It's Turkey Time!

That's right! I am writing to you from a beautiful little hotel right on the coast of the Agean Sea in the beautiful (and surprisingly large) country of Turkey.

We have a theme song--"Istanbul Was Constantinople" by They Might Be Giants. Check it out sometime--I'd include the link if I could, but I can't access the youtube video. So you'll just have to find it yourself. We have been singing this song since our orientation meeting this last week--it's great.

Today half the center got up at five in the morning to watch the BYU Cougars play the Utah Utes. I was not one of those people--sorry cougars, I value my sleep too much. I came up at 7:30 sporting cougar blue and watched the last two quarters, just enough time to watch us lose. Sad day.

We departed the Center at 10:30 and got to Ben Gurion Airport by 11:30 or so, where we proceeded to wait in lines and scan baggage and check luggage and hand around passports for three hours. It was very long, needless to say, but I had to good fortune to be standing by Katie and Mary, which made things far more bearable. We got to our gate at 2:30 or so to wait for a 3:30 flight. We spent the time finishing our lunches and playing Bananagrams, at which I got particularly good--especially when playing it solitaire. The flight was pleasant--the seats were nice and the Turkish Air people actually fed us (chicken and potato salad and warm roll and chocolate apricot torte--yummy, especially for airplane food). We had been told beforehand to ask for Vishne to drink--a Turkish cherry juice our teacher's hailed as the nectar of the gods. We even memorized the Turkish way to ask: "Vishne, Lutfen--Teshekular!" Except that by the time they got to me there was no vishne left. Or maybe they stopped giving it to us when everybody asked for it. Darn.

Two hours later we came into Istanbul and sadly parted from the Schade class. We met our local guide--Yasemin (ya-sa-min), who showed us the walls of ancient Constantinople as we went. We retired to our hotel very tired from the long day.

The next day was day one in Istanbul. We started off at the Hippodrome--the horse racing track. It used to be a huge arena with a circular track in the middle that looped around a line of monuments and collumns in the middle called the Spina. It was built back when the city was neither Istanbul nor Constantinople but Byzantium. It was the central area for gatherings in Byzantine times and under Emperor Constantine (who made it bigger and better, as with many projects he attempted) and was rumored to hold 10,000 people. All that is left now are three monuments from the Spina--an obelisk from the Temple at Karnak in Egypt with many carvings (some of which on the base show how it was found and moved there), a bronze swirling collumn called the Serpent Collumn (allegedly made from the melted shields of defeated Persians), and the Wall Obelisk that is now just stone but was once plated with gold.

Next stop was the Sultanahmed Mosque--what you might know as the Blue Mosque. We removed our shoes, the ladies covered our hair, we put in our headsets so Yasemin could talk to us, and walked in. I was blown away. The place is massive, with something like twenty domes on the top. The walls inside are said to have been decorated with 50,000 tiles--and I believe it. Rich reds and bright blues form mosaics on every surface, and it's hard to see where the swirling designs end and the Arabic calligraphy begins. It was breathtaking. Nothing I say will do it justice--you'll just have to see the pictures.

Our next stop was the Topkapi Palace, where the Sultans lived. We walked through a gate that looked sort of like the one at Disney Land and through the inner courtyards of the complex. We saw the Imperial Council chamber--including the side room for the secretaries and the window into which the Sultan could peek from time to time and see that everything was running smoothly, just to keep the council on their toes. We saw beautifully decorated chambers filled with mosaics and carvings and even gold. During our free time we wandered through rooms that displayed the oppulent wealth of the Sultans--a gilded baby cradle, gold bindings for the Quran, ruby and emerald encrusted everything, and even the 86 carrat Spoonmakers Diamond (allegedly found uncut in a garbage heap and sold for three spoons--so there you go). We also saw some of the old Holy Relics--such as Joseph's turban, Moses' staff, David's sword, a couple of John the Baptist's bones, and some beard pieces from the Prophet Mohammad. Are they real? Anybody's guess--but in my estimation Mose's staff looked quite new.

We did lunch, where we were joyfully reunited with the prodigal Schade class (you know we are all getting close when we rejoice after being parted for one morning. I'm not sure what we're going to do at the end of the semester). We then visited the Grand Bazaar, where I really didn't buy anything (the little things I did get today I got elsewhere--more on souveniers to come) but did enjoy walking around and seeing all the bright, beautiful wares each shopkeeper had on display.

The day was capped by a boat cruise around the Marmarra Sea, all the way to the mouth of the bay to the Black Sea. It took about two hours and we enjoyed every minute--even the crazy pictures we have with the boys looking grea tand the girls with their hair blowing all over their faces. We enjoyed the cool breeze and the beatuiful sunsest and the sights along the shore and being in one company again. It was marvelous.

That's all for now! 

And Six Hours of Classes Later...

Yep, that's right. Count 'em. Two hours of Old Testament, two hours of Ancient Near East, and two hours of Palestine. Six. Hours. But now it is over, and I am feeling so liberated I could sing. this next week is our trip to Turkey--which means that I don't have to sit through another class period for over a week. Hallelujah!

Of course, the six hours did end with the announcement that the Old City and East Jerusalem are off limits because of clashes and demonstrations (no thank you to the makers of the insulting movie about Islaam--nothing but trouble). That plus the fact that tomorrow is Shabat, which means that East Jerusalem is about to close down... well, I guess I'm staying in today. So here I am a-blogging, and soon I will go downstairs and listen to Katie play her harp. Maybe I will also work out in the gymn or walk around the grounds or take a nap. I definitely want to read some more Israeli folk tales--I want to pick one to tell for the next talent show. I think it will be a very good day after all.

It has been already, in spite of the long class periods. My day was jump-started when I woke up and realized that my clock said 7:05 (breakfast starts at 7). Whoops. My dad says that when your body really needs sleep it takes it--so I guess my early mornings finally caught up with me, at least for an extra forty-five minutes. My only consolation was that when I woke up Katie was still asleep in the bed next to me, so we could enjoy our frantic race for clothes and makeup and toothbrushes together. Classes went alright, and then lunch was very pleasant. Now the afternoon will be pleasant too--not what I had expected, but good all the same.

I forgot to tell you one of my upsides from yesterday. I had got home from the city, read Old Testament like crazy for an hour, and was then tired and more than a little stressed (I hereby confess that I did not finish my reading for today in any of my classes. I am at peace with it, though--I ended up being better prepared than I thought I would be). I made myself decent and came up to the Oasis towards the end of the dinner hour to find Brother Bench (part of our housing service couple) waiting there for me with a letter from my wonderful cousin Amanda. She had written me a cheerful letter in her usual beautiful handwriting and shipped it with three stamps from her home in Washington DC. She told me a little about how things were stateside and inquired about my welfare among other things (such as whether I had yet seen any camels. And the answer is yes, I have). It made my day. It got a pretty good reaction from my roommates as well ("Look at that writing--it's a font!"). Thanks, Amanda.

I can't tell you all how much I love it here. The windows are filled with light and the halls are filled with music. As I write this, I am listening to one of the students playing a beautiful contemporary piece on the piano in one of the nearby classrooms. During out-of-class hours, there is nearly always somebody playing the piano or singing songs, and I have jumped in on several occasions to join in the songs or just to enjoy the beauty someone else can create. Katie is playing with the ward choir in the morning (an obligatto of her own composition while the choir sings "Come Thou Fount). I can't wait to hear it. The celtic harp is different from the concert grand I'm used to (spoiled a little? Yes.), but it's enough to make me remember how much I have missed hearing Katie play.

Tonight is another Friday night movie--Gallipoli. We get to visit Gallipoli while in Turkey, so we are watching the film before we go so we will appreciate what we are seeing when we get there. I know a lot less about WWI than I would like, so I am really looking forward to it. When my family went to Gettysburg I was very grateful that we had watched the film beforehand. I know that the real battle didn't have a dramatic score in the background, but it gave me a feel for the background and overall scope of the battle,and thus a greater appreciation for it when I got there. I think Gallipoli will be a similar experience. It will be a great film and a great experience to stand on the shores and pay my respects to the fallen of both sides.

And really, no matter what movie it is, the Friday night movie is a good time. I am looking forward very much to spending a night lounging in the forum with friends for a good time and a good show. My friend Eleisha and I are planning to show up sporting our genie pants. I can't wait.

Yom Tov! (Good Day!)

'Til tomorrow...

At the Red Cresent Hospital

Today was amazing.

