My third day in Israel got a high ranking: Sermon on the Sea of Galilee, visiting Megiddo (or Armageddon) and baptized in the Yardenit (Jordan) River. So much, and it’s still early in the trip. But today, we packed up our luggage and headed to Jerusalem—the Holy City.
We crossed the Judean Desert, driving in and out of parts of the West Bank. The sides of the roads are lined with what Amnon, the tour guide, calls electronic fences and barbed wire. “If an animal touches the fence, we send a patrol car out to check.” At certain locations we saw military and police officials stationed. “They have to be there, in case of suicide bomber. It doesn’t happen so much anymore, but we take no chance.”
I have heard about bombings and shootings on CNN and read the news, but to be in the midst of it brings another layer of perspective. People live and work in those locations. Children were outside playing. Can you imagine? You are going through your usual day when all of a sudden a car drives to the bus stop, parks and then unexpectedly blows up only yards from your front door. It happens, because you believe differently. There is persecution in this part of the world that Americans don’t have to worry about facing.
Forget the Garden … Gethsemane
Entering into Jerusalem our tour bus climbed Mount Scopus and parked at an observation point high above the city near the Hebrew University. This was so Amnon could give us a brief overview of the topography before heading back down the mountain. We took our pictures, and as we approached the bus, I heard cacophony: “Hats: 4 for 10! Handbags: 3 for 10! You are beautiful. I will marry you. Come please. Come. 4 for 10!” I said, “Where did they come from?” They must have a tourist honing device or it’s the big tour bus we are riding in. Either way, it was a bit much. I don’t like store associates approaching me in the store, so this experience was another level of commerce for me.
Our second stop in Jerusalem was the Mount of Olives, appropriately named because it is covered with olive trees. Beautiful olive trees. Also, in Hebrew, Gethsemane means “olive press.” Amnon said, “Forget the garden. Gethsemane means crush or press olives.” Then, Amnon asked my favorite question, “How do we know this is the place?” And of course, we get quiet and contemplative while waiting for him to tell us. Then, he responds, “We do not know for sure.” (By we, he means historians and archeologists.) “It could be here (he points to where we are standing), over there (he motions to the right) or over there (he points to the left). We do know He, Jesus, was here with His disciples. That’s what is important.”
Jesus had his final moments of prayer—just Him and the Father—in Gethsemane. Pastor Sean R. Moore read from Matthew 26:36-46. He spoke afterward and said, “Jesus is about to make the most important decision in His life and His closest friends are sleeping.” That resonated within me as I stared at the olive trees that dated back hundreds of years. Past the olive trees, you can see the sun beginning to descend into the Western horizon. Pastor Moore continued, “We all have Gethsemane moments, and we have to make a decision to stand and move forward, even if it’s just you and God.”
Holy of Holies
Imagining Jesus sweating drops of blood in Gethsemane definitely stirred up my spirit. Our next stop was the Western Wall or Wailing Wall. Because it was Shabbat, it was crowded. Many people were entering. Different sects of Jews entered as well as tourists from other countries. Amnon explained that the temple was destroyed many years ago, but the Western Wall remains. There rests the Divine Presence of God. He told us that we could write our wishes on a slip of paper and place them in the wall. “After a time, your wishes will come true,” Amnon said.
We all walked to the area before it splits into separate sections for men and women. Amnon gave us a few more instructions before releasing us to go to the wall. I didn’t feel entirely comfortable approaching the wall. I kept thinking, “I’m not Jewish” or “what will I pray?” I didn’t have any paper, so I didn’t write down a wish. Entering into the women’s section, I saw women sitting, standing and kneeling. Some were singing. Others were crying. All were speaking to God. I hushed my thinking, and told myself, I will speak to God. I waited patiently for an opening at the wall. A space became available. I moved in close to it placing my palms on it. Up close I could see the pieces of paper with wishes folded and crumpled into the crevices of the stone. I closed my eyes and began to pray. Within moments, my forehead was against the stone and tears fell from my eyes. I was pouring out my heart—not loud balling, but an internal weeping. All the things I was afraid to think or say to God flowed out of me. Please understand that I believe in the Holy Ghost and know that God lives in me, so He is never far. But the experience throughout the day, driving into Jerusalem had moved me emotionally and spiritually. I had to let it all go.
We closed the evening with a Shabbat dinner. Shabbat Shalom from the Holy City.
