Saturday, March 5, 2011
The Faces That Make It All Worthwhile
The following are pics of me and the kids. Enjoy!
(boxing! don't worry, it looks worse than it is)
(The 9th graders after their debate)
(The Negative Team)
(The Affirmative Team)
(my body guards, during school spirit week. don't worry, the guns aren't real. :))
(boxing! don't worry, it looks worse than it is)
(The 9th graders after their debate)
(The Negative Team)
(The Affirmative Team)
(my body guards, during school spirit week. don't worry, the guns aren't real. :))
Saturday, January 15, 2011
A Different Kind of Poverty
About a week ago I was discussing possible plans for next year with one of the other American teachers here who has become a good friend. She said she'd love to stay, but she also feels called to live in a place of extreme poverty - and she's not sure this is it. The catalyst for this thought came when she was discussing the various Christmas break activities with her third grade class. "One of the girls told us all she got a new iPad for Christmas! And I thought: 'Yeah, I just don't know about that...'"
She has a point. While the standard of living and the resources here are certainly far below what you'd find in the States, there are still the more affluent families in the area who are able to pass along material possessions to their children. Technology is valued and available and many of our kids will grow up to inherit the family business and continue to be fairly well-off. In terms of being physically destitute, the situation in this part of the world is not as dire as it is in some other places.
But then we started discussing a different kind of poverty. What I see here is not so much of a material poverty (though certainly it exists well beyond that of other places in the world), but more of a psychological poverty. For instance, our children are severely in want of good father figures. Most of their fathers are gone for large portions of the day at work and are not part of the upbringing of their kids (beyond beating their children for poor behavior and dishonoring the family name). Furthermore, the kids are also lacking in terms of seeing good relationships between husbands and wives (and males and females, for that matter). The society undervalues women and applauds displays of male chauvinism, so our kids are in want of good role models to exemplify healthy male-female interaction.
And then of course there is the poverty of spirit that comes from growing up with an identity of oppression. Our students are proud to be who they are, yet they feel frustration and sometimes even hatred toward those on the other side of this wall keeping them inside. It is amazing to me that the same teenager can say "I love God" in one sentence, and "I hate the Isra..lis" in another. And then when I ask them in class if they have any perceived enemies, most struggle to find an answer to the question. The disconnect is fascinating and alarming, but understandable when lack of opportunities due to a faceless force is all you've ever known. And yet there is an obvious chunk of goodness missing from this equation.
Last semester, due to the suggestion of a dear friend who is an English teacher in the States, I had my 9th grade Lit class read a short story about gang violence. The story's protagonist is lying on the ground bleeding from a mortal wound, and as his last act, he shrugs off the jacket bearing the name of his gang and hitherto-fore only identity. I had the kids write down on note cards what kinds of labels they would like to shed, if given the chance. After collecting them, I anonymously read them to the class. Here is a sample:
"Important people in my life think that I don't care about them because of the way I treat them."
"I am not all about saying jokes and laughing. I can take things seriously."
"Terrorist."
"I'm not just a smart person. I'm more than that."
"Being the teacher's daughter."
"I would not like to suck at sports."
"I wish people didn't know me as that my dad owns a big shop."
"My attitude."
"I wish some of my friends didn't call me by my last name."
"You are who you are, but in this society the only way you get recognized is if people know your father and mother, and what they think of them."
"Terrorist."
When I got to the end of the note cards, there was a heavy silence, and then one of the girls breathed: "That...was interesting."
Ever since the conversation with my friend here, Jesus' words "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" have been rolling around in my mind. And then lo and behold, our speaker a few nights ago at Al Beit ("The House"...aka youth group) spoke on these very words in the Beatitudes. My prayer is that God's kingdom would indeed come to this place and these people...and that they would be a key part in bringing about His redemption on the earth.
She has a point. While the standard of living and the resources here are certainly far below what you'd find in the States, there are still the more affluent families in the area who are able to pass along material possessions to their children. Technology is valued and available and many of our kids will grow up to inherit the family business and continue to be fairly well-off. In terms of being physically destitute, the situation in this part of the world is not as dire as it is in some other places.
But then we started discussing a different kind of poverty. What I see here is not so much of a material poverty (though certainly it exists well beyond that of other places in the world), but more of a psychological poverty. For instance, our children are severely in want of good father figures. Most of their fathers are gone for large portions of the day at work and are not part of the upbringing of their kids (beyond beating their children for poor behavior and dishonoring the family name). Furthermore, the kids are also lacking in terms of seeing good relationships between husbands and wives (and males and females, for that matter). The society undervalues women and applauds displays of male chauvinism, so our kids are in want of good role models to exemplify healthy male-female interaction.
And then of course there is the poverty of spirit that comes from growing up with an identity of oppression. Our students are proud to be who they are, yet they feel frustration and sometimes even hatred toward those on the other side of this wall keeping them inside. It is amazing to me that the same teenager can say "I love God" in one sentence, and "I hate the Isra..lis" in another. And then when I ask them in class if they have any perceived enemies, most struggle to find an answer to the question. The disconnect is fascinating and alarming, but understandable when lack of opportunities due to a faceless force is all you've ever known. And yet there is an obvious chunk of goodness missing from this equation.
Last semester, due to the suggestion of a dear friend who is an English teacher in the States, I had my 9th grade Lit class read a short story about gang violence. The story's protagonist is lying on the ground bleeding from a mortal wound, and as his last act, he shrugs off the jacket bearing the name of his gang and hitherto-fore only identity. I had the kids write down on note cards what kinds of labels they would like to shed, if given the chance. After collecting them, I anonymously read them to the class. Here is a sample:
"Important people in my life think that I don't care about them because of the way I treat them."
"I am not all about saying jokes and laughing. I can take things seriously."
"Terrorist."
"I'm not just a smart person. I'm more than that."
"Being the teacher's daughter."
"I would not like to suck at sports."
"I wish people didn't know me as that my dad owns a big shop."
"My attitude."
"I wish some of my friends didn't call me by my last name."
"You are who you are, but in this society the only way you get recognized is if people know your father and mother, and what they think of them."
"Terrorist."
When I got to the end of the note cards, there was a heavy silence, and then one of the girls breathed: "That...was interesting."
Ever since the conversation with my friend here, Jesus' words "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" have been rolling around in my mind. And then lo and behold, our speaker a few nights ago at Al Beit ("The House"...aka youth group) spoke on these very words in the Beatitudes. My prayer is that God's kingdom would indeed come to this place and these people...and that they would be a key part in bringing about His redemption on the earth.
Home is Where Your Half-Heart Is
Hey everyone!
It's been a LONG time since I've posted, but I'm committed to being a much more faithful blogger this semester. Here's to New Years Resolutions!
Recently I was able to spend a few weeks in the States over Christmas. It was absolutely wonderful to see friends and family and to learn that I can, in fact, go home again. I was able to pick up where I left off and enjoy the company of good people and relationships that are well-worth preserving. What an incredible blessing.
Yet I was also reminded, more than ever, that my heart is now officially in two places. I loved being in America, but simultaneously yearned to come back here - to the places and people that now make Bhem in the W.B. my home. It seems my fate is sealed: no matter what happens, I will always love where I am and miss where I've been.
I know some of you who have moved can relate. There is a restlessness, though not one of discontent. It aches, but there is a fullness in the gift of being able to love so deeply and broadly.
I also feel fortunate to know that this place has become home so quickly. I feel myself becoming invested for the long term, and my prayers that God would make that a reality increase daily (ah, the visa hassles). But I know there is good work to be done here, and if the light in our kids' eyes and their thirst for knowledge is any indication of God's spirit moving (which I'm confident that it is), it's an exciting place to be in an exciting time. So stay tuned...great things are on the way.
It's been a LONG time since I've posted, but I'm committed to being a much more faithful blogger this semester. Here's to New Years Resolutions!
Recently I was able to spend a few weeks in the States over Christmas. It was absolutely wonderful to see friends and family and to learn that I can, in fact, go home again. I was able to pick up where I left off and enjoy the company of good people and relationships that are well-worth preserving. What an incredible blessing.
Yet I was also reminded, more than ever, that my heart is now officially in two places. I loved being in America, but simultaneously yearned to come back here - to the places and people that now make Bhem in the W.B. my home. It seems my fate is sealed: no matter what happens, I will always love where I am and miss where I've been.
I know some of you who have moved can relate. There is a restlessness, though not one of discontent. It aches, but there is a fullness in the gift of being able to love so deeply and broadly.
I also feel fortunate to know that this place has become home so quickly. I feel myself becoming invested for the long term, and my prayers that God would make that a reality increase daily (ah, the visa hassles). But I know there is good work to be done here, and if the light in our kids' eyes and their thirst for knowledge is any indication of God's spirit moving (which I'm confident that it is), it's an exciting place to be in an exciting time. So stay tuned...great things are on the way.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
For the Vox
I must start by offering my apologies for the recent hiatus in writing. Things have been quite eventful over here, what with first quarter grades being due, basketball and soccer tournaments for our students, a visiting church group, and my boyfriend suffering a concussion (and the successive hospital visits). However, recently I was asked to write a 300-500 word article for Vox Populi ("Voice of the People"), the alternative publication of Gordon College. What I offer below is what I wrote for them. I hope you all are well!
Many blessings,
Jess
"For he himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility." Ephesians 2:14
As I look out my window, the sun has begun to set over this Palestinian neighborhood. It casts a warm glow on the white limestone buildings and catches the sparkle of hubcaps. The red awnings of storefronts pop vividly against the cerulean sky as laundry blows in the breeze on the rooftops. From places near and far can be heard the sounds of children calling in Arabic and the gas truck whistling a cheerful Fur Elise through the streets. And I feel at peace.
