Like exploring caves? About forty-five minutes outside of Bozeman, Montana, is a family adventure treasure for kids and adults alike, Montana’s first state park, the Lewis & Clark Caverns.  I took my children (ages 5, 10, 13) there in 2008 and we all loved it. This year, as we were passing by on the highway, en route to The Lake, they were reminiscing about it and how it compared to Glenwood Caverns in Colorado. (In our opinion, with things like the “beaver slide,” a tight spot you slide through on your rump, more tunnels and rooms, and far more stalactite/stalagmite formations, these caves are more dramatic. But outside is pure nature; no amusement park here, like Glenwood offers.)

It truly would be a lovely place to spend the weekend. White cranes wade in the shallows of the meandering river; steep cliffs climb to the sky; thick, green grass carpets the valley.

Tours leave about every hour and prices were $10 for 13 and over and $5 for 12 and under—a screamin’ deal for a family adventure. You walk about ½ a mile up the hill, a steady pathway that’s paved, and then enter the cavern with the guide, another 1.5 miles, for a total of 2 miles. There are lots of stairs to descend and many places where you’re hunched over or squeezing through—a delight for my children, but probably not the easiest course for older adults.  Guides turn on lights to showcase each room as you enter it, then give a talk about history and geology (with a little canned humor tossed in), and even give you a chance to experience the utter and complete darkness of a cave by turning out all the lights at one point.

Exploring the caverns is a true treat. Each new turn gives new and spectacular views of stalactites, stalagmites, frozen columns and “falls” created over thousands of years, drip by limestone drip.

The state park campgrounds and cabins look nice (my kids begged to stay in the tipi), down the hill and with the Jefferson River just across the road. Lewis & Clark never explored these caverns—but they did boat by on their expedition in 1805.

(Visitors from Big Sky should allow 5-6 hours, round trip, for this excursion. It’s well worth it!)

Return to the place you loved or go someplace new? What is the value, the power of each? I’ve been contemplating this, of late. Because I’m drawn to both the Exploration of the New and the Comfort of the Known. Each has its charms; there are so many places in the world I want to see (check out our web site’s name) that it’s very hard for me to return to a location I’ve already been. Even Italy, which annually seems to call us like a boot-shaped siren in the sea, begs to be explored just a little bit differently each time we go. New villas, new towns, new restaurants, new views. My travel bucket list is long and includes countries from every continent.

But every year, at least once a year, we drive seventeen hours from Colorado to NW Montana, to my parents’ lake home. (My husband would gloat and tell you he’s made it in 13.5 hours driving faster than he should and limiting liquid intake—he, of course, did not do that with small children in the car.)

Granted, having a family lake home or ski cabin or the like is somewhat different that traveling farther afield. Years upon years of memories—sad and sweet—build. Expectations are usually met because you know what to expect…in a way, it always feels a bit like returning home rather than traveling. We rarely do new things here; we are happily stuck in our routine.

My friends sigh with envy, wishing for a place that their own family could draw together and connect, where children could stretch and grow in a healthy way, in a new—and yet not new—place. I know it’s a gift, a family treasure, especially since as my parents age—and the market continues to struggle rather than flourish—there is a very real possibility that it may have to be sold, adopted by a new family to love and build their own memories.

All along, it’s kept my folks from traveling themselves, since vacation days were limited and funds have always been sunk into romantic things like a new septic tank or gravel for the road. But they chose to invest in this place that has become foundational for the family, a gift that has generated dividends for us all. Remember that year when…Why don’t we do that thing we did last summer…I loved when we…

We rise late in the morning, chatting and drinking more coffee than we should. Sometimes we take a walk on our own or as a family. Lunch is made and we move to the beach, the kids begging us to abandon work and join them. They’re usually successful by mid-afternoon.

The lake is as magical for my children as it was for me. We dip or dive into sixty-seven degree water ‘most every day. The lake is made of snowmelt from the mountains about us, warmed over river rocks and spit into the lake, moving, always moving, toward another river. It wakes us in the morning with waves upon the beach and shimmers in the moonlight when we close our eyes for the night.

During the day, we play upon it—paddle boards, canoes, a rusted out rowboat the kids “sink.” Our old motorboat miraculously starts up every year, as it has for thirty-odd years, and is still strong enough to pull the kids on a tube, and if she’s patient, the teen on skis.

In the evening, we linger over fine meals and bottles of wine and long conversation, watching as the granite peaks become pink around nine (the sun sets late here in the north).  Dishes are done, plans for the next family meal is made, darkness descends, stars emerge, and we turn in for the night, ready to do it again the next day. Happy, so happy to do it again the next day…

It’s good, this place. “Montana, the last, best place,” is the tourism tagline. And I’m apt to agree.

What about you? Do you have a place your family returns every year? Where and why do you go?

I was so excited about seeing the King Tut exhibit in Denver, that I planned our out-of-state summer trip around it. The last time I’d seen Tutankhamen’s  (pronounced Toot-in-common) treasures was in Cairo, back in 1990. Even there, in the ramshackle, crowded museum—that I understand has since had a makeover—the exhibit was inspiring, with its amazing gold and piles upon piles of artifacts.

Given that my kids have a thing for Egypt, I thought this would be perfect. I purchased timed-entry tickets for the fam (including the in-laws) and we made our plans to hit the Denver Art Museum, late on a Thursday afternoon. It was a great excuse to hang out in downtown Denver, and better yet, in the cool building designed by Frederic C. Hamilton, which makes a girl feel like she’s entering a piece of art.

After checking in, we went upstairs, where we waited in anticipation. They offered an audio guide narrated by Harrison Ford for purchase (we didn’t) and tickets to the 30 minute Egypt 3D: Secrets of the Mummies movie, which we liked (my youngest is seven). In retrospect, I wish we’d watched the movie first. Had we viewed it beforehand, I think it would’ve given my kids more “background” material on the pharaohs, culture, and religion, (even with its odd tangent in regard to medicine/DNA) and helped the kids absorb what they were seeing in the Tut exhibit.

In the first room, we watched a short intro film and then the doors opened in dramatic, Disney-esque fashion to the first hall. After this initial, narrow area, the crowd thankfully thinned out a bit, as people moved forward at a self-determined pace. The artifacts were amazing, beautifully displayed, nicely explained in signage, and giving insight into the life of the ancient kings and queens of Egypt. A lot of the display units were free-standing, so you could see the pieces from all sides. My kids’ favorites were:

• The 3000+ year old stone toilet seat
• The sarcophagus for a king’s cat, elaborately carved
• A sculpture of a scribe

The heavily guarded, general ancient Egypt exhibit was worthy of its own tour, with magnificent busts of kings and queens of old. There were several huge pieces that made it difficult to believe that they were “on tour” at all. Once through those major segments, there was a short film describing the discovery of King Tut’s tomb. With great excitement, we moved forward again. I loved how curators had placed huge photographs on the walls, detailing what the tomb looked like when it was found, giving visitors a feel for what it might’ve been like to actually be there in 1881.

Tut, like every other king of the era, believed he had to take what he wanted with him to the afterlife, so his tomb was packed with everything he’d need, from servants to ships. Our favorite parts of this portion of the exhibit were:

• The gold fan
• Toe and finger coverings
• His golden sandals (so hip! so NOW!)
• Model ships that were supposed to super-size to lifelike proportions in the afterlife
• The coffinette that held his stomach and other innards (part of mummification process)
• Tut’s cute, little rattan bed (he was only 5’6″, but still growing)
• Nat Geo film on the many layers of Tut’s sarcophagus
• Tut’s taste in jewelry (Did you know they had counter-weights in back for those heavy necklaces? I didn’t)

We turned the corner, and there was another, amazing, huge sculpture, but…no mummy. No gold mask. (Golden mask photo at top of post is a $2500 replica that you can buy for you very own home.) I turned around in confusion. I’d been preparing my squeamish preteen for the mummy (even if it wasn’t Tut himself) and was excited to see the kids’ reaction to that amazing mask—splashed on every ad piece for this exhibit I’d seen, from the museum’s web site to street banners to the brochure itself. But the exhibit ended there, with the requisite spillage into the museum gift store.

