the Last Food Truck Before the Border

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Well, my dears, I can reassure you that war or no war, Hezbollah, Hamas or Democrats—Israelis are not dying of hunger. Not even a little bit.

Just in case you were worried, that is.

I have just come back from three glorious days in the North, and it appears that there are more food trucks in the country than safe rooms—if that’s at all possible. Coffee, burgers, pizza or French pastries—where there is space, large white outdoor umbrellas sprout like mushrooms, filling the green hills of the north with delicious pockmarks. And where there are umbrellas, there are eaters.

Yes—food will always do it. You can hate all you like, or bemoan our intractable political quagmire, but you still need to eat. And us Israelis have high standards.

The owner of the Airbnb gave us the names of the nearby recommended eateries before she sent the location or check-in details. As if this was a dealbreaker. And of course, we had a fully equipped kitchen with spices, olive oil, cinnamon sticks and 5 different types of tea. And a safe room.

Our blue and white mini-oasis, aptly named ‘Yamas’ was a hop, skip and a jump away from ‘Hof Hadekel’ (Palm Beach) which for those who know Nahariya is NOT a beach but a giant cavernous supermarket hidden underneath what looks like an innocent office building. The Arab-owned place is open from 7am–11pm, 7 days a week—basically always. Designed to cater for every hungry segment of the Israeli population, its endless shelves groan with strictly kosher, mildly kosher, Asian, Korean, halal and Russian products. And don’t get me started with the fresh produce.

So even the budget-conscious tourists like us who choose to skip the nearby chef restaurants can spend a good hour ogling at its vast array and purchase a feast fit for a king. Perhaps Nahariya is Hadekel for me.

I would like to take this sunset in my doggy bag

In the unlikely event that one becomes bored with Hadekel, Shuk Faisal Hagadol (the great Faisal Market) is a quick trip to the other side of town. Faisal, with its massive home department and upstairs food court, makes the yawning Hadekel look relatively pint-sized.

Yes, nobody is dying of hunger here.

A stranger to this land would have difficulty piecing together indelible trauma with an intense and indefatigable longing for life.

Yesterday, after passing through hills, valleys, precariously perched Arab towns on deep hillsides, and many flags of favorite Mondial teams, Avi and I visited our favorite winery in the Galilee. We recalled a quiet and tranquil wine-tasting experience three years ago, in another era. We remembered the staff telling us how they played gentle music in the vineyards to help the grapes grow.

Well, this time it seemed the proprietors had decided that those in need of music were the customers, and the louder the better. In fact, they don’t play music to the grapes any more at all.

The other guests appeared oblivious to the booming music. They were soaked up in wine, more wine, and a stupendous open view of the lush green valley that spread before them like a magic carpet as far as the eye could see. The blue waters of the Kinneret glimmered in the distance.

In the meantime, our glasses were filled and refilled with wine as the 19-year-old waiter gave us his smoothly delivered tasting spiel. We drank a lot of different types of wine, but I think by the fourth taster I was losing the plot somewhat. I’d even forgotten to get annoyed about the music. “Remember we really liked this one,” Avi told the smiling waiter who was evidently enjoying the spectacle of watching us getting sloshed.

The tasting ceremony included copious amounts of food. Did I just say food? Stuffed vine leaves, cherry tomato and mozzarella salad, herb salad with nuts and craisins, hummus, samosas, bread with olive oil and something else thrown in. Oh, and a huge plate of cheese and fruit.

view from the winery

By the time we were done we had no idea how we were getting home. The winding scenic route was out of the question.

We didn’t even know how many bottles of wine we’d bought. We might have spent less money if they were cash only, as places used to be in times gone by. But now, you tap and pray.

In between large glasses of iced Americanos, boutique ice cream and homemade Arab hummus I pushed aside mundane thoughts, more or less successfully. I gazed at the foamy waves hammering the rocky breakwaters, watched a falcon circling in anticipation of prey. I also noticed signs of what the north had been through since 2023. Numerous miguniot—man-sized boxes of bomb-proof concrete (portable safe rooms)—sitting on roadsides, in parking lots, in kibbutzim. Some hand-painted—they could have been confused with works of art—some decorated with stickers of fallen soldiers and others dedicated to a deceased loved one. We don’t have them here in Jerusalem, since we have a longer time to trot to a safe room in case of a missile alert. Nahariya is the last Israeli city before the Lebanese border. There is no time.

On a stroll along the recently extended walking promenade by the beach, I watched the locals biking, running, walking dogs or just chattering. None of these things were thinkable even a couple of months back when missile and drone alerts were as common as fried eggs.

And their act of defiance? Food trucks. Since our last visit to Nahariya two years ago, when we didn’t even know what a food truck was, an abandoned settlement halfway between Nahariya and the border has turned into a food truck area, scattered with greenery and mismatched outdoor furniture. Jazz music plays in the background as fairy lights gently sway in the sea breeze. Pizza to the right, burgers to the left and coffee and homemade ice cream straight ahead.

Today we visited Kibbutz Hanita, because Avi wanted to tour Israel’s only whisky distillery (okay, it’s not food but almost…). The bad news was there were no guided tours, but on the bright side, large preparations were being made for a grand opening of an entire area of artist studios, eateries and boutique stores. There was going to be a lot of very loud live music and I really wished them luck. Good God, our young Israelis deserve to live.

We explored an art exhibition featuring beautiful detailed drawings by a local artist, Iris Penscel in black and white—ink and pencil (I think). Two illustrations caught my eye—one of a huge pile of sandbags and the other of a tank. I imagine that for a local living within spitting distance of Hezbollah strongholds, drawing in black on white needs no explanation. The tank at the center of the illustration was framed by ferns and trees, drawn in precise and delicate detail. Beauty and war in an uneasy coexistence.

this is what contemporary Israeli art looks like

The tank illustration had been sold for a nice price.

Today we spent an hour wandering round Akko, which is a 20-minute drive from Nahariya. In past years the port and surrounding Old Town would be heaving with tourists. But today, less so. Many of the restaurants at the entrance to the Turkish market were shuttered (tourism has taken a heavy hit during the past two years), but at the famous Abu Christo fish restaurant, waiters were setting up tables where guests could enjoy fresh fish and a sea view.

Children were out on rides with tiny ponies, young people screamed while on an adrenaline boat ride along the bay. Avi and I just admired the new port promenade and watched, with more than a little awe. It will take more than Iran and Hezbollah to take the fight out of us.

We did our bit for Akko tourism by diving into an enormous breakfast at another restaurant overlooking the seafront. Our spread included hummus, bean paste, falafel, labane, garlic cream cheese, fried potato balls, manakish, baked taboun bread, coffee, juice, jam, tapas, honey, muesli with sour creamy yoghurt and a herb omelet.

not sure if the table can hold all this food

Abu Christo’s famous fresh fish or locally made kadaif would have to wait till our next visit. Yes, an empty belly is a must when visiting this part of the world.

And Avi and I have returned. As our indigestion fades, our thoughts are with the people of the North. They surf, walk, run, play, open food trucks, plan events, make art and above all, eat. With gusto. It’s not a YOLO type of thing; it is a statement of defiance. It is an astounding will to live, to build, to create and nourish.

But I’m home now and I’m not going to eat for another week, I swear.

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