And So It Ends....

As the summer draws to a close and my plane draws crawlingly towards Phoenix, from where I will finally fly to Albuquerque, I find myself with time to reflect upon the end of the summer. This is probably for a couple of reasons. For example, I realized that I completely forgot to chronicle the last two weeks or so. Also, as one may expect, I have a lot of airport/plane time on my way home. Most importantly, however, has got to be the fact that the same character has been spewing who knows what about God and religion in The Brothers Karamazov for at least the last ten pages, one of which I may have followed.

Ulpan ended pretty quickly and suddenly. One day, I was going to class as usual, the next I was packing (pretty much instead of studying for the final.) The next day, I took the final and a few hours later, was in a sheirut on the way to Tel Aviv with Dalia. As usual, Ofra completely spoiled me, waiting for about an hour in Tel Aviv for our sheirut to arrive and then taking us back to Rishon le Tzion to hang out for a bit. That night, we went out for dinner with Shira and our friend from Bronfman’s Amitim program, Omer. It’s really so strange that we’re old enough to have friends scattered in random places across the world!

The next day, it was off to Eilat where we commenced the tanning process (and in my case, a significant amount of burning.) We spent two days just sitting on the beach. Actually doing nothing but enjoying the beautiful water and the really hot weather. Did I mention that it was hot there?

On Thursday, we headed back to Tel Aviv to spend Shabbat with Sandra and her family. I was grateful that I had had a month of practice with switching back and forth between languages. The family flowed through Spanish and French without even realizing that they had switched languages. Every so often, they would throw in some English for Dalia and my benefit. On Saturday, Dalia, Sandra, and I walked to the beach (only a half hour walk!!) to hang out by the sea. Really, that is the life!

From there, we headed to Kibbutz Nitzanim to stay with Dalia’s family friends. The family was originally from Argentina but moved to Israel about 40 years ago. So, yet again, we were staying with a family incapable of sticking to one language though this time it was a blend of Hebrew and Spanish. On Monday, we took the train to Haifa. Fortunately, we had a family friend who made it her mission for us to see all of the most important parts of the city. We walked through the Arab quarter and saw the uniquely harmonious nature of interfaith relations in this Israeli city. Our visit, of course, included a spectacular visit to the Bahai Gardens as well as a tour through various other parts of the gorgeous city.

The last couple of days in Israel are a little bit of a blur but included a lot of time sunning by the kibbutz pool, a trip to the movies with Ron, and a visit from Ally and Paula (friends from WashU who are studying at Hebrew U in Jerusalem until Spring Semester of this coming year!) Finally, with a lot of reassuring oversight from Ofra and Eitan, we made it through about 7 layers of airport security at Ben Gurion Airport and began our journey back home.

This trip has been truly amazing. Firstly, I can’t believe how much more attached I feel to Israel (and especially to Jerusalem) after this summer. I think that my growing grasp of the Hebrew language really made an indescribably difference as compared to my last trip when I didn’t understand one word of Hebrew. I’ve come away from this experience with more than just an improved knowledge of Hebrew and love of Eretz Israel. I’m now comfortable speaking with people in French and Spanish and have begun some truly beautiful friendships that I can only imagine will last for years to come. Most incredibly, this summer I have begun to see myself as an adult. Beginning with my work at the beginning of the summer with Dr. Weissmann which gave me a peek into things that I might be involved with after college and moving right through my travels through a foreign country without a parent (gasp!) I’ve really come to realize that I am approaching the part of life where I am becoming my own separate person who is responsible for herself. I’m not quite there yet, but oh boy, it’s coming! Maybe it’s good that this realization is coming before I start this school year living in an apartment off campus!

Puff the Kosher Dragon....

You can’t go to Tzfat for Shabbat not expecting a certain amount of Jewish mysticism to permeate your experience. If that’s not what you’re looking for, you might as well go somewhere else. But my Shabbat experience in Shabbat really went way past the level I had been expecting.

The journey began on Thursday afternoon when we left campus at 3:45pm in order to catch the 5:15pm bus from the Tachanah Merkazit to Tzfat. After a very involved search, we finally found the departure location for the bus and proceeded to wait. 5:20pm passed and with it a completely full bus. Again at 6:20pm, we were passed by. After the 7:20pm bus drove by with no extra seats, we decided to relocate to the starting point of the bus in Jerusalem. Finally, at 9pm we got on a bus to Tzfat, about an hour after we had anticipated arriving in the town. We pulled into the Tachanat Merkazit of Tzfat at 1:30am and made our way to the hostel. After checking in, we were informed that it was the night of the yartzite of the Ari, the man who made Kabbalah accessible to all, not just the most learned mystics in the Jewish community. It goes without saying, his grave was one hopping place. The streets were lined with people handing out food to people who were making the pilgrimage to the grave. The actual cemetery was reminiscent of the crowds in front of the Kotel. Finally, at 3am, we got to our rooms and crashed for a very unsettled few hours of sleep. In the morning, we had breakfast at the hostel and then made our way to the Artist Colony of Tzfat to do some shopping and sight-seeing.

After a successful day wandering the galleries of Tzfat and visiting the laffa-crepe guy (who apparently had a cameo on the French cooking channel) we made our way back to the hostel to attend a challah making class. Of course, there couldn’t have been a better program for me! We then headed up to our room to prepare for Shabbat. After candle-lighting, the craziness really started. We went to services which involved the women sitting behind a floor to ceiling curtain while the men “danced” around during the prayers. Finally, the service drew to a close and we moved outside to head to our host-families houses for Shabbat dinner. After a brief period of being absolutely lost (which our guide book had informed us was impossible to do in Tzfat) we found the rabbi who was hosting Hannah, Melanie and me.

As we walked into his apartment, Hannah was rushed by a woman who was outraged because Hannah hadn’t found her earlier in order to watch the sunset through her sunglasses. Apparently, these were very special sunglasses. With them, you could see “the fiery light of HaShem!” Finally, we sat down for the meal after hamotzi when the rabbi started talking. He began by speaking about mikvah. He made it very clear to his audience of eight women and one 10-year-old boy that he was only speaking of mitzvoth that a man could perform. He proceeded to inform us that a couple in which both parents work are destroying their personal family Beit HaMikdash and their children’s lives. At this point, another guest, a woman who was looking to move to Tzfat, piped in that she felt sorry for any woman who felt the need to read Torah.

The evening was full of similar conversations, ranging from the prophetic flying of the sunglasses lady’s note to the Ari into his grave to a full-fledged interrogation of Melanie’s lack of connections with the Chabad in Paris which is apparently a Chabad center in the world. At one point during dinner, sunglasses lady informed Hannah that since she was so homesick, she should be on drugs. The only part of the evening that surpassed the dinner in awkwardness was when, on the walk back to the hostel, the sunglasses lady asked me point blank whether or not Melanie was Jewish. When informed that she wasn’t, she happily proclaimed that she had known something was wrong with “that black girl.” I only refrained from a completely futile physical assault on this old lady by pinching my own arm the whole walk back.

The following day was much more laid back, peaking in weirdness when, after lunch, we sang a version of “Puff the Magic Dragon” called “Puff the Kosher Dragon” who was fed lox and bagels and did all sorts of Jewish things while romping around Tzfat. Surprisingly enough, I came out of the weekend very happy to have had the experience. The ridiculousness and insult just surpassed any imaginable levels and was carried out with such genuine good intention that I couldn’t do anything but laugh. A lot. All the way to the tachanat to catch the first bus back to Jerusalem after Shabbat. Which we did. And thus ended the most humorous visit that the holy city of Tzfat has ever hosted.

