Helise

What is Easter in Jerusalem?

April 27, 2022

The Holy Sepulchre, the Via Dolorosa, the Garden Tomb: memorials of the Passion of Christ, names that evoke to believers the geographical reality of the hope we celebrate on Resurrection Sunday. I’ve had the privilege to spend Easter here for two years in a row. What does it mean to spend such a holy time in Jerusalem?

O Santo Sepulcro, a Via Dolorosa, o Jardim do Túmulo: memoriais da Paixão de Cristo, nomes que evocam na mente dos fiéis a realidade geográfica da esperança celebrada no domingo da Ressurreição. Tive o privilégio de passar a Páscoa aqui em Jerusalém por dois anos seguidos. O que significa passar esse tempo santo aqui?

Before breaking down the highlights of Holy week, this year calls for some reflections. Lacking many of the COVID-19 restrictions we experienced in the past couple of years, the Old City was more open to celebration and, unfortunately, also to violence. Ramadan, Passover, and Easter happened simultaneously this year and while the overlap brings all kinds of flavors and scents to the surface it also reminds us all of the inter-religious tensions boiling just under the surface.

Antes de falar sobre os pontos altos da semana santa, este ano pede algumas reflexões. Sem muitas das restrições do COVID-19, a Cidade Velha estava mais aberta à celebração mas também, infelizmente, à violência. Ramadan, a Páscoa Judaica, e a Páscoa Cristã aconteceram ao mesmo tempo esse ano e apesar do conjunto trazer todos os tipos de sabores e aromas a tona, também trouxe a realidade da tensão inter-religiosa que nos ferve lentamente, sem percebermos.

Ramadan reflects on the revelation of the Quran, Passover on the exodus from Egypt, Easter on the resurrection of Christ. Each event brings out the human desire for freedom, finding the path of life and experiencing constant resurrection in spiritual rebirth. But can we move closer to the truth and to each other? Can we raise the flag of tolerance by allowing each of us the space to express our faith? These are not simple questions, and this year no other place brought them up in their full complexity as Jerusalem did. When making my way home after attending a sunrise resurrection day service, I was met with news of a new clash between Israeli forces and Muslim worshippers at Al-Aqsa Mosque. These events make me wonder – how much sacrifice is required for peace?

No Ramadan se reflete sobre a revelação do Alcorão, na Páscoa Judaica sobre o êxodo do Egito, e na Páscoa Cristã sobre a ressurreição de Cristo. Cada evento traz a tona o desejo por liberdade, por encontrar o caminho da vida e viver constante ressurreição em renascimento espiritual. Mas podemos nos aproximar da verdade e também uns dos outros? Podemos levantar a bandeira da tolerância permitindo a cada um o espaço para expressar nossa fé? Estas não são perguntas simples, e este ano nenhum outro lugar as perguntou em toda a sua complexidade como Jerusalém. Enquanto voltava pra casa depois do culto de Domingo da Páscoa, ouvi que novos embates entre a polícia Israelense e alguns Muçulmanos estava acontecendo na Mesquita de Al-Aqsa. Estes acontecimentos me fazem perguntar – quanto sacrifício é necessário para a paz?

I found the answer to that in Christ, who subverted expectations both in life and in death. God incarnate who taught mature peace, mature challenge, mature life. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.” (Matthew 5:9). “Peacemakers”, those who perform peace or who perform “in peace” shall be identified as being of the same “flesh and blood” as God the Father. But being a son involves discipline and learning. Peace does not come through the passive avoidance of hurting other people’s feelings, the placid promotion of surface-level harmony. Peace materializes through diligent learning about what peace entails, about our neighbor, about the nuances in their layers of behavior. In making peace between the world and God, Jesus experienced life in all its levels, from curious child to a cross-bearing martyr. Only thus would he be able to bring divinity and humanity closer together. It is in this spirit of discipline that I want to learn what peace is and eventually help others find their own path to it.

Eu encontrei a resposta em Cristo, que subverteu expectativas tanto em vida quanto em morte. O Deus incarnado que ensinou paz madura, desafio maduro, vida madura. “Bem-aventurados os pacificadores, pois serão chamados filhos de Deus.” (Mateus 5:9). “Pacificadores,” aqueles que promovem a paz ou que agem “em paz” serão identificados como “sangue do mesmo sangue” de Deus, o Pai. Mas ser filho involve disciplina e aprendizado. Paz não se estabelece na passiva contrição pra não magoar os sentimentos dos outros, a promoção plácida de uma harmonia superficial. A paz se materializa através do aprendizado diligente sobre o que ela significa, sobre o nosso próximo, sobre suas nuances em todas as suas camadas de comportamento. Ao estabelecer paz entre o mundo e Deus, Jesus viveu a vida em todos os seus níveis, de criança curiosa a um mártir com uma cruz nas costas. Só assim ele poderia trazer o divino e o humano mais próximos um do outro. É com este espírito de disciplina que eu quero aprender o que é a paz e eventualmente ajudar outros a encontrarem seu caminho a ela.

Apart from the tension, Easter this year was special. Living in the Old City has exposed me to a lot of the events. Here are some that I’m aware of and some I’ve experienced.

Apesar da tensão, a Páscoa esse ano foi especial. Viver na Cidade Velha me expôs a muito dos eventos por aqui. Aqui estão alguns que aconteceram e alguns que eu assisti:

Palm Sunday – Domingo de Ramos

In most Christian traditions, Easter starts with Lent. The 40 day period of fasting and reflection prepares believers for experiencing Holy week. We begin however, with Palm Sunday – the triumphant entrance of Christ from Bethphage to Jerusalem. I’m aware of two processions: an International Ecumenical Procession in the afternoon, and another one led by the Arab Catholic Scouts in the Old City. The Ecumenical Procession begins from the Church of Bethphage in the Mount of Olives and winds its way down to the Church of St. Anne, gathering many believers who wind their way downhill in joyous celebration. Thankfully the weather is pretty pleasant at this time of year, which makes the long walks pleasant as well. The scouts parade is a pretty big event, gathering Arabic Scouts’ organizations sponsored by many churches. I wasn’t able to watch it, but the commotion was remarkable – people standing on the light-rail line, having to be beeped out of the way was one of the funny (and slightly scary) features of the parade. The joyous atmosphere in the Old City was tangible for me, as different Christians carried palms, big and small, in the streets all day long.

Em muitas tradições Cristãs, a Páscoa começa com a Quaresma. Os 40 dias de jejum e reflexão preparam os fiéis para viver a semana santa. Mas começamos com o Domingo de Ramos – a entrada triunfal de Cristo de Bethphage até Jerusalém. Eu sei de duas procissões: uma procissão Ecumênica na parte da tarde e outra liderada pelos Escoteiros Árabes da Cidade Velha. A procissão Ecumênica começa na Igreja de Bethphage, no topo do Monte das Oliveiras, e continua até a Igreja de Santa Ana na Cidade Velha, juntando muitos Cristãos que descem o monte em celebração e festa. Felizmente o clima é bem agradável nessa época do ano, o que faz a caminhada agradável também. A parada dos Escoteiros é um grande evento, juntando organizações Escoteiras de várias igrejas diferentes. Eu não pude assistir, mas a movimentação foi intensa – pessoas na linha do trem, tendo que ser espantadas belo buzinaço do maquinista foi uma das partes mais engraçadas (e levemente assustadora) da parada. Senti uma atmosfera bem alegre na Cidade Velha o dia inteiro, vendo Cristãos de várias denominações carregando palmeiras (grandes e pequenas) enquanto andavam pelas ruas.

