Israel Day 4 - Thursday - Palestinian Bethlehem

We left the hotel early to travel to Bethlehem, which is very near to Jerusalem but in the ‘A zone’, which means it is under full authority of the Palestinians.  They have a municipal government here, and their own police force (albeit, one without guns). In order to get there, we had to pass through a checkpoint, which was like a toll booth but with armed guards.  Americans are welcome, but if an Israeli wants to enter Bethlehem, he or she needs a visa.  We learned that Palestinians also need a visa to get into Jerusalem.  Apparently this doesn’t happen easily or often, but our guide Iyad (ee-YAD), an Arab Palestinian Christian, was able to get a month-long pass over Christmas for religious reasons.

We head into the Aida (ay-EE-da) Refuge Camp first, which is next to the security wall in Bethlehem, and the first thing I notice is the graffiti art.  There are beautiful depictions of pain, resistance, anger, and sadness on the wall. Some are written in English, obviously hoping for a foreign audience.  They say a lot.

Iyad takes the opportunity to remind us about the reason for the existence of the refugee camps; during or as a result of the 1948-9 War, 800,000 Palestinian people were forcibly removed from their homes, often at gunpoint.  Some were promised that they could come back tomorrow, or in a few weeks.  Iyad says, “We were a simple people, a village people.  Then somebody tells us to leave.  Maybe they heard there was a massacre, heard that it might be dangerous, may have left to save themselves or their family.  But it certainly wasn’t voluntarily.”  The people in Aida have come from at least 8 different villages in Jerusalem, Haifa, and other areas.  They lived in tents until the bad winter of 1954.  At that point, the UN built units of concrete, 1 bedroom per family.  

There are 3 refugee camps holding 20,000 people at Bethlehem.  There are 56 refugee camps recognized by the UN, but more that are not recognized. Every refugee has a registration card from the UN, which designates that person eligible for what the future might bring – the right to return, or compensation for their displacement.  This is the stickiest issue in the Israel/Palestinian peace efforts.  In sticking with a 2-state solution, Israel will not be allowing Palestinians to return to Jewish areas of an Israeli state.  And, in my knowledge, compensation has not been discussed.  This issue has the power to halt negotiations and divide the will of the Palestinian Authority, caught in a tug of war between those people who want peace and the refugees still hoping and waiting for recognition of their loss. There has been no progress on this front for decades, and progress is not likely in the foreseeable future.  There are now (as these people have continued with new generations) 6 to 7 million Palestinian refugees from the war; 1.5 million of those people still live in the camps.  Iyad says, “my grandmother used to say – when an Ottoman (Turkish) soldier or a British soldier would walk down the street, those people were definitely scary.  People would run and hide. But the Turks and the Brits never came to replace them [Palestinians].  Now people are coming from all over the world, kicking them out, taking their homes, confiscating their land, taking everything.”  The unfairness is undeniable.
  

Palestinian land is divided into three zones, A, B, and C.  Areas A denote Palestinian cities, and are completely under the Palestinian Authority, like Bethlehem.  Areas B encompass the villages surrounding Palestinian cities, and are governed half by Palestinians and half by Israelis.  The Palestinian Authority handles the bureaucratic administration, and Israel handles security.  Areas C are the countryside – wider, open spaces behind villages that aren’t fully populated. Often this land is farmland or olive groves.  They are completely under the occupation.  The land is still owned, and sometimes worked, by Palestinians, but they are not allowed to build or repair homes, dig wells, or create any major infrastructure.  People have lived in C areas since 1916 with no electricity, no building, and no water or wells.  The C areas account for 60% of the West Bank.  A and B zones comprise 40% of Palestinian Land.  12% of all of Israel is actually zoned as “C”.  

The C zones are where Jewish Settlers plant new housing developments in defiance of Palestinian ownership. (According to our guide Iyad, he's had conversations with Israelis who feel that Palestine can have their cities and villages, and the Jewish Settlers can just absorb all of Area C.  These people usually have no real comprehension of how much of the potential Palestinian state is Area C - 60%). And it would seem that the state of Israel is paving the way for that reality.  The 20-foot high security wall that we are standing next to has been placed, not on the border of Jewish neighborhoods, but kissing distance to the Aida refugee camp and the city of Bethlehem – dividing the territory that is Area C outside of Bethlehem from the actual city of Bethlehem, and making an obstacle for mobility, relationships, and livelihood for the Palestinians living or working there. Israel justifies the wall by pointing to the decrease in suicide bombings.  Iyad, however, says that suicide bombings have decrease because there is growing recognition that “every bombing hurts us; we may be in a good place and it sets us back”.  Rather, standing in front of the wall, Iyad says, “You may call this a security wall, or border wall, or apartheid. I call it an expansion and annexation wall”. 

We spend some time looking through the conditions of the camp – which are pretty flush with trash and run-down. People here are allowed to add 1 room, perhaps two, to the 1-unit concrete block shacks built by the UN.  He shows us the school, whose windows have now been blocked out because it sits too close to the security wall and during skirmishes with the Israeli Army, Israeli soldiers’ bullets were landing in the classrooms.  The teachers have not been paid in the refugee camp for one month.  Last summer the camp went 40 days without water.  Our guides allege this is to ‘pressure’ the Palestinian people.  Camp residents are aware that we are Westerners.  Some tourists drive through Aida on their way to the Church of the Nativity, which is why much of the graffiti is in English. 

We’re met by Marwan, who works with the community through nonviolent means for change.  He points us to a gate with a huge key which is the symbol for Palestinian refugees.  This denotes the key that many of them still hold to a home that no longer exists, one that they were forced to leave in 1948 and never compensated for.  This key has recently returned from a world exhibition in Europe, using art to raise awareness about the Palestinian plight.  Stamped in the middle of the key, it says “Not for Sale”.

