Merry Christmas!
This is my first Christmas away from home and in a lot of ways, it doesn't really feel like Christmas. Before this year, Christmas has always been about being home with my family, going to my home church for the Christmas Eve candlelight service, the chill of a cold winter night on Christmas Eve followed by the impossible blue of a bright winter day on Christmas morning, having a tasty breakfast roll before opening presents as a family, maybe even some snow falling. I guess if you can't be home for Christmas being in Bethlehem is a pretty good second choice! :-)
My school has been decorated for Christmas for weeks already, complete with a Christmas tree, Baba Noel (that's Santa Claus to us), chocolate and Christmas cheer! Last Wednesday the kids put on their Christmas show which was ADORABLE! My kindergartners dressed up as Mary, Joseph, angels and the whole gang! The choir sang and various grades put on little performances. One of the eighth graders got to dress up as Baba Noel and give out chocolate, much to the glee of the younger children!
Last Thursday Baba Noel came to school again and passed out presents to every single student! I helped wrap all those presents the previous weeks and it was fun to be involved in gift-giving, even in a small role! Us teachers also received Christmas gifts, lovely little Santa Claus mugs filled with chocolate! That evening there was a big Christmas dinner in Bethlehem with all the ELCJHL teachers and educational staff. We ate, we danced (Arab style, of course! Distinctly tricky but tons of fun! My teachers really got a kick out of me learning to dance this way!), we played silly games and generally enjoyed each other's company. It was fun to see all my teachers and co-workers in a less serious context.
On Friday we had a very YAGM Christmas. We gathered at our coordinators home for pizza, singing, presents and a tour of the lights that have been put up all around Bethlehem. Beautiful! We each received stockings, laid out with care at the coffee table, filled with chocolates and a beautiful olive-wood nativity set! It came complete with a removable Wall which separates the shepherds from the holy family: a good reminder that if Jesus were to be born today, most of the folks in a Nativity scene probably wouldn't be able to get permits to come see him because of the Occupation and the location of the Wall around Bethlehem.
Saturday, Christmas Eve, I attended the Christmas Eve parade! There are TONS of scout troops in the area who play drums, bagpipes, march and wear adorable outfits. It's a bit like marching band or drum line in the USA. Later there was a trilingual (Arabic, English and German) service in the beautiful Christmas Lutheran Church in Bethlehem, during which I got to sing with the choir, a magical experience. Courtney, a fellow YAGM volunteer, and I kept remarking at how awesome it was that we were part of the choir for a Christmas Eve service in Bethlehem! The beautiful little church was filled absolutely to the brim both with people and Christmas spirit. Afterward it promptly started pouring, which isn't nearly as nice as a gentle snow-fall on Christmas Eve, but did make inside feel very cozy and inviting.
On Sunday, Michelle and I awoke very early to make our way to Jerusalem for the Christmas Day service at Redeemer Lutheran church in the old city. We rode the bus in the pouring rain and were pleased to discover that, either because of the rain or because of Christmas, the soldiers at the checkpoint did not make anyone get off the bus! Usually all the Palestinians (and us, in solidarity) have to get off the bus so the soldiers can check everyone's identification cards. It was lovely for everyone to stay on the warm, dry bus and it turns out that keeping everyone on the bus is quite a bit more efficient, so we arrived in Jerusalem early. We made our way through the pouring rain to Redeemer church, only to discover that we had arrived so early that it wasn't yet open. We searched in vain for a coffee shop and ended up seeking refuge from the downpour in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
We noted both the tragic irony of being in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher on Christmas Day (poor baby Jesus was just born and now we're in the place where we honor his crucifixion, death and resurrection) and the amazing fact that right now in our lives it is possible for us to have an impromptu visit to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem just to seek sanctuary from rain. Woah.
We watched as pilgrims gathered in line to go to honor the supposed sit of the empty tomb and discussed what a shame it is that the building's art is not well-maintained. You see, many different sects of Christianity must share this building as it is a holy spot for all Christians. Unfortunately, they have had trouble getting along so in 1853 they created a rule called the Status Quo which strictly divided up the church according to who is allowed to maintain each part and who can use what parts of it when. While intended to maintain order and peace within the church, an unexpected consequence of this rule is that it is difficult to maintain the entire structure. It's really a shame because now some of the art is so dirty with ash and age that you cannot even see it. Nonetheless there are beautiful mosaics and little pensive chapels throughout the church.
We arrived at Redeemer in time for the Christmas Day service, which was a delightful songs and lessons service. We sang Christmas carols between readings from the Christmas story. One of the congregation members, a girl of about 8 years, read to the entire congregation from her illustrated children's Bible. We were all proud of how well she did, so brave! The congregation then shared a cozy potluck-style Christmas brunch at the pastor and his wife's home; a lovely way to feel connected to a community while so far from my loved ones.
After brunch I got to talk with my dear friend Anna who is visiting the Holy Land with her family. It was wonderful to catch up with her. She is incredibly generous and dedicated half of her checked suitcase to contact solution, a Christmas stocking, chocolate and other gifts for me from my family, her and her housemates. Thank you Anna, Mom, Dad, Kat, Nora, Shannon and Laura! I also was fortunate to skype with my parents and with Cody. I even got to open some thoughtful and fun Christmas presents from all three of them!! Truly a lovely day!
Although it wasn't the type of Advent season and Christmas to which I am used, it was fantastic. I feel extremely blessed for the opportunity to be in the Holy Land this year. I also feel incredibly blessed to have such a supportive community here and such amazing friends and family back home! Thank you all for your love and support! Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 26, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Lovely little things
Sometimes you just have to take a moment to savor the lovely little things in life. My friend Laura has dedicated an entire blog to this exercise. She's a great writer so you might enjoy reading her blog too! Today I'm honoring some lovely little things in my life.
The first is my Saturday yoga class. It's a women's only class which is simply awesome. Lots of public places here are only for men. For example, there are tons of street-side coffee shops here where you can drink strong Arabic coffee, smoke argelah (flavored tobacco in a water pipe), play backgammon and hang out for hours. But only if you're male. There really aren't a lot of public women's only spaces. So to have a yoga class for women only is pretty amazing. Especially because several of the Muslim women in my class cover their heads outside their homes, but since class is women's only, they uncover for class. (I haven't tried it, but I can only imagine how tricky yoga would be with a headscarf....) Their uncovering creates a very real sense of intimacy in the class. Plus these women have created a really supportive and creative community. In Sanskrit the yoga community is called the sangha and ours is fun! Sometimes to warm up we put on music and dance around before starting our practice. :-)
Since my yoga studio is near Al-Manara, the central square in town, during yoga we heard the sounds of some sort of rally being conducted at Al-Manara and moving past us on the street and down the hill. We couldn't see them but we stopped to listen for a moment and I noticed that the Palestinians grinned with pride while they explained to me that the people were chanting, "freedom".
While walking home from yoga class, I enjoyed the bright, low afternoon sunlight of December. I have been told that soon and very soon the weather here will turn nasty; 30 degrees F with lots of cold rain. Yuck. So I'm very grateful to savor long, bright sunshine and 63 degrees F.
On the way home from my yoga studio I stopped to get some fresh pita bread, called khobs. When I say fresh, I mean the bread man took it out of the oven probably five minutes ago and it steamed up the bag he put it in. It's also always fun to buy bread this way because the man always gently teases Megan and I for buying only a few pitas at a time. While most people here walk out with probably 30 pitas, we usually get 4 or 5. Today I bought 2. It cost me half a shekel, approximately a seventh of a dollar. I took those pita home and slathered on some lebnah, a tasty cream cheese-like substance made from plain yogurt and sprinkled it with zatar (thyme). This traditional Arab snack is simply amazing.
Here's to a lovely afternoon and the little things that make life beautiful.
The first is my Saturday yoga class. It's a women's only class which is simply awesome. Lots of public places here are only for men. For example, there are tons of street-side coffee shops here where you can drink strong Arabic coffee, smoke argelah (flavored tobacco in a water pipe), play backgammon and hang out for hours. But only if you're male. There really aren't a lot of public women's only spaces. So to have a yoga class for women only is pretty amazing. Especially because several of the Muslim women in my class cover their heads outside their homes, but since class is women's only, they uncover for class. (I haven't tried it, but I can only imagine how tricky yoga would be with a headscarf....) Their uncovering creates a very real sense of intimacy in the class. Plus these women have created a really supportive and creative community. In Sanskrit the yoga community is called the sangha and ours is fun! Sometimes to warm up we put on music and dance around before starting our practice. :-)
Since my yoga studio is near Al-Manara, the central square in town, during yoga we heard the sounds of some sort of rally being conducted at Al-Manara and moving past us on the street and down the hill. We couldn't see them but we stopped to listen for a moment and I noticed that the Palestinians grinned with pride while they explained to me that the people were chanting, "freedom".
While walking home from yoga class, I enjoyed the bright, low afternoon sunlight of December. I have been told that soon and very soon the weather here will turn nasty; 30 degrees F with lots of cold rain. Yuck. So I'm very grateful to savor long, bright sunshine and 63 degrees F.
On the way home from my yoga studio I stopped to get some fresh pita bread, called khobs. When I say fresh, I mean the bread man took it out of the oven probably five minutes ago and it steamed up the bag he put it in. It's also always fun to buy bread this way because the man always gently teases Megan and I for buying only a few pitas at a time. While most people here walk out with probably 30 pitas, we usually get 4 or 5. Today I bought 2. It cost me half a shekel, approximately a seventh of a dollar. I took those pita home and slathered on some lebnah, a tasty cream cheese-like substance made from plain yogurt and sprinkled it with zatar (thyme). This traditional Arab snack is simply amazing.
Here's to a lovely afternoon and the little things that make life beautiful.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Zeitoun
This fall I
had several opportunities to help harvest olives on the Lutheran World Federation campus located on the Mount of Olives. At the LWF campus there are several olive groves with beautiful olive trees in need of harvesting each year. The olives are harvested by volunteers and you are more than welcome to come to the Holy Land to help harvest olives next year! Please follow this link to learn more!
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| Using a rake to pull olives out of the tree |
Harvesting olives is a lot of fun. We began by laying tarps down on the ground around the olive trees so that the olives could be pulled from the branches and dropped onto the tarp to collect later. Of course, this system means that one must be careful where one steps so as not to prematurely crush the olives. Using our hands or small rakes, we pulled olives from the trees and onto the ground. While some folks collect from the ground, others climb up into the tree to reach the highest olives.
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| My fellow YAGM Alma is quite the climber! |
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| Me, olive tree and a bounty of olives! |
In case you were wondering, olives fresh from the tree don’t taste good; whether black or green, the are quite bitter and leave an uncomfortable paste-y sensation in one's mouth. Although not recommended for regular consumption it is considered necessary to try at least one olive right off the tree while harvesting, just for the experience. :-)
Olive trees are quite beautiful. They have a light colored bark and their trunks are elegantly twisted. The leaves have a waxy shine about them, though in fall they are often covered with the dust that so permeates this dry landscape. Olive wood is excellent for burning; with a clean-burning and long flame.
Olive trees are strong; standing close to the ground, they can withstand high winds and blowing sand. They can hunker down and survive through long droughts, a necessity in this dusty desert climate. They are also quite long-lived. The oldest known olive tree is in Greece. At 2,000 years old, it is still producing fruit.
Zeitoun, meaning both olive and olive tree in Arabic, is a common and very highly-valued word. During olive harvest time we had an entire unit in the Kindergarten dedicated to learning about olive harvest. The kids drew pictures of olive trees, brought in olives from their homes and ate lots of foods saturated in tasty olive oil. I have been told by more than one teacher at my school that I should drink a spoonful of olive oil each morning, "for my health". While I haven't actually done this, I understand the sentiment which honors olive oils' nutritional benefits, particularly as compared to other oils.
It is hard to explain the extent to which Palestinians value olives, olive oil and olive trees.The best comparison I can think of is the way Ents feel about their trees in Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. Palestinians feel for their trees. Since olive trees can live for a very long time many families have tended and harvested the same trees for generations. Unfortunately, when one becomes a refugee, often the beloved family olive groves must be left behind. Sometimes the Wall separates families from their trees, making it impossible to harvest one's own precious fruits. The olives then either go to waste or are harvested by someone else. Palestinians are as rooted in the soil of their homeland as the trees they so fervently honor.
Living here for the past few months, I have come to highly respect olive trees as well as the people who so love them. Both are strong and able to thrive in the midst of long-term hardships. So here's to you Zeitoun and Palestinians; may your roots be deep, your trunk strong and your branches nourished by sunlight.
Living here for the past few months, I have come to highly respect olive trees as well as the people who so love them. Both are strong and able to thrive in the midst of long-term hardships. So here's to you Zeitoun and Palestinians; may your roots be deep, your trunk strong and your branches nourished by sunlight.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Hospitality
A few weeks ago, the YAGM volunteers were invited to the home of a Palestinian family who are fast becoming friends with our program directors, Jeff and Julie. They are a Muslim family and speak little English (although arguably they speak a great deal more English than we do Arabic...), so we were a bit mystified by their desire to host the 8 of us, only one of whom knows Arabic (inshallah, this number will grow throughout the course of this year!). None-the-less we made the trek to their home one Tuesday evening a few weeks ago and were met with unbelievable and humbling hospitality.
