Print edition: 
KIBBUTZ MALKIYA, Israel — You can't really see the border for the trees here on the frontier. It is a verdant spread, with kiwi trees planted in orderly rows, espaliered to form overgrown canopies. You'd be forgiven the impression that you'd stepped into Eden, profoundly lush and peaceful.
The "thuck-thuck-thuck" of the United Nations helicopter, on its afternoon patrol of the Israeli-Lebanese border, insists otherwise. Eitan Oren, our host, who is a farmer and head of security for this agricultural community, pulls out a mangled Russian-made Katyushka rocket from a war still fresh in memory, just to be sure we get the message.
It is late afternoon, the end of a long day of touring the Golan Heights and the northern reaches of Israel along the border of Syria and Lebanon. We are far from the halls of power, where the conundrum of politics in a land dubbed holy by three great religions is laid out like a giant strategic gameboard.
Out here, it scarcely takes one day in the life amid villages and farms to see the ironies of existence in today's Israel. Out here, there are Arabs and Druze, Muslims and Jews making a living, making their homes and, it would seem, making friends of their neighbors. Out here, a moment of peace is pushing back fear, and the beauty of the landscape belies the weight of a painful history.
Once in a while that moment is rattled, as with the skirmish between Lebanese army troops and an Israeli guard unit barely 15 kilometers south of here not long ago. An exchange of fire resulted in three military casualties, one Israeli and two Lebanese, as well the death of a journalist. It was the worst incident since the war with Lebanon in 2006, and no doubt levered up the tension among civilians.
That tension, most likely, is never absent, but on most days it scarcely registers in any perceptible way. For visitors in an area probed by just one-tenth of Israeli tourists, this makes the experience all the more remarkable.
Our group includes 14 travelers, mostly from South Florida, no different from any other Israel tourists, except in one respect. We all call Miami-based Israeli artist Zammy Migdal a friend. He has organized this 10-day roundabout of his homeland.
Together we represent a mixed bag of linkages to this cradle of history — Jewish, Christian, both secular and observant. And we have come with the same questions brought by many tourists. Why is peace so elusive? How do people live with it? What can be done — and by whom — to advance the story?
Answers we have not, but we have gained some context for the struggle and, perhaps, some insight in just one day of touring the northern Galilee, where the population numbers six Arabs to every Jew. By all appearances, they are willing and successful cohabitants.
Our day-trip starts with a four-wheel drive romp across the lush Hula Valley and up to the Golan Heights, where the lookout at Mount Bental offers a bird's-eye view to armed Syrian positions.
The valley is a miracle of modern agriculture, once a marshy swamp, now bursting with apricots, almonds, pomegranates and apples. The government has let the water flow once again into the marshlands drained decades ago, and it has set aside land for recreation in several nature preserves. It is a friendly, green place, a great natural attraction — and a dramatic physical and psychological counterpoint to the modern history of these environs.
The sky is cloudless as we bump crazily along riverbeds and down cowpaths, but the struggle for control of the Golan and its natural resources hovers like a cloud.
Our young Israeli drivers narrate the tale of the Yom Kippur War as if it were a breathless spy novel, and we are a receptive audience as we roll up into hills still criss-crossed with landmines, laid by Syrians and marked with warning signs in English, Hebrew and Arabic. Our guides tell the story from a decidedly Israeli point of view, though the facts of what happened are generally not in dispute.
The strategically important Golan, which lies at the nexus of Lebanon, Syria and Israel, had been controlled by Syria since the establishment of the Israeli state in 1948. In 1967, frustrated in its effort to stop the shelling of Israeli citizens from the Heights, Israel captured the land in the Six Day War.
The Yom Kippur War began six years later, on the Jewish religion's holiest day, when all Israel, by custom, was closed. Syrian helicopters with Israeli markings overtook the outpost on Mount Hermon known as "the eyes of Israel." A stunned Israeli army struggled to gather soldiers who had gone home for the holiday.
The heroics that reclaimed the Golan are still remembered, not only in history books but also in more tangible ways: The eucalyptus trees planted along the roads were placed there to give local traffic some cover from the sporadic but persistent shelling by the Syrians in the years since Israel has taken the additional step of incorporating this territory into its borders.
We end our morning jaunt at Mount Bental, which overlooks the town of Kuneitra, which once was the capital of the Syrian Golan. Here we find the cheerful tentacles of commercialism in Coffee Annan, a Syrian lookout- turned-Israeli-army-bunker-turned-cafe. Literally. The name is a cheeky reference to Kofi Annan, who was U.N. Secretary General in 1973.
After scanning the panorama that includes United Nations peacekeepers, Israel's only ski resort at Mount Hermon, and an array of found-object sculptures created by artists from a nearby kibbutz, we descend into the bunker. Its submarine-like spaces are hidden beneath embankments of stones encased in chicken-wire for stability.
Our next stop is Dag-al-haDan Restaurant, known for the local trout pulled out of the Dan, a tributary of the Jordan River. On this warm April afternoon, long tables of jovial tourists — American, Russian, Arab and Israeli — are dining on fresh and well-prepared fish with local beer, vegetables and desserts on the banks of a small stream.
The outdoor chickee-type compound looks like something out of Costa Rica or the Florida Keys. You cannot imagine such a convivial atmosphere coexisting with a security threat. And of course, today, that threat is minimal. But residents in these parts take none of this for granted. Recent memory instructs that things could change in a heartbeat. Down the road is Kiryat Shmona. Not long ago it was a fixture of the news reports, a well-known target of Lebanese fire during the month-long war of 2006.
It is toward Lebanon we head as the afternoon shadows grow long. Malkiya, a one-time kibbutz that has evolved into an agricultural village of private rather than communal ownership, is down the road from the Golani unit of the Israeli Defense Forces. A meet- and-greet with young soldiers is on the itinerary for many tourists to Israel, but this unit receives visitors only rarely. You can feel the tension hanging in the afternoon heat. Is it the tedium of enduring these camera-happy Americans? Or is it the Hezbollah positions in the nearby hills?
Military service is mandatory for young Israelis — both men, who must serve for three years, and women, who serve for two. All are called up periodically until the age of 45 as part of the reserves. We test the patience of this youthful unit, with a peppering of questions about the draft, the daily drill, their plans for the future, the families left behind.
After several group photos, as the soldiers make their way back to base, we resume our tour of the bounty of Malkiya. We step out into the fields at a sign that says, "Stop! Border Ahead!" in ominous capital letters. Oren takes a moment for show-and-tell with a unexploded Katyusha rocket that was lobbed by the Lebanese in the 2006 war and recovered here on the kibbutz.
We cross the kiwi orchard, and stop for a moment to replace a dead tree with a new sapling in an impromptu ritual of rebirth: We have planted a tree in the Holy Land, tossing handfuls of dirt onto the roots and singing a song.
Then we walk another hundred yards to a fence topped with barbed wire angled out toward the poppy fields beyond. Our host admonishes us to be quiet, no aggressive movements, no pointing. The droning of the U.N. helicopter grows audible and the speck in the sky closes in. Twice a day the peacekeepers check that both sides of the border are minding the terms of civility.
As we leave the border, the day's narrative reverberates like a symphony without an ending. For the Israelis we have met, modern enmities eclipse the ancient history of this land. Their stories, whether personal, communal or national, are strongly partisan, seeking to explain and defend Israeli actions they say are widely misreported and misunderstood. We know there are other narratives and perspectives — and few obvious routes to a new era of peace.
By the time we leave Israel, we will have traversed more than 2000 years of human history, traveling from Caesarea and Akko to modern vineyards outside Haifa, from the Independence War tableau captured in Tel Aviv museums to the bleeding heart of Jerusalem's three faiths. We will have visited destroyed temples and mosques, Roman and Crusader outposts, the birthplace of Christianity, Holocaust memorials and the scenes of holy triumphs and tragedies held dear by three noble traditions. Only one thing seems clear.
Centuries of turmoil have bred resilience and stamina in a land that has rarely, if ever, known peace. And if there is to be peace in the future, it will come when all of the people who now call this place home can say, "We are all living here, and none of us is leaving."
Maybe then they can draw the borders, draft the laws and write the treaties that will define security and prosperity for all those who desire it. This may change the tourist experience in Israel. We can't imagine it will make it any more unforgettable.
Tiberias, the upper Galilee and the Golan Heights
The Scots Hotel overlooking the Sea of Galilee in Tiberias makes a good base of operations for touring the upper Galilee and the northern region of Israel. Once a hospital, now an upscale hostelry operated by the Scottish Church, this unusual property gives Tiberias' Coney Island kitsch-y tourist features a touch of oddball class, with its lovely English-style gardens, outdoor sculptures, ponds and gazebos.
—Info: Scots Hotel St. Andrew's Galilee, Tiberias; 011-972-4-67107111; www.scotshotels.co.il.
Nearby are locales important to the early life of Jesus Christ, including Tabgha and Capernaum, the Mount of Beatitudes, the Church of the Multiplication of Loaves and Fishes and the Church of the Primacy of St. Peter.
Also nearby is the Yigal Allon Centre (www.safed.co.il/yigal-allon-theater.html), which is a museum devoted to early life in the area and features the reconstruction of the remains of an ancient fishing boat dating to the time of Christ.
In another direction is Sefad, also called Tsfat, to which Hasidic Jews fleeing the Spanish Inquisition brought the tradition of Jewish mysticism, or Kabbala, in the 15th and 16th centuries. Here you can visit several synagogues still at the center of Jewish mystic tradition, several small museums and wander around the labyrinth of cobbled streets in the charming mountain village.
In more recent times, Safed has become a magnet for artists and craftsmen from around the world. Info: www.safed.co.il/.
The Upper Galilee is home to some of Israel's best vineyards, producing wines you've seen under the brand names Yarden, Golan and Gamla.
WHAT TO DO
For nature lovers, this part of Israel offers numerous well-maintained natural areas across a varied landscape offering hiking, rafting, camping and more. The best source for English-language information is the Upper Galilee Tourist Information Centre, 011-04- 690-3737. Also: Golan Tourism Information Centre, 011- 04-696-2885, tour.golan.org.il (Hebrew only).
—There are, of course, dozens of tour operators in Israel. Ezra Astruc, who attended Florida International University and now operates a Jerusalem-based events company, was responsible for our arrangements. www.astruc-events.com, 011-54-688-3698.
