Ponderings from the Pilgrimage

One of the things I learned – and perhaps more correctly had reinforced – when I was living overseas, was to be suspicious of people who appeared for two or three days, became experts, and then returned “home” to make pronouncements about the state of the country. When I was living in Nigeria, Jesse Jackson made a visit – I think he was there for three days – and then returned to make pronouncements to the American media that Nigeria was in danger of civil war. Which was, of course, nonsense, since at that point there was only one group capable of conducting any kind of war and that was the government.

So I will be making no pronouncements about the political situation in Israel, or the state of things with the Palestinians (although in the spirit of full and open disclosure I might note that my own sympathies are more with Israel than Palestine. Neither side, to my way of thinking is pure and without blame, and both are caught in historical currents out of which I cannot imagine a realistic road. But aside from their historical precedence, I do think that over the years Israel has made more realistic effort at finding a solution rather than arbitrarily sticking to a single unmovable position. I know, Israel has non-negotiables on the list but overall, my sympathies lie more with Israel. End of political discussion and I do not think I will be drawn into anything further.) One additional note - check back, because I will be adding photos from time to time to spice up the text.

First Day – unusual, in that I got most of the packing and preparation done the night before and did not, as is my usual custom, spend most of the night before departure awake and working. I had recently gotten brand new sheets and new pillows and I put those on the bed and got a reasonable sleep. I even had a chance to read the newspapers and relax before taking off.

The Supershuttle came spot on time, with a phone call to warn me they were 5 minutes away, so I was outside (on a GORGEOUS day) waiting for them. Of course, in true Super Shuttle fashion we wandered through Manhattan as far north as 187^th street collecting people – but we were still at Newark Airport within an hour of my having been picked up. Slight delay at Terminal B as a woman passenger (whose ultimate destination was Terminal C) disappeared into Terminal B in search of a rest room. No, apparently she could not wait and if things were that desperate, no one in our van figured a couple of minutes were going to make a huge difference.

Unloaded and onto the great adventure. Aha – a sign indicating “International Flights” so I follow the arrows and more signs and find myself at the 4^th floor – where I am informed by a surly Continental employee (I will not say that is a redundant phrase, because not all the Continental employees were surly, just the ones who have to deal with customers.) So down I go – and all I find are signs indicating “International Flights” and I KNOW those aren’t telling the truth. Finally I see a sign with several international cities on them – and arrows pointing away from the desk. I try to follow the arrows but they lead me to closed position stations, so I go back and sure enough, that is where we are supposed to be.

I ask the lady at the counter if there are any exit row seats available – she lies (I later learn) and tells me no. I then ask how many air miles it would be to upgrade, and she tells me (and disdainfully is the word that comes to mind) that I have to call the office and I should do that two days before I travel. I ask if she can at least tell me how many miles it would be and of course, she can’t. I had forgotten why I don’t usually fly Continental – aside from their being expensive – but I am rapidly remembering.

I had gotten a phone call while I was on the bus from two of our merry band, and ran into two more who were coming in to check in as I was leaving. I didn’t wait for them but went upstairs for security check in, since Newark is notorious for their long lines and slow service. I did get into a special line (not sure why but I just went where they pointed) and got through that little piece of TSA theatre with no delay. I wandered down the concourse and found the gate – and there was a special area for the gate and another really imperious (rude is such a harsh word) Continental employee shooing people out of the area. Sigh. Another of our group showed up and we chatted, and I overhead some women talking and sure enough, three more members. Others showed up and they opened the secure area – and at this point we were treated to a serious security process. Each bag was thoroughly inspected and each passenger was individually and carefully wanded. And not one shoe had to come off. (I spent a lot of my life in theatre and I know theatre when I see it – bad and good – and most of the TSA security procedures at airports are theatre, designed to make passengers feel safe.) Then we lined up and checked in – again – showing our passport and boarding pass – again. A very pleasant Continental employee (must be new) told me there WAS an exit row seat available, but it was in the middle of a 3-seat configuration, so I thought I’d stay with my aisle seat – and with the others in the group. Others showed up and we introduced ourselves and by the time we started boarding, only two people (one couple) were missing.

