“Boston Strong” a way of life in Israel

Soldiers, trained in urban warfare and fully armed,
regularly patrol the streets of Israel to protect tourists
and the citizens of the country from terrorist attacks.

PHOTO / Nor Grebnief

The news bulletins out of Boston last week were unnerving. Once again terrorists were attacking fortress America, this time with bombs, and early reports focused on the dead, the injured and trying to figure out who was responsible.

Four days later one terrorist was dead, another in custody and the residents of Boston and its surrounding communities were breathing a collective sigh of relief. The casualties – four dead, dozens grievously maimed, hundreds injured – only captures a small part of the drama.

Truth to tell, an entire region of the country had been temporarily shut down; an army of law enforcement personnel – hundreds, perhaps thousands of officers and national guardsmen – had been pressed into service and the full weight and resources of the federal government and its intelligence agencies were on full alert.

For a brief moment there was a sense of loss and déjà vu, the fear that we had been down this shattered road before. For a day or two a noxious blend of anxiety and anger hung heavily in the air, fueled by roiling news reports that were often misleading and rumors that were mostly the stuff of paranoid nightmares.

Fortunately, balancing out all this turmoil were the good people of this great land; men and women filled with care, compassion and grit. While the professionals – police and intelligence services; doctors and nurses; yes, even the news media – went about their jobs, the residents of Boston and its suburbs found their footing.

They pushed aside the terror and offered one another aid and comfort. Even as the terrorists went about their grisly work and firefights broke out, even when one community was entirely locked down for a day, the people of Boston showed the country what it means to be strong – Boston Strong!

So the final moments of the ordeal – the flashing lights and sirens, yet another pitched battle between the remaining terrorist and police – felt more like a whimper than a bang. After all, it was clear how this battle would end. The strong people of Boston would prevail.

Now take this mighty effort and frightful ordeal that played out over a few days in Boston and think for a moment how difficult it would be if it happened again and then again and yet again. How would life change? What sort of compromises would be necessary to protect the safety and sanity of our citizens?

Now think about Israel.

Terrorist attacks, sadly, are part of the fabric of the Jewish homeland. The country and its citizens have endured decades of violence; thousands have died, tens of thousands been injured. The stench of smoke and wail of sirens is uncomfortably familiar in the tiny nation.

There have been bombings, focused incidents like the one in Boston, too numerous to detail. There have also been suicide bombings, rocket attacks, shootings, knifings and collisions, even a youngster stoned to death.

In 2011, eight Israelis were killed and more than 40 wounded in a multi-pronged terrorist attack north of Eilat in southern Israel. Earlier that year, a man, woman and three of their children were stabbed to death by terrorists in their home in Itamar, a village in the northern corner of the West Bank.

Two years earlier, in 2009, a teen was murdered by an axe-wielding terrorist in a small community outside of Hebron and a year earlier, in Jerusalem, three women were killed and another 50 people injured when a man driving a bulldozer plowed into cars and pedestrians on Jaffa Road between the Central Bus Station and the Jewish Market.

In 2001, three months before 9/11, a suicide bomber blew himself up outside a discotheque, the Dolphinarium, in Tel Aviv. Twenty-one teenagers were killed and another 132 injured.

There were dozens of other attacks before and after these incidents. The good news is that in recent years there’s been a significant decrease in the number of such actions. Public safety and security, however, come at a price.

You’ll be frisked and your bags checked in Israel before entering most shopping malls or government buildings, museums, ballparks or bus stations, movie theaters, bars or cafés. Troops patrol the streets, armed checkpoints dot the borders and an expansive wall separates much of Jerusalem and the West Bank.

Remarkably, Israelis go about their lives unfettered by the loss of what some might consider basic freedoms. The guards, soldiers, security checkpoints and weapons have simply become part of the background noise of life, necessary safeguards when living in a dangerous neighborhood. Even tourists, initially overwhelmed by the massive show of force, grow use to the precautions and understand the merit in being prepared.

Last week, Bostonians and their neighbors got it right when they pushed aside their fear and took a stand, an attitude now labeled by the media and others as being “Boston Strong.” It turns out that the hugely popular rallying cry has been a way of living in Israel for years, an attitude that both protects and celebrates life.

I’m thinking she’s not worried about muggers

My friend Malka snapped this photo recently of a teenager getting some cash at an ATM in Jerusalem. Truth to tell, the assault weapon is just about as common here as the ubiquitous jeans and camisole she’s wearing, just a little accessory that brings out the highlights in her hair!

Most Americans visiting Israel for the first time are caught a bit off guard by all the weapons carted about by IDF troops, many like this oh-so young woman in civilian clothes. It all seems so alien to the way we live our lives in the land of the free and the home of the brave. In the Jewish homeland it’s part of everyday life!

Soldiers are responsible for their weapons, even when off-duty, and often have nowhere to stash them. So they carry them on errands, when visiting friends or out for a casual drink. It’s not at all uncommon to spot a guy or girl in a bathing suit, strolling along the Mediterranean with friends, an M-14 slung casually over their shoulders.

If you happen to be at one of the central bus stations in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv or Haifa on a Sunday morning – the beginning of the work week in Israel – then you’ll have a chance to see just how much weaponry is actually in circulation in this tiny nation. I wasn’t around in the 1940s, but I’m thinking the coming and going of youngish troops, armed and smartly decked out in an array of colorful uniforms, is a mirror image of what the U.S. probably looked like during the dark days of World War II.

In Israel, troops returning to their duty bases can be spotted with Dror light machine guns, Uzi pistols and submachine guns; Galil assault rifles and the occasional high-powered sniper rifle; a wide range of handguns and, of course, the ubiquitous M-14s.

At first glance it might seem like the wild and wooly west has been reborn in the Middle East. And yet, after a moment or so, the weapons and soldiers seem a natural part of this place, just another interesting ingredient – along with Sabra wit, falafel, serpentine streets and mystical secrets – that makes Israel special.

So snap away at the teens and their assault rifles. You’ll find them most everywhere. They don’t seem to mind the candid camera hijinks of tourists and, truth to tell, all those weapons make Israel one of the safest countries in the world for visitors.

A final note: Here’s hoping that one day soon the weapons will disappear, along with all the reasons that make them necessary!

How I spent a lifetime at JFK’s Terminal 3

A trip is often about the journey and not the des- tination, and sometimes the journey is just plain awful. That certainly sums up at least part of my getting from here to there and back during my most recent journey to Israel.

Finding a pigeon resting inside an airport terminal isn't

all that usual; that is of course unless you're travelling

through JFK in New York.

As often as not, the entire traveling experience is an adventure for me. Truth to tell, there’s no question that air travel has become onerous in recent years. But with the proper attitude and the right drugs the lines and delays, security checkpoints and pat downs all become, ah, fun and funny, part of some sort of cosmic joke.

But the joke this time around was pretty much on me after I managed to pull together a travel itinerary that had me spending close to 16 hours – eight hours going and eight hours on my return – at New York’s JFK International, one of the worst airports in the country.

Not that long ago I could have flown directly from my little corner of the world to Israel. For some yet unexplainable reason Delta, my hometown airline that sloganizes it’ll always be ready when I am, canceled its one daily flight from the Land of Cotton to Tel Aviv. Go figure!