Of course, there were the downsides. I got lost in Jerusalem with my group because I thought I knew where I was going and actually didn't. I missed lunch (more on why later). I have more reading to do than I will ever be able to get though. And I managed to prove several times over that despite my dance and theatrical training, grace a virtue I have yet to fully possess.

But now for the amazing upsides--the parts that made every down moment worth it.

Today I volunteered for two hours at the Red Cresent Women's Hospital, just down the street from the center. I was signed up to be a nurse's aid. There were four of us doing the same thing--Ellen, Annie (my roommate) and Abi. I had been led to believe that would involve something secretarial, but those rumors were very much untrue. We were split up into different wards--Ellen in Labor and Delivery, Annie in Post-natal, and Abi in Surgery. I was put straight into the neonatal unit--a small room not much bigger than my bedroom at home, lined with normal basinets on one side and pre-me incubators on the others. I couldn't do a whole lot, as BYU liability concerns prevented me from touching anything that lives and breathes while within the confines of the hospital. In other words, I couldn't hold the babies when they cried--all I could do was rock their basinets back and forth until the supervising nurse could take care of them. I found other ways to satisfy my yearning maternal instincts. When the little ones fussed I pushed their basinets back and forth, singing softy and crooning gently in Arabic: "Marhaba, binti! Inti kuwaisa, nam..." Or, on English, "Hello, my girl... you're alright, yes you are..." etc. Three out of four neonatal babies (all girls) were one half of a set of twins (the other halves being big enough to go home). Two little girls lay in the incubators. One was four weeks early and so small I was afraid that a touch might break her frail little form. None of the babies had names--and they wouldn't get one until their family took them home. I gave them my own so I could remember them all.

On the whole I rocked and consoled and chatted around with the nurses and tried to feel useful for the first hour. My time was cut short when a particularly bossy nurse bustled in and informed me that I couldn't be in here with the premature babies and would have to leave right now. So I left right then. Another of the four nurse's assistant girls had drifted in a while before and she left with me. Ellen and I found Annie standing around in the hallway feeling useless and we all migrated downstairs together.

While downstairs the other girls were put to work making beds and carrying some things to the food prep area. Meanwhile, I took vital stats. I put on blood pressure cuffs and pulse moniters and gave the women thermometers to hold in their mouths. The nurse in charge of me did the actual recording, but I got to interact with the patients some. I was so glad to know Arabic--I carried on some small conversations with the ladies, who seemed very pleased to be able to speak with me in their own language.

Part way between one patient and another, my nurse came in to inform me that the doctor in charge of us all had invited me to come join Abi in the Surgical ward to stand in on a C-section. I consented at once. I was taken to a room where I took off my clothes and dressed in green scrubs and a hairnet and mask. I was admitted to the surgery room and stood along the wall with Abi. I came in while they were working on starting the epidural. It took a few tries to get it in. The poor woman looked like she was in pain--one nurse was there just to give her someone to hold and be with to make the pain easier to stand. They got it started in a few minutes and began the procedure. I won't go into detail for the sake of those who would rather not know what goes on while they are under anesthetics. Each time an incision was made, I had to remind myself that the woman couldn't feel anything--but I still winced to think how much she would feel it later. The nurses and surgeons were quick and efficient, however--they got into the uterus with no trouble and carefully removed the breeched baby. It was a little girls with a whole lot of hair--and we got to be there to hear her first cry. We left as they were suturing things up again. As we went into the changing room and removed our masks, the same look of amazement showed on Abby's face as must have been on mine. It was an unbelievable experience--I don't think either of us will ever forget it. I feel very fortunate indeed.

That afternoon I went into the city to change out some shekels for dollars (which I will then change into lira when we get to Turkey). We went into the old city and I bought my first-every schwarma. It cost me 17 NIS (New Israeli Shekels--that's the full name), but it was worth every last one. I think I have a new favorite food--right up there with gelato and my mom's white chicken chilli. I'm in love.

One thing I forgot to mention. September 11th was this week--two days ago, in fact. I forgot altogether until Israel class that morning, when one of the girls asked Professor Yardin if we could have a moment of silence out of respect for the day. He agreed at once, and we did so. I thought of my family's trip to the 9/11 memorial at Ground Zero in New York. It was a beautiful place. I sang Amazing Grace by one of the pools and wept a little as I remembered the terror of the day--I was only in fourth grade at the time, but I will never forget the way I felt watching the footage of the planes colliding with the towers over and over again on the news. The memorial was so peaceful, though--and I was grateful to know that there was a place here to remember something better than fear. At the end of our moment of silence, Professor Yardin reverently gave us a Jewish saying that I think summed up the day perfectly: "May the names of all those who perished be a blessing to those who love them." May it be so indeed.

Ma'asalama and Shalom!

Rachel

Genie Pants and Jerusalem Sing-Along

So, good news. I actually did ace my Ancient Near East exam--or pretty close, anyway. I did not expect to do as well as 93%, but there you go. A minus for me! I did study very hard for the exam, and I also think I got lucky in my wrong guesses--I know I got more than two questions wrong, so the two that Dr. Stratford threw out must have been some of the ones I missed. Three cheers for dumb luck and flash cards!

Also, there was the song. I finally have it here for you. If you want the full experience, go to iTunes or Youtube and look up "Hercules I Won't Say I'm in Love" (with our without caps) and read these words while the song plays. I think the last verse may have an extra line or two, but bear with us--we started running out of room around the Nicean Creed and had to make up the slack.

That's Ancient Near East History
by Mary Bennion, Katie Graham, Annie Lieshman, and Rachel Pullan

Abraham came in 2000
1200 Moses came round and
Temple built nation united
But in 922 they're divided

Who can find the ten tribes? Lost in 722
612 Bab takes Nineveh; Lehi knows just what to do
South is in a fix, Neb takes Jeru in 586 (oh-oh-oh)

Cyrus, don't mind. Jews return 539
Temple re-seen in 517
They swoon, they sigh at the temple so high

du du, du du, la la la

Alexander dies 3-2-3,
Israel under Ptolemy
1-9-8 Seleucids not Heaven,
Fighting Maccabees 1-6-7

63 Pompeii, Herod dies in 4 BC
Christ til 34, come on you knew that one before
Jews revolt 70, Romans crust the city
(They burn it-to the-ground!) ohh oh oh

Revolt, take 2 in 132
Renamed Aelia in the Bar-Kochba
Byzantine, Constantine, the Nicean Creed-arriiiiiiive 3-2-5!
5 double 0 and the Talmud’s a go
Muhammad’s through in 632
638 Dome of Rock, isn’t it great
10-99 Crusaders just in time
1-1-8-7 Saladin wins Hattin

1-4-5-3.....Fall of ConsTANtin....(ople, ople) to ottomans. (Ahhhhh).

Sorry the text is so small--it couldn't be helped. There you go, anyway--the Orientation Test Timeline Song of Wonder. There actually were a few questions I used this on. One was "What was the result of Seleucid opression that took place in 167 BC?" I almost laughed aloud when I saw the question, because I knew that at that moment all four of us were mentally singing "Fighting Maccabees 1-6-7!!!" And I was right--I asked later. Go Fighting Maccabees!

We have many songs here at the Jerusalem Center. We sing hymns at a lot of the sights we visit. My Old Testament teacher, Brother Judd, has us do sing-alongs in the bus for every field trip (current favorites include a reggae number called "Jerusalem" and "Walkin' in Jerusalem Just Like John." Sometimes the singing just happens. For example, last week we went in for a spur-of-the-moment round of "Give Said the Little Stream" at a marker for a Herodian aqueduct channel, so the song has morphed since into "Give Said the Aqueduct." My current favorite is the one we sang on this week's field trip (sung to the tune of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame"):

Take me down to the Dead Sea
Take me down in a bus
Down to the bottom-est place around
Saltiest water and saltiest ground
And I'll trace the footsteps of Lehi
I'll walk his wilderness way
And with water! Sunscreen! Nephi and Sam
See the Dead Sea today!

Don't you just love it? I do. We'll sing it again when we visit the Dead Sea for real in November.

In other news, I made some purchases yesterday. I tried to stay in and study, but after a few hours of Judaism and Christianity and Zoroasterism (for reals) I was so tired of it all that when Katie said she was going to the city I about begged her to take me along. We got some shekels at Aladdin's (pronounced Ala-deen, not like the Disney character), visited Omar's olive wood place (more on olive wood on another day) and went to Shaban's place in the Christian Quarter. At Shaban's I made my current favorite purchase of the trip.

