Motherland hopping 1

I haven't said much about Jerusalem. I had a wonderful experience -- filming as much as I could; participating in the discussions and activities; interviewing people; trying to catch the nuances and tensions and beauty. Life is so big that no matter how large the budget or how advanced the technology, media can only be a small representation. Facsimile. It can't help but shrink the experience to fit certain parameters. That's why I like to BE places, meet and listen to people, breathe the air, see the skies, live. Experience.

It was a group of 38 Muslims, Christians and Jews traveling, rooming, talking, arguing, praying, eating together for 10 days in one of the holiest and deadliest of places.

In the group photo above, we're just outside the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, about to stoop to go inside via the shoulder-height entrance at the far left. I'm voguing and squatting (front, right) in shades and a white shirt over my navy blue tunic and pants.

It felt like home in so many respects. Positive and negative. The people and styles and spirituality were familar. The clothes worn by observant Jewish, Christian and Muslim women were so similar to that of contemporary Muslim women here in the States. I didn't stand out at all in that regard. There, like here, it is a mixture of varying degrees of modesty, latest fashion and personal panache. Even the head wraps of young Jewish women were identical to those we wear here. Loved it.

One thing that was annoying to me was this notion that some visitors were more at home there than others. Historically Jerusalem is home to all of us taking the journey. It kinda put me in the mind of being an African-American in America. Sometimes I've experienced whites or Hispanics trying on the notion that they are somehow more American than I am based on the racial politics of the land. Or more deserving of the benefits of citizenry because they have worked hard and suffered. Not just deserving. MORE deserving in comparison to me. MORE American in comparison to me. MORE representative.

And there was a hint of that flavor in Jerusalem. The wonderful thing about the experience was that we all were given ample opportunities to bring up these moments. Be heard. Talk about it. Disagree. Unsilence. Speak our narrative. It was an opportunity to be authentic. I took it. And experienced the exhilaration of a small turn in the evolutionary wheel of my self expression.

I loved the experience. It wasn't always easy: Yad Vashem. The Wall/security fence. Checkpoints. Strip searches. It wasn't all hard: Praying together. Stealing a moment over a cup of filter coffee. Bargaining for goods. Eating with a family in Ramallah. Walking through the Kabala city of Svat. Swimming in the Dead Sea.

It was just real. If you've never been and had the experience of hearing the chorus (not solo) of narratives that make up this living history, you should put it on your list. Plenty of people in the group had been to Israel before, including myself. But no one had ever been like this.

I was blessed to be there. The Earth is my home and my inheritance. I have many houses. Many relatives. Blood ties. Spiritual ties.

That's just the way it is. And it's soooo ... big. bold. bodacious. beautiful.

A clip is scheduled to show on AIB with discussion at the end of the month or beginning of November. But I won't see it. I'll be in Africa. ...