The rising of the light: The Galilee to the lower Jordan River valley

Tsfat, Israel

Jordan River valley, West Bank, Palestine

Excerpts from my journal during a three month journey of photographic discovery in the Land of Troubles

Photos

September 8, 2009, Tuesday, Jericho, Sami Guest House, my room

Tsfat

Last night I met Ike, the former president, in a dream. He was elderly but virile, strong, handsome, forthright. He told me a story that occasionally was interrupted by people walking thru and making comments. Nobody but me noticed who he was. He and I were also working on something, like clearing out a garden. I wanted to tell him I’d just met or dreamt about FDR, who like him seemed to be well preserved.

In another dream I rode a train to Michigan, an unusual sort of train with doors and windows that opened simultaneously. Many passengers got off at a certain station in Michigan, maybe Ann Arbor—no sign of Ann Arbor Anne.

And in the climactic dream it was winter, I was outside photographing with others. Water was the theme. I grumbled about how difficult wearing heavy clothes made photographing. Nearby two thin plastic strands descended from high above, and on each strand men dangled. They were like window cleaners but there was no building with windows to be cleaned. While photographing I noticed that my lens, the normal, had clouded up. I couldn’t clean it. This frustrated me and I thought it would ruin any photos I’d make.

Roman ampitheater, Beit Shean

Before I left the Beit Shean guesthouse and after I’d exploited the renewed and solid internet connection thru the café—I could have sat there all day doing my web work—I re-explored the Roman ruins, going into rooms, sitting on benches, noticing how different the light was from the evening before. I drove into the second Roman ruins site, the national park, but decided I’d had enough of this topic.

From my window, Beit Shean

“Down in the valley” for sure. From Beit Shean to Jericho means tracing more of the vanishing Jordan River: wadis that might carry water in a good wet season to the Jordan but now look eternally dry, pipes and pools whose missions are a mystery to me, extensive fields heavily irrigated, rolling dry hills, and hot air, not as humid as I’d expected.

The scene reminds me of several places in the United States I’ve visited: South Dakota and especially the Bad Lands. Lands in this region, in places, are truly bad, in the sense of barren and tortured. I hope a few of my photos show this. Also California, those heaving brown hills near the San Francisco Bay area. And maybe Wyoming with the abandoned buildings, endless roads, hills and valleys. A ghost town-like appearance.

Valley

Fences. Large long winding fences, some marked “electrical fence” which means motion detecting, not electrified. Sometimes 2 sets of fences. What is inside? Probably lands confiscated from Palestinians by Israeli Jews. I tried entering the settlements in this region which are fenced and gated, but decided not even to ask. One route to a bridge (as shown on the map, maybe not in reality) was also behind a fence. So my contact with the river, if there was a river to be contacted, was zero.

Gate to former river/border crossing, Jordan River valley

I’d seen this region in 2003, from the air as I flew home from my first foray into this topic. And then a second time with the Steps of the Magi alternative tour, busing thru here to Jerusalem. But this time was as if the first time because I could stop at my leisure to explore more fully.

I’ve mentioned that this travel mode reminds me of other trips, I’ll list some: South Africa with Y and South Africa with Tom when we rented cars; New Orleans to Chicago during my off period from the Middle Passage Pilgrimage when I drove the pagoda car along the Mississippi River to explore that region in the winter of 1998; the Great Plains excursion of 1982 when I used the family car to penetrate the mid land thought to be too flat for photography and I discovered more of the history of our continent—American Indians and a new theme for my work; and several trips I made in my pickup truck, Cimarron, especially west to Colorado in the summer of 1961 or 62. That trip was probably the first of this series of car explorations to photograph. I’ve had 40 plus years to develop my methodology.

Finally arriving in Jericho, after wondering where I’d land for the day, I quickly found housing at the Sami Youth Hostel. Luckily it was heavily advertised along the entrance road, clearly marked so I could find it. When I first saw a sign I stopped to phone, making sure it existed—a “youth hostel” in Jericho?—and then the price and finally the location.

I seem to the only resident. I asked, when is your busy season? not wanting to embarrass the young man with the husky voice who seemed to be the manager. It’s Ramadan, he explained, and everyone stays at home. Which doesn’t explain why others like myself not observing Ramadan might not be here. I think summer heat is the answer. This place might be stuffed with residents in the winter when people flock to Jericho for its warm winter weather. The room is air conditioned, the electricity so far has not gone off, I avoid mid day heat outside—altho I tried a walk yesterday around 4 pm just to be outside and sample the weather, I retreated to the room after an hour’s walking—and all this for a mere 100 shekels (mere compared with the prices of some previous overnight spots).

Jericho sprawls. And entrances are often blocked by Israel. The ditches remain, those ditches that I first encountered in 2003 when our delegation attempted passages thru the 2 checkpoints, denied at both. So we parked our bus behind palm trees and scurried across the ditches to meet a representative of the PLO. On this attempt to enter Jericho the first road I tried in the north of town, clearly marked Jericho, had a roadblock. The second brought me to a checkpoint and the soldier wouldn’t allow entrance, even after I flashed my USA passport. Noticing a busload of Palestinians behind me heading for the same checkpoint I assume this is passage for residents of Jericho. He directed me, right and right and right again. And this finally brought me to an entry road, the main road, with one Palestinian waving me thru, greeting me with welcome to Jericho. Driving past the International Hotel where the Palestinian section of the Steps of the Magi walk began in 2004, I swiftly found the Sami Guesthouse.

Israeli settlement/colony, West Bank, Jordan River valley

The new reality of Palestine slowly seeped into me as I drove south. First a checkpoint just south of Beit Shean, not stopped, reminded me that I was leaving Israel for the West Bank, nominally the West Bank, nominally Palestine. However, the abundance of settlements suggests something else—more infiltration of Jewish Israelis, more land theft, and this among the most arable lands in the region. Huge groves of date palms and banana trees, other fruit and olive trees, cultivated fields with brown slash on them, pipes, valves, and ponds, all this suggests Jews are here to stay. Because of the relative inaccessibility of this part of the West Bank I believe few visitors ever see it, and thus are not aware of another manifestation of the settlement movement.

We could classify the settlements into at least 4 categories: the best known settlements of the West Bank mountain spine from Jenin to Hebron, East Jerusalem and its “neighborhoods” like French Hill that do not resemble conventional settlements, the kibbutzim in the Galilee and Golan that I’ve recently visited, and now the settlements, colonies, illegally stolen lands of the river valley. There may be other types as well, related to Bedouins and the Negev, but I have no experience with these.

My final days’ plan is finally taking clearer shape. I’ve decided not to visit Ofer and his wife who live in or near Modi’in, meeting him thru Couch Surfers, because I realized yesterday when studying the map that he is on the other side of Jerusalem, requiring a long drive. So tonight I will reside in the Palm Hostel in East Jerusalem, one of my favorite spots for sleeping. Before that I’ll drop off the car in Wes Jerusalem at Avis office (braving Jerusalem traffic and drivers). After first leaving my large heavy black plastic hard cased ailing wheeled luggage at the Palm. Then to Ramallah for 2 days at the ISM media office, backing up files, getting my hair cut, paying for the final month of rent at the school, picking up my stored stuff from the school, saying byes, etc. And finally the old city of Jerusalem, residing at the Austrian Hospice for my final 2 days, departing early for the airport on Sunday. All god willing, inshallah.

~~Good news from my gut. The first solid output in about 4 days. My stomach feels relatively normal. I’m eating freely again.~~

Jereicho checkpoint (Palestinian)

Returning to the theme of Palestinian reality, first the checkpoint, then the sharp contrast between Israeli and Palestinian areas along Rt 90, the main road thru here. I’d been wearing my white t-shirt with the Hebrew lettering, slowly growing aware that this might not be appropriate for some of these regions. At a rest stop where I ate lunch with about 30 Israeli soldiers, that t-shirt fit right in. I changed it before entering Jericho, back to my yellow Quaker Fellowship of the Arts t-shirt. Next, the issue of Ramadan, people are fasting all day, even in this hot area. When yesterday in Jericho I mistakenly opened a door to what I thought might be the Internet café, I woke a man slumbering on a couch in a barbershop. Remaining indoors and maybe sleeping are ways to grapple with the Ramadan fast.

