Jerusalem–the Old City

The woman sits in sight of the Western Wall of the second temple, her spit-shined combat boots propped upon a crumbling brick. Beneath the rolled-up sleeves of her brown jacket, her olive-colored arms have that impossible muscle tone American women would die for. Her face is make-up free, yet her beauty is evident, her thick henna-colored hair cascading down her back. On her lap, balanced like a child, lies an assault rifle. Today, news in Jerusalem is rather slow–just a bombing in Bethlehem, a little less than four miles away–but the quiet is soon shattered. A group of men hurtle chairs at several women trying to pray on the men’s side of the Wall. The angry shouts and flying furniture intrude upon the tranquil desert day, the clear azure sky stretching over buildings that were ancient even before the discovery of America.

"Welcome to Israel," the female soldier says with a knowing smile as my tour guide introduces us.

When I’d packed my bags the week before, I had a vague idea of what to expect. The constant military presence comes as no surprise–the friendliness and feisty spirit of Israeli natives, especially its women, does. From a young age, Israeli boys and girls are bussed around their country on endless school trips to instill them with a fierce pride in their homeland. Though they may never fight, both genders grow up expecting to see armed combat–military conscription is mandatory for all citizens. Much like the pioneers of the American west, Israeli men and women have always shared the work, including physical defense of national borders.

Women have also shared in the praying–though many must do it covered up, turned around backwards, hidden from sight, and only on Saturdays between 1-1:05 am–cue the current chair chucking scenario at the Wall. Respectfully, I cover my head and shoulders with a long, woven scarf and pay my respects–on the smaller side, the women’s side, of course. Sneaking a look at the divider, I wonder what it would be like to infiltrate the well-shaded men’s portion. As I hear the thunks and whaps of metal hitting skin, I decide to stay put. Still, I’m keenly aware that for an Israeli woman denied religious equality, complacency is not an option.

I know, I know–you’re thinking "isn’t a travel article supposed to encourage me to visit a place? Now you’re telling me that if I go, these men who wear long black clothes in the heat of the desert sun are going to throw chairs at my head? No thanks!"

Ladies, I can assure you this: if you’re not a religious insurgent, you have little to worry about. (If you are a religious insurgent, there are some very good manuals out there, but I can’t promise you quite the degree of safety as, say, oh, a tourist from Louisiana). Plan your trip well, don’t go wandering down a dark alley alone at night no matter how fun it looks (bet you didn’t know that already), and when in Israel, do as the Israelis do (but please, leave the poor chairs alone). Arm yourself with a little Hebrew (Shalom, hello/goodbye, buh-va-ka-sha, please, toe-dah, thank you, Slee-ha, sorry–and the very necessary Ay-fo hah shee-roe-teem, where is the bathroom?), and you’ll be just fine. Yes, there’s always danger, but as a whole, Israel is a traveler’s paradise.

Anywhere in the Old City of Jerusalem is a great place to start your trip, but I personally prefer the markets to the Western Wall. Fuel yourself with some ultra-cheap falafel and halvah, a middle-eastern confection, from a local stand and wander around the shops of the Armenian, Christian, Jewish, and Muslim quarters. Here, you’ll find pretty much anything, from tacky to beautiful, to, well, beautifully tacky. I spent the better part of two days in the Armenian quarter alone, scoring gorgeous finds like handblown glass, handwoven clothing, homegrown mulberries and fresh baked bread–all for mere shequels. Thrillseekers take note–bargaining is completely acceptable in the markets. I.e, you tell the vendor that you’d looove to buy the hookah that’s been in his family for generations, but you just sold your house, your car, and your Prada shoes for a plane ticket to come to his wonderful country. To which he replies, "I must feed my seventeen children, but I can give it to you for a few shequeles off...(You can stop here, or push the envelope if you want. Hint: If you can cry to get out of a traffic ticket, turn on the waterworks for the vendors too! Tell ‘em about your poor cat Fluffy, who died from neglect as you ran around selling the aforementioned house, car and shoes).

When you’re all shopped out, take a stroll around the periphery of the Old City. Surrounding the Old City are eight major gates, including the Golden Gate, where the messiah is supposed to enter one of these days (you remember your religious school lessons, right gals, or were you doing something else when you were supposed to be in class, huh?). Aptly named is the Dung Gate (huh, huh, I said...)–and I’ll leave it up to you to discover the origins of its name. There are many smaller gates as well, including the Needle Gate, which was kept open later than the main gates, allowing merchants to squeeze through. I’m paraphrasing my Hebrew school lessons, but most of you know the saying about it being easier for a camel to get through the eye of the needle than for a rich gal to enter the queendom of heaven? Well, I’ve seen the eye of the needle, and let me tell you, it isn’t as hard as you’d think. But you needn’t worry–you’ve bargained your last shequel away in the ancient marketplace, right?

So, now that you’re looking for things to do on the super-cheap, where do you turn? No worries--Jerusalem is full of free history–heck, Jerusalem practically defines the term history. For a panoramic view, venture to the top of the Mount of Olives, home of the world’s largest Jewish cemetery. For a closer gander, walk the ramparts of the Old City walls–there are entrances at Jaffa and Damascus gates.

Day-tripping in Masada and the Dead Sea

For those who like heavy-duty hiking (and for those like myself, who don’t want to take all that falafel and halvah home with them), a day trip to Masada is in order. Site of Herod’s royal citadel and the mass suicide of Jewish rebels who preferred death to roman capture, Masada also boasts the ancient and aptly named Snake Trail–a winding, grueling, forty five-plus minute ascent used to train the Israeli army. For those of you who prefer death to climbing uphill in the desert heat, never fear—there is also a cable car.

For the intrepid hiker and the lover of modern convenience alike, a float in the Dead Sea is a necessity after a long day of history-hunting. You know all those beauty products that use Dead Sea salts and cost a million bucks? Well, Israel’s got an entire sea full of ‘em, and it’s free. (Just a note of caution–take your time getting in the waters, ‘cause your sensitive girlie parts are going to have to get used to it.) If you’re already in Masada, then the sea is just a short bus ride away.

Kibbutzing with the locals

Now, you say, all this bus-fare stuff is nice, but I really did have to sell my house, car and shoes to afford this trip! How am I ever going to see Israel? Well, if you’re into communal living and a longer stay, then a kibbutz might be the answer for you. (Contact the kibbutz program center in NYC for more info, www.kibutzprogramcenter.org). Be prepared: you might have to till the fields or birth a calf, but you’ll eat well, see the countryside, and, well, I have to mention it–on a kibbutz, the chairs usually stay put.

Tzeth'a Leshalom VeShuvh'a Leshalom! (Go in peace and return in peace!)

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