The Israeli Mosaic

Israel is, without a doubt, striking. After today, I would go as far as to say that America is absolutely boring in comparison.

Today's travels involved a lot of just that, travel. An hour drive from Kibbutz Degania to Deir al-Asad, at least another hour to the Druze village Peki'in, and three hours from there to Jerusalem. It is nearly impossible for one to do that much driving in Israel without riding along borders, climbing the winding mountain roads of the Galilee, crossing checkpoints, and seeing the country's trademark red-roofed villages. Every glance out the window was another breathtaking view and another picture that I simply had to take, despite my refusal to be a camera-fixated tourist. Every piece of land has thousands of years' worth of history behind it, saturated in culture and conflict. Every fence is more than a fence; it's a strict line of separation that transcends physical limits and dabbles in personal and political hostility. It seems that there is always another layer to the story.

Peki'in is a village in the Galilee that is 70% Druze with Christian and Muslim minorities and only a single Jewish woman. It's incredibly old, with a synagogue and landmarks that date as far back as just after the 2nd Temple. The narrow alleys, stone walls and picturesquely artsy ironwork on the doors mingle with loud cars and graffiti. The Druze themselves are about a millennium old. They broke off from Islam in the 11th century, were persecuted, and now have a population of 2.5 million scattered throughout the Middle East. Their lifestyle in Peki'in reflects this antiquity and uniqueness. Our group ate lunch at a special restaurant, where a Druze host sat us down at a long, red-clad table and fed us plate after plate of traditional food. The building itself was the former home of the village leader, refurbished to look exactly the way it did 100 years ago when it was last inhabited. We drank Turkish coffee and watched tea candles burn in handcrafted mosaic bowls. The meal absolutely radiated with tradition. Only in Israel can a centuries-old culture remain so genuine and so appealing to a restless group of teenagers. As the meal drew to a close, we talked to a Druze man about the history of the religion and the village. The story of their people and struggles is remarkable. They've been living in the Middle East for a thousand years; that's 3 times as old as the United States. While Americans are all-too-eager to push their beliefs on other people, the Druze keep their religion and beliefs secret.

How is America supposed to compare to all of this? We have a painfully brief history, little ethnic diversity in "mainstream" society, none of our own food, and no unique culture. We are a nation of conformity and materialism, not one of heritage.

Both Israel and America feature an impressive variety of people from different races, countries, religions and backgrounds. In the States, it seems that everyone is mashed together into a bland slush of secular, assimilated "culture." Israel is what I like to call a mosaic: every person, past and present, is individually molded into the fabric of the country. Every story is layered and mixed, but kept pure and whole at the same time. The diversity in Israel is just so obviously beautiful.

So, yes, I will go back to America terribly disappointed and hopelessly bored. I won't abandon the American summer traditions of swimming pools and barbecues, but the whole time, my mind will be with the beauty of the Israel mosaic.

- Kim Robins