Living in Israel

I realize that most of my posts have to do with great places I've been to or observations on the political and religious situation that I've seen while here, and I haven't really written about what my life is actually like here. I will attempt to do so now. I start off my day with my iPod alarm beeping to inform me that 7:15 has once again come too soon. I get out of a bed that sits about a foot off of the ground but blessedly has sheets and a down comforter to keep away the unnatural nighttime chill here. My room consists of my bed, a long desk and a dresser next to it taking up the far wall, a shelving unit above and to the left of the desk, a window with a heavy armor shade, and a low three shelve dresser on wheels. I share this apartment with four other guys, each with his own room. Phillipe is from France, Adam is from Idaho, Mori is from New York, and Laif is from New Jersey but he studies in Abu Dhabi. One of the bedrooms doubles as a panic room/bomb shelter in case of attack, and it has two doors in order to seal it from the rest of the apartment. Thankfully, these apartment units are blessed with hot water, though you have to click on a switch outside of the shower labeled "boiler" and wait a bit for the water to warm up before taking a shower. I assume that this system is based off of a desire to save the planet, but we always leave the boiler switch in the "on" position so we don't have to wait for hot water. Environmentally unfriendly? Yes. Convenient and efficient? Also yes. We are also blessed with abundant and drinkable tap water, though it differs from the tap water back in the states. It takes longer to boil this water and apparently combined with American shampoo it can destroy your hair, but those inconveniences are more than made up for by its drink-ability. I've been told that Israel is the only country in the region with 24/7 tap water availability, the other countries having such bad water shortages that they have to cut off service a day or two during the week and the people have to stock up between stoppages. Our living room is spacious, with a couch and table taking up one half and a kitchen area taking up the other. The kitchen comes with a sink, a four burner stove, shelves, a refrigerator, and a microwave. It's a very nice place to live. The weather alternates between the low 50's and high 60's, with rain always threatening but some days allowing for clear blue sky. I've taken to carrying an umbrella and jacket everywhere I go, as rain can show up out of nowhere. Jerusalem is situated in the mountains, so a cool breeze is never too far away. The people here dress in pants and a combination of sweatshirts or heavy winter coats, and many people stare at me in astonishment when I go outside in shorts and a t-shirt. Several people have asked how I can handle the "cold"; I merely smile and say "In Minnesota, this is spring to us." I get such looks of surprise and astonishment I feel like I am single-handedly creating a myth of Minnesotan toughness and hardiness in the face of overwhelming weather. I've held a couple of audiences in awe of Minnesotan winters. The sun rises before 7:15 because it is always light outside when I get up, and it sets sometime between four and five. I noticed something interesting today as I walked to class; the Arabs and Israelis have different buses for themselves. The Israelis get on the Israeli bus, and the Arabs get on the Arab bus, which we would probably classify as a big van back home. Each has markings clearly defining it, with the Israeli bus marked in Hebrew and the Arab bus in Arabic. I heard someone say earlier last week that Arabs and Jews only willingly mix in three places: the hospital, the zoo, and a third place which escapes my memory. I eat lunch in the school cafeteria and eat dinner at home, either making scrambled eggs, omelettes, hot dogs, or noodles. The most adventurous thing I've cooked so far is potatoes with carrots; I haven't had the time to make something more challenging. Phillipe is a master at making noodles, and everyone is always on the lookout for a free meal being offered somewhere so none of us have to buy food or cook. Anyway, those are my disjointed thoughts and descriptions of life here so far. I will most assuredly write on this subject again soon.

Arab Fried Chicken

A couple of nights ago, my friends took me to get some fried chicken for dinner. When I heard the words "fried chicken", I assumed we were going to an American style restaurant that caters to Westerners. Needless to say, I was surprised to be lead into a Arab mom-and-pop type store situated right on the road in a heavily Arab neighborhood twenty minutes from campus. The store was made up of a counter with the chicken situated behind a sneeze screen, allowing customers to choose between the extra crispy and chicken wing variety. The rest of restaurant was made up of a sizable kitchen area in the back and a seating area in the front. I had three pieces of fried chicken perched on a mountain of french fries and served with a role that puts our puny American dinner roles to shame. The chicken tasted just like it does back home, and would have given KFC a run for its money. It was incredibly cheap too, and I left the store well-fed and well satisfied. I honestly did not expect to find a fried chicken joint being run by Arabs and catering to Arabs. Every day my American point of view on how things are in this country is shattered and rebuilt with new thoughts, expectations, and beliefs. I'm thankful for this opportunity, and I look forward to the next event that shatters my assumptions and pre-arrival expectations.