The waiting area was fun – a great mixture of American tourists, a group speaking Russian and lots of Orthodox Jews. At 3 PM there was movement of men with beards and hats and tassels, all lining up to pray against the wall behind the check in counter. Added a sense of other-worldliness to the whole afternoon

Our missing couple showed up and weren’t they sitting next to me on the plane. So there we were. It’s a fun and interesting group and we’re only just starting to get to know each other. The plane ride was in the neighborhood of ten hours – crew was nice, food was dreadful, high tech entertainment system with over 300 movies and lots of music and if one enjoys sitting in a cockpit with not enough room to raise your arms – not bad. I tried to sleep without success, so I suspect my first night in Israel will be a major zonk out. I later discovered in conversation that of our group of 12, only two had actually managed to get any sleep. Several times there was a general movement of bearded men toward the rear of the plane, or into corners with walls, for praying and davening. I prayed the breviary but sitting quietly in my seat.

At 45 minutes out from our destination, the announcement was made, and from that point on, no one could leave their seat for any reason. We had been warned about this shortly after we left Newark, but there was still a last-minute rush for the toilets.

After landing, the process at immigration was easy and customs was a breeze. The carousel for luggage was the fastest moving I have ever seen. Ben Gurion Airport is only about six years old, and is very modern, very efficient, and beautiful to look at. There was a man named Pete  (an old traditional Hebrew name) holding a sign who directed us to the carousel, got us all together and shepherded us to the bus. That’s all he does – he directs the travelers to the bus. Moshe, who will be with us for the rest of the week, was at the bus to greet us, introduce us to Shimon, our driver, and get us on our way. He’s been a tour guide for 17 years, speaks English quite well (although, I am told by the women, with an “enchanting” accent) and weaves together the topography, history, Biblical stories and current events without exposing a seam or skipping a beat.

About ten minutes from the airport is Neot Kedumim, a biblical plant and animal garden of about 620 acres. Ya’ir was our guide, and he’s been doing this about two years. Before this he was a high-powered computer tech supervisor. He is very good too, knows his material wonderfully and does a first-rate presentation. I certainly got several homily ideas and managed to learn some new things about the relationship between moments in Scripture and nature or history. (I have had a good education and often enough I hear things in lectures that I have forgotten, but they’re not new. Today I heard things I had never heard before – and I suspect it won’t be the last time.) The wind was powerful and added to the excitement, but made it harder to hear. The idea behind the place is that it is filled with the plants mentioned in the Bible, and replicates the growing and harvesting done in the way it would have been done then.

We stayed a little over two hours, and then moved on to the hotel, a Ramada Inn, very modern and comfortable and everyone is most pleasant and accommodating. The bag was delivered to the room, and moments afterwards, a supervisor knocked to see if everything was all right. A couple of minutes later, another knock, and a young man brought a very fancy box of chocolates and bottled water. I have a moderately sized room, with a separate sitting room area – sofa, chairs, additional tv set. The only down side to all of this was that the option of a nap was removed because of the construction work (including drilling and hammering on the floor directly above me).

So I signed on for one day of moderately expensive internet, checked mail and did some writing, unpacked and had a shower, and at 6:30 joined the rest of our merry band for supper. Buffet – large and wonderful salad bar, hot buffet with rice and potatoes and fish and chicken and beef (like a pot roast, tender and delicious) and corn and I don’t remember what all else. Because the table is kosher, the ice cream is actually a frozen and flavored oil. (Apparently the Hebrew translation is “ediblei oil.” Yum.) Mea had a migraine and decided to try and sleep it out but everyone else showed up and we had a delightful dinner. (Well I certainly had a delightful dinner and I think the others did too.) Wide-ranging and entertaining conversation, finding out about each other and telling stories, we stayed at table talking long after we had finished eating. Up to the room for a piece of my gift candy and a eagerly anticipated bed.