So to get from here to way over there I had to travel through at least one other airport. New York seemed the logical choice. Unfortunately, the two flights offered up on Delta’s website when I started finalizing my plans came with challenges.

One flight only allowed me 90 minutes to make my connection. The other fell at the opposite end of the waiting spectrum, offering up a whopping eight hour delay in the Big Apple. Making my way back home came with pretty much the same challenges – dash and pray or cool my heels at JFK; say that just right and it sort of rhymes. That said, there was nothing pretty or poetic about my decision!

I came down on the side of caution, worrying that if there was any kind of delay – bad weather, bald tires, drunken pilots or deranged flight attendants – I’d miss my connecting flight and then have to wait, ahhh, many extra hours in New York. Okay, I know I ended up waiting many extra hours. But at least that was part of my plan!

And it would have been okay if JFK wasn’t a seedy little rat hole, filled with the devil’s spawn who work as ticket agents, baggage handlers, security guards and fast food clerks and cashiers. Apparently I’m not the only passenger in the last year who has taken note of the disaster called Terminal 3.

A little background and context might be helpful. JFK began life in the early 1940s when the city of New York began filling in the marshy tidelands of Idlewild Golf Course. Initial plans were to create a modest airport of about 1,000 acres. But by the time construction was complete, Idlewild Airport had grown to five times the original size.

Commercial flights began in 1948. Today, John F. Kennedy International Airport – it was renamed in memory of the nation’s thirty-fifth president in 1963, a little over a year after JFK was assassinated – is the nation’s leading international gateway, with more than 80 airlines operating from its gates.  

Unfortunately, city and airport officials have paid little attention to the mega-airport in recent years and apparently haven’t noticed that the world is moving at warp speed now that we’ve entered the twenty-first Century. JFK is difficult to fly into; it’s a jarring blend of terminals, pieced together with dismal walkways and miles of sidewalks. Buses, mini-vans and light rail will move you about from place to place; but service is often slow and sporadic.

Most of the terminals are suffering from neglect, real fixer-uppers with holes in the roofs, water stains spilling across the walls, broken tiles, ratty carpeting and birds flying about. The folks at Frommers.com have taken note. They ranked JFK’s Terminal 3 as the worst in the world.

"Terminal 3 is known for endless immigration lines in a dank basement, an utter lack of food and shopping options and three crowded and confusing entry points,” Frommers.com said. "There's also a sense that the cleaning crew gave up in despair a while ago."

I’m thinking Frommers got it right. Oh, did I mention that it was Terminal 3 where I spent 15 of the 16 hours waiting at JFK? In short, a lifetime!

Shabbat in Jerusalem with friends, strangers

Sometimes a little creativity works out much better than tossing loads of money at a problem. That’s exactly what the energetic staff at Jerusalem’s Abraham Hostel have done when figuring out how best to pull together Shabbat dinner for their guests each week.

To understand the problem, you probably need to know that Jerusalem, both the capital and spiritual center of Israel, is one of the few places in the world that takes Shabbat seriously. The city essentially shuts down for the Jewish Sabbath, a period that stretches from Friday afternoon until three stars appear in the sky on Saturday evening.

That means if you’re a tourist you’ll have plenty of time to rest and relax; it also means that you’d better plan ahead if you want to eat on Friday night and throughout the day on Saturday. Just about everything in the city closes – retail stores, public transport, museums and theaters; restaurants, cafes, fast-food joints, mega-supermarkets and mom-and-pop groceries.

If you’re staying at one of Jerusalem’s luxury hotels you don’t need to worry. Generally along with the high-cost of your room, you’ll be wined and dined in fine style over the Sabbath. Most 5-star hotels offer up a smorgasbord of delights – soups, salads and fishy appetizers; beef, chicken and fish; veggies and baked goods; vintage wines and dessert! Needless to say, you won’t go hungry.

That’s not the case if you’re staying in a 3-star hotel or hostel. Most of these places provide a hearty – if limited – breakfast. Otherwise, plan ahead or fast; unless you’re booked into the Abraham Hostel. I stumbled across it online when planning my most recent trip to Israel. It looked interesting and the reviews were mostly good.

The price was certainly right – $20 for a bed in a dorm and $60 for a private room and bath. Once I figured out the location was just about perfect – it’s on Jaffa Street in the heart of the city, a block or so from the Jewish Market and the pedestrian mall on Ben Yehudah Street and an easy 10 minute walk from the central bus station – I decided to try it out.

Turns out you get what you pay for! When traveling solo I don’t mind roughing it a bit. I’ve stayed in 3-star hotels and the occasional hostel. The hotels, without exception, have always been fine – clean and neat, safe and affordable. The hostels have also been safe and very affordable; unfortunately, they’re generally a little seedy around the edges.

The Abraham Hostel was light, bright and filled with second-hand everything – furniture and floor coverings; dishes, glasses and plates; beds and bedding; towels and bathroom fixtures. The building was ancient and needed work. My room was tiny and featured a jarring blend of school dorm simplicity and jail-house practicality – two single beds (really cots) pushed together, harsh neon lighting and cheap wooden cabinets nailed to the walls; a small and shaky desk, nightstand and chair. There were two additional smallish rooms, one for the toilet and another for a shower. Functional is about the best I can say about the place.

There was a bright spot. The main gathering area – sort of the hostel’s ballroom – was on the second floor. It was expansive and included colorful sofas, chairs, bean bags and hammocks; a fully stocked bar and huge entertainment system; a dining area and public kitchen. It was here that everyone willing to pay out 35 shekels (about $9) came together for Shabbat dinner.

Lacking the funds to wine and dine their guests, the hostel’s management came up with the novel idea of pulling everyone together like a family. The staff would go out and purchase the food for dinner, but it would be the guests who, with a little help from the staff, would do most of the prep work and cooking.

So it was that a trickle of tourists from around the world began gathering in the kitchen area as Jerusalem started shutting down for Shabbat. We stood around, gazing about, waiting for instructions. Fresh veggies were spread across several tables and a few staffers handed out knives, bowls and other such stuff.

Before you could shout shalom, we were all slicing and dicing, sharing a bit about our background and chatting with one another about our latest adventures. The ice had been broken. The people at my work station were typical of the guests at the hostel – a guy from Canada, traveling through Israel as part of his college course work; a couple from Japan on holiday and a middle-aged woman from California visiting relatives. Well, you get the idea.

The prep work took about 30 minutes; then we had another hour or so to talk and meet up with friends. Did I mention there was drinking? As the sky turned dark and the first stars of Shabbat winked and twinkled across Jerusalem, we settled down for the evening meal. There were about 50 of us spread about the room – friends and strangers, young and not-so-young; Jews and Christians.

A youngish woman took a few minutes to detail the importance of Shabbat, offered some religious background and historical context, then lit the Sabbath candles. Another staffer said Kiddush, a traditional blessing thanking God for the “fruit of the vine,” and finished with a blessing over a loaf of challah.

Our work and the work of the staff had pulled together a feast – fresh veggies and fruit; rice, pasta and potatoes; chips, dips, bread and chicken! I’ve already mentioned there was drinking, right?

