We leave Jerusalem around 1:30 a.m., heading north on Road 60. It’s quiet at that hour—empty hills, silent intersections, and flickering checkpoint lights. This is the main road through Samaria. On the way, we pass Ofra, Shilo, Eli—names straight out of the Bible, and towns that today are filled with life, politics, tension, history.
As we approach Nablus from the south, Mount Gerizim rises to the left. Before reaching the city, we turn off the main road and drive up a steep, narrow slope toward the Samaritan village at the top. The village is unlike anything else in the area—clean streets, low stone houses, signs in ancient Hebrew script. The community here is small, just a few hundred people, but what they carry is thousands of years old.
By the time we arrive, it’s just before dawn. The Samaritans are finishing their all-night prayers outside their community center, facing east. Men and boys stand in neat rows, dressed in traditional white robes and red fezzes. There are no chairs, no instruments—just voices chanting in a language most of the world can’t understand anymore. It’s rhythmic and slow.
Then comes the walk to the top of Mount Gerizim. It’s not a dramatic mountain, more of a broad hill, but this is their holiest place. According to Samaritan belief, this is where the original altar of Joshua was built, and where the true Temple stood. They never accepted Jerusalem as sacred. For them, everything starts—and stays—here.
The site at the top includes the remains of a massive ancient complex. You can still see the stone platforms, ritual baths, and walls of what was once the Samaritan temple—destroyed in the Byzantine period. The Israeli archaeological site nearby marks the same area as the “sacred precinct,” and some parts date back to the Persian period.
From the summit, you can see the entire city of Nablus below—dense and built-up—and behind it, Mount Ebal. According to the Book of Deuteronomy, blessings were spoken from Gerizim, curses from Ebal. The landscape gives those words a real frame.
After the ceremony, things slow down. Families chat, kids run around, and people head home for the holiday meal. We usually start heading back to Jerusalem before midday, stopping for coffee somewhere along the way—maybe in Ariel or Tapuach Junction, depending on traffic and mood.
It’s not a long trip, but it stays with you. The Samaritans aren’t a reenactment or a museum piece. They’re still here, still doing what they’ve done for over two millennia, on the same mountain, on the same day.
— If you're interested in joining for next year’s Shavuot, get in touch. It’s early, it’s quiet, and it’s something few people ever get to see.
