View from Afar

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he history of this desert area predates today’s contemporary community by a long, long time.

Stand at an overlook in Mitzpeh Yericho, and you’ll see Har Nevo, part of the Moav mountain range, where Moshe Rabbeinu stood and glimpsed the land he longed for, the beautiful land he wasn’t destined to enter. Just beyond lies the path where Am Yisrael, led by Yehoshua, first crossed into the land Hashem had promised them.

When my husband and I visit, we often wake up early to watch the sun rise over the Dead Sea. In the stillness of dawn, looking down over modern-day Jericho, it’s not hard to imagine the echoes of ancient shofars blowing and the thunder of crumbling walls.

Just before the overlook stands a symbol of Jewish renewal and continuity: a chuppah, perched near Nof HaYarden, a wedding hall with a view like no other. Here, overlooking the very place where the Shechinah entered Eretz Yisrael, so to speak, young couples begin their lives together, hoping to welcome the Shechinah into the bayis ne’eman b’Yisrael they will build with one another.

Palace Intrigue

Since the 19th century, archaeologists and historians have been fascinated by the desert landscape surrounding Mitzpeh Yericho. Excavations in the area have unearthed antiquities from the time of the second Beis HaMikdash. Not far from the lovely homes of Mitzpeh Yericho, the Chashmonaim, who served as the ruling dynasty in the second and first centuries BCE, built magnificent winter palaces to take advantage of the pleasant desert winter weather. Using the waters from nearby Nachal Prat (known also as Wadi Qelt), they planted gardens and built luxurious swimming pools. Since the Chashmonaim were also Kohanim, mikvehs abounded as well.

Historians tell us that the ruins of the winter places aren’t as benign as they seem; they’re the site of ancient politics, full of drama and deadly rivalry. Among the more chilling archaeological theories is evidence suggesting that the young Kohein Aristobulus III — last of the Hasmonean priestly line — was likely drowned in one of the palace pools, a political hit ordered by Herod, his brother-in-law, who saw the charismatic young man as a threat.

Even earlier, during the waning years of the Chashmonaim dynasty, two strikingly similar palaces were built side by side. Archaeologists call them the “twin palaces,” and many believe they were built by Queen Shlomtzion for her feuding sons, Hyrcanus and Aristobulus II. Her hope, perhaps, was that if they lived as neighbors with equal wealth, they might learn to rule together in peace. It didn’t work. The brothers went to war over the throne, setting off a chain of events that ultimately led to Roman intervention.

The sites of these deadly desert doings aren’t easily accessible today; you can tour them a few times a year, with army escort. But you can easily hike in Mitzpeh Yericho itself along a partly paved road going back to the time of those Roman invaders. Perhaps Roman chariots rolled through here on their way to begin the devastating siege of Masada — and tragically, ultimately to bring about the Churban and the end of Jewish sovereignty for nearly 2,000 years.

Roots in the Sand

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recent years, many Yerushalmi families looking for a little country atmosphere close to their city homes have made Mitzpeh Yericho their go-to vacation spot. Summer season sees hundreds of visitors arriving daily. They walk through paths shaded by trees and admire the blooming gardens planted in this desert yishuv by those who live here year-round.

No, you won’t find giant redwoods in this green desert oasis, but a small, planted grove has deep, meaningful roots rivaling those of any large forest. Tzadok Bar Natan, one of the original settlers of the town, planted a small grove of trees on land near his house in memory of his younger brother, Levi Mordechai Nathanson, Hashem yikom damo. Levi Mordechai was killed during Israel’s War of Independence, searching for ammunition to supply to the fledgling Israeli army. He was nine years old.

Years later, in 1992, Tzadok’s only child, Chaim Bar Natan, Hashem yikom damo, fell fighting in Lebanon. Tzadok himself died some years ago, and today his house is used by youth groups. Two plaques in the small grove mark the sacrifice of these young men who gave their lives so a garden-filled town — and a thriving country — could grow and prosper.

Art of the Desert

Maybe it’s the stark beauty and the subtle, ever-changing colors of the desert mountains surrounding Mitzpeh Yericho that inspire the visual arts evident in almost every home in the yishuv. Visiting Yerushalmis taking a shpatzir on Shabbos afternoon get to know the family names of residents from the handmade mosaic or handcrafted woodcut signs hanging outside many of the homes.

And if those visitors — a chassidish family from Kiryat Belz? Young American newlyweds from Ramat Eshkol? — turn onto a quiet corner in an older neighborhood, they’ll be amazed to find a virtual outdoor art gallery created by Anat Zisman a”h, a special education teacher who spent years before her petirah handcrafting a garden of Jewish and Israeli-themed cement sculptures.