4th of July and other Bronfman Goings On

The last week or so has been a whirlwind of visits to my past and experiences completely new and wonderful. Actually, I’m coming to realize that those two things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. Last week, I celebrated the 4^th of July in almost American style. Emphasis on the almost. I mean American-style food has to count for something, right? Over a dinner of hot-dogs and french-fries, a group of Bronfman alumni gathered at Shimon’s house to discuss the legitimacy of living in the Diaspora and whether living outside of Israel is actually in accordance to Jewish tradition which dictates that this is G-d’s punishment to the Jewish people, or whether that argument is nothing but an excuse for lazy or overly comfortable Jews to sit pretty. While it was a little bit weird to celebrate the birthday of the USA by discussing whether we should actually leave it to live in Israel, it was amazing to come back to that group and realize that, even with the Bronfmanim who were much older and I hadn’t met before, there is a bond that the program created that I think overcomes so many barriers. But even more exciting, was running into people from my year who I hadn’t seen in years.

On Friday, we went on a hike outside of Jerusalem and learned about the ancient agriculture of the region and the methods they used to get water to irrigate their fields. Of course, this was pretty much the best thing ever for me. In addition to the fact that I got to see a little bit of the geology of the area. Up until then, my exposure had been limited to observing the layering of the rock bordering the highway (which is actually a pretty great thing to do for anyone going on a road-trip this summer…) The hike even included the privilege of wading through really murky water. At least I am pretty convinced it wasn’t clean though I couldn’t actually tell given the spring was in a tunnel underground.

Finally, another new experience was distinctly related to a blast from the past. On Sunday, I decided to ditch class (gasp!!!) to go see Jonathan Safran Foer speak to the ’10 Bronfman Fellows. After an hour and a half journey (I only got minimally lost on the way there) I found my way to Goldstein. When I arrived, I stopped short as if I had walked into a wall. I had walked into the little mall where we had bought our food supplies (Room 7’s breakfast stash of peanut butter and Nutella) and our pre-excursion ice-café. All of a sudden, I knew I had arrived. Throughout the walk from the entrance gate to the Bronfman building (same as always) my eyes were watering. I couldn’t believe I was back there but without all of the people who had made that summer the most formative experience of my life. While it was very cool to hear Jonathan Safran Foer speak because he is the author of some of my favorite novels, the best part of the event was that he somehow was able to give voice to everything I was feeling. Though while he spoke of his experience on Bronfman, I knew it had been significantly different from mine, I couldn’t help but feel that, though the details differed, someone else had been through what I was dealing with right then. When I got back to my apartment, I headed straight to my room to re-read my Bronfman diary. I was absolutely shocked to see that my entries mirrored almost exactly what J.S.F. was so generous as to share from his own. I think that’s how I know that that program really succeeds in its goals. No matter the differences, Bronfman Fellows come out of the experience profoundly changed in some very similar ways. That and that we for some reason still have our diaries on hand to reference in moments like these…

Our White (K)Night

Yesterday (though in reality it seems like several days ago) I went to Tel Aviv just overnight before returning to Jerusalem for Shabbat. I took a sheirut over with some friends from Hebrew U and was picked up at the Central Bus Station upon my arrival in Tel Aviv to go over to Ofra’s house. The first exciting happening of the trip was my ride with Ofra. We actually spoke only in Hebrew (albeit very simple and slow Hebrew…) I think that living with Sandra (my French/Spanish roommate) and practicing Spanish and French with her and other Spanish and French students here has pushed my past my perceived comfort zone with speaking in foreign languages and made me realize that the most important thing is being understood. And the only way to improve is just to get over the embarrassment and open your mouth (as long as what comes out is not English.)

Also during that ride, we decided that I would go out with Shira that night to this big party in Tel Aviv called Laila Lavan or White Night. Basically, the bars stayed open and there were bands and such things on the beach. We left the house at about 11:30pm and experienced a taxi ride that was exactly as I would expect a high speed chase occurring through traffic. We cut around cars that were moving too slowly, wove in and out of streets, basically business as usual for Israeli drivers.

