OUR FAVORITES: THE ARMENIAN TAVERN

Have you ever been to a place that you wanted to scoop up and bring back home with you? That’s how we felt about the Armenian Tavern. We had been there several times on previous trips and enjoyed the atmosphere and food. This time we took friends with us so they could experience it, too.

Staying in Jerusalem for two months gave us the opportunity to get to know the people who own and operate the Tavern and that made the experience even more special for us and our guests: Beth and Gary, Tommy, and Lisa and Rob.

Entering the Jaffa Gate, a short walk from our condo, brought us into an exotic world that appealed to all the senses. Vendors with carts of freshly baked bread, corn on the cob, and fresh squeezed juice stands; tourists from all over the world, priests of the Eastern Churches, nuns, Orthodox Jewish families, Muslims, school kids in uniforms and backpacks, policemen, Israeli soldiers; cars, taxis, buses, hotels; souvenir stands overrun with colorful scarves, pottery, jewelry, and prints; and inviting alleys with even more restaurants and shops. David’s Citadel looms above this passing parade.

Taking a right at the Citadel brought us past the police station and Christ Church complex. We were on Armenian Patriarchate Road. The Armenian Tavern is on the left between Christ Church and the Cathedral of St. James, dedicated to the Armenian’s patron Saint.

Walking down several steps from the street brought us to the entrance with beautiful ivory inlaid chairs: a small taste of what was to come. Winding down even more steps led us into the restaurant. It was like entering Ali Baba’s cave. The one thousand year old arched rooms were filled with carved cabinets of colorful Mid-Eastern jewelry, ancient headdresses draped with coins hanging from little chains, knives ranging in size from daggers to swords, heavily decorated pottery and tiles, and copper, brass, and silver vessels of all sizes.

A huge wrought-iron chandelier centered with a gorgeous punched and jeweled brass lantern surrounded with various smaller jewel-colored lamps hung from the ceiling of the main dining room. Many other lamps and lanterns of various shapes and sizes dangled from the ceiling. On the walls were religious icons and paintings; framed silver-embroidered remnants of priests’ robes; a large panel of hand-painted antique tiles; other smaller tiles. Large brass and copper trays, heavily etched, found their place among all these treasures.

In the midst of all these splendors, rustic wooden tables and chairs are arranged.

We were always warmly greeted by Moses or Aaron, his younger brother. At first glance, Moses appeared very mysterious with his hair pulled back into a tiny pigtail revealing the swirling tattoo around his neck. In contrast to his brother, Aaron was almost preppy and wore a perpetual smile.

We learned later in our trip that Moses’ wife is an archaeologist participating in a dig on the southern edge of the Jewish Quarter. We missed an opportunity to meet her and see his newly acquired home just behind the restaurant (“I can light a cigarette in the restaurant and finish it at home.”) when we lingered too long over our supper. Moses waited awhile then wandered off into the souk seeking new treasures without us.

After a hug for me from our gracious waitress, Abir, she seated us at our favorite table in the corner. If it was a hot day, which it often was, Aaron would turn the air conditioner up a little just for us.

One evening Abir tried to teach us to read the remains of the coffee grounds in our tiny cups like her mother did. She swished the grounds around in the cup and turned them out on the saucer, then held up the cup for us to see. I saw Hebrew letters, Tommy saw Greek ones, and Neal saw alphabet soup. Abir laughed and said she couldn’t read them.

Moses would show Neal his latest acquisition and tell him some of its history. He seemed never to tire of answering our questions about those artifacts and the Tavern.
He was particularly proud of a large heavily-embossed brass cauldron that was used at feasts to serve fruit or meat. In his book, “In the Steps of the Master”, Morton writes of being feted by a sheik in which two whole sheep were cooked and served in such a cauldron.

During our stay, Moses replaced a round table that seated four with one of his own design. In a large copper basin, he arranged a collection of small antique pottery lamps and objects of Roman glass. He covered it with a sheet of thick round glass. With a sly grin, he pointed out the two “Roman glass” objects that were fake.

Our friends wandered around to admire Moses’ unique collection. The mural over an arch intrigued us. Moses’ mother-in-law, a Russian immigrant, painted it. She included the brothers in a lower corner of the colorful Oriental scene.

We had our favorite dishes: a crock of Jerusalem mixed grill, chicken sautéed with green peppers, tomatoes, and onions and flavored with fragrant spices; eggplant salad (a smoky tasting dip that was my absolute favorite); cucumber and yogurt salad; hummus; a big wooden bowl of Greek salad with the small cucumbers that Neal loves; and French fries, crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside. The slightly chewy pita bread is indescribably delicious. For dessert, always the baklava which was cut into tiny pieces just right to go with the little cups of Armenian coffee. Our guests always agreed the baklava was the best they ever tasted.

As we sat and ate our lunch, various locals would drop in to visit. Perhaps there were other regulars too, but we saw mostly tourists with their guidebooks open. The restaurant is not set up to handle large groups, but often there would be a table of four or six.

Our last day in Jerusalem, before leaving for the airport, we went back to the Tavern for one last visit. I ordered some of our favorites: the hummus, Greek Salad, and Jerusalem mixed grill. When I asked a rhetorical “what else?”, Aaron said, “That’s enough. It’s hot outside.” After our meal, Neal asked if we could have some of the place mats and menus to bring home with us and Aaron graciously provided them.

The menu covers give a brief history of Armenia and the Armenian people. It says: “In Armenia, or in a home thousands of miles from its mountains, they [the Armenians] are devoted to the art of hospitality. They are staunch friends, loyal to the family, the people and to their ancient religious traditions. Throughout the world, this hard-working and creative people has provided proud and loyal citizens for the country of their adoption. They have suffered enough to know the value of life, and look with sympathy on the strivings of other peoples for freedom and independence.” Moses and Aaron are loyal examples of this heritage.

We ordered baklava to bring home with us. Saying goodbye, I told Moses I wished we could bring all of them home with us. He replied, “It would be easier if you just moved here.”

Now there’s an idea!

ONE OF OUR FAVORITES: ZIPPORI VILLAGE

I hope I will always be able to recapture the wonderful sense of peace and well-being I felt in Zippori Village. I loved sitting on the back porch in the morning looking through the morning glory blossoms that drape over the trellis. The scene before me seemed to be in lovely layers. The wind rustled through the palm trees and past the olive orchard to the peaceful valley below. Laughing doves crooned, tiny frogs in the pond greeted the morning with their deep chirrups, while the shy yellow vented bulbuls flew softly through the lemon trees. In the early morning mist, I could imagine Jesus and his disciples making their way up the hill. I think they would be laughing and talking or maybe singing one of the Psalms of praise.

Tradition says that Jesus’ grandparents lived in Zippori which is only four miles from Nazareth. Surely, as a young boy, He came many times to Zippori to visit them. There must have been pomegranate and fig trees, grape vines, and bee hives such as Mitch has today. Maybe a goat farm like the one up the road from Zippori Village. That’s where Mitch and his wife Suzy get tasty cheeses and yogurts to put in our breakfast basket every morning, along with tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, bread, and butter. There’s a box right beside the front door just for the basket filled with all the goodies. Fresh eggs are always available from the hen house.

The owner and overseer of this little corner of paradise, Mitch Pilcer, was enigmatically present whenever we stepped outside and yet never intrusive. He has the incredible ability to let you know he’s looking out for you without seeming to hover. Mitch and Suzy have developed their part of Zippori Moshav with loving care and respect for the land. They have built, decorated, and furnished four cottages for guests. More are under construction along with a nearly finished swimming pool.

We have been blessed to have stayed there several times this trip, taking all of our friends who came from Pensacola. Each time, the visit was a little longer than the last because they were reluctant to leave. We used it as a base to explore the sites around the Sea of Galilee. It’s only 25 minutes to Tiberias. How good it felt after a long day of sightseeing to “go back home” to Zippori.

We had supper several times at the Goat Farm. Yoav, whose parents own the goat farm, was our chef. Every dish - most of them featuring the delicious mild goat cheese - was better than the one before.

We always visit the wonderful ruins at Zippori National Park just over the hill. The ruins include an amphitheatre, an ancient Jewish section with micvahs, and the Cardo with many intact mosaics. My favorite is still the fancy Roman villa with the floor of detailed mosaic featuring the beautiful “Mona Lisa of the Galilee”. What other wonders await discovery by the archaeologists still at work in the Park today.

