A Meal of Biblical Proportions

Going out in style; this is how we roll. As if we hadn’t already spent enough money on this weekend trip, Seth and I decided we couldn’t miss the opportunity to dine at a restaurant known for its “Biblical Israeli Cuisine”. And the fact that it’s famous for its tasting menus of seven, 11, or 15 courses made it that much more enticing. Eucalyptus is located just outside of the Jaffa Gate on the western edge of the Old City with an outdoor patio that looks out over the Tower of David and the Ottoman era walls. http://www.the-eucalyptus.com/

Upon arrival we started out with a local Israeli beer as the waiter explained the tasting menu options. He described in great detail what the 11 course meal consisted of, and when Seth asked about the 15 course option his response was classic: “Oh, well actually it’s everything on the menu.” I could sense the trepidation in his voice and asked if he did not really recommend the 15 course monstrosity. “Oh, it’s very good, it’s just a LOT of food.” To which Seth replied, “Go hard or go home.”

I won’t bore anyone here with a course-by-course description (my foodie friends can ask when I return and I’ll explain in better detail), but what I will say though is that while it was called a 15 course meal, many of the courses actually had multiple dishes. It was literally everything that was on the menu. It was beyond over the top. It was gluttony at its finest. The food is based on ingredients and recipes common during biblical times, but has been ratcheted up in gourmet style. The world renown chef, Moshe Basson has won international critical acclaim, was knighted in Italy for his contribution to the resurrection of the biblical kitchen, and won the international couscous festival in San Vito Lo Capo, Italy for his fluffy, delicate, melt-in-your-mouth couscous preparation.

Okay, I can’t resist; some highlights: Carrots with sesame seeds; hand-picked olives from near the Sea of Galilee; red lentil soup; cabbage leaves stuffed with meat and rice; roasted eggplant with tahini and pomegranate sauce; figs stuffed with chicken in balsamic/pomegranate reduction; Mediterranean tuna ceviche; mutton stew baked in a clay pot; King Solomon couscous; and tahini and date honey, that somehow tasted like peanut butter, sitting between a wine poached pear with almond cream and vanilla bean gelato with hibiscus flower sauce.

Chef Basson came out to our table on a couple of occasions, obviously to see for himself the always excessive, voracious Americans attempting to eat every item on his menu. I don’t have to tell you that the food was fabulous. I’m definitely one for appreciating memorable meals and this one ranks up at the top of my all-time list simply because of the ‘memorability’ factor; biblical cuisine at its finest, in Jerusalem nonetheless.

Due to the fact that the border crossing at the Allenby Bridge closes at 1pm on Fridays and Saturdays we had decided to stay the night on Saturday and get up very early on Sunday morning to fly back to Amman and go to work. We had arraigned for a cab at 4:30am to take us to the airport just outside of Tel Aviv. When we met the driver outside of the Damascus Gate we realized that it was not a cab, but rather just a friend of the hotel owner, driving his own car. Before we got into the car the hotel owner who had walked us out to meet his friend told us not to ‘tell anyone about the driver.’ This seemed strange and suspicious but became clearer later that morning.

The Tel Aviv airport is about an hour from Jerusalem and the ride there was smooth enough. However, before entering the airport, right at the exit from the freeway, there is a toll booth station with multiple lanes. I’m watching all of the cars passing through but notice that no one is paying any money and there’s no EasyPass either. Then I realize that it’s a checkpoint and before I know it we’re being forced off the road at gunpoint by Israeli guards with machine guns. The driver calmly pulled over just after the ‘tolls’ and the soldiers forced us out of the car. The next 30 plus minutes were a bit nerve-racking as we were each detained in separate rooms, all of our bags were searched, and the driver’s car was literally taken apart. Sitting in a tiny room behind a metal table with a small light overhead was like something out of a movie. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong except let a Muslim drive me to the airport, but the uncertainty of it all and the risk of missing our flight had me a bit wound up and I was sweating pretty profusely. After checking our belongings they slapped stickers all over everything to show that we had been searched, scanned and humiliated. I figured this would make our security checks in the airport itself go that much more smoothly. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

