During the approximately three hour flight I realised what I had embarked on. I have set off to a country, a small piece of land whose history comprises barely a few decades while simultaneously preserving remains of several thousand years. Books and films are milling in my head - fragmented memories of my religious edification. I feel lost, though I haven't arrived yet.
If you travel to Israel as a tourist like me, it is difficult to overcome the romantic and mysterious ideas you entertain about the country. You expect extraordinary experiences, discoveries and recognition, the understanding of secrets and perhaps some enlightenment. You anticipate being touched by the spirit of the place. After all, you can visit sites where Jesus and Mohammed were, and you can hope for something to happen to your soul at the Wailing Wall or at Golgotha which will purify and make you a better person.
I once saw the pyramids in Egypt and felt very small. Now I wanted to see another part of the Mediterranean, the place where everything began; where a people created a homeland for itself in the desert; where three world religions trace their origins.
The circumstances of the departure were already unusual, for the decision had been followed by long deliberation. To go or not to go? Are the conditions right or shall we go when the situation returns to normal? Is it the beginning of a holiday period or is one just finishing? Will we dare to get on a bus or sit on a café terrace? Shall we treat the whole trip as a survival course, being on guard for people who seem suspicious coming from the opposite direction, or just not be concerned about anything?
I shared my doubts with my friends who, although they expressed their opinion, did not make the decision any easier. In other words, I listened to the news and spent more time surfing the web than studying guidebooks until finally we made up my minds to go.
I am sitting by the window, holding my coffee cup and staring out. When I lose my way in the landscape appearing through the clouds I glance at the in-flight monitor and reorientate myself. While Cyprus is being left behind I try to get used to the strong light appearing on the endless surface of the sea, which seems as smooth as glass. I presume it's the Lebanon coastline in the distance when our airplane begins to descend and we approach Tel Aviv. I prepare for landing with enhanced excitement, but when the wheels touch down a kind of inexplicable calm overtakes me. We have arrived in the Holy Land. Shalom, Israel!
The enormous hall of Ben Gurion Airport provides a fascinating spectacle. We get to passport control comfortably and rapidly. A uniformed young woman inquires about our destination and then, having got our luggage, we leave the pleasant, air-conditioned terminal building and emerge into the hazy heat.
Our plan is to travel round the country in a hired car from the north, but first we go to Haifa by coach. We easily find the stand of the Egged coach company and wait in the queue among soldiers and civilians. The first thing I find strange is the spectacle of weapons, which I will easily accept in the days to come. This is the type of country it is. On the way there are green spots and plantations everywhere. I recognise the olive, orange and lemon trees and I am pleased to see that an oleander hedge divides the motorway.
Haifa is barely 90 kilometres from Tel Aviv. Elsewhere it would be considered a small town - here it's the country's third largest city. Haifa stretches from the shores of the sea and is surrounded by Mount Carmel. Its terraced landscape provides a fascinating view with the port and the Bahai temple. In good weather you can see as far as Rosh Hanikra, by the Lebanese border, which is also a control point but it's worth visiting for the view.
We leave our accommodation near the sea for our daily trips of discovery to nearby locations - Caesarea, the Sea of Galilee, Capernaum, Druse villages - and we even enjoy the hospitability of a kibbutz for a short time. Still, the bustling and colourful market has become my favourite. Here among the stalls you can pick and choose, as well as taste.
Jerusalem is our next base. Entering the Old City via the Jaffa Gate, a crowd of pilgrims sweeps us along. Making our way up Via Dolorosa we place the camera and rucksack in the security X-ray check without a word at the Western Wall and step out into the spacious square. I look for a section of wall on the side designated for women and push my friend's letter into a suitable gap - perhaps her wishes expressed into writing may actually be granted.
And yes, the spirit of the place touches me. I am pleased to have decided to come and am ashamed of my worries. I stand at the site where the Temple of Solomon once stood and from here I can see another holy place, the Dome of the Rock. I begin to feel lost in time. No prayer comes to my mind, but a feeling of peace overtakes me.
I certainly wanted to visit Yad Vashem. I had felt it compulsory for a long time. I don't know whether they count the visitors since there is no entrance ticket, yet I hope we are also included in the number of those lowering their heads in the Hall of Names.
Several days later I have the same feeling among the walls of the Massada Fortress, where deep silence also envelopes us. The air seems to stand still, the heat is stuffy and everyone moves slowly on the stones. We are familiar with the history of the 960 zealots of Massada who together chose voluntary death to prevent the Romans' victory over them, and spontaneously we pay homage.
The nearby Qumran caves are where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found. Some of the documents, which contained the Scriptures and other writings, are kept in Jerusalem's Israel Museum and may still be keeping secrets from scholars.
I have no idea how we managed to travel nearly three thousand kilometres in this tiny country in ten days, but it was a joy to drive on Israel's roads, which even the desert heat cannot melt.
An excursion to Eilat and the Dead Sea was really for relaxation. The attraction is the mud and the unique experience of floating on the water, and the belief that you will recover or rejuvenate - you take your pick.
The second weekend was for Tel Aviv. If a visit to the Mea Shearim Orthodox Jewish quarter in Jerusalem represents a time travel, the modern city of Tel Aviv is also one, though in the opposite direction, towards the future. We get to the busy, secular city almost with the arrival of Sabbath and thus we must hurry to reach the home of our hosts before the candles are lit.
Falafel, avocado cream, artichoke, humus, pita bread and plenty of green salad is spread on the long, richly-laid table. Shabbat Shalom! is pronounced and we eat and talk. We tell them where we have been and they tell us what we haven't yet seen. We raise our glasses in the traditional manner and drink to life - Le'haim! Once again, like so many times during our journey, something moves me - this time strength and love radiating from family cohesion.
On the last day I sit on the terrace of a café. This required the least courage in Israel. I'm not scared - I am not willing to be afraid. I look at the people surrounding me - soldiers, civilians, children and elderly people. Israelis, who enjoy the sunshine and the sea, who have magically changed the desert into green and who clearly do their best to keep it that way.
Only let there be peace! Shalom, Israel!
M. G.