May 03
Central Bus Station, Tel Aviv
12.4.2010
The stones are screaming blood, she said. I am haunted by the words of my Israeli friend Tsila as I sit here writing in my notebook and watching the bus stop swell. Our conversation this morning, as she drove me to the station, sits heavily at my heels. The bench- a relief for my dream-like state of mind. There was a red light leaving her street. I ask her: “how can I find meaning within it all?”
“This is not my Jerusalem”, she tells me. “I do, however, believe that there is a Jerusalem inside each and every single one of us.”
At the stop, soldiers shuffle over, weapons draped on waists, awaiting the arrival.
The light turns green. “The Jerusalem inside of me”, she continues, “is a place where stone’s won’t scream murder, but where people can laugh. Where people are free to cry, too.”
Western women await in heat, trying to dress conservatively for the arrival.
“No matter what, though, a place where people can be free.” This is my Jerusalem, she tells me.
I envision a land, a promised land given truly to the people of the world, a promise kept, a secret shared. I imagine a place governed by people of all countries. Perhaps this microcosm is my vision of the world. A true holy land, a sacred space filled with sincerity and spirit. A place that does not scream or shed blood.
Arriving just before the bus, Orthodox men in tuxedo with beards reaching belt buckle appear as I close my notebook. Ready for arrival.
We arrive at the bus station as she wishes me a pleasant pilgrimage.
The stones are screaming blood stays with me- serving as a quiet whisper. Perhaps it’s some sort of secret. A secret we all keep to ourselves as we await our arrival through the holy land. The approaching engine drones out my dream. We begin to board the bus.
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May 3rd, 2010 at 00:26
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