The road was steep and narrow, but it didn’t stop cars or trucks from driving up or down it while the many tour groups pressed against the stone walls on either side to let them pass. We made a short stop at the church called Dominus Plevit, or “the Lord wept”, marking the moment when Jesus wept at the prospect of the destruction of Jerusalem, as he looked across the Kidron Valley. We couldn’t enter because a service was in progress, so we continued on down the steep hill to the Garden of Gethsemane.
Gnarled, twisted trunks of eight ancient olive trees caught our attention immediately as we entered the garden. Botanists say these trees would certainly have been there at the time of Christ, and possibly long before that – and only a few days ago, the latest olives were harvested from them.
The beautiful Church of all Nations (or Basilica of the Agony) stands next to the garden, with the altar placed over the rock where Christ prayed there alone on the night of his betrayal and arrest.
Rafik, our bus driver, picked us up and drove us to the Damascus Gate of the Old City of Jerusalem, so we could walk along the traditional way of the Cross, the Via Dolorosa.
As soon as we got through the gate, we were plunged into a busy, crowded market place with trinkets, leather bags, spices, golden baklava in heaped trays, embroidered gowns and shawls, kitchen gadgets, T-shirts with saucy slogans, cellphone cases, liturgical garments, sandals, mountains of pomegranates and oranges, dates and chestnuts, jewelry and icons and tons of other items, being sold from narrow stalls while strains of Arabic music flowed out from ghetto blasters and pilgrims jostled with merchants and passers by. It was a challenge to a) keep together as a group and b) keep Gila in our sights as we worked our way toward the first Station of the Cross.
Our pilgrimage continued along the ancient stones and through the busy market stalls as we went from one station to another. Finally, we reached the courtyard of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, built over the traditional place where the crucifixion took place.
Quite near the large entrance is a flat slab of stone where Christ’s body was laid after being taken down from the cross. It has been polished smooth by the hands and foreheads of thousands of pilgrims who kneel down to touch the holy place. In another corner of the church, up a steep staircase, is a small chapel, with an altar built over the hole in the ground where the cross was planted. Near the altar is an exposed section of stone with a large crack through it, split by the earthquake that occurred after Christ breathed his last. A tightly packed column of pilgrims shuffled slowly past this spot where, one by one, each had a special moment before moving on.
We were close to the Jaffa Gate of the Old City by this time, and headed for a modern shopping mall just outside for lunch. It was the first time on the whole trip we actually sat at restaurant tables and ordered a meal from a menu! We split into three groups so we didn’t overwhelm a single shop by arriving en masse, so we managed to get fed and pay our bills within the allotted hour.
Our afternoon visit was to the hospital – not because anyone was sick, but to see the Chagall windows that decorate the synagogue attached to the Hadassah Hospital. The facility is the largest in the Middle East, and a fair distance to the south and west of the Old City. It’s a huge complex and a major medical center which has developed a medical tourism program that brings patients from many Arab countries for special care. The hotel, shopping centre and synagogue attached to the hospital make life more comfortable for relatives who accompany those patients, not to mention locals and staff.
When it was being built in 1959, hospital planners invited the artist Marc Chagall to design the stained glass windows of the synagogue, and he did so for free. With the men of our group suitably covered with yamulkas if they lacked hats, we entered the synagogue and listened to a recorded description of each of the twelve large, brightly-coloured panels that symbolize the sons of Israel, as characterized by their father on his deathbed in Genesis 49.
The windows were really beautiful, but we weren’t allowed to photograph them, and we didn’t see any post card stands with pictures to take away, so you will have to take our word for it.
As we headed back toward the hotel, we saw several flatbed trucks heading in the other direction, loaded with large army tanks. The TV news back in our room with stories of escalating hostilities near Gaza confirmed for us the reason for this military manoeuver. So far, we are only seeing media reports. We remain hopeful that that is all we will see between now and our trip home.
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