Jun 7, 2010

Arriving in Jerusalem

By Lisa T. Bergren

We arrive in Tel Aviv, sleep deprived, wide-eyed. We hop on shuttle buses and wonder at the changing landscape as we climb higher and higher, en route to Jerusalem, forty minutes away. Here there are woods that somewhat resemble those you might see in Northern Arizona or parts of California, there, the barren valleys of a desert in a hundred lands. The buildings—uniformly limestone—are built in a sort of pueblo style, close together, one atop the other, and in some cities, extend to high rises. But black water tanks top all, like giant, bulbous smokestacks.

It’s been twenty years since I’ve been in Israel. Part of it feels familiar—the high fences topped with barbed wire, the hills, the consistent stone of all the buildings—part of it feels new, something forgotten I need to rediscover. As Christians, we’re here on pilgrimage. Alongside Muslims and Jews, often on a similar quest. That is part of the fascination—living at the intersection of three of the world’s biggest religions. It’s a cauldron of swirling religious fervor, each claiming sectors of the Old City. But it’s not as simple as that. Each religion divides into different creeks from the River, making it one of the most complex religious cities on Earth.

A Place to Stay in the Old City

Despite the pleas of our leader to our bus driver, we’re dropped off outside the Jaffa Gate, left to lug our suitcases over several flights of stairs that cover a new, posh outdoor mall, then through the ancient gate in the wall—reconstructed by the Turks several hundred years before—and over rough, bricked streets and more stairs and alleyways, to where we’ll be spending the next week. Fortunately, it’s not more than about five blocks inside the gate. We check into St. Mark’s Lutheran Guesthouse, once a Crusader knight hospital, now one of the most killer places to stay in Jerusalem (if you want a center-of-it-all location) (and no, you don’t have to be Lutheran/Christian to stay there).

The Guesthouse has several stories—if you go, I’d ask for a room high up, so you can have a view of the Old City. But we’re in a quiet room down in the garden, and even when we return, we elect to repeat our stay in the room that is cool, spacious, central and has the sounds of a running fountain outside. But dinner is awaiting. We hurry upstairs to the dining room, where Peter serves us soup and pita and fairly standard, solid Jerusalem fare. After wandering the garden—with views across the Christian and Jewish quarters, the Temple Mount and beyond to the silhouette of the Mount of Olives—we meet the others for a trip to the Holy Sepulchre, site of Golgatha, the rock (highly probable) on which Jesus died, and nearby, the tomb (traditionally) in which he was buried.

Jerusalem at Night

It’s past nine when we arrive and the Holy Sepulchre is closed. We move on to the Temple Mount, site of the first and second Jewish temples which housed the Ark of the Covenant, and prophesied site of the third when the Messiah returns; the Western Wall is as close as Jews can come to where Solomon built his temple for the Holy of Holies.

It’s also the foundation for the Haram al-Sharif, location of the third holiest site for Muslims, where Muhammad ascended to heaven and led previous prophets to prayer. The most identifiable landmark in Jerusalem now sits atop it, the golden Dome of the Rock, glimmering in the sun by day, lit up at night.

This place is the quintessential site in Israel—the true crossroads, and frequent battle zone—among Muslim, Jews, and even Christians (though they have little say in the matter.) Twenty years ago, I covered my head, took off my shoes, and was able to walk through the mosques. Today, because of a political stunt in 2000, only Muslims can enter. But we still plan to return later to see the mosques, getting as close as we can get, just as we do now, below, with the Jews.

Even at this late hour, the Western Wall is abuzz. Jewish men of various sects (denoted by their clothing, be it furry hats resembling donuts or tall, black Stetson-like crowns) convene in groups. Others move in and around the others, like ants seeking a place on a fallen corn cob.  Separated by a fence, the women approach a separate section of the Wall to pray. We, the spectators, separated by yet another fence thirty yards back, wish we could hear the rhythmic Hebrew recitations that set the devout to their habitual rocking, bowing.

We return to the guesthouse through empty streets of the souk, echoing with the ghosts of life we know they’ll hold come morn, and collapse into our bed for the night.

We awaken to the muted, restrained call to prayer of the early morning muzzein at 3:45am, followed by cooing doves at 5am, cawing crows at 5:15, crowing roosters at 5:30, tolling bells from the Christian Church at 7. Clearly, this is a city that stays up late and rises early…

Other articles in this Israel Series:

Hezekiah’s Tunnel

Have you been to Jerusalem? What’d you think of the Temple Mount/Haram al-Sharif? Please comment!