Jews, Jews Everywhere ...

It takes a couple of days to get used to any new place.  Israel is no exception.  My hotel in Jerusalem was of the Orthodox Jewish variety.  Sabbath starts at sunset Friday and that’s when I arrived; every restaurant and shop in the city, even the ones at the airport, were shut down.  I was hungry and I was a captive audience.

Upon arriving, my hotel lobby was a manic confluence of tour bus arrivals. And the front desk that was, at best, indifferent.  An Orthodox Jewish wedding party was spilling out into the lobby too.  It only added to the mayhem.  It was bloody Kindergarten with small children running everywhere, men in funny hats, women pushing strollers, cold stares and enough turbulence to shake Jesus from the cross.  These people call that fun?

Following the next day’s tour to Masada and the Dead Sea, I walked down towards Old Jerusalem.  Was I heading to the area where young Palestinians were throwing rocks on the morning’s BBC news? I didn’t know.  But hey, I’m 54; you only live once.  You can run with the big dogs or sit on the porch.  I saw no rock throwers, but did find a pedestrian mall with falafel stalls and great people watching. Afterward, I managed to get lost more than once on the narrow, winding pathways that honeycomb Jerusalem. 

After another day of guided tours – to Old Jerusalem and Bethlehem this time – I hit the streets again, this time braving the ancient Old Jerusalem parts (and yes, getting lost a few more times).  With the shops in the Muslim Quarter closing at sundown, the stares started getting a bit creepy.  I found the Jaffa Gate and caught a bus to the main bus station.  Looking around at the food stalls, everything was in Hebrew.  No more tourist venues; this place was bustling, and it was authentic.  When it was my turn, I simply said “Same as her.”  The guy immediately switched to English saying that was a half order and I looked like I'd want a full.  He fixed me up with a falafel burrito and a couple of side dishes.

Sitting down to eat with two young boys, I quizzed them about their ages (14 and 15) and teased them about girls.  They showed great respect, both shaking my hand before grabbing their skateboards and heading out.  I also chatted with a baby-faced twenty-one year-old soldier heading home for Passover (there were soldiers - both men and women - everywhere) and two rather skanky looking women who were headed to Eilat and the Red Sea.         

As I made my way back to my hotel, I realized I’d found the Israel I sought … and it was good.