, there are at least 11 species of bacteria in this absolutely beautiful body of water containing a salt concentration eight times that of an ocean. (Quite a bit of excitement here the last year as several new microscopic species were identified and are being studied.) The monks were also completely wrong to have identified this as a sea, for in fact, it is a giant lake, 65 km long, 18 km wide, and 412 km deep. (The good news about the monks is that they seemingly had much better luck at identifying the wisdom of spirituality than collecting the truths of biology and ecology.) In this water, even the non-swimmers can float. On this day, despite a vigorous wind, twenty people enjoyed a “good float,” as they say here. The water is really quite warm and without doubt, the bluest water I’ve ever seen. 

 

Monks searching for a source of water and food found this water to be a conundrum in their spiritual life. God’s bounty in this region was revealed in running streams in places like at Ein Gedi and some of the rarest wildlife in the world. For the desert mothers and fathers the Dead Sea became like a mirage—the dream that God would one day transform this Sea into life-giving water for their eternity. It fed their spiritual imagination but did not fill their stomachs, so to them it was “dead.” Indeed an anthropocentric perspective was focusing their inner-vision!

 

The Dead Sea was formed by a “geological phenomenon, the Syrian-African Rift, forming a mega-valley between shifting tectonic plates.” Underground water sources from the desert and the Jordan River flow into the Dead Sea. Evaporation rates are extremely high because of the intense sun and heavy salt concentrations. Like so many places on Earth today, water has become the primary ecological concern of this region. The fresh water supplies feeding the Dead Sea are being used by humans for agriculture, energy, and drinking at much faster rates than the diminishing rainfalls and underground sources can replenish it, resulting in “the sea shrinking so severely that the southern tip has been cut off by a sand bar, and the northern part now recedes at the rate of 3 feet a year.” Mineral extraction is also changing the rate of evaporation. (Most of the mineral extraction is for commercial purposes like cosmetics.) 150 years ago, rapids flowed into the Dead Sea—today, a slow-moving stream or a mere trickle of water is cause for rejoicing.

 

Israel and Jordon share the coasts, with one of the few completely peaceful borders in the entire region running down the middle of the Dead Sea. These two countries are considering “solutions” to the pending water crisis, including possibly building canals from the Dead Sea to the Red Sea, building canals from the Dead Sea to the Mediterranean Sea, or building canals from the Mediterranean Sea to the Jordon River. Whatever architectural undertaking is eventually decided on, the ecological goal is to work more with the natural flow of the water and maximize the potential for generating energy in the region. Environmentalists and engineers have precious little time to solve the dilemma, as water sources are more limited each day. (And yes, not to miss an opportunity to address a social justice issue, Coke has bottling plants in the territory that rely heavily on the local mountain streams for producing bottled water.)

 

Driving along the Dead Sea, we encountered beautiful groves of date palm trees grown and harvested by local kibbutzim coops. As students have observed on the US-Mexico Border immersion trip when passing mile after mile of pinion trees in a desert climate, the prospect of growing fruit producing trees in the desert requires quite a bit of responsible planning. In Israel, drip irrigation methods employed in these groves are well known throughout the world because water is judiciously sent by way of narrow black tubing directly to the tree’s root system—and as a matter of fact, most drip irrigation systems in kibbutzim today are computerized according to the annual rainfall, water table, type of root system being irrigated, and sun intensity.     

 

Saline-loving plants can be spotted all along the shore line, including Nile tamarisk, a variety of reeds, and square tamarisk which has the interesting characteristic of being able to excrete excess amounts of salt to the surface of its leaves. There are four unique aspects to the flora of this region: some silvery-colored plants have the ability to discharge a waxy substance that keeps the plant from experiencing excessive evaporation (example: common caper brush plant); an array of subtropical plants thrive in “the year round warm climate, fertile alluvial soils, and superficial water table,” converting these areas into “Sudano-Deccanian tropical outposts” (examples: acacia, moringa, plum, Persian Salvadora); tropical vegetation, which like the subtropical plants, enjoy the humidity of the region (examples: junan); and saline plants which have an uncanny ability to balance water and salt through an orchestrated process of osmosis which is triggered by the accumulation of salt in the plant’s cells. Perhaps the most well-known of the region’s flora is the Rose of Jericho (or the Resurrection Plant). Following the rainy season, the plant literally curls up and appears to be dead. The seeds of the plant last for years, however, and “come back to life” with just a sprinkling of water. When germination begins, one root shoots from seed and branches quickly stretch into the wind, shaking free the seeds gently clinging to the surface. As these are picked up by the wind, they quickly “create a new generation of growth.” Bedouin (tribal tent-dwellers of the region) and Egyptian women used the plant to predict if childbirth would be easy, while Christian pilgrims in the late 18^th and early 19^th century traded bread with the Bedouin for the plant which they transported back to Europe. It symbolized for them the Virgin Mary.     

