Home

When we pulled into the drive at the Jerusalem Center, it felt like home.

How strange and wonderful. Brother Judd promised us when he picked us up from the airport in April that Jerusalem would become our home, but feeling it was much warmer and more poignant that I expected.

Just in time to say goodbye.

(With Julie in the JC Oasis Kitchen, helping prepare the Seder Meal. Students aren't normally allowed in the kitchen!)

Oh, Galilea!

(On the Sea of Galilea - photo courtesy of Ashley Wilkinson)

How can one blog post possibly encapsulate ten days in the Galilea? Galilea was the center of Christ's earthly ministry, where the Savior delivered his parables and where thousands were blessed by miracles at his hand. Galilea won my heart with its warm sea and its impossibly hot Jordan Rift Valley climate. Organizing my thoughts about Galilea is an impossible feat. There is nothing to do for it--you will have to endure a scatter-brained bullet list:

*We sang "Master, The Tempest Is Raging" as we boated across the Sea of Galilea. Originally, lyracist Mary Ann Baker wrote the chorus in first-person, as though it were a dialogue between the disciples and Jesus. When we sang it, we followed Baker's original verse. (pg. 105 in the hymnbook)

*Our rafting trip down the Jordan River proved to be exciting, despite the fact that the water was only 3-feet deep and virtually still. We put on our scurviest attitudes, and attempted to splash, swamp, steal from, and overtake our neighboring rafts. Who knew that Sister Ohman (our stake president's wife) could be such a pirate?

*The bungalows were quaint, and my front door was less than two minutes from the shoreline. The sea is as warm and pleasant as the temperature is hot and miserable. Every free afternoon that was not spent studying or fieldtripping was a blissful day in the water.

*Walking in Christ's footsteps was a pleasure. We visited Tabgha (traditional site of Christ's meal with the disciples), Capernaum (Jesus' "own city," says the New Testament), and Nazareth (Jesus' childhood home). We also visited Sepphoris (where the Mishneh was compiled, and where mosaics litter the ancient town floors), Caesarea Maritima (built by Herod; visited by Paul when he was confronted by Festus and Felix), Akko (ancient crusader ruins), Nimrod's castle, Tel Dan (the northernmost edge of Old Testament united monarchy Israel), Megiddo (Biblical Armeggedon, with archaelogical destruction layers!), the Bahai headquarter gardens, the Haifa Cemetery (burial place of some important LDS pioneers in the Holy Land), and Mount Tabor (traditional site of the transfiguration).

*I played the role of a priest of Ba'al on Mount Carmel. ...Obviously not the role I want to play in real life, but memorable no doubt.

*I've seen more crusader ruins, more tels, more aqueducts, and more casemate walls and Solomonic gates than I care to admit.

*At Tel Dan, we walked through old bungalows from the '67 war. Syria and Israel fought for the area because when they drew the borders, the pencil line on the map was too thick, which led to some ambiguity as to who actually laid claim on the land. That was my favorite gem for the gee-whiz file.

*We held church with the branch in Tiberias, at the first dedicated branch house in the Holy Land. That was the best thing of all. Knowing that Jesus Christ lived and died, and being able to partake of weekly ordinances in His name is something that I can take with me from Galilea. I won't always be able to walk in the Savior's geographic footsteps, but when I covenant each week to remember Him, I promise to try my best to develop a heart like His and to follow His example. I am grateful to follow my Savior, in Galilea and wherever I go.

Wedding

Palestinians know how to do weddings. Step one: hors d'oeuvres (fresh pita and family-style dips). Step two: dance (hands in the air, side-to-side, with the bride and groom as the centripital focus). Step three: main course (meat, potatoes, fried potato and cheese items, vegetables). Step four: dance again. Step five: dessert. Step six: keep dancing!

When I thought about why our money changer invited us to his nephew's wedding, I came to two possible conclusions: 1. American kids like to dance. I'm not sure if they think we're crazy or if they enjoy the spectacle, but they get a kick out of it. Aladdin (our money changer) pushed us to the dance floor, and the videographer gave us way too much footage, considering that we had never met the bride or groom. 2. The bride was Dutch and the groom was Palestinian; they needed someone to sit with the bride's family to put them at ease. I'm not sure how much we helped. The parents of the bride were experiencing their very first taste of Palestinian culture. They looked a little shocked when the drummers crowded around them and when they were pulled into the center of the dance floor, but they embraced it. I hope I never forget their faces. The collision of cultures was a fascinating thing to watch.

On whole, the wedding was a people-watcher's dream. My table consisted of a Canadian tour-guide, an Israeli soldier, an Arabic money-changer, four Mormon kids, and the Dutch family of three. The food was great, the dancing was a riot, and the music was fun, but what delighted most me was the silent ethnographic inquiry that tickled my mind all evening long.

West Bank

Maybe it's just poor exposure to world affairs on my part, but somehow I imagined the West Bank as a desolate, empty land made entirely of packed dirt and barbed wire.

Why didn't I know that Bethlehem was in West Bank? Why didn't I know that it isn't an empty land? How didn't I know that there are people there, living normal lives and building beautiful futures for themselves? I was impressed by the college students that we visited with at Bethlehem University. They're just like us. In a panel discussion, they were nearly unanimous in admitting that what each one wants from life is to get an education, raise a cute family, and have a good job. Just like me.

Sure, their situation is different from mine. They've got separation walls and checkpoints. There are family members that they can't visit and places that they can't go, but they have big plans and bright visions for the future.

Are they prejudiced against Israelis? Do they spout bitter diatribes against checkpoint soldiers? Maybe some of them do, but not the ones that I met. They were a hopeful, open-minded group. If they were at all representative of the rising generation, then I have renewed hope in Palestinian-Israeli relations.

Obedience

Soteriology: the theological doctrine of salvation

The question pertained to Jewish eschatology. His answer surprised and delighted me.

"The reward for obeying the commandments is obeying the commandments. There's nothing transcendental about it," said my Judaism professor. He said that soteriology doesn't really exist in Judaism. There's not much focus on the eventuality of salvation. They obey for the pleasure of obeying. There's no waiting for your pie in the sky.

"Thank you, God, for giving me the opportunity to obey today."

Amen, dear professor. It is a gift to obey the commandments of a loving Heavenly Father.

Merry Christmas and Happy Independence Day!

While you watched fireworks and ate a bratwurst, I sang Christmas hymns in Shepherd's field in Jerusalem. It sounds like an enviable experience, doesn't it? But please don't feel left out. I am astounded over and over that the sites themselves aren't what make the gospel significant. I feel just as large a portion of the Holy Ghost in my bedroom while I read scriptures as I do when I sit in the very place that angels heralded Christ's birth.

Besides, you had barbeque while I had none.

It seemed appropriate to celebrate independence and Christ's birth on the same day. It is Jesus Christ, after all, who sets us free from death and hell. "Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage" (Gal 5:1).

Honestly, the best part of the day was being made my professor's four-year old daughter's official bus buddy. I won her affection by playing 30 minutes of eye-spy on the bus, and she claimed me as her fieldtrip friend. She granted me wishes from her magical butterfly, drew pictures in my journal, and held my hand at all the sites.

The Red Sea

Moses parted it.

I snorkel in it.

Maybe not so dramatic as Moses' feat, but certainly a small-scale miracle.

I might have rented a life-jacket (I don't swim), and I may or may not have held hands with a male classmate to alleviate some juvenile fears of drowning (or maybe just for the sake of holding hands), but there you have it.

The Kshh-pfshh Darth Vader breathing filled my ears, and I felt a keen sense of aloneness. Just me and the ocean. Strange how reverent a crowded sea can be.

Opiate of the Masses

Marx might be right. I hesitate to say this in a public venue, since the man is so heavily villianized, but he made a valid point. Religion might just be the opiate of the masses.

Mind you, Marx said this in a demeaning way while I say it with utmost admiration, but it is true. Religion is an anti-depressant and a purveyor of high moral values. It creates a sense of community and effectively destroys the tyranny of loneliness and despair. It’s my drug of choice.

On Sunday, my group of three stumbled across a chapel in West Jerusalem. We were invited to stay for mass, and were happy to do so. The Pilipino congregation welcomed us, and we sat at the back and pretended to know the tunes to their acoustic guitar and tambourine-accompanied hymns. We passed a pen back and forth urgently to take notes when the priest gave a thoughtful discourse on the eucharist, and when I left after 80 minutes, I felt uplifted and happy. First dose of religious opiate for the week.

To avoid studying for midterms on Thursday, we trouped to the Western Wall to watch Bar Mitzvahs. I focused on a timid, dimpled teenage boy who was gently prodded on by the men of his family while the women watched attentively from the other side of the screen. I was reminded of my own family and our own religious coming-of-age rituals, and I tasted a second dose of Marx’s opiate for the week.

During Friday night synagogue service, my mind wandered while the Hebrew verse rolled along. I read the prayer book and mumbled along to the music. I watched the kids running around the chairs and the women greeting each other and heard a male voice belting slightly out of tune from the other side of the room. “How very alike we are,” I thought, “and how glad I am that we have religion to bring us together.” Bless that little nonsubstance stimulant.

My last dose of religious opiate this week was my favorite. Fast and testimony meeting with the Jerusalem Center branch is a treat. The hymns never fail to hit home, and the line for the podium is always too long for the time allotted for bearing testimony. The Savior was the predominant focus of our meeting, and I knew that the Spirit and the gospel of Jesus Christ are opiates to us because they are true. Religion is good inasmuch as it unites men and women. That is the Savior’s message, and my legal opiate.

Yad Vashem

Remembering the Holocaust is good; it makes me cringe at the thought of harming another human being. My experience at Jerusalem’s Holocaust memorial was solemn, but I left with my favorite Anne Frank quote running through my head:

“In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart."