Life at the Dead Sea

Crossing Jordan is more hassle these days than it was when the priests dipped their toes in the water, it parted, and they strolled over. Nowadays you have to take piles of passports into a non-airconditioned office where someone goes through and stamps each of them; you need a "tourist police" with you at all times, or you'll be pulled over at rigorous checkpoints; and you need at least a $10 "tip" so that the security officer doesn't yank every suitcase that has just been through security in Israel, back off the bus to go through it again. (With that "handshake", he glanced through two, and pronounced them all clear! Phew! This bus is small; it was hard to pack them all in!)

Jordan is dry, dusty, much poorer than I'd imagined, in its southern parts. The King's Highway, along which we drive, has speed bumps so often that it seems less like a highway and more like a school zone! But our driver, Khaled, is great - famous for two things: for playing semi-professional soccer ("42 games, never scored a goal" ... oh, he was the goalie!) and for looking like the former King Hussein! He speaks great English and is courteous and friendly.

There's plenty of life at the Dead Sea!

Stay awhile!

He drives us to the Dead Sea, and the Moevenpick Hotel.We are to rest here for two nights, with nothing to do in the intervening day but relax! We obey!

O little town ... apartment path to the beach

Birthday Queen - Karen (right)

It's Karen's birthday today, and there couldn't be a better place to grow older - or younger, if the Dead Sea lives up to its reputation! I think it's working on her :)

The view goes on and on ... to the Israeli side beyond

Karen, Seyi, Christine, Linda & Brad
soaking it up in the Infinity Pool!

Sunny smiles!

Garden oasis

The only question is: which pool do we use, or is it straight to the Sea? Wandering pathways invite, the spa beckons, apartments look like timeless desert homes carved into the hills.

Connie & Sharon - the beach beckons!

Everything is luscious, the food is delicious, the cool, gracious receiving rooms enormous!

Scott's face is pretty enough - no need for Dead Sea mud!

The timing is perfect.

We've imbibed so much from our Israel experience; and taken in layer upon layer of history and meaning.

Michelle stays afloat!

Now we need our own "Sabbath" to reflect and let it soak in. We do soak - literally!

The Sand-Art guy

On our second night there, rested, refreshed - we come together to catch up. Quiet joy fills our souls as we share the highlights, the learning points, the moments that meant most to us so far:

Lynda and her new-found-friend, the Cat!

baptisms, mountain mustard seeds, garden communion, desert walks, friendships, increased knowledge, musical memories...We pray, give thanks for Yossi, for the Holy Land, for the wonder of being there; most of all, for being graced with the Light of God, that makes all the difference.

We pray our daily blessing, "May the Lord bless you and keep you, may the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May the Lord turn the light of His face toward you, and give you peace." He has; he does, moment by moment. We bask in eternal, holy love.

End times

The elevator plays a strange, haunting song as I descend: "Bye-bye-bye-bye-bye-bye-bye" in an Israeli girl's voice. It's a sorrowful message that helps me prepare and become present. I need to take in every moment; this is goodbye. I may never return.

A bridge too empty!

I've loved every moment of this tour because I've lived in each one. This will be no exception. I'm out with a smile and forward stride. The bus waits, we identify luggage, off we go. We drive under the harp-shaped "Bridge of Strings," designed for pedestrians in homage to King David's harp; enormous, expensive and unused!

In a few moments Yossi welcomes the group to this, our final day in Israel. He talks about what we'll see and learn, about ancient travel and passports ... Passports! I left mine in my room's safe! What a blessing he used that word! I could have been at the Jordan border before thinking about it! We turn back. No-one complains. The hotel comes out with my passport and cash. I am covered, cared for, even in my shortcomings. "Who can despise the day of small things?" (Zechariah 3:10)

This time we're really off, and drive to see all Yossi still has in mind for this last day. We stop, debark, and survey the land.  Zion.

