On the first morning of my second trip to Israel–the one in which Miriam and I would “walk the land together, a Jewish woman and a Christian woman”–we began our day with a hearty breakfast. The night before we’d stayed at wonderful hotel, Nof Ginosar, along the Sea of Galilee, then woke to enjoy one of their luscious breakfasts. Here, in this vast expanse of a restaurant overlooking the Sea, I learned how to say to a server, “Excuse me?” in Hebrew.
S’lach li … “S’lach li, may I have more cafe, bevakasha?”
Spanglish had nothing on my Heblish!
I also learned how to say, “labaneh,” which is a wonderful cheese spread, nearly white in color, and a staple in an Israeli breakfast. And, just to stay on track here, if you have never eaten a traditional Israeli breakfast, you really haven’t quite lived yet. While my usual fare is a cup of coffee and a protein bar, the Israeli breakfast (break . . . fast) is made up of all types of eggs, vegetables, an entire host of diary products, olives, fish and other meats, and fruit. Of course there is coffee, tea, and juices.
After eating, we repacked our bags and headed for Miriam’s car, then on farther north to Ein Ayub, the Spring of Job, which is located on the northwest side of the Galilee.
After observing a few teenaged Jewish boys clad in jeans and tees and sitting atop a cluster of boulders, eating their breakfast (Miriam dubbed them, “Jesus and a ew of the disciples”), we also found a place to sit and reflect for a while. Miriam, a trained guide, spoke in hushed tones about the landscape. Over there is this . . . and over there is that. She shared more with me about Ein Ayub and we talked about how this man is a central figure in all three of the predominate faiths here: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.
About that time a Sea of Galilee tour boat came into view. I had been on one of these wooden boats during my first trip to Israel, five years earlier. I along with five other journalists had come to tour the land, to write about it, to show that being here was safe. Miriam had been our tour guide. This was how we’d come to know each other and become such good friends. Then had been the time we decided to one ay write a book together, which was now my purpose of being in the Land of the Bible again.
Two years after my second trip, when the Ministry of Tourism allowed for another journalists’ tour–one Miriam and I had designed–I’d specifically asked that we be allowed to go out on one of the boats at night, as a reminder that 1) the fishermen in Jesus’ day often fished at night and, 2) that the story of Jesus calming the storm took place at night.
The beautiful Sea of Galilee grows larger, more ominous, and more frightening in the dark than in the light–as most things do.
On that future night in 2009, just as we’d gotten far enough out that the lights of Tiberius looked more like diamond glints, and just as Miriam began to weave the story of Jesus sleeping through the storm until woken by his terrified flock, the waves began to churn and peak in earnest. Miriam looked at me and I at her. “Cue the waves,” she said, which made me laugh.
But on this day in 2007, this quiet Israeli morning when light whispers of fog still clung to both land and water, I looked out and saw this particular tour boat. I noticed the flags immediately–one representing Israel and one representing the USA. This indicated to me that those on the tour boat were an American group. I couldn’t help but wonder with what story the guide had enraptured his listeners. The story of Peter’s disappointing fishing trip, the one that would ultimately lead him to meeting Jesus? (Luke 5:1-11) The story of the night Jesus calmed the wind and waves, then asked his shocked followers, “Where is your faith?” (Luke 8: 22-25) Perhaps the one in which the resurrected Jesus met a few of the disciples along the shores, Peter included, after another disappointing night of fishing? (John 21)
I raised my camera and took the photo, somewhat wishing I were a part but mostly thankful I sat on this boulder among this cluster of rocks, the legs of my jeans rolled up and wet, my feet bare (I’d just walked around in the water to get a better shot of Ein Ayub), and a full day ahead, walking (and driving) the Land with my beautiful friend, Miriam.
Shalom.
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