Race to Zion

New blog

2006-09-13T09:38:00.000-07:00

Hi all,
My new blog is at adventuresinorthodoxy.blogspot.com. Hope to hear from you!
-Jason

A Final Post

2006-06-16T14:26:00.000-07:00

I made it off the airplane in Washington, DC safe and sound Saturday afternoon after a long and arduous trip earlier that morning. My flight left from Tel Aviv at 5:30 a.m., so I stayed awake all night for intense Israeli security and check-ins. I must have been suspicious to the guards at Ben Gurion Airport, though, because I was assigned a special escort to guide me through the process. I’m certain it was either because of my blonde hair or profession of faith. At one point, after I had told an airport interrogator that I was both Christian and studying the Bible, he asked why I would want to study the scriptures. “Because they’re important to me,” I answered. The fellow gave me a funny look, and I think that’s when he decided I would get special help with carrying and searching my bags.

Saturday afternoon I was picked up by a Georgetown friend and we traveled to the Delaware beach for the evening. Sunday morning I woke up to the television news hide-line that an American student from Brown University had been kidnapped and released by the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade in the West Bank city of Nablus. When they put the young adventurer’s hostage picture on the screen, I could hardly believe my eyes. It was Ben, a fellow in two of my classes and someone I had very recently gotten to know. I had hung out with Ben on my last Friday night in Jerusalem, sipping fresh-squeezed orange juice with him at a Palestinian hang-out in Eastern Jerusalem. On Saturday he decided to visit a similar social establishment in Nablus, one of the most dangerous Palestinian cities, and got himself kidnapped. Luckily, Ben was released after his captors realized he was American.

The story quickly put my semester in Israel into good perspective. God was so good to me in all my travels, keeping me safe from terror, kidnappings, and anything else remotely dangerous. The closest I came to harm was when I was accosted by shopkeepers pulling me into their stores and trying to pawn off their wares. I thank God so much for His provision this entire semester. Even when I traveled to the West Bank and Dahab in Sinai (which a month later was the place of a large terror attack), I was held tightly in His hands. That said, I am also thankful to be back in the U.S.A., where the worry of terror and war is so small. Being in Israel taught me to trust in God for my security and health, but it is a big relief to be home.

This summer I will spend in Ohio, making my best effort at tent making. I’ll be cleaning up yards, trimming, and mulching before going back to Georgetown for my senior year. This is the first summer I’ll be self-employed, and so far I have plenty of work to keep me busy. Lord-willing, I’ll learn to trust my Heavenly Father even more as I seek out work and set my own schedule.

To everyone who has read this blog, thank you so much for coming along on the trip to Israel. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading, and I pray that God use my travels for His honor and glory. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your thoughts and prayers. I wouldn’t want to be traveling in the Holy Land without knowing that I had an amazing family and church at home supporting and praying for me. I look forward to talking to you about my experiences and sharing pictures from the Holy Land. I’ve learned plenty, and I’m excited to share it all if you’ve got the time to listen.

P.S. I plan on beginning a new blog in September, and I’ll post the new link on this website once I’ve started it. For now, I’ve got a hectic and lazy summer to enjoy.

Some Chesterton

2006-06-09T14:13:00.003-07:00

From G.K. Chesterton's Tremendous Trifles...

Once upon a time there were two little boys who lived chiefly in the front garden, because their villa was a model one. The front garden was about the same size as the dinner table; it consisted of four strips of gravel, a square of turf with some mysterious pieces of cork standing up in the middle and one flowerbed with a row of red daisies. One morning while they were at play in these romantic grounds, a passing individual, probably the milkman, leaned over the railing and engaged them in philosophical conversation. The boys, whom we will call Paul and Peter, were at least sharply interested in his remarks. For the milkman (who was, I need say, a fairy) did his duty in that state of life by offering them in the regulation manner anything that they chose to ask for. And Paul closed with the offer with a business-like abruptness, explaining that he had long wished to be a giant that he might stride across continents and oceans and visit Niagara or the Himalayas in an afternoon dinner stroll. The milkman producing a wand from his breast pocket, waved it in a hurried and perfunctory manner; and in an instant the model villa with its front garden was like a tiny doll's house at Paul's colossal feet. He went striding away with his head above the clouds to visit Niagara and the Himalayas. But when he came to the Himalayas, he found they were quite small and silly-looking, like the little cork rockery in the garden; and when he found Niagara it was no bigger than the tap turned on in the bathroom. He wandered round the world for several minutes trying to find something really large and finding everything small, till in sheer boredom he lay down on four or five prairies and fell asleep. Unfortunately his head was just outside the hut of an intellectual backwoodsman who came out of it at that moment with an axe in one handand a book of Neo-Catholic Philosophy in the other. The man lookedat the book and then at the giant, and then at the book again. And in the book it said, "It can be maintained that the evil of pride consists in being out of proportion to the universe."So the backwoodsman put down his book, took his axe and, working eight hours a day for about a week, cut the giant's head off; and there was an end of him. Such is the severe yet salutary history of Paul. But Peter, oddly enough, made exactly the opposite request; he said he had long wished to be a pigmy about half an inch high; and of course he immediately became one. When the transformation was over he found himself in the midst of an immense plain, covered with a tall green jungle and above which, at intervals, rose strange trees each with a head like the sun in symbolic pictures, with gigantic rays of silver and a huge heart of gold. Toward the middle of this prairie stood up a mountain of suchromantic and impossible shape, yet of such stony heightand dominance, that it looked like some incident of the endof the world. And far away on the faint horizon he could see the line of another forest, taller and yet more mystical, of a terrible crimson colour, like a forest on fire for ever. He set out on his adventures across that coloured plain; and he has not come to the end of it yet....

I have my doubts about all this real value in mountaineering, in getting to the top of everything and overlooking everything. Satan was the most celebrated of Alpine guides, when he took Jesus to the top of an exceeding high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the earth. But the joy of Satan in standing on a peak is not a joy in largeness, but a joy in beholding smallness, in the fact that all men look like insects at his feet. It is from the valley that things look large; it is from the level that things look high; I am a child of the level and have no need of that celebrated Alpine guide. I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help; but I will not lift up my carcass to the hills, unless it is absolutely necessary. Everything is in an attitude of mind; and at this moment I am in a comfortable attitude. I will sit still and let the marvels and the adventures settle on me like flies. There are plenty of them, I assure you. The world will never starve for want of wonders; but onlyfor want of wonder.

A few lists...

2006-06-08T04:06:00.000-07:00

I return to the States on Saturday so there's a lot running through my mind right now and much material on which I could write. Since I've got so many random thoughts, I've compiled a few lists to give you an idea about what's going on inside my head. They're pretty long, so don't feel compelled to read them all. The lists do, however, offer quite a thorough psychoanalytic perspectice into my often chaotic and wandering mind.

Things I will miss about Israel:

-Fresh fruits and vegetables that are cheaper than anything
-The smell of hot pita
-Fresh-baked pastries (chocolate ruggula) by the kilo
-Hanging out with Arik, my Israeli floormate and good friend
-Shabbat dinners
-Bethlehem falafel
-Homos by the kilo
-Walks in the Arab Quarter
-Walks in the Jewish Quarter
-Taking chances and riding the buses
-Being away from the “bigger is better” aspect of American culture
-Cheap, healthy food
-Walking everywhere
-Trips through the Old City at night
-Vacations to Arabic and Muslim countries
-Holy sites
-My amicable Jewish roommate, David
-Arid weather
-Beaches 45 minutes away
-Devotions with a view of the Old City or the Judean Desert
-Nuns and priests- troopers for Western Christian faith in the Holy Land
-Orthodox Jewish culture and entire neighborhoods of people who look like Amishfolk
-Leah, Leigh, Josh, Elliot, and Jorie- my never-fail group of American buddies
-Muslim calls to prayer echoing over loudspeakers at all hours of the day
-Modestly dressed ladies- “Modest is the Hottest”
-Jerusalem stone architecture
-The Old City Walls
-Ancient roads and well-traveled paths
-Desert landscaping
-Walking where Jesus walked

Things I won’t miss about Israel:

-Crazy Traffic
-Having a defensive mentality as the member of a minority
-Saturdays being the day of rest
-Guys younger than myself toting semi-automatic weapons
-The overwhelming military presence in general
-Pretty Jewish girls I cannot get to know too well
-Orange ribbons and the settler movement
-Taking chances and riding the buses
-Having my bag searched at the entrances to public buildings
-Keeping my eyes peeled for suspicious objects
-People asking me for smaller change when I buy things
-Kosher laws
-Being away from American culture
-Political and cultural tension
-The “Security Barrier” a.k.a. “Good Fences Make Neighbors”
-Showers without curtains
-Pink toilet paper
-Walking up big hills everywhere I go
-Slippery Jerusalem stone
-Non-Christian culture
-Expensive cereal
-Bargaining in the shook
-Getting ripped off in the shook
-Culture where people aren’t afraid to shout at each other
-Bagging my own groceries
-Keeping my wallet/camera in my front pockets when traveling so they don’t get stolen
-Not having a nice kitchen or oven to use
-Walking a mile to do my laundry
-Barracks-style dorm rooms
-Using my sleeping bag for a comforter

Things I’m looking forward to in the States:

-Church on Sundays
-Family and Friends
-Cheeseburgers
-Being a WASP in a predominantly WASP society
-Country and bluegrass music on the radio
-Bonfires
-Working outside with my hands
-Rides with my grandpa
-Driving in general
-Applebees Happy Hour
-Camping
-Pretty Christian girls I can get to know
-Bicycle rides
-Running around Westfield
-White, good-quality toilet paper
-Swimming pool
-Cleaning up the yard
-American coffee (brewed as opposed to instant or Turkish coffee)
-Lazy weekend mornings around the house
-Spending time chatting with Mom and Dad
-Picking black raspberries
-Fresh vegetables from the garden
-The smell of a recently-cut lawn
-Buehlers
-Playing my piano and trying my best to along in 4-part harmony
-The English language, everywhere
-My comfortable mattress
-Ceiling fans cooling me down on hot and humid Ohio nights
-Sharing my pictures and experiences with interested folks
-Returning hopefully a little more wise, more mature, and closer to God.

Habits I have acquired while I’ve been here:

-Brushing my teeth at night
-Measuring weights in kilos
-Opening my bags for security people to search
-Looking behind my back for suspicious objects and people
-Guarding my language against politically-oriented terms
-Thinking about and questioning conservative, “red-state” America
-Thinking about and questioning conservative, “red-state” Evangelicalism
-Attending and appreciating liturgical church services
-Changing my seat on the bus so I won’t be found sitting next to a lady
-Eating whole wheat pita/bread
-Taking off my cap so it won’t be confused with a cipa and I won’t be confused with a young Jewish fellow
-Wearing a Jerusalem cross necklace at times
-Getting tattoos, drinking fine-aged whiskey, and gambling over games of pinochle
-Haha, just joking
-Drinking creamy 3% milk
-Reading signs in Hebrew
-Using my hands and expressions to communicate with people who don’t understand me
-Staring straight forward as I pass people on the streets
-Reading loads of G.K. Chesterton
-Praying for people back home as a way to feel like I am in touch
-Going out on Thursday nights for a nice restaraunt meal
-Drinking a few liters of water a day
-Wearing corny Jerusalem tourist t-shirts
-Eating plain white yogurt
-Enjoying lamb as an important part of my meat diet
-Checking for hints as to whether my cab driver is Arab or Jewish so I can know to say “Shokran” (Arabic for thank you) or “Todah” (Hebrew for thank you)
-Using Hebrew and Arabic phrases in my every-day English speech (Beseder, tov meod, yalla, bemet?, ken, lo, keef hallech?, inshyalla)
-Thinking in terms of Israeli shekels instead of American dollars
-Calling home every weekend on Sunday afternoon
-Checking news headlines before I travel anywhere
-Pining for home.

Haag (Holiday) Goy

2006-06-02T22:36:00.000-07:00

After visiting Damascus Gate yesterday, I joined a stream of Jews leaving the Old City for Western Jerusalem. Most of the city was empty and closed, but I was able to grab a cup of coffee from a shop that stays open even on Shabbat. As I was returning home, an Orthodox fellow approached me. “Ivrit (Hebrew)?” he asked me. “Ktzat (a little),” I replied. He probed further. “Are you Jewish?” “Nope,” I told him. “Good,” he said. “I could use your help. Can you follow me?” There was no place I needed to be and I was looking for an adventure, so I obliged his request for my assistance.

Along the way to the large hostel where he was staying with several other Orthodox families, my Jewish guide (I forget his name, but let’s call him Moshe because he was strictly following the Law) explained to me that Shavuot was just like Shabbat. Moshe had a whole bunch of Shabbat regulations that he had to follow- there was work he could not do, things he could not carry, and tasks he could not perform. Something had happened at the hostel since Shavuot began, and Moshe needed my help to remedy the situation. He explained that he wouldn’t be able to tell me what needed to be done, since that would be making me work and would violate the conservative Orthodox interpretation of God’s command in Exodus 20:10. Instead, I would have to put together clues from what I saw at the hostel and try to fix the problem. On the way to the hostel I thought perhaps someone had spilled something or gotten sick to their stomach and Moshe needed me to clean it up. I was happy to help, though, with whatever dilemma he had.

I was led down an alley and up a set of stairs. Moshe and I entered a hallway where all the lights were off. He took me to the first room on the left and showed me where large hot plates were set for the holiday and Shabbat meals. Since Jews cannot cook on certain holidays or Shabbat, they keep pre-made food in the refrigerator until they are ready to warm it up on the hot plates. The cold hot plates, plugged in to the wall, were my first clue to solving Moshe’s problem. I didn’t get it, though. I knew that Orthodox Jews could not plug in machines or turn on electric appliances on Shabbat, but these hot plates seemed all ready to go.

Moshe then took me to see his refrigerator. He opened the refrigerator door, but there was only darkness inside. I said “Hmmmm,” and was still pretty clueless. Moshe then pointed me towards an electric box in the hallway. “Maybe there is something around here,” he said, doing his best not to tell me what to do. I took a look at the electric box, full of fuses and switches, and said, “Hmmmm…. maybe.” I still didn’t understand. “Maybe if some of those switches would come down and then go back up- that might help,” Moshe encouraged. At that point a switch in my own head clicked. The electric in the house was off because a surge breaker had been switched off.

I cautiously began my work as an amateur electrician, turning every switch off and then back on again. Moshe stood nearby, offering a lot of “maybes,” “perhaps if this will happen,” and “I wonder if this could work.” After a while, no amount of switch-flipping succeeded in restoring Moshe’s electricity. I wasn’t sure if I had done what Moshe wanted, but the confused look on his face showed me that he knew as little about the electric box situation as I did. Moshe decided that we would have to move the hot plates and refrigerator to another room where there was electricity.

Moshe and an Orthodox friend helped me move the appliances. After some suggestions and more beating-around-the-bush from Moshe, I realized he needed me to plug in the hotplates. I was happy to oblige. One of the interesting things I saw at this time had to do with moving the refrigerator. It seems that Jewish law allowed Moshe to move the refrigerator on Shavuot – a difficult and heavy task, by any stretch of the imagination – but he could not plug it in. It seemed strange to me that such a heavy task was permitted, but not the simple job of plugging in the appliance.

After I finished the job, Moshe and his wife wouldn’t let me leave before making sure I got my fill of cake and pastry. I sat down to my cup of coffee and sweets with Moshe and had the chance to talk to my new friend. He shared with me how Jews have 613 commandments to follow but, as a Gentile, I only have 7 based on the Laws of Noah (1. to establish courts of justice; 2. not to commit blasphemy; 3. not to commit idolatry; 4. not to commit incest and adultery; 5. not to commit bloodshed; 6. not to commit robbery; and 7. not to eat flesh cut from a living animal.) It was a nice chat and a rare interaction with someone from a world completely different than my own.

After finishing the pastries and getting ready to leave, a third Jewish man entered the house. After another time of suggestions and maybes, he showed me that I could change the main fuse in the house, which had apparently burned out. I did the job, and immediately the lights came back on. I felt like I had saved both Shavuot and Shabbat for several Orthodox families (place settings in the dining hall testified to presence of 50-60 people) because now their food wouldn’t spoil and they could eat warm meals. After being thanked profusely for my help, I left Moshe and his friends a little wiser in the ways of Orthodox Judaism. It was well worth my time to get a glimpse into the world of Orthodox Jews, be heralded as a Gentile hero, and gain the satisfaction of knowing that I was able to help some folks in dire straits.

Shavuot

2006-06-02T12:47:00.000-07:00

Today was Shavuot, the Jewish holiday celebrating God’s gift of the Torah to Moses. Orthodox Jews observed the holiday in many ways. First, many stayed awake all last night reading and studying the Books of Moses. All across Israel, and especially here in Jerusalem, there were Torah parties through the wee hours of the morning. Traditional food for the holiday focuses on dairy products, with cheesecake the staple item for Shavuot feasts. The entire city was shut down today like it usually is for Shabbat. Since the holiday fell on a Friday, this weekend will be Shabbat x 2.

I went downtown very early this morning to witness the Torah study and celebrations going on at the Western Wall. I must have been a little late, though, because I only made it to Damascus Gate when I saw a parade of Orthodox Jews coming out of the Old City. I decided to take a seat and watch as thousands of the Jewish faithful, tired but happy after a long night of study and prayer, came pouring through the gates.

The Jewish revelers came in many shapes and sizes. Young and old, chubby and skinny, Ashkenazie and Sephardic, passed through the ancient gates as one people united under the Torah’s banner. Every one displayed their Shabbat best. Women and girls wore dresses that, in a Christian context, might only be worn for weddings or funerals. The men all looked sharp in dark suits and broad black hats. Some fellows wore traditional prayer shawls, like the ones you might think of when you picture Pharisees' clothing during the time of Christ (the Judaism of today is, after all, Pharisaical Judaism). Many continued to read the Torah as they walked. I was privileged to see one group of young guys pass through the Damascus Gate with a Torah Scroll in their hands. The group was loud, singing songs of praise to God for the privilege they had as His chosen people. When they reached the courtyard, the group linked arms and formed a circle around the fellow carrying the scrolls. With broad, energetic smiles on their faces, they clapped, danced, and sang of the covenant God made with Israel through Moses.

After seeing many thousands of Jews rejoicing in God’s covenant with them, I thought of the way Christians respond to the New Covenant in Christ. I have never seen us dance a covenant dance like I saw those young Jewish fellows dance. I have never stayed up all night to remember God’s perfect work through Jesus Christ. I have never eaten cheesecake with other believers or taken an extra Shabbat day just to celebrate God’s promise to me. Jeremiah 31:33-34 says of the New Covenant, “But this shall be the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel; After those days, saith the LORD, I will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their God, and they shall be my people. And they shall teach no more every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the LORD: for they shall all know me, from the least of them unto the greatest of them, saith the LORD: for I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.” Amen and amen to that, Jeremiah. I’m ready to get in a circle to sing, clap, and dance, aren’t you? Hebrews says God’s New Covenant with believers through His son, Jesus Christ, “is much more excellent than the old” (8:6) and offers us a “purified conscience,” “service to the living God,” and a “promised eternal inheritance.” (9:14-15). That, I know, is something worth celebrating.

Student Day and Jerusalem Day

2006-05-29T12:20:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned any Israeli holidays for quite some time (about three weeks!). The country must have caught on to this grievous hiatus, so the coincidence of Student Day and Jerusalem Day gave a good reason for celebration and another break from classes last Thursday.

The first holiday, Student Day, convinced me that Israelis are looking for any reason to take a break and have a party. It was a day devoted to university students and came along with barbecues, concerts, parties on the beach, and other festivities. I’m pretty sure the celebration is the manifest positive answer to the question I asked as a child, “When is Kids’ Day?” The answer, of course, is that every day is Kids’ Day. I also think every day is Students’ Day, but here in Israel they are certain to turn the occasion into a definite festival.

The second holiday celebrated on Thursday was Jerusalem Day. This holiday recognizes the reunification of the Holy City under the Israeli victory of the 1967 War. I went downtown mid-afternoon, where thousands of people crowded the streets. The roads were blocked off to traffic, and all along Jaffa St. stages were set up to accommodate musical performers and emcees. The crowds were full of mostly religious young Jews, much of the base of the religious nationalistic right here in Israel. Groups of young people were dancing and singing to traditional Israeli and Jewish tunes while others waved the Israeli Star-of-David flag with pride. The crowd was overwhelming. People were ecstatic with the joy of a united Jerusalem as if the historic Israeli victory had occurred yesterday. Although I don’t necessarily agree with the Israeli policy regarding East Jerusalem, I’ll admit I was caught up in the excitement of the moment. Jerusalem was the heart of a Jewish homeland and an indispensable part of modern Israel, these young people proclaimed.

