BVC in Israel

The end is the beginning

2009-06-28T12:47:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-21T03:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-09T10:09:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-07T07:02:00.000-07:00

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.

Walk the walk, talk the talk

2009-05-28T12:58:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago ML and I had Sunday and Monday off. We headed to Jerusalem to do some hiking in Wadi Kelt where we visited St. George’s Monastery (Greek Orthodox).

Out in the middle of the desert between Jerusalem and Jericho is this isolated monastery. The walk down to the monastery is a hike alone even though it is on a paved surface due to the steep inclines. It is extremely hot there, I started sweating profusely upon leaving the car and it was 7:20 am. From what I could gather from the monk I spoke with (communication problems between us) all the living supplies are carted in with a donkey.

The actual monastery is tucked into the side of the wadi (river gorge). The water that comes from a natural spring (which we hiked to) is intercepted by families living along the water duct and adulterated with waste, feces, and chemicals making it undrinkable.

We hiked 5 hours in tremendous heat, both drinking 4.5 liters of water while out.

In Jerusalem we met up with the St. John’s theology graduate program and those making the trip to the middle east. Later that week while back in Tabgha Fr. Jerome, leading the May term group of Johnnies and Bennies, stopped by Tabgha on their way south to Jerusalem. We explained a little of how we are living here and what we are doing. We got words of encouragement and interesting questions from the students and the good Father. Seeing both groups brought back a flood of great memories from the last 4 years and all the great people who have influenced me.

Every Wednesday in Tabgha we have buffet night, which as the name points out we are allowed to stuff ourselves till the puke reflex kicks in. I’m not sure when, but it slipped that I flipped za’s for money and along with my outgoing enthusiasm for the dish necessitated a test of my skills.

I was asked to make pizza about a month ago and it was barely above something I would’ve ordered for my drunk college roommates, just poor. It was my crust, I don’t want to make excuses for poor work, but so many factors were not in my favor: manual temperature oven, unknown yeast, inter-religious conflicts. Really though, I think they find more edible material at the earth’s core.

Apparently it was not bad enough to warrant a lifetime ban. This last Wednesday I was asked again to make pizza. Well guess what? Today we spell redemption M...I...K...E. I by no means call myself Julia Child, but the Germans’ idea of my pizza is at least at a level I can be content leaving with.

You are constantly in my thoughts Jan. Hope you are smiling. God bless.

Pope Benedict

2009-05-17T05:10:00.000-07:00

With the arrival of the Pope to the Holy Land this week there was much discussion and joking about Catholicism in the US, Papal qualifications, influence, and stardom between the volunteers. (Opinion) Roman Catholicism in America is not as celebrated as here and the central European countries. I went to Nazareth late Wednesday for the holy mass to be performed by the Pope on Thursday. The town was a buzz that night. All nationalities were out and about.

In accordance with Israeli security the protection was immense and strict. Those wishing to participate in mass had to be bused to the Mount of Precipice (where it was held) after checking through a security point with heavily armed soldiers. After a short five minute bus ride we then waited 2 hours in line to be checked again.

It was 8am when I passed through the final security point to find my VIP ticket seat (nothing extremely special just cement bleachers) and it was already hot. I wore jeans not knowing if I was going to be spending the previous night sleeping in line ensuring a place at mass (they started busing people in at midnight and closed the gates at 8:30am turning back the rest). Denim gets hot boys and girls.

The backdrop to the altar on the Mount of Precipice was the city of Nazareth. It was an appropriate setting for a mass with the houses on the sloping hills behind making the mind serene and untroubled. Except...

Mass didn’t begin until 10am so we sat out under the rising sun for two hours until the pontiff arrived. Had I been able to sleep a full night in a bed instead of on a couch for 4 hours it would’ve been a little easier. Just to test my drained demeanor even more for the whole two hours we waited the student chorus, led by an energetic monk and an off-tune woman, sang the same chants over and over. It seemed more like a pep rally or sporting event than a holy mass.

It continued to get hotter. I continued to get exhausted.

At 10am we saw, on the two huge video screens, the pontiff enter the Pope-mobile. We watched his motor escort with the sharply dressed Swiss Guard on the screen until we realized they were going to drive right by us down the road that separated the VIP section from the general assembly. It was 15 feet behind me and I ran to the rail to get a picture. So did everyone else. It was like teenage girls at a Justin Timberlake concert, just chaos.

Pope Benedict always had two members of the religious community by his side to ensure good footing but he did not need them. At 82 he seems in good health both mentally and physically; he spoke Latin and English during the mass. Other people spoke parts of the mass in Arabic and even short prayers in Italian, Spanish, French, and Hebrew. Some familiar faces: Patriarch Elias Chacour (SJU commencement) and Bishop Fouad Twal (our Archbishop)

Mass was two and a half hours long. At times of long pauses I drifted in and out of consciousness. The sun was so strong. The young children sitting in front and behind us were sprawling out and you could see they were struggling. Water was passed out to the crowd

It was announced at mass that over 60,000 people were present (I was fortunate enough to get communion but about 50,000 didn't). I looked behind me and it was a sea of people up the hill. I was amazed at the excitement in the crowd; people were waving many different huge national flags, Papal flags, and some groups singing songs not from the mass and dancing. They must have gotten more sleep than I did.

I came away from this experience with a different perspective of the Pope. Disapprovals are another story, what I am talking about is his influence. I did not expect it but I found myself with this mystic affection for him. He brings hope, love, and peace. He urged the people of this WORLD, of all different religions to live peacefully and to live like brothers and sisters. He wasn't trying to Christianize. He is not just a Roman Catholic icon. He’s a humanitarian. You don’t have to be Catholic, you don’t even have to be Christian to follow him and his call for peace.

We found the Tabgha Sisters and of course they did the two things they always do when they see us out in public: take tons of pictures and feed us.

Think of your favorite excuse for not writing...its mine.

2009-05-05T10:31:00.001-07:00

I can’t believe Palm Sunday was three weeks ago. With that said I will do my best to recap what has happened since then.

While Jerusalem is the ideal place to celebrate Easter Sunday, I stayed in Tabgha to celebrate with our community.

HOLY WEEK:

Thursday night we extinguished all the lights in the church at the end of mass quietly and let the parishioners go their own way. The Tabgha family ate a quiet filling meal setup in fashion of the Last Supper.

Only a little work was done on Good Friday.

The band practicing for Easter Sunday

Holy Saturday was spent preparing for the next morning. ML and I hard boiled and dyed 300+ eggs with three elderly German women and two seminarians.

Easter Sunday began with a 4am mass. I woke up shortly before mass and felt my stomach growl and head slightly twinge, not used to the early hour. The congregation assembled out in front of the church and proceeded in, lighting the individual personal candles on the way. In the first 5 minutes after everyone found a seat an elderly woman keeled over. I thought Ohhh, I’m next there is no way I’ll make it the whole mass…I was alter-serving…you owe me Br. Paul. Consider that my donation to the BVC for the next 10 years.

Three and a half hours later and catastrophe free we headed down the path to the Pilgerhaus for a huge breakfast and (while nothing special added) some of the most satisfying coffee ever.

We chilled in the pool in the early afternoon enjoying our first post-Lent-fast alcoholic beverage (I mean I tried to refrain from consuming alcohol during Lent NOT that I drank this one quickly). I say try; no one is perfect.

The next Friday (17th) we had some of the monks from Dormition to Tabgha to celebrate as a family. It was a great fish and bread feast where I was actually tired of eating come Satruday night. Late in the night on Saturday Martin, ML, and I walked to Capernaum to watch the Eastern Orthodox Christian Easter celebration. Prior to the BVC I had no encounters with Orthodox Christians and I’ve found myself curious after many occasions, this one especially.

On the following Monday a group arrived from Bethlehem. Comprised of children ages 5-13 (I would guess) with varied abilities and disabilities this group makes a yearly trip to Tabgha to relax and let loose. The catch is: the children and adult leaders are only allowed 1-2 day passes to leave the West Bank and return, extending this time limit would result in loss of privilege to leave the West Bank or maybe worse.

Chaos and commotion

Because of the short duration the children spend as much of their waking moments in the pool and after our work sessions we would jump in with them. They would play keep-away with balls or climb all over us. It was constant commotion and laughter (much of mine).

Too strong...come get some

It was an unpleasant realization to think that some of the children only see a pool once a year. It sounds like nonsense and I can only hope that it is.

Palm Sunday

2009-04-08T10:39:00.001-07:00

The grandest revels require certain locations: Times square for New Year’s, Bourbon Street for Mardi Gras, and Jerusalem for the Palm Sunday procession. While I have never experienced firsthand the former two, I will do my best to describe my latest surprise.

We were invited by a group staying here to go along to Jerusalem for the Palm Sunday procession. I heard it was much like a long parade but the Patriarch would also be present and give a blessing, so I was not sure what to expect. Preparing for what I thought might be a hot afternoon; I asked if I could wear shorts. “Pants would be more appropriate”. So with that response I gauged that it would be an earnest commemoration.

Ohh Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike, haven’t you learned not to assume here yet?

We exited the bus after a two and half hour trip and walked 5 minutes to where the procession would begin. We arrived about 45 minutes early and of course it did not start on time so I had time to people watch. As I absorbed the gathering crowd in the intense midday sun I regretted choosing jeans as my long pants and a dark shirt.

People of all cultures were collecting: Spanish, Italian, Arabic, Polish, French, German, American (other than the usual suspects from the last two groups), and more. I was informed that there would be a great number of people there, but it is one thing to hear about it and another to see the great mass.

The procession began with a handful of local school drum-lines. That’s when I kind of got the idea this would not be what I expected. People fell in behind and with the volunteers from Tabgha I hopped in front of a Philippine group, secretly thinking if they were half as gregarious as our Sisters in Tabgha we would be okay.

They were extremely friendly and encouraging and knew our Sisters. We spent the next 2 and a half hours singing and dancing with them on our way to the church of St. Anne in the Old City of Jerusalem. It was a great time; I think I was smiling for the whole time.

Not one to urge others in bold religious expression I tend to shy away from trying to influence others’ faith. Sometimes it makes me uncomfortable when I feel like people are trying to tell me what is correct to believe or to make me feel obliged to proclaim my faith by what they have for standards of faith in God. I like to go at it in my own accord. None of those tense emotions arose from this celebration. You could sing and dance if you wanted, you could just walk along, or even watch from the side and not feel anxious.

I sang so much; I began to lose my voice by the end of the day. My feet hurt from dancing and walking and I wasn’t smelly or too sweaty by the end of the day but I was drained of energy like after a workout. At the end of the procession when you thought maybe people might be easily irritated because they were so tired all I saw were smiling faces. You could tell the feet were dragging of some of the pilgrims, but the songs kept them positive, even as spaces became cramped in the Old City. You saw people sharing water, creating space to sit or stand, and most important: smiles. I call that proclaiming faith.

I should become a tour guide here...

2009-03-28T11:21:00.000-07:00

From the 15th-22nd my brother visited. He’s 5 years my senior and was always a person I tried to emulate growing up so naturally we share many traits. I introduced him to everyone here in Tabgha and immediately everyone made comparisons and saw the resemblances: personalities, jokes, laughs, smiles, etc.

