The After-Election Exhale

Ahh- the Israeli elections are finally over. It’s as if the entire nation has been holding its breath up until now, and the country can now enjoy the satisfaction of exhaling. The elections, from my point of view, meant a whole lot this time around. This vote brought to a head the public’s opinion on Israel’s withdrawal from the West Bank. Each party clearly laid out its position on the withdrawal before the elections, and it appears the new governing coalition (which will likely include Kadima, the centrist party founded by Ariel Sharon, Shas, the religious Sephardic party, Labor, the Socialist-leaning party of David Ben-Gurion and Golda Meir, and the Pensioners, a party of old folks) will be able to continue evacuating the West Bank. This means that, as Kadima head and likely future Prime Minister Ehud Olmert plans, Israel should have its permanent borders by 2010. For a nation that has been defined by conflict, changing borders, and difficult questions of citizenship and identity, the impact of this election will be huge.

Thankfully, there were no successful bombings before the elections. Israeli intelligence is incredible, and it has an amazing ability to capture (or incapacitate, as it were) the most dangerous terrorists.

It’s been an incredible opportunity for me to witness the political process here and not have to take any side in the debate. Back in the States, I’m constantly drawn into discussions and debates and labeled as a conservative Republican -- an identity I tolerate for the sake of ease. While I enjoy political debate at home, I’ve often experienced far too much of it and have become sick and tired of the often-messy and rarely reconciliatory political process (particularly after the 2004 election). Here, though, I can read about the elections with nearly-complete impartiality. I reckon myself a true student of the world, watching Israeli political squabbles (which are often over very important issues) from my high perch as an American study-abroad student. I can see the protests and political rallies without feeling any animosity towards the participants, even if they’re from far-left parties. I am able to walk the streets, read the newspaper editorials, and observe the entire political process without my pulse rising above its normal rate. Despite the tension around me (which seemed like it could be cut with a butter-knife before yesterday), I am completely at ease as an outside observer. I will, after all, be leaving Israel in just 2 1/2 months. The ramifications of this election, while having a huge impact on millions of Israelis and Palestinians, may hardly impact my life in the States.

Travelling with My Visitors

Mom, Stephanie, and Brad left for home early this morning. I had a great time showing them around Israel, and I’m pretty confident they enjoyed themselves. By the time they left, Mom was discussing the logistics of bringing a group to visit the Holy Land another time. I won’t write much about their visit with me – instead, I’ll let them share with everyone at home how their trip went, the sites they saw, and their impressions of Israel.

I will, though, share a few details about some of the new things I did with the three while they were in town. Friday we had the chance to visit Hezekiah’s Tunnel, written about in 2 Kings 20:20 and 2 Chron. 32:30. The tunnel, which dates back thousands of years, “blocked the upper outlet of the Gihon spring and channeled the water down to the west side of the City of David” (2 Chron. 32:30), ending in the Pool of Siloam. The tunnel, which we reached through a maze of stairs and halls, began deep in the earth. With our sandals and water socks securely fastened, we began wading through the stream that has supplied the City of David with water since ancient times. There was no light in the tunnel except for the flashlights and camera lights that we brought with us. The bottom of the tunnel was often uneven and, because of the poor lighting, we nearly fell into the stream several times. The tunnel winds along for 1750 feet, and some areas forced us to duck and squeeze our way through. It was a wet, fun, and claustrophobic adventure that took us some 45 minutes to complete. For me, the tunnel was a great testament to the historical veracity of Scripture.

Saturday we had the chance to visit Bethlehem and the West Bank. For once, we were not screwed out of money on a tourist trip. We met our cab drivers after the checkpoint and agreed that we would pay 150 shekels (about $32) to see Mar Saba, Herodian (Herod’s ancient palace), and the Church of the Nativity. Four hours later, we were dropped off at the border by our Pakistani driver, who was very unhappy at the amount of time our trip had taken. He demanded more money, but we shrugged our shoulders, told him a deal is a deal, and slipped through the security wall.

