TRAVEL: Ein Kerem Arrival and Dead Sea Adventure

* See below and archives for photos...

It is Sunday morning, November 20, 2005 and I am up at 6 a.m. after not enough sleep, having had trouble dozing off last night. I run four short laps of the kibbutz roads and stop by Kara’s room where the door is unlocked and she is still fast asleep. I lean over and give her a sweaty kiss being surprised by her gentle acceptance. She is not complaining about the ‘sweat’ or the fact that I have awakened her. Of course, I am only entitled to use the term ‘awakened’ by applying it’s most liberal interpretation. It is nice to have back the small things like a good morning kiss. The details of life are like the spices in cooking – sometimes they flavor the entire experience.

I shower and dress and begin to pack my things, preparing to leave the kibbutz hotel. I make another trip to Kara’s room to drop off all of her stuff, including the Chanukah presents I bought and wrapped before leaving home. Soon after I receive a text message asking where I am and realize that Kara has headed to services without stopping by my room. I drop what I’m doing and immediately head off to join her. She has saved me a seat and she is hugging me and holding my hand and not at all embarrassed about public displays of affection for her mom. Are the teenage years really over? No, it can’t be.

We’re at breakfast and the kids are a little nervous about gadna, the Israeli army experience for teenagers. They have heard nothing good from anyone who has gone through it. There’s that and the thought of no computers or internet for a whole 5 days and this would make any teenager feel concerned, above and beyond the whole living in tents thing. I am secretly sad to see her leaving so soon after I have arrived. I’ve had a few sips, but I’m still very thirsty for her presence.

I check out and head over for the village of Ein Kerem, a quaint and charming neighborhood of Jerusalem. I will spend most of the rest of my trip staying here, in the home of my close friends, Walter and Paula Zanger. They are in the United States and are kind enough to let me use their place during their absence. I am overwhelmed by the charm of their home. It is ancient, comfortable, quiet and inviting. I spend time with Walter’s daughter Jenia who shows me around and how things work. Jenia tells me that she had a great time in gadna and that she enjoyed ‘playing soldier’ for a week. Kara phones a bit later from the bus while on the way to Sde Boker, the military base in the Negev. I ask Jenia to share w/ Kara about her perspective so Kara will have had at least one positive opinion
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I am settling in and waiting for my cousin Joey to finish his commitments so we can make plans for an adventure. He is taking off a few days from work, which, coincidentally is at a restaurant in Ein Kerem.

Eitan stops by. He is a neighbor and very good friend of the Zangers. He has recently made alliyah which is a term we use when a Jew immigrates to Israel. It means ‘to go up,’ The same word is used when we are given the honor of going up on the bima at a synagogue to say a prayer or help in some way with the rituals of the service. There is tremendous spirituality and pride in making or receiving an alliyah. Eitan and I have a pleasant chat. He is very interesting -- an author. I am enjoying hearing about his latest book and book ideas along with the trials and tribulations in the pursuit of literary agents, publishers and the like. He has stopped by to offer any assistance I might need during my stay at the Zangers. I am sure he is knowledgeable about the village and details of Israeli life such as how to use this crazy looking machine that I am assured was designed for washing clothes.

When Joey calls, the decision is made to head over to the Dead Sea for a day or two. There are lots of hiking opportunities and the hotels have lovely indoor pools, filled with the salty, mineral waters of Yam Amelach (Dead Sea). Marcia finds us a deal online. She explains that Israelis get a better price. I think because they are more intimidating than we Americans. We end up w/ a suite on the eleventh floor of Le Meridian, overlooking Yam Amelach. Included in the price is breakfast and dinner. I get the bedroom with this huge soft bed and Joey is in the other room on the pullout. This is fair because Joey has just finished his Army service. I hear that in the Israeli army you learn to sleep anywhere, anytime. So technically, he doesn’t even need a bed at all; I could just stand him up in the corner and wake him in the morning. This whole sleeping thing will probably also come in handy when he heads off to University.


In Israel, army service is mandatory for everyone, men and women, after graduating high school. Thereafter, annual reserve duty is required. The requirement varies, but Joey is estimating that it is about 45 days every three years, more or less depending on what your job was in the army. This continues through until age forty or forty-five.

I am going to sleep early tonight because we have an early morning adventure planned.


***

It is 4:00 a.m. and my cell phone alarm just went off. We are getting up and rubbing the sleep from our eyes in preparation for our ambitious, pre-dawn hike up Masada. There is no coffee in the room and when I phone the front desk to see if there might be any in the lobby, I am invited to order room service. Right. Even in the U.S., where things operate on a much quicker time continuum than in other countries, room service takes until forever. I pass – thank you anyway. ‘Whose idea was this, anyway?’ I am calling to Joey from the other room as I slip into my shorts. I am hoping that this verbal offensive will catch him off-guard and possibly he won’t notice or remember that it was MY idea.
Aaah, sunrise from the top of Masada.

As we pass through the lobby, I ask if there is any bottled water or a mini-market that is open in the area. Again, I am invited to order room service. Again I decline, but now this is beginning to show promise as the start of an ongoing joke. Excuse me sir, there is a fire in the lobby; have you a fire extinguisher? No madam, but you might try room service.

