Voices from the Middle East

by Terry Dirks

On our last morning in Jerusalem, I wanted to savor the beauty of the city from the rooftop of our hostel - alone.  I rose at 5:00, a full hour after the haunting call to prayer which echoes across the city five times each day, saturating the air with religion.  Indeed, the daily world of the Middle East is buzzing with voices which reflect faith in God, which is both the bane and beauty of this place.

 As I mount the arching Hogwarts-style steps to the roof, my mind begins to replay the words of the many people I have encountered on our travels here.  I remember the enthusiasm of the Jesus Trail founder, Maoz, and his handsome grinning brown face, as he described the hills that Christ walked near the Sea of Galilee, that blue jewel of the north. I remember the eagerness of Dani, the taxi driver, urging us to eat more of the honey cakes and special coffee he had brought for our lunch on the first day of hiking. I loved the pride of our host in Cana, as she announced, “I will be cooking for you, all Arabic food.” And of course there was wine in Cana. I remember the astonishment at our early arrival in the soft voice of the goat farmer whose grandfather had owned this settler land, and the bleating voices of goats and roosters throughout the night, reminding me that Jesus had surely lived among farmers and herders such as these. I remember the sadness of Gefan, our Israeli hotel owner’s son in Arbel, who was returning for a week of army duty which he hated, as he would be going to “an area of danger – they are always areas of danger,” he sighed.

I remember the bright intelligence of Sadam, our Jordan guide, who filled us in on the “correct” details of historic Petra, and I remember the harsh business voice of Rosa, high up on the rocky Petra trails, who convincingly sold me four necklaces at “best” bargain prices.  But I also remember the eager-to-please hotel manager at the Amra Palace Hotel who was so anxious that we should be happy, that after I explained that I was partially deaf and wore hearing aids, he exclaimed, “I hope you get better soon.”  And I remember the voice of the Indonesian masseuse whose limited English never-the-less commanded me to disrobe for the body scrubbing of my life, and the eager voices of the male attendants who accepted my tip for her, an injustice that still rankles in my heart.

In the Wadi Rum, I remember the soft spoken Abdullah, our desert jeep driver and the unspoken confidence conveyed to me in the strong hand grip of Zedan, the Bedouin leader at our desert camp, as he assisted me across the treacherous rock bridge in the sky with its death precipices below. I still can see Zedan standing on the front of the jeep’s hood, face to the wind as he and Abdullah, who was driving from the back seat, perform stunts that belong in a modern Hollywood version of Lawrence of Arabia. And I remember the braying voices of the camels, as we raced over the beautiful red sands of the desert, breathing in the perfume of the cleanest air in our world.

            I still can hear the intensity of Ibram, our Palestinian guide who was imprisoned for two years without trial as a “security” risk and who passionately showed us his people’s lands now occupied.  I remember the tired voice of Amahl, our Arab billet host, who described how she would prepare meals hurriedly in her Bethlehem kitchen, and then take her young daughter and hide under the stone steps of her flat during the Israeli shelling of the Church of the Nativity. And I remember the disheartened Israeli voice of our ICAHD (Israeli Committee Against House (Palestinian) Demolitions) guide, as she responded to our questions about the future – “NO HOPE” was her reply. But she took us to visit the bulldozed home of a Palestinian father, whose eager voice lifted our hearts as he explained how he was preparing to rebuild his home for the fifth time, and that UN observers would be his lunch guests on Friday.

            And in Jerusalem, as I climb the steps to the rooftop, I remember the eager voices of all our students as they echoed my own wonder at this remarkable place in the world where God has touched humankind in such a profound way that we sadly fight and squabble to own His attention more vehemently than elsewhere on the planet, it seems.

            I look down to the street, Via Delarosa, where Christ carried his cross, right there, on those ancient stones below me.  I see a young girl in a wheelchair, waiting to be picked up for school. Her father sits beside her. Down the street, a shopkeeper hangs up orange and yellow galabeyas from his overhead awning, and black-haired ten year olds play soccer on the street where Christ walked. “What are their lives like?” I wonder. I remember back to all I have met and heard. Their voices are unique here, different, and yet, as I see the father lovingly lift his handicapped daughter into the school van, I understand that in many ways, the world is the same. God, our Father is lovingly guiding us all as we struggle everywhere to find Him.

Jerusalem

Jerusalem is too stinking hot and crowded today. It's the weekend, so if we were staying for the next two days, we would get to experience the joy of moving around a bursting city. Luckily, lots of stuff here is cheap, especially scarves and t-shirts. It's almost worth it to move around this happy city to find the cheap gifts. This is just the old city though. West Jerusalem is more expensive and a lot less crowded.

There are a lot of soldiers on patrol in the old city. Usually they're in twos, and mostly they just talk to each other and check their phones. But, a couple of nights ago, they quickly put up some police barriers before a crowd of jewish people marched through the Muslim Quarter, right in front of where we were staying in the Muslim quarter. I got a few good photos before we were asked to move away from the balcony. The marchers wanted to rebuild the Temple where the Dome of the Rock now stands, and they marched through the Muslim Quarter just to get that point across. Not the most happy demonstration I've seen. The next day, everything went back to whatever is considered normal here.

Eric

Bazaar Lines in Jerusalem

Just a sampling of some of the opening bartering lines we've heard while in Jerusalem.
"I like you, I give you good price"
"You have nice eyes, very beautiful, I give you good price"
" First customer of the morning, I give you good price"
" Welcome, where you from?
"I like your face I give you good buy"

second lines while bartering
"You very beautiful, you barter very hard...but I like you"
"Do you like me? I like you, I'm good man, I give you good price"
"Really are you insulting me?"
"Are you trying to rip me off"

closing thoughts
"you bargained very well"
"10 shekels?, go away"

10 shekels for a falafel at the New Gate
50 shekels for Meza
5 shekels for 8 "timbits" soaked overnight in honey or something. (delicious)

cost of an economics lesson in old Jerusalem.... priceless.
Lyndon

Traffic

 Pretty funny thing happened last night.  I went into the town to buy some multivitamins, get some money and buy a juice.  The town here is more open then in old nazareth but the streets are essentially the width of residential streets back home, with sidewalks and then just building. No yards, no grass, anyway, it was a nice walk, the temperature had cooled a bit and people were out on the streets.  I spotted Signe, O Danis and Michaela buying some stuff in a shop just as I entered the business area.  I waved and went to the ATM around the corner.  I had to wait to use the ATM, so I just kind of watched "city life".  It was wierd, car traffic seemed to get busier and busier and the speed of the cars was increasing. It was as if they had all gotten out of work at some factory all at once, but it was six o clock, wierd.  In fact at one point about eight cars were backed up in a line, usually you can cross the street without hardly even looking.  Anyway I got some Dinar, ran through the traffic across the street to the pharmacy and then started the walk back to the hotel.  I purchased some Mango juice at the little shop that I'd seen the girls at earlier. 
    Walking back I ran into the three girls just sitting on the curb and looking out over the sites of the city.  A man across the street stared at them, I made eye contact with him and he moved on. That was typical, blonde hair is an eye magnet around here.  Anyway, I'm talking to the girls about the day when the same car I've seen at least three times already comes around the corner, guns its engine and speeds down the road.

As I watched the rear of the car speed away it dawned on me, "Girls do you realize your the cause of the traffic congestion and speeding around here?"

They looked at me, then they looked at the traffic, there was a pause and Michaela said, "I think we'll come back to the hotel with you."

Boys,  cars and girls, seems the methods young males use to try and impress aren't all the culture specific.

Lyndon

Fun?

Would you think that being slapped around by a guy named Emir is actually fun and refreshing? (all names are fictitious and any resemblance to the real person's name is purely accidental).  New experiences are a cause of some trepidation and this proved to be no different.  Angst problem number one, what do you wear to a Turkish bath? On Magnum PI (this is obviously dating me to the Precambrian period) their informant seemed to wear only a towel.  T.V. is an educational device so I went with what I knew, oh! naturale.  Seems the woman in the steam room with me hadn't watched Magnum PI so she wasn't aware of the fact that she shouldn't be wearing a bathing suit, just a towel.  I crossed my legs, and thought about how hard it is to teach proper etiquette these days.