And thus endeth the first day. Checked the weather report just before going to bed and there is – at the moment – no sign of rain during our stay. Beautiful full moon lighting up the sky over Jerusalem.

December 3 – 2^nd Day – “Damn You, Evelyn White”

I fell asleep quickly and hard but woke around 1:30 and it took a while to get back to sleep. I mention this intimate detail only because when comparing notes in the morning, almost everyone had the same story. Variations on jet lag, I guess.

I had set my alarm for six, even though there was a general wake up call at 7. I did some writing and praying and went down for breakfast. I was the only one from our group but the breakfast buffet was even more elaborate than dinner. Cheeses and yogurts and herring in different styles and fruit and cereal and breads and rolls and eggs of three or four different styles and potatoes and coffee and on and on. A full and most satisfying way to start the day. We all gathered at 8:30, took the first of several ritual group photos and off to start the day.

The first Ritual Group Photo (Actually this is the LAST ritual photo, the night we flew home, but it will hold the space until I get the correct photo in place.)

(Note: I will not spend a lot of time sharing with you the historical and geographic and even political details we were given. You probably know them and you can certainly find them easily and quickly and probably expressed better that I could. I will add things if I was surprised by them but if you are looking for facts and data about Israel, this may not be the place to look. )

Drove past Hebrew University (huge complex) to a scenic spot overlooking Jerusalem,  the top of Mount Scopus. As we pulled up, I looked out the window and what did I see – a large group of Nigerians. Ah memories. The Nigerian government, having underwritten for many years the Muslim hadj, was finally pressured into giving equal treatment to Christians, and so for many years now, large pilgrim groups have been coming to the holy spots in Israel. I introduced myself and learned this group was from Borno State. Old home week.

Moshe did an outstanding job of outlining the history of Jerusalem and pointing out the geography as we looked at the view. When the Second Temple was built, Herod, with an eye to expanding the site and making it accessible to non-Jews (I wonder what the ancient Aramaic or Hebrew was for “tourism”?) built artificial platforms over which he put earth and platforms and extended the top of the mount to include what became the huge temple complex. I knew he had built the Second Temple (actually the 4^th temple, but convention is convention and that’s what everyone calls it) but I had never heard about this particular engineering feat. From that sight we had a good sense of the Mount of Olives and the rest of major sites and how Jerusalem is laid out – made much more sense than the map was able to impart.

Got talking to a young woman as we were leaving, turns out she is from St. Petersburg, there with a group of Russians. Having the beard is really handy – Jews greet me in Hebrew, Russian orthodox greet me in Russian and at a store at the end of the day, several people took pictures of me standing next to a life-size Santa in Bethlehem. The reason she spoke to us was not that she was captivated by my manly physique or trying to get business for the 5-star hotel where she works, but rather she saw the beard and thought I might be religiously related.

On to the top of the Mount of Olives, and the first stop was at the Church of the Ascension, the spot where Jesus rose into heaven after the resurrection. This was the spot where Ignatius of Loyola visited and placed his foot in the footprint and then tried to return because he could not remember which way Christ was facing when He ascended. The chapel had been turned into a mosque (and an inn) in different eras and is very small. There was a Korean group ahead of us who burst into song at the end of their visit. Our guide told me that if at any point we wanted to stop and pray or read the Bible to let him know. I had never thought of reading the Bible or bursting into song –guess that says something about me.

We entered, took the requisite photos and just before we left, I – uncharacteristically – burst into a short song. But at full volume. Most of the group had never heard me sing and were duly impressed. And slightly deafened.

We walked down the Mount of Olives, stopped at another overlook, where a local photographer took a group photo and would catch up with us later – if we liked it we could buy – and moved on down the mountain to the Pater Noster chapel. It’s complex where the Lord’s prayer is displayed throughout the gardens in a variety of different languages. Architecture from the Crusader period, lots of open space and gardens, and enamel plaques containing the different versions of the prayer. I found Igbo, Yoruba and Hausa – a more interesting and compelling spot than I would have thought. It’s the kind of place I would probably have never visited had I been on my own, and it was very nice. I am going to try and collect some money to have a plaque erected with the Lord’s Prayer in Braille – gift of the Xavier Society for the Blind.