It was Shabbat and we were family, at least for the moment, sharing a special meal in a very special city. As I said at the start, sometimes the best way to deal with a problem is to hold onto your money and use a little creativity. The evening worked for me, something I’ll be remembering in coming months. Now I’m thinking the hostel’s bosses might want to capture some of their staff’s creativity and figure out how to use it to freshen up their property.  

Denise, Earl and living the good life in Zichron

After doing my volunteer thing with Sar-el recently, I wanted to spend a few days checking out another region of Israel where I could rest, relax and pull myself together for yet another 12-hour flight back home. That’s how I ended up in Zichron Yaakov, a small resort community just south of Haifa.

Denise and Earl, friends who once upon a time lived here in the Land of Cotton, moved to Zichron about a year ago. They were gracious enough to put me up for a few days and schlep me around a bit.  Zichron is a lovely community built across and atop a mountain range that gently slips into a valley along the Mediterranean.

It offers up world-class views in all directions – a patchwork of cultivated land in the valley, giving way to a maze of lush and lovely vineyards on nearby hillsides; twist about and the Mediterranean quietly roars to life in the far distance, the perfect spot for each day’s setting sun. This might be heaven!

That’s not to say there aren’t challenges in calling this place home. Denise and Earl – their children Reuben, Levi and Gabi – are mostly living the good life in the Jewish homeland. They’ve been warmly welcomed, are members of the local Masorti synagogue and community, and have friends who are warm, caring and helpful.

But like most olim, there’s a steep learning curve that involves mastering the language, the customs and dealing with the high-cost of just about everything. I’m delighted to report that Denise and Earl are still smiling, even as they go through the cosmic effort of finding and buying a home.

Spending time with them and visiting Zichron was a perfect way to end my trip, a chance to see up close and personal how Israelis go about their daily lives. We took a few small road trips to area sights – a nearby resort community and, later, the ancient ruins at Caesarea. But, frankly, I found it just as enjoyable and enlightening to visit a local mall and several markets with Denise and venture out with Earl to buy a bouquet of flowers for Shabbat.

Sitting out on their deck one evening, sharing a splendid bottle of Syrah from a local vineyard, we chatted about this and that and watched the sun slowly sink into the sea. For a month or so I had been dashing about, revisiting ancient and iconic spots across Israel, in search of that elusive something that would define and stamp this trip as special.

I’m thinking there was much that was special – the spiritual secrets hidden away in the Old City of Jerusalem; the upbeat and cosmopolitan vibe in Tel Aviv; the like-minded and friendly folks I worked with at Tel HaShomer. But the quiet and calm that settled across Zichron as the sky grew dark and my soul grew light is what I’ll be remembering.

Finding my way from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem

Getting around when visiting Israel can be a hassle. It can also be an adventure. The really good news is this tiny country that has all sorts of problems – political, religious, cultural – also has a really good public transport system. Truth to tell, it’s significantly cheaper and easier to get from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem than traveling from Marietta to Atlanta. Go figure!

On my most recent trip to the Jewish homeland, I ventured out and about in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem with little problem; mostly getting around on buses, sheruts – a sort of mini-van that follows a scheduled route – and the occasional cab.

It’s worth noting that much of what you’ll want to visit as a tourist is in the heart of both these cities and is well within walking distance if you’re reasonably healthy and fit. An added bonus of hoofing it when walking is an option is that you’ll get to see parts of the country up close and personal that would be nothing more than a passing blur from a bus or cab.

Most cities in Israel have a central bus station. In Tel Aviv and Jerusalem the stations are mini-cities; expansive developments that include retail shops and banks, cafes, restaurants and fast-food kiosks, ticket offices and information centers. The stations are almost always busy; crowded, noisy and filled with locals and tourists on their way from here to there. It’ll probably take a little effort to orient yourself on your first visit. But it’s an experience that’s worth the effort.

I was lucky earlier this month; I needed only to follow in the wake of Sar-El friends Irwin and Gigi when off to visit Jerusalem. They are experts on getting around the country and helped me find my way through the labyrinth of hallways and passages that fill the central bus station in Tel Aviv.

Buses run between the two cities about every 15 minutes. So the process was made even simpler when we dashed aboard a waiting bus and bought our tickets from the driver instead of stopping at a nearby ticket window.

The trip costs 18 shekels – a little shy of $5 – but I was advised to hand over 9 shekels and simply say “pensioner”! Retirees and seniors in Israel are offered half-price fares on all public transport. And that’s how I ended up making the trip for just a bit over $2. BTW, just for the sake of comparison, a can of cola will cost you 7 shekels in Israel and a really good cup of gelato will set you back 19 shekels.

Trains are another decent option, especially when traveling along the coast. They are quick, efficient and affordable. When heading back to the states after visiting friends in Zichron Yaakov, a small resort community just south of Haifa, I took a train. It whisked me through a half-dozen cities and villages that dot the Mediterranean, then on through Tel Aviv before I reached my final destination, Ben Gurion International Airport. The 50 minute trip was a bargain at 37 shekels. Remember that Israeli retirees would have paid half that price!

Cabs are all together another story. They are relatively expensive and the experience, at least for me, is almost always cosmically irritating. Cabbies fall into that group of Israelis who love tourists for only one reason – our money. They look on us all as suckers and know that, for the most part, we hate to haggle and argue and that we’ll pay whatever we’re told.

The very first cab ride I took in Israel several years ago was a horrible experience that featured a cabbie nagging me about payment from the moment we were off and going. I didn’t understand the system and hadn’t told the cabbie to turn on his meter. Instead, he continually asked me how much I was going to pay him.

Unfortunately, that nasty introduction to cabs and cabbies has proven to be the norm. On my most recent trip, this same scam played out twice. The first time I told the cabbie to turn on his meter; the second time I had a good idea of what the cost should be and handed the cabbie that amount when I reached my destination and made a hasty exit.

Of course there are exceptions. I had a mini-emergency a few trips back and needed to get to a pharmacy in Jerusalem. A helpful cabbie got me to a nearby mall, volunteered to wait, then returned me to my hotel. Another cabbie, dropping me off at the airport, zipped away, then quickly backed up and waved me down. It turns out I had left a small bag on the front seat and he had spotted it after dropping me off – a major crisis averted!

Travel, especially in strange and foreign places, is always an adventure; and getting around is a big part of the experience. If you’re on a group tour with a professional guide, the good news is most of the hassle of getting from place to place comes with your ticket.

Truth to tell, I like the ease and sense of calm that comes when traveling with family and friends. But I also like the adrenalin rush that’s part of the solo experience; the unexpected happening just around the corner and me, yet again, stumbling my way through another grand experience. And so it goes!

Finding a tasty bit of icy inspiration in Israel

Israel is a tiny country packed with history and adventure, all euphonically blended with spiritual connections. It’s that one place in the world for Jews, Christians and Muslims that offers up a ready link to an ancient narrative that continues to inform and direct our lives.

So it’s not surprising that I’m most happy when visiting this tiny nation simply walking around, taking in the sights and sounds that often are foreign and discordant, but always alive and exciting. If forced to make a list of the touristy spots not to be missed, I’d have to include such iconic locations as the Old City of Jerusalem; Herod’s fortress at Masada and the spiritually rich village of Sfat; the always lovely city of Haifa and picturesque community of Zichron Yaakov.