The Shuk

Today I went down to this massive market area in West Jerusalem called "The Shuk". Don't ask me what "Shuk" means; I don't have the foggiest idea. When people say they're "going to the Shuk", it is universally understood that they're going shopping, usually for food. This marketplace takes up several streets, with every inch of real estate (except for narrow paths in between) taken up by booths selling whatever food or goods you desire. We took the light rail and stepped off into another world. Masses of people inched past other shoppers to get what they needed quickly and cheaply. We were constantly squashed against one side of the street or the other as aggressive shoppers bull rushed from one place to another. Store owners shouted their products and prices, but since most of them were speaking Hebrew and I've only had two weeks of instruction in that language, I naturally didn't understand a word they were saying. I was able to observe the niceties of saying "Shalom" in greeting and then waved my money and my purchase in various tellers' faces until they understood what I wanted. I bought several loves of bread and munched on them as we jumped from one booth to another. Everything was incredibly cheap, and I can see why friends of mine go there to get their groceries. There was one massive booth devoted just to cheese. It was a beautiful sight. Everywhere you looked, there were monster slabs of cheese, of every type, shape, and texture. I will definitely be going back there to buy a block of cheese to cut up and eat with some crackers. Everything in the Shuk was fresh; fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, fresh fish, fresh meat, and fresh bread dominated the area. In twenty minutes, I was able to buy apples, potatoes, bread, and some kitchen utensils for a fraction of the cost of shopping at the supermarket or at the mall. I tried the famous Turkish Delight there as well, the stuff the White Witch used to get Edmund to betray his family in the Lion, the With, and the Wardrobe. I didn't feel any particular urge to betray anyone after eating it. Anyway, that was my shuk experience. It's a cool area, and I'll definitely be back.

Yad Vashem

Today, some friends and I went to the Yad Vashem Holocaust museum and memorial on the outskirts of Jerusalem, in order to pay our respects and honor the victims. Yad Vashem lies in a dense pine forest, and it looks over the western mountains outside of Jerusalem. First, we went into the museum itself. Inside were endless amounts of documentation and personal stories, allowing us to see the personal tragedy of the Holocaust instead of just being caught up in the massive numbers of people murdered by the Nazis. While the museum did have charts and raw data on the number of people murdered, it focused much more on individual survivors and their stories. The interviews of survivors and their experiences played on tv screens wherever you turned, and you couldn't help but stop and listen to each one. In front of the tv's, documents and personal belongings of people who did not survive are scattered around each room in glass display cases. Each room is devoted to a year (or years), and they go in chronological order, starting in the early 1930's and ending in 1945. In several rooms, Hitler's speeches are broadcast, to show the audience his exact words and ideas and to also show the devotion of the German people to these values. Every time you turn a corner, something shocks you. In one room, a full-sized rail car stands deserted on a pair of railroad tracks, as if it had just stopped transporting its victims the moment before you entered the room. In another room, a see-through floor looks down on a case filled with shoes, discarded by their owners as they were herded into the gas chambers. Next to this display was a full-scale model of a gas chamber. We followed a tour made up entirely of Israeli soldiers. Everywhere you looked there were soldiers, leading me to believe that coming here was part of their training, to remind them that they were all that stood in the way of the next Holocaust. The State of Israel was born out of the ashes of the Holocaust, and its founders were determined that the Jewish people would never be so defenseless again. This is the reason why everyone here is in the military. For the people that the world rejected, a home was found, the land of their ancestors. They will defend it to ensure that what transpired at Auschwitz, Dachau, and other extermination camps never happens again. The Jews have a state, yet they still aren't at peace. We westerners do a good job of looking horrified whenever we learn about the Holocaust, and we all say passionately "Never Again!" Yet lurking beneath the surface, antisemitism is alive and well. We see it blatantly displayed by the Iranian President, who still insists that the Holocaust didn't happen and called for Israel to be "Wiped off the map." We see it more subtly in the capitals of the West, as one by one Israel's old allies condemn it and vote against it in the general assembly. Even the United States, Israel's supposed best friend, is not entirely innocent of such behavior. Americans are quick to say we are "Supporters of Israel" or "Pro-Israel", yet we are quick to condemn the Jewish State for acts taken in self defense, such as Israel's attempts to take out Hamas's missiles after they were launched at Israeli schools and apartments. We say we love Israel, yet we consistently accuse the only successful democracy in the Middle East of murder, racism, and bigotry. Such attitudes disgust me. My countrymen need to come to this museum and hear its message. It's time for us to stop making snap judgments about Israel based off of thirty second soundbites on the evening news and actually educate ourselves about the real situation in the Middle East. It's time to quit stabbing Israel in the back and instead join hands in the fight against the real forces of murder, racism, and bigotry in our world. In short, it's time to remember the lessons of history, to ensure that they are never repeated.

