My trip to Israel earlier this month was excellent, a nearly perfect expedition with a superb tour guide, an Arab Palestinian Christian Israeli with encyclopedic knowledge and experience of the area, history, and culture.
It was a pilgrimage trip with a group from my church, St. John’s up in Davison. We visited as many of the churches and holy sites as we could in Jaffa, Galilee, Nazareth, Jericho, Bethlehem, and Jerusalem, a profoundly meaningful shared experience for all of us. We also toured the Masada mountain fortress and floated in the Dead Sea – one big water bed.
All the people I met were cordial to friendly, even those not trying to sell us stuff. Most seem to be good people who just want to live their lives the best they can.
I put that to the test when I would go out for morning runs by myself. I have mostly brown skin, especially after a few days under the Israeli sun. Maybe they wouldn’t even know I was American. But as I was running a shop keeper called out, “good morning.”
“Good morning,” I yelled back. I’m not so good at undercover work.
We had a free day before our flight home, which I spent wandering the Old City of Jerusalem by myself. I wanted to walk on the city walls, so I spent a couple hours in the back alleys of the Muslim Quarter of the city looking for a way up, well away from the crowds. I had just a couple interactions with residents.
“Welcome,” said one man.
One of a couple women passing by with their kids asked if I was lost.
“Yes I am,” I said. She gave me directions in Arabic, and I thanked her.
“Money,” she said, asking for a gratuity.
“What,” I responded.
“Shekels,” she suggested.
“Ah, shekels,” I said, getting the hint. She sent her little girl to collect. “Shekels, shekels, shekels,” the girl sang as I dug out a few of the coins for her.
I eventually made it up to the ramparts. Turns out they sell tickets for that at Jaffa Gate. I was also able to tour the nearby Tower of David Museum, along with school tour groups, both Jewish and Muslim, I believe. The kids seemed happy to be there, with lots of “hello,” “shalom,” and other greetings as I passed by.
Of course, the place is still deeply divided religiously, politically, and culturally. People continue to kill and die over those differences.
A week after we left, two Israeli soldiers were killed and two others injured when a Palestinian man rammed them with his car, according to local news.
The soldiers, Ziv Daos, 21, and Netanel Kahalani, 20, were at a military observation post along a highway in the northern West Bank when they were hit, March 16, close to where we visited or at least drove by.
The next morning, a 32-year-old Israeli civilian named Adiel Kolman was stabbed and killed in the Old City itself, right where I was nine days before. The killer, identified as Abd al-Rahman Bani Fade, a 28-year-old Palestinian, was shot and killed by police.
Mr. Kolman worked at the Tower of David Museum, so I might have met him during one of those visits. I still think I was mostly safe. Things are seriously personal there and I was a foreigner and guest.