The Israel-Hamas War from October through December

Are you ready for a long post?

 

There's a war happening out there. Maybe this would be difficult to notice if we hadn't been living in Israel before October 7th. From our home in Jerusalem the signs are subtle. But we see them.  Evacuation flights for American citizens came and went in October. This was followed by an authorized (voluntary) departure for embassy personnel. We chose to stay. Danny’s office spent the first couple months hard at work helping to facilitate evacuations, while also providing support to visiting Congressional delegations, and constantly monitoring the security situation across the country. This included artillery fire coming from Syria, anti-tank artillery coming from the Lebanese border (Hezbollah), and rocket barrages that, as crazy as it seemed, were still actively and regularly coming from Gaza. Most of those were pointed at Ashkelon and Ashdod, but Tel Aviv and some smaller cities in between saw some destructive impacts. The Temple Mount (where the Dome of the Rock and Western Wall are located) was occasionally restricted, further stoking unrest in East Jerusalem and violence in the highly volatile West Bank where demonstrations included clashes with police that have since led to hundreds of Palestinian fatalities.

 

The Israeli people did what Israeli people do. They just forged on like there was nobody that could hold them down. Early on, when I was still nervous leaving my house, I marveled one day as I watched a Jewish mom march down the street pushing a stroller ahead of her, with her lovely, modest day-dress, her chin held high, and her four daughters skipping along behind her as if it was any other day in a normal world. I made a decision to try to channel that spirit of confidence and promise in the days to come, and I think I have for the most part have managed to do so. We were trying to live life with routine and normalcy, but felt stuck knowing that any minute, "normal" might be upended. We were trying to get back into the routines of school, but at the same time, I was packing evacuation bags in my mind. There were no soccer teams, or dance, or orchestra programs for us. I couldn't order things in the mail. I couldn't plan for vacations or holidays. So what did we have? The older kids and I were reading Thucydides’s account of the Peloponnesian War since we had just finished the Iliad. (Don't be jealous.) Noemie taught me how to crochet and I started making a temperature blanket with my new skill. Gigi started working on a family history scrapbook. Tovi helped me trap slugs at night. The slugs ruined my entire cucumber crop. (And by "crop," I mean the 10 baby cucumbers growing from a pot on our balcony. ) I posted on Facebook for the first month but as the war started to become stale, and the news media started to turn against Israel, I struggled to understand the best way to communicate on such an open platform, where observers might include friends or family with anti-Semitic prejudices, pacifist imperatives, or staunchly pro-Israel advocacy. What news did they follow? What did they believe was happening here? I was afraid something could be said to compromise Danny's work relationships. How would my impressions fall awkwardly, falsely, on misinformed ears? One example of this was when a hospital was hit in Gaza early one morning. We had irrefutable evidence that the "attack" came from within Gaza itself. But the optics looked suspicious and Hamas seized the opportunity to do as much PR damage as they could. Once their accusations were proved false, the news had already moved on to the next perceived outrage and the cast of Israel's reputation was set. What else could I say? I was pretty sure no one wanted to read about my radishes.

 

The frenetic, nervous energy of the first week and a half of war, with its rocket barrages and the constant rumble of jets and of other mysterious movements, had given way to an ominous quiet by the end of the month. We had been locked up in our house for two weeks without seeing other people. Schools were still closed, gatherings had restrictions, and half of the embassy families had fled. But fixing our eyes on the Lord, we tried to find “the sparkle” as one friend said. I heard a new worship song that brought life to my spirit. The fall weather had been glorious.  My kids acquired an articulate grasp of Middle Eastern history and international relations. In Gaza, Hamas was still determined to take out Ashkelon and to give Tel Aviv a hard time. But in Jerusalem, we went week after week without having to bunker. Praise God. We finally made it back to to the Russian deli (one of the limited number of places you can buy ham and bacon in Jerusalem) and the lady behind the counter, who would usually scowl at me, smiled. I guess after the weeks we’d had, we were grateful to be alive enough to share a friendly expression of that gratitude… even if I still couldn't speak Russian or Hebrew and she couldn't speak English or Spanish and would have to continue put up with my crazy sign language. I wondered what it must be like for the many Russian and Ukrainian refugees here to find themselves in a place of war yet again. In the north of the country, Israel was still dealing with Hezbollah (operating out of southern Lebanon) and occasional attacks from Syria. Over 40 northern border towns had been evacuated along the border. 

 

 

The propaganda and the information war was getting worse. When Israel's IDF spokesperson would make an assertion, Israel would provide photographic and video evidence, recorded conversations between Palestinian leadership, and forensic analysis. After all this, BBC still could not confirm who was at fault without their “own investigation.” But every death toll number that the Hamas-run Health Ministry reported was taken as fact, and every Palestinian first-person horror story was taken at face value... Worse, reports were often conflicting depending on bias. One news article said the Israeli strikes were "defensive," the next said they were "retaliatory." On one particular day there was a report that convoys were being delayed because Israeli airstrikes were falling “once an hour,” making the reconstruction of the border crossing impossible, according to a witness. Yet a report update just an hour or two later announced that ongoing efforts on the crossing were almost complete and that the crossing would be opening imminently. (It opened a day later.) And these conflicting stories from the same news agency! It was the battle of public opinion and the consequences were having effects around the world, as you probably saw for yourself. It is on this account that the French and American embassies were attacked in Lebanon. These are the stories that did, and continue, to create the characterizations of these nations- who are the villains? Who are the oppressors? And how will the world respond? 