We arrive at the trailhead just before 5:00 a.m. and it is still dark, but the moon is bright and seeing is not an issue. The guard says that the trail opens at 5, so by requiring us to wait that extra five minutes, he has earned his salary for the day. I hope his boss is reading this, or his mom. Either would be proud.

We are heading up the Snake Trail. I am wondering about the name and if I should be worried about where I step. Haven’t serpents caused enough problems in this part of the world already? Joey is regaling me with army stories, which I thought were supposed to be boring, but his are not. He is also telling me about the survival night in the pre-army program. As we make our way up the trail, it begins to gradually lighten. We are at the top by 6 a.m. and Joey has lugged up a pakal café which includes a can of propane, water, coffee, coffee cups, a coffee pot and he is at work lighting the cooker in the wind. (I told you he is cool!) He is making us coffee and explaining about the meaning of pakal which has something to do with a mandatory standing order of certain things a soldier must carry such as a gun, communication device, water, a stretcher for each 15 people in the unit and so forth. Now, I don’t think they are required to carry a Turkish coffee kit, but I do think it’s a good idea and apparently so does he.

The sun is coming up, however, rain is predicted and clouds are covering the Jordanian hills to the east of us and across the Yam Amelach. I watch, anxiously awaiting a photographic opportunity and a hot Turkish coffee.

Joey and I are talking. The desert is beautiful. On this we agree. But I am puzzled by this beauty. It is inexplicable. The first time I was in Israel, it wasn’t quite this pretty, not because it looked any different, but because I was different. I have learned to see the beauty. Appreciating the desert landscape is an acquired taste and Joey is agreeing. But neither of us can explain it. Look, Joey, I am exclaiming. Look at the color of the rocks. Just moments ago, they were a totally different color. Now the light has changed and so has the landscape.

Maybe part of the desert’s beauty lies in it’s willingness to be changed. The desert is solid – sand and rocks. But it is fluid too, a constantly changing reflection of colors throughout the day. Here and there a tree or flower and I have to admire this living thing growing from the impossible. Heat of day, cold of night, no water, unfettered winds, and it stands – no, not stands, thrives -- in defiance of logic. I am in awe of the strength and tenacity that is a subtle energy everywhere, in the desert.

My sights are eastward. My camera is on a tripod pointed to where the sun is to make it’s grand appearance. I am waiting and watching. I just happen, at one point to look behind my back and I notice that to the south west, the sky has become quite lovely. Of course, to me this becomes a metaphor for those times in life when I cling to a vision or expectation and my gaze is fixed in one direction only. And with eyes forward, I am waiting for that one anticipated moment or event to occur. Meanwhile, I am missing out on all the beauty around me. So I am squeezing off a few shots and we are walking around and it is becoming colder and windier and cloudier. But I am on top of Masada and on top of the world and the weather cannot touch me.

***

It is now after breakfast. We have returned from our hike and are ready for a dip in the pool. I am surprised how crowded it is for a Monday in the end of November. Joey and I look around and notice that we are rather young compared to our companions. I estimate that by adding our ages together and multiplying by two, we can arrive at the average age in the pool. On the other hand, this is Torah territory, land of 900-year-old Methusala and pregnancy and childbirth in the 10th decade of life. Maybe it’s the water – and I’m gonna buy bottled, thank you very much.

Joey heads off the sauna and I’m in the pool and settling in at the side to enjoy that magical floating sensation that I’ve only ever experienced in Dead Sea waters. The water is salty beyond imagination and it is as though one floats on top of the water. When I am here, walking on water doesn’t seem miraculous, but most ordinary. There are two Israeli men next to me speaking Hebrew and I don’t understand a word. There is a pair of metal crutches on the deck next to us. I am wondering to whom they belong. When the men finish their chat, the one that leaves the pool picks up the crutches and heads off on his one leg. What is his story? Was he an army officer wounded in battle? Was he passing by Sbarro pizza that fateful day when a terrorist homicide bomber blew apart families and children and lives? We hear only of the dead. But the injured, the ones who lose eyes or limbs or loved ones, are not forgotten because one must be first noticed before being left behind by the mind.

***

It is evening and time for dinner. Most people measure adjustment to a new destination by their body’s recovery from jet lag. I am measuring differently. I am wondering when arriving at an Israeli buffet with it’s vast array of salads and cheeses and hummus, olives and fruits, rice, meat, chicken, fish, stewed and grilled vegetables, soups, [saying the desserts completely suck is an understatement] will become ordinary. I am wondering when the urge to remember the ingredients of each salad and to recite to my journal each of the endless variety of dishes, when this insane need to hold on mentally to each meal will pass and I will settle in. Then, I will have adjusted. Maybe I will never adjust and that will be a good thing as well. Would it be strange for a tourist to stroll through the buffet with a camera rather than a plate? Hmmm.

***

Ooooh- oooooh. It’s a return text message from Kara:

“ I love you too. It rained today. Did field work Was fun. Night.”

The cryptic text messages of today = telegrams of yesterday. The same brevity and cadence.

I write back: Lila Tov sweet p

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