Most recently I’ve discovered another spiritual connection, a spot of cosmic import hidden away on one of Tel Aviv’s majestic boulevards. Tel Aviv, of course, is filled with special delights, a happening city that is regularly listed as one of the most tourist-friendly destinations in the world. So it’s really no surprise that along with its beautiful promenade that nestles up cozily to the Mediterranean; its world-class shuk and nearby artist market; its theaters, museums, first-class restaurant, bars and nightclubs that it also offers some of the best gelato on the planet – and, yes, I’m talking ice cream!

If you’re in need of a real spiritual experience, and a sugary high, I strongly suggest the next time you’re in the area that you search out Siciliana, one of the ubiquitous cafes lining Ben Yehudah Street, just a few blocks south of Ben Gurion Boulevard. You really can’t miss it. On a hot summer afternoon, it will be the place with a long line of locals and tourist hanging about. Inside, heaven waits!

In fact, I’m thinking I heard a heavenly choir shout out the first time I stumbled across Siciliana just a few weeks ago. I was in search of something spiritual – gin with a splash of tonic. But once I saw the assortment of goodies on display at the café, I knew I had stumbled across my own little bit of paradise!

For only 19 shekels you can get a whopping large cup of manna that will tantalize your taste buds. When playing around with gelato, I like to keep things simple. So I went with a heavenly helping of whiskey chocolate, nicely paired with a scoop of creamy vanilla. It was divine, an inspired creamy treat that was smooth and tasty.

Of course, I could have opted for the fudge chocolate or crème brulee; strawberry, espresso, or mango delight; bourbon special, cherries jubilee or cookies and cream. I’m thinking you’ll want to give yourself a little time to make the right decision. After all, in this little corner of heaven, the devils in the details.

In the Israeli army it's okay to play -- sometimes

Working in a warehouse holding hundreds of boxes of medical supplies for IDF troops in Israel can be a difficult process. The mission, all part of a unique volunteer program, Sar-El, can be painfully slow and tedious. That’s why the young soldiers working with volunteers sorting through the mess of stuff decided to go to war.

Their base, and for the moment mine, is a massive facility near Tel Aviv that houses one of the spiffier Sar-El facilities for volunteers. It spreads out over several acres and includes a weathered but sturdy campus of warehouses, meeting rooms, barracks, dining area and offices. It’s also a perfect place to stage a battle!

For volunteers, the work of carefully examining serial numbers and checking out plastic bags holding a wide-variety of medical equipment can be mindlessly boring. But it’s all for a good cause and the proverbial light at the end of the warehouses’ tunnel – to twist an old phrase – is always just around the bend. For the young soldiers the light is often years away and the tedium can become overwhelming.

To cope, at least during my most recent volunteer encampment in early May this year, Eran, Uri, Itamar, Tova and dozens of their comrades took up arms – well, at least water balloons – and turned the asphalt area in front of the warehouses into both a battlefield and water park! I’d have a tough time detailing the rules of the game. From where I stood, it seemed like the goal was to stay dry while drenching anyone in striking distance.

The real madness and general appeal of the, ah, maneuvers, became clear when I managed to ask one of the young warriors what was happening. In English that was much better than my Hebrew, yet still difficult to decipher, Uri explained that, well, the commander – and her assistant – were off the base. So it would seem that what I was being told was that universal truth, “When the cats away the mice will play!”

Another universal truth, at least in Israel, is universal conscription. Boy and girls, in their late teens, are called into national service. You spot them across the country, dressed in army khakis, an automatic weapon draped across their shoulders. At first blush, it’s all a little daunting, youngsters playing at war who should still be in school or playing at the mall. After a short time, the young soldiers become part of the euphonic blend – the sounds, noises and color – that make up this very special country. Given the aggressive politics of the region, it all makes sense in a sad and melancholy sort of way.

That said, young soldiers are still young people, needing to let off a little steam now and again. It’s nice to know, despite the burden they carry, that they remain playful souls who can laugh and joke and, when their commander is away, toss a few water balloons at their friends.

Singing Hatikvah and finding hope in Israel

There is much still swirling around my noggin as I process the ups and downs of my most recent journey to Israel earlier this month. What lingers about at the moment is a very special happening during the first week of the trip as I transitioned yet again from flabby civilian to IDF volunteer. I’ll explain.

On this particular morning in early May, I joined with a group of volunteers from around the world – Australia and New  Zealand; Israel, France, Germany, Holland, Russia and Poland; the U.S. and Canada – shuffling about on an asphalt parade ground on a massive IDF base near Tel Aviv.

We were all volunteers for Sar-El, an organization that places people on IDF installations in Israel to help out as needed. Mostly the work is cosmically menial; but it’s work that needs to be done and it releases “real” soldiers to handle more important tasks.

Each morning after rolling out of our bunks in our oh-so spartan quarters, getting cleaned up and dressing in uniforms – yes, we wear IDF-issue outfits; how cool is that – dining on a hearty breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, cheeses, yogurt and all the tomatoes and cucumbers we can scarf down in 30 minutes, we join with a company of young solders for morning flag raising.

On this day, our madrichot – that would be Tamara and Eleanor, our guides and commanders – decide to take the morning ritual to a new level. We’ll not just heft the iconic blue and white banner of the Jewish state into the sky over Tel HaShomer, but also sing Hatikvah, the Israeli national anthem.

Hatikvah manages to be both uplifting and melancholy, an anthem that poetically speaks of hope and the Jewish soul, all wrapped up in a musical score of aching beauty. For most Jews, certainly those of us raised on the Zionist dream of a Jewish homeland, the melody rests lightly in our hearts and souls, easily recalled whenever the first mournful notes are played.

The problem is that the words are in Hebrew, a remarkably difficult language to learn – especially for foreign volunteers who are often older than Israel itself. It’s one thing to say hello, shalom, in Hebrew; it’s a bit more rigorous to recall and recite the sophisticated lyrics of the anthem.  

So while a few brave and bilingual volunteers begin singing, the rest of us stumble about, humming the tune and sounding off whenever the word Hatikvah is mentioned. Meanwhile, the company of regular soldiers nearby, young men and women drafted into the IDF and serving out their time as laborers, stare at us in bemused silence, trying to figure out why we’re singing their national anthem.

But like the country itself, there’s something contagious and endearing about Hatikvah, both the words and the melody. The silliness of the effort gradually morphed slowly into a grand effort, the mournful tune giving way to the stirring anthem that has sustained and unified the Jewish people for decades now.

Even some of the young troops are caught up in the moment as together we share the words of the poet Tali Herz Imber, “Our hope is not yet lost, The hope of two thousand years, To be a free people in our land, The land of Zion and Jerusalem.”

I can’t help but think that on this day, if only in a very small way, I’m part of the ancient promise, first whispered to Abraham; a vision that is no longer simply a hope, but today a reality.

Where in the world is Nor Grebnief off to now?

I’ve been checking out my packing list for an upcoming trip to Israel. Clothes and toiletries; that would be check and check! Camera, iPod and Kindle; check, check and check! Passport, airplane ticket, cash and credit card; check, check, check and check!

