Publication credit .vs. deportation

After getting back from camp de kibbutz, I made an intriguing discovery...

I thought Connie found the version of Oh Canada on the internet that we sang last week. But she actually composed it just for you.

And thanks to digital technology, it's been perserved for posterity. If the Queen or the Prime Minister gets their hands on it, she could be summoned to the Supreme Court of Canada... we might be finishing seminary in the states... as fugitives! :)

I might be back in a couple seasons (only if Glenn is there).
Pax
db

Word up... eh!

Here's what Oxford has to say about the word eh.

eh interjection informal 1) inviting assent (nice day, eh?). 2) Cdn ascertaining the comprehension, continued interest, agreement, etc. of the person or persons addressed (it's way out in the suburbs, eh, so I can't get there by bike). This is the only usage of eh that can be categorized as peculiarly Canadian. all other uses being common amongst speakers in other Commonwealth countries and to a lesser extent in the United States. 3) expressing inquiry or surprise. 4) asking for something to be repeated or explained. [Middle English ey] 5) origin of the expression made famous by Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli.

Henry Winkler has an interesting background. Though he was a 2nd generation Jewish immigrant, I think he's more Canadian that people realize. Can you say Happy Dehs?

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

Memoirs of a cappy hamper

In my earlier years, I was a millwright (industrial mechanic) in a northern Alberta sawmill. The maintenance department worked 12s in a shift that rotated every 4 weeks. The rotation featured a 7 day break that followed 4 day shifts which ended on a Thursday. You could always tell who was getting ready for their “7 off”…they were the ones sporting the biggest grins - all day long.

In the summer, the mill would heat up during the day and the humidity was fierce. An equipment failure anywhere spelt misery for the poor sap who was on shift at the time. While ambient temperatures in the sawmill would hit 38C, working on a 250hp electric motor that had failed was worse. The surface temperature of the motor casings would approach 70C and hotter. Even though it was so hot, gloves and long sleeved coveralls were a necessity… along with the rest of the PPE that was required. Even changing a drive belt on one of these motors was a bear of a job when it was so hot.

I lived for that 7 day break and on my Thursday dayshift, nothing could peel the smile off my face. You could stick me in a conveyor under the nastiest machine, give me the scabbiest job, have me troubleshoot an intermittent hydraulic problem in the dark, dank sawmill basement all day and I’d be a happy camper.

Well, it’s my last Thursday day shift and I’m grinnin’!

Our team gained the notoriety of keeping to the “thumbnail” rule which equated to more pottery to clean. Remember that there is no pottery cleaning on Thursday (and I still don’t know why). So the standing joke was that we would scurry to fill pails with shards for everyone to clean when we leave. Under normal circumstances, I would not have disappointed them, but the truth is that there wasn’t much for little stuff where I dug.

On my way to breakfast, I looked back at E1 and wondered was below the level that we excavated to. Why didn’t we continue to dig down lower? Must be something down there. Maybe there is another wall or maybe stairs that go from a lower street up to the atrium. By next year, it’ll be full of scorpion dens.

I was pulling out hand sized pottery in the SE corner of F3, but I abandoned that part to work around the odd stone structure I found in the NE corner. I teased that it was a toilet seat, a cistern head or a shrine box. Certainly, some of my musing was in jest. Truth be known, nobody working in F3 had enough experience to make any absolute assertions about anything except the weather. But alas! The memory of the angled wall was long since forgotten (or it was simply not acknowledged). No room for reapplication.

No, my discoveries will not change how the pick is swung or how bucket is filled. But that isn’t the job of a volunteer. It’s to merely allow the data to be seen; allowing it to challenge and provoke those who take the time to look …and think.

Have you ever seen the movie banner for "Sound of Music"? I did my best Julie Andrews on the way down the hill today. Too bad you missed it.

Clint and Joyce left for Haifa after lunch to begin their tour de' Israel. I didn't have a chance to talk to them about the advice given to a certain Jewish lad a couple days ago. "I'm wishing you God-speed, Hattersley," cried Arthur,"and aiding you with my prayers."

That’s what kind of day it was today.

1 wake up remains.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of a daydream

Ok dokey! We made short order of E1 today. Clint made the mistake of telling Steve that he was denied opportunity to join the servus opus of squaredom. If I was him, I’d be content to remain in the comfort of Tent City in BedouinVille. But give the man his dignity and let him sweat… so he did.

