Episode 17: "The Judges, Pt. 2" (+) [V] [UPDATED]

Eric and Gaby asked the driver to stop the minibus. They were determined to talk their way out of our situation--something I definitely wouldn't have done on my own. I'd already given up on the idea of getting through the checkpoint, but as always, Gaby and Eric were taking charge. I got out of the bus behind them and the driver and pretty much watched everything unfold.

The three of them started talking to the military men about our situation: that we had been told our visas would get us through to Cairo, that we'd paid for them, etc. I was touched by the fact that our driver actively joined in to help us out, speaking an emphatic Arabic and apparently helping our cause. After a few minutes of persistence, the checkpoint guys decided to help us out, reassuring us that we would be able to get through the other checkpoints, too. Soon we were back in the car and on our way to Cairo.

Needless to say, we were pretty happy. All of the underlying stress that came with our visa situation, which was present even during our best times in Dahab, was finally being put to rest. We had been absurdly fortunate, and we knew it. Although our success had mostly depended on the mercy of the Egyptian government, it obviously had to do with Eric and Gaby's determination, too. If we had done things my way--the patented Eric Glover Complacence and Passive Acceptance Schtick--our entire day would have been ruined with traveling, maybe even more. And if Eric hadn't been stubborn enough to find us "visas" in the first place, we would have had nothing to show the military guys at the checkpoint. So far, it was Eric and Gaby's style of doing things that had rewarded us.

We made it to Cairo a little sooner than we thought we would. Our driver was tearing up the roads, stopping once to change a tire in the desert (scary and exciting, since there was absolutely no one around for miles if we needed help), and another time for a bathroom break (the bathroom was horribly infested with flies, a motif that became a general pet peeve of mine in Egypt). The city itself was beautiful. It felt like New York with only the slightest Arab twist. Densely packed buildings, tons of people, busy roads, the works. It felt great to finally arrive.

Before we even got out of the minibus, there was a girl at our door, asking us something in Arabic. It became clear that she wanted some food. We gave some to her and then went to check in at the hostel, "Hotel Vienna." At the desk we met the manager, Ramadan. He was a gray-haired, pudgy-stomached guy, very chill. He told us that he could offer us some nice tourist trip packages. After we got our key from him, we got a room that was even nicer than the Bishbishi hostel in Dahab. On our way out to get some dinner, we saw Ramadan breaking fast (for the Muslim holiday Ramadan) with his family. He invited us to eat, which was incredibly generous, and the food was delicious, too.

Later, while we were walking outside, we found a place where people were having tea. A guy named Muhammad helped us get situated, got our drinks for us, and started talking to us as we sat. He introduced himself very pleasantly, and after we got talked up a bit, he invited us to his perfume shop. Inside he told us about a package he could get us regarding the pyramids, showing us pictures along with his pitch. The three of us told him we'd get some dinner and get back to him, but the general feel was that he was offering us a pretty nice deal. At dinner, though, I got into a bit of a quip with Gaby, who wanted to see if we could get a better deal from Ramadan back at the hostel. I guess I was getting frustrated with Gaby because I felt we'd had a great time with Muhammad, and I didn't want to make Muhammad and Ramadan compete over us in light of that. It just didn't feel sincere to me. Of course, I got none of that out eloquently, only managing to tell him I was wiping my hands clean of any haggling whatsoever. "I don't see what's wrong with getting a better deal," Gaby said.

For whatever reason, Eric and Gaby decided to go with Ramadan's deal. So by morning we were on our way to Saqqara, the "prototype" pyramid built by Imhotep back in the day, driven by a guy who was probably one of Ramdan's buddies. The site was twofold: #1 was the actual pyramid, which wasn't smooth like the ones you see in pictures. The formula for a polished pyramid surface hadn't been perfected yet back in those days (whenever B.C.E., don't ask me). Number 2 was the underground ruins you were allowed to go into. Our driver informed us not to get a guide, because we would have to tip whoever gave us a tour.

Outside the Saqqara ruins.

My contribution to the destruction of ancient hieroglyphics.
I took the picture, with a flash, sans thinking.

The inside of the ruins was great. Seeing the hieroglyphics up close was fascinating. The culture reflected in their symbols was so complex, so intricate and so vibrant that I felt I had a real sense of who the Egyptians were as a people. It's just as intriguing as stuff you see on TV, in movies. Extremely colorful, very satisfying to catch in person. The only lame part about my time inside was having to do some evasive maneuvers from a guy who caught me taking the picture of the hieroglyphics. He didn't work for anyone exactly; like a lot of the guys we'd run into at these sites, he was just a dude talking about the history of the place when you came in and expecting a tip by the end of his schpiel. So when I took the picture, I suppose he also thought he had the authority to say to me, "Excuse me, no photo. Give me one dollar." I didn't comply.

After checking out the ruins, we walked around the Saqqara step pyramid. We weren't allowed to go inside, but trust me, the outside was more than enough.

Oh yes.


Unfortunately, the pyramid isn't too stable.
Egypt is reconstructing the outside of it.

Afterward, our driver took us to a museum dedicated to the ruins of Ramses II. It was a brief stay, but worth glimpsing the goods:

When we were done there, our driver took us to get something to eat, then to the main event of the day: the Giza 'mids. We had spent a little too much time eating, though, because now it was a race against time to check out the pyramids before the whole site closed down. About a block away from the entrance to the site, our driver introduced us to a guy who wanted set up a camel ride for us around the pyramids. The price was a little steep, but I was up for considering it. Gaby cut that train of thought off when he told the guy we didn't have time to ride camels. Eric backed him up. The guy began offering us lower prices, but Gaby brushed him off. As we started to walk away, this guy and his friend began walking with us, all pressure and not taking "no" for an answer, no matter how many times it was said. Eventually, we left them behind. After they stopped following us, I was left wondering whether I had been too willing to comply with the camel guy. Gaby had done the right thing by being assertive about our time. I would have wasted my time and/or money by catering to this guy's offer.

We hustled our way up a walkway, barreling past the sphinx in our rush to see the pyramids, only to find a gate blocking off the path. The place wasn't closed yet--we had just gone the wrong way to get there. After a roundabout walkathon we found the place to buy tickets for going inside one of the great pyramids. It finally seemed like we were home free. Except when we got to the pyramid, there were three security guys sitting at the entrance.

One of them asked Gaby, "Do you have a camera?"
"No," Gaby said.
They told him to open his bag and found his camera inside. Eric and I had cameras on us, too. The security guys told us to go take our cameras back to our car, then come back without them.
"You people never told us to leave our cameras," Gaby said to them. Which was true. There had been no signs or any warning from the people at the entrance. By now it was impossible to go back to the car, drop of our cameras and trek back up to the site in time to see anything. It felt ridiculous and frustrating to be this close and being told to turn back. Even after protesting, the most we got out of the security guys was a suggestion: go to where we bought our tickets and leave our cameras there.

We retreated. Eric and Gaby didn't want to leave their cameras with the ticket office, but I didn't see any other honest way to get into the pyramid. Eric and Gaby came up with the idea of returning to the security guys acting like we had dropped our cameras off. I said that if we lied to the security guys and they checked our bags anyway, they wouldn't let us in at all. I asked them to let me go check with the ticket office to see if there was anything I could do. But the guy at the ticket office said that he wouldn't keep our cameras for us.

Gaby and Eric made a kind of silent decision to proceed ahead with their plan. As we approached the security guys again, it's safe to say that the pros and cons of their decision were playing Pong with my conscience. I asked, "Are we really doing this?"
"Yes," Eric said.
We walked past the security guards. They trusted we didn't have our cameras. Again, the Gaby/Eric way had gotten us what we wanted. If I had been alone on this part of the trip, I wouldn't have been inside by now.

[EDIT:

Kind of a "this just in" thing. What used to be here were text and pictures of Gaby, Eric and I defiling an Egyptian sarcophagus by lying in it. I had written an explanation for why I felt all right doing it at the time, but for those of you who already read it, you already know it wasn't much of an excuse. My mom just called me and told me how hurt she was that I would desecrate something that precious to Egyptian--and thus African--culture. She said I was disrespecting my own people by participating in that. Which, she added, was especially awful after taking measures to respect Eric and Gaby's wishes regarding anti-Semitism in the area. Mom being disappointed in me is pretty much rock bottom, so I took the pictures down.

Sorry to anyone else this entry hurt. I'm probably going to be feeling this one for a long, long time.]

Anyway, after that escapade we checked out the rest of the site.

Kind of the epitome of our time in Egypt.
We're trying to pose for a picture and, as you can see,
this guy just killed the photo by trying to sell us something.
I tried my best to be polite.

This last picture takes place just before some guy approached the three of us, asking if we wanted to either climb the pyramid we were near or ride a camel, I can't remember. Once we said no, the guy's face instantly changed from smiling to stony. I guess we'd pissed him off. He began to walk away, then turned back. Another smile was soon on his face.
"Do you like history?" he asked.
"Yes..." I said.
He pulled out a coin I had never seen before. On one side of the coin was the image of an Egyptian Pharaoh. It was in color, very beautiful.
"This is history," the man said.
I wasn't interested, but the man managed to continue the conversation with Gaby. He told Gaby that he would sell him the coin for one euro. Once Gaby realized the coin the guy was showing us was just an Egyptian pound, he lit into the guy, laughing at what a sham he'd try to put on. Essentially, as Gaby pointed out, the man was trying to sell Gaby a coin for several times its actual cost. The conversion rate of Egyptian pounds to euros makes the Egyptian pound look like a chump, and Gaby made sure to tell the guy he wasn't stupid. I laughed it off with both of them later, but at heart I was pretty disturbed by the man's actions. If we had fallen for it, he would have cheated us out of our money.

At night we met up with the Corina Gang to go have dinner at Ruby Tuesday's, which Gaby's friend Georgia took us to. While we were there, I had a long discussion with Zuzana about my faith. It was the first time I honestly felt like I was getting to know her, and it feels like she and I have been true friends ever since. Anyway.

The next day all of us, minus Georgia, went to the Egypt Museum. I had heard the museum was incredibly extensive in its collection, and wasn't that the truth. I wasn't allowed to take pictures inside (and I didn't retaliate by lying in a sarcophagus this time), so all I can give you is a pic from the outside.

The amount of artifacts in the museum was astounding. Sarcophagi, coffins, tablet inscriptions, statues, mummies, jewelry, and more had filled a building three stories high. Jeremy and I stuck with each other for most of it, traversing the long hallways and stopping to peek in offshoot rooms dedicated to particular periods of the Egyptian Kingdom. It really was incredible, and far too much to take in over the course of a few hours.

At around 2, Eric, Gaby, Zuzana and I met up with a guy named Hanyel. Eric and Gaby had met him the night before, and Hanyel had volunteered to pick us up to check out the old city. He turned out to be extremely chill, personable and knowledgeable about the area. He'd brought a relative with him, who was pretty quiet, but seemed nice enough. Hanyel first took us to the "Hanging Church," so called because its foundation was established high above actual ground level. It was beautiful inside. Eric took the following shots.

That man is a gifted photographer.

Hanyel also took us to a gorgeous synagogue. And to finish out the three faiths of Abraham, he took us to my first ever mosque. It was incredible to finally be inside one. As I should have expected, the atmosphere was nothing like church, or synagogue, for that matter. The architecture was extremely "open," meaning lots of sunlight, lots of space to walk, sit, read, whatever. There was a sermon taking place at the far end of the building, where people sat on the floor and listened to a man hooked up to a loudspeaker.

Hanyel, Gaby, me and Zuzana inside the mosque.

At one point I picked out a Koran from a bookshelf. I opened the book and found Arabic script on beautiful stationary, written out in what seemed like stanzas of poetry, rather than Biblical prose. Of course, I couldn't tell exactly what it was, but I already had the impression of something much different than the religious text I was used to. I passed the book to Hanyel and he explained a little bit to us. He said that the first and last character of the entire Koran spells an Arabic word that means "end." In the Muslim world this is taken to mean, or confirm, that the Koran is the "last word" on God--a final testament after the Old and New ones. Hanyel also said that "we" don't believe that Jesus died on the cross; instead, it's believed that the real Jesus somehow escaped crucifixion. The logic here is that God would never let anything happen to a chosen prophet of his. It was definitely food for thought. I had heard that Islam accepted Jesus as a prophet, but never that there was any legend separating Christ from crucifixion. To me, it would have been far easier to say that Jesus simply wasn't a chosen prophet, because of what happened to him. Instead, Islamic tradition had found a way to reconcile Christ's holiness with a seemingly unholy death on the cross, in order to exonerate him of any doubt regarding prophet-hood. Really interesting.

Hanyel drove us home, and the four of us went out again later to get dinner. After we were pressured into sharing a Ramadan break fast with guys from the a nearby Papyrus shop (the food was amazing), we went out and got some dessert at a cafe. Soon Eric, Gaby and I were talking over the trip with Zuzana, comparing our group's experiences with hers. We got to discussing why ours had gone so well while her group had suffered some troubles. To be honest, by then my group had gotten pretty cocky about pitching our "perfect game" so far in Egypt. It felt good, going through what we had gone through with our visas, and having an incredible trip anyway.

But that was before what happened with the police. And the hotel manager. And the stranger we met near the citadel.

The adventure always, always continues.

Shalom,
Eric

Episode 16: "The Judges, Pt. 1" (+) [V]

Dusk.

After a while, Eric finally gave the hostel guys another call. Turns out our driver had already arrived and was waiting for us. We just had to walk a bit further to find him. Our driver was sitting by a parking lot, where a bunch of other Arab guys were, too. Upon seeing them--their traditional garb, hearing their Arabic, seeing a fresh skin tone on new faces--it became instantly clear that we were in a different country, and all of two minutes from Israel.

We arrived at the Bishbishi hostel and were immediately accomodated by a young guy named Alex, who ran the show there. Straight off I picked up on how smooth talking he was, giving us a SCUBA diving package "no problem," a camel ride "no problem," a private minibus "no problem." He was really, really good at loosening us up and making us feel taken care of.

Eric holding "The Bible" (our Egyptian travel guide)
in our hostel room.

