Home at Last

At long last we've returned to Jordan, and have come back to some unseasonably cold winter weather. It's not Minnesota, but overnight temperatures have been hovering at or below 40 degrees Fahrenheit/4-5 degrees Celsius. It's cold, and it's a cold you can't escape from, as the buildings aren't designed for cold weather and often don't even have heat. I visited a neighbor a few days ago and could see my breath in his house, a thick cloud escaping from my mouth as I exhaled. Below are some pictures of Amman covered in snow.

Finally, many cars--including the one we were riding in--were the target of random acts of snowball fun.

Bedouins of Petra

We've been to Petra five or six times, and could go many more times too.  Click here to watch a short report CNN did recently about one of the Bedouin families that still live in and around its vicinity.

Jews and Muslims, Together, Praying for Rain

Last summer was long and hot, not to mention memorable for the extreme water shortages we dealt with for the entire time.  Then, when the winter rainy season came--such as it is in Jordan--and it began with very limited precipitation, special times of prayer for rain were organized across the country.  The situation was similarly dire across the river in Israel/Palestine, and special times of prayer for rain were organized there too.  I mention all this because I came across this photo from last November online today.  It features Muslims and Jews praying for rain--together--in a village outside of Bethlehem.  And it made me smile.  Yes, there is definitely a lot of anger and hatred in the region, but many people are willing to come together and live peacefully with those they are supposed to hate; enmity is not the end of the story.  I know this first hand, but it's good to be reminded.

Jordanian Shade

This was written several years ago, but in honor of summer finally hitting Minnesota, we thought we'd post it again, with a few changes.

All summer here in Amman the temperature has hovered around 90 degrees with occasional forays into the 100s. It is hot, dry and dusty, and many people--if they can--avoid the mid-day heat and simply stay inside. However, because the humidity is not always very high, if you are outside, it is possible to get a decent respite from the heat by walking or resting under the shade of a building, a tree--really, whatever you can find. Yes, it is hot, but finding that elusive shade really can make a big difference in your level of comfort.

Of course many of the stories in the Bible are set in a climate like this, and in my mind the Jordanian heat brings those passages to life. In Genesis, for example, one story has Abraham sitting in his tent "in the heat of the day." When three men come to visit him, he tells them to rest under a tree. These are small details, but because of our time in Jordan I can imagine the afternoon heat experienced by Abraham, as well as the good shade from the heat that the tent and the tree would provide. Also, there is the story of Jonah, who after preaching to the people of Nineveh--a city in what is now northern Iraq, not all that far from us here--left and built himself a little shelter outside the city. It was apparently quite hot, so God raised up a bush to provide shade for Jonah, and to "save him from his discomfort." The next day, though, God caused the bush to die, and Jonah lost his shade. As a result, he became so hot and frustrated that he grew "faint and asked that he might die." Jonah was so hot that he lost his will to live.

Now, I've never been so hot that I wished I were dead, but again, because of our time in Jordan I can imagine how Jonah felt. I think I've felt like that while riding on a windowless bus in the Jordan Valley, the temperature outside of over 100 degrees causing those of us inside to bake, my khaki pants--not shorts, because men must dress modestly too--clinging to the sweat on my legs. I think I've felt like that while walking near the Jordan River, the hot breeze beating down on us like we had just opened a hot oven and all the mighty power of the sun seemingly focused on the straight, naked, part in my hair on the top of my head. I know I've felt like that while trudging Amman for a taxi in the midday summer heat: the streets choked with cars and traffic barely moving, exhaust fumes combining with dust to choke away what's left of the "fresh" air there, a backpack and long pants--modesty, again--serving to cover my body in a sweaty film of claustrophobia, and every taxi maddeningly occupied. Through these--and other--experiences, I can imagine why Jonah was so upset that he lost his shade.

So, as I said, shade can make a big difference, and it is this shade--a shade that can save you from devastating heat--that is good to think about when looking at the imagery used in other parts of the Bible. For instance, Psalm 121 calls God "your shade at your right hand," and Isaiah 25 calls God "a shade from the heat." When I read this, I remember how the other day--when I was outside walking in the heat of the day--I moved immediately into the shadow of a building as soon as I noticed it, how I sought the shade from the heat it would give me. Shade works, and I suppose it is my quick jump into this shade in the heat of a summer day that the various biblical writers had in mind when they referred to God as shade. Like the building, like Jonah's bush, like Abraham's tent, God makes the heat we experience more bearable.

Thoughts on the Revolution

In the time since our last post, we left Jordan to spend Christmas back in Minnesota, then spent a month in Vancouver, Canada visiting family there, then returned to Minnesota, where we will be for several more months before resuming our lives in Jordan.  Also in the time since that last post--perhaps you've heard--some major changes have taken place in the region we call home.  The governments of Tunisia and Egypt have fallen, protesters continue to march for change in Bahrain, Yemen, Syria and even Jordan and a civil war rages in Libya.  No matter how the situations in these countries play out, the Middle East we return to will be much different than the one we left.

And so, since everyone here asks me what I think about all this... here is what I think.

On February 11, 2011, at around six o'clock in the evening in Egpyt, Egyptian Vice-President Omar Suleiman announced the resignation of President Hosni Mubarak after 18 days of massive protests, ending his nearly 30 years of iron-fisted control over the country.  Soon after, hundreds of thousands of people began ecstatically celebrating on the streets of Cairo, Alexandria and other cities across Egypt.  At around the same time, at about ten o'clock in the morning in Minneapolis, I was parking my car on the street near our old apartment, on my way to a favorite coffee shop, having just heard the news of Mubarak's resignation on NPR.  Soon after, I was still in the car.  Instead of stepping out to go drink coffee, I stayed and listened, dumbfounded because just the day before Mubarak said he was staying, stunned that this Middle Eastern institution was gone, and happy.  Happy for the Egyptians I knew whose futures suddenly seemed ripe with possibility, happy because living in Jordan helped me to envision as I sat there the joy of throngs of smiling Arabs, not just in Egypt, but around the region.  Happy because the people had won, and won with class.

I have discovered since then, though, that not everyone here in America is so happy about all of this.  Far from being a cause for celebration, the fall of Mubarak--and the many other similar revolts in the region--have been a cause of fear and consternation in some corners.  Oh, I've seen some reports which conveyed what I thought was an appropriate sense of the historic and life changing nature of these revolts--especially during the height of the situation in Egypt--but I also saw many other reports that seemed to view them as almost entirely negative.  Perhaps naively, this has surprised--and disappointed--me.  

