This weekend, I went hiking with an Israeli group called "Hug Elad."
The group is a loosely organized collection of very serious hikers. All were Israeli - mostly Ashkenazi, and ranging in age from 27 to 78. In fact, the founder was one of the eldest! The organization provides transportation, drops off our packs and tents at our camp site for Friday night and cooks up a soup for dinner. Other than that, the attitude was very much: every hiker for him/herself.

It was fantastic, challenging and a bit humbling. We hiked about 23 km the first day and much more than that on the second day. We began the trek near Hebron, in the West Bank and ended at Kibbutz Ein Gedi - 400m below sea level.

On the first day I hiked with the "easier" of the two groups. Easier in this case was a relative term, although as the youngest participant, I felt I had no right to complain.
As we hiked through the rocky desert of the west bank, we came across Bedouin tribes tending to their goat herds. The Bedouins are a nomadic Arab tribe that make their homes throughout Israel's deserts. Their 'settlements' consisted of a grouping of tents, a creatively designed pen for the goats and the occasional truck or jeep. During the day, the young boys walk with their herds, navigating their way expertly through the tough and vast desert terrain. A few people in our group spoke Arabic so we were able to communicate a bit with the tribes. At one point, we came across a group of boys laying soccer. Carefully removing all the rocks, they had cleared a full-size soccer-field in the midst of the desert. (Some things are universal - touching cultures in all parts of the globe.)

My favorite moment of the weekend was when we came across a white goat whose face looked as if it had been bashed in. "You are ug-ly" I called out (as usual, not really thinking before I spoke.) A fellow hiker admonished me, pointing out that the creature had a cleft lip that (of course) had never been surgically repaired. As I swallowed my pride and apologized to the woman for offending both her and the goat, the animal approached me and began rubbing her dripping nose against my tummy, coming as close to embracing me as any goat ever could. Her Bedouin caretakers looked on in surprise at her very un-goatly behavior and I just caressed her and apologize as she snuggled closer - breathing with difficulty due to her disfigurement. I had to tear myself away from her as the group continued onward... (Luckily, my friend Ori gave me as a birthday present a stuffed replica of my friend, so I won't forget her!)

As we hiked onward, from a distance, on the crests of the desert peaks, we saw camels and horses silhouetted against the expanse of blue sky. The air was crisp, and a bit cold, but the direct sun and brisk pace of hiking kept us warm.

The two guides told us anecdotes about the history, topography, and biblical significance of the sites around us. Hundreds of years ago, the hills had been home to monks, and we could see the remnants of their settlements in crannies and caves that were built into the overhanging rocky cliffs.

As night began to fall, the two groups joined together, and although we could see the
former Jordanian fort that was our campsite destination, it was still many kilometers away. We journey up and down the spines of the desert hills - as we headed south and west, the desert became sandier and we entered the true Midbar Yehuda. From here on out, we were alone in the desert, without the company of Bedouin tribes and villages. From a distance, reminding me of the tinyness of Eretz Yisrael - we saw the light of Jerusalem, of Hebron and of Bethlehem.

Arriving in the cement fortress atop a mountain, we set up our tents, sang the shabbat blessings and fought our way to the giant pot of soup above the fire. People were a bit cranky and impatient, and - quite frankly - fitting of Israeli stereotypes. I had some soup and was asleep in my tent before 9.

It was a cold night, but not intolerable. The wind whistled and shoo the nylon of my tent but I stayed warm enough by curling up. Before too long, Ori came to wake me up at 5:30 with a warm cup of tea and we huddled around the fire for a bit before heading back on the trail.

Be 6:30 we were snaking our way down into the Yehuda Desert, not stopping for breakfast until at least 9. The "rest" stops with the more challenging group were brief, leaving little time to sit or make an all important pit stop. Our guide, however, was fascinating. A history teacher, Shai could glance at the mountains all around us and name them, bringing them alive with stories from his life and from the Bible. At times, he read descriptions of the hills straight out of the Torah - made all the more fascinating by the fact that Shai is not religious.

We descended into a Wadi, walking down the paths that thousands of years of water had carved into the desert. Clammering over rocks and small pools of water, we descended further into the rock. At one point, some of the men climbed their way superman style across a deep pool of water. Leveraging themselves above the water, they crossed the pass by putting their arms and legs against the rocky sides of the cliff.

Twice, we came across undetonated bombs in the desert -left forgotten from training exercises of the Israeli Defense Forces. Even in the wilderness, the conflict that plagues this country was still present. Some of the men in the group had worked with bombs in their army time and were able to tell us more details about the types of explosives and the time periods they came from.

On the second day, we hiked toward the highest waterfall in Israel - I think(!) they said 400 meters high. Below us was the Dead Sea, and in the distance the mountains of Jordan. We could see the lights from the Jordanian towns on the other side of the Sea.