It was good to have him here. He also served in the Benedictine Volunteer Corps, in Newark, NJ. Obviously not too comparable Israel and New Jersey, what we both share with our service is how extremely different our cultures were from what we were raised in. So in a large way we had many of the same challenges with just a different face. He was good to bounce questions off of.

Damascus Gate and the greater Old City of Jerusalem

Whenever the two of us get together we seem to regress back to adolescent feral boys (my parents are wondering how that’s a change for us). We had a lot of fun, some may say too much fun, but even in the moments when it may have been easy to get irritated with the other (mostly him with me on my navigation skills…lack of), we were laughing.

It was almost like a fantasy or some strange dream you have because as a child I would have never foreseen him and I in Israel. There were moments with indescribable views and moods where we were just left enthralled in silence taking it all in.

We are beginning the busy season for guests here in Tabgha, as our first big group just left and now I can’t imagine how fast time is going to fly from here on out. I kind of feel helpless like time is whizzing by me and I can’t grab onto to it to slow it down.

Gethsemane garden

Early Friday morning we had daylight savings. As miscommunication has been my motto this year, our cook Ibrahim said “we get one more”, and un-clarified a couple people thought he meant that you get to sleep an extra hour where he meant you have to add one more hour ahead. It caused for quite some confusion: the bells for mass rang two hours late and as I walked down to my workplace one of the sisters asked, “why are going to work so early?” (thinking it was 6:40am).

Church of All Nations (at Gethsemane)

2009-03-14T04:44:00.000-07:00

We had Monday off because Fr. Basilius wanted to take us volunteers out on an excursion somewhere in the Golan Heights and Galilee. We agreed on visiting Katzrin, Gamla, and Hippos. I previously knew nothing about any of them. Katzrin turned out to be a small town to our north very important for industry and manufacturing (I forgot what, yeah really important huh Mike?). While there we watched a precursory movie about Gamla.

It was spouting of pro-Israeli sentiment. It makes me think about how my emotions seem to be on a rollercoaster here because of the all the disheartening events and successes from all variety of inhabitants.

Gamla is a “never say die” story about Jewish people not surrendering to the Romans but ultimately being defeated. The old city used to sit atop a hill, providing defensive advantage, now offering spectacular views around the Golan and Galilee.

We hiked out onto Gamla where it was extremely windy.

It was easy to see how the people fought to hold onto this settlement. A river valley runs along the base, now dried-up, most of the surrounding area still stays green despite the ongoing drought conditions. We sat atop the mountain and let the wind bluster for some time, everyone wearing smiles.

After Gamla we drove south to Hippos.

It is a site of an ancient city that has been used throughout the years, most recently as a barracks for soldiers. From the top of Hippos we were able to see out onto the Sea of Galilee. It was spectacular to see the sun hit the water just right, with almost a divine allure.

The walk up to the site was fenced off from both sides because of mine fields. We joked around about scenarios or funny stories with us walking out into the fields but you still feel a raise in heart rate when you read the warning signs.

As we were walking back from Hippos to the car we came across another tour group, it surprised me because of the out-of-the-way position of Hippos, but we continued to walk. We came over the hill and the Father asked, “Where is the car?” I looked to where I thought we had parked and did not see it. A little nervous and yet finding it funny I asked, “yeah, where is the car?” The Father knew all along it was behind the tour bus but I thought I would still be able to see a little of the car, so I figured it was stolen. Needless to say some laughs were at my expense, nothing unusual.

The great Abbot Primate came for a visit the other day. He is the supreme Benedictine in the world (hence the name) answering only to the pontiff himself. I did not get to talk to him past introductions because we had an Ora and Labora day with a group of seminarians, but I shook his hand. I just wanted to share that with all the monks back at St. John’s especially you Br. Paul, I told him to keep an eye on you. He said you’re on his radar.

Today the veterinarian will come to take away a stray dog that lingers around. Its funny because I have asked the vet to do this a couple times and he called me up a couple days ago and said he will do it today “because he has to give his tranquilizer gun back to the police.” Maybe you have to meet the vet to get a laugh out of it, but if you’ve read the past veterinarian experiences you might understand how comical that is coming from him. He’s also going to check on George. A week ago we took away George’s right to have any more kids. We fit him with a makeshift collar/barrier (a plastic flower pot) to keep him from licking himself and the other day as I was playing with George he whacked me across the nose with it. I have a cut across my nose that looks like I got punched; its karma for not telling George beforehand what he was getting into.

Family visit

2009-02-25T10:23:00.000-08:00

Many things have happened since the trip to Jordan. The day before we left for Jordan we were joined by a new volunteer from Germany, Nicole. She is an ambitious young capable addition to our group. She fits in well, as I am sure it can be hard for a female in a community of mainly men.

After returning from Jordan, the paperwork and organization of my new accounting position was a little in shambles and I vowed to myself to never leave for a week again. My mom and aunt, Theresa, just visited for a week and I didn’t touch the office in that period. Guess what happened.

It was great to have family come and visit, first because I miss them, but also to put their fears to rest. I caught the bus from Tabgha to Haifa from where I experienced my first Israeli train ride south down the coast to Tel Aviv. Mistakenly, due to Hebrew speaking attendants and a shorter travel schedule due to sabbath beginning I had to exit the train early hurriedly and left my Nalgene water bottle. I was also a little nervous about having visitors, such as what to show them, our accommodations, and planning of their trip.

I arrived at the airport and took a seat to read and people watch for the remaining time. All my anxieties melted away as I saw my mom come through the arrival gateway. I gave both the women great big hugs and then we proceeded to pick up their rental car.

I drove them back to Tabgha that night doing my best to drive, navigate, and answer their continuous questions. It was great to try to explain facts and opinions to them because it showed me also what I do not fully know.

Lights of Nazareth and the Basilica

On Saturday, with the help of Luna and later Sami (our two gift shop workers), we toured Nazareth. It was my first time here also. I was so glad to have Luna because she did an excellent job of explaining in depth about things that I would have just used a guidebook to explain. As she says, “its her city” and she hast vast knowledge.

A highlight of Nazareth was the Basilica of the Annunciation. The church has a courtyard with dozens of mosaics, paintings, and sculptures of Mary and Jesus crafted by different nations. All of them are unique to the culture from which them came and it is interesting to see different interpretations of the bible. The inside is a grand design also: three stories, a high dome ceiling, and more intricate artwork depicting Mary and/or Jesus.

On Sunday the two ladies and I headed south to Jerusalem where I did my best not to rush them through the grand tour but we were only there for two days. It’s hard to lead a tour through the Old City of Jerusalem because when you walk through market places you get swarmed by merchants or “personal” tour guides. It can be hard to take in everything encompassed with a certain site with someone in your ear trying to persuade you to buy something.

A spice shop in Nazareth

They spoke about how much they enjoyed the sights, people I’ve met, and cultural distinctions (dress, attitude, food, lifestyle, etc.). I think every time we walked somewhere I led the way and was 10 yards in front of them and every so often I would hear giggling from behind me. I could only smile because I think I know how my parents felt on our family vacations when I was younger.

We stopped at Masada and a quick dip in the Dead Sea on the way back on Wednesday. Masada is an ancient city on the top of a mountain/plateau that is largely venerated by the Jewish because it signifies a “you will never take us alive” attitude of Jewish people toward the Romans who came to conquer. The view out onto the Dead Sea is remarkable especially after a rigorous hike up.

We had the choice to take a cable car but these ladies transformed into sherpas and conquered the mountain.

When we were out in the cities I took every chance to point out the military people with firearms more so to show that there is constant vigilance by the government.

One thing I did not think about before they came was how they were going to bring outside opinions. It was really good to hear their point of view on how things are here. I am bias from my time spent here and don’t notice features that others looking in see. I saw them realize how complex the history is of this country and these people and its not so easy to "just get along”. I’d like to know what it was like watching me as I went/still am going through this understanding because I could empathize with their emotions.

Luna with a family she babysat for

We toured the Galilee on Thursday and I showed them a couple of my favorite churches high upon hills and then I took them into the Golan Heights. We went as far north as possible, I was hoping to get a good picture of Mt. Hermon (snow covered peak of southern Syria with slopes in Israel). The country in the Golan is sporadic with land mines from the previous battles and along fences are signs warning you not to enter. It is a miracle that we don’t hear about deaths everyday there because much of the land is also used for vineyards (Golan is known for great wine).

On the horizon were the silhouettes of Syria and Lebanon. It was later in the day so they were dark and it was kind of cold, to me it made the mood somber, especially when we encountered an unmanned artillery gun pointed in the direction of Syria near the border. While the country-side was beautiful: green fields reminding me of what pictures of Scotland I’ve seen, I can’t imagine what goes through the mind of the people inhabiting this area. Not knowing who and when will commandeer you next and having live weaponry to share your everyday life is not something most ordinary citizens would be willing to live with.

We toured the oldest bathhouse in Israel

The next day after helping the ladies pack I nervously saw them off for the airport. It being Friday afternoon I would have no way to return to Tabgha till late the next day because of sabbath and all available workers were needed Saturday morning. I drove the whole time they were here and it can be tricky driving because there are few road signs along the way. They were a bit emotional on their way out which worried me because you need to have your A-game driving here but managed fine.

Cold desert

2009-01-31T03:22:00.000-08:00

On our last night in Petra we phoned around to a couple guides in the Wadi Rum area (southern Jordan). Finally getting a hold of one we were given a quote on a price for desert: camping accommodations, camel tours, and transportation to and from the sight. After putting down the phone in the hotel room it immediately rang and it was one of the guides who I could not reach earlier who had my number on his “missed calls”. I told him we had already booked a tour and said sorry we wouldn’t need his help; whereupon he asked me what price I was given and gave us a lower one. My first mistake was talking any further than “hello” with him and my second mistake was then telling my travel partners the new situation and lower prices.

Obviously intrigued they agreed to take this guide instead, so I had to call back to the first one and tell him not to find camels because we would NO LONGER need his help. He asked me what price we got from the other man and told me that people like this other man run scams on tourists, promote child labor, hike up prices, and are not listed in Lonely Planet travel books (like himself), not having a Lonely Planet for Jordan I had to take his word on it, third mistake.

Obviously concerned about many aspects of safety we chose to go with our original quote and with yet another phone call to cancel another trip we were set. Don’t barter on the telephone, it’s a recipe for disaster; all the things the first guide warned us that other guides would do to us, he did (kept money we paid him for national park tickets, used child labor, had higher prices for less).

I by no means measured the value of my trip in money; it was beyond price in what I took away from it. But looking back you always find little things you would have liked to change.

We mounted our camels as they were sitting down and then without spurs or reigns wrestled to stay on them as they stood up. A camel rises methodically from rear to front and this puts you at quite a challenge because of the shift of weight and great incline/decline.

Riding a camel is much like a horse. It is a bit slower of a ride and gait because of the longer strides taken; front and rear legs of the same side move at the same time. It is not as bumpy as a horse, from what I remember, and you let your shoulders roll with the movement giving you the air of a dignitary.

After four hours, 12 kilometers, and three sightseeing stops we arrived at camp. The breaks were needed during the ride as I am not used to saddles. We stopped at a spring named after TE Lawrence, a huge sand dune (which we climbed), and a mountain fissure.

During the ride we were all smiles; laughing at the chance to ride a camel and enjoying even more unbelievable views. My camera really cannot capture the scope a person has out in the desert, the freedom, space, and ability to get lost in thought and reality. I can see how you can get disorientated, as many precipices look alike and the distances between them seem short but are actually quite far.

I felt like I was being guided through a painting. The sky was a beautiful blue with wisps of clouds and something about the air made it seem like the bluffs were on the other side of glass, yet the colors were bold and flowed steadily.

We got to camp and were introduced to the volunteers, accommodations, and facilities. They decline in that order. Let me elucidate.

The people were great, from all over the world with different stories and reasons for doing what they were doing. They were funny, outgoing, and knowledgeable. They are the kind of people that after you talk to them, you want to go out and challenge yourself.

The tents were thick cloth with woven mat floors. Our beds were old mattresses with thick blankets, neither seemed to have been washed in a while. We slept in our clothes not because we needed the extra layer for warmth but for an aesthetic boundary to ease our minds. Early in the morning, still dark out, I was in a deep dream and in my mind I heard a “shake…shake…shake” like a bag of sand or flower seeds being shaken. Immediately I was out of my dream and wide awake, I’m thinking snake. It was pitch black in the tent and I had no light within reach. All I can picture is this humongous cobra rising next to my head ready to strike, I mean I am fearing for my life.

Out of the corner of my mouth I whisper to Johannes and Martin to wake up. Johannes does, and after I beg him to turn on a light we see nothing out of the ordinary. I grab my camera, lights go off, and we lay back down and not even 30 seconds later it happens again. I turn my camera light on and see nothing. Johannes says, “oh its nothing, go to sleep”.

I search, banging my shoes on the woven mat, to no avail and then lie back down. A minute or so passes and all of a sudden Johannes bolts up and turns on his light saying the sound is by him now. I put my arms behind my head, lie on my back, smile, and say “oh its nothing, go to sleep” as he proceeds to bang his shoes on the mat. We didn’t find anything and at breakfast were told that more than likely it was a mouse or an insect.

The camp had a small generator connected to lights in only the most important of places. I failed to familiarize myself with the bathroom before the cover of darkness and after dinner had to use my camera flash in order to navigate. I felt like I was in a horror movie not only because after I took each picture and then looked at the screen to see what lay ahead of me, half expecting a killer or ghost to appear on it, the toilets were rancid and offensive.

Don't let me leave you with a bad image, I loved this trip. It was the anti-Israel and it only helps me gain more of an insight on the differences between cultures and the mind states that continue to separate races, religions, and cultures. Unbelievable.

South to Petra

2009-01-28T10:26:00.001-08:00

We caught a mini-bus south to Wadi Musa on Wednesday. It took most of the day and upon being dropped off in the middle of the small town we looked to check ourselves into an inexpensive hotel. We found a gem: with a fountain out front, in-door pool, sauna, massages (didn’t feel the need), TV, and warm showers.

We woke up fairly early Thursday in order to hike around Petra, ancient city (1 mile away). If you are not familiar with Petra off the top of your head, one of its boasts is the Treasury (gets name from an Egyptian Pharaoh storing his treasure here) a large stone carved tomb beautifully captured in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

The Treasury

We entered the old city limits just after 8am and headed down a dusty trail lined with rank stables of mules, horses, and camels. Walking by this is the test, because if you can make it by without succumbing to the putrid smell or shelling out your meager stipend (hhhmmm, Br. Paul) for the luxury of hired transport the Siq that awaits you is amazing.

The Siq leaves me rapt with wonder. It is a soaring natural rock hallway, that which turns and winds creating slants and angles that leave you curious and excited to explore what lies next. At times the path is wide enough to accommodate a highway yet the high sides create a cover wide enough that only a person could slip through.

Siq

Along both walls there is a sophisticated canal system (for the time it was built), which flows (down) and hugs the curves. The walls are beautiful in their own right, showing the layers of sedimentation through rich colors and design.

Siq walls

Not knowing the extent of the Siq or the length we had traveled, the end caught me by surprise. We rounded the last turn and through the narrow fracture I could just make out elements of a construction. The corridor ended and opened into a large locale busy with people bartering for rides, taking photographs, sitting and eating/drinking, and walking onward.

Looking back at the end of the Siq

The Treasury was immense in front of me and I was still a good 100 yards away. We walked up to it and with each step the pillars on the front face seemed to grow higher and higher, until they connected with thick stone caps and ledges that led to higher sills which turned into the sharp angles of the roof.

We're hiking

From the Treasury it is about another hour and a half straight hike to the top of another mountain where there is yet another gorgeous stone structure, called the Monastery. It was early in the day and we had planned to spend the whole day in Petra so we sidetracked on one of the many alternate hiking loops.

We began to climb these steep stairs that I’m surprised did not wash off the mountain because of the incline. We hiked to one of the highest points in Petra, used as a sacrificial altar originally. From here we took a breather and looked out onto Jordan; dark brown ribbed cliffs sticking up from a tan floor.

Our hike consisted of many views like this and 4 hours later we reached our goal, the Monastery.

Monastery

We unpacked and ate lunch looking out over Jordan. I wondered if all the people who were selling items along the trail or lived in the area ever got sick of the views, if they were exposed to them so much that the grandeur of it all was lost.

It’s hard to describe the paradoxical feeling atop these mountains. You are like a king sitting on top if this enormous throne looking out at your vast dominion. But you can see other peaks off in the distance at the boundary of your sight and if you were to go to these peaks and look further you would see more peaks again at the boundary of your sight and you realize how small you are and how you cannot possibly match the natural physical magnificence of these landforms.

Ate lunch looking out over this view (it's better without me)

Our feet were dragging by the end of the day and the pool was an oasis in the desert.

Hiking up to the Monastery

East into Jordan

2009-01-27T10:31:00.000-08:00

You will have to check out the Picasa link (under Pics to the right), which allows me to upload albums from my computer directly for you to view on the web. I’ll still post some pics.

All five volunteers were given seven free days and we chose to explore our neighbor to the east, Jordan. This trip will come in multiple posts.

Thomas, Martin, me, ML, Johannes in Amman

We booked the first three nights of our trip and then figured we would wing it from there on. We left Sunday morning after breakfast. We caught the bus to the border and coming out on the Jordan side I realized “I was not in Kansas anymore”.

The unwritten codes change drastically. The USA is no longer the friend from afar. Here in Israel, while I’ve never really received a joyous reaction from someone after responding that I come from America, a nonchalant demeanor can maybe be considered the best one can receive. In Jordan the people are friendly, however when I answered that I came from America I did not receive the same “Jordan welcomes you”, that the Germans received.

There is so much pride in each citizen for their King. Their sentences start with "My King (does this, or thinks this)...". His picture is up everywhere over the country from billboards to posters and pictures in shops and markets. He came off to me as a leader who looks out for all the people.

We caught a private taxi to Irbid, where we would catch a bus to Amman, the capital city. Jordan has glimpses of an industrialized country but lacks a great infrastructure to push it that little bit further. From what I experienced the public transportation system is a riddle, roads are not well engineered, and housing is still very poor. Many of the houses on the drive to Irbid were unfinished, showing rebar sticking out the top.

Amman amphitheater (big one, there was another smaller one)

Traveling with five guys its tough to find one taxi to fit us comfortably. For the long drives we would take two but for shorter trips we would cram into one. Lucky me, being the biggest I got to sit shotgun.

I don't know if you can see the houses on the hills (back left), but they are there.

In Amman we stayed in a shabby hostel that was quite similar to the poor conditions braved in Tel Aviv a while back. We toured around the city for the first afternoon visiting an old Roman part of the city consisting of two amphitheaters, high stone pillars, and a giant square.

Stone pillars at old Roman city remains

We then hiked up to one of the highest points in the central city where more parts of Roman ruins are preserved. We looked out onto greater Amman. It is huge. You look out over this rolling city and it seems to never end, houses upon houses.

Amman was endless

We hired a private taxi to drive us around to some close places, first being desert castles. As we left the city it quickly turns into desert. We headed east on the only road going that direction. You almost feel like you are on another planet; looking out both windows and seeing only flat red/tan land for as far as the eye can see. It is a very lonely feeling being on this little road out in the middle of nowhere.

Desert

I did not realize how close I was to Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and the other Arab countries until we saw the mileage signs. This road leading east is heavily trafficked by large semi-trucks sometimes with even two trailers. Many goods are made in Saudi Arabia and shipped out to the other Arab nations.

We toured 3 desert castles, the old Roman city Jerash, and the largest Mosque in Jordan in the two days we were driving with the taxi.

The Blue Mosque, Amman (largest Mosque in Jordan)

At each site the locals treated us hospitably. The food was delicious and mostly we ate traditional Bedouin food, or so we were told. Many meals consisting of: pita or another form of fresh, hot baked flatbread, assorted salads (vegetables), hummus, and some grilled meat.

Inside the Blue Mosque.

The ceiling to the Blue Mosque

Over the two days our driver gave us his opinion on many subjects, which is what we wanted from the people we met. It should be no surprise to you that the US has a poor reputation in the Arab nations. It came as no surprise to me, but what I had trouble with was when our driver told me to tell people who I met that I came from some other nation, i.e. Brazil, Australia, Bolivia, maybe in fear of violence, harassment, or higher prices. I was amused at the idea at first, finding it funny, but as the day wore on we were repeatedly asked where we were from. One of the Germans would respond “Germany” and then ML and I would just let them assume we were all from there.

Desert castle in the middle of nowhere

Another desert castle

I never thought I was that strongly attached to being American, aside from the worldwide sport competitions and army troop designations I don’t put much concern into it. This silent act of shunning part of my distinctiveness built up inside me in the pit of my stomach. It is incomprehensible for me that someone would have to deny part of who they are, almost to be ashamed of it, and now maybe I have just a small glimpse of what it’s like to be outside of the safeguard of being a white American. I didn’t last till lunch of the next day before I was replying “and America” after the Germans.

We were invited into the Bedouin at all of the castles tent to drink tea and smoke nagila (tobacco water pipe). It is black tea and is loaded with sugar, the tobacco is on occaision a smooth smoke (didn't know what "smooth smoke" meant until this year) and tastes great

Peaceful New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-08T09:48:00.000-08:00

I arrived back [in Tabgha] from Jerusalem today after a two-day tutorial on working "the books"; I have been delegated some financial duties. I am eager for the challenge of a new assignment, kind of feeling like Andy DuFresense in the Shawshank Redemption, maybe not his same bookkeeping practices the monastery would like me to maintain but more his aptitude for the task.

Getting my "swerve on" New Year's Eve/Day.

While in Jerusalem I took advantage of the chance to pray at the Western Wall. This is a daunting act, for when you approach the Wall you immeadiatly stand out from those who are wearing either a Kipa or one of the wide-brimmed black hats, and even the simple process of placing a cardboard disposable (there free to use for those who are not Jewish) brings out how unnatural it is for you (Jewish custom to cover one's head in reverence to God). Men pray on the far left section of the wall and women on the far right (when facing from the West) and I'll admit I was a bit intimidated as I walked by the groups of men swaying and chanting prayers (who in my mind stared at me knowing I was green at this experience) to find my own little crevice to inhabit.

We came upon marathon runners 10 miles from Tabgha, notice the Kipa on the middle man.

On the drive back from Jerusalem with two monks, we were stopped leaving the West Bank (you drive from Israel-West Bank-Israel on the certain route we took) by the military security. With the recent military invasion of Gaza and ultimatum given by Israel, a rejoinder by Hamas calling for retaliation and unending resistance has led to even stricter border control and more frequent random person/cargo checks.