Marwan also asks us to notice the clean up – men sweeping and clearing streets - happening from a skirmish the day before.  Apparently, 12 children were playing and threw a rock at the soldiers on guard at the security wall.  The soldiers returned with sound-bombs and teargas, sending the children running.  He says that this is not uncommon, and in fact the children’s games usually involve shooting, arresting and putting friends into concentration camps.  Marwan himself has been arrested and imprisoned 8 times, but in only one of those instances did he see a judge.  The others were called ‘administrative detention’.  One beautiful drawing filling the expanse of the wall depicts 12 Arab men who have been in jail for 20 years.  They were arrested during the first intifada, and although there was supposedly peace declared from the Oslo agreement in 1993, they still have not been released.

As a leader and rabblerouser in the Refugee camps, Marwan is on an Israel watch list.  He told us an anecdote about trying to get a visa to go into Jerusalem so his son could have surgery in a better health facility.  The usual channels had failed, so Marwan called up an old friend who worked security.  The old friend said, “I have pictures of you all over my computer”, indicating how much surveillance he had been under by Israel.  Eventually he was able to get a one-day pass for this surgery.  Marwan says that he works through nonviolent means because he has hope, in his heart, and freedom in his mind, which allows him to continue his work for his children’s sake. 

Over the stairs as we descend

We leave the Refugee camps headed for the Church of the Nativity.  180,000 people live in the District of Bethlehem.  20% of Bethlehem is Christian – Arab Christians that have been living in this land for centuries – and 80% is Muslim.  Bethlehem means, depending on the language, House of bread, flesh, or fertility.  The Church of the Nativity is the oldest church in all of Israel, built in 327 CE.  This because on their sweep across the land, the General in the Persian army was moved by depiction of the Magi in Persian costume in the church and ordered the church spared.  The Syrian, Armenian, Greek Orthodox, and Roman Catholic faiths share this holy space for worship.  Each faith has a service and monastery on the property, and they don’t dare leave it, lest they lose their rights to the holy space.  We descend a flight of stairs – actually struggle with other pilgrims to be allowed to descend the stairs – to find two small areas adorned with the Greek Orthodox abundance of silver and red glass and candlelight.  All of which results in my second biggest realization of the trip – Jesus was born in a cave!

Iyad explains that his family, historically, were shepherds, and they had no trouble understanding what was meant in the scripture when Jesus was “laid in a manger”.

Marking the spot of the Manger in the cave

“And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no guest room for them.  In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people:  to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah,^[a] the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”  Luke 2:7-12

When you are a shepherd in the desert, Iyad says, you keep your animals in caves at night.  There are scarce building materials for stables, but caves are plentiful and cool.  As this evolved, shepherd families came to build rooms outside the caves, where the animals would walk through the front door and directly into the cave, and the family would stay off the to side.  But these were often small rooms with 7, 10, or 12 people in the extended family.   So when a woman is pregnant, does she give birth in the middle of all that cloistered company?  No, she goes down into the cave for some privacy, and gives birth near the animals.  They understood what it meant to ‘lay him in a manger’ because all their women gave birth in caves.

We headed to the Bethlehem Fair Trade Artisans for some fair souvenir shopping before having one of our most meaningful stops of the trip with Sami at the Holy Land Trust.  This peace organization, so named because they aspire to build trust in the Holy Land - a concept sorely lacking in the conflict - and by doing so become better trustees of the land.  Sami, a Palestinian, has his own family tale of loss at the hands of the Israelis.  Instead of letting bitterness direct his life he has started an organization that aims for dialogue and understanding between the two peoples.  In beginning this work, Sami traveled to Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen to see, firsthand, the trauma of the Jewish people, and it deeply affected his approach to his work.  This was the first time we began to talk about the effects of Trauma.  Sami pointed out that fear and trauma still strongly anchored in the Jewish culture, inherited generation after generation, anchors the need to protect Jewish community with strength and desire for exclusivity.  He questioned what is needed in Israeli society – what kind of healing – will allow them to move forward with peace, and how the Holocaust is manipulated to keep people rooted in the horrid memory and allow the past to dictate the decisions about the future.  Sami mentioned that the State of Israel pays for youth group trips to Auschwitz, and while he was there, he overheard the leaders telling the kids; “this is your past, but it is also your present and your future.  This has always happened to the Jews, and will always keep happening.  Safeguard Israel.”

Sami’s organization focuses on creating leadership on both sides that strives to understand the trauma and pain of the other side. The Holy Land Trust also plans demonstrations and has achieved a sort of love/hate relationship with the local Israeli police chief.  They’ve had meetings where the police chief confessed that he respects Sami’s work, even though the chief still shuts down his rallies, at times brutally.  Sami has finally been dropped from the Israeli black list and is able to get visas again.  The Holy Land Trust regularly sends Palestinians to see the concentration camps, and trains people for listening and taking action rather than making opinions.  He made the allegory to football fans – people in the stands are very emotional, very opinionated, and spend a lot of time shouting and yelling, but don’t play the game.  He said there are very different conversations happening on the field.  He challenges – are you in the stands or on the field?  If so, the conversation has to be different.  “If someone has an opinion, we suggest this test: go out and find an evening with no clouds.  Lie on your back, share your opinion, and if any of the stars move – you are right.”

So much of what we talked about the Sami was inspired, from the very heart of a very hot, raw and emotional conflict.  In the end, he said something about working for peace that I loved; “We cannot do everything, and there is liberation in that; because it enables us to do something, and to do it very, very well.”

…

Reflection: Heat

Heat.  It comes down to heat.  It’s a sad fact that Americans use more energy per person than anywhere else on the globe.  Confronted with that fact, most think immediately of oil and the ‘car culture’ of the US.  But the consumption also results from central heat.  We heat our entire buildings, our entire homes – from the basement to the upper floors, whether we are in the rooms or not – and even when we’re not home. It’s incredibly wasteful.  From living in China, I learned that central heating is not a universal practice throughout the world.  It’s a clear indication of quality of life.  But because it is our practice, we become accustomed to being heated from the outside in - even, in this age, making sure our car is preheated before we have to go out on a wintry morning - and have forgotten how to heat ourselves – for example, by wearing layers.