After spending some time celebrating in Western Jerusalem, the crowd made its way to the Damascus Gate of the Old City on its way to the Wailing Wall (The Wailing Wall, located in the Old City next to the currently-Muslim Temple Mount, is perhaps considered the most holy place to Judaism). This gate is normally the busy center of Muslim commerce and stands as a potent symbol of Jerusalem’s Arab community. Before the Jewish crowds came marching through its gate, however, the Damascus-facing entrance to the Old City was silent. Most of the Arab shopkeepers had closed up and gone home early, hoping to avoid confrontation with the thousands of Jews who would cheerfully come through their Muslim Quarter.

In place of the usual Arab buyers and sellers stood hundreds of Israeli security force members, guns and batons ready for confrontation. Nationalistic Israelis celebrated their victory in Jerusalem with a parade through the Muslim Quarter, but the procession was made under the shadow of a heavy military presence prohibiting any objection from the defeated Arabs. The Israelis, descendents of Jews who had been persecuted and wronged for so many generations in so many places, were finally able to celebrate military dominance, political supremacy, and national victory. I can only imagine that, to the Arabs, the Jewish celebration of Jerusalem’s unification must have felt like salt in the open wounds of seeming defeat and weakness.

I returned to the Old City after dark, where a huge Jewish celebration continued in the plaza adjacent to the Wailing Wall. A stage was set up where very religiously-dressed Jewish fellows performed a concert for the crowd. The large gathering danced according to gender, with clear signs marking wear men and women were to dance. I smiled at the huge barrier made of green tarp that prevented any contact between the sexes.

After seeing the Jerusalem Day festivities, I made my way home through the Old City. My quiet stroll was interrupted, however, with the sounds of loud explosions. I nearly jumped out of my skin, thinking the sounds were coming from a series of bombings. My fears were eased, though, when I saw a beautiful fireworks display lighting up the ancient stone walls of the Old City. It was a magical ending to a day full of thought-provoking Jewish Israeli demonstrations of ethnic, religious, and national pride.

American Etiquette and Pleasantries

2006-05-25T06:03:00.000-07:00

G.K. Chesterton, a British writer, once noted, “I have always found Americans by far the politest people in the world.” After spending time in the Middle East, I whole-heartedly agree with the esteemed author. American society is, in general, a very friendly culture in which to find oneself.
Grocery stores, for example, employ baggers whose sole job is to nicely arrange a customer’s vittles in paper or plastic sacks. Older folks are offered a hand by store employees or the nearest passer-by when carrying packages or loading vehicles. Here in the Middle East, groceries, once scanned and paid for, are left for the buyer to bag on their own. Old ladies, scarcely able to carry themselves, are left with heavy bags to lug home alone.

Cashier etiquette in the Middle East is also much different from what I am used to in the States. On most days here, cashiers greet me with an indifferent frown. I have found that many are rude to me when I am unable to communicate with them in Arabic or Hebrew. Although I speak the native language when I make purchases in the States, I cannot imagine sellers being rude to people who have difficulty understanding English. I have also upset many cashiers through my lack of smaller bills to pay for their services or goods. While I have studied abroad, my source of cash has come from ATM machines, which distribute money in mostly 100 Shekel bills (about $22). This is unhelpful when I try to make small purchases, but the situation really is not my fault. In response to my large bills (which I am sure many sellers believe are offered out of a wealthy American's pomposity), I have received countless unhappy requests for “kessef katan” (small money). Unable to provide smaller change, most cashiers scowl and then place the difference on the counter. Vendors rarely hand me back my change- a courteous and humane gesture I miss from the States. It is almost as if most vendors are afraid of the human touch, which might require a civilized connection with another person. It is a good day here if a grocery-store cashier says “thank you,” and I cannot remember a time when a coffee-house vendor has said “have a nice day.” I am usually the one to say thank-you as I leave a place of business, just so that my interaction with the cashier will not end in an uneasy silence.

It also seems to me that most people here do not understand the concept of waiting in line. Many here understand waiting as pushing their way forward to the front, usually regardless of who is shoved aside in the process. If one does not participate in the stampede to be first, they are pushed around, may actually miss the bus, or can wait an unspeakable amount of time to pay for services or goods. I miss the States (at least in the Midwest) where people generally follow the rule of patiently waiting for their chance to be up front.

Perhaps I am homesick, but spending time in a different culture has made me appreciate good aspects of American life -- the niceties, politeness, general friendliness, and noble etiquette of common daily interactions -- all the more.

Some Shabbus Reflections

2006-05-19T11:46:00.000-07:00

Some random thoughts on Israel, the Middle East, and life in general, as they come to me:

I just got back from Shabbat dinner. It was my turn to cook. We had chicken nuggets, noodles, eggplant, and salad, along with poppy-seed and chocolate cookin. I’m really going to miss nice Shabbat dinners along with the times of preparation and hanging out afterwards. Americans need Shabbat. I’ve heard that if Israelis had the chance to do away with a day of rest on Shabbat, much like Americans have done away the day of rest on the Lord’s Day, even the most secular Jews would object. People need and want a Shabbat.

I was given the chance to write a thank-you letter to supporters of Musalaha’s reconciliation ministry today in my time helping out at the organization. This semester has been easy academically for me, and I’m glad volunteering has given me something productive to do. I really believe people (especially fellas) need to work and be kept busy. Doing too much of nothing is unhealthy. A professor of mine cancelled our third and final paper. Two of my professors here don’t take their classes seriously, and I’m certain this is why the aforementioned teacher canceled our final paper. Normally I’d be happy, but for now I’ve had enough of easy studies.

The political situation in the West Bank is really interesting, and no one really knows what is going on or what is going to happen there. Earlier this year, the Palestinian Authority gave into international (and American) pressure to hold democratic elections. Palestinians overwhelmingly elected a Hamas leadership, which is a problem to the rest of the world because Hamas is a terrorist organization that does not recognize Israel. So what has happened since then? The rest of the world has cut off aid to Palestinians and nearly 1/3 of the Palestinian work force, which works for the PA, has not received a paycheck in quite some time. Without money, things get interesting and people become unhappy. Welcome to democracy, our Arab friends.

I’ve learned to follow the rules of a gender-conservative society while I’ve been here. On Israeli buses, I would never think about sitting next to a religious Jewish woman (wearing a full head covering or wig along with a skirt that reaches the ground.) On Palestinian buses, I only sit next to guys. These buses only leave the station when they fill up completely, so I’m always sitting next to a person, and this person is never a Muslim lady.

Christian ladies are actually “looser” than Muslim ladies in Arab society. Christian ladies don’t wear hijabs, the full Muslim head coverings, and they often wear pants and other revealing clothing. Basically, if an Arab woman is not covered from head to toe, she is probably a Christian. I never look at Muslim women -- at all. I stair at the ground as I pass them and avoid eye contact at all costs. I’m somewhat afraid that if I say hello to a Muslim lady her angry Muslim brother, father, or husband will come chasing after me with a whip. I’ve learned a lot while I’ve been here, but I reckon I still have some stereotypes of people.

Iran is considering a law requiring all its citizens to dress according to a strict code. Included in this law is a provision requiring Jews, Christians, and other tiny religious minorities to wear badges of cloth identifying themselves as such. This frightens me, and I pray for the believers in Iran.

I’m coming home three weeks from tomorrow. I’m really looking forward to returning and to this summer, although I’ve got to learn to be content here in Israel for the next few weeks. I’ve got piles of stuff I’ve collected, now I need to figure out how I’m going to get it all home.

Shabbat Shalom, all.

Lo Kal Lehiot Messiach (It's Not Easy Being Messiah)

2006-05-13T11:48:00.000-07:00

I had seen her walking around Jerusalem before. I found her interesting, this little lady clad in a white robe adorned with flashy Hebrew letters. Occasionally she would stop, hold out her arms, raise her silver scepter, and proclaim, “I am the messiah. I am the new Jerusalem. I am your king. I am the mother of all.” This small lady with a short haircut believed that she was going to save humankind.

Tonight I decided to follow her around. I wanted to get some pictures and, if the opportunity presented itself, to speak with this self-proclaimed messiah. I knew I would be disappointed if I came all the way to Israel and never met someone pretending to be Israel’s new king (or queen, in this poor lady’s view of things). I saw her first outside the Jaffa gate of the Old City and then followed her as she traveled downtown Western Jerusalem. It was the final hour of Shabbat, and countless Jewish families saw her as they traveled home after synagogue services. Most stared at her, whispered and giggled, then turned around for another look after she passed. Some hurled insults, cursing her proclamation and the mockery she brought to the very real and serious Jewish expectation for messiah.

I took several pictures of the lady then followed her around to catch the reactions of other people on the street. Eventually, she caught on to the fact that I was following and stopped to talk to me. I was excited, and nervous, to meet this strange and seriously-mistaken lady.

She introduced herself by saying that she liked me. She could tell from my appearance that I was like her -- I was seeking the truth and was on a higher plane of spirituality than everyone else. I asked her to tell me a little about herself. Come to find out, she was a Polish Jew from Toledo (she later reckoned this was one of the reasons she liked me -- we were both from Ohio). As an adopted child she had been raised in a Catholic family. At a young age, however, she began questioning her family’s faith and came to the conclusion that she disagreed with Catholic teaching. She got married, had a son (who is now 37), and then began having dreams and visions. She believed that God was showing her the true way to wisdom and that she was the one responsible for showing everyone else the path. She was bringing the message that God’s power could be accessed through a “secret number code that only (she) knew,” much like electricity can be accessed on a power grid. I didn’t follow her explanation, but she told me that if I looked to the book of Daniel long enough I would be able to figure out when her messiahship would commence and her path to understanding recognized as the only way to her god. Telling me that she was the spiritual mother of all, she also mentioned a male messiah who would come down some day and validate her authority. The prophetic time was very soon, she said, and we should all be ready for the magnificent event any day now.

The little lady shared that it was not easy being the king. She knew she looked crazy and even expected bad treatment from people. She communicated to me that she had given up everything to be messiah. She had left her home and lost her family, people thought she was nuts, and little children stared and laughed at her. Why would anyone do what she had done willingly if they were not legitimately being spoken to by God? When I told her I didn’t believe her claim, she smiled and said that was all right. People do not know the truth now but they will soon, she said matter-of-factly.

I shared with her several times that Jesus Christ was the Messiah and she was very wrong. She told me that Jesus was dead and that he needed her as well.

The little lady was very patient and smiled at me until the very end of our conversation, when I told her I would pray to the real God on her behalf. The fact that I would be interceding for her so that she would come to know the truth in Christ seemed to upset her messianic sensibilities. She said that one day I would regret the fact that the messiah had taken time out her schedule to speak with me on the street and that I had rejected her out of hand.

Looking back on the situation, I’m reminded of the words of G.K. Chesterton. “If we said what we felt (to the madman who called himself Christ), we might say, ‘So you are the Creator and Redeemer of the world: but what a small world it must be! What a little heaven you must inhabit, with angels no bigger than butterflies! How sad it must be to be God; and an inadequate God! Is there really no life fuller and no love more marvelous than yours; and is it really in your small and painful pity that all flesh must put its faith? How much happier you would be, how much more of you there would be, if the hammer of a high God could smash your small cosmos, scattering the stars like spangles, and leave you in the open, free like other men to look up as well as down!”

I pray that the true God does smash the world of delusion in which this tiny, self-proclaimed messiah finds herself. The real Messiah came to Earth, gave his life on the cross, and was confirmed as the true Son of God by his Resurrection from the dead so that this lady, trapped by the maniacal machinations of her mind, might be reconciled in relationship to the real God

Left-wing?

2006-05-11T08:42:00.000-07:00

Racial profiling is essential for security in Israel. Walking the streets of Jerusalem, it’s a common sight to see IDF (Israel Defense Force) soldiers checking Arab identity cards. Suspicious-looking people, usually with darker skin and slicked-back hair, are routinely searched. I’ve also seen many Palestinian drivers, often-times people my own age, pulled over at military checkpoints for the simple fact that they are Arab and therefore suspicious.

There is a great disparity in Israel between the amount of government money given to Arab and Jewish communities. While Jewish neighborhoods are generally well-funded and taken care of, Arab areas tend to be neglected by the state and their welfare viewed as a second-class concern (Israel is, after all, a Jewish state).

I’ve come to be bothered by both these aspects of Israeli life. I can’t say that I’ve become an Arab nationalist, because I certainly haven’t, but Israel has a lot of problems. It seems to me that racial profiling and the unequal distribution of government resources are incredibly unfair and undemocratic. It’s interesting, though, because I never saw racial profiling or economic/social disparities as a problem in the States. I was quite certain that singling out an Arab fellow for further questioning at the airport was right and that searching a black man’s car for drugs was acceptable because, in both cases, the individuals being profiled were more-likely to be guilty than others. I saw the ghettos in Washington DC as a result not of social injustice or inequality in government concern, but as a result of the inhabitants’ laziness and disregard for normal standards of living. I probably sound like a liberal, but seeing the way many Arabs are treated here has changed the way I think about a lot of social issues back in the States.

I don’t want to simplify the situation here in Israel to make it appear that powerful Jews are trampling on the rights of oppressed Palestinians, because that certainly is not the case. There are many good reasons why Arabs are profiled, and I’m certain the practice is a necessary evil. Many Arabs, even Israeli citizens, do not believe Israel is a legitimate state. Many Palestinians have committed acts of terror against Israel and many more will undoubtedly try. The racial profiling makes good sense, but it still bothers me. The economic disparities can also be explained. Why should Israel support communities of Arabs who do not believe the Jewish state ought to exist? Why should a nation help neighborhoods where the inhabitants may seek to bite off the hands that feed them? The political situation and countless points of view here are very difficult to comprehend. I miss the days when I saw the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and the social inequalities back in the U.S., from an easy and one-sided perspective.

Memorial and Independence Day

2006-05-06T01:40:00.000-07:00

After my adventures in Egypt, I must admit it’s somewhat difficult to return to writing on the normal life here in Israel. Even so, I’ll give it my best shot.

This past week was Israeli Memorial Day and Independence Day on Tuesday and Wednesday, respectively. The Hebrew University, like it has for other holidays this semester, gave us both days off in the middle of the week. The first holiday, Israeli Memorial Day (Yom HaZikaron), remembers Israel’s fallen soldiers and victims of terror. Each year the number of Israeli deaths from war and other hostilities is counted and added to a running total number of deaths since early Zionists arrived to the Holy Land in the mid-19th century. This year’s fatalities included 138 soldiers and security officers killed in the line of duty, so that, in Israel’s modern history, 22,123 are counted among the dead in the defense of the state. There was a ceremony at the Western Wall on Monday night and two moments of silence commemorating the day. I spent Tuesday on a solo trip up to the Galilee, and at 11:00 am our bus stopped, everyone got off, and stood quietly for a moment as sirens cried out for the dead.

I reached Tiberias around noon and rented a bike for the day. While I had visited the Galilee when Mom came, I wanted to spend plenty of time in solitude, prayer, and meditation in the area where much of Christ’s earthly ministry took place. A bike ride among the hills surrounding the Kinerret (Galilee) afforded me just that opportunity. I was seemingly unprepared, though, for the physical task at hand. I hadn’t biked for eight months, and the ride up the Mount of Beatitudes was a tiring lesson that the giant hill is not named “mount” in vain. To make matters worse, I arrived to the Mount of Beatitudes when it was closed for a three hour break. Luckily for me, though, a tour bus was leaving late and I was able to sneak in before the gates closed.

I sat on a rock overlooking the Sea of Galilee and enjoyed a spectacular view of the Kinerret region. On the left, the hills and the mountains of the Golan Heights rose far above the sea. It was from one of these cliffs, the Bible records, that demon-possessed pigs flung themselves after having an encounter with Christ. Below me I could see Capernaum to the left, the ancient fishing town and home of Peter located just yards from the Galilee beach, and Tagba on the right, where the Miracle of Loaves and Fishes is remembered. The sky was a clear blue, but the heat of the day caused a blurry view of the distance. At some point far away the water and mountains seemed to merge with the sky in azure haze. Heaven met earth and the infinite encountered the finite in the same place where Jesus Christ, God-of-God and man-of-man, united these seperate realities so long ago.

After the Mount of Beatitudes I biked to the Jordan River, my first encounter with the biblical stream that flows into and out of the Sea of Galilee. The river, however, was no mighty Amazon or raging Colorado. It was about the size of the Mohican and, even in its full stage, the Jordan looked like a large irrigation canal one might see in the States. It certainly wouldn’t have been a difficult task for Israel to cross the Jordan River as the nation entered the Promised Land. Truth be told, save for its biblical significance, I didn’t find much of interest in the Jordan’s muddy waters. Since I was by myself and have already been baptized, I decided not to go swimming but instead immersed my feet at the water’s edge (Christ says in John 13:10, “The one who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but is completely clean.”). The river cooled me down and was a nice break before the tough ride back to Tiberias.

On Wednesday, Israel celebrated its 58th year of freedom from the British with Independence Day (Yom Ha’atzma’ut) festivities. The holiday, also a salute to Zionism and the principle of a Jewish state, is remembered with carnivals, special ceremonies, and family get-togethers. Arabs mark the day quite differently. To them, Al-Nakba (the Catastrophe) is a day of remembering the destroyed Arab villages and displaced Palestinian refugees from the 1948 War of Independence. The differences between the Israeli celebration of Yom Ha’atzma’ut and the Arab remembrace Al Nakba are just one illustration of how tremendously divided the two peoples are in culture and perspective.

The End of the Egypt Trip

2006-04-30T03:51:00.000-07:00

A Friday night trip helped restore my faith in the Egyptian people. We went on an excursion to see Old Cairo, the ancient Christian district in the southern part of the city. Using Cairo’s subway system, we were helped along to our destination by some kind individuals, none of whom asked for backsheesh. We visited several churches in Old Cairo, the remnant of a once thriving community in what is now an overwhelmingly Muslim country. Since it was Good Friday according to the Orthodox calendar, the churches were packed full of worshippers on the holy day. It may have only been because of the holiday, or as I like to believe because God works in very special ways when the Church is surrounded by hostility, but the Christian community in Cairo seemed incredibly vibrant. It was a small community when compared to the Muslim super-majority, but the congregants were joyful and the sanctuaries full of excitement. It was relief to spot an oasis of Christian faith in the Egyptian desert of Islam.

Saturday morning we traveled to Islamic Cairo to visit several mosques and a bazaar. Our first destination was the Citadel, a fortress-like complex that has been used as the seat of Egyptian government for many, many centuries. Inside we stepped foot in a large mosque, ornately decorated with colorful geometric patterns. I was surprised that so many tourists were allowed to enter the historic place. We were required to take off our shoes, as is the case for anyone entering any mosque, but besides that we were able to roam around inside as much as we wanted (there were some girls not from our group who, because they were dressed so scantily, had to wear green cloth tarps in order to visit. I had to laugh at their mistake).

Also at the Citadel was the Egyptian Military Museum, a tribute to the authoritarian regime’s military “prowess.” A plaque on an exterior wall indicated that the museum had been designed with the help of North Korea, while the interior oozed with a very contrived sense of Egyptian nationalism and praise for Egypt’s dictatorial leaders. In displays memorializing Egypt’s wars with Israel, the Jewish state wasn’t even mentioned. Instead, Israel was referred to as “the enemy,” “the opponent,” or “the adversary.” The designers of the museum, it seemed, kept their heads firmly stuck in the sands of ignorance when they had designed the building. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the way the Egyptian state would twist around facts, but my reading of the history-propaganda led to a clash with my own perceptions of truth and fairness.

Leaving the Citadel, we visited two other mosques. The first, a 19th century building, was home to the grave of ousted-Egyptian King Farouk. The second was significant for its size, decoration, and cost at the time of its building in the 15th century. After three mosques, I was Islammed out and ready for a trip to the Bazaar.

We purchased several souvenirs, including a couple sheeshas and some Egyptian clothing, then returned to our hotel. Saturday night we took an overnight bus back to Taba and then attempted to race across the border to catch our 7:00 a.m. Eilat bus to Jerusalem. I say we “attempted” to race across the border, though, because not all our group made it. Jorie, Elliot, and I crossed successfully to Israel and stood waiting at the port exit for Josh and Lee to be admitted. The pair had a problem, though. Josh, a student of Arabic, had purchased an English-Arabic Koran in Cairo and thought it shouldn’t be a problem bringing it across the border. In addition, Lee had accidentally held on to the Islamic literature she had first received from the Muslim proselytizer in Suez. The combination of the Koran and the Islamic literature meant that the Israeli security was incredibly concerned with (and rude to) my two close Christian friends. They were detained for nearly an hour as they attempted to sufficiently answer the Israeli border guards’ broken-English questions. They also missed their bus, but were eventually allowed to cross and return to Jerusalem several hours later.

