We have a day off between three days of travel in the Dead Sea area and four days of travel in Galilee (beginning tomorrow). I’m sitting in the garden at JUC atop Mt Zion, a light breeze rustling the grapevines above me and wafting the smell of laundry soap from the stiff, dry, white sheets blowing on the line. It’s about 75 degrees in the shade at this time of day, and we just finished dinner (which consisted of fruit, noodles, sauce, and lots and lots of mushrooms). Some of the guys are playing basketball in the courtyard, another is playing guitar over by the gate, and I’m just enjoying the perfect weather before the sun sets.
I’m tired of travelling, tired of getting in the bus and climing yet another wadi and exploring another archeological site in the scorching midday sun. But I am loving being here–just being, just hearing the church bells ringing during the day and the birds singing before sunrise (which is at 5:30 am) and the cars honking as they race around the city; and seeing the colors and smelling the smells of the market with the chatty vendors who speak three to five languages and make everyone feel at home. I love the carts of bread loaves for one shekel and the shop proprietors who will serve you tea and juice before barganing. I should photograph the ladies in the market with huge bundles of herbs for a shekel, or the rows of boxes of candy sitting open to the street. They make me hungry. They make me want to stay. I am tired of traveling, but I’m ready to live here.
I want to live somewhere–anywhere–and just establish a daily routine. Be a local. Know the people around me–that is the woman who bakes my bread, the man who delivers my mail, the teenager who brews my coffee. The settled, simple kind of life is attractive to me at this stage of my life. A dear friend of mine is spending six months living in South Africa, and I envy her.
But then again, yesterday at this time I was looking at the lights of Jordan in the mountains across the Dead Sea from Masada, looking up at a full moon that cast its reflection upon the briney waters, and discussing the Church with a pastor from Vancouver and a feminist from LA, and three Biblical Studies students from Azusa Pacific University. What’s not to love?
And truely, I do love it. I played in the Dead Sea yesterday (the water is so salty as to be almost caustic) and explored the ancient fortress of Masada, and climbed around the caves where David almost killed Saul and went to Qumran and found a couple of the caves that used to house the Dead Sea Scrolls. The day before, I spent a couple of hours wandering in the Wilderness of Sin and feeling the same thirst the Israelites felt. Two days before, I was walking along the same Roman Roads Paul walked and reenacting the story of David and Goliath in the valley of Elah. They were all AWESOME.
But when we went shopping the old city today, I saw a bunch of school-aged kids playing on their bikes while the stores closed for Shabbat, and wondered what it would be like to grow up in Jerusalem. Tory, one of the guys with us, commented that it would be impossible to travel anywhere more significant, with older history. I mean, what do you say? “Hey mom, how about I study abroad at Disney World!”? Seriously. Nothing else in the world compares to this.
But still, what I love the most is this: the simple pleasure of sitting in a walled garden, feeling the breeze while the philosophy guys discuss theme parks at the picnic tables, watching the sun go down and listening for the call of Shabbat. This is something that no one can sell. One of the vendors here told us to thank God for these simple pleasures–fresh fruit, cool shade, beautiful sunsets–and remember that it is prophecy fulfilled.
Deut 33: 13-16 And of Joseph he said,
“Blessed by the Lord be his land,
with the choicest gifts of heaven above,
and of the deep that crouches beneath,
with the choicest fruits of the sun
and the rich yield of the months,
with the finest produce of the ancient mountains
and the abundance of the everlasting hills,
with the best gifts of the earth and its fullness
and the favor of him who dwells in the bush.
May these rest on the head of Joseph,
on the pate of him who is prince among his brothers.
