Hi everyone,
I've opened a new blog for my continuing saga here in the Holy Land. Please visit mywholelifeisinruins.wordpress.com. Hope you enjoy!
Aloha nui,
Kaleb
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Happy New Year! (Rosh Hashanah)
Tomorrow is the Jewish New Year and the beginning of what is called the "High Holidays" where, for the next few months, you can't turn around without celebrating something! It means a lot of feasts and visits to synagogues, singing, and general merrimaking. It was also the first rain this weekend, signifying the end of the growing season and the beginning of the olive harvest. We are going to harvest and press the olives here at the Center into olive oil.
An interesting story was told today during our lecture on Judaism and Jewish Studies. It echoed the reading we were assigned, and greatly impressed me. I thought I'd pass it along to all of you.
The story purportedly took place in eastern Europe during the 18th century, when two 'denominations' of Judaism were beginning to form. In Jewish custom, the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) is the most sacred day of the calendar. It is usually spent in the synagogue praying, or at home with one's family.
The story is told of a very pious, Jewish leader (a rebbe) who was consistently and notably absent from synagoguge during the beginning of the Yom Kippur celebrations. Word began to circulate among the community that he was so spiritual, he was actually being taken into Heaven and conversing with God during this time.
Of course, the other Jewish sect scoffed this notion, and planned to follow him and expose his agenda. The night before Yom Kippur, one of these men hid outside his home to spy on this rebbe. About three in the morning, he awoke and dressed, not in the traditional, ornate garb of a Hasidic rebbe, but in a lumberjack's shirt. He picked up and axe and walked into the woods. The spy followed him for over an hour, finally seeing him come to a tiny cottage in a clearing that belonged to an old widow. He then watched as the rebbe felled some trees, chopped them into logs, and stacked them by the cottage wall. His task was finally done as he left the winter's supply of wood at this humble home, and he returned back to dress and join the synagogue.
The spy returned to his skeptical, critical friends. One of the men in the group asked: "Is it true? Does he really leave synagogue go to Heaven?" The spy's voice quivered with emotion as he solemnly nodded. "If not higher..."
Remember to do something good for someone today. It is well and good to worship with fellow believers, to respect the public tenents of the faith. But small, unseen acts of kindness are seldom small, and never truly unseen. (See Matthew 6:4)
An interesting story was told today during our lecture on Judaism and Jewish Studies. It echoed the reading we were assigned, and greatly impressed me. I thought I'd pass it along to all of you.
The story purportedly took place in eastern Europe during the 18th century, when two 'denominations' of Judaism were beginning to form. In Jewish custom, the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) is the most sacred day of the calendar. It is usually spent in the synagogue praying, or at home with one's family.
The story is told of a very pious, Jewish leader (a rebbe) who was consistently and notably absent from synagoguge during the beginning of the Yom Kippur celebrations. Word began to circulate among the community that he was so spiritual, he was actually being taken into Heaven and conversing with God during this time.
Of course, the other Jewish sect scoffed this notion, and planned to follow him and expose his agenda. The night before Yom Kippur, one of these men hid outside his home to spy on this rebbe. About three in the morning, he awoke and dressed, not in the traditional, ornate garb of a Hasidic rebbe, but in a lumberjack's shirt. He picked up and axe and walked into the woods. The spy followed him for over an hour, finally seeing him come to a tiny cottage in a clearing that belonged to an old widow. He then watched as the rebbe felled some trees, chopped them into logs, and stacked them by the cottage wall. His task was finally done as he left the winter's supply of wood at this humble home, and he returned back to dress and join the synagogue.
The spy returned to his skeptical, critical friends. One of the men in the group asked: "Is it true? Does he really leave synagogue go to Heaven?" The spy's voice quivered with emotion as he solemnly nodded. "If not higher..."
Remember to do something good for someone today. It is well and good to worship with fellow believers, to respect the public tenents of the faith. But small, unseen acts of kindness are seldom small, and never truly unseen. (See Matthew 6:4)
Sunday, September 25, 2011
My Whole Life is in Ruins...
My Whole Life is in Ruins… In the BEST Possible Way!
I figure the title pretty much sums up most of my life. I seem to bounce around from place to place and visit what most consider to be “ruins”- but I do it with some of the most incredible people, and I have been fortunate to make some of my greatest memories in places the modern world seems to have forgotten. For me, these sites are still very much alive, but with very different kinds of inhabitants. My hyperactive imagination easily fills in the blanks and colors in the edges. With every new site, I feel like my life is slightly more defined and enriched because I was there.
Humanity interprets our past through the lens of the present. With each attempt to understand where we’ve been, we see a little clearer where we want to go. Such has been my experience with these places, at least.
I remember standing on top of the Temple of the Sun in Teotihuacan, near Mexico City, not too long ago with one of my best friends in the entire world. Several years later, I stood shoulder to shoulder with him inside the White House (which is, for all intents and purposes, in ruins). Experiences in places like that don’t ever seem to fade. It was among the ruins of an ancient Hawaiian temple where I spent a fairly uncomfortable night with some of my best friends, anxiously phoning Funafuti, Tuvalu and checking on our friends in Japan during the tsunami warning last year.
This week, and this semester in general, I’ve had the unique and exciting opportunity to interact very personally with some of the best people I’ve ever known in some incredible places that were crucial during the early days of the church. At each place, I took a memory away of a hymn we’d sung, a joke we’d shared, or a spiritual prompting that came to my mind during the lecture. Now, reading the New Testament, I interpret the mission of Paul through my personal experience in Asia Minor.
Just returned from Turkey (this morning, at 4:00 am). We traveled almost 3,000 miles and visited the Seven Churches of Revelation, ate the world’s best baklava in Istanbul, shared an amazing sacrament meeting in Bursa, and sang at the site of Council of Nicaea.
Along the way, there were countless experiences and adventures that made the trip memorable. Shopping at the world’s largest and oldest bazaar, seeing the Hagia Sofia (one of the Seven Wonders… how many of those are there, by the way?) visiting the Blue Mosque (one of my life-long dreams) ferrying across the Bosphorous, and re-enacting scenes from Acts in the grand amphitheater of Ephesus. One of the highlights for me was an impromptu dance party on the beach near Troy that quickly escalated to include a bonfire, a sound system, and a DJ. People crowd surfed, danced on the dock, and all our commotion caught the attention of a lot of local Turks that came to investigate- some even with video cameras to catch the crazy Americans on film.
I can’t quite chronicle the entire saga- most of it is still a blur at this point. My camera faded in and out of consciousness depending on the availability of a power grid to recharge my battery, so there are several days that are still a little hazy, due to no pictures. I’ve selected a few highlights and will describe some of the context and memories associated with them:
The spiritual high for the trip was our sacrament meeting in Bursa. We stayed in a beautiful five-star resort and were allowed to use the basement floor (a conference center) as a chapel for a half-hour worship service. The district president also happens to be our group doctor, and he presided over the meeting. Our branch president had assigned several of the men to bring white shirts and ties along on the trip, and they dressed to match the ordinance that they performed. We broke pita bread and passed the water around our group of 80 or so assembled. Our Muslim-Turkish tour guide was able to attend, and expressed his positive sentiments concerning the meeting to me in private following the service. It was incredible, being in a Muslim nation on a Friday (their holy day) partaking of the sacrament. Everyone was in travel clothes, and we short speakers that embarked some of the most profound doctrines from the missions of Paul to our little group. It was a very “bare bones” meeting, reminiscent of the wonderful worship services I had the privilege of attending at Great Lakes Naval Base in Illinois.
