February 10: Sepphoris, Capernaum, Beit Shean

Goat
I’ve been waiting to visit Sepphoris for days because it figures prominently in the early chapters of Iscariot. This is the Galilean capitol, the city Jesus might have worked in. It is here in 4BC that a rebel took the city in one of several revolts during the end of Herod’s life.

But enough about Sepphoris—if you want to know more, you’ll have to buy the book (Please tell me I’m not taking notes like a spastic monkey for nothing. ;)

I can, by now, spot the opening of a cistern from fifteen yards—a mikva/ritual bath from thirty. Sepphoris has many of both.

Capernaum is famous because of Jesus’ preaching in the synagogue. And though there’s a spectacular hanging church there and tons of the devoted, we only stay a little while.

There’s a money changer in the parking lot of Capernaum—I recognize him as the same man who rode a short way with us yesterday as we returned to Tiberius, exchanging currency for some of the group on the way.

Beit Shean is the site where Saul and Jonathan’s bodies were hung on the city walls. It was the most westerly city of the Decapolis and its residents were killed during the Great Revolt.

Geeze. What a depressing place.

We eat lunch before tackling the ruins: turkey hot dog. In a pita. With hummus.

A random goat comes along and eats the leftovers, the paper wrappers, the garbage. My shoe.

Incidentally, my Hebrew name, given to me by my adopted Jewish mom and dad, is Yael. It means "goat." Though I'd like to point out that goats are climbers--ostensibly ascending to the High Places and, you know, doing otherwise really important things.

Or they're just looking for pork products in a kosher country.

I know. I am so going to Sheol.

The ruins are huge. A series of mosaic-clad rooms bearing the image of Tyche crown the cardo.

Ron, Elliott (both from Manhattan), Mike (from Colorado) and I climb the tel where there are older ruins from the time of David and Solomon, destroyed by Shishak of Egypt. The Egyptian governor’s house is up top dating to 12 BCE. I step inside, come face to face with a bunch of hieroglyphics.

We drive south through Palestine as the scenery goes from lush to sand. Greenhouses swath the banks of the Jordan. Jordan the country rises from the foothills of its banks. Past Palestine, the Dead Sea is grey and flat. Clusters of date palms, planted in neat and unnatural rows stop and start, a strange oasis against an inhospitable background.

Dinner is the same-old, same-old—buffets for the hotel guests seem to be the rule here; I have yet to see any sit-down-order dining. Just salad, fruit, cheese, fish and bread buffet for breakfast, soup, fish, salad again for dinner. With pickles. And hummus. And did I say hummus?