When I first Set eyes on the Jordan River, after a 

 rainy winter in February 1992, I could scarcely 

 believe that the thin ribbon of muddy liquid I saw 

 winding its way southward could be the main prize 

 in the contest for water in the Middle East. The 

 Jordan is a small river. Its average annual flow is 

 only 1.5 percent of what the Nile delivers to Egypt. By the time I 

 encountered it, after several decades of its being dammed, diverted, 

 and polluted, this legend of the biblical landscape, heralded in 

 song as "deep and wide," appeared dirty and spent. 



Rarely has such a modest river been asked to do so much for 

 so many. The Jordan and its tributaries serve five distinct politi- 

 cal entities: Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, the Palestinians, and Syria. 

 And unsurprisingly — in this most contentious and water-scarce 

 of places — there is still no agreement about how the blue gold 

 should be shared among all the parties. The Palestinians in the West 

 Bank and Gaza are chronically short of water, and use a quarter 

 as much per capita as do the neighboring Israelis. Inequitable 

 access fans the flames of tension. Meanwhile, downstream lies 

 the fabled Dead Sea — the lowest-lying and saltiest lake on Earth, 

 and the Jordan's final destination. But by the time the Jordan gets 

 there, some 90 percent of its flow has already been diverted for 

 domestic and agricultural uses upstream, so the river no longer 

 sustains the sea. For the past quarter century, the lake level has 

 been dropping about three feet a year; some warn that the Dead 

 Sea could vanish by 2050. 



As if those conditions weren't dire enough, climatologists warn 

 that global warming and its attendant increases in drought and 

 evaporation may intensify the water shortages in the Middle East. 

 At the same time, the projected rise in sea level may expose the 

 coastal aquifers of Israel and Gaza to ruinous invasions of saltwater, 

 rendering ever more wells unfit to supply drinking water. 



In many ways the water predicament in the Middle East seems 

 as intractable as the decades-long feuds over territory, Jerusalem, 

 and refugees. But is it really so unyielding? Are there untapped 

 solutions waiting to be deployed? And could an equitable resolu- 

 tion of water disputes perhaps become the wedge that opens new 

 pathways to the grail of peaceful coexistence? 



As with so much in the Middle East, a little geography tells a 

 lot of the story [see map on following page]. The Jordan owes its 

 flow to the confluence of three streams — the Hasbani River, 

 which originates in Lebanon; the Dan River in northernmost Israel; 

 and the Baniyas River, which emerges from Syria. The Jordan then 

 flows south about twenty-five miles to the Sea of Galilee, Israel's 

 sole natural freshwater lake, which holds about a third of the nation's 

 renewable water supply. About six miles south of the Sea of Galilee, 

 the Jordan is joined by its main tributary, the Yarmuk River, which 

 originates in Syria and forms the Syrian-Jordanian border before 



Barbed wire runs along the Jordan River, which forms the northern border 

 between Israel and Jordan. The two countries have diverted huge amounts 

 of water from the river for domestic and agricultural uses. They've pumped 

 wastewater into the river, particularly the sixty-five-mile stretch from the Sea 

 of Galilee downstream to the Dead Sea, shown in part here. 



November 2007 naturu HISTORY 



61 



