Last Thursday, December 21st, I took the last of my final exams, including two 5-page essay questions for our "Israel: Land, Cultures, & People" course. I rushed to get my belongings for the next week packed, and after finishing my AP US exam around 2pm, our group hopped on the big black and rainbow bus, driven by our buddy Watid. Then, we headed south.
A few hours after the sun went down, we were still driving...until the road we were on turned into a dirt road. Then a rocky double-track. Then...well...I'm still not sure if Watid was driving on any kind of civilized path or not. In any case, we finally arrived at a quaint little spot near the city of Deminah, known to the locals as Memshit (Memphis, in English). The irony is great: I came 6000 miles from home only to arrive in Memphis again. Oh well.
Memshit is the site of an ancient Nabithiyan city, as well as being the home to a large group of camels and the Bedouin men and women that tend to the needs of the camels. This is where we stayed, in the Bedouin Tent. The establishment reminded me a lot of a small circus: a few large tents with a central tent and bathrooms around. The tent that would be my home for the evening was in the far eastern corner of the encampment, providing me with a view of the hill rising up in front of the tent, on which the ancient city of Memphis used to be, and also a spectacular view of a group of Bedouin women sitting around fires making authentic laffa bread. Laffa is a type of pita, but larger and handmade. After going down to film the making of the bread, I struck up some conversation with the women, although their native tongue was Arabic and mine English---thankfully, we all knew about the same amount of Hebrew as each other, so conversing was relatively easy. I'm getting good at this Hebrew speaking stuff.
Suddenly, the women began to speak rapidly in Arabic, then dropped their bread and frantically tried to cover their heads. After a good minute or so of confusion, one woman explained to me that her and her comrades had simply forgotten to cover their faces, and I could only portray them as such on film. I was horrified and apologized extensively, while the old ladies laughed at my pitiful, apologetic, concerned manner.
For dinner, we joined another 50 or so kids from all over the world, most on the Birthright program, and all of us sat on the floor of the ochel haochel--the food tent. Each group of four people got a huge tray with laffa bread, salads, traditional Arab and Middle Eastern cuisine, along with a delicious rice, meat, and chicken dish. The meal hit the spot for me, considering I love this kind of food, and just when I thought my night couldn't get any better...
We went back to our tent only to find a Bedouin man with an instrument somewhat like a guitar ("but much better", according to him) playing for us while another two Bedouins made and served some of the most delicious tea I've ever had. To top it all off, we were served baklava and Bedouin coffee.
Pause. Allow me to explain the coffee-making tradition of the Bedouins and Arabs of the world, that I've somewhat adopted. In teh middle of the desert, the Bedouins will take coffee beans, grind them by hand to the desired size and thickness, then boil the grounds in a small finjan, much like my Turkish coffee making. The process takes about 15-20 minutes altogether, and serves three small shot-glass-sized servings. The coffee is quite possibly the best I've ever had...so pure and good. The ceremony also follows that there are three cups served, and that no one is turned away by the Bedouins for coffee. I highly recommend going to the Negev Desert, if nothing else, then for the Bedouin hospitality.
The next morning, after a night of partying and having all kinds of fun in a drum circle/bellydance/party tent next door, I was presented with the experience of a lifetime: to ride a camel!
Camels are disgusting, ugly, smelly, spitty creatures that are inherently grumpy. And we put saddles and harnesses on their humps and jumped up, assisted by the Bedouin handlers. Then came an hour or so of pain and discomfort, all the time preoccupied with not falling off the damn animal. We checked out the ruins of a huge Nabythian city, and then turned our faithful steeds around (well...they kind of did whatever the hell they wanted and we hung on for dear life) and headed back to camp just in time to catch the first rain of the year (yoreh, in Hebrew) and say goodbye to two more of our chaverim, who chose to go home due to other obligations.
Our Bedouin experience over and done with, we travelled down, down, down, below sea level, past the Dead Sea, all the way into the middle of the Arava Desert and stopped finally at Kibbutz Yahel. For those taking notes, you'll notice that we had Rosh Hashanah morning services at Yahel, but it's not that important.
