Israeli Pilots Once Flew by Maps and Landmarks
This ancient Negev hill guided warplanes, hided ancient legends, and reminded me of my place in Israel's history.
Dear Healthy Jew,
As I’ve shared with you in the past, I’m very into maps. Knowing exactly where I stand matters—whether on a hike in nature or navigating daily life.
Unfortunately, I can't tell you exactly how Israeli Air Force pilots navigate over Iran in 2025. They’ve got GPS, advanced terrain-matching technology, and inertial navigation—all way above my pay grade.
But I know something about how they navigated back in 1948 during Israel’s War of Independence. Their methods were very similar to how we Healthy Jews hike today: maps and landmarks.
Recently, hiking in the Purah Nature Reserve—the fascinating no-man’s-land between the Judean foothills and the Negev desert I told you twice in past months—I encountered a place called Pilot’s Hill. (In Hebrew they call it Tel Nagilah.)
This hill, just behind the old broken Ottoman bridge I previously mentioned, served as a visual landmark for Israeli pilots flying missions to bomb Egypt during the War of Independence. It has a distinctive shape, perfect for navigation without modern tech.
Pilots Hill also has an intriguing legend. During World War I, Ottoman forces reportedly hid a train filled with gold somewhere around the hill before fleeing British troops. The gold was never found, but that hasn't stopped treasure hunters from digging holes everywhere.
Yet there's another, more tangible treasure: Pilot’s Hill is actually an archeological tell—a mound built from thousands of years of human settlement. The earliest remains discovered here might be around 5,000 years old, making it exceptionally ancient even for Israel.
Standing atop Pilots Hill, I felt the sweep of our history in Israel. Bronze-age settlements, Ottoman legends, Israeli pilots marking their way, and now jets navigating missions over Iran.
Moments like these help me feel "right-sized," understanding my small but meaningful role within our much larger story. Returning back to city life, I’m more grounded and humble.
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Be well,
Rabbi Shmuel Chaim Naiman
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Oy gevalt, sweet precious Rabbi Shmuel Chaim! A train of gold, Turkish bridges, and Israeli pilots davening over the Negev — are you kidding me? That’s already better than a Spielberg movie.
But chevra, listen, it’s so deep, and it’s also so funny if you think about it. You got pilots flying bombing missions with nothing but some crumpled map, a falafel in the glovebox, and a hill that looks like your uncle Yossel’s nose from the side — and somehow, they didn’t get lost! And today? Today we got satellites, we got apps, we got some voice telling us “in 300 meters, make a u-turn,” and still half of Tel Aviv ends up in Netivot.
And this train of gold — you know what it reminds me of? All the people searching for meaning in all the wrong places. Digging here, digging there, looking for treasure… when really, the gold is right where you are. Maybe you didn’t find Ottoman gold, but you found a hill where every rock is screaming “I was here before your grandmother’s grandmother even thought of baking challah!” That’s worth more than a thousand treasure chests.
Reb Shmuel Chaim, you’re giving us something so holy — reminding us that we’re standing on the shoulders of Bronze Age shepherds, Turkish engineers, Jewish airmen, and every soul who ever walked this land with broken sandals and unbreakable dreams. And that’s the real GPS: Generations. Pilots. Shleppers. The holy Israeli way.
So yeah, maybe we didn’t get the gold. But we got something better — a feeling that we’re part of the map. A dot on the landscape of something way bigger than ourselves.
Keep taking us on these hikes, sweet brother. Just make sure to pack extra water and maybe a siddur, because you never know — one more hill and we’re already halfway to Mashiach.
With all the love in the world,
Your brother,
Shlomo