Saturday, December 29, 2012
Maybe I'm Crazy
For December's post, I was asked to be a guest blogger for
Known and Renowned: Evidence of God' glory in His word and world (by Laura Coulter)
So, here is the link to my guest post: Maybe I'm Crazy
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Deep Breath : War on Women
This blog is
not about political parties. This blog is about women.
“…in the
Lord, neither is woman independent of man, nor is man independent of woman. For
as the woman originates from the man, so also the man has his birth through the
woman; and all things originate from God.”
Living in
the center of the Middle Eastern conflict—namely, Jerusalem—my perspective on
life, freedom, and faith has changed quite a bit. No longer is a riot in Egypt
or a murder in Syria far removed from my everyday routine. These constantly
swirling issues are all around me and all around Israel. These countries are my
close neighbors and their events are directly relevant to me. Sometimes these
events are in Israel, in my neighborhood, on my street. I will never again read
Scripture with the same view, nor will I feel indifferent toward Middle Eastern
news, regardless of where my life takes me. I am forever impacted.
Yet I am
still proud and thankful to be an American. I look forward to living there
again someday. But even if I do, my American bubble is popped and I cringe at
how long in my life it remained translucently intact. Please, do
yourself a favor and pop your bubble, too.
Allow me to
possibly present a bubble popper: “Someone else in the world is happy with less
than what you have.”
No,
seriously.
SOMEONE ELSE
IN THE WORLD IS HAPPY WITH LESS THAN WHAT YOU HAVE.
Having said all of that, it's not only relevant to me how women are treated in the Middle East, it is also important for all women.
If you ever
take the time to study the history of Afghanistan, especially relating to women,
I dare you not to cry. It is horrendous. Under Taliban rule there is an endless
list of dehumanizing laws pertaining to women, including not being allowed to
speak loudly in public, not allowed to leave the house without their husbands,
no education after the age of eight, women not allowed on their balconies or
porches, all floor level windows had to be blacked out, and on and on. If any
of these rules were broken, public beatings and whippings were a guarantee. Sometimes
amputations of fingers, hands, ears, or noses. Sometimes public execution in a
sports arena. Here is a complete list of Taliban rules and harsh punishments,
I cannot
speak much about this next subject, because it is so graphic and disturbing. In
several parts of the world there is still a practice of forced female
circumcision. Teenage girls are held down by multiple grown men and have their
genitals mutilated with a knife. The official medical title is FGM—female genital mutilation. I want to scream out in anger and sorrow if I think about it too
much.
I’m not
saying these people are happy. I’m drawing a sharp contrast between American
women seeking luxuries that many women in the world not only don’t have, but
instead have degradation and suffering. Free or easily accessible contraception?
Many women in the world would be thrilled just to have an education and an
escape from their suffering.
I am very
young, very poor, married woman. And I am not ready to be a mother. I
understand all too well how difficult it is to get contraception, and how
expensive it is. I have had to hunt and search in two different states now for
a program willing to give me free contraception—and a year’s worth. But I did
it. I found two different programs that helped me. Help is out there for those that really need it.
I also
understand the discrepancy in a law that affects women being passed or denied
by a panel of all men. Misrepresentation is a real problem—and perhaps a pretty
complicated one. But I keep coming back to my gut on this one: is anyone
stopping more women from getting onto these panels in the United States? Could
there be more women on these panels? I think so. Ladies, if you are upset about
this discrepancy of representation in our government, then go to Law School. No
one is stopping you from changing this discrepancy. If I get wet outside when
it’s raining because I don’t have an umbrella, I don’t blame the sky for
raining. I blame myself for not bringing an umbrella.
As I was
meditating on this subject, I came across the phrase “warfare on women” in a
book written about two years ago. Read this passage:
[circa 2004]
“In cities
across Iraq, even in the more fashionable districts of Baghdad, religious
conservatives terrorized unveiled women by throwing acid at their faces—a
method of attack used with disturbing frequency in Afghanistan and Pakistan as
well. In other instances, women had their heads forcibly shaved or were pelted
with stones for daring to appear uncovered. In villages terrorized by
Al-Qaeda…in the south, extremists assassinated women for wearing makeup or
appearing without a headscarf. To leave no doubt about their intentions, the
militants would strip the bodies, dress them in scandalous clothing, and dump
them in the gutter. Sometimes the bodies were decapitated and the message
“collaborator” was pinned to their chests.
