My Journey

by Amalie Coles

  “Why?”

  “Well, I get to work long hours, do monotonous stuff, and my pay is crap.” I was surprised by my own sincerity. Although I normally didn’t talk about my problems to strangers, the environment around me was so friendly that I felt free to speak my mind.

  After lunch, we were free till four-thirty, the pottery washing time. My roommates and I crept back to our hotel room and collapsed on our beds. For the first time in the day, I felt tired.

  Unable to fall asleep right away, I took out my cell phone and checked messages. I was happy to discover a few from Jason, who was showing interest in my whereabouts and telling me how much he was missing me. In spite of the great time I was having in Ashkelon, I was missing him, too.

  I also got a few messages from my parents and Erin probing me about details about my first dig session. I told everyone that I was doing great and that the first morning in the field was quite enjoyable. I also attached a few photos I had snapped during the dig, including a photo of me in a U of T T-shirt and white gloves holding a shovel. For a moment, I considered sending it to the Summer of the Selfie contest that was being constantly advertised on the Virgin Radio in Toronto. No one probably expected an entry from an amateur archaeologist.

  I dozed off for about twenty minutes. When I woke up, everyone was still asleep. I could imagine their level of fatigue after the whole night of partying and several hours of toiling under the sun. Since there was another free hour, I decided to check out the swimming pool. I quickly prepared my beach bag, put on my bathing suit, slipped into flip-flops, and crept downstairs, hoping none of my roommates would wake up and follow me. Otherwise, we would not make it to the pottery washing session on time.

  It was very quiet downstairs. I saw a few tourists check in at the reception desk and a young couple lounging in the lobby. As for the swimming area, I could see only one person lying on a sun bed and drinking beer. It was George.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he asked.

  For the first time, I noticed that he was very good looking. He was quite tall and muscular, and everything about him exuded confidence. I wondered if he was a self-absorbed type. I placed my beach bag on the farthest sun bed, removed my dress, and started applying the tanning lotion.

  “Nice legs!” I heard him say.

  “Excuse me?” I turned around and met his penetrating gaze.

  “What?”

  “Would you please leave me alone?”

  “OK, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it that way! May I join you in swimming?” He got up and walked towards the pool.

  “Whatever,” I replied in disdain. I couldn’t believe we had such a nice conversation this morning. He was, indeed, self-absorbed.

  After five laps, I decided to get something to drink, so I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked to the bar.

  “Shalom, mitz tapuchim bevakasha,” I said, ordering a cup of apple juice.

  “Beseder,” the waiter replied.

  I loved giving food and drink orders in Hebrew. Sometimes, waiters would answer back in English, but I always tried my best not to give in. Never mind I could forget a word or two and get stuck for a few seconds. I was confident enough to take the risk, and showcasing language skills always paid off. During our last visit, a few Israelis even asked us where we were living, mistaking us for locals. I found such a mistake quite flattering.

  George joined me a few seconds later and ordered another beer.

  “Why don’t you use Hebrew?” I asked him, hoping to score at least one point over this snob.

  “I only know Biblical and Phoenician. I don’t think they would be useful here.”

  “That’s true.” I laughed. “I studied both Biblical and Modern, but I like the Modern one more,” I added.

  “Do you plan on moving here?”

  “I don’t think so. My husband wouldn’t be very fond of the idea.”

  “Wait! You’re married?” He looked shocked.

  “Yes, I am.” I couldn’t help but smile. A small part of me wondered if he was fancying me in one way or another.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.” George looked a bit embarrassed.

  “That’s OK.”

  “I just assumed everyone here was single.”

  “Some may be in committed relationships.”

  “True.”

  “How about yourself? Are you seeing someone?” I found myself asking.

  “I just broke up with my girlfriend.”

  “Oh, what happened?”

  “She thought I spent too much time at school,” he replied candidly. “We hardly ever had any time for each other with my crazy schedule.”

  “That’s why I’m never doing a Ph.D,” I declared. Deep inside, I knew my steady job and the mortgage were the true culprits.

  “Well, it has many other rewards. It’s not just sleep-deprived nights and cold pizza, you know.”

  “I think it’s almost time to get going,” I said, realizing the pottery reading session would begin in less than ten minutes.

  “See you later, Becky.”

  Even after I took a shower and changed, the girls were still sleeping. I took a few steps towards their beds and told them that it was almost time to go. There was no answer. I repeated myself.

  Madeline opened her eyes, looked around, and asked, “What happened?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, but it’s time for the lab work,” I affirmed.

  “I’m so tired,” she said, yawning. “Can’t we just skip it?”

  “I’m not skipping the lab work!” Janice exclaimed, jumping out of the bed.

  They all crawled out of their beds and stumbled to the bathroom.

  “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” I felt content to be ahead of everyone else again.

  “See you, Rebecca,” Madeline replied.

  The pottery wash lasted for two hours. At times, it was monotonous and even boring. Just like any other work, archaeology involves some not-so-glamorous tasks, and scrubbing dirt from colorless shards is one of them. Half the finds were so small that they could be tossed away immediately, for they were impossible to identify.