Though it was weird not understanding exactly what was being said, it was really exciting that I could understand any part of the conversation. After the concerts, we began walking around with the aim of finding a taxi back. Unfortunately, that seemed to be a common goal among the thousands of people who were also in attendance. We wandered to a nice ice cream shop, had some ice cream and then continued to wander for about an hour until a nice nahag had pity on us. Again we had an exciting taxi ride though this time it was more humorously exciting than action-movie exciting. After we completely failed at guessing our driver’s origin (I remain convinced that if I had understood the beginning of the conversation when he gave us his name, Mario, I totally would have guessed correctly) we found out that he was Spanish and I proceeded to speak with him in a language in which I actually have a reasonable level of ability.

After going to bed at around 4:30am, I spent the night waking up about once an hour until I got annoyed and just got up at 8:30am. I spent a leisurely morning with the Avizovs (during which I made my first joke in Hebrew!) and then Ofra, Eitan, and Ron drove me to the Central Bus Station where I met Sandra to take a sheirut back. As we were sitting quietly, waiting to drive off, to our utterly shocked amazement, our driver got into a 15 minute fistfight with some guys off the street over who knows what. Well it could have been longer, but by then we had decided we definitely did not want to be driven for an hour by this person. So we decided to figure out the bus station. Not only did this end up probably being safer, we realized that the great air-conditioning at a lower cost was really something to be grateful for. As we stepped off of the bus, we turned to the driver and with thanks dripping from our voices said “Todah raba.” The driver really did not know how thankful we really were.

Finally, after a two hour meander through the shuk (market) and a quick lunch on Ben Yehudah Street, we took a bus back to campus. And I sit here again, with nothing but thanks to Shira and the Avizovs for another great visit and to all of the drivers who really made my day interesting and, ultimately, end without disaster.

Lovin' on Argentina from the Holy Land

So far, my most frequently visited place in Jerusalem is (shocker!) the Old City. On Sunday after class (the work week here goes from Sunday to Thursday instead of Monday to Friday,) we went and wandered around for a few hours. Our large group diminished to two when we entered the jewelry shops, but other than that brief period, it was a lot of fun to walk around with new people and get the chance to talk and learn about them. Following our trip to the Kotel (which somehow doesn’t get old no matter how many times I go) we walked over to Ben Yehudah Street to have dinner. It’s still such a shock to go to a restaurant and realize that I can eat anything off the menu. Including meat. So weird! With this newfound ordering freedom, I had a teriyaki chicken dish which was delicious. After dinner, we wandered around for awhile until we came across a pub that had set up a big outdoor screen to show the Argentina/Mexico soccer game. Of course, we stayed and watched the game to cheer Argentina on as they moved forward to the next round! Viva la Argentina!!!!!!

On a separate (but still Argentina-related) note, today in Hebrew class, we were talking about food. We started by talking about “traditional” Israeli foods and then broadened the discussion to foods from my classmates’ home countries (or cities.) Then the teacher asked if anyone knew the traditional foods (other than meat) from Argentina (he’s originally Argentinian.) Of course, I chimed in with empanadas. And then he suggested that the other very Argentinian food are alfajores. So it goes without saying, I left class today really craving empanadas and alfajores. I guess I’ll have to wait on those!

Shabbat Shalom Yerushalaim!

