Wednesday, 10 April 2013

ISRAEL: Shine a Light




Being Irish and, therefore, infused with a strong sense of the antiquity of Irish culture, it is sometimes easy to be dismissive of that which other nations conceive as the seniority of their heritage.  ‘Bah!’, you’ll often find, is how an Irish man or woman will cut shrilly through foreign notions that there is any greater ancientness out there to the tombs at Newgrange, which, incidentally, make Stonehenge look like a recent city council installation.  Our Pirate Queens (well, one of them at least) were out dining with Elizabeth I ever before the notorious Blackbeard was even a truculent sperm stalking the stormy waters of his mother’s uterus.  Irish Monks Christianised Europe (and, GodS, help us, Scotland).  If that were not enough, we have more Norman forts and castles than any man from, well . .er . ., Normandy can count on all the tapestries in Bayeux. However, there is one place that quite possibly does put the autochotonous vanity of the Irish boaster back in its Celtic box: it is the annoyingly historic and de-la-Fressangestically stunning Israel.

In a land renowned for strife, where the overwhelming obsession at times seems to be the struggle with freedom of expression, and where (not so long ago ) sending gullible, often intellectually challenged, youths onto the local bus services locked and loaded was as popular an outing as bashing Jewish politicians over their West Bank policies, (no, I am not talking about Ireland), Israel, almost miraculously, defies every conceivable consequence of dysfunctionality and, somehow, has become not only one of the best places to visit on the Mediterranean coast, but quiet possibly, one of the best places to visit - period.

The tendency of commentators on the ever-surprising little State of Israel is that they cannot help veering off down the political route, hurling stones and diatribes at all those well documented issues of land grabbing, blockades, the West Bank, Nuclear menace, militarisation etc.  But, in a world where, let’s face it, all of our politicians have failed to live up to the promise of transparent and respectful governance then, frankly, nobody should be too surprised Israel, like all countries, has its own dirty bib.  There is plenty of under-qualified ranting about how Israel is the beast in the belly of Palestine; I’ll reserve my own considered views on that for a different article.  Today, I want to talk about the part of Israel that emits, believe it or not, a light; one of freedom, democracy and possibility; a land of incredible warmth and welcome . . . Yes, that is the other Israel, you probably have not heard too much about.  Allow me to illuminate the path!

The one thing you cannot take away from the Israelis is that they have managed, despite huge odds, to make their tiny country open and available to all who wish to come and enjoy it, peacefully and respectfully.  This stands in marked contrast to the overwhelming majority of the nations immediately surrounding Israel, (with the exception of the undemocratic state of Jordan), where travel is restricted or advised against because of war (Syria), political and civil unrest (Lebanon, Syria, Egypt) and threats of kidnappings of westerners and general lawlessness (Lebanon, Syria, Egypt).  Thankfully, notwithstanding the significant immediate border menaces and regional chaos, you can, in Israel, still do all those things that you might do, for example, in squishy, cuddly little countries like Denmark, New Zealand, or Bhutan.  From one end of the holiday to the next, be it from your first Baklava in the Arab quarter of Jerusalem or that first frappuchino on the Maritime Dock of Tel Aviv down to your last sundown at Masada, you are hardly likely to cross a checkpoint, never mind be made aware of the fact that you are in the land which one famously, and bravely, welcomed the only shower of scud missiles launched at a third country. But why let that ruin the party?

Israel is a small country by European standards, barely bigger that the Island of Sardinia in fact!  Not surprisingly, therefore, it has one main international airport (Ben Gurion), which happens to be conveniently located midway between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem (that is an hour by car each way).  We took the “Sherut” or shared mini bus- taxi service to Jerusalem to start a seven day trip, which was fast (brace yourself) but economical (about 10 - 15euro pp).  We opted for a small, privately run hotel (see below) a stones throw from the old city and it proved an excellent location for our 3 days stay in the Holy City.