What else do I love about Zippori Village? Lying in the hammock in the shade of the palm trees, watching the birds flying overhead and listening to “The Garden Scene” from “Much Ado About Nothing”, on my I-Pod. An amazing experience. I had a feeling of nostalgia when we left Zippori for the last time. But, I will still be able to call it back to memory every time I listen to “The Garden Scene”.

Tommy Jones' Journey

When God called Abram out of Ur of the Chaldees, He gave him one simple command: “walk about the land through its length and breadth; for I will give it to you”.

Walk the land! What a joy I had for 2 weeks in literally “walking the land” of Israel with my Uncle Neal and Aunt Ruby. I had been to Israel previously on a tour.
The tour was fine but it seemed as if I spent more time waiting in a line or sitting in a bus than seeing the land and its biblical/historical sites.

This time, I was able to move about the land in freedom. It was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I learned more about the Old City, the Walls and the layout of Jerusalem than I could have on a tour. The view from our apartment in Jerusalem was spectacular to say the least. I woke up every day with the sounds of swallows flitting here and there and the sun rising on the Dome of the Rock.

I could experience the sounds and sights of a people living in the city. I ate at the finest restaurants. The food was the best I’ve ever had…hands down.

I was able to put on my backpack and go into the city freely and take pictures, meet people, walk atop the walls---experience the life of Jerusalem. The quiet times in the Holy Sepulchre were special then and now. Visiting the sites without crowds was unbelievable. God must have set our agenda.

My time in Sepphoris was beyond description. We stayed in a quiet, country moshav. I had a room that overlooked the valleys heading to Nazareth. To think I was hanging out in Jesus’ backyard was surreal. I could imagine Him as a boy running around, climbing trees and playing games.

Sepphoris was a place of tranquility and rest. It was slow-paced, rural even. I loved getting a basket of food each morning with the best milk I’ve ever tasted, along with fresh goat’s milk yogurt. Sepphoris was our home base during our time in the Galilee.

My time in Dan was beyond description: the woods, the river, and the quiet. Uncle Neal was the best guide possible. He knows more than most guides do. I learned a great deal and was able to become part of the land.

Joppa blew me away. The beautiful blue waters of the Mediterranean stretched out beyond the horizon. Visiting Simon the Tanner’s home was special. The food was even better. It is a beach resort town and the pace winds down to leisurely strolls.

I saw more than I ever did on a tour. I experienced more than I ever did on a tour. What a trip. It’s residue hangs on me still. I may never get to go on that type of trip again.

I think the one experience that still sticks with me is my time on the Southern steps of the Temple. I was there when the Jews were celebrating the Feast of Weeks or Shavuot. For me, it was the time of Pentecost. I believe that I was in the general area of Peter’s first sermon on Pentecost.

To look out and see where Peter had wept after his denial of knowing Jesus, and to see where Judas hung himself was so moving. I could write for hours. I could talk about every place, every site, etc. Thanks Uncle Neal and Aunt Ruby! I love you for making this possible for me.

PRAY FOR THE PEACE OF JERUSALEM

It all happened on Shabbat, the Jewish Sabbath, when the greeting is “Shabbat shalom” (Sabbath peace). Jewish worshipers from all over the city make their way to the Western wall to pray and welcome in the Sabbath. We love to watch them from our condo high above the Old City as they go back and forth, dressed in their antique finery.

The haredim, who are the ultra-orthodox branch of Judaism, are some of the most elegantly dressed. The ladies wear long black skirts, with jackets of black, gray, or white, or dresses of soft muted colors. Who could guess that there could be such a variety of styles and ways to wear black and white? Their heads are crowned with scarves wrapped in ingenuous ways or lovely hats.

The husbands are dressed even more elegantly in their knee-length black or gold or white brocade coats and tall fur hats. Their children are usually dressed to match: the boys in black trousers and vests, white shirts, and small round black kipas on their heads; the little girls in matching dresses of black and white, often heavily embroidered. Usually, there is a baby in a stroller. With prayer books in their hands and the husband wearing his prayer shawl or carrying it in a special sack, they make a beautiful picture of piety, peace, and holiness. As I said, we love watching them and this past Shabbat was no different.