Bedouin donkey - seen later this day

The prophet Zechariah said, "Rejoice greatly, daughter of Zion! Behold your King is coming to you; lowly and riding on a donkey, the foal of a donkey" (10:9). Handel's Messiah has an unforgettable piece based on this. But it was also Zechariah who said, "They weighed out for my wages thirty pieces of silver. And the Lord said to me, 'Throw it to the potter'" (11:12). Yossi shows us the potter's field and we look in silence at that dark history, foreshadowed by Zechariah and fulfilled by Judas. This land has more than its share of betrayals and blood buried in it, through Jew, Muslim, Christian. Yet these are a people who tell their history in terms of personal triumphs and enemy defeats, an equal partnership of humanity rising up in action with divinity. The name Isra-el, "warring with God" is a powerful one for them.

How could a city like Jerusalem otherwise have survived? Heroditus says a city must: 1. be located high  2. have fertile land  3. be on a commercial route  4. have plenty of water. Jerusalem is in a valley, in the midst of scrub desert, nowhere near the sea or trade routes, and it has no natural springs. Yet it stands, a bastion for the ages, the heart cry of differing faiths.

Montefiore windmill

Near the gates of the old city is an incongruous sight: a windmill, white and high; we stand by it in the morning sun. Behind us is an antique carriage, preserved on display: such European elements! Yossi tells us the story: in the 1880's a British Jewish banker, Moses Monetefiore, visited Jerusalem and saw the poverty and indolence of the ultra-orthodox Jews there. He created another opportunity for them, a chance to work and earn their food rather than live on charity. He planted fields in the valley, built the windmill on top, along with beautiful little terraced homes (the community of Yemin Moshe), and invited them to live in these homes. There was a simple condition: they must spend some time working the fields themselves, and grind their own flour in the windmill. They never did, preferring poverty and ease to routine and opportunity, a pattern that continues.

Artist's front garden

Today the windmill stands immobile but the houses, white and sparkling in sunshine, are lively homes to intellectuals and artists. It's stringent to get into the community; I feel particularly pleased, because my Swedish friend with the UN, Elisabeth, lived there, and I was completely charmed by her and her sun-embraced, flower-filled, artistic home when I visited last!

Shoshanna flower

Pausing under a flower-laden tree, Yossi asks what we think it is. He points out a flower, six-petaled, like the Star of David, and says it's the Shoshanna flower, flower of this nation. This, we learn, is the pomegranate tree, bursting with life, hope, colour and vigour.


A few steps around a corner and we come to the Tomb of the Sons of Herod. There are no other visitors here, but it's a significant spot: Herod's family's burial place! (Even though he did kill half of them himself!)

Round tombstone, high as a man

... But here is a perfectly intact round 1st century tombstone; archaeologists have stopped at precisely the right moment to capture it in place. There's a slide channel for it to run through. History underfoot! Since it's from the same era, no doubt this is where we get our Bible story design of the stone that rolled from Jesus' grave!

Ezekiel's Living Creatures - in stone

We quickstep to the courtyard of the YMCA, where Ezekiel's "living creatures" gaze over us, carved into stonework. Built nearly 100 years ago for the "new Jerusalem" of God, the Y here was planned by a Brit as a Messianic safe haven and tribute to "the visit of Jesus to England" during his "unknown years" of age 18-30, with Joseph of Arimathea. Now it houses guests from around the world; its motto is one of peace. Yossi's flute fills the courtyard with the soaring, majestic "Jerusalem Hymn," music that Prince William and Katherine, and William's parents, had at their weddings. Ten days ago we drove into this city with the other "Jerusalem" hymn; we leave today with this, based on William Blake's poem, gleaming with "the Countenance divine shining upon these cloudy hills." It has done that for us. But the chapter is closing.

"Where political & religious jealousies can be forgotten..." - in Arabic, English & Hebrew

"We have 10 minutes," says Yossi, man of strategic vision. "I think we can make it to see King Solomon's Mines, if you will." King Solomon's Mines! Images from National Treasure movies and Indiana Jones flit through our minds: gleaming gold heedlessly tossed in heaps, waiting to be uncovered - but woe to the unworthy! Are we amongst those counted worthy to glimpse? We fervently nod! We'd love to see!