My husband turned back to the last guard. “There’s no gold mask?”

“No,” she said apologetically, like she’d had to say it far too often. “The mask last traveled in the 1970s, and they deemed it too fragile to travel again.”

Ahh. Well, certainly. I get that. I do. Some things are too priceless to jeopardize. But then don’t use it in all the advertising, I say. Because I felt like I’d been had. Set up. The advertising took an exhibit that I think I would’ve still very much enjoyed and made it, in the end, vaguely disappointing. The museum’s own web site states: “King Tut: Now on View.” I’d say, Hmm, that’s not really accurate. A better tag line might’ve been “Relics of the Ancient Egypt” or “Mysteries of the Tomb” or “King Tut’s Treasures.”

It’s all in the expectations, right?  If you go, just know that there’s no golden mask and no mummy. Plenty of other treasures, just not The Biggie.

Outside the gift store, there was a room with an interactive display, allowing the kids to “explore” Tut’s burial chamber. Another film showed what happened to the boy king, who died at nineteen (they wonder if a severe leg break/subsequent infection did him in). These were also well done, and at this hour on a weeknight, it was empty, save for us and another family or two.

We printed out the kids’ names in hieroglyphics from a kiosk ($1), then walked over to Mad Greens, across from the museum, which is a good option for families. (They offer paninis, salads and a kids’ menu.)

I’m sure we’ll return for other DAM exhibits in the future, but I’ll do a little digging of my own for facts, first.

I’d heard about the High Line park a couple of years ago—how it was an abandoned, elevated freight train track that had literally “gone to seed,” with trees shoulder high and all kinds of bush and grass having a heyday. Proof that Nature will trump Man every time, given a chance. So when I heard NY do-gooders adopted the track and professionally landscaped it, I knew I wanted to see the special park during our NYC weekend.

At one time, this track was built to keep dangerous freight trains off of Manhattan’s crowded streets. There had been so many accidents, that 10^th Avenue was nicknamed Death Avenue. Men on horses, called “West Side Cowboys,” used to ride in front of the trains, waving red flags, warning off traffic.

Because it went through city blocks, rather than directly over avenues like the subway, trains were able to go right into factory buildings to load cargo: milk and meat, produce and powdered sugar, and more. Interstate trucking gradually reduced the need for the track, and the last shipment in 1980 was three car loads of frozen turkeys (that’s a whole lotta Thanksgiving dinners).

The track, with periodic views of the Hudson, was purchased by Friends of the High Line in 1999. Later, all the wild weeds of Section 1 were torn out, the structure was waterproofed and an irrigation system added. Beds were planted, and in 2009, it opened to the public. Now the spikes, beams and rusting rails emerge from swaths of swaying, green grass, mounds of golden daisies, spires of purple flowers. The construction work is artful, with a concrete drainage system and reinforcements that run parallel to the old rails.

The park ends on Gansevoort Street where a section was demolished in the 1960s—it’s a nice place to begin/complete your walk, because you can fully appreciate the structure by studying it from ground level.

It takes about twenty minutes to walk from beginning to end, longer if you want to lounge on one of the lovely, slope-backed wooden benches in the sun or indulge in gourmet ginger gelato from a park-top vendor.

I’m eager to see Section 2 to 30^th Street, which will include a Woodland Flyover (elevated section through a grove of Sumac trees) and the 23^rd Street Lawn, though it’s cool to see the raw beginnings of it right now (visible from W23^rd Street). It helps visitors appreciate what went into the current Section 1.

Section 2 is projected to open in 2011, although, from the looks of it, they have a lot to accomplish. The final segment, Section 3, will come later, as the nonprofit gains funds, and will truly make this park an amazing place to get to know W. Manhattan and Chelsea.

Have you spent time on the High Line? What’d you think? Please comment below.

