World's Apart

Who knew that such a small country could be so surprisingly diverse. This past weekend was my first extended foray through Israel proper (with co-pilot Eric), during which we navigated our way from Jerusalem to, literally, the highest heights - the Golan Heights to be exact - and consuming every cultural and geographic wonder we had the chance to encounter along the way.

On Friday, in our metallic silver Ford Focus and with only vague impressions of our destinations in mind, Eric and I sped out of Jerusalem and headed west towards the Mediterranean. The city of Haifa was to be our first terminus point, a port city and resort town famous for its sandy beaches and turquoise sea. Haifa is pretty much a straight shot from Tel Aviv, and aside from the roadside solicitations in Hebrew and the funky foreign cars - the Citroen 'Jumpy', for instance - it might have been easier to believe that you were in northern California.

Some Israelis are fond of the euphemism that they have 'made the desert bloom', and upon seeing the abundance of flowering oleander, towering eucalyptus, and vast fields of citrus, it is easy to see why that little anecdote took root so quickly, so to speak. Driving alongside this familiar greenscape, with the windows down and the sweet ocean air filling the cabin of our modern voyagers vessel, we eventually found ourselves within just feet of a very unexpectedly luxurious beach. We gazed in awe that we had traveled only one hour from Palestinian refugee camp to oceanside refuge -a topic I would like to address further in a moment - but it didn't take us long to kick off our sandals and go for a stroll in the surf.

The ocean was sublime and refreshing after hours of dusty wanderings and the waves were large enough to keep us locked into bodysurfing for the whole of the next day. The beach had a European feel about it with the help of speedo clad men and the Slavic speaking Haifa residents, though it wasn't difficult to realize that I was very much in Israel when I saw an old man with a silver Star of David the size of a his palm hanging around his neck.

In Haifa you can find another religious symbol of global import, the Baha'i World Center. Situated on the pristine and finely groomed garden terraces cascading down the northern slope of Mt. Carmel (the Carmelites were founded there) is the world seat of the generally unfamiliar and world's youngest and most diverse religion. The city itself is often portrayed as a 'mosaic of peaceful coexistence' - it has a significant Arab population, too - though this does conceal some major social rifts between the communities, however covert to the casual observe like myself, and both suffered much from the rain of rockets fired by Hezbollah from southern Lebanon last summer.

With a little more 'country' in mind my cohort and I left Haifa on Sunday morning and wound our way through the Galilee, past the apocalyptic valley of Megiddo (Armageddon), through the city of Jesus' childhood, Nazareth, and down onto the Sea of Galilee, an enormous deep-blue lake replete with dueling jet skis. After sailing along the coast we crossed the Jordan River and finally entered into the Yehudiya Nature Reserve, a 16,500-acre park in the heart of the Golan Heights. Upon finding a map of the park (the only legitimate map of our entire journey) Eric and I head across a barren and rocky field, past grazing cattle and savanna grass, by a 3rd century BCE site of stone ruins overlooking the Sea, and eventually climbed our way down into the Zavitan canyon.

What we found there was truly a desert oasis, a series of clear pools carved out of the basalt rock by tumbling waterfalls. Fascinating to ponder that the pools have been used by various peoples for over 3000 years, and that my friend and I were jumping off the rocks and doing laps in the cool waters, maybe just as the Holy Lands ancient inhabitants might have also. After ascending the canyon walls via a steep rocky incline and steel rail ladder we walked back among the ruins of Sheikh Hussein and through the sparse, dry terrain. My friend and I contemplated camping in the park but discovered that Yehudiya camping was just a little peculiar relative to our camping standards in the US - a fallow field with rows of white tents and within a stones throw of a cow pasture. No thank you.

So we headed a few miles north in our trusty Ford until we hit the Israeli town of Katzrin, a 70's-born hamlet with an "unmistakable feel of a place that never quite bridged the gap between planning board and reality," according to the Lonely Planet guidebook. The shwarma, a pita packed with meat and random veggies adopted from Palestinian cuisine (as is most of Israeli food), was tasty despite the town losing out on most other counts.

Our next destination was Majdal Shams, a Druze town in the northern most part of Israel in the Golan Heights. The region of the Upper Golan is a geopolitically tense range of mountains, valleys, and strategic military outposts. Driving through the area is literally driving through a battlefield - Israel wrested control of the Golan from Syria in the Six Day War of 1967, and annexed the area in 1981. Winding their way around the barren peaks covered with surveillance equipment would be a military buffs delight to be sure. We passed at least three Israeli military bases, stocked with rows of armored personnel carriers, battle-hardened tanks and artillery, and we even got to sit in a disembodied turret of an Israeli tank, overlooking a valley where Israel's fiercest battles were fought. In spite of the militaristic feel, however, the regions cool climate, windswept highland fields, and spring greenery help to make it the prime weekend destination for Israelis.

