The cruise allotted two days for the
storied Holy Land; as a one-time student of the New Testament, I was
thrilled at this opportunity, however fleeting. It was enough,
barely, for an interesting taste of very awesome history. Instead of
stamping our passports, the Israelis issued us with short-term visas.
That saved us from being barred future entrance to
inimical Arab states, a customary and appreciated gesture.
From the port of Ashdod
it's a one-hour drive to Jerusalem, everyone in high anticipation.
The name of our guide, who
was very good when we could hear her, escapes me now. She was
well-trained to deal with any challenging or religious-type
questions. If we asked why Jesus' body was commemorated in different
places, or queried dubious tales about the Stations of the Cross, the
answer was always the same: “It’s tradition.” Thereby causing
an earworm in moi for the remainder of the day of Zero Mostel belting
it out in
Fiddler on the Roof.
Our splendid morning
overview saw the city from the heights of Mount Scopus and the Mount
of Olives. Note the view of Jerusalem seemingly surrounded by one big
cemetery; here, Jews and Moslems peacefully share. The golden Dome of
the Rock can be seen ahead on the eastern flank; it was not open for
tourists that day, very disappointing. I, of course, was distracted
by camel men patiently waiting for customers. After that it seemed
abruptly soon for the obligatory stop at an obligatory souvenir shop.
The prices were outrageous: reality tempering some of our
expectations.
From one site to another,
the vehicular traffic that day was horrendous; one can only assume
it's 365 days a year. It's a small miracle we saw so much. Most
memorable was the morning visit to the small Garden of Gethsmane beside the Church of All Nations. Ancient olive trees date back "to
Byzantine times." It was the only spot of peace and quiet the
entire day. A Franciscan monk was gathering olives; he must be quite
accustomed to a constant file of gaping tourists.
Jerusalem
is quartered into Christian, Moslem, Jewish, and Armenian sections.
Among them the holy sites are managed by different religious
organizations or nationalities, not without some difficulties.
We passed the Place
of the Skull, site of the
crucifixion, having variable traditions for its eery name.
Nearby we saw what is believed to be Joseph of Arimathea's tomb where
Jesus was laid. It's within the British-sponsored Garden of the Tomb,
and is a relatively recent archaeological discovery. It was a lovely
place, not too crowded. Unfortunately, our special guide there spoke
in such a low voice she was inaudible to most of us.
In the afternoon we
entered the Old City through the Jaffa gate. We were then well into
the crush. A seething mass of international humanity swarmed outside
the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the traditionally accepted site of
both the crucifixion and where Jesus' body lay for three days. Dozens
of guides with competing voices waved their distinctive markers aloft
as group signals. It's easy to imagine being trampled should some
disaster strike. In the noisy melee, our guide beckoned us to inch
our way into the almost pitch-black interior.
The mosaic portrays the
anointing and burial preparation of the body. Armenian Apostolic,
Greek Orthodox, and Roman Catholic faiths care for shrines within the
site. Everyone wants to touch the Rock of Calvary around which the
church was built. Here, as at most places, emotional Christians were
in various stages of prayer, often blocking the view. No dallying;
you move with your group or you're lost.
Little did we realize that being a Friday, the foot traffic was extra busy. Moslem holy day
meant streams of people heading for the mosques. By late afternoon,
Jewish Shabat was drawing throngs to the Western Wall, our ultimate
destination. We stumbled single file along part of the Via Dolorosa,
unbalanced on one side by overbearing Hasidim racing to the Wall and
jostled on the other side by eager stall owners. Very disappointing
not to have the Stations of the Cross pointed out, or if they were,
not being able to hear our guide - way in front - leading our column.
Glancing at the map in my hand was risky; one unguarded moment and
this surging sea could easily swallow the troupe.
The Via, of course, like
most of the Old City, is built up in layers and the first century AD
was really meters below us, explaining why many sanctuaries and
chapels are underground. References to bits of excavation we saw were
lost in the general hubbub. I managed to spot the 5th Station of the
Cross where Simon the Cyrenian assisted Jesus in carrying the cross.
Here at the Franciscans' earliest chapel is an ancient stone said to
bear the hand print of Jesus. Tradition, I suppose. I have a
Kilroy-was-here moment.
 |
| The Western Wall |
 |
| Outside the gates |
The traffic delays, the
crowds, the pressure to include as many places as possible
inevitably create frustration at being unable to view without
much pause or reflection. And yet, many marvelling flashes at the
amazing panorama of human history! One is always aware of the passage
of often-tumultuous centuries that altered, destroyed, excavated, or
reconstructed the historic memorials. Most definitely I would return
if I could. Having a personal guide would be worth it.
Originally I
planned to include my second day in Israel in this post. Things
tumbled out of hand as my journal sparked memories ―
good, bad, and funny. I enjoyed relating the next one so much in
retrospect, all I can say is come back to read Israel
2011: http://www.camelchaser.blogspot.com/2015/03/israel-2011.html.
Photographs,
BDM November 2011.
©
2015 Brenda Dougall Merriman. All rights reserved.
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