Amid the Turmoil of Israel, Guesthouses Offer Hospitality

The zimmer turned out to be rustic and charming, with windows through which the desert wind blew at night. In the morning, Nachimov brought us a cooler filled with fresh salad, challah and goat cheese, plus a basket with double-yoked eggs. They were labeled "self-made eggs," for us to cook on a hot plate in the cabin, then enjoy on a thatched-roofed porch overlooking timeless desert mountains.

The Negev -- over half of Israel's entire area -- holds a special place in the Israeli imagination. Israel's first prime minister, David Ben-Gurion, declared, "The State of Israel, to exist, must go south," and moved there. Few Israelis followed. Then, about 10 years ago, the government backed a project of farms in the region, Ramat Negev.

Nachimov said she and her family left behind a busy life in Jerusalem, where they ran a steakhouse chain, simply to realize their dream of life on a farm. "We are building, creating, producing and growing," she added. "All of us [farmers] see the Negev as home."

Gazing at the Negev's mountains, I realized that a few lone pioneers such as Nachimov had more in common with the Nabateans, Arab merchants who traversed the desert more than 2,000 years ago on their way to Mediterranean harbors, than with most Israelis, who have yet to settle the Negev in droves. So, where was the heart and soul of the country?

* * *

Zimmers aren't only in rural areas; many are on the outskirts of cities. After wandering Jerusalem's Old City -- its ancient quarters packed with Arabs, Hassids and soldiers -- we decompressed at a zimmer in Ein Kerem, a hilltop neighborhood a few miles from Jerusalem.

For the past year, Yona Sosner, a special-needs teacher, has run a zimmer in her home. The room was large and airy and a bit spartan -- no Jacuzzi here -- with only granola and yogurt for breakfast. But the conversation made up for the lack of amenities. Peace was on our host's mind; she said she tries to balance education with her deeply held belief in a Jewish state.

The vast majority of zimmers are run by Jews, the remaining oftentimes by Druze and, in a few cases, by Palestinian citizens of Israel such as Munir Mana. For the past two years, the 48-year-old father of three has run his zimmer, Nof Hawadi ("View of the Valley") in the lower section of his home in Abu Ghosh, an Israeli-Arab village just west of Jerusalem. When we showed up late at night, Mana answered the door in flip-flops and sweat pants, the TV in the background tuned to a European soccer match.

Mana asked about our last host. We mentioned Sosner's interest in Jewish-Arab dialogue. Between drags of his cigarette, Mana wagged his finger: "Tomorrow you will get lecture from me . . . you are hed'yot!" A nice way of saying uninformed.

What had our other hosts served for breakfast, he asked, a hint of competition in his eyes. He took another drag of his cigarette: "You want organic breakfast? Because tomorrow I will change everything! Everything!"

Sure enough, the next morning began with a generous spread of food under an arbor shielded by palm leaves, overlooking his herb garden. For a moment, my eyes rested on a dish of labane, or yogurt cheese, on the table. Had I ever seen the dish before, asked Mana.

Yes, I said, at a previous zimmer.