Domestic/foreign

This post will be a little different, because I decided to keep the amount of writing I have to do under control by journalling almost every night rather than remembering it all at once. This had the benefit of, well, working; half an hour of writing a night is much better than four hours one night. The downsides: one, photos won't be as aptly placed, since I didn't put them in the originals, and two, without the more distant retrospection I might not have filtered out enough. Oh well, I'm definitely not going to spend time rewriting now; I only have a week left in this country! Enjoy. Since it's so long between my posts, maybe you can strategize by rationing yourself a day per day or something? Anyway, that's plenty of preamble, so, uh, here goes.


Oh, hold on. First, to situate us in the recent past, some pictures from Lyera's and my excursion to the Shepherds' Fields.

Doesn't it look like corn inside a pea pod? Doesn't it??

Octotree.

An alien fruit-ish thing... Can you identify it?

One house stands out among all the others in this Arab district.

It's beginning to look like home.

Okay, now here goes.




July 18: The Garden Tomb


After class -- and hold on a moment, I'll give you a few tidbits about Biblical Hebrew so you don't feel completely lost as to what's going on on that front:


-- The Hebrew for "heart" is the same as for "mind" (lev). This reflects a belief about the heart being the seat of the will and the intellect.
-- As a language of shepherding, Hebrew has a mass noun (like English has for liquids, for example) that lumps sheep and goats together. (I wonder what this means for the parable of the sheep and the goats!)
-- Some idioms, literally translated: "What will become of me?" = "Where am I coming to?"; "Don't lay a hand on him" = "Don't send a hand in him"; "They conspired against him" = "They craftied him".
-- To give someone's age, you say "son of" or "daughter of" seventeen years, for example.
-- To form the superlative you just list one thing out of its class. For example, "The serpent was crafty among animals" means "The serpent was the craftiest animal".
-- One is jealous in someone, not of them.
-- Verbs often take semantically linked objects: you dream a dream, offer an offering, and judge a judgement.
-- Hebrew children can say "Abba" to their dad, a word borrowed from Aramaic, or, says our professor, they can use the grammatically correct "avi" ("my father") -- like when they're asking him for something. "They have their ways," he says.
-- Roots not only connect conjugated verbs, they even connect verbs we think of as different by inserting predictable vowel patterns. For example, the pattern of causation links die and kill, come and bring, eat and feed, bear and be born, and so on.
-- With many verbs it's impossible to distinguish between, for example, "he is a shepherd" and "he is tending". You are what you do.
-- Beware "behold" in your translation. It usually comes from hinneh, a word that can't be so easily translated; the translator has simplified it.


After class I wanted to visit a church at the École Biblique and go on a quest. This quest consisted of taking a rosary Paul had bought here last year -- the one in my first post here -- to the place he bought it from in the Old City. It had once appeared to be stone, but the paint had chipped away and revealed it to be cleverly disguised plastic. He had talked for hours with the owner, and wondered if he'd remembered him and exchange the rosary for free. So I set out by light rail to Damascus Gate to see the cathedral first.


I had a bit of a hard time finding it, but I did stumble on a place called "the Garden Tomb" (in Hebrew, for some reason, "Garden of the Tomb"). I headed in out of curiosity and a man with a British accent greeted me at a kiosk, handing me a pamphlet. It was an alternative to the Holy Sepulchre, he said; and, since I had found the Holy Sepulchre very uninspiring, I decided to investigate.


To my left, a group of people were seated on benches, singing hymns in Hebrew and English. The whole thing was quite small; it was, essentially, a big garden. I walked its path, admiring the flowers and the little chapel, until I came to a platform across from a hill that looked like a skull, overlooking a bus station.


I glanced at the pamphlet and it described what I was seeing (with excellent timing!). The hill is called Skull Hill, and they think it might be Golgotha -- "Of course, we can't be sure, but it certainly serves to evoke the memory of Christ's crucifixion." This sounded like my kind of religious site!


I became very contemplative and strolled back towards the choir. They were now singing Name Above All Names (compare right now I'm overhearing a song that goes "I'm sexy and I know it") and so I hummed along and read the pamphlet. It suggested that the olive press and water cistern discovered here could have indicated a wealthy man's property -- Joseph of Arimathea? Anyway, I decided to proceed to the tomb. It was a small cave, with a mourning chamber, an inner burial place with a groove for a stone slab to be placed, and an overall humility. I believe this was the first time I had a really religious feeling attached to any site in all Israel. On the way out I wrote "Je suis allé à la grande église et ça ne m’a fait rien. Mais ici, il se peut que Jésus s’est couché un peu! Merci!" and, folding it in a bill, put it in the donations box.