WHAT I HEARD: It was early afternoon and, from the direction of Safra Square, we heard the roar of a crowd. To Neal, it sounded like a demonstration. But to my ears, it sounded like a soccer game in progress. We had heard the same kind of sound in Rome when a giant-screen TV was set up in a piazza and the Italians gathered to cheer on their national team. The rise and fall of the noise sounded just like that. And, so in an effort to explain the unexplainable, I declared it a soccer game: either being broadcast at Safra Square or being played there in the big concrete piazza surrounded by the municipal buildings.

On Shabbat, in downtown Jerusalem, the streets are deserted except for a few tourists looking for a place to eat. All the shops are closed. All is quiet. The roar went on for hours. I wondered why someone would desecrate the Sabbath like that and why they were allowed to.

WHAT I SAW: I had gone out on the balcony several times to listen to the cacophony, but now there were things happening in the street behind our Condo. The haredim men and boys were congregating in little groups, looking up the street toward Safra Square, gesticulating and obviously upset. Paradoxically, in the little playground just below our balcony, Jewish mothers were sitting peacefully together watching their children at play.

All of a sudden, a crowd of men began running down the street and into the alleyway beside our Condo. They were running as though someone were chasing them. They waited a few moments and then made their way back up the street toward Safra Square. In a few moments, they ran back, this time it was a stampede. I wondered aloud, “Who in the world would be chasing these religious Jews on their holy day, and why would they desecrate the Sabbath in such a way?” It was almost dark before the street finally emptied and was quiet again.

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED: From the Jerusalem Post, June 7, 2009
Haredim riot in Jerusalem over Shabbat opening of parking lot

“In a violent new flare-up of haredi-secular tensions in Jerusalem, thousands of haredim rioted on Saturday at the entrance to city hall over the city’s decision to open a parking lot under the municipality buildings at Kikar Safra for visitors on Shabbat.”

“A non-Jew was used to operate the lot in accordance with Jewish religious law.”

The haredim threw rocks, food, and diapers at the policemen (who were trying to quell the riot). One policeman was hospitalized. The article goes on to explain that the lots near the Old City had been closed on Shabbat due to pressure from the haredim and that this was an effort by the city to make parking available for the visitors who come to Jerusalem on Shabbat. It would be free of charge (so no money would change hands). The mayor had consulted with haredim representatives before announcing his decision to open the parking lot. Yet more such demonstrations are promised.

So, the haredim desecrated the Sabbath they bound themselves to keep. How to explain the unexplainable? Jesus said, “You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye …” (Luke 6:41, 42)

INDEPENDENCE

Sixty-one years ago, Jerusalem was under siege. Its citizens barely subsisted on rationed water, a few ounces of flour a week, and some vegetables grown in garden plots. Khubeiza, a green leaf made into bread and soup, was gathered in no man’s land while dodging bullets from the walls of the Old City. Jaffa lay in ruins: an Arab city destroyed by the Haganah. The new nation fought desperately with a couple of WWII planes, home made bombs, and weapons smuggled in during the British mandate (that is, those not confiscated) against neighbors committed to their immediate annihilation. The only democracy in the middle-east faced certain death.

In 1948, I had just started my first year in Tulane Medical School, financed by the GI Bill and a summer job at Maison Blanche.

Today, Independence Day in Israel, Ruby and I are at the Honey Beach Restaurant on the azure, blue and green Mediterranean Sea in Jaffa. How times have changed.

We people watch, eat, drink, and marvel at the show put on by the Israeli Air Force and the Navy. Right over our heads thunders the Israeli version of the Blue Angels, streaming smoke. Many of their pilots trained in Pensacola. An air parade of three supply planes (Fat Alberts), a tanker refueling three Mirage fighters, and four different El Al commercial jets representing the various platforms that ferry world wide visitors to and from Ben Gurion airport extends the performance to nearly an hour.

Meanwhile, Naval units - virtual destroyers, gunboats, assault ships, supply vessels, and helicopters - bear down on the sandy beach passing in review. They are followed by flotillas of civilian sailboats demanding their moment to celebrate this great event.

The Old City of Jaffa is being rebuilt. Adjacent Tel Aviv is a modern metropolis sporting a skyline which could be the envy of an Atlanta, Rome, or Tokyo. How times have changed.

Crowds of Israeli families pitch tents, grill, and play games in the parks and public spaces. The landscape is awash with baby strollers, dogs, happy sounds, and the sumptuous smell of barbeque smoke. The eating places are full and service is slow but who cares. We are having fun. All of us! They are proud of their country and not afraid to say so.

