Reflections on Other Things I Lost While Travelling: The Chamsa

Earlier on this trip, I lost a much less expensive and much more easily replacable thing. But I like the journey it made between the time I bought it and the time I lost it.

I bought the Chamsa necklace for 15 shekels in Tsfat during the Birthright trip in February.

The Chamsa is the famous Middle Eastern handprint. Jews, Arabs, and I believe Druze and Christians have all used it at one time. I definitely saw Chamsas all over Israel and Egypt- in jewellery, on walls, in cars, in buses. Some of them just look like five-fingered hands ("chamsa" is "five" in Arabic), but most have four straight vertical fingers with a thumb pointing distinctly to the side, making it slightly resemble a chicken. Most also have an eye in the middle - it's to protect you from the "evil eye," I've been told.

The first time I saw a Chamsa was at the Hebrew Academy. It was while we were learning about Sephardic (Spanish) Jews. We made chamsas in art class by tracing our hand, then making a design, and then transferring it to a sheet of aluminum. I think the aluminum chamsa I made in elementary school is still on my parents' wall. Other than the art project, I don't remember much else about the lesson except that the teachers made an example of Aaron Levy, who was the only Sephardic Jew in the class.

Usually, when someone in the family travels, my mom gives them a chamsa with the traveller's prayer written on it in Hebrew and English. In English, it says that you will be protected from the "perils of the road," but unless you look at it closely, it looks like it says, "penis of the road," which is fodder for many corny jokes.

Enough anecdotal background about the chamsa. I found a nice, small chamsa necklace in Tsfat, which is one of Israel's holy cities, where many kabbalists have lived and studied. Much of it was built by Spanish Jews in the 15th century while Israel was a Turkish colony, and the city looks a bit like both Spain and Old Jerusalem (which was built by the Turks). It's on top of a mountain and is built mostly of tan bricks, and all the streets are cobblestones. Unlike Old Jerusalem, it's a quiet sort of tourist town. It's full of jewellery and art shops but you can relax while you browse them.

I bought the necklace pretty painlessly. I just sort of saw it, and decided it was good, and then gave the shop owner fifteen shekels, which is less than five bucks. I put it on and it just felt normal.

I also remember walking through the tourist area and looking at necklaces with Ido one of the soldiers who joined the Birthright trip. He found one of the popular Israeli bullet necklaces. (If you haven't seen one before, that's really what it is: a bullet. In Israel, bullet necklaces are sold alongside Jewish stars, chamsas, and Hebrew letters at all tourist shops.) We made fun of it together. "Israel, tough! We shoot Arabs!"

I don't usually wear necklaces, but sometimes I do. I don't wear jewellery in general, but some necklaces just seem to fit me. I bought one made of obsidian in Guatemala, and I wore it every now and then.

In Haifa, when I stayed with Ariel and Hagai, who I met on couchsurfing, the Guatemalan necklace suddenly broke into pieces in my pocket. On the surface, it seemed symbolic: I came to Israel, bought a Jewish necklace, and then the old Central American hippie necklace broke.

That night, I confessed to Hagai that I stole my towel from a hotel in Haifa. The water was cold in the shower and the hotel was both expensive and in a bad location, so I didn't feel bad, I told him. "That was very Israeli of you," he told me.

In retrospect, I think I did start to feel a little bit Israeli in a harmless, superficial, funny way.

In Israel, when people saw it, they said, "Oh, you're Jewish?" Before I went to Egypt, I was afraid it would give me away to people. Once I got there, not only did everyone who figured out I was Jewish not care, but in Cairo, a female student saw it and said, "You're looking very Egyptian."

I got the idea to tell people a story behind why I wear the chamsa necklace: I decided I would tell people, if they asked, that I wear it because it's a symbol that's part of both Arab and Jewish cultures, and it reminds me of how close they really can be. I definitely didn't think about that at all when I bought it, but it seemed like a good story to tell.

But I never really told that story. I mostly told people the truth: that I liked it because it looked cool. It was silver and had a turquoise stone in the middle.

I nearly lost it at the Sun Hotel. I spent a few hours one night looking for it, and then the next morning, I woke up and found it next to me on the bed. I wore it the rest of the time I was in Egypt, and brought it with me to the kibbutz.

One day at Neot Semadar, I realized I hadn't seen it in a few days. I haven't seen it since.