What a long flight. The first couple days, we could hardly move. We arrived in Tel Aviv and located our apartment in Tiberias. What a beautiful surprise it was! Large, bright, and airy. We ventured out for groceries and explored the town, had dinner with our hosts, and explored our first sites.
#1-#11--St. Peter's Church in downtown Tiberias

What’s in a Name?
During our first full day in Israel, my wife and I entered an old make-shift mini-synagogue tucked away in a corner of downtown Tiberias. Once inside, we saw a few men praying. One of them shuffled over to us and affectionately (as if we were his own bubbulas) escorted us to the curtained Ark. Then he placed his hand gently on my head, ready to recite a blessing. But before he began, he addressed a white-bearded compatriot, whom he called Schlomo. I then blurted out that I had the same first name: “Ani (I) Schlomo.” Both men seemed to be delighted by this revelation. They chuckled and jabbered and jiggled. Eventually, our ingratiating host blessed me and then my wife. He could not have been more endearing. Just after the ceremony ended, however, he grabbed my arm and harshly said “money.” It had not occurred to me that his services required a donation; he sure emphatically reminded me of my obligation. Taken aback, I slid whatever coins I had into the slot that he unceremoniously directed me to. I guess that all of the good will that everyone had generated up to that point and even my being named after a royal member of the tribe (Schlomo was King Solomon’s Hebrew name) didn’t give me a shekel-free ride.
Later that night, while my wife and I were trying to locate an address near a landmark called the Solomon, I asked an elderly lady for help. At first, it was futile. Repeatedly but respectfully, I said the word Solomon. Even though she didn’t understand what I meant and was getting as flustered as I was, she hardly gave up. Without warning, she shouted out Solomon to someone at a nearby house and to anyone else in the vicinity. They all were stumped. All of a sudden, I switched gears. I said “Schlomo.” The woman then asked, “Melech (King) Schlomo?” As I nodded, she got real animated. Waving her hands, she pointed up the street and almost in a frenzy shouted out “Schlomo, Schlomo!” I graciously thanked her (she didn’t demand any money for her trouble) and within a few steps, my wife and I approached the Hotel Solomon—thanks to my namesake and the kindness of a stranger.

We visited the Jordan River Baptismal site at Yardenit, near Tiberias. Various groups of people from America to Asia, mostly middle-aged women, got baptized in the small sectioned-off area in the vicinity where John the Baptist baptized Jesus.
All of the initiates were beaming
after the ceremony.

At Hammat Tiberias National Park, we marveled at the well-preserved walls of a 4th century B.C.E. Tiberias synagogue that included an elaborate mosaic zodiac calendar floor. An adjacent museum had many well-preserved ritual baths (Mikvahs)for purification. At the top of the Park, hot springs sluiced downstream. Marie put her feet into the water--it was still close to scalding after these many centuries.

The Church of the Beatitudes has traditionally been the spot where Jesus gave the Sermon on the Mount. Within the acoustically superb sanctuary, we heard a group of Asian tourists chanting sacred melodies. Their singing, plus the shimmering church itself, was uplifting. When a group from America later began their chorale, one of the nuns told them to stop. They did so reluctantly. That broke the spell for us.
Later, we walked over the mostly unadorned Church of the Primacy of St. Peter. It reminded me of an ancient, isolated cloister.

Bet She’an National Park

Bet She’an has a mammoth display of Roman antiquity: Massive colonnades along a walkway and surrounding the ruins of a temple; public bath houses that contain toilet pits; a well-preserved amphitheater that seated thousands of spectators; large thick-walled archways, a diversity of stairways, extensive mosaics, and a cistern or two.

We spent hours touring this ancient archaeological treasure trove.

We visited the main Nazareth churches: the Basilica of the Annunciation, the Church of St. Joseph, and the Greek Orthodox Church of the Annunciation. Each church was splendidly arrayed with vivid paintings and sculptures and highly stylized pillars. The vast recesses of the Basilica of the Nativity were an unexpected awesome spectacle.

Protestant fundamentalist ministers—from Jonathan Edwards (“Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”) to the jeremiads of Jeremiah Wright—have been notable and notorious for their vehemently passionate sermons. While my wife and I—while eating at the Nazareth Restaurant—heard what sounded like a hell, fire, and brimstone harangue during an outdoor Friday noon Muslim religious service half a block away. The ceremony began quietly with a few moments of melodic chanting. But then the religious leader began a furious half-hour diatribe. His tone was so strident—and possibly mean spirited—that my wife and I initially feared that the violence in his voice might stir up some violence in the streets. But a nearby Israeli riot-control cop showed no concern at all—he just listened to the ranting for a while and then moved on. So we figured that it was safe enough to stay put and finish our meal. Still, it was unnerving (even as bystanders) to be subjected to such a loud, relentless verbal onslaught. When the speaker finally ended his tirade, the crowd slowly and peacefully disbanded. Amen to that!

March 23—The Yigdal Alon Museum of the Galilee houses a partially resurrected fishing boat during the time of Jesus’s ministry. The Museum contains the incredibly intact wooden frame of the oldest fishing boat in the world, dating from the 1st century A.D. A video amply shows how the boat was discovered, unearthed, decontaminated, lifted to the Museum, put on supports, and kept in a permanently temperature- controlled stage.

March 24—Orchard Park north of Netanya has an incredibly varied selection of flowers in its mammoth three-story greenhouse. The spurting fountains outside accompanied by Israeli martial music are another treat.

The two nature reserves at the southern tip of Netanya (Iris and Nahal Peleg) are along the Mediterrean Sea. At the foot of huge sand dunes and craggy cliffs are fields of wildflowers. The Irises were not in bloom--that was a disappointment--but we enjoyed viewing the particularly bright red anemones.

Early in the morning, we went back to Yigdal Museum to finish our tour. We were happy to find some Hebraic artifacts tucked away in the far corners of the building.

the next attraction was the Arbel Nature Reserve just outside of Tiberias with it sheer cliffs filled with man-made caves. Even though we couldn't locate the peak's entrance, and we didn't climb up or down the extremely steep mountain paths, we had astounding views of Arbel's extensive cubbyholes from the roadside.

That afternoon, we traveled to Mt. Betel, the scene of decisive battles the Israelis won against the Syrians. We saw lots of barbed wire and discarded Syrian tanks plus expansive views of the Golan Heights.

Have Uzi, Will Travel

At Mt. Betel, I saw a contingent of young IDF (Israeli Defense Force) recruits eating at the site’s restaurant and kibitzing with one another. I wasn’t surprised that they were dressed in combat attire and had Uzis slung around their shoulders. But I was a little taken aback when I noticed that two of the soldiers were women who looked very comfortable not only with their comrades but also with their submachine guns. Before long, I saw a fellow in a T-shirt and shorts; he may have been out of uniform, but he too had an Uzi strapped to him.

Mayhem, No; Mitzvah, Yes

As my wife and I drove away from Mt. Betel, one of the Golan Heights’ scenic outpost outlooks, a young man in ultra-orthodox garb—his payis (ear locks) flapping in the wind--frantically waved at us to stop. He seemed genuinely alarmed, so we accommodated him. Immediately, he rushed behind us and slammed shut our wide-open trunk that we had evidently forgotten to close. Without asking for our abundant gratitude, he quickly continued to walk up the mountain path.

We didn’t reflect on this incident until after arriving near dark at our apartment a few hours later. My wife’s new hi-tech pal, the iPad 2, which she had left in the trunk and which she had not used that day, was missing. No matter how painstakingly my wife and I ransacked the trunk (and the rest of the car) that evening and the next morning, we couldn’t locate the iPad. Throughout our frustrating searches, we began to suspect that the piously dressed young man was a fraud—he himself (or one of his conniving cohorts) might have stolen the device just before he closed the trunk.

