Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas!

Frau Reuter, Me, Martin, Thomas w/ Ayla, Fr. Basilius w/ Jack, ML w/ George, Johannes w/ Garfield

It is hard to get into the Christmas mindset without snow. As beautiful and green as it is here, the line rings true, you don’t know what you’ve got till its gone. We had a lot of rain in the days leading up to Christmas morning which is a blessing in this country. We need more, I might bust out my rain dance soon.

Kind of hard to get everyone on the same page

We had a thoughtful and profound midnight Christmas Eve mass. Candles and lights from the trees lit the church and the air was crisp. It was a moment that begged you to collect yourself. I managed to keep my screw-ups to a minimum while alter-serving.



ML and I were asked to prepare the turkey for Christmas Eve dinner. It being our first turkey we managed to conjure up a miracle. Our Christmas feast was extraordinary with the people, decorations, and delicious food.

Part of the Tabgha family: Mary Louise, Fr. Zacharias, Fr. Ralph, Fr. Basilius, Thomas (behind) Martin (green), Johannes (orange), Br. Franziskus (behind), ML

Yesterday (Friday), the whole family took a trip. We visited a coastal site, Rosh Hanikra. It is embedded into the side of huge bluffs where the Mediterranean crashes into the rock. I love looking out into the blue sea and listening to the powerful waves shatter onto the shore.

I long-armed this picture hoping I would catch the waves break on the rocks behind me

We rode cable cars down to the sea

Many coves created by many years of waves

The British armed forces dug two huge tunnels through the cliffs in order to run a rail line during the Second World War.

Small military ship keeping watch

We enjoyed a nice picnic lunch sitting at a park along the sea before heading to Bethlehem. This is not to be confused with the Bethlehem just south of Jerusalem. This Bethlehem is near Nazareth. We visited a building constructed by the German Templar.

Another cove

Violence has broken out again. I say again, there is always violence here though, because a cease-fire between Gaza and Israel ended some days ago. Sorry I'm not do my job Br. Paul, maybe we should think about putting a BVC site in Gaza to double-team the peace process here.

We ate lunch on the sea side of the road across from that large building on the left

I try to keep up by reading credible online news sources. It appears innocent people have been the common victims so far. I hope this settles down quickly and nothing more happens causing my time here cut short because of evacuation.

A couple pics from here and there

It is our rainy season here but as you can tell by the three following pictures the season is not living up to its name.

I had to take Frau Reuter back to the vet today because as I was hanging up laundry this morning she strolled up to me, tail wagging. Yes we had her leashed up and fenced in after her surgery on Thursday but she broke what she was leashed to and then dug and crawled under the fence which opened the wound on her abdomen. Did you just gag? Are you gonna throw up?

Sitting around the table on St. Nicholas Day (Dec 6th)

Nothing really looked appetizing on this sign in Bethlehem (there are no letters missing, they were all spelled like this)

Thomas and I drove her to the vet and now you can add "veterinary assistant" to my resume, as we had to hold onto her (she was adequately sedated) during the re-opening and re-stitching. I was hoping that after he was done looking around inside her he was gonna say "okay nurse, stitch her up" and then hand me the catgut, but he didn't.

ML, Thomas, Martin, and me at the Church of the Nativity manger site

Enjoying an ice cream cone wondering where we are on the huge physical map on the way to Jerusalem last week

Showing my [Door of] Humility in Bethlehem

Bethlehem

I write this entry in short intervals that I find myself not in bed or in the bathroom. I was in the West Bank this last weekend and while the street food in Israel is by no means governed by the FDA, the two times I have left Israel for the West Bank and eaten from a vendor I have returned to Tabgha being followed by some foul satanic food vermin that lives in dark corners and alleys and feeds on the goodness of our hearts.

This is a picture of my immune system fighting dragons in my body (actually St. George at Church of the Nativity)

This journey begins with the 5 volunteers departing from Dormition Abbey in Jerusalem for Paulus House (a hostel on the other side of the Old City). As we were walking the cobblestone street just outside Dormition I slipped (I love the look of cobblestone but hate the function, its slick). Wearing open toed sandals I was in no means prepared to protect myself. My left foot dragged on the ground to help me regain my balance, the trade-off being my left foot dragged on the ground.

