Travel Biography - Week 54.

Mountains and Valleys.

The photos are from the 2000 Album.

When it comes to writing a Travel Biography, it isn't meant to be about sunning on the beach all day or a life of constant pleasantries. Or else, I wouldn't bother writing a biography, and besides, I'm sure that some, if not most of my readers, would get fed up over someone on a constant high and lapping up life as if he was a spoilt rich celebrity or even a royal. After all, imagine a landscape. Which would be of greater interest: a topography of flat fields stretching to the horizon, or that of high mountains and deep valleys? As the lyrics of one sixties pop song went, the mountain stream is more pleasing than the sea.

Jaffa Gate as seen from the Citadel Turret.

And for mountains to exist, there have to be steep valleys in between, separating them. And so with my travel experiences. Along with the high points, there were disasters too. And here, I'm not talking about the theft of my Traveller's Cheques whilst on the train from Pisa to Florence during the 1981 trip to Italy. That was just a temporary blip which was resolved on the next working day. Rather, this is about day-to-day personal relationships while I was volunteering at Stella Carmel Guesthouse and Christian Conference Centre in Isfya, a village on the crest of Mt Carmel, near the port city of Haifa, northern Israel, in the summer of 1994.

Just to note here, ITAC had a rule that applied to all offenders. He was booked on the next flight out of Israel and then escorted direct to the airport from the guesthouse. Then the escort ensured that the wrongdoer was thoroughly checked in and ready to board his flight before returning, alone, to the centre.

And so, not long before my own arrival, a volunteer named Pete became friendly with a female volunteer, and the two were caught kissing. They were brought to the Director's office, and both were immediately expelled. A booking for a flight back to England was made, and the pair was escorted direct to the airport. I believe that I was meant to replace Pete, as I arrived soon after their departure.

There was one female volunteer, Joy, who was from South Africa, but she was rather fond of Sloane Square in London, one of the city's most elitist locations, renowned for its gentility. She spoke about Sloane Square many times. It was her way of telling us that any prospective boyfriend must have an aristocratic background. And then there was Josephine, a radical feminist from New Zealand, who insist on the rise of the New Man, a male who is domestically minded and less of a macho culture. She was a natural-born leader and the other women followed her, admiring her fun-loving extrovert temperament. All the other volunteers and full-time staff were British.

Every week, all the volunteers and staff members gather in the lounge for a discussion with the manager on how the centre should be run. Remembering the lecture I had in North London a few weeks before arriving, I dropped what was to be an awful clanger! I suggested that the females should be assigned more house duties whilst the men should be given heavier maintenance tasks. Jo reacted verbally with hostility. But what made things worse for her and her mates was that the Director agreed to my proposal, seeing that I made sense as well as keeping with ITAC's recommendations.

Living as a Pariah.

Thus, I was looked on as a pariah, mainly by Josephine, throughout the rest of my stay. From that day, I was treated as if I was an Italian Neanderthal, so backwards in culture and uncivilised, that she insisted that I should be forced to become a New Man - less masculine, more feminised and domesticated, as well as having submission and respect for female leadership. Several times she kept mentioning me cleaning the wide corridor floor with my tongue! She hated all Italians for their male-dominated "cultural backwardness" and deeply criticised their country and even its national airline (Alitalia) with the intent to spite me. As for the other females, a couple of others joined Jo in their hatred for me, but not all of them. Joy, by contrast, had a degree of pity for me, and showed no hostility. None of the men appeared hostile either.

I had the bedroom to myself for several weeks before Richard, a graduate of Loughborough University, arrived to join the team and share my bedroom. As a graduate, he too regarded an occasional snore as a nuisance and looked down on me with the idea that I was too beneath him to share a bedroom. That was proved true sometime later when he sent a request to the Director to move me out and relocate, leaving Richard as the sole occupant of the room that was once mine. I was moved into an in-house bedroom as the sole occupant.

Richard graduated in Sport Physiology, and hence not even he escaped the attention of Jo and her friends. Jo teased him in front of the others, on the ridiculousness of spending valuable time at University just to study sports. If only Josephine had been aware that a sports physiologist isn't far from a paramedic.

The darling of all the girls at Stella Carmel was Scott, from Inverness. Tall, slim, and also a graduate, Jo teased him too for being thrifty with his money. And also for apparent cowardice.

On one occasion, Peter and his wife took all of us out for the day. This included a swim in the Sea of Galilee before supper at a restaurant in Tiberias. The beach we arrived at was on the east side of the lake, not far from En Gev. The sea was rough, with large waves lapping the beach.

Only Peter swam out into the rough lake, with me following. As everyone else stood on the beach, Peter and I swam out. However, the Director was a stronger swimmer than I was, as I was more cautious. But at least, I wasn't on the receiving end of Jo's teasing as poor Scott was, as he refused to enter the water, despite Jo egging him on.

The Sea of Galilee, 2000. The Mt of Beatitudes is behind me.

