Halfway to somewhere

I am finally through with midterms so now I can relax a little and actually write a bit more on this blog; my last post was a little short.  In addition to celebrating the middle of the semester with the dreaded midterms, this week I eclipsed the halfway point of my stay here. In exactly three months, I will be heading to the airport, probably stuffing as many falafels down my throat as my stomach will allow on the way.  I've been here just over three months, but I still don’t feel like I've had enough time to do “everything”, whatever that may be.  I know when I return to the States I will still feel that I could've done more, seen more, and maybe eaten more, but that one is debatable.  I've been eating a lot, praise God.  And that was not sarcasm.

To make myself feel better, I will focus on what I will not miss:  using two cell phones, not having carpet, trying to roll over on a midget bed, fake pepperoni on pizza, not having an oven or microwave, no bacon, not having transportation on a Friday night or a Saturday, and pigeons on the window ledge planning my demise.  Well, they look like they’re up to something. 

Now that I finished my Islam midterm and today my Hebrew midterm, I can spend tomorrow on a blanket on the lawn, roasting in the 90+ degree weather.  Doing nothing is becoming something I appreciate more and more.  Unfortunately, it makes me feel lacking in the blogging department.  But there are some things I have yet to write about.  One is experiencing Israel’s Independence Day (I may have forgotten to write about it).  Before the celebrations begin however, it is preceded the day before (at sunset and lasts until the following evening at sunset) by Yom HaZikaron, the Israeli Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terrorism Remembrance Day.  It is a very somber day, and as far as I could tell, most people take it seriously.  If anyone knows how to mourn and do it with the utmost respect, it’s Israelis and Jews across the world; they have had much to mourn for.   

On April 15, while America was probably flooding post offices across the country to mail their taxes at the last minute, I was honored to spend this particular evening with some friends at the Western (Wailing) Wall.  There were soldiers of various branches and ranks present (one of which was Israel Defense Forces Chief of Staff Benjamin (Benny) Gantz), even those visiting from different countries, United States included.  We were surrounded by a lot of security—snipers in groups of three standing watch on the two minarets near the plaza, other officers heavily armed walking along the tops of the walls, and I couldn't tell you how many well-dressed agents with ear buds I saw filtering through our midst.  Needless to say, I felt safe.  To my right, across from the metal barrier I was leaning against, was a white tent, heavily guarded.  My friend Mark and I concluded someone of importance was waiting inside.  After the siren sounded and the ceremony began, we realized we were right; Israel’s President Shimon Peres walked out and onto the platform, where the Israeli flag had been lowered to half mast, and next to it was a torch, which he lit.  He then gave a speech (in Hebrew, of course), followed by a speech by Mr. Gantz, and then someone, I assume a rabbi, sang a prayer…wow, it was amazing.  Then the ceremony was concluded with us singing Israel’s national anthem.  I don’t know all the words, but I am learning.

Snipers; this minaret (where Muslim prayers are blasted from 5 times a day) is next to the Dome of the Rock

Snipers on second minaret, located on the Temple Mount on the opposite side of the Dome

Visiting officer

Crowd waiting for the ceremony to start

One of many ear buds

So this looks a little creepy, but he was looking right at me, so I included it

Flag at half mast, unlit torch to its left

President Peres lighting the torch

 The following morning while I was studying, the sirens went off to remind the country of those who have fallen.  I couldn't help but stand in silence, and as I looked out from my 7^th story window, I could see others doing the same.  That night at sunset, the celebrating began.  Israel had turned 65 years old. Let me recap quickly: since arriving in January, I have had the privilege of celebrating Passover, Easter,  Israel's Independence Day, Holocaust Memorial Day, and in a few weeks Pentecost, in Jerusalem.  Somebody pinch me.

Once again, two nights ago (Saturday night), more rockets were fired from Gaza into southern Israel as people were celebrating Lag Ba’omer in the traditional manner with bonfires.  The next day (yesterday), Israel finally answered back with an air strike of their own, successfully hitting a terrorist facility and an arms depot.  Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said “I want to make clear we will not tolerate a ‘drizzle’ policy.  A ‘drizzle’ of rockets or missiles will be met by a very aggressive reaction, and we will take all necessary action to defend our citizens.”  Is it weird that when I read about rockets landing in places that really aren't that far away, it doesn't even phase me anymore?  It's like reading about a shooting in America.  It's crazy what you grow accustomed to...it shouldn't be that way, but it is.

