1-The Locality

THE PLACE. To follow out the events of the past and to reproduce them with all the vividness of life-this is the true art of the historian. And to portray the life of antiquity on the basis of the bare facts of the records in such a manner that we are, as it were, made contemporaries, and placed in the midst of the surroundings, customs, and habits of a people-this is the art of the archaeologist. But if to this process is joined the imagination, which, with the help of a thorough research of the past, fills out the accounts that traditional history hands down in fragmentary form, and enlarges them into pictures of history and of customs, there results from this a mixture of fact and fiction. But the fiction also will be truth, if what it contributes is not without rhyme or reason, but has been drawn out by a long spiritual communion with the individuals to be portrayed and with their people and their age. Bacon, on one occasion, calls the historian an inverted prophet. He is, in case he does not look at the past superficially, but seeks rationally to explain the past to himself and to others, a seer who looks backward. Especially such pictures of the past which are to be represented to our eyes in all their surroundings must not only be drawn, but, after a thorough study of the whole matter, they must become a portion of the mental personality.

Understanding our task in this sense, let us make the western shore of the Sea of Gennesaret, along the lower border of Galilee, the home of our thoughts for a short time. No other inland water on the whole earth enjoys such a fame as does this Sea of Gennesaret. The basin in which it lies was formed in the secondary period of the earth’s formation. The basalt on the western shore ends in the heights which surround it on the north, just as the basalt ground of the Plain of Esdrelon begins in the eastern, northern, and southern hills, where almost thirty places for the exit of basalt streams can be seen. The whole depression of the valley, of which the basin of this sea forms a part, lies far below the level of the sea, and down at the Dead Sea it descends to such a depth that there is scarcely another depression on the surface of the earth as deep as this. In this valley, which, like the ditch around a fortress, separates Western Palestine, the real Canaan, the land of Israel in the narrow sense of the word, from East Palestine, the Jordan flows, coming from the foot of Mount Hermon, and running through the Sea of Galilee, as the Rhine does through the Sea of Constance, and the Rhone through the Lake of Geneva, to end its course in the Dead Sea. From the place where the Jordan, after winding its way through the Baticha plain, empties into the sea, its course can be followed for quite a distance. Then it disappears entirely, and in a scarcely perceptible manner the bulk of water which has received it moves southward. Even the climate of the northern half of the western shore, together with the Plain of Gennesar, is about as warm as is that of Egypt. The climate of the southern half, where the hills descend abruptly, is still warmer, and the region around Jericho lying beyond the mouth of the Jordan has the climate and vegetation of a tropical country, so that the palm-trees, which in most parts of Palestine are found only as ornamental trees, here (as also along the coast south of Gaza) bear ripe fruit. It is a characteristic of the Holy Land that within comparatively small limits it unites the greatest variety of land formations and land peculiarities. But what century, what period of history shall we select in order to make ourselves at home on the western shore of the Galilean Sea? Which of the great historical events that followed almost in a stream the course of time on these few miles of sea coast will fascinate us? This will be seen when we have started on the way, and have walked through this land, so richly blessed with attractions by nature and by history, following the example of my dear friend, David Hefter, who brought me from there a now dried-up, but still pretty, palm branch; and as, later, in 1876, my friends, Professors v. Orelli and Kautzsch did, who there revelled in the sight of those localities, which, as they themselves, when returning home, wrote in a letter from the harbor at Larnaca, had been made all the dearer to them by this little book of mine. And thus I have in spirit travelled with one of my friends, with whom I am united in the love of the Lord and of His chosen people, and these wanderings I shall now repeat with him, after having been taught sharper observation and more faithful reproduction of the impressions received through the instructions of those friends to whom I express my gratitude in the introductory words to this book. In coining from Jerusalem and up the Jordan Valley we meet at the southwestern extremity of the sea, where the Jordan leaves it, the hill of Kerak, almost entirely surrounded by water, and beneath this hill a dam resting upon arches over marshy ground, the remnants of a ten-arched bridge across the Jordan. It is the bridge of Sennabris, where the Roman legions encamped before they, under the leadership of Vespasian and his son Titus, made their entrance into the city of Tiberias, situated about one and a quarter hours farther up. Here, also, it was that, in the days of the Crusades, Baldwin I was defeated. After a walk of twenty-five minutes on the path that forces its way between Kerak and the rugged descent of the hills bordering upon the lake, we pass by some ruins called "Kadish"; and, having gone on three quarters of an hour farther, we will find ourselves in the vicinity of Tiberias. The road runs along close to the hills on a narrow level coast tract, and the region is void and almost entirely without vegetation. Before we reach the city, we pass its famous hot springs. These formerly were in the corporate limits of the city proper, which at that time extended down so far, but has now shrunk together to miserable dimensions. Before us lies the old and the new bathing-house, and the arched basin, from which the water of the principal spring, of medium warmth, with a strong sulphur smell, is conducted to the new bathing-house. An accurate chemical analysis has as yet not been made; but doubtless, when made, it will confirm the opinion of the similarity of the waters, which are now used considerably, with the sulphur springs of Aix-la-Chapelle. That the old Tiberias did extend down to these springs, we can see yet, by the ruins of old foundations and walls, and by the granite columns still lying around. In order to reach the "Tabaria" of the present day, we go northward for half an hour farther on the same level. There beyond the baths it lies, in a narrow valley, at the foot of a rather abruptly ascending hill. How often this Tiberias has changed masters! It has stood under the control of the West-Roman emperors, of the East-Roman emperors, of the Califs, of the Crusaders, of the Turks, and a short time under Napoleon Bonaparte. But no destruction by war has equalled the horrors of January 1st, 1837, when an earthquake killed about seven hundred persons, one fourth of all its inhabitants, and buried them under the ruins of their houses. In the Roman wars the city suffered but very little. It bore the name of the Emperor Tiberius. The Emperor Nero had presented the place to Agrippa, King of Judea, and when Vespasian encamped with his three legions on the southern border of the sea, the city threw aside its revolutionary leaders and begged for mercy. Saved in this way, Tiberias became for the following centuries the centre and gathering-place for all those agitations which aimed at the self-preservation of the Jewish people in their spiritual unity and greatness. But in another respect it was the place where Judaism reached its lowest stage. After the Sanhedrin had been deprived of its hall of assembly in the temple at Jerusalem, it wandered, as the Talmud says, from place to place, until it finally went down from the Galilean capital of Sepphoris to the deep valley city of Tiberias. Among the signs which are represented to accompany the advent of the Messiah, according to the statements of the Talmud, is also this, that Galilee shall be devastated, and that the waters of the Jordan which pour out of the grotto of Paneas shall be changed into blood. When the Romans undertook to besiege Jerusalem, they had already subdued Galilee, and transformed it into a mighty waste of dead bodies and ruins. The sign had been fulfilled, but, nevertheless, the Jews transferred the Messianic hope to the future and connect it with Tiberias. From Tiberias, they say, Israel shall be delivered; in Tiberias the great Sanhedrin will again be recalled, to life and then depart to the temple; in Tiberias the resurrection of the dead will take place forty years earlier than elsewhere. With this wealth of history and story which we find at Tiberias, we might feel tempted to stay in this city. The Sea of Galilee, which is considered to be the chosen one of God among the seven of the Holy Land, has received one of its names from this city. In spite of all this, we must go farther on. Adieu, Tabaria; "shetoba reijathah," thy appearance is beautiful, as is the meaning of thy name. Neither the grave of Rabbi Akiba, nor the grave of Moses Maimonides, nor all thy famous graves can keep us. We will go farther on, seeking life among the living and not among the dead. On following the road still farther up along the sea, we leave the lowlands of Tiberias, and pass beyond the base of the hill, which extends almost down to the very shore. After having gone on a good half hour the road becomes wider, and we enter a small triangular plain near the sea, into which the Wadi Amwas empties, through which there is ah easy ascent to the country farther back toward Mount Tabor. Here we pass along for a distance over a level tract filled with shrubbery of oleander and castor-oil plants, and here and there also a nebek tree (Zizyphus lotus). Still farther on the hills again extend down to the water’s edge, covered to half their height with grass and occasional shrubbery, and from there on ascending in almost perpendicular masses of rocks to the tops. Not far from Tiberias, says Josephus, hot springs are found near a place called Emmaus. These are the springs that still bubble forth here; although not as hot as formerly, they are still tepid, and are now called "Ujun-el-Fulije" being found near the water’s edge where the valley of Amwas ends in the sea. When Vespasian, in the beginning of the Jewish war, had entered Tiberias from the south, it having petitioned for his mercy, he tore down a part of the wall on the south side of the city in order that his legions might not crowd and press each other. He encamped his three legions, between Tarichea and Tiberias, in this plain of Emmaus, and from here he advanced farther upward, in order to subjugate Tarichea, which was strongly fortified by the rebels. The battle against this city, which has now disappeared, leaving not a single trace behind, was one of the most horrible scenes in the tragic destruction of the Jewish people. By means of the many boats which they had in their possession, the sea apparently gave them a safe protection in the rear; and on the land side the well-known Josephus, who later became the historian of this war, the friend of his people only in so far as it was productive of honors for himself and did not endanger his life, had to some extent fortified the place. But after Titus, who had been sent by his father, Vespasian, as the general-in-chief, had conquered the undisciplined troops of Tarichea in open field of battle, he was himself the first to gallop into the city. It was captured and taken without opposition, for the inhabitants desired peace, and deserted the fanatics who were clamoring for war. The Romans, however, butchered without distinction those that were armed and those that were not; and, as a great number of the inhabitants had fled to their boats and were going hither and thither on the sea, Vespasian caused rafts to be made in all haste to pursue them, and sent his troops out on these. As the boats were but poorly manned, there could be no thought for contest in regular battle order. The stones which they threw rebounded on the iron coats-of-mail worn by the soldiers. Whenever a boat came near a raft, the former was sent to the bottom, or the Roman sprang upon it and killed the refugees. Those who attempted to escape the swords and spears by swimming, were hit by arrows or were caught by the rafts. If they tried to catch hold of these, their hands or heads were struck off. The boats which held out the longest were surrounded, and the people in them were either then and there at once slain, or they were killed as soon as they reached the shore. According to Josephus, the number who were slain in Tarichea or on the sea was sixty-five hundred. The Sea of Gennesaret looked like a great pool of blood, and the shores, for a long time, were strewn with wrecks and dead bodies which decayed in the hot sun and filled the air with pestilence. The location of this Tarichea is about the same as that of Magdala, unless, possibly, Tarichea is the heathen name of the Jewish Magdala. After leaving Tiberias an hour’s walk, we come to a plain which is encircled by hills; and, in the south of this, where this plain is shut off by the hills that run down into the water, we find Magdala, formerly a rich and luxurious city, but now shrivelled down to a miserable village. It is impossible to hear of this Magdala on the Sea of Galilee (Megdel el- Ghuwer) mentioned, and still less to see it, without thinking of that woman, from whose soul that One, whom she took to be the gardener of Joseph of Arimathea, removed the misty cloud with the single word "Mary," so that, with the cry "Rabbuni" she fell at His feet and worshiped Him. But however much Magdala, on account of this remembrance, may fascinate us, it is not the place where we are to abide; for, higher than disciple and pupil stands for us the Master. A quarter of an hour west of Magdala the deep defile of the Wadi-el-Haman i.e., Valley of the Doves, opens to our view. The caves in the rugged and rocky walls on both sides of this valley, in which now the Syrian domestic dove hides its nests from the hawks that also in great number make their homes here, were formerly united to form one grand fortress. At this place a large number of bold adventurers had established themselves in the days of King Herod, and defied the Roman and Idumean power. Herod conquered them in battle, and destroyed them by letting his strongest men in baskets down along the side of the rocks into the caves. The adventurers, however, all preferred death to submission; one of them killed his seven children, calling one after the other to the mouth of the cave. When Herod, by a motion of his hand, appealed to him to cease, he cursed the Idumean robber of the Jewish throne, and at last killed also his wife and threw all the bodies down the rocky abyss, throwing himself down after them. More pleasing memories are called up by the ruins of Irbid, the old Arbel, which we reach from this defile by climbing briskly for a quarter of an hour. In this place, which was once famous for its grain trade and its manufactory of twine, was born Nittai, the Arbelite, so famous in the history of the Sanhedrin, whose motto was: "Depart a great distance from a wicked neighbor, and do not make common cause with the evil ones, and hold fast to the hope of a righteous retribution." Here on the edge of the hill, which looks into the valley and toward Magdala, on one occasion Rabbi Chija, who had come from Babylon, and Rabbi Simeon ben-Chalefta, who was a native of Sepphoris, were walking up and down before sunrise, and were speaking of the sad fate of their people, which they had suffered in the recent unfortunate rebellion of the pseudo-Messiah Bar-Cocheba and in the suppression of the revolution by the Emperor Hadrian. Just then "the hind of the morning dawn appeared" (that is, the first rays of the morning sun, which are compared by the Semitic peoples to the horns of deer or of a gazelle), burst open in the Eastern sky. "Birabbi" began Rabbi Chija, stopping Rabbi Simon with this title of honor, and pointing to the rising morning sun: "This is a picture of the deliverance of Israel. Small and unseeming it begins, as the prophet says (Mic 7:8). When I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me; but it will grow with constant power, as Mordecai sat first in the doors of the palace, in order to hear news of Esther, but afterward rode upon a proud steed clothed in royal purple, as a light and joy of his people" (Est 2:21; Est 8:15-16). But has not the sun of deliverance already risen? And have not actually, as Psalm 22 shows, its first rays been tinged with red? Therefore we again take our staff in hand, and after having drawn for our mental eye the picture of the city and the old Jewish synagogue that stood where some of these columns of Arbel now lie, we descend into the plain.

We are again in the Gennesar Valley, properly so-called, where in olden times, before war after war had devastated the country around the sea, its beauty was almost paradise-like. Here it was where Elisha ben-Abuja, of Jerusalem, the talented teacher of the law, is said to have received the germ of disagreement with the Jewish religion, which was ripened into the poisonous fruit of total apostasy by the diligent reading of Greek, and especially of gnostic writers. He was a man who had become the miserable slave of truly demoniacal vices through his insatiable but godless thirst for wisdom, and whom Meir Letteris, in his beautiful Hebrew translation of Goethe’s "Faust," has, by a fortunate hit, made to take the place of the German Doctor. If you find a bird’s nest, says a Mosaic law (Deu 22:6-7), you can take the young, but not the mother; but the latter you must first scare away in order to ease her sad loss, so that it may be well with you and you may live long. Elisha, however, on one occasion sat in the Gennesar Valley, and was explaining the law, when the following took place: A man ascended to the top of a palm-tree and took away a bird’s nest with both the mother bird and her brood, and came down in safety with them. He saw another, who had waited until the Sabbath had ended, ascend to the top of a palm-tree and take the young birds while he let the mother fly. The second one, when descending, was bitten by a serpent and died. "Where, now," says Elisha, "is the promised prosperity and long life, upon which the latter could count, but not the former?" Such and similar experiences caused him to doubt God’s justice and truth. His only support was Rabbi Meir, who did not tire of learning even from the apostate, and of exhorting him to repentance. He interrupted his discourse in the Midrash-house in Tiberias, when he heard that Rabbi Elisha, notwithstanding that it was the Sabbath, was riding through the city, and ran after him to learn from him, and, if possible, to bring him to rights again. He stood at the bedside of the dying man, and brought him who had considered himself irredeemably lost, at least to tears; and when a flame of fire burst out of the grave of the apostate, the story runs that in order to extinguish it, Rabbi Meir threw his mantle over it, and called out to the dead with the words of the Book of Ruth: "Sleep through this night (i.e., of death), and when He (namely, God) will deliver thee with the dawn of the morning, then may He do so; but if He will not deliver thee, then I, as the Lord liveth, will deliver thee. Rest, then, until the dawn of the morning." This is the same Rabbi Meir who, when he was dying in Asiah, said to those standing around: "Bring my coffin down to the shore of the sea that it may be washed by the waves which wash the Holy Land"; and in the consciousness that he was a saint, or even more, he added: "Tell to the inhabitants of the land of Israel that here their anointed One (Messiah) lies." But, enough of these stories, that have penetrated even to Asia Minor, and which are told us by the palm-trees of Gennesar. We still go on, for memories of a Teacher invite us who had a greater right to such an exalted consciousness than had Rabbi Meir. The way is charming. Oleander trees in blossom cover the road on the right and on the left like wreaths of roses. With their fragrance is mingled the exquisite aroma of the white blossoms of the nebek. From the inclosures of the gardens and melon-fields we see the smiling opuntias, which are either native here or have been brought from America, and which look like flickering flames of fire with their large green leaves surrounded by the yellow blossoms. And to our right we hear the soft murmuring of the sea, in which the azure heavens and the golden sun are reflected. Filled with such feelings, we, after a walk of a good quarter of an hour, come to "Ain-el-mudauwara," hidden behind the trees and bushes and inclosed by a low round wall. It is the large basin of a fountain, beautiful and full of fish, which, after watering the plain, empties into the sea; and in order to secure a bird’s-eye view of this Gennesar Valley, we cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of ascending the hill that rises behind this fountain. Arriving at the top, we are not a little surprised to see a man sitting at the outer edge of the hill. The long black coat of taffeta tells us at once that it is a Polish Jew; the long white, blue-edged tallith, which he has thrown over him (and which has a golden border above where it lies upon the head), shows that he is praying; and, as he is holding this prayer-veil over his breast, he looks neither to the right nor to the left, but only directly in front of him toward the sea. I try to wait until he has completed his prayer, but as he never seems to end, I approach him, and touch him on the shoulder, and salute him with the words: "Peace be unto you, and unto the whole house of Israel, peace!" He springs up joyfully, and, after he has looked at us steadily for a few moments, he says, hesitatingly: "Are you children of my people?" His eyes beneath his bushy brows, which are as white as his beard, look at us so confidence-inspiring and so full of intense contemplation, that I feel tempted to embrace him, and cry out enthusiastically: "No; but we are friends of Israel, and those who look and long for the consolation of Jerusalem. And because we are such, and consider every inch of the Holy Land of great importance, you must tell us why you are sitting here; why you are praying here, and what you are gazing at?" "It is a great secret," he says, "which you desire to know; but I will not keep it from you, for God has brought us together and you have opened my heart. I have been for fifty years the Rabbi of a congregation in Volhynia, and have written nothing, but have read and investigated all the more. Since the days of my boyhood, when I began to read Rashi on the Pentateuch and the Targums and the Talmuds, no story of the ancient records has so fascinated me and filled my mind as that of the fountain of Miriam (beerah shel Mirjam). After I had come as a pilgrim here to Tiberias, in order to die at the bosom of my home and to be buried in the sacred soil, my first question was, Where is the fountain of Miriam? Nobody knew it, or they gave me false information, because they did not want to appear to be ignorant. But, as the Jerusalem Talmud says, that he who would find it must stand in the middle door of the old synagogue of Serugnin and look straight before him, I asked the Jews and the Nazarenes and the Ishmaelites, Where is Serugnin? But they all answered that they had never heard of a place with such a name. I then concluded never to rest until I had found the mysterious fountain; and there is no favorable outlook above on the hills and below in the valley where I have not stood for a long time, arid inquiringly have looked toward heaven, and have searchingly gazed out upon the sea. I know of all the marks of identification: a small block of rocks, shaped like a beehive, round, perforated like a sieve. But it lasted a long time before I finally saw in reality the realization of my life’s dream, and enigma and mystery before me. It was on the first of Elul, last year, when the waters, in consequence of continued droughts, were at a low stage. See, he said, taking us to the edge of the hill where he had been sitting, the rock itself at the present stage of the water is hidden from view, but there, a little on this side of the middle current, where the Jordan water in mingling with the sea creates a small eddy, and sometimes throws up bubbles, there is the fountain of Miriam the prophetess-Peace be to her!"

We must here add by way of explanation that the fountain of Miriam cannot be known to the ordinary Bible reader, because it is the creation of fable. "We read in Scripture that when Miriam died at Kadesh-Barnea, the people began to murmur for water (Num 20:1-2), and elsewhere in the Scriptures, that the people were in a miraculous manner supplied with water from the rocks. Fable has drawn the conclusion from this, that on account of the services rendered by Miriam to the children of Israel during the forty years in the desert, she was accompanied over hill and valley with a rolling rock that constantly threw out water. To this Miriam fountain, which is represented to have been taken away from the people a short time after the death of Miriam, and then to have been given to them again, are referred the words in Num 21:17, "Then sang Israel this song, Spring up, O well, sing unto it!" At the death of Moses this fountain disappeared, God hid it in the middle of the Sea of Tiberias, but in such a manner that he who looked northward toward the sea from the top of the hill of Jishimon, in the country of Moab, could always recognize it in the shape of a small sieve. This story is very old, is widely spread, and has impressed itself so deeply upon the minds of the people that it is considered as a special proof of piety to have seen a Miriam fountain at this or that place.

"But," I ask my honest old friend, "why are you sitting here covered with your tallith, and are looking so steadfastly toward this Miriam fountain, which you think you have discovered?" "Have you ever been in Merom?" he asks. "Yes," I said, "and we have there stood at the grave of Rabbi Simeon bar-Jochai." "Then you will know," he continued, "that the Caballa (tradition) says, that here where the deliverance from Egypt came to a close in the sinking of the fountain-rock, the future salvation will begin!" "Do you know," I said, "that the Miriam fountain is also mentioned in the holy writings of the Christians?" "You are mistaken," he cried; "the Sea of Galilee is mentioned in the Gospels, but not the fountain of Miriam." "But the Apostle Paul," I said, in return, "who sat at the feet of the Rabbi Gamaliel, the grandson of Hillel, says in his first letter to the Corinthian Christians (10:1-4): ’Our fathers who passed under the cloud through the sea all drank the same spiritual drink, for they drank of a spiritual rock that followed them’; and to this the apostle adds: ’And the rock, this Miriam fountain, was Christ,’ the One of whom Isaiah (28:16) says: ’Behold, I lay in Zion for a foundation a stone, a tried stone, a precious stone of a sure foundation.’ But now we must part; you are searching for the signs of the Mosaic deliverance, and we are following in the wake of the Messianic deliverance, which has made its beginning in truth and reality at this God-chosen sea."

After we have left him, it is a question whether we want to take a look at the large perennial Rabadija Brook, which, like the Mudauwara Brook, empties into the Sea of Gennesaret. It runs only a little to the north from here; but, as there are no historic memories connected with it, we will continue our journey on the lower road, which runs along the foot of the hills, and there where these again approach almost to the very edge of the water and the valley comes to an end, we come to an old dilapidated halting-place, built of basaltic tufa, from which the Damascus road branches off up the hill. It is the Chan Minje. Having gone from here to the Ain-et-Tin (the fig-fountain), near by, whose name is derived from a large old fig-tree standing near, we find, after proceeding two and a half hours, that the smaragd carpet of luxuriant green surrounding this beautiful fountain is so inviting, that we must take a rest here and refresh ourselves by the sea air which has been mixed with the fragrance of this excellent pasture land. South of the Chan we find some ruins which reach down to the shore of the sea. Evidently an ancient town was situated here. Might it have been Capernaum? Robinson and many who follow him are of this opinion. Sepp thinks he has proved by irrefutable arguments that Minje is to be connected with the word Minim, or heretics, which is the name the Jews gave to the Christians. Keim, in his"Life of Christ" (1873), accepts this view. It is true that Capernaum of all other places could have been called Minim. But the name "Minim city" is nowhere mentioned, and, in fact, the name Minje is applied to this Chan first in the year 1189, in an Arabic biography of Saladin. The word Minje is the Greek Mone or Moni (stopping-place or station), which through the medium of the Coptic passed into the Arabic. But to look for Capernaum near Chan Minje is to be rejected, for this reason, that the unanimous testimony of tradition claims that the whole western coast of the Sea of Gennesaret belonged to the tribe of Naphtali. But, according to Mat 4:13, Capernaum lay on the border of Zebulun and Naphtali, and hence, farther north, there where, on the northern edge of the sea, the districts of Zebulun meet the districts of Naphtali extending down from the hills of Naphtali and the Merom Sea. But some old city undoubtedly stood at this Chan. Some of these people dwelling around this fig-fountain on one occasion went in a south-westerly direction inland to Sepphoris, in order to make a visit of congratulation to a famous man at that place; and it is narrated that Rabbi Simeon ben-Chalefta, whom we mentioned farther up, when speaking of Arbel, was surrounded by a crowd of unruly children at the city gate of Sepphoris. These would not let him go until he had danced in their presence. One of my companions exclaims: "This fig-tree reminds me of the story of Hadrian and the man a hundred years old. The emperor on one occasion was travelling in the district of Tiberias, and called out to an old man who was engaged in planting young trees: ’Old man, old man, work of that sort should be done in the morning, and not in the evening, of life!’ The old man said: ’I was a worker in my young days, and will continue to be such in my old years; the result lies in God’s hands.’ ’Do you, then, believe,’ says the emperor, ’that you will enjoy the fruits of these trees?’ ’Possibly,’ he said, ’if God considers me worthy of this; if not, then I am only doing for my descendants what my ancestors did for me.’ Thereupon the emperor exclaimed: ’If you live to gather the fruit, I command you to inform me of it.’ After several years the old man with a basket of figs appeared at the imperial palace. Hadrian commanded him to sit down upon a golden chair, and ordered his basket to be emptied, and to be filled with gold coins, saying to his astonished servants: ’He has honored his Creator; shall I not honor him?’ But when another man in this neighborhood, urged on by his wife, also brought the emperor a basket of fine figs in the hope of a royal reward, the emperor gave orders that the bold-faced man should stand all day long at the entrance to his palace, and that every one who entered or left the palace should throw one of his figs into his face. When he returned, his greedy and ambitious wife did not even pity him, but scornfully said: ’Go and tell your mother how glad you were that they were only figs and not paradise apples, and that, too, ripe figs; for, if this had not been the case, you would have presented a pretty appearance when you returned home!’ . . . But, brethren, we are not here to tell pretty stories and look at beautiful scenery. We are here to hunt for the Jesus city, the Messiah city, the city on the sea near to the borders of the Gentiles, the place where the words of the prophet Isaiah (9:2) were fulfilled: "The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined."

There is no road farther along the shore which we could follow; there is only an old aqueduct, which in older times helped to water the northern portion of the Plain of Gennesar, or gutter cut into the rocks and running along the shore. We will then take our course over the rocky hills which close in the Valley of Gennesar to the north. On our right we see the motion of the blue sea, and before us in the distance Mount Hermon raises his white peak in the blue atmosphere. The magnificent view fills our souls with awe. After a walk of a quarter of an hour we have reached the low ground of Tabigha, with its fountains of water covered with reeds, which flow in several arms into the sea. After we have crossed these watercourses, we become more talkative, and the conversation turns on that which the Talmud and Midrash say about Capernaum. It is considered as a chief seat of the "Minim" (i.e., heretics, or Jewish Christians), and what the Jews say concerning these is nothing better than were the stories which the heathen invented about the early Christians. One, at least, of these fictions of the Jews is tragico-comical. Chanina, the nephew of Rabbi Joshua, it is said, went to Capernaum. The Christians of that place then persuaded him to ride through the city upon an ass on the Sabbath day. Having regained his thoughts, he fled to his father’s brother, Rabbi Joshua, who anointed him with a salve and cured him of the witchcraft, but said to him: "Since the ass of those wicked people has betrayed you to act foolishly you can no longer dwell in the Holy Land." He then went to Babylon and died there in peace. The "ass of the wicked ones" which had brayed at him was the preaching concerning the crucified One. The nearness to our goal hastens our steps. In one hour more we are on the great waste of ruins known as Tell Hum, and pass by some oleander trees, and go through grass and undergrowth to the surprisingly grand ruins of old Capernaum. The ruins of Chorazin, in a westerly direction among the hills, are equally grand, and those of Gamala (el Husn) yonder on the other side are considerably grander; but the black basalt blocks and white rocks which lie scattered here in Tell Hum awakened much stronger and more vivid impressions. For here it was that the One sent of God, without an equal, made His abiding-place, in order to proclaim from this strong place the religion of love, amid the miracles of love, for the deliverance from the bonds of the old covenant. How terribly have His threats against the ungrateful and unbelieving city been fulfilled! The black and the white stones of the ruined houses are like the memorial stones of those who have descended into the region of the dead (Mat 11:23); and the black, miserable Arab huts on this field of the dead remind us of the words of the prophet (Isa 5:17): "The waste places of the fat ones shall wanderers eat." We, however, in this region of the dead recall to mind the Prince of Life who once lived here, and who thereby exalted Capernaum to the skies. Here, yes here, we cry as with one voice, We will tarry and will not go farther, until these ruins have again been built up in our souls, and until we have seen Him who once dwelt here, walked among these houses, and in this synagogue revealed Himself by His wisdom and His power to perform miracles, as the Founder of a new era.