We party alot here.

I helped MC Fr. Basilius' birthday night

Thomas, ML, Fr. Basilius looking at crazy art
I tried to bait these vultures, I think they were related to the turkey vultures that circle Clemens Stadium..."Don't go down today"
Moat at Kohav fortress
Valley leading up to Jordan border/mountains

Me, Thomas, and ML standing on fortress walls looking out at Jordan

In part of the fortress Thomas, Me, Fr. Basilius
Some of that crazy art outside the fortress, doesn't fit with the feeling of a fort
Roadside garden market, really fun to barter in this country
Line backed up to get into Jerusalem
Lots of rain
A lot more flooding
Fr. Zacharias' reception
Proceeding out of Vespers
The Abbot and Fr. Zacharias
"You like that? Its mine!"

Martin, Thomas, ML, Richard (Dormition zivi), and Johannes
Me and ML with Dormition's beauty behind us

Quite a bit has happened since we last talked. Fr. Basilius celebrated his birthday on the 18th. We as the volunteers tried our best to throw him a small party. It involved; a team game of charades, musical chairs, a clown nose (on me), hit music from the Father’s younger years, and lots of laughing.

Then on Monday the 20th, a young adult group of men from Germany and a physically handicapped group of Moslems from the Jerusalem area arrived. Both were pretty low-key groups throughout the week and the Germans left on Thursday. Then on Friday, Thomas, ML, Fr. Basilius, and I were invited to dinner by the Moslem group (Martin and Johannes had free this weekend and went on a trip). I did not know what to expect going into the night but my cheeks literally hurt so badly at the end of the night from all the smiling. We started off eating supper of traditional Arabic food. We had pitas which you filled with chicken, hamburger, newly made hummus, fresh vegetable salads, salsa-like sauce, coleslaw-like salad, homemade potato fries, cooked eggplant, fresh olives; all very delicious and shoved at me at an unbelievable pace.

There are many people back in America that I wish could spend time with these gracious people I’ve met. I did not have a dread of seeing and meeting Arabic people before coming to Israel, so for me this was just another point cementing the idea that we are led to believe many misconceptions of many Arabic facets (yes I try to keep up on the news, I know of the recent US strike in Syria on members of Hammas). This is extremely sugarcoated; there are people of Moslem religion who do not want anything to do with Christians or Jews, but there are Christians and Jews who have the same mindset. From my short life experiences, I’ve always come round to the same determination: no group of people is entirely monolithic and to estimate whom they actually are as humans is imperceptive.

After supper the Father departed us, we were invited for a smoke of sheesha (flavored tobacco smoked from a water pipe, of which I cordially declined), and were taught some basic Arabic phrases. After the smoke everyone went inside for dancing. It was tons of fun! This older man busted out a homemade flute-shaped instrument that resembled the sound of bagpipes (lots of vibrating frequency). Along with a drum and some singing we had ourselves a party. At first Thomas, ML, and I just clapped and watched because I was in awe at the music coming from the instrument and all the dancing. I had a constant smile up to this point and it grew even bigger when some girls pulled me out into the dancing area. As I incompetently tried to pick up the style of dancing I looked out into the crowd to see Thomas and ML smiling and laughing very hard. A beer would have been a blessing but since Moslems abstain, my nerves needed to gradually loosen on their own. They did and I was a dancing fiend. Many pictures and videos of our dancing, laughing, and celebrating were taken (none of which I hope end up of youtube titled “American fails to dance”). We ended the night eating hot Arabic dessert just off the grill. It is this mouthwatering-layered morsel consisting of: cheese, then something like shredded wheat, tons of sugar (which caramelizes), and pistachios. It is salty, sweet, and super rich which makes you feel distended because they serve you pieces the size of 1 inch-thick postcards. We three left the party at midnight after another round of sheesha (its more like a constant stream of someone smoking and others just coming to join) and talking (mostly listening on our part). We found out the next morning from one of the group members that they stayed up until 4am.
On Sunday everyone from Tabgha headed to Jerusalem. Father Zacharias was to say his final vows at Dormition (he will now come to Tabgha and stay for good and I will tell you more about him as I begin to know him) and we would also say goodbye to Fr. Jeremias. Fr. Jeremias headed back to Germany for a couple weeks (sabbatical), he will return at the end of November for a few days, and then leave in December and either go to stay in Germany or hopefully to a monastery in the California overlooking the ocean for a couple months. On the drive Fr. Basilius took Thomas, ML, and I to a fortress, used in the crusader times, near the Jordan border which we toured and had a picnic. It had some crazy art out in front of it (made in the 1900s), a huge moat, gigantic walls, and a scenic vista of Jordan to the west. As we were leaving the fortress it began to rain heavily. After driving for about an hour the rain stopped and shortly after so did we. We bartered with a roadside garden market owner for some decorations for the “Meeting Place” garden. During the complimentary tea that accompanies such prestigious acquisitions as ours we were shown pictures of the previous mornings rain on areas just down the road towards Jerusalem. I am dumbfounded at how there is any soil left in this country. Apparently every year torrential rains come and wash across everything destroying (roads and houses) and rebuilding (plants). Yet there seems no want to create a system to collect the water in a way to protect things.