Tiberias Marathon Jan 8th.

While we had nothing to fear, being innocent and ordinary, getting stopped by men armed with automatic machine guns and trained gaurd dogs caused a little anxiety and we were addressed in a brisk and impersonal manner which led to some uncomfort in my fellow travelers. I was by no means cool and relaxed, but my mind was pre-occupied with the book I was reading at the time and I had drank 3 glasses of coffee and about a liter of water before we left and that seatbelt was getting tighter and tighter on the ever-so-bumpy road making the break a Godsend to me. Only after driving five minutes down the road when we saw another 20-some armed military vehicles parked in preparation for when the need of an emergency roadblock would transpire did I realize the "Gaza situation" is an "Israel situation".

Reading on the rooftop at Dormition Abbey

This country is quite small (compared to US state size smaller than New Jersey) so I am far from oblivious about daily happenings in any part of the Holy Land, but until something really effects me, the dial on my naivity meter reads "oblivious". While the following self-realization is going to surprise my loved ones, I've found I don't worry about things I can't control. Yes I can control booking a flight home, but there is no need for that right now.

Dormition's Church Dome

Happy Birthday Grams! I love you!

Merry Christmas

2008-12-27T09:31:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-15T03:53:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-12T03:58:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-05T09:57:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-11-30T13:20:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-24T10:09:00.001-08:00

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

2008-11-23T05:42:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-07T08:09:00.000-08:00

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.

A Saturday hike

2008-11-02T11:18:00.001-08:00

Today (Saturday the 1st) Fr. Basilius gave all five of us free in order to take us on a day trip. We hiked the nearby Arbel bluff/mountain. You guessed it, amazing views. You could see around the whole Sea of Galilee and to other parts of the Galilee area. We have begun to get rain in little spurts and things are turning green. I did not believe it earlier this year when people told me that all this soil, rock, and clay would sprout grass but it does.

We devoured a nice picnic lunch at the top of the berg (German for mountain) and then people rested, I chose to sit, look out onto the Galilee, and think. It was marvelous being so alone with such a grand sight. A flock of storks flew a stone’s throw distance away, I didn’t test this, just a guess.

It is said that when Jesus came from Nazareth, he came through this valley.

Starting out. We hiked the left slope.

Flock of storks, didn't see any babies.

Rest stop

ML and I atop Arbel with the Galilee below us

My companions

Lunch time

I asked the Father many questions and he did great in answering them. Some were factual in origin and some were in order to get his opinion. We talked mostly about politics, religion, and people. It was interesting to find that he held a little different opinion of Elias Chacour than the one that was introduced to me at St. John’s and then from what I’ve also read.

I like to listen to the Fathers here talk about Biblical happenings. They are great narrators and without much effort, it seems, paint a detailed belief of what happened, why, and what the people may have thought. I really admire how convinced and enthusiastic they are.

Looking at the steep part of the ascent

Rooms in the side of Arbel used for herders and their animals. A fort was also built on/into Arbel.

We party alot here.

2008-10-30T11:39:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-10-17T09:16:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-14T04:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-13T16:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Yom Kippur and the start of the weekend

2008-10-13T14:40:00.000-07:00

Church of the Beatitudes. We hiked up to it (30 minutes midday heat) on Yom Kippur only to find out this Christian Church was celebrating the day too.

Cave supposedly used during time of Jesus.

George, stray we took in during my second week here, proud father to Frau Roiter's yet to be born pups.

A look at the Galilee.

Sea of Galilee

This last weekend I went back to Jerusalem and then to the only Oktoberfest in the Middle East. I’m going to break this down into many posts because if I said it in one I would ruin it by missing some things and you would think it was longer than War and Peace. So you can either put on a big pot of coffee and call in sick for the day or pick these chapters up each night before you rest your weary body.

Last week Wednesday ML, Thomas, and I drove a departing short-time volunteer to the airport and picked up Fr. Basilius coming in from Germany. We left Tabgha at 7pm (dark out already) and the 2 and a half-hour drive was great. Israel’s northern landscape is hills in the north and you can see all the cities and town lit up in the darkness. On the peak of every hill is a bunch of lights. As you look to the distance and see from left to right, near and far glowing lights you get this tranquil feeling, and it is hard for me to imagine so much violence in this land. Thursday was Yom Kippur, the most sacred holiday in the Jewish religion. At the monastery we do not celebrate German holidays because we are in Israel and we do not celebrate Jewish holidays because they are German Catholics, so Fr. Basilius broke down and gave into some zivi coaxing and we were given the day off. No one does anything on Yom Kippur. No work, no driving, it is meant for repentance. That day in Akko (northwest on the Mediterranean) an Arab man was driving his car and a group of young Jewish men said he was purposely making too much noise. He was assaulted, stoned, and riots broke out in the city. I have not experienced any violence firsthand but one can only avoid this trouble for so long. I am afraid I can do nothing but wait until my time runs out and I am face to face with some religious/cultural confrontation, I only hope both sides keep their cool and it ends positively.

"We're better together"

2008-10-07T04:27:00.000-07:00

Today (Saturday the 4th) we had Ora and Labora, which basically means “pray and work”. We have two groups of students (one college aged and one high school aged) from Koln, Germany here visiting and these special Ora and Labora days are when we invite the people staying here to work with us around the monastery in the morning and then they are invited to pray with the monks. They are fun days because each of us volunteers is given a group and we lead them in a certain job. The group I led today (about 8 people) cleared rocks off a path and raked up a lot of leaves, etc. Boring stuff, very mindless work but to brighten the mood I brought my iPod with speakers along. Of the 40-some people about 5 are guys. I created a play list in about 5 minutes after breakfast that I thought girls would like-and assuming God would answer my prayers. I only had one German singing song on my iTunes but tons of “girl music”. Don’t ask me why I have the “girly” songs on my iTunes, I think they were on there when I bought it and I can’t seem to erase them or something like that. They loved it and the work was fun because we were all laughing about the music and me speaking German (I said since I was outnumbered I had better speak German). I let them play with the puppies for 15 minutes and all the girls went nuts, it was catnip. From the sounds of all the other Tabgha volunteers my morning work group was one of the best (boooyah!) maybe only second to cleaning the pool. Best moment: all of the Germans belting out the refrain to Don McLean’s American Pie, yeah you can say it, “Mike you da man!”

I like these chances when I am able to interact with the people here. It gives me a little more satisfaction in seeing myself accomplish something when I have other people around rather than the times when I just do work (the lights for example) and then the project is done. No one is directly affected by the lights whereas the people of this group also felt like they contributed too.

Just doing what I get a paid (a stipend) to do

2008-10-01T16:29:00.000-07:00

Little pups at 4 weeks

Look at the fangs, they are like elephant tusks

That is no rubber snake folks, its the real deal

I realize I use the Johnnies hat in a lot of pics but lets get serious it is a good universal gauge and everyone wants to be photographed with it

High-5!

Not sure if you can see Ayla's scratches from the car but she is doing fine

ML (Mike Leither) and I have been having trouble adjusting to the pace of work and quality of tools for manual labor here in Tabgha. Tabgha has an endless amount of work to repair broken, damaged, and out-of-date items. I like to say Tabgha: if it’s not broke, check it tomorrow. We are working for Alexander (extremely knowledgeable in electrician work) right now in the garden removing all the old lamps (resemble street lamps), digging trench for new cable, and installing many smaller lights (3 times as many as the old but flashlight size). ML and I have been discussing, since we first started manual labor work weeks ago, the differences between here and the US-mainly the progressive approaches which we were used to in the States. The first day that we were working for Alexander I was trying to get some odd task done and Alexander recommended that I go about it another way using a much more appropriate tool. I laughed as I told him that we thought of using that tool but it was broke. He gave a quick huff and said, “Welcome to Tabgha” and we both just smiled and started to chuckle. ML and I are sore after today’s work (I’d like to think we are very fit too). We laid about 100 yards of cable encased in tubing at a depth around 8 inches in ground that is either full of: roots, cement slabs, landscape rock, or woven with other tubing (that is not on the 10-plus year-old plot map). We are using tools that make me feel like I am in some 1920s prison movie. We are equipped with a pickaxe and Italian grape hoe. If you are not familiar with these archaic tools Google them and try to keep from spraying spit on your computer screen in laughter. I lost count of how many times I unsuspectingly hit a hard surface and felt the vibration up through my head and down to my toes.

This morning (Oct 1st) as Thomas and I were exiting the cage of the Tierhaus (in German: Animalhouse-rabbits, birds, and guinea pigs) after feeding them Thomas screamed, “A SNAKE!! AHHHH!” and bolted out the door. I laughed thinking it was a joke but as I looked back into the cage, sure enough, there was the face of the serpent. I am deathly afraid of snakes, but Thomas is afraid of everything and I knew he would not go in to face it (we had to get it away from the small pets) so armed with some aerosol spray that sedates such animals and that same Italian grape hoe from yesterday I entered again. As I moved melon-sized boulders (we created a nice habitat in the cage) with the hoe my enemy became apparent to me and I tell you he was 10 feet long if he was a foot. Thomas was outside the cage (too scared to come in) and I told him to bang on the side of the fence and the snake rose up and hissed, and at this moment I looked death right in the eyes…and death blinked first. With two thunderous strokes I left him lifeless. As I sat there on the field of battle measuring the carnage and examining my life I realized how frank this confrontation was; how lucky I truly was that we spotted the snake first instead of stepping on it or startling it and that I was able to kill it. As I left the cage I noticed some fluffs of fur under a shelter and grimaced thinking that maybe one of the rabbits was taken before we could do something. I uncovered the shelter and there was a baby rabbit no bigger than a pack of bubble gum. From death springs life. You know, you and I are not so different. We both put our pants on one leg at a time, but after I put my pants on I go out and save lives. I did not wake up this morning and ask to be a hero, we never do. I just went out and faced the day, because that is what heroes do (cue the music Foo Fighters “My Hero” and fade to black).

Tabgha...Jerusalem...Dead Sea and back

2008-09-29T12:34:00.000-07:00

Reading the newspaper in the Dead Sea (the water is way over my head but you cannot sink even if you try)

Me and the view we ate supper to (imagine it a little darker with the lights to houses and shops glowing)

On the roof at Dormition Abbey, notice my monster verticle (I realize Leither is higher but he's an All-American)Dead Sea with Jordan in the background

Dawn at the Dead Sea looking at Jordan
Me atop Ein Gedi mts
Looking below at our trail in Ein Gedi
Waterfall in Ein Gedi (Ein Gedi boasts springs from which a lot of Israel's drinking water comes from...with treatment)
Bakery in Davidka Square (Jewish market in Jerusalem)
Fish stand in Davidka Square
A look down Davidka Square
Hiking in Ein Gedi
Looking up at the mountains at Ein Gedi

Last week I was chosen as the driver into Tiberias for the weekly grocery run. I went with Thomas, Johannes, and MaryLouise, our always smiling 50s aged speaks only German multifunctional woman (not at all meant to be sexist): cooks/cleans/works in gift shop, monastery, and office. It was an eventful trip with lots of German backseat driving and me biting my lip and not throwing anyone out of the van.