The hostess had spent hours (possibly a couple days) preparing a veritable feast: think Thanksgiving x100 + stuffed grape leaves. It was incredible. We sat down to piles of cold cooked chicken, a divine rice and meat dish, fresh salads, the aforementioned grapes leaves stuffed with rice and meat (a personal fave), yogurt, hummus, little tasty fried hush puppies with meat inside and sodas. That probably wasn't even all of it to be honest. I focused my attention on the grape leaves which were amazing, even by the high standards set in Palestine. The hostess was ever attentive; if anyone came anywhere near to seeing the bottom of their plate they were offered more. Actually even if you hadn't come close to seeing the bottom of your plate you were offered seconds, thirds, fourths...
A note for my fellow TIME '09 alums, I did you all proud. I ate like a Moroccan-host-family champ. :-)
The dinner conversation was very pleasant. It took a lot of translating and miming on each side to communicate, but the family was patient with us. After we had stuffed ourselves we washed our hands and retired to the sitting room where we had piles of fresh fruit and mint tea. Followed by dessert and Arabic coffee (a thimble-sized jolt of rocket fuel, far more flavorful than coffee in the US). I'm not even joking, it was a double dessert special.
In some ways, I'm still not sure exactly why the family invited us over. Most of us really couldn't communicate much and, other than Jeff and Julie, we didn't know this family very well at all. But in other ways, it makes perfect sense in this context. Hospitality toward guests is a fundamental way of life here. Guests like us are vulnerable since we are far from our family units. We therefore require extra looking after to make sure that we're well taken care of. In"biblical times", a traveler in need was literally in a life or death situation dependent upon the generosity of strangers. It's comforting to know that families here want to look after us.
This type of over-the-top generosity is a very humbling honor. Although we had trouble sharing a language with this awesome family, they were willing to go to the trouble to share a feast with us.
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| The feast! |
A note for my fellow TIME '09 alums, I did you all proud. I ate like a Moroccan-host-family champ. :-)
The dinner conversation was very pleasant. It took a lot of translating and miming on each side to communicate, but the family was patient with us. After we had stuffed ourselves we washed our hands and retired to the sitting room where we had piles of fresh fruit and mint tea. Followed by dessert and Arabic coffee (a thimble-sized jolt of rocket fuel, far more flavorful than coffee in the US). I'm not even joking, it was a double dessert special.
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| The YAGM with the generous family |
This type of over-the-top generosity is a very humbling honor. Although we had trouble sharing a language with this awesome family, they were willing to go to the trouble to share a feast with us.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Visa Extended!
Al Hamdulilah! As of this morning, my visa has officially been extended! As some of you may know, due to our visa trouble in August, we ended up arriving here with the promise of a year long visa, but only a one month visa in hand. The plan was to have an appointment at the Ministry of the Interior to officially get our year-long visas.
After much work and frustration, we managed to obtain a coveted appointment at the Ministry and so we headed into downtown Il Quds (Jerusalem) to get our visas (inshallah). After some waiting and processing we did manage to get our promised visas in hand, so we are now officially allowed to stay in country until late July! I am very thankful to our supervisors and everyone who helped us to jump through the bureaucratic hoops! Shukran!
After much work and frustration, we managed to obtain a coveted appointment at the Ministry and so we headed into downtown Il Quds (Jerusalem) to get our visas (inshallah). After some waiting and processing we did manage to get our promised visas in hand, so we are now officially allowed to stay in country until late July! I am very thankful to our supervisors and everyone who helped us to jump through the bureaucratic hoops! Shukran!
Thursday, October 20, 2011
It's A Small World After All
I know it's cliche, but seriously. It's a small world.
On Tuesday night I went to the Friend's (Quaker) Meetinghouse in Ramallah where a Swedish choir taught the Palestinian international choir with whom I'm singing a joyful, South African song, complete with choreography. Since the Palestinian international choir consists of at least five nationalities, (German, American, Swedish, Palestinian, Jordanian and Spanish), our choir alone is like the EU. Add in the South African song/dance, the Swedish choir and the Friend's and you have a regular global event!
On Wednesday our joint choirs performed the aforementioned song to a sizable audience in Bethlehem including one of my best friends who also sang in chamber choir with me in high school.
How's that for globalization? :-)
On Tuesday night I went to the Friend's (Quaker) Meetinghouse in Ramallah where a Swedish choir taught the Palestinian international choir with whom I'm singing a joyful, South African song, complete with choreography. Since the Palestinian international choir consists of at least five nationalities, (German, American, Swedish, Palestinian, Jordanian and Spanish), our choir alone is like the EU. Add in the South African song/dance, the Swedish choir and the Friend's and you have a regular global event!
On Wednesday our joint choirs performed the aforementioned song to a sizable audience in Bethlehem including one of my best friends who also sang in chamber choir with me in high school.
How's that for globalization? :-)
Friday, October 14, 2011
Why Travel?
On Thursdays I get to help out in the 9th grade English class with an awesome teacher. She clearly loves to teach English and is good at it; she brings in YouTube videos and songs to make the lessons more meaningful and fun for her students. She also manages the herculean challenge of keeping thirty-two 14-year-olds on task.
On this particular day the students were learning about explorers, like Marco Polo as compared to modern-day travelers. Please appreciate that I kept my composure as a professional teacher while the students learned the word diarrhea. Yup. Diarrhea. The teacher merely explained that this was "an illness", with no specifics on the dirty details. Having traveled before and had some pretty wicked cases of traveler's diarrhea, I could barely keep from laughing out loud as the students listened to me say diarrhea and repeated it over and over and over. The classroom resounded with the word diarrhea for approximately five minutes during which the teacher and I were the only ones aware of the specifics of what they were saying. I deserve a small medal of honor for my adult-like composure.
Next the class discussed why people explored during Marco Polo's time and why people might travel now. For Marco Polo, the students discussed learning about new cultures, opening up new economic markets and spreading religion. When discussing why someone might travel today, they talked about looking for jobs, for marriage and for fun. In some ways, I felt as though the discussion did not do justice to the reasons why I travel.
I have been to various parts of Europe and the Middle East. I have traveled abroad for as little time as a week and, until now, the longest has been a college semester. The major factor that sets me apart from the travelers the students were imagining is that the vast majority of my journeys outside the USA have been on study abroad.
My very first time traveling abroad was when I was 16 and had the incredible chance to travel to France with my high school French class. For someone who loves French, (the language, the food, the history, the poetry, the people) France was like an amusement park designed just for me. The newspapers were in French, the menus were in French, entire bookstores were filled with French books and someone had even convinced the small children to speak French in high-pitched little voices. Awesome! Plus I got to see some of the most amazing museums and sights in Europe. The grammar I learned in class became meaningful and quite important. History and culture from textbooks became a lived experience. It was incredible and wanderlust seeped in the moment I stepped off the plane.
One of the major reasons that I chose St. Olaf College for my undergraduate degree was its excellence in study abroad. I had the opportunity to learn over the course of a January term and a whole semester. I wish I'd had the time and money to do more.
Study abroad is not the same as being a normal tourist. Although you may go to similar sights, you enter into the travel experience in a different frame of mind. This is not a vacation. Attempting to learn as much of the language as possible, even just enough to say please and thank you, is key as you're hoping to learn about the people and the culture. I always carried a small notebook and pen so that I could take notes during tours, at sights and even in restaurants or on the street; using my notes to inform my homework assignments, papers and projects. I wrote reflections essays in hostel rooms and had to make space for textbooks in my 50 lb suitcase. I craved to understand the language, the people and the culture. I sought to understand the similarities and the differences. Studying abroad as an Anthropology major is particularly rewarding since the field is designed around examining and seeking to understand human beings, it is full of tools to suspend judgement and find meaning.
My history as a student of study abroad means that I cannot travel without seeking to understand. My goal is to learn as much as possible, to try to understand, to hear the perspective of someone else. Travel can be particularly illuminating about one's own country and culture. Suddenly things that seemed normal appear bizarre. Why do Americans eat so much processed food? It doesn't taste good. It's not good for us, farmers, animals or the environment. Not everyone eats so much of it, so why do we? Travel is illuminating for realizing our place in the global context. The immense power of being American is invisible only to Americans. Everyone else knows better than we how much power we have; economically, politically, militarily and in terms of our media.
Travel is a fantastic medium for learning and that is why I travel. Although I may have my bachelor's degree, by no means am I done learning. Study abroad will always be my mindset for travel.
On this particular day the students were learning about explorers, like Marco Polo as compared to modern-day travelers. Please appreciate that I kept my composure as a professional teacher while the students learned the word diarrhea. Yup. Diarrhea. The teacher merely explained that this was "an illness", with no specifics on the dirty details. Having traveled before and had some pretty wicked cases of traveler's diarrhea, I could barely keep from laughing out loud as the students listened to me say diarrhea and repeated it over and over and over. The classroom resounded with the word diarrhea for approximately five minutes during which the teacher and I were the only ones aware of the specifics of what they were saying. I deserve a small medal of honor for my adult-like composure.
Next the class discussed why people explored during Marco Polo's time and why people might travel now. For Marco Polo, the students discussed learning about new cultures, opening up new economic markets and spreading religion. When discussing why someone might travel today, they talked about looking for jobs, for marriage and for fun. In some ways, I felt as though the discussion did not do justice to the reasons why I travel.
I have been to various parts of Europe and the Middle East. I have traveled abroad for as little time as a week and, until now, the longest has been a college semester. The major factor that sets me apart from the travelers the students were imagining is that the vast majority of my journeys outside the USA have been on study abroad.
My very first time traveling abroad was when I was 16 and had the incredible chance to travel to France with my high school French class. For someone who loves French, (the language, the food, the history, the poetry, the people) France was like an amusement park designed just for me. The newspapers were in French, the menus were in French, entire bookstores were filled with French books and someone had even convinced the small children to speak French in high-pitched little voices. Awesome! Plus I got to see some of the most amazing museums and sights in Europe. The grammar I learned in class became meaningful and quite important. History and culture from textbooks became a lived experience. It was incredible and wanderlust seeped in the moment I stepped off the plane.
One of the major reasons that I chose St. Olaf College for my undergraduate degree was its excellence in study abroad. I had the opportunity to learn over the course of a January term and a whole semester. I wish I'd had the time and money to do more.
Study abroad is not the same as being a normal tourist. Although you may go to similar sights, you enter into the travel experience in a different frame of mind. This is not a vacation. Attempting to learn as much of the language as possible, even just enough to say please and thank you, is key as you're hoping to learn about the people and the culture. I always carried a small notebook and pen so that I could take notes during tours, at sights and even in restaurants or on the street; using my notes to inform my homework assignments, papers and projects. I wrote reflections essays in hostel rooms and had to make space for textbooks in my 50 lb suitcase. I craved to understand the language, the people and the culture. I sought to understand the similarities and the differences. Studying abroad as an Anthropology major is particularly rewarding since the field is designed around examining and seeking to understand human beings, it is full of tools to suspend judgement and find meaning.
My history as a student of study abroad means that I cannot travel without seeking to understand. My goal is to learn as much as possible, to try to understand, to hear the perspective of someone else. Travel can be particularly illuminating about one's own country and culture. Suddenly things that seemed normal appear bizarre. Why do Americans eat so much processed food? It doesn't taste good. It's not good for us, farmers, animals or the environment. Not everyone eats so much of it, so why do we? Travel is illuminating for realizing our place in the global context. The immense power of being American is invisible only to Americans. Everyone else knows better than we how much power we have; economically, politically, militarily and in terms of our media.
Travel is a fantastic medium for learning and that is why I travel. Although I may have my bachelor's degree, by no means am I done learning. Study abroad will always be my mindset for travel.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
If there won't be dancing at the revolution, I'm not coming
The other day I went through Qalandia; a large checkpoint between Jerusalem and Ramallah that is infamous for its long waits and demonstrations. Perhaps what makes checkpoints particularly annoying is that you never know how long it will take to go through. Sometimes one sails through in less than 10 minutes but at other times it can take hours and hours to get through. You never know on any specific day what to expect. Checkpoints close spontaneously;
blocking access from one side to the other unless one is willing and
able to go all the way around to another checkpoint. Closures come without warning of time or location, adding to the frustration.
On this particular day, there was a long wait at Qalandia. For some reason, they were not having individuals get out of the buses to walk through the checkpoint on foot, rather they had everyone stay on the buses and checked all passports on the buses. I'm not sure if this was the cause of the delay or if it was merely a busy time of day to pass through. In any case, we sat at Qalandia for nearly an hour as our bus made its way through the checkpoint.
From what I have seen so far, the primary purpose of checkpoints is a symbolic one. They are intended to intimidate and frustrate those needing to pass through. They stand as a reminder of who wields military might in this country; a reminder that this might has the power to dictate geography. For those without this power a checkpoint is a place of submission, delay and annoyance. Checkpoints can be a place where one's plans might be thwarted or delayed just because they can be. It is no wonder they are often the sites of frustration and demonstration.
As I sat in the bus waiting, I looked over to a bus nearby that was literally rocking in place. A glance inside the bus made the source of the commotion clear; the bus was filled with older women all smiling, singing, dancing and clapping. I watched them on and off for the half hour or so that our buses were stationary beside one another. The singing, dancing and clapping continued throughout the time. These women were clearly enjoying this spare, and quite unexpected, waiting time by having a dance party. When it finally came their turn for a soldier to board the bus and check their passports, they continued to clap and sing until the soldier quieted them down.
