We’re in the middle of the festival of Succot and here in Israel most people are on holiday for at least some of the eight days. It’s been filthy hot for the last week, unseasonably high temperatures of around 35 degrees and more, combined with exhausting levels of humidity. You feel you have to walk slower, talk slower, sleep more and seek air-conditioning at every opportunity.

Tens of thousands of people take the chance to holiday locally and the roads can be one massive overheated car park. It’s essential to get out on the highways and byways as early as possible to avoid a day of simmering frustration.  If you’re looking for natural air conditioning , then the very north of Israel is probably your best chance to get a lung full of clear, cooling air – at night, at least.

I’ve just returned from three days with my wife and daughters, and my in-laws, staying in delightful bed and breakfast ‘tzimmerim’, the country cottage accommodation that is so popular over here for short breaks. We chose a lovely location in the village of Kfar Yuval, one of the most northerly points of the country, a spot that encompasses both the Upper Galilee and the Ramat HaGolan. This is not the Israel that is regular portrayed on the news. This is the Israel of farming communities, of vast fruit plantations, of a network of crystal clear rivers set against the background of Mount Hermon and the Golan Heights, the border between Israel and its neighbours Lebanon and Syria. Our cottage was only 500 metres from the Lebanese border. On the hillside above us there was no problem seeing with the naked eye the large, even palatial homes, that have been built by the villagers of Southern Lebanon. 

The dangers and tensions of this border area have been well documented and no-one needs reminding of the nasty conflict that enveloped the region in 2006. Hizbollah remains the dominant power the other side of the fence, with reports of between 20,000 to 40,000 missiles having been embedded in the villages and bunkers of an area that is supposed to be patrolled and kept free of military materiel by the UN. The erstwhile ‘independent arbiter’ has conveniently turned a blind eye to the movement of weaponry from Iran and Syria, to the Lebanese militia.

Kfar Yuval is a farming village populated mostly by Cochin Indians, Jews who originate from the Indian state of Kerala and who came to this northerly point of Israel in the 1960’s. The place has a slightly tattered feel about it, but has no shortage of charm, every house in the village supplemented by a fruit grove, a large chicken coop, or holiday accommodation. In 1975, terrorists managed to breach the border patrols and laid in wait for an opportunity to kill. They succeeded in murdering three members of the same family before fleeing back into Lebanon. This notorious act might have been designed to persuade the villagers to up sticks and leave, but it only served to fortify their resolve to stay and continue to pursue their livelihood and support their families as best they can.

But this weekend, armed conflict and fear could not have been further from our minds. The scenery was stunning, the weather a shade cooler than in the stifling centre of Israel, and Kfar Yuval and the surrounding area is an absolute haven for those looking to stretch their legs and walk on nature trails, to swim in rivers, or to follow the natural phenomenon of up to 50 million migrating birds from Europe using northern Israel and the Hula Lake as a stopping off point on their autumn migration to warmer climes.

If you want to get involved in something a little more lively there are numerous sporting activities such as horse riding, mini tractor tours, climbing, winter skiing and river kayaking, the latter being our first activity of the day on Saturday. Being a non-swimmer, the prospect of swirling hopelessly downstream didn’t exactly fill me with joy, but having been assured that the river is no more than a metre-and-a-half deep at this time of year, I felt it would be bordering on cowardice not to join the others. We rented a six person dingy/kayak, watched the safety video, donned life jackets and prepared to be fired down a ramp into the crystal clear waters of the River Snir.

Since measures were taken over the last couple of years to limit the amount of water that can be taken from the River Jordan and it’s tributaries for agriculture, the flow of water has increased significantly and I was surprised at just how healthy the river looked. With the in-laws at the front, my girls Tami and Maya in the middle, and Paz and I at the back (is that the stern or the bow of a boat?), we were launched on our way without the faintest sniff of a champagne bottle in sight. This was not white-water rafting, but a gentle paddle south, punctuated by the occasional mini-waterfall or swirling eddy. (You remember ‘swirling eddy’, he was Nelson’s boy, I think).