Female
politicians and activists became assassination targets. Within weeks of
becoming a member of the IDC, gunman tired to kill Salama al-Khafaji. She
barely escaped. In the spring of 2004, assassins also targeted the minister of
public works, Nasreen Barwari, a Harvard-trained Kurdish woman who was the only
female cabinet member in the interim government. She narrowly escaped but the
attack killed three of her bodyguards. In March 2004, Fern Holland, a
human-rights activist and lawyer from Oklahoma who helped draft parts of the
interim constitution concerning women, was killed along with two co-workers in the
town of Hilla, south of Baghdad. It was open warfare on women.” [Paradise
Beneath her Feet]
Do you
understand? When the definition of warfare becomes an issue of easily accessible
contraception and abortions, our understanding of “warfare” is extremely
skewed. The USA is one of the greatest places for women to live—so why are American women so angry? I watched a video about why the war on women in America
is “real” and one of the female doctors being interviewed said something along
the lines of “it is every woman’s basic right to decide when and how she
becomes a mother.” Yes, this is true. It is also every woman’s basic right to
decide when and how she has sex. Just sayin’.
I don’t care
what political party you prefer, or which one won the election. I am a woman.
And to all American women that are outraged at the thought that a bunch of old
white guys want to veto a law that would give you cheap birth control---I sigh.
For all your fellow women less fortunate than you, please appreciate all the
liberties and luxuries that you have.
“The goal of
our instruction is love from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere
faith.” (1Tim 1:5)
“Avoid such
people [that are] always learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the
truth.” (2Tim 3:5,7)
-Madelyn
Miles
Monday, September 3, 2012
Hessed and Tikkun Olam
Hessed חסד
You may pronounce this Hebrew word with a soft h, some will even used a k, but to really say this word, you must gently breathe heavy in the back of your throat. Or, as some Americans would say, make the phlegm noise. This is a bit of an overstatement, because if you are really hocking some phlegm, then you are over-pronouncing this word. A true native Hebrew speaker learns to gently make this noise in a way that flows with the word: Hessed.
This word is multi-faceted, and requires many English words to describe it:
grace
mercy
loyalty
lovingkindness
faithfulness
God is hessed.
Hessed is very ingrained in Jewish culture. A couple weeks ago, I was browsing produce in the Jewish shuk (open market) when a man dressed head to toe in Orthodox Jewish attire spoke to me in perfect English with a British accent:
"Will you do me a hessed?"
I was startled by his British accent, given his long payot, tassels, and kippa. Most Orthodox Jews either won't talk to Gentiles at all, or if they do they will start in Hebrew or switch to heavily Hebrew accented English. But here he was, speaking to me and in an accent from the UK no less. His arms were full of many bags, and when I agreed to "do him a hessed" he asked me to select 5 nice apples for him and place the bag over his arm. After declining any further help, he thanked me and went on his way to purchase his produce.
You may be thinking, that this phrase, "will you do me a hessed" is similar to the English phrase, "will you do me a favor." Perhaps. But hessed is SO much more than just a favor. A favor is courteous, polite, between good friends, or sometimes even obligatory. Hessed is relentless mercy and love when the circumstances would dictate justice and anger. I say relentless because it encompasses loyalty--this isn't a one time occurrence. It is consistent. My favor for the man I met in the shuk, really was just a favor. But I spent the rest of the day pleasantly surprised that I got to hear the word used in real life.
In religious Jewish culture, hessed is one of the primary virtues. It is part of their cultural idea of tikkun olam---repairing the world--which "suggests humanity's shared responsiblity (with the Creator) to heal, repair, and transform the world." This is a huge part of Jewish faith and life.
This concept may be found in Christian doctrine, but is it really found in our lives?
Perhaps a key part of Christian faith is recognizing the reality that all men are capable of and give into darkness, wretchedness, and evil. We try to empty ourselves of this. But don't stop there (or else we'd be Buddhists). After we empty out the darkness we have to accept and be filled with the light.
Deep down I may be capable of wretchedness, but if I really believe that I have light in me, shouldn't I also believe that this light can be shared with the whole world? Wait a minute, isn't that our faith? So why can't we use this light for tikkun olam? Why can't God's light in us heal, repair, and transform the world?
For me, it's because I have my light, but I usually let it go to waste bottled up inside of me. I selfishly keep it to myself and forget how much healing and restoration the world needs.
"He has told you, O man what is good; and what does the Lord require of you? But to do justice, to love HESSED and walk humbly with your God." Micah 6:8
Don't keep your light bottled up inside (hide it under a bushel, no). Love hessed. Show hessed to others. Be relentless. Heal and repair the world.
-Madelyn Miles
You may pronounce this Hebrew word with a soft h, some will even used a k, but to really say this word, you must gently breathe heavy in the back of your throat. Or, as some Americans would say, make the phlegm noise. This is a bit of an overstatement, because if you are really hocking some phlegm, then you are over-pronouncing this word. A true native Hebrew speaker learns to gently make this noise in a way that flows with the word: Hessed.
This word is multi-faceted, and requires many English words to describe it:
grace
mercy
loyalty
lovingkindness
faithfulness
God is hessed.
Hessed is very ingrained in Jewish culture. A couple weeks ago, I was browsing produce in the Jewish shuk (open market) when a man dressed head to toe in Orthodox Jewish attire spoke to me in perfect English with a British accent:
"Will you do me a hessed?"
