I went on a trip down memory lane last week. Well, it required going up rather than down. Members of the Journalists Association, Jerusalem, went on a fact-finding tour of the Gilboa mountain range and the valleys below, with the help of tour guide Ronit Liron. For most of the participants, it was just another educational day trip. For me, it was personal.
The peaks of the Gilboa speak the language of the Bible. Most famously, this is the area where King Saul fell on his spear rather than face capture by the Philistines. His sons Yonatan, Avinadav, and Malkishua were also killed. Lamenting the loss of Saul and Yonatan, David cursed: “Mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew nor rain upon you, nor fields of offerings” (II Samuel 1:21).
In 1980 I served at a Nahal military outpost at Malkishua, perched on Mount Gilboa, not far from Jenin. It was a spartan experience. Electricity was restricted to a few hours of generator-produced power and the road to the outpost was unpaved and bumpy. Fortunately, things have changed since then.
Although originally expected to become a civilian community, Malkishua’s path took an unexpected twist and it is now a drug and addiction rehabilitation center. The remoteness, which added to the challenges in my day, is now an advantage.
Our group met a member of the dedicated staff and Yossi, a young man being treated there for drug addiction. Yossi’s whole life has been a series of prison terms interspersed with battling temptations and bad influences on the outside. “It’s so easy to fall back into bad ways,” he says. “Just one beer can be the trigger.”
After months of counseling and care at Malkishua, Yossi hopes that when he returns home this time, with ongoing support, he’ll be stronger. He has a lot to lose, with a nine-year-old daughter he hardly knows. He tearfully recalls discovering that his mother would take on extra cleaning jobs to pay for the travel expenses to visit him in jail.
After hearing the experiences of the counselor and Yossi, I found it satisfying that the site is being put to good use. I even saw some old friends hanging around, or at least a photo of familiar faces from my “garin” (army group) hanging on the wood-paneled walls of a clubroom. We’re part of Malkishua’s history.
A few of the original huts we used in 1980 remain, and the watermelon fields where we worked still exist but there are now more permanent buildings.
And flowers. Lots of flowers. In March, the scenic backdrop to a visit to the Gilboa are the carpets of colorful anemones, tulips, and buttercups, along with the famous Gilboa irises. While I remember very few trees, there are now attractive woods, many of them with picnic areas.
One memory seemed so surreal that I double-checked to make sure it wasn’t my imagination. In those long-gone days, it was common for soldiers to hitchhike, relying on faith and luck, the way today’s troops trust the Moovit app. Since no buses reached our outpost, we were allowed to take rides in civilian vehicles, including riding with Arab villagers who routinely provided lifts up and down the mountain.
This was years before any peace process with the Palestinians. It’s easy to pretend that Palestinian youths turn to terror because they don’t see a future. But who took away that hope? Jews and Arabs used to mix in Gaza before the 2005 disengagement, which led to the rise of Hamas; similarly, Israeli Arabs – and some Jews – used to flock to Jenin’s stores and restaurants before the Oslo Accords, but now it is too dangerous. Hope and prosperity can’t thrive where terrorists dwell.
On the way to and from Malkishua, we passed Kibbutz Meirav. The religious community, established atop Mount Avinadav in 1982, borders the security fence separating Palestinian Authority areas from Israel. In recent years, it has suffered from sporadic shootings by Palestinians across the fence. Clearly, the innocence of my days here has disappeared.
Hamas gaining ground in Jenin and Nablus
Although the area looks deceptively calm, it is no secret that Hamas and other terrorist organizations are gaining strength in Jenin, Nablus, and the surrounding villages. While most Israelis are still looking at the threats emanating from Gaza and over the northern border, the Palestinian Authority-controlled areas in Judea and Samaria (the West Bank) are a hotbed of terror that the IDF and security forces are tackling.
Like so many other places in Israel, ancient and modern history merge in tales of tragedy and triumph. On our way back down the Gilboa, we stop at a scenic lookout, passing a row of sleek modern windmills. At the base of each turbine, there is an excerpt from a poem or song including the word “ruach.” Fittingly, the Hebrew word means both “wind” and “spirit.”
The Shamir Lookout is named after father and son Dubi and Eran, both local nature-lovers, killed 20 years apart while serving in the army. Eran had been a toddler when his father was killed in 1977.
The view is spectacular – the Jezreel Valley and Emek Hama’ayanot, the Valley of the Springs, as the Beit She’an Valley has been rebranded. Green fields, reservoirs, and commercial fishponds dot the landscape. Flocks of migrating birds pass overhead. The mountains and valleys are part of the Great African Rift Valley, a reminder of timeless history and tectonic movement.
We stop for lunch at Kibbutz Ein Hanatziv, one of several Religious Kibbutz Movement communities in the area, celebrating its 80th anniversary next year. Kibbutz member Orit Netzer offers home hospitality to visitors. An artist and chef, Netzer provides great food and food for thought as she talks about her family, the history of Ein Hanatziv, and of Kibbutz Be’erot Yitzhak where she was born, and reflects on Israel, post-October 7, 2023.
A large sculpture in the shape of a yellow ribbon for the hostages leans against an old tree, a symbol of solidarity. We sit at a table on the green lawn, with birds chirping in the trees and toddlers being wheeled around in typical kibbutz wooden trailer-strollers. It’s hard not to compare it to the last kibbutz the Journalists Association visited together – the charred and battle-scarred remains of Kibbutz Be’eri, close to the Gaza border. It’s a reminder both of what was lost and of Israeli resilience.
Our last stop was another kibbutz, one embroiled in a social rights battle. Originally called Tel Amal, Kibbutz Nir David was founded in December 1936 as the first “tower and stockade” settlement and the first local kibbutz, a response to the Great Arab Revolt during the British Mandate. It belongs to the secular Kibbutz Movement and today is fully privatized with an economy based on agriculture, fish-breeding and research, and tourism. (It also operates the nearby popular Gan Garoo Australian theme park.)
Nir David straddles both banks of the aquamarine Asi River (Nahal Asi). The clear, blue waters reflect the palm trees and mountains. It looks like paradise. The serene beauty lies at the root of the struggle.
Activists, mainly representing residents of nearby Beit She’an, want public access to the river flowing in what is essentially a gated community. Both sides can argue compelling cases. The activists rightly note that the river is a national natural asset, not a private one, and they want to enjoy it freely, particularly in the extreme heat of the summer.
Kibbutz secretary-general Lavi Meiri, however, explains that Nir David cannot handle the thousands of visitors who would flock to their community instead of going to the picturesque pools at nearby Gan Hashlosha (Sachne), run by the Israel Nature and Parks Authority, which has an entrance fee. Also, the kibbutz can’t afford the necessary lifeguards, cleaning and maintenance crews, and insurance.
The conflict is part of the ongoing tensions between mainly Ashkenazi kibbutzim and mainly Sephardi development towns throughout the country, from Kiryat Shmona to Sderot. And yet, these towns have also grown and flourished and the ethnic lines have been blurred both in the kibbutzim and in the small surrounding towns.
I might have thought of David’s curse on my way to the Gilboa, but on the way home I recalled the message of unity expressed by Orit Netzer at Ein Hanatziv: “Let’s be good to one another.”