Ironic. In a land that for decades has been choked by the despondency of conflict, whether through overt violence or simply the bitterness that breaks the souls of its people, it may seem like the most unconventional place to feel peaceful. Indeed, for many people the hope of peace is under constant threat of despair and is sometimes rejected altogether.
But then there are mornings like yesterday. I was sitting in my kitchen sipping tea when I saw a playground. Across the valley and beyond a street and up a hill I could just make out the feet of children swinging under the trees. I'd never noticed it before; but now when I look, it's the only thing that catches my eye. And I realize that peace is already present here. It is children swinging together. It is the man at the grocery store who patiently explains the Arabic names of fruits and vegetables to me day after day – and then rewards me with a banana when I come back and recite them correctly. It is our eighth grade girls who practice diligently for “Peace League” – an organization where Israelis and Palestinians play basketball together. It is all of our students becoming compassionate thinkers before our eyes. And it is my roommate’s class, where just this week her students prayed for the Israelis. Our responsibility is to recognize and be part of the daily incarnations of it, just as Jesus himself became peace incarnate in this very place.
The work is far from over. This is why tomorrow I will go back into the classroom and teach my students. I will read their journal entries about feeling trapped in a prison devoid of opportunity and wishing for more. And I will cling desperately to the hope that Jesus’ gospel message – that which tells us to care for those in need, love our enemies, and notice the lilies of the field – does indeed have power here.
And we will keep playing ultimate frisbee together.
Many blessings,
Jess
"For he himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility." Ephesians 2:14
As I look out my window, the sun has begun to set over this Palestinian neighborhood. It casts a warm glow on the white limestone buildings and catches the sparkle of hubcaps. The red awnings of storefronts pop vividly against the cerulean sky as laundry blows in the breeze on the rooftops. From places near and far can be heard the sounds of children calling in Arabic and the gas truck whistling a cheerful Fur Elise through the streets. And I feel at peace.
Ironic. In a land that for decades has been choked by the despondency of conflict, whether through overt violence or simply the bitterness that breaks the souls of its people, it may seem like the most unconventional place to feel peaceful. Indeed, for many people the hope of peace is under constant threat of despair and is sometimes rejected altogether.
But then there are mornings like yesterday. I was sitting in my kitchen sipping tea when I saw a playground. Across the valley and beyond a street and up a hill I could just make out the feet of children swinging under the trees. I'd never noticed it before; but now when I look, it's the only thing that catches my eye. And I realize that peace is already present here. It is children swinging together. It is the man at the grocery store who patiently explains the Arabic names of fruits and vegetables to me day after day – and then rewards me with a banana when I come back and recite them correctly. It is our eighth grade girls who practice diligently for “Peace League” – an organization where Israelis and Palestinians play basketball together. It is all of our students becoming compassionate thinkers before our eyes. And it is my roommate’s class, where just this week her students prayed for the Israelis. Our responsibility is to recognize and be part of the daily incarnations of it, just as Jesus himself became peace incarnate in this very place.
The work is far from over. This is why tomorrow I will go back into the classroom and teach my students. I will read their journal entries about feeling trapped in a prison devoid of opportunity and wishing for more. And I will cling desperately to the hope that Jesus’ gospel message – that which tells us to care for those in need, love our enemies, and notice the lilies of the field – does indeed have power here.
And we will keep playing ultimate frisbee together.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Changing Seasons and Packer Umbrellas
This week we experienced something of a small miracle: rain.
In a Middle Eastern climate, rain is precious. You yearn for it in the same way that you miss a loved one whose absence has been felt for such a long time that it makes you weary. This area hasn't seen rain in 5-6 months, and so when it rained for the first time on Wednesday, it changed everything.
As the first light of dawn was blossoming over the hillside, I found myself being summoned from sleep by a vague rustling sound outside my window. As the incoherence of first-consciousness faded away, I soon realized: "No, that's not rustling...that's rain!" When I officially awoke about an hour later, the rain had stopped, but the wet ground below betrayed its visit. I found myself standing at the window grinning like a kid watching snow fall on Christmas morning. Rain! This was so exciting! And why? Because I realized that Wednesday was the eve of Sukkot, also known as the Jewish "Feast of Tabernacles" or "Festival of Booths." It is an 8-day festival which has, as one of its purposes, the supplication for the Lord to send rain. I have been in Israel during Sukkot once before, but it wasn't even close to raining at that time. Thus, when I made this connection it was truly awesome. I imagined hundreds of Jews throughout the land waking to this same realization and praising Yahweh for His provision.
Yet even on this side of the wall where Jewish festivals are neither acknowledged nor appreciated, change was palpable. The air throbbed with anticipation. In the courtyard below, kids coming early to school laughed more joyfully than usual, and each teacher coming around the corner had a look of pleased bewilderment. This was a special day.
In my apartment as well, precipitation brought blessing. It was a rare morning when I was awake before my roommate (ah, those unfinished lesson plans), so when she awoke I happily informed her, "Hey, it rained this morning!" "Really?! Did you seeitfeelithearit?!?" We laughed at her exuberance, then she said, "Well in that case..." (disappeared to her room and reappeared) "...Happy First Day of Rain!!" and handed me a brand-new Green Bay Packers umbrella. As I am a born and bred Packers fan (this is putting it mildly), the kindness of this gesture rendered me speechless. I finally managed to stammer, "Wha-uh-when-how did you get this??" She grinned, shrugged, and said, "Hey, I'm from Wisconsin."
(digression: I live with probably the only Wisconsin native who is a VIKINGS fan. sorry to those of you who are not inclined toward football, but the incredible irony had to be noted.)
In the minutes that followed (while I was supposed to be preparing my lesson for that day), I started contemplating the changing seasons of my own life in this move abroad. It's been 7 years since I willingly uprooted myself to go to college, and in that span of time "home" became both my loving family in New Hampshire, and also my dear friends who have loved and supported me on the North Shore of Massachusetts. Don't get me wrong: I've been thrilled to embark on this new adventure which is the realization of a God-given dream-come-true. But that doesn't mean it's easy to leave.
Recently I was telling a friend what it's like to miss home. I shared with her a W.S. Merwin poem called "Separation":
Your absence runs through me
like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
And this is why I love poetry: because there's really no better way to say it. What I feel about having left isn't so much a constant sadness...not usually a sadness at all, really...but sometimes a dull ache just on the fringes of my awareness. It's a recognition that those I've left behind mean so much to me and it's something I constantly carry with me. I tend to think that every interaction changes you in some way, no matter how big or how small, and when you leave those who have consistently been in your life for a long time, the separation is even more poignant. I remember so vividly the moment on the plane ride over when it all of a sudden hit me what I had done. I had spent the whole day crying off and on as the reality of leaving started to sink in, but somewhere over the Atlantic I all of a sudden had this moment where for the first time I comprehended the full weight of what it meant. Transitions are funny things. Even the best ones come with mourning...with a sense of loss...or at the very least, a need to reckon with the weight of the change.
But as you all know, just because a change is hard, doesn't mean it isn't good. Really ridiculously good, even. I was reminded of this when I stood in my kitchen Wednesday morning twirling my new umbrella as the guy I love strolled in smiling. Nothing like some good old-fashioned perspective.
So to this I say: bring on the rain.
(For more of my thoughts on the theme of water in the desert and the festival of Sukkot, see one of my previous postings: http://rebeldwellings.blogspot.com/2009/05/40-years-of-wandering-and-other-desert.html)
In a Middle Eastern climate, rain is precious. You yearn for it in the same way that you miss a loved one whose absence has been felt for such a long time that it makes you weary. This area hasn't seen rain in 5-6 months, and so when it rained for the first time on Wednesday, it changed everything.
As the first light of dawn was blossoming over the hillside, I found myself being summoned from sleep by a vague rustling sound outside my window. As the incoherence of first-consciousness faded away, I soon realized: "No, that's not rustling...that's rain!" When I officially awoke about an hour later, the rain had stopped, but the wet ground below betrayed its visit. I found myself standing at the window grinning like a kid watching snow fall on Christmas morning. Rain! This was so exciting! And why? Because I realized that Wednesday was the eve of Sukkot, also known as the Jewish "Feast of Tabernacles" or "Festival of Booths." It is an 8-day festival which has, as one of its purposes, the supplication for the Lord to send rain. I have been in Israel during Sukkot once before, but it wasn't even close to raining at that time. Thus, when I made this connection it was truly awesome. I imagined hundreds of Jews throughout the land waking to this same realization and praising Yahweh for His provision.
Yet even on this side of the wall where Jewish festivals are neither acknowledged nor appreciated, change was palpable. The air throbbed with anticipation. In the courtyard below, kids coming early to school laughed more joyfully than usual, and each teacher coming around the corner had a look of pleased bewilderment. This was a special day.
In my apartment as well, precipitation brought blessing. It was a rare morning when I was awake before my roommate (ah, those unfinished lesson plans), so when she awoke I happily informed her, "Hey, it rained this morning!" "Really?! Did you seeitfeelithearit?!?" We laughed at her exuberance, then she said, "Well in that case..." (disappeared to her room and reappeared) "...Happy First Day of Rain!!" and handed me a brand-new Green Bay Packers umbrella. As I am a born and bred Packers fan (this is putting it mildly), the kindness of this gesture rendered me speechless. I finally managed to stammer, "Wha-uh-when-how did you get this??" She grinned, shrugged, and said, "Hey, I'm from Wisconsin."
(digression: I live with probably the only Wisconsin native who is a VIKINGS fan. sorry to those of you who are not inclined toward football, but the incredible irony had to be noted.)
In the minutes that followed (while I was supposed to be preparing my lesson for that day), I started contemplating the changing seasons of my own life in this move abroad. It's been 7 years since I willingly uprooted myself to go to college, and in that span of time "home" became both my loving family in New Hampshire, and also my dear friends who have loved and supported me on the North Shore of Massachusetts. Don't get me wrong: I've been thrilled to embark on this new adventure which is the realization of a God-given dream-come-true. But that doesn't mean it's easy to leave.