Upon arriving in Majdal Shams, a town of 20,000 on slopes of Mt. Hermon, and home to Israel's only ski slope, we were introduced to a mutual friend and spent the evening in his very accommodating apartments in a community development building. We took some time the next morning chatting with our new acquaintance, the director of a very successful development NGO that is exceptionally unique in this context and an effective model of community organizing, offering the best community medical services in Israel in addition to its array of other community development activities. It was our candid discussion pertaining to the Golan Heights, however, that really captured our attention.

The community of Majdal Shams, although living in an area annexed by Israel in 1981 (though technically it is still occupied) consider themselves Syrian citizens first. They are the remnants of nearly 50,000 Golani Syrians that he says were pushed out of the area in 1968 by the Israeli Army. The area is still a contested one, and the reasons for its current status are not as complex as other irredentist claims in Israel tend to be. The conventional interpretation for Israel's control of the region is its strategic importance, it is the high ground after all, and it is obvious that this policy is reflected elsewhere in Israel and Palestine. A more accurate analysis, though, is informed by the understanding that it was the water, not the military positioning, that is the real resource of strategic value.

The Upper Golan is the headwater of all the H2O that flows into Israel, and an abundant agricultural zone as well (the best apples in the Middle East come from there). To 'make the desert bloom' requires a tremendous surplus of water as you might imagine, and assuring sustainable access to this resource has been vital to Israel's existence. For feeding the thousands of Israeli greenhouses along the Jordanian border to filling the swimming pools in the California-like settlements, the founders of Israel long ago strategized about its importance.

Upon leaving the Golan and retracing our steps back towards the Sea of Galilee, the desert quality of the region descended upon us like a stuffy blanket molding itself to every square inch of our bodies. South of the Sea there was little to capture our interest, other than the rows of date palms, bananas, and military vehicles buzzing by like clockwork about every 3-5 minutes. After about an hour or so of the sweat-inducing, sweltering wind we entered into the northern most point of the West Bank. Our path paralleled the Jordan River, the de facto border between Jordan and the P.T., though the atmosphere was so full of 'dust of the Holy Land' that we could barely make out the other side of the river.

The only stimulating thing about the trek was the border fence - a set of three barbed wire fences, one electrified - and the occasional border guards, in olive drab hummers mounted with M-60 machine guns and at least 4 soldiers, blazing on the military-only road and kicking up a limestone dust-storm in their wake. Eric and I noticed a war memorial at the crest of a hill, only about 30' from the fence, and recognized that it was a fleeting photo opportunity. We parked the car across the highway and jumped a short metal guardrail to get to a number of large boulders with what I guessed were the cogs and assorted parts of a destroyed tank. With Israeli flag fluttering above I posed briefly, revelling in the idea of where we were at that moment, and as Eric was looking off into the distance he caught my attention sharply when he said, "Oh shit, the hummer is coming back."

My eyes scanned the road and there was the Israeli hummer racing down the road. "Is it coming for us?", we wondered. Needless to say, we were back in the car in a flash. As I started the engine and was about to pull out the hummer came up alongside of us. The soldiers looked our way, I smiled and waved - not a word exchanged - and put the car in drive and off we went. They followed us for awhile and eventually fell behind, and our anxiety levels gradually returned to normal. We figured they were just doing the routine check-up, and realized that we were just a couple of guys taking a nostalgic photo at the memorial. No harm done.

There is little else to tell about our journey. Before leaving you, though, I would like to return to the subject that I did not address earlier in this blog entry, the disparity between the two worlds I am commuting between. It is difficult for me to explain the feelings generated by the opposing experiences on the two sides of the Wall. Going from refugee camp to California-like beach in a matter of an hour is easy enough by car, but it does strain the psyche considerably. What is most troubling to me is that the Israelis are generally oblivious to life as it is lived in the West Bank, hardly different from the malaise affecting my fellow Americans as well. The only difference is proximal.

In talking with the average Israeli I have found that they do recognize that "life is tough over there", but most spend little time reflecting upon it deeply it would seem. I choose not to blame them for it given the context - they are doing what they have to do to get by, maybe can't afford the time to give a thought to such issues, and their government has become quite proficient at creating the psychological and overtly physical rift between the two sides. It is a somber admission that most Israelis will never know how adversely the Occupation has affected the Palestinians, and most Palestinians will never be able to see the world that lies just miles away.

Can you imagine how exasperating it must be for my friends in Dheisheh that I am able to travel freely around this country, including the Palestinian Territories, as a carefree foreigner digesting all of the beauty that they may never be able to access? In spite of this they accept my interest in the entire experience here, and are patient and hopeful that they too may someday jump into the Yehudiya pools, stroll along the beach, and experience what a life unoccupied is really like. I have yet to experience the fullness of what it means to be Israeli, but I do know that I am incredibly fortunate to experience first hand what life is like on this side of the Wall, and I have many great friends here that have been willing to show me the way. The day after the anniversary of Christopher Columbus, I could not imagine a more compelling journey.