Alex suggested that we check out the Funny Mummy, a restaurant across the street. It was an extremely chill setup, floor cushion seating right on the Red Sea surf. There was something so classy, so style-and-chic about it, that I was pretty into the Dahab scene already. A guy named Muhammad was our waiter. He asked if I was from Africa, and I said no, but the way he'd asked had come off as an extremely nice compliment. Apparently Egyptians don't consider themselves part of Africa as much as the Middle East, so dark skin is still somewhat a fresh thing among its bronze-skinned folks. I dug the question. Muhammad had seemed genuinely honored to have an African in his restaurant.

At one point--I think it was Muhammad who asked--we were asked where we were from by a waiter. The problem: Gaby and Eric were pretty sensitive about exposing that they were Jewish in an Arab nation. From the get-go they told me their plan to keep the fact that we were Hebrew U students under wraps, and I let them know I had a pretty big problem with lying to people. So when Muhammad asked where we came from, and I began to answer honestly, Eric cut me off with a fake answer. After Muhammad was gone, I asked if we really did have to lie to people when they asked directly. Eric and Gaby bristled, trying to be careful with me, but trying to express the need to protect themselves.

I said something like, "How about this. When someone asks me, I go to Hebrew University. You guys can say whatever you want." The subject was dropped.

We got some rest soon after dinner, and in the morning we made our way over to the diving school down the street. By afternoon, we were set up in SCUBA gear and ready to get wet.

Ready.

Set.

Flow.

I dived linking arms with Eric and guided by a SCUBA instructor. Going underwater was frustrating and beautiful. It was my first time ever SCUBA diving, and getting accustomed to the process was challenging. The further I descended, the more my ear started hurting because of water pressure. I constantly had to "equalize," pinching my nose while blowing air into it, to get the pain to stop. Once I had to even signal my instructor to take us higher because the pain was so sharp. But that's pretty much it for the complaints. Seeing the fish and the corral up close was gorgeous. A one of a kind experience. Do it sometime if you haven't already.

After drying off.

After the "discovery dive" was over, Eric and I snorkeled a little a bit, dried off and went back to the hostel. Around dinner time, we found a restaurant right next to the hostel for dirt cheap food. While we were mulling over the window menu, we heard someone call Gaby's name. We turned to find friends of ours from Hebrew U: Corina, my roommate, Jeremy, my Christian buddy, and Zuzana, a cool-as-can-be Czech chick. Another friend, Melissa Johnson, was right behind them. We decided to eat together.

Together again.

Turns out their group hadn't been doing too well. They'd run into visa troubles too, and had been through hell trying to get legit ones all day. Although they were successful, they were pretty unhappy with the trip so far; a lot had gone wrong, and undeservedly. Their visas actually looked like ours, but glued to their passports with official stamps on them. Anyway, I was really glad to see their group. Just being able to talk to them was so refreshing and exciting. We got the name of the hostel they were staying in, so that may be we could meet up in Cairo. If my group could even make it there at all. Our visa situation was sketchy at best.

Gaby, Eric and I went to a club, where they had some beer and I danced myself out a little. We turned in and woke up early the next day for some camel riding. The hostel arranged for us to take a jeep to our destination, the Blue Hole. Just before we left, one of our friends from Bishbishi told us not to tell anyone we were American. I kind of stiffened; I was feeling some mounting tension regarding the whole white lie identity deal.

A young white guy and his mother got in after us, and we were off. The guy and his mom were South African, and the dude's name was Keith. I forget his mom's name, unfortunately. They were really friendly on our trip to the Blue Hole, though, and made for good company. We arrived at the Blue Hole, which was basically a rocky landscape against beautiful blue water. Here's an idea of it:

That's me in the jeans.

As we got our heads wrapped for the sunny trip, an Egyptian Tourism officer approached me, while I was semi-separate from the group. "Where are you from?" he asked. And after a split-second strain, I let slip that we were from the states. He said okay and walked off. I was honestly pretty scared that what I said was going to blow up in all our faces. I didn't tell Eric or Gaby what had happened; I was starting to feel pressure from them and I really didn't feel like dealing with it.

We found our camels on the shore and saddled up. From there we made an hour plus journey to the Bedouin village of Ras Abu Gallun. The ride there was long and pretty uncomfortable, but the scenery was frickin' priceless. Here's a picture of the ride and of the destination:

We got to the Bedouin village, which was basically a bunch of simply built wooden huts on the shore of the beach. We went snorkeling, but my mask wasn't the proper size for my head and kept filling with water. Eventually we got a great lunch with tea from the Bedouin folks. (The whole time we ate, two little girls and an older woman sat by, trying to sell us trinkets. To buy or not to buy? Financial question or ethical one? Didn't want the trinkets, wanted to save money, but these people were probably living in poverty... This is how my mind works.)

