From Bangkok to Jerusalem

From Bangkok to Jerusalem

I must admit, as we were flying on a Royal Air Jordanian plane over Saudi Arabia along the border of Iraq (information I picked up on the cool little flight tracking screen airlines now provide) headed for Amman, Jordan (for a short stopover en route to Tel Aviv), I did think to myself, “are we %&@#$^ insane?” We decided to fly Royal Air Jordanian after determining it would save us over $2,000 and even a little time since El Al is prohibited from flying over “hostile airspace” and must take a more circuitous route. We even did a fair bit of “research” with some of the 1000s of Israelis traveling through Thailand, including parents of young children, who assured us it was safe, and even more comfortable than El Al (not a terribly high standard). But, at 2:00 am as we flew over the “hostile airspace”, it suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. In the middle of this mild panic, I did congratulate ourselves for the restraint we showed by waiting to share the information about our flight and routing with the grandparents until we were safely on the ground in Israel. My mild case of temporary insanity proved to be just that and we landed uneventfully in Amman, had a $10 Starbucks coffee, went through what seemed to me extremely lax security (what is that about??), and were safely ensconced in Ben Gurion International Airport within two hours.

As we have all noted to each other and in our various blog entries, arriving in Israel has been a mixture of conflicting emotions: absolute joy to be in the home of our people; trepidation that this portion of the trip will be so much different from the others; worry that our newly discovered family dynamic will be disturbed; excitement about seeing people who we have not seen in so long; relief to be able to brush our teeth with the tap water; sad that we are moving into the last leg of our journey; thrilled to be able to see and learn about Israel; anxious about trying to learn Hebrew; comforted to be safe to be a Jew; etc.. etc…

During our travels, there was an odd phenomenon when people would ask about our trip. Fellow travelers were always excited, bemused and maybe a little impressed to hear the story of how we quit our jobs, yanked the kids out of school and took off on this six month odyssey. Then there is this brief moment of truth when we go through our rough itinerary that seems perfectly acceptable in the world of leftie, hippiesh travelers who are out exploring the developing world--Africa, Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam, Indonesia-- and then we mention that we will spend two months in Israel. We then either get an awkward pause with an even more awkward question about our religious background (my personal favorite—“oh, are you of the Judaic persuasion?”), a polite, “oh I hear it is a beautiful country,” a blatant, “why would you go there?”, a remotely judgmental nod and smile and even an occasional “where/what is Israel?” It is simply extremely comforting to be surrounded by Jews and Israeli flags unabashedly flying about, safe in the knowledge that we don’t have to have that conversation any more.

My last trip to Israel was nearly 20 years ago—practically half this country’s lifetime—and it has changed dramatically. In many ways, it feels like we are home. It is at once familiar and foreign. I don’t speak Hebrew, but unlike Swahili, Thai, Lao, Cambodian, Vietnamese, Indonesian and Balinese, I can read it (like a third grader) and understand a slew of words and even some sentences in context. The weather, warm and mild and even a bit chilly, as well as the plants and trees make me feel like I am in Southern California. We have friends that are like family and we are staying in Aloni’s house, where the walls and shelves are packed with familiar art and pictures of many people I know and love. On the other hand, I am surrounded by unfamiliar places, sounds, smells and it took me 30 minutes to find the vanilla yoghurt that my kids requested because I was trying to sound out the Hebrew letters (it was the “french” that threw me). I love the fact that I when I go running people yell kol ha kavod (essentially “way to go” in Hebrew) , instead of “mzungu,” (white person) “pole” (sorry) or just staring slack jawed in disbelief at the large white woman with big hips (not a particularly common anatomical feature in Asian women).

Within hours of getting off the plane, we walked through the old city and up to the Kotel. As I was seeing it all for the first time in 20 years and through my beautiful daughters’ wide eyes, I realized that we had spent the last 4.5 months learning about other cultures and now we have the great fortune to immerse ourselves in our own extraordinary tradition and experience it together as a family without the distraction of our daily lives. I am thrilled to be here and can’t wait to see what this part of the journey holds in store for us.