Amid the Turmoil of Israel, Guesthouses Offer Hospitality

Wrong answer.

"But this is labane Aravi -- it's from us!" he said defensively, and glided around the table. "Now, you see here," he added, "the omelets, I put in here parsley, oregano, thyme . . . ." He cut off a corner with a fork: "Taste it, motek [sweetie]." Then came the tea, bursting with the flavor of mint leaves: "Please, taste it! Smell it!"

With that he waved us into our seats: "Now, begin before it will get cold!"

After breakfast, Mana came by with Turkish coffee, fragrant with cardamom. He was ready for the lecture he'd promised the night before. For the next hour, he discussed Israel ("The dogs and the cats in Israel, the Jews respect more!"), and Gaza ("To shoot child in Gaza, you are animal!") and his family village ("You take my home, you take my land . . .").

Mana, who left a teaching career to run his zimmer, took a deep breath: "We here are the only zimmer in the area that is Arab," he said, his voice calmer, lower. "This is the first. . . . Why? I want these meetings. I need these meetings."

* * *

The zimmers around Jerusalem had offered much in the way of thought-provoking conversation, but little in the way of relaxation. Weren't there any zimmers that balanced the two?

Up north, we hit gold. I knew as much the moment we arrived at a zimmer run by an architect, Uri Pelz, and his Dutch wife, Evelien. The zimmer was in Yesod HaMaala, a 125-year-old moshav, or farming community, in the northern region of Israel, otherwise known as the Galilee. Inside the log cabin, a home-baked apple cake awaited on the table ahead.

In the morning, one of the first things we heard was birds chirping outside. But nearly two years ago, it was a different story. During a war with Lebanon that lasted 34 days, the area, like much of the north, was hit by Katyusha rockets. "In this Hula, no birds were singing," said Evelien, referring to the Hula Valley, a region a short bike ride away, where migrating birds stop off on their way between Europe and Africa. (The Pelzes' zimmer is called Ken BaHula -- "Nest in the Hula.")

Most zimmers in Israel -- about 80 percent -- are in the north; nearly all lay vacant during the war. Many residents of the area fled. But the Pelzes remained. At night, Evelien slept in a nearby shelter, while Uri, now 63, stayed behind, in the zimmer he had built a few years before. The walls, made of concrete, were the sturdiest around, he recalls, more so than those of his own bedroom next door. Besides, he added, "that's my place."

The area has since returned to relative calm, and zimmers throughout the area have rebounded. During the war, former guests of Ken BaHula sent payment in advance, for the day they could return. "Whom do you meet when you got a hotel?" asked Uri Pelz, about the ongoing appeal of zimmers. "Here, you are part of it . . . you have the connection."

What's a barbed-wire fence or two, when you can get all this?

Lisa Singh last wrote for Travel about village-hopping through rural India.