The Tomb Garden, as Hebrew puts it.

I admit it suggests itself a little too well. Then again, people do think that way.

I also went to the École Biblique, but it was closed. I asked a few people in French when its hours were, but no one understood me and I didn't feel like speaking English.

Finding the shop of Ramdan, the Arab rosary guy, was not hard. Not only had Paul given me a map, I feel more in command of the Old City's twists and turns every day. His son asked me whether I meant Ramdan his father or Ramdan his son, and told me his father had gone to sleep so I should return tomorrow. He was pleased that I was specifically looking for his father to talk with.

I thought the whole point of these things was modesty.

I also ate some halva in the best way possible: fresh, wet, on a plastic bag, in the Old City.

After this I was very loosely scheduled to meet Lyera, who had gone early in the morning to spend the whole day at Yad Vashem, the extensive Holocaust museum, and then shop and eat at Mamilla. But I ran into the Western Wall plaza and, having some time to kill and having been told about some excavations, I bought a ticket. Only afterwards did it reveal itself not to be done by seven but to start by seven; but now the thing was bought, so I called Lyera and we agreed to meet afterwards.

The tunnels were good. A stereotypical New York Jew who was very warm and intelligent led the tour back through the millennia, even to a point where we could see the bare mountain, far below even the oldest remaining structures, and the insanely massive stones of the underground Western Wall. They want someday to tunnel all the way to the foundations under the current Temple Mount, but the Muslims protested this structurally risky venture. At the bottom of it all I thought: These are just stones stacked by human hands. How pitiful, O Lord, compared to your works, the least of your works! But admittedly this was in response to my awe.

I met Lyera at the apartment afterwards and she told me about what struck her most about Yad Vashem. It included a man who, on finding his hat missing one night, stole another man's hat so that that man would be shot at roll call instead. "It's depressing," she warned me. And she bought nothing at Mamilla, for it was all very pricey. She did have fish again, though. Lyera and her fish! That dear girl. Her course has a field trip Thursday and Friday, staying overnight at a kibbutz in Galilee. So I will not see her again soon, because she leaves early in the morning.

When everyone else was asleep I finished writing that darn blog that takes so much time. Then -- goodnight, non-prince.

P.S. I figured out how the cats get water here: they lap up after the sprinkler system. It's funny to see them trying to dodge the spray at the same time.



July 19: Rosaries

Thursday was more class. The prof says we're reading faster than previous classes. We finished class early, and he warned us not to go out today, since it was abnormally hot. But I'd seen some interesting features on my map, so I walked around the campus's outer ring trying to find them. They turned out not to be so impressive -- there were some more burnt patches of ground, though -- and I got lost and thirsty. When I got back, Simmon was just packing to leave to Galilee with friends and Lyera had already left to the same region.

Meanwhile, I returned to Ramdan's shop in the Old City. He was there this time. I spotted the very same type of rosary Paul had bought, so I picked it up and brought it to him. "I don't want to buy this," I told him, "since I have one from last year" -- I produced Paul's rosary -- "that didn't stay intact."

He was confused, and dignified and fat. "So what do you want?" he asked.

"I was sent here by the guy who bought this, a man named Paul, from Canada. He talked with you for hours last year; he hopes you remember him. He wanted me to exchange this and bring him a new rosary."

"I don't remember..." he muttered.

"Long hair, tall, a bit of a beard..."

"You want the same one?" he asked, pointing at the rosaries.

"No," I replied, "it'll just end up the same. Do you have a real stone one?"

Without tackling the money question, he called his son over to show me my choices. I picked out one of a similar colour, but that was stone all the way through; and I had them replace a tacky colour picture of Mary with a metal one like Paul's original had. While he made this alteration I looked around the shop but found nothing interesting besides a sketchy short sword.

Finally Ramdan's son finished and wanted to sell it to me for 340 shekels. I told him I'd been haggling here for a while, and 200 was generous enough; he consented. As I was leaving, his dad told me to wait a second before leaving. "I want to give you something," he told me.

In a minute he retrieved the item from under the counter. It was another rosary -- though I couldn't tell what kind, it was all metal. "Take it to your friend," he said. "I think I remember. It's for free, and tell him if he is not happy, he get another one free. You see? I am giving it to you."

I added it to the other one. "Thank you very much," I said, and added, "He told me he respected you."

