You won’t necessarily have an easy time getting into Israel, particularly in this day and age, but it is one of the most beautiful, historically significant places I’ve ever travelled to.
On my two visits, I experienced challenges both entering and leaving the country.
On the first occasion, I noticed a man being detained ahead of me in line because his passport showed visits to other Middle Eastern countries. It looked like he was in for an ordeal. Thinking fast, I switched out the American passport I was holding to my EU one, which I’d used much less and therefore didn’t have stamps from UAE, Cyprus, and Kuwait.
Leaving from that stay, not only had my husband and I both been struck on the last day with food poisoning, possibly from a sushi restaurant – ok, maybe not such a good idea in retrospect – but we were irritable and fighting as there was a timing issue at the airport. Mike, in dropping me off, veritably caused a scene and looked like an anti-Israeli terrorist in so doing.
The second time, I was six months pregnant, carrying my son like a low, oversized, and apparently antagonistic basketball. “They,” ie the gun-toting powers that be at the Ben Gurion airport, did not believe that I was only six months along and hard a hard time reconciling why I might be visiting for pleasure, travelling alone to meet my husband who was already in the country for work. “He is here for business, and you are here for vacation, how can that be? What does he do? What do you do? Where do you live? Are you sure you’re only six months pregnant? On what date and at which hour did you have intercourse to conceive this baby?” Just kidding about the last one, but you get the idea. It took about 30 minutes in a pull-aside for them to ascertain that I was (relatively) harmless.
But enough about the weird and bad stuff.
In case you’re completely clueless, or, say, our current US Ambassador (sorry, Arkansas —y’all know I love you butttttt), the place is among the richest in historical significance in the world. I explored Old Jerusalem several times on my own on both trips, shopping at the markets for halva, bargaining on trinkets, and kneeling in respect (a shouted requirement of the Greek Orthodox ministers running the place) at the spot where Jesus’ blood was preserved to gawk at for time immemorial. You have to bow and crawl to reach it in an assembly line not unlike the setup in the “Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld.
We stayed on the “new” side, where there were also spice and food markets, and interesting shops. I bought a small diamond pendant in one and nearly ran out of time in the airport debacle to get the tax reimbursed. I would’ve taken that out of Mike’s hide.
Middle eastern hotel breakfasts – they are heavenly. The climate is conducive to growing certain “tropical” fruits, and others are easily brought from nearby climes. The eggs and meats and cheeses and dried goods are delicious, the breads superb. And best of all, you can always find divine spreads like hummus and tsatsiki and salads like tabbouleh. Oh, and the honey…don’t even get me started. Food is life in Israel, and large breakfasts (well, meals of all kind) are expected to be savored and enjoyed – and not taken for granted. Ahem. Do you understand why? There is also a multitude of great restaurants, kosher or not, in both Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Sushi incident notwithstanding, the meals I had in Israel were scrumptious and diverse.
Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center on the outskirts of Jerusalem, is a masterpiece of architecture and cultural/historical import. I was fortunate to have the entire place nearly to myself when I visited, and the silence and ambience of respect (required even if crowded with guests), and the privilege I felt to be there, was palpable and moving.
There are just some places you go where you feel small but special, a witness to the passing of time in a fleeting moment. They will go on without you, but you are acknowledged.
Another of such spots is the Wailing Wall in Old Jerusalem. The Western Wall of the Old City is the most sacred site in Israel, if not in all of the faith and culture that is Judaism. Visiting Europeans named it the Wailing Wall when they witnessed Jewish people mourning the destruction of temples and other city constructs. It is directly below the Dome of the Rock mosque (the oldest Islamic structure) and has become a place for all, Jewish or not, to pray for loved ones and pay respect to those we’ve lost, and written messages are wedged by visitors into crevices in the wall. I left a note for my unborn child there, and, regardless of whatever else I may believe, I’m quite certain he has been watched over ever since as a result. Like at Yad Veshem and so many other places in Israel, modest attire is required, even though the spot is public and outdoors.
And speaking of outdoors, Tel Aviv is a beautiful city to visit if you’re looking for a beachy Mediterranean destination without drunk Westerners crowding every spare inch of sand. The water is warm, the sunset stunning. The park area by the beach is lovely for an evening stroll and a seafood dinner. I’d like to go back, as it seemed like a near-perfect combo of culture and relaxation. I was only there one full day on my two lengthy visits to the region.
I had concentrated efforts on getting to the Dead Sea, where I slathered myself with the healing mud, letting it dry to crackle in the sun. It can’t all be hype, with tourists positively champing at the [muddy] bit to share in what must not be a super hygienic experience, all for the sake of a temporary mineral skin-infusion and a waft of extra-salty air. After all, Ahava and other companies have done extremely well in the mud market, exporting it to believers all over the world.
On the second trip to that area, I climbed Masada, in all my six-months-pregnant glory. It was sweaty but exhilarating, and if anything, I think my balance may have been improved by the weighted basketball I was carrying. I did get some alarmed/concerned looks, but I had water to stay hydrated, and pish posh, it was good exercise. Able-bodied people have since told me they had a hard time at it and couldn’t believe I had managed with another small human inside me. And Masada, striking in the middle of the desert and a UNESCO World Heritage site, should not be missed. It contains examples of advanced engineering for the Herodian era (water cisterns, bathhouses) and was the site of the first Jewish-Roman war in 73 AD, where 1,000 Jewish defenders were said to have committed mass suicide rather than surrender to the attacking Romans. One of the oldest synagogues in existence remains there, partly intact. I was living in Rome when I visited Israel both times; weirdly, I had a sense of taking the Jewish “side,” imagining that one still existed. As someone with Italian heritage and only a little drop of Jewishness, it is an interesting sensation.
Since those visits, we thought we might live in Amman, Jordan, on the other side of the Dead Sea, but instead returned to New York, not by choice.
And after October 7, 2023 and the volatility that remains, even in the “safe” areas I visited, I am still especially grateful that I had those opportunities to connect with a destination of such anthropological and architectural significance. My message in the Wailing Wall, long disintegrated, flies somewhere on the wind there, here, and everywhere, at times whispering to Aidan and pushing him forth to do good and grow strong.
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