Even though we were getting resigned to being scammed, I made one last attempt to find the iPad. While my wife was entering an ancient church, I began to dismantle the carpet in the trunk. As I did so, I felt something like a plastic latch embedded in the middle of the rounded trunk panel. I yanked on it; the handle and then the rest of the miraculously undamaged iPad emerged. Somehow, in all of our scouring within the trunk, we must have pushed the iPad into its securely hidden pocket.

I was elated. I jumped about, tracked down my wife, deliriously displayed the iPad to her, and watched her beam at my heroic catch.

After we calmed down, we realized that we had made some obviously careless mistakes during the past two days. We failed to shut the trunk; and we didn’t have the foresight to get a flashlight. As we have learned in prior excavations for our lost treasures, the flashlight is your friend. But our greatest error was to assume that someone had hijacked our iPad. It’s so tempting to play the victim; it’s much harder to look within ourselves.

Before getting to the prime attraction at Banais Falls in the Hermon Nature Reserve, we just by accident noticed a delightful but unheralded waterfall (Sa'ar) on the way to the Reserve. The celebrated Banais Falls, the highest one in Israel, was impressive but we had a hard time getting to it because of rowdy groups of teenagers blocking our way, and by their equally obstreperous adult guides made a lot of the walk unpleasant.

Later on the day, we sought refuge in a well-known nut and dried fruit store in Tiberias. After stocking up on some of these delectables, we headed for the Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes. The exterior was fairly austere, even ascetic, but the interior was much more colorful with its pastel paintings of saints.

Our GPS Has a Mind of its Own

The spelling of towns and attractions in the Israel-based GPS sometimes doesn’t coincide with how those areas are normally denoted in the tour books or even in local maps. It took my wife and me hours to locate a nearby national park because the GPS was useless. According to it, Hamat Tiberias didn’t exist: but as we later learned, the GPS would have gotten us there promptly if we had known that it decided to add another letter to the first word—Hamat became Khamat. Another time, we had to rely on an exceptionally detailed map instead of the GPS in order to locate a town called Banias because the idiosyncratic GPS couldn’t find the place. It turned out that if we had added another s to Banias, then the GPS would have accommodated us. As the lord of the highway coordinates in the sky, the GPS giveth extra letters and taketh away our sanity.

We drove to Zefat’s artists’ quarter. There were dozens of shops containing exceptionally well-conceived and well-produced sculptures, paintings, and jewelry. The ride up was just as illuminating. The hillsides leading to Zefat are studded with mammoth rows of various sized and contoured rocks, an artistic landscape in its own right.

We didn't any migrating birds at The Hula Valley Nature Reserve, but we did see some spectacular sights in the water. Beneath one of the large bridges, masses of catfish were swimming under masses of turtles, each group oblvious of the other.

At Teldan National Park, there were abundant archaelogical remains, but the most fascinating were the Israelite fortifications and the Canaanite arches, caves, and mounds.

The alligators and the mountainous setting were spectacular, but nothing was as awesome and amazing as the massage that Peter gave Marie.

Of course, getting to the spa by car (or going anyplace by car in Israel) is an adventure all by itself. Israeli drivers are notoriously aggressive. That’s why I let my wife—who is much more adventuresome than I am—do all of the driving. So far, we have had no mishaps on the road, despite the universal, unnerving honking and the anxiety caused when cars, vans, and even tour buses are swarming and swerving all around us. Pedestrians don’t fare much better. While I was taking my power walk yesterday, I saw a young woman get into her car and begin to speed on a street where further down three small children were kicking a soccer ball. I figured that she would slow down a little or perhaps even (God forbid) stop for a moment so that the children could safely get back to the sidewalk. But, maintaining her speed, she just tooted her horn, scattering the luckily unscathed children in her wake.