This Friday Thomas, Leither, and I had planned to meet up with Martin and Johannes in Jerusalem. Martin and Johannes were there to participate in a seminar led by their volunteer organization. Friday morning Thomas, Leither, and I hurried and multi-tasked our way through a lot of chores and “busy work” in order to also pack and catch the bus at 12:45pm to Jerusalem. This is Israel, everything has a schedule of its own and not knowing when the bus would arrive we hurried to the bus stop (10 minute walk) while Ayla followed us. Thinking she would turn around when we got far from the monastery and because we had no time to take her back we let her tag along.
As we crossed a very busy highway 100s of feet in front of Ayla, she did not watch for cars, I looked back to her and yelled but she was clipped by a small car (that hit the brakes but was still going at least 50mph). I cannot describe the terror in my mind; a nursing mother and already underweight 45lb dog being hit by a solid metal half-ton car. She folded, rolled, and skidded across the pavement and as she regained a distinguishable form I waited in anticipation for the compound fracture that should accompany a hit like that. She limped to the shoulder of the highway and thankfully only had minimal visible scratches. One of us had to accompany her to the vet (and since I am her "caretaker" I immediately said I would so the others would not feel any guilt of leaving me and going to Jerusalem) so I gave my travel book and map of Israel to Thomas and Br. Franciscos came and the two of us drove 40 minutes with Ayla to the vet. This was a pointless trip. As we got to the veterinarian’s house: his wife (he was out on calls) took one look at Ayla, said she would be fine, and proceeded to clean her scrapes with hydrogen peroxide. As a biology major and accident-prone individual I’ve done worse cosmetic damage to myself and could have made the same diagnosis and treatment. I concluded the next morning she would be okay and made plans to get to Jerusalem.
I hitched a ride with an Austrian Benedictine Sister passing through on her way to Jerusalem to pick up her own zivis. We drove the Jordan River Valley which is sandwiched between the east shore of the Sea of Galilee and western border of Jordan. Great drive of conversation (learned she works/lives in the West Best among other things) and landscape. You will get sick of me saying this; the views are remarkable. The best part to this is when we got to Jerusalem she asked me if I knew my way around and being there only once before for 2 days I of course said…”Yes I do”. She dropped me off about one mile from my destination and I walked it because I had 2 hours until I had to meet up with the other guys. I look like that typical “trying to find him/herself in the world” adventurer you see on the side of the road or in a huge city with the giant backpack, backwards hat, and rugged looks (my hair is getting longer and I’ve begun a sorry excuse for a beard- I love this look). This is the first time I have ever felt that “on your own” feeling. Who would know where to find me if I just happened to “lose myself”? (Don’t worry Br. Paul I write this post from my room back in Tabgha). By the previous question I mean that I had the realization that I want and am eager for the responsibility to be on my own (I just do not have the financial capability yet). I took this walk as a chance to do some people watching and see if I could make my way to Dormition Abbey without the travel book and map. I made it with zero errors. That night we bought fresh falafel from a Moslem stand. It is Ramadan (Moslem calendar month commemorating the Quran to Mohammed) so all practicing Moslems are forbidden from eating, drinking, smoking, sex, etc. from dusk till dawn. This means they are easily agitated (try eating and drinking nothing in blistering heat 5am-6:30pm everyday for a month straight) and as we were walking back to the monastery I heard a huge BOOM and people started yelling and shouting which scared me. I thought “oh no, what happened this time?” (there was an incident a week ago in Jerusalem when a Palestinian boy drove into a crowd of Israeli military and was shot dead). Richard, the zivi at Dormition, told us all that it was just the cannon signaling the end of the day for the Moslems and allowing the guilty pleasures to begin. We ate supper of warm falafel, fresh bread, and cold hummus while sitting on top of Dormition overlooking the city at sunset. It is a 45 minute walk to the central bus station and we had to pick up 7-8 German zivis along the way but we caught the 10pm bus to the Dead Sea where we spent the night sleeping under the stars on the beach at Ein Gedi.
The next morning we were up early and reading the newspaper in the Dead Sea. It is so salty you float on your own (see picture) and is dangerous to swallow water. The water is thicker than normal water (obvious with the salt) and feels like a very fine oil on the skin. After you get out you must shower off but even with a good rinse-off you still feel bits of salt on your skin. It hurts when water gets in any crevice (eyes, ears, nose, mouth, straying south…).
We then hiked the Ein Gedi mountains. All the Germans thought it looked like Arizona and the Grand Canyon area. All I can say is that the mountains of Jordan and the Dead Sea looked like they were computer graphic from my view atop the mountains. My pictures do not do justice. The crevices and ridges in the mountains were so smooth and majestic and the water so many colors of blue and shimmering. They seemed not made from natural materials, like something you would dream of.
We took the bus back to Jerusalem (1 hour ride non-stop) walked around for a bit (visited a Jewish market: Davidka) and then got some pizza before we caught the bus back to Tabgha. We entered the pizzeria that was no bigger than my bedroom back in the US and were ordering when about 12 or so young military men came in and started talking to the one young male worker behind the counter (in Hebrew). Our pizzas were halted and theirs were made, I will eagerly step aside for someone who is in service to their country but these 18, 19, and 20s year-olds left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, they were loud, rude, and intimidating. The weapons strapped to their shoulders made it easy to brush this episode off, pizza was sub-par. Made it back to Tabgha to find all the animals in great condition.
Jerusalem and the Dead Sea are very beautiful places in completely different ways. One is filled with so much tension because of some many different people but feels so busy and important with its history and commotion while the other is secluded and quiet with lots of chances to just take it all in with only silence.

The other brain "figuring it out" here.

2008-09-22T10:42:00.000-07:00

Yahudiya Nature Reserve

Boy at the Baptism loved my camera, I liked his all white digs
From left Zivis Johannes (checkered shirt) and Thomas (white polo), SJUBVC Mike Leither (Back), and Zivi Martin (blue polo)
From left: Fr. Basilius, Benedikt, Johannes, Martin, Thomas, and Me at Yahudiya.
Much of the terrain through Yahudiya was riverside over rock and through trees.
Pictures do not do justice to what I saw and experienced , this is what Yahudiya looked like from the cliff.
Fr. Jeremias baptizing
Fr. Jeremias and the family
Swim break at Yahudiya
Can you see me mid flight?

I should introduce Mike Leither my fellow St. John’s University Benedictine Volunteer Corps member in Tabgha (see previous posts for a picture). I met him at the end of April this past school year. We have a lot of mutual friends but surprisingly never found each other in the same company for the four years. He hails from the St. Cloud area and is the eldest of three kids. He was an art major and an All-American track athlete at SJU (he looks like it, he got the nickname “Hulk” when we first arrived). He is a hard worker and very smart in the construction and creation of projects (hopes to attend architecture school in the coming years). His skills have been put to use here and he has excelled. He is a huge country music fan (attending WeFest the weekend before we left for here), has a smile that reaches ear to ear, and is very well intentioned; the latter two especially making him easy to get along with. He has a brush with the German language from his time as a boy scout but learned Spanish in school so the speaking has been a little more troublesome for him but he manages well. He has an appetite (which I can understand with the great food they provide here) that is only surpassed by his ability to metabolize what he takes in. He has a natural ability to accomplish any task or challenge he sets out to do. I am glad St. John’s sent two of us here as even though the Germans do not try to, we are excluded quite easily and often (often at times of talking).

Fr. Basilius is back in Germany for two and a half weeks on vacation and Abbot Benedikt is in Rome for the annual Abbots convention (Every Abbot in Rome, lookout for this wild crowd!). This leaves Fr. Jeramias as our leader here. He has been back from Germany for about 2 weeks and I have begun to get to know him well. He is a kind warm smart man (I know I use this to describe a lot of the people I have met) and it's easy to see how everyone gets along with him. He is eager to talk to me about American politics, as I have communicated my viewpoint on issues with him almost everyday. He will bring up issues in the news, keeping me on my toes on daily happenings, and I try to explain the best I can (without bias). It would be safe to say that we share stances on a lot of issues. I have yet to find one we do not agree upon. I look to him to clarify things here that I do not understand or agree with and he has yet to fail me with the answer needed for my problem.

We had a baptism here on Saturday 20th, which is unique because the mother of the child was the first child to get baptized in the Church when it was rebuilt in the 80's. There was a huge number of family there and they invited us to watch.

Pics from the last week with visitors

2008-09-18T09:38:00.000-07:00

This is the boat we road on the Galilee.
There was a bench outside the museum about 100ft long made completely of mosaic tiles at Ginosaur (where the ancient Galilee boat was found).
Leither and I out on the Galilee.

Lazy fat cat at Peter's Primacy, immediately became energized when I put the Johnnies hat on him. He quickly scaled a giant tree and took down a hang glider mistaking it for a bird. What is RED?

Inside Peter's Primacy (next door, run by Franciscan nuns) Chruch.

Seeing the US via a phone call and visitors

2008-09-16T05:05:00.000-07:00

This is inside The Church of St. Peter (hexagonal church from last post).

Again the inside of Church of St. Peter.
Me on the steps to Church of St. Peter.
Our American visitors and us on the Galilee
This is a artifact that was collected from the Galilee in the 1980's. It has been dated about 2000 years old. It is a 10 meter boat. Packed in mud and found during a drought, to excavate took extreme care as the wood broke down as you touched it. They surrounded it with polyethelene foam and wax to absorb into the wood to make it stronger again.

I was able to make the first phone call home about a week ago but my phone card only had 8 minutes on it so the conversation with my mom was short and jumped around. BUT TODAY (Sunday) I got my Skype up and running (though I cannot call landlines or cells yet) and made a call home! I have been able to email everyone but that is not the same as talking on the phone. My parents bought a computer so we were able to see each other with the video cameras too. It was awesome! I think I had a permanent smile on my face the whole time and of course they did too (happy to see me but I think also to fiddle around with their new toy).

The American Presidential election is watched around the clock around the world. From my study abroad experience junior year I realized how little I knew about US politics, how much everyone else pays attention to what the US does (we have a huge influence on the world), and how little I paid attention to foreign politics. In the last year and a half I have tried to remedy that problem. Israeli government is largely supported by our current US administration; from talking with the monks here in Tabgha, Ibrahim, and reading local news I have found out that many of the younger Jewish population supports Obama because they are not interested in who possesses what and who controls what. Israel has mandatory military service and after the Golan War two years ago the young population really have grown tired of all the tension, violence, and anger. I have been told that the older population supported Bush in the past but now have also been swaying towards Obama. I will be really excited to see how the rest of the world reacts to November 4.

