It was brutally hot at first, and then comforts of gentleness ensued. I surrendered to the cuddly breeze while stroking the warm sand, soft as baby hair.
Lying by the Mediterranean Sea in Tel Aviv, I basked in the gaiety of the sun, the waves and the people. The emerald serenity droned out the noises on the beach buzzing with excitement. From here, I let my mind wander on a one-hour drive in the Southeastern direction.
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The cheerful carols of Tel Aviv’s Bauhaus architecture would segue into the solemn silence of meleke (a pale limestone used since ancient times) sprawling over the ground, walls and buildings. I would resurface in Jerusalem, a whole-new-world kind of place, the cradle of Judaism, Christianity and Islam.
It is a biblical land — a cultural, historical settlement where distinctive and exclusive communities co-exist, committing to a distant yet intimate relationship. It was nearing midnight. The swifts wheeled incessantly around the square beneath the Western Wall, as if guided by some mystical force.
Segregated by gender, Haredi men and women in uniform suits and dresses walked in uniform pace, towards the wall to shed tears of mourning. This is a place heavy with the past, present and future.
The Dome of the Rock beckons on the Temple Mount with which the Western Wall merges. The Islamic shrine is the singular blob of dazzling gold amidst the pale meleke. The majestic representations of Judaism and Islam lay side by side in a peaceful way.
Yet my tour guide said, "Jerusalem is a violent place, not just physically, but emotionally and religiously."
I could not unravel the complexities of history, religion, love and hate. As I took another breath, the soothing Mediterranean waters dampened all worries of the past, present and future.
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