Today my brother, Paul rented a car and we drove to Caesarea. This was my first time at the Mediterranean Sea. The rocky beach was beautiful of course, and yes, the beach has always been my favorite place, but I can hit the beach any time I want. I live in San Diego, after all. Today was a different beach experience. Never before had my eyes fallen upon this kind of coast, with Roman columns, a Roman amphitheater and a Roman hippodrome where gladiator games and chariot races were actually conducted in Judea. Built by King Herod the Great, (appointed by Rome) the customs represented by this place were detestable and despicable to ancient Jews. Slaves drove the chariots. Slaves were also forced against their will to kill each other for the hedonistic amusement of their spectators.
Paul told me that most religious Jews do not visit Caesarea because unlike so many other wonders and treasures of Israel, this sight, while breathtaking, is not a holy place. We ourselves were there, of course, out of an interest in archaeology, but before the day was over, my brother did offer a very profound spiritual interpretation: “The Romans were the mightiest empire on Earth. They conquered Israel and later destroyed Jerusalem, sending Jews fleeing from the land. Now, two-thousand years later, we are back in the land and all that remains of the Roman Empire are ancient ruins like these.”
As the sun set with vivid red and orange delight, I listened to the crashing of the waves. I also looked at the panorama of other ruins: towers and fortresses, waves of their own, successive waves of history, from the Byzantines, to the Crusaders to the long since abandoned Muslim mosques. Civilizations come and go. Every one of these people stood on this exact same beach and stared at this exact same blue ocean with white foamed waves smacking head on to the rocks, submerging shells and sand for a brief moment, only to retreat and make ready for the next wave awaiting its own turn to join with the coastline.
Meanwhile, other kinds of waves were spilling in my mind; repetitive waves of thought; same idea, different words of description: Nations rise and nations fall. But the ocean is always there, as a thundering witness. What a reminder, that someone greater than the ocean is the watchtower of history.
Share this on
