Dublin’s overcast skies greeted some travel-weary journalists on our last morning in Ireland. Weary, maybe, but still humming melodies from last night’s spontaneous musical revelry at O’Donoghue’s pub on Merrion Row. Once the clock had struck midnight, Emma Goldman, our Manhattanite-cum-Dubliner starlet, sang the Irish under the table. From “Long Black Veil” to “I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” her siren songs drew admiring crowds—though we can’t dismiss Niall O’Dowd’s rare talent for attracting passersby to our table. Whatever the method, the Columbia crew managed to round up a sizeable chorus of Irish balladeers, who joined us in song until the wee morning hours.
In the morning, students peeled themselves out of bed to eat a final Irish breakfast at the Camden Court Hotel. Robbie Corey-Boulet managed to attend an 8 a.m. Easter mass. Some stayed in the hotel to pack. An ambitious crew continued to the Irish Jewish Museum at 3 Walworth Road in the Portobello section of Dublin.
Raphael Siev, the museum’s curator, greeted Columbia students at 10 a.m. with some Irish-Jewish history and a tour of the museum. From Torah covers to Jewish business cards, the converted synagogue burst at the seams with seemingly arbitrary relics of Dublin’s Jewish memory.
“My first thought was New York apartment,” said Melanie Huff. “You got the feeling that if it was Jewish, it belonged.”
Six students explored the main room, which was lined with glass cases crammed with Jewish artifacts.
“For me it was going into the most interesting grandmother’s attic ever,” said Debra Katz. “It was a big dusty jumble of Jewish history.”
Siev explained that Russian Jews streamed into Ireland as they escaped pogroms. Jewish communities developed not just in Dublin, but also in other port towns around Ireland including Limerick, Cork, Waterford, Drogheda, Belfast, and Derry. Dublin’s Jewish population approximately doubled from 1,100 to 2,300 between 1881 and 1901, supporting more than nine synagogues. In the 1970s, Dublin’s Jewish families started to move to the suburbs, and older generations were dying out. The synagogue, which houses the museum, closed and remained locked until 1984 when the community decided to convert the building. Chaim Herzog, the Irish born former president of Israel and son to Ireland’s first chief rabbi, inaugurated the museum’s opening in June of 1985.
“It’s very inspiring that that Raphael is able to keep alive this little legacy of the Dublin Jewish community,” said Sharon Usadin. “It’s very important to Jewish people when there are so few left.”
The group reconvened with the remaining Columbia students at 12:30 to load our bags onto the C.I.E. tour bus. Professor Goldman bid us farewell—he plans to spend another night in Dublin to observe the Easter holiday—and sang one last round of “Boker,” his daily morning song. “Boker” means “morning” in Hebrew, and the song is a lasting tradition from his previous Covering Religion trip to Israel. “Boker” eventually morphed into “Maidin” which means “morning” in Irish by the end of the trip.
Goldman also reminded us of the looming “d” word: deadline. We’ll have one week to perform the alchemy of turning scribbled notes and reels of tape into journalism. After 10 days of dogged reporting, some students have managed to whip up an impressive number of stories with an Ireland dateline.
On our ride to the Dublin airport, we squeezed every last note from our resident singers. Emma Goldman agreed to an encore performance of “Long Black Veil.” John Byrne cleared his pipes for “On Raglan Road.” Only after persistence on the part of our intrepid reporters did he concede to a “blast of Lisdoonvarna,” his smash single. Jamie McGee and Eileen He treated us to their new hit “Conn Corrigan,” a tune that, much to Corrigan’s chagrin, will likely ring through the J-school’s halls upon our return.
We said our goodbyes to Byrne, who handed off the last of the articles he’d been clipping throughout the trip to his former passengers. We rolled and heaved luggage puffy with Aran Island sweaters to the check in. The group passed through security and dispersed to duty-free shops and snack bars.
In the moments before boarding, exhaustion triumphed over eloquence. Andrew Nusca felt the trip was “fab.” Other students reveled in glossy magazines and bags of candy. Many anticipate the New York homecoming, but Rachel King remained nostalgic: “Everyone here is so friendly and everything is so clean. But New York is an OK place to go back to.”
We endured over an hour on the plane before takeoff due to a computer shutdown in the terminal. But at 5:15 p.m. Aer Lingus flight 107 finally coasted down the runway. The patchwork of Ireland’s green fields shrank beneath us. It took just minutes to break through the clouds and leave our 10 days in Ireland behind.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Day 9: Free Day in Dublin’s Fair City
Taking advantage of a free day, many of us branched off to shop, visit museums or explore other attractions in
Canal water, preferably, so stilly
Greeny at the heart of summer. Brother
Commemorate me thus beautifully
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Day 9: Holy Saturday, Shabbos Kodesh
Photo: Andrew Nusca
Kilmainham "Hilton" cell block (Photo: Rachel J. King)
Easter Rising memorial placard, Kilmainham Gaol (Photo: Rachel J. King)
Chapel organ, Trinity College, Dublin (Photo: Andrew Nusca)
Chapel at Trinity College Dublin (Photo: Rachel J. King)
Local poses for picture in St. Stephen's Park (Photo: Andrew Nusca)
Day 8: Dublin: Past and Present
Two members of the Irish police, called the Garda Síochána, were the first people we met as we traveled back into the Republic of Ireland this morning. They were not there to welcome us, but pulled us over to check our passports, another indication of how the political climate and demographics have changed in Ireland. Professor Niall O’Dowd explained that during the Troubles – the paramilitary conflict between Loyalists and Republicans – police conduct searches at the borders for weaponry. Today they are looking for illegal immigrants.
We pulled into Dublin, and our first attraction was the General Post Office that was destroyed in the Easter Uprising in 1916. As it was Good Friday, storefronts were shuttered down and bars and some museums were closed. John Byrne, our tour guide said there have been efforts to lift a prohibition ban on Good Friday, but the ban is not vehemently opposed. “I suppose 363 days is enough,” he said.
We spent the first part of our afternoon at the Islamic Cultural Center of Ireland, one of two mosques in Dublin. The males in our group joined the more than 700 men on the first floor while the females in our group, each wearing headscarves, sat upstairs with about 200 women. The faces in the mosque reflected the growing immigrant population in Ireland from countries around the world, but also included those born in Ireland. “I met two women who had converted from Catholicism,” Sarah Morgan said.
The mosque, built in 1979, felt open and expansive, with tall ceilings and a large dome space in the ceiling’s center. “The building got my attention,” said Pilar Conci. “It was big and new. None of the mosques I went to in New York were like this.”
During the service, Imam Hussein Halawa spoke in Arabic and then the mosque secretary translated the sermon in English. Halawa, who came to Ireland from Egypt in 1996, spoke emphatically, even yelling at times. The congregation prayed together, standing in perfect rows and kneeling their heads to the ground. Betwa Sharma said she enjoyed listening to the prayers in such a large crowd. “I liked when they all said “amen” – the echoing,” she said. “I liked that we got to hear that.”
O’Dowd said the mosque was a powerful experience for him because it reflected the country’s recent increase in diversity. “It has transformed dramatically,” he said. “I lived in Dublin 10 years. I never met a Muslim. Today I saw 1,000. The diversity is incredible.”
After the mosque, some students explored and reported in Dublin, while others went to the Hill of Tara, where St. Patrick achieved victory over pagan druids in the fifth century. With strong winds roaring around us, we walked up a hill to see monuments dating from 3500 B.C. to the seventh century A.D. Two rings of man-made ridges mark the hill’s crown. In the middle of one ring, a circle of stones surround a phallic monument called Lia Fáil, or stone of destiny, where the High Kings of Ireland were crowned. Legend goes that if the would-be king met a series of challenges, the stone would cry out. When O’Dowd placed his hand on the stone, a call was heard; however, some observers suspected it was self-manifested.
The green hill stretched out for miles and a herd of sheep grazed near the monuments. Their peaceful afternoon was interrupted, however, when Sharon Udasin and Rachel King pursued them with clicking cameras.
“I went to say hi to them and they ran away from me,” Udasin said on her return to the group.
Rather than visiting the Hill of Tara, Laura Isensee was among those who stayed in Dublin to explore the city. The group had been warned that shops were closed, so Isensee said she was surprised to discover Easter sales. “It’s a sign of the times,” she said. “Stores are open and they are having Easter sales. And at the hotel, they served alcohol at dinner. It didn’t feel like Good Friday.”
O’Dowd said he also noticed a change in Dublin’s atmosphere that has developed over recent decades. “Years ago, Aran sweaters represented all of Ireland,” he said. “Now it’s U2 and there are movies made here. It’s a hip place now.”
The day concluded with an evening gathering dubbed "trip prom" at the hotel where we celebrated and reflected on our week with toasts and gifts for the trip leaders. The holiday prevented us from touring the Dublin pubs, but after a busy reporting week, some students were grateful for an early night.
“It’s a forced opportunity to sleep,” Liz Bello said. “Now we will have energy to go to the pubs tomorrow.”
We pulled into Dublin, and our first attraction was the General Post Office that was destroyed in the Easter Uprising in 1916. As it was Good Friday, storefronts were shuttered down and bars and some museums were closed. John Byrne, our tour guide said there have been efforts to lift a prohibition ban on Good Friday, but the ban is not vehemently opposed. “I suppose 363 days is enough,” he said.