On the extreme end of this negativity is what can only be called the "Doomsday Crowd."  These people look at what has happened in the region and see not potentially changed lives, but literally world-ending danger.  One example of these doomsdayers is Dennis Prager, a conservative radio personality who listed what he called "eight good reasons" for pessimism regarding the revolution in Egypt.  These included the possibility of a worse dictator or regime taking Mubarak's place, the historical lack of political and economic freedom in Egypt and the potential of Egypt's increased friendship with Iran.  Another is soon to be former Fox News personality Glenn Beck, who spent weeks detailing on his chalkboards how he believed the revolutions were part of a coordinated, global plot of various nefarious left-wing organizations to take over the world.  Conservative radio host Rush Limbaugh believed the same, saying that the protests in Egypt were the result of something called "classic community organizing."  "And, folks, they're all leftists.  They're feminists. They're avowed socialist, leftist, communists, environmentalists," he said.  "I don't believe that this is just spontaneity. I think this is classic.  This is rent-a-mob.  I don't doubt that there are genuine grievances felt by some of the people in this group, but this is not a spontaneous, gee, nobody knew this was coming moment.  This is the result of organizing.  This is just classic community organizing in Egypt."  If you click on the link above, you'll see that he also expressed anger towards some in the media for reporting with amazement that an amazing event had just taken place.  I remember listening to it--I was in the car again--and being taken aback at the level of his anger.  Finally, there is Fox News host Sean Hannity, who feared the revolt in Egypt may be the beginning of World War III.  Doomsday was at hand.

On the kinder, gentler side of this negativity--but negative nonetheless--is what could be called the "What It Means For America" crowd.  These kinds of reports again focused not on the potential for positive change for people in Egypt, but instead on the potential for negative change for people in the United States.  In other words, these reports turned a story ostensibly about Egyptians and turned it instead into a story about Americans. For example, a headline from CBS Money Watch put the issue bluntly: "What the Egyptian Protests Mean for Your Money."  According to Carla Fried, author of the article, the situation in Egypt had caused U.S. investors to ask the "logical question" of "what impact it all might have on their financial lives."  Being the Middle East, there were also, of course, many stories having to do with the impact of the revolutions on American gas prices.  This angle is captured succinctly in the headline of a story written by Darren Goode of politico.com: "Egypt's Unrest Sparks Fears About Oil."  

Another example of the What It Means For America mentality is the concern that the United States would lose a great ally in Mubarak, with the potential that his replacement wouldn't be so friendly to American interests.  An article in USA Today asked "Could the U.S. lose a critical ally in the Middle East?"  A release by Daniel L. Byman, Senior Fellow at the Brookings Institution think tank on the risks of democracy in Egypt framed the issue with striking honesty: "while deposing Mubarak is clearly what is best for the Egyptian people," he said, "for the United States it is far more problematic."  In the days before Mubarak resigned, Limbaugh actually hoped that he would be able to withstand the calls for change.  "We need to be rooting for Mubarak," he said, "if you are concerned about U.S. national interests."  In what is to me a truly confusing angle to take on this situation, some reporting showed concern that the revolts would spread to other nations in the region.  This would, I guess, be the opposite of the reporting that Limbaugh decried above.  The same above USA Today article, for instance, asked if there was a risk "that revolt in Egypt will spread to Persian Gulf countries."  A risk for who?  Finally, numerous reports focused on what the revolt in Egypt meant for Israel--an important question for U.S. interests because we are such strong allies.  No link is necessary here; just Google "Egypt, Israel, Unrest" for links as numerous as the sand of the sea.

Now, it's not as if I believe that Egypt is going to magically transform into a beautiful democracy by next week, next year or even five years from now.  There will be difficulties, there will be challenges, no doubt; people may suffer in the process.  It is also possible that some of the problems raised by the Doomsdayers may come to pass.  It may happen, for instance, that a leader worse than Mubarak comes to power.  It may happen that all these changes bring only chaos.  I am not denying that whatever happens next in Egypt--or elsewhere in the region--could be rough.  What I am denying, though, is the placement of these revolts within some sort of sinister plot led by the kinds of groups that the Doomsdayers just happen to despise.  I am also denying that theses revolts will bring only chaos, as if that is the only possible result.  I am hopeful they bring the changes that Egyptians and others in the region are longing for.  Plus, I've been to Egypt and live next door in Jordan; from my experience, a revolution led by environmentalists and feminists wouldn't get very far.  Rush is right about one thing, though; ousting Mubarak did take some organizing.  However, my major problem with the Doomsdayers is that they just seem so mad about it all.

As far as the What It Means For America crowd is concerned, those kinds of reports just seem to me to be so self-centered.  Egyptians are trying to win their freedom?  What about my money?  What about gas prices?  What about our American interests?  How will it affect me?  How will my life be changed?  These concerns turn the focus from Egyptians to us, and make us forget what is really at stake.  Along with the Doomsdayers, they make us afraid.

As I said, though, I'm happy.  Mubarak ruled his country with an iron fist for 30 years, violently suppressing dissent and free speech, casually allowing corruption to overtake government and society and enriching his pockets.  And to top it off, the country is dirt poor; 40 percent of Egyptians live on two dollars or less per day.  He was a tyrant, disallowing basic freedoms and opportunities in order to maintain his grip on power, in order to maintain stability.  But the people got rid of him.  They got rid of Tunisia's corrupt president too, and hardly a shot was fired in either case.

Let's let these people have their moment.  Let's try to be happy for them.  It's not about our politics or our fears; it's about them.  It's about their freedom.  I am not afraid.  I invite you not to be too.

Election Day

It's election day in Jordan today.  Posters and signs are plastered all over Amman, advocating for the various candidates.  The pictures below are of Tariq Sami Khoury--a candidate for one of the seats in the legislature reserved for Christians--who has been staring up at us from the street for several weeks now.

Can't Go Home

*Some friends of mine recently celebrated the 20th anniversary of their graduation from high school. My 20 year reunion is next year, which, thousands of miles away, got me thinking about the subject of going home.

I am from a small town in central Minnesota. I was not born there; I was born in Illinois. However, my parents are both from Minnesota, and their parents are from Minnesota. My parents just happened to move to Illinois before I was born for my dad's job, and then they moved back to Minnesota when I was three. After a few months in an apartment in town, we built and moved into a house in the country at the end of a mile-long dirt road, where I spent all of my childhood, and where my parents still live to this day.

While this house was still being built, I met a boy a year older than me who would be my friend all throughout my youth, and soon met two other boys around my age who would be long term friends too. We spent our daylight hours riding our bikes back and forth on the dirt road, running through the woods, climbing trees, sledding in the winter, eating popcorn, watching Scooby-Doo on TV and playing football and baseball in our big, green yards. Although we each eventually also acquired a group of friends in our own grade, when we got older we stayed friends, and sang in choirs, ran track, hung out at church youth group, occasionally went to movies and even got into a minor car accident or two, one of which was on a different dirt road.

It was in junior high that I first made a few of these other friends. For instance, on the first day of seventh grade art class, the boy I was assigned to share a desk with turned to me out of the absolute clear blue and asked--I'm not sure what was going through his head at the time--if I had seen the 1983 NCAA Basketball Championship Game between North Carolina State and the University of Houston. I had. He would become my best friend growing up, and we spent our time watching basketball, playing basketball, hanging out in his basement, playing tennis all day in the heat of the summer, going to a Twins game instead of Prom and running, running, running. We went our separate ways after graduation, but we remained friends, visiting each other at our colleges, playing and watching more basketball and doing shameful things like attending a Bryan Adams concert.

There wasn't much to do in my small town. There was a dilapidated movie theater of sorts where I remember seeing a Billy Graham movie once, which should tell you all you need to know about the number of new releases that came to town. I went cruising once or twice with some friends, but even that required going to the next town over, as our town only had one stoplight (there are more now). There was the occasional party with the usual underage drinking fiascoes, but I wasn't much interested in that. I mostly spent my time running, especially my last two or so years of high school.

Growing up, I saw the same people day in and day out. You could find most of the kids in my kindergarten class picture in my high school yearbook too. The adults at church I thought were so old--Sunday School teachers, friends of my parents--are still there, and not altogether that old. Some of them came to my wedding--12 years ago today--which was held in the back yard of my parents' country house, the same house we moved into when I was three, the same house where my parents still live.

It would be a shame if I couldn't visit my home town again.

And this, to me, is the crux of the matter in the Palestinian/Israeli conflict: so many people can't go home.

Like the recently retired shop owner up the street from our apartment. At the same age as I was running around in the woods and watching Scooby-Doo, he was running from his home in Jerusalem, dodging explosions and making his way to Amman with his family. He has never been back. Or, like the guy I know who runs a pool hall here. As I left my hometown and went off to college, he also left his--I can't remember which one--to cross the Jordan River and study at the University of Jordan. Unfortunately for him, though, that was in 1967, and the Six-day war broke out soon after he left. He has never been back.

These are just two stories, of hundreds of thousands more, and if you find yourself on the fence on this issue, or unwilling to voice anything but support for Israel, you should think about the people who can't go home. There are around 700,000 from the 1948 Arab-Israeli War and around 300,000 from the 1967 Six-Day War, not to mention their descendants. Because like me, these are people who were raised in a place, made friends in a place and went to school in a place. They ran around the historic, cobble-stoned streets of Jerusalem, played in the waves on the beaches of Jaffa and tended sheep on the lush grass of the Galilee. They saw the same shopkeepers day in, and day out. I even bet some of them, like me, got married at the house they grew up in. Sure, the political leaders of the Palestinians may not be angels, but neither are the Israelis. And once you strip away the political shenanigans and the emotional response to the failed and depraved tactics of suicide bombings and katyusha rockets, as well as the reflexive response by so many in my country to support Israel no matter what the situation, and get to the core of the issue, what you find are people who were forced out of their homes or who fled in fear--villages sometimes razed in the process--and who now can't go back.

I live a long way from my home town right now. I would miss it, though, if I couldn't go back. I would be angry if someone else lived in my home there, after taking it from me. I would be sad that all I had left were the memories. Wouldn't you be?

Wow, Water is Great

Water is scarce in Jordan. In fact, I just read today that Jordan is the fourth most water poor country in the world. It's the complete opposite of where we come from in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, where we can shower morning and night, wash the tiniest load of laundry whenever we want, leave the water running while we brush our teeth or shave, hold car-washing fundraisers and run through sprinklers all summer. There, the water flows, well, like water. Here in Amman, though, it does not; it flows like mud. As opposed to a constant supply of water that seemingly will never run dry, most people have a water tank on the roof of their building which holds their weekly supply of water. These tanks are filled once each week when the government turns on the tap, and when the tap is turned off, that is your water for the week. In our neighborhood, this happens on Wednesday.

So, on Wednesdays everyone does all their water intensive projects, while the water is coming in and filling their tank: laundry, all types of cleaning, gardening, maybe an extra long shower. We even flush our toilets more often. Because of this, water day is visibly different from all the other days of the week, with color coordinated laundry flying from all the area rooftops, and people outside hosing down their sidewalk and watering their gardens, all while a stream of water runs maddeningly down the sides of the buildings and down the street, a product of water pipes and tanks riddled with holes. Water day is also audibly different than any other day, with the day-long drain of water sloshing into the metal tanks, the rain-like splashing sound of all the first floor gardens being watered and just the general sound of everyone using water all around us. Below are some of the water tanks on the roof of our building:

Because water is so scarce here--and because we have to work with a weekly allotment of it--from Wednesday to Wednesday we must be careful to conserve. Also, I like to keep an eye on our levels, and every few days I trudge up to the roof to check the progress of our tanks. We've only actually run out of water a handful of times, like when we've had guests. We also have occasionally had problems with rocks in the pipes--thus preventing our water from coming in--and there have been a few times when various problems at the local water station have affected water delivery for the whole neighborhood.

This latter problem happened just recently. Usually on Wednesdays I also like to head up to the roof in the morning to see if the water is coming in, to make sure we can perform our weekly water tasks. This particular Wednesday, though, I did not; I got complacent. Instead, I sauntered up in the early evening after work to discover everyone's water day worst nightmare: a nearly empty tank and a tiny trickle of water dripping in. Our water day was over.

We stopped doing our laundry and just let our tanks fill up. By the time the tap was turned off a few hours later, we had about a third of a tank and the whole week in front of us. So, we spent that week with water conservation dominating our thoughts. We took fewer showers (I got one, maybe two). While showering, we soaped our bodies with the water turned off (just like with shaving, you don't really need the water on the whole time!). We flushed the toilets less. When we did use the faucets, we were aggressive about turning them off quickly. And--in a move that worked out well for me--towards the end of that week, we let the dishes go ("sorry, honey, we just don't have enough water").

