what’s a zubble?

My vision of the world of toys just got shocked today.  Before fifteen minutes ago, I lived under the assumption that all cool new toys would be based in technology.  Yet, a picture and video just made me a believer in the simple toys once again.  Have you heard about zubbles?  They are colored bubbles…and they can create them in any color!  The best part is, the color disappears fifteen minutes after popping!  My only question, do they sell them in this hemisphere yet?  Check out what msnbc.com says about them here.

Here is a snapshot of part of my summer kitchen.  All these have made up the majority of my diet for the last month.  Notice the essential veggies, fruit, coffee, humus, pita, and rice.

One of my favorite parts about living in Jerusalem or Bethlehem is the easy access to the most tasty, fresh, and cheap fruits and vegetables.  Another part of my world was rocked today when I discoverd mini-pineapples at the fruit market.

Combining most of the ingredients from the first picture, I made a phenomenally spicy chicken peanut recipe tonight.  Chopping the onions made me weep like a brokenhearted school boy, and the bell peppers and jalapenos made my bald spot sweat like never before.  Losing your hair isn’t all bad.  The current bald spot seems to enjoy acting as a thermostat.  For whatever reason when I eat extra spicy foods, it starts to sweat before everything else.  Weird and gross, eh?  Here’s a sample of that spicy peanut chicken and veggies looked like while cooking.

And yes, occasionally I do contemplate how the meaning of life is wrapped up inside one mini-pineapple.

Check out the yellow pepper in comparison.

 

literature

I have been catching up on my reading of literature classics this summer.  This is a good idea.  However, the selection and timing of each reading is absolutely crucial.  Otherwise this good idea can go horribly off-track.  I committed several tactical errors in my reading of Frankenstein last night.

• First, one should never read this book after dark…by the light of a flashlight…during a windstorm…while the power is out.
• Second, one should never read this book while housesitting in a big creepy, empty house in a strange neighborhood.
• Third, one should not drink a mug of reheated morning coffee while reading said book.
• Fourth, by no means should one fall asleep after said reading.  Dreams will contain little peace.
• Fifth, if phone rings twenty minutes into deep sleep, one should not look at Caller ID before answering.  Otherwise, the caller known as Unregistered Number may freak out said reader of Frankenstein.

Sadly, last night I committed all five of these tactical blunders.  I woke up with eye strain, a kink in my neck, a headache, and a jittery jog to the coffee maker.

 

history and time

Life in America is busy. More than anything else, I used to complain about the busyness of my life. Yet, until I came to Jerusalem, I did little to actually change that busyness. It is an American cultural value. Rarely did it matter what I was busy doing. Often it was just being busy for busyness’ sake. Our awareness of Attention Deficit Disorder and ADHD gave us all permission to be overly busy, multi-distracted, and scattered-brained. We have been bred into a culture and civilization that never ceases.  It counts time in the nano-seconds. It seemed that the busier I was, the more irreplaceable, and hence more important, I became. Or so it seemed.

Time in the Middle East is measured in eons, ages, civilizations, centuries and millennia. This conception of time is fundamentally different from the culture that I grew up in. It is definitely a specific thought process, and to some extent it is fostered by the environment. There are over 5,000 years of recorded history in this land. And by recorded, I mean written. There are thousands of places where we have found human activity that predates this written record. In Jericho archeologists have found a tower that is estimated to be the oldest man-made structure on the planet. THEY FOUND IT SIXTY FEET UNDERGROUND! They date it to 8,000 BCE…5,000 years before the first pyramid was built. In comparison, my college building is about 150 years old, but its foundations are built on the wall that surrounded the city when Jesus was alive. The current walls of Jerusalem are relatively young at less than 500 years old. The people of this land live in the shadow of this ever-present witness of history. It colors every thought and every action.

Here is a section of that 10,000 year old tower.

