Gaza: As He Prayed

Only a day after an indefinite ceasefire was announced, I made my way into Shejaia, a Hamas-dominated neighborhood, to piece together photos of the wreckage. There was destruction everywhere, 'loss' in a heap, a mess, a reflection the hopelessness. But beyond the rubble, the image that caught the corner of my eye made a lasting impression...

We rounded the corner, coming out from the desecrated-house, my fixer pointed to a man just beyond another pile of debris. He was standing in his socks on his prayer rug, bent at the waist. My fixer whispered, “This, this is good man.”

The prayer-rug itself was not pointed toward the direction of Mecca as custom during the Calls to Prayer, there were no Calls to Prayer ringing out in Gaza at the time, it was not even pointed to Israel as if to curse it. Instead, the man’s prayer-rug was pointed toward his home.

Swallowing hard, I raised my camera.

He tried to prop up his wide shoulders, but I could tell they were heavy. His arms at his side, his eyes focused. He dipped to his knees, fell forward to his hands, slowly and brought his head to the mat, prostate in prayer, he lingered before retreating to his knees, rocking forward then back as he prayed. 

I imagine, for the restoration of his home, for the loss to be rebuilt, for the rubble to be washed away, the man prayed. The small village outside of Gaza City was nothing more than crushed stone, glass and burnt metals strewn through the streets. 

The war is not over for them. For those in Gaza who returned to Shejaia or for those coming out from underneath the piles of debris, the war for survival has only begun.

After weeks of raining bombs and rockets shaking through the windows, after the raging battle is over, there is nothing left but to start from the bottom.

Broken stone into dust is a devastating picture. With so much brokenness around them, they will have to find the strength to keep cleaning, keep working through the mess and ultimately find the strength to rebuild.

What is on the outside reflects the inside of a human being. And the pain of bombardment, an abused existence with captors and the desperation to get out of an open cage play into hopelessness.

Still the man prayed. I can only believe he brought his confusion, his pain to the prayer mat seeking an answer, seeking a way to gain the strength he’ll need to wade through the wreckage. 

No significant gain from the Cairo talks, the Palestinian people must find a way to no longer live defeated - and this man, on his knees knows just that. 

He must find the hope survive, to live, to break through the barriers that have kept him in. When survival is all he knows, grieving seems to never end. Insha'Allah Mercy be upon him. 

Reunited: #OnTheRoad

On the road, once again*, a week from Colorado to New York, actually the Jersey shore. It was a pause in an exploding journey - and at every turn, I was able to take in every sunset. Heading for the East coast, there were moments it felt like the wrong direction. For so many cross country ventures, it is the West coast which has been my final destination, and it will be again. But for now, working in the big apple, and finding a firm place to sleep a commute away on the Atlantic is where I needed to be. Passion is a funny thing, it splits the parts of you to make you whole.

With few cities between Colorado and Kansas City, the ride is nothing more than stripped land with road to spare and patrol cops with nothing better to do. Nevertheless, I was on cruise control and destined for my first stop to spend an evening with a soul-sister and catch up over glasses of wine. And it would be a divine evening with blessed conversation. But until I got there, I had to avoid a nod off on the boring highway of nothingness. A little music, talk radio and finally, I cracked the window open for nothing but the sound and feel of fresh open air. It gave me room, time for intimate contemplation.

And as the sky's light dipped, the clouds and the illuminating color shown through the cracks in the sky. The nothingness of the Kansas road took on a new form. It would be the first of several such moments on my drive east.

It felt like a dream to drive after many months without 'Ol Baby Blue.' Having taken me from coast to coast many times, with room to spare in the back, I had missed the solitary moments she provided.

From Kansas City to Birmingham; I dipped south through Kentucky, and by the time the early winter nightfall came, I passed through the smokey Mountains of Tennessee. The smell in the air was a fresh scent of nature, and it was the home stretch. I would pick up my things, visit a dear friend, and as quickly as I arrived, would leave to finish the last leg of it all. Skid into Jersey, an apartment waiting and then off to work - I was moving fast, faster than I felt I had on road trips before. I had a destination and crisis I was solving and flying by the seat of my Jeep.

