My American Culture: A Short Story

I was single minded. Narrow Jerusalem alleyway shops bustled with culture and individuality. Young and old shop owners, of various religions, sold a variety of items, ranging in diversity from the yamaka to prayer rugs. Aromas, sweet and wispy, excited my senses with a combination of ecstatic flavors. I looked at merchandise with a surprised expression on my face; an expression that would have made the average bystander wonder, “ who are these people?”. The colorful array of shops is still vivid in my mind, but it no longer holds the perplexing image it once did. The awe I felt at discovering things I had never heard of before, was one that I would most likely never experience again in my life. Massive synagogues, churches, and mosques looked nothing like they had in the pictures I had seen in books or on the internet; likewise, neither did the people who attended the holy sites.
My American background had left me somewhat biased; America, being as diverse as it is, had always left me with the false feeling that I knew everything I needed to know about other religions and