The trip to Egypt was quite an experience. I’m glad I went, because I know I would have been upset with myself if I had spent several months in Israel and never saw Egypt. Still, a week in Egypt was plenty of time for me there and I don’t have an itch to return any time soon.

Cairo and a Dubious Day at the Pyramids

2006-04-28T04:20:00.000-07:00

After the Valley of the Kings, we returned to our hostel, tired and smelly, for our afternoon naps. Later that night we took an overnight sleeper train to Cairo – my first sleeper train experience. We boarded around 10:30 pm, and were promptly fed a warm meal before being rocked to sleep by the motion of the train. The ride cost us $57 US, but it was well worth the experience to sleep well and travel at the same time.

Seeing the Egyptian countryside along the path of the Nile was eye-opening. We saw farmers in the fields very early in the morning, cultivating the land like people have done for many thousands of years. There were no tractors in sight, but an occasional farmer did have a mule-pulled cart. We saw fields of recently-harvested grains with golden bundles of hand-tied wheat on the ground. The Egyptian countryside seemed completely forsaken by 20th century technology, and I realized how spoiled I am as an American.

We reached Cairo around 7:30 a.m. and were greeted by an eager taxi cab driver who would take us anywhere we wanted to go. Not knowing our way around, he suggested a hostel to us and then took us there. Unfortunately, there was no room for us at the inn. Fortunately, there are plenty of people milling around downtown Cairo looking to take unsuspecting tourists to their hotels. We were convinced by one such fellow to visit a hotel near the Egyptian museum, and ended up staying there for the rest of trip.

Thursday afternoon we had the chance to visit the Egyptian Museum. Built at the turn of the 20th century, the museum reminded me of what a museum ought to be like: plenty of dusty artifacts, very few organized displays (the pieces were instead arranged in hallways by date), and thousands upon thousands of relics packed into large corridors. I spent several hours at the museum, going from hall to hall and doing my best to take in all the wonders of Ancient Egypt. From mighty statues of the pharaohs to humble peasant tools, the museum encapsulated millennia of Egyptian history. The most awe-inspiring part of the museum was the large section devoted to King Tut’s tomb. Countless priceless artifacts, most covered in gold, dazzled the eye and testified to the power of Tut’s position. I saw his famous death masks, which were even brighter and more colorful in real life than they appear in magazines. All in all, the range, quality, and quantity of ancient objects in the Egyptian Museum left my jaw wide-open and my eyes as large as an owl’s in disbelief.

Friday we awoke early for a morning at the pyramids. The same fellow who led us to our hotel was there again, ready to take us on what seemed like a grand adventure. He had a map drawn out for us and promised that he would take us to see the important sites around Giza, the Cairo suburb where the pyramids stand. We were grateful for his guidance as he took us on a bus (that he even paid for!) to a place outside the Wonder of the Ancient World. Our guide showed us to a small Bedouin business, where we were offered tea and an itinerary for the day (see the pyramids, other tombs, the Great Sphinx, lunch, other archaeological sites, the Pyramid light show). Foolishly, none of us asked what the price would be for the day’s excitement. We assumed, very wrongly, that a visit to the Bedouin shop afterwards would be payment enough. The shop’s owner then suited us up with a guide, two camels, and three horses. Once saddled up and ready to go, the Giza trickster told us the price for the day: 350 Egyptian pounds per person. Our jaws dropped, and we told him we were only interested in seeing the pyramids. The man offered to show us the Sphinx and pyramids for 200 E.P. (still an outrageous price), but we had to accept his offer. We were stuck in an Egyptian suburb, still very far from the pyramids, and were incredibly vulnerable to the money-sucking Egyptian’s fancy for foreign cash.

Our caravan began slowly as we learned how to handle our horses and camels. We traveled through a Giza neighborhood, tracing a border fence that the Egyptian government erected to keep non-paying people out of the pyramids complex. After leaving the town, we entered the Egyptian desert and continued to follow the contours of the pyramid park’s fence. Half an hour later, we approached a hole in the fence and turned inside. It seemed sketchy to me, since I didn’t see any ticket kiosks to pay for our entrance. My suspicions of the tour's shadiness were confirmed minutes later when our caravan was approached by gun-toting Egyptian guards. Our guide spoke with them, worked out an understanding (bribe, I’m certain of it), and we were allowed to continue on our way. We approached the pyramids from the back door, but that didn’t impact the way they looked to us. The monuments were enormous, rising high above the dry desert dunes. We walked around for some time, gazing at the pyramids we had seen in pictures. After journeying into the center of one of the pyramids, we returned to our criminal caravan and continued on our way back, stopping long enough only to see and take pictures with the Sphinx.

Camels are really uncomfortable to ride. There are no stirrups on the saddle to support your feet, and your rear must bear the brunt of every bump along the way. When you add the thigh-squeezing that is necessary to prevent yourself from falling off the camel, the ride becomes a monstrously effective workout for your inner legs. Our guide joked that riding on a camel would help us walk like an Egyptian afterwards. I was sore for several days, but the pictures were well worth the pain.

We returned to our shady Bedouin’s shop and demanded he give us lunch. A long moment later he brought us Koshary, an Egyptian fast-food speciality with noodles, lentils, and tomato sauces. We quickly ate, and then escaped from his slimy grasp while he was praying at the mosque.

Walk Like an Egyptian

2006-04-26T11:51:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s about time I begin talking about my trip to Egypt. After a tasty ham and sweet potato lunch Easter afternoon, we left for the bus station. We took the familiar Jerusalem-Eilat bus and reached the southernmost point of Israel late in the evening. We had made no reservations (or really any concrete plans at all), and figured we’d be able to find a hostel pretty easily. We were really wrong, though, because it was Pesach and every Israeli was vacationing in Eilat. Luckily, we found a hotel room with five beds for an outrageous price and were able to spend the night inside.

Come morning, we woke up and visited the Egyptian Consulate in Eilat to get our travel visas. We were successful, then took a cab with a Gospel-singing driver to the Taba border crossing. Once in Egypt, we inquired about a bus to Cairo. We were told, whether truthfully or not, that none would be leaving for several hours. We decided to take a cab, which charged each of us 100 Egyptian Pounds (L.E.) for the five hour trip. Our destination was Luxor in Upper Egypt, the location of some temples and the Valley of the Kings (an interesting note about Egyptian geography- Upper Egypt is actually in the southern part of the country, because the Nile flows north and “Upper Egypt” is higher in elevation than “Lower Egypt.”) Halfway along the ride, which took us through the rocky desert of the Sinai wilderness, our driver advised us against going to Cairo and taking the train to Luxor. He claimed it was bad for the girls, so we decided to go to Suez instead to catch a red-eye bus to Luxor. Come to find out, though, our driver was from Suez and probably didn’t want to drive us all the way to Cairo. This was a difficulty we experienced many times in Egypt. It was exceedingly tough to discern whether people were genuinely trying to help us out with advice and hospitality or whether they had other motives and were trying to dupe us for their own benefit.

We reached Suez in the late-afternoon and had a quick bite-to-eat at a local restaurant (where two kabab sandwiches cost me less than a dollar). After the meal, a Muslim fellow approached us with some Islamic literature. Being in a strange place and not wanting to offend him, we smiled and accepted his booklets. The literature would end up causing us some trouble later on.

That evening we took a very long bus ride to Luxor. For the first half of the trip, I sat next to Mohammed, a single 25 year-old Muslim fellow from Cairo. He worked in the hospitality industry, and I was able to speak with him a lot about his background and family. He’s working hard to get a house, which in Egypt is basically a requirement for getting a wife. He also shared with me the expectations of his Muslim family. As an only son, he is expected to continue in the faith and traditions of his parents without question or deviation. Another topic of our discussion was women. I commiserated with him on how difficult it is to find a suitable wife (although, as he pointed out, I would probably be much more successful in Egypt than in the States), and we both agreed on the importance of gender roles (he laughed at the prospect of women doing the jobs of men, finding our modern American concept of equality a farce).

We arrived in Luxor at 3 am and quickly found a hostel. The rooms cost around 2 dollars a night, a great price for my budget travel. I quickly fell asleep, only to be awoken a short time later by the blare of a minaret calling Muslims to early-morning prayer. Later that morning, we awoke and grabbed a bite to eat at the local eatery. I had pita with a warm bean dip that seemed much like refried beans to me, a meal that would suffice for Tuesday’s tour. Our first destination was Karnak, a massive ancient Egyptian temple complex complete with giant pillars and a partially reconstructed roof. The compound was impressive, and every niche seemed to be decorated with ancient hieroglyphic carvings or paintings. At one point, near the back of the temple, we were approached by a guard who led us to panoramic view overlooking the entire area. Once we had taken our pictures, he began rubbing his figures together and muttering “backsheesh,” the Egyptian way of saying he wanted a tip. He was holding a rifle, so we obliged, and had the first of many encounters with Egyptians seeking out our hard-earned tourist cash.

That afternoon, we returned to our hostel for a long siesta. The weather in Luxor and later in Cairo was so hot during the afternoon that it was nearly impossible to do anything outdoors. Instead, each day we toured in the morning, slept or read indoors during the afternoon, and then went out to dinner in the evening.

Wednesday morning we woke up early to visit the Temple of Hatsheput and the Valley of the Kings. Both were on the West Bank (of the Nile) so, after taking a ferry across, we were met by a cab driver arranged through our hostel. He took us first to the temple, an impressive edifice built into the side of a mountain. A few years ago, the temple was the scene of a terror attack where Islamic militants opened fire on the crowd and killed dozens of visitors. It was much calmer on the day we visited, thankfully.

Our driver then took us to visit the Valley of the Kings, the place where several Ramses and Tut were buried. It was, as the name implies, a valley in the desert with dozens of small, inconspicuous entrances to the tombs of pharaohs. Our entrance tickets allowed us to visit just three tombs (and Tut cost much extra), so we visited the burial sites of a couple Ramses and a certain Thutmoses. The burial chambers, barren of any artifacts, were still marvelously mysterious and decorated with colorful hieroglyphic designs. Another aspect of the tombs that impressed me was their stuffiness. One would think that traveling inside a tomb carved out of a mountain would offer a cool respite from the outside sun and heat. The burial chambers, however, felt like stuffy saunas and smelled intensely like people. After every tomb we visited, it was actually a relief to be out in the open again to feel the cool breeze.

I’ll continue describing my trip tomorrow, but for now here is the link to the pictures from my Egypt trip…

Dahab and Holocaust Remembrance Day

2006-04-25T10:25:00.000-07:00

I should be writing about my trip to Egypt, but more timely topics beg me to comment. First is the sad news on the bombings in Egypt. Yesterday, terrorists attacked the tourist town of Dahab on the Sinai Coast of the Red Sea. It was the third bombing in the Sinai since 2004, and 18 people perished in the attacks along with dozens of others who were wounded. Dahab, as you may recall, is the place where I spent nearly a week just last month enjoying the beaches, restaurants, snorkeling, and my 21st birthday. At the time, I thought the area was safe. It had a small-town feel and the locals ran small businesses to keep the tourists happy. I ate at two of the restaurants mentioned in reports of the bombing (the Aladin and Al Capone cafeterias), regularly crossed the walking bridge where bombs were planted, and shopped for souvenirs in the bazaar that was targeted. Looking back on my trip to Dahab, the fact that it was chosen as a terror target makes perfect sense to me now. Most of the tourists there are European and the Dahab lifestyle is the epitome of pleasure that I imagine extreme Islam sees as the essence of Western corruption and extravagance. I’m greatly saddened by what took place in Dahab, and I pray for the area that terrorism has so terribly affected. At the same time, though, I’m thankful that God protected me during my own visit to the resort town. Some people I may have met have not been so lucky (my bus back to Israel on Sunday carried some who were on their way to Dahab). I won’t be traveling to Egypt anymore while I’m in the Middle East.

The second timely topic is today’s observance of Holocaust Remembrance Day. The day is important especially here in Israel, where the Jewish state remembers the Nazi genocide with memorial services and a nation-wide moment of silence. As a visitor of German descent, I began to wonder about what I would have done had I been in Europe during the Holocaust. Would I have resisted the Nazi government and sought to protect the innocent? There were perhaps tens of thousands of Christian believers in Germany who did nothing to prevent the murder of some 6 million Jews. Can I assume that I would have been better than those silent Christians? I know myself, and I know that I am capable of serious sin and depravity. I don’t know if I would have been a “righteous Gentile.” I have no idea if I could have been a Dietrich Boenhoeffer, the rightly-esteemed pastor and theologian who participated in a plot against Hitler. Perhaps I would have seen Bonhoeffer as a misguided radical whose actions went against the biblical command to “submit to the authorities” (Rom. 13:1). If I could have been so blind like many Christians were so blind during WWII, I must ask myself, “What am I blind to today?” What am I turning my face away from that is breaking God’s heart? Am I ignoring atrocities and grotesque miscarriages of justice because I am afraid of action’s consequences? Am I scared to be a Dietrich Boenhoeffer because it may label me as a revolutionary? Or, am I seeking out God’s heart for justice and living a radical life for Christ in everything I do? These are some difficult questions that have challenged me today and that I pray will continue to confront me as long as I live.

Easter Sunday

2006-04-24T08:49:00.000-07:00

I awoke very early on Easter Sunday to face a chilly and windy Jerusalem. I had to drop off an Easter basket for Josh before going to a sunrise service at the Lutheran Church of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives. My friends and I decided to exchange Easter baskets secret-Santa style, and I had postponed delivering my basket until the last moment. I raced to Josh’s dorm room in the pre-dawn hour, delivered the goods, then hustled up the Mount of Olives to attend the sunrise celebration. In the early morning I felt like Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, who raced all over Jerusalem to spread the good news that Christ had risen.

The sunrise service began at 5:30. I joined a group of about thirty gathered in the twilight around an altar that overlooked the Jordan Valley. On top of the Mount of Olives it was cold -- very cold. Many huddled about bundled in jackets, hats, and scarves. Not much stood out to me about the service except for the moment at the end when the sun finally peaked through the ashen clouds. We had met in the frigid early morning to remember Christ’s Resurrection, and the warm rays of sunshine lighting up the sky encouraged even the coldest worshipper. The sun seemed to be the right metaphor for what we knew full well – Christ, overcoming death and the cross, broke through the clouds of sin to light up the world with the powerful light of his Resurrection.

I returned to my room for a nap and then walked down to the Garden Tomb for another Easter service. Along the way I saw clouds gathering ominously in the west, and when I reached the Garden Tomb the skies opened up. We had hadn’t been praying for showers of blessing, but boy, they certainly did fall on us all. I’ll admit that, besides my jacket and hair getting wet, my spirit also was dampened by the rain. Rain here is so seldom and normally the skies are bright, sunny, and warm. Why did it have to rain on Easter? There I was at the Garden Tomb with several hundred other believers on the cold, grey, wet morning. I was celebrating the Resurrection, don’t misunderstand me, but I was also a little disappointed. I still haven’t figured out why it had to be rainy and cold on Easter morning. The best I can come up with is that God was teaching me to celebrate the Resurrection everywhere and always in my heart, and not just in Jerusalem on Easter morning.

There is something special about being a pilgrim. Spending Holy Week with tens of thousands of Christians, united in purpose to recall the death and Resurrection of Christ, was an amazing encouragement to my faith. I found there is much to be gained from rejoicing, weeping, worshipping, praying, remembering, and meditating together with others. The mystique of Jerusalem heightened every experience as we traced our Savior’s trials and triumphs in sacred remembrance and ritual. We participated in traditions that joined us with thousands of years of Christian practice along with countless millions of saints who have gone before us. I will not too soon forget Holy Week in Jerusalem and the time I spent here with other pilgrims united in faith.

I'm back, safe and sound.

2006-04-23T20:13:00.000-07:00

I've returned from Egypt, safe and sound. Unfortunately, I've got an Arcaheology midterm I'll be studyig for, so a more thorough update will be temporarily postponed.

Good Friday

2006-04-15T00:34:00.000-07:00

I got up before daybreak on Friday morning and left for the Old City. The air was balmy before the sun rose, and it only became warmer during the course of the day. I was awake early to follow the Via Dolorosa through Jerusalem, the traditional path Christ took carrying his cross. Our procession began at 6:30 am, before the via became too full of pilgrims tracing Jesus’ Good Friday steps. I had traveled the Via Dolorosa twice before, so this time was the repetition of a well-known path. I had trouble focusing, perhaps because it was so early in the morning or because the service was continually interrupted by traffic trying to squeeze through the narrow Jerusalem streets, and later on I regretted waking up so early.

After the Via Dolorosa and a cup of coffee, I was fresh and ready to attend a Good Friday service at the Garden Tomb. The Garden Tomb is an alternative site to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher that offers a place to remember and meditate on the Passion and Resurrection of Christ. There are beautiful gardens planted all around the traditional site of the tomb that held Christ and the rock formations that resemble the biblical description of Golgotha. Today, the Garden Tomb is frequented by many Christians visiting the Holy Land who may find the Church of the Holy Sepulcher iconolatrous (adj., icon + idolatry) and unwelcoming. The type of folk who visit the Garden Tomb are, generally speaking, the type I agree with on most matters of Christian doctrine and practice, so I decided to go visit for the morning Good Friday service.

After being welcomed to the Good Friday service by a friendly staff of volunteers, I took my seat on a bench facing the empty tomb. The air was warm and the day was sunny, but we sat in the cool shade of pine trees. Birds sang sweetly all around. We were in a garden paradise of prayer and remembrance, closed off from the bustle and noise of Eastern Jerusalem. The service opened with a song accompanied by the soft tones of a keyboard piano. The service, which lasted for an hour, incorporated praise singing, reading from the Gospel accounts of Christ’s Passion, and a sermon. I was thankful to know most of the songs, some even by heart, and I sang with gusto. The renditions of the Gospel stories were read by an older British lady whose secure, comforting voice gave beautiful clarity and expression to the “old, old story.” The Holy Spirit also moved through the sermon given by the pastor. He recounted the Passion story, weaving together the varied Gospel descriptions into a single narrative. Along the way, the preacher spoke on the significance of the story and its application to our own lives. I’m not sure if I was paying more attention than usual to the sermon because of its Good Friday significance, but I walked away after hearing it feeling equipped and much better able to appreciate the significance of Christ’s suffering.

The Garden Tomb service, though set in an idyllic place probably much different than the chaotic scene of Christ’s crucifixion, offered me a chance to peacefully reflect on the magnitude of Christ’s sacrifice. It was a welcome respite after the Via Dolorosa, and I felt God’s presence through the singing, scripture readings, and message. The service was good for me to attend.

After visiting the Garden Tomb, I returned to campus for a quick rest. My fatigue wasn’t enough, though, to keep me from traveling back to the Old City in the afternoon to remember the hour of Christ’s death (3:00 pm). At that time, I ventured into the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which was full (but not chock full) of pilgrims. I climbed the steps to the traditional site of Calvary, where I found a host of people praying, reading scripture, and waiting in line to touch the rock where Christ’s cross was planted in the ground. I was able to kneel before the cross in prayer, remembering the awesome sacrifice of my Lord. There he died for my sins, Jesus Son of God taking the punishment for my dirtiness and filth. There he was forsaken by God in my place, so that I might have hope and a relationship with my Creator. It was a powerful moment to be kneeling in prayer at the foot of the cross when the church bells rang out to mark the moment of Christ’s last breath. “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” he cried, and, taking the weight of the world’s sin on his shoulders, died.

Maundy Thursday

2006-04-14T23:05:00.000-07:00

I went to the Western (Wailing) Wall on Thursday to see if there were many Jews there praying to mark the beginning of Pesach. Come to find out, there weren’t, but when I handed my bag to the security guard to be searched there was a problem. I had brought some pita as a snack, and I was informed that I could not bring the chametz into the holy area of the Western Wall during Pesach. I felt like a confused, silly goy, and I had to leave my bread by the metal detector while I went in to scope out the area. It seems that Jewish guards, who are normally on the lookout for terrorists, turn their attention to more serious matters of ceremonial purity during Pesach.

