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Month: October 2013

RIP Coney Island Baby Lou Reed

October 27, 2013

Today’s entry was going to be about Israel. About the not so holy land. I’d already written a lot of it. But due to extenuating circumstances, grueling and devastating circumstances for some us, that one is going to be postponed at least until tomorrow. For we’ve just found out that Lou Reed, yes that Lou Reed… has passed away into the great unknown. This one’s for him. For those that know me, or know of me, it’s a given fact that Lou was my biggest musical influence. Princess Little Tree and I have spent countless hours laughing at the fact that every time I release a new album and do the usual hundred or so interviews with the press to promote it — which now usually come in the form of emails that I dictate and she types out and sends back, there is ALWAYS that SAME question: “Who are your five or six biggest influences on your own music?” Without fail that question shows up. And time and time again I answer that question the same. Bowie, Lou Reed, Donovan, Marc Bolan, John Lennon, Paul, George, Bruce, Joni…. Etc.

I never care that most people don’t know who some of those people are. It just is what it is. You can’t listen to me without hearing Lou and Marc and David if you know their music. And I have no idea why that is except to think that that shit just washes over you and then seeps under your skin, gets inside of you and stays there forever… Becomes a part of you.

So it’s finally happened. We’ve lost one of the BIG ones. One of the REAL greats. No we’re not talking about Michael Jackson or Whitney Houston et al. Sure those artists have a place, somewhere, in the bastions of music I suppose… just not rock and roll. And certainly nothing to do with me. We’re talking about Lou. Yes, THAT Lou. My Lou. Our Lou. Lou Reed. The guy that when you tell people he’s your biggest influence they ask “Who’s that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him…” which leads slowly down the path to help explain why artists like me, and Lou, have never reached the highest heights obtainable for musical artists. Because most people have never heard of him. Or me. You always have to follow his name with “You know, that song “Hey babe/take a walk on the wild side…?” And then they’re like “Oh yeah I’ve heard that song. Was he a one hit wonder or something?” And of course that’s a very loaded and telling question that speaks tons about contemporary music, and art in general, in the modern world; for what IS a one hit wonder? Most of them are some of the greatest artists to ever burst out of the human genetic tree. But they just aren’t pedestrian enough to achieve massive fame with the unwashed working class masses. Which in a way is grace and glory and in another way is a deeply sad tragedy.

I’ve told this story before. But if there’s one place where it belongs, in perpetuity, it’s here in the Transcendence Diaries. For without Lou Reed there would be no Ed Hale and thus no Fishy, no Transcendence and no Transcendence Diaries. By all accounts I lucked out. I got signed and had my first album come out when I was 17 years old. What is now commonly called The Eddie Album. Yeah me and Beav were psyched. We’d waited for that moment since we were little kids. We knew I’d get signed. Knew I’d release albums all my life. Knew I’d be a rock star. It was a given. But then something that I’ll never forget happened. Something that I for whatever reason believe changed the trajectory of my life and career forever.

Beav and I were sitting on the floor of my bedroom. We were smoking out, pretty high. I was home on break from college. We were talking about big dreams. Our local paper in Pine Ridge had just run a big cover story on me. We were so freaking happy. All our friends were there. It was a scene. I was talking about how big I was gonna be. Bigger than Elvis. Like all kids do I suppose… And then Beav, as he always does, just out of the blue, after minutes of not saying anything — so when he does speak, everyone goes quiet and listens — he says “Nah dude…” he glances down and takes a drag from his cigarette “you’re not gonna be big like that bro…”

“What are you talking about man? Of course I am!” I protest.

“Nah man. What would be cooler is if you were more like Lou man. More underground. More cool. More intelligent. You don’t want to be a sell-out bro. And let’s face it. You’re not really like the kind of artists that make it big bro. You’re short and ugly as hell and you’ve got that giant schnoz of yours…” Everyone starts laughing. But I continue to protest… though I knew he was just ribbing me. I also knew there was some truth to what he was saying.

“What about Prince? HE’S a real artist and HE’S super big!” I exclaim.

“Yeah man but dude… You’re not like Prince. I mean… You don’t dance and sing like that. You’re more like Lou than anyone… Or Marc Bolan…. You’re underground. You’re an acquired taste dude.”

I never thought that Beav even thought about me or my music… let alone had such insight to what I really sounded like or would come off like to millions of people… Especially not when we were still kids… But I thought about it… I went silent… I just sat there thinking about it. I mean, hell, he was right…. Most of the artists that I grew up loving were already dead or dying or at least 30 years in the past and they were all pretty underground… I never listened to contemporary music when it was contemporary. I shunned it for older cooler stuff. For the exact opposite of superstars. Marc Bolan (T. Rex for those of you who don’t know who Marc is. “Bang a Gong” for those of you who don’t know who T. Rex is…), Donovan, Lou Reed, David Bowie, Iggy Pop….

Sure I was a Beatles fan and as a kid with The Toad and Stu Guru we would daydream about being as big as the Beatles like all young up and coming musicians do. But my tastes ran way deeper and more eclectic than just the Beatles. The Beatles days were when I was a kid. As I grew older I began looking for things that were much more intelligent and eccentric than anything the Beatles ever offered. And as an artist on my own, I quickly began to diverge off the commercial path before my second album even came out. Which of course led to it never coming out because it wasn’t “commercial enough”.

But this isn’t about me. This is about Lou. Who died today. Yesterday Beav texted me a batch of Lou lyrics. Just yesterday. Little Beav texted me almost ALL the lyrics to Lou’s song “Trade In” from his Twilight Reeling album. See. That’s what most people aren’t going to understand. That’s why I’ll avoid social media like the plague for the next few days. Because now that Lou is dead all the pretenders will come out talking about how great they thought Lou Reed was, but they’ll be full of shit. They might know a song or two but they didn’t love the guy. They usually made fun of him. “Oh that guy who always talks instead of sings his songs…” You know who the Lou Reed fans are. Beav just texted me twenty freaking lines of Lou Reed lyrics because he LOVED Lou. For real loved him. As we all did and do who really knew him and loved him. We didn’t care that he lost his singing voice thirty years ago. We still went and saw him live because we wanted to be in his presence and we wanted to support him. Let the pretenders be damned. In fact, standby; I’m going to post something on social media now to all the wannabes who might dare take advantage of Lou’s death for their own selfish glory. I’ll be right back.

Okay I’m back. Had to do that. Social media is awash with these catfishing self-serving whores who will take advantage of any event to get some attention for themselves. One of the things I loath about it. Though for the most part, I am one of the big fans of social media obviously. On certain days though…. Today, wow. The more it hits me the sadder I get. I am starting to feel that deep sadness, the kind that is there when you are crying uncontrollably. It still hasn’t completely hit me yet. I just cannot get it through my head…. that Lou is really gone. Yes, I was lucky enough to meet Lou a few times. I can’t claim that we were friends. Not many can. Tony can. He actually had ben doing tai chi with Lou a lot over the last few years. So for him and for David (Bowie) I am truly truly sorry. I know they must really be feeling it, maybe even more than I; because they were close to Lou as a person. I was more just close to Lou as an artist. Is there a difference in our grief? in the feeling of loss we feel? How can it be quantified? Not sure it can be.

Today started out like any other. Just another Sunday. Wake up late but just in time to rush to church with Princess Little Tree. Making notes the whole time about this and that, different ideas that would eventually become books or screenplays or blog posts or songs. Then off to Victor’s the closest cool coffee shop in town for a cappuccino and some bakery items. Then home for all the Sunday news shows…. And then BAM! A friend posts something to facebook about Velvet Underground. I see it as a strange. SHE would normally NEVER post anything to social about Lou Reed. That’s odd. Let me check it out… Why would she…? And then I see it. Tony posts something confirming that it’s really true. Lou really passed. Fuck. Wow. Could it really be true? We just had a scare like this with Lou a few months ago. His liver was failing. So we knew this was coming. But man…. Couldn’t we get one more live show in? I really wanted Princess Little Tree to see him live. Just to feel that energy of all that love in the room…. But that’s not going to happen now. Ever. She’ll never get to experience that. And neither will I ever again.

But that’s okay as sad as it is. A few years ago as you know, I had the chance to experience Lou up-close and in person at Carnegie Hall. Along with a handful of other legends. At one of the Tibet House Benefit Concerts. Laurie was there too. (Laurie Anderson, Lou’s genius wife who on her won is one of the most innovative and influential artists of all time). So too was Philip. (Glass). It was an incredible show. When Lou came on you would have thought that Jesus himself had resurrected, again, and walked onto the stage. This was Lou’s home turf after all, New York City, a place that made him famous and that made even more famous just by being him. All you could hear were people screaming “LLLLOOOOOOOUUUUUUUU!!!!!!” It was such an incredible energy. I felt very happy for Lou in that moment. He hadn’t had a great ten years last. Yes he was being lauded by many notables for being the visionary that he was. Wim Wenders and Bono and Julian Schnauble and David Bowie had all done plenty to alert the world to his genius as he got older. But commercially his ship had sailed decades before. And his original albums were not just failing to get anywhere commercially; they were failing to even connect with his small fanbase. The last album that he recorded with Metallica was purely dreadful. To this day I have no idea why he or they did it. It was just a mismatch. I get that they loved him and wanted to work with him. But man when something doesn’t work, it just doesn’t work.

David said once, “The thing about working with Lou is that he will ALWAYS find a way to deliberately fuck things up when you’re in the recording studio. That’s the thing. He doesn’t WANT it to be perfect and polished and commercial sounding.” That quote stayed with me for a long time. Never left actually. I have never forgotten it. For better or worse, from the moment I heard it, I kind of adopted it as an ethos for my own art. I understood from that moment on what it meant to record a Lou Reed Album and why his music always sounded the way it did. He was doing it on purpose. So yes, I can admit it here, I adopted that same principle. That’s how big of an influence Lou was on us, on me I guess I mean to say. There is this strong desire to not suffer this grief alone. I want to call someone. Someone who gets it. But only Beav really gets it out of all the people I know. Most people just don’t love Lou the way I did. Tony is feeling it.