   I got the nod from "Emir" just after the room started to spin from the heat.  Interesting that they would have a steam bath in a country where the temperature hardly drops below 26 Celsius. I was doused with warm water and told to lay down on a slab of marble, the fun was about to begin.  Have you ever noticed that exfoliation rhymes with abrasion and mild violation?  Another interesting observation is that most people in the middle east are not 6 foot 5 inches, so I think that Emir was not used to people's feet sticking out about 2 feet over the slab I was lying on.  That might explain why when he gently dropped my feet, my shins would make a mild "clinking" noise on the edge of the slab.  I'm hoping that the slapping at the end was part of the process and not an anticipation of the cheapness of my tip.  It was truly a memorable experience.

   I think I might go back again.  

Greetings from Jordan, Petra.  Lyndon

Jordan and Petra

In addition to it being very hot, it is also very beautiful, sandy and sunny.

The border crossing into Jordan was very smooth and our fearless leaders only had to buy us emergency snacks once. 

Our tour guide for Jordan is Saddam ("but not the other one") and so far he has been a fount of knowledge. Apparently tour guides here have to go through a rigorous two year program before they can be certified. It shows. 

Today our adventure was Petra, where we walked through the gorge made famous by Indiana Jones, saw the Treasury, haggled with the Bedouin over donkey rides and walked up a ridiculous amount of roughly hewn stairs to an old monastery. We may have done some singing. You probably heard it all the way back in Canada - the echoes were fantastic. 

Tomorrow we're walking up even more stairs (900!) to "The High Place" where we're planning on sacrificing a camel or two. 

http://www.nationalgeographic.com/history/ancient/petra-360-3.html

Emma's Deeper Brain Thinking: If the Grim Reaper reaps grim, shouldn't he make people happy because he takes away grimness? 

New Word: Yalla means "hurry up you! get moving let's go!" and we said it a lot during the hike. 

After tomorrow, we're going to be with the Bedouin and the wifi isn't exactly robust, or existent, out in the desert so don't expect any updates. Yalla bye! 

-Ayla

Wadi Musa

It is very hot.

-Everybody

Finding Arbel

Day Three on the Jesus trail.
We prepared everyone for what was going to be a difficult day by emphasizing the the length of the hike ahead of us 18 km uphill both ways.  We were prepared and had lots of water to make it to the next water source on the map.  It was a beautiful hike to the Horns of Hattin, site of a crusader battle, where funnily, they lost because of a lack of water. :-)  What a gorgeous view, the top was also the site of a early caananite fort. We had left early in the morning so the heat was not unbearable, about 32 celcius.  From the summit we trucked on down to a Druize shrine set into the side of the hill, where we were politely told that they would not be accepting visitors today.  They meant to say 29 very sweaty, effervescent, Westgaters, but were too nice to be so blunt.  In the meantime  those that were interested checked out the ruins of a Palestinian village that was abandoned, or forcibly emptied ( need to check the history books on that one) in 1948.  It exemplified my assessment of the Holy Land so far: Rock, heat, thorns.....beautiful.  From there we set off to find our B and B for the night in Arbel.  Navigating down to a crossroad in the trail we ran into a bit of a quandry over which road to take, I stopped to discuss the matter, Terry walked ahead to scout a path and James broke into a sprint running up the road and out of sight around the corner like a man driven by some unknown prize.  Terry followed after him at a walk.  We watched and waited.  The group sat down in the shade of some olive trees and waited for their assessment, and I waited at the road looking for some type of good news to be waved at me from the distance.  They disappeared from sight.
  Soon a car came down the road and slowed to talk to me.  Ah, they've sent me a message!  The elderly Asian couple spoke to me in what I assumed was Japanese, I thought they were lost.  I explained with sign language my lack of language skills and they continued on down the road.  We waited, and waited.... and ....
The same car came back now in the opposite direction, stopped opposite us on the side of the road and the elderly woman with a cane, hobbled out into the lane of oncoming traffic.  I walked quickly across the road hoping to avoid a tragedy, wondering what on earth they wanted from us.  When I got close enough to speak with her, the woman promptly produced a bag of cucumbers and a 2 litre of cold coffee.  She handed me the food and drink, grabbed the cross around her neck and said in thickly accented English.  "Christian", then she smiled and said again..."Jesus!"  Needless to say, I felt a little chagrined, I had just experienced some heaven sent hospitality when I was expecting a request for help!  She smiled, I thanked her, told her "God Bless" and watched as she hobbled back to her seat in the car.   It seems that I needed a small reminder in case I hadn't got the message about the prejudging because as they drove away the elderly male driver rolled down his window waved and yelled "Korean!" as they drove away.
  I returned to the group distributed our "coffee and cukes" and returned to my post on the road. Soon a car stopped, rolled down their window and told me that there were two "women" waiting for their group down the road. (Apparently James has a very shapely figure, or they were only looking at Terry)  With this good news we set off down the road to find James and Terry.  They weren't there, but we found the trail marked clearly and finished the trek into town and to the B and B.  There we saw Terry and James sitting under the trees in the shade, enjoying a cool beverage and looking positively relaxed and refreshed. 
  "Where have you been? We've been waiting for you for at least twenty minutes!"
  We've taken a vote on whether James should teach a course in communication next year.  There was one absention, one opposed, but the motion passed with a majority.
  Having fun in the Holy Land.  God Bless.  Lyndon