In the end, we made it to the next Wednesday, with some sediment in the bottom of our tanks to spare. Below are two pictures of what we had left. As you will see, the water does really flow like mud.

Water is scarce in Jordan, and water was scarce in our house that week. Admittedly, having so little of it for that short time was a little stressful. As a result, when the water came rushing through early the next Wednesday morning as it normally does, relief came rushing through as well. Wow, water is great.

Wadi Zarqa Ma'in

Last week I went hiking in Wadi Zarqa Ma'in (wadi means valley in Arabic), which is one of a series of cavernous valleys in the mountains just to the east of the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea, many with streams that lead directly into the Dead Sea. Our journey started on a bleak, dusty plateau, before descending into the circuitous path of the valley, where we followed a stream cut through the mountain past enormous boulders, one or two rock slides, pools up to my chin, the occasional palm tree and two abseils off of cliffs about 50 meters high, finishing at Hammamat Ma'in, a famous hot spring just above the Dead Sea popular with tourists and Jordanians alike. Below are some pictures from the day.

Near the beginning of our hike.

The first abseil. There's a waterfall on the left.

Me going down.

Behind the waterfall.

Looking out towards the Dead Sea above our hiking trail.

The second abseil.

Me going down.

The pool at the bottom.

Another pool near the end of the hike

The hot springs of Hammamat Ma'in, where our hike ended.

Blue Power

Although I thought the movie Avatar was utterly boring, I guess somebody liked it; I hear it made a fair amount of money at the box office. People love good guy/bad guy stories. I wonder, though, how many people who saw it are aware that it mirrors so many actual events from history, or even current events today. I, for instance, immediately thought of the similarities between the plot--such as it was--and the experience of Native Americans in the United States. Others I talked to thought of European colonization in Africa. These are past events. For many people here, though, the movie spoke to a current event: the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. To them, the blue Na'vi people represented the Palestinians, and the cartoonishly evil marines or contractors--whatever they were--represented the Israeli army.

I was reminded of this connection that some people here in the region made to the movie today when I saw the below pictures, from the British Sunday Telegraph. In them, some protesters in a village near Ramallah are dressed up like the blue Na'vi people, as part of a weekly protest against the separation wall the Israeli government has built. The pictures are from February, so it's old news, but I thought it interesting enough to pass along. I just put a few of the pictures below; to see the rest, click here.

Lies, Lies, Lies

A few days ago a friend was over and gave us some startling news: Jordan's King Abdullah said he regretted his father's 1994 decision to make peace with Israel. He had made the announcement, she said, in a Wall Street Journal Article, which was summarized in an article emailed to her from a friend from some news outlet called "Israel Today." Such news was shocking to me, as it went against what I believe is the king's overall desire for peace and stability in the region, and represented a totally new direction in his sentiment. In fact, I didn't really believe it, so I asked to see the Israel Today Article. So, here it is, pasted below, complete with the headline, "Jordan's King Abdullah Regrets Peace with Israel."

Headline News
Tuesday, April 06, 2010 Israel Today Staff

Jordan's King Abdullah regrets peace with Israel

Jordan's King Abdullah II, widely regarded as the most moderate of Arab leaders, indicated in an interview with The Wall Street Journal published on Tuesday that he regrets his father's decision to make peace with Israel. "Our relationship with Israel is at an all-bottom low. It hasn't been as bad as it is today and as tense as it is today," said Abdullah.

He noted that Jordanians do not see any real tangible benefit from the peace with Israel: "There is no real economic relationship between Jordan and Israel. So economically we were better off in trade and in movement before my father signed the peace treaty."

What Abdullah didn't mention was that according to the peace treaty between the two nations, Israel provides Jordan with a large portion of its annual water needs, and that many Israelis do business in Jordan, even if their Jordanian counterparts choose not to reciprocate.

Abdullah went on to say that recent tension over Jewish building in Jerusalem is highly relevant to Jordan, since it is still recognized as the custodian of Muslim and many Christian holy sites there. However, Abdullah again left the picture incomplete, failing to note that when his country illegally occupied Jerusalem from 1948-1967, it summarily denied Jews and often Christians access to their holy sites.

Abdullah concluded by warning Israel that its future would be at stake if it did not make peace on Arab terms in the very near future. Such saber-rattling from a leader considered Israel's best friend in the Arab world is further evidence of the increasing radicalization of the region, even its more "moderate" elements.

Now, there are a lot of things one could say about this article, but let's start with the most obvious: King Abdullah never said he "regretted" his father's decision to make peace with Israel. He said the relationship between Jordan and Israel is at an all-time low, and he said that Jordanians don't see any economic benefits as a result of the treaty. Regret, though, never entered the conversation. The headline, and the conclusion drawn by the Israel Today staff, is false.

Now let's skip to the last paragraph. Here the staff at Israel Today reports that the king said Israel's "future would be at stake" unless it made "peace on Arab terms", said he was "saber-rattling" and becoming more radical. The paragraph has an ominous feel to it, and Abdullah is portrayed as threatening the very existence of Israel. There's one problem, though: the article provides no proof that he actually said these things. And, after reading the original Wall Street Journal article, I discovered why: he didn't say them. What he did say--when asked the question, "What is your message when you meet with the Israelis?"--was this: "I think the long-term future of Israel is in jeopardy unless we solve our problems." He explained that 57 countries still do not recognize Israel, and that a solution to the Palestinian issue would facilitate recognition, and thus give Israel more stability. He also said that Israel will only find it more difficult to negotiate a solution in a decade or so, when--because of birth rates--the Arab-Israeli population will constitute half of the population of Israel, meaning Israel will no longer be able to negotiate from the position of relative strength that it does now. Nowhere in the original article, though, does the king make any kind of insistence that Israel make peace "on Arab terms," and nowhere does he do anything remotely close to "saber-rattling". In fact, as seen in the above quotation, he referred to "we" solving "our problems."

What he did say in the original article--although not mentioned in the Israel Today recap--was this:

"The extremists around are saying, hey look, nothing is happening, dialogue does not work, communicating with the Israelis is not the way to go forward, the idea of resistance, the spread of fear and hatred is the message they put forward, is the way to go. Even in the Arab Summit in Libya, you had to be careful where some countries were hinting, how long are we going to give you moderates a chance to pursue peace. Because really, look everybody, their way of doing it is not right."

