Opportunity collided with a hankering. We responded in the only appropriate way: we grabbed our daypacks.
A Neighbor with an Odd Letter
Those attuned to world news are aware of the escalating violence that has has rocked corners of Israel-Palestine in the last few weeks.
In the aftermath of a particularly brutal killing of an Arab boy (he was burned alive), residents of Beit Hanina and Shuafat took to the streets in protest. Confrontations between police and protesters resulted in additional human hurt and property damage. Many of us watching these events closely are wondering if the human conscience itself is a casualty? Are there any voices being heard out there, beside those of the extremists? Where does revenge stop? How can the cycle be arrested?
Things that Go "Boom" in the Night
I’m bunking in the middle of Jerusalem’s Old City for a month. It is less than one hundred meters from the desk where I now sit to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The CHS is perhaps Christendom’s most sacred space and the best guess at the spot where Jesus was raised from the dead. Early every morning the bells in its steeple ring out across the city reminding the rest of us that we need to do the same.
Falafel Chapel
“Orange juice?” “Falafel?” The invitation floats down Jerusalem’s Old City streets, seeking lodging in the ears of the hungry.
In this case, the voice behind the appeal belongs to Sameer. Plump oranges are piled to his knees. To his right is a stainless steel display stretching across the front of his shop. A peek inside reveals buckets of cabbages, pickles, onions, eggplant, salsas, some unidentifiables, and, of course, the magic paste that holds the whole of the Mediterranean world together: hummus.
To the Glue Factory
She looked like a good pony: short, but sturdy and footsure. Her lines were pure economy. Not even Todd, whose appreciation of such things ran ahead of most, would call her elegant. The icon proudly worn on her chest indicated that General Motors played some role in weaving together her DNA, although as I pondered her scruffy coat, I couldn’t remember seeing a breed like this before. We tested her throughly as hardened Westerners are wont to do: I kicked her tire. She didn’t flinch. Satisfied, Seth signed the rental papers and we we climbed aboard.
Little Things
Fire in the Hole!
Where Armenia Met Helena
The Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem’s Old City is theomphalos (navel) of Christian imagination. Its roof encloses key moments of sacred memory, including places associated with Christ’s crucifixion, burial, and resurrection. Countless pilgrims have risked life and treasure to enter these wooden doors. A visit can change a person. Or start a war.
Rat-a-tat-tat
It didn’t take long. I reclined, alone, in the ever popular Coptic Guest House in Jerusalem’s Christian Quarter. David Abulafia’s heavy tome on the Mediterranean Sea began bobbing above my head. It sank to my chest, then to the floor. Overwhelmed by the obscurities of Luwian hieroglyphs and two weeks of pilgrim responsibilities, I slipped beneath the waves, a human Akrotiri. I was exhausted. Darkness fell.
Debouchery
The Wadi Hamam begins gently in eastern Galilee near the village of Eilabun.
I follow a winding stream through the canyon known as Wadi Hamam. The water offers focus; it splashes across gravel, slowing only occasionally to waller in mudholes. Dense vegetation crowds the water’s edge. It is a narrow passage of brush and boulder, soft willow and thorny jujube, one that Dorsey calls “virtually impassable today” (1991:96). I can see why.
The Valley of the Shadow
An Edgy Guy
We sat uncomfortably in the classroom, rocking from side to side, trying to absorb the Hebrew text of Pirke Avoth. This portion of theMishnah claims that Moses carried not only a hard copy of Torah down from the mountain, but an interpretive oral tradition as well. The latter was chewed, memorized, and repeated from mouth to ear for more than a thousand years. When it was finally committed to writing in the early centuries of our own era, the achievement for Rabbinic Judaism was enormous. The sayings of the fathers was frozen for all time. Future students would have much to ponder.
A Wee Wise Folk
So Close, So Far
In the savage heat of July 3-4, AD 1187, the Crusader army thumped east from Sepphoris. They stopped to draw water from a spring, presently located behind the McDonalds with the McDrive Thru (Birket Maskana). The goal of the march was ostensibly to relieve the citadel at Tiberias. In a short time, however, that Crusader plan would be reduced to something more primal.
Salah-ed-Din’s eyes narrowed when he received the news. His siege of Tiberias had achieved the desired result. Guy was lured into open country.
Dead Reckoning to the Horns
Roads
I bend forward into the sink. Icy water runs across my hair, face, and neck. The cold shocks the leftover night from my head. It is 4:00 am. The call to prayer sounds in the distance.
I back away from the flow, close the faucet, and shake like a dog. Satisfied, I pull a shirt over dripping hair and skin, and don the elastic band holding a headlamp. I flip the switch.
Down on the Eco-Farm
I tumbled into consciousness in the decade of the 1960s. For some it was a return trip. For me, it was a notable first. That it happened in the state of Oregon where both firs and fungus grow tall, means that flower-power, hippies, and leather fringe jackets will forever trigger childhood flashbacks.
The Green Goat
Desperate for a good night’s sleep, I exchange the Jesus Trail for asphalt. I backtrack up the highway to an Israeli hostel. It carries a most curious name: Yarok-Az, or the “Green Goat.” It is advertised as an “eco-friendly organic goat farm.” Such a description will charm a sticky tick out of a tight place. I tug the cinch strap on my pack, set my jaw, and make for a bunk.
McRevived
Monkey Butt
I stand by the road in the wood and wave goodbye to a dear friend. He smiles weakly and waves back. I detect concern in his eyes, as if he thinks I shouldn’t be left alone. Hani is a trained pastor who knows how to read the signs. I am far from home, a babe in the woods. The car begins to roll away then stops suddenly. Hani cranks his head out the window. “Call me, ok?” he pleads.