I had heard mystical, intriguing stories of the Samaritans, the modern-day descendants of a biblical community, now living on the mountain overlooking the city of Nablus, the Jewish city of Shechem on the West Bank, in the Palestinian Authority. The Samaritans, originally sons and daughters of the tribes of Ephraim and Manasse from the Second Book of Chronicles (דִּבְרֵי־הַיָּמִים), a few-hundred-strong pocket of pre-Babylonian believers continue to uphold practices – such as animal sacrifice – abandoned by later Judaism. Most modern day Jews do not practice Temple-based sacrifice we read in the Bible and in the annals of Jesus. Out of Judaism’s 613 commandments today, it is daily prayers that replace Temple sacrifice in the mornings, afternoons, and evenings.
My own visual thinking about the still remaining Samaritans had created images of ancient figures clad in hand-made tunics and sandals, with headgears - a cross between artifacts from Ancient Persia and an Istanbul bazaar.
I had pictured people rushing between the half-shut doors of their iron-fenced mudbrick estates, carrying portions of meat for the in-laws.
After we crossed the cobbled alleys of central Nablus, which often make appearance in the Fauda series’ Season 2, me and my family reached the bottom of crumbling stairs and handrails that led up to the secluded mountain, just off the West Bank’s all-Muslim Palestinian community. A child ran across the street playing a violin. A car was parked off the old-style cellar gate, during a prolonged family visit. All was static, impoverished, yet reflective and graceful. No sign whatsoever of the Jewish or Samaritan Pesach, celebrated all over the country in those few days.
Aged twenty-seven, both me and my former wife easily climbed the two-hundred steps up Mount Gerizim. My two-year-old used sticks to poke pebbles off the rails. We took our time between letting him play and choosing to carry him up the stone stairs.
We passed medieval houses, sabras plants, and the occasional sounds of everyday Arab homelife before we reached the built-in plateau.
Once there, we were surprised to see the opposite of what was expected: instead of medieval Ottoman peasants, we say modern middle-class statures and faces from anywhere around the Mediterranean: characters about 180 cm tall, steadily walking with families trying to fit into recent Citroens and Hondas. A lot of Modern Hebrew was heard – typically a sign of Israeli employment and education. As always, I am humbled: do not assume; dig deep, reach far, climb the mountain...