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.

Patience: Letting the Mosquitoes Bite

Wow. India. India was a whirlwind of sensory chaos and social overstimulation…or was it the other way around? Whatever it was, we got served an extra-large helping. I had traveled to India once before, with Fort Lewis College in 2009, and the experience had been extremely positive and inspirational, enough so to convince me I just had to go back. This time around, things were a bit different.  India was the same of course—loud noises, enormous crowds, cows in the street, the overwhelming smells of delicious food and human excrement combined—but our level of preparation, friendly connections, and funds was dramatically lower, which made our trip significantly more difficult than last time.  Every time we took a train, instead of arriving by taxi and finding our pre-booked seat, we had to run around town to find an honest rickshaw (not an easy task when you’re a clearly overloaded white person), then explore the station with our big bags looking for the tourist office (if it was open) to reserve a sleeper (if it was available) or anything which kept us out of General seating (a giant writhing mass of body parts and bags literally bursting out every open door and window). Usually the outcome of such a situation would be that we would be sold some half ticket which didn’t get us a seat anywhere, and try to find an empty spot until somebody came by to sell us the other half, only to get charged a hefty fine by the train guy for not paying for our spot. We never actually had to pay those fines, since there was always a friendly local around to defend our bewildered state, but it did make for a lot of hoopla and bustling around (and no sleeping whatsoever through one 9-hour night ride). One time we decided to avoid the situation altogether, and spent four hours in the hallway between the bathrooms (not recommended).

                We didn’t have the comfortable sedans to drive us the long distances between towns, choosing instead the cheapest transport options, which usually meant local buses. On one 15-hour nightmare bus ride, we veered around sharp corners and leaned precariously over cliffs, nearly running into buildings at every turn in the near-total darkness while everyone around us somehow managed to look completely unconcerned, and even sleep! On another bus, we found out after leaving the station that the bus trip would be lasting just enough extra time to make us miss our connecting train, and we spent three hours sitting in the very front listening to the horn blow and trying not to freak out. Since we had no pre-arrangements made for our travel, we met a lot of people who were eager to scam us. We were overcharged, tricked with loopholes, not told the full truth, and taken to a few strange places on the way to our intended destinations. Feeling like people were making a business out of our misfortune made it difficult for us to feel like we could trust others. And then the big whammy came on our way out of India.

                Our flight itinerary involved a domestic flight from Delhi to Mumbai, then a 3 hour layover, and an international flight to Tel-Aviv, Israel. The reality involved one big storm and a whole lotta mess afterward. We had to land at another airport to wait out the storm, finally arriving in Mumbai at midnight and getting on the 30-minute shuttle bus to the international airport, only to be dropped off outside the secure zone and not allowed back in since our ticket was no longer valid. We spent the rest of that night and the two days afterward in a covered waiting room with two Israeli girls in the same predicament, being rejected help by all participating airlines and looking for any accessible form of internet to beg the outside world for help. We had no phone, no rupee or functioning ATM, no internet, a lot of luggage, and one pricey coffeeshop to provide soggy sandwiches twice a day. On a stroke of luck we managed to rig the ticket kiosk to access email, and wrote to friends asking for money, which they assumed was a scam and posted warnings on Facebook for nobody to send anything. It’s a real funny story, just ask us to give you the full account and you’re in for a hoot. But for the sake of sanity, long story short we miraculously attained WiFi for enough time to call my parents and have them purchase us escape tickets to Switzerland and then Tel-Aviv. It was a 20-hour flight that evening, and my mom asked us if we would be up for such a long travel time. We hadn’t slept much at all in our three –day ordeal, and at that point all we wanted was to GET OUT, so we couldn’t have said “YES” faster. I wish I could have photographed the look on Neal’s face when he ordered his free Scotch and Coke from the hostess on our Swiss Air flight ten hours later. All I can say is, THANK GOD FOR PARENTS!

Anyway, the point of all these stories is not only to urge anyone reading to PLAN AHEAD any trip to an Asian country, but also to share the big lesson we had to learn about Patience.  Every time something difficult came my way, I would say to myself, “Patience, patience.” I didn’t want my experience in India to be one of grudging toleration and thinly-veiled irritation when I had been so changed by my last experience there. I wanted to open up to the beauty of India, to forgive the place for its troubles and love it for its ability to transform the soul. But if I was going to do that, I would need to pass this patience final exam and transcend those obstacles.

If you have the fortitude for it, India is a beautiful place. It is full of vibrant color and teeming life, and the culture there is a whole different type of freedom than the one we are so proud of in America. There, a man can renounce the material world entirely, wear no clothes and cover himself with sacred ash, and his neighbors will make sure he eats every day. There is always a place for the poor, and practicing your religion in public will not get you sidelong glances from passersby. A person can open a shop under the stairs somewhere and never have to pay property taxes, or sleep anywhere and never be questioned. Bartering is customary, so you are free to decide what price an item is actually worth instead of letting the business determine how much money it can make off you. The fabrics are of finest quality; the music and dancing are exotic and entrancing; and the food is absolutely delicious. And don’t forget the centuries of politics and religious teachings, which form the backbone of many Indian people’s lives (as well as transforming Western ideas), and deepen the sights and sounds with enchanting mystery.

India is also a place where you can see life at its most real. The vast separation between rich and poor took us aback—we saw well-dressed professionals driving personal vehicles to and from work, and others who had never traveled much farther than the mud hut or curbside shack where they were born. The sheer numbers of people at every turn was overwhelming, especially when a good number of them were staring openly and unabashedly at the two of us. Because of the huge population and the absence of governmental programs and regulations such as waste management or traffic police, the effects of the increasingly popular consumer lifestyle are starkly obvious. The smell of garbage burning takes over the streets at dusk, and people suffer from all sorts of lung diseases from breathing noxious car exhaust fumes. There are no education programs or incentives to help the poor become less so, so the caste system which was abandoned so many years ago still plays a big role in the opportunities each person has access to—in other words, if you’re born poor, you stay poor.

