During Pesach we took a day trip to a Nabi Shu'ayb, which is a Druze Muslim holy site not far from Tiberias. Word has it that Jethro, father-in-law of Moses, know to the Druze as Shu'ayb, is buried there. It also happened to be a Druze holiday so many Druze families were picnicking on the grounds. We spoke to some of the picnickers who were drawn to our English speaking. Unlike people in the center of Israel, I guess they don't hear that much English on a day-to-day basis.
There were about 12 of us altogether and my friend Rina was our tour guide for the day. So far, a nice quiet day at a Druze Holy Site.
We also had a Druze tour guide to take us into the holy sanctuary, but before we could enter we had to remove our shoes, put on bathrobe like covers and cover our heads. We were also given strict instructions not to walk on the stone plank that divided the inside of the sanctuary from the outside.
With all the boxes checked off, we entered the sanctuary where, as far as I could see the only thing in the large, empty room was a waist-high box covered in green material set off to the side. This was Jethro's tomb.
The tour guide welcomed us all to kiss the tomb but after several polite refusals we all stood back and watched her move around the tomb kissing it.
Since there almost nothing else to look at inside the sanctuary we dilly dallied a bit and then left. And that's when everything got very exciting very quickly. (You didn't expect me to say that did you?)
We put on our shoes, hung the bathrobes up where we first found them and then walked a few steps away to hear what the Druze guide had to say about the place.
All of a sudden we heard raised voices and noticed the beginnings of a mob. It was impossible to miss because, being a holy place, up until that moment all communication had been in hushed, holy place tones.
Within 30 seconds a very angry group of men had gathered outside the sanctuary entrance and then the Druze Security arrived, quickly tossed aside their shoes, grabbed bathrobes and headed inside, followed by several angry Druze men. The mayhem was growing by the second.
I was dying to follow the angry men because my first instinct is not to hit the road, but rather to join the party. I have never met a kurfuffle that did not interest me.
By this point there were probably 50 angry men who desperately needed an outlet for their anger. And that outlet turned out to be a young man who had driven on to the holy site property way too fast and almost hit some children playing soccer on the asphalt. Then he apparently left his car and ran into the sanctuary with his shoes still on and without the necessary bathrobe cover. I am sure that there is a lot more to the story but without knowledge of angry, angry Arabic, we were never going to know what really happened.
By the time the Security dragged the guy outside, the angry mob were there and ready to pounce. And pounce they did. And then they pounced again and again and again. Somehow the Security managed to drag the poor deviant into the on-site office and close the door. The angry mob did not disperse. They just stood outside the office, pounding on the door and yelling.
All the while Rina was trying to drag her charges to safer ground and all the while her charges were not cooperating. She kept pointing out that it was her job to keep us safe and I applaud her valiant efforts although almost everyone was trying to inch closer to the mob.
Finally and not without much resistance, we left the most exciting scene that I have ever witnessed during Pesach vacation. But just as I was about to complain, four young Druze men ran by us, away from the sanctuary towards the bad guy's car, which they promptly destroyed with rocks. There was shattered glass everywhere and the car didn't look that drivable under the best of circumstances.
So why am I telling you this story, you're wondering.
Because on a day-to-day basis I live a very quiet Israeli life that most people outside of Israel do not believe exists. With the nightly news as their only tour guide outsiders think that we live in a perpetual war zone. The problem is that in some ways it is easy to for someone living here to forget how little it takes for things to switch from dull and uneventful to all out action. Obviously that can be said about any place but Antwerp and Paris are not known for danger (although maybe they should be), while Israel is. And when something does happen, it is surreal. You can be within spitting distance and find it impossible to comprehend.
In other words, Rina was probably right but I am never going to admit that to her.
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