What about my shorts? Manager said, not a problem. Maybe because of the presence of tourists in Jericho. I refrain from drinking or eating in public during the daylight hours. Also Palestine is now on winter time, one hour later than Israel summer time which changes in a month of so. And I say shukron not toda for thank you and greet people with marhaba or salaam elekum not shalom. I’m noticed more in Jericho than anywhere in Israel. The kids again, keefalek, how are you? Drag out the old mubsut and montaz, happy and excellent.

A minor adventure last evening. I was hungry, I trusted my stomach, I wished to dine at the elegant restaurant near the terminal of the cable car which runs up the Mount of Temptation. Not sure how to find it, carrying a map from the guidebook, I set off at dusk, hoping not only for food but for photos. No photos, eventually food. Lost but aiming at the mountain, circling around, I found the place, just in time as they were closing. Without rushing I wolfed down roast chicken and rice, pickles and olives, flat bread. And was served the traditional Ramadan pancake sweet as a bonus, no charge. All for 50 shekels plus tip, a bargain.

I met the owner, a jovial character speaking excellent English. He told me business is good, come back tomorrow for the open buffet, 60 shekels for all you can eat, starts at 11. I might try it. He also told me the restaurant had two wireless networks I could use, sitting in my car since they were about to close. Another man helped me access with the codes, I connected, we chatted while I sat in the car showing him and another man leaning over him my most recent blog entries, stopping at the image of Raghda, wondering how they perceived her.

The man explained that he was from Tubas in the northern West Bank, taught computer use in Jericho, also managed the computer network at the restaurant and tourist shop and did the accounting. Like many he was impressed that I’d been in Gaza, really, one month? We discussed all those who’d like to emigrate from Gaza. And you, I asked, what would you like to do? No clear answer. He explained to me that leaving Palestine required one be older than 45, married, and have children, if I understood him correctly.

The Internet connection soon faded, as it often does, so I did little. But may try again this morning.

Now one question remained: would I be able to find my way to the guesthouse in the dark?

Happily I did. Then a strange feeling came over me last night as I sat alone in this lonely hostel: eroticism. Was this temptation anything like the temptation of Christ? Is there some earth force in Jericho that affects human beings? We are at the lowest point on earth, 260 m below sea level, in an earthquake zone. I’ll check my feelings throughout my stay in Jericho.

My room, gazing

LINKS:

Itsapartheid video contest

“Israel, Colonial States and Racism” by Michel Warschawski, Alternative Information Center

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The Rising of the Light, Summer in Israel and the Occupied Territories of Palestine: a report (June 17 – September 15, 2009)

El Mina, port of Gaza City, main port of the Gaza Strip
(click for enlargement)

Fish market
(click for enlargement)

This is not the last in my series of dispatches about my recent journey to Palestine and Israel. I am home in Cambridge Massachusetts, and this is the moment to write and post a report (before I become enmeshed in my quotidian existence).

Photos

Blog

Print version of the report

Dear God, when I am wrong, please make me willing to see my mistake. And when I am right – please make me tolerable to live with.

—Desmund Tutu, his prayer as paraphrased by Uri Avnery

I begin with gratitude: gratitude to all those who have supported my 5th journey to The Land of Discord and Possibility. Those who have noticed, commented, prayed, criticized, contributed money, offered leads, taken action; and especially those who have followed my voluminous dispatches thru my website and blog. Without you I am enfeebled, a stay-at-home elderly recluse, retired to the land of imagining what I might have done, if-only-I-had-the-time. Gratitude to the Palestinians and Israelis who expedited my photography, providing leads, background, context, introductions, insights, analysis, friendship, housing, food, and, yes, love. And gratitude for the simple good fortune to live such a free spirited life—thanks to community, family, some mysterious, congenital, rebellious quirk, and muses.

Jerusalem Old City

Sheik Jarrah neighborhood in East Jerusalem, nominally Palestinian, formerly the home of the Hanoun and al-Ghawi families

Across the street, this man and his family, brutally evicted from their home, live under a tent across from his former home, now lived in by extreme Jewish Israeli settlers
(more photos)

Half way thru my recent three-month journey of discovery, I wondered, what had I discovered? In mid August while in Gaza, I listed all that I’d not photographed: Canada Park in Israel which erased an Arab village; the route and story of water from the headwaters of the Jordan River to where it disappears between the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea; non violent resistance, in Bil’in where I’d been several times earlier and finally to Nil’in which I’d read so much about; Quakers, but how to photograph more than the Quaker Palestine Youth Program in Gaza when the Ramallah Friends School is on vacation; and most vitally—an urge I’ve felt for several years—Israel itself, Jaffa, Tel Aviv, the Mediterranean Coast, West Jerusalem, the Golan and Galilee, visiting friends, pretending to be an Israeli, feeling what they might feel, immersed in the possible cognitive dissonance of living on a land expropriated from native people.

Here I felt some resonance with my own experience in the United States—living on land stolen from American Indians, profiting from labor supplied largely by captured Africans. Yes, I had some first hand experience living a possible lie, captured by a self-serving narrative. But how to do this in Israel-Palestine?

After this dismal accounting, all that I’d hope to photograph and hadn’t yet even visited, I made another list (remembering how Rachel Corrie loved making lists), this time of what I’d at least partially achieved: 2 weeks in Bethlehem exploring its Aida refugee camp while coaching a young novice photography teacher at Al Rowwad Cultural Center in the camp; 2 weeks in Jenin, investigating its refugee camp and the wondrous Freedom Theater, while teaching photography to high school age youth at the Jenin Creative Cultural Center; several stories about hydropolitics, including a spectacular trip to one of Ramallah’s own water sources, Ein Samia village about 20 km north of Ramallah; the Popular Education  Festival in Ramallah of the Quaker Palestine Youth Program; construction by hand of a series of stone walls at the Ramallah Friends School (not as exciting as photographing the children but stones were present, children were not); the new light rail system in greater Jerusalem snapping up Palestinian land in East Jerusalem; Gaza, from finally getting a permit, living there for one month while photographing the aftermath of the vicious and possibly criminal Israeli assault to teaching photography thru the American Friends Service Committee and Al Aqsa University; exploring the coastal region from Gaza north to near Haifa, with a stop in Sderot (the Israeli town suffering extensive trauma from rockets fired by Gazan militants); two weeks in the Golan Heights and the Galilee, a long held dream to trace water; and Jerusalem’s Old City and environs, culminating in my final day’s journey when I strolled thru the Old City making hip pocket photos with my new 85 mm lens. Adding to this unexpected achievement, I discovered the family I’d read about in the Sheik Jarrah neighborhood of East Jerusalem who had been brutally evicted from their home.

The platform built for the Pope’s summer 2009 visit to Bethlehem, occupied Palestinian territories—Israel prohibited its use
(more photos)

I felt better, but not complete. Will I ever feel complete. Will I ever feel I’ve finished this project? What drives me besides a possibly inscrutable compulsion?

Perhaps, perhaps: the outrage I feel at such blatant exploitation of the holocaust and victimhood by some Jews and many supporters of Israel, the complicity of my government and my country’s media, the drive for justice, the upset I feel when with others who might be aware of this conflict but do nothing. As Martin Luther King, Jr stated, Our lives begin to end the moment we become silent about things that matter.

Also motivating me: the need to practice compassionate listening and viewing, to open my heart to a variety of perspectives and experiences, to discover opinions and facts new to me, visit new areas, meet new people, and endlessly develop my skills to photograph in that unique Mediterranean light.

Three examples of discoveries: first, in Sderot, trauma is virtually universal among the entire population. Despite the relatively low number of casualties and the relatively high degree of security, one exploding rocket multiples fear. Second, in Gaza, most people do not trust being happy. Why? Because they suspect their happiness will be short-lived. Either Israel will attack again, or Hamas will go to battle with Fatah or other political factions, or the siege will never end, or the world will continue ignoring their suffering. Third, conditions of occupation are easing in the West Bank, meaning travel is freer, checkpoints less restrictive. But as Palestinians point out, Israel could tighten restrictions in a flash, and one danger of eased conditions is encouraging people to ignore the fact that they remain occupied, without a nation of their own. They are not free.

