tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1461028795106204112024-03-07T21:31:34.233-08:00My Life Out of Three SuitcasesDeborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-4931091569082503322013-05-21T11:42:00.000-07:002013-05-21T11:54:06.500-07:00‘Lest we forget Jerusalem’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A Fond Farewell<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is said that all good things must come to an end but in
truth good things continue to happen – just in new places and in different
ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My time in Jerusalem has now been
completed, as I always knew it would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The time has flown by and it seems that it was only yesterday that I
arrived with my eyes agog and new adventures occurring daily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel a little older now and perhaps a
little jaded. Living in a different culture, where things are not always as they
seem and people are living under extreme circumstances will (hopefully) change
you. And hopefully for the better – I guess this will remain to be seen, but I
know I am not the same as when I arrived nearly two years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I took a walk about the Old City before I left. I said good
bye to the fellow where I buy my fresh almonds and pistachios. I said good bye
to the man where I buy my office supplies and the man where I buy my scarves
and the man from whom I rent a car now and then. The last time I went to
Ramallah I said good bye to the man at my favourite stitchery store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to say good bye to the fellow who
makes the best falafel sandwiches EVER but he was not there that day which was
probably a good thing because it is hard to eat and cry at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me saying farewell has been so deeply
sad. And yet I know that the people to whom I bid farewell have been through
this many times before. It is part of their life – the flowing in and out of
foreigners who have come to work or volunteer or help somehow in this intense
and crazy place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they know that for
many of us, we will return. That it is not really ‘Good Bye’ but more likely
just ‘See you later’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A friend who has
lived in Jerusalem a long time and over the years has returned numerous times,
said to me ‘Jerusalem will let you know when she is finished with you.’ Those
words are heartening as I leave to go into the grey of a misty future.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the farewell dinners commence and the packing up of my
life here begins (my three suitcases is now six – did I really need that
Bedouin carpet from Hebron?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And all that
pottery? Well, actually, yes I did.) I am asked these questions:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What was the highlight of your time here?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What made you laugh? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What did you learn while you were here?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I try to answer the question – what was the highlight
of my time in Jerusalem? I begin by saying it was participating in the Holy
Eucharist service with the 104<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan
Williams, in the Holy Sepulcher. But that jumps me to sleeping in the Holy Sepulcher
which was amazing. And that takes me from the dark to the light and to hiking
in the West Bank which was beautiful and relaxing and sometimes hard hot work.
So that leads me to swimming in the Galilee which was cool and refreshing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that reminds me of the many visitors I
enjoyed and the adventures we had (especially on the vertical avenues of
Nazareth). And then I think of the friends I have made here and the times we
have had enjoying a meal or a glass of wine (or two). The trips to Jordan and
Lebanon, the walks we have taken in and around the Old City of Jerusalem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not think I have just one highlight – I
think I have been living in a highlight where every day brings another memory I
will treasure, a story to tell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What made me laugh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This time has been very joyous. I recall myself laughing a lot but I
don’t really remember one specific thing that made me laugh. Sometimes cultural
differences were certainly the basis for a laugh as I stumbled through my poor
Arabic. Ask me why I will never attempt to say the word for ‘difficult’ ever
again. Seems my pronunciation tends to sound like a male body part. Oops!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There were times when the laughter was bitter sweet – once
while waiting in line at a check point, our line was not moving as the people
in the other line were being passed through at a fair pace. A young man in his
frustration eventually yelled out to the young female IDF soldier, what I can
only assume was ‘Why are we not moving? Open our gate!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a moment our line began to move,
however, just as the young man got to the turnstile, the line stopped. A hush
went over everyone, as it was so obvious that it had been stopped on purpose
just as he got there, and then everyone burst into laughter. The young man as
well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such is the way of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it all ended well as our line moved on
after another 10 minutes or so. Laughter really is the best medicine and it is
crucial when living in a land that is harsh. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What did I learn while I have been here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be honest. I have learned that it is
hard work NOT to hate ‘the other’. There have been times when I have wanted to
hate the soldiers or the settlers or the ultra-orthodox or just something, so
very much. But I also know that it is futile. I answered this question while
having breakfast one morning with friends from St. George’s Cathedral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting beside me was a young Palestinian
man, a Deacon in the church, who just quietly nodded while I spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew, far more deeply than I, what it
means to work at NOT hating your neighbour – to love your enemy, in fact. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that this is a land with a long history
and a complicated one at that. And I know that the politics are layered upon
layers of culture and pain. But sometimes when I have seen how the people I
know, and have come to care for, are treated on a daily basis, I just want to
be very angry and hateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And really,
who am I to feel this way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My home does not
have demolition orders pending, my water is not cut off 3 or 4 times a week or
my electricity turned off regularly. I am obviously a stranger in a strange
land. And the truth is I am leaving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What I have learned more than anything is that the people I have
encountered here are full of grace. I think they inherently know that hate will
kill them far quicker than anything else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And so it is hard work to take a deep breath and suck it up but it is
better than to be filled with an ugliness that spills out in very harmful
ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, not everyone
understands that and we see the result on the news regularly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pray for the peace of Jerusalem!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knew when I began this adventure that at the end of this
chapter there would be another jump. And that is true as here I go
(again).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am heading back to Los
Angeles to visit my daughter and see friends. Then I will get my car on the
road and head up to Montreal to be with my parents who need me at this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will drive across America with a friend and
I am sure we will have some amazing road trip stories to tell when we arrive
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am not sure what the future holds although there are
whispers of exciting things ahead. I give great thanks for all who have
supported me, loved me, and prayed for me whilst I have been far away. There is
no possible way that I can begin to convey my appreciation and gratitude, or
repay what has been given to me in so many different ways. As a dear friend
said to me – it’s really about paying it forward not paying it back. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very wise words. So please know that I will be
taking your kindnesses with me and passing them out as I travel along the new
path that is opening up before me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so the Adventure continues…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-64273866179928977942013-03-19T02:25:00.000-07:002013-03-19T02:25:56.299-07:00Gaza<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I have been waiting for over a month to receive a permit to
go into Gaza. It has finally been approved and I am going with the Bishop’s
Chaplain to visit Al Ahli Arab Hospital, the only Christian Hospital in Gaza
City. We will also hold a service at St. Philip’s Anglican Church there. It is
the only Anglican Church in Gaza and the Bishop tries to send someone once a
month to celebrate communion with the people.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We leave early in the morning. It is almost a two hour drive
to get to the Erez Border or Gaza Checkpoint. As we approach, a large facility
and the ever present walls, emerge in the distance like a maximum security
prison. Which, of course, it is. Gaza is a prison for the 1.5 million people who
live there and cannot leave.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We walk through security, so many turnstiles, stop on red,
go on green, never a person to be seen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I feel like I am in some sort of sci-fi
movie far in the future, where Big Brother is watching all the time and I feel
guilty just for standing and doing nothing. But this is not the future this is
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I keep reminding myself, that
this is easy going for me, a white foreigner from North America.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We make our way through this large, empty, clean, facility –
I saw, perhaps, five people in all, young security personnel- women and men, or
rather boys and girls. The towers outside are heavily armed and there are
cameras at every turn. Once through the last turnstile on this side, we walk
through no man’s land on a covered path (about 2 kilometers) to the Gaza side.
Hamas security has been given our information from the hospital so they check
us through. Canon John is given a little trouble over the service booklets he has
brought for the church. And it is not the Christian theme that is the worry so
much as the map on the back, of the Diocese of Jerusalem (which depicts the
five countries of the diocese which include – Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Palestine
and Israel). But after much consternation, we are allowed to continue.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I feel like I have gone from Oz to Kansas. Behind me is
green pasture, farmers in huge modern machinery cultivating the lush land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I have stepped into dust and donkeys,
Bedouins crowded into slums with filthy sheep and goats grazing in the garbage.
We drive toward the city, where it is a busy day. An interesting mixture of
past and present, as cars make way for donkeys pulling wagons, driven by old
men and shoeless boys. Women are shopping and, really, since I arrived in the
Middle East, I have not seen so many women in black burkas, as I do today. We
pass the sites of bombed out homes and recognize them from the news. We drive
over a lovely new bridge, bombed by the Israelis and rebuilt by USAID.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We arrive at Al Ahli Arab Hospital. We are welcomed with
coffee and sweets. We discuss the life here in Gaza and I see the exhaustion on
the face of our doctor and in the eyes of the administration. The mission of
the hospital, for over a hundred years, has always been to serve the poor. But
money has not come in as readily these days, and the worry is that some of the
staff will have to be released. Most of the staff is Muslim, and everyone has
worked well together for a long time but there is an undercurrent of fear that
there may be violent reprisals should that happen. And what if the Hamas
government should sweep in and easily pay for everything. That would be the end
of our Christian Hospital, of a small but valiant Christian Presence in Gaza. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">At the moment USAID is building a Diagnostic Center beside
the Hospital. This will be a great boon to us, as all the diagnostic tools,
treatment and follow-up will be at hand on the hospital campus. But the running
costs are difficult to come by and treatment is dear. The people of Gaza do not
have the money to pay for their health needs and Al Ahli Hospital has always
served them at minimal cost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will tell
you, I have never met such faithful people. I am put to shame by their hope.
Especially their hope in us, their fellow Christians, brothers and sisters in
Christ, that somehow we will bring good news. And our news is not good. Our
news is always one of waiting. Just wait, we are working on it. I ask myself -
are we bringing them false hope? I will leave tomorrow and this small band of
people, caught in a situation, not of their making, will struggle on. When
asked if they would leave, the answer is always, ‘No, this is our home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is our hospital. It is for the hospital,
to be the hands and feet of Jesus Christ, not for me, that I continue to work,
to serve the people.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am in the room
with true disciples of Christ. I am profoundly humbled by their kindness,
generousity and deep commitment. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Our talk turns to politics – how can it not? And in the
course of conversation, we are asked if we would like to see the tunnels that
come in from Egypt. Everything comes from Egypt. The apples and bananas that
sit on the table for lunch come from Egypt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We get into a van and drive to Rafah. It is about an hour
away. As we drive south, I see a lot of new buildings and beautiful homes going
up. Rich colours and fancy balconies. I am told there are millionaires in the
making here, money is coming in from Qatar but the people don’t see it. The
pretty buildings are a façade. The majority of the population is very poor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We arrive at the border of Palestine and Egypt. I have put
my scarf over my head, as I can feel eyes on me and I do not want to make
anyone uncomfortable. I see the Egyptian security towers from where I am standing.
I see rows of white plastic tents, like kiosks at a country fair, and from them
are being hauled building supplies, pipes, and gravel, and from others, fruits,
vegetables, and fish. Some tunnels are so large that new cars are being driven
in to Gaza. They have not had new cars in Gaza for 6 years. Massive trucks
laden with construction materials are heading out. We go over to look more
closely at the tunnel nearest us. The opening is about 1.5 meters (5ft) across
and anywhere from 26 to 45 meters (approx. 85-148 ft.) deep. It is like looking
down a black bottomless pit. All I see is the rope going down into nothingness.
But there is someone down there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
young men working this tunnel wear flip flops and sandals. No hard hats or
safety wires. No thought of face masks to protect from the constant dust. I do
not think that health regulations or the thought of health care exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These men work for next to nothing, but it is
work and it is better than nothing at all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Everyone has been very kind to us, more than willing to show
us around the tunnel site. I see large plastic containers (tubs on ropes) of stones
come up from the tunnel and I think that we must be at a new tunnel that they
are still digging out. But, no, this gravel is building material, and two young
men grab the ropes and dump the tubs into a pit, where it is scooped up by a
large shovel-truck, and dumped into the back of another huge truck that will
haul it away to a building site. The air is thick with flying dust and I am
coated in it. I have only been here ten minutes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We thank the workers for kindly letting us
come to take a look at this place, and drive off in stunned silence. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">On the way home, Muhammad, who works at the hospital, asks
us back to his home for coffee. We pass a neighbourhood of new homes. Cement
boxes with windows. These are being built and funded by the UN and the USA.