Lila tov. (Goodnight)

Hello, Gaza

I'm sure you all have been sitting at the edge of your seat, eagerly waiting in agonizing expectation for my next thrilling post...well here it is.  The last several days have been a groggy blur, peppered with memories of studying too long for a midterm, eating Doritos, and finally succeeding in buying guitar strings.  One interesting thing I did was travel with some fellow students to an area I never thought I would go: the Gaza border; maybe you've heard of it?  We left at 8 AM and arrived to a small village named Netiv HaAsara, which is a few hundred feet from the separation wall that divides Israel and the Gaza Strip.  Netiv HaAsara, founded in 1982, is a moshav, a type of cooperative agricultural settlement made up of individual farms--similar to a kibbutz.  With a population of just over 700, this tiny village is close knit and unfortunately, being the closest village/town/city to the Gaza border, has had their share of terror and heartache, losing two residents to mortar shell attacks; one in 2005 and one in 2010.  Threat of attack is a way of life in this area of Israel, and since Hamas has acquired longer range missiles, that threat stretches to here in Jerusalem.

Upon arriving to Netiv HaAsara, we were welcomed by resident Roni Keidar.  As we filed into her living room, I realized that was the first time I have been in a house since leaving the States.  Once we were seated, she told us the history of how her and her husband came to live in Israel, how they used to live in Gaza, but were forced to leave once Israel pulled out of the region in 2005, and what it has been like spending  a lot of time in the bomb shelter. One such story was set during Operation Pillar of Defense back in November.  Over 100 rockets were fired from Gaza in a 24 hour period; being that close to the border, every launch is heard.  Also, being that close to the border, the Iron Dome--the missile defense system that intercepts rockets--is of no use, as it doesn't have enough time to react, so there is no Iron Dome situated in the village.  Once the sirens go off, they have to drop everything and run; the residents also do not have the luxury of time.  There were a couple stories that stuck out to me.  One was her describing sitting in the bomb shelter and receiving texts from a dear Palestinian friend living in Gaza, each making sure the other was alive and safe. The other story was her being in the shelter alone, and hearing several explosions, she thought it was an all-out war.  Upon emerging from the shelter, she learned from the news on television that only three rockets had been fired from Gaza; what she heard were 9 explosions--the rocket being launched from Gaza, the Iron Dome (located some miles away) launching the interceptor missile, and the interceptor successfully destroying the targeted missile from Gaza--three times for each Gaza rocket.

After sharing with us for a little while, she joined us on our bus and took us to the separation wall.

Roni Keidar

Seeing Gaza from the Israeli side

Take two...I ate my hair in the first one...so windy!

Mrs. Keidar spends a lot of her time talking with others in hopes of finding a resolution that will bring peace to both sides of the border.  She took us by a wall that is covered in mosaic tiles and has a white dove painted on it (visitors can add mosaic tiles to the wall), calling for a "Path to Peace":

On this side of the wall is a lot of razor sharp wire to keep out infiltrators, and the wall itself serves as protection from potential snipers.  After our visit, we said goodbye to our gracious hostess and then we drove to the Black Arrow Memorial to meet with a lieutenant with the IDF (Israel Defense Forces).  The memorial is dedicated to paratroopers who lost their lives during a raid in the mid '50s.  Again, only a few hundred meters from the Gaza border, we listened to the Lieutenant share with us the struggles and challenges the IDF has faced over the years, including most recently during Operation Pillar of Defense.  I could probably write all day about the media backlash Israel received, but I will refrain for now.  I am not sure if the IDF used this in November, but I know that during the Gaza War in 2008-09, they practiced what is known as "roof-knocking", which is when they fire a warning shot (sometimes a non-explosive missile fired at an empty roof) to warn civilians they are about to strike, giving them time to evacuate the area to reduce the number of civilian casualties.  I don't recall any members of Hamas giving Israelis an opportunity to flee.

After speaking with the Lieutenant, we drove the short distance to Sederot, where we spent some time in the parking lot of the police station (it's surrounded by a security gate, of course) listening to another resident of the area talk about the rocket attacks.  Behind her, on several metal shelves that angled around the lot, were hundreds of metal cylinders that had been fired into Israel over the years; these had been stuffed with explosives.  In a locked glass case directly behind her were the longer range missiles.  Residents in Sederot have 15 seconds to reach a shelter once the sirens start wailing.  Here in Jerusalem I've read we have about a minute and a half, but I haven't had to worry about that yet.

