It was back in December 2002 when I was assigned the task of training a team of young Jewish-American athletes who were scheduled to play a series of “friendly” ice hockey exhibition games in Metulla against the Israeli National Junior team. Upon our arrival we were treated royally by our hosts in this small, quiet border town in northernmost Israel; we shopped and strolled within view of the border with Israel and Syria, the eyes of Hezbollah watching us as we observed the Arab enemies going about their business on their side of the border. As the competition at the Canada Center played out, I discovered that on our third day in Metulla my team was only scheduled to play a single contest at 7:30 that evening. Without any advance planning, I suddenly decided to get into my rental vehicle and drive wherever my fancy took me. With a general knowledge of the geography of northern Israel, no map, no cell phone, but with a full tank of gas and a sense of excitement, I pulled out of Metulla at 9:30 in the morning. I didn’t know it, but I was about to experience the trip of a lifetime, covering in one day’s travel a large part of the area conquered by Bnei Yisroel over 40 years of fighting!
The January morning was misty, gray clouds above pointing to the distinct possibility of showers. I headed south towards Kiryat Shmoneh, the largest town in the immediate area. From this town, Highway 99 emerges as the northernmost east-west Israeli road that extends along the border with Syria, ending in the Golan Heights a mere 36 miles from Damascus, Syria. Highway 99 ends at the Druze city of Mas’adeh, itself only 15 miles from Kiryat Shmoneh.
I drove along highway 99 unaware of how close I was to the Syrian border. On previous trips to the Upper Galilee I had visited the Golan, but always as a participant in a tourist group, being shuttled to and fro from various sites. This time I was going “solo” and could visit places of my own choice. Along this short east-west highway were several spots that interested me in particular: Nimrod’s Fortress, Mt. Hermon and its ski area, and Mas’adeh itself, as it was one of only four Druze settlements in Israel. I first attempted to scale the dizzying heights of the Muslim-era castle known as Nimrod’s Castle. This structure is actually built on a 2,600-foot-high ridge that is itself part of Mt. Hermon. Nimrod’s Castle was constructed by a nephew of Saladin in 1229 to defend the road to Damascus from Crusader armies. The fortress extends over 1300 feet in length and is 500 feet in width. I began the ascent to the fortress with some concern as the road was wet, winding and poorly maintained. About halfway to the castle, a switchback in the road revealed a rockslide about 200 feet ahead of me. I decided that there was barely enough room for my Mazda CRV to make it past the blockage and would expose my outer wheels to a 400-foot drop to the valley below. I carefully reversed course, realizing what a truly astonishing feat of engineering lay behind the construction of this fortress outlined against the sky above me. A part of me was thrilled that the roadblock had caused me to turn back as I can’t imagine how frightening the descent on this road would have been.
I drove on to the approach road to the ski area several thousand feet above me. On this ascent of Mt. Hermon, I ran into a different sort of challenge. Not the steepness of the incline but the weather conditions became an insuperable obstacle. The higher that I ascended, the lower the outside temperature dropped. The higher altitude also brought more moisture. By the time I reached three thousand feet above sea level (about halfway to the base camp), I found myself in blizzard conditions! The wind-blown snow quickly covered my windows with an icy film. Here I was in Israel, a land known for its sun, beaches, natural aridity and mild winters, and I needed all my skill as an experienced American Northeasterner to navigate a treacherous, mountainous winter driving situation. Again, unfortunately, retreat was the better part of valor in my situation. Twenty minutes found me back on Highway 99, nearing the entrance into Druze country. Rainy conditions followed me into Mas’adeh; the village was populated by over 3,000 Druze residents, none of whom could be made out in the poor weather conditions. All that was visible that wet morning were blurry, gray, black and white ghostly images, revealed intermittently through the motion of my windshield wipers. I hoped for better weather as I left Mas’adeh and headed south onto Highway 98 and the northern Golan Heights.
Soon I saw a scene that—though common enough in mountainous areas—never ceases to amaze me. A mere 20 minutes and 10 miles from the blizzard conditions on Mt. Hermon, I emerged onto the sun-kissed Golan, bathed in a golden glow, achingly beautiful. The road I was now driving on, Highway 98, is the primary north-south highway in the Golan. It roughly follows the ceasefire line with Syria and, as highways go in Israel, offers one of the true thrill rides of the Middle East as it begins at Kinneret in the south at an altitude of 600 feet below sea level and terminates near Mas’adeh at a height of over 5000 feet above sea level—all this over a distance of only 60 miles.