Building houses for the poor and for those who have lost their homes in the
war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrive at the apartment building
of our new friend, and climb three or four flights of stairs to enter into a
lovely space. Canon John is seated in the living room and I am taken to meet
Mohamed’s wife and daughter in the kitchen. They have taken themselves to their
bedroom until they are told that John is in the other room. When they come out,
they are dressed like me, pants and blouses. I can only assume that to meet
John they would need to be covered. As I stand with them in the kitchen, the
smallest daughter comes to me with hands up, in the universal child speak of ‘Please
pick me up.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am happy to oblige. She
is beautiful, with rich brown eyes and curly black hair. She sits in my arms in
total trust. I use my very few Arabic words and the young girls clap and laugh
in delight. Our conversation goes very well, discussing children, school, and
shoes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">When our time comes to leave, my new friend, (I am sorry I
can’t pronounce her name, let alone spell it) goes to her room and returns to
give me a parting gift. Two blue candles and a lovely necklace that must have
come from her own jewelry box. I am so touched. Kindness and thoughtfulness
have no religious or political boundary. They just are.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Back in Gaza, we check into our hotel. What was once a busy
holiday spot is now desolate. There are only five people staying at our hotel,
including us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a lovely room, with
a sitting area and writing desk. I also have roosters and chickens outside my
window and the roosters are fighting. I am hoping they settle down when night
falls. We rest and then get picked up for dinner. We eat at a restaurant called
the Lighthouse. Which has an old one (hence the name) and we climb the 99 steps
to the top to see the view. It is absolutely beautiful. I can see the fishing
boats heading out. Technically they can fish at the five mile mark but in
reality they can only go out three, the sea along the Gaza Strip is heavily
militarized and severely guarded. As darkness falls I can see a necklace of
lights across the horizon as the fishermen await their catch. It is sardine
season but we are told the catch is poor and most boats may only come in with a
box full of fish each.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the fresh
fish comes from Egypt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">There is a jewelry sale at the restaurant and I head in to
take a look. I choose a lovely pair of earrings (approved with a thumbs up, by
a young girl standing beside me). I make my purchase and head back to our
table. I realize, as I am putting away my bag, that I have an extra necklace in
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our host goes to return it and comes
back saying, ‘No, this was a gift for you.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am not sure how to respond to this overwhelming kindness that I meet
at every turn. I have to wonder - am I as kind to strangers as these people? I
honestly don’t think so.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The next morning, I am awakened at 5am by my roosters’
morning crow. We leave our hotel after breakfast and visit the Palestinian Arts
and Crafts Shop (funded by UNRWA) that supports women in the villages who make
lovely stitchery items.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are given a
tour of an amazing Byzantine Church that has sat in Gaza since 345CE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is still in use today. The stone is worn
and warm. The rich spiritual essence of the prayers of centuries lingers. I
take a moment to add my own. A tomb in the graveyard dates to 986CE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another beautiful Byzantine Church once sat
on the seaside. When the Israelis left, they took the ancient mosaic floor with
them. I feel a great sadness here. There are only a handful of Christians left
in Gaza. The Christian history is disappearing. The people that can leave are
leaving. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those who cannot leave work
diligently to get their children educated and out. I have spent one night here
with my ears on alert and I am tired. I cannot imagine living here every day.
We have driven past the remains of many buildings. We have heard the stories of
near misses. And the stories of those who have been hit.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=146102879510620411" name="_GoBack"></a>
The tension is palatable. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We say our goodbyes to the Al Ahli Hospital team. We have
been made most welcome and the offers to return and ‘please have coffee with me’
and ‘next time, please come to dinner at my home’, still ring in my ears. We
are now family. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The return through the checkpoint is the same. Very few
people, lots of cameras. We go through the scanner this time (much to my
chagrin as I always avoid the scanner).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our luggage is scanned too and once picked up we make our way to a large,
clean, waiting hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of the four or five
security booths, only one is in operation. The sign repeats: Israelis and
Foreigners. We sit among a number of Palestinians. One man is in a wheel chair
and does not look well. No one is moving so I go to ask the woman in the booth
where we should go. ‘Oh, come through here.’ she says, ‘It is a good thing you
asked, you could have been sitting for a while.’ We are the foreigners. I do
not know how long the other people have been waiting but as I pass I whisper ‘I
am sorry’. This just doesn’t feel right, that I have some sort of privilege to
breeze to the front of the line. The checkpoint closes at 3pm. It is now
1:30pm. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We make our way out into the sunshine. We see hawks flying
over the tilled fields across from the checkpoint. I am back in green.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wait for the car that is coming to pick us
up but it is caught in traffic. Eventually, we see the man in the wheel chair,
being pushed by his father, come out to the parking lot. It has just gone
2:30pm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I have been asked - how did you feel about going to
Gaza?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I say I am sad, anxious, or so
angry at how people can be imprisoned in their own cities and towns, then I
have to ask how much more the people who live in those towns must feel. I was
only there for two days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really don’t
have the words. I take a deep breath and my eyes well with tears.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It’s probably just better not to ask. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"></span><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"></span></span></div>
</div>
Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-82795193920571423312013-01-16T03:39:00.001-08:002013-01-16T03:52:05.061-08:00Qalandiya Checkpoint<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>As is the case with most lives, the daily routine is such
that to write about it would bore you to tears. And so I am posting an experience
that I had early in my stay here - one that brings me to tears for reasons other
than boredom. For me, the day to day
work and living do not change too much, however, for other people; their every
day experiences need to change radically. And if they do not, I believe that
one day, we will all be held accountable.</i></span></span></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<br /></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Qalandiya Checkpoint</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I have a friend who is volunteering in the organization EAPPI
(Ecumenical Accompaniment Program for Palestine and Israel). She goes regularly
to the Qalandiya checkpoint to monitor the length of time it takes for people
to pass from one side to the other. This Sunday morning she has offered to let me
come and observe the process.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Qalandiya is one of the largest checkpoints in the Separation/Discrimination
Wall. It runs through a neighbourhood in
East Jerusalem. So although it is still
considered a part of East Jerusalem, it is behind the Wall. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It is 4:10am and we have taken a taxi to Qalandiya. We have
gone to the West Bank side of the checkpoint to observe this morning’s lineups as
people cross to Jerusalem. The people waiting here are going to school and/or
work. School starts at 8am, as do most jobs. Although there are not many here
at this time more people are arriving little by little. The turnstiles are open
and there is steady movement through them into the next part of the checkpoint
where IDs are checked and two more turnstiles wait. The humanitarian line (for
women, children, the elderly and the ill) will open at 6:00am, so for now everyone
is moving through the general line. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My friend asks a young man if he will take a card, with the
present time on it, through the checkpoint, to give to her cohort on the other
side, who will make note of his arrival time. Later we hear it took him an hour
to walk the 150meters (500 ft) through the checkpoint.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It is freezing cold. I am wearing three layers and my coat
and scarf and two pairs of mittens. Some
men have lit a fire in the back of the corrugated sheet metal shed, to keep
themselves warm. More and more people are arriving. Some men have taken themselves
off to the side for morning prayers while others are lining up in haphazard
lines at the entrances of three lanes. These barred lanes are hard to imagine, like cattle runs about 25 meters
in length, with the opening above one’s
head also having bars and added barbed wire. The people walk down these lanes
to a turnstile that is activated, to rotate, by the guard in a bulletproof booth
on the other side. I understand that crowd control varies. This morning, it is moving along at a good
pace, letting people through a few at a time. At other times it can differ in
that large numbers are let through after a longer waiting <span style="font-size: small;">period</span>. There is no
consistency. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Today seems like a quiet morning yet there is an uneasy feeling
as men are gathering behind us in the waiting area. Unfortunately someone has fueled the fire in
the back with garbage and the smoke has begun to fill the shed. Our eyes are
burning and the smell is awful.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> At about 5:30am, whether
by silent signal or on the spur of the moment, all the men arise and rush the
lanes. There is yelling and shouting and I see men climbing up and over the top
of the cages, and squishing down through the bars into the turnstiles (imagine
three or four men in a quarter turn of a turnstile). Some men are slipping
through the bars at the head of the line. It is a mad push and people are in an
uproar and I can see older people caught up in this crush in the lanes. It
makes no sense. There seems no reason for the why of it and definitely no way
of making the line move along any quicker.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In the meantime the humanitarian line has not opened and
there are obviously school children waiting, and women, and some who are not
feeling well. There is a middle-aged man, and his wife, with their elderly father
who can barely stand up. He looks so very frail and old. They were waiting in
the back area and I saw them leave when the younger men rushed the checkpoint
lines. <span style="font-size: small;">But n</span>ow they are back and making their way to the humanitarian line which
has still not opened. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My friend calls the number on the guard’s booth, to tell
them that one line is getting dangerous (a buzz word) and the other has not
opened although it is now 6:30am. She is told that it will open soon, in five
or ten minutes. People<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=146102879510620411" name="_GoBack"></a> have now started coming up to us
and asking us to help them. They need to get to work, get to school, and go to
the hospital. We tell them we have called twice and there is nothing we can do.
But we are the international presence and why can’t we do something!? That is a
good question – why can’t we? Where is the International presence actually? The little power we have is in the watching.
EAPPI observe and report. Their presence is important and they do make calls to
the soldiers in the booth and that will often help in getting the stalled lines
moving, but watching is not easy. There is a sad irony that a snap shot of
these faces, pressed against the bars and barbed wire, is too reminiscent of
other barred cages with other distraught faces. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The crush is still on and it is now nearing 7:00am.The humanitarian
gate has been opened for a short time and people have moved quickly forward in
a hurry. Although they are not allowed, some of the younger men have tried to
push their way forward in this line too. A number have gotten through, so more
give it a try. The other turnstiles have not moved in ages and those in the
midst of the crush are frustrated. Many just hang about at the back of the shed
waiting for it to ease up. I still see some trying to bypass the whole
apparatus by climbing on and over the bars at the front. One fellow has caught
his jacket and gets hung up. Another rips his pocket shimming over the pointed
bars. People have put their bags and lunches through the bars and onto the
floor at the front and then once through the line and turnstile, pick them up
on the other side before going on through the second stage of entrance into
Jerusalem. I couldn’t figure out why they did this until I realized that the lunches
wouldn’t survive the crush in any sort of edible state.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In many ways the young men are their own worst enemy. The jumping lines, rushing, crushing,
pushing, shoving, yelling behavior just feeds into the worst of the imagined
stereotypes that the Israelis are lead to believe of their neighbours. I can see why the young soldiers (many of
them female), even in their private booths, would begin to feel anxiety, as the
hordes of angry men continue their machinations. On the other hand, I cannot possibly
understand the frustration that these Palestinian men, and women, must feel
every morning, afternoon, evening and night, being forced through this daily routine just to get to work, or to school, or to the other side of their
neighbourhood. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There is no sense in any of this. If this is the way of it,
at least make this checkpoint a workable functioning operation. As one man, in line, said to us, ‘We are
the same people every day. They know us now, our faces. This is not fair. There
are easier ways to do this, <b>if</b> it must be done.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> At 7:30am our shift
is over, it is our turn to get in line. Because we are women, we get in the
humanitarian line; we stand with other women and some young boys going to
school. Beside us, the man and his elderly father have returned. This man can
barely stand up and his son is close to tears. We are trying to help, holding
an arm, catching the eye of a soldier. Please help! I am led to understand that
this soldier is a ‘good guy’. When he sees this man and his
father, come through the turnstile, he goes over and takes an arm, speaking
orders into his walkie-talkie, for what we hope is preparation for a wheel
chair or ambulance or something on the other side. He helps to carry this man
onward through t<span style="font-size: small;">wo</span> more turnstiles and a passport check. <span style="font-size: small;">W</span>e see that the woman who has been carrying, what I assume is the elderly man’s
luggage, is being let through ahead of the line to catch-up with her family.
