Onward to Egypt

If I can summarize this first leg of my Egypt trip into one phrase, it would be that I’m making a great time out of a situation gone wrong.

The whole trip started with me showing up to the Jerusalem Central Bus Station at 10:30am, way earlier than should have been required to make my destination in one day, only to find out that the next bus to leave to Eilat was at 2pm.  I went and found a café in the souq (market) and had a bagel and some soup and organized my computer and phone to make it the most convenient to cross to border (ie. removing the Palestinian contacts, pictures, email accounts, shutting down my FB, etc.)

I got on the bus to Eilat without problem, and spent some of the ride searching on the internet for my transportation from Taba (the Egyptian border town) to Dahab, where I had booked accommodation. It turned out that the 3pm bus that I was intending to take is the only bus that leaves Taba these days. So, unless I took a private taxi ($50 instead of $5), I had no means of reaching my destination. So I decided to stay in Eilat for the night (Eilat is the border town still within Israel). I was at least proud of myself for allowing three extra days leeway time before my Israeli VISA expired, otherwise this whole sequence of events would have really been concerning.

I found a hostel near the bus station in Eilat that I knew because Akina stayed there when she was visiting. It cost $20, which only sucked because I was still being charged for the accommodation in Egypt that I wasn’t able to make. Such is life.

I went down to the beach and sat for a few minutes, listening to some nice music coming from one of the bars. This is where my night shifted and became one beautiful experience after another. I decided to walk along the beach with my feet in the water. The way the sand massaged the bottom of my feet was therapeutic, like the perfect pediatric massage. I walked for a long time, allowing this sensation to carry through its whole life cycle, until it simply felt like normal sand under my feet. At that moment I heard beautiful guitar music (a la 1920s jazz) coming from the lane, so I walked up to listen.

The music was being played on a Gibson SG by an old man with a beard, a cowboy hat, and a sharp red jacket. He played with a nonchalance that I found charming, hardly acknowledging my applause after each song. During his music, a homeless man with no shoes and a large, unwieldy beard came and sat near me, also appreciating the music. I offered him a piece of the food I was eating, he accepted and offered me a cigarette, I accepted.* We sat together eating rice wrapped in grape-leaves and smoking a cigarette, listening to “I just called to say I love you” plucked out of the red SG across the way. The homeless man and I never shared any words other than offering one another what we had, but it felt we were enjoying the moment together, connected through shared music and proximity.

The guitar player stopped, put his guitar down, and lit a pipe. The dignity and grace with which he did were especially noteworthy. He sat there, on his throne, as a king surrounded by his subjects, smoking a pipe without a care or regard for those around him. You can see what I am describing in the photo I took with him.

I moved on, to the next street performer, playing classical latin guitar. A woman came up and asked me to take a photo of her with her two daughters by a fountain. I agreed, and while I was taking it another man walked by, assumed that this was my family and insisted that I join the photo with my wife and kids. He only spoke Hebrew, so rather than try and explain it all, I just gave him this woman’s phone and joined the photo. The woman was embarrassed but also seemed to realize it was easier to allow it than to explain it. Now she has a few photos on her phone of her fictional family, and the photographer walked away feeling he had done a good service. My “wife” and I laughed about the whole thing, and I retook my seat on the bench listening to the guitar player.

I was in such a good mood at that point, feeling quirky as well, that I took out a few pieces of paper and made paper airplanes for the two girls. One pink and one yellow, as those were the colours of paper I had. I gave the airplanes to them and left. I’m not even sure they could actually fly, but the girls were quite pleased at the unexpected gift.

My night by the beach ended with a nice moment on the rocks, slightly removed from the bustling resort crowds and lights, with a beer in hand. There was someone fishing just across the inlet, and behind him were the lights of first Jordan then Saudi Arabia. On the other side Israel, then Egypt. This is the water source where all these countries meet. It shows how powerfully formative and yet arbitrary political boundaries are.

