Once upon a time, a beautiful woman fell in love with a young man. However, this passionate exchange was not the result of natural causes as one might expect, but was the bitter inspiration of Aphrodite, a vain and often vindictive goddess of love.
She was a Man-Eater
The Martian in the Bible Lands
Fragile Grass
I stand on top of the tumulus (burial mound) of a once-great Phrygian king. This earthen Ozymandias has no sneer, but rises, tired and worn, from a sea of gold. Hills roll away from my feet and disappear over the horizon. I tell myself again, this is modern Turkey. It might as well be Eastern Colorado. The wind whistles just the same.
Mediterranean Shrublands
Into the Dark Wood
We park the RHD (right hand drive) vehicle on the “wrong” side of the road and walk to the lookout. The mountains of Western Cyprus unfold. It is magnificent. One does not expect such vertical drama on an island. Clinging to crumbling slopes are some of the oldest trees on planet earth. I rehearse my paradigms. It is “highland forest” in Mediterranean style: windswept, cool, dry. Scientists use the term biome to describe regions with unique constellations of climate, fauna, and flora.
Swarming with Life!
The Biblical text swarms with life. Goats, trees, bees, and bears form part of a background against which prose narrative tells stories and poetic passages draw inspiration. Occasionally, the created order steps forward and occupies center stage: a lion mauls, an oak tree snares, a donkey speaks! Such moments are brief though, and nature returns to its more familiar role.
Imagining Ecce Homo
What Lies Beneath
The Barracks
I enter the barracks. The smell of raw earth makes a first impression. My eyes take a moment longer to dial down from bright sun to deep shadow. A long hall of concrete, steel, stone, and dirt emerges. Excavations beneath the barracks have been conducted over the course of the last decade, but only in the last five months has this archaeological site been open to the public. It is my first visit to Jerusalem’s Kishle and I am excited.
Lost in l'espace
When the baggage carousel stopped, I thought: Welcome back to “Exploring Bible Lands.”
The reason the carousel had stopped, of course, is because there were no more bags to spit out. All the bleary-eyed travelers had yanked and been yanked by that cruel machine empowered to deliver the final punctuation to the experience of air travel. One middle-aged woman (with a bag twice her size) was determined to pound her experience into an exclamation point. She was dragged no less than three times around the loop before she finally arrested the oversized beast. The crowd went from a collective gasp to a cheer as she rose unsteadily to her feet, one fist on the handle, the other, in the sky. She was the unseated rodeo rider who survived a runaway.
On Distractions and Diet
Readers who regularly go to Bible Lands Explorer for a diet of mildly frivolous data are worried. I know because I get your emails. People ask: Did you fall off your camel? Slide backwards into a mountain crevasse? Get arrested by the Mossad? While all of these options are likely explanations for my absence, not one of them is true. Let me put everyone’s fears to rest. In so doing, you will understand why our smorgasbord of stories has grown cold.
The Jesus Trail Goes to Brazil
Sandal Farts
Flock Fort 1
The Ruins of the Sheepfold
East of Bethlehem lies an enclosed area known as Khirbet Syar el-Ghanam, “The ruins of the sheepfold.” It is one of three locales in the Arab village of Bayt Sahour linked to the memory of the Christmas shepherds. Issa and I step past its gate in pursuit of deeper desert. Fortunately for us, the gauntlet of trinketmen armed with postcards, stitched bags, keffiyehs, and flutes have yet to assemble. It is still early in the day for tourists, but not for the summer sun. Sweat stripes bleed through my shirt, outlining my packstraps. We thump by, mindful of the hour.
The First to Hear the News
Watermelon Walls
This story begins 18 years ago on the road between Ramallah and Jerusalem.
I was driving a vintage Fiat 127 in heavy traffic when the truck in front of me suddenly slammed on his brakes. Despite my cat-like reflexes and the best of Italian engineering, I slammed into the truck. His bumper was bent. My Fiat was less robust. Some aluminum got crumpled. Again.