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Four months ago, I donated practically everything I owned to charity. What remained of my worldly possessions hardly filled half of a 70L backpack. I looked at the measly pile of clothes and toiletries and thought, “Is this really all I’ll need for the next few years?” Now, I see that it’s more than I need. I don’t need anything.

For four months, I’ve carried my entire life on my back – and it’s gotten heavy. It’s slowed me down and held me back. Stuff has that tendency. After a month in Israel, I’d hardly seen anything. I didn’t want the hassle of moving things. So, I left it all behind. I grabbed my camera, a pen and paper, my magic scarf, a few clean pairs of underwear and socks, and stood by the side of the highway, ready to see Israel. I didn’t know where I was going or how I was getting there, but that was all part of the fun.

The first stop was Akko, home to the Best Hummus in the Middle East. While the taste was definitely noteworthy, something was lacking in the preparation of the chickpeas. As I toured the walled city, I left a wake of potty sounds and noxious fumes behind me. It took two days for the tasty hummus to make its way through my digestive tract. I didn’t make very many friends during that time.

The Old City of Akko is the Middle East I’ve come to know and love. Its a city of stone archways and narrow alleys that circle around on themselves.It has souks that sell dried fruits, nuts, spices, teas, sweets, shoes, plastic toys, jewelry, anything you could possibly want and most things you have absolutely no use for. It’s home to Jews and Arabs. They live side-by-side in a “complicated,” but harmonious, relationship. I’m sure that if I’d stayed longer than a day, I would have gotten a better taste for the complicated, butI left for the Golan Heights seeing only that they can live together without killing each other.

The Golan Heights is situated in the northeastern corner of Israel. It was part of Syria until the Six Days War of 1967. As such, the region is peppered with shell-pocked Syrian army barracks and, in areas marked by red triangles, landmines. But it’s still one of the most beautiful patches of Israel (rivaled by its exact opposite, the desert). Fed by several waterways, the land is lush and green, covered with the blossoms of almond trees, Persian buttercups, red anemones, and many other small, brightly colored flowers. I spent my time there walking through valleys and along rivers. At one point, either side of a narrow stream was landmine territory, leaving me no choice but to get my feet wet. Then it started raining, getting all of me wet. I wanted warmth, so I caught a ride out.

I had no problem catching rides in Israel. Hitchhiking is a well-established tradition here, used mostly to get soldiers home to their families. Some Jews pick up hitchers as mitzvah, moral deeds performed as a religious duty. That day, a Hasidic Jew, peyots curling out from a wide-brimmed hat, stopped for the male soldier at my side. The soldier declined the ride and I silently implored for it, knowing that it wasn’t proper for the driver to be traveling with strange women. I was told to sit in the back and make as little contact as possible. I kept my mouth shut and looked out the window, happy for the ride.

I ended up in Nazareth. In my mind, I saw a sandal-clad Jesus, growing up amongst hills spotted caves. In reality, I saw a sprawling, exhaust-choked city, home to the largest Arab population in Israel. I climbed its steep alleys and poked my head into its various churches before looking for a way out. It was not the serene afternoon I had in mind. Two hours later, I was in Haifa, climbing another huge hill to another holy place. The Baha’i Shrine was beautiful enough, but I saw something even more beautiful at its side: the entrance to the freeway leading back to Tel Aviv. It was time to go south and see the sun.

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