So now I have two rosaries to deliver to Paul -- one a gift, one not. I'm interested to see which he prefers.

I did little else that day, except decide I too should go to Galilee, to Tiberias, on the coast of the lake. I researched the bus, called hostels, and planned sights to see. Since there's nothing more to report, have a Mount Zion poem.

Strange Fruits and Fake Gold

I was thinking

   as human beings we impose the peace
   of our room or mind
spaces mental or elegiac
   on cities.

No, the gates are not quiet,
   and even the Tomb resonates no reverence
   into the beating streets,
nor the guns. Strange fruits and fake gold
   cross the thresholds of a million hearts.

And on Mount Zion, a basketball court,
   campsite, and scorched earth.
Yes, fires burn there still,
   where the Lord your God will,
   and scavenger dogs of old rebellions
trot and lap up the birds.

I was thinking
   as a human being I wanted to play basketball
but the bells started ringing.
   Behind the barbed wire it was so peaceful.

You may buy a million Shabbat dinners
   and a million stone façades,
but you will never find the shekinah
   under millennia of stones and lies,
changing hands, strange fruitsellers
   and fake gold lampstands.

"Zion, will the Lord not come on you in power?"
Thus they advertise the lightshow in David's Tower.
No, the city will always be maniac
   but in a room or mind
spaces physical or elegiac
   a quiet fire will never cease,

and in the dark of the old city
   children bike under arches
their spirits will outlast,
   aware of no future and no past,
but only peace.


July 20: Vacation from a Vacation

I realized I haven't touched enough things in this country. I've heard, smelled, and tasted a lot, and I've seen more than I thought I'd ever see, but I haven't touched much. So henceforth I will touch more things -- not regular things, like steel handrails, and not filthy things, like diseased cats, of course -- new things. I began with palm trees. They feel like wood, sometimes spiky wood, or hairy wood, and the leaves are thin plastic.

I'm lying in a bed in a private room in a hostel in Tiberias on the Sea of Galilee. It's technically the first time I've ever spent the night alone, in my own living quarters, without a friendly face anywhere near. First lesson learned: the ability to be naked all the time gets boring fast. I am now lightly clothed. Second lesson: remember to bring a cup or you can't brush your teeth.

I began the day by getting up early, leaving poetic notes all over Valeria's room for her to find when she gets home from her kibbutz field trip, by light rail. It's a Holocaust museum, and what can I say? You'd probably feel the same way I did when they warned me I'd be depressed: cavalier. It was when I saw pictures and testimonies of children that I finally wept. And a voice in me thundered: Will you drink this cup? And my whole being was poured into the answer: Yes.

But it was also uplifting. Humanity survived. A people survived, by determination and the heroism of many. If even one Jew had made it out alive, there would have been some victory. And many did, and they rebuilt themselves. So it was not all sad.

I forgot to mention Carlos. On the way in I met a Brazilian backpacker who was, like me, trying to find a way from the rail station to the museum, so we set out together and talked a bit. I asked him why he came to Israel. "Because I could not go to Mexico," he said. He thought for a while and added, "Everyone asks me that -- immigration officers and people. They say, 'Carlos, why Israel? There are so many countries for you to go to; why Israel?' I said, 'Because Israel is unique in the Middle East'." And so he concluded, with an intense stare to ensure I agreed that his reasoning was valid. Cool guy.

Photos weren't allowed in Yad Vashem. Here's a photo of the Jerusalem Forest outside it instead. 

Israeli art on the way back... but you knew that by now.

Anyway, I took the trail back to the bus station. I got a phone call from Lyera and confirmed that I was going, and bussed up to Tiberias. It was about two and a half hours, and somehow a distance that feels far in Canada seemed negligible here. Best feature of the bus: an Orthodox Jew entertaining his two baby daughters. He was a genuine father under all the officiata.

Worst: The machine opted to give me all my change in 10-"cent" coins. Some places don't even take these!

When I arrived I got lost for a bit in the extreme heat (even the breeze is hot in Galilee) but eventually found the hostel and got my room. Unanswered question: Do they only hire non-Shabbat-observant people at hostels? Or what do they do? Anywho, I showered and headed to the beach, where I swam until sunset, about two hours. The so-called Sea of Galilee (I have yet to figure out whether Hebrew has a separate word for lake or whether the misnomer is English's fault) is a great place, very clean-feeling, easy, warm, scenery of the pseudo-Israeli Golan Heights on the other side, thoughts of Jesus' travels in the region. I was released and happy enough that I finally taught myself how to hold my breath underwater without pinching my nose, a skill I wish I'd had at my baptism.

After that I wandered the streets a little to dry off. I found an archaeological garden -- i.e., the ruins of a synagogue from about 1700 years ago, I think -- and remnants of the ancient wall of the old city. Oh, and I ran into Simmon and his friends, who were here too.

I ate at a restaurant called Big Ben. I can now say that I've been to the east, west, south, and north of this country, and this was easily the worst hummus I've had here. Worse, they overcharged me ten shekels -- an obligatory 16% service charge! And they were really rude about explaining it, too! If I'd had a pen, I would've scrawled ההמוס רע ("the hummus was bad") on a napkin. I made up for it with a crepe from a stall and a walk along the promenade.

On the way I saw a little row of toy sellers in their stalls on the promenade. As a group of tourists with children passed, they began "advertising". One woman drew a pistol and began firing it. It made space/laser sounds and shot bubbles. She was scowling and looked like she needed a time-out. (Her neighbour had a big fake smile, though.)

That reminds me: somehow this place is almost as tourist-y as Jtown. I've heard six or seven languages today, seen two or three skin colours I hadn't seen yet in Israel, and even witnessed a fan that sprays mist. What a time to be alive.

Well, I oughtta plan my next (and last) day here; if I can get to Nazareth I will, otherwrise I'll just visit nature spots in Galilee (like the Mount of Beatitudes!). And I just got a call from Lyera; she's here and she loves the notes I left her :) It's been a good day.

Goodnight, all. Lord, protect me as I travel the Earth alone.

Travelling into Galilee.

The streets of Tiberias.

Mountains across from the Sea of Galilee.

Fieldwork for my course? In Tiberias, they invented these vowel signs to help read the Bible.

The archaeological garden.

I really liked the tufts of grass on this ancient wall.

What? He's just watering a garden from above.

Any sign with a big skull on it should also be in English!!

July 21: Day of the Repeated Miracle




This morning I awoke with the curious sensation of having something hanging about my neck. I soon realized I'd fallen asleep with my earbuds in, which never happens. Maybe it was the piece. It was by Rachmaninov.

I descended for breakfast and messily ate a variety of pseudo-breakfasts. Then I asked the hostel owner (by the by, there are many Russians here) if he knew of a taxi that opened in Shabbat. "Yes, I know someone," he slurred in his thick Hebrew accent. I asked for the number. "I call. It's better for you if I talk to him."

He picked out a few places from my list that would be reasonable to hit all in a day (I felt very tourist-y when he summed it up: "You want to make pictures"), and called. The guy wouldn't be around for a while, so I walked to the beach and swam to pass the time. I dove and "held my breath" to see if yesterday's miracle could be repeated. It could.

In the morning the place looked a little more run-down.

Truly excellent city planning.

On the other hand, the hills are awesome.

Near the beach.

The beach.

I also visited St. Peter's church, built around 1100, and I was actually touched by a graven image of Jesus standing over Peter and indicating the sheep he had to feed.

The sanctuary.

The atrium.

Some neat motifs the Polish erected after the Holocaust.

And on this rock I will build my church.

I kind of like the somewhat dazed expression he has; Peter invited trust as a leader (among human beings) precisely because he didn't always have it all together.

They also had a garden, including cacti that look like the ones you see in movies! ... Only they're tiny!

On my return a South African couple who spoke primarily Afrikaans were standing in the lobby. They had stayed three weeks in Jtown, earning room and board by working as tour guides for none other than the Garden Tomb. The owner explained that they were going to the same places and we could share a fare. I agreed, and after learning their unpronounceable names (and hearing the quote "I'm full of sweat all day" and a patron telling them to go to a town on the border of Syria) we were off. They required a lot of explanation, as when the driver (who spoke about ten words of English -- I can still picture his signature head-shake to signify non-comprehension) explained that he could drink nothing for Ramadan and a lengthy conversation followed in which it was decided that they were still allowed to drink. Admittedly, that one may have been my fault; I asked if we could drink in his presence! The elderly couple nominated me the leader of the gang.


The whole Galilee is green, much greener than Jtown, and full of farms, so even driving through it was beautiful. We visited the site in the Jordan where Jesus is supposed to have been baptized. It was jungly, and there was a tree with a plaque saying it had been planted by Mr. Glenn Beck. Still, one could imagine the baptism there.

Going down to the water is forbidden!

Didn't stop the locals.