The ancient walled city of Jerusalem is like a multi layered, three dimensional tapestry better explained by reference to one of those “impossible staircase” images reminiscent of the work of Maurits Escher. The key to enjoying the delights of Old Jerusalem, is to simply get lost in its myriad of twisting, puzzle-like lanes, weaving through layers of rocks and blocks and history, cutting across aeons of culture and religions, as though once flooded now barren rivers and tributaries had cut deep through this ochre canyon and into whose walls, stragglers, merchants, nomads, proselytisers, warlocks, cooks, thieves, wives, lovers, charlatans, sooth-saysers, wizards, nuns, chemists, card- players and all manner of wanderers, now somehow found themselves stapled. Unable to escape the labyrinth, they cast their old cloths across alleys to shelter from the scorching sun and carved their homes into the whispering walls of Jerusalem.  It seems natural that in such a place, where all but the oddly shaped clientèle of those extraterrestrial outposts into which Luke Skywalker was occasionally cast to find a needy bounty hunter, all manner of believer or hustler has settled.  There are times in Jerusalem when, contrary to the omnipresent waft of religiosity, the fervour of devoutness and the solemnity of all the waiting in the shadow of eternal greatness, in defiance of the humility of black dresses, chained gowns, covered faces and black caps, (the unlikely trappings common to Christian , Muslim and Jew), one feels at though one has entered a room of another breed of uniformly attired competitors - that of duelling pirates who have all happened upon THE treasure, in that tiny cave, all at once. Gulp!
Indeed, Jerusalem is at a permanent stand- off.  At its Wailing Wall, the devout Jewry, men and women (separated by a high wall) pray devoutly, tipping forward and back (the men that is) reading the Talmud, feverishly nodding, leaving only little pleadings of notes in the wall of holiness, managing, by mastery of the ages, to avoid banging their pale foreheads. It is a good thing too, for all the thousands of years of such nodding would, by continuous impact, have surely dismounted the holy seat of Islam that sits just over the top of the very same wall: the Dome of the Rock. 

The entrance to the Dome of the Rock is off limits to anyone who is not Muslim, but its is possible to enter onto the Temple Mount, which houses the gold plated Dome, through several of the arched entrances from the old city.  Jews are prohibited from accessing the Temple Mount, a prohibition which is clearly demarcated, not least by an enclosed bridge, which swoops over the Jewish holy site.  The Christians and the Armenians and a multiplicity of other faiths have all speculated sufficiently with history to find their comfortably close settlements within the walls, those same walls, which house (literally) their tomb of the Risen Christ, a trifling few steps from the point of his cruxifiction.  And here then is another of Old Jerusalem’s surprises.  Calvary is now up a staircase! I bet not too many Christians knew that, or that the Christ’s entombment was as proximate to his place of death as 50 metres.  It is here then, in the company of Moses, feet from the tomb of Christ and in the shadow of the point of Mohamed's assent to the heaven’s, that the unifying force of religion and its paradoxically co-existent divisiveness, is most stark.  It is here where the intolerable infractions and conflicts in modern history are so vividly laid bare.  How then to absorb the weight of such a mesmerizing place? A place where the faithful of several faiths gather each night and, in scenes which recall the sealing of the Pyramid Toms, seal themselves inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre as the protectors of Christ's tomb.  Perhaps, oddly enough it is a late night stroll through the infernally dark alleys of Old Jerusalem, after the echoes of calls to evening prayer have evaporated from the minarets into the night sky amd where only the distant bark of a dog or the occasional shuffle of an Hasidic pilgrim whooshes by, penetrating the truly mindful silence, in a place where the phantoms of history fill the torch lit alleys like shadows preying.  

To bare witness to the mysticism and cultural kaleidoscope that is Jerusalem risks overwhelming any other possible event or observation.  But leave the ghosts of Old Jerusalem to themselves you will and you must for there is much more to the city than its faiths, hard as that is to believe.