We visited Nicaea, site of the famous bishop’s council where Constantine called for the first of the major creeds that defined early Christian notions of the nature of God and Christ and their relation with one another. We listened to excerpts of the creed, sitting on the shores of the lake that now covers the ruins of Constantine’s summer palace. I was incredibly grateful for the restored truth that I know about the nature of the Father and the Son. Following the lecture, we sang “I Believe in Christ”.
We visited the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul- the largest and oldest indoor bazaar in the world. The whole place is incredibly exciting. The whole place looks like an interior designer on drugs decorated while wearing rose-colored glasses and looking through a kaleidoscope! There was every kind of silk and ceramic, carpet and jewelry one could ever want to buy.
I had seen pictures of the Blue Mosque (or Sultanahmet) and the Hagia Sofia before. But somehow I assumed that they were the big mosques in Istanbul. It was incredible to breach the hill and see mammoth buildings and towering minarets in every direction. It was no different than the great cathedrals of Europe or the pyramids of Central America. They were amazing architectural feats in their day, and are covered in intricate calligraphy from the Koran and carved from beautiful slabs of marble.
We climbed to the acropolis of Assos one morning around sunrise. The city is so ancient, and the quaint little streets of the agora look very much like Nepal or Tibet. Goats and geese ran everywhere, and vendors were just starting to open up shop. They live very simple, happy lives in the shadows of giant temples and ionic pillars on the edge of the Aegean. We each hiked with our scriptures and read in Acts of some of the experiences Paul had there.
Troy was an amazing site. Schliemann spent years searching for a place that matched the description, and finally excavated (if you can call it that… it frankly bordered on vandalism and grave robbery) the site in one of the first archeological undertakings in the modern era. Brother Huntsman’s blog includes some video highlights, and I guess rank has its privilege here because he can upload more than I am able to. I sure don’t begrudge him, though, he’s doing an amazing job as a historian and videographer here!
We spent the evenings in the swimming pools, often having epic chicken fights- professors included! In Pamukkale, geothermal hot springs fed right into the hotel grounds. The major springs near Hierapolis have deposited such huge amounts of sodium bicarbonate, the mountain looks like a ski resort because of the huge mineral deposits. We hiked down the mountain in the warm water barefoot, and then explored the amphitheater and huge necropolis. We even got to explore the tombs and catacombs, squeezing into the little holes and climbing down into the burial chambers.
The Sultan’s Palace was incredible! The highlight for me was probably the Topkapi Spoonmaker’s Diamond- a legend says that it was discovered in a trash heap. I’d seen some big rocks before in the Smithsonian, but this one takes the cake at 86 carats. Legend says that a fisherman found it on a shore and was traded three spoons from a jeweler in the market in exchange for the diamond. We visited the Harem, the private living quarters of the Sultan and his family. The clothes and some personal effects had been preserved and the entire compound is now a museum.
Turkey in general is an amazing blend of past and present, Islam and Christianity, Europe and Asia, and secular and orthodox. Istanbul is a huge city of almost 20 million people, perched on the crossroads of Asia Minor. It was the end of the silk road, the center of the spice markets, the cradle of the Greek Orthodox church, the political heir of Rome, and the seedbed of Islam. It was conquered by some of the greatest armies of Alexander, the Romans, the Ottomans, the Persians- an incredibly diverse melting pot of culture. We saw some of the most liberal cultural indicators of the Middle East and some of the most conservative practices coexisting. I watched a group of women in black hijabs leaving a store and waiting at a bus stop with a gay couple that had just exited a bar.
Unfortunately, we arrived on the day of a tragic car bombing in the capital city. Turkey is the epicenter of several terrorist organizations and special interest groups that often resort to violence to achieve their political ends. When we were in Izmir there were 31 people arrested in connection with a terrorist plot. It is encouraging to see the way Turkey is handling these groups- they are the only truly democratic nation in such a predominantly Muslim world. Anyone who wonders whether Islam and democracy can function contemporarily might want to investigate Turkey.
It is discouraging to see the effects of a weak and vacillating foreign policy from our Nation. America’s relationship with Turkey is fairly strained for obvious reasons. But we would do well to befriend such a country and help them emerge as a world power in a peaceful and controlled process. The entire Middle East is just a breath away from a massive nuclear proliferation that I worry would spread to our hemisphere through Venezuela’s madman. From what I could observe, Turkey has a relatively healthy economy and a fairly Western-friendly policy. They want so badly to join the EU and have taken huge steps to do so, but don’t seem to be getting the acceptance they deserve in that circle.
It's good to be back in Israel. We have a field trip scheduled tomorrow, and the remainder of the week will be spent preparing for midterms. I'm learning so much, but the majority of it is not from a textbook. It's like living in the best laboratory in the world to experience the culture and history of this place. I'm so grateful to be here.
I figure the title pretty much sums up most of my life. I seem to bounce around from place to place and visit what most consider to be “ruins”- but I do it with some of the most incredible people, and I have been fortunate to make some of my greatest memories in places the modern world seems to have forgotten. For me, these sites are still very much alive, but with very different kinds of inhabitants. My hyperactive imagination easily fills in the blanks and colors in the edges. With every new site, I feel like my life is slightly more defined and enriched because I was there.
Humanity interprets our past through the lens of the present. With each attempt to understand where we’ve been, we see a little clearer where we want to go. Such has been my experience with these places, at least.
I remember standing on top of the Temple of the Sun in Teotihuacan, near Mexico City, not too long ago with one of my best friends in the entire world. Several years later, I stood shoulder to shoulder with him inside the White House (which is, for all intents and purposes, in ruins). Experiences in places like that don’t ever seem to fade. It was among the ruins of an ancient Hawaiian temple where I spent a fairly uncomfortable night with some of my best friends, anxiously phoning Funafuti, Tuvalu and checking on our friends in Japan during the tsunami warning last year.
This week, and this semester in general, I’ve had the unique and exciting opportunity to interact very personally with some of the best people I’ve ever known in some incredible places that were crucial during the early days of the church. At each place, I took a memory away of a hymn we’d sung, a joke we’d shared, or a spiritual prompting that came to my mind during the lecture. Now, reading the New Testament, I interpret the mission of Paul through my personal experience in Asia Minor.
Just returned from Turkey (this morning, at 4:00 am). We traveled almost 3,000 miles and visited the Seven Churches of Revelation, ate the world’s best baklava in Istanbul, shared an amazing sacrament meeting in Bursa, and sang at the site of Council of Nicaea.
