Life in Jerusalem

Remember that raven in The Magician's Nephew? The one who was the first joke in Narnia? It's clear that God wants lots of laughter in the world, because I'm frequently a joke myself. Nearly always to my delight! I'm so thankful that the experience of semi-literacy that comes with learning a language is nearly always a source of lighthearted entertainment, and not frustration. Because the simplest things can be pretty complicated sometimes.

Take buying yeast. I went shopping with Mamma the other day, and that's what she needed. I don't know the word in Hebrew, so I decided to just comb the store for it. That didn't work, so I finally worked up enough courage to approach a guy stocking the produce section. "Excuse me, do you speak English?"

He didn't, but indicated willingness to work with me. So I continued in Hebrew, twenty-questions style: "It's something for bread."

"Flour?" he asked.

"No."

"Shmarim?"

"I don't know." He was walking purposefully across the store while I kept giving him clues. "It's like pickles...no! I mean leaven!" (It's not so crazy in Hebrew, because chamutzim and chametz are related to 'sour' and sound alike!) We soon reached the refrigerated case, where he pulled out a cake of.... yeast. Yes! Shmarim it was. (And no, I still don't know the word: I had to look it up in the dictionary. Maybe I should take it with me when I go shopping).

Maybe, but it might not be half as much fun!

- by Elisabeth Adams

Step Aside, Indiana Jones - Part Two

We found pottery roof tiles, thick pottery oven lining, and the occasional mosaic piece. Oh, and I found part of a ring-shaped pottery stand for pointy-bottomed pots. Meanwhile, the excitable young man hit the jackpot: he found not one, but two coins in his drain! Tiny, slightly irregularly shaped coins no bigger than the tip of your pinky finger. People crowded around to see and photograph them.

Pretty soon it was 9 am, and time for breakfast. The dozen or so of us all sat under the low-slung tarp near the entrance, and while I ate my yogurt , my cheese sandwich, and a few almonds, everyone else dug into the puddings, peppers, cucumbers, grapes, blue cheese and very white "dark wheat" bread sent by the hotel where they were staying.

And we were back to work. Our square was no bigger than a small room, and there was some difficulty in fitting up to six people in it at once. I had trouble knowing what to do with my feet and legs, and spent a lot of time crouched on my heels (a decision I was later to painfully regret). But if I thought I was having trouble, it was nothing compared to that of a big, burly Paul Bunyan sort of guy by the name of Tim, who spent a lot of time carting heavy goofas of dirt away from the site.

As I dug, I came upon half a dozen or so palm-sized potsherds that looked like they belonged together. Rather than being tumbled amidst soil, they looked like they were laid out on a surface. Our leader noticed what I had found, and got a little excited. It just might mean that we were reaching the floor of a room. As I continued uncovering shards, he coached me to lay aside my trowel, and not make the mistake of prying them out of the ground. They were to stay just as they were, while I brushed loose dirt away from them with a small broom. Meanwhile, in another corner of the room, stones were beginning to appear. I'm under the impression that we were digging in the Late Roman Period (after the destruction of the Temple in 70 AD), with a few first century items popping up here and there.

People were going by on the path above the site, and on the sidewalk below it: Ethiopian Jews, some in white suits and kippas, a colorful Christian group from Africa, a few Israeli adults on tour with a personal guide, large groups of Israeli schoolchildren on field trips. They all asked the same question: "Did you find anything?" I had enough Hebrew to understand the question, but I didn't have the Hebrew to answer. Besides, I didn't know what they'd been finding there all week long, before I got there. "Yes, a few small things," I said once.

"Time to clean up!" Someone took down the canopy, and almost immediately, I felt myself beginning to dehydrate under the intense sun. Whew! Thank God for shade while it lasted! Some people got busy squaring the edges of the areas with a miniature pick, while others swept away loose dirt. Anything that we came up with from these actions was thrown away, since it wasn't clear what layer they were from. As a result, one of the ladies go to walk away with a really beautiful jug handle. (Yes, I said "beautiful." When you're dealing with innumerable faceless flat shards of pottery, rims, handles and bases have a lot to say about the vessel they came from).

And just like that, we were done. Everyone's cameras came out, and people snapped last pictures of the site, pictures we'd been too busy to capture before. We stacked all the equipment by the wall that separated us from the road, which separated us from the parking lot. To get to the nearest opening in that wall would've been a bit of a hike, so some resourceful person had leaned a ladder over the wall. And that's how we got down to the street.