Beyond the stops-you-in-your-tracks streets of the Old city, the iconic and essential tribute to the Holocaust at Yad Vashem is an experience that calls for humility, contemplation, prayer, forgiveness and enlightenment of all comers. Gracious, immense, foreboding, captivating, solemn, sacred and profound, there are few places where the soul and the senses are likely to be more stirred than in the remarkable Hall of Names: an admirable feat of remembrance and architectural appropriateness.  Although, you are unlikely to have much of an appetite on the way back to town, you can still balance the Yad Vashem experience with a stop off at one of great Jerusalem institutions; the giant, bustling, ebullient, chaotic market at Mahane Yehuda.

Unlike the tourist mobbed ‘Shuk’ in the old City or the high end Mamilla Centre near the Jaffa Gate, Mahane Yehuda, an established traditional market (a short bus ride from Old Jerusalem), is predominated by the resident mix of cultures with endless stalls selling the very best of traditional foods and ingredients crossing all traditions from Africa to Russia, from Bishkek to Bishopstown, making for an exhilarating feast for the eyes and senses - four words - not to be missed.  And, now that we are on the subject of food, one other essential delight of Jerusalem is an eatery boasting cuisine from a land the other side of the top of Africa.  “Darna”, situated in the quiet leafy Horkanos street outside the Old City, delves deep into Moroccan culinary traditions and, though not a cheap night out, is unquestionably one of the best restaurants both of its kind and in Jerusalem. The food is prepared with an attention to balancing spices worthy of a Swiss clock makers dexterity.  If Darna happens to be better than anything you might find in Morocco itself, this should not be a surprise - in a word - exquisite.

Feasted on the divine of all kinds, the rest of Israel now beckons.  The drive from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv is a good two hours, but the excellent roads and safe driving conditions make hiring a car really worth while, affording the opportunity to stop here and there and appreciate the transitions of the landscape from the mountainous deserts surrounding Jerusalem to the green cultivated pastures and Olive groves on the slopes into Tel Aviv.  Take the chance to marvel at the herding of cattle, sheep and goats in scenes, which echo biblical imagery with tired bare-footed boys with staffs, crouched on rocks, their heads bound in red Kuffiyah or hatta, as a scalding red sun sinks over the hills into the Mediterranean.  Such are the lives of ordinary Israelis, not fighting wars, or stealing lands, but, Muslim, Christan, Jew and non-believer all doing what most other humans do most of the time - eeking out modest existences as best they can, hoping and dreaming.


Across Israel, the plurality of society is evident.  Tel Aviv is no less a fine example of the co-dependency, inter dependency, shared existence and mutual accommodation of Israel’s many cultures and religious and non-religious identities.  Some call it the Mediterranean Miami. It is not hard to see why. Tel Aviv has all the gleaming skyscrapers, the mega hotels, the sparkling waterfronts, the exuberant marinas, the sun drenched beaches, terraces, cafes, night-life and no shortage of the beautiful people (OMG, and they are stunning!).  It has enough Bauhaus to make Miami look like an Art Deco pretender, thriving flea markets to make London’s Portobello or the Madrid Rastro look positively amateurish and enough art and architecture to fuse the right side of even a Berlin art dealer’s brain.  But, if Miami has the Cuban Street Party, Tel Aviv has Purim (the party to beat all parties)! If Miami has Fort Lauderdale on one side, Tel Aviv has Gordon Beach Strip on the other.  Miami may have Ocean Drive, but Tel Aviv goes one better with Lillenblum Street and Nachalat Binyamin for all the cool club hopping and bar cruising with the beautiful people of course (did I mention them already?).  And Tel Aviv has something else Miami does not have. . .

Jaffa (or Yafo) is the old Muslim neighbourhood that marks the southern end of Tel Aviv’s superlative promenade (which, by the way, makes it way along the Mediterranean several miles to Tel Baruch beach at the North end of Tel Aviv). So, when you are done combing the quaint topsy turvy streets and the port area, AND you have done your day trawling the countless junk and antiquity dealers at the extraordinary CARMEL MARKET AND have had your last glimpse of the sinking sun beside local fishermen and boys casting their lines on the pier, THEN you can set off north along the promenade in the warm breeze and marvel at the jungletastic symphony of human kind that passes you by on your stroll.  Miami? Schmiami . . .