In this place designed to impose military might, these women refused to be broken. They chose to dance and clap instead. That is resistance, and such a polite revolution too! This was not the type of event which would make headlines or even draw the attention of the soldiers, but it is the most important kind of resistance. These women showed that while they submitted in theory to the system, they refused to be broken by it. Rather than allowing the checkpoint to frustrate and annoy per its intent, they would use the opportunity to enjoy each other's company and have some fun. My Anthropology professor once quoted Emma Goldman saying, "if there won't be dancing at the revolution, I'm not coming". Sometimes the dancing itself is the revolution. These are the stories I want to tell of this place: stories of joyful and unconquerable souls.
On this particular day, there was a long wait at Qalandia. For some reason, they were not having individuals get out of the buses to walk through the checkpoint on foot, rather they had everyone stay on the buses and checked all passports on the buses. I'm not sure if this was the cause of the delay or if it was merely a busy time of day to pass through. In any case, we sat at Qalandia for nearly an hour as our bus made its way through the checkpoint.
From what I have seen so far, the primary purpose of checkpoints is a symbolic one. They are intended to intimidate and frustrate those needing to pass through. They stand as a reminder of who wields military might in this country; a reminder that this might has the power to dictate geography. For those without this power a checkpoint is a place of submission, delay and annoyance. Checkpoints can be a place where one's plans might be thwarted or delayed just because they can be. It is no wonder they are often the sites of frustration and demonstration.
As I sat in the bus waiting, I looked over to a bus nearby that was literally rocking in place. A glance inside the bus made the source of the commotion clear; the bus was filled with older women all smiling, singing, dancing and clapping. I watched them on and off for the half hour or so that our buses were stationary beside one another. The singing, dancing and clapping continued throughout the time. These women were clearly enjoying this spare, and quite unexpected, waiting time by having a dance party. When it finally came their turn for a soldier to board the bus and check their passports, they continued to clap and sing until the soldier quieted them down.
In this place designed to impose military might, these women refused to be broken. They chose to dance and clap instead. That is resistance, and such a polite revolution too! This was not the type of event which would make headlines or even draw the attention of the soldiers, but it is the most important kind of resistance. These women showed that while they submitted in theory to the system, they refused to be broken by it. Rather than allowing the checkpoint to frustrate and annoy per its intent, they would use the opportunity to enjoy each other's company and have some fun. My Anthropology professor once quoted Emma Goldman saying, "if there won't be dancing at the revolution, I'm not coming". Sometimes the dancing itself is the revolution. These are the stories I want to tell of this place: stories of joyful and unconquerable souls.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
"We have one goal, one, one: to be"
Last night was a historic moment for the world. President Mahmoud Abbas delivered a bid for UN recognition of a Palestinian State. He, Benjamin Netanyahu and various representatives from countries all over the world delivered speeches to the General Assembly.
I wanted to reprint here one section of President Mahmoud Abbas' speech:
"At a time when the Arab peoples affirm their quest for democracy - the Arab Spring - the time is now for the Palestinian Spring, the time for independence.
The time has come for our men, women and children to live normal lives, for them to be able to sleep without waiting for the worst that the next day will bring; for mothers to be assured that their children will return home without fear of suffering killing, arrest or humiliation; for students to be able to go to their schools and universities without checkpoints obstructing them. The time has come for sick people to be able to reach hospitals normally, and for our farmers to be able to take care of their good land without fear of the occupation seizing the land and its water, which the wall prevents access to, or fear of the settlers, for whom settlements are being built on our land and who are uprooting and burning the olive trees that have existed for hundreds of years. The time has come for the thousands of prisoners to be released from the prisons to return to their families and their children to become a part of building their homeland, for the freedom of which they have sacrificed.
My people desire to exercise their right to enjoy a normal life like the rest of humanity. They believe what the great poet Mahmoud Darwish said: Standing here, staying here, permanent here, eternal here, and we have one goal, one, one: to be."
While there are a wide range of opinions on every side of the conflict about what should be done in the UN and the wider conflict, I think that President Abbas reflected a desire that I have heard in conversations with individuals here. The people I have talked to just want to live normal lives. They want to go to good schools, get university degrees, find meaningful careers with gainful job opportunities, fall in love, get married and have families.
As a permanent Security Council Member, the United States holds veto power and can single-handedly decide to veto recognition of the Palestinian state. As Americans we are deeply involved in world politics and it is our responsibility to be aware of what is going on in the world. A few days ago, ELCA Bishop Hanson wrote a public letter to President Barack Obama on the topic:
September 19, 2011
The President The White House Washington, DC 20500
Dear Mr. President,
I write to you as a Christian leader committed to seeking a just peace for Israelis and Palestinians. Our Church’s relationship with our Christian companions in the region provides me with a constant and troubling awareness of the daily suffering that persists because of the failure to resolve the conflict.
At this important juncture, the U.S. has a new opportunity to demonstrate its support for self- determination and freedom by not standing in the way of the Palestinian application for admission as a Member State of the United Nations.
The objective of the initiative at the United Nations is to achieve a two-state solution, an objective we share with your administration. We agree with your statement to the UN last year that those who seek such a solution “... should reach for what's best within ourselves. If we do, when we come back here next year, we can have an agreement that will lead to a new member of the United Nations -- an independent, sovereign state of Palestine, living in peace with Israel.” Even so, in the absence of direct negotiations, it is reasonable that the Palestinians and others are turning to the international forum of the UN in an effort to finally realize the goal of an independent Palestinian state.
It is my hope the U.S. will act in its own best interest as well as the interest of all people in the region by not blocking the initiative to admit Palestine as a Member State of the United Nations.
Thank you for your consideration. My prayers are with you and all who work for a just, lasting and comprehensive peace.
In God’s grace,
The Rev. Mark S. Hanson
Presiding Bishop
Evangelical Lutheran Church in America
May we all work for a just peace throughout the world.
I wanted to reprint here one section of President Mahmoud Abbas' speech:
"At a time when the Arab peoples affirm their quest for democracy - the Arab Spring - the time is now for the Palestinian Spring, the time for independence.
The time has come for our men, women and children to live normal lives, for them to be able to sleep without waiting for the worst that the next day will bring; for mothers to be assured that their children will return home without fear of suffering killing, arrest or humiliation; for students to be able to go to their schools and universities without checkpoints obstructing them. The time has come for sick people to be able to reach hospitals normally, and for our farmers to be able to take care of their good land without fear of the occupation seizing the land and its water, which the wall prevents access to, or fear of the settlers, for whom settlements are being built on our land and who are uprooting and burning the olive trees that have existed for hundreds of years. The time has come for the thousands of prisoners to be released from the prisons to return to their families and their children to become a part of building their homeland, for the freedom of which they have sacrificed.
My people desire to exercise their right to enjoy a normal life like the rest of humanity. They believe what the great poet Mahmoud Darwish said: Standing here, staying here, permanent here, eternal here, and we have one goal, one, one: to be."
While there are a wide range of opinions on every side of the conflict about what should be done in the UN and the wider conflict, I think that President Abbas reflected a desire that I have heard in conversations with individuals here. The people I have talked to just want to live normal lives. They want to go to good schools, get university degrees, find meaningful careers with gainful job opportunities, fall in love, get married and have families.
As a permanent Security Council Member, the United States holds veto power and can single-handedly decide to veto recognition of the Palestinian state. As Americans we are deeply involved in world politics and it is our responsibility to be aware of what is going on in the world. A few days ago, ELCA Bishop Hanson wrote a public letter to President Barack Obama on the topic:
September 19, 2011
The President The White House Washington, DC 20500
Dear Mr. President,
I write to you as a Christian leader committed to seeking a just peace for Israelis and Palestinians. Our Church’s relationship with our Christian companions in the region provides me with a constant and troubling awareness of the daily suffering that persists because of the failure to resolve the conflict.
At this important juncture, the U.S. has a new opportunity to demonstrate its support for self- determination and freedom by not standing in the way of the Palestinian application for admission as a Member State of the United Nations.
The objective of the initiative at the United Nations is to achieve a two-state solution, an objective we share with your administration. We agree with your statement to the UN last year that those who seek such a solution “... should reach for what's best within ourselves. If we do, when we come back here next year, we can have an agreement that will lead to a new member of the United Nations -- an independent, sovereign state of Palestine, living in peace with Israel.” Even so, in the absence of direct negotiations, it is reasonable that the Palestinians and others are turning to the international forum of the UN in an effort to finally realize the goal of an independent Palestinian state.
It is my hope the U.S. will act in its own best interest as well as the interest of all people in the region by not blocking the initiative to admit Palestine as a Member State of the United Nations.
Thank you for your consideration. My prayers are with you and all who work for a just, lasting and comprehensive peace.
In God’s grace,
The Rev. Mark S. Hanson
Presiding Bishop
Evangelical Lutheran Church in America
May we all work for a just peace throughout the world.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
A country is not only what it does. It is also what it tolerates.
During our in-country orientation, our group had the opportunity to visit some sites throughout Jerusalem, including one afternoon at Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Jerusalem.
Yad Vashem is like many other Holocaust Memorial Museums I have visited in that it tells the story of the Holocaust through videos, eye-witness accounts, stories, public records, private records, pictures and artifacts. Like other memorials, there is a replica of the gate into Auschwitz concentration camp with the haunting fallacy "Arbeit macht frei" (work makes free) written on it, and images of the horrific atrocities that occurred during the Holocaust.
No group of people, no one, should be systematically hunted down, tortured and murder. Ever. Honestly, these things should not even be done haphazardly. The fact that mass genocides still occur in our world is hideous and shameful. Going to this museum helped me to understand the deep longing of the Jewish people for a homeland free from persecution and systematic destruction.
There is a quotation at Yad Vashem which reads, "A country is not only what it does. It is also what it tolerates." What a haunting sentiment. This quotation reminds us that although the Nazi regime took over Germany and enacted the racist policies which destroyed so many lives, any country which stands by in the midst of such destruction is likewise culpable.
Yad Vashem is not the only place in this country where you can find this quotation.
The implication of the quotation in this location is that there are still things going on which should neither be done nor tolerated. The horrors of the Holocaust are real and terrible; the pain of this atrocity lingers. Unfortunately, the end of the Holocaust was not the end of injustice, racism and pain.
Yad Vashem is like many other Holocaust Memorial Museums I have visited in that it tells the story of the Holocaust through videos, eye-witness accounts, stories, public records, private records, pictures and artifacts. Like other memorials, there is a replica of the gate into Auschwitz concentration camp with the haunting fallacy "Arbeit macht frei" (work makes free) written on it, and images of the horrific atrocities that occurred during the Holocaust.
No group of people, no one, should be systematically hunted down, tortured and murder. Ever. Honestly, these things should not even be done haphazardly. The fact that mass genocides still occur in our world is hideous and shameful. Going to this museum helped me to understand the deep longing of the Jewish people for a homeland free from persecution and systematic destruction.
There is a quotation at Yad Vashem which reads, "A country is not only what it does. It is also what it tolerates." What a haunting sentiment. This quotation reminds us that although the Nazi regime took over Germany and enacted the racist policies which destroyed so many lives, any country which stands by in the midst of such destruction is likewise culpable.
Yad Vashem is not the only place in this country where you can find this quotation.
 |
| The quotation, "A country is not only what id does. It is also what it tolerates" written on the Wall near Bethlehem. |
Thursday, September 15, 2011
"Miss Sara..."
Today I had my first full day of work at the school! As far as I can tell now, I will be doing a lot of different things throughout each day, depending on where and when teachers needs some help. Today started with a tour of the school.
The school was founded in 1965 and is part of the Lutheran Church. It sounds as though there are about 450 students at the school. Four percent of the students are Lutheran and about 70% are Muslim. All grades except for the kindergarten are together in a three-story building right next to the Lutheran Church in town. School is from 8am until 2:20pm with extra-curricular activities, such as music and sports, right after school. One things that is strange for me is that there isn't really a designated lunch time like I would expect in the US. Students have 8 class periods throughout the day with a 30 minute break at 10am and a 15 minute break at noon.
Today I helped the kindergarteners learn to write the letter A in English. I very, very quickly learned that I need to learn Arabic. As soon as possible. Actually I need to learn it sooner than possible, but that's... not possible... The kindergartens simultaneously found me hilarious and rather confusing. I tried to help them but the only Arabic I know that is useful for this particular situation is "here" ("hon"), large ("kbir"), dot ("nota"), "let's go" ("yallah"), yes ("na'am"), no ("la'") and "small" (zgreer). So I would just talk at them in English with much pointing, gesticulating and "hon"-ing... in return they would talk at me in Arabic with confused faces or giggles. They would call out, "Miss Sara, Miss Sara" across the classroom so I'd come over and then they'd talk at me in Arabic. At which point I would smile, nod, point at their paper and say "yallah". Needless to say, the kids were very confused about this strange adult who speaks gibberish (aka English) fluently but doesn't understand Arabic. At one point a little girl came up to me with an upset look on her face, pointed at her half-finished paper and said a bunch of Arabic. I saw that she had done a good job on her letters so I said "montez" (excellent). She looked at me like I was crazy. Turns out she was telling me she was tired and didn't want to finish the exercise. Whoops. On the plus side, the kids are stinking adorable. At first they were really shy about me. The teacher had them say, "Meye naayme isss ______" (aka my name is_____). They were really excited when I understood what they said.