This is the bus stop for children in the moshav, but it doubles as a bomb shelter; these are common  in all areas around Gaza

Bomb shelter painted like a caterpillar at a playground; our guide emphasized the playground uses a soft foam rather than gravel so children can safely jump to the ground in the event of an attack

  

This map shows how long it takes for a missile to land from Gaza

The conflicts Israel always seems to be involved in can be very complex.  I know Israel has made mistakes and is not completely innocent, but I do not know why they are usually (if not always) the bad guy when they defend themselves.  Although there has been a "cease fire agreement" between Gaza and Israel since November, Gaza has fired several rockets into Israel since then; most recently because a Palestinian prisoner died...of cancer.  I, too, would like to see all of this mess resolved peaceably, but realistically I do not see that happening.  Until then, I am still praying for the peace of this land and I continue to support Israel and their right to defend themselves.        

The Jesus Trail--Part Five

This final day of hiking was to be fairly easy in terms of distance and terrain.  I was very thankful for this, as the effects of tossing and turning each night began to add up.  Again, Becca decided she probably shouldn't walk this day, but rather take a bus ahead of us into Capernaum.  Gathering our things, we paid for the room and were on our way, leaving Becca behind.  We decided since we were so far away from the trail, we would take a bus to Migdal to pick up from where we should have left off.  When we arrived to Migdal and exited the bus, we walked across the street because Koichi wanted to make sure we started in the right direction.  There was a large tour bus to our left, and I saw a woman stand up from her seat to come near the windshield; she then proceeded to take our picture.  Several pictures in fact.  I am not sure why she did this, but it made me laugh.  I spotted a trail marker, and we were set.

Not long into the hike, my shoulders started telling me how much they hated the backpack.  I walked most of the trail with the straps off the tops of my shoulders again, but unfortunately it wasn't much help.  Beside the pain in my shoulders, I noticed a pain developing in my right side; I ignored it.  It was sunny again, but the forecast spoke of a chance of rain; we were looking forward to it.  The Sea of Galilee was always to our right (east), while we walked several hundred feet to the west of the main road.  Most of the trail was gravel, and we were surrounded by brush and tall grass to our left, while passing many orchards on our right.  We saw a lot of banana trees, some in large greenhouses.  We had to walk up a couple of steep inclines, slipping here and there on loose rock and dirt.  Though I was fortunate to not have any blisters, my feet periodically felt they were on fire, especially this day.

This picture is from the day before, but I forgot to add it.  I liked the brand on the cow (I circled it), the letter lamed (Hebrew "L")

Our trail took us across the main road, and it was after crossing this road that we finally felt rain drops.  A large cloud had covered us, and a perfect rain began to fall; it was light, but enough to cool us down.    It lasted a few minutes, and before long we came to another road.  I had stopped to put my camera in my backpack to shield it from the water, when I heard Amanda say "there's Becca!"  When I caught up to her and Koichi at the road, I looked to the right and there, about to get in a car, was Becca.  The car drove her to us and she got out; I was so confused--what on earth was she doing on a random road, and how did we end up at the same place at the same time?  She had taken a bus to the Capernaum Junction, then she started walking and got a little lost; that's when the car passed her and offered to give her a ride to a church, but then she heard us yelling her name.  She was back on the trail once again, joining us for the final leg.

The closer we got to Capernaum, the more my side hurt.  We came to a church.  At this point I had to stop, as I was now unable to take deep breaths.  The pain was now in my lower back, and was spreading to my left side.  I noticed that pushing on the area relieved the pain, so Becca tried to rub it out, but after a few minutes I realized it only made it worse.  I was having a muscle spasm, so I took some ibuprofen and sat on the sidewalk with my back pressed firmly against the stone wall behind me.  After about twenty minutes, I was able to breathe again and the spasms stopped, though the area was sore to the touch for a few days after.  During this time, Koichi had gone one way to walk around, and Amanda had gone another.  When they returned, we got up and continued our journey.

We came to an area that is another possible location for the Mount of Beatitudes, right across from the Galilee.  A church was sitting up there somewhere, and Koichi wanted to check it out.  The rest of us opted to stay behind and hang out around the water.  I finally was able to photograph a lizard (my zoom lens has been out of commission due to it rolling out of my hand on the Temple Mount, making this feat near impossible as they are extremely fast).  I then made my way down to the water, and watched some Orthodox Jews wade in their black and white outfits.  Afterward I walked back up to the area Becca was relaxing in, and decided to go for a walk.  Eventually I stopped and stared off into the distance for several minutes, watching boats pass, the waves, and listened to the wind while I leaned against a fence.  When I returned to our rest area, Koichi still hadn't returned, so I once again used my backpack for a pillow and made myself comfy on the concrete sidewalk, drinking in more sun.  Shortly after, Koichi returned and my nap was interrupted.  Onward we went.