Recently I was telling a friend what it's like to miss home. I shared with her a W.S. Merwin poem called "Separation":
Your absence runs through me
like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
And this is why I love poetry: because there's really no better way to say it. What I feel about having left isn't so much a constant sadness...not usually a sadness at all, really...but sometimes a dull ache just on the fringes of my awareness. It's a recognition that those I've left behind mean so much to me and it's something I constantly carry with me. I tend to think that every interaction changes you in some way, no matter how big or how small, and when you leave those who have consistently been in your life for a long time, the separation is even more poignant. I remember so vividly the moment on the plane ride over when it all of a sudden hit me what I had done. I had spent the whole day crying off and on as the reality of leaving started to sink in, but somewhere over the Atlantic I all of a sudden had this moment where for the first time I comprehended the full weight of what it meant. Transitions are funny things. Even the best ones come with mourning...with a sense of loss...or at the very least, a need to reckon with the weight of the change.
But as you all know, just because a change is hard, doesn't mean it isn't good. Really ridiculously good, even. I was reminded of this when I stood in my kitchen Wednesday morning twirling my new umbrella as the guy I love strolled in smiling. Nothing like some good old-fashioned perspective.
So to this I say: bring on the rain.
(For more of my thoughts on the theme of water in the desert and the festival of Sukkot, see one of my previous postings: http://rebeldwellings.blogspot.com/2009/05/40-years-of-wandering-and-other-desert.html)
Friday, September 10, 2010
"Toto, I have a feeling we're not in America anymore."
There are, of course, the obvious signs.
Like the fact that when I go to the grocery store I have to order in grams and kilos. Or the fact that there is a real, live rooster who crows outside my window every morning starting at 4:30 am (incidentally, the rooster's crow is followed shortly thereafter by the call to prayer from the local mosque, so it's a real cacophony of noises to contend with out there). Or the fact that the gas truck drives around playing a cheery whistling tune of Fur Elise every day, while the ice cream man abrasively shouts at the top of his lungs: "Booza! BOOOOZA!!"
But what I have been most amused with is not the every-day cultural and situational differences; but rather, how different it is to teach here. For starters, we are addressed by our first names, since the first name is the identifier in this culture (so I am "Miss Jessica" or "Miss Jess" or, sometimes, just "Miss"). And this is a good indicator of the comparative informality of it all. My students have my cell number and call when they need help with their homework assignments. They joke and converse freely with us in the halls and after school. We have them over to our apartments from time to time, and every week we all play ultimate frisbee together (though it's quite embarrassing when we play "teachers vs. students" and can't win). And often when I sign into my Facebook account, I will have a frantic student messaging me with something like "miss jess thank god ur online!" My favorite example so far has been this:
Kyle**: miss jess I can't figure out the online hw
Me: ok, why is that?
Kyle: im not sure which activity we have to do
Me: you were assigned Student Web Activity Chapter 1, Lesson 2. so go to the main website and follow the instructions I gave you for how to do those kinds of assignments.
Kyle: oh ok, I get it now. thanks a billion! ur awesome!!
and then later...
Me: Kyle.
Kyle: jessica.
Kyle: I mean, miss jessica.
Me: Good catch.
Me: I received your online quiz, but you didn't get 100. remember I told you, don't send it to me until it's all correct? you can take it as many times as you need to. I would suggest sending it to me again before I grade it.
Kyle: ok I will! thanks!!
The other comical part about it all is how I've so naturally stepped into the teacher role. Every time phrases slip out of my mouth like "Harley isn't the teacher; I'm the teacher" or "You can do that on your own time; not mine" I have to check myself to make sure I'm not looking as taken-aback as I feel. I even find myself falling into common teacher mistakes, such as my unfortunate affinity for the charming imp who, as much as his sarcastic comments should be a thorn in my side, always manages to soften me with his constant grin. (In some ways I suppose teaching is the same everywhere.)
The challenge, of course, where the teacher-student relationship is so strikingly different than in America (would YOU have played knock-out basketball with your high school teachers after school?) is how to effectively quell potential discipline issues in class. My first real victory in this area happened in class on Wednesday. While one of the high school classes was working on their study guides, Anthony, a bright, frustratingly-charismatic troublemaker, came up to my desk, took one of my whiteboard markers, and started writing on the board. Well, you have to pick your battles, and frankly, I was curious. So I feigned disinterest at my desk and waited to see what would happen. When I looked up, he had written 2 columns: "Lame" (where he had listed his classmates) and "Cool" (where he had written his own name several times). Slowly the class started looking up and uttering humorous exclamations of dissent. When the clamor had finally died down and the students were again working diligently, I walked up to the board, calmly erased Anthony's writing, and wrote, "Anthony is not as cool as he thinks he is." This elicited pleased laughter from the rest of the class and Anthony himself grinned and nodded in a concession. "Yeah, ok." Would this get me fired in the States? Potentially. Is it effective here? You'd better believe it.
Despite it all, I'm still enjoying teaching (yes, the Chin-Up Challenge is well under-way), and I have a sneaking suspicion that these students might just worm their ways into my heart. I can't wait to get to know them better. Keep praying that I would not only be a competent teacher, but perhaps more importantly, an effective mentor.
In other news, I've traded a class with Barrett. Starting on Monday, he will teach 7th grade Bible, and I'll teach 9th grade English. For a number of reasons, we thought the switch would play better into our strengths, and given my secret love affair with literature and poetry, I'm actually pretty excited about it. But it does mean I have to read "Lord of the Flies" this weekend to get ready to jump into class discussion on Monday. Hey, you gotta roll with the punches, right?
Many blessings,
Jess
**All student names in my posts will be changed to protect the innocent, or in some cases, the devious. As much as it kills me to change their names and Americanize them (thus losing some of their essence), at least this way I get to tell the stories.
A picture of some of my 11th graders practicing flossing in class:
My opinion is that Health class should be as interactive as possible. Props to Mac Photobooth for capturing this special moment.
Like the fact that when I go to the grocery store I have to order in grams and kilos. Or the fact that there is a real, live rooster who crows outside my window every morning starting at 4:30 am (incidentally, the rooster's crow is followed shortly thereafter by the call to prayer from the local mosque, so it's a real cacophony of noises to contend with out there). Or the fact that the gas truck drives around playing a cheery whistling tune of Fur Elise every day, while the ice cream man abrasively shouts at the top of his lungs: "Booza! BOOOOZA!!"
But what I have been most amused with is not the every-day cultural and situational differences; but rather, how different it is to teach here. For starters, we are addressed by our first names, since the first name is the identifier in this culture (so I am "Miss Jessica" or "Miss Jess" or, sometimes, just "Miss"). And this is a good indicator of the comparative informality of it all. My students have my cell number and call when they need help with their homework assignments. They joke and converse freely with us in the halls and after school. We have them over to our apartments from time to time, and every week we all play ultimate frisbee together (though it's quite embarrassing when we play "teachers vs. students" and can't win). And often when I sign into my Facebook account, I will have a frantic student messaging me with something like "miss jess thank god ur online!" My favorite example so far has been this:
Kyle**: miss jess I can't figure out the online hw
Me: ok, why is that?
Kyle: im not sure which activity we have to do
Me: you were assigned Student Web Activity Chapter 1, Lesson 2. so go to the main website and follow the instructions I gave you for how to do those kinds of assignments.
Kyle: oh ok, I get it now. thanks a billion! ur awesome!!
and then later...
Me: Kyle.
Kyle: jessica.
Kyle: I mean, miss jessica.
Me: Good catch.
Me: I received your online quiz, but you didn't get 100. remember I told you, don't send it to me until it's all correct? you can take it as many times as you need to. I would suggest sending it to me again before I grade it.
Kyle: ok I will! thanks!!
The other comical part about it all is how I've so naturally stepped into the teacher role. Every time phrases slip out of my mouth like "Harley isn't the teacher; I'm the teacher" or "You can do that on your own time; not mine" I have to check myself to make sure I'm not looking as taken-aback as I feel. I even find myself falling into common teacher mistakes, such as my unfortunate affinity for the charming imp who, as much as his sarcastic comments should be a thorn in my side, always manages to soften me with his constant grin. (In some ways I suppose teaching is the same everywhere.)
The challenge, of course, where the teacher-student relationship is so strikingly different than in America (would YOU have played knock-out basketball with your high school teachers after school?) is how to effectively quell potential discipline issues in class. My first real victory in this area happened in class on Wednesday. While one of the high school classes was working on their study guides, Anthony, a bright, frustratingly-charismatic troublemaker, came up to my desk, took one of my whiteboard markers, and started writing on the board. Well, you have to pick your battles, and frankly, I was curious. So I feigned disinterest at my desk and waited to see what would happen. When I looked up, he had written 2 columns: "Lame" (where he had listed his classmates) and "Cool" (where he had written his own name several times). Slowly the class started looking up and uttering humorous exclamations of dissent. When the clamor had finally died down and the students were again working diligently, I walked up to the board, calmly erased Anthony's writing, and wrote, "Anthony is not as cool as he thinks he is." This elicited pleased laughter from the rest of the class and Anthony himself grinned and nodded in a concession. "Yeah, ok." Would this get me fired in the States? Potentially. Is it effective here? You'd better believe it.
Despite it all, I'm still enjoying teaching (yes, the Chin-Up Challenge is well under-way), and I have a sneaking suspicion that these students might just worm their ways into my heart. I can't wait to get to know them better. Keep praying that I would not only be a competent teacher, but perhaps more importantly, an effective mentor.
In other news, I've traded a class with Barrett. Starting on Monday, he will teach 7th grade Bible, and I'll teach 9th grade English. For a number of reasons, we thought the switch would play better into our strengths, and given my secret love affair with literature and poetry, I'm actually pretty excited about it. But it does mean I have to read "Lord of the Flies" this weekend to get ready to jump into class discussion on Monday. Hey, you gotta roll with the punches, right?
