Many cool things have happened in the last few days. A ninety-year-old Holocaust survivor came for one of the classical music concerts in the center, but before hand he talked to us and gave us his life story. He only speaks Polish, Hebrew, and Spanish, so he spoke in Spanish and a couple of our boys translated. He was actually late to the concert because he wanted to answer all of our questions and take a picture with us and dance to "La Cucaracha."
Yesterday we went to Jericho. We walked around a bunch of ruins, and saw the oldest building in the world, which was sorta green and rocky. It was also the one day in hundreds when it rains in the Judean Wilderness, and the valley was cold and drizzly. However, we hiked up the Mount of Temptation to see a monastery, and up in the mountain the air was hot and muggy. The monastery clings to the side of a cliff near the caves where hermits used to live. Inside, the monastery is a narrow hallway along the side of the mountain and a few caves made into rooms. Girls wore our head-scarves, so we stood out slightly less from the Greek Orthodox pilgrims swarming around us. They discovered we were not one of them when they asked us questions in Greek.
On the way back, we stopped at a rise overlooking the Wilderness. It was huge and barren and beautiful. There's a picture in the back of the Bible which I've seen before, but in real life it left me awestruck. We sang "Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd" and did not buy anything from the Bedouins who hung around, much to their consternation. We did take a picture with a couple of the adorable little Bedouin boys, though, and gave them a couple of our sack lunches for their trouble. I wish we could have done something for the littlest boy who dropped his ball down the ravine. It was quite tragic.
In other news, we leave for Egypt in two days. Egypt! Yay!
-Stella
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Shabbot Shalom! (January 16)
On Friday night, we went to the Western Wall to welcome in Shabbot (Sabbath). It was pretty much one of the best experiences of my life. We couldn't take pictures, because you can't set off an electronic impulse on Shabbot. A couple of girls were trying to write down prayers on little slips of paper to stick in the wall, and a man came up and politely asked them not to write on the Sabbath, either.
These big masses of young men spent sang Hebrew songs and danced, sometimes in a circle with their arms around each other, rushing around, sometimes jumping up and down like a mosh pit. About half of them were the soldiers we see everywhere. The older men in big black hats threw the young men long-suffering looks and tried to suffocate all the dancing with their air of solemnity. It didn't work. Our boys were wearing kepahs (that's the Hebrew word for a yarmulke), and the Jewish boys grabbed them and pulled them in. They danced with them and tried to follow along with the singing and apparently had the time of their lives.
The girls there were less exuberant. There was only one small circle of girls dancing and singing, so few that if we tried to join them it would be obvious that we didn't know what we were doing. Kate and I did stand right outside of their circle clapping with them and singing, "Shabbot Shalom," the song we learned in our Hebrew class this week. There are only two words, so we were able to sing with gusto.
Closer to the Wall things were more reverent. Everyone stood in a sort of orderly crowd, waiting for their turn to go up and pray at the wall. It's segregated by gender, so I went up to the women's side. I stood beside a pair of girl-soldiers who rocked back and forth singing a prayer together, and a couple of middle-aged women wearing heavy eye-shadow and gauzy headscarves, and a white-haired woman dressed like a wealthy Russian woman a hundred years ago.
I put a hand on the wall and slipped a prayer I had written on a piece of paper into a crack in the stone, and it was amazing. I would go back every Friday, except we're not allowed in the Old City after sunset.
Love,
Stella
These big masses of young men spent sang Hebrew songs and danced, sometimes in a circle with their arms around each other, rushing around, sometimes jumping up and down like a mosh pit. About half of them were the soldiers we see everywhere. The older men in big black hats threw the young men long-suffering looks and tried to suffocate all the dancing with their air of solemnity. It didn't work. Our boys were wearing kepahs (that's the Hebrew word for a yarmulke), and the Jewish boys grabbed them and pulled them in. They danced with them and tried to follow along with the singing and apparently had the time of their lives.
The girls there were less exuberant. There was only one small circle of girls dancing and singing, so few that if we tried to join them it would be obvious that we didn't know what we were doing. Kate and I did stand right outside of their circle clapping with them and singing, "Shabbot Shalom," the song we learned in our Hebrew class this week. There are only two words, so we were able to sing with gusto.
Closer to the Wall things were more reverent. Everyone stood in a sort of orderly crowd, waiting for their turn to go up and pray at the wall. It's segregated by gender, so I went up to the women's side. I stood beside a pair of girl-soldiers who rocked back and forth singing a prayer together, and a couple of middle-aged women wearing heavy eye-shadow and gauzy headscarves, and a white-haired woman dressed like a wealthy Russian woman a hundred years ago.