Part of the hill that could be the Mount of the Beatitudes

Sea of Galilee

When we saw the sign for Capernaum, Amanda and I had the same idea: we practically ran to it and hugged it.

Ok, this is post-hug (and no pun intended)

Not much further down the road was a restaurant on the Galilee that advertised "St. Peter's Fish" (tilapia); we were famished, so we stopped.  I know this will come as a huge surprise, but I ordered a red meat kabob.  I think it was beef, but I'm still not sure; it was good nonetheless.  Koichi and Becca had the fish (I sampled some and it was good).  And the view was fantastic:

St. Peter's Fish

Not long after leaving the restaurant, we reached our destination:

This area was completely enclosed, which was not what I was expecting. And we had to pay 3 shekels to get in (less than a dollar).  Oh, and I had to put on pants to avoid being scandalous.  Once inside, I noticed various excavations, some ongoing.  There is a large statue of Peter, with the famous verse from Matthew 16:18 where Jesus tells Peter "on this rock I will build My church."  I must interject here and say that many times I have heard that Jesus meant that He would build His church on Peter, since Peter is "petros" in the Greek, but "petros" means a detached rock or stone; however the "rock" Jesus said He would build His church on is "petra", meaning a mass of connected rock; thus Peter is a small piece of the larger rock=Jesus.  His church is built on Himself.

Remains of what they believe to be Peter's house

Ruins next to "Peter's" house

Within Capernaum is a synagogue called "White Synagogue", built mostly of white stone, and is one of the oldest in the world, possibly being built sometime during the 4th century.  Beneath it lies another foundation, possibly the synagogue mentioned in the New Testament from the 1st century.

"White Synagogue"

After walking around alone for a little while, I made my way to the shore of the Galilee, where I sat for a long time (if I had my way, I'd still be sitting there).  I made it.  The end of my 40+ mile journey brought me here.  It was very windy, causing the waves to crash against the rocks at my feet; I enjoyed the intermittent spray of water which contrasted with the hot sun.

Once exiting the gate that leads into this ancient area, I immediately took off my pants so my legs could breathe once again. *Update: It was brought to my attention (after much laughter) that it sounds like I stripped in the parking lot...I had shorts on under the pants.  Ok, moving right along* We were told there were no taxis in the area to take us to the bus stop, so we had to walk about 2-3 miles back in the direction we had just come from.  We sat there for about twenty minutes or so, but no bus.  We decided to walk even further to the Kfar Junction.  While sitting there, a  cold front began to move in, bringing a little more rain with the cooler air while large thunderheads lingered in the distance.  A faint rainbow emerged, stretching across what could be the Mount of Beatitudes:

Thunderheads building behind Church of the Beatitudes

After waiting over thirty minutes, we saw our bus.  For whatever reason, he wouldn't stop, but instead waved us off, letting us know we were out of luck.  At this point we had few options left.  Koichi tried hitchhiking, but people only waved back.  Finally a taxi came up the hill, so we waved him down.  He offered to take us into Tiberias for the same price as a bus ticket, so we piled in.  We made it to the central bus station in time to catch the next bus to Jerusalem.

I confess this trip created a hiking monster out of me.  I have already researched hiking backpacks, boots, socks, you name it.  I'm rearing and ready to go on another one, though I am sure I am the only one who felt this way that day.

Shalom, from the shores of Galilee in Capernaum

Thinking out loud

When I shared my news of coming to Israel, I knew what most people would say: “it’s not safe.”  It is common, almost expected, to read reports of unrest leading to bombs, rock slinging, rockets, and threats of nuclear war here in the Middle East.  It seems it has become a “normal” way of life here.  I admit that sometimes when I get on a bus, I notice the thought sneaking into my mind of  “what if?”  

My usual response to those who may have expressed concern was “it’s not safe anywhere anymore.”  A few years ago, a student at the University of Oklahoma was blown in half when the bomb in his backpack detonated; the explosion rocked my apartment and rattled my windows.  It was called a “lone suicide”, and not considered a possible terrorist attack, although several hundred feet away over 80,000 fans were packed into Oklahoma Memorial Stadium to watch OU play Kansas State.  I have never heard of a person going through all the trouble to make a bomb with the intention of blowing up only himself.   

