Pilgrimage to Israel

Jesus, every time I think about that trip the word “disappointment” flashes in my memory. When I graduated high school in 1982, my parents gave me a summer trip of their choice as my gift. A trip to Israel. It was a hell of a gift and it cost them a few thousand dollars back then. The trip was for forty days in Israel with a group of my peers. Half were from Arizona and half from New York. The trip was reasonably priced since it was sponsored by Bnai Brith, a Jewish organization.

Damn, I was excited. Eighteen years old. I had such high hopes at the time. A religious awakening? An increased sense of bonding with my brethren? Maybe get laid? At the very least, maybe make some new friends? All these things were on my mind as I left Arizona that summer.

Accomodations really sucked on the trip. The first few days we stayed in a half-star rated hotel in Jerusalem. Four of us in a small room meant for two, at most. Little did I realize that these were to be the best accommodations of the trip! One week was spent on an Israeli army base, where I didn’t go to the bathroom for a week. That was a trying time.

My first contact with Israelis was not positive. The first thing someone told our group was that Israel didn’t need American money. This sentiment was repeated throughout the trip. That really hurt. My dad contributed generously to the country by buying bonds during the ’67 and ’73 wars. I vowed never to give them a penny after I got home. I quickly discovered the reason for the bargain trip: the Israeli government was looking for immigrants, especially healthy teenage Westerners. This preyed on the weakest of the group and one girl I knew might have actually moved there.

Israeli arrogance was overwhelming. They told us that they were better than us. Well, when your competition is weak, like the surrounding Arab countries, you are bound to get an inflated sense of self-worth.

By Western standards, the country was clearly second-rate in terms of sophistication. I remember one army officer ridiculing our group for our daily showering habits. Ridicule us all you want, I thought. Judging by the stench, the local populace didn’t share our bathing concerns.

My best memory of the trip was the time spent watching the World Cup games that summer. While in Tel Aviv, I watched the USSR v. Belgium game in a hotel lobby. Even though I’m a staunch conservative, I liked the commie team. Oganesian scored the only goal of the game in the second half for the Russkies and I jumped up in celebration. “Yeah!” I screamed. Uh-oh. The locals all shot evil looks at me as I quickly realized the USSR was not well received in Israel. This memory always brings a smile to my face.

By the way, I didn’t get laid on the trip. Perhaps that might have resulted in a religious awakening!