For views, we went to the breath-stealing Top of the Rock and the next day, settled in for the Circle Line Cruise which took us under the Statue of Liberty. For culture, we took in a Broadway musical and the planetarium. For exercise, we meandered through the gorgeous, green Central Park. For the awe factor, we stood on a corner and stared at the corona-exploding electronic billboards of Times Square.

But my favorite part of our NYC trip was the subway.

Far better than an airport or even a street corner for people watching, the train is truly a microcosm of this great, diverse city.

We meet up with a marching band from Iowa—in town for a competition and buzzing with excitement—then a cheery mariachi band playing as close to you as possible between stops, holding out a bag for coins and a “por favor.” Later we see an old, black blind woman, tapping her way through with a cane, singing something you might hear in a jazz club, her voice mellow and engaging. Throughout every trip, people speak in Russian, German, Korean, Japanese…name a language and you’re bound to encounter it here.

There are hospital workers in scrubs, and people who look like they need a night in the hospital. Weary workers napping on their way home, and others who are obviously sleeping for hours on the train, not caring where they end up or when. Businesspeople and college students. Mamas pushing strollers, tourists pulling suitcases, locals awkwardly handling bulky air conditioners and bags and grocery sacks.

The subway car is lined with advertisements for free summer meals for kids (in English and Spanish), infertility treatments, a government census long over, alluring airline deals to London, the latest bestseller. And speaking of books, this is the reading-est crowd I’ve seen in a while. Many hardcover books, their jackets carefully stowed at home. A couple leaning close, reading a book of poetry. Two editors, reading proposals. Everyone reading suspense, romance, and a plethora of literary titles, as well as the New York Post and The New York Times.

If people aren’t reading, they’re checking phones for messages, or listening to their MP3 players, eyes closed, or unfocused, staring ahead. I slip on my own headphones and my view becomes a music video. But I take the headphones off and pay attention to the ba-dump, ba-dump of the train, the screeching of wheels on rails at the turns, the sudden, eerie silence when I wonder if we’re still moving…and then realize I’m just on a rare, perfectly straight section.

Couples hold hands, or argue, or make out like they’re the only ones on the train. Tourists with “I *heart* NY” t-shirts move in and out, staring hard at the subway map, anxiously looking for the name of their next stop. The stations are hot, jumbled cauldrons of people just anxious to get on the next air-conditioned car and to their destination. “Washington Square,” says one man to us, “avoid that one at all costs. That place is the hottest subway station of them all.”

But we experience stations that are sweltering. Sweat rolls down our scalps and backs at 42nd. Beads up on our lips and foreheads at NYU & 8th. We fan ourselves in Brooklyn, staring down a dark, empty tunnel, willing our train to arrive, our temporary savior, our transport to light. If the Rodenticide hasn’t beaten the rats, the temperature is giving it a go.

The heat seems to incite everyone. Irritated parents yank kids to their sides. Couples argue about the right train to take. It’s Gay Pride week in NYC, and at one stop, a tall man in a rainbow shirt comes out of the train yelling for help, nose bleeding. Two cops are there in seconds, pushing a yelling woman and man away from the men in short-shorts. The train is stopped, a whistle is blown, a radio signal goes off and thirty more police stream onto the platform, all on the run. It’ll undoubtedly be a long night for the foursome.

By and large however, the subway feels safe, like a neighborhood to me. A far more diverse, fascinating neighborhood than my suburban, white-washed one at home in Colorado. But that’s what I love. For a moment, just a moment, I’m one with them, on my way home to Brooklyn after a long day, waiting for my stop, spelled out in mosaic tiles at the turn of the century, the silent observers of millions more, just riding the rails.

Used the subway system in NYC? What’d you think? Weigh in below.

So…Herod the Great looked at a mountain and saw the basis of another amazing fortress palace to add to his lot. You can almost see him there, taking it all in, like a modern day luxury hotel tycoon, thinking, Yes, yes, I’ll put a palace there.

There are conflicting reports as to why Herod built a fortress in this location. It was on a main road, but the eastern edge of Judea was well protected by old Hasmonean castles that Herod had refortified. A story by Josephus tells us that Herod once was fleeing the Parthians and it was at this site that he turned, fought, and came out the victor.

