Israel: The Stories of Old and New

Israel is hard to talk about. There is so much ancient history, and modern politics combined. The people of America are so enmeshed with Israel politically and religiously, that it is hard to get a truly objective look at it without actually going there. I will try to be as objective as possible to avoid conflict or angry letters to the editor. We have been home long enough to have a few Israel conversations already, and I can say that one thing is true for both there and here: Israel is a source of great disagreement.

So, rather than give too many analyses of our experiences, I will just focus on what we did and saw and allow you, the reader, to come to your own conclusions.

When we got to Israel, after the long trip out of India, we were SO glad to be there! We met up with Hadas (who we had met on our flight to Mumbai) and her sister Daphne, and drove to their house in Yuvalim. The first two days, I was so excited I couldn’t stop pointing and exclaiming. It was our first Western country in 6 months, and it felt so different and yet so familiar. We showered, did laundry, ate homemade cake, and went for hummus. Mmm…hummus. I could write a love song.

After a few lovely relaxing days in Yuvalim, we Couchsurfed one week with a fun couple our age named Ariel and Michal. They cooked us tasty food, entertained us with trivia games, and showed us a pleasant hike to a cold river. On one of our last days, we went out for an Israeli dessert called kenafe, a highly rich cheese coated in crumbly noodles and too much sugar. Delicious.

We next went to Ofra in the West Bank with Ofer and Yoni, another Couchsurfing couple, to celebrate Shabbat with Yoni’s parents and siblings. We listened to a lot of singing and praying and Hebrew, and did lots of eating and sleeping and reading, and occasionally took walks at night when it was cool. We went to the synagogue, where the men sat on the main floor near the altar, and the women sat on a second floor balcony looking down through a screen. The family lives the Orthodox life, keeping separate sinks and dishware for dairy and meat foods and dressing modestly with covered heads and arms. They were very kind and interested in our lives, and welcomed us graciously. Their family lives in a Jewish settlement, so we didn’t get the opportunity to meet any Palestinian families while we were there, but we did see some surrounding villages on our walks, and heard stories of other “illegal” settlements in the area.

We parted with Ofer and Yoni and went back to Ariel and Michal’s for another night, went out for bagels and ice cream, and hitched it to Yarok Az. Our final WWOOF location was an eco-tourism campsite-slash-goat farm, with fresh vegetables and goat cheese every day and lots of art projects to keep me happily busy. I began painting a sunflower in the volunteer trailer, which was fun and relaxing. I felt so excited to have some stability and a work schedule after all our travels, and I began waking up at 7am to milk the goats and feed the rabbits and chickens and guinea pigs, and water the trees and be busy again! Busy in a different way from the chaos of travel, what a relief. It would all be perfect if it weren’t so blasted hot outside. It was helpful to get outdoors early to get work done before it got so hot I couldn’t bear my own sweatiness anymore (around 10 am). The goats were curious and eager to interact, always eating my shoelaces and my fingers and rubbing me with their horns. I plan to be an expert milker, perhaps even with my own goats someday. We made yogurt and Labonet cheese with their milk, and pounds of delicious pasta sauce out of the enormous stock of fresh garden tomatoes.

The room we are staying in is mostly mud and wood and linen, and I love it. There is lots of breeze and light shadows and singing frogs outside the window (as well as one infernal rooster).

Our host Avi took us to Nazareth, and we got to see the spot where Jesus leapt from Mount Precipice to Mt. Tabor to escape the Romans (a new story for me). We also saw a beautiful Franciscan church built on top of the cave where Jesus lived with his parents. Then we went to the church of Mount Tabor (the mountain Jesus jumped TO), which was in simple but luminescent Franciscan style and was holding mass with some pleasant a capella singing.

We went to the Sea of Galilee (called the Kineret, meaning Violin), and to the Jordan River where John baptized Jesus. There was a group dressed in white all getting baptized Gopel-style, which, judging by the dramatic baptism photos on the walls of the gift shop, seems to be the favorite style around here.

