Publication credit .vs. deportation

After getting back from camp de kibbutz, I made an intriguing discovery...

I thought Connie found the version of Oh Canada on the internet that we sang last week. But she actually composed it just for you.

And thanks to digital technology, it's been perserved for posterity. If the Queen or the Prime Minister gets their hands on it, she could be summoned to the Supreme Court of Canada... we might be finishing seminary in the states... as fugitives! :)

I might be back in a couple seasons (only if Glenn is there).
Pax
db

Word up... eh!

Here's what Oxford has to say about the word eh.

eh interjection informal 1) inviting assent (nice day, eh?). 2) Cdn ascertaining the comprehension, continued interest, agreement, etc. of the person or persons addressed (it's way out in the suburbs, eh, so I can't get there by bike). This is the only usage of eh that can be categorized as peculiarly Canadian. all other uses being common amongst speakers in other Commonwealth countries and to a lesser extent in the United States. 3) expressing inquiry or surprise. 4) asking for something to be repeated or explained. [Middle English ey] 5) origin of the expression made famous by Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli.

Henry Winkler has an interesting background. Though he was a 2nd generation Jewish immigrant, I think he's more Canadian that people realize. Can you say Happy Dehs?

Gonzo Almonzo!

Feature this: You are driving along (in town or on the highway), consciously over the speed limit and a patrol car eases past you. You are stricken by that pang of anxiety as your eyes snap to the rear view mirror. Will the patrol car whip that tell-tale U-ie? If you ever want to know what “BUSTED” looks like in Morse Code, just watch the flashing lights of a pursuing patrol car.

Before I came to Israel through the first week of excavations, I was certain that I’d bring something home from the dig site. What would it be? The upper layer of dirt in E0 provided plenty of plausible souvenirs for me to consider. Initially, each find was fascinating, but in short order, the novelty wore rather thin. And it was the first week that the Dr in charge stated plainly, “It’s against the law to remove antiquities from the country.” That, along with plenty of signage that read “Don’t be takin’ stuff home that ain’t yorn” was cause for me to think this through.

This past week was the worst. A tiny turquoise tessera turned up. A deep red tessera caught my gaze for a while. Complete pottery handles of a design I hadn’t yet seen. Scrolling from a capitol found last week resurfaced. Pieces of roman glass so thin you wonder how a vessel could have held its own weight – let alone the stress of a flowing fluid being poured in it. I even schemed to put dots on a couple tessera (with a sharpie I brought but hadn’t used) to disguise it as a pair of dice.

Good Grief! The more determined I was to leave these things alone, the more I was enticed to rationalise taking something away. An email I got from extended family urged, “Dig something up for me.” How long can I endure this temptation to pocket a memento from the dig? Singly, these finds seems so insignificant, yet they are collected (and some are returned) for a reason.

Then a distant thump reminded me that I will be asked what I was doing in Israel. I would say that I was a volunteer for an archaeological dig. The high profile of an Antiquities Authority in this country suggests that live ordinance is not the only contraband that airport security is sensitive to. I haven’t had my bags dumped out in 3 decades of air travel, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.

The last thing I wanted to do was to spend any time in an Israeli detention hall while I could be home happily flushing toilet paper down the stool with my wife. Is a stone cube, smaller than a smartie (that’s like an M&M to our southern friends) worth such a risk – especially when I know it’s against the law?

Besides, in a generation, the memory of a tessera or a pot handle will be lost (just like the lesson of the floating wall in E0) if it’s not broken or misplaced by then. I noticed this when I was liquidating my parents’ estate a few years ago. Pictures of people I didn’t recognize, keepsakes from trips I didn’t recall, trophies from events I didn’t witness – all thrown away or taken to the second hand store.

Bags packed and ready to go. It’s like setting the cruise control at speed limit.

CNN reported that Haifa got hit by a couple rockets yesterday. Tiberias is on the same latitude as Haifa… Does the expression “hellooooo” ring a bell?

At 545AM Susan, Jay, Steve and me tramped towards the kibbutz parking lot. The last time I set foot on this parking lot, I was stepping off the bus from yesterday’s excavation effort. In a way it was the same as previous mornings; we were greeted by other team members and we stood around and chatted for a while. But this time, the conclusion was different. Instead of hearing the bus tooting it’s horn as it rounded the corner to pick us up, we tossed luggage in a taxi (with very effective air-conditioning), said goodbye, enacted the hugarama and drove away into the morning sun.

I hope to see Clint and Joyce drinking their morning coffee at the Tel Aviv airport.

BTW Dr Schuler, your parting message to me will endure. For the encouragement, for the adventure – thanks. Thanks.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of a cappy hamper

In my earlier years, I was a millwright (industrial mechanic) in a northern Alberta sawmill. The maintenance department worked 12s in a shift that rotated every 4 weeks. The rotation featured a 7 day break that followed 4 day shifts which ended on a Thursday. You could always tell who was getting ready for their “7 off”…they were the ones sporting the biggest grins - all day long.