We finished E1 (left the scary scorpion den) and moved over to F3. Ah! A fresh square, packed down by 6 yards of dirt and 3 yards of stones, packed down further by the back hoe that removed it all. What treasures lay wait for us? One strike of the pick told all. If it wasn’t surface stones, it was hard packed dirt that a pick would barely penetrate. But the persistent Team Canada worked like diligent beavers (unlike marmots). We worked on the SE corner of the square which yielded a wall, four fuchsia flamingo feathers, a partial roll of “Admit One” tickets and an autographed Bangles CD (the only track that was intact was titled “Walk Like An Egyptian”).

The SW corner of F3 was more exciting – I found 5 Scorpions! One stayed in one place and seemed to pulse rhythmically – the other 4 were much more animated, moving about in short staccato motions… the experience rocked me like a hurricane. I wondered if anyone would believe me if I told them what I saw, but to face the heat in this crazy world, where few see eye to eye, I thought it say nothing and set my sights on a holiday. Out of nowhere, a western breeze picked up, the winds of change. I looked down and the Scorpions were gone – bad boys running wild. Oh my! I think the cucumbers are getting to me.

Today was also a time of elevated political unrest in Israel. Hezbollah forces allegedly crossed into Israel and kidnapped two more soldiers. I heard a dull thumping sound from the hilltop where we worked. It was more like background noise to me. Then somebody asked me if I could hear the bombing. Oh yah! Can you say artillery shells?

It’s one of those sounds that any foot soldier, artilleryman or tanker would recognize from live fire exercises. Surround sound can’t do it justice – nor can the thump-mobiles that some of the teenagers drive these days. The pitch was too low to be gunship rockets; the ground vibration was too prominent to be 80mm mortars. If you’re close enough to the gun when it fires, your earplugs press deeper into your ears, it feels like you are getting hit with a 2x10 across the chest – and your regularity is likely to be tested.

On the way down the hill, I rode in the front seat and heard a talk show on the radio. The caller was fairly excited about something and the word mil’chamah (fight, battle) was used repeatedly – it didn’t sound good. I flipped the tube on after lunch. Sure enough, the there was footage of artillery attacks in parts unknown. The CNN website carried the same footage describing the circumstance when the soldiers were kidnapped.

The thumping noise remained in the distance for the rest of the day. It was surreal. The news I watched in a foreign language was the same as the news I watched at home. The skirmish was still confined to the box in the livingroom. If I didn’t want to watch it, I could turn it off and it’d go away.

Someone in the group talked about a conversation they had with a lad named Alla I think his name is. He was part of the Haifa team – but he lived in Texas (I think). The details are sketchy to me, but he was thinking about going to (or passing through) Jerusalem during this time of conflict. His dad said to go, his mom said not to. So he asks, “What should I do?” If I understood the recap accurately, the message given was to consider the people who love him, namely, his folks. Good advice at a time like this!

If the circumstances here regress, which seems so symbolic, I wonder what it will take to pull the pin on the dig. It’s good to see the end in sight though. I miss Connie. I miss the headache of sorting out my kids’ crises. I miss Wednesday lunch at the lodge with my mom. I miss paying bills on the internet.

Oh yes – I also miss flushing toilet paper, shower curtains, bathroom fans and sealed doors. 1 day and a wake up.

That’s what kind of day it was today.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of an ulna

So, what do you say when the morning sun is squelched by eastern cloud cover and the humidity is 70% plus? When feelings are at stake, it is better to listen than to speak. Let me explain.

I couldn’t find it within myself to tell anyone that the humidity was from the snow - that melted and evaporated earlier in the morning. Besides, it’d break Arny’s heart to tell him that the easterly clouds that hovered over the Golan Heights (shielding us from the 6AM sun) were nimbostratus remnants that brought the snow in the first place.

The question that remains is, “Who’s the wise guy that bowed down to the inukshuk?”

It came to my attention that a colleague wrote “we told them that if we sacrificed 5 scorpions and prayed hard, it would snow the next day.” The author must have had a mouse in his pocket, because I didn’t say any such thing. My speech remained in the subjunctive form of make believe rather than in the indicative form of authority. Besides, I spent most of my time befriending the acribbim. Sigh! I guess there is more work to be done than I thought.

But the fact is that we experienced less hot temperatures (I will never use the word “cool” to describe the climate in Israel) that endured for most the day.