We visited a museum where a 2000-year-old boat that was preserved by being buried in mud and sediment. The boat was pretty sweet; of course, it was somewhat deteriorated, but they could still tell it had been a fishing boat, made with eleven or twelve types of wood, which meant either a poor person had made it out of whatever he could find, or it had been patched many times.

We visited the ruins of early Capernaum, which were surprisingly intact. You could see whole streets of the ruins of houses, with the roofs gone, and an impressive ancient synagogue built on the foundations of one that was probably the one Jesus visited many times. Right next to the lake, it was beautiful.

On the road to Capernaum, overlooking the Sea of Galilee.

The jolly and endearing South Africans.

Some neat climbing flora by the ruins.

It's like a blueprint of the city, all laid out to scale.

For milling wheat; for pressing olive oil.

In the ruined synagogue.

The foundation of what is believed to be Jesus's synagogue.

I wonder what this construction was for?

Apparently this octagonal sanctum was built over the (supposed) house of Peter.

We visited the Mount of Beatitudes. There wasn't that much to see there, but a shrine had been built with some strategically placed plaques bearing the blessings, and a couple of popes had visited it.

A pretty good balance between beautified and simple, if you ask me.

The view from the shrine.

For they will personally see God...

The view from outside the shrine.

High-tech.

We visited Tabgha, where they say Jesus fed the five thousand, and a church had been built over a rock on which he (in tradition) laid the items before multiplying them.

They kept fish at Tabgha, but I don't know what they did with them.

The mosaic in the Islamic mosque that was built over this site is in great condition.

The aforementioned rock, which in my opinion is probably just a rock.

I noticed they sold the exact same kitsch at each of the above. I bought some pomegranate wine in Tabgha to share with my roommates. I think my favourite place was Capernaum; it was so easy to imagine the reality of ancient life in that ruin. Still, on the way back, I saw a rugged, awesome mountain and thought, If I could only climb one of those, it'd mean more to me than a thousand Capernaums. Finally we returned to Tiberias and paid the man and said goodbye.

A thousand Capernaums.

I took my heavy pack and headed to what was marked on the map as a lookout and turned out to be a nothing, then to an alleged garden in the same predicament. Finally I gave up and went for lunch at a restaurant where the waiter passively-aggressively demanded a "service fee", i.e., a tip. I had very little real change, so I gave him a lot of 10-"cent" coins. He haughtily handed them back and stormed off. Geez. What is it with beachhead restaurants? They don't even make good food. (Lyera told me how one restaurant she visited had a guy calling, "Service not included!" like an advertisement.)


Anyway, after that I decided to visit the "Switzerland Forest", i.e. the Tiberias Forest. My map had a road where in fact the road turned into a dirt path; I concluded that my map had a habit of exaggerating and followed another route that looked more promising. (The forest itself was also sparse. I should've guessed by now that the trees on the map would signify individual trees... and it would still have been exaggerating.) Now, note that this forest is on a mountain range, a fact I had only subconsciously registered. I found my road and walked up it, but I ran into a locked gate to some facility halfway up the mountain, and no way around it. I drank a quarter of my water and headed back.


But on the way I noticed another path, which appeared to wind up the slope, and my map confirmed it. I was worried about climbing the mountain with my very heavy pack and not too much water, so I told myself that when I reached the next bend, if it looked at all difficult I'd go back. But it seemed okay, so I proceeded. "For I have seen many mountains, and I know what they look like," I said, "but I want to know how a mountain FEELS." I even saw a smaller slope and thought I'd be satisified with that if I had to be. When I came to some shade, I paused to consider this, and got an encouraging call from Lyera. A man drove by in an ATV and I asked his advice; he said it was okay to climb. So as the sun set I set forth.


On the way I sang O Little Town of Bethlehem, wondered if this was the kind of place "Jesus often went alone to pray", and confessed some sins out loud. I prayed as I walked, mainly for protection. And I was protected; I reached the summit, where I took panoramic pictures of the lake, town, and hills, reclined in the long grass, dropped my burden, and read Isaiah 49 and 50, which turned out to be about the restoration of Israel. I also took a rock to prove I'd been up there.

Whenever I see landscapes like this, I imagine David and his men crossing through them as they hide from King Saul. This one is a good example of the type.

(I also saw an unexplained ruin of a fort and a tour group from Jerusalem that had taken a bus to get up the mountain -- what cheaters!)


As I returned I said to myself, "The Lord is to be praised, for all time and concerning all his works." My path back was through a residential area, and I heard Hebrew spoken and witnessed a Hebrew boy and Hebrew girl in a dress having a picnic in the park. She leaned over and kissed him. It seemed to me so authentic, something not, as Seoren says, "Put there for tourists to see." Also, I was literally where the streets have no name -- neither on any map nor on the road itself.


