Thoroughly confused by
having a Saturday Sabbath, today felt like any day but Sunday. After a final
Austrian/Israeli breakfast (kosher cold cuts and cheese, yogurt and museli, and
of course my now-essential breakfast pastries), we bid a fond farewell to our
hospice and headed to the bus depot. Incidentally, the Golgotha site the
Protestants claim is just behind the bus depot, making for convenient viewing
but thoroughly ruining any good photos. Danny purchased our tickets for the
local shuttle, and thankfully we didn’t have to wait long before it left (they
don’t have a schedule—they just leave when they’re full). As we drove east from
Jerusalem towards Jericho, we passed (mostly illegal) Israeli settlements, the
site of the Good Samaritan, and “shepherds abiding in the fields.”
At the border, I once
again braced myself for long lines and prayed for patience and a silent tongue.
This time, a young woman entered our van to inspect our passports as part of
the security check. I had to (inwardly) laugh as she asked each of us whether
we were carrying any weapons—who would say “yes”? The cheeky part of me was so
tempted to flex my puny arm muscles and say “yeah, just these” but I resisted.
The crossing was quite faster going this direction (i.e. less than 3 hours),
but that’s not to say it wasn’t without incident. Somewhere on the shuttle bus
in no man’s land between buildings, Danny decided to look at visa information
on his phone. To his horror, he discovered this was the only crossing that does not issue Jordanian visas. What?!?!?! Since
Danny had flown into Israel, he didn’t have one. What we couldn’t figure out
was 1) how the busiest crossing between these countries wouldn’t offer this
service and 2) how they let Danny out of Israel without mentioning that to him.
Once again, prayers from Kara and I ensued. Back at the Jordanian crossing
building where our Israeli adventures had begun, I decided to see if my “trick”
also worked with Jordanian border police. Primping with lipstick, earrings, and
a cheerfully naïve expression I gave the guard an “As-salamu alaykum” with an
obnoxious American accent. Kara and I got through quickly, but what would they
do about Danny? I chose to stick close to Danny, grinning at the guards and showing
my surprise when they said they don’t provide visas there—after all, it was
still a relatively new surprise to us. After a few minutes of passing his
passport back and forth between the two windows, our miracle came in the form
of a dot matrix printer. They let him in! As far as I could tell, the guard
essentially gave Danny a signed permission slip as his visa. Prayers of gratitude
commenced. I’ve heard the Baptism site is nice, especially on the Jordanian
side, but by this point I’d had my fill of the border crossing for one trip.
The taxi driver didn’t sound so keen on it, either, so we opted to skip it for
the quick drive back to Amman. Before we’d left Jordan, Leon had carefully
given us directions and hints to find his house without him. I remembered most
of it, but it did take an extra trip around the neighborhood before we got
there. Ditching our luggage and borrowing Leon’s car, we set out to the north
in search of Roman ruins and Crusader forts.
After all we’d seen in
Israel, I’d assumed Jerash would be smaller and less intact since it wasn’t as
familiar. Wrong on both counts. The Roman ruins of Jerash were huge! Right at
the entrance was a multi-story gate they built for the one time an emperor
happened to visit. We learned about Jerash’s importance along the trade routes
while wandering around, and on, its ruins. Like Wadi Rum, I felt the need to
clamber on everything, and learned that a long skirt didn’t hold me back—as
long as no one was watching when I had to “gird” myself. The larger theatre is
used today for an annual festival, and as proof of their acoustics we were
given an impromptu concert on drum and bagpipe—again, what is it with these
Arab guys and their bagpipes? Still, I liked the local flair they put into a
familiar tune. Once more, it was interesting to see the waves of civilization
sweep across the area, as the Roman temples gave way to Christian churches, and
while exploring their remains we heard the call to prayer coming from the
modern city surrounding the site.
the Forum
We saw more goats than tourists here
modern Jerash in the background
one of my favorite mosiacs there
The toughest scramble of the day (in a skirt) was for this photo with Kara. It took a bit of "girding" to climb on such large blocks but was worth it!
soaking it in
steps to the marketplace
the South Gate
dance party in the ampitheatre
photo shoot in the ruins
From Jerash, we headed
further north through beautiful woodlands, grape vineyards, and olive orchards
to Aljoun Castle. This castle was built to defend against the Crusaders by Saladin’s nephew, and from the top of it
you could see into neighboring countries. Between fire signals and pigeons,
it’s said they could transmit messages from Damascus to Cairo in twelve hours.
The top was also where we saw the only other tourists there, a group of Kuwaiti
men that wanted their picture with us…or so we thought. Turns out, the man who
insisted on being our guide/photographer (harder to shake when there’s no one
else there) also insisted we get a group photo with them. I went back and forth
between being annoyed that he forced his services upon us, and glad that we
learned a lot from him that we wouldn’t have known otherwise. I was especially
impressed to learn about their engineering for water inside the castle.
inside the fortress
with our Kuwaiti friends on top of the fortress
fellow visitors
Aljoun Fortress
Driving back to Amman, the
only traffic we encountered was goats crossing the road at sunset, but driving
through Amman itself took as long as just driving back to it. With Kara’s help,
we made it to Leon’s house on our first try. Dinner felt a little like a
scavenger hunt, as the boys bought the kebabs at one restaurant, and the girls
were responsible for buying the bread at the shop around the corner. The perk
of our job was that the pastry shop had a fine array of treats, and the guy on
duty was more than happy to introduce two American girls to them. Armed with
the bread for dinner and newly-discovered pastries, we returned home for a
quiet evening in to celebrate an excellent day of beauty and miracles.
Today was Saturday, but because we
were in Israel it was observed as the Sabbath for Latter-day Saints, too. After
a quick breakfast as the hospice, we walked to the Garden Tomb. This site, just
outside the Damascus Gate and not far from where we were staying, was opened a
little over a century ago and is believed by some Christians (mainly Protestants)
to be the real location of Christ’s tomb. We arrived before the opening, and
this time were joined by small tour groups also eager to start their day with
this visit. The grounds were nice, and whether it’s really the location or not,
I like to believe the tomb would have looked like this.
the Garden Tomb
Walking back up Mount Scopus to the
BYU Jerusalem Center, we arrived at church early and were able to enjoy a
gorgeous view of the Old City from the windows of the auditorium. Truly this
was a unique location for our weekly worship, and it was good to be at church
again, even if I was distracted by the view and unused to sitting still for
this long (i.e. had difficulty staying awake). It was also where I finally felt the Spirit on this trip.
Here I had spent the last few days going to almost nothing but holy sites, and
I felt many emotions at each one, but struggled to have the spiritual feelings
I’d assumed would almost gush in these locations. Truthfully, I was getting a
little worried that maybe I was missing something. Sitting in a classroom for a
lesson taught by a twenty-something, I was reminded that hearing true doctrine
is what can create those feelings, not simply being in a place. It made me
appreciate why all the tour groups had devotionals at each stop, as they
created the spiritual memories for the groups. Personally, this was the lesson
I needed. Church also gave me a chance to say hello to my parent’s friends, who
are serving two years there as volunteers. Their various roles include working
with local charities to distribute aid, and trying to make sure that the handful
of Mormons in Bethlehem has an opportunity to worship in their own branch. After
church we enjoyed that spectacular view of the Old City from the gardens and
visited the ancient olive press they recreated on-site. The whole facility is
gorgeous, and I can’t imagine having the privilege of living there.
view from the Jerusalem Center
an olive press on the grounds of the Jerusalem Center
the walk down Mount Scopus
Walking down Mount Scopus one last
time, we headed north of the Old City to an olive wood shop we’d heard about
from the students: Jimmy’s Bazaar. There are so many places to buy olive wood carvings
in Jerusalem it’s easy to be overwhelmed, but Jimmy wisely realized years ago
the Jerusalem Center was a niche market. Consequently, walking into his shop we
found not only the standard nativities but Captain Moroni, BYU cougars, and other
figures familiar to the LDS people. He’s not the only one to recognize this, as
you can buy BYU shirts in the markets and I’ve heard of other carvers
befriending LDS tour groups. It was great to have the shop to ourselves as we
carefully selected which figures to buy for ourselves and our families without
feeling pressured or having to bargain—parts of shopping abroad that I have yet
to enjoy. It was also nice to learn more about the carving process while I
mixed and matched figures for my mom’s nativity. Our selection made, we walked
back through the Muslim quarter to the hospice so we could drop off our things
and change. It was nice to be off the tourist trail for a moment and see how
people actually lived in the city.
not your average olive wood shop selection
Many things are closed on the Jewish
Sabbath, so we saved the ones that weren’t for this day, including a
self-guided walking tour on the
walls around the Old City. It was a fascinating to peer down into their
courtyards and look across at their rooftop hangouts, and the semi-birds-eye
view helped me put the parts of the various walks we’d taken through the Old
City together. We even passed a playground and a soccer field within the Old
City, which surprised me given how crowded it felt.
on the walls of the Old City
the walls of the Old City
view of the BYU Jerusalem Center from the Old City's walls
Back on street level, we headed back
to the hospice and split up for a bit. Confident in my ability to navigate the
Old City, at least if I stayed on the streets we’d walked on before, I walked
back the Western Wall to see it in the afternoon sun and people watch again.
This time, I walked to the southern corner on the other side of the entrance to
the Temple Mount and realized this area was practically deserted. You could walk
down on wooden platforms around the excavations right up to the wall, which is
where one man chose to pray. If you got tired of waiting in line at the other
part, or if you wanted to pray in an area that wasn’t segregated, this seemed
like the perfect spot—even if you were a few yards further from the Arc of the
Covenant.
the other half of the Western Wall
I’d spent so much time on the
northern and western sides of the Temple Mount that I chose to walk on the
eastern side just outside the city walls. Across the valley was the Mount of Olives,
with all the Jewish graves vying to be first in line at the resurrection. But
on the side of the valley closest to the city, all the headstones were in
Arabic. Back at the Lions Gate, I started down the familiar path to the Church
of the Holy Seplechure for some more pilgrim-watching.
Lions Gate
This time I found a
bench up in the Orthodox area near where they remember the cross, and watched
as pilgrims filed past lighting candles. One Asian woman had a fistful of
candles, which she carefully lit one by one and prayed over them. Imagine her
dismay when the monk came by, as he probably does several times an hour, to
extinguish said-candles to make room for the next ones. I had a prime seat to
watch as they silently battled it out—monk plucking candles out, woman
relighting candles.
Pilgrims at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Damascus Gate, near the Austrian Hospice
As we left the hospice for dinner, I
heard the unusual sound of bagpipes. Recognizing what this was from the IMAX
film about Jerusalem, I made a beeline towards it with Kara and Danny in tow.
Coming down the stairs we’d walked on with the Franciscan monks the day before
was an Arab marching band. Their parade included scouts and a small statue of a
saint (Mary?), but I’m not sure where they were taking her. Just when you think
you’ve seen everything in this city, it throws another surprise at you.
a surprise parade
With the Sabbath ending at
nightfall, we headed into a Jewish neighborhood outside the Old City to watch
that segment city come to life and start to head out for the night. We were too
hungry/tired to wait for them to really open up, but we did find a bakery just
opening for the night on our way back to the hospice. Like our last night in
Amman, it was great to pick up a selection of breakfast pastries for our next
day’s travel.
Another early start (can
we do otherwise?), but this time staying in the same city. We got to the City
of David right as it opened to successfully beat the tour groups there. It’s an archaeological site of King David’s palace just outside the city walls, and includes
Hezekiah’s tunnel—1,750 feet carved through solid rock to bring water to the
ancient city and still has water flowing in it. We were actually so early that
they hadn’t unlocked the tunnels yet, and ended up having them to ourselves.
Danny and Kara opted for the dry route, leaving me and my headlamp to splash
through the tunnel alone. The tunnel was just a little wider and shorter than
me, and the water averaged about to my knees. It was a little creepy when I
turned my headlamp off for a moment and realized just how dark and alone I was,
but for the most part I just enjoyed the acoustics and sang as loud as I wanted
while splashing along.
City of David excavation
Kara and Danny opt for the dry route
Preparing to enter the tunnel
Back above ground and on
dry land, we walked back up to the Old City and tried to see a few sights near the Jewish quarter. We
got a little turned around on the way, stumbling upon a primary school’s
program with adorable girls wearing crowns. It was fun to watch for a moment,
but I’m sure the parents wondered who these tourists were trying to squeeze
behind their kids to get by.
Eventually we found David’s tomb, with a
large sarcophagus filling the front of the partitioned
room. Kara and I had to split from Danny and did our best to figure out what to
do on the women’s side when all the signs were in Hebrew, but through the
screen he could hear the men chanting and praying. Going around the corner and
up a level of the same building, we visitedthe
upper room believed to be where the Last Supper was held, and were joined by a
group of Christin tourists from Zimbabwe. Just to
continue making these sights complicated and interfaith, there’s a Muslim
muezzin (tower) on the roof.
a monastery near David's Tomb
Layers of history and cultures
As we walked towards the
Western Wall, there was an area where you could look down and see where street
level had been anciently. We weren’t walking where Jesus walked, so much as a story above it. This also hit home with our next stop: a
tour of the Western Wall tunnels. Our guide was a friendly and enthusiastic
Orthodox woman, and the 3D model of Jerusalem over the centuries helped put
what we were seeing into context and she gave an incredibly brief history from
the Jewish perspective. What was anciently a city of hills had been filled in
and spanned by huge arches to allow worshipers to walk a relatively flat path
to the temple mount, which had been expanded by King Herod. The tunnel
excavation began after the Six Days War and took almost twenty years to reveal
the ancient city beneath. The “Herodian blocks” at the base were so much larger
than I’d expected, and how they managed to move them there is still an
engineering mystery. As we walked along the wall, we encountered a pop-up
synagogue of sorts. These Jews were determined to pray as close as they could
to where they believed the Ark of the Covenant was buried in the Temple Mount.
