Protected: Performance in Everyday Life | What is Performance

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

The Things I Carry

Been thinking a lot about Tim O’Brien and Lyndsay lately, so here it goes:

I carry two pairs of prescription glasses, one for the sun, and one for other times. The sun glasses wrap around my head and make me look a little like a bug. The regular glasses are made mostly of plastic. The arms are decorated with clear and black checkered boxes. I carry a bulky box for the glasses in order to prevent them from getting crushed by all the other things I carry. I carry a bottle of water, half full,  and a water pouch, completely empty. Two hats, one with bug repellent built in. I often wonder what that does when I sweat. Does the repellent transfer into my body through osmosis so that my insides are also now repellant? I’m not too worried, though because the hat doesn’t really do much to deter the flies. After all, just because something smells bad doesn’t mean that we will necessarily steer away from it. There are cheeses that smell awful, but that doesn’t stop us from stuffing our faces with them. There are cities that smell awful, but that doesn’t stop us from traveling to them. I carry New Orleans with me. The Bourbon Street Bar, the little eastern bloc cafe in the marigny whose name I no longer carry with me, Andy, and a number of brief moments of magic, many of which were related to music. The other hat is an Israeli Park Services hat that Eitan gave to me. I can’t wear that hat here as it might give people the wrong impression.

I carry the Fratellis, the Beatles, the Clash, the Guess Who, Fiona Apple, Tori Amos (who seems to carry Nine Inch Nails with her). They all seem to carry love with them. I carry love with me too. I carry a camelback® backpack, red and black and grey with a blue nozzle coming out of it. Tied to the front of the backpack is a pair of light tan hiking boots, made especially for trekking through the desert. Inside the boots is a pair of socks. The socks are made out of synthetic wool. The fake wool has some sort of magic woven into it that makes the sweat disappear quickly, and the smell vanish with it. The socks can be worn for a week without smelling too bad and about a week longer before they begin smelling really bad. This pair smells really bad. On my feet I carry a pair of Chaco® sandals, a little over 4 years old. The right one, despite my protests, threatens to fall apart any day now. At least that is what I fear. I carry this fear, among others, with me.

On most of the things I carry, I carry the dust of Masada. I carry three books that also carry the dust, among other things, of Masada. One of the books says that everyone in this country, citizen and non-citizen alike, carries the dust of Masada. I carry with me the last four weeks, and with them the last three years, and with them, the 19 before. And the next 30. I carry one pair of shorts and one bating suit. I carry 4 shirts and the knowledge that water alone will not always remove the smell of body odor. I carry two phones, one is smarter than the other, but the other can get the job done. With these I carry two phone chargers and one international adapter. I thought I would need more, but one seems to do the trick. I carry two cameras, one for video the other for still images. Someone said that cameras carry memories, but I think that, at best, they offer a coarse illustration of memories.

I carry a necklace that I found on a rock by a pool at Ein Gedi. I told Werner that it would be a talisman to remind me of the morning where me, him, Pip, and Huguette wandered through the wilderness, over the rocks, and jumped into the water at the bottom of the waterfalls. We stayed there longer than most people tend to. We spent a lot of time sitting on the rocks, warmed by the sun, in a comfortable silence.

The Romans Are Coming!

In my last post I wrote a little about my trip to Masada with Asphalt Theatre. Their performance was a satirical slapstick of the lives of the Jews who lived on Masada. Rather than a straightforward telling of the story, Asphalt pushed for a more nuanced version of the story. Whereas many guides or storytellers gloss over or omit altogether the inability of many of the Jewish groups’ ability to get along, Asphalt emphasizes not just the disputes among these groups (often very violent ones); they explicitly state that it was the inability of these groups of neighbors to get along that allowed for the Roman victory. As many historians note, the Romans fought very little during the siege of Jerusalem. They waited until the Jews were done killing each other, and then went in.

I will have much more to say about Asphalt and their performance in later posts, but before I wrap this up I want to say a couple of quick words about what Moshe, the director of Asphalt.said after the performance.

A few days before the scheduled performance, Moshe received a call from a member of the Masada Group, a group of people who own the rights to the gift shop and dining area, and are responsible for introducing the.McDonald’s to Masada. The representative told Moshe that he was not allowed to perform without the consent of the group. Moshe said that he told them that he’s been performing at Masada for a long time and that he’s always been told by Eitan what he was and was not allowed to do, so until Eitan said otherwise, he was going to perform.

Moshe saw this as a growing struggle between those who love the mountain and are drawn to it for the story and its location, and those who are drawn to it for its financial possibilities. And he doesn’t hesitate to draw the analogy of the actual battle at masada. “here we are” said Moshe. “We just want to live our lives, do what we’ve always done. Then here they come and try to tell us what we can and can’t do. You see how it’s similar, right? It’s a problem.”

Mr. Gratch’s Wild Ride

I turned off the light at 7:30 in the hopes that I’d get a decent night of sleep before I headed out to meet the Asphalt theatre company. At 8:00 the party started, just outside my room. I last looked at the clock at midnight, just two hours before I had to wake up.

At 2:00 my alarm went off. I dressed, brushed my teeth, packed my bag, and drove to the entrance to the town of Arad. At 2:30, Moshe, from Asphalt, pulled up behind me. We got out of our cars, introduced ourselves, then Moshe introduced Orir, Idan, and his sleeping son. Moshe warned me that the desert had lots of winding roads. And animals. “Once we saw a hyena so big! It was not afraid of the car. It could bite the car if it wanted! We like to turn the lights on the animals, have a good look at them. Come, follow us!”

So I did. No sooner had we reached the desert road than Moshe slammed on the breaks and faced his car so it totally blocked the road. In front of him were two huge porcupines, probably scared out of their wits, running away from the road. I looked to Moshe and he an Orir were all smiles.  They each gave me a big thumbs up as if to say, “see, fun!” I burst out laughing. And then we began to fly.

We raced through the next 30 kilometers, flying around turns until we finally reached the gate of Masada park, about 3 km from the mountain itself. A guard met us there and told Moshe that there was a sound and light show going on (there seems to always be something going on at Masada, no matter the time), and that we wouldn’t be able to drive down the path as our headlights might disrupt the show. “No problem” says Moshe, “we can turn the headlights off.” The show, after all, must go on.

With what little moonlight there was, I could just barely see the road in front of me. At times I could make out Moshe’s car in front of me, and at other times I could not. Every now and then his break lights would come on and I’d see him 30 meters away. Or they’d come on and I’d see them 3 meters away and would have to slam on the breaks.

We finally did make it down to the mountain, and as the light show was still going on, we parked a ways off, set up a blanket, and ate cake and drank tea in the dark until the show finally finished. It was 3:45, one hour and forty five minutes until showtime.

In my next post, titled The Romans Are Coming, or Masada, Live Tonight, Sold Out, I’ll tell you a little more about Moshe, Asphalt theatre, and McDonald’s. Thanks for keeping up!

transgressions at Masada

Back in the desert, and not a lot of time for a post, but here’s a quick little thing for all those interested.

There are a lot of transgressions of space that occur at Masada.  There are casemate walls surrounding the mountain, and for the most part, you are not allowed to climb them.  Their location, however, is ideal for watching the sunrise.  Tourists repeatedly dodge the few security personnel up there to try and snag a great, albeit due to the intense desert winds, slightly dangreous vista point. You can’t blame them for wanting to get a closer view of the sun, but like Icarus, such heights have their danger.

Last summer, Eitan told me about the British tourist who snuck up to Masada in the middle of the night and as he was taking a piss off the edge, was caught by a gust and blown to his death.  Last week I had anIrish roommate who insisted on sleeping with the a/c off and the windows open.  I walked into the room as he was asleep in the middle of the day and it was pretty rank.  I turned on the air and he got out of bed and began staring at the floor.  For a good five minutes. Eventualy he looked up at me and told me that he had to have the room warm so he coud sleep.  My other roommate told hm that we didn’t like it that hot and that  he could just use another blanket. Without making eye contact, the Irishman said that he was going down to dinner, then coming back to bed, where he would turn the a/c off.

I woke up a few times during the night but each time, the Irishman was still gone.  When my alarm went off at 4, he was nowhere to be seen. I put on my shoes and wandered out into the desert to commence my hike up.

Around 6:30, as I was watching ome tour groups do their thing, the Irishman walked past me, staring directy ahead.  When I got down from Masada for breakfast around 9, I went into my room. The smell was close to unbearable.  Apparently, the Irishman got drunk the evening before and climbed up the mountan where he spent the night. It’s been days since he last showered and was now asleep in his bed, a/c off and windows open.

By the time I came back down the second time, later that evening, the Irishman was finally gone, though his stench lingered into the night.

long week with too much for one post

Hey everyone.  So, internet access has been a hot commodity for the last week and it looks like it’s going to continue like that for a while.  I’d like to be able to post more often with pictures, but so it goes. 

I only have about 10 minutes on this computer so I have to be fast.  I’ll begin with last Wednesday, and fill in the rest of the week next time I’m online. Wednesday found me back in Tel Aviv, picking up Shira and Dan at the airport.  We went from there to my cousin Ido’s place.  While there, I finally met Ido’s brother, Shai.  Shai lives up in the north and I’m not totally sure what he does, but I think it has something to do with touring people around.  Anywho, I began talking about my project and about the myth of Masada. He agreed that there was a myth that was created around Masada to help formalize the state, but he said he wasn’t sure what purpose that myth serves anymore.  He said that young kids are still brought there and taught the myth, but when kids get older, they are told to question the myth, particularly how the myth has and is being used.  I’m going to get more into this at another time, but I think it has some significance to my project, especially when compared with how the myth is still delivered to American tour groups. 

While in Tel Aviv I also met up with a guy named Noam.  Noam is a tour guide at Tel-Hai, and told me that I should check it out in relation to my project.  If you don’t know what Tel-Hai is, I’d love for you to look it up and let me know what you think. 

Gotta run.  Thanks for the comments, and I look forward to posting again soon!

 

Quick Update | oh yeah, and there’s a McDonald’s at Masada now

Hey evreyone!  I made it to Israel after a long sleepless flight.  I then hopped on a bus, and four hours later I was at Masada.  Once I got here I found that my Israeli phone was broken, so I have to find a new one tomorrow on my way to Tel Aviv.  I don’t have much time here, but I wanted to jump on and say that my first day on Masada went really well.  I saw a cool Bar-Mitzvah ceremony done by a bithright group (contrasted with the one I saw last year, it was very striking). 

I know what I'm having for lunch after hearing the story of Masada!

Then, while I was walking down the mountain towards the visitors center, I noticed, through the thick tinted glass of the new downstairs dining area, the unmistakable golden arches.  More on that on a later post.  For now, dinner, then reading, then sleep before I head out to Tel Aviv in the morning!