Along the way, there were countless experiences and adventures that made the trip memorable. Shopping at the world’s largest and oldest bazaar, seeing the Hagia Sofia (one of the Seven Wonders… how many of those are there, by the way?) visiting the Blue Mosque (one of my life-long dreams) ferrying across the Bosphorous, and re-enacting scenes from Acts in the grand amphitheater of Ephesus. One of the highlights for me was an impromptu dance party on the beach near Troy that quickly escalated to include a bonfire, a sound system, and a DJ. People crowd surfed, danced on the dock, and all our commotion caught the attention of a lot of local Turks that came to investigate- some even with video cameras to catch the crazy Americans on film.
I can’t quite chronicle the entire saga- most of it is still a blur at this point. My camera faded in and out of consciousness depending on the availability of a power grid to recharge my battery, so there are several days that are still a little hazy, due to no pictures. I’ve selected a few highlights and will describe some of the context and memories associated with them:
The spiritual high for the trip was our sacrament meeting in Bursa. We stayed in a beautiful five-star resort and were allowed to use the basement floor (a conference center) as a chapel for a half-hour worship service. The district president also happens to be our group doctor, and he presided over the meeting. Our branch president had assigned several of the men to bring white shirts and ties along on the trip, and they dressed to match the ordinance that they performed. We broke pita bread and passed the water around our group of 80 or so assembled. Our Muslim-Turkish tour guide was able to attend, and expressed his positive sentiments concerning the meeting to me in private following the service. It was incredible, being in a Muslim nation on a Friday (their holy day) partaking of the sacrament. Everyone was in travel clothes, and we short speakers that embarked some of the most profound doctrines from the missions of Paul to our little group. It was a very “bare bones” meeting, reminiscent of the wonderful worship services I had the privilege of attending at Great Lakes Naval Base in Illinois.
We visited Nicaea, site of the famous bishop’s council where Constantine called for the first of the major creeds that defined early Christian notions of the nature of God and Christ and their relation with one another. We listened to excerpts of the creed, sitting on the shores of the lake that now covers the ruins of Constantine’s summer palace. I was incredibly grateful for the restored truth that I know about the nature of the Father and the Son. Following the lecture, we sang “I Believe in Christ”.
We visited the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul- the largest and oldest indoor bazaar in the world. The whole place is incredibly exciting. The whole place looks like an interior designer on drugs decorated while wearing rose-colored glasses and looking through a kaleidoscope! There was every kind of silk and ceramic, carpet and jewelry one could ever want to buy.
I had seen pictures of the Blue Mosque (or Sultanahmet) and the Hagia Sofia before. But somehow I assumed that they were the big mosques in Istanbul. It was incredible to breach the hill and see mammoth buildings and towering minarets in every direction. It was no different than the great cathedrals of Europe or the pyramids of Central America. They were amazing architectural feats in their day, and are covered in intricate calligraphy from the Koran and carved from beautiful slabs of marble.
We climbed to the acropolis of Assos one morning around sunrise. The city is so ancient, and the quaint little streets of the agora look very much like Nepal or Tibet. Goats and geese ran everywhere, and vendors were just starting to open up shop. They live very simple, happy lives in the shadows of giant temples and ionic pillars on the edge of the Aegean. We each hiked with our scriptures and read in Acts of some of the experiences Paul had there.
Troy was an amazing site. Schliemann spent years searching for a place that matched the description, and finally excavated (if you can call it that… it frankly bordered on vandalism and grave robbery) the site in one of the first archeological undertakings in the modern era. Brother Huntsman’s blog includes some video highlights, and I guess rank has its privilege here because he can upload more than I am able to. I sure don’t begrudge him, though, he’s doing an amazing job as a historian and videographer here!
We spent the evenings in the swimming pools, often having epic chicken fights- professors included! In Pamukkale, geothermal hot springs fed right into the hotel grounds. The major springs near Hierapolis have deposited such huge amounts of sodium bicarbonate, the mountain looks like a ski resort because of the huge mineral deposits. We hiked down the mountain in the warm water barefoot, and then explored the amphitheater and huge necropolis. We even got to explore the tombs and catacombs, squeezing into the little holes and climbing down into the burial chambers.
The Sultan’s Palace was incredible! The highlight for me was probably the Topkapi Spoonmaker’s Diamond- a legend says that it was discovered in a trash heap. I’d seen some big rocks before in the Smithsonian, but this one takes the cake at 86 carats. Legend says that a fisherman found it on a shore and was traded three spoons from a jeweler in the market in exchange for the diamond. We visited the Harem, the private living quarters of the Sultan and his family. The clothes and some personal effects had been preserved and the entire compound is now a museum.
Turkey in general is an amazing blend of past and present, Islam and Christianity, Europe and Asia, and secular and orthodox. Istanbul is a huge city of almost 20 million people, perched on the crossroads of Asia Minor. It was the end of the silk road, the center of the spice markets, the cradle of the Greek Orthodox church, the political heir of Rome, and the seedbed of Islam. It was conquered by some of the greatest armies of Alexander, the Romans, the Ottomans, the Persians- an incredibly diverse melting pot of culture. We saw some of the most liberal cultural indicators of the Middle East and some of the most conservative practices coexisting. I watched a group of women in black hijabs leaving a store and waiting at a bus stop with a gay couple that had just exited a bar.
Unfortunately, we arrived on the day of a tragic car bombing in the capital city. Turkey is the epicenter of several terrorist organizations and special interest groups that often resort to violence to achieve their political ends. When we were in Izmir there were 31 people arrested in connection with a terrorist plot. It is encouraging to see the way Turkey is handling these groups- they are the only truly democratic nation in such a predominantly Muslim world. Anyone who wonders whether Islam and democracy can function contemporarily might want to investigate Turkey.
It is discouraging to see the effects of a weak and vacillating foreign policy from our Nation. America’s relationship with Turkey is fairly strained for obvious reasons. But we would do well to befriend such a country and help them emerge as a world power in a peaceful and controlled process. The entire Middle East is just a breath away from a massive nuclear proliferation that I worry would spread to our hemisphere through Venezuela’s madman. From what I could observe, Turkey has a relatively healthy economy and a fairly Western-friendly policy. They want so badly to join the EU and have taken huge steps to do so, but don’t seem to be getting the acceptance they deserve in that circle.
It's good to be back in Israel. We have a field trip scheduled tomorrow, and the remainder of the week will be spent preparing for midterms. I'm learning so much, but the majority of it is not from a textbook. It's like living in the best laboratory in the world to experience the culture and history of this place. I'm so grateful to be here.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Why Seek Ye The Living Among the Dead?
There is an incredible inadequacy of language (of THIS language, especially) to accurately describe the experience of visiting Golgotha and the Garden Tomb. That was our field trip this week, on Thursday morning. We walked across the Kidron Valley and up into the Palestinian neighborhood outside Herod's Gate. I spend a lot of time in this particular neighborhood (Salahdin Street) and it never ceases to amaze me how a crowded, bustling bazaar filled with a cacophony of traffic and horns and all the sights and smells of such a place can fade into absolute silence once inside the garden. A small alleyway about halfway up the block has a small sign in a smattering of languages pointing to "Garden Tomb". Up a small sidestreet a door in the wall opens into a beautiful garden. It is shady and cool, surprisingly quiet, like entering sacred space.