This is the photo the local commercial guy took - the walled up gate to the right in the background is the one through which the Messiah is supposed to re-enter Jerusalem. Got to move the cemetery first though - or raise all the dead, so it won't be a cemetery any more. (If you're confused, read the next paragraph below and all will be explained.)

The guy in the front row with the sunglasses is Moshe, our guide. That's Jerusalem in the background - the hold dome is the Temple Mount, the mosque, below it the wall to the city, and the walled up gate. (See below)

More walking – all downhill – to another spot to look at  a Jewish cemetery and the Golden Gate (or Eastern Gate). It was the gate through which Jews from the south would enter Jerusalem, and the legend was that when the Messiah returned, he would enter through that gate. When the Muslims were in charge, they walled up that entrance, and put a cemetery on front of the gate, so the Messiah would not get through, and if he tried, contact with the cemetery would make him impure.

At each stop we found ourselves behind a group of Nigerians – there were two, the Borno group and another I never had the chance to meet. We stopped at the chapel Dominus Flevit – the Lord Cried – the spot where Jesus wept over Jerusalem, soon to be destroyed. The church was built in the shape of a teardrop – and as a bonus, we got a prayer service led by a Nigerian minister. (Turned out to be from Rivers State.)

More walking – past the orthodox church with the golden domes – and on to the Garden of Gethsemane. Lots of the sites in Jerusalem are – well, pious but dubious – but this one is certainly part of the original area. Gethsemane means olive press – those who owned olive trees in the garden would bring their olives to be turned into oil. This was a place where Jesus and his disciples often came, and since olive trees live thousands of years, some of the large trees were definitely from the time of Christ. There is a church built over the spot where Jesus prayed and went through the agony – it’s an enclosed stone in front of the altar. OK – the most important thing for me was still the olive trees. Without a lot of imagination, one can easily get the sense of the time and the moment.

We walked over to the church of the Tomb of the Virgin – an orthodox church. Now there is the church of the Dormitian of the Virgin – where the virgin “slept” and was taken up into heaven – so a neighboring church which displays the tomb of the Virgin is a tad contradictory. One goes down a lot of steps to the courtyard then many more steps into the church. Many, many, many hanging oil lamps of varying degrees of complexity - the usual number of icons. Interesting. I still prefer the olive trees.

And a break for lunch. Seemed a wise move to skip the food, so I had an orange juice. Not that there was anything wrong with the food, but given the size of the breakfast, and my chronic inability to resist temptation, I had visions of having to reserve two seats on the return flight.

On to Bethlehem.

Because of the current political situation, only some natives of Bethlehem are allowed into Israel and no Israelis are allowed into Bethlehem. (Bethlehem is in Palestine, and there is a border and barbed wire and a whole lot of guns and some very unhappy people. As we boarded the second bus – see below – someone asked if the people in the watch towers were Israelis or Palestinians. The answer was – they’re soldiers, not people.) Moshe took us to the checkpoint and introduced to the guide who would take us into Bethlehem, a man with the very Bethlehemic name of George. Not as fluent as Moshe, he was still very knowledgeable – born in Bethlehem – and pretty much everything we saw was in one place, the church of the Nativity.

The original church was built by St Helen, mother of Constantine, in the 4^th century, so working with the local oral tradition, the odds are reasonable that this was, in fact, the site. When excavations to support the columns were being done (in the 60’s?) they found large sections of the original floor of the church. One section of the church belongs to the Orthodox and the Armenians and the Roman Catholics have a separate church. All are over a subterranean series of caves. At the time of Christ, the people would stay in the cave and the animals were kept in another section. When it came time for Mary to give birth, she looked for privacy – they were staying in the section with the other people - but there was no room, ie no private space, so she moved into the warm and private area with the animals, where Christ was born. A wall has since been erected, separating the underground areas but at the time of Christ is was one large area. So from the orthodox area you go down to the site of the birth, and the area where the manger was, where the Holy Family stayed – and then underneath the Catholic church is the grotto where the Holy Family stayed and where Joseph received the warning to take the babe and Mary to escape Herod, and the cave where Jerome wrote the translation of the Bible.

After we had visited the site of the birth (and were present for the daily orthodox procession) we found that we could celebrate Mass early. We were in the chapel of St. Joseph, underneath and a woman from the local community joined us. The Franciscan priest who helped me get ready was from Montreal – and when I asked about the Mass he told me that every Mass celebrated in that church is the Mass of Christmas – either the Vigil, the Mass at Dawn or the Mass of Christmas Day. I did a fast rewrite of my homily in my mind, and we were off.

The altar faces away from the people so I did a little adapting – but it was a lovely experience, and after Communion, we all sang one verse of Silent Night. When we went upstairs there was a tour group in the main Catholic chapel singing Christmas carols. Nice way to end the moment. We walked down to meet the bus, with a lovely view of the Valley of the Shepherds, the place where the shepherds heard the message from the angel. Of course, it is now mostly apartments and buildings.

In the bus we headed for the border, with a stop at a gift shop. In Bethlehem they specialize in olive wood and we had a certain amount of pressure to buy from the Christian gift shop – Christians have shrunk to less than 35% of the total population of Bethlehem. With the restrictions on travel it is increasingly hard to make a living and Christians have been leaving to go to other countries to make a living. High prices but some interesting items. After a bit we headed for the border, fighting our way through the street vendors and postcards sellers (young boys with the persistence of bull dogs). And back to the hotel for dinner and ultimately bed.

You may have noticed that so far, the night life factor has been missing. A day filled with touring and listening and exploring and walking (LOTS of walking) makes us tired at the end of the day. Our group is increasingly getting to know each other, and we are hearing each other’s stories and backgrounds and we find we enjoy each other. There is a lot of laughter. So perhaps it is time to start sharing some of the personal bits. Let me start with a very short introduction to our merry band. I will only use first names, to protect a measure of privacy in a public forum.

In no particular order – Jane is a former actress I know from church, and her sister, Eileen, is along with her. She had problems today with her knee – I see a replacement in her future – but she was very game and is very funny. She also spent a number of years with a large investment company. Mea is someone I knew in grammar school, and we crossed paths a couple of years ago. She is a writer for a newspaper. Richard is a client of the XSB, blind and a lawyer, and his wife Mimi is with him, a thoroughly charming person. Maura I know from church, and she is going on to spend a week in Jordan after this pilgrimage is over. Bob is someone I know from the NY Athletic club- another lawyer, and he has been balancing some unavoidable work with the touring. Annie is from California – a friend of Jane’s, her husband was a fairly well-known actor until his death. She is blind as well and has Emily, a companion, who is full of laughter and energy and herself an actress. Finally – last but not least – Emilia and Norman, who won the trip in our raffle. Norman is Irish, so the lilt adds another dimension to the conversation. And of course, “the priest” – the tour leader – the guy with the beard – the Jesuit in a land of Franciscans – I speak in these humbled terms of mine own self.

Before the curtain sets on this second day of touring, a word about the title. Coming back from Bethlehem, the group was talking on the bus, (and I have to say, while I was disappointed that we had not gotten more people for this tour, 12 seems a lovely number. We have a minibus rather than a hug tour bus, so we can more easily move about., The guide does not have to use a loudspeaker,  and we can all sit at one table in a dining room, rather than being split up. One of the women said at dinner that if we had to go home tomorrow, the trip would have been worth it, with what we had already seen and experienced. )

Anyway, at one point Eileen and Jane were teasing each other (remember, they’re sisters) and Jane was saying that each year the nuns would pick the smallest of the First Graders to crown the statue of the Blessed Virgin for the May Crowning. Eileen was the smallest, but so small she couldn’t reach the statue, so the honor went to another girl. Eileen piped up and said “Evelyn White – I’ll never forget her.” Someone noted that this seemed to still be an issue with her, and someone else uttered the great line – might even have been Evelyn herself – “Damn you, Evelyn White.” Wonderful line, and provoked great laughter.