 

 

Fixing our eyes on the Lord and his work, "the unseen," we turned our gaze outward to see where we could be a part of His work beyond us. Our family morning prayer times become increasingly full of prayers for our friends. The kids participated in a video montage where they sent a message of love and encouragement to their youth leaders who are at the barracks. We registered with our church to volunteer with kitchen help for refugees. We packed care packages for soldiers. I met with a director for a national program for orphans. Eventually Israel began to make its forays into Gaza on the ground. This was the moment everyone was waiting for on pins and needles, expecting sleeper cell uprisings and a multi-Arab-state response. But... the security situation held. Nothing changed. 

 

Slowly, the rumble of fighter jets ceased to be a sound of imminent danger and started to communicate that we were being protected. Though the continuous rocket bombardments continued to threaten Israeli property and lives, instead of being a source of fear, it served as a daily reminder to Israel that their mission was to "neutralize" these capabilities once and for all. Inside Gaza, things were looking very different. Hamas rocket launchers were (and many still are) housed in and among residential buildings. Palestinian civilians, living above ground, shielded the “web” of underground tunnels, hundreds of miles of them, that spanned the strip, with critical military infrastructure hidden below schools and hospitals such as Al Quds. Many of the shafts ran up into these civilian buildings where munition stock piles could be found under a child's bed or a military telecommunications center could be found inside a hospital's custodial closet. Israel called for the evacuation of Al Quds hospital, and of the residential areas where it was striking this infrastructure, but the Red Crescent (Red Cross counterpart) said it couldn't be done. In fact, each day the number of people reported to be seeking refuge there was increasing. By the thousands. I watched in disbelief as the people of Gaza, in spite of the warnings, gathered en masse in the places they were told to flee. Meanwhile, the northern part of the Strip was being systematically picked apart. Hamas soldiers blocked their own people from the escape corridors with machine guns, forcing many residents to stay. Hamas… the Hebrew word for violence. They would steal fuel from the UN and from relief shipments. They would disinter the municipal water-pipes to make casings for rockets. They would hide behind the coat tails of the Palestinian cause without any regard for the lives of the people living in Gaza. The workers at the UN knew it. Did they also know that their employees at the UN-run schools and hospitals were also holding the very Israeli hostages that were taken from the kibbutzim on October 7? What treachery was this?

 

The first week of November, we were going to make our first attempted trip back to the Old City to visit the Magnificat Music School at the Custodia Terrae Sanctae. I’d been trying to make it there for months. But on the morning of our planned adventure a police officer was stabbed in East Jerusalem, shots were fired, the offender killed, and police presence was increased in the area. Danny said, "Stay home." Then while Dominic and Noemie were in their Theory of Knowledge class at the highschool up the road, we all had to find shelter from a rocket barrage. It was their first day back in school. From our home bunker, we heard the Iron Dome interceptor rockets deploy- 6 interceptions. So no Magnificat. And for good measure, we cancelled Gigi’s appointment to get braces... for the third time. That same week in November, Noemie and Gigi and I were having a bake-a-thon for refugees from Sderot. On the day we had scheduled to make our second attempted trip to the Magnificat School, there was another stabbing near the Old City gates. This time Danny's message: "Be careful." And we went. The Old City was eerily quiet. It was our first time back since before everything started. Inside the city walls, most of the stores and restaurants were shuttered. The few that were open begged for business. "You're not shopping, you are supporting us!" begged one Arab merchant. We found the elusive Magnificat music school and I shook hands with a monk. 

 

 

The school usually has a waiting list before the commencement of fall classes but because of the war, many students had dropped out and there were some vacancies that we could fill. After a daunting audition, Dominic signed up for cello classes, Noemie for organ classes, Tovi for drums and marimba. Dominic's cello teacher was so inspiring to him that he went from a casual interest, to joining the Magnificat Orchestra. She corrected his technique (she could tell he had been taught cello by a violinist!) and taught him some tricks to improve his sound. He pushed himself to learn the music for the Christmas concert two weeks later. Noemie's organ teacher turned out to be the organist for the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, an Italian nun who thinks Noemie is hysterical. Tovi is still searching for his muse. But he will play those drums until he finds it. Gigi started violin classes, but she preferred to take her lessons from the violin player at our church- a brilliant highschool senior with a love for kids. It's a perfect match and I wouldn't change it, even for the illustrious Magnificat. 

 

During this time I had been praying fervently for the release of the Israeli hostages. Their faces and stories haunted me. November 24th marked the beginning of a ceasefire negotiated by Qatar between Hamas and Israel where one Israeli woman or child hostage would be released for every three Palestinian prisoners, 30 or so Israelis per day. During this time I was reading and praying over the news almost constantly. I even considered making a chart to track who had been released and who was left behind. I had certain faces in particular that I was rooting for. Some didn't make it. The ceasefire was extended for a couple days before Hamas decided to change the terms of the negotiations. When Israel refused, Gaza started shooting rockets again. Yet a week later Hamas accused Israel of breaking the ceasefire, and the BBC legitimized the claim. But we had seen the play-by-play! Was the global press gaslighting us? 

This is the reality at the biggest news brand in the world, with over 1 billion hits per day (pressgazette.com):

 

Hamas Spokesperson: This is the truth I want to convey.

BBC Report: According to Hamas, This is the truth they want to convey. No caveats, and while we're at it, here are some unrelated images to stir you to compassion.

 

vs. 

IDF Spokesperson: This is a truth I want to convey. Here is photo evidence, video evidence, and here, we will take you on a tour so you can see with your own eyes.

BBC Report: Israel says This truth. We have not been able to verify this.

(one example....https://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-middle-east-67754837)

A prejudiced press is dangerous. It validates the prejudices of its consumers and stokes antisemitism. Those who feel attacked become defensive even to the point of glossing over their own faults and ignoring their own wrongs. The ultra-nationalist Israeli settlers can get a free pass for their violent crimes against Arabs because the enemy of my enemy is never more my friend than when a kangaroo court of public opinion has lumped us both together. The Israeli armed forces can be less precise and discriminate in their decisions if they will be villainized regardless of their precautions. Psychological warfare has many facets and creates an arena for other globalist activists to join the fray, outside of the range of missiles and rockets.

 

Yet, in the midst of the war on all sides, we had a sweet time of fellowship at a Thanksgiving meal hosted by some American-born Israeli families at our messianic church community. Every family brought something to share plus a little extra to feed the Samaritan's Purse team that was passing through. There was even roasted turkey and sweet potato casserole! I made a savory butternut squash dish and two gluten-free apple pies-- one that was gobbled up at the fellowship (no pun intended), and the other saved just for Danny to have at home the next week. Everything was so good! We got to meet two new families which is good because up until now we only knew two others, and one of those has been missing lately because the young father is on the front lines in Gaza. That is how we spent November-- Dominic and Noemie were back to climbing the hill to school, all of us shuttling to and from the Old City several times a week for music classes, watching our Christmas orders trickle in through the diplomatic mail system that was now being routed through Jordan, and, myself, following the news compulsively. Dominic finished his first semester college dual enrolled class with a very hard-earned A in rhetoric. We put up a Christmas tree out of tradition but the tradition seemed rather empty and foolish in light of the simplicity of Bethlehem, 8 km down the road.

 

Over Hanukkah week Dominic and Noemie were able to go to Hanukkah camp. They had the week off of school, and our church hosted the Senior High youth group for four days-- a time of daily Bible study, worship, and an excess of four-square (boxball). In addition to going to an escape room and a virtual reality shooting game, they also spent a day working at a Christian moshav. Unlike a kibbutz collectivist agricultural settlement, a moshav is a farming community that shares resources but the farms are individually owned and consumption is household based. For several hours, the students applied themselves to clearing a hill of shrubs, vines, giant sheets of metal, planks of wood with nails sticking out of them, and plastic trash. There were several Russian teen girls from the moshav who Noemie enjoyed talking to in their language, and after their work, and a tour, the youths set off to play "shalosh smash," a game described as being akin to sudden-death volleyball. By the end of the day the kids were exhausted and filthier than they had ever been. Dominic noticed a strange tugging on the fabric of his sock inside his hiking boot as he was leaving and upon examination found that he had just narrowly escaped a nail piercing his foot through the bottom of his boot. The evening meals were home-cooked by church staff, and in the evenings, Noemie played piano accompaniment for their worship times. She was humbled to have had this unexpected opportunity. 

 

  

 

And then came Christmas, without its usual fanfare. There were no Christmas programs to rehearse for, no Christmas dresses to buy, no mall rushes, or obligatory gift exchanges or parties. Our undecorated church had its service as regularly scheduled on Shabbat, and we spent Christmas Eve Sunday and Christmas morning Monday in peace. As I would tell my mom, Christmas isn't a season here. It's just a day. A day that commemorates when God became a man. Done. I don't know that I ever realized how much I had gotten sucked into the commercialization and materialism of the holiday so that its identity was almost unrecognizable. Why do we do this to ourselves? Yes, my family opened presents, yes, we set the Noche Buena table with picturesque Scottish tartan tablecloth, and yes, we ate a Cuban pork roast. (which, by the way, was Danny's best ever!) We even built a Christmas-themed puzzle while watching the Plantation Baptist candlelight service online till 1 am. But the simplicity and quietness was so welcome.

 

 

 

It is now the end of December, Israeli flags still hang everywhere- they hang from residential balconies, grace billboards, and line streets and highways in places they had not been before. Posters bearing the faces of the 240 hostages can still be seen along Jaffa Street. You see young men and women, some in uniform, some not, bearing military rifles as they do their errands around town. One man in particular caught my eye as he tried to balance pushing a baby stroller with one hand while holding a cup of coffee in the other, an M4 carbine slung over his shoulder. The war goes on. Some news places say that the war is entrenching Palestinian attitudes against Israel and driving their youth into radicalized groups. Other news desks say that the Palestinians are starting to turn against Hamas, realizing that their poverty is a direct result of militant aggression that keeps Israel in arms, while the leadership retreats out of harm's way and leaves the civilian population exposed as if it were expendable defensive fortification material. The Lord knows. God knows the truth of every heart in Gaza and in Israel. May next year bring the redemption of many, many lives from both sides of the fence. 

