JAFFA

“Matt, I think we’ll have to abandon church,” said Paul, decisively, slowing down at the traffic lights. It’s not a sentence I ever expected from him, but it made sense, given that Google Maps wanted us to perform what amounted to several illegal U-turns to get there. “Shame,” he added, moments later, a cheeky grin forming. “I was hoping to find you a Messianic bride.”

Instead of church then (and Paul’s new international matchmaking ministry) we found ourselves heading for Old Jaffa. Jaffa was an ancient sea port, settled some 9,000 years ago, and it features several times in the Old and New Testaments.  It’s not far from the centre of Tel Aviv, so once we’d reprogrammed Google to point us South West, we twisted through the tight Yafo streets and eventually found ourselves on the coast road, driving along by the sea.

There is some electricity about being in places you’ve imagined from the Bible. As the sea rolled in, in huge white waves, crashing on the rocks to our right, I thought about Jonah, nervously climbing aboard the ship to Tarsus. Old Jaffa was called Joppa in those days, and pre-whale, Jonah the prophet tried sailing from here. I could almost see the small wooden ship bobbing on the water.

We parked up, took in some mint tea in a cafe (it really was mint tea - hot water with sprigs of mint in it with a tea bag on the side) and made a plan of what we’d like to see. Before long, we were winding through the shady streets, carefully stepping across the cool cobbles beneath the uneven, ancient stone windows and arches of the old city.

It was a fine day. The sun was warm like early-summer and the breeze was shirt-sleeve fresh. As we wandered, the streets opened out into a wide path of trees and tourists, overlooking the port. There beneath the bluest of skies was the Mediterranean, boundless and free. And stretching round the bay, Tel Aviv itself with its skyscrapers, the yellow beach and the surfing waves crashing in to shore. 

This is a country that’s both impossibly young, and incredibly ancient. The new overlaps with the old almost everywhere you go. Founded in 1948, yet carrying thousands of years of history, glimmering with glass, yet set in stone - modern, progressive, forward-thinking, yet traditional, solid, historic. Later on, the friendly guy in the Tourist Information Office would tell us of the great rivalry between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, along those same lines. I have a vague suspicion that he thought we might be a couple when he sort of suggested we’d have a better time on this ‘progressive’ side of the country.

I found it quite a beautiful thing to see those ancient stone houses, set between the palms and the olives, against the brilliant blue of the sea. The minaret of the sea mosque rose up from the port, just above where Perseus was supposed to have rescued Andromeda from the sea-monster. There’s definitely something artistic about it - light stone on deep blue; it’s lovely.

No more so than the home of Simon the Tanner.

The story goes that Peter (Saint Peter) came to Jaffa and raised a girl from the dead. In Acts, it says that Simon, a tanner, asked Peter to stay with him for several days, and it was during this stay, that Peter had a vision on the roof that would eventually lead to taking Christianity to the Gentiles.

We climbed down some very steep, uneven stone steps and found ourselves in the shaded courtyard outside Simon’s house. I could see it being filled with animal skins, drying in the briny air. Paul took a photo while I tried to peer up to the roof. If it was where I thought it was, it was a low roof, flat, and level with a higher part of the steep slope - perfect for praying. Beyond, the sea stretched out silver to the horizon. Peter would have seen that. Maybe he wondered what lay far beyond that glistening ocean.

We bought some spicy flatbreads for lunch and ate them with a bagel in the square. I had suggested we went back and got some Jaffa oranges (thought to be the best in the world by Napoleon apparently) but I forgot somehow when we moved from the bench. Jaffa oranges are of course, the reason for Jaffa Cakes, providing the filling between the soft chocolate. Happily enough, I would have settled for a Jaffa Cake, after all that bread. Nonetheless, we forgot about the oranges. And there were no Jaffa Cakes.

I liked Jaffa. We enjoyed it on a very warm February day, and I found it interesting and emotive. For me, the place felt, and let’s be honest, this whole country might be like this, as thought it was right in the middle of the overlap - the meeting point of three very different continents at their northern, eastern and westernmost points; the jumble of old and of new, the Muslim architecture and the Jewish heritage; the warm sun and the cool breeze, the arches and the architraves, the mythology and the history, the stone and the glass work; the secular and the spiritual. I find these congruous worlds so interesting - especially when my own overlaps with theirs by being here.

We drove back to Tel Aviv as the shadows were growing longer and the afternoon was leaning into the evening. Paul went for a sleep and I drew cartoons for a while, then we went out for dinner.

I was afraid that this week would be overwhelming; a whirlwind of things to see and a relentless assault on the senses. So far though, it hasn’t been that at all! Today felt relaxed yet interesting, peaceful yet full, moving but not all-consuming. It’s actually been very gentle - much like the cool sea-breeze on a warm, summery day. The pace is different; there is a grace here, in the centre of the overlap I think, as though designed by the One who has a knack of stepping right into every overlapping world to show us the meaning of the word.

I have no idea why I’m surprised by that.