Four waterfalls one hidden.
(photo credit: AVI KATZ)
WE SAY Kaddish for our son and drive north. The hills that tumble down the descent to Jericho are tinged pale green, the last breaths of the desert’s brief, defiant annual winter resurrection. The sun glints on the asphalt of Route 90, which stretches along the west bank of a feeble Jordan River.Toward Beit She’an, the bleak landscape turns green again. Irrigated fields replace bleak hills. We make a short detour up to the top of Mount Gilboa, hoping to catch the last of the irises that bloom there in the spring, but we are too late. We have to make do with a few tentatively lavender bear’s breeches and splashes of red Everlastings, the flowers printed on the stickers that everyone would paste on their chests on Remembrance Day, two weeks later.
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