I swam a last time to cool down and finished my water. At the beach a girl who kept catching my eye stopped swimming and began photographing people, including me. I didn't ask her about it; now it will be a mystery forever. What was I doing that was so interesting? The backstroke? After I changed again (and discovered that a backup pastry I'd brought had been smushed in my pack), I headed to the bus.

A woman asked me for a cigarette in what I thought was a French accent; I had none. But at the bus station a couple were smoking and I asked to buy one off them. They laughed and gave me one for free, and I took it to the lady, spoke to her in French (I was very wrong about the accent, though), and was thanked. I'm still not sure if I did a good or a bad thing.


I'm home now, but I could've gotten home an hour earlier. First, I missed the bus to town because I started counting exact change for it when I saw it coming, and it passed right by because I didn't wave the driver down. That is, I reenacted the parable of the ten virgins. Second, at the Central Bus Station in Jtown I got a pretzel and ran into Simmon again. He caught the bus back to the dorms; I missed it by a minute and didn't realize that the next one only came half an hour later. Oh well. I'm back now, and I talked a bit with Lyera and with my dad. It was nice. And on the long journey back I wrote a poem because the darkness outside reminded me of the interior of Yad Vashem.

...

Cairn

How can we stand it,
all this heartbreak and death?
We harden,
we drift,
and we are so far gone
we resign and the dream is over.

The cliff is barren
but we hewed a home
God bless our cairn.

...

Well, I've got to sleep really badly, cuz I wake up early for class tomorrow. I hope that when I climb under the sheets I find a hidden note. Lyera's left a few around my room for me to find in return for the ones I left her.


July 22: Modern Clothes-Tearing

On Sunday I did practically nothing. I was too exhausted. Lyera and I caught up on our respective adventures and had an early dinner together -- chicken curry for me; it wasn’t bad for Jewish Indian food.


Seoren and I went for a walk to the Peace Forest but got sidetracked at the Mount of Olives, only to discover that all the religious sites were closed and, after confirming this with a couple from Tel Aviv, and seeing that it was now too dark to appreciate the forest, turned back. Still, a nice walk.

The monk was smoking. I wonder if the abbot knows about this!

A cool structure that is now Greek Orthodox but stands over a Muslim tomb.

The modern garden up here.

The view from fairly high up the mountain. That's the Dome of the Rock's spire there -- below the crescent moon, the symbol of Islam.

The church that stands on the (supposed) site of Gethsemane.

The Jerusalem Cross.

The route up to Mary Magdalene's tomb. Here's it's quite innocent...

...but here they stuck broken glass in to prevent people getting over.

My lens got stuck on the way back, but I like this picture.

Oh, and I did laundry. The laundry machines here are impressive; they keep turning my clothing inside out. Also, I’m folding all my laundry, albeit poorly, to make my mum proud. Which reminds me: for the first couple weeks none of our clothing seemed to be really getting clean -- until a Hebrew lady explained to us that what we had bought was fabric softener!

In class, Barak (the professor) explained that the Biblical act of tearing clothes in mourning is still a thing. The closest relatives do it now. But it’s been modernized; you can choose which articles you want to tear, and you can use scissors if the material is too tough to tear.

On our walk Seoren and I noticed a stray dog that Seoren said had been lying there for days. It looked thirsty, and its paw appeared to be hurt. I fetched it three small sausages and a bowl of water while Seoren watched it. It dug in happily, and we left lest it follow us. The next morning it was gone, and so was the bowl I had left.

July 23: Mein Course

Yesterday after class, I went immediately to meet Lyera at the Israel Museum, a very big one -- the one we had tried to see over a week ago. It was a little frustrating navigating it, but as she had no class today she had gone earlier and seen much of what she wanted to see. We viewed the Shrine of the Book, an igloo/bunker that has some fragments of original scrolls and a lot of facsimiles and notes. Then we look at the model of Second Temple Period Jtown; quite neat! I was able to describe some aspects of it to Lyera. And while Lyera went off to look at a section on Jewish art and life, I went to the archaeological section -- and the rest is history.

Lyera wearing her "happy pants".

The Shrine of the Book is constantly watered for some reason. Also, notice the light shining on it from Heaven... quite unintentional on the part of the photographer.

The model! It covers almost an acre.

A scene within the model.

This door of the temple faced due east so as to let in the rising sun.