Every few hundred metres encampments of tented teenagers and young Israelis dotted the river bank and there was plenty of banter. I tried to order a Turkish coffee from a couple on one muddy slope, but by the time they had got the cups out we’d already drifted away. Further downstream someone was making a barbeque and said they would do us a kebab if we could hold on against the flow. We couldn’t.

The river banks were teaming with bulrushes, (no signs of babies in baskets though), bamboo, fig trees, eucalyptus and more. There were fish in the river, but none were prepared to sacrifice themselves by leaping into our craft. Dragonflies, a brilliant electric blue colour, fluttered around glistening in the sunlight. It was an idyllic scene, until Tami, my fearless, sporty, older daughter, decided to jump in and cool down. Her hysterical laughter, at not being able to get back into the dinghy until the third attempt, was priceless. My father-in-law inadvertently hit his missus at least three times with the other end of the paddle whilst concentrating on guiding us away from the riverbank and overhanging trees. I nearly knocked Paz backwards off the end of the dinghy whilst grappling with a stronger current, and Maya and Tami were just determined to get completely soaked and really cool off - which they did.

This was the perfect activity for a hot, steamy day. There’s not enough time to list the excellent restaurants and all the other activities we packed in, (a visit to a wooden instrument maker in Rosh Pina was tremendous, a private concert on the didgeridoo, harp, marimba and other handmade items was great), but suffice it to say that when next you come to Israel, you must go north to the Upper Galilee and the Ramat HaGolan.

The north of Israel is a truly stunning area with so much to see and do, yet still remains mostly undiscovered by so many visitors who miss out on a huge chunk of the ‘real Israel' by only concentrating on Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and Netanya. They really don’t know what they are missing.

 

Add Comment
 
 
Yom Kippur. The ‘Day of Atonement’. The day when Jewish people around the globe are encouraged to ask forgiveness for their sins during the previous 12 months. It’s a day that for me as a child was traumatic for a number of reasons, but that has been transformed since my move to Israel into a day that I now actually look forward to.

I never had a problem fasting for 24 hours. Some people find it a terrible ordeal not being able to eat or drink even water for the period, but I rarely found it a challenge. What was difficult for me as a child growing up in Leeds in England, was going to synagogue on Holy Days like Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year), and on Yom Kippur, when I felt little connection to the religious traditions of my people. 

I always found the atmosphere of the synagogue intimidating and puzzling in equal measures. How could people who supposedly believe in God, come to His house of prayer and then steadfastly spend most of the time ignoring the service, gossiping about local scandal and commenting on the fashion sense (or lack of it), of people from the neighbourhood? It all seemed to me then, (and still does now), somewhat perverse. How could people who profess to call themselves observant and know it is forbidden to drive a car to synagogue, then drive and hide the car a few hundred metres away, often blocking the side roads and driveways of local residents, before strolling in, pretending they had walked the whole mile or two from their homes? 

That’s not to say that there weren’t a good number who genuinely stuck to the rules and did respect the holiness of the Shabbat service or High Holy Days. My grandpa clearly felt it his duty to take me to synagogue, (even though he wasn’t a particularly observant Jew), as a way of connecting me to my history, my religion and my people. I respect him a great deal for that as he wasn’t in the business of imposing his views on me, but preferred me to make my own judgements on the matter.

Yom Kippur would fill me with dread at the thought of having to be interred in the synagogue environment for much of the day. To make matters easier, I insisted on sleeping-in late, then going for a walk with Grandpa to the park (he never objected), before heading up to the synagogue for the last couple of hours before the end of Yom Kippur itself.

By this point, especially if it had been a warm day, many people who were most likely unsuited to going without food and water due to medical conditions or a weak constitution, would be starting to wobble a bit. It was not unusual to hear a thud followed by a minor commotion as some unfortunate soul passed out and hit the deck. One year I recall hearing a number of ‘tumblers’ and after the third couldn’t even be bothered to look around to see who was the latest to take a dive. ‘Who was it?’ I asked a friend.
‘Mrs Goldberg’, came the reply. ‘Last year she only lasted to 3.30 and this time it’s a quarter to five, so she’s done well!’

