Israel Experience, Part 2: Mickey and a Big Purple Bus

I couldn’t have planned my first morning in Israel any better. When I tried to go to bed at about 10:30 the night before, it was 1:30pm in Denver. My body wasn’t sure what I was trying to make it do. Thank God for sleeping pills, eh? Anyway, the next morning, when I woke up before sunrise, I was ready to go. I milled around my tiny room, journaled, did pushups, and hoped the coffee would be tasty at breakfast. And I looked out my window a lot, anxious to see what this foreign world looked like. In science fiction, sometimes the sky in other dimensions is a different color…maybe I expected the same thing. The sun came up gently. It was blue. The sky, the Mediterranean, the roads. I could look up the coast at downtown Tel Aviv. I opened my window and took as many big swallows of fresh Israel air as I could.

I needn’t say much about breakfast except this: one of my biggest fears going into the trip (if I’m to be honest here) was that I would not be able to maintain my pathetic coffee addiction. When I walked into the dining room to find little ketchup-looking packets with "Instant Arabic Coffee" in them, my heart sank. It seemed not all my fears were unfounded (so I don’t have to keep this plot-line going, I’ll just say now that it was merely this particular hotel with crappy coffee. You all can rest easy).

I walked outside with my bag to find several giant tour buses. In the windshield of the most gaudy one was placed a placard that read "Pilgrim Best of Israel Tour." When I say "gaudy," I mean… well, take a look at the picture. The travel books I had purchased before the trip recommended trying to blend in… if we were aiming to be inconspicuous, we missed. The noisy color of the bus was a let-down, but it was tempered by the short, round faced man with glasses who approached me as I stared at it. "You must be Michael!" He smiled and offered his hand. "Yes…" I muttered as I examined him. "I’m Mickey. I’ll be your guide. Welcome to Israel." Nothing about Mickey was "commercial" (another one of my fears). He looked like a MA Biblical Studies student, like someone who might enjoy a numerical comparison between Peter and Paul’s usage of first personal pronouns, and the like. I was instantly thrilled.

Behind the wheel of our "loud" bus sat a well dressed, large, dark Israeli man with big black sunglasses. He looked like he had just rolled off the set of a major motion action movie. His name was Yossi. He turned out to be a master at driving that big, fancy tour-bus. I rarely noticed him for how well he was doing. Part of that was because I was so taken with Mickey.
We climbed into the bus. I had spent significant time praying that I would have a grateful attitude and exceeding patience with my tour group. God was gracious: and so were they. There were about 30 of us, aged 14 to 79. The youngest and the oldest were brought along by their baby-boomer parents or children…and yes, I was surrounded by boomers, with a few X-ers and maybe 3 millenials. If you don’t know these titles for different generations, don’t worry about it. I’ve digressed.

So, the bus. Right when we started, Mickey’s voice came over the loudspeaker. His English was easy to understand, clear, even "marvelous," but he also had an accent that was slightly Russian and slightly Yiddish. I later came to learn that he was a Russian Jew who moved to Israel when he was 17 out of his Jewish fervor, only to find Christ through an Anglican friend once he got here. Mickey deserves a whole entry, but since he flavored almost every event to follow, I had to introduce him here. Front to back, he was an incredible guide: very knowledgeable, very careful not to step on theological or political toes (it was an evangelical tour, by the way), and very good at holding our attention. If ever you are planning to take a tour in Israel, I highly recommend Mickey. Send a comment, and I’ll give you his contact info.

He first took us to Caesarea. This was a Roman city, later controlled by Crusaders, now a site of historical ruins. It sits on the beach of the Mediterranean, had a track for Chariot Races (Ben Hur, anyone?), had rooms underground where the wild animals would be kept…which were used for Gladiatorial games. I loved the movie Gladiator, but when Mickey straightforwardly and rightly criticized that form of "entertainment" (referring to real gladiatorial matches), I knew I would be enriched and challenged. We looked at a stone found here with Pontius Pilate’s name carved in it. Evidence of Biblical accuracy, before my eyes.

Back in the bus, we continued on. I began to recognize that everywhere I looked was history thousands of years older than anything I’ve ever known in the States. We drove past a tomb on the side of the road, in passing, Mickey explained that it is probably 1900 years old, at least. Our bus climbed a mountain, to a monastery. "Welcome to Mt. Carmel." Here we were, on top of the mountain where Elijah had a standoff with the prophets of Baal. A huge statue of Elijah swinging a sword marked the territory. We climbed the stairs to a platform and looked out upon a breathtaking valley. It’s name is Jezreel. The book of Revelation calls it "Armageddon." Dozens of major, history changing battles have already been fought here…as recently as 1948. As Mickey taught and we gazed, fighter planes screeched overhead, a reminder that this land is still in great tension, and will be until that final battle. It was so green, and so big.

Next it was off to the ancient city Megiddo. The ruins of this city date back to 4000 BC. This city had been built and rebuilt, and it stood on top of a hill. The hill is taller now, because newer parts of the city were built right on top of the rubble from older parts. We could see evidence of the layers—of which there were around 20! This city, on top of this hill, controlled the entire valley of Megiddo (aka, Jezreel; aka, Armageddon) for centuries.

Our last stop for the day was a Palestinian city called (you may have heard of it) Nazareth. Though it is now a tightly packed, modern city, it still has history. We drove to a site where a 1st Century wine-press and threshing floor had been found. The YMCA bought this site, and converted the land around it into a village replica of life in the 1st Century. I expected to be disappointed as we heard about actors and role players…thankfully, they did not distract at all from the scene we saw. To walk in an area where Jesus most certainly spent his childhood! I rarely spoke; speaking would have slowed my intake of this scene.

As we drove away, I couldn’t help but to smile and gaze out the window. My day had begun with fantasies about a world where nothing was the same as my home, not even the sky. It was ending with a pleasant ride northward, through streets I had never seen but somehow seemed familiar. Our bus was headed to one of the most beautiful areas I have ever encountered in all my life: the Sea of Galilee. We would spend our next two nights the shores of the sea upon which Jesus walked, and around which he did the lion’s share of his ministry.

Before dinner I hurried to my room and threw on my bathing suit. I had to get in it. Many have already asked, "did you walk on it?" [Be sure to read that question with a goofy tone] Well, no. I walked into it. The floor of the "sea" (it’s actually a lake) is very rocky, the rocks are very sharp… so I stood knee high in it and didn’t move. If you can picture it, you can picture what it's like to travel alone. You're halfway across the world, in a bathing suit and no shirt, standing still 15 feet out from the beach, saying nothing, trying not to be awkward. In truth, it was so, so good. I just stood, watching the haze rise of the water in the heat, watching the sky begin to turn orange and purple in the sunset. My heart flooded with thankfulness. As I look back on my journal for these days, it is very simple: records of the places I saw, and gratitude. The gratitude remains, and with every passing day back in the norm, it grows.