Treasure means different things to different people. One person’s treasure could be gold and another’s maybe their family scrapbook. Some people collect stamps or coins and that’s their treasure. Still others collect friendships as theirs. Traveling I find there are many treasures to be found. Treasures of material things that I bring home as souvenirs. I collect stones and crystals when I find them. I pick up shells or bits of wave polished glass at the sea. I love old maps, especially really ancient ones that may not be all that accurate, but are important because they were made by a hand of a fellow soul so long ago. They have an artistic magic themselves telling more about the culture of the one who drew them than the mere physical landmarks they were supposed to be representing. I love books and when on travels I find it hard to embrace the new digital versions, even if they would save valuable packing space. However the most valuable of the treasures I collect are the friendships I make and the memories of good times spent with new friends around the world. A smile from a stranger on the bus or cup of tea offered by the merchant whose hoping you’ll buy his wares are far more priceless then the mass produced trinkets in airport shops. Maybe they aren’t as tangible, but they will stick with you longer.
I recently spent almost two weeks in the Holy Land with a small group of friends.
We stayed in a hotel on the Mount of Olives to be closer to the famous old city of Jerusalem and all it’s sites. We were walking distance to the Garden of Gethsemane as well as the Temple Mount. These places are all of treasure to many. Yet it’s the experiences I had there and the people I met that were the treasures I found.
When I learned we would be staying in the Palestinian part of the city I had two emotions at once, excitement and nervousness. Excitement because I’ve always wanted to learn more about these people whom usually are only portrayed in a negative light by the western press. I somehow knew that I would find there instead, good loving people not a lot different than friends here at home. Excitement also in being so near places I had only read about books. There too was nervousness of the unknown. Too many people warned me of dangers of this part of the city. Crime was high I was told. Don’t trust the Arabs another person warned. Visions of bombed out shells of busses flooded my brain from too many CNN clips. But my desire to meet the people their outweighed those doubts and I’m so glad now that we ended up staying where we did, the Mount of Olives and at The Mount of Olives Hotel. I lost the nervousness here and found a place with people who could make you smile. I found a place that felt like a home. It was here that I collected treasures that I wont easily forget. The first was the sound of the call to prayer that boomed into my room every morning at four a.m.. I somehow slept through the first morning. I don’t know how other than jet lag had gotten the better of me. The second morning had me sitting bolt upright in bed as the Arabic voice burst through my window. You may be wondering why I call this a treasure, to be woken up before dawn like this? But by the third day I found myself oddly looking foreword to that melodic sound coming from the minaret not more than thirty yards from my hotel room’s window. I couldn’t make out much as I know only two or three words in Arabic. I heard Allah often and I think Mohammed’s name, but can’t be sure. The call didn’t start all at once I learned. It seemed that perhaps mosques closer to the center of the city or maybe from the Haram Ash-Shari itself (the top of the Temple Mount, where both the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa Mosque are found) started first. But when I was expecting it, I woke up before the call began, laying there in bed waiting for the sound. I strained my earls to hear the first hint of a strange voice. Then it would begin. I could hear it echoing out across the city, first from one mosque then to others until all those in the city were calling to their people. The last then was the Mosque of the Ascension. This was the mosque that stood next door to the Mount of Olives Hotel. The loud speakers high on its stout minaret were close enough I could make out the faint crackle they made rather than the clear sound of a set of good speakers. I know some in our group complained about the noise and even told someone at the hotel to get them to at least put up better speakers. I do admit that the sound wasn’t perfect. The voice of the man who had done the recording wouldn’t be winning him any Grammy awards, but it was what made it more memorable to me. Maybe its charm is in that neither the speakers or the voice were perfect just as we humans are not perfect, yet the message both deliver can raise us all to a hope of perfection. I think we in the west may find loud speakers calling worshipers to prayer five times a day (yes, this call goes out throughout the day at five different times) a bit odd at best. I live in a country where church and state are so separate; the thought of anyone making a call to prayer would be unheard of. However, there in that land of faithful, I found it soothing to be reminded to take a moment out of my day, or my morning, to say a little prayer. Hearing that voice was like hearing someone say, “relax, trust in God and all will be well.” It was peaceful. At least it was for me anyway. I recorded the call one morning on my smart phone’s recorder. At the time it was to play for family and friends who told me in emails that they would love to hear what it sounded like. However, I played it back a few days ago just to remind myself of it and was startled to feel a pang of homesickness for that crackly speaker with its operators nasally voice. I realized I missed it. I missed that call waking me up so early. That sound, that reverent call to remind us to think of God now and then was one of my treasures I can hold onto.
Another treasure came in the form of a little Palestinian man. He is maybe in his seventies, with large glasses wearing a red and white kaffiyeh and long white robe. He had a big smile and warm handshake. He said his name is Ibrahim Abu El Hawa and that he was a man without a country and a passport, but had traveled to many countries.. He said that he had helped create a group called Peacemakers there in Palestine and he invited us to his home if we ever got the chance. It was hard to imagine this man with a toothy grin as being really who he said he was. All I knew of him was that my friend Richard had seen him one day and knew he was in need of a wheelchair, that’s how the two of them became friends and Richard was “adopted” by the family. But he handed me a business card and gave Richard money for the bus, laughing, “I don’t need any money, I’m taken care of by both Allah and my friends.” However I did know that regardless of whether or not this man’s claims of traveling the world without a passport to foster peace in the Middle East were true, he was a unique figure and I was happy to have met him. He gave us bus fare and in a city where I had only heard terrible stories on our news channels in the U.S. about Palestinians blowing up buses, it was a treasure to find the reality is that there are more good people out there than bad and you may go into life with fear only to end up getting bus fare and a smile instead. I found a treasure in Mr. Abu El Hawa. I may even take him up on his offer to come to his home for tea on my next trip to the Mount of Olives. Oh and if my research is correct, he is as unique a man as me claimed to be.
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