Obligatory
It's been too long. I guess break has made me lazy.

My last exam, in Arabic, went fine. Except for mistaking a passive participle for an active one (an understandable mistake, I think, since the newspapers write without voweling, and thus the two forms are identical), I'm pretty sure of my translation. All I have left is a take-home exam, which I haven't really looked at yet.

This past weekend we were in Ashdod for Valya's birthday. The elections in Gaza and Iraq happened. Right now I'm making chicken wings. This is the news, my friends. Life...ticks on.

- posted by @ 4:28 PM

 
A Morning Stroll

- posted by @ 2:06 PM

 
Splash Two!
That's two exams down. And I left this one whistling, despite having utterly smashed my left pinky this morning.

I was to meet a friend who is in my class to study this morning at 10, two hours before the test was to begin. When I arrived at school, I did something very stupid. I've shut car doors thousands of times in my life. Perhaps the number is in the tens of thousands. This time, for some reason, my left hand didn't leave the door quite quickly enough, and my pinky was sandwiched between it and the body of the car. In my memory--although I'm relatively certain this did not, in fact, happen--this was accompanied by a loud CRUNCH! and a freeze-frame shot of my undoubtedly contorted face. I yanked my hand back with a loud cry that I need not repeat here--although I'm sure it rattled a few windows in 'Isawiyyah. I now have a Philadelphia Eagles-green bruise under my nail, and, although the throbbing has more or less stopped, any contact it makes with anything (such as typing the letter "a"--ow!) or any change of temperature (such as washing of hands) is fairly unpleasant.

From that point, however, my day improved considerably. The test today, for the class The Encounter Between Islam and Christianity, 7th-13th Centuries, went absolutely swimmingly. Got the questions, knew what I wanted to say, said it, and left. Vini, vidi, vici. Or something. This is the best I have felt about an exam immediately upon finishing it since elementary school. I have one more test to go, in Arabic. Here's hoping I can have the same luck on Thursday, and that I can make it to that test without further injury. Insha'allah.

- posted by @ 2:52 PM

 
One Down
I had my first final today, in Professor Sharon's seminar: Selected Topics in Islamic History. Essentially, this meant whatever he wished to talk about. I felt fine about the test (although I did show up early this morning, prepared for it to be at 9 AM; I was startled to discover that it was in fact scheduled for 12:30. I used the extra time to cram in some additional names and dates). The test, incidentally, was very similar to the test for my class on the Baha'i last year. I also had my last class, a make-up session from earlier in the semester. So now, all I have left is one exam tomorrow, one on Thursday, and one take-home, and then I am on a month-long break. I've been working very hard the past week in preparation for finals, so I haven't really considered that. I imagine I'll wake up on Friday morning, with no immediate work to do, somewhat stunned.

This is not to say I'll be bored in February. I have a paper to research and write for my tutorial with Professor Sharon, and I can't let my burgeoning proficiency with Arabic or my nascent German skills fall to ruin. Plus, I imagine, we'll travel around the country. There's still a lot of it to explore.

Today our landlord fixed our bedroom ceiling, which had been horribly discolored since it started weeping on us during a bad rainstorm a month and a half ago. It is still horribly discolored, though less so (one coat of paint), and at least the crack has been patched and our ceiling looks like a ceiling again.

It's been raining again (no dripping this time!), although after seeing images of what's going on along the eastern seaboard, I feel unqualified to make any sort of complaint about weather. Besides, I love wind-and-rain storms, especially when I don't have to go out into them anytime soon.

- posted by @ 9:37 PM

 
West Coast, East Coast
In Israel, hitting both coasts in a weekend doesn't involve a plane flight.

Yesterday evening we went to Tel Aviv where Michal, one of Elana's classmates, had a show opening. Most of her class was there, as well. Although we enjoyed the show, we didn't stay very long; shortly after arriving, we retired with her teacher Israel and another "student"--I'll explain the quotation marks in a minute--to a pizza restaurant across the street to eat pizza and schmooze. This other student is only part time, and has relatively recently taken up painting; she's been too busy the rest of her life being a world-famous piano player. She is currently Carnegie Mellon's resident virtuoso (but has taught many other places), who has decided that she wants to try her hand at painting. She and her husband were interesting to talk to.

After a pizza, a gelato from next door (not quite up to Italian standards, but enough to jog memories of Florence), and parting ways with the pianist and her husband, we carted ourselves back to Jerusalem with Israel in tow. After dropping him off at his home near downtown, we came home and went immediately to sleep.