If Jerusalem is the Israel’s librarian, then Tel Aviv is its Dance floor Diva.  Few cities, not even mad Madrid, can claim such enthusiastic socializers, where people are as friendly as they are edgy.  The city is awash with creativity and energy, with numerous neighbourhoods exuding specific personalities and distinctive charms. Whether you want an old clock, a life sized model of Tin-Tin, eggs in tomato stew, good coffee, cracking cocktails, super cuisine, or just a whole new world to wander at, then a few spots worth looking out for in Tel Aviv are a) Cup O’Joe for excellent coffee in the company of friendly locals on the corner of Gordon and Dizengoff, b) Sherkin Street for that Camden Town on a summer’s day feel, c) Bar Mezizims at the Marina for that evening cocktail at sun down with cool tunes, d) check out TAOOS on Tizon Street in Yofa for there amazing collection of giant collectible cartoon sculptures e) Bauhaus architecture f) Rothschild Street g) best ice cream in Tel Aviv has got to be the glorious Vaniglia on IBN-Barbol.

There is probably no other way to wind down from the highs of Tel Aviv other that with a dip in the ocean, but since you’ll have done the Med (before breakfast of course), you’ll need something else to float your boat.  The good thing about the trip to Ein Bokek (a small Dead sea resort north of the busier and more popular Ein Ghedi), is that you can take in so much on you’re way to the Dead Sea.  Three hours from Tel Aviv is a perfectly manageable drive that takes you down spectacular winding highways, through the desert, to your first stopping point at the sea level marker.  It is worth getting out here to have a photo taken and admire the wonderful views over the turquoise Dead Sea, another 2000 metres down! Apart from the floating in the dead sea, which is one of those things, that goes beyond explanation, like explaining yellow or the flavour of strawberries, there is one site that simply cannot be missed. OK, when you are passing sites which revive all those legends of the Bible its hard to pin down one that you need to get too, but assuming you have not moved permanently to Israel and afforded yourself the luxuries of seeing everything, MASADA must top your list. Herod’s legendary fort is famous for so many reasons from engineering, to warfare, to opulence, to mass suicide, it is almost impossible to measure its importance. Suffice to say, if you don’t have a ticket on the first manned flight to Mars, then a visit here should satisfy the thirst for adventure.

So there you have it.   Irish pride dented like my Christian faith by the legacy of King Herod.  Who would have thought it?  And, as though adding insult to injury on the Emerald isle, a land whose raison d’être is inescapably linked to swilling pints and having a great ‘oul time altogether for no reason whatsoever, Israel, I learned is inhabited by a population whose appetite for a party can make an Irish night on the tiles look like a Quaker’s picnic. And, apparently they have been at it since, well, since Herod went up a hill.
Heading off on our eastern adventure, I was hard pressed to decide what exactly it was Israel was most famous for: Being the land of the Jews? The persecutor of Palestinians? Lamb? Winning of the Eurovision song contest (three times)? With a tranny? Moses? Wine? The Dead Sea? Being the land of milk and h(m)oney? The Ark of the Covenant? Bauhaus? Gaza? Houmous? Jesus, Mary and Joseph?  

The truth is, Israel is all of those things and more tied up into one giant geo-political, socio-cultural falafel.  Having discovered such is the great deliciousness of this unfathomably stuffed vine leaf of a country, with its multitudinous ingredients of humanity, vegetation, landscape and, er . . .alley cats (the second largest ethnic group in Tel Aviv), I now know that travelling to Israel was the second best travel decision I have ever made (The first one, by the way was travelling to Israel in late March for perfect climate and Purim!).   I am also a richer person, for I now know that the early Irish must have made their way to Israel and settled there.  It is true, I swear.  L’Chaim.

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