I went back to the hostel – it was bedtime. There was an old man sitting in the hostel, though, and he invited me to sit and have some tea. His name was Jeff and he was originally from South Africa. He came here in 1967 as a volunteer to fight against the Arab Nations in the 1967 war. He came back in ’76 to fight again during that conflict. He still hates Arabs, so much in fact that he only ever referred to them as “them”, with a nasty intonation in his voice, not enough respect even for the term Arab. He also had prejudiced views about Russians and South Africans, but still deemed them worthy of a title beyond “them.” He told me he wanted to help me get across the border, because he supports anyone that supports the State of Israel. I’m sure a small smirk crept across my face when he said that.

He also told me his life story: his childhood in South Africa; his immigration to Israel; his divorce with his wife; his involvement in his children’s lives; his daughters marriage in the UK; and some accident that severely battered him in South Africa. He was a survivor; you could see it on his face. One eye was limp, his hair unkempt, and a certain craze yet fearlessness behind his eyes that both unsettled and impressed me.

During our conversation, it started to hail, which is very unusual in the desert. Jeff said it was the first hail in five years, and the hotel employee made a joke that the last hail before that was in biblical times. Either way, it transformed the whole place into a light-hearted, laughing group of people, all connecting over our shared wonder.

Then the power went out.

I love it when that happens. No matter where one is, when the power goes out it feels as if the whole world exhales and relaxes. A clarity and simplicity sets in, and people begin to talk and share space in a much more personal way. I wonder if that’s how it always used to be, before technological distractions. After some time of telling jokes together, I decided it was really time for bed, and I went to sleep.

The next day I went back to the beach to soak in some sun before crossing the border, as the bus I was aiming to take was not leaving until 3pm. The sun was hot, the water was warm, and I lived the beach life for a few hours. I was gazing out to the water when all of a sudden there was a tap on my leg, and a small boy was standing there. He was completely naked, had bright red hair and strikingly blue eyes, and he was holding a small rock out as a gift for me. I took it, we smiled at each other, and then he knocked it out of my hand onto the beach. I said “What are you doing?!?” in a playful voice and picked another up. He knocked it out of my hand again, and I repeated the phrase and he laughed even harder. It was adorable, and we played this same sequence on repeat about 30 times. I love that about kids. If something is funny, they can watch it over and over again. I’m like that with John Stewart, but not with rocks!!

He and I waved goodbye (which was also adorable) and I went to catch my bus, which I then realized I had just missed. I had an hour to burn so I sat and watched a public Zumba class that was on the street, and then went to the bus stop. By the time I got to the border, it was 1:30pm. I thought this would more than enough time to reach the bus on the Egyptian side. Israel wouldn’t detain me for trying to leave, would they? I assumed they would just be pleased I was going.

I was wrong. They began asking me questions, “where are you going? Why? Why have you been here so long? Where did you stay? Are you coming back? When is your flight?” Then she said something that threw my confidence, “I just have to call my manager because there is something on your file.”

Boom.

It’s part of the game, to upset my confidence.

The manager showed up and she did not look empathetic or cooperative. She wasted no time, launching into accusatory questions about my time in Israel and my intentions to come back in. She asked to speak to my room mates, she asked how much money I have in my bank account, she asked to look at my Facebook profile, she asked why I had been to Ramallah, she asked where I work and live in Canada, why I came here, why I would change my flight until March, if I worked or volunteered while in Israel. She told me straight, “we’re not going to be able to let you back in the country. It’s illegal to cross the border to renew your visitors VISA.” That really shook my confidence, and I felt that the next three months of my plan to be in Jerusalem were slipping through the cracks.

They led me to a questioning room, and put me on the phone with an employee at the Ministry of Tourism. At this point, I had had a moment to collective myself, organize my responses, and realize that acting nervous would only hinder my position. I walked into the questioning room with no more shaky hands, not biting my lip, ready to answer their stupid questions. I am going back to Canada in March, so they have nothing to worry about. I was very assertive with the woman on the phone, answering all of her questions, including “put yourself in my shoes, how do I know you won’t extend your ticket again and try to re-enter again?”

After our conversation, the manager who had grilled me earlier stamped my passport, walked me to the gate, and said thank you, have a nice day as if nothing unpleasant had occurred.