We spent the first part of our afternoon at the Islamic Cultural Center of Ireland, one of two mosques in Dublin. The males in our group joined the more than 700 men on the first floor while the females in our group, each wearing headscarves, sat upstairs with about 200 women. The faces in the mosque reflected the growing immigrant population in Ireland from countries around the world, but also included those born in Ireland. “I met two women who had converted from Catholicism,” Sarah Morgan said.
The mosque, built in 1979, felt open and expansive, with tall ceilings and a large dome space in the ceiling’s center. “The building got my attention,” said Pilar Conci. “It was big and new. None of the mosques I went to in New York were like this.”During the service, Imam Hussein Halawa spoke in Arabic and then the mosque secretary translated the sermon in English. Halawa, who came to Ireland from Egypt in 1996, spoke emphatically, even yelling at times. The congregation prayed together, standing in perfect rows and kneeling their heads to the ground. Betwa Sharma said she enjoyed listening to the prayers in such a large crowd. “I liked when they all said “amen” – the echoing,” she said. “I liked that we got to hear that.”
O’Dowd said the mosque was a powerful experience for him because it reflected the country’s recent increase in diversity. “It has transformed dramatically,” he said. “I lived in Dublin 10 years. I never met a Muslim. Today I saw 1,000. The diversity is incredible.”
After the mosque, some students explored and reported in Dublin, while others went to the Hill of Tara, where St. Patrick achieved victory over pagan druids in the fifth century. With strong winds roaring around us, we walked up a hill to see monuments dating from 3500 B.C. to the seventh century A.D. Two rings of man-made ridges mark the hill’s crown. In the middle of one ring, a circle of stones surround a phallic monument called Lia Fáil, or stone of destiny, where the High Kings of Ireland were crowned. Legend goes that if the would-be king met a series of challenges, the stone would cry out. When O’Dowd placed his hand on the stone, a call was heard; however, some observers suspected it was self-manifested.
The green hill stretched out for miles and a herd of sheep grazed near the monuments. Their peaceful afternoon was interrupted, however, when Sharon Udasin and Rachel King pursued them with clicking cameras.
“I went to say hi to them and they ran away from me,” Udasin said on her return to the group.
Rather than visiting the Hill of Tara, Laura Isensee was among those who stayed in Dublin to explore the city. The group had been warned that shops were closed, so Isensee said she was surprised to discover Easter sales. “It’s a sign of the times,” she said. “Stores are open and they are having Easter sales. And at the hotel, they served alcohol at dinner. It didn’t feel like Good Friday.”
O’Dowd said he also noticed a change in Dublin’s atmosphere that has developed over recent decades. “Years ago, Aran sweaters represented all of Ireland,” he said. “Now it’s U2 and there are movies made here. It’s a hip place now.”
The day concluded with an evening gathering dubbed "trip prom" at the hotel where we celebrated and reflected on our week with toasts and gifts for the trip leaders. The holiday prevented us from touring the Dublin pubs, but after a busy reporting week, some students were grateful for an early night.
“It’s a forced opportunity to sleep,” Liz Bello said. “Now we will have energy to go to the pubs tomorrow.”
Friday, March 21, 2008
Day Seven: Peace Line and Purim
Photo: Rachel J. King
Photo: Andrew Nusca
Photo: Pilar Conci
Photo: Rachel J. King
Photo: Rachel J. King
Day Seven: Peace Line and Purim
Waking up cozily in Europe’s most bombed hotel, we each embarked in different directions on this rainy Belfast morning, where we had two hours to report stories independently. Despite our different agendas, we were all excited to welcome our second professor, Niall O’Dowd, to the trip, after he arrived on a turbulent flight from New York yesterday.
After breakfast, Laura Insensee and Deborah Lee-Hjelle explored a section of Belfast called “the village,” where they interviewed some migrant workers, including an Albanian Muslim family. Meanwhile, Robbie Corey-Boulet visited an Anglican church that had initiated talks with a neighboring mosque in the aftermath of post-9/11 hate crimes. Debra Katz and Andrew Nusca wandered around the city taking pictures of historical graffiti and murals, while other students reported from their hotel rooms.
At 11:30 a.m., the nine students who had returned from reporting boarded the bus for a short drive to the Shankill Methodist Church in West Belfast. As we got off the bus, the Reverend Jim Rea greeted the group rather skeptically and ushered us into the church. Inside was a no-frills, high-ceiling sanctuary, with a simple gold cross balanced on the altar and the words “This Do In Remembrance of Me” etched in the wood below. Rea brusquely introduced himself and opened the floor for questioning, with a blatant distrust of the Americans congregated before him.
“An awful lot of people died in this area,” Rea said. “There is a peace line that divides the community.” Today, although tensions have quieted and violence has mostly subsided, the Shankill neighborhood still experiences what Rea calls “recreational rioting.” Such smalls crimes and stone throwing incidents may occur during more uproarious events like community marches. But the leading parties like Sinn Fein support the police and want to rid the streets of such violence. “The big political players don’t want things to happen that will unhinge the political process,” Rea said.
Within Shankill’s dwindling population, Rea sees a dramatic increase in secularization, as people move away from both religion and the neighborhood. Three local Methodist churches have combined their congregations in one.
Aboard the bus for a tour of the neighborhood, Rea seemed to warm up slightly to us, and he guided us to the peace line, a 20-mile blockade that separates the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods of Belfast. Built only five years ago, the peace wall was erected in order to prevent violence from seeping through. Varying slightly in height and girth from section to section, the wall was mostly beige cinderblocks, with curls of thorny barbed wire decorated the top. Graffitti scrawls and giant murals covered the sides, alternating from Nationalist to Loyalist themes. Of particular interest to many students on the bus were the pro-Palestinian murals in a Nationalist section, with images of Israeli soldiers and Arabic slogans.
After about 45 minutes of weaving the ponderous bus through the nooks and crannies of West Belfest, we dropped the reverend back at his church. Everyone breathed a bit easier, as he left the vehicle and a brewing tension subsided.
“I thought I was in a bad mood today,” Professor Goldman said, referring to Rea’s icy attitude towards us.
Professor O’Dowd didn’t quite agree with Goldman’s assessment. “I thought he was actually quite gracious,” he said. “Just remember where this guy was…this is a traumatized community.”
The bus rolled to a stop outside of the Sinn Fein headquarters, where we were a half hour early for our 1 p.m. meeting with Gerry Adams, the leader of the Sinn Fein party. Unsure what to do with our spare time, we huddled inside the shelter of a uniquely perfumed bar, which shared much in common with the New York City subways.
“It smells like a urinal,” Andrew Nusca said.
Urinal or not, students and professors sat down at a wooden table to drink some water and tea.
“Only a Jewish guy from New York would go into an Irish bar and order tea,” O’Dowd said, chuckling at Goldman’s beverage choice.
O’Dowd prepared us for our ensuing visit with the politician, acquainting us with Adams’ background and contributions to the peace processes. Describing him as a defining figure in Irish nationalism, O’Dowd discussed how despite all odds, Adams was able to hold the movement together with Martin McGuiness, current deputy minister of the new power-sharing government. After years of imprisonment, Adams didn’t even see his son till the boy turned four years old.
“Can he take it to the next stage?” O’Dowd questioned. “I don’t think he can.” He explained that Northern Ireland will probably need a younger successor to follow Adams and McGinnis in bridging the gap towards peace, someone who has less baggage and is unassociated with violence of years past.
At 1 p.m., we shuffled down the street to the Sinn Fein building, where we joined the rest of the students who had been out reporting. In true J-School style, nine cameras, one video camera and four voice recorders rested on the table, waiting for Adams’ arrival. After waiting about five minutes in anticipation, the door opened – but Zach Goelman walked through the door rather than Gerry Adams. Both Emma and Adam Goldman followed in suit, armed with a collection of shopping bags. Emma accidentally claimed head of the table, until her father dissuaded her from supplanting the Sinn Fein leader.
After 15 more minutes, Adams entered the room, in a peppery gray beard and a casual blue button-down shirt with a yellow tie.
“The conflict in Ireland is not a religious conflict,” Adams said. “Religion doesn’t matter, shouldn’t matter.” He acknowledges that there has been a longstanding cleavage between Catholicism and Protestantism but feels that the divide was never about theology.
As far as his personal beliefs, Adams disapproves of certain elements of Catholicism, particularly bothered by the fact that women cannot be ordained as priests. He finds the Methodists to be the most progressive Christians – the group who first began talking to Sinn Fein.
“I’m sort of an a la carte Catholic-Buddhist,” Adams said.
When asked about the endurance of the Good Friday agreement, Adams stressed the continued importance of diplomatic negotiations instead of weaponry. “You needed to have an alternative – to pursue republican objectives through unarmed conflict.”
Crucial to the onset of these agreements was the United States, Adams confirmed, citing our own Niall O’Dowd as one of the critical liaisons between the Northern Irish opponents and Bill Clinton. Today, Adams commends the dual government, shared by unionist Ian Paisley and nationalist Mark McGinnis, whom he calls “Siamese twins.” As Paisley transitions out of the first minister position this spring, Adams foresees a possible resurgence of turbulence.
“Unionism has to adjust to be without this iconic figure,” he said. Meanwhile, he stressed that Nationalists have to treat Unionists as well as possible, ensuring them equality should Ireland ever fully unite.
“If you don’t talk to people, if you don’t listen to people, there can’t be progress,” Adams said. “How do you make peace with someone who killed your brother?”
At the end of our private session with Adams, we followed him outside of the Sinn Fein headquarters, where he was conducting a “doorstop” open meeting with members of the Belfast media. After finishing up television interview, Adams himself requested a group photo with our entire class. Luckily, his assistant was dramatically more skilled in photography than was Desmond, yesterday’s host at the Buddhist monastery.