From the beginning of Day 4, the day we spent in Palestinian-governed Bethlehem, we were cold.  In the Aida Refugee Camp, the temperature inside the Community Center was actually colder than it was outside in the sunshine.  The quick baggage and toilet stop at the Holy Land Trust, and later our wonderful relaxing discussion and reflection in the meditation room were surprisingly chilly.  And the homestays, while extremely gracious, had most of us shivering in our beds.  The heated water was so tepid that it was not worth showering.   In contrast, the very first thing I noticed in the beautiful home of Rabbi Aryeh Ben David, in the spacious and clean settlement of Efrat, was the heat.  I sat right on the wall radiator and let my cold cocoon melt away.  As I said, it’s a clear indication of quality of life.  Haunted by our chilly homestay, I asked Ben David if he had contact with Palestinians, or had ever visited a Palestinian town – seeing as he was living in a home and settlement which were technically on Palestinian Land where Palestinians are not allowed.  No.  Ben David met Palestinians who work for him, but has never been in a Palestinian village – in fact, he’s probably not allowed, because Israelis can rarely get visas for Palestinian areas, just as Palestinians are rarely able to enter Israel except for work (and that entails a 2 hour wait at a checkpoint each way).  It’s effective at keeping each group blamelessly ignorant of the disparity in quality of life.

Heat.  Heat can also denote tension, as in ‘the argument got heated’.  Facing the disparities brings this type of heat – the heat of anger.  You cannot listen to Iyad (our Arab Christian Palestinian guide through Bethlehem) explain the refugee situation without heat showing up.  You cannot NOT be angry when you hear about the events of the prior afternoon, when kids threw a rock at Israeli soldiers on the wall, and in return, were tear-gassed and sound-bombed.  Heat is what the kids learn here.  Their children’s games play out the occupation – shooting, arresting, and imprisonment.  It’s no wonder they throw rocks.

Heat is what comes as we listen to Ben David call the removal of Palestinians from land their families lived on for centuries as ‘an historical glitch’, dismiss the Settlers breaking international law because of Arafat’s semantics, and put the responsibility for peace on the oppressed minority to ‘change their curriculum’ and live for 10 years in peace before Israel makes concessions.  This heat, for me, erupted in burning tears of frustration and outrage.

But Sami, Director of the Holy Land Trust, talked about a different way of approaching heat.  As a Palestinian, he discussed his trip to Auschwitz and Bergen, and his hope to really understand the Jewish people’s hurt, and heat - to shed light on their drive to live in the land of Palestine.  He uses the face to face encounters to bring heat out in the open and into dialogue.  In Yoga, yogis instruct you to breath to ‘bring heat into the system’ of your body, allowing your blood to heat up, circulate better, and improve flexibility and health.  That is how I think of Sami’s work - bringing heat into dialogue to try to put out the fire of Israel and Palestine.  Listening with open ears to another’s heat – their painful memories, anger, and sense of betrayal – is difficult and likely gets hot at times.  But bringing in another’s trauma allows us to share heat.  And shared heat, like shared grief in my opinion, dissipates the burn.  

Israel Day 3 – Wednesday – The Desert

The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1947 changed the study of Jewish and Christian religion more than anything in 1000 years, and they were found in the West Bank, a mile inland from the Dead Sea, near the Qumran archeological site.  This was our first destination Wednesday.  In 1947, when a shepherd boy crept into a cave that held ceramic cylinders and, disappointed they only held paper, supposedly used one to patch a hole in his shoe – the world of archeology descended on the area to discover 11 caves surrounding the Qumran settlement holding 900 scrolls. Extensive digs since have discovered writings from an apocalyptic Jewish sect that lived around 134 BCE, possibly until 68 CE, and who wrote down almost everything – probably due to their belief that the end of the world was near. The scrolls hold the entire Hebrew Bible (or Old Testament) and additional texts that were likely left out of the canon. (Everything survives in the desert).  The scrolls also teach us that they were an all-male community that engaged in ritual bathing prior to every meal.  

Even in the midst of this extremely wet winter for Israel/Palestine, standing in the middle of the Qumran archeological dig, all you see is rocky desert and the Dead Sea (which is undrinkable).  Which leads one to ask, how in the world did people live, let alone do ritual daily bathing in this place?  And here is where I become amazed at the human ability to survive. 

Looking up the slope from where the water flows

The Dead Sea is the lowest point on earth, 420 meters (almost 1400 feet) below sea level.  The Qumran site is about 100 miles inland from the Dead Sea, between the mountains and the lake.  (It’s not actually a Sea, nor is it Dead, as our guide Jared liked to say – it only has microscopic life).  During the rainy season in Israel/Palestine, water comes cascading over and through the limestone cliffs and mountains on its way to the lowest point on earth.  Knowing this, the Qumran realized they simply needed a way to collect and store enough water to get through the year.  So first they dug huge cisterns in the earth to hold the water.  Then, they built desert canals to channel the water directly from the mountain into their cisterns.  It’s a natural technological innovation that blows my mind.    

Cisterns at Qumran that caught the water

Water, their most precious resource, must have also become plentiful enough to bathe in regularly.  (Of course, this means wading into a ritual bath, rather than fill, drain and refill a bathtub as we would.)  It makes sense that it would take on a sacred, central role in their community, just as most cultures lift up that which is most scarce (Gold, anyone?).  The tourist video at Qumran tried to make a connection between the practices of this Jewish sect and the newfound practice introduced by John the Baptist.  However, of this, there is no proof.

Leaving Qumran and heading south in the desert, we were invited to climb a fortress into the sky.  (I’m still happy I wimped out and took the cable car.)  We were at Masada, a symbol for Jewish heroism and a frequent pilgrimage of Jewish youth groups from all across Israel.

A little history (aka let’s see if I can get this right): approximately 200 years before Christ, the Jews in Judea were living under rule one of the (oppressive) Hellenistic Empires.  In 167 BCE, the Maccabees revolted and won independence over Jerusalem, which lasted for about 25 years. During that time, the rulers (otherwise called the Hasmonean Dynasty) recognized the continued threat of the Hellenistic Empire and it’s enemies.  They needed a plan in case of a future attack.  Where would be the best place for a resourceful ruling family to escape to in order to safeguard their lineage?  To the desert, of course.  They looked for a location approximately one day’s journey from Jerusalem where they could hide and marshal themselves to return and regain their city.  They found Masada, which literally means ‘fortress’ - a lone mountain in the desert.  The Hasmoneans built a refuge and a path up the mountain, and stored enough wares there to supply them in time of need. Over 100 years later, as warring empires were collapsing to the Romans, Herod the Great (and he was a great political strategist) sold out the Hasmonean dynasty and managed to secure governorship over Judea as a client-state of Rome.  Knowing about the fortress, Herod had the same idea – only it had to be done in Herodian style.  He returned to Masada (doubtless with thousands of slaves) and built an entire city upon the mountain, complete with two palaces, agricultural space, Roman bath houses, and a system to manipulate and collect water.  And this is the best part; just like the Qumran, Herod recognized the flow of water off the other mountains, and built a canal directing the water flow into hollowed out cisterns half way up Masada.  This way, should he ever be attacked, no one living on Masada would have to leave the mountain to get water.  It was virtually impenetrable.  (The construction of at least one of the palaces is thought to be for intimidation, as it literally hung off the cliff of the mountain facing Jerusalem and would denote the majestic power of it’s inhabitants.  But there’s no explanation for why Herod needed a second palace, or a bathhouse for that matter.  But that’s the Herodian style – grand excess).

Model of Herod's Palace that faced Jerusalem

The visible squares are actually remains of the rock walls of the Roman siege

By mid-first century (60ish CE), unrest was growing for the Jews in Jerusalem.  They would soon revolt against the Roman Empire, the Romans would burn the temple to the ground, and many Jewish sects decided to leave Jerusalem while they still could.  One sect took up residence at the top of Masada, and lived there until 73 CE when the Roman army was intent on stamping out all the Jewish people of the land.  The Roman army arrived at Masada, probably with 5000 slaves and soldiers, and set up a ring and several encampments at the base of the mountain, which can still be seen today.  (Like I said, everything survives in the desert!)  After probably months of waiting, the Romans realized that those on top of Masada were not coming down, but they couldn’t fight a battle upwards.  So they set about building a ramp and a huge battering ram that would bust the entrance of Masada.  After weeks of preparation, they pushed a huge structure up a huge hill and succeeded in breeching the door in the middle of the night, but Masada’s inhabitants had set fire and the Roman army fled their wooden contraption to safety, content that they would enter the premises in the morning and take the population as slaves.  When they charged in the morning, however, according to Josephus Flavius in his account of The Jewish Wars, all they found were the remains of mass suicide.  Legend has it that Masada’s community leaders gave a speech asking if the men of the community would rather have their women and children dead, or abused as slaves to the Romans.  The decision must have been unanimous – men left the circle to give their families a fatal last hug, and then returned to complete the mission by killing eachother.  The last man had to fall on his own sword.

The Roman-built ramp up the side of Masada

There is discrepancy between the account given by Josephus Flavius and archeological finds; there were in fact scrolls and evidence of Jewish life found on Masada.  There weren’t, however, enough skeletons found either on Masada or at the foot of the mountain (if the Romans would have thrown them over the wall as was their custom) to validate the tale of Josephus.

The legend of Masada has, however, taken on a life of it’s own, as a tribute to Jewish bravery and resistance as has become important in the modern age (more on this later).  In addition to youth trips, for decades the Israeli army held their graduation ceremonies atop Masada.  The small number of bodily remains that were found at Masada were exhumed and carried into Jerusalem for burial in a military-style parade.  This practice has stopped in recent years, perhaps as Israeli society begins to look more critically at the nobility of self-sacrifice as bravery.  But it has provided a beacon of Jewish history for the newborn state.

From desert to water, we went north to the Ein Gedi Nature Preserve.  Biblical scholars believe here is where David hid from King Saul’s hunt for him. (1 Samuel 24). But as God would have it, (so says scripture), King Saul stepped into the cave where David was hiding with his men to relieve himself.  David, unnoticed, cut off some of his robe, but declined to let his men attack.  As Saul left the cave, David proved to Saul that he could have taken his life, but that he did not because he is loyal.  And with this, King Saul ceased his hunt for David. 

The Ein Gedi is a beautiful, bouldered cliffside made of limestone.  Here, too, water runs through and down the rock, but it is a constant flow.  We hiked into the park, toward the source of the waterfall, learning about the Acacia tree, specifically adapted with low branches and tiny leaves for desert weather, it’s predator the hyrax (resembling a cross between a ferret and a opossum, but apparently closest related genealogically to the elephant) and the amazing mountain goat called Ibex. 

Our final destination was to test the salt in the Dead Sea.  The Dead Sea marks the border between Jordan and Israel, but it is actually shrinking year by year. (The media campaign slogan is, “Is the Dead Sea dying?”)  The mining industry, interested in the wealth of minerals below the sea, drains portions to speed evaporation.  This industry utilized by both Israel and Jordan. (In fact, Israel’s treaty with Jordan included an agreement to share technology to allow Jordan to start an industry).  Jared suggested that we would find wounds on our bodies that we didn’t know were there once submerged in the salty water, and had even advised us against shaving (anything) 24 hours beforehand.  The buoyancy of the Dead Sea is somewhat astounding – it takes an act of will to push your feet into the water and stay in an upright position. But you best keep your mouth, eyes and ears closed – the salt is no joke.  As we emerged from the water, salt that had splashed onto our faces dried in white splotches across our cheeks, and clothing that soaked up the salt became crusty and stiff.

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Reflection: Water

Jerusalem sits on a ridge at the crux of two valleys.  Although I’ve learned this in my CTS classes on Hebrew bible, I doubt it ever stuck by looking at a map.  It is situated on a mountain ridge – a very defensible position with a clear view of any approaching enemy from the east, south or west.  And – one last crucial determinant – it sits near a natural spring.