Inside King Solomon's Mines

We pull up right at the city wall. King Solomon's Mines are here? Into a door in the white stone wall we enter; Yossi pays at the inner gate. We follow and descend into darkening spaces that widen out into golden-lit cavernous rooms. Down into the depths of the under-city we walk, wonder filling us with exclamations! Who knew that this was here? "The spaces under the city of Jerusalem are like Swiss cheese," says Yossi. "Caves and tunnels everywhere - Hezekiah's tunnel is another example."

But these caves are magnificent, magnetic. We're drawn inexorably into the belly, under the wondrous city of God - to the heart of it all, where stone was chiselled, carved, quarried faithfully, steadily by hidden workmen, who kept the sound of the hammer and pickax far from the Temple itself ... but not so far that transportation would have been an absolute pain. They mined for veins of rich, reddish rock: earth's blood, not gold, and much more precious! 1 Kings 5:17 tells us that the king ordered "great, costly stones" to make the foundation of the Temple!

Maybe it really is a gold mine!

Walls shine in the dim glowing lights. Yossi tells tales of Freemasons, and of miners in Solomon's time; points to the secret spring, known as the "Spring of Zedekiah's tears" - "a myth!" he says, letting us know that if a leaking pipe in the Austrian Hospice was fixed, Zedekiah would soon stop weeping! When we laugh, he stops us, "Ah, but what is mythology?" he inquires - still asking questions, still teaching "on the way" even though we're in our last 10 minutes of Jerusalem. "Mytho-logy" includes the concept of Logos/Logic. It is the "true word" that shapes our ideology. "See this," and he points ahead. "This dark tunnel takes us under the Holy of Holies. True."

Tunnel to under the Holy of Holies

We gaze. 5780 years ago this opened the way to the Rock of Foundation, also known as Mount Moriah, on which was built the Temple of Solomon. We're at the bedrock of history - the tangible truth of the invisible greater truth, Rock of Ages. Yossi points to a corner, carved out huge and empty: "That is where the Cornerstone came from."

Oh, it's so hard to take it in; all the worlds and words, the worries, whispers, wonderings, weary moments of our souls combine and are melted and formed into something far more precious than any treasure we saw in movies. All the language - the "mythology" that leads us from concrete to unseen - comes together in that place of tunnels, of questions followed, trails explored, leading to the foot of the Holy of holies. What a quest humankind has always been on. We follow.

The enormous cornerstone block gap -
recalls Jesus as our Cornerstone

Yossi's flute emerges and plays in the flickering glow. Notes bounce off secret hollows, going who knows how deep into the caverns of the under-city, taking with them the light of the world, brushing dust off deep inner shelves with logos of truth: words embedded in the music he spills out from Psalm 147:

"The Lord builds up Jerusalem; he gathers together the outcasts of Israel. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Great is our Lord, and mighty in power; his understanding is infinite. The Lord lifts up the humble. Hallelujah, O Jerusalem! Praise your God, O Zion! For he has strengthened the bars of your gates; he has blessed your children within you."

Christine in the sparkling cave!

At that moment, we are literally children "within" the city. We are carved and caressed into the blessed of the ages, clothed in light and rock and music.

Liminal luminosity lasts but a glimmer; we catch the falling gleams; and now it's time to go back out, with a quick stop at the (most practical) King Solomon's toilets. They are not as glorious smelling as the lilies of the field, clothed in greater splendour than the king! But I'm equipped, and with a quick pump or two of my tiny perfume vial, all is well! I figure the Queen of Sheba would have done the same when she was here!

Tiny trail in the desert - made green thanks to flash floods

We're on our journey back into the visible, zipping past Bethany - "El Azaria" (town of Lazarus). It's now a Muslim village and they renamed it after him, honouring the great miracle of Jesus raising Lazarus from death.

