If These Walls Could Talk/These Boots Were Made For Walking (pick one)

Hands and Prayers at the Western Wall

Where Beau got his bagel/cheese danish.

A Coke is always worth it.

So (Sunday 26 June) Beau and I went to Old City, Jerusalem.  (We had already been to New City--in a fancier/trendier area called Mamila--when we went to replace items from our delayed luggage.)  We left Tzuba at around 11am and were dropped off via bus at City Center, a 25 minute walk from Jaffa Gate.  Before we went in at Jaffa, Beau stopped to get a bagel and I took that moment to get myself a Coke.  I know enough Hebrew to ask for a Coke, know how much the teller is asking and, of course, if it is a good price.  (Although, I, personally, consider it a point of honor to pay whatever someone asks for Coke.  To bargain for Coke is like bargaining for a house: too low a bid or too high an ask makes the house lose value.  So it is for Coke.  Don't pop the bubble; pay what is asked.)  Whilst waiting for Beau to get his food, I wandered the City Center a little, which is sort of like if the Oakland Mall were underground and in Israel.  Meaning, the fact that it is underground and in Israel is the only thing that makes it cool.  Here, as everywhere, are many pieces of Judaica to purchase, especially mezuzahs.  Mezuzahs (a marker of blessing for a dwelling, that also holds a script of Torah, usually) are everywhere in Israel and it is a sign of respect to touch them before passing through a doorway.  I was lucky enough to find some lovely mezuzahs that I can only guess are aimed at children and adults who should know better.

Mezuzahs 'R Us

Jaffa Gate is very narrow.
Makes Bible's description of very wide gates of heaven that much more comforting.

Beau on the Ramparts.

Beau fake-shooting from Rampart.

Me, pretending to be Female Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom.

We went to Jaffa Gate and signed up for a combo-tour.  We took what is called the Rampart Walk, which is exactly as it sounds: a walk literally up along the ramparts of Old City.  We opted to take this alone as Beau and I are not good on tours, as we soon discovered.  The Rampart Walk is great, but perhaps less so when one walks it at high noon.  We found ways to amuse ourselves as we tripped along.








From the Walk, one gets a great view of the city outside the walls and the city within.  I particularly liked the statue on top of the Notre Dame Hospice Center which depicts the usual Madonna and Babe, but in this instance, the Madonna is holding the baby Jesus aloft (a la Lion King), which is startling and beautiful.

Madonna and Jesus statue on Hospice of Notre Dame

We exited from the Ramparts at the Roman Plaza, where we descended into an olive press from the time of Arabic control under the leadership of Suleman.  We were naturally respectful of the history and acted normal here.

Blurry Beau abusing tour privileges.

The Markets of Old City 

We abandoned the blisteringly hot Ramparts and went to the market area of Jerusalem.  The streets all have a very distinct Bazaar-feel.  Shopping, shopping, shopping.  We made one attempt at purchasing a Creche in olive wood, but walked away from the deal when we felt it was not worth the price. (We'll keep trying, Debbie!  But you would have been proud to see Beau bargain!)  We left with the shopkeeper still yelling after us.  One of the greatest tasks of these shopkeepers is to actually get you to enter the shop.  There is usually one guy who sort of yells at the passersby in an effort to lure them in.  Once inside, you're given over to the shopkeeper who then tells you all sorts of flattering lies about himself, you, and his wares.  It's actually very fun and everyone we interacted with was very friendly and funny and not too angry when we wouldn't stop or would leave without buying.

Beau's face after haggling.

When we entered the Arab Quarter, it seemed like someone upped the ante. The Baits (my term for the guy who needs to lure you in) were hilarious and way more vocal. Several times I was approached by a man with a concerned face who said, "You are lost! Ah, no! But I found you, and here is the shop you were looking for!" Their faces would break into wide smiles and we'd all laugh, and move on. The Baits got funnier and funnier. Never aggressive in a scary-way, more in a flirtatious, come-hither way. Everyone sells the same thing. Literally. So the salesman is really all you're paying for. Best to be "gotten" by a good one.

The wall where Jesus' handprint is meant to be.

The announcement of God's Presence

Women at Western Wall

Me, covered head-to-toe.

We walked a little of Via Dolorosa (the way of the cross) and Beau put his hand in the supposed spot where Jesus is meant to have supported himself when he struggled beneath the weight of the cross. These stations are not like traditional Stations of the Cross on church grounds, where it is solemn and removed from the building a distance. They are just smack dab as one walks along. We would look up and see Number 7 and then move on pass the shops selling Hebrew Dora the Explorer beach balls. Sort of anti-climatic. But again, we weren't on a tour; we were by ourselves, just enjoying the wandering. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant highly recommended by tour guides and tours alike. (Um, by accident.) It was immediately before the Western Wall entrance. We passed through another security area (there are many in Old City) manned largely by People-Taking-Naps-Whilst-Performing-Jobs-of-Importance. I stopped before leaving the passageway and threw on my Modesty Kit: long-sleeved shirt, long skirt, and a head covering. Some people did not heed the "please dress modestly for this holy place" signs, but I definitely did (see photo), and I did it because I saw that when women were not covered, they posed a distraction to those who were truly trying to connect with God. The Western Wall is very quiet. That is the most imposing thing there. The Wall? Eh. Like most walls. But the emotion was very real and unique. I was caught by a sign that announced "The Divine Presence Never Leaves Here" and I felt like it was scary and then my soul was comforted upon remembering that I, too, have a mark on me that says "The Divine Presence Never Leaves Here".We split up to go pray at the Wall. My side (the women's) was very emotional and then randomly comical at the same time. There were old women and young teens alike pressing their foreheads against the wall and pushing their requests in the cracks. Then there were middle-aged women saying, loudly, (conversation at the Wall is discouraged) "My Gawd. Take the picture, Rosie. I. Am. Going. To. Melt." and another, "I guess this is it, then? Whaddawedo, lean on it or something?" "Who has a pen?" In response, eventually, a severe-looking lady would begin shushing and then everyone was shushing like it was assembly time in the gym and we're the kindergarten class. I managed to get a "spot" and pressed my forehead against the Wall. I thanked God for many things, mostly that my hope does not come from this Wall. I then exited without turning my back on the wall, as is the tradition. Beau and I met up again underneath the flagpole in the center of the plaza.

Not-fully-excavated-yet
Pool of Shiloh

The Watermark Guide
to show whether your child is tall enough to walk
 Hezekiah's Tunnel without drowning.

Then, after more exploration of the other Gates (including a visit to the already-made Menorah for when the Temple is rebuilt), off we went for the next part of our combo-tour package: a tour of the City of David, and Hezekiah's Tunnel.  Both are too hard to explain, (you actually descend beneath the city and wade thru mid-calf to mid-thigh water of the Gihon spring, and end up at the Pool of Shiloh, a significant part of Sukkoth) but fascinating and definitely a good thing to do in the city.  (Thanks, Sally!) I think most tours' success lies in the hand of the tour guides.  Our tour guide was not my speed.  Literally.  He was a 5mph type of speaker and a redundant teacher.  I never used to think there could be redundancy in teaching--the whole point is reiterating until understanding comes.  But if one reiterates to the point of canceling out the original thought, and you're just left with sounds, then you have met my tour guide.  (For the record, Beau wasn't as annoyed.  Per usual.)
An example would be this:  Our guide, Sarel, points to a weird shaped stone with an almost perfect small hole in the center.
He asks, "Can anyone tell me what this is?"
One person says "toilet".
Sarel: "Toilet? Really?? C'mon guys!  Another suggestion?  What IS this thing?!?!"
Us: (Silence.)
Sarel: "Shout something out, guys!"
Us: "A drain."
Sarel: "No, it is a toilet!  Hard to guess, yes?"
Us: (murmur of discontent.)

Then Sarel would spend so long going over and over the same information in different sentences,  that the next tour would come along.  Instead of seeing this and hustling along, Sarel would ask them to go ahead and we would wait, silently, till they had all trouped through before Sarel began telling us again that this room would have held the seals for royal letters, and then, later, the seals for royal letters would have been in this room.  We made it through and befriended some beleaguered Aussies also sharing the tour.  After it was wrapped up, we went back to the main center for the City of David and watched an informational, completely computerized movie in 3-D.  It featured all sorts of necessary 3-D elements, like an inexplicably Italian-accented fake archaeologist who "stands up" in your face; seagulls who start to fly out at you, but then are chopped in half because the projector's range is only 10 feet; and lots of swirling around helicopter-views that go into a dive suddenly and plow into a computerized ancient-times man chipping at stone.  All good stuff.
After the tour, Beau and I went to famous Ben-Yehuda street which is equivalent to the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica, but way cooler.  We got some yummy falafel sandwiches and sat in the street talking and eating with hundreds of other people.
I absolutely loved it.  I loved everything about Jerusalem.

This morning I woke up with a Level 5 migraine, but felt strangely happy because at least I was here.  In Israel. Tov. (Good.)

P.S.  I seem to have lost control of the formatting of this blog.  I have also lost my attention span for fixing it.  So sorry it's a little confusing/difficult to read.

P.P.S.  I would also like to state that--despite spending the hottest/sunniest hours of the day outside--I am still "Winter" pale.  Skin cancer is real, folks.  Campaign for Pale is the New Tan!