Both Israelis and Palestinians connect their current existence to this ancient history. Their justification for their continued presence in the land today is based upon their connection to this past historical legacy. Both groups trace their heritage to a common ancestor in Abraham. He walked throughout this land some 4,000 years ago, give or take a couple of centuries. Current day residents in the land see themselves as being a link in this chain of history. They are not at the end of the timeline. Rather, they are in the middle of it…and time stretches out to the far distant generations in both the past and the future. As they see their past and their identity as rooted in this land, so also do they see the future. This theme is woven throughout the Scriptures, and is still very much active today. Without diving into politics, military strategies, oppression, or peace plans, this idea can be seen as a main reason for the ongoing conflict, but that is for a later posting.

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This understanding of time has led me to alter some of my thought processes. My first reaction to the physical surroundings of history is to see my life as getting smaller and smaller. What is my 80 years when put next to a water channel constructed under a mountain of solid rock in the 7th Century BCE? My life really is but a vapor… here today and forgotten by tomorrow. It’s kind of a depressing thought–I’m not quite as important as I would like to think that I am. Yet, it is a right thought. It gives me a more proper understanding of my place in history. As such, it also makes my life feel much larger at the same time. It’s a bit of a paradox, isn’t it? Well…yes, but it works. Here’s how.

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For whatever reason, a Holy Grail of my culture is youth. Apparently the most important things in life happen when you are in your twenties. Maybe you can do cool things while still in your thirties, but by the time you are forty, you’re almost dead. You become a grandparent in your fifties, and you are mostly seen as irrelevant and worthless by your sixties. This may not be what the average person on the street thinks, but it is what is taught by most TV shows, celebrity appearances, and educational classrooms. At the heart of the standard American dream is the goal of doing nothing in old age. Oooh…am I being cynical? Am I stepping on toes? Probably, but that’s not the main point I am trying to drive home. In direct contrast, a cultural value of the Middle East is old age.

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Yet, this value is deeper than old age and the wisdom and hard work it represents. The underlying concept is a value for the whole life, the entirety of life. Just as children are the key to the future, so are the grandparents the connection to the past. They are woven together and intricately connected.  Each tells a part of the story, but neither group ever tells the end. It goes back to being in the middle of that timeline again. These thoughts have caused me to change how I look at my own life. If my youth is the most important part of my life, then I will become like Napoleon’s Uncle Rico.

However, I am beginning to see that my greatest contributions may come thirty years from now. That’s more than half my lifetime away. What I am doing next year is important, for sure. But it becomes just one small step when I’m planning on what I want to be doing when I’m 55 or 75. Here’s an example…

If I wanted to understand theology better, it would be important for me to go learn German. What better way of doing it than by moving to Germany and immersing myself in normal life for two years? If that was just for my own benefit, and didn’t have a career objective attached to it, then the current American culture would see it as a waste of two years of my youth. Am I wrong? Yet, what are a couple of years in comparison to a long lifetime?

And this is one way that the Middle Eastern concept of time and history has begun to reshape my thoughts.

 

stability

Let’s start with a very broad statement today.  People in the Middle East crave stability. It affects most of their choices and is an organizing principle for life. Perhaps on some level, though, people everywhere crave stability. Let me rephrase it then…stability is a highly esteemed cultural value here. This can be illustrate by describing an alternative cultural value from the West.

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One of our most cherished ideas in the States is personal freedom. This is evident in our choices of living, vocation, education, counter-cultural and pseudo-rebellious actions. Often we try to express this freedom by making non-conformist choices…just like everyone else. We usually fail to see the irony in it. This freedom or liberty is also expressed in the way that mobility is considered an irreplaceable virtue and necessity in life today. Two examples should demonstrate this quite nicely.

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A couple of generations ago most Americans were born, lived out their lives, and were buried around an unmoving place called home. There were such things as family farms and often the children never made it too far from home. For a variety of reasons, that doesn’t happen so often any more. To pack up one’s possessions and move to another house every couple of years is relatively normal, and sometimes even highly valued. It allows us to find the next job promotion or step up in the social status ladder. In affect, our society has become and is becoming more transient. We take our homes with us, rather than going back home.