We have four American visitors here in Tabgha. They are the benefactors to a peace project called Beit Benedict. It encourages interfaith relationships between the three major religious communities: Jewish, Moslem, and Christian. It will have its headquarters in Jerusalem but will take place also outside Jerusalem. The supporters were Dennis and Rose from Naperville and Bob and Valerie from St. Helena. I use their names because I would like them and you to know how much they meant to me, still yet in the age of technology having a familiar voice abroad-American English-is a comfort and even the simplest comment of how they admired us for our work built me up. They were extremely nice people who invited us to spend the day with them around the Galilee and also brought us treats from America (candy and gum, the gum here is not the same). I admire them for their trust and enthusiasm in a project that so many people could just shrug off and feel has no importance, this project carries great importance. They were accompanied by Helene (American) and Fr. Johannas (Slovakian) both people who had spent time here in Tabgha, I had been in contact with before I departed the states and gave me much help in preparation, and are helping coordinate the Beit Benedict project. I cannot say enough about these two either they are very genuine, supportive, and kind; as they left I had to turn them down for the ump-teenth time that there was no need to send anything from the states back here to Leither and I as we have everything we need.
Normally every night, minus Wednesday and Sunday, we have a reading for all of supper. We eat supper in silence with only the person reading allowed talking privileges. Leither and I are the only English speakers here so all the supper readings are in German. I am familiar with this procedure from my short time spent at the SJU monastery so it is nothing new but it is empty significance to me because of my inability to understand all of the reading. With the event of our new American visitors Fr. Basilius asked Leither or I if one of us would read the supper reading in English. 5 minutes before Father had to go to prayer he asked me to come into his office. He had a letter that the Pope had recently written and was going to give this to me to read. I know very little about Pope Benedict except that him and I disagree on a lot of issues and I did not feel strong reading this mostly because I could not imagine it to be very entertaining (sorry to the monastic community). The supper readings should have some faith base to them whether it is news, proclamation, or history and Father did not like my quick suggestion to read a story instead (I was hoping to find a favorite baseball story of mine Attitude by Garrison Keillor). So I quickly ran through a mental checklist of what was needed in the reading and I thought of Martin Luther King Jr. I proposed the most familiar and my favorite writing Letter from a Birmingham Jail and the Father said “yes”, he had no background on the significance of the piece but since it was MLK Jr. I think that is why he was okay with it. As I stood before everyone reading for the entire meal I was overcome with humility and realization. I have never felt more proud to read a piece of literature in my life and as I read the words on the page strong emotion stirred in my mind and heart. If you were to just chang the group you are writing to and this letter could be used universally. I was unsure if it would go over well with the guests and the Germans but I felt reassured as after they finished eating I was commended by all the visitors and almost all the Germans on the text and by the way I read it (I would like to think the ones who did not praise the piece had a hard time understanding English).

More pics

2008-09-14T05:03:00.000-07:00

These are ruins of Capernaum houses. My room at home is bigger than any of these foundations.

This is the Greek Othodox Church at Capernaum. It rivals the Catholic Church of St. Peter just 50 yards away. Every Sunday each church sings as loud as they can to drow out the other, only kidding.

Found these men on the shore of the Galilee and asked them if I could photograph them, they were drinking beer and eating watermelon chilled by the waterfall. This is a 3 minute walk from where I live and no significant religious association I can taint, take a wild guess what I'm doing next Sunday.

This is one of the 8 carvings on the inside of Primacy of St. Peter (Church of St. Peter in Capernaum). It is a raised octagon church built on the remains of Peter's house and all 8 carvings are intricate and huge.

Here is a vine/tree tunnel at the Greek Ortho Church. I just liked how dark and cool it was to stand in. The leaves of the plants had a smoothing fresh smell that was enticing, I don't think it was anything illegal.

Take a day off

2008-09-13T03:33:00.000-07:00

On Thursday we had a break from work and took a group trip to nearby Ya’ ar Yehudiyya Nature Reserve in the Golan Heights. After about a half hour drive there we acquired our maps of the park, learned the rules, and completed packing our bags. The reserve has about 15 trails ranging from beginner hiking ability (1 hour-fairly flat terrain) to expert (8 hours climbing rocks, crossing rivers, swimming under waterfalls). We chose a 6-hour loop through a river canyon that was intermediate ability; I think it was quite easy. The trail was diverse with hiking through forested area, scaling ridges, and climbing up/down/across rock surfaces. The only wildlife I saw minus an occasional bird overhead was trout in the river. The trail was packed with many people hiking ranging in ages from teens-40s and quite a few were in the military service. I am pretty bright, I can tell by just looking at them; they were dressed like the rest of us in shorts and t-shirts but I noticed they had their semi-automatic assault rifles slung over one shoulder. A huge attraction on the trail we hiked is the three huge pools to swim in, which have high cliffs allowing you to jump into the pools. The highest cliff I saw someone jump off (then had to myself) was probably 50-55 feet high with the pool about 21 feet deep (measured 7 meters). I’ve done cliff jumping before in South Africa but my legs started to question my brain on its decision making (tried my best to act cool and not show it) and before my legs could provide the voice of reason needed at the time I took off running and jumped off the cliff.

Whoa, that escalated quickly.

If you’ve never experienced a descent where you left your feet for longer than 2 seconds this is how it goes: you feel as light as a feather, floating with no force from any direction for a split second which quickly turns into a helpless feeling as you gain warp-speed downward with every high-speed shutter pulse that is your heart beating through your throat. I threw out a quick “peace” sign to my German non-participants watching below and then gave a gold medal deserving toothpick gracefully plunging into the water. 2/3 of our hiking was in the canyon and under the comfort of the tree canopy, though I was still soaked with sweat it provided protection from the brutal sun, which was a impressive mixture of greens and browns from the plants (mostly shrubs and trees, few flowers). Two lasting views from the day: sitting under a giant waterfall with the relaxing massage water drops looking out through the cascade to a rainbow and as we reached the top of the river canyon looking back down into it and seeing the green as we stood in dried grass, dust, and rock. The view from the top of the canyon really fascinated me because the land was all one flat surface adjacent to the canyon stretching for miles to where you could see ridges and bluffs in the distance. It was a painting to me; a fissure just packed with life: green growing plants and running water but then on the horizontal surface dry browns and grey rocks extending until you can barely distinguish a plateau.

Johnnies fans aboad...Benedick (departed zivi)

Ruins at the Church of St. Anna (where the Blessed Virgin Mary is said to have been born) in Jerusalem.

The Western Wall. I took this photo on the Sabbath (Saturday, a big no-no in Jewish culture) and the men on the far left started yelling at me, but I took off running and they couldn't catch me (kidding, that I took off running but they still couldn't catch me). Borderline embarrassing you BPR.

Found an ass at the Greek Orthodox Church in Capernaum.

Ruins of Church of St. Peter at Capernaum.

Sleepless in Tabgha

2008-09-12T03:19:00.000-07:00

Me frolicking in the Mediterranean at Nahariya (Leither's digital camera can go underwater up to 30 feet)

Mediterranean and me

The floor of the Church of the Multiplication of Loaves and Fish is all mosaic. Imagine covering two basket ball floors in tiles 1cm by 1cm. Over half of the floor has been redone but here under the altar are original tiles (fish and loaf of bread on each side of the basket).

This is a view out from the Fortress of Yehiam.

More original mosaic tile from Church of the Multiplication...

On Tuesday morning I tried to stay up to watch the Vikings on Monday Night Football. It started at 2am here and didn’t end until 5:30 am. I never thought it would be a chore to watch MNF, I couldn’t watch or even listen to the game (I would’ve loved Paul Allen on the radio) I had to look at the stats as they were updated and it was all in vain; the Vikes lost. That night the three zivis, two Americans, and Fr. Basilius played a game of good old-fashioned Monopoly (in German). Playing it brought back memories of times that I played with my family and how I usually ended up crying when I lost, which was how most family games ended for me growing up, I hate losing. We started the game at about 9:30pm and did not end until 12:45pm with the final two players the good Father and myself. Well I will tell you NEVER play a game with a monk for two reasons: he’s got God on his side (I’m telling you I couldn’t catch a break) and you can’t successfully trash talk back and forth (I didn’t try, but I sure thought about it). This game did not end up in me crying, I was so tired from little sleep that I was glad I lost so I could go to bed.

Tons of animals.

2008-09-11T07:14:00.000-07:00

Thursday the 4th our 1 year old Siberian husky Ayla (eye-la) had 6 pups and we found 3 new-born kittens in the church organ (no joke). Our other dog Frau Roiter (black Labrador) is pregnant from the same stray father of Ayla’s pups. I will spare you my thoughts about the Catholic Church’s stance on contraceptives (for now) and refrain from making some off color comment about the repercussions of having sex on monastic grounds but the fact that I bring it up should let you know that our conversations have not been lacking in emotion or frankness. I did not expect it at this age but I have become a father…to the pups. It is amazing to see what introducing children into the world will do to animals of all species (I mean Ayla and myself). I have observed a huge change in Ayla’s demeanor since the pups have been born; before she was very submissive and now she is obviously the dominant dog on the compound. She is very protective of her pups to the other dogs and only lets a select few humans pick them up and take them from her. I somehow got blessed to be one of those she is comfortable with and was delegated as the one to feed her and make sure all six pups are accounted for throughout the day. I say blessed because she scares me when she is angry.

From my trip to Jerusalem August 14th.

2008-09-09T09:51:00.000-07:00

Here is in the Church of the Holy Seplechure. It is a gigantic Church getting additions every century for the last 15. This small building in it is about the size of a gas station. The building stands where Jesus is supposed to have been laid in the Tomb (and you can enter one at a time and pray for about 15 seconds).
This is half of a beautiful painting just as you walk into the Church of the Holy Seplechure. It pans across through time segments (ie. Jesus coming off the cross, Preparation of Jesus' body, Jesus rising...)
This was in the front door of one of the markets in the Old City. I smiled at first but now I'm not sure what to think.
Here is a shot down a market street. Many are like this one only much more crowded, narrow, and not exposed to the sun overhead. This is a very comfortable market street.
This is a picture of the remains in the Old City. Lots of stone pillars, cobblestone, and block stone used in the construction of the Old City (obviously no metal siding then). Very imposing and archaic, Leither compared it to much of older Italy.

Pictures

2008-09-08T09:20:00.000-07:00

Well I figured out how to post pictures on my blog (took long enough huh) because Facebook and Snapfish were giving me trouble (yeah I have a college degree). Only enough size for 5 or 6 so I will continue to post them here. I have lots more that will come in time.

These are flowers on the driveway into Capernaum (where Jesus spent most adult years)
Here is a picture into the courtyard of the Church of the Multiplication of Loaves and Fish here in Tabgha. It is beautiful to see every morning.
This is the ceiling of the Dormition Church in Jerusalem. This is another grand Church in a "haystack" of grand religious buildings in Jerusalem.
This is from the crypt at Dormition. The figure is Mary and it is a work of art. So much effort was put into its creation. When I first arrived in Israel in August we went to Jerusalem for the Assumption of Mary and walking down into the crypt in complete darkness with only a few people holding candles to see I was in utter terror initially when I saw the figure faintly visible by the candles.

My peeps (people).

2008-09-07T08:18:00.000-07:00

Now that all three old zivis have left and two of the three temporary volunteers have left, I think I had better introduce you to those people who are a part of my daily life. You have already met Abraham (our OVERqualified cook). There are three zivis who will spend a year here in Tabgha: Thomas 20, Martin 20, and Johannes 18. After three weeks I will give you my initial impressions of them.

Thomas is the most laid back of all three. He is a short little guy who reminds me of a hobbit (this is the best description I can think of and mean it entirely heartening). He comes off a lot older than he looks because of a five o’clock shadow and this grown man appearance in such a small space. He and I are constantly practicing our English and German languages with each other typically in the form of jokes (mostly crude, sorry mom). He loves Germany, soccer, beer and watching German soccer while drinking German beer. He is very easy to get along with and helps me learn what is appropriate and what is not in the German habits. He also loves to tell me that all American athletes “are doping”. I have defended Lance Armstrong and Michael Phelps almost constantly since I have arrived. I just laugh and reply to them “Alle die Deutsche ist Madchen” which translates into “All the Germans are girls” (please don’t take it personally if you are a female, my German vocabulary needs expansion).