Last night I awoke at midnight to the news of what happened at the Boston Marathon a couple hours before.  I thought I was dreaming.  My first reaction to events like these is always anger.  It makes me angry that a person can be so filled with hate to snuff out the lives of others.  It makes me angry it is not safe to enjoy routine things like going to a movie, a football game, school, or in this case running a marathon. 

In America, the hot issue still is gun control.  I, along with many, many others, am frustrated: guns are not the problem.  Yes, guns make it easier to commit violent crimes and cause injury and death, but so do common household chemicals that are used to cook meth; once taken, the actions of that person are unpredictable, and meth lab explosions are common.  Cars kill thousands every year when alcohol is consumed and then the person who is drunk sits behind the wheel; all the rocks in Israel should be done away with so no one else can fling them at human targets (recently a baby); all planes should be grounded so they cannot be hijacked…the list goes on.  What do all these “weapons” have in common?  People.   

I have no intention here of getting very deep, or I may never find my way back out.  In all truth, I feel these are just the random thoughts of a person on little sleep, but I am conscious enough to know one thing: the objects themselves are not the problem—we are.  I include myself because I am human and I am seriously flawed and capable of doing great harm.  People are flawed.  It doesn’t make sense to me to get so worked up over “God” being mentioned in school to ban prayer, material, and anything else that may “offend” people who don’t believe in Him, only for the same people to get mad at Him when little kids are shot at school and wonder where He was; and then (and only then) is it ok to say a prayer.  Why can’t we pray before the tragedy strikes as opposed to after?  If praying after a tragedy produces results (if not why bother praying at all?), then why is it ludicrous to think that praying before might prevent it?  Why are people in America screaming about tolerance and equality when being a Christian is not tolerated or treated equally?   

Yes I am a Christian.  Yes I believe in the Bible, from the first letter in Genesis 1 to the last letter in Revelation 22.  Yes I believe the Bible is the only truth.  Yes I believe in a heaven and yes I believe in a hell.  How could a loving God send people to hell?  He doesn’t.  The choice is ours.  Hell was not created for us.  God loves us so much He sent His only Son to this earth to be ridiculed, tortured, mutilated, and nailed to a tree naked on display for all to see.  And He did all this for you.  Why?  It took me a long time to figure that one out.  Jeremiah 17:9 says “the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked, who can know it?”  “Desperately wicked” in the Hebrew means “incurably sick”…wow.  We are doomed, no?  Isn’t that how someone would feel after being diagnosed with terminal cancer?  They’re told there’s nothing that can be done.  They have a horrible disease, and it will kill them.  Everyone is born into the world with heart cancer.  No amount of chemo can eradicate it, we cannot eat enough healthy foods to heal it, we can give, give, give and do, do, do and still we will fall short.   

To think our hearts are wicked is not easy to accept.  Everyone wants to be a good person or thinks they’re a good person.  By whose standards?  The hijackers on 9/11 thought they were good people because they were fulfilling a “holy” mission.  Were they?  What are we measuring ourselves by?  If we get down to it and examine ourselves honestly and realistically, we’ll know the answer.  It took me 19 years to realize I was on a destructive path and that I was incapable of changing myself.  I am incapable of keeping just ten commandments, let alone the other 603 listed in the Old Testament.   

Does passing a law keep the act from being committed?  No, it just creates consequences for transgressing it.  Isn’t the old cliché “rules are made to be broken” really true?  We can’t help ourselves.  And that’s the problem.  I was just reminded of an episode on T.V.  It was one of those medical dramas, and there was a patient talking with one of the doctors.  The patient was a pedophile, and he was begging the doctor to castrate him because he didn’t trust himself; he knew eventually he would go after more children.  Wow.  What lengths would you go to in order to keep yourself from doing that “one thing”?  Or do you think of someone else and say “at least I’m not like that person…” to make yourself feel better?  Why spend so much time medicating when you can have the cure?   

Jesus lived a perfect life, he never sinned.  He was God in flesh.  He fulfilled the law we are incapable of keeping.  Sacrifices were carried out all through the Old Testament, right up to the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 A.D.  Blood had to be shed to atone for sin.  Jesus was the ultimate, perfect, and final sacrifice.  According to the Law, I am supposed to be on that cross.  And so are you.  And the rest of humanity.  But Jesus took your spot.  He took mine.   

