GOLAN HEIGHTS

Necessarily uncomfortable.

I don’t think I could’ve anticipated that it would pour as much as it did on our 7th day of tour. Let’s just say, there was not a dry moment. All jokes aside, it seems so appropriate that this day was so awkward, considering majority of the places we stopped at carried a weight of heaviness to them. Entering the Golan had filled me with both apprehension and expectancy.

The word is almost taboo on my lips because it holds hurt and renewal all in one. The Golan, like most of the Middle East, contained a history of power struggle. Tension ruled in the land once occupied by the Syrians, now under Israeli rule, not far unlike what I felt in my heart on this day. It’s hard for me to admit, but this day was really painful for me. I felt a twinge in my skin, as a Syrian in a place where identity was so contested, how I’ve felt honestly a majority of my life. Kind of ironic considering Golan is a city of refuge to the region of Bashan, a placed meaning as “something surrounded.” As a Christian, I’ve learned that being uncomfortable is often necessary, because true healing is birthed there. Looking back at it now, if I hadn’t gone through this day of discomfort, I wouldn’t have been ready to receive what was to come.

Our first stop is in the practically non-existent town of Korazim, for Christ had cursed it, along with Bethsaida and Capernaum. His miracles were more active here and yet their hearts would not repent. It struck me how desolate it really was here, that His curse really played out after He left. Aside from the ruins, there was nothing there. An earthquake destroyed the ancient city and it did not take long for it to be abandoned altogether.

Drenched, we moved onto our next stop, a good hour drive up north, mere miles from Lebanon and Syria, at the Tel Dan Nature Reserve. Formerly an ancient Canaanite city, this preserve is found at the head waters of the Jordan. This is where the tribe of Dan eventually settled down since they had not yet had conquered any territory to their name. They wandered for 16 years before they finally did something and their decision was marked out by idolatry. They used Moses’ grandson Micah as priest for their idol worship and thus became the legacy of this city.

After quite a hike, we stopped here, at this altar built by Jeroboam, who we know is trademarked by his idolatry, creating 2 new temples (the other is found near Bethel), consecrating his own priests and making up new religious holidays. We know that the Israelites follow in his footsteps, walking away from their faithful God until He has no other option but to let them fall into the hands of their enemies.

A 6 minutes’ drive later, we enter into Caesarea Philippi, another place of idolatry. Seemed like a pattern here in the Golan. You could almost taste the darkness in this place. Here we saw shrines and altars to Ba’al and Asherah, the idols of the people of the land. In reading the Word, you discover that this was place where Jesus chose to ask the disciples who people said He was, ending with Peter’s proclamation, “You are the Son of the Living God.”

Even though we were soaked to the bone, seeing the realness of sin, God spoke. Sometimes brutal situations are what really grab our attention. I could look at all of this and shudder in disgust (which I did). Or I could examine my own heart and allow Him to reveal the true attitude of it. Being in the Golan, hurt. It hurt because so many people have rubbed salt into the wound of the past and I had become bitter. Listening to the harsh politics of this part of the Land on our tour bus, only caused me to shut down. It was so painful to listen to.

That’s when Jesus really grabbed my attention. We stopped for lunch in a town in the mountains. The land was covered in a veiled mist and you could really only see what was within a few hundred feet of you. Here, under 3 miles away from Syria – home, I felt a tug in my spirit. Suddenly it wasn’t all about the pain of the past or the reality of sin but the longing in my heart for a place I hadn’t seen in 13 years. I felt like Moses, all I wanted was to see the Land, a vicinity shrouded in haze.

It was surreal. I sat across my dad at lunch and all I could say was, “I’m so close to home,” over and over. It was almost as if I had to convince myself that this was really happening. Another 8-hour drive and I would’ve been in my hometown. Suddenly the wall came down in my heart. The anger and resentment softened. I know I’ve struggled with my identity for a long time. I am proud to be an Arab, yet I’ve been made to feel as if it is wrong to believe so. The sins of my people carried such a weight that I believed that it was my sin too. But at the same time, I had, hypocritically, done the same in my heart towards the Jews, a people just as lost, just as desperate to hold onto identity.

I asked the Lord for healing, for my wounded heart to be restored from the heartache of the politics of the Land. I asked for the shame and darkness I had felt on this day, the blur I walked in, to be cleared and wiped away. I asked for softening, for forgiveness, for freedom.

I felt the Lord remind me that rain is an outpouring of blessing, that deep cleansing is needed to prepare a wound for real mending, like pouring alcohol on a cut. Even though it stung, this was a pivotal part of my trip because I came to a head space where it was no longer us versus them. I am not a victim to history or a wanderer without roots. Being proud of my heritage does not mean I have to cower in fear of what others think. In the end, my identity is in Jesus, the author and creator of my story and everyone else’s. I do not want to rob anyone of who God created them to be, in His likeness and image, with my mistrust and unbelief. The rain stripped away the rawness of the past and prepared my heart for the transaction of restoration that needed to happen.

We made a few small stops along the way back to the Sea of Galilee and our tour guide surprised us with an optional treat to end our wet day if we were interested. He hooked us up with some time at a hot spring, near the Jordanian/Syrian/Israeli border. This was a wonderful way to end our day, loosening the tension and preparing us for the last leg of the trip.