Excursions with Edna, Part I: Inside Tel Aviv

Photos
Top row: waiting in line on Gilboa St.; tour of apartment, Edna's mom to the left, view of crowd through window;
Second group: Puppet in artists' studio; Edna, Shaula, Hedva walking in Salame neighborhood; children touring rooftop daycare
Third group: Hedva, Edna and Shaula on tour: entrance to main building of Inbal's school; courtyard, Inbal's school; Inbal studying


For the second year in a row, the city of Tel Aviv organized a two-day citywide open house of over 100 venues ranging from renovated apartments, to historical homes/buildings, artists’ and designers’ studios, the central bus station, neighborhood synagogues, gardens, high rises, and scores of interesting sites all over Tel Aviv and Jafo. Although some of the guided tours placed a limit on the number of participants and required pre-registration, there were many other opportunities that simply required showing up and standing in line. My friend Edna generously offered to include me in her entourage for an excursion to check out a few of these.

On Saturday morning I crossed the street and piled into Edna’s car along with her mother, Hedva, who lives in Jerusalem, and her older sister, Shaula, a computer expert who lives in a Tel Aviv suburb. Both of these family members were missing from the seder we celebrated at Pesach with Edna’s other family members: her mother had stayed in Jerusalem and her sister was visiting her son and his family in Boston (and traveling with them to Costa Rica). Edna circled some choices and we optimistically set out for our first stop, an apartment on Gilboa, a beautiful street just behind Rothschild where we had walked on our Bauhaus tour. Along the way Hedva, an energetic and trim 87 year old woman who still swims every day, regaled me with stories of her girlhood in Tel Aviv. Although she has lived in Jerusalem for a good part of her adult life when she was not serving with her diplomat husband in posts around the world, she still prefers Tel Aviv (we are kindred spirits in this regard). She came here from Europe with her parents in 1929 when a good part of the city lacked sidewalks and the streets were still surrounded by sand. As we turned from Rothschild to reach Gilboa St., she pointed to the building on the corner and indicated the second floor apartment where she had once lived.

Edna dropped us off while she and Shaula searched for a parking space. When they rejoined us several minutes later, we hadn’t progressed very far in the long line snaking towards the entry. They were letting about 10-15 people at a time into the small apartment for about 5 minutes so the going was slow. There was some discussion about whether we should stay, but in the end we waited patiently for our turn. As we edged closer, Shaula explained this was not the typical Israeli response to waiting in line. “Do you know the word “frier?”, she asked. “No Israel wants to be taken for a frier (pushover). They always think, is the wait worth it? Will I be taken advantage of? If they encounter a long line for the restroom, as you do in the States, they would use the men’s room or the handicap stall or find a nearby restaurant or other place.” However, in this instance the crowd was surprisingly mellow and docile. After we spent our allotted five minutes viewing the attractively renovated apartment, the home of a young couple and their baby, we exited and were handed gift boxes of Nestle “Fitness” cereal (Nestle coffee also offered at a stand in the backyard) and a plug in air freshener. Then it was back to the car to drive down to an industrial area in the southern part of the city that hasn’t yet been gentrified but is home to a number of art and design studios. We visited an unusual rooftop space that serves as a day care for children of immigrant workers on top of a building filled with artists’ and designers’ workshops. As we wound our way down through the studios, I couldn’t help myself and, with Edna’s encouragement, bought a gorgeous handcrafted bag in soft red leather (an early birthday present from someone?).

At this point we met up with Orna (Edna’s other sister) and traded passengers—Shaula continued touring with Orna and we brought Hedva back to Edna’s apartment where Lew and I enjoyed a lively Shabbat lunch with the family. Among the topics of conversation: is the Israeli scout movement an elitist organization that discourages pluralism and reinforces uncritical Zionist and military values? Do they have too much influence in the schools? Edna thinks yes but Lee feels she may be overstating the case. Eli didn’t like the scouts and Inbal chimed in that the local girls were “white trash.” We weren’t sure this term translated well from its use in the States and we tried to come up with something that captured her depiction of them. Basically we understood from her that they are only interested in superficial things like clothes and status (Far from shallow herself, Inbal is a talented artist who is fascinated by philosophy). Apparently our neighborhood has a mix of wealthy residents and well-known celebrities as well as families who aspire to higher status. Mainly what we notice are scores of young families with small children who pass by our windows on their way to and from the community day care center or congregate in the park where the ice cream truck appears daily. At lunch we also learned that there are few organized sports teams or music programs in the schools and that these are mostly extra-curricular activities arranged by the parents. Eli, for example, plays on a baseball team that is not connected to a school or city recreational program. An impressive exception to the norm is the extensive music education program in Kfar Saba schools created by a non-profit music foundation established by a local pediatrician in cooperation with the city and the school system.

There is ongoing debate here about the declining quality of public education. As I mentioned in another post, Edna and Lee have chosen “alternative” schools for their kids. Last week I had an opportunity to visit the campus of the arts and music magnet high school that sixteen-year old Inbal attends, as did older brother Udi. The campus in a quiet residential neighborhood in Givatayim is open and inviting. I wandered through the main buildings and outlying bungalows viewing the very creative multi-medium artwork of the graduating seniors that was on display. Inbal, seated on a bench in the courtyard studying for exams, directed me where to go and thanked me for coming. Universally, teenagers can be so charming when someone is not their parent; earlier Edna had stopped by the school to see the exhibits and missed half of them because she did not want to risk Inbal’s ire by approaching her. And of course, Inbal was mad that she missed some of the art!

Beethoven with the Maestro

“I give you all my fire, but you don’t burn, “ says Maestro Kurt Masur in frustration as he coaxes the members of the Tel Aviv University symphony orchestra to put more intensity into a passage of Beethoven’s Third Symphony (the Eroica). For two and a half hours the almost 82 year old conductor gives his all to a group of aspiring musicians and expects the same in return, at one point urging them to “play with your whole heart to the bottom.” Although his hands shake with palsy, once the music starts he sways, hops, stoops and jabs the air for emphasis, singing along to illustrate the phrasing and dynamics he wants to hear. His right hand, with long elegant fingers extended, looks like a bird hovering and swooping as it maintains the rhythmic pulse of the music. After working very intensely on the first two movements this elderly gentleman asks the young musicians, “Are you tired?” and when they indicate they are not he continues leading them through the last two movements. It is clear he has a deep passion not only for the music but also for teaching young people. The students, as well as the audience for this master class in the small intimate music school auditorium, listen intently as he interpreted the emotional content of Beethoven’s music and translates his vision into very specific ideas about bowing, phrasing, dynamics. In one memorable instance he has a visceral reaction to the entry of the oboe, as if the note hurt his ears. He and the oboist engage in quite a lengthy back and forth, he insisting her A is too low, she explaining the problem, he suggesting she choose a shorter reed and asking the concertmistress to retune the orchestra to match her tuning. Finally, after he is satisfied and they play through a section featuring a very lovely oboe motif, he says, “you know, you really are very good!” He is no easy taskmaster. When he likes what he hears, he says, “Much better, but I have to work so hard. Don’t make an old man work so hard.” If he doesn’t like the way a particular phrase has been played, say by the string basses or the bassoons, he sings it exactly how he wants to hear it, shaking his lowered head from side to side while muttering, “I don’t give up; I must have patience”. Then, if he feels they are still not getting it, he threads his way through the stands, planting himself directly in front of the offenders and working face-to-face with them until he has achieved the desired outcome. When he is pleased with the results he touches his fingers to his lips and send them a kiss, declaring, “I love you.” When they reach the slow movement, he again refers to his age in a very direct way to illustrate the depth of the feeling they must convey. He says, “Have you ever really loved someone and then they are gone? You have no tears because you died with them. I am a bit older than you but you should know the feeling. You will all die; we all will die.” This is a very heavy message but one that is part of his personal experience as he lost a young wife and child in a car accident many years ago. I found it very powerful that he used this metaphor to elicit an emotionally charged musical response. To me it speaks to the very heart of music as a universal language. As Maestro Mazur counseled the orchestra, the audience must feel Beethoven’s music was written yesterday, not 200 years ago. As it happens I have some history with this symphony. As a young viola player, I spent hours with my music stand in the woods practicing the challenging passages for our performance of this piece at Idyllwild Music Camp. Later, I spent a semester studying Beethoven’s symphonies in a music class at Berkeley. Yet as I listen to Maestro Mazur work through the nuances of the music, it sounds fresh to my ears. The audience must feel so too, because when he finishes they give him and the student musicians a standing ovation. He asks the wind and brass sections to rise, then the strings, shaking hands all around. He seems overcome with emotion and offers this praise: “It is impressing that the students can play at such a high caliber. But I am not surprised because you have no problem here in Tel Aviv. In Israel the audience for classical music is 11% of the population while elsewhere it is 1%. This is wonderful because music makes you healthy and happy.” I am sure Maestro Masur will make many people happy this coming week when he conducts the Israel Philharmonic in a series of programs of music by Beethoven, Mendelssohn and Schnittke. In addition, he will say a few words at the Docaviv (Tel Aviv Documentary Film Festival) premier of a new documentary about his life and career. As for me, I can definitely say I feel healthier and happier for all the musical experiences I have been enjoying in Israel.

