https://www.theadvocate.com/baton_rouge/news/communities/zachary/article_ace83704-9167-11e9-912b-a33df5dcaaa4.html?fbclid=IwAR1nE7yDKomEtLgrfyMmfOISVHy4eGgI8yOZAUwSX-gl-ZzLUTQstCnETZY
This is my father. When I was 18 years old and starting college, he took me out of school for 2 weeks in the middle of the semester to take me to Israel and Istanbul with him. I was concerned about missing that much school, but he wasn't. He said I'd learn more on the trip. I loved my classes, and still remember them and my teachers with great love. But, yes, the trip.
We had a long wait in the JFK airport, so he put me in a cab with some of the adults on the tour, gave them a bunch of money, and said to drive me around the city in a cab and show me as much as they could in the time we had. It was my first glimpse of the city that would one day become my home. I loved the crowds and the busy-ness and wanted to experience that for myself.
We landed in Tel Aviv, and I was amazed at the beauty of the city and the green of the land. On the way from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem we stopped at a Kibbutz. I loved it and wanted to stay. It seemed like a great way to organize life. In Jerusalem we stayed in a downtown hotel that had been a YMCA and that still had bullet holes in the elevator door from the 6-Days War and that served us cold fish and onions for breakfast. One evening we went to the shop of the family of the man who had bought the Dead Sea Scrolls from the Bedouins. They greeted my dad with great love and affection and gave me an embroidered shirt. We went to the Old City, the temple, the Dome of the Rock, and the wailing wall. We posed for pictures on camels. We went to the Holocaust museum. I couldn't talk for a long time after. We walked the old streets of Jerusalem and into the Garden of Gethsemane, such a respite. But still it was all deeply sad and weighed heavily on me. Our last night, we went to a nightclub in Jerusalem. People were laughing and talking and having drinks. The band was playing, and then the belly dancer took the stage, danced through the room, collected her tips, and I wanted to stay there all night.
In Israel I was seeing the history that I knew and stories I had been raised on brought to life.
Istanbul, though, was a whole other world, one that I had only glimpsed in William Butler Yeats' poem "Sailing to Byzantium." We had read the poem in my freshman English class that I was skipping out on, and I had written a paper analyzing it to the best of my ability, given that I knew nothing, and was completely mystified by it, but I loved it, and here I was, and now the poem made sense.
The city did not appear to have any stop signs or traffic signals--just cars, buses, and trucks in a frenzied, hair-raising, death-defying free-for-all. The Sheraton we were in had a Thanksgiving display with a live turkey strutting around in it. The people were all gorgeous and impeccably dressed, and did not look anything like American tourists from Louisiana. Then we stepped into the Hagia Sophia. It knocked me into another world. The immensity, the grandeur--I could feel God everywhere, and I was humbled. I was reluctantly led out and into the museum of the sultans' palace. Bedazzled by the jewels on display in the Topkapi Palace Museum, I came blinking out into the street. We boarded our bus and headed to a rug salesroom, where they served coffee and Turkish delights. I wanted to buy all the rugs.
Reluctantly I was shepherded out and onto a bus taking us to the Grand Bazaar, the biggest shopping center under one roof in the world, I was told. Hordes of shabbily dressed kids ran after us, calling, "Turkish Delights, Turkish Delights!" My heart hurt.
Inside the bazaar, I was overwhelmed by the immensity, the darkness, the noise, the insistent energy.
But there was a very cute young blond guy, about my age, hawking sweaters, and I liked the sweaters, and I liked his smile, and I could actually afford them. He spoke maybe 10 words of English--enough to haggle--and my super-shy self enjoyed being free to flirt and haggle in this place that was made for it, and I bought 2 sweaters for $10--the sky blue one with white llamas for me and the white one with sky blue llamas for my sister Kim I still have mine. It is the warmest sweater I have ever had.
Thank you, Dad, for introducing me to a whole new world, and setting me on my path.
This is my father. When I was 18 years old and starting college, he took me out of school for 2 weeks in the middle of the semester to take me to Israel and Istanbul with him. I was concerned about missing that much school, but he wasn't. He said I'd learn more on the trip. I loved my classes, and still remember them and my teachers with great love. But, yes, the trip.
We had a long wait in the JFK airport, so he put me in a cab with some of the adults on the tour, gave them a bunch of money, and said to drive me around the city in a cab and show me as much as they could in the time we had. It was my first glimpse of the city that would one day become my home. I loved the crowds and the busy-ness and wanted to experience that for myself.
We landed in Tel Aviv, and I was amazed at the beauty of the city and the green of the land. On the way from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem we stopped at a Kibbutz. I loved it and wanted to stay. It seemed like a great way to organize life. In Jerusalem we stayed in a downtown hotel that had been a YMCA and that still had bullet holes in the elevator door from the 6-Days War and that served us cold fish and onions for breakfast. One evening we went to the shop of the family of the man who had bought the Dead Sea Scrolls from the Bedouins. They greeted my dad with great love and affection and gave me an embroidered shirt. We went to the Old City, the temple, the Dome of the Rock, and the wailing wall. We posed for pictures on camels. We went to the Holocaust museum. I couldn't talk for a long time after. We walked the old streets of Jerusalem and into the Garden of Gethsemane, such a respite. But still it was all deeply sad and weighed heavily on me. Our last night, we went to a nightclub in Jerusalem. People were laughing and talking and having drinks. The band was playing, and then the belly dancer took the stage, danced through the room, collected her tips, and I wanted to stay there all night.
In Israel I was seeing the history that I knew and stories I had been raised on brought to life.
Istanbul, though, was a whole other world, one that I had only glimpsed in William Butler Yeats' poem "Sailing to Byzantium." We had read the poem in my freshman English class that I was skipping out on, and I had written a paper analyzing it to the best of my ability, given that I knew nothing, and was completely mystified by it, but I loved it, and here I was, and now the poem made sense.
The city did not appear to have any stop signs or traffic signals--just cars, buses, and trucks in a frenzied, hair-raising, death-defying free-for-all. The Sheraton we were in had a Thanksgiving display with a live turkey strutting around in it. The people were all gorgeous and impeccably dressed, and did not look anything like American tourists from Louisiana. Then we stepped into the Hagia Sophia. It knocked me into another world. The immensity, the grandeur--I could feel God everywhere, and I was humbled. I was reluctantly led out and into the museum of the sultans' palace. Bedazzled by the jewels on display in the Topkapi Palace Museum, I came blinking out into the street. We boarded our bus and headed to a rug salesroom, where they served coffee and Turkish delights. I wanted to buy all the rugs.
Reluctantly I was shepherded out and onto a bus taking us to the Grand Bazaar, the biggest shopping center under one roof in the world, I was told. Hordes of shabbily dressed kids ran after us, calling, "Turkish Delights, Turkish Delights!" My heart hurt.
Inside the bazaar, I was overwhelmed by the immensity, the darkness, the noise, the insistent energy.
But there was a very cute young blond guy, about my age, hawking sweaters, and I liked the sweaters, and I liked his smile, and I could actually afford them. He spoke maybe 10 words of English--enough to haggle--and my super-shy self enjoyed being free to flirt and haggle in this place that was made for it, and I bought 2 sweaters for $10--the sky blue one with white llamas for me and the white one with sky blue llamas for my sister Kim I still have mine. It is the warmest sweater I have ever had.
Thank you, Dad, for introducing me to a whole new world, and setting me on my path.