The mess by the light rail line – A bagunça na linha do trem

Maundy Thursday – Quinta-feira Santa

In my Evangelical upbringing, I never really observed days such as Maundy Thursday and Good Friday so its practices have always been quite foreign to me. What the heck is “Maundy” anyway? My pastor was kind enough to explain to us ignorant listeners during our Maundy Thursday service that “maundy” comes from the Latin “mandatum” meaning “commandment.” Which commandment? The commandment Jesus gave his disciples on Passover night, “love one another, just as I have loved you.” (John 13:34). So, many churches hold foot washing ceremonies as way of remembering that we are to serve one another. The Lutheran Church of the Redeemer (which I’m currently attending) does not do foot washing, but we do share communion as a reflection of Jesus’ own sharing of the bread and wine during the Passover feast. After the service, there is a procession from the church to the Garden of Gethsemane, where a candle lighting service is held.

Como não cresci observando dias como a Quinta ou Sexta-feira santa na minha tradição cristã, suas práticas sempre foram estranhas pra mim. Afinal de contas, o que é que “Maundy” (de “Maundy Thursday” no inglês, “Quinta-feira Santa”) significa? Minha pastora fez o favor de explicar a nós, ouvintes ignorantes, que “maundy” vem do Latim “mandatum”, que significa “mandamento.” Que mandamento? O mandamento que Jesus deu aos seus discípulos na noite de páscoa, “amem uns aos outros, assim como eu os amei.” (João 13:34). Muitas igrejas tem até uma cerimônia na noite de quinta aonde pés são lavados, simbolicamente lembrando os fiéis a servirem uns aos outros. A Igreja Luterana a qual frequento não faz essa cerimônia, mas partilhamos a Santa Ceia para refletir o partilhar do pão e do vinho que Jesus celebrou na noite de Páscoa. Depois do culto de Quinta, a congregação é convidada a participar de uma procissão até o Jardim do Gethsemane, aonde outro culto acontece.

Although I couldn’t go all the way to Gethsemane this year, I did walk part of the procession, under Ramadan lights in the Muslim quarter while singing songs about the Passion of Christ. Yes, quite the clash. Not everyone around us was so sympathetic to the cross, but this feeling of distinctiveness is something I’m thankful for. I’m not a Muslim, they are not Christians, and life is lived in the dance of acknowledging such distinctiveness while being able to look others in the eye, seeing a full human being right there, beyond the cluster of beliefs. On Maundy Thursday we remember Christ’s commandment of love and acknowledge that such commandment will often be followed by sacrifice and suffering. Can we pay the price to grant dignity to our neighbour, regardless of their beliefs?

Apesar de não poder ter ido ao Gethsemane esse ano, eu acompanhei a procissão até certo ponto, debaixo das luzes do Ramadã na parte muçulmana da Cidade Velha, cantando músicas sobre a paixão de Cristo. Sim, um tanto “perigoso.” Nem todos ao nosso redor simpatizaram com a cruz, mas me senti grata por esse sentimento de “distinção.” Eu não sou muçulmana, as pessoas ao nosso redor não eram Cristãs, e a vida é vivida nessa dança entre reconhecer diferenças e poder olhar nos olhos do outro para enxergar um ser humano, um ser humano que existe além de uma massa de crenças. Na Quinta-feira Santa lembramos o mandamento de Cristo e reconhecemos que tal mandamento virá com sacrifício e, possivelmente, sofrimento. Podemos pagar esse preço para dar dignidade ao nosso próximo, independente de suas crenças?

The cross and the Ramadan lights / *A cruz e as luzes do Ramad*ã

Good Friday – Sexta-feira Santa

This is a day of mourning. We read the Passion narrative from the Gospel of John. No one wants to dwell in the pain or be reminded of Christ’s flogged body. Do we tremble? Do we cry? Remembering Christ’s death may take different expressions. I believe the best way to honor his death is to make the most of the way he opened with his resurrection: living life fully. However, the presence of death is a key part in this path to life, “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24) What I love about Good Friday is that it grounds me in this dark reality of life, while veiling the glimmer of resurrected life just under the surface. Christ suffered, but death did not have the final word.

Este é um dia de luto. Lemos a narrativa da paixão no Evangelho de João. Ninguém quer viver na dor our lembrar do corpo machucado de Cristo. Trememos? Choramos? Lembrar da morte de Cristo pode ser expressado de maneiras diferentes. Creio que a melhor maneira de honrar sua morte é fazer o nosso melhor do caminho que Ele abriu com a sua ressurreição: viver uma vida abundante. Mas, a morte é parte central desse caminho em direção a vida, “a não ser que um grão caia na terra e morra, permanece só; mas, se morrer, produz muito fruto.” (João 12:24) O que eu gosto na Sexta-feira Santa é me sentir enraizada na realidade mais sombria da vida que ao mesmo tempo cobre o brilho da vida ressurreta como um véu. Cristo sofreu, mas a morte não teve a palavra final.

Easter Eve – A véspera da Páscoa

The day before resurrection Sunday never meant much to me because I’ve always just taken it as the day Jesus was in the tomb. His followers cried, but not much commotion apart from that. Well, not for the Scouts! The Scouts struck the streets of the Old City on Saturday evening for yet another display of their musical talents and contagious enerfy. After a service at St. Savior’s Church, the scouts march from the parish into different streets of the Christian Quarter. The parade started at around 9pm, and is somewhat connected to the Holy Fire ceremony issuing forth from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This ceremony is traditional to Orthodox Christianity, where Jesus’ tomb in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre issues forth a miraculous fire, carried out by the Patriarch and thus spread among the throngs who believe in its spiritual power. Look it up, it can get pretty wild. It turns out the Catholics have a version of this called “The Service of Light”, beginning in the evening of the Easter Vigil. After the mass, the candles lit within the church are carried out into the world, representing the light of Christ. As the candles travel the streets, the scouts go crazy with bagpipes, drums, chants, and general commotion. It truly felt like a block party, for a lot of residents of the Christian Quarter take part in the celebration. It was definitely one of a kind experience for me.

O sábado de páscoa nunca significou muita coisa pra mim porque sempre considerei só como o dia quando Jesus estava no túmulo. Seus discípulos com certeza choraram, mas nada mais aconteceu além disso. Bom, não pros Escoteiros! Os Escoteiros foram as ruas da Cidade Velha para mais uma demonstração de seus talentos musicais e de sua energia contagiante. Depois de uma missa na Igreja Católica St. Saviour, os escoteiros marcham da capela por diferentes ruas do quarteirão Cristão. A parada começou às 9 da noite, e me parece conectada com a cerimônia do “Fogo Santo,” o milagre que vem da Igreja do Santo Sepulcro. Essa cerimônia é tradicional no Cristianismo Ortodoxo, onde se acredita que no Sábado da Páscoa Ortodoxa, um fogo miraculoso se acende no túmulo de Cristo. O fogo é levado para fora do túmulo pelo Patriarca e espalhado para a multidão que acredita no poder espiritual de suas chamas. Dá uma olhada no Google, o negócio fica selvagem. Descobri que os Católicos tem uma versão dessa cerimônia chamada “A missa da Luz,” que começa na noite da vigília de Páscoa. Depois da missa, as velas que foram acesas na igreja são levadas para fora, representando a luz de Cristo que se espalha pelo mundo. A medida que as velas cobrem as ruas, os escoteiros vão a loucura com gaitas de fole, tambores, gritos de guerra, e uma movimentação geral. Me senti numa festa de bairro porque muitos dos residentes do quarteirão Cristão participam da celebração.

