My last day in Jerusalem

The last day in Jerusalem began at the site of the Upper Room. As we looked at the architecture from the 13^th century and though of what happened on that site before the Crusades, I was moved by two things. First, of course, was the fact that Jesus ate his last meal with His disciples at that spot 2000 years ago on the night before He was betrayed. The second thing, striking even more poignantly for me, was that it was that we were standing on the spot where Pentecost occurred. The first spot where people were baptized, not only with water but in the Holy Spirit. The spot where tongues of fire were on their heads and each man spoke in a tongue he did not know, and everyone else understood in their own language. It was the place and time where more people were baptized as believers at a single event than any other time in Biblical history. Standing in the place where people experienced the power of the Holy Spirit for the first time was more than humbling, I could not help but to thank God for bringing me to that place.

From there, the rest of the group went to walk through the old city, but our guide, knowing my desire to connect with the culture, sent me on to the Dung Gate with our driver. It was the last day of Chanukah and a very special day for Bar mitzva at the Western Wall. Families and friends of the boy gathered in a courtyard down the hill, near the Dung Gate. With singing and dancing, drums and shofar they made their way to the Western Wall where the young man received his four corners and read the Torah from a large scroll in an ornate case. It was beautiful.

In contrast, along their route, beggars sat shaking the few shekels in their cups; Passers-by were generous to give these widows a few shekels. Along the street children played with their siblings, Tossing candy to one another and chasing each other in games of tag and wrestling. Watchful mothers stepped in only when the wrestling became too raucous. Children are children in any language and a baby’s tired cry is identical, however, there is a difference in the children in Israel. I did not see them argue with their parents when they were corrected. If their mother said it was time to go, they went without question. These children have an element of respect for their elders and a joy in each moment of living. It was beautiful to watch them, knowing they understand the history of their beloved homeland.

Quietly surveying every moment of the morning, two Israeli soldiers stood by. Their guns were at the ready, but their young faces said they hoped to not see danger in the city. Each Israeli citizen spends time in the armed forces for their country. Boys at 18 will serve for 3 years. Girls for a year and a half.

Following one of the many Bar mitzva I walked up to the Western Wall. The Wailing Wall as some call it. The men’s side was full of the most religious Jewish men. The women’s side is smaller, and much less full. However many women waited with their children for the men to finish prayers. I thought I would want to go to the wall and put a written prayer in it. I didn’t. Watching from a distance was close enough for me.

I went back to the gate to wait for my friends. Soon they came from their walk through the old city. I was so full of joy from being around such a beautiful people. They were mostly worn out from the pace of their tour. I was thankful Tsion suggested I use my time differently.

We gathered at the Robinson Archeological Park for the next leg of our tour. After watching a film about the temple in the days of Jesus, we went to the recently excavated steps of the temple. Many of the steps have been repaired or replaced with dolomite stone, (the same material as the original construction), but there are seven steps toward the bottom that are original. Steps that Jesus or the Jews of His day would have certainly walked on to reach the Temple.

Unfortunately most of the temple gates have been sealed off by other eras but you can still see the arches that were once the doorway to bring the sacrifice to God. Inside that place was once the Holy of Holies.

Our time in Israel was drawing short and we still had many things to see. We headed back toward the Western wall and then up the hill toward the Via Dolorosa where we would have lunch, in the Shuk. Muslim Arab shopkeepers line the way of the cross. Their shops are filled with everything you can imagine, including Christian and Jewish souvenirs. Rosaries, Menorah, Star of David, Crosses with the name of Jesus etched into Olive Wood. On the Via Dolorosa these peaceful Muslims capitalize on religions they consider false. It reminded me of the shops in Tijuana, Mexico, with the men standing outside trying to lure tourist in to spend money. Their thick, Middle Eastern accents could easily be compared to the broken English of the towns bordering the U.S.

Halfway up the climb through the streets of the Shuk we arrived at an Arabian style restaurant for lunch. Pita and salad started our meal. The menu offerings included Humus and Falafel, Shwarma, Kabob and a sort of sesame chicken schnitzel. By the recommendation of a friend from High School, I ordered the Shwarma, grilled chicken chopped up with some spices and fresh vegetables. It was very delicious, especially in pita with pickled cabbage and tubule.

After lunch, we continued our climb through the streets where Jesus carried the cross of Calvary. There are a lot of steps there and the Dolomite is slick from centuries of footsteps. While this construction may not be the original, it is still at least 7 or 8 centuries old and the terrain is the same as it was in the time of Jesus. As we continued to walk I thought of how hard that walk would have been with a 300 pound cross on your back, especially with blood and sweat dripping from your body, making the stone slick and difficult to maneuver. Stopping at each station of the Cross and listening to the part of the story represented by each one, it was impossible not to feel sorrow mixed with gratitude that Christ loves ME enough that he would walk that road.

Finally at the top of the Via Dolorosa, we stepped through a gate into a churchyard. It was non-descript and not what I expected at all. Our guide told us this was the Ethiopian Catholic church; the door was about 5 feet tall. After ducking through it, the ceilings were like that of a cathedral. The Ethiopian church was small and dark. Only candle light and some sunlight streaming through high windows eliminated the pathway.

We exited the little church and entered the courtyard of the most Holy Catholic site. The church of the Holy Sepulcher, the spot where most Catholic believers say Jesus was buried before the resurrection. The inside is ornate and crowds fill the altars hoping to be blessed by the priest there.  I took a few pictures, but my priority at this site was personal. The week I spent in Israel, my good friend spent saying good-bye to her mother. I needed to light a candle in this place for her. Mimi Warnock passed away this week. Not being in the states there was little I could do for my friend, but I could light a candle in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in her honor and I could pray there for them. Being able to do such a thing for my friend was a wonderful honor. Please continue to pray for Heather and her family as they enter the Christmas Season without their dear Mimi.

Exhausted from a wonderful week in the Holy Land, a few of us headed back to the hotel to pack and prepare to say goodbye to a country that will forever be etched on our hearts.

Shalom Israel!