Thru my lens, I try to open my mouth—shout loud and clear—and hope others might notice and activate as they feel the call, if they feel the call. Many calls, choose one, get to work. Again as Martin said, A man who hasn’t found something he is willing to die for is not fit to live. Harsh words from this dear gentle person of non-violence, but true. A prophet’s words are often grating, exactly because they are true. They challenge us.

Gaza City port, El Mina
(more photos)

I’m home in Cambridge Massachusetts for one month, preparing new shows. On October 17 I depart for the southeast region of the United States, a 4-5 week tour with new perspectives, experiences, discoveries, questions (latest schedule here, when available). If you’re anywhere between North Carolina and Florida, the East Coast and the Deep South and would like to organize a show, please contact David Matos at aiken_peace (at) yahoo.com, 803-215-3263 for information and to book. For the first two weeks of December I hope to be touring New England with a revised version of Bethlehem the Holy, in time for the Christmas season. I hope to see some of you on the road.

One additional note: thanks to a benefactor and many encouraging people I’m embarking on transforming one of my Gaza shows into a video, not simply a conversion from slide show to video but an entire production based on a slide show. We hope to complete this project by September 2010. I’ll let you know and may ask for your support.

Raw sewage flowing into the main fishing port, spreading to the beaches

Dates about to be harvested

As I finish my report I learned that the Obama administration instructed its ambassador to the United Nations, Susan Rice, to block further effective action of the Goldstone report which investigated possible war crimes committed by Israel and Hamas during the violence of December-January 2009 in Gaza.

Goldstone Report of the United Nations Fact Finding Mission on the Gaza Conflict

One rebuttal

In the distance, not so far away, Ashkelon, once home to many refugees now in Gaza

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The rising of the light: Around the Sea of Galilee from the north, then east and down the lower Jordan River valley

Excerpts from my journal during a three month journey of photographic discovery in the Land of Troubles

Photos

September 6, 2009, Sunday, Tiberias, in the Aviv hostel, my dorm room

I made a partial circuit around Lake Kinneret yesterday [September 6, 2009], from the northwest shore to the western shore. The altitude here in Tiberias feels lower, the climate hotter. The shore was steep on the eastern side of the road and gently sloped down to the water on the western. I spotted many groves of date palms (dates now being harvested, one boy roadside selling large stalks of dates) and some of bananas, plus other fruit trees. No olives that I noticed. The terrain seems a mix of sand near the water and I believe basalt in the hills, but this I observed only from a distance. Water seems plentiful, much of it devoted to irrigation. I pulled off the main road to photograph pipes and valves—too many pipes and valves to hold an audience, what to do?

I found many sites to photograph from, looking down at the huge expanse of lake. Many swimming beaches, and, being Saturday, Shabbat, filled with swimmers and campers. For lunch I stopped at a partially excavated tel (adjacent to the Gal water park, said to be the largest in Israel) and ate under a spreading eucalyptus tree. This tree, originally from Australia, proliferates thru out the region. I noticed its strong odor, its peeling bark, and remember that it is uses an excessive amount of water.

Hordes of tourists swarmed the main Christian sites on the northern shore, I felt lucky to have visited these sites earlier, either not during summer or during midweek.

Capernaum (Latin or Catholic version) parking lot

A few stops along the way:

The Orthodox version of Capernaum attracted only 2 busloads, Japanese, and seemed to have no historical sites attached to it, nor a church. I’m not sure how it justified itself, other than being a vague Orthodox presence.

Kursi national park, with its partially reconstructed Byzantine church, this site said to be where Jesus exorcized evil spirits from a man. The spirits then entered pigs driving them to commit suicide into the sea. Out of reach of my legs and lungs because of the heat was a spot higher in the hills which may have been the actual exorcism place.

Byzantine church, Kursi National Park

This site reminded me of the power of water, mountain and desert in the Jesus story. Most every part of the story is fixed to a specific site, or type of site, so terrain plays a major role in the narrative, and thus, by visiting the sites, helps reify what otherwise might be imagination—and what may be an act of imagination yet. Good fiction, an untruth pointing to a truth.

Kibbutz Ein Gev, featuring food, raising its own St Peter’s fish in ponds and beef in a factory setting. I said hello to lady cows, trying to not spook them so I could make a decent photo as they gobbled their lunch, hay. They stood in what looked like pools of excrement. Many tourists here at the restaurant, I photographed the buses lined up, most of their engines idling, spilling their evil spirits into the atmosphere, but keeping the tourists who would soon finish lunch and enter the buses cool and happy. Hundreds of tourists left the main building which housed a series of restaurants, I had to wait a few minutes for them to clear out. Lucky I did, because as I strolled thru the restaurant I was able to photograph fish in various states of dismemberment and consumption. I believe I surprised the lunchers by my request to photograph their fish.

Ein Gev was established by German and Czech pioneers in 1937, the first permanent settlement on the eastern shore, and thus under siege until “liberated” in 1967.  The surrounding area was either Syrian (says the guidebook) or Jordanian (says my reading of history). I found indicators of this period: a guard tower and a bunker, which I photographed.

Ein Gen

Receding shore line at Ein Gen

Yardenit, the exit point of the Jordan river and the current baptism center, south side of lake, hidden by hydrological apparatus. I’m not sure what occurs here, whether water enters pipes here or mechanisms control the flow. I suspect the former. I parked, wandered around, made a few photos, but none show any dramatic departure of water from the sea to the river. The river looked about the same as when it entered, maybe 4 m across, 1 or 2 deep. In the distance downriver I noticed white clothed figures, presumably pilgrims receiving blessings from the water as they are baptized. I plan to return to this site this morning to photograph more.

Yardenit

And the river entry point on the north shore, which I’d seen before, but this time I went to the west side of the river, far upstream from the actual entry point and noticed fishers, swimmers, rafters, no pilgrims, or at least no one of the usual pilgrim type. Perhaps these people are also pilgrims, with a different object of worship—pleasure.

Jordan River entering Sea of Galilee

I feel that finally I’ve extended my photographic coverage of water with a more thorough treatment of the Sea, I feel less satisfied about the River. Maybe today, as I trace its route downstream, I will find better access. Further north the main site for me has been the Banias with its temple surprise.

Another surprise, delightful as always: 2 messages from ME, but cryptic. In one she linked me to an article about poverty in the USA, in French, apologizing for the French. In the other a set a photos from Paris Monde, with her top choice indicated. I wrote back my choices, and remembered to her that another article she’d sent me, from Antonio Tabucchi about beauty, either coincided or spurred my photo assignment to the class in Gaza to photograph what is beautiful to them. I am very happy to be back in relatively good touch with her.

Also KA who continues to fascinate me. Closer to my age, Jewish late coming, happily married, with her thriving business, we have communicated regularly… I like her very much, her energy and chutzpah, and wonder how we might develop if not for her happy marriage. She demonstrates to me that I am not hopelessly fixated on younger women like ME and X (who’s not written for months, very curious).

Another personal note: my stomach ailment is easing; tho thru much of yesterday my stomach was sore, feeling bloated. Skipping dinner at the Kerei Deshe hostel during Shabbat eve was a major omission from my life, but I had a small lunch yesterday and a big shuwarma last night. This morning my stomach feels fine.

Checking the guidebook for housing in or near Tiberias I learned there is much that is cheap and accessible. My first choice turned to be wise, the Aviv hotel and hostel, along the main road so I had no trouble finding it, costing 70 shekels and another 30 for breakfast. The dorm room has 3 beds, one already occupied by a young German man who’d been studying medicine for one month in Tel Aviv and will soon return to Germany to complete his training. His name is Darius.

A sturdy, handsome man with a girl friend who he’d called just before we went out to eat; he is a quick and short-term friend in the holy land. He walked from Nazareth to Tiberias, hitching for the last few km because of the heat. For the adventure, he explained, but never again, too hot. I drank 9 liters of water yesterday and carried a heavy backpack.

Very German thought I, testing one’s powers.

He chose Tel Aviv for his studies not for political reasons but first because he wanted to study outside Germany, and second in a different sort of country. He’d read little about the situation until planning his visit. Germans, he told me, suffer great guilt about the holocaust and know little other than the Israel Jewish side thru the media. The government stands with Israel. There is little pro Palestine rights activity, altho I suspect because of his relatively slight political interests he might be overlooking a sector of Germans.