After accepting Christ, I noticed a difference in me.  Others noticed a difference in me.  At the time I couldn’t explain it, I just knew it was true.  For example, all of a sudden I wanted to read the Bible, so I went and bought one, and devoured it.  Over the years, I have changed.  I am still changing, and I will always be changing; it’s an ongoing process.  It’s nothing I have done, in the sense of being able to change myself.  God, through the Holy Spirit, has changed me and is changing me; the only thing I can do is let Him. 

Well this was the last thing I planned on writing today, but maybe it needed to be said.  Maybe I’ll receive some hate mail now, and that’s ok.  Whether or not you believe in a God or the Bible, I can say without a doubt that He is real.  He is not dead, He is alive.   

One year ago today, my grandfather passed away.  He suffered a massive stroke in 2009 that left him unable to care for himself or even recognize people.  I visited one day and he knew I was now living in Oklahoma and remembered that I had been skydiving, but he couldn’t remember my name.  The last time I saw him alive was a year ago last month just before Easter.  He was excited to see me, told me several times he loved me, but again didn’t know my name.  But I knew that he knew me.  The most incredible thing happened; a lady from the local church, a very old friend of the family, had stopped to visit at the same time, and went to the piano I remember him always playing, and started to play old hymns.  He lit up like a Christmas tree, trying to sing the words, snapping his fingers on his one good hand.  And then he started to cry.  When my aunt went to him and asked why he was crying, he mumbled he was happy.  My parents and I had a long drive ahead of us, so before leaving we all held hands and Mrs. Snow prayed for us and for my grandfather.  I held his bad hand, the one he could no longer use, and was overcome to hear him praying next to me, saying “Amen” and “thank You Jesus” several times.  Though the stroke caused extensive damage to his mental and physical capabilities, he still knew his Lord.  If you ask me, Jesus’ name was the one most worth remembering. 

There are a lot of people reading my blog that I do not know personally; according to the stats I also have followers from Russia and Germany; I think that’s awesome.  I will say that if anyone has any questions, statements, complaints, what have you, I have set up an email account you can write them to: staceyinisrael@gmail.com

Of course public comments are still welcome. 

I will end this post by saying that I am saddened by the recent events in Boston and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I found out.  I am and will continue to pray for those affected by this horrific tragedy.                               

The Jesus Trail--Part Four

Day three of our hike was not only to be one of the longest in terms of distance, but it would end up being the day in which we were all tested and pushed to the limit physically.  We left the goat farm around 8 AM, and I was happy it was going to be another sunny day.  Unfortunately, I forgot to use my sunscreen, but that's another story.  According to our book, we were supposed to walk to Moshav Arbel, which would be almost 12 miles, but we made reservations for a hostel in Tiberias a bit further away, again to save money.  Not far from the goat farm is a highway, and our markers led us there.  Hiking along busy roads is not my favorite to say the least; not only was it very busy in terms of traffic, but Israelis love to honk!  In no time, I was missing the serenity of green fields and the sound of occasional chirping birds in an otherwise quiet setting.  Thankfully, our adventure on the highway was short-lived and soon we were back in the midst of nature.

Mine and Becca's shadows

We first walked through a forest area with (mostly) paved roads.  Of course, it was beautiful, and there was plenty of shade.  Once out of the forest, we ended up on a paved road that took us through farmland.  For a little while I forgot I was in Israel; it looked and felt as if I was walking on my beloved country roads back in my home state of Indiana; however, the mountains in the distance snapped me back to reality.  Nevertheless, it seemed two worlds, though thousands of miles apart, coexisted for a brief time.  

A walk in the park

I thought I was in the Lord of the Rings when I walked through this area

Wanted to show how large the cactus plants get

I'm staring off in the distance, as usual, resembling the stack of rocks behind me

My favorite part of the hike this day was walking through a wheat field.  It was vast, green, and waved back and forth in the breeze.  I couldn't help but run my hand along the top of the wheat almost the entire time along the path...my "Midwesterny" was showing, but I didn't care.  Though the markers took us back to the road, it soon led us off into a pasture.  And we weren't prepared for what was about to happen.

