This is the eighth post in a series of reflections on my recent trip to Israel (to read them all, click here).
June 22, AM
On the morning after hiking in the dry Wadi Qelt, we went to a place where water was abundant. Ein Gedi is on the west side of the Dead Sea, and its name means “goat spring.” Now they bottle some of the water that emerges from the ground here, and every day in the aisle of our bus there were packs of two-liter bottles of Ein Gedi water to fill up our hydration packs.
Ein Gedi is a national park and nature preserve. The first things we noticed when we got there were all the hyraxes and ibexes hanging around near the trail. Hyraxes look kind of like guinea pigs, but their closest relatives are the elephant and the manatee.
(At least that’s what the scientists tell us. But it’s possible a group of fun-loving scientists might have gotten together and said, “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if we told everybody these cute little fuzzy creatures were related to elephants? They’d have to believe us. We’re scientists.” Then, after a good giggle, they got back to applying for grants to study the effects that prolonged exposure to sunshine and tropical drinks have on scientists.)
Also, according to Leviticus 11:5, hyraxes are not kosher, which explains why we didn’t see any barbecued hyrax at any of the hotel buffets we visited.
At Ein Gedi we sat near nahal david, “David’s stream.” There our group leader, Tim, talked to us about David’s time here 3000 years ago, described in 1 Samuel 24. David was hiding from King Saul, who was jealous of him and trying to kill him. When Saul went into a cave to relieve himself, David had the opportunity to kill him but cut a corner off Saul’s robe instead. Then it says David was conscience-stricken, but at first it doesn’t seem like he did anything wrong. And when he found out about what had happened, Saul told David, “I know that you will surely be king and that the kingdom of Israel will be established in your hands” (1 Sam 24:20). Why?
Tim told us that in Numbers 15:38, the Israelites were commanded to wear tassels on the end of their robes. These were called tzitzit. Jacob Milgrom writes in the JPS Commentary on Numbers: “The nature of tsitsit is illuminated by the literature and art of the ancient Near East, which shows that the hem was ornate in comparison with the rest of the outer robe. The more important the individual, the more elaborate the embroidery of his hem. Its significance lies not in its artistry but in its symbolism as an extension of its owner’s person and authority.” [1]
Tim told us (and Milgrom agrees, though surprisingly you don’t hear this opinion from many non-Jewish interpreters) that what David cut off was the tzitzit, the symbol of Saul’s authority. This is why, after he cut it, David was conscience-stricken. Milgrom writes of this story: “What was the reason for David’s remorse and for Saul’s response? The answer rests in the meaning of the hem: It was an extension of Saul’s person and authority. David felt remorse in taking it because God had not so ordered. Saul, however, regarded it as a sign from God that his authority had been transferred to David: He was now cut off from the throne.” Tim also mentioned that the idea of a tzitzit as a symbol of authority sheds light on a New Testament story. The woman with the flow of blood touched the “edge” of Jesus’ garment and was healed. She likely touched his tzitzit (Luke 8:43–48).
In addition to David’s time at Ein Gedi, Tim also talked about water as a symbol of God. He spoke about the water-drawing ceremony (called simchat beit hashoeivah) that was part of Sukkoth, the Feast of Tabernacles. Every day during the seven-day feast, a priest would take water in a jug from the Pool of Siloam, south of the Temple Mount. He led a procession to the temple, where he would pour it in a basin on the altar. On the last day of the feast he would walk around the altar seven times before pouring it out while a choir sang the Hallel (Psalms 113–118). This ceremony commemorated God’s provision of water in the past, and looked ahead to future rain (see Zech 14:16–17). It also looked ahead even further, to the pouring out of living waters foretold by Zechariah 13:1: “On that day a fountain will be opened to the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, to cleanse them from sin and impurity.”
When Jesus was at the temple during the Feast of Tabernacles, he called out during this ceremony, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them” (John 7:37–38). He was saying, in effect, that he was what this ceremony was looking forward to. He was the answer to their prayers.
At the end of our time there, Tim asked, “If life can sometimes be a desert, why do we only dip our toe in the water? Why don’t we have a deeper experience of the water source? Why only a little taste?” I think the reason I don’t often have a fuller experience of living water is that I like to keep up the illusion of control. We’re helpless when we enter this world, and we’re often helpless just before we leave, but for a long stretch in the middle we can pretend that we can make it on our own, that we’re not absolutely helpless and dependent. Letting go of whatever scraps of pretended control I’m clinging to feels scary. I’m made to live by faith, but much of the time I resist and make life harder than it needs to be. I’d rather stay in the desert that I’ve deceived myself into believing I can control than be carried along in living water.
[1] Jacob Milgrom, Numbers, The JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1990), 410.
Elliot Ritzema 