Yahel was started in the 70's by graduates of NFTY programs that made Aliyah to Israel and decided to settle together in one of the harshest environments in the world, the Arava Desert. Nestled between the Eilat Mtns on the east and the Edom Mtns of Jordan on the west, Yahel is beautiful in its own way, with its few trees struggling to stay alive and sandy, dusty ground. In the past year, the Kibbutz has only seen 2 millimeters of rain, so we came to a particularly dry kibbutz.
Our first activity here was to go to their palmello fields. Yahel grows dates, citrus fruits, and provides most of Israel and Europe with various exotic fruits. The palmello is a citrus fruit somewhat akin to a grapefruit, but infinitely better. The unique thing about the palmello fields at Yahel is that they sit 5 meters from the Jordanian border.
"Whatever you do, don't step on the asphalt--the IDF will come in with the attack choppers," were the first words we heard from our guide, Ron. Not sure if he was kidding or not...but I didn't nevertheless. After learning how to really peel and eat a palmello, Ron told us of his experiences picking palmellos for some 25 years. There is a small fence, then a 25 meter no-mans-land, and another fence. This marks the border of Jordan and Israel. It is a peaceful border, and has been since the mid-90's, when the peace treaty between the two was signed in Eilat.
One day, he said, the IDF patrol found footprints that went from the Jordanian side of the border across into the palmello fields, then back over to the Jordanian side. Baffled, the soldiers told the kibbutzniks that their lives were in danger. Ron, however, reasoned it out: "If you were a Jordanian soldier patrolling the desert road in the middle of July, and saw a huge palmello grove, what would YOU do?" he said to the IDF.
Now, years later, Ron fills a crate with palmellos every few days and places it right on the fence so the Jordanian soldiers can eat of the palmello without getting in trouble. He has a completely different vision of peace in the Middle East. One night, a high-up in the Jordanian gov't came to the kibbutz and had dinner with Ron and his family. There they were, two families, one Jordanian and one Israeli, both playing, singing, drinking, and laughing together. This, Ron said, was his peace in the Middle East. It gives me some hope for peace...someday.
We also had Shabbat services at Yahel and spent our Friday and Saturday there, going into Eilat for a few hours Saturday night to shop on the Tayellet, which is the promenade on the shore of the Red Sea. If you look in Bereshit (Genesis) in the Bible, find the story of the parting of the Red Sea, allowing the Israelites to pass. Well, I was standing on the shores of the same sea that my ancestors did and sang songs of praise for allowing them into the Promised Land. It was a really cool experience, and I got a few pairs of fisherman pants and some Egyptian cotton shirts. They're soooooo comfy.
After some partying with the kibbutz kids (who are inherently sketchy, no matter which kibbutz they live on in this country), we enjoyed our last night of civilized living, and then woke up Sunday morning and met up with Ayellet and Roi, our guides for the upcoming week. They are from Tzukim Travel, and would keep us alive in the Negev for the next few days.
Our first hike began right away on Sunday, and would serve as a "warm-up" hike. After driving to Nowhere, we took a left, and found ourselves in the Middle of Nowhere. It's a very barren place. The desert is amazing: it is harsh, barren, lifeless, yet at the same time a vibrant, beautiful place.
With the food supplies divvied up between the 25 of us, along with 3 liters of water (a must in the desert!) and my personal Turkish coffee kit, our group began our hike at the Amram campground and hopped onto the Shvil Yisrael, a trail running the length of the country from north to south. We followed the Shvil all the way UP, and UP, and UP, and then finally over the top of Har Amir, (Side note: Har is Hebrew for Mtn.) putting us 443 meters above sea level. The ground was slippery, and even the most stable-looking rocks would move of their own accord as soon as one put their foot down. Our only solace was to aim for the pass between two rocks in the distance, one a turtle shape and the other, to my utter delight (ha-ha, not!) in the exact form of a camel. The weather was rather nice, being in the mid- to upper-70's in the shade and a steady 80 in the sunlight. Reaching the peak, we went over the pass and found ourselves on a huge plateau of rock exposed to harsh winds, with a beautiful view of the Red Sea in the distance and Eilat in the foreground.
From here, we kept hiking through a wadi (Arabic for nachal, which is Hebrew for riverbed) and, after seeing a few scattered acacea trees, the only trees able to survive in the harsh climate, we descended into the Canyon Shechoret--the Black Canyon. This canyon is so named because it is made out of plutonian rocks that are very dark in color. The mountain above the canyon, Har Shechoret, is actually divided by a massive fault line that dates back to 500 million years ago, when a shift of tectonic plates forced the limestone layers hundreds of meters higher, creating this line running from the middle of the ridge all the way across the Eilat Mtns. In a few days, we would be able to see this line closer up. We learned about floods in the desert, and saw a few pictures from Ayellet's adventures in said floods. We also prayed for rain to wait until we left the canyon, and it did, as we emerged several hours later, finishing our hike at the night camp site. Our "warm-up" hike had taken around 6 hours and traversed roughly 6km.
That night, we had some of the best soup on earth and some good vittles prepared by Roi and Ayellet, with the help of us chillins. In the shadow of mountains on either side of us, and camped in a wadi, the wind made it a cold and bitter night, but I said "the hell with it" and chose to sleep outside and enjoy the stars. Going to bed post-campfire and smores, I had an uneasy night ahead...not helped by the extra night guard NFTY hired to guard us. This guy we fondly referred to as Sketchy McSketch Sketch. He was one of the wierdest adults I've ever met, and my first impression of him was his lighting of a cigarette using a huge burning log from the campfire...almost lost his goatee, too.
The morning came early, with the sun not up yet, and us being cold as anything. The wind had died now, but don't let that fool you: it was DAMN cold, probably somewhere in the low 30's. Some tea and biscuits (Israeli tea crackers) helped with that, and after breakfast we set out for our next day's hike.
In true Tzukim tradition, just like during Yam L'Yam, the second day hike was the hardest. Around 8km long, with two peak ascents, and by no means any moderately easy trail, this hike would be a test for our entire group. Without any warmup flat land, we began acending the first peak, Har Yehoram. On our right side, we could see a small white building with a radio tower beside it. On questioning Ayellet, she replied, "Oh, that's an Egyptian army post."
We were within peeing distance of Egypt's Sinai Peninsula. This was an interesting revelation, but Israel and Egypt are at peace with each other, so no worries. Still, the remains of IDF outposts were evident in the hills, and marks from the 1967 Six Day War were still abound...we didn't go slow by any means.
Halfway up the mountain, Ayellet told us about the sex lives of porcupines and leopards. Atop Har Yehoram, we heard a story about two soldiers that died during IDF training in the desert, one due to dehydration and the other due to heatstroke. This lesson served to show us how imporant it is to conserve water and be smart when in the desert. Looking up, I could see the first two false summits of Har Shlomo, and the rails and ladders used to get to the top.
This looked to be one hell of a climb. And it was.
At one point, we walked across a line, crossing from limestone to plutonian rock. Ayellet: "we just crossed 500 million years of geologic history." And we kept walking...I mean, it's only 500 million years, no biggie. OH! I got to pee off a cliff onto the rift, so basically I was peeing on the geological history of earth. It's my way of helping the desert bloom, like it says in the Torah.
At the very top of Har Shlomo, we arrived in time to stand on the tiny summit and listen to "The Circle of Life" playing on Ayellet's iPod speakers. The moment was priceless, and the view was even better, allowing a full 360 degree panorama of Jordan and its Edom Mtns, the Arava Desert, Dead Sea, Eilat and Akaaba (Jordan), the Red Sea with Saudia Arabia in the distance, and Egypt to the west. Supposedly, one could see Beer-Sheva on a clear day, but there are no clear days in Israel, so this wasn't the case. The moment had a damper put on it after a bit, though, when I realized that I had tripped and hit the record button twice on my camera, so that none of the summiting and Lion-King stuff was caught on tape. Kind of like a "I found the most beautiful girl in the world, and forgot to bring the camera." It sucked. But, moments are great, and that was a good one, even if it won't necessarily make it into the film.