Path along the wheat field

The pasture was full of little rocks, some bigger here and there, and off in the distance we saw some cows and a tractor near a pond.  At this point we were slowly and gradually climbing in elevation, as I could feel my breathing getting heavier.  We had to watch where we walked, trying not to walk through evidence that proved cows had been there recently.  The part we weren't prepared for was coming up.  Enjoying the view yet a little weary of the warm sun, I started noticing flies.  They buzzed around my head, so I swatted at them a few times.  They were relentless.  My shirt sleeves were pulled up by this point, the heat increasing as the hours wore on.  My right arm tickled; it took a few minutes to realize why.  After scratching my arm several times, I finally looked:  my arm was coated in flies.  Dozens.  I turned my neck as far as it would go, and I noticed they also were starting to crowd my shoulders, left arm and backpack.  I looked ahead toward Koichi and Amanda--they were swatting, too.  I stopped and looked for Becca behind me--the same.  Biblical plague #4 descended upon us there in that cow pasture.  No matter how much we swatted, they came right back.  (I have a picture depicting this, but it needs to be emailed to me and I am waiting on it; I hope to have it posted soon.) They seemed to arrive out of nowhere, and it would be at least two miles (or more) later before they disappeared mysteriously.  Talking with my friend Keith, who hiked this trail weeks before we had, I asked him about the flies...he and his group never encountered any.  On a positive note, the view was so beautiful I couldn't stop taking pictures.  I think at this point Becca was in too much pain, thanks to the blisters and a bad knee, and overwhelmed by the flies to take very many (if any at all).

Rough rocky patch in the pasture

Amazing views coming up

They were a little skittish about our invading their territory

When I saw snow-capped Mt. Hermon in the distance, I suddenly longed for a sled and mittens; a far cry from the steamy, fly-inviting climate we currently found ourselves in.  Shortly after, the Sea of Galilee came into view, resting behind the Horns of Hattin.  Seeing the Galilee renewed my hope that I would make it to Capernaum the next day, which resides on the north side of the sea.  The Horns of Hattin, a name I had never heard of before this hike, is possibly the location of two events: 1. Where Saladin, first sultan of Syria and Egypt, defeated Guy de Lisugnan and annihilated most of the Crusaders in 1179 (you can watch this event portrayed in the movie Kingdom of Heaven...excellent movie); shortly thereafter he captured Jerusalem.  2.  Possible location of the Sermon on the Mount given by Jesus in the New Testament (there are so many "possible locations" here in Israel I can no longer keep track...still, I love exploring the possibilities).

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, we would be greatly challenged physically.  I have already mentioned Becca's plight; she said later she was going to check herself into the hospital when we returned because she was sure she was falling apart.  I was the only one in the group to never develop any blisters during the whole hike, but something else started to bother me:  my backpack.  I have already written about the weight I toted around, and on this day my body said "no more."  It was in the cow pasture, while swinging in vain at the hordes of flies, that I noticed my shoulders starting to ache.  Once we arrived at the Horns of Hattin, it became almost unbearable.  I had been using the waist belt, allowing the bag to rest more on my lower back and waist, but it wasn't enough.  I slipped the shoulder straps down off the tops of my shoulders, and I realized I couldn't lift my arms.  When we stopped to take a much needed (and much deserved) rest, I needed help putting my backpack on.  I was no longer able to swat flies, so they got the free ride they desired.  I didn't care anymore.

When we came near the highway we stopped to eat lunch under a single tree that offered patchy shade, and thankfully no spiders.  It was here that Becca decided she could no longer walk.  I wanted to encourage her to continue, as I did not want us to lose anyone in the group, but it was clear taking a bus to our hostel in Tiberias would be in her best interest; it wasn't worth her risking further injury.  It was also under this little tree that we realized something--the flies were gone.  We have no idea when it happened, but they disappeared as mysteriously as they had arrived.   I couldn't help but wonder if this was a spiritual attack, it was so bizarre.  When we arrived to the highway about a 1/4 mile away, we were split on which way to go.  We had left the path to get to the highway, so we weren't able to determine our position on the map.  Koichi said Becca should go to the bus stop on our side of the road, but I and Amanda noticed it ran in the opposite direction of the Sea of Galilee, which we could clearly see now to our left (east).  The bus on our side would take her west, in the direction of Tel Aviv and Haifa, as the signs indicated (in Hebrew, of course), and that we needed to cross the highway to the other bus stop.  He didn't agree with us, because the map was a little confusing; he thought we were at a different spot.  Not only did he think the bus would get her to Tiberias, but that we should also walk in that direction.  I agreed the map looked right, but logically it made sense to go the other way.  It took us a long time to explain that we needed to walk in the direction of the Sea of Galilee, since that is where Tiberias is located.  In the middle of this soon-to-be-heated discussion, a bus pulled up, so Koichi stepped on to talk to the driver.  The driver confirmed that we needed to be on the other side of the highway, so we ran across and climbed over the cement barricade to the other side.  The air was not only thick with hot air, but also with tension at this point.  I just wanted Becca to get to our hostel safely and I wanted us to walk in the right direction.  Once the bus arrived, Becca got on and Koichi followed to ask the driver; he said we needed to walk towards the Galilee.  So with that being settled, we waved bye to Becca and we started walking down the very busy highway.  Apologies were given and all was well again in the world.  Because we left the trail, we were not sure how to get back on without markers and having no clue where we were on the map.  Keith and his group had also gotten lost in the same area and also walked the same highway.  We all agree the trails should have a few more markers, otherwise it's a pretty good system.  We walked a little over three miles, stopped to get ice cream, and arrived to Tiberias, a bustling city with breathtaking views.