I also got to help with the Christian religion class for 1st grade and 8th grade. Everyone takes a religion class each year based on their own religion. There aren't very many Christians at the school so these were small classes, 5 first graders and 7 eighth graders. The Christian religion teacher is awesome! She makes the classes really fun with songs, stories and a relaxed feeling to the class. That being said, it is a very serious class. The students must memorize long passages from the Bible, learn biblical history and understand age-appropriate aspects of Christian theology. The teacher was very surprised when I told her that it is forbidden to teach religion in most schools back home. She said it is sad that this must be the reason that Americans aren't very religious. I didn't really know how to explain to her about the separation of church and state or the idea that freedom of religion within a pluralist system means that one is free to chose to abstain from religion altogether. I don't know if these ideas would make sense to her or just seem ridiculous. I suppose here students have freedom to learn about their chosen religion in school and in the US students have the freedom to not choose any religion at all. I won't pretend to have any idea which system is better.
Kids are kids everywhere! Three quarters of the first graders I met were missing their front two teeth, just as they should be. The 8th graders I met loved to crack jokes but were a little shy about singing in front the new teacher (that would be me) in class. One of the kindergartens was something of a terror, teasing the other kids, stealing their pencils and generally making teaching letters very difficult. I can't say as I really blame him; learning to write the letter A isn't nearly as exciting as making the kid next to you mad or writing on the chalkboard.
I am extremely grateful for the hospitality I received on my first day at the school. I was offered countless cups of tea, cookies, biscuits, dates and other fruits. One very kind teacher said I looked hungry and handed me her apple. I tried to say, "no, no I'm okay" but she positively insisted I eat it. After I finished the apple she left the room and came back with an entire boxed lunch from a meeting the principal had, handing it to me with a, "eat this! It's delicious!". I was overwhelmed and honored by her graciousness and it was absolutely delicious!
Teachers and students alike were happy to meet me and told me they hoped I would like their school. Many teachers remembered previous YAGM fondly, saying they were high-achieving, helpful and quick to learn Arabic. I certainly hope that I will be likewise!
All in all, my first full day was a bit overwhelming, but full of kindness and generosity! I'm very thankful for such a strong start!
The school was founded in 1965 and is part of the Lutheran Church. It sounds as though there are about 450 students at the school. Four percent of the students are Lutheran and about 70% are Muslim. All grades except for the kindergarten are together in a three-story building right next to the Lutheran Church in town. School is from 8am until 2:20pm with extra-curricular activities, such as music and sports, right after school. One things that is strange for me is that there isn't really a designated lunch time like I would expect in the US. Students have 8 class periods throughout the day with a 30 minute break at 10am and a 15 minute break at noon.
Today I helped the kindergarteners learn to write the letter A in English. I very, very quickly learned that I need to learn Arabic. As soon as possible. Actually I need to learn it sooner than possible, but that's... not possible... The kindergartens simultaneously found me hilarious and rather confusing. I tried to help them but the only Arabic I know that is useful for this particular situation is "here" ("hon"), large ("kbir"), dot ("nota"), "let's go" ("yallah"), yes ("na'am"), no ("la'") and "small" (zgreer). So I would just talk at them in English with much pointing, gesticulating and "hon"-ing... in return they would talk at me in Arabic with confused faces or giggles. They would call out, "Miss Sara, Miss Sara" across the classroom so I'd come over and then they'd talk at me in Arabic. At which point I would smile, nod, point at their paper and say "yallah". Needless to say, the kids were very confused about this strange adult who speaks gibberish (aka English) fluently but doesn't understand Arabic. At one point a little girl came up to me with an upset look on her face, pointed at her half-finished paper and said a bunch of Arabic. I saw that she had done a good job on her letters so I said "montez" (excellent). She looked at me like I was crazy. Turns out she was telling me she was tired and didn't want to finish the exercise. Whoops. On the plus side, the kids are stinking adorable. At first they were really shy about me. The teacher had them say, "Meye naayme isss ______" (aka my name is_____). They were really excited when I understood what they said.
I also got to help with the Christian religion class for 1st grade and 8th grade. Everyone takes a religion class each year based on their own religion. There aren't very many Christians at the school so these were small classes, 5 first graders and 7 eighth graders. The Christian religion teacher is awesome! She makes the classes really fun with songs, stories and a relaxed feeling to the class. That being said, it is a very serious class. The students must memorize long passages from the Bible, learn biblical history and understand age-appropriate aspects of Christian theology. The teacher was very surprised when I told her that it is forbidden to teach religion in most schools back home. She said it is sad that this must be the reason that Americans aren't very religious. I didn't really know how to explain to her about the separation of church and state or the idea that freedom of religion within a pluralist system means that one is free to chose to abstain from religion altogether. I don't know if these ideas would make sense to her or just seem ridiculous. I suppose here students have freedom to learn about their chosen religion in school and in the US students have the freedom to not choose any religion at all. I won't pretend to have any idea which system is better.
Kids are kids everywhere! Three quarters of the first graders I met were missing their front two teeth, just as they should be. The 8th graders I met loved to crack jokes but were a little shy about singing in front the new teacher (that would be me) in class. One of the kindergartens was something of a terror, teasing the other kids, stealing their pencils and generally making teaching letters very difficult. I can't say as I really blame him; learning to write the letter A isn't nearly as exciting as making the kid next to you mad or writing on the chalkboard.
I am extremely grateful for the hospitality I received on my first day at the school. I was offered countless cups of tea, cookies, biscuits, dates and other fruits. One very kind teacher said I looked hungry and handed me her apple. I tried to say, "no, no I'm okay" but she positively insisted I eat it. After I finished the apple she left the room and came back with an entire boxed lunch from a meeting the principal had, handing it to me with a, "eat this! It's delicious!". I was overwhelmed and honored by her graciousness and it was absolutely delicious!
Teachers and students alike were happy to meet me and told me they hoped I would like their school. Many teachers remembered previous YAGM fondly, saying they were high-achieving, helpful and quick to learn Arabic. I certainly hope that I will be likewise!
All in all, my first full day was a bit overwhelming, but full of kindness and generosity! I'm very thankful for such a strong start!
"Ah yes, Sara, we have this name too..."
Those readers who followed my journey on a study abroad trip in the middle east two years ago may remember that I learned on that trip that although names like Kirsten, Annika and Shannon are nearly impossible for Middle Easterners to pronounce, my name has currency in Turkish, Arabic and even Ancient Egyptian. Turns out there is a heiroglyph for Sara, meaning daughter of the God Rah. Pretty awesome right? On that trip, I was told over and over, "ah yes, Sara (pronounced Sah-rah, with a flipped r), we have this name too".
Well it turns out that this remains true in Israel/Palestine. Sharing a name with the matriarch of Christianity, Judaism and Islam is pretty useful because it means that many people understand my name. While Palestinians here struggle with my friend Courtney's name (Courrrrrrttt-ney, Corney or Corty) and remark at how exotic is Alma's name, they recognize my name as one of their own. There are three kindergartner's named Sara in my class and everyone I know, knows a Sara.
My Arabic tutor, Muhammad, told me that traditional Arabic names for women always end in the tah marbuta, a special letter making the "ah" sound that is only used at the end of words. The addition of the tah marbuta at the end makes a masculine adjective feminine and makes some plural nouns singular. Some examples of traditional Arabic women's names ending in the tah marbuta are Fatima, Aisha and, of course, Sara. Plus the tah marbuta in connection with the rah coming before it in my name, makes a cute little smiley face in Arabic script:
I love the way Sara rolls of the Arabic-speaker's tongue; a soft S, a wistful "ahh", a flipped r and a short little ah to finish it up. Sometimes Arabic speakers will say my name the way Americans do, "Seh-rah", but I actually prefer when they say it the proper Arabic way, "Sah-rah".
I like that my name is a common name, both here and back home. In the US it makes me feel very much a part of my generation; I have a certain affinity for all Sara and Sarah's alike. Here I feel connected to Arabic-speakers when I meet someone and my name is met with a look of recognition, "Sara, it's an Arabic name". My name reminds them of people they know and folds me into their stories, whether familial, Biblical, Talmudic or Islamic.
Like Sarai turned Sarah, I too am traveling into new lands in the Middle East and am eager to find a place for myself here. Having a recognizable name makes me feel more a part of this place where I so often feel like the foreigner I am. Thank you again Dad and Mom, for naming me Sara!! I'm sure you didn't guess when you named me that it would come in handy when I decided to come to the Middle East. :-)
Well it turns out that this remains true in Israel/Palestine. Sharing a name with the matriarch of Christianity, Judaism and Islam is pretty useful because it means that many people understand my name. While Palestinians here struggle with my friend Courtney's name (Courrrrrrttt-ney, Corney or Corty) and remark at how exotic is Alma's name, they recognize my name as one of their own. There are three kindergartner's named Sara in my class and everyone I know, knows a Sara.
My Arabic tutor, Muhammad, told me that traditional Arabic names for women always end in the tah marbuta, a special letter making the "ah" sound that is only used at the end of words. The addition of the tah marbuta at the end makes a masculine adjective feminine and makes some plural nouns singular. Some examples of traditional Arabic women's names ending in the tah marbuta are Fatima, Aisha and, of course, Sara. Plus the tah marbuta in connection with the rah coming before it in my name, makes a cute little smiley face in Arabic script:
سارة
I love the way Sara rolls of the Arabic-speaker's tongue; a soft S, a wistful "ahh", a flipped r and a short little ah to finish it up. Sometimes Arabic speakers will say my name the way Americans do, "Seh-rah", but I actually prefer when they say it the proper Arabic way, "Sah-rah".
 |
| "Sara" in Arabic, written by my guide in the Sahara Desert in Morocco. |
Like Sarai turned Sarah, I too am traveling into new lands in the Middle East and am eager to find a place for myself here. Having a recognizable name makes me feel more a part of this place where I so often feel like the foreigner I am. Thank you again Dad and Mom, for naming me Sara!! I'm sure you didn't guess when you named me that it would come in handy when I decided to come to the Middle East. :-)
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Reflection on the Church of the Holy Sepulcher
PHEW! We had a huge day today. We had a 7 hour tour of the Old City of
Jerusalem and we saw soooo much, it was amazing! We saw the Dome of the
Rock, the Western Wall, the entire Via Dolorosa (aka the stations of the Cross), the Church of
the Holy Sepulcher, St. Anne's church (where the Virgin Mary was born) and the old roman parts of the
old city. I'm a bit sunburned and quite tired but so happy to have seen so much of this city!!
Our group in front of the Dome of the Rock
I was particularly struck by the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. This church hosts the last station of the cross including the Golgotha and Jesus' tomb. It is truly an ecumenical site shared by many different types of Christian denominations including Catholic, Protestants, Orthodox and many more. You can stand in line to touch the rock on which Jesus was crucified, you can even go down a level and see the crack left in the rock from the Earthquake that happened when Jesus died. To be honest, I was having trouble feeling all the devout in this area. I know that it is often a moving site, but there is so much contention about whether this is the exact spot, the exact rock, the exact tomb that it really didn't feel all that holy to me.
The exact spot where Jesus died is controlled mostly by the Greek Orthodox so the spot is extremely ornate and decorated with gold and silver, tons of beads and kiss prints left over from devout veneration. As I stood in line waiting for my turn to touch the rock, I wondered to myself what I would do when I got in there... I wasn't feeling all that devout. Not being Catholic, the stations of the cross weren't all the meaningful to me because I didn't grow up thinking about Jesus falling for the second time on his way to being crucified.
I noticed two nuns, I'm not sure where they were from, who were deeply moved by the experience of being close to the spot where Jesus died. The spot where you stick your hand into the glass and touch the rock is like a small cube, close to the ground such that that one must crawl into the space on one's knees. These women took it a step further and got down on there knees to prostrate before going into the small space. They kissed the icon before the opening in the glass and kissed the glass, just for good measure. They were teary-eyed as they emerged and it warmed my heart. For them, this was an incredibly meaningful moment. They felt close to something deep and important and their emotion made the site more meaningful to me. Even if I, personally, was not feeling much devotion or faith about this site, these people were. Furthermore, I'm connected to them and their devotion by our share belief in the basics of Christianity. I suddenly felt very connected to all the pilgrims throughout time who have worked hard to come to this place to honor their religion.
A line of people (to the right) waiting to venerate the spot on Golgotha where Jesus was crucified. You can see one pilgrim on his knees in the spot where you can touch the rock. On the left is a nun honoring the site.
Later, our guide was telling us about the site from an archeological and academic point of view. Apparently there are two widely recognized possible sites for Jesus' crucifixion; one of them is the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the other is called the Garden Tomb. More recently a third potential site has been found and there was a lot of news press about whether this new site might be the real site of Jesus' crucifixion. Apparently a news organization interviewed the Bishop of the ELCJHL and asked him what he thought of the new site, was it the correct site or is the Sepulcher the correct site?
The Bishop responded that it doesn't matter which tomb is correct, the point is that the tomb is empty. Additionally, each language has a different name for the Church of the Holy Sepulcher but all of them focus on the idea that this is the location of Jesus' tomb. That is, all of the except for the Arabic name. In Arabic the church is called the Church of the Resurrection. It doesn't matter which tomb is correct, as long as it was empty.
Our group in front of the Dome of the Rock
I was particularly struck by the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. This church hosts the last station of the cross including the Golgotha and Jesus' tomb. It is truly an ecumenical site shared by many different types of Christian denominations including Catholic, Protestants, Orthodox and many more. You can stand in line to touch the rock on which Jesus was crucified, you can even go down a level and see the crack left in the rock from the Earthquake that happened when Jesus died. To be honest, I was having trouble feeling all the devout in this area. I know that it is often a moving site, but there is so much contention about whether this is the exact spot, the exact rock, the exact tomb that it really didn't feel all that holy to me.