Many blessings,
Jess
**All student names in my posts will be changed to protect the innocent, or in some cases, the devious. As much as it kills me to change their names and Americanize them (thus losing some of their essence), at least this way I get to tell the stories.
A picture of some of my 11th graders practicing flossing in class:
My opinion is that Health class should be as interactive as possible. Props to Mac Photobooth for capturing this special moment.
"There's no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard..."
Is a picture really worth 1,000 words? Or do perfectly chosen words create the best pictures? Either way, here I offer a sampling of some photographs I've taken while being here.
Some Bethlehem city streets:
Me in my classroom with the books I had made for my students:
The school where I live and work:
Views from my rooftop:
My favorite view:
Pictures from yesterday's outdoor leadership training that we'll be doing with our students:
To see the rest of what I've posted so far, tune in here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2055943&id=68402422&l=d8d510314e
...And now back to the word-pictures. :)
Some Bethlehem city streets:
Me in my classroom with the books I had made for my students:
The school where I live and work:
Views from my rooftop:
My favorite view:
Pictures from yesterday's outdoor leadership training that we'll be doing with our students:
To see the rest of what I've posted so far, tune in here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2055943&id=68402422&l=d8d510314e
...And now back to the word-pictures. :)
Friday, August 27, 2010
The Pull-Up as a Social Mediator (or, "A Teacher's First Days Of School")
I'm just gonna give it to you straight. There is only one reason my first days of teaching were successful: The Gold's Gym Exercise Bar.
I had decided, thanks to the off-handed suggestion of my roommate, to bring my "pull-up bar" to my first days of health class. After all, a key component of health is physical fitness, and what better way to communicate this than a chin-up routine by the teacher? It seemed like it would both be fun for the kids and, secretly, it would be a way for me to knock out those first-day jitters. And besides, it had been a huge hit so far with the other girls living in the upstairs apartments with me. What started with a casual demonstration one night has become a regular nighttime event. Every night, my roommate and I go across the hall where three other teachers live, we hook the bar over the door frame of the bathroom, put on the "Rocky" theme song, and get our work-outs on. It's become such an expectation, in fact, that if I miss a night (due perhaps to a late date-night with Barrett), I take a number of good-natured jabs from the other girls the next morning ("Where were you last night??" "We waited up for you..." "You know Jess, you've missed two nights in a row. How am I going to improve at this rate??"). I gotta say, it's been the quickest way to bond that I've encountered yet.
Therefore, I went with the idea and took the bar down to my classroom on Wednesday morning for a good old fashioned teaching prop.
Over the next two days, I had 6 different health classes: 7th-12th grade. With each class, after going over the seating chart and some general get-to-know-you chats, I asked them to tell me what they thought were components of the subject of "health." This was a good lead-in to the importance of exercise. It generally went like this: after focusing on the topic for a few moments, I sidled over to my desk, said, "To that end..." and pulled out the bar. All eyes went wide: a few with recognition; most with shock that there was such a strange-looking device in the classroom. I then explained what the object was, told them about the year's forthcoming "Chin-Up Challenge," and hooked the bar over the classroom door frame. Their surprise mounted as I told them they could get out of their seats, gather around the door, and watch. When I raised my cardigan-clad arms and began lifting myself up, excitement erupted. After doing a few of them, I got down, pointed to the bar, and said, "Who's next?"
Turns on the bar took up a good part of the rest of class (who needs to go over the entire syllabus, anyway?), and judging from the smiles, slaps on the backs, and encouragement-bordering-on-peer-pressure, I'd say they were having a good time. This was further confirmed when two different teachers said my class was a "praise" in their bible classes, and when one of my 9th graders came up to me yesterday after school and exclaimed, "That class was awesome!!" After yesterday's ultimate frisbee game, I even found myself suddenly in the middle of a circle of excited high school boys as they offered up suggestions of other activities they'd like to do during class (yes, I had said that occasionally our class would entail going outside and playing sports - we'll see if I regret this later). All in all, I'd say the first week of school has gone quite well, and at this point my main concern is whether I've set the bar too high...
...as it were.
I had decided, thanks to the off-handed suggestion of my roommate, to bring my "pull-up bar" to my first days of health class. After all, a key component of health is physical fitness, and what better way to communicate this than a chin-up routine by the teacher? It seemed like it would both be fun for the kids and, secretly, it would be a way for me to knock out those first-day jitters. And besides, it had been a huge hit so far with the other girls living in the upstairs apartments with me. What started with a casual demonstration one night has become a regular nighttime event. Every night, my roommate and I go across the hall where three other teachers live, we hook the bar over the door frame of the bathroom, put on the "Rocky" theme song, and get our work-outs on. It's become such an expectation, in fact, that if I miss a night (due perhaps to a late date-night with Barrett), I take a number of good-natured jabs from the other girls the next morning ("Where were you last night??" "We waited up for you..." "You know Jess, you've missed two nights in a row. How am I going to improve at this rate??"). I gotta say, it's been the quickest way to bond that I've encountered yet.
Therefore, I went with the idea and took the bar down to my classroom on Wednesday morning for a good old fashioned teaching prop.
Over the next two days, I had 6 different health classes: 7th-12th grade. With each class, after going over the seating chart and some general get-to-know-you chats, I asked them to tell me what they thought were components of the subject of "health." This was a good lead-in to the importance of exercise. It generally went like this: after focusing on the topic for a few moments, I sidled over to my desk, said, "To that end..." and pulled out the bar. All eyes went wide: a few with recognition; most with shock that there was such a strange-looking device in the classroom. I then explained what the object was, told them about the year's forthcoming "Chin-Up Challenge," and hooked the bar over the classroom door frame. Their surprise mounted as I told them they could get out of their seats, gather around the door, and watch. When I raised my cardigan-clad arms and began lifting myself up, excitement erupted. After doing a few of them, I got down, pointed to the bar, and said, "Who's next?"
Turns on the bar took up a good part of the rest of class (who needs to go over the entire syllabus, anyway?), and judging from the smiles, slaps on the backs, and encouragement-bordering-on-peer-pressure, I'd say they were having a good time. This was further confirmed when two different teachers said my class was a "praise" in their bible classes, and when one of my 9th graders came up to me yesterday after school and exclaimed, "That class was awesome!!" After yesterday's ultimate frisbee game, I even found myself suddenly in the middle of a circle of excited high school boys as they offered up suggestions of other activities they'd like to do during class (yes, I had said that occasionally our class would entail going outside and playing sports - we'll see if I regret this later). All in all, I'd say the first week of school has gone quite well, and at this point my main concern is whether I've set the bar too high...
...as it were.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
How to Turn a Narcoleptic Into an Insomniac
Those of you who know me well can attest to this fact: when sleep presents itself as even the remotest possibility, my body willingly accepts the offer. Usually this manifests itself by causing me to fall into slumber a mere seconds after my head hits the pillow at night, but the situations are eclectic: on a plane, in a car, head down on a desk, watching a movie, slumped awkwardly in a chair. True, it's technically inaccurate to say I'm a narcoleptic, but the fact remains that my biggest issue with sleep is wishing it would back off sometimes and keep me from missing so darn much of life.
So what does it take, you ask, to cause me to lie awake at night without the slightest hint of drowsiness as thoughts run wildly through my agitated mind? Namely this: having the sudden realization that I live in another country, the next day is my first official teacher work day, I will be in the classroom teaching students (um, what?) in exactly 8 days, and I haven't created a single lesson plan. Oh, and they just gave me a new subject to teach. Yep...that's what does it. Who knew?
I've been planning on teaching 7th-12th grade health class, which remains the case, but a few days ago I was asked if I would be willing to teach a bible class. Sure, I said, I'm open to that. Yesterday the verdict was official: 7th grade bible tacked on. I am fortunate enough that out of sheer intuition I decided to cram some of my undergrad bible textbooks into my carry-on, but still. It was unexpected. Though truth be told, would I have actually done any planning if I had known? Probably not. Had I done any health planning? Nope.
So it came to be that last night (or more specifically, around 1 am this morning), I decided it would be a good time to start thinking about how I was going to teach.
Now, I would say up to this point I have about 4.5 hours of actual teaching experience...and most of that was instructing my college peers in a mild presentational format with Powerpoint at the ready and the gracious tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Elaine Phillips as my guide. Decidedly not middle school and high school kids from a different culture who, if the stories are correct, are not exactly the most compliant or motivated students one could encounter.
...In other words, I was experiencing a mild amount of anxiety.
All of a sudden, however, something dawned on me. My goodness, I thought, I am completely ready for this. For 7 years now I've been a registered EMT and thereby have some pretty extensive knowledge in health-related matters. In addition, I started my college career as a Kinesiology major and took several more human-body classes. I later changed majors; but to what? Biblical Studies. Of all the things they could have asked me to teach, these classes were, as they say, right up my alley. I was probably the most prepared un-prepared person there could be.
At this point there came a new thought: earlier in the evening, the principal's wife had talked to me about being a key member in the coffee shop/hangout center they want to open for the kids. She had heard from Barrett that I was a former barista at Starbucks. Would I be willing to train everyone on the new espresso-maker when it arrived? Definitely; sounds like fun.
It then occurred to me, not without a tremendous amount of gratitude, that the Lord had been using all of these things in my life to prepare me for this moment, right here. A most remarkable sense of peace settled over me, and this verse popped into my head: "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" I grinned. "Ok, Lord," I thought. "If you've been so obviously and intimately involved in the details of my life up to this point, there's no way this isn't going to be ok. In fact, I bet it's going to be awesome." Still smiling, I turned over and fell asleep.
And today I started planning lessons.