After lunch and a second bus tour of the city, the group gathered in the hotel restaurant for a buffet-style dinner. At 7 p.m., we left for the Orthodox Hebrew Congregation, to celebrate the Jewish festival of Purim.
Capped in a golden speckled party hat, Rabbi Menachem Brackman, 26, led Purim services, wrapped in a long black coat and sporting a characteristically Hasidic beard. Brackman and his wife Ruth, 22, moved with their six-month-old son to Belfast only five and a half weeks ago, to take over the vacated rabbinical position. Part of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, the young couple are beginning a six-month trial period as a team in Belfast, before deciding whether or not they would like to be official Chabad shluchim (emissaries). Although the Jewish community has been a fixture in Belfast for the past 150 years, the congregation has fallen to 108 members, with sparse access to kosher foods and Jewish life.
Yet both Menachem and Ruth Brackman were pleased with the evening’s turnout, a gathering of nearly 50 congregants. Among the participants this evening were longtime residents, recent migrants from Israel and our class of course. Rabbi Brackman whizzed through the Megillah reading at turbo speed, pausing occasionally to catch his breath. Jews and non-Jews alike clanked their noisemakers and banged on the glossy wooden pews, every time he voiced Haman’s name.
“I enjoyed it,” said John Byrne, our tour guide, who had never been to a Jewish service before. “It surprised me that it wasn’t a bit more reverential.”
After the service, congregants and visitors gathered together in the lobby and hall attached to the sanctuary, where they shared hamantashen, coffee and conversation. Brackman made his rounds dispensing shots of Scotch whiskey and quietly disappeared to reemerge as a full-feathered yellow chicken, to conduct a costume contest.
“I really enjoyed the costume,” Robbie Corey-Boulet said. “I thought the giant chicken was robbed – but he was the rabbi.”
The few children attending the service flocked around the rabbi in their elaborate costumes, which most notably featured Spiderman and a giant banana. Despite these scattered young faces, the average age in the synagogue is over 75 years old, according to Edwin Coppel, 64, the chairman of the congregation. The community itself has been in Belfast since approximately 1850, with the first synagogue opening officially in 1904 and the second in 1964. Coppel has been a member of the community for his entire life and laments its continual decrease in population.
“Unless we get the message out, we don’t get the support from our community,” he said. “It’s really a question of being more cohesive in our efforts.”
However, the congregation faces difficulties bringing the community together because potential members cannot attend services very regularly, unless they were to drive to the synagogue.
“We live in Northern Ireland and come to all the festivals,” said Moira Jackson, who met her husband in Israel in 1980, where they both converted to Judaism. The Jacksons are not yet full-fledged members, in part because they cannot walk 12 miles from home to synagogue on Shabbat.
Northern Irish Jews find sanctuary in a community where for once they aren’t a minority and can enjoy common traditions of generations past. Although they find very few Jewish people walking the streets of Belfast, they rarely face anti-Semitism and find that the majority population is very accepting of their culture.
“The Protestants and the Catholics were too concerned with each other to bother with the Jewish people – we were left pretty well alone,” Coppel said. But since the end of the troubles, the congregation has become involved in interfaith dialogues and even hosts council meetings between Jews and Christians. “If people can see you, at least they know you’re not walking around with horns,” he said.
After breakfast, Laura Insensee and Deborah Lee-Hjelle explored a section of Belfast called “the village,” where they interviewed some migrant workers, including an Albanian Muslim family. Meanwhile, Robbie Corey-Boulet visited an Anglican church that had initiated talks with a neighboring mosque in the aftermath of post-9/11 hate crimes. Debra Katz and Andrew Nusca wandered around the city taking pictures of historical graffiti and murals, while other students reported from their hotel rooms.
At 11:30 a.m., the nine students who had returned from reporting boarded the bus for a short drive to the Shankill Methodist Church in West Belfast. As we got off the bus, the Reverend Jim Rea greeted the group rather skeptically and ushered us into the church. Inside was a no-frills, high-ceiling sanctuary, with a simple gold cross balanced on the altar and the words “This Do In Remembrance of Me” etched in the wood below. Rea brusquely introduced himself and opened the floor for questioning, with a blatant distrust of the Americans congregated before him.
“An awful lot of people died in this area,” Rea said. “There is a peace line that divides the community.” Today, although tensions have quieted and violence has mostly subsided, the Shankill neighborhood still experiences what Rea calls “recreational rioting.” Such smalls crimes and stone throwing incidents may occur during more uproarious events like community marches. But the leading parties like Sinn Fein support the police and want to rid the streets of such violence. “The big political players don’t want things to happen that will unhinge the political process,” Rea said.
Within Shankill’s dwindling population, Rea sees a dramatic increase in secularization, as people move away from both religion and the neighborhood. Three local Methodist churches have combined their congregations in one.
Aboard the bus for a tour of the neighborhood, Rea seemed to warm up slightly to us, and he guided us to the peace line, a 20-mile blockade that separates the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods of Belfast. Built only five years ago, the peace wall was erected in order to prevent violence from seeping through. Varying slightly in height and girth from section to section, the wall was mostly beige cinderblocks, with curls of thorny barbed wire decorated the top. Graffitti scrawls and giant murals covered the sides, alternating from Nationalist to Loyalist themes. Of particular interest to many students on the bus were the pro-Palestinian murals in a Nationalist section, with images of Israeli soldiers and Arabic slogans.
After about 45 minutes of weaving the ponderous bus through the nooks and crannies of West Belfest, we dropped the reverend back at his church. Everyone breathed a bit easier, as he left the vehicle and a brewing tension subsided.
“I thought I was in a bad mood today,” Professor Goldman said, referring to Rea’s icy attitude towards us.
Professor O’Dowd didn’t quite agree with Goldman’s assessment. “I thought he was actually quite gracious,” he said. “Just remember where this guy was…this is a traumatized community.”
The bus rolled to a stop outside of the Sinn Fein headquarters, where we were a half hour early for our 1 p.m. meeting with Gerry Adams, the leader of the Sinn Fein party. Unsure what to do with our spare time, we huddled inside the shelter of a uniquely perfumed bar, which shared much in common with the New York City subways.
“It smells like a urinal,” Andrew Nusca said.
Urinal or not, students and professors sat down at a wooden table to drink some water and tea.
“Only a Jewish guy from New York would go into an Irish bar and order tea,” O’Dowd said, chuckling at Goldman’s beverage choice.
O’Dowd prepared us for our ensuing visit with the politician, acquainting us with Adams’ background and contributions to the peace processes. Describing him as a defining figure in Irish nationalism, O’Dowd discussed how despite all odds, Adams was able to hold the movement together with Martin McGuiness, current deputy minister of the new power-sharing government. After years of imprisonment, Adams didn’t even see his son till the boy turned four years old.
“Can he take it to the next stage?” O’Dowd questioned. “I don’t think he can.” He explained that Northern Ireland will probably need a younger successor to follow Adams and McGinnis in bridging the gap towards peace, someone who has less baggage and is unassociated with violence of years past.
At 1 p.m., we shuffled down the street to the Sinn Fein building, where we joined the rest of the students who had been out reporting. In true J-School style, nine cameras, one video camera and four voice recorders rested on the table, waiting for Adams’ arrival. After waiting about five minutes in anticipation, the door opened – but Zach Goelman walked through the door rather than Gerry Adams. Both Emma and Adam Goldman followed in suit, armed with a collection of shopping bags. Emma accidentally claimed head of the table, until her father dissuaded her from supplanting the Sinn Fein leader.
After 15 more minutes, Adams entered the room, in a peppery gray beard and a casual blue button-down shirt with a yellow tie.
“The conflict in Ireland is not a religious conflict,” Adams said. “Religion doesn’t matter, shouldn’t matter.” He acknowledges that there has been a longstanding cleavage between Catholicism and Protestantism but feels that the divide was never about theology.
As far as his personal beliefs, Adams disapproves of certain elements of Catholicism, particularly bothered by the fact that women cannot be ordained as priests. He finds the Methodists to be the most progressive Christians – the group who first began talking to Sinn Fein.
“I’m sort of an a la carte Catholic-Buddhist,” Adams said.
When asked about the endurance of the Good Friday agreement, Adams stressed the continued importance of diplomatic negotiations instead of weaponry. “You needed to have an alternative – to pursue republican objectives through unarmed conflict.”
Crucial to the onset of these agreements was the United States, Adams confirmed, citing our own Niall O’Dowd as one of the critical liaisons between the Northern Irish opponents and Bill Clinton. Today, Adams commends the dual government, shared by unionist Ian Paisley and nationalist Mark McGinnis, whom he calls “Siamese twins.” As Paisley transitions out of the first minister position this spring, Adams foresees a possible resurgence of turbulence.
“Unionism has to adjust to be without this iconic figure,” he said. Meanwhile, he stressed that Nationalists have to treat Unionists as well as possible, ensuring them equality should Ireland ever fully unite.
“If you don’t talk to people, if you don’t listen to people, there can’t be progress,” Adams said. “How do you make peace with someone who killed your brother?”
At the end of our private session with Adams, we followed him outside of the Sinn Fein headquarters, where he was conducting a “doorstop” open meeting with members of the Belfast media. After finishing up television interview, Adams himself requested a group photo with our entire class. Luckily, his assistant was dramatically more skilled in photography than was Desmond, yesterday’s host at the Buddhist monastery.