Treachery was never far beneath the surface, even among the men. Trevor never showed any hostility, therefore, I felt confident enough to confide in him. One afternoon, I was in his bedroom whilst Scott, his roommate, was in the shower. I made a passing statement, saying that Joy was a nice-looking young woman. That was all. There were just the two of us. Nobody else was present or, as far as I was aware, within earshot. The statement was quickly forgotten as I moved on.

The next day, Peter called me up to his office. He then asked whether it was true that I took a fancy to Joy. He then warned me of imminent dismissal if anything of the kind reoccurred.

Day by day my spirit fell to lower levels as Josephine's hatred of me intensified. I began to feel very unhappy as a volunteer. With nothing to accuse me of, Jo thought of a plan to rid of me once and for all. So, in agreement with her closest friends, she made a complaint to Peter that I was making animal noises. Well, that was a new one! True, from time to time, I muttered to myself. But howling like a wolf across the valley? No, at least not quite there yet!

Fed up with the torrents of accusations against me, Peter reached the end of his tether. He called Andrew (who always liked me) and together I was given my marching orders. I was crushed beyond repair. I took a walk into the nearby forest and yelled at the top of my voice, alone, out of earshot, angry, miserable, and even frightened. The night that followed was like a vigil. A twisted cord of negative emotions tortured my soul and kept me from sleeping.

However, the following morning, David, one of the older volunteers who was always fond of me, offered his shoulder, and I cracked, weeping like a baby in his arms in front of Peter, his wife, Andrew, Scott, Joy, and Rami, one of the Druze teenagers. Josephine and her closest friends weren't there, having remained in their rooms. I remember the exact date - August 8th, 1994.

Broken Beyond Repair?

I was innocent, and ITAC knew that. Therefore, I was not escorted to the airport. Instead, I was paid a sum of money and taken to Haifa Bus Station. At the station, I was dropped off along with my rucksack, and for the first time since arrival, I was totally alone. It was up to me to arrange my own flight back home when I was ready. In the meantime, I was free to remain in Israel.

Later that day I arrived in Jerusalem and approached the New Swedish Hostel in Souk David. I checked in and paid for nearly a month's stay with the money I was paid at Stella Carmel. I then lived off my own funds.

As I lay on the bed feeling utterly miserable, I was pondering on my faith. This two-month experience at the guesthouse was an utter disaster - caused by one other person. I was convinced that had Josephine not been there, I would have had a better outcome and quite likely lasted the full year, as originally intended. Any hatred thrown at me in Isfya was solely due to Jo's attitude, one of deep insecurity and possibly resentment of her own gender and role in life.

Being in the middle of the afternoon, there was no one else in the dormitory. I was alone as I lay fully clothed on the bed, staring at the vaulted ceiling. There and then I decided to renounce my faith. If Christianity was represented by the daily life at Stella Carmel, with its sham worship, insincere Bible reading and studying, a total absence of fellowship, and an endless contest for personal and gender supremacy, treachery and betrayal, along with the evaluation of a person's worth according to wealth, culture and level of education, and not by faith in Christ - then damn it all! Forget God and his ways. If this means Hell, damn it, so be it. Never again will I ever entangle myself with the church! I had enough!

As I lay on the bed in the heart of Jerusalem Old City, I felt angry, miserable and fearful, knowing that soon I would appear among family and friends with the news that I had failed. My father's already existing suspicion of such Christian organisations will be confirmed and enforced. It was left to me to walk the walk of shame and embarrassment. Indeed, I was in a valley, a very deep valley, perhaps a little like a slot canyon where the wall on each side rose vertically, thus with no way up, but to trundle on along the stream bed, hoping that I would not be swept away by an onrushing flood - a phenomenon set off by heavy rain nearby.

I began to wonder - this thing called Religion. Does it really make one a better person? These people up near Haifa, there was no real love among them. Rather, what I sensed, especially in Josephine, was a strong sense of insecurity, as if she was trying hard to achieve some form of status, and not doing too well at it. Where is this alternate society? A place anyone can run to and find solace, comfort, love, and the start of faith in God. As for the Bible, sure, it's read regularly, and sermons are preached from it, we say we believe in its truthfulness, but does anyone obey it?

Jerusalem 2000

Ah, Jerusalem. Maybe I'll come back here more often. Every year? That seems far-fetched, but who knows, maybe visiting this wonderfully historic and spiritual centre could bring healing to my damaged soul. I need to wait and see.  

Presently, I began to feel strange, as if a voice was calling me, very, very gently. It was as if saying:

Frank, Frank, would you still follow me?

Without further thinking, I responded with,

Yes Lord I will follow you.

And so, I arose and left the dormitory and went out into the street. However, despite that incident in the hostel, my bad feelings hadn't changed. I still felt gutted and wrenched. But I also knew that this was the beginning of the way up. If I likened that to a trail, then the gradience of the path was so slight, that I would walk a long way without climbing very high. It would take a long hike towards recovery.

It was a day before I flew home. I stood on the crest of the Mt of Olives, looking down at the Old City with its glistening gold dome on Temple Mount, and the modern buildings of the New City in the far background. I then had a kind of vision, very much like the one I experienced in October 1992 whilst at work. This time, I was to prepare myself for a flight to the USA exactly a year afterwards, in late summer 1995. I knew straight away that this was a divine revelation, yet without any supernatural phenomena. It was an idea, but a very strong and convincing thought.

But before I move on to 1995, there are still some amazing things to write about during the month I stayed in Jerusalem on recovery therapy after dismissal from Stella Carmel.

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Next Week: A month of Therapy in Jerusalem - and a witness to some outstanding events.

Travel Biography - Week 53.

Arrival at Stella Carmel Christian Guesthouse and Conference Centre.

The few photos from the 1994 trip aren't available at the moment.

Back in 1994, who would ever think that I would "work abroad" - an ideal reserved for gap-year students or highly skilled workers. But for Israel in 1994, I was not allowed to use the word "work" when filling in any legal forms or to Passport Control. Instead, I'm to present myself as a volunteer. In-group, I was known as a "volly" (plural: "vollies.")

On the first day after arrival at Stella Carmel, I was given a day off, as was the custom for all new arrivals. That day, I spent at Haifa, and I climbed up Mt Carmel to get a splendid view of the city sloping down to the harbour. On the hill, below me, was the temple of Bahai with its surrounding gardens. The whole site looked beautiful under the Mediterranean sunshine.

I was impressed with the city but it still doesn't hold a candle to Jerusalem, where my heart really was. Yet, to me, I felt it to be a wonderful privilege just to be in Israel, therefore I would never consider looking down my nose at any location here in the Holy Land - unless I happen to be up the slopes of Mount Carmel, as was the case this time.

The Gardens of Bahai, Haifa. Stock photo.

Daily Life as a Volunteer.

Stella Carmel was a former hotel converted into a Christian guesthouse and Conference Centre. Located on the summit of Mt Carmel, it's in the small town of Isfya, not far from Haifa. With its two floors, its 16 bedrooms received groups rather than individuals or families, although an occasional family did arrive from time to time, the centre catered mainly for groups. There were no double beds at the Centre, just single or twin beds. The eight upper-floor bedroom windows opened out onto a wide veranda offering a splendid view of the village. This veranda, special occasions, such as weddings, were held here.

Among the eight bedrooms on the lower floor, these were separated by a wide corridor from the combined dining room and lounge. From the main entrance, one passes the Reception to the right, and the kitchen to the left, its access to the dining room. The tables and chairs in the dining room were arranged in a long row, thus ensuring inclusion for all, staff and vollies alike. However, midway through the corridor was the self-service tea buffet, which anyone could use. For me, a regular mug of tea was most refreshing in the hot June weather. And I always recall the protest I once made to Margaret the cook when she chided me about the tea mugs.

It's not my fault that those tea mugs seem to love my bedroom! They keep finding their own way there!

But the cook didn't believe me, and I wondered if she thought I was joking or being serious.

Regular day groups assemble in the lounge. On Fridays, a small group of Christian Druze Arabs meet in the lounge for their weekly church service. Among them were two teenagers who were close friends, and their homes were near to each other. They were Rami and Nadal. Nadal was a fun-loving extrovert who, on one occasion, accidentally broke a window pane whilst messing around with a couple of our members. Rami took life more seriously. Of all the people there, Rami had a special respect for me, and I would never forget one evening when he was troubled, he singled me out for prayer with him. The fact that he went away edified and encouraged had always been one of my life's brighter moments.

On Saturday mornings, a much larger crowd gathered in the lounge for their weekly service. These were members of the Kehilat Ha-Carmel Congregation, a group consisting of Messianic Jews, some from Russia, along with some Arabs and Europeans. As far as I recall, I was the only volunteer who attended the service, including listening to the sermon first delivered in English, then, line by line, translated into Hebrew by one of the assistants who also stood in front, next to the preacher.

On Sunday morning was our own Christian service which was held in an upstairs chapel, designated for us only - the staff and volunteers of Stella Carmel, although any guest wishing to join would have always felt welcomed.

Part of Stella Carmel, taken 2000.

Each volunteer had to work six days a week with a mandatory day off, normally between Monday to Friday. Saturday was the busiest day of the week, with a cleaning programme carried out before the start and after the end of the Kehilat service, along with putting out and stacking away the chairs. On Sunday, after the service had ended, we all had to play a role in general house cleaning, including sweeping and polishing the floor tiles. After all that, it was our Sunday treat, a trip to Dado Beach, south of Haifa, in our van driven by one of our staff members or a senior volunteer.

A typical weekday always began with a Bible reading in the chapel. Every volunteer was assigned a morning to read the Bible and deliver a short speech to all staff and volunteers. Every few days, my turn came up. Then we filed down for breakfast.