We went to the construction shop of Avi’s good friend to look at gravel. Avi had helped this friend open a second shop in Avi’s neighborhood, which had caused controversy because the man is an Arab and even secular Jews have a hard time forgetting their old teachings and welcoming non-Jews into the community. The politics are very interesting in this country. It definitely seems like there is this feeling of Jews vs “Arabs” (aka Everyone Else), but the Jews are the favorite children so they get all the good stuff (like paved roads, quality food and water, and other materials/resources, religious freedom and even land that isn’t legally theirs, like the West Bank). Most of the people we meet here make at least one racist comment about Arabs (who are not necessarily Muslim, they are Christian and other ethnicities, too). Ariel did tell us that some of the talk about Arabs not respecting/obeying laws and rules of order is probably true, though not because they are lesser humans. He thinks they are probably just tired of being treated like second-class citizens and they don’t feel compelled to behave like “upstanding members of society” if they already got a bad rap at birth.

Israel is such an interesting place. Only the Arabs are actually from here; the Jews all moved here from mostly Europe, and Hebrew was resurrected with a few modern additions (such as “perfectionist”). It is such a fascinating dynamic, especially since in its short time as a country the people have already started generalizing Israeli mannerisms, ways of phrasing things, and other cultural tidbits as though the people had really birthed, lived, and died here for generations rather than their parents or grandparents moving here 60 years ago. Maybe it is because since coming here, the people have done a lot of living and dying. Israel is a patchwork, a pidgin, a big mix of factors from all sides, and still difficult for everyone to live with. It doesn’t have the smoothness and security of the melting pot, the easy understanding of the creole, but it has a lot of culture coming in—and you’d never hear anyone call the place boring. Every time I talk to someone else about visiting here, no matter where I am or where the person is from, I am always inevitably asked the same question: “Why Israel?” Nobody EVER asks, “Why India?” even though I found myself asking what I was doing there many times during those exhausting train rides. Avi said, “We are a tiny country…We have so many problems…We are so far away from all your other destinations…Why here?” It is strange to me. Why anyplace else? Why leave home at all? And why NOT Israel? Honestly, I can’t remember any of our reasons for choosing ANY of the countries we went to, aside from one or both of us having always wanted to go there, or for practical reasons like money and country hugeness—and Africa is an undertaking all its own. I usually tell people that I have always wanted to see the places that were mentioned so often in the Bible, to get a taste of the Holy Land and see how religion exists there today. I also say something about the frequent news in America about the Israel/Palestine (as well as every other bordering country) conflict, and our alliances here. I want to know more, to see it firsthand.  

We visited the Bah’ai Gardens as our last adventure with Avi before leaving for Jerusalem. The Bah’ai religion is one of the many ancient religions throughout Israel, and one that believes in harmony through differences. The garden is totally symmetrical and decorated with plants of contrasting colors (red and green, purple and yellow) in order to display the beauty that comes from the union of opposites. It is amazing the level of spirituality that exists in this country, as well as the extreme religious strife. It is a little hard to understand why the Holy Land cannot be shared among all of these religions at once, rather than torn down over their differences, but of course I don’t live here, so I can only assume the issue is a little more complex than that. Ethnic disparity and religious intolerance is never a simple issue.

We said goodbye to Yarok Az, took the bus to Jerusalem (with the driver lipsynching opera and waving his arm dramatically), and found Daphna. She took us out for Belgian waffles and beers our first night, and the next day we toured the Old City of Jerusalem with her tour-guide friend Yael. We walked the ramparts and looked out over the land in the early part of the day before it got too hot. Then we visited the Holy Sepulchre, supposedly the site of Jesus’ crucifixion but now a patchwork of building styles on the outside and a super neat cave-slash-four-part church inside. The church is owned by four different sects of Christianity who don’t even get along enough to decide who can take down the work ladder outside. I saw the slab Jesus was lain on after being taken off the cross, and I touched it. I saw the Dome of the Rock from afar, but not up close yet. We walked through the narrow covered streets with markets filling the spaces on both sides, and went to the Arab part of town for lunch. The food was so good—salads and pita and hummus and fries and falafel and leftovers! Then to the market for zahar spice, grapes, and some delicious chocolate pastries.

We went to the Israel Museum all the next day, and saw exhibits on Hasidic Jews; the Greeks, Romans, and other origins of religion and philosophy; as well as the Dead Sea scrolls. Jerusalem is very cultural and diverse; a place I hope to return to, though I’m not certain it will be the same when I get back.

We met up with my college friend, Yarden, in Tel-Aviv. He took us to the beach, gave us a tour of the city, and joined us for hors d’oeuvres. Neal and I ventured out on our own to brave the heat and the difficult transportation system, seeking a few last adventures before returning home. I was ready for “a vacation from the vacation,” as Michal put it, but I was also anxious about returning to the normalcy of life at home. “Am I ready?” We walked to the beach and had our last ocean swim of the international portion of our trip.