After lunch and a second bus tour of the city, the group gathered in the hotel restaurant for a buffet-style dinner. At 7 p.m., we left for the Orthodox Hebrew Congregation, to celebrate the Jewish festival of Purim.
Capped in a golden speckled party hat, Rabbi Menachem Brackman, 26, led Purim services, wrapped in a long black coat and sporting a characteristically Hasidic beard. Brackman and his wife Ruth, 22, moved with their six-month-old son to Belfast only five and a half weeks ago, to take over the vacated rabbinical position. Part of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, the young couple are beginning a six-month trial period as a team in Belfast, before deciding whether or not they would like to be official Chabad shluchim (emissaries). Although the Jewish community has been a fixture in Belfast for the past 150 years, the congregation has fallen to 108 members, with sparse access to kosher foods and Jewish life.
Yet both Menachem and Ruth Brackman were pleased with the evening’s turnout, a gathering of nearly 50 congregants. Among the participants this evening were longtime residents, recent migrants from Israel and our class of course. Rabbi Brackman whizzed through the Megillah reading at turbo speed, pausing occasionally to catch his breath. Jews and non-Jews alike clanked their noisemakers and banged on the glossy wooden pews, every time he voiced Haman’s name.
“I enjoyed it,” said John Byrne, our tour guide, who had never been to a Jewish service before. “It surprised me that it wasn’t a bit more reverential.”
After the service, congregants and visitors gathered together in the lobby and hall attached to the sanctuary, where they shared hamantashen, coffee and conversation. Brackman made his rounds dispensing shots of Scotch whiskey and quietly disappeared to reemerge as a full-feathered yellow chicken, to conduct a costume contest.
“I really enjoyed the costume,” Robbie Corey-Boulet said. “I thought the giant chicken was robbed – but he was the rabbi.”
The few children attending the service flocked around the rabbi in their elaborate costumes, which most notably featured Spiderman and a giant banana. Despite these scattered young faces, the average age in the synagogue is over 75 years old, according to Edwin Coppel, 64, the chairman of the congregation. The community itself has been in Belfast since approximately 1850, with the first synagogue opening officially in 1904 and the second in 1964. Coppel has been a member of the community for his entire life and laments its continual decrease in population.
“Unless we get the message out, we don’t get the support from our community,” he said. “It’s really a question of being more cohesive in our efforts.”
However, the congregation faces difficulties bringing the community together because potential members cannot attend services very regularly, unless they were to drive to the synagogue.
“We live in Northern Ireland and come to all the festivals,” said Moira Jackson, who met her husband in Israel in 1980, where they both converted to Judaism. The Jacksons are not yet full-fledged members, in part because they cannot walk 12 miles from home to synagogue on Shabbat.
Northern Irish Jews find sanctuary in a community where for once they aren’t a minority and can enjoy common traditions of generations past. Although they find very few Jewish people walking the streets of Belfast, they rarely face anti-Semitism and find that the majority population is very accepting of their culture.
“The Protestants and the Catholics were too concerned with each other to bother with the Jewish people – we were left pretty well alone,” Coppel said. But since the end of the troubles, the congregation has become involved in interfaith dialogues and even hosts council meetings between Jews and Christians. “If people can see you, at least they know you’re not walking around with horns,” he said.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Day Six: On the Road to Reconciliation
After five days in the Republic of Ireland, on Wednesday we finally immersed ourselves in Northern Ireland. We started our journey in the countryside and ended the day in the first big city of the trip, Belfast, only after some unexpected events, involving a police search and lifting a car.
The day started early in the Jampa Ling Buddhist Tibetan Center, in a rural area of County Cavan, in the Northern end of Ireland. Before jumping on the bus once again, we had breakfast with the Lama, Ani-la and the other Buddhists that were there.
Some of them walked with us to the main road, where our bus was waiting, to say goodbye. Eileen O’Sullivan, one of the women staying at the Center, even got on the bus and sang one of the songs they had performed the previous night during the puja, just before we left.
We drove into Northern Ireland, traveling through the county of Armagh towards the city of the same name. Our first stop was Armagh City Hotel, where we planned to make a quick bathroom stop. What we didn’t know was that, in preparation for the visit of Queen Elizabeth II to the small city the following day, high security measures were implemented. Our bus was denied permission to enter and only those in urgent need were allowed to go inside, after being searched with hand metal detectors. Despite the trouble, students were pleased with the quality of the restrooms. “It was fit for a queen,” said Rachel King.
After picking up our guide for the day, Ken McElroy, we toured Armagh, home to two Cathedrals, constructions that date to the Middle Ages and cute little shops and pubs. Then we drove through green fields and hills that at one time were the epicenter of the disappeared linen industry in the country.
Just a few minutes after noon we arrived to the Darkley House, headquarters of the “Cross-fire trust”, an organization based in Keady, County Armagh, that works towards reconciliation in Northern Ireland. Operating since 1986, they offer assistance and support to those who still suffer the consequences of the violent conflict between Catholics and Protestants that ended in 1998 with the Good Friday agreement.
“We have glass walls, our society is still sectarian,” said Ian Bothwell, from Cross-fire trust. Over lunch, he explained that a lot of people in that area are revisiting their past. “We have a lot of superficial contact. We need a new dose of sincerity towards peace building.” The scars of the conflict are not remotely healed. Last November, a man was beaten to death in connection to things that happened years ago.
Jamie McGee was very interested in their work. “The separation of the two faiths is interesting because in the United States I always think of Catholics and Protestants as close together, they’re both Christianity,” she said.
As we were driving up a narrow road towards the Church of Ireland’s St. Patrick’s Cathedral, our bus was stuck between a high stone wall on one side of the road and a small dark blue car on the other. Our guide and driver, John, stopped after the rear view mirror touched the wall on the left of the road, and just before hitting the car on the right. Driving forward or in reverse would only damage the bus or the car. So the men in the group and the daring Sharon Udasin got off the bus with a plan – to lift the car and make room for the bus to drive through.
The strong physical effort was reflected by the dramatic gestures in some of their faces, as they bounced the car off the ground to move it. A policeman came to see what was going on, and was later joined by others. After a while, the Columbia crowd succeeded, and as the group began walking towards the Cathedral, just a few yards away, the bus backed out of the narrow road.
Due to the security measures taken before the Queen’s visit, we were not able to go inside the Cathedral, which dates from the 18th century. Some of its inner structures date to the 12th century. Our next stop was the magnificent Catholic Cathedral in Armagh, also named St. Patrick and built in 1840.
Our last visit of the day was paid to the Richhill Methodist church, also in the Armagh area. We met with the rev. Paul Richie, his wife Caroline, and Alam McMullan, a former Loyalist paramilitary who talked about his experience of finding God in jail, after being briefly arrested when he was part of the Protestant group that fought the IRA, 20 years ago.
Rev. Ritchie and his wife talked about the experience of growing up as Protestants in the overwhelmingly Catholic Republic of Ireland, and recently resettling in Northern Ireland. “I long for the day this is a mixed community,” he said.
For Deborah Lee-Hjelle, our first day in Northern Ireland was very educational. “It was interesting to see a non-idyllic place,” she said. “The people at (the reconciliation center) Cross-fire explained how difficult it’s been in their town. It was interesting to be there and see it, as a complement of what we studied in class.”
As we were driving towards the mall Sprucefield Center to trade our euros for pounds and buy a few essentials on our way to Belfast, our bus was driving on the first highway we saw in the whole trip.
We arrived in Belfast before 7 p.m., drove around a little bit, and checked in at the Hotel Europa, that has the reputation of being the most bombed hotel in the world. After settling down, we had dinner with the leader of the Progressive Unionist Party, Shawn Purvis, an anticipation of the intense day of reporting awaiting for us tomorrow.
By Pilar Conci
The day started early in the Jampa Ling Buddhist Tibetan Center, in a rural area of County Cavan, in the Northern end of Ireland. Before jumping on the bus once again, we had breakfast with the Lama, Ani-la and the other Buddhists that were there.
Some of them walked with us to the main road, where our bus was waiting, to say goodbye. Eileen O’Sullivan, one of the women staying at the Center, even got on the bus and sang one of the songs they had performed the previous night during the puja, just before we left.
We drove into Northern Ireland, traveling through the county of Armagh towards the city of the same name. Our first stop was Armagh City Hotel, where we planned to make a quick bathroom stop. What we didn’t know was that, in preparation for the visit of Queen Elizabeth II to the small city the following day, high security measures were implemented. Our bus was denied permission to enter and only those in urgent need were allowed to go inside, after being searched with hand metal detectors. Despite the trouble, students were pleased with the quality of the restrooms. “It was fit for a queen,” said Rachel King.
After picking up our guide for the day, Ken McElroy, we toured Armagh, home to two Cathedrals, constructions that date to the Middle Ages and cute little shops and pubs. Then we drove through green fields and hills that at one time were the epicenter of the disappeared linen industry in the country.
Just a few minutes after noon we arrived to the Darkley House, headquarters of the “Cross-fire trust”, an organization based in Keady, County Armagh, that works towards reconciliation in Northern Ireland. Operating since 1986, they offer assistance and support to those who still suffer the consequences of the violent conflict between Catholics and Protestants that ended in 1998 with the Good Friday agreement.
“We have glass walls, our society is still sectarian,” said Ian Bothwell, from Cross-fire trust. Over lunch, he explained that a lot of people in that area are revisiting their past. “We have a lot of superficial contact. We need a new dose of sincerity towards peace building.” The scars of the conflict are not remotely healed. Last November, a man was beaten to death in connection to things that happened years ago.
