Erin Rudolph

I've always known what I wanted to be when I grew up. From a very early age, I knew that I wanted to be a teacher, like my mom. And the majority of my life has been journeyed along that path.

What few people know is that, before wanting to be a teacher (but after wanting to be a princess), I wanted to be an artist.

I've always been doing something creative since I was very small. I always loved drawing and painting, and my artistic abilities eventually expanded to include things such as music, writing, dancing, and acting.

As I grew older, however, my confidence in my abilities was crushed because, although I was good and had a bit of an instinct for all of those things, I didn't think that I had the natural talent for it like my peers. I stopped ballet because 5 year old Erin's legs hurt too much. I stopped painting because paints were expensive, and if I painted, my little brother would want to paint too, and he always made a mess that my mom didn't want to clean up. I stopped acting because I kept getting parts as an extra, and I felt I was an expendable part of the production. And even though my greatest talents were in music and writing, there was always still someone better than me. If I did "art," I was the only one that I ever allowed to see it, and even then sometimes I didn't want to. Over the past year I've started to pick up some of those things once again, but I still see my best friend creating magnificent clay sculptures, or my brother playing jazz in clubs, or another friend receiving awards for writing, and I think to myself: Dang. I suck.

So when Dr. Schuler asked me to do some perspective drawings of the dig site, I kept wanting to ask him if he really trusted me enough to do that.

See, on our trip to Jerusalem, there was a chunk of the group that wanted to go and see the Western Wall. I decided not to, because I could see it perfectly well from a distance, and I was hot and tired and a bit cranky, and didn't feel like going through security. So I stayed behind with Dr. Schuler and a couple of other people. I sat down next to Dr. Schuler on a bench, pulled out my little red Moleskien, and began to sketch the dome of the mosque or chapel or something in front of us absentmindedly. I had been using the notebook to write my impressions and thoughts while touring, like any good writer, and I didn't think that sketching was all that different. I was just beginning to start on the background buildings when I heard Dr. Schuler next to me say,

"I didn't know you could draw!"

Apparently my quick, pathetic sketch had distracted him from his conversation with Dr. Chambers enough to say something.

"Well, sort of," I stammered. "I mostly like mixing colors; impressionist stuff, really." He didn't really say any more at that time, but over the next week, he kept pulling me aside at the dig site and asked if I thought I could do a drawing of this corner, or this room. I always said that I could, but inside I was freaking out, especially after I saw an example from last year. The perspective was excellent, the shadows clear, the lines clean. Holy cow, I thought. He's going to be so disappointed, because there's no way I'm that good.

So this morning, Dr. Schuler, Jackie, Laura, Christine, Geoff, and I hiked up Susita in order to take measurements and do some drawings. (Side note: I have never sweated so much in my entire life. Even at 5:30 am, Israel is HOT.) Dr. Schuler gave Geoff the job of doing the mechanical floor plan drawing (thank the Lord, because if I did that I would be miserable because it involves math), gave me my paper, and went off to take some measurements with the others. I seated myself in a little niche of the stylobate wall in the Beta building (yes, our stylobate was robbed out as well. Frustration.) and started to draw.

Not really knowing how to begin, I started taking measurements of what I had to draw, and did a little math (gasp) in order to fit everything to my 1 m: 5 cm scale. Taking a deep breath and remembering everything I could from my 6th grade lessons in perspective drawing, I began to draw my little corner.

I set up the corner rather nicely, and then drew some of the walls, and started on the stairs. The mass amount of sweat on my skin from the walk up began to disappear (thankfully) in the morning breeze, and I went into my little drawing "mind palace." I was determined to make everything as clean and right as I could. When I started to draw the grinding bowls, however, some of that obsessiveness went out the window. Unlike bricks and stairs, which are fairly straight, grinding bowls look like cones. They have curves. They have a bit of life to them. And so my sketching became easier. Towards the end of the morning. I was sketching in bricks and walls freehand - keeping everything in somewhat perspective and to scale - because I had finally figured out that I was not necessarily bound by mechanical rules while drawing. So what if things weren't perfect or exactly to scale? I'm an impressionist, gosh darn it, and that's what I do: impressions. My drawing is supposed to bring life into the empirical measurements of the dig site; it's meant to help people imagine and place themselves in the site.