The exact spot where Jesus died is controlled mostly by the Greek Orthodox so the spot is extremely ornate and decorated with gold and silver, tons of beads and kiss prints left over from devout veneration. As I stood in line waiting for my turn to touch the rock, I wondered to myself what I would do when I got in there... I wasn't feeling all that devout. Not being Catholic, the stations of the cross weren't all the meaningful to me because I didn't grow up thinking about Jesus falling for the second time on his way to being crucified.
I noticed two nuns, I'm not sure where they were from, who were deeply moved by the experience of being close to the spot where Jesus died. The spot where you stick your hand into the glass and touch the rock is like a small cube, close to the ground such that that one must crawl into the space on one's knees. These women took it a step further and got down on there knees to prostrate before going into the small space. They kissed the icon before the opening in the glass and kissed the glass, just for good measure. They were teary-eyed as they emerged and it warmed my heart. For them, this was an incredibly meaningful moment. They felt close to something deep and important and their emotion made the site more meaningful to me. Even if I, personally, was not feeling much devotion or faith about this site, these people were. Furthermore, I'm connected to them and their devotion by our share belief in the basics of Christianity. I suddenly felt very connected to all the pilgrims throughout time who have worked hard to come to this place to honor their religion.
Later, our guide was telling us about the site from an archeological and academic point of view. Apparently there are two widely recognized possible sites for Jesus' crucifixion; one of them is the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the other is called the Garden Tomb. More recently a third potential site has been found and there was a lot of news press about whether this new site might be the real site of Jesus' crucifixion. Apparently a news organization interviewed the Bishop of the ELCJHL and asked him what he thought of the new site, was it the correct site or is the Sepulcher the correct site?
The Bishop responded that it doesn't matter which tomb is correct, the point is that the tomb is empty. Additionally, each language has a different name for the Church of the Holy Sepulcher but all of them focus on the idea that this is the location of Jesus' tomb. That is, all of the except for the Arabic name. In Arabic the church is called the Church of the Resurrection. It doesn't matter which tomb is correct, as long as it was empty.
Friday, September 9, 2011
First Impressions of a New Land
It has been a whirlwind first 5 days in country! Our supervisors have kept us very busy this week with Arabic lessons, meetings, visiting Yad Vashem , lessons in using public transportation, learning about refugees, meeting conflict resolution organizations and various other forms of orientation. In the midst of so much business and busy-ness, my initial reactions are hard to describe.
The land itself is beautiful; full of dusty, reddish-brown hills covered in cream-colored, airy buildings. The dome of the rock is a beautiful and striking feature on the Jerusalem skyline; one of many, many holy spaces that fill this land. The sunsets are fiery and red, emanating a glow over the city. The sun is hot, but the breeze is refreshing. Today was the first day during which there was a single cloud in the sky. I come back to our flat with dusty feet and a sweaty brow but it is satisfying to gradually learn the land by walking it.
The people are welcoming and kind. Our host families seem eager to include us in their lives, which is an honor and a relief. Last night I was invited up for tea and cookies. At first it was just another volunteer, her host mother, little brother and I, but gradually the flat began to fill up as more and more family members appeared and greeted us. The volume and warmth in the flat grew as tea, stories and laughter were shared. Our host mother was careful to explain each joke to us and to have new family members introduce themselves. Even when the conversation was all in Arabic and far above my head, it was wonderful to feel the dancing warmth of sharing in a vibrant community.
Speaking of communities, there is a thriving ex-pat community of ELCA and like-minded individuals who meet for fellowship, potlucks and volleyball on Wednesdays. It was a joy to be welcomed into this community on Wednesday. Already, these people feel familiar and comforting; literally inviting us into their homes and lives. The house where we meet is beautiful and warm. It already feels like a place where I can comfortably be without worrying about all the doing that needs to happen, enjoying the support of this community.
There is an underlying tightness in this place due to the conflict. Sometimes the tension is explicit, but most of the time it sits just below the surface, where I can feel it but don't know quite what to make of it yet. Many things about this land do not make sense, often because they are part of this conflict.
That being said, human beings are resilient! In spite of tension, conflict, oppression, occupation, misunderstanding and pain, human beings continue to grow, live, love, have families, learn and laugh. I am impressed with the strength of these people and I hope to learn from them for a while in this place.
I do not yet have a steady source of internet access, so again, hold tight and be in peace!
Sara
The land itself is beautiful; full of dusty, reddish-brown hills covered in cream-colored, airy buildings. The dome of the rock is a beautiful and striking feature on the Jerusalem skyline; one of many, many holy spaces that fill this land. The sunsets are fiery and red, emanating a glow over the city. The sun is hot, but the breeze is refreshing. Today was the first day during which there was a single cloud in the sky. I come back to our flat with dusty feet and a sweaty brow but it is satisfying to gradually learn the land by walking it.
The people are welcoming and kind. Our host families seem eager to include us in their lives, which is an honor and a relief. Last night I was invited up for tea and cookies. At first it was just another volunteer, her host mother, little brother and I, but gradually the flat began to fill up as more and more family members appeared and greeted us. The volume and warmth in the flat grew as tea, stories and laughter were shared. Our host mother was careful to explain each joke to us and to have new family members introduce themselves. Even when the conversation was all in Arabic and far above my head, it was wonderful to feel the dancing warmth of sharing in a vibrant community.
Speaking of communities, there is a thriving ex-pat community of ELCA and like-minded individuals who meet for fellowship, potlucks and volleyball on Wednesdays. It was a joy to be welcomed into this community on Wednesday. Already, these people feel familiar and comforting; literally inviting us into their homes and lives. The house where we meet is beautiful and warm. It already feels like a place where I can comfortably be without worrying about all the doing that needs to happen, enjoying the support of this community.
There is an underlying tightness in this place due to the conflict. Sometimes the tension is explicit, but most of the time it sits just below the surface, where I can feel it but don't know quite what to make of it yet. Many things about this land do not make sense, often because they are part of this conflict.
That being said, human beings are resilient! In spite of tension, conflict, oppression, occupation, misunderstanding and pain, human beings continue to grow, live, love, have families, learn and laugh. I am impressed with the strength of these people and I hope to learn from them for a while in this place.
I do not yet have a steady source of internet access, so again, hold tight and be in peace!
Sara
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore...
After about 18 hours of travel, I have arrived in Jerusalem! After much packing, running around the guesthouse trying to find our last minute items and repeated weighings of our bags with my handy travel luggage scale, we arrived at the airport for our flight. We had a 7 hour flight to Frankfurt followed by a 3 hour flight to Tel Aviv.
Our flight from Frankfurt to Tel Aviv was full of Germans, for obvious reasons, who didn't really speak much English. Many of them seemed to be part of a group together and when we landed in Tel Aviv, they all cheered. That's when it hit me; I'm moving to Israel/Palestine for the next year. Quite suddenly this whole year became quite real. It was no longer something we were planning for or preparing to do or anything of that nature. Now it is reality. We have been preparing to get here for so long that it was emotionally overwhelming to suddenly be here. In real life, right now. My life right now is in Israel/Palestine. Particularly since our visas were delayed and our travel date kept getting pushed back, this year had started to seem somewhat unreal, but now it is real. I'm in Jerusalem. Right now!
Our group made it through passport control after some questioning and a lot of waiting around (bureaucracies are time-consuming...) and were met outside the gates by our fearless leaders Julie and Jeff! They took us in the YAGM van (affectionately named Bruno, because it's German) to Jerusalem, a drive of about an hour. The landscape was definitely an arid desert. The sun was shining in a bright blue sky, olive trees dotted fields that looked like the only thing missing were some sheep or goats. One of our first sites upon entering Jerusalem was the Dome of the Rock. Yup, it's a real thing, I saw it. Only from afar of course, but I'm hoping to see it closer up at some point soon!
We were whisked off to the Mount of Olives where we freshened up a bit before heading to the home of some ELCA folks nearby for our very first Mount of Olives volleyball game. You see, there is a potluck and volleyball game at the Mount of Olives every Wednesday for the ELCJHL/ELCA community and friends, so this was our chance to hone our volleyball skills before the first official game on Wednesday! It was amazing and somewhat surreal to finally meet so many people that I have heard so much about, but never actually met before!
We took time after a volleyball game to watch the sunset of the Old City of Jerusalem and listen to the Call to Prayer. For me, this was a perfect way to pick up in the Middle East where I left of when I left Cairo in December 2009 because on our last night in Cairo we watched the sun set and listened to the call to prayer.
Tomorrow we start language lessons bright and early, so I had best get to sleep in order to get my body adjusted to the time change! I don't know when I'll have internet next, so hold tight and peace be with you!
Our flight from Frankfurt to Tel Aviv was full of Germans, for obvious reasons, who didn't really speak much English. Many of them seemed to be part of a group together and when we landed in Tel Aviv, they all cheered. That's when it hit me; I'm moving to Israel/Palestine for the next year. Quite suddenly this whole year became quite real. It was no longer something we were planning for or preparing to do or anything of that nature. Now it is reality. We have been preparing to get here for so long that it was emotionally overwhelming to suddenly be here. In real life, right now. My life right now is in Israel/Palestine. Particularly since our visas were delayed and our travel date kept getting pushed back, this year had started to seem somewhat unreal, but now it is real. I'm in Jerusalem. Right now!
Our group made it through passport control after some questioning and a lot of waiting around (bureaucracies are time-consuming...) and were met outside the gates by our fearless leaders Julie and Jeff! They took us in the YAGM van (affectionately named Bruno, because it's German) to Jerusalem, a drive of about an hour. The landscape was definitely an arid desert. The sun was shining in a bright blue sky, olive trees dotted fields that looked like the only thing missing were some sheep or goats. One of our first sites upon entering Jerusalem was the Dome of the Rock. Yup, it's a real thing, I saw it. Only from afar of course, but I'm hoping to see it closer up at some point soon!
We were whisked off to the Mount of Olives where we freshened up a bit before heading to the home of some ELCA folks nearby for our very first Mount of Olives volleyball game. You see, there is a potluck and volleyball game at the Mount of Olives every Wednesday for the ELCJHL/ELCA community and friends, so this was our chance to hone our volleyball skills before the first official game on Wednesday! It was amazing and somewhat surreal to finally meet so many people that I have heard so much about, but never actually met before!
We took time after a volleyball game to watch the sunset of the Old City of Jerusalem and listen to the Call to Prayer. For me, this was a perfect way to pick up in the Middle East where I left of when I left Cairo in December 2009 because on our last night in Cairo we watched the sun set and listened to the call to prayer.
Tomorrow we start language lessons bright and early, so I had best get to sleep in order to get my body adjusted to the time change! I don't know when I'll have internet next, so hold tight and peace be with you!
Friday, September 2, 2011
A Reflection on Orientation
Now that I have some chronological distance (a week and a half) from our orientation in Chicago, I'm thinking about just how awesome the experience was. All 50 YAGM lived in a dorm together and enjoyed meals, free time and many, many sessions together. We were assigned small groups led by a YAGM alum which were an amazing space to reflect, laugh and support 5 other YAGM that I might not have otherwise gotten to know as well.
My small group leader was a thoughtful, sincere and hilarious young woman who served in the UK two years ago. Our group happened to be composed of 6 women, each of us assigned to a different country. Our leader was awesome. She (seemingly) effortlessly combined serious reflection with great stories and time to discuss boys back home. Just what we needed! :-) At one point she said that during her YAGM year she came to think back on orientation as a time when Heidi and the alums gave her resources to support her throughout the year. As I reflect back on orientation, this rings true for me. Every part of the week was kind of support to build us up for the next year. Support in the form of relationships with Heidi, other current YAGM's and YAGM alum. Support in the form of tons of information and packets so that when we forget important stuff during the year we can refresh ourselves. Support in the form of worship and theology. Support in the form of inspirational quotations and poems. Like my favorite professor, the YAGM staff believe that poetry can be a force of strength and hope. I'd like to share one poem with you now! Heidi shared this poem which is based on the story of the Israelites leaving Egypt.
Passover Remembered by Alla Bozarth-Campbell
Pack nothing.
Bring only your determination to serve
and your willingness to be free.
Don't wait for the bread to rise.
Take nourishment for the journey, but eat standing.
Be ready to move at a moment's notice.
Do not hesitate to leave your old ways behind-
fear, silence, submission.
Only surrender to the need of the time-
love justice and walk humbly with your God.
Do not take time to explain to the neighbours.
Tell only a few trusted friends and family members.
Then begin quickly, before you have had time
to sink back into old slavery.
Set out in the dark.
I will send fire to warm and encourage you.
I will be with you in the fire, and I will be with you in the cloud.
You will learn to eat new foods
and find refuge in new places.
I will give you dreams in the desert
to guide you safely to that place you have not yer seen.
The stories you tell one another around the fires in the dark
will make you strong and wise.
Outsiders will attack you, and some follow you
and at times you will get weary and turn on each other
from fear, fatigue and blind forgetfulness.
You have been preparing for this
for hundreds of years.
I am sending you in the wilderness to make a new way
and to learn my ways more deeply.
Some of you will be so changed by weathers and wanderings
that even your closest friends will have to learn your features
as though for the first time.
Some of you will not change at all.
Some will be abandoned by your dearest loves
and misunderstood by those who have known you since birth
who feel abandoned by you.
Some will find new friendships in unlikely faces,
and old true friends as faithful and true
as the pillar of God's flame.