So what does it take, you ask, to cause me to lie awake at night without the slightest hint of drowsiness as thoughts run wildly through my agitated mind? Namely this: having the sudden realization that I live in another country, the next day is my first official teacher work day, I will be in the classroom teaching students (um, what?) in exactly 8 days, and I haven't created a single lesson plan. Oh, and they just gave me a new subject to teach. Yep...that's what does it. Who knew?
I've been planning on teaching 7th-12th grade health class, which remains the case, but a few days ago I was asked if I would be willing to teach a bible class. Sure, I said, I'm open to that. Yesterday the verdict was official: 7th grade bible tacked on. I am fortunate enough that out of sheer intuition I decided to cram some of my undergrad bible textbooks into my carry-on, but still. It was unexpected. Though truth be told, would I have actually done any planning if I had known? Probably not. Had I done any health planning? Nope.
So it came to be that last night (or more specifically, around 1 am this morning), I decided it would be a good time to start thinking about how I was going to teach.
Now, I would say up to this point I have about 4.5 hours of actual teaching experience...and most of that was instructing my college peers in a mild presentational format with Powerpoint at the ready and the gracious tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Elaine Phillips as my guide. Decidedly not middle school and high school kids from a different culture who, if the stories are correct, are not exactly the most compliant or motivated students one could encounter.
...In other words, I was experiencing a mild amount of anxiety.
All of a sudden, however, something dawned on me. My goodness, I thought, I am completely ready for this. For 7 years now I've been a registered EMT and thereby have some pretty extensive knowledge in health-related matters. In addition, I started my college career as a Kinesiology major and took several more human-body classes. I later changed majors; but to what? Biblical Studies. Of all the things they could have asked me to teach, these classes were, as they say, right up my alley. I was probably the most prepared un-prepared person there could be.
At this point there came a new thought: earlier in the evening, the principal's wife had talked to me about being a key member in the coffee shop/hangout center they want to open for the kids. She had heard from Barrett that I was a former barista at Starbucks. Would I be willing to train everyone on the new espresso-maker when it arrived? Definitely; sounds like fun.
It then occurred to me, not without a tremendous amount of gratitude, that the Lord had been using all of these things in my life to prepare me for this moment, right here. A most remarkable sense of peace settled over me, and this verse popped into my head: "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" I grinned. "Ok, Lord," I thought. "If you've been so obviously and intimately involved in the details of my life up to this point, there's no way this isn't going to be ok. In fact, I bet it's going to be awesome." Still smiling, I turned over and fell asleep.
And today I started planning lessons.
Friday, August 13, 2010
But who said traveling was easy; right?
Israel is great...but it has its quirks.
I would like to say that arriving to my new home was hassle-free; but unfortunately that wouldn't be the truth. Although I guess to be fair, the issues started in Frankfurt, not Israel. I arrived there around 5 am local time and proceeded directly to my gate to wait for the 10 am flight to Tel Aviv. As is my international traveling custom, I found several unoccupied seats and laid down for a nap. After an indeterminate amount of time (who can really tell with these things?) those few of us at the gate were rudely awakened by airport officials telling us to "Get up! We have to clear the room. You must leave, go through security again (yes: AGAIN), and come back to the the gate...15 or 20 minutes, for you" (everything internationally is "for you". I've learned not to feel too privileged when on the receiving end of this token phrase).
Now, perhaps this wouldn't have been as annoying as it was, if:
1. It wasn't early am after a 6 hour overnight flight;
2. I hadn't been in the middle of a REM cycle on unusually comfortable seats;
3. I hadn't already gone through security in this airport;
4. Security had been hassle-free.
But as none of these things were the case, I was not feeling particularly amiable, so I decided not to go without a fight. Armed with my sense of justice and my mother's assertiveness, I looked one of the officers in the eye and said, "Look, I've already gone through security. Why do I have to do it again? This doesn't make sense." He gave an exaggerated shrug and motioned me onward. Great, how reassuring.
So I obliged. I went back and forth through the metal maze, emptied my pockets, removed my laptop, and waited my turn. This time, when I approached the official at the scanner, I said, "I've already been through this, and my exercise pull-up bar is in my carry-on. You will see it on the screen. It was already cleared the last time, so it should be fine, but I wanted to let you know." He smiled jovially and waved me forward. Next thing I know, the person on the other side of the scanner was pulling aside my bag and asking me to open it. I looked up on the scanner to see the 4 parts of my exercise bar glowing conspicuously blue. Sigh. I tried to explain the situation, but he too felt the need to take one of the pieces and go into a back room and consult with a face-less higher-up. I waited. And waited. After a few casual shrugs and several attempts at polite conversation with the woman official who was left ("so...is Frankfurt nice, this time of year?"), I was starting to get downright irritated.
At some point the guy came back with the missing piece of my equipment and I was then told to follow the woman to gate-check my bag. (Ok, not as bad as it could have been, but really, Frankfurt? Lest we forget...you already cleared me.) When I arrived at the counter, I asked, "Do I have to pay for this?" "No...do you want to pay for it?" "Um, heck no."
Thinking that would be the last of my worries, I boarded the plane for Tel Aviv excited to see my man at the other side of Israeli security. After I had gathered my 150 lbs of belongings (exercise bar in tow), I headed out. No Barrett. I scanned the crowd for several minutes, and then after being satisfied that he really wasn't there, I tried to formulate a plan. Do I try to borrow a phone and call him? No, because I don't have the number that I call from within this country. Hmm. Ok, well do I try to find an internet kiosk? None to be found. Well, this is fun. I decided then that the best course of action was to revolve slowly in place with my bags and hope for him to turn up. These things tend to turn out ok, after all. And they did. After about half an hour, he came down the stairs. The reason for his tardiness? Daylight savings-time. Well, he could hardly be blamed for that. At least he was there and we were finally together! Now...to leave the airport.
This should have been a simple task. Barrett had already reserved a car rental, so all was had to do was go to the Avis counter and sign the paperwork, right? Well...we got there and were told we had to go back outside, look for area "01", hop on a shuttle bus, and go to the actual Avis business down the road. So, ok. We schlepped my luggage outside, onto the bus, and to the Avis counter located a couple miles away. We got inside and I, being the one to pay for the rental, went to give them my card. They couldn't accept it. Why? Because the numbers on my card didn't "stick out." In other words, they weren't the analog type that protrude from the face of the card...thereby nullifying the Avis-members' intention to make a "stamp" of the numbers to keep on file. Seriously? Now, both Barrett and I are used to meaningless rules such as this, so we had no problems asserting ourselves. "Look, it's a real credit card. I have the funds. Go ahead: try and take the money." No dice. "Ok, can't you just write down the numbers instead of making a stamp?" Sorry, that's not policy either. So after some not-so-subtle mutters of dissent, we stomped outside to regroup. I must admit after traveling for about 18 hours, I wasn't feeling particularly compassionate toward the Avis people or their policies. "Are you kidding me?! Just because the numbers on the card don't stick out??" To Barrett's credit, he was more patient and in better humor. "I'm sorry Jess...your card is just too technologically advanced!" I grinned in spite of myself.
So, what next. How about we take the shuttle back to the airport and catch a cab to our hostel in Tel Aviv? Again: sounds simple enough, right? Wrong. The shuttle sidled up to the curb, the driver gave us a good look-over, and kept driving. We motioned for him to pull over, but he just waved his finger in a circular motion and kept driving around the lot, then parked on the far side many yards away. "Um. What does that mean?" "Jess, don't you know that waving your finger means you're supposed to...well...bring your bags over here and wait...maybe?" Again, good humor will get you anywhere. So we went to the other side of the rental-car culdesac and stood in the middle of the road with my bags. Yep, just stood in the middle of the road. The next shuttle that came around had a female driver who started motioning for us to move. I looked at Barrett to take my cues from him. A devious grin spread over his face, he planted his feet, and looked over at me. "Jess, when society digresses from logic to the will to power..."
The bus driver had to stop. She too started smiling. "Quick Jess, get on" Barrett prompted. She opened the front door. I went up to it and right as I was about to step on, she closed it and opened the back door. So this was a game. Perfect! I will win. I hopped up quickly (a true feat, I must admit, considering the weight I was towing) and jumped into the bus before she could close the second door. Graciously, she allowed Barrett to follow, still smiling. Shaking her head and chuckling in spite of herself, she asked us about our traveling plans. We bantered back and forth with her as she told us "What, you want me to just bring you back to the airport? I only do that for people who are flying!" "Great; then we will fly to the beach!" She dropped us off exactly where we had requested, and I told her, "Thank you! You're my favorite." "What, you think I'm going to let you off??" she replied, even as she opened the door. Ok, so not everyone today is going to be unreasonable after all.
...It was good to have adopted that attitude when we saw the line to catch a cab. And also when we went upstairs to try and avoid that line and were told that THOSE taxis were only for VIPs. And when we had to schlep the bags all the way back downstairs again and wait in the interminable line. About this time I became acutely aware that my patience was wearing off, as was my deodorant. But Barrett came through again. He pulled me close and said, "Jess, can you believe it? We finally live in the same place. This is epic." Well, that sure puts it in perspective, doesn't it? We made friends with a German guy named "Okre," waited in line with him and split the cab fare (not without plenty of arguing with the driver), and FINALLY made it to our hostel in Tel Aviv. It wasn't long before Barrett and I were dining at an outdoor restaurant on the Mediterranean Sea, sharing a bottle of wine, walking in the waves under the stars, and loving every minute together. "Jess, I'm SO glad you're here. This might be the most epic thing that has ever happened to me."
Thanks, Israel. It's good to be home.
