What to do when you are staring at 17+ hours in an uncomfortable seat on an airplane? One way to pass the time is write a journal of your trip. Following is a recount of my recent trip to Israel.
Saturday, Oct. 23: At the conclusion of the 10-hour flight from JFK, Tel Aviv is in my sites. The descent into Ben Guiron airport is stunning. Under mysteriously bright blue skies, there are dozens of sail boats, of various sizes, with eager revelers on board, enjoying the early afternoon sun and breezes on the Mediterranean Sea. We touch down shortly after noon local time. Emerging from the plane and walking down what seems to be an exceptionally long tunnel, passengers hit the wall of passport control. All around me are various languages being spoken; in addition to English, Russian and Hebrew. I like to see all the various colors of various nations’ passports; green or red or blue; I wonder how they choose the color. After inching through the long line and reaching the passport control desk, passing through is trivial. Then the long journey to baggage claim. I become concerned because I do not initially see my solitary suitcase; I am concerned because this said suitcase contains all my training materials for the upcoming week’s training class that I am planning to teach. Things would not be good if the training materials ended up in some unclaimed luggage facility in Mumbai (since I might mention that ostensibly the purpose of my trip to Israel is to teach said training course). When I eventually see my sole suitcase, I utter an Hallelujia, which elicits a grin from a nearby fellow who volunteers to retrieve it for me.
With luggage in tow, I head to the Hertz desk. Before embarking on this journey, I’d arranged to meet my colleague Tommi from Finland (flying in to attend my training class), at the Hertz desk. (I’d neglected to ask the agent about a GPS for the rental car. In hindsight, I could’ve really used one, as on several occasions I’d found myself utterly lost, by myself, aimlessly driving around, which frankly was scary but also had a sense of adventure to it.) I registered for the car rental and looked around for Tommi. I approached the only man in the area with darting eyes, looking around purposefully. I introduced myself, and sure enough, it was Tommi. So far, this had all gone just a little bit too smoothly, I said to myself.
We boarded the shuttle to retrieve the rental car. (This shuttle seems interminable and I wonder if we’d mistakenly boarded a tour bus for Jerusalem.) Eventually we arrive at the rental car facility and we are presented with a tiny 4-door sub-compact car. The rental car has a keypad on the dashboard, which requires the driver to enter a security code before the ignition will start. (It occurs to me that I’ve entered a whole new realm of security here in Israel.) The agent gruffly tells me that the code is 5252, and I wonder what kind of association I can make to help me remember this pertinent little code. As we pack our bags into the tiny car, I’d wondered again if we should get a GPS. We jointly decided to wing it. We’d both printed directions from the airport to our hotel in Tel Aviv. However we both immediately came to the same conclusion as we exited the airport; these directions would not help us, as the congestion and poor signage conspired to lead us astray. I then realized we’d have to rely on really primitive navigational techniques such as, North, South, East, West. I knew our hotel was at the beach, so at one point I banked left to head West. We drove around for a few miles, and it mystified us both to suddenly see our hotel on the right. I was especially impressed with our random luck (combined with a bit of primitive navigation) which led us to our hotel. By this time, it was almost 4pm. We stumbled inside the lobby and checked in. Our rooms weren’t ready yet, so we elected to hit the hotel bar. Tommi was baffled to be told by the waitress that he in fact could not order a cappuccino, as this would violate the Sabbath. Apparently the use of the espresso machine violates the tenets of the Sabbath. Who knew? He settled on a coke instead. I sipped my soda, trying to take in the fact that I’d just completed a 2-day, 10,000-mile-journey to Israel.
Sunday, Oct. 24: Due to the Jewish nature of Israel, its customs abide by Jewish law. Given that Saturday is the Jewish Sabbath (aka “Shabbat” in Hebrew), the Israeli work week is Sunday through Thursday. And so alas, there is no day to become acclimated, no time to recover from jet lag. I meet Tommi in the dining room to indulge in what’s termed an “Israeli breakfast,” which is essentially an over-the-top buffet, complete with various salads, fresh fruits & vegetables, eggs, waffles, etc., et al (except, of course, no bacon). We depart for the office around 7:45am. The office is located in a small town south of Tel Aviv called “Yavne.” I’d asked the bell hop for directions to the main highway, and off we went.