My drawing is far from perfect. Even though I'm not done with it quite yet, and I still think that it looks a bit cartoonish, I think I did OK. Maybe with a little bit of practice and encouragement (from myself), I could actually become good at this stuff again. I can't count how many times I've wished that I had brought my paints to Israel; somehow, the Galilean sunsets aren't done justice with a camera. But that will have to wait until I get home. In the meantime, I shall just keep sketching away, even though I really can't draw.

It occurred to me today that I have been in Israel for a little over 3 weeks, and still have not blogged about any of the actual work I've been doing.

Oops.

This is kind of silly, seeing as how the dig is the whole reason I'm here in the first place. The actual act of digging probably isn't the most inspirational thing in the world, which is why I probably haven't said much about it. Digging kind of has a way of becoming the only the only thing on one's mind while it's happening.

Allow me to catch everyone up, therefore, on what I have been doing for the past 3 weeks.

Hippos Susita (meaning "Little Horse") was a Decapolis city in the Roman empire, which in layman's terms means that it was one of 10 important Roman cities in the area; it was a shining example for other towns to aspire to be. Excavactions started in 1999, directed by Dr. Arthur Segal from the University of Haifa. Dr. Schuler was given the northeast corner of the city to excavate circa 2000, because there was evidence for a Byzantine-era church there. Dr. Schuler has been bringing teams back ever since, and this has been known as the Northeast Insula Project (NIP).

There are basically 3 main areas of the NIP (at least currently): the Northeast Church, the House of Tyche (a wealthy Roman peristyle house that Dr. Schuler thinks was converted into a monestary), and a little north/south road that goes by a (we think) wealthy residential area. This season we had two main excavation areas going on. Dr. Steve Chambers, from the Canadian Concordia, led a team in excavating a room in the House of Tyche. The rest of us have been working on excavating the Beta building in the residential street.

My square is directly adjacent to the Alpha building, excavated last year. Schuler was really excited for us to dig there, because he was hoping that we would find a staircase he had been looking for, especially since Alpha building has no doors. So we were excited too...at least at first.

So we started digging. For the first two weeks, my team consisted of Christine (our square supervisor), Connie (75 years old, and the team's honorary grandmother), Geoff (a student from Concordia Portland), CSP's President Ries (left after the first week), and me. We all got along fairly well, and by the end of the first day we had found a wall! It was exactly where Schuler thought it would be, and it was exciting! That is, until we found another wall about a foot south of the first wall. And then a door lintel.

Confused? Yeah, we were too.

So we kept digging, looking for this stupid staircase. In the end, we had to take out that second wall because it was "floating" (meaning that it was built by some random shepherd way after the fact. The heavy lintel stone was not doing anything, so we had to take it out. Our "staircase" was robbed out, meaning that it was basically a pile of rocks. And we kept finding buckets and buckets of pottery and bones. Schuler still didn't know what was going on in our square. So we just kept digging.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the other teams were doing things like finding stone floors, mosaics, painted frescoes, and coins.

And we just kept digging. We were basically the red-headed stepchild of the team, because we weren't finding anything and Schuler didn't know what to do with us. Because of this constant disappointment, our square became affectionately known as the Pit of Despair.

The Pit does things to people. It drove me and Geoff to a child-like madness, which really isn't that hard, considering that we're sitting and playing in the dirt all morning. I've lost count of the times we've been scolded by Connie or Christine or Schuler with a "Now children, play nice..." Geoff even bought a toy dump truck and took it up to the Pit to play. It is affectionately known as Dumpy and brings small finds to Jackie. While sitting in the Pit, Geoff (sometimes known as PigPen) and I have come up with many alternative, far more exciting theories about what happened in our square, including, but not limited to, a trash bin, construction by drunk Byzantines, moving Hogwarts staircases, and a volcano inhabited by a vicious fire-breathing bunny.

Trust me on this one. We're totally right.

3 weeks later, and we still don't know what's going on in the square. And Schuler tells us to just keep digging.

There has been a bit of a change this week, though. The Canadian team left this morning. I am really going to miss them, even though they were sometimes strange and said "eh" A LOT and did not necessarily understand my references to Amurrican culture. They were a fun group, and I even made a friend or two. But now they're gone, and I'm sad.

However, in their place has come a pair of experienced diggers: Darrel and Jim, not to be confused with JimJim. They bring a different groove to the dig, which is not necessarily bad, just different. This week my team consists of Darrel and Christine (co- square supervisors), Geoff, Laura, myself, and occasionally Jackie. Darrel, Geoff, and I all have the same sense of humor; I haven't figured out if this is a bad or a good thing yet. Darrel is also bound and determined to turn me into a power lifter by the end of next week.

In any case, we are now digging on the other side of  the first, real wall we discovered,and have been making progress so far. Yesterday I found (well, Dr. Schuler found by my feet) a Byzantine capital (the fancy thing on top of a column), and today Darrel found a small columndrum, so things are looking up. We are still, however, digging probes in the Pit to try and find the latest thing that Schuler thinks is in there, which is currently a stylobate.

The bottom line at this point, I guess, is that I've been digging for 3 weeks. Moved a lot of dirt and stone. I've sweat more than I care to mention. I'm quite handy with a pickaxe by now. And I've gone crazy.

But I guess I'd have to be crazy to volunteer and pay money to do this for four weeks out of my summer. But I really wouldn't have it any other way.

It is a city that has stood the test of time, conquered and controlled by an astonishing number of empires, both ancient and modern. It is claimed by numerous religious factions as the holiest of cities. It has been destroyed, rebuilt, remodeled, and repurposed more times than Martha Stewart has figured out how to use a hot glue gun. It has truly stood the test of time.

Jerusalem.

Our trip to the holy city this past weekend was exciting, nerve-wracking, fun, and thoroughly overwhelming. Because I know that people (*coughmyfamilycough*) will want to know where we went, let's get that out of the way first. I present Erin's List of Places We Visited in Jerusalem:

• Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which commemorates the crucifixion/resurrection of Jesus, and (supposedly) holds the remains of rocks from Calvary and Jesus' tomb.
• A square by the Jaffa Gate, where Jesus' trial before Pilate was most likely held, according to Dr. Schuler's research.
• The Mount of Olives.
• A chapel/mosque that commemorates the Acension, and holds a piece of the rock that was (supposedly) part of Jesus' "launching pad" into heaven.
• Dominus Flevit, a church commemorating that one time where Jesus wept over the fate of Jerusalem on Palm Sunday (Luke 19:41-44).
• Gethsemene, both the traditional "garden" and the Church of All Nations, and the old olive press where Dr. Schuler thinks the more likely place for the betrayal.
• Absolom's Tomb and the Kidron Valley
• The Davidson Center, which holds the remains of the Temple
• Hezekiah's Tunnel
• The Western (Wailing) Wall
• Bethlehem

So as you can see, we went a lot of places, and learned a lot of places, and walked over much of the Old City of Jerusalem. And although it was exciting and inspiring and all of that, I couldn't help but feel...well, not underwhelmed, or overwhelmed...maybe just whelmed at the city.

There is so much tradition in the city, and at times I felt like I was sticking out like a male flute player. Even though we visted many churches, most of which were beautiful and ornate, I still felt out of place among the thousands of tourists and religious folk at the sites. Maybe it was just my Lutheran-ness getting in the way, but I could not really be convinced that the "true cross" lies in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I mean, come on; it was wood, for crying out loud, and wood rots. And all of the mosaics and pictures of Jesus? Many times they looked like a senior portrait. Or like Jesus was bloated or something. Or Jesus looked like a pathetic pansy. I understand that a lot of the depictions are from the medieval period, but still. That is not how I picture my Savior. Like Dr. Chambers said, it's an acquired taste.

To me, all of these churches and commemorations destroy a little bit of the magnificence of the place. I honestly got more out of standing in the quiet square where Jesus was tried before Pilate than I did standing in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The city (and all of us, as well) has forgotten that Jesus did not come into the world on a noble white charger, a holy halo glowing around his face and holiness oozing from every pore. He came instead in a messy human birth to a poor girl in the most humble of places. He spent time in the places where no one wanted to go, and spent time with the people that no one wanted.