Little notes containing prayers were stuffed into the cracks here, too, and I
decided to leave a note for my prayer: peace for all and greater freedom for
the Palestinians.
Next to a Herodian block during the Tunnel Tour
We left the Temple Mount around the
time the Friday prayers were ending at the Dome of the Rock, and walked back to
the hotel in a stream of Muslim worshipers returning to work and home. This
stream continued through our lunch at the restaurant across the street from our
hotel, and from the hotel’s balcony afterward you could see the steady stream
of people (mostly men) heading towards the Damascus gate. This was only one of
the exit options from the Dome of the Rock, but we must have seen thousands of
people, making me wonder how many tens of thousands had been up there that day
(someone said they’d heard 80,000-90,000).
lunch
View from the roof of our hostel
After the crowds died down, we
walked through the Old City and out the Lion Gate to visit the garden of
Gethsemane. Ancient olive trees with large, gnarled bases filled the garden,
still alive thanks to younger stems shooting out from them. The garden was
lovely, as was the church next door around the rock where Christ’s Atonement
took place. The current Church of All Nations was only built in the 1920’s and
was paid for churches from a variety of countries, including the US, who were
acknowledged with mosaics on the ceiling and walls. They intentionally darken
the church, and the ceiling mosaic has stars on it, to evoke the night of
Christ’s Atonement. It was good to spend a moment there contemplating that
significant event.
Garden of Gethsemane
Garden of Gethsemane
the (sealed) East Gate
Re-entering the Old City, Kara and I
quickly visited the Pool of Bethesda, which involved climbing down several
flights of stairs to see the ancient pools that still have water in them. The
tourist brochure we were given reminded visitors that this site challenges us
to question if we’re ready for Christ to heal us (spiritually and physically),
and if we have the faith to healed. Even more profound questions after visiting
Gethsemane. The Church of Saint Anne in the complex is to honor where Mary’s
parents are thought to have lived and where she was born (tradition holds that
Mary’s mom’s name was Anne). The Crusader-built church is worth a visit just
for its acoustics.
Pool of Bethesda
We had to keep our visit short to
join the Franciscan monks for their weekly walk of the Via Dolorosa, which traces
the final events in Christ’s life from his trial to the crucifixion pausing at
14 stations. Gathering with our fellow pilgrims, I shouldn’t have been so
surprised that we were joined by a group of students from the BYU Jerusalem
Center. But once again, what should have been a somber occasion of historical
significance was preempted by a celebrity. That’s right, we were doing the Via
Dolorosa with Levar Burton and his film crew. He was clearly trying to
appreciate it (and be filmed doing so), and I had such a goofy grin on my face
from our second sighting that I’m sure I’ll be edited out. Kara and Danny, on
the other hand, were able to maintain proper somberness most of the time and
were close enough that they might make the cut. As the walk progressed, at each
station they would read a verse in a variety of languages including English,
and as they’d walk they’d chant/sing in Latin. This was what I expected, but it
was interesting when the route wound through the bazaar. The shopkeepers were
respectful and didn’t bother the participants, but it still felt like we were worshiping in the middle of a shopping mall. As we made our way to the Church
of the Holy Seplechure, it was interesting to once again visit the sites in the
church with these guides.
Franciscan monks leading pilgrims along the Via Dolorosa
Getting distracted by Levar Burton
Via Dolorosa procession inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Pilgrims kissing and poking notes into this column's crack at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
After the procession ended we headed
back to the Western Wall to see the start of the Jewish Sabbath. The contrast
between the Catholic procession we’d just left and the Jewish celebration we’d
just joined couldn’t have been starker. They set up a fence to keep us from
entering the prayer area, and we joined the Gentiles to watch the festivities
on the other side. There were hundreds of people engaged in various activities.
Groups of men were reading the Torah, bowing towards the wall as they did so.
Youth on their birthright trip were in circles around a leader, shouting and
dancing so much you’d think they’d just won a sporting event with that energy. I
wouldn’t say it was reverent, but it made me wonder if I’ve ever been that
excited about the Sabbath. The women’s side had similar activities going on,
but their share of the Wall was significantly smaller.
Sabbath at the Western Wall
Once we’d had our fill, we headed
back to the Church of Holy Seplechure to sit outside for more people watching.
I asked one of the tour guides for a recommendation on where to get good knafeh,
and without hesitation was told Jaffar’s. The sign with the eagle was easy to
spot, and the pastries didn’t disappoint. In all, another remarkable day.
