Our last day in Tel Aviv started with the (by now familiar) effort to pack and consolidate luggage, staged for a quick departure later in the day. We were then off to a walking tour of Historic Neve Tzedek, led by a comic in a fez whose name sounded like “Iran” but was probably something like Aaron. He had the gift of physical humor and had several memorable bits, which was probably just as well because the history of Tel Aviv is both brief and a bit pallid compared to some of the other sites we’ve seen in the last two weeks. We also travelled at a trot to the meeting spot, then trotted along behind him, then limped our way to lunch spots (on our own), and then trotted to another meeting spot, and then trotted behind another guide through the edges of Jaffa. By the time it was all over, we were footsore, sporting the odd blister, and perhaps not in our best humor. I remain forever grateful that our bus was available to take us back to the hotel, instead of having to walk. Several of the tour members have come up with a slogan for our trip: “We ran where Jesus walked.”
As the sun set over the Mediterranean Sea, we sat in a circle on the beach for a “processing session.” In other parts of the trip, these sessions had been a chance to vent and question and generally express our reactions to the trip. This time, there was a clear sense of farewell; we seemed to be talking about everything in the past tense and were reaching for summaries. Rabbi M lit a candle and sang the short service which bids farewell to the Sabbath and prays for a good incoming week. We passed around a local orange, smelling the sweetness of life, then recognized the beauty of the light, and then (all according to custom) extinguished the candle into a cup of wine. Shabbat was over, and the new week had officially begun.
After loading the bus with luggage one last time, we met for dinner at a restaurant off Rabin Square and dined on salmon and fresh pasta and some very good local wines. We recognized our fabulous guide, Jared, and our masterful bus driver, Raji, with rounds of applause, and lots of paparazzi group shots were taken before we headed to the airport.
Security took quite some time at Ben Guion Airport. Bags must be x-rayed before they can be checked, and several of us were bounced out of the x-ray line for further pre-screening. A young lady ahead of me in the “special check” line was having a difficulties, since between her hearing aids and her Romanian passport the security agents were having a hard time communicating with her. Their pantomime skills were also a bit rusty, to the point where I stepped out of line and helped her move her luggage to the proper spot. (This earned me another trip out of line, as the guard suddenly assumed I could communicate with her for them. Not so much.) When my turn came, it seems that my Goodwill-procured suitcase must have seemed out of the ordinary to them; they just asked me a few questions about where I got it and how long I’d owned it, and then released me to the next stop in the security maze. Luggage check, passport check, security check . . . I never had to take off my shoes, and nobody cared about the 5 oz of hair product in my carry-on, but I was feeling quite secure by the time we finally got on the plane. I shut my eyes in the Tel Aviv night, and opened them again in the New Jersey dawn. Next stop, Chicago.
A security guard at one of the many checks asked my roommate why she had come to Israel? “A school trip.” He then asked her what she had learned? After hesitation, the most honest answer she could muster was, “It’s complicated.” (He smiled and let her through.) Meanwhile, I’ve received messages from family and friends urging me to let them know as soon as I’m home safely and warning me about unrest in Egypt, Lebanon, and Tunisia. From outside, I can see why traveling in the Middle East would excite concern. It’s a relatively small place, full of factions in extreme disagreement which are neither completely justified nor completely in the wrong. Emotions quickly become explosive, and weapons (including weapons of mass destruction) are readily at hand. Like Cathy said, it’s complicated. And yet, the common refrain among our group is what we will do “when we come back.” There is something about this land which calls to us; an incredible sense of history (much of which remains undiscovered), combined with unending hospitality and a compelling spirit. I take a little bit of Israel and Palestine with me (even beyond my complimentary souvenir olive wood thimble-sized goblet, a gift from the tour company); I leave behind hopes and prayers and a deepened sense of the continual tragedy of neighbors who are both somewhat right and both somewhat wrong, living together in a time when none of us really knows which is which.
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