Almost sounds like...

I have just found the most wonderful, funny, real-life blog!   It's called Momastery.    I came across it while trolling the bloglists of people blogging from Israel.   I do this.  In trying to connect with the hearts and minds of real Israeli's, I scour websites, for hours, sure that the answer to my quest for understanding is hidden in a post somewhere.   Either that or it's time to go to sleep and I am defying my body's need for any sort of REM. 

However, this Momastery has inspired me.    I hope it will inspire you too and make you laugh--like I have been laughing for the last 20 minutes now.   ...especially about the cardigan.

Drinks and Party Cake (I'm Home again!)

It's time for another post. Way over-due!   I am back now in my native hometown of Portland, Oregon in the USA.   

I'll catch you up real quick.   I had the most wonderful ending to my time in Israel.  If the first three months were a crucifixion- A Sharing in His Sufferings, the last three months were like a resurrection- Joy Overflowing...Into More Joy!

One reason for this was getting to serve at the FELM (Finnish Evangelical Lutheran Mission) Ministry guest house.  I worked with ministers from all over the world.   We lived in a historic parsonage turned school turned guest house in the heart of Jerusalem.   

A three-block stroll and manuevers through stone passageways rewarded you with a veiw of the Old City's Western Wall.   Black and white wearing Hassidic Jews streamed down to the Jaffe Gate at all hours of the day and night--to pray and visit friends in the Old City.

Weekly, we prepared for Chinese, Korean, Ethiopian, Nigerian, Thai and Finnish fellowships meeting at the center.    It was like a pre-ordained gift--to be serving alongside such awesome girls (a Canadian and two Finns) during that brief pocket of time.  

We celebrated Shabbats together with wine and candles, followed by prayer and a movietime.   A special memory is when we took our drinks and party cake to the roof and watched while the sun set over the Mount of Olives until the sky turned starry-blue. 

Since I came back I have been staying with an internationally-hearted friend.  To our great delight, a new housemate joined us who had just come back from Indonesia.  (Indo was my first overseas experience at 18 years of age.   We speak the Bahasa Indonesian together when it comes to mind.)  

In recent news, with just two days notice, another has been added to our household: an Iraqi refugee woman.   I will tell you more about it in the next post!  

He has not forgotten one of His promises to us.    I was discouraged being sent back home from Israel as if I had never set my face towards Jerusalem.    Now I'm living with a woman from the Middle East, who speaks a semitic language and exudes Middle Eastern culture. 

He let me know my time in Israel was a wave.    That wave came in.   It's not the end....it's just time for another wave.    

If you are in between places, I just want to encourage you to step on it and look forward to what's next--in whatever frame of time you are in.   He has something new for you to experience. 

My own Personal Exodus in the Holy Land: From Yad8 to Shalhavetjah

The Shalhavetjah Center

The Upstairs Wrap-Around Porch. 
Past the Bougainville is the view of the Mt. of Olives.
A 10 minute walk to my left gets me on my way to the Jaffa Gate.
 

I am getting to celebrate an Exodus all my own.   Deeply desiring more time in the City and exposure to native Hebrew-speakers, I applied for a volunteer position at a Finnish guesthouse in the Heart of Jerusalem called The Shalhavetjah Center.  

Nothing was possible at the time, but just recently I received a call accepting me as a volunteer there.  My big-city dreams are coming true.   I will be moving at the end of this week.     

On my way home on Jaffa Street, as I passed a coffee shop, I met some Americans working at the [American] Consulate.    (Noticing the weak flavor of our iced coffees, we remarked accordingly and became friends.)    In the course of our conversation, it came out how Yad8 was cutting down their volunteer program and how little our stipends were.  

Jokes were made and intentions declared about sending me off with shekels to buy food or offering to buy me dinner the next time I was in town.   A government job.   It sounds so nice right about now.  :]  (They said to go to the http://www.state.gov/ site.) 

The city smells wonderful tonight!   Like cinnamon toast!  I learned that everyone is burning their leftover bread  (anything with leaven in it) in time for Passover.  In trying to find my new volunteer post I got a little lost and ended up in one THE Ultra Orthodox Jewish neighborhood--Mea Sherim.  

Although extremely modest for a hot day in America, street after street, I was the only one wearing capris of any kind. Very taboo--kind of.   I went back the way I came as fast as my uncovered calves would take me. 

I was going to go to Tel Aviv (beach) today but got going so late that I went to Jeru instead.  I am so hungry for a well-deserved Beach Day that I might rush over tomorrow--before everything closes up for Pesach and the buses stop running.

Passover means Spring Break over here.  It's neat. All the kids are off school for a couple of weeks. The McDonalds' are packed and I'm seeing fathers just go crazy, lavishing unbudgeted affection on their little ones--especially the babies.   

They are caring for and kissing their newborns like it was the highest honor--even the very cool-looking dads.  It's very sweet and interesting. Festival time.

Maybe it makes everyone appreciate what they've got and take time to remember the happiness in their lives.

I will try to move everything into my new place in a couple days.  My new locale has a wrap-around porch with a view of the Mount of Olives.  It should be lovely!!!   There will be a combination of house-keeping and reception work. A slower pace.  

I will work with two older ladies and then will train a young group coming from Finland.   We are almost two blocks from the Old City and Jaffe Gate. (It's also just blocks from the East Jerusalem Arab Quarter.)

I have friends coming from America in a couple days.   I don't know how we'll meet up but seeing them will be a shot in the arm.

Hag Sameach (Happy Feast)
a Zionista

My First Day in the Old City

While I was in Jerusalem.... 

About two months ago, I went to really explore the Old City.  I had gone to the Western Wall with a good friend, but hadn't had a chance to yet immerse myself in the City.   I got off at the Central Bus Station, but I must have gotten off-track because I missed the big, tourist-friendly Jaffa Gate and ended up at the Damascus Gate outside of the Arab Quarter.  



The Damascus Gate

 Knowing this wasn't the best area for lonesome single girls with blondish hair, I kept my head down and tried not to look worried.   But the sky was so beautiful, I couldn't turn back now.    I had to see more and more of it.   It was like looking at clear blue water, but up in the sky.  It was like nothing I had ever seen before.    I couldn't get a picture of it--not one that could portray how saturated and brave a sky it was.
   

The Tower of David


Passing stone after white stone hewn together, I walked around the perimeter of the Old City hoping to find a better gate to enter through.   

The Lion's Gate

On my way around, I passed a Herod’s Gate and then a Lion’s Gate.  I wanted to finish my circuit around all the Gates, but just couldn’t pass up entering through such a sweet-sounding name.   I imagined 14th century horsemen galloping through with black Arabian stallions.    I had the luck of walking in with two Arab women and their children. 



Noble Arches

 

I had just passed through the Lion’s Gate when the most peaceful of secret gardens caught my eye.    The crowded alleyways were loud with people selling their wares.    I ducked in for a breath.   It opened up into a beautiful flowering oasis.    There, a palm tree and wading pool-sized potted plants of ivy and pansies burst forth in the middle of nowhere.  It was a paradise I wish my mother could see.  

 

A Garden Pavilion

Ten steps outside of that garden was another botanical garden.    I looked in and an Arab boy beckoned me to come closer.    (Now, if that doesn't sound like a bad idea...)   But I did, and he was such a nice boy.  So hospitable.   It was a Franciscan church.  It was called the Church of the Flagellation.   I kept thinking to myself, Those Franciscans are so hard on themselves!    You see, this Church was also located next to The Church of the Condemned.   Another testament to Franciscan asceticism? 


However, I found out I had happened on The Stations of the Cross.   What crazy luck--or Providence?   This was where Jesus was sentenced to die by Pilate.   My demeanor immediately quieted.    Imagines from ‘The Passion’ rose to my mind.   A few steps to my left was where Jesus would have been beaten before He was crucified.   Oh, what a sacrifice.   


I felt so grateful to the Holy Spirit.   He was showing me all these places that my Lord had touched and changed forever.     He was like a heavenly tour guide; bumbling as I was, subtly leading me this way, directing my feet that way, making me want to look over there.   I didn’t realize how precious was my path until I looked up and saw this sign.  

So many years longing to come here!    So many thoughts about this moment.    And here I was.   ....walking where Jesus walked.
 

The Via Dolorosa

I wanted to get an impression of what Jesus  might have been feeling when He was here. Nothing came to the surface. But as I looked up  to a tower in the distance, I felt a surge of intense victory!


He would have seen this same view, and would have known He was almost finished with His  horrendous task.    (The Via Dolorosa was a very long path!) And He still had love in His heart for those who were going to kill Him.   He would save the good and the bad, the kind-hearted and the hateful.   It was Victory and Love!
 

While I was on this path, I got swept up into a group of Russian tourists.   I stopped at all the Stations of the Cross with them feeling all their passion even though I didn't understand a word.


When they all headed into a souvenir shop, I lost my familiar guide with the black and white zebra shirt.   It was getting cold and dark.   I should figure out where I was and how to get home again. 

 

At that point, I made my way out of the Old City trying to find a landmark before the sun went down.