Daliat-al-Carmel: Druze, Views, Food (Traveling North, Part 3)

Photos: Imat's twins and friend; Imat and Lew; Daliat-al Carmel market; view from Carmelite monastery; views from Haifa, Ba'hai Gardens


We spent our second night in the north in the Druze village of Daliat-al-Carmel enjoying the incomparable hospitality of our host Imat Halaby, a master stonemason who has transformed the lower level and garden of his home into a fairy-tale zimmer (bed and breakfast). It’s worth a look at the website to see the remarkable stone-work in the bedroom/bath suite and the living areas. While I knew about the Fauzi Azar Inn from Lonely Planet and other sources, I stumbled on Imat’s place in a post on a Trip Advisor Middle East webchat. A truly lucky find! From the moment he met us in the main intersection of town to guide us with his car to his home, until the moment he handed Lew and Norman their own set of prayer beads (he fingers his while he talks) as a parting gift, we were swept into the orbit of his enthusiastic and generous nature. Imat, a well-educated and worldly man in his 50’s, regaled us with stories of his family, travels, and Druze history and customs. Drinking tea served to us on the patio by Nawal, Imat’s attractive wife, we learned about his immediate family, including Hatim, his 21-year old son who is studying at Technion University, his 18-year old teenage twin girls Imab and Rabab, two brothers (one a lawyer) who live in houses next door, and his very active parents who still tend their olive orchard (father) and prepare homemade cherry jam (mother). The larger clan of 7,000 constitutes almost half of the villages’ 15,000 residents, a tight-knit community that discourages intermarriage with non-Druze (violators are shunned and relatives are not supposed to associate with them). Imat’s views represent a mix of modernity and tradition. He strongly encourages education, driving his girls to a centralized elite Druze high school in another town about an hour away; he is highly entrepreneurial and sophisticated in marketing his work; he has traveled widely to Europe and elsewhere. Yet, he keeps a close watch on his children and retains Druze customs and beliefs. The Druze, who are loyal citizens of Israel and serve in the IDF, differ from Muslims from whom they broke away hundreds of years ago. According to Druze custom, their religious leaders are the only ones allowed to read the sacred text (Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law is considered the central prophet) and interpret it for the lay population. Prayer services are held twice weekly in unmarked temples (historically, to avoid persecution by Muslims), in contrast to the five times a day Islamic prayer ritual. The Druze believe that all existing persons are reincarnations of past souls, a belief Imat illustrated by sharing some complicated stories of coincidences experienced by relations and friends. When I asked Imat to tell me about some holiday customs or home observances (like lighting Shabbat candles) he couldn’t really think of anything. I’m not sure if he understood my question or if there really aren’t many other than frequent family gatherings, engagement parties and weddings. Even death is not ritualized much—no special burial customs or markers on gravesites—due to the belief in reincarnation.