Herod the Great, who built that temple, also built this fortress to protect it.

One thing I’ve noticed in all the museums is how good ancient art is (once they got past the childish phase). I like a lot of it more than modern art!

We also went to the Botanical Gardens downtown and saw trees from every continent. Pretty cool. We also wondered if Israelis go here to wonder at North American flora. And we found a tree whose fruit looked like lima beans, so I tried one. It did taste a little like them, and had a similar texture, but it was also bitter, so I spit it out. Then we noticed the plaque, which mentioned: “Contains a variety of toxic alkaloids”! My eyes went wide, and from Lyera’s water bottle I rinsed my mouth out several times, while we considered what an idiot I was for trying it! (But Lyera kept apologizing for encouraged me.) In any case, thank God it tasted bad!

Who knew water lilies grew so tall, says Lyera?

A section of grass Lyera felt was not an accurate reproduction of European grass.

Interesting fruit.

Worried that we won't get to see the tropical conservatory in time.

We thought this was a bone. It turned out to be plant matter.

Somehow the experience of being passed by a little two-coloured Hebrew-speaking train in this garden, especially as it chugged through a little stream you don't see here, felt surreal.

We dubbed it the "fan tree" because it looks like what people are always shading pharaohs with.

A tree tangled up within itself.

As Lyera put it, "These two things aren't supposed to be part of the same plant!"

The guy that tried to poison me.

We made it to the tropical conservatory! Perfect time for a photo op.

"What's that tree doing with its roots?"

Bananas?

We hadn't noticed this as we walked under. This was the closest I wanted to get.

"Ornamental fruit."

For you, Cas. I went and got it. :)

The city at sunset from the gardens.

The last thing we did was visit a Chinese restaurant. Chinese food is essentially the same here as elsewhere. Same spelling mistakes, too, like the photo of “mein course”.

Or is that a pun?

Woah. This restaurant just got a LOT classier. This is for you, Aaron.

July 24: Proverbs and gods

Even though we had just gone the day before, we learned that the Israel Museum was open till nine on Tuesday, so we went again. I met Lyera at the Central Bus Station, where she went after exploring the shuuk Mahane Yehuda and trying a “lime and mint slash”. (On the way I and some classmates I ran into discussed gun laws and security. There may or may not be undercover agents on the light rail to spot passengers who don’t validate their ticket.) This reminds me; I always invite my other roommates as well, but they’re usually too busy and not feeling adventurous. So Lyera and I met.

First we stopped at the Monastery of the Cross, which is variously dated. I mean “variously” as in mutually contradictory signs. They had a 15-shekel fee to see their “museum”, which was a few dark rooms with old housewares. But we actually liked it a lot, especially Lyera; it felt secret and not at all flashy. It was a very humble monastery.

One of the birds in this cage pooped on my hand while I was taking this :(

They had a beautiful orange tree.

I realize I don't know the Greek Orthodox tradition very well.

An "exhibit".

This place was labelled "old kitchen".

This one, "kitchen".

I don't know what a refectory is...

...but I believe it's a mess hall.

"A bat carcass, yes. What of it, Jim? There's a bat carcass in the refectory. Perfectly normal."

The courtyard.

The upper wall.

Shadows in the garden.

This is from some stairs up which we saw a courier running to bring Oreos to the monks.

I smelled the grass here. It doesn't smell like Canadian grass, but like Israel itself.

On the walk to the Israeli Museum we discussed the “Sephardic” proverb I’d come up with to ask the rabbi at that Shabbat dinner: “The distance from the knife to the plate only matters if there’s food on the table.” Lyera had pondered the meaning and summarized it along the lines of, “Absence of the purpose things fulfill by meeting renders their relationship meaningless.” I offered a paraphrase of the original proverb: “It doesn’t matter how much water you have left if you’re in the middle of the desert without a camel.” And the religious significance we agreed on as “It doesn’t matter how good you are if there’s no salvation”. So maybe not that great a proverb after all. Now I'm wondering what the rabbi would have said…

Some very elegant wiring outside the monastery.

Lyera and I disagree on whether or not this looks like a swastika.

Fabled black lumps

At the museum we split up. Lyera saw a visual art exhibit and a large section on Jewish Art and Life, which featured a massive involvement of jewellery, she said. I saw a bit on Hassidic life, but I found it very dull. The most interesting was the use of Yiddish instead of Hebrew for daily life, while when interacting with the outside world, they’re obliged to use Hebrew. Afterwards I finished the massive archaeological wing -- and now I’ve had about enough of old things.

