Thoughts on leaving

I wish I had kept a better record or journal 13 years ago when I came. I probably did keep some kind of journal. Perhaps I just need to go dig it out of the piles of personal things I still have stored in my parents' basement. But I find myself wishing I could read it. Sometimes I like to get a glimpse into my self of younger years. Sometimes it's inspiring to see how I've grown; sometimes it's disheartening to see the same weaknesses and irritating traits continue to bare their ugly head. But I do like to review my journey.

This has been a good experience for me. As all good adventures, it has been so very different from the way I expected it to be. I feel that I have come face to face with Israel on its own terms in ways I haven't been able to in the past. It's hard to explain what I mean by that, but I'll try.

I think this is what fascinates me most about Israel: its central place in the imagination of so very many people. By people I mean peoples, as in large cultures, as well as smaller groups, such as churches, and progressively smaller groups, such as local regions, families, and then individuals. Most people in the world have some kind of relationship with this place. We have what we imagine it to be, what our religion tells us it is. And there are all kinds of things in Israel to play to those imagined realities. But it is a living, breathing place. People live their lives here. So many people. So many different kinds of people. The diversity and breadth of the spectrum is stunning. This is not some magical, imagined place they read about. This is their life.

Some live here to live and walk where Jesus walked, or where their ancestors fought and lived and recorded scripture. Others just live here because generations before them lived here. Others still live here because nowhere else in the world are they welcomed or independent. And still others yearn to live here, angry and resentful of the loss of their land more than 60 years ago.

I think my feelings this morning upon leaving Nazareth (yes, I write from the Abraham hostel in Jerusalem, again) encompass it well. I walked through the tiny streets down to the main artery through town where I would pick up the bus to Jerusalem. The small roads (where one doesn't drive) are cobblestoned, with the ubiquitous creamy white limestone - it is the color of most buildings and all the walkways. I have no idea how old these stones are, but they seem ancient. They are polished smooth from millions of footsteps over the years, and when car tires pass over them, they squeal slightly.

I thought as I walked how many Christians come there each year, walk over those stones and find great meaning in walking "where Jesus walked." I, of course, have no idea if Jesus walked there, on those particular stones. Certainly not on the paved road! Perhaps the passageways were the same 2000 years ago, but likely the stone wasn't. But that city holds the significance of being Jesus' hometown. Hundreds of thousands of people visit it each year, and the city pulsates with their presence. Tourist shops line the market streets and churches named after Mary and Joseph dot the hillside. Now various hostels are growing up to accomodate visitors with a smaller budget and large backpack.

Never once, aside for the few moments of the door-pounding and yelling of the video production, did I ever feel unsafe there. No one cat-called at me as I walked past. (OK, in full disclosure, as I walked through the deserted streets on Sunday afternoon, two young men asked me where I was from. I replied Boston, and the second of them said, "My friend here need a girlfriend." I answered that I was not available. He said, "Your loss." I told him I agreed.) Even when I was clearly lost yesterday evening and was wandering around residential neighborhoods, obviously not a local, no one really looked at me strangely or bothered me. They nodded to me and smiled. Children ran in the streets. Today as I sat at the bus station, three little Arab boys attempted to ask me which bus I was waiting for - they were waiting for one as well. They didn't want to heckle me for being an outsider. I was there on the same terms as them. I haven't felt that everywhere in the world, but I feel that here. And I don't feel unsafe.

I appreciated the city of Nazareth, not for its value as the hometown of Jesus (although, of course it is special for this reason), but for the people who were kind to me there. They wanted nothing of me, except perhaps for me to buy their wares. But they helped me get the car out of an impossible tight spot (as you know, that is not figurative language!), and find a spot to park - and did so good-naturedly; over and over, they showed me how to get to the Fauzi Azar Inn; they welcomed me, treated me respectfully always. The streets are pretty much always dirty - if I could avoid it, I didn't set my backpack down on them. I am sure that the economy could develop much more quickly if people did more than sit all day at their shops, selling something perhaps once an hour. But THIS was Nazareth to me.

This has been Israel to me. Not a bunch of destinations on a tour bus. Real roads that are rather fun to drive. Beautiful agricultural areas, dense, often dirty cities and vibrant people. This is what I needed. To connect what I experienced 13 years ago, and what I have read in books and articles in the last few years, to a tangible reality.

I don't know if that makes any sense, but it is the best I can do.

I may post again, or I may not. I don't know. But in any case, I'm grateful for how the Lord has cared for me, directed my path, and made this a worthwhile endeavor.

Now, just for kicks and giggles, as I was leaving this morning, film shooting was getting under way again, and I snapped a couple of furtive pictures. The girl in these pictures has apparently progressed to the bloody stage (remember, it's some kind of horror movie). Hee hee.

One of the main characters, lying on the hammock, with blood all over her nightgown and down her legs.