Outpacing demonology?

"Nonsense has replaced Demonology", local theologian David Razumihin said today in a news conference in Boston. Razumihin plans to spend the next year attempting to draw the public's attention to what he believes is a major paradigm shift in the area of public and private religion. "Demons have long been an everyday reality in the west and east. 'A demon made me eat that.' 'A demon caused me to skip dinner with my wife for a night at the tavern.' 'A demon compelled me to murder my uncle to revenge my father's death.' Demons are everywhere!" But since the rise of the urban world at the beginning of the 19th century, demons have slowly left the public consciousness altogether. And the public has been left in the lurch. Urbanites simply cannot explain their possessions any more in the terms of a predominantly rural, and frankly medieval, demonology. In the twenty-first century, demons have become passe, but the need for demons is stronger than ever. "Thankfully, we have a new way of making sense of moral guidelines," says Razumihin. "Nonsense. It is a wonderful transition we have begun from what I would call a passive approach to our individual and social morality to an active one. Demons gave us moral boundaries over which they were the watchdogs. If we failed to respect the boundaries, they could attack both socially and privately, in what we understand as 'demonic possession.' Nonsense removes both the watchdog and the boundaries themselves. Yet, it encourages a new awareness of why the boundaries are there. Sometimes nonsense is a swimming pool full of clean, blue water, sometimes a pool full of lard or oil. We jump in or we don't, but either way we have to clean up afterwards. As a society, we need to reevaluate our relationship with nonsense." Whatever that may mean, it's clear that we can all rest a little bit easier tonight, knowing the demons have gone to bed.

Feb. 8 protest in St. Paul

'Carrying signs that read "F*** Christianity", "We H8 Christianity" and "Jesus Go Home", a new wave of young bigots swept the St. Paul State Capitol steps today with a five hour long protest in which no one was seriously injured. The number of protesters ranged from fifty to one-hundred, three of whom admitted to slipping and falling on a "particularly hairy" patch of black ice. Two garbage bins were overturned in the course of the day, though no garbage was spilled. The group Americans Against Christianity (AAC) drew many curious looks from passers-by. "What kind of protest is that?" asked one observer in passing.'


It's been a while since I published anything on this blog due to arm failure. My arms have healed, and I will now dedicate these posts to reflecting on recent, thought-provoking political-religious dialogue. The above I found interesting, as I am forced to reflect on the motivations involved.

Amsterdam-

There is nothing to sour a wonderful day in Tel Aviv like a long night at Ben Gurion airport. My flight departed at 5:30 this morning, so instead of waiting around the hostel until the early hours I thought I would wait at the airport. I think the fact that I was early only prolonged my suffering. It is a serious interrogation that takes place before one is allowed on a plane, interrogation as described in the Gulag Archipelago. You stand, and two security officers ask you a number of questions about where you have been, who you met, what you do at home. Then they pause to have a three minute conversation with one another. Then they ask the same questions again in altered form. 30-45 minutes of this. Then they take everything out of your bag, take your shoes, give you the slow, full-body wand search, and, if you are lucky, these gaurds will also interrogate you about your trip (mine insisted I had been to Gaza, "So you've spent some time in Gaza?...Are you sure?") I had to repeat the mantra in my head: This is their job... Still, I was demoralized by the whole process and very tired.

Now my head is clearer, and I've been able to reflect more on Tel Aviv. I spent the afternoon walking to old Jaffa, then I caught the museum of modern art on the way back up north. They had an exhibit on Tel Aviv architecture, and it only hit me then how unique the architecture is. It is called "The White City" because most of the buildings are white, but they are also all modern in style. It's amazing the difference in walking down the street, the sense of openness and lightness about the place as compared to Chicago.

My internet time is almost up. Now returning.  

Tel Aviv

 I am flying out of Tel Aviv tonight.  

Tel Aviv is an incredible city. Every new thing I see sets me more in awe of the place: beautiful location right on the sea, great beaches, bustling with hip and beautiful people, clean, endless restaurants and shops. I just spent a few hours in the Art Museum-I'm still quite high from the experience. It has a beautiful late 19th and 20th century collection. I'm planning to walk to Old Jaffa, down the coast, after this.