Far from running down the road to radicalism, he was speaking against and warning about those who wanted to forgo a more peaceful peace process. What was asserted about the king by Israel Today was nowhere near what he actually said. It was, instead, lies, lies, lies.

So what does all this matter? Why am I writing about this? According to the Israel Today website, Israel Today exists to provide a "biblical perspective" to Israel based news. Also, a quick Google search revealed that scores of similarly focused websites, blogs and news outlets picked up this story, and ran it whole. I am writing this because the authors are Christians, and they are lying. And their lies are being picked up and swallowed by other Christians. This may sound harsh, but that is what this is. It is lying. As a Christian myself, I find it maddening. It is maddening to me when ideology trumps Christian faithfulness. Unfortunately, if you pay attention to politics at all, you know that this is far from the only example of Christians lying, other Christians swallowing the lie and still other Christians defending the lie.

The situation between the Israelis and Palestinians is complex and tragic. Many people have died, many more have lost their homes and livelihoods, and no one on either side is living the life they could be living as the result of the absence of peace. Telling lies is not helping anyone.

Nothing Wrong with Sleep

So often here in Jordan it is tempting to focus on the bad. We're thousands of miles from home, in a culture different from ours, with rules and expectations we're still learning--yes, still--which are far removed from the rules and expectations of our own culture. In fact, just the idea that there are rules and expectations at all might be considered a difference in itself. So, as we have written before, it's easy to twist various cultural differences into cultural negatives. Different doesn't always mean bad, though; some things are just different, neither good nor bad, better or worse, than our own culture. Having said this, sometimes we do have bad days--bad days that seem to be related to the culture. And, to be honest, there are some aspects of the culture that we just don't like.

So I've said it; we don't love everything about Jordan, and the Middle East. Some things drive us crazy. Some things make us mad.

Some things we like though. And it is at this point that I feel obliged to give it up for Jordanians--and Middle Easterners in general--for an aspect of their culture that I think they beat my culture on hands down. Simply put, Middle Easterners value sleep more.

What does this mean? Let's start with a quick review of my American culture. In the United States, people talk reverently about what we call the "Protestant Work Ethic." This concept equates working hard with fulfilling ones calling from God, and even worldly success as a sign of salvation. Subconsciously, maybe--or maybe consciously--it places a spiritual value on the idea of work. It also, I think, makes us feel guilty about sleep. One of our most famous idioms is "the early bird gets the worm." In this case I suppose the worm represents our goals or our work, and the moral is that our success in reaching our goals or at work depends partly on our getting out of bed early. And, anecdotally, I think being a "morning person" and waking up early is regarded as a great virtue--especially by those who are morning people--as if a greater blessing was present in the early morning air than in the air at night.

Suffice to say, all of this is not the case in Middle Eastern culture. Middle Easterners (not everyone is an Arab) in general like to start their days a little bit later and end them later, and in between, maybe grab a nap. I have two examples from my life that illustrate this point.

Last week I was in Beirut for a work related training. Everyone involved was from the region, except for me and one other person. It started at ten. Ten! In the States when we have meetings like this, we start so much earlier that ten o'clock is nearly lunchtime. I've been to a few like that myself. Middle Easterners, though, value sleep, and I valued the chance to wake up casually and be wide awake for the meetings.

Also, a few months ago we had our annual meetings here at work. The meetings lasted for three days, and during the last few minutes of the final day when next year's meetings were being planned, the board chair stood up and announced that next year an afternoon snooze would be incorporated into the schedule. I can't remember exactly, but it was planned to be either between 2 and 4pm, or 2 and 4:30. Two hours to sleep! Americans, imagine trying to add a nap to the schedule of your next conference or training. I can't see it. Here, though, it's to be expected. According to the chair, the nap time was being added "because we are in the Middle East." I look forward to next year's meetings, and to being well rested for them.

So, Middle Easterners value sleep. It is fair to say, though, that this cultural characteristic may slowly be dying. Global corporations have brought to Jordan a napless 8 to 5, 6 or 7 workday, and many Jordanian businesses are starting to follow this example. Most everyone I know who runs their own business, though--like the barber down the street, the lamp salesman who just replaced a faulty table lamp we bought from him (who is actually open from 3pm until 1am) and the owners of any little corner store--start late, end late and try to take an extended break sometime in between. It's a cultural trait I value, and one I hope isn't replaced.

The Face of an Assassin

In 1997 two members of the Israeli intelligence agency Mossad attempted to assassinate a prominent Hamas leader in broad daylight on a street in Amman by injecting him in the ear with a kind of poison. Tonight, I turned down an offer to portray one of them in a television documentary.

This strange story began a few days ago at Cozmo, a large western style grocery store in West Amman. On this day as I was standing in the checkout line, quietly minding my own business and getting ready to leave, I started to notice sort of in my peripheral vision the woman in front of me looking in my direction. But then I noticed that she wasn't just looking in my direction; she was looking at me--right at me. There was a man with her, and she started to make a small commotion, turning excitedly to him, then back to me, back to him, and back to me, all while chattering dramatically to him.

"Perhaps there's someone behind me that she knows," I thought. There was, however, only empty space there.

Then, she started walking towards me, with purpose. "What in the world is about to happen here?" I thought. It was a very suspenseful two seconds.

Now, in Jordan, strange women do not stare you down and then approach you, much less say what she said upon reaching me: "I have been looking all over for someone who looks just like you!"

What exactly my response was, I can't remember; I never was very smooth with the ladies. It's possible, though, that I said nothing. What could I say? Without hesitation, however, she proceeded to tell me that she was a journalist and was involved in the production of a documentary for Australian public television on the aforementioned 1997 assassination attempt, and that I resembled one of the Israeli agents who were involved. It was my shaggy face that had attracted her attention. "That's the beard I've been looking for," she said.

She wanted me to play the part of the assassin.

I wasn't going to say yes or no right there; I would think about it. So, we exchanged numbers, and I thought about it. At first it seemed very fun. Hilarious in fact. What a great story. Me on the set of some documentary, playing a figure who is part of an organization that is universally hated and reviled throughout the region. As far as an evil bogeyman is concerned, you cannot get any worse than Israeli Mossad. Well, except maybe George W. Bush. I had to do it.