On a couple of occasions during many childhood and subsequent adolescence, Yom Kippur fell on my birthday. What an utter and complete disaster. 26 September, the day when I was supposed to be the centre of attention, celebrating and getting presents, turned out to be the day when you couldn’t use the telephone, eat or drink, or be happy in the company of others. Marvellous, bloody marvellous! So, you can maybe understand a little of my unease at the ‘Day of Atonement’.

Yom Kippur in Israel is a very different matter, whether or not you are a religious or a non-observant Jew. It is illegal to drive a car, so from an hour before sunset the roads empty leaving an eerie silence about the land. The phone ceases to ring and people retire to the sanctuary of their homes. There are no regular TV broadcasts.  

For secular children like mine and the majority of kids in my small town and in many areas across the country, for 24 hours the land is theirs and theirs alone. Get your bicycle kids, the roads are all yours! Thousands upon thousands of children wait for Yom Kippur to be able to ride wherever they wish. Being under the age of 13, they are not obliged to fast or to apologize for their sins. They’re kids! If they have committed sins, then it is up to their parents (if they believe in such things), to ask for forgiveness for not guiding their offspring in a suitable manner.  Yom Kippur, the day that I feared most during my childhood is, here in Israel and in no other place on the globe, the one day when secular Jewish children have an unimaginable amount of freedom.

I used to fast on Yom Kippur, but I don’t any more. I respect the day, just as I do Yom Ha Sho’ah (Holocaust Memorial Day), or Yom HaZikaron, (the Day of Remembrance), but I fail to see how starving myself shows respect for those that have gone before. When in England we would pray on Holy Days, as in every other country of the diaspora, we would invariably utter the line, ‘Next year in Jerusalem’, praying that we would be able to have the strength and good fortune to be living in Israel in the year to come. Well, I’m here, and feel I am doing my bit to support the Jewish State by committing my future to this land, pledging my daughters to serve two years in the army, paying taxes to the Israeli taxman, etc, etc. 

Those that wish to follow the traditional observance of Yom Kippur continue to do so of their own free will and in whatever manner they see fit, and I respect them for that. The one thing I have a very big problem with however is ‘kaparot’, the ancient tradition amongst religious Jews that at Yom Kippur they transfer their sins onto a live chicken, swing the poor creature three times around their head, before slitting its throat and letting it bleed to death. The prayer, ‘This is my exchange, this is my substitute, this is my atonement’ is recited at the same time. 

How can you ask for forgiveness while committing such an obviously barbaric and sinful act? This archaic ritual sickens me and makes me embarrassed to be associated in any way with these people. I’m not a vegetarian or animal rights activist, (I love my chicken schnitzels and chicken soup on a Friday night), but where is the decency and humanity in these so called pious people in inflicting incalculable suffering on an innocent creature. 

If we saw tribes in the Amazon, in Africa, or in the deserts of Mongolia doing such a thing, we’d be saying what ‘primitive’ people they are, lacking in decency and any ‘culture’. In 1995 I was on the ‘black magic’ island of Ende in the Nusa Tengarra archipelago of Indonesia and was asked to be a guest at a tribal feast. As a way of showing their respect for me as an ‘outsider’, a chicken was sacrificed right under my nose. I have rarely seen anything quite so horrific and know first-hand the pain and trauma the creature feels. 

In a similar way the streets of Jerusalem and Bnei Barak are spattered with blood as Yom Kippur approaches. I think the time has come for religious Jews to look closely at this awful ritual and consign it to the history books. To pray or not to pray and to believe or not believe is the choice of the individual, but society should have standards that protect the vulnerable, whether they are humans or animals, and be judged as such.

PS. My thanks to Helen Segal of Tzur Hadassa near Jerusalem, who contacted me after hearing this blog to say that her father Mr Mendelsohn of Manchester, England, can now be added to the latest line of 'wobblers' who all but 'tumbled' due to dehydration at Yom Kippur service at his local Whitefield Synagogue. Happily a doctor was 'in the house', and after a few dodgy moments Mr M made it through to the bitter end. Well done Sir!

