Many people have probably heard about Tabor — a mountain in Galilee, where, according to the Gospel story, Christ was transfigured before three disciples. The face became like the sun, the clothes were white as light, and above all this hung a cloud, and a voice from somewhere: “This is My beloved Son.” Since then, if eyewitnesses are to be believed, the cloud is still moving over Tabor. Every year. On the same day.
On the nineteenth of August, according to our calendar, the Orthodox Church celebrates the Transfiguration. And on this day — not a week before, not a week later, but precisely on this day — a cloud appears above the peak. Covers the temple, overshadows the people. August in Galilee means dryness, heat, and clear skies for weeks. There are no clouds at all at this time. But then it comes, and that’s it.
And only to the Orthodox. Catholics celebrate the Transfiguration on a different date — they have silence.
A nun from the Gornensky Monastery spoke about the service in 1998. Liturgy, two choirs sing in turns. A cloud appeared over the one who sang. The second choir entered — it passed to him. The first one sang again — back. This went on between them throughout the entire service. Then the Holy Gifts were brought out, Bishop Sergius blessed the people to go out into the courtyard. We went out — and then the sky was filled with clouds, rushing overhead at some impossible speed. There is no wind. The cypress trees stand rooted to the spot. And the clouds are flying. People sing, cross themselves, some cry. The Greeks sang “Christ is Risen” in their own way. It started after three in the morning and lasted about an hour. And at dawn — again. The clouds rushed to the Orthodox church, passed over it, and melted before reaching the Catholic basilica next door.
In 2010, a scientific group came to Tabor to investigate. Organizer — Sergey Mirov. On our side is Marina Makarova from the Phobos center. Israeli meteorologists also helped. We set up weather stations in the evening. In the courtyard of the monastery there are thousands of people, Greeks, Ukrainians, Georgians, Moldovans, Japanese, ours. Makarova looked at the instruments and said bluntly: at this temperature and humidity, fog does not form. There is nothing for it to be formed from. The air is dry — even if there is sushi on it.
The service is underway, approaching communion. And then the crowd began to roar, people waved their hands. And — out of nowhere — fog. Covered everyone. Mirov grabbed the camera and looked at the monitor — the mass was swaying, moving, alive. According to all meteorological laws, it is impossible. Makarova later said that meteorology could not explain this.
Mirov then described it this way: first, something luminous, a ball, flies over the people, then a cloud appears over the cross of the temple, it grows, falls on the crowd and pours moisture. And this happens only above an Orthodox monastery.
You can say as much as you like that this is a coincidence, a microclimate, some features of the relief. Only it repeats itself every year. On one date. Only among the Orthodox. In a drought, when the fog has nowhere to come from. Under sensors and cameras. In front of thousands of witnesses. And not a single explanation holds up yet.
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