Beneath Tel Dor, the deep blue of the Mediterranean laps against ruins partially buried in sand. The wind buffets as I walk the beach south of the tel (an archaeological mound created over centuries as people settle, rebuild and abandon). Dark storm clouds streak the sky. It’s the third week of my Jerusalem study abroad, and I’ve escaped the city to explore Israel’s untamed coastline. The air smells of salt, foam and seaweed. Ahead, the spread of sand rises into small dunes before inclining toward the crumbling city.
Dor, Israel was first settled by Canaanites; the city eventually came under Israelite control, then Persian, Greek and, finally, Roman. The coastal locale offered access to Caesarea Maritima and Acre—two large ports flooded by international trade. According to the writings of Eusebius and St. Jerome, Dor died out sometime before the Roman Empire lost regional power in 340 CE. Though there is no current population, a kibbutz sits nearby, in addition to a small resort that attracts weekend beach-goers.
As I near the stone walls jutting from water’s edge, I marvel. Were these fish-market walls? A Persian rug bazaar? An exotic fruit market? Though constructed long ago, the stacked stones remain erect, supporting the tel’s dome of dirt, grass and crumbled pottery. I climb the steep incline and stand atop the mounded ruin.
I pick my way across the ruins through tall, vibrantly-green grasses swaying in the stiff breeze. Staring through slit eyes from a promontory, I savor the crisp salt air that whips my face and pushes back my hair. Droplets of water begin to spatter, so I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up and watch the clouds until the rain picks up force. I slip into a rock cleft to wait out the storm. Hugging my knees to my chest, the rain beats down, but the stone above provides shelter. From my sanctuary, I hear waves crashing below, but only see foam sent skyward. The dark sky-billows seem to expand outward and reel inward simultaneously, roiling above the brine.
A tornadic waterspout drops from a black cloud, a whirling finger poking through the aerial turmoil. I crane my neck, watching as the rotation elongates and lowers closer and closer to the sea. It never reaches the Mediterranean, but passes inland, dissipating while the storm rages on. I huddle between broken buildings, trapped amidst destruction wrought across hundreds of years, cognizant of my nothingness compared to the magnitude of sky and water before me, yet I’m unharmed by the maelstrom.
After 15 minutes the rain lessens, though the clouds still appear furious. I step from the rocks just as pillars of sunlight split the clouds and glisten down on the sparkling seawater, reflecting a brilliant silver sheen across the landscape. The moist sea-wind speckles my face. To my right, a craggy turquoise cove glows luminescent under the backdrop of angry clouds. I descend toward it down the slippery ruins, grasping fractured stones for support.