Arriving home dirty and elated, I was amazed at how fresh I felt. Of course, a couple of hours later, my knees and forearms began to be very sore...and by the next day, I was hobbling around painfully and feeling like an octogenarian myself.

But it was all so worth it!

Rarely have I been so relaxed or had so much fun! I guess I may not know until I get to heaven, whether I succeeded in being a good ambassador to the people I worked with, but I do know that praying for them will be successful!

- by Elisabeth Adams

Step Aside, Indiana Jones - Part One

I think I want to be an archaeologist when I grow up.

For the past several months, I've been helping my professor with research and writing. Last semester, at his request, I attended some of the graduate seminar lectures on Qumran - which we were writing about at the time. However, I didn't expect to continue the practice this semester. I continued working at my little computer screen, until one day my professor walked in and suggested that I attend the lecture that night.

Who, me?

Yes. (And, it turns out, he really meant all semester long).

Our first lecturer was an Israeli who has been professionally involved in archaeology since he was a young boy. As a teenager, he painstakingly mapped out tomb layouts. Now he directs digs of his own. After class, I found myself having dinner with my professor, the archaeologist, and his assistant, a German girl I'll call Maia. Earlier I'd seen her in pictures, fearlessly braving spiders to explore the burial niches in first century tombs. Other than that, her job is pretty much like mine: attend lectures, and do research. She spends hours translating archaeological reports from German into English, but her passion is most definitely the actual digging, and when she found out I'd never experienced it, she promised to let me know when their next dig came up.

Fast forward lots of weeks, in which I amazedly found myself understanding a bit about mitochondrial DNA, signa and triglyphs, and in which Maia and I continued to become friends. Then came the evening when I sat down in the lecture room at Hebrew University, and Maia immediately turned to me and said, "It's on Sunday!"

That's when the long-awaited archaeological dig would begin.

My alarm went off at 4:45 next morning. Bandana, check. Sneakers, check. Packed breakfast, check. Sunscreen, check. By 5:30, I was sitting at the bus stop, not at all sure when the buses actually started running. Fifteen minutes later, Bus 12 showed up. "That's funny," I thought. "I don't remember seeing that bus at our stop before." The bus stopped, the doors swung open, and the driver called out, "Forty-one!" My bus. (Never mind the number 12 clearly displayed on its front). I spent the rest of the ride smiling to myself as the bus driver called out, "Forty-one!" at every single stop. In answer to his puzzled passengers, he simply said, "That's what's written. What can we do?"

It was a glorious morning. And of course, since it was the anniversary of the recapture of the Old City, I couldn't help thinking about the battle that had raged there forty years before, as I entered through Jaffa Gate, wound through the Armenian Quarter, and walked out bullet-scarred Zion Gate. I turned left and began looking for the dig. Ah, there it was: in the grassy area between the Old City wall and the street, ringed with a wire fence, and already busy-looking. It was six-thirty, and everyone had been working for half an hour. I hitched up my backpack, and stepped over the fence.

Maia introduced me to the women, and before I knew it, we were chatting away while we sifted through one or two of the dozen or two of huge totes full of dirt from the day before. Bones, I learned, went into one of those tiny cardboard boxes. Pottery, of course, went into the bucket. And there was no need to be fussy: there's always more dirt to get through!

Pretty soon one of the leaders called us over to our square. To get to it, we had to walk through a square that was about a yard deep, and sported the edge of a Byzantine mosaic. They'd removed the mosaic in our square, and gone down another several feet. Ancient stone walls hemmed us in, and overhead a thick mesh canopy protected us from the sun. In one corner was a narrow drain which was undergoing the ministrations of an excitable young man and a calm middle-aged lady. A few feet away was the third square, narrower and deeper than ours, and attended by several of the guy students and a hired Arab helper.

We got right down to business, breaking up the top inch or two with a small pick, before simply crouching on our heels and doing more sifting through dirt with our hands, and pulling out pottery. It was thickly laced with pottery shards: sometimes handles or spouts, once part of a lamp (which was exciting because they are distinctive and easier to use for dating than other pottery). "What's this?" I kept saying, and my fellow diggers were most patient about answering. I quickly learned that the answer to "What is it?" was nearly always "Bone." Didn't matter that sometimes it's clearly a bone, complete with a nubbly joint, while other times it's long and shiny, and still other times porous and crumbling. The spot must have been trash heap or a kitchen, because there was lots and lots of bone.