Feeling resilient, determined; I worked out a plan, one I know will change as I go, but it was inspiring. I was filled with ideas and silence. No social stigmas to entertain, not one update required, just the road and my head and my prayers, slipping from one state to the next in an effort to accomplish another great challenge of this epic story I live. I was grateful for each mile forward.

While I visited with a few dear souls along the way, there was plenty of time in between to step back, observe the world around me, appreciate the truck drivers I waved to when filling up for gas, taking time to pull off the road to admire the sun and the stars. 

The process of the road trip, even at the speed I felt I was flying seemed more important than it had before. Perhaps because I was breaking into something which would push me forward, perhaps because I felt confident to take on the challenges ahead, perhaps because I knew I was right where I needed to be for the moment or perhaps because my own traveling song was the one I was orchestrating. But no matter the reasons; the process existed and I was enjoying it's company, for once.
*trip: dec 2 - dec 6

Exercise Review: Free Yoga (NYC)

http://www.yogaworks.com/

I fumbled through my bag for my keys. The young woman behind the counter seemed oblivious to my flustered ransacking but was gracious enough to wait for me. It was day 3 of a free yoga week. The first 2 days had kicked my ass and I was quite sure my back was only getting worse, nevertheless, I was sleeping so perhaps the aching was just a natural progression of working my body, pushing myself to the physical limits I needed. I picked a slightly slower class, asked the girl where the locker room was, and dashed to get in, barely on time and still a few minutes behind. 

Having been through a dry spell and my back painfully belly-aching, I decided it was time to find a studio. So after a thorough New York search and online review session, I found Yoga-Works. With expansive descriptions of each class, I decided it would be a good fit. Some of the locations even had showers, which proved useful when I needed to run off to a meeting afterwards. 

The studios offered a free week, but usually only to New York residents, and it took a little convincing I would be in town longer than a week and really needed the practice. They allowed me to sign up. While my stay in the big city is to be determined, with multiple locations around the US, they probably felt they could hook me into a membership. It's not something I'm ready to sign up for, but that's okay. This week was a trial week and the therapy was needed. 

There was always that moment when I would reach my fingertips above my head, feel the tingling and sit slowly into a chair pose, I thought, I can do this, I must do this - for me. Deep breath in, deep breath released. Hands folded down, feet stepped back, sinking into upward dog, then downward and preparing for Warrior-2. Focusing on my movement and each muscle stretch, I worked out how spine lengthened along with the varying positions. When finally retreated on my back, the hard straight wood floor felt to be the most comfortable place I have been in lately. It was a need more than a want and it was the most calm satisfying space, particularly in the overwhelming monstrosity of the city.

The instructors are patient and willing to allow students to adjust as necessary - though I admit, I wish they had been more hands on with physical adjustments. I appreciate when an instructor positions me exactly - it ensures I'm getting the full experience of the stance. Some of the instructors seemed too hesitant to touch anyone, though the last instructor I had was super fun and very interested in making sure students got the full experience of the practice. Each class also opened up with 'Oms,' and I admit, I'm not a fan of Om and usually just take another deep breath. Being a little more athletic, I am more accustomed to the 'Core Power Yoga' style practice than getting in touch with a Yogi Monastery. 

BUT that did not deter me from engaging in the physical flow of the Vinyasa classes and gaining the benefit from each instructor to help me adjust my body, feeling the lengthening in my spine and muscles. Overall, I was pleased with Yoga-Works and would recommend it to anyone looking for a week while traveling and needing that extra space to block out the daily distractions, focusing body, soul and mind on the one thing that counts: You. 

Elephants in New York

While walking through the jungle of skyscrapers in New York City, I felt like the Tiniest Elephant, yesterday. I felt small (and not in stature, I hear you giggling) realizing I'm taking on the biggest "dog eat dog" city in the world, and it's a whirlwind.

New York is a place where one is expected to be puzzle pieces all in one place - hair and yoga pants included. Everyone has an ear piece, conducting business and the brisk bustle of the streets almost requires underwater survival skills. Fall below the expectations, and you may be not come out alive. People watching is like information overload. The city shadows the sun, but the pockets of rays are a welcome warmth.

I couldn't help but wonder what chance I had trying on the "hustle" in America's darling city. But I check myself and realize it's temporary, and so what if I stick out like a sore thumb? Must I conform completely? Nah. I can pick up the pace, but I dare not change me. 

And it's true, there are those slices of charming humanity, like the other day, during one of my less successful days. After feeling on the run from a jealous king, there was James, the union-construction worker who picked up a load and helped me down the street. He had time to kill before his union meeting and told me to be careful in NY. Then later there was Connie, the elderly woman with a bulged cheek, hunched over a walker. She walked up to me, said hello and asked my name, just for the sake of being kind. There are these people, these circumstances, when for just a moment, the harsh skyscrapers are down to earth, acting like gemstones in the rough, worth millions. 

New challenges require sacrifices, for the better and even for the worse, I'm learning. But at the end of day, the push just might be the potion I need to stretch a little taller...and that's coming from five feet of insanity.

Rain & Tide

It was one of my last days; I was dipped below the Cliffs on a quieter beach. The sun was pulsating. I laid down my towel, hesitated behind my friend who was going for a free-body surf. I wanted to experience the water. So, I waded out, and then dipped underneath. The ocean was shallow. I waded out a little further, away from the surfers. The sea chilled my skin, but I was breathing deeply; it was peaceful. As I stood looking out beyond the horizon, I slipped my fingertips underneath the clear waters and waited. For a moment, my mind was blank.

In the middle of the cold waters, I felt warmth around my legs. The seaweed like grass was moving with the waves and hugging my thighs. I had walked into an ocean-field. I watched as the wave pushed it back and forth. The surf-grass was long and stretched out, reaching for the deepest parts of the ocean, as if it wanted to pull from the roots and escape. I watched with sheer fascination, it moved in unison with the wave. Constant motion. 

It was beautiful and it defined my life. An orchestrated change of tide; I would be on the move again soon. And suddenly, I was okay with that. It would cost something, it may still cost everything, but it was worth the risk, I decided, standing there, watching long strands of grass under the water.

***

The plane landed with a slight bump. The 4-hour flight had been rather uneventful as I gorged on the new Star Trek movie and caught a sloppy travel-nap. Moving through the airport would be a rush, I knew. I was ready to be at my destination, and frankly was starving so dinner would have to be a priority once I was in the city.

I found my way through JFK. Thankfully navigation was easy and I was able to find a shuttle to the city, ask directions from a returning New Yorker and get a subway card. It was like any other day, September 11^th. Colleagues told me even the ceremonies were not as eventful as they had been in years past. It was an average day for most New Yorkers. And I joined in the workaholic feeling, my head already creating a long to do list.

My first morning in New York was early, the city was still semi quiet, but I knew that would change. On the upper west side of Manhattan and only one story up; I could see grey skies. The rain was coming. The muggy temperatures would drop and the reality of a much cooler place would set in – which only meant one thing, I would have to move fast to stay warm.  I slipped into a hot shower, and stood in the heat, letting the running water relax my shoulders and back. The coming days would be long – was I ready for it? No. But that didn’t matter, I would have to push hard anyway.  

Another season, fall…forward, the common state of my humanness. So, let’s see where this city takes me.

A Functional Addict's Life

A FUNCTIONAL ADDICT’S LIFE

How an Opium user justifies his addiction

            BY: Ashley Gallagher

Poppies

The lighter goes off with a snap, and Henry Orich* snuffs a little louder, his nostrils filled with Opium. It won't be long before he turns to the pipe, inhaling and smoking in continuous waves.

“It's for chronic pain,” he tells me, “it’s better than a doctor’s visit, my back doesn't hurt anymore. That's all. I'm not even high at all.” He sounds convincing but his speech is getting slower, his voice raspier. He snuffs a little more from the foil, shifts in the passenger seat of a moving truck, leans back and sighs.

