Kiryat Luza, West Bank - It is no easy matter to be a Samaritan, much less a good one, in these stressful times.
The list of their grievances is considerable: apparent health problems, an export embargo on their famous tahini, and, most worrisome, a shortage of brides.
Samaritans must endure the mysterious scourge of the seven nearby communications towers – most of them Israeli-built and controlled – whose electromagnetic radiation is deemed to be a health hazard.
"Our people suffer headaches because of this," grouses Husney Kohen, one of this venerable community's 12 hereditary priests. "Maybe this will eliminate us from existence."
Samaritans also have to contend with the rejection of their renowned tahini, made from ground sesame seeds.
"Our sauce is kosher," says Kohen, an elegant 65-year-old dressed in a grey robe. "It is the very best in the world."
For the past 18 months, Israeli customs officials have barred import of the sauce, made in a local factory that provides a livelihood for 10 Samaritan families – or did.
"The Israelis tell us it's a security issue," Kohen complains. "Why? This is another obstacle in the life of the Samaritans."
Samaritans are weighed down by an even greater burden – the curse of too few Samaritan brides.
"For all the world, we haven't enough girls," Kohen says. "We are suffering from this problem for the past 200 years."
Greetings from Kiryat Luza, a somewhat careworn village perched high atop Mount Gerizim, the holiest place in creation for the people who dwell here, members of what is possibly the smallest religious sect in the world and certainly among the oldest.
Kohen, a grey-bearded father of five, lives with his family in an apartment above the Gerizim Center and Museum, of which he is founder and curator.
Next door, a half-dozen concrete pits burrow into the ground.
Here, the Samaritans celebrate Passover each year by sacrificing a small flock of sheep as an act of gratitude to God for allowing them – along with those other Israelites, also known as Jews – to escape enslavement in Egypt.
Many people know the parable of the good Samaritan, the passerby who, in the Gospel of Luke, cared for a battered man whom he found lying half-dead on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho.
But the Samaritans – that is, the people of Samaria, as the northern West Bank is sometimes called – existed for centuries prior to that New Testament tale.
Their split with Judaism was sparked by conflict over the location of the first Jewish temple.
Jews believe the structure, built on the site of the biblical tale of Abraham and his son Isaac and destroyed by King Nebuchadnezzar in 586 BC, was located on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem.
Samaritans are convinced it stood here on Mount Gerizim near the Palestinian city of Nablus in what is now the West Bank.
Once, Samaritans numbered more than 1 million people, Kohen says. By 1917, following a history of persecution, their ranks had dwindled to just 146.
The community has recovered somewhat, with a current worldwide population of about 750, roughly half of whom reside in Kiryat Luza. The rest live in the town of Holon in Israel.
The two communities associate with each other quite freely, for Palestinian Samaritans are allowed to carry Israeli passports and to drive Israeli-registered vehicles.
"We hope to be a bridge to peace," Kohen says.
Like observant Jews, Samaritans cherish the menorah, celebrate Passover, and mark the Sabbath on Saturdays, when they refrain from answering the telephone or switching on any electrical devices.
They worship in synagogues, have their own version of the Torah, and conduct religious ceremonies in an ancient type of Hebrew.
But the shortage of Samaritan women of marriageable age has led to inbreeding.
Kohen reacts testily when this subject is raised, estimating the incidence of genetic defects among Samaritans at no more than 3 per cent of the population.
"God allows us to marry our cousins," he insists. "If God allows me to do something, why is He going to harm me for doing it?"
Still, Samaritan men have been seeking to marry women from outside the community for at least the past 90 years.
Five formerly Christian women, originally from Ukraine or Russia, now live in Kiryat Luza with their Samaritan husbands, as do three converts from Islam, originally from Turkey or Azerbaijan.
That's the good news.
The bad news has to do with those seven communications towers that many here regard as a modern plague upon an ancient people.
"If you want to help the Samaritans," says Kohen, "you must write something about the antennae."