The day's duties were split into two rotas, house and maintenance. House duties included making up the beds, including a change of sheets and towels, the laundry, cleaning toilets and washbasins, and sweeping and polishing the floor on both levels. Traditionally, the females were assigned house duties whilst the males were given heavier outside jobs and repair duties, including shifting heavy boulders as part of landscaping. With a paintbrush, even facelifting jobs were included in the maintenance rota, a duty I particularly enjoyed. It's also worth noting that our boss Peter didn't verbally tell us what to do. Rather, a daily rota notice was posted on the kitchen door. On it, each of our names was assigned to a rota, along with who will be leading the morning Bible reading, who will wash the pots and dishes after breakfast, lunch and dinner, (by hand) and who is off duty that day.

There were two married couples on site, the manager or director and his wife, and two elderly volunteers. The rest of us were all single. Heather took care of Reception. She was the one responsible for taking group bookings and assigning dates of accommodation availability. She was also responsible for the centre's finances. Margaret was the cook, and on a typical day, a volunteer of either gender was assigned to assist, although she refused to have me assist her. Patricia was the head of all domestic duties, and she hadn't been around that long, as she recently replaced her predecessor who was transferred by the committee of ITAC to the London office. Aside from Peter the director, the only male staff member was Andrew, head of maintenance, whose West Country cider-producing vocal accent stood him in good stead.

The volunteers consisted of five males and six females. Among us, there was one married man, David. Then there was Trevor, a fellow in his forties. And graduates Scott and Richard, both on a gap year. It was posh Richard who shared my bedroom while right next door, Trevor shared his bedroom with Scott. Except for David's wife, all the female vollies were of graduate age, with one prominent character, Josephine, or Jo for short, as a strong-willed but fun-loving self-made group leader and a staunch feminist who loved using the phrase the New Man to mean that we males should be more domestic-minded and having less of a masculine front.

There were also two guard dogs whose shared kennel was between the centre's main entrance and the volunteer's accommodation building, separate from the centre, and itself relatively new. Every volunteer was given a turn to feed the dogs first thing in the morning. I too had my turn. 

The volunteer's accommodation block had its own kitchen, a TV room and a lounge combined, the two male bedrooms on one side of the lounge, and female bedrooms on the other side. At the door leading to their bedrooms from the lounge was a notice written in bold, To the Airport. This puzzled me at first before I learned that any liaison between a male and a female volunteer resulted in instant dismissal, and the offender was booked on the next flight out of Israel.  

The centre had its own van. This had a combined use of bringing in stock every week and conveying us as passengers, especially on our weekly trip to the beach. Of the volunteers, only David and Trevor were allowed to drive it, along with Margaret, and Peter, our boss.

During the week, every volunteer has a day off. Although allowed to remain at the centre, the off-duty volunteer was encouraged to go out and either explore or engage in some leisure activity. With eleven volunteers, on each day, at least two vollies had a day off, a male and a female. On one day, three of us shared the day off. But on each of my off-duty days, I always went out on my own. Directly outside the main gate, there was a stopping point for the local sherut. A sherut is a communal taxi, unique to Israel, where the driver waits until the car fills up with passengers. Then each of us pays a small fee (ten shekels) to be taken to central Haifa. A short walk to the bus station, and it's off to Tiberias, either for a swim in the Sea of Galilee, or to hire a bicycle and do some local exploration.

On one occasion, I hired a bicycle from a hotel in Tiberias and cycled clockwise the entire 64.5 km, or 40-mile route encircling the Sea of Galilee. This was quite a challenge, especially for the first few miles northwards out of Tiberias, where I rode over hilly terrain. However, by the time I arrived at Capernaum, the terrain was reasonably flat and offered some fast riding. En Gev, a kibbutz on the east side of the lake, was a welcome stop. Also, thanks to the 1967 Six-Day War, when the Golan Heights fell into Israeli hands from the Syrians, such a ride as this was made possible. Otherwise, I would have been stopped at the border of Syria just a few miles east of Capernaum, and be forced to turn back. Before 1967, virtually the whole of the eastern coast of the lake was in Syria.

A view of Isfya from a volunteer's bedroom, 2000.

On another day off, after arriving at Haifa by sherut, I boarded a bus to Acre, a Mediterranean port north of Haifa. I then found myself walking through the Old City, with narrow souks resembling those of the Old City of Jerusalem. But with Acre, one of its perimeter walls was lapped by the sea directly below where I was standing. The site featured a tunnel which looked a little like Hezekiah's Tunnel in Jerusalem, only that this one was much shorter, and it was dry, but I still enjoyed walking through it.

Acre was the most northerly venue I had visited in Israel, and putting it all together, up to 1994, Masada, near the tip of the Dead Sea, was the most southerly point I ever visited. Between 1976 and 1994, I visited Masada, the Dead Sea, Hebron, Bethlehem, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Nazareth, Tiberias, En Gev and Capernaum of the Sea of Galilee, Haifa, and finally, Acre. Thus, it was Trevor who referred to me as a man of Israel. Although I never got to know the travel background of either volunteers or staff, chances were that for them, this was their first visit to the Holy Land, and centred their stay around ITAC, opening the possibility that I have seen more of Israel by 1994 than the rest of the team.

However, Acre wasn't a big town. After seeing the most interesting parts, I walked south to one of the bathing beaches, relaxed and swam in the sea. To the south, Mt Carmel dominated the horizon and I could even make out the village of Isfya on its summit.

Eventually, as evening was drawing near, I boarded an Egged bus at a bus stop near the beach and headed back to Haifa, where a sherut for Isfya awaited.

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Next Week: How did Israel in 1994 end up as a disaster?

Travel Biography - Week 52.

Happy Anniversary!

The photos here are from various trips to Israel, including those taken in 2000.

This is Week 52 of this Biography. This means that it's been a year since I wrote and published Week 1. To be honest, I didn't realise that I would still be writing this a year on! It goes to show that more had occurred during my travelling days than I could have ever imagined. And so far, I'm not done yet. There are plenty more experiences still to be covered - some even mind boggling. 

Jews gather at the Western Wall, 1994.

The Feast of Tabernacles, Jerusalem, 2000

Whether my present academic level is seen as an advantage or a disadvantage, that's the opinion of the reader. However, let me say once again, I had never attended a university. But, as I see it, life is a university. For example, by hiking the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, I was able to learn the fundamentals of Geology. Or, as I'm covering at the moment, observing the way of life in the Middle East has brought the Bible more to life than any theological college lectures could have ever done.

And we're living during the time of human history when the truthfulness of the Bible is questioned and then disregarded as irrelevant in our lives. I believe that there are two kinds of doubters. First, there are those who have an adequate knowledge of the Bible but deliberately push away the truth of its historicity, especially where it conflicts with the theories of Charles Darwin. Professor Richard Dawkins, the author of his book The God Delusion, is one example. Chris Hitchen's book, God is Not Great is another of the same category of academics. Then there is Alexander O'Connor, an atheist YouTuber whom I met and spoken to personally in the Sutra Room of Oxford Trinity College just before the pandemic outbreak in 2020. At present, he has 66,368,722 views across nearly 200 videos, and rising. He also travelled the world, particularly the USA, to deliver lectures to large audiences in theatre and university settings, as well as from broadcasting studios.

Then there are those who spend their time pondering on whether there is truth in the historicity of the Bible and has a desire to learn more about it. To them, I would recommend a visit to the Holy Land to see for themselves. Perhaps one could travel as an independent backpacker, like I did in 1976 and again in 1993. Or be part of a ranger-led Christian tour group, like two of my church friends. Either way, just to visit the sights in the Holy Land will be enough to blow the mind from scepticism about the historical truth of the Bible.

Then there are those in the third category - true Bible believers, such as my two friends, Gareth and Sam, along with myself. The idea of visiting the Holy Land was not just to reassure us of our faith, but to strengthen it.

 Monks inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, 1993.

Alternate site of Christ's Resurrection, 1994.

The After-Effects of the 1993 Trip to Israel.

The 1993 trip to Israel, the second of the four (the later two were in 1994 and the year 2000) had a profound mental, spiritual and emotional effect on me. Beginning with a vision I had whilst at work during October of 1992, the mission, if that what it was, was fulfilled. That had left me with a strong desire to return, and all my thoughts and feelings, along with my mental outlook, radically changed!

When I took a nap on my bed in my apartment, I have had dreams that I was still in Jerusalem, and at the New Swedish Hostel in particular. All the other countries I had visited, mainly in Europe and North America, were overshadowed by the spiritual and historical memories of Israel, and the positive power that land had on me.

Therefore, I was keen to find out about The Church's Ministry to the Jews, or known in the Holy Land as ITAC (Israel Trust of Anglican Churches.) But after returning home from the 1993 trip, I didn't have enough to fund the project, and unless I had adequate funds, I wouldn't be able to fulfil the dream. Unlike for the 1993 trip, this time I had no visions, and there was no rapid saving scheme as there was before. Yet, my desire to return, perhaps for a whole year, was very strong.

In the course of time, even after consulting with my parents to find out how they felt and getting a positive but cautious response, I enquired at the organsation's London headquarters about volunteering in Israel. I received a pamphlet and an application form. Also, after submitting the forms and receiving a letter of acceptance, there was a requirement to go to an office in North London to receive a talk about one venue I was assigned, Stella Carmel, a former hotel purchased by ITAC and turned into a Christian conference centre.

I felt excited when the letter of acceptance arrived. However, it was for Jerusalem that I applied for, but there was already a volunteer working there. Stella Carmel seem to open a new area of experience. It was located on the outskirts of a small provincial town of Isfiya, right of the summit of Mt Carmel, a ridge of high ground running southeast from the port of Haifa, and also near the traditional site of Elijah's contest against the prophets of Baal.

It was when I attended a talk in North London with three or four other would-be volunteers that I felt something of a warning. The slim, middle-aged lady who lectured us about the ins and outs of Stella Carmel did not radiate a pleasing personality, but tended to be very matter-of-fact, stern, and somewhat bossy. She knew every inch of the hilltop property. Little did I know at the time that in the last preceding months, possibly even weeks, she was a member of full-time staff and the head of all domestic duties. That is, she assigned duties to all volunteers who were on the domestic rota, both male and female, and kept them under critical supervision, especially with the young men. After a short while, the men in particular began to complain to the Director, Peter Acton, with one desperate young man pleading earnestly, Please, for crying out loud, don't put me to house! (domestic duties.)

Eventually, she was brought before the director and the ITAC committee, to be transferred to the office in London. Although she hadn't committed any offence, hence she wasn't dismissed, but her treatment of the volunteers placed under her wasn't acceptable, and she had to go. And this was a Christian organisation where all staff and volunteers must be committed churchgoers.

But, of course, I knew nothing about any of this. Yet, my father had an instinct of what these organisations were really like, hence added caution to his positive response. As a boy, he too had suffered some bad church experience whilst staying at a convent, especially for taking communion without first confessing to the priest, and receiving a hard smack across his face by an angry nun.

In 1994, the church I attended was Ascot Baptist Church, located not far from the famous horse racecourse, Royal Ascot, called that since our Queen attended the races every year during her lifetime. Our pastor, the late Barry Buckingham, along with four deacons: Bill Hopkins, Les Draper, Andy Moore and Tim Kingcott, were our elders of the day. When I told them about my intention to live in Israel for a year, Barry was keen to write a confirmation letter to CMJ endorsing my membership at ABC, a requirement when applying to be a volunteer with them.

As for finance, our elders became aware of my situation, and after discussing the matter among themselves, I believe that it was Tim Kingcott who interceded on my behalf, and the church eventually donated £200 towards the cost, enough to buy an open return ticket from London Gatwick to Tel Aviv. The rest of the funding was from my own savings.

Coral Beach, Eilat, 2000.

Marine Life at Coral Beach, Eilat, 2000

A major problem I had to solve before take off, and that was my unwillingness to leave my apartment vacant for up to twelve months. So, having received permission from the Council, who was the landlord at the time, I had to look for someone to live in my apartment and pay the rent under my name. It was known as subletting, and it could be a risky business. The tenant could refuse to vacate the apartment at my return. Aware of the risk, it was my father who volunteered to monitor his tenancy whilst I'm away, ensuring that the rent is paid and his duties fulfilled.

I called at various firms that employs young graduates, such as ICL Computers (now Fugitsu) and the Met Office. These high tech firms have employees who, having just graduated, have their own agencies that find homes for these people. Quite often, cohabitation between two or more was quite common. When I told them when I was vacating my apartment, I made known to them that all this was temporary, and I could be back at any time.

One of the firms I consulted did have someone who was willing to move in. Apparently, he moved in soon after I flew out, having spent the last-but-one night in the UK as a guest at my friend Gareth's apartment. That morning, he went off to work at the National Westminster Bank whilst I headed for the station to board the train for London Waterloo, then to spend a night at a Youth Hostel (YHA St Paul's) before flying out on the next day.

With my Beloved, 19 weeks pregnant, 2000.

That full day spent in London, I felt strange, very strange! In one sense, I was homeless, and chances were that my apartment, the very place I lived in since 1976, was about to be lived in by someone else, a stranger whom I had never met, even if monitored closely by my father. I made my way to Hyde Park. I looked around at the Inner City greenery, the oh-so-familiar "London's lungs" - the area where I became familiar since early childhood. Only one task remained while I was still in the UK. That is to buy a large square of Cadbury's Wholenut Chocolate for Peter's wife.

Suddenly, I was wondering - what the heck had I let myself in for? Up to that point, I felt safe and secure here in the UK. I had my own business, I had my own home, even if it was rented, and my family wasn't far away. I travelled freely, having visited Israel, along with a good part of Europe, and North America. But during these trips, I always had a return ticket, a date for thre return journey, a home and a job awaiting me. But this? Literally homeless, knowing that I will be flying out of this country into a faraway destination, to swop a life of self-employment - working for myself without a boss or supervisor - to working for a boss and my output under constant supervision. For what? Indeed, what have I let myself into?

And so the feeling of apprehension as I made my way back into the City to bed down. I almost wanted to suddenly call the whole thing off, jump on the next train to Bracknell and inform Dad that it's off. But no. I was determined to see through the whole experience, to see what it's like living in Israel, and what it would be like to experience the day-by-day living cheek-by-jowl with those who share my Christian faith.