When we inquired about a good place for dinner, Imat personally led us in his car to a nearby restaurant and ordered a sumptuous meal for us—chicken and rice with cinnamon and spices, chicken and onions on flat bread, tabbouli salad, rocket salad, hummos, olives, pita with zatar, and other small salads/relishes. I must add that the freshness of the tabbouli and rocket salads in Daliat-al-Carmel and in Nazareth is something to write home about. When we returned to the zimmer, Imat appeared downstairs carrying a huge bowl of fruit --pommelos, oranges, apples, offering us pieces as he expertly peeled and cut them, and engaging us in frank and friendly discussion about the history and current status of relations among Arabs, Palestinians, Druze and Jews. The next morning he brought down a huge breakfast spread prepared by Nawal and again remained to share stories about his travels in Europe. My attention was equally riveted on Imat and his mother’s cherry jam. As we said our goodbyes we felt as if we were leaving an old friend whom we hoped to see again soon.

At Imat’s suggestion we set out to visit the nearby Carmelite monastery before leaving town. On the way, however, we just happened to pass the outdoor Saturday market, a very popular place for locals and visitors from Haifa. Of course we had to stop to admire the colorful people, fabulous food and everything else you can think of from soup to nuts to underwear to barbeque grills. When we finally reached the monastery we were not disappointed. The view from the roof is spectacular, stretching from the sea to Mt. Meron (Israel’s highest peak) and down the length of the Jezreel Valley. It was a beautiful day as we drove through the Druze village of Isafiya and on to Haifa, capping our journey north with a visit to the overlook of the perfectly manicured Ba’hai gardens and lunch on the shaded patio of Fatoosh in the German Colony. Then, following the coastline, we admired the sparkling blues of the sea as we drove back to Tel Aviv.

Other Realities and New Friends: Nazareth (Traveling North, Part 2)

Cobblestones, shopkeepers and family history in the Old City: Nazareth


From the pastoral and serene heights of Mt. Gilboa we descended to the valley below. Making our way past the significant archeological site at Beit She’an (unfortunately past closing time), farmland, factories, and a few large prisons, we circled Afula and ascended the steep hills to Nazareth where we entered another world entirely. Our introduction to this fascinating and complicated city was a massive traffic jam that seems to be a permanent feature of the narrow and crowded roads. Lacking adequate street and route signage to guide us, we called the Fauzi Azar Inn, our destination in the Old City. We kept the young volunteer receptionist on the phone to help us navigate as we crawled along. She recommended we park on a narrow alley near Mary’s Well and sent down another volunteer who led us on foot, with backpacks and luggage in tow, through the twists and turns of the cobbled walkways to the inn in the heart of the Old City. Bending through the low outer door, we entered the courtyard of a partially restored 200-year old Arab mansion originally owned by a prominent Christian Greek Orthodox family who emigrated from Syria many generations ago and established deep roots in the community. Fauzi Azar, grandfather of Suraida Nasser, the young dynamic manager of the inn, was the last family member to reside in the mansion. In its heydey, the upstairs rooms housed the prosperous family while the lower level contained their very popular bridal shop where local brides were able to completely outfit themselves with clothing, jewelry and everything they might need to complete their trousseaus. At one time the family owned many small shops in the lanes of the Old City but a generous patriarch of the clan kept giving away properties to the Church. After Fauzi died protecting the mansion during a fire, Suraida’s grandmother moved elsewhere and since then the other family members have chosen to live either in more modern parts of the city or have left the area or even the country (one of Suraida’s sisters lives in Los Angeles). Suraida herself lives in Nazareth Illit, a modern suburb where the Jewish population (including numerous FSU-former Soviet Union- immigrants) resides. She sends her son to a Baptist (said with a distasteful expression) school and takes advantage of the better amenities and housing options available in the Jewish area, in contrast to the older, overcrowded sections of Nazareth that have been neglected and lack resources. Recently, the family entered into a partnership with an Israeli, Maoz Inon (see Inn's website above for his story) who facilitated the mansion’s restoration in order to create a very unusual and enchanting inn/hostel/guest house. Suraida told us that when rumors appeared in the press that they had sold the property to a Jew, there was an outcry. Suraida shared with us her family’s history, her love for the mansion, and her views about difficult situation of Arab Christians in Nazareth. She conveyed the deep anger, sadness and sense of injustice she feels about the appropriation of her family’s land after the creation of the State (her grandfather refused to accept compensation so as not to validate the legitimacy of this action). Pointing to the towering new court building that dominates the hills of Nazareth Illit, she expressed her resentment at this in-you-face reminder of the State’s desire to solidify its domination. Yet she feels a deep connection to this place and would never want to be elsewhere. She feels that as a citizen of Israel she and her children should receive the same rights and treatment as Jewish citizens and not be subjected to discrimination in employment, access to education or investment in the city’s infrastructure. She resents the designation on her identity card that indicates her non-Jewish staus and makes like more difficult for her, especially when traveling. She also explained the anxiety the Christian community feels about the rise in the political strength and the increasing militancy of the Muslim population. The Arab Christians seem to be between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Yet, she maintains friendships with several Jewish friends as well as her business partner, whom she clearly values.
What will happen if such a vivacious, smart and talented woman, her family and community is left out of plans for the future development of Nazareth and Israel? Nothing good, I am afraid.

