Travels with Dad: An Atheist in the Holy Land: 2013

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

11/30/12 – Childhood revisited provides a fitting end

I’ll admit that I jumped into the vat of mud. A local told me that you’re actually not supposed to do that, but in my defence I was only following the lead of some crazy Germans that had gone before me.

The shuttle was on its way to us so I skipped the step where you’re supposed to let the mud dry on you and went straight to the salt water shower. That was a terrible idea. True, the powerful stream of water quickly washed the mud off me, but the water was the same as that in the Dead Sea and it dripped down my forehead and into my eyes. Commence intense burning sensation and acute blindness.

Mud proves to have a slimming effect

The calm before the burn

Through the pain I heard a voice calling me over to the fresh water showers that I hadn’t noticed before, but by the time I had opened my eyes, the person was gone. Dad and I collected our things and went to the water’s edge where we realized how big of a mistake dad had made by not bringing his sandals. Unlike other lakes, the Dead Sea doesn’t have a sandy or rocky bottom; the spot where we were was completely made up of jagged salt crystals that are painful to walk on and can actually cut you.

Dad and I had the wonderful opportunity to experience something completely new and unique at exactly the same time. Since the water in the Dead Sea is over 30% salt, it provides you with a high degree of buoyancy; you literally float on the surface. There was no need for my hands to go in the water so I brought my camera with me to take some photos and they turned out to be my favourite of the whole trip. They capture dad being transported back to his childhood. I have literally never seen him have so much childlike fun; amazing for a man with such a serious disposition.

Our faces hurt from smiling so much and dad had quickly become acclimatized to his new found and unnatural tendency to float. So much so, that he had a hard time keeping his balance when he stood up. I kept feeling him leaning back as I held on to him with one hand. And in a case of reversing roles it was I who lead my unsteady father out of the water…much like he would have done when I was a child. The sight of us was enough to bring the ladies from our group to tears after having watched dad and I playing in the water like a couple of kids.

With his feet on terra firma, dad quickly regained his balance and was strong on his feet. We had come a long way to walk in the shadows of the bible and while much of it was amazing and memorable in its own way, none of it can touch what dad and I shared today. It was the perfect way to end this trip; it was profound and real and will be etched in my memory for the rest of my days.

Thanks for reading,

John

11/30/12 – The fallacy of naturopathic medicine

Our final stop of the day was the Dead Sea. Unfortunately we wouldn’t have much time there owing to a number of delays during the day on account of the perpetually late; there were at least four of them in the group.

Dad and I changed into our swim trunks quickly and headed down to the mud baths while we waited for the shuttle to take us to the water. People had been asking me if I would get in the mud; it was reputed to have healing properties due to the mineral content. Personally, I don’t go for naturopathic remedies as I believe the only thing they’re good at curing is a fat wallet… and seriously, is that really a problem that needs curing? Naturopathic remedies: they’re based on the misguided belief that nature gives us everything we need to heal ourselves. It the same misguided belief that automatically labels chemical compounds as “bad” simply because they’re synthesized by human hands. Supporters of naturopathic medicine (it’s no more medicine than a naturopath is a doctor) are often stumped when you point out to them that arsenic is a natural substance yet it can kill you much like many other naturally occurring substances can… natural isn’t necessarily safe.

Science has brought us space exploration, the internal combustion engine, electricity, clean water supplies, sanitary living conditions, and the greatest tool ever invented: the internet. So when someone voices a wholesale disapproval of science based medicine I know I’m talking to either a crackpot or a liar. All I need to do is take a look in their medicine cabinet to figure out which one.

Monday, September 30, 2013

11/30/12 - Random Photos #7

Sr. Jocelyn in the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Bottom right corner... face in the rock?

From the top of Masada - 1

From the top of Masada - 2

Cats everywhere, even on the top of a mountain reached by cable car

Qumran

Rev. Victor and Rev. Elphas - Religious bathroom stall graffiti artists
All that's missing is "for a good time call..."

"...this section of the beach"...where?

11/30/12 – Fortress of Masada

I’m not clear on all the history behind it, but our next stop was the fortress of Masada. Originally built by Herod, it was billed as the “first five star hotel” in the middle of the desert. It was also a King’s stronghold with very steep rock faces on all sides. And then the Romans came. All of their conventional methods of attack failed, so over the course of months, maybe years, they built a ramp up the side of the mountain so they could breach the walls with a battering ram. The Jew, knowing that defeat was near agreed that it was better to die than to have their women and children raped and they themselves be turned into slaves. And so the killing began. First the women and children and then the men, the final ten of whom drew lots to decide who would be the last to die, and die by his own sword.