I was startled by his British accent, given his long payot, tassels, and kippa. Most Orthodox Jews either won't talk to Gentiles at all, or if they do they will start in Hebrew or switch to heavily Hebrew accented English. But here he was, speaking to me and in an accent from the UK no less. His arms were full of many bags, and when I agreed to "do him a hessed" he asked me to select 5 nice apples for him and place the bag over his arm. After declining any further help, he thanked me and went on his way to purchase his produce.
You may be thinking, that this phrase, "will you do me a hessed" is similar to the English phrase, "will you do me a favor." Perhaps. But hessed is SO much more than just a favor. A favor is courteous, polite, between good friends, or sometimes even obligatory. Hessed is relentless mercy and love when the circumstances would dictate justice and anger. I say relentless because it encompasses loyalty--this isn't a one time occurrence. It is consistent. My favor for the man I met in the shuk, really was just a favor. But I spent the rest of the day pleasantly surprised that I got to hear the word used in real life.
In religious Jewish culture, hessed is one of the primary virtues. It is part of their cultural idea of tikkun olam---repairing the world--which "suggests humanity's shared responsiblity (with the Creator) to heal, repair, and transform the world." This is a huge part of Jewish faith and life.
This concept may be found in Christian doctrine, but is it really found in our lives?
Perhaps a key part of Christian faith is recognizing the reality that all men are capable of and give into darkness, wretchedness, and evil. We try to empty ourselves of this. But don't stop there (or else we'd be Buddhists). After we empty out the darkness we have to accept and be filled with the light.
Deep down I may be capable of wretchedness, but if I really believe that I have light in me, shouldn't I also believe that this light can be shared with the whole world? Wait a minute, isn't that our faith? So why can't we use this light for tikkun olam? Why can't God's light in us heal, repair, and transform the world?
For me, it's because I have my light, but I usually let it go to waste bottled up inside of me. I selfishly keep it to myself and forget how much healing and restoration the world needs.
"He has told you, O man what is good; and what does the Lord require of you? But to do justice, to love HESSED and walk humbly with your God." Micah 6:8
Don't keep your light bottled up inside (hide it under a bushel, no). Love hessed. Show hessed to others. Be relentless. Heal and repair the world.
-Madelyn Miles
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Echoes of Mercy
I realized today that two months had passed since I last posted a blog. I also realized that there was an old draft of a blog I had started to write, but never finished. Then I realized I had no idea what I was talking about in that draft, or why it was worth posting. Something about olive trees aging like people and the Kurdish new year. But I think the world will survive without those ramblings--wherever they were headed.
So as many of you know, I went to Rwanda, Africa. Only for a week, but the experience was incredible. Along the way we had a whirlwind of traveling through airports in Ethiopia, Lebanon (they were NOT fans of us there, almost didn't let us fly through) Uganda, and Dubai (got to leave the airport and explore the city). Basically, the trip was wonderfully exhausting, and worth every minute.
Our stay in Rwanda coincided with National Genocide Memorial Week. Whoa. This isn't something from eras past--this horrendous tragedy happened a mere 18 years ago. Even at my age, I remember 18 years ago: my precious sister was born and I remember wearing my black cowboy boots into the hospital. How much more vivid would the memories of a genocide survivor be? In memorial, hundreds gather at a large stadium for "mourning of Biblical proportions." (quote credit: David Leatherwood). Tearing clothes, pounding the ground, screaming, sobbing, wailing. Again, whoa. Throughout the week we could see large groups of people gathering outside. And when we went to the genocide museum, my eyes were opened in a way that was painfully shocking.
Of course I've studied about the events of the genocide. And I saw "Hotel Rwanda" (went to it too). But going through the museum made realize that whatever I thought I had understood about the tragedy was sadly insignificant compared to the real thing. Did you know that brutal, and intentionally torturous rape was used and encouraged as a weapon of terror and on a massive scale more than any other event in history?
For those of you that believe, take and minute a say a prayer for all the genocide rape survivors from Rwanda.
And then there was the "children's room." Large portraits hung on every wall. Name, age, favorite food/activity...and cause of death inscribed on a plaque beside each portrait. Usually the causes were "hacked to death by machete" but occasionally it was "smashed against a wall" or "burned alive." I cried and cried and cried.
"Angels descending bring from above, echoes of mercy, whispers of love..."
And shortly after we returned to Israel, there was Holocaust Memorial Day. On that day, around noon, a loud, city-wide, trumpet-like siren consumes the skies and everything else stops. Literally, all cars and all pedestrians stop in their tracks, drivers climb out of the vehicles, and stand in silence while the siren blares. I stood on the sidewalk (having been forewarned of the impending siren) and waited to see if the busy traffic in front of me would stop. And as the siren poured into my ears, the large truck driver in front of my eyes stopped, got out, and stood beside his truck. It felt very unifying, as though all of us standing and waiting together were all part of the same family, sharing in this moment of memorial.
