Israel -- Jerusalem and the Galilee

We approached Jerusalem from the West, squeezing the tiny motor in the faithful Hyundai, our desert chariot which we would soon lose in battle. Behind us were the flat Mediterranean beaches; ahead were brush-covered mountains and swollen gray clouds, precursors of the holy city. Slowly, the city began to reveal itself -- a few apartments here, a school there, a synagogue here, another over there. And Jews. Lots and lots of Hassidic Jews. Hassidic drivers, pedestrians, smokers and abstainers, and even pet owners. Jerusalem is the conservative center of Israel and the home of the most religious members of the Jewish tribe. They walk around dressed in black suits and large woolen hats. As they walk with purpose, their long sideburns (peises) and white shirt threads swing in sync back and forth while their thin legs pick out the quickest least obstacled route past other Hassidic Jews and ordinary mortals.

Before entering the Old City and our hostel, we've decided to take a double-decker tour of the city, barely making it to the last one on Friday (13:30). As a result of the time crunch, both Shova and I climbed in with pitas full of falafel in our hands. We were not the only ones squeezed for time: sensing the coming of the weekend, the driver breezed through all the stations so fast that our audio recording became a test of visual recollection. As we were speeding through the Mount of Olives and Israel's Supreme Court building, Shova was waging a full-fledge assault on her pita with falafel. After losing the fray with her previous pitas in Cairo and Beer-Sheva, and spilling the tahini sauce all over, she was determined to fully consume this Jerusalem pita. Unfortunately, the circumstances again turned against her, and within 45 minutes the dripping falafel mess was put into our trash bag.

Our hostel was located inside the medieval Old City, in a house about 600-1,200 years old. Everything in the hostel resembled a cave: the walls were too thick to let wifi through, the staircases were narrow and low, and the showerhead rested above the toilet bowl in a dark closet. Because our room could not fit people in addition to the bed, we spent most of our time on the rooftop, from which the Old City was laid before us. From our rooftop we could see other roofs, on which the locals occasionally walked to avoid the traffic of the street shops. The City even installed benches on top of rooftops to show approval of the alternative mode of transport.

The story of Jerusalem is simple:

1. David announces the city as his capitol.

2. Solomon maintains the status.

3. Romans come in, destroy the city.

4. Arabs come in, destroy the city.

5. Christians come in, destroy the city, name some buildings incorrectly (e.g. Tower of David)

6. Muslims come in destroy the city.

7. Christi -- uh, no, hold on -- other Muslims come in, destroy the city.

8. The Brits come in, unintentionally..

9. The Brits get out, leaving Arabs and Jews to duke it out.

10. Jews eventually win, for the time being.

The Old City is in the east of modern Jerusalem. It has 4 quarters: Jewish, Christian, Muslim, and Armenian. The first thought is of course, 'Armenian??!!' Yes, Armenian. They persevered. Built their own little city inside the Old City, and stayed out of trouble. In fact, they are so cautious that there are maybe 4 Armenian shops in the whole City. Other inhabitants include Ethiopean priests (built their own village on top of the Church of Sepulchre, where Jesus's body was prepared), soldiers (indoctrinations to IDF take place by the Wailing Wall), and Orthodox and Catholic believers from Korea and Russia (so many, that they have a permanent presence). Throughout the day, we kept running into processions repeating the stations of Jesus on Via Dolorosa. Usually, the believers would hold their own wooden crosses and spontaneously sing prayers. Some paradoxes: the Western Wall is located in the east; the Ruined Synagogue is the most active synagogue in the City; and the Christian church most sacred to Christians of all denominations (Sepulchre) is owned by a Muslim family (and has been for hundreds of years).

We visited all the good sites, as well as the not-as-good ones, and began looking for a way back to the highway. Well, the eastern side of Jerusalem is predominantly Palestinian. We got lost in an Arab neighborhood, when a few kids spotted Abby's Scandinavian locks and began throwing rocks. Speeding through the last half a mile before the highway, we heard the back windshield smash into little pieces. The police officer informed us that the government compensates for rock-throwing incidents, so long as the throwers were Arab. We confirmed their Arabness, and went to exchange out desert chariot for another Hyundai at the Jerusalem Dollar Car Rental.

There is no better place in Israel to sweeten the bitter taste of a smashed windshield than the majestic Golan Heights, captured from Syria in 1967, after Syria (along with Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, and Palestine) attacked Israel. Our hostel in Tiberias lay about a half a mile from the warm sweet waters of the Sea of Galilee. We walked the promenade in the day and retired to local hot springs in the night. As we drove through the beautiful (albeit mine-ridden) hills and farms of the Golan, we thought and spoke of higher meanings, sunsets, and the like. To end the spoilage on a high note before leaving the country, we drove to the cliffed border with Jordan to find the best hot springs in Israel, enjoying the hot sulfur bath in the cool air of the night. We left with a bottle of white-chocolate wine from the local winery. After a 3-hour-long security process in Ben Gurion we were ready to board our Air Berlin plane. "Haloooo."