Israel 2015- In Defense of the Extraordinary

5/11/15

It turns out there are two ways of viewing the world. Way one: everything and everyone is ordinary. The sun rises, the sun sets. Some people drive busses and some people establish countries. Some people live in cities and others live in towns. Some people are Jews and some are Muslims. Way two: everything and everyone is extraordinary. Every sunrise and sunset, every person regardless of what they do or accomplish, every taste, every sensation, every moment of our all too short existence is extraordinary. Today’s adventures make a strong case for the extraordinary nature of existence. If you’re of the opinion that way one (the path of the ordinary) is the more accurate description of the way the world is, then this post will be extraordinarily aggravating! But hopefully you can be persuaded… Whether you're persuaded or not, feel free to post a comment in defense of your position!!!

We woke up at the extraordinary hour of 3:45am. The moon and the stars in the extraordinarily clear desert sky were the only light to be found. As we were crawling out of our tents a desert fox leapt by. How such a creature can exist in the barren wasteland of the Negev is truly extraordinary.  And talk about extraordinary: we heard not a single complaint from the kids (or the chaperones).  

We arrived so extraordinarily early to Masada that the gate wasn’t yet open. An extraordinarily lazy and uncooperative natural parks ranger refused to open the gate so that we could get a head start up the mountain. Somehow we made it to the top of Masada with plenty of time and had the extraordinary experience of having the entire mountaintop to ourselves for about 20 minutes. We stood in silent witness of an extraordinary sunrise (or was it an ordinary one?) from Masada’s northern palace and then took pictures of the most extraordinary group of 8^th graders in Israel. After touring Masada we had an extraordinary breakfast back at the Bedouin tent before crossing the Negev to get to S’deh Boker where we visited the gravesite of David and Paula Ben Gurion.

Most gravestones are in cemeteries. Most gravestones have two dates separated by the all- important “dash.” Between the day we’re born and when we die, that’s the extraordinary gift that each of us gets.

David and Paula Ben Gurion aren’t buried in a cemetery. They’re buried in the Negev against an extraordinary desert backdrop. The pathway to their resting place is lined with beautiful trees and luscious grass— proof that Ben Gurion’s extraordinary dream of making the desert blossom has, at least partially, become a reality.

Instead of the customary two dates, David and Paula Ben Gurion’s graves have three dates. The dates of their birth and death and the date that each made Aliyah to the land of Israel.  This extraordinary detail asks us to consider what, if any, dates in our lives, will help define who we are, how we live, and how we are remembered. Both David and Paula Ben Gurion led extraordinary lives. In David’s case the extraordinary is obvious—he wrote Israel’s Declaration of Independence, declared Israel’s statehood, and was her first prime minister. The extraordinary in Paula’s life was less tied up with the course of human history and more about the choices she made and the way she lived each day. Some of us will follow David’s path and some of us will follow Paula’s. But I submit, with extraordinary humility, the we will all live extraordinary lives whether we intend to or not.

Mitzpeh Ramon, where we are spending the night, is an extraordinarily dreary desert town that rests on the edge of one of the most extraordinary geological formations on the face of the earth: the Ramon Crater.  The juxtaposition itself is extraordinary. There are no words that can adequately explain what it feels like to stand both inside of and on the border of the Ramon Crater. Sometimes language is extraordinarily limited in its ability to give voice to the human soul, especially when the human soul encounters the extraordinary grandeur of creation.  

Dinner was not extraordinary. I’d be lying if I said it was. But rest assured that the next time you make spaghetti with marinara sauce your kids will think it extraordinary!

After dinner we had an extraordinary conversation with Moody, our bus driver. Moody, short for Mahmoud, is an Israeli Arab. He is Muslim. He lives in East Jerusalem in a village where ½ the schools teach an Israeli curriculum and the other ½ teach a Jordanian curriculum. And he is one of the kindest and most extraordinary people we’ve met in Israel. That’s why we asked him (and why he agreed) to share his story with us and answer any questions that we might have. Here are some extraordinary things about Moody. He served as an Israeli police officer even though doing so is extremely rare among Israeli Arabs. He is both a bus driver and an entrepreneur with his own company. He had 1,200 people at his wedding. He is a new father. He believes that people should connect on a human level rather than prejudging one another based on race, religion, or national identity. He’s a young man, soft spoken, funny, and gracious. We’re lucky to have him as our bus driver. The kids were extraordinarily curious to hear about his life, especially how he met his wife in spite of his parents 10 attempts to arrange a marriage for him. I guess love is the most extraordinary emotion of all (or is it the most ordinary?). 

After an extraordinarily long and fulfilling day the kids are sleeping (or will be soon). Tomorrow promises to be equally extraordinary. How could it possibly be otherwise?