We met Roya, a German-Iranian girl who came to Israel in response to a big “Israel Loves Iran” movement within Facebook. It’s very uplifting to see such an act of love and I hope it does some good for bringing peace to this region. I also see some Americans getting involved. We were both interviewed, showing up on You Tube! Famous.

On our last day in Israel, we took a bus to the Dead Sea. It was super hot when we got there (44 Celsius), but still packed with people. We ate lunch, and then got into the water. WOAH! What a mind bender. It takes effort to keep your body from bobbing up and spread-eagling on the surface, and it is SO salty that any contact with orifices (especially mouth and eyes) leads to extreme discomfort. We had a ball, practicing our ridiculous poses and gathering salt deposits and beautiful rocks near the shore. We set up our tent just before dark, and spent some quality time reflecting on our trip and sharing our feelings and expectations about the future until the bats began to swoop around our heads. We decided we just had to go for one more soak in the darkness, so we tumbled down the slippery slope to the water, guided only by our hands on the railing and the dim red light of the clock. Even after dark, it was 41 degrees Celsius. The wind had picked up since we left, and the big water was full of rolling waves. It was like being in a sensory deprivation tank, with no light or sensation and the low hum of the moving water. We actually had to be careful to pay attention and stay close to shore, because it would have been very easy to be pulled out too far and get in big trouble. But wow, it was worth it. It was beautiful and mystical and deep and dangerously comforting and EXTREMELY painful when I got a good amount of salt water in my eye. We stayed as long as our already over-salted bodies could handle it, lying on our backs to see the stars and occasionally gently bobbing into each other.

We went back up, showered and went to bed. It was quickly obvious that the inside of the tent was too hot, so we moved outside, occasionally waking to see the moon a little higher in the sky. What a wonderful way to conclude an epic journey like this one (even though the adventure still feels far from over). I woke up early with the sun, and the heat soon followed, along with the flies, and the cackles of crows. We packed up our tent, waited for the bus, and went home for our last meal abroad. Yarden and I made shakshuka omelets for dinner, and we chatted with him and his friend from France. She talked about how she has been traveling almost constantly for the past 5 years and she is trying to make herself settle down a little. She says she loves travel—the exploration of new cultures and people, the adventure, the constantly opening doors of opportunity. But it spreads her mind out too much, making it hard for her to find that one interest to pursue more permanently. She keeps moving, saying, “Maybe this next town will be the perfect place to settle down and live for awhile.” But life is rarely that obvious, so she is going back to France to find her bearings and do something with herself. I understand that. Travel has defined me but not directed me. It opens it all up, which is fantastic and frustrating at once.

We took a plane to Madrid, and sat in the beautiful airport watching all the Americans be American, trying to get ready for a whole country full of them. I felt like a glass that is too full of water but the tap is still dripping into it and it begins to quietly overflow. The world is an expansive and engulfing experience, and I expect it will take me years to discover the many ways that it has become me, and vice versa. Before we left, Avi told me, “You are young. Your life is ahead of you. Mine is behind me, and I am glad for that.”  I think he is wise. The experience of life is tumultuous and exciting and overwhelming at times, and sometimes it is a gift to be able to look back on one’s experiences and be grateful that it happened just the way it did. Now my only job is to reap the benefits of all my past experiences, and to be grateful for the chance to go home.

Raglan and the Fantastic Mr. Ross

Four totems representing the Four Directions (NSEW) and Four Elements (Earth Air Fire Water)

 

It has been a few weeks since we have had the chance to post any stories for you all, so it is probably near about time to catch everyone up.

Last you heard (aside from my recent Thanksgiving post), we had just arrived in Raglan on the North island and met up with our CouchSurfing host, Ross.

Ross is a gregarious jokester with a bit of a filthy mind and a heart pure as gold. He has been in a wheelchair since the age of 16 (rugby accident—that’s why they now make opponents touch shoulders before a scrimmage), though definitely not bound by it—he has taken on more pee-your-pants extreme activities than I actually knew existed, and he is pretty self-sufficient for having limited use of his digits and the like. What a rare fellow. We liked each other right away, but it was all over when we discovered a passionate shared love for Austin Powers. I commend Neal for his powers of endurance during our long feverish competitions of rehashing one quote after the other followed by bouts of hysterical laughter. He also is a practitioner of BARS, a healing technique where the hands are placed on certain points of the scalp to release energy, promote healing, and bring forth positive energies. We learned much about his ideas of coming to a greater understanding of one’s own body and its silent messages, which he believes opens us up to the deeper truths of our daily existence and provides us more opportunities to be joyful. Ross’s favourite question is: “What do you require?” and his mantra is: “What else is possible?”