This is one of two popular sites for Christian pilgrims. Across the city, The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is a site believed by many of our Catholic brothers and sisters to be the site of the suffering, crucifiction, burial, and resurrection of the Savior. An impressive edifice has been erected to commemorate this sacred site, and hundreds of thousands of faithful people make pilgrimage there annually to see and feel the spirit of the church. However, as with any location here in the Holy Land, the archeological community very seldom (if ever) collaborates on the authenticity of any place. There are plenty of ongoing arguments both for and against any given location where things were said to have transpired. This location, as crucial as it may seem to the foundation of Christianity, is no different.
There is a large movement among protestant denominations that holds that Christ's execution and enterrment occured on the northern side of the city. They have excavated a tomb believed to belong to Joseph of Arimathea. The surrounding gardens are an ancient vineyard that dates to the time of Christ. Also near the tomb is the largest wine vat discovered to date, and a Roman cistern with almost 200,000 gallons of water buried forty feet underground. A large rock formation bearing uncanny resemblance to a giant stone skull is very reminiscent of the etymology of Calvary (Latin: the skull) and Golgotha (the Hebrew equivalent). Roman executions usually occurred in public places, near the main thoroughfare of travelers. It is a common Christian tradition that Christ and the thieves were crucified on a hill, but the cross was likely erected near the street that I had just crossed.
I had a very interesting passage of scripture pointed out to me today from a good friend who sat next to me at the Garden Tomb. This friend has been with me at each of my most intensely spiritual adventures in this country. In Psalms 118:22 it reads: "The stone which the builders refused is become the head stone of the corner." Golgotha is situated just outside the opening of Hezekiah's tunnel. For the Free Masons, this is an important site because it is the rock quarry for Solomon's temple. However, the rock in Golgotha is poor and crumbles easily. The closer one excavates into Jerusalem, away from the supposed site of the cross, the better the rock becomes for the stone blocks of the temple. While the psalms obviously references the Savior, it also might literally be fulfilled by the physical location of material rock like that on Calvary in relation to Solomon's quarry.
Also, it is interesting to note that in Mark 16:5, the women "entering into the sepulchre, ... saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed in a long white garment;" This tomb is the only one discovered in the area to date that has a burial chamber oriented to the right of the antechamber where mourners would traditionally stand. The rest (about 17 discovered) are all linear in their orientation (ergo, no "right side" just "inside"). Also, it is apparent in looking at the burial shelf that a section has been chiseled out of the rock, suggesting that it was adjusted after construction to allow for a slightly taller body than the original owner of the tomb.
I could go on. However, the crux of this discussion is that in a place that seems to be all about places, this spot is different. The English missionaries that staff it made it very apparent that the physical location is periphery. We know only that He was crucified for us and resurrected for us. Take a moment to reflect on the import and audacity of that belief: that a Man has transcended death and made it possible for every human born into existence to do the same. At the risk of sounding slightly heretical, let me suggest (respectfully) that Christianity could survive without some parts of His teachings, without some parables or stories of miracles. Indeed, we HAVE survived despite the loss of some of the source texts for our modern Bible that have been destroyed, altered, or omitted. But Christianity would not be what it is without this solemn affirmation: that Christ came in the millenium of time to effectuate an eternal and infinite Atonement for all mankind.
We listened to our English tour guides welcome us to the site. They encouraged us to return as often as we could. "We love hearing LDS hymns- your harmonies are beautiful and the texts you sing are powerful. Please come as often as you are allowed and fill this garden with your songs." Today we returned. There is something amazing and profound about singing "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief" at such a site. I found time between tour groups when the garden is relatively quiet and empty, and entered the tomb alone. I felt the cool, rough stone under my hand and traced the letters carved on the door: "He Is Not Here, For He Is Risen." The emptiness of the tomb consumed me, and I felt indescribable joy knowing that the Resurrection is real.
I would like to add a statement here that applies to every aspect of my travels here: I realize the vast majority of humanity will not have such a chance to stand in that empty room. That's part of why I feel so motivated to maintain this blog- I want to share the testimony of one who has been blessed to be there with those who haven't yet. But it is not the basis of a testimony. One can know the reality of the Atonement from anywhere in the world without ever setting foot in this place. I have many friends on tiny islands of the Pacific that know just as well (and actually moreso) than I do that Christ's tomb really is empty, that He sacrificed and was resurrected to redeem us. I am so incredibly and eternally grateful to those who have helped me get to this point. This is an amazing opportunity.
Now for some of the lighter content: I visited Shaban's this week. I had absolutely NO intention of spending a shekel, but as he boasts, he's "very talented at separating Mormon's from their money." He showed me some of the finest abayas I have seen in the Old City. I recently purchased a kafiya and wanted a complete outfit. After an hour or so of shopping around, digging through boxes and trying things on, Shaban shared some squash and pita bread with us. He showed us his collection of jewelry and Abrahamic papyri replicas. Michael-Sean and I both purchased our robes and later, in the privacy of the Center, we donned the full regalia. We looked like true Arabian sheiks! I will be sure to upload pictures as soon as I am able.
I was sustained and set apart today to my new calling as Elder's Quorum Secretary in the Jerusalem Branch in the Israel District. I never thought the hymn "Ye Elders of Israel" would be so applicable! Our quorum is incredibly diverse, and although it includes a large number of students, there are expatriots, government workers, and native brethren. Many of us do not speak English, and the quorum is spread across the whole region. It was incredibly humbling to be set apart in such an amazing group of men, and to say that I feel inadequate would be an understatement. I love these men, I am anxious to serve, and have faith that the Lord will make up the difference.
I also had the unique opportunity of directing the branch choir today. We sang "Our Savior's Love". As the director, I could face the incredible view of the city behind the choir (spanning from Gethsemane to Calvary) and listen to the words of that great hymn. I realized that Crawford Gates' granddaughter was among our group, too. I also get to accompany for the Jerusalem Center Choir under the direction of Brother Huntsman. We are preparing a large Christmas repertoir to perform during the holiday season in lieu of our usual cultural events during the week.
We are leaving Israel tomorrow for a while, and I will not have access to Internet for that time. I will be sure to find time to upload new photos and post an update when I get back to Jerusalem. I want to thank you all for your support in reading this blog. I have regular viewers in over twenty countries, and I so appreciate the feedback and communication you give. Feel free to leave a comment here- it goes directly to me. I like to post some, but realize many of your comments are personal and for my eyes only, so I won't share those. I love hearing from all of you. Please email me with your phone number, too, and I will call if and when I am able.
