Going up to Jerusalem

The Vitrage Guest House was a nice place to stay, but once again we opted for a super-early departure to drive to Jerusalem. Unfortunately, geopolitics thwarted our attempts to drive there directly (through the West Bank), and we were forced to join the rush hour traffic around Tel Aviv. Turning inland, it became increasingly obvious why they talk in the bible about going “up to Jerusalem” and this part of the drive turned out to be more faith-promoting than we’d bargained for. As we passed the airport, Danny noticed the car was low on gas so we planned to stop at the next gas station. Only it didn’t come. Kilometer after kilometer, there were no exits, and no signs of gas stations ahead. The tank got closer to empty, and there wasn’t even a shoulder on the side of the freeway, should we need to pull over. Adding to our concern, we passed a car on fire along the side of the road. This was actually the second time we’d seen that in Israel—in both cases it appeared to be an issue with the car rather than a violent attack, but it was still disconcerting if that was normal with the cars here. Kara and I started praying, I wondered if this put us squarely with the five foolish virgins in the parable, and after what felt to be far too long we found a gas station. Given the volume of gas we refueled it with, we’d come very close to running out; I attribute it to the prayers of righteous women.

Entering Jerusalem, Danny parked at a place he knew would be free—the BYU Jerusalem Center. I was excited to tour it, but we’d be back on Sunday and only had a short time to reach our destination. The Temple Mount is a holy site to Muslims, Jew, and Christians for different reasons, and the center of much of the tensions there today. Non-Muslims are only allowed up there at certain times, and we had less than an hour from when we arrived before it’d be closed to us. Speedwalking down the steep dirt path from the Jerusalem Center to the Kidron Valley, we made our way directly towards it. The gates, the narrow streets—everything about the Old City was interesting and made me want to stop and observe, but there simply wasn’t time. Thankfully the security line to enter the plaza by the Western Wall was short, and just as we entered the security line to enter the Temple Mount, a bar mitzvah party walked by giving us a glimpse of that cultural tradition. At last, we were on the Mount. It was larger than I’d expected after the narrow streets, with trees and people sitting and reading as if they were in a park. In my desire to soak in the scene I wasted precious minutes not racing to get closer to the Dome of the Rock. Just as we made our way towards it, the guards started herding the non-Muslims off the Mount. They were kind enough to at least let us climb the stairs for a picture with it in the background, but my desire to see the beautiful mosaics up close was not to be. Still, given how close we came to missing it altogether I had to be grateful.

The closest we got to the Dome of the Rock

The rush over, we stopped for a moment at the Western Wall. They welcome people of all faiths, as long as they’re appropriately dressed, and wearing the headscarves provided, Kara and I walked up to it on the women’s side of the partition. We had to wait our turn to actually get up through the crowds to it, and it was clear some women intended to stay there for a while. I was content to touch it, observe all the notes of prayers stuffed into the cracks, and walk back.

the Western Wall

Women's section of the Western Wall

Street in the Old City

We walked a little more slowly back to the car and I finally realized how far we walked—and how steep the valley is. Since this would be our last day with the car, we wanted to use it to visit Bethlehem. Driving out of the Center, Danny parked at an overlook so we could get out of the car and take in the Kidron Valley and the thousands of Jewish graves on the hill side facing the eastern wall of the Temple Mount and its sealed gate. It was an incredible view that didn’t take long to take in, but then we saw something that made us linger longer than planned: Levar Burton. Out of context, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the host of one of my favorite TV shows as a kid. But as he was surrounded by a film crew, I took the time to notice and recognized him. What’s more, he was apparently filming a Reading Rainbow special about Jerusalem, and we had a chance to see him do a few takes including his signature “I’ll see you next time.” After a few minutes of being star-struck, we headed back to the car to tell Danny what he’d missed and resume the real reason we were here. 

