ofmilkandhoney

Outpacing demonology?

2006-03-30T12:28:00.001-08:00

"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

2006-02-08T12:09:00.000-08:00

'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-

2004-07-23T01:26:00.000-07:00

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

2004-07-22T06:49:00.000-07:00

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

2004-07-19T06:35:00.000-07:00

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

2004-07-18T09:16:00.000-07:00

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

2004-07-09T01:38:00.000-07:00

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.

2004-07-02T06:04:00.000-07:00

Last night I sat out on the rooftop at the Ecce Homo convent, where I am staying now, and watched the smog-layer over the old city transform into a beautiful sunset and moonrise. The Dome of the Rock is directly in front of my window, and there is a mosque next door-I thought I enjoyed the prayer call from across a valley. So, of course, I have mandatory prayer at 9:30pm and 4:30am. I love it. The canopy of the city is filled with green-lighted minarets, domes, spires and satellites that reflect the moon. I became comfortable with the city on this rooftop. I was treated rather roughly the first few days I was here. I was cheated by a young boy with an orange juice squeezer, then sold a near-empty can of shaving cream. I am having no success with the bargaining. But, I love the narrow streets, the faces and colors and the sounds and the smells.

Yesterday, I spent a few hours at the Citadel, which is among many other things the likeliest location for the trial of Jesus. It is now a very lovely museum of the history of Jerusalem. It all makes sense to me now. This was always such a confusing subject, who controlled the city and when. It is interesting to note that the Ottoman Turks held the city for the longest of anyone. Ask me for more in this vein. There are very fine ruins here also, a section of the wall from Habatean times (maccabee) and other antiquities. Of course, everyone here is something of a lay archeologist.

A man approached me earlier today to explain a site in front of which we were standing and about which I was soon to read in my book. Before he left me, he thanked me for my interest.
Wow, I thought.
These lovers of Jerusalem must be feeling lonely with so few young travellers around with whom to share their love, and pass it on. Two people already have asked me over for dinner after short conversations. One couple today I hardly talked to. I just rode in an elevator with them to the top of the YMCA tower. At the top, they asked me to dinner.

Today I walked around modern Jerusalem, explored the early settlement areas, walked down Jaffa road through downtown, and then followed the shoulder of Hinnom south of the city a little ways. Downtown felt like any other thriving, hip downtown: nice restaurants, pubs, clothing stores, a modern market square where I cooled off with a Goldstar, and of course lots of hip people. I had lunch on a patio at the table next to the security guard who frisked me on the way in. Good chicken sandwich. I spotted the tower of the YMCA and followed it about six blocks. The Y is across the street from the King David Hotel where dignitaries stay on their visits. I went inside and tried to look as though I was staying there, with my backpack and water bottle.

The shoulder of Hinnom is a ridge across the Hinnom valley from the southwestern section of the old city and Mt Zion (south of the old city wall). "The shoulder" is dappled with ruins, museums and artist residences. En Return I walked down through the "Field of Blood" in the valley and up Mt. Zion to Dormition abby to cool off.

Lots of description. Really, I'm tired and burning with the sun. I'm going down to Mt Sinai next week if all works out. Beautiful churches here, mosques, synagogues. So many. This place makes God an everyday reality. Today, the streets of the old city are packed with Moslems going to the Temple Mount to pray. On the contrary, I have any Catholic church in the city to myself.

Bethlehem

2004-06-27T06:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I walked down to Bethlehem with a few of my mates. It took us about an hour to wind our way through the city to Manger Square. Lots of empty lots piled high with garbage. Buildings spackled with bullet holes. We passed one man standing in front of his shop, where all of the windows of the entrance had been broken. He looked to be still somewhat in a state of disbelief, calm disbelief though. I said good morning to him, and he responded good morning.

We got a little bit lost, but eventually found our way to the Church of the Nativity. (The prayer call just started out my window). The entrance to the church is a short little door built, as I have heard, either 1. to make entrance more difficult for an invading army or 2. to force people to bow as they enter. The church is run by the GReek Orthodox. Hence, the space under the Nave is filled with hanging candles and marvelous icons. The rest of the church, upon entering the little door has been left as the crusaders left it, circa 1100AD. Pieces of frescoes remain on the walls. Big wooden doors in the stone, crusader floor open up to reveal the byzantine mosaic floor underneath. This was nice of the crusaders. Apparently, this church was the only building in Bethlehem that survived the Arab re-invasion. A picture of the three Magi led the invaders to believe that this was an Islamic building, so they left it alone. The grotto (or cave)of the Church contains a silver star on the floor which is believed to be The place where Jesus was born. When I descended, a Spanish group was saying mass in white robes. I made it down just in time for the "kiss of peace". Meanwhile, an Indian father was setting each of his daughters up next to the star for pictures 'a la digital. He then got down there for a few shots. The grotto, like the upstairs, was covered with candles and icons. The stone walls were all covered with woven cloth. Next door to the Church of the Nativity is St. Catherine's Catholic Church, a modern catholic church with services all in Arabic. I was glad to see this space so close by, that was serving a local community. I understand this is the parish of many of the Tantur staff.

Leaving the holy places, the marketplace was crowded with men buying and selling birds, ducks, roosters, chickens, pigeons, songbirds. I bought a highly recommended CD of modern Arabic music. My mates and I visited a new community center in town. I can't say how exciting it was to see this new facility with a theater, beautiful classrooms, a backyard, and much more. Two young men were fixing lights in the theater when we stuck our heads in, speaking in Arabic and playing ABBA over the soundsystem.