This past week had a faint undertone of “What am I going to do for Shabbos?!” It was a little weird because I’ve always known things like that significantly before hand. I’m not a last minute planner to any extent. On Wednesday night, though, my apartment discussed it and decided that we would make dinner and stay here. There was a lunch for all summer-program people on Saturday afternoon, so we thought that it would be a good idea to go to that. In the next two days, in addition to going to class and doing homework, we started to put together a Friday night meal. We decided to invite some people who were going to be here and our guest list was looking to be about 6-9 people. On Friday afternoon, it started creeping up, ending up at 11 people that we had to fit at the 10 person table we had put together using our kitchen table, our neighbor’s table, and most of the collective chairs. After davening on Friday night at the Sephardic shul next to Hebrew U, we headed back to our apartment (of course 15 minutes later than we had invited people.) The following meal was crowded but so much fun! Somehow there was enough food between what we had made and what people brought to feed the 14 person party that we ended up being. The night was full of loud conversation and singing, basically everything Shabbat dinner should be. It’s truly amazing how doing something like that can be so rewarding. I finally really understand why my mom entertains all the time!

The next day, all three of us in my apartment woke up at noon, as the lunch was starting. Of course by the time we were all ready, the eating part was over. There’s always next week, though!

The Beginning of Israel

To be quite honest, it still feels a little bit surreal. I stepped off of the plane into Ben Gurion Airport on Friday afternoon and felt what I hadn’t really felt three years ago when I last visited Israel. This time, the signs in Hebrew seemed comforting and the sign reading “Welcome Home” was really beckoning me to enter the country and feel comfortable here. After I had zipped through Customs (I always walk through with confused glances at the guards wondering why they aren’t stopping me to look through my luggage) that feeling of welcome was intensified by the warm smiles and hugs that greeted me as Ofra and Eitan (family of my close family friend) stepped forward from the group of welcomers.

We proceeded to spend a very nice few days together, though I didn’t really practice my Hebrew other than trying to understand what was being said on the TV. Even that, though, managed to serve as a fairly universal language. We spent hours watching World Cup matches, commentated in Hebrew, and then discussing them in English. I’ve received promises, however, that when I meet more of the family, I’ll need to be able to whip out the Hebrew since other family members don’t speak English. Thank goodness!

As it turns out, the best form of motivating for utilizing an unfamiliar language is lack of alternative. I learned this today as I wandered around Hebrew University’s campus, trying to find my way from the dorms to the building with the internet (my success in this pursuit is responsible for the previous two posts finally having made it onto this blog.) I realized that if I didn’t want to become hopelessly lost, I needed to ask for directions. Though I’m pretty sure that either the directions that I received were quite incorrect (probably from a misunderstanding of my pronunciation of the building name) or my understanding of them was hopelessly flawed, I was pretty excited by my first modest attempts at utilizing my Hebrew. One can only hope that in the coming days I can report further success on this front and in my explorations of Jerusalem…

New York: The City that Never Sleeps (Or Allows You To)

I don’t think that my feet have ever hurt this much before. Including the time I hiked to the top of the Sandia Mountains. Apparently New York City has something that the deserts of the Southwest don’t offer: the desire to wear cute shoes when you’re planning on walking 20 miles rather than hiking boots.

Aside from my NYC fun induced foot pain, however, my stay in the Northeast was absolutely amazing. Which, of course, I knew it would be. I arrived in New York on Friday afternoon, lugging around two months worth of luggage since I hadn’t been able to drop it off in Manhattan before going to Common Ground. I heaved my way through Grand Central (largely with the help of my train buddies from Common Ground) and caught a cab to my mom’s friend’s apartment to drop off my big suitcase. After that, the fun ensued. I spent the next few days visiting with some of my best friends from Bronfman, driving up to Ithaca (though my view of Cornell was mostly limited to the superb grocery-shopping experiences the town offers) and back down to Princeton where I toured campus and took some House-related pictures.

Back in New York, I said goodbye to my friend Julie as she prepared to head off to her big summer adventure in China and made my way to Manhattan to spend the next couple of days roaming around the Met, meeting people for meals (because we all know that my life revolves around food), and just walking and walking and walking. Basically, in summary, I LOVE NEW YORK (as the t-shirts so astutely point out...)

