The Dead Sea clinic: Israel’s untapped engine of healing

This was my first visit to the Dead Sea since our family’s year-long journey through the Americas, where we documented how communities turn to nature as a source of healing. Returning to Israel’s world wonder, a place I have carried in my heart for almost a decade, sharing its story across continents, felt profoundly different. I went with my wife, Adi, for a short retreat, our first as a couple after months of constant travel and recent weeks living in Sderot, on the Gaza border. The experience was deeply personal, but it revealed something much larger.

The Dead Sea, long overlooked within Israel, has extraordinary potential as a center of healing, resilience, and rehabilitation. Science has already proven the power of its climate, oxygen-rich air, filtered sunlight, and mineral-saturated waters to improve chronic conditions. Yet at the very moment when Israel most needs models of recovery and renewal, the Dead Sea’s DMZ clinic, the only medical center of its kind in Israel, stands on the brink of closure.

We stayed at the Lot Hotel in the southern basin at Ein Bokek, often called the Dead Sea Pools. Unlike the wild northern sinkhole basin, where much of my past work has focused, the southern section is partly artificial, sustained by water pumped directly from the northern Dead Sea. Still, it remains the lowest point on Earth, and the water is the same mineral-rich Dead Sea water.

According to the Dead Sea clinic, this is the most effective place on Earth for climatotherapy. Decades of data document remarkable results for skin and respiratory diseases, with recovery here often faster than anywhere else.

The impact begins the moment you step outdoors. Because of the valley’s depth, sunlight passes through additional atmospheric layers that filter much of the harmful radiation while enhancing the therapeutic spectrum. This allows longer, safer exposure than anywhere else. The air itself is denser and oxygen-rich, and the mineral load of the water and mud is unmatched.

The effect is immediate. The first touch of the water may sting, then the uplift takes over. I saw it on Adi’s face as she floated, a release that came not from effort but from yielding to the elements. She later described it as if the body recognized the mix of minerals, sunlight, and air and responded with calm.

Dr. Marco Harari, director of the Dead Sea’s DMZ medical clinic, put it simply:

“For women in particular, the Dead Sea has extraordinary effects on hormonal balance, mood, and even musculoskeletal strength. The impact can be felt immediately.”

In three days, simply by floating, absorbing the sun, and resting within the retreat, Adi and I both felt lighter, calmer, and more focused. Science calls this climatotherapy: treatment through a unique environment. When combined with attentive hospitality, it becomes wellness backed by evidence.

There is an irony that cannot be ignored. European health systems in Germany, Austria, Denmark, and parts of Italy recognize and even subsidize Dead Sea treatment. Yet in Israel, the full potential has never been embraced.

The opportunity is here to transform the Dead Sea into Israel’s flagship of healing and resilience, a model that serves our people and inspires the world.

The heart of our visit was the Lot Hotel, one of the few Dead Sea properties that have preserved their name and leadership for more than three decades. While many neighboring hotels have changed ownership or rebranded, the Lot chose continuity. Under the steady management of Ahuva Bitton, it has cultivated the warmth of a family-run retreat: smaller, quieter, and remarkably accessible.

But the Lot is much more than a hotel. It is home to the DMZ medical clinic, the only facility of its kind in Israel. For more than 30 years, Harari has guided the clinic, combining clinical research and medical practice in dermatology, respiratory care, and musculoskeletal rehabilitation. His work has helped establish the Dead Sea as a scientifically validated site for physical healing.

Although no formal research has yet been conducted on rehabilitation, mental health, or trauma recovery, the clinic’s unique environmental expertise – its use of the Dead Sea’s climate, atmosphere, and minerals as natural therapy – makes it ideally positioned to lead this next chapter.

Together, the Lot Hotel and the DMZ clinic form something rare: a partnership where hospitality and medicine coexist seamlessly, creating a living model of how place itself can heal.

The Lot Hotel feels different from the larger, glass-and-marble resorts that dominate Ein Bokek. Its scale invites calm. Corridors are short, corners are quiet, and everything seems designed for a slower rhythm. You notice it in small gestures: the ease with which staff greet returning guests by name; the unhurried pace of the dining room; the sense that the place has been built not for spectacle but for comfort that endures.

A recently added wing brings a subtle modern touch without compromising the hotel’s intimacy. The guest rooms are large and airy, designed for comfort rather than show. Clean lines and soft lighting maintain a sense of calm that reflects the surrounding desert. From our balcony, we first looked out over a cluster of lush trees, almost a small forest in the middle of the Valley of Salt. Beyond them stretched the shoreline and the still waters of the Dead Sea, and in the distance the red Moab mountains of Jordan glowed under the fading light of sunset.

Down by the water, the hotel’s private shore feels almost contemplative. An indoor Dead Sea pool, hot tubs, and a modest freshwater outdoor pool extend the experience without excess. Guests float, rest, or simply sit under shade, listening to the quiet. The air, heavy with minerals, seems to slow time itself.

The spa, Lotuspa, maintains that tone. Treatments are not indulgences but extensions of the same philosophy: touch, rest, and recovery as part of one continuum. With its sulfur pools, hammam, and treatment rooms, the focus remains on restoring balance rather than display.

Meals follow the same pattern: fresh, seasonal, and thoughtfully prepared. The atmosphere holds steady because of the people. Staff move with an ease that suggests familiarity with both their guests and their purpose. Everything operates on the same principle that defines the Dead Sea itself: simplicity, consistency, and quiet strength.

In today’s [political] climate, the Lot Hotel has become a sanctuary for Israelis.

“Couples, families, people from all backgrounds come to us,” Ahuva Bitton told me. “On average, only about 10 international visitors arrive each month. Many are clinic patients who felt such a transformation in their health that they return every year, even during unstable times.”

That loyalty shows the strength of the bond between the hotel and the clinic. When the number of international arrivals declines, Israelis fill the rooms. The few international guests who do come are often repeat visitors who know exactly what the Dead Sea gives them. They are received with sincere, personalized care, a quiet kind of VIP attention.

For three nights, Adi and I were not just hotel guests. We were in retreat. A couple’s stay at the Dead Sea does not revolve around extravagance. It grows around intimacy and stillness.

We walked along the shoreline at dawn while the desert turned pale pink with light. Meals became slow conversations. We floated side by side in buoyant waters and sat in a hot, dry sauna reflecting on the past year. Evenings brought live music outdoors or quiet moments under the desert sky. Whether in melody or silence, those hours felt ceremonial.

“Even three nights at the Dead Sea can measurably change the body,” Harari said. “Cortisol drops, sleep deepens, and stress resets. You do not need weeks. Three days already make a difference.”

The Lot was the first hotel at the Dead Sea to envision a medical clinic on its grounds, inviting Harari to lead it more than 30 years ago. What began as a modest experiment has become an internationally recognized center of climatotherapy. For decades, patients from across Europe have come for treatment of psoriasis, asthma, and other chronic conditions. Health systems in Germany, Austria, Denmark, and parts of Italy subsidize these treatments, acknowledging their clinical value. Norwegian patient groups have been visiting regularly for nearly 20 years, typically staying three weeks, the period shown to produce visible and measurable improvement. In Norway, achieving comparable results with conventional medication would often take close to a year.

International arrivals have declined sharply over the past two years, as Israel has faced sustained assault from Iran and Iranian proxies on seven active fronts. In this atmosphere of regional war and uncertainty, the Dead Sea clinic continues to operate with a greatly reduced team, holding on to its mission even as resources and international access remain limited.

Most of the medical staff are on furlough, leaving Harari and Alma Sela, the head secretary, to keep the doors open.

“We are fighting every season just to justify staying open,” Harari said. “Some days it feels impossible. But closing the clinic would mean giving up on decades of science, on something the world already recognizes, even if our own institutions do not.”

Still, the clinic’s mission is evolving. It continues to serve Israeli patients and a small number of returning internationals while beginning to look toward rehabilitation and trauma research, areas that could shape the next chapter of the Dead Sea’s medical story.

When I asked about studies on PTSD treatment or rehabilitation at the Dead Sea, Harari’s answer was direct: None.

“But this clinic is ready for the task,” he asserted.

That conversation became the turning point of my visit. Over the three days at the Lot Hotel and the clinic, we spoke about Israel’s urgent need for new models of rehabilitation, especially after the Oct. 7, 2023, atrocities, which left tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians in need of long-term physical and psychological care. By the end of the visit, I received a formal letter from the clinic requesting that I lead a new research initiative in partnership with rehabilitation specialists from the Soroka Medical Center in Beersheba.

The plan is ambitious but achievable: a pilot study involving 10 IDF veterans recovering from PTSD and blast injuries who would spend two weeks at the Dead Sea, compared to a matched control group treated in a conventional rehabilitation facility. The protocol integrates climatotherapy with structured physical training, mindfulness, and sleep hygiene, measuring changes in anxiety, depression, hormonal balance, sleep quality, and daily function.

The Lot Hotel is not just a backdrop for this vision. It provides the setting and stability that make such a study possible. If funded and implemented, this pilot could redefine Israel’s rehabilitation model and establish the Dead Sea as a global hub for trauma recovery and medical wellness.

The Dead Sea has always symbolized paradox: a place of death that sustains life; desolation that heals. Now, in Israel’s moment of collective trauma and recovery, its shores may hold the key to a new kind of healing, one rooted in nature, science, and quiet endurance.

If the DMZ clinic survives and is supported, it could become a national emblem of resilience. At the lowest point on Earth, Israel could discover its highest expression of hope.

A retreat at the Dead Sea is not only about floating in saltwater or resting body and mind. It is also about connecting to the land and to the people who live in one of Israel’s harshest yet most inspiring landscapes. Just 30 minutes south of the Lot Hotel lies Neot Hakikar, a pioneering community that sits only 500 meters from the Jordanian border. Here, wellness takes cultural form – in art, in agriculture, and in the quiet resilience of those who chose to make life possible in the desert.

Meeting the pioneers

Founded in the early 1980s, Ein Tamar was established by families determined to settle Israel’s frontier. Life here means extremes: searing heat, powerful desert winds, and the solitude of the Arava Valley. Yet, against all odds, these residents built homes, orchards, and a thriving creative culture. Walking its calm streets, we were received not as tourists but as guests. Every conversation reflected the same conviction – that resilience, once rooted, can bloom even in salt and sand.

At the heart of the community stands the Jojo Art Gallery, created by internationally recognized Israeli artist Jojo Ohayon. His bold, playful canvases, layered in vivid color, defy the muted palette of the surrounding desert. “The desert does not silence creativity,” Ohayon said. “It adds color and sharpens it.”

The gallery is both a museum and a studio. Visitors can admire Ohayon’s work or take part in workshops that invite them to translate their impressions of the desert into paint and texture. The space embodies the same philosophy that defines the region: expression as survival.

That spirit deepened after Oct.7. When entire communities from the Gaza border communities were evacuated to Dead Sea hotels, the Tamar Regional Council sought immediate ways to help families cope with trauma. Busloads of evacuees arrived at Jojo’s Gallery for art-therapy workshops. Children and parents painted butterflies, writing messages and wishes across the wings – fragile shapes that became symbols of endurance and hope.

Now, nearly two years later, the council is preparing a public exhibition of these butterflies across the region. Hundreds of pieces created in the workshops will be displayed together – a living archive of collective grief, resilience, and renewal. What began as crisis relief has become a communal act of healing.

At Jojo’s Gallery, art is not a luxury. It is medicine of another kind: a way for color to replace fear and for creation to reclaim space from loss.

The valley, once submerged beneath the waters of the Dead Sea, now embodies a striking transformation. At Shoshani’s Dates, in the community of Ein Tamar, a family-run farm has turned desert into fruit-bearing ground. Soil that once lay under salt water now yields vegetables, fruits, and particularly date palms that thrive where nothing was expected to grow.

In August and September, the groves are heavy with clusters of ripe dates. Walking among the trees, with Jordanian farmland visible just across the simple fence, the scene offers more than a view – it is a statement. Here, agriculture becomes an act of presence, a daily affirmation of life in a place shaped by extremes.

Tours at Shoshani’s welcome visitors into this rhythm of cultivation. Guests join field tours that explain how crops survive in one of Israel’s driest corners: how irrigation is managed despite limited water, how the soil copes with salinity, and how desert winds and heat are managed. The tour ends with date-tasting: several varieties, each with a distinct texture and sweetness, fresh from the grove. Children can feed goats in a small farmyard, pick tomatoes or cucumbers depending on the season, and explore a dedicated section of cacti and succulents that adapt to the desert climate.

In the on-site gallery of the estate, art meets agriculture: Creations made from local materials, paintings, and handcrafted wooden objects reflect the intersection of land and culture. Visitors leave not only with fresh dates or a plant to take home – they leave with dust on their hands, fruit on their tongue, and the lived experience of resilience.

A few minutes before reaching Neot Hakikar, a detour down a sandy track reveals a secret. Among palms and reeds lies Ein Plutit, the Hidden Spring – known to locals as the Love Spring. Wooden steps lead to a natural pool of clear, slightly brackish water, cool even in the heat of midday. Tiny fish nibble gently at the skin, a natural pedicure in a setting that feels almost untouched.

The pool’s oval form, shaded by palms, is framed by clay banks and stillness. Locals maintain it modestly; the Tamar Regional Council has added minimal signage and a small wooden deck, careful not to disturb its natural charm. After the intensity of the Dead Sea, the spring offers a softer, quieter kind of renewal – an oasis in every sense of the word.

Taken together, Sodom Valley, Jojo’s Gallery, and Shoshani’s farm complete the Dead Sea experience. They extend wellness beyond the spa and the clinic into daily life – into creativity, cultivation, and community. They remind visitors that healing is not only medical; it is also cultural, emotional, and human.

The Dead Sea teaches that even in the lowest place on Earth, new life rises. From salt and silence, people have created art, orchards, and places of refuge. The future of wellness tourism in Israel will depend on this understanding – that true healing begins where science meets spirit, and where resilience becomes a way of living. 