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(return
to part 1)
From the moment I landed at Ben Gurion Airport,
everything felt different. The security was so much better than
anyplace I have ever been. They thoroughly checked our papers
and questioned our reasons for visiting. When I told the customs
agent that I was a blues musician and a guest of guitarist Ronnie
Peterson, the agent smiled knowingly. I was surprised to find
out how well known Ronnie is both in and out of Israel. He and
his wife, Nili, are like cultural ambassadors. They have single-handedly
kept the blues alive in Israel and educated countless people
along the way. They have brought many blues musicians to Israel,
including Sue Foley, Johnny Ferreira, and now me! The agent waved
us through immigration and we were on our way.
Our hotel was situated one block from the beach in Tel Aviv.
The view from our room was spectacular, and the sun was shining
brightly on the white, sandy beach. Security guards were everywhere.
Outside the mall, they checked our jackets, our pockets, our
bodies. In the underground parking complex, they opened the trunk
of the car and searched under the seats. It was amazing, and
it made me feel much safer.
We made conscious choices about where we went. We didn't take
bus trips. We didn't go into restaurants where security seemed
lax. We paid attention to people who looked out of place or ill
at ease. We checked exits and tried to stay alert and aware of
our surroundings. In short, we learned in 10 days how to live
like Israelis live.
The first show was in a beautiful jazz club in Herzelia. I fell
in love with the Mediterranean architecture, and the palm trees
made the area seem so much like the California coast I cherish.
The musicians in Ronnie's blues band were top-notch, and they
had meticulously learned all the arrangements on my CDs before
my arrival. Playing with the band felt like being with a group
of old friends. The show was packed, and the people were warm
and gracious. The audience couldn't tell that we were all getting
to know each other, onstage, in front of them.
After the show, I stood outside in the warm,
starry evening under the watchful eye of the security guard,
making conversation with people as I signed their CDs. They were
grateful to me for coming, and I was humbled by their gratitude.
"Thanks so much for coming here to share your music with
us during this troubling time," said a gray-haired gentleman
with a British accent. "You were very brave to come,"
added a dark-haired girl.
I guess it was brave - or foolish - but now that I was
here, I didn't feel so courageous. The real heroes lived in this
country in turmoil and loved it anyway.
(continue
to part 3: "I did see battle scars")
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