Sunday we had the chance to visit the Northern Galilee, the area in which Christ grew up and where the majority of his ministry took place. I was apprehensive about going, since I had never traveled there by myself. We left on a bus very early in the morning and arrived in Tiberias (located midway on the Western shore of the Galilee) around 10:30, after traveling on a road that went straight through the Megiddo Valley (Armageddon!). The day was a bit overcast, but the hilly fields seemed as green as if the sun had been continually shining on them since the beginning of time. After visiting a tourist center, we took a cab to the Mount of Beatitudes, an area traditionally associated with the Sermon on the Mount. The view was beautiful from the top of the mountain with an amazing panorama of the Judean countryside and the Sea of Galilee. Rows of blooming hibiscus plants and meticulously cared-for gardens made the experience even better, lending an exceedingly sweet spring aroma to the already idyllic atmosphere. It was easy to imagine Christ here, teaching his disciples on the ideals of the Kingdom of Heaven amidst the natural beauty and serenity of the hills.

We descended the mount and, after a quick wrong turn and the aid of a kind driver, arrived to Tagbha, the traditional sight where Christ multiplied the loaves and the fishes. There is a church and a monastery there today, built on the foundations (with original mosaics) of an ancient church. From Tagbha we walked on a path that followed the northern coast of the Sea of Galilee to Capernaum. Along the way, we stopped at The Church of the Primacy of St. Peter, a Catholic basilica dedicated to Peter’s authority as the pope (described in Matt. 16:18). I thought it was nice to visit. While I don’t believe in the Catholic interpretation of Matt. 16:18 (or a papacy at all), the church was a good reminder of the Gospel story. I had to smile at Brad, though, who seemed to be theologically cringing the entire time we were there.

After paying homage to the first pope, we walked a mile and half to Capernaum where, before we entered the ancient city, we were greeted by a restaurant with chairs right next to the Galilean beach. Incredibly hungry and tired, we sat down to a great view of the lake and ordered our lunch. Come to find out, the restaurant served authentic fish from the Sea of Galilee, cooked ancient-style with the heads, fins, and tails still attached. We smiled at the fact they we were eating fish like Jesus probably did in the exact spot where he carried out his ministry. It was a tasty meal that, along with our Pepsis and Diet Sprites, made us feel like authentic biblical travelers.

Lunch ended and we entered Capernaum, an ancient city excavated in the last century. At the site are the remains of two important ancient buildings: a synagogue, built after the time of Christ, and the excavated foundations of a Byzantine octagonal church, built on the traditional site of Peter’s house. The former structure had been constructed on top of an even older synagogue dating from the period of Christ. It is likely that Christ was well-acquainted with this synagogue during the time of his ministry, which was the center of Jewish life for the Capernaum area during Roman rule.

We left Capernaum and walked back for what seemed like hours toward the road that leads to Tiberias. Most folks visit the aforementioned sites on a tour bus, so there were no taxi cabs anywhere to relieve our tired legs. Thankfully, once we reached the highway to Tiberias, a kind old Israeli man (who strangely resembled David Ben-Gurion, crazy hair and all) took us back. Along the way, he descbribed how Israelis are creating better and better bananas through cloning. From Tiberias, it was a straight shot back to Jerusalem.

The entire past week was great. I ate so well, walked around so much, and was so glad to have visitors come all the way from the U.S. Today I’m sleepy, but thankfully we have the day off because of the Israeli elections. I’ll update you all tomorrow on the results of the elections. For now, I predict a weak showing for Kadima and a stronger-than-expected turnout for the conservative, anti-withdrawal parties.

Also, enjoy these pictures from the past week.

Mt. Sinai

Mom and Stephanie’s luggage has been located, and it is on its way to Jerusalem. They ought to be able to take home some of the pile of souvenirs that they’ve been buying, thank goodness, and it feels as if everything is going to be all right.