So where is the mercy? Rwanda genocide, the Holocaust...I question humanity itself.
But humanity is a paradox. By definition, it is what separates us from animals, with the ability to reason and show mercy. Also by definition, it is what imprisons us to our own stupidity, greed, and sheer mercilessness.
Yet even after the genocide, survivors are living in the same house as those that tortured and killed their family members. Seriously, there are areas in Rwanda dedicated to healing, called Reconciliation Villages. Echoes of mercy.
And in Israel, Jewish doctors give their holidays, weekends, and personal time to give round-the-clock care to children from Gaza and Iraq that are dying. Echoes of mercy.
Mercy exists, and it echoes gently through heartbeats of those who unfurrow their brows, put down their fists, and release the pain and anger to God. I am convinced this kind of mercy and healing cannot be found without God. Without Him, life is cruel and then you die. With Him, hope is warm and persistent, offering a life without pain and sin---somewhere past the pearly gates.
"Angels descending bring from above, echoes of mercy, whispers of love..."
This is my story.
-Madelyn Miles
So as many of you know, I went to Rwanda, Africa. Only for a week, but the experience was incredible. Along the way we had a whirlwind of traveling through airports in Ethiopia, Lebanon (they were NOT fans of us there, almost didn't let us fly through) Uganda, and Dubai (got to leave the airport and explore the city). Basically, the trip was wonderfully exhausting, and worth every minute.
Our stay in Rwanda coincided with National Genocide Memorial Week. Whoa. This isn't something from eras past--this horrendous tragedy happened a mere 18 years ago. Even at my age, I remember 18 years ago: my precious sister was born and I remember wearing my black cowboy boots into the hospital. How much more vivid would the memories of a genocide survivor be? In memorial, hundreds gather at a large stadium for "mourning of Biblical proportions." (quote credit: David Leatherwood). Tearing clothes, pounding the ground, screaming, sobbing, wailing. Again, whoa. Throughout the week we could see large groups of people gathering outside. And when we went to the genocide museum, my eyes were opened in a way that was painfully shocking.
Of course I've studied about the events of the genocide. And I saw "Hotel Rwanda" (went to it too). But going through the museum made realize that whatever I thought I had understood about the tragedy was sadly insignificant compared to the real thing. Did you know that brutal, and intentionally torturous rape was used and encouraged as a weapon of terror and on a massive scale more than any other event in history?
For those of you that believe, take and minute a say a prayer for all the genocide rape survivors from Rwanda.
And then there was the "children's room." Large portraits hung on every wall. Name, age, favorite food/activity...and cause of death inscribed on a plaque beside each portrait. Usually the causes were "hacked to death by machete" but occasionally it was "smashed against a wall" or "burned alive." I cried and cried and cried.
"Angels descending bring from above, echoes of mercy, whispers of love..."
And shortly after we returned to Israel, there was Holocaust Memorial Day. On that day, around noon, a loud, city-wide, trumpet-like siren consumes the skies and everything else stops. Literally, all cars and all pedestrians stop in their tracks, drivers climb out of the vehicles, and stand in silence while the siren blares. I stood on the sidewalk (having been forewarned of the impending siren) and waited to see if the busy traffic in front of me would stop. And as the siren poured into my ears, the large truck driver in front of my eyes stopped, got out, and stood beside his truck. It felt very unifying, as though all of us standing and waiting together were all part of the same family, sharing in this moment of memorial.
So where is the mercy? Rwanda genocide, the Holocaust...I question humanity itself.
But humanity is a paradox. By definition, it is what separates us from animals, with the ability to reason and show mercy. Also by definition, it is what imprisons us to our own stupidity, greed, and sheer mercilessness.
Yet even after the genocide, survivors are living in the same house as those that tortured and killed their family members. Seriously, there are areas in Rwanda dedicated to healing, called Reconciliation Villages. Echoes of mercy.
And in Israel, Jewish doctors give their holidays, weekends, and personal time to give round-the-clock care to children from Gaza and Iraq that are dying. Echoes of mercy.
Mercy exists, and it echoes gently through heartbeats of those who unfurrow their brows, put down their fists, and release the pain and anger to God. I am convinced this kind of mercy and healing cannot be found without God. Without Him, life is cruel and then you die. With Him, hope is warm and persistent, offering a life without pain and sin---somewhere past the pearly gates.
"Angels descending bring from above, echoes of mercy, whispers of love..."
This is my story.
-Madelyn Miles
Monday, February 13, 2012
Super Powers
It's easy to say that you are impartial.
You haven't openly mocked or abused someone who you deemed lower than yourself. You enjoy people of many races, and don't discriminate based on gender or age. Good for you. But are you really impartial?
I am so struck by the combined writing of my co-workers:
http://shevet.org/content/power-no-partiality.
