My travels to the land of Zion
Once upon a time there was a fair skinned boy who thought it a good idea to fly into the Ben Gurion airport and meet a girl that is a friend, a girl friend. After meeting they talked for a time and then took a bus, a very dangerous bus, all the way to Yaffo (Jaffa), where they lodged at a school building, idle for the summer, with many a comradely face around.
After a little nervous chitter-chatter with unknowns, the boy proceeded to feel more and more at home with his Hebrew, Arabic and Spanish speaking company.
The Arabs, whom were significantly segregated from the Jewish volunteers despite the camp's aim of uniting Arabs and Jews, whacked at a football and played with many hearts. The foreign lad, name of Michael, joined in, and willed his slow, limberless body to move at the speed of the game. When he scored a funny side-footed kick into the goal the native players applauded and said: "where you from, foreigner?" "The United States of America" said the boy. "Oh, USA! America good, George Bush bad, heh" "yeah, I guess" replied the guest.
A few hours later: people assemble massive speakers and start playing increasingly loud Hebrew Rap, and generally rhythmic middle eastern music. Those not dancing drum. The boys, or men, depending on what you call them, are unburdened by the endemic homophobia reflected in American culture. They dance with each other freely and without inhibition, with an occasional booty slap; the way most westernized males would only dance with females. Energy pours from everyone and into the night.
The fair skinned foreigner sits down and watches with his back angled against a tree, reminded that there are small waves of creative self-expression crashing on a vast and restrictive ocean of human conduct.
After a little nervous chitter-chatter with unknowns, the boy proceeded to feel more and more at home with his Hebrew, Arabic and Spanish speaking company.
The Arabs, whom were significantly segregated from the Jewish volunteers despite the camp's aim of uniting Arabs and Jews, whacked at a football and played with many hearts. The foreign lad, name of Michael, joined in, and willed his slow, limberless body to move at the speed of the game. When he scored a funny side-footed kick into the goal the native players applauded and said: "where you from, foreigner?" "The United States of America" said the boy. "Oh, USA! America good, George Bush bad, heh" "yeah, I guess" replied the guest.
A few hours later: people assemble massive speakers and start playing increasingly loud Hebrew Rap, and generally rhythmic middle eastern music. Those not dancing drum. The boys, or men, depending on what you call them, are unburdened by the endemic homophobia reflected in American culture. They dance with each other freely and without inhibition, with an occasional booty slap; the way most westernized males would only dance with females. Energy pours from everyone and into the night.
The fair skinned foreigner sits down and watches with his back angled against a tree, reminded that there are small waves of creative self-expression crashing on a vast and restrictive ocean of human conduct.