Thursday I celebrated Maundy Thursday for the first time. This holy day commemorates the last supper of Christ, his institution of the Lord’s Supper, his washing of the disciples’ feet, and his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane. I had the chance to visit the Upper Room, the traditional place of the Last Supper(and very similar in appearance to the room in DaVinci’s famous painting) during the day, and later attended Maundy Thursday services with the St. Andrew’s congregation. The evening services marked all three major events in the final night of Christ’s pre-resurrected life. The pastors of the congregation, dressed in their liturgical finery, spent several minutes washing the feet of congregants who came forward. It was a moving reenactment of the final hours of Christ life, where our Lord led his disciples through humble service. I chose not to participate, but eagerly watched as people went forward bare-footed to receive their washing.

Following the foot-washing was a sharing of the Lord’s Supper. Thankfully, the church offers communion even to those who are not official members of the congregation. I was able and eager to participate in the meal remembering Christ’s final night.

After Communion was finished, the pastors “stripped the altar.” They removed all the candles, clothes, and other symbols of faith from the altars and podiums up front. As a final symbolic gesture of the evening, they removed their own pastoral robes. The “stripping of the altar,” as the ceremony is known, symbolizes Christ being stripped of his glory during the Passion.

From the church we proceeded to a place overlooking the traditional sight of the Garden of Gethsemane. Here we remembered Christ’s agony as he submitted to the Father’s will and the taking-on of humanity’s sin. After the service was over, I went to the Church of All Nations which is located adjacent to the Garden. Inside, the church was packed with people remembering the anguish of our Lord. I chose to stay outside near the garden, which is a square plot of land, perhaps a quarter acre, surrounded by a fence. Visitors are not allowed inside the garden (for fear that the ancient olive trees might be stripped clean by souvenir/holy object hunters), but can spend time outside in thought and prayer.

In the Garden of Gethsemane are olive trees dating back perhaps thousands of years. Their disfigured and twisted forms cast eerie shadows over the ground where Christ sweat drops of blood. It’s easy to imagine our Savior here in the darkness and isolation of the olive grove. You can almost see him, falling face-down into the rocky soil crying out, “My father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me.” Here is the God-Man, laid-low by the weight of humankind’s sinfulness.

Many pilgrims line the Garden, praying and weeping at the thought of our Redeemer’s pain. We want to comfort him, to do something to ease his anguish, to keep vigil for him as the disciples had been asked to do. The agony that Christ endures, however, he endures alone. He is “despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; as one from whom men hide their faces he (is) despised, and we esteem… him not.” (Isaiah 53:3) Even his disciples abandon Jesus, and as pilgrims tonight we too will eventually leave the garden where Christ suffers alone.

Pesach seder

2006-04-13T01:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked the beginning of Pesach, the Jewish holiday of Passover. I began the morning with a walk through the ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods around Jerusalem, where I found entire Jewish families burning piles of garbage in the hazy morning sunshine. I found out later that they were burning all the trash from their houses that came into contact with chametz (yeast) according to the Exodus 12:15 command. Some Jews during Pesach symbolically sell their chametz foods to goyim (non-Jews) for a shekel. I, for example, “own” all of my friend Jorie’s food containing yeast. It’s still in her room, and I won’t use any of it, but it’s reflective of Jorie’s practice of the Pesach tradition. Most grocery stores have covered the shelves of chametz foods with plastic tarp, as these foods will be forbidden for Jews in the next week.

Last night I was adopted by a Jewish family for the traditional Passover Seder. If you’ve never been to one, I would highly recommend it as it carries significance for both Jews and Christians (Christ’s Last Supper was a Pesach Seder meal). I spent the evening with Arik, an Israeli fellow in my dorm I’ve come to know quite well. We left Jerusalem around 3:00 pm for his sister’s apartment in Tel Aviv. At 5:30, Arik’s mother picked us up and we drove to his grandparents’ house in Haifa. The highway was packed with traffic, reminding me of Thanksgiving in the States. In Israel, Pesach is much like Thanksgiving. Families, religious or not, assemble to celebrate a large meal in the Passover tradition.

We arrived in Haifa around 7:30, and soon after the rest of Arik’s extended family arrived. There were aunts and uncles, cousins and nephews, moms, dads, brothers, sisters, and grandparents. Arik’s family is secular, but his German grandmother wanted the guys to wear their yarmulkes during the reading of the Hagada, the seder liturgy (?). Family members took turns reading Scripture, prayers, and rabbinical interpretations of the Pesach event while we ate matzah bread, drank wine, and shared in the symbolic Passover foods. It was my first real family-style seder, and I did my best to follow along even though I lost my place in the Hebrew readings several times.

After the Hagada, we shared in the Pesach meal. For starters we had matzah, salad, and chicken-liver pate’ (which, I’m proud to say, I’ve made before and was able to recognize last night!). Next came the matzo-ball soup, flavored with a traditional celery and chicken-broth base. For the main course, we had schnitzel (fried chicken breast breaded with sesame seeds), potatoes, sweet carrots and dates, and a rice dish. The food was delicious, and I was glad to share in a meal that tasted so well coming from an entirely different culture.

After supper we sat around and sang Hebrew songs. I knew a few of them from previous seders I’ve attended, but for some I had to mumble along in my broken, barely-comprehending Hebrew. Arik’s aunt, who led the singing, was kind enough to point out to me the songs we were singing in the song packets. I was definitely a foreigner to the language and tradition, but Arik’s family made me feel like a cousin. The hospitality was incredible, and I was glad to be sitting at the Pesach table last night.

Arik’s grandmother, the matriarch of the family, was the one who headed-up last night’s festivities. She was the first one to serve everyone else, selflessly carrying in dishes and loading up plates before her own. She was not satisfied with the meal until she was certain that everyone had been stuffed to the rim with spectacular Ashkenazi (Western European Jewish) cooking. When we were singing the Hebrew songs, she smiled and looked over at me to make sure I was enjoying myself. At one point, she took me aside to show me the view of the Mediterranean coast from her back porch. During the course of the Pesach meal I realized how much I missed my own grandmas, both having passed away by the time I was seven. I’m not usually one to be sentimental, but the intense desire to be loved by Grandma hit me like a ton of bricks. It’s not that other people in my church and family haven’t taken the place of Grandma in my life, because I do have an amazing family that loves me a lot. It’s just that, for a moment last night, I strongly pined for the grandmotherly touch after experiencing the concerned affection of a Jewish Sabta (grandma).

The evening finished late with hugs, kisses, and goodbyes of "Haag Sameach" (Happy Holiday). We arrived back to Jerusalem around 2:00 am, full of great food, sleepy, and content after a long evening of ancient tradition and love.

Palm Sunday Jubilations

2006-04-09T12:35:00.000-07:00

Today (Palm Sunday) was a blessed day for me in Jerusalem. It began early, with me meeting Elliot and Leigh at 8:30 am for my weekly Sunday morning walk to St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in southern Jerusalem. The weather was a balmy 70 degrees, and bushes of fragrant flowers seemed to line our path to church. If Heaven has a smell, I'm nearly certain it is of the sweetest flowering bushes I get to enjoy here in the Holy Land.

After the church service, we left for Bethpage with a group of Scots. The first part of our pilgrimage took us around the southern side of Mt. Zion and down into the Kidron Valley. We took a short rest at the Grotto of Gethsemane before hiking up the Mt. of Olives (which, by the time we reached the top, seemed like a very real mount to us! I might add that, since we live in Jerusalem, we often do things the difficult way to make them seem more like the treacherous pilgrimages of yore).

Upon reaching the top, we followed the road along the Mount of Olives ridge that leads to the Pater Noster Church, and then turned left down the east side of the mount towards Bethpage. After a short walk we reached the Church of Mary and Martha, where a group had already begun to assemble for the procession. There were all sorts of believers congregating -- Koreans, Germans, Africans, Latinos, Italians, Arabs, Frenchmen, Brits, and countless others. There was an anticipatory and festive feeling in the air. The group, though composed of many nationalities and denominations, was there to honor Christ as our Lord and King in the procession to Jerusalem.

The Palm Sunday procession began with “regiments” of Arab youth marching in Christian uniform. These groups, similar to the Boy and Girl Scouts, wore colorful attire, carried even brighter flags, and were a fine-looking display of Arab Christian youth organizations. Once the children brigades had passed through, those of us watching joined in the procession. Many waved palm fronds, while others carried olive-tree branches plucked from unsuspecting trees. I belonged to the latter group, proudly waving my small bough in honor of the Messiah-King. (I was at first worried that I wasn’t following the tradition properly because I lacked the name-sake Palm Sunday palm branch. Later, though, I read that Matthew and Mark record the crowd as waving “branches from the trees” and “leafy branches,” so I was relieved to realize my participation was thoroughly biblical. Be that as it may, it was a bad day to be an olive or palm tree in Jerusalem.)

We marched again to the top of the Mount of Olives then continued down the western side of the hill towards Jerusalem. The crowd was so excited. People sang praises to God in countless languages, but the resounding “Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna” allowed everyone to sing in unity during the choruses. Some groups worshipped with bongos, guitars, and accordions, others sang ancient hymns in Latin, while still more praised with flutes and waving-flags. It was a bright scene, with emblems of the Jerusalem cross and other Christian characters fluttering in the wind. “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” we remembered and sang while re-tracing the Savior’s path. The mountain itself seemed to resonate with the excited praises and joyful dances of the crowd. The Palm Sunday procession today was the sweetest foretaste of Heaven described in Revelation 7:9-10 that I’ve ever experienced. “After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying our with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!”

Somehow, everyone in the procession made it to the Lion’s Gate of the Old City. The path we took led past the Church of Dominus Flevit, a building resembling a tear drop where Christ’s weeping over Jerusalem is remembered, and the Garden of Gethsemane, where Christ submitted to the Father’s will on the night of his betrayal. While we were all rejoicing in our Lord and Savior, there was still the solemn reminder that in a few days we would be remembering his passion and death. While today was a day of great joy, celebration, and praise, I couldn’t forget that our Lord was welcomed into Jerusalem only days before he was crucified there. It seemed a strange juxtaposition to me. The Christian Holy Week, marking the suffering, death, and resurrection of God himself, begins with a day of great celebration and triumph. I’m still trying to grapple with how this can fit together so beautifully.

Pesach break

2006-04-08T07:01:00.000-07:00

After a week of midterms and a paper, I’ve made to Pesach break. I now have two and a half weeks for Passover break. I really like going to school in a Jewish state, as the holidays break up the semester so well.

The weather seems to have finally warmed up here. Today was mid 70’s, and tomorrow should be about the same. I’m looking forward to Palm Sunday services tomorrow morning at St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church followed by a walk to Bethpage (near the Mt. of Olives) for the traditional Palm Sunday procession into the city. Holy Week is beginning, and I couldn’t be more excited. Some friends and I are going to attend Holy Week services, exchange Easter baskets, and have a great lunch of ham on Easter Sunday (we’ve found a single place so far that sells pork in Jerusalem).

The longer I’ve been here the more thankful I am to be an American. I spoke with an Israeli friend of mine who spent some time working the U.S. He told me that while there he was able to save about a grand a month, something that is impossible for him here in Israel. Wages in the States, he told me, are much better than they are in Israel -- something I never realized. His sister, he shared, makes $25K/yr. as a lawyer in Israel. I’m pretty certain that she could make three or four times that much in the States.

It’s hard for me to take American citizenship for granted anymore. With my State Department-issued passport I am able to travel freely between the West Bank and Israel, unlike many Israelis and Palestinians. Whenever I cross borders, I simply flash my eagle-imprinted blue book at the soldiers and I’m rushed through with ease. It’s an incredible gift to be a citizen of perhaps the most powerful state in the world and be often treated like gold by the militaries of other nations.

I saw some justice happen today, Palestinian-style. I was sitting at Damascus gate, an entrance to the Arab-Muslim part of the city and popular place of buying and selling, when I saw a fellow race towards the gate with something he had stolen. A huge line of young guys chased him until finally they caught him and beat him to the ground. He couldn’t get away, and later collapsed from his injuries. I think he made it all right, though, because I saw him limping away later on. Moral of the story: stealing in Arab society is bad.

I’ll be sure to keep you all updated on Holy Week festivities, with plenty of pictures to go along. Until then, take care.

On Conflict and Terror

2006-04-02T08:14:00.000-07:00

I awoke this morning to the unmistakable sound of an explosion. My eyelids popped wide awake and my heart nearly jumped from my chest -- I was certain the university had been the target of a terror attack. I sat up in my bed and looked over to see if my roommate had been awoken by the blast. After a few seconds I realized that he, too, was no longer sleeping. I asked him what the big bang was, and he replied, “If it was anything bad, we would have heard sirens by now.” He and I both thought that the explosion was a bombing. Thankfully, though, the university had been hit by lightning, and not by a Muslim extremist.

I’ve noticed since coming here that I’m jitterier than usual. I jump at loud noises, from the snapping of bubble gum in peoples’ mouths to the popping of grocery bags blowing across the road as they get run over by motor vehicles. The most annoying and frustrating blasts, in my opinion, are the firecrackers that some Israelis light off in the streets for holidays and the beginning of Shabbat. I have no idea why anyone living in a nation of conflict would light off firecrackers that sound at best like gunshots and at worst like exploding grenades. I’m not sure if Israelis are incredibly adept at discerning bomb blasts from every-day exploding sounds or if I’ve just got a lot to learn. Either way, it’s a great testimony to the Israeli spirit that they’re able to live here without losing their wit’s end or giving in to the frights of terror.

Continuing on this cheery vein of thought, it seems like everyone around here carries a gun. At the entrance to most restaurants, cafes, and stores are armed guards who search people and their bags. It is not uncommon to ride the bus and see a person dressed in street clothes armed with a semi-automatic weapon. I’ve heard that it’s illegal for regular Israelis to own a gun, but many here seem to carry around pistols like their lives depend on it. Israeli soldiers are everywhere too – from the market entrances to the Hebrew University hallways. Most soldiers are my age (3 years of military service for guys and 2 for girls are mandatory here), and they all carry big weapons. Thankfully, most of the time their guns require the ammunition clips to be loaded before they can be effective.

Living in such a military-oriented, conflict-conscious culture bothers me sometimes. It seems like this city and this nation are always on the edge of war and that the present circumstances could always escalate into something bigger. When I get back to the States, I’ll be much more thankful for the stability and safety of DC and my home in Midwestern Ohio. I look forward to going to Wal Mart without having to turn over my backpack to an armed guard for searching. I’ll appreciate going to a street-front restaurant and not having to keep my eyes peeled for suspicious cars.

Being in Israel also makes me look forward to a time when war and conflict won’t be a part of life anymore, anywhere. As a believer in Christ, I’ve got an eternity of peace with God to look forward to regardless of what goes down here on earth. Zion’s Harp #259 goes, “There is a truly blessed land Where purest joy is known, Where hate and strife are ever banned, For Love rules on the throne! For love rules on the throne! No worry entereth that land, No trouble gnaws the heart; There darkness fades at light’s command, And joy makes pain depart! And joy makes pain depart!” Amen to that.

The After-Election Exhale

2006-03-29T09:21:00.000-08:00

Ahh- the Israeli elections are finally over. It’s as if the entire nation has been holding its breath up until now, and the country can now enjoy the satisfaction of exhaling. The elections, from my point of view, meant a whole lot this time around. This vote brought to a head the public’s opinion on Israel’s withdrawal from the West Bank. Each party clearly laid out its position on the withdrawal before the elections, and it appears the new governing coalition (which will likely include Kadima, the centrist party founded by Ariel Sharon, Shas, the religious Sephardic party, Labor, the Socialist-leaning party of David Ben-Gurion and Golda Meir, and the Pensioners, a party of old folks) will be able to continue evacuating the West Bank. This means that, as Kadima head and likely future Prime Minister Ehud Olmert plans, Israel should have its permanent borders by 2010. For a nation that has been defined by conflict, changing borders, and difficult questions of citizenship and identity, the impact of this election will be huge.

Thankfully, there were no successful bombings before the elections. Israeli intelligence is incredible, and it has an amazing ability to capture (or incapacitate, as it were) the most dangerous terrorists.

It’s been an incredible opportunity for me to witness the political process here and not have to take any side in the debate. Back in the States, I’m constantly drawn into discussions and debates and labeled as a conservative Republican -- an identity I tolerate for the sake of ease. While I enjoy political debate at home, I’ve often experienced far too much of it and have become sick and tired of the often-messy and rarely reconciliatory political process (particularly after the 2004 election). Here, though, I can read about the elections with nearly-complete impartiality. I reckon myself a true student of the world, watching Israeli political squabbles (which are often over very important issues) from my high perch as an American study-abroad student. I can see the protests and political rallies without feeling any animosity towards the participants, even if they’re from far-left parties. I am able to walk the streets, read the newspaper editorials, and observe the entire political process without my pulse rising above its normal rate. Despite the tension around me (which seemed like it could be cut with a butter-knife before yesterday), I am completely at ease as an outside observer. I will, after all, be leaving Israel in just 2 1/2 months. The ramifications of this election, while having a huge impact on millions of Israelis and Palestinians, may hardly impact my life in the States.

Travelling with My Visitors

2006-03-28T07:08:00.000-08:00

Mom, Stephanie, and Brad left for home early this morning. I had a great time showing them around Israel, and I’m pretty confident they enjoyed themselves. By the time they left, Mom was discussing the logistics of bringing a group to visit the Holy Land another time. I won’t write much about their visit with me – instead, I’ll let them share with everyone at home how their trip went, the sites they saw, and their impressions of Israel.

I will, though, share a few details about some of the new things I did with the three while they were in town. Friday we had the chance to visit Hezekiah’s Tunnel, written about in 2 Kings 20:20 and 2 Chron. 32:30. The tunnel, which dates back thousands of years, “blocked the upper outlet of the Gihon spring and channeled the water down to the west side of the City of David” (2 Chron. 32:30), ending in the Pool of Siloam. The tunnel, which we reached through a maze of stairs and halls, began deep in the earth. With our sandals and water socks securely fastened, we began wading through the stream that has supplied the City of David with water since ancient times. There was no light in the tunnel except for the flashlights and camera lights that we brought with us. The bottom of the tunnel was often uneven and, because of the poor lighting, we nearly fell into the stream several times. The tunnel winds along for 1750 feet, and some areas forced us to duck and squeeze our way through. It was a wet, fun, and claustrophobic adventure that took us some 45 minutes to complete. For me, the tunnel was a great testament to the historical veracity of Scripture.

Saturday we had the chance to visit Bethlehem and the West Bank. For once, we were not screwed out of money on a tourist trip. We met our cab drivers after the checkpoint and agreed that we would pay 150 shekels (about $32) to see Mar Saba, Herodian (Herod’s ancient palace), and the Church of the Nativity. Four hours later, we were dropped off at the border by our Pakistani driver, who was very unhappy at the amount of time our trip had taken. He demanded more money, but we shrugged our shoulders, told him a deal is a deal, and slipped through the security wall.

Sunday we had the chance to visit the Northern Galilee, the area in which Christ grew up and where the majority of his ministry took place. I was apprehensive about going, since I had never traveled there by myself. We left on a bus very early in the morning and arrived in Tiberias (located midway on the Western shore of the Galilee) around 10:30, after traveling on a road that went straight through the Megiddo Valley (Armageddon!). The day was a bit overcast, but the hilly fields seemed as green as if the sun had been continually shining on them since the beginning of time. After visiting a tourist center, we took a cab to the Mount of Beatitudes, an area traditionally associated with the Sermon on the Mount. The view was beautiful from the top of the mountain with an amazing panorama of the Judean countryside and the Sea of Galilee. Rows of blooming hibiscus plants and meticulously cared-for gardens made the experience even better, lending an exceedingly sweet spring aroma to the already idyllic atmosphere. It was easy to imagine Christ here, teaching his disciples on the ideals of the Kingdom of Heaven amidst the natural beauty and serenity of the hills.

We descended the mount and, after a quick wrong turn and the aid of a kind driver, arrived to Tagbha, the traditional sight where Christ multiplied the loaves and the fishes. There is a church and a monastery there today, built on the foundations (with original mosaics) of an ancient church. From Tagbha we walked on a path that followed the northern coast of the Sea of Galilee to Capernaum. Along the way, we stopped at The Church of the Primacy of St. Peter, a Catholic basilica dedicated to Peter’s authority as the pope (described in Matt. 16:18). I thought it was nice to visit. While I don’t believe in the Catholic interpretation of Matt. 16:18 (or a papacy at all), the church was a good reminder of the Gospel story. I had to smile at Brad, though, who seemed to be theologically cringing the entire time we were there.

