Feature

by Joy Huff

"I pictured myself crossing hot desert sand dunes to find an oasis where adoring nomads would serve me delicacies and fan me with palm branches."

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There's More Than One Way to See the Holy Land

After handing a guy in a purple turbann two bucks, Joy Huff vaulted onto the back of a camel that carried her around the parking lot outside of the Qumran cave site.
--Dave Abbey, photo

We walked where Jesus walked, got baptized in the same river where John baptized our Lord and saw the tomb where He rose from the dead. All great stuff, but what made my trip to Israel memorable had no spiritual significance at all.

Call me stupid, but I sold my nice green car, paid $3,300 for the trip, saved up my school skips and flew 34 hours to travel halfway around the world to eat an Israeli taco, ride a camel, enjoy chocolate ice cream and visit a nightclub.

During spring break, I was part of a busload of picture snappin', route mappin', bargain shoppin', money droppin' American tourists from my church. Set loose in Tel Aviv to explore, I decided that I needed a taco. Every Sunday for the past 14 years my family has eaten tacos, so I was pretty set on the idea.

Despite knowing English, no one Ð not the mall employees, soldiers, shop owners, or random customers -- had ever heard of a "taco" or "burrito." How could this be? Isn't Israel a civilized country?

Soon I learned that eating cheese and meat in the same meal (much less in the same taco) is taboo because of Old Testament law: "You shall not boil a young goat in its mother's milk," Deuteronomy 14:21. The Israelis do not serve meat and coffee in the same meal, either, because the creamer for the coffee may have come from the entree's mother's milk.

Disheartened, I thought of the prospect of eating no tacos for two weeks Ð a sad notion, to be sure.

But just when I was resigned to a taco-less existence, a falafel place caught my pastor's eye. He herded all 99 of us inside.

I had heard about falafel from my parents after they visited Israel a few years back. Pop described the meal as "awful-falafel." In case he was right, I had a stash of strawberry-watermelon fruit roll-ups on standby. But the falafel, wrapped in pita bread with lettuce, cabbage and corn, was actually a tasty delight. It was like a cheese-less taco.

The days blurred together during our two-week visit. We walked on ancient ruins and purchased over-priced trinkets. One day, as the bus rolled to a stop at yet another "amazing ancient historical site," I looked out the bus window expecting to see more old rocks.

Instead, I saw a camel kneeling on a mat in the parking lot. Excited, I hopped out, oohed and aahed at the Qumran cave site and then raced back to the parking lot.

I couldn't believe it; my very first camel ride!

When I had dreamed of camel riding, I must confess, I pictured myself crossing hot desert sand dunes to find an oasis where adoring nomads would serve me delicacies and fan me with palm branches. Along the way, something would spook my camel and cause it to gallop madly across the sand.

Holding on for dear life, I would scream like a girl, catching the attention of a nearby prince. He would rescue me and be captivated by my lung capacity, if not my beauty. I would look deep into the prince's eyes, realize he was my soul mate, marry him and ride into the sunset with him. My real camel ride did happen near palm trees, but I'm not going to lie Ð I was on an asphalt parking lot. And the camel didn't even go crazy.

Everywhere we traveled, vendors sold chocolate ice cream bars to cranky Americans for $3 a piece. That could buy a half-gallon of ice cream in the States, but $3 per bar sounds like a deal when you're hot and tired in Israel.

My traveling companion, Grandma Lila, realized early that chocolate ice cream equals a less grumbly Joy, so when I was in a huff, she'd roll her eyes and say, "I suppose you want an ice cream."

With bright eyes, I savored the cold chocolate bliss, all problems momentarily forgotten.

The last thing on my list was to visit a nightclub. With only three days left in Israel, while we were lost somewhere near Ben Yahuda Street (Jerusalem's main shopping street) I spotted a nightclub called "The Underground."

That sounded like just the place for a young Christian woman to hang out at night while on a trip with her church. I wanted to go right away, but daylight savings time was starting that night, and we were losing an hour of sleep. I did not think I could party and then wake up effectively at 5 a.m.

And the next night was the Sabbath, so all of the local shops and businesses were closed.

Finally, on our last night, I told three fellow travelers that I needed bodyguard escorts. They said, "No." That was depressing. I even promised not to wear my pink belly dancing skirt, but they were unmoved.

One of them expounded: "There is a spicy meter, Joy; you do spicy in the morning, medium in the afternoon and mild at night. If you do spicy at night, you can't sleep. Let's play Uno."

Uno? I thought. Uno!?

They were giving up the chance of a lifetime to play Uno. Didn't they know that clubbers are a largely unreached people group?

So I asked the middle-aged ladies on the trip if they would go to a nightclub with me. They just laughed. Then I turned to a 16-year-old boy. "Chris," I asked, "do you want to go clubbing?"

Without missing a beat, Chris responded, "Sure, why not?"

I weighed my options Ð how his mom would kill me vs. how much fun I'd have. I thought of how Chris would probably not be much help if radical Muslim extremists kidnapped me. But then again, if I didn't get out of Israel alive, I would never have to finish my Pothen paper. Hmmm....

Common sense won out, and I told him I was just kidding. I wandered to the door of the hotel to see if I could possibly go by myself. Rain was pouring down.

At that moment, I knew my mom was praying to God that I'd be safe. I settled in to play some extreme Uno. Maybe a cute waiter would serve us chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream....

The Garden Tomb has been known as the burial site of Christ.
The bones of Jesus were not there.
--Joy Huff, photo

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