Gramary, Gagging, and Gandalf

Today I got to go to an elementary / preschool, to paint a wall. Eventually we will paint a mural on the wall, but today we just sanded and puttied and white-washed. Super awesome! Even a bit of my hair got a fresh coat of paint! :-) We got to talk to some of the kids there: some teenage girls (So I'm not sure the exact age range of the school. There were quite young kids also.) and some boys, maybe twelve ish years old. Kaleb, one of our small group today (there were 4 of us, plus Brother Bentley) performed a few slight-of-hand tricks for them, with those puffy red balls, and the boys loved it. (Gramary means magic, for those too lazy to look it up. As in I was trying really hard to be clever and come up with a cool G word.)

Other than that, today is a study day. We leave for Jordan on Monday, which is way exciting! It's been so fun to be here during the high holiday season. I'll try to put up a few posts about those days as well.

Not a pic taken by me, but my camera is temporarily on
bedrest so this is the online version. 

This Sunday (Sabbath is Saturday here) we went snorkeling in Eilat. That was way awesome. Not only was the water unreal shades of blue, and filled with amazing fish from big to teenie tiny and of all reflective shades (some of them looked like flecks of butterfly wings!), but I also had hands down the best coconut-cream-made-of-heaven slushie I have ever had. Perhaps even the best drink I've ever had. It still takes second place to the beach and snorkeling though. Despite the fact that I inhaled enough salt disgusting water to start my own sea. (Hence "gagging") I learned it does not taste as pretty as it looks. (Maybe that was why the slush was so heavenly: it didn't have a hint of brine or fish or anything salty at all.)

Again, "borrowed" from Google. Thanks fellow bloggers!  Red outline = City of David.
The Jerusalem Center would be directly above the label "Temple Mount", but off the picture.

On Monday we went to the City of David (ok, just looked over where it used to be) and then walked through Hezekiah's tunnel aka "feel like Indiana Jones / awesome explorer" time. Truly, I felt like I was back in ancient times. a brief history lesson: Hezekiah's tunnel was built to channel water from the Gihon Spring to the Pool of Siloam, in preparation for impending attack by the Assyrians. They would need every
possible advantage, as the Assyrians were incredibly powerful.
              The Assyrians were also famous for doing lovely things to those who opposed them, such as whole human skins taken off and tacked to walls, heads put on spits outside gates, limbs cut off, ... you get the idea. So these City of David dwellers are pretty gutsy, and I swear I could still feel their intensity as they carved out the tunnel that would provide them with the ability to survive a siege. It was cool to ponder on the thoughts of those who gouged into that rock with their chisels and picks. They must have been afraid, but intense and focused. Two groups carved it out, one from the top, one working up from the bottom. When the Assyrians came, Isaiah stood on the wall and prophesied that Assyria "shall not come into this city, nor shoot an arrow there..." (Isaiah 37:30) Is that epic or what? I see Isaiah standing up on the wall, preaching, robes flowing all around him Gandalf-style, striking his staff down and shouting "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" (Ok, I'm sure that's a bit dramatic... but it's fun to think about it like that!)

Wow, talkin' straight to me. (Midterm tomorrow - Gandalf is on a roll today, always having the perfect words for the moment!) Therefore, I'm signing off. Shalom!

Reflections and Rosh Hashanah

It hits me at odd times. Here, sitting, writing a paper, in a classroom whose windows look over a balcony and onto the entire beautiful city, with the golden light tracing the tops of skyscrapers to the west, dusking the hills to the south, and reflecting in the petals of the red roses on the terrace. My soul is glowing with a different kind of light, the glow of being here, the impossible joy of realization. I am here. I am living in Jerusalem, city of kings and histories, city of faith, city of conflict, city of the Source of peace. I am here in Jerusalem, and Jerusalem is sinking into me. I am beginning to build Jerusalem inside of myself, and it is made up stone by stone of the miraculous mundane.

One stone is the memory of Rosh Hashanah, and me, forehead pressed against the Western Wall, feeling the emotion of the city. Behind me a small crowd of women pray with intensity, eyes covered. Some even weep, with quiet sobs. The men are wrapped in wings of white, symbolic of purity and new beginnings, as their tallit or prayer shawls drape their shoulders. Women too bear some sort of white clothing, a hair scarf, a blouse, a jacket. In Jewish tradition, the Book of Life is written during Rosh Hashanah, and sealed on Yom Kippur. Those days are days to make all right with fellow men and with God, to atone for the past year so that one’s name may be written in the Book of Life before it is sealed.

I was surprised at the solemn mood when we arrived at the Wall, expecting a joyful celebration of the Head of the Year. Feeling the contemplative aura was at first a let-down, until further realization led me to understand a deeper beauty. The timbres of Shofar, Ram’s horns, reverberated in the air, resonating, echoing; humming. Their sound was more subtle than I imagined, as was the entire scene. Drawn close to the wall, actually laying my hand on it for the first time, I felt a kind of awe. The bricks are worn smooth from the touch of so many before me. With so many notes crammed into every hint of a crevice, the wall seemed to emanate language. And so with forehead pressed against the wall, arms supporting me against it, I listened.

Instead of words, I felt the intensity, of millennia of longing, of pilgrimages, and hopes, and sorrows beyond my comprehension. The skin of my forehead was warm as I leaned in more, pressing against the wall. And though my palms also pressed against the stone, I felt rather that the stone was holding me, the smoothness of the stone surprisingly soft, emanating an unexpected kind of warmth.  That place knows its people, and knows how to support those that come there with contemplative hearts. I may not have tucked my prayer of gratitude on a piece of paper into the wall, but I think it is there, with all the other millions-- integral parts of the wall as much as are the stone and mortar and determination that keep it standing.

Another building stone in my city goes to the dang pigeon that dropped a gift on my sleeve as I was thus in contemplation. Blasted bird. No wonder that section of the wall was open. It was right under a pigeon roost! So the wall left something with me too, I guess, but at least it has a good sense of humor!