I wake up early most days, usually around 4:30, then doze on and off for a couple of hours before surrendering to consciousness. I tiptoe around my slumbering crew, take a hot shower, make coffee, and sit down to write for a while in solitude as the sun rises on another day on the road. Early in the morning, the thoughts and ideas come more easily to me, and it’s a routine I’ve come to enjoy. All of that came to a screeching halt yesterday as I opened my laptop to a dark screen that remained dark as the cave to the underworld. After an hour of trying every trick I could glean from the internet, my computer was dead, and I was in the depths of despair. I found the contact information for Jerusalem Computers, a company that specializes in repairing my brand of technology, and I set out on a solo journey to the downtown area while the rest of my crew prepared for the day.
My taxi driver’s name was Moses, and he helped calm me down by offering a historical narrative of the city on the way to the store, and I liked his company so much that I took his number so I could call him for a ride back home. The proprietor of Jerusalem Computers received his masters degree in technology in California and returned to his native land to open a business. I learned that people from all over Israel come to him for computer help, and I was reassured talking to this young man who was confident, humorous, and an all-around cool guy. Moses took me back to the apartment, and I had a spark of hope that my computer would be resurrected in the coming few days, but for now I’ll have to write on my kids’ computers on which we regretfully spent way less money.
The apartment was tidy, and my crew was dressed and ready when I returned, and Deena and I set an agenda for the day that would hopefully take my mind off my computer woes. The temperature was in the forties, and there was still a stiff breeze, but the sun was making an occasional appearance from behind the clouds. We bundled up and began our second trek to the Old City with the intention of visiting the Western Wall and perhaps the Temple Mount, which was open only for one hour in the early afternoon. The first temple, built by King Solomon was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BC, and King Herod built the second one after expanding the plaza on which it stood. The Romans destroyed this temple in 70 AD, and the section of the Western Wall was the only structure left from the architectural support system of the plaza built by Herod. The wall is now the most sacred site in the world to the Jewish people, and after walking straight through the Old City and a security check at the gate, we stood on the modern plaza overlooking the Western Wall lined with many praying people, men in one section, and women in another.
Non-Jews are allowed to pray at the wall, an act to which Joseph and I felt strongly compelled; so we donned our complimentary kippahs and joined the rest of the men gathered there. We met back up with the girls and joined the security queue for the Temple Mount ascension. The line was not very long and moved steadily. The Temple Mount encompasses the summit of Mount Moriah, where Abraham obediently journeyed to sacrifice his son, Isaac, and is now the site of the Dome of the Rock, a holy Muslim shrine and the most recognizable symbol of Jerusalem with its golden rotunda reflecting the sun’s rays. During winter, the plaza is open only for one hour in the afternoon, and after the security check, we had about thirty minutes to explore and take pictures. We spent most of our time there at the Golden Gate, which looks out over the Kidron Valley to the Mount of Olives where so many historical and meaningful events have occurred and anticipated future events are prophesied. With dwindling time, we took a few pictures of the Dome of the Rock and descended the Temple Mount through the Lion Gate into the Muslim Quarter of the Old City.
There is a Muslim cemetery along the eastern base of the Temple Mount, and we walked through the tombstones to view the imposing exterior side of the walled-up Golden Gate before retracing our steps and continuing through the city. As we passed through the Lion Gate, the vaunted Via Dolorosa was before us, and we began an interesting trek through the fourteen Stations of the Cross, which commemorate Christ’s journey from sentencing by Pilate to his death on the cross. The Via Dolorosa cuts through the heart of the Muslim Quarter, and it’s a lively area bustling with groups of pilgrims and lined with churches, shops, and restaurants. The first section is open to the sky surrounded by mostly ochre-toned buildings, and as the way continues, the street narrows as the ancient stone pavers blend with blocks placed in recent times. The air is heavy with the sandalwood scent of burning incense mingling with the tang of spices from the markets and roasting meats from the restaurants. The shopkeepers are pleasant as they greet pilgrims with the hope of meeting a potential customer.
The Stations of the Cross include instances described in the Bible as well as traditional occurrences all marked by bronze disks bearing Roman numerals and placed high on the walls of buildings along the way. It just so happens that one of the best restaurants for hummus in all of Israel resides in a nondescript building along the Via Dolorosa, and we stopped to satisfy our hunger with fresh tomatoes, pickles, pita bread, and generous bowls of hummus sprinkled with herbs and spices. With renewed energy, we continued all the way to the outskirts of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre where something unexpected caught my eye. Near the eighth Station, the Queen Helen Coptic Orthodox Church covers a vast cistern discovered by Constantine’s mother seventeen-hundred years ago when it supplied water to the Holy Sepulchre. I found out that the cistern is well known for its natural acoustics, and for a small donation, one can descend deep into history by way of the slippery stone stairs worn concave and smooth over the centuries, and I couldn’t resist the pull of antiquity, so down I went. I ended up at a huge black lake of water in a vacuous cave and sang a stanza of Amazing Grace and listened in fascination as my limited singing voice echoed around the chamber creating eerie, booming harmonics—it was awesome. Fueled by serendipity, I rejoined my family and headed back out to the final Stations.
The last four Stations of the Cross are located in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which we had visited a couple of days ago, but this time we entered through an unadorned rear portal which led us past some small chapels dimly lit through thick incense smoke. Again, the crowds were light, so we made our way upstairs and visited the areas where Queen Helen believed that Jesus was nailed to the cross and crucified. The crucifixion area is covered with a huge gilded shrine strung with every bit of ornamentation imaginable, and the purported rock of Golgotha is underneath for viewing. There is a low altar reachable by kneeling and ducking under a marble slab. A hole surrounded by a brass disk allows one to reach in and touch the stone. Well, I figured “when in Jerusalem” and reached in and touched the rock along with Joseph, who was equally motivated. Having already visited the tomb shrine a couple of days ago, we left the church and began the walk back to our First Station apartment.
This was a full and fascinating day, and our activities certainly kept my mind off my ailing computer left lonely and dark in the depths of a downtown Jerusalem repair shop. The history surrounding this city is so vast and multi-layered that it’s difficult to dissect and comprehend, but we’ve given it maximum effort and will continue to do so while we’re here. Our time on the Via Dolorosa provoked the most discussion, and Deena and I talked long into the night with Joseph and Devney about the crucifixion. While it’s clear that Jesus came for that purpose, and He was in control of every aspect, the account of His suffering hurts me deeply no matter how many times I’ve contemplated it, and I pray that my little family and I can walk in this world honoring that sacrifice.
Golden Gate
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