Where Does the Setting Sun Go?

Now that I’ve been here for a few weeks, the initial sense of wonderment has begun to wear off. I don’t think I’m experiencing culture shock. I’m too used to Israelis for that. It’s more like culture fatigue. With the glamour of newness gone, the everyday realities are settling in – the banalities of daily living without the intensity and intellectual rigor of the first ten days in Jerusalem. It’s running errands, going shopping, cleaning the house, sitting down with my laptop and writing profiles, summaries, doing research. It’s realizing that Israel is a small, small country and sometimes the offerings are slim. In terms of geography, religion, conflict, Israel is rich indeed. In terms of museums, bookstores, theater, dance, the sphere is more limited – at least for an English speaker (my own limitation).

But I have tried to take advantage of being in one of the Middle East’s most bustling – albeit relatively young – cities.

Since my arrival in Tel Aviv, I’ve visited Independence Hall (that was during our first ten days, actually), where, on May 14, 1948, Ben Gurion declared the establishment of the state of Israel; Ben Gurion’s House/Museum, two blocks up the road from our flat; the Jabotinsky Institute, devoted to the history of the Jewish national resistance movement; the Rubin Reuven House/Museum, an lovely intimate gallery of the artist’s work; the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, with a spattering of Monet, Picasso, Braque, etc.; the Rabin Center, not yet open, but with quite a formidable museum attached; HaYarkon Park, by the river; the Old Port; Carmel Market; the Nahalat Binyamin Crafts Market; the Bauhaus Center; the Azrieli Center, a mall/office/observatory complex (Israel’s “Empire State”) ; and all the used bookstores and new bookstores in the area.

But I think the most memorable experience I’ve had yet was the afternoon I spent in Old Jaffa last Tuesday (June 28). Unfortunately the Visitor Center was closed (until June 30, so I’ll go back), but I meandered through the HaPisgah Gardens, crossed the Wishing Bridge while gazing out over the Mediterranean, the sun glancing off the diamond waves. I walked around Kikar Kedumim, the reconstructed center of Old Jaffa, ringed with little galleries, restaurants, and shops. I managed a brief glimpse at the artists’ colony on a previous visit, but on this day, I spent most of my time at St. Peter’s Monastery.

I got there just minutes before it closed, managing a brief but wonderful alone time in the dim sanctum. A kind priest told me that they were closing at 5 pm, but would reopen for Mass at 6. Apparently it was a holy day. I have subsequently searched online and I think it was the Feast Day of Saint Peter and Paul, in remembrance of their sufferings (very fitting too for St. Peter’s Monastery). Though I’m not Christian, I’ve been to services several times, usually around Christmas. I’ve always connected to the Catholic traditions most of all. However formal, ornate and perhaps disassociated from daily life they can be, the grandeur, mythology and beauty of Catholic cathedrals and liturgy still fill me somehow.

The entire service, of course, was in Arabic, but I cherished the throb and weight of the words, interspersed with singing from the congregants. I watched the little children playing in the aisles, the older ones kissing them and braiding the girls’ hair. At the end of the ceremony, the priest instructed his parishioners to turn to one and another and smile and greet each other and shake hands. The older couple sitting to my left as well as those in front of me (I had quietly snuck into the last pew after the service had started; apparently I was not the only late-comer – people kept showing up, making an unholy ruckus opening the heavy doors) turned and smiled, shook my hand, and I felt, in that moment, a human connection surpassing the language and cultural barriers between us.

Then I walked back to Tel Aviv along the seaside promenade. It was a very windy evening and all the wind-surfers and paragliders were out – the sky filled with colorful, bobbing chutes. The sun was setting and its beauty and the brevity of the moment were the last thoughts in my mind as it sank below the horizon.

Hmmm. Now that I think of it. That sense of wonderment – the one that was supposedly wearing off? – yeah, it’s back.