As a freshman at Ithaca College I wrote a poem that I don’t precisely remember now, but one line in particular comes to mind when I reflect on my week in Israel. “These are my people but I do not know them.“

Truthfully, I don’t know much about the Mallinger side of the family. They arrived in the US from Russia/Poland/Ukraine in the early 20th century and, in my experience, nobody really spoke much about the family history, perhaps hoping to forget the oppression they undoubtedly endured in the Old Country. Family records were lost in WWII and, with the passing of the older generations, most of the oral history vanished. It’s complicated, but being in Israel gave me a glimmer into some of this.

Ancient History

The cultural history of Israel is old, like Methuselah old, and the stories that define Israel are older yet. It was absolutely impossible for me to follow all of the details of our guide, Jared’s, impeccable narrative about the countless individual and cultural narratives of Israel, partly because of my resistance to anything “Biblical” in nature but equally due to the fact that I kept spacing out and getting lost in my own thoughts and reactions to all that surrounded me. Take Old Jerusalem, an ancient walled city with four quarters representing the Jewish, Christian, Muslim and Armenian cultures that have had, at one time or another, a significant influence on the politics, governance, language and dynamics of the city. War after war, battle after battle, oppressed and oppressor, this religion to that, power changed hands, blood spilled, traditions, languages and philosophies evolved.

The same was true at Masada, a rugged, imposing, crumbling mountain rising 1,300 feet above the Judean Desert floor in a bleak, dusty, barren landscape overlooking the quickly receding Dead Sea. (You can thank climate change and unsustainable mining practices for that particular tragedy.) Masada was built by King Herod as an impressive palace complex in the last century BCE. After Herod’s death, the Romans overran Judea and Masada became a Jewish stronghold for the Sicarii or “Dagger Holders” fighting against the Romans. In the final months of the battle, the Romans built a massive ridge-like ramp to roll their equally massive siege engines up the mountain so they could decimate the Dagger Holders, but the Sicarii all used their deadly blades to kill themselves so as to deny the Romans the pleasure of doing so. Only two women and a handful of children hiding in the fortress were captured and lived to tell the story. Who knows if it exactly went down that way, but it makes for a good story and, besides, it’s complicated.

All of this is to say that the history of the Jews is one of conflict, battle, defeat and resurgence. Some of this conflict comes from within, evidenced by the numerous sects of Judaism in Israel. There is no pretense of separation of “church and state,” no accommodation for secular marriage or gay marriage and no rights of surrogacy for same sex parents. The effect of religion on daily life, civil rights and state laws is vast and strongly influenced by powerful factions, all Jewish. There are also, incidentally, few means by which a non-Jewish person can immigrate to Israel. It makes you stop and think about the policies certain (non-Jewish) religious factions continually try to impose in the US.

Food

The one thing it appears Israelis and Jews in general can agree on is their love of and obsession with food. The entire week was fundamentally a running commentary on food: what to eat, when to eat, what we could or could not eat, how we felt after we ate, what was good, what disappointed. I fully indulged my personal addiction to tahini at every possible meal: tahini on Mediterranean salads for breakfast, lunch and dinner; slivers of halva for dessert; baba ganoush with large dollops of tahini; rice cakes with tahini and fresh carrot chutney; carob tahini straight off the spoon. My favorite meals were a tapas spread with John and Amy our first night in Tel Aviv, consisting of gazpacho (the soup, not the Nazi secret service), baba ganoush and sashimi; a simple lunch of roasted sweet potatoes and (you guessed it!) tahini; and breakfast every single morning. Israeli hotel breakfasts are a far cry from the corn flakes, packaged pastries and instant oatmeal of American motor inns. Shakshouka, rustic breads, salads, lox, herring, roasted vegetables, hummus, eggplant, avocado, fresh beet and carrot juice, espresso drinks and pastries filled multiple buffet tables. Our last hotel even offered moscato, but it was way too early in the morning for any indulgence on my part. Israelis eat all of their meals late, lingering around the table, laughing loudly and bickering fervently.

Through our time in Israel, John and I were both struck by the deeply buried memories of our Jewish education, his more extensive than mine, that bubbled to the surface. John recalled prayers, chants and songs, and we both found that we could make out a bit of written Hebrew. Of course, neither of us has any idea of what we’re reading, as we weren’t taught comprehension in Hebrew school, just pronunciation.

