PARADISE: A Peace of the Middle East

By Laura Ben-David, Neve Daniel. e-mail: bendavid.laura@gmail.com

In all my 38 years, I never quite knew where I would find Paradise.
Until now. On an early summer trip, with our friends from Lakewood,
New Jersey, we discovered Paradise; and it was not just a place, it
was a state of mind. We found it right here in Israel, a little ways
off of scenic Route 90, heading north in the Jordan Valley.

As our two cars wound their way towards the northern part of Israel,
we took the scenic route along the border with Jordan. We enjoyed
passing the mysterious cave-filled mountains, the stretches of golden
grasses that looked as soft as a lion’s mane and the occasional oases
of date palm orchards. Just south of Beit Shean, we detoured to the
west. We heard there was a natural spring that the kids could cool off in.

As we approached, we drove for a few miles in a pretty, country
setting. Green grass, a kibbutz here and there, it seemed like a nice
area and we were looking forward to the chance to relax and take a
break from driving. We were totally unprepared for what we were about
to experience.

We pulled into the parking lot at Gan Hashelosha (Park of the Three),
paid, and received a brochure for the site. I read in it that Time
magazine had called this place "one of the twenty most beautiful
places in the world". That’s high praise! Do they really mean it? Is
it possible that such a place can exist and I knew nothing about it?

Our two families gathered up our towels, sunscreen, and many bags of
food and began to walk through the parking lot toward the park. Before
we even left the lot we realized that Gan Hashelosha is a major
attraction for Arabs as well. A group of Arabs had set themselves up
right near the parked cars and had loud Arabic music playing. We saw
many other Arabs milling about. Our friend Steven, only a few days
away from New Jersey, was somewhat concerned about bringing our
families into this park with so many Arabs. After all, aren’t we kind
of at war with them? Don’t bad things happen when you put us side by
side? While I couldn’t deny what he said, especially if we had been
visiting Ramallah or Gaza, it simply is not so in a place like this. I
can’t explain it, it is simply the case. And so, we proceeded to make
our way – into Paradise.

The parking lot was fairly well shaded, thus blocking our view of the
park. It was only when we had stepped into the park that we saw and
could fully appreciate the beauty and splendor of this place. It was
everything I imagined I would find in Paradise: tall, graceful palm
trees providing shade on acres of lush, green grass, and in the
center, deep, natural pools with beautiful azure waters connected to
each other by dazzling waterfalls. As we walked through the site,
taking in the majesty all around us, we began to notice something
almost as fascinating: the people.

Here, lounging in Paradise was a complete mix of Israelis and Arabs;
Jew, Christian and Muslim, side by side, enjoying the park together.
Well, maybe not together, but side by side. In fact, with everyone in
their swimming suits, splashing in the water, sometimes it was hard to
tell who was who. Of course, there were the religious women in long
sleeves and below-the-knee garments, but of these, too, there were
Jews and Arabs, only told apart by a head covering they might be
wearing; Jewish women with baseball caps and bandanas and the Arab
women with hijabs. A cross on a chain was a telltale religious sign as
well. But really, all of these were incidental symbols on human
beings, all enjoying the 82 degree water, the smooth natural rock
carved into benches to relax on and steps leading into the six-meter
deep, clear, refreshing pools, the natural Jacuzzi, and the
20-foot-high precipices for daring high jumps next to a sign that
clearly said "No Jumping". (In Israel a sign like that is more of an
invitation than a deterrent.)

As we staked a claim to our own piece of shady land, I couldn’t help
but think that this is exactly what is happening in various parts of
the country: Jews and Arabs are in a race, staking claim to land
anywhere they can, trying to create facts on the ground. But we were
simply creating a shady picnic spot, and no one seemed to mind that we
had acquired a piece of prime, Gan Hashlosha real estate; at least for
the next two hours or so.

As we enjoyed Paradise, we were continually reminded of the unique
blend of humanity enjoying this pleasure together. When my son Ezra
plunged into the water and hurt himself, an Arab teen came to assist
him. As our friend’s teenaged daughter, Sarah, was preparing to jump
off the 20-foot high ridge, and she got nervous, Arabs below cheered
her on. In fact, the whole time Jews and Arabs were joyfully taking
turns cannonballing off of the edge. It was at once unnatural, and yet
it felt right. A truly surreal experience. Too bad this peaceful
coexistence doesn’t seem likely once we leave this serene oasis in the
fanatical desert known as The World.

I remember once, when I was 17 years old, walking through the Arab
shuk in Jerusalem, and how I could see the hate in the eyes of the
Arabs watching me. I experienced a fear like I’d never experienced
before. I’d been in bad neighborhoods, like the South Bronx in New
York. There, one might be afraid of being mugged. But it is nothing
personal; they just want your money. Here it was different. They
didn’t know me, yet they hated me. It was terribly unnerving and
something I felt I could not change. What could I do to prove to them
that I was not someone they should hate? Actually, it was not personal
there either. I was Jewish, I was in Israel: therefore I should be
hated. At Gan Hashlosha, on that one day, for a little while, I could
almost –just almost – imagine Jews and Arabs, maybe even the world,
living in peace.