By Sandra Bost
It was the year 2000 when our family first explored the shore on the Saudi Arabian side of the Gulf of Aqaba where Ron Wyatt and his sons claimed to have found Egyptian chariot wheels encrusted with coral on the seafloor. They dove along the underwater land bridge between Egypt and Saudi Arabia from Nuweiba, Egypt in 1978, asserting that Moses had led the Israelites to cross the Red Sea at this point and continued a path to the Northern part of modern day Saudi where they camped at the base of Mount Sinai in Arabia (Galatians 4:25). This mountain is shown on current maps as Jebal al Lawz. But as we discovered on our journey, it is known to the bedouins as, “Jebal al Musa,” or the Mountain of Moses. That first December trip culminated for us in a tentless, overnight stay on the beach before waking the next morning to follow Wyatt’s path East through the desert toward the mountain.
We followed the wadi for a couple of hours before our trip was cut short by a 10 foot high chain link fence topped with barbed wire. Disappointed that we could not travel up the mountain, we contented ourselves with exploring the blackened rocks around its base, and taking photos of the peak of a mountain we believe “The Lord descended upon in fire” (Exodus 19:18). That trip with my parents would go down in history as one of the most vivid core memories from our time in Saudi. However, it was the second trip my husband, children, and I embarked upon that would go down in infamy.
Fast forward 3 months and add an ex-member of the South African Special Forces, his beautiful French wife and activist, and their 21 month old daughter. We planned an epic expedition from Jeddah that would take us back to the Gulf of Aqaba. This time with tents and amenities in tow. We would then travel East to Jebal al Lawz, and then North to Jordan to visit Wadi Rum, Jerash, and Petra, before making our way back home to Jeddah. In preparation, we contacted Wyatt’s museum obtaining the GPS coordinates for the guard shack that would lead us to the back of the mountain which was opposite of the way we had approached with my parents.
The second trip back to the spot we believe God parted the Red Sea was no less miraculous. We took the opportunity to dip our toes into the crystal-clear, turquoise water and let the kids play by the sea, imagining the sounds of the Israelite children frolicking with the same sense of wonder. Packing up to head East, we had no way of knowing how this joyful day would take a drastic turn.
Our friends had the GPS (remember this was pre-smartphone era), so we followed closely behind. Navigating the sand, forty-five minutes off of any paved road, there were no convenience stores or gas stations at which to stop along the way, so we trudged on. As we were nearing the coordinates, we noticed to our left some type of building structure way off in the distance. Thinking nothing of it, we reached the vicinity of the guard shack and took a moment to stretch our legs and say a quick prayer.
Dusting off to load back up, a white truck appeared driven by whom we assumed was the guard. Leaving his door open as he exited, our guys spotted the Kalashnikov perched ominously on his seat. Speaking only Arabic, his gestures seemed to question our travels. Armed with only a map, the guys spread it over the hood of our SUV and pointed to Al Bad. communicating, in as many Arabic phrases as possible, that we were seeking a hotel there, around the base of the mountain.
“La, la!” (No, no!), he shouted, motioning for us to turn around. While we were still stopped. A second, larger truck appeared, with a mounted machine gun and operator riding high in the back. The two exchanged words and the second driver motioned back toward the direction from which we had come and said commandingly, “Rooh.” (Leave.)
At that point, we had a decision. Do we follow the orders we have just been given, or do we get in our vehicles and try to catch a once-in-a-lifetime glimpse of The Mountain of Moses? What would you have done? I guess we will have to wait to find out. Until then, adventure on! Like Helen Keller wrote, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.”
