Yad Vashem . . . what can I say? It was emotionally moving in a way that the concentration camps of Europe were not. We didn't encounter horror. We encountered memory. It is here that Israel honors the good will of those who risked their lives to save a Jew. The memorial to children, new and moving, touched our souls. Another new museum, one devoted to teaching how Nazism managed to creep up, become all powerful and turn so evil, was brilliantly done. Some day, when I return to Israel, I plan to spend many more hours there. This time, before I could complete the first of about 20 sections in the museum, I had to leave. Why? We were off to hear a holocaust survivor. I wasn't thrilled. What could a survivor say that I hadn't been sensitized to already? Then I remembered that I was a Jew, one who grew up talking about the holocaust, but the others did not. So, I went with no complaint.
So who do you think spoke to us? None other than "Hanni" the friend Anna Frank wrote about in her diary. Yes, Hannah Pich-Gossler held us spellbound for an hour and a half as she talked about life with Anna Frank, its sudden change and what survival meant. It was Friday. With Sabbat approaching, it was time for Hannah to go so she could prepare dinner for her family, which she said, was large and growing - and her personal revenge against Hitler.
Yad Vashem could have been morose. Amazingly, it turned out to be about life!
We had a very late lunch in a market, watching as its perishables were sold off before Shabbat closed it down. After a short rest, we headed to celebrate the Sabbath at the Wailing Wall.
I was not quite as happy as the people coming to pray and sing and dance at the wall. Not only was it cold but one of the guards said "no pictures" as we got through security even though we arrived before sundown. That made me angry. Getting a picture was important to me. I had one of my mom in front of the Wailing Wall and wanted one of myself to hang beside her. Anyway, a friend risked censor and who knows what else, to sneak a shot after she saw someone else take one and realized how much it meant to me. Unfortunately, we'd already been there awhile, I was freezing and my annoyance with myself, that I hadn't stopped to take a photo when we'd passed the Wall on the way to the caves the day before, and at the guard who didn't let us take the shot when it was still light out is etched out all over my face.
The next morning we were on the way to the Dead Sea: Within fifteen minutes of leaving Jerusalem we were comfortable in our shirt sleeves. How did I know? I knew because we stopped to see a monastery built into the cliff, buy some Bedouin wares and take a camel ride and it was simply beautiful to stand out in the sun. It was even more pleasant down at the Dead Sea. We visited the Kurman Caves, the area in which the "Dead Sea Scrolls" were found. Then we went to the AHAYA cosmetic factory.
Then, the more adventurous of us risked being blackmailed when we smothered ourselves in mud and fell into the Sea.
Relaxed and happy we arrived at Ein Gedi, our second Kibbutz stay and another unexpected treat. The place was lush, offered an excellent dinner, had all the spa treatments we could want and had location, location, location. In a short distance there was wild life, flowers, water falls and the richest of archeological sites for the Israeli's psychie - Masada. First we hiked the Nahal David Reserve. A few of us adventurous types stripped down and got into the falls (while giving certain parties even more opportunities for blackmail). Refreshed and laughing, we arrived at Masada, an awesome site with an amazing story!
After, we returned to the spa. It was a mudding down, cleansing in the sea, and relaxing in the hot tub for me and I loved it!
Our first hotel was not impressive on first sight but it had a wonderful view of the sea and served a feast fit for Kings. Things got off to a great start when, during our obligatory orientation meeting, we had some stand-up comedy, thanks to Ido (our guide) and the group's response to his baiting. The laughter was just great and a terrific ice-breaker. Then we were off. First to Turin, for some military history, then through forests made possible by donations from all over the world (I wondered if I passed my Dad's memorial trees)and then for a lunch at a goat farm that looked out at Jerusalem. As we feasted on starters - fresh bread and five wonderful cheeses - someone asked if I felt a special bond toward Israel because I was Jewish. Most in the group weren't, still, I was taken aback by the question. Before I could answer, the hostess welcomed us and I was mesmerized. She reminded me so much of my cousin Rachel that I couldn't take my eyes off her. l answered saying, 'how could I not feel a special bond when I am sitting in an establishment run by someone who reminds me of my family?' I tried capturing the Rachel in Dahlia. I don't know if the rest of my family thinks I did, but for sure I captured the goats. Here's Shloma and, in case you're wondering, she does not remind me of family. 
and understood from atop why the mount known also as Armageddon hosted thirty distinct cities over a six thousand year period and why it was fought over constantly. We traveled to Haifa, saw its harbor and fabulous Baha Temple gardens. Then Vilate and I headed out for a light bite. We found an Irish Pub, sipped some beer, ate succulent garlic shrimp (kosher, hell no) and listened to an Israeli rock band play American music. And this was just our second day! What a hoot! 