A Room with a View

With sweeping views that can stretch for sixty miles or more—all the way to Jerusalem and the Dead Sea—and with a location just south of Bethlehem, a shiver runs down my back as I think of the ancient king on the hunt for the promised Jewish King, just born. When word reached him about another king’s birth, and he couldn’t convince the foreign kings (AKA “wise men”) to tell him where Jesus was, he sent his men to kill every male child under the age of two.

Ultimately His Grave

Clearly, this was a ruthless and paranoid man. He ended up killing some of his own children and reportedly, he had a plan in place to kill several beloved Jewish leaders when his own last day came, so that “true mourning” would occur—he knew his people held no real love for him. Fortunately, that order was not carried out. And his grave remained undiscovered over the centuries, until recently, when they found the massive, undecorated granite sarcophagus at the base of the mountain, where they believe Herod was put to rest.

Visiting It Now

This mountain, which workers shaved off at the sides to make it even steeper, and then leveled at the top and then dug out like a volcano, is best entered halfway up, so that you can climb through the tunnels and cisterns below. Tunnels were expanded as escape routes by Jewish rebels, who maintained control of it during the Second Revolt (132-135 AD). Later, it was occupied for a time by a monastery.

Today you can clearly see the heavy foundations of the main, circular tower, the remains of the others, a bath house, columns and at the base of the mountain, Lower Herodion, with its sprawling pool and colonnade that once was the centerpiece for the ruler’s gardens.

The wind whips past us here, fierce and constant. The monument and stones feel empty, literally hollow. Knowing more of Herod’s life story—and his mad, ultimately futile attempts to control present and future—seem to echo through the place that was once a fortress, but could not protect him from life’s end.

Been to a place previously occupied by Herod the Great? Thoughts? Comments? Please share below…

Despite what every crèche set showcases, it’s likely that Jesus Christ was born in a cave, carved out of a hill, rather than in a charming wooden stable. St. Justin (160 AD) was the first one to identify the Bethlehem cave as the birthplace of Christ, and in 326, Constantine ordered a church built at the site. Rebuilt in 530, later decorated by the Crusaders then looted by the Ottomans, the Church of the Nativity has always been a place of pilgrimage for Christians.

You can see the stages of history even before you enter—the tiny doorway was once massive (original 4^th century lintel is still visible, beneath that, the Crusader arch, and beneath that, the tiny “Door of Humility” that was erected to keep invaders/looters out.)

Pilgrims wait in line to enter the cave, underneath the altar. Decorated in Greek Orthodox style, the cave’s walls are draped in fabric. Beneath the altar, pilgrims may pray or touch the rock, surrounded by a silver star. While we were there, a group of Germans were singing “Silent Night.” It was really hot in the confined space, so we paid our respects and kept on moving.

As a Christian, the place holds little power for me other than to pause and consider the historical significance; as with so many other places in Israel, it’s too covered up, too layered in humanity’s attempt to honor, for me to connect with my God. I feel closer to him while gazing out into the wilderness where he spent forty days and nights, or staring at the hills and fields where shepherds first heard the glad news, than here where he was probably born.

My favorite part of the church was the 4^th century mosaic floors. We opened the massive, creaking wooden doors that protect them, and weren’t shooed out by the otherwise contrary, grumpy priests who watch over the site and shush chattering people in line (it’s still a place of worship, so try and keep it to a whisper.)

Something else to note—thirty of the nave’s forty-four columns have Crusader paintings on them (saints, Madonna and Child), although they’re tough to see, given soot, age, and poor lighting. The columns are pink limestone, most of them reused from the original 4^th century basilica.

We didn’t go into the adjacent St. Catherine’s, but it is often visited by those wanting to visit the Grotto of the Innocents, St. Joseph and St. Jerome. St. Jerome, creator of the Vulgate—one, unified source of Scripture—settled in Bethlehem in 384. His study and tomb is traditionally located here.

Outside, a wedding had just concluded in St. Catherine’s, looking very much like an American celebration, complete with a beautiful bride and handsome groom and wedding party dressed in tuxes and gowns.