Luckily we had two adjoining rooms so when he returned as I was drifting off to sleep, having turned off the air conditioner because I couldn’t find a way to control its temperature, and opened the window on the slowly cooling night air, he asked about the AC. He decided to sleep in the 2nd room, with the TV and AC on.

He borrowed my computer when I set it up at the companion hotel, also Aviv, which had free wireless. He wanted to check his email for Couch Surfer invites. This reminded me that I’d not much used this service or Hospitality Club, mainly because it would require too much travel organization, tying me down to an itinerary. Otherwise I’d use it as I did initially. And might later. I could try it for the last few days of my visit.

My turn came to use the internet. A large religious group was clearing out of the hotel, there for Shabbat, and so I settled into what I thought would be a late into the evening revision of my blog…

Elizabeth at Friends of the Earth Middle East gave me a list of suggested sites to visit in this general region: Emek Hefer, Bakal-Gharbiya, Old Gesher, Peace Island, Alumot Dam, Yardenit, Naharyim, and Beit Shean—all water-related—but as far as I know I’ve found none of them. Maybe the last one today. The names confuse me. Much better for my photography and insights if I could travel with a knowledgeable hydrological guide, like someone from Friends of the Earth. Maybe another time. I am an innocent wandering it the vast hydro desert.

September 5, 2009, Saturday, near Capernaum, in Tagbha, at the Kary Deshe Guest House, in the hallway where I have electricity (and won’t disturb my two roommates)

A few dreams: in one “Y” and I were visiting M and her new boy friend, mainly to meet him. Y and I concurred he was an odd one, sullen and depressed, not sure what M saw in him. To his credit he was young, strong, handsome, I think a recent soldier. He was virtually voiceless, ignored us. Our dog, tho, played happily with his dog.

In another I was driving alone a small van in an area where picking up passengers was accepted, even encouraged. Seeing an elderly couple waiting at an intersection with others, having room only for 3 passengers, I picked them up and one other.

Agricultural water, Beit Shean border crossing

Yesterday a short walking tour of Tsfat, mostly from where I’d parked near the main shopping district, up to what I think is the Citadel, and down to the artists’ colony and then the synagogue section. Tho high, the air felt hot and muggy. I sweated mightily. I also picked up a 100 shekel parking ticket when I’d not noticed this was a for-fee parking area, and not sure how to use the machines.

The Citadel was at what I suppose is the highest point in town, on a flat ledge, with an attempt at making it into a park. But it looked desolate, little used, inhospitable, and potentially dangerous because of its isolation. There were Arabic looking ruins (arches), and it may also have been the site of the Crusader fortress I’d read about somewhere. It offered views, but because of trees and haze, I doubt much shows. Furthermore, I lost the photos from this little jaunt because of that recurring corrupt file problem.

The problem surfaced when I spotted a young man walking in front of me wearing a large kippah and sporting dreadlocks—the proverbial Orthodox Jew—and with a t-shirt advertising Caterpillar. Would have been perfect. But the camera wouldn’t record, and then I saw the heart stopping-error message: FOR, meaning this card is not formatted. I switched cards, the camera then recorded, the man was long gone. Was this an act of god, protecting that man?

I could put together an exhibit of the photos that I didn’t make because of various technical and mental reasons.

Then down to the artists’ colony—Tsfat prides itself on being artist-friendly, and it seems to be, and counter cultural with its blend of Orthodox Jewry, art, and new age spirituality, most all of this perhaps stemming from its kabalistic origins. Some of the leading rabbis of kabala worked and died here. Originating here, the movement spread to Spain during its progressive centuries before Isabella and Ferdinand stupidly expelled Jews and Arabs. A highlight of the colony was the old mosque converted into the “General Art Gallery.”

Nearly all the art was abstract and I wondered, if we placed a random selection of some of this with a random selection of art from Windows from Gaza could people distinguish a different? And if not, what does this suggest about the power and meaning of this art?

To me, generally bored by all abstract art (unless it’s my photography), this is a sure sign of impotence. Virtually nothing here about the history of founding this country, the presence of Arabs, the occupation, and little about being Jewish—that I could see. Were I Jewish I might have reveled in depictions of my people.

One corridor in the synagogue section resembled the corridor in Hebron thru parts of the Old City, those parts with wire mesh overhead to protect Hebron’s stalwart Palestinians from the garbage and shit thrown down by Jewish settlers. So I made a photo of this and hope I can pair it with similar photos from Hebron.

I stopped at several tourist stations reciting in English a very lucid and compelling version of the Jewish narrative. At the time of partition Jews made up some 15% Tsfat, altho they’d been here for millennia, coexisting with Arabs. Then the war, the heroic Jews prevailed, driving the Arabs out, or forcing Arab leadership to order the Arabs to flee. The fighting was fierce, especially in the Citadel area, with its steep slopes and muddy terrain. But a night attack destroyed the Arab’s stronghold. So goes the narrative, paraphrasing. I’m sure had the Arabs won they’d produce a similar story about their magnificent victories. Why not? Winners create history.

So much for Tsfat. I recharged my phone with about 55 shekels, phoned the Deshe guesthouse to check availability, just slipped in since yesterday was Shabbat, today the weekend, and this is a busy time and a popular place. And I felt secure knowing for a change where I’d sleep this night. A short drive thru the mountains brought me “home.”

What to do about the parking ticket? Ask Avis if they can argue that I’m a tourist and didn’t know the rules? Ask what would happen if I didn’t pay? (The government might come to Avis who has my credit card number and I may not escape paying, with a hefty fine added.) Pay where and how?

A man I asked about the procedure explained how to buy a parking permit, easy, and how to pay, equally easy, the bank or post office. But do jurisdictions overlap so I can pay in Jerusalem? Someday also in Ramallah?

My stomach seems to have settled. No accidents yesterday, or humdila (thank god) during the night. One small thunderously loud fart this morning as I sat on the john and emitted a slight bit of goo. I skipped dinner last night, thinking, if my stomach still ails and I eat as if it is OK, I could suffer all night long. Last night was Shabbat and I’m told they offered special food, including wine. Plus I missed dining with the many Jews here, more than I’ve seen eating together in a long while.

Kids play happily, often taking rides on the luggage carts in the hallways. I hear happy sounds continually here. Also babies bawling. The beach was crowded with swimmers and sitters as I went for my cooling swim in the late afternoon. Unlike my last visit here, I shared my small room with two others, Thierry from Luxemburg who immediately explained to me how small and where his country is, as if I didn’t know, and a German man with a handsome reddish beard, a born again Christian, wearing his cross conspicuously around his neck (maybe similar to how Crusaders paraded their swords?). When I mentioned it, and asked, traveling thru the land of Jesus?, he answered yes, are you a believer?

Well friend, do you have a moment? I quickly summarized the Christian portion of my belief: Jesus was a great teacher, one among many, but not divine. I’m part of the Quaker community and we have all kinds, including Jewish Buddhist atheistic Quakers (thinking of DA) He’d asked me, to check my belief quotient, do you believe Jesus is the Son of God?

He explained that he’d been lost and now was found, hit bottom, not knowing who he was, where he was headed. And then, miraculously, god came to him and with him his son. So, like me with Martin, this good natured and well-meaning fellow has a personal relationship with Jesus. Unfortunately, he wanted to tell me all about it, like many born against, and I had to deflect his passion.

Too bad we couldn’t have a more meaningful conversation. He’s a bit like M with her strong Buddhism, possibly hard to live with. Unlike her however he seemed unwilling to hear me out. M is very good at listening, it is her profession.

Eastern shore, Sea of Galilee

Today: head south, after first north, and explore the eastern shore of the big lake. Not sure where to place my head for the night. Also, first avail myself of the Internet connection here (tho costly, $5 for one hr, $10 for 24, which shall it be?) and upload my latest subsite and blog entries. I worked feverishly last evening, for about 3 hours straight, preparing a potpourri from the first 3 days of this section of my journey. From Tel Aviv to Capernaum, more or less. Hopefully I will put up its sequel soon.

While doing this—and it confirms the important of constantly reviewing and using my photos and words—I discovered I’d not downloaded from the camera to the computer about 40 photos from end of Beny to the beginning of Caesarea. Vital photos. Searching thru my memory cards, I found the next one up for reuse contained the missing images. I only hope this is the only occurrence of this oversight. Had I not checked I’d have written over the images.