Cana

Whew . . . it was hot. But now we're on a rooftop overlooking the wedding of Cana church (and yes, we're having some water turned into something else . . .) - Lyndon wants to call it miracle juice for some reason. The sunset was beautiful, the bells were ringing, and the call to prayer was haunting. And, better yet, one of our rooms has a washing machine and our clothes are tumbling as I write this.

The day was a hike in the heat. Lisa, our nurse, proudly reports that there were/are no heat stroke casualties and only one sunburnt nose to speak of. It was a beautiful hike through the rolling hills of the Galillee, and a wonderful chance for many of them to don newly purchased kafiyes (traditional head scarves).

Tomorrow's hike is shorter but the new word is that we are either getting yogurt or staying in yurts. Yes, communication still is a bit of a problem at times. Day after, we should see a swimming pool if reports are accurate.

There continues to be much laughter, lots of sunscreen, and plenty of (Lyndon wants "educational moments" but he has been vetoed) fellowship (even though Jacquelyn refuses to share her Star Wars pillow).

Deep brain moment from Emma: "Twenty minutes ago, before I ate, I was incredibly hungry. Now I'm not. What happened?" Stay tuned for the next deep brain moment.

Last evening in Nazareth

We woke up early this morning - many of us around 4 am due to jetlag complications - to a lovely breakfast provided by the Fauzi Azar Inn. Lots of yogurt, cheese, eggs and pita. Pita is mandatory for all meals. (And also cucumber juice. Not my favourite, but interesting!)

Our bus today took us to a school in Ibillin where we met with other students our age.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mar_Elias_Educational_Institutions

We got a chance to hear some of the students' opinions on the tensions between Israeli's and Palestinians and then we toured the campus. Their church was very beautiful and colourful. Puts the cafeteria to shame, really. It had such great acoustics that we sang "Viva la Vida". We should have take more tenors and basses on this trip. After our tour we all gathered in the gym to play basketball, soccer and frisbee, or just talk on the sidelines. The boys were impressed that Canadian girls could actually play soccer. I learned how to spell my name in Arabic! The school treated us to a nice lunch and a dessert made almost entirely of cheese with pistachios and syrup called "kanafeh". Jacquelyn was not impressed with the nut situation. 

Since we had some time left, the bus took us to Akka (Arabic), Akko (Hebrew) or Acre (English) to see the ocean.  

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acre,_Israel

We had a chance to wade in the Mediterranean and then walk along the walls city walls. The ocean was warm! 

Some local boys were running along the walls and jumping into the water below. I can't say that I wanted to join them, although I really wanted to go swimming. We had to say yalla bye to our hosts after that, and we drove back to Nazareth. During the break between dinner some people explored while others napped. 

Dinner was at the Fauzi Azar again, and again more pita. (And pickled eggplant. Lyndon was the only one who really enjoyed that, and he may have been pretending.) 

The moon is peeking above the buildings of Nazareth and the Cyprus trees. 

Tomorrow morning we're leaving to walk the Jesus Trail, and we'll be incommunicado for the next four days.We'll be in Cana overnight tomorrow, the site of Jesus's first public miracle where he turned water into wine. Party time! 

New Word: Zaki (Arabic) means "the food is tasty!". We'll be using this one a lot, hopefully. 

-Ayla 

Three days till departure.

The Plan

Preparations have been underway for quite some time. We leave June 4 in the morning. Here's our plan: