Yerusalem If I Forget You

I recently returned from a family trip to Israel where we spent almost three weeks traveling the country, visiting with family and my personal favorite, hanging out at the beach. Though I have been to Israel many times and have studied in Tel Aviv for six months I always end up having an experience that alters something inside of me. And this time was no different.

Midway through our trip we visited Jerusalem for a full day. When visiting this city of many millennia it is easy to see how it has captured the awe and imagination of centuries of Jewish, Christian and Muslim pilgrims. They come from afar to worship at their respective holy sites cramped right next to each other. Though the holiest place in Judaism, the Kotel (Western Wall), is situated only meters away from the second holiest place in Christianity, the Church of the Holy Seplucar, and the third holiest in Islam, al-Aqsa, they are separated by a gulf that spans miles.

Not only does this gap exist from religion to religion but within all three faiths, though not to the same degree. Each religion is divided into various subgroups that have the same fundamental tenets but differ in their traditions and observances. Why they become fractured varies across all three but Christianity and Islam have a long history of sectarian violence (wiki ‘sectarian violence’ for more detail) between their subgroups while Judaism has not had the same conflicts erupt between its denominations. This could be due to the fact that Conservative and Reform Judaism have only been around for a relatively short period of time or that discussion and arguments are encouraged, whereas in the other two religions, central authorities have the final say on religious dogma.

This all relates to my trip to Jerusalem for when I went to the Kotel I was approached by a man offering to assist me with leining tefilin. I politely declined wanting to experience the Kotel in my own way and not feeling the connection between prayer and commitment to my Judaism. He questioned me on why I would not partake in this ritual and we had a respectful discussion on religion, prayer, and intention during prayer. This was all well until an older orthodox rabbi from a Philadelphian suburb came over into the discussion. I respectfully listened to the points he was making (though unconvinced) and waited for my turn to respond. However, he did not give me a chance to voice my opinion and began cutting me off only after a few words. It is this stuck in the mud opinions that make it harder for compromise, unity and put off non-highly observant Jews from the religion.

But to make it worse he told my father that it was his sin for raising a son who would not put on tefilin. This bothered me the most for questioning and reasoning rather than blind obedience have been the traits that I have taken from my parents, religion and education.

Whats Actually at the Center?

I post these blogs knowing that others might read them, but in fact I am worried that someone will. Why worried you ask? A combination of insecurity and tomfoolery. Writing, like anything that one shares with others needs to elicit a reaction, nothing major, maybe just a little chuckle, sigh or rage but something that moves the neurons in one's brain. But my writing barely moves me how could it be anything but rambling to anyone else? When I was traveling I always had something to say that would draw a comment, but now all i get is empty pages and words that drag on like Brett Farve's career.

Finding ...

So who knows. I feel, as many others do that there are more questions than answers. How are we supposed to proceed when at every turn there are greater unknowns and the only thing that is certain is that its going to be a ride. And most of the time one that is slow, with little thrill and pit stops along the way. But (I know its frowned upon but I like starting sentences with conjunctions) what else is there to do except move forward at a pace that is both comfortable but one that does not drown you with boring nothing.
I find myself wasting time on things of no consequence to anything. I find myself bored and unable to find something stimulating that both is productive (in a broad sense) and of interest. I find that I like to learn, but I have no original ideas and can't understand some concepts that I believe I should.

New Life

I find that life experience is the most powerful muse that a person can have. Its through certain experiences that we learn about ourselves and measure our life on the scale that we choose, whether this be professionally, socially, or anything else. And lately I have been wondering where my experiences of the past two months in San Diego have left me on my life path.
More to come

Yellowstone Day 1

Over the past month I have started on the proverbial ‘new chapter’ of my life. This ‘chapter’ comes in between graduating from university and contributing member of society. I spent part of this time in Ann Arbor but most of it back home in Harrisburg, PA, periodically working but mostly just lounging around the house and pool lackadaisically. Once August came around I was itching to get out of Harrisburg, not because I hated living with my parents after living with friends for the past four years, but that Harrisburg is an unattractive place for a 22 year old.

Earlier in the summer I was give the opportunity to go to India and Thailand for about a month with a friend from my semester abroad. However, if I went I probably would have squandered all of my money on the trip. Instead I decided to visit my one of my closest childhood friends, Ethan, in Yellowstone National Park, where he was working at one of the lodges. This seemed like the vacation for me, free accommodations, inexpensive food and the thrill of the great open outdoors. I arrived on a Thursday after spending the night in DC with another of one of my closest friends, Jon. I flew in to Jackson Hole, WY (actually the airport was in Moose Junction, but trivial little fact) a small town nestled at the base of the Grand Teton mountain range and the national park of the same name. As we were flying there wasn’t much on the ground to look at, however, as our plane was 10 minutes before landing the pilot banked the plane left and boojakasha! out of nowhere the Tetons appeared in its all encompassing glory. The magnificence of the mountains leaves mere mortals in awe of its size and beauty.

Before I go any further you need to know a little about Ethan. We met and became friends in the fifth grade (my first year in public school); we were introduced by another one of our friends Jahred. Throughout middle and high school we became really close friends and after high school Ethan would spend his summers in national parks (Yosemite, Yellowstone, Grand Canyon) photographing in his words “beautiful country.” He is also one of the best storytellers that I have ever met, he makes everyone laugh with his colorful way of recounting the truth with just the right amount of twist. This also comes out in his photography, though nothing to laugh at, he is an artist who can capture epic photos in digital and film. Ethan can also hold a conversation with anyone, I asked him a few times after he would be speaking with someone if he knew them, he would answer no and he was being friendly.

As soon as I walked off the plane and into the airport, Ethan met me with a grin and a hug. We gathered my bags (the first off of the luggage carousel) and headed to a lookout off the road to get some photos of the Tetons. As we were shooting clouds began to form overhead, and dropped a little rain on us. We waited it out for about ten minutes then continued taking pictures for another ten minutes. We stopped at Old Faithful (Ol’ Filthy as Ethan calls it), in between Jackson and Canyon Village where Ethan lives, to see it explode and the other geysers and vents around it. Yellowstone sits on top of an inactive volcano, which heats up subsurface waters to boiling temperatures that then seeps, spews and spits up from geysers and vents across the park, of which Ol’ Filth is the most well known. As luck would have it we pulled into the parking lot just as Old Faithful was going off and would have to wait about 90 minutes before the next eruption. This worked out great for Ethan who wanted to get the erupting column of boiling sulfuric water as the sun was setting, casting shadows and marvelous oranges and reds in the dusk sky.

After another hour of driving we finally reached Ethan’s dorm that is identical to most college dorms with small rooms, bunk beds and communal bathrooms. Luckily, his roommate had been kicked out and only Ethan lived there giving me the top bunk to sleep in.

No Use For A Title

When I started this blog I intended to write more than two entries, but as life goes, I forgot about it and to be truthful haven't had much content to add. This is due partially to the uneventful weeks at home and the lack of motivation and and effort to write anything. But, as I lie in my bed unable to fall asleep I deem this the perfect time to restart my grasp at fame in the blogosphere.
So where to start? The past 8 weeks have been filled with days of watching TV, reading, working for my pops, swimming, running, biking and working out. I have almost finished the entire series of the West Wing (watching mostly online) and have thrown out most of my old music and replaced it with a combination of classic rock, the Beatles and techno. I drove 20 hours to Chicago and back in less than a week for what can be classified as a gluteus maximus rendezvous with an older woman. While working one day I had to pull weeds/vines off the side of a house. Only ulnucky for me they turned out to be poison ivy and one of the reasons I am unable to fall asleep peacefully now. That is all for now. If you haven't seen the Hangover, go see it, you'll get an ab workout from laughing.

Home Cooking

It has been a little over a week since my return to Harrisburg, the land of my parents. Though I consider Harrisburg my hometown and hate when people put it down, I no longer consider Harrisburg my home. Initially, this came as a surprise to me because I have a strong connection to the place and the people here, but after three and a half years (one semester in TLV) of living in Ann Arbor I can no longer call Harrisburg my home, it has switched to my parent's home. After moving out, they switched rooms around, added a nice deck and given my brother reign over the entire basement. So where is my home? I am going to be a bit of a nomad, though I don't feel like a Jack Kerouac character from "On the Road," traveling around with Harrisburg being my base to come back to when I need a break from the road.