Masada

I had long imagined that a peaceful, if hot and strenuous, hike up Masada with my family and then a lecture from Aloni about this heroic, if controversial, last stand of the Jews in the Roman period would be a highlight of our time in Israel. I was half right. As expected, Aloni’s lecture was remarkable—both in content and intensity. If Israel is Aloni’s classroom, Masada is the PhD program—as it represents to him, and to many Israelis, perhaps the defining moment of Jewish resolve that, together with the lessons of the holocaust, established that “Never Again” will Jews be confronted with a choice between enslavement or suicide or be unable to protect themselves. This was, and continues to be, the core raison d’etre of the State of Israel. Indeed, many Israeli soldiers are brought to the top of Masada, after long arduous hikes, for their swearing in to indoctrinate them into the critical importance of their mission.

First, however, we had to get to the top. The plan was to get up at 5:30 AM and make the 45 minute climb before it was too hot and just in time to meet my mom, Fern, Tina, Jessie, Rama and Aloni who were catching the first tram up. Aloni had told us repeatedly that walking is ridiculous—too hot and hard and that we should take the tram. However, we have walked our way through the Africa and South East Asia and we were not about to wimp out at Masada. Emma, on the other hand, was just not having it and before we had left the parking lot she started huffing, puffing and kvetching. So, the 45 minute walk turned into a one and a half hour torture session in which Emma dissolved into tears in a heap every 10 feet or so (see pictures) as though she herself had been walking through the desert for 40 years, rather than having spent the night in a nice air-conditioned hotel and spa. Good thing the young Jewish pioneers were not relying on Emma’s strength and fortitude as they built this county. Though, I hope that Emma would have risen to the challenge had the State of Israel been relying on her fortitude for its every existence. Fortunately, that hope will not need to be tested.

All was not lost as we still had Aloni’s lecture ahead of us and he did not disappoint. As with all of Israel, he knows the history in stunning detail—but for him, this place is personal and he shares it with a sense of purpose, and even a bit of dramatic flair. He took us to the various buildings where he described in great detail how the Jews lived there during the two year siege by the Romans, from the mundane aspects of everyday life such as eating and bathing, to the way they continued to study, learn and engage in their sacred ritual practices even as the Romans were a mere 1000 feet below preparing for their destruction. He described how his father led him, his sister and a couple of dozen fellow kibbutzniks to Masada when Aloni was a boy (maybe 6 years old) during the British mandate period when the entire area was still off limits to Jews. His description of the journey through the desert with donkeys carrying their belongings and camping at the top of Masada sounded almost biblical. At dawn, his father had them sit at the top of the mountain overlooking the sweeping view of the vast desert and the Dead Sea and remain completely silent. He told them to close their eyes, listen to the sounds and imagine what it would have been like to be the last free Jews in the land of Israel on the eve of their sure destruction by the Romans. He asked them to imagine what it meant for them to make the drastic decision to take their own lives rather than be killed or forced into slavery. While we had not walked for days through the desert (thankfully, as Emma would have been a camel snack) and were sitting comfortably in the shade having a snack, the intensity of the moment was not lost on us. One can spend years debating or wondering whether the suicide pack was the right decision—but no one can dispute the power of this story on the psyche of Israelis, past, present and future, who continue to live in a state of war and uncertainty and to Jews, generally.

Adventures with Aloni

We feel incredibly privileged to see Israel through the eyes of Aloni, this remarkable man who has been part of our family for more than 30 years, but who is now a bona fide member since he became my mother’s partner (he really does not like the term “boyfriend”). He is a Sabra (someone who is born in Israel--literally the word for desert flower--prickly on the outside and soft in the middle) whose family has been in Israel for 500 years, a former frogman and Colonel in one of Israel’s most elite military units who fought in every war except the War of Independence (because he was 10 years old at the time), a poet, an artist, an avowed secular Jew and a steadfast Zionist. He has a gruff exterior that covers one of the kindest, sweetest and most thoughtful souls I have ever known. He also has a beautiful home in the middle of the German Colony--the hippest part of Jerusalem (not an oxymoron-I swear)--in which he has graciously allowed our family to stay and wreck havoc with the otherwise peaceful (and neat) surroundings.

Despite his antipathy towards religion, he reads the Bible every day and knows its contents by heart--and I mean that in every sense of the term. He also has a positively encyclopedic grasp of every inch of Israel’s geography and moment of Israel’s history, much from direct personal knowledge. It is in this context that he shows us Israel—the popular tourist locales with his personal insight (spin?) and the nooks and crannies nestled into various parts of this country that few have the opportunity to see, and even fewer the great fortune to see through the eyes and enchanting stories of Aloni. I know it sounds like a lame cliché, but he truly makes the Bible and Jewish history come alive.

These excursions require no planning on our part. Indeed, our input is neither sought nor considered. He usually says something like-“get ready, we are going somewhere very beautiful and special,” and off we go.

Nevi Schmuel was our first such destination. This is the tomb of the prophet Samuel who installed the first king of the Jews, King Saul. The tomb, considered a sacred site by religious Jews and Muslims, is nestled into a quiet Arab village about 30 minutes from Jerusalem. Aloni started by focusing our attention on the excavated site and noted the numerous and somewhat complex system of water collection and storage that was the key to survival in this country of limited rainfall. He then turned to the geography and topography and the strategic nature of the place which sits atop a hill with a view of Jerusalem and much of the West Bank—allowing residents to keep a constant watch for the enemy. He also pointed out that the site sits at the exact border between the dry, lifeless dessert and fertile valley with numerous fruit trees and other agriculture. He taught us to identify the various kinds of fruit trees and described how the bountiful harvests and ability of the residents to sell the fruit in Jerusalem kept the town prosperous. We could all imagine the residents piling baskets of apricots, almonds and olives onto donkeys and on women’s heads as they ascended the hills to Jerusalem to sell in the markets. As Aloni was talking, there was a group of young Arab girls with whom he engaged in discussion. They were sweet young girls who seemed to be typical teenagers—they asked us questions about where we were from and offered us a package of sunflower seeds. At that moment, the war that continues just miles down the road seemed particularly ridiculous.

