In the pages that follow, you will come to sense that in Israel there is something alive in the air.
Something somewhat indescribable, a song unsung, even though the whole world urges us to put to words the melody it sings.
Maybe this is simply life, an affirmation of the extraordinary found in the everyday experiences that connect us as human beings: The children on their way to school; the market vendors selling fruit to a passerby; a couple biking down the sidewalk.
I first heard it on the beaches of Tel Aviv, where the police skateboarded down the boardwalk and the father biked with his infant daughter in the seat behind him.
Where the Chabadniks chanted in prayer on Saturday morning, their melodies juxtaposed with the quiet found in the markets closed on Shabbat in Nachalat Binyamin.
I saw it on the avant–garde graffiti painted on the shops in Mahane Yehuda Market; strokes telling the story of everyone who has touched and been touched by Jerusalem’s people: Jews, Christians, and Muslims in abundance.
Black and white, rich and poor, old and young, Jerusalem’s people sing a song of a history that calls forth a future pregnant with possibility.
Maybe this is simply identity.
I heard it in Caesarea as the waves descended and crashed into each other, reminding me of the aqueducts and atrocities brought on by the Romans; but the stones stood still on the rushing water, telling a story of Time. Let her run her course, they said, and it will be proven once more that the eternal people indeed still are.
I heard it in the wail of the wind in Beit El, where men struggled with angels and zealots fought in caves. Forever and ever, these hills go on. Who can tell where they will end? And who knows of their beginning?
I was here before in Israel. But I forgot this feeling.
I forgot I could have such goose bumps, that I could feel this chill down my spine.
I forgot my heart could skip at this pace, that I could see the sky in this light.
I forgot why I dedicated my life to telling the story of this place and these people.
It’s ultimately because it moved me. And Israel for me is like that song that compels you to dance. In the following pages you’ll get to glance at some of its sheet music, displayed in vibrant hues and shades.
Maybe this is simply humanity.
Here is the face of Freedom, the sturdy hands of self-actualization; the shoulders teaching us resolve; the back unbent, steady with courage.
Here churns the guts that withstood the test of time; the legs that ran swift and beat out the drums of history.
Here stands the forward feet, heeding the call of transcendence, to serve a King in all His splendid glory.
This is the woman of virtue and the boy with the slingshot. This is the man with the staff and the queen of Persia. This is the stride in Bob Marley’s step and the respite of the Negro slave. This is the poetry in Martin’s Dream and the promised land of his last speech.
I was here before in Israel. And I remembered this song. It reverberates in every corner of the earth. It is sung by all peoples.
It is an ancient song of courage and freedom.
Maybe this is simply love.
Chloé Simone Valdary