As it turns out, it’s about a 45-minute commute to the office. (I found it hard to believe that there wasn’t a more conveniently-located hotel; but I was actually glad there wasn’t. Our hotel is situated right on the beach with a lovely view of the Meditterranean to the West and the Tel Aviv lights to the East.) We arrive in what is essentially a non-descript industrial park, and locate a small two-story office building, with a Mentor Graphics logo above the front door. As we emerged from the car, Pnina and the rest of the staff came out to greet us and welcome us. She set my mind at ease; we’d found the office and she couldn’t have been more gracious. She led me to the conference room and proceeded to give us a tour of the office (two floors of cubicles and several walled offices; several kitchens; and most importantly, the bathrooms and the espresso machine). Thus launched my training class. Teaching class is my favorite part of my job, because i get to stand up there and explain things to people, which gives me a great sense of fulfillment. When I see students of mine have an “Ah ha” moment – when I see that they are getting it – it is a great joy to me. And so goes the work week, during the day: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. The truth is, we could’ve been in any city, in any non-descript conference room. It could’ve been Houston or Cleveland or Toronto. It could’ve been Sacramento or Denver or Omaha. But it wasn’t. It was a small town south of Tel Aviv called Yavne. And that made it seem special, even if it was just a boring little conference room with a table, chairs and computers.
So, did I do anything of interest during the evenings of the work week? Why, yes! On Sunday evening, Tommi and I strolled the Tel Aviv promenade, which is a remarkably busy strip of restaurants, bars and outdoor cafes. It’s literally spitting distance from the Mediterranean Sea. There were many revelers out for the evening, enjoying the mild fall starry evening. We’d promised one of our colleagues to look for “Mike’s Place,” which turned out to be a dive local bar on the promenade. (We walked in briefly but decided to quickly exit; we were surrounded by boisterous college kids.) Again I was reminded of Israeli security, as an armed guard checked my camera bag before we could enter the bar.
On Monday evening, one of my colleagues, Pnina, and her husband Yak, took Tommi and me to Jerusalem for some sight-seeing. I hadn’t expected this, and was delighted at the prospect. Pnina’s husband bought us tickets to an incredible light and sound show at the Tower of David (here’s a clip of it on Youtube). "”
First we walked around the various quarters of old town Jerusalem. I was haunted by the way Old Jerusalem sort of glows during the evening. It is dark, but lit in a subtle way that implies ancient history and reverence and even mystery. Then we watched the light show, which is essentially an overview of the history of Jerusalem. Phenomenal show, we all really enjoyed it. Then Yak and Pnina took us to one of their favorite local restaurants, a small locally-owned Italian place. At dinner, I learned that Yak and Pnina are Americans and came to Israel in the early 1970s, with two young children in tow, to pursue their Zionist visions and work as farmers. Pnina quickly found a job as a teacher, and Yak continued as a farmer. They raised their young family, eventually having five daughters. Today they have a total of 28 grandchildren! I asked if it was a particular tenet of the Jewish tradition that they have as many children as possible. “No,” Yak replied, “We take each child as a gift from God.” They often get asked if they actually remember the names of all their grandchildren. “Yes,” replied Yak, “except for one particular grandchild, a girl, whose name I couldn’t regularly remember. I don’t know why, there was just a block. And so I had to make an extra effort to learn this young girl’s name, and I am happy to report that I haven’t once yet forgotten Alicia’s name.”
As we left the restaurant and headed for the parking garage, I was aghast to see a brand-new, very high-end shopping mall, directly adjacent to the walls of the Old City. “What,” I asked myself, “would Jesus think of this?” The next day I mentioned this to my colleague Rachel. “You have to realize, people live in Jerusalem; it isn’t just a tourist attraction. Of course, tourists love to shop, too,” she added. Ah yes, of course we do. We need to purchase that new Rolex at the Old City in Jerusalem. The Sacred and the Profane. What would we do otherwise? The Sacred and the Profane.
On Wednesday evening, I had the good fortune of adding another experience to my list of experiences that prove what a small world it is, and that random meetings, and even semi-planned meetings, feed our sense of the smallness of the world. Before departing for Israel, I’d learned from my dear friend Alicia that one of her long-lost friends, named Evgenia, had recently relocated to Israel. Alicia had befriended Evgenia in 2004, when they were both working as teachers near the Caucasus mountains in Russia. And yes, they recently reconnected via (yes, you guessed it): FACEBOOK. So I left for Israel with Evgenia’s phone number, tentatively planning to call her and even meet her. I did call her, a day or two after I’d arrived in Israel, and she graciously agreed to meet me for dinner. So we enjoyed a light dinner at an outdoor café, and got to know one another. She and her husband left Russia to pursue opportunities, better health care, and a better overall quality of life in Israel. After her first child was born in Russia, the doctors there told her that she would never be able to conceive again; that pregnancy would be life-threatening to her. Within months of arriving in Israel, she in fact did conceive, had an event-free pregnancy, and gave birth to a healthy baby. Evgenia assured me that Israel is a fruitful place for conception; she has evidence! How is it that I could be having dinner with a friend of my friend, 10,000 miles away from home? Unlikely and yet utterly true.