Jamie McGee was very interested in their work. “The separation of the two faiths is interesting because in the United States I always think of Catholics and Protestants as close together, they’re both Christianity,” she said.
As we were driving up a narrow road towards the Church of Ireland’s St. Patrick’s Cathedral, our bus was stuck between a high stone wall on one side of the road and a small dark blue car on the other. Our guide and driver, John, stopped after the rear view mirror touched the wall on the left of the road, and just before hitting the car on the right. Driving forward or in reverse would only damage the bus or the car. So the men in the group and the daring Sharon Udasin got off the bus with a plan – to lift the car and make room for the bus to drive through.
The strong physical effort was reflected by the dramatic gestures in some of their faces, as they bounced the car off the ground to move it. A policeman came to see what was going on, and was later joined by others. After a while, the Columbia crowd succeeded, and as the group began walking towards the Cathedral, just a few yards away, the bus backed out of the narrow road.
Due to the security measures taken before the Queen’s visit, we were not able to go inside the Cathedral, which dates from the 18th century. Some of its inner structures date to the 12th century. Our next stop was the magnificent Catholic Cathedral in Armagh, also named St. Patrick and built in 1840.
Our last visit of the day was paid to the Richhill Methodist church, also in the Armagh area. We met with the rev. Paul Richie, his wife Caroline, and Alam McMullan, a former Loyalist paramilitary who talked about his experience of finding God in jail, after being briefly arrested when he was part of the Protestant group that fought the IRA, 20 years ago.
Rev. Ritchie and his wife talked about the experience of growing up as Protestants in the overwhelmingly Catholic Republic of Ireland, and recently resettling in Northern Ireland. “I long for the day this is a mixed community,” he said.
For Deborah Lee-Hjelle, our first day in Northern Ireland was very educational. “It was interesting to see a non-idyllic place,” she said. “The people at (the reconciliation center) Cross-fire explained how difficult it’s been in their town. It was interesting to be there and see it, as a complement of what we studied in class.”
As we were driving towards the mall Sprucefield Center to trade our euros for pounds and buy a few essentials on our way to Belfast, our bus was driving on the first highway we saw in the whole trip.
We arrived in Belfast before 7 p.m., drove around a little bit, and checked in at the Hotel Europa, that has the reputation of being the most bombed hotel in the world. After settling down, we had dinner with the leader of the Progressive Unionist Party, Shawn Purvis, an anticipation of the intense day of reporting awaiting for us tomorrow.
By Pilar Conci
Day Six: On the Road to Reconciliation
Photo: Sarah Morgan
Photo: Rachel J. King
Photo: Andrew Nusca
Photo: Elaine He
Photo: Debra Katz
Photo: Debra Katz
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Day 5: Pilgrims and Puja
Under a second morning of sunny skies we left Galway and travelled north to Donegal, a county in the northwest. Our bus criss-crossed the border of North and South Ireland, the language of the road signs the only indication of which territory we were in.
Following the footsteps of generations of pilgrims, we explored the grounds of Lough Derg, Ireland’s most ancient pilgrimage site. This famous destination is lush and majestic with its manicured landscape and stone buildings, all located on an island in the middle of an enormous lake. It draws more than 20,000 believers per year, mostly Catholic and interdenominational Christian.
(Photo: Rachel King)
The sky alternated between rain and sunshine as students walked the winding prayer paths, wandered through the great stone Basilica and snapped pictures of the penitential prayer beds. The waves of the surrounding lake rippled in circles around the island.
“I think even the dramatic weather had a good effect,” said Rachel Rosenthal. “It was very remote. There is nothing you can do except reflect there.”
Photo: Rachel King
Stained glass insided Basilica at Lough Derg (Photo: Sarah Morgan)
After leaving the island, we made our way to County Cavan, where our tour made its first step towards eastern religion. At Jampa Ling, a Buddhist center tucked behind woods with narrow gravel paths, crisp air and Tibetan Buddhists greeted us.
“Seeing people in these robes and speaking with thick Irish brogues kind of made me smile,” said Debra Katz.
Photo: Andrew Nusca
We shared a meal of fresh salad and steaming bowls of curry vegetable soup with monks and other believers, swapping stories of our faith journey through Ireland with their journey to Jampa Ling.
One monk, Lobsang Wangchuck – his ordained name – shared with two students how the sex abuse scandal that shook the Catholic Church and his life directed his path toward Buddhism. Raised in the Catholic Church, he faced abuse for nearly 5 years. He left the church at 17 and discovered Buddhism in his twenties. Two years ago, on his 60th birthday, Wangchuck became the first western monk ordained by the center’s lama, the Ven. Panchan Otrul Rimpoche.
Photo: Pilar Conci
Photo: Andrew Nusca
Following the footsteps of generations of pilgrims, we explored the grounds of Lough Derg, Ireland’s most ancient pilgrimage site. This famous destination is lush and majestic with its manicured landscape and stone buildings, all located on an island in the middle of an enormous lake. It draws more than 20,000 believers per year, mostly Catholic and interdenominational Christian.
(Photo: Rachel King)The sky alternated between rain and sunshine as students walked the winding prayer paths, wandered through the great stone Basilica and snapped pictures of the penitential prayer beds. The waves of the surrounding lake rippled in circles around the island.
“I think even the dramatic weather had a good effect,” said Rachel Rosenthal. “It was very remote. There is nothing you can do except reflect there.”
Photo: Rachel KingCommonly known as St. Patrick’s Purgatory, where, legend has it, the country’s patron saint fasted and received visions of purgatory, this place has inspired centuries of pilgrims to flock to the island. They seek penance, divine intervention or simply an escape from worldly distractions of everyday life. Most come for the 3-day pilgrimage, a rigorous experience consisting of walking barefoot, fasting and staying awake for 24 hours. Lough Derg ground manager Deborah Maxwell explained that these physical sacrifices are spiritual disciplines that allow people to reach their spiritual core.
“Taking off shoes levels all people,” she said. “Fasting is almost like detox. Good things can happen to your body and mind.” Throughout a pilgrim’s waking 24-hours, they are constantly engaged in prayer.
Debra Katz was struck by the fact that “the pagans found this place holy. At some point it was considered too pagan that Rome had it shut down. To me, it was interesting to see the confluence of paganism and Christianity and where those two meet.”
“Taking off shoes levels all people,” she said. “Fasting is almost like detox. Good things can happen to your body and mind.” Throughout a pilgrim’s waking 24-hours, they are constantly engaged in prayer.
Debra Katz was struck by the fact that “the pagans found this place holy. At some point it was considered too pagan that Rome had it shut down. To me, it was interesting to see the confluence of paganism and Christianity and where those two meet.”
Stained glass insided Basilica at Lough Derg (Photo: Sarah Morgan)After leaving the island, we made our way to County Cavan, where our tour made its first step towards eastern religion. At Jampa Ling, a Buddhist center tucked behind woods with narrow gravel paths, crisp air and Tibetan Buddhists greeted us.
“Seeing people in these robes and speaking with thick Irish brogues kind of made me smile,” said Debra Katz.
Photo: Andrew NuscaWe shared a meal of fresh salad and steaming bowls of curry vegetable soup with monks and other believers, swapping stories of our faith journey through Ireland with their journey to Jampa Ling.
One monk, Lobsang Wangchuck – his ordained name – shared with two students how the sex abuse scandal that shook the Catholic Church and his life directed his path toward Buddhism. Raised in the Catholic Church, he faced abuse for nearly 5 years. He left the church at 17 and discovered Buddhism in his twenties. Two years ago, on his 60th birthday, Wangchuck became the first western monk ordained by the center’s lama, the Ven. Panchan Otrul Rimpoche.
After dinner everyone crowded into a small room for Puja, a practice of meditation and training of the mind. The lama, his followers and Columbia students sat cross-legged, eyes closed before a large red-painted shrine filled with images of deities, a large framed photograph of the Dali Lama, and Buddhist statues. Ani La, the center’s nun, led the meditation service in both English and Tibetan chants.
Photo: Pilar Conci
Photo: Andrew NuscaThough it was new for many students, some earnestly embraced the experience. “I really did enjoy it, even though I had no idea what they were saying,” said Rachel Rosenthal. “I felt that the whole mind and body doing the same thing inspiring to me. Yay, Buddhism!”
Day 4: A Day in the Past
A twenty minute ride on a ferry was all it took to travel back in time 100 years.
Echoing the Ireland of long ago, the Aran Islands (Oileáin Árann) seemed undisturbed by the passage of time – its streets still lined in rocks where island locals proudly preserve the Gaelic language, while only recently having welcomed modern technological advances like Internet and electricity.
Surrounded by calm, blue waters, the Aran Islands consist of three pieces of land: Inis Oírr, Inis Meáin and Árainn, the largest of the three and bearer of our journey.
We boarded the ferry by 10:30 a.m. and set out upon welcoming waters; land clearly visible in the distance.
“I thought the water was beautiful,” Elaine He said. ”I was blown away by the scenery and how sunny it was for the first time during our trip.”
Minutes later, we began a minibus tour through a narrow street, led by the enthusiastic local driver, Daniel O’Flaherty.
If O’Flaherty was to sum up the Aran Islands with one word, it would be rocks.
“Everything in that day was built with rocks,” he said. “Rock, rock and more rock.”
And he was right.
