Job and Job

I don't really want to talk about my day today because it involved tears and headaches and people's woes are never interesting to read. Why is that? Are we inherently selfish, and while we like to support people in spurts - why do we recoil from decaying spirits.


I don't want to be a decaying spirit or the person that recoils from woe.


I hate the story of Job (does anybody like it?). It has been on my mind for the last few days, maybe simply because its homonym has been on my mind as well. I was thinking to myself this morning how through all his sufferings he never once cursed God - which is pretty amazing, and I concluded this morning that Job must have been emotionally shut down, or a robot.


Not because he didn't curse God, but because he didn't freak out, on anybody or anything. Which I must conclude that he didn't allow himself to feel anything too deeply, understanding from the beginning or along the way that life can be fickle and things taken from you in blink. But what kind of life is that when you don't risk feeling anything? Then again, who can continue to find hope through so many trials?


That's why I'm not talking about my day.




Instead, I will give a brief introduction to the game of tavla. That's the game of Backgammon in Turkish. It is Turkey's "national sport" as Tolga says. On the streets you will often come across men sitting on stools around a table, drinking cay, with spectators looking over their shoulders as the game is being played.



When Tolga is home, is father and him will dance around the game - challenging each other, while the other will claim to be "too tired" or "not now." Eventually, after a few days, Tolga will bring out the board, and his father - who is normally slow moving and unresponsive - will suddenly be up, on the edge of his seat, looking sharply down through his eye glasses at the tiny die, scooping them up before I have even had a chance to read the die. They move the pieces without counting, and the next one is already rolling. The room is soon filled with the clatter of dice and the clack of playing pieces. Intermitently one will call out disgustedly, "Ay da bay" or "cok chance!" The whole family seems to enjoy their banter, and with the Tosuns, there's no time for tea.



Since coming here, I've got up-to-speed on tavla. Tolga no longer has to move the pieces for me or wait (as much) as I painfully count out the moves.





Now, my dad plays as well. Definitely not as sharp. It takes a few reads of the die before he gets the number right, and even then, its a 50/50 chance he'll moved the piece to the right spire.

As you can see . . .

Even so, it has become a nightly practice . . . and a connection between families.



And maybe there is some hope in this.