Resurrection Sunday – Domingo da Ressurreição

My favorite moment of Easter week is definitely Resurrection Sunday. This is the epitome of our faith when Christ rises from the dead and his resurrection signals the new life of the Spirit. I’m also a little crazy and get a kick out of waking up at unholy hours of the night. The sunrise service promoted by the Church of the Redeemer begins at 5:30am at the top of the Mount of Olives. Both years I went I had to wake up at 4:30am to make it by foot. My excitement has always compensated my exhaustion: there is nothing like going over the Easter Sunday liturgy as the sun rises over the Jordanian Mountains in the background, meditating on Christ’s life as you take communion with a small group of early risers. After the service we share a nice breakfast with the Danish and Swedish congregations. The other service I know of is at the Garden Tomb, starting a little bit later at 6:30am.

Meu momento favorito da semana de Páscoa é com certeza o Domingo da Ressurreição. Este é o ápice da nossa fé, onde Cristo ressuscita dos mortos e nos guia à nova vida no Espírito. Eu também sou um pouco doida e gosto de acordar em horas obscuras da noite. O culto do nascer do sol promovido pela Igreja Luterana começa às 5:30 da manhã no topo do Monte das Oliveiras. Nos dois anos que fui tive que acordar às 4:30 e chegar no topo a pé. Minha alegria sempre compensou meu cansaço: não existe nada como participar da liturgia do Domingo de Páscoa com o sol nascendo sobre as montanhas da Jordânia ao fundo, meditando na vida de Cristo e compartilhando a Santa Ceia com um pequeno grupo de madrugadores. Depois do culto comemos um café da manhã junto com as congregações Dinamarquesa e Sueca. Eu sei de outro culto que acontece um pouco mais tarde no “Jardim do Túmulo,” às 6:30 da manhã.

I was personally not part of any other event for the rest of the day but there are plenty of things going on (you may be sure the Scouts will be parading the streets again).

Eu não participei de nenhum outro evento esse ano, mas sempre tem alguma coisa acontecendo na rua (pode ter certeza de ver os escoteiros marchando nas ruas novamente.)

Final Thoughts – Considerações Finais

On Easter Sunday, my pastor talked about the women who had prepared the spices and ointments for Jesus’ body, connecting scent to remembrance. What the women were carrying reminded them of death, of Jesus’ death. But when they were met by the angels, they were told to remember the words of Jesus instead – that after great suffering, he would rise. It is hard to remember the promises of Christ when the world around us is falling apart. But as my pastor said, “We may feel that the world is stuck at Good Friday, but Sunday is always on the way.” Not only that, but we are also called to be the scent that draws people to Christ: “In a world where people believe they are not hungry we must not offer food but rather an aroma that helps them desire the food we cannot provide…” (Peter Rollins). Christ died so we can have abundant life and through living such a life by his side, to draw other people into this holy communion. As we think about peace and what it means, may the sweet smelling aroma of our testimony bring the people around us to redemption and reconciliation.

No Domingo de Páscoa, minha pastora falou sobre as mulheres que preparam as especiarias e ungüentos para o corpo de Jesus, conectando cheiros à nossa habilidade de lembrar. O que as mulheres carregavam as lembravam da morte, da morte de Cristo. Mas quando se encontraram com os anjos, lhes foi dito para se lembrarem, não da morte, mas das palavras de Cristo – que depois de grande sofrimento, ele ressuscitaria. É difícil nos lembrarmos das promessas de Cristo quando o mundo a nossa volta está caindo aos pedaços. Mas como a minha pastora disse, “Até podemos sentir que o mundo está congelado na Sexta-feira Santa, mas o Domingo está sempre a caminho.” Além do mais, somos chamados para ser o cheiro suave que leva outras pessoas a Cristo: “Em um mundo onde as pessoas acreditam não estarem famintas, não oferecemos comida mas sim o aroma que as ajudam a desejar a comida que não podemos prover…” (Peter Rollins). Cristo morreu para que possamos ter vida abundante e a medida que a vivemos junto a Cristo, que possamos atrair outras pessoas para esta comunhão santa. Ao pensarmos sobre a paz, que o cheiro suave do nosso testemunho possa levar pessoas ao nosso redor à redenção e reconciliação.

Other Highlights – Outros Destaques

My self-made tradition: the British Hot Cross Buns! / *Minha tradição original: os Britânicos “Hot Cross Buns”*

The Baklava Tour

March 13, 2022

Sometime ago I woke up, had my breakfast, and thought: “I must go on a Baklava tour.” What did that mean? I didn’t really know it myself. But, motivated by bringing nice middle-eastern treats to my family, I was determined to find the best one. Then I realized that sticky pastry might not be the most travel-friendly souvenir. Nonetheless, the idea kept haunting my dreams so my only choice was to do it.

Ok, what is Baklava? This cool guy from theculturemap.com describes it literally yet perfectly: “baklava is a layered pastry sweetened with honey or syrup and filled with nuts. It ends up crispy but dense, sweet but not overly cloying, bready but not entirely.” You might scream, “It isn’t Middle-Eastern, it is Greek!”, or “it’s Turkish!” or “it’s Brazilian! (wrong)”, but relax, it is actually a 2,800 year old recipe hailing from the Assyrian empire: unleavened flat bread with chopped nuts in between, drenched in honey and baked in wood-burning ovens. Who would have thought? The Assyrians were patrons of beer, exile, and baklava. However, the dessert was only disseminated 2,000 years later by the Ottomans (don’t ask me how they got the recipe from the Assyrians…)

Baklava was initially made in the royal kitchens of Constantinople to please very refined and wealthy taste buds. Nowadays you can pay 2 shekels for this piece of heaven. As the Ottomans conquered the Balkans, the Middle East and beyond, they at least had the decency of sharing their culinary delicacies with their conquered subjects. Nowadays different countries perpetuate the different twists their ancestors gave to the Ottoman high-end pastry – with Phyllo dough (Greek), cinnamon and cloves (Armenian), rose-water and orange blossom water (Arabic), diamond shape (Persian)… If you want to know more about the different types, there’s a neat list at the end of the post.

Since I live in the Old City of Jerusalem, where countless shops offer all sorts of things to tourists and locals daily, I decided to make this my target area. I recruited my friend Catherine to be a fellow culinary critic in this endeavour. Although tastes differ, we were in fair agreement about the following ranking:

Let’s say we paid 7₪ for this man’s smile, not the pale Baklava

#6 – Jerusalem Sweets (Shuk HaBasamim/Bab El Silsilfh Road)

I pick this one as the least liked simply because it was so expensive compared to the other ones (7₪ a piece!). The seller was friendly (as the smile shows), but his kind smile did not make a mediocre pastry taste much better. Definitely a winner for those who love pistachios, as the pistachio layer was very thick. But the savory punch of the pistachio drowned the sweetness of the syrup, which was very scant. Plus, the pastry itself was very pale. A good option for those who don’t have a sweet tooth, but honestly, you have to embrace the sticky sweetness that soaks the baklava if you’re going for it. Bottom line: expensive and underwhelming.

