Our kibbutz is situated just before the Judean Hills begin, whereas Jerusalem is situated on several hills (and naturally is surrounded by valleys). Thus not only did we walk 28 kilometres on the ground, we also rose 600 metres in altitude - and those 600 metres were much harder than the 28 kilometres!
The route started actually a few kilometres from the kibbutz, opposite Moshav Eshta'ol, and the first (and very easy) kilometre was to the Holocaust Martyrs' Forest. Before the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem was established in the 1960s, this forest had been the official Holocaust memorial site. All along the path there were plaques saying that this grove had been planted by the X family in memory of Y who died in the Holocaust, and this grove had been planted by the A family in memory of B. We held a short memorial ceremony at the small parade ground, thus anticipating the official Holocaust Memorial Day (which is today) by a few days.
From there, we walked through the forest to a spot near Moshav Kisalon, all the time gaining in altitude. Here we were given a talk by one of our kibbutz founders (and a grandmother of one of the children) about her experiences in the Jerusalem corridor, prior to and after the Declaration of Independence in May 1948.
We then spent about another four hours walking (and having frequent breaks, including lunch) before arriving at a spring and pool called Ein Limon ("the lemon pool"), which is the Hebraicized version of the original Arabic name. The children had time to freeze themselves in the small pool which is fed by the spring, before we were introduced to the youth leader of the neighbouring Arab village of Ein Rafa. He told us about the village, its history and its small population. It transpires that one of the remaining tasks for the children is a series of meetings with the children of Ein Rafa. I imagine that there will be two meetings: their children will come to the kibbutz for an afternoon and ours will go there for an afternoon. Although our children learn Arabic at school, they only started this year, so they won't be able to say very much to the other group.
The weather had been good all morning: cool with a breeze. After lunch, it heated up and the first hour after lunch was slightly unpleasant. But after Ein Limon, the temperature dropped again which was just as well as the next leg of the walk, albeit only slightly more than one kilometre in length, was also the hardest as we ascended a couple of hundred metres!
This stretch brought us to a grove in the foothills of Kibbutz Tzuba. Here the advance party had already prepared dough, and once everybody had recovered from the walk, the children started baking pita bread over a fire. Later on, all the parents (those who hadn't walked with the children) arrived, bring a magnificent dinner, and much fun was had around the campsite. I, unfortunately, found it very difficult to join the gaiety as I had a severe case of dyspepsia, probably caused by forgetting to take my daily anti-stomach acid pill in the morning, and exacerbated by the immense physical effort needed for the last kilometre. It was also extremely cold and I had neglected to bring any long clothing for the evening.
Quite a few parents camped out with the children that night, but I had previously announced that there was a limit to my masochism, and I slept in my own bed that night. But I was up again the next morning at 6am to be taken to the campsite along with a few other parents who had done the wise thing.
After breaking camp, we walked in the direction of Hadassa hospital, stopping to eat breakfast at another natural spring, Ein Sataf ("Ein" means 'spring' or 'well' in Hebrew), where we were given a talk by a representative from the national nature reserve company ("Keren Kayemet"). As there was clear, flowing water, there had been an extensive Roman villa in the area as well as a small village, although in later years the village had been dispersed. In the 1980s, the Keren Kayemet had started rebuilding the area, and now it is a fine document of how people once lived: stone buildings and agriculture fed water by hand-manned canals.
Ein Sataf is high in the hills, overlooking Hadassa hospital which is on another hill. So of course we had to go down before we could go up again. The first part of the trail from Ein Sataf to a roundabout near Hadassa was very pretty, but we had to walk in single file which spread the party out over quite a distance. Once we had descended to the valley floor, the path was very wide - and the sun was also making itself felt.
From the roundabout, we didn't turn right to Hadassa (which would have been out of our way); instead we carried on straight ahead and climbed a small hill in order to get to the Arab village of Ein Kerem, which is on the outskirts of Jerusalem. This village has been gentrified over the past thirty years and is quite a desired residence. Most Saturdays - and we were there on a Saturday - it is full of Israelis taking a spot of nature and eating a meal in one of the many outdoor restaurants in Ein Kerem. We marched through the village and stopped at a picnic site on the far side (the side closest to Jerusalem), where we too had our lunch, freshly bought from the restaurants of Abu Ghosh, an Arab town to the west of Jerusalem well known for its humus and felafel.
After partaking and resting, there remained just the small task of ascending to Mount Herzl, which is the Israeli equivalent of Arlington Military Cemetery: all the (dead) Israeli presidents are buried there, along with other luminaries such as Herzl himself as well as Yitzhak and Leah Rabin. This stretch seemed to be never-ending: it was probably about two and a half kilometres long, but again we ascended some five hundred metres at the same time. The sun was also making itself felt, making this stretch very hard (but not as hard as the previous day).
Eventually we arrived at a memorial site for Raoul Vallenberg, which is just behind the military cemetery. Here we were greeted once again by all the non-combatant parents along with siblings. After we had got our breath back, we had a short ceremony presided over by one parent acting as King David: all wayfarers who arrive in Jerusalem by foot are traditionally feted with challa bread and salt.
From there we walked another four hundred metres or so (will this walking never stop, I ask myself) to the cemetery and thence to Yitzchak Rabin's grave where we held yet another ceremony. After some readings and songs (the heat had caused my guitar to go completely out of tune), a representative of the Jerusalem City Council gave us a speech and presented each of the children with a certificate, commemorating the event.
From then it was home, drink, food, shower and bed. A once in a lifetime experience (although some parents have done it more than once). I'm pleased that I took part and I'm pleased that I won't have to do it again!
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