Sing songs as you go
and hold close together.
you may at times grow confused
and lose your way.
Continue to call each other by the names I've given you
to help remember who you are.
Touch each other,
and keep telling the stories.
Make maps as you go,
remembering the way back from before you were born.
So you will be only the first of many waves
of deliverance on the desert seas.
It is the first of many beginnings-
Your Paschaltide.
Remain true to the mystery.
Pass on the whole story.
Do not go back.
I am with you now and I am waiting for you.
My small group leader was a thoughtful, sincere and hilarious young woman who served in the UK two years ago. Our group happened to be composed of 6 women, each of us assigned to a different country. Our leader was awesome. She (seemingly) effortlessly combined serious reflection with great stories and time to discuss boys back home. Just what we needed! :-) At one point she said that during her YAGM year she came to think back on orientation as a time when Heidi and the alums gave her resources to support her throughout the year. As I reflect back on orientation, this rings true for me. Every part of the week was kind of support to build us up for the next year. Support in the form of relationships with Heidi, other current YAGM's and YAGM alum. Support in the form of tons of information and packets so that when we forget important stuff during the year we can refresh ourselves. Support in the form of worship and theology. Support in the form of inspirational quotations and poems. Like my favorite professor, the YAGM staff believe that poetry can be a force of strength and hope. I'd like to share one poem with you now! Heidi shared this poem which is based on the story of the Israelites leaving Egypt.
Passover Remembered by Alla Bozarth-Campbell
Pack nothing.
Bring only your determination to serve
and your willingness to be free.
Don't wait for the bread to rise.
Take nourishment for the journey, but eat standing.
Be ready to move at a moment's notice.
Do not hesitate to leave your old ways behind-
fear, silence, submission.
Only surrender to the need of the time-
love justice and walk humbly with your God.
Do not take time to explain to the neighbours.
Tell only a few trusted friends and family members.
Then begin quickly, before you have had time
to sink back into old slavery.
Set out in the dark.
I will send fire to warm and encourage you.
I will be with you in the fire, and I will be with you in the cloud.
You will learn to eat new foods
and find refuge in new places.
I will give you dreams in the desert
to guide you safely to that place you have not yer seen.
The stories you tell one another around the fires in the dark
will make you strong and wise.
Outsiders will attack you, and some follow you
and at times you will get weary and turn on each other
from fear, fatigue and blind forgetfulness.
You have been preparing for this
for hundreds of years.
I am sending you in the wilderness to make a new way
and to learn my ways more deeply.
Some of you will be so changed by weathers and wanderings
that even your closest friends will have to learn your features
as though for the first time.
Some of you will not change at all.
Some will be abandoned by your dearest loves
and misunderstood by those who have known you since birth
who feel abandoned by you.
Some will find new friendships in unlikely faces,
and old true friends as faithful and true
as the pillar of God's flame.
Sing songs as you go
and hold close together.
you may at times grow confused
and lose your way.
Continue to call each other by the names I've given you
to help remember who you are.
Touch each other,
and keep telling the stories.
Make maps as you go,
remembering the way back from before you were born.
So you will be only the first of many waves
of deliverance on the desert seas.
It is the first of many beginnings-
Your Paschaltide.
Remain true to the mystery.
Pass on the whole story.
Do not go back.
I am with you now and I am waiting for you.
Visa and a Ponytail Tale
On Wednesday our group had the pleasure of visiting the consulate in Chicago in order to pick up our visas! They are currently only one month visas but we should be able to get them extended once we are in country (inshallah!). We have a flight booked and the fact that we are actually leaving is becoming much more real; we realized that finding a place to do laundry was much higher on the priority list and that we really need to eat up the leftover Chinese take-out in our fridge.
In addition, I started thinking seriously about how long my hair is. It is very long. I love my long hair! As a child I used to pretend that I had really long hair by putting a hooded jacket on my head so that the jacket part would hang down over my back, serving as perfect pretend hair. I automatically thought women were more beautiful if they had long, silky hair hanging down their backs. I think I subconsciously associated long hair with feminine beauty. And princesses. :-)
At about the age of 10 I decided to let my hair grow as long as possible. The progression is quite remarkable in my school photos. My hair got longer and longer and longer, culminating in the waist-length hair I wore during Jr. high. The summer after 8th grade I got my braces off and decided that to celebrate I would donate my very, very long hair to Locks of Love. I told my hair dresser that I wanted to donate an entire foot (a full 2 inches longer than the 10 inches required by Locks of Love, just to prove a point...) but I still wanted my hair to be as long as possible. This was, of course, not particularly difficult since I had waist-length hair!
In high school my hair hovered below my shoulders, sometimes several inches below. In college it got even longer, never reaching waist length, but definitely hanging halfway down my back. I really love the feeling and look of long hair. This summer, as I ran in the sticky, Iowa humidity, my pony-tail plastered to the back of my neck by sweat, I sometimes wondered what running with shorter hair would be like. As the YAGM orientation date got closer, I started worrying about caring for my long hair while abroad. It would likely be difficult to care for such long hair without a hair dryer, straightening iron, and army of products. YAGM emphasized that our year of service is about simplicity so I didn't want to bring the hair products with me, but seriously, I have long hair...
Yesterday, I went for a morning run and thought back to how good it felt to donate hair in 8th grade. It was amazing knowing that a child going through chemotherapy for cancer would be comforted by wearing my hair as part of a wig. It would certainly be simpler to have shorter hair while abroad, plus it would be a great way to celebrate our visas. As I started very seriously considering donating 10 inches of hair, I ran right by a clean and nice-looking hair salon. :-) I have run this same route a half dozen times during the time I've been in Chicago, but I had never noticed this hair salon before. I'm sure context caused me to notice what I had otherwise ignored, but I'm going to go ahead and say that God was saying, "Yup, good idea Sara. Why don't you make an appointment here." I whipped out my phone and took down the number. When I got back I made an appointment and two hours later found myself back at the hair salon, sitting in the chair.
The woman cutting my hair had never done Locks of Love cuts before so I was a little nervous. We had a very near catastrophe (well, not catastrophe... more like blunder) because she did not know that you have to cut the hair while it's still in the ponytail and she almost cut it loose. Thankfully I caught her before the mistake was made and we got it straightened out. Now my hair is 11 inches shorter! My ponytail is sitting on my desk upstairs in the guest house drying in preparation for being sent to Locks of Love today.
On an anthropological note, it's very odd to look at a ponytail of one's own hair when it is not connected to one's head. In my independent study last spring I read a fantastic book (Abject Relations by Megan Warin) that addressed the idea of abjection. Something is abject when it was once physically part of you, but when it is no longer part of your body, you find some disgust in it despite the fact that it was once yours. For example, think about the spit in your mouth right now. Unless you've just finished running open-mouthed in a desert, it's likely that there is a rather large amount of spit in your mouth, hanging out. That's what it does and you're completely used to it. It's the temperature of your body. Now think about collecting that spit in your mouth and spitting it into a cup. Now imagine drinking it. Gross right? That's abjection. The spit is yours; you made it, it came from your mouth. But now that it has left your body and is hanging out outside your body, you find it disgusting. It has become abject.
I refuse to feel abjection toward my ponytail. I made it. I grew that hair, I brushed it, I washed it, I conditioned it. I made sure to get regular haircuts so that it wouldn't have split ends. I curled it, straightened it, dried it, braided it and ran with it stuck to the back of my neck. The end of that hair has been with me for a long, long time! That hair is a part of me even though it is no longer connected to my head. It is beautiful (if I do say so myself! :D ) and I still love it. The fact that it will be added to other ponytails in order to make a beautiful brunette wig for a child who needs it makes that hair even more beautiful.
So here's to a visa in hand, booked flights and my beautiful ponytail going in the mail today! Mazel tov!
In addition, I started thinking seriously about how long my hair is. It is very long. I love my long hair! As a child I used to pretend that I had really long hair by putting a hooded jacket on my head so that the jacket part would hang down over my back, serving as perfect pretend hair. I automatically thought women were more beautiful if they had long, silky hair hanging down their backs. I think I subconsciously associated long hair with feminine beauty. And princesses. :-)
At about the age of 10 I decided to let my hair grow as long as possible. The progression is quite remarkable in my school photos. My hair got longer and longer and longer, culminating in the waist-length hair I wore during Jr. high. The summer after 8th grade I got my braces off and decided that to celebrate I would donate my very, very long hair to Locks of Love. I told my hair dresser that I wanted to donate an entire foot (a full 2 inches longer than the 10 inches required by Locks of Love, just to prove a point...) but I still wanted my hair to be as long as possible. This was, of course, not particularly difficult since I had waist-length hair!
In high school my hair hovered below my shoulders, sometimes several inches below. In college it got even longer, never reaching waist length, but definitely hanging halfway down my back. I really love the feeling and look of long hair. This summer, as I ran in the sticky, Iowa humidity, my pony-tail plastered to the back of my neck by sweat, I sometimes wondered what running with shorter hair would be like. As the YAGM orientation date got closer, I started worrying about caring for my long hair while abroad. It would likely be difficult to care for such long hair without a hair dryer, straightening iron, and army of products. YAGM emphasized that our year of service is about simplicity so I didn't want to bring the hair products with me, but seriously, I have long hair...
Yesterday, I went for a morning run and thought back to how good it felt to donate hair in 8th grade. It was amazing knowing that a child going through chemotherapy for cancer would be comforted by wearing my hair as part of a wig. It would certainly be simpler to have shorter hair while abroad, plus it would be a great way to celebrate our visas. As I started very seriously considering donating 10 inches of hair, I ran right by a clean and nice-looking hair salon. :-) I have run this same route a half dozen times during the time I've been in Chicago, but I had never noticed this hair salon before. I'm sure context caused me to notice what I had otherwise ignored, but I'm going to go ahead and say that God was saying, "Yup, good idea Sara. Why don't you make an appointment here." I whipped out my phone and took down the number. When I got back I made an appointment and two hours later found myself back at the hair salon, sitting in the chair.
The woman cutting my hair had never done Locks of Love cuts before so I was a little nervous. We had a very near catastrophe (well, not catastrophe... more like blunder) because she did not know that you have to cut the hair while it's still in the ponytail and she almost cut it loose. Thankfully I caught her before the mistake was made and we got it straightened out. Now my hair is 11 inches shorter! My ponytail is sitting on my desk upstairs in the guest house drying in preparation for being sent to Locks of Love today.
Me with my 11 inch ponytail
On an anthropological note, it's very odd to look at a ponytail of one's own hair when it is not connected to one's head. In my independent study last spring I read a fantastic book (Abject Relations by Megan Warin) that addressed the idea of abjection. Something is abject when it was once physically part of you, but when it is no longer part of your body, you find some disgust in it despite the fact that it was once yours. For example, think about the spit in your mouth right now. Unless you've just finished running open-mouthed in a desert, it's likely that there is a rather large amount of spit in your mouth, hanging out. That's what it does and you're completely used to it. It's the temperature of your body. Now think about collecting that spit in your mouth and spitting it into a cup. Now imagine drinking it. Gross right? That's abjection. The spit is yours; you made it, it came from your mouth. But now that it has left your body and is hanging out outside your body, you find it disgusting. It has become abject.
I refuse to feel abjection toward my ponytail. I made it. I grew that hair, I brushed it, I washed it, I conditioned it. I made sure to get regular haircuts so that it wouldn't have split ends. I curled it, straightened it, dried it, braided it and ran with it stuck to the back of my neck. The end of that hair has been with me for a long, long time! That hair is a part of me even though it is no longer connected to my head. It is beautiful (if I do say so myself! :D ) and I still love it. The fact that it will be added to other ponytails in order to make a beautiful brunette wig for a child who needs it makes that hair even more beautiful.
So here's to a visa in hand, booked flights and my beautiful ponytail going in the mail today! Mazel tov!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Patience is a virtue...
My Mom shared a quotation with me that she happened to read this morning. It says, "patience is a virtue that carries a lot of wait". That is certainly a good way to describe the feeling among the six of us who are still waiting to hear back about our visas and still do not know when we will fly to our country. We've done a lot of waiting. We still don't know when we'll be flying out. We're told that our visas were approved in country, but for some reason it is taking a very long time for them to get stamped here. Everyone we know is doing the best they can to speed up the process but when it comes down to it, if the country and the consulate want to make us wait, then wait we must.
Yesterday the six of us got to go to the ELCA Churchwide headquarters in the north of Chicago. We saw the Bishop's office, got to have lunch with some awesome ELCA folks and we had the opportunity to meet with three Palestinians who now live and work in the United States. It was an enlightening conversation. One thing that really stood out for me was when one of the Palestinians noted that although he was born in Palestine, he can never go to Jerusalem. Even though he is now a USA citizen and carries an American passport, Israel will always consider him a Palestinian and limit his geographic mobility. His situation really put our current visa predicament into perspective. We're trying to get into Israel and Israel is delaying us getting in, but it's likely that we'll get there eventually and when we do we can go to Jerusalem. Our Palestinian friend, on the other hand, has had to deal with this his entire life and will never be allowed into Jerusalem, even though it is his home.
Although our current waiting period is an annoying and frustrating time for us, for our Palestinian friend this is his whole life.
On a happier note, today is the first day of Eid, the three day festival at the end of the Muslim holy month Ramadan. It is a time for feasting and celebration! Therefore, Eid mubarak (happy Eid)!