 

We interrupt this program...

I never got around to writing about my family's time in Jerusalem...and then a war started. I suppose in the Middle East that is always a distinct possibility. I'll try to make up some ground, though much of what you read here will be familiar to those who have been reading my Facebook updates. 

It seems like ages ago that my family was walking the streets of Jerusalem. It was, in fact, less than two months ago. 

 

Our adventures included a hike of Ein Bokek, a spring near the Dead Sea,

 

 

and also, the Dead Sea itself where the water temperature was over 90 degrees and the air temperature 113F. There was no relief and I nearly suffered a heat stroke. Dead Sea in August, never again.

 

Obviously, my mom had a blast. 

 

 

Danny gave tours of different parts of the Old City including the Via Dolorosa, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Western Wall Plaza, and the market streets. If you have been having a hard time finding the perfect shofar or a kippah with Trump's face on it, we know a guy.

 

Hopefully one day you can walk the streets of Jerusalem with us and you can meet Hashem.

 

 

On the first weekend in October, Dominic celebrated his 17th birthday. Before he went to work that day, Danny made us all pancakes in Dominic's name. Literally. 

 

When Danny came home from work, we opened presents on our bed (a family tradition that I didn't realize was a tradition until this day, when the kids insisted that it was.) And then we went to Sacher Park before the sun went down. While we were there, Noemie lost a gold anklet that my grandfather had given me. (Or maybe he gave it to Amy and I stole it. The details are fuzzy. All I know is that it was an heirloom, it was valuable, and I was heartbroken.) Now Sacher Park isn't any old park. It is the biggest park in Jerusalem. It includes a huge sprawling complex of climbing nets, rope bridges, tubes, and metal tube slides of alarming heights, the sort of thing that would never be built in the United States today.

 

 

 

 

So when we got home and the discovery was made that the anklet was missing, we did not have much hope for its recovery. Except for me. I always have hope. Noemie and I were both praying under our breaths that it would show up somehow, but afraid to pray out loud lest God would seem unfaithful should He not answer us as we prayed. I timidly suggested to my realist husband that he go back to look... a proposition so ludicrous that it was almost just as absurd that he would agree. He was too kind to be honest. He asked if maybe we should wait till morning. I was hesitant to press my luck... I can't handle suspense and I didn't want to spend the whole night thinking about it. I just wanted to know whether to keep holding out hope. Danny acquiesced. Noemie and Gigi changed out of their pajamas, grabbed a flashlight, and went out. After 20 minutes of fruitless searching, Danny was calling them back to go to the car when he saw something reflective in the distance, not at all shaped like a chain. He mentioned it to Noemie and she ran off to investigate while he and Gigi turned towards the parking lot. It wasn't the anklet, but as she was walking back, she glanced towards the spot in the ground where a climbing net support chain was anchored to the ground and there, pooled in a little cup made by the post's envelopment in the rubber flooring, was the lost treasure, safely hidden. An hour after they left, they returned, holding the golden chain, clasp broken, in hand.

 

We woke up early the next morning to the sounds of rocket sirens, the "boom" of interceptor Iron Dome rockets being deployed, and the rumblings of fighter jets flying over our heads. My family in Florida and New York were sleeping peacefully and I was texting the family chat: We're being attacked... Please pray! No response. But we prayed.

We prayed for the speedy containment of terrorist militias. For the safety of the more than one-hundred civilian hostages who had been taken into Gaza. For the protection of the Israeli Defense Forces. That Israel would have more rocket interceptors than Gaza had rockets. That other countries and terrorist organizations would not jump in to intensify the situation. For the many men and women from our church who were called up for military service. That my nerves would stay intact.

Three days later I was able to give the following praise report:

Since the time that the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) started their air strikes on Gaza, we have not had the rockets over Jerusalem. They are continuing to launch rockets in the areas around Gaza and in the direction of Tel Aviv but the range appears to have been reduced, and the number of hits (escaping the Iron Dome interceptor system) I think have also been reduced.
IDF airstrikes hit over 800 targets yesterday. These are specific points to neutralize Hamas (Gaza terrorists) operations. Many Palestinians have fled to UN shelters, which is good. The targeted and careful nature of the IDF response is such that the body count for Israelis (where terrorists take out civilians and military without discretion) remains higher than that of Palestinian casualties resulting from the air strikes. We hear the Israeli jets going back and forth all night. I had my first good night's sleep in days last night. Danny says I've gotten used to the noises. I wonder if maybe I learned to think of the sound of jets as protection rather than danger.

The kids are doing pretty well. They don't see what we see. (Danny sees everything in real time because of his work.) It's a hard balance to know how much to tell them. Gigi became very close to a German family here during a youth camp this summer. The mom was Gigi's counselor and the daughter, Hannah, became Gigi's best friend. Their community was infiltrated by several attackers last night and there were shootings. The IDF was on it and the threat was neutralized quickly. I was a nervous wreck for about an hour but I praise God they are safe. For now.

Our area had been quiet since Monday, allowing Danny and I to go out and buy some fruit at the store in the morning. But within 10 minutes of my facebook post, sirens were going off and we were back in our bunker monitoring another barrage of rockets aimed at Jerusalem. One made contact a few miles from our neighborhood with some fatalities, and another hit a mosque to the north west, closer to Tel Aviv. Our bunker is located under our stairs, inside of our basement. It's a room about the size of a large pantry. The littles would play card games, the older ones would read books, and Danny and I would stare at our phone notifications, all of us on the floor. After the sirens would stop we had to wait 10 minutes and then we could go out and resume our day. We were not to go far from our homes. Schools and many businesses were closed. Danny was working from home, on call around the clock. I was receiving texts from 30-40 different people per day, messages from people from every part of my past. Some of these were people we hadn't spoken to in ten, even twenty years. Some of them were the mothers of people I hadn't spoken to in twenty years! Often their most immediate concern was, "Are you safe?" The answer was and still is, "For now." There are people here who live in immediate, credible danger. At the moment, we are not one of them. Responding to texts was taking hours of my day. HOURS. Hours that were helpful to me in that I benefited from the love and prayers and encouragement, but it was also overwhelming. And my kids were missing me. 

 

On Thursday, Danny came home from work and we were discussing all the technicalities of departure possibilities. It was while we were having this discussion when we suddenly got alerts of a bombardment of thousands of rockets coming down from Lebanon past Haifa and all the way across to south of Galilee. My heart nearly stopped and I thought, "This is it. This is how it ends." Except it turned out that it wasn’t true. It was a false alarm-- perhaps drones or an enemy aircraft cruising around setting off sensors. Or maybe even someone pushed a wrong button! I’d hate to be that guy that who just sent a nation into panic!

At present, the wall around Gaza has been repaired, allowing for controlled movements in and out of the area. Yet Gaza, as destroyed as it is from the Israeli air raids, is still managing to shoot rockets day and night. We don’t hear the jets as often, but we do still hear the deep bass thumps of the Iron Dome going off far off in the distance periodically. The other great tragedy that has been unfolding is that Hamas has now put the civilian population in Gaza in its own hostage situation as it continues to attack Israel and incite other Palestinians to rise in arms. Militants are not the only ones who live in Gaza. Another humanitarian crisis is happening on the other side of the wall. 

 

A rocket hit inside the airport on Tuesday and the planes never stopped coming and going. This is the Israeli way. Israelis are hard core. 

 

In spite of the fact that most other foreign missions have evacuated their personnel, and American airline carriers have discontinued service to the country, our mission does not believe that we are in imminent danger at the moment and they’re pretty clear on that point. And we can more or less sense this from our house. But it’s also true that there is tension within the country. Anger and fear have boiled over into random acts of violence against Palestinians, and protests and some American flag burning in Arab dominant areas. There have been fatal shootings as armed individuals have tried to take out officers at the checkpoints that control entry into various parts of the country. At night it gets worse, where clashes with Israeli police might include attacks with fireworks or Molotov cocktails and often results in a handful of deaths, usually Palestinian. The body count continues. And subsequently we are told to stay close to home. Not that you'd have to ask me twice...

 

Our kids are ok. Dominic cracks bad jokes as a coping mechanism which embarrasses Noemie who takes her stress out by baking, doing P90X exercise videos, and playing the piano. Tovi and Gigi are, as always, best friends and worst enemies, annoying each other like a never-ending episode of Tom and Jerry. 

 

I am so thankful for the constant reminders that we are being prayed for. It’s the most helpful, powerful, loving thing that can be done for us right now and I am so, so grateful. Sometimes people send the actual words of the prayers that they are praying over us.  The answer to the question, “How are you doing?” changes often. Praise God, my reply is “hopeful” or “peaceful” more often than not. There have been a few times when I will sink into a low or a moment of panic, but the mindfulness of others has been so constant, that within minutes, someone will text me to check in and I have immediate access to comfort and encouragement. I have the best friends and family in the world. I have brothers and sisters in Christ in Washington, Oregon, Japan and Germany who are reaching out when I wake up, and friends in the eastern U.S. that sustain me through the afternoon and into the evening. Before we left Florida the children in our church kids ministry made us farewell cards. The kids and I have taken these and written on them the Bible verses that have been sent to us as well. One has the lyrics to a hymn, and one simply the reminder to breathe deeply. We have made a garland of hope and truth.

 

*****

One day, back when Danny and I were best friends in high school, he came with me to downtown Miami--just the two of us taking the Metro Rail to a museum so I could get a project done for school. While we were in the rail car, I found a dime on a seat which I picked up and stuck in my pocket. Another night a little while later, maybe a few weeks or a few months later, we found a dime in the church parking lot. And I put it in my pocket. And then it happened again. And again. This continued even after we got married- a dime in the otherwise empty cargo hold of our moving van to Tallahassee. Not pennies, not nickles... always dimes. It became an inside joke between us. Between us and God. At the risk of sounding superstitious, we started to associate finding dimes with a reminder that God was with us, aware of us, a part of our lives. The night that Noemie found the anklet she told me the story from her point of view. Danny mentioned to her that there was something reflective a bit off in the distance. But he was done and he was going to go back to the car. Noemie thought he was telling her to go investigate the reflective item. Noemie ran off to take a look. It wasn't the chain... it was a 10 shekel coin. And then she saw the chain. I think God knew that in the days ahead we were going to need that reminder. Every hour. God is with us, aware of us, a part of our lives. Even in Israel.

Mama Mia! (aka the Espinosas take on Greece)

 .... Well it turned out that the cleaning from the AC replacement project was "so bad." And it went on for days. We were told we would be fine staying in the house during the interim but that was not the case. For five days we lived in a construction zone, staying up late every night cleaning up after the workers. 

It was too hot to go out anywhere during the day and at night I laundered and wiped down floors and walls in spite of the drop cloths and protective sheets I had hung in stairways and halls. On what was supposed to be the last day of work, I watched the last man spackle and smooth. He left without a word, which was his usual way, early in the afternoon. I removed all the protective covers and did one more top to bottom mopping of our three flights of stairs and went off to a meeting for Dominic's highschool co-op. But apparently the spackler wasn't actually finished. While I was gone, he returned and sanded all the spackle. I came home to the worst disaster yet and this time, there was nothing to contain the dust. When the contractor said he would be back the next day to paint, we said absolutely not. We were done. And we made our thoughts known to all who were participant in this foolish enterprise of recommending we occupy a house under major construction in a Middle Eastern country in July. 

It turned out that the men would not have been able to paint comfortably anyway. By 10 am the next morning, we were receiving our ship freight- our bakeware, our linens, hundreds of books, our piano, wall-hangings, scooters, and crafts supplies. Crate after crate of stuff we hadn’t seen since we packed out in March.

 

This is our 6th move, but ship-freight receiving day still feels like Christmas every time. And the pressure was on- in less than two weeks, 20 family members and close friends were descending on us for one big, fat, Greek... family reunion. In one week we needed to have the guest room ready. We had to extricate our beach bag with bathing suits and sunscreens, we needed to dig our guest bedsheets and towels out of boxes and wash them, and we had to find the dishes and servingware that we would be using to feed our visitors. And now that I had my Cricut, I had to rush to create 20 t-shirts as well. The night before we left for the reunion cruise, Danny was ironing the last three shirts. 

And then, the grand reunion began. On Wednesday, August 2, we took up our luggage and floppy straw hats (and 20 matching t-shirts) and marched down the street to the bus stop a third of a mile down the road. 

 

 

We took the bus to the Central Station, and from there we took a train to Tel Aviv, arriving on the heels of my brother's family's transit through Ben Gurion airport. We switched trains there to go north towards Haifa, catching the train immediately behind my brother's, while my parents were making their way by private shuttle. We stopped for lunch at a Lebanese restaurant before our scheduled boarding at 3 pm and my sister, who had arrived a day prior with her husband, met up with us there before we trekked down to the port passenger terminal. As our paths converged on the ship we exchanged loud Hispanic greetings and hugs. It had been 2 months since we had seen my parents, and a year since we had seen Tia Amy or Tio Gio. It seemed pretty wild to be seeing them again here, in our new world. 

 

For the next nine days we would float around on the Rhapsody of the Seas visiting Mediterranean ports of call new to all of us. Our first stop was Ayia Napa, Cyprus. My parents went with their friends to Fig Tree Beach. The cruise excursion offerings didn't impress the rest of us so we just walked off the ship and went looking for a beach that was within walking distance. We found one that was off the beaten path-- pretty empty and clean-- and we were all thrilled. 

The water was unexpectedly gorgeous... toe-hair quality! Jackpot! (Danny says I should pause here to explain the Andollo Family beach water clarity metric. Growing up in South Florida, we spent summers and long weekends and some short weekends too on the Atlantic shore. We created a scale to quantify water turbidity based on how far down our leg we could see when the water was at our hips. Toe nail quality was, for a long time, the apex of water clarity. That is, until one particularly fine day that the ocean water was clear enough that I could see the little blond hairs on my 13 year old big toe and a new gold standard was set. Folks, the waters of Ayia Napa on this day met the gold standard.) 

 

 

 We tried the gelato at the nearby resort, served by a short, stocky man with a thick head of jet black hair, a giant black mustache, and ice-blue colored eyes. 

 

The second port was Limassol, Cyrpus. We went on an excursion to Paphos that was totally forgettable. While Paphos has an intriguing history, we found our tour guide to be misinformed in both his Greek mythology and his Biblical history, and when one tried to engage him in conversation, he made no sense. 

The Bible records that after Stephen was martyred, many Christians scattered from Jerusalem, and some ended up in Cyprus (Acts 11). From Cyprus some of the believers went to Antioch in Syria and began to evangelize the Greeks there, “telling them the good news about the Lord Jesus.” One of the things our tour guide said was that Paul went to Paphos to convert the pagan people there. Truth is, Christians were already at work spreading the Gospel before Paul took his first missionary journey to Paphos, with Barnabas (who was originally from the island) and John Mark (Acts 13:4–13). 

Paul and company sailed to Salamis on the east end of Cyprus, where they preached the gospel to the Jews in the synagogue, not to the pagans. And then he traveled west, to Paphos where the island’s Roman proconsul, Sergius Paulus, sought an audience with Paul and listened to his message. Unfortunately, we couldn't see much evidence of the work of Paul or the earliest Christians. Most people there seemed to be tourists or zombies, and the churches appeared to be decorative ancient accents to a worn, sun-bleached landscape. 

 

What we did see: Ancient floor mosaics, the “Tomb of the Kings” holding the remains of exactly zero kings, and scrubby patches of plant matter holding on for dear life.

Day four took us to our third stop- Rhodes. None of us purchased excursions for this small island, having followed the advice of other bloggers who noted that the walls to this once-critical commercial and military municipality were a short walk from the dock. Instead, Danny, who had used his phone to make a quick survey of the area before our arrival, led us from one end of the medieval city to the other. And this we did in our fancy matching t-shirts.

Our group then split up, returning through the city at each person's own pace with time to wander and get lost. Some stopped at The Archaeological Museum of Rhodes (hospital to the Knights of Saint John during medieval times), others lunched at the Roloi Clock Tower, and a few bought souvenirs. 

 

As for our family, we sampled the gelato. (It was better than in Cyprus.) Our day in Rhodes made the Top 3 list for lots of us-- I think we just enjoyed being together! Tovi in particular was excited to know that Rhodes was once the home of The Colossus, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. The bronze statue was destroyed by an earthquake about 200 years before Christ. Herod the Great is known to have visited the island on official business and Paul did as well while returning to Jerusalem from his third missionary journey. (Acts 21:1) And now we too can be counted among those who have walked its stone paths and garden oases.

 

By the fifth day, some in the group were starting to catch colds. Danny was among them and decided to stay on ship with Tovi and Gigi instead of touring "idyllic" Santorini. My parent's friends also got sick and offered their winery tour excursion tickets to me and to Noemie. I bought another ticket for Dominic and the three of us boarded a tenderboat to see what there was to be seen on the volcanic island that has become synonymous with Greek glamour. 

 

A very bohemian sort of glamour but a glamour in its own right, I suppose. We took a cable car up to the top of the cliffs, and I tried not to think of La Paz, nor of the colorful Andy Warhol renditions of Che Guevara shamelessly, ignorantly emblazoned on my cable-car neighbor's head wrap. (No sense in getting riled up on vacation.) From the top we wound our way to the Oia Plaza with its Church of Panagia Platsani, which we were not permitted to enter, and from whose side streets one can find tourists lined up to take their photos of the white buildings with their blue dome rooftops. 

 

 

So picturesque. 

So... boring. 

For an island that boasts "its own unique culture, profound history, and rich cuisine," all we saw were cookie-cutter buildings, stray cats, and souvenir shops. We did try the gelato at Lolita's and this one took the prize. So there's that. At the winery, the wind was incredible. Apparently, this is the norm as all the umbrellas at the outdoor tables where tied down with chains. But there was nothing that could hold down Noemie's hair. 

Cheese, crackers, wine. I'd rather have explored a black sand beach or danced a Syrtos. Maybe I was unenthused because I was missing my best friend. 

 

 

According to our tour guide, the island is one giant tourism scheme. With 25,000 permanent residents and a cap placed on 8,000 tourists a day, that means that each summer day, the population swells by more than 25% when the ships dock and ebbs again when they leave. And in the winter, when the ships stop coming, even the Greeks leave, with only 10,000 or so staying behind. And that's pretty much how it felt... take your pictures, leave your money, and scram. And by scram, they mean 'totter down the famous (and slippery) "587 steps" of the Karavolades Stairs to the harbor, with no cover from the direct afternoon sun, the violent wind whipping dust into your face... dust and specks of poop from the donkeys that are making the mile-long climb beside you.'

“ I think I just got some donkey poop dust in my eye… AHHH! I got it in my mouth!!!!” 

 

For our sixth day, Danny got us an independent guide to the city of Ephesus. This was a brilliant move on his part in one way, and a dangerous move in another. We had a bus to ourselves, a guide who learned our names and interests, and our guide also happened to be a certified archaeologist who had participated in dig teams himself... meaning he actually knew stuff. 

We got to decide which sites to see and how long to stay at every stop. If you've ever gone shopping with me, you know that I am excruciatingly slow when it comes to spending money. I see a lovely vase. I over-analyze everything-- from value to appreciation, from usefulness to whether or not it matches the decor. Was it made in an ethical way? Will it survive our lifestyle?Can I buy this somewhere else for a better price? I answer every question looking at the item from every angle physically, philosophically, emotionally, theoretically, theologically...  And then I do that to the next vase. 

 

 

 

And then I compare all the answers for both. And for every other vase in the shop. And then I move on to plates in the same manner. And servingware. And... and...I was in the ceramics store for a full hour and a half and no one complained. And therein lied the danger. I spent way more money than I meant to. Both at the ceramics shop, and at the Turkish rug workshop and gallery, another hour and a half later. Noemie suspects the apple tea may have played a part…

Somehow, we still had time to make stops at the amazing ruins of the ancient city, and the Temple of Artemis (Tovi checks off another Wonder of the Ancient World!) Even though our family members were on other tours, those of us who took excursions managed to catch up at the Library of Celsus. How appropriate! 

At the time of Christ, Ephesus was a major center of trade, with major roads connecting to all the other significant cities in Asia Minor. Its amphitheater was the largest in the world, able to hold over 25,000 spectators (or the entire population of modern-day Santorini.) Paul journeyed to Ephesus during his second missionary trip and stayed there for two years so that “all the Jews and Greeks who lived in the province of Asia heard the word of the Lord” (Acts 19:10).

It was in Ephesus that Paul and his companions were taken into this very amphitheater where for two hours the mob shouted, “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” (Acts 19:23–41). (There was an uprising when Paul spoke against the shrines and household images of the goddess that were sold there.) A church did get established there, and a few years later, Paul wrote to them the letter that became the Epistle to the Ephesians. (Paul also wrote the Epistle of 1 Corinthians from there, and it was the location of the church where Timothy first pastored).

 

 

Day 7. I know what you're thinking. Dang, how long is this cruise?! And that's how it was starting to feel on the ship. Not in a bad way, just in a weird way. Seven days is a long time to be on a vacation, much moreso on a boat! In Athens our excursion took us to the Parthenon where a flood of humanity was leaking through every crevice of that monumental acropolis.

 

What an immense number of people, most of them slipping and sliding on the ancient stones polished slick by the shoes of 16,000 people per day. Per. Day. The area is not that big! From the chaos of the acropolis we went to the calm and quiet (and air conditioning) of museum at the base of the hill, before hitting the streets to try souvlaki (grilled Greek street food...soooo good!), followed by, of course, more stores... which by this time, Danny and I were staunchly avoiding. Except the gelato. 

 

 

 

So a little fun Athenian history for you. In the sixth century BC, the city of Athens was being devastated by a mysterious plague. When no explanation for the plague could be found, the people assumed that one of the city’s many gods had been offended. The leaders sought to determine which of the gods it was so that they could appease that god.

  

 

 

Since the city of Athens had literally hundreds of gods, and they could not figure out which god had been offended, an outside “consultant” was brought in from the Island of Cyprus, who concluded that it was none of the known gods of Athens which had been offended, but some, as yet, unknown god. Altars were built to “the unknown god” which caught Paul’s eye when he was there sightseeing several centuries later. This made such an impression on him that he felt he had to speak up. Paul would refer to this altar as the starting point for his sermon on the Areopagus, or Mars Hill. (Acts 17)

 

We still had one stop and one day at sea ahead of us! Every afternoon we would come back in from our 100 degree marches through one Mediterranean paradise after another, and shower. Then I would lose myself trying to speed-read through The Count of Monte Cristo. A ridiculous undertaking, in retrospect, especially when there were Abba cover band performances and Beatles Name-That-Tune quizzes to attend. At night we would all eat together in the formal dining room. This was another favorite aspect of our family reunion cruise. Our waiters were amazing, anticipating our quirky habits and making puzzles for the kids at the end of every meal. While I busied myself with two or three desserts. Somehow, despite our hours-long, intense daily treks and profuse sweating, I managed to gain weight on the cruise. I loved my waiters but they spoiled me! I may have also spoiled me. I love gelato.

 

Our last port of call was Mykonos. For the first time all trip, MSC Cruises, two of their ships, beat us to a port. Consequently, only two tiny tenderboats were available to assist the thousands of passengers of our boat to disembark. After four or so hours, we were finally able to make it to land, where we had planned to take a bus to a beach on the far side of the island. 

By the time we arrived, we only had twenty minutes to play. Literally twenty minutes. Even still, the beach at Mykonos was remembered by those who went as a highlight. We found a little niche for ourselves on the far corner of the beach. My kids got to climb rocks, their favorite thing to do. 

 

I loved it because I found the sand (tiny stones and pebbles) fascinating. And I always love a clean beach. The water of the Greek Isles is truly something amazing- its color, its clarity- and if you close your eyes, you can imagine the ghosts of past civilizations living their simple, vibrant lives near these same shores- children swimming out into the waters to harvest clams or sponges from the sea floor while their parents fish off of a boat farther into the water... or maybe they are tending to goats or vineyards up on the nearby cliffs where their small multigenerational homes soak in the same sunshine. My reverie is cut short however because we have to make it back before the last tenderboat and off we go, scrambling to pack up and praying under my breath that the kids don't notice the smattering of topless sun bathers interspersed among the crowd on the way to the bus stop. If they saw anything, they didn't mention it.

After a Day at Sea, (more Monte Cristo, more gluten-free pizza bar, more rock climbing for Gigi, more desserts for me,) we arrived back in Haifa on a Friday, ready to begin the last portion of our reunion, in Jerusalem, but also rushing to make it back before Shabbat started to close down the public transportation systems. Because moving 20 people about is no small feat. But for that, I will have to resume my story another day.

...To be continued...