Gonzo Almonzo!

Feature this: You are driving along (in town or on the highway), consciously over the speed limit and a patrol car eases past you. You are stricken by that pang of anxiety as your eyes snap to the rear view mirror. Will the patrol car whip that tell-tale U-ie? If you ever want to know what “BUSTED” looks like in Morse Code, just watch the flashing lights of a pursuing patrol car.

Before I came to Israel through the first week of excavations, I was certain that I’d bring something home from the dig site. What would it be? The upper layer of dirt in E0 provided plenty of plausible souvenirs for me to consider. Initially, each find was fascinating, but in short order, the novelty wore rather thin. And it was the first week that the Dr in charge stated plainly, “It’s against the law to remove antiquities from the country.” That, along with plenty of signage that read “Don’t be takin’ stuff home that ain’t yorn” was cause for me to think this through.

This past week was the worst. A tiny turquoise tessera turned up. A deep red tessera caught my gaze for a while. Complete pottery handles of a design I hadn’t yet seen. Scrolling from a capitol found last week resurfaced. Pieces of roman glass so thin you wonder how a vessel could have held its own weight – let alone the stress of a flowing fluid being poured in it. I even schemed to put dots on a couple tessera (with a sharpie I brought but hadn’t used) to disguise it as a pair of dice.

Good Grief! The more determined I was to leave these things alone, the more I was enticed to rationalise taking something away. An email I got from extended family urged, “Dig something up for me.” How long can I endure this temptation to pocket a memento from the dig? Singly, these finds seems so insignificant, yet they are collected (and some are returned) for a reason.

Then a distant thump reminded me that I will be asked what I was doing in Israel. I would say that I was a volunteer for an archaeological dig. The high profile of an Antiquities Authority in this country suggests that live ordinance is not the only contraband that airport security is sensitive to. I haven’t had my bags dumped out in 3 decades of air travel, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.

The last thing I wanted to do was to spend any time in an Israeli detention hall while I could be home happily flushing toilet paper down the stool with my wife. Is a stone cube, smaller than a smartie (that’s like an M&M to our southern friends) worth such a risk – especially when I know it’s against the law?

Besides, in a generation, the memory of a tessera or a pot handle will be lost (just like the lesson of the floating wall in E0) if it’s not broken or misplaced by then. I noticed this when I was liquidating my parents’ estate a few years ago. Pictures of people I didn’t recognize, keepsakes from trips I didn’t recall, trophies from events I didn’t witness – all thrown away or taken to the second hand store.

Bags packed and ready to go. It’s like setting the cruise control at speed limit.

CNN reported that Haifa got hit by a couple rockets yesterday. Tiberias is on the same latitude as Haifa… Does the expression “hellooooo” ring a bell?

At 545AM Susan, Jay, Steve and me tramped towards the kibbutz parking lot. The last time I set foot on this parking lot, I was stepping off the bus from yesterday’s excavation effort. In a way it was the same as previous mornings; we were greeted by other team members and we stood around and chatted for a while. But this time, the conclusion was different. Instead of hearing the bus tooting it’s horn as it rounded the corner to pick us up, we tossed luggage in a taxi (with very effective air-conditioning), said goodbye, enacted the hugarama and drove away into the morning sun.

I hope to see Clint and Joyce drinking their morning coffee at the Tel Aviv airport.

BTW Dr Schuler, your parting message to me will endure. For the encouragement, for the adventure – thanks. Thanks.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος