The end is the beginning

Letters from home

I sit down to write this knowing it will be one of my last blogs from Israel. It’s tough, very tough. This year has gone so quickly, yet it feels like ages ago when I first arrived. I think back on my experiences: my highs and lows, the people, the sights. I will never forget the emotions I’ve felt here and the insight I’ve gained.

Ibrahim cooking for our party

I come away with so many friends: the monks, the sisters, the workers, the volunteers, and the guests. I have unique relationships with all. I learn from them all, I have challenges with everyone, but I leave happy. If I leave the people I’ve met with only an infinitesimal growth in their point of view of Americans, I’ll feel content. At least there is growth. We not all in the same mindset, but we are all human.

If there were a test that could measure my growth as a person over this year, the results would be staggering. I feel astonished that I cannot express with words what has happened to me as a person. I think to recognize what has truly happened to me, you can only be me. I have this idea of who I was when I came and it’s different from the person leaving here. Maybe those close to me at home will see a change, maybe not.

My tree fort

You wonder after spending a significant time anywhere if you made a change or what kind of change you made. My parents always said, “to leave it better than you found it”. I hope I leave all these things and people better than I found them.



When I was younger I always feared change, I feared things that were unknown. I know what I want to do in my life, but I don’t know what will happen. I know that the possessions I leave Israel with only increase my potential. If I thanked everyone who was influential to me in the last year, I’d have no time till my flight. Thank you Br. Paul. Thank you St. John’s Abbey. Thank you Tabgha family. If you are reading this, it more than likely means you’ve played a role in my progression whether you know it or not. Thank you.

Goodbye Sisters

My last visitors

My sister Kate and her friend Nicki left me this morning. They arrived last weekend and I toured the country with them doing my best to guide them.

Nicki, Kate, me on Masada. Dead Sea and Jordan in background.

Both are older and both I looked up to in college. Both are capable people, both are smart and traveled, but both are in a foreign land. Again I was mystified at this guardian mentality that filled me while with them. When I am the most informed, traveling with loved ones is tough on my energy, physical and emotional.

We visited the grounds of Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Temple Mount holds the mosque Al Aqsa (not pictured), Dome of the Rock (pictured), and the foundation stone of the world (Jewish lore).

We did many of the things similar to when my other family members visited and the girls wondered what would be distinctive about their trip. How would I remember their trip?

Nicki and Kate at Dome of the Rock

Ha! Traveling with them was quite far from when the other family members were. I don’t think I’ll forget. The mentality of two young women in their 20’s provides a lot of surprises. We’re definitely treated much differently by people when they see us. There were so many subtleties I didn’t point out to the girls that I assume went unnoticed, at times hoped.

Ladies atop Masada overlooking desert

It was great to have one last familiar face here before I leave for home and another group of people that I can share this with. I hope I gave them another way to look at what life is like here.

Memorial for the deportees at Yad Vashem

Happy Father’s Day Dad! I love you.

Walk of life

Last week a group of children from Bethlehem came and stayed for about a week. This was a fascinating group: their supervisor was an older blind woman, the children themselves varied in disabilities from blindness to developmental issues, the children and their leader were extremely outgoing. Whenever we were working in the vicinity of them the children would always walk over and watch us or ask questions. They were a special group of kids.

The most captivating aspect of this group was watching the children with impaired sight go about their normal lives. The group chaperons would point them in the right direction and the kids would be on their way. I was mesmerized by their agility, feeling, and courage. I thought to myself as I watched them you can’t be afraid to fall.

Santacruzan Flores de Mayo Festival & Helena

Last weekend I had free, so I accepted an invitation from the Philippine sisters to celebrate Pentecost holy mass in Tel Aviv on Saturday and then participate in a combination of a Philippine festival and honoring of Queen Helen (for the excavation of Jesus’ cross, she gave the idea/encouragement for the excavation...none of the manual labor).

Sister Resurrection, myself, and Sister Leah (2 of our 5 Sisters in Tabgha)

I sat through back-to-back masses Saturday night performed by an Italian Father from the Ratisborne Community of Jerusalem on the third floor of a run down apartment building converted into chapel in Tel Aviv. The crowd, 100% Philipinne (they contribute a large number of migrant workers here in Israel), sat in this shabby room, on plastic patio chairs, in front of a makeshift altar, with a poor sound system, little ventilation, and haphazard lighting. Yet both services seemed energetic and packed full.

After the second mass it was about 11pm when we left the building, in a very sketchy part of town I hate to be in after nightfall. The three sisters and I headed to a nearby street market that tailors to the international community. This is where the sisters are able to find all of their ingredients for Philippine cuisine (hard to find them in the kosher stores of Tiberias). A huge variety of cultural shops sandwich a street filled with street performers and the latest knockoffs.


It reeked of garbage and urine, the homeless and drunks attended to the benches and corners, and I’m pretty sure I could have pointed out a prostitute or two. The comical sight is these three little women in full garb weaving in and out of the crowds and performers to find their way to the specific shops and stands.

The problem is I feel the need to always watch out for them and they attract a lot of attention good and bad.

I slept on the couch of the Philippine Consulate to Israel that night. I know people who know people.

The next morning we left early for Jerusalem. We arrived at the preparation point for the promenade. It felt a lot like a high school prom mixed with a wedding. We were celebrating all the Queens of the Santacruzan Flores de Mayo Philippine Festival, so there were specific queens with escorts. I was an escort, not a queen.

All the ladies were dressed in sharp colored sparkling dresses. The guys wore a traditional Philippine shirt, barong Tagalog. I was the only non-Philippine; I have a different body type than most of the Philippine men there that day and it took three tries to find a shirt that would look the least awkward. The sisters laughed as everyone participated in helping to dress me in open public.



We began the 1-mile march to the church and the busy streets of West Jerusalem reacted in all sorts of manners. There were people taking photos with cell phones, honking horns because we slowed traffic, quizzical bystanders both in the positive and negative tones, but best of all there were smiles.



People would pass by and their jaw would drop open. I completely threw a curve ball at all the unknowing onlookers. They would scan the parade of faces and outfits as we passed and then I would walk by with a huge smile. Many people looked at me and realized I was smiling at them and I would say “good morning” or “boker tov”, it made them smile. I don’t know how many people jokingly said I didn’t look Philippine.

We made it to the church and took a bunch of group pictures before having mass.



After mass there was a reception with signing, dancing, a presentation of the queens and what each means, and heavenly Philippine food. I always joke to the sisters that if I were a volunteer at their convent I would gain so much weight because they just push food at me until I could explode.

In my time here I have begun to search long and hard for “traditional American…”. Something that one could say defines us, something we celebrate that has a significant American meaning, minus Independence day. There are so many aspects of other cultures that they hold as original and I have trouble finding those for America. This was another great chance to experience one of those defining cultural traits.