The store might not have a name, but it has a proud shopkeeper

#5 – The nameless store with the generous shopkeeper* (Shuk HaBasamim/ Cardo Street)

Here we got a very big baklava for 5₪. It was a little different because it had cheese in the middle and not a lot of nuts, except some pistachios on top. The dough was alright but the cheese was overwhelming. However, the place does get some points because this nice man slipped an extra piece in the bag for free (I literally did not see him slip in the extra one).

I look excited but slightly stressed: Jafar was attacked by a group of tourists right when we got there

#4 – Jafar Sweets* (Beit HaBad Street)

Jafar Sweets is super well-known for its Knafeh, having been featured in many different TV shows and articles as “the best Knafeh in Jerusalem,” or even Israel. Needless to say, seasoned travellers always take such recommendations with a grain of salt. Although the Knafeh there is pretty good, I can think of a handful of other places that I prefer. I was opened to be proved wrong with their baklava, but although it was tasty, I wouldn’t say it’s the best one in the Old City, let alone Jerusalem. This one was also cheese-filled and perhaps it would be better if eaten warm. No true complaints about it but no real compliments either. If you’d like to drown yourself in more syrup after your Knafeh, why not add this 4₪ delicacy on the side?

“You can remember the shop’s name in two ways: memorize what the sign looks like or get your act together and learn Arabic” (that’s me talking to myself – thanks to my friend Fierelle for translating the sign for me)

#3 – Abu Aziz Eastern Sweets (Via Dolorosa Street/ Al-Wad Street)

We encountered yet another friendly seller and a good sized baklava for a very decent price (4₪ per square!) The pastry was not sickeningly sweet. The walnut layer was good but mild, which in my opinion was because of the thick layer of semolina sitting right above it, taking away some of the pastry’s magic.

That Knafeh in the background is also tempting…

#2 – Alnajah Sweets (Via Dolorosa Street/ Al-Wad Street)

Would you believe I almost thought this shop didn’t sell baklava? The tray was hidden under something else and thankfully I spotted it before giving up. This baklava was cheap (2₪) and delicious, perfect for lovers of crispy pastry. You could still taste the syrup, but it was craftily infused in the walnut filling rather than in the whole pastry. Very light and flaky! I could have easily eaten two more of these.

Would you expect anything other than magic from a shop with a unicorn on the sign?

#1 – Alasel Sweets (Via Dolorosa Street/ Al-Wad Street)

The winner was unanimous. The first bite we took was a burst of flavors and the walnut filling was to die for. This one was definitely on the stickier side, but that is the baklava’s charm! If you’re not licking your fingers after you’re done eating, your experience was not complete. Catherine also bought some Luqaimat here, which according to her is one of the best she has ever had. All this goodness for only 2₪ a piece. If you want truly flavorful baklava, Alasel Sweets is the place to check out in the Old City.

*I found out that what we ate at #5 and #4 is actually called Warbat or Shaabiyat. It is pretty much baklava but with a cheese or custard filling, making it a little heavier.

Baklava variations:

Afghanistan and Cyprus, baklava is prepared into triangle-shaped pieces and is lightly covered in crushed pistachio nuts.
In Armenia, baklava is made with cinnamon and cloves.
In Azerbaijan, baklava is mostly prepared during the Nowruz festivity. After preparation the bakhlava is cut into diamond shapes and each piece is garnished with an almond or a walnut.
In Albania, baklava is a very popular dessert. The dough may include egg yolks, and the filling uses walnuts.
In the Balkans, it is one of the most popular desserts; though, it is also a dessert made on special occasions (by Muslims, mostly during the holy month of Ramadan and Eid El-Fitr) and by Christians during Easter and Christmas.
In Bulgaria, baklava is a very popular dessert as well. It is usually made with walnuts and honey syrup, but pistachio is also available.
In Greece, baklava is supposed to be made with 33 dough layers, referring to the years of Christ’s life.
In Iran, a drier version of baklava is cooked and presented in smaller diamond-shaped cuts flavored with rose water. The cities of Yazd and Qazvin are famous for their baklava, which is widely distributed in Iran. Persian baklava uses a combination of chopped almonds and pistachios spiced with cardamom and a rose water-scented syrup and is lighter than Middle Eastern versions.
In Israel, baklava is made of phyllo pastry sheets, nuts, such as pistachios, walnuts, hazelnuts, and almonds, sweet butter, clove, sugar, cinnammon, and the syrup combined with orange and lemon rind.
In Jordan, baklava is made of dough layers filled with nuts, such as pistachios, and sugar or honey syrup.
In Lebanon, baklava is made of phyllo dough sheets filled with nuts (pistachios, walnut, cashews, pine nuts, almonds) and steeped in “Atir” syrup made of orange blossom water and rose water, sugar and water. It is cut into a variety of triangular rectangular, diamond or square shapes. The city of Tripoli in Lebanon is famous for its baklava products.
In Syria, baklava is prepared from phyllo dough sheets, butter, walnuts and sugar syrup. It is cut into lozenge pieces. Baklava from Aleppo is made with the local pistachios and “samna” from Hama.
In Turkey, baklava is traditionally made by filling in-between the layers of dough with pistachios, walnuts, almonds (parts of the Aegean Region) or a special preparation called “kaymak”. In the Black Sea Region hazelnuts are commonly used as a filling for baklava. The city of Gaziantep in southeast Turkey is famous for its pistachio baklava and regarded there as its native city, though it only appears to have been introduced to Gaziantep from Damascus in 1871. In 2008, the Turkish patent office registered a geographical indication for Antep Baklava. In many parts of Turkey, baklava is often topped with kaymak or, in the summer, ice cream (milk cream flavour, called “kaymaklı dondurma”).

Source: https://libanaissweets.com/about-us/the-history-of-baklava/

Mozambique: 10 Gems

March 8, 2020

After completing my first semester in Israel, I spent my semester break back in Africa visiting my dad in Mozambique. My time there was so rich that I feel the need to register it somehow. So, enjoy my very own Top 10 of a thoroughly enjoyable semester break!

1. Beautiful Nature

From clear blue water beaches to lush landscapes, Mozambique’s virgin scenery refreshed my soul. As the plane approached Nampula it was as if I was landing on a different planet – huge stone mounds towered in the wide plane, lonesome grey giants in a sea of green. It was mesmerizing. The drive from the airport in Nampula to Nacala (where my dad lives) was gorgeous as well, as Mozambique is now boasting vibrant greens due to heavy rainfalls. The sad setback is that this abundance of water also means a lot of flooding and tragedy. Nothing major happened here in Nacala, but we need to keep praying for regions like Beira and Pemba.

Ossimba Lodge – 40 minutes away from my dad’s house

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The beaches feature white stretches of sand, at times sprinkled with a lot of seaweed washed ashore by the turquoise waters the Indian ocean parades so well. Most of the time there’s almost no one around so beaches in Northern Mozambique are ideal for people seeking to truly recharge in peace and quiet. I was also surprised by the sea life. Though we did not see any big animals, we got to swim very close to coral reefs and observe fish in their busy routines. I must say though, that my favorite time of day was sunset! We have a beautiful view of the bay from the house and day after the day we were blown away by the shifting sunset lights. Amazing!