Resurrection lingers with us as we return by bus to the dry desert. Is there any life here? We walk a narrow trail. It's hot, dusty, and most of us don't know where it will lead. The wasteland too is part of our mythology - our true life story - and here in this land we sense it and see it. Besides being moon people, these are desert people. Even the word "Zion" means "desert." When we're marching to Zion, do we know the cost? Glory comes mixed deeply with dust and grit.

Scott shares; monastery behind

Yossi knows, and leads us to the end of the trail: to a shaded place here in Wadi Quelt, where flash floods occasionally rip through, providing torrential streams; where today a Bedouin and his donkey stand, selling wares. Yossi tells him we will look later, first we must talk. We do: words from Scripture, words of prayer, words rising in time with deep chants from the Greek monks in the monastery below and with silent prayers from hermitages dotting the mountain. Words rise as incense, carried on the shimmering heat of the desert, and return to quench thirsty souls, filling outstretched cups with grace, brimming with light.

St. George's Monastery in Wadi Quelt

Yossi gives each of us a Holy Land pilgrim certificate, our names written on them in Hebrew (a phonetic language, so he reads and pronounces them out loud as accurately as if they were written in English.) He tells us that we are not in actual desert - it is not "desolate." There is life here; we can see it! Maybe it's not how we envision life, but it lives! We gain perspective for our own worlds. The Lord who walked these very hills behind us, to be tempted as we are, passed through the desert to life indestructible. Not dust to dust, but dust to glory. We are not left desolate. We will survive!

Bronwyn and the Bedouin

We trek back to the bus, first sampling some of the "genuine camel bone" goods from the smiling Bedouin and his patient donkey.

Cheerful Greek Monastery

Yossi doesn't leave us desolate either. A desert is not a good place to depart from. He takes us to a cheerful sanctuary within another Greek monastery, where doves perch on sills. People come to pray, relics rest in boxes, candles are lit with hope.

The candle man

Outside, the Taverna awaits, vine leaves stretching over rooftop, stone floor made for dancing. Yossi pulls out his last gift there: a baglama - a Greek instrument that great-grandfathered the guitar, though this one is new and shiny. Very small, with incredible resonance, notes spin out as sweet as baklava, smooth and deep as date honey, bright as a peacock's crown gracing the Mediterranean sky. Yossi announces this will be a multi-media show: he'll play and Scott will dance! But sabbatical hasn't ingrained that deeply yet, so it's just the music ... and it is enough!

Dove in the desert monastery

We clap and kiss and get on the bus. It's time to go to Jordan for the final stage of our journey. We'll have a new guide there, on the other side of the river.

At the border: the final parting. Moses leaving the children (only in fact we're the ones going to Moses' territory.) We process paperwork and cross over safely. Bye-bye-bye-bye-bye-bye-bye. Israel has warred with our hearts - and won!

Prayers and passages

It’s Saturday morning and everyone is late onto the bus. That darn Sabbath elevator stops on every floor! And the other elevator might as well be a Sabbath one because all non-orthodox people are using it, so it stops continually too, picking up passengers! We depart – we’re going to Emmaus, Place of the Spring. 

Water is crucial in this dry land. The Sea of Galilee is their only fresh water source, fed from seven springs. River Jordan carries the water south, and that water is siphoned off at every turn. (This is why the Dead Sea, its ultimate destination, is receding at the rapid rate of 1 metre/year.) The first 10 kms of the Jordan are exclusively on Israeli territory, so first right of tapping is theirs. This leads to huge questions for water consumption for both sides of the river - and for the future of the land in general.

Frescoes on walls of Crusader church

Off we go to Emmaus.When I hear the Arabic name of our destination, "Abu Ghosh," I suddenly have a memory: whispering light in Crusader church, murals glowing on walls, deep stone crypt beneath, monks and nuns singing a capella in procession, gleaming cross, candles, flowers, all in French. I remember it! We are going to one of my favourite spots - and I didn't even know it was Emmaus! Today my eyes are opened, my heart warmed!