After the history and bible lesson, we descended into the actual sanctuary, where men and women must pray separately. Adam and Aloni went one way, Emma, Maya and I the other. The girls and I finished fairly quickly, and waited for the men. Since praying is never on Aloni’s agenda, I was curious as to why they were taking so long. It turned out that Aloni had engaged one of the religious Jews (“black hats”) in a discussion about the Messiah. The Black Hat apparently asked Aloni why he did not pray for the Messiah—didn’t he want all Jews to be resurrected in Jerusalem? Aloni’s response: “Absolutely not—we already have too few parking spaces.” Even the Black Hat laughed.

We also went to Ashkelon, a beautiful seaside town—with a huge park (incidentally designed by Aloni’s father) containing fascinating antiquities, including those related to the story of Samson and Delila—which Aloni told in beautiful and illuminating detail.


One day, Aloni showed us the Russian Compound and Jerusalem Municipal Buildings—and pointed out what I suspect are often overlooked details about the gardens, the bullet holes and other battle scars of the various wars—and even the ancient tools that were hidden behind unremarkable walls that were used for pressing olive oil.


On another day, we had a delicious breakfast, with the best pita bread ever—at Bar HaBar and then an extremely cool excursion to the Sobeq caves where we saw the most amazing collection of stalactites and stalagmites—something that looked like a Disneyland exhibit—completely unreal.


Kibbutz Ramat Rachel was our last excursion with Aloni (besides Masada—see next post). This is a beautiful kibbutz just outside of Jerusalem, in truth a 20 minute walk from Aloni’s house, that he described at the last Israeli stronghold against Jordan before The Six Day War. He first showed us a unique and beautiful peace monument that sits in the middle of an olive tree grove, which consists of large pillars with olive trees on top.


We then stood on the ridge, looking over the West Bank and contemplated the magnitude of the battle in which Israel constantly exists. He also explained how much one can learn about history by examining the ground—where we found shards of clay that were once pots, pieces of flint that were once spears or knives.

Aloni also explained his theory of why the emblem of Israel is a menorah-while most nations choose some sort of animal (or scavenger, as he says). He explained that in biblical times, Jews worked from dawn until dusk to cultivate their fields so they had no time to study during the day. In order to study, an essential activity of Jewish life since biblical times, they had to do so at night. The menorah, of which they have found many ancient versions, provided the necessary light and helped Israel become a “light unto the nations.” This made an obvious impression as the kids now frequently repeat the phrase—“you need light to learn.”

In between all of these fascinating excursions, we had the pleasure of just being with Aloni-- eating, chatting, listening to him read and translate exquisite biblical poetry and sometimes just hanging out in his garden while Emma plays in the swing, There is no doubt that he has significantly enriched our Israeli experience immeasurably and for this we are exceedingly grateful.

Water Park Diplomacy

Today, we started six days of travel around Israel. The first two nights are at Kibbutz Shefayim, where we are meeting good friends from home. The kibbutz, a wealthy kibbutz, is now known for its Water Park and relatively nice Kibbutz Hotel (it’s no Bel Air). As we entered the Water Park, this afternoon, I kept thinking of Golda Meir, whose autobiography I have just read. As a consequence, lately I tend to start every sentence with the words, “Having just read Golda Meir’s autobiography, I think Golda (I feel we’re on a first names basis) would feel. . .” this way about any issue we may be discussing. It’s admittedly fairly insufferable, but I can’t help myself. In any event, having just read Golda Meir’s biography, I could not help but wondering if the Water Park enterprise of Kibbutz Shefayim is the realization of Golda’s dreams for a socialist, agrarian collective. My first instinct is that she would find this a bastardization of all that is good with the Kibbutz system. However, on further thought, maybe she would be happy to see that in the midst of the chaos that is life in the Middle East, the Kibbutz has become a center for some plain old frivolous fun. Who knows?

The Water Park is the kind of place that I hate; it’s teeming with humanity, long lines, loud children and obnoxious adults. I have also never been big fan of fun. It’s too ephemeral. However, as I’m ushering my kids around the park, I noticed a couple of things. First, I was enjoying it. There’s something gleeful about sliding down water slides, being in wave tanks, shooting down slides in inner tubes, etc. It’s disarmingly fun. This brings me to my second point. In looking around at all of the annoying people, I noticed that there was a true diversity of people enjoying water park antics. Most interesting was that I saw a number of Muslim women fully covered, head to toe, prancing in the water next to their children. I also saw head-covered orthodox women doing the same. It seems that the joy of water park fun overcomes ancient hatreds and bigotry.

It got me thinking. Maybe had Yasser Arafat, Golda Meir, Gamal Abdel Nasser and Hafez El Assad gone to a water park, the Middle East would now be a peaceful place. After a day of splishing and splashing in the water, would they really want to blow each other up? Somehow I doubt it. As I continued in this line of thinking, I started wondering what positions the various world leaders would have taken on the water slides. My guess is that Golda would have sat upright and stared straight ahead unruffled as the water flew by. Nasser would have dove head first on his stomach. Assad seems like a guy who would have leisurely slid down on his back. Arafat’s easy. He would have started down head first on his stomach, become nervous and then turned over and tried to climb back up the slide.

The only problem is that a number of the water slides is off limits to those below 10. As a consequence, Emma is considering starting an Intifada. I guess you just can’t satisfy all of the people all of the time.