The second example is related to the first. Our thirst for freedom is also seen in our wireless civilization that connects every moment of our lives. Can you even remember how you once survived without a cell-phone? Just imagine what it would be like to be stuck to one location by a receiver and a cord plugged into the wall. Personally, I cannot even conceive of a life without my laptop. As far as grad school is concerned, it is a necessity of life. It is the centerpiece of my research, writing, brainstorming, communication, and correspondence. If it was not mobile, I absolutely could not have accomplished what I have done over the past two years.  Now, only if the iphone could transform into a pup tent with a mattress…what else could you really need in a home.  It can’t do that yet, but the iphone can repel mosquitoes while you are camping.  Check it out here.

With satellite links and ever-present wifi, we also can be connected to every aspect of our lives, at any time, and in any place. With this reliance and acceptance of technology, we have become finely attuned to dynamic and changing systems. We expect things to change around us constantly and continually. What was new yesterday, is everywhere today, and will be forgotten tomorrow. To remain unchanging is to become irrelevant. Our identity is based more upon our future hopes than in our rooted past.

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One of the prevailing images Americans have of the Middle East is one of the overwhelming presence of the desert. The desert is not everywhere. There are sections of lush forests and vegetation with abundant rainfall. Yet, the desert is never that far away. If not right in front of you, it is always in the peripheral vision. When I look at the desert, I have a hard time imagining that it was ever anything but a desert. It seems that the sands of time have ground to a halt, leaving this vast emptiness unchanged for millennia. Little affects the desert. A Bedouin caravan or an Israeli tank will leave tracks in the sand, but they are gone by tomorrow. Each day slides into another with little to set it apart. Generations come and go without leaving a mark, but the desert always impresses, leaving a mark on each generation.

Brittany and Ian enjoy one of the greener sides of the Middle East.

This desert imagery has been overly used to make broad generalizations that attempt to explain Middle Eastern cultures. Sometimes, though, it offers insights into a way of life here. The desert is predictable, although it is often harsh. Sandstorms and flashfloods can wreak havoc in the moment, but they are gone by tomorrow. Although it can be violent, it can be seen as a stable presence. And so it is with the rest of life here.

Sunrise over Wadi Rum

It is expected (and is considered an honor) to inherit and carry on the family business. Whether this is as a farmer, shepherd, restaurant owner, or politician. As such, people have a deep connection with the land. They see themselves as in the middle of an unbroken chain of ancestors and descendents. Did you catch that? Whereas, we often view ourselves in terms of a family tree that produced us, they would add the roots to the family tree. They are a link in a chain that stretches unbroken in both directions, into the past as well as into the future. Just think of the genealogies scattered throughout the Bible. They connect the present to the past, and it is their duty to continue that link into the future.

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In the Arab Middle Eastern culture people are usually identified with the village where they were born. Even if they have not been there in years, they still use it as an identifying marker. I am currently living in Beit Jala, which is a sister city to Bethlehem. Another nearby city is Beit Sahour (pronounce… bayt suh-huor). These three locations would all fit into the limits of downtown Albany back home. I have met dozens of people whose last names are Sahouri, Jala, Al-Khalil (Hebron), etc. There are some Palestinian refugees who have been absent from their towns for three generations, and they still identify with the home where their grandparents were born. When I get into a taxi to go somewhere, I do not tell them street names (mainly because they don’t exist). Rather I tell the driver a family name. “I need to go near the house of the Tawwiil family,” and he takes me to the front door. You give directions by naming family businesses, homes, and fields. It’s not unlike my uncle Roger who is a farmer. He used to give me directions to certain fields by naming the different family farms I would need to drive by.

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I grew up in a culture that had a love affair with apocalyptic imagery. Perhaps this was connected to nuclear proliferation and the Cold War. Yet it was also fostered by the End Times prophecies and scenarios that I learned at church and Bible College. They basically viewed human history in a giant toilet bowl, rushing round and round in circles until it reached the ultimate climate of nastiness in the sewer of decadent tribulation. I grew up thinking the end was near. In the Middle East, I have learned that time is perceived as a continuum or a cycle, rather than a timeline. Although tomorrow could be better or worse than today, there will still be a tomorrow. As such, that which ensured survival in the past will guarantee their arrival in tomorrow. This is one reason that stability is so highly valued.