During the week, my class and I had lunch in the company cafeteria. They eat amazingly good food, every day! Especially, fresh salads with varied ingredients. And of course, middle-eastern staples such as hummus, pita bread, and black olives. What I didn’t expect were the outlandishly good desserts: on Tuesday afternoon, we left the office and went on a field trip for lunch. We drove to a nearby town and visited a local café. This town happens to be one of the original towns in Israel, settled around the 1920s. This town was settled by a Russian immigrant and his wife; they specialized in assisting other recent immigrants as they made their way to Israel. They assisted them with meals, a cup of hot tea, housing, and anything they could to help ease the transition to their new country. At this remarkably low-key yet amazingly good local eatery, we enjoyed a whole variety of sinfully rich desserts amongst us; I think we all suffered from a sugar high (and subsequent low) that afternoon.
Friday, October 29th, was my first free day to pursue “tourist” endeavors. As one of my charters was to purchase souvenirs, I decided to visit the Tel Aviv artisan markets in the morning and early afternoon, and then visit the port town of Old Jaffa in the later afternoon. The artisan markets were remarkable, with a huge variety of hand-crafted religious as well as secular items; jewelry; pottery; wood-workings (made of olive tree wood); stained glass; clothing; pretty-much-you-name-it, it was there. I was disappointed that my “NIS” currency (New Israel Shekkles) didn’t stretch very far at the market, though I did manage to pick up several items for my family. The market’s items were lovely but not inexpensive. (And I have to say, as I was wandering the rows of the market, I was reminded of my own local market, the Portland Saturday Market, which – while not offering the variety of items – does offer a great variety with very compelling prices.) Then in the afternoon, I walked all the way from my hotel, along the promenade, to old Jaffa. This was a port town during the Ottoman empire of the 16th century. It is a predominantly Arab community that lives there today. There are lovely old examples of architecture here. I stopped at St. Peter’s Catholic church and monastery to say a few prayers. I sat down in a pew and then knelt to pray. I got lost in prayer, as I like to do, only to emerge when I felt that sense of losing track of time. I looked up and over to my right, to see a monk staring at me from beyond a remote door (as if, I’d pondered, perhaps nodding his approval). I took several snapshots of the interior of the church and then left. There is also something called the “Wishing bridge” in Jaffa. This is a short walking bridge that faces West, towards the sea. Adorning the bridge are bronze pieces that represent each sign of the zodiac. Legend has it that if the person puts their hands on their zodiac sign and faces the sea and makes a wish, their wish will come true. Jaffa also has spectacular gardens and views overlooking the sea to the West and Tel Aviv to the North. I collapsed Friday evening, exhausted from all the walking, sight-seeing, and photography (I’d taken about 200 photos that day).
Saturday, October 30th, was my second and final full day of tourism. The hotel offered a “free guided tour” of Jerusalem, which I decided to take. After some chaos and confusion over which bus was which (several tour guides pointing and barking commands in Hebrew to one another), I got off the bus that was chartered for the 3-day tour to the Dead Sea/Ein Gedi/Masada and onto the bus for Jerusalem. After my evening visit to Jerusalem on Monday evening, I’d really wanted to go back to that magical place. What interests me the most about Jerusalem is how it is this sacred and holy place for all three Abrahamic faiths, and the fact that these diverse communities live amongst one another. I have been told that there is tension amongst the diverse communities, but I didn’t witness any (of course, I was there for only a full day and an evening, which certainly isn’t enough time to truly understand a place). We started the tour by ascended Mt. Scopus and stopping near the Hebrew University, which offers a phenomenal photo opportunity; it overlooks the entire valley of the Old City. Then we visited King David’s tomb, which was very underwhelming (and I found it disconcerting that the viewing was segregated; the men could view the tomb from a prime location to see the tomb, whereas women were funneled to a remote corner with very limited viewing). Then we made our way through the various quarters of the Old City: there are multiple quarters. There is the Jewish quarter, the Christian quarter, the Islam quarter, and the Armenian quarter. The scale of each of these areas is quite small, perhaps smaller than you would expect. The Old City is very accessible in terms of its scale; but not in terms of its stairs and cobbled paths. The Old City would be a challenge for anyone with impaired mobility. Then we moved on to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which is said to be where Christ’s body was laid for cleansing immediately after he was crucified. This is one of the foremost holy places for Christians, and it was utterly mobbed with throngs of people. Then we walked the Via Dolorosa, which encompasses the stations of the cross. Each station represents an event in Christ’s final few days. This walk is also very holy to Christians (and in fact several of the stations are within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre). Then we walked to the Western Wall (aka the Wailing wall). The lower portion of this wall has the original stonework from the second temple (which was destroyed in 70 A.D., by the Romans). People of all faiths come to the wailing wall to pray, and also to offer prayers of petition that they’ve scribbled on little scraps of paper. People then stick these scraps of paper into the crevices of the actual wall. There are thousands of scraps of paper in and around the wall. The authorities clean up all the scraps and bury them in a grave, as if to honor the reverence of the scribbled prayers. I’d written a prayer on a srap of paper and approached the wall. From a distance, the scale of the wall does not seem so grand, but when you are standing right next to it, it is quite grand. I approached the wall (of course, in the segregated area for women), and found a place to stand right next to the wall (which was a challenge, as the wall was mobbed with people). I opened my hands and pressed my palms against the wall. It was cold, but also, seemed sort of electric. I placed my scrap of paper inside one of the already-jammed crevices of the wall. I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer. When I opened my eyes, I looked up to see a pigeon, perched on a tiny ledge, looking down directly at me. I imagined that he had attitude, sort of like, “hey, this is my wall; I’m sick of all you tourists!” He then flew off, seemingly in disgust. The sacred and the profane.