When we got back to the hotel, we made a wonderful discovery – you could order wine with dinner. Not included, but it added yet another layer to an already delightful group. For the second night in a row, ours was the last group in the dining room. Not that we were eating so much (well, that too), but we simply enjoy the conversation. Dinner runs around two hours.

I spent the evening hours downloading photos, and doing some writing. I have to keep reminding myself that I have a concert shortly after I get back and while away I have to finish writing the script and learning songs. And bed.

Day 3 – December 4 – Friday – Jerusalem the Gold

Now with all the walking and eating, you’d think I would sleep like the proverbial babe. Nope – woke in the middle of the night after about three hours, dozed off and on, and then finally gave up around 3 am and did writing and study. So I had an early shower, prayed as the sun rose and was early in the dining room, so I could spend an hour on the internet and try not to let the email get too far ahead of me. (Isn’t it amazing how quickly we adapt? I am praying as the sun rose in Jerusalem! And I threw it off with a casual comment in passing.)

Off to the wall of Old Jerusalem and a day of walking – the old military area where Jesus was scourged and where Pilate passed judgment. A lot of archaeology in Jerusalem is horizontal – not digging down, but because so much of the past has been knocking down earlier buildings and using those materials to build new things, identifying stones and materials is often as useful as digging down to earlier levels. At one of the chapels, they know the stones used were part of the military areas because scratched into the stones was the board for a game soldiers used to play.

We started walking along the walls, noting the arrow slits (these were the walls built by Suleiman?) and one long stretch which is where the garbage is dumped and collected. Reality does tend to intrude from time to time. At the Sheeps Gate – the Lions Gate – has another name which I can’t think of at the moment.

Church of St Ann and the pool of Bethesda where Jesus cured the cripple. And a church with great acoustics where Jane and I each sang.

Down the Via Dolorosa – through the Muslim market and into the church of the Holy Sepulchre – the Crusaders’ chapel – where I celebrated Mass. We visited – I spent a lot of time at the site of the crucifixion – the tomb was the most popular place in this huge complex of chapels and alley ways – but somehow the site of the cross was more compelling for me.

Chilly day – not cold but not warm. We stopped to eat bread and hyssop on the street, through the Muslim market into the Jewish market area – and on to the Western Wall where we prayed and left slips of paper.  The bus collected us and we went on to the market on a late Friday afternoon – they are building a trolley line and the street traffic is a disaster. The market is fun, although not speaking the language limits the ability to bargain. However, as the Shabbat closing time comes closer, bargaining is not so much the issue as not being forced to buy a whole lot of stuff. You go to a stall and you want one little biscuit – the seller has to close in ten minutes so he wants you to buy a kilo of biscuits ( a little over two pounds). Now that’s a lot of biscuit.

At one point I heard a commotion, and in spite of the assurances of Moshe and the Israeli Tourist Board – well, it is Jerusalem and we have all heard the stories. So I cautiously move to one side and look around. Coming down the alleyway I see a Hasidim, complete with fur hat. Following in close order behind him is a clown, with a pastel wig and full clown make up, and another young gentleman blowing a shofar (the ram’s horn) and a whole bunch of young people chanting and shouting something. I have NO idea what is going on, and so I make myself invisible as they pass by. Turns out it is a protest – the Hasidim is reminding the shop keepers that closing time is almost here, and the others are shouting that the shops should be free to stay open. Very dramatic, made all the evening news programs. And entirely safe.

At 4 – or whenever the closing time is – a siren goes off and sounds for a full minute. Note to future pilgrims – watch where you are standing. Underneath the siren speaker is NOT the optimal place to enjoy the Shabbat closing siren. We left the market, back to the hotel – drinks and dinner and talking and laughing and up to the room.

OK - more to come.