I would like to say that arriving to my new home was hassle-free; but unfortunately that wouldn't be the truth. Although I guess to be fair, the issues started in Frankfurt, not Israel. I arrived there around 5 am local time and proceeded directly to my gate to wait for the 10 am flight to Tel Aviv. As is my international traveling custom, I found several unoccupied seats and laid down for a nap. After an indeterminate amount of time (who can really tell with these things?) those few of us at the gate were rudely awakened by airport officials telling us to "Get up! We have to clear the room. You must leave, go through security again (yes: AGAIN), and come back to the the gate...15 or 20 minutes, for you" (everything internationally is "for you". I've learned not to feel too privileged when on the receiving end of this token phrase).
Now, perhaps this wouldn't have been as annoying as it was, if:
1. It wasn't early am after a 6 hour overnight flight;
2. I hadn't been in the middle of a REM cycle on unusually comfortable seats;
3. I hadn't already gone through security in this airport;
4. Security had been hassle-free.
But as none of these things were the case, I was not feeling particularly amiable, so I decided not to go without a fight. Armed with my sense of justice and my mother's assertiveness, I looked one of the officers in the eye and said, "Look, I've already gone through security. Why do I have to do it again? This doesn't make sense." He gave an exaggerated shrug and motioned me onward. Great, how reassuring.
So I obliged. I went back and forth through the metal maze, emptied my pockets, removed my laptop, and waited my turn. This time, when I approached the official at the scanner, I said, "I've already been through this, and my exercise pull-up bar is in my carry-on. You will see it on the screen. It was already cleared the last time, so it should be fine, but I wanted to let you know." He smiled jovially and waved me forward. Next thing I know, the person on the other side of the scanner was pulling aside my bag and asking me to open it. I looked up on the scanner to see the 4 parts of my exercise bar glowing conspicuously blue. Sigh. I tried to explain the situation, but he too felt the need to take one of the pieces and go into a back room and consult with a face-less higher-up. I waited. And waited. After a few casual shrugs and several attempts at polite conversation with the woman official who was left ("so...is Frankfurt nice, this time of year?"), I was starting to get downright irritated.
At some point the guy came back with the missing piece of my equipment and I was then told to follow the woman to gate-check my bag. (Ok, not as bad as it could have been, but really, Frankfurt? Lest we forget...you already cleared me.) When I arrived at the counter, I asked, "Do I have to pay for this?" "No...do you want to pay for it?" "Um, heck no."
Thinking that would be the last of my worries, I boarded the plane for Tel Aviv excited to see my man at the other side of Israeli security. After I had gathered my 150 lbs of belongings (exercise bar in tow), I headed out. No Barrett. I scanned the crowd for several minutes, and then after being satisfied that he really wasn't there, I tried to formulate a plan. Do I try to borrow a phone and call him? No, because I don't have the number that I call from within this country. Hmm. Ok, well do I try to find an internet kiosk? None to be found. Well, this is fun. I decided then that the best course of action was to revolve slowly in place with my bags and hope for him to turn up. These things tend to turn out ok, after all. And they did. After about half an hour, he came down the stairs. The reason for his tardiness? Daylight savings-time. Well, he could hardly be blamed for that. At least he was there and we were finally together! Now...to leave the airport.
This should have been a simple task. Barrett had already reserved a car rental, so all was had to do was go to the Avis counter and sign the paperwork, right? Well...we got there and were told we had to go back outside, look for area "01", hop on a shuttle bus, and go to the actual Avis business down the road. So, ok. We schlepped my luggage outside, onto the bus, and to the Avis counter located a couple miles away. We got inside and I, being the one to pay for the rental, went to give them my card. They couldn't accept it. Why? Because the numbers on my card didn't "stick out." In other words, they weren't the analog type that protrude from the face of the card...thereby nullifying the Avis-members' intention to make a "stamp" of the numbers to keep on file. Seriously? Now, both Barrett and I are used to meaningless rules such as this, so we had no problems asserting ourselves. "Look, it's a real credit card. I have the funds. Go ahead: try and take the money." No dice. "Ok, can't you just write down the numbers instead of making a stamp?" Sorry, that's not policy either. So after some not-so-subtle mutters of dissent, we stomped outside to regroup. I must admit after traveling for about 18 hours, I wasn't feeling particularly compassionate toward the Avis people or their policies. "Are you kidding me?! Just because the numbers on the card don't stick out??" To Barrett's credit, he was more patient and in better humor. "I'm sorry Jess...your card is just too technologically advanced!" I grinned in spite of myself.
So, what next. How about we take the shuttle back to the airport and catch a cab to our hostel in Tel Aviv? Again: sounds simple enough, right? Wrong. The shuttle sidled up to the curb, the driver gave us a good look-over, and kept driving. We motioned for him to pull over, but he just waved his finger in a circular motion and kept driving around the lot, then parked on the far side many yards away. "Um. What does that mean?" "Jess, don't you know that waving your finger means you're supposed to...well...bring your bags over here and wait...maybe?" Again, good humor will get you anywhere. So we went to the other side of the rental-car culdesac and stood in the middle of the road with my bags. Yep, just stood in the middle of the road. The next shuttle that came around had a female driver who started motioning for us to move. I looked at Barrett to take my cues from him. A devious grin spread over his face, he planted his feet, and looked over at me. "Jess, when society digresses from logic to the will to power..."
The bus driver had to stop. She too started smiling. "Quick Jess, get on" Barrett prompted. She opened the front door. I went up to it and right as I was about to step on, she closed it and opened the back door. So this was a game. Perfect! I will win. I hopped up quickly (a true feat, I must admit, considering the weight I was towing) and jumped into the bus before she could close the second door. Graciously, she allowed Barrett to follow, still smiling. Shaking her head and chuckling in spite of herself, she asked us about our traveling plans. We bantered back and forth with her as she told us "What, you want me to just bring you back to the airport? I only do that for people who are flying!" "Great; then we will fly to the beach!" She dropped us off exactly where we had requested, and I told her, "Thank you! You're my favorite." "What, you think I'm going to let you off??" she replied, even as she opened the door. Ok, so not everyone today is going to be unreasonable after all.
...It was good to have adopted that attitude when we saw the line to catch a cab. And also when we went upstairs to try and avoid that line and were told that THOSE taxis were only for VIPs. And when we had to schlep the bags all the way back downstairs again and wait in the interminable line. About this time I became acutely aware that my patience was wearing off, as was my deodorant. But Barrett came through again. He pulled me close and said, "Jess, can you believe it? We finally live in the same place. This is epic." Well, that sure puts it in perspective, doesn't it? We made friends with a German guy named "Okre," waited in line with him and split the cab fare (not without plenty of arguing with the driver), and FINALLY made it to our hostel in Tel Aviv. It wasn't long before Barrett and I were dining at an outdoor restaurant on the Mediterranean Sea, sharing a bottle of wine, walking in the waves under the stars, and loving every minute together. "Jess, I'm SO glad you're here. This might be the most epic thing that has ever happened to me."
Thanks, Israel. It's good to be home.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Coming Soon...
I am about to start updating this blog consistently once again. In just two short weeks I'll be living somewhere else in another country. Due to the political nuances of this place, I'm going to have to be fairly discreet with the words I use here if I keep this blog open. It may come to the point where I have to restrict access, so if you're an interested follower, do me a favor and let me know so I can make sure to allow you access. Thanks for tuning in and I can't wait to start sharing stories with you!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
In Search of King David.
Recently, we have been traveling to some places where David himself spent time. One of these places is En Gedi. 1 Samuel 23 and 24 talks about David hiding from Saul in the strongholds of En Gedi. It is in the middle of the desert: an oasis of streams and waterfalls. We hiked all the way up to the top of the cliffs, and then on the way back down stopped and enjoyed a swim in each of the 4 pools with their waterfalls. How refreshing must this place have been for David, the writer of Psalm 63! ("O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water.") Below are some pictures from En Gedi:
Today, we went to the Elah Valley where David defeated Goliath (1 Samuel 17). We climbed to the top of Tel Socoh and read the account of the story. One thing that stuck out to all of us was the sheer courage David showed in proclaiming to Goliath the authority of his God. "You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the LORD Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied...the battle is the LORD's, and he will give all of you into our hands."
What would it look like to have such faith? To have absolute certainty that God would show up? It was like this for many people in the Bible: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednago who knew that God would rescue them from the furnace; Elijah, who knew that God would show up against the prophets of Baal; Peter, when he stepped out on the water and started walking toward Jesus. It's true that Peter eventually started to sink, but at least he started walking. Barrett pointed out to us today that so many times God's people just act in reckless faith. They don't sit around thinking for days and days before they make a decision, trying to discern the will of God. This isn't to say that there isn't a place for that...nor is this to say that all decisions should be made in haste. But it just made me wonder: what would it look like to truly have such a solid, unwavering faith in God Almighty? Jesus himself said that the faith of a mustard seed can move a mountain. Oh that I might have that kind of faith.
On a less theological note...we ended the day spelunking in the caves at Azekah. These were the kinds of caves where David and his men would have hid from Saul. We brought our headlamps and crawled through narrow tunnels and larger caverns, making sure to mark the way back with purple chalk, of course. Perhaps David could navigate these caves with competence, but we felt a little less sure of ourselves. Below are some pictures:
(The Elah Valley from up high)
(in the Elah Valley)
(pretty self-explanatory)
(spelunking in the Azekah caves)
Tomorrow we are heading up to the Galilee for 4 days! So I'll be out of commission for a bit, but will surely have stories when we return.
Blessings upon you all,
Jess
Today, we went to the Elah Valley where David defeated Goliath (1 Samuel 17). We climbed to the top of Tel Socoh and read the account of the story. One thing that stuck out to all of us was the sheer courage David showed in proclaiming to Goliath the authority of his God. "You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the LORD Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied...the battle is the LORD's, and he will give all of you into our hands."