The Garden Tomb

I had the great honor and privilege to be able to go to the Garden Tomb the other day, the place where Jesus's body lay for three days before He was resurrected. Now before I go into describing the experience, I have to clear something up. The Catholics say that Jesus died and was resurrected at the spot where the Church of the Holy Sepulcher stands currently. Protestants believe that Jesus died and was resurrected at a place called the Garden Tomb, which lies on the other side of Golgotha, which is located about a ten minute's walk from the Sepulcher. As I am a Protestant, I subscribe to this viewpoint. The Garden Tomb is just what the name describes: a tomb in a garden. The garden itself is beautiful, with little paths running through it and sitting areas scattered throughout the place so that pilgrims can sit and reflect before going down to the tomb itself. The place itself is owned by the British, and the majority of people running tours and working there are British. Golgotha, the place of the skull where Jesus was crucified, lies just above and to the right of the actual tomb itself. It's easy to see why the hill is called "the place of the skull" because the hill is shaped like one giant skull. The people who own the tomb do not own Golgotha. It is Muslim territory: a Muslim cemetery lies on top of the hill, and a Palestinian bus station takes up the surrounding area. As we were sitting down to listen to one of the guides describe the day Jesus died, the Muslim call to prayer sounded from a minaret built right above us, drowning out everything the guide was saying and disrupting Christian reflection and prayer in the tomb area. He calmly waited for the call to finish, as if this happened every day (which it does) and then continued to describe in detail what first century Jerusalem was like at the time of Christ. After he was finished, we had a moment of silence, and then went down to the tomb itself. The tomb is carved into a sandy colored rock outcropping, and the area around the door is shaped like a circle, probably to accommodate the circular door lying on its side a short distance away. The door into the tomb itself is very small, and I had to stoop in order to go inside. The entrance had a door built into it to lock it up at night, and on the door was written the words "He is not here, for He is risen." The tomb was empty. Surrounding us, people from around the world were praying, singing hymns, and smiling for joy at His triumph. It was a powerful experience, to be able to go into the tomb that Jesus lay in and see for my own eyes that He is not there. My friend asked "death, where is your sting?" As we exited the tomb. It was a great experience, and I'm proud to be a member of the faith and worship my Lord, who died for me, and then conquered death itself.

