Ghosts of Syrian Wars Past

I drove away from the Druze village of Majdal Shams and turned on to a lonely highway headed south. A military convoy sped past in the opposite direction. The Israeli army had been a constant presence since my arrival in the country two weeks ago, even more so since I'd crossed into this disputed region. Something suddenly caught my eye up ahead. I pulled over the car and stepped out into the fierce winds of the Golan Heights. In front of me was the detached turret of an old tank, laying right alongside the road. The massive gun was aimed at a ruined city located a little over a mile away. I realized with a startle that not long ago I had been walking amongst those very ruins, in the target of this menacing weapon and across a contentious border. As if in confirmation, I caught sight of the red and black-striped flag of Syria, waving defiantly in the distance.

A Wall to Unite, A Wall to Divide

A surge went through my bloodstream as the reality of my surroundings sunk in. Experiencing this place had been a motivating force in my travels over the last two years, and now I'd finally arrived. I had made it to Jerusalem, a place whose history and importance could fill entire libraries. I gazed over the old city and shook my head in astonishment. The relatively small area before me was immeasurably sacred to three of the world's great religions. Somehow, devout followers of all three coexisted here, although not always in peace. With a deep breath, I descended from my viewing point and made my way down into the medieval streets of the holy city of Jerusalem.