I guess Israelis drivers are in a great rush to get to their destinations. Yet waiting in line—whether in a mini-mart or a huge grocery store—Israelis are extremely patient. It makes no difference if the check-out person is male or female, old or young, stout or bony, monolingual or multilingual. All of them are super slow. But the Israeli shoppers don’t seem to mind if the clerks minutely examine every item that slides along the counter, as if it were an artifact at an archaeological dig. No one fidgets or complains when the clerks—in slow motion—lift their fingers to ring up an item and ever so gently nudge it to its resting place. But there is an upside to this Zen-like process: the customer, not the clerk, is required to bag the groceries. Otherwise, even the most stoic of the Israeli shoppers might have trouble enduring the already time consuming check-out routine.

I may curse the willfulness of the Israeli driver, but I respect the will power of the Israeli shopper.

Elijah's cave, the oldest synagogue in continuous use, was a relic Jews have cherished for centuries--reverence incorporated.


For lunch, he wanted us to eat at Maxim’s, a restaurant that had been bombed a couple of times during Palestinian uprisings. With some misgivings, we agreed to go there. The odds were that we’d be safe, and in Israel, you have to go with the odds or you’d go nowhere.

Let go and Let God

My wife and I recently visited a Reform temple in Haifa where most of the congregants speak English. Initially, I was disappointed. I was expecting to hear stirring cantorial chanting, but the cantor was on vacation, as was the well-known, innovative rabbi. A visiting rabbi was in the wings, but the youth group led the service. And they weren’t very good at first. They perfunctorily read their equally shared Hebrew selections, and I couldn’t figure out what pages they were on—there were no directions, either in Hebrew on in English. The youth group uniformly sang off key liturgical and non-liturgical songs—none of which I was familiar with. And the guitarist enjoyed playing as many wrong notes as he could muster.



I was relieved when the visiting rabbi came up to the bima (the platform). But even though he was very poised, authoritative, and expressive, he spoke nothing but Hebrew. All that I could comprehend was a passing reference to Passover (Pesach). Nonetheless, I felt obliged to pay attention to him (I was in the front row), uncomfortably nodding and smiling and raising my eyebrows when I thought it was appropriate to do so.



As the youth group replaced the rabbi on the bima, I was dreading the second half of the service. My fears, however, were unfounded. Within a minute, these previously untalented teenagers sang many familiar melodies on pitch and with passion. I enthusiastically joined in for the first time that evening. Later, one of the female youth members with understated eloquence read a fairly lengthy Hebrew blessing. But what moved me the most was the genuinely warm hearted way that she signed as well. And just before the end of the service, all of the young people linked arms and swayed joyously as they sang their final anthem, a tribute to their solidarity. The congregation gave them a rousing ovation. What a sense of community, of communion! Despite my earlier complaints during the service, I left the temple inspired.



Of course, I would have been happier throughout the service if I had adopted my wife’s attitude. She whispered to me when she noticed my accumulated frustrated that she was determined to patiently glean whatever she could from the service, regardless of any roadblocks in language or lapses in esthetics. My wife is a wise woman, even if she has always been seven years younger than I am.

March 31. Within 15 miles of Tiberias: First we went to the Doma Galilee, an ultra-modern monastery. Then off to Korazim National Park to see the extensive remains of a 4th- to 5th-century synagogue constructed out of black basalt. In Capernaum, we saw a better preserved 3rd-century synagogue made out of white limestone. Next to it is a small, secluded area traditionally denoted as St. Peter’s home. At nearby Capernaum National Park, there is a highly ornate Greek Orthodox Church with brilliantly colorful paintings covering every crevice—from the dome to the floor. Our last visit was to Jethro’s Tomb in the Druze mosque near Kefar Zeitim. The mosque grounds serve as a communal gathering place for picnickers—we can still smell the kabobs.

