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.
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.
