I always liked Stephanie and felt drawn to her -- she had a calming spirit about her and an amazingly sweet smile -- but we were never close friends... not even friends, really -- more like co-workers. I knew her on an acquaintance level. When graduation neared and I asked her what her plans were for the fall, she said she'd been awarded a Fulbright Scholarship to study Muslim understandings of Jesus in Damascus, Syria. "Wow, cool," I said, or something of the sort, and that was about it.
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| Stephanie |
So when I started to plan this trip, I got in touch with her. I told her I would be coming to Israel this summer and I'd love to reconnect with her. I asked her for advice on renting a cell phone and other practical considerations of my trip. And I planned to get together with her when I was in Jerusalem.
I'd been meaning to read her book for some time, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. So, before I left for the trip, I ordered a copy (along with my "spiritual tour guide" books) to take with me on the trip. The fact that her book was a memoir about time spent living in the Middle East made it seem especially appropriate to read as I traveled to Israel, and plus, I wanted to have read her book before I saw her in person so I'd be able to talk with her about it.
From the minute I picked it up, I was unable to put the book down. I couldn't sleep on the flight over, but that didn't bother me too much since it meant I got to read more of Stephanie's book. Memoirs are one of my favorite genres, and I've read tons of them, but this was the first time I'd read one written by someone I actually knew in real life.
It was an interesting experience, reading about many aspects of Stephanie's life and past that were intensely personal -- things I certainly hadn't known about her through our acquaintance-level relationship. It felt almost intrusive, in a way that it hadn't to read similarly personal things about people I didn't know at all. It was a weird dynamic between reading the book as a book (as I'd done with other memoirs) and reading the book as a source of information about someone I knew. It made me think a lot about my own desire to write a memoir, and what it would be like for my friends and family to read such a book, and what it would be like for me to know they were reading it. I'd be comfortable sharing my journey with complete strangers, but those in-between people who aren't quite friends but aren't strangers either, but who might buy my book because of that "oh, I know her!" factor -- would I really want them reading the details of my personal life and journey?
After I got to Israel, Stephanie and I kept playing phone tag/email tag as we tried to get in touch and schedule a time to meet while I was in Jerusalem. On Wednesday, June 1 (the day after I arrived in Jerusalem and went out exploring, not realizing it was Jerusalem Day), I had called Stephanie to touch base and she said she'd call me back after she talked to her husband about their schedule. I didn't hear from her later that afternoon or evening, but the next morning as I was out walking to meet up with Rachel and Kevin to go to the Dead Sea, I ran into her on the street!
I had just left the Old City via the Damascus Gate and was walking up Ha Nevi'im Street when I looked up and there was Stephanie, pushing a stroller and wearing a baby carrier.
"HEY!!!" she shouted at me across the square, at almost exactly the same instant that I noticed her.
"Hey!!" I echoed, rushing up to her. She embraced me and kissed me on both cheeks. I wasn't surprised, given that she's immersed herself in Arabic culture and married a French guy. "Wow, what are the chances that I'd just run into you like this??"
She was on her way to drop her younger son off at day care and then to spend the day with her older son, who had the day off of school. We chatted for a minute or two and then went on our ways. I walked away amazed at the smallness of the world -- halfway across the world from home, I just happen to run into someone I know!
I didn't get together with Stephanie until Sunday. We touched base after church and I met up with her in the Old City and walked back to her apartment with her, just outside the Damascus Gate. (I couldn't believe how close she lived to where I was staying in the Old City -- literally a 10 minute walk or less. (And Jerusalem's not a small place!))
As we walked, her 9-month-old son, Sebastian, stared up at me from the baby carrier on his mom's chest with huge, inquisitive eyes. I kept asking small-talk questions like, "So how old is he?" while Stephanie was distracted by more important matters, like stopping to give some money to a woman who was sitting on the side of the street, holding her young, handicapped son. A twinge of guilt went through me when I saw her stop. I'd noticed this woman sitting there before, holding her son, whose body was twisted at an abnormal angle, but had generally been avoiding the street beggars since I assumed I wouldn't be able to communicate with them -- and if they were calling out something, asking for help, I wouldn't even know that they were talking to me or what they were saying! Stephanie spoke to her in Arabic and smiled her sweet smile, blessing the woman with her presence and her generosity. The woman smiled in gratitude and spoke back in Arabic. I thought about the spiritual journey Stephanie went through during her year in Syria that she wrote about in her book, and how I could see the fruits of her deepened faith in her compassion for this woman.
Just a few steps down the street, another woman ran up to Stephanie and smiled and embraced her. "Merhaba!" Stephanie said, and they exchanged a few words in Arabic.
I was struck by how comfortable Stephanie seemed here, moving among the streets and interacting with the local people. She was clearly at ease, a stark contrast to the slightly-anxious tourist vibes I'm sure I was giving off in my wanderings. I was glad I was with her -- I felt like I "blended in" more -- and found myself envious of her ability to communicate with people in their native language.
We went back to her apartment, sitting in her fabulous living room, decorated in Arabic style with a large rug on the floor and cushions against the walls to sit on -- no couches or sofas. Thomasjohn and I had talked about arranging our living room that way and had even experimented with pillows on the floor and using small coffee table as dining tables, and I found myself thinking how much he'd love this set-up.
"So, if you read my book, I don't need to tell you anything about my life," Stephanie had joked as we walked through the Old City. "So what's up with you? You're married now, I saw?" We filled in the blanks of each other's lives, fleshing out the skeletal outlines we'd been able to gather from each other's Facebook pages.
Soon her husband Frédéric and her older son, Joseph (who is three), came home. They'd all been out to eat in the Old City after church, and then Frédéric had taken Joseph to get a hair cut. Joseph strutted around with pride, showing off his new "do" -- though Frédéric revealed that he'd cried the whole time, not wanting his hair cut -- until he saw the finished result, which he apparently loved.
Like my friends Naomi and Yinon in Tel Aviv, this was another bilingual family, Stephanie an American and Frédéric a Frenchman. I watched Frédéric speak to Joseph in French and Joseph respond in fluent French, and without batting an eye, turn to me and his mother and begin firing off rapid sentences in English. Joseph is a year older than Aya (Naomi and Yinon's daughter), so he was a bit further along in his bilingual language development, and it was fascinating to see.
Although when I'd first met Joseph on Thursday morning as his mom pushed him through the square in a stroller, he'd turned away and half-hidden his face when I said hi to him, today there was no trace of shyness in this kid! He was a ball of energy, jumping all over the living room and insisting that I "LOOK!!" at whatever it was he wanted to show me.
"No no, JoJo," Stephanie or Frédéric would say, using their pet name for him as they tried in vain to corral the unbridled three-year-old energy.
When I pulled out my map of Jerusalem to ask Stephanie and Frédéric about where something was, Joseph seized it and began to underline certain things and trace the various roads, very intent on showing me something. "Wow, thank you so much, Joseph," I said. "You're really helping me a lot." He smiled and continued to carefully mark out what was a mystery to any of us except him, talking to himself the whole time.
With both Stephanie and Frédéric and Naomi and Yinon, I was very impressed with how gentle they were in their parenting style. They never snapped at their kids or took the "you do what I say cause I'm the parent" kind of attitude that seems to be common in Southern parenting. They were kind and gentle, even in their discipline, and it seemed to work.
Even if Aya was throwing a mini-fit over something she wanted, Naomi would just calmly say, "No, Aya, this isn't for Aya. This is for adults," as she pulled the knife away from her two-year-old who screamed because she wanted to cut her own avocado! "Ok, thank you," Naomi would say calmly, smiling and just ignoring the temper tantrum, and very quickly Aya would calm down and return to normal functioning.
Stephanie and Frédéric were similar in the way they related to Joseph. They'd tell him "no," but they always explained the reasons why he couldn't do whatever it was he wanted to do, even though he was only three years old and even if he didn't ask why and they probably could have gotten away with simply barking "NO!" at him. Naomi did the same thing with Aya, explaining things to her as if she were an adult, not baby-talking at her and "dumbing things down."
It reminded me of the ways I'd seen my friend Jennifer Self and my sister Ashley interact with children -- treating them as people, as fellow humans, not using sub-human baby talk or voices similar to how you'd talk to a pet. I know I do the whole baby-talk, treating-them-like-a-pet thing in my interactions with children, and every time I see someone who doesn't, it makes me want to stop doing it myself. There is such a respect for children in the ways that these people approach them, and I want to be similarly respectful myself. Naomi and Yinon and Stephanie and Frédéric offered me a model of the kind of parents I hope Thomasjohn and I can be if we have children.
I'd been meaning to read her book for some time, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. So, before I left for the trip, I ordered a copy (along with my "spiritual tour guide" books) to take with me on the trip. The fact that her book was a memoir about time spent living in the Middle East made it seem especially appropriate to read as I traveled to Israel, and plus, I wanted to have read her book before I saw her in person so I'd be able to talk with her about it.
From the minute I picked it up, I was unable to put the book down. I couldn't sleep on the flight over, but that didn't bother me too much since it meant I got to read more of Stephanie's book. Memoirs are one of my favorite genres, and I've read tons of them, but this was the first time I'd read one written by someone I actually knew in real life.
It was an interesting experience, reading about many aspects of Stephanie's life and past that were intensely personal -- things I certainly hadn't known about her through our acquaintance-level relationship. It felt almost intrusive, in a way that it hadn't to read similarly personal things about people I didn't know at all. It was a weird dynamic between reading the book as a book (as I'd done with other memoirs) and reading the book as a source of information about someone I knew. It made me think a lot about my own desire to write a memoir, and what it would be like for my friends and family to read such a book, and what it would be like for me to know they were reading it. I'd be comfortable sharing my journey with complete strangers, but those in-between people who aren't quite friends but aren't strangers either, but who might buy my book because of that "oh, I know her!" factor -- would I really want them reading the details of my personal life and journey?