The Square outside of Jaffa Gate.

Amazingly, the alleyway I was on in the Arab Quarter shot me out  by the Jaffa Gate into the Christian Quarter--the Gate I had tried to come in that morning.  


It was sunset now.  The sun was playing with different shades of orange and pink on the white stones of the Citadel of David, making it a tantalizing backdrop for a photograph of the Jerusalem sky.


 It was getting chilly and I really needed a place to sit down.   Just the day before, I had bemoaned to the Lord how I only had enough money for a bus ticket to/from the Old City--which would be great!   But...not even some extra for a cup of coffee.    Later one night, there!  shining on the dark pavement was a 10-shekel coin!   I never find money!!    It was such a sweet answer to my little prayer.

He Cares!    Now my first day in the Old City could be punctuated by a cup of warm coffee in a café if I needed a place to take a break and warm up.   Winter in central Israel is cold, y'all!

 Just inside the Jaffa Gate was this 'Samara Bar 'café with a 10 shekel coffee on the menu.  Perfect.   It was a month past Christmas, but Christmas music floated up from the loudspeakers anyway.   It was a playlist of Pavarotti, Christmas carols sung by cartoon characters, the Chant Album and John Denver.   I  wouldn't have imagined that combo in a million years.   Laying down my burdens, I went back in time.   

 

It's Christmas all year long here at The Samara Bar!

This was my first day into the Old City and what a memorable day it was.  I entered through The Lion's Gate and would leave through the Jaffa (Beautiful) Gate.    I walked on the Via Dolorosa, was treated to a cup of coffee by God and ended my day with a serenade from Alvin and the Chipmunks.   Only in Jerusalem, folks.   

 

 

Friar Tuck would totally have been at ease here if this was Sherwood Forest. 



Is this the coolest picture for a nation's tourism industry, or what?

Ehad(1) Schteim(2) Shalosh(3)...SALSA!!!

      I just had the greatest opportunity last week.  We learned how to SALSA! 


I went to visit a friend and found out that her friends were going to a salsa class at a Jewish community center that night.

 I went with fear and trepidation thinking it would be a cave-bar experience and I would have to shower for weeks to get all the slime off from the evening.   I was not prepared for how up-standing and gracious everyone was.    They were really there to learn how to dance (even conservative practicing Jews) and then practice what they learned in a 'safe' environment.

A quick summary: 

1)  Dance lessons with teachers Joanna and Haim.

2)  Two hours of fast-paced, following-the-lead-of-whoever-asks-you-to-dance dancing, to a backdrop of earthy Latino music.

3)  Finding out you know how to dance salsa from all the swing dancing you did at home in Portland, OR.

4)  Realize that every single person who asks you where you are from and why you are here--and maybe what your name is, is getting to know you but is profiling you at the same time.  (Almost everyone has served in the Israeli army so I bet it's habit as well as common courtesy when asking.)

5)  Excited to find that what you thought would be a slimy evening is one the cleanest and above-board dancing experiences you have ever had.  

Such a great night because:

You are in Jerusalem, you're learning to dance, while staying out really late at night (for once), while getting to mingle with some real Israelis AND are learning some Hebrew.   I now know some Ophir's, Dawid's, Itai's, Barak's and Schlomo's.   

Bus Drivers: The Real Heroes of Israel + A Sample Bus Ride

Who are the real heroes of Israel, during this peace-time lull?  Bus Drivers.   Careening around corners, in buses big enough for circus elephants,  maneuvering windy roads at highway speeds, they are a wonder.   

Solemn and serene, they don't even break a sweat when handing you change while they're driving at 20 mph: awe-inspiring.   They get my vote for the day and my commendation for bravery.  


Considering things people have done to buses here in the region, they drive them without fear.  They put their own lives in danger every day as they take us, unassuming passengers, from one stop to another.

I love them and they are worthy of any good PR they get.     I'll try to include a clip of a bus ride here to show you what I mean--as well as a picture of my favorite driver.  



This is near Abu Ghosh going in the direction of Jerusalem!
Late in month of March.

He's a hit with all the kids!     The only one I hear them ALL saying good-bye to as they leave.    (He also recognized me and another moshavite one night, pulled the bus over and picked us up so we wouldn't have to walk the last 20 meters to Yad Hashmona in the dark.) 

Now if I could just remember his name...Moshe...Avram? 

Samuel Harfst - Das Privileg zu Sein (The Privilege to Be)

A new favorite song (and a theme song among the volunteers.)  "God is still doing miracles, hour after hour, day after day..."   If you have time, check out his other songs.  They are also remarkable!