Back in November (yes, somehow it's now March), I had the privilege of returning to the Motherland, or in my case, the Fatherland. My father, Abba as he most often referred to, hails from the great state of Israel. While he visits his family a couple of times a year, my trips back are, unfortunately, much less frequent.
I'll take full ownership of that as I'm selfishly trying to make my way to new destinations, seeing, experiencing as much of the world while my responsibilities are still limited to myself. On the way back from a vacation in Thailand, my Jewish guilt kicked in and I made a pitstop in Tel Aviv, primarily to see my grandmother.
Conveniently, Abba was staying in an apartment in Herzliya, so l cramped his style and made room for myself in the extra bedroom, you know the bomb shelter room that's standard in Israeli homes. It's not often that I get to have dinner with my father, let alone travel with him so to have him as my travel companion, tour guide, translator, I was a certified daddy's girl.
Herzilya, while lacking the excitement of its cooler neighbor, Tel Aviv, still drew me in. Maybe it was the next-door, newly opened modern Ritz Carlton, clad with Missoni pillows and the quietest lobby, I forgot I was in Israel. Most likely, it was the running path around the marina, flanking the beach highlighting that fitness a part of everyday life there. People, ranging from my age to that of my father's, were taking to the tayelet (a promenade), from sunrise to sunset.
Israel warrants more than one post, even if I was only there for three days and the extent of my sight seeing was hopping from one family brunch to another family dinner. That's the thing about Israel. It is so deeply rooted in family. Everything else is just noise, or less of a priority. Family and love first, falafel, hummus, bread with za'atar next, followed by the beach.
Stay bitten ;)