Genie pants. Oh, yes, it's for real--and they are the most comfortable things ever. The ones I bought have a yellow and pink floral pattern with a gold ribbon strip down the side and make me feel like I jumped out of the Arabian Nights. I will post pictures soon so you can see the awesomeness.

More tomorrow! Ma'asalaama and Shalom!

Weekend of Wonder (Somthing Like That)

I hope you all appreciate these little posts. It's not easy to get them out there--especially when all of my blogger tabs are in Hebrew.

I realized (thanks to my Aunite) that I posted about the district conference but not about the rest of my weekend--and much has happened since district conference as well. So here goes!

Friday night was our first Jerusalem Center movie night. This week's film--Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark. We had a lovely introduction by movie critic Dr. Professor Indiana Henry Jones Stratford (aka my Ancient Near East teacher Professor Stratford--also known as Invictus--wearing a brown suit and bow tie with the "dry boring lecture" light turned on over the podium). He told us all the must-knows of the movie. The following were some of my favorites:

1) Harrison Ford shoots the guy with the big sword because he was too sick to care about doing the whip slinging thing any more.
2) The only member of the cast who did not get sick was the director, Steven Spielberg, allegedly because he ate only the food he brought with him--namely, canned spaghetti-os.
3) There was glass between Harrison and the spitting cobra.
4) A fly does crawl into the German commander's mouth--it's not a film flaw.

So yes. We watched the whole movie in the forum, laughing even when we weren't supposed to and trying with mixed success to get comfortable in the not-so-cushy auditorium style seats. It was great.

I skip over the Sabbath because you heard enough about that in the last two posts. It was amazing--that's all there is to say.

Sunday--our free day--was a real adventure. Sixty or so of us paid 80 skeks--about 20 American dollars--to hire up some busses and go spend a day on the beach at Tel Aviv. It was wonderful. The sun was shining, the water was pleasantly cool... Everyone was doing something different. A few frisbee games started up throughout the day (some of which I took part in). A few people did some creative people burying (we had a mermaid and a munchkin happen, and I was halfway to becoming an octopus before other things got in the way--like the tide). In the sand sculpture department, a few girls even built a sand-castle model of the Jerusalem Center. The boys and the girls took turns making human pyramids (the boys' was taller and cooler by far). We got some great pictures, one of which was the first roommate shot we've had since Orientation--though we definitely want to do another one when our hair is less salty. There was a lot of swimming and wave jumping, and even a little surfing. My whole system got a little clogged with saltwater--but hey, it's the Mediterranean, I'm not complaining. When we got tired of the beach we went walking around the open air market near the beach. I bartered for a skirt, myself--I worked the guy down to twenty shekels from the original forty. More aptly he worked himself down while I just acted reluctant--but it was very effective all the same. We ended the day with gelato and one last go in the sea. It was a marvelous day.

Today was Field Trip day once again. Our first stop was a facility where Bedouin women create income for themselves by weaving. They showed us how the process works, from carding and spinning to the actually weaving. During the demonstration, a sweet girl no older than any of us passed out glass cups of something warm and pleasant. I think it was real Chai tea, in which case I accidentally broke the word of wisdom--but I know that none of us were going to turn down their hospitality. Making tea for eighty people on not much budget is nothing to turn up your nose at. Besides, the tea was sweet and refreshing, so it did us some good--I think we were all tired. It really is a great project. The goal is to empower these women who otherwise don't have much place in the household or the working world and to educate the women and their children. The way Fahima, our guide, said it was that the women here were working to give something better to their daughters. That's a worthy cause if ever I heard one. I bought a little woven ornament (I didn't have many shekels on me). It's not much, and it only cost about six dollars--but it will be a reminder to me about those amazing women and how hard they work to give their daughters a life worth living.

Stop number two was our first ever tel--Tel Sheva. A tell is a mound where cities and communities have built on top of each other for a long time. It makes a hill, which is great for defensibility and is generally a prime spot for future cities. Tell Sheva is the place where Beer Sheba used to be. We walked around the place and saw a text book "Better Homes and Gardens" example of an Israeli living compound, a satelite temple complex (possibly apostate), a huge storage chamber, and an underground water system. Granted, most of it (except the water system) was just the remains of walls--but it was cool none the same. Most of what we saw had been replicated for the sake of educated tourists like us who wanted to see what it was like--right down to the filled-in casemate wall. Even if some of the walls weren't part of the original dig, it was nice to have our first tel be one where we could easily imagine where the ancient city once stood.

We went to one other Tell--Tell Arad. It was less distinct, but we did see some more houses and even a twin temple complex. It was hotter than hades out there, but we got by--mostly thanks to shady hats, lots of sunscreen (some of us had burned at the beach already), and by drinking water like camels. I think the neatest part was the see the wilderness of the Negev having so recently read about Hagar's banishment from Abraham's home. I can't imagine what that would have felt like--wandering with next to no water and a small child to care for. God sent her the blessing of a well--and I don't think I ever realized what a great blessing that was until today.

Today was also my first look at the Dead Sea. We will come back here in a few months to swim, but today was a first glance. We sang "Under the Sea" as we descended below sea level. I love Brother Judd--every field trip he gives us papers with song lyrics on them so we can have a sing-along. We are the "Lucky Judd Bus"--and it is definitely the place to be.

The menu for dinner today said only two words: American dinner. I've been curious all day about what that might mean. The answer--Israeli attempts at hamburgers and french fries and chicken nuggets (shaped like stars and hearts and flowers, no less). My assesment is that the cooks made a valiant attempt and I love them for being willing to go all-out USA for us for a night--but nothing can take the place of a good In-N-Out burger in my heart.

That's all for today! Ma'assalama!

Love,
Rachel

Highlight of My Life!

OK, let's be honest--almost everything I am doing in Israel is a highlight of my life. But this one was special.

I just played the Jerusalem Center organ. Myself. With pedals and everything.

Granted, it was only Sweet Hour of Prayer in good old C Major, but I did it--one of the top hopes and dreams on my Israel bucket list.

Play one of the most beautiful organs in the world--check.

Rachel in the Jerusalem Branch

Today was district conference for the Israel district--and it was possibly the neatest thing I have done since I got here.

We had known it was happening this Sabbath since last week. We are all members of the Jerusalem Branch here (how cool is that?), and for district conference (the equivalent of stake conference) we would be joined by members from the branches in Galilee and Tel Aviv. President Schafer told us about the group in Bethlehem (the church's only official "group"--the next smallest unti after a branch), but had told us that the likelihood was that none of them would be able to come. If you are a Palestinian you have to have the proper papers to get from the West Bank into Jerusalem, and most of the Bethlehem members don't have that documentation. Without it they would have to drive over three hours out and around to get in. I prayed all week that those who were trying to come would be able to get here and that those who could not would know of our love and feel of Heavenly Father's guidance and assurance.

Anyway--the day came, and we were joined by members from all over. It was incredible. I met people today from Chile, Israel, the United States, the Phillipenes, and Russia. One of the Russian sisters spoke in the Relief Society session with the aid of an interpreter--and even with the constant back-and-forth between her and the young man interpreting, the spirit was there. The Relief Society president spoke as well--and I almost cried for joy to see that she had come from Bethlehem. She was the only one who made it, and it was because she had documentation--but I rejoiced all the same.

Her story was incredible. She was born in Israel, joined the church at BYU in the states, then came home. She spent the first several years of her membership in danger every Sabbath. She used to spend three hours running over hills, climbing fences, dodging guards, and even being shot at--and all just to get to church. I just don't know anything like that in the States--I can't remember a time when I haven't lived less than ten minutes away from meeting house. I am only now begining to realize what an incredible blessing that is. It is not easy to be a member of the church here. The walls and boundaries make travel difficult, and the non-prosylitizing agreement extends not only to visitors but to members as well. I have learned so much from these incredible saints today. I will never again take the blessings of religious freedom I enjoy for granted.

Another even that made the day special is that yesterday I got a calling. I am the Compassionate Service leader for the Jerusalem branch. As I went around meeting the sisters today, I was humbled and overwhelmed. I am in charge of service for the student sisters, and I have some ideas for ways I can serve them--but I am also over the service of the sisters who live here in Jerusalem and the surrounding areas. I am in charge of giving and delegating compassionate service to these incredible sisters, many of whom I have not yet met and who all have sacrificed infinitely more than I have to be members of this church. However, most of them also live very hard lives. I cannot wait to get to work doing whatever might be needful for them.