Even from afar we could see the walls of piled rocks that line the countryside. O’Flaherty said that years ago, during the famine– referred to by locals as the great hunger – Irish workers earned a penny per day in exchange for their labor, which consisted of building walls of rock throughout the islands. The walls still stand and although they look minute in the distance, these property defining walls are tall enough to prevent cattle and horses from roaming into other properties. Beyond serving their purpose, they offer a sense of rawness, history and innocence to the islands.
Although Árainn is said to be the most developed of the three islands, its connection to the past is undeniable.
We arrived at the Na Seacht d’Teampaill, where many locals are buried. O’Flaherty explained the relevance of the number seven in the island during the seventh and eighth centuries, referring to the seven Romans who built seven temples and schools. This graveyard revealed the island’s religious inclination, as the words on most tombstones mentioned God. The most modest graves were those of the seven Romans who paved the island’s history.
The group then embarked on an uphill climb to the Dún Aonghusa, the pre-historic stone fort that stands 100 meters above the sea.
Elaine He said it reminded her of a trip to Chile, where she visited similar monuments 4,600 meters above sea level.
“What we saw today left that kind of impression,” she said. “It made me feel so small.”
Jamie McGee agreed. “You could look down and see such a special view.”
The trip concluded with a conversation with Connla O’ Dúláine, a priest who joined the Árainn Catholic Church in 1974. He spoke of how the island has managed to preserve the traditional Irish culture and language, despite growing tourism and technology.
“Our liturgy is all in Irish and that helps the islanders to conserve their Gaelic,” he said, “Services are offered almost everyday and Sunday masses usually have over 200 parishioners.”
But he still says islanders are not as religious as they used to be 40 years ago, because people don’t have as much time. Equally, he noted an increase in young worshippers, which he calls the teenage phenomenon.
“They fall out at around age 17 when they leave to school,” he said. “But I see them return to church no later than age 30. It’s almost like they’re going off, getting educated, but eager to return home. Because of this, I imagine mass is pretty important to them.”
And after bidding farewell to the priest, we returned to the hotel anticipating a calm night in Galway. But many wondered…
”Where were the Leprechauns?”
by Liz Bello
Echoing the Ireland of long ago, the Aran Islands (Oileáin Árann) seemed undisturbed by the passage of time – its streets still lined in rocks where island locals proudly preserve the Gaelic language, while only recently having welcomed modern technological advances like Internet and electricity.
Surrounded by calm, blue waters, the Aran Islands consist of three pieces of land: Inis Oírr, Inis Meáin and Árainn, the largest of the three and bearer of our journey.
We boarded the ferry by 10:30 a.m. and set out upon welcoming waters; land clearly visible in the distance.
“I thought the water was beautiful,” Elaine He said. ”I was blown away by the scenery and how sunny it was for the first time during our trip.”
Minutes later, we began a minibus tour through a narrow street, led by the enthusiastic local driver, Daniel O’Flaherty.
If O’Flaherty was to sum up the Aran Islands with one word, it would be rocks.
“Everything in that day was built with rocks,” he said. “Rock, rock and more rock.”
And he was right.
Even from afar we could see the walls of piled rocks that line the countryside. O’Flaherty said that years ago, during the famine– referred to by locals as the great hunger – Irish workers earned a penny per day in exchange for their labor, which consisted of building walls of rock throughout the islands. The walls still stand and although they look minute in the distance, these property defining walls are tall enough to prevent cattle and horses from roaming into other properties. Beyond serving their purpose, they offer a sense of rawness, history and innocence to the islands.
Although Árainn is said to be the most developed of the three islands, its connection to the past is undeniable.
We arrived at the Na Seacht d’Teampaill, where many locals are buried. O’Flaherty explained the relevance of the number seven in the island during the seventh and eighth centuries, referring to the seven Romans who built seven temples and schools. This graveyard revealed the island’s religious inclination, as the words on most tombstones mentioned God. The most modest graves were those of the seven Romans who paved the island’s history.
The group then embarked on an uphill climb to the Dún Aonghusa, the pre-historic stone fort that stands 100 meters above the sea.
Elaine He said it reminded her of a trip to Chile, where she visited similar monuments 4,600 meters above sea level.
“What we saw today left that kind of impression,” she said. “It made me feel so small.”
Jamie McGee agreed. “You could look down and see such a special view.”
The trip concluded with a conversation with Connla O’ Dúláine, a priest who joined the Árainn Catholic Church in 1974. He spoke of how the island has managed to preserve the traditional Irish culture and language, despite growing tourism and technology.
“Our liturgy is all in Irish and that helps the islanders to conserve their Gaelic,” he said, “Services are offered almost everyday and Sunday masses usually have over 200 parishioners.”
But he still says islanders are not as religious as they used to be 40 years ago, because people don’t have as much time. Equally, he noted an increase in young worshippers, which he calls the teenage phenomenon.
“They fall out at around age 17 when they leave to school,” he said. “But I see them return to church no later than age 30. It’s almost like they’re going off, getting educated, but eager to return home. Because of this, I imagine mass is pretty important to them.”
And after bidding farewell to the priest, we returned to the hotel anticipating a calm night in Galway. But many wondered…
”Where were the Leprechauns?”
by Liz Bello
Monday, March 17, 2008
Day 4: Ancient Tombstones, Living Language
Photo: Andrew Nusca
Photo: Pilar Conci
Photo: Pilar Conci
Photo: Andrew Nusca
Photo: Pilar Conci
Photo: Rachel J. King
Day 3: Bright Lights, Big City
For those of us who favor the metropolitan to the monastic, our first view of Galway seemed a harbinger of only good things. As we entered the "university city" – home to University College Galway, a leading Irish university, and the Galway-Mayo Institute of Technology – an uninterrupted line of bars, bistros and cafes provided a sharp contrast from the vast swaths of farmland characteristic of the drive from Roscrea, in County Tipperary.
Other differences also became readily apparent: The average age of the students gathered in Kennedy Park, some with backpacking travel gear and instruments in tow, fell far below that of the 80-year-old monks at Mount St. Joseph Abbey. And individual stores seemed tailored to the Columbia demographic: A boutique named Brooklyn Jam advertised "unisex urban streetwear," while a nearby eatery promised New York-style pizza. Before the bus had come to a full stop, Jamie McGee looked out her window and, taking it all in, proclaimed, "I like Galway a lot!"
Shortly after we left the bus and took our first steps along Shop Street, bells rang out from the Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas, the largest medieval church in Ireland, located in the heart of Galway City. The gesture — intended to express solidarity with victims of the recent violence in Lhasa, Tibet — offered evidence of the church's heightened awareness of and respect for other cultures and religions.
Though a member of the Anglican Communion, the Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas is interdenominational, meaning that it welcomes worshipers from all Christian denominations. Canon Maureen Ryan said the church attracts many "transients" – when the students leave for the summer, the tourists begin arriving en masse.
Photo: Rachel J. King
Being both students and tourists (and journalists, pilgrims, etc., etc.), we took our seats in the nave for the 11 a.m. Palm Sunday Eucharist. The service featured a dramatic rendering of The Passion of Christ according to St. Matthew. Members of the choir assumed all the key roles – Jesus, Judas, Matthew and Pilate, to name a handful – and worked their way through nine pages of dialogue, forgoing the traditional stand-and-deliver reading method in an effort to make the nuances of the verses more palpable.
The choir also performed a stirring rendition of Psalm 22. The male and female singers stood across from each other at the head of the nave and sang verses in a call-and-response sequence.
While the psalm's opening words — "I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint" — encouraged worshipers to ponder the abstract, issues raised during the concurrent children's service tended toward the practical. Zach Goelman ducked into this service, which took place in the adjacent north transept and included eight or so youngsters. As the instructor reviewed the Palm Sunday liturgy, several of the children seemed perplexed as to how Jesus could possibly have ridden a donkey all the way from Bethany and Bethpage to Jerusalem. One child mistook the word "prophecy" for "Pharisees," which prompted the following explanation: "The Pharisees didn't like Jesus because he was too popular."
"It was very adorable, actually," Zach said. "They sat on the floor and fluttered about, and it wasn't too organized."
Photo: Rachel J. King
After the Eucharist, Deborah Lee-Hjelle stayed in the church to see two Nigerian immigrants baptize their son. Assorted relatives and friends — including Catholics and Pentecostal Evangelicals — gathered around the stone baptismal font in the back of the nave to witness the ritual. The parents wore blue-and-white garments with African prints, while the little boy wore a white christening gown. To conclude the ceremony, the worshippers lit candles and sang "This Little Light of Mine."
"I thought a baptism was sitting in the pews and watching a kid get baptized up front," Deborah said. "Instead it was clustered. It wasn't organized like I pictured."
Deborah noted the communal nature of the service, which enabled Christians from a wide range of denominations to come together and mark an important step in the life of a child.
The Rev. Patrick Towers, who performed the ceremony, said the open nature of the Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas, which was founded in 1320, reflects an acknowledgment that other Christian faiths can be just as valid as Anglicanism. To say that only one approach can lead to salvation, he said, would be presumptuous and potentially misguided. Anglican churches, he said, "are not at the top of any moral or ethical mountain. We're all on a pilgrimage. There is no revelation from God that says, 'You are right.'"
In the spirit of Palm Sunday as moveable feast, some of us grabbed lunch on the go at a street fair and wandered around Galway. Because tomorrow is a bank holiday, the crowd included just as many – if not more – tourists than Galway residents. At one busy pedestrian intersection, four travelers from Seattle serenaded passersby with, among other hits, Outkast's "Hey Ya." I can only speak for myself, but I took great comfort in the knowledge that Big Boi and Andre 3000 can have a hand in bolstering America's image abroad.