April 1: Our main objective today was to hike through parts of the Yehudiya Forest Nature Reserve. We started on a walk to one of the waterfalls, but there was so little shade in such a desolate area that we turned back after going halfway. Nonetheless, we enjoyed the view of distant but distinct Mt. Hermon and the sprawling semi-wilderness. But what made the trip truly memorable was the spectacle of at least a hundred off-duty IDF soldiers in T-shirts and shorts and carrying their omnipresent Uzis. Marie found out from one of the recruits (a 20-year old named Omri) that his whole Golan battalion had a day off—with pay—as long as they stayed close to their base. And the Reserve is nearby. Marie couldn’t help herself: she enticed the young man to let me take a picture of both of them: Marie leaned in, as close to an Uzi as she will ever get.

April 2: Today was an easy day before our five-day jaunt to the Dead Sea and Petra. Marie bought some sandals from the Israeli shoe outlet Naot (right next to the shoe factory) in Neot Mordechai. As we backtracked into Tiberias, we saw some military vehicles on the road. The soldiers were in full combat gear. That you would expect. But what startled us was a covered armament jutting out of the top of the trucks. It was shaped like a large assault weapon.

In downtown Tiberias, we located the unpretentious tomb of Maimonides (Rambam) flanked by the reddish gird irons of a modernistic tower. Typically, men were praying on the right side of the monument; women, on the left.

Our last venture was to buy a sampling of the ripest fruit at the outdoor food market (the Shuk) in Tiberias.

April 3: On the way to the Dead Sea, we passed desolate mountains randomly streaked ash-white or in pastels. That was impressive. But even more awesome (perhaps because it was so unexpected), we saw areas of lush tropical trees in the desert; and nearby were shrubs and seedlings covered with immense netting to enhance their growth.

North of the Dead Sea, we visited Qumran, where the Essenes composed and secreted the Dead Sea Scrolls. We viewed the extensive but modest living quarters of these sequestered scribes. Above us, we saw the various caves carved out of mountain rock that housed these invaluable biblical documents.

Just before twilight, we arrived at the Oasis Spa across from the Dead Sea. Marie and I gingerly waded in the water, making sure not to get the high concentration of salt in our eyes. Not a problem: no waves, no frolicking youngsters, no commotion at all—just a lot of old folks like ourselves effortlessly and serenely floating in the restorative (if slimy) sea.

Requiem for a Toenail

All of my adult life, I have had ingrown toenails on my big toes. A few years ago, the one on my left foot got so infected that I had to have it (and the whole toenail, as it turned out) surgically removed. Since then, most of it has regrown—mercifully not ingrown—but it is brittle and looks like a veined, grotesque claw. My podiatrist must have been a butcher in another life. Not wanting the same ugly, embarrassing result for my right foot’s big toe, I have scrupulously excised any bit of nail that begins to cut into the tip of my skin.

A couple of days ago in Tiberias, Israel, I noticed a different problem: a snippet of the base of the toenail was missing, and the remaining toenail was a bit loose at that spot. I got alarmed. The toenail on my left foot was an eyesore; now the toenail on my right foot was beginning to erode from the bottom up.

Yet I had no time to dote on that specific anxiety. I was worried enough the next day when my wife and I journeyed to the Dead Sea on part of route 90 that (as our GPS warned us) went through a potentially dangerous portion of the West Bank. Thankfully, we had no mishaps along the way.

I was so grateful to have made it safely to the Dead Sea that I even forgot about my disappearing right toenail. In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed luxuriating in the restorative salt waters at the beach and at the spa where we were staying.

Before we left the hotel, however, I happened to look at my right foot: the big toenail was completely gone—probably because of its being immersed in such high concentrations of salt. At first, I was shocked. Then I reevaluated. I thought of the upside. I would no longer have to painstakingly dig out the beginnings of an ingrown toenail on my right foot. And I would no longer have to fret about the prospect of having another botched surgery to remove an ingrown toenail. Of course, if the toenail regrows, it might look like the disfigured one on my left foot; but for now, I am content.

Tony Bennett may have regretted leaving his heart in San Francisco. I am relieved that I have left my toenail at the Dead Sea.