I’m good to go, it would seem. Oh, wait, almost forgot to detail the really important stuff – sheets, pillow case and towels; laundry bag, detergent, clothes pins and hangars; flashlight, extra batteries and snacks! No, I’m not headed off to summer camp, although the spartan quarters that I’ll be calling home for much of my stay in Israel could easily pass for a kid’s retreat.

I’m taking part yet again in a volunteer program, Sar-El, that will have me living and working on an army base – if I broke the rules and told you exactly where, both you and I would be getting a visit from a beefy Mossad agent!

Instead, I’ll simply report that I’ll be kept busy doing pretty much whatever I’m asked to handle – sorting, packing, cleaning, painting or any other specialized tasks that I’m uniquely qualified to handle. On the weekends I’ll be free to travel around the country and already have plans to visit Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and Zichron Yaakov – a lovely little village nestled against the Mediterranean, just south of Haifa. I’m thinking there will be drinking!

Sar-El has been around for decades, created to provide volunteers for the IDF so the real soldiers are free to handle important stuff – wars, uprisings, protests; you know, defending Israel for you and me. Truth to tell, I’m not thinking too much about politics or existential threats to the Jewish homeland when I’m busying pulling weeds or sorting medical equipment on an IDF base.

The why for trekking half-way around the globe would take way too much time to explain; but the short version would have to include meeting and working with other like-minded folks from around the world. Sar-El also provides an opportunity to get way outside the tourist bubble and enjoy a reasonably up close and personal relationship with the soldiers and civilians who call this country home.

Oh, there’s also the serpentine streets that wind about the Old City of Jerusalem and the oh-so cosmopolitan vibe of Tel Aviv; splendid sunsets over the Mediterranean and million-shekel views from Haifa; the ancient secrets of Sfat and moving history of Masada. Did I mention there would be drinking? Why, yes, I think I did!

There are also modern delights and spiritual experiences to be had, including world-class hummus, shawarma and rugelach! But I digress. The bottom line – and I’ve reported this before – I’ve met people who’ve traveled to Israel and had bad moments, but never met anyone who had a bad trip. Stay tuned; I’ll be right back!

Jewish treasure: Rugelach from Marzipan

It’s loud and colorful and full of smells that are overwhelming. Machane Yehuda – that would be the Jewish Market in Jerusalem – is an absolutely happening place and one of the iconic shops pulling in the crowds is Marzipan.

It’s mostly a wide blip in a long walkway, filled with an oven, trays of baking racks, some work tables and mounds of manna – soft and luscious challah, berry-filled pastries, cinnamon rolls and cookies. But it’s the rugelach that takes center stage here, a Jewish delicacy that’s a euphonic blend of cookie and pastry.

Most mornings, especially on Friday with the approach of Shabbat, lines of Marzipan fans start maneuvering for position, waiting for the first batches of rugelach to be pulled from the oven. It’s a special bit of sweetness that is offered up, a gooey bit of goodness filled with chocolate. Forgive my mixing of food groups, but the cookies sell like hot cakes!

I mention all this now because I’ll be returning to Jerusalem this spring and will be paying a pilgrimage to Marzipan. This time I know the rules and won’t be grabbing whatever’s around being offered. Let me explain.

Back in 2009, after reading about the bakery and all that it has to offer, I managed to stumble on the shop. Machane Yehuda was coming to life, hundreds of locals and tourists milling about, shopping for fresh fruit and veggies; spices and sweets; fish, poultry and beef. Oh, and rugelach.

In fact, it seemed that half the city was camped outside the doors of Marzipan, crazed from the sweet smells wafting from its innards. When I finally managed to make it inside, I saw that there were a half-dozen women standing about. I wasn’t certain how to go about placing an order, but it seemed that everyone was deferring to me. Go figure! So I raised two fingers and did a little pointing, handed over a few shekels and walked out with a bag of goodies.

It was only a few moments later when I spotted the baker pulling out yet another fresh tray of rugelach that I realized I had just managed to scarf up the dregs of the last batch. I’m thinking the appropriate cliché is “live and learn”!

Truth to tell, Marzipan’s rugelach is an acquired taste. For some folks, it can be a little too gooey and a little too sweet. There are at least a half-dozen other bakeries in the same area selling versions of the Jewish cookie that’s light and flaky and just this side of the uber sweetness of Marzipan.

A footnote: Despite the foolish belief of some foodie novices, there’s absolutely no marzipan in Marzipan’s cookies; and, for those who care, the iconic cookie is called rugelach, not marzipan. That said, no matter what you call it, don’t forget to call me if you’re in my little corner of the world and happen to have a bag of the stuff.

Who knew chickpeas could be so tasty!

Half the fun of going on vacation is planning it out. That’s how I spent the last few days, checking on things to do in Israel, mostly around Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. I’ll be jetting off to the Jewish homeland just about the time the weather here in the Land of Cotton hits the scorch setting.

At least Israel is all about a dry heat, lovingly caressed by gentle and cool breezes off the Mediterranean! But I digress. My recent research was mostly focused on good eats of the Middle Eastern persuasion – falafel, shawarma and, the crème de la crème, hummus!

There are shops, large and small, across Israel offering up tasty delicacies with a Middle Eastern accent and most of these take pride in their hummus. Each region, city and, well, neighborhood provide a little twist on this ubiquitous Jewish soul food.

So, say hello to Hummus Mashawa, one of my recent discoveries. It’s a little shop in a special neighborhood in the heart of Tel Aviv on Pinsker Street. Unless I’m mistaken, it’s within walking distance of Dizengoff Center – sort of the Lenox Square of the area – and just a hop, skip and jump away from my hotel.

Chickpeas – that would be the main ingredient of hummus – are lovingly mashed up and mixed with a few special spices and oil next to your table at Mashawa. I’m thinking that nifty operation takes the concept of freshness to a whole new level. The mixture is gently stirred, warmed and served up with fresh pita and salad. This Israeli feast will cost you less than a Big Mac and probably won’t clog up your veins with gunk.

Up next? Fun with falafel!

All not what it seems when visiting Hiriya

Several friends and relatives will be traveling off to Israel this summer, taking part in a congregational trip sponsored by my synagogue. I won’t be one of the lucky adventurers this time around, visiting all the hot, cool and happening places in the Jewish homeland.

The trip’s itinerary offers up a euphonic blend of ancient and modern sites, all simmering in a spiritual stew that promises to fill the heart and soul – Tel Aviv, Haifa, Tiberias and Jerusalem; Caesarea, Sfat, Masada and the Kotel; the Kinneret, Jordan River and the Dead Sea; Yad Vashem, Mount Herzl and the Israel Museum.

Hiriya, however, is once again being ignored. I spotted this, ah, special place on my first visit to Israel – it’s just outside of Tel Aviv, only a few miles from Ben Gurion International Airport. Most everyone passes the site, certain they are missing out on something special.

You can spot it from the highway (photo above), a distant mountain rising up from the horizon; a surrealistic vision that captures the imagination. Certainly this must be some sort of major archaeological site, a place where our ancient ancestors once settled and lived, right?

In profile it seems to be a tel, a craggy mound of debris, created by generations of humans going about their lives. Over time, the level rises, forming a mound. Archaeologists spend years sifting through such sites, attempting to figure out the distant past.