Orich was introduced to opiates and prescription medication at the age of 13. By 15, he admits he was a heroin addict, but he says he managed to still make it through high school, help raise his younger brother when his parents were missing and held onto a full time job. But after he graduated high school; Orich went to live with his mom who had left the family years before when his father was in prison for 10 months. His mother was a strung out addict and his father, intensely involved with drug cartels just across the Arizona border. Orich says his father moved over 10 thousand pounds a week of marijuana into the U.S. and sold the seeds to his providers in Mexico during the 1970’s and 80’s. The money was good, says Orich, he wanted for nothing at home.

Orich recently met a guy who shared the same contacts as his father and bought seeds from the same cartels, seeds his father had supplied. Orich said that’s why  “the buds coming up from Mexico for [nearly] 10 years were so good.”

But it wasn’t always easy for his father. Orich says his father told him stories about conflicts he had with the cartel, “he’d been threatened because people were making up lies about him and when the cartels confronted him, there was always evidence” to the contrary, that his father was telling the truth, “he never did wrong by them.” Orich says his father admitted to being at gunpoint during  a game of Russian Roulette but the cartel members stopped realizing their mistake.

Orich says his father gave up buying and selling drugs with Mexican cartels after he was released from prison. Ironically, however, he was rarely around. Orich and his brother were left to fend for themselves.

But moving in with his mother didn’t stop his drug abuse. “I met my first fiance, the first girl I ever had sex with...but that didn’t work out, she started fucking around behind my back.” Orich admits he used the drugs to hide the pain, but he prides himself on his continuous work ethic, “that's also when I became my most successful in the restaurant business.” Orich worked in the service industry and became both a kitchen manager and later a general manager at a PF Changs. He admits he was taking nearly 300mg of Vicodin, 380mg of Oxcodin and other opiate based drugs every day, but for him, it was justified because he says, he was able to function and no one could tell him otherwise, “I was running a 20-million dollar restaurant and I was operator of the year, two years in row.”

Orich says his only regret is introducing drugs to his brother, whose childhood face is tattooed on his left arm. “I try to remember the good times,” Orich says. His brother died nearly 5 years ago, at the age of 23, after years of drug induced medical problems and a drug overdose. His older sister, he says, is a different story. At the age of 11, she was sent to live with an aunt and uncle who helped get her clean. His sister graduated salutatorian of her high school class and received a full ride scholarship to Iowa State University for Veterinary school. But the college party life caused her to relapse, and she was hooked on Methamphetamines, sexually promiscuous and “partied hard” until she became pregnant, for which Orich says, “that day, and since that day, she's never used it again.”

He brags about his nephew, saying he is “Absolutely brilliant. He's the smartest wittiest kid you've ever met. My sister, she’s a great mother; now she just recently graduated college, and she's an RN - she's doing great for herself.” Orich is quiet for a moment, his family’s fate and lives are evidently on his mind. He lights his pipe and inhales the opium, there’s a long pause as he slowly exhales.

Orich’s drug needs became greater over time; he admits searching for an alternate reality, so he tried his hand at psychedelics, “I really like psychedelics, mushrooms, and acid.” Orich says he never was a fan of cocaine or methamphetamines, though he spent several years taking them. LSD gave him the out of body experiences he was looking for, it was his way of changing perspective on the world.

As he reminisces over his psychedelic use, he leans over, lights up his pipe and smokes, “I could look at a cube from all angles and realize that it doesn't just have 6 sides but there's also a center. You take things from different perspectives, I mean if you analyze things and come to different conclusions, then all of a sudden you can see things from other people's perspective and relate.”

Another long pause, his speech takes more time. When asked if he thought all drugs should be legalized, his facial expression becomes defiant, “That's not my stance, my stance is if I want to put something in my body, you shouldn't be able to tell me fuckin' no.”

His tone is angry, but with another hit of the drug, he calms and rests his head on the back of the seat.

