I have a headlamp.

I haven’t always had a headlamp.

But I was told I should get one—because it’s dark in Hezekiah’s Tunnel.

I’m going to walk through Hezekiah’s Tunnel.

Well—wade through it.

There’s water in that tunnel.

Carved through stone, carrying the echo of kings.

All this is happening because I’ll be in Jerusalem the first week of July.

Jerusalem.

And the Dead Sea.

And Galilee.

And Mt. Carmel.

Ten packed days. A fragment. A flood.

It’s a shame I can’t also go to Turkey, Greece, Egypt, Italy, Germany…

I mean, once you’ve paid the price of fourteen hours in a plane, shouldn’t you go everywhere?

But no.

Ten days is what I have.

And it will still be too short.

I will see the walls of Jerusalem.

I will think of the Ottoman workman laying stone where Arabs tore them down—

where Crusaders built them up—

where Byzantines replaced what the Romans tore down—

where the Romans replaced what the Jews had raised—

and where the Jews called it Zion.

I will see the evidence of history,

crafted by the hands of the historical.

It will be an exciting time.

Meanwhile, I prepare for July in Jerusalem.

And I’m reminded of the old adage:

You are what you carry.

But why is what I carry so heavy?

I must become a lighter version of myself.

Go into backpack mode.

Trim the borders of my maps.

Shave my toothbrush handle.

Maybe I can leave most of it in the hotel.

Or on the bus.

(Assuming both are air-conditioned.)