New blog

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

A Final Post

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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.