Many things have happened since Tiberias. I went the Golan. Then I stayed in Akko for a night before training it down here. In Golan, I went to Caesarea Phillipi, or Banyas(Baniass), about 2 km from the border of Lebanon. Ancient springs made this a Greek site when Alexander passed through here. A temple to Pan still stands in part directly over the source of the spring. Following the stream for a few miles through a beautiful, untouched reserve, onecomes upon beautiful waterfalls at the end. Halfway down the path, in the middle of this near-mountain wilderness, I heard a series of four earth shaking "booms" quite nearby spread out by 3 min. or so. I was startled by the affair, but could only continue down the path. Later in the day, I meta soldier at abus station in Kiryat Shemona who informed me that Lebanonhadsentfourrockets into Israel that morning, killing two sharpshooters. He had been serving in that region for a few months. This happens quite often, he said. Alright.

In Akko, a beautiful old city right on the sea (walls reaching down into the water). I stayed in a dirty room by the sea for 100 shekels. It was late when I arrived. I had walked all around the city, and I was on the verge of despair when a man ata large souvenir stand said "hostel?" He fetched a key andled me through a series of doors to my dirty room. There was a picture of a hiker on one of the doors, faded, but I think I was the only person sleeping in the place. My room had crusader-vaulted ceilings and no windows except a little air hole in the bathroom. GReat location though.

I must go, because a woman is sitting next to me who would like to get on. Hopefully I will see you soon. I will continue to write, closing thoughts and such-feels necessary. I may even hang on to this thing as a way of retaining my relationships in the abstract without the personal responsibility. Though I would change the blog's name of course.   

Falling in love with Shawerma

Before going any further I would like to respond to a concern: I want to emphasize that while I have generally taken the "when in the middle east" attitude toward social activities I do not endorse these activities as either healthy or attractive things to do in the USA, smoking particularly, hitchiking more generally, and disposing of toilet paper in a little can next to the toilet instead of in the toilet itself more generally still-but most importantly perhaps. On the other hand, if I lived here and/or had a middle eastern wife I would keep my Nargileh in the dining room. They're lovely. When you walk down the street after dinnertime in any Arab town or section of town, all the men are sitting in the doorways of their homes and shops, playing backgammon and smoking the Nargileh. This is another striking example of the local social bonding.

Today I visited the Mt. of Beatitudes, Tabgha, and Caphernaum on the north shore of Galilee. Lovely sites, each one, though I was rather disappointed with how restricted each of the sites were. This is not a regular tourist season, alright. And normally the tourists would be climbing the walls. These are communities living here, and they need some space for themselves. But they are sitting on some traditionally pretty significant places. They might treat visitors more hospitably. A monk at Tabgha accused me of trying to sneak down to the lake for a picnic. I was holding a bag of chips, but I was given permission by someone else to go down and pray. Eventually he let me go. It was all so business-like. That is my complaint. I was treated like a tourist instead of like a pilgrim. Whose to say I didn't walk there all the way from Russia like so many pilgrims in earlier centuries. They certainly never asked these men and women for a shekel to use the bathroom.

I'm being petty. I'm tired, that's what. The sights were beautiful. I walked the whole way. I'm still hydrating. And my company at the first two sights, who I met at the hostel, claimed that he "had never seen so many idols." Long conversation. Thankfully, he left me to walk to Caphernaum alone.

Tabgha has the most beautiful mosaic floors on both sides of the altar. A simple basket of bread flanked by two fish decorates the ground directly in front. On both sides, huge birds of many types, flowers, and trees. Some birds are drinking from the flowers, some are huddled together, some are singing, some posing. It is all so asymmetrical, so natural looking, like a garden or forest. Tres bon! Tres bon!

Capharnaum is quite small actually. Only about 1500 people would have lived there in the 1st century. The houses were tiny, 10x6 rooms at the largest, streets tiny, tiny stairs leading up to nowhere. "Perhaps the upstairs rooms were much larger," suggested a Dutch fellow I met on the road. "People were also smaller back then," he followed up. Two interesting suggestions...The synagogue at the site is 4th century, said to be built on the foundations of a 1st century temple. And then there is the house said to have been lived in by Simon Peter. I hope it was only Simon Peter living there. Floating above it is a church built on stilts, probably in the 50s or 60s.