I played the piano and sang with Katie for almost an hour today. I had missed singing with her. It was wonderful.

The crowning point of the day was this afternoon, when we made our first trip to the Garden Tomb. Nobody knows if that is truly the place where the Savior was laid, but it was a beautiful place to remember Him and His glorious resurrection.  We sat under a pavillion and sang hymns for a while. Several worshipers stopped their walks to listen in or even to sing along with us. I think it touched all of us to think that we were able to bring something to that sacred place. Many of the groups were singing in many different languages--but I loved listening to them all. No matter where we are from or what language we speak, we can all sing praise to our Heavenly Father.

Yesterday night we went to the Western Wall for the start of Sabbath. Both the partitioned sections were packed. Both men and women sang, chanted, danced, read scriptures, or just quietly prayed, welcoming the Sabbath day. I covered my hair and made my way up to the wall with a friend (Carrie, my Old Testament teacher's daughter) to touch the stones and pray. We both followed to tradition of not turning our backs on the wall until the last moment.

I have ben praying that as this trip continues, I would be able to learn love for all the people here--Jews, Christians, and Palestinians alike. Heavenly Father is already answering my prayers. I especially love the members of my district. They are all such faithful, wonderful people. As I was walking around after the service, a sister I had never seen before came up to me, smiling ear to ear, exclaiming, "Sister! It's so good to see you here..." She embraced me warmly, kissed me on the cheek, expressed her joy for my presence here as though she had known me all her life. Her warmth and love touched me straight through.

I gave a talk on charity in my singles ward a few months ago. One thing that I said (though I hadn't thought of it until I said it) is that because we are Heavenly Father's children, we share His infinite capacity for love. I am seeing the truth in that idea the longer I am here. It seems like every time I meet someone new here, my heart just keeps making a little more room to let them in. I hope that process never stops--imagine how much love there could be in a lifetime!

Ma'salaama, friends--more soon!

(PS: Thanks for the comments! I love you all so much! It made my day to hear from you all!)

A Little Slice of Life (with Nutella and Peanut Butter)

This post is for the sole purpose of giving you a little taste of what life is like here at the good old Jerusalem Center. Not the classes and homework, mind--just the fun bits of sweet and sparkle that make this an interesting and fun and exciting place to live.

The locals call this place the "Mormon University." If you tell a taxi driver to take you to the BYU Jerusalem Center, he will have no idea what you're talking about. If you tell him to take you to the Mormon University on Mt. Scopus, you'll be dropped at the front door for fifteen shekels.

The most popular treat here is not havla or gelato, but is in fact pita bread spread with nutella and/or peanut butter (my personal preference is for both). We eat it all the time. There's a special corner reserved for that purpose (and other breads, too) in the Oasis, and you can buy it after meal hours for one shekel (about 25 cents) at the Shekel Shack in the student lounge. According to my mother, this declicious treat has been a tradition for BYU students here in the Holy Land since before the Center was built--and probably at Ramat Rachel before that. And I do love being a part of long standing tradition...

Alyssa and Rachel Holdrige (there are four of us) enjoying  chocolate pita goodness in the Shekel Shack.

Speaking of the Shekel Shack, I attended the Grand Opening the other night. They had a whole ribbon cutting ceremony followed by a very loud but very fun dance party. I was a little standoffish at first (I don't know how to dance to modern music--never have, never will), but Mary dragged me unto the floor and soon I was hopping around with everybody else. I bought myself a peanut butter and nutella pita for a shekel, talked with friends, and enjoyed the creativity being exercised on the dance floor (which was actually quite impressive). The get togethers in the student lounge are a whole bunch of fun--I look forward to seeing what the activities committee will come up with next.

There is plenty to do at the Center, but since we couldn't bring much with us we still get creative with our play. The discovery was recently made that socks tractionless flip flops make great ice skates on the polished limestone floors, so I am thinking a stocking-feet figure skating competition will soon be in order. Volleyball and basketball in the gym are a must, and in addition to that a ping pong club has recently been organized (as a side note, the ping pong and Foosball tables are in the bomb shelters--I guess we really are prepared in there). A few students initiated the Sunset Watchers Club, of which I am a proud member--we sit out on the terrace and watch the sun go down over the Old City after dinner. The best I've heard of yet, though, is a creative use of water bottles. We get big two liter bottles every time we have a field trip or free day. I've been trying to conserve mine, but between the four of us we have a stash of six or seven under the desk in our room after only one week. I'm told that some of the FHE groups are going to put them to good use on Monday night by setting them up in the gym and having a bowling tournament. I am so there.

A gorgeous Jerusalem sunset as captured by the Jerusalem Center Sunset Club.

Me posing with out extensive collection of water bottle ten pins.

I have been practicing the piano off and on for fun, but the rooms are in high demand. The piano in Room 1 is out of tune and the one in Room 2 is electronic (a very nice keyboard, don't get me wrong, but there's nothing like real keys). Everybody wants the one in Room 3, but the end result is that I usually end up somewhere else. I am luckier than all the other musicians, though--I live with Katie and her little Celtic Harp. No contests there.

I couldn't resist this picture. Smile, Katie!

Everyone has been studying like crazy because we now have two new classes and, therefore, twice the reading. We have still made time to get out into the city, though, and I have loved every minute. Yesterday we visited the Austrian Hospice again (for the good view from the top) and the Church of the Holy Seplechure, explored Zedekiah's cave (complete with shadow-making competition) and did a little street market shopping. Every vendor we met promised a good price for the Mormons, and one particular scarf vendor just past Damascus Gate offered me a scarf for five shekels less than for Katie because he said he liked me more. The non-price tag version of commerce is a little frustrating sometimes, but I'm beginning to like it more--the interactions with the merchants are just too much fun.

We have our first test tomorrow morning, and my roommates and I are still singing our song. In fact, I have had it perpetually stuck in my head all week. I shall get down the lyrics I don't know for sure and post it tomorrow after I have (hopefully) aced my exam.

Boker Tov and Ma'assalama, everyone!

The beautiful patio outside mi casa.

PS) Please comment on these posts! I check all the time to see if anybody has said something about my little writings. I would love to hear from you if you've got a spare minute. I would also love to know who all is actually reading this--just for my own record. :)

A Citizen of the World

I just spent the last hour and a half watching as my preconceptions about everything East of the Prime Meridian were pounded to powder.

It was the most influential hour and a half of my Near Eastern Studies education as it stands thus far.

Back up. Today was day one of REAL classwork. Not as opposed to fake classwork--just more of it. Last week we had only Old Testament and Ancient Near East to worry about (which was more than enough what with a reflection paper due today and a test in ANE this Friday). This week we have been additionally loaded up with Israel, Palestine, and a language (Hebrew for me). Hebrew was a breeze--I already know most of the alphabet and vowel markings, and today we covered only a few phrases and the letters A and B (aleph and bet), so I get the feeling that Hebrew is going to be pretty smooth sailing.

Everything else, on the other hand... Let's just say I feel like I have enough homework to keep me busy from now until Rosh Hashana. Looking all my syllabi, that's not actually such a big exaggeration.

Anyway--back to my now non-existant preconceptions.

This morning we attended Israel class--which my teacher calls Judaism, Zionism, and the State of Israel. Professor Yarden was not what I had expected. I know exactly what I was expecting when I thought of a Hebrew teacher. I had unconsciously pictured a Hebrew-speaking man with payots and a prayer shawl from the start--stereotypical and stupid though that may have been. As you might have already guessed, I was dead wrong. Professor Ophir Yarden was close shaven, wore slacks and a polo shirt, and while he does speak Hebrew he is originally from the States. My only indication of his faith was the brown leather kipa on the back of his head.

He is an excellent teacher and kept us engaged from the very start. He started by working us through what exactly Judaism is. Culture? Race? Ethnicity? Political affiliation? Religion? There are arguments for all of the above and he showed us every one of them. He also showed us all the different places Judaism might have started--Abraham (the patriarchs), Moses (the law), David (the kingdom), Babylonia (the exile), the return to Zion (the rebuilding), the Pharisees (the practices), or the Rabis (the law and practices without a temple). He showed us the arguments for each. His feeling was that Judaism began with the exile to Babylon. Most peoples, when taken over by another country, would begin worshiping the new country's God, feeling that since their country had been beaten their new country's God must be the stronger. Israel wasn't much different then. "Average Joe Ephraimite" was a monolater--and accepter of one God but not a disbeliever of others. The exile changed that. The Israelites got to Babylon and realized that something was not right. "How can we sing the songs of Zion in a strange land?" "If I forget thee, oh Jerusalem, may my right hand lose its cunning..." etc. God was back in Israel, not in Babylon--and so a strong faith, different from any other in its time, was born.