That said, my birthday was a very nice time in the Sinai last week. On Tuesday night, I was taken out to eat at a very nice restaurant by the fellows. At midnight, we marked my birthday with a toast under the stars on the beach. The ladies got me a birthday card along with some sesame seed bars, my favorite snack here in the Middle East. Wednesday evening, Josh arranged to have a cake delivered to our hotel that wished me a Happy Birthday in Arabic. The hotel mangers came out, sang the Arabic birthday song to me, and we all had a piece of the delicious cake. Josh had been very perceptive as I talked about wanting to get some souvenirs from Dahab, and got me a giant red Dahab beach towel that I’ll take home and use proudly (I’ve seen beach towels from the Caribbean- but honestly, one from the Red Sea? I’m excited). My birthday was a great testimony to the great friendship of Elliot, Josh, Leigh, and Leah. They all did a lot to make my birthday unforgettable in many, many ways.

Wednesday night, after our cake, we left on a trip for Mount Sinai. The van left at 11:00 pm so that we could climb Mt. Sinai and see the sun rise in the morning. The trip, which would be less than a day long, cost us 50 Egyptian Pounds (less than $10 US), including transportation.

The ride from Dahab to Mt. Sinai took two hours. Most of us slept, hoping to get a little rest before we ascended the mountain. We arrived at Mt. Sinai at 1:00 am, eager to climb the mountain where, according to Exodus 19:20, “the Lord came down.” We began our journey at the foot of Sinai, near St. Catherine’s Monastery. Several people had told us we could ascend on the camel trail, which was long and winding but not very steep, or the stairs of repentance (so named because monks climb up the 3600 stairs to the top in repentance – perhaps because they decided to take the difficult way up?). Since it was dark and we had never visited the mount, we took the camel trail.

Soon, it seemed like we had no idea where the trail was going. A Bedouin guide offered to take us up the mountain for 50 Egyptian Pounds, an offer we politely refused, thank you, because we were Americans and we were going to make it on our own. The guide told us he was going up the mountain anyways, though, and offered his services free of charge.

Climbing Mt. Sinai in the moonlight was quite an experience, in more ways than one. At night, the giant boulders and strange rock formations gave us the impression that we were traveling on another planet – perhaps Mars or Jupiter. To make the landscape even stranger, Bedouin guides kept camels along the path for tired pilgrims ascending the mountain. These camels, with their extra-terrestrial faces and alien humps, seemed to blend in with the boulders that littered the areas surrounding our path. When the camels would move to watch us walk by, it seemed as if the stones themselves were coming alive and gazing at our progress.

Josh and I were able to walk up the entire 6 kilometer mountain path, keeping pace even with our Bedouin guide. I’m certain that Josh’s, the Bedouin’s, and my own pride was working overtime to keep our legs moving in a brisk walk up the giant hill. My legs ached by the time we reached the top, and I’m certain my calves swelled to the size of beach balls (well, maybe not the size of beach balls -- certainly big oranges, though). Elliot, Leigh, and Leah took camels up, and we reached the summit around 3 am. Thankfully, the Bedouins at the top had blankets and mattresses to rent for cold and sleepy travelers like ourselves. We got some bedding, found a nice perch overlooking the eastern horizon, huddled together (no worries about any monkey business -- we were all exhausted from the climb up), and fell asleep for a few hours.

We awoke around 5:30 as more and more people arrived on top of the mountain to witness the main event. The mountain horizon now had a faint glow, like the embers of a fire after the flames have died down. It was still very cold. The wind on the mountain forced us to huddle together for warmth as we awaited the expected sun. Soon, the horizon became brighter and brighter. When it seemed like we could wait no longer, a sliver of the sun pierced through the mountain rock. The ancient hills slowly gave birth to the glowing orange star. The shape of the sun became more and more clear as it appeared over the horizon and, before we could catch our breath, the mountains had fully given birth to the glowing warmth of the day. The sun, after breaking free from the mountains, hovered precariously over the horizon. For a few startling moments I worried that the sun might fall back into the hills and that we would be plunged back into darkness. Thankfully, though, our star continued on its trek across the sky and continued to shine her rays on our chilly place.