If that don't beat all - the Israel Antique Authority guys showed up today. I think they were fixing to inspect the site yesterday or Sunday. But in the background stood the powerfully silent Inuit inukshuk which didn't phase them. They probably looked at it and thought, "Poor Dr Schuler. He has a Canadian resident working for him."

And today, I figured I’d go directly to the dining hall for lunch as soon as I baled out of the bus… filthy, stinky and miserable. What convinced me is that other people were doing it and that it was more convenient for me. This overruled my desire to be comfortable and clean before I had lunch… how about that? Good thing the kids didn’t see me do that.

Father Patella gave a lecture on monasticism this evening. Interesting chap. I didn’t actually know he was a monastic monk until after his lecture was over. With the human bone identification from Glenn and Jay’s side of the site, I started to remember these names from grade school health. Clavicle = collar bone, scapula = shoulder blade etc. Without thinking, during pottery cleaning (which is usually what I do when I am cleaning pottery - except when it is necessary to elevate Dr Schuler's systolic/diastolic measurements) I made a reference to Father Kneecap. The silence and puzzled expressions made me aware of what I said. That I had to explain it to everyone assured me that nobody took it (or would take it) as a bad joke. It also made me aware of how we are stratified by language... even when we speak the same language.

I’ve been teasing Irene about how short I am – in the sense of military service. I’ve enjoyed the chats I’ve had with her. One day, Bob was talking about penguins while we were working in our square. I said, “They walk like they are bound at the knees” (there’s that knee reference again). Just then, Irene and Linda were walking past. Irene didn’t skip a beat and asked if I was making fun of the way they were walking? What a card!

Need I say “2 days and a wake up”?

That’s what kind of day it was today.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs from a rock star (supplemental)

I did a little prework yesterday that I didn’t mention earlier. I tossed out the statement, “If I built an inukshuk, maybe it’ll snow up here.” Of course, the word inukshuk is so alien and the contradiction of seeing snow during this season drew interest immediately. I spent time explaining what it was, but the lasting impression was inukshuk = snow god.

So the inukshuk went up today. Thanks to some gross encounters with rocks in our square, the pace slowed down – and I was on bucket brigade. So I maximized the slack time by selecting 8 choice stone and assembled my stone dude.

This turned out to be a most enlightening event. Some people viewed this creation as a stone idol. But nobody (and I mean nobody) knew what an inukshuk was – not even to see it! It was apparent how formative yesterday’s preambles actually were. This colloquial icon in northern cultures was as alien to the Americans as ground bay leaves are in Canada. I became very aware of the general condition of ignorance that exists on either side of the 49th. In this case, Canada and the US are next door neighbors, a country away. But is it any different in the neighborhoods we live in at home?

The Inuit people built inukshuks for a few purposes – they were used as navigational land marks (in a land where few natural landmarks exist), they were used to mark supply caches for the traveller and they were used to indicate direction of travel. They take two classic forms – one looks like a conical pile of rocks (like a stony tell); one looks like a stone humanoid (admittedly, like an idol). I do not know enough about them to determine which form was used for which purpose, but I could imagine the comfort in seeing a stone figure amidst a tundral biome where life forms are barely visible. Once an inukshuk was built, it was never dismantled – the people revered them so.

So what’s the point?

As a colleague once said, “If it quacks like a duck and looks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.” I agree that this is generally true. But plot that argument on a Venn diagram and you’ll find where the inukshuk experience of today rests – in the unshaded part. This was my approach to the discussion I had with Dr Schuler July 4th. "Are you prepared to accept another likelihood that is just as viable (and just as speculative)?"

My inukshuk was case and point. It looked like an idol. For that matter, it behaved like an idol >snicker<. Therefore, it must be an idol. … though I offered its true background to those who were interested, it seemed that snow god is what stuck. The notion of landmark, food cache and highway sign was not sensational enough to throw the stigma of snow god in an archaeological context.

So what? Well, I'm exercising my Hebrew tendancies by painting a picture.

To those students who read this, I encourage you to test the boundaries of your education. That is not to cast doubt on its content, but to understand the presuppositions of the deliverer. That’s the fun of higher learning. If you have played sports, consider this:

I learned to play racquetball from a guy far better than I. He barely had to move; I’d chase the ball all over the court. He’d never give me a break; I’d work hard resisting the urge to slug him because of it. But even though he won every game, I still scored points on him. Sometimes, it was from plays he’d least expect. Sometimes it was because he was resting on his laurels. But I got better.

I’m not suggesting that the classroom become a battle of wit nor that learning become a competitive sport. My point is that you chew hard on what you are being spoon fed. You never know if the the egg was boiled until you crack the shell ;)

Pax,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of a taxonomist

Go straight to E1. Do not pass Go. Do not collect 800 shekels.

Today we advanced to the next square to the south. Nothing more than hacking out the remainder of last year’s work to uncover the styling bait. But what a day!

As usual, the first several inches of dirt are where most of the scorpions are found. That’s another thing that is funny – all the measurements were done in metric not imperial units. I think the Americans are more Canadian that they let on.

Anyhoo, I gave up trying to save all the acrabbim. I learned that if I cried “chayah basedeh”, these little creatures would pay the price with their life. It’s such a classic behavior: "Kill what you are afraid of – fear what you do not understand". Sometimes, taking the time to understand takes too much time I guess. So I resolved to silently catch and release the ones that I turned up.

Glenn grabbed a photo of the first one we turned up. I am eager to see it on the photo CD that Dr Schuler spoke of. I didn’t get a lasting look at it before it was done in, but it appeared to be from the genus Nebo – usually living in a habitat with more vegetation than what was on the excavation hill. Odd. The other type was a tiny white dude. Tabitha said she had one sitting on her glove (note that it did not actively seek to zap her). I turned up a similar unit from the bottom of a rock. Most were casting them as babies, but they could have been a type of troglobite (no eyes, no pigment). Again, didn’t see it too close too long before it got squashed. Hopefully, Glenn got a snap of one of those too.

While caution is warranted towards these little soldiers, we would do good to think about our approach toward them. Scooping it into a bucket and pitching it into the bramble bushes .vs. hack it to pieces. Hmm – and we call them animals? On one hand we are mandated with zero ecological impact while we are up on the hill. On the other hand, we kill what indigenously lives in the ecosystem we are to help preserve. It sounds like we are tossing out the earthly stewardship baby with the personal safety water.

On the lighter side of life, I found an Aztec amulet, but it wasn’t fashioned out of gold and it was grossly out of context. So I thought it best to quietly be rid of it and save some anxiety and more grey hairs. (ok, ok I’m just kidding – it really was made of gold).

Though the progress in E1 is steady, I am learning more about people than I am about dirt and rocks. Can’t wait to see what tomorrow holds. BTW – 3 days and a wake up.

That’s what kind of day it was today.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs from a donkey's jaw bone

The morning came too soon, but the day held great promise. The sun would rise and cross the sky, the west winds would build and gust over the Sea of Galilee, food would be offered, water would be guzzled and the moon would hold its silent vigil at the end of it all. Somewhere betwixt an ad hoc assembly of tired people would gather and work and rest. Quite the grind.

I think that this was the day the angled floating wall in E0 got dismantled. After defending its significance through the initial waves of doubt and passively resisting the orders to pull it apart as we excavated, I rested in the knowledge that a wall number was assigned to this controversial feature… and I couldn’t help being smug about it all. I got to see, first hand, how readily people cling to their own expectations even in the face of new information or a fresh perspective. We hear how good it is to have someone introduce new ideas that challenge the status quo (or the prevalent theory) – but do we truly welcome the new when it encroaches on the tradition? The wall may be coming down, but an instructor learned from a student teaching. The question is “How readily will the lesson be reapplied?”

Today was the end of the E0 chapter. Earlier last week, I found an upper jaw segment from an animal embedded between some stone close to the outer perimeter of our square. I was almost through the process of getting it out before it was deemed of no value. You could say that I had a bone to pick – on a couple different levels. I left it, intending to finish up during a water break or after breakfast but it mysteriously vanished. Hmm… now on the surface it would appear to be an act of subversion or sabotage, but I know that it was just those kibbutz dogs boning up on their archaeological skills that day.

Pottery cleaning started a half hour early today because there is no pottery washing on Thursday (don’t know why). I offered to wash pottery while everyone was gallivanting around Jerusalem, but nothing came of it.

As I reflected on the day, the heat seemed rather distant – like background noise. I still tended to my morning blister regiment, sunscreen application and regular water breaks (my requirements exceeded once per 20 minutes) – but the day was more tolerable. Must not have been as hot. BTW: Darryl checked the temperature at 4PM last week. He got 112F (44C) in the sun and 98F (37C) in the shade. How does that grab you?

I think I’ll build an inukshuk before the week is over.

That’s what kind of day it was.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs from a coke can

Memoirs of a pillow case

Shabbat. The dining hall only serves lunch today. Those of us (Mark, Rachael and me) who did not go to Jerusalem got a 36 shekel coupon to buy food at the kibbutz store. Normally, everything is shut down on Saturday. But this was the first weekend that the store was going to be open limited hours on Saturday… Some people claimed that even the phone systems was shutdown on the Shabbat – but given that I talked to Connie this afternoon would suggest otherwise.

Since I didn’t check out the store hours and that I wasn’t too cranked up about walking around on blistered feet – I stayed put until lunch. This was a packing day too. The Canadian contingent (which includes Dan the immigrant) was moving to new digs for the last week. So I set about packing up my stuff.

I lanced my blisters again and discovered that two of them expanded somewhat from hoofing it around Tiberias. Sigh! Oh well.

When I finally went forth I was greeted with scenes of family life. The neighbors to the south were hosting company. The beach was busy too. It was refreshing to see such liveliness after the mundane routine that befalls the kibbutz through the week. The only movement that occurred was between beach and bungalow. The scene became familiar.

In a flash, I was on the rocky shores of the Wapiti River by Grande Prairie with Connie and the boys. After a weenie roast, we’d throw rocks in the water. The kids were toddlers back then donned in diapers and tiny shoes. They’d walk precariously along the water line amidst stones that were half their size deposited by the flood a few decades ago. In moments their shoes would be soaked and their footing was unsure. Of course, it wasn’t long after that they’d fall on their fannies in the water. When they stood up the river water line dropped an inch. Pampers full of river water, sagging down to their thighs they looked like two little hermit crabs beetling along the rocks. Where did the time go?

Then I paused to consider if the new store hours would eventually become a prevalent condition of this community. Would the grounds maintenance start to extend into the weekend? Would the family activity that I see today be reduced by a third because mom or dad is working? Sigh.

After lunch I traipsed up to the store and took a good look around. I was surprised to find that prices was on par with the Canadian market. A can of Gillette shaving crème was 27 NIS ($6 CDN). Not my brand, but it didn’t seem too shocking. I was expecting convenience store markups. Across the board, the products were recognizable by the shape and color of the container even though the labels were completely Hebrew like Pringles, Cheetos, Nestle ice cream, Pledge, Ajax etc. Some items were distinctly No.Am. like Gold Bond powder – that had a sticker on it that read in Hebrew – similar to what we see in the grocery store import aisle. The Coke containers were cool. Coca Cola was written in English on one side and a transliteration in Hebrew appeared on the other side.

Dig volunteers got a 20% discount on everything in the store. I paid 6.20 NIS for two cans of coke but it never seemed to add up to the 4.83NIS/can I saw written on the shelf… maybe my good looks was worth 1.50NIS a visit.

The bus returned early from the Jerusalem jaunt. In a way I was a bit peeved that my personal bubble was about to contract again… let alone that it was happening sooner than expected. But I was, again, silently amused at the expressions of relief that greeted me. Dr Schuler was true to his word when he described the tour as “running where Jesus walked”. Though the temperature was lower in Jerusalem, the pace was vintage E0. I felt bad that the team had to chase through the sights. I cringed to consider the hurry and the horde. But on the other hand, I was grateful for the retreat I enjoyed as a result. It’s just what the Good Physician ordered.

That’s what kind of day it was.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs from a water ballon

My first day off! My eyes pop open. After several days of getting up at 4AM I try to remember what sleeping in actually feels like. Then it hits me – whatever sleeping in feels like…this isn’t it. Yet I cannot deny how satisfying the silence that I have awaken to.

I look at the bottom of my feet to admire my handy work the night before. Five blisters look back at me, drained and wilted from being lanced the night before with surgical precision under the most sterile conditions. These wounds I bound up myself with a stick pin, some isopropyl, q-tips, bandaids, elastoplast, polysporin… any (medical) doctor would have asked me, “What are you doing at the seminary?” But in spite of my medical prowess, I’d have to answer humbly and honestly, “Handing out referrals to the Good Physician.”

Then I looked at my watch… it was 630AM. Good greif! I managed to sleep in a whopping 2.5 hrs. Oh bother.

By 920AM I had choked down breakfast and meandered to the bus stop. And a half hour later I was cast into the mid morning sun at the Tiberias bus stop. The tone was set when I looked for a sign that said “Exit” or “For all you English speaking types – this way to leave the bus station”. I actually had to ask someone how to get out of the bus terminal, which was really nothing more than a big parking lot surrounded by building.