Our Friday started off early; up at six. Elana wanted to paint today, and I to study, and we could think of no better place to do either than back at the Dead Sea. We picked up our friend Nathalie only a block from where we had dropped Israel off a mere eight hours prior, and by 8:30 we were back at the lowest place on earth. The ladies painted while I studied; we took breaks every so often for a snack. We had packed deli sandwich supplies with fresh lachmaniot (bought from the bakery this morning at about 7 AM). Mostly, we relaxed and breathed the bromine-filled air.

When the light was more or less gone we drove down to the beach to watch the sunset, which was unbelievably spectacular. A fiery orange behind the desert mountain to the west, the sea to the east glowing amber and turquoise green (a far cry from the near invisible silver it likes to assume during daylight hours) with Jordan's increasingly reddish hills across the expanse...it's enough to make you want to drop to your knees in the sand and cry out Baruch Hashem, Allahu Akbar or Take Me Home, Lord! depending on your particular brand of monotheism. It's a shame that sunset only comes for a few minutes every day.

Now safely back in our apartment, having completed our tour of every inch of Highway 1, we are going to relax for the remainder of the evening. Laylah tov.

- posted by @ 9:03 PM

 
A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action, Please
The Palestinian Liberation Organization today issued a statement that it "demanded halting all military acts that harm our national interests and provide excuses to Israel, which wishes to obstruct Palestinian stability."

This gives the pragmatist in me cause for optimism, but causes the idealist in me to shake our mutual head in disgust. I know I let Abu Mazen off easily for his anti-Israel campaign rhetoric in a recent entry; for those of you who don't wish to click the link, I dismissed it as simple pandering and an attempt to win as many votes as possible. But perhaps I should reexamine that acquittal.

One cannot but be hopeful with the language of the statement, which comes in the wake of a suicide attack at a Gaza checkpoint that killed six Israeli civilians and an ensuing gun battle which killed three Palestinian terrorists. Never before has the Executive Committee (the highest body in the PLO) used as strong a word as "demand" in their statements. They have frequently "condemned" attacks. One can only hope that the use of such imperative language is a signal on which they mean to follow through; as I and many pundits have pointed out, both sides of this conflict need to reign in their own extremists.

But one fundamental piece of the PLO's cookie-cutter statement remains, and that is the part that so pains the idealist. There is never any sort of specific condemnation of terrorist attacks on civilian targets as inherently wrong or evil. The only condemnation of civilian deaths is in a general sense, i.e. "We condemn the deaths of all civilians, Palestinian or Israeli." Whenever the PLO issues a statement about a specific, Palestinian-perpetrated attack, they condemn it as "contrary to Palestinian interests" and "providing excuses for the Israelis to continue or deepen the occupation," but fall short of condemning the attack for any sort of moral reason. Please, my brothers-in-arms, let us not blow up Israelis because that is exactly what the Israelis want!!! Conspiracy theorists, eat your hearts out. It's the same kind of mentality that allows Palestinians to blame Israel for earthquakes and the newspaper al-Usbu'a to lay responsibility for the tsunami at Israel's doorstep, and this mentality does nothing to advance the cause of peace, whether it is worded as a criticism or an ultimatum.

So, what do we do with this? Should we be hopeful that the condemnations have become demands? Or should we see that the PLO still seems to be unwilling to do anything that will draw it into a conflict with its own extremists, such as condemning suicide bombings of civilians as murder?

I have no answer. Only time will tell--and given Prime Minister Sharon's recent go-ahead to the IDF to engage in anti-terror activities "with no restrictions," time is something that Abu Mazen does not have in abundance.

- posted by @ 5:35 PM

 
A Series of Unrelated Thoughts
It's been almost a week since I updated. Time flies.

On Tuesday night, we went to dinner at our friend Nathalie's house. Nathalie is French, and her brother is visiting Israel; he brought some sort of special cheese, which is then melted over potatoes; it was quite good. As was the company.

On Wednesday night, a Professor from London University School of Oriental and African studies gave a lecture on the Islamization of North Africa, which was informative and interesting. There was a rather large crowd there, including three of my professors and a couple of fellow students and friends.