In one corner, they’ll meet characters from Israeli children’s books. Animals, from tiny turtles to scary crocodiles, are scattered throughout the corner garden. Look up at the roof and admire the figure fiddling there. “Srulik,” an iconic Israeli cartoon character, sits smiling beneath a (real) palm tree.

Perhaps most beloved by the children of the yishuv and emblematic of the sense of achdus that permeates it are three close-to-full-life figures standing joyously together: a chassid, complete with shtreimel and gartel; a dark-skinned dati man with a white kippah; and a kibbutznik in T-shirt and shorts, sporting a jaunty “I♥Israel” cap.

Benched Again

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granddaughter’s bat mitzvah took place in a small simchah hall in Mitzpeh Yericho. There was singing and there was dancing — which meant that the men (just a few close family members) had to keep stepping outside. My husband, politely exiled one too many times, finally settled onto a bench near the overlook.

That’s when he noticed the ironwork on the bench. One word was engraved in Hebrew: “Nashim.” Women.

Seriously? Thrown out of the hall… and now off the bench too?

Grumbling, he moved over to the next one. This time, the engraved word was… “Nezikin.” Only in a yishuv like this do even the benches reflect the six Sidrei Mishnah.

Sounds in the Silence

Think of a desert. Imagine the hushed silence of desolate sand dunes. If you listen closely, though, you’ll hear the whoosh of winds sweeping across rocky cliffs, the faint rustle of dry brush, and the distant cries of birds gliding high above.

And sometimes, in Mitzpeh Yericho, you’ll also hear the sound of a piano playing the latest Israeli hits or Breslover niggunim.

High, high up on a cliff in Mitzpeh Yericho, overlooking the brown hills of the Judean Desert, stands a full-size black piano. The entire cliffside, known as Mirpeset Yam HaMelach — the Dead Sea Balcony — lives up to its name, offering a breathtaking view of the mountains, of Yericho, and of the hazy blue expanse of the Dead Sea. On a typical summer evening, locals and tourists alike gather around the outdoor piano to drink cooling iced coffees bought at the nearby cliffside café. There they play music and sing songs. Many bring other musical instruments, and the sound of improvised concerts echoes across the deep chasm below.

Sometimes the songs are slow, soulful, full of painful emotion; other times, they’re fast, cheerful, and full of hope. The pain and hope that vibrate from each tune are emblematic of the place. The entire balcony is dedicated to the memory of four young men from the yishuv, including two brothers — sons of the community’s longtime rav — who were killed in a horrific car accident nearly 20 years ago.

More recently, the piano itself was donated in memory of Ariel Eliyahu, Hashem yikom damo, a young soldier from the yishuv killed on October 7, Simchas Torah, defending the people of Israel’s South. Ariel’s family had been on shlichus in New York when he was young. He loved music, Eretz Yisrael, and hanging out with friends, so  the Barkai Yeshiva of the New York Syrian Chalabi community donated the piano in his memory. They created a space overlooking the beautiful land where friends could gather, sing songs, play music, and remember a young man who gave his life protecting fellow Jews.

That’s the pain. And the hope? The plaque at Mirpeset Yam HaMelach says it clearly: This place of stunning views and heartfelt music marks a path that begins in narrow straits of pain and leads to prayer and connection with Hashem, His land, His music, the beauty He created. High above the awe-inspiring desert, beauty and music ease the pain — offering continuity, joy, and growth.

Great pain and great hope may seem at odds, but when you listen to the music, you understand.

Waiting for the Day

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he Mitzpeh Yericho-Yerushalayim route sees a steady flow of traffic in both directions, as many local residents commute to the capital for work, while visitors come for a taste of the countryside, just a short car or bus drive away.

But Mitzpeh Yericho is far more than a convenient suburb or quick getaway destination. Within sight of the ancient city of Yericho, this yishuv holds a deeper, spiritual bond with the holiest of cities, and the holiest of places, the Beis Hamikdash.

In Mishnayos Tamid, we read that in Yericho people could actually hear the sounds of the Beis Hamikdash: the clang of the gates opening, the daily blasts of the shofar, the songs of the Leviim, and even, according to some, the voice of the Kohein Gadol crying out Hashem’s Name on Yom Kippur. The Mishnah adds that the people of Yericho could even smell the scent of the Ketores.

For so many centuries, Jews have been yearning for Mashiach and awaiting his arrival, knowing he can come any time. Here, the students of a small school located on a farm are trying to ensure that when he arrives, we’ll be ready. They’re raising sheep and goats, making sure they have no blemish, to serve as future korbanos. Before his petirah, Rav Chaim Kanievsky ztz”l would send messengers to examine the animals to make sure he would have one that would be kosher for his Korban Pesach if Mashiach came right before the chag.

The students at the unusual on-site farm and school spend extensive time learning the halachos of agriculture in Eretz Yisrael, both those mitzvos hateluyos b’Aretz that are already relevant today as well as those that will become practical in the days of the rebuilt Beis Hamikdash, bimheirah b’yameinu.

When town planners designed the yishuv itself, they understood the special relationship between this town, perched above ancient Yericho, and the Beis Hamikdash. The street names throughout the town reflect this connection. Start on Rechov Olei HaRegel and envision a whole nation walking to the Beis Hamikdash to celebrate holidays. You might then head to Rechov Shirat HaLeviim and imagine listening to Shevet Levi singing as the Jews arrive to bring their korbanos. Rechov Dvir, Rechov Shtei HaLechem, Rechov HaEfod, Rechov HaMoriyah, Shvil haShofar, and another dozen streets named for the 12 stones on the Kohein Gadol’s choshen…. To walk in Mitzpeh Yericho and read the street names is to step through time to the Beis Hamikdash of the past and to look forward to the Beis Hamikdash of the future.

Aliza Pilichowski, an olah from the United States and busy mother of six, is the current mayor of Mitzpeh Yericho. Asked about Mitzpeh Yericho’s status as a vacation destination for Yerushalmis, she points out that she has lived in Boca and in Beverly Hills and is very used to greeting tourists. More seriously, she says that the name Mitzpeh Yericho, usually translated as a town overlooking Yericho, can also suggest the word mitzapeh, looking forward to. The residents of Mitzpeh Yericho — like believing Jews everywhere — look forward to the day that the sounds and smells of the rebuilt Beis Hamikdash will once again waft toward this unusual desert town.

Don’t Stop Dreaming

Aviad Noyman, Hashem yikom damo, came from one of the yishuv’s large, prominent families. Though officially exempted from reserve duty, once the war began, Aviad wouldn’t stay home, volunteering to serve in Gaza multiple times.

Before the war, Aviad poured his energy into another mission: helping to build a new shul for the growing community. He worked on the plans, oversaw the progress, dreamed of the day the doors would open.

That day came — but without him. Aviad was killed in in Lebanon on Simchas Torah, exactly a year after the beginning of the war, just before the shul he’d helped build from the ground was completed. Today, the building carries his name, a living tribute to his devotion.

Aviad left another legacy behind, one that speaks softly from the walls of Jewish homes. While serving in Gaza, Aviad noticed something: In one Arab home after another, there were pictures hanging of the Temple Mount. Aviad was struck by this phenomenon and felt upset that so many Jewish homes lacked a picture of the Beis Hamikdash. Shouldn’t we, more than anyone, keep the Beis Hamikdash before our eyes?

Working with others, Aviad began encouraging friends and neighbors to hang a picture of the Mikdash on their walls, a silent act of longing and hope. Today, each framed image in Jewish homes all over the world whispers his message: to never stop remembering, and never stop dreaming.

Landscape of our Story

Many years ago, when we lived not far from Niagara Falls, I took my mother, Mrs. Rose Stark a”h, an Auschwitz survivor, to see this wonder. She wasn’t easily impressed, but I was sure that this miracle of nature would finally move her.

She looked around, smiled, and said, “It’s really nice.”

Really nice?

I must have looked disappointed, because she gently explained: “It is beautiful. I see that. But it doesn’t touch my heart.”

Then she added something I never forgot. “When I see something beautiful in Israel — that moves me. It’s like the difference between admiring the beauty of a model or an actress… and seeing the beauty of your own daughters.”

My mother lived the last 21 years of her life in Israel, and she never stopped seeing its beauty through that lens — through the heart.

These days, many of us enjoy traveling the world, taking in the wonders Hashem placed across the globe. But we should never lose sight of the wonder in our own land, the beauty of our hills and stones, our people and our paths. The beauty of Eretz Yisrael isn’t just spectacular — it’s personal. It’s the landscape of our story.

And sometimes, if we’re lucky, it’s the beauty of a blooming desert, bathed in morning light — overlooked by a quiet bench in Mitzpeh Yericho.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1074)