Water in the desert.  The determining factor in all human affairs; do we have access to water?  Can we rely on it, manipulate it, grow from it?  Can we protect it? (And these days, can we preserve it?) Will we be attacked for it – or will it be used against us in a siege?  In our first days in Jerusalem, the role of water became clear.  Jerusalem was likely founded because of it.  The Ancient Hebrew King Hezekiah spent years crafting a tunnel to protect access to it.  The people at Qumran bathed in it for ritual cleansing before every meal – and devised ways to catch and store it in the desert.  King Herod manipulated that technology to divert it to his mountain fortress, capturing it before it became useless in the Dead Sea.

Water means life.  Water gives life and supports life. Is it any surprise it became integrated with primal importance into our religions?  Water can also take away life.  Water absolves, and water dissolves.  Water leeches the material of whatever it collects.  In the Dead Sea, at the bottom of a desert valley 400 meters below sea level – the lowest place on earth the heavy rains come cascading down and through the limestone mountains and eventually rest on a huge mineral deposit.  From this location, there is nowhere for the water to go.  So it leeches and becomes saturated with the salt that all but prevents life, except that of tiny microorganisms. 

Today I heard about water that was at the beginning – a story from Samuel about King Saul, in his hunt to kill the future King David, coming to the Ein Gedi Oasis (water in a desert) and stumbling upon David and his men in a cave. As we hiked up the Ein Gedi boulders and ridges, and watched the fresh water bleed out of limestone rocks and cascade down cliffs, I know why David was hiding in these caves.  And as I submerged half my body in a basin to touch the source of the waterfall in the Gedi – the beginning – I thought about how this water would be corralled, diverted, collected and manipulated to support so many of the Jewish ancestors and desert peoples.  Knowing this water, just like that which flowed in King Hezekiah’s tunnel dug under the old city of Jerusalem to sustain the people in wartime, and that which flowed into the Masada Mountain Fortress for King Herod – was flowing in exactly the same way it did 3000 years ago gave me the connection that transcended space and time. 

Water from the beginning of my religious history.  Water at the end. Later, while floating buoyantly in the Dead Sea with most of my classmates, I thought about how this body of water marks the end of water’s journey in the Judean desert. The Desert peoples had to seize the water before it became useless – and salty – by joining the Dead Sea.  On humans, salt burns, and salt heals.  But it signifies the end of sustaining human life. Stranded in the desert, this body of water might seem like the answer, but in fact would be a curse.  Water at the end of its journey.  In the same day, we had journeyed from the place where water gave life to our people, to the place where it could take it away. 

Israel, Day 2 – Tuesday – Spiritual Jerusalem

After learning much of the structural and archeological history of Jerusalem, on Tuesday we set out to discover the spiritual side – for all three monotheistic religions.  We headed out to the Haas Promenade on the Mount of Olives – so named because it used to be covered with olive groves - which is where Jews have been buried since biblical times based on scripture that says resurrection will begin from the hilltop east of Jerusalem.  Jews from all over the world and all of history are buried here; some pay huge amounts of money to have their body sent here after death. When the messiah comes, Jews believe he(she?) will come down the Mount of Olives to enter Jerusalem through the Eastern Gate, and those closest to the top will be the first to be resurrected.  Interestingly, on the opposite ridge you can see a Muslim cemetery and the Eastern Gate (also known as the Golden Gate, Gate of Eternal Life, and Gate of Mercy – and supposedly the gate through which Jesus entered Jerusalem), which has been blocked by Suleiman the Magnificent, an Ottoman Sultan, possibly for defensive reasons.  However, there’s an interesting tale of apocalyptic strategery here; legend has it that Suleiman placed the cemetery in front of the gate because the messenger Elijah who precedes the Messiah, as a high priest, will be unable to walk through a cemetery, and therefore the Messiah will not come.  Or, perhaps Muslims who chose to be buried there wanted to make sure they could take part in the Jewish resurrection as well.  So there are two dueling cemeteries on opposite ridges of the same valley.   

True to my activist nature, I found myself hooked by the Dominus Flevit Church (Latin for “the Lord Wept”), which is placed behind the spot where it is thought that Jesus stood and said,

View from inside the Dominus Flevit Church

“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!  See! Your house is left to you desolate; for I say to you, you shall see Me no more till you say, ‘Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!’”  Matthew 23:37-39

He was lamenting the broken present and future of the city that he loved and despaired for.  At that moment, overlooking the old city, I realized I found that very comforting about Jesus.  It’s very close to what we organizers and everyday prophets feel as well.  And, like the words of prophets, it stays relevant over millennia.

As we made our way down from the Mount of Olives, Dr. Mikva gave me the opportunity to purge a bit of what had been weighing on my heart – my guardedness - and jostle it to the side just enough to let the Garden of Gethsemane hit me in the gut.  From my trip to Turkey four years ago, I know how strange and wonderful it can be to recognize the similar foods eaten by people of Jesus’ time.  That type of visualization of the landscape and the diet - the continuity and connection - is so powerful, and so different from how we exist in America.  And it’s the kind of power that surprises you because it comes as a revelation rather than anticipation.  Since that time, or at least for several months, I’ve had this unspoken eagerness to get a first hand look at an olive tree.  I had learned in my studies about Palestine – one in which Israeli tanks were plowing up an olive grove on Palestinian land - that olive trees live an incredibly long time – like thousands of years.  Then, as we enter a nondescript courtyard, Jared tells us that Gethsemane literally means ‘oil press’, and that the Garden where Jesus spent his last few hours and was betrayed was a grove of olives, perhaps the very one we were standing in.  And, since olive trees are capable of living not hundreds, but thousands of years, the connection to our shared past was palpable.   

Off the courtyard is the entrance to the Church of All Nations, in my opinion the most beautiful Church in all of Israel.  Built in 1920 (the remains of two other churches were found below during building), every surface is covered with mosaic or stained glass.  The church was funded by donations from many countries, and the symbol of those countries are integrated into the ceiling and mosaics.  The entry door itself is set aglow in the morning light. 

