Rookie Visitors and a 10% Discount

A friend wrote me yesterday, “Having rookie visitors always makes the trip more fun for you.”

Our journey today from the Mount of Olives to David’s Citadel and then the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is best capsulized by two newcomers to Jerusalem in our group.

“So many stories that come together,” said one.

“I think Jesus must have stumbled,” said another as we walked the Stations of the Cross, “even though there are no references to it in the Bible.”

Six Christian faiths share space beside and on top of the remains of earlier structures in the Church, where an agreement dividing the sacred space has lasted since 1852.

A photograph of Jews praying at the Western Wall in the 1920’s caught my eye as we walked through the Arab shuk (market).

The contrast between the limited space then and the large plaza today is stark.

(I thought that men and women were praying separately, as is the case today, but others in our group disagreed.)

I engaged the shop owner in some Shuk Price Is Right, was willing to walk away, and wound up with a 10% discount.

I can already see a montage of my photos at the Wall from this trip surrounding this acquisition.

A Prime Minister, the Fallen, and an Entrepreneur

Menachem Begin was the Prime Minister of Israel.

 He won the Nobel Prize for signing the peace treaty with Anwar Sadat and Jimmy Carter.

“I want to be remembered, above all, as someone who prevented civil war,” declares Begin in the quote you see at the start of the tour in the Begin Center.

He was referring to the armed dispute between his faction and the new State of Israel, headed by his long-time rival and first Prime Minister, David Ben Gurion, over the shipment of military supplies to Begin’s group.

Begin kept his pledge not to leave his modest apartment in Israel until he was elected Prime Minister.

Nonetheless, he asked to be buried on the Mt. of Olives in Jerusalem, next to two compatriots who committed suicide to avoid being hung by the British during the pre-state Mandate period.

Other PMs are buried on Mt. Herzl in Tel Aviv.

Before lunch, I walked in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City.

Instead of turning left to go to the Wall, I went right.

I found a memorial to the 48 Jews who lost their lives defending the City in 1948.

Rabbinical permission was needed for them to be buried there.

The reason: Jewish law prohibits cemeteries within a city.

That prohibition is also relevant at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which is built on the burial site of Jesus Christ.

On an earlier trip, we came upon archeological evidence that the church was outside the City limits at that time.

My tour guidance for the first-time visitors was not what I hoped it would be.

Only Professor Levin and his wife joined me, and we took a taxi, instead of walking my newly found route to the Wall.

Our entrepreneurial cabbie asked us if we also wanted to go to Bethlehem – quite a distance away and a reminder that while some people in Jerusalem may ask me for directions, I’m still a tourist.

But very much at home and moved once I prayed at the Wall.

I have never walked down this street before

I volunteered to be the tour guide/rabbi for our group tomorrow as we walk to the Western Wall to welcome the Sabbath.

So I did a dry run today and wound up taking a new path to the Zion Gate, one of eight entrances to the Old City of Jerusalem.

Instead of walking in, I veered right to explore for the first time the Tomb of David, the Dormition Abbey, and a Christian cemetery.

A trumpet blared as I returned to the City walls.

It was a Bar Mitzvah procession – twin boys (sorry, Rachel), surrounded by trumpet, drums, and shofars; family; and tourists.

Only in Jerusalem.

In the afternoon, I had a private tour of Hebron, site of the tombs of the patriarchs and matriarchs and Arab markets now desolate and off limits to Palestinians for security reasons.

—-

“Did you sleep on the plane?” one friend emailed me.

“Over Western Europe,” I replied.

Better snoring through chemistry.

No trouble staying awake this evening and getting my body on Israeli time.

I went to see “My Fair Lady,” featuring a friend from Baltimore, Chip Manekin, as Alfred P. Doolittle.

As the usher said to Grandma and me when I first saw the show at Ford’s Theatre in Baltimore 50 years ago, “Two wonderful seats for a wonderful show.”

  • My Key Issues:

  • Pimlico and The Preakness
  • Our Neighborhoods
  • Pre-Kindergarten
  • Lead Paint Poisoning