When I finally got to downtown, I didn’t have a hot clue as to where to start looking for knee pads. All the store signs were in Hebrew of course – few words could I recall from my OT Hebrew correspondence course last summer. As I walked down the sidewalk, I would peer into the shop to see what was there. I learned very quickly that each shop had a very narrow specialty; electrical, sporting goods, clothing, underwear, shoes, sunglasses (go figure), jewellery.

After playing charades for 3 hours in various stores, I walked into a building supply shop. I tried to figure out what side of the line up I needed to be on, but it didn’t seem to be a method enforce. I picked the right side, but I was just in the way. I tried the left side thinking that it might work the same way as the way they write – nope! I tried the WalMart approach. You know – stand around and look stupid long enough and pretty soon someone comes and asks you if you need help. Well that didn’t work either. Gobsmacked, I left.

I walked back to a sporting goods store that had an English speaking clerk and asked her to write me a note describing what I was looking for. Then I went back to the building supply place and simply dropped my note on the counter. A clerk looked at me, picked up the note, read it, handed it to someone else and walked away. The other guy took the note, read it, looked at me, put it down, said something to the first guy and went back to his original customer. I went back into WalMart mode.

Eventually, all customers left and no more came in… and a pair of knee pads hit the counter in front of me accompanied by a curt, “Hamasheem shekel!” I dropped my 50 on the table and took off.
My watch said I missed the noon bus – I had an hour to kill. So I returned to downtown figuring I’d find Connie a shirt. I didn’t find many unisex clothing stores that had what I wanted. So I started hitting the “women’s clothing only” stores.

The first place I walked into had the right kind of stuff and the presence of several local gals assured me I was on the right track. So I issued my “Shalom” to the storekeeper and started pawing my way through the piles of neatly folded shirts. After a few minutes I noticed that the background chit chat had ceased. And after looking up at, what I anticipated to be an empty store, I was eye to eye with 4 or 5 women with strong indigenous features looking at me looking at women’s clothing… oh dear! I guess I’ll just buy a tourist t-shirt from the kibbutz gift shop.

On my way back to the bus terminal – it happened. I need to find the sharot’im fast! It’s one word I was glad I assimilated and when it is accompanied by an expression of urgency, the message is universal. A convenience store owner directed me to a local hotel and I was off like a shot.

At the top of a stair case, I was greeted by a set of glass double doors. You think they’d be open – and I pulled the handle as if they were – but they weren’t. The door reported a loud rattle which got the attention of everyone in the lobby on the other side. The innkeeper sauntered over to the door, talking over his shoulder as he made his approach. By now I’m breaking out in cold sweats.

He unlocks the door, let’s me in and I issue the same plea as I did at the convenience store. With a smile, this chap points at a door across the room which I promptly bound towards. In a moment, the lobby breaks out into a barrage of yelling and bickering (at least it sounds like it). The first thing I am thinking is that they are arguing about whether or not I should have been allowed to come in and use the biffy. I put my hands over my ears and silently utter “No gunshots! Please no gunshots!” but the racket does not subside. Once I completed the paperwork, I gingerly opened the door. There in the lobby is this gaggle of people smiling gleefully, but using a tone of voice that, in North America, would be grounds for lawsuit. Relieved (on a couple different levels), I take my leave (and my knee pads) and head for the bus.

I got back in time for lunch, spent the rest of the day in air conditioned comfort editing my next blog posts and took a few minutes to wash Thursday's work clothes.

That’s the kind of day it was.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs from a fence post

Once again the trolls of the beach house rallied to the sound of 4AM alarms – 4:15AM for some of us. The morning air did not disappoint me – as usual, it hung heavy like a millwright’s tool pouch.

Kristina was our square boss today and, thankfully, the pace was not at a breakneck speed. We did not flit from one task to another so a work rhythm manifested in short order. Small finds were of interest – especially the roman glass.

Kristina found a small cache of glass pieces and it was truly delightful to see her face brighten with each piece she found. At each find and with each grin, she alloyed the day’s heat with her congenial demeanor to create a most pleasant atmosphere in E0. If I were a betting man, I’d take odds that she was nervous. But her enthusiasm for the smallest find and her strong work ethic cloaked any outward signs of anxiety. What I admired the most was her willingness to “let the stones speak”.

