364
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
ter resort on the shores of the Dead Sea. Near by were the
ruins of the cottages built by the Palestine Potash Corporation to house not only officials, engineers and laborers, but
scientists and archaeologists. About a mile away I saw what
was left of Beth Harava, a settlement founded by the Jews,
who had brought water there to make the desert bloom, so
that trees and flowers grew 1,300 feet below sea level.
When the war broke out the isolated colonists packed
away their belongings, automobiles and all, and set sail during
the night for the southern shore, site of a smaller potash concession. I found their homes stripped to the ground, with
only the framework of a few houses remaining. I walked
through one ruined home, where sash, doors, and flooring
were all gone. Unable to rip off the toilet bowl, the Arabs
had broken it in half. Overwhelmed by this destruction all
about us, Torkom and I walked on to the shores of the Dead
Sea itself. It was a silent lake, forty-seven miles long and ten
miles wide. For thousands of years the Jordan had poured
mineral sediment into it. I found wrecked boats; pilfered
wreckage dotted the shore as far as the eye could reach.
Torkom and I silently hitch-hiked back to Jericho on a
huge truck laden with plunder. Our scavenger friends drove
straight to the bazaar and began to sell their loot as junk—
which was what they had made out of the once valuable
machinery and equipment.
PHILADELPHIA IS IN JORDAN
I HAD no desire to remain in Jericho, because I feared Sur
Bahir Arabs might already have sent out an alarm for the escaped American. I bade Torkom good-bye and left Jericho
immediately by taxi for Amman. Soon—with my fingers
crossed—I arrived at Allenby Bridge over the Jordan, boundary between Palestine and Trans-Jordan. This sacred river