 

Observing the thorny keel (a perennial of the region), as the desert mothers and fathers no doubt did in their daily meditations, gave them great insights about the virtue of dependability. The succulent migwort can survive even when drought drains it of 99% of its water content, thus giving welcome inspiration to the desert dwellers about adaptability and endurance. Israeli Ocum, a casrohalophytic plant in the region which grows in dry, salty marshes, taught the desert mothers and fathers about balance.  

 

Masada: Masada is a complicated place, to say the least.

 

Another cable car ride (this one makes no claim to Guinness Book of World Records fame) followed by an 80-step climb to the top of the mountain was required to get to this location. Constructed originally as a Roman palace for Herod who never actually occupied the “desert retreat,” the ruins include a bathhouse with “traces” of frescoes and elaborately-designed mosaic floors, a three-level-living quarter built into the mountainside and a lovely upper terrace that would make a great place for afternoon tea or maybe even cocktails.

 

At the start of the First Jewish Revolt (66-73 BCE), the palace was taken over by about 900 Jewish Zealots (men, women and children) who made their way to Masada where they took up residence. They built an impressive synagogue, the oldest ever found by archaeologists. It is still in use today, hosting Jewish rituals and services regularly. (See picture of Alan Rabinowitz, our guide, reading Scripture at the site.) It should be noted that the Jewish settlement was here long enough for the inhabitants to redesign the palace bathhouse, accommodating modesty laws for Jewish ritual bathing, and to build spacious storerooms for large quantities of food.

 

Eventually, Roman soldiers (numbering in the thousands) made their way to this last hold-out, built eight camps around and a ramp up the mountain. The tourist brochure states, “Captive Jews brought water to the troops, apparently from En Gedi, as well as food.” How did the Romans build a very sophisticated ramp up the wall of Masada without meeting more Jewish resistance? Some historians point out that it is quite likely that many of the Roman soldiers were in fact themselves related to the Jews on the mountain, thus there was little desire to fight back. But orders were orders in any good military and there was no turning back for the Romans. It was customary in such battles to bombard the enemy coming up a mountain with boulders and fire sticks. But, if the soldiers down below were in fact relatives of those above, it seems to explain why there was such little resistance.

 

In the months that ensued, the Jewish inhabitants built an interior defense wall which the Romans eventually set on fire, probably using flares soaked in oil (although, no carbon evidence has ever been found indicating such a massive inferno, a curiosity to some archaeologists). As hope of surviving grew grim, on the first day of Passover in 74 C.E., it is reported by Josephus:

Then, having chosen by lot ten of their number to dispatch the rest, they laid themselves down each beside his prostrate wife and children, and, flinging their arms around them, offered their throats in readiness for the executants of the melancholy office. These, having unswervingly slaughtered all, ordained the same rule of the lot for one another, that he on whom it fell should slay first the nine and then himself last of all… They had died in the belief that they had left not a soul of them alive to fall into Roman hands; the Romans advanced to the assault… seeing none of the enemy but on all sides an awful solitude, and flames within and silence, they were at a loss to conjecture what had happened. Here encountering the mass of slain, instead of exulting as over enemies, they admired the nobility of their resolve and the contempt of death display by so many in carrying it, unwavering, into execution. (Josephus Flavius, The War of The Jews)

 

As the story is told today, one or possibly two women (and perhaps a few children) were unwilling to die, hiding in the exquisitely constructed cisterns. Upon meeting the Roman soldiers, they declared that for the others suicide was the only way to not be defeated—which would have meant Roman enslavement and defining humiliation. The motive for the mass suicide was possibly an act of defiance or possibly an act of defeat, and what is most perplexing for historians and archaeologists is why there is only Josephus’ account (which includes an extensive recounting of the group’s leader, Eleazar Ben-Yair’s speech in advance of the arrival of the Romans). What was Josephus’ source? (This is a question for Indiana Jones—because there continues to be a hugely curious audience regarding the accuracy and details of this story as told by Josephus.)