In the summer, the mill would heat up during the day and the humidity was fierce. An equipment failure anywhere spelt misery for the poor sap who was on shift at the time. While ambient temperatures in the sawmill would hit 38C, working on a 250hp electric motor that had failed was worse. The surface temperature of the motor casings would approach 70C and hotter. Even though it was so hot, gloves and long sleeved coveralls were a necessity… along with the rest of the PPE that was required. Even changing a drive belt on one of these motors was a bear of a job when it was so hot.

I lived for that 7 day break and on my Thursday dayshift, nothing could peel the smile off my face. You could stick me in a conveyor under the nastiest machine, give me the scabbiest job, have me troubleshoot an intermittent hydraulic problem in the dark, dank sawmill basement all day and I’d be a happy camper.

Well, it’s my last Thursday day shift and I’m grinnin’!

Our team gained the notoriety of keeping to the “thumbnail” rule which equated to more pottery to clean. Remember that there is no pottery cleaning on Thursday (and I still don’t know why). So the standing joke was that we would scurry to fill pails with shards for everyone to clean when we leave. Under normal circumstances, I would not have disappointed them, but the truth is that there wasn’t much for little stuff where I dug.

On my way to breakfast, I looked back at E1 and wondered was below the level that we excavated to. Why didn’t we continue to dig down lower? Must be something down there. Maybe there is another wall or maybe stairs that go from a lower street up to the atrium. By next year, it’ll be full of scorpion dens.

I was pulling out hand sized pottery in the SE corner of F3, but I abandoned that part to work around the odd stone structure I found in the NE corner. I teased that it was a toilet seat, a cistern head or a shrine box. Certainly, some of my musing was in jest. Truth be known, nobody working in F3 had enough experience to make any absolute assertions about anything except the weather. But alas! The memory of the angled wall was long since forgotten (or it was simply not acknowledged). No room for reapplication.

No, my discoveries will not change how the pick is swung or how bucket is filled. But that isn’t the job of a volunteer. It’s to merely allow the data to be seen; allowing it to challenge and provoke those who take the time to look …and think.

Have you ever seen the movie banner for "Sound of Music"? I did my best Julie Andrews on the way down the hill today. Too bad you missed it.

Clint and Joyce left for Haifa after lunch to begin their tour de' Israel. I didn't have a chance to talk to them about the advice given to a certain Jewish lad a couple days ago. "I'm wishing you God-speed, Hattersley," cried Arthur,"and aiding you with my prayers."

That’s what kind of day it was today.

1 wake up remains.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of a daydream

Ok dokey! We made short order of E1 today. Clint made the mistake of telling Steve that he was denied opportunity to join the servus opus of squaredom. If I was him, I’d be content to remain in the comfort of Tent City in BedouinVille. But give the man his dignity and let him sweat… so he did.

We finished E1 (left the scary scorpion den) and moved over to F3. Ah! A fresh square, packed down by 6 yards of dirt and 3 yards of stones, packed down further by the back hoe that removed it all. What treasures lay wait for us? One strike of the pick told all. If it wasn’t surface stones, it was hard packed dirt that a pick would barely penetrate. But the persistent Team Canada worked like diligent beavers (unlike marmots). We worked on the SE corner of the square which yielded a wall, four fuchsia flamingo feathers, a partial roll of “Admit One” tickets and an autographed Bangles CD (the only track that was intact was titled “Walk Like An Egyptian”).

The SW corner of F3 was more exciting – I found 5 Scorpions! One stayed in one place and seemed to pulse rhythmically – the other 4 were much more animated, moving about in short staccato motions… the experience rocked me like a hurricane. I wondered if anyone would believe me if I told them what I saw, but to face the heat in this crazy world, where few see eye to eye, I thought it say nothing and set my sights on a holiday. Out of nowhere, a western breeze picked up, the winds of change. I looked down and the Scorpions were gone – bad boys running wild. Oh my! I think the cucumbers are getting to me.

Today was also a time of elevated political unrest in Israel. Hezbollah forces allegedly crossed into Israel and kidnapped two more soldiers. I heard a dull thumping sound from the hilltop where we worked. It was more like background noise to me. Then somebody asked me if I could hear the bombing. Oh yah! Can you say artillery shells?

It’s one of those sounds that any foot soldier, artilleryman or tanker would recognize from live fire exercises. Surround sound can’t do it justice – nor can the thump-mobiles that some of the teenagers drive these days. The pitch was too low to be gunship rockets; the ground vibration was too prominent to be 80mm mortars. If you’re close enough to the gun when it fires, your earplugs press deeper into your ears, it feels like you are getting hit with a 2x10 across the chest – and your regularity is likely to be tested.

On the way down the hill, I rode in the front seat and heard a talk show on the radio. The caller was fairly excited about something and the word mil’chamah (fight, battle) was used repeatedly – it didn’t sound good. I flipped the tube on after lunch. Sure enough, the there was footage of artillery attacks in parts unknown. The CNN website carried the same footage describing the circumstance when the soldiers were kidnapped.

The thumping noise remained in the distance for the rest of the day. It was surreal. The news I watched in a foreign language was the same as the news I watched at home. The skirmish was still confined to the box in the livingroom. If I didn’t want to watch it, I could turn it off and it’d go away.

Someone in the group talked about a conversation they had with a lad named Alla I think his name is. He was part of the Haifa team – but he lived in Texas (I think). The details are sketchy to me, but he was thinking about going to (or passing through) Jerusalem during this time of conflict. His dad said to go, his mom said not to. So he asks, “What should I do?” If I understood the recap accurately, the message given was to consider the people who love him, namely, his folks. Good advice at a time like this!

If the circumstances here regress, which seems so symbolic, I wonder what it will take to pull the pin on the dig. It’s good to see the end in sight though. I miss Connie. I miss the headache of sorting out my kids’ crises. I miss Wednesday lunch at the lodge with my mom. I miss paying bills on the internet.

Oh yes – I also miss flushing toilet paper, shower curtains, bathroom fans and sealed doors. 1 day and a wake up.

That’s what kind of day it was today.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of an ulna

So, what do you say when the morning sun is squelched by eastern cloud cover and the humidity is 70% plus? When feelings are at stake, it is better to listen than to speak. Let me explain.

I couldn’t find it within myself to tell anyone that the humidity was from the snow - that melted and evaporated earlier in the morning. Besides, it’d break Arny’s heart to tell him that the easterly clouds that hovered over the Golan Heights (shielding us from the 6AM sun) were nimbostratus remnants that brought the snow in the first place.

The question that remains is, “Who’s the wise guy that bowed down to the inukshuk?”

It came to my attention that a colleague wrote “we told them that if we sacrificed 5 scorpions and prayed hard, it would snow the next day.” The author must have had a mouse in his pocket, because I didn’t say any such thing. My speech remained in the subjunctive form of make believe rather than in the indicative form of authority. Besides, I spent most of my time befriending the acribbim. Sigh! I guess there is more work to be done than I thought.

But the fact is that we experienced less hot temperatures (I will never use the word “cool” to describe the climate in Israel) that endured for most the day.

If that don't beat all - the Israel Antique Authority guys showed up today. I think they were fixing to inspect the site yesterday or Sunday. But in the background stood the powerfully silent Inuit inukshuk which didn't phase them. They probably looked at it and thought, "Poor Dr Schuler. He has a Canadian resident working for him."

And today, I figured I’d go directly to the dining hall for lunch as soon as I baled out of the bus… filthy, stinky and miserable. What convinced me is that other people were doing it and that it was more convenient for me. This overruled my desire to be comfortable and clean before I had lunch… how about that? Good thing the kids didn’t see me do that.

Father Patella gave a lecture on monasticism this evening. Interesting chap. I didn’t actually know he was a monastic monk until after his lecture was over. With the human bone identification from Glenn and Jay’s side of the site, I started to remember these names from grade school health. Clavicle = collar bone, scapula = shoulder blade etc. Without thinking, during pottery cleaning (which is usually what I do when I am cleaning pottery - except when it is necessary to elevate Dr Schuler's systolic/diastolic measurements) I made a reference to Father Kneecap. The silence and puzzled expressions made me aware of what I said. That I had to explain it to everyone assured me that nobody took it (or would take it) as a bad joke. It also made me aware of how we are stratified by language... even when we speak the same language.

I’ve been teasing Irene about how short I am – in the sense of military service. I’ve enjoyed the chats I’ve had with her. One day, Bob was talking about penguins while we were working in our square. I said, “They walk like they are bound at the knees” (there’s that knee reference again). Just then, Irene and Linda were walking past. Irene didn’t skip a beat and asked if I was making fun of the way they were walking? What a card!

Need I say “2 days and a wake up”?

That’s what kind of day it was today.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs from a rock star (supplemental)

I did a little prework yesterday that I didn’t mention earlier. I tossed out the statement, “If I built an inukshuk, maybe it’ll snow up here.” Of course, the word inukshuk is so alien and the contradiction of seeing snow during this season drew interest immediately. I spent time explaining what it was, but the lasting impression was inukshuk = snow god.

So the inukshuk went up today. Thanks to some gross encounters with rocks in our square, the pace slowed down – and I was on bucket brigade. So I maximized the slack time by selecting 8 choice stone and assembled my stone dude.

This turned out to be a most enlightening event. Some people viewed this creation as a stone idol. But nobody (and I mean nobody) knew what an inukshuk was – not even to see it! It was apparent how formative yesterday’s preambles actually were. This colloquial icon in northern cultures was as alien to the Americans as ground bay leaves are in Canada. I became very aware of the general condition of ignorance that exists on either side of the 49th. In this case, Canada and the US are next door neighbors, a country away. But is it any different in the neighborhoods we live in at home?

The Inuit people built inukshuks for a few purposes – they were used as navigational land marks (in a land where few natural landmarks exist), they were used to mark supply caches for the traveller and they were used to indicate direction of travel. They take two classic forms – one looks like a conical pile of rocks (like a stony tell); one looks like a stone humanoid (admittedly, like an idol). I do not know enough about them to determine which form was used for which purpose, but I could imagine the comfort in seeing a stone figure amidst a tundral biome where life forms are barely visible. Once an inukshuk was built, it was never dismantled – the people revered them so.

So what’s the point?

As a colleague once said, “If it quacks like a duck and looks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.” I agree that this is generally true. But plot that argument on a Venn diagram and you’ll find where the inukshuk experience of today rests – in the unshaded part. This was my approach to the discussion I had with Dr Schuler July 4th. "Are you prepared to accept another likelihood that is just as viable (and just as speculative)?"

My inukshuk was case and point. It looked like an idol. For that matter, it behaved like an idol >snicker<. Therefore, it must be an idol. … though I offered its true background to those who were interested, it seemed that snow god is what stuck. The notion of landmark, food cache and highway sign was not sensational enough to throw the stigma of snow god in an archaeological context.

So what? Well, I'm exercising my Hebrew tendancies by painting a picture.

To those students who read this, I encourage you to test the boundaries of your education. That is not to cast doubt on its content, but to understand the presuppositions of the deliverer. That’s the fun of higher learning. If you have played sports, consider this:

I learned to play racquetball from a guy far better than I. He barely had to move; I’d chase the ball all over the court. He’d never give me a break; I’d work hard resisting the urge to slug him because of it. But even though he won every game, I still scored points on him. Sometimes, it was from plays he’d least expect. Sometimes it was because he was resting on his laurels. But I got better.

I’m not suggesting that the classroom become a battle of wit nor that learning become a competitive sport. My point is that you chew hard on what you are being spoon fed. You never know if the the egg was boiled until you crack the shell ;)

Pax,
'o δοuλος

Memoirs of a taxonomist

Go straight to E1. Do not pass Go. Do not collect 800 shekels.

Today we advanced to the next square to the south. Nothing more than hacking out the remainder of last year’s work to uncover the styling bait. But what a day!

As usual, the first several inches of dirt are where most of the scorpions are found. That’s another thing that is funny – all the measurements were done in metric not imperial units. I think the Americans are more Canadian that they let on.

Anyhoo, I gave up trying to save all the acrabbim. I learned that if I cried “chayah basedeh”, these little creatures would pay the price with their life. It’s such a classic behavior: "Kill what you are afraid of – fear what you do not understand". Sometimes, taking the time to understand takes too much time I guess. So I resolved to silently catch and release the ones that I turned up.

Glenn grabbed a photo of the first one we turned up. I am eager to see it on the photo CD that Dr Schuler spoke of. I didn’t get a lasting look at it before it was done in, but it appeared to be from the genus Nebo – usually living in a habitat with more vegetation than what was on the excavation hill. Odd. The other type was a tiny white dude. Tabitha said she had one sitting on her glove (note that it did not actively seek to zap her). I turned up a similar unit from the bottom of a rock. Most were casting them as babies, but they could have been a type of troglobite (no eyes, no pigment). Again, didn’t see it too close too long before it got squashed. Hopefully, Glenn got a snap of one of those too.

While caution is warranted towards these little soldiers, we would do good to think about our approach toward them. Scooping it into a bucket and pitching it into the bramble bushes .vs. hack it to pieces. Hmm – and we call them animals? On one hand we are mandated with zero ecological impact while we are up on the hill. On the other hand, we kill what indigenously lives in the ecosystem we are to help preserve. It sounds like we are tossing out the earthly stewardship baby with the personal safety water.

On the lighter side of life, I found an Aztec amulet, but it wasn’t fashioned out of gold and it was grossly out of context. So I thought it best to quietly be rid of it and save some anxiety and more grey hairs. (ok, ok I’m just kidding – it really was made of gold).

Though the progress in E1 is steady, I am learning more about people than I am about dirt and rocks. Can’t wait to see what tomorrow holds. BTW – 3 days and a wake up.

That’s what kind of day it was today.

In Christ,
'o δοuλος