The Hat

How an Israeli Tour Guide Survives Summer

An Israeli tour guide’s most important piece of equipment, the hat.

Today is June 21, the summer solstice and officially the first day of summer.

In Israel, that feels a little like announcing that water is wet.

Most Israelis would argue summer actually began sometime around Passover when the winter rains stopped. Others might point to Shavuot, with the wheat harvest and the arrival of summer fruit. Either way, by June 21 we’ve already been sweating for weeks.

People tell me Israel is part of Asia.

Technically, that’s true.

But when I’m standing on a hill overlooking Jerusalem in late June, with the sun beating down on my head and my water bottle already warm by 9:00 a.m., it feels a lot more like Africa.

After all, Egypt is less than a two-hour drive from my house.

I grew up in Memphis, Tennessee. I know heat. I know humidity. I know what it feels like to walk outside and immediately regret every life decision that brought you there.

But Middle Eastern sun is something else entirely.

The heat can be unpleasant.

The sun is relentless.

Which is especially unfortunate because I inherited my mother’s Ashkenazi ginger skin.

Thanks, Mom.

Shortly after making aliyah, I went for my first Israeli dermatology appointment.

The dermatologist asked what I did for a living.

“I’m a tour guide,” I said.

He looked at me the way an emergency room doctor might look at someone who announces that their hobby is juggling chainsaws.

“Uh oh,” he said.

Not exactly the response I was hoping for.

“If you’re going to be a tour guide,” he continued, “you need long sleeves, long pants, strong sunscreen, and always wear a wide-brimmed hat.”

Always.

He was particularly passionate about the hat.

Unfortunately, I hate hats.

I hate hat hair.

I hate sweat collecting around the brim.

I hate chasing a hat across Masada when the desert wind decides to launch it toward Jordan.

And most of all, I hate how hats make me look even dorkier than I already look.

Which brings us to my Tilley hat.

When I finally completed the Israeli tour guide course and received my guide license, my brother-in-law Jim and my sister-in-law Leslie, of blessed memory, gave me a Tilley hat as a graduation gift.

For those unfamiliar with Tilley, they’re a Canadian company famous for making hats that block nearly all harmful UV rays and somehow manage to survive longer than most automobiles. They’re guaranteed for life.

At the time, I appreciated the gift.

Years later, I understand what it really was.

It was protective equipment.

Today, when I leave the house to guide, there are four items I absolutely must have:

Water.

Sunscreen.

Long sleeves.

And that hat.

Last summer I was guiding a wonderful family from Chicago. They wanted to hike Masada for sunrise.

Normally, that’s one of the best ways to experience the mountain.

The idea is simple: start before dawn, avoid the heat, enjoy the sunrise.

Except last summer wasn’t normal.

Even before sunrise, temperatures were so extreme that the Snake Path was closed.

Closed.

When the authorities decide hiking in the Judean Desert before dawn is a bad idea, that’s generally a useful clue.

So instead of climbing Masada, we drove north to Gan HaShlosha near Beit She’an and spent the morning floating in cool spring water.

Officially, Beit She’an was probably around 125 degrees.

Unofficially, it was the temperature at which crayons melt and tourists begin questioning their vacation choices.

The water was cold.

The shade was glorious.

And my hat stayed on.

So this summer, like every summer, I’ll continue my routine.

Dermatologist every four months.

SPF 100 sunscreen.

Long sleeves.

Long pants.

Plenty of water.

And my Tilley hat.

A hat that protects me from the Israeli sun.

And reminds me every day of Leslie.