But I had some misgivings. Beyond the fun factor, there were some issues that needed to be worked out. Materially, I wondered about compensation for my time. Existentially, I wondered if it was appropriate for me to be spending my time playing assassination. I wondered also what the angle of the documentary would be. Would it glorify Hamas? Let there be no doubt that I support the cause of justice for the Palestinian people. However, I don't support many of the means used by Hamas to achieve this goal. I couldn't lend my face to a production I might potentially disagree with. Then, there was the security issue. In a later phone conversation with this journalist she told me that the documentary might also be shown on Al-Jazeera. Now, contrary to what a lot of my fellow Americans might think, Al-Jazeera is a decent television network with some good shows, but if the program was indeed shown on it, that would mean a lot of people--a lot of people--would see me, on their televisions, playing the part of an Israeli Mossad agent, a figure who is, as I said, hated and reviled throughout the region, trying to kill someone a lot of people view as a kind of freedom fighter. And, as paranoid as it sounds, there was no guarantee in my mind that some crazy person might not see the documentary, see me on it, and not understand that it was a reenactment, then see me on the street at some later date and who knows what. After all, I have had taxi drivers months or even a year after taking me somewhere, tell me where and when they took me. I have, apparently, not just the face of a documentary assassin, but a memorable face as well. This concerned me, and it concerned everyone from whom I solicited advice on the issue too.

So, I said no. In fact, I called her from Cozmo--the supermarket where it all began--to tell her the news. In the end she offered me 50 bucks for my time. It was, after all, just public television. It wasn't really about the money, though; I did have security concerns, and before I agreed to participate I would have wanted to know exactly what I would be asked to do, and find out the angle of the show, perhaps even look at the script. I'm sure this would have been much more hassle than she thought was necessary for some guy she found in a supermarket, especially for what she said would be a total screen time of about 20 seconds.

Would my answer have been different with a more lucrative financial enticement? To be honest, I don't know. It's been an interesting question to think about. At what price would my security concerns dissipate? How much would I need to feel better about playing assassin, or to be a little less concerned about angle? She called me later during the time she said they would be filming, but I was busy and couldn't answer it. I called her back when I had time, but this time she didn't answer, and so far, she hasn't called back. Maybe she was calling to revise her offer; it was only public television, though, so I doubt it.

Taxi Talk

I ride in a taxi nearly every day, and sometimes several times each day. Because I do this so often, it's always tempting to get in, announce my destination, and then turn my head towards the window, forgetting about the driver on my left and letting my mind melt away into the blur of white buildings on my right. Sometimes you just feel like zoning out. However, some time ago I made it my goal to engage all my drivers. I decided I would at least greet them and ask them how they were doing; if they wanted, they could then continue talking to me. If not, I would leave them alone. Inevitably, this is our conversation.

"Hello. How are you?
"Praise be to God... And how are you?"
"Good. Praise be to God."

Sometimes, this is it, and the driver just drives, and I start staring out the window. More often than not, though, he reciprocates.

"You speak Arabic?"
"A little. I try."
"You try? No, you speak very well." (Or, if he's given to extreme hyperbole: "You try? No, you speak better than me!")
"Thank you." This is said simultaneously with a sheepish grin, because I really don't speak that well.

Of course by this point the driver's interest is usually quite piqued.

"Where are you from?"
"I'm from America." (Or, if I'm feeling playful: "Where do you think I'm from?" At which point, the driver guesses Germany, Sweden, France, England, Australia, Russia, Switzerland, but almost never America. This means, I guess, that I don't "look" American; sometimes, this is just as well. And yes, I have a few times actually made them run through a litany of countries like that.)
"Ah, America... Texas?" (Or, instead of this simple guess of home state, a statement or expression of wistful envy. You can read about this in a previous post here.)
"No, Minnesota." This answer is followed by an immediate expression of great confusion on the driver's face or a rapid shaking of his head--as if he was knocking the cobwebs out--calling for some clarification.
"It's in the north, on the border with Canada."
"Oh, on the border with Canada."

And then, unavoidably, something it seems everyone I've ever met in Jordan can say.

"My brother/sister/father/mother/cousin/aunt/uncle lives in Texas/California/Chicago/Florida/New York."
"Oh. Have you visited?"
"No. I want to, but getting a visa is very difficult." Occasionally, they tell me they applied for a visa, paid their nonrefundable application fee, and were denied. Sometimes I do hear they have visited.
"Yes. It's very difficult these days." Post September 11, that is.

At this point usually the ride is over. But I always want to know if they are of Palestinian or Jordanian origin, because--either way--I want to hear their story. So, if I have time, I begin a new query.

"Are you Palestinian?" This is the best alternative I can think of to "where are you from," since they are, of course, from Jordan, and most likely they're Palestinian anyway. The usual answer is:
"Yes. I am Palestinian. But I am Jordanian. I have Jordanian citizenship." Always this explanatory note is added, as if attesting to their citizenship status. I do know Palestinians feel defensive about their citizenship from time to time around non-Palestinian Jordanians.
"Oh I know. But were you born here?"
"Yes. I was born here."
"Where is your family from?"
"They are from Jerusalem/Hebron/Jaffa/Haifa/Tulkaram/Ramallah/." (Or any number of small villages near those places.)
"Oh. Have you visited there?"
"No. I can't. It's not allowed." (I don't know exactly what the policy is, but I've heard over and over from drivers that they're not allowed by the Israelis to enter the West Bank. It might have something to do with being men of a certain age.)
"Oh."

And with that, the ride is definitely over. Sometimes they ask me how long I've been in Jordan, where I work, or how I like Jordan. Sometimes other topics come up. Yesterday a driver asked me if I liked Clinton, Bush or Obama, a topic that was, of course, much more popular a year or so ago. However, the preceding represents a standard conversation I have with taxi drivers on an almost daily basis. It's a conversation that, despite its repetitiveness, never gets old, because although the words may be the same, the people uttering them aren't.

Our view today

Unlucky

Yesterday--as part of a near daily occurrence--my taxi driver asked me where I was from. When I said I was from America, he replied with a standard Arabic phrase that we learned at school I think within our first two weeks there: "How lucky you are (Niyaalak)!"

While I hadn't heard this particular phrase for some time, the sentiments it represents are nearly as common as the question. So, when I divulge the identity of my home country, besides "How lucky you are," I often hear such comments as, "Why would an American want to come here?" or--preceded by laughter--"All the Jordanians are trying to go to America, but you have come here?" or "I love America," "America is very nice" or simply a wide-eyed "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh."

So, I decided for once I would return the favor.