Gardens blend east and western style

The gardens alone are worth seeing! Gently hued, lavishly overflowing, cheeky in combining an English garden with Mediterranean trees. The result - refreshing and compelling as sparkling streams!

"To gaze and gaze on Thee"

An oboe plays as we enter, notes rising, falling in dancing slow motion, suspended in gleaming shafts of light. Hushed, we pay attention, glimpsing walls where iconoclastic Islamic faithful erased faces but left the main Christian images intact. Down below in the crypt, water glimmers from the spring that drew people to Emmaus in the first place.

We meet down in the crypt

.
We are drawn, living water sparkling, here where Jesus broke bread, poured wine, opened eyes then vanished. Outside, Yossi plays Bach under green branches, adding a lilting Israeli twist fitting for this wonderfully blended garden. We sit under the sign of the Roman Legion X and imagine troops passing, stopping to drink from the spring inside. Funny it's near water, not fire, that hearts burn "Christ is alive"; but as long ago in the Emmaus story, so they do, deeply, now. We drink in the meaning of the music, and quench our inner thirst.

Marching orders come, and Amiel the bus driver glides us through narrow, winding roads filled with traffic and shouting drivers, landing us in our enormous vehicle without a scratch on the Mount of Olives. Through throngs of visitors we walk the narrow Palm Sunday trail, waving branches in our hearts. Sun shines, Jerusalem glows across the valley; we feel joyful though we're walking among graves. This mountain is where the Jews spend more than a mortgage to buy a burial plot.

In fact, graves from all ages lie here; perhaps this is metaphorically the valley of the shadow of death - certainly the shadow fell here for Jesus. A detour takes us to the graves of the last two Old Testament prophets: Haggai and Malachi. Here they lay, waiting the coming Messiah. When the time was right, he came. Today hundreds of his followers have come too; maybe they think it's the right time, but it squeezes us!

A lane into quiet in Gethsemane

Not for long! Yossi takes us by the path less travelled, and that makes all the difference! We arrive in a beautiful, secluded spot, filled with quiet, like on the night when Jesus prayed and was betrayed. In quiet I ask, have I betrayed him, time and again? I have, and do.

Gethsemane, we already know, means "oil press;" here the Lord Jesus was crushed, pressed, bruised beyond measure as three times he prayed, crying out, "Not my will, but yours... not my will ...yours." And so the betrayer came, in the will of God. The jar of Jesus' life was sealed at both ends by those words, "Your will be done" - through Mary at conception, and now from his own mouth. We are quiet, reflecting, and could stay all day, here away from the bustle, but like Jesus on that night, we move on.

Night sky in the church

We move to the crowds. Not the crowds of accusation, as he did, but to adoring crowds in the massive Church of All Nations, located in the "official" garden of Gethsemane. It's worth the wait as we see the soaring night sky in the ceiling; night like the hour of Jesus' garden prayer; and join our unvoiced prayers with the prayers of ages.

Absolom: my son, my son

On to another tomb: Absolom's - problematic son of King David. A tomb can't assuage grief, but it marks it: Absolom's grave is enormous, just outside the city walls, with the bloody Kidron valley between (bloody because water and blood from temple sacrifices high on the other side flowed down here.) The blend of architectural styles reflects the ongoing interesting Mediterranean crossroads.

Cactus & bougainvillea

Yossi points to a cactus plant: "Jews are known to be like the cactus," he says. "Prickly on the outside, but tender inside!" We board the bus; the time is coming for him to hand us over for the afternoon to the care of a Bethlehem guide (Yossi, being Israeli,  doesn't have a permit to work on the Palestinian side of the wall - and he's happy for them to have the business anyway. "Shop there," he tells us; "they need your money more than we do.")  But his pain in leaving us, his concern, his expression of hope that we will enjoy it - to the point that he can't help do a bit of guiding, and mentions various historical details we should have in mind, in case they aren't covered ... well, we come to believe the cactus tale! When he's gone we feel bereft.... as Jesus' disciples felt after the Garden of Gethsemane was over, and he was taken from them.

It's only an afternoon! The Bethlehem guide is simple, telling us Bible stories, pointing out the fields of Boaz and Ruth that led to the birthplace of Jesse, their grandson, and David their great-grandson. This is why Jesus was born in Bethlehem, because he was from the line of David and each family had to return to the birthplace of their ancestors to take the census. Joseph and Mary returned to Bethlehem.

First stop for us is an olive wood factory - we observe men doing fine handiwork and learn the four stages of olive wood curing.

My friends, the Bethlehem grocers

Not the carving that chose me, but a lovely Last Supper.

Then it's off to lunch - and what joy for me! We're just behind the large border- dividing wall, the road of the grocery store I used to shop in when we lived here! I go over and say hello to my friend Elizabeth and her brother! It's a very happy reunion!

Then off to buy olive wood products - I find a smooth, small carving of the Last Supper, made from a single piece of wood. When I was on the Isle of Patmos a few years ago, I bought a simple, painted, Ethiopian icon of the last supper, and the icon keeper told me "the icon chooses you; you don't choose it." Perhaps something about the Last Supper chooses me. It's the ongoing reality of Christ himself feeding us. There is nothing: no community, no life without him. I am desolate, thinking of it. The abandonment he felt on the cross is real.

Down the slopes of shepherd's fields

Finally we see the sites: Beit Sahour - the field of the shepherds is first. In a rough outdoor chapel we sing Silent Night, imagining angels appearing to lowly shepherds here. We're on a hill overlooking the town. Wonder and awe fill the story. My mind comes back to the present, and we remember that today we sit where the lowest of the land still live: Christian Palestinians, 2% of the population; marginalized and voiceless. The angel speaks to them and for them: Fear not!

Roof pierced with holes like stars

Christmas-card-like murals

In the centre of the Church of the Shepherds is an altar-like table donated by Canada! We're told that this is a secular building; no services take place here. It makes sense that Canada would donate a table without faith connection! It's helpful, though!

All around are murals like Christmas cards; above the roof is pierced by shining holes. Radiant beams from heaven afar stream in, and we sing "hallelujah!" Well, we really sing "Gloria - in excelsius, Deo!" Guests from around the world, inside and outside the small church, join in! Christ, our Saviour, is born.

The line to the Church of the Nativity winds around the building - so I'm pleasantly surprised when we get inside and find it's the shortest I've ever seen! Still, it takes 40 minutes to get downstairs, during which we hear unceasing Greek Orthodox prayers rising like incense. The entrance to the stable is hot and muggy, but no-one complains. We stand with bated breath, waiting for the Christ-child's birthplace. Kneeling, I kiss the star that marks the spot. O Holy Night! This is it - where God appeared in human form. Night divine! ... I must admit, I wiped my lips afterwards - too much general human contact mixed in there! Thank goodness Jesus didn't do the same!

Arches in St. Catherine's quadrangle

Tombs of baby boys killed by Herod

 St. Catherine's Catholic church next door will close at 5 pm, but we have time to read of the birth of Jesus, and we pass the graves of the innocents - those boys who died at Jesus' birth ... as the baby boys died in Egypt so long ago when Moses lived. The Bible is a wondrous story, with parallel lines of grace and pain and truth, always leading to rescue.

Traffic jams at the border

Our longest wait of the day comes not with a holy site as its destination; it's the checkpoint border between Palestine and Israel. We learn that they put cute soldier girls there so that the media can't say mean men are beating up innocent travellers. The cute girls are strict, though; every vehicle trunk is opened, luggage checked. Drivers get out.

Guard at the checkpoint

This would be a daily part of their commute - WAY worse than a Sabbath elevator! We watch clever contortions by other vehicles as they turn and flee. We have no escape, nor do we want to. We sit still and understand more, and are glad when finally we're on the other side, with no requirement of returning for a repeat experience, as so many have to, day by day. We breathe the prayer again, Shabbat shalom.

David and Pauline between Jerusalem crosses