The irony of the whole situation is that it took just long enough for me to miss the bus. I ended up having to spend $50 to get to Dahab anyway. The second layer of irony is that I think I saw the bus pass us on the highway, which, if my suspicion is correct, means that it left late and I maybe could have caught it. Hah. Such is life.

Finally, I arrived at the hostel only to find two people I had met briefly a few weeks earlier. They are David and Priscilla, David from Argentina and Priscilla from Brazil, and I had only just spoken with them for 15 minutes after offering them a ride on the highway near Ein Gedi late at night. The whole circumstances for meeting them were strange in the first place, but to see them at this hostel weeks later makes me really feel the smallness of the world.

All that in two days! I can’t wait to see what lies ahead.

*I don’t smoke regularly, but the simplicity and  beauty of the moment necessitated that I accept his cigarette.

Breaking the Silence

I went on an incredibly eye-opening tour of Hebron, one the most tense cities in Israel/Palestine. I'll write a blog soon about the history of this place, and why the tour exists. In short, the tour is led by a group of Israeli ex-military people who needed to share the reality of the injustice taking place in this community. It truly is jarring. 

This is a small outpost building that Israeli settlers keep occupying. The police had evicted them many times, but they continue to move into it. It used to be a tent, but now is a building. It's strategic because it connects two different settlements, creating continuity between them. 

This is a memorial monument for an Israeli settler who walked into the Palestinian prayer room at the Temple of the Patriarchs and opened fire, killing over 20 Palestinians and injuring many more. His gun jammed, which is the only reason he was stopped. The murderer was able to walk into the holy site with his weapon without being stopped by the military guards, because he was Jewish and the explicit orders for army personnel is to protect Israelis. The mandate of the army continues to be one-sided protection to this day, without any direction on how to intervene against settler violence. 

Many settlers visit this monument to honour the "sacrifice" this man made. Settlers' extremist beliefs in the Jewish historical rights to this land, combined with a violent hatred of Palestinians leads some to pay homage to this kind of behaviour as admirable. 

Palestinians have had to put cages (not just bars, literally cages) over their windows to stop them from being smashed by settlers throwing stones. The smashing of windows is one of the many forms of settler violence that aims to drive Palestinians forcefully out of neighbourhoods and communties. 

This red hand signals the point at which Palestinians can no longer enter the road. For "safety reasons," Palestinians are restricted along many roads in central Hebron. The road to the right is entirely restricted: no driving, living, walking, or businesses allowed. 

This is a closed shop. The whole area in the centre of town used to be a thriving Palestinian market. Now, there is nothing but Israeli flags and locked doors. 

A whole strip of closed shops. There was no insurance or reimbursement for the losses Palestinians incurred. 

A military turret and HUMV, sitting on a deserted road that Palestinians are legally barred from accessing. 

Closed shops. 

A young settler boy, in what used to be a Palestinian shop/home. 

Walls like this were constructed to barricade areas of the market. The chicken market on the other side of this wall was legally re-opened to Palestinians at one point, but the military built concrete walls barring access to it. Luckily, the chickens could still fly to the market.

This is what a Palestinian window looks like without the cage. 

A funny contrast. The painting depicts a community beneath the flag, while in reality, this area has been turned into a ghost town, save for the presence of the army. 

More Palestinian windows. There is next to no law-enforcement against settlers in Hebron. They essentially have legal immunity, and use this privilege to terrorize and abuse their Palestinian neighbours. 

This made me think of my mom. She really wants a rocking bench on her front deck. I think the Palestinian family that was forced out of this home probably enjoyed their when they had it as well. 

Once a bustling market place of over 1,800 businesses and 1,000 families. 

Perhaps the most symbolic image for the State of Israel: a giant menorah next to a military turret on a hill inside Palestinian territory. The symbiotic relationship of religion and military occupation defines the Israeli identity and presence within the West Bank. 

Three New Perspectives

This blog, as I mentioned, is becoming a place for me to add portraits of people I meet, assembling a mosaic of the different perspectives and personalities that colour this place. This post is representative of my last 48 hours, in which I met many people with different stories to tell.