At the end of an exhausting day full of conflicting emotions in the Old City of Jerusalem, I had a powerful memory at the Western Wall. John and I were chatting with Jared well above and away from the men’s side. As I observed all these Orthodox men dressed in black pants, white shirts and long, black coats with tallis hanging out below their shirts, yarmulkes or big hats on their heads, some with tefillin and long beards, most davening and swaying back and forth as they faced the wall, I was struck with a vivid memory of my paternal grandfather, Sam Mallinger, who I called Abba. Usually, when I think of my father’s family, it is my grandmother I most clearly remember, but this was distinctly a sense of Abba, quiet as he went about his routine, praying multiple times a day, eating grapefruit and cottage cheese for breakfast, walking to shul, writing in his “den.” Abba was a rabbi and officiated at my Bat Mitzvah. A few months before then I flew to Tampa and studied with Abba for two weeks in final preparation for the difficult task ahead. I remember him as being gentle, devout, perhaps a little old fashioned, uninterested in the modern world, preferring to keep things as they always had been. Staring at the Western Wall, tears flooded my eyes and Jared asked if I were having a “Jerusalem moment.” That really irked me as it didn’t feel like any sort of “Jerusalem moment” as I interpreted his words, unless, of course, the fact that I happened to be in Jerusalem while having a moment of some sort indicated some deep, spiritual “Jerusalem experience.” To me it seemed like a simple case of association: my tears representing all that was lost in my family after my grandmother died, how the family broke apart, relationships faded, and most of my connection with that lineage severed. Perhaps that was a Jerusalem moment, but let’s not forget that it’s complicated.

Oppressor/Oppressed

This last issue is the one that has troubled me the most and the one I find the most difficult to write about. That is the issue of the Palestinian-Israeli relationship. The problems and conflicts, of course, go back thousands of years and are far from resolved. I asked Jared whether Palestinians are Israeli citizens and my understanding is that they are only citizens if they happened to be living in Israel at the time of Israel’s declaration of statehood in 1948. Well, that undoubtedly eliminates the vast majority of Palestinians. So are they citizens of Jordan? No. And do they have all the rights of Israeli citizens. Yes, but only to an extent. And are the services they receive the same that Israeli citizens receive? In theory, I think so, but in reality, probably not. I hesitate to say too much about any of this because I am, by no means, an expert in the matter, but I am deeply troubled to think that Israel has become the oppressor after having repeatedly been the oppressed for millennia. We must learn from our past or we fail to evolve, to become better human beings. Isn’t that the ultimate goal of what it means to be human? To become better, to grow, to be more kind and open hearted, to be guided by compassion rather than hatred?

At a nature preserve near Masada, we met a group of young Palestinian teenage boys. John immediately befriended them and they clamored around him, teasing, asking questions, making jokes. One asked why we were in Israel and, when John said we were there to learn about their country, the boy replied, “Bah! Israel is ugly! There is nothing here!” That saddened me, for the current situation in Israel is complicated, and for that inquisitive young Palestinian, there are, undoubtedly, fewer options in life than the veritable palette of options that are likely to present themselves to the young Israeli teen on the adjacent bus.

So, my takeaway from one week in Israel is that I am deeply grateful to cousin Amy for having presented John and me with such a unique opportunity to experience a bit of her passion. Being with Amy’s daughter Dori, who is a beautiful young woman in every sense of the word, made the experience even richer. Meeting Amy’s tutee, Adi, and her family was a delight, and having our own personal Israeli academic as our friend, companion and guide gave us more insight into the complexity of modern and historic Israel than we ever would have gleaned on our own. Thank you Jared, thank you Amy!

For over 30 years I was a professional percussionist and pianist, primarily playing a style of African marimba that requires a rigorous technique, much like hammering continuously with heavy mallets for hours at a time.  Over the course of my career, I developed chronic nerve impingement in the ulnar nerve of my left elbow and recalcitrant, bilateral tendinosis in both elbows.  However, I was able to keep this at bay for a long time through intermittent rest and rounds of physical therapy.  I was also an avid backcountry skier and sea kayaker, enjoyed mountain biking and had taught adaptive alpine and nordic skiing.  With my husband, my life was built around a flexible schedule of teaching, performing and outdoor adventures.  I had hiked in the Himalayas, whitewater rafted the Grand Canyon, climbed mountains all over Colorado and sea kayaked 650 miles of the Baja California coast.

As my husband and I entered middle age, we started looking at road biking as a way to enjoy cycling without the pounding on the upper body that one can experience with mountain biking.  In 2016 we did a 14-day self-supported bicycle tour in Portugal and absolutely loved it!  The upright rental touring bike did not cause me any discomfort beyond the normal bits of hand numbness that many cyclists experience.  We returned home, did our research and purchased two new gravel/touring bikes.  

We had the bikes professionally fitted, loaded them up with touring gear and embarked on an easy, 8-day bike tour on the Katy Trail along the Missouri River.  Two days into the ride, I lost all mobility and sensation in my fourth and fifth fingers, which did not resolve.  After about two weeks I began to regain the use of my fingers, but that was a wake-up call to me.  I realized that if I continued to abuse my upper body as I had for so long, I could permanently lose the use of my left hand.

That event led me to having a complex surgery in 2018 to relocate the ulnar nerve in my left arm and repair the tendinosis in the elbow.  The surgery was somewhat successful in that I no longer have chronic nerve impingement, but I did not recover sufficiently to return to my career as a musician or my beloved sports of skiing, kayaking and cycle touring.  Having been a dedicated outdoor adventurer and traveler, I needed to find a new way to fulfill this missing element in my life.