~~It is 7:15 am, people are slowly leaving their rooms and entering the halls, I hear their sounds, pleasing family sounds—a good place for a bomber to attack, I wonder if this threat once dominated experience at such guest houses and vacation spots—, so it’s probably about time to complete this entry and eat breakfast. Will I eat heartily or daintily? What will my stomach tell me?~~

Not sure yesterday morning what to do, where to stay, another night in the Tsfat guest house or move on, I ran into the old woman’s son who’d directed me thru the labyrinthine network of small Tsfat roads to the guest house the night before. He told me another section of the Beit Shalom guesthouse was across the road and operating. In fact, he expected a large group that evening. When I told him I was out of shekels for my phone he pointed me to the house phone, for shekels. Regrettably it didn’t work. He went somewhere to get something to fix it, I waited, he did not return, I decided to chance it and leave Tsfat. Good decision. We never said goodbye.

I also realized probably the reason I couldn’t contact anyone the day before was because my phone was out of shekels. I heard announcements but most were in Hebrew, and the few I understood said I’d made an error in dialing, try again. Chock one up to my ignorance and lack of awareness.

September 7, 2009, Monday, Beit She’an, in the Guest House, my room

A few dreams, one about fish. With others, maybe my family, we decided to stop to buy fresh fish. They delegated me as the buyer. I spoke with a man—we were in a country without English as the first language—with very good English, a “fish butcher,” as he cut the fish I’d ordered. He explained what he was doing. I mistakenly sliced my own big piece, not realizing he was cutting exactly what I’d ordered. A mix-up that didn’t seem to upset him. When he finished and turned to serve another customer I was confused about where my order was, not sure who or when to ask.

In a possibly related dream I was with George C, looking at photos of his wedding that Chris J had made. Very good, one in particular, that seemed to show about 5 people, including George himself at a lectern, apparently all asleep.

And the most remarkable dream of all: it was sunrise, because of the way the light worked, pools of water were brilliantly lit with a soft blue glowing light. I realized this as I slept and, tho still tired, decided to get up to make the photo from my window. I actually did wake up and rise from bed, thinking the dream was presaging what I should be photographing. It was still night. Only a dream. Later, in real life, when I was up and the sun was rising—my window faces east, over the valley, about 3 floors up—there were the pools! Not as gorgeously lit as in my dream, but good enough to try a photo or two. I should have used my telephoto lens but it was in the car and I felt too lazy (also enjoying being naked for a change) to retrieve it.

And now a twist on the story that I’d not dreamt—the sun in the sky, reflecting in the pool. So another photo to try to show this magnificent moment.

Yesterday I moved slightly further south, into the valley of the Jordan. Frequently I recalled that in 2003, my first trip here, I’d flown home over this same area, and because the sky was clear and the plane window unclouded [winter time], I could photograph the earth from above. Same region, same misleading terrain, the river looking wide—in fact, narrow, in fact, in places, not visible because covered with grasses.

No dunking pilgrims at Yardenit, the river site for immersion, said not to be the site of Jesus’ baptism, which I believe is further north, now too close to Jordan to be safe. This might disappoint Jan H who’s written regularly as we set our assignation for shortly after I return home. She’d hoped I could show white robed pilgrims in the water. I only saw what looked like carp swimming madly in the dipping area. I visited the tourist center, found some spectacular black and white photos on display by Gali Tibbon, a woman living in Jerusalem. I’ll probably use them, giving her full credit. I suspect they are much better than the ones I’d make, since I’d probably not have time to ask permission for best access. The area has been developed specifically for immersions, with a large restaurant, a walk way for observing immersions, several fenced off areas in the water for these events, and a few displays about what this means. Which is? The power of water to cleanse, purify, make whole, allow one to begin again. I suspect the German man I met at the Deshe guest house, the born again Christian, who’d hit bottom, would begin to surface if dipping into these waters, believed by some to be holy.

Yardenit

Nearby I found a grove of eucalyptus trees with a marker honoring a woman who’d walked thru the grove as a youth. They were planted in 1912 at one of the first kibbutzim to help dry the swamp. Little did those planters realize the trees would become a liability during the era of drought and general water shortage.

There are many early kibbutzim in the area, south of the lake, near the river. And as I explored them from afar, thru fences (tho I suspect most are now open), noticing the guard houses and towers, some damaged from shelling, I realized the kibbutz movement was not only agricultural in intent but political. They were an early form of the settlement, establishing facts on the ground, claiming the land, not only agriculturally, but for the building of the nation. I’d love to read a history of the kibbutz, to learn its role in the founding of the state.

In this same vein, I also visited Old Gesher, another early kibbutz, now along the frontier with Jordan. As I pulled in, not sure what I was observing, I first saw a large fairly modern building pockmarked by shelling and rifle fire. Signs in Hebrew probably explained what this was. Close by, under some trees for shade, a group of about 5 lounging soldiers with rifles. Signs indicated this is a firing zone, do not enter! About 100 meters from here was the visitor center and more soldiers. At first I thought I was at the Beit Shean border crossing, but no, as I tenderly brought out my camera and began walking (using the Lou Jones technique for asking permission to photography, step by step, with full awareness of anyone’s body language), no one seemed to notice. I learned the soldiers, probably new to their position, were on an educational excursion. The government seems to do much of this, educational preparatory trips for new soldiers. Strengthens their motivation to “keep their nation safe.”

Motion detecting fence at Old Gesher

The attendant explained that the center was closed, and to enter I’d have to make prior arrangements and join with a group. Too bad, I missed the audio video event, The Naharayim Experience. Which might be about the founding of this early kibbutz. It had been on the list Elizabeth of FoEME provided me of water resources to explore on this trip.

I could title one of my presentations: What the hell is this? I find myself uttering that phrase regularly as I see something that might be this, or might be that, but I’m not sure. At times I find out, at others, I don’t. So the words remain: What the hell is this?

Where the Jordan exits the Sea of Galilee

I stopped several times along highway 90 to photograph the river and valley, often at some peril to me. Trucks whizzing by, two of them carrying tanks, speeding cars, buses, narrow road, narrow shoulders, hot and generally difficult to stop to make photos. I might be in more danger during this leg of my 3 month journey than at some other points.

No surprise: the river was hard to find, either shrunken to a pitiful trickle or disappeared entirely beneath grasses. Even driving off road to find the elusive river usually proved futile. At one spot I thought I saw the water disappear into a pipe.

End of the Jordan River?

This attempt to find the river culminated at the Beit Shean border crossing, where at first, finding a dried up channel, thinking it was the river bed, I photographed what I thought was the river. All under the eye of a security guard. I mistakenly thought this was the crossing we’d used on my first trip in 2003, which in fact is further south, by Jericho. How mixed up I can be, hardly an astute observer and witness. And then, in the restaurant perhaps surprising guests when I asked, where’s the river?, I discovered I’d not be able to see the river because people are not allowed to walk on the bridge, and the river cannot be seen under the grasses.

Earlier often I could see what must have been historic river routes, channels, even a few striations, indicating better times for the Jordan River. But not today during a lengthy water crisis.

At about 3 pm I began thinking about where I’d stay the night, my usual pattern: the book listed nothing for Beit Shean, the nearest town. It suggested some fine sounding spots further south, Ein Gedi for one, which I’d long hoped to visit along the Dead Sea shore. But this requires a long drive. So I opted to simply drive thru Beit Shean, hoping I’d spot something I could afford. And just as I arrived there it was: the Beit She’an guest house, a huge building of stone on the main road, but surely, I thought, too expensive, something like $100 plus.

Inquiring, I learned I could book a single room, no dorms here, for 275 NIS, under $100 (more precisely, using 4 shekels to the dollar, $70 include breakfast. Dinner would be 70 shekels, too high.) I realized this morning that I’m spending money as if it is endless, neglecting the fact that I have only savings to live on until Jan next year. I might suffer later for my prodigality. Time to put on the spending breaks, begin worrying. (This trip has been unusually worry-free for me, no sleepless nights. Yet.)