Lena, a friend of mine who is doing an internship with UN OCHA, called out to Spencer and I from her balcony as we were walking by her apartment. We went up and spent the evening visiting with her and her roommate David, who is an Israeli Jew. David, we found out, spent five years after his high school studying Judaism, en route to becoming a Rabbi. The experience left him without a religion, as, in his words, "when you study something that much, you start to see its holes."

It was fascinating to hear about what his life was like when he was at the school, and about what it was like to transition out of that world into the modern, secular one that I belong to. He referred to "hopping centuries," moving form a community that in his eyes exists in the 16th century, to the 21st with the rest of us. I didn't realize, but his life did not expose him to popular music, movies, books, and other media, nor did it teach him how to wear "ordinary" clothes, interact with people of the opposite sex, drink, and so many other basic things that we take for granted about navigating our world. He also told us about an organization that exists specifically to "rehabilitate" people who have decided to leave the Orthodox community, teaching them the basic skills that I listed above. I had never thought enough about this to imagine that experience. As someone who has made several transitions in his life - from small town to city, for example - I cannot imagine the process of re-learning and un-learning that someone like David must have gone through. In my eyes, it's simply fascinating.

--

Spencer and I ended up at an amazing rooftop party, celebrating someone's birthday whom we had never met. The party was unreal - open skies on the 7th floor of an apartment, a live DJ, hula hoops, a bar, and some lovely and intriguing people occupying the dance floor.

I ended up talking to many people at the party, but perhaps the most engaging conversation I had was with a man named Ido. Ido is a teacher in Tel Aviv, and has a very soft and kind soul. He asked me what I was doing in Israel, and I told him I was working in Sheikh Jarrah, in East Jerusalem. He asked me, "are you working for the right side?" I paused, unsure of what he meant or who he considered to be the "right side." He then said, "you're not working for the extremist Jews are you?" I replied that I was not, and he said, "well then you are working for the right side."

We then had a lovely conversation about Palestine, Israel, and ending the occupation. He said that he entered the education field with the hope that he would be able to teach young Israelis about the injustice of the occupation. His hope was that they would have their minds changed, and that they would in turn influence their parents to go out and vote for a less right-wing government. He said that he wants nothing more than to end the occupation, a strong statement from an Israeli - until this conversation, the best I had heard was a passive desire for it to end. Ido, however, was passionate about the topic.

He told me about his military service, noting that it was the experiences there that made him such a strong supporter of ending the occupation. He told me a few anecdotes about arbitrary arrests, unprovoked violence toward Palestinians, and the absurdity of having 18 year olds given such immense power and responsibilities, let alone semi-automatic weapons.

One story that he told deserves retelling, however. Through this story, Ido wanted to describe what occupation means to him, informed by his experience as a soldier. He told me of a Palestinian man whose home was repeatedly occupied by the army, to be used as a military outpost. Each time the home was occupied, the soldiers would bang on the door, storm in, wake the family up, and scare the children, as well as disrupt the regular flow of life. One time, when Ido's platoon occupied the house, the father of the home approached them and offered them a key to the house. The father said, take it, it's yours. Next time you come, just open the door yourself, come and wake me up and I will arrange everything so that you don't wake up and scare my children. So disempowered was this man, that he gave over the key to his home, proof of welcome, so as to salvage some normality in the lives of his children. For Ido, this level of submission is more representative of the occupation that the more jarring images of violence that we much more commonly see.

Sadly, the conversation ended with Ido admitting that he was currently suffering from disillusionment, feeling sceptical about his country's willingness and ability to end the occupation. This saddened me, as it shows how immovable systems of oppression can be, and how challenging it is to stand in opposition to them. I just hope Ido has a community of other Israelis committed to the cause, because through community we are constantly refuelled and motivated to carry on our struggle for justice.

--

I met two Palestinians named Matt and Farell (fake names), who want to come to Canada to study Law at UBC. They also want to work in Fort McMurray in the oil sands, to make enough money to move to a metropolitan centre and open a business. I have to admit I was a bit embarrassed that Fort McMurray was one of the things that these people knew about Canada. It's certainly not one of the finest qualities of our nation.

