| “It’s us or them,” says Netanyahu. |
Election fever is at a pitch here in Israel.
Enormous photos of candidates’ faces stare us down from billboards at every
intersection.
and gloom, others insulting competing candidates.
future. Since Israel geographically sits in the world’s most dangerous hotspot, her future is never viewed as bright and cheery.
at the helm, I would become gripped by a fear like never before.
| Heard Herzog had this photoshopped to look like the ‘Marlboro Man.’ |
potential horror looming ahead, living here is quite amazing. So when the going
gets tough, this Israeli goes hiking.
Israel, following the Israel Trail (Shvil Israel) south from Har Hermon on the
Syrian border, all the way to the outskirts of Jerusalem.
the Golan, where flowering oleander borders lush streams, and dipped in cool, snow-fed falls.
different. We changed direction and have headed south to the desert.
to hike the desert. The rains are petering off (although the desert receives
little rainfall, it can be hit by occasional and very dangerous flash floods,
water run off from the rains further north) and the temperatures are cooler.
Nifgashim B’Shvil Israel (Israel trail Encounters). This organization, formed
as a living memorial of a fallen soldier called Avi, walks the country from
south to north every year.
tragically killed in a helicopter accident in 1997. In his memory, his mother
Raya and her husband organize these annual hikes so Israelis from diverse backgrounds can meet, dialogue, bond and learn from each other.
the departure point late and unprepared (like usual). We assumed the group
would be running behind like every other group in Israel. Not this one; it was
run like a tight ship. That much I could tell already.
the reddish craggy Eilat mountains on the other, a large group of people stood
in a circle, respectfully quiet.
soldiers to whom this day’s hike was dedicated, heard a song on a guitar. We
were told the rules of the trail and each received a plastic baggy with
instructions on how to keep the environment clean as we walked.
in their mid 20s (just out of the army) or retired (late 60s). They stood
calmly were all perfectly outfitted with back packs, hiking poles, hats and
boots. They were fit looking, all
outdoorsy types.
car, ripping open our duffle bugs, frantically searching for boots and hiking
socks, trying to assemble our lunches, filling our shluckers with water. My
daughter had no hat. I could not find my poles. Suncreen? Who knows where it
could be. BandAids? Dunno. Ouch. Our lunch was well, forget it.
wayfarers’ prayer, and started to walk single file up into the mountains. I had
my husband’s hiking poles and was pushed along, urged to keep with the group. Amir
did not know I had the poles and dug deeper into the trunk. I shuffled along,
trying to call him.
behind and creating a nuisance. Finally Amir emerges. He is flustered, pole
less and angry when he sees his poles dangling in my hands.
hikers and leave civilization behind, entering the desert world. With each
step, we felt calmer, quieter. The path was steep and within an hour of
climbing, the port of Eilat was a glistening dot on the horizon.
snack, enjoy the view, contemplate where my two feet had taken me. I was with Beth,
a friend from Ra’anana, and we could not find our gang, the English-speakings,
our security blanket.
groups, papers in their hands and were animatedly talking together. A woman saw
Beth and I and waved to us, asking us to come sit for ma’agal time (circle
time).
hike and what our personal goals were. In Hebrew? Me? Share? The consummate
introvert? I stammered a weak unintelligent response, took a rock, buried my
head and scratched at the dirt.
hair white curly hair, dressed in tight, hot pink shorts and striped tights, took
out a gas burner and simmered a tea. She started talking about reconnecting to
the land as she picked dried mint from a ziplock bag.
around and each participant politely passed it along until the cup reached the
flower woman who sent it off. Full circle.
the word Maslow, now assuming they were talking about the hierarchy of needs. I
would be out of my depths even if this were in English.
The flower lady said
something about us not meeting the needs of our Arab neighbors and an
ex-soldier girl became suddenly animated.
tea but respectful. We were, after all, sharing. I was relieved when the
ma’agal broke up and became a straight line as we hiked further into the
wilderness. I guess I can relate to looking at the toes of my boots better than
to a group of sharing strangers.
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trail full time for some solace and firm ground.
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