Back to Sinai

A wave of returning Israelis hit the shores of Sinai on Succot.

By NATAN ODENHEIMER
The vast majority of Israelis prefer to stay in succa-like cabins made of bamboo, locally called a husha (photo credit: NATAN ODENHEIMER)
The vast majority of Israelis prefer to stay in succa-like cabins made of bamboo, locally called a husha
(photo credit: NATAN ODENHEIMER)
On the eve of Succot, Israelis crossing the Taba border to Sinai received official warning pamphlets of the security dangers lurking behind the mountains of the Egyptian peninsula. The terror attacks and abductions of Israeli citizens in Sinai in the past 15 years have killed the Israeli tourism scene at the pastoral beaches on the Red Sea.
As a result, many of the resorts previously populated by Israelis became deserted. But the winds have changed, and today Ras Hasatan beach and The Big Dune compound are overbooked with Israelis who disregard the travel warning, and vacation in the only place in the Arab world where Israelis are somewhat welcomed.
That the wave of returning Israelis hit the shores of Sinai on Succot is symbolic.
During Succot we celebrate and remember the nomadic life the Israelites maintained crossing the mighty Sinai desert for 40 years.
Appropriately, even though there are some semi-fancy hotels in Sinai, the vast majority of Israelis prefer to stay in succa-like cabins made of bamboo, locally called a husha.
The cabins, usually made of one room, often floored by carpet and sand and roofed by thin bamboo, are just a few steps away from the water.
“In years past,” said Saleh, a Beduin man old enough to remember the Israeli occupation of Sinai that lasted until 1982, “there were tens of thousands of Israelis coming here. In the holidays, we would have over 70,000 tourists.” Saleh is one of three brothers who dominate neighboring resorts near the small city of Nuweiba.
The compound, named “The Big Dune” after the wide stretch of golden sand, is one of the most popular destinations for Israelis and the first to show an inkling of booming tourism of years past. Saleh not only speaks perfect Hebrew, but also has nuanced understanding of Israeli culture.
“When Sinai was under Israeli control,” he recalled with a nostalgic tone, “we used to visit Israel. When I was in primary school they took us on a trip all over the country.”
Israel took over Sinai in the 1967 Six Day War and settled parts of it almost immediately. However, as part of the 1979 peace agreement with Egypt, Israel gave the land back and dismantled the settlements. Since then, Sinai is perhaps Egyptian on the maps but it’s Beduin on the ground.
The immensity of Sinai and its mountainous terrain make it very difficult for the Egyptians to enforce their authority. Generally speaking, the northern part of Sinai – the part that borders with Gaza and the Negev highlands – is a home for smugglers, ISIS fighters and human trafficking into Israel.
The southern part, locals assure the tourists, is safe.
However, it goes without saying that both safety and smuggling are subjected to the inclinations of the local Beduin.
“Israelis provide us with a livelihood,” Saleh said, in explaining the enthusiasm of locals at the growing number of tourists in recent weeks, “and they appreciate the beauty of this place.”
Indeed, it’s difficult not to be consumed by the serenity and beauty of Sinai. The tall mountains, the deep green-blue colors of the sea and the lively coral reef make Sinai a paradise just six hours in the car from Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.
Bernard Munir, a 40-year-old Catholic Copt from Cairo, was also taken by the charm of Sinai. Three years ago he left his lucrative job as the director of the Online Payment Department of the Arab-African International Bank to open Ayla Camp, a resort located near the Big Dune. He told the Jerusalem Post Magazine that his family pioneered Egyptian tourism to Sinai in the early ’80s, camping with tents all around the peninsula – beaches and mountains alike. He studied business administration and worked as a tour guide for a Swiss company, then switched to banking just before the Egyptian Revolution in 2009. But after four years he said that he was “fed up with this lifestyle. Instead, I wanted to realize my lifetime-long dream and that’s how I came here.”
Initially, Munir didn’t have Israeli tourists on his mind when he opened the resort. “I preferred local tourists. Not many Israelis came here at the time. Our business strategy didn’t catered for Israelis – we ran the place based on online reservations, not something Israelis tend to do, and our prices and services were slightly higher than what Israelis demand.” Since April of this year, Israelis started trickling back, but three weeks ago it became a flood and Munir had to readjust his prices.
“Beduin,” continued Munir, “prefer to work with Israelis [rather than Egyptians].”
When asked why he said that it was because of “politics.”
He continued: “Beduin aren’t connected to Egypt. They consider Sinai their land and they feel like Israelis know how to appreciate it.”
He also mentioned that Egyptian and Israeli tourist mix and mingle.
“There is a mixing culture,” he said, “Egyptians started coming to Sinai three to four years ago since the preferred vacation destinations on the North Coast [near Alexandria] became too pricey. Now that Israelis are here too, they encounter each other.
“Look behind you,” he said. “Devora from Tel Aviv and her husband are playing backgammon with a couple from Cairo.”
While the Jewish holidays are over, Sinai locals in the tourism business are carefully optimistic Israeli visitors will keep coming, even during the coming winter. As long as Israelis feel safe, there is all the reason to believe that the resurgence of Sinai is just at its beginning.
Some Israelis might say that Munir’s camp wasn’t sufficiently equipped to handle the influx of Israelis. The night before our interview, six youngsters from Tel Aviv waited for a dinner order for over three hours and by the time it arrived were almost going mad. “Sinai time” is a common term among Israelis to describe the nearly motionless pace dictated by the local attitude. While Israelis like to complain and laugh about it, it’s also one of the reasons that make Sinai a place where they can disconnect from the hectic rate of their lives and commitments.


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