This is one of two popular sites for Christian pilgrims. Across the city, The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is a site believed by many of our Catholic brothers and sisters to be the site of the suffering, crucifiction, burial, and resurrection of the Savior. An impressive edifice has been erected to commemorate this sacred site, and hundreds of thousands of faithful people make pilgrimage there annually to see and feel the spirit of the church. However, as with any location here in the Holy Land, the archeological community very seldom (if ever) collaborates on the authenticity of any place. There are plenty of ongoing arguments both for and against any given location where things were said to have transpired. This location, as crucial as it may seem to the foundation of Christianity, is no different.
There is a large movement among protestant denominations that holds that Christ's execution and enterrment occured on the northern side of the city. They have excavated a tomb believed to belong to Joseph of Arimathea. The surrounding gardens are an ancient vineyard that dates to the time of Christ. Also near the tomb is the largest wine vat discovered to date, and a Roman cistern with almost 200,000 gallons of water buried forty feet underground. A large rock formation bearing uncanny resemblance to a giant stone skull is very reminiscent of the etymology of Calvary (Latin: the skull) and Golgotha (the Hebrew equivalent). Roman executions usually occurred in public places, near the main thoroughfare of travelers. It is a common Christian tradition that Christ and the thieves were crucified on a hill, but the cross was likely erected near the street that I had just crossed.
I had a very interesting passage of scripture pointed out to me today from a good friend who sat next to me at the Garden Tomb. This friend has been with me at each of my most intensely spiritual adventures in this country. In Psalms 118:22 it reads: "The stone which the builders refused is become the head stone of the corner." Golgotha is situated just outside the opening of Hezekiah's tunnel. For the Free Masons, this is an important site because it is the rock quarry for Solomon's temple. However, the rock in Golgotha is poor and crumbles easily. The closer one excavates into Jerusalem, away from the supposed site of the cross, the better the rock becomes for the stone blocks of the temple. While the psalms obviously references the Savior, it also might literally be fulfilled by the physical location of material rock like that on Calvary in relation to Solomon's quarry.
Also, it is interesting to note that in Mark 16:5, the women "entering into the sepulchre, ... saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed in a long white garment;" This tomb is the only one discovered in the area to date that has a burial chamber oriented to the right of the antechamber where mourners would traditionally stand. The rest (about 17 discovered) are all linear in their orientation (ergo, no "right side" just "inside"). Also, it is apparent in looking at the burial shelf that a section has been chiseled out of the rock, suggesting that it was adjusted after construction to allow for a slightly taller body than the original owner of the tomb.
I could go on. However, the crux of this discussion is that in a place that seems to be all about places, this spot is different. The English missionaries that staff it made it very apparent that the physical location is periphery. We know only that He was crucified for us and resurrected for us. Take a moment to reflect on the import and audacity of that belief: that a Man has transcended death and made it possible for every human born into existence to do the same. At the risk of sounding slightly heretical, let me suggest (respectfully) that Christianity could survive without some parts of His teachings, without some parables or stories of miracles. Indeed, we HAVE survived despite the loss of some of the source texts for our modern Bible that have been destroyed, altered, or omitted. But Christianity would not be what it is without this solemn affirmation: that Christ came in the millenium of time to effectuate an eternal and infinite Atonement for all mankind.
We listened to our English tour guides welcome us to the site. They encouraged us to return as often as we could. "We love hearing LDS hymns- your harmonies are beautiful and the texts you sing are powerful. Please come as often as you are allowed and fill this garden with your songs." Today we returned. There is something amazing and profound about singing "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief" at such a site. I found time between tour groups when the garden is relatively quiet and empty, and entered the tomb alone. I felt the cool, rough stone under my hand and traced the letters carved on the door: "He Is Not Here, For He Is Risen." The emptiness of the tomb consumed me, and I felt indescribable joy knowing that the Resurrection is real.
I would like to add a statement here that applies to every aspect of my travels here: I realize the vast majority of humanity will not have such a chance to stand in that empty room. That's part of why I feel so motivated to maintain this blog- I want to share the testimony of one who has been blessed to be there with those who haven't yet. But it is not the basis of a testimony. One can know the reality of the Atonement from anywhere in the world without ever setting foot in this place. I have many friends on tiny islands of the Pacific that know just as well (and actually moreso) than I do that Christ's tomb really is empty, that He sacrificed and was resurrected to redeem us. I am so incredibly and eternally grateful to those who have helped me get to this point. This is an amazing opportunity.
Now for some of the lighter content: I visited Shaban's this week. I had absolutely NO intention of spending a shekel, but as he boasts, he's "very talented at separating Mormon's from their money." He showed me some of the finest abayas I have seen in the Old City. I recently purchased a kafiya and wanted a complete outfit. After an hour or so of shopping around, digging through boxes and trying things on, Shaban shared some squash and pita bread with us. He showed us his collection of jewelry and Abrahamic papyri replicas. Michael-Sean and I both purchased our robes and later, in the privacy of the Center, we donned the full regalia. We looked like true Arabian sheiks! I will be sure to upload pictures as soon as I am able.
I was sustained and set apart today to my new calling as Elder's Quorum Secretary in the Jerusalem Branch in the Israel District. I never thought the hymn "Ye Elders of Israel" would be so applicable! Our quorum is incredibly diverse, and although it includes a large number of students, there are expatriots, government workers, and native brethren. Many of us do not speak English, and the quorum is spread across the whole region. It was incredibly humbling to be set apart in such an amazing group of men, and to say that I feel inadequate would be an understatement. I love these men, I am anxious to serve, and have faith that the Lord will make up the difference.
I also had the unique opportunity of directing the branch choir today. We sang "Our Savior's Love". As the director, I could face the incredible view of the city behind the choir (spanning from Gethsemane to Calvary) and listen to the words of that great hymn. I realized that Crawford Gates' granddaughter was among our group, too. I also get to accompany for the Jerusalem Center Choir under the direction of Brother Huntsman. We are preparing a large Christmas repertoir to perform during the holiday season in lieu of our usual cultural events during the week.
We are leaving Israel tomorrow for a while, and I will not have access to Internet for that time. I will be sure to find time to upload new photos and post an update when I get back to Jerusalem. I want to thank you all for your support in reading this blog. I have regular viewers in over twenty countries, and I so appreciate the feedback and communication you give. Feel free to leave a comment here- it goes directly to me. I like to post some, but realize many of your comments are personal and for my eyes only, so I won't share those. I love hearing from all of you. Please email me with your phone number, too, and I will call if and when I am able.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Pictures...
Whoever said a picture is worth a thousand words obviously understood blogging. I regret that I only have Internet service intermittently capable of handling the data uploads for this. Everything I do in the Center has to be text-based, and I'm getting fairly adept at HTML editing out of necessity. Here are some pictures and explanations- no real order or significance, just a snapshot of life these days...
This is the Way of the Patriarchs... Any suggestion in this shot to the Biblical practice of plural marriage is unintentional- I just happened to be standing with these lovely ladies at the time. The male to female ratio here in Jerusalem is about 1:3... so this about sums it up. (From left to right: Amy, Maddy, Rachel, me, Devin, and Desiree) Behind us is the City of David, Old Jerusalem and the three towers on the horizon surround our center. They demarcate Mount Scopus and the Mount of Olives. 