View from the Mount of Olives

"I'll see you next time"

Bethlehem is in the West Bank, and as we entered the no-man’s land before the wall, I couldn’t help but notice that the barbed wire posts looked exactly like the ones I’d seen at the concentration camps in Europe. How could the Jewish people not see the similarity in what they were doing to the Palestinians to the ghettos they’d endured during the Nazi regime? It made me angry to see the towering concrete wall and all it represented, but as I was a guest in this country I kept these thoughts to myself. Instead, we tried to focus on the Christian sights, including the Church of the Nativity. It was undergoing some renovations inside but the Orthodox had hung beautiful hanging lamps that looked like Faberge eggs. Again, the smell of incense filled the church, and this time the church was packed. A large group of Russian tourists was slowly making their way down to the small, narrow area that is believed to be the spots where Jesus was born, and where he was laid in the manger. Part of the pace resulted from their need to touch every icon, but one woman in particular needed to linger even longer to take multiple pious selfies. You could see her tour guide was growing impatient with the possibility of throwing their itinerary off, and I realized that being a tour guide would involve more cat-herding than I’d probably enjoy. We quickly paid our respects to the spot where they believe He was born, and where He was laid in the manger, and went out to the square. 

the Church of the Nativity

the star marks the spot where Jesus was born

the manger

Lunch was delicious at a traditional place that Danny had visited before, and the décor included locks and keys from the homes the Palestinians had been forced to leave. Clearly, the right to return was still alive and well for them, however impossible it now seemed.

On the way back to the car we visited the Milk Grotto. Apparently some of Mary’s breast milk was believed to have dropped on a stone (awkward) and that touching it was supposed to help with infertility (didn’t know about that until afterward). We tried to find the church commemorating the “shepherds abiding in the field” but it was walled off and appeared closed. I wanted to see the Banksy art on the Wall and visit an olivewood carver my friend connected me with, but both proved impossible to find. Driving back out, the line of cars moved very slowly and Danny warned us about how long it could take. When it was finally our turn, I suppressed everything I’d just seen and Shalom-ed the guards for a quick exit. If only it was that easy for the residents there.

the hillside around Bethlehem

driving along the wall in Bethlehem

The rental car dealership was in an orthodox neighborhood, and driving there gave me more of an opportunity to observe them. It was then I realized I’d had no interaction with their men, and probably wouldn’t. Their dress was so uniform: white shirts, black slacks and blazers, black hats. The Hasidic were an exception, as some sported knickers and fur cylindrical hats that had grown bigger with each generation. Taking a taxi to the Damascus Gate, we entered the Old City again and checked into our accommodation: the Austrian Hospice. It was a bit of a splurge, but so worth it to be staying in the Old City on the Via Dolorosa. Here’s a bit of the background: during the reign of Napoleon, the French built housing for their citizens making pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Not to be outdone, Emperor Franz Josef built one for his subjects (he was the Holy Roman emperor, after all, and one of his titles was King of Jerusalem). The world wars affected the Holy Land and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, transforming the hospice into a British-run military hospital during WW2 that was only returned to a hospice in the 1990s.

At street level it was pretty non-descript, but climbing up the stairs to it you were suddenly transported to Vienna. It was built in the style of the buildings on the Ringstrasse, complete with its own café. The rooms had the simplicity you’d expect from a hospice, but it still felt like we were staying in a palace of sorts. From the balcony you could overlook the street below, and the view from the roof was fantastic.

entrance to the Austrian Hospice (photo from the web)

We capped off the day visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Only the Christians consider this site sacred, but the six different sects “fight” among themselves over it. They each maintain their own area, and it was interesting to see those differences play out in their respective areas. The funniest example of this is the “immoveable ladder” outside an upper window above the entrance. No church can move it without agreement of the other 5 churches, so it’s remained there for well over a century! The church is a massive, dark, ancient, cavernous, relatively plain, and incense-filled church containing the areas believed to be where Christ was nailed to the cross, where they laid his body right after he was taken from the cross, and the tomb. Demonstrating the power the Orthodox appeared to believe came from these areas, we saw women rubbing the stones with their necklaces and even wiping their baby on one. Not sure how the priests felt about that. After grabbing a quick dinner nearby, we returned to see the official closing of the church for the night. It was pretty quiet by this time because most tourists stay outside of the Old City, but a handful of excited-looking twenty-somethings chose to remain inside the church overnight. Because the sects couldn’t agree who gets to hold the keys to the building, it’s actually a Muslim family that’s been does this for a few generations. Seeing the priests from each sect standing there and laughing with each other during this, though, it appears the tensions (if any) only exist at the higher levels. There wasn’t really a ceremony, but it was interesting to see that the lock was so high it required the man to bring out a ladder to climb up to it, followed by sliding the ladder back inside through a slot in the door. Not a bad start to our stay.

Entrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulchure

Altar of the Crucifixion