Expectations and Realities of Israel

My seven-day side trip to Israel, March 24-31, was such an interesting experience, so different from what I expected. I thought Ben-Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv would be heavily armored and our midnight arrival scrutinized. It wasn’t. We passed through security, barely noticed. I thought Jerusalem would be dirt roads and camels, but it was very progressive—right down to the King David Construction company and the Sixt Schlomo rental car (Israel’s version of Thrifty), just like home. I thought Bethlehem would be a religiously peaceful village, but it was militarily walled and anxious. I thought driving to Nazareth would be scary; yet, it was like driving through rural California and Iowa combined. I thought the Nof Genosar kibbutz would be basic camp; instead, it was a lovely resort. I thought Akko would be the most “Westernized” beach resort. It was the most orthodox, controlled, intimidating, and isolating place we visited.

However, Akko, too, had its moments of fun, especially when we enjoyed watching a photographer arrange the scene with three kids, a parrot, and a boa constrictor! In general, Americans are outnumbered by German tourists and all are outnumbered by travelers with ever-expanding families of 2-3-4 children under five. In Israel, no matter what religion, raising a family is most important, and the love and commitment were always evident.

Still, although I expected to feel religiously moved by a visit to Israel, it had almost the same effect on me as Reverend Schuler’s ministry at the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove: I was impressed by the structures and the messages, but felt detached somehow. Perhaps, in Israel, I was disconnected because I was neither Jewish, Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Armenian, nor Muslim. It was wonderful to be in the land where three religions began, and I value that. But, for a religious pilgrimage, I will always return to Mt. Carmel Methodist Church in Marshall County, Kentucky, to the small wooden church my great-great grandfather built and where my ancestors are buried. That is the religious center of my universe, although Israel holds its creation.

Another observation: Israel knows how to build fences—from the steel battleship wall around Bethlehem to the chain-link grill and barbed wire around the sea side resort at Akko, everything is marked and divided by barriers. Signs, not always in English, are stumbling blocks. A lack of directions is often unwelcoming. Barricades and roundabouts are deterrents to free-flowing traffic. Security guards everywhere, always with guns, are a reminder of ever-present violence simmering under the surface. Even in the market today in Akko, I saw a five or six-year-old boy, eying the candied treats, with his toy rifle on a strap, slung over his shoulder, looking just like his young adult male mentors who stroll about in public, nonchalantly, loaded with lead.