Right there--my understanding is different. I felt like I was enveloped in Judaism for a while today and came out understanding more than ever before.

Just now I came away from my Islaam/Palestine class. Our teacher did not lecture us about Islaam or Palestine specifically today. Instead, he talked to us about the way we ought to view this course. He started by asking us what the Middle East is. Middle of what? Well, I thought, it's that part sanwiched between the Near East and the Far East, right? Right. But in relation to what? What was the reference point for determining the "middle" East, or even that it was East at all? The Arab nations didn't decide that--Britain did.

The next hour was spent quickly as Professor Bashir laid before us the many ways in which we simple human beings tend to generalize, categorize, stereotype, and oversimplify. He told us about the dangers of xenophobia, the fear of the strange and foreign, and xenophilia, the love of the foreign for the sake of its being foreign. On the whole, the poitn was this: we have great big assumptions about Arabs or Eastern people or Muslims that simply aren't true because it's not as simple as we think it is. For example, we get certain ideas into our heads when we think about a Muslim. But do we think about the Chinese-born Muslim who lives in Brooklyn and has been speaking English his whole life? Probably not. There is too much complexity, too many hues and shades of gray, for us to be able to draw the bold and simple lines we do.

Above all, Professor Bashir pointed out something particularly striking. He knows about us Mormons--we didn't need to toe any non-proselytizing lines for him to have some understanding of our faith. He put it to us that we should be more sensitive to these false perceptions than anyone because we and our predecessors have been victims of those very problems since the begining. We Latter-day saints have been persecuted and driven away and falsely accused because of warped perception and inadequate understanding. This should be important to us--and it certainly is going to be for me from now on.

There was much more in the lecture of a similar nature, but I think you understand the concept. I was stunned. I am stunned. I have always considered myself a fair person when it comes to critical thinking and weighing opinions. I never realized exactly how warped and distorted and oversimplified and uninformed my perceptions were until now. I am determined that they are going to change. I look forward immensely to learning from Bashir Bashir (yes, that's right) and Ophir Yarden so that my perceptions will have basis in fact and personal experience, not in generalizations and simple assumptions. I look forward to being able to go back to the States and watch the news or read a paper and be able to weigh for myself what is real or false, tainted or true, without taking the potentially distorted word of others for fact.

I want to be a well-informed, fair-minded, critical-thinking individual. I want to be no respecter of persons--Palestinian, Arab, Jew, or Gentile. I want to become, as my father says, a "citizen of the world."

I think I'm on the right track.

-oo0oo-

A play-by-play sum-up for anyone who cares:

Sunday was my free day. I walked the ramparts of the Old City wall with some friends during the morning. I also successfully navigated all of those friends--about twelve people--through the Jewish quarter, around the Hurva Synagogue, past the Church of the Holy Seplechure, through an Israeli street market, and out onto the main street right by Jaffa Gate, which was exactly where we needed to be. Lo and behold, I have an internal compass--and it works. Hallelujah and Ilhamdulilla!

Left to right: Jaelyn, Lauren, Brandon, Kathryn, and  what's-her-name (sorry--I can't remember).

Overlooking the Muslim quarter from the Western ramparts. Who can spot the Dome of the Rock?

I went back to the city later that afternoon with a couple of girls who needed a third buddy to get into the city. It was then that I bought and happily ate my first falafel (with french fries in it--who knew, right?). It was AMAZING. I was an instant convert. Next weeks installment: the Schwarma. Stay tuned.

Photographic evidence of my first-ever falafel (and Rachel Holdrige's, too). Believe it. 

Yesterday was our first field trip--the Jerusalem Overlook Adventure. We went to several sites all around Jerusalem took look at the city and the countryside from different angles. It was amazing--every stop was a new experience. We stood on a ridge overlooking Bethlehem and remembered the birth of the Savior. We stood on the last rise before Mt. Moriah (now the Temple Mount) and pictured what Abraham might have seen from somewhere near that spot as he approached the mount to sacrifice his son. We covered our heads to enter a synagogue beneath a mosque (long story) commemorating the Prophet Samuel, then looked down at the hills where he would have found the shepherd boy Saul and annointed him King, and also across the valley to Gibeon, where battles were fought and where Solomon received a discerning heart from the Lord by night. We entered a Lutheran church called Augusta Victoria, where we sang "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" and "Be Still My Soul" in the echoing nave before ascending the bell tower to look out over the hills (223 steps--whew!). It was an amazing day. I learned so much in so few hours! Next weeks trip is to a Bedouin weaving facility and the Negev--I can't wait!

Love you all--Ma'asalaama! Shalom!

First Adventures in the Old City

Hi, everyone! I'm back again! I want to keep posting frequently, and so far I'm keeping up pretty well (though admittedly the fact that my blogger tabs are in Hebrew does not make things easy).

Yesterday I finally went against my studious nature and decided to forgo homework in favor of a brief excursion into the city. I went with about ten to twelve students, and we headed out at about 3:30 (we are not permitted into the city until then on Fridays since it is a day of worship for the Muslims, which sometimes makes the city a little crazy). We had inteded to go to the money changers to stock up on some shekels only to remember at the top of Saladin street that they are closed on Fridays. Instead we took a sharp left and entered the Old City by way of Herod's Gate. Usually we would go through Damascus Gate, since the main roads to about everything there is to see are down that way, but we wanted to do a little exploring off the beaten track.

We ended up in a quiet residential area, where a kind (or possibly annoyed) Arab pointed us in the direction of the Via Dolorosa, the road tradition holds that Jesus walked on his way to Golgotha. We stopped to study a map while a procession of Christian pilgrims in t-shirts and shorts walked slowly down the way, most holding hands while a select few carried a small-scale replica of the cross on their shoulders. I imagine they were headed for the Holy Seplechure, walking out the way that Jesus walked.

In the end we found our way to the Western Wall. The area in front of the wall is partitioned into men's and women's sides (which Katie and I discovered by trial and error--whoops). The women's side was smaller and very crowded and a little noisy, but also very reverent in its way. Women sat and stood everywhere, some with heads covered and some without, some reading the psalms, some praying, and some chantng hymns in Hebrew. A Bar Mitzvah celebration was going on over the partition on the men's side, which involved some jovial song as a young man of twelve or so was hoisted onto the shoulders of the men and carried while the men danced.

The Western Wall from a distance--women on the left, men on the right. Does it seem a little disproportionate to you?

A kind, American-born Jewish woman near me was telling another visitor about the traditions associated with the wall. When she had finished with the other traveler, I asked her if she might repeat what she had been saying to me. She ended up teaching our whole group of girls about the Western Wall and its significance to the Jews. She said that part of the Jewish faith is the original commandments given to Adam, Noah, and Moses--in basic form, not to kill, not to commit adultery, to keep a system of law and order, to worship God, and to (one other--I forget, I'm so sorry. I'll post it if I remember). She said that as Christians and Muslims also keep these rules, they are also heading in the right direction for Heaven (which holds true with our faith and the teachings of Mohammed). She told us that without the temple, the Jews feel that there is something missing from their world and from their faith (I think we all had a moment of cursing the non-prosylatizing agreement just then). She told us also that the coming of the Messiah would happen whether we were worthy of it or not, but that the building of the temple would require righteousness, repentance, and all people turning to God.

Wow. I guess we have more in common than I thought. Her words gave me hope. I think that when, someday, the gospel finally comes to this land, some of the Jews may find that it fills the hole the destruction of their dear temple left behind. I joined both Jewish and Christian women alike in making my way to the Western Wall to place my hand upon it and bow my head in a few moment's quiet prayer.

We made our away out of the city by the round-a-bout route, which I have decided is the only way to go around here. We took some fun pictures with a bunch of collumns in a sort of exhibit below street level. We walked by tons of shops--including one with backpacks hanging from the ceiling and walls, a spice shop displaying a pyramid of different colored powdered spices topped with a miniature model of the Dome of the Rock, and a candy shop that sported more varieties of gummy candy than I've ever seen in my life (I'll be going back there before too long, I think). Eventually we made it back up the hill to the center, where I gratefully went to the cool of my room to shower and get ready for dinner.

The Haram Es-shariif a'la curry and cinnamon. Cool, no?