2. Ilha de Moçambique

We spent a weekend in “Ilha de Moçambique”, an island an hour and a half away from Nacala. Being Mozambique’s first capital, it’s a city filled with history. One of my favorite places there was the “Palácio de São Paulo” museum. This 17^th Century building was founded by Jesuits and later became the governor’s house. Unfortunately pictures are not allowed. We also have to walk barefoot on the ancient carpets – it was nice to see such zeal towards history! The 17^th-19^th Century furniture is quite impressive, displaying the many Portuguese trade connections. My favorite was a set of Indo-Portuguese hand carved cabinets. The dark twist of these intricate pieces is that the artisans had their hands cut off after finishing their masterpieces so they wouldn’t be able to reproduce it – yikes!

The Island itself is filled with typical Portuguese houses that beg proper upkeep. With some colorful paint, the streets would be quite a sight! But from what my parents said, a lot more is being done to keep the island clean and inviting. The population translates well the casual and sultry island atmosphere, so walking around is quite pleasing. Again, the sunsets were incredible. We would walk to the pier and be dazzled by it (and also cash in some cannonball dives). Fresh fish, fresh water, refreshed spirit.

We also visited the 17^th Century Fort, a 19^th Century Lighthouse, and went island touring by boat. We snorkeled over a ship wreck in “Ilha de Goa”, snorkeled some more by “Ilha de Sete Paus” and finished the outing at Carusca, a delicious restaurant in Chocas beach. Before going home, we stopped by the house where Camões stayed and wrote some of “Os Lusíadas” while living in the island.

“I was in charge of this in my past life”

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3. The Street Life

I already loved the organized chaos of Kenya’s busy streets, but a couple of things in Mozambique are eye-catching. Highways in the north are edged by dozens of people walking to and fro extremely close to the tarmac, carrying a variety of different things on their heads. I prayed they wouldn’t turn into bowling pins as cars sped through. Goods are also transported in rickety motorcycles, the most popular means of transportation on the road. Chickens, goats, mattresses, a family of five – all of these fit on the precarious bikes!

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Goods are sold on the streets in a variety of different ways. Wooden stalls display donated clothes retrieved from the port and sold for dirty cheap. You can find a Levi’s pair of jeans or a Lacoste shirt for mere 150 meticais (3 dollars). These open air boutiques are called “calamities”. Vegetables are laid out on tarps, young men knock on car windows selling whole pumpkins, and some reckless chaps invade the highway holding live chickens, rabbits, shrimp, and coconuts as bait for interested drivers.

ezgif-1-5c7a0db45bae — I call this a calamity

4. Dining with the President in a Ghost-town Resort

We were planning to spend our last weekend together at Nuarro, a secluded beach three hours north of Nacala but sadly the only lodge there was closed for the season. My dad had taken Thursday and Friday off, so after cracking our heads over what to do, we decided to go simple and drive to a nearby beach which, according to my dad, wasn’t “too far off”. An hour and a hundred of potholes later, we arrived. We found an oasis at the said beach called “Matibani Beach Front Resort”. We went in for lunch and came out with a two-night reservation in this isolated beach. We booked a house with three bedrooms, a TV in each living space, four bathrooms, and a Japanese electronic toilet.

Honestly, this was the perfect prime time horror movie plot: my parents never saw the place being advertised anywhere (I haven’t founded online yet), we were the only guests, we were treated EXTREMELY well, and crabs would knock on the glass doors in the middle of the night. But after getting over our fears of being kidnapped one by one, we truly enjoyed our stay there. We were also lucky enough to eventually share the hotel with the Minister of Tourism and then with the President of Mozambique! That got us top notch typical meals and special attention. Haters would say we were true hyenas, effortlessly feeding off the lion hunt. I’d rather think we added flavor to these politicians’ visit by playing the part of the peasant guests, especially after finding out that the President actually owns the place. Imagine his sadness in arriving there and not seeing a single soul in his hotel? Unfortunately I wasn’t able to get a picture because the only time I saw him I was swimming in the pool in my bikini.

Typical Meal: Goat, Chicken, Pumpkin Leaves, Coconut Rice, Squid, Beans and Xima

5. Starry Nights with Dad

My dad lives in Mozambique by himself and it hasn’t been easy for him. My mom visits once a year and stays for three months, but being in a foreign country with no friends, family, having to deal with corrupt bureaucracy and ineffective basic services is very overwhelming. That’s why he says that the house he is in right now was God’s special treat for him. He has a beautiful view of the bay, a big pool, a variety of fruit trees in the backyard (plus pet bats who visit at night), and rent is super cheap.

So on my first weekend in Nacala, dad showed me one of his favorite things to do at the house: turn off all the lights and stargaze while floating on the pool. It was truly magical. Unpolluted skies revealed hundreds of beautiful constellations while we drifted on the water and simply enjoyed the silence. Here, in this corner of unassuming humanity, we could hear God’s sigh of pleasure over his wonderful creation.

6. High Tide – Low Tide

Never in my life had I seen such a restless tide! At 8am, the surf would be hitting the shore only to recede almost one kilometer by 1pm! By five in the afternoon the waters would be back on the shoreline.

We saw that happen most strikingly when we were at Matibani. On Friday, we left the beach by boat to go snorkeling but since we came back at 1pm, we had to leave the boat behind and walk almost a 1km stretch of dry sea back to the hotel. The following day, we decided to explore an island close by and made our way there by foot. The fishermen and local villagers take advantage of the low waters to fish, capture crabs and other varieties of shellfish.

7. Idiosyncrasies

Well, like any other place, Mozambique has those idiosyncrasies which make any trip ten times more entertaining. The fact, for example, that menus are completely irrelevant. You always need to ask if the restaurant has all the ingredients it takes to make your dish (or if the dish is ever made at all).

We set our hopes up for pizza but there was no cheese.

We salivated for cashew pie but there was none.

We craved vegetables on the side but there were only fries.

Then we ate at a restaurant where a secret Cod Fish dish was listed only in my mom’s menu. Go figure.

There are the hordes of children who ask for what you are wearing as souvenirs. My brother was once followed by a committee of twelve boys and would have been stripped naked if he had given out all the items the kids asked of him. I was approached by this kid Zunguka, who after asking for a photo with me also asked if he could have my purse to use as a backpack. I’ve seen need here, but these kids were just too much. Their unashamed persuasion made for some good laughs.

Me and Zunguka – before he tried taking my phone

Lastly, and I don’t know if its unique to Nacala or what, but the number of unfinished buildings here is ridiculous. As we drove around, we saw many concrete skeletons waiting for some kind soul to give them color and make them livable. Not to mention the beautiful yet completely unused international airport which was actually part of a money laundry scheme (by an infamous Brazilian on top of it…). Sadly, they reflect an unfortunate reality in Mozambique – a place with great potential, but with no strength or leadership to get the job actually done.

A wannabe Indian style resort…

…that is now a shellfish mansion.

8. Quiet Times with God

Though this can be done anywhere in the world, I’ve always loved spending time with God while enjoying some unique feature of different places I’ve been to. When I was in Northern Kenya, I’d find myself in the bush or on a hill with my Kikoy and my Bible. Here, I sat on the balcony and watched either the sunset or the constant lightning storms on the horizon while having some heart to hearts with Christ. There is something special about talking to the Creator while watching something as fearsome as a storm. It reminded me of how important is to fear him and know my place as a limited human being, even though he gives me the freedom to talk to him so openly.