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us."  (John 1:14)

The earthly splendor of these churches is a poor imitation of the heavenly glory that once walked in that place, and that heavenly glory is everywhere in the land if one has the eyse to recognize it. The afternoon waves on the Sea of Galilee. Sitting on a hotel roof in Jerusalem with friends, enjoying the skyline. The quiet square where the ground still whispers "crucify Him!" even though the city tries to drown it out with car horns and buses. The small Israeli boy yelling "Abba!" when he runs too far ahead of his father and feels lost.

Jerusalem is steeped in tradition, much of it beautiful. The problem with tradition, however, is when the meaning behind the tradition is forgotten. That renders the tradition cumbersome and useless. I guess that was one of Jesus' pet peeves with Jerusalem as well; the forgot, and still forget, the reason for it all, and when it came, they did not recognize it.

"He was in the world, and though the world was made through Him, the world did not recognize Him." (John 1:10)

Don't get me wrong; I made some wonderful memories and friends, but inwardly I found myself weeping a bit for the city, just as Jesus did.

Oh little town of Jerusalem, looks like another silent night. The Father gave His only Son; the Way, the Truth, the Life had come, but there was no room for Him in the world He came to save. Jerusalem, what you have missed while you were sleeping! The Savior of the world is dying on your cross today. Jerusalem, you will go down in history asa city with no room for its King, while you were sleeping.

     - "While You Were Sleeping," by Casting Crowns

So much has happened over the past week or so that there is no way I'd be able to process it all at the moment, much less tell someone all about it. But random thoughts are better than no thoughts at all, and if there is anything that I've learned from archaeology so far it's that a seemingly random pile of junk can, in fact, be puzzled together to create meaning. And so, I present Erin's List of Random Thoughts from Israel, Part 1:

1. I am eating so many vegetables and fruits here, and even trying new things, like cucumbers, nectarines, and dates. And I'm even eating these things for breakfast! Granted, that's what breakfast here IS, but  still. My mother would be so proud.
2. Jesus and his disciples must have had really buff calf muscles if they walked all over these Galilean hills. Man, there's a lot of them!
3. Sometimes whilst digging, a rock can be the beginnings of a wall or a door or a piece of pottery. But most of the time, a rock is just a rock.
4. I love working with the Canadians. The downside, however, is that my Minnesota accent, usually only audible when I say something with an O in it, is now coming out in full force. I may have a full Canadian accent by the time most of them leave in a week in a half.
5. My Chacos have been soaked in some pretty legendary waters over the past week and a half: the Sea of Galilee, the Mediterranean, and the Jordan River. Think of the stories those shoes could tell if they were able to talk!
6. The people who originally built these cities must have been pretty buff too, because man, those rocks are HEAVY.
7. The general rule of thumb when uncovering walls is: if it looks like complete crap, it's a Byzantine wall.
8. Working in a square with the president of my college is actually rather fun. Dr. Schuler calls the people in my current square the "earth movers" because the five of us move a lot of dirt. We might have found a staircase. Or just a random alcove. We don't know yet.
9. Lots of things are hard for Jackie.
10. I'm really cranky at 4 am. Even with a "full night's sleep." It gets better after my exercise endorphins kick in. And I eat breakfast.
11. I'm a lot sillier and goofier in Israel than at home. This is probably because I'm enjoying myself and not having to worry so much about all of the Really Important Life Issues I have to when I'm at home.
12. I am actually quite an adventurous person.
13. Israelis drive like madmen.
14. I am going to come home rather tan and blonde. I also, apparently, begin to freckle a bit once I get enough sun.
15. Coffee in Israel is all instant, and all really bitter, and all extremely boiling hot. Mom and Dad, can there be an iced coffee for me when I step off the plane in MN?
16. There are a lot of holy places here where people make pilgrimages to, and frankly, I really don't see the point of it. Sure, it's undeniably cool to walk in the same place where Jesus may have walked and done miracles, but that doesn't make the place itself any more holy than another place. Prayers offered at the basillica in Nazareth aren't any more special or holy than any other prayers. Like I said, these paces are incredible...but you worship the incredible God who made things happen there, not the place itself. It's like a middle school girl not washing her hand because it was touched by Justin Bieber.

Even though I have roughly 3 1/2 more weeks here, I still keep trying to puzzle together these random pieces into the bigger picture of why God wanted me in Israel in the first place. I'm not sure exactly, but I think that it may have something to do with what Dr. Schuler said while we were visiting Capernaum, the hometown of Peter and the "home base" for Jesus' ministry around Galilee. Being in Israel gives a totally new perspective on how we see Jesus. We already know that He is completely God, but we sometimes forget about the human aspect, like how far Jesus and his disciples had to walk to travel places. How hot he must have been in this weather. How meager his meals must have been. How he might have been like Woody Allen: a small annoying man, popping up and saying innappropriate things at innapropriate times (President Reis' example, not mine). How he might have, in fact, peed in the Sea of Galilee as a little boy (Schuler's example, not mine). God did not send his son into a romantic, perfect fairy tale world where everything worked perfectly. Jesus came to our dirty, broken existance and met us where we were at. He lived among us, and walked with us, which is a concept that has been slowly sinking to my subconcious over my time here but hasn't quite seemed real all the time. It's a fairly simple concept for sure, but sometimes the simplest of ideas are the ones that are the most thought-provoking and powerful.

While I puzzle things together, however, I am perfectly content to swim in Galilee every single day, dig myself into a hole and a good sweat, joke around with the Canadians and their accents, and eat tomato and cucumber salad for breakfast.

This post is mainly for my mother and grandmother, since they want to know more about where I'm living this summer. But I guess I should really also just write about the kibbutz in general, since that's a good thing to do.

First, let me explain what a kibbutz really is, since I think I confused a lot of people before when I was trying to explain it, but kind of failed. A kibbutz is a community farm. The people who live on the kibbutz (the kibbutzniks) all work the same crops, raise the same animals, and live on the same place. It used to be that they all lived together as well, with one house for all the children, one for the women, ect., but they got lazy and things aren't quite that strict anymore. Families all have houses on the kibbutz, and everyone only eats the noon meal together. So it's basically like an autonomous town. It's kind of the only form of communism that has actually sort of worked. Sadly, the kibbutzim are dying because the young people are going off to the cities, and not staying around to work on the kibbutz any more.

The kibbutz En Gev, my home for the summer, is located on the eastern edge of the Sea of Galilee, across the road from our dig site, Hippos Susita. It has been on the forefront of a few wars over here; I forget which ones. In fact, back in 1948, the kibbutzniks took Hippos back from whoever it was they were fighting the night before the armistice was signed, putting Hippos inside the 48 borders of Israel. Because of this tough past, the kibbutz isn't necessarily as nice as some other kibbutzim; it's certainly not like a hotel. But it's rather entertaining, and could probably beat up all of the other kibbutzim in a fight. It might not be super pretty, but it has spunk.

Ev Gev is nothing if not beautiful; I mean, it's right on the Sea of Galilee, and anybody that knows me well knows how much I love being by water. This side of the lake does have the reputation of being the "party" side of the lake, so that can make things interesting sometimes. But I really rather love it here, nonetheless. I'm so used to living at camp that everything about the kibbutz that might bug other people (bugs, not showering often, ect) really don't bother me that much, so I count that as a plus. The people here are fairly nice, and speak English to varying degrees, since learning English in school is mandatory here. They have their own little store with food and stuff (the hummus and pita bread is FANTASTIC!), a few restaurants, a post office, a retirement home, a pub, beaches, a little harbor...like I said, it's fantastic here. Afrat, the leader of the kibbutz, is a wonderful lady and is so willing to help us with whatever we may need. En Gev has been hosting the archaeologists ever since the excavation started 12 years ago, and so pretty much everyone knows about us and is willing to help if we look confused...which is most of the time.

My favorite part, by far, is the Sea of Galilee. The breeze off of the lake in the afternoon makes the humidity unbearable. The water is both cool and warm at the same time, making it the "just right" porridge for my Goldilocks. At night, the city of Tibereas across the lake lights up the Galilean hillside like a thousand tiny stars, all of which are reflected along with the moon in the waters of the Sea. Sitting on the beach in the afternoon, I watch the waves roll in the afternoon wind. Storms and winds come up so quickly on the Sea; I can finally understand why Peter was so afraid when he tried to walk on water - even on a nice afternoon, those waves are huge. I can only imagine how high they would tower in a real storm. But a few words echo to me from on the lake, as they did for the disciples in this same place long ago...

"Don't be afraid! Take courage! I am here!" (Mark 6:50, NLT)

Thus far, the entirety of my time here in Israel has been spent at an archaeological conference at Tel Hai college in the northern part of Israel, close to the border of Lebenon. The conference was entirely about the archeaological finds in the Galilee region, so all of the major excavations and finds were represented. After spending two complete days in the presence of real life archaeologists and studying their ways, I would like to present some of my findings on the species.

1. Archeologists like to argue. About the same stuff.  

See, when archaeologistswin this region do research, they all do research on the same 3 excavations, and the same history. In spite of this, it is absolutely amazing to me how they can come to totally different viewpoints, and then sit there and argue about why their viewpoint is correct. Although some debates got rather heated, for the most part they were willing tlest least agree to disagree about their viewpoints.

2. Archaeologists are not as careful as one would think.

The most common pictures of archaeologists are either Indiana Jones types (which, in most cases, are completely inaccurate), or a bunch of people with OCD spending hours and hours unearthing one tiny pottery sherd with tools that could be used as dollhouse flatware. In reality, though, archaeologists like to use big tools, like normal sized shovels, and occasionally a tractor. They sometimes knock things over, or accidentally take apart a wall, or go through a floor, or throw away something, or lose an inscription...really, all sorts of things happen. Instead of getting all hot and bothered, (most of) them simply say, "whoops!" and just keep on digging.

3. Archaeologists don't trust the written word.

For those people who know me, they will know that this is where I disagree and tend to get all hot and bothered. I'm not saying that the written word is perfect; Joseph Flavius' history of the Jewish people is really just a bunch of made-up crap in order to make the Romans like the Jewish people more. I know that words have bias, but I also know that words can give a glimpse into the human soul. Language is essential for any culture to survive. If a ruler wanted to control a newly conquered people, he had to control their language by declaring his language the "state language." Archaeology in this part of the world essentially started as Biblical archaeology, which has a bad reputation of "trying to prove the Bible right," which kind of tainted things for the more scientific members of the field. The thing about archaeology is that you only find the answers to the questions that you ask. More science-minded people in archaeology would choose to let the finds in the field speak for themselves, but really, they would be at a dead end if they completely ignored the inscriptions, the papyri, the manuscripts, and even the local legends of the place. I'm not saying that linguistics is superior to archaeology; I'm just saying that words matter, and a lot of the archaeologists at the conference didn't seem to keep that in mind. But what do I know; I'm just a completely impartial third party with absolutely no interest or knowledge in the matter.

Although I have a fairly good base in Greek, Roman, and Byzantine historical time periods, a lot of the stuff they talked about at the conference went over my head. Let me rephrase that; a lot of it made sense, and a lot of it stuck to my knowledge base, but some of it just didn't hold my attention. Like Dr. Schuler said last night on the drive home: this year's Concordia team is a really broad mix of expertise. Jackie was on the dig last year and knows everything already, Laura is insterested in archaeology and attempting to major in it, and I'm "just crazy and wanted to come along," as Dr. Schuler put it. But you know, I think that's ok with me. I'm a quick learner, and so I know I'll pick up all of this stuff eventually, and will function perfectly well on the dig. And it's also a cool life experience that I will remember forever. But I also know that there are some things where it's just better to let the experts do the work; I am more than happy to let Jackie and Dr. Schuler do the math stuff involved with the dig.

I really did appreciate the conference, though. Like I said, I'm a bit of a history person, and so I appreciated learning about how our dig site fits into the context of the Galilee. It was also nice to meet the students from the dig team at Omrit, and to spend some time getting my brain involved before I actually start lifting stones.

