Israel to Jordan to Egypt

On our last morning in Jerusalem, we got an early start for the first travel day in over a month as we prepared to leave Israel and our comfy apartment on Hebron Road.  Altogether, we spent five days in Tel Aviv, ten days in Tiberias, and eighteen days in Jerusalem which gave us plenty of time for exploring a country with many layers of history.  Deena and I had to cancel our trip here eighteen years ago, but we sure made up for it with this visit, and we will cherish the time we spent there with our children as we saw one wonder after another.  The last few days in Jerusalem were mostly quiet as the temperatures dropped and rain returned; so we rested, studied, and planned for the next leg of our journey.  

Joseph and I snuck out for the afternoon to the Old City one more time between rain showers and spent a few hours exploring the Armenian quarter, and we enjoyed seeing the Cardo area with its Roman ruins and unique shopping area.  Our main destination was the Church of St. Mark, which many believe was the site of the Last Supper and later the first Christian church established by St. Mark.  Joseph and I were the only ones there for a visit and one of the sisters was happy to spend almost an hour with us telling stories about the history of the church and the pilgrims that have sought healing there over the centuries.  On the way back to the Jaffa Gate, we stopped at our favorite falafel joint for one more stuffed pita before walking back to the First Station area one last time.  I will never forget the walls of the Old City and the winding streets and alleys within that could burst from the historical events that happened there and changed the world forever.

The Cardo

We braved the cold on our last night and took a taxi to the downtown area and the Abraham Hostel where we met a group for the purpose of touring an Orthodox Jewish neighborhood and learning more about this fascinating culture.  Our excellent guide, Dinah, lived in this community.  For over three hours, she led us through an area of Jerusalem where tourists never go.  We started at a center of learning where Dinah took a long time explaining the basic history of the Jews and the beliefs that are the center of their heritage and lifestyle.  She opened up the floor for questions, and we had a lively time of respectful discussion before venturing back out to the streets, where we got deep into the neighborhood busy with the Hanukkah celebration and families preparing for Shabbat the next day.  One of our favorite stops was the bakery where we bought a sackful of pastries right out of the oven. We ate most of them outside the door of the shop, but we did manage to save a few morsels for a late-night snack.  The tour ended at Dinah's house, and she invited us in for another time of discussion.  She told us the incredible history of her own family and showed us some of her family's precious heirlooms and books.  We had a fun evening, and we were thankful for the opportunity to learn more about the Jewish Community, and we talked about the things we learned as we devoured the remainder of our chocolate-glazed pastries back at the apartment.

At 8:00 the next morning, we locked the door to apartment number four and stood on the street corner in the cold wind trying to hail one last taxi in Jerusalem.  A minivan finally pulled over and we crammed our stuff in the back and jumped in out the cold.  Our driver was a cheerful, bald-headed man in his fifties who had his twenty-something daughter in the passenger seat for the purpose of taking her to work.  Their English was excellent, and we had a spirited discussion about our time in Israel, and we all lamented spending so much money on groceries and basic necessities.  Our driver mentioned that things were becoming more dangerous in Jerusalem, and he said, "Ees important I carry one of these," as he reached behind his back and pulled a nine millimeter pistol from his waistband for all to see.  His daughter rolled her eyes as he showed us his gun, and we all concurred that it was a fine weapon indeed.  He dropped his daughter off, and we rode with him for another ten minutes to the central bus station and filled the time talking about Israel's strict gun laws before entering the huge complex full of early morning passengers and young men and women in military uniform carrying very large weapons.  We pushed our bags through the scanner at the first of many security checks of the day.

Deena and I purchased tickets for the 961 bus leaving at 9:00 for Bet She'an, the site of the incredible ruins we visited a few weeks ago and for the Jordan River border crossing from Israel into Jordan, our next destination.  The two-hour ride was comfortable, and I looked out the window the whole time watching the terrain change from barren, bleached limestone hills to the green Jordan River Valley surrounded by the mountains we came to love in Galilee.  There were settlements and small villages along the way, and modern-day shepherds guided their flocks among heavy farm machinery in areas full of long low greenhouses and vineyards shielded with plastic.  There were a few cornfields tucked in between huge groves of palm trees planted in tight rows—the smaller trees covered with plastic barriers to keep out the cold weather.  The bus made stops regularly along the way and male and female gun-toting soldiers were the primary passengers getting on and off the bus.  The bus pulled off the highway at the small Bet She'an terminal, and all the passengers exited to desolate streets and small closed shops in a place that Joseph said looked like an outpost at the end of the world.  A group of girls snagged the only taxi before we could get to it, but the driver radioed his buddy to come pick us up. A few minutes later after a brief ride, we were walking up to the heavily guarded border station, where we proffered our passports for the first of many of such presentations that day.  

We began a three-hour process at the Israeli compound, where we paid our exit fees, got our passports stamped, changed our shekels for Jordanian dollars, and walked outside to the small station, where a bus picked us up with a bunch of other border hoppers and drove us three minutes over the Jordan river and into the sovereign nation of Jordan with the confident smile of King Abdullah the Second greeting us from a large banner at the checkpoint.  Two heavily-armed officers boarded the bus and did a thorough check of passports before allowing us to continue to the compound where more officials took our money for visas and took our pictures for their files.  We managed to sneak outside and eat the chicken pita lunch we had packed in the shade under a row of Jordanian flags popping in the stiff breeze.  Finally, we were officially in Jordan, but not for long, as we waited for a taxi to pick us up and drive us two hours to the Queen Alia airport south of Amman for our flight to Cairo.  We had to wait about thirty minutes for our taxi, so we sat in the warm sunshine on the curb next to the cabstand and teased each other good naturedly as we talked about some of our adventures so far.  Our driver, Ha'ed, showed up, and we were off into the heart of Jordan as the day wore on.

The small villages weren't much to look at as we passed by crumbling buildings and streets full of trash, but the locals all seemed to be in a good mood as they ran across the road in and out of traffic.  There were long stretches of road lined with families as they cooked meals over small propane stoves and relaxed in lawn chairs while they talked and watched traffic whiz by.  Halfway through the journey, Ha'ed stopped at a small shop for an all-American snack of a cup of coffee and a Marlboro, and he returned to the car carrying the largest head of romaine lettuce I've ever seen.  He opened his door, peeled off the outer leaves exposing the tender, inner sections of the lettuce and presented it to me with a huge smile as he said, "Welcome to Jordan" enthusiastically.  So, off we went, climbing the mountain range leading away from the Jordan River munching our gift of lettuce.  The mountains were steep with distant ridges hazy in the late afternoon sun, and we headed down the other side and approached the capital city of Amman, which is a sprawling modern metropolis and our home for eight days after we return from a three-day trip to Cairo.  

Ha'ed dropped us off at the airport at 4:30.  We checked in at the Royal Jordanian desk, received our boarding passes and were informed that our 6:45 flight was delayed for an hour, sighhh.  A big honkin' cup of Starbucks coffee and quarter pounder with cheese helped pass the time after Deveny almost got us thrown into a Jordanian jail at security.  She still had several expired hand warmers in her coat pocket left over from  Christmas Eve in Bethlehem, and we had to sit quietly while a committee of security guards held our passports and launched an investigation into hand warmers, which they had never seen before.  I wish I had taken a video of Deena trying to explain their use like she was playing a game of charades while the security guys tried not to laugh.  We were finally freed to wait out the remainder of our delay at the gate as the day just kept getting longer.

The boarding process went smoothly and before long, we were in the air taking the long way to Egypt by flying along the Israeli border—an Arab airline flying over Israeli airspace is a big no-no.  On the flight we were served a small meal which was pretty good, and we landed in Cairo with more security checks, visas to purchase, and more money to extract from the ATM.  It was 11:15 PM by the time we met our Uber driver, and he navigated toward the Giza Plateau as he talked to our host, Ashti, several times on the phone.  We made it to our street at midnight and Ashti was waving at us with a big smile on his face.  After we paid the driver, and he left, Ashti said, "I don't know what's wrong with thees guy.  He don't know where the Sphinx is.  The Sphinx been there for five-thousand years, and he cannot find the Sphinx."  Ashti and his family own a building about two-hundred meters from the entrance to the pyramid complex, and our apartment balcony has a million-dollar view right across the whole amazing thing.  Ashti got us settled and bid us goodnight with the promise of touring the neighborhood in the morning.  We stood on the balcony gazing on the pyramids illuminated by soft purple flood filters seventeen hours after we began our journey from Jerusalem.  After we fell into bed, I lay awake for a bit thinking about my little family and the things we've accomplished on this trip so far.  On long travel days full of challenges and test of stamina, I'm thankful for the positive attitude that continues to prevail and the tenacity in working together to win some hard-to-reach but worthy destinations.

How do you put an American life on hold?

The countdown began around Christmastime last year, and all of a sudden, a trip that seemed too far away to actually occur, or even exist at all, became a huge reality.  For the past two years, Deena and I had worked on altering our finances in order to amass a collection of travel points that would hopefully one day pay for major airfare enabling us to pack up and travel around the world, and that day was fast approaching.  I wish I had kept a log of the hours Deena spent researching travel points strategies, budget travel, itinerary options, home school, and many other aspects of this trip just to reflect on the amount of time it took to plan this juggernaut of a journey.  Six months away from our target departure date, we began to tell family and friends about our trip, and we realized that everything we had studied on paper and the internet for years was about to manifest in the act of boarding a plane and leaving the life we knew behind for a year.  Looking back now at that period from the holidays up to the time we left, we realized it probably would have been easier to sell everything and start completely over upon our return.

During the months following the New Year, the days are short, and it’s usually too cold to do much anyway, so we decided we would use that time to get our house ready for rental.  Our plan was to take one room or closet per weekend and get rid of any excess stuff to make it easier to empty completely when it came time to leave.  We’re fairly diligent when it comes to getting rid of clutter, and every year we make an effort to rid the house of unnecessary items, so we figured our task wouldn’t be that daunting.  Hoo boy, were we in for a surprise!  Well, it shouldn’t have been a surprise since we were the ones who accumulated so much stuff to begin with, but it’s a gradual process, and we soon realized that we’ve been storing year's worth of garbage for no reason other than the thought that we “might need that someday.”  Here’s some advice:  you won’t.  We spent many a Saturday last January and February dumping piles of books, papers, and all sorts of knick-knacks over the second floor rail into the wide open maw of the giant green garbage can parked in the foyer.  We donated as much old clothing as we could, and we got rid of everything that would have absolutely no use when we got back, which was just about everything in the house except for the main furniture items and the dishes.  We figured the kids would need all new clothes anyway, and since Deena and I haven’t shopped for ourselves since 1999 or so, we’d treat ourselves to some new duds as well—it helps that I only need one suit for weddings and funerals, and I’m a blue jeans and t-shirt kind of guy the rest of the time.  

It took no less than five trips with a loaded car to the dump to get rid of all the stuff we’d accumulated in the garage, and the last trip was on the weekend before we left.  As the winter progressed, the house was looking good, and we kept asking ourselves, “Why haven't we done this before?”  There are many reasons Americans buy houses and fill them up with stuff, and while I won’t break down the psychology behind all that, I will say that it’s extremely liberating to get rid of it.  While the interior was looking good, the exterior needed work, and as the temperatures warmed up with springtime, we headed outside to tackle a long list of projects to fluff up the curb appeal and make life easier for tenants.  We pressure washed, cleaned windows, painted doors, dug up overgrown bushes, and took a chainsaw to the Addams Family-looking hollies by the front door. We planted flowers and put down fresh pine needles again asking ourselves, “Why haven’t we done this before?”  I can give you the easy answer for that one:  I hate yardwork, and I’ll come up with any excuse I can to avoid it, which I’ve done for years.  We’ve always kept the yard passable to stay under the HOA’s radar, but we had it looking really good by the time the school year was drawing to a close.

Speaking of school, Deena spent a lot of time over the past year unlocking the secrets of homeschooling and figuring out a way we could continue our childrens’ education on the road.  Fortunately, North Carolina is homeschool-friendly, and we were able to put together a curriculum which combined the artistic and historical aspects of our itinerary and the required courses to satisfy the state.  Joseph and Deveny have done very well with their studies for the past five months, and there hasn’t been much stress involved with completing assignments.  Other than a couple of textbooks that Joseph has to lug around, the kids’ other courses are either web-based or programs we were able to load on the hard drives of their computers, so in the areas where wifi has been dodgy, they’ve still had the ability to study.  Of course, there’s no substitute for their friends, but they’ve been keeping up with their buddies through social media while they suffer the constant presence of their parents.  Joseph will return to his senior year, and Deveny will be a sophomore, so they should be able to get back in the groove quickly.

The groove to which Deena and I will return hasn’t been determined, and we’re not thinking about it just yet.  While Deena had to inform her employer of ten years that she was leaving to travel around the world, I had to answer only to myself and my last few customers as I worked down a backlog right up to the last week.  I’ve written before about the love of my work and daily routine, and it’s been weird getting used to not having either one.  On the other hand, Deena and I have worked hard for many years, and we’ve enjoyed having a nice long break while we travel with our kids.  We still have to support ourselves back at home, so hopefully the work force will still have room for two weary travelers in a few months.  Our family had the blessing of health insurance through Deena’s employer. It came to a halt right before we left, but we purchased a travel policy to cover emergencies while we’re on the road.  Our myriad of medications turned into a horse-pill sized issue when it came to convincing the insurance company to provide a ten-month supply before we left.  It took several months and hours of phone calls, but we finally received our medications a week before we boarded the plane—I thought about asking if they would throw something in the bag to take the edge off the stress they caused us, but that would have been catty.

While technology and communication advanced at a dizzying pace over the last few years, our kids were left behind with antiquated ipods as their only thin tether to social inclusion, bless their hearts.  We bought new iphones last spring and turned them over to the kids for use on the trip since we won’t need phones for a while.  After thirteen years with our cellular provider, we switched to another that had an amazing international plan, and we’ve been happy with the decision.  We still have to use the phones from time to time for quick research or email, but they belong to the kids, and they’ll either retain possession of the current phones or get new ones when we return, but they’re getting jobs to pay the bills for the privilege of snapchatting their friends, dadgummit.  We canceled all of the other utilities before we left so our tenant could set up accounts, and we’ll have to reinstate all that stuff upon re-entry—I hope they don’t require recent pay stubs.  Eventually we’ll be faced with the American dilemma of choosing providers for internet and TV, but after watching almost no television for five months, I can’t say that I miss it—other than Monday Night Football and Rick Steves travel programs, but that’s it.  And Sportscenter, but that’s it.  And Alaskan Bush People, but that’s it.

While Deena was redeeming points for flights, I was researching gear and computers, and I read many articles and forum posts and watched countless videos on efficient packing and processor speeds.  Once I decided on the type of bags that would suit our needs the best, it was time to start spending money allocated for the larger purchases.  Not many people know this, but I’m a wizard—well, on ebay anyway.  With proper research, time, and patience, one can purchase just about anything on ebay for half the retail price or less in many cases, and I was able to buy three nice forty-liter backpacks for not much more than the price of one.  With the money I saved, I was able to go ahead and get the kids’ computers as well as one for Deena and me to use, and I was able to get one a little nicer than I originally planned.  Unfortunately, the motherboard on our computer got fried from a power surge during a thunderstorm in Israel, and I felt like a Jerusalem cab driver without a horn—dang.  

While all that big planning and preparation stuff was happening over the last six months before we left, Deena and I still had to perform our jobs right up to the last minute as well as run a somewhat normal household for the kids’ sake and take care of minutiae that kept multiplying like heads on the Hydra.  I wish I had taken pictures of the many lists we worked through as we updated passports, canceled credit cards, moved money around, researched online security, made trips to the bank, downloaded curriculum, booked places to stay, made trips to Walmart, made more trips to Walmart, investigated phone plans, planned and executed the kids’ pool party, and somehow Deena went on her annual mission trip for a week in March, and we went on our annual family mission trip for a week in July.  With the Lord’s help and the support of our family and friends, I think we extracted every last drop of essence from every millisecond of our lives as our departure date crept closer.  A few weeks before we left, Deena and I were sitting in our bonus room, and she swiveled the desk chair around from the computer screen to me and declared, “I did it.  Two years ago, I started trying to get free flights around the world without knowing if it would really happen, but it worked.”  Deena is a tenacious researcher. She sets long term goals for the benefit of our little family, and I’m very proud of her and blessed to be traveling the world as the result of her hard work.  

The last few days before we left were insane as we packed the remnant of our clothing in vacuum-sealed plastic, disassembled beds, and cleared closets of their final contents.  We canceled the insurance on my van and discovered that we had to make an unplanned trip to the DMV to turn in the tag.  In order to have a vehicle to drive upon our return, we paid for a storage policy so Deena’s car can sit in her parents’ driveway with the tag firmly in place.  We made countless trips to our garage and stored the last bit of our stuff in boxes in the cabinets we spent months cleaning.  We went to farewell dinners and parties given by our gracious family and friends, and finally, we loaded our gear, our dog, and our pulsing emotions in the car, took one last look at the house, and drove away.  

We went to Deena’s parents’ house where we delivered Lucy the poodle to her home for a year, and said tearful goodbyes to our family.  Deena’s dad prayed for us, and we packed his truck with our gear, and he drove us to the airport. He made us feel better with his ever-present love and good cheer.  We were excited and scared at the same time, and we spent our last night in our hometown in a room that smelled like diapers in a fleabag hotel near the airport.  We rolled out of bed at 4:00 the next morning, ate our free donuts in the hotel lobby, and took the shuttle to the airport where we boarded a plane that was long in planning.  So, that’s basically how we pulled it off, and if I included every detail about the process, I would need to write a full book, and who knows about that?  While our preparation for world travel was a huge aspect of the journey, the reasons why we did it are an even bigger deal to us, and I’ll write about that eventually.

Merry Christmas from Bethlehem

Last night as I lay awake in bed, I recalled many scenes of Christmases past, and while many of them involved cold weather, new bikes, and Mahalia Jackson singing Sweet Little Jesus Boy, my Yuletide memories now include snipers on the rooftops.  Christmas has looked a lot different for us this year, and even though the Holy Land marks the place of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem, there are only a few Christmas trees and nary a light-covered reindeer to commemorate the event in all of Israel.  We haven’t had to deal with the endless holiday to-do lists, the shopping, and the extra activities added to an already busy American life.  On the other hand, there’s been no Andy Williams Christmas album, no colored lights, and no presents.  I miss seeing our mantle that Deena turns into a Christmas masterpiece of gold and greenery every year.  I miss dragging the boxes of decorations down from the attic and unpacking them while listening to George Winston's December album in the background.  I miss the events at our church, especially the Christmas Eve candlelight service followed by the traditional Italian feast at our house with Deena’s family.  I miss shopping for presents for Joseph and Deveny. Watching them open the boxes with excitement on their teenage faces is just as special as when they were little. So, how in the world were we supposed to spend Christmas with no Reese’s Christmas tree candy, 6,220 miles from our family and friends in North Carolina without turning into a quivering mass of homesickness?  Thankfully, it was Jerusalem Baptist Church to the rescue.

Last Sunday, we spent a fun day of worship and fellowship with the congregation at the Baptist House in downtown Jerusalem, and during the time of announcements, it was mentioned by Deacon Bruce that the signup deadline for singing in Manger Square in Bethlehem on Christmas Eve was that day, and all money was due.  Using the telepathy that couples acquire after many years of marriage, Deena and I looked at each other wide-eyed and committed to this activity without having to say a word.  We had planned to go into Bethlehem before Christmas to avoid the crowds and have a quiet celebration at home, but this opportunity was too good to pass up.  After the service, we gathered around the piano with the rest of the group and rehearsed the song set with Roger the worship leader from Kentucky directing and his wife on piano.  Once rehearsal concluded, Deena and the kids stayed at the church talking to fellow travelers while I ran around the rainy streets of downtown Jerusalem looking for an ATM that would dispense the required amount for our inclusion in the choir, and to my complete dismay and frustration, I couldn't find one.  Back at the church, Deacon Bruce sensed my dejection and granted us a special dispensation of grace that would allow us to pay before boarding the bus on the day of the event—praise the name!

We spent the first part of last week continuing the exploration of the Old City until Joseph came down with a fever and a stomach bug that laid us low on Thursday and Friday.  By the end of the week, he was feeling better, and we limited our normally busy schedule to resting at the apartment and an afternoon viewing of the new Star Wars movie, Rogue One, at the cineplex down the street.  We were also able to check out First Station, which is an old train station converted to an outdoor mall with shops and restaurants located right across the street from our apartment.  We enjoyed pastries and people watching, and I found a coffee shop that produced an excellent double espresso, and as we made the short walk back to the apartment, the sun set and another Shabbat began.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and we got up a little earlier to make sure we were prepared for a long day away from home.  We were due at the church at twelve noon, so we hailed a taxi, navigated the sparse Shabbat traffic, and made it to Jerusalem Baptist with plenty of time to spare.  A Messianic Jewish congregation was having a worship service in the sanctuary, so we packed in tightly with our group in a second-floor fellowship room and shared a lunch of cold cuts and chips while our leaders reviewed the itinerary for the day.  The church has been sending a choir to Manger Square on Christmas Eve for thirty years, so they knew what they were doing, and the excitement was building in this year’s choir, sixty voices strong and representing eleven nations.  Rain had been predicted in Bethlehem all week, but we rejoiced that the skies cleared and the rain chance diminished to zero.

We boarded our charter bus and spent the thirty-minute drive to Bethlehem rehearsing our songs, finishing up just as we reached the checkpoint at the West Bank Border.  We had packed our passports in case there was an inspection, but the guards waved our bus past the sentry shacks under bright red signs warning Israeli citizens of death should they venture down certain roads.  Bethlehem is a Palestinian town located on the West Bank with a population comprised primarily of Arabic Muslims. There is still a small Christian community located there, but its numbers are dwindling rapidly.  The economy in Bethlehem is mainly supported the tourist money spent by pilgrims on their journies to see the birthplace of Jesus and the famous murals by the popular street artist, Banksy.  The area around the town is marked by runs of low green hills full of rocky outcrops and traversed with paths worn deep by the traipsing of shepherds and their flocks over the centuries.

We spotted Banksy’s striking Flower Thrower mural as we drove into the Bethlehem municipality and began a slow climb through streets lined with sandy limestone block buildings, the businesses denoted by signs written exclusively in Arabic and residences indicated by rooftop satellite dishes and homemade water heaters.  At every street junction camouflaged sentries stood watchful with machine guns fitted with long banana clips at the ready.  As we got closer to our destination, the roads narrowed and and seemed to go almost straight up as the bus full of joyful singers strained against the sharp curves.  I had always envisioned Bethlehem situated in a quiet valley with small buildings surrounding a sweet depiction of the Holy Family, but the images of a still little town produced by years of imagination were steadily shattered at the turn of every corner.  The Pilgrim Rest Hotel was our headquarters for the day, and after our driver masterfully parked the huge bus in an impossible place, we joined together in the lobby for final instructions before being released to explore for a couple of hours.

Bethlehem

The road from the hotel up to Manger Square was steep and lined with souvenir shops selling everything from baby Jesus refrigerator magnets to huge olive-wood camels, and the proprietors were all standing outside welcoming the tourists with friendly invitations to visit their stores.  We stopped in the Olive Wood Factory to check out some nativity scenes, and the owner invited everyone coming through the door up to the rooftop to check out the panorama of the town.  We had hoped to purchase a nativity scene to ship home, but once we were standing in front of shelves lined with every conceivable depiction of Jesus’ birth carved in olive wood, the desire just wasn’t there anymore, so our strained budget was safe for the time being.  We walked a couple of hundred meters more until the narrow street opened up on Manger Square anchored by the famous Church of the Nativity and full of people, decorations, news trucks, and a heavily armed Palestinian police force.

The Church of the Nativity was originally commissioned by Emperor Constantine and his mother, Helena, based on the traditional location of Jesus’ birth, and we decided to check it out for ourselves and got inside rather quickly considering the size of the crowd.  The church is in the middle of a large renovation project, and most of the interior is covered by scaffolding and drywall barriers, but the heavily decorated altar is still accessible.  After waiting for thirty minutes in a tight crush of tourists waiting to view the area that commemorates the supposed site of Jesus’ birth, we bailed out choosing to sit for a while in the altar area instead—good call.  Once we made it back outside to the square, we still had an hour and a half of free time before our sound check, so we wandered around taking pictures for a while and ended up at St. George’s restaurant for a pre-performance bowl of hummus and a round of hot beverages.  There were several members of our group already there with the same idea, so we joined them for an interesting time of sharing stories from around the world.

By the time our choir took the stage for our sound check, it was dark, the square was packed with people, and the decorative lights were on full blaze as a chilly wind blew through the streets of Bethlehem.  We were thankful that we had the presence of mind to pack our down jackets in the trusty orange backpacks, and one of the ladies from the church dispensed hand warmers all around.  Our choir ran through a couple of carols as the sound crew set the levels for our performance scheduled for 6:30, and the crowd gave us enthusiastic approval.  From the soundcheck, we walked as a group to a reserved room in the nearby Peace Center where we waited for our performance time.  Palestinian president Mahmoud Abbas was due in town any moment with his entourage for a special dinner near the square, so we had to wait until all of the official vehicles and extra security officers made their way across Bethlehem.  We passed the time by taking turns reading favorite Bible verses and sharing stories until we received word that it was time to take the stage.  

Our choir - this shot made the world news

Our sixty-voice choir and four-piece band weaved through the throng, crossed the barricade to the stage, and took our places in front of a packed crowd of mostly young Muslim men staring in anticipation of our performance.  While we were getting set, one of the men in front of Joseph and me pointed out several snipers in prone positions on the rooftops of the buildings lining the square, and I made the remark that we’d better not hit any wrong notes.  Then, our director smiled, counted off the band, and for the next thirty minutes our choir sang with joy on the main stage in Manger Square in Bethlehem—wow.  We sang all the familiar carols like Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Joy to the World, and my favorite, Oh Come All Ye Faithful, and the crowd loved it.  There were wide smiles all over the stage as we praised God and proclaimed the birth of our Savior with our singing.  We finished with Feliz Navidad and clacked plastic castanets as we walked off the stage and back down the narrow street to the Pilgrim Rest Hotel, where a huge buffet supper sat steaming and ready for a hungry choir.  For the next hour we laughed, sang, and shared testimonies with this special group of people before boarding the bus and heading back to Jerusalem.

The bus stopped very near our apartment to let off a large group, and we bid goodbye to our special friends before exiting the bus and walking the short distance home.  Once inside, we shed our many layers, got comfy, and recounted our experience in Bethlehem until the early morning hours, and I was able to tell my mom all about our night via FaceTime which was fun too.  So, Christmas was very different for my little family this year, and Deena and I are still shaking our heads in disbelief when talking about our good fortune and the opportunity to share Christ’s love on a world stage on Bethlehem.  We’re far away from home, but our family and friends are close in our hearts, and we are thankful for all of you.  We miss you, and we wish you peace and joy and a very Merry Christmas!

Jerusalem - Southern Steps, Pool of Bethesda

Other than a few walking tours in large cities, we haven’t used the services of guides on this trip in order to save money.  Due to the wealth of information available on the internet and free audio guides in some places, we’ve been able to research each area we’ve visited, and I’m pleased with our performance as self-guided, amateur historians.  It helps that I’m  a certified history geek, and while I’ve suffered through many an eye-roll while examining two-thousand year old piles of rubble, my dauntless pursuit of the enthusiastic, historical education of my children will not be deterred.  Israel, however, made us a little nervous.  Even though we planned to stay for a month in different areas of the country, we were worried about missing significant locations or stories surrounding famous areas.  The Bible is very important to our family, and we wanted to immerse ourselves in the narrative that shows God’s love for his creation in the land of His chosen people.  We also wanted to find a good deal on an olive wood nativity scene, but we got a good tip about those being less expensive in Bethlehem instead of Jerusalem.

Thankfully, Deena found an excellent website which is an aggregate of videos produced about different aspects of the Holy Land, and they feature three teachers, Todd (Mike) Fink, Ray Vander Laan, and David Reagan.  These guys are great, and they’ve become like members of our family as we’ve watched them every night before visiting a new site the following day.  Combined with our own research, these videos have given us the confidence to visit historical sites in Israel without worrying that we might miss something.  We get a kick out of trying to find the exact locations on which our video teachers stood while filming, and it’s exciting to find the small, historical tidbits they point out while teaching about specific places.  We finally got to visit a site that I’ve been excited about for a long time due to the steeping of rich, Biblical history and the enthusiastic teaching from our video professors—the Southern Steps of the Temple Mount.  

I know, what’s the big deal about a set of crumbling stone stairs that lead to nothing more than an impenetrable stone wall?  The steps are part of a huge excavation of the southern corner of the Temple Mount in the Jerusalem Archaeological Park Davidson Center.  We paid a reasonable admission fee and found our way to the visitor center, which provided an excellent orientation to the site and included a film that chronicled a young man’s journey from his small village to the temple in Jerusalem where he changes money, pays the temple tax, buys a goat, purifies himself in a ritual bath and presents his goat to a priest for his sacrifice—just as it would have been done in the early first century.  There was also a small museum which displayed pottery and examples of coins representing thousands of years found on the site and the tiny, amazing seal of Hezekiah found in 2009 and revealed in 2015.  About the size of a fingertip, the seal reads,  “Belonging to Hezekiah [son of] Ahaz King of Judah,”—a big honkin’ deal since this is the first seal of a Judean king to be found on a scientific archeological excavation providing further validity to to the accuracy of the Bible to those who need extra assurance for whatever reason.

Inspired by that discovery, miniscule in size but huge in impact, we entered the archeological site and wandered around for a couple of hours taking in one amazing sight after the other.  We walked along the first-century street with its massive pavers crushed by the falling weight of huge building blocks hurled down by the Romans during their destructive frenzy.  There were the stone booths of the money changers and shop keepers located near a plaza of ritual baths where we stayed for a long time exploring the dusty paths surrounding the complex.  The air was cooler on this day, but there was bright sunshine that warmed patches of the site that managed to escape the towering southern shadows of the Temple Mount.  We walked across a large plaza paved with ornate marble slabs marking the site of a former grand palace of the Umayyad Caliphate, which was built in the seventh century over the top of a Byzantine compound built in the fourth century.  By that time, I was in a state of history fueled euphoria, and the best was yet to come as we came around the corner and finally beheld the Southern Steps.  

Booths of the money changers

Ritual bath

The Romans were here

Southern Steps

These steps were the main causeway to enter the gates of the Temple Mount back in the first century, and Jesus sat here teaching his disciples as he masterfully answered the questions from the Pharisees, Scribes, and Sadducees as they attempted to trick him with words.  After the Resurrection, the events of Pentecost most likely occurred on these steps. It was here that the Apostle Peter certainly gave his famous sermon which resulted in the baptism of three thousand people probably in the huge complex of ritual baths in front of the steps.  These baths have been excavated, and we could see them right in front of us at the base of the steps.  The steps themselves were purposefully made from stone slabs of random widths and heights so that people entering the grounds of the temple would have to concentrate on their ascent and focus on walking slowly and reverently.  There are fifteen songs of ascent in the Psalms, and many believe that the Levites and worshippers would sing these verses as they made their way up the steps into the grounds of the temple.  We chose Psalm 126 to read aloud as we carefully made our way to the top of the steps and sat for a while all by ourselves looking out over Mount Zion to the south and the Mount of Olives to the east.

Top of the Southern Steps with the 

Mount of Olives to the east

After a long break at the Southern Steps, we took our time walking back to the visitor center by way of the paths winding through the many excavations of Byzantine dwellings.  We still had plenty of time before dark, so we stopped long enough for a falafel pita and walked all the way back to the beginning of the Via Dolorosa and the Basilica of St. Anne, which was closed on the day we came into the Old City through the Lions gate.  The archeological excavations on the grounds here revealed the pool of Bethesda where John’s Gospel gives the account of Jesus healing a man who had been sick for thirty-eight years and asked him the question, “Do you want to be made well?”  Jesus healed the man and told him to take up his mat and walk—an act which was looked upon unfavorably due to the act occurring on Shabbat.  The gardens surrounding the basilica were beautiful, and we stopped for a moment to admire the landscaping before proceeding to the incredible site of the pools.

 

Barrier walls 100 BC

Pool of Bethesda

The excavations here are concise and very deep, revealing construction back to the first century BC.  There are huge retaining walls built around the larger pools that were constructed for the temple water supply.  There is also a large vaulted cistern supported by the original arches from the first century AD, and I was compelled to walk down the steep stairs to check out the black pool of water.  At the back end of the site, we encountered a small bird with an injured wing huddled against a mossy stone.  Deveny was able to coax it behind a barrier fence, and we hoped it would be protected from the ever-present feral cats.  We walked all the way around the excavations and saved the medicinal pools for last so we could spend some time reflecting on the story of the sick man and the penetrating question asked by Jesus.  Even though the excavations here revealed thousands of years, it still had a feeling of intimacy just like the verses in John’s Gospel, and we were thankful to be there together.  We began the long walk to the Jaffa Gate through the Muslim quarter by way of the Via Dolorosa which was not crowded late in the day, and we made it back to the apartment just before dusk.  We did a lot of walking on this day, physically and historically, and while our feet were sore and tired, it was a small price to pay for the deep experiences we were able to share in this mysterious ancient city.

Jerusalem - Jerusalem Baptist Church, The Temple Institute

Our taxi driver picked us up Sunday morning, and as he navigated toward the downtown triangle, he remarked that in thirty years of driving a cab in Jerusalem, he never knew there was a church at the address I had given him.  “Well, you learn something new every day,” I replied with a smile, and after he thought about it for a few seconds, he smiled back.  “This is a very wise sentence you say,” he said while whipping around the curves on roads slippery from morning showers.  I was pleased with my new status as the sage of Jerusalem, and he proceeded to tell me about the behavior of his cats at home while the rest of my crew snickered in the back seat.  “In Jerusalem,” he said wistfully, “the human behavior is low to the cats.”  I remarked that it must be bad if the people act like cats, but he became animated and said, “No, No!  The humans is worse than the cats! My cats leave food for each other, the humans always fighting!”  I was about to reply that humans don’t scratch the furniture or fill up a litter box indoors, but I kept my mouth shut after thinking a moment about a few wretched moments in human history and let it go.  Our driver dropped us off at the Baptist House, home of the Jerusalem Baptist Church, and charged us the most reasonable taxi fare we’ve paid so far—score one for the humans.

We were greeted at the door by an elderly lady with a sweet smile and a distinct American accent.  “Oh, there’s still time left for Sunday school,” she said excitedly. “Let me go find him, he’ll be delighted that someone’s here!”  As our new friend went charging off down the hall, we inferred that Sunday School attendance must be fairly low at the Jerusalem Baptist Church.  Seconds later, a lean man about medium height greeted us enthusiastically and ushered us into a room lined with bookshelves full of Bibles and sofas with plump pillows. Our Sunday school teacher, Mike, works for the American Consulate through the auspices of the Air Force, and he’s volunteering at the church during his deployment in Jerusalem.  We were joined a few minutes later by a Canadian couple, and Mike was ecstatic about his class full of students seated on the sofas with Bibles at the ready, and for the next half hour, he completed the best breakdown of Matthew 6:25-34 I’ve ever heard.  Deena and I read this passage to the children on the Mount of Beatitudes, and I was so thankful they could hear it again and receive assurance from another source.  