That evening I took up studying for Ancient Near East class with Katie and Mary. While we were at it, Mary got the idea to write a song with the dates and events we were memorizing. So we did it. Annie soon joined us and I broke out my jelly beans and swedish fish, and it became quite a party. It took us over two hours, but we put out a good two minute song about our Ancient Near East timeline. The song goes along with the tune of the Disney song "I Won't Say I'm In Love" from Hercules, inspired by the line "...that's ancient history--been there, done that!" My favorite round of the chorus goes "Who can find the ten tribes / lost in 722? / Babylon takes Nineveh / Lehi knows just what to do..." My other favorite line is "Then Alex dies 323... / Then after that comes Pompey / Seluecids 198 not heaven / the fighting Maccabees 167!" I ellicited a lot of laughter by suggesting (in all seriousness) that the "fighting Maccabees" sounds to me like a college football team. And your opponents today are the guests, the Syrian Seluecids, against your home team, the FIGHTING MACCABEES! YAAAAY! I drew a comic along those lines that everyone got a kick out of and that is now hanging on my bulliten board with two of my necklaces and my center ID card. It was a great night. We are not joing to forget our timeline dates anytime soon (at least not before Friday, which is when we're testing on them) and I really came to love my roommates as we spent our evening being silly and having a great time together. When we finished we were shocked to discover that it was 11:30. Time flies when you're having fun! I'm not sure whether I am at liberty to post all of the song, but I'll find out soon (and may or may not post it anyway. We'll see).

The muses hard at work on our next big hit.

Today was the Sabbath. On Saturday. Yes. And apparently the jet lag finally caught up with our apartment, because we woke up at 8:35--twenty five minutes before choir pratice. Oops. Cue the mad scramble for dresses and makeup and mirror space! Yay! The meeting was neat--we heard testimony from members from Chile, Russia, Honduras, and the USA. I bore mine in Relief Society. I also got a blessing today from the Branch President. I had some pretty bad anxiety attacks yesterday and the day before and wanted some extra help so that they wouldn't get worse or make my trip too miserable. President Schafer talked with me for a while to get to know me and my situation, then proceeded to bless me with God's peace and comfort and healing. I feel much better now. I don't think the anxiety will be as big a problem before. I am so grateful for the leaders in God's church--I know that as long as I am part of this church, I will always have someone to turn to for help and guidance.

I just came away from a delicious fast Sabbath dinner in the Oasis (complete with ice cream) and a very statisfying nap down in the room. It has been a wonderful day.

More soon! Love always! Shalom!

The Early Days

It took a a long time and a lot of effort. It took hours and hours of packing to make two suitcases and a carryon bag weiging in a fifty, forty, and eight pounds respectively. It took over fourteen hours of plane travel--including two tickets, a passport that never seemed to be in the same place twice, a five hour layover, a long game of Uno, several rounds on the in-flight beverage service, two movies, lots of pretzels, and hardly any sleep at all. It was long and hard and hot and tiring--but I have made it.

I am here. In Israel. In Jerusalem--the Holy City. I still can hardly believe it. I look out the great big glass windows of the center and I can see the Old City walls, the Dome of the Rock, the Horva Synagogue, three Christian churches, and a whole crowd of limestone buildings and paving stone streets. I have to mentally remind myself that this isn't a picture from national geographic. The wall, the streets, the Golden glittering dome--it's allreally there. The real thing.

My first moments in the Holy Land--sleep deprived and disoriented and happy. Hurrah for Israel!

I settled in alright yesterday and crashed into bed after so little sleep (four hours the night before we left and a few hours of uncomfortable half-sleep on the plane). I get the feeling that jet lag isn't going to be much of a problem, seeing as being tired at night has been absolutely no problem at all.

Today we were oriented. A lot. I believe the current count is six orientations we've done so far, and we have a security orientation briefing tomorrow that will bring it to a lucky seven. It was a little tedious sometimes, but I've been glad to have it. Being in such a different, totally unfamiliar place was a little daunting at first, but all the orienting has begun to make me comfortable again.

My favorite orientation was this morning--the forced-march walking tour of the Old City and surrounding environs. I still just couldn't believe what I was hearing. Just listen to the directions we took leaving the center:

Walk down Mt. Scopus and cross the Kidron Valley. Proceed to Saladiin street until you've passed the money changers and come to the next block. Take a left at the remnants of the Jerusalem rebellion wall and proceed up the next street. Take your first right and enter the city through Damascus Gate. At the fork, hang a left for the Dome of the Rock, stay straight for the Jewish Quarter, or go right for the Holy Seplechure.

Can you believe that? Our guide took us right at the fork, but we didn't get to the Dome of the Rock today, but I believe we're heading to the Western Wall in the next day or two, we'll see it then. What we did do was climb five flights of stairs to the top of an Austrian Hostel and looked out over the City. It was just breathtaking. Unfortunately, they Center faculty told us not to bring cameras, since the walk would be fast and we would be coming back anyway. They were right of course--I will be going back to the Austrian Hostel soon for both the view and the Sachertorte.

We passed through the Old City, descending through a dark monastary and taking a brief look at the Church of the Holy Seplechure. I got a real sense for what a sacred place it is as I watched as a woman with her hair covered in a scarf bent down beside the annointing rock, brushed her rosaries over the oil on the stone, then leaned forward almost prostrate to kiss the place where she believed the body of Christ had lain to be annointed for burial. I don't know whether that is the spot where Christ lay, but it no longer matters to me. That woman's quiet devotion has made the place sacred for me. When we return for our more extensive tour I will kneel there myself, thiking of her faith and of my savior Jesus Christ, and say a prayer.

We left the city through Joppa Gate and found ourselves in East Jerusalem. Our guide told us that East and West Jerusalem aren't really on the East and West ends of the city, but that they name is still appropriate in the sense of "East is east and west is west and never the twain shall meet." The division is very stark. Every sign in West Jerusalem was in Arabic, but suddenly in East side they were all in Hebrew. The first thing we saw was the old city hall--the side of which was riddled with bullet holes. It was a chilling reminder that amidst all of the color and richness and bustle of the city, there was a frightening past and dangerous present as well. I feel perfectly safe, though. The scariest thing that has happened was a series of loud bangs the other night that I worried were gunshots at first--until a kind Center faculty member put me at ease by explaining that the Palestinians were shooting off fireworks. East Jerusalem turned out to be very pleasant. We picked up some gelato and enjoyed it at a sidewalk table before heading back.

I did a lot of homework this afternoon amidst more orientations. Most of my reading time I spent on the patio outside my room with four other girls, enjoying the sunshine and breeze, listening to the chanted strains of the call to prayer, and eating jellybeans (thanks, Mom). When I needed a break I walked through the gardens and saw the old olive presses and snuck some grapes from the grape arbor. This evening I went back to the gardens again with Katie after dinner and watched a flaming golden sun descend over the city. One of my new friends--Lorina--took individual shots of us and another friend (Kate) against the backdrop of the sunset and the Old City. Speaking of, I will post what pictures  I can soon--I can't do it here at the Center, but when I have some more shots on the camera I will walk over to the Hebrew University and get them up for your viewing pleasure.

There are eighty two of us here, and I haven't a hope of remembering everybody's names at this point--but since everyone else is in the same boat it's perfectly alright. I've made several good friends, whom you will probably hear about much more from here on out. Suffice it to say for the moment that they are all great people and are making my time here pleasant and cheerful already.

Now I must go complete my reading--ten more pages to go! I also need to braid my hair and get some sleep so I will be ready for more to come tomorrow.

A New Adventure

I am about to go on the adventure of a life time.

This last year I applied twice to go study abroad in Israel--the Holy Land. The first time I was flat out rejected. The second time I was placed on a waiting list in the eighteenth slot. It was better than a rejection, though, so I celebrated a partial victory. And I waited. And waited... and waited. By June I had moved to place eight, and I rejoiced at the possibilities. Three weeks later I hadn't moved at all, and despair sat in again. After the final payment deadline had passed, I had moved to place five--though I doubted whether anyone would drop after that point.

I was wrong.

A week later I called the Jerusalem Center representatives in Provo and was informed that I had moved to place three. The next day they called me to say that they were sorry for the late notice but it happened that they had an opening for me and would I like to take it?

Let me think about--YES. Hooray! Victory! I went to my Heavenly Father with praise and thanksgiving that night--He knows more than anyone how much I desired this opportunity and how difficult the waiting was. I am so grateful that He saw fit to try my patience (which of all my qualities needed refinement) and to give me this gift  when I was ready.