Martin is also smaller set but has the look of an athlete and a baby face (I can say that with the mustache on my resume). He also has a great sense of humor. He likes to sing American hip-hop music to me that he only knows a couple of words to in the hopes that I can fill in the blanks. He just busts out into song and when he has sang all he knows he just starts laughing and tries to hum the tune until I pick it up. So far he has not challenged my music library, singing mostly Outkast and Kanye West. He is becoming a fan of Johnny Cash, which is a surprise only because I am the one who is singing it (I might be tone deaf).

Johannes is a couple inches taller than me and does not have an athletic appearance or desire. He comes off more as the “younger brother” who challenges those older (whether in work, board/card games, or discussions) in order to feel or appear equal and competent. He spends much time in his room on the computer talking with friends, playing games, and puts his Jack Johnson CD “In Between Dreams” on repeat (don’t get me wrong it’s a good CD to hear…once a week). I empathize him for being the youngest here because the age difference seems to separate all of us a little from him, especially with Leither and I on top of the nationality difference.

There are five lay men here: Abbot Fr. Benedikt, Fr. Basilius, Fr. Jeremiahs, Br. Franciscos, and Alexander (who is in the early stages of becoming a monk). The Abbot is in 50s, tall, and skinny with a deceiving appearance; he has no hair on his head, the lasting effect of a cut on his upper lip, and when he talks with his thick German accent I am reminded of a villain from an Indiana Jones movie, but he is very kind, always smiles at me, and has a great singing voice (which I am in awe of because the man loves an “occasional” smoke). He has this air of importance to him; he dominates at Dormition Church whenever he returns for short visits and continually here at Tabgha. He is at Tabgha because Fr. Jeremiahs, second in command, was having heart problems and the Abbot is scheduled to stay until about the time I leave the country.

Fr. Basilius is in charge of all of the volunteers and also the groups who come to stay at Tabgha. He is 32, round, and has this “jolly” walk, which I can only describe as walking with springs under your feet and swaying with each step. He always gives Leither and I this unsure look when we are speaking to him or when he is speaking to us, kind of like, “Uhh-oh. You don’t understand me, do you?” All the young people take a liking to him I think because he has the mentality of a kid still. He is very comical and seems to get everyone to laugh easily (I wish I understood everything he said). He is very knowledgeable of the country and its history and will take us on weekend trips once a month; I am very excited for these.

Br. Franciscos is in his 50s and speaks only a Bavarian dialect of German (different from the German I learned in school). This results in awkwardness between Leither, him, and I. I am the mediator as Leither learned Spanish in school so neither can talk to each other and I have trouble understanding most of Br. Franciscos’ words. He is very nice to us though, smiling and saying “Hi”, telling the other monks about how strong he thinks Leither and I are with all the manual labor (Leither is very muscular and the zivis are not much competition in the strength category), and constantly trying to get us to eat more at all meals (he pushes food at us incessantly).

I’ve only had short time in the company of Fr. Jeremiahs and Alexander. Fr. Jeremiahs had to return to Germany four days after I arrived and Alexander just returned from holiday two days ago. Fr. Jeremiahs was very excited to meet us and for our interest in this program. He is a replica of the Abbot in appearance, (minus the scar on the lip), demeanor, and is closer to my height. Alexander I would guess is in his late 20s and looks more like he should be an extreme sport connoisseur (pierced ears, goatee, and wears motorcycle/x-cross/snowboard t-shirts). He has been receptive of Leither and I (I think because we have helped him with heavy lifting jobs).

There are more to introduce but I might have lost your attention at “Now that…” so I’ll save them.

It's a celebration!

2008-08-31T04:24:00.000-07:00

The old zivis are beginning to depart, the first left Saturday night. On Thursday everyone from Church of the Multiplication (my monastery in Tabgha) was invited over to the Sisters’ house. There are five Benedictine Philippine Sisters who live about a 5-minute walk from us. They work in the office at the Church of the Multiplication and do a lot cleaning in the actual Church. They are the kindest and most gentle little ladies with huge permanent smiles. The night was a great time; the Sisters prepared delicious Philippine food (somewhat like other Asian foods) for dinner and then rich desserts. They were extremely hospitable, always trying to get you to eat and drink more. I got up from the table a couple times during supper for: a second helping, a new napkin, to pick up some flowers that blew over, and even when I cleared dishes off after the main course each time one of the Sisters literally made me take another beer. As soon as they saw me get up, they immediately went to the drink table and popped the cap off a cold beer (oh yeah unlike the Germans these ladies kept theirs on ice…I’m in heaven), grabbed my hand put the beer in it, and said, “Here Michael, my angel”, and turned and left before I could say “No thank you” (like I would). The Sisters call Leither and I “Their Angles”. I think it is because we speak English, can’t help but smile at them, and are the only non-German volunteers they’ve seen in their 10-plus years here. After supper the zivis gave “Thank you/ Goodbye” speeches. It was quite clear that these young men had made some great relationships and memories with the people of this community over the last year. They expressed how it was hard for them to leave, how they were not ready to go home, not ready to leave everyone here, and leave the work they felt they were contributing to. The Sisters had singing planned knowing the speeches would produce melancholy, and let me tell you it was a blast. I was laughing, dancing, and singing like I was with all my friends back home. Minus one or two, all of the songs were in English and had actions to go with the words. We looked to the Sisters to lead us in the motions. If you’ve ever seen a Sister in full dress singing and dancing, whirling and waving their arms and bodies you know what I mean when I say it just makes you feel good, puts a smile right on your face.

The next night the Monks returned the favor and invited the Sisters over for a barbeque in honor of the zivis. We had a couple extra guests: 4 monks from our Prior, Dormition Abbey in Jerusalem, and Abraham (our tremendous cook) and his wife who wanted to celebrate the zivis’ work. Let me quickly tell you about Abraham. I had a conversation with him at supper that night. His family is Christian Palestinians (3 sons and a daughter in their 20’s). His wife only speaks Hebrew and Arabic. He is fluent in English, Hebrew, and Arabic. He speaks well enough in French and German to hold conversations. This man is our cook. I kept asking myself, what is he doing with this linguistic ability as a cook? Well like I said, he is a Palestinian Christian in Israel.

Sidenote…Just after I was accepted into the Benedictine volunteer corps for Israel I was told to read a book by Elias Chacour titled Blood Brothers (Chacour spoke at my college graduation ceremony and is a Christian Palestinian Archbishop). Chacour writes about how his family (and whole village) was persecuted, men were tortured, and all were driven from their land, never allowed to return (if they were to return anyway they would see it was destroyed). Chacour notes how his village was like many other non-Jewish villages all around Israel after 1948 (being destroyed), how the country and people around the world need to change, and how we need to love and care for everyone regardless of race and religion.

Abraham’s story was just like Chacour’s. In 1948 the people of his village were told by the government they would be safer if they moved to some land (not as good quality Abraham notes) to the east and then the army would let them know when it was safe to return. They were not allowed to return until 1951 and when they did all that was left of the village was the church. “This country is not a democratic country”, he kept telling me, he has been working at Tabgha since 1987 and was unable to get jobs anywhere else in the country because of his race and religion. This Christian monastery was a Godsend to him, but I can’t help but think it is unfitting to the ability and potential he had when he was younger. Now he is 64 and pulling in a low wage having to work much longer in order to make sure he and his wife will be okay.

We went swimming in the Sea of Galilee the other day, me for the first time. The water was very warm (no salt) and the beach and bottom consisted of golf ball to softball size rocks until you get to your chest. There were a couple young families at the beach too. There were about 13 of us between the ages 18-23 (we all get along like good friends, joking and laughing) and from the way were acting in the water the families just kept laughing at us. I am glad we did not intimidate, as I would think a group of 10-plus young men could in some parts of the world, but not here in Tabgha…paradise.

Fishing with Dynamite

2008-08-26T04:08:00.000-07:00

“You have to know languages when you go to sell something…But when you go to buy, everyone does what he must to understand you.” -Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera.
Even though the setting is a church and historic Biblical site money seems to attach to anything it can and that is why Leither and I are so valuable. There was need for an English speaker again in the gift shop today because the usual person who speaks many languages, Sammi, is gone (Leither and I both worked in it yesterday afternoon). It is challenging because even those who speak English when coming in to buy something are using it as maybe their third or fourth language so they use short commands which are often very hard to understand. The shop gets extremely busy when a bus of tourists comes but then can be empty for 30 minutes again. I would much rather work outside, even in the hot climate, so Leither and I played paper-rock-scissors and booyah-kasha; I won, to the store you go Leither.

We were working outside at the back end of the compound, near the sea, clearing grass and doing some landscaping for future garden plots when all of a sudden BOOM…BOOM. We all stopped and looked at each other. Fr. Basilius gave a hesitant smile and everyone started talking to each other in German very quickly. One of the times I really wish I could understand them. After a couple minutes they started smiling and laughing a little and I asked one of the zivis “Auf English bitte” (In English please). His reply was “I think you call it ‘fishing with dynamite’”. No way are they fishing with dynamite in the Sea of Galilee I thought and asked “Seriously?”

“We don’t know what it is”, I was told by another zivi. Okay, whoever is reading this stop, take a breath, I’m alive and in one piece. Put down the phone because Br. Paul will only let it go to his answering machine if you are not an actual Benedictine Volunteer. If it were some type of military action, we are so far below sea level (and radar) there would have been fighter jets soaring by in the next couple of minutes. We went on working and every so often would hear another distant BOOM. Our mood was light and we would joke about it and I will tell you what Fr. Basilius told us with that same uncertain smile, “Try not to think about it.”

Sundays are our fundays!

2008-08-25T03:54:00.000-07:00

We work six days a week here in Tabgha, with Sunday being our free day to lounge around. This last Sunday Fr. Basilius took all 11 of us volunteers on a day trip. We packed the little Mazda with 4 and the Jumpy (literal name of type of some Euro van) with lunch, swimwear, and 8 of us. Everyone has his or her own form of meditation. I find that I lose myself when staring out the window at the landscape. The best way to describe it is complete repose. I do not have to many responsibilities or burdens except for making sure I don’t embarrass St. John’s and The Benedictine Volunteer Corps (Br. Paul couldn’t stress it enough before I left “Just don’t embarrass me.”) so far, so good BPR. I do not need to make an income for the next year (my loan agency would hurt me if I did). A lot of my thinking is concentrated on those at home, how amazing all the history here is (Biblical and National), and using what I’m learning and trying to shape my beliefs.

Back to the vistas though, leaving Tabgha (200 meters below sea level-for running it is like the anti-doping) we wound up out of the basin having to slow down to 5-10 mph to take the practically 180 degree turns. Along the drive were many more valleys and ascensions (no religious connotation) along roads that were barely holding onto the steep sloped hills. Some of these roads were extremely narrow, had no dividing stripe, and a guardrail that I don’t think would stop me if I lost control of my bike. We would zip through little towns hugging these hills that were packed with people on the streets shopping at the food markets and shops. It is interesting to “people watch” in this unfamiliar country. On the streets were children playing soccer-mothers cleaning chairs, rugs, and more-and of course the people dressed in religious garb (there is such a large range of sects even in the Jews, Christians, Moslems, it’s neat to see all of them together in one place).

