We stand atop an extinct volcano watching a bomb detonate in a town just across the Disengagement Zone. We’re in the Golan Heights, where UN observers monitor the Israel-Syria border. This frontier was last defined in 1973, at the conclusion of the Yom Kippur War; currently, another war rages just across it, in territory now controlled by the self-proclaimed Islamic State.
For the most part, the Golan Heights is quiet. We spent the day hiking through pastures ridden with basalt, past the concrete ruin of a farmhouse, and alongside a canyon, where we disturbed a couple sunbathing nude (if you’re reading this, sorry for ruining your moment). On our drive to Mount Bental, we passed a vineyard. Some of the best wines coming out of Israel are from the Golan Heights, thanks in large part to the region’s volcanic soil. The sign outside the vineyard was in Hebrew, but I recognized the logo: Tabor. Even rows of vines, bright green leaves, still too early for grapes. It was beautiful; it was peaceful.
Smoke rises from the site of the explosion. It’s a hazy day, so my photos are blurry*, but I reckon some crazed fundamentalist might be watching us right now with a telescope. “I can flip off ISIS from here,” I realize out loud, and I do just that.
*if you enlarge the photo, you can see the plume of smoke from the explosion directly in the center
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