My First Golan Sunset
Dear Into Israel Readers,
This is most likely my last post to you before I leave from Israel for Texas. I say most likely, because I’ve come to understand that while we attempt to plan and forecast our future, there are heavenly signposts along the way that we dismiss with our earthly eyes. Of course, we should plan and there is inherent goodness in doing so. We just need to ensure that we know that sometimes plans go awry, or they seem to, but alas they are probably not, as in saying ‘Man Plans, God Laughs.’
I’ve been touring and traveling a lot before I depart, soaking Israel all into me. I went over to Ein Kerem, once a distinct town southwest of Jerusalem, but now more of a suburb. I like the artistic flair and tucked away remoteness of the village. After my visit and lunch, I was waiting for the bus that goes back into town, and it didn’t arrive according to the schedule.
As I waited, more and more people arrived, and we waited together in the quietness of the surrounding hills of Ein Kerem. Most of the young people stopped cars and hitched a ride along the winding road that took them where they needed to go. I didn’t even consider hitching a ride, although I secretly wanted to experience the freedom to be young again and go wherever and whenever you wished without Fear. Eventually, almost a full hour after the scheduled time, the bus arrived.
Had I known then what I know now! Not long after the Ein Kerem experience, I had to hitch a ride. And then it wasn’t a case of a couple of miles back to the main road. I was in the Golan, far from a town or rest-stop, and I had to flag a car by myself. It is a story for the memory books, or if I’m fortunate, the grandchildren!
It occurred during a road trip, but this is not a story I will write about today. It’s a story best told not written, so I hope to see you soon dear Into Israel readers where we shall sit and drink coffee or wine or both, and I shall start at the beginning.
I loved the Golan Heights. It was the peak of my time here. It is an area I know from my childhood and the Texas Hill Country—expansive spaces, vineyards doting the countryside, large green oak tress, pastures and cattle, yes cattle! This experience transcended even my continual feeling since arrival of belonging to that of “Oh, this is where I am supposed to be—You are Here, Barbara, dear child, you are Home.”
The stars are brighter in the Golan, and their beauty misted my eyes. By the time I left Teveriah by bus back to Jerusalem, darkness had set in. An old man got on the bus, and as I glanced up I knew he was going to sit next to me, and he did. He looked as though he had been a general once before, probably shared a drink or two with Moshe Dayan. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, for I wanted to grasp all that had occurred with and in me that day. He got a call from someone named Miriam, and I wondered if she was his wife, his daughter, or perhaps a girlfriend? At the very least, someone was checking in on him. A young rabbi came on board, and sat down opposite the old man, and soon they were in a low-level conversation that took both of them all the way to Jlem. I didn’t understand what they were saying, but yet I did. As I gazed at the emerging stars above and the twinkling lights of the enclaves below, the above song was playing on the bus. I could do a whole documentary on my bus ride experiences overlaid with an incredible soundtrack supplied by the English songs they have chosen to have on file.
I am leaving Israel, but I am not saying good-bye, that would be impossible. I don’t know if I will return to live, to visit or only to be buried, I only know I will return.
Perhaps it is the revolution that people talk about. Most people make the revolution—back and forth, several times before they say, “Okay this is it, the end of the road, now I stay.” Maybe that will be me. Maybe secretly that is what I want, and maybe it will be like Ein Kerem, and the play is already in motion. Our deepest Love never departs, and when you realize that the signposts are truly there, then you begin to recognize them, and plan accordingly!
BeShalom & Ahava,
Barbara