The most ticklish item was charcoal. Yes, plain ordinary charcoal. Apparently it can be used for carbon dating the layer. If you don't touch it with your bare hands, that is. Oops. I got me a pair of Muppet-esque gloves just for picking up charcoal, but learned a much better way by watching the others: pick it up with the tip of your pointed trowel, and slip it gently into one of the miniature plastic bags for storage in the special finds box. Also into that box went: bits of Roman glass, with that lovely mother-of-pearl look that it gets after being buried for a couple of millennia. Once I found a chunk of packed earth which simply had a paper-thin layer of the sheen from glass that was no longer there. Oh yes, we found worms, too. I felt bad for them, as they got dumped into the goofas (rubber baskets) and trundled off to the growing row of giant totes.

Did I mention the fact that there's no need to be slow, because there's always more dirt to get through? Our hands flew to find just a few more shards, and start on the next level. It was amazing how quickly it became ordinary to sort stuff I should be staring at in a museum case. Perhaps my gardening experience came through, because I felt as if I'd always been doing this sifting-through-dirt thing. I was having a blast!

...to be continued

- by Elisabeth Adams

The Torah Story

The moment my eyes fell on the cover of The Torah Story I was, like any good bibliophile, aching to get my hands on it and just sit and read.

It is a textbook, yet accessible to the lay person. While addressing complex topics and drawing together the Torah and its Biblical context in an unprecedented way, it remains readable. And better yet, digestible. Study questions, Key terms, summaries and resources all aid the reader in comprehending the material for the long-term.

"The reality of this epochal preoccupation with the Torah means that anyone who wishes to understand the faith and writings of the Judaic and Christian religions, or even to understand the life and teachings of Old or New Testament persons, must devote himself or herself to Torah study. For those who do not have a working knowledge of the holy writings that Paul, for example, studied throughout his entire life, Paul's own writings will remain a mystery or be misread, as they often are."

"Background studies--such as historical, tradition, source, redaction, and canonical criticism-can be best appropriated by those who know the story itself [Natalie: And if some of those terms are unfamiliar, all the more reason to begin with a solid foundation instead of drowning over peripheral issues!]. This book, then, is not all one will ever need, but simply the first step, an important step, for the apprentice" (pgs. 13-14).

About as current as they come...

Both my dad and youngest brother spent many hours the last few months with their noses buried in thick books.

I finally realized the significance of the books. Once Dad told me the story of Joel Rosenburg's life and writing I raced to my laptop to research it for myself. Very, very intriguing.

Mortimer Zuckerman, editor-in-chief of U.S. News & World Report writes on Russia's president Vladimir Putin in the February 27th, 2007 issue. Putin's animosity towards the West being of significant concern in and of itself, it is even more interesting that Rosenburg wrote about the rise of a new Russian dictator in his book--last year.

[Joel] is also the founder and president of the Joshua Fund, a nonprofit charitable and educational organization that provides humanitarian relief for victims of war and terrorism in Israel and the Muslim world

The first page of his first novel-The Last Jihad-puts you inside the cockpit of a hijacked jet, coming in on a kamikaze attack into an American city, which leads to a war with Saddam Hussein over weapons of mass destruction. Yet it was written before 9/11, long before the actual war with Iraq....

His second thriller-The Last Days-opens with the death of Yasser Arafat and a U.S. diplomatic convoy ambushed in Gaza. Six days before The Last Days was published in hardcover, a U.S. diplomatic convoy was ambushed in Gaza. Thirteen months later, Yasser Arafat died...

The Ezekiel Option centers on a Russian dictator who forms a military alliance with the leaders of Iran who are feverishly pursuing nuclear weapons and threatening to wipe Israel off the face of the earth. On the very day it was published in June 2005, Iran elected a new leader who vowed to accelerate the country's nuclear program and later vowed to "wipe Israel off the map." Six months after the book was published, Moscow signed a $1 billion arms deal with Tehran. (bio)...

To appreciate Rosenburg's unsurpassed understanding and insight into world events current and future, you'll have to check out his blog and read through the prologues to his books. His latest, Epicenter, is non-fiction answering the questions and explaining what is really going on in the Middle East. As a former aide to Israel's prime minister, he is uniquely stationed to observe events as they unfold.

Joel's books
Last Jihad
Last Days
Ezekiel Option
Copper Scroll
Epicenter

Journey - Part Three

For as long as I can remember I knew I wanted to be either a mommy or a missionary--or both! I dreamed of the day I could finally travel to the Third World countries to work with the orphans, the lepers, the displaced and hungry. An African hut sounded great--bring on the adventure!

As the years passed I set foot in Morocco, China, and Syria. I planned to learn Arabic, buy my food fresh in the market everyday and wear the salwar I bought in a Chicago Pakistani neighborhood. My lifelong yearning to see Israel came to fruition last year. Yet with the fulfillment of one dream came the final death of another.

One thing I neglected to mention above about my time in Morocco, China, and the Middle East was how sick I became. Every trip started well. Sometime in the first third of the visit I would begin to get sick. In every case I became so miserably ill that I could barely sleep or eat--I just wanted to go home...or die. Some of my most vivid memories of all those countries revolve around the sleepless nights spent on the floor of the bathroom. Or counting the minutes until the bus would stop and I could lie down.

Long before Israel Dad had gently broached the idea that I might not be strong enough for the kind of rigorous life I desired. But stubbornness is an inherited trait. I can do it! Let me try. Not until the third day of our trip, on the shores of the Sea of Galilee did I finally give in and understand. I can't do this. And I was devastated.

There I was, in the place I wanted to be more than anywhere else on earth--with the people I most wanted to be with--exploring ancient ruins and digs, climbing mountains and visiting kibbutzim and I could barely eat or walk. Why, God? Why can't I do it? I'm trying so hard. Sometime during that trip--probably the same morning I was sitting in the hotel chair at 3 am trying to eat crackers while counting how many days I had to survive before going home--I gave up. And a burden rolled off my shoulders I had not realized was even present.

My dad taught me that I am not less of a person because I am fragile. "Use the gifts and talents God has given you," he says. I clearly do not have the gifts of an iron stomach and stalwart immune system. I do possess a love of the written word and burden to encourage and "love on" young ladies. My heartbeat is for ministry--which can even be done cross-culturally without leaving the Midwest thanks to our new global society. I could stop trying to force myself to be something other than what God made me to be.

Recently a friend posed a profound question. "Does God give us dreams and desires only to tell us no? Are they tests? Or am I not enough in tune with God if I am feeling this disappointment?"

Is it just me or does it appear that the further one journeys the more questions one finds?

For the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body.

If the whole body were an eye, where would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one body (1 Cor. 12:14-20).

Perhaps my part in the Body is not as adventurous or physical or even noticeable. I did not choose my part--God did. Believe me, my choice of dreams, thorns, and experiences would have been far different. Praise God that He is sovereign and we are under the shadow of His wings.

to be continued...

Five Continents in a Day

On Thursday morning we ran out of muesli for breakfast, a catastrophe that sent me to the shuk. By way of the Old City, of course (a very roundabout way). After greeting a couple of old friends at the Christian bookstore inside Jaffa Gate and ascertaining the fact that our favorite gift shop in the Jewish Quarter was hopelessly thronged with tourists, I was off for the shuk in earnest, where I snagged about nine pounds of oatmeal, and sundry other delicacies.

Returning home with my booty, I learned that the usual Thursday evening class was canceled. Unfortunately, not everybody else heard the news. And so, at about six o'clock, who should arrive but our Chinese friend Linda. I delivered the bad news, hastening to add, "But you can sit down and have tea and cookies!" So sit down she did. Douglas had informed us that she was part of a mysterious "Back to Jerusalem" movement in China, and here was my chance to learn more! "Tell me," I said, "how you came to be in Israel."

Everybody in Jerusalem has a story of how they came to be here, and Linda's was typically amazing. It all started when she was in her last year of seminary, praying for God to show her the next step. "It will be someplace very far away," a godly friend told her. But where? On semester breaks, Linda tried out the mission field in Thailand. The missionaries there wanted her to stay, but God showed Linda the image of harvested fields. This area already had all the workers it needed. So she kept praying...and dreaming of visiting Israel as soon as she graduated.

Then someone said, "Why don't you go to Eilat?" Eilat? Where was that? Turned out that it is the southernmost city in Israel. "No!" Linda thought. She wanted to visit Israel, not minister there. But through a friend, someone contacted her about a ministry to the Chinese construction workers in Eilat. And God said, "Go."

Linda's pastor and elders, however, said, "You're fresh out of seminary! You've got to stay home and practice for two or three more years."

"Please God," she prayed. "Change their minds." And He did. Now there was the question of money, but God provided just enough. And then came the bombshell: the Christian workers in Eilat emailed her and said, "The Chinese have stopped coming, and we don't need you anymore."

But Linda knew that God wanted her there, and she replied, "When they know that there's an interpreter again, they'll come back." She was right: forty Chinese are now getting ministry every weekend, when she leaves her busy student life and makes the three or four hour bus trip to Eilat.

As Linda and I were talking, there was a knock at the door, and in came "Ben" and Emmanuel. Again, I delivered the bad news, and again I followed it with an invitation to tea and cookies. That made four of us in the kitchen. Ben is an Arab pastor, and Emmanuel is a pastor from Nigeria. A picture of Emmanuel's wife and four small sons hangs on our bulletin board, and he was all pride as he explained that his wife is studying in a seminary at home. Then, since no lecture was forthcoming, he cheerfully offered us a lecture for free. The subject? Nigeria's Christian history. It goes back to about 1897, when three young men, one from the US, one from Britain, and one from Canada, decided to go to Nigeria as missionaries. "It's a white man's graveyard!" everybody said. The natives, Emmanuel told us, didn't recognize white people as human, and so they ate them.

Ate them? As the only Caucasian in the room, I looked a bit startled. We all shared a laugh as Emmanuel continued his story: those three crazy young men actually went to Nigeria, and sure enough: two of them died of malaria. The third went home, studied tropical medicine, and returned with a brand new team of missionaries. And that's why there's a church in Nigeria today.

Ben, meanwhile, had pulled out his computer and turned on the screen. As soon as Emmanuel was done, he had some questions to ask about the different religions in Nigeria. Emmanuel's parents had converted to Christianity from animism. Emmanuel's wife had been a Muslim. Pulling up some Arabic text on the screen, Ben began reading from the transcript of an interview that had been Al Jhazera, an influential Arab TV station. Back in the year 2000, he told us, the sheik of Libya had made some pretty amazing statements about Christianity in Africa: including the claim that six million Muslims are becoming Christians every year. The few but highly publicized conversions of Christians to Islam, apparently, are mere sedatives to the jealous Muslim people.

Six million. Amazing news, if it is indeed true!

Soon after our guests left, our Aussie chef arrived home from another class, making five continents in my kitchen in one day.

- by Elisabeth Adams

Jesus Family Tomb

You may have noticed that a certain bone box is all over the news this week. In their documentary (due to be released March 4), "Titanic" director James Cameron and Orthodox Jewish producer Simcha Jacobovici document their great archaeological find: the burial place of a certain "Mariamne," "Judah, son of Jesus," and "Jesus, son of Joseph," What are the odds that all these names would appear together in one tomb? According to Cameron and Jacobovici, the statistics lean heavily (600 to 1) in their favor.

Or do they?

Actually, the news has broken before. Twenty years ago. And again, eleven years ago.

Tonight, I sat in my kitchen working while a class was going on in the next room...and when it came time for a slide show, I was invited to join in the fun. Projected on the wall was a huge photo of the offending bone box, with the inscription in clear view. First of all, this is no carefully carved inscription. But Dr. P pointed out more: The names have been scratched into the soft stone in sprawling and careless handwriting.

The surface is further marred with slanting scratches that cross and blend in with the angular letters. It looks a piece of scrap paper would if you wrote one word, and rather than erasing it, you merely added a few strokes to change it to another word. Or like a battered surface with the
words partially obsured by scratches. Worst-preserved is the first word. Does it say "Yeshua" (Jesus)? Does it say "Chanun?" What in the world does it say?

Needless to say, there's a little "healthy skepticism" to be applied to this particular documentary. If you're curious, you can check out Dr. Pfann's perspective on the name statistics here: http://www.uhl.ac/. If you'd like to watch an interview, you can visit:
http://www.cbn.com/CBNnews/109704.aspx.
And if you still want to read more...http://blog.bibleplaces.com/ and
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talpiot_Tomb

Hebrew Capers

Today I got a Hebrew magazine in the mail. Yes, at last the Israeli mail system knows I am here. But don't worry: my incognito is intact. You see, some time ago I signed up for a membership with the National Parks service. I tried to be clever, and fill out the application form in Hebrew. It was pretty simple, and in fact the only thing I misspelled was my name. Uh-huh. My name.

The Hebrew form of my name is Elisheva, you see. However, I am not a Hebrew, and so I wrote it in transliterated English: Elisabeth. At least, that's what I was supposed to do. Actually, I accidentally concocted a painful hybrid that (once the National Parks people added a letter or two) morphed me into a male. So when my National Parks card arrived, it read: Eli Shavtai Adams.

When I showed it to Steve Jr. (who grew up speaking Hebrew), he comforted me with the news that my new middle name also belonged to a medieval false messiah. In fact, he once met a fellow with a rather odd nickname. When Steve asked him why he allowed people to call him this, he answered in a pained whisper, "Because my real name is Shavtai!"

Well, it's a lovely magazine. Called "For the Land," it's decorated with a watercolor painting of a duck. Perhaps Eli Shavtai won't mind if I look at it, since he's not here at the moment.

In other Hebrew news, I am immensely enjoying the translation at church. Not that I understand more than half of the actual words, but even so, it acts as a sort of echo sermon. Besides, trying to figure it out adds a great deal of spice to my listening. A particularly erudite American pastor was that the helm last night, and I was fascinated at the capable way in which young Mike, the translator, handled the challenges thrown at him thick and fast.

I love discovering when idioms translate - and when they don't. It's also interesting to see how the way you translate words can reflect a certain perspective, or a certain sensitivity present in your audience. "Christians," for instance, became the literal mashichim (Messianics) rather than the standard modern Hebrew notzrim (which comes from "Nazareth.") Other times, it was the familiar ma'aminim (believers) that everybody in the Israeli Christian - er, believing - community habitually uses.

Other translations were just plain funny. Among my favorites was the women's swap announcement. He had been translating from English to Hebrew when they called a Hebrew-speaking lady up front to give the instructions for this event. "Blah, blah, blah," she said in Hebrew. "Blah, blah, blah," he immediately returned in perfect echo: same language and everything! After a good laugh, he switched to the proper language, in time to transmit kitchen items to his English-speaking listeners - as "Tupperware!" Later on, when Mike returned to his Hebrew, he straight-facedly delivered "centipedes" as many feet, and in the context of a story about Emperor penguins, a "chick" as a penguin baby.

There was content to the meeting too, don't worry. I learned about the Christian military advisor God placed in Saddam Hussein's army "for such a time as this." (You can read about it in Saddam's Secrets by Georges Sada). I also was encouraged to "cry out" to Jesus. Like the disciples, who cried out as Jesus was about to pass them by, walking on water; like the crippled man at Jericho who ignored repeated commands to shut up, and cried out louder, they got His attention, and pleased Him with their faith.

- by Elisabeth Adams

Do Your Ears Hang Low?

Remember that exhibit? The one I've been recruiting volunteers for? The one I hefted pillars for? The one I've been telling everybody about? Perhaps you've noticed that I've been a little exited about it. The promise of spiritual benefit for others, the sense of camaraderie in the work, the mystery of ancient bone-boxes, and the Israeli tang all added up to a pretty tantalizing concoction. (And the tiny feeling of ownership that came with helping edit the scripts didn't hurt, either). Needless to say, I was really looking forward to this last Monday. A lot.

Monday arrived at last. Bright and early, three dear neighbors, my family, and I headed towards the big city, the block-sized building, and the huge room. There it was, all the doors flung open, and banners announcing the exhibit everywhere. My friend Tisha was at the ticket counter, and I gleefully introduced every family member in sight. Then we got our headsets and walked through the brightly-colored bazaar to the entrance. At first sight, the completed setup reminded me of the tent of meeting, with tiers of tabbed curtains hung everywhere. I feasted my eyes, but it was the auditory that I was anticipating the most. Would I recognize the script? Would any small scrap of my creativity be there, however anonymous a part?

We stood before the opening screen. Ah, there was the familiar archaeologist-narrator, saying words that were laugh-out-loud deja-vu. Clearly the script I had read so carefully. Oh good, they changed the archaeologist's name, just as my professor suggested: not Rex, but Daniel. We walked into the first room and the oral story continued. Obviously the same story, but just as obviously the great-grandchild of script I had grown to know - or perhaps even a great-grandnephew. In fact, after the opening video, the unfolding script was all new to me.

I came back to earth with a gentle bump, as I began to realize just what a small cog I am in the great machine that produced this exhibit. But terra firma felt good, and with my curiosity about the fate of the script satisfied, I enjoyed the whole thing - bone boxes, chatty Atlanta security guards, towering palms, Antartic air-conditioning, pensive statutes, Roman glass, the rather rad 3-D glasses, and all.

And there we were, back in the bazaar. In front of the Thomas Kinkade booth, where paintings hung, a middle-aged gentleman from Texas attended, and a video of Kinkade's visit to Israel played. Of course I had to point out my professor's wife, the calm, capable Claire who squired Thomas and Nanette about the Holy Land. Clearly Mr. Texas had been having a boring morning, because he immediately pulled out his cell phone and requested a photo op - with me! Then he whipped off the picture to his daughter, and to Kinkade himself - who, I assured him, would not know who I was! My far-from-boring morning was brightened still more as he glowingly announced his upcoming maiden voyage to Israel and blessed me with a few postcards depicting Jesus at prayer over Jerusalem. Certainly nothing about being small cogs kept either of us from blessing the other!

My daddy says that everybody needs their ears lowered once in a while, by which, of course, he means not thinking of ourselves more highly than we ought to think. (Romans 12:3) He was right...but he forgot to tell me how rewarding it can be.

- by Elisabeth Adams

Lebanon four months ago...

...looks much differently than it does today. These three pictures are some of my favorites right now. The first is at the mouth of the Jordan River, right near the Lebanese border. Some soldiers were visiting Tel Dan at the same time we did.

A town just inside Lebanon--beautiful and peaceful.


A little boy who hung around us when we were in the Judean wilderness. I'll not forget his face.

Two reasons to go...

1. The people.

2. The people.

They thank you for coming.

They delight to be with you. (These girls went swimming with me in the desert--at the oasis of En Gedi near Qumran by the Dead Sea.)

Israel...will have no peace

For now. For a while longer.

My traveling companion, Amy Anderson, just sent me CDs of her pictures from our trip to the Middle East. Some of them are too incredible to keep to myself. I thought I would share a few here....I also posted a few more on my photography blog.The Wailing Wall...taken from the entrance to the Temple Mount.

Israel's conflicts escalate

Though on the other side of the globe, we will not ignore. We will not turn our backs. Christians in Gaza face the grim reality of war. Read at the VOM blog here.

I read the news these days and just want to cry. In Jerusalem, you can feel the tension in the air. You could even back in March--and back then none of us had any idea what was coming. Israel declaring war on Lebanon? Nazareth and Capernaum have both been hit by katyushas. Residents of the coastal plain from Tel Aviv up to Haifa have been told that they need to stay close to buildings and be prepared to take shelter immediately upon hearing a 60-second warning by air raid siren.

When I was there, it seemed one of the most peaceful spots on earth (aside from the old land mines barricaded by barbed wire...and the tanks...and the soldiers with rifles). But....how I love that land. The land blessed with the coming of the Prince of Peace...the land where more battles and wars have been fought than any other place on earth--in all of history.

Related information at Fox News here.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem (Psalm 122).

From a friend in Israel....

Sent at 5 am, Central Standard Time

At approximately 9:05 am this morning (Israeli time) the Islamist terror group Hezbollah opened up a massive katyusha rocket and mortar attack on Israel's northern farms in the western Galilee. Eight Israeli were injured according to initial reports.

Evidently the attack was a cover ruse to kidnap Israeli soldiers. Two IDF soldiers engaged in a routine Hummer patrol on the Israeli side close to the international border were kidnapped by Hezbollah during the attack. Within an hour Hezbollah's Al-Manar TV announced the kidnap, and within an hour later the Israel Defense Forces spokesman acknowledged the strong probability that a kidnap had occurred.

At this moment, Hezbollah mortars are falling on Israeli kibbutzim and moshavim. IDF jets have blown up a bridge in south Lebanon in an attempt to slow down the terrorists from fleeing deeper into Lebanon, and are shelling Hezbollah positions along the border in that area.

Victory celebrations are breaking out at this moment in towns throughout south Lebanon over the kidnapping.

This kidnapping comes in the wake of the kidnapping of Corporal Gilad Shalit two weeks ago, also within Israel's internationally recognized borders beside the Gaza Strip. That kidnapping prompted a re-entry of IDF forces into Gaza, as well as shelling of Kassam rocket launchers and targeted assassinations of Hamas terrorists and their commanders.

Hezbollah receives its military equipment and encouragement from Iran, and all weapons flow to Hezbollah through Syria. Both countries are involved in strategic advice, influence and support for Hezbollah. Hamas is headquartered in Damascus and also receives much military help from Iran, smuggled in through Egypt.

See the latest updates from a different perspective here at Fox News.
And here at the Jerusalem Post.

You often hear of conflicts in Gaza or on the West Bank, but to have attacks in western Galilee? When I was in Israel, this seemed the most peaceful part of the country. Its beauty and connection with Jesus' earthly ministry, combined with the relative lack of conflict so apparent in Jerusalem and the West Bank made Galilee my most fondly remembered part of the trip. One day we drove up to Lebanon and its beauty took my breath away.

Yet even there...especially there, the battle will continue. This news served as a sobering reminder to prayer as I head off to work.

Once there, a part of your heart always remains

Hard to believe that 6 weeks ago I was wandering through ancient Roman cities devastated by earthquakes. Ours is such a self-focused society--but I suppose it is only reflecting who we are in our sinful nature, yes? What a needed jolt back to reality it is to study the history and walk in a land where the greatest events of all time took place over the past five thousand years. Somehow...the little problems and foibles of life as a twenty-two-year-old maiden don't seem so big anymore.

We are not so important or necessary as we would like to think we are.

Our Lord can use anyone--His purposes will not be thwarted. His truth will endure whether we embrace it or not. What then...will we take the less-safe road though we have no guarantee of the outcome? To be used by God for His purposes, to be a vessel of His love in other's lives, to please Him. Nothing is better. Once you have been seared in the refiner's fire, you are ruined to any other life. What once was all you wanted--now is not enough.

As for God, His way is perfect (Ps. 18:30). We don't have to understand. To try to do so is folly. Is it not enough to know what to do...and to do it (James 4:17)? It is the antithesis of easy. Or simple. Or painless. Yet that is what makes it good. Good as God sees it and proclaims it--not the way we define it.

I am busy preparing to head to Gretchen's day after tomorrow...please be patient if we do not post everyday through the rest of the month as we gear up for her wedding! We do have some fun and thought-provoking articles saved up so we'll look forward to sharing those in the next few weeks.

For today, I recommend visiting Lanier's site for her post on "Garden Reading."

Erev Tov

Or good evening. :) By the time this is posted it shall be morning; either way, I hope that you enjoy a glimpse into the Holy Land through the lens of my camera. Out of over 1,000 pictures I narrowed down to the best 280 or so. Each shot of an old stone wall or pillar is important to me but I won't pretend everyone finds them so fascinating! But it felt really good to get allll those pictures sorted and captioned while my memory was still fresh on every detail.

So here tis: Israel 2006
Or enter this in your browser: http://www.ylcf.org/israel/

I'd love to hear any comments or questions you might have! Remember I am still operating under jet lag so if something is unclear I'd be happy to explain further!

Be back soon...

I am working steadily on a huge photo album of pictures and facts on my trip. I hope you will enjoy visiting it as much as I enjoyed creating it! In the meantime, thanks for your patience!

Picture: At Qumran (where the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered) they were offering camel rides and I can never turn down a ride on anything with four legs. :) Off we went through the desert to overlook the Dead Sea. Sir Camel did not seem to mind me much, but he protested greatly when my dad got on!

Internet helping media bias in Middle East

Anyone interested in Israel will want to read World Magazine's Photographic Negatives, an interview with Stephanie Gutmann.

Shalom! :)

Hello ladies,

I'm back from Israel...quite jet-lagged but feeling great all things considered! I saw Gretchen posted my very quick email...thank you for praying. I did not get sick on the flight back which was a huge relief because I was pretty sick for a few days over there. But God gave me strength and I fully participated everyday regardless of how I felt.

Where to start?? I am going to work on a huge photo album to share with all of you who want details and to see all of the different sites I visited. Every bit of the trip was more wonderful, eye-opening, and beautiful than I hoped.

More to come very soon...be patient if I'm not writing on here much this week as I try to get back into life at home as well as dealing with quite a bit of family excitement in various areas...some of which I hope to be able to share soon.