“I broker weed,” he states matter-of-factly. He buys and sells marijuana to high paying clients. He explains and he hasn’t had a job in nearly a year. When a client comes with 125K for a 70lbs of marijuana, he sees 9000 dollars of it. He doesn’t admit he’s taken on his father’s profession. He’s not providing the seeds, he not involved with cartels. As for his Opium use, he grows his own and he gives it away. It’s not something he believes he should charge his friends when they’re smoking it together. Orich says it takes approximately 6 weeks for buds to start sprouting from the poppy seeds and if he plants continuously, his opium supply never really runs out. But if he does, Orich claims he goes weeks without it, often instead, smoking weed or drinking, “sometimes nothing at all.”

He admits the withdraw from Opium is the same as it is with heroin. “It feels like shit because opium and heroin, they they cause constipation, they close your internal organs down so um, you can go 24 hours without effect. First off your stomach starts to turn uncontrollably, you start getting cold sweats. You're restless, your legs, uh have you heard of restless leg syndrome? Your legs you try to hold them still. You feel like you're crawling with shit. And start kicking uncontrollably You can't sleep for 2 or 3 days. You don't want to move or do anything because you feel so bad, all you need is one more hit and it'll be okay.” He doubles back, then states Opium isn’t as bad, not like heroin at all.

Orich pauses, lights the pipe, smokes, and exhales again. He says he’s never missed a day of work because of withdraw. He knew his responsibilities and he took care of them. He showed up, worked to the best of his ability, made money and went on his way.

But that might change now. “It’s time to move on,” he says. Orich wants to go back to school, become a civil rights attorney, maybe pick up a part time job and take care of his dad. His father recently called him, diagnosed with cancer. Orich is moving back with his father, hoping to help him, and maybe change his own life. 

He says he’s ready to give up smoking Opium, this is the last of his supply, he tells me. I told my friends if I call you up asking for dope, no matter how much of an ass hole I am, do the right thing and say, stop being a fuckin' hippie, say no.” He hopes that will give him the friendly support he needs.

His views on drug use, however, hasn’t changed. “Will I take it again? Sure I will, but not on a daily basis.” He also admits he has people who work for him who still conduct business with his clients and he can still earn a cut from their work.

Orich says he’s able to give up his Opium use “cold turkey.” He went to rehab for 8 months once, he quit once before, he says, he’ll do it again if he really puts his mind to it, “You can do anything you want to if you just believe, people that say I can’t, what they’re really saying is I don’t want to.”

The question hung in the air, did he want to? His head drooped low, his eyes heavy, deprived of sleep and the opium takes effect.

*Name changed for privacy of source

Surfers Reaching Out

The story in it's entirety will be published in Surfer's Path come October 2013. The Video-Blog below is a simple introduction to two of the characters in Tel Aviv who are reaching out to their local communities and the Arab neighbors.* 

In Tel Aviv, surfers say, there is "no religion in the water" and firmly believe in promoting a peaceful community. 

Just 8 years ago, Arthur Rashkovan created Surfing 4 Peace as a way to reach surfers in Gaza, Lebanon, and Turkey. This year, the group added Paddle 4 Peace promoting paddle boarding. Paddle 4 Peace will be participating in this year's International Peace Day in France, with the the support in Paris on the Canal Saint Martin. It will be the first 'Paddle 4 Peace' event of it's kind. They are inviting surfers, non-surfers and peace supporters to join their event which will be followed by a presser at the Comptoir General where Surfing 4 Peace will officially announce it's first Mediterranean surf contest to take place in Marseille in 2015.  Tel Aviv's Arthur Rashkovan will be attendance and you can check http://medcup4peace.org for more information.

Maya Dauber is also a strong community leader teaching young people and women of all ages to surf the waves, paddle-board and even skateboard. Her goal is to engage her students not only in sport but a unifying experience. 

