Before we knew war was coming

We traveled up to Sfat

There wasn’t a thing that we bought

I’m sorry to tell

Of the roadkill gazelle

And the peace talks that just came to nought.

Synopsis: I’m a Family Practitioner from Sioux City, Iowa.  In 2010 I danced back from the brink of burnout, and, honoring a 1-year non-compete clause, traveled and worked in out-of-the-way places in Alaska, Nebraska, Iowa, and New Zealand.  After 3 Community Health years, I took temporary gigs in Iowa, Pennsylvania, Nebraska, Canada, and Alaska.  Since the pandemic, I worked telemedicine, a COVID-19 clinic, a VA clinic, and spots Texas, Iowa, and Pennsylvania.  Taking vacation from circuit-riding rural clinics in Iowa, Nebraska, and South Dakota, I’m on vacation in Israel.  I’m Jewish.  I will not be writing about religion or politics.  See my post https://walkaboutdoc.wordpress.com/2010/09/13/why-i-dont-write-about-religion-politics-or-sex/ This post was written before the hostilities started

Two days before the pre-emptive strike on Iranian nuclear facilities, we spent the morning in Sfat, a town whose religious history includes elements of mysticism that echo across Judaism to this day.

In contrast to all other settlements built on hills, Sfat started low and built upwards to its center.  Wool provided economic support while the Ottoman Empire ruled the Middle East, but spirituality is really what made the town grow.  Later, because poor income means low rents and quiet, artists formed a colony. 

Bethany and I have been here before.  We have walked, three times, down the alley with galleries packed shoulder-to-shoulder, but this is the first time we were able to walk without bumping into people. 

Business tanked during the pandemic, and has gotten much worse since the recent conflict in Gaza.

We already own more artwork, and more things, than we have time or space for.  Yet I admit I looked long and hard at a display of bread knives intended for Sabbath use.  But I never got closer than 12 paces.  In the end, I knew that I couldn’t bring them home on carry-on and that such knives, with too many teeth spaced too close together, fail in their intended function.

We snacked on very good chocolate croissant and coffee and chatted, surrounded by students, until too many of the young people lit up cigarettes.

I find the number of Israelis who smoke, and smoke publicly, distressing.   

On the road from Sfat to the Golan heights I spotted a roadkill gazelle.  On this I remark because, while bad for the individual, it probably indicates a healthy, growing herd.

In the medieval period, the Golan produced a lot of olive oil

The process of clearing Golan minefields continues 50 years after that phase of the conflict.

Our group stood at an overlook as the day cooled and waned, gazing across green fields to the tree line that signals the Syrian border.