The Southern Corner of the Western Wall

We leave Christianity for a moment and arrive at the stairs to Herod’s Temple Mount – the massive structure that was built as a platform for the Second Temple in Judaism (built in 18 BCE).  In Jewish practice at that time, followers would visit the temple at least once a year to give a ritual sacrifice.  But the old temple was the highest point on a steep holy hillside, and would leave lines of people leaning and waiting on uneven ground for their opportunity to visit the temple.  King Herod, with his complex of grandiosity (more about that tomorrow), decided to build a new temple with a wide, flat floor the size of multiple football fields that would accommodate the pilgrims in comfort.  This is interesting when you learn that Herod himself was Jewish, probably recently converted, but also appointed by the Roman Army to govern Judea and the Jews.  So Herod was likely ingratiating himself with the locals with this construction. The lane outside the wall becomes Jerusalem’s main street. Markets surround the outside of the temple, allowing Jews from all nations to exchange their money for shekels in order to purchase the sacrifice they need to make, as well as other wares that travelers enjoy.  There are possibly even some of these market places within the temple gates (yes, these are the ‘moneychangers’ Jesus calls ‘den of thieves’).  It was an architectural marvel of incredible proportions, with some blocks measuring 45 feet long (45 x 4 x 4 probably) – carved out from tunnels chiseled into perfect framed squares that is the signature of Herod’s work.

Around the corner, the excavations of a huge wall extend before our eyes.  This wall, the Western wall of Herod’s Temple Mount, is essentially the same wall as the Wailing Wall, which is just beyond an earthen encampment.  There were so many societies conquering and re-conquering Jerusalem in history that when building, many of the new residents will just add on to existing walls of buildings destroyed by the last conquest.  In this way, the Western Wall of Herod’s temple has been holding up various residences and buildings for centuries.  But in the 1800’s, a portion of the wall became exposed, and Jewish pilgrims looking for some sort of connection to the land began to visit it.  Word spread, and it became a sort of holy place.  Now, Jews from all over the world, or those who live in Israel, visit the wall to pray and leave prayers in the wall.  Prayer sections are divided between men and women, in respect for the Ultra Orthodox Jewish tradition of men and women not praying together.

Onto Islam, we gain access to the Temple Mount for the short 1 hour that non-Muslims are allowed to visit.  Last seen from the Mount of Olives, the Dome of the Rock guards a place that is holy for all three religions, and is covered with Arabic calligraphy.  Under is believed to be Mt. Moriah, the site where Abraham took his son Isaac, on God’s command, to be sacrificed.  The golden dome covers the rock from which the prophet Mohammed (peace be upon him) ascended into heaven.  The fact that central religious events in all three Abrahamic religions repeatedly happen in the same place gives one pause, I think.

 The Old City also contains the Via Delarosa, the walk that Jesus took through Jerusalem carrying the cross – otherwise known as the Stations of the Cross.  We join Via Delarosa, stopping at the station where a woman stopped to wipe Jesus’ face with a cloth, denoted by a Roman numeral on the wall.  

 

Eventually we come to the last station, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (Tomb), built over the very place Jesus was crucified and resurrected (so they think. Of course, there is also a concrete slab where Jesus was anointed after death, and the location of the tomb, all conveniently located under one roof and available to be toured). 

An interesting aspect to diversity in Jerusalem is who of the Christian sects gets or splits control over the holy sites.  The Greek Orthodox Church is actually the largest landowner in all of Israel, as a result of their alliance with the Ottoman Empire centuries ago.  Their mark is evident in the heavy, ornate, decadent silver and gold décor present at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and many other sites.  However, the 3 other Christian groups are able to claim space (for both worship and monastery housing) at on this holy site, including the Roman Catholic and Ethiopian Christian Church.  Protestant Christian groups have no claim to this site, and in fact, have established a different site elsewhere in Jerusalem called the Garden Tomb, where they claim Jesus was buried and resurrected.  After climbing narrow stairs to witness the rock, we exit to see the slab and circle around the tomb, where once a year a candle is lit by the divine and that fire is carried out into the world.

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Reflection: Olive Trees

Contracting and Expanding.  The trunks of olive trees appear huge, twisty, gnarled and unsightly, even hollow. They are like nothing I’ve ever seen before.  But that unsightly form is, like all of nature and life, pure function.  Olive trees hold water in their trunks and proliferate only in deserts – in fact they are one of the 7 species native to Israel/Palestine.  The trunks expand to fill with water to get them through the dry season, and can contract over time.  Through this process, the trunks become a knotted, gnarled, enchanted looking thing. 

Standing in the Garden of Gethsemane today – ‘Gethsemane’, where Jesus went to pray and think before the betrayal and scolded his disciples for sleeping –we learned ‘gethsemane’ literally means “oil press” and is filled with olive trees.  I had subconsciously been looking forward to spotting an olive tree during my time in this place where olives come from –which is just about my favorite food. Surrounded by these trees, this new revelation brought Jesus front and center –connected me in a very real, tangible way to this ancient tale from 2000 years ago. I have fully moved, for the moment, from the political and justice issues blocking wonder and have been completely immersed in the incredible archeological world we saw today.  Expanding and Contracting. 

Contracting and Expanding, like our impressions of Israel and Palestine.  Contracting from our reading and research in preparation for the trip, with the false sense of ‘knowingness’ that academia gives us all.  Expanding as we look with new eyes at the life – integrated, functional, collaborative and present with us as we walk the streets.  Expanding as we are overfed with religious symbols and landmarks and incredible archeology.  Expanding to include how this land has so many meanings for so many different types of people; Orthodox Jews, Coptic Christians, native Muslims, Jewish Youth, Armenian Christians, Greek Orthodox, displaced Palestinians, Western Christians, and homebound Jews. I’ve noticed how our guide, Jared, greets every long lost friend – whether it be Rabbi Mikva or Seminarian Fransisco Herrera, with “Welcome Home.”  Expanding the idea of ‘home’ – is this sacred land ‘home’ for all?