The guesthouse is part of the Israel Youth Hostel Association, (IYHA), http://www.iyha.org.il. It has “62 high quality rooms…air conditioned with en-suite bathrooms and showers, refrigerator, TV, and a coffee corner.” Plus a pool and conference rooms. A fine place for one of my shows. I should ask Dave if he’d like to organize an Israeli tour for me.

Last evening, as the sun settled for the night, the air cooling mercifully (it is not getting hotter as I proceed southward and lower into the earth, nearer the notoriously hot and humid Jericho. In fact, cooler last night that previous nights.), I ate a low quality falafel (they’re much better in Palestine), and discovered Roman ruins. A good time to visit: the sun was not glaring, the air was cool, no one else was touring, and so perhaps this magical hour will help me construct a few good photos.

Roman ruins, Beit Shean

At a small shopping mall, as I explored, I noticed a baby clothes shop with the name, mish mish. Very odd, thought I, since this is the Arabic word for apricot. Inquiring, I learned that it’s also Hebrew for apricot. Yet another testament to the closeness of these two “separate” people—warring cousins.

Date palms near the Jordan River

For the first time I remember on this 3 month journey, except for the Tel Aviv bus station and possibly the Jerusalem bus station, I had to pass security to enter. A young smiling black man did his duty, checking my bag, but not requiring I disgorge all my metal so I could pass the metal detector without setting it off.

Anne has been most reliable as a loving appreciating correspondent. She is tracking me. She seems now to read everything I write, and soon after I post it. I’d sent to my list my most recent blog yesterday morning, the longest yet, some 5000 words, with an apology, long and not carefully edited, and by evening she’d read it and commented in her usual deep and compassionate way. As I wrote her, you are the best. Love, me. She even calls me Skipper, which only my sister Elaine uses, a true signifier of deep relationship.

Jan is also surprisingly responsive. I’m enjoying our regular but brief communiqués, mostly about when to meet. My home, Wednesday after I arrive on Sunday, 6 pm for dinner, she brings the dessert.

LINKS:

History of kibbutzim

History of the Galilee

Israel Youth Hostel Association

“Joel Kovel on Naomi Klein and Durban,” August 28, 2009

Israel Still Strangles the Palestinian Economy, by Sam Bahour, Wall Street Journal Op-ed, August 20, 2009

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The rising of the light: The Northern Galilee & the Golan

Northwest shore of the Sea of Galilee (aka, Lake Kinneret)

Israeli intelligence center, Golan Heights

Excerpts from my journal during a three month journey of photographic discovery in the Land of Troubles

Photos

September 3, 2009, Saturday, Thursday, Yehudiya camp ground, Golan Heights, Israel, under an oak tree overlooking a wadi

This may be the first time I’ve written my journal on a computer while “camping.” That later, first the traditional dream journal:

I met a woman (recurring theme) who initially was attractive. Tall and thin, fairly good looking, either in surmising without the aid of others or told by others, I realized she had big psychological problems. She admitted, this is not my real body; my eating habits are not healthy. I decided to stay away from her—a bad bet, a high maintenance person.

Earlier I’d dreamt about roller skating, learning there were 3 types of wheels, soft, hard, and harder. The soft were noiseless and allowed jumping. Boys taught me this.

And finally, the last dream of the night, Y or her surrogate phoned me, weeping, to ask if I’d come to her. We were in a last phase of an active relationship and I decided to honor her request.

Golan

So much for the dreams, what are the conditions of my dreaming? Slept in my car (as I’d anticipated doing at least one night), in a reasonably fine campground (but not well kept), sharing it with 2 couples camping together in separate tents and another group of 3 young men in one large tent, in central Golan (hills all around, I plan a hike later this morning), after a dinner of food I picked up in one of the central towns of the region, Katzrin, eating it on a bench near the kiosk, and paying 15 NIS or so for the accommodation (15 extra for hiking, all proceeds to the agency maintaining the park system).

One irony of this stopover was writing the first draft of my proposal to Friends General Conference gathering [the large, fun, workshop-oriented annual gathering of Quakers in North America] for another round of The question of Palestine/Israel [which I’d led in 2008]. Most ironic: sitting in a campground shared with Israelis, hearing them banter and laugh just a few meters from me, in the heart of the Golan Heights, army vehicles, including tanks on flatbeds, numerous jeeps, numerous soldiers with numerous M-16′s present, writing a workshop proposal about this region and its many issues for next year’s gathering. I decided to propose that I’d concentrate on Gaza and the Golan, along with Bethlehem and hydropolitics. I’m in the middle of gathering material for the Golan section of whatever photo presentations I put together from this trip.

~~The sun has just risen majestically over the hills opposite me, and will soon stream into my face. I’ll put on my well worn, almost in shreds baseball cap from Popular Achievement. Yesterday to avoid the late afternoon sun I found a spot to park along the small road north of the campground, beneath a tree, appreciating its shade. I now make my 2nd cup of “Nescafe,” as instant is known, despite the many brands.~~

The night grew chilly, one of the coolest. No surprise, we’re at a higher elevation. Driving from the northwest shore of the Galilean sea where I resided last night in the hostel—seems so far away, geographically and comfort wise—the ascent at times was sharp. The car labored. Looking for a gas station I stopped in the new town of Had Nes, filled with newly completed homes and homes under construction. Founded in 1986 it is another fact on the ground, equivalent to the settlements. It will establish residency and sovereignty rights for Israel, hard to dislodge. As Haifa illustrates a less well known aspect of Israeli control, what I call Occupation with the velvet glove, allowing Palestinian citizens of Israel fewer rights than those extended to the Jews, the Golan shows another form of control: creating new towns, and with that developing museums and other historical resources that prove that Jews have lived in this region for millennia. If their length of habitation is true—and I don’t doubt it at this point with my limited, newly acquired knowledge—it gives credence to their claim of at least shared ownership with Syrians. I must check histories to verify this.

Court yard of Karei Deshe guest house, near Capernaum, on the Sea of Galilee

Dislodging these communities seems as far fetched as removing the settlements in the West Bank. (I also fail to understand why anyone would wish to live in such a rural area. But that is just my Chicago background speaking. Of course, many wish to move to the country and this resettlement in the Golan might be one manifestation of that wish. They don’t need cities as I do.)

One startling display in a museum in Katzrin showed the saga of Gamla, a town in central Golan that the Romans eventually, after much bloodshed, conquered, leading to the death of some 5000 people, some by fighting, some when fleeing over and down precipices. A sort of Masada without the suicide. Josephus, the Jewish chronicler, is a fascinating figure. We know much about that period thru his writings; apparently he was the leader of Jewish resistance to the Romans at that time, and ordered the hill top town of Gamla to be fortified, anticipating a Roman assault. The Jews built a wall and tower, but these did not protect them. The Roman juggernaut ran over them. I might visit Gamla on this journey.

I decided against visiting a Talmudic period synagogue since it would cost more money and I’ve seen so many ruins, photographed so many rocks, and find myself less interested in Jewish history than that of other groups. Which is a shame I suppose, but honest to my background and inclinations.

What else did I visit and think about yesterday, coming north from the lake?

Leaving the hostel I explored a Canaanite site high on a hill near the hostel, and palace ruins generated by an earthquake just outside the hostel. Unlike North America, nearly every region has its own long term history, sometimes matching in time that of the North American continent, Canaanites here some 4000 years ago, which is nothing compared to the 20,000 year history of American Indians—as far back as, quoting Wikipedia, the Pleistocene, ca. 1.5 million years ago [with] traces of the earliest migration of Homo erectus out of Africa.

Tel Kinneret, Cannonite town site overlooking Lake Kinneret

Crossing the Jordan River as it enters the lake, too far from the lake to actually see the entry—I wonder if access to this confluence point is possible. The river at this point is about 4 meters wide, swiftly flowing, and I’m not sure how deep. A rather nondescript bridge marks the river, with some signs, mostly in Hebrew, and to the north side a ramp and flat area that might be where people immerse themselves as if Jesus baptized by John. The surrounding region is flat, with many planted fields, suggesting rich earth, maybe deposits of earlier fuller Jordan River waters.