A group of Deitot (Orthodox girls) had followed us to the summit, so we proceeded onward to make space, but not before I caught some looks from a few of the girls...yeah, those Orthodox girls dig me. Just kidding, I'm pretty sure that's some kind of sin. In any case, we did continue onward, down into Nachal Shlomo. This was an interesting hike, with hardly any trail visible--only rocks and a sharp downslope. Ayellet guided us down, picking her line carefully but deftly. Myself, I just put my feet on rocks that looked stable and let my butt take the beating. This took us a good few hours, and then we came to the hard part: a section requiring use of cables and ladders that had been built into the rocks in order to manuever on the rocks with any semblance of safety. At the bottom of a particularly steep "waterfall", a rock formation formed by the occasional violent flash floods that havoc the nachals, we stopped and took a breather to have lunch. I made some good Turkish coffee, and had a sandwich, and then it was time to go again.
We continued, and the trail only became harder. Soon, we couldn't progress 20 meters without having to sit down and slide or jump from rock to rock on another dangerous formation. At one point, we came to a vertical 10 meter drop. Barely visible on the left-hand side were steel rungs placed in the rock by trailbuilders that allowed us to get down. This was the tune of our hiking until we reached the bottom of the nachal and were in a plain for a bit. In the plain, we sat down in a circle and Ayellet asked us to talk about where we would like to be in some-odd years from today. My turn came, and I was asked where I would be in 21 years. My answer: "Almost 40 years old, not living with my parents anymore, and doing what I love to do with a good income." We hiked onward, and finally the bus came into sight, taking us to our next night campsite. I slept on the ground again, and this time I was much warmer and had a wonderful view of the stars. The camel ranch down the road provided some nice music and smells as well. That was a good night's sleep.
Tuesday morning came even earlier, with the sun rising just as we packed up the tents and got onto the bus for our next hike. We went back to where our previous day's hike had started and began hiking on the Shvil Yisrael. The hike for this day wasn't particularly exciting except for the fact that we were a mere 50 meters from one of the markers (#89 of 91) that mark the border with Egypt. Climbing Har Yoash, with its slippery, soft rock, our group took a picture on a mesa overlooking the Red Sea and Sinai. On the way down, we had to use some more cable and ladder skills, and even though this hike wasn't near as tough as the day before, it still took a toll on my knees and butt. After several hours, though, we came to a spot where the real fun would take place: snappeling.
Snappeling is the Israeli version of rapelling, and the 80 meter high rock face we sat at the foot of would be our snappeling site. To tell the truth, I've climbed and rapelled on much tougher and more exciting sites, but this one was in Israel, so it is inherently special. While we did our monkey business on the rocks, a group of Bedouins were setting up for a bar mitzvah party in the plain below. As we ate lunch in the shade of a sand dune an hour later, a convoy of 4x4 Land Rovers with lots of people in them came by, including the bar mitzvah boy. Turns out they came all the way from Jersey to have this shindig. Kind of a neat sight, coming across other Jews in the middle of the desert.
Now, all this hiking got me wondering: Is this how the Israelites lived for 40 years, wondering around in the desert? If it is, no wonder they were so grumpy and difficult to manage. Moses should have just given up and asked for directions.
As a reward for finishing this particular hike, we got on the bus and were allowed a few hours of free time on the Tayellet in Eilat, just as the sun was setting over the sea. That sunset rates around a 9.932345 on my 1-10 scale of sunsets. Absolutely gorgeous. I picked up another few Egyptian cotton shirts and another pair of fisherman pants, and was oh so comfy. The shop owners kind of looked at me funny when I came in, most likely due to the fact that I hadn't had a shower in so long, and that I looked like I should be going to rob the nearest Seven-Eleven with my aviator sunglasses and dusty self.
We had to leave early due to the threat of rain (haha, funny, rain in the desert) and moved our campsite to a field school near the shore for our last night of roughing it. That night, I was able to sit by the fire, look up at the stars, and even serve on guard duty, since Mr. Sketchy decided not to show up for his job. It was a good night, although I began thinking about the impending plane ride back to the States...depressing as hell.