Ramp up the side of the mountain

Waiting for the cable car

An amazing story that took place in an equally amazing location with its many structures built out of the rock taken from the top of the mountain. Masada had its own self-sustaining water supply and hot baths: not exactly the kind of amenities you’d expect in the desert.

Hot baths: flames were under the sub-floor

We reached the summit by cable car as there wasn’t enough time to take the “snake path”. I doubt that many in our group would have been able to do it anyway, but I regret not skipping the tour and climbing Masada with dad. When dad and I did break from the group it was so quiet and peaceful, natural medicine for the mind. The views of the badlands of the valleys and the Dead Sea were a feast for the eyes as well.

Badlands at the foot of Masada

Sunday, September 29, 2013

11/30/12 – And all they brought me…

Some of the women on the trip had been asking about beauty products made from Dead Sea minerals and salts. To satisfy their shopping bugs we visited a local beauty supply outlet aka tourist trap, but more specifically, a women’s tourist trap.

While we were inside, Bernadine from Cornwall asked me how I was enjoying my time with all the old people (herself included as I would later learn that she was eighty). I said I was having an amazing time and appreciated the fact that I was travelling with such interesting people who all had a sense of wonder and adventure.

“Oh good” she said “because we like having youth like you around too. How old are you? 26? 27?”

Bernadine was so sweet. Then the others started asking as well.

“No, more like 30” said a couple of the women.

When I told Bernadine I was 37 she gave me that age old backhanded compliment… ”you look good for your age!”

Everyone had boarded the bus and proceeded to wait for the straggler of the group, Mary Ellen. Many minutes went by before I, and my 37 year old knees, were dispatched to find her, which I did quickly.

“The entire bus has been waiting for you”.

“Oh, sorry” she said in the shrill nasally tone that could identify her in a crowded stadium. “I needed to buy a t-shirt for my friend.

A t-shirt from a cosmetics outlet in the middle of the desert: it’s an afterthought of a gift at best, the type of gift that tells someone that you didn’t value them enough to find them something unique. Kind of like Mary Ellen’s own “dolphins swimming through the night sky” t-shirt…trippy.

I have a theory friends. You know those t-shirts that you often see that say “My friend went to (insert name of popular destination) and all they got me was this stupid t-shirt”? Mary Ellen’s the one that buys them.

11/30/12 – Faces in the rock

Members of our group had spotted images of Jesus and the like in inanimate objects a number of times on this trip. A cloud over Mt. Arbel that looked like a face…it must be the face it Jesus. I agreed that it could have been a face, but if it was it looked like Elvis…or Jesus if he had a pompadour.

Then there were the mineral deposits in the Sacred Pit at St. Peter in Gallicantu, the pit where Jesus had been held captive; the deposits looked like a cross. Our tour guide ran his fingers over the very spot as had every other tour guide. Ever see a wall next to a set of stairs in a house with children? Mystery solved.

Today, it was not only the profile of Jesus in a rocky outcrop, but a Jesus with a crown of thorns no less. Even more amazing was that the profile was spotted out of a bus window while we were at highway speed. Now that’s the power of imagination!

It reminds me of something similar from my childhood. My parents had shipped me and my younger brother David off to a summer camp in cottage country. “Teopoli” was run by a group of Nuns and prayer was a part of the daily routine. I had a lot of great experiences there; the typical camp stuff like swimming, fishing, campfires and talent shows. It was also the first time I made out with a girl (not that I’ve made out with a guy…but you know what I mean…I hope). Her name was Anna, but the memory is foggy about her last name. I do remember that I was really upset the next summer when she told me she didn’t like me anymore. I also remember that she was from Willowdale which seemed like it was a world away back then, and it was. Everything was far away in the pre-interweb days.

Teopoli was also the place where someone came out to me as gay for the first time in my life. Rob…I even remember his last name because I ended up going to high school with his older brother who was in his final year as I entered the ninth grade. Rob was soft spoken and sensitive and had clearly been the object of a lot of taunting and ridicule. He gave me girl advice about Anna and said the type of things that no guy our age would have said. But the kicker for me was when Rob performed what I think was a sign language version of Bette Midler’s “The Rose” for our talent show. Hell, it could have been an attempt at vogue-ing before Madonna made it popular, but whatever it was, it was completely and totally out of the ordinary.

For my part, I sang “Everybody wants to rule the world” by Tears for Fears. Not exactly the manliest of songs either, but it was popular at the time and it was the only thing that my drummer (who played with drumsticks and a chair) knew how to play…poorly.