It really amazed me to see how great of an impact the sunshine had on us. Before the sun came up, we were freezing on a foreign mountain. Everything seemed strange and a strong chill pervaded the air. After the sun rose, though, the entire mountain was changed. Suddenly the threatening rock formations became magnificent sculptures and the imposing mountains turned into a grand panoramic view. As the air warmed up, the cold of the night was forgotten and in its place came the pleasant glow of morning. Everyone’s faces changed from a cold scowl to a warm smile. I remember the face of a particular French nun, sitting by herself on the rock, joyfully smiling into the morning sun. A group of Asian believers broke into singing the melody of “This Is My Father’s World.” I’m so thankful that, like the sunshine I saw on Mt. Sinai, God has also seen fit to give me a spiritual light in Christ. “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Cor. 4:6). The light of Christ, like the sunshine on Mt. Sinai, changes the way everything appears. Experiencing the love of Christ adds an unspeakable joy and warmth to life, giving us an incredible “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.”

After our mountain-top experience, we descended from the heights. On our return trip, we took all 3600 stairs of repentance. By the end of the trail, we were just about “wretched and mourn(ing) and weeping” (James 4:9). Our knees ached from the constant strain of uneven steps, and our backs were sore from carrying heavy back-packs of extra clothes.

We had the chance to visit St. Catherine’s monastery when it opened at 9:00 am. I must say, it was very similar to other Greek Orthodox churches I have visited. There were plenty of icons and relics present, including a finger on display which I presume once belonged to St. Catherine herself. Also within the monastery was the burning bush, supposedly the original plant through which God manifested himself to Moses. The plant didn’t appear to be burning, though, and neither did it look like a bush. Instead, it appeared to me to be a giant, sprawling mass of green vines. Needless to say, I was a little disappointed by Moses’ burning bush.

After visiting the monastery, (which, I must add, was packed full of tourists including several small, pushy, rude Korean women with giant plastic visors nicely matching their outfits), we returned to Dahab plum tuckered out. It had been a long and physically demanding trip, so we crashed on the beach for the rest of the afternoon.

Dahab

I’ve just returned from spending the afternoon and evening with Mom, Stephanie, and Pastor Brad. We had a nice trip to the Mount of Olives, followed by a filling meal at a Shish Kabob restaurant. It’s great to see the Holy Land with those who have just arrived – their reactions remind me of myself a couple months ago as I gaped and grinned at every new sight in Jerusalem (spoken as one who has been here for a whole two months already ). Mom and Stephanie’s luggage is still missing and AirFrance still has no idea where it might be. I think they’re settling in for the long haul without their luggage. Both bought some essentials today that should get them through a few more days.

Last week was Purim here in Israel. Purim is the Jewish holiday celebrating the story of Queen Esther and how she rescues the Jewish people from destruction. The holiday is marked by Jews around the world with revelry, joy, and a carnival-like atmosphere. Here in Israel, children dress up in costumes (which I’m convinced are leftovers from Halloween celebrations elsewhere), people send each other Purim baskets (very similar to Easter baskets), and it is a mitzvah – a command – for Jews to get drunk on the holiday until they no longer know right from wrong. We were given Tuesday and Wednesday (March 14th and 15th) off of school to celebrate. Some friends and I seized the opportunity for a short vacation during Purim (and my birthday, coincidentally) to head on down to the Sinai Peninsula, which is a part of Egypt.

We left Jerusalem for Eilat very early Tuesday morning. After a pleasant bus ride, we crossed the border into Egypt. The atmosphere was completely different from what we had experienced in both Jordan and Israel. Egypt was laid-back and friendly! The border guards joked with us, and the folks offering us cab rides were willing to negotiate the price. The border police and the cab drivers at the border were lounging around, chatting, and seemed to be having a good time. Our trip was off to a great, friendly start.

We got into a van that promised to take us to Dahab – our beach destination located about a 2 hour ride south on the Sinai shore of the Red Sea. The trip was quite an experience. The road took us along the coast of the Red Sea -- a beautiful, crystal-blue ocean that seems to assault the rusty-red foothills and mountains of the Sinai wilderness. Our driver stopped us halfway to visit his friend, who runs a resort (or perhaps a retreat center?) of straw huts on the beach. We shared some Bedouin tea with our host, who then offered us some smoldering cannibis. We politely refused, as did our taxi driver(thankfully).

We reached Dahab in a good and safe time. While we had heard of a hostel to stay at for 15 Egyptians pounds per room per night (1 U.S. Dollar = 5.75 Egyptian Pounds), our driver took us to the Penguin Hotel belonging to another friend of his, who offered us rooms for 30 Egyptian Pounds per night. We were satisfied with the price, the hotel (which offered snorkeling, scuba, taxi, beach front restaurant, and any other services we required), and the hotel’s beach-front location, so we decided to stay.

Dahab is a gem of a town on the Red Sea. It is a center on the Sinai coast for all sorts of ocean recreation- from scuba diving, to wind surfing, to snorkeling and tanning. I heard one fellow say that the Dahab of today is what Sharm El Sheik used to be like (the latter us a hugely popular, but commercialized, resort city on the southern Sinai tip). Since the Egyptian economy is in such poor shape, everything in Dahab is well within the bounds of a college traveler’s budget. Josh and I, who shared a room, stayed four nights and each paid 60 Egyptian Pounds for our room (about $12 US.) We ate very extravagant meals each night for dinner, and they only cost us $6-7 US. The restaurants seemed to compete with each other to see which ones could out-do the others in good deals. One night, for example, we had a 5 course meal (soup, bread and salad, main course, dessert, Bedouin tea) for the price of our entree. Basically, we ate very well and very much for the four days we were there. Anything our bellies desired was ours to have for a small price – from mango smoothies while we were sprawled out on pillows on the beach to platefuls of hummos and pita after a snorkeling expedition among the coral reefs.

Our days mainly consisted of eating, sleeping, reading, sleeping, eating, snorkeling, sleeping, eating, reading, and sleeping -- all of which took place very close to the beach. It was a nice, restful time, but I was ready to leave our hedonistic lifestyle by the final day of our trip. Perhaps it’s because of Dad’s (and now my own) work ethic, but I felt pretty useless while there and actually looked forward to returning to Jerusalem for some homework. I lived the high life for a few days, and, while I’m thankful for the chance I had to relax on the beach, I was well-prepared to give up the lifestyle encouraging me to “Eat, drink, and be merry.”

While I was in Egypt, though, I was able to watch the sun rise on Mt. Sinai, visit St. Catherine’s Monastery, and celebrate my 21st birthday. I’ll write on those events, and some general comments on Egypt, in my next blog.

Short Update

I've returned safely from my birthday trip to the Sinai. Mom, Stephanie, and Brad have arrived safe-and-sound from the States for a week and half visit. Unfortunately, Mom and Stephanie's luggage has been lost, so we're waiting to see what happens. Hopefully it will be returned to them tomorrow. I cannot write a long update on my blog right now because of some Hebrew homework commitments, but I'll certainly post a lot on my Sinai trip as soon as I can. Until then, you can check out my pictures from the trip at http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2012141&l=f8e79&id=1407506 .

Jerusalem Culture

I was in the Jewish shook on Friday afternoon shortly before Shabbat started. Vendors are eager to sell as much as possible before the day of rest begins, so they offer great bargains on fruit, vegetables, pita, and sweets. As we were walking around, we noticed a very religious Jew enter the shook dressed in his Shabbat best. He had on what looked like a velvet outer jacket, his furry Shabbat hat, and carried a tin horn with him. He was a small fellow – the type who was certainly picked on by his classmates at Hebrew day school when he was little. This day in the shook, however, he commanded (or rather demanded) respect from all the vendors. The small Jewish fellow approached sellers who were still open and blew his loud tin horn at them, letting them know that Shabbat was starting and that it was imperative for them to close their shops. The noise was incredibly annoying, so the sellers quickly turned off their lights and acted like they were shutting down to send the religious Jew on his way. After he left, though, most turned their lights back on to redeem a few more moments of daylight sales. Several vendors took the horn-blowing Heredi (ultra-religious fellow) as a joke, laughing at his attempt to order them about on Shabbat Eve. I couldn’t help but smile at the fellow, and I followed him around as he blew his trumpet demanding that others conform to his Shabbat convictions.

The Arab fellows here in Jerusalem are far less homophobic than guys in the States. It’s not uncommon to see two guys walking down the sidewalk, arms linked together as a sign of friendship. It’s also not uncommon to see two guys kissing each other several times on the cheek as a friendly (although certainly different than where I come from) greeting.


The mullet is back. That’s right -- the hairstyle that is “business in front, party in the back” has returned to haunt a new generation here in Israel and the territories. I haven’t seen many Jews with the hairstyle from the 80’s and 90’s, but several Palestinians have taken up its look. Once my hair grows a little longer, I may get a mullet myself. I won’t look as slick as the sharp Arab guys who where the style with plenty of grease, but I’m confident I’ll be able to pull off a hillbilly version.

I had the chance to visit St. George’s Church today, a huge and beautiful basilica built by the Church of England. There was a special multi-denominational Lenten service this evening, so I was eager to participate. After the service took place, a soiree of sorts was held in the church’s garden with drinks and desserts. There were Catholics, Anglicans, Presbyterians, Baptists (me), and all sorts of people present. One of the Roman Catholic priests at the reception went around offering bread that had yesterday been blessed by the Greek Orthodox Patriarch of Jerusalem. It seems that the Catholic priest and Greek patriarch had been a part of an ecumenical service together yesterday, and the priest, out of great sensitivity, did not want to throw away a lot of bread that the Greek father had blessed. So, he eagerly went around the garden party today offering the bread (which few in attendance held with any special significance) in order to make sure that none got wasted. He was a kind, comical, and very caring priest who did not want to upset the inter-denominational peace that is so easily disturbed here.

A Rainy Day in Jerusalem

The weather suddenly became very cold today. Strong winds are driving a light but chilly rain down onto Yerushalayeem shel Zahav (Golden Jerusalem), so that the holy city isn’t quite living up to its name. When it rains here, the pavement stones get very slippery. Many of the walkways on the Mt. Scopus campus are paved with Jerusalem stone, which is a marine limestone that loses all its traction when wet. It’s a beautiful white pavement, but very treacherous in wet weather.

I began volunteering this week at Musalaha, an organization that works toward reconciliation between Arab and Messianic Jewish believers. When I first came to Israel, I had hoped to volunteer at an organization that focuses on blessing Israel, as many Christian Evangelical organizations here do. I visited and applied to work at one such group, which has many ongoing projects to help and encourage Israelis in need. After my visit to the organization and reading some of its literature, however, I realized that I strongly disagreed with some of the group’s beliefs. The head of the organization, for example, had once suggested that God punished the United States through Hurricane Katrina for its support of Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza. I was clearly not so well-tuned into understanding God’s purposes as was this brother, and I was quickly called to help somewhere else.

Musalaha publishes books, organizes retreats of reconciliation for Arab and Jewish believers, and holds conferences on issues of doctrines, politics, and their relation to faith. The political and theological divide between believers can be very deep here, but Musalaha works to bring all together under the banner of Christ. The organization is all about repentance, forgiveness, and fellowship in the Messiah. I will probably be doing simple jobs around the office, but I hope to help out in any way I can. I believe that God’s heart is broken by the many divisions in His church today. Disunity in the Body of Christ is especially apparent here in Jerusalem, where churches are split by doctrine, history, and nationality. I hope to play a small role at Musalaha in helping to bridge some of these gaps, so that, as believers, we can all come closer to having “one body and one Spirit -— just as you were called to one hope when you were called -— one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.” (Eph. 4:4-6)

Not Just Another Day in Bethlehem

I spent this past weekend on a second trip to Bethlehem. While I thought the first trip was pretty incredible, looking back it pales in comparison to what I experienced this time.

Josh, Leanne, and I left midday on Saturday for the West Bank city of Bethlehem. Hoping to save some money on cab fare, we decided to take the Palestinian bus from Damascus gate to the military crossing/check point across from Bethlehem. The bus ride went off without a hitch, proving our fears of vehicles with blue stripes and Arabic writing baseless. We reached the security checkpoint, which is located adjacent to the wall Israel has built to separate itself from the West Bank. This was my first close-up experience of the wall, and, at the expense of sounding redundant, I must say it really was quite a wall. Regardless of what one thinks of Israel’s policy in regard to the building of the structure, one cannot help but be reminded of its similitude to another wall separating democratic Western Germany from Communist Eastern Germany in Berlin. On both sides of the wall was protest graffiti, adding even more resemblance to the aforementioned barrier.

We were allowed to enter Bethlehem without a problem, and took a cab to the Church of the Nativity. Although the church was not new for me and Josh, we did meet some new people inside. After a short conversation, we befriended Dominic, a Palestinian expatriate who has lived in Australia for some 27 years, and his friend George, a Palestinian citizen who married an American and is moving to the States in a couple of weeks. They quickly became our guides, expecting nothing but to share with us their excited knowledge of Bethlehem and its mysteries. They first took us to the Tomb of the Innocents, an ancient burial site said to be filled with the bones of the infants Herod murdered at the time of Christ’s birth. The door leading down to the tomb had a lock on it, but George’s friendship with a priest in the church helped secure us our entrance. Inside the cold tomb were human bones piled in stacks. Few of the bones looked like they were from infants, but Dominic maintained they were in fact from the time of Christ. Along with the bones, the dim light and Greek Orthodox icons hanging on the walls gave me a strong case of the heeby-jeebies.

After the visit to the tomb, Dominic took us see the Milky Grotto, the traditional place where Mary fed Christ after the holy family left the manger and stable. The grotto, which seemed more like a cave than a place of worship, was marked by a crumbly white substance mixed in with its walls carved from the rock. Dominic told me to rub the rock and taste the powdery substance, which supposedly would remind me of milk. I listened, but the powder just tasted like chalk. In the grotto were pictures of Mary feeding Christ, and I thought that this was perhaps the only place in all of Christendom where such a graphic representation of Mary’s breast was acceptable.

After the Milky Grotto, Dominic left us to go visit his family. George remained, though, and offered us a special tour. After having an early dinner at his friend’s knock-off Subway restaurant (with the Subway logo and all -- apparently corporate trademarks don’t matter much in the West Bank), we got into a cab that George arranged for us. We had no idea where he was going to take us, but soon enough were heading out of town and towards the hills of Jordan. As we went away from Bethlehem, the land became less and less fertile and the homes (and people) became poorer and poorer. After a 45 minute drive, we reached a beautiful outlook point over the West Bank/Jordanian border. Still, though, our cab ride continued. We crept along dangerous precipices, curving our way along a dusty dirt road that seemed to lead to nowhere. Our prize at the end of the drive, however, was well-worth the wait. In the middle of the rocky desert hills was an ancient Greek Orthodox monastery, the second-oldest continually inhabited monastery in all of Christendom. Only the men were allowed to enter, so Leanne and George’s wife had to remain outside while we explored the splendors of Mar Saba.

We entered through a gate guarded by a Greek Orthodox monk, clad in black hat, robe, and long beard. After climbing down some steps, George, Josh, and I were greeted by an American Greek Orthodox monk who lived, worked, and prayed at the monastery. The secluded retreat was founded in the 6th century by St. Saba, a fellow who appreciated the desert wilderness and its harsh rocky environment as a place to pray and meditate. After his death, the monk told us, the saint’s body remained in tact even though it had not been mummified. We were then taken to the large chapel of the monastery, where we were able to see St. Saba himself, laid out exhibition-style behind a class barrier. His skin was wrinkly and tearing away from his bones in some places, but I’d say he looked quite well for spending some 1500 years in the desert. The damage to his skin didn’t seem to be anything that a little moisturizer couldn’t fix.

After visiting the chapel, arrayed in its Eastern Orthodox icons and religious finery, we were told a little history of the monastery and Greek Orthodoxy. At one time, it had housed over 5000 monks. Today, however, there were only 17. The Eastern Orthodox Church, our monk-guide told us, was the oldest and most-genuine form of Christian faith. I was hardly impressed with his proselytizing efforts, but I really did appreciate the old monk’s hospitality. He offered us a drink after the tour, invited us back again in the future, and then allowed us to leave before the monastery’s evening prayers began. (Click on this link to read another fellow’s experience Mar Saba)

The visit to the monastery left us with our jaws hanging wide open, and we returned to Bethlehem after a day of grand adventure and excitement. George offered to take us to Jericho next weekend -- another mark of his amazing hospitality. I cannot overemphasize the generosity, welcome, and kindness we received from our Palestinian friend and his wife this weekend. He paid for our taxi rides, meals, and anything else we may have needed. When we offered him money, George shrugged us off and wouldn’t allow us to pay. Overall, it was an amazing time experiencing the sights, sounds, and life of Bethlehem.

This week

I had the chance to visit the Arabic Evangelical Alliance Church on Sunday. The service was very similar to one in any church at home- it opened with a time of praise and worship, followed by a sermon, announcements, and closing prayers. The service was entirely in Arabic, but thankfully they provided the English-speakers with headphone translation during the sermon. It was interesting to see their perspective and interpretation of Scripture, particularly from a replacement-theology point of view. A reading of Psalm 87, for example, that included in verse 2, “The LORD loveth the gates of Zion more than all the dwellings of Jacob,” was applied directly to the Church. At the end of the service a day of prayer and fasting was proclaimed for the International Bible Society in Gaza, which has recently been threatened by terrorists and bombings.

I’ve decided to observe the Liturgical calendar as much as I can this Easter season. Being in Jerusalem has provided me with an amazing opportunity to explore the ancient traditions of Christian faith, with places like the Church of the Holy Sepulcher just a walk away from my dorm. That being said, I was able attend an Ash Wednesday mass with some Catholic friends to mark the beginning of Lent. We left campus at 5:30 in the morning to ensure we would arrive at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher for the 6:30 service. Once we got there, we realized the group of parishioners would be very small for the English service (there were about ten of us, including a few clergymen). The interesting thing about the service, though, was that it was presided over by a cardinal. That’s right -- a prince of the Roman Catholic Church conducted a nearly-private Ash Wednesday mass for me and my friends at the traditional sight of Christ’s crucifixion. Now, don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly believe in the “priesthood of all believers” and am convinced that all people, regardless of their outward piety or position, are desperately in need of Jesus Christ and the grace that he offers. Still, it was really something special to see a church official in such high authority offer a service to such a small group of believers on the hill where tradition marks the place of Christ’s crucifixion.

A few days ago I was really hungry in the morning, so I went to my cupboard for some whole-wheat pita made fresh a day and a half before. I pulled a piece out and, being in a sleepy haze, immediately bit into it. Come to find out, what seemed like a million ants had reached my breakfast before me. I got a mouth full of the crawling arthropods along with my pita. There seem to be a lot more bugs here, at least as far as ants go, than back at home. I wonder if it’s because all the sand here makes it easy for them to build sprawling ant-empires. Maybe, though, it’s just because a lazy American doesn’t wrap up his pita well enough.