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Now, can you see why there is often a disconnect between the Western and the Middle Eastern mind?

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[This posting has the potential of becoming a series based on observations of local culture.  However, I don't post blogs just to have something to write.  If I receive feedback, I might be encouraged to write more often.  Yes, this is a shameless plug for comments, but I just need to know if should continue writing or not.  If you don't want to make a comment on the blog, just email me at crsimon18@hotmail.com]

 

on dumpsters

Have you ever been startled into a non-reaction? Or been so scared that your heart exploded into your throat and you forgot to breathe for an hour or two? This happened to me yesterday afternoon. The single trash can in the house had gotten full after two weeks of throwing stuff into it. Apparently when you live in a house by yourself, you don’t create very much trash. I pulled the bag out, tied it up and nimbly stepped out of the front door and into the blazing West Bank sunshine. Since 2000 there hasn’t been a door-to-door trash service in this area. Rather, there are green dumpsters scattered throughout the neighborhoods. Everyone takes their trash there and whenever they get full, a big garbage trunk empties it and takes it away.

There are many cats in this land, but few people bother feeding the cats. Most are dependent upon their hunting skills along with their abilities to smell out the tastiest remains of a human’s supper. Hence the dumpster becomes a cats equivalent to a casino’s all-you-can-eat buffet. As I approached the green dumpster I noticed three men walking toward me. I lofted the bag of garbage in the air and squinted my eyes to see if I recognized any of the men. As the bag began its descent into the depths of the dumpster, an object flew up out of the shadowy maw of the dumpster and collided with my trash bag…WHAM!!! The upcoming object, with a freshly adjusted trajectory came barreling directly at my face. I stood my ground out of petrified shock. PHOOM, in a flash leaving only impressions of tigery stripes, it was gone

It left more of a feeling than any distinct thoughts. My heart had grasped my throat in a stranglehold while my hand was left suspended in the air. The three men turned a corner and continued to walk on. A passing taxi with a laughing driver broke up my imitation of a startled statue. I turned around and began to walk back to the house. Halfway there I remembered to breathe. By the time I put the key in the lock, my heart had returned to its erratic pace. A measure of calm descended back into my life.

I came to another realization this afternoon. It really isn’t that profound, just more personal than anything else. Here it is…Being somewhat color blind is somewhat annoying. After walking in and around Palestine for nearly a year, I noticed for the first time today that the stripes on the curb are sometimes black and sometimes red. It must have been just the right angle of the sun ray to light up the reds a bit more than normal. I had just assumed they were always black. This would explain why my car was nearly towed away last week while I was walking through the fruit market.

 

broken car, deeper friendship

It has been just over a month since the spring semester at JUC came to a close. A few days later I moved to the town of Beit Jala, which is a suburb of Bethlehem. It is in the West Bank and comes under the responsibility of the Palestinian National Authority. The PNA is the government of the Palestinian Territories. However, a variety of incidences and events (including wars) has always kept full Palestinian sovereignty just out of reach. Israel still maintains nominal control over the security situation here. Additionally the source of most utilities (water, electricity, etc.) originates in Israel and so they are able to control the amount and flow of these into the West Bank. If things remain peaceful, then life continues with little disruption…some of the time.

There is one major thing that is always considered a disruption. Around nearly the entire West Bank is a security fence that Israel has constructed to separate the two peoples. In some places this fence turns into a cement wall 22 feet in height. This engenders many names–Security Fence, Separation Wall, Apartheid Wall, and more. Only those Palestinians with Israeli permission are allowed to cross through the checkpoints into Israel. Since I have a US passport, I can go back and forth all the time. I do so quite often. Last week I crossed in the wee hours of the morning to take a friend to the airport.