In the middle of our second week at camp, Rob came up to me visibly upset and asked me if we could talk away from the group. We went around the side of the chapel and in tears, Rob told me that he was gay. I gave him a hug and told him that it didn’t make any difference to me and didn’t change anything about our friendship. It took incredible courage for Rob to reveal this at such a young age, and perhaps expose himself to further ridicule. It was the kind of moment that has stuck with me forever.

Despite the youthful energy and sense of wonderment that comes from discovery, Teopoli was a place of cruelty too. On the adjoining farm there was a younger man, likely in his thirties, who had some type of mental delay. When the sisters and our counselors weren’t around we would play “confusion” with him and all talk to him at the same time. The audio assault was too much for him to handle and he would hold his hands to his ears and run away. We thought it was hilarious, but it was unspeakably cruel. It was the type of thing that should earn a young boy an automatic beating. And we would have received that kind of discipline had my parents ever found out. But just like Vegas, what happens at camp stays at camp…until now. I offer my heartfelt confession to you.

Which brings me back to the original topic…imagery. On the way back from camp we passed a certain spot on the highway. One of the sisters told everyone to look at a dead tree by the side of the highway. At just the right angle it would look like Jesus on the cross and it actually did. For years afterwards I would try and find the same tree, but infrequent trips North and a completely vague recollection of the tree’s location conspired against finding it; I never succeeded.

Imagery: brief, fleeting and powerful

Friday, September 20, 2013

11/30/12 – Qumran, you ran, we all ran

Next, we travelled a short distance down Highway 90 to Qumran, the spot where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found in 1947. Highway 90 is the longest road in Israel and connects the North to the South. It’s a winding two-lane blacktop with rock faces to the West and a valley floor to the East. I told Dad that I would love to tear it up with a suitable sports car, but for now Shulli was doing a pretty good job with the bus by passing slower cars two and three at a time.

The Dead Sea Scrolls were found by a goat herder who was throwing rocks in an attempt to scare his errant flock back together. One of the stones went into a cave and the resulting sound was that of pottery breaking. When he went to investigate he found the scrolls. That started a search of all the caves in the surrounding area and by the end of it, many such scrolls were found in similar pieces of pottery.

Look closely and you'll see the caves

The scrolls were written at the time of Jesus and provide a direct link among the scriptures of the Old Testament with a couple of exceptions. But almost as important is that they clearly describe life as it existed at the time for the men who had retreated into the desert to be able to pray without distraction.

I didn’t think much about what the scrolls contained, for me the wonder was in the discovery. That they sat encased in clay pots undisturbed for nearly 2000 years in this harsh and unforgiving landscape only to be found by chance by a peasant herding goats… amazing

11/30/12 – Coolio? Here?

Our first stop of the morning was Wadi Qelt, otherwise known as the Valley of the Shadow of Death; the place where Jesus went to fast for 40 days and nights. While in a weakened state, the Devil tried to tempt Jesus but ultimately failed.

Regardless of the history and the rugged landscape, Coolio’s “Gangsta’s Paradise” kept playing in my head…”As I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I take a look at myself and realize…” you know how it goes. It wasn’t until the road got really twisty that the song in my head quieted down. I began recording Shulli’s driving through these roads and by chance also recoded Mary Ellen’s squawking from the back of the bus. She reminds me of the principal from South Park in more ways than one, but the squawking voice is spot on. To get closer to an exact match you’d also have to add Mary Ellen’s ever present facial expression which causes her to always look like she just smelled something really bad. Maybe it was the smell of the 3 hard-boiled eggs that she put in her purse at breakfast this morning. Hard-boiled eggs… not exactly the first thing that comes to mind when I think of snack foods.

It pains me to devote any space, time or effort into including Mary Ellen in my journal, but she’s been a constant source of entertainment for Dad and me, and not in the good way. Simply put: it would be impossible to leave her out if only for the fact that by comparison everyone else in the group seemed so…normal.

The scenery that greeted our eyes as we got off the bus was impressive; a rocky and unforgiving landscape where it seemed impossible that anything could survive. As we followed a path that took us further away from the road I heard the distinct sound of water flowing; there was a river nearby and out of sight at the bottom of the valley. Off in the distance I spotted a monastery perched on the rocky hillside.

Dad was asked to read a passage from the bible about the Devil’s temptation of Jesus while in the desert and then Amnon sang a song in Hebrew. Both of their voices, Dad’s and Amnon’s seemed to carry across the valley (click here to read about Dad’s impressive singing voice). They finished just in time; the local Bedouins had spotted the tour bus and were closing in on us with items to sell.