Holy Sites Continued

I have also had the great privilege to have gone to and prayed at the Western Wall, located in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City just below the Temple Mount and the Dome of the Rock. This is the most sacred spot in Judaism, the last remaining piece of the Temple still standing. The Temple Mount itself is Muslim controlled, and where the Temple once stood, a mosque now dominates the skyline. The wall itself is incredibly old, with every stone of it being sacred to the Jews. To get to the wall itself, one must go through airport security. Everything in your pockets must be examined and you must go through a metal detector. Heavily armed soldiers are constantly on patrol, alert for trouble. These measures are necessary because the wall has been targeted by suicide bombers in the past, and every now and then Muslim worshipers on the Mount itself might throw rocks down on the Orthodox Jews praying at the wall below them. This has happened in the past, and everyone at the Wall is alert for any indication that it might happen again. The Wall itself is holy ground; you can feel the power of the place as you place your hands on the old stone and whisper a prayer to Jehovah. In these old stones, the Temple's memory lives on. Countless prayers, written on slips of paper, are jammed into any nook and cranny available. Everywhere you look, Orthodox Jews pray to the God of their people, some wailing in distress over the Temple's destruction (hence the name Wailing Wall)some sitting studying the Torah, some engaged in intense debate with others, and some simply standing with hands clasping the wall, eyes closed in reverence. The heat is intense, with the sun reflecting off of the massive limestone courtyard that leads up to the wall itself. Seen from a distance, the area is an impressive sight, with this beautiful courtyard giving the wall a massive amount of space and respect and allowing for the great numbers of worshipers that come to pray on the Sabbath. It was not always this way. When East Jerusalem was in the hands of the Jordanians from 1948-197, a row of houses were built up right next to the wall itself, leaving very little room for worshipers to pray. Jordanian soldiers made it very difficult for Jews in West Jerusalem to gain access to the Wall, and sometimes would even urinate on it. In 1967 during the 6 Day War, Israel overran the West Bank and East Jerusalem in response to the Jordanian attack on West Jerusalem, taking the Old City, the Wall, and the Temple Mount in the process. For the first time in close to 2,000 years, the entire city of Jerusalem, the City of David, was under Jewish control. Soldiers rushed through the Old City to the Wall to pray unimpeded, and the Shofar once again could be heard throughout the Old City. Moshe Dayan, the head of Israel's military at the time, wisely left the Mount itself in the hands of the Muslims, while Israel bulldozed the houses in front of the Wailing Wall in order to give it the space needed. Jerusalem still remains united under one rule, and the Wall still stands. The most sacred site of Judaism is a marvel to behold, and when one places their hands on it to pray to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, you know you are standing on holy ground.

Holy Sites

The entire city of Jerusalem is holy ground. I'm not just talking about how it is the center of the world, the City of David, the place where Jesus died and was resurrected, or the fact that it will be the capital of the world after the 2nd coming, although those are all excellent reasons for calling it Holy. I'm talking about how wherever you go, chances are something of immense (or at least important) historical or religious value happened on that spot. For instance, the mountain I go to school on is the place where the Roman Titus planned the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D., which lead to the burning of the 2nd Jewish Temple as a result. The mountain next door is the place where Jesus wept as He predicted this coming destruction and also is the place where He will return one day. I'm devoting this post to two of the principle holy sites in Jerusalem and my experiences there: The Wailing Wall and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I've been privileged to have been able to visit the Holy Sepulcher twice so far, and it is absolutely breathtaking. The church is built over the spot where Catholics believe Jesus died and was resurrected. Protestants have their own locations that they swear by, but the Catholics have about a 1200 year head start. Monks are everywhere, and Gregorian Chant echoes throughout the many rooms and domes. Entering this massive domed structure, you are immediately confronted by a slab of rock protected by dozens of incense burners. This rock is where the Catholics say Jesus died, and it is heavily perfumed. A steady line of pilgrims kneel at the rock, touching it and rub cloth and other items on it to lock away the smell for posterity, while passionately praying to God. Around the corner there is a massive dome set high in the ceiling, under which is a tomb-like structure where the Catholics say Jesus was resurrected. Pilgrims are herded like cattle into a long line, with very little room between tomb and barriers, in order to have the privilege of actually going inside it. We patiently waited in line and got to go in. Inside is a tiny room with a small table in the center with paintings of Christ and his sacrifice, with an even smaller door on the other end (I had to crawl in) leading into the inner sanctum. In a room so small it makes a closet seem roomy, there hangs a painting of Christ, ringed by candles. This is the spot where He was resurrected. I bought a candle for myself to bring home, and said a silent prayer before having to leave for the next pilgrim to have some time. It was an intensely powerful experience, and even though I'm not Catholic I appreciated the lengths they went to to venerate such a holy place, and the measures they take to ensure that it stays holy. It would be wrong for me to say that this place is purely Catholic, however, as the Orthodox sects also claim pieces of the church for themselves. When I say "pieces" I literally mean "pieces". Each group has their own area, and they've fought over the centuries over the levels of influence and responsibility each sect has over the governorship of the church. It's gotten so bad that a Muslim family is in charge of the keys to the building itself. The fight is fierce and petty, evidenced by the presence of a ladder above the door that has been in place for over thirty years because nobody knows who put it there, and none of the sects want to offend any of the others by taking it down. I wish I could say that we Protestants are above such squabbling, but the last few years have shown that we are just as prone (indeed more so) to petty spats and childish behavior. Regardless of the different sects' attitudes, the building itself is a marvel to behold, and a strong testament to the faith.