"The Power of No Partiality."
I have come to understand the word "partiality" in a far deeper sense than the mere definition. And regardless of any disillusions I may have had about my own impartiality, the fact is: I'm guilty.
"[No partiality is] a revelation for every poor, marginalized, outcast or forgotten family that crosses the borders of Israel with us seeking heart surgery for their child. 'They treated our child just like an Israeli child--no difference!' These families have never before been valued simply for being human, made in the image of God. It's always been about money, power and connections."
Simply for being human.
This is Israel, after all. Racial, social, and religious partiality abounds--or does it? The hospitals in Tel Aviv continue to dumbfound strangers from Gaza and Iraq as their children are cared for and valued as human life in a way their own people never have. The father of Baneen (the baby girl who died recently) said, "Israelis and Americans have stood with us more than our own people. This is not what we heard [in Iraq]. This touches my heart." But we can't just stop there and give ourselves a pat on the back...
All the warm fuzzies are wrenched out of me with the words of James:
"My brothers, do not hold the faith of our Lord Jesus the Messiah, the Lord of glory, with partiality. For if there should come into your assembly a man with gold rings, in fine apparel, and there should also come in a poor man in filthy clothes, and you pay attention to the one wearing the fine clothes and say to him, 'You sit here in a good place,' and say to the poor man, 'You stand there,' or 'Sit here at my footstool,' have you not shown partiality among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts?"
Sure, I'm not partial. I get along with everybo...well except I was kind of grossed out by the homeless guy who came to our church. Who would blame me? He smelled bad. Oh and there is one person I work with that I try to avoid. I'm not mean to her, but if she's the one working on a project, let's just say, I don't volunteer to help her--she's kind of annoying. WHAT AM I SAYING? I'm the most partial person on the planet. Partiality doesn't just exist in race and gender. It also exists in the annoying, the smelly, the ADD, the weird, and on and on and on. Who doesn't want all their friends to be pretty, and articulate, and smart, and just the right shape and size in every way? And who decides what that means?
I am so. so. so. GUILTY. It's shameful. I have my preference for the people I like, and the rest, I don't insult or abuse....I just don't go out of my way to include them.
Impartiality is a super power. And it takes so much strength to use. Not only in how we love our Kurdish families--though they may be boisterous and demanding at times--but also in how we love and include. Jean val Jean was a life transformed because a bishop didn't slam the door in the face of a criminal like all the rest. Would you invite an ex-con into your house for dinner? Or what about the girl who has acne on her face and a stutter in her voice? Do you invite her to your group outing? Impartiality is a super power that unleashes it's true potential---by including. Including is a hard thing to do.
Day in and day out in my life in Jerusalem, prejudice is being shattered by saving children with heart surgery. But is it sinking in? Is it changing me? Can I honestly witness Sunnis and Shiites and Jews all crying over the same baby, and then turn my nose up to the girl who says "like" too much? Or the boy who has Down's Syndrome?
Impartiality is a super power. Sometimes I have it. Sometimes I really don't.
Do you have it?
-Madelyn Miles
You haven't openly mocked or abused someone who you deemed lower than yourself. You enjoy people of many races, and don't discriminate based on gender or age. Good for you. But are you really impartial?
I am so struck by the combined writing of my co-workers:
http://shevet.org/content/power-no-partiality.
"The Power of No Partiality."
I have come to understand the word "partiality" in a far deeper sense than the mere definition. And regardless of any disillusions I may have had about my own impartiality, the fact is: I'm guilty.
"[No partiality is] a revelation for every poor, marginalized, outcast or forgotten family that crosses the borders of Israel with us seeking heart surgery for their child. 'They treated our child just like an Israeli child--no difference!' These families have never before been valued simply for being human, made in the image of God. It's always been about money, power and connections."
Simply for being human.
This is Israel, after all. Racial, social, and religious partiality abounds--or does it? The hospitals in Tel Aviv continue to dumbfound strangers from Gaza and Iraq as their children are cared for and valued as human life in a way their own people never have. The father of Baneen (the baby girl who died recently) said, "Israelis and Americans have stood with us more than our own people. This is not what we heard [in Iraq]. This touches my heart." But we can't just stop there and give ourselves a pat on the back...
All the warm fuzzies are wrenched out of me with the words of James:
"My brothers, do not hold the faith of our Lord Jesus the Messiah, the Lord of glory, with partiality. For if there should come into your assembly a man with gold rings, in fine apparel, and there should also come in a poor man in filthy clothes, and you pay attention to the one wearing the fine clothes and say to him, 'You sit here in a good place,' and say to the poor man, 'You stand there,' or 'Sit here at my footstool,' have you not shown partiality among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts?"