I put a hand on the wall and slipped a prayer I had written on a piece of paper into a crack in the stone, and it was amazing. I would go back every Friday, except we're not allowed in the Old City after sunset.
Love,
Stella
January 13
To Sundry,
Today we were free after lunch, so me and Kate and a boy named John set out to see the Church of St. James. On our way we ended up in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City. Up until now I've only been to the Muslim Quarter, and I was surprised by the difference. We walked through a sort of tunnel and suddenly the stone was lighter, the streets wider. There were fewer, bigger shops instead of a crowd of stalls to either side.
There we saw a line of columns that have survived since Roman times. We also found our way to a church which purports to be the home of Mark, which would make it the earliest Christian church, and also the site of the last supper. Inside, the chapel was empty, but we could hear the sound of a woman's voice from the floor below. I didn't recognize the language she spoke, but it was a Syrian Orthodox church. Is Syrian a language? We looked at the box of relics behind glass, and the huge curtain hung up to cover the altar, and a dish of burning candles stuck into sand.
Before I went out I stuck five shekels into my pocket as a beggar fund. I seem to see beggars everywhere and want to give some of them something but each time I don't have money on me, or the group wants to go down a different street, or whatever. Today I saw not a single beggar, so I dropped one of my shekels into the church box.
We visited the Church of St. James in the Armenian Quarter and then walked around the walls of the city. We even went inside the walls for a bit, walking up steep and narrow stone steps where it possible we were not supposed to be. It's surprising how many churches and old sites are ungaurded and free to wander around in. At that point we needed to use the restroom, so we decided to follow the road around the Kidron Valley to the Pillar of Absalom and stop to use the restroom at one of the churches along the way.
We stopped at a huge church with a brilliant mosaic on its eave, passing by a garden to get to the doors, in a generally light-hearted and jovial spirit. Kate said, "This looks like the kind of place with a gift shop," and we figured a place with a gift shop would have restrooms. But when we went inside we found a group of visitors, all very quiet. It was the first quiet church I've been to, besides the empty ones. Huge windows lined the walls, but they were made of dark purple glass, so the light that came through was purple and dim. A huge iron screen stood in front of the doors, so not much light came in there either. Inside it was so shadowed and quiet and reverent that the three of us slipped out again.
John said, "I think that was the Church of All Nations," and I said, "So Gethsemane must be near here." And then we realized that the garden we passed coming in was the Garden of Gethsemane. It was kind of a shocking realization. We slipped along the garden fence, quietly, and asked a monk how to get to the restroom. Then I paid my last four beggar shekels to cover me and Kate (it was two shekels per person).
Afterwards, we went back to Gethsemane and stood leaning on the fence for a long time. The garden is all neat, square flower beds and straight gravel paths around the olive trees. The olive trees there are much older than others I have seen because the trees themselves are considered sacred, and can not be chopped down or burned down like other olive trees. They are gnarled and grey, and only have leaves because younger olive branches have been grafted onto the trunk. It was cool and windy, and a great grey cloud swept in over the garden while we stood there, with light in the distance.
Love,
Stella
Today we were free after lunch, so me and Kate and a boy named John set out to see the Church of St. James. On our way we ended up in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City. Up until now I've only been to the Muslim Quarter, and I was surprised by the difference. We walked through a sort of tunnel and suddenly the stone was lighter, the streets wider. There were fewer, bigger shops instead of a crowd of stalls to either side.
There we saw a line of columns that have survived since Roman times. We also found our way to a church which purports to be the home of Mark, which would make it the earliest Christian church, and also the site of the last supper. Inside, the chapel was empty, but we could hear the sound of a woman's voice from the floor below. I didn't recognize the language she spoke, but it was a Syrian Orthodox church. Is Syrian a language? We looked at the box of relics behind glass, and the huge curtain hung up to cover the altar, and a dish of burning candles stuck into sand.
Before I went out I stuck five shekels into my pocket as a beggar fund. I seem to see beggars everywhere and want to give some of them something but each time I don't have money on me, or the group wants to go down a different street, or whatever. Today I saw not a single beggar, so I dropped one of my shekels into the church box.
We visited the Church of St. James in the Armenian Quarter and then walked around the walls of the city. We even went inside the walls for a bit, walking up steep and narrow stone steps where it possible we were not supposed to be. It's surprising how many churches and old sites are ungaurded and free to wander around in. At that point we needed to use the restroom, so we decided to follow the road around the Kidron Valley to the Pillar of Absalom and stop to use the restroom at one of the churches along the way.