Victory in my body (Statue of Michael at the Milk Grotto)

The resulting injury was a nasty sight. If I were being hunted, the blood trail I left would have been so informative my hunters would have been able to figure out my age, weight, and social security number.

It is a 20 minute walk to Paulus House from Dormition when the Old City is busy. It’s always interesting to walk through the Old City because you never know what to expect. I had freshly cut open my foot and the top priority of mine was to keep it clean. On this trip through the Old City I encountered: live corralled sheep, brains and intestines strewn on the ground from butcher shops, and the constant odor of feces and urine.

We got to Paulus House and after finding our room, I quickly found help. Help came in the form of an angel named was Sister Merriam. She was a German Sister and we spoke a little bit about what happened (very simple German). After she finished cleaning me up I could not thank her enough. I felt like a little kid and was only waiting for the lollipop for not crying.

The next day, Monday, minus Johannes plus Richard we headed to Bethlehem. Bethlehem is in the West Bank which means you have to pass through a security checkpoint. Your bus drops you off at the checkpoint, you walk through on foot, and then you catch a taxi on the other side. Intimidation is the best feeling to describe the wall separating these people.

You walk down long narrow fenced corridors to ensure controlled traffic

Many messages cover the wall in the fashion of graffiti. They are messages of hope, connection, prayer, remembrance, and even anger (more so anger at the purpose of the wall).

My favorite message on the wall

It was a Moslem feast day so there were few people out. Why there were few Christians out I do not know but the taxi drivers felt the decline. We unsuccessfully bartered a good price to the Church of the Nativity.

I do not know if it was because of the feast day or my self-consciousness but as we walked the last 100 yards up to the church we received awkward glances of surprise from townspeople. We walked in front of the church the square was almost vacant.

"Door of Humility" Church of the Nativity

The door in which you enter the church is maybe 4 feet tall (it is called the “Door of Humility” because you must bow in order to enter). Other than the door the church is immense. There is a high bell tower outside to the right of the door. Inside huge wooden rafters soar and gigantic limestone pillars line both sides of the church.

Parts of the floor have trap doors that are lifted up to show you the old mosaic floor from the 4th century. There is yet another grand altar decorated by candles, shining metals, and rich colorful cloths. There is a staircase that allows you to descend under the altar onto the “sight” of Jesus’ birth. I was told normally one must wait half an hour because of populace. We did not wait at all.

There is a brilliant fourteen-pointed star in the manger site and people bow to touch it or light candles. The star was a gift from the French in 1717 and it marks where the birth site is supposed.



I ascended into an adjacent church run by Franciscans and sat in the pews to collect some thoughts and ideas.



This church had a vibrant stain glass window behind the altar and a deep colored painting on the sidewall. The art at the religious sites could even bring in those who are not believers.




After touring the church everyone was starving. We walked a little more of Bethlehem, but it was a ghost town. We finally came upon a small broiled chicken stand. Some of us had our doubts in how sanitary it was but there was no place else to eat and everyone was famished. And there’s the rub. I am fully confident in the thorough cooking of the chicken; it is the refrigeration of everything together with the chicken that makes me cringe. Hindsight is 20/20.

While we were eating, the nearby mosque announced time for all of Islam’s followers to pray. I love this act. The mosque blares Moslem prayer over a loud-speaker. It is like a chant/song/poem all in one and the pitch at which the voice reverberates is gentle and alluring.


After eating we hiked about a mile over to the Milk Grotto. This is the site where Mary was nursing Jesus and three drops of milk dripped onto a red rock turning it white. Those who touch the rock are said to have nothing but grade A Land-O-Lakes for their children to nurse from.

Picture above rock

I was easily lost in thought on the taxi ride back to the checkpoint. You look out your car window at the clusters of houses, damaged buildings, the unsymmetrical waves of the landscape, and the beautiful sunset on the horizon and quickly lose attentiveness to the moment.

On Tuesday morning Martin, Thomas, ML, and I were given permission from the Father to drive Jumpy (van) to the Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum. It was about a 25-minute drive across the New City of Jerusalem. My first time driving in the greater area of Jerusalem went off without a hitch.



