One cannot walk through the Palestinian village of Bayt Sahour without contemplating the phrase Migdal ‘Eder. The words themselves are simple enough to translate; pulling them down to earth and hoisting them back into the air, however, is another matter.
The Ruins of the Sheepfold
East of Bethlehem lies an enclosed area known as Khirbet Syar el-Ghanam, “The ruins of the sheepfold.” It is one of three locales in the Arab village of Bayt Sahour linked to the memory of the Christmas shepherds. Issa and I step past its gate in pursuit of deeper desert. Fortunately for us, the gauntlet of trinketmen armed with postcards, stitched bags, keffiyehs, and flutes have yet to assemble. It is still early in the day for tourists, but not for the summer sun. Sweat stripes bleed through my shirt, outlining my packstraps. We thump by, mindful of the hour.
The First to Hear the News
Watermelon Walls
This story begins 18 years ago on the road between Ramallah and Jerusalem.
I was driving a vintage Fiat 127 in heavy traffic when the truck in front of me suddenly slammed on his brakes. Despite my cat-like reflexes and the best of Italian engineering, I slammed into the truck. His bumper was bent. My Fiat was less robust. Some aluminum got crumpled. Again.
Old Donkey Blanket
Current Issues
An Austere Idea
A Neighbor with an Odd Letter
Those attuned to world news are aware of the escalating violence that has has rocked corners of Israel-Palestine in the last few weeks.
In the aftermath of a particularly brutal killing of an Arab boy (he was burned alive), residents of Beit Hanina and Shuafat took to the streets in protest. Confrontations between police and protesters resulted in additional human hurt and property damage. Many of us watching these events closely are wondering if the human conscience itself is a casualty? Are there any voices being heard out there, beside those of the extremists? Where does revenge stop? How can the cycle be arrested?
Things that Go "Boom" in the Night
I’m bunking in the middle of Jerusalem’s Old City for a month. It is less than one hundred meters from the desk where I now sit to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The CHS is perhaps Christendom’s most sacred space and the best guess at the spot where Jesus was raised from the dead. Early every morning the bells in its steeple ring out across the city reminding the rest of us that we need to do the same.
Falafel Chapel
“Orange juice?” “Falafel?” The invitation floats down Jerusalem’s Old City streets, seeking lodging in the ears of the hungry.
In this case, the voice behind the appeal belongs to Sameer. Plump oranges are piled to his knees. To his right is a stainless steel display stretching across the front of his shop. A peek inside reveals buckets of cabbages, pickles, onions, eggplant, salsas, some unidentifiables, and, of course, the magic paste that holds the whole of the Mediterranean world together: hummus.
To the Glue Factory
She looked like a good pony: short, but sturdy and footsure. Her lines were pure economy. Not even Todd, whose appreciation of such things ran ahead of most, would call her elegant. The icon proudly worn on her chest indicated that General Motors played some role in weaving together her DNA, although as I pondered her scruffy coat, I couldn’t remember seeing a breed like this before. We tested her throughly as hardened Westerners are wont to do: I kicked her tire. She didn’t flinch. Satisfied, Seth signed the rental papers and we we climbed aboard.
Little Things
Footwear
A couple of years ago I went to the top of a snowy peak believed by many to be Mt. Ararat (Ağrı Dağı). It was a four day hike. The leather boots I purchased were a wee bit small, but I thought they would work fine. Boy, was I wrong! I developed blisters on the top on my blisters and before it was over I was gimping badly. I pushed through it, but my dogs were sure barking!
Topside coverings
Thinking about luggage
One of the ways to offset the challenges of foreign travel is to pack strategically. If you have the things you need, not more or less, you will be far more comfortable, more mobile, and better able to direct your focus to the world around you. The problem for most of us when traveling to a new place is knowing what is and isn’t needed. The consequence of this “Boy Scout” mentality (“be prepared!”) is that we tend to overpack and bring too much stuff.
Fire in the Hole!
Where Armenia Met Helena
The Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem’s Old City is theomphalos (navel) of Christian imagination. Its roof encloses key moments of sacred memory, including places associated with Christ’s crucifixion, burial, and resurrection. Countless pilgrims have risked life and treasure to enter these wooden doors. A visit can change a person. Or start a war.
Rat-a-tat-tat
It didn’t take long. I reclined, alone, in the ever popular Coptic Guest House in Jerusalem’s Christian Quarter. David Abulafia’s heavy tome on the Mediterranean Sea began bobbing above my head. It sank to my chest, then to the floor. Overwhelmed by the obscurities of Luwian hieroglyphs and two weeks of pilgrim responsibilities, I slipped beneath the waves, a human Akrotiri. I was exhausted. Darkness fell.
Debouchery
The Wadi Hamam begins gently in eastern Galilee near the village of Eilabun.
I follow a winding stream through the canyon known as Wadi Hamam. The water offers focus; it splashes across gravel, slowing only occasionally to waller in mudholes. Dense vegetation crowds the water’s edge. It is a narrow passage of brush and boulder, soft willow and thorny jujube, one that Dorsey calls “virtually impassable today” (1991:96). I can see why.