The day was as long as the day before, but somehow it came to a faster end. At some point in the day, Dr Schuler told me that Lyle (from the Polish team) was willing to take my place on the Jerusalem tour and square up with me for the fees. Way cool! What was not of concern was awarded me. Co-inky-dink? (that’s Canadian for ‘coincidence’) I don’t think so.

I met Lyle in the dining hall at lunch, he gave me his denarii and off I went to plan my weekend of nothingness.

After telling the team “bubb-eye” at around 230PM I think, I wandered around the kibbutz trying to organize my thoughts. I composed my blog for a while, called Connie, got the bus schedule for tomorrow, prepared for a trip to Tiberias to get knee pads, killed a few spiders hoping for rain and channel surfed for a while before bed.

That’s the kind of day it was.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of a squinting scowl

This was a break even day. I had the best sleep I had since I got here – woke up once at about 330AM and actually knew where I was. But for some reason, I was shrouded in gloom.

I ended up on my knees most of the day. Under normal circumstances, that would be a good place to be – but the ground was hard and the stones jammed into my knees and I was hoping that someone would walk up and say, “Say! You look like you could use kneepads. Here, use mine.” I planned to pack my own, but I forgot them. Aha! Another good reason for me to stay behind this weekend – I can go to Tiberias and buy knee pads! Alrighty then!

This was the 1st day that I posted to my blog I think… grossly behind, too wiped to do much about it except belly ache, still whiney about the weather, hadn’t talked to Connie in like centuries and hadn’t emailed her since Saturday which was like “Hi Honey. We are ok. Miss you. Love you. Bye.” Pathetic!

So I toured the kibbutz and resolved to solve this phone business. It was then that I realized that I couldn’t escape the heat. Clint said that one of his friends said, “You have to embrace the heat.” Hmm. It’s not like there’s much of a choice. So I just accepted that sweat was part of my current reality and suddenly the cloud of gloom that enveloped me went away. I’m thinking that Jesus probably didn’t sweat like this all the time – I hadn’t seen any locals with glistening foreheads or sweat rings under their armpits. They live here and they are used to it… but whatever. I still have some spit and garlic left – I can hang.

After this evening's devotion, I spoke to Dr Schuler about my desire to stay put this weekend. This was met, of course, with raised eyebrows. I was relieved that this discussion did not result in debate. Certainly, to come to Israel and not go to Jerusalem was scandalous, but I'm not known for my conventionality anyways.

It wasn't about the 95 pesos I paid in advance for the tour. It wasn't about the possibility of acedemic repercussions for not going. I was run ragged, my fingers and feet were sore, I had blisters to lance... and I sought solitude.

That’s what kind of day it was.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs from a pointed growl

Though I had plenty to complain about, I kept remembering how Dr Raaflaub spoke of bivouacking right at the excavation site at Tel el-Hesi in the 70s. It didn’t make me feel any better, but it’s always good to know that I wasn’t alone in my misery.

Up until today, I’ve evaded blisters on my feet… up until today. When I took my boots off to look at them, they were like water balloons (ok, that’s an exaggeration). But with the busy weekend ahead, I wasn’t looking forward to hoofing it around Jerusalem. But I determined in short order to forgo the tour and take time to REE-LACKS.

And I was absolutely whipped. The university students from the States did a lot to keep me distracted from the heat – whether they intended to or not. It was a blessing to have someone or something to keep the corners of my mouth from drooping.

If I am remembering correctly, it was this day that I got double teamed during pottery washing. Initially, Dr Schuler and I engaged in a bit of intellectual jousting. I didn’t want to flatly square off with him, but before I knew it, I was wrangling on two fronts. Then off came the gloves. I would say that we agreed to disagree (though we didn’t really agree on much :). But it was a refreshing experience to connect with an archaeologist in this way.

E0 had much to offer us today too. Pottery shards became a common find but enthusiasm rebounded when bone and glass showed up. At first, the glass was discounted but after a discussion with the director, we bagged it up.

Nuff for now.
That’s what kind of day it was.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of a pointy trowel

(Luke 11:12)
Independence Day Eve. I think it was today we found a curved wall. Stones oriented in the same general direction on a radius. At first, I got the, “Oh it’s just tumble.” But eventually, after a little passive persistence, the wall’s form manifested. I confess that I was silently amused to see how the presence of this wall caused certain folks to squirm… you see – it wasn’t supposed to be there. So, I guess that goal #2 (see July 1st) has been met.

