My Three Days in Gilead

In Short

Elmer U. Hoenshel recounts his independent five-month journey through the Middle East in 1900, focusing particularly on an arduous three-day trek through the trans-Jordanic highlands of Gilead. Traveling by horseback and accompanied by a native Syrian dragoman and a Muslim muleteer, the author visits ancient cities like Damascus and the remarkably preserved Roman ruins of Gerasa. Facing lawless terrain, feuding tribes, and primitive lodging, he reflects deeply on the region's rich biblical history. The book has lasted as a rare, firsthand account of a territory bypassed by mainstream nineteenth-century tourism.

The Story

The journey begins in the ancient, beautiful city of Damascus, where the author secures the services of William Barakat, an educated Syrian Christian who acts as his dragoman. Setting out independently after failing to find a formal tourist party, the traveler crosses the headwaters of the Pharpar River and heads south past the volcanic region of the Lejah. At a railroad terminus near Mezarib, the party is joined by Haleel of Jerusalem, a devout Muslim muleteer equipped with an Arabian steed and packhorses.

Mounted on horseback for the first time in a decade, the author endures a long, hot, and physically taxing ride along rugged bridle-paths. As night falls, the party approaches Gerasa in total darkness and without an armed escort, creating immense anxiety for the dragoman amidst active local feuds. Surviving a restless night on an earthen floor among diverse fellow travelers, the author explores the extensive ruins of Gerasa, including its triumphal arch, colonnaded streets, and oval forum.

Leaving Gerasa, the route winds westward into the rugged, oak-clad mountains of Gilead. Passing sites associated with biblical figures such as Jephthah and David, the group stops at mountain springs and descends into the wady of Ajlun. They find lodging in the town of Coefrinje, where local residents gather for an evening scripture reading and invite the author to stay permanently. The final leg of the journey leads down into the deep Jordan Valley, past Bedouin tents and grazing gazelles, until the party reaches the ancient Roman stone bridge of Jisr el Mejamia near the Sea of Galilee. After a punishing night in a vermin-infested village formerly used as a robber's prison, the author bathes in the Jordan and spends a quiet night meditating on the historic bridge under the moonlight.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins After waiting twenty years to visit the Orient, the author travels independently to Damascus in 1900 and hires a trusted native Syrian dragoman named William Barakat.

Into the land of Og The party travels south past Mount Hermon and the Lejah, observing camel caravans, grain transport, and the distinct culture of the Hauran mountaineers.

The ride to Gerasa Reaching a railroad terminus, they meet Haleel, a devout Muslim muleteer who provides horses and guides them along dangerous, unmarked bridle-paths toward Gerasa.

Among ancient ruins After arriving safely in the dark amidst tense local feuds, the author spends the next day exploring the vast, remarkably preserved Roman columns and public spaces of Gerasa.

Ascending the mountains The journey continues westward through the rugged, olive-clad hills of Gilead, passing through squalid mountain villages and historical wadis associated with biblical narratives.

An evening of fellowship In the town of Coefrinje, the travelers participate in an evening religious service with local residents, who listen intently and warmly welcome the foreign visitor.

Descending to the Jordan The party navigates a steep, wearying descent into the Jordan Valley, enduring harsh terrain before finally reaching the ancient Roman bridge of Jisr el Mejamia at sunset.

Meditation at the bridge Following a profoundly uncomfortable night in a filthy village lodging, the author concludes his journey by bathing in the sacred river and reflecting on its biblical legacy.

The People

William Barakat serves as the author's primary guide, interpreter, and dragoman. Educated at the American College at Beyrout, he is a Christian of Syrian descent who dresses in Western style with a red fez. He carries the heavy burden of responsibility for the author's safety through lawless territory, experiencing acute anxiety during their unescorted night ride to Gerasa.

Haleel of Jerusalem joins the expedition as the muleteer. Dressed in traditional Eastern garb with a kufiyeh, he is a devout Muslim who speaks no English and is blind in one eye. Despite the language barrier and his striking appearance, his graceful traditional greeting establishes an immediate bond of friendship and mutual trust with the author.

Mr. Mitry leads a local evening service in the mountains of Gilead, reading and expounding scripture to an attentive gathering of villagers. Through his leadership, the local inhabitants share a moment of genuine cultural and spiritual exchange with the American traveler before offering him a place to stay.

In Its Own Voice

The beauty of the trans-Jordanic landscape is introduced through a quoted verse: "I love to breathe where Gilead sheds her balm; / I love to walk on Jordan's banks of palm."

The anxiety of navigating dangerous and lawless territory without protection is expressed bluntly by the guide: "I have now done it once, but I'll never again assume such a risk—NOT EVEN FOR A MILLION POUNDS!"

The physical toll of the primitive accommodations is captured frankly at the journey's end: "After that night it required frequent bathing and much searching for a week or ten days before I felt free from the awful pests of that filthy den."

What It's Really About

The book explores the profound intersection of physical geography and biblical memory. It investigates how landscape retains the weight of history, acting as a living text where the narratives of prophets, patriarchs, and kings remain visibly etched into the hills and ruins. Beneath the travelogue lies a quiet meditation on cultural endurance, faith, and the universal human response to sacred spaces. The author addresses the tension between romanticized expectations of the Holy Land and the stark, difficult realities of impoverished modern communities inhabiting those ancient sites.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of travel writing and nineteenth-century perceptions of the Middle East will find this volume deeply engaging. It offers a genuine, unfiltered look at a region before the advent of modern tourism and paved highways, capturing the raw textures of daily life in turn-of-the-century Palestine. Reading it feels like sitting across from a thoughtful nineteenth-century lecturer who balances scholarly curiosity with earnest spiritual reflection.

Modern readers must be prepared for the author's period attitudes, occasional florid rhetoric, and the blunt descriptions of squalor, physical discomfort, and vermin encountered along the road. Those who look past these nineteenth-century difficulties will discover an honest, observant record of a rare journey across the Jordan, illuminated by a traveler who valued the unvarnished truth of his experiences above all else.