Near nightfall, we begin a steep and difficult descent of about 300 meters toward Ein Gedi. However, our guide, worried about doing the steep trek in darkness, aborted this path. This meant that we had to hike an extra 7 kilometers - in the dark - to another site where we could descend. At this point, most of the hikers were losing strength and mental fuel. We helped each other along and continued into the night, using only moonlight to light the way. The final descent was incredible steep and treacherous in spite of being along a marked trail. Carefully, we hiked in silence, eager to avoid being fined as the other group had been. - Hiking this trail at night was forbidden!

The cars heading north alongside the Dead Sea ever-so-slowly became bigger and beneath us I could finally make out the lights of Kibbutz Ein Gedi. About 1 km before the finish of the hike, I stopped to rest and breathe in the beauty of the desert. The moon, waxing, seemed to hang upside down in the sky and the stars came out one by one. I craned my neck to look up, trying to see the mountain peak from which we had come.

An hour later, the bus dropped me off in front of my dorm. I was smiling, exhausted, sore... and so grateful for such a unique experience




HERE ARE SOME PICTURES:
midbar-yehuda-2008.blogspot.com/


And the raw pictures at:
picasaweb.google.com/ecyashar/MidbarYehudaElad2008

A TRUE STORY,
By Emily


There are days when I get the sense that the universe
has everything exactly in order; all my actions are
intricately tied up with everyone else's. Sometimes I
envision it as millions of people rushing about their
daily work all over the world, but handing a note to
everyone they pass. Imagine it: everyone you passed
today havng a note in their pocket, silently handing
it to you, each one containing a connection and a
lesson that would have gone otherwise unnoticed.

I had this thought of karma in my head all day today.

I was on my way to the bus to visit my cousins, Sam
and Inbar, downtown, when I got a call from a friend,
R. She was at the supermarket, so I ducked in to say
hi just as she was leaving. She looked depressed and
asked me to have a cup of tea at the nearby cafe. I
was hesitant because I had told my cousins I was on
the way. But, I thought, it's just as important to be
punctual as it is to be present, even if
contradictory. So we sat and talked for half an hour,
and then she got up and settled the bill. I found this
funny, because we're both so broke we always split the
bill.
When I finally got to Cafe Hillel downtown I had this
in my head. I wavered a moment as Sam, Inbar and I
looked over the menu. I would be a good hostess if I
bought them their drinks. But we're all in the same
boat - why should one broke person pick up her broke
friend's tab? Then I thought of R, her moment of
generosity, and how I always wish I could be the
hostess that my hosts, when travelling, have been to
me. Then it was no longer a choice - I had to pay it
forward!

There have been little moments like these all week,
now that I think of them. Breaking the awkward
elevator silence to talk to a stranger in the morning,
then getting serenaded by Italian Opera by a stranger
on the bus in the evening. Offering help, receiving
help. Asking the divinity for guidance, and a path
manifesting.

Later in the evening R and I and another friend were
walking through downtown, when I was approached by
three greasy pre-teens for a shekel. I didn't think
they needed it - maybe they were just trying to find a
way to talk to us. But the meaningfulness of giving
and receiving was fresh in my head. I gave them a
"like I really believe your shtick" look and gave them
the shekel. After all, what's 25 cents in the grand
scheme?
Moments later our friend ran into a former partner on
the street. While they talked congenially for a while,
when the three of us got into the cab she broke down.
The reunion had re-broken her heart, and she began to
cry. The cab driver turned around in his seat. "What's
going on?" he said. Then he opened the glove
compartment and passed back a roll of toilet paper for
her to dry her eyes. "Wait," he said, and dug around
through some cassette tapes. He put one in, and the
car filled with French love songs.
"What do you think about love?" I asked him,
apathetically. R and I explained the situation of our
friend - what is there to do when love is lost? Why
does it take years for that pain to heal, only to
leave a bumpy seam of scar tissue across our entire
beings? He replied, "If your heart longs for his
heart, and his heart for yours, then they will meet
again."

The driver pulled up to our building. Our friend was
still unable to hold back her tears. He told us that
if we gave him information about the ex he would go
right out into the night and find him and tell him
what he was missing. We laughed at this idea. A cab
driver with barely any English searching the streets
of Jerusalem to rough up an otherwise decent American.
But then he had another idea: "For no charge," he
said, "I'll take you back into town. We'll go to Cafe
Rimon and I'll get you all juice, and we'll talk. What
do you say?" We laughed harder, laughing and crying at
once. And for some reason, we all agreed.

In the end our driver was called up for another
assignment, but first he took us to a nearby market,
parked, and after a minute came back with a shopping
bag. He handed back to us a bottle of orange juice and
three cups, three chocolate pudding cups (called
"Milky") with three spoons, and three Kinder
chocolates. Who has ever had a cab driver like this?
Since when do these strangers come around in a busy,
dangerous world and buy a girl chocolate pudding when
she's sad?
I burst into my apartment brimming with amazement at
this event. Since I don't eat milk I gave the Milky to
my roommate, M, and told her the story. She replied,
"it's kind of funny, this whole karma thing, because a
Milky was exactly what I needed right now." And she
peeled back the lid and dug in with the little plastic spoon.






Walk to the dinner in Rehavia
My compassionate boss
Roommate