12. Weekend in Jerusalem

I just returned from an absolutely amazing weekend in Jerusalem. Though I've been there once before, I wasn't able to wander around like this second trip. I want to return several times in the coming months, but I think it would be really tough to live there given the extent to which the city shuts down for Shabbes, starting at ~3 PM on Friday.

I spent most of the weekend with my friend Yoni. He worked as a chef at my summer camp in 2006 and is currently studying for the university entrance exam. We spoke a lot about the IDF (Israeli Army), the life of soldiers, the conflict in Lebanon in 2006, and how a Palestinian state would function should it develop. I had yet another "light bulb moment" when we spoke about how divided the Palestinian world is. There is little uniting Palestinian peoples--no singular culture, religion, or history. Two uniting elements arose out of our conversation: language and an opposition to Israel. These are obviously very general observations, but critical nonetheless.

Religion is predictably everywhere in Jerusalem. On Friday morning, I went to the Kotel (the Western/Wailing Wall). It's an overwhelming place to visit. I stayed there for, I think, an hour. I find myself fascinated by the ultra-orthodox Jews who spend most of their day at the Kotel, every day. Their blacks robes, black hats, long beards and "Pey-es" (~sideburns) seem better suited for the 12th Century. Seeing five-year-olds in the traditional garb is mind-numbing. Their strict adherence to tradition, more than anything else, is tough to comprehend. One group, the Satmars, wear top hats that look like big furry rings (see google for a visual).

I left the Kotel and aimlessly wandered through the Christian Quarter of the Old City. I then stumbled into a drab, inconspicuous church. The place was absolutely enormous, rather ornate, and appeared Greek Orthodox given the presence of so many icons and images. However, a picture of the Pope told me otherwise. I walked up a steep staircase to find a line of people waiting to knee below a picture of Jesus. There was silver everywhere, as well as gold images, and a big cross. People were taking pictures (so I did too) and some were crying. Needless to say, I was quite confused. I questioned a few people about where I was, but no one answered my questions in English. Finally, a Russian tour-guide, in broken, though adequate English, told me it was the "Golgotha." The way he said it made me know that I should've known what it was. When I asked what that meant, he let me know that I was looking at the site of the Crucifixion of Christ. Embarrassment set in pretty quickly. I then asked, "well, then, where am I?" He replied that I was in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I accidentally walked into one of the most important sites in Christianity, after leaving the holiest site in Judaism. The guide told me to walk over to where Jesus' body was brought after taken down from the Cross. Predictably, the site of the resurrection had quite a long line. I am still amazed at my impeccable wandering. The contrast between the Kotel and the C.o.t.H.S. is overwhelming. Both are sites with many tourists, but I was amazed at how the Kotel is still a site of active prayer. The Church didn't have the presence of active, personal, formalized religion.

As I left the C.o.t.H.S., I was bombarded by Muslim calls to prayer that were playing over speakers throughout the old city. In less than 2 hours, I had absorbed three religions, three worlds, and three overlapping histories. I am excited to walk around the city with certain destinations in mind.

On Friday night, I went to the Kotel for Shabbat Services. At times, I felt rather out of place, and ironically, I was at, arguably, the center of Judaism. I turned my orange jacket inside-out in order to expose the grey color of the inside of my coat in an attempt to fit into the sea of black. I met a really nice Argentinean man who invited me to join his friends for prayer. It was cool to be with them. At times, it felt like a soccer game because of the singing and dancing. He was curious why I never went to Yeshiva (Orthodox school). The sense of tradition reflected in the prayers and hundreds of people around me was nonetheless overwhelming. It was an awesome (literally) experience.