You don’t believe in miracles? Then read how this nation was founded; how it continues to exist, and how it continues to grow. Come and see the desert converted into green pastures, olives, leeks, potatoes, corn, flowers, and cities. Israel not only feeds its seven million people, it exports food to help feed the world. And as lagniappe, meet friendly people who live in a land where each rock turned over is history. Are we loving Israel all over again? You bet!

ROOM WITH A VIEW

We have a Room with a View. Not of the Arno, like Lucy Honeychurch’s, but one which we much prefer. Our bedroom window overlooks a cemetery which intrigued us from the first. There, cut deep into a slab, was the outline of a large cross. Near it stood a red granite obelisk and a square headstone. Other graves were scattered about in the small plot. It seemed to be walled in with no entrance, so we had no hope of visiting the graves. We contented ourselves by looking at the tombstones through binoculars and taking pictures.

One of the treats of having the graveyard under our window is the birds find sanctuary amid the thistles, pomegranate tree, dandelions, cane, and bushes growing there. I’ve spent hours watching the sparrows, hooded crows, doves, martins, and others as they fly in, rest, peck in the leaves and weeds, and fly away.

One morning, unexpectedly, a pair of ring-necked parakeets appeared. They fascinated us as they perched on a flimsy limb to guard a knot hole. The female wriggled into the hole and stayed for awhile. Occasionally, the male flew in for a visit. Curious sparrows came and watched, too. The parakeets didn’t seem to mind. But, when the hooded crows came near, there was a fierce confrontation.

We had considered it just a bird-watchers’ paradise until last Shabbat. While I was videoing the parakeets, I was interrupted. Then surprised. Surprised, because I heard voices coming from across the graveyard. Then, even more surprised to see a dozen people headed toward the obelisk.

I aimed my camera at the group. The tour guide was miked, so I could hear him very well. He was speaking Hebrew and pointing to the obelisk. The words I understood were, “Hodgkin, Hodgkin’s Disease”. He read the epitaph in English. Then he read Brigadier General Edward Thomas Michell’s epitaph, also in English. Soon after the group left, another arrived.

One of us is a history buff and both of us are interested in genealogy. We had to find the entrance to the graveyard.

Yesterday afternoon we struck out. Several blind alleys later, we found a lane off Yefet Street winding through a well-worn neighborhood. Skirting the boys’ soccer game, we followed an overgrown path to a rusty gate crowned by a cross. Hidden behind a dirty metal sign and a dilapidated fence was the treasure. A Christian graveyard. I pushed aside the weeds and brushed debris from the old stones so Neal could take photos.

As we read the epitaphs, these long-dead people who struggled so valiantly in an alien land became our brothers and sisters.

Here are some of the epitaphs:

Here rests the body of Thomas Hodgkin, M.D. - of Bedford Square London
A man distinguished alike - for scientific attainment - medical skill
and self sacrificing philanthropy - He died at Jaffa - the 4th of April 1866
in the 68th year of his age - In the faith and hope of the gospel – humani nihil a se alienum putabat - The epitaph is inscribed by his - deeply sorrowing widow & brother to record their irreparable loss
††
Sacred to the memory of - Brigadier General Edward Thomas Michell - of the Royal Artillery - Commanding the Forces of Her Britannic Majesty in Syria - Companion of the Order of the Bath - Commander of Isabella the Catholic - and Knight of St. Ferdinand and of Charles III of Spain - who died at Jaffa on the 24th of January 1841 - AE [age]54 -
He was distinguished by high and noble qualities - By long and brilliant services - And by the affection and regard of all who knew him - The officers of H. B. Majesty’s forces serving in Syria - In testimony of their esteem and regret - To render sacred the spot where his remains repose
††
In memory of Elizabeth Caroline Wardlaw Ramsay - For many years a missionary of the C.M.S. at Acca [Akko] - who died at Jaffa - January 18, 1913.
Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life
††
Mrs. Weinberg - Born. Feb.3.1850 - Died. Aug. 24.1896.
In hope of the Resurrection
I Cor. XV.58
††
Capt. T. W. Sharp of Newville Pensylvania [sic] U. S. A.
Born May 24, 1831 - Died April 7, 1881. Rejoice O grieving heart!
The hours fly fast;
In each some sorrow dies,
In each some shadow flies
Until at last
The red down in the east
Bids weary night depart
And pain is past.
††
In loving remembrance of Mary Briscod Baldwin - forty two years a missionary of the Protestant Episcopal Church of America - At Athens, Greece - And Joppa, Palestine –born in Virginia U.S.A. – May 20, 1811 – died in Jaffa – June 20, 1877- there is no difference - between the Jew and the Greek – for the same Lord over all – rich unto all that call – upon Him - for, whosoever- shall call upon the name - of the Lord shall be saved – how beautiful are the feet – of them that preach the – gospel of peace, and bring – glad tidings of good things
††
Sacred to the memory of - Jane - daughter of - Professor G. A. Walker-Arnot, - (of Glasgow University) - Born 1st June 1834, died 21st May 1911. - Who founded the Tabeetha Mission School - and for 48 years - devoted herself to that work in Jaffa. -Looking for the blessed hope and the glory of the great God and our Savior JesusChrist.
††
What an intriguing lady. The school still exists right around the corner. Interested? See http://www.tabeethaschool.com/