*You can see my full report in the October 2013 in Surfer's Path Magazine, UK. Stay tuned with http://ashgallagher.com 

Black Forest Residents Look for Hope in the Ashes

(Colorado Springs) The blaze is the worst Colorado residents have seen. Nearly 500 homes destroyed and 18,000 acres turned to dust. When the flames ignited last Tuesday from Black Forest, hundreds of families were evacuated with little more than the clothes on their back.

Now, a week later, residents are slowly being allowed beyond the barricades securing the area as firefighters are are putting out the last of the remaining embers of a monstrous fire. 

For Kathy Miller, she knows her family will have to start from scratch because she says, their entire property was burned to the ground.

We met just a few short miles from her home, near a military checkpoint guarding the area. Miller says she is surprised how far up Black Forest Road She is able to drive without seeing signs of the massive fire.

The scene is quite different from a week ago. It was just after 3 in the afternoon last Tuesday when Miller heard about a fire engulfing the area. She says her mother woke her from a nap and after conferring with her grandfather, they realized, the fire was coming their way and they had little time to get out.

Miller had just enough time to grab a few days worth of clothes, video games for her 7-year old son and a few family heirlooms. But it wasn’t enough time to pack everything before she, her son, a cousin, her father, grandfather and 6 dogs rallied into two vehicles and fled the scene.

“As we were driving out, we could see huge plumes of smoke and actually came straight down Black Forest Road, we never could see the flames,” Miller states. 

After seeing the news, shortly after, Miller knew her family left in the nick of time. The fire reached their house within 30 minutes after they fled.

“We know that the windmill is standing in the front yard, she tells me, “but that’s the only thing we know.” Miller is nervous about seeing the property, the thought of not knowing what to expect when her family is allowed back is “hardest part.”

The family home was a 5 acre property which included a long fenced area, a trailer, storage sheds, stacks of hay and of course the house itself.

“I got two paintings my grandma made that were hanging in my room,” Miller tells me, but those were the only heirlooms she was able to retrieve. She says one thing she will miss are the silver spoons hanging in the dining room and collection of dolls her late grandmother gave her every birthday growing up.

But Miller says her son is “handling it like a champ” and is hanging onto a positive attitude much more than she expected. “We’ve started getting stuff replaced and he’s getting a few toys,” She quips, “We were able to save one of his favorite video games, Skylander, he’s starting to get back to normal.” Miller realizes it may change when the boy sees the property completely gone.

But even with so much loss, Miller finds strength in the fact that everyone, including their 6 dogs made it out in time. She says there was a scare over the weekend when 4 of the dogs had run off, but with the help of the Humane Society and a tireless search, all the dogs were brought back to safety. There are many families however, who were not able to rescue their faithful family pets in time.  

FINDING FAMILY COMPANIONS

According to Gretchen Pressley, the Colorado Springs Humane Society Spokeswoman, “At all of our locations, we’ve taken in more than a thousand animals including horses, livestock, chickens, cats and dogs.”

When the fires first swept through Black Forest the Humane Society worked with law enforcement to retrieve animals whose owners called in having been forced to leave their companions behind. The Humane Society has nearly 20 rescue teams working with officials to find stray animals as well. Once the pets reach the facility, they are cared for by “trained staff and volunteers who make sure everyone is fed.”

Pressley says they’ve been working tirelessly to help animals who may have suffered injuries running through the fire, “We had a cat a couple of days ago who had come in and her whiskers were burned down and she had burns on her paws and she was just very singed overall.” But the vets were able to treat the cat’s burns and Pressley said the family was “overjoyed” to retrieve her as the cat escaped while they were packing to evacuate.

As the days go by, owners are able to match their lost ones with the Humane Society’s found animals and come to the facility to receive them.

Walking through the kennels, many of the dogs were retreated and appeared too scared to come close to the Humane Society staff, while others were barking and eager to get out after being in a closed space. Black Forest residents often own a substantial amount of land for pets to run and play. Naturally, Pressley notes, cats are a bit easier because they will eventually adapt to their surroundings.  

Pressley encourages the owners to always have a backup plan in case of a similar situation, but understanding it can be hard for the residents and so she says, they are continuing to do everything they can to rescue missing critters and treat them while they wait for their owners to come for them. 