The next day, I was at a Seminar given by this same professor on a Spanish Muslim chronicler named al-Maqqari and his 19th century translater, De Gayangos. I'm proud to have been at this lecture, as it was invitation only, and there were only 12 students there (all but one other either PhDs themselves or Doctoral students). I had no background on the lecture offered; it focused on the Spanish perception of Islam's place in the country's history, using the translation as evidence.

On Thursday evening we picked up Elana's slides, and yesterday afternoon we went to Ashdod, where we had not been for about three weeks. A funny story: the family's new puppy, a little yellow something-or-other named Shemesh ("sun") is now about four months old. He still resembles Falcor the Luck Dragon, and his advancing age has made him no less sweet or playful or sleepy. And, as many young creatures do, he loves--loves--to chew things. Clothes, fingers (though gently; he does not bite down), and whatever may come into his line of vision, inside or outside of the house. Well, he was outside the house this morning, and snagged something, and began to chew. And he continued to chew. And still, he did not stop. Elana and I--the only witnesses to this marvel--were flabbergasted as to what on earth could have survived such rigorous chomping. Shemesh himself began to look decidedly perplexed. Deciding that whatever he was mashing on was either gone for good or there to stay, we pried open his mouth and pulled out the object in question.

We now count ourselves among the happy few who have seen a puppy try (and fail) to shred chewing gum.

- posted by @ 9:49 PM

 
Elana's Latest

- posted by @ 5:19 PM

 
On Arabs and Democracy at the Time of the Palestinian Elections
It's a paradox of modern thought about the Arab world. Those who say that the United States had no business in Iraq because there is no tradition of Democracy in the Middle East, that trying to impose it on a culture where it has no tradition is arrogant and wrong, are often thought of as those most sympathetic to the Muslims; conversely, those who realize that there is a tradition of Democracy and thus supported the war are considered, at worst, imperialists.

In fact, neither side is exactly correct, but neither are they completely wrong. Democracy has existed since time immemorial in Arab and Muslim lands; it is simply not in any form that we in the West easily recognize. This is because the key institution of Middle Eastern Democracy is not elections. It is nothing near so organized as that. But historically, there has always been a choice (obviously in the post-Colonial era, this has not been the case), and this choice is expressed by support--what might be seen today as cheering at a rally. Leaders are chosen by a combination of unquantified popular support, deals with rivals (we saw this here with the whole Marwan Barghouti episode), and plain old strength of arms. Sometimes the choice is between one obvious candidate and an abstention. But before we criticize that too roundly, I'd like to ask pointedly how many people in America live in states that went for Dukakis (if your family has not rooted for the Red Sox for at least three generations, you're out on this one). There are times, even in America, where elections are just formalities. In the Middle East, elections are simply the formalization at the end of this process of unofficial popular support gauging, dealing and bargaining. They are not the selection in and of themselves.

By way of example: We have almost no reliable information concerning Pre-Islamic Arabia; the situation is only marginally better for the seventh and eighth centuries, when Islam was born and expanded. Only by the eleventh century (or thereabouts) do we have any indigenous information that can be regarded as reliable. Still, we know some facts; and we know what Muslim tradition tells us. Both the facts we know and the poetic (but suspect) tradition confirms that Democracy was a major cultural force.

During the time of the Jahiliyya--the "barbaric times" (or "infancy") which preceeded the birth of the Prophet Muhammad--Arabic society was tribal. And leaders were elected in tribes not by descent, but by popular approval. There would be several candidates to replace a fallen tribal leader, to be sure; it would shortly become clear who was the strongest in terms of popular support, and all members of the tribe would give the bay'ah--an allegiance. In reality, it was simply the ratification of an existing leader.

Even after Muhammad united many of the tribes under Islam (a radical change in the tribal society), his immediate successors were elected in a similar fashion. There was fierce opposition to the accession of his companion Abu Bakr, to the position of Caliph (a subtle double entendre, meaning both "deputy" and "successor") upon Muhammad's death, both to the choice of person and the manner of election. But everybody accepted it. And Abu Bakr was far from a tyrant; his acceptance speech, according to tradition, went: "O people, I have been appointed to rule over you, though I am not the best among you. If I do well, help me, and if I do ill, set me right....Obey me as long as I obey God and His Prophet. And if I disobey God and His Prophet, you do not owe me obedience." This rather gives the lie to those who say that there is no tradition of Democracy; in fact, it is the earliest tradition and the oldest that remains from the days of the jahiliyya.