So it is settled. Two weeks from today I will board a plane with some one hundred and fifty students and will fly to Tel Aviv, then go by to arguably the holiest and most revered city in all the civilized world.

Jerusalem.

As you can see, my happy little blog has been the recipient of a complete makeover, both in appearance and title. From now until mid-December it will become the annals of my discoveries and adventures and wonderings and everyday magic in the Holy Land. I begin now, as opposed to before we leave, so that when I look back someday I will know what happened as I prepared to go.

I welcome you to join me on my adventures in these little writings. I can't wait to see what the next few months will bring. 

 

Ahlan wa sahlan--you are most welcome here. Ma'assalaama, my friends! 'Til next time...

The Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies--my new home.

My Own Enchanted Forest

My childhood was populated with characters and places of fancy as I became more and more of a book lover with every passing year. Bilbo Baggins was my friend from early elementary school. Harry Potter and Ron Weasly and Hermione Granger were my companions from fifth grade on up, with their home of Hogwarts school never far from my mind. Merlin and King Arthur and the brave knights of the Round Table occupied my imagination the moment I learned their tales, and the Greek Gods have been my personal fancy since grade school. I  have filled my mind with magic and fantasy for as long as I can remember, but only on very rare occasions have I been able to experience it myself.

Last week it happened--my fantasies came to life. It started with a hike.

I didn't particularly want to go. I had just barely donned my navy blue and white bathing suit and was ready for a dip in the lake. Not that the lake was particularly inviting--the day was windy, the waves were choppy, and the water was chilly enough to raise goose bumps. However, I had gone to all the work to get into my suit and muster my courage to take the plunge with my brothers, who were also properly suited. However, my mother (according to my father) is generally the executive ruling body when it comes to planning and scheduling, and the order of the day was that we would hike first. So hike we would.

I somewhat unwillingly changed clothes and got in the car, groaning a little as I pulled myself in and felt my shins pang in response. I was still sore from the brisk hike we had taken two days before, along with some sprinting practice along the way on my part. I was regretting the sprinting two days later--my shin splints were haunting me with a vengeance, with my hamstrings following suit. Still, the order was to hike, and no amount of protest was going to change the order. So off we went (seven children, four parents, two grandparents, and a partridge in a pear tree), packed into two cars, ready to hike.

We were into the Olympic National Forest and on the trail within half an hour. The forest was unquestionably beautiful--I had forgotten how much so. Thick columns of tree trunks stood everywhere, a sky blue ceiling visible between their branches. Tapestries of tangled green moss hung from their branches. Dead logs lay on their sides, overgrown with lush greenery. The air was moist and sweet, the path easy and the walk not at all strenuous. A few times we crossed sparkling streams over log bridges (or alternate means if the kids decided to get creative).

At length we reached the river proper, deep and rushing, a good fifty feet in breadth. I clambered onto a rock overlooking an inlet of deep, dark blue water so clear and beautiful I instantly regretted my swimming suit drip drying back at the cabin. I wanted to dive off the end of the rock and into the perfect blue of the inlet.

I moment later I watched my brothers clamber to another part of the shore banked by high walls of earth. They didn't reappear. I followed them around, perplexed--and found the most beautiful little room I could have imagined. It was formed by the wall of earth curving around some of the rocks on the shore. Above, at the level of the trail, a tree grew at the edge of the bank, it's roots curling down over the exposed earth and around the rocks and boulders. There was something ancient about the place--something mystical and powerful, a kind of magic. I sat upon a rock draped in a carpet of soft moss and looked out over the river from that place, one hand placed on the nearest root of the tree, as though to hear the beating of an ancient, living heart within it. The river passed by, the tree loomed overhead, and I rested.

Eventually I climbed out of the chamber on the roots of the great tree, thinking my family might be ready to leave soon. They had not yet gone anywhere, so I began to explore anew, walking straight into the forest to see what I could see. I was not there a moment before the real world disappeared and a fairy land took its place. I was in and enchanted forest, creating my very own adventure.

I raced through the trees and over the undergrowth, agile as a deer and light as a dryad. I climbed to the top of a great boulder cloaked with moss and basked in the sunlight. I balanced across fallen logs on tiptoe and leaped over crevices to land softly in the moist earth on the other side. I climbed a rock wall to the crest of one of the tallest rocks and looked out over the forest around me. I felt like part of the woods. The wind blew, the trees grew, and Rachel ran and jumped and danced through the shimmering gold and green wonderland.

I was loathe to leave--I had never had an experience so close to the fantasies of my youth than that one. I wanted to be part of this fairyland, feeling my heart beat and body move along with the rhythms and patterns of those beautiful, ancient, magnificent woods. Unfortunately, all things must come to an end, and we soon had to return home.

Still, all is not lost. William Wordsworth shared a beautiful thought regarding his experience with a "host of golden daffodils" that I have practiced many a time. "Then off when on my couch I lie / in vacant or in pensive mood / they flash upon that inward eye / which is the bliss of solitude / and then my heart with rapture fills / and dances with the daffodils." Like Wordsworth did, I took the beauty I saw and kept it in my heart and mind. Next time I have had a hard day or find myself in "vacant or in pensive mood," I can close my eyes, let myself drift back in time, and remember the day when I raced and danced through my own enchanted forest. When I need to remember the magic of this hard world, I can remember that day...

And all at once the magic will be there once again, as fresh and shining and inspiring as the very day I found it--there in the forests and the riverbanks of Washington.

Thanks, my friends... .'til next time.

Olympia National Park--my enchanted forest. Isn't it beautiful?

Everyday Miracles

I've said over and over again on this blog that magic is everywhere. I've said the same about love and beauty and blessings. Well now I'm about to add another - miracles are everywhere, too.

One of my favorite stories about a miracle is the story of the man born blind in the New Testament. Jesus annointed the man's eyes with mud and commanded him to go and wash in the pool of Siloam. That particular pool was way down at the far Southern end of Jerusalem--based on context, probably the farthest possible water source from the man's location without going outside the city walls. Yet in spite of the inconvenience the man did as the Savior commanded him. He made his way through the crowds in the streets and around the temple all the way to the pool of Siloam and washed--and his sight was restored. He later testified of his healing before the Pharisees, who in the end cast him out of the temple,essentially excommunicating him from the Jewish community. The Savior comes to the man and reveals who He is, whereupon the man worships Him and promises to follow Him. I love this story because there are two miracles in it--a man's sight is restored and a strong testimony is found.

Another miracle that is close to me involves healing also, but by different means. It's a story I have heard hundreds of times about a tiny baby girl who was born with a heart defect, unbeknownst to her parents. At about a week old she began to show signs of being unwell, but no one realized how bad it was. Her mother decided to take her to the hospital, and because the baby's grandmother wanted to come but had to get to the airport soon, she chose an appointment at two o'clock that afternoon. She got there to discover that the normal pediatrician was away and an older, more experienced doctor was subbing in. The doctor recognized the baby's condition at once and had her raced to Primary Children's Medical Center, where she was placed in the care of the most skilled pediatric cardiologist in the state (and possibly the whole western United States). The baby's parents later found out that if they had picked the later appointment their daughter would have died, and that if the normal pediatrician had been there he would probably not have caught the problem in time. The baby survived--it was a miracle. And an even greater miracle is that she had no complications at all, grew up normally and in good health, and is now attending college and enjoying life and even writing her own blog. You've guessed by now that all those miracles were my own--and I am grateful every day for the blessing of my own life.

I hear about miracles every time my father tells me about an adoption he has performed or a life that has been turned around and made whole. The gift we humans have to make choices and improve ourselves and our lives is and incredible miracle. Every time my father tells me that someone graduated from the drug court program I want to cheer. I have seen people in Dad's courtroom on a few occasions whose lives have been ruined by drugs--and even though it was only a few times it was more than enough to make an impression. My most distinct memory was of a woman pleading with my father that she just wanted to be a mom to her kids, but who just couldn't stay clean. I also remember my dad telling me once that he had never met a drug addict who didn't want more than anything in the world to quit and be free of it, but it is such a hard process. When your body becomes so dependent on something, it is a long, hard, uphill fight to try to let it go. So every time I hear that another drug court student has conquered their addiction and graduated I cheer for joy--it is another miracle.