Although Nazareth gets heavy traffic from visitors to the Christian sites, most tourists simply follow a trail from one site to the next without really exploring the town or getting to know its inhabitants. We chose the latter option. The evening of our arrival we set out on foot to walk down the main road through which we had arrived at the Old City. We asked a shop keeper for a dining suggestion and chose Tishreen, not far from the Inn, for a fabulous meal in a charmingly picturesque but hip setting. Nazareth is known for several of its very excellent restaurants. After dinner we lounged on the comfortable couches in the outdoor courtyard living room, digesting our meal and comparing notes from our guidebooks about the city. Then we retired to our rooms, ours perched at the top of the house was reached by climbing up a steep, stone staircase. Lew fell asleep immediately but I was not so lucky. I listened to some young men chatting and singing on the patio beneath our window until around 12:30 or 1 pm, followed by volley of firecrackers (probably to celebrate a wedding). I inserted ipod earphones to listen to my audiobook and some quiet music and after a considerable time I finally began to drift into a light doze. At 4:30 a.m. I became aware of the peeping of birds and, suddenly, I was jolted wide awake by the spine-tingling cry of the muzzhein’s call to prayer (recorded at this hour, but live during the daytime). The White mosque in the Old City, to which we paid a visit the next morning, is a stone’s throw from the inn but I’m sure the piercing sound carries far and wide. Perhaps I achieved another few hours of sleep before rising for the day. We descended to the lower level breakfast room, the former bridal shop, for a tasty and abundant spread---eggs, cheeses, tomatoes and cucumbers, olives, pitas with zattar (wild thyme) and some other spices and tea with nana (mint). Here Suraida joined us and began sharing her family stories which she later continued as she gave us a tour of the common room and adjoining guest rooms graced with the original beautifully painted ceilings. Then she turned us over to Sara, a charming young Dutch woman who is volunteering at the house during her six week stay in Israel between finishing college and beginning a master’s program in archaeology. The Inn attracts many such young people who fall in love with the unique spirit of the place. We spent the next several hours exploring the small shops, market stalls and other special places in the Old City. We enjoyed tea with cinnamon and nuts ground by hand in a mortar and pestle by owner and part-time DJ, Weesam Abo Salem, who inherited the shop from his father. We were served in the small front room while in the back room numerous older men were hanging out—drinking Arab coffee or tea, reading the paper, schmoozing or playing backgammon. Sara, with her bubbly personality, has gotten to know many of the residents of the area. Even though she was warned, as a blond European attractive single woman, to be a bit careful in the streets, she has gradually become known in the neighborhood and has developed special relationships with the shopkeepers (as well as the greeters at the mosque and a small church) to whom she guides guests of the inn. With Sara providing the introductions, we also visited the coffee and spice grinder; the Elbabour mill--- multi-generation purveyors of spices, nuts, grains, dried fruits; and a small restaurant where the proud owner served us nut and cheese-filled pancakes with strong Arab coffee before rushing off to the mosque for afternoon prayers (leaving his store open and untended; Sara returned later to pay for our meal). The Inn encourages volunteers to offer these tours and lets them keep the money they earn from the small charge (plus tips!). Sara is using the income to help feed herself as she only gets room, not board, while she is at the Inn. From our point of view, we were only too happy to help her out as she provided us with an invaluable experience of the daily life in Old Nazareth we would not otherwise have seen. We hope the Pope has as good a time as we had on our visit to Nazareth. If a recent article in the Washington Post (quoting Suraida) is a reliable forecast, it’s likely to be somewhat contentious. Last time a Pope was here the government invested some money in upgrading the streets on his route, displacing some of the shopkeepers in the process during the two years the construction dragged on. I’m not sure what benefits will accrue from this visit but clearly the city needs a tremendous amount of work on its infrastructure, not only to accommodate the tourists but also to improve life for the residents.