We stopped at a huge church with a brilliant mosaic on its eave, passing by a garden to get to the doors, in a generally light-hearted and jovial spirit. Kate said, "This looks like the kind of place with a gift shop," and we figured a place with a gift shop would have restrooms. But when we went inside we found a group of visitors, all very quiet. It was the first quiet church I've been to, besides the empty ones. Huge windows lined the walls, but they were made of dark purple glass, so the light that came through was purple and dim. A huge iron screen stood in front of the doors, so not much light came in there either. Inside it was so shadowed and quiet and reverent that the three of us slipped out again.
John said, "I think that was the Church of All Nations," and I said, "So Gethsemane must be near here." And then we realized that the garden we passed coming in was the Garden of Gethsemane. It was kind of a shocking realization. We slipped along the garden fence, quietly, and asked a monk how to get to the restroom. Then I paid my last four beggar shekels to cover me and Kate (it was two shekels per person).
Afterwards, we went back to Gethsemane and stood leaning on the fence for a long time. The garden is all neat, square flower beds and straight gravel paths around the olive trees. The olive trees there are much older than others I have seen because the trees themselves are considered sacred, and can not be chopped down or burned down like other olive trees. They are gnarled and grey, and only have leaves because younger olive branches have been grafted onto the trunk. It was cool and windy, and a great grey cloud swept in over the garden while we stood there, with light in the distance.
Love,
Stella
January 8
To all:
We were able to go out on the town for the first time without a tour guide today. On Friday, which is the Muslim Holy Day, we're not supposed to be in East Jerusalem before 3:00 or after dark, so we only had two hours unless we wanted to go to West Jerusalem and take a taxi back. By three all of the money changers had already closed, thwarting our plans to get falafel. Instead we wandered around aimlessly looking at stuff. At first it was kind of unnerving. On the tour I felt very confident and wanted to explore every alleyway, but it turns out the city feels a lot different when you are in a group of only three girls with no guide and no security guard trailing behind. After about an hour of wandering we were getting more comfortable, though.
In the city we ran across a streaming crowd of pilgrims chanting in Latin, accompanied by priests and nuns. We also saw a couple Franciscan monks. The Franciscans are the order in charge of taking care of Church sites in the Middle East. You can recognize them because they wear long brown robes with white rope tied around their waist. The rope is tied into three knots for Chastity, Poverty, and Obedience. They look like they could have walked out of Brother Cadfael.
The street signs, instead of showing the familiar American street sign man, show a Jewish man in a brimmed hat. Men in those hats, by the way, are everywhere in the West City, and the hats are different shapes according to whichever group the man belongs to. Some of the hats are fat and furry. You also see strings of soldiers with uzis, some in yarmulkes, some not. Some of the soldiers were young girls; every girl has to serve in the military for a year when she's eighteen.
At sunset we came back to the Center and sat outside on a terrace with roses watching the sunset. The call to prayer started up from different spots across the city, including the hill right next to us, and it went on for half an hour.
We were able to go out on the town for the first time without a tour guide today. On Friday, which is the Muslim Holy Day, we're not supposed to be in East Jerusalem before 3:00 or after dark, so we only had two hours unless we wanted to go to West Jerusalem and take a taxi back. By three all of the money changers had already closed, thwarting our plans to get falafel. Instead we wandered around aimlessly looking at stuff. At first it was kind of unnerving. On the tour I felt very confident and wanted to explore every alleyway, but it turns out the city feels a lot different when you are in a group of only three girls with no guide and no security guard trailing behind. After about an hour of wandering we were getting more comfortable, though.
In the city we ran across a streaming crowd of pilgrims chanting in Latin, accompanied by priests and nuns. We also saw a couple Franciscan monks. The Franciscans are the order in charge of taking care of Church sites in the Middle East. You can recognize them because they wear long brown robes with white rope tied around their waist. The rope is tied into three knots for Chastity, Poverty, and Obedience. They look like they could have walked out of Brother Cadfael.
The street signs, instead of showing the familiar American street sign man, show a Jewish man in a brimmed hat. Men in those hats, by the way, are everywhere in the West City, and the hats are different shapes according to whichever group the man belongs to. Some of the hats are fat and furry. You also see strings of soldiers with uzis, some in yarmulkes, some not. Some of the soldiers were young girls; every girl has to serve in the military for a year when she's eighteen.