On the next day, the plane bound for Tel Aviv soared into the air on time, with no delays at the airport departure lounge. My destiny awaits.

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Next Week: How I earned the title, "The man of Israel."

Travel Biography - Week 51.

 An Issue to be Resolved.

Hint: For a close-up of the pictures, just click on them.

When I published last week's blog, a link went to my Facebook wall, Twitter, and usually two Facebook blogging groups. However, since I'm writing about the 1993 trip to the Middle East, I also submitted a link to a third blogging group specialising in Theology. With this one, it's the discretion of the administrator to either allow or refuse the link to be published. Happily, it was allowed through, and the link attracted up to fifteen comments and ten laughing emoji.

All the comments were about referring to this East Mediterranean territory as Palestine and not Israel. This has reminded me of the 1990s BBC Middle East Correspondent, Orla Guerin. Although a major national broadcaster such as the BBC is meant to be strictly neutral on all political, national and international affairs, Ms Guerin was biased in favour of the Palestinians, especially during the days of Yasser Arafat, the leader of the Palestinian Liberation Organisation, or the PLO, in constant clashes with the Israeli Government.  

At Hebron, 1976, looking at the Fortress of Machpelah.

Section of the underground Cave of Machpelah.

In many ways, I understand the plight of the Palestinians. They had lived for centuries in what we call the Holy Land in relative peace. Then, since the 1917 Balfour Declaration, which initially allowed the Jews to return to their former homeland, the Arab Palestinians had always been up in arms. And who can blame them? And so, conflict after conflict erupts between the Jews and the Palestinians, with the climax of the 1967 Six-Day War, when the Jews brought back Jerusalem Old City with its Western Wall under its own national sovereignty after defeating the Egyptian, Jordanian, and Syrian forces. After more than 2,550 years of foreign rule since the conquest by the Babylonians in 586 BC, that victory by the Israelis was nothing short of a miracle.

And so, some 2,700 years earlier than the present, the Prophet Isaiah in the Old Testament of the Bible, asks whether a nation can be born in a day or come into existence at once.* Indeed, that would be impossible for the human mind to fathom. Yet, on May 14th, 1948, the British Mandate withdrew from Palestine, and on the same day, the sovereign State of Israel was declared. 

And so, that was the situation when I visited the Holy Land for the first time in 1976. I was a guest to a Palestinian family who lived in Silwan, south of Jerusalem Temple Mount, and within the Kidron Valley.

Scale model of the Second Temple, Holyland Hotel.

One of the venues I had the privilege to visit was the Fortress of the Patriarchs in Hebron, in the Palestinian Territory of West Bank. This structure was built by Herod the Great, who also embellished the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem shortly before the birth of Jesus Christ. With a Muslim guide (compulsory at the time) I was able to enter and saw for myself the Cenotaphs of Abraham and his family, namely his son Isaac and grandson Jacob (renamed Israel by God himself) and their wives, Serah, Rebekah, and Leah.

Indeed, Abraham's firstborn son Ishmael was held to be the father of the Arab race, and this is taught in Islamic mosques to this day. However, one detail I find interesting is that although the Hebrews up to and during New Testament times refer specifically to the Jews, actually, the name originally applied to the sons of Eber, on the line of Shem, and the fourth generation after Noah, and Abraham's ancestor. And if the earth was divided during the time of Eber's son Peleg, then it could be assumed that Eber lived before and during the Judgement of Babel and the ushering of different languages. If the name Eber is the root word for Hebrew, then it can be said that the Arabs too, were once Hebrews, even the descendants of Lot, Abraham's nephew, who fathered Moab and Ammon alike, whilst Jacob's brother, Esau, both the sons of Isaac, was the father of the Edomites.

Hence, what I call the Big Three of the Arab world, Moab, Ammon, and Edom, look to be still with us to this day and apparently, will be rescued by God from the threat of extinction sometime in the future, according to Bible prophecy.** But the word Palestinian, seems to have arisen from the Hebrew word defining the Philistines, the arch-enemy of Israel up to the time of King David.

The original Philistines were never Hebrews. Rather, they were the descendants of Casluh, the son of Mizraim, the father of the Egyptian race. Mizraim was one of the sons of Ham, Noah's youngest son. Abraham's firstborn son was Ishmael who, apparently intermarried with the Midianites,*** the descendants of Midian, one of the other sons of Abraham and of his concubine, Keturah.

There was never any divine law against intermarriage, except for the sons of Jacob. Little wonder that the Hebrew race eventually narrowed down to the Jews only. But buried in the Cave of Machpelah are the fathers and mothers of the nation Israel. And the massive enclosure stands as a sentinel to the rest of the world that this particular land was given to the sons of Jacob (renamed Israel) by divine decree. Hence, when the Jews began to pour into the land, on May 14, 1948, at least the western strip of the land was rightly called Israel.

Near the summit of Masada, on the Snake Path.