April 5: Yesterday, we were too busy at the indoor salt pool and other spa areas to take pictures. Today at Masada was different. Although we couldn’t take pictures in the museum, we put the camera in overdrive as we ventured into Masada itself. It is an archeological supersite, from its strategically built palaces to its cavernous cisterns. But throughout our self-tour, we could never forget the saga of the mass suicides of the Zealots who preferred death to slavery.

The rest of the day was an anticlimax as we drove to Eilat before venturing April 6 and 7th to our main attraction in Jordan, Petra.

The last artifacts at the Masada Museum were pottery shards with the names of the Jewish fighters who were chosen to kill their comrades rather than surrender to the Romans. Looking at those decipherable Hebrew names gave me a few shudders, but I managed to stifle any tears.

April 6 and 7: On the 6th, we were with a small tour group as we crossed over to Jordan from Eilat to Petra. On the way, whenever we stopped, we took some pictures of the scenery, especially the mist-enveloped “Grand Canyon” of Jordan. At Petra, we walked through a maze of canyons until we saw the so-called Treasury, the most elaborate and monumental building of the ancient Nabateans.

We couldn’t take as many pictures as we wanted to because of the tour guide’s time restrictions, but the next day, we headed out on own at our own pace (until, of course, we had to be back at 3:00 to depart for Eilat). In our six hours in Petra, we savored every feature of its archeological grandeur—from the at times surrealistically sculptured cliffs, the chiseled (by nature and by the Nabateans) canyon walls, and the natural and man-made dams. Nor can be forget the caravans of tourists riding camels, donkeys, horses, and horse-drawn carriages. Our camera covered it all, plus a few unrehearsed shots of traditionally dressed Arabs.

While I was riding in a tour bus from Aqaba to Petra, Jordan, two solitary camels were traveling side by side along the shoulder of the superhighway, the only paved road for hundreds of miles. And then on the way back, I noticed a camel comfortably standing in the back of a pickup truck going at least 50 miles per hour.
At noon in the Petra canyons, I wanted to sit down while my wife sent to the WC. There was one vacant spot next to an Arab woman. I took it for a minute until I heard a growl. In front of me was an indignant Arab man. He thrust his hands out and motioned for me to get off the seat. I did so immediately. I don’t know what—if any—relationship he had with the woman. Perhaps I had committed some sort of taboo. In any case, I was happy to stand up until my wife rejoined me.

Gobbledygook to the Rescue
Our tour guide in Petra, Jordan, told my wife and me to shoo away any of the children who try to sell us souvenirs as we progress into the canyons. My wife, who once taught and tamed students at middle school, did a good job: when she said no, every one of the urchins stayed clear of her. It wasn’t just her firm voice; her body language left no wiggle room for ambiguity. I, on the other hand, wasn’t as successful at first. As with my grandchildren, I have difficulty saying no as if I really mean it. I am too inherently courteous to be curt. After my wife reminded me that I must be more forceful in dismissing these omnipresent pests, I dredged up a new tactic: relying on my patented gibberish—a kind of guttural guttersniping—that I delivered with resounding authority. As the next unsuspecting little entrepreneur approached with his wares, I snarled something like vachvatuch-kvark-pflutchig. Perhaps flabbergasted, perhaps cowed, he fled from me; and I never had to deal with him or his cohorts again. I had triumphed, pleasing my wife and regaining my machismo. At the same time, I did feel sorry for the poor kid. I guess there aren’t too many paper routes in Jordan, eh?




On the road back to Eilat, Stan (through the bus windows) took lots of pictures of the unceasingly exotic Jordanian mountains.

April 11: We went to the grottoes at Rosh Hanikra, on the Lebanese border. The tour books say that the best time to visit this site is during stormy weather. The seas were indeed churned up when we arrived: rain clouds were pelting the off-shore waters. Accordingly, as we ventured through the grottoes, the ocean smacked against the rocks so forcefully that huge waves boomed into the caves (the explosive sounds were as loud as cannon fire) and soaked a few spectators. But what was really eerie was that the grotto openings would get extremely dark just before an onslaught of waves.

