Warm Hearts and a Cold Gun

"Warm Hearts and a Cold Gun"
--by James A. Colbert
If a six-foot-tall man slinging a semi-automatic rifle had approached me in
Greenfield, I probably would have screamed for help. However, being in a foreign
land, unable even to speak the native tongue, my options of recourse were
significantly limited. The looming creature, dressed mostly in black, with short, dark hair, proceeded to grasp my right hand. As a smile furtively crept across his face, he
mouthed, "Time to get on the bus."
"What?" I nervously spurted at the cold weapon before me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself," he said. "I'm Ofir, your counselor."
Completely unnerved, I hurried onto the bus to be sure the gun remained at his side. "Did you know one of our leaders is a guy with a gun?" I asked a girl from Philadelphia, sitting beside me.
"What did you expect? This is Israel, not New England."
At the end of my junior year I decided to go to Israel to escape from the stimulating
but confining atmosphere of Deerfield Academy. I yearned for a new environment
where I could meet students unlike the ones I knew, where I could explore a foreign
culture, and where I could learn more about my religion. The brochure from the
Nesiya Institute had mentioned a "creative journey" featuring hikes in the desert, workshops with prominent Israeli artists, dialogues between Arabs and Jews, and
discussions on Israeli culture and Judaism, but nowhere had it mentioned
counselors with rifles. I suddenly wondered if I had made the right decision.
Weeks later, sitting outside the Bayit Va'gan Youth hostel as the sun began to sink in the Israeli sky, I smiled with reassurance. As I looked up from writing in my journal, a group of misty clouds converged to form an opaque mass. But the inexorable sun demonstrated her tenacity. One by one, golden arrows pierced the celestial canopy to illuminate the lush, green valley between Yad Vashem and the hills of western Jerusalem. I could feel holiness in those rays of golden light that radiated from the
sun like spokes of a heavenly wheel.
That moment was one of the most spiritual of my life. The natural grandeur of the sight seemed to bring together the most meaningful experiences of my five weeks in Israel: watching the sunrise over the Red Sea, wading chest-deep through a
stream in the Golan Heights, looking up at the myriad stars in the desert sky, exploring a cave in Negev, and climbing the limestone precipice of Masada. These natural temples far surpassed any limestone sanctuary built by man.
Shifting my gaze downwards, I noticed Ofir standing beside me with his eyes fixed on the sacred valley. At age twenty-five, his head was already balding, but the expression on his face, with his eyes stretched wide and his jaws parted, reminded
me of a child starting with delight at a fish in an aquarium. For over a minute neither
of us spoke. That poignant silence said more than a thousand words could ever
express.
Being an empirical person, I need confirmation, to prove to myself that I
understood.
Finally, I said to Ofir, "This is holiness." His weapon bounced as he swiveled to look me in the eye. As he nodded in affirmation, a beam of light transcended his pupils to produce a telling spark of corroboration.
Emerson said in "Nature," "The sun illuminates only the eye of man, but shines into the eye and heart of the child." I carried an L. L. Bean backpack, and Ofir carried an Uzi, but that afternoon as the sun warmed our hearts, we were both children.
ANALYSIS
The topic of this essay works well because it conveys the author's personal growth
from an experience unique to most American students. His declaration of his
decision to leave the atmosphere of his boarding school to travel abroad establishes him as a student willing to broaden his horizons and venture to the unknown. The
initial comparison of Israel to his hometown is thoughtfully phrased and expresses
his honest feelings.
The author is extremely concise in this essay, describing everything that is
necessary and leaving out unnecessary details. His personal voice is evident. Rather than give plain descriptions of the places he visited, the author recalls his personal
reaction to seeing such places, therefore allowing the reader to get to know the writer's own perspective.
The dialogue in this essay is also succinct, but complete. The author integrates other
voices in his essay because those voices are part of his experience abroad. Finally,
the closing quote from Emerson's "Nature" is well used and ties together with the
poignant imagery of the contrasting L. L. Bean backpack and Uzi, leaving the reader
with a vision of what the writer experienced.