Galilean hills

I learned that the sidewalk extending from the Church of Loaves and Fishes to the orthodox version of Capernaum (here also apparently 2 sites claimed to be holy in the same way) was constructed for the Pope’s visit in 2000. Because construction started only one month before his visit, it was finally completed in 2002. A hefty sweaty woman laboring over the path on a hot day kindly provided this information after I’d stopped to photograph the hill or Mountain of Beatitudes directly across from Capernaum. I thought this a likely spot where Jesus might have given his early, profound and enduring sermon.

Jordan River as it enters the Sea of Galilee

In Katzrin where I visited an archeological museum , I found more commercial facilities than I’ve yet seen on this Golan adventure. I finally found a replacement bulb for my flashlight, thanks to the diligence of a woman staffing the small hardware store. (Just in time for camping.) Then I tried a new food treat, French schnitzel. Apparently schnitzel means chicken (or other meat) fried in breadcrumbs, a sure sign of Jewish culture. The outdoor café offered about 10 forms of schnitzel. (I chose French because I seem to love everything French. I might have tried Polish or Chinese, etc.)

Many soldiers joined me as I ate, none speaking to me. Had they inquired about my trip, why I’m here and what I’m learning, I might have been tempted to ask them about the destroyed Arab villages, the mined areas, the explosions I keep hearing, the transport of tanks. What is all this about? But no one invited me into a conversation.

Earlier as I whizzed thru the landscape I noticed fleetingly what looked like an old rounded building remnant. Stopping I read the signs: do not enter—dangerous—mines! Glad they wrote in English and bothered to post the area. I might otherwise have explored. 2 rows of barbed wire fences sealed off the area. I did my best to show what may have been the ruins of an Arab village. This might contrast with the more idyllic photos I’m trying to make of the landscape. As I photographed, another one of those flatbed trucks roared by carrying a tank. Passing in the opposite direction, a large military tanker truck.

All this reminded me of recent history, the 1970s and the war that Israel almost lost.

Golan, site of a destroyed Syrian village

On this leg of my journey, driving, camping, I’m also reminded of 2 other similar trips: in 1982, across the Great Plains, solo, discovering that American Indians live (leading to my work with Lakota Sioux Indians), and in 1990, across the country with Y, our first long journey together, filled with joy, filled with argument. (She claims now that the trip hinted to her our basic incompatibility. Well, in this way I guess it was useful to her. But it was also a way to know the land better, our nation’s history, and ourselves.)

~~I blow heaps of snot from my nose, an after affect of my cold. Annoying but not debilitating. With this, a mild case of sore back, maybe the car seat I slept in last night. Which was actually more comfortable than sleeping on the train.~~

Offline I wrote ME from the hostel, then buying one hour of Internet access for $5 I sent the letter and did other web tasks. Surprisingly she has been one of the more responsive of my friends, relatively well tuned to this segment of my journey. Yet, she’s written virtually nothing about her own journey. So I asked again, what are you doing in Yemen? I forgot to mention to her how her reference to beauty helped inspire a photographic assignment to both my Gaza groups and a suggestion I hoped to make about reading Frederick Law Olmsted’s account of life in the south, since she wrote about her surprise when reading about slavery in the United States.

~~As I complete this entry the nature reserve staff has emerged from their homes, driven here, opened up the café, entrance station, and perhaps the information center. The region comes to life.~~

September 4, 2009, Friday, Tsfat, northern Galilee, Israel, Beit Shalom Guest House, in the dining room

With diarrhea. How did this happen, in Israel of all places, when I’ve been spared for nearly my entire 3 months, even in Jenin and Gaza? I think it was the water I accidentally drank yesterday that I thought I’d poured from my bottled water but instead may have been what I loaded up with further north in the Galilee. I’d run out of water, stopped in a roadside restaurant off some high winding highway, asked for a  refill for my 2 small bottles, carried them to the car. After the man who’d done this exclaimed, oh no, you can’t drink that. I thought you wanted it for your car, I bought a large bottle, drank from that, and then, when preparing for a hike, emptied one of those suspicious bottles, refilled with bottled water, and left the first filled with what I think I drank from later. I’d mixed the two up. And now I suffer. Or so it seems. It will give me a “taste” of bad water, helping me appreciate the “good.”

But this is minor, a small setback in an otherwise mostly healthy 3 months (except for my mild cold, which transformed into some 5 days of sticky gooey nose blowing, tailing off today. Legs are fine, tho sore; back is fine, tho occasionally stiff and sore; brain seems fully functioning; all other parts as far as I know in tip top condition.)

To the vital dream journal: with “Y” (I put her name in quotes because once again it was someone playing the part of Y, she didn’t look exactly like the real Y but I knew she fit the character description) we were discussing how to share living. We decided—no surprise—to go halves, half the time at my place, half at hers, but unlike my actual experience with Y we planned to live together continually, just switching locations. I wonder now how this might have worked in reality for us. I don’t recall ever discussing it with her.

A very funny water related dream (good night for dreaming, and I’m so grateful the shits did not begin during my sleep): something about various pools of water, one which would never be filled again, the other only partially filled. As I discussed this with others—the context may have been a university like Harvard—two huge boats resembling fish pulled up underwater and surfaced. Some older men emerged and we then talked about something, as if their vehicles were ordinary. The boats resembled dragons or mythical sea creatures. No one seemed to notice how odd they were and that they carried people.

This section of my dream stream included a tour, maybe of the pools. At the conclusion I thanked the man who’d toured us, Frank someone, and while doing this a young pretty small woman thanked me for attending and expressed her wish that I’d return for more visits. She may have been the same woman I’d danced with earlier, in some sort of group circle dance. Altho I thought she was with the man giving the tour, she seemed to be flirting with me—maybe truly interested in more visits with me.

A story from yesterday that was of great importance to me, virtually none to the universe, was how I found housing for the night. A saga with humorous and absurd parts. Once again I wasn’t sure where I’d land for the night, thinking maybe Tsfat since it sounded so intriguing in my guidebook. It seemed far away, unreachable. I’d been in the northern Golan exploring the Banias river source (this is exciting, more later, the universal part of the day’s story) and decided to aim for the nearest large town, Kiryat Shmona. Checking the guidebook, no listing for the town. I drove thru hoping to discover something off the highway. Nothing. Getting late, me tired and sweaty, hungry also because I’d eaten little since breakfast (paralleling the Ramadan fast, short form), I realized another fairly sizeable town was nearby, Rosh Pina. It was on neither of the two maps I carried. It was in the guidebook. I selected a reasonably priced and appealing sounding place, Hotel Mizpe Hayamin, read in the book it would be 300 shekels and up, which is higher than my usual budget but circumstances did not allow much choice, phoned and learned 300 and yes available, so I struggled to find the place, using their spoken directions.

Arriving, I thought of Harbin Hot Springs in California, very elegant, in lush surroundings, a spa and veggie restaurant included, all of which I’d bypass just for the 300 shekel bed, shower, maybe internet connection. A porter, young and handsome, greeted me with a dolly to carry in my luggage. Wow, what service, never seen anything like this. At the desk I read the invoice: 425 dollars.

DOLLARS! 425 DOLLARS! That’s half again what I paid for an entire month of luxurious housing in Ramallah and decent housing in Gaza.

They apologized. Sorry, we know it’s listed as shekels in your Lonely Planet guidebook, a big mistake which later editions corrected. Out of my range, I said, surprisingly calm. It was about 7 pm and I had no housing. Would you like us to find you a less expensive alternative? Sure. How about … and they suggested something more in my range: for 150 dollars. Well, OK, why not, a so-called bed and breakfast. Again out of my range, but the hour was late, I was tired, dirty, sore, hungry, and growing less calm and more frustrated.

The wife of the owner happened to be in the lobby of the Mizpe Hayamin hotel. She greeted me, gave me directions, and off I went, thinking OK, expensive but at least I won’t have to sleep in the car a second night, this time perhaps by the side of the road. Before leaving I asked the friendly porter, what sort of people stay here, it’s so expensive?

$425 is nothing, he replied, some rooms cost upwards of $1000 a night. The Israeli president was recently here, Shimon Peres, and his chief of staff, Gabi Ashkenazi. And rich Israelis, and lots of Europeans and Americans. Tips must be good, I offered. He smiled.