Probably the most moving place we visited that day, for me, was the garden at Gethsemane. Some of the olive trees in this garden date back to Christ’s time. It was chilling for me to think of Christ petitioning God, the night before his crucifixion, conceding to God, “Father, I do not understand you, but I trust you.” Precisely. There is so much we do not understand, that we cannot understand; but the trust can do wonders to get us through our respective dark nights of the soul. Then we visited a kibbutz for lunch. Then we headed back to the Old City one more time, to walk the teeming markets. On our way back to Tel Aviv, the guide stopped at a local market in an Arab section of town (as several people on the tour needed a bathroom). It was here that I heard the arresting and haunting call to prayer, that Muslims hear as an invocation to ritualized prayer. I was reverently soaking in this moving and entrancing sound, and then from out of nowhere, a camel trotted by, followed by several young children, scattering after it, trying to catch it. The sacred and the profane.
When I returned to my hotel around 6:30pm, I called my colleague and new friend Rachel, an Israeli native, to meet her for dinner. She picked me up and we went to a trendy, buzzing neighborhood with lots of good casual restaurants. As had been my experience the entire week, the food was delicious. Then we went for a walk and toured the revamped train station. This train station used to be an active station for the Jaffa-to-Jerusalem journey, which has long since been discontinued, and is now a hip, gentrified place with galleries, shops, and cafes.
On my final day in Israel, Sunday, Oct. 31, I checked out of the hotel @11am and drove to Yavne for one more day in the office before my late-evening flight. I worked with the team until 6pm, said many lovely goodbyes, and then headed for the airport. Rachel told me to just look for the signs for Jerusalem, and then look for signs for the airport. Feeling sort of cocky, since Tommi and I had managed to navigate really well all week long, I started driving and just planned to look for signs. Only, I got really confused as to which road I should actually be taking, and I realized that I was lost. Really lost. Panic began to set in. First I had visions of missing my flight from Tel Aviv (this would not be a good thing). Then I started to panic even more, and had visions of newspaper headlines, “American Woman Found Dead on Side of Road Near the Gaza Strip.” I decided to get off the highway and ask someone for directions. There was an exit for a town called Lod up ahead. I exited and found a gas station and stopped. The gas station was teeming with people everywhere. I got out of the car and asked the first fellow I saw. He said he didn’t speak English. Then I asked another. Also no English. Then another. Also no English. I realized I’d stopped in an Arab town, as they were all speaking Arabic. There were dozens of people around me, but not a soul could speak English. Perhaps sensing my panic, one fellow approached me and gestured for me to go inside the store of the gas station; I took this to mean that perhaps the store clerk could speak English. The store was packed with people. I got in line so that I could try to speak with the clerk. Finally it was my turn. “Do you speak English?” I inquired to this young woman behind the counter. “Yes,” she politely replied, to my immense relief. I got out my map and showed her that I was desperately trying to get to the airport. She smiled slightly, “it’s not a problem, you are close. Just get on this road here and drive straight. You will see the signs. You are very close.” I looked her in the eyes and was then struck by her immense beauty. I thanked her profusely. She said, in only slightly accented English, “you’re welcome” several times. I thanked GOD over and over; I suddenly thought perhaps she was a guardian angel. Ironically, when I’d arrived at the airport, I double-checked my map, just to get a sense of how lost I’d actually been. Near as I could tell from the map, I’d actually taken the shortest, most-direct route from the office to the airport.
Ask me sometime about my adventure trying to get through security at the airport that evening. Let’s just say that the Israelis are rather serious about security.
Oh, and by the way, the training class went really well.