After paying homage to the first pope, we walked a mile and half to Capernaum where, before we entered the ancient city, we were greeted by a restaurant with chairs right next to the Galilean beach. Incredibly hungry and tired, we sat down to a great view of the lake and ordered our lunch. Come to find out, the restaurant served authentic fish from the Sea of Galilee, cooked ancient-style with the heads, fins, and tails still attached. We smiled at the fact they we were eating fish like Jesus probably did in the exact spot where he carried out his ministry. It was a tasty meal that, along with our Pepsis and Diet Sprites, made us feel like authentic biblical travelers.

Lunch ended and we entered Capernaum, an ancient city excavated in the last century. At the site are the remains of two important ancient buildings: a synagogue, built after the time of Christ, and the excavated foundations of a Byzantine octagonal church, built on the traditional site of Peter’s house. The former structure had been constructed on top of an even older synagogue dating from the period of Christ. It is likely that Christ was well-acquainted with this synagogue during the time of his ministry, which was the center of Jewish life for the Capernaum area during Roman rule.

We left Capernaum and walked back for what seemed like hours toward the road that leads to Tiberias. Most folks visit the aforementioned sites on a tour bus, so there were no taxi cabs anywhere to relieve our tired legs. Thankfully, once we reached the highway to Tiberias, a kind old Israeli man (who strangely resembled David Ben-Gurion, crazy hair and all) took us back. Along the way, he descbribed how Israelis are creating better and better bananas through cloning. From Tiberias, it was a straight shot back to Jerusalem.

The entire past week was great. I ate so well, walked around so much, and was so glad to have visitors come all the way from the U.S. Today I’m sleepy, but thankfully we have the day off because of the Israeli elections. I’ll update you all tomorrow on the results of the elections. For now, I predict a weak showing for Kadima and a stronger-than-expected turnout for the conservative, anti-withdrawal parties.

Also, enjoy these pictures from the past week.

Mt. Sinai

2006-03-23T05:13:00.001-08:00

Mom and Stephanie’s luggage has been located, and it is on its way to Jerusalem. They ought to be able to take home some of the pile of souvenirs that they’ve been buying, thank goodness, and it feels as if everything is going to be all right.

That said, my birthday was a very nice time in the Sinai last week. On Tuesday night, I was taken out to eat at a very nice restaurant by the fellows. At midnight, we marked my birthday with a toast under the stars on the beach. The ladies got me a birthday card along with some sesame seed bars, my favorite snack here in the Middle East. Wednesday evening, Josh arranged to have a cake delivered to our hotel that wished me a Happy Birthday in Arabic. The hotel mangers came out, sang the Arabic birthday song to me, and we all had a piece of the delicious cake. Josh had been very perceptive as I talked about wanting to get some souvenirs from Dahab, and got me a giant red Dahab beach towel that I’ll take home and use proudly (I’ve seen beach towels from the Caribbean- but honestly, one from the Red Sea? I’m excited). My birthday was a great testimony to the great friendship of Elliot, Josh, Leigh, and Leah. They all did a lot to make my birthday unforgettable in many, many ways.

Wednesday night, after our cake, we left on a trip for Mount Sinai. The van left at 11:00 pm so that we could climb Mt. Sinai and see the sun rise in the morning. The trip, which would be less than a day long, cost us 50 Egyptian Pounds (less than $10 US), including transportation.

The ride from Dahab to Mt. Sinai took two hours. Most of us slept, hoping to get a little rest before we ascended the mountain. We arrived at Mt. Sinai at 1:00 am, eager to climb the mountain where, according to Exodus 19:20, “the Lord came down.” We began our journey at the foot of Sinai, near St. Catherine’s Monastery. Several people had told us we could ascend on the camel trail, which was long and winding but not very steep, or the stairs of repentance (so named because monks climb up the 3600 stairs to the top in repentance – perhaps because they decided to take the difficult way up?). Since it was dark and we had never visited the mount, we took the camel trail.

Soon, it seemed like we had no idea where the trail was going. A Bedouin guide offered to take us up the mountain for 50 Egyptian Pounds, an offer we politely refused, thank you, because we were Americans and we were going to make it on our own. The guide told us he was going up the mountain anyways, though, and offered his services free of charge.

Climbing Mt. Sinai in the moonlight was quite an experience, in more ways than one. At night, the giant boulders and strange rock formations gave us the impression that we were traveling on another planet – perhaps Mars or Jupiter. To make the landscape even stranger, Bedouin guides kept camels along the path for tired pilgrims ascending the mountain. These camels, with their extra-terrestrial faces and alien humps, seemed to blend in with the boulders that littered the areas surrounding our path. When the camels would move to watch us walk by, it seemed as if the stones themselves were coming alive and gazing at our progress.

Josh and I were able to walk up the entire 6 kilometer mountain path, keeping pace even with our Bedouin guide. I’m certain that Josh’s, the Bedouin’s, and my own pride was working overtime to keep our legs moving in a brisk walk up the giant hill. My legs ached by the time we reached the top, and I’m certain my calves swelled to the size of beach balls (well, maybe not the size of beach balls -- certainly big oranges, though). Elliot, Leigh, and Leah took camels up, and we reached the summit around 3 am. Thankfully, the Bedouins at the top had blankets and mattresses to rent for cold and sleepy travelers like ourselves. We got some bedding, found a nice perch overlooking the eastern horizon, huddled together (no worries about any monkey business -- we were all exhausted from the climb up), and fell asleep for a few hours.

We awoke around 5:30 as more and more people arrived on top of the mountain to witness the main event. The mountain horizon now had a faint glow, like the embers of a fire after the flames have died down. It was still very cold. The wind on the mountain forced us to huddle together for warmth as we awaited the expected sun. Soon, the horizon became brighter and brighter. When it seemed like we could wait no longer, a sliver of the sun pierced through the mountain rock. The ancient hills slowly gave birth to the glowing orange star. The shape of the sun became more and more clear as it appeared over the horizon and, before we could catch our breath, the mountains had fully given birth to the glowing warmth of the day. The sun, after breaking free from the mountains, hovered precariously over the horizon. For a few startling moments I worried that the sun might fall back into the hills and that we would be plunged back into darkness. Thankfully, though, our star continued on its trek across the sky and continued to shine her rays on our chilly place.

It really amazed me to see how great of an impact the sunshine had on us. Before the sun came up, we were freezing on a foreign mountain. Everything seemed strange and a strong chill pervaded the air. After the sun rose, though, the entire mountain was changed. Suddenly the threatening rock formations became magnificent sculptures and the imposing mountains turned into a grand panoramic view. As the air warmed up, the cold of the night was forgotten and in its place came the pleasant glow of morning. Everyone’s faces changed from a cold scowl to a warm smile. I remember the face of a particular French nun, sitting by herself on the rock, joyfully smiling into the morning sun. A group of Asian believers broke into singing the melody of “This Is My Father’s World.” I’m so thankful that, like the sunshine I saw on Mt. Sinai, God has also seen fit to give me a spiritual light in Christ. “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Cor. 4:6). The light of Christ, like the sunshine on Mt. Sinai, changes the way everything appears. Experiencing the love of Christ adds an unspeakable joy and warmth to life, giving us an incredible “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.”

After our mountain-top experience, we descended from the heights. On our return trip, we took all 3600 stairs of repentance. By the end of the trail, we were just about “wretched and mourn(ing) and weeping” (James 4:9). Our knees ached from the constant strain of uneven steps, and our backs were sore from carrying heavy back-packs of extra clothes.

We had the chance to visit St. Catherine’s monastery when it opened at 9:00 am. I must say, it was very similar to other Greek Orthodox churches I have visited. There were plenty of icons and relics present, including a finger on display which I presume once belonged to St. Catherine herself. Also within the monastery was the burning bush, supposedly the original plant through which God manifested himself to Moses. The plant didn’t appear to be burning, though, and neither did it look like a bush. Instead, it appeared to me to be a giant, sprawling mass of green vines. Needless to say, I was a little disappointed by Moses’ burning bush.

After visiting the monastery, (which, I must add, was packed full of tourists including several small, pushy, rude Korean women with giant plastic visors nicely matching their outfits), we returned to Dahab plum tuckered out. It had been a long and physically demanding trip, so we crashed on the beach for the rest of the afternoon.

Dahab

2006-03-20T12:34:00.000-08:00

I’ve just returned from spending the afternoon and evening with Mom, Stephanie, and Pastor Brad. We had a nice trip to the Mount of Olives, followed by a filling meal at a Shish Kabob restaurant. It’s great to see the Holy Land with those who have just arrived – their reactions remind me of myself a couple months ago as I gaped and grinned at every new sight in Jerusalem (spoken as one who has been here for a whole two months already ). Mom and Stephanie’s luggage is still missing and AirFrance still has no idea where it might be. I think they’re settling in for the long haul without their luggage. Both bought some essentials today that should get them through a few more days.

Last week was Purim here in Israel. Purim is the Jewish holiday celebrating the story of Queen Esther and how she rescues the Jewish people from destruction. The holiday is marked by Jews around the world with revelry, joy, and a carnival-like atmosphere. Here in Israel, children dress up in costumes (which I’m convinced are leftovers from Halloween celebrations elsewhere), people send each other Purim baskets (very similar to Easter baskets), and it is a mitzvah – a command – for Jews to get drunk on the holiday until they no longer know right from wrong. We were given Tuesday and Wednesday (March 14th and 15th) off of school to celebrate. Some friends and I seized the opportunity for a short vacation during Purim (and my birthday, coincidentally) to head on down to the Sinai Peninsula, which is a part of Egypt.

We left Jerusalem for Eilat very early Tuesday morning. After a pleasant bus ride, we crossed the border into Egypt. The atmosphere was completely different from what we had experienced in both Jordan and Israel. Egypt was laid-back and friendly! The border guards joked with us, and the folks offering us cab rides were willing to negotiate the price. The border police and the cab drivers at the border were lounging around, chatting, and seemed to be having a good time. Our trip was off to a great, friendly start.

We got into a van that promised to take us to Dahab – our beach destination located about a 2 hour ride south on the Sinai shore of the Red Sea. The trip was quite an experience. The road took us along the coast of the Red Sea -- a beautiful, crystal-blue ocean that seems to assault the rusty-red foothills and mountains of the Sinai wilderness. Our driver stopped us halfway to visit his friend, who runs a resort (or perhaps a retreat center?) of straw huts on the beach. We shared some Bedouin tea with our host, who then offered us some smoldering cannibis. We politely refused, as did our taxi driver(thankfully).

We reached Dahab in a good and safe time. While we had heard of a hostel to stay at for 15 Egyptians pounds per room per night (1 U.S. Dollar = 5.75 Egyptian Pounds), our driver took us to the Penguin Hotel belonging to another friend of his, who offered us rooms for 30 Egyptian Pounds per night. We were satisfied with the price, the hotel (which offered snorkeling, scuba, taxi, beach front restaurant, and any other services we required), and the hotel’s beach-front location, so we decided to stay.

Dahab is a gem of a town on the Red Sea. It is a center on the Sinai coast for all sorts of ocean recreation- from scuba diving, to wind surfing, to snorkeling and tanning. I heard one fellow say that the Dahab of today is what Sharm El Sheik used to be like (the latter us a hugely popular, but commercialized, resort city on the southern Sinai tip). Since the Egyptian economy is in such poor shape, everything in Dahab is well within the bounds of a college traveler’s budget. Josh and I, who shared a room, stayed four nights and each paid 60 Egyptian Pounds for our room (about $12 US.) We ate very extravagant meals each night for dinner, and they only cost us $6-7 US. The restaurants seemed to compete with each other to see which ones could out-do the others in good deals. One night, for example, we had a 5 course meal (soup, bread and salad, main course, dessert, Bedouin tea) for the price of our entree. Basically, we ate very well and very much for the four days we were there. Anything our bellies desired was ours to have for a small price – from mango smoothies while we were sprawled out on pillows on the beach to platefuls of hummos and pita after a snorkeling expedition among the coral reefs.

Our days mainly consisted of eating, sleeping, reading, sleeping, eating, snorkeling, sleeping, eating, reading, and sleeping -- all of which took place very close to the beach. It was a nice, restful time, but I was ready to leave our hedonistic lifestyle by the final day of our trip. Perhaps it’s because of Dad’s (and now my own) work ethic, but I felt pretty useless while there and actually looked forward to returning to Jerusalem for some homework. I lived the high life for a few days, and, while I’m thankful for the chance I had to relax on the beach, I was well-prepared to give up the lifestyle encouraging me to “Eat, drink, and be merry.”

While I was in Egypt, though, I was able to watch the sun rise on Mt. Sinai, visit St. Catherine’s Monastery, and celebrate my 21st birthday. I’ll write on those events, and some general comments on Egypt, in my next blog.

Short Update

2006-03-19T13:08:00.000-08:00

I've returned safely from my birthday trip to the Sinai. Mom, Stephanie, and Brad have arrived safe-and-sound from the States for a week and half visit. Unfortunately, Mom and Stephanie's luggage has been lost, so we're waiting to see what happens. Hopefully it will be returned to them tomorrow. I cannot write a long update on my blog right now because of some Hebrew homework commitments, but I'll certainly post a lot on my Sinai trip as soon as I can. Until then, you can check out my pictures from the trip at http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2012141&l=f8e79&id=1407506 .

Jerusalem Culture

2006-03-12T11:50:00.000-08:00

I was in the Jewish shook on Friday afternoon shortly before Shabbat started. Vendors are eager to sell as much as possible before the day of rest begins, so they offer great bargains on fruit, vegetables, pita, and sweets. As we were walking around, we noticed a very religious Jew enter the shook dressed in his Shabbat best. He had on what looked like a velvet outer jacket, his furry Shabbat hat, and carried a tin horn with him. He was a small fellow – the type who was certainly picked on by his classmates at Hebrew day school when he was little. This day in the shook, however, he commanded (or rather demanded) respect from all the vendors. The small Jewish fellow approached sellers who were still open and blew his loud tin horn at them, letting them know that Shabbat was starting and that it was imperative for them to close their shops. The noise was incredibly annoying, so the sellers quickly turned off their lights and acted like they were shutting down to send the religious Jew on his way. After he left, though, most turned their lights back on to redeem a few more moments of daylight sales. Several vendors took the horn-blowing Heredi (ultra-religious fellow) as a joke, laughing at his attempt to order them about on Shabbat Eve. I couldn’t help but smile at the fellow, and I followed him around as he blew his trumpet demanding that others conform to his Shabbat convictions.

The Arab fellows here in Jerusalem are far less homophobic than guys in the States. It’s not uncommon to see two guys walking down the sidewalk, arms linked together as a sign of friendship. It’s also not uncommon to see two guys kissing each other several times on the cheek as a friendly (although certainly different than where I come from) greeting.

The mullet is back. That’s right -- the hairstyle that is “business in front, party in the back” has returned to haunt a new generation here in Israel and the territories. I haven’t seen many Jews with the hairstyle from the 80’s and 90’s, but several Palestinians have taken up its look. Once my hair grows a little longer, I may get a mullet myself. I won’t look as slick as the sharp Arab guys who where the style with plenty of grease, but I’m confident I’ll be able to pull off a hillbilly version.

I had the chance to visit St. George’s Church today, a huge and beautiful basilica built by the Church of England. There was a special multi-denominational Lenten service this evening, so I was eager to participate. After the service took place, a soiree of sorts was held in the church’s garden with drinks and desserts. There were Catholics, Anglicans, Presbyterians, Baptists (me), and all sorts of people present. One of the Roman Catholic priests at the reception went around offering bread that had yesterday been blessed by the Greek Orthodox Patriarch of Jerusalem. It seems that the Catholic priest and Greek patriarch had been a part of an ecumenical service together yesterday, and the priest, out of great sensitivity, did not want to throw away a lot of bread that the Greek father had blessed. So, he eagerly went around the garden party today offering the bread (which few in attendance held with any special significance) in order to make sure that none got wasted. He was a kind, comical, and very caring priest who did not want to upset the inter-denominational peace that is so easily disturbed here.

A Rainy Day in Jerusalem

2006-03-09T06:19:00.000-08:00

The weather suddenly became very cold today. Strong winds are driving a light but chilly rain down onto Yerushalayeem shel Zahav (Golden Jerusalem), so that the holy city isn’t quite living up to its name. When it rains here, the pavement stones get very slippery. Many of the walkways on the Mt. Scopus campus are paved with Jerusalem stone, which is a marine limestone that loses all its traction when wet. It’s a beautiful white pavement, but very treacherous in wet weather.

I began volunteering this week at Musalaha, an organization that works toward reconciliation between Arab and Messianic Jewish believers. When I first came to Israel, I had hoped to volunteer at an organization that focuses on blessing Israel, as many Christian Evangelical organizations here do. I visited and applied to work at one such group, which has many ongoing projects to help and encourage Israelis in need. After my visit to the organization and reading some of its literature, however, I realized that I strongly disagreed with some of the group’s beliefs. The head of the organization, for example, had once suggested that God punished the United States through Hurricane Katrina for its support of Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza. I was clearly not so well-tuned into understanding God’s purposes as was this brother, and I was quickly called to help somewhere else.

Musalaha publishes books, organizes retreats of reconciliation for Arab and Jewish believers, and holds conferences on issues of doctrines, politics, and their relation to faith. The political and theological divide between believers can be very deep here, but Musalaha works to bring all together under the banner of Christ. The organization is all about repentance, forgiveness, and fellowship in the Messiah. I will probably be doing simple jobs around the office, but I hope to help out in any way I can. I believe that God’s heart is broken by the many divisions in His church today. Disunity in the Body of Christ is especially apparent here in Jerusalem, where churches are split by doctrine, history, and nationality. I hope to play a small role at Musalaha in helping to bridge some of these gaps, so that, as believers, we can all come closer to having “one body and one Spirit -— just as you were called to one hope when you were called -— one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.” (Eph. 4:4-6)

Not Just Another Day in Bethlehem

2006-03-05T09:21:00.000-08:00

I spent this past weekend on a second trip to Bethlehem. While I thought the first trip was pretty incredible, looking back it pales in comparison to what I experienced this time.

Josh, Leanne, and I left midday on Saturday for the West Bank city of Bethlehem. Hoping to save some money on cab fare, we decided to take the Palestinian bus from Damascus gate to the military crossing/check point across from Bethlehem. The bus ride went off without a hitch, proving our fears of vehicles with blue stripes and Arabic writing baseless. We reached the security checkpoint, which is located adjacent to the wall Israel has built to separate itself from the West Bank. This was my first close-up experience of the wall, and, at the expense of sounding redundant, I must say it really was quite a wall. Regardless of what one thinks of Israel’s policy in regard to the building of the structure, one cannot help but be reminded of its similitude to another wall separating democratic Western Germany from Communist Eastern Germany in Berlin. On both sides of the wall was protest graffiti, adding even more resemblance to the aforementioned barrier.

We were allowed to enter Bethlehem without a problem, and took a cab to the Church of the Nativity. Although the church was not new for me and Josh, we did meet some new people inside. After a short conversation, we befriended Dominic, a Palestinian expatriate who has lived in Australia for some 27 years, and his friend George, a Palestinian citizen who married an American and is moving to the States in a couple of weeks. They quickly became our guides, expecting nothing but to share with us their excited knowledge of Bethlehem and its mysteries. They first took us to the Tomb of the Innocents, an ancient burial site said to be filled with the bones of the infants Herod murdered at the time of Christ’s birth. The door leading down to the tomb had a lock on it, but George’s friendship with a priest in the church helped secure us our entrance. Inside the cold tomb were human bones piled in stacks. Few of the bones looked like they were from infants, but Dominic maintained they were in fact from the time of Christ. Along with the bones, the dim light and Greek Orthodox icons hanging on the walls gave me a strong case of the heeby-jeebies.

After the visit to the tomb, Dominic took us see the Milky Grotto, the traditional place where Mary fed Christ after the holy family left the manger and stable. The grotto, which seemed more like a cave than a place of worship, was marked by a crumbly white substance mixed in with its walls carved from the rock. Dominic told me to rub the rock and taste the powdery substance, which supposedly would remind me of milk. I listened, but the powder just tasted like chalk. In the grotto were pictures of Mary feeding Christ, and I thought that this was perhaps the only place in all of Christendom where such a graphic representation of Mary’s breast was acceptable.