Traveling North (Part 1)

Cows, herbs, vistas on Mt. Gilboa

Heading north on a two-day car trip in mid-April with Pat and Norman, our first stop (not counting a brief 2-shekel pit stop at the public sherutim (facilities) on the promenade in downtown Afula) was Mt. Gilboa. At the restaurant of the local herb farm on the northern slopes overlooking the Jezreel Valley, we enjoyed a noteworthy and leisurely lunch topped off with an array of exquisite desserts— my favorite: scoops of halvah and vanilla ice cream drizzled with tehina and date sauces and a sprinkle of chopped pistachios--leading Pat to conclude that this is truly “the Promised Land.” Waddling back to the car, we continued on the narrow and winding scenic route along the mountainous ridge. The drive reminded me of the Blue Ridge Parkway. It took us past magnificent vistas, pine groves and, at this time of year, wildflower-strewn hillsides among which grazing cows wandered freely. Stopping at a summit point with 360- degree visibility, we enjoyed the view of Beit She’an and Jordan to the east, Mt. Tabor and Nazareth to the north and Jenin, with the ribbon of security wall, to the southwest. On this peak there is a very tall outlook platform accessed by a metal stairway. A sign on the side of the tower forbade climbing to the top, while another at the foot of the stairs--perhaps acknowledging the futility of enforcing the other edict—limited the number of occupants on the platform to eight persons. Since a large religious family had already claimed the birds’ nest view, we climbed only climbed part way up, but that was sufficient to experience the tranquil and vast view.

David’s City: From Terrace to Tunnels

Photos:
King David Hotel: overlooking terrace/pool
Tower of David: exhibit statues; two views of inside terrace with Chihily glass
City of David: construction pit across from entrance; Silwan neighborhood; tunnel photos--following our guide, Lew and Norman, Pat emerging; neighborhood boys collecting wood for upcoming Lag B'Omer holiday bonfires; view of dome and walls of Old City near Temple Mount at night


An Israeli newspaper columnist, decrying Israeli schoolchildren’s ignorance of Jerusalem, recently claimed that most people have a limited perception of the city as a place of “ancient stones and serious business.” While I know there’s more to it than that, I think this phrase captures the city’s overriding ambience. Although Lew frequently visits Jerusalem to discuss “serious business”, we also spent a recent afternoon there with Pat and Norman examining some “ancient stones” and checking out three “David” venues: the King David Hotel, The Tower of David and the City of David excavations. On a blazingly hot April day, we enjoyed our lunch under the shade of an umbrella on the terrace of the venerable King David hotel. From there we walked to the Tower of David Museum in the Old City, always worthwhile for the fantastic views and the exhibits and detailed models chronicling the city’s 3000 years of history. The entertaining film (shown in a blissfully cool auditorium) tells the story of the successive civilizations that built (and destroyed) the city. Since our last visit, I noticed the addition on the premises of two glass sculptures which I’m sure were created by Chihuly---a squiggly, yellow ball hanging on a pendant from the ceiling of the entryway and groups of green spires which resemble reeds or grass on an inside terrace (see photo above).