View from the highway; Mt. Arbel, an optional walk-to destination off our original path, is seen in the background

Sea of Galilee; Golan Heights seen to the north

Tiberias

      

Once we got to the city, we had to walk to our hostel.  I have no idea how much further we had to walk, I just know it was too far.  We were a stubborn trio who refused to take a bus or taxi; we wanted to say we walked to our hostel.  One of the annoying things about trying to get around in cities here in Israel, is that street signs are not always, well, there.  Sometimes it's a sign on a post like normal, sometimes it's a plaque on the side of a building, and sometimes it's not marked at all.  I say this in our defense of not being able to locate the hostel.  I called Becca and she gave good, detailed instructions, as she now had access to wifi.  We had been going the right direction, just hadn't gone far enough.  About thirty minutes later, we found it.  This place was the cheapest hostel we found on the trail at 50 shekels a person, which equals to about $13.50.  The statement "you get what you pay for" rang true here.  Sleeping out on the balcony probably would have been more sanitary, but we didn't care.  We were still hot, still tired, freshly sunburnt, and thankful for a place that had a pillow (at least it resembled one...I'm still not sure if it was).  My chief complaint was my feet had no where to go but over the edge.  Beds are really small here in Israel.  Our hostel was located on the main strip, so the road noise was incredible.  I (somewhat) slept with earphones, and I could still hear people and trucks and cars and horns over my music.  I'm not even sure I slept at all.  Except for the nap I didn't mean to take when we first arrived.  The view from the balcony was nice, you could see part of the Galilee.  I went to the balcony to make a phone call, and while there a guy walked up and said "the TV in my room isn't working"; I thought he was going to ask me would I mind if he watched the TV there on the balcony.  I looked at him expectantly, but when he continued to stare silently at me I said "ok", and he then said "could you fix it for me?" I couldn't help but laugh before I said no; I'm not sure if he thought I worked there or if I look capable of repairing TV's.

The blue dot showing our location in the hostel and how far south we  walked once arriving to Tiberias

My bed, with the "pillow", and I think that's a "mattress"

Classy place!

This main strip was loaded with shops, places to eat, and a small outdoor market

View from the balcony

After resting for a while, we walked the strip in search of food.  We found an amazing restaurant that served glorious red meat for a carnivore such as I, but the menu offered little for Amanda, the lone vegetarian of the group.  My heart sank as I returned the menu to the nice hostess, and I walked on with my head hanging low.  I perked right up when we passed a pizza place, and Koichi, Amanda and I planted our stakes there (vegetarian pizza of course (has to be kosher), but I'm capable of compromise).  Becca opted for a salad next door, and soon the four of us were seated at a table on the sidewalk with our dinner.  Chances would have it while sitting there, we saw someone we know here at school.  I had a Shabbat dinner at his apartment one night (he's a great cook and is from France); so we talked with him for a couple minutes.  And then it happened.  Koichi was sprinkling seasoning on a beautiful piece of pizza when the lid popped off.

They love to sneak corn in and on a lot of different foods here...I still can't believe I'm eating mushrooms

After a good, hearty laugh at his expense, we finished dinner, walked to a convenience store to get necessities like water and (for me) chocolate milk, and walked back to our hostel.  How far did we walk this day?  I have no idea, probably 12-15 miles; all I know is we walked for 7 1/2 hours and I was getting anxious to arrive to Capernaum the following day.