Easter Food for Thought

Fulfilling his twice-yearly duty, James went to church with me this morning. There were about forty people there from Jerusalem, Tiberias, Bethlehem, Texas, California, Nevada, Germany, Yorkshire, Scotland, Ghana, Korea and of course there was a good looking couple from Canada.

I got my Easter egg of the year. It was yellow.

Taking to George the Rev after, we discovered that there was a bit of a kerfufle with the communion bread this morning. Seeing as it is still Passover, there is no bread to be purchased at the grocery store and even the cracker aisle is covered up in plastic. Luckily, the Scottish Guest house attached to the church came to George's rescue. They get their bread from a bakery in the nearby Arab-Muslim and Arab-Christian Bethlehem (which ironically means House of Bread). They donated a loaf to our cause.

But this brings up a bit of a conundrum. Wasn't Jesus in town for Passover when he got crucified? What was he doing eating bread at the last supper?!? Maybe we should be breaking Matzo!

You know, I only had to ask James once if he wanted to go to church with me this morning, even though we can solidly put him in the non-religious category.

Holidays are really distilled here. No Easter egg hunt, no big dinner with family, etc. And I think going to church every once in a while on holidays, even for a non-religious person, becomes a life-line to the culture you left behind and a life-line to your identity. And perhaps that is why James happily went to church.

I realize that probably makes some of you uncomfortable: church being part of your identity. If you are asked by someone here your religion and you answer "I'm an atheist," people will not be satisfied with that answer since that concept in not understood in the same way here. You are an atheist, but you are still culturally a Christian, a Jew, a Muslim, a Buddhist (in fact, they won't buy the Buddhist thing unless you look Asian, either). If you come here, even for someone who loathes organized religion, you have to get used to stating you are a Christian.

Even I, a practicing Christian, felt uncomfortable with this when I first got here. Now, I readily and easily state my religion and culture without a second thought in a way that I would never do at home.

Happy Easter to Believers and Non-Believers, because, like it or not, we are all in this together.

Good Friday in the Old City

Katrine and I went to the mid-day procession on the Via Delorosa for Good Friday. And we got a front row seat to all sorts of craziness.

We hung out, squished against the display of an Arab clothing shop somewhere near station number four. For over 35 minutes, thousands of people filed past us. We saw crucifixes ranging in size from twelve feet of metal and carried by several monks to hundreds of little wooden ones each clutched in the hands of believers. Some were silent, some were praying, some were singing, some were crying, some were smiling, some were talking on their cell phones.

And yep, there was even the guy doin' the Mel Gibson, with the crown of thorns covered in blood, towing a big honkin' wooden cross. We are still debating whether the blood was fake or not. In his wake was a big loud speaker with a woman plaintively crying "Help him! Help Jesus!"

The crowd was very pushy as they passed us. I got felt up by so many nuns it isn't even funny.

Despite being in the Holy city on one of the the holiest days of the year, Katrine and I didn't feel holy, we just felt squished.

Epic Road Trip and the Seder

We took Friday, Saturday and Sunday off work (I told every one it was a Christian Holiday, which technically Palm Sunday was) and zipped around the north of Israel with my old friend Katrine and our new friend Simon.

Every time they merely stopped for breath, I gave them the chop-chop and we were off to another site. We made it to Caserea, Haifa, Acco, Nazareth, Tiberias, and got royally lost in the Golan Heights again.

A highlight for me was Nasareth in which we made a one hour stop to do the required Church visit. The FAN-tastic signs put out in the main square in view of the church by some fanatic Muslims for the benefit of the Christian pilgrims made us laugh. I guess I am firmly ensconced in loser-dom. Next door at the arab candy shop the charismatic backlava guy wanted to know if Simon dyed his red hair as we were pigging out on the wares.

James loved getting lost for a whole day in the Golan again. The getting lost might be my fault. As James says in his fake Hebrew accent “When God made me perfect, he did not quite finish the job.” I fell asleep in the passenger seat as we weaved though the rolling hills, and consequently we took a 30 minute detour. As a consequence, I got hoofed out of my spot as chief navigator.