Leaving the Hermon region, I pointed my car towards the Israeli border checkpoint of Quneitra, a location where the UN had established the main observation point between Israel and Syria following the Yom Kippur War in 1973. On this winter morning, the area was particularly bereft of any signs of human activity, both sides hunkering down until warmer weather reached this location. From Quneitra I continued toward Katzrin, the Israeli “capital” of the Golan: a modern town in every respect, benefitting from the most advanced urban planning that Israel could provide. Its population of 6,700 people spend their time producing fine wines and the best olive oil in the world outside of Italy. At the time I passed through I observed the joint Israeli-Chinese solar electricity project that would create Israel’s largest solar power station. My next stop not far from Katzrin was the Gamla Nature Reserve. In stark contrast to the futuristic look of Katzrin, Gamla represented Jewish history of the Roman period of occupation in vivid fashion. Everyone by now knows the story of the resistance of the zealots of Masada during the revolt against Titus and his legionnaires. Fewer know the story of Gamla, a fortress redoubt that held out for years against the Romans near Yam Kinneret. The camel-shaped fortress is surrounded on all sides by deep ravines that effectively protected the residents. Today one can visit the site from which I observed Yam Kinneret far off in the distance southwest of Gamla.
After returning to the main highway, I completed my trip to the Golan by choosing a direct route on Highway 91 toward the west and the Jordan River. I planned to cross the river at the historic Bnot Ya’akov Bridge about a half hour away. In the course of that time I would have to descend from an average elevation of 2800 feet in the Golan to sea level near the Jordan River bridge crossing. Highway 91 was a most scenic east-west route that snakes its way in wide descending stretches of switchbacks that take you from the dizzying heights on the Golan to the river valley below. As I drove the route that day at about one in the afternoon, I saw the Jordan below as a shining strand of bluish water sparkling in the reflected sunlight. Rising to the west, beyond the Jordan, was a mountain range even higher than the Golan from which I was descending. This was the Upper Galil, hiding for the moment the famous, mystical city of Safed. It took me a good half hour to descend to the Jordan and, as I crossed the Bnot Jacob Bridge, I sensed the historical importance of the place. I realized I was duplicating the steps of countless biblical and post-biblical characters that had previously entered the land of Canaan at that exact spot. Whether members of Bnei Yisroel in the original conquest, Romans traveling the Via Maris to Egypt or caravans carrying their wares from Damascus to Acre to name but a few, all had crossed the Jordan river at or near where I was driving that moment.
As soon as I crossed the bridge, I began to ascend toward the intersection of Highway 91 and Highway 90, the main Israeli road north to Safed, Rosh Pina and, ultimately, a return to Kiryat Shmoneh and Metulla. I had visited Safed (2,900 ft. above sea level) on several occasions in the past and counted it as one of my favorite cities in Israel. My love for this home of Jewish mysticism and Kabbalah came at a price, however. Driving to and through Safed involved curving mountain roads that challenged the best drivers. Many a person has had difficulty handling the series of dangerous turns that lead into the city. Others fear the descent from Safed to Rosh Pina some 1,600 feet below. As if that wasn’t sufficient, one would have to descend another 900 feet or so to reach Highway 90 in the valley far below. In Safed itself I stopped at the old city, visited ancient synagogues and bought some of the beloved, colorful Havdalah candles that were family favorites.
As the clock struck 3, I realized I had to complete my return to Metullah. Accordingly, I began my descent from Safed, covering my descent to Highway 90 in record time. The late afternoon sun was hidden from view by the cliffs of the mountains of Naftali and the Manara Cliffs. I entered Kiryat Shmoneh and Metulla to its north with plenty of time to join my team for dinner, exhausted but thrilled. According to my calculations I had successfully travelled through the approximate nachalot of six tribes of Israel in the course of my winter ride like no other: Gad, Menassheh, Zevulun, Issachar, Naftali and Asher. I was able to traverse this compact territory in about nine hours with stops. Most astonishingly, I had ascended and descended a total of almost 15,000 feet in the course of my travels. Needless to say I didn’t disclose the details of this trip to my car rental agency!
By Joseph Rotenberg