After the Milky Grotto, Dominic left us to go visit his family. George remained, though, and offered us a special tour. After having an early dinner at his friend’s knock-off Subway restaurant (with the Subway logo and all -- apparently corporate trademarks don’t matter much in the West Bank), we got into a cab that George arranged for us. We had no idea where he was going to take us, but soon enough were heading out of town and towards the hills of Jordan. As we went away from Bethlehem, the land became less and less fertile and the homes (and people) became poorer and poorer. After a 45 minute drive, we reached a beautiful outlook point over the West Bank/Jordanian border. Still, though, our cab ride continued. We crept along dangerous precipices, curving our way along a dusty dirt road that seemed to lead to nowhere. Our prize at the end of the drive, however, was well-worth the wait. In the middle of the rocky desert hills was an ancient Greek Orthodox monastery, the second-oldest continually inhabited monastery in all of Christendom. Only the men were allowed to enter, so Leanne and George’s wife had to remain outside while we explored the splendors of Mar Saba.

We entered through a gate guarded by a Greek Orthodox monk, clad in black hat, robe, and long beard. After climbing down some steps, George, Josh, and I were greeted by an American Greek Orthodox monk who lived, worked, and prayed at the monastery. The secluded retreat was founded in the 6th century by St. Saba, a fellow who appreciated the desert wilderness and its harsh rocky environment as a place to pray and meditate. After his death, the monk told us, the saint’s body remained in tact even though it had not been mummified. We were then taken to the large chapel of the monastery, where we were able to see St. Saba himself, laid out exhibition-style behind a class barrier. His skin was wrinkly and tearing away from his bones in some places, but I’d say he looked quite well for spending some 1500 years in the desert. The damage to his skin didn’t seem to be anything that a little moisturizer couldn’t fix.

After visiting the chapel, arrayed in its Eastern Orthodox icons and religious finery, we were told a little history of the monastery and Greek Orthodoxy. At one time, it had housed over 5000 monks. Today, however, there were only 17. The Eastern Orthodox Church, our monk-guide told us, was the oldest and most-genuine form of Christian faith. I was hardly impressed with his proselytizing efforts, but I really did appreciate the old monk’s hospitality. He offered us a drink after the tour, invited us back again in the future, and then allowed us to leave before the monastery’s evening prayers began. (Click on this link to read another fellow’s experience Mar Saba)

The visit to the monastery left us with our jaws hanging wide open, and we returned to Bethlehem after a day of grand adventure and excitement. George offered to take us to Jericho next weekend -- another mark of his amazing hospitality. I cannot overemphasize the generosity, welcome, and kindness we received from our Palestinian friend and his wife this weekend. He paid for our taxi rides, meals, and anything else we may have needed. When we offered him money, George shrugged us off and wouldn’t allow us to pay. Overall, it was an amazing time experiencing the sights, sounds, and life of Bethlehem.

This week

2006-03-02T23:15:00.000-08:00

I had the chance to visit the Arabic Evangelical Alliance Church on Sunday. The service was very similar to one in any church at home- it opened with a time of praise and worship, followed by a sermon, announcements, and closing prayers. The service was entirely in Arabic, but thankfully they provided the English-speakers with headphone translation during the sermon. It was interesting to see their perspective and interpretation of Scripture, particularly from a replacement-theology point of view. A reading of Psalm 87, for example, that included in verse 2, “The LORD loveth the gates of Zion more than all the dwellings of Jacob,” was applied directly to the Church. At the end of the service a day of prayer and fasting was proclaimed for the International Bible Society in Gaza, which has recently been threatened by terrorists and bombings.

I’ve decided to observe the Liturgical calendar as much as I can this Easter season. Being in Jerusalem has provided me with an amazing opportunity to explore the ancient traditions of Christian faith, with places like the Church of the Holy Sepulcher just a walk away from my dorm. That being said, I was able attend an Ash Wednesday mass with some Catholic friends to mark the beginning of Lent. We left campus at 5:30 in the morning to ensure we would arrive at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher for the 6:30 service. Once we got there, we realized the group of parishioners would be very small for the English service (there were about ten of us, including a few clergymen). The interesting thing about the service, though, was that it was presided over by a cardinal. That’s right -- a prince of the Roman Catholic Church conducted a nearly-private Ash Wednesday mass for me and my friends at the traditional sight of Christ’s crucifixion. Now, don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly believe in the “priesthood of all believers” and am convinced that all people, regardless of their outward piety or position, are desperately in need of Jesus Christ and the grace that he offers. Still, it was really something special to see a church official in such high authority offer a service to such a small group of believers on the hill where tradition marks the place of Christ’s crucifixion.

A few days ago I was really hungry in the morning, so I went to my cupboard for some whole-wheat pita made fresh a day and a half before. I pulled a piece out and, being in a sleepy haze, immediately bit into it. Come to find out, what seemed like a million ants had reached my breakfast before me. I got a mouth full of the crawling arthropods along with my pita. There seem to be a lot more bugs here, at least as far as ants go, than back at home. I wonder if it’s because all the sand here makes it easy for them to build sprawling ant-empires. Maybe, though, it’s just because a lazy American doesn’t wrap up his pita well enough.

Petra, Part 2

2006-02-27T04:42:00.000-08:00

After I had coffee in front of my new Mormon friend, our group left for Petra. Arriving around 11:30, we entered the park to be accosted by Bedouin guides offering us horse, camel, or donkey rides down the canyon to the main attractions of the ancient city. Bedouins are, as my friend describes, “hippies in the desert.” They live a nomadic lifestyle, are Muslim, seem generally darker in complexion than Arabs, and are very laid-back. We declined the offer for a ride, and began walking the long corridor through canyon to the city carved from rock (check out my pictures and http://www.see-jordan.com/petra.html for more details). The dramatic entrance facing the Treasury after walking through the canyon was incredible- it was like finding a cut diamond inside the natural beauty of an unfinished emerald. We immediately met up with a Bedouin whom Deb and Leanne had met the day before and shared a cup of tea with him. We then explored the many carved rocks and rooms of Petra, most of which were nearly a couple millennia old. The city is featured in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, but many Christians believe it is the place to where the remnant of Israel will flee in the End Times (for me info, see http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=22539). Before visiting Petra I thought this belief was superstitious and a bit crazy. After seeing the city and its vast amount of bunkers and rooms, though, it was really easy for me to imagine a large community of people taking shelter there.

For the late afternoon we trekked up some 1000 stairs to see the Monastery. From there, it was a short distance to a mountain peak that offered stunning views of Jordan and Israel. My breath was taken away to see the magnificence of God’s creation, and I was really humbled by the grandeur of the moment. I sat speechless on a very high peak, wondering why God, the Creator of the heavens and earth, would care for me, such a small and insignificant person. What a wonderful and amazing love is our God’s, and what a privilege is it for us to be known by Him!

The mountain was so calm. The sun warmed the rock upon which I sat, and a slight breeze made the day perfect. It seemed like I was a thousand miles away from all civilization, and a few birds flying in the distance were the only signs of movement I could see. Sitting where I was, on the precipice of a lofty cliff, it seems like I should have been afraid of falling. Still, save for being in the arms of my parents as I child, I cannot recall a time when I have felt more safe or secure than I did when looking down from the mountain-top. David’s words in Psalm 62:6, “He only is my rock and my salvation: he is my defence; I shall not be moved,” were made very real to me. Though on my own I may have fallen into very deep chasm, the rock was holding me up. There is hardly a greater feeling in the world than to know that I am able to go to the eternal rock- God- whenever I am about to fall off the cliff of life.

We watched the sunset from high upon our perch. Thankfully, some gracious Bedouins offered to take us out of the park after the sun went down (the mountain-top was nearly a two-hour hike from the entrance to the park). So, after it got dark, we began our hike down the mountain. The stars – clearer and brighter than I have ever seen -- came out and illuminated our treacherous path. One of our Bedouin guides told us, “You go back to your hotel with five stars, I go to sleep under a million.” The park was much different by night, being both more romantic and more treacherous. The way back through the canyon, for example, seemed like the perfect place to “fall among a band of robbers,” but the Treasury by starlight was a sight I will never want to forget.

We made it back to the hotel in one piece to be greeted by an extravagant Middle Eastern buffet that cost us 5 dinari. We went to bed shortly after that. Josh and I returned to the park in the morning to do some more exploring of caves, and decided to leave Jordan on that afternoon.

On the way back to the Israeli border, we decided to take the services. Our cab driver in Petra, who took us from the park to the central bus station, told us the services weren’t running and that he could take us to the border for 25 dinari. I wasn’t about to take his lies, and ended up in a near-shouting match with the driver as I demanded that he take us to the central bus station. Josh thought it was pretty funny, but our manipulative driver ended up dropping us off where we needed to be. We took a service from Petra to Maan, and then from Maan to Aqaba. The total cost of our return trip was $14 dinari, compared to the $35 dinari trip that was required of our initial arrival.

Some general observations about Petra:

We saw a Muslim lady in the park who was wearing a Burka. Her husband was taking a picture of her, completely veiled, with their small daughter in front the Treasury.

On the service from Maan to Aqaba, they made the girls on the trip sit next to each other.

Bedouins are looked down upon by Arabs, but the former were by far the friendliest and most-honest people we encountered on our trip.

Some of the Jordanian land we saw looked like Mars. Other parts reminded me of poppy-seed rolls.

We couldn’t speak in Hebrew or on anything regarding Israel while we were in Jordan, for fear that we might upset the Muslims. This was really tough to do.

Petra, Part 1

2006-02-26T10:50:00.000-08:00

Petra was an amazing weekend. If I wouldn’t have taken the pictures, I’m not sure I would have believed the memories that I have of the time I spent in Jordan.

Josh and I left early Thursday morning from the central Jerusalem bus station on an autobus headed for Eilat, Israel’s southern-most city and port on the Red Sea. The trip, which lasted about four and a half hours, took us through the Israeli countryside and through the Negev Desert. The waters of the Dead Sea looked temptingly refreshing as the morning sunshine streamed through our window and warmed the bus.

We reached the border crossing, paid the exit fee from Israel, and walked across a stretch of no-man’s land. It was eerie to be between two nations -- it felt almost like a state of perdition. We reached the Jordanian side, got our passports stamped (they asked us what our religion was), and began looking for a service, a cheap shared-van to Petra. We had heard that we could find one for a dinar and a half (one Jordanian dinar = 1.41 American dollars), but the entire crossing was desolate, save a few Jordanian officials shooting the breeze like Sheriffs in an empty Old West town. As we exited the crossing, a Jordanian official approached us and pointed us to a cab that was waiting. We told him we wanted a service, but he lied through his teeth and claimed that there were none running. There was nothing we could do, because we were foreigners, no one else was around, and it was a really long walk through military checkpoints to the nearest city. So, we were taken advantage of and required to pay 35 dinari for the ride to Petra. We passed up several services on the way there.

We reached the hotel in one piece, paid our extravagant cab fee, and settled into our room. The room, which was just 15 dinari a night for both me and Josh, was huge, looked luxurious, and had an incredible view. The toilet wouldn’t flush anything down and the shower-head was broken, but other than that the hotel was really nice.

For dinner, I met Sam, Eric, Leanne, Deb, and Rachel in the hotel’s restaurant. We had a huge meal of traditional Middle Eastern food. It was Rachel’s birthday, and apparently the son of the hotel’s owner, a fellow our age, took a liking to her. He told us all to go up to the girls’ hotel room after the meal so that he could bring Rachel a birthday surprise. We were kind of worried, thinking that this fellow, whom we had only met that day, may present himself or a friend of his as a birthday present/groom for our unsuspecting friend. Our fears were eased, though, when he brought up a huge birthday caked with the richest frosting and filling I’ve ever tasted. His motives still remained questionable, however, because he then invited Rachel to the hotel’s Turkish bath for a free birthday treat. Seeing through his poorly disguised advances, we decided that Rachel would not be going to the Turkish bath alone with the hotel owner’s son (whom we called the Prince of Wadi Musa, because he knew everyone and was related to just as many in town). Long story short, while I went to bed, many of my traveling-buddies got free Turkish baths (with their swimming suits on) because the Prince liked Rachel.

In the morning, I awoke, had some coffee in the hotel’s restaurant, and was able to spend some time speaking with an older lady I had seen on the bus ride from Jerusalem. Come to find out, she was exploring the Middle East like we were and was spending most of her trip at a hotel in Bethlehem. I spoke with her for nearly a half hour, discussing topics like Israel’s role in the End Times, the dilemma of Palestinian Christians, and many other themes regarding Israel, the West Bank, and our faith. I thought the lady was a saint, and I agreed with her on nearly everything we spoke about. I thought she may be a Baptist or perhaps a Presbyterian with a heart for the people of the Middle East. I noticed later, however, that she wasn’t drinking any coffee. Come to find out, the kind little lady I was speaking with was Mormon. Apparently, Mormons like Israel and discussing End Times theology just like Christians do. It really bothers me, though, that much of her faith is heresy. It was a good reminder for me to pray for Mormons, that they might come to know the Christ and faith of Christianity.

Pre-Petra

2006-02-22T14:27:00.000-08:00

I am glad to say that Ulpan is finally over. It’s been an intense five weeks of language study, with me taking Hebrew like it was my job, but I’ve completed the “Aleph” (first) level and am ready to start the regular semester.

My buddy Josh returned from the States tonight, and tomorrow we head to Jordan. I’m looking forward to traveling with him, because he’s the only person I know here that can speak Arabic. I’m sure this will come in handy at the border crossings, hotels, and in other things. Middle Eastern culture is interesting because often-times people who provide you with services or products will try anything to screw you out of money. It is nothing for them to lie straight to your face, telling you that the chitzey cross necklace (the one you can buy at any elementary school Santa’s Shop around December) you’re looking into buying is made of real gold and diamonds. When bargaining, it’s important to start out and remain at a very low price. Jordan should be an adventure because I’m even more of a foreigner there and there will be even greater possibilities for me to lose my shekels to dishonest or greedy salespeople/service providers.

Walking around in Western Jerusalem (the Israeli and Jewish areas), I’ve noticed that many Jewish fellows with peyos (those long locks of hair that fall from the sides of many an Orthodox fellow’s temple) enjoy curling them in public. They twist the curls around their fingers, wrapping and re-wrapping them in public. It’s amusing to see older gentlemen restlessly curling and playing with their hair as they wait for the bus or walk to the market.

It’s citrus season here in Israel. There seem to be orange, lemon, tangerine, and kumquat trees everywhere bearing down under the weight of their succulent fruits. Even trees that line the roads, planted here like the maples or oaks on the tree-lawns of Westfield, are full of luscious fruit to tempt the passer-by. This land truly is the land of “chalav o’dvash,” of milk and honey, as Exodus 3:8 points out. The smallest trees, perhaps planted only last year, are full of fruit even now. It seems a miracle that these tiny and often sickly looking trees bear anything at all, let alone a handful of citrus. It reminds me of how I am as a believer in Christ. I’m a small, sickly-looking tree without much to offer on my own. It’s only by the grace of God that I can produce anything of value. With His help and through His mercies, however, it’s possible that I “produce(d) a crop, multiplying thirty, sixty, or even a hundred times." (Mark 4:8)

Hallelujah, I'm a (beach) Bum!

2006-02-18T21:51:00.000-08:00

Last night I returned from a weekend trip to Tel Aviv, Israel’s largest, and perhaps hippest, city. We left Friday morning on a school-sponsored tour to see the oldest part of the city, Neve Tzedek. I must admit, I wasn’t that impressed by the historical spot. It is scarcely over 100 years old, and the tour guide seemed hard-pressed for stories about the significance of the area. We saw, for example, a dilapidated kiosk that was, according to our guide, the “second oldest in Tel Aviv.” It reminded me, though, that the modern state of Israel is so young (approaching 60 years), and that contemporary history there doesn’t go very far back.

After the tour we visited an artists fair. We had a lunch of humus and pita -- something I’ve eaten much of here -- in a small café, and then headed down to the beach. The weather in Tel Aviv is significantly warmer than in Jerusalem. Friday the weather was in the low to mid-60’s, and Saturday it was around 70, with bright sunshine nearly all day. We hung out at the beach both days, getting ourselves sunburned, wading in the ocean (the water was still chilly), and enjoying the nearly-tropical weather. Friday night we stayed in a $10/night hostel, which was cosier and far more eclectic than a hotel. Overall, it was a great, sun-filled weekend. If I return to Tel Aviv, it will certainly be for the beaches there.

I was able to spend some more time speaking with my Christian Palestinian shopkeeper friend in the Old City, this past week. He is actually an elder in his church, a very dangerous position in which to find oneself in the largely-Muslim West Bank. He told me that at his church are former Muslims and former Hamas members, and that, if certain people knew he was a pastor, he could lose his life. He also shared that there is a large underground church in the West Bank where people secretly worship Christ out of fear that they may be hurt or killed for their beliefs. span>

The pastor told me that he, and most Palestinian Christians, believe in replacement theology. This set of beliefs teaches that the Church has completely replaced Israel in God’s plan of redemption for mankind. Thus, God’s old covenant with Israel no longer is applicable and his new covenant with the Church, inaugurated in Christ, is the only covenant that matters. With this view, Jews no longer hold any special place in God’s unfolding plan, and the modern state of Israel cannot be justified using biblical or theological arguments.

My Palestinian ach (brother, in Hebrew) lives in a refugee camp in the West Bank with his family. He has to cross the wall that Israel is building to separate the West Bank from the rest of Israel every day on his way to work. He shared with me that he had once been asked for a 500 shekel bribe from an Israeli soldier for easy passage.

He said the Church in the West Bank is continually in a difficult situation because it is neither Jewish nor Muslim. It seems to get caught in the crossfire of the two groups, and suffers particularly under the PA leadership (http://www.jcpa.org/jl/vp490.htm). Recently, many churches in the West Bank have been persecuted for the European cartoons of Allah. He, and many other Palestinian pastors, published an ad in the Palestinian newspapers renouncing the cartoonery.

When I told him that my mom, neighbor, and youth pastor were coming to visit, he invited us all over to dinner at his home in the refugee camp. He said we’d be all right as long as we went with him. When I told Mom about the idea, she sounded thrilled.

I’m making plans to visit Petra next weekend with some Jewish and Christian friends. Let me say, though, that traveling with Christians is much easier than with Jews. This past weekend in Tel Aviv I was with a mixed group. As Christians, we were able to eat anywhere regardless of dietary regulations. Our Jewish friends, though, needed to eat at Kosher restaurants. They also were not able to drive anywhere on Shabbat so, while we took a sherut (a giant cab) back to Jerusalem in the afternoon, they waited until after dark to return. Next weekend, my Jewish friends want to spend Shabbat in Israel instead of in Jordan. We have a long weekend, and doing this would allow us only a day and a half in Jordan. The group is certainly going to split up, with me and some Christian friends remaining in Petra and the devout Jews probably going back early to Israel. Knowing all of these Jewish rule and regulations certainly gives me a greater appreciation for the practical freedoms from the Law that I have as Gentile Christian.

Tu B'Shvat

2006-02-13T09:52:00.000-08:00

Happy Tu B’Shvat! Wait- you don’t know what Tu B’Shvat is? Well, neither did I until yesterday, the first time I attended a Tu B’Shvat seder and celebrated the holiday with some Jewish friends. The holiday originated with God’s command in Lev. 19:23-25 not to harvest fruit from trees until they reach a certain age. So, in order to measure the age of trees, Jews celebrate a birthday of sorts for our arborous (word?) friends every year around this time. I heard that the holiday is big in Kabbala Judaism, complete with a seder (a meal with certain rules and regulations to be followed- the Passover meal is another example of a seder) and all. It is customary here in Israel to plant a tree on Tu B’Shvat to celebrate the special day.

Any ways, I was able to attend a Tu B’Shvat seder last night. In the course of the meal, there were cups of wine (starting with white and proceeding to darker varieties) that represented, if I remember correctly, the progression of the season from budding and new growth to harvest. In between the glasses of wine we ate several different kinds of fruit, each representing different categories of harvest here in Israel (example: one course had bananas and kiwi, because they are fruits with a tough, inedible outer skin). By the end of the seder, we had all eaten a lot of fruit. Many people celebrate the holiday today as well so, as I’m sure you can imagine, there are plenty of gassy people walking around Israel. Personally, I bought an air freshener for our room yesterday because it got so bad.

There are toothpicks here in Israel, but they're often incredibly difficult to find. Israeli society isn't nearly as coutreous as American society. Most felafel stands (serving a very messy product, mind you), don't even carry napkins. This leads to an oft-times barbaric, but strangely gratifying, eating experience.