With heat of the day still upon us, we threaded our way through the narrow, and thankfully shaded, alleys of the Jewish Quarter to the City of David excavation site. This area is located on a steep slope outside the southern walls of the Old City descending from the Temple Mount to the Kidron Valley and adjacent to the Silwan neighborhood of East Jerusalem. In this contested area new construction and Jewish housing is creating a stir while the extensive and ongoing archeological excavations attract throngs of visitors (HaAretz April 13). The site has produced many fascinating finds, including artifacts from the homes of palace officials, a tunnel system that enabled inhabitants to access water from a source in the valley below while remaining safe from attack, remnants of the paving stones around a large pool and shops lining the steps leading up to the second Temple. The excavation and tours are financed and managed by a foundation that has an interest in promoting Jewish control of the area and also conducts inspirational tours of the site for IDF soldiers. We encountered such a group during our visit. They were sitting in a tunnel on the excavated steps leading to the Temple mount listening to a flute player and blocking our access to this area.

We began the tour with a 3-D movie (the effects were lost on me due to my monocular vision). Comparing this movie to the one we saw earlier at the Tower Museum, I have to say that I found this version of history disturbingly biased, laden as it was with biblical references to justify sole Jewish claims to the sacred places. The rest of our tour, though, was fascinating. Our almost private tour (the four of us and a twenty-something longhaired youth) was led by an English-speaking guide from an FSU background--a casually dressed young man sporting a kippah and tzitzit who lives nearby with his wife and three small children, including a newborn. His extensive knowledge of archaeology and history made the site come alive, particularly when he shared the wild story of a Swedish treasure hunter who, during the time of Turkish rule, teamed up with an archeologist and sold shares to investors, assuring them that his illegal dig would produce a huge haul from the discovery of King Solomon’s riches. On the run from Turkish authorities, who were tipped off by a guard who hadn’t been bribed, he escaped by train and boat to London where he was nearly lynched by his investors when the newspapers printed a rumor that he had hidden the booty (there was none!). We listened to the story as we stood looking at the bucket he left behind, now embedded in a niche in the wall of the underground tunnel leading to the wellspring and the massive boulders of the tower built to protect this vital water source.

Along with several large, noisy groups of religious tourists--young boys and girls, families and women with small children—we prepared for the most unusual experience of the day. Donning our water shoes, wearing shorts or hiking up our skirts and with flashlights in hand, we plunged into the icy cold waters of Hezekiah’s Tunnel for the third of a mile trek to the outlet at the other end. As I trudged behind the guide through the refreshingly cool solid rock tunnel and the chilly waters, which at first came above my knees but was mostly remained at ankle or mid-calf level, I was glad for the relief from the hot day. With little room to spare on either side of the solid rock walls, and at times stooping to avoid stretches of low ceiling, anyone who is claustrophobic would be unhappy here! In fact, I wondered what happens if someone panics since there is no access other than the openings at either end and travel is single file, hemmed in by others in front and behind. But, I am happy to report, no one seemed the least bit daunted, including Lew who has a well-known aversion to small, enclosed places (see photo above for evidence of his successful completion of the tunnel trek!). After a few twists and turns where the builders had miscalculated, we reached the midway point. Here the chisel marks on the walls changed direction, indicating where the carvers from opposite starting points finally reached each other and broke through to complete the tunnel to bring water from outside the city walls in anticipation of a siege by the Assyrians around 700 b.c.e. A replica of a plaque in ancient Hebrew script (the original is in a museum in Istanbul) describing this momentous achievement marked our emergence at the other end.