Following the first four "rightly guided" Caliphs, there arose a dynasty called the banu Umayya--the Umayyads, in Latinized form. The Umayyad caliphs introduced the concept of descent-based monarchy (and tyranny) into Arabian society. It is telling that all but one is spoken of with revulsion (and that one only because he happened to be a very pious Muslim), and the entire dynasty is regarded as one of usurping monarchs rather than caliphs. After 90 years they were replaced by the Abbasids (750 CE), who revolted in order to get members of the Prophet's family (themselves, as it happened) into power. The office of the Abbasid Caliph existed, in some form or another, until 1924, when it was abolished by the Ottoman Sultan. But they did not remain in control of political power all that time; following a few civil wars, the collapse of their finances and a wide-scale uprising of the Turkish military in the ninth century, the lands of Islam were ruled by various sultans and temporal dynasties. These sultans had the reputation for being iron-fisted. They were not elected, for certain; however, the most powerful among them understood the power of consensus building. European diplomats wrote to their kings to complain about the length of time it took for a sultan to answer simple negotiation points, because he had to build a consensus among various key officials and citizens. So, Democracy as a political system was absent, but the culture of Democracy--consensus building in contemporary politics, a revulsion of tyrants and glorification of the ways of the tribal past--the culture was always present.

So now, we come to today. In Western eyes, there has not been a legitimate election in the Middle East (outside of Israel, of course) since the end of colonialism. Are we to believe that Saddam Hussein truly commanded 99.6% of the vote? Come on, now. Hafez al-Assad elected...98%?! But he is of an ethnic minority in Syria. Those votes must be rigged, right?

Well...yes, they probably are. Those men happened to be tyrants, and I have no doubt they fixed their "elections." But we mustn't let that fact lead us to the ex post facto fallacy that there is no culture for Democracy in Islamic lands. Because, even if they didn't rig the vote, I'm fairly certain that we would see numbers approaching 80%, at least, even for men like Saddam Hussein. The election is not a time to choose a leader: the election is the time to give the bay'ah. The leader has already been chosen.

This is why, when we were watching CNN's "Palestinians Decide" special this evening, I sniggered at the American Democracy-style introduction graphic. A Palestinian flag, fading into the distance; a picture of Mahmoud Abbas, with his name the caption, follows; then, a picture of Mustafa Barghouti (who?) and the caption of his name (as if we see the two candidates up for election). Dramatic music, the words "Palestinians Decide" appear, cut to Ben Wedeman in Gaza City. Abbas is going to win the election, let there be no doubt (not that there is). Even CNN couldn't make this drama into any sort of a race, devoting a mere thirty-second mention to token candidate Barghouti's arrest today for campaigning in East Jerusalem without a permit (an obvious publicity ploy on his part). CNN can't handle Democracy that doesn't look like donkeys and elephants.

Many people, I know, were worried about Abbas' recent comments: using Hamas' term for Israel, "the Zionist entity;" promising to protect Palestinian gunmen; promising to get the Palestinian "heroes" freed from Israeli jails. We should not be worried about these comments (although Israel should, and did, vociferously object to them). He is going to win the election and he is not worried about that; what he is trying to do is obtain as large a majority as possible. If he uses apologetic language, it makes it difficult for the common Palestinians to give him their vote, as he would be perceived as weak; the use of this inflammatory language is an attempt to woo the bay'ah out of the extremists. He is already the Palestinian President; all the elections will do is give him a specific size mandate. A win of 60% is worthless to him; he wants 85%, 90%, 95% of the vote. Because that will give him the power to negotiate a fair settlement. Mahmoud Abbas has never fought a battle in his life; I have my doubts as to whether he ever fired a gun. He is an academic; he wears a suit, not a uniform. He has always been of the position that the militarization of the Palestinian movement was a huge mistake.

Thus, the big question of Sunday's election is not "Who will win?" The big question is, "What kind of mandate will Mahmoud Abbas receive?" This is not an incidental consideration, either; without a large mandate, Abbas' term as President may be as short as his 4-month stint as Prime Minister. So, the future of the Palestinian people does ride on their presidential election; what does not ride on the presidential election is the choice of president.

- posted by @ 9:33 PM

 
Our Thursday Night
Last night we went to Jacob and Esther Tova's engagement party and an art opening in Tel Aviv. It was a busy night.

