That one day was not an exception. Every day was an adventure, a brand new experience, something unexpected. We began our trip at the shore of the Mediterranean in Tel Aviv, and meandered up, across and around erets Yisrael, sometimes a stone's throw from Jordan, Syria and Lebanon. I have heard news about the Golan Heights for so many years, but I never knew that it was a major grape growing region, with at least one first-class winery. We tasted wine there, after the vintner led us in the Kiddush.

We rafted down the Jordan river, splashed each other with water from the Jordan river. Some of us fell into the Jordan river. We rode on Jeeps up into the Golan heights. Who could know that bouncy Jeep rides were designed to toughen our tuchases for the upcoming and aforementioned camel rides?

In the ancient amphitheater at Caesaria, I sang Eli, Eli, the words of Israeli paratrooper Hannah Sennesch. There was no P.A. system. The ancients did not have P.A. systems. Even if they had, they did not have a Bob Livingston, so it never would have worked right. But even though I sang softly, I am told that my voice carried all through the massive theater.

We sat together in the ancient synagogue in Sefat, which bears the name of Joseph Caro, the 15th century author of the Shulchan Aruch, which is a summary of Halachah, still an authoritative text today for the Orthodox. We were permitted to pull aside the parochet, the cover in front of the ark, and look backward into our history.

Arab shopkeepers chased after us in the Shook in the old city, determined not to let a single shekel find its way out through the gates. We haggled, and bought, and what 29 of us did not buy, Scott did buy.

It is one thing to read about an aqueduct, and quite another to walk through one. As we splashed through the ancient underground tunnel, we developed an appreciation for the engineering that allowed for a drop of mere centimeters over vast kilometer stretches, so that gravity could do its work.

And Jews, Jews everywhere. Jews with kippot, Jews without. Jewish shopkeepers, waiters, gasoline pumpers. Jews with talitot, Jews with M16s. Orthodox, Reform, secular, Sephadic, Ethiopian... every imaginable flavor of Jews. As our guide, Muki, noted, "Here, you can stand in the street and yell, 'I am a Jew, I am a Jew.' No one will care. After a while, they'll probably help you to some medical care, but not because you are a Jew."

I cannot even begin to scratch the surface of our experiences in a few minutes for two reasons. The first is that, I got home this morning at 1:00 a.m., and I have only begun to process the experience. The second reason is that this trip was so full, and rich,and diverse, that it would be like trying to describe every single unique flavor in 30 gourmet meals in 5 minutes. It is simply not possible.

But know this. I have been a professional Jew for 31 years, and this is my first trip. What a shanda! If you have not been, no matter what you know about Israel, or what you think you know about Israel, you don't know Israel. If you've not been, go. If you've been, go again.

A final word: As I sat on the camel, in the Negev wilderness, I called my daughter, in Simi Valley, on my cell phone. I had four bars. My daughter, on her cell phone, dropped the call.

Written by Cantor Michael Anatole of Temple Beth Torah in Ventura, CA