At the end of our time in the village, we found the camels again for our ride home. Keith helped me to get onto mine all right. Before he went to get on his own, he said something that really touched me. Something like, "I know this is going to sound weird, but I'm just gonna say it. You seem like a really strong, disciplined person. I respect that, and keep it up." Those weren't his exact words, but he had definitely let me know that there was something about me that he admired. I was taken aback, really--trying to think of whatever my behavior had been to justify his compliment. I thought of a little bit, but not enough to really see why had given me such an uplifting and inspiring set of words. I felt like I was floating after what he said. And as we rode back together, he kept going--kept telling me that he saw something really dignified and special about me. That sometimes people need to know if they're doing well, and that he wanted to seize the opportunity to say that I was doing something right. It was such an incredible feeling to hear that from someone who was a stranger at the beginning of the day. His words really had an affect on me.

As we rode back, I learned more about Keith. He was married, and a new father. He was raising his child on a kibbutz in Israel. His mother was visiting to spend time with him, and to see her grandchild. We talked some more--he encouraged me some more--and we made it back to the Blue Hole to snorkel. This time I found some good goggles and took to the water really well. The fish were amazing to see. There were fish of every kind, "Finding Nemo"-style colorful, incredible to watch and to approach so close. Plus the water was a fantastic blue. It was breathtaking all around.

Back at Bishbishi, we parted ways with Keith and his mom, with slim chance of seeing them again. Although they were still in the hostel, it looked like our schedules were separating. I hugged Keith and his mom off, but we actually saw them again as we headed out to dinner. I told them where they could find us if they wanted to.

Gaby, Eric and I went to the Funny Mummy again, where Muhammad actually recognized me and remembered my name. He said he remembered me in particular because of the Africa deal,

which flattered me again...hard to explain in words. While we were eating, we saw Keith and his mom there. They announced that, like us, they were going to Mount Sinai in the morning, which I was really happy about. Ah, and a side note: if you don't know, Sinai is where the Bible says Moses received God's commandments. Pretty slick stuff.

Anyway, the guys and I had a great dinner, but toward the end of it, Eric semi-announced he and Gaby had something to tell me. Not very comfortable; it had the air of confrontation. Eric told me that they really wanted me to keep the Israel stuff quiet, for safety purposes. (Gaby had already experienced a bit of anti-Semitism in small form the night before, and he wasn't up for any more of it.) I must have put up some kind of protest, because I remember Gaby saying--a bit frustrated with me--"We're not lying with malicious intent." It shut me up and sent me into one of my internal temper tantrums. After about ten minutes of feeling bitter, my anger gave way to some shame.

Bottom line: I'm not Jewish. Instead of choosing to empathize with my friends, I took the "moral high ground," disregarding how they might feel in the process. I had the luxury of being truthful because I'm black, Christian, and thus socially unassociated with Israel. I'd failed them a little bit by being stubborn about principles, and when I realized that, I tried to adjust my attitude. I apologized to Eric later about it, and he took it cool.

Early in the morning--I don't even think it was much past 1 a.m.--we got up and were driven in a minibus to Mount Sinai for a long hike to the summit. The journey was dark, cold, and extremely tiring. Our tour guide didn't speak much English, so he didn't do much else but walk really fast and barely wait for us to keep up with him. We rushed up with an enormous crowd, stopping at established rest stops where you could buy candy or drinks, passing by camels, talking to each other as the stars shone in the sky. The hike felt endless, but of course, it wasn't.

The summit. Front row seats to the sunrise.


A feeling of accomplishment as the sunrise approached.

Our guide happened to guide us to a spot on the summit where Keith and his mother were. We went down to where they were sitting and chilled with them, waiting for the sun to do its thing.

Keith and his mother.

The reason we woke up so early.


The unit, triumphant.

We descended the mountain, which took forever, and finally said our last goodbyes to Keith and his mom. After some ridiculousness, we found our driver, picked up snacks for the undetermined length of the trip, and began our journey, hoping for the best. It was our moment of truth coming up--all the visa drama was going to be laid to rest one way or another. For those of you just tuning in, we didn't have confidence that the "visas" we bought would get us into mainland Egypt. If they didn't, it would be hours driving back to Taba Heights, and through the border to Eilat. Not to mention the drive back. If we weren't cleared at the checkpoint, all our hoping was going to be for naught. After maybe fifteen minutes we reached the checkpoint, hoping for Cairo and not Taba.

As expected, our driver took our passports and gave them to the military to check over, with our visas inside. We held our breaths. Eventually one of the military officers handed the passports back to our driver and said something to him. Our driver turned the van away from the checkpoint and began driving.

We asked him where we were going. "To Taba," he said. He briefly added that our visas weren't good.

We began to leave the checkpoint behind.

Shalom,
Eric

Episode 15: "The Judges: Prologue" (+)

The plan: Hit up Egypt for a week and a half during Sukkot break.

The method: Take on the Sinai Peninsula, then Cairo.

The means: My mommy gave me money.

The main players:

Eric II.
Adventurer and resident nice-guy.

Gaby.
Ulpan study partner and partier extraordinaire.

