Finished week 2. I no longer wake up feeling like death. And then feeling like death at multiple times during the day.
I’ve got a few of my favourite rhythms restored, like my reading bits first thing in the morning. I’ve found some time to get back into my Hebrew textbook. Shena added me to her Pimsleur group account, which is an online language learning program. I’m not sure I’ll get time to log in every day, but every little bit helps. I bought two huge purple cabbages, and rice and eggs and decaf coffee. I knew I could get chocolate here (and there’s lots!), but I’m glad I stuffed the empty spaces in my luggage with my favourite chocolate from Canada—it’s a bit of home with every bite, and makes easy gifts. Still struggling to find time to do graphic work for my clients back home, though.
Tuesday was a day trip to Jerusalem. Yeah, you know, just Jerusalem, over there, about 90 minutes from Beersheva. Hard to think of myself saying these things, much less doing them! I sang an ancient ascension song in the car as we climbed the verdant hills south of the city. There’s a funny bit of poetry in the Hebrew Bible poking fun at really big mountains and their giant cliffs, impressive heights and snowy tops—but they don’t have the temple! 😛 No, it sat on the self-admittedly stumpy Mount Moriah. The small shame the mighty.
First stop was the church office in the Old City to see some folks in charge of stuff, and to buy some supplies for the parish. I got to meet the regional priest who will oversee my work in Jerusalem during the month of May, Father Piotr. He was the priest in Beersheva for eight years, and asked me how his dog Shelleg (Snowy) was doing. I told him we were getting along well, going for walks each day. I also met the youth coordinators who briefed me a little on the 4-day Passover Camp they would run for the teenagers this week, and my job as a volunteer there. Father Roman and I had to wait in another office for some papers, and so of course they gave us an espresso shot and chocolate square while we sat.
Next stop was the church of the Holy Sepulchre, where the cross and burial of Jesus are commemorated. There’s usually a long cue to pray at the stone slab where he was laid, but we walked right in, admitted by the Orthodox priest manning the door. It’s a very powerful place if you let yourself enter it like his disciples did 2000 years ago.
We made our way to St. Anne’s church on the edge of the Old City, where I departed to walk across the valley to Gethsemane while Father Roman attended his regional meeting. The narrow road up the Mount of Olives had some interesting sites at the top. I came back down to pop into the Gethsemane basilica. I’m sorry for the lack of tourist traffic and enterprise that comes from it, but I was also deeply thankful the church was empty and silent. Outside the church stand olive trees, a few of them dating back thousands of years, still standing vigil today—well the past the “one hour” he asked for.
Back across the valley up the hill to the Old City again to meet up with Fr. Roman. Normally crowded with tourists and visitors, the place was pretty empty, and many shops didn’t bother to open. We received many invitations to look inside the vendor shops and booths that hosted the sparse market crowd. I’m not sure you get out of them without buying something, which is not hard to do, since everything looks pretty neat to a green Middle East keener like me.
Fr. Roman then took me to the Western Wall, a remnant section of the Second Temple destroyed in AD 70. It was very warm in Jerusalem that day, but when I touched the white stone I was surprised how cool it felt. I stood with my hand on the wall for some minutes, pondering what it meant for the son of David to build his father’s temple. In the distance was music playing. It was playing a song I knew, a Hebrew song I listened to while in Valemount. I sang along. The world became very small in that moment, and he seemed to be everywhere at once.
Father Roman remembered a favourite falafel booth (and how to get there!), so we got pitas and headed to the roof above the market to eat. A bit out of the way, and needless to say we were the only white guys for some distance. Back to the car and off to Beersheva for the rest of the day. Fr. Roman is a great conversation partner. We fill every moment of car rides talking about life, theology and philosophy. A mental whirlwind of a day. The next day I was pretty bagged.
The rest of the week was occupied with regular duties of tending to the needs of the house. Round three with the cactus—I think I won that one. Friday we hosted the bimonthly Indian Mass, which I sat through, totally not understanding a single word of it, but able to follow the gist of things at a few key moments. Man, when they pray, they are like one huge mind and heart, so unified and focused. Most everything was chanted with absolutely minimal melody—just tone and rhythm spoken really fast and in near perfect unison. In music we call this place of intense communal convergence “the pocket”.
Highlight: Wednesday one of the young parish children walked with me and Shelleg. She was sweet to teach me useful (and polite!) Hebrew words as we toured the neighbourhood. Sunday I braved my first little solo shopping trip (because everything is closed on Saturday) to get new strings for the parish guitar. What a nice music shop, with good gear, a handful of Canadian-made guitars and friendly staff.
Thankful for: the quietness that comes when I stop trying so hard and let myself enter the flow of life—letting go of the big expectations and accepting the spontaneous gifts. I go into the youth camp today with no fear, because I’m not familiar with youth camps and don’t even know what to be afraid of.
Pray for: sustained energy as I give as much of myself as I can for the short while I’m here. Time is going so quickly. Of course, safety—it is Israel after all. Increased understanding of the people here (foreigners, non-status migrants and Israeli nationals) and their complicated policies and stories.
Peace be with you. Chat again soon,
Photos: 1) A view of Jerusalem’s Old City (and newer city in the background) from the Mount of Olives; 2) Inside the Basilica of the Agony at Gethsemane, everything is mosaic, not painted; 3) the cactusarium—my nemesis are those bad boys on the left. It’s pretty crowded in there, so I’ll need to evict many of them. With great diplomacy.
