Jerusalem

Monday April 13, 2015

Port of Ashod, Israel 

We had an early start on our day, clearing through a very strict military and immigration process at the Port of Ashod. That said, I hardly know where to begin with a description of our long day. The itinerary for the day included The Mount of Olives, the Garden of Gethsemane, Old Jerusalem, David's Tomb, a site called The Upper Room and a traditional kibbutz. Instead of a rambling description of all of these tremendously significant places, I feel I should focus on the emotions of the day. 

Before I begin, I must say that we covered an amazing amount of territory in a very short amount of time. Our tour guide, Schlomoe, was amazingly well versed, not only in the historical and religious aspects of our journey, but also with the politics. We felt lucky to have him as our guide.  In many ways our delay in the Gulf of Suez was a blessing, the most significant being that our trip through Jerusalem the day after Orthodox Easter, instead of the day of.  The sites we visited were very crowded, but much less so than they would have been if we were there on Sunday. 

The Mount of Olives is such a significant religious area, but I was not terrifically impressed. The mount affords a tremendous view, from afar, of Jerusalem and the walls of the old city. As could probably be expected, it has been cemented over with monuments. It's entirely possible that there are areas of the mount that are still somewhat pristine, but we did not visit them. 

The Garden of Gethsemane was an emotional stop. The olive trees are not the same ones that were there when Jesus had his final moments on earth, but they are quite old and beautiful. We learned that older olive trees are hollow, therefore it is impossible to really put an age on them. Perhaps people are like that also...if they have nothing inside, they do not age, but they must lack the love, tenderness, joy, heartache and fulfillment of life. I'll accept age, as long as my core has something inside.

The garden is now on the grounds of the Church of  the World, one of many churches that we visited in our two days. I'd love to say exactly who built this church, but I have been overwhelmed with information and simply cannot remember. That is the way of most of our days in Israel...so much information, facts and data that I went into mental overload. Suffice to say, it was beautiful...and crowded. 

When we walked through the the Dung Gate (so named because in ancient times the dung was removed via this entry) of the old city of Jerusalem, we were right behind a family celebrating a bar mitzvah. Schlomoe explained that bar mitzvahs can only be done on certain days, and Monday is one of those days. We walked into the city in the Jewish Quarter and by the the West Wall, also know as the Wailing Wall. 

I was less moved by the wall itself than by the mass of people who are faithfully praying there. My assumption has always been that the Jews of Israel were all religious, but discovered that only 20% of the population are really practicing their faith. Of them, less than 1/2 are Orthodox. Much of my time in Israel was about smashing my assumptions. 

Old Jerusalem city is broken into quarters.  The Jewish, the Christian, the Muslim and the Armenian quarters are all connected by streets that are congested with shops, shoppers, tourists and pilgrims. In this old city, it seems that everyone is more than tolerant of each other and they live and work in harmony. We walked through all of the quarters, learning about each faith and visiting some their revered holy places. 

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After walking down the crowded Via Delrosa, where tradition holds that Christ carried the cross he was crucified on, we came to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This church was built around the place that is traditionally believed to be where Christ was prepared for burial. With many hundreds of people milling about in the square, and the throngs of faithful inside, I began to back into a corner, just to escape the masses of people. My feelings of faith were replaced by feelings of claustrophobia. And we learned that this was an uncommonly quiet day.  I accept people's need to visit as an affirmation of their faith, but it's just not for me. The entire city is an overload for someone who prefers to sit in quiet solitude. 

Men of Georgia, in their traditional clothing. 

A group of Orthodox Christians from Eritrea, waiting in the square to go inside of the church, touched my heart in ways that no building or historical site ever could. Nearly two hundred of them, from their famished country, have made their way to Jerusalem. We learned that organizations around the world sponsor and pay for the Christians of this war torn, starving country, to do their pilgrimage. Serious, but also laughing and smiling, they waited patiently. As our group left the area, one of the women and I exchanged a loving hand hold and a sharing of God's Peace. Isn't that what this is all about?  

We ended our day at the Kibbutz Ramat Rachel, a beautiful kibbutz that was once outside the city. Jerusalem has grown around the kibbutz and yet they continue to operate in the traditional ways. Well, mostly traditional. They have set up part of their operation as an inexpensive hotel, as have many other kibbutz of Israel. 

Enough rambling. I've written too much already, and said very little.  I will probably return to Israel someday, with a vastly different mindset and time frame. Peace be with you, dear reader and in the days following our return to Hawaii, I'll continue processing my thoughts and feelings. 

Garden of Gethsemane. 

My sweety, on another ancient Roman road. This one in much better shape than what we walked on in Spain.