But having said that, I have no qualms against the Palestinians. Especially in 1976, I was treated well by them and I was offered hospitality for a payment. And that included a visit to the site of the Cave of Machpelah (a name meaning a double cave.) I had the privilege to enter the fortress built above the cave. But then, being such a neophyte and so uneducated, I thought that the inside of the fortress was the cave itself, and the cenotaphs the actual tombs. I knew nothing of the fact that the original cave was buried underground.

Yet, such an experience had opened a door to a wealth of knowledge of the land's history tied to the Bible. The more I realised the truth about the Cave and those buried in it, the more awestruck I felt. My realisation was that only the patriarchs of the nation of Israel were buried there, and no one representing any other nation, and furthermore, marked by a sentinel that survived intact the wars that followed over the centuries, eventually inspired me to re-visit the Holy Land 17 years later in 1993, with a far greater knowledge of its history and culture than I had in 1976.

Masada.

In 1993, I was based in Jerusalem, but this time spending my entire visit on my own, I didn't get around to revisiting Hebron until my 1994 trip. But I did return to Bethlehem and the Dead Sea. However, there were two sites I hadn't visited in 1976, but I did this time. This was En Gedi, near the west coast of the Dead Sea, and Masada, a 400-metre-high Herodian fortress built on the summit of what could be classed as a mesa. After an Egged Bus journey from Jerusalem Bus Station, I saw that on the east side of the mountain, a hiking trail known as the Snake Path winds its way to the summit from the entrance kiosk. What a hike I had! By the time I reached the top, I was feeling knackered but still in high spirits. From the summit, I had a magnificent view of the southern end of the Dead Sea. I spent the rest of the day examining the 2,000-year-old ruins, including a vast water cistern dug into the ground and still coated with a smooth, waterproof material. Not only did the cistern supply enough water for the whole summit community, but it also filled a mountaintop swimming pool.

An excavation on Masada, with the Dead Sea behind.

As the east side of the mesa was 400 metres high, the west side was 300 metres, as it rose from higher ground. A ramp, built by the Romans in AD 73 enabled the Roman troops to break into the summit fortress in their attempt to enslave the 967 Jews who took refuge there. However, instead, they found all but two women and five children still alive. The other 960 Jews either deliberately killed each other or committed suicide rather than submit to the Romans. Whilst at the summit, I saw the ramp in place, still intact. On the North side are the remains of Herod's palace, which offered a view of the Dead Sea. From Snake Path, I was able to see the outline of a Roman fortress, a derelict playing card on the Judean Desert, near the base of the mesa.

There were several other tourists there, mainly as part of an escorted tour group. But they didn't use the Snake Path to reach the summit. Rather, they took advantage of the cable car system that also connects the entrance gate to the summit. 

En Gedi.

One particular day, I took an Egged Bus to En Gedi which is on the route to Masada. I alighted at En Gedi, a nature reserve and spring resort on the side of a hill facing the Dead Sea. Just up the road was En Gedi Beach, on the west shore of the Dead Sea. On another day, I arrived here to bathe in the syrupy water of the salt lake.

En Gedi Nature Reserve.

Refreshing myself at an En Gedi Waterfall. Ahh!

But it was En Gedi that had impressed me more. It has a cave, the traditional site where David had to hide from King Saul's wrath, consumed by jealousy after his young rival defeated the giant Goliath, and won the heart of the nation. Nearby was a waterfall, its cool, freshwater cascades enabling a rich oasis to flourish in otherwise a Judean desert. A trail led out of the nature reserve to lead away across the desert, offering views of the Dead Sea below, then passing first a waterhole where several backpackers were sitting around and socialising. Further on, the trail continued south, towards Masada, and passing some ruins of what archaeologists believe was a 5,000-year-old Chalcolithic Temple. This was a suitable turn-around back to the nature reserve and finally to the bus back to Jerusalem.

At a desert Waterhole, En Gedi.

A Meeting at Christ Church Anglican, Jerusalem.

During my stay in Jerusalem, each of the two Sundays, I attended Christ Church Anglican, which is just inside Jaffa Gate and before the start of Souk David. In other words, a short walk from the hostel. The services were good and blended well with Middle Eastern culture.

Distant view of Chalcolithic Temple with the Dead Sea.

Detail of the Temple, 3,000 years BC.

There was a young British man who I became friends with. His surname was Jackson, and as we talked after the service, he began to encourage me about volunteering for the Israel Trust Of Anglican Churches. In Britain, the organisation was known as Christian Ministry to the Jews. Gradually, I became impressed with the idea of staying for longer than the two weeks I had already spent, and actually making a contribution towards the welfare of the State, whichever form that would take. He gave me some leaflets with whom to contact. By the time I was ready to fly back home, I felt a tinge of hope and excitement within. A volunteer in Israel? I wonder how I could turn that into reality?

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* Isaiah 66:8

** Daniel 11:41.

*** Judges 8:24.

Next Week: Preparing for the start of the 1994 Trip to Israel - with a big difference.