THE TOWER OF SUN
Inside the sea green hut at the top of Mount Hermon, a half dozen ski patrollers smoked cigarettes, sipped instant coffees, and discussed the difficulties of ski boots. Nabih Abo Saleh, the 20-year veteran ski patrol director, gazed out the window. It was the second day of an ongoing storm. The ski area was closed—too much snow, too little visibility. Outside, rime encased dangling chairlifts as snowflakes blew sideways in the milky light.
The patrollers’ red jackets displayed the Star of David on the center of their backs, though none of them were Jewish and most were of Syrian descent. Mount Hermon Ski Resort is the only place to ski in Israel. Situated within the northernmost nook of the Golan Heights, the ski area is surrounded by Lebanon and Syria and a no-man’s land of shifting borders and cease-fire lines that represent one of the most turbulent regions on earth.
A day earlier, Micki Inbar, the media manager for the ski area, warned me about the dangers of skiing off groomed trails. “There’s no significant border, but you just don’t cross it; you don’t have anything that can bring you back,” she said. “You should be aware of that. Most of the skiers, they know, because there are no slopes over there, but if they go off-piste, they might find themselves in Lebanon or Syria.”
The ski area was expecting more than 10,000 visitors the next day—about the same as a typical day at Vail, but packed onto one-fifth of the acreage. Patrollers spent the morning smacking snow off chairlifts and bamboo poles, shoveling the magic carpet clear, mending orange netting, and, naturally, skiing powder.
After the break in the hut, photographer Kari Medig and I clicked into our skis and followed Afeef Shofi and Milad Raba. At 25, they are the youngest patrollers on staff. Saleh, who considers patrol his family, called them his two sons. Raba had a bushy beard, a GoPro mounted on top of a royal blue helmet, and big, happy eyes that matched his consistent smile. “With the snow, every time I feel good,” he
