"Eeend Vhy do yoo noht Vant mee to Stemp yoor Pess-Poort?"

Such was the first thing I heard from an Israeli upon my entry to their territory. No, I'm not interested in having Israeli stamps in my passport - passports are a pain to obtain, and having to do so more than every five years is less than desirable. And given that most Arab nations refuse one's entry to bearers of passports with Israeli stamps, one of my goals for this trip was to enter and exit without having evidence of a visit.

Out of the airport I went, under the cool air of january into a minibus headed north. To Haifa. We whipped out of Ben Gurion's secure confines and into the chaos of traffic that is the heart of moden Israel, Tel Aviv; and within moments we were enveloped in a morass of automobiles, surrounded by the underpasses of the coastal freeway, glass towers gleaming down upon us. Sirens blared in the distance. We weaved into different lanes, dodging rear-enders and the occasional pedestrian. So here I am, another time, at a less stable time.

Mr. minibus driver shook his head, and turned the radio up. Voices in Hebrew chattered and rang through the vehicle, and other passengers shook their head. I was oblivious - later I would learn that at almost the exact moment I was passing through immigration, a massive suicide bomb had ripped through a square in southern Tel Aviv, killing twenty-three individuals and wounding over thirty more. We all know the numbers. '99 was free of the 'intifada', but here I was in the thick of it. Although even though on this motorway we were less than ten blocks from that site, it may as well have been a world away. Life goes on. People persist. Ambulances crawl slowly through the parking lot of this city's freeways.

The lights died behind us as we prodded north, traffic thinning, people nodding off, the news still loud and fresh to all in the minibus with the exception of I. With my intention to first visit northern Israel, I had thought that perhaps it would be better to spend the night in Haifa instead of waking up in Tel Aviv and scrambling to find transportation there. Indeed, perhaps, it was a better decision as a result of the suicide bomb. Darkness became thick as we approached Haifa, and perhaps an hour later I was deposited on a quiet and nearly European city street bereft of garbage and stench. Ah, Jewish Israel. First world to be sure.

The 'hostel' I had wanted to stay in was closed, and my wandering through its halls put all of its new inhabitants behind closed doors; perhaps a fear of strangers permeates this town. Odd, then, that no one would choose to confront me, but they would slink away like curious mice to see what I may do next. What I did do next was leave, and wander south, along Haifa's main street: a glittering affair with fancy shops and more newly carved sandstone and granite, something akin to a Las Vegas of the Holy, with a massive church set proudly upon a hill and looking out to the sea. Spectacular to be sure, using plenty of electricity to look so prim as jewelry in these holy mountains.

Second choice: a convent. In a quiet, dark street a broken sign stood in front of the thick walls, me wandering in past its creaking gate; a nun answered the door, and I was ushered in - to an eerily silent place, complete with Jesus pictures and Christmas tree. Who says only two religions persist in this land?
The room was more money, immaculate yet small; yet it suited me well. Jet lagged and disoriented, I leaned into the soft mattress.


North. Some More.



Back



Into Israel, to Haifa Ako Qiryat Shimona and the Lebanese Border The Golan Heights Into the West Bank Jenin to Nablus Nablus to Ramallah Ramallah to Jerusalem Tel Aviv Into the Gaza Strip Gaza City to Rafah Cairo Eilat Hebron to Bethlehem, and Jerusalem. Out of Israel