Michael-Sean and I one evening enjoying the Biblical Gardens around the center. We have lots of olive trees and all the olive presses and vats that we will need to make olive oil this fall. This time of evening is usually characterized by the call to prayer from all the mosques in the valley. We live in East Jerusalem, a predominantly Muslim community, and each minnaret sounds the call to prayer for the faithful five times a day. This stairway winds around and down the mountain/Center and eventually exits into the eastern neighborhoods in the Kidron Valley. The tiers on the left are floors of living quarters for students. Micheal-Sean recently returned from the Scotland/Ireland mission- he and I have some mutual friends in Dublin, one of whom is training my cousin this transfer.
These pictures are taken at the St. Peter Gali
cantu cathedral in the Upper City, on top of what is believed to be the house of Caiaphas. Pictured on the right are two friends, Caleb and Nick (Nick attends BYUH with me). This church is built to commemorate Peter's denial of the Christ three times before the cock crowed. Beneath the church are a series of catacombs and dungeons that date back to the appropriate period. It is very possible that the Savior was detained in a rock prison like this one before being tried and questioned on the night preceeding his crucifixion. Regardless of the historic authenticity of the local (which is constantly under question in the academic community) this is a very sobering site. 
Amy, Rivkah and I in front of the Knesset, the Israeli parliament building. This is comparable to our Capitol building and is located in the heart of West Jerusalem. This view was taken from the National Museum, near the Shrine of the Book (location of the Dead Sea Scrolls). As students, we have open access to these amazing monuments, parks, and museums.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Remembering 9/11
I sat on my balcony after dinner last night, watching the sunset over the Temple Mount. The last rays of sun glinted off the golden dome. I was lost in thought about the events of exactly ten years ago- I remembered where I was when those planes destroyed the Twin Towers, and thousands of human lives. If anyone had approached me that day and told me that ten years later, I would stand in the center of the Middle East and watch a sunset, I'd have thought them crazy. I started to wonder: what if they had told me that America's people would largely forget that moment- they'd forget why we began the fight in Afghanistan, and they'd be so disctracted by the havoc their politicians spun at home, they'd forget their 'God Bless America' mantra.
I was in this fairly pessimist train of thought when fireworks erupted all around me. Palestinians ran into the streets, shouting and dancing, celebrating the anniversary of the defeat of the American empire. Music was playing. It was cause for rejoicing among my Arab neighbors. My frustration at America turned to incredulity at the ignorance and hatred that gave rise to such celebration. I realized that something was very different between these two sides of the world- between my memory of tragedy and their view of triumph. How many lives had been lost because of this extremist jihad? What would it take to "provide for the common defence" and "secure the blessings of Liberty for ourselves and our posterity" while recognizing their voice and respecting their rights? My Palestinian neighbors currently feel they are an oppressed nation, occupied by a foreign power.
I suddenly saw the American people in a new light. My view was confirmed several hours later when I checked my email and discovered all the photos and emails many of you sent. In my mind's eye, I saw memorials dedicated, candlelight vigils held, the wreaths at Arlington, and the changing of the guard at the tomb of the unknown soldier. And I saw true patriotism displayed. I saw a view of the true American people- not the squabbling democrats and power-grabbing politicians: but the people that feared God and relied on His protection to defend their life and liberty. Of course, Obama gave a few dry words that somehow sounded like a lecture by the end of his token speech, but the true commemoration happened in hearts, like mine, in every corner of the world.
The celebration and fanfare over the death of the innocent will pass like the ash and smoke of those buildings. But from the debris of that pivotal moment in history rises a solid memorial of the American spirit: not on a site in Manhattan, but in the lives of good individuals of all walks of life, honestly seeking to embody the righteous expression of personal liberty. That is something that will never be taken away- because it is something that was never bestowed by man. It was endowed by our Creator.
I spent the morning in Jericho in the West Bank. This is a picture from the top of the Tel, (the hill) where archeologists have unearthed parts of what is generally agreed to be the oldest city on earth. (And consequently, the lowest point on earth, at 1300 ft. below sea level). Behind me is the oldest man-made structure on earth, including the oldest stairway discovered. It's from the neolithic era (Latin for: very old). These are the remains of a 10,000 year-old defensive tower that was about 30 ft. tall. We went to Herod's Winter Palace- the site where he ordered massacred the most influential leaders in Israel upon his death to ensure the national mourning at his passing. Here was a true narcissistic tyrant who never understood leadership or power.
I was in this fairly pessimist train of thought when fireworks erupted all around me. Palestinians ran into the streets, shouting and dancing, celebrating the anniversary of the defeat of the American empire. Music was playing. It was cause for rejoicing among my Arab neighbors. My frustration at America turned to incredulity at the ignorance and hatred that gave rise to such celebration. I realized that something was very different between these two sides of the world- between my memory of tragedy and their view of triumph. How many lives had been lost because of this extremist jihad? What would it take to "provide for the common defence" and "secure the blessings of Liberty for ourselves and our posterity" while recognizing their voice and respecting their rights? My Palestinian neighbors currently feel they are an oppressed nation, occupied by a foreign power.
I suddenly saw the American people in a new light. My view was confirmed several hours later when I checked my email and discovered all the photos and emails many of you sent. In my mind's eye, I saw memorials dedicated, candlelight vigils held, the wreaths at Arlington, and the changing of the guard at the tomb of the unknown soldier. And I saw true patriotism displayed. I saw a view of the true American people- not the squabbling democrats and power-grabbing politicians: but the people that feared God and relied on His protection to defend their life and liberty. Of course, Obama gave a few dry words that somehow sounded like a lecture by the end of his token speech, but the true commemoration happened in hearts, like mine, in every corner of the world.
The celebration and fanfare over the death of the innocent will pass like the ash and smoke of those buildings. But from the debris of that pivotal moment in history rises a solid memorial of the American spirit: not on a site in Manhattan, but in the lives of good individuals of all walks of life, honestly seeking to embody the righteous expression of personal liberty. That is something that will never be taken away- because it is something that was never bestowed by man. It was endowed by our Creator.
I spent the morning in Jericho in the West Bank. This is a picture from the top of the Tel, (the hill) where archeologists have unearthed parts of what is generally agreed to be the oldest city on earth. (And consequently, the lowest point on earth, at 1300 ft. below sea level). Behind me is the oldest man-made structure on earth, including the oldest stairway discovered. It's from the neolithic era (Latin for: very old). These are the remains of a 10,000 year-old defensive tower that was about 30 ft. tall. We went to Herod's Winter Palace- the site where he ordered massacred the most influential leaders in Israel upon his death to ensure the national mourning at his passing. Here was a true narcissistic tyrant who never understood leadership or power.It was a powerful contrast to stand on Tel-Yericho too, seeing the place where Joshua led the Israelites in the conquest of the Promised Land. A true leader, recognizing the real Source of his power, and the political strength of his people. Seeing the land "flowing with milk and honey" (and, this morning at least, with the sweat of eighty perspiring college kids), Joshua (and later Nephi) teaches that the land is given to those that fear God and remember Him. Rahab, the harlot that lived there and aided the spies, would have the God of Israel to be her God. She illustrates that it doesn't matter what social status we belong to- whether we are "middle class" or "proletariat" (for my Marxist friends reading this) or "minority" citizens of a chosen nation: if we will obey the God of Abraham and keep the commandments, we will be prospered in the land as equal and free citizens. We will be fellow saints in the household of God, no more strangers or foreigners. And there is more than one Zion, more than one Temple Mount, and more than one Land of Promise for God's children.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Kotel
There are a few, rare and incredible instances where one can stand at the epicenter of a culture. It’s an indescribable feeling that goes well beyond the scope of mere tourism, passing curiosity, or even observation. I don’t want to wax too philosophical, but I am grateful every day for the few gems of moments like these that I have experienced so far in life. I’m thinking specifically of sitting in the center of the chief’s circle in the Vanuatu Fakaiaiamanu on Funafuti atoll in Tuvalu, surrounded by Tuvaluan men beating on mats and the women draped in leis swaying gracefully on the periphery. I sat in the center of culture that night, letting the purest form and practice of it completely surround me- the sound, smell, thoughts, and feel of all that the people reverenced in their customs.
I had a similar experience last night. The Western Wall (Kotel) at sundown before Shabbat is simply unreal. It’s another rare focus of a rich, pure culture. The Jewish people reverence this Wall as the nearest they will ever come to where the Holy of Holies in their temple used to stand. We walked through East Jerusalem and the Old City to arrive at the Western Wall. Men passed through the metal detectors on the left, the women on the right. I donned a kipah that had been given to me and my friend while we were in Canada this summer. I had tucked in my pocket a small slip of paper with a small blessing I had penned earlier. It is tradition to place the paper in the crevasses of the Wailing Wall and pray that God will grant that wish.
The plaza was full of hundreds of people, Jews and non-Jews alike. I followed our leader down to the Wall and watched him make his way through the mass of black coats and hats. “Davening” is the Jewish custom of swaying in a bowing motion while praying- it’s a beautiful form of worship but makes it a little difficult to move through a crowd discreetly. I watched our leader approach the Wall and press his palms against it, then his forehead, eyes closed in prayer. My companion and I followed suit.
I can’t describe the feeling of touching archaic hewn stone, sixteen feet thick and upwards of two thousand years old, surrounded by hundreds of Jewish worshippers- knowing the faith and prayers of millions of good people throughout the ages all centered here. On the other side of this rock, I realized, was the most-contested piece of land in the history of humanity. I could hear the soft rumble of hundreds of mouths, each murmuring a gentle supplication from a hundred different directions. The rock was cool and smooth. I closed my eyes too and prayed quietly- the words coming in Spanish.
I don’t remember exactly what I prayed, but it was something to the effect of “I know I can pray anywhere and be heard… but I am grateful to be in this place, of all places, surrounded by these chosen people.” I was overwhelmed with gratitude and awe for the incredible circumstance in which I found myself. It was a very reverent feeling, as I finally opened my eyes and backed away from the Wall. It is common protocol in Judaism to “never turn your back on the Holy Place”, so I walked backwards a few paces to give deference to their honorable tradition. The more I learn of these cultures, Muslim and Jew alike, the greater sense of religious envy I find myself developing of all they have that is good and true in them. I retreated behind the mass of Hassidic worshippers and met up with several other fellow students.
A large contingent of Israeli soldiers was entering the plaza now- dressed in fatigues with M-4s slung over their shoulders. All forty of them donned military covers or kipahs. They started singing and chanting, but it was anything but quiet and subdued- this was a celebration! The Sabbath was beginning, and it was time to sing and dance it in! They linked arms, held shoulders, and started bouncing and chanting- somewhat reminiscent of a football team after a victory. I was grabbed by a soldier and pulled into the fray, and on impulse, grabbed the nearest person and pulled him into the circle with me. The lyrics were simple and repeated often- my fledgling Hebrew grasped the basic gist of it. The circle pulsed and swayed, then rotated. I could see women and tourists pressed against the two barriers that separated our section as the fifty of us sang and danced. One man jumped on a table and began to dance- another walked on his hands and the people around us began to clap in rhythm. It was nothing short of a scene from Fiddler on the Roof!
Here we were- sunset on Friday, and I was in the largest celebration in Judaism! Men started hoisting others onto their shoulders, and I saw a father lift one of his sons onto his shoulders. His other boy (about twelve) watched for a bit and I stooped next to him. His face lit up with a smile and he jumped on my shoulders and I hoisted him up- dancing in the circle with the others. It was the most sublime expression of gratitude for the Day of Rest, of rejoicing in the history (which had so much to mourn) but was hopeful for a better week and happier years ahead.
Changing gears now: school is incredibly fast-paced here. Our readings usually entail two or three essays, usually around forty pages each, which we read between class sessions. We have two cultures classes, so we usually read about 160 pages of perspective on histories and practices of these groups each week. My Old Testament course requires us to read about twenty chapters of the Bible between classes- so I’m finishing Genesis now. We have written responses and quizzes to almost every assignment, so I spend long hours studying and preparing for classes. Our ancient near eastern studies class is going on a field trip to Jericho Monday, and I’m hoping to have enough time to catch up on reading and maybe even get ahead a bit. All this squeezed between times when I dash down the hill with at least two friends, rush into the city to see Shaban or buy the BEST falafel near Jaffa Gate.
After a while, though, I step back and realize that, despite the stress (or perhaps because of it) I am learning some of the most incredible history humanity has ever produced. I live in, what is arguably the most beautiful place in Israel. I have a very comfortable room, gourmet meals, and some of the funniest, most adventurous, and impressive companions I have ever met. This is a living laboratory for Middle-Eastern culture. I chuckled yesterday while we were all studying a model of the Old City for a class assignment because an argument broke out over the location of several ancient structures in relation to the modern walls and boundaries. Only in the Jerusalem Center would a group of college kids actually CARE where the Damascus Gate sat before the Ottoman reconstruction! Everyone threw up their hands long before it got contentious and laughed as they headed off to the Shrine of the Book.
I love the lack of routine that makes up our class schedules. Every day is different- most days have a religion course, but sometimes it’s a lecture on Jewish culture, or visiting an archeological dig to learn about King David. It might be free time to visit the city, or the languages class. My Hebrew teacher is phenomenal. She brings in a new item every day and focuses on a letter of the alphabet (like Sesame Street: Today is brought to you by… the letter “BEIT”. Beit is the first letter in the word “bircone”. This is a bircone- and here’s what it means for a Jew.) We also learn lots of Jewish folk songs, traditions, and expressions. Have you ever wondered about the symbolism behind being married under the canopy? How about the true meaning of “Mazal Tov”? Why do Jewish men wear kipahs?
