Traveling in Israel via wheelchair

ELLEN FRANK

This story is about traveling Israel in a wheelchair, but it is also about family and inclusion.

My cousin's daughter was having the wedding of the century, in Israel, but the obstacles to attending seemed too large. Here's an excerpt of the e-mail I sent, six weeks before the wedding:

Dear Father of the Bride,

The wedding is almost here and it is so very exciting! Alas, there are many things I can't do these days due to more limited mobility, but mostly I have learned not to mind that much. Not true for Tamar's wedding, I profoundly regret that I can't come.

Until this week, I kept thinking that, well, maybe I'll be able to go.... But today I finally had to concede that life in a wheelchair is more complicated than it seems, and as I have only been using a wheelchair fulltime this last year, I don't have the routine down, even in Vancouver.

So, dearest Paul, this was a very long-winded note to say with deepest regrets that it doesn't look like we can be there.

Love to all, Ellen.

My granddaughter, Khyah, and I were sad and disappointed but though I had been living with multiple sclerosis for 20 years already, the wheelchair was too new, and I was afraid of been seen as "too needy" or "too much trouble."

But, the next morning this e-mail appeared in my inbox:

Dear First Cousin of the Father of the Bride,

I've been marinating for a bit on your e-mail. While I don't want to persist where it's inappropriate.... there is no way that we'll allow a little wheelchair inexperience to keep you from celebrating with us!!!

Unfortunately, with all Israel's wars, they are very experienced in dealing with wheelchairs. So what better place to practise?

Hey, this is an incredible schlep, so the least we can do is subsidize a bit where needed. We need you with us to celebrate.

Love, Paul.

I was stunned. Paul was acknowledging the difficulty, saying we were wanted, and making it possible. And, so, we were going!

We planned, we made lists, we worried, but from the minute we got to airport, I kept thinking about the concept of "challenge." When people refer to a person with a disability as "physically challenged" it makes me crazy. I see challenge as something difficult that one chooses. I used to hike mountains and cross-country ski – those were challenges. Sitting at the airport, I knew this would be like climbing a mountain. Then, I knew what to do: do the best I can and, when things get difficult, move into survival mode. Most of all, have a great time, 'cause there will be no turning back.

We were traveling with my motorized wheelchair, and had my folding manual chair checked with the baggage. While taking the manual might have been somewhat easier, it would have seriously curtailed my level of independence, as I don't have the arm strength to push long distances. With my power chair I am able to zip around the airport and cruise hotels and neighborhoods without being dependent on being pushed. It makes all the difference in the world to me. But for evening events, outside the hotel, I planned to use the manual chair so traveling by taxi would be possible.

Before we left, I kept saying to Khyah that her transfers of me from wheelchair to cars, or anywhere else, had to appear effortless – or we'd have 50 relatives all trying to help at the same time. I can stand for a minute or two if I have enough to hold on to, but I can't walk. I was concerned we hadn't practised enough – Ha! Not a problem – there was the 26-hour plane trip ahead of us, with several transfers – picture a tiny on-board wheelchair and the tiny airplane bathrooms.

By the time we arrived at Ben Gurion Airport we figured, correctly, nothing was going to be as difficult as peeing on the plane.

When we arrived, as arranged by Paul's travel agent, there was a wheelchair-accessible van waiting to take us to the hotel in Jerusalem, where a welcome dinner was already in progress. When we wandered into a huge room in the hotel, with a terrace overlooking the Old City, we knew we really had arrived. The room was full of relatives, Paul's Israeli wife's huge family, the Israeli groom's family, all new people to get to know.

My wedding present to Tamar and Yoav was a photo album that Khyah and I had made, with photos of my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary in the first half, and room for their wedding photos in the second half. For the opening page I used a copy of a letter my grandmother had written to all of us before she died. I had made my copy into a collage, which now hangs in my dining room, with the letter as the centre, but what I didn't know was that Paul had carried that same letter in his wallet for 30 years.

A few of high points of this awesome journey: Paul's wife's family is from Yemen, so there was this amazing henna ceremony that transported us to another world. I was mesmerized by the music, the color and the pageantry. I was towards the back of the crowd of 250 people, when a friend of Paul's came up behind me and said, "Would you mind?" I turned and smiled at him and he ruthlessly and efficiently moved me through the crowd till I was smack dab in front, immersed in the dancing. I very quickly, with my new partner's help, learned to dance from a wheelchair.

Then it was onward to Tel Aviv. With everything pre-arranged with the help of Paul's travel agent and their counterparts in Israel, things went smoothly. All my transportation, using the power chair from airport and between cities, was arranged with the wonderful Eli from Israel 4 All – Tourism for People with Special Needs. Paul was right – because of the wars, the country has become more accessible than it was when I lived in Israel, back in 1997.

When we were planning the trip, one of the things I said to people was that Israel was not the most accessible place on the planet, but that I thought I would never be made to feel like a nuisance. My family was terrific about the chair not being a tragedy, just a new fact of my life, and the hotels and everyplace else we went were very accommodating.

Traveling with the wheelchair certainly makes life more difficult. But now the expectation of what I am capable of has changed. I no longer need to explain to people why I can't walk up and down the stairs. I don't need to try to walk a distance that is impossible, praying I won't fall, winding up in endless pain.

And then came the wedding at the Old Port in Tel Aviv; 400 of us sat mesmerized and awed as the sun set into the sea behind the chuppah and the incredibly radiant bride and groom. And then we ate, danced and celebrated into the night.

After the farewell family Shabbat dinner, Khyah and I spent a wonderful, restful last three days at the Nof-Tavor Hotel, on Kibbutz Mizra, my cousin Ehud's kibbutz, before our long trip home.

At our hotel in Tel Aviv, a woman from the room next to us asked me how it was to get around Israel in the wheelchair. She told me she has an 11-year-old son who uses a wheelchair and they didn't bring him because they were afraid it would be too hard. I know she is not alone in her thinking. Israel in a wheelchair is not easy, but it is possible. Going to Israel with any disability issue needs planning, but there are wonderful resources available.

For more information, contact Eli at Israel 4 All, israelaccessibletravel.com; Access Israel at aisrael.org/eng; Yad Sarah, at yadsarah.org; and the Access in Israel tour guide, accessinisrael.org. For information on the Nof-Tavor Hotel, visit nof-tavor.com.

Ellen Frank is a writer, activist, mother, grandmother and retired travel agent. She has lived with multiple sclerosis since 1988 and knows well how hard it is to get around with limited mobility. She is the author of Sticks and Wheels: A Guide to Accessible Travel on the Lower Sunshine Coast (Ouzel Publishing, 2006) and features information on accessibility services on her website, sticksandwheels.net.

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