“Gateway to the Desert” sculpture, Arad

On a desolate ridge at the edge of Arad, where the asphalt ends and the earth begins to speak its own language, stands Israel Hadany’s sculpture like a symbolic gateway—red metal beams intersecting at a high, serrated apex, serving as a perceptual, not just geographical, passage. Named “Gateway to the Desert,” it does exactly that—opening a portal to a landscape without beginning or end.

From here, one can see the eastern edge of Arad: a few low houses, some metal antennas, and in the center—the abandoned Masada Hotel (at the time of the photograph – since demolished, and perhaps someday a new hotel will be built). To its right, within a circular clearing, stands Tommarkin’s white sculpture, overlooking the gateway and the landscape behind it. On the other side, to the right of the red sculpture, on a square platform, stands a black sculpture about which I have not inquired—a frozen and silent figure that from afar appears almost human, like someone who sat down to gaze at the infinite silence.

The landscape itself is mesmerizing. Yellow and brown hills roll in gentle waves, like a sea frozen at the exact moment the wind calmed. The skies are clear and open, almost transparent. In this desert, there is no drama—there is presence. There are no sharp edges—there is continuity. Every small detail—a rock, a depression in the ground, the thin shadow of a cloud—stands out from the general silence like an echo of a different past.

Here, on the outskirts of Arad, among modern sculptures, ancient landscape, and a sleepy town, a space is created where time becomes confused. You are not sure if you are standing in the 2000s or facing an ancient Nabataean caravan. The sculptures draw lines, indicate directions, but it is the landscape that decides where to go—and it says: surrender. Forget. Listen.