What a gracious reward for just looking out our window.

MIXED EMOTIONS

We’re beginning our last week in Jaffa and I’m nostalgic already. Nostalgic for the comfort and peace we’ve enjoyed in the Condo and the people and places we’ve enjoyed in Jaffa. We finally feel at home here and have developed a routine. We have shopped at the local grocery stores and fruit markets. We feel comfortable cooking and doing the laundry and just sitting around, reading and making plans.

From our bedroom window, we’ve watched a pair of bright green ring-necked parakeets as they set up housekeeping. A laughing dove came and sat on that same window sill beside the open window and cooed softly. From the balcony, we watched the hooded crows and heard their raucous cry.

We’ve found a favorite coffee bar with our favorite waitress: Vicky at Café Rojet. We just sit at a table and say, “We’ll have our regular,” and she laughs and brings it. Our regular is Café Gelato, a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a glass with espresso poured over it. Neal has a thimbleful of Irish Whiskey added to his. She always points out the one with the Irish Whiskey in it.

We are regulars at Steimatzky’s book store where we bought maps, postcards and bookmarks, and get the Friday’s edition of The Jerusalem Post. Neal has a running joke there with one of the clerks about writing a guidebook to Jaffa.

We’ve thoroughly explored the Old City of Jaffa and enjoyed walking up to Kedumim Square and sitting in the sun to watch the tourists. They come from all over Israel and Europe. We’ve seen only a few people who speak American English.

We’ve taken side trips from here to Ashkelon, Ashdod, and Be’er Sheba, which before were only Biblical names to us. Now we can feel the desert heat, the dust, the dryness when we read about Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in Be’er Sheba and picture the beautiful Mediterranean when we read about Ashkelon and Ashdod.

This week we’ve driven to Jerusalem a couple of times: first, to locate the condo we’ll be moving into and second, to try to find parking. We had great success with the first; the Condo is in a perfect location, one block from the Old City. It’s directly behind the Municipal Buildings in Sabra Square. We followed the directions of the landlady, walking all the way up the 36 stairs to the landing at the front door. We’re going to be in a very interesting place. The building seems to be occupied by Orthodox Jews. The front porch goes across the entire front of the building and is full of baby carriages and bicycles.

We had no success finding suitable parking. Parking is a very complicated process in the city of Jerusalem. Though there is a municipal garage just across the street from the condo, it would cost about $40 a day to park there. They offer no weekly or monthly rates. Parking on the street can be done only with a pass and would be expensive, too. The curbs are marked with five different colors denoting who can park where.

So, we’ve decided to give up our trusty little Subaru: another reason for my nostalgia. I’ve gotten used to its eccentricities: the way it struggles and complains up the hills and mountains to Jerusalem, punching in the numbers before I can start the car, and backing it into the narrow parking space in the garage (always with Neal’s help). We’ll rent a car when we need it to drive to the Galilee. On the bright side, the Subaru is covered with dust now and every time we rent a new one, it’ll be shiny and clean.

Next week Israel will be celebrating Independence Day. There are flags and banners everywhere, even in the condo’s courtyard. We hope to take a walk on the Promenade to Tel Aviv and we still have the Jaffa Archaeological Museum to visit. We’re planning to enjoy every moment of our last week in Jaffa.

Then: UP TO JERUSALEM!