"And where are you from?" I asked with a smile, obviously aware that the answer would be Jordan or Palestine, depending on if the driver was of Jordanian or Palestinian origin.

But when he said Palestine, and the words "How lucky you are" were beginning to form on my lips, I stopped. Was he really lucky to be from Palestine?

After all, around 60 percent of the population of Jordan is of Palestinian origin, all of whom are refugees or descendants of refugees. Regarding the flight of these people to Jordan, I've heard some version of three different stories. One, in 1948 people were forced out of their homes in what is now Israel and fled to Jordan. Two, in 1948 people were forced out of their homes in what is now Israel and fled to what is now referred to as the West Bank, but in 1967 again were forced to flee, and went to Jordan. Three, either in 1948 or 1967 people were forced out of their homes and fled to Kuwait (why Kuwait I don't know, but many people have told me this story), but in 1990 or 1991 were forced to flee again after the invasion and occupation of Kuwait by Saddam Hussein, and came to Jordan.

So, many from this older generation of Palestinians were forced from their homes not just once, but twice. I have had friends tell me stories of fleeing from Jerusalem amidst the confusion of gunfire and of being evicted from their home near what is now Tel-Aviv by Israeli soldiers, of walking miles to safety, or of packing their household in the back of a truck and driving.

Of course, the younger generation of these Palestinians were born in Jordan, and the majority have never been to Palestine and--unless there is peace--may never go. Yet, look at the place they still refer to as their home. Across the river in Palestine--the West Bank--life includes coping with, among other things, a never ending cycle of violence, a divided and ineffective government, a paralyzed economy, a criss-cross of security checkpoints on the roads, severely limited movement and, finally, a great wall, just like the one in Germany the fall of which 20 years ago we all recently celebrated.

So, back to my question. Was he really lucky to be from Palestine? In that brief moment I decided that maybe "how lucky you are" wasn't the best response after all. Instead, I simply smiled and nodded my head, and put "Niyaalak" back inside. But how sad it is it seemed better to do so.

Local Shawarma Makes New York Times

Here is a link to an article from the New York Times about a shawarma stand that is literally just up the street from our apartment.

And here's a link from a post we did over three years ago about this same shawarma stand.

Unfortunately, we rarely eat there; we like chicken shawarma, and they only do beef and lamb. In fact, we had a nice chicken shawarma just yesterday from a place called, oddly enough, "Burger King." It's also near our apartment, just a few doors down from another local eatery called "Queen Burger".

It looks like, though, this shawarma stand is doing just fine without us.

Eid Al-Adha

We have been a little slow posting here but recently we marked the end of Eid Al-Adha - the festival of sacrifice. The Eid commemorates Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Ishmael and it is also during this time that Muslims make the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. It is a much anticipated three day holiday for which people put on their best clothes and make short visits to their friends and family, during which small cups of Arabic coffee and specific special sweets are served. Also families sacrifice a sheep in honor of Abraham and Ishmael, and the sheep is then traditionally supposed to be divided into thirds between your own family, your friends and the poor. In Amman there are designated sites where people can go buy and sacrifice sheep for the Eid and we went to check one out and take some pictures (we also visited some of our Muslim friends over the Eid but didn't take any pics).

Matt talking with some of the men about the prices of the sheep and where they were from. The more expensive were from Jordan and there were sheep from other countries like Slovakia and Australia as well.

Waiting...

We watched this man in the suit spend about 2o minutes looking for the right sheep--he picked two--and in this picture he is negotiating the price.

Weighing the sheep to determine the price.

One of the shepherds taking a break during a very busy Eid weekend.

Waiting in line for the sacrifice.

This guy was first in line.

In accordance with Islamic law the throats of the sheep are cut in one motion while the phrase "bismallah" (in the name of God) is said. The blood is then drained from the body. The blood from this sheep is being drained into an old water tank, put into a large hole in the ground.

The skinning and disemboweling were really quite impressive. These guys had skill with the knife and could do all the work in one quick slice.

Ready for the butcher.

The sheep being chopped up and divided into bags for the respective recipients.

Taking the sheep home.

Ramadan Kareem

We're over half way through the month of Ramadan now, during which Muslims are supposed to fast from sunrise to sunset. It is at once a slow paced and a festive month, as during the daylight hours people are of course a little more tired than usual and many shops and stores keep irregular hours, while at night everyone lights up after eating, and everything opens up, many shops and stores staying open almost until daybreak.

Outwardly Ramadan can be compared somewhat to Christmas, as families decorate their homes and businesses their workplace, usually with some combination of stars and crescent moons. Below are some pictures taken of decorations inside our building.

Banners in the first floor entry.

A closer look at the banners. In Arabic is written Ramadan, and underneath is a Qur'an on a Qur'an stand. Below the Qur'an is written, "Month of goodness and blessing."

A lamp in front of the door to a neighbor's apartment. Underneath the man praying is written "Ramadan Kareem," which means "Blessed Ramadan" and is a common greeting during the month, and on the side is written "The month of fasting and worship."

On the door of a different apartment, this again says Ramadan Kareem, and was made by one of the kids who live there.

A different door, but the same Ramadan Kareem sign, again made by one of the kids there.

More kids artwork, on the wall outside another apartment.

Back in Jordan, or Thinking Required

Finally, after being gone eight long months, we returned last week to Jordan.

It is hot, and it is dusty.

And there are a few things I'll need to get used to again.

Number one, we are back to having no car. In the States, most people drive everywhere, in their own car, and during our eight months there, so did we. Our new reality hit hard a few nights ago, though, as we took a trip to the Western style grocery store on the other side of town, bought ten bags of food and supplies, and then hit the streets to find a taxi. It continues to hit hard every time I walk to our local store in the mid-day heat for anything else we have needed.

Number two, we are back to conserving every drop of our water. In the Land of 10,000 Lakes, water flows freely from our taps. Not so here, though, where our water for the week is stored in rooftop tanks. Once it's done, it's done, until--in our neighborhood--Tuesday night, when the government pumps in our next weeks supply.

Number three, we are back to needing to be careful about what and where we eat and drink. One fantastic aspect of being back home was never needing to think about the cleanliness of food and water. Sure, people get sick from time to time from undercooked meat, and maybe there is an outbreak of some food borne illness occasionally, but generally speaking, one has confidence that when one eats at a restaurant or at someones house, they are not going to get sick. I do not have a similar confidence here, though--not after having fallen ill several times. Even the government has very little confidence, having shut down all the shawarma (like a gyro) shops in the country for a time a couple years ago after several bouts of mass illness stemming from the tasty little sandwich.