 

Add Comment
 
 
Through this blog I'd like to take the opportunity to wish all listeners, friends, family and those I've never yet had the pleasure of meeting, a very Happy New Year, Chag Sameach and Shana Tova.

Let's hope that the Jewish New Year 5771 proves to be a happy and healthy one for us all.  

I've been looking back on the last 12 months via the archive of my audio blog section and, with your permission, would like to recall some of the things that prompted me to put pen to paper and voice to microphone, since I launched the site on October 1st last year.  

A lot has happened in this part of the world, but then again, little has really changed.  

In October, with captive Israel soldier Gilad Shalit's incarceration at the hands of Hamas in Gaza looking as if it might be coming to an end with a prisoner swop mooted, I pondered just how many terrorists it was worth handing back to Hamas at the risk of them returning to kill more Israeli citizens in the future. It's an awful dilemma, as Shalit still remains without having received any visit from the Red Cross (or even the Red Crescent), as is required under the Geneva Convention. His parents have shown incredible dignity and have proved an inspiration to all Israelis who will never give up on getting any of their loved ones back home.  

It was also in October that I mused over Nick Griffin's much publicised appearance on the BBC's Question Time programme, a platform that gave his BNP there highest profile media stage ever and opened up the debate as to when freedom of speech can be taken a step too far. As it happened, he made a complete fool of himself, but there will doubtless have been a not insignificant number of red-neck racists who took comfort in his refusal to disassociate himself with comments made about the Holocaust being a myth.  

In November the Goldstone Report was published, roundly criticising Israel for its role in the Gaza War and being hailed by many in these parts as having drawn its conclusions long before investigating the facts on the ground. It seemed all voices pointing out the efforts Israel made to limit civilian casualties during operation 'Cast Lead', were drowned out by a chorus of anti-Israel, and some might suggest anti-Semitic opinion. One thing was clear though, Israel's PR and explanation of its policies was going to have to undergo a serious overhaul.  

In December, what proved to be one of my most popular blogs, 'Jerusalem's Big Match' contained my 'tongue-in-cheek' impressions of the Haredi riots in protest at the opening of a multi-storey car park on the edge of the Old City. Although things are quieter now, the story has certainly not gone away, and I predict that in the coming year there will be more fisticuffs between the Ultra-Orthodox and the Israeli police on this issue.  

January saw rocket attacks from Gaza on southern Israel recommence, whilst I also wondered at the lack of logic of Israeli hi-tech firms doing business with the Iranian regime of Mahmoud Ahmedinejad. January was also the time when I offered unfortunate listeners my predictions of the winning horses at the Cheltenham Festival. Least said, the better!  

In February, following the sudden death of a close family friend who was a Sephardi Jew, I wondered at the differences between the subdued way Ashkenazi Jews grieve, and the emotional outpourings of  Sephardi Jews at the passing of their loved ones. Better out than in? I don't know, but concluded it's up to each person to grieve in whatever way they see fit.  

In March, following the death of a Hamas commander in Dubai and the subsequent assertion by the head of the local police that no less than 26 Israeli agents had been responsible for his death, I offered my step-by-step guide on 'How to be an Israeli Secret Agent'. A week later, I offered a warning to Prime Minister 'Bibi' Netanyahu that he should have been more careful in building his coalition government, having left himself exposed to all but open blackmail by minority religious parties who hold the balance of power and could bring his government down the moment they fail to get the pay-off they regularly seek.  

April saw the 62nd anniversary of the establishment of the State of Israel, it saw me commentating in Hebrew on the Grand National for Israel's Channel 5, and it saw the beginning of the local campaign against the establishment of an on-shore gas refinery on our local beaches and nature reserves, close to my home in Zichron Yaakov. Whilst the battle against big business isn't yet won, the government has to some degree heeded the popular protests around these parts and the plans are being reconsidered, including options for an off-shore refinery or the transfer of liquid gas to existing facilities in Hadera or Haifa. Viva Democracy! Power to the People! Cries that aren't heard anywhere else in the Middle East, by the way!  

In May, my feet and I set out on the first leg of the Israel Trail, the 900 kilometre walking path that stretches all the way from Metula on the Lebanese border, to Eilat on the Red Sea. I managed 20 kilometres of rough terrain in half a day, (in the company of my father-in-law Dan), and now that the weather is cooling a touch, intend to do plenty more between now and next spring. I recommend it to all visitors to Israel. Watch this space.  

The Flotilla Affair dominated everyone's thoughts over here throughout the month of June, the premeditated violence of a hardcore of Islamic activists hijacking a peaceful protest by genuine, if somewhat misguided souls, from a variety of countries around the globe attempting to send supplies of the people of Gaza. Once again Israel's explanation of events left a great deal to be desired and gave a massive head start to the anti-Israel coalition. That imbalance was in part redressed by the BBC's Panorama programme on the subject last month, but the damage had already been done.  

My mock BBC broadcast of the events was well received by readers and listeners, and I thank you again for your kind words. June was also the month when I was chased by a wild boar whilst taking Mocca, (Israel's most cowardly but lovable dog), for his night-time walk. I'm glad so many of you found it amusing.  

July marked four years since Gilad Shalit was captured, with no obvious progress having been made in the attempts to secure his release. It also saw the death of Hizbollah's spiritual leader and terrorist inspiration Sheikh Fadlallah, and saw David Cameron putting his foot in it by allying himself closely to renegade Turkish Prime Minister Erdogan. He'll learn – eventually.  

Early August saw me slightly 'ahead of the curve' in suggesting that Bibi should embark on serious talks with the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank and find a way to reach agreement, in an attempt to further marginalize Hamas in Gaza. A few weeks later (maybe he reads my blog? – not), the Washington talks were announced, and whilst nothing of any great note came from the consultations, they have at least restarted a process that had been sinking without trace for the previous 20 months.  

Already this month, four Jews have been murdered by Hamas terrorists in an attempt to derail the attempts at restarting the peace process, former PM Olmert continues to be investigated for allegedly taking bribes during his tenure, ( a positive sign I say as it shows the independence of the Israeli judiciary), Israel's desalination plants seem on target to open in 2012 and provide up to 50% of the country's water needs, and I've eaten far too much at Rosh Hashana (New Year) dinner, and have made a promise to myself not to be such a glutton in future!  

As to what the next 12 months will bring, well, I'm making no predictions, but I hope you'll follow events with me on this blog – 'The Middle East Missive'.  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 

 

 

Add Comment
 
 
I spent last Friday night from 10pm with my friend and colleague Ilan Vered on our monthly Border Police patrol. Ilan's been involved for around 20 years, I've been doing my bit, (a very small bit), for nearly two years now.

We meet at a gas station in the rural area of Givat Ada, get instructions from the normally easy-going Yehuda as to where to patrol and if there is anything special to look out for, and normally arrange a time at which we'll break for coffee and meet back at the station, halfway through the patrol.

On Friday when Yehuda joined us he was not his usual relaxed self. He was very matter-of fact and business-like, insisted that we patrol with weapons and told us that reports had been received that suggested the likelihood of an attack from within the Arab community was considerably heightened as a result of the impending peace negotiations set to take place in Washington. Our area is peppered with Arab villages, some very friendly, others less so. He told us to be vigilant and to take no chances.

By 1pm, parked up at a junction on the road from the Arab village of Kfar Kara to the kibbutzes and small villages of the area, little had happened. I saw a hare run out across the road – he ran fast – and no surprise, as not far behind was a fox on the scent. I left the patrol car and wandered over in the darkness to a field and gazed out into the black, still night, contemplating life, the universe etc, etc. 

A noise about 100 yards away jolted me back to earth with a bang. It wasn't a fox or a hare, it was the sound of someone stepping on tinder-dry strands of hay that were strewn across the field in amongst the bushes and trees. Night vision can play tricks on the eyes, but I am sure I saw a person wearing a light coloured 'hoodie' (a strange garment when the evening temperature was still 28 degrees), moving around in the darkness. 