I am housesitting for an American family while they are back in the states for the summer. They left their car here and occasionally I have used it to go and buy groceries just two miles down the road. When Lindsey asked me to take her to the airport, I didn’t think it would be a problem since it was early in the morning. I assumed that most of the roads would be clear of the crazy Middle Eastern drivers, making the roads relatively safe. (If you think some of the taxi drivers are bad drivers in New York, you should see how they drive on their home turf) That assumption proved correct and the roads were relatively empty. Sadly, though, it seems that either I was too sleepy to notice the temperature gauge in the car, or that it wasn’t working right. Either way, about 20 minutes from the house, the car overheated and rolled to a stop.

Ackkk!!! It’s 4:38 in the morning! What are we going to do now? How am I going to get Lindsey to the airport? What’s wrong with this car?

Headlights flashed in the mirror and to our great fortune it was a taxi cab. He pulled over and after a few minutes of luggage transfer, Lindsey was off on her way to the airport. Yet now I’m still stranded with a broken car on the side of the Begin North Highway on the outskirts of Jerusalem at 5:00am. Most of the people I know from JUC are back in the states, so I couldn’t call them for help. I went through the names and numbers in my cell phone. Only one stood out that offered any sign of hope…Khalid Kattib.

Khalid is one of twelve children and owns a Persian carpet shop and a jewelry store in the Old City of Jerusalem. His carpets are all handmade and some of them have over 3,800 knots per square inch! That’s pretty amazing in itself, but I know him more because of the mint tea he offers me every time I walk by. I met him last October when a friend introduced us. Since he knows I’m a student, he never tries to sell anything to me, but he is always happy to share a cup of tea and talk about life and the Middle East. Over the last eight or nine months I have gotten to know his family and several of his brothers and nephews. Since his roots in this city go quite deep, I knew that he could help me with a broken car. Yet five in the morning is a rough time to ask help from anybody.

Hospitality is one thing that is definitely not lacking in the Middle East. It is a cultural value that we sometimes forget about in the States. Although I would not have done the same in the States based on this casual level of friendship, over here I knew that I could…and even more importantly, I knew that it would be perfectly acceptable and that Khalid would help me out. Sadly, though, after waking him up and explaining the situation, I learned that tow truck drivers do not start work until 7:00-7:30. We eventually got in touch with one, but he couldn’t come get me until 8:00. Luckily this allowed me a few moments of sleep while I waited for the next three hours.

The tow truck eventually came and took me to Wadi Joz, a street full of mechanics in East Jerusalem. Khalid met me there with Ali, another one of his brothers. We took the car to a good mechanic that he knew and I soon entered a strange and interlinked world of Palestinian repair shops. Most of them did not speak very much English and my Arabic is only marginally better than none. My friend acted as interpreter, translator, and negotiator. I don’t know how much money I saved just by being Khalid’s friend. Here, it is all about who you know and what community you belong to. Without ever meeting me before, but since I am with Khalid, I am accepted into this larger community. The car was fixed within a day, but it took more than a week to figure out some of the little adjustments. So back and forth to the shop we went several times. By the last day, I was confident enough to go into the shop and talk with the mechanics without my backup support. I got to know a few of the younger guys and when the car was all finished, they invited me in to share their lunch with them. They helped me with my Arabic and laughed at my horrible mispronunciations.

The car broke down, which was inconvenient, but Lindsey made it to the airport on time. Getting the car fixed interrupted my normal life, but I learned about a whole other side of cars, mechanics and repair shops that I didn’t know before. This whole thing cost a lot of money, but I was able to call on the hospitality of a casual friend. This led to sharing several meals with him and spending a lot of time in his home. I got to know his children and his relatives much better. In the midst of this event I was invited to a going away feast for one his nephews. Half of a goat, stuffed full of rice, spices, and pine nuts, was served on a big tray. We all ate off of the communal platter until no more food would fit into our bellies. We then drank syrupy coffee and played cards into the evening hours. It was quite the experience, but it was so much more than that as well. No longer is it just a occasional friendship, I have now been welcomed into their family.

