My visit to Israel, March 2025, Part one.

It began with a cancelled flight.

My trip to Israel

Via

Frankfurt

Required a re-route given a late announced

strike

In German airports.

This was the reason I travelled from Manchester to

Budapest.

And then

to

Tel Aviv.

This was my first visit to Israel since 10/7,

Not that I hadn’t wanted to travel in the preceding 15 months,

Just, things had not come to pass,

Also,

It was my first time in

perhaps

20 years that I had visited alone

sans

family.

Just me

and The Land.

It was a trip back in time

into a country

that is wedged in the future.

Modernity and technology have taken over

like nowhere else,

even down to the taxi

I caught from the airport at one in the morning

requiring a QR code, app download and wait in line.

That is a queue if you aren’t American.

some things

despite the rush of tomorrow

stay the same.

My brother upon arrival at his flat at 3am

and his wife

were sound asleep

snd only

after ringing and banging

‘You’ll wake the neighbours’

I thought,

Was the door opened.

The following day

with the sunrise

and the dawn chorus of mediterranean birds

minhas if you don’t mind,

That lasted all day.

I stepped out

for a walk around my old town

that had changed beyond recognition,

To the extent

That when I lived there,

the area my brother now inhabits

did not exist.

It had been fields,

Perhaps orange groves.

It is called ‘musician’s oasis’ for reasons that aren’t obvious

although the roundabouts have figures

playing saxophones and clarinets

the latter

very

Klezmer

very

Jewish

I thought.

I was struck by the sunshine

which I learned was unusual at the time of year

‘It always rains on Purim’

I was told

Yet this week was bright and warm,

Spring flowers were in blossom.

Almond and Judas trees

their flowers scenting the air.

I guess I should apologise to those who were expecting a prose blog of my account.

It was such an experience

In many ways

that the only format

I can use to convey

the elements of my trip

Is short,

Fragments of sentence.

Whether the pictures of the hostages you meet upon arrival at the airport,

The faces, names and ages, one year from when they were taken from their beds.

Or the clocks counting the time since they have been gone (which I contrast with Tehran’s countdown clock towards its planned destruction of Israel).

The clock is on websites and billboards,

A constant reminder that whilst I admire the beauty of the daisy

and the warmth of the sun,

Others are held

50 meters

Underground in cement tunnels.

On the second day of my visit, I travelled to Tel Aviv to see Hostage Square,

This is the area outside the Tel Aviv Museum of Art which has been taken over

by families and volunteers dedicated to the memory of those murdered and the return of the hostages.

It is a fragment of old Israel,

Apolitical,

Or maybe not,

more a time when people of the Left and the Right

TALKED

rather than threw stones

or ranted on social media.

Pictures and works or art

conveying messages of love and support

and a commemoration of the tragedy.

Please note,

I am not seeking balance in this blog,

This is a representation of what I saw and what I felt.

I listened to a volunteer talking with a class of Israeli high school children, describing events, retelling some of the stories of individuals caught in the massacre.

I walked through a mock-up tunnel

which at first

I questioned whether was something to solely look at

rather than enter

and when I did

I heard the noises of people above,

Piped in through hidden speakers,

Messages on the walls,

A picture of Ariel.

There are stickers all over Israel,

On walls and lampposts of soldiers who have died in their prime,

18-, 19- and 20-year-olds, all their futures before them,

Gone.

These are alongside other pictures of the murdered at Nova and in the Kibbutzim,

Sad mementoes

if that was their purpose,

Probably,

More cries of pain and anger at the unnecessary

loss,

Waste of life.

I visited the museum after the square.

An exhibit by the Israeli Artist Ruth Patir, Motherland,

Described her experiences

aged 36

upon discovery that she has the BRCA gene,

Alongside her subsequent encounters with the medical profession,

Most of which

Was old-school,

Doctor says,

Non-patient centre

Ddogmatic,

You are a patient; I am the expert; listen to me.

I have been writing for a while and I have missed moments,

Elements of the story,

My experiences,

My feelings and impressions.

I wish I had the ability

to convey this in more detail,

With a more realistic patina.

This will follow.

I am only on day two,

Or is it three?

Late night intercontinental travel is known to disorientate the senses,

I still have not recovered.

I will in a future telling

describe the Palestinian viper

that was rescued from my brother’s flat,

Me at the helm of a sailing boat with O. off the coast of Ashkelon

that is also

beside the coast of Gaza.

Travels to the North and South.

Encounters with old friends

and my old friend’s mum

and the emotions felt.

Cookies,

Hamantaschen

for Purim,

Walking the ramparts of the Old City

and toy

toy machine guns for sale outside the Temple Mount.

It was a lot.

Here are some photos.

Neve Zemer, March 25, Photo Rod Kersh

Tel Aviv Museum of Art, citizen installation, Photo Rod Kersh, March 2025

In the tunnel. March 25, Rod Kersh

The Terrorist Attack at Nova Music Festival. Painting by Zoya Cherkassky Nnadi. Photo, Rod Kersh, March 2025

Hope in Hostage Square Photo, Rod Kersh March 2025