Expanding and Contracting – like our faith over the years.  Like ourselves.  Like our desire for theological discovery, our capacity for belief, our sense of the spirit at different times in our lives.  Our ability to rely on God, our humility to call out for help, our sense of grace.  Contracting and Expanding, adjusting to the times we need to be fed, the times we are well watered, the wet and the dry seasons of our lives.  Note the wisdom of the olive tree.  Jared mentioned that scientists recently traced an olive tree that has been alive for 6000 years.  Expanding and Contracting.  

Israel, Day 1 – Monday, January 14th - Jerusalem

Today was a day of orientation and touring of Jerusalem, which, in this country, means archeology – and lots of it.  We remarked later that it was like overconsumption of archeological and religious artifacts.  The truth is, in Jerusalem, it is very difficult to throw a stone and not hit something (if you can avoid hitting someone – it is very dense) without some historical, religious, or political significance.  This is exponentially more true in the Old City.

The streets of Jerusalem are a bit chaotic, with pedestrians, some very intolerant drivers, and trams that whiz through the streets intermittently.  You learn quickly to reverence the traffic signals. The first thing us Chicago flatlanders noticed were the hills. For some reason, that never sinks in until you are hiking continually up, huffing and puffing, for 10 or 15 minutes.  We know from biblical sources that the Judean people lived in the hilltops and highlands.  But it’s not until you are here, looking at the panorama of layered houses and buildings, that you understand.  And when you stand at a lookout point across a wide valley and realize a few hours ago, you were standing on the opposite ridge, it’s both humbling and powerful. 

Our guide, Jared, stopped us just past a major thoroughfare to point out that we had just crossed the Green Line, or basically the hypothetical line that was drawn when fighting between those intent on a Jewish state and the native population of Arabs came to an end in 1948.  It is the defacto border between West Jerusalem, which is officially in the state of Israel, and East Jerusalem, which is technically part of the state of Palestine (if there were such a thing).  The line is hypothetical because 20 years later, Israel responded to allied coordination of bordering Arab countries with superior military might and managed to capture much more territory than the UN recognizes based on the 1949 peace agreement.  This is how Gaza, Golan Heights, and the West Bank came to be under Israeli occupation.  Stopping here, at the Green Line, was noteworthy because it was not.  Not tense, not guarded, not anything like what you expect when you hear ‘Israel Palestinian border’.  There are remnant bullet holes in the buildings, but those are from long ago.

And then, suddenly, you are in magic bible land that has everything you’ve ever heard or read about in scripture right there in front of you, and you can touch it. And it’s surreal and unbelievable.  They say the most recent wall in Jerusalem is ‘only’ 500 years old.  After many incredible views of the walls and topography, you never quite get used to the sight of the valley stretching from Wi-Fi and fast food to third world poverty on the Palestinian side.  Or the prevalence of the archeological digs that may or may not prove the City of David exists, may or may not prove Jews originated from that spot, but may NOT be stopped because any pause in the digging might lead to land disputes, supreme court cases, and questions about whether the digging will resume.  And, the project may be funded by the Christian Right.

While you can doubt whether this particular ruin, dug under Palestinian homes in East Jerusalem, actually ever held the Davidic genealogical line (there is debate among archeologists about whether any of the evidence verifies even the existence of this dynasty), you cannot ignore the true antiquity of the structure.  We learn about the ancient King, Hezekiah (1000 BCE), who built the town walls and fortified the area, waiting for attack.  You see, Jerusalem is prime ancient real estate.  In the desert hills of the Ancient Near East, any people looking for a home need, first and foremost, a water source. Jerusalem is set upon a ridge at the base of two valleys – therefore easily defendable on three sides – and located right next to an underground spring.  Knowing that the Ancient warring Assyrians would, sooner or later, arrive to take the ancient city, King Hezekiah strategized to avoid surrender, and millennia later, we get to learn his strategy through the lens of archeology.  To be sure to protect his people and his water source, Hezekiah set about digging a tunnel from the spring, under his wall and entire city, digging it on just a slight slope so the water would flow naturally through the tunnel into the town’s cistern and save the city in a siege.  In fact, there is mention in the Assyrians’ history of amassing outside of a Judean town, but departing without gaining access.

 

3000 years later, the tunnel is still flowing with water.  We walked the 1800 feet of wet darkness with flashlights, water shoes, and, honestly, moments of panic on my part.  You could feel where the pick axes dug into the walls, and the abrupt turns where they were trying to make both ends of the tunnel meet in the middle, dozens of meters under ground. (How did they manage to dig this tunnel?  The only theory is that they managed to determine their direction by noise through limestone– banging on the walls, yelling to each other when the tunnels got near, and perhaps being guided by someone above ground, pounding on the earth along the city wall).   

Don't I look panicked?

Jerusalem’s ‘Old City’ denotes not the ‘City of David’ that’s being excavated, but the walled-in portion of the city in East Jerusalem that existed for centuries through Ottoman Rule and holds most of the monotheistic religion’s holy sites.  The Old City has 4 (not equal) quarters; a Jewish, Christian, Muslim, and Armenian Quarter, noted for the concentration of each ethnicity living in each section.  (Armenians, just FYI, have been in Jerusalem since the first century and converted to Christianity in 286 CE, and have claimed a portion of Jerusalem ever since.)  We walked quickly through the market (‘schuk’ in Hebrew or ‘suk’ in Arabic) to a majestic structure shown on maps as David’s Citadel.  This was the northwest corner of the Old City, (within the city walls), which in ancient times was the weakest position (all the other walls were surrounded by steep cliffs).  King Hezekiah may have been the first to try to fortify this corner with extra towers and height; the Jewish Hasmonean Dynasty added walls, but King Herod added 3 massive towers and additions about 30 years before the turn of the century – and so it’s more aptly called Herod’s Castle.  (It was named ‘David’s Citadel’ by Byzantine Christians, but it echoes the modern tendency in Jerusalem to name all things ‘David’ – from the ‘City of David’ excavation site to streets, hotels and bridges – partly in hopes to validate both the Jewish state and to reinforce tourism for modern-day Christians). 