The perspective that Matt shared was one I had yet to hear. He was not convinced that the occupation should end, believing that a sovereign Palestinian state would be just as corrupt, dysfunctional, and autocratic as other Muslim-majority states in the region, citing Syria as a specific example. From his perspective of wanting to make a life for himself, he feels that Israel likely provides more stability and opportunity to live a reasonably successful life than would be possible under and independent Palestinian authority.

Both Farell and I strongly disagreed, arguing that at least those problems could be addressed in a sovereign state. The administration of Palestine is embarrassingly poorly done by the Israeli state, acting more to disable its economy than to support it. Farell made many convincing arguments about why ending the occupation and achieving independence was a necessary first step for Palestinians, and that the project of state building couldn't happen until they were sovereign. I agree with that completely. That being said, Matt has an interesting point - ending the occupation does not guarantee freedom and opportunity as it is often thought. This reminds me of the importance of talking not just of ending the occupation, but also of what Palestine will look like afterward.

Thousands of Words from my time in Palestine

These are my first two room mates, Bar and Ido. I've talked about both of them in my blog already. They are amazing people, very intelligent, funny, welcoming. Ido reminds me a lot of my friend Sean Wilkinson, and so I was immediately very fond of him. We made sushi! 

This is a sample of some of the amazing graffiti that colours this city. Both Tel Aviv and Jerusalem are gigantic works of art. 

Who would have thought? Spencer Janssen, a close friend from Dawson Creek, visiting me in Palestine. In this photo we are in Jaffa, Tel Aviv. It had been four years since we had last seen each other, and agreed that our lives had happened during that time. We are mutually proud of the lives the other has been living, and reconnected as if no time had passed. Spencer and I talked, four years earlier, about the lives we wanted to live, and we were able to rejoice about how true we have been to our dreams. 

This is a photo from the political tour of Jerusalem that I participated in. Behind us is the Annexation Wall, separating Palestine from Israel. 

This is the same tour, where we also saw first hand the house demolitions that are all too common in East Jerusalem. Due to the lack of a "master plan" for housing construction in Palestinian Jerusalem, it is next to impossible to acquire a permit to build or expand a house owned by a Palestianian. Therefore, houses are regularly issued demolition notices, the date for which is ambiguous. Some families live for years in anticipation of their home being destroyed. There is no information about when (and if) a master plan will be developed for these neighborhoods. 

Even within the demolished houses, some can find a home. 

SynaGo-Go Dancing

I arrived home at around 6pm from work, to find Spencer in my room playing guitar. He seemed tired and bored and, to be honest, I was both of those things too. So we decided to cook a meal and eat dinner, keeping it simple and easy. We cooked, we ate, and then we sat in my room and played guitar together. Simple and easy.

At 11pm, the time I usually go to bed, we decided that we were both restless and should go for a short walk. We've been doing this art project ever since we we found an empty picture frame and an awkward painting of a man's face on t he sidewalk in Tel Aviv, where we take pictures of ourselves with the frame and picture in different locations in Israel. So we did that. You wouldn't believe how fun that can be.

Eventually, we found ourselves in one of Jerusalem's Orthodox neighbourhoods, and we heard very loud music. It was in a synagogue, and we debated whether or not we should try and go inside to listen to the music, seeing as how they are all dressed in suits and black hats while we were wearing shorts, sandals, and colourful clothes. Spencer and I played off of one another, as we alternated between being excited and reticent. In the end, though, a small boy motioned for us to follow him in, so we did.

We went into the main hall where the music was coming from. There was fire juggling, kids running around, groups of Orthodox Jews dancing in circles, and a band up in a stage. It was really funny to watch all the men dance, some quite graceful, but most terribly awkward.

I told Spencer "we should go soon, or else someone is going to ask us to go up and dance." Everyone who noticed we were there took their turn staring at us. It was uncomfortably clear that we did not fit in, which also means that we look intriguing. And then, as was inevitable, the request to dance came. Well, more like an insistence. And there I was, in the middle of circle of Orthodox Jews, dancing as awkwardly as the best of them. Everyone was smiling and clapping. Spencer and I danced for around 15 minutes before the music ended and we participated in a quick photo shoot.

It ended up, of course, being one of those stories we can tell where we did the crazy thing and it turned out to be hilarious. Spencer was even gifted a Kipa. The quote of the night was "Keep the Kipa!"

Bethlehem, Checkpoints, and Being Walled In

This morning, thanks to my friend and colleague Maria, Spencer and I woke up at 4:30am to travel to Checkpoint 300, one of the many checkpoints through which Israel controls Palestinian mobility. The reasons that we got up so early are two: first, the organization EAPPI (Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel) monitors the checkpoints for human rights abuses from 4-7am each morning and we wanted to talk with them about their experience as monitors (Maria was a monitor for 6 months two years ago); secondly, this is the time of day that Palestinians are forced to cross the checkpoint in order to arrive at work on time.

When we arrived at the checkpoint, there were dozens of Palestinians sitting and standing on the sidewalk, along with 5 or 6 large busses waiting to take them to their construction jobs. These Palestinians are already experiencing some level of "privilege" over others, as they possess work permits that allow them to cross the checkpoint for work. These work permits, while opening some opportunities that many other Palestinians are denied, are not cheap. Not only do they cost a lot of money, they are very difficult to obtain, must be regularly applied for, and can be unilaterally cancelled by both the Israeli government (because of a violated curfew which are randomly imposed or being entered onto the blacklist, which can and does happen for myriad reasons that Israeli considers to be suspect or threatening activity, for example having any association at all with a supporter of Hamas) or by and employer who wants to cancel a work contract. In these instances of cancelled permits, the Palestinian employee arrives at the checkpoint like any other day, only to have their permit taken from them, being unable to enter Jerusalem, missing a days work, and often being unable to acquire the last pay check that they are owed from their employer. This is one more in a long list of small things that take power out of Palestinian hands and makes them vulnerable and dependent on Israeli "mercy," a term used by Claire Anastas, who I will talk about shortly.

The checkpoint process is painful to see and think about. I have a hard enough time getting up early enough and getting to work without having any logistical barriers to overcome other than waiting for the bus. Palestinians working in Jerusalem but living on the other side of the wall have to line up with thousands of other people, hours before the work day begins, to ensure they get through the gate early enough to catch the bus, lest they miss their day of work and wages. Even if they arrive early, there are a number of factors that may prevent them from catching the bus: the Israeli border police may arbitrarily decide to lock the gate (without any warning, often resulting in a humiliating moment of a person walking into a locked gate and banging their head on the metal bar); overcrowding and long lines; being interrogated, investigated or denied; and probably many other reasons. They have to show their valid IDs, their valid work permits, and they have to have their finger prints scanned. They are not allowed to bring much across, so often the workers have simply a plastic bag with some pita bread for lunch. The majority have no bag at all in their hands.

After visiting the checkpoint, we walked to a house a few blocks away called the Anastas House. I posted the link to their website below, and I encourage you to look at it. It is heartbreaking, inspiring, and presents a dramatic example of the randomness and absurdity of the separation wall. Maria had called ahead to her friend Claire Anastas, who operates the souvenir shop and guest house, and so breakfast was waiting for us. Claire sat with us, pulled out her computer, and began to explain the situation in Bethlehem, as well as the situation of her family. She eventually just began telling us stories about her family's life in this house. It used to be in a thriving location with successful businesses during the day, and a popular nightlife location after dark. At some point between the mid-1980s and early-2000s (I couldn't follow the timeline accurately) Claire's family and house ended up being right in the middle of the conflict between Palestinian militants and the Israeli army. In fact, the army moved in and occupied her house, living on the top floor while her family lived in the floors below. It stayed like this for five years. She told stories of her kids suffering from stress and fear, of not being able to go on her roof without being shot at, at being terrified to answer a knock at the door because it might be a soldier with a gun pointed at her. She said that she can't even count the number of times she has had an Israeli gun held to her head.

These weren't even the worst stories that she shared. This woman embodied resilience. She was so strong, so committed to her family, to God, and to her life and right to exist as a Palestinian. Her story is common here, a story of a thriving economic and social life that was literally pulled out from beneath her by the occupation, and in particular, by the wall. She is now bankrupt, doing all she can to make ends meet for her family, as well as the worse-off in her community. She said she is currently stuck in bureaucratic limbo waiting to get papers to stay in her house. She worries that she may not be able to obtain these papers, and will be forced out.