Common Ground: A Much Delayed Account of My Excursions into the Interfaith Wilderness

Like most of the people going to Common Ground, I went into the program not really knowing what to expect. Was the focus going to be on the environment? Would it be on interfaith dialogue? To be quite honest, I think even the organizers weren’t quite sure since this was the first year of the program. It took us about the first hour to figure it out. By the time I went to sleep on Monday night, I had already had some pretty intense discussions. Of course of the oil spill, but also I had the chance to speak with people about religions I really had never been exposed to before all while hiking around the retreat center by the lake. So all in all, it was a fairly amazing initial exposure to the program: tons of people who were interested in interfaith dialogue and the earth, and tons of water which I always find pretty incredible especially coming directly from New Mexico!

We spent much of the day on Tuesday learning about the religious environmental movement. As is apparent from the lack of cohesive response to scientists’ warnings about our treatment of the environment, science alone cannot effect change to the drastic extent necessary. Rather, it is essential to bring in other fields so that the message can be reframed in ways that are appealing to a larger group of people. One of the most important communities to reach out to is religious leadership. By reexamining religious scripture or lore with environmental protection in mind, large groups of people will realize the importance of protecting the earth and all of the people who are being harmed by the pollutants that we are injecting into the environment. We were given this earth and as stewards, it is our responsibility to be mindful of what we do to it.

We also had speakers from the Jewish and Muslim traditions come and speak to us about some movements within the communities as well as arguments from within the traditions that speak to the importance of protecting the environment. After all of these fascinating speakers and all of the fascinating discussion, I just didn’t see how it could get any better. On Wednesday night, however, we delved into the realm of text study, something that I’ve only ever done in a purely Jewish setting. We read texts from the Jewish, Christian, and Muslim traditions that discussed man’s role as steward of the earth and discussed how they related to each other. To me, this really exemplified the dedication of the participants to learning and understanding each other’s cultures. Rather than stopping at developing friendships across faith lines, there was real discussion and questioning about what religions were about.

As might be expected, this program left me with a lot to think about. I came away shocked that I had stumbled upon a group of people who cared about religion and the environment simultaneously without one trumping the other. This almost makes me think that these two parts of my focus are not so contradictory after all! I also, of course, came away with a lot of ideas for how to improve interfaith dialogue on WashU’s campus which will hopefully play out well in the coming year. And I have no doubt that they will with all of the support and experience of the people I met at Common Ground.

You know you've got a problem when you have 6 boarding passes in your hand....

Up until today, I’d always seen a boarding pass as a ticket to an unknown and exciting adventure. Well, today didn’t change the unknown part. This morning started much the same as any other excursion to New York. The plan was to fly through Chicago to New York Laguardia and spend the night at my mom’s childhood friend (and basically my aunt) Helen’s apartment in Manhattan before taking a train to New Haven to start the Common Grounds program tomorrow. One of the best parts of this plan was the fact that I would leave my 50 pound (yes, some books had to be moved to my carry-on to meet the weight limit) bag in her apartment and not have to drag it around for a week.

Part of the day went according to plan. I arrived in Chicago not only on time but five minutes early! I easily found my gate and settled in to wait for two hours. At some point during that time, someone announced that the gate had changed, but that was no big deal. I just moved and settled myself in a new seat. Then the trouble began.

A perfectly pleasant sounding voice came over the loudspeaker informing everyone sitting around Gate K4 that the flight to Laguardia had been cancelled due to weather. Of course, this started a mad rush to the phones that were available to call the American Airlines rebooking service. On my first go-round, I was informed that the best flight that I would be able to get would land me in New York at 10pm tomorrow. That certainly wasn’t ideal, but I booked myself on it anyway. As soon as I got off the phone, I called my mom who was also on the phone with American Airlines. As she was on the verge of finding an alternative flight, her signal cut out. Great.