After Sunday school, we joined the congregation in the sanctuary, which was a large room lined by long stained glass windows with a huge skylight in the middle of a vaulted, heavily textured ceiling.  There were rows of purple chairs fanning out from the podium, and we found some seats on the right side near the piano with the worship band nearby ready to play.  The service got underway, and we started by singing come Christmas carols, the first we’ve heard this season, followed by several praise songs ending with my all time favorite, Shout to the Lord.  There was a brief time of welcome, and we met the worship leader, Roger from Kentucky, and his wife, who played the piano, and members of the band including Caspars on guitar, Iver on clarinet, and David on trumpet.  The congregation was very friendly and welcomed us warmly, and we had an opportunity to greet many members of the diverse group.  The teaching pastor was a gentleman in his late seventies, and he preached a fascinating sermon on the beauty, mystery, and love surrounding the annunciation, and thoughts of renaissance paintings depicting the event came to mind while he spoke—I secretly hoped the same thing was happening with Joseph and Deveny.

After the service, we munched cookies and talked with many people and learned about the workings of Jerusalem Baptist.  The church is a plant of the Southern Baptist Convention as a part of the Baptist House which was established in 1925.  While many people who attend the services are traveling like us, a large part of the congregation is made up of retired Americans who have relocated to Israel to continue their service to the Lord—admirable we thought.  We stayed for a long time talking, and it was late afternoon by the time we got back to the apartment.  Joseph had decided that he was weary of long hair, so I took him down the street to the barbershop for a good shearing while the girls rested.  We enjoyed a quiet evening catching up with emails and studying a bit, and we found ourselves occasionally humming the carols still fresh on our minds from the morning spent fruitfully at Jerusalem Baptist Church.

The forecast for the next day was calling for rain in the late afternoon, so we got our act together late morning and began the trek to the Old City, which is becoming very familiar to us now.  Our destination was the Jewish Quarter near the Western Wall plaza, specifically the Temple Institute, an organization that exists to research and promote the building of the third temple in Jerusalem.  King David’s son, Solomon, built the first temple which housed the Ark of the Covenant and by most accounts stood for around four hundred years before the armies of Nebuchadnezzar II destroyed it in 587 BC.   In 19 BC, King Herod expanded the Temple Mount and began construction to renovate the temple completed by Zerubbabel, and it was mostly completed by the time of Herod’s death in 4 BC.  Still referred to as the second temple, this building would continue to be improved and renovated until completion just a few years before the Romans destroyed it in 70 AD.  

For several years, I’ve heard many people say that the Jews were preparing to build a third temple and that priestly garments were being made along with other important elements of worship so that sacrifices can resume once the temple is ready.  While I thought this was exciting news, nothing ever seemed to come of it, and I kept hearing the same stories over and over.  We marched boldly through the Jewish quarter, stopping briefly to watch a Bar Mitzvah celebration, before entering the Temple Institute ready to get some answers.   We soon found that our quest for answers required a somewhat steep admission fee, and while we waited for the next tour to begin, we checked out the t-shirts and plastic dreidels in the gift shop.  The Temple Institute is set up like a museum and our tour took us through three rooms which are designed to mimic the three major areas of the temple.  The narration was recorded by one of the rabbis associated with the project and played over speakers throughout the displays.  

The story of the temple was told through paintings and beautiful models of the buildings, and we saw displays of the musical instruments and garments for the priests that were fashioned according to scriptural mandates and ready for resumption of sacrifices.  The explanation of the elements and procedures involved in the sacrifices was impressive, and I thought it was interesting that Institute members have even discovered the snails used to derive the blue dyes from which the priests’ robes are colored.  At the end of the tour, we saw a brief film that showed architectural drawings and 3D models of the third temple design and included actors of all ages portraying the Jewish people being drawn together by the construction of the temple.  And that was it.  As excellent as the presentation was, we were no closer to getting the answers we were looking for,

The young lady minding the gift shop had no idea what was coming when we exited the display, and she asked, “So, do you have any questions?”  For the next fifteen minutes, we asked a litany of questions including:  Is your institute funded by the state?  Is there a timetable for construction?  Isn’t the Dome of the Rock on top of the Holy of Holies?  What’s the red heifer all about?  Is it true that priests are being trained for temple rituals?  There were many more, but those were the major ones, and to her credit, she handled all of our questions honestly and tactfully.  From her answers and our own subsequent research, it seems that the Temple Institute is not Jewish mainstream, and other than a few grants for school presentations, it receives no other support from the state of Israel.  The Dome of the Rock is on top of the Holy of Holies which is the spot where Abraham took Isaac to be sacrificed, and the area is currently under Muslim control overseen by the King of Jordan, so there won’t be any temple groundbreaking ceremony anytime soon, but who knows?  Bible prophecy deals with a lot of this stuff, and I’m not getting into all that here, but I’m thankful we had the opportunity to visit the Temple Institute—it was informative and interesting on all levels for Deena and me and the kids as well.

Hands down the best t-shirt I've seen so far

Rain had started to fall by the time we left the Institute, and we had to seek shelter in a nearby hummus restaurant in order to satisfy our temple-sized appetites.  We dined on lamb and chicken kebabs, falafel, salads, olives, fresh pita bread, and generous bowls of hummus.  The meal cost more than we like to pay, but we justified the expense by taking the leftovers home for a full dinner meal.  We spent a long time at lunch talking about the things we learned at the Temple Institute, and the rain had stopped by the time we were ready to walk home.  The cultures, politics, and religions run deep in this place, and it’s fascinating to witness the delicate balance required to keep it all under control.  We have nine days left in Jerusalem, and while we’ll certainly uncover more interesting details about the history of the city, only God has all the answers we seek.