I think I originally anticipated a stay in the Center with regular classes interspersed with field trips and experiences in significant sites around here. I realize now that it is not a singular visit to “the Garden Tomb” or one trip to “The Mount of Olives”. Rather, I live within walking distance of these places and outside of class time, I have daily and weekly experiences in these remarkable places.
Taken in this light, while I feel like there is much still to see here, I realize how much I have already experienced. Life is comprised of a series of relatively unremarkable events. It’s the daily discipline of a Christ-like existence that brings us closer to the person we want to become. Sometimes we aren’t aware because it happens so slowly, but when we stop to think, we will realize that we are the sum total of our experiences. Minutes are the building blocks of our days, and what we do with our time eventually defines who we are.
I had a similar experience last night. The Western Wall (Kotel) at sundown before Shabbat is simply unreal. It’s another rare focus of a rich, pure culture. The Jewish people reverence this Wall as the nearest they will ever come to where the Holy of Holies in their temple used to stand. We walked through East Jerusalem and the Old City to arrive at the Western Wall. Men passed through the metal detectors on the left, the women on the right. I donned a kipah that had been given to me and my friend while we were in Canada this summer. I had tucked in my pocket a small slip of paper with a small blessing I had penned earlier. It is tradition to place the paper in the crevasses of the Wailing Wall and pray that God will grant that wish.
The plaza was full of hundreds of people, Jews and non-Jews alike. I followed our leader down to the Wall and watched him make his way through the mass of black coats and hats. “Davening” is the Jewish custom of swaying in a bowing motion while praying- it’s a beautiful form of worship but makes it a little difficult to move through a crowd discreetly. I watched our leader approach the Wall and press his palms against it, then his forehead, eyes closed in prayer. My companion and I followed suit.
I can’t describe the feeling of touching archaic hewn stone, sixteen feet thick and upwards of two thousand years old, surrounded by hundreds of Jewish worshippers- knowing the faith and prayers of millions of good people throughout the ages all centered here. On the other side of this rock, I realized, was the most-contested piece of land in the history of humanity. I could hear the soft rumble of hundreds of mouths, each murmuring a gentle supplication from a hundred different directions. The rock was cool and smooth. I closed my eyes too and prayed quietly- the words coming in Spanish.
I don’t remember exactly what I prayed, but it was something to the effect of “I know I can pray anywhere and be heard… but I am grateful to be in this place, of all places, surrounded by these chosen people.” I was overwhelmed with gratitude and awe for the incredible circumstance in which I found myself. It was a very reverent feeling, as I finally opened my eyes and backed away from the Wall. It is common protocol in Judaism to “never turn your back on the Holy Place”, so I walked backwards a few paces to give deference to their honorable tradition. The more I learn of these cultures, Muslim and Jew alike, the greater sense of religious envy I find myself developing of all they have that is good and true in them. I retreated behind the mass of Hassidic worshippers and met up with several other fellow students.
A large contingent of Israeli soldiers was entering the plaza now- dressed in fatigues with M-4s slung over their shoulders. All forty of them donned military covers or kipahs. They started singing and chanting, but it was anything but quiet and subdued- this was a celebration! The Sabbath was beginning, and it was time to sing and dance it in! They linked arms, held shoulders, and started bouncing and chanting- somewhat reminiscent of a football team after a victory. I was grabbed by a soldier and pulled into the fray, and on impulse, grabbed the nearest person and pulled him into the circle with me. The lyrics were simple and repeated often- my fledgling Hebrew grasped the basic gist of it. The circle pulsed and swayed, then rotated. I could see women and tourists pressed against the two barriers that separated our section as the fifty of us sang and danced. One man jumped on a table and began to dance- another walked on his hands and the people around us began to clap in rhythm. It was nothing short of a scene from Fiddler on the Roof!
Here we were- sunset on Friday, and I was in the largest celebration in Judaism! Men started hoisting others onto their shoulders, and I saw a father lift one of his sons onto his shoulders. His other boy (about twelve) watched for a bit and I stooped next to him. His face lit up with a smile and he jumped on my shoulders and I hoisted him up- dancing in the circle with the others. It was the most sublime expression of gratitude for the Day of Rest, of rejoicing in the history (which had so much to mourn) but was hopeful for a better week and happier years ahead.
Changing gears now: school is incredibly fast-paced here. Our readings usually entail two or three essays, usually around forty pages each, which we read between class sessions. We have two cultures classes, so we usually read about 160 pages of perspective on histories and practices of these groups each week. My Old Testament course requires us to read about twenty chapters of the Bible between classes- so I’m finishing Genesis now. We have written responses and quizzes to almost every assignment, so I spend long hours studying and preparing for classes. Our ancient near eastern studies class is going on a field trip to Jericho Monday, and I’m hoping to have enough time to catch up on reading and maybe even get ahead a bit. All this squeezed between times when I dash down the hill with at least two friends, rush into the city to see Shaban or buy the BEST falafel near Jaffa Gate.After a while, though, I step back and realize that, despite the stress (or perhaps because of it) I am learning some of the most incredible history humanity has ever produced. I live in, what is arguably the most beautiful place in Israel. I have a very comfortable room, gourmet meals, and some of the funniest, most adventurous, and impressive companions I have ever met. This is a living laboratory for Middle-Eastern culture. I chuckled yesterday while we were all studying a model of the Old City for a class assignment because an argument broke out over the location of several ancient structures in relation to the modern walls and boundaries. Only in the Jerusalem Center would a group of college kids actually CARE where the Damascus Gate sat before the Ottoman reconstruction! Everyone threw up their hands long before it got contentious and laughed as they headed off to the Shrine of the Book.
I love the lack of routine that makes up our class schedules. Every day is different- most days have a religion course, but sometimes it’s a lecture on Jewish culture, or visiting an archeological dig to learn about King David. It might be free time to visit the city, or the languages class. My Hebrew teacher is phenomenal. She brings in a new item every day and focuses on a letter of the alphabet (like Sesame Street: Today is brought to you by… the letter “BEIT”. Beit is the first letter in the word “bircone”. This is a bircone- and here’s what it means for a Jew.) We also learn lots of Jewish folk songs, traditions, and expressions. Have you ever wondered about the symbolism behind being married under the canopy? How about the true meaning of “Mazal Tov”? Why do Jewish men wear kipahs?
I think I originally anticipated a stay in the Center with regular classes interspersed with field trips and experiences in significant sites around here. I realize now that it is not a singular visit to “the Garden Tomb” or one trip to “The Mount of Olives”. Rather, I live within walking distance of these places and outside of class time, I have daily and weekly experiences in these remarkable places.
Taken in this light, while I feel like there is much still to see here, I realize how much I have already experienced. Life is comprised of a series of relatively unremarkable events. It’s the daily discipline of a Christ-like existence that brings us closer to the person we want to become. Sometimes we aren’t aware because it happens so slowly, but when we stop to think, we will realize that we are the sum total of our experiences. Minutes are the building blocks of our days, and what we do with our time eventually defines who we are.
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