I started researching recumbent bicycles and quickly learned that a 2-wheeled recumbent was not a viable option for me, as I could not risk a fall and the additional damage that could do to my arms.  I initially was under the gross misconception that recumbent trikes were only for “old” people, but when I began demoing them and discovered how much FUN they are and how comfortable, I was thrilled!  This was a way I could cycle without pressure on my hands, arms or neck, that would require minimal gripping, and that was stable and would not put me in significant danger of a fall.

In the summer of 2020 I bought an ICE Adventure 20” full suspension trike from the Recumbent Trike Store in Longmont, Colorado.  I outfitted it with wrist supports, neck rest, rear rack with a riser, side bag, odometer and mirror and I was ready to go!  I also had the Recumbent Trike Store outfit me with their unique bar-end shifter comfort grips that make it possible to use your entire hand to shift gears, rather than just your thumbs.  For those of us with arthritis in our hands, this simple adaptive device makes a world of difference.  Finally, my dear mother fashioned a neon yellow pouch for storing a 2-liter water bag on top of my rear rack for those days when we would be long distances between water stops.  It also serves to enhance my visibility when riding in traffic.

After many training rides on country roads and paved bike paths, in the fall of 2020 my husband and I did a 5-week camping and riding trip through the midwest and southeastern United States, riding our bikes through fall colors and colonial history.  That trip included a trial 4-day tour with camping gear along the paved Root River Trail, one of many paved rails-to-trails projects in the U.S.  Unfortunately, riding dirt roads or trails, even with my full suspension Adventure, is too aggravating to my elbows, so I must stick to pavement.

With the success of that fall trip, we began planning a longer, more remote tour for the following year, and in the spring of 2021 we packed up once again for a 1,000 mile tour around the “Grand Circle” of southern Utah and northern Arizona, riding through spectacular desert landscapes and national parks, including Monument Valley, the north rim of the Grand Canyon, Zion, Bryce, Capitol Reef, Lake Powell, Natural Bridges and Cedar Mesa.  The Adventure performed beautifully, carrying heavy loads and riding smoothly over country roads and in changing conditions (heat, rain, snow).  I am now able to ride all day with no pain in my hands or arms, only some stiffness that resolves by the next morning.  I also am very happy to report that I have no nerve impingement, no numbness or tingling in my hands, which I had always experienced when riding a traditional bike.  My neck and back are relaxed and I need not overly grip with my hands to steer.

Now, we are taking our cycling adventure back to Portugal and are about to embark on a 3-month tour, starting in the city of Porto in early March 2022, heading south along the coast to Obidos, an ancient walled city formerly occupied by the Romans, Visigoths and Moors.  From there we’ll start heading inland to the northern Alentejo region, known for its historic agricultural traditions of wine making, olives, cork oaks and sheep herding.  Almost every village in this area is situated on top of a steep hill, often with the ruins of a castle as its center point.  As we make our way to our destination each day, we will be treated with one final big climb before settling into a simple pension, guesthouse, or Warm Showers bed for the night.  From the Alentejo we’ll head north into the Baixa region of Portugal, which will take us in and out of the Serra da Estrela mountains and along the Spanish border, though historic schist villages, in which all of the houses, walls and town structures are made of limestone schist.  Eventually, we’ll make our way back into the Douro Valley, famous for its Douro wine, and then north into the Spanish region of Galicia, to Santiago de Compostela, the official end of the Camino de Santiago.  By then it will be full-on spring and hopefully warm enough to dip our toes in the Atlantic along the fjords of northern Spain.  As our adventure winds down, we’ll make our way back along the coast south to Porto.  We anticipate this tour to be around 1,500 miles and the design of it is such that we will not be limited to a particular itinerary or schedule, but will be free to follow our whims, stopping to explore interesting sites, stretching our legs, or even resting for a day or more as need be.  With my trike and John’s traditional bike as our means of transportation, we will be moving slowly, smelling the spring flowers and having a good look around.

Without the ICE Adventure, there is no way that I would ever be able to do this trip.  The Adventure literally has enabled me to begin dreaming and adventuring again.  It’s given me back my physical and emotional strength, confidence and joy, and all I really want to do now is RIDE!  I find myself constantly thinking about future trips, as well as discovering new rides closer to home.  Every day I go out on my trike, whether it’s part of a longer tour or a shorter day ride, I feel like kid, celebrating the simple pleasures of life, my legs pumping hard up a mountain pass, followed by the exhilaration of speeding back down, leaning into every turn and feeling one with my cycle.  

I am so grateful to have given myself the gift of my ICE Adventure and recommend it to every person I meet who has some sort of disability, chronic pain or condition that makes it difficult for them to ride a traditional bike or exercise at all.  The Adventure has changed my life.  It has enabled me to adventure once again and I could not be happier!  Thank you, ICE!

This first blog entry is part of an article I recently submitted to Inspired Cycle Engineering (ICE), the manufacturer of my Adventure recumbent trike. ICE is based in Falmouth, England and has been producing top-notch recumbent trikes since 1986. For more information about their products and local dealers, visit https://www.icetrikes.co.