Day of Extremes

Okay, yet another quintessential Josh story.

I got off work today with no other plan than to go to King George st. (one of the few streets I actually know) and participate in the Pride parade. I was quite excited about it actually.

On the way, I decided to take a Ron-Regnier shortcut, and found myself lost in the middle of one of the hyper-Orthodox, Hasidic Jewish neighbourhoods. Luckily enough for me, I got my SIM card for my iPhone earlier that morning, and so I was able to use my 3G to find my way to my destination. As I set upon my newly found path, a man called to me. He was a Hasidic Jew – hat, suit, curls, beard and all. He asked if I knew where I was going. I told him yes, more or less. He said he was going to same direction, and could I help him carry his grocery bags?

Sure, why not?

We talked as much as we could on the walk. He is a teacher at a Jewish school, from Jerusalem. He told me he was 93 years old (but he meant 39). When we arrived at his neighbourhood, his son was there to meet him. He asked if I had other plans, and would I like a cup of coffee? 

Sure, why not?

This is the point in the story where it becomes a Josh story. I could just hear Leon and Brigitte’s voices in my head. “I’m not surprised at all,” they would say. “Of course he said yes, he’s Josh.” And, you know, they’d be right. I knew I would miss the Pride parade if I went, and yet I had to see where this adventure would take me. I’d never been inside the house of a Hasidic Jew.

It quickly became quite uncomfortable. He was insistent that I continue to help carry the groceries, even though his son kept offering to carry them. Twice the son took them from my hands, only to have him put them back in mine. When we arrived at his house, his son left and it was just him and I. He mixed me some Nestle Vanilla Cappucino instant coffee (this would never suffice with a Palestinian) and asked me to sit down.

I’m not sure if it was the bookshelf of religious books, the multiple pictures of Rabbis on the walls, or the slightly crazy googley-eyes through which he looked at me (Veronica, think mom when she’s laying down the law), but then it began. The same as it had many other times with Mormon missionaries, fanatic Muslim friends, and Catholic zealots – the conversion pitch. But this one had a twist (a twist beyond the language barrier). Ahron (that’s his name) was simultaneously trying to convert me and sell me the book that he believed would facilitate the converting!  And it was NIS 100 at that!

Anyway, after listening to him for way longer than I should have or needed to, I told him thanks and that I had to go. He was persistent. I needed this book, he said. It had changed peoples lives from all over the world, Jew and Gentile. It had even been read by Obama.

Again I insisted I needed to leave, that I was already late for my next appointment. At this point, he tapped me on my crotch and asked if I had been circumcised – my first time being asked that by a Hasidic Jew! Yes, I said, many children in Canada are. He seemed shocked, and asked if I would show him to prove it. I politely declined, and then B-lined it for the door. He followed me out, told me some other things that I was no longer listening to, and then I left.

Whew!

I walked away quite quickly, hoping I might still catch some of the Pride parade. I didn’t, unfortunately, and it was at that moment I realized I was very hungry. I walked up a couple of streets to somewhere I had never been before and found a restaurant. I ordered a pasta meal for NIS 42, more than I would normally spend on a meal. I just wanted to relax.

While I was ordering my food, there was a slightly obnoxious woman in front of me who was also alone and speaking English with the waiter. I had a feeling she would try and talk with me at some point, so I sat as far away as I could in the restaurant. Sure enough, though, once there was no one in between us, she started a conversation.

I gave in at that point, feeling much better after the food anyway. She was talking to me about being a composer and having songs just come out from inside of her. After a few minutes she said, I just know that God put me on this earth to compose songs through me.

Here we go again.

She asked me what I was doing here, and I explained I was working for a Palestinian organization. She started talking about my internship as if I am a saint, and thank God there is someone out there “truly helping the people.” I tried to explain that the organization I was working for is truly amazing, but that I am not the generator of the good things they do, but she kept interrupting me to tell me how I need to be safe. Hamas have evil, dark spirits in their souls, she said. They sell and kill their own children, you know. She had read an article about it before she came to Jerusalem.

I tried repeatedly to engage her in an actual conversation, but she kept either warning me about the evil Arabs, or praising me for helping the poor helpless ones. Her most useful advice was that when I am forced to be in the presence of “the enemy” (she was referring to Hamas, to which I made the argument that the IDF are seen as the enemy to some people, a point she seemed not to understand or register) I just need to “plead the blood of Jesus.” I thought she said “bleed the blood of Jesus,” so I was very confused. She clarified that if I cover all my sins in Jesus’ blood, that I will be safe from my enemies, because they will feel that there is a supernatural energy about me and leave me alone.

As I was leaving the conversation, she told me she would pray for me, and that she was so grateful for the amazing work I was doing. She gave me a verse from Genesis that I should read, so I can receive the gift of Abraham’s covenant and be made safe and powerful. It was Genesis 22:17 to be exact.

I left with an exasperated smile on my face. I just couldn’t believe how my night had turned out. I was done talking about religion, done talking to extreme people, and well, just done.

I walked home in a bit of a daze, occasionally smiling and laughing to myself. At some point I realized I hadn’t paid for my meal! I was so anxious to leave that conversation that I done just that, without paying. Recognizing I had literally dined and dashed to get out of a conversation with a religious fanatic, I said out loud “Jerusalem is full of insane people!” I continued walking down the street, alone and laughing out loud, fully aware of the irony of that statement.