edahn and I were reunited on sunday after my return my tzfat. six foot two, built, destroyer of carbs and anything low-protein, at once everything and nothing, seeker of truth and expert rumikub player, partner in crime and fellow quest seeker in this city. we’ve bussed, gotten rides, never taxid to tel-aviv, yet the days we share never pass without profound adventure, mispronounced semitic words, and bad gas.
the 16th proved to be a day of introspection after a whirlwind of events the day before culminated into a sad, fast collapse of an eskimo partnership. its led me to believe that life, this book comprised chapters of indiscriminate lengths, sees many, many characters phase in and out…some recurring, others not. and how does the story go? well we are writing, we are writing, we are writing.
thrill found us, or maybe we found it, yet again today in modiin, a brand new city 20 minutes from jerusalem, that city of immobile tension, cold rock and labyrinthian layout. modiin, we saw from our uncles moshe’s car, is assumingly designed by architects from the communist era school, as the skyline is predominantly prisonlike, nauseatingly urban. nextdoor, among the rocks is chava v’adam, an ecological farm with all structures built from mud or recylced material, and where the urban eskimo will make his home starting sunday till whenever he leaves.
“Dude, I so want to live here. this place is awesome,” edahn retorts. he was helping one farmer carry mud and create the foundation for a wood burning over for shoshana’s tent, manager of the farm at just 22 years.
“this is our future city.” “it’s the way to enlightenment. i mean, it’s on the path to there, to bring it about.” “your hands are really dirty. we got to go. moishe is calling us. im glad you got to see this place.” “awesome.”
we are writing…we are writing…we are writing…we are writing…we are writing…