ISRAEL

February 14, 2023

The only Israel tour I could get was with a Russian group. They needed 6 people to have an English group and there were not 5 others who signed up. It was a good price and better than nothing, so I went. It turns out there were more English people on the tour, but maybe the tour company just didn’t want to spend the extra money for a separate bus and guide. Thankfully, there was a young man from Lithuania who spoke pretty good English and translated for us. Although, the guide would talk for about 10 minutes, Buddy (I don’t remember his name) would simply say, “She says we will stop here for 20 minutes.”

The trip was another 6 hour bus ride. Thankfully, the buses are quite comfortable. Once we got to the border, it took 3 hours for us to get through immigration. On average, each person or couple spent about 15 to 20 minutes with the immigration officer. I asked Buddy what on earth took them so long. What questions were asked? He said he didn’t know about anyone else, but his passport was from 9 years ago, when he was only 5 years old, and it didn’t look like him. Also, he was traveling with his grandmother, who had a different last name. When it was my turn, the officer looked at my passport, asked where I was born, then said have a nice day while handing me my passport. Under 2 minutes.

Past the border, we had to transfer to another bus, with Israeli tags and driver. The guy at the hotel did not tell me that we were going to stop at the Dead Sea, and to bring a bathing suit and towel. I was not about to pass up the opportunity to swim in the Dead Sea, so I stripped down to my panties and T-shirt and went in. It is true what is said about being buoyant. It felt like I was laying on a soft, but wet and cold, table. We were told not to open our eyes under water or to drink the water. I licked my finger and the salt is to strong it tasted like acid. It burned my tongue. Buddy’s grandmother lent me her towel to dry off. Thankfully, I had brought an extra t-shirt in my day pack, but I had to go commando for the rest of the trip.

From the Dead Sea we went to the Jordan River, where John the Baptist supposedly baptized Jesus (Matthew 3:13-17). We could purchase baptismal gowns and a certificate to say that we got baptized in the River Jordan. I purchased a kit, but didn’t go into the water here. Because of our long delay at the border, every aspect of the trip from there on, was hurried. I figured I would not have time to find the change room, go into the water and change back. I was probably right, because one fellow stripped down to his undershorts, put on the robe, did his thing in the water and barely had time to put his clothes back on; and he didn’t even bother with a change room. I stepped into the water, about up to my knees, splashed some water on my head and called it good.

From there we headed to Bethlehem. The landscape is so rocky and barren I cannot imagine why anyone would fight for it, let alone go to war. The only thing I can think of is the ancient nomads fought over water rights, and that feud carries on to modern times.

We stopped for lunch at a local restaurant before heading to the Old City of Bethlehem.

We walked along ancient cobblestone streets that zigged and zagged as they did from olden days.

We finally reached the Church of the Nativity. It was built by Constantine the Great in 330 after his Mother visited the holy city.

It holds the grotto where Jesus was born. (Luke 2:1-7). It is a simple old church with an elaborate alter

intricate wall murals

and remnants of a mosaic floor.

We had to queue up for about 2 hours before having the chance to go through the one-person-at-a-time entrance.

Inside was a tiny space, with only room for about 6 people. Some ladies were arguing with the guard that they did not have enough time. Never mind the hundreds waiting to get in. There is a silver star on the floor, that is supposedly the exact spot where Jesus was born. I touched my hand to the spot and moved along, while the other ladies were still arguing with the guard.

Just before the entrance to the grotto was a man selling religious items, at a ridiculous price. Talk about money changers in the Temple. Jesus would have been pissed!

When I exited the grotto I heard monk chanting in the main chapel. I sat and listened to them for a short time before it was time to move to the next location. Jerusalem.

We went to the Holy Sepulchre Church. The last four, actual, stations of the cross are inside this building. Just inside the church is a stairway that leads up to Golgotha, the spot where Jesus was nailed to the cross (11^th station)

and where he died on the cross (12^th station) It is lavishly decorated with intricate mosaics covering every inch of the walls and ceilings. The minute detail on some of the mosaic were mind blowing.

A lavishly decorated alter stands on the spot of the crucifixion. On either side of the alter one can see the actual stone. It is protected by glass. Under the alter is a golden plate that is supposedly where the cross actually stood.

Between the two stations is a statue of Mary, his Mother, and marks the 13^th station of the cross. I touched the plate and moved along.

Downstairs, was the Stone of Anointing, where Jesus body was prepared for burial; not really. This is a recent addition during the 1810 reconstruction of the church. None the less, people were smearing oil on the stone with reverence.