The story does not end here. I’m still without housing. Thinking about the B and B, its price, I decided too much. How would I justify this to my funders? Now what? Tsfat is not so far away, I’ll head for it, that was my earlier plan anyway, now at least I’ll be in a good spot for next day’s exploration. Checking my trusty guidebook, I found several candidates, including the Beit Binyamin hostel, the Ascent Institute of Tsfat, and the Beit Shalom guesthouse. I called each, using what I thought was the proper area code of 06. Each time I heard a recorded announcement that I’d made a mistake in dialing. I couldn’t reach any of them.

Head for Tsfat anyway (aka, Safed, Zefad,Ttzfat, Sfat), read from a sign what the correct code is, try that. At a roundabout I noticed about 5 signs for hotels, 06 preceded each number. I tried. Nothing, same recording. So I meandered, hoping once again for something to appear out of the mist that would welcome me home for one night at a price I could afford. Soon I found myself high on a winding street opposite the Carmel hotel which was in the guidebook, mid range housing. I rang the bell of this ancient building, peering thru the window at what looked like a hotel lobby, empty. No one answered. I tried the phone number, no answer.

Then somehow I saw a different area code, 04, maybe on a sign. Phoning the Beit Shalom guesthouse (I liked the name, House of Peace) I reached a recording in English and Hebrew that gave an alternate number. Phoning this mobile number I finally reached someone with decent English who confirmed availability and suggested 200 shekels. This is higher than I usually pay (from about 20 for the camp ground to about 100 for the Sea of Galilee hostel) but now I’m out of energy and time, it’s 8 pm.

I will skip the details of my struggle to find this place, but I managed, thanks to the friendly patient voice on the other end, the son of the woman who runs the place, and my mobile phone. Without it and him I’d never have found a home for the night.

Temple complex to the Greek god of nature, Pan, source of the Banias River

So much for that little adventure. Now for the real thing, the Banias River area, also called the Hermon Stream, the Banias National Reserve. The Banias is one of the main tributaries of the Jordan River, eventually flowing into Kinneret Lake (aka Sea of Galilee), then the lower Jordan, now mostly a trickle of sewage, ending sacrilegiously in the Dead Sea and either evaporating or seeping into an aquifer, polluting it. The headwaters are springs, and despite the late summer season and the drought were flowing copiously. As they had during the Hellenic period of Palestinian history. The Greeks built a temple to Pan, the god of nature, and sacrificed animals into a large cave. At the bottom of the cave were some of the springs forming the Banias. So they knew, those smart Greeks, about the connection between the sacred and the earthly, with water as a vehicle. They built other temples here as well, one about sacrificial dancing goats.

I’m slightly confused about watercourses here, reading an ambiguous statement in the park pamphlet. Either (quoting the pamphlet) the Hermon Stream receives its water from the southern slopes of Mt Hermon and the northern Golan. Its catchment basin is small—only about 150 sq km. Its main tributaries, the Sa’ar Stream (Wadi Hashba), the Si’on Stream (Wadi Asal), and the Guvet Stream, contribute about 20% of the annual flow of the Hermon Stream, which amounts to approx 125 mcm of water (1/4 of the water of the Jordan). Most of the water emerges as springs at the base of the Banias Cave…

Does this mean the Hermon Stream’s origins are the 3 streams mentioned which then become springs, or the streams are separate from the springs?

Banias River

According to Wikipedia: Whereas previously the Jordan River rose from the malaria-infested Hula marshes, it now rises from this spring and two others at the base of Mount Hermon. The flow of the spring has decreased greatly in modern times. The water no longer gushes forth from the cave, but only seeps from the bedrock below it.

The area is lush with fig trees, willows, and other emblems of a happy earth. Someone created pools to briefly hold the springs as they course downward toward their eventual destination and demise in the Dead Sea. I wonder what sort of temple the Greeks might have built at the Dead Sea had they realized the connection between the springs and the sea. Many visitors here, contrasting with some of the other historic and nature sites I’ve visited. This is part of a large complex which includes the palace of King Agrippa II, the grandson and successor to Herod , a cardo or main street, synagogue, shrine to a Muslim holy man, and other remnants of local history. Most of these at least partially reflect the Banias. Now we tourists come to pay homage to the waters, or at least that’s what motivated me to visit.

Maybe not all of us. Among the visitors yesterday was a group of about 30 young men, all in fatigue pants, some in boots, huffing and puffing up and down hills and thru the ruins shouting to each other, and then by the falls photographing each other. 4 women with rifles seemed to be leading them. I learned they were new army soldiers, filled with health, as my informant put it—heaps of youthful energy. May it continue to go into exercise and excursions such as this rather than maintaining the occupation.

Earlier at the Yehudiya Nature Reserve and campground, I’d hiked to the Sheik Hussein ruin (knowing nothing about its history, who inhabited it, when it was founded, who last lived here, why they left, altho I can guess some parts of this story), and then further to the Zavatin waterfall in the black gorge. A hike of about 3 hours for me, with all  my stops to photograph. The ruins are huge, with many buildings made of basalt stones not mortared. Some buildings had mortar. Several had window frames, no roofs survived. In the fields, piles of rocks everywhere suggested attempts to clear fields for cultivation. No cellar holes that I saw. Possible effects of war in wide-open walls.

Sheik Hussein village ruins

The gorge is deep with precipitous walls, showing the effects of water on basalt. Volcanoes some 3 million years ago deposited the basalt, and at times, when slowly cooling, created the signature hexagonal rock structures. The contrast between the ruins and the falls is vast, one showing human effects, the other nature’s effects, but both proving the truth of the Buddhist teaching: impermanence, all is temporary, nothing remains the same. This too shall pass.

~~Including my intestinal condition which at this point is still unknown. So I’m going easy on the eating, nothing that will require much work from my stomach, and I’m cautious with my gas, preparing to dispel it while sitting on the john, to test my condition. Should I eat the hard-boiled eggs I just cooked, and drink a second cup of coffee? Big questions of the morning. Along with how I will find an Internet connection?~~

Finding the Banias was a major coup for me, since I’d read about it for so long, wondered how it looked, and with no idea—never heard this part of the story—about the connection with sacred sites. I suppose I could devote more time to finding other Jordan River sources, but shall content myself with this one—this one big dramatic one.

I had one minor camera scare yesterday when in reviewing my most recent photos I noticed the thumbnails looked fuzzy and the cameras zoom function wouldn’t work. Oh shit, another corrupted file problem?! And this set contains my Banias photos.

Zavatin River falls

Removing and reinserting the card cleared up the problem. They downloaded successfully and in the review they all looked OK. Apparently just a little trick the camera played on me to keep my alert.

Weather has been hot and feels muggy at times, despite the altitude of the northern Golan.

I wandered very far north yesterday, to a few km north of Mas’ada, thinking I might reach or at least see Mt Hermon. The road became narrower and rougher, I was passing thru Druze villages, stopping in one to photograph children at school running races (was this El Rom or Mas’ada or somewhere else? Druze it was from the women’s clothing, the Arabic writing, and the mosques.), running out of water, and not sure where I’d stay for the night. I turned around and headed west out of Mas’ada down a steep road alongside a stream which I couldn’t see well, discovering the Banias reserve (near the Dan reserve which Beny had suggested I visit), thru Kiryat Shmona, a very large town, and to where I am writing now.

Mas’ada, a Druze village in the northern Golan

A short note about this guesthouse in Tsfat: I’m the only resident, paying 200 NIS. On my floor, the 2nd, are 4 bedrooms, each with about 2-3 beds and a separate toilet, a middle shared room which combines dining and cooking, a fridge which I guess I can raid at will, a porch that encircles the interior on at least 2 sides, with many tables suggesting at one time this guest house may have been more used, an upper story that I think I read about in the book with more rooms and a veranda or patio. Where the woman I met last night resides is a mystery to me. Also who is the younger woman on the phone last night, who disappeared, and the photos on the wall, suggesting family, one large portrait of a man looking very traditionally Israeli.

This building is opposite another with the same name. Are they associated? We are on a narrow street with old and new buildings. I hope to explore the neighborhood more fully later today.

Druze villages near the border with Syria

LINKS:

Banias area

Tel Kinneret, the Canaanite site

A more detailed report of excavations at Tel Kinneret

“Sea of Galilee Dropping; Bathers and Fish in Danger,” by Gil Ronen, May 30, 2008

Jordan River sources

The photography of Gali Tibbon

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