Oh, I guess I didn't mention that her house and business is surrounded by the separation wall on three sides. It was going to be walled in on all sides, but the Israeli military showed her "mercy." It's like her own little private fortress, gently cutting her off from, well, everything around her. The all was built that way because it separates her, a Palestinian, from Rachel's Tomb, a religious and historical site that now sits on the "Israeli" side of the wall. The wall would have been built literally touching the walls of her house, if not for a plumbing line that ran under the road. That has left the Anastas family room for, at least, a basketball hoop for the kids between their house and their personal 25 foot concrete cage. Such is the absurd and divisive nature of the wall.

The interaction gave me the personal stories of a conflict that I have been learning about, until thois point, in largely theoretical terms. Standing outside of Claire's house, surrounded by a massive concrete barrier on all sides, I felt the occupation in personal terms, the way I am sure Claire and many others feel it.





Here is the Anastas' house information: http://friendsofbethlehem.org/?p=70

More about the EAPPI: http://eappi.org/en

Spencer and Tel Aviv

My friend Spencer came to visit me in Israel!! It blow my mind that after four years apart, these two friends from Dawson Creek, BC have a reunion in Tel Aviv, Israel. Shyo (Hebrew for wow!).

We've had an excellent time together already. We spent the entire first night just walking around and talking and telling stories and sharing beliefs and lessons. Despite a four year age difference, entirely different global/developmental experiences, and four years without any consistent communication, Spencer and I have grown in very similar ways. Our world views and beliefs are closer today than they were in Dawson Creek. We've lived very different lives, but driven by a similar motivation to grow and experience and, as Spencer put it, to enjoy our "love affair with the world."

It is also interesting that the two of us mutually look up to one another. Years ago, in Dawson Creek, before either of us had done any travelling, he and I spoke of our ambitions to explore the world, articulating a vision of our near future that was vague yet definite. We share a mutual pride in knowing that we have both boldly and unashamedly pursued that vision, and are living lives that at least resemble, if not exactly match, that visions we spoke of years ago. That's a very encouraging realization, and gives me renewed hope and excitement about imagining and then pursuing the next five years of my life; Spencer is in the same boat, starting to think about university and setting roots in a community.

We have much to learn from one another, and it feels so great to spend some time reconnecting with a kindred spirit. It affirms to me that certain connections are unchanged by time and distance, and in fact, can grow stronger from them.

On top of really enjoying our time together, we also discovered we have really great travel chemistry. I think because of our similar approaches to travel and adventure, we support the occurrence of adventure and experiences everywhere we go.

Spencer had only been in Tel Aviv for about two hours, and we were walking along the beach talking about our past few years. As we crossed a large family of Arabic women, they asked us if we would like to try their arghila. We, of course, said yes and began speaking with the family. Before long we were flying a kite with the young sister (maybe 12 years old), speaking to the mother who had lived in Sweden for five years, and being invited to attend the family dinner. Though we ended up not being able to attend the dinner because of transportation reasons, the whole experience re-awakened the art of travelling. Meeting and enjoying the company of new people, who live lives very different than the ones you are usually exposed to, is the fulfilling and eye-opening part of travel. It means a lot to have a travel companion who understands that as I do, and lives those values. My brother Leon is like that, too.

Spencer and I spent a whole day on the beach, meeting local Tel-Avivers, and sharing stories, playing music, occasionally interrupting the flow of conversation with swims in the sea. We ended up being invited for dinner at a woman named Limor's house, and she prepared the most delicious lentil stew on rice with Bulgarian red-pepper salads as sides. It was an amazing meal, garnished with wonderful stories and conversations about our families, and then followed with a dessert of singing and playing music. As the night rolled on we lost track of time and laughed and sang until 6am, when the sun started to rise and reminded us that time still existed and that we had missed our night's sleep.

We are off to Jerusalem today, and I'm back to work tomorrow. I intend to write a blog post about what my life at work is like, as it is just as important to reflect on my day-to-day as it is to share the stories of the unusual moments that highlight my week. Plus, work is the most meaningful and enjoyable part of my week each week.