At eight o'clock we drove to Nahlaot, near downtown Jerusalem, where the party was. There were little refreshments and lots of people milling about, chatting with each other. At one point, one of the young religious guys stood in front of the crowd and gave a speech in Heblish. I missed a lot of it--he flitted back and forth between languages with eyebrow-raising speed, using English sentences and Hebrew keywords--but I managed to catch the gist of it: start singing, start dancing, so that when they come, we'll be in a joyous frenzy. I joined the men dancing in a circle, conspicuous in my short hair and lack of beard, while Elana remained on the sidelines with the women. They were singing songs I didn't know but which were pretty easy to pick up on the fly, such that by the time Jacob and Esther Tova arrived, I was singing along with the rest of them. Almost immediately, the genders split: the women went into a back room, while the men stayed in the main hall , dancing and singing (women are forbidden from singing and dancing in front of men). It was a new experience for both of us. As I've written in the past when we've seen Jacob, Israel has two Jewish societies: one religious (da'ti), the other secular (khiloni), and ne'er the twain do meet. Everyone there seemed very nice; I would even say bemusedly accepting of our ignorance of some of the customs (when I asked where the women had gone, expecting an answer expressed in terms of "which direction," I was told by a chap with widening eyes and a little smile, "Well...it wouldn't be proper for them to dance in here.")

We left shortly after the dancing was done and after a bit of schmoozing. We walked back to where we had parked the car, near our friend Natalie's house, picked her up and set out for Tel Aviv. It was already about 9:15 by the time we left for Tel Aviv; we got there a little less than an hour later. The opening, at Gallery 33 in southern Tel Aviv, was in a small place but there was a lot to see: I especially liked this painting by Rita Natarova. There was also a large painting by Ben Tritt that was wonderful to behold; unfortunately, I could not find a link to it. Several graduates of JSS had paintings in the show, as well. It was after 10 by the time we three left the gallery, but we were hungry, and wandered up nearby Allenby Street in search of food. We found one restaurant open (this is not exactly the most happening part of Tel Aviv), a mediocre Dim Sum restaurant which succeeded at least in satiating our hunger. A brisk walk back to the car (it was surprisingly cold for Tel Aviv, even at night), the scenic route through south Tel Aviv's devilish network of one-way and unpredictable streets, and a return to Jerusalem on Highway 1 had us back in bed by 1:15.

We slept in this morning, and have spent the day reading, relaxing, and working. It's cold outside, but we have enough food, a warm apartment, and nowhere we need to be. Sometimes that's all one needs for a great day.

- posted by @ 3:32 PM

 
Hitting Rock Bottom
Despite what the title of this post suggests, we have just had the most amazing time.

We decided to celebrate the new car with a trip we've been putting off: that to the Dead Sea. For those of you who don't know the geography, the Dead Sea is a mere half-hour from Jerusalem--but through the West Bank. The other route--the one that goes around the Judean Desert, the southern half of the West Bank--is three hours long. With the Shtinker, we just didn't feel comfortable going the West Bank route. With the car we have now, there were no worries.

Driving through the West Bank is a fascinating experience, albeit perhaps less so on Route 1, the highway that runs from Tel Aviv through Jerusalem to the Dead Sea. You don't really come close to any Arab towns or cities; rather, the highway is lined with Jewish settlements on both sides. The closest you come is about a mile away from Jericho, which is as quiet as any Palestinian city is these days. It's important to see the West Bank...I add here, quite pointedly, to see while we can. All indications are that it will one day be Palestine. Speaking as a non-Israeli who doesn't live there, I say it's a good trade if it will mean peace. But I can certainly sympathize with those people whose homes and businesses we drove past on our way to our vacation.

The first thing we did, upon checking into our Guest Rooms at Kibbutz Ein Gedi, was get back into the car and drive the 5 km to the Ein Gedi Spa,. We got into the spa for free the whole weekend--it came with staying at the lovely Kibbutz Guest House. We surveyed the spa, and immediately walked down to the Sea itself, about a ten minute walk. During that walk, I felt something I'd never experienced: an actually palpable sense of relaxation. Looking to the desert expanses to either side, breathing in the open air, I felt my shoulders unclenching. Elana had a similar experience. It was exhilerating. I don't want to get into a geology lesson, but the Dead Sea is so called because it is so salty and full of other minerals, nothing can live there: it is the remnants of an ancient sea in the area, and it is drying up. But more on that later.