Despite all of the difficulties that Indian life presents, however, the people are remarkably tolerant and accepting of most things. They have mastered the art of waiting hours, days, or even years for something to come, and they are even better at shrugging it off when it never does come. Watching those people sleep on the bus when I was certain we would die any second was an eye-opening experience for me. I realized the level of relinquishment that total acceptance of one’s situation requires, and the power inherent in the most seemingly helpless of moments. Indian people redefined the word “patience” for me. I realized that patience is not just an idea, but a way of life.

The interesting thing about patience is that we wouldn’t need to use it if there were nothing around to test it. As Helen Keller said, “We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.” Every description of patience is accompanied by words such as ‘difficulty,’ ‘delay,’ ‘provocation,’ ‘annoyance,’ ‘anger,’ ‘negativity,’ ‘strain,’ et cetera. Notice that these words describe external situations with internal responses. Usually what is testing our patience is outside of our selves and our sphere of control.  This can be extremely frustrating, especially when the problem is being caused by another person, but it can also be freeing. The modern philosopher Eckart Tolle says that we have three choices in any situation: “change it, leave it, or accept it totally.” If one or more of those options isn’t available, you are left with what is left. We hear the same idea in the Christian peace prayer: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.” Being able to accept a situation completely without inner resistance takes a lot of practice (which I can personally vouch for). It also requires us to forgive others for their habits or indecisiveness (or for viewing us as a source of income rather than a fellow human being), and realize how dependent on others we actually are in nearly every aspect of our lives. Being patient with others is a form of compassion and respect for them. The Buddhist philosophy goes beyond patience as merely a form of endurance, saying that we have to be committed to never return harm. “See that no one returns evil for evil; rather, always seek what is good for each other and for all.”

In India, I often felt like I had no control over our situation. On that long and scary bus ride, I had the same three options: I could get off the bus, I could try to convince the bus driver to slow down, or I could put all my faith into something completely out of my hands. I considered all three options, and I decided to have faith. I sat there on the bus and worked hard on my trust, accepting my situation and all potential outcomes as out of my hands, and forgiving the people around me for not feeling the same way I did. I allowed the storm to take its course, instead of creating another storm within myself to fight it. And guess what? We made it safely to our destination—though I never plan to take a night bus in India ever again. I do have control over THAT situation…I hope.

It is okay to feel helpless. It is okay not to know what to do all the time, because it isn’t our job as humans to know what to do. We are subject to the workings of the Universe, and we really can’t control much except our inner realities (which I believe is the MOST effective way to influence your outer reality). Sometimes the only option you are left with is taking a deep breath and sitting back. This applies to boredom as well. I think Americans often suffer with the affliction of boredom, because we are trained to feel like we should always be busy accomplishing something, always being MORE and BETTER than we were two minutes ago. However, sometimes there is really nothing to do but wait. Pema Chodron wrote a book called “Getting Unstuck,” which discusses our desire for escape and the many ways we perpetuate our own feelings of dissatisfaction. Her solution to this perceived problem is not about freeing ourselves from our physical confines, but rather our mental ones, by Learning to Stay. Boredom may be a struggle, but think of how rare it is in today’s society to be given the chance to sit around with nothing to do. I am practicing the art of the Passive Observer, taking the time when there are no responsibilities to open my eyes and see what is around me in a new way, and I am starting to see just what a gift it is that we are given that chance to step back and look around every once in awhile without having to always play the role of Decider in our own lives. We met a man from the UK in the Mumbai airport who had been waiting FOUR MONTHS to be issued a ticket home. Granted, he was a bit crazy, but nobody could say he hadn’t made the most of the situation, making friends with the staff and taking on the responsibility of helping other marooned travelers find cheap food and shelter when nobody else would help. He opened up to the possibilities inherent in What Is, and allowed himself to adapt to an unpleasant situation in a positive way. The future is uncertain, but that doesn’t mean we have to feel trapped in the Now.

I think the hardest part about learning patience is that it is such a slow process. Even though I had many successful patient moments along the journey, it was no guarantee that I wouldn’t overreact in another situation. The true challenge of patience is making the commitment to doing it over and over again. Persistence over the long term does pay off, but sometimes the experience feels like starting all over again. When I get into mindsets like these, I am reassured by the lessons I learn from the journeys of others. The inspirational activist Peace Pilgrim made a graph of her path to inner peace, with a whole lot more ups and downs than any sort of gradual incline towards improvement. The Dalai Lama has been living in Dharamsala, India, exiled from his homeland of Tibet for most of his life, and yet he is adamant that the people must allow more time for the long-drawn out Tibetan struggle to be resolved. If people such as these can use patience as one of their tools to become powerful leaders in society, then I know I can brush myself off and start again and my efforts will never lead to failure. It seems like a big undertaking, but luckily I really only have to do it one moment at a time, and be committed to doing it when that time comes again. And hopefully after such a big final exam like India, the smaller challenges of daily life will be easier to put into perspective.

The first stories I told about India at the beginning of this blog are commonly told by travelers to this part of the world, so it is easy to understand why people are often wary of visiting such a place (and I know we had a few moments of uncertainty ourselves). I suppose in order to see India at its fullest you have to let your mind transcend the idea of what is “good” or “bad” and just take it for all that it is. In order to do that, it’s going to require a lot of patience, but I assure you, fellow explorers, that the rewards far outmeasure the challenges of such a unique and vibrant place. Jump into the deep end of the Ganges! Let those mosquitoes bite! Be fully awake and alive! INDIA!