On the way back, three 6 year old boys followed us through the back gate of Tantur trying to sell us Chiclets. I did not have enough to buy gum from both boys, so I split up my four shekels between them (about 4NIS to $1). I made a gesture to suggest playing rock, paper, scissors with them. They seemed to forget about the gum, and we played RPS all the way to the steps. Beautiful smiles. Many, many strikingly beautiful faces walking through this city, men and women. I am planning on returning Monday to visit the Bethlehem University.

Tantur Profile: Kevin. RC priest from Sydney, AUS (Christian Brothers). Started Catholic Bible College in Johannesburg, South Africa to train future leaders at every level of the community. One year program gives students courses in scriptural theology, business, computer skills, and Aids Education. There's also something else I don't remember. Most students cannot pay tuition. In its fifteenth year, the school is struggling financially. Needs all the help he can get. Wonderful, peaceful man. If you know anyone interested in living and working in Johannesburg for a year, or less, or more, and who can find a sponsor to pay for it, pass this on.

My wrist hurts.

Between Jerusalem and Bethlehem

2004-06-23T01:25:00.000-07:00

This is my fifth day staying at the Tantur Ecumenical Institute, which lies directly on the border between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. It is a beautiful building on about 40 acres of land owned by the Vatican. Standing on the roof of Tantur, three cities, Bethlehem, Beit Zahur and Beit Jala, stretch out beside one another across the valley, just beyond the new concrete separation wall which twists off over the horizons to the north and south. There is a break in the wall at Bethlehem due to a land dispute. The checkpoint for moving back and forth between these areas is right next door to us, just beyond our wall. So, since it may take hours to pass through the checkpoint, many Palestinians who live in one of these cities and work in Jerusalem, pass through the Tantur garden to avoid the checkpoint.

I am living with about fifteen other adults right now who, save two, are all ministers from various Christian denominations. They have been here a month for an in depth program on the land and its people. It's a colorful group that balances quite well, half and half Catholic and Protestant, 6 Americans, 6 Brits, 1 Aussie, 1 South African, 1 Phillipino, and I, of course, who am the youngest. I've been out each day with a few or all of them to different places in the city/country. Today, we all went down to the Negev desert, explored a few ancient Israeli sites from the time of Solomon, one Canaanite village from about 3100 B.C., and a Nabatean/Roman trading post in the middle of the blooming desert which is so far only partially excavated. Amazing! And you couldn't walk anywhere without stepping on pieces of Roman pottery-these potsherds just looked like red rocks. But I found out. The Desert is breathtaking. Once we passed a certain latitude, we could only see ocassional Bedouin shacks and tents, small herds of sheep and camel, and a desert wasteland.

In the city, a place I have enjoyed tremendously is the Damascus gate leading into the old city of Jerusalem. There are seven gates to the city, I believe, and four quarters, Christian, Muslim, Jewish and Armenian. The Damascus gate is the primary entrance into the Muslim quarter. It is L-shaped to prevent easy entry of enemies. The opening is crowded with women carrying baskets on their heads and children at their sides, Old men selling drinks, boys pushing carts full of goods, stray dogs, spicy smells and loud Arabic pop. When you pass through the L, the market sprawls before you loudly and chaotically. Everything is alive. Every sense becomes hyperactive. And I imagine it has not been too different from this for many hundreds of years. The music probably used to be live. I'll begin living in the old city next week.

The streets of the old city are so narrow that it often feels as though I am walking through someone's house-and they are calling at me to buy something. I had my first "dickering" experience the other day when I bought a straw hat for 22 shekels. the man told me that I was like a son to him. He only went this low to make me happy. Of course I couldn't force it any lower. I have a great deal to learn about "doing business" in the Middle East. As one dickers, one also needs to keep one's eyes open for young boys pushing one another in their carts at high speeds through the streets. The women do not usually look up. An old woman may sit for a whole day on a stool, not moving, staring at the adjacent wall, trying to sell lettuce or something.

Everything is so foreign to me, and yet it feels not so far away from home. There is a large library here. And I drink lots of water (for those who worry). Every night at about 3:30, I wake up to the sound of the muezzins' early morning prayer calls. I love lying half-awake, listening to the three or four soft voices projecting from the minnarets in our neighoring towns harmonizing inadvertently in quarter-tones. This morning, as I was listening, I was startled awake by a far away "boom" followed by short bursts of distant "pop-pop-pop-pop". The prayer calls continued, and eventually I fell asleep again. Even here, the paper can only print so much. There was nothing in the paper today.

Perhaps I will tell you later of the Dome of the Rock (marvelous), Cenacle, David's tomb, Gethsemane (marvelous), Dominus Flevit, Hezekiah's Tunnel (wet and marvelous), and so many other things. I am a little child here. But the internet is moody, and there is no telling when it may let me through-this was my first real opportunity.

For those who see this, blessings to you from this holy land. The evening prayer call is beginning now outside the window.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

2004-06-15T08:44:00.000-07:00

Mighty and dreadful, for though art not so;

In a conversation with a friend yesterday, Donne came up, Donne of the "When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done, for I have more"-fame. Donne, who confronts life and death and God and life again in his poetry so honestly, with fear and confidence, and what love. I only hope to be so myself when I enter this new place.

And, having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.

No better time than now

2004-06-14T13:32:00.000-07:00

The land of Israel awaits-the land of my "fathers" in many senses.