The last hike of our Negev experience was a very fun one, although only about two-thirds of us went on it, due to our group being always injured in one way or another. The hike went up and over Har Tzefachot, and just before the summit (after hearing more about the sex lives of more desert animals, like the porcupine and cheetah, who mate at least 8 times every night, all year long. Then, 10 or so meters from the top of the mountain, Ayellet told us to look down and only look up when she said so. We did such, and at the top, I had to catch my breath. Aside from the wind gusts trying to blow us off the mountain, I was looking at one of the best views of Eilat and its coral reef in the world. With the trail snaking away below to the shore, we had a few minutes of Zen to appreciate the view and what we had come to do. Far in the distance, I could see Har Amir and Shechoret, at a distance of 20 or so kilometers from our present position. The sheer magnitude of our finished hike was amazing itself, and just thinking about how we had conquered the desert was even more amazing.
We were supposed to go snorkelling on the reef in Eilat, but the cloudcover, chilly water temperature, and threat of rain weren't condusive to snorkelling, so we headed back to Tzuba a few hours earlier than scheduled Wednesday afternoon. On the way back, even though I was half-dead from the hike, I woke up a few times to see great sights:
A massive double rainbow over the Dead Sea.
Flash floods in the Judean Desert, including one car stranded in water up to its windows from water crossing the road.
Snow in Jerusalem.
That's right, we arrived in Jerusalem in time to witness a phenomena that only happens every four years or so. People were scurrying everywhere trying to figure out what to do and how to act. Cars were backed up on the freeway and parked in the streets so that people could get out of their cars and hold the falling snow. Some little Charedi kids threw snowballs at our bus. It was the most beautiful sight I've seen of Jerusalem, covered in white.
Some two hours later, we arrived at Tzuba after our hellish commute, playing in the snow which was now almost half a foot deep. That night, we went to bed while the snow still fell.
Thursday, we went on a tiyul to Yad L'Kashish, a place in Jerusalem that employs the elderly so that they won't be hungry or poor. They make really beautiful crafts there, all handmade by the elderly workers. I spoke with a few of them--in Hebrew--and they were very happy to be working there, and also very proud of their work. At the end of the tour, we were able to buy things, including talitot, metalworking, weaving, and woodworks. In the very back, I found the most beautiful talit in the world, complete with the Old City on the top and the Kotel on each of the four corners, all in gold and blue embroidery on a white background. I'm hoping to buy it once I get back to the States, since the lady offered to hold it and I could buy it online when I got the money.
That afternoon, I planted a tree in Modi'in. Nine out of ten trees in Israel were planted by people like me, and I want to do my part in making Eretz Yisrael bloom, as well as leaving my mark on the land. Hopefully I'll be able to come back years from now and point to a tree outside Modi'in and say "That's my legacy to this place."
Friday (yesterday morning), we went on another tiyul to Mt. Herzl, the military and national cemetery of Israel. There, we saw the graves of all the great leaders and minds of the Jewish People. I also did something I've been waiting for since Poland.
In Auschwitz, near the ponds with the ashes in them, one can still find shards of bone that were left over from the crematoriums not doing their complete job. I found a large piece, about the size of my little toe, and put in a ziploc bag to bring back to Israel with me. Underneath a tree overlooking teh Judean Hills on Mt. Herzl, I covered the bone shard in soft dirt, patted it down, and said in a soft voice, "Welcome home."
Shortly after, we went to a monument called Megilat HaEsh, the Pillars of Fire. Built by a man named Natan Rapoport, who was a survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto and happens to be family of my grandmother. It documents, in bronze, the plight of the Jewish People, from the Holocaust to the State of Israel. The fact that someone from my family survived the lowest point in the history of the Jews to come to Israel and be such an inspiration amazes me and makes me proud not only of who I am, but of who I have become.
Last night was our last Shabbat evening as a group, and right now our last Shabbat is wearing down. I have to be completely packed in about 20 minutes, and then I'll find out how grossly overweight my bags are and how much Delta and the other airlines are going to make me pay. It's quite sad that I can fit my entire life into two suitcases.
That's all for now, we're going to a mall tonight. Expect some major contemplation in the next day or so.
Shabbat Shalom and Shavua Tov,
--Aron
aronaltmark@aol.com
