Holocaust Museum

     Sometimes the past is difficult to look at, especially when looking back forces you to look at yourself. I want to share another of my journal entries from my time in Israel.

     The unscheduled visit to the Holocaust Museum was an exciting surprise. I had never been to one before and had always found the Holocaust to be a point of interest. I remember a history project in fifth grade when I first learned of the event. It shocked me that so many human beings could be so cruelly abused. This wasn't even ancient history, it was recent and relateable.
     I was unprepared for how emotional I would become. In the first stages of the museum, I read about the almost imperceptible onset of racism in Germany. Much like the frog in boiling water metaphor, discrimination crept in slowly. People began making generalizations about others, assumptions that some people were too different. This slowly turned into the idea that one group was superior to another. I began to feel a personal indictment for some of the attitudes  I have, at times, harbored. How many times have I thought, even just a little, that I was better than someone else? It is that hardly noticeable attitude that opens to door to tragedies like the Holocaust.
     Continuing through the museum, it was as if I was waiting for a hero to show up. I waited for the non-Jewish neighbors to speak out in protest. I waited for the adjacent countries to object. Most of all, I waited for the U.S., my own country, to step in. I was shaken by a quote from a German pastor:
      First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out --
      Because I was not a Socialist.
      Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out --
      Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
      Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out --

      Because I was not a Jew.

      Then they came for me -- and there was no one left to speak for me.

The quote was so striking to me. It challenges the "not my problem" attitude that is so easy to adopt. Injustice is everyone's problem. If we wait until it directly effects us, it becomes too late. With this in mind, I continued to wait for the video or description or photo of the U.S. intervening. I waited in vain. Soon, I saw that not only had the U.S. ignored the injustice in Germany, but it had closed its doors to Jewish refugees. The victims had nowhere to go, no relief from the oppression of the Nazi party.

     Indignant and embarrassed, I began to watch the testimonies of those who had lived through the Holocaust. In its early stages, people lived in fear, children watched fathers and mothers be taken away. The tears came as I thought about how senseless it all was. Nothing can justify a child living with fear or a family broken apart. No reasoning can account for people being displaced, humiliated, and impoverished. Long before I reached the more graphic detailsof the internment camps I was unable to control my tears. The words "this never should have happened" echoed over and oever through my head. The most paralyzing idea was how easily the attitudes of the people who initiated, ignored, or allowed the Holocaust could be repeated, and are repeated by myself and others every day. The most dangerous thing we can do is to say another holocaust could never happen, for we are not like those people. That is the very sentiment that set the disaster in motion.

     Contrary to what we want to believe, holocausts have happened and continue to happen since WWII. But despite the attention that these deserve, I'm not talking about the big things. I'm talking about the small ones. I'm calling you and me out on thinking we are better than others. I'm blowing the whistle on the small injustices that you and I allow daily. As a writer I feel the need to draw you into this, but honestly, this post is talking to myself. 'Get over yourself' may be a good motto to adopt.

Whoa

It. Happened.

     Ever since we landed in Tel Aviv, I have been waiting. Waiting for something to happen. An epiphany, a eureka moment, an emotional experience with the Holy Land. Some of you may have noticed a negative tone throughout my updates. I apologize for this, but I have to admit that it didn't take long for me to wish I was home. I was disappointed in the big, unfriendly cities, the churches and mosques covering the good stuff, and most of all myself. Was I a defective Christian for not having that moment? Was something wrong with me because I wanted to leave?
     I may never have the emotional experience I expected, but today that became okay. There's nothing wrong with me. I don't love Jesus less because I didn't cry(not counting the Holocaust museum of course). But I can continually discover the lessons available to me through my experiences in Israel. Today was a great example.
     I was standing in church this morning singing "Jesus is all the world to me". Suddenly, I had this awareness of the truth. A little background is necessary.
     The orthodox Jewish lifestyles I saw in Israel was like stepping back in time. We were transported back into the Old Testament, the laws, the traditions, the culture. The broken relationship with God. Paul tells us that the law shows us that we need a Messiah, shows us just how screwed up we are. There are plenty of examples, but I was most interested in the relationships between men and women. In devout Jewish communities, a married woman is expected to either cover her hair or shave her head and wear a wig. This keeps her from being attractive to any man but her husband. Birth control is a negative ghost rider, so women grow old before their time caring for huge families. At the Western Wall, the place that Jews believe to be as close to the presence of God as you can get, the women have less than half as much room as the men to worship. A Jewish woman lives oppressed, ignored, and excluded from the worship of her God.
     As I stood in church this morning, I rejoiced that I was allowed to participate. I was overwhelmed by the knowledge that Jesus is indeed all the world to me. I realized how absolutely vital he is to me. Without him, I'm a nobody. Without him, I don't count. Without him, I have no voice. I have important things to do with my life. I can actively participate in worshiping God, in serving his people, in sharing his good news. Motherhood is beautiful and I hope to someday experience it, but I thank God that I am worth more than that. I saw today who my savior is. I saw what he rescued me from.
     I believe that this was only the beginning of the things I will learn from my trip. I hope that you will continue to read, because I will continue to post. Harpatkah'ah doesn't end when you get home. Adventure lasts a lifetime, woman or not. Bring it.

CAMEL DAY!!!

     Mark your calendars, because June 12 is Camel Day, complete with Camel Day hand motions and theme songs. On Camel Day, we left the green, blooming coast and headed for the Jordan Valley. As we drove, the land began to look more like I expected Israel to look. There were towering mountains with not a speck of plant life. Surprisingly, rocks and sand can be quite pretty. We did some souvenir shopping in Jericho, saw a monastery on the Mount of Temptation, and drove by a very old sycamore tree. It wasn't the original, but not too much later than the wee little man we know so well.

     At the Dead Sea Scroll caves, Dr. Ratcliffe did all but squeal like a schoolgirl. After teaching about the manuscripts found there for years, she was finally in the place it happened. Your Bible is what it is because of these scrolls. If you've ever wondered how accurate the text was after so many years, here's a fun fact. The best text we have is the Masoretic text, much of our modern translations rely heavily on it. About 1,000 years earlier than the Masoretic, the Dead Sea Scrolls were written. There are only 6 differences between the two. 6!

     Next, we went to the Dead Sea. The sand there is a weird mustardy color. Ivy and I went for a float and it was one of the strangest experiences I have ever had. I couldn't stop giggling! Then, like slow motion bumper cars, Ivy and I drifted toward each other and gingerly bounced away. We cracked up. When we finished, we had to shower off so our skin wouldn't freak out. Still, our skin felt weird and slimy for a while.

     And theeeennnnn....drum roll please.... CAMELS! We drove up some more dirt and rock covered mountains, a place that looked devoid of anything at all. Out of nowhere, we saw the patch of green that was the bedouin camp. We hopped off the bus and sat down on cushions surrounding a small fire inside a big tent. A bedouin man came to teach us about the hospitality traditions of his people. He also explained that the bedouin way of life is beginning to fade. He had been born in a tent, but now lived in a house. I was a little sad to hear about what life was like for women, but we had a some fun getting into character. An important part of the hospitality was coffee. There was a wooden container of coffee beans with a long handle sticking out. This was used not only to grind the beans, but also to make music. It must have taken years of practice to do both at the same time. There are many important nuances to being a good host or a respectful guest, but a fun one is the amount of coffee the host puts into the guest's cup. If the cup is only partially filled, it is appropriate to stay and continue drinking and visiting. If the host gives the guest a cup that is full, he'd better be on his way. This kind of cup says, "My heart is full of you".

     I know, I know, I told you we were at camels. Here they come. After learning about the bedouins, we went outside the fence around the tents (do I detect a rhyme??) to the camels. One of them was rolling around like a puppy in the dirt. Camels make the most awful noises and have even worse teeth. But as long as their mouths are shut they're pretty darn adorable. We paired up and sat on either side of the hump. The camels were tied in lines of about 5. Carefree as can be, the camel behind me walked up and used my knee to scratch his neck. We walked around the camp for a while. As soon as she stopped crying in terror, 10-year-old Grace began to name them all and sing about Camel Day. It was a very successful holiday, if I do say so myself.

     We all agreed that the bedouin camp had the best food we ate the entire trip. We sat on cushions at low tables and enjoyed some delicious, fluffy bread and (finally) identifiable meat. The low table made the meal into a very shared experience. We enjoyed each other as much as the food. After filling our bellies, we slept in another tent. Our entire group was in one tent, which if phrased just right gets us in a bit of trouble :P Despite having a pretty thin pallet to sleep on, another group of girls being obnoxious at 4am, and the desert getting a little cold at night, we all really enjoyed the experience. I think most of us would have been happy to stay a few more nights.

Filling Holes

     It's about time that I go into detail about the things I saw and did in Israel. The past week and a half was a whirlwind of sights, sounds, and experiences. I am in the process of uploading hundreds of pictures to photobucket (the link in the margin of this page). They are a jumbled mess, but I will do my best to organize and label them soon.
    We began in Tel Aviv, the modern city built on Jaffa. That hotel was kind of icky, but the view of the Mediterranean from our window was nice. Luckily, this was just a place to land after all of our flights. We stayed next in Haifa, where from our hotel on Mt. Carmel I told you we could see Lebanon from the rooftop terrace. The ocean, the mountains, and the city were beautiful at night. I touched a little on the Bahai Hanging Gardens. Down the center are stairs leading up one of Haifa's slopes. They go up to a dome, then up some more to a few balconies and the gates. The gardens surrounding this are incredible. From the top, you can see the dazzling colors of the garden, the city skyline, and the ocean.
     I talked about Caesarea, Nazareth, and Capurnaum. Later, we visited the Mount of Beatitudes. Israelis know how to plant a garden. There was, of course, a church built there. from the balcony, we looked down the slope at hundreds of banana trees and then down to the Sea of Galilee. The trees gave us a reference point to imagine 5,000+ people listening to Jesus teach. Inside the church, was a visiting group of nuns (will you throw rocks if I call them Asian?). As we looked around the small, round room that made up the sanctuary, the nuns began to sing. Caught off gaurd, we all sat and listened. It was a beautiful moment.
     All of these places were in Galilee. To complete my description of this region, I can't forget the Sea of Galilee. Here is another excerpt from my journal:

     I knew that it was the place where Jesus calmed the storm and walked on water. I knew it was the place that the disciples had fished without success until Jesus told them to try again on the other side. I knew that there was not a giant church on top. While we were taking the boat ride, I kept hoping that a great big storm would come up. I wanted to see what the disciples saw when they were so afraid. We always look at them with such superior attitudes. This week, I had an experience that showed me how similar to them I am.
     Our first night in Tel Aviv, my roommates and I awoke in the middle of the night to a loud fight in the next room. We heard shouting in Hebrew and broken English and objects hitting the wall. I do not exaggerate when I say I have never been so afraid. (Nighttime does things to you. I was pretty convinced that those were the things you heard before you were stolen by terrorists.) I felt confused and vulnerable. I imagine that I felt similar to how the disciples felt that day on the boat. Why wasn't Jesus doing anything?
     Also similar to the disciples, the episode looked very different in the light. The next morning showed us that even gently closing the cabinets in our room made a loud noise, the same noise that had sounded like a person being shoved against the wall the night before. What had been so terrifying seemed silly.
     In this situation, I saw that I have never had any reason to be afraid. My life is easy. I didn't have any room to expect more faith out of the disciples when I had never had to exercise my own. Being in this unfomfortable place and seeing the circumstances Jesus and his disciples would have encountered stretches me. The stories from growing up are changing. They confront me abruptly and challenge whether I will continue to see them as stories or if I accept them as truth and fact. I am not yet ready to process what I've seen. I really need to reflect.