Katrine was entranced by the old city of Acco, which was once one of the most important Mediterranean ports. Although there are lots of sites to see, unlike J-town, Acco is not a tourist trap and much of the stores and shops are for the people living there. Simon, who is pretty much new to organized religion in any format, is still trying to process the baptismal site on the Jordan river and all the people in the white gowns. He wasn’t to sure about getting dunked in the murky water with the giant catfish and a muskrat but we all thought the big happy earnest hug from the preacher afterward looked good.

The day after we got back, I sent Simon and Katrine to the shook and told Simon that he had to buy a Kippa for the Passover Seder at the boss’ house. Simon, skipped the simple ones and went for a bright red one with the Pringles logo on it. We headed to The Boss’ and had a Seder with about twenty of his friends and family.

Most of us were dressed nicely, with the men in just shirts and nice pants – except the boss' eight year old son. Edo came to the door wearing a three piece suit and tie and was by far the best dressed person there. (Predictably for an eight year old, as the evening went on his outfit came apart; first the kippa, then the jacket disappeared followed by the six inch clip on tie which James decided to wear during desert) As we worked our way though the Haggadah book, which has the ceremony of the seder written in it, James and I had no idea what was being said as it was in “Old Hebrew” and Katrine and Simon were even worse off. But it is Passover, so the food afterward makes it all worth it. I wasn't again hungry until four the next afternoon.

To atone for the sins of too many falafel pitas on the road trip and passover seder, I have gone for two runs in the last 16 hours.

Getting my head and hat on straight

A few weeks ago in Hebrew class we watched- as a treat- an Israeli movie called Bonjour Monsieur Shlomi. It was about a teenage boy who has a crazy family and everyone thinks he is an idiot but he is actually a dyslexic math genius. It is a odd little coming of age story. I give it a solid B grade. There is a little swearing and some funny crude comments by his crass older brother, and yes, there is some depiction of teenage sexuality complete with nipples.

A very sweet lady in our ulpan from Missouri was about to get up and leave after the first set of comments about the brother's "attributes." With an embarrassed laugh she said "OK that is enough for me" and grabbed her books. Our teacher, assured her that the bad stuff was over. But it wasn't, and before long, this nice lady, who works for the baptist interfaith centre, got up and left. Everyone has their own limits to what is acceptable in movies and this clearly was well past her limit of sexuality, especially teenage, unmarried sexuality. I felt bad that she was told that the bad stuff was over and it wasn't. I chalk it up to our teacher not really understanding what was so offensive about the movie to an evangelical christian.

This story probably doesn't seem all that surprising to you. But the shocker for me was who didn't leave. Of all the students in the class, she was the only one offended by the content of the movie. This included a scarf wearing muslim, and a black-kippa white-shirt wearing Jew.

So now that I have had a little kick in my ignorant pants, I can say that people need not be so afraid of others who wear their religion openly in their clothes. I think people sometimes fear religious clothing as representation of a movement of religious fundamentalization, a loss of rights and freedom of speech. From this anecdote, it seems the prevailing sentiments against Muslims in the world and orthodox Jews within Israel has it wrong. The anecdote seems to say that the people we most need to worry about would be western Christians wearing jeans and a tee-shirt.

I am not saying that scary fundamentalist movements in Islam, Judaism or in Christianity don't exist, but I am saying that if we are taught to not judge a book by its cover, we should not judge a person by their head covering.

Bethlehem, THE WEST BANK. DUNH DUNH DUNH.....

If you look out from our bedroom window you will see an expansive valley flanked on the other side by hill with a monastery on top. Literally just behind that hill is Bethlehem. Forgoing the 100$ tours run by local companies, we got up early, headed to the Arab sheruts near Damascus gate, paid our six shekels (2$), got cosy with a bunch of Palestinians and some backpackers and made the twenty minute treck to where no Israeli is allowed to go. No kidding. There was a big sign on the way into Bethlehem reminding them it was illegal for Israeli Citizens to enter the city.








We did the necessary visit to the Church of the Nativity, but meh, I think I am getting all churched out. It was a big church. Ancient Floor. Crusader paintings. Lots of lamps. Cave beneath. Nuf Said.














But the city and the market were fabulous. Saturday is the busiest day and it was lively and vibrant. The Markets of Bethlehem seemed markedly more colourful than those of Jerusalem. Perhaps it is because in contrast to the sedate and humble colours encouraged by Judaism, the Muslim and Christian Arab women seem to show their humility by wearing a lot of clothes, but are not limited in their colour pallate.











Since the wall went up a few years ago, the economy in Bethlehem has tanked. Most work is in Jerusalem and getting work permits and going though daily security checks is difficult. Compared to the Arab Market in the old city of Jerusalem, the market in Bethlehem reflects the depressed economy. Although full of people and vibrant, most of the wares were used: piles of used clothes, housewares and used shoes were for sale. I also figured out why the churches and mosques of Jerusalem don't have pigeon problems. Live pigeons were for sale next to rabbits and chickens. Yummy, Pigeon.

Right about now, my mom is freaking out reading this. My daughter went WHERE? But Palestinians are extremely friendly people and other than an annoying pushy "tour guide" near where the sherut dropped us off, everyone politely answered out questions for directions. In a crowded market in a town that is trying to do their very best to keep the foreign tourists coming.... well there wasn't much to worry about as a Canadian. If I were Israeli, or James was a kippa-wearing Jew, I wouldn't have made the trip.




We stopped for a yummy lunch of felafel and shawarma at a place full of Muslims but was owned by Arab Christians (we noted the cross and the Madonna and child above the counter. The felafel dude was very impressed by James' ten words of Arabic and said so in fluent English. Then we hopped back on a sherut. Five minutes later at the wall we got out of the sherut, stood in a line, had our passports and visas scrutinized by a 20 year old with an assault rifle and got back in the sherut.

Palestinians are also very photogenic people I discovered. I took lots of photos from the hip and posted them up on facebook if you are interested.

Ethiopian Church

Last Friday after completely botching a planned trip to a nearby town, the Chicken and I ventured into an unexplored neighborhood as a second choice. With my new walking tour guide book in hand, we visited a famous Rabbi's house, saw my first Yeshiva (Torah school), saw where Ben Yehuda brought Hebrew back from being a dead language, and other key sites. But the best part was the church we came across behind a wall with narrow green painted doors open to our curious eyes. To get into the courtyard we had to literally step through the threshold, up and over the door step.

For the first time ever, I stepped foot in a Ethiopian Church. And by stepping foot, I mean with my bare feet since shoes were not allowed. Some worshipers forwent the going inside and just came to the doors and prayed and kissed the footstep.

The church is completely round, but inside at the centre was a square curtained room with an altar inside. FYI. Nothing ticks me off more than chatty people or camera clicking people in a church when people are praying. I shot these pics when no one was around.

If you have ever thought that some old catholic churches tend towards tacky, they have nothing on the Ethiopians. Bright pink walls, Mediterranean blue domed ceiling, heavy mismatched curtains, rich rugs and lively paintings of saints. I imagine with decor like that, I can only imagine that services must be joyous.

I was a big fan of the paintings for two reasons: The Madonna and child were a realistic skin colour. After a few months here with people oohing and ahhing over my exotic look, I can let you in on a secret: fat chance Jesus was blonde. Although I have to say, the baby Jesus in this painting looks like he is sprouting a five o'clock shadow. Even for middle easterners who can grow the most spectacular facial hair, beards in infancy might be pushing it.

My favorite feature was the paintings of the Saints. They didn't seem to kill their beasts, instead they tamed their lions and serpents and rode them through the desert like trusty companions. I like the idea of taking a hold of your failings by the mane and riding off into the sunset. It seems so much more possible than getting rid of your faults all together.

Stick in the mud

OK. So there was this article in the Jerusalem Post the other day about the declining Christian population in Jerusalem. This is part because this is not the easiest part of the world to live in for minorities and many Christians who can are emigrating. Nearby Bethlehem used have a healthy majority of Christian citizens, but the economy has tanked since the big wall went up and the Natzrim (Christian in Hebrew) are leaving in a steady stream. As well, the birth rate amoungst Christians in Jerusalem is low (makes sense with all those monks and nuns and priests running around, whom I would hope aren't reproducing).
The Christian Community is described justly as "divisive" but the article also had this to say:

" 'The main fear of the church leadership is that local Christian communities will disappear, and that the holy sites will be turned into museums with no supporting communities,' said Dr. Amnon Ramon, an expert on the Christian community with the [Jerusalem Institute for Israeli Studies]."

Really? The churches are worried about losing the local communities? I find that hard to believe.

My skepticism is not because the Jerusalem congregations are large. The last time I went to the St. Andrews Memorial Church, the congregation could have been out numbered by the one in Dorset, my hometown and great metropolis of 500 people.

Check out this website for all of the church services in J-town. I linked to the protestant ones but the Catholic and Orthodox ones tell a similar story.

How many Sunday services are in the evening? Blessed few.

The local Christian community has jobs and Sunday is a regular workday in Israel. Very few Jerusalem churches actually choose to accommodate the needs of the local christian community. They seem to be ignoring the fact that for the last sixty years, they have been in the middle of a Jewish state. And no surprise here, the few evening services listed are with relatively new evangelical sects that are not locked in by their own stodgy unaccommodating self importance and traditions. Not only is it difficult culturally to be a Natzrim in country dominated by Jews and Muslims, but the churches themselves make it difficult to even practice the faith.

All over the world, the traditional Christian sects have declining numbers of congregates. They are attempting all sorts of ploys to draw people in and, more importantly, making changes in how they worship (not what they believe) to make themselves relevant to the modern world.

After a few months here and seeing what goes on, it shouldn't really surprise me in the old world, where showing no weakness and bluffing reigns supreme, the churches are as flexible as a wooden post. I guess if there is any place to leave christian traditions unchanged, it would be here. Regardless, it still seems like a shame that in J-town, 'crucifix' is nearly synonymous with 'stick-in-the-mud'.

Clothing

When I was moving to Israel my brother's friend Avi, who had just returned from a stint in the Israeli Army, told me that Israelis are more conservative dressers than Canadians. I always considered myself a rather conservative dresser anyways so I wasn't worried. But it is TRUE! Israelis LOVE bland colours (white, navy, brown and black are the staples). Although I have seen some horrifically tight/animal print outfits on fashionistas downtown, they are not very common and in general the populous doesn't show as much skin as Canadians, and they like to wear far more clothing than the temperature calls for. I swear we saw a fur coat at 15 Celsius one day.

To wear my favorite pink shirt is a statement about my identity. "I AM BOLD! I AM NOT RELIGIOUS! I AM WESTERN! HEAR ME ROAR!" It cries out with enthusiasm.

I could blather on for hours about how clothing defines class and religious beliefs far more than any place I have ever heard of. A day in the old city is a great game of "Guess that Christian!" Armenian Monk? Catholic Nun? Coptic Priest? A walk on Shabbat is a display of all sorts of cool hats. Askanazi? Haredi? Reform? Secular? Hockey Fan? (I'll explain that in a later post). The Arab Quarter is a lesson in femininity. Women, completely covered except for their hands and faces are the most elegant looking people I have ever seen in their long tailored coats and fitted head coverings.

When traveling Israel, it is not worth putting anything in your suitcase that is above the knee. Sure there are lots of places you can wear those soccer shorts, but it is a pain when touriting far a day and find out you can't go in somewhere because you look like a tart for wearing a tank top. You may as well save the suitcase space and bring a pair of capris and a longish flowing skirt, some t-shirts and a light cardigan.

But this is the kicker. Where do you think I found the clothing issues are most restrictive when traveling? Look at the sign. Where do you think I took this picture?



a) At a kosher restaurant specializing in Ashkenazi food.
b) Recommended clothing posted outside a tour-guide place for seeing the Arab city of Acco.
c) In the door of an Orthodox church in the "new" part of Jerusalem.

To make you guess, I have posted the answer to the question in the comments section (click on the orange word "comments" below).

Hugs and High Fives

Sometimes I feel like I am in a cultural minefield. With every step, I may or may not make a mistake. Today I made a new one.

Back in Alberta, my labmates gave high-fives so hard that my arm ached at night. High fives were for celebration and greeting and were occasionally a supreme act of athleticism as the slap of the palms was combined with a run, jump and a 360 degree turn.

One of my labmates here had a great result while I was gone and when I held my hand up for a celebratory high five...

I was shafted.

Utterly.

Normally, I would feel hurt, but the shafter was the kind of person who would never be rude intentionally. So I just went on with my work. Later he came to me and shyly said "I hope you weren't offended, but there is a rule for religious Jews that we cannot touch a woman that is not our wife." I replied that I was in no way offended. (In fact, I was a little pleased that one of my labmates realized I was female under the very stylish lab coat and glasses.)

Five minutes later, after thinking about how often I give high fives, hugs and even handshakes to members of the opposite sex, I had to ask him for a clarification. Can he hug his mom? Apparently, moms are the exception. Sisters are officially OK too but still a bit taboo.

He asked me if my religion had such rules and I initially answered no. But now I realize that is not exactly true. All sexual harassment issues aside, we do have cultural taboos about how we touch the opposite sex. Many Canadian men are the kings of the weak two pat hug. And taboo and religion are almost one in the same, aren't they?

Happy Easter Everyone!

I have been slow on describing Good Friday in order to give James' Science paper as much time as possible as top item. (Yes, another shameless plug).

On Friday morning, James and I hoofed it to the old city without coffee to be there for 6:30 am. We were a little late and as we rushed around a corner, were met by a crowd of 150 or so Lutherans, Anglicans, Episcopalians (American Anglicans), Presbyterians and, get this, Arab Lutherans. Besides the suspiciously large numbers of fair people, my religious compatriots were easy to pick out by the weak and slightly shy singing.

We made our way along the narrow passage of the Via Dolorosa, which legend states is the route Jesus carried his cross to be crucified. Along the way there are stations where different events are said to have happened, such as each of his falls or when Veronica wiped his face. The stops are marked with shrines on the side of the wall or itsy bitsy little churches that seemed to have been hewn from the old city rather than built.

At each stop one of the ten or so Reverends with accents from all over the world did a reading and a prayer. James proudly told me later that he thinks "our Rev", a real booming Scotsman, had the best voice of them all.

We ended not at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which is run by the Catholics, Orthodox, Armenians, Coptics and the Ethiopians, but next door at the Church of the Redeemer, which is run by the Lutherans but takes in every one else.

Why the early hour? Probably to avoid the open stores with the shameless hawkers and the crowds of the other brands of Christianity doing the same thing throughout the day. As it was, there were people singing in French and Latin behind our group, we passed a group of nuns, and shortly after we finished James and I had to stop for a procession of about 50 monks followed by 30 priests followed by 100 or so people.

I had been expecting to see people carrying giant life size crosses and performing painfully acetic pilgrimages, but perhaps it doesn't actually happen that often or we were too early risers for the crazy folks with Jerusalem Syndrome. The morning was quiet and, well, quite pleasant.

True to form, James claims he has filled his church quota until Christmas and I went to Easter Sunday service solo this morning.

Holy Double Holy Week, Batman!

Practicing Jews all over the city are madly cleaning their houses this weekend in preparation for Passover or Pessach which starts this week. To remember spending forty years chilling out in the desert with Moses en route from Egypt to Jerusalem, this is a holy week full of ancient tradition and ritual- and absolutely no leavened or wheat anything.

The obsessive cleaning is ostensibly to look for any cookie crumbs or stray noodles between the couch cushions that may ruin your wheat freeness. Even all of your kitchen dishes and pots are to be sanitized with boiling water to get rid of any remaining live cultures which may accidentally constitute your food as leavened. Yossi tells me that the the lazy folks, himself included, just keep an extra set of dishes just for this week to avoid all the sanitzing.

Even non kosher Jews will go whole-hog kosher this week. No bread or wheat products will be available for sale in the grocery stores. Instead they will be eating Matzoh which is sold in cinder block sized cardboard boxes. Matzoh looks like four inch square pieces of cardboard and tastes accordingly in my recollection. I don't know how The Chicken is going to live without his new favorite Friday food: Hallah bread (seen above).

We have been invited to a Seder Supper on Wednesday so I will let you know how that goes.

Not only is it passover, but this is the Christian holy week. Any other year and I would be singing my brains out at church for the week's four services. Although I was usually exhausted by holy week in the past, I must admit I feel a little bereft without choir as part of my life anymore.

I expect this means that the old city is going to be a gong show with large packs of singing Christians and dudes carrying giant crosses though the streets. I will not be missing the action and will be heading into the old city to check it out the resurrection mayhem next Sunday.

The Devil in the Details

Yesterday, I got asked what kind of Christian I was by a couple of practicing, kippah wearing Jews. I said Protestant which then prompted the question "What is the difference between Protestants and Catholics?" I have noticed my Israeli-Jewish friends are confused that I am picky about which of the multitude of churches in Jerusalem I will "go pray at". They assumed they were all the same.

Right there I started spouting a history lesson about the reformation and counter reformation and Martin Luther to which one of them exclaimed "I hear of him! Martin Luther King, nahon (right)?" And then I realized I had to find a more succinct way to answer the question.

As a complete outsider to Christianity, what would the most obvious differences between Catholics and Protestants be? I had to toss away hundreds of years of history and ideology about communion, the role of confession, divorce, the Virgin Mary etc. and go for the very basics.

Only a moment later, the next conference talk started, so I had a good 15 minutes of mind wandering to come up with the key the differences in tradition that would make sense in the eye of the Jew. This is what I came up with:

a) The Catholics have better decorations.

b) Catholic priests are always unmarried men. Protestant leaders are allowed get hitched and sometimes they are women.

c) Protestants are really good with peer pressure whereas the Catholics have the Pope.

They don't seem like very important differences for wars to have been fought over, do they? Especially in religion, the devil is in the details.

Irony on the River Jordan

The Sea of Galilee is a big stop for water traveling down the Jordan River on its way to the Dead Sea. A the North end, where the river feeds the Sea we stopped the car on the side of the road and checked it out the river. On the banks were a few fishermen watching the river go by. Several people, mostly Israelis, were getting out to walk the old bridge and road and there was even disheveled ice cream truck. I loved the marshy unruliness of the place. Before I leave I would like a chance to go back and spend my own time watching the river go by.

The south end of the lake, where the river drains the sea was another story. Instead of contemplative fishermen, on the bank was a modern center for full body baptismals to which busses of foreign Christians were flocking. Baptismals, i.e., holy dips in the river, were free but the white smock was not, nor was the kosher restaurant serving vodka as a special. As well there was a glitzy and overpriced gift shop decorated with pictures of baptized people in orgastically religious states. As well you can get video of your baptismal set to Pachabell's cannon in your choice of DVD or VHS. Around the wheelchair accessible baptismal sites were amphitheater like seating areas but you could also enjoy the view from outdoor cafe tables where you sip your four dollar coke or cappuccino.

Curious if I went for a dip? That rite of passage happened for me long ago with plain ol' Muskoka water. Plus there were giant fish swimming in the baptismal areas and a horse corral disturbingly close to the other bank. But don't worry; I am not all cynical about the place. I did fill up my water bottle for my infant niece. When she is older perhaps Vivian will think it a neat thing that she was baptized with water from the Jordan River.