Amongst the many things I love doing in Israel is running. Actually it's more like jogging with a little bit of walking thrown in. Pushing myself to walk a little less and jog a little more has gotten me into better shape during the last few months, as well as helped me to cross the finish line in a recent 5K race in under 40 minutes. Many friends have attempted to convert me into a social exerciser. And while I appreciate the invitations to zumba, spinning, and Pilates classes, I have politely refused. My sport of choice? Jogging from my house around our town's outer road, or a run to the entrance of the city alone, with only my mp3 for entertainment. After all, if I really want to socialize I can do it over food and drink, or over the telephone. But when I go out running, well, that is my treasured me time.
And so it was two days ago that I finally hit the pavement again, the first time since Wednesday's 5K. The spirit of that run was incredible, and the sea of white from our uniform shirts pouring forth into the streets was a sight to behold. But now I am back to my solo runs, with my own pumped up concert blasting through my earphones
Running along the pristine road I am greeted by the sights of palm trees and greenery, fresh growth from the recent, rare rainfall. Rocky hills remind me that each day I run not in my native Pennsylvania, nor in New York, but in the holy and ancient land of Israel. It is the constant reminder that I am but a blip in history in this place whose history is notable, and whose starring characters may have walked in the path that I now run.
The day's jog brought me back to the present, as I approached a truck that had pulled to the opposite side of the grassy boulevard. At first glance one might have thought that the driver had stopped to relieve himself in the bushes, or perhaps to check on cargo that had shifted in transport. Moving closer, clarity came to me, as swiftly as the sun was setting behind me. The driver was not in the bushes. Nor was he inside the truck. He was standing just in front of the truck, which he had parked in the right lane, engine revving. His prayer book open, his torso gently bending to a rhythm only he could feel, he was praying.
A Jewish man has an obligation to pray morning, afternoon, and night. These prayers are time bound, meaning that this man's window of opportunity to recite afternoon prayers was swiftly closing, as the sun made its final descent of the day. No doubt the setting of the sun caused the gentleman truck driver to throw his vehicle into park, hop out of the cab with prayer book in hand, and speak to his Creator, perhaps thanking him for another day of work well done, another paycheck, food for his family, and good health as well.
For this man, it was another day of what he does every day. For me, it was a Kodak moment, and another reminder of why Israel is so special. It was the bridging of our people from past to present. It was the evidence that what makes this land so special has not really changed after all, after thousands of years.
I can't wait to see what today's run will bring :)
And so it was two days ago that I finally hit the pavement again, the first time since Wednesday's 5K. The spirit of that run was incredible, and the sea of white from our uniform shirts pouring forth into the streets was a sight to behold. But now I am back to my solo runs, with my own pumped up concert blasting through my earphones
Running along the pristine road I am greeted by the sights of palm trees and greenery, fresh growth from the recent, rare rainfall. Rocky hills remind me that each day I run not in my native Pennsylvania, nor in New York, but in the holy and ancient land of Israel. It is the constant reminder that I am but a blip in history in this place whose history is notable, and whose starring characters may have walked in the path that I now run.
The day's jog brought me back to the present, as I approached a truck that had pulled to the opposite side of the grassy boulevard. At first glance one might have thought that the driver had stopped to relieve himself in the bushes, or perhaps to check on cargo that had shifted in transport. Moving closer, clarity came to me, as swiftly as the sun was setting behind me. The driver was not in the bushes. Nor was he inside the truck. He was standing just in front of the truck, which he had parked in the right lane, engine revving. His prayer book open, his torso gently bending to a rhythm only he could feel, he was praying.
A Jewish man has an obligation to pray morning, afternoon, and night. These prayers are time bound, meaning that this man's window of opportunity to recite afternoon prayers was swiftly closing, as the sun made its final descent of the day. No doubt the setting of the sun caused the gentleman truck driver to throw his vehicle into park, hop out of the cab with prayer book in hand, and speak to his Creator, perhaps thanking him for another day of work well done, another paycheck, food for his family, and good health as well.
For this man, it was another day of what he does every day. For me, it was a Kodak moment, and another reminder of why Israel is so special. It was the bridging of our people from past to present. It was the evidence that what makes this land so special has not really changed after all, after thousands of years.
I can't wait to see what today's run will bring :)
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