I know all this because James Michener focused his epic novel “The Source” around a tel in Israel and the generations that called it home. Like any good journalist, I also checked out Wikipedia! But I digress.

For years I wondered about the huge mound in the suburbs of Tel Aviv. On my most recent trip to Israel, volunteering on a military base in the area, I passed the site once again – in fact, passed it at least a half-dozen times, always wondering what secrets the tel held in its guts.

For whatever reasons, I never got around to asking any of my guides about the massive mound; at least not until I was on my way back to Ben Gurion Airport, headed home after a month in Israel.

As we passed the site, I pointed it out and asked my Taxi driver if he knew anything about the mound and the work being done there. He sort of grunted and I figured his lack of English and my lack of Hebrew was the problem.

I persisted, asking if he knew anything at all about the archaeological site. This time he laughed. Then, in absolutely perfect English, he explained that Hiriya might be an archaeological site one day; maybe in another thousand years.

Truth to tell, he explained, Hiriya is a landfill that was closed about a decade ago, the place where the bulk of trash from Tel Aviv had been dumped since the 1950s. Who knew? Like many such places around the world, it has been covered up with dirt and topsoil and plans are still in the works to turn it into some sort of city park.

Despite the hard-to-define vibe – mystical, spiritual, smelly – that spills across the dump, Israelis pretty much ignore the place. Tourists continue to wonder about its secrets, but I’m thinking it will take a few centuries before archaeologists start sifting through the junk.

All that stuff – plastic bottles, tattered clothing, broken cookery; you know, garbage – will probably be worth a fortune one day. Like a really fine wine, the crap of life just needs a little time to properly age. I’m guessing it’ll all end up in a museum or whatever they’re calling e-bay in 2300.

Healing, redemption and absolute stupidity

It’s Friday, time yet again for another posting of Interesting Jewish Stories and Facts. Today we visit Israel and open up a can of worms.

There are about 13 million Jews in the world today. For all sorts of reasons, only about a third are affiliated with synagogues. That means that two-thirds of the people who identify as being Jewish know little about the religion, its ancient laws, rituals and beliefs.

Meshulam Nahari is one of the reasons many Jews have no desire to join the faithful. He’s the leader of Shas, a political party in Israel that represents the Heredim, the ultra-orthodox in the Jewish homeland. He’s a nut.

His nuttiness made headlines recently when he lashed out at Gilad Shalit (photo above) for spending time with his father at the beach. Nahari thinks Gilad, the Israeli soldier who was kidnapped and held by Palestinian terrorists for over five years, should have been in shul on the first Shabbat after his release by Hamas.

Gilad, like the vast majority of Israeli Jews, isn't religious. He wasn’t observant before he was kidnapped and apparently his years of captivity hasn’t turned him into a shokeling believer – trust me here if you’re not a Member of the Tribe; it’s a Jewish thing.

The absolute gall and complete lack of sensitivity by Nahari is just the sort of nonsense you’d expect from a fundamentalist wacko. But it gets worse – or better, depending on your sense of whimsy!

The minister without portfolio, who spoke during a Shas convention earlier this week, said that the party's spiritual leader, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, has charged him (Nahari) with the task of bringing Shalit closer to Judaism.

That’s a juicy bit of news I spotted on a blog recently and verified on an Israeli wire service, Ynet. I’m thinking Nahari, Rabbi Yosef and Shas have a little fence mending to do before they’re going to manage to show Gilad the light.

I’m also thinking that after spending five years in a hole, away from family and friends, suffering an assortment of physical and emotional problems, that God was smiling when he spotted Gilad with his dad at the beach.

Fundamentalists, no matter their religious affiliation, are convinced God only spends time in their particular house of worship, probably focused on their individual pew. They’re wrong and they’re sucking the spiritual life out of Judaism.

Here’s an idea. Just maybe Nahari and some of his followers ought to be spending more time on the beach. They might be surprised what they discover in the Synagogue of the great outdoors.

Gilad is home, back with his family in Israel

Gilad Shalit is home. After being held for over five years by Palestinian thugs, the young soldier was released to Israeli authorities today and quickly reunited with his family.

There is much to be thankful for – Gilad is alive. There is much to be angry about – a 1,000 or so terrorists will be freed over the next month, all part of a deal made with the devil that seems bizarrely out of whack. Such is life in the Middle East!

For a moment let’s push all the maneuvering, the wasted years and fear, the politics of the region aside and focus on the gentle scene of light and love captured in the photo above. Take a second and share the joy of Noam Shalit embracing his son; a moment that finally ends a nightmare that has lingered for 1,941 days.

For anyone with children, anyone with a heart, it’s clear that a measure of grace surrounds both Gilad and Noam; their lives are no longer on hold, hope has been rekindled in a world once gray and the future seems bright.

Bibi, that would be Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, stands nearby. He wears a smile and I can only imagine what he’s thinking. Certainly there’s a sense of joy and elation, perhaps a momentary feeling of victory.

The dark stuff – the deals and compromises to make this day happen, the problems already casting shadows on the borders around Israel – can wait for a bit. Today let’s celebrate with Gilad, Noam and Bibi. One of our sons has returned to the warm embrace of his family. Gilad is alive and well and, in the words of psalmist, my cup runneth over!

More attacks and the world remains silent

It’s Friday, time yet again for another posting of Interesting Jewish Stories & Facts. Today we glance at the news and see that Israel is once more under attack.

Israel once again is mourning the loss of life, victims of Palestinian terrorists striking at civilians in the southern region of the country. Seven people were killed and over 40 wounded earlier this week in five separate attacks.

The terrorists slithered out of Gaza and made their way south along the Egyptian border, slipping into Israel just north of Eilat on Thursday. Around noon they opened fire on an Egged bus that was traveling from Be’er Sheva to the resort community.

Over the next several hours, the terrorists managed to pop up in several different areas, firing an anti-tank missile at a sedan carrying civilians, setting off an explosive device next to an IDF patrol and exchanging small-arms fire with Israeli troops.

Those are the facts. Now let’s suppose for a moment that all this loathsome activity was happening closer to home. What if you or I, family or friends were headed south along I-75 to Florida? Our car is packed with luggage and good cheer, the AC set on chill and a CD blasting out our favorite holiday tunes.

Just South of Valdosta, as we cross into Florida, we spot a Toyota Tacoma in our rearview mirror, a silver blur advancing wildly in our direction. Hanging out of the passenger window we can just make out the metallic glint of a weapon and then we see two thugs, their heads wrapped in keffiyehs, standing in the cargo bay.

We notice a puff of smoke blossoming in our direction and then suddenly the asphalt to our right explodes. We press down on the accelerator and our family sedan lunges forward just as a few bits of shrapnel ping off the back bumper and crack a side window.

Despite our best effort, the Toyota pulls alongside. We glance quickly to our left and in sheer terror spot the front end of a Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG) launcher. Time slows and we can actually see the first fiery exhaust of the weapon being fired. Absolute madness!

And it is – madness. Of course life in the Land of Cotton is often hot, but not deadly. Politics here can get rancorous but we don’t often have to worry about our neighbors trying to kill us off. Just imagine if they tried – the immediate response from civil authorities; the media coverage and headlines; outrage and support from around the world.

Yes, the world has taken note that Israel was attacked – again. The international press has printed a few stories and television networks have offered a few minutes of coverage. But where’s the outrage and condemnation. Even though it’s been two years since the last major attack, it all feels like business as usual in the Middle East. Madness!

A footnote: Exactly a week earlier, a friend of mind was a passenger on the Egged Bus that was attacked on Thursday. David P is a retired NYC policeman who is in Israel to take part in a program, Sar-El, that places volunteers on IDF bases to help with menial chores. He, like the injured civilian passengers, was headed to Eilat for a weekend holiday.

Jerusalem sparkles at heart of new documentary

It’s Friday, time for another posting of Interesting Jewish Stories & Facts. So let’s go to the movies.

Israel is often viewed through a fractured lens, a public relations mess of conflict, religion, politics and gloom. Add to this dark stew the misinformed belief that the Jewish homeland is a desert wasteland, fit only for scorpions, camels and the heartiest of Bedouin tribesmen, and you have the makings of a cosmic nightmare.

It seems each time a bit of light reveals the delights of this ancient land that dark forces conspire to hide the truths of the place. Trepidation often hangs heavily on the horizon, tossing a bleak shadow across the beauty of the country and its people.

I mention all this to capture the importance of a new documentary about Jerusalem, an IMAX film that has the potential to push aside the clouds – if only for a moment. The movie, produced by Arcane/Cosmic Picture Film, is scheduled for release in 2013.

I stumbled across the opening minutes of the production recently. It’s a euphonic blend of music, narration and splendid aerial shots focusing on the beauty of the land and its rich and ancient mysteries. You can find it right HERE! Take a few minutes; you won’t be disappointed!

I’ve been lucky enough to visit much that is featured – the ancient port cities of Jaffa and Caesarea; the lush and fertile Jordan Valley and spiritually rich area of the Galilee; Masada and the Dead Sea. These iconic locations serve only as preamble, picturesque settings all leading in the same direction.

Jerusalem, the City of David, springs to life in the heart of Israel, a magnet for pilgrims and tourists, the faithful and doubters. Its sun-bleached buildings, cobblestone streets and serpentine alleys are filled with spiritual energy and ancient secrets.

The film, even on the smallish screen of my computer, offers up a colorful and epic portrait. All the noise and chatter from ill-informed and misguided protesters, weak-kneed politicians and venomous religious leaders is quieted. For a moment, Jerusalem stands and speaks for itself. It’s a glorious site.

Israel messy blend of old beliefs, modern politics

It’s Friday, time yet again for another posting of Interesting Jewish Stories & Facts. Today we jump aboard my time machine and travel back to Israel. The story below is from my archives. I thought it worth posting here, given the events playing out in the Middle East at the moment. Israel is the only true democracy in the region and what I experienced during a trip to Israel several years ago speaks volumes about both the messy nature of a working democracy and why such a system is worth defending.

A poignant, melancholy Hebrew tune filled the tour bus as I neared Jerusalem, the spiritual focus of a 15-day trip to Israel that had begun a week earlier in the bustling, modern city of Tel Aviv.

My 29 traveling companions, all but two members of Congregation Etz Chaim in the Land of Cotton, grew silent, anticipating our first glimpse of the ancient city that remains at the heart of three of the world's major religions.

For a week in late June and early July we had sprinted across the northern half of this tiny nation — it's about the size of New Jersey — traveling along a highway paralleling the pristine shore of the Mediterranean Sea, first to Haifa, with stops along the way at the ages-old port cities of Caesarea and Acre, then further north to the Lebanese border.

We turned east into the upper Galilee before plunging into the Hula Valley, zig-zagging our way through the agricultural heartland of the nation — useless swamps only three generations earlier — and the Golan Heights further to the east. We stopped to catch our breath for a few days in Tiberias, the beautiful and historically-rich city that nestles softly along the Sea of Galilee.

Soon enough we were back on the road, heading south through the Judean Desert, a parched, other-worldly landscape of monochromatic beige. We made a hard right turn toward Jericho — yes, that Jericho, the one where the walls came tumbling down — and began our final ascent over the Judean Hills.

And then we were in darkness, hurtling through a tunnel at the base of Mt. Scopus on the northeastern boundary of Jerusalem, a widening span of white at the tunnel's end quickly giving way to an ever expanding cityscape of sun-baked structures — domes and spires, steeples and minarets.

The music we were listening to, Yerushalayim Shel Zahav (Jerusalem of Gold), a hugely popular ode to the beauty of this place, seemed made for the moment. The iconic scene was breathtaking, even transcendent. But we were quickly brought back to earth by more mundane events — hardcore politics.

Protesters opposed to Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon's plans to pull out of the Gaza Strip the following August were out in force this day, blocking intersections across the city. Only minutes after stopping at an overlook on Mt. Scopus to say a traditional prayer of thanksgiving, the Shehecheyanu, we became part of the day's drama — if only for a moment — when a dozen or so soldiers began tussling with protesters in front of our bus, forcing them off the street. Eventually, about 175 protesters across the country were arrested. A month earlier, during a similar demonstration, about 400 people were detained. This interplay of things spiritual and political continued for the next several days.

Early the following morning, I awoke to shouting. Glancing out my window at the Sheraton Jerusalem on King George Street, I saw several men behind cordons that blocked the area to traffic. An hour later I stepped off an elevator into a lobby teeming with security guards putting the final touches on a massive security barrier. I later learned that a national economic summit was underway at the hotel and one of the speakers that evening was Prime Minister Sharon. As many in our group headed for our tour bus, we spotted Binyamin Netanyahu, the former Prime Minister (and now, Prime Minister, yet again), being whisked into a waiting freight elevator by a couple of unsmiling government agents.

That evening, after a full day of touring, including the site where it's believed King David established the original city of Jerusalem, our group returned to a frenetic scene of security guards, city police, fully-armed soldiers and a lone, hovering helicopter.

We escaped the area an hour later, heading toward Norman's, a kosher steak and burger joint in the German Colony, a small village of trendy shops, boutiques, restaurants and private residences. Every intersection we crossed had at least a dozen soldiers, the largest concentration of troops centered around Liberty Bell Park. On our way back to the hotel several hours later the numbers had doubled. Curious, I asked a security guard in front of the Dan Panorama Hotel, across from the park, if he knew the reason for all the added security.

"You know Gay," he said in broken English. I nodded that I understood. "You know Heredim," he added, using the Hebrew word for members of the ultra-orthodox Jewish community. "Soldiers keep them apart."

I had heard that the fourth annual Jerusalem Gay Pride Parade was to be held this day, but had no idea that it would require such security. It was only when I read in the Jerusalem Post the following day that a haredi youngster stabbed two people in the parade of 5,000 marchers that I understood the increased troop and police presence, especially around Liberty Bell Park where a gay pride rally and festival were held.

I also read in the Post that Sharon had, in fact, shown up at the economic conference at the Sheraton the evening before and spent a great deal of time blasting opponents of his disengagement plan, including Netanyahu, his finance minister and political nemesis.