Fun fact: I have had the opportunity to attempt to speak or use each of the languages that I have attempted to learn. Last week I stayed with German sisters. Ja, Ja! In Jerusalem I stayed with French sisters. Oui, Oui! I mentioned the Italian mass. Spaghetti! And in Haifa, I walked into a second floor Russian restaurant practically on accident. I was spoken to in Russian, and I remembered nothing from my two weeks of Rus in college. We communicated by primitive means, and soon I had a seven course meal on the table in front of me. I was the only person in the tiny restaurant except the whole family who owned the place. They sat two tables away smoking and dying of laughter. I was only relatively hungry, but I ate it all, thanked them lavishly, and rolled back to my hostel. Of course there have also been innumerable opportunities to translate Latin and Greek at churches and Archeological sites.

I can ramble when I set myself to the task. As for my "project", I have recorded a few conversations/interviews and many other musical samples, religious Jews praying, Muslim prayer calls, a Phillipino choir, a passing group of singing pilrims. I have become more aware of the many diverse sounds of a place since the language barrier prevents me from eavesdropping on conversations. I did get a great short speech on tape delivered by the director of the Temple Mount. He spoke about Jerusalem, the war, hopes for peace, prayers for peace, Jewish, Muslim, Christian coexistence, and other things. It was quite inspiring. This is the voice I have heard far too rarely in travelling around the country.

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness." This struck me today as it never has. It is not those who "desire" righteousness, but "hunger" and "thirst" for it. One cannot but be more conscious of "hunger" and "thirst" in this land. And "righteousness" takes on such an earthy, tangible tone as a result of these verbs. It is not some thing, some concept, we want and are looking for, but something we need-like food and drink. This struck me. Anyways, I'm going to the Golan Heights tomorrow. Thinking of you all, really.

Teverya

It has been too long, but it is difficult to find internet in this wilderness. For 50 shekel, an old man showed me and my horse the way to this cafe on the shore of lake Galilee.

The lake is striking with mountains rising up around it on all sides. I took a 45 minute boat trip along the shore with a group of Jewish senior citizens. They let me join their group for free. And this is only one example of the drastically different sense of social unity here. There is so much that brings a group of people together: the captain turned on some hebrew techno, and half of the people on the boat started clapping together along with the beat. I had to smile widely. Most were satisfied with a little bit of clapping, but one or two older gentleman started up the clapping again every few minutes, big smiles, looking around for others to join in anytime.

The two previous days, I was in Nazareth. The Basilica of the Annunciation here is brethtaking. All very modern architecture, with mosaics, frescoes and ceramics sent from all over the world lining the walls. And the stained glass! At the center of all of this modern art and architecture, a small section of a crusader church built on byzantine foundations on the spot where tradition says the Annunciation occurred. I came back later in the day for the six o'clock mass in Italian. I was moved by the devotion of the congregation. I could have spent all day here, but I was taking in the city with a Canadian who I met that morning at the hospice. Very Canadian (hockey, -out), studying Hebrew at Haifa U. He asked me to explain all the Catholic stuff. My tour guide persona eagerly emerged. We walked all over the city, ate great falafel (GREAT falafel), visited churches and mosques, and finished the afternoon on the peak of one of the hills overlooking Nazareth. It is a beautiful city, very packed together like Old Jerusalem but more charitable-i.e. shopkeepers do not yell at you as you walk past, and I was no longer a slave to the dickering.

I also spent a day in Haifa after my week at Ramat Hanadiv digging for Herodian artifacts. Sorry I cannot explain this all now. Highlights: I found most of a Herodian cooking pot and the spout from a Hellenistic oil lamp. I also touched a jelly fish for the first time (which they call "Medusa" in Hebrew) and swam in the Meditteranean. Good people here on the dig. More Americans than usual (3). My favorite line of the week was overheard during an argument about politics (specifically Bush) between a woman from Colorado and a young man from Holland: The woman told the young man that he "shouldn't believe everything he reads on the internet."
He replied, "How do you know it is not true?" And she immediately snapped back, "Because I'm from America and I read the newspaper!"

It is a challenge being here and being from America. A man in Egypt almost wouldn't take my business when I told him I was from America. I have seen the whites of many eyes. Yet, a group of Arab brothers I met in Nazareth told me that they would love to be in America more than anywhere else. "I have visited there, and most Americans don't realize how good it is," said the eldest brother. The much greater challenge would be being here and not being able to go back to America.

Seen written on a wall in big block letters: "Snopp Doggi Doog" (spelling as is).

I am told that after a few weeks here, everyone wants to write a book, but after a few months it's only an article. After a year, they just want to leave.

The dark irony of which reminds me of a relatively old Israeli saying I learned from a soldier who I met in Eilat. "What doesn't kill you makes you tougher. What kills you makes your mother tougher."
Mom, laugh. It's not an American saying.

Love you all.

In the desert

Two Israeli's have now assured me that Israelis are crazy. But they are gentleman! I am still figuring out what this means exactly. One young man I met at a hostel two days ago told me Israeli's do what they want when they want. Alright. I met a family in a cab travelling down the coast of the sinai peninsula yesterday. They convinced me that I ought to spend my days at Dahab instead of going to St. Catherine's monastery. It was going to be closed all day today. So, I went with them, and I became fast friends with Sasson, paterfamilias and extreme gentleman. We travelled across the city looking at three different hotels (so his wife would be pleased) before choosing the Bedouin Divers hotel on the beach. $4 a night for my room is not bad. But it is so #$%@ing hot here that I slept hardly at all last night, not to mention that I had to find my way across camp to the bathroom three times because I'm trying to keep myself hydrated. I drink about 8 liters of water a day down here.

When I first entered the desert at Ein Gedi on the Dead Sea, a woman on the bus advised me to drink lots of water and be careful with the heat. The Dead Sea is actually a lake, but it is a quite dead lake as the "water" is an extremely thick salt solution. Wading into it, you become quickly aware of every slight scrape on your body, and then--you float. You cannot sink. You can just sit in the water with half of your torso above water, read, eat and drink, play cards I suppose if you had a floating table. It is advised not to put the head underon account of the eyes, and I am told there are fewer more painful experiences than peeing in the dead sea. But, it feels wonderful on the skin. A texan woman who I met while floating told me that the German government pays for its citizens with skin disease to take therapeutic vacations here. Hm. Afterwards, I explored the Wadi (desert spring), communed with the Ibex, and lost horribly in chess to a fellow from Manchester.

Early in the morning, I bussed from Ein Gedi to Eilat at the southern tip of Israel, following the dead sea and the Jordanian mountains all the way down. Entry into Jordan is quite pleasant compared to entry into Israel. The guards smile and welcome you. My cab driver gave me a free tour or Aqaba, which is about 10 kil. from Eilat, Israel. Then, he told me he wanted to bring me to his house for Arabic coffee. But before this, we needed to stop somewhere in town to meet his brother so that he could give him some money. We sat outside the cab for about 10 min. His brother appeared with a friend. I was introduced. Nice fellows both. Then, we drove to the house of the driver's older brother, who greeted us at the front door in a floor length...forgive me, but I didn't get the name of this piece of clothing that is like a tunic. He invited us in and offered tea or coffee. His furniture was quite lavish and oversized for the size of the room. My driver's phone rang. He had to go to border to pick someone else up. Alright, at this point, my sense of caution was red and blinking. I flipped out for a minute. Older brother then explained the situation clearly, told me that I was like his brother as long as I was in his house, and begged me to sit down to drink my coffee while he called another cab for me. He was convincing. He did so. I drank another coffee. My new driver Salim arrived with a friendly greeting, and we started off for Petra in the unfriendly heat without air conditioning. Salim made me smoke his cigarettes and drink his water, and we had a very pleasant 1.5 hr drive through the breathtaking, desert mountains of Jordan up to Petra.

Now, if you know nothing of Petra, you must do some research. It is perhaps the most awe-inspiringly beautiful place I have ever seen or imagined. An enormous ancient city carved into the side of these staggeringly colorful sandstone mountains: every color in the visible spectrum worked its way into these rocks in rich swirls. And these enormous building facades are carved right into them. We're talking one facade 150-200 ft high, 50-75 ft base. And the whole city is tucked into the middle of these mountains. You need to walk about a half mile through the desert and then a half mile through a twisting 200 ft high, 20 ft wide canyon to reach the beginning of the city, ocassionally dodging horse-driven carts of Bedouin speeding past you. The city is huge. I was there about 6 hrs, and I hardly made a dent on the depths of the place. I saw most of it, but really explored very little. I walked up the never-ending staircase through the mountains to reach the highest building, The Monastery. I explored the theatre-8000 seater carved into the mtn, and a few of the temples and tombs, but missed much. Must come back. Marvellous.

Now, I am in Dahab, Egypt. Hanging out today with some Aussies I met. Going swimming now and snorkelling later. Beautiful reefs here. Pacem.