Photo: Robbie Corey-Boulet
In the afternoon, most of us left Galway and traveled to County Clare, where we toured the Cliffs of Moher. Although the site is bustling with tourists, the cliffs are undeniably impressive. There was little time for a tour of the exhibit, but I'm confident that John, our tour guide who drives as steadily as he talks, can fill us in on their geological history.
Photo: Rachel J. King
In the evening, we arrived at the Ardilaun Hotel in time for dinner with Cormac McConnell, an arts and culture columnist for The Irish Voice. And now, fully liberated from the monastery's curfew, we head for a night out in Galway.
By Robbie Corey-Boulet
Other differences also became readily apparent: The average age of the students gathered in Kennedy Park, some with backpacking travel gear and instruments in tow, fell far below that of the 80-year-old monks at Mount St. Joseph Abbey. And individual stores seemed tailored to the Columbia demographic: A boutique named Brooklyn Jam advertised "unisex urban streetwear," while a nearby eatery promised New York-style pizza. Before the bus had come to a full stop, Jamie McGee looked out her window and, taking it all in, proclaimed, "I like Galway a lot!"
Shortly after we left the bus and took our first steps along Shop Street, bells rang out from the Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas, the largest medieval church in Ireland, located in the heart of Galway City. The gesture — intended to express solidarity with victims of the recent violence in Lhasa, Tibet — offered evidence of the church's heightened awareness of and respect for other cultures and religions.
Though a member of the Anglican Communion, the Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas is interdenominational, meaning that it welcomes worshipers from all Christian denominations. Canon Maureen Ryan said the church attracts many "transients" – when the students leave for the summer, the tourists begin arriving en masse.
Being both students and tourists (and journalists, pilgrims, etc., etc.), we took our seats in the nave for the 11 a.m. Palm Sunday Eucharist. The service featured a dramatic rendering of The Passion of Christ according to St. Matthew. Members of the choir assumed all the key roles – Jesus, Judas, Matthew and Pilate, to name a handful – and worked their way through nine pages of dialogue, forgoing the traditional stand-and-deliver reading method in an effort to make the nuances of the verses more palpable.
The choir also performed a stirring rendition of Psalm 22. The male and female singers stood across from each other at the head of the nave and sang verses in a call-and-response sequence.
While the psalm's opening words — "I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint" — encouraged worshipers to ponder the abstract, issues raised during the concurrent children's service tended toward the practical. Zach Goelman ducked into this service, which took place in the adjacent north transept and included eight or so youngsters. As the instructor reviewed the Palm Sunday liturgy, several of the children seemed perplexed as to how Jesus could possibly have ridden a donkey all the way from Bethany and Bethpage to Jerusalem. One child mistook the word "prophecy" for "Pharisees," which prompted the following explanation: "The Pharisees didn't like Jesus because he was too popular."
"It was very adorable, actually," Zach said. "They sat on the floor and fluttered about, and it wasn't too organized."
After the Eucharist, Deborah Lee-Hjelle stayed in the church to see two Nigerian immigrants baptize their son. Assorted relatives and friends — including Catholics and Pentecostal Evangelicals — gathered around the stone baptismal font in the back of the nave to witness the ritual. The parents wore blue-and-white garments with African prints, while the little boy wore a white christening gown. To conclude the ceremony, the worshippers lit candles and sang "This Little Light of Mine."
"I thought a baptism was sitting in the pews and watching a kid get baptized up front," Deborah said. "Instead it was clustered. It wasn't organized like I pictured."
Deborah noted the communal nature of the service, which enabled Christians from a wide range of denominations to come together and mark an important step in the life of a child.
The Rev. Patrick Towers, who performed the ceremony, said the open nature of the Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas, which was founded in 1320, reflects an acknowledgment that other Christian faiths can be just as valid as Anglicanism. To say that only one approach can lead to salvation, he said, would be presumptuous and potentially misguided. Anglican churches, he said, "are not at the top of any moral or ethical mountain. We're all on a pilgrimage. There is no revelation from God that says, 'You are right.'"
In the spirit of Palm Sunday as moveable feast, some of us grabbed lunch on the go at a street fair and wandered around Galway. Because tomorrow is a bank holiday, the crowd included just as many – if not more – tourists than Galway residents. At one busy pedestrian intersection, four travelers from Seattle serenaded passersby with, among other hits, Outkast's "Hey Ya." I can only speak for myself, but I took great comfort in the knowledge that Big Boi and Andre 3000 can have a hand in bolstering America's image abroad.
In the afternoon, most of us left Galway and traveled to County Clare, where we toured the Cliffs of Moher. Although the site is bustling with tourists, the cliffs are undeniably impressive. There was little time for a tour of the exhibit, but I'm confident that John, our tour guide who drives as steadily as he talks, can fill us in on their geological history.
In the evening, we arrived at the Ardilaun Hotel in time for dinner with Cormac McConnell, an arts and culture columnist for The Irish Voice. And now, fully liberated from the monastery's curfew, we head for a night out in Galway.
By Robbie Corey-Boulet
Friday, March 14, 2008
Day 2: Sacred cows and immigrant communities
For two students in the journalism school group, the day began with a visit to the farmyard at Mt. Saint Joseph’s monastery at 5 a.m. The farmyard is off limits to visitors, but after much persistence, the monks made an exception.
The early-risers trudged with camera, tripod and radio equipment through cow dung and hay to capture the first hours of a newly born calf. The cows mooed in surprise at the strangers.
Brother Malachy didn’t notice the overwhelming odor of the farm animals as he guided the visitors through the pitch dark and gently persisting rain. It was an unexpected sight to see the monk out of his habit and dressed in farm clothes tending to the cows. The dairy products from 250 cows are the monastery’s primary source of income.
After the cow adventure, Brother Malachy took the exception a giant step further. He showed his guests the "enclosure," a sacred area for the 25 monks at the monastery.
There is a big apple orchard and many other places where the monks read and pray, day after day and year after year. There is no sound, except for the birds.
In the pre-dawn light, he pointed to the bakery where a light was burning. A closer look revealed an old cottage swirling in smoke. "That’s Brother Oliver burning the peat bog," he said. The peat is used as fuel in the bakery.
It was a sight and smell from long ago.
The day for the rest of the group began at 9 a.m. with a breakfast of cereal, jam and bread. An hour later, we filed into a bus and our tour guide, John, drove through Roscrea to Shannon for a visit to a Nigerian Pentecostal church.
John played traditional Irish music from a CD and outside the green fields, sheep, horses, cows and tiny houses whizzed past. The pipes, fiddle and tin whistle (an instrument) lulled some into slumber while others pressed their noses against the rain sprayed window pane of the bus, their cameras at work.
When we arrived at the Nigerian Pentecostal church, we were met by Pastor Osim, and his wife Joy.
Paster Okey A. Osim
The pastor, a small earnest looking man, belongs to the order called Redeemed Christian of God, which has 10 parishes.
Pentecostals are defined by their belief in the power of the Holy Spirit. "The Holy spirit is where the power comes from," said Pastor Osim. Pentecostals pray only through Jesus Christ and not through the Virgin Mary. Unlike Catholicism, where a priest interprets the bible, in Pentecostalism, each individual interprets the Bible.
After a Pentecostalism 101, the religion seekers questioned Pastor Osim and Joy about the Nigerian’s flight to Ireland and their lives in a new land.
The couple explained:
Many Nigerians fled to escape religious and political persecution from the Islamic government.
The migration was not about economic emancipation but about safety. They chose Ireland for two reasons: the English language and the Christianity. The Nigerians living in Ireland feel welcome in Ireland with one exception--jobs. They do not have equal job opportunities.
Professionals from Nigeria work as waiters and laborers because less qualified natives are given preference by employers. But Nigerians are confident that their children, who were born in Ireland, won’t face job discrimination due to their integration into the Irish milieu and the fading Nigerian "accent."
Unlike the Catholic monks from the day before, the Pentecostalism pastor said that Pentacostal congregations are increasing membership all over Ireland.
After a peek at the world of the Nigerian Pentecostalism, the journalists headed towards a Polish Catholic Church in Limerick.
On the way to lunch, we passed by Richard Harris’s house. (Harris played Dumbledore in the first three Harry Potter movies).Lunch was a quick stop across from a Norman castle (the skyscraper of its time, said John, our tour guide) from the 12th century.
It was pouring by the time the bus reached St. Michael’s Church. The streets around the church were filled with shops, international brands and pubs. Despite the rain the Irish were out having a good time on St Patrick’s Day weekend. It was the first glimpse we had of the economic prosperity that had come up in so many conversations.
The Poles are the largest immigrant population in Ireland. The official figures are 200,000 but Father Szymon Czuwaia said that the actual numbers are probably double the official figures.Polish priests have been dispatched to take care of their spiritual needs. There are 30 Polish priests in Ireland with 10 in Dublin. 
Father Szymon Czuwaia
On the ride home, John played his favorite CD, "A Woman’s Heart." He said that he thinks of brothers and nephews in Dublin when he is driving. In the dark calm of the bus, it is anybody’s guess what the students from the J-school are thinking. Sleep, maybe?
Candles in St. Michael's
The early-risers trudged with camera, tripod and radio equipment through cow dung and hay to capture the first hours of a newly born calf. The cows mooed in surprise at the strangers.
