GALILEE AND THE LAKE

I

THE PLAIN OF ESDRAELON

Going from Samaria into Galilee is like passing from the Old Testament
into the New.

There is indeed little difference in the outward landscape: the same
bare lines of rolling mountains, green and gray near by, blue or purple
far away; the same fertile valleys and emerald plains embosomed among
the hills; the same orchards of olive-trees, not quite so large, nor so
many, but always softening and shading the outlook with their touches of
silvery verdure.

It is the spirit of the landscape that changes; the inward view; the
atmosphere of memories and associations through which we travel. We have
been riding with fierce warriors and proud kings and fiery prophets of
Israel, passing the sites of royal splendour and fields of ancient
havoc, retracing the warpaths of the Twelve Tribes. But when we enter
Galilee the keynote of our thoughts is modulated into peace. Issachar
and Zebulon and Asher and Naphtali have left no trace or message for us
on the plains and hills where they once lived and fought. We journey
with Jesus of Nazareth, the friend of publicans and sinners, the
shepherd of the lost sheep, the human embodiment of the Divine Love.

This transition in our journey is marked outwardly by the crossing of
the great Plain of Esdraelon, which we enter by the gateway of Jenin.
There are a few palm-trees lending a little grace to the disconsolate
village, and the Turkish captain of the military post, a grizzled
veteran of Plevna, invites us into the guard-room to drink coffee with
him, while we wait for a dilatory telegraph operator to send a message.
Then we push out upon the green sea to a brown island: the village of
Zer'in, the ancient Jezreel.

The wretched hamlet of adobe huts, with mud beehives plastered against
the walls, stands on the lowest bench of the foothills of Mount Gilboa,
opposite the equally wretched hamlet of Sulem in a corresponding
position at the base of a mountain called Little Hermon. The
widespread, opulent view is haunted with old stories of battle, murder
and sudden death.

Down to the east we see the line of brighter green creeping out from the
flanks of Mount Gilboa, marking the spring where Gideon sifted his band
of warriors for the night-attack on the camp of Midian. (Judges vii:
4-23.) Under the brow of the hill are the ancient wine-presses, cut in
the rock, which belonged to the vineyard of Naboth, whom Je