 

The Romans settled in once again for a short period, but likely because of the remoteness of the location, determined it to be a place worth abandoning. The abandonment was briefly interrupted in the 5^th and 6^th century by Byzantine monks who eventually gave up and moved on.

 

Masada has been best known in recent history because it has been the site where Israeli soldiers have been sworn-in with the words, “Masada shall not fall again.” Just recently, this practice has been changed, and there are numerous speculations rumored about why the practice has been discontinued. Increasing skepticism among scholars about the events that unfolded at Masada? Does Masada also symbolize defeat? It’s all part of the intrigue that makes Masada, for many, one of the most interesting if not macabre attractions in Israel.  

 

Qumran: Twelve miles South of Jericho lies the remains of what was perhaps a religious community, perhaps a military fortress, perhaps some sort of early factory, perhaps a secular community. No one paid much attention to this desert jewel until 1947 when a Bedouin shepherd boy climbed into a cave, eyeing waste-high earthenware jars. The cave has been described as virtually “inaccessible” at the time, however it is unfathomable that the word “inaccessible” means a thing to a fourteen year old boy. He opened the jars, pulling out fragments of parchment and leather. Twelve more caves would also give up their secrets over the next years, producing two complete books of Isaiah, parts of all Hebrew scriptures (except Esther), books from the Apocrypha and Psuedepigraphia (non-Jewish texts), the Book of Jubilees and the Book of Enoch.

 

The scrolls and subsequent investigations of them reveal:

 

For Jews, the scrolls shed a great deal of light on the development of the Hebrew scriptures and the various forms the Word had taken. For Christians, the scrolls represent Jesus’ unique incarnational embodiment of the ideas already planted as seeds in the desert Essenes. It is fascinating to imagine just what his relationship, if any, was with these people. He most certainly would have walked their roads, known of their existence, and perhaps been inspired by their perseverance.

 

Qumran is remarkably in tact. A well-designed aqueduct system carried water to reservoirs and ancient cistern. Clearly identifiable centers of communal life include a scriptorum or library, a kitchen, an assembly hall with refectory, a pottery workshop and kiln, a large storage pantry, cattle pen and tower—all the conveniences of ancient communal living! (See pictures of Masada—my apologies to National Geographic for the hastily captured beauty of this place. One of the dilemmas about seeing as many sites as possible is that sometimes one has to move quickly, at dusk!)

 

 

Bright and early on Saturday morning, the Tantur community set out to visit Orthodox monasteries. Just as we were never quite sure when the Zunis would be having their dances, so it goes with the monastics in the desert on their feast days! So, this happened to be a very special Orthodox feast day (a saint unfamiliar to me, but none-the-less, significant for the brothers at Mar Saba Monastery.) The Monastery is majestically carved into the walls of a remote canyon in the Kidron Gorge. Mar Saba (which means Saint Saba) came to this place from Cappadocia sometime between 478 and 492 C.E. and built a monastic center for the many monks who had taken up residence in the caves scattered about the Gorge. Escorted by our guide, an Irish Franciscan Sister, the men in our group approached the door to the monastery with great energy and anticipation, while the women awaited our trek up the hill to the Tower. (Oh yes, small detail, women are not able to go into the monastery.) Much to the frustration of the men in the group, the day of our visit was “cleaning day.” The policy is, “no visitors on cleaning day!”

 

By this time, I had already begun a grand walk along the ridge of the Gorge. Desert Sisters of every sort came to greet me—beautiful poppies were beginning to pop up, as were the other many varieties of desert wildflowers. Sister Cactus and Mother Birds companioned me everywhere! Gentle moving water from the very polluted, but ascetically pleasing Kidron River called from her cradle of rocks below. Desert brothers joined them and the community was complete when I noticed a Bedouin camp nestled up behind the monastery, a simple reminder of the ordinary life that makes its way into the nooks and crannies of Mother Earth. A Bedouin woman was very busy over a little fire. It was a morning of great inspiration and peaceful meditation—such a contrast to the ever-intense energy of Jerusalem. Desert mothers, sisters, brothers and fathers extended hospitality from all directions. And, with the other species of the region, I stood at the edge of the Gorge delighting in my parents and siblings of the desert!