So, we hung up with each other and both got back on the phone to try to figure out a way to get me to the Northeast before the program started. Though every earlier flight to New York was booked (probably by the people whose earlier New York flights had been cancelled due to weather) I somehow managed to book a flight to Hartford that landed at midnight. I didn’t know where it connected through or what would happen to my bags or even me once I landed, for that matter. I was just happy that I was going to be moving. I called my mother with the news. She already knew. The man she had spoken with had informed her the instant the switch was made and she proceeded to fill me in on the details. I would fly through Miami and my bag would be redirected to Hartford. I’d have to drag it around but at least it wouldn’t have gotten lost! When I arrived in Hartford, my dad and uncle’s childhood friend George would go to the airport (at midnight!) to bring me home and then drive me to the train station in the morning. I couldn’t believe how nice this was, especially considering that the last time I’d seen him was when I was five years old.

I quickly got the boarding passes printed for the Miami/Hartford route and hurried over to the gate. I might as well not have. About half an hour after my arrival, they began to steadily move back the estimated time of departure. Every time, I would trudge over to the information desk to double-check that I wasn’t going to miss my connection. Finally, when the flight had been pushed back from 3:15pm to 4:40pm with every chance of being stuck in Chicago for even longer, it was obvious that I would either have to spend the night in Chicago or Miami. So, we called up our family friends in Chicago and off I went to a fun night of playing with their little boys and walking around the neighborhood. So, my day of disillusionment with the aviation world ended on a high note. Hopefully, tomorrow will bring more flying luck and I will arrive in Hartford with no further phone calls. Just in case, though, my phone’s getting a thorough charging tonight.

Canyon de Chelly: Not quite Israel yet....

Though I’m not quite in Israel yet, I thought that I’d give this blog thing a shot and talk about the family pre-kids going off adventure. Albeit only for a few days and only a few hours drive away from home, our trip to Canyon de Chelly was pretty amazing. Before going, I had heard it described as a smaller version of the Grand Canyon, so my expectations were not so high. But though the canyon, geologically, did not present such a striking impression as the immensity of the Grand Canyon, Canyon de Chelly offered so much more with respect to Native American history and modern life.

Our first impression of the canyon was mostly from the car. We drove a little bit about the periphery, getting out to see a couple of the overviews. We did one hike (the only one open to the public without a guide) on the first afternoon. I’ve gotta be honest, though, that first impression was not the most convincing.

As it turns out, Canyon de Chelly is a National Monument full of interesting politics. The canyon was the home of many different Indian tribes including the Anasazi, Hopi, and, more recently, Navajo. Because of the ties that the Navajos have to the land, they were given Canyon de Chelly as part of the reservation. However, due to the Navajo Nation’s difficulty with policing the area and preventing theft of artifacts, they turned governance over to the United States government, making Canyon de Chelly a National Monument. However, the land belonging to each clan remains in their possession and the clan members have permission to enter and even live in the canyon on their ancestral land.

Much of this information, we discovered on our second day at Canyon de Chelly when we went on a 6 hour jeep tour of the canyon (though in reality it ended up being more like 5 hours which was too short for my mom and me, but still too much for my brother and dad.) Our guide, Bobby, showed us a canyon full of spectacular pictographs painted on the canyon walls by the generations of residents of Canyon de Chelly as well as the amazing Anasazi ruins perched up in caves lining the canyon. Along the way, we also learned about the struggles that modern Navajos have with the effort to preserve their culture and the new generation’s desire to return back to the original name for the tribe, Diné. We also saw the scattering of summer homes belonging to families that move into the canyon to live during planting and grazing seasons and then come up to live in the neighboring town of Chinley. Mixed in with those were a couple of year-round houses as well as an ancient ruin that had been converted into a modern house!

All of this history and the love that the Navajo people have for this beautiful piece of the natural world made me see the canyon as much more than a gorgeous and interesting geologic occurrence to be studied (which is saying a lot for me!) No, Canyon de Chelly is nothing less than a home.