Israel Experience, part 1: The Arrival

(This is Part 1 of My Israel Experience. Who knows how many "parts" there will be... Enjoy. By the way, I haven't figured out how to add captions to pictures... this first one is a view of Tel Aviv, and my mug, from my first hotel room. Behind the left side of my head? Oh, that's just the Mediterranean Sea [insert schmarmy tone]...)

For most of my life, the whole concept of world travel had been little more than a passing thought. I was content to mill around the small areas I knew well—uncomfortable even when I had to spend a few days alone somewhere "foreign," such as a stint of house-sitting a few miles away or a day’s worth of travel to California. "Uncomfortable" meant I wouldn’t find my routine: coffee at such and such a time, reading at such and such a time, getting about my "to-do’s" in such and such a way, you know. I digress (wow… a digression in the first paragraph? Buckle up).

Throughout my life, I can faintly remember people asking me where I would go if I could go anywhere in the world . I think a few of those questions received the answer "Israel," but for the most part I just made something up. It changed every time: Europe, Africa, New Zealand. Never with any clear intention. So when the perfect storm began to brew—my boss offering to me a two week vacation to decompress from school and my parents offering me a paid trip to anywhere as a way to celebrate finishing school—I had little more than weak ambitions. One of my best friends and I began daydreaming about a trip to Europe or New York. That was in March… I think.

Fast forward to a Thursday morning in late May or early June. I had begun attending a weekly prayer gathering at the church. This particular morning, the presence of God was there in such a way that I was energized to my core. This, I have since discovered, was to become a theme, and an addiction, throughout this adventure. In those times, I begin to understand what "life to the full" means. At any rate, while I drove home from that time of prayer, I continued to commune with God in the car, and a word exploded into my mind: "Jerusalem." It was so loud, so rich, and so right. My spirit lept within me. Of course! What better way to finish Seminary?

A few other things had to fall into place. I needed to go soon. I was still planning on a trip with my dear friend, but surely the cost of such a trip was beyond his means at the time. A couple days later, I went up to see him, convinced after more prayer that he’d tell me that night either 1) he was excited to go to Israel and would make it work, or 2) he realized he wouldn’t be able to do a trip. Right when I got there, he sat down and explained why a two week trip wasn’t feasible. "That’s all right, man. I’m going to Israel." The way the trip itself came together continued to confirm the voice I had heard. The timing of the arrival of my passport, the availability of a spot on a tour, the flexibility of the church to shift the dates I had asked for to be gone… all of it screamed at me: yes, this is right, go!

After that, life sped up. I began to take on more and more responsibility at the church. I’ve been planning on launching a DNA-changing aspect of our church-life, and the planning was being compressed into a small amount of time. By a few days before the trip, I had done precious little to prepare. I hadn’t brushed up on any Hebrew vocab. I hadn’t browsed through any travel books. I didn’t even have the appropriate luggage. My heart-rate sped up for a few days, but all in all, things came together.

I was set to leave on Monday, July 30th. I would arrive in Tel Aviv (which means, roughly, "Old and New") on the evening of the 31st. This was my first international flight, certainly my first flight over an ocean. I flew to Atlanta, where I waited ten hours. In the concourse for international travel I discovered a baby grand piano playing itself. Nice. I walked around a bit, and when I returned, I heard the piano playing a jazz song, "Dancing Cheek to Cheek," with some clever improv. "That’s one crazy electronic piano," I thought. As I drew nearer, I discovered an older man crouched over the keys. A jazz pianist. A legit jazz pianist. I sat and spent the next 4 hours or so lost in his music. What a fabulous way to wait. What a fabulous way to forget my fears. Thoughts of language, safety, group dynamics, and the rest faded into the little-joy of this gentleman’s music.

By the time I boarded, I was given an exit row, where I could stretch my legs. Everyone around me was speaking Hebrew. I dug my Hebrew Phrase Book out of my bag and hid it by my side (for some reason, embarrassed to be caught reading it…why?). What was I in for? I had no clear expectations—perhaps a result of my little to no preparation, perhaps a good place to be. I didn’t know what to pray. "Open my eyes, Lord. Help me to see what you want me to see."
Security seemed minimal to get from the US to Israel (a misleading preparation for my journey home, but that story will come at the end). I stood in a few lines, had to explain my reason for travel to exactly no one. Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv is the most high tech airport I’ve ever seen—it makes DIA look old. My mind spun—I ducked into a bathroom at the baggage claim to put on my money belt. I clung to my satchel in front of me so no pick-pockets could ruin my tour before it started. Apparently, I expected to be greeted by a literal den of robbers in the terminal. First time travel fears.

When I walked out into the Terminal, I wandered for a few minutes through a crowd and then saw a man in a black shirt with dark sunglasses (we were still indoors…) holding a sheet with "Michael Wright" printed on it. I walked up to him, pointed to the sign and then pointed to my chest: did I expect he wouldn’t know English? "I’m Hoffer. We are waiting for one more, so you can go sit at that coffee shop. Just stay in sight." I eased a bit. "Okay." I walked to the coffee shop in the terminal. Everything was written in Hebrew (in my discombobulation, I couldn’t see that everything was also written in English). I knew I needed water, but I walked away, intimidated. A vending machine stood in the corner. It had bottles of water in it, and a slot for a credit card. Perfect. I slid my card, pushed the appropriate button, and nothing happened. I did it again. Again nothing. Apparently, I was doing something wrong, but all the instructions were in Hebrew. Great. I’m alone in the Middle East, and I can’t figure out a vending machine. A line was gathering behind me, with some amused people watching. I walked away. No water.

Eventually I grew the courage to ask. Of course, everyone at the coffee shop spoke English. I had my water for seven shekels, and I sat to wait for Hoffer and the other arrival. He never showed up (I later met him on the tour. A wonderful Mexican American named Fernando), so it would be Hoffer and me driving to the hotel. It was an hour or so, driving along the West Bank (so he told me), and into the city. Eventually, we began to chat. I found out that along with driving a shuttle, Hoffer made Techno (or Trance) music. He played some for me, very loud. It seemed to ease him that I was interested. It eased me that he was talking… and settled my conspiracy theory that he was actually working for some terrorist organization and was taking me to a place to decapitate me. Like I said: no preparation, no expectation. And some ridiculous fears.

The hotel was on the bank of the Mediterranean Sea. It was late. I had no idea if it was safe to walk around or not. I walked around the hotel for a while, spoke to no one, and went to sleep. It took some smuggled sleep medication to put me out, and I woke up at 4:45. I had spent a night in Israel. Who knew what the morning would bring. My thoughts were becoming more and more profound…at this point, if you could hear my monologue, you’d hear "I’m in Israel. I’m actually in Israel. This is Israel. Look at that! That’s Israel. I’m really in Israel."