Getting High in Israel

I woke up this morning in middle of the Negev Desert.  We left Jerusalem yesterday and spent the day heading south, making stops along the way and, finally, settling in Mitzpe Ramon at a brand new hotel overlooking the Ramon Canyon.  Don't correct me.  Though many call it the Ramon Crater, it's not a crater.  Canyon much more accurately describes the topography here.  

Coach Dan scheduled a short run for me this morning and when I headed out at 6:30, I turned right and planned to stick to the plan.  About a third of a mile from the hotel I found an unpaved path through the Negev.  I figured it was worth a try.

Before I knew it, I was in middle of the barren dessert with no signs of civilization whatsoever, just me and the dusty, rocky earth below my feet.  I ran along the rim of the Ramon Canyon as the sun began to rise above the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange.  

The dusty road took me up and down as it winded through the Negev.  I experienced one of those moments that maybe only runners can fully understand.  I didn't want to stop.  The road continued endlessly and I wanted to see where it would take me.  The effort of the run never entered my mind.  I was in God's country.  I actually caught myself smiling.  It was one of those elusive, mystical moments of runner's high.  It was euphoric.  Having reached the full distance of Coach Dan's proscribed workout just on the outbound, I had to consciously will myself to turn around, and that was only because I needed to be back in time to meet my family for breakfast before experiencing another day of  the Land of Israel.

Not a single foreign thought invaded my consicousness.  Work and the life that awaits me back home never occurred to me.  I didn't experience even a moment of angst from the usual worries that sometimes arise when I am left alone with my thoughts.  

This morning's run was as close as I've come to a true spiritual experience in some time.  And this is coming from a rabbi.  It's no wonder Moses, Abraham and all the others connected with God out here in the desert.  The hardest part of my morning's journey was not merely just turning around and acknowling that much of the road before me would remain a mystery, but cresting a desert peak and getting a glimpse, for the first time, of civilization, reminding me that I was no longer in heaven.  

I returned to the hotel and caught my breath as I returned to my room, still beaming from the hour now behind me.  I opened the door to find my family awake and when I was greeted by an enthusiastic, "Morning, Daddy!" it occurred to me that, though every moment may not be as solitary and transcendent as my run through the desert, I am living in heaven right here on earth.  

Going the Wrong Way

I was nervous when I discovered that Coach Dan scheduled a 10 mile run while I am still in Jerusalem.  Though I know the city pretty well, I honestly wasn't sure how I would cobble 10 miles together while avoiding some of Jerusalem's more significant hills and without running in circles.  So I headed down a road that I knew would take me along a relatively straight and flat stretch and hoped it would continue for 5 miles, when I would turn around head back to the hotel.  

At breakfast that morning after my run, my nephew, Ari, asked how I knew where to go for 10 miles.  I told him that turned right, ran towards Bethlehem until I reached a military checkpoint and a security fence, and then I turned around to retrace my steps.  That is, indeed, exactly what I did, which was good for 7.5 miles, after which I explored my old neighborhood for another 2.5 miles.

I wasn't familiar with the majority of my route and I was just a bit anxious about making a wrong turn.  This is the Middle East, after all.  A wrong turn made by a few hikers several years ago landed them in an Iranian prison.  I may not be in the immediate vicinity of Iran, but the reality of life in the Middle East certainly demands a heightened level of caution.

I gave my children, my nephews and my niece the same lecture I remember my father giving me when my parents first brought me to Israel when I was a little boy.  I warned them that life in the Middle East is not the same as it is in the United States.  Children are curious by nature and they don't often think twice about picking up a foreign object.  I firmly forbade them from doing so because, though whatever they might discover would likely be exactly what it looks like, especially in this part of the world those are chances we just don't take.  I know people who fell victim to terrorist bombings in this country, so I am always aware and cautious, though I've truly always felt comfortable and secure when I've been here, even during times of war and unrest.

It has been interesting, this week, to juxtapose these concerns with my feeling about turmoil brewing among various factions of Israel's Jewish citizens.  There has been a growing trend among the extremist sects of Israel's Jews to impose gender segregation in neighborhoods and cities where they are highly concentrated.  Segregated busses travel through certain areas.  And recently sideways have become segregated, relegating women to the other side of the road.  When Israeli authorities removed these signs, extremist Jews staged animated protests, calling authorities, "Nazis."  In the growing popular resistance against this Jewish extremism, counter-protests are beginning to occur, demanding an official Israeli respose to these developments.

Just as I have always been careful to avoid neighborhoods that are dangerous for Jews, so now I feel a need to avoid neighborhoods that are dangerous for non-extremist Jews.  Running through the streets of Jerusalem, the city whose ultimate legacy is meant to one day be one of peace, I find myself treading between so many conflicting worlds that the road before me becomes frighteningly narrow.  

Maybe I cannot run in the middle of the road, but politically and religiously that's usually where I find myself.  I always appreciated the teachings of Moses Maimonides who encouraged his students and readers to find moderation in all things.  That might be an ironic value for an obsessive athlete, but I find it centers me.  I believe my commitment to the middle keeps me from going the wrong way, from becoming too parochial, too partisan, too dogmatic.  And when I forget about Maimonides, running, and biking, and swimming humbles me, defuses that emotional charge that pulls me too far to the right or to the left, and keeps me on the straight and narrow.