Since tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, I’d like to share with you about all the romance I’ve had here in Israel. Basically, I haven’t had any (and the prospects aren’t good). There are plenty of attractive ladies here, don’t get me wrong, but they’re all Jewish. I take very seriously the Apostle Paul’s (and God’s) admonition in 2 Cor. 6:14 not to be “unequally yoked together with unbelievers,” so dating is out of the question with Jewish ladies. Thus, I’m a free man this semester, without any worries about what the girls might think. I don’t have to suck in my belly, comb my hair, or even take showers (although I do the last one out of propriety). I’m single and free, thank goodness, without a female in the world to please. I think it may be appropriate at this point in my life to say that I’m in love with Jerusalem. Be that as it may, I’d like to send along my best wishes to everyone back at home for a blessed and content St. Valentine’s holiday.

Speaking of love and romance, I was involved in my first riot the other day. Well, I wasn’t involved, so to speak, but I did witness it. I arrived at the scene just as the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces) were breaking-up the scene. Apparently, some Muslim youths with ties to Hamas were burning a Danish flag outside the Damascus Gate to the Old City (this is the entrance to the Arab shook where I always buy my vegetables and pita). Things got out of hand, so the IDF decided to put a stop to the demonstration. One thing led to another, and the youths began assaulting the soldiers. Soon enough, the Israelis were chasing around the Palestinians with clubs and throwing stun grenades and smoke bombs (enter Jason to witness the fray). It was incredibly exciting, as I was by myself and witnessing a real Arab-Israeli conflict, but I learned an important lesson: Don’t mess with the Israeli army. They always win.

My Great-Aunt Pat Steidl passed away last weekend. If I were in the States, I would probably fly back to her funeral in Ohio. I always enjoyed talking to her and Uncle Andy at family reunions -- something I missed greatly after they moved out to California. If I ever become a policy-maker involved in government, my platform on social security and Medicare will reflect the conversations I had with Aunt Pat. Another thing I will always remember Aunt Pat for were her hugs and kisses. As a young kid, I’d always run away and hide from her when she arrived at family get-togethers because I knew she’d give me a big smooch on the cheek. She always found me, though, and I always gave in to her hugs and kisses. As I got older, I came to appreciate and look forward to her warm greetings of love.

On another sad note, my friend, who flew back to the States because his mother was on the verge of death, is today mourning at her funeral. He and his family are “sittin’ in the need of prayer,” as the song goes, so please pray for them if you can. May God welcome Aunt Pat and my friend’s mother into His Kingdom of everlasting life, and give comfort to all those whom they’ve left behind. As believers, we can praise God for the hope of eternity with Him in the presence of our Savior. “O death, where is your sting? O Hades, where is your victory?” (2 Cor. 15:55).

Boker Shabbat Shalom

2006-02-10T23:11:00.000-08:00

Some new pictures...

Boker Shabbat Shalom (Shabbat Morning Peace),

I’m waking up this morning to a beautiful Shabbat here in the city. Yesterday was a day full of more exploring Jerusalem, from the Mount of Olives to the Via Dolorosa.

I began the morning with a view East of Jerusalem- fromthe West Bank on into Jordan. Mount Scopus, the hill I live on, has commanding views of the Old City and surrounding areas (it was once used as a Roman garrison, I’ve been told, and has been utilized by many invading armies to conquer Jerusalem). At the outlook point were some German(?) believers singing “He is Lord.” There was also an Arab shepherd-boy riding around on a donkey, offering the tourists the chance to take pictures. I didn’t want to patronize him, but I did take a few pictures when he wasn’t looking.

From Mt. Scopus I went over to the Mount of Olives, where I visited the Auguste-Victoria Church of the Ascension. Built at the turn of the previous century by the German royal family, the church has one of the highest towers in all of Jerusalem and offers commanding views of the region. After buying the ticket to climb the tower, I raced up its steps to see the view similar to the one Christ saw when he ascended, and the one similar to the one that he will see when he returns a second time (Acts 1:9-11). When I got to the top, I didn’t receive so much of an epiphany as I did sore legs- it was quite hike. Still, the song that came to mind was “When He Cometh:”

“When He cometh, when He cometh
To make up His jewels,
All His jewels, precious jewels,
His loved and His own.

Like the stars of the morning,
His brightness adorning,
They shall shine in their beauty,
Bright gems for His crown.”

After seeing the Tower-Church, I went over and visited the Church of the Beatitudes (also on the Mount of Olives), the traditional place where Christ gave his Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5-7). On the walls of the compound was the Lord’s Prayer in countless languages.

The second phase of my day was with Christian friends doing the Via Dolorosa, the traditional path that Christ took through Jerusalem carrying the cross. We began at the first station, which has two chapels- one remembering the condemnation of Christ, and the other remembering the flagellation. We continued from there with a group of around 70 pilgrims, led by some Franciscans who spoke on the significance of each station (Check out this site for a fuller explanation). In between each station many of the pilgrims said the “Our Father” and “Hail Mary” prayers, which I didn’t participate in because 1) they were in Latin and 2)I don’t care much for Mary. Still, it was a really meaningful experience. We ended up in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher for the final stations, after which we joined a Catholic procession (led once again by Franciscans) that went around the church touring the significant area therein. They chanted and sang in Latin, which I attempted to follow and sing along with, but it was very difficult. I was able to pick up some of the things they talked about but my ignorance of Latin was pretty clear.

After leaving the church, we walked back to Mount Scopus through the Christian and Muslim Quarters. Along the way, I saw a shop with a Christian dove sticker and a Palestinian sticker right below it. I met the Evangelical owner of the shop- he is a pastor and goes to the Arab Christian Missionary Alliance Church. He said that God is doing great things among the Palestinians, and that the Holy Spirit is really moving. He invited me to his church service, which is done in Arabic but offers headphone-translation. I plan to visit soon.

Meeting the Palestinian pastor made me wonder what his view of Israel is. As a Palestinian, does he believe that Israel is an unjust oppressor? As an Evangelical, does he believe Jews are God’s chosen people (not that all Evangelicals believe this, but let’s assume that now for the sake of argument)? Furthermore, as his brother in Christ, how do I approach him if he is a Palestinian nationalist? When it comes to my perspectives on the Arab-Israeli conflict, to whom do I owe my allegiance? Do I take the perspective of my Arab brothers and sisters in Christ(assuming they are pro-Palestinian), or that of God’s chosen people who have largely rejected the Messiah (assuming they are pro-Israel)? An interesting question, but I’ve decided to take up neither viewpoint. I, like the Apostle Paul, am “determined not to know any thing among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified.” (1Cor. 2:2). If Christ is my number-one passion and the Holy Spirit is my guide, I cannot go wrong.

Some Random Jerusalem

2006-02-09T13:18:00.000-08:00

I saw my second full rainbow arching across Jerusalem today. Now, back in Ohio, it’s something special to just get ¼ of a rainbow. I’d never seen a real full rainbow, therefore, until I saw my first Israel rainbow, which was from horizon to horizon. It was absolutely beautiful, and filled the sky over the city with magnificent color. I was reminded, as I always am when I see rainbows, of Genesis 9:16, where God establishes the rainbow as a sign of his promise never to flood the earth again. The rainbow seemed strangely appropriate here in Israel.

I’ve taken up drinking Turkish coffee. It’s by far the most potent coffee I’ve ever had, since it’s made by mixing the coffee grounds right in with the water. When you get to the bottom of the cup, there’s plenty of grounds-goodness to slurp, depending on how much energy you need. The second time I bought a cup from the school’s coffee/deli place, I requested cream in it (the first time I thought it was entirely too strong without it). The Israeli guys behind the counter just looked at me and laughed, and let me know that no one drinks their Turkish coffee with cream in it. Since then, they poked fun at me when I go to buy my coffee.

Israelis always wait for the walk sign to light up when they cross the street, even when there is no traffic coming in either direction. I suspect it’s the result of a few thousand years of following God’s law, which naturally leads to a respect for man’s law as well. It’s certainly different from DC, though, where people try to cross fast-moving traffic. It’s not the same here, though, because cars in traffic just don’t stop. There is no pedestrian right-of-way, and if you get hit by a car I suspect it’s your own fault. The drivers here are crazy.

We’re making plans to go to Petra- the ancient city in Jordan carved out of rocks- two weeks from now. I’m incredibly excited. Plus, Mom and Stephanie are coming to visit at the end of March. They’re in for quite an adventure- the Israeli elections will take place when they’re here.

Well, I’d better be going. Have a great weekend, all.

Eifo Hashalom? (Where’s the Peace?)

2006-02-07T12:15:00.000-08:00

Greetings from Israel! It’s Tuesday night, and there’s much for me to write and talk about. I’ll begin talking about the current events here in Israel. First on my mind is the Muslim rage taking place around the world. In case you missed it, some newspapers in Europe published cartoons depicting Mohammed in unflattering ways. Muslims, outraged at such blasphemous portrayals, have taken to burning and pillaging European embassies in the Middle East (for more info, check out http://www.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/asiapcf/02/07/cartoon.protests/index.html).

Let me say that, while I don’t condone the actions of the Muslim rioters, I think it was inappropriate of the European newspapers to publish the cartoons. Many European nations tend to be, in attitude and action, anti-Muslim, and I feel that this protest is a reaction that should surprise no one. Anyways, everyone here is pretty tense about it. The protest struck close to home when Haaretz, a leading Israeli newspaper, published a picture of Muslim protestors burning a Danish flag in front of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem- the same ‘Little Town of Bethlehem” I visited last Thursday. Needless to say, I won’t be visiting the West Bank (or much of Eastern Jerusalem, for that matter) again until this situation calms down. The news struck even closer to home when I went to the Arab market the other day. The fellow I bought pita off of (delicious, by the way- fresh, aromatic, mmmmmm…), asked me, in broken English, “From Denmark?” I told the seller I was from another country- a good country, in his opinion- and he let me go with a smile. Had I told him I was Danish, I’m sure he may have pinned me down and pulled out my entrails. People have told me I look Northern European, and I always thought that would keep me safe here. Well, not anymore, apparently.

There is also a situation with Iran that continues to get more and more exciting with each passing day. Iran, apparently, wants nuclear weapons and power capabilities that the rest of the world doesn’t think an extreme Muslim state ought to have (see http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,183975,00.html). Israel has made threats that it will not stand by as Iran gains nuclear capabilities, and most Israelis believe these threats should be taken seriously. You may recall that Iraq, like Iran, once wanted nuclear weapons. Israel, once again, wouldn’t allow this to happen and, in 1981, destroyed the Iraqi nuclear weapons facility at Osirack. People here seem to think Israel will do the same thing to Iran. I don’t doubt that they will, but I think Iran will be a much tougher nut to crack than Iraq. Personally, I’m thankful I’m studying in Jerusalem, where the threat of an Iranian nuclear attack is relatively low compared to Tel Aviv or other places in Israel.

Third in the news is the evacuation of the Amona settlement, an illegal Israeli outpost in the West Bank (http://web.israelinsider.com/Articles/Politics/7734.htm). There have been big demonstrations here, as the article says, and Israeli society is incredibly torn on the subject. Personally, I find it really exciting to read the news and then hear from friends how the protests affected or prohibited there visits to downtown Jerusalem. I have encountered a few protestors- mostly hippy types- beating on drums in downtown Jerusalem. I have also seen the signs that say, in Hebrew, “Olmert is bad for the Jews.” The elections here at the end of March ought to be incredibly charged, exciting, and historic. The fate of the West Bank will hang in the balance. Be that as it may, it’s wonderful to be able to witness the political system here and not have to take sides. Truth be told, I’m still burnt out on political rhetoric after the 2004 presidential election.

The weather today was beautiful. Lower to mid-60’s, sunny (the sun has a special way of reflecting off the Temple Mount Mosque), and a great day for a walk. The climate is semi-tropical, but we're in the mountains so the wind often makes it really chilly. It's also the rainy season, so it's more wet than usual (in the summer, Jerusalem turns into a desert). The weather now is reminiscent of early May in Ohio- still a little nippy, but summer is on the way. The grass is green, though, flowers are blooming, and the palm trees wave in the wind.

The university turns off the hot water during the day. As long as I take my showers in the morning and the evening, I’m all right, but at any other times it’s a chilling experience. Most buildings here have solar panels on the roof that serve as water heaters and, with all the sunshine, they must work quite well.

I had the chance to take a Jewish fellow to see the Church of the Holy Sepulcher today. It was quite a humbling experience. The more I’m here, the more I realize how inadequate I am on my own to share the Gospel. My words of witness and testimony are completely insufficient apart from the power of God, but I trust and pray that He can, and will, use me in peoples’ lives. I’m so thankful that the work of God does not depend on my efforts (although, with His grace, I’ll try as hard as I can), that He wants a relationship with everyone (Rom. 5:8, 2 Peter 3:9), and that He can use me, a sinful and deficient person, to share the Good News.

I hope you all have a great week. All the best and God bless.

Bethlehem!!!!!

2006-02-04T13:42:00.000-08:00

Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem. As I write this (Saturday at 6:00 pm), the Sabbath here has ended and the city is starting to come alive again. It’s been quite an exciting week since I last updated. Yesterday was perhaps the most exciting day since I’ve been here. Me, Josh, and Elliot were exploring the Mount of Olives some more. We hoped to see the Church of all Nations while it was open and do a little sight seeing. On the way, we stumbled onto the tombs of the prophets Haggai and Malachai. The tombs were basically in someone’s backyard, and were marked only by a small sign and a hole in the ground. The amazing thing about Israel is that sights like these are so commonplace. When walking in the Old City today, we came across the birthplace of Mary, the mother of Christ. Go figure- and it was just a hole-in-the-wall place, too.

Anyways, after seeing the prophets’ tomb, we were traveling down the Mount of Olives in the rain. A taxi cab driver pulled up to us, and asked us if we needed a ride. We declined, since we were Americans who wouldn’t be swindled by a persuasive native. Well, he offered to take us to Bethlehem (which is in the West bank), and we were persuaded. None of us had been able to find anyone who would drive us there, but this kind Palestinian was willing to on this quiet Shabbat eve when business was slow. We piled in the car, and began our first trip to (Gasp!) the West Bank (play dramatic music now). Our trip there was very nice. Our driver was Muslim, named Cojack, and had a family that lived on the Mount of Olives.

We arrived to a deserted Bethlehem after a half hour ride. We didn’t have to stop at any Israeli checkpoints on the way in- it was a straight shot to the church. Once we arrived in the holy city, our driver hooked us up with his friend from Bethlehem for a tour around the church. The building was beautiful- by far the oldest and most authentic of all that I have seen. In the main basilica were pillars with graffiti on them- from the Crusades! We were able to visit the area where Christ was born and then laid in the manger- a place that used to have 6000 visitors a day, but sees very few since the second Palestinian intifada. The church was so beautiful, old, and strangely comforting. It smelled of rich incense- an aroma I have come to associate with Christian faith since I’ve been here.

After our tour of the church, we were guided to a souvenir shop. The shop mostly sold olive wood crosses and other souvenirs, but Josh and Elliot decided to buy some jewelry and a nativity set for friends back home. The owner of the place treated us like royalty- he gave us tea to sip while we were looking around his shop, along with wine straight from the Christmas service they have every year in the city. I didn’t buy anything, but I felt good because the guys I was with certainly helped out the struggling Bethlehem economy. The town has been economically decimated in recent years.

(As a side note, there was a picture of the store’s owner, who was very friendly to us and offered incredible hospitality, with Yasser Arafat.)

We got back in the car after seeing the church and gift shop, and then proceeded through Israeli checkpoints on our way back to Jerusalem. There were no problems- just an Israeli soldier asking our driver who we were. We didn’t even need our passports- ein biya (no problem). As we drove through the checkpoint, though, I glanced to our right and saw an Israeli soldier with a machine gun pointed toward all the cars that go through the checkpoint. I’m glad I hadn’t seen the fellow while we were being questioned. Our chauffeur quipped, “Don’t worry, they just shoot the drivers.” We kind of laughed nervously.

Our driver offered to take us anywhere we want to go in the West Bank (Hebron, etc). He really was the nicest guy in the world- I feel like I’m a part of his family now (American naivety, perhaps). We’re definitely going to use his services when we want to travel in the future. It’s surprising to me- all the nice people I’ve met here, as far as hospitality services go, have been Palestinian. It’s funny how stereotypes here get broken so easily.

All the best, and God bless you all. Thanks for your prayers, and let me know if you’d like me to talk about anything specific.

P.S.- for a live view of the Kotel, the Western (Wailing) Wall, check out http://english.thekotel.org/cameras.asp. Another website, http://wwweyeonisrael.com/ , offers maps of Israel and a lot of history on the biblical lands. www.followtherabbi.com, finally, helps piece together a lot of the culture, religion, and scripture. If you’ve got time, they’re most helpful for figuring out this often-confusing land.

P.P.S.-please say a prayer for a good friend of mine from the program who flew home tonight. His mother is in really bad shape, and he went back to spend a few last precious days with her. He and his family really need God's grace in this tough time.

Ulpan Mania

2006-02-01T13:02:00.000-08:00

Shalom m’Yerushalayim,

So far, this week has been pretty quiet. Ulpan is getting intense- we have studies for six days this week. Still, it hasn’t stopped people from going out to have a good time. Last night some friends and I went out to King George Street, which is in Western Jerusalem. If any part of Jerusalem is American, it is the area around King George and Ben Yehuda Streets. There is a McDonald’s, a Levi’s, and about anything else one can think of to make Americans feel at home. I’ve gotten ice cream- the same as at home- from McDonald’s more than once.

I got hooked up to the internet in my dorm room yesterday- something for which I’m incredibly thankful. I feel much more connected to the world and to home, but at the same time I feel like I’m a sissy American who can’t go very long without checking his email and the news. Still, I’ve downloaded a program, Skype, that allows me to talk for free, telephone-style, to other people with the same program and for about 2 cents a minute to people back home on landlines. The internet really is a great thing.

Yesterday afternoon, me, Josh (my good and similarly minded middle-American friend from Montana), Elliot (a very bright Catholic theology major from Chicago, with whom I have plenty to talk about), Leah, and Lee took a walk through the Kidron Valley up to the Mount of Olives. Along the way, we stopped and saw the Tomb of Mary, the Grotto of the Garden of Gethsemane, and the big Jewish cemetery facing Jerusalem on the Mount of Olives. We watched a beautiful sun set below the horizon over Western Jerusalem- it was quite a sight to see with the Old City and all. I’ve put up some pictures from the walk at http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2008083&l=fe023&id=1407506 . Afterwards, we had dinner at a Palestinian Pizza Place in the Old City. We were the owner’s only patrons while we were there, and boy did he treat us kindly. The hospitality here really is something. Even though I’m sure he was motivated by the prospect of free-flowing shekels, I feel like I walked away from the restaurant having made a new friend. I ordered shish kabob- which turned out be patties of meat made from sheep and spices. Still, it was good after a long walk.

I’ve been through the Orthodox neighborhoods a few times now on my way to other parts of the city. I really love looking at the faces of the Heredim (the ultra-religious) because they remind me so much of people I know back home. I see little kids running around on the street and mothers walking down the road with their arms full of groceries. It really breaks my heart to know that these folks don’t know Christ. Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins -- zealous for the God of Jacob, and yet they’ve missed the mark. Whole communities – an entire nation – blind to the truth and hope of the Gospel. I pray that I’ll see the day when, as Paul says in Rom. 11:26-27, “All Israel shall be saved: as it is written, There shall come out of Zion the Deliverer, and shall turn away ungodliness from Jacob: For this [is] my covenant unto them, when I shall take away their sins.”

Well, I’ll be going. Have a great week, all.

Another Weekend Past

2006-01-29T09:16:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a while since I've updated my blog. First things first, I reckon. Thursday, I had a small-world moment. I had left my ball cap in a classroom, so I went there an hour later to retrieve it. I was looking around the room for it, when a short dark fellow- distinctly Papau New Guinean- told me he had hung it up on the wall. I had heard rumors there were Papau New Guineans in Ulpan, so I asked him if he was a Christian. Come to find out, he was, and was even a member of the churches started by Vic Schlatter. That made me really excited, and I hope to get to know him in the upcoming months. Mr. Schlatter is a fellow I really look up to- seeing the fruits of his ministry (God's ministry) first hand here in Jerusalem is really amazing. I pray that I can open myself up to God and be used by Him like Mr. Schlatter has done (wherever I find myself in the future).

This weekend I went on a trip up to the Western Galilee (near Haifa, on the Mediterranean Sea, across the border from Lebanon). We left on Friday at 7 in the morning and arrived at Akko (an old Crusader' port) around 11:00 am. Akko is an ancient port that was used by the Crusaders to hold onto Palestine during the Crusades (not the Billy Graham type, unfortunately, but the type where supposed Christians murdered and pillaged Muslims and Jews). Our tour of the ancient city was led by a Jew, and the atrocities commited by "Christians" were made pretty evident in the course of the tour. A sad, terrible note in Christian history that, because I am Protestant, don't have to claim as my own.