What would it look like to have such faith? To have absolute certainty that God would show up? It was like this for many people in the Bible: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednago who knew that God would rescue them from the furnace; Elijah, who knew that God would show up against the prophets of Baal; Peter, when he stepped out on the water and started walking toward Jesus. It's true that Peter eventually started to sink, but at least he started walking. Barrett pointed out to us today that so many times God's people just act in reckless faith. They don't sit around thinking for days and days before they make a decision, trying to discern the will of God. This isn't to say that there isn't a place for that...nor is this to say that all decisions should be made in haste. But it just made me wonder: what would it look like to truly have such a solid, unwavering faith in God Almighty? Jesus himself said that the faith of a mustard seed can move a mountain. Oh that I might have that kind of faith.
On a less theological note...we ended the day spelunking in the caves at Azekah. These were the kinds of caves where David and his men would have hid from Saul. We brought our headlamps and crawled through narrow tunnels and larger caverns, making sure to mark the way back with purple chalk, of course. Perhaps David could navigate these caves with competence, but we felt a little less sure of ourselves. Below are some pictures:
(The Elah Valley from up high)
(in the Elah Valley)
(pretty self-explanatory)
(spelunking in the Azekah caves)
Tomorrow we are heading up to the Galilee for 4 days! So I'll be out of commission for a bit, but will surely have stories when we return.
Blessings upon you all,
Jess
Thursday, May 28, 2009
40 Years of Wandering, and Other Desert Thoughts
My first wilderness camping experience is officially complete.
We just spent 2 nights and one full day in Machtesh Ramon, a giant crater of miles of desert. We got a later-than-ideal start our first day, so it was long about 10 pm (and well past dark) when we first approached our destination. Before descending into the depression, we stopped along the road and climbed up to the top of a lookout to gaze into the dark nothingness below. It felt like standing at the edge of the earth. (except when our eyes adjusted to the darkness and we saw the lights from cars on the road far below...which looked a lot like alien hovercrafts. at least, what I imagine them to look like.)
We then hopped back into the car and drove slowly down the narrow switch-back road until we reached the bottom. We drove for awhile, not really sure where we would stop and sleep. But as luck, or perhaps divine providence, would have it, we took the second turn we saw (where's the adventure in taking the first turn?) and ended up at a campground of sorts. We parked in the lot and then walked over a hill for a bit until we found a nice flat plot of sandy earth, and laid out the blanket to sleep on. After we cooked up some stew, we laid down under the vast desert sky to sleep. I've never slept under the open sky before, nor have I ever seen so many stars. I felt very insignificant, yet very alive at the same time.
The next morning we woke under the desert sun, packed up our bags, and headed off into the desert in the direction of a large mountain that looked fun to hike. Somewhere near the base of the mountain, Amy decided this was a good place to just stop and read for the day, so we built her a lean-to shelter out of a sheet and some sticks, and Barrett, Brian and I continued onward. When we got to the base of the ascent, we realized the way up was much less stable than what it looked like from afar. Among the few stable rocks were many loose ones that crumbled beneath our feet and created rock avalanches with wrong steps. Yet, we continued onward. To make myself feel better, I started singing "On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand"...which suddenly took on more meaning. After spending time at the top (just enough for pictures, as it was now noon and the heat of the day was wearing on us), we descended, which proved to be more precarious than the ascent - but with careful maneuvering, we made it to the bottom breathing sighs of both relief and exhaustion. The experience that we were looking for - of thirst and heat in the wilderness - was beginning to take hold.
We sought shelter in the one bit of shade we could find - next to a large boulder at the base of the cliff. Feeling thirsty and worn out, we discussed the significance of the theme of water in the Bible. What would it mean to live out here in the days when you couldn't just fill up a Camel Bak and go out hiking for the day? What would it mean to live in a place where for months, there was not a single drop of rain? Although there is no rain in Israel now, and there won't be until about November, we aren't completely in the throes of summer - so there are still the occasional clouds in the daytime. There were some brief clouds that passed overhead as we huddled in the shade next to the rock, and I remarked aloud to the boys that even that small respite from the sun's heat brought such relief. And I imagined being an Israelite in October, when she saw the first cloud she had seen in months, and her body and soul yearned for the coming rains. Only in a context such as this does one realize what it truly means to depend on God to send the rains, and only with this understanding does Christ as the "living water" take on true significance.
I remember learning some about this concept when I studied in Israel two years ago. It is interesting to study the water theme in light of John 7. The context is this: the Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot) is going on, which is an 8 day festival during which time the Jews cry out to God for water. It is late in the summer, when the land has been dry for 5-6 months, and the cisterns of the people are down to only the mucky water at the bottom. Imagine the scene: on the last day of this festival, the "greatest day of the feast," Jesus stands up and says, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to ME and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'" What an image! It was this profoundly relevant statement that must have lead the people to declare, "Surely this man is the Prophet."
At any rate...after our rest near the rock while talking about water and trying to rehydrate ourselves, we set out to find Amy. This proved to be a much more difficult task than we had imagined. Out in the desert wilderness, everything looks the same. We wandered, hot and tired, over endless hills and sandy dunes. Each one of us had a different idea about where we might have left her. ("We should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.") We backtracked several times, changed directions, and climbed to the high points to try and spot her with our camera zooms. After about an hour of fruitless searching, I started thinking about the Israelites wandering in the Sinai desert for 40 years. The trip from Egypt to Canaan should not have taken anywhere near 40 years. While it is true that God had a hand in the confusion that lead the Israelites to wander for such a preposterously long time, I could definitely see how it could happen. It is easy enough to be confused by the landscape itself, let alone when your reasoning becomes clouded by the heat and thirst.
Well, we did eventually find Amy (and before dark even!), we trekked back to the campsite, and made dinner. We also made friends with some Bedouins there and sat on the floor of their tent drinking tea from a cast iron pot over an open flame, trying to converse in broken Arabic and broken English. The day ended with us building a fire of our own, reading aloud until the fire died, and then falling asleep under a vast sky of shooting stars.
And now some pictures from our stay in Machtesh:
(Barrett sitting at our "campsite")
(what we climbed)
(the ascent)
(the terrain)
(me at the Machtesh overlook, earlier today)
And here are some pictures from the other day at Wadi Qelt:
(seeing Jericho - finally!)
We just spent 2 nights and one full day in Machtesh Ramon, a giant crater of miles of desert. We got a later-than-ideal start our first day, so it was long about 10 pm (and well past dark) when we first approached our destination. Before descending into the depression, we stopped along the road and climbed up to the top of a lookout to gaze into the dark nothingness below. It felt like standing at the edge of the earth. (except when our eyes adjusted to the darkness and we saw the lights from cars on the road far below...which looked a lot like alien hovercrafts. at least, what I imagine them to look like.)
We then hopped back into the car and drove slowly down the narrow switch-back road until we reached the bottom. We drove for awhile, not really sure where we would stop and sleep. But as luck, or perhaps divine providence, would have it, we took the second turn we saw (where's the adventure in taking the first turn?) and ended up at a campground of sorts. We parked in the lot and then walked over a hill for a bit until we found a nice flat plot of sandy earth, and laid out the blanket to sleep on. After we cooked up some stew, we laid down under the vast desert sky to sleep. I've never slept under the open sky before, nor have I ever seen so many stars. I felt very insignificant, yet very alive at the same time.
The next morning we woke under the desert sun, packed up our bags, and headed off into the desert in the direction of a large mountain that looked fun to hike. Somewhere near the base of the mountain, Amy decided this was a good place to just stop and read for the day, so we built her a lean-to shelter out of a sheet and some sticks, and Barrett, Brian and I continued onward. When we got to the base of the ascent, we realized the way up was much less stable than what it looked like from afar. Among the few stable rocks were many loose ones that crumbled beneath our feet and created rock avalanches with wrong steps. Yet, we continued onward. To make myself feel better, I started singing "On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand"...which suddenly took on more meaning. After spending time at the top (just enough for pictures, as it was now noon and the heat of the day was wearing on us), we descended, which proved to be more precarious than the ascent - but with careful maneuvering, we made it to the bottom breathing sighs of both relief and exhaustion. The experience that we were looking for - of thirst and heat in the wilderness - was beginning to take hold.
We sought shelter in the one bit of shade we could find - next to a large boulder at the base of the cliff. Feeling thirsty and worn out, we discussed the significance of the theme of water in the Bible. What would it mean to live out here in the days when you couldn't just fill up a Camel Bak and go out hiking for the day? What would it mean to live in a place where for months, there was not a single drop of rain? Although there is no rain in Israel now, and there won't be until about November, we aren't completely in the throes of summer - so there are still the occasional clouds in the daytime. There were some brief clouds that passed overhead as we huddled in the shade next to the rock, and I remarked aloud to the boys that even that small respite from the sun's heat brought such relief. And I imagined being an Israelite in October, when she saw the first cloud she had seen in months, and her body and soul yearned for the coming rains. Only in a context such as this does one realize what it truly means to depend on God to send the rains, and only with this understanding does Christ as the "living water" take on true significance.
I remember learning some about this concept when I studied in Israel two years ago. It is interesting to study the water theme in light of John 7. The context is this: the Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot) is going on, which is an 8 day festival during which time the Jews cry out to God for water. It is late in the summer, when the land has been dry for 5-6 months, and the cisterns of the people are down to only the mucky water at the bottom. Imagine the scene: on the last day of this festival, the "greatest day of the feast," Jesus stands up and says, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to ME and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'" What an image! It was this profoundly relevant statement that must have lead the people to declare, "Surely this man is the Prophet."
At any rate...after our rest near the rock while talking about water and trying to rehydrate ourselves, we set out to find Amy. This proved to be a much more difficult task than we had imagined. Out in the desert wilderness, everything looks the same. We wandered, hot and tired, over endless hills and sandy dunes. Each one of us had a different idea about where we might have left her. ("We should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.") We backtracked several times, changed directions, and climbed to the high points to try and spot her with our camera zooms. After about an hour of fruitless searching, I started thinking about the Israelites wandering in the Sinai desert for 40 years. The trip from Egypt to Canaan should not have taken anywhere near 40 years. While it is true that God had a hand in the confusion that lead the Israelites to wander for such a preposterously long time, I could definitely see how it could happen. It is easy enough to be confused by the landscape itself, let alone when your reasoning becomes clouded by the heat and thirst.
