From Baptismal Pools to Radical Queer Dance Parties

Today's warm, clear weather seduced Jay and I into abandoning our desk-fulls of work and scooting to the outskirts of Jerusalem, past Hadassah Hospital (where Ariel Sharon is sadly vegetating) to a JNF forest.

A nice queer scene in St. Elizabeth's tomb to tie together my eventful day
Before we left, Rabbi Ohad Ezrahi and his fiancee, Dawn, stopped by, and recommended a mikvah (or ritual bath) at a Franciscan monastery near moshav Even Sapir, which we finally found, perched atop the forested hills.

This olive tree is only a miniscule sample of the lush greenery that surrounds the monastery
The monastery of St. John in the Wilderness contained a surprisingly concentrated cluster of holy sites: the cave that St. John dwelt in; the tomb of his mother, St. Elizabeth; and a baptismal pool that John may have used.

Jay glimpsed through the Psalms while we enjoyed the sacred space that houses the tomb of St. Elizabeth (St. John's mother).
After traveling along the dirt roads around the monastery, and exploring the stunning complex, Jay and I waited for a bearded Russian lady and her husband to finish immersing themselves in the holy waters.

The ritual of baptism originally comes from the Jewish mikvah, and Jay and I were happy to reclaim it in the chilly, but fully kosher (spring fed, etc.) mikvah, beneath St. John's grotto.

That evening, we took a sherut (group taxi) into Tel Aviv after Elat-Chayyim-style davenning at the Gan-Kagan's, and, afterwards, Shabbat dinner with several of this year's Dorot Fellows.

Arriving at the Tel Aviv bus-station, we met some of Jay's friends who had recommended we join them for the "weird" gay party that happens once a year in Tel Aviv (a city which, generally, seems to be vying for gay capitol of the world).

The club was in the Florentine - once a slum, now a Bohemian district that is beginning to be gentrified. Outside we sampled the entire rainbow of genders - and, after waiting in line with people dressed in drag, giraffe costumes, or just intrinsically gender-indeterminate folks dressed for a Friday night out - were admitted to one of the most amazing parties I've attended in the past few years.

Besides the video-screens, performances, music, decor and costume, the focus on creative self-expression - often mixed with "gender-fucking", supported one of the healthiest queer scenes I've ever known.

The silent competition to show off the best body, and the occasional "cruising" energy that happens at mainstream gay clubs was completely replaced by friendly, unselfconscious playfulness, which I drank in eagerly, only returning with Jay to Jerusalem's quiet bird-song filled Shabbat as the sun rose.