Packing to start our odyssey…sipping coffee on the terrace and
watching morning on the Mediterranean.
The towels aren’t so fluffy and efficient here and the shower curtain
doesn’t hold back the water effectively but coffee on the terrace trumps it
all.
My heart was in my mouth as I took charge of the rental
car. But really, driving in Tel Aviv is
almost like driving in Manhattan, just a little less organized. In fits and starts we found our way out of
the city on the main northbound highway (no. 2). The rental cars here are prominently
labeled—stickers on the door, on the windshield, all over the interior. Almost a “steal me” temptation and certainly
a way for other drivers to gauge whether I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t serenaded with any horns, so I
suppose I managed to stay within tolerable bounds. The highway was practically empty as we
headed north along the Mediterranean. We
turned off for Cesarea, hunting a bit for the actual ruins (Israel, like most
countries other than the US, does not have signage skills). Once a significant Roman port, now fully
developed as a tourist and “family-friendly” resort spot. Restaurants feature traditional Israeli
cuisine such as pizza and sushi and there are the obligatory art galleries and
souvenir stands. What’s left of the
Roman, Crusader and Muslim eras are worth a quick look. Only the amphitheater is really intact and
it’s a venue for concerts. Tastes change
but entertainment is still in our genes.
Turning east at Haifa, we climbed into the Galilean
hills. The land quickly became more
green, less yellow and brown. It
reminded me of Tuscany, although wilder.
Slender cypress spires punctuated the empty sky, fields and orchards
alternated with yellow wasteland. The
villages (towns, really, from the size) we passed were all Arab. Galilee is where more of Israel’s Arab
population lives.
Soon Lake Tiberias glimmered down among its dry hills. I maneuvered through the tangle of Tiberias
streets to our hotel, which is down near the lake shore. We have a magnificent view from our window
but we didn’t stay long to stare at it.
Instead, we headed right back out to Capernaum. Kevin choked up, contemplating the ruins of
the town where Jesus passed the major part of his life. “They got us beat,” he said. “Places all over New Jersey where George
Washington slept, but – Jesus himself slept here.” While he attended a service in the Catholic
Church, I briefly re-visited the ruins of the synagogue a few steps away. The
synagogue rests on the foundations of a synagogue that dates from Jesus’ time
and is referred to as “the synagogue of Jesus.” The church is a new addition – I don’t
remember it from any previous visit – and appropriately constructed to straddle
the remains of the Byzantine-era octagonal church under it.
Afterwards, we talked about the simplicity of the place, how
its atmosphere contrasts to that of St. Peter’s in Rome. The tourist aspect is missing in Capernaum,
because all there is here are the churches: Orthodox and Roman Catholic, a mile
apart from each other. There is no art,
no architecture, no great secular works to attract the non-religious. Other than the ruins and the churches,
Capernaum is desolate. Olive trees and
wild bushes are scattered among fallen columns and loose stones that once were
part of buildings. In such prosaic
places is history made. The shores of
Galilee are dusty, choked with underbrush and backed by monotonously
dun-colored hills. Yet this was the
startup site for the religion that formed Western civilization.
Evening in Tiberias had its charms,
despite the reputation it (deservedly) has as a honky-tonk tourist town. It’s vastly more built-up than I remembered,
which is not surprising. Hotels,
B&Bs, schlock on sale, beach clubs with names like “Nirvana” and “Hawaii”—Israel’s
version of Atlantic City without the casinos.
Tiberias has had a rum reputation since it was built (A.D. 18). Rabbis railed at its decadence and immoral
activity, but they eventually decided that the curative hot springs were acceptable
and so set up shop there after the Temple was destroyed. There they compiled the Mishna and regularized Hebrew grammar and spelling to keep Jewish
learning alive after the great catastrophe.
We ate on the promenade, a comfortable
but not fancy restaurant, and watched the scene. The Sea of Galilee must have been much busier
in ancient times. There was not a boat
in sight but one, which didn’t seem to be going anywhere. The only craft that seems to be available are
tour boats or rental boats. We were surprised
not to notice any private sailboats or other craft. Honky-tonk as it is, Tiberias is quite acceptable
on a May night before the tourist season opens.
Ultra-Orthodox families stroll past Arab families; one can hear tourists
speak French, English and Spanish, while the Israelis speak Hebrew, Arabic and
Russian. The promenade was bathed in
purple light from the sundown sky and the neon signs for ice cream and
trinkets. The flea market offered cheap,
colorful clothing—made in Thailand—and jewelry and other non-essential items. This is what life here could be—should be.
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