Israel

by Madeleine Kando

One of the many reasons I wanted to visit Israel was that I am Jewish on my mother's side and have always had many unanswered questions about my Jewish roots. I was born in Hungary in the Second World War and our family had to hide from the Germans on a farm. I don't remember any of this, but I have been told the stories many times as I was growing up. So, finally this spring, my husband and I cut the Gordian knot and bought tickets to spend a brief ten days in this small, enigmatic country.

We were looking forward to find relief from the freezing weather in Boston, but as soon as we landed in Tel Aviv, a strong wind blowing in from the desert greeted us. Like two jet-lagged zombies, we made our way to the Hertz desk on auto-pilot and only after we had driven off in an ashtray smelling, banged up rental car, did we discover that the outlet for the GPS was broken. Hoping that we were following the road signs to Jerusalem, where, according to the picture on the internet, we had booked a room on a quaint little road winding up a hill, we tried to cope with the typical disorientation of being in a foreign country, one where even the writing looks like elegant graffiti.



Upon entering Jerusalem, we learned right away that traffic lights take half a day to turn green, which gave us ample time to notice that half the city is populated by Hasidic Jews. Women in black tights pushing prams, men in long black coats and fur hats, children with long tresses and shaved foreheads.. Entering Jerusalem is like stepping into one of those faded photographs in a Jewish history book.

We recognized the B&B from the picture on the internet and parked the car behind a refuse bin overflowing with uncollected garbage. The wind had acquired ferocious strength causing soda cans to roll down the street and plastic bags to twirl up in the air.

A woman who introduced herself as Esther opened the door. After she figured out which room we were supposed to occupy, she waited impatiently for us to settle. 'I'll be late for Shabbat' she said in perfect English. That was our first brush with the predominant characteristic of Israel: religious celebration. Religion is part of every Israeli's life, including secular Jews like Nir, our host. He showed up a half hour later and made us feel at ease, spending the better part of an hour talking to us, listening to our plans and trying to be helpful.

Israel is a country carved out of the desert by millions of hands, driven by a furious desire to find a homeland. It has not had time to grow organically. It is settled by a people with great cultural backgrounds but there is a roughness about this young country that is both visible in the landscape and part of the Israeli character. People don't bother with social graces that an older society has had time to develop. Israeli's are direct to the point of rudeness. Do the residents of Tel Aviv feel that collecting trash, cleaning the streets and cordoning off construction sites are niceties that they cannot afford? If you risk being blown to pieces any time of day and night, why bother about such trivialities?

The wind blowing in from the desert covers everything with a layer of dust. Israelis love to honk their horn and an endless cacophony of beeps fills the streets. The faded, yellow color of the houses blend perfectly into the rocky landscape, giving even brand new construction an ancient appearance.

Obviously, the Semitic race is predominant, but the occasional stunningly beautiful blond female soldier can be spotted standing guard on some street corner, an M16 nonchalantly slung over her shoulder, chatting with her army buddy. They are always in pairs, extremely young, as frequently female as male. Soldiers are required to keep their guns with them, even off duty. Misplacing a gun in a country where terrorism is a daily possibility is obviously a big deal and if they lose a gun, they go to jail.

Our first visit to the Old City soon taught us that haggling over items is the norm here. We had American tourist written on our foreheads, which spells sucker both in Hebrew and Arabic, but we engaged in the haggle dance for the sheer fun of it. The smell of freshly made humus and falafel fills the air, mountains of sweet candy in all the colors of the rainbow are on display, long dresses swing from hooks and the glitter of fake jewelry adds to the brilliance and bustle of the markets. The presence of soldiers with big guns and unsmiling faces on every street corner is part and parcel of this exotic environment.

Our visit to Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Center, where my parents' names are engraved on the walls of the 'Righteous amongst Nations' was another highlight of our visit. It is built on the Mount of Remembrance, overlooking Jerusalem, a vast, sprawling complex of walkways, museums and exhibits. Inside the Holocaust Museum, a huge dome houses the archives of the six million victims of the Holocaust. During our visit, a group of female soldiers were led around as part of their basic training and watching the reaction on their faces was as informative as the exhibits themselves. At that moment I understood why these young girls need Israel to exist, why they are in uniform and why it is inevitable that this country be fought over tooth and nail.

The following day we drove to the ancient desert fortification of Masada. The road crosses through the West Bank, along the Dead Sea, a body of water so blue, it hurts the eyes. Black Bedouin tents can be seen scattered in the distance and camels adorned with bells and whistles walk in a slow cadence alongside the road, luring tourists to take a ride. Masada is known for the mass suicide of 960 Jewish rebels during a siege by the Romans.

(to be continued….) leave comment here