Photo credit: Casey Kaminsky
Emily and I took a camel that will heretofore be known as Gabe. Em rode shot gun while I rode in the back and felt up-close camel breath on my shoulder for much of the walk. No concept of personal space, that guy.
With this kind of slapstick introduction to the desert, it was difficult to anticipate how profound the rest of our time there would be. Spending the night in Negev was my favorite part of the Israel Experience, coming near the very end of a whirlwind tour. It was a climax of spiritual awareness, camaraderie, and self-reflection blooming silently in the darkness of a warm windy night.
The tour officially ended yesterday, and it was so crammed with activities and memories that it would be hard to compile into a concise little blog post. I barely had time to sleep, let alone write, but I am now on the other side of the journey and resting at "home." Home, in this case, is an apartment in Tel Aviv where Emily and I have settled in for a few days. We're staying with an Israeli guy named Shaked, who we met through couch surfing. He is a very kind host to accommodate us, especially since I am also very sick and sniffly (too little sleep and too much hookah). Today I made an expensive trip to a local vitamin shop and stocked up on homeopathic meds with labels I cannot read. My favorite remedy at the moment is the cough syrup because it tastes like honey...I've been doubling the doses recommended to me by the cashier.
So here I am, a total degenerate in my comfy clothes while Emily and Shaked are out shopping for groceries. Our host claims to make awesome schnitzel, so I believe that is what we'll be having for dinner. While I trust his abilities with chicken, he has also confided in me that he hates cucumbers and Indian food, thus decreasing my overall faith in his culinary preferences. Stay tuned for word on the schnitzel.
Really, though, it's amazing to have this kind of hospitality from a total stranger...couch surfing is a life saver (or at least a huge money saver). Instead of a hostel or an expensive hotel, I'm staying at a local's apartment. I'm listening to the voices and traffic from Rabin Square through wide open windows, and enjoying a moment of stillness and solitude. It's the perfect atmosphere for reflecting on the hustle of Birthright and the past week since I last wrote.
It's hard to put into words exactly what Israel has meant to me, but I think that what is most important for me to share is my experience in the desert. That part of the tour basically concluded the entire trip (although the real conclusion was a drunken night of debauchery that peaked with a 1:30AM dip in the ocean and ended at 4:00AM, with a tearful send-off to some of the best people I have ever known). But back to the Bedouins and the magical desert....
After we kicked off with the camel ride, our little traveling Kibbutz cleaned up and reconvened in the dining tent. We sat on floor cushions, around communal plates of vegetables and meat as the sky darkened. The Bedouin hosts plied us with tea, pitas, and fruit, and we feasted hand-to-mouth style until we were full. But the carefully planned schedule ended there, and our Birthright family transformed into a freeform state of group activities and smaller gatherings. Our interactions flowed into an easy sort of rhythm that was different than anything we had yet experienced.
I was a part of the larger group that walked out into the desert away from the lights of the campsite. We wanted to see the stars. At first we blinded ourselves with flashlights as we aimed to sidestep the camel debris and whatever rocks were lurking in the dark, but as soon as we realized our mistake in using bulbs to see, our eyes adjusted to the moonlight. It was a world of blues and purples and shadows. The bushes glowed like tropical sea coral and I could see the rocks from a distance before my feet were close. Emily and I hopped between the rocks like rabbits, trying to get a momentum going as we dodged the unseen obstacles. But as our eyes adjusted and the sand sloped down, we slowed our pace and walked until the entire group settled into a flat area surrounded by sweeping hills. We all laid down with our backs on the desert floor and looked up at the stars.
It took a minute or two for them to become visible to us...bright lights still stained our eyes and the moon was glowing more than anything from the campsite, but as we lay there on the rocks and the dust, the sky opened up to us. We were staring at the universe.
In a group like ours, with each person presenting a distinct personality and with a short amount of time to spend with so many new friends, conversations were always going. Even in down times when we were all exhausted, there was always at least one voice that could be heard. So when our tour guide Yoav requested our silence there on the desert floor, it was especially poignant that we did experience total quiet. It was the first moment of stillness that I can remember from the trip, and it was beautiful. I hadn't realized how much I needed a moment of peace.
The desert changed the pace of Israel for me. I came back to the campsite on my own when I was ready, with a new appreciation for the community we had created. On one side of our space there was a big bonfire with most of our Birthright family sitting in a close circle, singing and playing instruments for each other. It looked like a really nice time, but I was still feeling the silence and solitude...I made my way to the other side of the camp.
In a small little group that shifted a few of its members periodically, we sat around a table under a tree that dropped pink petals shaped like ginkgo leaves. We had our own music, a volunteer DJ who provided us with mellow songs that fit perfectly with the atmosphere. We smoked hookah, we drank tea, we shared stories, and we sat quietly listening to the sounds around us. It was such a perfect, comfortable silence. There was something freshly intimate about that circle of friends that made me feel like I was home.
After about four hours of sleep, I (struggled to) wake up and wandered out of the sleeping tent to find a sky full of stars that rivaled anything we had seen on our desert walk. They were so clear. We all packed up and headed to Masada so that we could hike to the top in time for sunrise. The stars had all but faded by the time we got to the base of the cliffs.
After a short, steep hike and in a delirious state, our group settled on the ruins with a view of the Dead Sea stretched out below. The sun rose over the Eastern wall, peaking through a shield of clouds with the brightest shade of pink. Emily and I met the new day in our own way, stepping aside from the group for our personal version of prayer. In quiet unison, we did a short series of sun salutations and bowed yogi-style to the dawn.
There's a morning where presence comes over you,
and you sing like a rooster in your earth-colored shape.
Your heart hears and, no longer frantic, begins
to dance. At that moment soul
reaches total emptiness. Your heart becomes Mary,
miraculously pregnant, and body, like a two-day-old
Jesus says wisdom words. Now the heart
turns to light, and the body picks up the tempo.
Where Shamsi Tabriz walks, the footprints
are musical notes and holes you fall through into space.
--Rumi
I love silence :) I rarely turn the tv on during the day, and I putter in the sweet quiet save for the noises I make going about my day.
ReplyDelete