I could just chock up this whole affair as another one of the fun cultural experiences of living in the Middle East. Yet that in some ways devalues it. Being welcomed like this is far deeper than just an experience. While in their home, I did not receive the special honored guest treatment. Rather, I was just one of the boys, laughing, playing cards, and telling jokes. The conversations ranged from politics to current events to religion. Khalid and his family are all Muslims. Some family members are more religious than others. One twenty-four year-old nephew looks like he is part of the Taliban. (His uncles refer to him as Al Qaeda) However, none of them were rude or pushy about their beliefs. On many levels their family structure and morality would be far above the average back in the States. Now, don’t worry, I’m not going to convert, but it is so eye-opening and enriching to have friends who are devout followers of other religions.

Here is the car behind this story.  I’m not sure if it is an Inca Seat or Seat Inca.  Either way, it just seems like an odd name for a Middle Eastern car.

 

a poem

I found a book of poetry. Perhaps I am reading poetry just for pretentious reasons, thinking that it might impress someone someday. Or maybe I just needed a little distraction from academia for awhile. In either case, I have come across a few lines that I have enjoyed quite a bit.

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From breakfast on through all the day

At home among my friends I stay,

But every night I go abroad

Afar into the land of Nod

All by myself I have to go,

With no to tell me what to do–

All alone besides the streams

And up the mountain-sides of dreams.

The strangest things are there for me,

Both things to eat and things to see,

And many frightening sights abroad

Till morning in the land of Nod

Try as I like to find the way,

I never can get back by day,

Nor can remember plain and clear

The curious music that I hear.

~Land of Nod

by Robert Louis Stevenson

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In recent months I have written so little on this blog. I often begin to write about my experiences over here, but I always get stuck before I am finished. Jerusalem and Bethlehem are my two homes here. They are separated by a mere five miles, but they are as different from each other as Mexico and Canada…and that is no hyperbole. In Jerusalem there are wide streets, traffic lights, clean sidewalks, big box malls, etc. When you drive out of Jerusalem and cross over into Bethlehem, traffic rules cease to exist, trash is tossed into the street, and seatbelts are unbuckled. If you wear your seatbelt in Bethlehem, it tells everyone that you are not familiar with the local culture and do not belong here. As crazy and different as these two places might be, they have become as familiar to me as the streets of Albany.

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I have made Arab, Jewish, Christian and Muslim friends. Many have welcomed me into their homes and lives as if I was a long lost relative. The strangeness of the Middle East has become normal, the conflict between peoples seems routine, ancient history is commonplace. When I walk down to the open air market to buy my vegetables for the week, there is little doubt that David guided his sheep across the slopes of these hills as a young boy. Modern day shepherds still do the same thing. As I have studied and lived in this land for a year and a half, I have forgotten what it was like to be a stranger to all of this. I recently helped a group of new students navigate from Jerusalem into the West Bank and then to the heart of the Old City of Bethlehem. With eyes wide open and questions unending, we walked past modern security barriers, open air markets, and 1,000 year-old churches and mosques. I had forgotten what it was like to still appreciate the awesomeness of it all. They helped me to remember a bit of it.

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When life is normal, why write home about it all? It’s kind of like that last line of the poem. The dreamer can never quite remember what his dream was like, and no matter how hard I try, it is hard to remember my first impressions before a year of study smothered everything. In addition to that, when I want to describe some of the things I’ve seen and experienced, I often don’t know how to be short enough. Some blogs I’ve never posted seem to be nearing book length by now. Reality is seen in the details, but the details can be overwhelming.

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I’ve had several phenomenal happenings over this last week. In my next post I will write about my epic with a broken car in Jerusalem.

