The windswept desert morphs into one great hope from the cliffs of Mitzpeh Yericho

Photos: Elchanan Kotler

When you look out onto the sprawling Judean Desert from the mountains atop Jericho, you can see either windswept sand dunes and jutting cliffs, or imagine Bnei Yisrael camping on the other side of the Jordan River, waiting for the signal and the shofars to enter Eretz Yisrael. Standing atop the Mitzpeh Yericho lookout deck, the past and future merge into one great hope

IT started with an invitation from my son and daughter-in-law, some 15 years ago: “We found the place we’d like to settle in. Want to see it?”

Mitzpeh Yericho, they called it — “the Jericho Overlook” — a small dot in the heart of the Judean Desert.

My kids were buying a house… in the desert? We were veteran olim from New York, not Bedouin wanderers. We’d never even owned a dog — were we now supposed to invest in a camel?

Still, I swallowed my doubts and made the trip — and I was surprised. Surprised and impressed.

Yes, the hills surrounding the yishuv were bare and sun-bleached, but the apartments were lovely. There were several shuls. The desert air was hot and dry, but the atmosphere in the streets felt more like a sleepy suburb than a windswept tent encampment.

They bought their apartment, and since then, I’ve visited my family in Mitzpeh Yericho more times than I can count. I’ve watched it expand as hundreds of families, many of them English-speaking olim, settled into new neighborhoods. Forgive the cliché, but I’ve seen the desert bloom: gardens flowering in full color, trees standing firm, life taking root in sunbaked soil.

Even more, over the years, I’ve come to see that what first looked to me like just a quiet suburb is so much more. Because Mitzpeh Yericho isn’t just a yishuv — it’s a story. Our story. This small desert settlement reflects our people’s history, a journey marked by heartbreak and hope, by wandering and return.

Days of Gold 

May 1967.

Jerusalem mayor Teddy Kollek asks Naomi Shemer, Israel’s most well-known songwriter, to compose a song about Yerushalayim. She writes “Yerushalayim Shel Zahav,” a haunting melody of longing and sorrow for the Old City and its holy sites — including the Kosel — which has been under Jordanian control since 1948 and out of bounds to Jews. One line of the song mourns the loss of the route to Yam HaMelach, the Dead Sea, b’derech Yericho — by way of Jericho.

One month later, June 1967. The Six Day War takes the country by storm. Naomi Shemer is visiting an army base when the news breaks: The Old City has been liberated. The nation celebrates victory over the Jordanians, who had exiled Jews, desecrated graves on Har Hazeisim, and destroyed shuls.

On the spot, right then and there, Shemer pulls out a small notepad and rewrites her song. The new verse reads: “Nashuv nered el Yam HaMelach/B’derech Yericho — We will once again descend to the Dead Sea/By way of Jericho.”

And with those words we begin the modern story of Mitzpeh Yericho.

In the wake of the war, an IDF outpost was established high above the Arab city of Jericho. The yishuv itself was founded at that site about a decade later. What began as a modest settlement has since grown into a thriving community of nearly 600 shomer Shabbos families, including a growing number of Anglo olim. The army camp eventually was disbanded, but the watchtower and bunkers remain — and the children of the yishuv still love to climb and explore them.

The Naomi Shemer Tunnel, built as part of Jerusalem’s eastern ring road in the 2000s and renamed for the beloved songwriter in 2011, shortens the ride between Yerushalayim and Yericho. I drive through it regularly on my way to Mitzpeh Yericho, humming “Yerushalayim Shel Zahav,” the song that captured both our sorrow and our return.