The <span style="font-size: small;">Israeli </span>soldier has come back to carry her bag.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">[<i>Later that Sunday
morning, I am reminded to always look for God in our midst. I weep silently in
church as I realize that this moment was a God inspired moment.</i> ]</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Once we have reached the other side (only a brief half hour
for us) we wait for a bus home. A young boy, on his way to school, comes up to
me and says, ‘You are good luck for us, not too bad this morning, we are through
quickly’. With a huge smile he walks off, and with a wave says - ‘Have a nice
day’. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-size: small;">*****</span> </span></div>
Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-31847702511785909462012-10-28T00:11:00.001-07:002012-10-28T00:11:57.327-07:00A Weekend Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My life is familiar to all those who work all week and then
have downtime on the weekend. Sometimes you just have to get away. I am blessed
by the fact that my downtime takes on special overtones when I can take off to
the Mediterranean Sea or drive to Nazareth via Jericho or take a day trip to
the Dead Sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I appreciate how
adventurous it must sound (and it is) yet these are the places in reach for me.
And I have learned that there are times when it is necessary to take a weekend
away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently I went with friends to Petra, in Jordan. This place
has a special spot in my heart because my father was here a long time ago. Both
sets of grandparents spent varying amounts of time in the Middle East, my
parents met and lived, for a while, in the Middle East and now my brother lives
in Dubai and I live in Jerusalem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
is a beautiful colourful Middle Eastern thread that runs through our family
stories. Both my brother and I have tried to take the opportunity to walk in
our parent’s footsteps, and visit the places about which we have heard so much.
Petra has definitely been at the top of the list.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Driving down to Eliat, at the very bottom of Israel, one can
see Jordan, Egypt, and off in the distance, Saudi Arabia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sits on the Gulf of Aqaba and is a
beautiful vacation spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is green and
lush but as you move away from the coast the topography changes to a desert
landscape and it is not difficult to image Moses wandering, lost in the desert.
It is confusing and the mountains appear bare and desolate. On the Jordan side,
we drive up from the coast for a few hours gaining altitude and then - a view
that goes forever. It is beautiful and far across the way, lonely and shining
white in the setting sun, is Aaron’s Tomb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From the top, we drive down into the valley. We make our way
to our hotel, settle in, and prepare for a night walk into Petra. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One thousand, five hundred nightlights have been placed
along the path to mark our way to the Treasury – nearly a mile and half.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My level of anticipation is high, walking
gingerly on stones and gravel and sand, through natural rock formations, with
the stars overhead and the soft glow of the candles at our feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we enter into the Siq (the long path to
the Treasury) the overwhelming feeling of adventure – past and present – is
palatable. We reach our destination and are guided to a seat on a woven carpet. We
are told the story of the<span style="color: red; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Nabataeans</span><span lang="EN" style="color: red;"> </span>and the city, carved from the stone, which
they built here. Then the night is filled with Arabian music. Soulful singing accompanying
the Ute, and the haunting melodies of the Bedouin flute. We are served sweet
Bedouin tea and sit on our carpet, enraptured by the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try to take pictures in the dark but they
don’t really come out and there is no way to capture the feeling of the evening.
We walk slowly home and I look forward to the morning when I can see everything
in a different light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day, we arise early and head into Petra while it is
cool. I am amazed to see what I walked by last evening in the dark. Tombs carved
into the rock. Jinn blocks, huge squares of granite. And the Siq, a long
winding path through the rock. I pass the spot where my brother had his photo
taken, just within the last month, and I am happy to think that he, too, has
passed this way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We come around a corner to see the immense carved frontal of
the Treasury. It is here that I have a ‘moment’. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once upon a time my father stood here. I lay
my hand on the rock in a gentle reminder of the stance he took in an old
photograph, grainy with age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think of
how time is such an odd thing. Last year I would never even have thought of the
possibility that I could be here now. Sixty years ago, I am sure my father could
not have imagined that he would have a son, and a daughter, who would one day
stand here too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of my day is
spent looking through my father’s eyes. And I am sure that what I see has not
changed too much. Certainly the view, the amazing Cardo, rock hued caves and
tombs are still the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see the
young men running up the stone steps to the highest places, I hear their
laughter, and joking about on donkeys. I see them with a cool drink in one hand
and a cigarette in another. I see the shadow of my father as a young man everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father, now, is an old man, and his
recollections are fading. What an honour I have been given – to have the
opportunity to embrace his memories and make them a part of my own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Altogether, we have a wonderful day. We chat with Raami, the
son of <span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Marguerite
van Geldermalsen</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">,</span> the author of ‘I Married a Bedouin’, I have kohl put on
my eyes and wrap a scarf around my head in the way of the Bedouin women. We
take donkeys up to the Monastery, another huge granite carved building. Once at
the top, the site was well worth the death defying trip up, however, it is something
I will not do again. The donkey ride part, I mean. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I appreciate that those animals do that trip
up the mountain every day, but there are places where the steps have been worn
away and there are no steps at all and the drop straight down is way down and
when Sherry’s donkey tripped over its front hooves, well, that was it for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will say that the walk down was just
lovely, I saw quite a few things I had missed on the way up with my eyes shut
tight. On the final leg home, after a long day of hiking, we rode horses. I
like horses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After our fabulous day of antiquities and exercise, Sherry
and I found the Turkish Bath and indulged in the steam room, the scrub and the
massage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went out for a lovely dinner,
courtesy of Graham, and raised a glass to my dad, family and friendship. A
perfect end to a perfect day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our weekend away continues in the Wadi Rum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This immense desert is the land of Lawrence
of Arabia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We travel by jeep out into
the desert and see the place where Lawrence lived, rubble now, since
earthquakes are common here. We are taken to see petroglyphs of camel caravans
and ancient trade routes. We see springs of water in the crevices of rock mountains,
worn by wind and rain and sand storms. There are places where the rock looks
like it is melting, still too hot to touch. We climb red sand dunes and see far
off into the distance. We see herds of camels lazily marauding through the
desert. And realize that the desert is alive with shrubbery and wildlife – an
incredible array of flora and fauna.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are taken to the natural Rock Arch. And in our enthusiasm
of the moment Sherry and I decide we are going to the top. This is no nice and
easy hiking path. This is scrambling. Straight up. Our barefoot Bedouin guide
leads the way and we follow, a hand placed here, a foot indent there, and then
a hand held out and we have made it half way. We follow along a slim path and
through a crevice and out onto the rock bridge. We are way up and now our guide
shows off by doing hand stands. I can’t look at him. I do however look out
across the landscape and am indescribably amazed at what I see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is beautiful and the colours range from
sandy to red to almost blue and purple in the light of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon, we make our way down (much easier going
down on our bottoms) and are driven to the perfect spot to watch the
sunset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a mist of late afternoon
cloud that edges the horizon so we don’t actually see the sun go down but we
watch as the colours of the day change and we turn our faces into the cool
evening breezes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As darkness begins to fall, we are driven to where we will
spend the night. Bedouin tents, tucked up against the red rock of a desert
mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are the only people in the
camp tonight, except our hosts. We are graciously given sweet tea before our dinner
which includes lentil soup, then chicken, vegetables and rice, with yogurt. We
sit in the large tent where everyone gathers. The colours of the cushions and
various wall hangings are bright with different tones of reds, pinks, and
blues. Some of the patterns are reminiscent of the indigenous peoples of the
Americas. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The land is the same in many
ways so the desert colours and the mountain peaks are a familiar incorporation
into the artwork. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After dinner, we decide to go for a walk in the desert. We
walk out a ways, into the dark, into the silence and lay on the sand gazing at
the stars overhead. I am imagining who before me as seen this same starry
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes a little bit of time to
quiet ourselves. And we are not sure what we are hearing – is it crickets? the
wind? our heartbeats?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is so quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the distance is hard to gage. We see the
headlights of a jeep way, way out there but cannot hear it at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ponder the speed of light versus sound. Then,
as I lay in the sand, I ponder scorpions and then I decide it is better not to think
about them at all, and I just think about the mystery of the Universe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eventually, we slowly, softly and quietly make our way back
to our tents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the middle of the night I am awaken by the sound of
rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wind has picked up and the
sand is hitting the side of my tent. There is a soft rain that dampens down the
dust and turns the sand deep rust red.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the morning it is deliciously cool and I go for a little walk around
the camp area. The silence is peaceful and enveloping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After breakfast we return by jeep, to our car, and begin our
journey home. We stop for a swim in Aqaba and go snorkeling in the Marine
Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is like swimming in an aquarium
– the angel fish and blow fish, incredible blue fish and pink fish, and the
various sea anemones and coral. I float on the surface, looking down into this
world of colors and beauty, and watch the sea life dance on the currents of the
ocean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This weekend away has been a wonderful respite. It has given
me time to rejuvenate and to sit in the quiet of memories, the quiet stillness
of the desert, and the quiet gentle flow of the ocean. I hold these times close
and call them up in the midst of busy days or stressful times. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hope you, too, can find a quiet and restful moment in the
midst of your busy life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Salaam, Peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
</div>
Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-69420239758723675252012-09-07T00:58:00.001-07:002012-09-07T00:58:59.762-07:00One Year Anniversary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It is Summer’s end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But what a summer it has been - I have traveled – visiting family in
England, and the United States, and friends in France.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went on the Chunnel, the train that goes
through a tunnel under the English Channel. I felt a tad of anxiety over that but
the train went so fast we were in Calais before I knew it. Continuing down
through the countryside, the scenery and the sunflowers of Southern France were
amazing - bright yellow blankets of sunshiny flowers, faces to the sun in
postures of worship. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see the
Pyrenees in the distance and castles perched precariously on cliffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wandered about the city of Toulouse,
visiting old churches and cathedrals <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=146102879510620411" name="OLE_LINK2"></a><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;">et je suis pratiquez mon français une petite peu</span>.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I went to places that I have only
ever read about - the walled medieval city of Carcassonne (see <i>Labyrinth</i>
by Katie Mosse).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sincere thanks to
Angela, for a lovely restful time, and for taking me out and about to the most
interesting of places.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here in Jerusalem I had friends come to visit me and the
adventures continue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Notes to Self:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">1) Never rent a car with a standard drive (gear shift) and
then drive to Nazareth, in the dark, up the hills, without your lights on,
because you will get caught at a stoplight on the steepest road ever and you
will grind your gears and stall and have the cars behind you honk and honk and
honk and then the police will pull you over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, all will be well and the police will guide you to where you are
going, eventually, because even they can get lost in the twisting, turning,
winding roads of our Lord’s childhood.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">2) Remember if you are in the desert watching the sun go
down – leave before eight o’clock because there is a gate and it gets locked
and then you have to wait, with the beautiful Anastasia and her AKA47, for the
guy with the key.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, all will be
well, because Anastasia loves practicing her English and has stories to tell
about her time in Jerusalem which is much better than her time outside Gaza. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">3) If you are standing on the corner in Ramallah waiting for
your friends to pick you up - be prepared to be proposed to by a man who
invites you home for coffee and a chat about the impending marriage he has in
mind. However, all will be well because you explain that you are not ready for
marriage at such short notice and your friends will arrive just at that moment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">4) If you are in the Old City deciding where to go, do not
follow a nice Jewish man to David’s Tomb so he can show you the view and then
on to the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=146102879510620411" name="OLE_LINK4"></a><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK4;">Qidron Valley </span>for that view as well <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>because he will propose to you too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, all will be well, because your good
friend Roberta is smart enough to look at her watch and remind you there are
places to go and people to meet and we have to leave NOW.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">5) If you go to Ramallah during Ramadan remember that the
buses stop for an hour at sundown and you will be caught at the bus stop, for
nearly four hours, waiting for the buses to start again. However, all will be
well, because you will sit with your friend, Roberta, and a nice young German
student, and the station attendant, and his friends, and watch the Arabic TV
drama shows, and eat corn on the cob, and drink grapefruit juice and just as you
get ready to get into a taxi, the bus will come and as you look out the window
to say good-bye, everyone will wave farewell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">6) Remember what your friend Steven said: Give your soul a
chance to catch up whenever you travel far from home, wherever home may be at
the time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In August I went ‘home’ for a visit. When I arrived in Los
Angeles it felt sort of odd to be back in the West. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I heard the call to prayer in the
Mall, and I translated all dollars into shekels before purchasing anything. But
it did not take long to acclimatize. It was wonderful to see my beautiful Catherine,
and stay with good friends who opened their hearts and their homes to me. Thank
you to Steven, Karleen and Joanne. I spoke at All Saints Church in Pasadena
about My Life out of Three Suitcases and it was wonderful to see dear friends
who came to support me as I told my stories. Thank you, Randy and Doni, for
your organization of the event (and the flyer). I am blessed with the most
generous people as my friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
continue to learn about kindness and care, and I pray that I, in turn, can
throw it back out into the Universe for others.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I arrived ‘home’, back in Jerusalem, it was tough to
readjust in some ways. My soul took longer to arrive than I did. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to me that there are times when
jetlag can reach deep down into the very core of ourselves and it can take time
to get all the scattered pieces back from the cosmos and into one piece. However,
all will be well, and all is well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
turns out, my soul is very happy here and I am looking forward to this coming
year with just as much anticipation as last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I feel settled. The adventure of newness is waning
(although, I am sure, there are still many to come.) I know my way around the
city now. I have my favourite Falafel guy on the corner of Nablus Road, across
from Damascus Gate (only 7 shekels for the best falafel sandwich, EVER!). I
have my favourite shop in the Old City where I take my friends to buy scarves
and skirts and Bedouin pants. I know how to take the bus to Ramallah, find the
Palestinian stitchery shop, and get myself home. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am prepared for the heat of the summer and
the cold of the winter. I am prepared for those moments when I miss my family
and friends with a deep ache and yet I am also thankful for the support of the
friends I have here in St. George’s Close. We have made for ourselves a caring
and loving community.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I attended a panel discussion organized by the
Interreligious Coordinating Council in Israel, with our very own Fr. Hosam
Naoum, Dean of St. George’s Cathedral speaking on the Jewish-Christian Relations
in the Holy Land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And although I
continue to be frustrated with the political situation I also continue to look
for, and find, the hope that is in the people, of all religious faiths, who
live here. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And so with the arrival of September, it is my one year
anniversary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much has happened this past
year and not a whit was expected or predicted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I jumped out of my box and landed in a life that is full of surprises
and unexpected adventures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I wouldn’t want it any other way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span>
</span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"></span></span></div>
</div>
Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-27170008123309940542012-06-03T11:09:00.003-07:002012-06-25T22:44:31.315-07:00Spring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Spring has arrived in Jerusalem. The flowers are blooming and the warm weather has begun. It is very welcome after the cold months of winter. I was quite surprised at how cold it actually was during those months. But now the blankets are folded and put away and the summer clothes are out.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This has been a very busy month for me. I have had friends come to visit and was able to play tour guide in my new home town. My friend Steven and I went to museums and Caesarea Maritima. We walked along the Jaffa Port and came across a Youth Art Exhibition in one of the warehouses and saw some very interesting work. We had a serendipitous moment when we walked through a very narrow back street and heard a piano playing and a beautiful tenor singing from a music studio. We stopped to listen and clapped in joy and appreciation when they were done. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My friend Louise, arrived a few weeks later, and we went to Masada and spent a day amazed at the views and the history of this mountain. On the way home, we decided to go on an adventure and went off on a side road to see what we could find. We saw a cross on a hill so we stopped to take a look and over the top and down in the valley we saw the monastery of St. George’s. It was beautiful. A lovely quiet moment in the desert. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have also been hiking in Palestine. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The hikes have been wonderful, the perfect way to get out of the city and clear one’s head. Although I only found out about this hiking group at the end of the season, as it is now getting way to hot, I did hike the last two sections of Abraham’s Path. The second to last section was out in the rocky, hilly desert part of South Hebron.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We came across goats and camels and ancient cisterns, even a 5<sup>th</sup> century abandoned monastery – so cool in the shade and so quiet. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The following week, we walked the last portion, ending (appropriately) at Abraham’s tomb. That was very interesting, going into the Mosque in Hebron. It is shared with the Jewish community so there are sections where one can look at the ‘tombs of Abraham and Sarah’ and see the place on the other side where they, too, can look through, although there are a lot of opaque windows obscuring any real view of people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I also did a hike in the north, near Jenin and Nablus. Beautiful views. We stopped for coffee and tea in a Bedouin’s tent. Their hospitality is renowned.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the Cathedral we celebrated the installation of Fr. Hosam Naoum as the first Arab Dean of St. George’s Cathedral. That was an especially lovely day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have also had some rather interesting and unexpected experiences:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many years ago my Godmother worked for a very generous man who gave a lot of money to build a clinic here in Jerusalem. This clinic served all people, regardless of race or religion and she asked me to find the building. She even sent photos from the time it was opened so I would recognize it. So yesterday I decided to go on the hunt. Well, as it turns out it is no more than half an hour away from where I live, however I didn’t know that when I headed out and I ended up walking to the end of Jaffa Street (which felt like half way to Tel Aviv). <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, as I was wandering down the street I found myself walking toward a young Jewish man, very conservative, wearing his fedora and black suit. I have learnt to just keep walking and avert my eyes. However, he came straight toward me and stopped me. He asked me a question but I don’t speak Hebrew and his English was limited. So I asked him if he was lost (although I was totally lost but you never know if you can help) and he asked me if I was from America. He told me his mother was from America (all in very halting English). He told me that his name is Isaac and asked my name (I was so thankful for my biblical name because I was kind of concerned – this just doesn’t happen). Then he stuck out his hand and in automatic response I put out mine and we shook hands. We smiled at each other and said,’ Have a nice day.’ And then off he went and off I went -totally stunned. This was highly unusual. I don’t know what it was all about really expect to say that all the people I met during my lost excursion were very kind and helpful. I walked through a number of orthodox neighbourhoods and really they are not that much different from anywhere else - people out walking, kids playing ball, children with melting popsicles. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">These experiences constantly remind me that at the end of the day we are all the same. I look deeply for the hope in them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I did, eventually, find the building but sadly the clinic is no longer there. It is now a Torah School. I may go back to see if I can find out what happened to the sign, as I could still see where it had been. But that will be for another day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The highlight of my month was spending the night in the Holy Sepulcher.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It turns out (I think it is the best kept secret in Jerusalem) that one can sign-up to sleep in the Holy Sepulcher. Well, not sleep; there are 3 rules - no singing, no lighting candles and no sleeping. But I didn't sleep anyway as time just flew by. There were four of us. ONLY 4 (and various monks we didn't really see) with the whole place to ourselves. And so the three of us and one fellow (who made a bee line to the tomb where he sat crossed legged, meditating and praying until he was unceremoniously booted out at midnight so the priests on duty could perform their oblations) spent the night. We watched the door close and be locked and then looked at each other, sort of wide eyed and took a deep breath. Wow! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I felt compelled to begin my night at Golgotha – I just laid my head there. I prayed for everyone I could think of and every name brought to mind another name. I made my way to the anointing stone and it was awash with perfumed oils. I ran my hands up and down the stone reveling in the sweet aroma of the incense and the almost soft touch of the marble.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I made my way to the Edicule and (sharing space with our friend); I sat in the tomb for what seemed like ages.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eventually I began to slowly walk about this immense church. I got up close and laid my head on almost every altar, looked closely at every icon and tried to touched every cross engraved in the stone, thinking of crusaders and pilgrims and the millions of people who, throughout the ages, have come here to pray and cry and sit in silence among the throngs. It is such a hectic place during the day that sometimes it is hard to be in touch with the holy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> At midnight the Greek Orthodox priests and the Coptic priests wash the tomb and then cense it and every other altar in the church. They then chant – the Greek Orthodox chant, the Coptics chant and the Franciscans chant. It was wonderful to watch the night ministrations. This is a very busy place in the wee hours of the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I brought with me my bible, a poetry book and a journal. I went down to the very bottom to The Chapel of Saint Helena (where she allegedly found the Holy Cross) and sat and read awhile. I opened my bible - and it fell to 1 Corinthians 13-14 – Faith, Hope, and Love - just what is needed to be living here.<br />
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Lectio Divina is a meditative exercise of which I am particularly fond. It means Divine Word. A passage of scripture is read and then you meditate on it, perhaps a word or phrase sticks in your mind. Then you read it again and ‘look’ for an image that associates with the phrase and then third time round, read it again and see if there is a feeling that binds it all together. I happen to like this exercise and suggested we give it a try. So at 4 in the morning the three of us gathered in the little chapel (Adam’s Chapel) under Calvary and we used that particular week’s lectionary - the Gospel of John 15 v 7-11-- Abide in me – as our scripture verse. My phrase was 'that my joy may be in you' - and my image - I was just overwhelmed with the joy that Jesus must have felt - God in the flesh - seeing, touching, smelling all the beautiful things He had created - the flowers and birds and ladybugs and us too. The roses here are delicious and I could imagine Jesus with his nose in one. I do that every morning as there are a number of rose bushes by my tower door and they are intoxicating. My feeling was of incredible thankfulness. Just for everything - my life, being here, the amazing things that keep happening to me. I am so thankful because I know there really is no reason for it - it is just a gift.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And you know, I was never scared - it is a huge place but I didn't even think about being concerned. I was just wrapped in the prayers of centuries. At 5am when the door was unlocked, I was ready to go home but not really. As we left, we saw people rushing to get there as it opened, and there we were walking out, no rushing, just quietly leaving. <br />
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I am not sure how to process all this - as one of the women I was with said - God set aside this particular time just for us to be here. How personal is that!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> And I am thinking I may not ever need to go in the tomb again - He is NOT there! That is what came to me when I was sitting in it –‘I am not here. Get out and see the sky. Be among the living’. I resonate with the women at the tomb who spoke with the ‘gardener’ on Easter morning. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so ever since then I have been sitting out on my tower roof under the beautiful blue sky or hiking in the country or walking in my neighbourhoods. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Jerusalem, my happy home. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-54862412908077218812012-04-19T10:14:00.002-07:002012-04-19T10:18:52.449-07:00And you never know when it’s going to hit you…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Easter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I have come to appreciate the lack of build up to our
Christian celebrations here. Although it is odd to see chocolate bunnies and
eggs being sold in the souk, it is not with same intense marketing that has
become the norm in the West.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For me, Holy Week came with the sense of anticipation of
revisiting an old story in a different way. Living here where the Easter story
actually played itself out, adds a deeper layer of sadness and human understanding
to the unfolding of a tragic scene. Even when we know the end of the story, the
path that leads to the Empty tomb is a long one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maundy Thursday, we gathered in the Cathedral for the traditional
Service of Foot Washing, stripping the altar and leaving the church in silence.
