target practice, luge run and Sefat

Avi picked us up in a new pair of cargo khaki’s after breakfast and we headed to the mystical town of Sefat where the streets were teaming with Hassidic Jews preparing for the Sabbath. We explored art galleries and visited an ancient synagogue where shrapnel damage was still visible for the 1948 Independence War, luckily for the people within the synagogue at the precise moment the artillery hit outside the building the congregation was bowed in deep prayer allowing the shrapnel to fly in overhead and only hit the center podium without causing any human casualties. “That’d make me religious, oh yeah,” quipped Livvy. We visited a few art galleries and Justin bought a beautiful handmade “tallit” (prayer shawl) for his upcoming Bar Mitzvah.

Then we headed to Kibbutz Ayyelet Hashachar where we all tried our skill at target practice with a sub-machine gun under the careful supervision of Avi and his friend (whose name was not shared) whose middle finger was missing from the knuckle up. This did NOT put me at ease as I prefer my machine gun instructor to be in possession of all of his digits. The fingerless friend did tell us that he spent 30 years as a border patrol guard in the IDF, so I choose to assume he lost the finger in a border skirmish. After a brief demonstration we each donned ear plugs, a kind of protective headset and goggles, and faced our target armed with an Uzi and 10 bullets. At this point Livvy began to well up with tears and mouthed to me that she did not want to shoot. I mouthed back okay and wished I were 9 and could demure without losing face.

Chloe went up first and didn’t hesitate as she let her rounds of bullets fly hitting the sides of the target with apparent ease. Justin followed and did a solid job although he was clearly miffed that he did not outshine his big sister. My mom, Sylviane went next, and hit the center of the target a handful of times impressing everyone. She later confessed to being a member of a rifle club in college, of course. Then it was my turn and I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a slight tremor in my hand as I grasped the loaded weapon and fixed my gaze upon the target. This fear dissolved into a romantic vision the moment my first bullet hit the center of the target. I pictured myself, Rambo-esque with bandana tied forehead in tasteful camo garb crouched at the Syrian border, hair blowing in the wind, and was sadly pulled back to reality by the flash of Avi’s camera as he was snapping photos of my obviously impressive form. David shot next (let’s just say he didn’t want to take his paper target home as a souvenir ) and finally Livvy overcame her fear with the help of our fingerless coach, and shot her heart out. The fingerless friend congratulated Livvy on conquering her fear and told her that this should be a lifelong lesson; “just because you are afraid of something doesn’t mean you aren’t good at it or that you can’t do it.” Quite right!!

Then it was off to Keriat Shmona for lunch, hummus and falafel pita sandwiches at a stall owned by one of Avi’s former soldiers, and then we made our way up the mountain via cable car to enjoy some zip lining and a mountainside 2-man luge course on a steep track that only a fighter pilot could possibly find fun. David was the driver of our luge and was clearly paying me back for outshining him on the shooting range by thrusting us full speed around every curve and shouting “lean into it” to my horror as we sped along ever faster as we descended.

As I type now, I am both quite hoarse from my screaming the whole way down and somewhat proud at resisting the strong urge to vomit. Justin and Livvy were cracking up when I finally made it to the bottom and let me know that they didn’t know anyone could scream that loudly. Nor did I.