We pulled up to the security gate that monitors traffic going into Jerusalem and were about the third car deep when all four lanes going into Jerusalem halted for half an hour. The line had to literally be backed up to the Dead Sea (almost 20 miles to the east) because so much traffic enters Jerusalem. At Dormition we changed clothes, attended the Vespers (evening prayer), and then everyone collected for a reception in Fr. Zacharias’ honor. The Vespers was when Fr. Zacharias professed his vows and it is a very exceptional ceremony with the monks arriving in procession, the Abbot endowing Fr. Zacharias, and all the monks congratulating him. Between when he was bestowed the title and all the hugs, there was one action performed by him which basically looked like he was rubbing his accomplishment in the faces of the other monks (almost the opposite of what he was actually doing). He would hold his diploma in the face of one monk and they would acknowledge his capability. I like the “family” that Dormition and Tabgha create. Everyone is so kind, unique, and geared toward this “togetherness”. It is sometimes hard to converse because of my lack of German language skills but these friends naturally pick up where I seem to drop off in ability.

I wait in great anticipation of this coming Tuesday and the US Presidential election. The mail system between the US and Israel may be sub-contracted out to the Pony Express causing me to get my ballot just last week. My options were to send it back paying normal postage (about $1.50) via airmail and hope it gets there in just under two weeks or overnight it at the minimum price of $20. I could not miss possibly the most important election of my time…mom & dad: send money please.

I’ve inadvertently become the resident veterinarian here in Tabgha. Ayla and four of her puppies have local infections on their necks. We took the puppies for vaccinations to the veterinarian Monday. He was home this time and we were given some medicine that must be administered by needle once a day for five days. The vet is in a town 25 minutes away so it is not practical to take them there everyday. I was given the medicine, some syringes, and left to “figure it out”…Paging Dr. Bancks…Paging Dr. Bancks.

But it's for everyone? Yes!

I'm not chastising her, I'm giving her a boost.

Everyone helps

Clockwise from middle top: Hebrew, Arabic, English, German

A look at Tabgha from the hike last week on Yom Kippur

Another look at Tabgha

Working together to get palm branches for the sukkah.

I do not know if you can see how sharp these branches are but they pierce the skin with no effort.