They finally let us go and our driver dropped us off at the departures terminal. I felt bad for the guy as he had the look of a defeated man, but I suppose he’s probably used to that sort of treatment. We were at the airport now, two American guys with American passports, who had already undergone everything except a body cavity search, we’re all set, right? You just can’t imagine. Before we even entered the sliding glass doors of the Ben Gurion airport we were stopped and asked where we were going and forced to show our passports. We had to answer a list of questions about where we had been and how long we had stayed, if we knew anyone, etc. Then, once inside, before even reaching the first of many, many security screening points we were asked to go with some security personnel to answer some more questions. They didn’t like the fact that we had small day packs for luggage and we evidently looked like some pretty big trouble-making, badass Americans. After a game of 20 questions we sent our bags through another x-ray. As if that wasn’t enough, we then had to meet with a person who once again took everything out of our bags. ( I should mention at this point that 80% of the security screeners are under the age of 18. It's hard to take someone seriously when they look like someone staring in an episode of Glee.) Then even made us unpack the souvenirs that we had wrapped up in bubble wrap, Styrofoam, etc., completely destroying the packing. And they weren’t sorry about it at all. I guess the 17 stickers all over my stuff that had been screened twice before wasn’t enough. More stickers were slapped on things and my bag was beginning to look like a collage. At this point it was time to check in and get my ticket. That’s right; we had yet to even check in. Technically the security hadn’t even started!

There were two more screening points and more stickers. Typical of airport screening that I’m used to except you don’t’ have to take off your shoes (who thinks that’s the stupidest thing anyway?) and everything gets wiped down and tested for explosives. Once again, the bag is emptied and all items checked with all electronics (phones, chargers, cameras) put in a separate bin and screened separately. It’s quite a production and it’s a good thing that the airport’s size doesn’t allow for millions of people to travel through it each day because it just simply couldn’t happen. The recommended two hours before a flight that one must arrive at the airport was truly needed. Every last second was needed actually, as we barely made it to the gate just as the flight was boarding.

I’ve never been on such a short flight. The ‘shuttle’ from Boston to New York is an eternity compared to this. I’m pretty sure they didn’t even put the landing gear up. Back in Amman in about 20 minutes, we freshened up at the hotel and made it into the office almost before some of the local staff. As you can see from this 12 page dissertation I’ve written here, the trip to Jerusalem was quite an adventure and an experience. I’m glad I did it, but it’s a once in a lifetime thing. Fortunately I only have one lifetime.

Confrontation to the Core

The roosters and the “call” woke me again on Saturday morning, but the exhaustion was too much to overcome. I rolled over and we got a ‘late’ start on the day at 8am. With a goal to get inside the Dome of the Rock on our minds, we set out immediately to try our luck. On our first attempt at entry we were turned back by men in military uniforms and sizeable hand guns. “Closed for Muslim prayer,” we were told. A second try at another entry point proved useless as well, “boukra inshalla,” (tomorrow God willing) was the response. The third and final attempt, at the Temple Mount, a wooden bridge next to the Wailing Wall that leads to the top of the all important Jewish shrine adjacent to the Dome of the Rock, we were once again turned away by Muslim guards with weapons. Walking around the plaza in front of the Wailing Wall, dodging Jewish security forces hell bent on preventing any pictures from being taken, (we weren’t attempting to take pictures I should add) we, as ‘entitled Americans’ were really tired of being told “no”, that we weren’t allowed to do something, anything. To be honest, I felt very glad, even proud, that I was an American, with certain unalienable rights. This society of “no” is hard to take. But Seth, Seth was pissed; wicked pissed. He’s been everywhere, seen everything, and not being allowed on the Dome of the Rock, with its ornate tiling and historic architecture, to take some photos was killing him.

I came up with aPlan B, to ascend the tower at the Church of the Redemption in the Christian Quarter. Climbing the worn down steps in the spiral stairwell up to the bell tower of a German run church with views of the historic locale, and the wonderful photographic options it held (especially looking out over the Dome of the Rock), I thought would ease the pain. But it wasn’t enough. We both still felt a bit violated, singled out. We were denied entry to a beautiful shrine with thousands of years of historic importance simply because of our religious affiliation. This is the Middle East. Jordan isn’t like this at all, but now I know that this sentiment does not hold true throughout the rest of this part of the world.