Politics is a constant in Jerusalem and across Israel, but the transcendent nature of the land can't be overshadowed for long. During a walking tour that took our group along the cobblestone plazas and alleyways of the old city of Jerusalem, church bells — we were only a hundred yards or so from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, one of the holiest sites in Christendom — began ringing. Within minutes, the hiss and squawk of a loudspeaker atop a nearby mosque gave way to the ancient chant of the muezzin calling the Muslim faithful to prayer. And a few minutes later, far in the distance, we could spot the Western Wall where Jews gathered for Mincha, the afternoon prayer service.

Bruce, our stoic, funny, thoroughly informed guide, broke into a huge smile. Gesturing with animated delight to the sights and sounds that surrounded us, he struggled for just the right words to capture the truth of the moment. He managed only one short phrase. But it was just about perfect. "Only in Israel."

'Center of Universe' filled with beauty and fear

It's Friday, time yet again for another posting of Interesting Jewish Stories & Facts (IJS&F). Today let's take a journey together to one of the holiest sites in the world.

Christian mapmakers probably went too far when they labeled Jerusalem as the very center of the Universe. If scientifically that has been disproved, spiritually it remains a reality. This is God’s country, a land held off and on by Jews, Christians and Muslims since the day Joshua led the Children of Israel across the Jordan.

The sites of interest that dot the tiny country of Israel – Hebron, Jericho, Jaffa, Sfat, Bethlehem, the Galilee – are of cosmic import to one or another religious tradition. So linked to the ancient past is the state of Israel, that the Bible is not only used for meditation and prayer, but quite often by tour guides to locate spots of note.

At the heart of the country is Jerusalem, arguably the holiest city in the world. Three thousand years ago a guerrilla fighter named David captured this spot from the Jebusites. The rest is history, a rich history of an ancient people that is filled with tales of love and war, political intrigue, religious fanaticism and rebirth.

The Old City of Jerusalem is a euphonic blend of cobblestone streets and serpentine alleys, a place of spiritual energy, ancient secrets – and discord. Trepidation hangs heavily on the horizon. Much of the turmoil is centered on the Temple Mount, sacred and holy ground for two of the three religions that have matured and prospered here.

This bit of real estate speaks to the heart of Muslim belief, for on this site rests a mosque, the Dome of the Rock. Under its inlaid ceiling is the very rock, the observant believe, upon which Ishmael (not Isaac, as the Bible states) was nearly sacrificed by his father Abraham and from which Mohammed flew to heaven on his horse.

That this site also is among the holiest places in Jerusalem for Jews is, as the bard once wrote, the rub. Many Muslims fear that one day they will be tossed aside to make way for the rebuilding of a third Temple to pave the way for the coming of the Messiah. Such fears seem hard to believe, even to imagine, until you learn that the walls surrounding the Dome of the Rock and the adjacent Al Aqsa mosque once supported the immense platform upon which stood the original Temple.

The importance of this site to Jews in Jerusalem and around the world cannot be overestimated. It links them to their past, defines them as a people. Before being elected Prime Minister of Israel the first time in the mid-90s, Binyamin Netanyahu took his then four-year-old son Yair to the Western Wall, known in Hebrew as the Kotel. "I brought him over to see the foundations of our existence," Natanyahu said. Still, only fanatics on the fringes of Islam or Judaism actually believe there will ever be a third Temple.

Built by King Solomon, as detailed in the first book of Kings, The Temple was destroyed by the armies of Nebuchadnezzar in 586 B.C. Building of the Second Temple began around the year 515 B.C. It was completed by Herod around 20 B.C. and stood until it was destroyed by the Romans in 70 A.D. The only part of the structure still remaining is a portion of the platform, the Western Wall, sun-bleached and worn by time, but a magnet for the religious, the righteous and the curious.

Those are the historic, irrefutable facts. And then there are the legends. Tradition holds that the stone now resting under the Muslim’s sixth-century Dome of the Rock is the source of the dirt from which God fashioned Adam. It is where Adam, Cain and Abel brought a sacrifice, and Noah too, and where Abraham came to sacrifice Isaac, or Ismael, depending on your belief.

This is also where Jacob dreamed of a ladder that served as a low-tech stairway for angels moving between heaven and earth. The entire area is overlaid with these truths and half-truths, constantly filled with pilgrims and mystics who are on spiritual journeys, abuzz with prayers that hang heavily in the air like smog.

Add to this the ebb and flow of everyday life — tourists, beggars, politicians and soldiers; rabbis, priests, imams and students — and you start to understand the interplay of the divine and mundane that makes this spot unlike any other on earth.

One last legend is worth noting. Some Jews, Muslims and Christians believe that it is this very spot where all the prayers of the entire world come and are elevated to heaven. So pervasive is this idea among certain fundamentalist sects, that many Jerusalemites like to say talking to God here is a local call.

In search of a new home, life in Jerusalem

I was bored and flipping through the channels earlier this week and came across an interesting episode of House Hunters International on HGTV. It’s always fun to fantasize about having the wherewithal to make a move to some exotic locale on the other side of the world. As often as not, lovely beaches, deep blue water and majestic mountains are part of the deal on this show.

This time around, sun-bleached buildings, serpentine alleyways and ancient mysteries were the hot drawing cards, all circling about the very old and memorable city of Jerusalem. Hayley Gerszberg, living the good life with her four kids in New Jersey had decided she needed a change and Israel was where she wanted to be.

I thought this a swell adventure and enjoyed the first few minutes focusing on some of Jerusalem’s iconic sites – the Western Wall and Cardo in the old city; Mahane Yehuda, the world-class shuk, and picturesque gardens and parks in newer sections of the city.

In just five minutes, the show’s producers managed to pull together images of the ultra-Orthodox praying and soldiers enjoying free time away from, ah, soldiering; students on their way to school and seniors basking in the afternoon sun; tourists in search of memories and locals enjoying a cup of Joe at a corner café.

The show generally focuses on three properties and I figured tagging along with Hayley might give me a good idea of what real estate is worth in Jerusalem. Wrong! It turns out Hayley’s budget was a bit more than I’d have to play around with if I was in the market. She was hoping to find a place to call home that wouldn’t set her back more than, um, $2 million.

I forget the various neighborhoods that Hayley, her best friend and real estate agent visited, but they were all upscale areas, centrally located, featuring expansive green spaces, good schools, convenient shopping – and, most importantly, sun-bleached buildings and serpentine alleyways. I won’t bore you with the details – you can see the entire show yourself by clicking here – but Hayley eventually settled on a home in the German Colony, a chic and oh-so trendy community just a mile or so outside the Old City.

The house is expansive and beautiful, sort of contemporary, but filled with lots of little details – mosaic tiles, stone walls, bits of Judaica – that capture a sense of time and place. If I had $2 million hidden away somewhere, I could easily call this place home.

The program, of course, is all about the search and I was left wondering about Hayley, her kids and why she decided the time was right to make such a move. Israel can be a lovely place, but it’s a small country in a tough neighborhood. I found it interesting that even though Hayley talks about moving to Jerusalem she never says she’s making aliyah – if you’re Jewish you’ll understand my point.

I’ve had friends who’ve done the Israel thing and only managed to last a year or so. The language is tough to learn and the culture can be daunting. Without a social network, muscling your way through the bureaucracy is often a deal breaker. I imagine, given her resources, Haley can probably make a go of it just about anywhere. After all, F. Scott Fitzgerald once famously wrote that the rich are different. In this instance, I think he’s probably right.