Immediately after our arrival Ross piled the three of us into his van and gave us the tour of Raglan. He showed us the city center, a collection of less than a hundred shops and restaurants jumbled together, small enough to walk its entirety in about ten minutes. We looked out upon the mountains and bays and he told us their Maori histories—discoveries, conquests, communities, living people. Then he drove to the top of a very tall hill overlooking the roiling ocean waves. The view looked quite familiar, as Raglan is fairly close to Port Waikato, but on the top of the hill was a circular walkway circumnavigating four large totems dedicated to the four elements: Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. He explained the significance of these guardians in Maori culture and gave us the chance to take photographs before carting us off to the next point of interest. Over the next several days, we were invited to join him in many enlightening experiences, such as attending a gallery opening for a Maori women’s group, visiting a community house with a garden meditation circle, hiking to a dizzyingly tall waterfall, and having tea with a woman who had built her entire house sustainably using packed earth and composting toilets. These teaching and sharing experiences deepened our understanding of the people, cultures, and powerful energies of New Zealand, while showing us the true loving spirit of Ross himself.

Ross has several people deemed caretakers who come in and out to help him with various household tasks, as well as a whole host of friends and acquaintances, whose presence has created a very unique sort of community. Dierdre was one of my favourites: a sharp-eyed, expressive, slightly rotund kiwi woman with exuberant grey curly hair and a tongue to be reckoned with. I am convinced she was Irish in a past life. She had been a chef for many years and knew how to cook just about everything. She was the master of the kitchen and liked to have full control over any comings and goings while she was there. The first morning we met her she was doing dishes as Neal and I looked for cereal bowls, and she said loudly to nobody in particular: “I could get this kitchen cleaned up right quick if I just had a moment alone to do it!” so we scooted out and waited on the outskirts reading books until she finally looked at us and exclaimed, “Well, are you going to have breakfast this morning, or not?”

In order to have us stay longer than he usually allows guests, Ross gave us several projects in his garden. We helped him plant squash and tomatoes, dig a new section of garden for potatoes, prune the leeks and pick kale for dinner salads. He has a lovely backyard and it was fun work with so many other people around to chat with. On one rainy day, we tried doggedly to dig until the rain got so heavy that our forks turned into giant earth clods and we were forced to stop. The rain here is quite different from the typical cold needle pricks of Colorado: soft, fat, slightly cool water washing gently over us, a very pleasant experience until the water started soaking our underwear. Then we were just too wet to work any longer and we went inside to watch the falling rain from the supreme comfort of the sunroom loveseat.

During these rare moments of inactivity, I read The Good Earth, by Pearl S. Buck. The book is extremely well-written and accessible for everyone, with striking messages about money, food, community, and family. She won the Pulitzer Prize for her work, and in my opinion it is a prize well-earned. I am not going to go into details here because you could probably get a better synopsis from Wikipedia if you are interested, but I recommend it to anyone interested in social and environmental issues.

Our last outing with Ross was first to his parents’ dairy farm for an evening of bourbon and political discussion, then to the small town of Te Kuiti, where we celebrated 11/11/11 (twice) with a small host of enlightened and loving people on a sacred marae. We spent two powerful days there with him, attending meditations, singing crystal bowls, and a full-on two hour Native American sweat lodge before he dropped us at the end of the road, where we immediately hooked a ride straight to Taupo. It was good to keep moving and exploring, but definitely tough leaving him—we have a good friend in Ross and we are grateful for his gifts to us. In the words of Austin Powers, “You’re one groovy baby…baby!”

BULA!