Kibbutz Lavi's operation is absolutely amazing. Just look at the farm equipmentthat has to cover over 2500 acres. There is a large mechanics shop to repair their own tractors and cars. Notice the feeding stalls for the newly born calves. They milk 3 times a day. All the cows wear an orange chip around their legs. [you can hardly see them because of the accumulated shit] . When they come into the milk house, a computerized monitor recognizes each cow and then records the milk each one gives at each milking. All automated. Amazing.

Look also at the wood shop. Lavi makes Temple furniture for anyone who orders it, and they have lots of orders as they are well known for their quality workmanship. One of those machines with the numbers on it can do up to 5 operations with one piece of wood all at the same time as it is run through the machine.

I of course fell in love with the laundry facility. If you live on the Kibbutz, you simply bring your laundry and sort it into the bins. All the laundry is done in one central location with those huge washing machines. It is then sorted and ready for the family to pick it up. Each family has a number which they put in every piece of laundry they own.

Over 150 families are supported by this operation. Lavi has fruit trees,[no vegetable farming] milk cows, horse rides for tourists, a 4 star hotel, and the Temple furniture manufacturing, Wow.....All the profit is split equally for the members, and no matter what job you do from cleaning out the barns to running the business end of the hotel or the furniture business, you get the same pay. I love it.




Our email to our hosts at Lavi Kibbutz: Dov and Miriam:

Marie and I thoroughly enjoyed our time with you yesterday. It was more than just kibitzing about the kibbutz. The historical information and personal insights—leavened with wit—that you so graciously gave us made a lasting impression. Tapping into your exhaustive insider knowledge as you guided us through every facet and feature of the Lavi kibbutz was one of the highlights of our trip so far. Everything that we saw was a treat, especially the superstar hotel, the elaborate milking machines, and all of the fine-honed stages of processing and producing your upscale furniture. We may not become kibbutzniks, but we will always have a soft spot in our hearts for you, your extended family, and for the “principle”embodied by Lavi. Thank you so much for finding the time and the patience to help us understand yet another wonderful aspect of Israel.

April 12: The Old City of Acre (or Akko) was our destination. Ancient walls still surround this city within a city. We marveled at the massive remains of Crusader fortifications, halls, tunnels, and underground prison works. Nearby were a well-preserved Turkish bathhouse and the Al Jazeer Mosque with its dazzling colors and ornate contours.

April 13: We spent most of our time in the old port city of Jaffa, at the southern tip of Tel Aviv. Some of the sights included clock towers, mosques, steep cobblestone stairways, Muslim and Jewish monuments, court yards and winding terraces. Before eating at a downtown Tel Aviv restaurant, Marie took pictures of some of the distinctive buildings there.

April 14: It was a rather sad day as we reflected on all the battles fought in Megiddo...and to be leaving this beautiful countryside tomorrow.

Our last day in Tiberias we spent primarily in Megiddo, or named Armageddon in the Book of Revelation because so many pivotal battles were fought there for millennia. But before we got to the national park there, Stan stopped at Afula (very near the West Bank) to see a monument commemorating the Israeli soldiers who died in the wars (from Israel’s inception in 1948 until isolated skirmishes in 2011). Stan got a bit choked up when he saw that one of the soldiers had the same Hebrew first name as he has.

At Tel Megiddo, we toured the site with some ad libbed commentary from a woman (with her three children in tow) who just happened to be a travel guide in Jerusalem. We saw ruins of numerous civilizations since the Iron Age—granaries, water tunnels, horse stables, temples, and cubbyholes next to the main gate, areas most likely used for collecting miscellaneous commercial fees. Just outside of the park, Stan took a picture of a lone, forlorn looking headstone.

As we drove back to Tiberias, we took final pics of the countryside, some more headstones, and shots from our rental condo.