Two weeks ago was a special season of holidays here in Israel. It was my first time being in the country during this season, and I hadn't expected the season to be so significant, so poignant, so full of customs and traditions that are far more Israeli than Jewish.

The season began on April 24th with Yom HaShoah - a day set aside in memorium of the Holocaust. Like all Jewish holidays, the day started at sunset the night before and was marked by a minute long siren - once at night and again in the morning. During the sirens, which would ring again the following week in honor of those who have fallen fighting for Israel, the whole country stops. Traffic stands still. People freeze. Families sitting alone in their living room stand up, in silent solidarity - a country taking (over the course of a week) 5 whole minutes to simply remember her fallen sons and daughters. Stores close, restaurants too. The radio plays dirges, on TV are movies about the Holocaust. It is impossible, in this tiny island in the middle east, to forget.
And yet around the world, as Holocaust survivors dwindle with time, I still worry that forgetting will happen.
In Israel, suffering is always in the back of people's minds. (This is one woman's opinion, of course.) But I see it and hear it all the time. I see the lines on people's faces, the worried looks of passersby, the stress that accompanies life in Israel.
Things here are never simple. Nothing is laid out on a table - rich or poor, black, white, brown - everyone here has a story of how they got here. Some are survivors or children of survivors. Others walked from Yemen or fled Iran. Some took an overnight-] plane from Ethiopia and arrived in a strange world with no common language or culture. Few have had the easy life, and virtually no one's parents did.

But all this suffering, or culture of suffering does a lot for building unity.

A week after Yom HaShoah, there is the even more solemn holiday: Yom HaZikaron. This day is set aside to honor soldiers and victims of terror who have lost their life in the 61-year history of this country. During one of the sirens, I found myself in the middle of the busy Tel Aviv market place. As the siren started, everyone froze. Arab and Jew, children, elderly. The fruit stood still mid air, the scales found their equilibrium, the shekels settled into comfortable positions inside pockets. The siren lasted two whole minutes - a long and surreal amount of time. Eyes turned inward or toward the ground. And I was left alone in this crowd with my thoughts and my utter awe at the awesomeness of such a moment.

Actually, several moments. The length of this pause was part of what made it so significant. For sure I've heard about it before. Read about it. But experiencing it, as with so many things in life, was something else entirely.

At sunset, the solemn mood ends in an instant. Memorial candles are replaced by fireworks. The sad songs by cheers. Flags wave from windows and windshields, grills ignite, marshmallows sizzle on sticks, and the entire country floods outside to celebrate Independence Day. Just like that. Back to back. Tears aside, not even a memory. Everyone eats steak and burgers, even the vegetarians light their grills. The air reeks of ash and smoke. The sky is a light smokey grey with flashes of fireworks grinning through the haze.

We took the opportunity of our days off to head up north for a 4-day hike. I thought that Israeli Independence Day was a perfect time to hike the breadth of the country. Ori, myself and 3 other friends headed up northeast to the Sea of Galilee (Kinneret). We parked our car, drove back across the country (70ish km) to the west coast town of Nahariya on the Mediterranean. While our friend Robert volunteered to set up the grill and keep our steaks cold, the rest of us began hiking from Sea to Sea. Sea to shining Sea in Israel - a hike of 4 (doable in 3) days. In the US, it would take a full year and a half to hike coast to coast.

And yet the richness and diversity of scenery seems to rival the US. We began amidst fields of bananas and avocados as we traced our way through the orchards owned by community farms. From there, we headed into a river bed far beneath the crusader fortress of Montfort. We spent our first night above the canyon and partook in the Independence Day tradition of barbecued steaks and chicken. On the second day, we hiked all day in the dry river's path and ended our evening in a Druze village.
We found an amazing restaurant which was quite the perfect example of Druzian hospitality. We filled ourselves and our bags with provisions and even found shelter in the skeleton of a Druze house. (A man at the gas station offered us the house his family is building as a place to lay our mats and sleeping bags.)
The rest of the hike wound us through rivers and up and over Mount Meron, of Kabbalistic Fame. We had views of Tzfat and Lebanon throughout. And of course we topped off our hike with a swim in the Kinneret.
Seeing so many aspects of this land within so few days helped me yet again to appreciate the unique richness of this country and also underlined its remarkable compactness. This country is tiny! And yet...
it seems to have it all. We find a way to hike on new terrain every month. The diversity of culture and traditions far rivals that of many much older countries.

All is well.