 

back in bethlehem

My last posting was about my trip to Jordan with my school. I have since begun another adventure, but of the opposite sort. Through this past school year I have connected with an American family that lives in Bethlehem. They have gone home for the summer, and I needed a place to stay between the semesters. It was a perfect match, and now I am housesitting for them until they return. It is not a huge house, but neither is it a small one. It’s around 2,200 square feet and I am all alone for the most part. I am in a nice neighborhood, so there are people around, but the house itself is mostly empty except for me and my books. After the family departed and I began to think about the next couple months in this home, I realized that this will be the first time in my life that I have ever lived by myself for an extended amount of time. Whether it was in my parent’s home, my sister’s house, the apartment, or campus housing, I have always had people around with whom I could share life. This new thought of aloneness was very disturbing at first…and still is to some extent. In being all alone, though, I am completely in charge…and responsible.

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It is strange to be the one who is in charge of meals from the purchasing ingredients to washing the dirty dishes, but without consultation with anyone else. I have often done all those steps in meal creation before, but usually not just for myself. Other people are often involved in some stage of the purchasing, creating, cooking, cleaning and advising. Essentially what I eat now (as some of you already know) is completely based on my cravings. Last night I was desperate for chocolate, so I made brownies. I had needed some potatoes in my life earlier in the week, so I went to the open air vegetable market and bought 10 kilos of potatoes. I have since had hashbrowns at least once per day since that purchase. Meat is expensive over here, so I am now on my fifth day of a meatless diet. Knowing that I’m missing out on some proteins, I wandered down to Fufu’s Supermarket and bought some mystery beans in a can. I can successfully read Arabic words now, but I don’t always know what they mean. These beans ended up being some type of black-eyed peas with jalapeños. Once I mashed them together and served them alongside hummus, they really weren’t that bad.

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I guess my diet isn’t really meatless, for I have had eggs over the past couple of days. Hmm…are eggs really meat? I’m not sure what category to put those in. Ah well, they do make wonderful omelets and are a necessity in brownie-making, so I don’t think I’ll give those up any time soon.

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I have also come to the realization that a person should check to see if the top of the pepper shaker is firmly attached before vigorously shaking over one’s frying egg. This peppered specimen was given to the cat.

My cravings also led me to waffles the other night.  I was in the middle of making them when one of the neighbor kids wandered by.  I’m not sure what he was after, but he looked hungry, so I gave him some waffles too.  I think he was more interested in the syrup though.  His name is Araz.

 

a step into a bedouin’s world

Ian and I pose for an epic shot before descending 6,000 feet to the bottom of the Rift Valley

The following post is part of an answer I gave for the Midterm Exam in my Cultural Backgrounds of the Bible Class.  The pictures were taken during a six-day field study into southern Jordan.  During those six days we stayed with several Bedouin families.  They have preserved many aspects of ancient Near Eastern culture.  Through observing and participating with them in this lifestyle, one can gain a window of insight into the world of the Bible.  It is not a perfect way to understand the cultural aspects of the Bible, but their lives are much closer to Abraham’s than Twenty-First century life in the States.

This was our Bedouin home for a few nights.  The sand dune on the right was our star gazing viewpoint and mattress for the night.

Biblical Hospitality

Genesis chapter 18 is often considered the most thorough description of ancient Near Eastern hospitality that is recorded in the Bible.  Through it we witness Abraham’s great skill in hospitality and perfect execution of his role as host.

The narrative opens with Abraham resting at the door of his tent during the heat of the day.  Perhaps he had dozed off, for when he lifts his eyes, he sees three men standing directly opposite him.  Evidently he hadn’t seen them coming, for when he sees them, he runs from the tent to meet them.  He bows down, collectively calls them lord, and asks in a most persuasive manner for them to take a rest in his shelter while he brings water and a bite to eat.  In the way that Abraham humbly makes his request he gives the strangers the opportunity to show him honor by acquiescing to be his guest.  Seeing that the strangers (now his guests) have been traveling, he offers them the bare minimum a host could provide.  However, once they have accepted his offer, he runs to the tent and tells his wife to make bread cakes, and then he runs to the herd, selects a choice calf, orders it to be slaughtered and prepared for his guest.   When the food is ready, he brings the food, places it before his guest, and then stands by them as they eat.  Now let us try to shed some light on this series of events.

Abraham, as head of the house, fulfilled the first duty by inviting the strangers to rest, thus extending his protection over them.  As strangers in the land, they would be very happy to have a place where they could rest knowing that they are secure.  He also has water brought to them so that they can refresh themselves by washing the dirt of the road off and getting a drink in the shade during the hottest part of the day.  It was customary for the host to offer some water, some bread, and a night’s rest.  By doing this, it precluded the possibility of the stranger turning down a seemingly overgenerous offer by the host.  However, the host was also expected to provide the best that he had to offer.  The narrative specifically points out how Abraham literally “ran” around setting everything in motion for what would be a huge feast. Instead of bread, he had bread cakes made.  This is an upgrade and this is a bread usually sweetened with figs, dates or honey.   There are only three guests, but he has a calf slaughtered and prepared.  This is no quick and easy meal.  It may be the quickest he could provide, but it would still be a five or six hour ordeal.  Additionally, meat was not part of the everyday meal of the ancient Near Easterner.  It was usually only served on special occasions or on the arrival of prominent guests.  In this case, it was more than just any old cow; Abraham specifically selected the choicest calf, which is sometimes read as the fattened calf.  Furthermore, the curds and milk that are offered are a tremendous upgrade from just water.  Finally, as all the food is served, Abraham stands nearby watching over them, making sure that they have everything they need.  If any cup needed to be refilled, he was right there.  Likewise, Sarah was nearby in the tent, out of sight, but within hearing range.  Just as Abraham was observantly watching, so also was Sarah listening to see if there was anything that she could do to help. As the matriarch, she was responsible for the affairs of the tent and most likely organized the cooking and delivery of the food in an orderly and proper fashion.  Although her work was noticed by all, she herself would be mostly out of sight.  Now we turn to the actions of the guests.

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The strangers, by accepting Abraham’s request and offer, became guests.  As guests they are not to ask for anything or question the host.  They accept the offer and then no words are recorded until after the feast.  They show Abraham how satisfied they are with his hospitality by blessing his household.  They said that within one year, they will return, but when they come back, Sarah will have given birth to a son already.  Abraham and Sarah had lived good lives.  They had journeyed to two new lands (Haran and Canaan).  Along the way their flocks and members of the household had increased.  They lived in peace with their neighbors, but one thing was lacking—a son, an heir.  God had promised a son to Abraham, and now these guests were telling Abraham that the promise was close to fulfillment.  In the world that Abraham lived, he lacked the one thing that mattered most in that culture.  The guest’s blessing gave them the hope they desired despite the old age of both Abraham and Sarah.

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Through this window into ancient Near Eastern hospitality, we see Abraham, his household, and the strangers all fulfilling the expected roles of host and guest.  We can also see how God and the biblical characters act and respond within the culture of the age and region.

Our host bringing along our fattened goat for the evening meal.  If you have a queasy stomach, the second picture is something you might want to skip looking at.

We also had a fattened sheep since our group was so large.

In this type of meal there is only the common plate which all the food is piled upon.  It is eaten with the right hand only, for the left hand is exclusively used for toilet detail.

After dinner, a hike up to the rock formations for an unforgettable desert sunset.

We saw a million stars that night, but no picture did I take.  When sunrise approached, I greeted it was a shutter’s click and then I hit nature’s snooze and drifted off to sleep for another hour or so.

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After breakfast, it was off on a camel trek through parts of Wadi Rum.

Those rock formations in the background are what we climbed to see the second day’s sunset.

In case you’re wondering, I’m the one with the green cowboyish hat.

I woke in the pre-dawn the following morning and climbed back up off the desert with Ryland to catch the morning’s sunrise.  I built a mini tower of rocks while waiting for the sun.

 

back from a Bedouin adventure

I’ve been reading about Abraham, Isaac and Job.  They seem to have spent a lot of time in tents and deserts…and twenty-four JUC students just came back from spending five nights in the same type of tents.  Here’s a couple of a scenes that we were part of for a few days.

We do love our camel caravans

Climbing up these rocks made it feel as if we were on top of the world

More descriptions to follow in the upcoming days.