After I got to Israel, Stephanie and I kept playing phone tag/email tag as we tried to get in touch and schedule a time to meet while I was in Jerusalem. On Wednesday, June 1 (the day after I arrived in Jerusalem and went out exploring, not realizing it was Jerusalem Day), I had called Stephanie to touch base and she said she'd call me back after she talked to her husband about their schedule. I didn't hear from her later that afternoon or evening, but the next morning as I was out walking to meet up with Rachel and Kevin to go to the Dead Sea, I ran into her on the street!
I had just left the Old City via the Damascus Gate and was walking up Ha Nevi'im Street when I looked up and there was Stephanie, pushing a stroller and wearing a baby carrier.
"HEY!!!" she shouted at me across the square, at almost exactly the same instant that I noticed her.
"Hey!!" I echoed, rushing up to her. She embraced me and kissed me on both cheeks. I wasn't surprised, given that she's immersed herself in Arabic culture and married a French guy. "Wow, what are the chances that I'd just run into you like this??"
She was on her way to drop her younger son off at day care and then to spend the day with her older son, who had the day off of school. We chatted for a minute or two and then went on our ways. I walked away amazed at the smallness of the world -- halfway across the world from home, I just happen to run into someone I know!
I didn't get together with Stephanie until Sunday. We touched base after church and I met up with her in the Old City and walked back to her apartment with her, just outside the Damascus Gate. (I couldn't believe how close she lived to where I was staying in the Old City -- literally a 10 minute walk or less. (And Jerusalem's not a small place!))
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| Sebastian |
Just a few steps down the street, another woman ran up to Stephanie and smiled and embraced her. "Merhaba!" Stephanie said, and they exchanged a few words in Arabic.
I was struck by how comfortable Stephanie seemed here, moving among the streets and interacting with the local people. She was clearly at ease, a stark contrast to the slightly-anxious tourist vibes I'm sure I was giving off in my wanderings. I was glad I was with her -- I felt like I "blended in" more -- and found myself envious of her ability to communicate with people in their native language.
We went back to her apartment, sitting in her fabulous living room, decorated in Arabic style with a large rug on the floor and cushions against the walls to sit on -- no couches or sofas. Thomasjohn and I had talked about arranging our living room that way and had even experimented with pillows on the floor and using small coffee table as dining tables, and I found myself thinking how much he'd love this set-up.
"So, if you read my book, I don't need to tell you anything about my life," Stephanie had joked as we walked through the Old City. "So what's up with you? You're married now, I saw?" We filled in the blanks of each other's lives, fleshing out the skeletal outlines we'd been able to gather from each other's Facebook pages.
 |
| Joseph and Sebastian |
Like my friends Naomi and Yinon in Tel Aviv, this was another bilingual family, Stephanie an American and Frédéric a Frenchman. I watched Frédéric speak to Joseph in French and Joseph respond in fluent French, and without batting an eye, turn to me and his mother and begin firing off rapid sentences in English. Joseph is a year older than Aya (Naomi and Yinon's daughter), so he was a bit further along in his bilingual language development, and it was fascinating to see.
Although when I'd first met Joseph on Thursday morning as his mom pushed him through the square in a stroller, he'd turned away and half-hidden his face when I said hi to him, today there was no trace of shyness in this kid! He was a ball of energy, jumping all over the living room and insisting that I "LOOK!!" at whatever it was he wanted to show me.
"No no, JoJo," Stephanie or Frédéric would say, using their pet name for him as they tried in vain to corral the unbridled three-year-old energy.
When I pulled out my map of Jerusalem to ask Stephanie and Frédéric about where something was, Joseph seized it and began to underline certain things and trace the various roads, very intent on showing me something. "Wow, thank you so much, Joseph," I said. "You're really helping me a lot." He smiled and continued to carefully mark out what was a mystery to any of us except him, talking to himself the whole time.
 |
| Frédéric, a young Joseph, and Stephanie (pre-Sebastian days) |
Even if Aya was throwing a mini-fit over something she wanted, Naomi would just calmly say, "No, Aya, this isn't for Aya. This is for adults," as she pulled the knife away from her two-year-old who screamed because she wanted to cut her own avocado! "Ok, thank you," Naomi would say calmly, smiling and just ignoring the temper tantrum, and very quickly Aya would calm down and return to normal functioning.
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| Aya and Naomi |
It reminded me of the ways I'd seen my friend Jennifer Self and my sister Ashley interact with children -- treating them as people, as fellow humans, not using sub-human baby talk or voices similar to how you'd talk to a pet. I know I do the whole baby-talk, treating-them-like-a-pet thing in my interactions with children, and every time I see someone who doesn't, it makes me want to stop doing it myself. There is such a respect for children in the ways that these people approach them, and I want to be similarly respectful myself. Naomi and Yinon and Stephanie and Frédéric offered me a model of the kind of parents I hope Thomasjohn and I can be if we have children.
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