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.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
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!
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