But let's be honest...I would much rather be the linguist and "dead language" expert that helps pull those archaeologists out of the material hole of evidence that they've dug themselves into.

Every place has a story, whether it is known or not. The actions of a generation can effect the future of entire civilizations after it. Stories shape our lives, and a have a most significant impact on us.

This has been the feeling that Israel has had on me so far, even though I've only been here a mere 14 hours.

Driving across the country from Tel Aviv to Kibbutz En Gev only took a mere two hours, but it was through places that I had only seen in my mind, and had only put imaginary facets to. It was as if I was driving through Narnia and seeing the lamp post, the Stone Table, and Caer Paravel with my own eyes. Places like that were not supposed to exist outide of my dreams, and yet I found myself overlooking the Sea of Galilee, feeling the wind beat tiny particles of sand into my hair, and the sun baking sign familiar Z of my Chacos onto the tops of my feet.

Is this real life? Or is this just fantasy? (Points for a Queen reference.)

We drove past the ancient site of Megiddo, where King Josiah fell defkingdoms he kingdom of Judah (2 Kings 23:1-30). The Judean hill country is now occupied by the Palestinians. The town of Nazarath is the biggest town in the hills of Galilee. From our dig site, Hippos on Sussita, I can make out the outline of Mount Tabor, the site of the Transfiguration (Luke 9:28-36). The Jordan River now forms Israel's border with the kingdom of Jordan. Fields of fully grown sunflowers bow their heavy heads to the sun, like the brothers of Joseph did (Genesis 37:1-11). But perhaps the most mind boggling thing of all is that I am walking on some of the very same earth that Jesus physically did. He hiked the hills outside of my window at the kibbutz. I still don't think I have wrapped my mind around all of this.

The stories of David, of Abraham, of Paul, and of Jesus himself echo out of the very fabric of time and space, and it is something that I can both hear and feel in my body and soul as I spend more and more time here. As much as I'm going to learn about Biblical history here, I will never get used to this feeling of awe and wonder. I have stumbled upon a real-life Neverland, and am overjoyed to realize that yes, it is real, and I do not have to fly home for a while yet.

I'm still trying to process all of the things God placed in my life to lead me to this place and time, but I know that it is going to be something wonderful. God is, to quote C.S. Lewis, "on the move," and I am only just beginning to go further up and further in.

They'd get us to Tel Aviv, they said. It was just a little rain delay, they said. We just have to pilot new pilots, they said.

9 hours later, they told us that our plane was delayed until 12:30 pm the following afternoon.

This was about the only time on the trip where I was actually rather calm and blasé, willing to go with the flow with whatever happened. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Dr. Schuler was kind of freaking out about our car rental and stuff. His reaction, however, was nothing compared to the Israelis on the flight.

See, the problem was that if our flight was delayed past a certain time, we would arrive in Israel on Shabbot (the Sabbath, for you Biblical scholars). Not only does most everything in Israel close on Shabbot (meaning we couldn't get a car rental), but practicing Orthodox Jews are forbidden to travel on Shabbot. So there were a lot of angry, argumentative Israelis around.

Watching those of Israeli descent on the plane (before we were deplaned) was rather amusing, especially for a bona-fide people watcher like me.They basically became one big family, even though most of them had never met each other before. People were up and about, speaking to one another in Hebrew. Children were playing in the aisles. I could tell that the Canadian crew was frustrated, but this whole family bonding phenomenon was rather amusing. Even with all of the frustrating ticket and luggage lines, they still banded together, helping each other find places to stay in Canada for Shabbot and whatnot. Albeit, they were all mad at the airline officials, and that was rather terrifying (poor Canadians), as well as their gradual looting of the old galley carts from the plane. Overall, I am still amazed at how much of a family they became. Why are Americans never like this? Why are we so individualistic? Humans were not created to exist solely by themselves, so why does American ideology insist on it? Maybe we need 400 years of slavery as well.

As for me, I'm just happy to be on a flight with Jackie, Laura, and Dr. Schuler. We didn't have to buy another ticket, and I slept in an awesomely soft bed in a Marriott last night. And I can now say that I've actually stayed in Canada! Except I couldn't stop thinking of Robin Sparkles...