We arrive at a farm in Galilee about 1:30 in the afternoon and are met with tea smelling of cardamom and baklava on trays. It’s a donkey farm. Soon we set out, half mounted on little donkeys while the other half of the group lead the burdened beasts. The girls in front of us dub their donkey “Hadassah” so we call ours “Deborah.” This, after all, is Israel.
Hadassah and Deborah have only two thoughts – see how much greenery they can snag along the way and see if they can dismount their riders. Our feet almost drag the ground, and the weeds cut into our legs. Halfway up the thistle bound path to the cliffs of Arbel, we trade places, rider and leader, and proceed to near the summit where the donkeys bid us farewell and hasten back down while we climb higher.
The view from the Arbel is dramatic, even on a misty day. We linger at the summit taking in the fresh green hills of spring, reaching down to the Sea of Galilee. Then we turn to descend a narrow track.
It is rugged but passable for the first few minutes. Then it gets dicey. Iron handles are hammered into the cliffs with stiff chains between them. Hand over hand, foot after careful foot, we creep down a hundred feet or more of steep cliff. The younger ones dance their way ahead but others of the group struggle.
My friend, extremely phobic of heights, is caught between her desire to turn back from a steeper climb than she anticipated and no way to do that. A team forms around her, one man above and one below with a third to coach and encourage. Slowly they creep down the cliff above me. I marvel at the procession. One stands above her hands and talks while the ones below move her feet one at a time from rock to rock. The bonding is palpable.
Finally they drop to a level spot and everyone cheers. The final descent is merely a steep path through pastureland. At the end of the day it is not just the cliffs of the Arbel that have been scaled. It is fear faced, dealt with step by step.
And conquered.
No comments:
Post a Comment