Eric I.
Cheek-puffer and mustache renegade.

The three of us caught a bus to Eilat, a beach side city in southernmost Israel. Two reasons for Eilat's convenience: It's right by the border to Egypt, and it's where you can pick up a visa from the Israeli consulate. But as soon as we arrived, there were immediate complications. We figured out that Sukkot, the Jewish "Festival of Booths", was beginning. That meant the Israeli consulate in Eilat would be closed for an indefinite amount of time.

Which was a definitely a problem, but not exactly a simple one. Stay with me here. Consider Egypt divided into two parts: the part that everyone's familiar with, on mainland Africa, and the remnant on the Asian continent, the Sinai peninsula. If you're coming from Israel, you don't need a visa to get into the Sinai peninsula. You do need one to get into the African part of the country, where Cairo is. And considering that Cairo was our main destination, we didn't want be turned away from that part of our trip.

On top of that, word on the street was that you couldn't get a visa on the Sinai peninsula, either. But Gaby called his mom in the states, asking her to check out what we could do. Once she told us it was possible to pick up a visa at the border, we decided to brave crossing it.

The border entrance.


Vaguely optimistic.


Where you get your money changed to Egyptian Pounds.
And your passport stamped.
No dice on the visa, though.

We asked around at the border about whether we could get a visa in the Sinai peninsula. The answer was pretty much no. I took the hint, supposed that we could come back to Israel briefly for the visa if we really needed to. Eric wasn't having it, though. He was determined to find someone who could point us in the right direction and save us the inconvenience.

After we checked our luggage through at the Taba Heights building--the checkpoint on the other side of the border--we had one last line to wait in. While Gaby and I were in line to get our passports examined, Eric saw a money exchange booth on the side of the building. He got word from two guys there that we could buy visas from them. Gaby and Eric made sure to ask if the visa would get us into Cairo. The guys assured us, yes, it would safely get us there. I still have that ridiculous thing.

It's everywhere you want to be.

We bought them and went to get our passports examined, our final stop before leaving the border. All three of us were kind of breathing a sigh of relief.

It was our turn in line. The man behind the booth took a look at the visa we had, and he gave us a loud "no" about it getting us into Cairo with it. Gaby and Eric went back to the guys who had sold us the visas. I followed them back to the booth, but got to the line one person behind both of them--kind of to my relief. As much as I pride myself on confronting friends when I'm pissed, it always takes a lot for me to open my mouth in the first place. Imagine how I do with strangers. With this one person in line buffering me from the conflict, I was glad to let Eric and Gaby handle business. Gaby raised his voice a little: "Why did you tell us these would get us into Cairo?" The guys in the booth defended themselves, saying it would, it would. The person that was in front of me cut into the argument, telling us that they were legit visas. We just needed them to be verified by a travel agency once we were across. Whatever that meant.

We went outside and waited for our driver to pick us up, which we had set up the day before. While we were outside, we caught some of our friends from Hebrew University. They were a huge group, visas taken care of, tour guide arranged. After we told them our woes, I joked that one of them seemed amused by how screwed we were. Soon enough they left, leaving the three of us to sit and wonder if things would be all right.

Meanwhile the sun was setting. Still no driver.

We waited.

Shalom,
Eric

Episode 14: "The Fast" (+) [UPDATED]

I've been giving God a little more thanks for food lately. It's generally a nice thing to be blessed with.

I fasted on Yom Kippur, A.K.A. the Day of Atonement--the holiest day of the year in Judaism, in which God forgives your sins. It's also about squaring things with the people around you, forgiving, being forgiven, and moving on. In celebration of that reconciliation, eating pretty much isn't on day's agenda. As you've probably gathered by now, I'm not Jewish, but I figured I'd kick up the kippah factor a little bit, see what it's really like to be on the inside of the culture, even if just for a day.

And these are the folks I joined for the ride:

Kala, the girl with the heart of gold.
And host of the pre-Yom Kippur meal.

Oren, my brother from another mother. (And father.)
Roni, my flatmate.

Zuzana, my fellow schemer in Jesus.
Corina, flatmate numba two.

On the left is Jeremy, the Texan superhero.
Second is Jimmy, who's just the man in general.
In the middle is Eric II, my royal descendant.
Next is Brian, flatmate #3 from down the hall.
You probably know the rest.

This was our meal on the eve of Yom Kippur.
The point being to stuff yourself just before you fast.
Bangarang.

Don't be fooled by these smiles.
There's quiet apprehension behind them all.

Afterwards we met up with Val and Nicolas and took cabs to the Kotel, or the Wailing Wall. I got one last sip of water from Jeremy (you can't drink during the fast either). Soon afterward was the point of no return. The sun set as the orthodox, dressed in white, gathered at the Wall and began the outpouring of prayer. Some sat in groups, probably friends and strangers alike, singing in Hebrew. Some, of course, were alone, giving their own private praise to God. It was quite a sight to see. I milled back and forth between hanging with buddies and surveying the goings-on, taking it in, awed as always. At one point I met up with Gaby from Ulpan, and we just sat talking, looking at the Wall from a short distance away.