We first visited Yehiam Fortress (built during the Byzantine and Roman era partially destroyed but then rebuilt during the Crusades). Walking through it I thought about how I was touring a site that was used as a tactical point in many wars and countless people died here. Kind of makes my life even more trouble-free.

At last we made it to the great Mediterranean Sea at the city of Akko. I can only imagine that this is what smaller cities on the Mediterranean are like. A busy main street with lots of places for tourists to buy things, eat, and sleep; as you get closer to the sea the neighborhoods become more abundant and it reminded me of some west coast cities in the US. All the neighborhoods are on a hill leading down to the sea. The houses have a quiet feel to them, very small yards with fences, short trees, and old structure (stone or stucco). The streets are also very narrow with some cars parked on the sidewalk and it is hard to see down the street more than 50 yards. Then we came to the end of the block and there it was in front of me, the Mediterranean. It was beautiful. The water started out a light baby blue at the beach then became a dark navy out much deeper. The shore was not sand but large somewhat flat rock. It was hard to see where the sand ended and rock began but once you hit the rock it felt like walking on sandpaper (sounds synonymous but there was no give like on sand).

I love all the time I have spent at the Pacific, Atlantic, and Indian Oceans. The Mediterranean was no different. You can stand at the shore, shut your eyes, and just listen. The sun is shinning on you, you have the breeze in your hair (I am growing mine out again, sorry Grams), and you take into your lungs a deep breath of fresh air with a little hint of salt. We had a great afternoon of lunch, a game of soccer (its fun but I am bad and I swear these Germans start kicking a ball when they are in the womb), some swimming and then off for another scenic drive home. We took a different route home but the view was the same; spectacular, and my pictures don’t do justice.

The Golden Rule must lose something in translation...

2008-08-21T03:35:00.000-07:00

It has not been hard to sense the cautious demeanor in some of the guests to Tabgha. I feel that those who understand the conflict or at least have a small grasp of its totality carefully choose their words when they speak around a multicultural group. Slips of tongue can be easily misunderstood here, and people are quick to backpedal and cover their mistake hoping a fuse does not get lit. I do not like some of the discrimination I have seen. So far it is only short remarks that go unanswered and I am left to be blown over by the wind (which there is very little of). The things I am talking about are discrimination in an indirect way. Trying to get me in the middle of a dispute, to pick a side, making a joke to make the previous crude comment seem like a joke, and so on. I would like to think this is just me in a new atmosphere searching for everything negative that has been disclosed about The Holy Land and reading way too much into words and actions, but I do not think it is so. “Actions speak much louder than words” and the body language of some people cannot be restrained. They can say one thing to the person's face and then when they leave immediately contradict what they previously said, which I know is not exclusive to Israel, it is in every population.

I am extremely lucky. My hometown has great lakes to run around, I was able to run next to the Indian Ocean in South Africa for 5 months, and now I get to run next to the Sea of Galilee for almost a year. The previous two have much more of a breeze associated with them. There is not much wind in the Galilee. It is a still, hot, dry run. I try to get up early and go to prayer at 6am (the volunteer corps would like all its volunteers to attend one prayer session daily with their hosts) and then go for a run afterwards because the day is deathly hot in the afternoon plus they do not leave much free time for you between 8:30am and 8:00pm. The Galilee is huge, there is usually a haze in the air that makes it hard to see across the widest point but in the distance you can make out the rise and fall of the mountains in the silhouette. There are trees all around it making the sight very green.

I was asked what the food was like. Tonight we had homemade PIZZA. It was not as good as my parents but I complimented it with a nice room temperature Israeli beer, Goldstar (which I swear has the same taste and label graphics as Castle from South Africa), and “its Pizza baby its good no matter what.” It was topped with fresh vegetables. The veggies, and fruits for that matter, are delicious. We get them fresh everyday from our garden. They are so fresh; I had to pull a caterpillar out of my salad this afternoon. I almost lost my cookies when there were some unexpected crunches in a plain lettuce salad.

Meet in the middle

2008-08-20T04:27:00.000-07:00

Tabgha has a unique area for its guests called the meeting grounds. It is a huge outdoor patio connecting the guesthouse (you may hear me refer to it as Beit Noah) with other bungalows and tents. Running in the middle of the patio is a man made river (which the Germans insist on calling a pool yet it still has fish swimming in it) that runs down to the Galilee. It is called the meeting grounds because it is where two or more different parties can come and meet each other. It is meant to promote integrated religious friendships, and that is exactly what it does. Yesterday a group of mentally handicapped Arabs arrived, supervised by Mustaffa (who is an extremely sociable and amiable man with a huge smile and who barely reaches my shoulders when standing next to me but probably weighs the same) and today a group of Jewish kids led by a group of German volunteers turned up. As Mustaffa and I were walking across the patio, laughing at the story of how he learned German 8 years ago and now will only speak it to me so that I can learn it, one of the German woman volunteers came outside and we introduced ourselves and Mustaffa (who is a frequent visitor to Tabgha with a variety of groups) hugged the woman (he hugs everyone, a lot) and said this is what things should be like, this is what the world, what Israel, should be like; everyone together happy and peaceful.

When I meet people who come to visit Tabgha three things surprise them about me: I am an American, I chose to volunteer (not mandatory like for the Germans), and I will be here a year. It is an eerie feeling to live in a country where when you hear an aircraft coming or going by you immediately look to the sky to see if it has military signs. People ask if I am scared, and I don’t know what to tell them. Of course I am a little nervous about the tension (but I don’t see any of it from the comfy confines of the monastery) but there are people who have to live in it day in day out for their whole lives.

Let me try to show you how hot it is here. When I was at SJU I would average close to two 32 ounce mugs of coffee (Sean and Pete used to call me crazy, and Crest White strips became a great friend) and maybe one Nalgene bottle throughout the day. That put me at 3 liters on a good day. I drink three 2-liter bottles of water during the workday because I sweat so much. At meals I do not go for the food first, it is water or juice then food. I drink about three glasses of water at breakfast, lunch, and then again at supper and after supper before I go to bed I do another 2 liter bottle. Gonna get personal here, my pee still is still quite yellow. Water will become the next oil.

Foreign land...familiar feeling.

2008-08-18T04:18:00.000-07:00

Sorry this first post will be extremely long (it covers a lot and I am learning what content to keep and what to leave out in a blog)

As Mike Leither and I walked out of the airport after just meeting Fr. Basilius and Benedict, a German Zivi (In Germany, after high school, you have the choice to either join the army for 2 years required service or volunteer for one, thus being a Zivi), at 4:30am Tel Aviv time I was brought back to the feeling of arriving in Johannesburg, South Africa. Both the present time and Jo’burg it was close to dawn, much hotter than I'd like (40-45 Celsius), and there was a haze in the air that made the lights glow in a way that is hard to describe. I wonder if it is from all the pollution, because of the fowl smell in both cities that gave the air that haze, or if it was the humidity. It is a very surreal feeling to be in another country. You are excited at what lies ahead of you but scared out of your mind at all the unknown.

Fr. Basilius gave us our first lesson in the Holy Land “Drink lots of water”. The only moments where I do not sweat are when I am sleeping because, and thank God, my room is air-conditioned. We arrived in Tabgha, which is more of a group of monastic communities than a town or even village, and were sent to bed to try to cure our jet lag. I slept most of Thursday and on Friday in the morning Mike and I explored some of the other monasteries in the area, around 2pm we left for Jerusalem. The “we” I refer to are the three Zivis who are just finishing up their year of work, one of the new Zivis, three other short-term German volunteers, Br. Fransiscos, Fr. Jeremiahs, Fr. Basilius, Abbott Benedikt, Mike Leither, and myself. Very soon six German volunteers will leave reducing the number in Tabgha drastically.

On our way to Jerusalem we drove through the West Bank and I could look out at one point and see the tanks and bunkers in Jordan. Traffic was bad so it took four hours to get to Jerusalem. Sebastian, one of the German volunteers, turned around in the van/combi (if you know what this is) and said to the Americans, “Welcome to Jerusalem”, and this moment will be forever ingrained in my memory. At that point I looked out the window onto the city of Jerusalem. White stone/stucco/slab buildings and houses covering as far as the eye could see up a gradual hill. It was a setting I was not prepared for: long high stone walls, cobblestone streets, giant Churches and Temples, huge Mosque domes, tourists, religious pilgrims, Orthodox Jews, Arabs, Catholic Priests, and police/military people armed with assault rifles and Uzis all walking the streets. All the things I only saw on 60 minutes or watching the evening news not ever really grasping how real this Israel was that everyone was fighting over.

Jerusalem was a blur. You must wear pants that cover your knees (so the kids who sag their shorts might be on to something or heading toward a monastic life...) when you enter a holy site. But it is deathly hot, they told me in Tabgha that Jerusalem was colder than Tabgha, colder was not the correct adjective, faintly cooler would better describe it. I am still not grasping what I have touched with my hands, seen with my eyes, or been a part of. I visited the Western Wall (I will say a prayer the next time I visit), we walked the Via Dolorosa (Way of Sorrows, Jesus’ walk with the cross), and walked through all four quarters of the Old City: Moslem, Jewish, Armenian, and Christian. Visited the markets, which are in narrow covered alley size streets with shops no bigger than a dorm room, where you must barter or be taken advantage of in the worst degree. Bare in mind when I say ‘supposedly’ that there is no correct story about Jesus’ life and it is not my skepticism of the Christian religion. At the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (supposedly where Jesus spent his final moments and was buried in the tomb) I knelt and blessed my Johnnies cap on a piece of rock supposedly from the tomb in which he was buried, Gagliardi owes me one of the rings they get this year.

The Abbey of Dormition (in Jerusalem) is the German Catholic Monastery in Jerusalem of which the one in Tabgha (Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves & Fishes) I stay at is an extension. At both churches German is the primary language spoken for all the masses and prayers (morning, noon, evening, vespers, compliment). I have three years high school and one semester college of German under my belt and I am lost. Slowly it comes back and I pick up new vocabulary. All those of you who know the story of me being asked to say a prayer at the Zion Church in South Africa, I had another one of those moments at Dormition. The Germans said I had great pronunciation (yeah that’s right dad, me) and asked me to read the second reading during one of the masses. Since everything is in German and I was nervous I asked two of the zivis to tell me when it was my turn to read. They thought I had the first reading so they told me to go up when it was time for the first reading (which was done in Hebrew) and I had to stand in front of the whole church for the first reading and following hymn because I could not make it back to my seat. Ahh Mike you idiot.

The work here in Tabgha is not the most glamorous: unloading visitors, cleaning, painting, gardening, and soon cooking. I am not saving lives everyday, I am not getting very far in making Israel a peaceful state (obviously I am not contributing to the violence, yet still), and so I don’t feel as though I am making a difference. Lutz, one of the departing Zivis, said something that really hit home though. “Remember who you are doing the work for.” Tabgha is mainly used as a retreat place for religious pilgrims, mentally and physically handicapped, the sick and dying, and those of the monastic life. To them this Biblical miracle site is a paradise/heaven of their own. Smiling and welcoming people with open arms (along with keeping the place in ship-shape) are important. I have trouble doing something when I do not feel I am making an immediate impact, but I am learning that I do not have to save someone’s life to make a difference in it. I should think this is a better circumstance also.