The Tourist Gaze

As we draw closer to the checkpoint to cross the border to the West Bank, Iad provides a bit of background and explains the security process. “This checkpoint is one of several that manage entry into the West Bank,’ he begins, keeping his tone calm and reassuring. “Just show your passports and your entry permits–the blue one given to you at the immigration–to the guards.”

He pauses. “And don’t forget to not take any pictures of the checkpoint or the soldiers.”

The bus quiets as two young Israeli soldiers climb onboard. “Passports please!” the female one says as his male companion tails her, holding a rifle. They move down the aisle with practiced efficiency and focused expressions as they inspect our passports and entry permits.

Near the back of the bus, one of our tour members, an old man traveling by himself, begins patting his pockets and bag, his face turning pale.

“I—I can’t find my passport,” he whispers to his seatmate, a woman my age who’s traveling with her sister. (I must be a bad tourmate because I can’t remember my tourmates’ names, hah) He rummages frantically, eyes darting around as if it might appear out of nowhere. The soldiers exchange a glance, waiting, their expressions unreadable.

“It’s okay,” the female soldier finally says, probably deciding that he’s–and we’re–no threat anyway. She signals to her companion, and they step off the bus. We all let out a quiet sigh of relief as we start moving forward.

As the bus finally crosses, there’s a sense of release and curiosity about what lies ahead. Iad begins speaking again, offering more history and context as the bus rolls through the West Bank. “We’re currently in what’s known as Area C,” he says, gesturing out the window. “This area is under full Israeli control, both security and civil administration. It’s different from Areas A and B, which are managed either by the Palestinian Authority or jointly.”

The West Bank is a region claimed by both Israel and Palestine, and its control is divided between Israeli military occupation and Palestinian administrative authority. The area around Qasr el-Yahud, our destination, is in Area C. This means that while the site is geographically located in the West Bank, its security and governance are managed by Israel, which the international community deems as illegal and Israel nevertheless disputes. Such a situation complicates any clear-cut classification of Qasr el-Yahud, as well as other Area C sites, as either wholly Israeli or Palestinian.

After passing through what seems like endless stretches of desert, we reach Qasr al-Yahud, where the landscape transforms into a palm-fringed oasis that hides the weight of its sacred history. The site itself features a few modest structures, including a small church, baptismal pools, and a few stone paths leading toward the water. The area is surrounded by simple fencing, with a few shaded areas providing respite from the heat.

Known as the traditional site of the baptism of Jesus, Qasr al-Yahud holds deep importance for Christians, especially those on pilgrimage. The name “Qasr al-Yahud” translates to “The Castle of the Jews,” referencing ancient Jewish settlements in the area. The site is nestled in the arid landscape of the Jordan Rift Valley, bordered by stark desert terrain that stretches for miles in every direction.

At the heart of Qasr al-Yahud lies the riverbank where the Jordan River, flowing calmly but steadily, marks the boundary between Israel and Jordan. The river here is narrow and shallow, its waters clear murky from the silt carried downstream.

A group of pilgrims from Eastern Europe (I’m assuming based on their accents) and dressed in white robes gather along the riverbank, some silently praying, others dipping their hands or wading into the water for baptisms, their quiet rituals reflecting the tranquil surroundings. There’s a peaceful solemnity here, broken only by the soft murmur of voices and the occasional splash as someone enters the river. The sun casts a soft glow on the scene, illuminating the murky water.

Despite its tranquility, armed Israeli soldiers move carefully along the edges of the site; across the river, on the Jordanian side, soldiers stand watch as well, a reminder of the ever-present geopolitical realities in this otherwise unassuming space.

The Europeans one by one leave the area, leaving the place to ourselves. Soon, we begin our baptism. Fr. Randy starts with the ceremony, reminding those who will be immersed about the importance of this sacrament.

“As we stand here on the very place where Jesus was baptized, we are reminded of the deep significance of this sacrament,” he says. “We are given an opportunity to have spiritual renewal, a chance to reflect on our faith and our journey. As you are immersed in this water, let it cleanse your soul and bring you closer to the grace that flows from God.”

One by one, they are immersed in the water. Fr. Randy speaks softly in prayer as each person is gently lowered into the river. After the immersion, he walks out of the water, takes his container of holy water, and sprinkles it to those of us who are not immersed.

“May the peace and grace of this sacrament fill your heart and renew your spirit,” he prays for us.

The sun continues to shine brightly overhead, its heat softened by the stillness of the surroundings. The bus is waiting for us, its air-conditioned interior offering a welcome relief from the heat. We climb aboard and begin our drive toward Jerusalem, where we’ll be having lunch.