In line with recognizing my limitations, God told me to “pick my battles”. Pursuing an academic career is exciting but also tough. It requires a lot of effort that yields no immediate, tangible results apart from grades (and grades don’t put food on the table). As I intensely pursue my studies, I need to know that I can’t have it all and be willing to accept the reality of what I’m sacrificing to tread this unknown path God is calling me into. This time in Mozambique was special because I had the luxury of being away from A LOT of things in order to receive the discipline I needed and testify of God’s faithfulness in countless ways.

9. Falling in Love with Fish

For my dad’s distaste, I’ve never been a fish person. But, since I was going to spend a month within reach of fresh fish, I decided to give this food variety another try. Oh. My. Lord. First of all, nothing beats fresh food, period. Second of all, who knew fresh tuna was white and juicy?? I tried different kinds, all delicious in different ways, but my favorite by far was “Garopa” or grouper fish. Here are two instances where I ate a full Garoupa and did not regret it:

e2c43d73-7e1a-484a-a1e5-4bff2c74d5ea — The pizza is no competition against my delicious grouper fish

10. Being in Africa again

Transiting through South Africa was enough to give me nostalgic chills and make me reminisce over my time in Kenya. Africa is indescribable. Though its colors, music, patterns and people are different throughout the continent, there’s an underlying strength that pervades bark and bone. This strength sinks in as you breathe in the bush, the red earth, the Baobabs, the Acacias… This is the part of Africa I’ve known and grown to love. And how sweet it was to be once more surrounded by its rhythms.

To me, Africa also means family. Some of my most treasured memories with my family happened here and this last month only added more to the stash. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back to Mozambique but I’m extremely thankful for having yet another stretch of Africa etched in my story. I might be back sooner than I expect. Who knows? Maybe dad moves to Namibia next.

This is Malanzi, the man who actually runs our house

What Falls with Notre Dame? An Easter Reflection

April 21, 2019

I was just one of millions of people who were startled by the disheartening images of Notre Dame ablaze. It seemed like a scene of some historical drama, where barbarians pillaged the sanctuary, or rebels took over the holy halls as reprimand against some notion of restrained freedom. Having this as the result of an accident is much less romantic and in many ways more tragic. Regardless of the cause, whenever established symbols, concepts, and ideas collapse, we enter a state of transcendent engagement with the world and the most visible shape it takes is the curve of a hook: ?. As Resurrection Sunday dawns on us, my reflections upon Notre Dame and the Risen Christ have weaved interestingly together.

I spent five amazing days in Paris with my friends last summer. The first day was insane, for I managed to lock my passport away in the cellar where my luggage was being stowed by a VERY kind Parisian couple. We were about to go on a 10 day continental hike so I figured I needed my travel document. We drove around the city, no internet, a sucky GPS, hunting for the church where my luggage nannies were currently at. In the middle of all the stress, of shut streets for Bastille Day, and of having no idea where we were driving to, the Parisian landmarks kept greeting us – we spotted the Eiffel Tower, drove around the Arc du Triomphe. But the most magnificent vision was to suddenly find ourselves towered by the Dame. We looked at it for three seconds as we drove by. Those three seconds were enough to leave us stunned. Stunned with the sheer grandeur of this Cathedral. I eventually got my passport and we counted ourselves blessed for having had a little taste of French history.

The other four days I spent there I was mostly with my friend Rachel and we took our sweet time walking around the city. However, since we absolutely love the Hunchback of Notre Dame, we were most excited about visiting the Cathedral. We made a point of attending mass on Sunday Morning and just drank in the dancing colors of the stain glasses while the priest blessed us in French. We sat and gazed at it. I cried whenever the bells rang. We went up the towers and were the last ones to leave. The city was peaceful, the bells commanded us to think beyond ourselves.

One of the things I love most about Europe is its artistry and abundance of craftsmanship. I was never one to care much about fancy churches, but the more I understood what the details meant, the more I fell in love with their beauty. I was talking to my sister about her last trip to Portugal and she pointed out how such Medieval, Baroque, and Gothic churches made art as belonging to the community. Beauty was for the beholding of the common woman and man, as they entered the church for a passing prayer or as they engaged in mass. Beauty was not contained in art galleries and private homes – church buildings were often sponsored by the very community, such as Barcelona’s Santa Maria del Mar.

Why would people invest so many resources and effort into a stone building? Many could argue that these should be put to better use in social action, in feeding the poor, in bettering people’s material lives. And yet, millions of hearts sank as the spire collapsed.

The truth is that we are not merely material beings. We relish in beautiful things. Our hearts hold on to it. It reminds us that life transcends the here and now. It reveals a latent potential in this world to be made more beautiful, grander, redeemed – or else beautiful things would not exist. Beauty goes beyond utility and is precious precisely because of it. There is no need to justify it or explain it, you simply sit in it and experience it. Beauty is not a tool, it is the breath of the Spirit. It gives life to dead things.

That is what Jesus did for us. The logos, Word become flesh through which God created all that is beautiful in Creation, died so that we could be made beautiful again through His breath of life. Can we call death beautiful? Yes, for it opens room for new and unexpected things to grow in its stead. I call his death and resurrection beautiful in all that beauty encompasses, even its uselessness. He didn’t have to die. God could have come up with another plan. Jesus went to the grave not to buy our love, nor to simply give us salvation. He just loved us – and if we think about it, love is pretty useless. It’s not usable, it’s not manageable, you can’t exchange it for anything. Love runs its own course, it’s the most excellent WAY, which means it is a road that needs to be travelled with no end goal, no reward, no object to be won. Like beauty, love is to be experienced and its essence lies in the fact that it is, and that is enough.

So, what falls with Notre Dame? I fear for what might burn with it. We have grown accustomed to seeing function in everything: What is this opulence for? What is the use of an old church? What is the cross for? So much so that it has become hard to appreciate beauty for what it is, sacrifice for what it is. They are pieces of the lover to the beloved. They are costly gifts, crafted with renunciation, shaped with toil. Stones carried by Catalans to build a church, calloused hands of French masons, a Nazarene’s blood on the cross. It’s impossible to see true beauty and not cry because the dedication and love which holds it together transcends logical understanding.

We suffer when beauty is lost because when it is neglected, we neglect the essence of our spirituality. Jesus resurrected so that we would never neglect that but know instead that death produces life. May Notre Dame’s fallen body reminds us that beauty still matters.

Yes – Rituals are Important!

November 11, 2018

I have been thinking about writing on rituals since August, but the recent news on Nyack have inspired me to many things – one of them being finally sitting my butt on a chair and writing a new blog post. For those who don’t know, last Wednesday my beloved alma mater has announced that they will be closing the Rockland Campus. It was in Rockland where I met my incredible sisters, experienced solid and loving community, and also experienced Jesus’ grace in a wonderful new way. While I’m happy that this decision will allow Nyack as a college to still exist, I can’t pretend I’m not sad over seeing an important place in my story being let go like this.

Change is ALWAYS hard. Even when we’re excited about change, transitions will always surface things in ourselves we didn’t even know were there. I remember when I moved to Kenya in 2011. I was VERY excited about living in a different country. But enrolling in a new school, in a completely new educational system, where a high level English was being demanded of me was very challenging. It showed me a lot of my insecurities. I felt backwards because I did not fit in and I walked through the halls of my High School reminding myself, in a mantra sort of way, that God was above my studies, the people I met, and my inadequacies. Moving to Nyack was a whole new ball game, for I spent my first semester crying almost everyday and struggling to feel like I belonged in that new Christian environment.

But alas, everything passed. These moments of transition gave way to familiarity, love and eventually belonging. I was finally able to be joyous!!

UNTIL…

I had to move again (gosh, when will this ever stop?). And it hit me hard. Again! At this point however, I knew better. I had learned from one professor in particular that rituals may help you ease into new stages of life. I took a class on “Saints and Remembrance” with Dr. Amy Davis in my Junior year where she highlighted the importance of Remembrance in our journey of faith. We need tangible milestones and experiences that function like trail markers on our journey. Moments in time, real, material, to which we can look back to and help hold ourselves accountable for our own doubts and fears as we move along the path and trust God.

Rituals are expressive ways through which we can mark our journey of faith, points in time when we stop and truly reflect about the transition and the feelings carried by change. I’ve come to believe that it is an essential aspect of processing for it forces you to think about, ponder your feelings, and choose into the lessons you’re bringing to your next season. It gave both boundaries and freedom to my feelings – a vulnerable space for me to grieve, but also a boundary line so that I would not succumb to despair.

When I came back to Brazil in August, I knew I needed to process through my time in Nyack and what being back home would mean. So I decided to prepare a ritual for myself. I set aside a whole evening and even made an intricate program that would guide me through my own liturgy of “Letting Go”. I wrote down prayers of dedication and surrender, listed what I was letting go from my time in Nyack and also the lessons I committed myself to bringing to my new season at home.

It was an incredible experience! I felt such freedom to cry before God and grieve everything I was losing. But as I did this, I also felt incredible joy and gratitude for what I had experienced and the many gifts that had come with it. I won’t say that I magically got over the transition and moved on. After all, these things take time. But having that one night where I did tangible things as lighting candles and blowing them out for each aspect of my experience that I was letting go of helped me face what lies ahead. Whenever I want to feel sad again, I remind myself that I’ve already committed myself to move on. I think back to that night and somehow, my feelings resettle.

As a protestant, I’ve always felt rituals were a little weird and mystic. But all we have to do is look at the Last Supper to see that rituals were important to Jesus as well. I can imagine how important that moment became for the disciples as they went through trials spreading Jesus’ Gospel. They could think of the bread being broken and the wine being drunk and connect their lives directly to Jesus sacrifice. Geez, we still have communion in our churches for a reason after all! It reminds us of Jesus’ sacrifice and leads us into worship. I believe that other rituals can do the same.

So, friend, give yourself a gift and set aside some time to grieve and move on. Count your blessings, your losses, and draw yourself closer to the God who gives and takes away. I can assure you, it will place much into perspective and create a stepping stone of faith in your journey with Christ which you can always look back to.

No More Empty Words

October 15, 2018

I’ve recently watched a series of videos by Landa Cope concerning political justice (I would recommend it to anyone seeking to understand what the Bible says about specific spheres of society). One of the aspects she approaches is “Media”. She explains how God LOVES communication and what the purpose of media should be considering His passion – a vehicle of change and expression of truth. Her sad conclusion is that today, even though we are bombarded by words and information, words are just words – void of meaning and substance.

It breaks my heart. Words are the most powerful tool every human being has. Their power stems from their prismatic embodiment of freedom. They are an expression of our free will, for they communicate our desires and decisions. When used to confess, ask, and forgive, they set our souls free. Speaking is also free because no one needs to pay to be heard, it is a basic right. How then, in a time where so many voices are being heard, did we cheapen such a valuable instrument?

Well, simply by making sure our world stays the same. Let me tell you about love and tolerance because these are the most important values of our time. Let me bash corruption on twitter because we don’t want people stealing! Let me frown at racists, applaud those helping the homeless, and tell you just why your candidate sucks. Yet, if everyone who talks about love, tolerance, and justice actually did something about it, I think we would see a marvelous type of change taking place.

This change instills matter into what is otherwise, emptiness. I write about this because not long ago, I had to face the reality of empty words in my own life. As a Christian, I believe that trusting God is the most important step to building relationship with Him. But I found myself wallowing in my own dejection. I felt forgotten and neglected because I wasn’t accomplishing anything “BIG” in my life. Yet, what reason do I have to feel this way if I truly believe that my worth in Jesus goes beyond my accomplishments? If I believe the promises hold true? If I declare that He is enough?

In some way or the other, these words have to take shape in my life. Living them requires truth. And truth is scary. Words have substance if they are an embodiment of truth. Will I dare face truth, reach out to it and clothe my words with its painful yet releasing power?

I have been reading Malala Yousafzai’s book. She is an inspiring example of someone who has beautifully enveloped her words with the thick fabric of truth – to the point of almost dying for them. No one deems her words empty for she has walked in their truth. Her journey and simplicity have been an inspiration to me – and I hope that, like her, I can unapologetically embrace the weight of the truth I carry.

In the midst of shallow characters and voices that scream empty hymns, I pray for God’s redemption of words, by the power of His Word, and by my complete surrender and embracing of these truths that set free.

Googling God’s Answers

September 17, 2018

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been at a crossroads with God multiple times. Well, not really with God but with my own choices. I’ve become so desperate about doing the right thing, making the right choice, that I have quite literally googled some quick answers…

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True, I’m a millennial and I like expediency, shortcuts, and to make things as easy as possible for me. After all, there’s so much in life that is hard already! There are so many things I can’t control and that make my life difficult… I wish having to make choices would come more naturally to me.

I know it does for some people. I have a friend who is beautifully spontaneous. If he wants hot chocolate, he buys it. If he wants to go on a hike he is already revving the engine and driving off to the closest mountain. When I’m close to such people, I find it easier to be spontaneous myself. But leave me to my own devices, and my mind spins a hundred billion different directions, thinking of cause, effect, consequences, finally leading up to the conclusion that whatever I decide will speed up the apocalypse.

I blame it on the fall. God created us with the right to choose but then we made the poorest choice in the world and now I have to resort to Google. Truth be told, when God created us in His image, He took an enormous risk. He made us capable of having a will and choosing – just like Himself! Why God, oh why did you have to be so liberal in your Creation?

At the same time, if He chose to create us with the power of choice, then it must be a good thing. What I (and the majority of Christians) most seek after is “God’s will”. It permeates our steps, our journals, our interactions with others. Will, will, will… So why am I so scared of using my own and claiming that God given part of myself?

Truth be told, it’s comfortable to just wait for God to disclose my every step – as comfortable and easy as asking Google to convert Fahrenheit to Celsius when I could perfectly use an already existing formula and do it myself.

However helpful Google might be, it cheapens knowledge. These quick answers are convenient, but don’t actually teach me anything. I think God created us with willpower because it is the only effective way to grow and to truly be ourselves. With every choice we make, we grow not only in experience but in the knowledge of who we are. While God directs, I believe He finds pleasure in seeing us use the tools He has placed on this world to help us. We begin with His Word and the wisdom in it. We ask others who have gone through similar predicaments. We search our hearts and flesh out our inner motives. Sure enough, we discover that decision-making builds connection and intimacy with God, others, and ourselves. The more you struggle with it, the more solid and secure is your next step.

Now, in this beautiful tension of decision-making, I find spontaneity in the other end of the spectrum. Big decisions require sitting through my thoughts, but I crave the joy of spontaneity in my day to day life. I have to remind myself to loosen up and just use my instinct to choose between banana or strawberries on my waffle – THERE’S NO RIGHT OR WRONG ANSWER. I believe God relishes in seeing me go with my gut just as much as seeing me use my brain and experience to make a good choice. After all, He created the gut. And quite honestly, I think God can be pretty spontaneous (that’s the only explanation for platypus and narwhals).

So Google, thank you for your convenience. Thank you for seemingly making things so easy for me. Unfortunately however, you steal all the fun from being human. You don’t let me live in my own skin and own up to my successes, mistakes, and food preferences. From now on, I will try to keep you at a distance and choose the scarier but more exciting road of using my brain and instinct (except of course, when I quickly need to know the right spelling of a word). I’m sure that, if God thought me capable, I’ll make some pretty interesting, fulfilling, and crazy life decisions.

***

Não sei você, mas já estive em uma encruzilhada com Deus diversas vezes. Bom, não com Deus mas com minhas próprias escolhas. Eu já me desesperei tanto para fazer a coisa certa e a melhor escolha que eu literalmente já pesquisei no Google respostas rápidas…

Admito, sou da geração Y e gosto de eficácia, atalhos, e de tornar as coisas mais fáceis possíveis. Afinal de contas, tanto na vida já é tão difícil! Existem tantas coisas que eu não consigo controlar e dificultam minha vida… Eu gostaria que tomar decisões fosse mais fácil pra mim.

Eu sei que é para algumas pessoas. Tenho um amigo que é lindamente espontâneo. Se ele quer chocolate quente, ele compra. Se ele quer escalar, em um segundo ele já está com o pé no acelerador dirigindo à montanha mais próxima. Quando estou com pessoas assim, fica mais fácil eu ser espontânea também. Mas me deixe sozinha com os meus pensamentos e minha mente gira em um bilhão de tangentes – penso em causa, efeito, consequências, e finalmente concluo que qualquer que seja minha decisão, vou acabar precipitando o fim do mundo.

Eu culpo a queda! Deus nos criou com o poder de escolha mas daí a gente fez a pior escolha do mundo e agora minha única solução é o Google. Honestamente, Deus se arriscou muito quando nos criou a sua imagem. Ele nos fez capaz de ter vontades e poder de escolha – assim como Ele! Porque oh Deus, porque você teve que ser tão liberal com a sua Criação?

Ao mesmo tempo, se Ele escolheu nos criar com este poder de decisão, isso deve ser uma coisa boa. O que eu (e todos os outros Cristãos) mais procuramos e almejamos é a “vontade de Deus”. Este desejo inunda nossos passos, nossos diários de oração, nossas interações com os outros. Vontade, vontade, vontade… Então porque eu tenho tanto medo de usar minha própria vontade e me apropriar dessa parte de mim que reflete uma característica de Deus?

Pra falar bem a verdade, pra mim é confortável esperar que Deus me revele todos os meus passos – tão confortável e fácil quanto pedir pro Google converter Fahrenheit para Celsius quando eu poderia usar uma fórmula que já existe e fazer a conversão por conta própria.

Não importa o quão prática o Google torna a minha vida, no fim das contas ele barateia o conhecimento. Essas respostas rápidas são convenientes mas não me ensinam nada. Eu acho que Deus nos criou com uma vontade e poder de escolha porque este poder é a única maneira efetiva de nós crescermos e realmente sermos quem Deus nos criou pra ser. Com cada escolha que fazemos nós crescemos não só em experiência mas também no conhecimento de quem somos. Acredito que Deus nos dirige, mas também acredito que Ele tem prazer em nos ver usando as ferramentas que Ele deixou no mundo para nos ajudar. Começamos com sua Palavra e a sabedoria que nela existe. Buscamos o conselho de outros que passaram por situações parecidas. Sondamos os nossos corações para entender o que nos motiva e o que queremos. Com o tempo, descobrimos que tomar decisões cria conexões e intimidade com Deus, com os outros, e com nós mesmos. Quanto mais lutamos e interagimos com as nossas decisões, mais sólido e seguro o nosso próximo passo se torna.

Há também, nessa linda tensão das decisões, a espontaneidade no outro lado da balança. Grandes decisões requerem tempo, mas eu anseio pela alegria da espontaneidade no meu dia a dia. Eu constantemente tenho que me lembrar de relaxar e usar os meus instintos pra escolher entre colocar bananas ou morangos em cima do meu waffle – NÃO EXISTE RESPOSTA CERTA OU ERRADA. Eu acredito que Deus se agrada em me ver seguindo meus instintos tanto quanto eu uso meus cérebro e experiência para tomar uma boa decisão. Afinal de contas, Ele criou o instinto. E honestamente, eu acho que Deus pode ser bem espontâneo (essa é a única explicação que justifica ornitorrincos e o narval).

Então Google, obrigada pela sua conveniência. Obrigada por tornar as coisas aparentemente muito mais fáceis pra mim. Mas infelizmente, você rouba toda a alegria de ser humano. Você não me deixa viver com a minha própria pele e reivindicar meus sucessos, erros, e preferências alimentares. A partir de agora, vou tentar manter distância e escolher o caminho mais assustador mas ao mesmo tempo mais estimulante ao usar meu próprio cérebro e instinto. Tenho certeza que, se Deus me acredita capaz, vou tomar decisões um tanto interessantes, satisfatórias, e loucas.

“I do NOT want to be like everyone else!”

September 2, 2018

I've met Mickey! AM I NOT UNIQUE__ (1)

It took me a while to do this. I’ve always loved writing but quite honestly, with all the voices already being heard on social media, I didn’t want to add to the noise. Plus, I looked at my life and didn’t really see anything interesting to contribute.

Until one day, my mentor asked me: “Why don’t you start a blog?” I was drinking tea at her house and my response was to spray a delicious blend of chamomile on her dinner table. What shocked me the most was not the suggestion itself but the idea of being like everyone else. The first thought that sprung on my mind was: “Everyone and their mother have a ‘blog’. It’s ‘trendy’ and ‘spiritual’ and ‘soul care-y’. I do NOT want to be like everyone else!”

This kind of thinking is not new in my life. It took me a while to recognize I love hiking and to admit I love The Beatles and pumpkin spice latte. I just didn’t want to feel like “one more”. I don’t think anyone wants that, but I guess that some people have less trouble blending in with the trends – it does have the power to make you feel like you belong and connects you with people…

HA! What? Is that so?

No wonder I sometimes feel isolated. I can be incredibly stubborn with going against the current. Believe it or not, I sometimes disagree with people in things I actually agree with them. Devil’s advocate or being-unique-obsessed-creep? Seems a lot like self-sabotage.

What I fail to see is that I don’t have to do anything to be unique. I SIMPLY AM! No one in this whole world has the same combination of feelings, experiences, personality traits, and preferences that I have. No one can put words together the same way I do. Millions of others may just love tasting that pumpkin spice latte, but no one can savor it in my skin. And everyone has this gift, this uniqueness – even that basic white girl, for no other basic white girl can perfectly match her life journey (some like “Mean Girls” better than “The Notebook” after all).

My point is: this blog is not my attempt to be unique, it’s rather a humble joining of hands with others who also have a wealth of experience to share. Being human and having an inner world warrants anyone to do the same. I know written things are losing their power in a world increasingly visual and flashy. But, I like words. Lines on a page that can change someone’s life. So simple yet so powerful!

So… I hope that whoever you are, and if you have reached this far, you are inspired to be yourself even if that means admitting you can be a little bit like everybody else.

Blessings,

Christine Helise