Well, we did eventually find Amy (and before dark even!), we trekked back to the campsite, and made dinner. We also made friends with some Bedouins there and sat on the floor of their tent drinking tea from a cast iron pot over an open flame, trying to converse in broken Arabic and broken English. The day ended with us building a fire of our own, reading aloud until the fire died, and then falling asleep under a vast sky of shooting stars.
And now some pictures from our stay in Machtesh:
(Barrett sitting at our "campsite")
(what we climbed)
(the ascent)
(the terrain)
(me at the Machtesh overlook, earlier today)
And here are some pictures from the other day at Wadi Qelt:
(seeing Jericho - finally!)
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Into the Wilderness.
Today we continue our courtship with the Israeli wilderness.
Two days ago, we hiked the Wadi Qelt (Ascent of Adummim), which is the road Jesus was referring to in the story of the Good Samaritan (15 miles from Jerusalem to Jericho). It should be noted that the word "road" does not connote the landscape at all. Rather, the hike brings you from climbing over boulders and through bamboo reeds and wading through streams, to trekking through the barren mountain land of the desert where the only sign of life is the occasional Bedoiun settlement, to navigating a winding path along the edge of jagged terra rosa cliffs. (don't worry, I intend to post pictures soon). To be sure, the task of the good Samaritan to carry out a severly beaten man from this terrain was not an easy one.
Today, we are heading into Machtesh Ramon, or "The Grand Canyon of Israel." It is a vast depression in the earth, right smack dab in the middle of the desert. We will be camping and hiking there for 2 days (returning Thursday evening). I've never done anything like this and it will surely be an adventure! I will post an update when we return.
For now, time is limited as we have the last-minute camping details to attend to. I hope you all are well and I'll touch base again when we return to civilization!
Blessings,
Jess
Two days ago, we hiked the Wadi Qelt (Ascent of Adummim), which is the road Jesus was referring to in the story of the Good Samaritan (15 miles from Jerusalem to Jericho). It should be noted that the word "road" does not connote the landscape at all. Rather, the hike brings you from climbing over boulders and through bamboo reeds and wading through streams, to trekking through the barren mountain land of the desert where the only sign of life is the occasional Bedoiun settlement, to navigating a winding path along the edge of jagged terra rosa cliffs. (don't worry, I intend to post pictures soon). To be sure, the task of the good Samaritan to carry out a severly beaten man from this terrain was not an easy one.
Today, we are heading into Machtesh Ramon, or "The Grand Canyon of Israel." It is a vast depression in the earth, right smack dab in the middle of the desert. We will be camping and hiking there for 2 days (returning Thursday evening). I've never done anything like this and it will surely be an adventure! I will post an update when we return.
For now, time is limited as we have the last-minute camping details to attend to. I hope you all are well and I'll touch base again when we return to civilization!
Blessings,
Jess
Monday, May 25, 2009
"I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends."
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Today Barrett, Brian, and I hiked up the Mount of Olives. But before we did so, we went to the Garden of Gethsemane and the Church of All Nations at the bottom of the Mount. Inside the church is the stone upon which Jesus supposedly prayed in the garden right before he was taken to be crucified. Written on the altar before the stone is the narrative: Matthew 26:36-46. While reading it, I was really struck for the first time by this fact: Jesus really wanted his friends with him. And praying for him. This part is especially poignant: "Then he said to them, 'My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.'" And then, Jesus goes back to the disciples with him three times to make sure they are up and praying for him, supporting him.
I think when I've read this passage before, I've either focused on the fact that Peter, James and John were really crappy friends, or on the words Jesus was praying. But today I reflected on the idea that despite the fact that Jesus' friends ultimately failed him, it was really important that in his moment of deepest anguish he had people there supporting him and covering him in prayer. Even Jesus, the Son of God, knew it was better not to do the hard things alone.
This is not to negate the importance of solitude or the power of a single person's prayer. But how much more power is there when we are united together in the will of God? In the orthodox Jewish tradition, communal prayer must consist of a quorum (10 people), and no less than that. However, Jesus comes along and says, "Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am with them." So it seems that while the number of people gathering together does not need to be a strict number, such as ten, it is still good - even preferable - when believers pray together.
And, I have to say, along with the encouragement from this passage about the power of unified prayer, it is also encouraging just to know that companionship in itself is to be highly regarded. Because it is not even until Jesus goes back to his disciples that he asks them to pray. He first just says, "Stay here and keep watch with me." As someone who is always happiest sharing life with people, I resonate with this sentiment completely.
So maybe Jesus would like the Beatles song: "With a Little Help From My Friends."
Today Barrett, Brian, and I hiked up the Mount of Olives. But before we did so, we went to the Garden of Gethsemane and the Church of All Nations at the bottom of the Mount. Inside the church is the stone upon which Jesus supposedly prayed in the garden right before he was taken to be crucified. Written on the altar before the stone is the narrative: Matthew 26:36-46. While reading it, I was really struck for the first time by this fact: Jesus really wanted his friends with him. And praying for him. This part is especially poignant: "Then he said to them, 'My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.'" And then, Jesus goes back to the disciples with him three times to make sure they are up and praying for him, supporting him.
I think when I've read this passage before, I've either focused on the fact that Peter, James and John were really crappy friends, or on the words Jesus was praying. But today I reflected on the idea that despite the fact that Jesus' friends ultimately failed him, it was really important that in his moment of deepest anguish he had people there supporting him and covering him in prayer. Even Jesus, the Son of God, knew it was better not to do the hard things alone.
This is not to negate the importance of solitude or the power of a single person's prayer. But how much more power is there when we are united together in the will of God? In the orthodox Jewish tradition, communal prayer must consist of a quorum (10 people), and no less than that. However, Jesus comes along and says, "Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am with them." So it seems that while the number of people gathering together does not need to be a strict number, such as ten, it is still good - even preferable - when believers pray together.
And, I have to say, along with the encouragement from this passage about the power of unified prayer, it is also encouraging just to know that companionship in itself is to be highly regarded. Because it is not even until Jesus goes back to his disciples that he asks them to pray. He first just says, "Stay here and keep watch with me." As someone who is always happiest sharing life with people, I resonate with this sentiment completely.
So maybe Jesus would like the Beatles song: "With a Little Help From My Friends."
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Shabbat Shalom.
(Disclaimer: I typed this post last night but only had time to upload it just now. Today's adventures will come at a time when there is not a line of people at the hostel waiting to use the one computer!)
(walking in the Old City)
(with David's palace!)
(Shabbat dinner)
Waking up in
This morning my eyes popped open wide awake at 7:30 am (jet lag, anyone?) to the whizzing and honking of cars passing by the
Not long after 10 am, I left the apartment and headed down
Gate and Barrett’s hostel. Only one word can be used to describe the feeling: contentment. I reveled in the warmth and sunlight and the fact that I know where to go and how to get around in
The first thing Barrett and I did was go up on the roof of his hostel with Brian, his friend and hostel roommate, and drink Arabic tea in the sunshine while looking out on the city. We also planned our tentative schedule for this trip, which includes several desert hikes and camping expeditions (one hike 15 miles!), a day at the Mediterranean, and 5 days camping in
Later, Brian and Josh joined us and we went into the City of
However, by far the highlight of the day was Shabbat dinner. Barrett, Brian, Josh, and I bought food (challah bread, pita, hummus, oranges, meat, cheese) and wine (a red Merlot from
Barrett read to us from Psalm 112, we recited the Hebrew blessing over the bread and wine, and then toasted the wine in our plastic cups (“La Cha’im! To Life!”). We then enjoyed a lovely dinner as the sun set and the lights began to pop from the hill on the other side of the
Barrett and I ended the day with one of my favorite
Did I mention it’s wonderful to be back?
And now for some pictures:
(Drinking tea on the roof of the hostel)
(walking in the Old City)
(with David's palace!)
(Shabbat dinner)
A Short One.
Hello everyone!
Sorry it has taken me a few days to get on here... the days are full of adventures, and internet opportunities are few. However, I did spend some time writing on a non-internet computer last night, and I will upload that entry as soon as I can (probably later today). Today we are spending a second day in Jerusalem (probably hiking the Mount of Olives), and then tomorrow we are going on a 15 mile hike to Jericho! (The "Ascent of Adummim" or "Wadi Qelt".) I hope you all are well, and again, I will post something more substantial soon.
Shalom from Yerushalayim!
Jess
Sorry it has taken me a few days to get on here... the days are full of adventures, and internet opportunities are few. However, I did spend some time writing on a non-internet computer last night, and I will upload that entry as soon as I can (probably later today). Today we are spending a second day in Jerusalem (probably hiking the Mount of Olives), and then tomorrow we are going on a 15 mile hike to Jericho! (The "Ascent of Adummim" or "Wadi Qelt".) I hope you all are well, and again, I will post something more substantial soon.
Shalom from Yerushalayim!
Jess
Friday, May 8, 2009
The First.
Let me start by saying that blogging is uncharted territory for me. This is mainly due to my mistrust of the medium: I find that pouring out one's soul in a detached electronic manner can often become a replacement for authentic personal interaction. However, in preparation for my upcoming trip back to Israel - a land I love more than words can say - I thought I would give this whole blogging thing a try. This way, you - my friends and family - can be involved in where I'm going and what I'm learning. I can't make any promises, but I will try my best to be diligent in making regular posts from the Holy Land. So...here goes nothing!
(p.s. The image above is the inspiration for the title of this blog. The picture was taken at Masada when I was in Israel in 2006. The sign says, "Rebels' Dwellings." I find it fitting for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I now drive a Honda Rebel motorcycle.)
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