The Cloister, with columns from the 12^th century Augustinian monastery, give the space a haunting, contemplative feel (and I’m betting it made for some killer wedding pics too).

Have you ever been to a holy site that commemorates a significant occasion? Where and when? Was it meaningful? Please comment below.

After a visit to Qumran, site where they found the Dead Sea Scrolls, and Masada, ancient Herodian palace and stronghold for Jewish Zealots during the Great Revolt, we were ready for some fun. Heading back north along the Dead Sea, where Israeli forces patrol (Jordan is on the east side of the lake), we reached Ein Gedi, the most popular park for those who want to swim in the Dead Sea.

Next to the more luxurious Ein Gedi Health Spa, the Ein Gedi National Park (that extends inland and has hiking trails, river access, a 5^th century B.C. synagogue) has free access to sunbathers looking for a dip in the Sea. You have to change in your car (or have shekels to enter the very primitive and rather disgusting restroom). If you don’t have to use a toilet, I’d opt for the speedy car/outdoor shower option, since there were no lockers in the restroom.

You’ll want to wear water-safe shoes, because of the rocks. But as soon as you enter the water, you know something’s radically different. The high saline content (more than 33%) immediately sets your body afloat. You have to give each step extra concentration in order to maintain your balance. As soon as you have room, you can lean back; it’s like you’re sitting on lounge chair just below the surface. If you remain vertical, you’ll float with nearly half your torso above water. It’s truly an other-worldly experience.

The Dead Sea is also world renowned for the mineral properties of the mud. You’ll see people rubbing on the black sludge, letting it dry, then rinsing off in the showers. Call it a budget-minded spa visit…

Other posts in this series:

Arriving in Jerusalem

Hezekiah’s Tunnel

Qumran & The Dead Sea Scrolls

Masada

Have you ever been swimming in the Dead Sea or another highly salty body of water? Where? What was your experience? Please comment below.

After a visit to Qumran, site where the Dead Sea scrolls were found, we moved on along the shores of the ancient waterway (the Dead Sea is the lowest surface on Earth, at 1385 feet below sea level), to one of Herod’s desert palaces, a fortress on the iron-rich, red cliffs called Masada. Given the heat and the time, we elected not to hike the steep “snake path” and rode the gondola up to the top. (Visitors can hike one or both ways.)

Famous for its tri-level “hanging” palace that juts out from a northerly point, the site was one of Herod the Great’s favorite, luxurious desert palaces, with strategic views of the valley and nearly impenetrable walls, situated as it was on the very top of a mountain (1300 feet).

You can tour the sprawling grounds, in which you can still see the remains of fine frescoes, Roman columns, massive cisterns, an ancient synagogue (Herod was half Jewish), a calidarium (hot baths utilizing steam), and in the Western Palace, used for Herod’s guests, beautiful mosaic floors.

I loved climbing the stairs down to the hanging palace, imagining the rich lounging about, eating fine foods and enjoying the high desert breeze while they gazed down upon the salty sea below.

But Israelis are passionate about the location for more than the Herodian remains; during the Jewish revolt of 68 A.D., zealots left Jerusalem, took hold of the fortress, and kept the tenth Roman legion out during a two year siege. It infuriated the near-conquerors and they set everything they had against the Jews holed up inside. They were so close, that most days, those inside were likely able to see and hear their enemy. It took the Romans building eight camps (still visible) surrounding the mountain, a siege wall, and eventually, a massive, earthen ramp on the far side, to finally breach the fortress’ walls.

But the drama continued. Rather than be killed or enslaved by their enemies, and because suicide was expressly forbidden, they elected to kill one another; out of 960 people, only a couple of women and five children were found alive when the Romans broke down the gate with a battering ram. Men reportedly killed their families first, then one another. The last ten drew lots to decide who would be the last man alive on Masada, the only one to commit the dreaded suicide.

Even today, Israeli defenders take an oath: “Masada shall not fall again.” The visitor’s center shows a nationalistic film, and at the base of the mountain is a youth center where students come to contemplate past and future.