Bula, bula-- this is definitely the mot du jour in Fiji. Bula when you greet, Bula when you eat, Bula when you sneeze, Bula when you drink kava...As our local friend Save Two said, "Bula stops only for sleep, then Bula again the next day!" This is the Fijian life.
The people here are strikingly hospitable, and friendly beyond mere politenes, to the point where we could have been blind and deaf and still ended up on the right bus!...or more likely, staying at some friendly local's house as part of the family.
We were met at the Nadi airport by Save (the first of two on our trip...we will dub him Save One), a host we met through the CouchSurfing website. He walked us to the bus stop, where we waited in sleep-deprived delirium and culture/climate shock until a bright orange, open air bus tightly packed with people came to a stop in front of us. I remarked on the cars driving on the left side of the road and Neal looked around with a boggled look on his face. He had not even noticed the difference, probably due to his delirium. We got on the bus and rode to Barara, Save's neighborhood, and met his entire family (we quickly learned that one house can have many extended members of the family living there for various timespans). The walls of the house were covered in painted paper made from what looked like coconut husks, and over it were hung pictures of the family, the islands, and Jesus. We put our bags in our designated room and went outside to play rugby with Save's two sons John, 8, and Maku, 5. Rugby is a BIG deal here. They play it all over the place, rain or shine, and when they aren't playing it they are talking about it. BIG deal. We watched the New Zealand vs Australia game on television in Suva, and we could hear the groans and cheers from the neighbors through the walls. BIG deal.
After playing until we were too drenched in sweat to see, we sat down and chatted with Save's uncle, Elijah. We discussed religions around the country and learned many Fijian phrases to use on our travels, and then he showed us a few of the traditional plants that are commonly eaten in Fiji. One such plant is cassava, a.k.a. Tapioca, a starchy and extremely versatile plant that is eaten with nearly every meal. I want to remark on the strangeness of this experience for us: Just a little over two weeks ago, Neal and I were visiting his grandmother Rita in Alpina, Michigan. Neal's aunt had brought over a big bowl of homemade tapioca, and she asked if my food allergies permitted me to eat it. I said I didn't know, and what is tapioca made of, anyway? We all searched the box for clues, but the only ingredient on the label was "Tapioca." So we left the mystery unsolved and I ate it anyway.
Well, friends, TAPIOCA MYSTERY SOLVED! Solved as much as anything can be solved, in fact. We got to know cassava very intimately on our trip, even visiting a cassava farm and harvesting it ourselves. Neal even got to plant a stalk of it (which pretty much consists of cutting the top off of an existing plant and sticking it into the ground because EVERYTHING grows in Fiji, but it was exciting nonetheless)! I also learned that my stomach does not do so well on three daily meals of cassava. Ah, the pleasures of learning! Nobody can say that we did not have an authentic Fiji experience after this trip.
We stayed with Save and his family for two days, then took a 3-hour bus to stay with the Finseths in Suva, promising to meet up with Save again at the end of our trip. Travis Finseth is my godparents' son, so when we heard that he was living close by, we hassled him via Skype and email until he let us stay with him. We spent four nights with Travis, his wife Jaime, and their three kids Reed, Mari, and Cade. They are a very upbeat and welcoming family, and we had a fantastic time with them. Travis took us to Colo i Suva, where we hiked through the rainforest and jumped into a warm pool from a rope swing. Neal practiced his backflips, and I practiced not screaming out loud before hitting the water. The next day, we got to see the tourist way of life at Pacific Harbor, building sandcastles on the beach and eating banana fritters in the shade. We watched the rugby game at their house and ate homemade mango ice cream. And on our last night, their friendly housewoman Matalita served us a full-on delicious traditional Fijian feast. The Finseths went out of their way to make us comfortable and we  enjoyed every minute of our time with them. Thank you again, Travis and Jaime! Come stay at our house anytime, as soon as we have one, and we will give you our version of the royal treatment.
While riding the bus to Suva, Neal struck up a conversation with the man sitting next to him, who we will call Save Two. By the end of the chat, Save had invited us to visit his village and participate in a kava ceremony, so we decided to take him up on it before leaving the island. We almost missed the bus out of Suva (buses are the only things that don't run on Fiji time), and Neal had to run up to the window as the bus was pulling out to stop them from going off without us. We met Save Two at the bus station in Sigatoka, after waiting for several minutes and nearly getting on the next bus to Save One's house in Nadi. He ambled up with a big smile on his face, and we walked with him to his village of Nayawa. Along the way, we shook hands with every single person on the street, who he was always somehow related to (I swear he had ten grandfathers)! As we walked, he talked to us about the True Fiji and told us that we had not truly been to Fiji until the moment we tasted kava.
Okay, our internet time is up. Updates again soon....