THE GLORY OF ALL LANDS

The plane banked over the Mediterranean. Wide and silvery blue, the great ocean stretched beneath us, under the fluffy white clouds, and out, imperceptibly to the faint Southern horizon. The sun, brilliant in the afternoon sky, painted a beam of rippling light across the flat, almost mirror-like surface. Then, excitingly, land came into view.

The seatbelt light pinged on.

It’s fair to say there was a twinge of excitement as we soared high over Tel Aviv. Far below, the cluttered mass of tall blocks, square buildings and construction cranes cast long shadows in the sunshine. A long, thin ribbon of yellow ochre bordered the tiny white waves, where the sand met the sea, and before long there was suddenly more land in front, than there was glittering ocean behind.

“Just think Matt, we get to walk where Christ walked,” said Paul excitedly as we got off the plane and breathed in the warm air. My first thought was that it seemed unlikely that Christ had strolled through Ben Gurion airport, but I didn’t say anything.

He’s right though - there is a tingle about this land. I felt it as soon as we arrived: a connection, a point of contact, a place where heaven and earth collide - it is almost just there in the air. The Bible calls this country the ‘glory of all lands’ and while it’s not immediately obvious what that means, I suddenly suspected that we’d uncover a portion of it this week, even though a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to work out all of it.

Anyway, we landed, we made it through security (I had to explain I’d been to Canada on this passport, and what my Dad’s name and Grandfather’s name had been, for some reason) and we very smoothly picked up our car. I’m sure you’ll hear more about the car - adventures certainly await in the ice-white Hyundai i10! We circled it in the car park, taking pictures of all the scratches it’s suffered so that we wouldn’t be liable for any of them when we bring it back. As I crouched down on my haunches to take a photo of a wheel arch, a minivan pulled up beside us and a voice said something to me in Hebrew. The driver muttered when I didn’t respond, and drove off as if I were an idiot. For some reason, Paul found that hilarious.

As the sky faded from blue to orange to purple, and into night, and the city lit up between the tall palm trees, we drove into Tel Aviv, reminding ourselves that left-hand drive means thinking about everything backwards. I think we’re going to have some fun getting used to that. 

Paul seems happy enough. He’s impressed with the friendliness of the people and the efficiency of the systems; we barely faced a queue all day, which some might say is a bit of a miracle for an international flight. Some things just work.

As for me, I’m just happy to be here at last, as I knew I would be once we arrived. There’s something about it that feels sort of peaceful, smooth, easy, and welcoming - it’s as though there’s a weird sort of homeliness here in this nation, this ‘glory of all lands’.

I’d better not mention that to Paul; he has a habit of calling me Rabbi sometimes, for a laugh.