Further along was the actual tomb where Jesus body was interned (14^th station). As with the Church the Nativity, the entrance was very small, the queue was very long and the time was very short. The guide said we had no time to enter. (Damn those slow immigration guards.)

The entire church seemed very dark. I couldn’t see any windows and it was mostly lit with candles. I guess the soot made the walls dark over the years, but I couldn’t help but wonder if the dark atmosphere was planned, to add to the somber ambiance of the story,

We then headed to the Western Wall (the Wailing Wall). We walked through ancient alleys winding this way and that. It was dark outside and the minimal light cast strange shadows on the stone buildings. It felt like we were in an Ali Baba times.

The wall is a portion of the ancient limestone wall of the Temple Mount. It is believed to have been built by Herod the Great. (72-4 BC). It is a place that Jews, Muslims, and Christians all consider Holy. The Jews bemoan the destruction of the Temple and the loss of national freedom, The Muslims believe the Prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven from here. The Christians believe this is where Jesus shared many of his teachings.

Everyone had to go wash their hands. The men had to put on the little skullcap (provided). Most of the men were Orthodox and dressed in long black coats and had tall black hats that seemed to float on the top of their heads. There were no backwards baseball caps to be seen. There did not seem to be a head-covering rule for the women. Some had coverings, others did not.

The men and women were separated by a row of patio umbrellas. We could take a piece of paper and write our prayers on it before approaching the wall itself. The rationale behind the prayer notes is that the Divine Presence has never moved from the wall. Some teachings hold that all prayers ascend to Heaven through the Temple Mount, which the Western Wall abuts.

Women were crying and weeping. Some barely able to stand (there were chairs nearby) Some women also sat and read the Torah. Every crack had a scrunched up piece of paper stuffed into it. EVERY CRACK.

Stuffing mine in was like trying to find a crack in a marble counter top. I did not stay long at the Wall. It seemed sacrilegious to be there as a curious tourist, when there were women who were obviously very distraught clutching the wall and weeping. The men were no less dramatic. They bowed forward and back, chanting as they did so.

Everyone assembled in the open area back from the Wall. We walked past the glowing Dome of the Rock as we headed back to the bus and our journey back to Sharm el Sheikh.

Ah, but the story doesn’t end there! It had been a long day and almost everyone fell asleep on the bus. Entering back into Egypt was a breeze. Past the customs office we had to switch buses again. There were about 6 buses, from various tour companies. I was still half asleep so I asked one of the guides which bus I was to take. He asked my name and which hotel I was staying at. I told him and he directed me to a certain bus. I got on the bus, noticed a few of the English speaking tour-mates and settled back in to sleep the remaining 6 hour ride to Sharm.

We didn’t take off right away. A few different men went up and down and asking to see people’s passports. Curious…. One of the Brits was getting frustrated and asked if the toilet cleaning man was going to ask next. Finally, after about a half hour we were underway. When we got back to Sharm the bus driver announced certain hotels and people got off the bus and transferred to a shuttle van. Some people stayed on the bus. They had not announced my hotel, so I stayed on the bus. People were getting dropped off at various hotels, but they had not gone to mine. Finally, I am the last person on the bus. The driver asks which hotel I was staying. Naama Blue. The two drivers looked at each other then told me I had to get off the bus. WHAT? I said I had paid to get picked up AND dropped off at my hotel and that I was NOT getting out. It was 6:00 AM, still dark, in a strange city, in a part of town I did not recognize. They called someone and he told me that I was only a few minutes from my hotel and that I could walk. I felt like telling him Fuck You, but I thought I had best be nice if I had any hope of getting back to my hotel safely. The bus driver finally flagged down a taxi for me. We agreed on a price and off we went.

It became quickly apparent that he had no idea where he was going. He took me to a part of town that I recognized because the shuttle van had picked someone up in that area. He stopped the taxi, pointed up the deserted road and told me my hotel was just up the street. NO! It isn’t! After driving around some more, he finally stopped to ask some police and other taxi drivers where my hotel was. Finally, he reached my hotel. He wanted more money because it had taken him longer than he expected. I told him that next time he shouldn’t lie saying he knew where to go. I got out of the taxi to his yelling at me and me giving him the finger. If you’ve read a few of my blogs you will know my theory of taxi drivers. Most of them are crooks.

It was now 8:00 A M. I went straight to sleep.

The only explanation for this drama was that while at the border I was directed to the wrong bus. The continuous passport check was a means to look for me. Why they just didn’t ask who was going to Naama Blue is a mystery. But as I’ve discovered in my travels, not everything makes sense.