Long lines and longer memories

Western Wall on a rainy Thursday;
this wall supports Temple Mount

We need to get up early but it's pouring! Go figure - just as the sun starts shining back in Calgary! Some dozen umbrellas from the front desk later, and we're good to go, but we've lost 10 minutes. The line to get into Temple Mount is always busy and closes altogether at 9 am. Will we make it, starting at 7:20 am?

Sure enough, the queue is a winding 200 metres long when we arrive. A group of Russians sings praises right ahead of us; don't they know the proverb that says loud greetings in the morning are odious?! And it's raining! Umbrellas become amplifiers! We stand, waiting, waiting. Yossi is maneuvering something, talking with other guides, with guards. Who is he, this kibbutz-born former army major, international scholar, archaeologist tour guide; who plays the flute for fun, has three kids, and is learning a fourth language, Greek, for business reasons? Oh, and he's unable to pray, but tells the truth to the smallest iota.

Connie prays at the Wall

Whoever he is, it's brilliant when he comes up with a plan that divides us into two groups by gender, to break, one by one, from the dawdling wait. One group stays to hold the crowded spot in line to Temple Mount, while the other walks straight to the front of the line and goes through the second entrance there, to the Western Wall.

Women go first, approaching the ancient wall to join those already praying there. As we touch the wall, truth-telling becomes imperative, even in the secret places; so we tell it. The strength of the wall helps to face and carry those burdens. We back away slowly, some stuffing prayer papers into the cracks. God knows. Seyi takes a photo with me, "of a perfect moment," she says.

Smiling in the Rain!

When we return, the guys leave for their prayers. The line is just inching toward Temple Mount, where the Dome of the Rock stands, where the Temple used to stand; so there's still plenty of time. Not many people are out at the Wall today, in this driving rain. We're a little disappointed - we'd hoped to see some Bar Mitzvahs, as they usually happen en masse at the Wall on Thursdays.

When the guys return, it's time to enter the security booth for the Temple Mount. Security is a big deal here; there is hardly a more contested spot on earth.

Ramp from the Wall area  to the Mount

Dome in the distance

Then, up a long ramp we climb, past more soldiers, and soon are on the mount's surface near the black-domed Al-Aqsa mosque, where Muslims read and pray in community. In the near distance, the Dome, plated with gold, gleams in the misty morning, brightening our eyes, beckoning us closer.
It is built on the Rock of Foundation - foundational to all three religions. However, only two can gather here - Christians and Muslims. The Jewish head rabbi forbids it in case someone steps on the ancient holy of holies. No X marks that spot, so it could be anywhere, and walking upon it would be sacrilege.

There we are, where Solomon and Herod's temples once stood - temples from which the place gets its name, "Temple Mount." There is no temple now, just this outstanding, impressive blue and gold memorial to the Prophet Mohammed's visionary night flight from Mecca to Jerusalem to heaven and back. Shining sun and blue sky show in every aspect of the majestic building. Though we don't get to see the actual rock, as it's hidden deep inside the dome, we remember that metaphysically, Jesus is called the Rock of foundation, and we are his temple.

 As we leave, the sun comes out! God smiles and sends two Bar Mitzvah parties processing with joyful dance and song up the road we walk on! The honoured boys are beaming as they sing! The paid musicians are good at their job! And our wish came true!

Here stood the City of David

Across the road is the City of David - yes, David who wrote the Psalms had his palace right here! A good deal of the city's original structure is excavated and available for all to see. Here reigned the man with a heart like God's. We remember the stories, as we look at the flat roofs across the valley and understand how easy it would have been for him to see Bathsheba's beauty, or to look up at the stars and write poetry, or to look out over the valley and devise military strategy. No renaissance was needed to define this man - he combined every aspect of that ideal naturally.

Below the ancient city is Hezekiah's tunnel, designed as an aquaduct to bring water from a spring outside the city into Jerusalem during a seige in the 8th century, BC. Curving under the hill, it's long and takes about 40 minutes to walk through. Half our group goes with gusto, changing into shorts first, as water still flows in it, and can be thigh-high. I stay with those who don't want to enter. We drink coffee and eat Pringles, and when the others return we're refreshed and they're exuberant!

Statue of Mary at Rest

We visit the Church of Dormition - honouring Mary in her death. It's not beautiful, but somehow seeing the Lady's aged statue face I receive peace of soul for my prayers at the Wall. Mary knew loss but endured, as I will through life's challenges.

Then it's down to Gehenna, now a place for occasional picnics, but in old times, known as the "doorway to hell." Surrounding caves were found to contain bones of children; this is where child sacrifice to the god Molech was practiced (mentioned in Scripture). Molech was a fertility god; rain only came from his tears, but he was hardhearted and rarely cried. So the people took their babies and gave them a lingering, painful death so that they would scream long and loud; Molech would get so tired of the sound that he would weep, and so pour rain on the earth. The exchange was the fruit of the womb for the fruit of the earth. But it's quiet here today. A horse, treasured like a child in Arab culture, wanders peacefully, grazing, down the richly green valley. How far we've come in history.

Gehenna valley today

The afternoon sees us at Yad Vashem, memorial to the victims of the holocaust. More than a museum, the large centre is designed to give a "name and a place" to those who perished (Isaiah 56:5). So we walk past photographs and letters found in the clothing that was stripped from them. We read their names, their poetry. We understand the intellect, passion, wisdom and humanity that was burned off the earth with their loss;  and we mourn. We mourn because the museum achieved its goal and "gave the victims an identity ... gave them a voice ... gave them a face. And did the same thing to the Nazis. ... For each one we showed who they were ... not monsters but people who did monstrous things."

The Menorah nearby

The bus ride home is somber, as it should be. We had each toured alone, moving at our own pace, but all were affected by a large group of young Israeli soldiers taking the tour as well. Looking at them, one could wonder how such an ordinary, mixed bag of people could be trusted to maintain peace and order in the land. The museum helps me understand: we are not called to be uniformly smart, brave or bright; from all the varied faces in the photos I understand, we are simply called to be human, whether dull or brilliant, to live as best we can. God and society will harmonize the rest. For those who perished there was no "rest," until now, in the marvellous memorial, where we pick up their story and carry it on.

That night a group goes out to the bright and bustling Ben Yehuda street, a short walk from our hotel. Pleasant interactions with shop keepers lead to economic exchanges! Life for the children of Judah continues, and the infamous yellow star that marked them has transmuted in part onto their flag with its waving blue central star. High above, timeless stars from above shine on us all, lighting the darkness of an intense, rewarding day.