Israeli Country Ride

You should have seen the view from the one-lane road convoluting down to the Sea of Galilee this weekend. It is the time of year everything is green in Israel, particularly, the north. Blooming season is nearly gone, flora is rich and happy, trees dawdle worriless in the sun, nearly free of their yearly stamen loads. Most months of the year this land is yellow and brown; greyish green at best. Now it is screaming vitality.

I joined my family on a trip to visit granny, who lives in the same Kibbutz on the banks of the Sea of Galilee for the past 75 years. Today, in her mid-90s, she doesn’t recognize left from right, but when I come over she’s filled with life and sometimes even knows what she’s saying. It feels good to mean so much to someone.

The Sea of Galilee is 215 meters below sea level (~700 feet). Two hour drive south you reach the Dead Sea which is minus 400 meters, and the lowest spot on the planet, but that’s a whole different story. Just as a point of reference, Death Valley, the lowest place in North America, is minus 85 meters (282 feet).

The Mediterranean Lowlands were left behind and the Jezreel Valley warmly took us in. A wave of strong natural scent filled the air, as hills rose from the flat lands dressed with thick greens. The roadsides got covered with red and yellow flowers. Olive lines, eucalyptus colonies and wild almond orchards freely lounged as far as eyes could see, with a purple cousin-tree intruding ever so often to add more character to the marvel called creation. Two months before, the land was dark and the earth was soaked and wet. Now it breathes, ready for a new cycle.

It felt more and more country with every mile heading up north, as white haze thickened the air. It smelled like summer but it’s actually only mid-March. In 10 more days comes Passover, the Holiday of the spring. I wonder how the real summer of 2013 will smell like in my new-old country, after I was away for so long.

Give me a kiss to build a dream on, Luis’ trumpet semi blasted on the semi high notes, as the Sea of Galilee embraced my nature just like I did hers. Counting Crows held on to the Kibbutz entrance gate and the electronic card slid in smoothly. I know it sounds silly, but I could really hold someone’s hand and stop the world for a moment or two, seeing that beautiful sea unveiling herself in between the mountains. 

They still use a joint Dining Hall in this Kibbutz. People pay for food of course, but old timers remember how it used to be. No money was used in the early days of the Kibbutz; everyone did his or her part and shared it with the others. At night, they did what all pioneers used to do: partied recklessly and guarded from thieves and pissed off neighbors.

A few decades have passed, maybe a century, and we can’t fully know what was done back then and how. A status quo was formed, which most of us take for granted while others feel they’ve been stepped over. At some point we should start admitting iniquities and supporting those we’ve hurt. Meanwhile in the Dining Hall, I sat next to Mrs. Potters, who poured stories about wild dances in the barn back in the days. I looked in the eyes of religious-less faith, a 90 year old woman with a prostatic leg and a smile that never disappear.

Later on at night, my sister and I went to the local pub, where you don’t have to be the son of a preacher-man to reach friendly locals and laugh about anything. After a few glasses of… everything, we went down to feed the cows. Couldn’t get more country than that! Or could it…

After making sure all cows are happy, soft R&B 90s music suddenly reached our ears. Watta ya’ know ‘bout that. We walked round an ancient barn till we reached an unlocked door. A half dozen tipsy valley folks sat in a dim red pub that used to store grain silo in previous century(s). It may have been a time-loop, because there, they actually accepted only Kibbutz money. It’s a good thing I know my grandma’s account digits since I was 4, buying popsicles every day in the summer.

Soon as the locals caught on our vibes, R&B was replaces by ACDC, Dead Kennedys, Thin Lizzy and even some country music, which is rare in Israel as a queer tomcat in heat. You could say I found more whiskey in the Jar, and here is for that: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TehFZ38kt6o  

At that point, it actually crossed my mind to go back to the cows and try riding some. Even at my worst behavior I feel bad to do something so inconsiderable, but I believe they wouldn’t throw me into Folsom Prison for such a prank.

The headache that hit me the morning after was worth the silly adventure. Half hour yoga, a sandwich and I were back on track. A cowboy hat and boots ain’t mandatory in the Israeli country lands. As urban city-boy as I may be, I’d still crank up the music and hop on that 4 wheel for another ride, any time, any day of the week.