In the morning we were in Nazareth and began tracing the steps of Jesus. We saw the Church of the Annunciation, the wonderful mosaics of Tzipori 
We saw a moving film "The Valley of Tears," and listened to a war veteran speak about his experience. We were all moved and drove away, passing intermittent reminders-skeleton of tanks- of what happened on the Golan Heights during the Yom Kippur War. Now, fully aware of the losses sustained during the war in the Valley of Tears, we were impressed with the fact of survival against unbelievable odds, but sullen thinking of the loss of life. All that ended in a small Yemenite restaurant when Ido and Itzik (our driver) got behind the counter to fix plates of middle eastern salad and serve drinks while the owner prepared our order. I watched them work, feeling that they embodied the explanation of Israel's survival. Ido and Itzik didn't think anything of chipping in when needed. They were neither asked nor told. They did it because it helped everyone, just like they and their brothers and sisters did when they built Israel. They lent a hand and kept at it until it was done. I watched the two of them give of themselves again and again, and each time with intense admiration and respect. 
Though we went to Gamla, a national park and preserve, to watch the vultures soar - below us - and to see Spring's bloom, we were able to continue our history lesson. Gamla is at the crossroad of two rivers. As a junction for fresh water, Gamla was yet another place over which the ancients battled. It was in this park that I learned that the Jews committed mass suicide, not just at Masada, but in three different places. Gamla was one of them. Here, Jews jumped, en masse, into a ravine rather than be enslaved. 
At night we broke bread with kibbutz members, saw their film, heard stories of what communal living was like-the decision making, living standards, childcare rules, how they survived the war and the adjustments that had become necessary in recent years. And, in the morning, after another basket of oven fresh bread, a last look at the Galilee from above, and a stop at a Syrian fortification where gunners shot at the kibbutz below, we headed down to the Sea of Galilee. 
The air and sun were glorious. Thanks to Ido, who supplied us with the bread we flung into the air, a trail of birds escorted us across the sea (the Galilee is also called Lake Kinneret). We docked where the "Jesus boat" was recovered, went through its museum, and resumed our trip in the footsteps of Jesus. In addition to the many churches and biblical sites along the Galilee, we explored the city of Copernium, walked though its imposing Synagogue, stopped to appreciate its many stone carvings and went into the massive modern church that had been built above the exposed ruins of St. Peter's home. We drove to Yardenit on the Jordon where Jesus is said to have been baptized and where many people on pilgrimages come to perform the same ritual today. 
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Our days in the old city just added to my reasons for applauding Israel. Since I'd been there first, Israel, under constant threat, with a dire need to grow its economy, provide for its defense and shelter, feed and educate the refugees who'd come in numbers up to three times its total population, Israel still managed to uncover layer after layer of ancient history. There is SO MUCH, so many layers of civilizations, so much more than in 1969; I was astonished! I suppose the tunnels, which are still being excavated, wowed me most. 
We were learning biblical history, the Israeli point of view, and it was now time to hear what the other side had to say. So we met a Palestinian in the old city. She led us up some stairs, through alleys and into the part of her home where most of her family dined and socialized and where five members of her family slept. Her story, (she's the tall beautiful woman in the photo), her feelings about the "situation," seeing how she lived, listening as ingrained emotion and old lessons interfered with her newly acquired viewpoint, being there to see her sister enter, shocked to see us in her home, a sister not as liberal yet willing to speak honestly- well there was a story here and we were engaged. Time flew. None of us were ready to leave, but we had to. We had places to go - an Israeli Defense Force Base. 
Our drive to the base took us past the offensive and defensive "wall" and close to Ramallah. We passed a detention center for suspected terrorists. We met the base commander in his briefing room, heard his mission - the security of Israel against terrorists - saw a film about it and listened as he answered our questions. We met his unit - kids - who were either going or returning from assignments . . . in trees for 72 hours at a time, freezing . . . or undercover. One, who'd just returned, thanked us. Can you imagine? He blessed us, saying that just seeing us made his hours of fear and cold worth it. 
We visited an Israeli farm to learn about agriculture in the desert, met Gideon Fridman and saw his glass artistry, dined in a desert ecological camp where we learned about Bedouin culture, visited Tel Arad, its archeological site and its ever changing Bedouin village, entered an old cave which had been home to the family we met, lunched at their new home and then, sadly, headed back to Tel Aviv for a few hours rest and an early flight home.