Yad Vashem is an architectural wonder. It sits upon a hill and one of the numerous buildings is long and thin and runs through the hill. There are countless works of art in remembrance of those (Jewish, Polish, American, German, etc.) who lost their lives combating the Holocaust. Even with the impressive layout of Yad Vashem the mood is solemn.



You walk the halls reading dates, names, and facts and scan every picture. There are so many faces and so many stories. 6 million, and that’s the number who died, so many more were involved in trying to save them. The four of us agreed to go at our own pace but meet back out front at a certain time. I got misplaced in the constant crowd working its way through the museum which was at least 50% Israeli military (unarmed but in uniform).
I look at this material in utter stupefaction and do not comprehend the entirety but I am an American-Christian two generations removed. I wonder what emotions stir in these young people when they look at their ancestry, hopefully peace and reconciliation.



Yesterday we took Jack (my cat roommate) and Frau Reuter (mother of latest 11 puppies) in to get “fixed”. I’ve described the veterinarian’s small office before, its smaller than many single bedrooms with only one window. He has a small moveable table, sink, cabinet, mini-fridge, and desk. I think there are high schools around the US better equipped. I will not be contacting PETA with a recommendation for any awards.

Scattered thoughts

Odds and ends in this post that I will try to piece together.


Two weeks ago the Philippine Sisters had their Christ the King celebration. They had 150 Philippine people who work around the country come to mass (100 of them in the last 5 minutes of mass). They had great food, songs (sung by a Philippine choir), and friendly smiling people at their house.

Martin and Thomas eating and listening to the singers

We were hoping at this time to give them one of our countless puppies as a gift. When we gave the Sisters the puppy they were having a hard time finding a name they could all agree on.

The Sister with Br. Franciscos, Fr. Basilius, and pup

4 of the 5 loved it but having one allergic person they must think of family first. So we had to take back the gift we brought. We've got a lot of dogs here.

The singers on the steps at the Sisters

Monday the 1st Alexander left for Jerusalem to fulfill his 1 year novitiate. You cold see how much Tabgha and the "family" here meant to him. He will most likely return when he is finished at Dormition. The "family" will go to Jerusalem this coming Monday to celebrate his entering the program.

Yesterday (Thursday) Fr. Jeremias left for California. He will spend some months there, then in Germany, before returning here in May. His time here in May will be to wrap up all his work as Prior and then back to Germany. Our family yet again gets smaller.

Another pic of me and ML before our celebration Nov 8th.

We have begun the Advent season. I have not memory of Advent songs or of doing anything special for Advent (outside of Church) but here we sang songs and drank tea while making Advent wreaths. I have found myself searching for songs, events, and ideas that we as Americans feel define us or shed light on who we are and how we became what we are because it feels at times the Germans have many of them.

For anyone back at St. John's: please give Br. Dietrich my best when you see him. I keep him in my thoughts.

What's prayer like, you ask?

The point of my whole experience here is based in the idea of learning what the life of a Benedictine monk is like. Each day I am to attend prayer or mass. When I first arrived it was so hot that the only prayer time I could sit through without sweating buckets was 6am Laudes.

In the past couple weeks it has cooled down and I no longer maintain a constant sweat throughout the day. With this climate change I have been able to adjust my schedule and I now routinely attend midday prayer.

I am of two minds about prayer here. I understand half of the words sung or spoken, which at some points just becomes me going through the motions. This uninformed state of mind has its positives though. It has challenged me to learn the words I do not know and also gives me impervious concentration when I just need to do some thinking of my own.

Since I know the general schedule of mass I am able to silently say the English verses to prayers. I enjoy the singing in German. My pronunciation is poor and needs much work and I wish that were the sole excuse for my dismal singing (if I hadn’t quit choir after 5th grade I think I would have been kicked out) but I am eager for every chance to sing. The songs are vocally friendly and there are many great singers here who can obscure the meek, so I can belt out my part and no one can hear it.

This morning ML and I were the lone alter-servers for mass. Fr. Basilius gave us a run-through last night and Martin wrote down a couple of points to be specific about that we left in the sacristy to glance at when we would return there to fill up the incense burner. We had a couple minor errors but I think they can be forgiven.

Big news also, Mom-I bought a pair of jeans! Actually two pairs but don’t even think about throwing out any of my old clothes (I’ve been known to wear my clothes until they fall off me).

A new view of Tel Aviv

The students from Dormition returned to Jerusalem on Thursday the 13th and we were invited to travel with them because room in the bus allowed. All five volunteers went with and we met up with Mustaffa, a regular at Tabgha (he was with the Arab group a couple weeks back where I was a dancing queen). He took us out to a discoteka (dance club) in the New City. I am not very familiar with the style of “House” music but we danced our hinnies off till 4am, places do not get busy until midnight or 1am.


The next day we headed off to Tel Aviv. I have only been to the airport in Tel Aviv. If you remember, my first impression was of pollution and odor. Everything deserves a second chance.

On the side of a skyscraper in Tel Aviv

If Jerusalem is where one goes to pray for the forgiveness of their sins, they were probably in Tel Aviv the prior week. You can get and do anything you want there.

It is a very attractive city to the young population. It is busy yet laid back. It offers a university and many opportunities to work. The Mediterranean is right there with of restaurants, pubs, stores, parks, and beaches to capture your money, time, and attention.

Home away from home

The five of us exited the bus station while Martin and I, equipped with our German and English tour books, hurriedly searched for our position relative to our hostel. Much to my relief Martin found a street in his book and then on a more detailed map in mine.

We made it to the hostel after I led us on the scenic route. I turned onto a street just because I recognized it on my map, luckily I realized my blunder and we backtracked.

I am hitting myself for not taking other pictures as we walked from the bus station. This one is not as beautiful as my memory of the other ones

Let me do my best to describe the streets we walked on our journey. The part of Tel Aviv we toured by foot can be likened to the parts of Portland I’ve visited (ask my parents for the names, I only remember the sights) and the St. Paul area along Summit Avenue and near the Grand and Victoria intersection. The streets were narrow and busy with cars, mo-peds, and bicyclers. The sidewalks had trees planted about every ten paces, which then towered over the street. On the sidewalk people strolled from store to store.

Walking to the beach

We walked past a large outdoor market whose inhabitants I would guess fit in well with the freethinking, cool, loose-clothes wearing hippies of my generation. There were a lot of stands selling items varying from books to food to clothes and I confidentially wanted to stop, but knew the boys were tired from walking and just wanted to get to our room before sundown so we pressed on.

When a credible travel book says “possibly the best hostel in the country” ask yourself why on earth did you pick the one that says “shabby” in its description. I have no idea why I chose the second hostel; it was not any cheaper. I think I was sucked into the “smack in the middle of things” line. Next time I will walk the few blocks to get “smack in the middle of things” and stay at “possibly the best hostel in the country”.

November 15th on the beach in Tel Aviv

The boys could have given me a lot of flack for our room and board but were too kind and refrained. Our sheets were thin, ragged, and old. Our beds were fit for 12 year-olds. We had three bunk beds in the space of a one person prison cell and our “continental breakfast” was a couple slices of toast and instant coffee.

Kite-surfers

A surprising addition to our accommodations was that we were encouraged to go to the roof and enjoy the view. We headed up there to enjoy a cold beer after supper one night and as we were talking we all heard this thumping, like a drum beat played through speakers. As we looked over the rail down to the small side street that came to a “T-intersection” with the large busy street we saw a white van creeping along with young males dancing around it.

We all started laughing at the sight and came to the conclusion, pretty quickly, that it was Hebrew dance music. The boys on the roof joked about dancing with them and I said “Yeah, I’m gonna do it”. Surrendering to the urge I ran down to the street. The van had rounded the corner and was heading for the beach but I caught up to them very quickly as it was only traveling 5 mph. The dancers saw me coming and smiled and laughed and we all danced to our own style for a couple blocks. I realized I didn’t want to get too far from home without knowing where I was so I stopped but as I left the driver gave me a card, much resembling a baseball card but only with a picture of a Rabbi on it. I returned to the hostel and asked the clerk behind the counter what the card read and he told me it was hard to explain but it had to do with Judaism.

Sail boats were out on the sea

We spent most of Saturday on the beach. November 15th; I was lying on the beach in the sun and swimming in the Mediterranean. I’ve got it tough. It was “cold” by the native standards and we were told that the beach would be packed if it were 10 degrees warmer. There were already a lot of people there playing paddle ball, sunbathing, running, playing with dogs, and swimming so I am glad it was not too much warmer or we might not have had space on the beach.

After a late lunch at a seaside bar we strolled south along the beach toward Jaffa, the old city of Tel Aviv. Its about a three kilometer walk but we were entertained along the way by about 20 kite surfers of various skill and just by the sheer wonder of being in a new atmosphere our heads were on swivels. Jaffa is slightly elevated and as I looked back down onto Tel Aviv at sunset I was able to snap a couple pictures with the huge skyscrapers hugging the sea and the powerful kites flying high, as if they were lions being held at bay by their masters’ leashes stretched to capacity. It was a serene moment.

This is Tel Aviv from the hilltop of Jaffa

Richard came from Jerusalem Saturday night. He is well over six feet tall and his bed made him seem like a giant. Again, take the travel book for its word. The people get paid to investigate.

Both nights we hit up a nearby pool hall and played a couple rounds of pool and darts before heading out to inspect the town. The hall was large, dark, played loud American music, and allowed smoking. I also happened to notice a cockroach the size of a pack of bubble gum scurry across the floor as I lined up a billiard shot. As disgusting as this description sounds of the place, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I felt relaxed, worry-free, and in the moment as we all conversed with opinions and observations of our journey.

Found this painting outside the Church in Jaffa, I took a liking to it

Sunday morning we all hopped a bus to Tel Aviv University to tour the Diaspora Museum. Diaspora is the term given to the dispersion of the Jewish people throughout history. The museum held an endless amount of information and we only had the short morning so we all quickly toured the three-level complex after the brief introductory movie.

After viewing something like this it is easy to maintain humble. Many times I try to justify, validate, or rationalize how so much pain can be inflicted on a population by another in the name of God. Someone just isn’t getting the picture here.

This is the sunset looking toward Jaffa

Feast of our Church

Much to my parents dismay I never joined the boy scouts, I never went to over-night summer camp, and I never was an alter-server. What can I say? I hate commitment.

I got asked to alter-serve one time at mass, when I was about 16, spur of the moment because someone was sick or something. Thrown into the role I faltered my way through the service and avoided any talk about continuing the service.

View of the party

Saturday the 8th we had the yearly festival celebrating the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fish. We invite all the important people of the land, the grandest being the Archbishop. As I told you earlier I have a picture with him at that Oktoberfest celebration. So we’re pretty good buds…no he didn’t recognize me.

Everyone involved in mass not including the musicians and readers.

Fr. Basilius asked the group of students from Dormition, “who would like to alter-serve for mass?” More girls raised their hands than boys. Bluntly put, a male majority of alter-servers would cause the least amount of disturbances in the Archbishop’s life; add Archbishop’s hat rack to my resume. My role in this production was to hold his mitre (very prominent cap). It was not allowed to touch my skin or rest on my body so I had to put a cloth shawl between my fingers to hold it. Mass was over an hour and a half long and my thumbs cramped up after 15 minutes.

Throughout the day people commented on how holy I looked in the full white gown. You’ll have to see the pictures and decide for yourself (I'll try to put them up later, I'm having problems getting them off our network). Take a wild guess who some people said I faintly resembled.

Highs and lows: celebrations and shame

Well there was a lot of buzz about the Presidential election here at the Monastery this past week. I am glad it is over and I no longer need to wait with excitement like a child who has to go to the bathroom.

On Tuesday night Fr. Basilius took the zivis, ML, and me to the Pilgerhouse for drinks to celebrate my birthday (this huge ritzy hotel/guesthouse on our compound about a half-mile away). I am so thankful the Benedictines do not take the vow of poverty, as we drank a couple rounds of Taybeh beer (Oktoberfest beer from West Bank=imported into Israel=expensive), and the monastery picked up the tab.

From Left: Ayla, Me, ML, Johannes, Fr. Basilius, Martin, Thomas


Cold beer, fresh olives, and pretzels that weren't stale

That morning Fr. Basilius had baked brownies, cinnamon & apple muffins, and red pepper & feta cheese muffins to ease the pain of being away from home on a birthday. They were all uber delicious. If this man had not felt the pull to the monastery I think he could be a gourmet chef. The red pepper & feta cheese muffins may sound at first unusual but they were heavenly, somewhat resembling pizza ("Its like pizza baby, its good no matter what!")

Out on my b-day

We have a group of students from Dormition Abbey here. They arrived this past Monday and will stay until Wednesday the 13th. Everyday they go on an excursion around the Galilee area. Two of us must stay here to work while three volunteers can go with. Thursday was my day to go and we visited Megiddo and Mount Tabor.

Me, Martin, and Thomas at Megiddo looking out

Megiddo (English Armageddon) is the site where John proclaimed the last battle on Earth will take place. While nothing pertaining to doomsday has occurred here yet the past is very detailed. Megiddo is the central point of an ancient trade route so much importance was placed on it in the past. Many battles occurred and much blood was shed on this spot. The victors would then tear down the old structures and build new ones or build right on top of them; creating an extensive archaeological mecca: 20 distinct historical periods.


The highlight of this site was seeing a group of African-American tourists laughing, smiling, and talking about the President-elect. I cannot quantify the joy that I experienced as I sparingly heard these elderly women talk about how in their late 70s (I assume) with gray hair they are finally experiencing what America has long said but failed to show: everyone is created equal. I couldn’t help but smile and desperately wanted to talk to them but time and manners would not allow an interruption.

Sunset from Mt Tabor

The high ceiling of The Basilica of the Transfiguration

We then drove to the base of Mt. Tabor, the site of Transfiguration, where some disciples are said to have seen Jesus talking with the Prophets Moses and Elijah. The road to the top is very narrow and similar to the letter S squished on top of itself many times so our bus was not allowed. The walk up is quite easy and full of fantastic vistas. It is not a steep incline and I entertained the possibility of volunteering at this monastery for a week just to be able to run or bike this slope every morning, but thought better of it as Franciscans (a little more masochistic than I prefer) operate the Roman Catholic Monastery at the top. Once you get to the top, the road leads under a large stone arc and down a narrow driveway about 200 yards with tall thin trees on each side leading to the gates of the monastery. It is this picturesque site and made me think of what the road to heaven’s gate may look like.

Looking out at Kvar Tabor from the hike down Tabor

After you enter the grounds there is a plaza in front of the huge Basilica straight ahead of you, rich colorful flower gardens with old stonewalls to your left, and the monastery with a towering clock to your right. Everything is clean and has this precise feeling to it like it is almost a scripted scene from a play.

Israeli choppers flew extremely close as we were hiking down. It was a spectacular sight to hear them and then watch them come out of the sun as it was just above the horizon. Hollywood couldn't have filmed it better.

Sculpture of Jesus in garden at Franciscan monastery

Greek Orthodox Church from a distance on Tabor


Garden at Franciscan Monastery (Tabor)


Stone arc at the beginning of driveway


Driveway of trees

As I walked up to the Basilica and began to take pictures I could not help but overhear some American compatriots talking. Hearing the comforting language I moved closer, but spoke no English words and continued to take pictures with my back to them. I caught them mid-conversation but I could immediately tell I did not want to be there. It was a stark contrast to the conversation that I eavesdropped at Megiddo. They were bluntly racist and oblivious to what character means. It seems to me anachronistic to believe the color of one’s skin may hinder that person’s ability to lead a country. In this case I believe it is the reversal; the color of one’s skin may hinder that person’s ability to be led. Maybe anachronistic isn’t even the correct word because that makes me sound like the thought was acceptable in the past.

Clock tower to Franciscan monastery on Tabor

Basilica of the Transfiguration atop Tabor

I wonder if these people would be saying the same thing in the company of the previous Americans I heard at Megiddo. It only breaks my spirit more to consider the answer is "yes". I have never gone from being so proud to be American to being so ashamed to be one. I thank God that I was the only person close enough to understand what this group was saying. I bit my tongue, as I wanted to say the simple line, “Change is coming”, but thought starting a verbal fight would only leave me more aggravated and give them the fuel to keep thinking these thoughts.

As I leave you think about this: these people who can visit Israel on a tour bus, buy all the souvenirs, carry the newest cameras, and wear expensive watches and clothes must have money to spare. They must have earned their money at a job requiring great responsibility and they most likely posses a college degree at the least. They are people of education and status; they play a vital role in how our country is shaped and how people outside the USA view America. Yet they are ignorant, mean, and have little care in the integrity of a man if he is unlike them. Change can't come quicker.