My relationship with Israel is nothing if not sordid and complex. It seems that as soon as I grow accustomed to any particular feeling, something happens to either challenge my initial belief or, more often, to alter it completely. After three years, I've come to accept that I will never feel one way toward Israel - my attitude is and forever will be in a constant state of flux; sometimes erupting with great passion and exuberance and others with little fanfare, silently marking its impression. But always, it seems, at the mercy of each player's last move. Words here mean so little to me now...
And so it was with our recent venture up North to the Golan Heights and its bordering towns (by way of the waterfalls and back down through Tiberias --- with a little detour to grab some baptismal water from the Jordan River). In that short trip, my emotions were tugged in every direction - pulled this way by the weight of loyalty or past experience or that way through fear for the future,
but anchored, nonetheless, by a need for hope.
and a need for a more souped up (child-entertaining) minivan...
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