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My Turkish Delight
In early September, I received a message from a fellow writer-friend, inviting me to join her on an upcoming sailing trip in Turkey. My brain split. Of course I was thrilled about the (all-expense-but-flights paid) invitation, but… dare I travel to Turkey? A red flag fluttered: As a Jew with a Hebrew name, with roots, family and friends in Israel, and with the ever-present threat of mortars and missiles firing into the country, was it a good idea to travel to a country with a Muslim majority? Since my current passport bears no hint of my close ties to Israel, I felt confident that I’d breeze through customs. But still: Could I, in good conscience, spend time and money in a country whose president had recently sidled up to Hamas? Could I justify going with the devastating anniversary of 10/7 looming a week later? My head spun.
After considerable indecision, I finally conceded that a week of rest on the Aegean sea would be a balm for these turbulent times. I trusted that something good would come out of it.
Over breakfast at our hotel the morning before boarding the sailboat, I explained to my (non-Jewish) friend why I might need to fabricate replies to questions I deemed too personal; it was a necessary precaution while we weren’t tethered to land. While I’ve never had reason to fear Arabs (not only because of my involvement in Jewish-Muslim dialogue), the past year has changed my laissez-faire attitude; now I often wonder (and worry) if extremists are hiding in plain sight.
As a friend recently pointed out: Muslims know that they have no reason to fear for their safety in our presence (in the diaspora), while the opposite (in the case of extremists) cannot be said to be true; there’s no telling what a Jihadist-leaning crew member, even in uniform, might drop into my sparkling water if he got a whiff of my ethnicity. Given that I didn’t know the political leanings of our fellow passengers and crew, I couldn’t risk outing myself in the middle of Gökova Körfezi (Gulf of Gokova). If my truthful answer or comment about Israel could set off a Middle East firestorm among passengers and/or crew, where would I flee? I resolved to stay mum and my friend agreed to comply.
Surprisingly, despite the countless interesting and culturally-centered conversations that took place during meals or a tête-à-tête while lounging on cushioned benches, the topic of Israel and the Gaza war was never broached in my presence. Only when asked about the meaning of my name and my brother-in-law’s birthplace (Israel), did I need to quickly conjure up credible replies. Except when my friend peppered me with questions with a view to gaining a different perspective from the little that she knew – exclusively from legacy networks or social media, sources with questionable biases, talk about hostages in tunnels and a war raging less than 1000 kilometers away was conspicuously absent.
It was often hard to reconcile the peace and serenity I felt onboard with the discomfort I felt as a visitor in the country of a leader who so despised Israel for defending its borders and very existence that it banned all Turkish exports to Israel since spring (despite being one of Israel’s major trading partners with decades of fruitful economic relations), demonized Israel by calling their defensive war ‘genocidal,’ and publicly expressed support for Hamas, referring to the IRGC-backed terrorists as ‘liberators.’
One afternoon, I came face to face with that leader, President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Well, sort of. We dropped anchor across from his lavish summer residence in Okluk Koyu (Okluk Bay). A sprawling behemoth from afar, the extravagant 300-room summer palace allegedly cost taxpayers 640 million lira. The following morning, I kayaked across the bay while W., a Dutch passenger, paddled nearby on his SUP board. Although we set course towards a mermaid statue perched a safe distance from Erdoğan’s private expanse of beachfront, I had my (clearly wearied) mind set on meeting the terrorist-supporter-in-chief and giving him a piece of my mind. But with one look at the police speedboat heading in our direction, its red bulb alight, my fantasy slipped underwater. It continued to circle us until we changed course, waved weakly at the cop, and headed back to the greater safety of our boat nestled in the opposite bay.
***
Our week-long seafaring adventure led us from our base of Bodrum to bays and stretches of land with names evocative of faraway places and tales, along the lines of One Thousand and One Nights: Kissebükü Koyu . Yediadalar. Çökertme. Kargicak Koyu. Waters in every Pantone shade of blue glimmered around us in the sea light. We swam among fish and away from snakes slithering across the bottom of shallow waters. We spotted cormorants, ducks, egrets and pint-sized kingfishers. One morning, we reached Cleopatra Island. We stepped ashore, paid a fee and strolled about visiting ruins dating back centuries, where we watched an archaeological crew claw their way through old earth, digging deeper for hints from history.
Reaching the Bodrum marina in late afternoon, we begrudgingly stepped back onto shore for dinner, then retreated to the boat for a last night’s sleep… short-lived, when the nearby mosque’s call to prayer roused us before 6 am. After a week’s calm and quiet on water, the cacophony characteristic of all overcrowded tourist enclaves – with all bells and whistles entreating the passing masses at once – was jarring. On our final day, on a walk away from Bodrum’s thrumming center, we hiked uphill to see ancient windmills – behind which we found a flock of sheep and rams soaking up shade from the blazing sun by cooling their faces against the mill’s stone walls.
But, more than anything, this was the kicker: Sometime in the afternoon of our first day on the boat (which happened to be Shabbat), I noticed a display of neatly rolled shawls tucked into a straw basket. Captain Recep said they were meant for us, six passengers, to use during the voyage. Ah, I thought, a practical piece of cloth that would ward off the wind and dry off dampness after a swim. I picked one out, unfurled and shook it lightly until it opened fully. I stood there speechless. It was nothing if not a tallit. And so, for the full week, I ensconced myself in my Turkish delight, in the silent knowing that I would be protected from the elements – natural and otherwise.
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