 

Upon returning to the group, it began to be apparent that on this very special feast, there are visitors to the monastery—invited guests who come for the day. So, eagerly the men in our group once again tried to beg entrance. One got in when he declared that he was “a student of Orthodox Christianity.” We waited patiently for his return from his brief tour… then on to the next monastery.

 

Desert Mothers were vital to the flourishing of the monastic tradition. In her book, Desert Mothers: Sayings, lives, and stories of early Christian women, Laura Swan points out that this group of women, long-forgotten by the dominant voices in mainstream Christianity, provide substantial wisdom in the reclaiming and reweaving of unraveled threads of memory that connect women’s spirituality today to the early Christian church. David Keller says of the desert tradition, “its origins lie in the late third century and it flourished until the late seventh century,” but its positive imprint is deep within the consciousness of Christianity forever. (Oasis of Wisdom: The Worlds of the Desert Fathers and Mothers) Desert mothers, like desert fathers, came to monastic settings in order to live in communities of faith, inspired by the life of Jesus and guided by the “spiritual heritage of Jesus magnified in the Hebrew Scriptures;” and to participate in a disciplined lifestyle that focused on prayer and right-relationship as a witness to the ultimate political, social, and philosophical power of the Spirit of God dwelling among them. The movement was largely a response to the abuses of Roman empirical power and reflects the desert-seekers’ search for healing balm that could relieve the sadness and anxiety brought about by increasing commitments to materialism, martyrdom, and tensions that existed among Christians about the “formation of liturgy, theology, biblical interpretation, leadership, prayer and political structures of the evolving Christian churches.” (Keller, 4) Today we might find some of the teachings and practices to be quite void of meaning, particularly those related to sexuality and some penitential practices, but the desert wisdom generally recommended all things in moderation. In particular, for most women today it is hard to grasp a notion that was embedded deeply within religious consciousness at that time, namely, a desire “to become more like a man in order to be closer to the virtues of holiness.”

 

Amma Syncletica was attracted to “abundant simplicity,” with all its inherent contradictions. She was an upper-middle class Macedonian Christian woman, respected for her education and intelligence. When her two brothers and parents died, she sold the family home and moved herself and her blind sister to the family tomb where they lived as desert mothers. Ammas, which means mothers, were very special women. They had experience living in the desert, had embraced the lifestyle and, of most significance, they found a deep sense of inner-peace. Others knew this just by being with them. They did not seek-out disciples, but were “found” by those seeking to be mentored into the desert lifestyle. (I can tell you after weeks of visiting these monastic centers—most of which are clinging to the sides of mountains—life as any second-century urban dweller had known it would have been substantially different in the desert, even then.) Amma Syncletica was known for her gentleness, patience, and endurance, but as well for her tenacity and good sense. “…Advancing towards God… it is like those who wish to light a fire; at first they are choked by the smoke and cry, and by this means obtain what they seek: so we must kindle the divine fire in ourselves through tears and hard work,” she once wrote.

 

Abundant simplicity “involves listening to the delicate intersection of the human heart, with its desires and dreams, and the vast and silent mystery that is God.” (Swan, 31) The life of the desert seekers was austere in the sense that they sought to imitate the reality of the desert. One had to view closely the sands beneath one’s feet for the signs of life, the trickles of water, the beauty of the flowers, the insects and crawling critters—these signs were the essence of God’s presence coming through an otherwise bleak hope for a future here. The desert could be wild with predators—including some of the human species. On this point, Amma Syncletica speaks thoughtfully of those seeking the desert lifestyle: “… it is essential to be trained in austerities, I mean by fasting, by sleeping on the ground and by other austerities in turn. … For those who have not proceeded in this fashion, but who have suddenly rushed into rejecting their possessions are generally seized with regret.” (Keller, 48) So it is… I find myself seeking the wise council of the desert mothers who surround me now. How it is that I can live more lightly on the earth, more simply in what sustains my life?

 

Keller says of the desert elders, “they did not simply flee the futility of their world. They withdrew TO a life of transformation and a change of consciousness about life itself. They never lost sight of the indelible image of God in human beings and the sanctity of all creation…” (157)

 

In the beginning of my reflections for this week, desert ecology bubbled to the surface as revealing four attributes that inspired the desert mothers and fathers: dependability, adaptability, endurance and balance. Later, my time in the desert presented one additional attribute of inspiration: hospitality. This week there were encounters with the elders, the wise companions of the desert, some human and some non-human, who left insights about spiritual expansion. I am listening and looking.