Although Jordan isn't the most difficult country in the world to live in as a foreigner--I can think of plenty of much more difficult places--it is true that I find myself needing to think more when I am here.

I don't have a car. Can I get to a certain location in a taxi? In a bus? How long will it take if I walk? When is the easiest time to get a taxi? Can I get back? Water is scarce. How can I plan my day to do laundry on water day? Should we share a flush? How much water is left? Can I shower today? Food and water can be dirty. Should I eat at this place? Is this salad clean? Was this water bottled? Is this the sandwich that does me in?

In eight months in America I grew accustomed again to doing whatever I wanted. I went wherever I wanted, when I wanted, ate whatever I wanted, wherever I wanted and--perhaps cavalierly--ran water whenever I wanted, and for however long I wanted. It is almost as if no thinking is required to live there (non-Americans, hold your jokes please). Thinking is required here, though. I'm glad to be back, but I do miss not needing to think.

Jordanian Dishonesty?

A lot of foreigners in Jordan--and not a few Jordanians too--think Jordanian society is dishonest, and not just dishonest, but markedly more dishonest than the average nation or society. And while this may seem to be true to some extent sometimes--taxi drivers can be particularly trying, and the agreed upon details of any business arrangement seem to always be open to later revision (see this post for a description of a full day of dishonesty)--one must always be careful not to exaggerate the tendencies of the society in which you live.

By this I mean that when you are living in a foreign country it is always tempted to be dragged down by the differences between it and your home country and by the bad things that happen to you there. Yes, it is true that each culture has its positives and negatives, but if you are not careful, all the things that are just different can become negatives. Also if you are not careful, the bad people you meet or the bad experiences you have can become representative of the country and society as a whole, and not just people or events that happen to live or occur in that country. One must work hard to be realistic about the foreign country in which you live--in our case, Jordan--and be truthful to yourself and others about both its positives and negatives.

Because here in the United States of America we experience dishonesty too. A few days ago we wrote about our car getting hit while parked on the side of the road as I was putting our 8 month old son in his car seat. Afterwards it made me think about the issue of relative safety between Jordan and America. Now it has me thinking about the issue of dishonesty.

I'm thinking about this issue of dishonesty because today I discovered the insurance information given to us by the driver who hit us was false. I asked her for her information, and she pulled out an official looking piece of paper with the name of the insurer (a well known national company) and all of her information on it, all of which turned out to be false. The policy number that I copied from this piece of paper didn't even have the required number of digits. She lied right to my face.

Not only this, when I called her--why she gave me false insurance information but her actual telephone number, I do not know--she quite aggressively told me that the accident was as much my fault as hers, because I had opened the car door as she was driving by. Again, this was also false. Yes, the door was open, but I hadn't just opened it, only to smack her car as she drove by. I was standing inside of it, my back to the street, strapping the kid in his car seat while parked in a legal parking spot on the side of the street. I was a part of the normal flow of the city street, something to avoid hitting like an oncoming car or a person walking on that same spot. Again, another lie, this time over the phone.

It's frustrating to be cheated and lied to. And although I can be cheated and lied to on a semi-regular basis in Jordan, events in my life this week have reminded me that dishonesty is not specific to Jordan. As if I needed reminding. Because in the country of Bernie Madoff, Enron, Arthur Anderson, WorldCom, rock solid intelligence on Iraqi WMD's, Mark Sanford and all sorts of Wall Street chicanery, we don't.

Safety

* We've taken quite a break from this blog as we've been in the United States and out of Jordan, but this post represents our return to regular blogging. In case anyone wants to know.

When people find out we've been living in the Middle East, or when we talk to people who want to talk about our lives in the Middle East, one of the first questions we get asked is this: "Is it safe there?"

Now, "safe" is a relative term. What one person means when they wonder about the safety about a place or an activity could be quite different from what another person means when they wonder about the same place or activity. And, as someone who has moved halfway around the world to live in a country and culture much different than mine and thus must deal with all the pitfalls (and joys) that this entails, perhaps my own definition of safety is different than the person asking me. On top of this, even my own perspective on safety changes depending on the activity. You will never catch me sky jumping, bungee jumping or working with teens, for instance, as all of those activities seem very unsafe to me for one reason or another.

So, although this question always has me wanting to break into the mind of the interrogator, my answer is always this: Jordan is in fact very safe. Jordan is not Iraq, which, although it is somewhat more stable now, I would call unsafe. Jordan is not Gaza, which was recently the scene of terrible fighting and bloodshed. Jordan is not even Beirut, which, although seemingly stable now, often seems to have the threat of civil unrest or Israeli incursion hanging over it. Jordan is safe.

But how safe is America? Two days ago as I was leaning over to put our 8 month old son in his car seat, a woman sped by in her car and smacked the open door that I was standing inside, perfectly oblivious that a car had managed to miss hitting me by perhaps a few inches. No one was hurt--although our little boy was strangely silent while stuck in his car seat for 30 minutes afterwards--but, as people say, it could have been worse. A few inches, a foot, closer to our car, and I'd be in a hospital bed right now. Maybe we all would be.

As I think about this incident, I think that if this had happened in Jordan, part of the narrative about it would have had something to do with the safety of living there. People would have bemoaned the crazy speeding habits of Middle Eastern drivers, the lack of order on the roads or something along those lines. The foregone conclusion might have been drawn that--although for different reasons than the usual--Jordan was not safe. I write about our experience the other day, though, to point out that bad things can happen anywhere. A lot of people seem to think that living in the Middle East brings us to the precipice of death. Without being too dramatic, though, this is the closest I have come to suffering extreme bodily injury since moving to Jordan in 2006, and the closest I've come in life--which includes a previous stint in Jordan between 1999 and 2001--since I rolled my car off an icy winter road after a date in high school and ended up upside down in the front yard of my girlfriends' parents.

Does this mean that there are no risks living in Jordan? No, but it doesn't preclude there being risks in America too. Because although when people ask how safe we are in Jordan they are wondering about the possibilities of being caught in the middle of a war or the victim of anti-American anger and aggression, the most unsafe I have felt over the past several years involved casually strapping my child into our parked car after leaving a coffee shop in south Minneapolis. As an American friend of ours in Jordan remarked, that would never happen in Jordan. Nobody uses car seats.