October 24, 2019
The Negev, like all deserts, clearly speaks. No water. No life. We have never been more appreciative of water. Our backpack reservoirs have risen to the status of necessity as we crave water in this parched land. Without water, there’s death in the caldera.
As I walked today through an ancient volcano’s caldera (different than an erosion crater or makhtesh), I thought about what makes for life and death in the Negev. I figured out that life pools in the low places. The higher I climbed, the less likely life was to be found. Beauty, yes; life, no.
I thought, this is true for my personal pilgrimage as well—if my accomplishments rise higher than my character has clawed deeper, death isn’t far away. This kind of soul death is measured in eternity’s time metric, not election cycles or even personal life spans.
The huge Hand that squeezed rocks into spirals reflects strength beyond my imagining.
Remarkably deep within wadis, amidst long stretches of desert, a lone tree stands.
The acacia trees root themselves, shouting “I’m alive!” I too search until I find what keeps me alive. Despite wounds, abuse, or loss, God instills longing for life. People angle for this life despite defying obstacles.
The desert is preferred by many Israelis. “Beautiful” is their frequent one-word description. And, here in the desert lies hope for Israel, as urged by former Prime Minister David Ben Gurion. Truth is, there is no boundary, between Egypt, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Tel-Aviv if Israelis do not build in the desert.
The Sun here in the Negev hides his face, leaving only his trace, so not to blind us with too much brilliance. But during times of no cloud cover, its best to get to low places. That’s where life lives.