Tsfat

 For the first time this trip, I felt like a real traveler. Having seen and done so many things, I think I may have nonetheless just been sightseeing up until this point. The key difference, as far as I can tell, is planning. I’ve seen a lot of incredible things, but with a bed always waiting for me in Jerusalem, I haven’t been a traveler in the romantic sense I’ve carried in my mind so long.

One of the charming aspects of Israel is the phenomenon of Shabbat- from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday, everything closes. In many cases, this extends into the afternoon of Friday and through Saturday night. In Jerusalem this only poses a moderate problem, as there are enough Arab stores and buses to get one through for a couple days. In a place like Tsfat, though, a small mystic Jewish town in the mountains with 99.2% Jewish population, Shabbat has pretty absolute control.

     Four of us caught the first bus to Tsfat, planning to spend the afternoon learning about Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism) and seeing the artists’ colony. Upon arriving, though, we found out that due to Shabbat the last bus back to Jerusalem leaves in half an hour, not in the early evening as we planned. Oops.

     As we decide to stay the night and return home the on the first bus the following evening, it begins to rain and we find that the bulk of stores and restaurants are in the process of closing for Shabbat (at 1 pm!). Another group of backpackers tells us that all the hostels they’ve checked were full, and we begin to worry. In the artists’ colony we browse the galleries and chat with the artists. One woman, who was selling Kabbalah amulets, reacted oddly to our questions- Do you know of a place we can stay? Where do you recommend we eat? What should we be sure to see? She didn’t want to answer our questions, instead vaguely shaking her head and saying “You must discover it for yourself. Follow your intuition and if God wants to show you something, he will.” Well, thanks. She did mention an old woman who takes boarders, “Lifshitz,” but in such a way we doubted her existence and any possibility of finding her.

     Maybe not consciously, and mostly because of the perplexing inaccuracy of all the road signs and our maps, we took her advice and began to wander. A few galleries and a local winery later we stumbled, to our surprise, upon ‘Lipshitz Hostel,’ located in what appeared to be a mystical garden. An older and extremely disheveled man in orthodox dress greeted us, and we proceeded to confuse one another in broken English for a few minutes until the terms were worked out. A long-term tenant, a transgendered woman from the US, appeared and showed us the hot water switch and made sure the man gave us toilet paper. Thus having shelter for the night secured, and feeling empowered by our good fortune amidst slightly bizarre circumstances, we headed back out to search down food- a major problem as between us we had 6 pieces of pita, a couple granola bars, and a bag of zaatar to hold us over until sundown the next day.

     We found food, hiked around a park (Tsfat is the highest town in Israel, on the third highest peak), explored a haunted schoolhouse, came across a flyer for a Kabbalah Shabbat service that night that welcomes visitors. Everything was a bit tinged by the strange weather, people, and our constant sense of how spooky everything was. After the service we headed back to our room, chatted with the two other travelers staying there (one German, one Colombian), and planned out the next day.

     The thought was to search out a taxi in the morning to get us from Tsfat to Capernaum, Jesus’ hangout on the Sea of Galilee. From there we would spend most the day getting around on foot to see the vicinity, ultimately finding a sherut or something to get us to Tiberias, from where we could get the bus home. The chronic pessimist of our shaky plans, I repeatedly proclaimed my doubts about getting to Tiberias by any means at all, unless we stay until sundown. To Capernaum we went, though, equipped with inadequate maps and the day to kill. At Capernaum we paid 3 shekels (~80 cents) to see the town’s ruins of houses and a synagogue, and the UFO-structure the Franciscans built over St. Peter’s house, complete with a glass floor in the middle to view the ruins.

Our next stop was the Mt. of Beatitudes about a mile away, a hill recommended for the view it provides of the sea. Finally locating the beginning of the path at the bottom of the hill, we stopped to rest, aware that we were just about out of snacks and had most the day left. We starting up the hill, though, we were invigorated by the ascent. On the right there was a vast plantation of some sort, covered by a net. “Bananas,” one friend said. Cool.  So we keep walking and further up we can see trees laden with actual bananas, in many cases exposed and ripe. Dare we? We grab one, peel it, sure enough it is a tasty edible familiar banana. We hoard a few and enjoy the unexpected godsent snack. On a hill, with a church on the top. Do bananas even grow in this climate? Why are they on this holy Mt? Thankful, we continue our ascent. The church is closed, but no matter- the view is great. We rest a bit and head back down to see what Tabgha, the adjoining town, has to offer (incidentally, almost nothing- a couple more churches with esoteric dedications).

     Now we’d really like to get to Tiberias, to walk around a couple hours before the first bus back to Jerusalem at five. Public transportation closed, taxis scarce, and at least twelve miles to traverse, we cross the street to inspect a bus stop sign and wake up a sleeping police-woman in a car to ask her advice. Defeated by the sign written in Hebrew, we stop for a moment to enjoy the shade. At that moment a bus swings around the corner, pulls toward the bus shelter, stops. Where are you going? How much? “To Tiberiah, free.” What?! Is this the Knight Bus? Why is it running? Why is it free? How did it possibly arrive just as we needed it? It says ‘Egged Tours’ on the side; it must be legitimate (Egged is the Israeli public transportation company). Giddily we board, unsure of what possible machinations are at work. Is it strange to ask why it’s free? Why are the bus driver and the police officer in the front seat laughing so much? Despite my misgivings we arrive safely in the center of Tiberias, are cheerfully pointed toward the bus station, and contentedly search out an ice cream cone.

     On one hand, we repeatedly thought of the artist-woman who had advised us simply to trust fate. On the other, maybe things have the capacity to work out, even independent of carefully laid plans. Flexibility and a sense of fun might go just as far toward a successful trip. Certainly, they made for a vastly more interesting and refreshing time. We talked to more unlikely people, explored areas that wouldn’t have warranted a specific trip, and renewed trust in our common sense. Invigorated, I returned to class today feeling significantly more well-disposed toward medieval pilgrims’ accounts of the holy land.