Arriving at Tel Aviv’s Ben-Gurion Airport, the passport inspector inquired if I was Israeli. I said no. She asked if I had an Israeli passport, again I say no. After several more questions about family she calmly said, “your name is Cohen, are you sure you’re not Israeli?”.
Arriving in Tel Aviv on the Sabbath is like stepping back in time. Buses have come to a stop. Most shops and restaurants close. If a taxi can be found, it charges double. The sage decision was clear. Start exploration in the old Arab quarter, Jaffe, where the southern end of beachside Tel Aviv would be full of life. The site has been beautifully renovated into an artist colony. Galleries were quaint and modern. Silversmiths design and produce beautiful old style art, jewelry and religious ephemera. In no time our first history lesson of many in Israel is indicated by a sign near a café in Jaffe reading ‘Mr. Bon’ had been there. That’s Bon, Napoleon Bonaparte.
When traveling throughout Israel the army is omnipresent. Typically 18-20 year-olds are required to join the army for two years. They move from training grounds around the country in their fatigues with huge backpacks slinging intimidating rifles over one shoulder. While riding the train they fall asleep with the rifles in their laps – at one point I counted over 10 guns pointed at me. Having found the Arab quarters the most colorful, it was brought to my attention that they are known to be some of the safest places in the country – Israeli’s believe it’s due in part because Arabs won’t bomb their own space. Ironically, that doesn’t mean the Jews will go to these areas – even for delicious baklava and other Arab delicacies they often covet.
From Tel Aviv, it’s a picturesque drive to Jerusalem. At approximately 108 square kilometers, the old city comes into view long before arriving. In the distance it appear as a fort and upon entering through any of it’s five gates, the sense of history engulfs you. Captivated by the sense that there are layers of history beneath the city, they are soon revealed as you follow the footsteps of time. Surrounded in every direction your eyes capture familiar images. The Western (or Wailing) Wall where Jews gather to say their prayers. The Dome of the Rock, the Muslim shrine with it’s golden dome. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the majestic purported site of the resurrection of Jesus. Divided by religion, the old city’s Jewish Quarter is clean and renovated featuring beautiful silver shops filled with jewelry and Judaica. The Arab Quarter, dilapidated and run down brims with food markets displaying towering plates of baklava and flea markets selling daily household items. The Christian Quarter, smaller than the other two and reminiscent of the tourist traps surrounding the Vatican. All beautiful in their own uniqueness, each defined by their architecture, food, goods for sale – and of course, the inhabitants themselves. The divisions are painfully clear.
Onward to the Dead Sea. Despite knowing what to expect, still I was completely taken by surprise when I walked into the water and was gently swept off my feet and floated slowly upward until only my head and feet bobbed above the water. Phenomenal. The water hardly rippled due to the density. The bottom of the lake had salt crystals the size of large rock salt, used to rub on the skin leaving it baby soft. At one point, the realization that my skin was itching and stinging – so much so that I found myself running to the beachside showers for an icey cold rinse. There is little else to do at the Dead Sea other than float or enjoy various spa treatments, so it’s a quiet and peaceful retreat. That is until the Israeli fighter jets practice maneuvers overhead.
From Ein Boqeq at the shores of the sea, it’s only a short drive to Masada. Though rich in history, the site is pretty much in ruins. Where renovation has occurred, there is a 1-inch thick painted black line indicating where the new build starts. Hideous. Breathtaking however, are the views from the top. It’s from here you can see Jordan, the Dead Sea, and the Negev desert. Leaving Masada behind, it’s a lovely downhill stroll toward the Negev. In this desert region the earth looks reminiscent of the surface of the moon and is as soft as a down pillow. It’s layers look like old newspapers stacked high over the years where wind and water erosion have left behind beautiful horizontal markings which seem to represent the sands of time.
02/2005