Sure, I'm not partial. I get along with everybo...well except I was kind of grossed out by the homeless guy who came to our church. Who would blame me? He smelled bad. Oh and there is one person I work with that I try to avoid. I'm not mean to her, but if she's the one working on a project, let's just say, I don't volunteer to help her--she's kind of annoying. WHAT AM I SAYING? I'm the most partial person on the planet. Partiality doesn't just exist in race and gender. It also exists in the annoying, the smelly, the ADD, the weird, and on and on and on. Who doesn't want all their friends to be pretty, and articulate, and smart, and just the right shape and size in every way? And who decides what that means?
I am so. so. so. GUILTY. It's shameful. I have my preference for the people I like, and the rest, I don't insult or abuse....I just don't go out of my way to include them.
Impartiality is a super power. And it takes so much strength to use. Not only in how we love our Kurdish families--though they may be boisterous and demanding at times--but also in how we love and include. Jean val Jean was a life transformed because a bishop didn't slam the door in the face of a criminal like all the rest. Would you invite an ex-con into your house for dinner? Or what about the girl who has acne on her face and a stutter in her voice? Do you invite her to your group outing? Impartiality is a super power that unleashes it's true potential---by including. Including is a hard thing to do.
Day in and day out in my life in Jerusalem, prejudice is being shattered by saving children with heart surgery. But is it sinking in? Is it changing me? Can I honestly witness Sunnis and Shiites and Jews all crying over the same baby, and then turn my nose up to the girl who says "like" too much? Or the boy who has Down's Syndrome?
Impartiality is a super power. Sometimes I have it. Sometimes I really don't.
Do you have it?
-Madelyn Miles
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Not in Kansas Anymore
Ten Reasons You Know You Aren't in Kansas Anymore.
If I don't pay attention, sometimes days go by like usual, and I forget I am living in Israel. Then something strange strikes my fancy and I remember. Since everybody loves a countdown list, here are a few crazy things you don't usually see in the States...
10. December is a time of lights and festivity
and Jerusalem decorates the street lamps with holiday posts like any other. Except instead of lit up angels and candy canes, my streets are lined with lit up street lamp menorahs.
(See picture: http://realjerusalemstreets.files.wordpress.com/2011/12/img_3589.jpg)
9. IP address strikes
Certain beloved websites, such as Hulu.com are not available outside the U.S. The internet is not the free-for-all I always thought it was.
8. Americans take customer service for granted
One day you have a system set up with the bank for deposits, and the next day a new girl sits behind the counter. Her English is heavy and hard to understand, and all of sudden she's having you sign for a huge fee. You ask why you have to pay a fee today but never before. A guy next to her leans over and whispers an explanation to her. She looks at you, having already submitted the fee and says, "Ok, you don't have to pay next time."
7. Currency and measurements
Labeling has become extremely important. "I have to go deposit 10,000" "Dollars?!?" "No, Shekels." (equal to only 2,500 dollars) "Every time I weigh myself, the scale says 75" "Um, pounds?" "No, kilos." "What temp should I cook this chicken at?" "I'd say about 190" "What?" "The oven is set to Celsius."
6. IP address strikes again
No matter how many times I set my preferences to English, Google insists I can read Hebrew. Even for this blog, I've simply memorized certain buttons to push to create a new post.
5. Howdjoo know I's Amurikin?
To half of the locals, I have a flashing "AMERICAN" sign on my forehead. They don't ask me where I'm from, they ask me what state I'm from. To the other half, they not only think I'm local (a Russian Jew? I don't know) but they think I know where everything is, too. I constantly get stopped on the road and asked in Hebrew for directions.
4. Guns? Eh.
Back home, society is one-third rifle-loving hunters, one-third pacifist protesters, and one-third somewhere in the middle. In Israel, it doesn't matter what you think. IDF soldiers are everywhere, with giant automatic weapons I can't name slung over their shoulders, laughing as they stroll the street for a coffee.
3. A difference in priorites
Large street cleaners can be heard every morning down the streets of Jerusalem. They obsess over getting every single leaf on the street, and can even be seen backing up to retrieve a leaf or two left behind. Meanwhile, dogs freely squat on the sidewalks with their apathetic owners waiting and no one cleaning it up except the rain. Oh, and apparently its normal for cars to park on sidewalks too.
2. Deck the hars with bars of horry. Fra ra ra ra...
Unlike the classic movie, "A Christmas Story" in Israel, if you want to go out on Christmas day, it's not just the Asian restaurants that are open. Everything is--unless Christmas falls on the Sabbath.
1. English, bivakisha?
You're at the hospital, and you have to call a translator in English, to talk to a doctor in Hebrew, to explain the prognosis to a translator in Arabic, so they can explain to the mother in Kurdish. So much for the days when translations went from "you guys" to "y'all."
-Madelyn Miles
If I don't pay attention, sometimes days go by like usual, and I forget I am living in Israel. Then something strange strikes my fancy and I remember. Since everybody loves a countdown list, here are a few crazy things you don't usually see in the States...
10. December is a time of lights and festivity
and Jerusalem decorates the street lamps with holiday posts like any other. Except instead of lit up angels and candy canes, my streets are lined with lit up street lamp menorahs.
(See picture: http://realjerusalemstreets.files.wordpress.com/2011/12/img_3589.jpg)
9. IP address strikes
Certain beloved websites, such as Hulu.com are not available outside the U.S. The internet is not the free-for-all I always thought it was.
8. Americans take customer service for granted
One day you have a system set up with the bank for deposits, and the next day a new girl sits behind the counter. Her English is heavy and hard to understand, and all of sudden she's having you sign for a huge fee. You ask why you have to pay a fee today but never before. A guy next to her leans over and whispers an explanation to her. She looks at you, having already submitted the fee and says, "Ok, you don't have to pay next time."
7. Currency and measurements
Labeling has become extremely important. "I have to go deposit 10,000" "Dollars?!?" "No, Shekels." (equal to only 2,500 dollars) "Every time I weigh myself, the scale says 75" "Um, pounds?" "No, kilos." "What temp should I cook this chicken at?" "I'd say about 190" "What?" "The oven is set to Celsius."
6. IP address strikes again
No matter how many times I set my preferences to English, Google insists I can read Hebrew. Even for this blog, I've simply memorized certain buttons to push to create a new post.
5. Howdjoo know I's Amurikin?
To half of the locals, I have a flashing "AMERICAN" sign on my forehead. They don't ask me where I'm from, they ask me what state I'm from. To the other half, they not only think I'm local (a Russian Jew? I don't know) but they think I know where everything is, too. I constantly get stopped on the road and asked in Hebrew for directions.
4. Guns? Eh.
Back home, society is one-third rifle-loving hunters, one-third pacifist protesters, and one-third somewhere in the middle. In Israel, it doesn't matter what you think. IDF soldiers are everywhere, with giant automatic weapons I can't name slung over their shoulders, laughing as they stroll the street for a coffee.
3. A difference in priorites
Large street cleaners can be heard every morning down the streets of Jerusalem. They obsess over getting every single leaf on the street, and can even be seen backing up to retrieve a leaf or two left behind. Meanwhile, dogs freely squat on the sidewalks with their apathetic owners waiting and no one cleaning it up except the rain. Oh, and apparently its normal for cars to park on sidewalks too.
2. Deck the hars with bars of horry. Fra ra ra ra...
Unlike the classic movie, "A Christmas Story" in Israel, if you want to go out on Christmas day, it's not just the Asian restaurants that are open. Everything is--unless Christmas falls on the Sabbath.
1. English, bivakisha?
You're at the hospital, and you have to call a translator in English, to talk to a doctor in Hebrew, to explain the prognosis to a translator in Arabic, so they can explain to the mother in Kurdish. So much for the days when translations went from "you guys" to "y'all."
-Madelyn Miles
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Heard.
I work for an organization that brings children to Israel for heart surgeries. We've seen beautiful and miraculous healing take place in these kids. But sometimes we see death. Yesterday one of our Shevet babies died.
Yesterday was a day of light and joy and darkness and sorrow. It began with a planned trip to the Mediterranean Sea for the kids and their moms, of which I was one of the chaperones. Our hearts had all been heavy recently, knowing that baby Baneen had long since been in seriously critical condition. But that morning, knowing Baneen had twice over defied the doctors warnings that she wouldn't make it through the night, I had felt a deep sense of hope swelling in me. And several of the mothers going on the trip had been wrestling with the anxiety of still being on the waiting list for surgery. All of us longed for a reprieve, and so we began to load into the vans--eager for a chance to shake off the feeling of heaviness and find some joy.
It was right then, so sudden and abrupt, that our world of reprieve collided with a world of pain. Four-month-old Baneen, beautiful and precious, was gone. You fight, and hope, and try for so long, only to have the wind knocked out of you.
No Kurdish translation was necessary. The other mothers had known of Baneen's condition. And now, hearing her name, and seeing our reactions, they knew.
A few of our group that had planned to come, backed away and decided to go to the hospital where Baneen's parents were grieving. The rest of us looked at the mothers and children in the vans and knew they needed a reprieve now more than ever. For their sake, a few of us decided to follow through with our planned trip. I looked to the two children in my van, and said the only thing I could to offer a consolation: "Spas bo Hxua bo tow. Spas bo Hxua bo tow." Thank God for you. and Thank God for you.
As the day unfolded, those of us who chaperoned to the beach were holding in our emotions. I looked out at the vast and beautiful sea and looked down at 3-year-old Laveen holding my hand. I felt the sea breeze and was overwhelmed by the sovereignty of God. I expressed my love and care for the children with us that day, and rejoiced with those who were rejoicing. But inwardly I was torn up.