I just texted Tony. Just to connect with someone else who can really understand and who is feeling the same kind of grief. It would be like if David passed, God forbid; I shouldn’t even say such a thing. But it’s that kind of pain and shock. We know it’s inevitable. And God knows that for Lou to last till 72 with the insane lifestyle he had then man was he lucky… but it still comes as a shock. Just one of those things we KNOW is going to happen but we just pretend is NEVER going to happen. That’s being human isn’t it? That knowing combined with that uncanny ability to live in denial as only we can out of all the other animals on the earth…

One of the first things that Princee asked me is “Why is he considered so great? Why is he so loved?” So I went on YouTube and began calling up songs of his to play for her and post to social media. So others could become aware of his great works. At the bottom of this post I will paste the link to a PlayList I created of some of Lou’s greatest musical achievements. It’s just really a start. There is SO MUCH more to his achievements than what is on here. It’s a start. It’ll turn you on to a very small sampling of some of his greatest moments and that’s all. There is plenty more beyond it if you dig what you hear. Lou was one of those very rare artists who continually changed and evolved artistically. He never settled down. He never repeated himself. This is why is so beloved by those that know. For those that do NOT like the usual dreck that dominates the airwaves of today, call them the literati or the cognizati or whatever, they all have a small handful of things in common; a sincere love and respect of Lou Reed being one of them. He was a master wordsmith. Unlike Sir Paul, who can sure write a pretty tune, or even a badass one (“Helter Skelter”), but who often disappointed lyrically, Lou NEVER disappointed lyrically. He was the exact opposite. Like Paul Simon or Elvis Costello, Lou never wasted one word. He never took the easy way out lyrically. He never rhymed just because he needed to. IF he had to, he would forsake the rhyme for the meaning. How FEW artists dare do that in contemporary music?

Listen to the song “Street Hassle” or “Kicks” if you want a taste of what a genius writes like within the confines of modern music. Of course the music isn’t the least bit commercially accessable. But that isn’t why Lou made music. And perhaps that’s why we loved and admired him so. Because he just didn’t care as much about that kind of thing compared with being a great writer. His heroes were real poets, cats like Delmore Shwartz, so he didn’t compare himself to other singer/songwriters… He compared himself to real poets. That had a huge impact on me.

The first time I met Lou was twenty years ago. I was a freshman in college. My own first album had just come out. I had written my final term paper on Lou Reed and Velvet Underground, as crazy as that sounds now. And I was playing on a side stage at an Amnesty International event in Atlanta, GA. So was Lou and a still young U2. I got to meet all these amazing people. I went up to Lou and told him how much I loved him and that I had just written my final on him. His response was something like “That’s nice kid….” and that was it. I didn’t expect any more, but it still stung a bit. But why would he care? Would I now? Do I? In all honesty, it’s not that I don’t, when I am told similar things… It’s more like I just don’t have the time for it… That’s really what it comes down to. It took me years of walking in his shoes a bit to get that. For the little me who got hurt as a young fan to integrate with the larger me that began to do the same things to people as I became older and busier.

A few years later I was on the phone with Laurie’s (Anderson) personal assistant. He told me he was leaving the position. I asked why. Laurie is the BOMB. She’s a freaking genius. “I just can’t take having to deal with Lou” he said. “Is he that bad?” I asked. After all, we were talking because I wanted to cruise over and hang with Laurie but I really wanted to hang with Lou. “How often do you really have to talk to him anyway?” “Well now that he and Laurie are a thing…. even if Lou answers the phone, he’s just so fucking rude and callous sometimes. I can’t deal with it.” This really helped me understand. Lou was still coming out of something. I mean, all that pain that created all that incredible music… Music that could only be created from that kind of pain…. He wasn’t just exploiting it. He was living it. He was it. It was HIS life. And it showed. It hit me… Wow, the reason he is able to touch upon these things… is because he feels this pain, he lives it. And unfortunately for those who have to deal with him on a day to day basis, it can be hard to handle at times.

A few years before, I was at Rudy’s Music, the famed guitar dealer in New York City, this is back in the Acoustic In New York days, circa ’95. Fame was about to come and go yet again for me. Or at least any semblance of importance or relevance in the music business. I was sleeping on couches and knocking on doors. Again. Trying to get this new album out that I had recorded for SONY that now was never going to be released because “the songs were too long”. (This was just one of the many aspects of Lou’s influence…. the ironic balance between the quest we had to achieve at least enough appeal to the suits to be able to release our music but our totally fuck it all attitude to the rules and constraints of the business of music to the point where it became harmful to our ability to achieve any kind of real commercial success…. I mean, without Lou…. I don’t know if I would have ever known to reach that far… In terms of artistic reach…. song length…. the need to tell the whole story regardless of how long the song ended up being…. a lot of that came from Lou….)

Around this time I wanted to buy an original Lou Reed black Telecaster. As close to original and as close to Lou’s as I could. So I went to the source. I knew Lou has all his guitars made and repaired by Rudy. Rudy just flat out told me that yes Lou was a special customer but he was a total dick to work for. That again upset and disappointed me. Beav kept telling me to “go bang on Lou’s door and reintroduce yourself and make friends with him man!” But I kept hearing these things that didn’t bode very well for something like that. As much as I would have loved it. Like Bob did with Woody or Lou himself did with Delmore…. I always pictured myself doing it with Lou. But reality told me that it wasn’t going to play out like that. Speaking with Laurie’s assistant, who I’m deliberately not naming, was the closest I came and I really wanted it to happen. But he assured me that if he were to even get up the desire to do me the favor that it would not turn out the way I imagined. Laurie, sure, no problem. But Lou, not a chance. So it never happened back then. Then I got older and my own star started to reignite.

Tony shares things with me. Evidently Lou became much more kind and docile over the last few years. Which makes me happy. He got clean. He went on antidepressants. He had to. He went all natural, which is always good. Started doing tai chi. Tony said he even became nearly personable. But I just didn’t have the chance now at this stage in my own career; I had become so busy… it’s strange how that happens. I could have made the effort to take just half a day to make the pilgrimage, to share with the man how much he meant to me… But I could never make the time. So there’s that too. Just regret. I could have taken the time. I always just figured there would be time. And maybe that’s one of the lessons to be plucked from this great loss. The intense need there is for us to take the time to do things that are most meaningful and important to us. So we DON’T spend the rest of our lives in regret.

For those that know me, I guess it’s enough just to acknowledge what has happened today and that will provide plenty of context as to why I might be MIA for a while, as well as to help explain what and how I’m feeling… If I come off angry or hostile or overtly down…. I really can’t find the words. I feel as though I’ve lost a family member. And more so than most family members I have truth be told. More so certainly than any kind of sadness I might feel if and when my own father passes. But alas you all will understand the other side of that as well. It hurts. I’ve not yet reached the point of tears.

Because I just feel so goddamned angry still. Mad that it’s happened now. Mad that I’m in bumfuck nowhere instead of New York where I should be at a time like this. Nowhere Lou or Laurie or Tony or any Lou fans, nowhere near any vigils that are going to be taking place tonight all over Manhattan. Just mad that it happened. Mad that I never took the time to go pay my respects when I could. Mad that he’s gone forever now and there’s no chance for that “one more great album from Lou”…. The anger is masking my sadness. But I can feel the pain swelling up inside my chest past my throat and into my face. Pain. Deep painful hurtful pain. Lou is one of the last of them. Besides the obvious ones and I’m not going to name them. But God he was still so young.

It wouldn’t be fair to write about Lou without saying a big FUCK YOU to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for not inducting Lou as solo artist until AFTER he’s dead. For surely NOW they will rush to induct him next year. Even though every fucking year his name comes up and they’ve been passing it up; assuming they had plenty of years to do it still and besides “we’ve already inducted him once with the Velvets….” But no that wasn’t good enough. And now like with so many you’re going to end up doing it posthumously. And that sucks. For Lou, who really wanted it, and for all of us who believed that he should have gotten in there long before half the people who are in there now. I mean, this is the guy who gave us “Walk on wild side,” “Sweet Jane” “Satellite of love” “Coney Island Baby” “Street Hassle” “New York” “Blue Mask” “Berlin” on and on and on. On one else gave us what Lou gave us.

He deserved more recognition in his lifetime than he received. I am sure there is going to be plenty now that he has passed. And that’s one of the many aspects of who and how we are that enrages me to no end. But that’s politics. Today should be a day for remembering WHY we love Lou so much. All those songs man. All that brilliant poetry that spoke in a voice that only he could. That white soul groove that he laid down in song. That razor guitar sound and that wall of noise with that mid-toned nasally New York accented voice that hauntingly floated just above all of it speaking truths about the world and the human condition more honestly and more poetically than almost anyone else before or since. “Hey hey Lou Reed/ there aint no way you’ll ever be a human being….” “And some people they’ve got no choice/ and they can never find a voice/ to talk with or even call their own/ so the first thing that they see/ that gives them the right to be/ why they follow it/ and you know man/ it’s called bad luck”

Lou Reed I’m going to miss you. I loved you dearly. Without you there could never be a me. I’ve never been ashamed or too proud or selfish to admit that. Wish I would have told you that in person when I was older, more as peers and not from such a distance as is created by age. But I know you knew how influential you were to guys like me. To so many. I hope you passed on easily and confidentially knowing how important you were and always will be. And how truly loved admired and respected. Here’s to you Coney Island Baby New York City Man.

 

Here’s a playlist of just a few of Lou’s greatest contributions to modern music:

The Great Mistake album promo video by Ed Hale and the Transcendence

featuring the songs “Monday”, “Baby Bop”, “ManChildWoman”, “I Remember You” “Hot Down” “She Gets Me Higher” and more

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Israel: Day One Maybe…

October 8, 2013

We may be here. Not sure. The last five days have been a maddening whirlwind. Having spent them living in various airports around the world, we haven’t showered, slept or changed clothes since Friday. Today is most likely Tuesday. The primary reason being that Delta Airlines had booked us on a straight non-stop flight from New York to Tel Aviv, the flight got cancelled and from that point on they just simply could not find a way to get us to our destination. I was in constant communication with Delta Customer Service via Twitter no matter where I was in the world and though they continued to inform me that they “were working on it”, they weren’t any more successful at accomplishing the task as the customer service reps standing right in front of us at the different airports we were in around the world over these last few days. After days spent in the airport in New York (they advised us that “if we left, we would be risking losing our place in line on the standby flights they kept booking us on””. Unfortunately that never seemed to work out anyway.

Eventually they got some of us off to Amsterdam. Others off to London. Others to Berlin. And some of us off to Prague in the Czech Republic. It was a bloody mess. Don’t get me wrong. A free day in Prague to see the city was a fine surprise. We just weren’t planning on visiting Prague. Of all places. Talk about a surreal mind-fuck moment. Besides the fact that we were exhausted and hadn’t washed in days. From there we managed to make it to Germany. Either Berlin or Dusseldorf, or perhaps Munich. I don’t remember. We were only there for half a day. In Germany we had a few hours to kill. I spent that time continuing to study Israeli-Palestinian relation history and Hebrew. We had plenty of time to grab an old fashioned German breakfast. Which I must say are quite scrumptious and plentiful. I had some sort of wiener-schnitzel and some pretty awesome pastry. Beer is also freely served there 24/7 as can be evidenced by the below photo of The Javelin sipping his beer –mind you it’s about 7am…

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Beer for breakfast, German style

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German strudel = um um good!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eventually the time of our departure arrived. Mind you, each time we flew into yet another country we had to go through customs and immigration for that country, the whole time claiming — as was true — that we weren’t there to visit that country per se, but just “passing through”. So the experience was filled with a lot of waiting in lines to explain to folks that our primary purpose there in that moment was to just leave and get to Israel.

Having already gone through the main Israeli security in New York, we then passed through another one at the airport in Germany in order to get to our gate; and then we were asked to go through yet another one right at the gate before boarding the plane. The Javelin nearly missed the flight entirely because he hadn’t assumed that we would be asked to go through yet another security checkpoint after having already gone through the main one at the gate. There we are, on the plane, two of the last three of us, after four days of flying around the world…so close, and one of the main people on the trip is in the Men’s Room totally unaware that there’s this whole other security checkpoint where everything must come off yet again and all of your belongings searched yet again.

But eventually we all made it onto the plane. By this point there were only four of us left together out of the 18 that were in our group. Having traveled all over the world extensively over the last 20 years I can say with certainty that I have never seen such intense security to enter into any other country in the world. Not even as Americans entering Iran was the security as intense and thorough as it was for we as Americans in trying to get into Israel. (Which is ironic considering that not only is “tourism” the main source of income for the country of Israel, the amount of free money in the form of “donation and aid” they receive from us, the United States (from our taxes) is staggering. But this well-known fact seemed not to phase the Israelis at all as they haggled and harassed to no end in their “security checks”. (Not that it isn’t understandable, considering their circumstances in a post-9/11 world. It is. But there’s a lot they can do about that if they wanted to. Instead they live in near prison-like conditions, surrounding the Palestinians who live in total prison-like conditions. So yes, terrorist threats abound. We’ll get to that.

Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv

Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv

Looking down on Israel-Palestine from the airplane window...

Looking down on Israel-Palestine from the airplane window…

 

Eventually we arrive. In Tel Aviv. Which means “old new land” in Hebrew. This old new land is hot. That may be the first thing you notice. Either that or the men in uniform all over the place packing giant machine guns or rifles. There is a stronger military presence in Israel per square foot than anywhere else in the world. More than Washington DC. It’s awe-inspiring. And frightening. And strange. If you’ve traveled the world, you know what it looks like –there are the natives and there are the tourists. Everyone does their best to mind their business and do their thing. In Israel, one has to add this giant coalition of military personnel everywhere mixed amongst both the natives and the tourists. They guard every doorway. They roam around aimlessly in the streets. They’re stationed on bridges, at stoplights, in towers that are all over the city. They’re standing on every street corner. They man every entrance to every “site”. And seemingly every building. They’re literally everywhere.

Getting our bags and getting through customs wasn’t that bad. It’s mid-day now. Most of our ragtag group is ahead of us already, long ahead. They’re already up to Galilee, the area of Nazareth, where Jesus supposedly grew up. We on the other hand are a three hour drive from there. We flag a minibus-like taxi and begin our journey. The driver is exactly as you’d expect if you’ve already come into contact with Israeli Jews in the States or anywhere else in the world. He is friendly, jovial, likes to talk a lot. Promising us the moon and more. Offering to be our guide for the whole trip, never mind that we’ve been booked on this event-packed trip for months already; offering for us to come meet his wife and children, and telling us his whole life story and then some.

Israel –especially near Tel Aviv — is every bit as industrialized as anywhere else on earth. This is not your bible’s Israel. This is a thoroughly concreted thriving pulsing industrial city. The buildings all seemingly deliberately colored similarly to the surroundings, a desert sand sort of off-white or tan. Subtle. Utilitarian is the word that comes to mind. We drive through Palestinian territories on and off. Check points. But because we are with an Israeli driver, it is easy for us. No problem. One cannot help but notice the very long lines right next to us filled with cars carrying Palestinians. For them, nothing is easy. Not even passing through a checkpoint on a non-descript area of a highway.

We arrive at our hotel in “The Galilee. Near Nazareth. It is third world up here. A much lazier, slower, casual attitude is in the air. I make my way to my room. Hopefully to meet my roomate. The others are taking a boat ride on the The Sea of Gallilee, which turns out not to be a “sea” at all, but rather just a big lake. Again, not your bible’s Israel. Our room is about six feet by six feet if that. Small but adequate. I find out that my roommate is an elderly gentleman — I believe he is in his 80s! — who worked as the Music Director for a prestigious church in Manhattan for his entire career. He also served in the military, fighting the good fight for the allies in World War II. He is more than polite. Quiet. Well mannered, soft spoken. Delicate due to his age. But strong. He walks with one of those walking sticks. We will be rooming together for more than two weeks. I have never roomed with anyone so much older than I. I must confess I am a little concerned that I would simply be too much for him, as eccentric as I am, the strange hours that I keep, etc. Hell, I’m too much for my own wife, let alone someone in their 80s who’s never even met me before.

We can smell this sea that isn’t really a sea all over the little town. It’s a pleasant old world scent. The town is decorated with tourist shops and signs EVERYWHERE. It’s like the Disney World of Jesus. You can buy “Jesus” anything. Towels, plaques, welcome mats, cups, plates, trays, even Jesus beach balls if you want. Jesus has clearly created an industry in this small otherwise unimportant part of the country. Dinner. At a seafood restaurant on the shore. Hanging lanterns light up the night. Reminds me of The Florida Keys. So far, everyone we come into contact with speaks english. As each plate is served, each person is surprised to see an entire fish on their plate, head, eyes bulging out, and tail. One is supposedly meant to cut into the fish and eat around the bones. I ordered a hamburger and fries.

Much of the contents of the diary entries that follow are random thoughts that occur to me during our hectic days. Many more thoughts were videotaped. Eventually those will get turned into a documentary series for Transcendent Television. In the meantime, try to follow as best you can. It may be a little bumpy here and there. But I’ll do my best to fill in the holes when and where I can.

The Jews — meaning the Jewish population that lives in this country as opposed to the Palestinian people — seem completely unaware of, and unconcerned with, the plight of the Palestinians all around them. In a casual manner befitting having a pet perhaps, they dismiss the question of how this land was taken 60 years ago and how the Palestinian people are treated as if it is a non-issue. It is only discussed when and if they are directly questioned about it. Other than that it is not discussed.

So far, I am still keeping to myself, doing nothing but studying Hebrew and the history of Israel/Palestine. One cannot help but be bombarded by a ton of religious data in this study. Religion is so tightly tied to this land, and to these people that there is no separating them from one another. Names dates towns stories legends and myriad factoids. Looking at all the paintings — allegedly of Jesus of Nazareth, and his mother Mary, and his disciples, one is struck by how unrealistically clean ornate and fancy humankind has created them to be through the centuries… in the hundreds of thousands of images painted or sculpted, one is immediately struck by how completely different the real Jesus and Mary and disciples must have looked in real life — just from being here now in this land and with these people. The Romans and Greeks added their own ideas of how THEY wanted these historic figures to appear. They transformed them from Middle Eastern nomadic peoples into pale-skinned Gentiles. They projected their pagan ideals and their highest ideals into the visual representation of these poor simple working people. I wonder if modern day Christians would still be “worshiping” them if they saw more realistic images of what they really looked and dressed like, if they hadn’t been gentrified through the centuries. Do modern Christians have any clue as to what a real Israeli or Judean looks like? Certainly nothing like the images that are most famous of these people. All of the Jewishness has been bleached out. It is a stark contrast, between the people we see all around us here in The Galilee and the famous images we’ve grown up seeing in America or Rome or France or Germany or anywhere else on earth. Surely Jesus and his disciples looked nothing like Da Vinci’s Last Supper.

 

 

 



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Uncategorized Germany, Israeli military, Jews, Nazareth, palestine, Palestinians, The Galilee sea is a lake, visiting Israel

Trying to Get to Israel Through Prague

October 7, 2013


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It’s Monday I think. Or Tuesday. Honestly I have no idea. Last time I was able to post here, we were stuck inside of the JFK airport in New York. Since then, Delta Airlines has flown our small group all over the planet in it’s quest to get about 18 of us to Israel. Evidently one flight got cancelled. The one we were on. And ever since then, they just haven’t been able to get us all there. I’ve been on Twitter DM’ing with various different Delta Courtesy staff who are there for just these kinds of situations, but they can’t believe what we’ve gone through. They just keep responding “Can’t customer service at the gate help you all?” How in the world do screw-ups like this happen? An entire group of 20 people just abandoned in strange cities all over Europe? Crazy indeed.

So guess where we are? Nope, I can’t tell you what day it is, for I have no idea. All I’ve seen is airports and more airports for days and days now. But I do know where we are. Prague! As in the Czech Republic! Indeed. I know. Some of us that is. Others are in Dusledorph. Or Berlin. Or Amsterdam. We arrived a few hours ago. Good thing is that Delta had the foresight to fly us First Class due to the fact that we paid top dollar for non-stop tickets to Israel and non-stop is definitely NOT what we’ve experienced. I’ll tell you one thing: flying First Class makes all the difference in the world. Words don’t do it justice. They treat you so well you’d never want to fly any other way. The problem is that they just don’t have enough First Class seats on most airlines. I try to upgrade every flight I’m on, but there’s just never any availability. And no wonder. Between the all you can eat and drink gourmet selections and the hot washcloths every hour and the more than roomy cozy seats and the top notch service, it makes flying more than bearable, it’s almost downright enjoyable.

Long flight. But we made it. How the hell we ended up in Prague I’ll never know. This is one city that was never on my radar. I’ll tell you that. I’ve never even thought about the Czech Republic truth be told. This is a first for me. I usually don’t travel anywhere without having a valid reason to go and studying the hell out of it’s language and culture. But not on this trip. We’ve just been picked up and dropped here. Absolutely NO plan as to how they are going to get us to Israel. And there are already three or four from our group who have been there for days.

Was able to sleep a little bit on the plane. Due to the weird unexpected circumstances of the whole situation it was hard to relax and get some sleep. Due to the time changes, I have no idea what time it really is or how long I’ve been awake or even what day it is. Probably Monday. Or Tuesday. Not sure. Most of us have never been here before. So we are headed into the city proper to just check it out. Delta has no idea when we’ll be leaving. Before we headed out, I went up to the customer service counter and politely asked if we could be supplied with a club to relax in. She said that one could only use the club if one had a first class ticket booked and informed me that we had no tickets booked at all. “Well who’s fault is that?” I exclaimed. So instead I said, “You know what, forget a club. We’re exhausted. Give us a few hotel rooms while we were there.” The lady, who was Czech — they’re all pale-white and blue eyed by the way, very beautiful in the classic European style — was shocked by my request. But I simply stated the truth: there are 18 of us in total. We’ve been split up and we’re all over the map right now. Those of us here in your lovely city left our respective homes three or four days ago for a non-stop flight to Israel and here we are in Prague of all places! And still in the same clothes we were wearing four days ago. No showers. No bed… I mean, come on… Do the right thing here and give us a few hotel rooms. Lo and behold, she did. Thank God. I am nearing total exhaustion.

But first it’s off to see Prague. Two of our fellow travelers had just been here on vacation a year ago. So they actually know the city pretty well. In order to get into the city from the airport you have to take a tram for about a half hour, then get off and onto a subway, then get off and onto a bus and then get off and onto a trolley. Yes a trolley. God only knows what time our bodies think it is, but in local time it’s Monday morning. Or Tuesday… Not sure. The city is grey. It’s winter. We’ve driven through some very industrial areas. You definitely feel the old world here. The looks on the faces of some of our fellow travelers on the subway and bus were very weary. There is a sense of being left behind here. I have not studied Prague or the Czech Republic much, so I don’t know anything about it. I can’t speak about it. I was just floating basically. All I really wanted was to sleep. But I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. How often do we get a free day in Prague with nothing to do but sight-see? SO off we strode.

singer Ed Hale in Prague, Czech RepublicGetting to know the group better. Good little group. Young and old. The youngest person is about 27 years old and the oldest person is 93 or something crazy like that. Everyone else is sort of in between, mostly older people. In their fifties and sixties from what I can tell. All of them dedicated peace makers and vitally tapped into making the world a better place. This little jaunt into Prague is a much needed and welcomed distraction from what so far has been a hellish experience.

No complaint about the people here. They’re all certainly nice enough. As in many European towns, there are many tourists here. From all over the world. Prague evidently has plenty of history. We saw a gazillion castles and cathedrals, as you do in all major European cities. But there’s a certain smallness to everything here. Small streets. Small little villages. And everything is very very old. Why? Because it is old. As Americans it is something we are just totally NOT used to. two thousand year old castles and houses… It’s exhilarating, fresh, thought provoking. I saw the word Kafka somewhere, and then again. And was then reminded that THIS is where Kafka, the Kafka of my youth, was from. Went to see the little house and print shop where he lived for a while. That was awesome. Totally unexpected. You have to love these kinds of fortuitous chance encounters that life throws your way now and then. It could have been much worse. This was very special.

The Sprite in The Czech Republic is the strongest most sparkling I’ve ever tasted. Just as Sprite in Brasil is much sweeter than in The States, after some years of traveling one begins to realize that all is not always as we assume it is from the narrow confines of where we call home. Even universal absolutes — such as the flavor and character of your favorite soft drink or food shifts and differs depending on where one is in the world. I will never admit that it’s all in my imagination. I am a Sprite connoisseur, and I’m telling you that it’s just the strongest and most sparkling here in Prague that I’ve ever tasted. You can’t ask anyone because they’ve never tasted anything different.

Another thing you notice is that there are little beer shops everywhere, bars is what I guess you’d call them. Beer seems to be quite popular here. And there are also a ton of little coffee bars everywhere. You can stop on a walk to grab an espresso just about every few blocks. That’s nice. Price? About .75 cents converted to American dollars. Starbucks would never make it here.

IMG_1123The Czech people are staggering in their reserved politeness; at least in the presence of Americans. This is not France, Italy or Germany where they’d just as well prefer to have you never visit, let alone inconvenience themselves by conversing with you in English. In Prague at least nearly everyone we encountered spoke English. Or tried. This is no longer a rare occurrence. Most people of civilized nations speak English as a second language from the moment they enter elementary school. It is usually the Americans who are the least multi-lingual amongst their human brethren. All the Czech people we met at least attempted English. And they were all very nice.

The architecture was insanely ornate. Elaborate. Fancy. Big. This was once obviously a very wealthy city in Europe. As I said, not planning to come here, I just don’t know anything about it or it’s history. Would like to return with a little more planning. It’s quaint as all hell. Plenty of history. Nice enough people. Still can’t get over this dark eerie “land that time forgot” feeling that seems cast upon the place… But perhaps that has to do with the whole Cold War and the old USSR… That’s what it seems like.

We ended up at a very old restaurant, about twelve of us, everyone just wiped out tired. Many tried goulash for the first time. I had wiener-snitzel and sour kraut. And an ice cold beer. It was better than delicious. Perfect. On the way back we were walking along this promenade, a very long bridge that most will probably know the name of, for it’s evidently very famous. It was just like New York. There were tons of artists and vendors along the way both to your right and left, just sitting there ready to sell you some trinket or paint your portrait for a few bucks. Next to them every few yards was a musician of some kind. A clarinet player here. A guitarist there. An opera singer a few yards down from him. I was in the middle of a semi-deep conversation with The Javelin and I hear this familiar music. Sounded like Dixie Land jazz. But with a European feel to it. My eyes go wide and The Javelin asks “What is it? What do you hear?” “It can’t be” I say, rushing toward the music.

IMG_1131We fast-walk a few hundred feet and there on the bridge with the river behind them is this band featuring a very old and weathered looking washboard player that the guys and I were just watching on YouTube a few days before in the studio in Seattle. Couldn’t believe it. How on earth??? Well, let me explain. I wanted to add washboard to one of our songs on the new album. But we had no idea how to play the washboard. So we googled “best washboard player”. We ended up on YouTube watching all these videos that people had posted from all over the world of this one band. Evidently this one guy, a very old man with a long white scraggly beard, is world renowned for being one of the world’s coolest washboard players. Now truth be told, while we were watching the videos we didn’t even pay attention to where this band was. We were just analyzing his playing style and trying to learn how it’s done. But he was fantastic. He plays with all these thimbles on his fingers and thumbs. IN almost every song he takes a solo for a few seconds. It’s a very catchy rhythmic sounding instrument. If you would have asked me ten minutes later “where is that band with the washboard player from?” I wouldn’t have been able to answer you. We knew it was in some strange not very common European town. And here I am a week later taking an unexpected leisurely stroll on a bridge in Prague and bump into the exact same band. Tried speaking with the guys when their song was over but they didn’t speak a word of English. So we managed to snap a few pictures with them just to show the guys. Wouldn’t believe it unless there were a picture attached to that story.

It’s about midnight now. Another four of us from the group managed to jump onto some flights into Germany to one day hopefully arrive in Tel Aviv. The rest of us are still at the airport. Some are asleep on their suitcases on the floor. We were told to go clean up at the hotel the airline provided and come right back here. Which we did. In case they could fly us out. Most of us will not be flying out anywhere tonight. So it’s back to the hotel. God only knows when we’ll ever get to Israel. This has been one hell of a ride. But hey, today wasn’t half bad. What a trip indeed.

 



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Uncategorized Delta Airlines screw ups, Prague, Sprite tastes different in each country, world's greatest washboard player

Israel Are We There Yet?

October 6, 2013

It’s either Sunday or Monday… Not sure. I’ve been in airports for days now. In the same clothes since Friday morning. Time tends to bend in on itself and convolute. Sunday morning –seems like days ago — I awoke to find myself still in Manhattan even though I had flown to New York on Friday night just as a layover on my way to Israel. But instead I spent all day Saturday in the airport only to get in a car and head back to the City late that night. Woke up a bit late Sunday morning remembering where I was and ran to church. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the City. So I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. Boo Boo Kitty didn’t want to go because we hadn’t “gotten ready”, but I’ve been going there so long I don’t even care what I look like anymore. Just wanted to be in the space once again.

It’s funny. Some places you can live in for years and never feel that sense of home. That’s how South Florida was for me. I lived there for years but it just never felt like home. Seattle has been the same. Absolutely nothing against it, but I just don’t get it. New York was the first place in the United States where I felt that inexplicable sense of “this is home”. Right down to the church. I must confess to feeling near giddy by the opportunity to be able to attend a service at Christ Church unplanned like that. Everyone assumed I was already in Israel. Turns out it was Communion Sunday (first Sunday of every month) totally by chance. When I walked up to the front to receive Communion I noticed Catherine Darlington sitting in her spot in the pews to the left as always. Tapped her shoulder. Hadn’t seen her in months. Nor even spoken. Last time we spoke she was very upset with me about allowing a certain song to be released which will go unmentioned here. Reverend Bauman had a surprised look on his face when he saw me, as if seeing a ghost. It’s true, I hadn’t been in New York for a while. And here I just show up out of the blue. It was a marvelous experience though. The music as always was transcendent. The sounds that emanate from that choir are just ridiculous. Movie quality. Record quality. You can’t believe that it’s something that is provided free of charge. Sure as members we donate a small percentage of our annual salaries to keep the church alive, but in reality anyone can walk in off the street and just plop themselves down to experience these awe-inspiring services. That’s one of the many aspects of American churches, Christian churches…(?) that impresses me most. The sermon was deep, moving and thought provoking. As they always are. Reminded me why some places just feel like home.

We’re actually quite lucky if we happen to find a place to call home in the world. I never realized that until it happened to me. Most of the places we go, whether we live there or not, don’t necessarily vibe with us. It’s not a given. But New York has always been that way for me. Because my mind was so preoccupied with why I was really in the city and there were so many people to catch up with, I decided not to stay afterwards, but rather just sneak out quietly. My mind wasn’t there. Too concerned with how the hell we were going to get to Israel, if ever.

While at church I received yet another text regarding the trip to Israel, “Head to JFK ASAP. May have a flight.” So I ran back to Boo Boo Kitty’s place, packed up my stuff once again and got back in a car to head to the airport for the third time in 48 hours. Once there we were told that at this point Delta was just throwing us on whatever flights they could in order to get us there. It was total chaos. We’re on our third day now of trying to get there. Some people were headed to Amsterdam. Some to Israel direct. Some to Berlin. Some to the U.K. A few of us were stuck at JFK for what’s seemed like days. And here we sit. It’s been one hell of a trip and we haven’t even arrived in Tel Aviv yet. From what I hear each of us may be on a different flight but somehow meet up in Israel at some point this week. This is not how a group peace mission or diplomacy or work trip is supposed to go. But it isn’t anyone’s fault except for the airline’s. I’m a big Delta fan. Starting to rethink that. I’ll keep you posted.

 



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Uncategorized Christ Church New York City, Delta airlines screws up bigtime, finding home, new york

Israel By Way of New York, Maybe

October 5, 2013

Well… This has certainly been one hell of a rollercoaster ride the last 24 hours. Finally pulled into NYC last night at about 1am. Talk about tired. But that was nothing compared to what was to come. I know this now because it’s nearly 1am Saturday night/Sunday morning. Took a car to Boo Boo Kitty’s apt in Midtown last night. Was great to see her. Was great to be back in the City. Words just don’t do it justice. Can’t. If you’re a lover of New York. As I’ve said countless times here before, there’s just a very special magical feeling that overtakes you when your plane first descends below the clouds and you see all those lights of Greater New York and it’s Five Boroughs glistening below. It’s an indescribable feeling of giddiness. And last night was no different.

The first thing I noticed when I got off the plane — I Tweeted this, much to the confusion of many — is how many different kinds of people you see in New York, compared to Seattle, WA. We’ve been living in both cities simultaneously for about four years now. People call it bicoastal, though we’re nowhere near a coast in Seattle really. There’s water… but they’re lakes and sounds. Not the ocean. But it’s as far away from New York as you’d ever want to get. The point really, the aspect of it that stands out the most, is how homogenous and white Seattle and it’s suburbs are. One would not be exaggerating if they said that all you ever see in Seattle is WASPy white people with an occasional Asian thrown in. I’ve honestly never seen anything like it before. This includes a sincere lack of Jewish people as well. It’s like nowhere else in the US of A. If you stay in Seattle long enough, you might forget about other kinds of people entirely. Until you land in New York City that is. I got off the plane and my senses were immediately bombarded by the sounds and sights of black people and Latinos, the likes of which I hadn’t heard since, well, the last time I had been in New York. It had been a while I guess (a few months…?) and you just forget about other cultures when you spend a lot of time in a place where everyone is the same. Chances are most people in Seattle aren’t even aware of this strange phenomenon. That’s my guess, because it’s not like anyone ever speaks of it.

I shot out a Facebook/Twitter update that read something like “Just landed in NYC. Holy cow I just saw a black person! And look there! A group of people speaking Spanish!” People had no idea what I was referring to. But it really is like that. They say that New York has the largest collection of people from different countries and nationalities per square block than any other city on earth. I’d say this is a good thing. I’ve always personally loved it. Who doesn’t like arguing with someone at the post office or a restaurant who doesn’t speak a word of English in your own neighborhood? It’s good times. Just one of the many aspects of life in New York City that make it indomitably unique and spectacular.

Though I was exhausted from all the driving and the long flight (it’s 12 hours door to door from our house in Seattle to our apartment in New York), I couldn’t help but feel exhilarated in the car on the way into the City. Felt like a little kid, peering out the window with a smile on my face at all the bright lights and colorful sights. Got to Boo Boo’s apartment and exited the car. Doorman was exceptionally helpful. We forget what midtown living is like until we return. Like no place on earth. Thoughts: Great to see Boo Boo again. Funny that I had to fly all the way to Seattle in order to hang out with her, when we lived no more than a mile away from each other for a year. But that’s another New York thing. Was very surprised to see how small her apartment was. Again, another thing we forget. But in Manhattan we PAY for space. As in square feet. As in $500,000 for a 450 square foot apartment. And that’s not half bad a deal. So there she is in a 450 square foot apartment. But she OWNS it. And there’s no better feeling than owning a little piece of your own in the greatest city on earth.

People from anywhere else on earth would be shocked to see the size of the tiny dwelling places we call home in New York City. But they’d also be impressed with what we do with them. The creative design entailed in turning a tiny one room apartment into a decent feeling living space is impressive. The bed is in the living room. As is a small couch. As is a small office desk. As is a small dining room table. Everything all in one room. To the side a small kitchen that you can just barely do a 360 in IF you’re small; and in another room off to the side is a small bathroom and a closet just big enough for a mouse to store a few clothes in. But somehow it works.

Why would anyone endure such grueling living conditions when the same amount of money would buy you a small mansion in another part of the country? Well the answer is simple. As soon as I unloaded my bags, we stepped out into the night. A Friday night. Past 1am in the morning. But the streets were packed with people. And so were all the stores and bars and restaurants. A city that truly never sleeps. Because there are just so many people living there. 14 million at last count. And for those that like that kind of thing, there’s no better place for it than New York. We had a blast catching up. Hanging out in the City. Just goofing around. Going into stores. Grabbing some food here. A drink there. The City was pulsing as it always is. A million different things all happening at once all around you. It’s utterly fantastically thrilling. Completely the opposite of Seattle or just about any other city or small sleepy town in America. I tried really hard to find that in Miami. There are little pockets of it here and there. But not really. Even South Beach, the infamous Lincoln Road or Ocean Drive… by 1am it’s a ghost town for the most part. Moving to New York was the best move I ever made.

[For those that don’t know, though I am sure we’ve already covered it here, the reason we’re in Seattle is because Princess Little Tree has/had kids when we got married. They grew up in Seattle. It’s home to them. Yes we had every right to move to New York when we got married. That’s where I lived after all. And Princess Little Tree LOVES New York. But her kids are small-town people. They’d never even been to New York before. It was completely overwhelming to them when they came to visit the first time. I had the luxury of growing up in a small town when I was a kid. And I wanted them to have the same benefit. To stay in the same school. Keep the same friends. It was a major sacrifice, but I figured it was the least that I could do. I know how strange and disturbing divorce is. And how much weirder still a new marriage is with someone new moving into your home can be. So keeping them in their same hometown till they graduate just felt like the right thing to do. It’s been four or five years now that we’ve been going back and forth between the two cities. It’s been expensive and physically taxing. We own two of EVERYTHING. It’s a crazy life. But we’re almost through it. We’ve got less than one more year to go and then we’re back in NYC full-time.]

Boo Boo Kitty has started trading again. That was interesting to hear since I too had jumped back into the trading game as well. We shared war stories and successes like two old soldiers, but with a spark in our eyes as if we were little kids talking about Christmas. It’s amazing how once the trading bug gets you, it just takes you over. She actually turned me on to a lot of interesting new data. Things I didn’t know. I taught Boo Boo how to invest and play the markets originally. Then she turned it into a full time gig. Ended up really getting into it and learning more than I had. It’s interesting how that happens in life.

Flash forward to the next day. In such a small apartment, you may be wondering just where does a person sleep when they come to stay with you in New York.  Valid question. Well, we use air mattresses. Lots of them. Everyone in New York owns at least one to three air mattresses. In our case Boo Boo had a small twin one, we blew it up and placed it smack dab in the middle of the living room. Meaning that we now could not walk anywhere in the whole apartment without leaping over the air mattress. Slept like a baby. Didn’t have to be at the airport until 10PM. So we had all day to hang out. Do the usual. Brunch. Walk around the City. But as soon as I wake up i receive this frantic text from one of the leaders on our team, “Fishy, go to their airport NOW! Problems with the flight!” So I throw everything in my bags and run out to grab a cab. That didn’t work out the way we had planned.  But oh well, “See ya next time Boo! Thanks for the place to crash!”

I get to the airport and receive another text, “Don’t go to Terminal 2! Go to Terminal 3 instead!” Great. I’m already in Terminal 2. Schlep my bags a mile to the other terminal. One by one people from our small group start to arrive, each one as confused as the other. Evidently our Delta flight had been cancelled. As in completely cancelled and no flight. They were trying to book us on other flights. Talking about splitting the group up. If there’s one thing you KNOW about peace mission trips, it’s do NOT split the group up. But evidently they’d already sent three people to Newark Airport on their own to grab totally different flights. Another 15 of us were stranded at JFK. No flight. A few of the people in the group I already knew thank God. Been on several other trips with them. Norma Jean was there. Felt a huge relief knowing she was going on this trip. Been to Africa, New Orleans, Biloxi, MS and South America with her already. Same with Zubes and The Javelin. He’s a pastor, of the Methodist variety. Same age as I am. On trips like this, you need a few religious leaders. They’re essential parts of the whole that make for smooth missions. There’s a certain nobility to being a pastor or reverend or rabbi even when you’re on any kind of peace or diplomacy mission trip. They’re almost always treated with a respect that you don’t really see bestowed upon anyone else except for heads of state and rock stars. That’s where I come in I suppose. For some reason we’re able to get away with just about anything. For no real reason from what I can tell. But like religious leaders, people just tend to throw you a lot of rope when you’re a recording artist.

I introduced myself to everyone else on the trip one by one as we all just sat around in the terminal for hours waiting to learn of our fate. Would we ever actually get to Israel? At that point, we had no idea. The leader on this particular trip is a semi-retired business consultant turned peace activist lady by the name of Joy Gladry. She’s very typical of what you might meet in New York in certain circles. White, well bred, upper class, grew up somewhere else but relocated to New York because of work. Did well in her career and now still has plenty of time to enjoy her life. Spends a lot of time giving back to her community. Sits on the board of a variety of well meaning charities for human rights, feeding the hungry, the arts. Very active. She was one of the few people who put this whole trip together. She went for the first time about three or four years ago. She came back a changed person. I’ll never forget the first time we sat down to talk about it. I assumed she would just fill my ear with the usual oooos and aaaahhhhs about “how wonderful it was to walk where Jesus walked….” which is what you tend to hear from many people when they first get back from Israel. Or at least that’s what you used to hear.

Over the last five to ten years things have really changed. Now the main thing you hear instead is how horrific and shocking it is to see how the Palestinian people live. Joy had the same experience. She ended up going back two more times. This past summer she went there and lived with Palestinian families for about six months. She’s completely without prejudice, even with everything she’s seen. Because of the tight bond the Christian community feels with and for the Jewish community in Israel — it’s a biblical thing, and quite frankly not only do I not believe that the feeling is not necessarily reciprocated, I’m not even sure that Jews even realize just how much the average Christian knows about Jewish history and their religion. But needless to say, we read The Torah as often as they do and study their history an equal amount if not more, for no other reason than that the central figure of the faith, Jesus of Nazareth — as well as all the other primary and secondary characters of Christianity — was (and were) Jewish. Every time I see or talk to Joy she always says something to me like “We’ve got to help our Jewish brothers and sisters. They know not what they’re doing over there to the Palestinian people. We’ve got to do our part Fishy.” Granted though, we  can never understand how they feel; no matter how much of their history we know or how much of their religion we practice on a regular basis. Christians for better or worse in the modern age have been kept relatively safe from persecution. I do not pretend to have a clue as to how it FEELS to be Jewish.

This is what first captured my interest in actually going on a peace mission trip to Israel in the first place. A large group I knew had gone back in 2010. And instead of gushing over all the sacred sites, they all came back shocked by the horrors they saw and completely committed to helping the Palestinian cause. This was very unexpected for me. I had no interest in going to see supposed sacred sites truth be told. I figured that’s the kind of thing you can busy your time with when you’re older. Much older. But send me there on a peace mission, as a means to try to help bring more peace to the world through resolving the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and I’m in. So that was how the invitation was first presented to me. Like I said, lately I’ve been turning most of these trips down. Just so busy with trying to finish these new albums and with other things. But this was an opportunity that I couldn’t say no to. Joy Gladry had convinced me that this wasn’t going to be just any normal trip to the Holy Land, but rather we were going deep inside both Israel and Palestine. We were to meet with many high ups in various fields of peace activism and government and really try to get to the heart of the matter.

Well… that’s if we get there at all. It’s now well past midnight on Saturday. Needless to say I’m back at Boo Boo’s apartment in midtown Manhattan. We waited at the airport for about six hours. Then everyone was told to leave except for me. Delta believed that they secured me a flight on Al El Airlines. Only problem was that it wasn’t guaranteed and it was just for me alone. I begged and pleaded that I didn’t want to go alone. I’m going to just get on a place and wind up at the airport in Israel 24 hours later in the middle of the day alone? But they insisted that if one person was capable of pulling it off, it would be the one person who bothered to learn Hebrew. “What was the sense in going to all that trouble if not for an adventure like this Fishy?” Joy heckled me. I figured “fine it’ll certainly be an adventure at the very least.

She warned me how intense the security and scrutiny was going to be here in New York and once I got into Israel. I had already left a large supply of various different questionable items from my spy-bag with Boo Boo Kitty back at her apartment. A few syringes and vials of various different chemicals. Some fireworks, smoke bombs, some utility knives. Things I would never normally travel without. And yes, truth be told I have traveled all over the world — and America — with every single one of these items in my bag. Including mace, pepper spray, tasers, stun guns, fire starters, sterno fire cans, the works. Security never catches them, or when they do they just let me go through with them anyway. This is true. Don’t ever think for a minute that you’re safe on an airplane in the States just because of the TSA. I can promise you just based on what I bring through that none of us are any safer than we were twelve yeas ago. So as Joy and The Javelin were heading out to return to Manhattan I was headed to the gate to head to Israel on my own. I kneeled down on the floor and unzipped my spy-bag and began taking things out one by one. I pulled out a giant handful of stuff. I barely know these people and here I’m handing them a big handful of knives and stun guns and fire starters. “Perhaps it’s best if I don’t try to get through security with these items… Can you take them back to Manhattan and I’ll get them from you after our trip please?” I ask. The looks on their faces… Wide eyed shock.

Not knowing what to expect I went right to the gate. Hours early. Just to be safe. I had heard the stories. I already knew that I’d be suspect because of my appearance. Not only am I not Jewish, but security people at airports just have this negative bias towards long haired types with earrings. And I was not to be disappointed on this little jaunt. They hand-searched my bag for about an hour. I had already given up almost everything I thought was suspect to Boo Boo or Joy. But they found plenty of items still to question. Why was I carrying a short wave radio? Hand cuffs? A lock picking kit? a multi-bit screwdriver? And that was just the beginning. Surprisingly they didn’t take one thing away from me. They did NOT catch my pen collection, which besides being a stellar set of some of the finest writing instruments in the world today, also contain a pen-disguised pepper spray, a pen-disguised audio/video recorder, a pen-disguised laser and a pen-disguised utility knife.

Once I got through security I thought I was in the clear. But that was far from the truth. The Israeli women who work security at the gate are absolute ninja warrior types. They look you right in the eye and start asking you a hundred questions. Trying to trick you with each one. They’ll ask you the same question three times even though you’ve answered it. The lady who was interrogating me was razor sharp, focused like a laser beam with one intention: to not let me on that plane. I wasn’t Israeli. I wasn’t Jewish. I had no business going there as far as she was concerned. Never mind that tourism from Christians from all over the world is the number one revenue generator to the nation of Israel. Without that, their economy would be greatly challenged. Similar to Paris or Rome or Disney World for that matter. But impressively this woman did not let that fact sway her one bit. When told that I was going on a peace and fact-finding mission with a large reputable organization, she was intrigued by the fact that there was no one else in my group traveling with me. Telling her that everyone had to go back to Manhattan and would be flying there tomorrow did nothing to assuage her fears. If anything it only made her more suspicious.

I was told by many others that you will never feel more like a criminal than when flying to Israel. They were right. I actually started feeling guilty for no reason other than the fact that this woman and then her manager were giving me the third degree. As if I were really a criminal but just didn’t know it or something. They took my passport for about an hour. Did God only knows what with it. Inspected all my paperwork. And continued their onslaught of questions. Where do I live? Who have I talked to since getting to the airport? What items am I carrying that I didn’t pack myself? (really?) How can I be sure that no one else has touched my suitcases? Most suspicious of all, my trips to Iran. We knew going in that that would or could pose a serious problem. But it also isn’t that difficult to Google my name and see exactly who I am and what I do for a living. I am certainly no terrorist. In the end, it worked out. I simply explained that I was going to Israel, if they let me, for the same reason that I went to Iran: to listen, learn and negotiate and promote peace. Between all peoples.

After about an hour of this, I was finally let through to the gate. Seriously. At least an hour. Talk about trying to talk you out of visiting their country. I know plenty of hardcore libertarian-minded Americans who would have walked away after five minutes of that kind of treatment. We were still in the U.S. after all. But I was determined to get there. I figured it was worth it. Once I got the gate I was told that I was NOT guaranteed a seat on this plane actually and that they didn’t care at all what Delta said. Told that I was actually on standby and to go sit in the corner and wait. How long? A few hours. We’ll let you know. I had never flown standby before. There’s a reason for it. Some people value money more than anything. To others it’s time. I fit into the latter group.

Turns out that they were overbooked by about thirty passengers. I waited there till 11pm. No one ever came to talk to me or inform me what the status of my seat was. I had never seen anything like it. If you’ve ever worked with Israeli movers, multiply that by ten. The rudeness and callousness with which we were all treated was so intense, so overt, that it was funny because it was so beyond disbelief. I was absolutely exhausted, after rushing to the airport as soon as I had woken up, having not eaten anything all day and then all night (they told us that if we left and they called our name that they would immediately give our seat to someone else… So we didn’t dare leave our spot on the cold hard airport floor.) After every single person boarded the plane I finally lumbered over to the counter and asked if there was any update on my ticket, to which the agent just casually replied “Oh the flight is full sir.” As if I wasn’t even sitting there and they hadn’t already spoken to me. No sorry. No apologies. No offer to help book me another flight. Just looked past me off into the distance.

The airline is called El Al. In all my years of extensive traveling, I thought I had seen it all (Africa will blow your mind when first flying there… many aspects of it) but I have never seen an airline so rude, uncaring and unprofessional. But I kept reminding myself what they had been through as a people. That there was more to this story than just the here-now. This was a people who had by their own account been “abused, mistreated, taken advantage of, used, lied to, enslaved, ostracized, tortured and even murdered for thousands of years no matter where we have tried to live”. The foundational impetus for the Zionist Movement. So perhaps this is something that runs deep… a self protectionism that to the average person who grew up with a silver spoon in their mouth could never understand. A kind of “every man for himself” defensive offensiveness. An existential anger. I really got the point how after a few generations of that kind of abuse, it can sit inside of a person’s DNA and form who the person is and how they act. I get that. But when will they begin to let it go…? That’s the question. [Then again, it’s only been 60 years since one of the most brutal genocides the world has ever witnessed. Perhaps it’s not yet time to let it go. And in fact, maybe letting it go may actually work against their very survival. I get that.]

So back in a car to return to Manhattan. I’ve made this trip to and from the airport three times now in the last 24 hours. Evidently we will all head back to the airport tomorrow to see if Delta can find us a replacement flight. As of now we don’t have one. Three of us are already in the air and on their way. That has to be an odd predicament to be in. But tomorrow’s another day. More then. Ambassador over and out.

 



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Uncategorized Delta airlines, El Al airlines, El Al airlines rudeness, Israeli security, New York City, Seattle is all white people, small apartment sizes Manhattan, visitng Israel and Palesinte

Headed to Israel

October 4, 2013

Friday October 4th 2013

On the plane now. Have to fly from Seattle, WA to Newark, NJ, then take a car into the City. Will be staying with Boo Boo Kitty, at her apartment in Midtown, for the night and then meeting the group tomorrow at the JFK. From what I understand we are flying directly to Tel Aviv. A non-stop flight, which is always nice, though it’s something like ten to fourteen hours, which isn’t so nice. But certainly worth it. I’ve never been to Israel before.  I know for many people, specifically Christians and Jews, a trip to “the Holy Land” is a dream come true. I’ve heard the way people talk about it over the years. You would think they died and went to heaven, met God himself, and returned to earth to talk about it. For the devout, this is the ultimate pilgrimage. Similar to the Hajj for people of the Muslim faith — the mandatory trip to Mecca that all Muslims are supposed to make at least once in their life. But of course this isn’t really a holy pilgrimage we are taking. More of a fact finding mission to one of the most volatile hotbeds of political unrest in the world today. One cannot escape the religious aspects of the trip, and I personally wouldn’t want to, being Christian.

But as a Civilian Diplomat, what interests me most is the attempt to gather as much data firsthand as I can about the land and the people, and to connect with as many people as I can in an attempt to create more peace in the world. I am invited to many countries every year, in various capacities, as a singer and recording artist or in a more diplomatic capacity. Because of my schedule I am forced to turn most of them down unfortunately. Israel is different. As more and more people are starting to understand, Israel is the center, the focus, of much of the political turmoil that we as Americans are forced to endure whether we like it or not. It is a deep, and heavily nuanced subject. Very few people are objective about it. Instead they feel immediately captured emotionally and feel a dire need to “choose sides”. Civilian Diplomats don’t have that privilege. In fact we make a commitment to not do that as part of the requirements to hold that title. Creating peace means choosing the side of peace and no other. Sometimes it is more difficult than others, easier to say than do. One of the first things that struck me about Israel/Palestine as a child is how vehement American politicians are in asserting their allegiance to Israel. To not do so usually means instant death to an American politician’s career. But why?

This got me to studying. From a very young age I was fascinated by the subject. What was the hold on American politicians? And why? Studied the subject for years. Read hundreds of books about it. First and foremost what you learn is that the Israeli lobby in Washington DC is the single largest lobby in the United States. It’s bigger than Big Oil, bigger than Big Pharma, bigger than weapons manufacturers and defense contractors. Meaning, they have more money at their disposal and more pull and influence with politicians than any other single industry in America. This was a shocking realization. It explained a lot. To publicly speak up about Israel in a negative fashion in any way, no matter how true or justified you might be, could literally destroy your career. We’ve watched it happen live and in real time to more than one well-meaning public servant in our own lifetimes. So it’s a given that if you’re going to enter American politics you have to at least pretend that “Israel is our greatest ally in the Middle East and I will do anything to preserve their right to exist in peace”. But at what cost? That’s the question that occurs to many when they first start learning about the strong grip that Israeli lobby money has on American politicians and some of the questionable actions they’ve taken through the years to the native peoples of that land.

In the nineteen-eighties, an American congressman released a book that is still in print today called They Dare To Speak Out: People and Institutions Confront Israel’s Lobby. I’ve provided a link to it on Amazon.com. It is one of the most popular and controversial books on the subject that’s ever been written and is continually updated by the author and publishers. It includes interviews with heads of state from countries all over the world and with many of America’s finest senators and congress persons. I first read it when I was in my early teens. I just read the latest version this year as a refresher. I was interested in what some of the newer politicians had to say. Since this book and many like it already exist, I do not feel the need to go into the details contained in the book here; I’ll just say that if global politics or peace interest you, this book will answer a lot of questions. There are very simple steps we can take as a nation that would do wonders in creating a more peaceful world, many of them having to do with the preferential treatment paid to Israel, especially in how that affects other countries such as the other Middle Eastern nations and Islamic ones. It’s an unfortunate fact that the United States got itself entangled in such a tricky messy web with Israel as it has. It’s part money, and it’s part religion.

Since I have received so many emails and letters from people asking me to explain just what the hell is going on in regards to Israel and the United States, let me try to address it here, before we head over there, in as briefly a manner as I can. We’ve already addressed the financial aspect of it. There is HUGE money to be gained by backing Israel, which means there is also huge influence and power in it. On the opposite side of the coin, NOT appearing to back Israel can literally mean the difference between having a job in Washington politics or not. This is the money aspect. But it goes deeper than that. Yes this big money aspect is big. And important. Similar in scope to banking or fracking or pharmaceutical companies or oil companies or defense contractors. There are some things in the world, industries, so mammoth and so influential, that you simply cannot go against them. To do so would be ruinous for your career. You realize very soon in your political career that regardless of how you feel personally, you are going to have to play ball with them and take their money. If you don’t, your opponents will. And they will win.

This helps explain why president Obama promised an administration of hope and change but backed Monsanto’s blocking any laws that allowed for the labeling of genetically modified foods (GMOs). His actions don’t speak about what he personally feels about the subject (I am sure he and the First Lady do everything in their power to assure that they and their children do not eat GMO foods) as much as just how big and powerful these forces are in the American political system.  (Does this mean that we let him off the hook and label him a helpless victim? Certainly not. He took the easy way out and betrayed every single health conscious American citizen in that single cowardice act. He could have at least attempted to step up and speak truth to the American people about the issue. But instead he quietly signed away Americans’ rights to even knowing if their food has been genetically modified. It’s a frightening fact of just how far off the political system is in regards to being “of the people, by the people, for the people”. That seems a dead dream.) The same can be said for all the fracking that’s going on all over American and destroying small towns one by one faster than we can keep up with. But again, this doesn’t inform his personal or professional views on these subjects half as much as it simply illustrates to us all how powerful and unstoppable these particular industries are. Now take into account that AIPAC, the American political lobby for Israel is LARGER — as in has more money and power — than any other industry in America, including big oil and pharmaceutical companies, and you begin to see how powerful the money aspect of this issue is. HUGE.

But it isn’t just money. It’s also religion. And that’s even more disturbing than the money and power aspect, because it speaks to how insanely irrational some people are when it comes to religious beliefs, which doesn’t bode well for our ability to accomplish anything close to rational peace work in the world in the near term. In a nutshell, many Christians believe in “end of the world” prophecy. Much of it depends on which denomination a person is, but almost all Christians believe that Jesus is going to one day return to earth and save all the Christians. This is called “The Second Coming” or “The Rapture”. What he’s going to be saving them from is a giant mess of war, disasters, famine, disease, pestilence, and general destruction that is supposed to wipe out at least one-third of all of humanity and render the earth a dastardly messed up, destroyed and unlivable war zone. This is called “Armageddon”. After the rest of the “non-Christians” on earth endure all these hardships for a few years, then Jesus will return to earth again and create an everlasting peace on earth that will last for one-thousand years. True story. Not making this up.

None of the different Christian denominations can agree on all the details exactly, because they’re basically making it all up, taking little bits and pieces of different phrases and verses here and there from various different translations of the Old and New Testaments. So it’s hard to piece it all together even if you’re a avid lifetime scholar of the subject, which I have been for years. But suffice it to say that the main aspect of it that appeals to Christians is this idea of “Jesus returning” and “saving them”, which will show everyone else that they were right all along and serve as a kind of vindication for all the craziness, horrors and terrible mistakes of the last two-thousand years of Christendom.

In order for these things to transpire, certain other things need to happen. They’re “prophesied”. In the Bible. These are called prophecies. There are many of them, depending on whom you listen to. One of the things prophesied was that the Jewish people would be allowed to return to the promised land (Israel) after years of exile after the destruction of the Temple in 70 AD. This happened in 1948 when a very few wealthy and powerful people created the new country of Israel. This is called “a fulfilled prophecy”. Every time one of these prophecies is fulfilled it further serves to encourage people who believe in these things to believe they are right. The Jews returning to Israel was a big one. For thousands of years it seemed like a ridiculous impossible pipe dream. So the fact that it happened really amped a lot of people up. Sort of reinvigorated many believers into rethinking their doubts that these bible prophecies might not be true.

Now it just so happened that this new country of Israel was smack dab where the country of Palestine was. But that’s disputed because some people claim that “Palestine was never really a country, but just an area of “Arabia in general in the Middle East in general”. (Interestingly I happen to have a stamp collection book that was given to me by my father which was given to him by his father and if you open the page to the Ps, there are three pages dedicated to the country of “Palestine” where one can stick all the Palestinian stamps they’ve collected. I also have an atlas of my grandparents that has two pages dedicated to the country of Palestine, and sure enough it’s located right where it’s always been on the map, where Israel is now. Of course any reading of any history book written in the last two-thousand years will also mention Palestine and Palestinians as well.) But again, this fact is still disputed — that the country of Palestine ever existed. Hardcore Israel defenders will swear that Palestine never existed and that for two-thousand years that was just a sort of “no-man’s land”. In regards to the millions of Palestinian people who lived there, they will claim that they never did. That there is “no such thing as a Palestinian and that they all just roamed there recently from either Jordon or Lebanon after the Israeli people rebuilt the land up.” Unfortunately I’m not making this up. People really do think and speak this way.

I am sure we will learn plenty more about this once we land in Israel/Palestine. But back to the end of the world. So the Jews have now been allowed to return to the promised land (also known as Zion; hence the term Zionism, which roughly translates to the movement started in the late 1800s to lobby for a permanent home for the Jewish people where they could be free to live in peace and not be constantly afraid for their lives or abused or enslaved. Post World War II, the Zionist movement became a reality, and though the Zionists had three countries in mind — Palestine, Chile, or Argentina — the powers that be at the time, Great Britain and the United States, eventually gave them the area known as Palestine as their permanent home. (Furthermore, this helps explain why certain world leaders, like the president of Iran for example, speak angrily about “Zionist” but not Jews or Jewish people. They aren’t anti-Jew. They like Jews and embrace Jews. What they’re against is the Zionist movement because it displaced an entire country full of other people. Hopefully this helps shed light on this rather confusing subject.)) So the Jews have returned to Israel and created a country there. That was one big prophecy, fulfilled.

Some of the other prophecies that need to be fulfilled before Armageddon can begin and the big man can return to earth are as follows: The great city of Damascus will be destroyed pillar by pillar till it is unrecognizable (that one is happening right now in front of our eyes through the ongoing Syrian civil war); Israel and Palestine will sign a peace treaty promising to share the city of Jerusalem; this will allow Israel to rebuild the Temple; an anti-Christ will appear on earth as a very revered and holy figure (many so-called prophecy scholars claim it will be a pope from the Catholic church — remember that protestant Christians are not big fans of Catholicism. They’ve been fighting for centuries.)

Before we head to the big finish, for context, and to be fair, let us remember that most of the world religions have this same end of the world/rapture theory tied up in their religion. Even the Native Americans have a prophecy that The Great Bear Spirit will return to create peace on earth forever. The Jews are still looking forward to their prophecy that The Messiah will come to earth to vindicate God’s Chosen People and create peace on earth. This will be his “first coming” because they do not recognize Jesus the Jew as the Messiah, but rather consider him a criminal who was justly punished for his crimes(?); the Muslims/Islam has the same prophecy except that it will be The Twelfth Imam who will return along with Mohammad on his right side and Jesus on his left side. All three godly men will be wearing flowing white robes and appear out of the blue flying in the air and descending out of the clouds to descend to earth. Not making this up. Everyone is pretty much waiting on the same thing, just with slightly different versions of the same story.

So… over the last fifty years Christian churches all over the Americas, both North and South, have collected tens of billions of American dollars to give to Israel. Israelis and Jews don’t believe in Armageddon or Jesus of course; nor do they believe in the prophecy that he is going to return to earth in The Rapture or Second Coming and save people from anything. But as my Jewish psychiatrist said to me the other day “that doesn’t stop them from taking all that money”. No, it doesn’t. Not only has the government of Israel received more tax-payer funded “aid money” from the government of the United States than any other country in the world over the last fifty years, Israel has also received tens billions of dollars in additional money from all these American Christian churches who collect it “to defend the State of Israel so that they may rebuild the Temple so that Jesus can return once more and save us all”. No matter how you feel about the subject, just as an experiment, turn on one of the Christian TV networks for a few hours and just watch it. You will see countless advertisements and solicitations begging you to send in money to be sent to Israel to defend it so that Jesus can return.

Now I know what you’re thinking. This is madness. It’s crazy talk. Sounds like I’m making it up in one of my sarcastic satires. But I’m not. Any dedicated born again Christian worth their weight in Dead Sea salt believes this stuff and thus, regardless of how silly the Israelis think all this is, it has afforded them a ton of free money to build up a massive weapons system and a just as massive propaganda machine to defend themselves against any naysayers regarding their sometimes brutal human rights abuses against the native peoples of this disputed land. As you can see, it’s not just money and influence that controls the reigns of American politicians in regards to Israel; it’s also a deeply seated religious belief that Israel must be defended in order for the prophecies of Jesus’ second coming to be fulfilled. Religious beliefs can be powerful motivators, sometimes much stronger than money and political influence even.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that it isn’t JUST money and power and religion that are running the show here. There is, to be fair, also the fact that Israel IS a democracy and an American ally in that region. The fact that the Jewish people of Israel are relatively secular and non-religious helps make them a pretty tame and non-radical people to deal with compared to some of the other more radical religious countries of the Middle East. Thus the United States being able to have that country there, smack dab in the middle of a hotbed of historical madness and chaos, with the concurrent ability to have U.S. military bases and airstrips there, helps the U.S. a lot strategically. Between their bases in Israel and in Saudi Arabia, they can guarantee a military strike on any country in the region within minutes. And that’s clearly the most important thing to the United States in its ongoing quest to master and control the 21st century in the same way it did the 20th century.

Besides this rather jaded and cynical view of the scene (anyone with a scant knowledge of recent history would agree that this, though perhaps a scathing view of U.S. foreign policy, is a fair assessment of the way things just happen to be presently), we must also acknowledge that the kind of freedom and liberty that we enjoy in the United States is definitely preferable to the more inhumane and fascist systems that are practiced in many of the Muslim nations in that region of the world. We do have it better than great in the United States. And part of the reason for it is because no other nation on earth dare attack us or our way of life. Which is what gives us the freedom to live such free and easy lives. No matter how cynical or jaded or angry we get with the dishonest, unjust, arrogant and brutal foreign policy that the United States government and military practices all over the world in our names, we must still recognize that it does afford us a ridiculously enjoyable lifestyle as citizens of this very free society. We are eternally lucky to have been born here, in the United States of America, at this time in human history.

Okay, so that’s the set up. That’s what’s going on. I hope this helps answer many of your questions. Yes it’s completely corrupt (in regards to the money and influence aspect of the Israeli lobby and its control over American politics), and it’s completely crazy and irrational (in regards to these whacky religious prophetic beliefs that keep us forever defending a country no matter what they do). But it’s reality. It’s a reality that has bred tens of millions (if not hundreds of millions) of enemies for the United States around the world. When we see flag burning on TV, there are valid reasons for it. I am sure we will learn a lot more of it while we are over there.

For my part, as you already know,  I spent this entire year doing homework to prepare for the journey. I spent a year relearning Hebrew. And I spent an additional two to three hours a day reading as many books as I could on the history of Israel, the Israel-Palestinian conflict, and the Jewish-Arab conflict.

Note: that last phrase is a misnomer. Palestinians are NOT Arabs. Just as Iranians are not Arabs. Iranians originally came to the Middle East from the North, the Caucuses Mountain region just south of Russia (hence the term Aryan: the word Iran comes from Aryan. Persian comes from the word Parse, the name the Greeks gave the people and land when Alexander the Great invaded their country. They renamed themselves Iranians to reclaim their heritage.) Palestinians are not Arabs either. They’re Palestinians. They were born in and grew up over the last five thousand years in the same area, the area we have been calling Palestine for the last two-thousand years; the area we now call Israel/Palestine. Yes, they are for the most part either Christian or Muslim. But that’s as close as it gets to Arab. The reason why the conflict is sometimes referred to as “the Jewish-Arab conflict” is simply because the entire region — what used to just be called Arabia and is now majority Muslim — is largely against the formation of the State of Israel because it displaced all the people who already lived there, the Palestinian people, who are mostly Muslims (or Christian) and so they are looked at as their brothers and sisters. To call people of that region of the world Middle Eastern makes sense. To call them Muslim makes sense. But to call them Arabs doesn’t make sense.

Other interesting notes to consider before we get there: if we are to believe that the Old Testament (what the Jews call The Torah, the Books of Kings, the Books of The Prophets, etc — yes they read and consider sacred many of the same books as Christians do as odd as that seems) is a historical document (to a certain degree… I mean most of it actually reads more like myth and legend obviously) then we must remember that the Jews and the Palestinians are actually the same people, descended from the same people, just cousins of each other. We all know that these two people lived in this region of the world for thousands of years together, sometimes at peace, oftentimes at war with one another. The bible is full of stories of their fighting and wars. But originally they were all part of the same family. The family of Abraham. The Jews revere Abraham. He is their Godfather so to speak. So too do the Islamic people. (Muslims revere him as a prophet. Many people don’t realize this. But Adam, Abraham, King David, Noah, Moses, Joseph and even Jesus are all highly respected and holy prophets of the Muslim faith). For good reason do they revere Abraham. For he literally is the grandfather of both people.

If you look up the family tree of the Jewish people OR the Islamic people, you will see that Abraham had children with two different women: his wife Sarah, and his wife’s handmaiden, Hagar (that was due to trick on his wife’s part by the way supposedly. He didn’t know he was sleeping with her. He thought it was his wife. She supposedly tricked him, or so the story goes.) But his wife bore him a son named Isaac, which is from where all the Jewish people on earth come from. And from Hagar he had a son named Ishmael, which is from where all the Palestinian people/eventually Muslim people come from.

Another interesting fact is this: Many people are familiar with the Biblical story of this strange “god” who wanted to “test Abraham’s dedication to him” so he ordered him to go out to the desert and sacrifice his only son to prove his love for god and then in the last minute just as Abraham was about to plunge a knife down into his son’s chest, this god ordered him to stop and said “relax old man; it was only a test. Here look, there’s a goat/ram/lamb for you to sacrifice instead”. But get this. It doesn’t actually mention in the Bible which son it was. So the Jews consider this a very very important and sacred story and have chosen Abraham as their great and noble godfather figure and believe that the son in question was Isaac. The Muslims also believe this to be a very very sacred and important story, proving how noble and dedicated Abraham was as their holiest of holy godfather figure, but they believe that the son in question was Ishmael. Both religions tell and retell this story all the time but do so with the son character being different. One is the father of the Jewish people and one if the father of the Muslim people.

It’s a fascinating and revealing fact that human beings are still at the point where they can be so devoutly committed to something as a religion and yet be well aware that they aren’t even 100% sure of the details of one of their most important historical facts. This will prove very telling in our upcoming mission I am sure.

So this is all background. I know it’s been a lot. And I don’t blame you if you’ve not made it through all of it. God knows it’s taken me decades to gather all of this information. I wouldn’t expect anyone to absorb it all in an hour. But I’m stuck on a place for seven hours. More importantly, all of it, every single idea herein, will most likely be very telling and important on this journey that we are headed towards. Israel and Palestine may be mere countries full of people. But I find it hard to consider or visit them outside of their respective religious and historical backdrops.

Every time I visit a country to study its culture and learn a foreign language, I start a new leather journal to make notes about the language in. It’s become quite the tradition and I take a lot of pride in the collection of leather books I’ve amassed, one for each language. I have seven now, because I have formally studied seven foreign languages. Nine really. But I’m not counting Twi and German because even though I visited Ghana, I didn’t formally study the language, and I haven’t yet done any immersion courses in German. So I don’t count those two. (even though I put in a ridiculous amount of time into learning German for a year. Talk about a difficult language!) The picture attached is the book I purchased for Hebrew. I have filled it about halfway with notes from my studies thus far — things like “hello, how are you? I’m fine, my name is, where is the bathroom, thank you” etc. The other half I will fill while there just from being bold enough to be willing to constantly ask people “how do you say _____?”

In terms of my ideas and feelings about the different languages, which is something I am constantly asked about, yes language is certainly a passion. Since we’re on a place with nothing to do but read more history, let me offer this: my favorite would be Italian and Portuguese tied for first place — in terms of how beautiful they sound. I know some people who don’t prefer the sound of Portuguese oddly, but I think it’s absolutely beautiful. Besides that, it does something to my heart, an emotional tug, in a way that only Italian does. This pull from Italian makes sense. I am half Italian and raised in a home where Italian was the primary language spoken. So it’s both close in heart to my childhood nurturing and genetically. But Portuguese there’s no explanation for. Perhaps a past life… When I hear it, I just get a very special inexplicable feeling, as if I spoke it all my life and it holds a special familial meaning for me.

A close second place is French. It too is extremely sonorous to listen to. Something very sensual about it. To the ear that is. But not to the mouth. It’s rather strange on the tongue, French. As if the people who created it had some slight deformity in the lip region of their faces and were constantly puckered up in the lips. It’s quite unfathomable really to think about how and why they created a language where the mouth needs to be puckered up the whole time. Similarly to how in Farsi they created their language where one is constantly having to use the back of one’s throat and tonsils to make this very uncomfortable guttural sound, a “gla” sound, as if they were choking on something and trying to pull it up… or how in Hebrew they created their language to have all these very heavy sandpaper-scraping growl-like sounds as if they were always clearing their throats when first developing language. Hebrew is a very rough and bumpy language. Not smooth or suave. In fact the opposite of smooth and suave. Downright nails against the chalkboard. Heavy. Rough. Spanish can be that way too, depending on what dialect you’re speaking. But in a very different way. I cannot hear English objectively because I’ve been speaking it my whole life. I do know that when in a foreign country and you hear a group of people speaking English when you haven’t heard it in a while, it has a tendency to be very intrusive. Noisy. Loud. Not elegant. American English specifically. It’s certainly no French or Italian. But again, I can’t really hear it objectively. I’m always curious how non-native speakers hear English.

In terms of learnability, Spanish is by far the easiest second language to learn. It’s completely phonetic. Nothing tricky. Follows rules and doesn’t veer too far off from them. Though the whole masculine/feminine thing will definitely throw you at first. The idea that every day to day word is either masculine or feminine and that’s what dictates it’s suffixes and articles. That’s rather annoying. French, Italian, Portuguese, Farsi and even Hebrew do the same, but Hebrew takes it to a whole other level. EVERYTHING is gender based. Even adjectives and adverbs. Like nothing I’ve ever encountered. And there’s no rhyme or reason to it. You just have to memorize every single word. It’s crazy hard to learn. Besides being difficult to understand and speak. Takes a lot of practice. And patience.

If being The Ambassador is anything more than just attempting to be a nice open-minded person who sees all people the same way, then it’s the fact that he sacrifices and dedicates a ridiculous amount of his free time to learning the language of the people he wishes to plug into and get to know. If there were any money to be made in being The Ambassador I’d be a very wealthy man. But alas this is all just to titillate the brain, nurture the heart and try to make the world a slightly better place.

Having done this in several other countries already, I know what to expect to a certain degree. More than many. On the other hand I do not pretend that one experience will be like any other nor that one trip will help inform any future ones. For each country on earth, each people and culture, is entirely different. We are united in our shared humanity. But most of the time that seems to be where the similarities begin and end. If you’ve ever smashed a live monkey’s head in with a small hammer in order to eat its brains (considered a delicacy in China and Indonesia) then you already know this. I’ve seen much in my travels. I have no idea if I’ve done anything remotely close to help increase the amount of peace in the world. But I pray I have. Or why bother? I always look back on the first time I went to Brasil and especially in the lesser known areas when the people would discover you were from America and were attempting to speak their language, they would act so thrilled and honored. Super happy just from your being there and speaking their language. The same experience in Iran. They treated us as if we were aliens from another planet. They were absolutely in awe to see Americans up close and in the flesh. And when they discovered the reason for our visit, “to help foster more peace”, they were even more trilled and happy. These experiences give me hope. For what we are about to do. I know it will take much more than any of us have the energy or time for in this life. But I do hold out hope that we can one day see peace in the Middle East. Not for any religious ideal, but simply out of a sincere love for humanity. Shouldn’t that be enough?

 



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Uncategorized Abraham sacrificing Isaac Ishmael, AIPAC, Arab-Jewish conflict, history of Israel, Israel, Israel-Palestinian Conflict, Israeli influence in United States politics, Israeli lobby, learning foreign languages, palestine, studying Hebrew, The Ambassador

A private little world for me… a private little world for you. The online journals and musings of singer-songwriter author and activist Ed Hale. The Transcendence Diaries have been posting regularly online since 2001. Comments are always welcomed. And so are YOU.

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