While the public heavily relies on the Humane Society for immediate help there are still owners are still making attempts to go on to their property with police escorts in hopes to draw animals to food.

SURVEYING THE DAMAGE

The Millers are finally sifting through the remnants of their home and at her family’s first visit back to the property, Miller says the scene - “is devastated.” Walking through the ashes and soot, indeed the house had completely burned down. The two story home is now a pile of rubble and charred pieces. 

Where a piano once stood, only the strings are left, coins from a jar rusted and spilled on top of dust. Kathy Miller points out the kitchen and says, “this is where the back-door was and the refrigerator was here.” She surveys the scene still shocked at the pile of black the family home is now under. 

As we cross over the property, we notice glass from windows appears to be more melted than broken. Piles of metal singed but still standing, cars - discolored and rusted; and if they had tires, those too were circular strings of metal on the ground, the rubber melted off. Toy trucks and bikes burnt to a crisp and lying in the dirt, Miller says her son played with toys that had been in the family for a long time and now it’s gone. 

As if a scene from an apocalyptic movie, the Miller’s house and the aftermath the fire’s destruction is surreal and Miller says, she’s still taking it all in. She’s surprised their grill’s propane tanks and closet full of ammunition did not explode, but grateful for the small things, such as the few colorful coffee cups she discovered lying in the dust. And almost as if to prove it to herself she points out her grandfather’s windmill still standing. “My cousin was going to buy a new one, but then we saw on the news it was still there.” She says with a smile.

In fact, several yards around the windmill had not been touched and green grass still graced the bottom of the small stand. Against the burnt rubble of the Millers home, the Windmill gives them a small symbol of hope and remembrance of what they’ve been through. 

WHAT'S NEXT?

“We’re going to rebuild in the same location,” Miller says, “We’re going to have the same address, we’re going to have somebody come and professionally lay the foundation and our family is going to actually build the home ourselves.”

She says the home has been in the family for nearly 30 years and everyone in the family has lived in it at one time or another, so it’s important for them to rebuild it. Miller notes their insurance company, has “been amazing” and is even helping them rent out a home “until we get rebuilt enough to live out here again.” The house was “over-insured,” and she says her family more than enough to rebuild the inside and outside of a new home.

It’s a new beginning and sad ending for so many families. So, as the Black Forest checkpoints open and the Red Cross steps in with relief efforts, the residents return to where their homes once were to wade through their memories...in ashes.*

*View more of Ash's work at http://ashgallagher.com
*More photos to come

#OnTheRoad 2 Point 0 (P1)

Getting back into the groove of the life in the U.S. isn't all it's cracked up to be with gas expenses, car fixings and planning on the next stop. Plus living out of one's car doesn't always give way for regular schedule. Between sleep, finding healthy food, and working in free exercise on top of the journalist ventures of getting the story, the contacts, the pictures and pawning it off to a willing news organization..it's not a glorious ride. 

BUT along the way, there's the road trip and the moments when you breathe fresh air with the windows down, the wind in your hair, music by day and NPR or BBC radio by night, there's a world of fresh perspective and a few moments to catch the culture of America. 

So I made my first real stop in Memphis, TN and took time to visit a park on Riverside, near the Arkansas border. 

It was a picturesque little place, cruise boats coming in and downtown Memphis overlooking the park's bridges. But it was only a 20 minute stop and then on I went, heading for Kansas City, on my way to my first real destination, the raging Colorado Fires. 

 As I approached the night lights of downtown Kansas City, Missouri, the air was hot and sticky. I headed for an old-timey diner on the back side of the city and let my friend know I was on the way. We had known each other for some time, our friendship over the phone, on social media and by email in the last few years, as she lives smack dab in the middle of America. 

Nonetheless, I needed the a break from the road and a few greasy fries to boot, 10pm already, I had lasted longer than I thought I would coming from Memphis. 

I pulled into Chubby's, the red lights lured me in for a second rate meal and friendly staffers who were over the top enthusiastic hooked us up with a little nighttime breakfast and I munched on an egg and cheese sandwich. The pickles were questionable and the fries, obviously, doused in ol' fashioned Ketchup. We scarfed down the greasy eats and I grabbed my camera for a few photos around the diner. 

Inside, outside, juke box, checkered walls and dim lighting. For a couple of hours, we joked, laughed and even snuck a photo of the kitchen staff. But before long, it was getting late and I headed out again, to finish the last leg of the trip and make it to the Rocky Mountains.

Arriving at the base of Pikes Peak, I was already set on a mission, Kansas was far behind me and with 65 miles to go from the Colorado border, there were only two things I could muster through my mind, a long nap and what needed to be done to get the story in. 

Connections, social media and church-goers, I would have a long haul and hopefully get an opportunity to shoot photos in Black Forest, which I would find out would take nearly a week. But for the being, I was looking forward to a pit stop, mostly for the sake of exhaustion. Still to come was the ultimate destination: California Dreamin'.

Photo Montage: Faces of Levinsky Park

Caption: The men I met in Levinsky Park were men who had nowhere else to go. They sleep on the playground, they build support around each other and at the end of the day, they find reasons to smile. Luckily, they were willing to smile for me - they wanted to make certain I didn't forget. I never will. My afternoons in Levinsky were often filled with stories of men who's lives had been shattered, some had come from places where they were teachers, managers, business owners or engineers. But they told  me, where else could they go? Now they survive. They were kind and told me that I was one of so few that would stop and talk to them. I prayer for their continued safety

View the rest of the Photo-Gallery,* Living in Levinsky Park, at: http://www.dw.de/top-stories/world/s-1429

Article can be read at the following link about one man's survival from a Sinai Torture Camp.

(Full Article to Come).

Special Report: Body Found Near Hilton Beach Marina

(Tel Aviv) The body of an Eritrean boy was found in the Marina next to Hilton beach in Tel Aviv late this afternoon. The boy, "Abraham," has been swept away from waves and wind while swimming near rocks at the beach with his brother earlier in the day.

The drama unfolded around 12pm when the two boys went out to swim in the rough Mediterranean waters. The elder brother was heard screaming near the rocks on the north end of Hilton Beach. Local surfers, a jet skier, as well as a lifeguards in canoes made their way out to pull him to shore.

It would be nearly 30 minutes before maritime police approached the scene to begin looking for the drowning boy. A search and rescue helicopter joined the search sometime after 1-pm. Their search focused around the rocks near where the boy was taken by the current.

During the search, the brother, who is 24 years old, was brought to the steps of a local beach bar where he sat in the sand, mourning and crying over his lost brother. His tears drenched his face and he beat the sand with his fists, devastated over his lost brother.

He cried, "My brother was looking so forward to this day! He couldn't wait to come out to the beach and go into the sea! My brother was waiting for this day!"As time went on, his demeanor slumped lower into the sand and he wept harder.

Two Tel Aviv police officers stood by and watched without offering to help. Medics were not to be found and an ambulance did not arrive.

Locals and tourists who were enjoying the beach stepped in to comfort the young man, offering him water, a cool towel and words of encouragement. Several residents approached the police officers asking them to assist him and get him to a hospital, for which they refused. One official watched the young man, seemingly amused and denied a woman who appealed for his assistance, saying there was nothing he could do about the situation. 

After nearly 3 hours, another woman was ab

le to get in touch with social services who said they would come to help. 

Two more police officials came on the scene and threatened to arrest the Eritrean man if he did not come with them willingly. A woman, with her arms around the man, told the officials to wait until the social worker arrived.

Israeli locals and tourists were appalled at the comments made by police, sharing comments like, "This is shameful," and, "Why won't they do something?" or, "I can't believe they're just standing around!"

The search for the missing brother was called off just after 3pm, and the police took the Eritrean man to a local police station. The social worker never arrived.

Sailors in the marina found the drowned boy’s body, approximately 100 meters south of where the boy was initially swimming around 5-pm. It is unknown at this time what has happened to the mourning brother.