Own your name

Every time I travel I wait to find what part of me is going to give me access to parts of the country unknown by most. In Israel it was my heritage. In Turkey it was me having a Turkish friend I got to stay with and me stumbling into an essentially abandoned hostel. In China it was having a Chinese friend who I got to stay with. In Thailand & Burma it was meeting someone at the right place at the right time. In Japan it was reciprocation for hosting an exchange student. In Argentina it was my taxi driver. In Peru it was having a Peruvian girlfriend.

But what was it going to be Colombia? Because it was surely going to be something.

Macabee. To some a powerful name, to others a religious name, to others a name they've never heard before and to many difficult to pronounce! But it grabs your attention upon introduction and inspires deeper conversation.

I can always tell whose Jewish because when I tell a Jew, especially an Israeli my name their yamaka just about falls off. Immediately, we have a stronger connection and they are drawn to me. Laughing and asking questions and soon enough I'm getting ID'd to show them that yes, my name is indeed Macabee. "That's like my name being Lakers or Bulls or something". With the younger generation they love it because in Israel all of their favorite sports teams are Maccabi- Tel-Avia or Maccabi Haifa. They are Maccabi something or other. When I was in Israel I was walking through the markets and people were trying to sell my t-shirts with my name on it (just spelled differently). I was even drinking myself while I was there, Maccabee beer. It was delicious, you should try! These experiences were very funny and thrilling and helped establish the pride I have for my name. The Israelis I was meeting were immediately grabbing their phones and sending texts to their friends telling them they meet an American named Macabee!

Growing up non-religious but celebrating Christmas and Hanukah, mostly Christmas, I didn't have that much dignity in being Jewish. I was non-religious so to me it was more of a name then a subject of pride. However, after growing up, traveling and going to Israel I am certainly more prideful on my name and my heritage. It is something to embrace not to reject.

I randomly picked up an outdated Lonely Planet book and read "Lago Calima, great year round winds for Kiting and Windsurfing". Those words alone were enough to make sure I would be there. This sentence lead me to being dropped off in front of a warehouse on a desolate road in the dark. With some butterflies in my stomach I began knocking on the gates of what turned out to be heaven. Fold out chairs, a nice TV, video games, DirectTv, kitesurfing boards and kites, windsurfing sails, a nice clean bathroom, tents with mattresses inside a beautiful porch overlooking the lake that I would be kiting on for the next 3 days and a warehouse full of kitesurfing junkies! I had arrived and I was smiling. The community of kiters was amazing. Those next 3 days everyone who came in was family. We ate fresh trout daily, kited and joked around. It was a kiting frat house.

The owner of the place who they called Pescao, which essentially means fish in the water or lover of water, was a great guy. He was a Colombian who was a former professional windsurfer living in San Andres (A Colombian island east of Nicaragua). It sounded like he was a playboy windsurfing pro living in this Caribbean paradise having the time of his life. People were wishing they could be him. Until an unfortunate day that would change the course of the rest of his life. He got into a car accident and lost the movement in his legs for the rest of his life. I can't even begin to think about everything he went through after that. Thoughts all over the spectrum from how could this have happened to me to I'm so lucky I'm still alive. Even though Pescao could not be on the water, he was able to assist people getting in the water and he was still around the sport that he loved and will always love. He was inspirational in this sense and everybody who spent time there had a deep-rooted respect for him.

The hammer. That's what Macabee means in Hebrew. It hammered me right through the door into the Jewish community in Colombia. Yes, I didn't know it either but Colombia does have a Jewish community and I know just about all of them. The day I was leaving to go to Cali, Colombia I met a Colombian Jew and next thing you know I was staying at his apartment and hanging out in Jewish country clubs, club Shalom. My friend whose place I was staying with grew up in Israel and moved to Colombia when he was 13 years old (now 32). He had an uncle who moved to Colombia and his parents shortly followed to open a clothing business. This business was successful and they lived a nice life in Colombia. Maybe one that would not have been able to in Israel, who knows. His family weren't the only ones doing this at the time. There was a large community of Jews from Israel who moved to Colombia to start businesses and they're all members at club Shalom. It was a very interesting a fun cultural day hanging out with Colombian Jews and they were all very welcoming and happy to have me there.

As fate had it Yom Kippur was beginning the day that I left. As I was racing out of his apartment to catch up flight to the north of Colombia I met a Rabbi in the staircase. We stopped and had a conversation and it turned out he was from New York and had moved to Colombia, married the daughter of a Colombian Rabbi and lived in the apartment across the hall from where I was staying! What a coincidence right? In the basement of a parking lot in Cali, Colombia the morning before the start of Yom Kippur in the evening the Rabbi wrapped me up in Tefillin and had me recite a prayer. The only other time I've worn a Tefillin was at the wailing wall in Jerusalem. We said our goodbyes and off we split. I had the local Jewish experience in Cali that I could have never planned for and for that it was one of the most exciting unknown parts of my trip.

Moral of the story, introduce yourself.