The visitor center’s film ends with an overly dramatic question: “What would you do?” I laughed at the time, because of the way it was presented. But it stuck with me.

Had you been in one of the Zealot’s shoes, what might you have done? Thoughts? Comment below.

Other posts in this series:
Arriving in Jerusalem

Hezekiah’s Tunnel

Qumran & The Dead Sea Scrolls

Ein Gedi and a Dip in the Dead Sea (coming soon)

On the northern edge of the Dead Sea, along the barren, chalky cliffs, riddled with caves, a Bedouin boy found treasure in 1947.

More Priceless Than Gold

The original story goes that he was a shepherd out with his brothers, minding the goats. He had a dream of finding hidden gold, so he routinely tossed rocks into those caves he couldn’t reach, hoping to hear the magical sound of metal in response. One day, when he threw a rock and heard not the clinking of coins but instead, breaking pottery, he eagerly climbed up and peered inside. Tall, gracefully formed urns lined the cave, each sealed shut.

In a rush, he opened the first to see nothing but ancient words written on brittle vellum, wrapped in linen. Disappointed that it wasn’t gold, he rolled up the scroll, climbed out and showed it to his brothers. They carried it in a leather pouch upon their donkey for weeks before they showed it to another, who showed it to an antiquities dealer, who paid the Bedouin boys a meager sum for the scroll and to show him the way to the cave in which it was found—and who would later make far more on the discovery than if they had found gold.

The Dead Sea Scrolls

That child had found the first of what would become the Dead Sea scrolls, the most significant biblical archeology discovery of modern times. In exploring almost a thousand caves among the slopes and crevices above and beside Qumran, archeologists have found over tens of thousands of fragments representing over 800 documents, and believe many more existed before earthquakes and erosion collapsed other caves.

Most were found in eleven principal caves, and almost all were found by Bedouin guides. Cave #4, down near the settlement rather than up in the cliffs (pictured at top), was found by an old man who remembered chasing a partridge down into a cave and seeing pottery. An extensive survey was done in the ’80s, which expanded the search to those thousand caves and utilized modern sonar equipment, but little else was found.

The Essenes

Written by members of a Jewish sect called the Essenes, the scrolls include books of the Old Testament of the Bible, the Apocrypha, and some of their own work. Some are now on display in “The Shrine of the Book” exhibit in the Israel Museum.

2000 years ago, the Essenes were an extreme, monastic sect who broke off from the Pharisees in Jerusalem because of a disagreement over Temple practices. They moved to the desert to live an ascetic, communal life, eating together in silence, partaking in frequent, ritual baths (a significant feat in the desert), and spending hours and hours in the Scriptorium, carefully copying the ancient texts 24/7. Some believe they did it to prepare for the coming Messiah by meditating on Scripture, day and night. But what they provided for modern scholars was the oldest existing biblical scripts—by over a thousand years.

The Essenes lived in the area during the reign of Herod (c. 31 B.C.), and after an earthquake, left for a time. But they rebuilt (c. 4 B.C.) and remained there until the great Jewish Revolt (68 A.D.) against the Romans, when they were conquered and dispersed. Some believe that John the Baptist was adopted into the sect as a boy and raised among them, but there is no conclusive evidence to that fact. He did, however, live an ascetic life just north of the Essene community, subscribed to the message of “in the desert, prepare a highway for the Lord,” and had a certain propensity for ritual bathing…

For those on their way to Masada or the shores of the Dead Sea, it’s worth a brief stop to watch the introductory film in the visitor’s center and walk among the ruins of what was once Qumran. Above, you can see where winter rains (3.9” a year) feed a briefly massive flood waterfall (which the Essenes once carefully captured in cisterns), and tiny ibex (wild goats) leap from rock to rock in small groups.

If you want to climb the path and get closer to some of the caves in which scrolls were found, plan on an extra hour or two, bring lots of water and start early to beat the heat.

Other posts in this series:

Arriving in Jerusalem

Hezekiah’s Tunnel

Masada

Been to Qumran? Thoughts? Please comment below.