Friday night was the start of Shabbat. We all got together for a very nice, long meal. Jews really know how to celebrate Shabbat- plenty of food, laughter, singing, friendship, and a good time. Christians, I think it's time we revamped the Lord's day to include a Sunday afternoon of the same. What ever happened to the roast meat, carrots, potatoes, and fellowship of old? Hmm... maybe I'm reminiscing too much of days gone by.

Saturday morning we went on a hike up the mountain that serves as the border with Lebanon. We had 4 armed guards- folks carrying rifles and pistols- to protect us from the marauding Muslims from the North. Thankfully, not a shot was fired (nor has ever been by any guard on any trip with any group of American students.) The guards were there with us, I suppose, so that we would all write in our travel blogs that we were being kept completely safe by armed folks. Moms and dads of us students- you can breathe a breath of relief :)

Saturday afternoon we walked into town, which was desolate because of Shabbat, and then finished the day with a nice meal and bus ride home.

Today I went to church in the morning to Jerusalem Baptist. It's Baptist of the old variety- the kind that leaves no doubt in your mind why there are 100 different Baptist denominations. I took a Catholic friend of mine with me - he was definately weirded out, but I felt comfortable because they used the same hymnal I use at Georgetown Baptist. The deacon I talked to explained to me that there was a fellow in his congregation who believed Henry Kisinger was the anti-Christ. Hmmmm. I guess when there are so few Baptists in an area, you can't really pick and choose the Baptist church you want to go to. Still, though, there's a sister church to the one I visited this morning that meets on Saturday mornings. I'll check it out next week- I hope and pray it's different.

After church, I walked by some Orthodox Jews carrying my Bible. Who would've every guessed? Little Anabaptist Jason walking around Jerusalem with his Bible proudly in hand.

Well, I'm afraid I must be going. I hope all is well in the States. If anyone has any specific questions about life here, send me an email at jds39@georgetown.edu. I love correspondence, and I'm more than happy to answer any questions you have. I'd love to hear from you.

Oh, also, all the toilet paper here is pink.

And also- Hamas, the Palestinian terrorist organization- overwhelmingly won the elections on Wednesday. People are pretty shocked, and are really curious about what will happen in the upcoming days/months. Everything is up in the air on both the Israeli and Palestinian sides. Let's all pray for the peace of Jerusalem, Israel, and the disputed areas.

A Tuesday Evening Entry

2006-01-24T09:03:00.000-08:00

Shalom mYerushalayim (Peace from Israel),

Today (Tuesday) marks the end of the third day of the week. It's strange, because at home Wedenesday is the half-way point of the week. Needless to say, I definately feel like a half-week has gone by. I'm feeling more and more at home here, although there are still moments when I ask myself why I decided to travel hal-way around the world. If it weren't a near-miracle that I am here in the first place, it would be a lot more difficult. As it is, I know for certain this is where God wants me to be.

My diet has changed significantly since I've been here. My typical day starts off with some fruit (bought incredibly cheap around here) and oatmeal (not so cheap around here). Around 10:00 am, the time we have a break from our Ulpan, I get a hoagie sandwich from the deli. costing around two dollars, I feel incredibly Israeli eating this delightful sandwich of soft cheese and fresh vegetables. Since the deli I buy it from is kosher, though, they don't have anything meaty (Kosher laws forbid the contact of meat and dairy products- see Ex. 23:19). For lunch, I'll eat whatever I have lying around my room (humus, pita, bread, fruit, veggies, chocolate spread, cheese). Then for dinner, I've had a lot of felafel. My diet changes a little bit if a go out to eat, but it basically remains without much meat, full of fruits and veggies, and without much processed foods. It will be a wonder if I don't come back the healthiest I've ever been.

My classes are going well- as I mentioned earlier, the material is mostly review, but I am beginning to pick up the language a little bit. I'm pretty quiet in class- justifying my small desire for conversation in Hebrew with the fact that I am a biblical literature scholar. I look at the texts, not the modern conversations. I'm sure I'll pick up both the written and spoken word with time, though.

My Christian identity has become something that I've been thinking a lot about here. Christ is what sets me apart here spiritually, emotionally, and culturally. I find myself clinging to my faith in Him, recognizing that He is Lord, Savior, and above everything else. I've known this much of my life, but it's becoming more and more real to me as I spend time in a place that doesn't recognize Christian faith. I feel like I want to wear a giant cross around my neck to let everyone know that I am a beliver in Yeshua haMeshiah- Jesus Christ- and that they (and the entire nation of Israel) too, can have a personal relationship with God through His Son. There have been a lot of opportunities for me to share my faith, and I'm confident that there will be many more in the upcoming months.

I'm almost positive I saw some Apostolics in the Arab markets the other day. I heard there is a community of them here, but I also heard they speak Serbian. I almost approached them, but I have no idea what we would have talked about (I know no Serbian, they probably knew no English or Hebrew). I regret not approaching them now. If I see some ACers again, I should be able to communicate the name "Samuel Froehlich," right? Ah well- I've considered carrying my Zion's Harp around with me too, just in case.

Talking about the AC Church, many of the Orthodox Jewish girls here wear long skirts like the ladies in the Sister church do. Most wear full head coverings though, with hair entirely wrapped up to prevent the peaking eyes of jealous fellows. I think the modest girls are the prettiest. There are a lot of cultural similarities, I've found, between conservative Christians and conservative Jews (in practices of holiness and dress, at least).

Well, I'll be going. All the best and Layla Tov (Good Evening),

Jason

The Sunday After (the weekend)

2006-01-24T08:30:00.000-08:00

Hello from Israel! It’s Sunday morning, and I’ve spent my first weekend in Jerusalem (from Thursday night until Sunday morning). Friday morning I got up bright and early and went to the Old City. I had no idea where I was going, except I knew how to get to the gates. Once inside, I wandered around the ancient streets, seeing the Armenian, Christian, Muslim, and Jewish Quarters. In the morning I found a hole-in-the-wall café, where there were Palestinian fellows inside having their morning drinks and smoking hooka, a steamy tobacco pipe. I went in and got a cup of mint tea for 3 shekels- about 70 cents- and listened to their conversation. I had no idea what the old fellows were saying, but I did pick up “Hamas” and “Abbas.” The PLO elections are this week- it should be interesting to see what transpires.

After visiting the café, I spent a few hours browsing the market place. I learned how to bargain, and picked up all sorts of groceries and things that I needed (raisins- 1 kilo for about $2.25, some cheese for 15 shekels, sheets for 30 shekels). I visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre again- this time without a pushy guide- and was able to sit and pray for a while. It was still magnificent to be there, even though for many it’s just a tourist destination (there are plenty of stereotypical tourists, with big cameras hanging around their necks, for whom the Church has no special significance). On the way home, I decided to travel through East Jerusalem. There were not any good ways to get to the Hebrew University- the way the roads and walls are set up create a very effective barrier between the Jews and the Arabs.

Saturday was the Sabbath, so me, Josh, and Elliot (Catholic friends of mine) decided to go exploring. Josh knows Arabic, so we decided to visit the Mount of Olives, which is in an Arabic neighborhood. We didn’t find any churches that were open, which was disappointing, but we ended up traveling down to the Old City from the Mount of Olives. We spent more time going through the shooks, eating way too many sweets as we went. After a couple consecutive days in the markets, I can say I’m no longer an easily-dooped American.

Last night I went to church with some Evangelicals I met (something for which I’m exceedingly thankful to God). We went to a Messianic congregation, with the service in both Hebrew and English. It was no Baptist church- the congregation was somewhat charismatic (although I don’t think anyone was speaking in tongues- then again, I'm not sure I can tell the difference between Hebrew and tongues), and the service was less-orderly than I would have liked- but it was so refreshing to be at church. I think I may continue to go there, because the sermon was preached in English and then translated into Hebrew, which would definitely help my Hebrew skills.

Today we have the morning off of school, and then return this afternoon. The class I’m in is far below my level of learning, but it’s a necessity because my communication skills are so poor (the classes are taught in Hebrew). During the regular semester I’ll be able to resume where I left off at Georgetown.

I hope things are going well back in the states, and I hope to correspond with you soon. All the best, Jason.

The Trip

2006-01-22T06:01:00.000-08:00

After a long plane ride, I finally made it to Israel. I left the U.S. from Washington, D.C., aboard Alitalia at 5:30 on Sunday night, and got into Israel on Monday afternoon at 3:30 (I lost 7 hours in the transition.) The flights were pretty nice- with Italian food and all. On the flight to Milan I sat next to a nice Ethiopan fellow named Larry who was on his way to Bombay, and on the way to Tel Aviv I sat next to an Israeli pilot for Delta who was incredibly upset she didn't get a kosher meal on the flight. Oh well, life is tough.

I had an interesting time getting to Jerusalem from the airport, which is in Tel Aviv. I took a sherut, a taxi van that packs as many people as possible. We drove around Jerusalem for a while, giving me a good idea of the city at night (including several Orthodox neigborhoods). It was great to finally be in Israel.

I got to Hebrew University and, after managing to find the fellow with the key to my room among a maze of buildings, made it too my dorm room. I would call it Spartan at best, and prison-like at worst. It made me realize how spoiled I was back in the States with my comfy townhouse- it's gonna take a lot of work to make my dorm room comfy.

Yesterday I got a note saying I had moved into the girl's dorm and needed to move to another level. Luckily, when I had taken a shower and visited the bathroom, I had seen no ladies. Today I moved into my permament residence with my roomate David, a Jewish fellow from New York.

I'm a minority here. It's interesting.

Cats roam the streets. I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.

Well, I'd better get going. I'll keep you updated as things come along. I appreciate your prayers as I look for a church and some Christian fellowship. Still, I'm REALLY excited to be here- Jerusalemis beautiful. Tommorrow I go to the Old City, where I hope to see a church perhaps. Shalom v Layla Tov. Yours truly, Jason.

HaAyir HaAtik (The Old City)

2006-01-19T09:49:00.000-08:00

Shalom from Israel! I apologize for not updating sooner, but I have a post from yesterday that I'll put up after this one. To sum it up, I'm here in Jerusalem safe and sound. Today was the third day of classes. After having two awflu days in Hebrew class that was way over my head, I transferred to an easier level of Ulpan (The Hebrew teaching system). I can now understand what the teacher says- which is an incredible benefit when youre trying to learn something.

I found a few more Christians in the group. This afternoon we headed down to the Old City, which was about a 45 minute walk (a Jew led the group, so we took the long way around the Palestinian areas- when I walk by myself or with other Christians, I'll definately go the easier way through Arab neighborhoods). Our group of about 9 was half Chistian and half Jewish- not a bad mixture. Things are going well with my room, David- he's a pretty likeable fellow.

My trip to the Old city today was INCREDIBLY excitin. I've never been so thrilled I dont think. We entered at the Jaffa gate, and proceeded through an Arab shook, market, until we reachd the Jewish quarter of the city. We then went to the Wailing Wall (Kotel, in Hebrew). Me and the other Christian guys were allowed o go right down near it, as long as we put on paper yalmulkas (sp?). It was incredible to be there- our Jewish friend got us a Jewish prayer book, which we all looked though as he went through a round of prayers with a gorup of Israeli soldiers. I said a prayer, and asked that Israel might find Christ. The Wailing Wall was really really really neat, though.

After visiting the kotel, me and another Christian fellow, Elliot- a Catholic from Chicago, went to the Church of the Holy Sepulhre. On the way, we asked an Arab vendor where it was, not knowing the church was only around the bend. He took us there as our official tour guide, being a pushy fellow looking for some easy American cash. I knew we were being hosed, and I wasnn't about to give him much money. Still, he took us in aorund the chuch, which is incredibly beautiful (very gothic and iconistic- an Anabaptist's worst nightmare). There were many sites in the church from the Passion account (who knows how many are real), but I saw the place where Christ was crucified, the stone upon which they laid his body to wash it, the Holy Sepulchre itself, and the place where the soldiers scourged Christ, among others. Although our Palestinian guide was kitchy, he showed us aroun well. I plan to spend a lot of time in the church (maybe tomorrow?), as it is a great (and Christian, as opposed to Jewish) place to pray and contemplate Christ's sacrifice on the cross.

At the end of the tour, the fellow I was with gave our Arab guide 100 shekels- about $23. I offered the fellow 5 shekels.

We got to see the church close at 7:00 pm. The key to the church belongs to a Muslim, since the denominations (Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Coptic, Armenian Orthodox, and one other- I cant remember), arue over it. So, we watched as a Palestinian Muslim (whose family has guarded the key for 250 years) closed the door to the great church. It's a shame, because the fellow acted like he could have cared less.

Tonight, we go to town in Jerusalem. Everyone has a nice time on Thursday nights, because tomorrow is Friday night and the Sabbath begins, and the entire city shuts down.

Thank goodness we were't in Tel Aviv today- there was a bomb there that wounded several. I called Mom after I first heard about it (we were on our way to Jerusalem, and someone's mom called her and told her, so we all called our parents).

I got a piece of honey baked goods in the Palestinian market for about 23 cents. Great deal.

I also found group of Evangelicals to hang out with. They're here for the year, and go to church together and have Bible study, I believe, on Tuesday. For as great as it was to visit the Old City, the best moment of my day was after I spoke with one of the Christian guys I'll be going to church with on Saturday night. I'm sooooo thankful to God for this fellowhip.

Well, I'll be going. Have a good evening - Love, and all the best, Jason.

Look Ma!

2006-01-14T16:37:00.001-08:00

Look Ma- Your son is leaving for Israel! This is a picture of me on the day I left home. Things went pretty well- at the airport, the goodbye was said pretty matter-of-factly. I'm not sure how Mom did after I got on the plane, but it was no replay of my freshman-year-goodbye-is-the-world-ending-because-Jason-is-gone situation.

Right now, I'm sitting at my desk at Georgetown. It's been a pleasant stay- I've been able to see the people I wanted to see and accomplish the things I wanted to accomplish. I signed my lease on my townhouse for next year, saw my favorite Professor Ben-Zvi, went to hear some bluegrass at Tiffany Tavern last night, and kept up-to-date on the latest goings-on in Israel.

This afternoon, I watched the movie Munich, about an Israeli who was responsible for taking out revenge on the Palestinians who killed Israeli Olympians in 1972. Many of the scenes were in Hebrew and in Israel, and it finally hit home a little bit that I'm going to be there tomorrow. I am excited, nervous, and feeling incredibly adventurous. This is by far the most thrilling thing I've ever done.

Why I'm going

2006-01-09T09:09:00.000-08:00

Hello from Ohio. I'm here enjoying the last few days of break, becoming increasingly excited and nervous about heading off to Israel. Yesterday in his sermon, Pastor Steve said, "I don't know why anyone would go to Israel today." I don't think he was referring to me specifically, but I smiled, and I figured I'd copy and paste my essay, "Why I'm going to Israel." I used it to convince Georgetown officials why I'm going there, and I hope you find useful when you, too, wonder why in the world I'd want to go.

As a student at Georgetown, I am pursuing government and theology majors with a Hebrew minor. In theology, a course on biblical literature first sparked my interest in Israel. Understanding Mediterranean culture is vital to understanding Scripture, and being abroad in Israel will expose me to the values that influenced biblical authors. Another class that I took taught me the ancient history of Israel and archeological aspects of biblical theology. Since my acceptance to Hebrew University, I have looked forward to a class on the archaeology of Jerusalem. Currently, I am studying the Torah from a literary perspective at a Catholic university. At the Rothberg International School, I will be able study Scripture from a Jewish perspective. I look forward to the insight I will gain into the Jewish/Christian particularities of biblical interpretation. Upon my return to Georgetown, I plan to be an even greater participant in events supporting religious dialogue and to be even more involved in pluralistic initiatives on campus. Furthermore, I hope to share with both Jewish and Christian peers my experience as a student in Israel and its impact on my understanding of the two faiths.

Coursework taken in the government department has set my desire to study in Israel. A class taken last semester, “The Arab/Israeli Conflict,” exposed me to the history of disputes in the region. Living in Israel will allow me to better understand many more aspects of the issues involved in the conflict. Furthermore, the historic nature of current events in Israel will be remarkable to witness first-hand. This semester, I am taking “American Involvement in the Middle East,” a course analyzing the nature of U.S. intervention in the region. Studying in Israel will allow me to see American foreign policy from an Israeli perspective and give me a fuller appreciation for the complexities of international relations. My second government course this semester is “Israeli Culture and Politics.” Needless to say, living in Israel will broaden my understanding of the political and social systems there. After visiting Israel, I will be far better equipped to talk to others about events and politics in the region. Georgetown is a highly political campus, and I look forward to speaking out on events in Israel with the experience of someone who has spent time there. Furthermore, in my role as a government major who will be seeking employment after graduation, I plan to use my experience in Israel to influence government policy through my career. I hope to work in the Department of State where I will be able to advocate pro-Israel policies with the knowledge of someone who has studied and invested time in the nation.

Some ask why Israel is necessary for my study abroad. As a biblical theology major, I ought to be able to study Scripture anywhere. Still, only in Israel are the archaeological sites. Only there will I be able to experience the land of the patriarchs and fully appreciate the Middle Eastern culture. My study in Jerusalem is far more than academic. I hope to come away with a greater understanding of my own faith identity and its roots in Israel. Still, could I not study the regional conflict at Georgetown? It is possible, but the chance to live where individuals are far more affected by the outcome of history than are the remote academies abroad proves much more enticing. I hope to personally step into the many-faceted Middle Eastern debate by going to Israel and stepping out of my one-dimensional American perspective. For spiritual, academic, and cultural reasons, I look forward to studying abroad in Israel and the way it will impact my life.

Pre-Thanksgiving

2005-11-23T08:07:00.000-08:00

Well, it's the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and I'm getting ready to fly home tonight. My time at Georgetown this semester is flying by, and my study abroad is quickly approaching. The view on the right is from Mt. Scopus, the campus I will be at come Spring. I'll be attending the Rothberg International School at Hebrew University in Jerusalem, baruch hashem (blessed be the Name). The campus itself is located in the Eastern part of the city that was captured (or incororated, as it were) into Israel after the 1967 6-Day War. It is surrounded by Arab villages, but it is in Israel and therefore incredibly safe.
I purchased my plane tickets this past week, so I've now made a major financial commitment to going. The reality is beginning to sink in more and more all the time that I'll be abroad in Israel next semester. My flight leaves from DC on January 15, although I'm leaving home around January 11 or 12 to catch up with Georgetown friends. My semester ends around June 9, and I'll be back home Lord willing around June 10.
For the first month I am in Israel, I will be in an intensive Hebrew language program called an Ulpan. This will get me talking Hebrew, which will allow me to navigate, at least on some level, Jerusalem. My Hebrew right now is really terrible, so I'm excited to learn as much as possible and get some practical experience.
The real semester begins in Mid-February, at which point I will continue taking Hebrew along with some other classes. One class I'm looking forward to is on the archaeology of Jerusalem (pretty practical place to study it, eh?). I'm also going to take an Old Testament class to see the Jewish perspective on the Scriptures. A couple govrnment courses, finally, will top off my schedule. I'm definately looking forward to a more relaxed academic environment in Jerusalem, and actually taking Sabbath rests (nothing goes on in Jerusalem on Saturday). I can't say that I will be a bum, but I will take advantage of the slower and friendlier Mid Eastern culture.
Well, I'd better be going. I'll try to keep this blog updated more as the time of my departure approaches. Shalom.

IC Status Granted

2005-10-25T19:47:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone- I've decided to start this blog as an online diary of sorts for my study abroad in Israel. This past week was very exciting for me- Georgetown granted me approval to study in Israel! I will recieve academic credit, financial aid, and the university's support in my travel to Jerusalem. This decision is really a miracle. No students from Georgetown have been able to study in Israel since the second Intifadah began a few years ago. The policy used to prohibit students from studying there at all, requiring them to basically drop out of Georgetown and re-apply if they took time off to study in Israel. It's been a long journey since then, and a lot of influential people have gotten involved (including some of my favorite Israeli professors), but the policy is now changed. They're letting me go!

I must say how this is completely a work of God. Back in February, there was no chance of me going. I've been praying about it since then, though, and the doors have been opened. Mom and everyone else- don't worry, I know Israel is where I'm supposed to be. And, I'm looking forward to it a lot! Stay posted for further details.