Israel: Day 8 – See Jerusalem

“What makes a tour great? Any tour—what makes it great?” Amnon asked our group. I love when he asks questions, because he uses the dramatic pause. Very classic storytelling component. The pause is like white space in a graphic—it allows for reflection and interpretation. I dig it.

After the pause, Amnon answers the question. “What makes a tour great is not the tour guide, not the places,” he says motioning like an umpire. “It’s the tourist and what the tourists take in—the sounds, the smells, what they take in with their senses.” I like to think most of us already were using our five senses as we walked the stony and rocky land of Jerusalem, but just in case I was sleeping, I did a cleansing breath and renewed mine.

You are the Tour

When it comes to Jerusalem, there is so much to absorb. I have not experienced New York City outside of John F. Kennedy airport, but if there is a city in my mind that doesn’t sleep, it’s Jerusalem. At 8 a.m. in the morning the streets are filled with compact Mazdas, Mitsubishis and BMWs, Mercedes-Benz tour buses and taxicabs, bicycles, and pedestrians (lots of pedestrians). Merchants pop out of shrubbery and stone walls flashing beaded handbags with Jerusalem stitched on the side and hats. They beckon for you to spend your dollars. There was a jewelry merchant who got on our bus and ended up riding with us to our next destination, because people wanted the necklaces he was selling.

Walking through the Armenian Quarter, we heard a young man playing a soothing tune on his guitar. Another young man was touching up a colorful mural. Orthodox Jewish men quickly bustle past you on the street taking long intentional strides and speaking Hebrew on their cell phones. We could smell chicken cooking in preparation for the lunch crowd. Passing by juice bars and cafes, you hear multiple languages engaging in conversation as they clink spoons, coffee cups and lunch plates.

Entering the Jewish Quarter and walking toward the temple remains, we heard celebratory drums and cheerful calls. Passing by not too far ahead of us was a 13-year-old Jewish boy wearing a robe and prayer shawl. Today was his bar mitzvah. He will read from the Torah scroll for the first time. From this point on, he is now responsible for his actions.

What Your Ears Fear

Today, we entered the gate to go to King David’s Tomb. When we were all outside the gate, Amnon pointed to the wall—bullet holes. This wasn’t the first time Amnon had shown us bullet holes. But every time, it reminds me that in the United States, outside of the September 11 terrorist attacks, we don’t live with a reality that terror could come flying through our living room window. That is exactly what happened during the uprising in the 1980s when shots unexpectedly entered homes on the border of the West Bank across from Bethlehem. We couldn’t go to Bethlehem, and no tours have gone there in years, because of the religious and political conflict. To take pictures of the birthplace of Jesus we stood at a roadside observation point. A group of kids ride by. “Go home!” they shouted. After hearing about how some Palestinian children were used as suicide bombers in previous a few of us shared a thought that crossed our mind: “Are they suicide bombers?”

Walking throughout Jerusalem you will see Israeli police or military carrying military rifles. It looks very similar to an AK-47. They stay on alert. We were eating in cafes and shopping and someone would casually be walking with a military rifle. It puts you in a different mindset.

What Your Eyes Believe

At each tourist site you pass the incoming group and the outgoing tour. It is interesting to observe the various reactions from people, particularly those who are Catholic, Moslem or any of the various Jewish sects. The life of Christ intrigues so many, but not all for the same reason. There are few who leave what are called Holy Places stone-faced. Others leave reflective. And others are moved to an outward emotional response, often tears, praying or kneeling. From my perspective, our tour remained reflective and worshipful. Our security guard, Jonathan, told me that our group was his favorite.

Our tour bus definitely knew how to laugh and enjoy; we even had a song. But this isn’t what made us Jonathan’s favorite: “To see how the places affected you—your passion for what you were seeing and hearing—moved me spiritually. It made those places mean more to me,” he said.

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