A start to the sukkah

Inside the sukkah looking out

The crowds gathering to watch and take pictures

On Monday we had both a Jewish group and a Moslem group arrive. Both groups were comprised of mentally handicapped people ages 14 to 50-plus. In Israel mental disabilities are very poorly understood and therefore those who have them are very poorly treated, especially with the Arabic population. I have heard horror stories of children living in the same confines as pigs, dogs, and other animals. Those who come to Tabgha with their groups are just some of the fortunate ones whose parents did not shun them. Along with a couple of the monks here, we all constructed together a sukkah. A sukkah is a prayer hut constructed for the Jewish Biblical pilgrimage festival Sukkot. The younger Jewish men will sleep in it for 8 nights in succession along with daily prayer. It should be made from things you find from the land, preferably tree branches; we made ours from palm branches. We made a frame from metal and then attached the palm branches to it. The only problem with this project is that the palm branches are razor sharp. As I was stepping over a pile of fallen branches I accidentally kicked this lone branch that was just hiding there waiting for me. I hit it with the side of my foot and felt an immediate twinge of pain. I looked down and nothing appeared wrong with my foot but I still felt the pain. So I started to take off my shoe and it got “knee shakingly” painful. Get ready. The left side of my sock was bloody from the middle toe back to the heel. I could see this little sliver sticking out of my sock (less than a centimeter showing) and figured I found the culprit, so I grabbed on and tugged. As I ensued to pull the lance out of my foot (it was just over an inch long, I measured), I saw my life pass before my eyes: there was me crying in kindergarten, then me crying in 4th grade, me crying in 10th grade, me crying going off to college, me crying last year (you get the picture). You are probably asking why we made the sukkah out of these sword-like branches if we wanted to encourage peace between faiths. Only near the ends where they connect to the tree are they sharp, otherwise like a regular pedal. The sukkah was constructed in front of our church so it naturally drew a lot of attention from the tourists entering and leaving. One of the tourists stopped me and asked me what it was and as I tried to explain to the best of my ability that it was a project with Jewish origin that became non-denominational for our purpose to create a peaceful project between all faiths she made a coarse sound, said something sharply in Italian (which I can only assume negative from the following actions), gave me a malicious look, abruptly turned, and left quickly; so much for encouraging an interfaith concord huh Br. Paul?

Oktoberfest in Taybeh

Can you find me in the crowd? Wearing Johnnie red.

West Bank from Taybeh

West Bank from Taybeh again

Taybeh fawafel stand

He liked my hat and I liked his, Go Johnnies!
Main-street in Ramallah
A look out from Taybeh
The West Bank to the east of Taybeh

Shakespeare would have loved the men doing some female roles in Cinderella at Oktoberfest.

Arab dancers
Bavarian band
Brewmaster in the middle and me surrounded by zivis
Crowd watching the stage

Sunday we headed for Taybeh, northeast in the “dreaded” West Bank. To get there we first took an Arabic bus (much smaller and cheaper than the Jewish system) to Ramallah. Ramallah is the heart of the West Bank, all of the governing for Palestine comes out of here. Naturally it is all Moslems and getting out of Ramallah (it is surrounded by a 15-20 foot concrete wall laced with razor wire) into Israel is difficult, found this out on our way back to Jerusalem. Creating a peaceful relationship between Israel and the Palestinian territories will at some point require recognizing this wall is a direct sign of bigotry by Israel. I look at this wall and wonder how people can rationalize its helpfulness. I am reminded of the segregation in the US, apartheid in South Africa, Darfur, and the Holocaust (not the actual events but the motives behind the horrible actions).

We had to switch from the bus to a sherut (van-sized taxi) at Ramallah because not enough need to go to Taybeh apparently. As I departed the bus I entered a new world. Ramallah reminds me of parts of Johannesburg I saw: outdated cars, vendors, groups of people just standing and talking, constant honking and shouting, and tall old run-down buildings that should be imploded but are used instead for shops, offices, and housing. It is extremely busy but it is the poor man’s busy with people going in every direction for seemingly no reason (no work, no shopping, etc.). Surprisingly as an American in an Arab world I felt safe, I did not feel the tension here like in Jerusalem (dishearteningly maybe because there were only Arabs). Driving out in the country in Palestine is depressing. Our driver could not speak any English except for “Israel”, “Palestine”, and “shekel” (currency), but he pointed out to us on the horizon Israeli land and Palestinian land. I did not need him to point out the difference. 90 percent of the West Bank I saw outside of Ramallah and Taybeh looks like it has been bulldozed, because that is exactly what happened. Imagine the way a forest looks after it has been clear-cut with just the misplaced stumps and nothing higher than your knee. It is the same but with rock and cement; a forest of houses was clear-cut throughout the whole land and their inhabitants were forced to leave. You look at all this waste and think about who used to live there and call it a home and ask yourself where are they now and why did this all happen?

Not only was the view uncomfortable but also so was the ride. We were crammed into the sherut and drove a (maybe) 6 foot wide road that turned at right angles and up inclines that are second, in angle grade, only to taking off in a space shuttle. After the 40-minute drive in which only 2 inches of my butt were on the seat we pulled into Taybeh and I awkwardly fell out of the sherut because my whole left side was asleep (wonder if I’ll have any long-term nerve damage). It was worth the ride. Oktoberfest in Taybeh is what the banner over the streets read and that is exactly what they gave you. There is a brewery in Taybeh that is the only brewery in the Middle East that abides by the German rules of brewing: only four ingredients, no additives, no preservatives. This town celebrates Oktoberfest for three days each year and thousands of people ascend upto the city, mostly the Germans and Austrians who find themselves within a cheap travel ticket price distance away. There was a Bavarian Band of musicians, an acting of Cinderella (in Arabic), Arabic dancing, and Arabic clown acts. Booths with all sorts of Arabic foods, trinkets, some American and German foods, of course beer kegs (each 12 ounce beer cost 10 shekel = $2.80). Some important monastic information Br. Paul: I had my picture taken with the Patriarch. We were given a private tour of the brewery from the brewmaster himself because an Arab news TV station wanted to get Germans at Oktoberfest in Taybeh. The brewmaster loved our group because of that but once the cameras shut off the brewmaster quickly lost interest in us.

I had the time of my life here. Richard and Thomas taught me a song the night before that Germans sing when toasting and we sang this every chance we got and people sang along. Right when we arrived, the Chicken Dance “I don’t want to be a chicken, I don’t want to be a duck…” was played and Thomas and I were the only people in the crowd participating, but everyone was singing and laughing with us (“not at us” says the naive American). The best part of the day was when I ran into a producer for National Public Radio. She asked to interview me about why I was in Israel and how I heard about this festival. I’d like to think I sounded graceful and educated yet not pretentious. We will see, it was for the program Forum and she was not sure it would air. After she was done recording we had a great talk in detail on why I was here in Taybeh (not mainly for the beer Br. Paul). I went to the West Bank because I live a sheltered life in Tabgha. That is not the Holy Land that is showed and glorified. Tabgha is for tourists and religious pilgrims, in Palestine I got another point of view. I delicately choose my words here; if you are Jewish then Israel is a democracy, if you are not Jewish then Israel is a religious monarchy in which you have no blood-lines. I had a great conversation with her and her assistant and we saw and shared a lot of the same thoughts and ideas on what we’ve seen and experienced. It was good to feel reassured on some of the impressions I have and to learn that they are not radical.

Could spend forever walking Jerusalem

Jesus on the Cross at The Church of the Holy Sepulchre that sits at the spot thought to be the same as when he was crucified.

I love the paintings at Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

Another painting at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

View of Dome of the Rock from Mount of Olives(they told me a funny joke).

Felt pretty safe with this group loitering outside the Austrian Hospice.
ML and me in front of the Damascus Gate.
Forgot to add this in the last post, Martin, ML, George, and Thomas on the walk to Mount of the Beatitudes.
On the side of the Mount of Olives.

Jerusaem from Mount of Olives (gold Dome of the Rock, mosque).

Tombs on side of Mount of Olives.
Tombs up close.
Looking down at the Dome and the tombs. Notice the Golden Gate off to the left of the picture (jog in wall that gets higher and than lower again) and notice how it is shut, filled with wall stone.
From left: Dome of the Rock, Me, and Western Wall.

We hitched a ride with Fr. Ralph back to Jerusalem on Friday morning. We found out Thursday that in a month Fr. Jeremias (my idol here and current Prior) will leave for good to go back to Germany for health reasons. Since the Abbot was only here to act as the leader until a solution for Jeremias’ health was found he will return to Jerusalem at Easter (a better place to oversee Dormition and Tabgha) and Fr. Ralph will come to Tabgha to be Prior. I like Fr. Ralph, he is young, kind, intelligent, and funny, but it is bittersweet because of the connection I made with the Abbot and especially with Jeremias.

We arrived at Dormition and set out for the Austrian Hospice in the Old City, where we had reserved beds. If you knew the way it would take you 15 minutes through the crowded narrow streets of the Old City markets. Not knowing the way and using a map and guidebook it took us 45 minutes and a stop to ask a couple military men (who speak very little English and mostly Hebrew) which way to go. As they just pointed us back in the direction we came from, we made a couple wrong turns and ran into a crowd of tourists being pushed out of the Moslem Quarter because the hour of prayer was upon us and only Moslems are allowed in their Quarter during that time. We made it to the military roadblock that allowed only Moslems in and were turned around again. As I confusedly took my first right, in order to get out of the bustle and commotion, I stepped right onto the doorstep of…the Austrian Hospice! Dumb luck.


As you walk the streets of Jerusalem you cannot help but get caught up in the nostalgia. I love this city. It is beautiful. There is trash littered all over in the Old City and still I find beauty. The people are beautiful. While I do not mean the attractive kind of beauty you find in a significant other, there are gorgeous Jewish and Moslem women on top of the international visitors I find myself jaw-gaping-open, drool-dripping-down-my-chin, starring in awe at, I mean the diverse unique genuine beauty of the people just living their lives. It is remarkable, if you put thousands of tourists of many different nations in my home area/town to the point where we were crammed in like sardines and then give them something important to argue about I would tell you it would get old really quick. Not here; they walk along, do their business, talk with friends, smile, laugh, shout, and I can’t get enough of it. You feel the importance of this city even when you contribute nothing to it. As I find it hard to grasp how someone can be overcome with the “Jerusalem Syndrome” (apparently visiting the City and then overwhelmed with the religious significance people become convinced they are a biblical character or that the Apocalypse is near), there is some sort of stupefaction walking the streets of Jerusalem brings to me.

We hang out with Richard when we go to Jerusalem (Richard is the zivi who works at Dormition). Richard has a great knowledge of the city for only being there 6 weeks and he is great company for his personality and humor. At 4pm on Friday when Richard was done working we all hiked up to The Mount of Olives, which is on the eastern side of Jerusalem. It gives one of the best views of Jerusalem. You climb the ridiculously steep street that I swear exceeds a 50o angle at one point to view thousands of graves sloping down the hill ending at the bottom and up the other side of the valley to the archaic city wall onto the old city and one of the most spectacular features, the Dome of the Rock (golden Moslem mosque). Jewish religion says the Messiah will arrive at the Mount of Olives and enter the city through the Golden Gate (use the pics to paint a better picture) so it is believed that the closer you are to the Mount of Olives the closer you will be to the Messiah when he arrives. Moslems filled the Golden Gate with huge wall rock to hinder this occurrence, so the idea of the Messiah opening this is a true miracle.

On Saturday Richard had to work all day again so Thomas, ML, and I did a day of shopping in the Old City and visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre because Thomas had not seen it yet and I only spent 20 minutes in there the first time I went (you could spend a whole day easily). When Richard was done with work he met us at our hostile and we went to play basketball at a nearby girls college run by nuns. I was in my element being the only basketball player there and oddly the hoops were lowered to about 9 feet. I was doing what the old school-ers would call “slamma jamming”. Finally! Get rid of that soccer ball and give me something I know (although I did buy a cheap football last week only to find out that the zivis were not joking when they said they did not know how to throw the “egg” ball).

Saturday we went out for a night on the town. Shabbat (Jewish Sabbath) ends at sunset and we were thinking we would run into the younger crowd like us out to socialize for the evening. We sat outside at a bar in the New City on the top end of a strip of bars that ran down a hill on a narrow street. The crowd that ensued to surround us around 10pm had no one who looked older than 18. I felt like an old man with my grizzly beard. The oddest thing for me was to see almost every one of the 100 plus males and females smoking either a cigarette or hookah (tobacco water pipe). I’ve spent the last six summers working a blue-collar job with chain-smoking co-workers. I think I can see when someone enjoys a cigarette and then when someone smokes it just to look cool. The looks on their faces after each puff made me smile; holding their head up with this air of prominence they inhale and then as the smoke hits their lungs a look of disgust appears and they quickly exhale trying not to cough. The group that we were immersed in was all Jewish people and you could see who was non-Jewish by the looks on many of the young Jewish males’ faces. The mob mentality can be frightening even when they look pubescent and you feel you are a capable young adult. I noticed a couple uninviting stares in our direction but being in a group of 6 (4 males) we were not bothered. I mentioned earlier about the hostility that can rear its ugly head. I walked by the crash site involving the Arab boy and group of military personnel that happened a week ago, it was very close to Dormition Abbey. Right out the back door of Dormition is a statue of King David (not associated with Dormition, I’m not sure who’s property it is on). It is a gift in respect to the Jewish community but the Jewish religion abhors statues of religious figures and there is a group of young Orthodox Jewish males who continually desecrate the statue on their way by and then proceed to pee on the gates of Dormition. Thankfully Richard has never run into them as he leaves Dormition, I do not like to think what this group might do if they see him alone.