I found our 2nd scorpion (the 1st one was on the 2nd). They appear quite suddenly; as if they are conjugated out of the dust. This one was smaller, but it was a bit more unnerved at my intrusion than the one from Sunday. Oh yes, we also found a silver striped thing maybe about 5 inches long. A lot more animated than an earth worm but its head was the same diameter as the rest of its body. Harmless looking units; maybe they eat scorpions.

After the 4th day I’m getting used to the cadence of what foods to expect when. Boiled eggs, cucumbers, tomatoes, yogurt, cheese, chocolate spread and halva seem to be daily fare. Yes – halva! “How rotten is that?” I ask you. We ate this once as a treat when the kids still lived at home. I’m starting to turn it down here.

Yet the combinations of foods at each mealtime require that you hold loosely to your culinary traditions. At the dig site, breakfast is diced cucumber/tomato salad, bread, olives, jams and chocolate spread, milk, boiled eggs and pickled fish. Supper at the kibbutz is the same stuff. Lunch is the big meal and it always offers something that I cannot discern…and I’ve yet to be disappointed.

Amidst all this disparity in cuisine, I get razzed for putting chocolate milk in my cereal. My Father said there’d be days like this.

That’s what kind of day it was.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of a pointed trowel

The night’s sleep was scant. New country (except that it’s actually quite ancient), new bed (except for the mattress), new climate (except that the sun and moon signals some variance in daily temperatures), new food (except for its purpose) and new routine (except that it starts and ends with prayer)… get the picture?

After a day of blast furnace heat, any permanent resident of Canada would look forward to getting up in the morning. Why? Because everyone knows that the morning is a time of promise; promise of crisp fresh air and cool dew on the grass. But nope! The only dew at 4:45AM was the sweat beading up on my forehead and soaking my armpits as I walked to the bus that took us to the dig site… I’m thinking, “This is just so wrong on so many levels.”

I rustled up a scorpion. Glen got a good picture of it before Jessica put it to the sword. The skirmish reminded me of a certain Monty Python skit. (Can I write “Monty Python” in this blog?)

The drive was short, silent and shoulder to shoulder. When we arrived, the team essentially prepared the site for the business of excavation. Most of the team cleared bramble bushes and safety fencing. I helped set up shade screens but I would not know how vital these rickety iron frames would be until the sun started to rise.

Breakfast was served at 8AM chow line style. There was bowl of salad made of cucumbers, tomatoes, cucumbers and tomatoes that I was wishing I could just crawl into and roll around in. But opting not to make a scene, I humbly dobbled my plate with whatever each serving dish presented me with. Clint was asking me the whole time, “What is it?” to which I replied, “I don’t know.” The only thing I was sure of was the bread and boiled eggs. To be honest, I did not expect them to be cooked either. Given the newness of everything, how could I expect anything?

After all the screens were set up, I got thrust into my assigned excavation square – E0. The surprise was when the Supply Sergeant drove up with a bag of peaches. Not the ripest units in the orchard, but they were sweet and contained water – good enough for me.

By 1115AM I was whipped. It would have been nice to have someone follow me around with a wheel barrow… to keep my fanny from skipping off the ground. But within a clugmite I was sitting in the bus, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the eved’im.

Our evening devotions are conducted shore side. Take a look.

That’s what kind of day it was.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of a pointing trowel

Canada day! (eh Jessica?)
In the guise of a day long tour, we thrust into de-jetlagging. Hippos (a.k.a. Sussita) was the first stop. It was hotter than a fire cracker up there. Lots of stuff to gawk at – most of it was ancient. None of it fit my idea of home décor.

The columns you see (as long as the photo posts to this blog) fell down during a earth quake. The one pictured looks like a machined log – but it’s stone.

The place were I will shed most of my precious water composition is known as E0 - located in the lower right corner of the photo. Doesn’t look like much, but I’ll do my best to dig up the artifacts that Dr Schuler supposes are there… and I look forward to finding something that he does not. The question is – “Does he write his field notes in pencil?” :)

After Hippos we toodled around the shoreline of the Sea of Galilee, stopping at key locations that were either confirmed by the Logos or held as tradition. In Tabgha a church was built to commemorate the feeding of the 5000. Here is the famous mosaic that is in the floor underneath the altar.

Sightseeing was enlightening. But did I mention how hot it is here? This is me standing by the Sea of Galilee. Had it not been for the warning sign that said “No swimming or wading”, I assure you, this would have been a “before” picture.

And that’s what kind of day it was.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος