Living Life, OR Trying to...

Beit Jala, Palestine

Lately I have been trying to get more involved in the Jerusalem lifestyle, it is a lot more active than in Bethlehem, and I just don’t know too many Israelis, so I’ve been on a quest to simply have fun in Israel.

There is a run and bike trail a couple blocks from where I work, and it winds around to all the magical places to meet friends in Jerusalem. So after work, I tie my purse tight around my back and hit the trail. My running days are not quite what they used to be, so this has also become an addition to my pursuits.

I’ve been ending the run at a very eclectic place. If there is the possibility of a more interesting place down the trail, I may never know, I feel I have found the social utopia of Jerusalem.

It is called the First Station. Jerusalem’s original railway system has been around since 1892. After the old station was shut down, it was left abandoned until just last year when someone thought of a money making way to gather people together to enjoy good food, live music, cultural dances, dance classes, fun activities a local market and place for families to come have a good old fashioned time.

It’s truly quite amazing. The past couple nights I found myself gathering into large circles of synchronized dancing. I still don’t know who the mastermind behind all these interpretive moves is, and I feel like a fairy most of the time, but it sure is a heck of a lot of fun.

Some days, after an “I shouldn’t be tired but I am so tired because I am out of shape” run, I just sit and watch. I listen to some live jazz, sway side to side in my seat, sip a refreshing smoothie…

But today I was very hungry upon arriving at the Station. Typically I avoid the pricey food, but my body needed it if I was going to make the walk home. So I sat at one of the cute round couples-table by myself and ordered a lentil salad. It was delicious, of course, everything is great at the First Station from my wide-foreign-eyes.

As I looked around at all this fun-ness, I couldn’t help but notice just how vibrant and alive life was all around me. I don’t know why this was so strange and compelling to me at the time, but it seemed very alien. I came out to seek good, fun, light-hearted times and joyful people to mingle with, but it just seemed odd.

Maybe it is because I live in the West Bank, where life is a lot more laid back and the economy doesn’t allow for wonderful socially magnetic features like such. Dogs running free, playing with other dogs, children stacking building blocks and dancing in circles on the old wooden ground, mother’s pushing strollers down the walking trail with long skirts, tennis shoes, and three kids rolling scooters at her side. Friends laughing over coffee and fresh juice. I think the couple sitting right next to me just might be planning their wedding away as they sipped cappuccino with notebooks, pictures, and a wedding planner to flip the pages.

Or maybe it’s because there is a war going on. Maybe I am used to hiding in the home before dark to stay out of the way of nightly conflicts on the streets. Maybe I am used to seeing depression move through a people group as they stagger at the loss of brothers and sisters living in unbearable circumstances. But here it is free, and those fears don’t seem real, and those losses don’t seem close to home. They seem to be getting along just fine, as a matter of fact. Quite joyous, actually.

Suddenly my joy was a bit suppressed. I wondered if that was a thing. Can the exposure to so much hurt in the world keep that light from just shining so bright within you? I believe it has effects. But what is the answer? We can’t go on being depressed. There has to be some sort of middle ground.