This was further reinforced when some kids tried to keep us from walking through their neighborhood. “Where you going? This closed. Only for Muslims.” We didn’t believe it for a second. It was too much. Instead we kept on walking and then sat down on some steps and made sure all of the other tourists that passed by who were told the same, did not feel intimidated and would continue on, as we did, by shouting, “No, don’t listen to them, nothing’s closed.” Of which we heard replies of “merci”, “grazie”, “gracias”, “danke”, etc. Those little punks weren’t going to win this time. We made sure of it.

After haggling with a cabbie for a five minute ride to the Israeli Museum (he wanted $15, we settled for $11), we hopped in. Frustration was at an all time high and when the driver asked how our day was Seth replied that, “you didn’t let us into the Dome of the Rock.” The rest of the conversation went like this:

Driver (D): “oh yes, only for Muslims.”

Seth (S): “But we just want to see the beautiful architecture. It’s really quite a place. Why is it that we can’t go inside? All of the other religious sites are open to people of all faiths.” (This was very diplomatic and asked in the form of a question rather than a challenge).

D: “No, this is different.”

S: “No. I don't think it's different at all. You’re allowed to go into the Vatican.”

D: “oh yes, I’ve been to the Vatican. It’s very beautiful.”

S: “You see, you’re allowed in there. We allow you to see it. There’s no difference.”

D: “You don’t understand. There is a difference.”

S: “I find it interesting that there is a difference between the policies of some Muslim leaders and those of other religions .”

D: “You have to understand, people have done many bad things to the Muslim people.”

S: “Well, Muslims have done many bad things to us as well.”

D: “Oh, really, like what?”

S: “Well……what happened in New York City for starters.”

D: “Now you’re getting political mister.”

At this point, sitting in the back seat, I wonder whether this guy is going to decide to make himself a martyr and swerve into oncoming traffic to take out some infidels. I buckle my seat belt and shift, uncomfortably in my seat. Attempting to diffuse (bad choice of words) the situation I ask the driver how much it would be for a cab to the airport for the next morning as we were flying back to Amman instead of going through the border crossing. We had already booked and put a down payment on a cab, but information is power. He says 200 shekels and we find out that once again we were taken. This time by the hotel staff, on a 300 shekel quote ($83).

I should mention in defense of Seth, at risk that I may have offended him here, thatI completely agreed with my friend on this issue of which he was discussing with our driver. I just don’t find it useful to argue with brainwashed, closed-minded people. But he was frustrated, rightfully upset, and tired of being taken advantage of and discriminated against and it all boiled over. Enough said.

We made it to the Israeli museum unscathed, and spent the next three hours or so tooling around the place. It’s a fine museum with antiquities and artifacts from all the epochs, modern art (Warhol), paintings by some of the most famous artists in history (Monet, Manet, Van Gogh, Millet, Cezanne, Dail), some of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and an impressive model of Jerusalem from the 1^st century AD, in its heyday, before it was destroyed by Hadrian. The most extraordinary pieces in the museum were two ossuaries, largely overlooked by basically everyone passing through. One was the ossuary of Caiaphas, the high priest who was the most vocal opponent of Jesus, and who organized the plot to kill him. Some pretty deep stuff. The second was another, rather simple ossuary, which I had actually seen a documentary on the Discovery Channel about. "The inscription on the side, in Aramaic, read, “Jesus, son of Joseph

The mathematical probability that there was another Jesus whose father was named Joseph (Jesus was a very common name, like Jim) is somewhere in the range of 600 to 1; however the implications of it could completely alter history. I think most people would rather leave well enough alone.

Another battle with cab drivers ensued upon leaving the museum and we had to settle on $20 for the five minute ride. Back in the Old City we spent the rest of the late afternoon shopping around the bazaars, looking for last minute gifts. We killed time by mocking the shop owners who were attempting to charge ten times or more than the final prices that we were eventually able to whittle them down to. My advice, if you’ve got patience, a little guts, no shame, and a general apathy for people who make a living ripping off well intentioned pilgrims, you can get some decent prices. For example, I bought something for $5 that started at $33. And I know the guy still made money.