Brother Malachy didn’t notice the overwhelming odor of the farm animals as he guided the visitors through the pitch dark and gently persisting rain. It was an unexpected sight to see the monk out of his habit and dressed in farm clothes tending to the cows. The dairy products from 250 cows are the monastery’s primary source of income.
After the cow adventure, Brother Malachy took the exception a giant step further. He showed his guests the "enclosure," a sacred area for the 25 monks at the monastery.
There is a big apple orchard and many other places where the monks read and pray, day after day and year after year. There is no sound, except for the birds.
In the pre-dawn light, he pointed to the bakery where a light was burning. A closer look revealed an old cottage swirling in smoke. "That’s Brother Oliver burning the peat bog," he said. The peat is used as fuel in the bakery.
It was a sight and smell from long ago.
The day for the rest of the group began at 9 a.m. with a breakfast of cereal, jam and bread. An hour later, we filed into a bus and our tour guide, John, drove through Roscrea to Shannon for a visit to a Nigerian Pentecostal church.
John played traditional Irish music from a CD and outside the green fields, sheep, horses, cows and tiny houses whizzed past. The pipes, fiddle and tin whistle (an instrument) lulled some into slumber while others pressed their noses against the rain sprayed window pane of the bus, their cameras at work.
When we arrived at the Nigerian Pentecostal church, we were met by Pastor Osim, and his wife Joy.
Paster Okey A. OsimThe Pentecostal movement started in the 1700s. In Nigeria, the Pentecostal church was founded in 1952 and planted its roots in Ireland in 1998. Today, there are 45 Pentecostal parishes all over Ireland.
The pastor, a small earnest looking man, belongs to the order called Redeemed Christian of God, which has 10 parishes.
Pentecostals are defined by their belief in the power of the Holy Spirit. "The Holy spirit is where the power comes from," said Pastor Osim. Pentecostals pray only through Jesus Christ and not through the Virgin Mary. Unlike Catholicism, where a priest interprets the bible, in Pentecostalism, each individual interprets the Bible.
After a Pentecostalism 101, the religion seekers questioned Pastor Osim and Joy about the Nigerian’s flight to Ireland and their lives in a new land.
The couple explained:
Many Nigerians fled to escape religious and political persecution from the Islamic government.
The migration was not about economic emancipation but about safety. They chose Ireland for two reasons: the English language and the Christianity. The Nigerians living in Ireland feel welcome in Ireland with one exception--jobs. They do not have equal job opportunities.
Professionals from Nigeria work as waiters and laborers because less qualified natives are given preference by employers. But Nigerians are confident that their children, who were born in Ireland, won’t face job discrimination due to their integration into the Irish milieu and the fading Nigerian "accent."
Unlike the Catholic monks from the day before, the Pentecostalism pastor said that Pentacostal congregations are increasing membership all over Ireland.
After a peek at the world of the Nigerian Pentecostalism, the journalists headed towards a Polish Catholic Church in Limerick.
On the way to lunch, we passed by Richard Harris’s house. (Harris played Dumbledore in the first three Harry Potter movies).Lunch was a quick stop across from a Norman castle (the skyscraper of its time, said John, our tour guide) from the 12th century.
It was pouring by the time the bus reached St. Michael’s Church. The streets around the church were filled with shops, international brands and pubs. Despite the rain the Irish were out having a good time on St Patrick’s Day weekend. It was the first glimpse we had of the economic prosperity that had come up in so many conversations.
The Poles are the largest immigrant population in Ireland. The official figures are 200,000 but Father Szymon Czuwaia said that the actual numbers are probably double the official figures.Polish priests have been dispatched to take care of their spiritual needs. There are 30 Polish priests in Ireland with 10 in Dublin.
Father Szymon CzuwaiaCzuwaia believes that the Polish community is happy in Ireland. "The Irish are very nice to us in general," he said. He dismisses allegations against the Irish of resenting the "Polish plumber." He said that the Polish immigrants have been treated better in Ireland than in any other country.
"We share a common history of persecution," he said matter-of-factly.
The group spent the rest of the hour exploring the Limerick market. Some spent a quiet hour of coffee and reflections, others bought phone cards and the enthusiasts stopped Irish on the street for interviews on camera.
Dinner was a delightful spread at the Dolan’s pub at Limerick. The waitress spoke English with a Polish accent, an exotic first for most of us.
"We share a common history of persecution," he said matter-of-factly.
The group spent the rest of the hour exploring the Limerick market. Some spent a quiet hour of coffee and reflections, others bought phone cards and the enthusiasts stopped Irish on the street for interviews on camera.
Dinner was a delightful spread at the Dolan’s pub at Limerick. The waitress spoke English with a Polish accent, an exotic first for most of us.
On the ride home, John played his favorite CD, "A Woman’s Heart." He said that he thinks of brothers and nephews in Dublin when he is driving. In the dark calm of the bus, it is anybody’s guess what the students from the J-school are thinking. Sleep, maybe?
Candles in St. Michael'sBy Betwa Sharma
Day 1: Travel & Roscrea
Technically it’s Friday, but it’s a little hard to tell where Thursday ended and Friday began. Maybe during our brief stay in the Dublin airport, or maybe somewhere over the Atlantic. A lot of confusing things happened in the gray area between Thursday and Friday: we flew from Dublin to Shannon with a Wisconsin high school marching band off to play in a St. Patrick’s Day parade, we saw pagan protestors on the front page of the Irish Times and some of us bought garish plastic watches in a fit of suddenly-it’s-6 a.m. hysteria.
Photo: Sarah MorganMost of us woke up for real when our bus arrived at Roscrea, the monastery where we’ll be spending the next two nights. We were just in time for a bountiful lunch at 1 p.m., after which we piled back on the bus for a trip into town.
Town consisted of a trip to Tesco and a quick glance at the local castle. Our tour guide explained to us how many of Ireland’s towns grew up around monasteries like the one at Roscrea. Monasteries, with their golden chalices and other implements for the Eucharist, were fat targets for the Vikings, and Ireland’s round towers – one of which we saw on our short drive – may have been built for Christians’ protection against Viking raiders. Their entryways stand several meters above the ground. They were also used as bell towers to chime the hours and call the people to their regular prayers.
A few Roscrea monks still structure their day around Vigils and Vespers and Compline. Father Nivard Kinsella gave us a tour of the church where they worship and the cloisters where they live. The Cistercian monastery was founded in 1858 when the order bought its 500-acre farm from two elderly women in London. That farm, with its 250 cows, now provides the monastery’s main source of income. Most of the monks are too old to teach in the private school on the grounds.
Only 17 monks now live in the cloisters. The oldest is 94-and-a-half years old, and half of the community is over 80. Father Kinsella himself is 81.
"We’re a bit lost in a church this size," Father Kinsella said, gesturing to the empty cathedral around him. "There’s a very big drift away from religion in Ireland."
The Roscrea monks, not drifting anywhere, take vows of poverty, obedience and stability. This means they have no possessions of their own – and they will remain at Roscrea their entire lives (apparently St. Benedict felt that, without this vow, monks would flit around too much). They meet at 4 a.m. every morning for Vigils, a 40-minute prayer in which they watch with the Lord for the coming morning. There are three shorter offices, or prayers, during the day, followed by Vespers at 5:15 and finally Complitorium at 7:30 p.m.
After dinner this evening, we’ll have a chance to see the evening church service – and to celebrate the Jewish Sabbath. And then we will very gratefully get an actual night’s sleep.
Town consisted of a trip to Tesco and a quick glance at the local castle. Our tour guide explained to us how many of Ireland’s towns grew up around monasteries like the one at Roscrea. Monasteries, with their golden chalices and other implements for the Eucharist, were fat targets for the Vikings, and Ireland’s round towers – one of which we saw on our short drive – may have been built for Christians’ protection against Viking raiders. Their entryways stand several meters above the ground. They were also used as bell towers to chime the hours and call the people to their regular prayers.
A few Roscrea monks still structure their day around Vigils and Vespers and Compline. Father Nivard Kinsella gave us a tour of the church where they worship and the cloisters where they live. The Cistercian monastery was founded in 1858 when the order bought its 500-acre farm from two elderly women in London. That farm, with its 250 cows, now provides the monastery’s main source of income. Most of the monks are too old to teach in the private school on the grounds.
Only 17 monks now live in the cloisters. The oldest is 94-and-a-half years old, and half of the community is over 80. Father Kinsella himself is 81.
"We’re a bit lost in a church this size," Father Kinsella said, gesturing to the empty cathedral around him. "There’s a very big drift away from religion in Ireland."
The Roscrea monks, not drifting anywhere, take vows of poverty, obedience and stability. This means they have no possessions of their own – and they will remain at Roscrea their entire lives (apparently St. Benedict felt that, without this vow, monks would flit around too much). They meet at 4 a.m. every morning for Vigils, a 40-minute prayer in which they watch with the Lord for the coming morning. There are three shorter offices, or prayers, during the day, followed by Vespers at 5:15 and finally Complitorium at 7:30 p.m.
After dinner this evening, we’ll have a chance to see the evening church service – and to celebrate the Jewish Sabbath. And then we will very gratefully get an actual night’s sleep.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Welcome to 'The Faiths O' The Irish'!
This is the temporary home of "Covering Religions: Ireland," a class at the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism that is taught by Prof. Ari L. Goldman.This space will be used as the home of the class' "Daily Dispatches," on-the-road reports filed during a 10-day tour of Ireland.
To learn more about the class, the students, or to read our stories, please go to our website at CoveringReligion.org.
Thank you!
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