Headed Home

     Last night about 11:00, we landed in the best state on earth. I am so glad to be almost home. I appreciate more than ever the friendly attitudes of Texans. In Israel, people push and shout and ignore when you say thank you. In London, there was no ice cream in the entire airport (no wonder British people are so grouchy).
     By this time we are all loopy. If you go off of Israel time, we arived at 7:00 in the morning after waking up at 2:00 the day before. Some of the words I am typing I have had to try 3 or 4 times. Israel was a great adventure. I can't wait to tell you about the Holocaust Museum, the Dome of the Rock, the Garden of Gethsemane and so much more. Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the energy just yet.
     This morning I had a Texas shaped waffle. I usually don't even like waffles, but it was pretty heavenly today. I'd better go, we are getting ready to move out. Don't worry, I'll update your face off at least by next week.
     Oh, and Jacob I had to go through this horrible Israeli search of my bag because of your sand. I hope you're happy.

Super Duper Sad Event

     I just wrote an entire post and then got an error page. I am very sad about this :( and I only have 3 minutes left. Leaving for the airport at 4am. Found Julie some beautiful earrings. Ready to be home. Bummer.

Mom really, chicken and dumplings PLEASE

     You've missed out on my bedouin experience (Camel Day!!!), Massada, floating in the Dead Sea and our arrival in Jerusalem. We have seen more churches than I can count, including the enourmous Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Today we saw the Western Wall of the temple. My female friends and I had to cover our shoulders and were only allowed on the smaller women's side.
     I could go into great detail about the places we have been. Mr. Thompson's pedometer says we did 10 miles yesterday and at 3:30 this afternoon we are at 7 miles so far. Definitely feeling it. But, I'd like to take this opportunity instead to describe the food here. I will start by telling you that I am out of pop-tarts and getting quite worried. Between planes, bus rides, and dirty street smells, I haven't really felt very adventurous. Still, I've tried to get the full experience.
     I did try falafel, a dish I explained in am earlier blog. It comes in pita like a sandwich. I..well if you don't have anything nice to say...
     Meals in Israel are, if nothing else, predictable. At every meal, including breakfast, the table is set with what they call salad. It is usually about four or five small plates with fairly standard items from which everyone shares. One of these plates always has hummus. Another usually has a mix of tomatoes and cucumbers, sometimes with onions as well. Another plate has cole slaw and another something pickled. No really, every single meal. Some of you may not be surprised to learn that I am surviving largely on tomatoes. Breakfast always has boiled eggs. Every meal has bread, not a roll like Texas but a big loaf for each person. The bread often has sesame seeds. The "salad" sometimes has other dips or cheeses to put on the bread.
     After a little while of pulling the inside out of our bread, someone usually asks which meat we would like.Sometimes beef, sometimes chicken, sometimes fish. This is a shot-in-the-dark process, as the dish you receive rarely looks like the animal you expected. It may taste delicious, or it may be an utter disaster. Luckily, it is a very family style dining experience and sharing with the lucky people at your table is alright. It's my blog, I can use the world alright if i want.
     After 8 days of unidentifiable food and labels that I can't read, I've pretty much gone vegetarian. Today, on our lunchtime quest for fruit in the open market inside the old walled city of Jerusalem, we made an epic discovery: hotdogs. I was content with my two oranges, but my fearless commrades went for it. We were shooed away from the tables where everyone else was sittin gby an angry Hebrew-speaking shop owner. So there we sat, blissfully eating oranges and hotdogs on a step in the street. Dr. Ratcliffe christened us the Exiled Virgins of Wayland. A hat vendor proposed to Ashley and we had ice cream for dessert. Success.