When we finished, we sent most of the mothers back in one van with one chaperone, and whoever couldn't fit had to go to the hospital for Baneen's parents. We had room for all but one of the Kurdish families. One-year-old Aryan and his mother unfortunately had to come with us for lack of space.
After experiencing so much joy from the other children, I felt as though ice water had been dumped on my head when we arrived at the hospital--all of our people waiting outside. Nurses clung to Baneen's mother, and I could see nothing but pale faces and teary eyes.
I honestly didn't get a chance to know Baneen and her parents that much. They spent nearly all of their time in the hospital, and I mostly stay behind at the center. But even without the deep connection, I had put so much trust in her recovery. And nothing could have prepared me to see a baby-sized coffin. My emotions could no longer be held in at such a sight. I stood next to Aryan's mother. She, too, cried, and I saw her grip tighten around her own baby.
So now what? Did God ignore our prayers and turn a blind eye to our suffering? May it never be said! I felt the heartbreak of God yesterday when I looked upon the face of Baneen's mother.
Before his brutal death, Jesus sat in a garden. Shaking and sweating, he poured out his heart and bared his soul--confessing he did not want to go through with his fate. But he yielded to the will of his father. And when he died, the whole area felt the heartbreak of God as the earth shook and the temple curtain was ripped in two. Did God ignore the plea of his son? May it never be said!
God always hears. And his heart breaks too. And he sees an infinitely bigger picture that none of us can ever humanly attain.
"For He has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; nor has He hidden his face from [us]. But when [we] cried to Him for help, He heard."
"Be strong and let your heart take courage, all you who hope in the Lord."
-Madelyn Miles
Yesterday was a day of light and joy and darkness and sorrow. It began with a planned trip to the Mediterranean Sea for the kids and their moms, of which I was one of the chaperones. Our hearts had all been heavy recently, knowing that baby Baneen had long since been in seriously critical condition. But that morning, knowing Baneen had twice over defied the doctors warnings that she wouldn't make it through the night, I had felt a deep sense of hope swelling in me. And several of the mothers going on the trip had been wrestling with the anxiety of still being on the waiting list for surgery. All of us longed for a reprieve, and so we began to load into the vans--eager for a chance to shake off the feeling of heaviness and find some joy.
It was right then, so sudden and abrupt, that our world of reprieve collided with a world of pain. Four-month-old Baneen, beautiful and precious, was gone. You fight, and hope, and try for so long, only to have the wind knocked out of you.
No Kurdish translation was necessary. The other mothers had known of Baneen's condition. And now, hearing her name, and seeing our reactions, they knew.
A few of our group that had planned to come, backed away and decided to go to the hospital where Baneen's parents were grieving. The rest of us looked at the mothers and children in the vans and knew they needed a reprieve now more than ever. For their sake, a few of us decided to follow through with our planned trip. I looked to the two children in my van, and said the only thing I could to offer a consolation: "Spas bo Hxua bo tow. Spas bo Hxua bo tow." Thank God for you. and Thank God for you.
As the day unfolded, those of us who chaperoned to the beach were holding in our emotions. I looked out at the vast and beautiful sea and looked down at 3-year-old Laveen holding my hand. I felt the sea breeze and was overwhelmed by the sovereignty of God. I expressed my love and care for the children with us that day, and rejoiced with those who were rejoicing. But inwardly I was torn up.
When we finished, we sent most of the mothers back in one van with one chaperone, and whoever couldn't fit had to go to the hospital for Baneen's parents. We had room for all but one of the Kurdish families. One-year-old Aryan and his mother unfortunately had to come with us for lack of space.
After experiencing so much joy from the other children, I felt as though ice water had been dumped on my head when we arrived at the hospital--all of our people waiting outside. Nurses clung to Baneen's mother, and I could see nothing but pale faces and teary eyes.
I honestly didn't get a chance to know Baneen and her parents that much. They spent nearly all of their time in the hospital, and I mostly stay behind at the center. But even without the deep connection, I had put so much trust in her recovery. And nothing could have prepared me to see a baby-sized coffin. My emotions could no longer be held in at such a sight. I stood next to Aryan's mother. She, too, cried, and I saw her grip tighten around her own baby.
So now what? Did God ignore our prayers and turn a blind eye to our suffering? May it never be said! I felt the heartbreak of God yesterday when I looked upon the face of Baneen's mother.
Before his brutal death, Jesus sat in a garden. Shaking and sweating, he poured out his heart and bared his soul--confessing he did not want to go through with his fate. But he yielded to the will of his father. And when he died, the whole area felt the heartbreak of God as the earth shook and the temple curtain was ripped in two. Did God ignore the plea of his son? May it never be said!
God always hears. And his heart breaks too. And he sees an infinitely bigger picture that none of us can ever humanly attain.
"For He has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; nor has He hidden his face from [us]. But when [we] cried to Him for help, He heard."
"Be strong and let your heart take courage, all you who hope in the Lord."
-Madelyn Miles
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