Zion National Park

Table of Contents

Zion National Park: A Place of Peace and Sanctuary

“Road trips are the equivalent of human wings. Ask me to go on one, anywhere. We’ll stop in every small town and learn the history and stories, feel the ground, and capture the spirit. Then we’ll turn it into our own story that will live inside our history to carry with us, always. Because stories are more important than things.”— Victoria Erickson

The Journey to Zion

I have always believed that certain places hold a presence beyond their physical beauty, as if the land itself carries memory, wisdom, and whispers of those who came before. Zion National Park is one of those places.

As I approached the park, the colossal red cliffs and deep canyons immediately commanded my attention. The sheer scale of it was humbling—nature’s cathedral, sculpted over millions of years by wind, water, and time. It was as if I had stepped into a realm where silence spoke, shadows danced, and the rock itself told stories.

Zion Canyon stretches for 15 miles, its walls rising as high as 2,640 feet, shifting hues with the sun’s movement. At dawn, the sandstone glows in soft pinks and oranges; by midday, the cliffs blaze in fiery reds; and at dusk, deep purples and grays settle over the landscape, casting an otherworldly stillness.

Hiking through Zion is an unforgettable experience, with trails that challenge and inspire. The heart-pounding ascent of Angels Landing, the serene beauty of The Narrows—each trail tells its own story, revealing a different side of the park’s grandeur.

👉 For a visual glimpse of these iconic hikes, check out this stunning video: Exploring Zion’s Best Trails.

As I made my way through the park, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Zion was more than just a national park—it was a sacred space, a place that held both the past and the promise of something eternal.

A Land of Contrasts: Beauty and Hardship

Yet, beyond its breathtaking grandeur, Zion is a land of contrasts and contradictions—a place where beauty masks a harsh and unforgiving environment.

Long before Mormon settlers arrived in the 1850s, the Southern Paiute people called this canyon home. For centuries, they adapted to its arid conditions, navigating the narrow slot canyons, foraging for edible plants, and finding water in hidden springs.

In 1863, pioneer Isaac Behunin built a small log cabin near what is now the Zion Lodge. Struck by the canyon’s majesty, he named it Zion, proclaiming, “These are the Temples of God, built without the use of human hands. A man can worship God among these great cathedrals as well as in any man-made church—this is Zion.”

His words resonated deeply as I stood beneath towering cliffs that seemed both immovable and alive, shaped by forces far beyond human control. I understood why the Mormon pioneers, having fled religious persecution, saw this land as a symbol of refuge, resilience, and divine presence.

But Zion, as a name, carries significance beyond Utah.

A Personal Reflection: The Meaning of Zion

As an Israeli, the name Zion holds an entirely different weight for me. In my homeland, Zion is more than a place—it is an idea, a history, a longing, and, at times, a point of division.

In biblical times, Zion referred to the hill where the City of David stood in Jerusalem, later becoming synonymous with the Temple Mount and the spiritual heart of the Jewish people. Over centuries, the word evolved to symbolize hope, homeland, and identity. Yet in modern times, it has also become entwined with conflict, struggle, and unfulfilled dreams of peace.

Standing in Zion National Park, surrounded by the overwhelming stillness of nature, I couldn’t help but wonder:

Could the Zion of the American Southwest and the Zion of my own history share something deeper?
Could both be places of sanctuary, longing, and a search for something greater than oneself?
Could Zion, no matter where it exists in the world, ultimately symbolize a place where people seek peace but struggle to find it?

I want to believe so. I want to believe that one day, Zion—both in Utah and in Jerusalem—can live up to the promise of its name.

In my travels, I’ve explored other places that carry a similar sense of sacredness—where nature and history merge to create something truly profound.

The Power of Names: Mukuntuweap vs. Zion

Zion National Park was not always called Zion. In 1909, when it was first declared a national monument, it bore the name Mukuntuweap, the original Southern Paiute name for the canyon.

However, many Mormon settlers saw this as an affront to their history and successfully campaigned to rename it Zion in 1918. This act of renaming mirrors a pattern seen throughout history—one culture imposing its narrative over another, shaping identity through language.

This story reminds me of another renaming—one that happened nearly a century later.

In 2015, President Barack Obama officially changed North America’s highest peak from Mount McKinley back to its Indigenous name, Denali. It was a recognition of the deep cultural significance that the name held for the native Alaskan people.

Would Zion ever return to being Mukuntuweap? Probably not. The name Zion has taken on a new identity, one deeply woven into the spiritual and cultural history of Mormon settlers and generations of park visitors. But it raises an important question: What do we lose when we erase a name? And what do we gain when we restore it?

The Journey Never Ends

“Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers. The mind can never break off from the journey.”— Pat Conroy

Driving away from Zion, I found myself replaying the experience in my mind—the golden light on the canyon walls, the hush of the Virgin River carving its endless path, the echoes of history that felt both distant and deeply personal.

The journey did not end when I left the park.

It continued in my thoughts, in my reflections, in the way I began to see land, history, and identity as intertwined threads, never fully separate from one another.

Perhaps that is the true essence of Zion.

Not just a place, but a question, a longing, a search for something beyond ourselves.

December 2018