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I'm starting a new blog for my travels to the UK and elsewhere "across the pond" in the coming year. Come visit at http://intlmanofmystery.blogspot.com.

Thanks!

pictures from the holy land

Pictures, at long last:

A soggy Jerusalem, a.k.a. Yerushalayim, a.k.a. Al Quds, a.k.a. Aelia Capitolina.

David and Goliath.

The dome inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

Davida and Roei at Ein Kerem. It should be illegal for places to be this picturesque.

Me at the Shrine of the Book (where the Dead Sea Scrolls are housed), with the Knesset (Israeli parliament building) in the background.

Spice dealer, Muslim Quarter, Jerusalem.

Church of the Nativity with Nigerian pilgrims, Bethlehem.

Having fun on Purim.

Me and PJ at the Baha'i gardens, Haifa.

A pretty representative scene from Galilee.

Me and Davida on the Mount of the Beatitudes.

Ampitheater in Old Jaffo, with Tel Aviv in the background.

Rock hyrax, Ein Gedi.

The Dead Sea.

Masada.

The Garden of Gethsemane. The church in the background is one of the most beautiful churches I visited in the Holy Land.

The Western (Wailing) Wall-- the holiest site for Jews and the epicenter of the Middle Eastern conflict.

Stations of the Cross, Via Dolorosa.

shalom out

Jerusalem -- This is my last night in Israel, news that is sure to gladden my mother's heart. I am already dreading the check-in process at the Tel Aviv airport tomorrow. I was advised to budget 3 hours, which reminded me of my flight out of Manila. I arrived 3 hours in advance, yet I just barely made it in time to board the plane, and the whole time in between was stressful. But I'm trying to push that out of my mind and enjoy the evening with Davida, because it could be a long time before we see each other again. (This week was only the second time since she graduated in 2003, though we have maintained a wonderful penpalship since then.) I will post pictures when I'm back in Anchorage, and hopefully I'll also have some closing thoughts on the Holy Land, though we all know how well that plan worked last time.

For now, I'll close with two memories from my time here. Coincidentally, they both happened on the Via Dolorosa (the Sorrowful Way), which is the route leading from St. Stephen's gate on the east side of the Old City in Jerusalem up to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The Via Dolorosa is believed to be the route by which Jesus carried the cross to the place of his crucifixion and death. Most of the Via Dolorosa is a narrow, moderately steep cobblestone road lined on both sides with shops selling all manner of pottery, fabrics, spices, and kitchy souvenirs. Like most of the Old City, it's open only to pedestrian traffic. Most of the Via Dolorosa also happens to be located in the Muslim Quarter (the other three quarters being the Jewish, the Christian, and the Armenian).

Last weekend, I was walking down the Via Dolorosa with Davida and Roei, when it some kind of ruckus developed a few yards in front of us. It only took a moment to realize what was going on -- a big, ugly rat, usually a rare sign thanks to the superabundance of cats in this city, was darting around on the road. Little Arab boys giggled with delight, and Davida screamed and started running uphill as the rat came within inches of her feet. One of the shopkeepers came out with a wooden bat, and he began chasing after the rat and trying to kill it. What followed was a comical, almost cartoonish struggle between man and rat as he tried unsuccessfully to swat the nimble rodent. Finally, the dance came to an end as the bat found its target and the rat lay motionless on the stone. What struck me about the scene was how it, and the laughter it generated, seemed to mometarily unite the people standing around. Arabs, Israelis, and Americans were enjoying the mayhem together, looking each other in the eyes and laughing at the shared spectacle. It made me realize that living in close quarters with historical enemies breeds a lot of tension, but it also makes little moments like that one possible. Davida is convinced that the Israel-Palestine conflict will be resolved, in part, by people saying "hi" to each other on the street. These little things don't give a lot of hope in the face of millennia of mutual animosity, but they're a lot better than nothing.