It was impossible not to be transfixed and transported by Herod’s Castle at night, backlit and enchanted by projections and soundtracks.  We went to see an artistic lightshow depicting the history of Jerusalem, described as an interesting juxtaposition of modern the modern with the ancient, but the experience started before we even entered the gate.  The path to descend to the stage ringed the walls of the tower, and as we turned each corner, every shadow, wall, and crevice provided a new kind of beauty and mystery.  The creators pulled liberally from structural artists, graphic artists, and other gifted people.  Music seemed to rise up from the stones themselves.  It was truly enchanting.  When the show began, the overwhelming, saturating magnificence of both the historical setting, beauty, and talent of the art surrounding you was astonishing.

We were not supposed to take pictures of the lightshow, and I assumed that meant after we were seated, so I tried to capture some of the setting on the walk into the show.  (I may owe an apology to the venue’s authorities).  But, the pictures don’t come close to capturing the experience.  If you are ever in Jerusalem, this light show is a must-see.  It’s also an interesting mix of Jewish and Jerusalem history, ending in a declaration of the state of Israel.  The art featured in the lightshow depicts Jewish periods like Israelite prosperity, Babylonian Exile, destruction of the temple, and Roman occupation; also Byzantine Christianity, Mohammed’s Night Journey, the fire and horror of the Crusader period, and the Ottoman Empire.  At the very end, out of a dark blue background with triumphal music comes a 7-candle Menorah emerging steadily and proudly until it is larger than life.  With that, the words ‘pray for peace in Jerusalem’ emerge in Hebrew, English and Arabic.  Hours after learning about the multitude of religious and ethnic diversity found in the Old City of Jerusalem, and sitting in what was supposed to be, back in 1948, Palestinian-governed East Jerusalem, the last projection left me with an a stark impression of propaganda.

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Reflection: On Guard

While everything we learned today – geography and topography, high walls, deep water tunnels - echoed how ancient Jerusalem attempted to guard itself from attack from other empires, I found myself on guard towards the experience of Israel.  I have a strong tendency to favor the underdog – a tendency, a gift, a passion and a curse that has had a huge effect on my life, sending me into organizing, then to Seminary, and to be interested in Israel.  And in this context, I arrive in Israel with the strong impression that Palestine is an underdog and Israel is a bully.  I didn’t sign up for this class to see holy sites per se, but to understand this foreign conflict, which mesmerizes the whole world.  And from what I’ve learned, my deep well of righteous anger is burning for the Palestinian exiles, refugees and citizens in the state of Israel. Upon arrival in Israel, I am having trouble finding the excitement, summoning the friendliness and compassion, rendering the respect and deference I prefer to have when I go abroad.  While there were armed guards as we passed through the ancient gates, it was much more peaceful and collaborative than I expected after our reading and research.  We could walk on residential streets, from East to West Jerusalem without much notice except nicer homes (and a security guard with a radio in his ear announcing our approach).

First View of Palestinian homes in East Jerusalem

I kept analyzing faces, wondering if Palestinians around us (and I can’t pretend that I know who is Palestinian and who is not, other than the presence of an American accent or a kippah) were resentful of the presence of these American tourists with a Jewish guide.  I kept wondering what they were thinking.  In every section of Jared’s educational talks, I’m watching for evidence of Nationalism or Palestinian sympathy.  While I don’t doubt his character, or that our CTS professors would ever allow us to tour Israel with a (heavily) biased guide, I’m still on guard. Most places I look, I see injustice. I don’t know how one sits back and allows some stuff.  Why are the Jewish areas so nice and the Palestinian side so run down?  There is no doubt about the economic disparity between both sides.  Yet, I read an editorial on the plane about Israel withholding $100 million in tax revenue due to the Palestinian Authority in retaliation for the PA success in being recognized as an EU non-voting member – a vicious abuse of power in blatant form.  Israel says it wants peace, but when Palestine has a diplomatic, peaceful success, Israel punishes them for that, too? I noticed the darker skinned men doing landscaping and hawking bagels along the route – not unlike our racial divisions and labor roles in America; the darker the skin, the harder the work.  I saw several Palestinians begging today (preying on gullible tourists, I know) but was still afflicted with immense guilt about my immense wealth in the face of their situation.  When Jared said, regarding the 4 quarters, “Palestinians live on top of one another…but they like it that way” I couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Seriously? Are you sure they are not just desperate?’ I don’t know what to be mad about – but I’m guarded, not as able to get excited about my surroundings.

All this brings me to our final event of the evening, the light show at Herod’s castle.  First of all, the name ‘Herod’ conjures up images of Jesus Christ Superstar, as our hero is dragged in front of a gluttonous king who could pardon his fate, but cared not.  (Although I understand now that it was likely Herod the 2^nd who interacted with Jesus, I didn’t know that at the time.)  Sitting in the midst of ‘Herod’s Castle’ was as astonishing as the way the art brought it to life.  The light and shadow, beauty and mystery, ancient and modern made it nearly a holy experience.  That is, until the last frame. I was still confused, as the film was concluding, not to see any direct homage to Jesus’ experience in Jerusalem – since it seemed as though the film was marking the significant and worldly history of the city.  But when the Menorah appeared, alone, with brazenly triumphant music and continued to enlarge – alone – to symbolize Jerusalem today, the experience turned sour for me.  It wasn’t images of Jewish life and tolerance in a modern age, or depictions of the life lived there now. Moreso, it was simply the Menorah as sort of a Messianic crown.  It felt like, “and now we victorious and amazing Jews have Jerusalem” – without any reference to the 27,000 Muslims we just learned live in the Muslim quarter, or the Christian or Armenian presence.  I kept holding my breath, waiting for some acknowledgment – perhaps a smaller Crescent Moon, or Coptic Cross in the background – of the religious diversity of modern Jerusalem.  Rather, it seemed to ignore their presence and be homage to Nationalism.  Then, finally when something did appear, it was ‘pray for peace in Jerusalem’ – as if Israel was not part of the problem, but helpless victims in the conflict.  Obviously crafted for Israel tourists, it left a very sour taste in my mouth.