I did write this poem in imitation of several different types of inscriptions, though:

…

Names

They named me after Sinnat

god of my mountain

brother of the goddesses of love and war

above him stands my lord the day

before whom Alm-Illu of night the god

before her no names:

the god of time son of

the god of fate son of

the god of Deeper Night

who resides in the house of

God-Above-All. Before whom

the god of chaos, before whom

chaos herself, whose god

is nothingness, before whom, nothing.

So before there was day there was night,

just as before there was night there was day:

for I Sinnat loved Ahazahel

weaver of the house of Ur in Babylon

her I mummified according to Egypt

and gave seventy bronze vessels

so that her heart will not testify against her.

CHORUS.

“Be consoled, Sinnat, no one is immortal.

Why preserve the flesh?

The goddess of love has a sad, sad face,

and so does the goddess of war,

but the goddess of death is singly glad

to receive her share.”

No, I will not be consoled;

I will go down mummified to Ahazahel.

CHORUS.

“Be consoled, Sinnat, nothing lasts forever;

and afterwards chaos and turmoil.”

THIS STONE MARKS THE TOMB OF SINNAT

GOD OF THE MOUNTAIN MAY HIS HEART

NOT TESTIFY AGAINST HIM

SHABA’EL ERECTED IT IN THE SIXTH YEAR OF AHINOTHOPHEL’S REIGN

…

Some interesting things: a sixth-century BC letter, “And now, please explain to your servant the meaning of the letter which you sent to your servant yesterday evening. For your servant has been sick at heart every since you sent that letter to your servant. In it my lord said: ‘Don’t you know how to read a letter?’ As Yahweh lives, no one has ever tried to read me a letter! Moreover, whenever any letter comes to me and I have read it, I can repeat it down to the smallest detail…” ; a humorously worded first-century AD sign, “Whoever is caught will have himself to blame for his subsequent death” ; an ancient stone mentioning Pilate, with the museum’s commentary, “Sources describe him as a cruel and unsympathetic ruler who was insensitive to Jewish religious feelings”, and about which I thought, “So that’s where caving in to the Jews got you, eh, Pilate?” ; and a woman looking at Greek sculptures and explaining to her children: “The goyim did these.”

Valeria finished long before I did, so she happily went back alone, having spent much more time at the museum than me. When it was time for me to go, I took the same bus back on the opposite side of the street. Little did I suspect that’s not how buses work here; no, contrary to all logic, to get back where you came from you get on where you got off. Head in the direction you came from and you will end up at the opposite terminus of the route. So after finally figuring out where on Earth I was, and a looooong ride back home, a brief supper in which Simmon tried to teach Julia to write a few Arabic words, and writing another poem (I was in an oddly poetic mood), I slept.


...

Centre

I live in a small world

I don’t know many people very well

I live in a small world

nobody can tell.

Nothing lasts forever

better learn to hasten your goodbyes

Nothing lasts forever

nobody knows why.

People walk right through me

they greet me in five languages at first

People walk right through me

nobody is sure.

Inside each is glassworks

I love to watch it tangle and untwist

Inside each is glassworks

nobody can fix.

Pathways of the desert

read the feet of foreigners who walk

pathways of the desert

nobody can chart.

I live in a small world

nobody can chart.

Appendix: ObservationsAnecdotes I forgot to put in previous posts:


A cafe sold me a shawarma wrap and the guy came out from behind the counter and stole by to correct my sloppy folding while I was in the washroom.


At an early “family” dinner, when we had some wine to celebrate our safe arrival in Jerusalem, Simmon told a joke and everyone laughed; Lyera, very deadpan, muttered to herself, “Why am I not laughing?... Oh, it’s because I haven’t drunk anything.” An adeptly delivered, if unintentional, burn. :)

At a McDonald's I saw, they put olive oil on the fries. In retrospect, I wish I'd tried it.


The rest, as they say, is pictures:

They decided one day to paint the bike lanes blue. So now they are blue.

I quite like this silhouette of an old man

Domino's' advertising campaign here is weird. "It's baby time"?!

The words say, "How much is this?" and then it's a numerical ratio. But what does it have to do with pizza?

One morning I woke up to an incredible fog. It dissipated in minutes.

Could it be a maple?? I honestly can't tell.

The concrete bus shelters I promised. This was on the way to Tiberias, so maybe my theory about them only being on major roadways is accurate.

Believe it or not, I consider this one of the most prominent images of Jerusalem, because it's the one I see several times a week coming back from anywhere.