Yesterday the six of us got to go to the ELCA Churchwide headquarters in the north of Chicago. We saw the Bishop's office, got to have lunch with some awesome ELCA folks and we had the opportunity to meet with three Palestinians who now live and work in the United States. It was an enlightening conversation. One thing that really stood out for me was when one of the Palestinians noted that although he was born in Palestine, he can never go to Jerusalem. Even though he is now a USA citizen and carries an American passport, Israel will always consider him a Palestinian and limit his geographic mobility. His situation really put our current visa predicament into perspective. We're trying to get into Israel and Israel is delaying us getting in, but it's likely that we'll get there eventually and when we do we can go to Jerusalem. Our Palestinian friend, on the other hand, has had to deal with this his entire life and will never be allowed into Jerusalem, even though it is his home.
Although our current waiting period is an annoying and frustrating time for us, for our Palestinian friend this is his whole life.
On a happier note, today is the first day of Eid, the three day festival at the end of the Muslim holy month Ramadan. It is a time for feasting and celebration! Therefore, Eid mubarak (happy Eid)!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
World of 100
One portion of our YAGM orientation addressed globalization and what it means to be a United States American traveling in the world. The morning began with an awesome simulation called the World of 100. For us it was technically the world of 50 because there are 50 of us in the program. Each person was given a fake birth certificate from a country throughout the world. We were divided up into 6 groups of countries; group F was composed of the wealthiest countries in the world (including the USA and Israel) down through group A which was composed of the poorest. I was in group C. Our annual income was $1,014 and I was assigned to the country Congo.
The exercise went through resources, education, food, water, money and such with different objects representing these resources. For example money was represented through chairs. The wealthiest group had far more chairs than they needed. One guys was sitting on top of 4 chairs and everyone had stacks of chairs sitting around them which they were not using, but had in case they might want them. My group had 3 chairs for the 16 of us and only the guys in our group were allowed to sit in them, allowing for the simulation to include a commentary on gender issues and patriarchy.
It was a powerful simulation that really brought to life the shocking disparities of our world in terms of resources. Here are some things I learned about thought about:
-It is less expensive to pay for a teacher to teach than to pay for a soldier to soldier and yet most countries place far more emphasis on soldiers. Why is our world so obsessed with destroying each other? Soldiers defend but they also attack. A teacher prepares the next generations and makes the world a better place. Teachers build skills such as the ability to care for oneself and one's family. Education is the ticket to a better tomorrow and yet we're more concerned with being able to blow someone else up before they shoot us than we are with making sure our children have what they need to thrive.
-The only jobs that matter according to statisticians are those that receive monetary compensation. Talk about a gender bias! Women are more likely to be doing the type of work that involves walking 3 kilometers to get water for the family. This type of work, while vitally important for the family, is not included in any kind of statistic because no one receives money to do it. Why is that? The things are statistics take for granted are based in patriarchal definitions of work.
-There are enough weapons in the world to kill every single person in the world 40 times. Think about that: enough weapons to kill each and every person in the whole world FORTY times. Doesn't that seem like overkill? (No pun intended...) It seems to me that the arm's race really never ended and the stakes have only gotten higher. For what? What good has come out of it?
-The entire exercise reminded me of a quotation by the anthropologist Paul Farmer in Pathologies of Power. (An excellent book if you ever have the chance to read it.) Not having the text with me here, I'm afraid that I cannot recall exactly the quotation but in essence it says that the same world system in which you are comfortable and have what you need is exactly the same world system that destroys other people's lives. Like it or not, the very structures and systems that keep you happy, healthy, well-fed and comfortable are the exact same structures and systems that keep others depressed, sick, malnourished and uncomfortable.
Let's try and fix that, eh? :-) Knowing that there is such disparity in the world and that we are actively part of this system is a powerful piece of knowledge. I do still believe that a further shore is reachable from here.
The exercise went through resources, education, food, water, money and such with different objects representing these resources. For example money was represented through chairs. The wealthiest group had far more chairs than they needed. One guys was sitting on top of 4 chairs and everyone had stacks of chairs sitting around them which they were not using, but had in case they might want them. My group had 3 chairs for the 16 of us and only the guys in our group were allowed to sit in them, allowing for the simulation to include a commentary on gender issues and patriarchy.
It was a powerful simulation that really brought to life the shocking disparities of our world in terms of resources. Here are some things I learned about thought about:
-It is less expensive to pay for a teacher to teach than to pay for a soldier to soldier and yet most countries place far more emphasis on soldiers. Why is our world so obsessed with destroying each other? Soldiers defend but they also attack. A teacher prepares the next generations and makes the world a better place. Teachers build skills such as the ability to care for oneself and one's family. Education is the ticket to a better tomorrow and yet we're more concerned with being able to blow someone else up before they shoot us than we are with making sure our children have what they need to thrive.
-The only jobs that matter according to statisticians are those that receive monetary compensation. Talk about a gender bias! Women are more likely to be doing the type of work that involves walking 3 kilometers to get water for the family. This type of work, while vitally important for the family, is not included in any kind of statistic because no one receives money to do it. Why is that? The things are statistics take for granted are based in patriarchal definitions of work.
-There are enough weapons in the world to kill every single person in the world 40 times. Think about that: enough weapons to kill each and every person in the whole world FORTY times. Doesn't that seem like overkill? (No pun intended...) It seems to me that the arm's race really never ended and the stakes have only gotten higher. For what? What good has come out of it?
-The entire exercise reminded me of a quotation by the anthropologist Paul Farmer in Pathologies of Power. (An excellent book if you ever have the chance to read it.) Not having the text with me here, I'm afraid that I cannot recall exactly the quotation but in essence it says that the same world system in which you are comfortable and have what you need is exactly the same world system that destroys other people's lives. Like it or not, the very structures and systems that keep you happy, healthy, well-fed and comfortable are the exact same structures and systems that keep others depressed, sick, malnourished and uncomfortable.
Let's try and fix that, eh? :-) Knowing that there is such disparity in the world and that we are actively part of this system is a powerful piece of knowledge. I do still believe that a further shore is reachable from here.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Visas Approved!!!
We got word today that our visas have been approved!! This is great news!! They still need to make their way to Chicago and such, but there is some hope in sight! Thanks for all of your support!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Chi-town superdorm and visas...
Hello friends and family,
I write to you from my dorm room at the University of Chicago (I think? Either that or its a theological seminary...Now that I think about it, I'm really not sure to whom the dorm belongs actually.... except that right now this particular one is mine! Did I mention I got up at 4am?) This dorm set-up is remarkably similar to the Superdorm at Bogazici University in Istanbul (TIME '09 folks shout-out: insert here a sigh about the awesome that was the Superdorm)!
I awoke at 4am for my two flights, arriving safely in Chicago with all my baggage! Praise be to God! Alhamdulillah! (الحمد لله) All of us 50 or so YAGM arrived at the university and have been together all evening sharing dinner, information, reminders on names and finally worship. It's wonderful to see these people again since I feel as though I barely even got introduced to them at the DIP (Discernment, Interviews and Placement) event back in March.
In other news, we learned the other day that our visas are delayed. They were sent back in mid-May but for some reason the process is taking longer than we expected. Believe me, everything that can be done to expedite the process (well, everything legal) is being done. We just have to wait. Unfortunately, since we cannot fly into the country without our visas, this delay puts back our flight. It is therefore likely that the 6 of us YAGM who are assigned to Jerusalem will not be leaving until a week or more after everyone else heads out. The situation is frustrating and confusing, but at least we get to bond as a group in Chicago.
Furthermore, this process will likely allow us to more thoroughly empathize with the people we will meet in the West Bank who face challenges just moving through their own country, let alone trying to get visas to another country. It is likewise humbling to learn that even for the mighty blue-passport carrying American, visas can be difficult to procure.
In peace,
Sara
I write to you from my dorm room at the University of Chicago (I think? Either that or its a theological seminary...Now that I think about it, I'm really not sure to whom the dorm belongs actually.... except that right now this particular one is mine! Did I mention I got up at 4am?) This dorm set-up is remarkably similar to the Superdorm at Bogazici University in Istanbul (TIME '09 folks shout-out: insert here a sigh about the awesome that was the Superdorm)!
I awoke at 4am for my two flights, arriving safely in Chicago with all my baggage! Praise be to God! Alhamdulillah! (الحمد لله) All of us 50 or so YAGM arrived at the university and have been together all evening sharing dinner, information, reminders on names and finally worship. It's wonderful to see these people again since I feel as though I barely even got introduced to them at the DIP (Discernment, Interviews and Placement) event back in March.
In other news, we learned the other day that our visas are delayed. They were sent back in mid-May but for some reason the process is taking longer than we expected. Believe me, everything that can be done to expedite the process (well, everything legal) is being done. We just have to wait. Unfortunately, since we cannot fly into the country without our visas, this delay puts back our flight. It is therefore likely that the 6 of us YAGM who are assigned to Jerusalem will not be leaving until a week or more after everyone else heads out. The situation is frustrating and confusing, but at least we get to bond as a group in Chicago.
Furthermore, this process will likely allow us to more thoroughly empathize with the people we will meet in the West Bank who face challenges just moving through their own country, let alone trying to get visas to another country. It is likewise humbling to learn that even for the mighty blue-passport carrying American, visas can be difficult to procure.
In peace,
Sara
Monday, August 15, 2011
A HUGE Thank You!
This post is dedicated to the wonderful people who are supporting me! I owe a huge thank you to the people of St. Marks UMC, my friends and my family for all of their extremely generous support! It would not be possible for me to embark on this adventure without your support, financial and otherwise! I greatly appreciate you and your love! It is deeply humbling to realize how many people care about me and are cheering for me in the coming year! Thank you all!!!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
My work is loving the world.
Messenger
a poem by Mary Oliver (from Thirst)
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird-
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
a poem by Mary Oliver (from Thirst)
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird-
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Because you're worth it
This morning in church, our pastor talked about the parable of the loaves and the fishes. The one where Jesus tries to take some time off but everyone follows him so he talks all day and eventually the disciples say, "Jesus, man, folks are hungry. Let's let everyone leave and go get some food." Jesus says, "Oh no problem! Disciples, give the people food" The disciples reply, "Hold on! All we have are five loaves of bread and two fishes! How can we feed all of them??" And Jesus says, "Guys! It's cool. Just bring me whatever you've got and I'll make it work." And then he feeds 5,000 men, not to mention the women and children (and somehow, they are not often mentioned....)
I've been going to church since I was two years old which means that I know a lot of the Bible stories by heart, even some of the more obscure ones. I was a lamb in the Christmas pageant. I helped act out the miracle of Easter every year at the sunrise service with the youth group. In the realm of the more obscure, one summer I acted out the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the fiery furnace as part of summer Sunday school. My knowledge of Biblical stories is extremely useful in crossword puzzles and when reading any of the classics of western literature.
The disadvantage to learning a lot of biblical stories by heart when you're a little kid is that you don't always think more deeply about them as you get older. When pastor read this story I automatically thought to myself, "oh yeah, miracle of the loaves and fishes. I got this one: Jesus turns a measly five loaves and two puny fishes into a feast complete with leftovers. Love it. Jesus is awesome. Son of God powers for the win. End of story." Nope, turns out there is a lot more to it.
Pastor talked about how the real miracle is that the disciples had so little to offer and yet Jesus said, "Give me whatever you've got, and I'll make it work. In fact I'll make it amazing." That's a pretty cool message, one that we need to hear more often. In this world we're often told we're not good enough. Anyone who has applied to college, tried out for a team, interviewed for a job, auditioned for a play, tried to join any sort of selective club, applied for a grant, or pretty much anything else, has likely received rejection at some point. Rejection bites. Someone literally tells you, you aren't good enough, you don't have what they're looking for.
Even American advertising relies on the premise that you are not good enough on your own: you really need their product in order to be worth something. Just get a black North Face fleece, some GAP jeans and that 52 inch flat-screen, HDTV and that might make you worth something. The L'Oreal slogan literally tells us to buy their products "because you're worth it".
Translation: "if you don't buy L'Oreal, you must not be worth it".
Hehe...
It's nerve-wracking to prepare for a year of service and wonder if you have what you need. I'm not talking about the packing list. I'm talking about me. Do I have the skills necessary to help? Do I have the training to be useful there? Is what I have enough? The story of the loaves and fishes says, "Yes. Absolutely. What you have is enough." God can use whatever we have to make miracles. So even if all you have is a smile or a couple fish subs, that's enough. You, just you, on your own without any fancy Iphone aps or special clothes. You are good enough. Whatever you have is good enough because you really are worth it. Now that is awesome.
I've been going to church since I was two years old which means that I know a lot of the Bible stories by heart, even some of the more obscure ones. I was a lamb in the Christmas pageant. I helped act out the miracle of Easter every year at the sunrise service with the youth group. In the realm of the more obscure, one summer I acted out the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the fiery furnace as part of summer Sunday school. My knowledge of Biblical stories is extremely useful in crossword puzzles and when reading any of the classics of western literature.
The disadvantage to learning a lot of biblical stories by heart when you're a little kid is that you don't always think more deeply about them as you get older. When pastor read this story I automatically thought to myself, "oh yeah, miracle of the loaves and fishes. I got this one: Jesus turns a measly five loaves and two puny fishes into a feast complete with leftovers. Love it. Jesus is awesome. Son of God powers for the win. End of story." Nope, turns out there is a lot more to it.
Pastor talked about how the real miracle is that the disciples had so little to offer and yet Jesus said, "Give me whatever you've got, and I'll make it work. In fact I'll make it amazing." That's a pretty cool message, one that we need to hear more often. In this world we're often told we're not good enough. Anyone who has applied to college, tried out for a team, interviewed for a job, auditioned for a play, tried to join any sort of selective club, applied for a grant, or pretty much anything else, has likely received rejection at some point. Rejection bites. Someone literally tells you, you aren't good enough, you don't have what they're looking for.
Even American advertising relies on the premise that you are not good enough on your own: you really need their product in order to be worth something. Just get a black North Face fleece, some GAP jeans and that 52 inch flat-screen, HDTV and that might make you worth something. The L'Oreal slogan literally tells us to buy their products "because you're worth it".
Translation: "if you don't buy L'Oreal, you must not be worth it".
Hehe...
It's nerve-wracking to prepare for a year of service and wonder if you have what you need. I'm not talking about the packing list. I'm talking about me. Do I have the skills necessary to help? Do I have the training to be useful there? Is what I have enough? The story of the loaves and fishes says, "Yes. Absolutely. What you have is enough." God can use whatever we have to make miracles. So even if all you have is a smile or a couple fish subs, that's enough. You, just you, on your own without any fancy Iphone aps or special clothes. You are good enough. Whatever you have is good enough because you really are worth it. Now that is awesome.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The Help
I recently finished Kathryn Stockett's novel, The Help (Berkeley Publishing Group, 2009). It's a beautiful novel, the type that makes you laugh out loud, cry a little and feel warm in your heart. It's a glimpse into what the life of an African American maid working for upper-middle-class white women in the south in 1962 might have been like. Aside from being a great read, it was also a good reminder about the racial problems of my country.
I tend to forget that the African-American civil rights movement was in the 1960's, only 50 years ago. Reading about it in a high school history book made it seem very long ago indeed, but when I think about the fact that both of my parents vividly remember the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.... it's really not so long ago. Only one generation.
Likewise, the end of the Civil Rights Movement in no way ended the problems with racial segregation and discrimination in the USA. One need only examine the race statistics for education, income, homelessness, incarceration and the like to know that discrimination, segregation and other problems between races still exist.
This novel is a good reminder about the problems of my own country, as I prepare to leave for a country with conflict between races. Although the USA does not have a literal, physical wall separating groups (at least, as far as I know...), it has plenty of its own problems to consider.
I tend to forget that the African-American civil rights movement was in the 1960's, only 50 years ago. Reading about it in a high school history book made it seem very long ago indeed, but when I think about the fact that both of my parents vividly remember the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.... it's really not so long ago. Only one generation.
Likewise, the end of the Civil Rights Movement in no way ended the problems with racial segregation and discrimination in the USA. One need only examine the race statistics for education, income, homelessness, incarceration and the like to know that discrimination, segregation and other problems between races still exist.
This novel is a good reminder about the problems of my own country, as I prepare to leave for a country with conflict between races. Although the USA does not have a literal, physical wall separating groups (at least, as far as I know...), it has plenty of its own problems to consider.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Harry Potter and I are both moving forward
Last night I attended the midnight showing of the final installment of the epic Harry Potter movie series. It was bittersweet because Harry and I literally grew up together, right down to our late July birthdays, and now we're both moving on to new things.
I was introduced to the series when my friends banded together to give me books 1 and 2 for my tenth birthday. This lucky happenstance means that the first time I read each book I was nearly the same age as Harry. (It was kind of J.K. Rowling to wait a little bit between each of the later books so that I was mature enough for them and so that I could catch up with Harry in age as the later books were published). From the first book, I was hooked. From then on my family and I had the books pre-ordered online and ready to be delivered to my home the day they were released. I first read each one in a marathon-style blur within days of their release.
In 2001, when the first movie came out, I quickly learned that Daniel Radcliffe is exactly two days younger than me. As each book and movie became more mature and complicated, I likewise grew older and more mature. The seventh book came out on my 18th birthday. Pretty cool!
It therefore seems appropriate that the final movie in the series should come out shortly after I finish my final year of college. Harry and I have now both finished our undergraduate studies and are moving on to new phases in our lives. It is a time of change and transition. A liminal phase, my anthropology friends would say.
Liminal stages are exciting because they come before something new, but they are also bittersweet since they come after the end of something else. The end of anything, be it college, the Harry Potter movies or relationships, is hard. Change is hard. It's good for us I suppose and it seems to be the staple of the 20-something years from what I can tell so far, but it is none-the-less challenging.
There is a scene in the new movie (WHOA! SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't read the book or seen the movie yet, tread with caution!) where Neville proclaims to the crowd that even if Harry has died, he isn't really gone. He goes on in their hearts because he means so much to them. This is a comforting thing to hear during this change-filled, liminal phase of my life right now. While some relationships have ended, I'm an alumnus instead of a college student and Harry Potter is a grown up giving his children unbelievably cheesy names, all these previous phases are still near and dear to my heart.
I was introduced to the series when my friends banded together to give me books 1 and 2 for my tenth birthday. This lucky happenstance means that the first time I read each book I was nearly the same age as Harry. (It was kind of J.K. Rowling to wait a little bit between each of the later books so that I was mature enough for them and so that I could catch up with Harry in age as the later books were published). From the first book, I was hooked. From then on my family and I had the books pre-ordered online and ready to be delivered to my home the day they were released. I first read each one in a marathon-style blur within days of their release.
In 2001, when the first movie came out, I quickly learned that Daniel Radcliffe is exactly two days younger than me. As each book and movie became more mature and complicated, I likewise grew older and more mature. The seventh book came out on my 18th birthday. Pretty cool!
It therefore seems appropriate that the final movie in the series should come out shortly after I finish my final year of college. Harry and I have now both finished our undergraduate studies and are moving on to new phases in our lives. It is a time of change and transition. A liminal phase, my anthropology friends would say.
Liminal stages are exciting because they come before something new, but they are also bittersweet since they come after the end of something else. The end of anything, be it college, the Harry Potter movies or relationships, is hard. Change is hard. It's good for us I suppose and it seems to be the staple of the 20-something years from what I can tell so far, but it is none-the-less challenging.
There is a scene in the new movie (WHOA! SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't read the book or seen the movie yet, tread with caution!) where Neville proclaims to the crowd that even if Harry has died, he isn't really gone. He goes on in their hearts because he means so much to them. This is a comforting thing to hear during this change-filled, liminal phase of my life right now. While some relationships have ended, I'm an alumnus instead of a college student and Harry Potter is a grown up giving his children unbelievably cheesy names, all these previous phases are still near and dear to my heart.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Banksy and the Armored Dove
I had the great opportunity recently to meet with a woman from my church who just returned from the West Bank where she was doing work with a peacekeeping organization. She, like everyone I know who has been to Israel/Palestine, came back quite moved by the experience. Along with helpful tips, restaurant recommendations and a couple books to borrow, she gave me the advice to look up Banksy online. Having never heard of Banksy, I was curious to see what she was talking about. I discovered that Banksy is a graffiti artist whose works of street art are not only incredible in their detail, but also controversial and thought-provoking. He seems to be primarily based in England but has traveled to the West Bank and done work on the walls there. Goodness knows there are plenty of walls in Israel/Palestine...
As I looked through various galleries of Banksy's art (if you're interested, look up http://www.banksy.co.uk/menu.html), I was struck by one image in particular, The Armored Dove.
I have always loved the image of the dove of peace. In the Bible a dove plays a central role in the hope that comes after Noah and the Flood. Additionally, the Spirit of God appears "descending like a dove" and "alighting" upon Jesus after his baptism (Matthew 3:16). Artists, poets and authors have likewise made excellent use of this lovely imagery.
Picasso's "Dove with Olive Branch (1961)".
The dove of peace is a beautiful symbol, not only of God's love for human beings but of the way in which human beings ought to, and can, love one another and the earth, in peace. I would argue that it is because I hold dearly to the image of the dove that I am so fascinated by Banksy's take on the image.
Perhaps fascinated is not the right word. I am equal parts appalled and intrigued by the image of a dove with olive branch in hand (well, beak...) that is forced to wear protective armor and even so finds itself in the sites of a weapon. Clearly beloved peace is endangered by human conflict. Nonetheless, I think this is still a hopeful symbol. This image points out the state of things as they are now, but believes in a further shore. Hopefully, if the dove of peace is sent out, someday she will come back with an olive branch and the hope of peaceful shores ahead.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
And they'll know we are Christians by our love...
This morning in church, we sang a beloved hymn which says that, "they will know we are Christians by our love". As we sang this song, I thought about the packing list I received this past week. I love packing lists. They are a little piece of organization and preparation in the midst of all the unknowns of a new adventure. Although much remains to be seen about the coming year, thanks to my new packing list I do know that I will need a travel alarm clock, a few favorite holiday recipes and warm clothes. Furthermore, the packing information contained a book list! Since this is the first year in 17 years that I will not be a full-time student, I'm glad that I still have a book list! Along with these standard items, the list includes tips to dress conservatively, make a good first impression and avoid being confused for Israeli settlers.
I must sigh at the inevitability that one is judged by one's appearance and clothes. Human beings in general, and women in particular, are far too often judged solely by their appearance, a sad fact which is unfair to everyone; those who (through luck, wealth or incredible hard work) manage to uphold the strict, unforgiving and ever-changing fashions of beauty and even more so to those who do not manage this gargantuan feat. Never-mind that one's appearance says absolutely nothing about the actual content of one's character (hopefully you notice the deliberate reference to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.). For me, in the coming year, the normal importance of correct dress will be increased by the fact that I am unfamiliar with local customs, that it is likely I will stick out in a crowd and the fact that I must be perceived as a good ambassador for everything which I represent in the coming year; the ELCA, the United States, Women, Young Adults, the United Methodist Church, the YAGM program, my hometown, my college, etc. Dressing to make a good impression will be key.
That being said, I really hope that I will also be judged by the content of my character and that others will take the chance to learn that I'm a Christian by my love. Likewise, this hymn serves as a reminder to me that I must judge those I meet not by their appearance and dress but by their actions. Even in judging actions I must be careful since I will be amidst unfamiliar customs. Basically, I hope that I will not judge based on appearances and that in return I will not be judged too quickly. Despite what popular culture says, one's love is shown through actions and not through clothes.
I must sigh at the inevitability that one is judged by one's appearance and clothes. Human beings in general, and women in particular, are far too often judged solely by their appearance, a sad fact which is unfair to everyone; those who (through luck, wealth or incredible hard work) manage to uphold the strict, unforgiving and ever-changing fashions of beauty and even more so to those who do not manage this gargantuan feat. Never-mind that one's appearance says absolutely nothing about the actual content of one's character (hopefully you notice the deliberate reference to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.). For me, in the coming year, the normal importance of correct dress will be increased by the fact that I am unfamiliar with local customs, that it is likely I will stick out in a crowd and the fact that I must be perceived as a good ambassador for everything which I represent in the coming year; the ELCA, the United States, Women, Young Adults, the United Methodist Church, the YAGM program, my hometown, my college, etc. Dressing to make a good impression will be key.
That being said, I really hope that I will also be judged by the content of my character and that others will take the chance to learn that I'm a Christian by my love. Likewise, this hymn serves as a reminder to me that I must judge those I meet not by their appearance and dress but by their actions. Even in judging actions I must be careful since I will be amidst unfamiliar customs. Basically, I hope that I will not judge based on appearances and that in return I will not be judged too quickly. Despite what popular culture says, one's love is shown through actions and not through clothes.
Monday, June 20, 2011
A Hopeful Poem
A favorite Anthropology professor of mine often says that Anthropology is good news for people who like bad news because Anthropologists concern themselves with topics such as conflict, oppression and human suffering. These are important areas in need of study, but they are also, by definition, topics which can seem desperate and full of despair. When we, his students, are discouraged and ask if there is any point to hoping that the world might get better, this professor turns our attention to poetry. In particular, he shared an excerpt from The Cure at Troy by Seamus Heaney which I would like to share with you:
Human beings suffer,
They torture one another,
They get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or song
Can fully right a wrong
Inflicted and endured.
The innocent in gaols
Beat on their bars together.
A hunger-striker's father
Stands in the graveyard dumb.
The police widow in veils
Faints at the funeral home.
History says, Don't hope
On this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme.
So hope for a great sea-change
On the far side of revenge.
Believe that a further shore
Is reachable from here.
Believe in miracles
And cures and healing wells.
Call miracle self-healing:
The utter, self-revealing
Double-take of feeling.
If there's a fire on the mountain
Or lightening and storm
And a god speaks from the sky
That means someone is hearing
The outcry and the birth-cry
Of new life at its term...
As I prepare to spend a year in an area of the world that is filled with conflict, I cling to the belief that a further shore is reachable from here.
Human beings suffer,
They torture one another,
They get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or song
Can fully right a wrong
Inflicted and endured.
The innocent in gaols
Beat on their bars together.
A hunger-striker's father
Stands in the graveyard dumb.
The police widow in veils
Faints at the funeral home.
History says, Don't hope
On this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme.
So hope for a great sea-change
On the far side of revenge.
Believe that a further shore
Is reachable from here.
Believe in miracles
And cures and healing wells.
Call miracle self-healing:
The utter, self-revealing
Double-take of feeling.
If there's a fire on the mountain
Or lightening and storm
And a god speaks from the sky
That means someone is hearing
The outcry and the birth-cry
Of new life at its term...
As I prepare to spend a year in an area of the world that is filled with conflict, I cling to the belief that a further shore is reachable from here.
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