Of BLTs and Psalm 137

“How can we sing the songs of the Lord while in a foreign land?” Psalm 137:4

2 February 2017

I had all the makings of BLT sandwiches…I only needed lettuce and tomatoes.
Which, in Jerusalem, is really saying something.

I currently am the proud owner of a pack of bacon, and I decided early this morning that tonight would be BLT night. I just needed to buy some L and some T.

Today was “write at home” day, so first I wrote some emails.
Then I wrote notes on a sermon.
Then I made some cookies.
Then I read some articles and wrote some more.
Lettuce and tomatoes moved further and further down the list, but not because I wasn’t hungry.

It was because I didn’t feel like going outside. 

It was silly, really!
The sun was shining. The air was crisp.
The trash from the municipal strike earlier in the week had been cleared on my street.
And I live a 2-minute walk from an outdoor market literally spilling over with fresh tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, and even strawberries (Winter is strawberry season in Jerusalem!)
Still, today I did everything possible before I walked out my front door to purchase lettuce and tomatoes.

The truth is, most of the time, it is thrilling to live in Jerusalem.
Most of the time, I am awash with the great privilege it is to be here, in the Holy City, home to 2 peoples and 3 religions, a city where you can literally visit the “Axis Mundi”, the Center of the World, in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

But some days, I’m just a stranger in a strange land. Some days, walking out the door and into a new culture and a new language takes all my courage and strength.

I admit I rarely thought about this when I met newcomers to my own country. I suppose I assumed they were just awash in gratitude to be in the great US of A, the “land of the free!” I suppose I assumed my culture was as comfortable for them as it was for me. How could they not appreciate its beauty?

But now I wonder: Did they get the same knots in their stomachs when they walked out the front door?
Did they also practice all the possible phrases they would need at the market, and then panic when the cashier went “off script” or had a different accent?
Did they have days when they changed the dinner menu to avoid leaving the house?

At 3 pm, I put on my coat and grabbed my bag and decided it was now or never. Or, more accurately, it was now or the kids would be eating BLT’s without the L or the T. Which is just…not the same.

Ayn Het Street, Musrara, Jerusalem
As seen from my kitchen balcony

I started down the three flights of stairs and opened the front gate and there, just in front of our building, was an elderly woman sitting before an easel. She looked up briefly and smiled, then went back to work.
She was painting my street. The street I spent all day avoiding!I glanced down at her canvas, to the colors she had artfully placed there. Then I raised my eyes to my street to see that yes: it really is beautiful.

The afternoon sun cast pink shadows on the monochrome stone buildings. The window shutters, all a brilliant turquoise, added another pop of color. My beloved cats of Jerusalem darted across the street and between the buildings.

It IS beautiful. Different, but beautiful. Not the February I have ever experienced anywhere else, but beautiful.

I left the artist to her work and walked toward the market. An Orthodox Jewish mother pushed her daughter down the sidewalk on a tricycle. I crossed the street toward the Old City, and a Muslim woman with a bag of groceries balanced on her head walked toward me while chatting on her cell phone. The man at the market greeted me in Arabic, and I knew exactly what to say.

It was beautiful. And I am grateful. And it’s still hard.

Today, my prayers are with refugees and immigrants and newcomers to every foreign land. Some days, it’s really hard to sing the songs of the Lord in a strange land. Some days, it’s even hard just to walk out the door.

But, God is still good!
And I have bacon. And lettuce, and tomatoes.
Thanks be to God. الحمد لله