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.
1 comment:
Nice shirt, Mike ;)
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