This is how they do lunch in the Old City

Jerusalem - Old City Walls, The Garden Tomb

Suleiman I was the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire from 1520 to 1566, and during his long reign, he expanded and enriched the empire by military conquests, political reform, and cultural enhancement through the arts.  In his day and in modern reference, he is known as Suleiman the Magnificent, and in all my fifteen minutes of research on this guy, I can’t determine if that nickname was bestowed upon him or if he gave it to himself.  There’s a huge difference between those two scenarios, just ask any dude, and the history of the Ottoman Empire would read differently depending on the real story.  As far as nicknames go, The Magnificent sounds way better than The Flatulent or G-Money, so he could have done worse, but I’m still having a hard time getting past the fact that in several paintings that depict Suleiman, he looks just like a painter I had on a crew years ago named Ricky.  All Ricky wanted out of life was a trailer and a piece of land on which to place it, and unlike many others in my circle of sophisticates at that time, at least he had a goal.  Suleiman’s aspirations were slightly higher, and in 1535, he decided to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, a project which took three years and the the results of which still encompass the Old City today.

We discovered that for a small fee, one can purchase a ticket that gains entrance to the northern and southern sections of the Jerusalem walls and allows for a walk along the ramparts.  This activity sounded like great fun, so after a Saturday morning of school work, we loaded up and walked to the Jaffa Gate to buy our tickets.  There are several places to exit the ramparts along the way including the major gates of the city, and we figured we would descend the steps of the Damascus Gate, which would place us in the vicinity of our main destination for the day, the Garden Tomb.  For the first time since we’ve been in Jerusalem, the sky was deep blue instead of rainy grey, and the piercing wind had abated to a soft breeze.  When I was a kid, I loved stories of castles and knights and their deeds of chivalry, and the walk on the top of the Jerusalem walls was the fulfillment of an adolescent dream as we climbed five-hundred-year-old stairs, made twists and turns around the turrets, and enjoyed unique views of the Old City all along the watchtower.

In many areas of the ramparts all we could see were the rooftops of homes rigged with satellite dishes and solar-powered water heaters, but other sections opened up to views of the crowded market streets and eventually across the city to the Dome of the Rock.  We reached the Damascus Gate and descended to the streets of the Old City. We all agreed that the rampart walk was one of the coolest activities we’ve done on the trip.  We had a five-minute stroll away from the Damascus Gate to the Garden Tomb which we found easily, and the nice lady at the gate gave us brochures and welcomed us inside.  The Garden Tomb is privately owned by a Christian organization in Great Britain, and while they request donations, admission to the site is free.  We had just sat down on a bench near the entrance to get our bearings when an English bloke came loping by with great strides and bid us to join his group which had just begun their tour.

We sat in a small gazebo and paid rapt attention as the tour guide, Martin, began his talk, and he filled his small stage with the range of a Shakespearean actor as he told the story of the Garden Tomb in the context of the Gospels.  Martin was in his seventies, tall and lanky with a shock of grey hair and bushy eyebrows that stuck out over his steel framed glasses. He chose members of the group to be certain characters in the story (Deena was Mary mother of the Lord, just sayin’), and he asked us all questions to keep us on our toes as he rolled his r’s and told us about the resurrection.  All the while, the hill that looks a lot like a skull was in the background, which is the landmark that led to the discovery of the tomb in the 1880s.  After his mesmerizing talk, Martin led us to the Garden Tomb by way of a two-thousand year old wine press and had us sit along the wall on the far side of the cut cliff face.  Being the youngest in the group, Deveny was chosen to represent a rolling stone as Martin demonstrated how the tomb would have been sealed. Then we all had the opportunity to go inside the tomb and check out the design which is spot on the description in the Bible.  The tour group was from Ohio, and they were very nice as well as curious about our trip and the places we had visited so far, and they allowed us to go inside the tomb first—very gracious.  

We left the peaceful grounds of the Garden Tomb and walked back into the Old City through the Damascus Gate and roamed the narrow streets of the Christian Quarter for a while looking for a place to eat an early supper.  We wandered into an Arabic restaurant that looked like a crypt with curved ceiling, stone-covered walls, and low, incandescent lighting.  For about twenty dollars, we devoured a feast of roast chicken, falafel, warm pita bread, salad, and bowls of savory sauces.  It was about 4:30 when we ate supper, and we were full for the rest of the evening.  As we headed back out of the Old City through the Jaffa Gate, we passed the eager groups of pilgrims waiting in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre on the way.  

Winepress

Deveny the rolling stone

The empty tomb

We’ve now visited two possible locations of Jesus’ crucifixion, burial, and resurrection. After a lot of research and thought about each one, I could care less if the smart archeological guys ever determine where it was, and I hope they never do.  For all its historical intrigue, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is strange, gaudy, spiritually oppressive, and with the infighting of all the denominations within its walls, a poor example of living in the light of Jesus’ sacrifice.  The Garden Tomb is peaceful, lines up with scripture, and is a true first-century tomb, but the staff is quick to point out that there’s no way to definitively prove that it was the tomb of Jesus.  On the morning of the resurrection, the men at the tomb, who were dressed in clothes that gleamed like lightning asked the women, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He is not here; he has risen!”  Indeed, and that’s all that matters in a world that needs the hope provided by the empty tomb instead of archeological surety.  While a pilgrimage to the Holy Land is a tremendous opportunity and blessing, it’s also an inspiration to go deeper into the instruction and encouragement with which Jesus left us, and may it be so for my little family.

We enjoyed our afternoon walking along the ramparts of the walls rebuilt by Suleiman the Magnificent, and while looking up information about his architectural feats, I found another interesting historical tidbit.  The Lion's Gate on the east side of the old city has carvings of animals that are either leopards, tigers, or lions depending on which source one decides to trust, and the structure was built by either Suleiman or his predecessor, Selim 1.  The legend I like the best is the one in which Suleiman dreamed of being devoured by lions as a result of his anger at the non payment of taxes by the citizens of Jerusalem.  In order to keep the dream from coming true, he built the Lions Gate to better protect the city from invaders.  The gate is still imposing to this day, and would certainly have been less impressive had Suleiman dreamt of consumption by rock-rabbits instead of lions.