At sunset we came back to the Center and sat outside on a terrace with roses watching the sunset. The call to prayer started up from different spots across the city, including the hill right next to us, and it went on for half an hour.
Dispatches from the Holy Land
So I'm off at the Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies this semester, and it occurred to me: why exactly am I not blogging this? Therefore, I'm going to post the emails I send my family. Of course, members of my family are the only people who read my blog...
To whom it may concern:
So I got here last night sometime after six and wandered through several Orientation meetings in a dizzy jet-lagged state until falling into bed at 2:30 PM Utah time. I had no problem sleeping because I barely slept at all during the 9 hour flight to Vienna which turned into a 10 hour flight because of an epic snow storm. I spent most of the time listening to the guy beside me talk about the beautiful young Ukrainian girl he had met on the Internet and was flying out to visit. He also gave me lots of life advice and a 50 cent Ukrainian coin.
Austrians are apparently into color. The Austrian Airlines had yellow-green carpets and aquamarine seats, and the stewardesses were bright red suits with blue ascots.
The Center is a gorgeous building, with big windows looking out on the Old City. We can see the Dome of the Rock from here. It is shiny. We're in the middle of the Palestinian part of Jerusalem and within walking distance of the Garden Tomb and Gethsemane. We went on a tour this morning through lots of windy little streets full of shops. Practically all the women wore headscarves, since we're in a Muslim area. Some were otherwise fashionably dressed, but I also saw girls my age wearing ankle-length housecoats over their jeans.
We also quickly passed through the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which is this huge church the Catholics say covers Golgotha and the site of the Resurrection. About twenty different sects all have priests in the buildings, including Armenian Orthodox and Roman Catholic. We saw the little Muslim man who has the keys to the building. According to our tour guide (the district president here) they gave Muslims the keys and let them decide when to close and open the building because none of the different sects would be able to agree on the time.
I thought I'd lose weight here because of having to eat in a cafeteria, but the cafeteria food is actually really delicious. They serve familiar food and some local stuff. Also the city is full of beautiful-smelling falafel stands and stalls selling this bread that comes in a loop. We had some; it's covered in seeds and you sprinkle this salty-herby green powder called zatar on it.
Except for three teachers and a handful of service couples, the staff at the center is not LDS. They are Jews and Muslims and Palestinian Christians. They are also very nice, and when we arrived they told us, "Welcome home."
It is all quite awesome.
Love, Stella
To whom it may concern:
So I got here last night sometime after six and wandered through several Orientation meetings in a dizzy jet-lagged state until falling into bed at 2:30 PM Utah time. I had no problem sleeping because I barely slept at all during the 9 hour flight to Vienna which turned into a 10 hour flight because of an epic snow storm. I spent most of the time listening to the guy beside me talk about the beautiful young Ukrainian girl he had met on the Internet and was flying out to visit. He also gave me lots of life advice and a 50 cent Ukrainian coin.
Austrians are apparently into color. The Austrian Airlines had yellow-green carpets and aquamarine seats, and the stewardesses were bright red suits with blue ascots.
The Center is a gorgeous building, with big windows looking out on the Old City. We can see the Dome of the Rock from here. It is shiny. We're in the middle of the Palestinian part of Jerusalem and within walking distance of the Garden Tomb and Gethsemane. We went on a tour this morning through lots of windy little streets full of shops. Practically all the women wore headscarves, since we're in a Muslim area. Some were otherwise fashionably dressed, but I also saw girls my age wearing ankle-length housecoats over their jeans.
We also quickly passed through the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which is this huge church the Catholics say covers Golgotha and the site of the Resurrection. About twenty different sects all have priests in the buildings, including Armenian Orthodox and Roman Catholic. We saw the little Muslim man who has the keys to the building. According to our tour guide (the district president here) they gave Muslims the keys and let them decide when to close and open the building because none of the different sects would be able to agree on the time.
I thought I'd lose weight here because of having to eat in a cafeteria, but the cafeteria food is actually really delicious. They serve familiar food and some local stuff. Also the city is full of beautiful-smelling falafel stands and stalls selling this bread that comes in a loop. We had some; it's covered in seeds and you sprinkle this salty-herby green powder called zatar on it.
Except for three teachers and a handful of service couples, the staff at the center is not LDS. They are Jews and Muslims and Palestinian Christians. They are also very nice, and when we arrived they told us, "Welcome home."
It is all quite awesome.
Love, Stella
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Angel
I painted this for my grandma from a photo of a stained-glass window. I didn't get a very good photo... I couldn't get it straight.
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