Transformative Travel: Exposed as a Camel Eater

A few weeks ago, I was invited to a private audience with the high priest of the ancient Israelite Samaritans, whose deep tribal ancestry goes back to Joseph, the son of forefather Jacob and great-grandson of Abraham. Today, more than 3,800 years later, they still pray at the site where Joseph's bones are buried. The first high priest was Aaron, the brother of Moses. The current high priest, Elazar ben Tsedaka, traces his lineage back through 131 high priests to Itamar, the second son of Aaron. You can begin to understand why I was a little skittish about being granted an audience. It felt like I was stepping into the pages of Torah.
Roughly half of the 712 Samaritans in the world live in Holon, a town south of Tel Aviv, and the other half live on the West Bank on Har Gerizim, the holy Mountain of Blessings mentioned in the Hebrew Bible. And there I was, standing on their mountain, heading toward the gate of the high priest's house. Like all Samaritans, he had verses from the Torah inscribed outside his dwelling.
I was welcomed into a lavish oriental-style living room. Moments later, the bearded high priest entered, wearing a gray robe and red turban. A dignified man in his early 80s, he was accompanied by his family and his deputy high priest, Aaron ben Ab-Hisda. He beckoned for me to sit next to him.
"What can I do for you?" he inquired.
"You have an ancient tradition of biblical interpretation, and I wonder if I could ask a few questions," I began cautiously.
When he nodded, I dove in.
"I know the Samaritans consider Moses to be the greatest prophet who ever lived, but how did he convince the recalcitrant Israelites?"
"He could do many things," the high priest explained. "He put his hand inside his shirt, and when he pulled it out, the hand had leprosy. Then he stuck it into his shirt again, and it came out clean."
"What about the five Hebrew words Moses used to cure his sister of leprosy?" I asked excitedly. "Would you agree they can be used for healing?"
He nodded.
"And is it true that the words mean 'Please, God, heal her, please,' but they can be used to heal a man as well?"
"Yes," he replied. "The words of the Torah cannot be changed. So they're used for men as well as women. Also, healing takes place in the soul, which is feminine."
High Priest Elazar proceeded to give me a rather complex numerological analysis of the five words and thanked me for asking such meaningful questions. He became less formal - friendly, actually. I pinched myself. There I was, on chatty terms with the revered icon, and, in the course of our conversation, he mentioned something about a camel.
"Ah, camel," I said. "I once ate one. It was tasty."
The high priest stiffened. He set his jaw. "You ate camel?" he asked incredulously.
"Sure. It was like very tender roast beef."
The color drained from the high priest's face. Color also drained from the face of the deputy high priest and from the faces of the high priest's family.
"Eating camel is worse than eating pig!" he said.
"I didn't eat a lot of it," I said, trying to backtrack. "Maybe half a camel steak. Probably more like a third. I left a lot of it on my plate."
The high priest shook his head. I heard him talking about penitence. That I would have to do something to atone. I looked around the room, drowning in a sea of disapproval.
I fumbled inside my leather bag and extracted my wallet. All eyes were on me. I rifled through my money and came to a bill that was given to me for luck during a classical opera in North Vietnam.
"Please, take this," I said, proffering the bill. "It has brought me a lot of luck. Now it's yours."
"Thank you," he said. "I have a coin collection and this is a good addition."
I am sure he thought I was nuts. A consumer of camel handing him a Vietnamese dong note to atone. "Sir, I just want to say that . . . well . . . I won't eat camel again. I'll pass. I promise."
He nodded, but our intimacy had been lost, blown over a hump-backed steak in a Bedouin tent.
And then, just when I was deflated enough to skulk out of the room, he burst out laughing.
"It has been very enjoyable talking Torah with . . . with . . . a camel eater."
He laughed again. I laughed. The deputy high priest laughed. The family laughed. Soon we were all cackling. After I left, I heard that the high priest asked how the camel eater was and if she had gotten home safely.

Judith Fein is an author, filmmaker, and public speaker. See globaladventure.us.