  I began to worry I would never find anything worthy. I still had a report to write upon my return, so I absolutely had to find something fascinating. It didn’t have to be a three-thousand-year-old statue or a Byzantine mosaic. Neither did it have to be made of gold. A coin or a figurine, however, would certainly do.

  At dinner, I heard more rumours about the looming conflict in Gaza. I decided not to panic and to check the facts myself. So I Googled “Israel” on my cell phone and discovered some unpleasant news. A rocket had been fired at Jerusalem, and a few more were coming towards Tel Aviv.

  “What are you reading?” Madeline asked, putting a bowl of humus in front of her.

  “Look what happened!” I showed her my phone screen. She took it from me and started reading the article quietly.

  “Oh, jeez! That doesn’t look good.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re safe,” Janice reassured me. “Otherwise, this program wouldn’t be happening.”

  “I hope so,” I said, wanting to believe her.

  The last thing I needed was for this dig to become interrupted. Then I would fly back to Toronto before having a long-awaited vacation with Jason. Such a possibility was out of question.

  In spite of the worrying news, I slept very well through the night. I heard a few planes above but couldn’t care less what they were. All that mattered to me was discovering a treasure.

  Chapter 9

  I had more luck on the second day. As I was sifting through rocks and dirt, I came across a few small shards with faded lines. It was hard to tell whether or not they represented the famous Red Slip Ware, as the color was barely visible to the naked eye. Yet it was definitely a possibility.

  After several rounds of emptying dirt buckets, I noticed a small object of an irregular shape. Having examined it closely, I realized it
remotely resembled a woman. Just as I was about to put it together with the rest of the findings, I saw Lawrence Stager approach our area.

  “Hey, Rebecca! Ma nishma?” He waved at me.

  “Hi, Dr. Stager.”

  “You can call me Lawrence.”

  “I think I found something.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Here it is. It looks like a woman to me.”

  He looked closely at the object. “You’re right; it is indeed a woman. In fact, it’s a figurine of the Canaanite goddess Asherah. Everyone, please pay attention for a moment.” He lifted up my find. “Rebecca just discovered something unique. It’s a goddess figurine very typical for the Iron II.” As soon as his words came out, I became consumed with pride.

  Everyone gazed at us in awe, and some even gave applause. We just had our first significant find of the season, and I finally had something to put on my report.

  The rest of the morning went by easily. The burning sun and several hours of hard labor had little effect on my energy levels. I learned how to use my tools with more efficiency and with less physical effort. I also learned that taking small breaks every now and then made a huge difference. I could even imagine going out with my roommates in a few days from now. Quite possibly, it would happen earlier.

  As soon as the second breakfast came, I took out my cell phone, which I was carrying everywhere, and texted the news to everyone in Toronto. “Hey, I just found a Canaanite figurine,” I wrote. I received four “wows” in response. I also uploaded the photo of the find on Facebook and earned a dozen likes. I was becoming popular—something that had never happened to me before. Although I wasn’t an extrovert, being at the center of attention felt great, especially now that I was part of Harvard’s research team.

  During our lunch at the hotel, I met Madeline, who had been working at Grid 47 through the morning. “Hey, I heard you found something special today,” she said.

  “Really? I wonder who told you that.”

  “News spreads here very quickly.”

  “Hmm, that appears to be true.”

  “Was it gold?” she asked, eyes blazing.

  “Not yet,” I laughed. “It was a female figurine from the Iron II.”

  “Wow, I can’t believe you know all of that stuff.”

  “Me too,” said Jocelyn, who was sitting at the next table. “And I also heard you speak Hebrew.”

  “That’s true.” I smiled.

  “You must have a natural talent for languages.”

  “Thanks.” I felt proud of myself in spite of her patronizing tone. I didn’t hear such comments very often. In Toronto, I was simply a recent graduate with a useless major and a crap job. Here, everything was different.

  Having finishing my lunch, I returned to our room. Janice and Madeline decided to stay at the lobby to catch up with readings, while Rachel was nowhere in sight. So I decided to go to the beach alone like I always wanted.

  I walked down an alley surrounded by palm and cypress trees. Under one of them were three stray cats idling in the shade. A few bicycle riders passed me by. As I approached the beach, I became overwhelmed with a feeling of freedom. I was completely alone in a foreign city, and this aloneness was empowering. It was then I realized that I was in charge of my own destiny. I could turn my life in any direction I wanted. All I needed was a little courage.

  At the same moment, I also realized how lucky I was to have so many wonderful people in my life. I had loving parents, who were wishing the best for me, a sister who was also my best friend, and a wonderful husband. Even though he was miles away from me, we were still together. And finally, I was in the most beautiful place on the planet—a place so exotic and yet so familiar.

  I quickly removed my upper clothes, lay my bag on the sand, and ran straight to the sea. I made a couple of attempts to swim, and then a huge wave splashed right across my face. Having regained my balance, I tried swimming again, but waves started carrying me in the wrong direction. Being an average swimmer, I decided to wait until another day, when the sea would be calmer.

  I heard a Hebrew song coming from a lifeguard’s booth. It had a nice melody and a good beat, but most importantly, its lyrics were appealing to me on a personal level. The song was about a woman living in a big city and trying to fulfill her dreams.

  She feels out of place. This city is difficult, but she always smiles.... She is confident that one day she’ll succeed.

  As soon as I managed to discern the words, I wanted to cry. The song was about my first years in Toronto, when I was struggling like crazy and yet always staying optimistic that someday, things would change for the better.

  On my way to Dan Gardens, I found a booth where I could buy a freshly made juice.

  “Hi, can I please have some orange juice?” I asked a waiter in Hebrew.

  “No problem.” He picked a handful of oranges and squeezed them in a blender.

  “I’m Rebecca, by the way.” Something made me want to introduce myself by name.

  “I’m Shlomo.” He smiled. “How long have you been here?”

  “Three days.”

  “So you just arrived.”

  “I guess so. I’m staying at the Dan Gardens Hotel.”

  “Nice. Do you plan on living at a kibbutz or an apartment?”

  “What do you mean? I’ll be at the same hotel for the entire time.”

  “I thought you just moved here.”

  “No, I’m only visiting.”

  “Do you have a family here?”

  “No, I’m a tourist.”

  “Oh, sorry!”

  We laughed. Once again, I’d been mistaken for a local.

  “How come your Hebrew is so good?” he asked. “Have you lived here before?”

  “Maybe in another life,” I replied. “As for my Hebrew, I took courses at my university.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed. So, what brings you to Ashkelon?”

  “I’m with the Leon Levy Expedition.”

  “Oh, I see. I have many customers from this dig.”

  Our conversation lasted for almost an hour. We talked about the places in Israel we liked the most. He said he truly loved visiting the Golan Heights because of their lush greenery and cooler temperatures. I told him about our last visit to the Banias Springs and the Druze villages. Then we talked about our favorite artists, and I admitted my dream of attending a concert in Caesarea. The conversation had to stop when another customer came.

  By the time I returned to the room, it was already four-thirty, and everyone was gone to the pottery washing session. Realizing that I had completely lost my track of time, I ran downstairs in the same clothes I had worn to the beach and quietly sneaked into the room. Daniel Master was making an announcement. I tiptoed to the closest spot available and sat down, trying to make as little noise as possible. The chair made a loud, squeaking sound, causing several people look in my direction.

  “Sorry,” I said, trying to look nonchalant. Inside I was burning from embarrassment.

  I decided not to ask about the announcements until later. Instead, I grabbed a few findings and began cleaning them. It turned out that the Harvard group was planning a tour to the southern sites, and everyone else was welcome to join for a small fee. The stops would include the Ramon Crater, the Timna Valley Park, and ultimately Eilat.

  “Please don’t forget about the lecture tonight,” Daniel said before we dispersed.

  “What lecture?” I asked Lara, who was sitting next to me.

  “Something about the Palestinians.” She shrugged.

  “No, silly,” George interjected. “It’s about the Philistines, the Sea People.”

  I suppressed a laugh.

  ***

  The lecture was incredibly engaging. The presenting scholars briefly provided an overview of the group’s Aegean origins (Most scholars believe they came from the Greek islands), their migration patterns at the end of the Bronze Age, and their settlements in the Southern Levant at the beginning of the
Iron Age. They also went over the Philistine Pentapolis, which consisted of Gaza, Ashdod, Ekron, Gath, and Ashkelon. Most of the information was not new to me. Nevertheless, I couldn’t imagine anyone not being fascinated by this lecture.

  Over the course of my time at the U of T, I came to realize the Philistines were not as bad as the Bible portrayed them. It is true that they settled in the land of the Israelites, and their kingdom posed some form of external threat. However, in the Near East, both ancient and modern, settlements simply existed on a first come, first serve basis. Everyone was eager to settle in the narrow passage that existed between Egypt and Mesopotamia and to take advantage of its valuable trade resources. The Bible simply portrayed the story from the Israelites’ point of view. If Philistine texts existed, they would probably depict everything differently. As for me, I was equally drawn to all the civilizations that had existed in the Holy Land.

  Halfway through this lecture, we got to hold a piece of a Philistine stirrup jar, which got passed around the table. I took time to trace the shape, the clay texture, and the artistic pattern with my hands.

  “Can I have it, please?” I heard George say.

  “Oh, yes, sure.” I passed the jar to him.

  “Do you know it was inspired by the Mycenaean tradition?”

  “No, I thought it resembled the Cypriot style.”

  “Well, the Cypriot and Mycenaean are fundamentally different.”

  “I’m sorry.” I felt my face become hot. I couldn’t believe I’d mixed up something that obvious.

  “It’s OK. A lot of people confuse them. If you are interested, we could meet up afterward, and I could tell you more about their differences.”

  “Well, thanks for the invitation, but I would rather go sleep after the lecture.” For some reason, going out with this guy, even for an innocent talk, felt wrong.

  “Are you sure? We are planning to go to the bar. You could join us.”

  “Everyone, please be quiet,” one of the lecturers said.

  “Oh, we are sorry,” I said, my face getting hot again. “We were talking about the pottery styles,” I added. I probably sounded like a grade nine student who got caught chatting about some new, hot movie.