We then assembled in the court yard and following a cross, processed down the
street, and up the Mount of Olives to a small grove of olive trees, across the
way from the formal Garden of Gethsemane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is hard to explain the feeling that came to me as I looked across the
valley at Jerusalem. Under a full moon, imagining this place 2000 years ago, it
was not hard to understand the disciples being exhausted and falling asleep. Nor
was it difficult to imagine Jesus praying in solitude in this little olive
garden. We sang ‘Were you there when they crucified my Lord?’ And it was quite
moving. It was a beautiful somber evening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Good Friday, we got up very early. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Christian Churches walk together as an
ecumenical group to do the Stations of the Cross.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are a growing number as we follow the
cross to the Via Dolorosa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have walked
this walk a number of times and each time holds its own in my memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was here with the Youth Pilgrims we
would share the readings and prayers by picking, one each, out of a basket. The
year I was here with my daughter, she picked the reading for Station 2,
fourteen youth later, my turn came and my slip of paper read - prayers for
Station 2 – Jesus receives His Cross. It was profoundly moving to share this
experience with my daughter. She was given the opportunity to carry a cross,
and I was asked if I would help her – I thought that was quite symbolic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Today, I have been asked to read the prayers again. I am handed
my paper and I look down to see I will be praying at Station 2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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We walk and stop at each station along the way, mingling
with others - pilgrims, nuns, and other religious. We stop at Station 4, Where
Jesus meets His Mother. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a funny
thing, being in the Holy Land, surrounded by Holiness and Holy Spirit, and you never
know when it’s going to hit you - the overwhelming sense of being loved, and of
being part of a never-ending story in which we each play a part. And as I am
thinking of my mother and my daughter and all the important women in my life,
whom I love and have loved, and all who have loved me, I look down at my
program. The hymn selection is my grandmother’s favourite - 'There is a Green
Hill Far Away' - And then it hits me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>The Easter Vigil and Easter Day are celebratory occasions. There
is singing and bell ringing and lots of joy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those of us, who live in the Cathedral Close,
and other friends and family, are invited by the Bishop to join him for an Easter
Lunch. The weather is beautiful and it is a lovely day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And then, we get to do it all again the following week for the
Orthodox Holy Week and Easter!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Although I did not participate in every Orthodox service I did get to
the end of a Maundy Thursday Service. The service I went to was at St. Mark’s Assyrian
Orthodox Church - the site of one of the oldest Christian churches in the Old
City. Here is the Upper Room Down, where, perhaps, Jesus and his disciples had
the last supper. It is a beautiful little church and at the end of the service
the Patriarch is carried out of the sanctuary on his chair, upheld by men of
the congregation and followed by Palestinian Scouts playing Bagpipes and Drums.
It was quite the sight to behold and the music was fabulous.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On Orthodox Holy Saturday, some friends of mine were invited
to go the Holy Sepulcher to witness the Holy Fire. I asked if there was room
for one more and yes, I can go too. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We get in line at 9am at Zion Gate and begin the wait. We
are drawn out of the crowd to meet with our group and wind our way through the
Old City to <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">the
Holy Sepulcher. Security is very tight and many of the routes have been closed
off. We get in the church at 11am. The crowd is beginning to build and there is
no room. We are squished in and more keep coming. In our section, young men
begin to chant and climb up the side of the</span><span class="ft"><span style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <span lang="EN">Edicule of the </span></span></span><span class="ft"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Holy Sepulcher</span></span><span class="ft"><span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> (The </span></span><span class="ft"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Tomb</span></span><span class="ft"><span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> of Christ). They are singing and shouting and beating on
drums and waving flags. I am not sure whether to participate or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not sure whether to be a bit frightened
or not. Some of the elderly nearby look a bit frail amongst all this and it is
very hot. The security guards have been pushing people into some of the smaller
chapels and I can’t imagine how hot and breathless it must be there. After a
time, I see people leaving, it is too much. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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in the midst of all this, a fellow in front of me, with his hands up in the air
waving his candle and shouting away, stops to sniff under his arms. I am not
sure what look was on my face – shock or near hilarious laughter – but he
caught my eye and said ‘It’s good. I don’t smell so bad but if you go over in
that corner, agh, they smell terrible.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t even know what to say.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="ft"><span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At
one point I turn and see a battered silver plate being passed from hand to hand
over the heads of the people nearby. Each person is taking from the plate,
sharing and eating and passing it along. They are crossing themselves and
saying silent prayers. It comes my way and I am struck to find that it is
bread, blessed bread. I take my portion and can’t believe that I have just had
communion in the Holy Sepulcher. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This touches
me deeply. For all the speculation about any of the Holy sites, for me,
anywhere that people have come, for thousands of years, to pray and weep and
search for God, it is a Holy place. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It is now nearly 2pm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
standing on the wrong side of the security barrier but I was sort of put there
and haven’t moved much. But now</span> we are told to make room for the Greek Orthodox
Patriarch, His Beatitude Theophilos III, and his retinue, who will be walking
around the Empty Tomb three times as tradition dictates. I do my best to become
as small as possible but I am still so close, I can reach out and touch them as
they pass by. <o:p></o:p></div>
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From my spot I cannot see this but I understand that on the third
time round, at the entrance to the Tomb, the Patriarch is patted down (no incendiary
devices are allowed) and enters the Tomb, and there, after I assume much
prayer, the Holy Spirit lights the Holy Candle with Holy Fire and it is sent
out through a small opening to the world at large (the flame is actually sent
to Rome and 14 other countries around the world).<o:p></o:p></div>
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By now everyone is yelling and shouting, in a myriad of
languages – Come Holy Spirit Come! <o:p></o:p></div>
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And then - it really happened so fast. One minute there was
no light and the next I see a flame carried out from the tomb – whoosh - and
then candles are being lit off of the flame and then everyone is lighting their
candles off of each other’s candles and the bells are ringing and the drums are drumming and the people are crying and shouting and
praising and carrying on. It was quite amazing! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lit my candle from a neighbour and then I
just sort of stood there. I really didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing.
I wanted to be caught up in the fever and fervor, but I was really overwhelmed with
the joyous mayhem. I really just wanted to watch and relish in the joy of all
the people around me. It was wonder-filled.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Eventually, I slowly made my way out of the Holy Sepulcher. I
met my friends and we stopped for a fresh pomegranate juice. And it was delicious
– slightly tart but truly refreshing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
that just seemed so appropriate. The perfect way to end Easter in the Holy Land
- as the pomegranate is the Christian symbol of life, hope and eternal life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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May you continue to revel in the Joy of Easter. The Lord is
Risen! He is Risen Indeed, Alleluia!<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-76572419402904015462012-03-25T13:21:00.000-07:002012-03-25T13:21:03.853-07:00Is it Lent, or is it Life?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I find a certain comfort in the church calendar. The rhythms of the year, forward moving but ever circular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, Ordinary time is usually anything but and the rest of year has deep layers that need re-looking at whenever it is time, again, to live through them.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lent comes wrapped in its own mystery. Another waiting time of year. But unlike Advent, when waiting is full of anticipation and expectation of joy and birth, Lenten waiting, for me, is steeped in sadness. I know what’s coming and it is not good. Even with the hope of Resurrection, I must live through the suffering to get there.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This Lent in particular has been all about the waiting. And perhaps the ‘God moments’ I have witnessed are the precursor to Easter morning but it has been a rough 40 days.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have found myself waiting in a number of places and for the most part I usually don’t mind but some of my waiting has been emotional and that is never easy. My mantra these days is – ‘I am where I am supposed to be.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This gives me a great deal of peace when I find myself in places where I am uncomfortable or where waiting is <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>difficult. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Earlier this month I found myself waiting at the US Consulate. For whatever reason, visas always seem to be an issue here, whether they are for this country or another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so I went to work out my situation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat waiting for 2 hours, until it dawned on me that perhaps something wasn’t quite right and of course it was true, I was at the right time but in the wrong place. But in the meantime, I love to people watch and it was interesting to observe the others in the room who were waiting patiently for their appointments. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my bright shiny moment came when a young Jewish man turned, saw a friend and greeted him with a warm handshake and quick hug, ‘Mohammad, Shalom.’ And they sat together and chatted as they waited for their turn. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My issues are still pending but my hope is alive and well.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had an interesting experience with a friend of mine who has friends who live in West Jerusalem. We were invited to join them for a quick dinner and the screening of a documentary. Without going into detail, the evening was quite intense, mainly because it became apparent that this couple lives in a state of fear – waiting, it seems, for the proverbial other shoe to drop. I am hearing stories now of regular drills on the train – what to do in case of a bomb; where to find your local bomb shelter and for some the constant reminder of the wall is – the enemy is at hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not live in this world. I am not afraid. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The question posed by that evening was – when the terrorists attack, will you be on our side?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The answer is an easy one – of course. I am against terrorists. However, I think our opinions differ when it comes to who, we think, are terrorists. And so they wait in fear. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I wait in sadness and cling to the moments I come across that give me hope. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Please see above.)<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps the most difficult part of Lent this year was waiting the outcome of a family member who had suddenly fallen ill. Four weeks ago he had trouble breathing and went into the hospital. Two weeks ago he died. My son sat by his bedside every day. He held his hand as he breathed his last breath. He prayed over him. And waited. He waited for miracles and he waited for peace. And in many ways both have come. Perhaps not as expected but they have come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for me, as always blessed, I caught a flight home within hours of receiving the news that I was needed. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the way, there was an emergency on our flight and we landed in Munich for a couple of hours. Consequently, those of us with connections missed them. And so I found myself waiting in Newark for the next available flight to Montreal. As I sat there I witnessed a lovely moment – a young girl calling home to reassure her family and friends that she was well; her first time ever on an airplane had been fine, exhilarating in fact. I caught her eye and smiled as with every phone call, her experience expanded from <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Take off was scary at first.’ to ‘Of course, I would do it again, it was fun!’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I thought - I am watching this person grow in front of me, her world will never be the same again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was worth the wait just to witness the expansion of this person’s universe.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once home, I knew I was where I was supposed to be. Family and friends abundant and supportive. Our shock at death becoming a celebration of life. Our tears healing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Searching for the meaning of life and the reminder that it is such a quick transient gift. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so is this Lent, or is this Life?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiting with expectation of life and death. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both equally difficult, I think. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to me, that everyone is waiting for something – be it the worst life has to offer or the absolute best. Either way, there is a journey to be experienced. My prayer is that we can embrace the gift we have been given and welcome all those we meet with grace and peace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Salaam, Shalom, Peace be with you.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-13153786464198259742012-02-04T08:15:00.000-08:002012-02-05T22:33:13.093-08:00In Times like These…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Amazing things happen in Jerusalem - on the world stage and in the lives of the people who live here and visit here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These past few weeks I have been having some very serendipitous moments of my own. </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a pile of books in my apartment. They sit beside my chair and beside my bed and I dip into them as time permits, or as the feeling of needing to curl up with a good book overtakes me on these cold and rainy Jerusalem nights. At the moment I am reading ‘Once upon a Country- a Palestinian Life’ by Sari Nusseibeh, a Palestinian, scholar and head of Al Quds University, and co-written by Anthony David. I also have ‘Living Buddha, Living Christ’ by Thich Nhat Hanh and ‘Holy Land?’ by The Revd Dr. Andrew Mayes, past Course Director of St. George’s College here in Jerusalem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to lighten the load I have ‘Runaway Jury’ by John Grisham and ‘Winter Nights ‘by Kate Mosse. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have eclectic taste to be sure.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That being said I begin –</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was invited to a lecture at Tantur, a study institute just outside Bethlehem. I went to hear a discourse on Bach. I don’t know much about music, other than what I like, so to learn about the faith of this man, how it inspired his work and how he incorporated into his music a transcendent feeling of the passion of Christ, was quite fascinating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quite enjoyed being back among the scholarly elite (Cambridge being heavily represented) and the round table dinner discussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These open lectures are held regularly so I expect to return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I was waiting for my taxi, which was not forthcoming, the fellow who had been sitting beside me at the lecture walked out towards the parking lot. I am getting rather bold as I learn to maneuver the ways of this country, so I stepped after him to ask if perhaps he was heading to Jerusalem and could I get a ride. Yes, he said, no problem. So I cancelled my taxi and jumped into his car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now one of the things I love about this place is that there is no end to conversation starters. Everyone has come here from somewhere, has a story about why they are here, and is here for a certain amount of time. So the conversation begins - What brought you here? And this fellow says, ‘Well, I am a writer and I came here a few years ago, met Sari Nusseibeh and wrote a book.’ And I say, ‘Once upon a Country?’ and he says, ‘Yes, that’s me, Anthony David.’ And I say ‘I have that book! I am reading that book, right at this very moment!’ (Please see above) I couldn’t believe it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This world, this Jerusalem, is a very small place.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Later in the week the Archbishop of Canterbury visited here for a pilgrimage with a small group of clergy and laity. Near the end of his time in Jerusalem, he had some elite dinners to attend and so I was asked to help host a dinner for his pilgrims at the Guest House of St. George’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a lovely evening, chatting with these people who, like many before them, had spent a week visiting holy places and learning about life here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After dinner we were standing about giving our farewells for the night when a fellow approaches me and introduces himself. ‘Hello, I’m Andrew. Thank you for having us. I used to work here and it is lovely to be back.’ And I say, ‘Andrew Mayes? Holy Land?’ and he says, ‘Yes, that’s me. Do you know my book?’ And I say, ‘Yes, I have that book!’ (Please see above) I couldn’t believe it. In the space of a week I had met two authors of two books I actually own. And to top it off I was so graciously given a signed copy of a small volume ‘The Dwelling of the Light - Praying with Icons of Christ’ written by His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury, himself. So now, in one week, I have met three authors and have their three books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must say, I love getting up each morning because I never know what the day will hold and it always holds something unexpected.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so I must write of my wonderful Thursday morning –</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thursday morning was the end of the pilgrimage for the Archbishop and his group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were to have a last Holy Eucharist together, and with the permission of the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate, Theophilos III, His Grace was able to use a small side chapel, Abraham’s Chapel, in the Holy Sepulcher. This is an exceptional honour, as it takes quite a bit of organization and protocol to be allowed to have a service in the Holy Sepulcher. The history is long and I am not going into it but trust me when I say this is not done regularly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked my Bishop if I might join them and was told yes, you are very welcome, and my new friends from the previous evening were quite pleased to see me. </span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Clementine, who works at Lambeth Palace in London, and I walked through the Old City to the Holy Sepulcher, and there is something so amazingly special about walking through the early morning streets of Old Jerusalem. The shops are just beginning to open and the fresh baked bread is arriving in the souk. The smell of coffee wafts through the air, with the hint of fresh produce and the spice of baked sweets. There is no rush of midday so the avenues are easy to walk and I just love it! I am a romantic at heart and I allow myself the indulgence of the feeling of walking through an Arabian Adventure. Although, truth be told, I think it is my reality.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We arrive at the Holy Sepulcher. We are taken through a side door and up and along a hallway that is under renovation and find ourselves in a very small, very old chapel. Underneath us is the Coptic Chapel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am so honoured to be here! I have met the Archbishop, very briefly, before but I have never participated in such an intimate service with him as this. He has the most lovely, rich, measured and soothing voice I have ever heard. We celebrate the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple, and the Archbishop speaks to us of how this is the beginning of Jesus’ time here. It is in the temple that Simeon first recognizes the Son of God and that we, through Jesus, are also held up to God. And as the Archbishop raises his hands in the gesture of Simeon raising Jesus to heaven, I am profoundly moved.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we leave this little chapel, I take a moment to look closely at the fading iconography that decorates the walls and ceiling of this place. It is beautiful. Once the colours must have been so bright and rich and I can see the delicate detail that has gone into each biblical scene. My hope is that these too will be restored as the renovation is completed. </span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We head to the Mount of Calvary. We ascend the stairs and gather around the altar that sits atop Golgotha. The Greek Orthodox Patriarch includes the Archbishop in an importune morning service. This is unprecedented. We stand in awe as the Head of the Anglican Communion is offered to participate with the saying of the Lord’s Prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while we stand in silent reverence of this moment, the world makes itself known, as around us the tourists are arriving and snapping photos of all the ancient art and silver and gold décor and I think to myself, if you just turned around you would get the most amazing photo, a once in a life time shot, of the Archbishop of Canterbury Dr. Rowan Williams and the Greek Orthodox Patriarch Theophilos III and the Anglican Bishop in Jerusalem, Suheil Dawani, and yet you are oblivious. I think there is an analogy for a sermon in there somewhere.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And the morning continues - we are invited to the back office of the Patriarch and we go through to a little room of ancient relics. Now this was very interesting. I am not fond of bones and skulls and bits of people at the best of times but these relics of saints are so holy to the Orthodox priests, and for that reason alone I give pause to pray and give thanks for the lives of the saints that have gone before us. Everything is carefully preserved in glass or decorated in silver and the left hand of the wife of St. Basil is ensconced in a beautiful silver glove.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the wall was a painting of Mary with the most beautiful face I have ever seen. I was so struck by her calm, her delicate sense of mystery, and the peace that overwhelmed me when I looked at her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are offered cognac (a pleasant surprise at 9:30 in the morning) then chocolates, lemonade, coffee and candy. The never ending hospitality is overwhelming. One image I will keep from this visit is the sweet sense of pleasure that came over the face of one of the priests as he ate his piece of chocolate. Yes, chocolate transcends all denominations and religions!</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Archbishop is given gifts and one of his entourage, who travels regularly with him, to document his experiences, is also given a gift. The Patriarch has remembered that her name is Nicola and has brought, from his home, a beautiful icon of St. Nicholas. He says he wants her to know that the Greek Orthodox Church is inclusive and this is for her. I know that all of the women in the group, myself included, were deeply moved by this heartfelt gesture.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our visit comes to an end and we head out. At this point, the Patriarch wants to show the Archbishop the ritual of the closing and opening of the Holy Sepulcher. Now the keys of the Holy Sepulcher are held by two Muslim families (long story there) who lock and unlock the large heavy ancient doors to our most Holy of Holies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this happens in the morning and in the evening – I am not sure if it ever happens in the middle of the day but today it does – we watch as the doors are closed and the trapdoor is opened, the ladder handed through. On the outside, I have seen this done only at night, the key holder climbs up the ladder and locks the lock placed high up on the door. He then comes down the ladder and hands the ladder back through the trapdoor and from the inside the trapdoor is locked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no coming in and no going out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is then a knock at the door and the whole process goes in reverse and the door is unlocked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And the door swings open and the sun shines in, and I realize I have been holding my breath, I think since early this morning, and I breathe deeply of the wonder of it all, and then, at once, our time together ends and we scatter back to our real world of planes to catch, places to go, and people to see.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I walk back to work through the Old City, the busyness of the day increasing and I am trying to assimilate the past few hours in my brain and I think – ‘Wow. Now I can say I have actually been locked inside the Holy Sepulcher (even if only for 30 seconds)’. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I realize that amazing things really do happen in Jerusalem. Amazing things happen to me in Jerusalem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it is in times like these that I stand outside my body and watch with wonder the life that I have been given.</span></div><br />
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</div></div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-9021229533013237502012-01-09T12:40:00.000-08:002012-01-09T12:40:59.354-08:00Christmas in the Land where it all began<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I realize that this is a little after the fact but I wanted to have the whole experience before I set my thoughts down in writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christmas in the Land of the Holy One was very interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as always, there are stories - <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is no Christmas fever here. No stores or malls blaring Christmas music. But every so often, from somewhere, I hear very quietly, Hark the Herald Angels Sing or O Silent Night or ( I love it in Arabic) Jingle Bells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And every service of Lessons and Carols is exuberant. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For Christmas Eve, this year, I have been asked to sing. Not in a choir, as there are not enough of us, but in a quartet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I said yes, mainly because I was needed and also because when I was a little girl I sang in a choir. And even if I didn’t sing very well, whatever the sound that came out of my mouth, it came out with joy. And so this Christmas once again, I will be making a joyful noise to the Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The days before Christmas are full of institution parties and I have been so blessed as to be invited to go with the Bishop to a number of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went to St. Luke’s Hospital, Nablus for their annual Christmas Lunch. You have to imagine this – a relativity small type parish hall, packed with tables and plastic chairs. And the tables are set (I kid you not) with multi-coloured paper cups that say ‘Over the Hill’. (I think there may have been a miscommunication here or a sale on party ware.) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Everyone is there – the Governor of Nablus, the Mayor, the Police Chief, a lawyer with the P.L.O. and everyone must thank everyone else and it is beginning to get quite warm. And then the food comes out – first the salads then the chicken and rice. And then the desert! The Knafeh! It is hard to explain but it is rich and cheesy and sweet with honey. Nablus is famous for its Knafeh. </span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We finish up about 4ish and our next stop is Nazareth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We get stopped at a check point and we must all get out of the car and go through the scanner (like the airport) even though the Bishop is dressed in his full purple robes but such is life here.</span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once through, we go to a lovely large hall where Christ Church School is having their Christmas do. Oh my, goodness, they started bringing out the food, and I thought they would never stop – 16 salads – I started to write them down - hummus, tahini, eggplant, corn, carrots, Turkish Salad, Fatah salad, fried cheese, sausages, mushrooms, deep fried chicken pieces, tabouli, kabob, meatballs, more cheese, cucumbers/lemon/carrots/cheese (again) and pita bread – I may have missed something as they were literally piling plates on top of plates because there was no room on the table. And THEN they brought out the main meal – chicken and potatoes and grilled vegetables. At that point I was done in and said no to the main course. We didn’t stay long enough for desert – thank goodness – even my stretchy pants have a limit.</span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They also had a standup comic for the evening’s entertainment. I have absolutely no idea what she said but whatever it was, it was hysterical. Everyone was laughing so hard that it was just infectious and I laughed as if I actually knew what was going on. It was a wonderful day and evening.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Friday before Christmas Eve, I was asked to take photos at St. George’s School across the street – I have become the resident photographer (my new camera gives the impression I actually know what I am doing). So off I go to St. George’s, which is a Christian school with more Muslims than Christians in it, and I see all these children in Santa hats singing Christmas carols. I totally had a moment. And when Santa arrived in his SUV, they all went wild. It was awesome.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The schedule for Christmas Eve begins</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> in the afternoon with a service of Lessons and Carols in the Shepherd’s Fields in Beit Sahour. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We gathered just outside a cave and had music and singing and lessons. Then when it was over, we were invited in to the cave for a meal of lamb that had been cooked in the ovens of the cave while we were worshipping. We were told that this had been a tradition from long ago and, for whatever reason, had stopped 55 years ago but it was being reinstated this night. The lamb was fabulous; it just melted in my mouth. So here I am in a shepherd’s cave, with Bethlehem in view, on a slightly cloudy night. But I did see a star and it was beautiful.</span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Driving home all the decorations were out in Bethlehem and it was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we arrived back at the Cathedral, we went over the final details for our return to Bethlehem for the Lessons and Carols service in the Church of the Nativity. There are three buses going (about 150 people) and I have been asked to be ‘Captain’ of one of them. People are already beginning to arrive and it is also just beginning to drizzle. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At about 7:30pm we leave for the Church of the Nativity. We drive in convoy, through the Wall checkpoint, with the Bishop at the lead with police escort. By the time we get to Nativity Square <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(we had to walk a bit since the buses couldn’t get right up there and the security was thick), the rain <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is pouring <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>down, and it is windy and really cold. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And all the umbrellas are turning inside out and not being of any help what so ever! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So here we are, all soaking wet and trying to 'enjoy' the adventure (we all agreed we would not want to be pregnant and on a donkey) and really making the best of it when we finally, after almost an hour of waiting in the rain, with hundreds of people trying to push their way into our group, get into the church. One at a time, we go through the little entrance door (built back in the day so horses with riders couldn’t gallop into the sanctuary), and then as Security is important, we each get scanned, our bags searched and cameras checked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We then passed through the nave to a side staircase, which goes up to an open courtyard, to wait once again, in the rain, to get into the Greek Orthodox chapel where we are having our service. However, I was bringing up the last group when they shut the doors (no room at the inn) because President Abbas was inside with his entourage.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At that point an elderly <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>fellow comes over to me and just lets me have it. He was so angry at me. He went on to say that “This was the worst thing ever, and if I organized it, I did a piss poor job”, etc, etc. I was so shocked. First, because I am not good with people yelling in my face; second, because it wasn’t like this had only happened to him; and third, it was Christmas Eve, for heaven’s sake! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swear I almost laughed, seriously, like I can control the weather? And then I was told the entourage was leaving the chapel and I needed to move everyone to the side. And this guy won't move. He says, ‘Why should I move? Who’s coming out, the bloody queen of England?’ So I said, ‘No, the president.’ And he says, ‘The president of what?’ And I'm like - The President of Palestine! That sort of stopped him in his tracks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, we finally did get in to the chapel and I have been praying for that dear old soul ever since. But the service was lovely - all of us so thankful to be in out of the weather and singing carols and listening to the Christmas readings, right there where it all began. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And because God is Good, and to remind me what it is really truly all about, and to make the evening truly blessed, as we passed through the horrid wall on our way home, the young Israeli guard wished me Merry Christmas. As you can imagine, I welled up and thought: This is where I see the hope. And oddly enough, the only other person to say Merry Christmas to me (other than in the church) was a Muslim shop keeper in Nablus. Aaah, Peace and Goodwill to all. I like it!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And Christmas Eve Midnight Mass was lovely. All of us wet but happy. And our singing – well,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>our practicing paid off and</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> we sang the Hodie</span><b><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;"> </span></b><span lang="EN" style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;">Christus Natus Est, a</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>gregorian chant,<b> </b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">and Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus, and in the end our singing was beautiful. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 283.0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In keeping with tradition, after church we had hot chocolate which was very welcome. Then I took the 1:45am sharoot to the airport, caught the 5:30am flight to Montreal (via Zurich) and landed home at 3:15pm Christmas Day. A few hours later Catherine came in from Los Angeles and the surprise was wonderful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How blessed am I to have my son and daughter with me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then my brother turned up from Dubai and my mother and father were just overjoyed. We all agreed it was the best Christmas ever. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 283.0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">_______________<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 283.0pt;"><span style="color: red; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To end on a reflective note:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 283.0pt;"><span style="color: red; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was pointed out to me the other day, that in the time when Jesus was born, the world was in a most distressing way. Babies were being killed in Egypt; families were being removed from their homes and moved about for a census taking. The people were living in an occupied land. It was rather hopeless and the people lived in darkness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not sure things have changed very much. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="color: red; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Going to Bethlehem for the Lessons & Carols Services, we have to drive through the Separation Wall, and every time I see it I feel sick inside. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once passed, we drive through Beit Jala on the way there and Beit Sahour on the way back. Two predominately Christian villages all dressed up in Christmas lights and beautiful decorations. Yet they are on the list to have large areas of their villages taken away so as to expand the nearby settlements. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: red; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I look at these settlements and I think how sad it must be to live in little box houses, huddled in fear and paranoia. There is no personality, not one flash of blue or yellow to mark an individual. And so they have become as faceless to us on this side of the wall as we are to them on that.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It does seem hopeless at times, yet just like long ago, hope is here. Hope was born here. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful to all who are reading this – for your prayers, support, friendship and love. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hope is that we can all have a joyous and peace-filled New Year.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Best wishes and blessings from Jerusalem.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
</div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-501536072890938412011-11-20T05:32:00.000-08:002011-11-20T05:32:40.694-08:00A Visit to the other side of Town<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every event begins with a decision. <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My experience this evening happens because I decided to go to Evening Prayer.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After service, Fr. Izeed asked me and another fellow Garold (a Russian scientist who has lived all over the world from what I can make out but most recently from the US) for a glass of wine. So we went to the Alumni Club and had a drink. We had a nice chatty conversation and then Izeed had to leave for another appointment but Garold and I continued to sit and talk. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was really interesting. He had just finished reading ‘Damascus Gate’ (which I have just read). And he, like the main character, is from Jewish heritage but went to a Catholic school. His parents are Russian doctors and quite secular. So he is here working at the research institute and searching for his place in it all. He loves our liturgy and the singing which is why he was at Evening Prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He recognizes a yearning in his soul but is not too sure what it is or what it is for. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Garold tells me that he is going to West Jerusalem for a kind of ‘Occupy Wall Street’ demonstration. I said I would like to go and he seemed surprised that I would be interested but pleased to have the company so off we went. The walk wasn’t too far but it was into a part of the city I have never been before. I must say it was lovely. The streets are closed to traffic and everyone is out after the end of Sabbath so there is a festive air. I see a ‘Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf’ café and that is weird – on my side of town there is no such thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We get to a little park, in the heart of West Jerusalem and there are a lot of people. There are many signs I can’t understand except I do see a few in English that say ‘ End the Occupation’ and another that says ‘There will no Peace until there is Justice’. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are flags waving (some Israeli flags and others with slogans in Hebrew). <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We begin a conversation with a young woman, Kaila, who is a teacher in a school for troubled kids and she is so nice and helpful. She is very pretty - blonde and blue-eyed, her mother is British and her father, South African but she was born in Israel. She talks to us about how Israel is a good country. Some of the people are rude but most are kind. ‘It is complicated here, but that is Israel.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She says with a shrug.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She says this demonstration is about economics not politics and that the government has been raising the prices on food and electricity. She explains that there is a law that the minimum wage is to be raised every three years but they keeping raising the prices so no one can catch up. It is very expensive to live here. She says ‘the government asked us to cut back on water usage and energy usage and we did but now they are losing money so they are raising the prices <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and the people cannot afford it anymore. Why don’t they have the energy windmills, like in the deserts of California? There is unoccupied land out in the desert and they could put them out there.’ <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have now left the little park on Ben Yuda Street and have begun our walk toward the Knesset. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we head down the hill I can see a lot of people a head of us - a couple of blocks full. The police are there in cars with loud speakers and Kaila tells us they are saying ‘Please! Keep to the right!’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are really no problems and it remains very peaceful. Later I see a sign, written in Hebrew, that I am told is a verse from the Bible, something to do with fairness and justice. I am not sure if that is in light of the economy or the politics.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We eventually decide we have walked quite a distance and it is time to leave, so we walk back through the streets of West Jerusalem. It is very European – small winding avenues (very similar to East Jerusalem actually). The side streets are mostly deserted with shops closed for the night save for a few coffee /internet cafes crowded with young people. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We find ourselves back on the main street and stop to have dinner at a Moroccan restaurant. I had the zucchini pie (like quiche).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Garold has the Jewish Grill which is grilled onions and chicken pieces – like liver and kidneys, etc. He says his mother used to make this when he was young. I understand it was quite tasty, although I declined the kind offer to try it. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our conversation has become really interesting. We have covered science, space, ecology, religion and spirituality. We have only just touched on the issues here. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wants to visit Hebron and Ramallah, I tell him to be careful. Perhaps he should not go alone or at least learn a few Arabic words. I am feeling that perhaps, maybe, I should learn a few Hebrew words too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walk home through The Mamleh Mall, all lit up and hopping with people in the restaurants. I see such a variety of people - Jewish, Muslim, Hassidic, Christian (and to be honest, everyone comes from the same Semitic heritage and they all look alike). Everyone must go through security to get into the mall. And once inside, it is just like being in Los Angeles with the Gap and other high end stores. When we have finished exploring we decide to cut through the old city to go home. We sort of get lost but eventually find our way out at Damascus gate. The whole evening has been surreal. Going from one side of the world to the other. It is so different over there. And it is not so very far away – only walking distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am glad I went. I am trying to get some sort of perspective but my heart is heavy with all this information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each side of this city lives in its own world. I have a lot to think about.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But for now, my only comment is that I find it interesting to go to the malls where everyone gets along - albeit grudgingly. But I think if people can get along at all, grudgingly or not – it is, at least, a start. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-20222412136676279322011-11-02T10:48:00.000-07:002011-11-02T10:48:23.784-07:00I can only tell you what I saw...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hebron<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Silja is a young woman who came here three years ago and worked for EAPPI (The Ecumenical Accompaniment Programme in Palestine and Israel). She lived in Hebron. I met her at an Expat’s meeting on the Mount of Olives . She offered to let me come with her to Hebron. She wants to visit old friends and I tagged along. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have had quite a day. <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The only way to really see anywhere is get in the midst of it. By this I mean, that we often don’t see the reality of somewhere when we are on a bus or a train. Small buses, taxis and walking are often more hands on.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We begin our day on the blue bus to Bethlehem where we change to a little yellow minivan. We go through checkpoints but going in is never the problem. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silja is so brave in my eyes. She speaks to everyone, asking them where they come from, where their families were before ’48. Everyone is so helpful, wanting to either practice their English or help us with our Arabic. The young man in our yellow bus is a teacher coming from Jerusalem, going home to Bet Jala.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We land in Hebron and as we make our way down the street Silja mentions a place in Arabic and the next thing we know a gentleman has stopped us. He was shocked to hear this Norwegian beauty speaking Arabic. He is a director of some government organization in Hebron. He is so happy to see us and gives us peaches. Beautiful fresh peaches. Sweet and crisp and just the thing for a warm afternoon treat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a lovely welcome. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We make our way through a very busy part of Hebron. It is called H1. Hebron has been partitioned off into areas. H1 being safer, I guess because it is under Palestinian Authority and H2 being the area in which settlers live. I am told that there are 4 military for every one settler. In this settlement, built right in the middle of H2, there are 700 settlers. Settlers are allowed to carry guns, too. That is an awful lot of weapons in one small area.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we walk closer to the area where Silja once worked, the streets became more and more empty. All the shops are closed and hardly anyone is around. It is eerily quiet for a sunny afternoon. We make our way to the Women in Hebron Cooperative. Silja knows the owner, Nawal, but she is not there today. However, her sister Laila is there and so happy to see Silja. She offers us tea. We sit and drink. It is hot and sweet. And we talk or rather they talk and I listen. It is an interesting mixture of broken English and scattered Arabic but I am beginning to catch a phrase or two here and there. They have much to catch up on and the main conversation is around the local gossip. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The young boys come around to ask us to buy bracelets from them and the girls coming home from school are so happy to see us and practice their English and take pictures of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Laila is so tired and not feeling very well. ‘No one stops by the shop any more. It is so sad. A boy was killed last week – just knocked down by a settler’s car. I am very tired.’ She just shakes her head sadly. I purchase a beautiful pillow cover – traditional Palestinian stitchery. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is a pall over the city. The young men have little to do with their shops closed down. One young man, Issalam, has become our impromptu guide. He used to carry his wares in a box around town because his shop was on the other side of the checkpoint near the Mosque but now “they have knocked his box out of his hands and he has nothing to sell” but a few bracelets and key chains which he keeps in his pockets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I buy a few trinkets from him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet even in the midst of this, we are given gifts. An extra bracelet and another embroidered change purse. The hospitality and kindness are overwhelming.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our ‘tour’ continues down empty streets. The older men sit in their vacant shops or bring their chairs out to sit in the empty souk. The smell of wafting coffee is wonderful, mixed with cigarettes and that sweet odour of fruit that is on the edge of becoming over ripe. There is no one around, a few little boys playing kickball in the empty neighbourhood.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have arrived at the check point for the Ibrahimi Mosque / Tomb of the Patriarchs. This is the site where Jacob, Ishaq and Abraham are buried. A holy place for both the Muslims and the Jews. So they have split it down the middle and share it. Today it is closed for a Jewish Holiday. But we stand by the revolving gate that serves to separate the people from their place of worship. We look up and there, poignantly, hangs a teddy bear on the barbwire. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We walk back the way we have come and follow empty streets that are a confusion to me as they twist and turn yet somehow we find ourselves back at the invisible line where busyness seems to begin again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So much has been pointed out to me today. As we walk through the old streets of Hebron (it is one of the oldest cities in Palestine, and when I say old I mean thousands of years old), above us are cloth or net coverings, slung from one side of the narrow street to the other. I thought this was to protect the people below from the hot sun but I am told it is to protect the people below from the garbage and chamber pots that are thrown out of the windows from the settlers above. They live above and the Palestinians live below. Always. The Palestinians settle the land in the valleys for farming. The settlers go for the hill tops. Or in this case the taller buildings. All high rise Palestinian homes are empty. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We go through another checkpoint into a no-man’s land. I can’t remember the name of the street but no one is allowed to live there as it is too close to the settlers .Everything is locked up tight although windows are broken and there is a sense of abandonment and utter loss. There are armed militia and cameras around. This is however the way the children have to come to go to school. The stories are coming now of how the children have been harassed – garbage thrown at them, yelling and insults. The school tagged and set on fire. No one is allowed to touch the olive trees – so no one can harvest their crop (this Issalam tells us as he takes a handful of olives from the nearest olive tree - the defiance written all over his face. His safety is in the internationals that are with him, I think. Us.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We make our way back again to H1. We say goodbye and promise that when we return we will look Issalam up and say hello. We grab a taxi and go to the Happy Bunny restaurant (it is the land mark we are looking for so we know where to turn to get to the home of Silja’s friends) (and yes, it is Bugs).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We arrive at the home of Hilda and Samir. Samir greets Silja with hugs and kisses and then turns to me as if he has known me forever and hugs me long and hard. My tears are near the surface because he reminds me of my father. Not at all in how he looks, just in his loving manner and kindness. We come into his beautiful home and we are given grapes and apples. He makes flowers out of the Kleenex to use as our napkins. We have coffee. He is happy that I like coffee. It is hot and slightly tart in that rich coffee way. We are given Twinkies as a treat. He has these amazing blue eyes. I have decided I don’t understand the basis for prejudice because of ethnicity. It doesn’t make sense – so far I have seen blonde blue eyed Palestinians, red headed Jews and beautiful dark haired and deep brown eyed people of who knows what religion. Our world has a lovely mix of people, such a shame it is not appreciated.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Samir goes to the garden and brings us sprigs of jasmine. The fragrance – light and delicate. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When Hilda arrives home she too is happy to see us. I laugh to myself because the first thing she does is take off her hijab. I always wondered what was underneath a woman’s hijab and now I know – underneath is a normal woman, just like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will we stay for dinner? Of course. And when we are called in to the kitchen to eat, a feast has been prepared. A cabbage dish – like cabbage rolls – meat and rice and spices. Salads, hummus, eggplant, pita. And Samir keeps piling it on; every time I finish something I get more. I am amazed at the generousity. We meet a neighbour Waja, a teacher, with whom I have traded information. Perhaps I will contact her when she is in Ramallah. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now it is time to leave. It is dark early now as the time has changed to winter time so Samir drives us to the bus stop. More hugs and promises to return. We wait for a while but our bus is not filling up and the driver wants to either wait for more people or have us pay 50 shekels to take us to Bethlehem. It is usually only 9. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decide to walk and hope to catch a bus that is already on route.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we do. We get to Bet Jala, take a taxi to Bethlehem and the Gilo checkpoint. It is deserted but I still get the sense of what it must be like during the day when people wait up to 5 hours to get through here. It is a long cattle path, really, with barbed wire everywhere and the barred path we walk down. It goes a long way, twisting back and forth – the Disneyland of the holy land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We put our bags through security x-ray and show our passports, we walk through the first set of turn styles – tall, no escape and no return turn styles. More walking, another set of turn styles and another passport check and we are on the other side of the wall. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have been walking with a man who is going in our direction. He is kind and although he doesn’t speak English, we have communicated enough that he has been keeping an eye on us through the check point and now into the street where we wait for our connection to Jerusalem. We wait again, for a while, and ask a passerby where the best stop is for the bus. It happens to be down the street so off we go again. We eventually get a lift from someone in a minivan who isn’t really a sharout (a kind of taxi) but he is going to Jerusalem so for 5 shekels we can get a lift. In we hop. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally home, I leave Silja at the blue bus station (where we began our day) as she has one more ride to go to get to the Mount of Olives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walk down Saladin Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stop for an ice cream and make my way home. It has been quite the day. I am saddened by what I saw but heartened by what I felt. I met lovely kind, generous people – all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And that gives me hope somehow.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
</div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-23450061613925544702011-10-08T07:04:00.000-07:002011-10-08T07:04:02.636-07:00Home is Where the Heart is ....<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I should start by saying that I live in a tower. Seventeen steps up (and around and around) and another fourteen to the bedroom. I anticipate midnight aerobics as the washroom is on the first floor.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have been settling in, putting my own touches to my new home.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today I have decided to leave my tower and go for a walk about my new city. The best way, I think, to get to know a new place is to get lost. Which I promptly did. I decided to go a different route than the way I knew, thinking I actually did know where I was going. But the best rule of thumb is always walk in a circle, and always get home before dark.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I walked down, around and back up again, I realized a number of things – I do actually live on a mountain, neighbourhoods <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the world over are all the same , with babies crying, little boys playing ball in the street and washing hung on the lines. And in this city there is a sense of familiarity although I can’t read, write or speak<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the language, however a smile goes along way.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I have walked around, bought my wooden spoons – one cannot cook without the proper utensils - and made my way home. I have also verified the fact that you cannot see into any of my windows from street level (unless you are close to being two stories tall).<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have treated myself to a lovely meal at a local restaurant – the Christmas Hotel – and am becoming more comfortable in my new surroundings. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On another day… I get up and head out<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for a lovely long walk to find my<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>grocer – Automatic Groceries -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>just down the road and up the road and around the corner to the left. It has been raining and the air is fresh and cool. It reminds me of England, oddly enough. I am getting a sense of the neighbourhood and am recognizing roads and land marks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> My grocer has everything imaginable, all in the smallest place imaginable. And it smells so good in there - spicey and rich.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The sun has come out so I decide to head to the old city. I walk around the outside to the New Gate (David’s Gate) and noticed how things change as you head up the street towards West Jerusalem - Pretty parks and grassy areas to sit, very clean, very Western in many regards.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I walk into the old city from the New Gate (new being a relative term as it is only newer by a few centuries) and now I am in very familiar territory. Seems odd not be counting heads every few minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I walk back through the Souk (market) to the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holy Sepulcher and pop in for a deep breath of ancient incense and spirituality. I love that it is so familiar to me. I wander to favourite altars and say silent prayers for peace. This place slows me down. I came rushing in and really had to think about slowing my breathing and taking a quiet moment among the hundreds of people who have come to pay respects, walk where Jesus died, and awkwardly stand in line for their turn in the empty tomb. I smile at an elderly gentleman, obviously exhausted from running around with his tour and he smiles back in unspoken acknowledgement of feeling hot, sweaty and tired, yet oddly exhilarated to actually be HERE.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I totally get it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This afternoon I am going<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to do a wash in the washing machine (a front loader with what I think are universal sign language instructions but I am not sure which universe ‘cause I don’t understand them) so I have pushed every button and turned every knob, added soap and said a prayer. I think I have it figured out. I hear running water and see the clothes begin to tumble so something is happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the meantime,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will set up my drying racks and get ready to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>watch my clothes dry. <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">[And on a side note – I have been here four <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>times previous to this stay and not once has anyone ever mentioned the whole – the pipes are too small for toilet paper – concern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been taken quietly aside to be told that I need to put my toilet paper in the garbage container beside the toilet. And yes to the first question that pops into my mind, that, too.]<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ah, well, it is all part of the adventure and as they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans – oh that was in 70 CE; what I mean to say is when in Jerusalem …<o:p></o:p></span>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146102879510620411.post-19303801870254210262011-09-29T08:29:00.001-07:002012-06-16T00:53:22.960-07:00As they say - 'Next year in Jerusalem!'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, for me, next year is here. I am in Jerusalem.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you want to read a very interesting non-fiction account of Jerusalem from a historically religious perspective, I suggest ‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem’ by James Carroll. If you want to read a fictional account of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Jerusalem fever and fervor’ I suggest ‘Damascus Gate’ by Robert Stone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If, however, you want to read about my journey as I settle into a foreign land amid a myriad of cultures, you have found the right spot.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I do not know how this blog will formulate itself. And I am not sure what voice it will take. So this is our adventure. I will try to attempt to convey how I feel and what I am doing as I spend the next few years here.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So to begin…<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is my life in 3 suitcases and a myriad of boxes stored about Los Angeles (none of the contents of which I can now even remember).<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But how did this start?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that when we throw our lives into the hands of the Universe, we better be ready for the ride of our lives. My mutterings began with the feeling of being overburdened, too much stuff, no room to breathe. And the process of ridding myself of stuff began slowly - a thing here, an item there, a bag of clothes to Goodwill every now and then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until there was a landslide of stuff just moving out of my house, into the yard, onto trucks, into cars and away everything went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the stuff I thought I could never get rid of became the stuff I gave away with such satisfaction. The flowered couches went to a family with a new home; the antique bedroom set went to a single mother starting over, even as the last moments of being in my house ticked away, the last bed went to a young man and his pregnant girlfriend. My beautiful rocking chair rocks gently in a monastic community. It is all perfect. I almost wish I had more stuff just to give away. It really felt good.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[And the stories between the lines – I was able to sleep on a bed until my last day. How great is</i> God <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that I should be able to sleep in comfort until the time I didn’t need a bed anymore. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And my girlfriends from Montreal, each visiting just when I needed them to help me begin this process and support me in my decisions.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And my children, loving me and encouraging me, taking deep breaths of their own and starting off on their own adventures.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And my colleagues and friends, helping me so much, taking things, moving things, storing things and loving me. I didn’t realize how much I am loved. And I love them all, too.]<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><br />
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</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And in the process of giving away, I also began to receive. Which in an odd way is more difficult. I understand the feeling of delight in the joy of watching someone receive what I have given but to be on the receiving end, and receive graciously and without wondering what have I done to deserve this was not, is not, an easy task. ‘No, no’ I say, ‘you don’t have to do this.’ But in not allowing my friends to give to me, I deny them the same sense of joy I had in giving. So my lesson is to accept whatever comes my way and know that it is the Universe in balance. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am excited. I want to say I am nervous but I’m not. I lay in bed at night waiting to feel anxious or scared or crazy and it just doesn’t come. I feel totally at peace with my decisions. I am looking forward to a new culture, new friends, new experiences. I am going to a country torn by strife and discord but I am going with a peaceful heart. I really don’t expect to be able to do anything but love whomever I meet and give them some support by trying to understanding even a little of what they are living with. To be honest, I really don’t know what to expect. I will just live it as it happens.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a deep faith in God and I trust that I am where I am supposed to be and that I am going where I am supposed to go. However, to get there I must be willing to take a deep breath and jump. I believe in breathing and jumping - taking a leap of faith. I think faith itself is a leap. I don’t know how else to explain it. Anyway, I have left my good job in Los Angeles, rented out my house and am heading to Jerusalem.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So now I am here. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I work for the Foreign and Domestic Mission Society of the Episcopal Church. What I do is support the Anglican Bishop in Jerusalem. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02549263783730652601noreply@blogger.com1