Yesterday, I visited East Jerusalem and the Garden of Gethsemane, and I reentered the old city through St. Stephen's gate. It was a Friday at 3:00 pm, the traditional hour of Jesus' death on the cross. While I was climbing up the Via Dolorosa, I came across a large crowd. Some Franciscan priests were leading the crowd through the Stations of the Cross, which are commemmorated along the Via Dolorosa. The crowd included laypeople and priests, nuns, and brothers in all kinds of habits; Indians, Arabs, Eastern Europeans, Italians, Filipinos, and probably lots of others. I was tired and in a hurry to get back, but I found the pull of the group irresistable. So I joined in. Three priests provided narration at each station in Latin, English, and a third language I didn't even recognize, and in between stations the crowd prayed the Our Father, Hail Mary, and other prayers in Latin. (I'm all for Vatican II and having Mass in the vernacular, but I think there is something lost from the demise of a universal language.) I followed along all the way to the end, and it made me happy to join in something so comfortable and familiar, yet shared by so many people from every corner of the world. No matter where I end up, geographically or spiritually, I know that Catholic rituals and devotions like that will always feel like home.

the dead sea, the martial state

Jerusalem -- East of this city, the landscape changes dramatically. Olive trees give way to desert scrub, an occasional camel ambles along by the roadside, and the modern penthouses of Jerusalem are replaced by shacks. As you drive east, eventually you come to a sign marking sea level, and the road continues to go down, down, down-- all the way to 400 meters below sea level at the shore of the Dead Sea, the lowest dry land on Earth.

If you have never bathed in the Dead Sea before, it's something you really should try. The Dead Sea is famed for being very, very salty -- about nine times saltier than the ocean, in fact -- but its unique brew also includes huge amounts of bromide and magnesium and other minerals. I was expecting the water to be cloudy and vile-looking, but it's startlingly clear and blue. On closer inspection, you can see transparent, oily swirls in the water, and the rocks at the bottom are caked with crystals. After the obligatory float on my back, I tried experimenting a little. I attempted to swim on my stomach, but found that I could not keep my feet underwater for more than a few seconds before they popped up into the air. Then I tried assuming a standing position, which I could maintain slightly longer, but if I let my concentration slip my feet would float up to one side, as if I'd been knocked over in extreme slow motion by a blow to the lower legs. I loved watching all of the people who arrived at the beach after me and seeing their delight as they discovered their newfound buoyancy.

During my Dead Sea day trip I also visited Masada, the ruins of an ancient fortress built high on a mesa overlooking the Dead Sea. Masada is best known as the last stronghold of Jewish rebels who fled a burning Jerusalem during the first-century revolt against the Romans. The rebels held out bravely as the Romans besieged the fortress, but after the Romans breached the walls, the rebels knew their cause was lost. Rather than submit to certain slavery, the roughly 960 Jews chose mass suicide. They selected ten men by lottery to kill all of the others -- including women and children. Then the remaining ten chose one from among themselves to dispatch those who remained, and finally to die by his own sword. Only seven people, who hid in a cistern during the slaughter, lived to tell the story.

As Lonely Planet notes, the Masada episode "figures prominently in the Israeli psyche." Masada was a place of pilgrimage to the early Zionists who settled in Palestine during the first half of the twentieth century, and today many members of the armed forces take their oaths there. The multimedia presentation in the visitors center bursts with patriotic pride. Later I asked Davida if there are Israelis who do not view the mass suicide as an act of heroism, and she said there are, but I imagine they are a minority. I think the romance of battle against a vastly more numerous oppressor, and the rebels' decision to choose death rather than the extinction of their way of life, resonates deeply with Israelis today.

I don't view what happened at Masada as heroic, and for me, one of the most grating aspects of my time in Israel has been observing how deeply the military is entrenched in every aspect of life. I certainly don't mean to deny the existential threats this country faces, or the valor of the soldiers who defend it. Roei is a third-generation war hero: his grandfather was in the War for Independence in 1948, his father in the Yom Kippur War of 1974, and he was in the Second Lebanon War in 2006. I am humbled by that kind of grit and courage. But I am also disturbed by all of the 18-year-olds walking around with massive guns on the streets, in public transportation, and even in museums. I was distrubed by being stopped and searched by police with no probable cause at 1:30 in the morning as I walked back to Avinoam's house on the night of Purim. And I was deeply disturbed by an incident I saw this morning only a few hundred yards from the Temple Mount, one of the holiest and most contested sites on the planet. A news van was stopped in a narrow, circular driveway, and the passenger door was open. Another van pulled up a little too far and lightly hit the other van's passenger door. The driver of the news van, who looked like a secular Jew, began shouting and cursing at the man driving the other van, who was older and wearing a yarmulke. A shouting match ensued, and the passenger in the second van got out and reached under his coat for his gun. I was pretty far away, but I prepared myself to dive behind a stone wall if things got out of hand. Fortunately, no guns were drawn and the situation defused fairly rapidly, in part because of the emergence of a small girl from the news van. But what kind of a short fuse do we have here if people are willing to reach for their guns over something so petty and ridiculous? I can't help but think that this kind of thing is a consequence of a society that has been so thoroughly militarized.

If America were surrounded by hostile countries and subject to ongoing suicide attacks, maybe things would be the same way, or worse. I sometimes see things here and think of them as a grim portal into what America would look like after a couple more 9/11's. Of course, you need security, you need to defend yourself. But what happens if militarization takes on a life of its own and becomes self-reinforcing and self-justifying?

notes from the north

Jerusalem -- I'm back from a 3-day swing in the north of Israel, and I'll try to jot down a few thoughts from each destination before I collapse from exhaustion.

*Day 1: Haifa. This is Israel's third-largest city, spilling down the slopes of Mt. Carmel (yes, the Mt. Carmel for the Biblical scholars in the crowd) and into the Mediterranean Sea. My friend P.J. from the hunger fellowship is living there and working at the world center for the Baha'i faith. Just in case you thought this country is only sacred for Judaism, Christianity and Islam, it is also home to the holiest sites of Baha'i. As far as religions go, Baha'i is a relative newcomer, and it views the prophets of other religions as part of a long chain through which God is revealing Himself progressively to humanity. P.J. arranged for a tour for me through the magnificently terraced Baha'i gardens, which center around the imposing domed mausoleum where the first Baha'i prophet is entombed. Later, P.J. took me on a culinary tour of Haifa that included kebabs, gelato, and Palestinian beer. I believe we now hold the record for the farthest-flung reunion among our class of hunger fellow alumni.

*Day 2: Galilee. I got a rental car in Haifa and met Davida in Galilee, the region where most of Jesus' public ministry took place. The Sea of Galilee -- where Jesus found His first disciples and walked on water -- is not so much a sea as a medium-sized lake, but it's a place of stunning natural beauty. The surrounding hillsides are lush and green, and yellow wildflowers grow with abandon. The light of the full moon reflecting on the lake is also a sight not to be missed. Our tour included some of the New Testament's greatest hits, but my favorite was the Mount of the Beatitudes, where, according to tradition, Jesus preached the Sermon on the Mount. The site is marked with a modern but reasonably tasteful church, with glimpses of the panoramic views outside. Davida and I sat on the hillside and read the Sermon on the Mount (I schlepped the big family Bible that Nana gave me), and I was once again deeply moved by the sermon's elegance and beauty. We also visited Capernaum, home of St. Peter and of one righteous centurion, and the site of the miracle of the loaves and fishes. For all of my Christian readers out there, I can't overemphasize what a difference it makes to see these places and get a real sense for the geography of the Gospels. It certainly aids the imagination. After we visited the Christian sites, we stopped through Degania Aleph, which is Davida's old kibbutz and also the first kibbutz in Israel. The kibbutzim are basically farming communes, and they formed the backbone of early Jewish resettlement of the Holy land in the mid-twentieth century. Many have lost a bit of their radical edge, turning to commerce and hospitality to supplement their incomes, but Degania at least seems to be thriving.

*Day 3: Jaffa and Tel Aviv. We returned to the Mediterranean coast to see Jaffa, a.k.a. Yafo, a.k.a. Joppa-- apparently nobody can settle on an appropriate transliteration. As the historical port city for Jerusalem, and hence a place of great strategic importance, it has been sacked, burned, and razed with even greater frequency throughout history than most places in Israel. However, there is still a lot of interesting archaeology around. Then we proceeded to Israel's own City of Sin, Tel Aviv. The travel books all start hyperventilating when they talk about the differences between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, but I was skeptical. Until I saw it for myself. It doesn't just feel like a different city, it feels like a different planet. Tel Aviv is "only" a hundred-ish years old, so it lacks Jerusalem's history and piety. Rabbis and kosher restaurants are few and far between, the streets are packed with the young and the trendy, and it seems like everywhere you go in the city, at least one pulsating techno beat is audible. At the end of a long day, I did enjoy the simple pleasure of taking off my shoes and wading into the waters of the Mediterranean.

Tomorrow I'm going to the Dead Sea, then it's two more days in and around Jerusalem. If anyone out there wants something from the Holy Land, speak now or forever hold your peace!