Kala returned from the Wall with this peaceful look on her face, saying she was sorry if she'd ever upset me. She never had, but I was really touched by that.

In the evening the original group gathered again and we began walking home. On our way, we passed through the old city. Lights were up all over the place because the Muslim month of Ramadan was just beginning. It seemed a little like Christmas back home.

And definitely just as beautiful.

After getting out of the old city, we were able to walk pretty freely on the road. Apart from the occasional police car or Arab driver, the streets of Jerusalem were deserted. They call Yom Kippur the "Day of the Bike," or something like that, because the Jewish kids who don't have to fast yet can ride their bikes on empty streets. At one point on our return home, we began skipping while holding hands, Wizard of Oz style, with zero trouble from traffic. A couple of people did push-ups in the middle of the street. All because Jewish tradition can silence the streets of an entire city.

Once I got home, I hung out at Jeremy's place for a bit, talked with some friends of his. Being able to converse with good people was a pretty solid way to take my mind off food for the most part. Afterward I went home and slept, knocking out a good seven hours--which I'm almost positive helped me get through the fast as well as I did.

In the morning, Roni invited me to go with her to a morning Yom Kippur service, which was really just the beginning of the action, since services go all day. I wish I could break down exactly what kind of service the synagogue had, but amidst the Hebrew I really didn't know what was going on. Plenty of people were there though, and just seeing the amount of devotion from everyone there was so impressive. I remember finding some beauty in the fact that everyone in the room was going through the same thing, at the same time.

And on another, stranger note: for some reason my nose, which has been stuffy since sixth grade, cleared up. It was weird...suddenly being able to breathe again after nine years. I know it sounds silly, but I really hadn't enjoyed breathing clearly like that since I was a kid. Pretty cool considering how Roni kept saying what a cleansing an experience Yom Kippur is supposed to feel like. I'm stuffy now that I'm eating and drinking again. Either something divine happened or I'm allergic to something I've been consuming. I'd be satisfied with either or both--now I know there's something more to investigate about fasting.

I was going to try it again sometime anyway. Religious folks give it rave reviews.

After a brief break at home we walked back to the synagogue service and finished out the night. I don't think I was feeling so great by then. After around 3:30 my head was starting to feel weird and definitely wasn't at the peak of functionality. My stomach wasn't exactly grumbling or anything--it was beyond that. It felt like I was vaguely sick. No one should ever, ever have to feel that way without choosing to. I really can't imagine (although I guess I have a slightly better I idea now of) how the impoverished or the homeless can deal with that feeling day in and day out. There's no justice in it.

And how did you swing this for forty days, J-Man? I applaud you.

Anyway, after the end of the service, we pretty much ran home for break fast. My friend David caught us during our dash to Kala's place. We all sat down around the same table as before Yom Kippur and devoured the bagels Roni and I had bought for the occasion. Satisfaction came no more than 6 minutes later. We killed that stuff. And ate some more.

Bagels with cream cheese, and celebrating a fresh start with God...it all tastes as good as gourmet.

Shalom,
Eric

Episode 13: "The Sacred" (+) [V]

Last Wednesday was an incredible kickoff to the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashana. What began as an attempt to catch a little Jerusalem culture turned out to be a kickin' adventure with friends, food, and new discoveries. I'm in awe of Israel's wonders, but even more so of the fortunes I've had in being here. Check it:

And that's just me revving the engine, baby.
Buckle up.

The night before, while I was at Tami's dinner party with my Hebrew class, I finalized Rosh Hashana plans with two of my Arab friends, Nancy and Areej. They had volunteered to drop Val and I off at the Dome of the Rock (the Muslim holy site). They know the area well, and I love their company anyway, so I was especially thankful that they volunteered their time to me. Here are some pictures of them at the party, the day before the craziness started.

Me, Areej and Nico, another friend from class.



Nancy and I.

Val and I met up with Nancy and Areej the next morning, along with other classmates. We walked to a bus stop that was nearby school, but one I had never used before; it was a stop for an Arab bus. I had taken main bus lines in Jerusalem before, but never an Arab one. Once we were on, an Israeli guard asked everyone to show their identification cards. All of the Arabs on the bus showed their cards, Val and I identified ourselves as Americans, and the Israeli guy left. I asked Nancy what the deal was. She told us that the Isreali government forces Arabs to have identification cards in order to have full access to Israeli territory. I was a little sickened, but glad to learn what I did.

After we got to the Old City, the hustle began. The plan was for Nancy and Areej to guide us to the Dome of the Rock, drop us off, and go shopping with the others. But when they stopped to talk to a couple of Arabic guys, I guess they realized the Temple Mount was closing to visitors soon. They spoke with a guy named Morot (spelling is definitely off, here) and he decided to be our unofficial tour guide.

The Dome of the Rock.

The Al-Aqsa Mosque, a separate site
nearby the Dome.

The girls split after making sure we were safe with Morot inside the Temple Mount. Morot took Val and I looking around, but we weren't allowed inside the Dome or the mosque. Not really a problem--the outsides of each were beautiful enough. For those of you who don't know (I didn't before Val told me), the Dome of the Rock is where, according to Biblical tradition, Abraham nearly sacrificed his son Isaac to God. Genesis 22, if you're interested. If not, sleep well and blissfully. It's a pretty unsettling story.

Anyway, Morot surprised me by taking us not only to the Dome of the Rock, but to Christian sites all around the Old City. Specifically, he took us to the "Stations of the Cross," the places where Jesus is said to have walked on his journey to crucifixion. I've got zero Catholic upbringing, so I hadn't memorized the stations or anything, but seeing them in real life was a mixed experience. Stations include:

Where Christ was beaten.

Where Christ was condemned to be crucified
(now a courtyard for a Christian/Muslim school).

Where Christ was given the cross to carry.


And last but certainly not least,
the place where Jesus was crucified.
The Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

Inside the Church, I stood in the spot designated as Golgotha--the place where Jesus was crucified. I stared, completely stunned, at an art depiction of Jesus on the cross there. I was silent there for at least two minutes. I felt a rumbling tension--almost physical, the strain was so raw--of trying to take in the meaning of the place.

Val recorded me standing there, even though I didn't know it at the time, which you can see in the new clip I added to the video bar. And hey, from now on, when you see a [V] labeling the title of the blog, it means I've added a video (or more). So, [V]. A new one's up.

Anyway, we walked around more of the place. Val took me to a lower chamber, ancient crosses etched into the staircase walls along the way. Once we got there we sat there in the room in silence for a while, with beams of light streaming in from outside. On our way out of the Church, we heard a chorus of beautiful voices singing nearby the tomb where Jesus' body was lain. We sought out the music and found that it was a group of nuns singing in another language while waiting to see the tomb. Absolutely gorgeous.

Later that night, I met up with Oded. He's an adult friend of mine, 27 I think, who runs the campus Hillel events. He's incredibly nice, personable and generous. When he figured out I didn't have a family to eat dinner with for Rosh Hashanah, he immediately invited me to his place. So after I got home from the Old City that Wednesday, Oded picked me up in his car and drove me to his house. He, his wife Rachel and I went to a synagogue service, then did dinner with his family. His family was--you guessed it--also wonderfully nice and inviting. Ushering in the Jewish new year like that was priceless; great food, great people, and good conversation with my friend. I was so thankful for the hospitality I experienced. Plus, you can't go wrong when you're eating apples dipped in honey for a "sweet" new year. Life is simply good from then on.

Oded, the man who saved Rosh Hashana.

After Oded drove me home, I hung out with Val again to close out the night. As we talked, something interesting came up. He mentioned that visiting holy sites had been anti-climactic for him. That on some level he had expected to be spiritually struck by finally seeing all these places in person. And on the other hand, he mentioned, he had learned that those expectations were unrealistic and probably not very productive. Why should his faith be confirmed by a site when the meanings of these places had already transcended their locations? What did Christ's crucifixion mean, rather than what did it look like?

Val had touched on exactly how I had been feeling. The Sea of Galilee. The Upper Room. Golgotha. I hadn't told anyone that I was feeling slightly disappointed in seeing these places up close--and that I'd had a subconscious expectation of spiritual-revelation-upon-arrival that wasn't being satisfied. But Val's words were completely reassuring. Why should I place so much weight on these sites? What was more valuable; their existence as religious landmarks or their existence as religious symbols? I've been valuing the longitude and latitude a lot lately, and that's cost me, I think. I've been disappointed with not feeling God in these places, while feeling God is something that can happen anywhere. I guess I knew that, but Val talking about it really helped me.

All in all, I think I got to see and/or experience something sacred to each of the big time religions here: Islam, Christianity and Judaism. From the Dome of the Rock to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher to the warm and welcoming Rosh Hashana dinner I had with Oded's family, I feel as if I took huge steps toward tapping into the heart of Israel's people. And by the end of the day, I guess I got to reevaluate what was sacred to me. It's the heart of God I'm ultimately seeking, not his zip code. The next holy site I see shouldn't have to spiritually levitate me to help me appreciate it; it should be a bonus to my faith, not the confirmation or the cornerstone.

And with that, I'm off. Thanks for listening. You and I should talk like this more often.

And by "I'm off" I mean to Egypt. For a week and a half. Guess I'll be able to test all this newfound wisdom on myself a bit there, since Egypt is where a lot if the God stuff started. Either that or I'll just go nuts over how amazing it all looks anyway. Either will do.

Shalom,
Eric