We returned to the Kibbutz and explored. An irony: exactly eighteen years ago, on New Years' Day of 1987, I was with my family at the very same Kibbutz. I was thrilled to discover how much I remembered of the Kibbutz: the round dining hall, the rooms themselves (we stayed across the yard from our room when I was six), and the miniature golf course which had a particularly evil hole, pictured on the left. There was also a set of remarkable trees which grew out and then down...each branch grew its own roots. It was entirely unique, and thrilling to remember so long after the fact (and at the same time of year, too!) At night, there was a concert: a quintet, in fact, of English and Irish musicians, who played 17th century-style songs with 17th-century instruments. They wrote their own music. It was enjoyable, but I will say that it was the most postmodern 17th-century music we'd ever heard.

The next morning we woke up bright and early for a climb up Masada. Masada, pictured here behind Elana, is one of the great stories of the Jewish people. During the Great Revolt, just after the destruction of the Second Temple, a group of Jewish zealots held out against the Roman legions in King Herod's old mountaintop fortress. The Romans built a giant ramp (still in existence) and were preparing to storm the stronghold. When they did, they found that every one of the 967 Jews were dead, having chosen death as free men over life as slaves. The incoming troops for the IDF are sworn in at Masada. Climbing up Masada is a challenge; it's 300 vertical meters over about 2 km. It took us about an hour to get up. They have a cable car, but that's the sissy way up (although, I here add that we took the cable car down, having nothing left to prove).

Atop Masada, there are ruins, desolation, and, of course, views.

As I said, we took the cable car down; in a matter of approximately one minute, we saw one hour's worth of hard climbing erased. It was great to see Masada; it was my third time, and Elana's first. There is nothing like seeing, in person, the site of one of history's great stories. After a quick lunch further south in the commercialized town of Ein Boqeq, we returned to Ein Gedi to fulfill the main purpose of our trip: a visit to the Dead Sea.

I started to talk about the Dead Sea earlier. It is, as I said, so full of minerals that nothing lives there, and it is evaporating. The minerals in the air, combined with the elevation--at about -1,145 feet, it is the World's Lowest Point--make it impossible to sunburn there. And, of course, when you go into the water, you float. It's absolutely unique: you sit in the water and, if you can keep yourself from listing to either side, you just stay there. But I should also describe the way the Dead Sea looks. You don't even really see it until you're practically in it. There is this haze over the water, which is indistinguishable from the sea itself; were it not for the tops of Jordan's Mountains of Moab barely visible in the distance, you would think you were looking into an abyss of emptiness. When you finally approach the water, and start to make out ripples, it is positively silver--as if it was a giant lake of mercury. As you get to within fifty feet of it, it starts to resemble water. It's all very much a scene out of a fantasy novel: the silvery sea, the desert and desolation, the fact that everywhere in the world--everywhere--is uphill from there; it all combines to give an erie and surreal quality to life. Or maybe that's just the bromine that's in the air (which, according to the brochure, is very relaxing).

Once we'd had our fill of floating, we walked halfway back up the beach to the mud. On the beaches of the Dead Sea, there is an amazing amount of black mud, which is very healthy for the skin, and is sold throughout the world. We did what everyone else there does: smeared it all over ourselves. After that, we washed it off with sulfur showers. Yes, it sounds strange, but it's very invigorating. After the mud, we went back inside the spa for the mineral baths, where we stayed for about fifteen minutes (the maximum time allowed; after that, you begin to overheat) before showering off and heading back to our room at the Kibbutz.

Exhausted, we more or less collapsed after dinner, and were more than happy to sleep right through New Years'.

Today we gave ourselves the treatment, indeed: a wander around the Kibbutz zoo (where we made friends with this little guy) followed by a return to the spa and a massage each (aaaaaaaah...). Elana got a facial, as well. It was a wonderful weekend, all around; without a doubt, our best tiyul since getting here a year and a half ago.

I don't want to think about this too much, or struggle to find meaning, but this whole weekend seemed rich with symbolism. First of all, the fact that, completely by coincidence, I was back in the same place exactly nineteen years later. As I recall, 1987 was a very good year for me (I was seven, so how could it not be?). I'm hoping we can repeat that success in 2005. Also, it cannot be overlooked that we were literally at rock bottom this weekend, despite the fantastic time. 2004 was a very hard year, and we spent the first day of 2005 relaxing and driving from the lowest point on earth up to Jerusalem--if you buy into the religious assertion, spiritually the highest place. I can't help but look at 2005 with anticipation and hope, happy in the knowledge that this year really got off on the right foot.
- posted by @ 8:54 PM