Miracles don't have to be big, though--I had a small one myself the other day. I was feeling very downhearted. I had called the Jerusalem Center earlier that week to ask about my placement on the waiting list, and I had finally found out a few days after that I hadn't moved at all in nearly three weeks. I was discouraged and more than a little stressed about the situation. If I don't get into the Center for this Fall, I'm not sure where I'm going to live this Fall. I sent a text to my best friend, who got initial placement for the program and is preparing to go in August and who probably knows me better than anyone outside of my family. I said simply "Could you give me a call when you get a minute? I need some help with not stressing right now." I wasn't expecting to hear back from her for a while, perhaps not until the next day--she has work often, so I didn't know when her next free moment would be. As such I was considerably surprised when, less than two minutes later, my phone rang and I picked it up to hear Katie's familiar voice on the other end, filled with concern and demanding to know if I was alright. I assured her that I was and told her what was wrong. Katie has been part of my plans for Jerusalem since the begining--she was the brains behind our Arabic learning marathon during Winter semester, and she had been there for all of the anxiety of the application process and the wait for our letters to come. It meant more to me than she knew to be able to talk to her right then--possibly the only person in the world who knew exactly how much the whole Israel thing meant to me. The fact that she had a few minutes to spare right when I needed a little encouragement (to say nothing of the fact that she was willing to give them to me) was a miracle to me.

So it's true--miracles are everywhere. Our bodies work and function perfectly, each system working together with the whole. Our planet is the perfect distance from the sun for all the beautiful life that thrives here to take place. Birds fly and flowers blossom and smell sweet. Sunsets turn the sky a hundred different colors every night. Children are born and live and grow and create. Heavenly Father loves us and watches over our lives.

So many miracles--I can only stand in awe.

Of Honor, Tribute, and Memory

Every Memorial Day is much the same in my memory. Every year we wake early and dress in our nice clothes so we will look our best for the family. We pack some snacks and books and five kids into the car and get onto US 40 heading towards Salt lake. And rain or shine, we take three pots of mums and go to visit three grave sites where rest our kindred dead.

First we go to see Great Grandma and Grandpa Pullan, who are laid beside their son Stan in the Salt Lake Cemetary. If we haven't already heard the stories, we stand and tell them here. Dad tells us about how Grandpa Pullan would always whear a button-up shirt and would pay my dad to mow the lawn. We hear about sweet Grandma Pullan and how the poor woman was diabetic but had a terrible sweet tooth, and how her cupboard was always stocked with cookies just for her grandchildren to sneak away when they thought she wasn't looking. We remember Stan, and remember how he had died in the same accident that had so injured our grandparents all those years ago. Mom arranges us behind Grandma and Grandpa's headstones and takes a picture of us with the mums all well dressed and smiling and one year older than we were in the last picture.

Next we drive around for a few minutes while dad complains about never being able to find the next grave. Finally we find it--a somewhat neglected little headstone beneath a towering pine in another corner of the cemetery. Here lies James and Laurany Huffaker, two of our pioneer forebearers. Mom will tell us the story of Grandma and Grandpa Huffaker crossing the plains in a covered wagon and about the hardships they faced along the way, including the death of one of their daughters just after Laurany had given birth to a new baby. We remember their work to settle in the Salt Lake valley and their early deaths not long thereafter. I take a moment to brush the leaves from the stone and read the inscription beneath their names--"The Book of Mormon is true."

At last we drive to the Midvale cemetery to see Great Grandma and Grandpa Foster. I knew Grandma, so these are stories I can participate in. I can tell about visiting Grandma Foster in Copperton and getting cookies from the cat cookie jar and visiting with her while sitting in Grandpa's big chair. We hear again about Grandpa's legendary strength and his years of work in the Kennecott copper mines. We hear the story of how he came back to the church when he was invited to be a temple worker in his later years; how he quit smoking cold turkey at that very moment, and how he worked in the Salt Lake temple for the rest of his life, even when Grandma had to get up at five in the morning to do his tie for him because his hands couldn't quite manage the knot anymore. We leave a pot of mums with the half a dozen already there, tenderly arranged by the other branches of our family.

Every year I am impressed with how much happiness, blessings, sorrow, and love can fill a lifetime. I love hearing my parents, uncles, aunts, and grandparents tell me about my family members because I get to see a little glimpse of who they were and the kind of lives they lived. I still wish I could have known them all--it would take whole lifetimes of stories for me to truly come to know each of my predecessors. I can see a little, however, and what I see makes me very proud to be part of their families.

Sometimes I wish I could leave something more than just mums--something that would truly show my gratitude for the lives they lived and the examples they set for me. I wish I had the voice to sing something beautiful by their grave sites. I wish I had the skill to create something exquisite and remarkable to leave at their tombstones. I wish I had the memories to give their names and their stories all that they deserve.

I haven't any of those things to give, though. Instead, I follow the words of President Hinkely: "The best things in life give all they have, even if it isn't very much." I say a small prayer at some point in the day, thanking my Heavenly Father for the blessing of the heritage I have been born into.

This year, though, I have thought of something new. There is something I can give in tribute, and it is worth more than anything else I could provide. My Uncle Wayne told the grandkids once that if we truly wanted to thank Grandma and Grandpa for what they had done for us, we could be good boys and girls, the best we can be--because that is what they wanted more than anything. I think I can give the same to my kindred who have passed on. I can live with the kindness and love I have learned from Grandma and Grandpa Pullan's stories of they way they served others, including their family. I can strive for the kind of faith and testimony I have seen in Grandma and Granpa Huffaker's stories of obeying commandments and enduring to the end. I can emmulate Grandpa Foster's dedication and swiftness to do right even after many years of wrong and Grandma Foster's strength to overcome depression and to keep taking her children to church without her husband for so many years.

I can give myself--the best version of myself I can be, made better by the service and sacrifice and righteous examples of those who have walked the path before me. It is the best tribute I can give--the same one my Heavenly Father asks of me every day as I walk the path of his son Jesus Chirst.

I think my grandparents will be happy with my gift.

Happy Memorial Day, my friends - until next time...

The World Turned Upside Down

Do you remember ever standing on your head when you were a little kid? I do. I would put a pillow from the couch on the floor, right up agains the wall (because I never could do a proper cushion-less handstand), then place my head on it and flip my feet up onto the wall above me. All at once the floor was above me and the ceiling below, and the couch and table and my mother and everything else were hanging upside down. What an interesting perspective! Just a little gymnastic work and I could turn the whole world on its head.

Zoom ahead a dozen years or so. A few days ago I went out for a walk with my five year old brother and the dog. The day was cool and breezy, but the sky was still blue and bright, touched here and there with a few gentle clouds. We followed Nathan's directions (my brother, not the dog) as we wound our way in and out of the hilly little streets of our hilly little neighborhood. "Which way should we go, Nathan?" "That way!" "Now which way?" "This way!" Eventually we ended down at the park, where Nathan declared we would stay for "six minutes." I tied up the dog and we went to the set to play.

We started out being pirates, but eventually Nathan wanted to be a monkey on the monkey bars, so we did that for a while - I being the ground level spotter so that the sister monkey didn't have to turn into the family practitioner. When Nathan's hands got tired of being a monkey, we moved on to a set of side-by-side uneven bars. I tried to get Nathan to hang upside down, but he chickened out and fell into my waiting arms. I remembered exactly how to do it from the days when school came with pre-planned playtime, so when Nathan moved on to bigger and better things I tried it myself. I grabbed the bar, walked my feet up one of the vertical pylons, tucked my legs over the bar between my hands, and let go.

The world twisted around and suddenly everything was different. All at once the ground was over my head and the mountains were hanging peaks down from the valley floor. I looked down - or sort of up - and saw my feet dangling over an endless expanse of blue sky. I reached my hands toward the playground sand and planted them there. It felt like I was holding on for dear life to a secure and grounded ceiling to keep from falling into the ocean of blue. All of Heber was on level with my head, and I could see all the way to a flipped Provo Canyon and an upside down Deer Creek. It was singularly interesting just to sit there (even with the blood rushing to my head) and see the world a little differently than I did before.

Eventually I flipped back down and got my bearings. Sand underneath, sky up above, wind in the middle. Perfectly back to normal. After a moment of looking, though, I went straight back to the bar and turned upside down again. Normal is nice sometimes, but abnormal was way too much fun.

The moral of the story? When life gets hard or humdrum or boring or lonely or sad, try turning it on its head - either literally or figuratively, you choose. Kids know the truth that grownups tend to forget - that there's a lifetime of discoveries to make (and a whole lot of fun to boot) by turning the world upside down.

I'll post again soon, I promise! 'Til next time...