I hurried back to the car, (keeping my head down), told Ilan, he loaded the rifle, and we approached the field tentatively. The steps I had heard were occasional, but definitely getting closer.

'There's someone out there' I whispered, 'Did you hear that noise?'
'Yes', said Ilan. 'Keep quiet.'
I didn't need telling to keep quiet as the steps approached. Then suddenly, he was right on top of us.
'Mmmmoooooooooo!!!!' he said.
'He looks very much like a cow to me' observed Ilan. He was right of course, (he knows a cow when he sees one, even if he is a chicken farmer), but I still swear I saw someone out there.

Earlier this week, four people travelling by car on Route 60 from the Hebron area of the West Bank (where 500 Jews live in an armed compound amongst 100,000 Palestinians), were attacked by an unknown number of Hamas gunman. They all died instantly, including a pregnant woman. The information Yehuda had received about a potential terrorist attack or the kidnapping of a soldier or policeman, proved spot on. Sadly, even the best intelligence in the world cannot protect the public from every terrorist that wishes to commit murder, and those opposed to the attempts to find a negotiated peace now have more reason than ever to take extra risks in planning audacious raids that could derail the whole process.

The background to the latest attempt to get peace negotiations back on track has been fairly muddled, and whilst I truly hope something good will come out of this week's meetings between the Palestinian Authority and Israel, I believe the chances of achieving anything significant are very slight. 

Prime Minister Nethanyahu has already promised those in the West Bank and East Jerusalem that they can start building again on September 26. He's tried to soften the pill by suggesting the building permits will be limited, but nonetheless this is like a red rag to a bull for the Palestinians. For his part, Mahmoud Abbas has a significant number of difficulties to deal with on his side – it should be noted that yesterday's Hamas attackers emerged from his Fatah 'controlled' West Bank – and Abbas' ability to truly carry his people with him has to be questioned. As to whether or not he himself is genuine in his purported desire for peace is another matter. He did, after all, make a statement back in 2003 insisting that only 890,000 Jews died in the Holocaust and the figure of six million was Jewish propaganda!

In a previous blog a few weeks ago, I pointed out the benefits to both Israel and the Palestinain Authority in the West Bank, of forging a peace deal that excludes Hamas in the Gaza Strip. Marginalizing such a despicable regime could prove a very fruitful policy. Discussing the situation with friends over dinner last week, a number told me that I am naïve and misguided if I think that Fatah, the party that rules the West Bank, is a willing partner for Israel in genuine peace talks.

One guy amongst the diners, (who is closely related to an individual working for Shabak, the Israeli internal security organization), insisted that every day the Shabak operatives are having to foil numerous attacks and terrorist plots that emanate from the West Bank, almost certainly with the tacit approval of those in charge. He may well be right. He's certainly in a better position than me to know such things, but it isn't (in my opinion), a sufficiently good argument for giving up on a peace process because a minority still want to continue armed resistance to the detriment of the majority.

More than 60 years of mutual hatred isn’t going to evaporate overnight. These things take time, take commitment, and take the willingness of genuinely charismatic and determined policy makers to make the changes. Whether or not Mssrs. Netanyahu and Abbas have enough backbone to make a deal remains to be seen, but with Syria and Lebanon getting into bed with each other in an ever more alarming fashion, Iran claiming to have the capacity to strike Israel at will (although that needs to be taken with a large pinch of salt), and Hamas only this week being caught out by the Egyptians as they attempted to smuggle in more than 200 ground-to-air missiles, the situation is looking decidedly delicate.

I seem to recall that almost up until the moment that Gerry Adams and Ian Paisley put pen to paper to sign the Good Friday agreement in Northern Ireland, the overwhelming threat of terrorism continued to loom large over proceedings. Northern Ireland and the Israeli/Palestinian question are obviously very different situations, but if the Good Friday agreement proves anything, it is that the combination of strong personalities and pragmatic leadership on both sides of the argument coming together for the common good can make an almost unimaginable amount of difference.
Add Comment