Tremping Through Israel During Shabbat and Passover

We were standing with our bags, waiting for the bus to Israel when a nosy guy from New York overheard Mark’s and my conversation and decided to give his opinion on the matter.  With disbelief and doubt, and a big hint of snobbery, he introjected, “You know you’re going to Israel during Passover, the highest tourist season of the year, right?”  We hadn’t realized it was Passover (Easter), but this wasn’t going to deter us from going to Israel.  “The buses won’t be running, and you’ll never get a room,” he added.  With the tone of, “Thank you Mr. Pessimism, but I’m sure we’ll find something expensive and available,” we thanked him for the information and climbed into the back of the shuttle headed toward the Israeli border.

Middle East politics dictate some occasional dancing, so we bought our multiple re-entry visa for 51.25 Egyptian Pounds (about $10 US) as we exited the border town of Taba, Egypt (the re-entry visa guarantees an ability to return to Egypt after being in Israel, but just to be sure there were no problems, we made sure Israel stamped a separate piece of paper rather than our passports.  Astonished, the Israeli security guard asked “Why?” like no one had ever requested this service, but every savvy traveler asks for the separate stamp because Middle Eastern countries aren’t best buds with Israel and oftentimes will hassle or refuse to let travelers in if they have the Israeli stamp in their passport).

From the border, we took a $17 taxi to the bus station and discovered that it was in fact true that there were no buses running due to Shabbat (Sabboth) and Passover (an 8 day religious holiday when no Jew works- and the Jews make up over 80% of the country, so there weren’t many services available).  The hotels were packed, so we walked to the main road and observed tons of young Israeli’s partying on the Red Sea.   We decided to try hitch hiking north to Jerusalem.   We put our thumbs out, said a prayer, and 15-20 minutes later, whah-lah, our first ride.  We hoped into a black hatch-back with two young barefoot hippies who lived on a kabut, or commune.  They took us about an hour up the road and dropped us off at a bus station. 

From there, we thumbed a ride from a twenty-something male and female Israeli Defense Force (IDF) soldiers.  They took us another hour up the road to a bus stand outside the tiny, agricultural town of Zofar.  As they left, they explained that no stores would be open, so they loaded us up on cans of tuna, corn, pickles, and matzah (unleavened bread, like crackers, which is eaten in place of yeast bread during Passover).  

Still in high spirits, we began to wonder if we would be camping out in the chilly desert for the night (which is no exactly legal… if found you can get a 500 sheckel fine, roughly $175).  We prayed again and a car pulled over. Surprisingly, it was the same kids who had dropped us off.  “Hop in, we found you a room.”  “Wow!  Thanks!” we replied.  They drove us to the Ziv family farm where they gave us a free private room with 3 beds and hot running water.  The owner explained that workers completed the season 1 week ago, so the room was now available and we were welcome to stay.  We were astonished.  They didn’t know us from anyone and had given us a ride, food, and a room for free.  We were grateful beyond words.

In the morning, we walked back to the main road and started hitch hiking again.  The flies were buzzing around someone’s night dung napkins that had been crumpled and littered along the otherwise clean roadside.  We ate a dry chunk of crumbling, cracker matza and prayed for ride.  A couple in their early 50’s, on their way to visit their son who was serving in the Israeli Air Force (a 5 year commitment rather than the mandated 3 years), pulled over and invited us into their white minivan.  They chatted happily about their travels as young adults in Iran and the United States and Canada.  We chugged along, chatting for about 40 minutes and then they explained that they were turning another direction and we’d probably have luck getting an easy ride at this location.  Sure enough, it wasn’t long before a Russian mineral truck pulled over and told us to hop in the back with the driver’s 9 year old daughter, Lena, who was excited to go swimming in the Dead Sea.  The Dead Sea?!!  What luck!  We decided to swim as well.

Using the public restroom, we changed into our swimming suits and plopped our bags down amongst the others.  It appeared as a sea of floating people.  We took turns sitting down, laying back, and floating like a mattress was underneath us.  We watched as some people covered themselves in a black mud-bath.  The signs suggested not to linger over 15 minutes, so we showered off and kicked back on the beach with our books.  When we got hungry, we walked down the street to McDonald’s hoping for cheap food, but quickly discovered that McDonalds is a high-end chain in Israel.  We spent roughly $30 on one salad and a burger meal.  We were surprised by the number of families buying happy meals for their kids.  This was Europe, and everyone was on holiday.  We joined in the madness and added a coffee and ice cream to the mix.

With that familiar McD’s feeling of simultaneous satisfaction and depression, we walked back to the highway and again began tremping (as it’s called in Hebrew).  A small truck appeared, and again, we were on our way north.  Shamelessly, the pleasant couple up front, told us that they were having an affair and that the blonde woman in the front seat was the driver’s mistress.  They were on their way to 4-wheel drive in the desert and would we like to join them?  Mark and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and said, “Why not?”  For the next few hours, we jeeped through the mountains of the Negev desert with complete strangers.  It was as dry as could be, but we saw bedowin camels scattered throughout the valleys searching for water holes.  The view of the Dead Sea down below was spectacular, and toward the end of the drive, we happened upon what we were told was a monastery but turned out to be a Muslim mosque for men only.  It was out of their way, but the couple wanted to score points with Yehweh, so they told us they wanted to take us all the way to Jerusalem. 

As we neared the holy city, the brown landscape began to spritz green.  When the driver missed the turn, he promptly started yelling out the window that he was being punished by God for his adulterous affair.  We laughed, but felt bad that they had gone out of their way to take us somewhere and now it was adding extra time to their return trip.  We said they could just drop us anywhere, but the driver responded, “No, the people here are religious; they’ll stone you.”  We laughed, but when we got dropped off we saw what he meant.  The men were dressed like Amish Russians in black suits with big fluffy round fur hats and two long black curls of hair bobbing on either side of their bearded face.  It was like we had entered a movie set filled with Jewish Rabbi’s.  “Is this just for holidays or do the men always dress like this?” I inquired.  “Always.  They’re very religious.”

We gathered our bearings and walked to the Central Bus Station as the sun was setting.  All businesses were closed for Shabbat, but would reopen at 8pm, people assured us.  Sure enough, at 8pm, the crowd was ushered through the metal detectors and security gate into the station.  Up the escalators, on the 3^rd floor, we met a fast-talking IDF soldier.  Turns out, Matan is a dual citizen who was raised in New York.  He was a wealth of great information about the busses, culture, Jerusalem, and hostels.  He recommended the Citadel Youth Hostel, assessable through Jaffa Gate, just a 30 minute walk downtown into the Old City.  We took the recommendation and ended up on some of the last-available rooftop mattress in the Christian Quarter for $30 per night.

Despite the high season of tourism, lack of busses during Shabbat, and the added complexity of the Passover holiday, we had managed to make our way to Jerusalem and find affordable accommodations.  It’s maybe not the way that most people would choose to get to Jerusalem, but maybe that’s what was so much fun about it- it was a true adventure.  We never knew where we’d be sleeping, what we’d be eating, or who we’d be riding next to, but we had the faith that it would all work out just fine.  And it turned out so much better than “fine;” it was a true adventure.