Deep Underground

Our first stop is Solomon’s Quarries, inside the belly of Mount Moriah (the Temple Mount and site of the Old City) and used from the 10th century BC to the 4th century AD. We’re told it’s the largest man made cave, discovered again when a man followed his dog’s barking. Cats are abundant here, like on the Temple Mount, (dogs are not allowed) in order to keep the place rat free. Freemasons hold ceremonies here occasionally, and the most notable was Charles Warren, before he was recalled to London to investigate Jack the Ripper.

Some of us take a golf cart down but the rest follow Yossi deep down to Zedekiah’s Spring, a myth that claims this last king before the exile cried and his tears created the spring. In reality, it’s seepage from a leak in the sewer lines.

Going down!

Amid the ruddy stones and the trickle of water, Yossi plays for us, and the light music is in sharp contrast to the idea of slaves, with sweat and blood and oxen, brought the large stones from the temple. With the exception of a middle-aged Muslim woman, we are alone down here. 

deep in the cave

Our guide plays for us

The spring

We leave and head for the Herodian Gate and end up at Saint Anne’s Church, the most perfectly preserved Medieval church in Israel, most likely because it was taken over by the Muslims until it was purchased back by the Christians. Yossi asks us who Saint Anne is. I take a stab at it and say “someone’s mother”. A fairly safe bet. Anne was the mother of the Virgin Mary. Mary was most likely born in Jerusalem.  

Our son-in-law's initials. I snap this photo for him.

Herodian Gate

Very organized graffiti!

Okay, which way do we go?

The city is nearly always busy!

One friend keeps up despite an ailment

A shopping mecca!

Beautiful grounds of a beautiful church

Looking up above the entrance

One of Saint Anne's furry friends

These ruins go way down!

Imagine having this view from your home?

I peek over the railing to the ruins 50 feet below, the early part of the city and see the remains the Pool of Bethesda (which means House of Grace) and its colonnades. Our guide reads from John 5: 1-15, the story of the man who was an invalid for 38 years and tried to get into the water each time an angel stirred the water, but wasn’t fast enough. 

Yossi tells us that in winter, the rain would slip into the water from a spring and stir it. Some scholars believe that it was a pagan pool and the story has been invented, yet, time and again, we see Jesus seeking out pagans and sinners and using places of pagan worship to preach. I think again of the brutality of the temple of Pan, mentioned in an earlier post.

It's hard to believe the ancient city was so far down.

one of the colonnades

There are many layers to the invalid story. Jesus had asked the man if he wanted to be healed, as some didn’t because they earned a living as beggars. Also, Jesus healed him on the Sabbath, something the religious leaders of the day didn’t like.

In the church, the apse is acoustically lovely, and we sing Amazing Grace and Hallelujah, and after, listen to another woman sing another beautiful song and a priest adds his voice to the chorus. I visit the grotto downstairs to see the traditional site of Mary’s birth. 

A friend with one of the priests

Inside Saint Anne's Church

One of the ways down to the grotto

We exit through Stephen’s Gate where Saint Stephen was stoned or martyred. We pass a legless beggar, so appropriately placed there, no doubt, by family or friends. 

Saint Stephen's Gate

Our next stop is more exciting. The Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was betrayed!

The Temple Mount: A powder keg

I left you yesterday with the news that Israel has bombed a compound in Syria. We don't yet have a lot of details as to why, nor may we ever know.

However, we soon learn some related news. The last night we stayed in the kibbutz, (which was, if you've been following my blog, two nights ago) there were four tour buses there, ours included, all from the same tour company. One driver was awoken at 3 am and dispatched to the Syrian border to pick up 20 wounded Syrian soldiers who had crossed (or been sent) over to Israel. They knew they would receive proper medical care, for Israel would not deny them that basic human right. The driver was to take them to a hospital in Tiberius. 

I expect that the Israeli government knows which bus company would be close to the Syrian border and the company would know which driver was best to awaken (the one who wasn't scheduled to do a lot of driving the next day). 

As disturbing as that may sound to Canadians, (Big Brother and all) I know, by virtue of being in the military, that governments know things we don't expect them to. And Israel, as it remains constantly perched upon the precipice of war, would know which buses are close to Syria, a country in the midst of not only a civil war, but fighting ISIS as well. 

(I must reiterate that I have never felt unsafe there. It sounds fearful to us Canadians, but life goes on quite normally. Israel has a great air defense system.)

Our team leader muses out loud that CNN would never air this news. It puts Israel in a good light, and as such, doesn't make for increased TV ratings. That bothers me. There are so many people today who don't know the history behind Israel's fight for life and see countries like Palestine and Syria as victims. (it's the people who are, not the countries) To them, Israel, with its desire to fight for its own sovereignty, is more a Goliath than a David.  

After supper, Yossi takes us for a walk, and we end up at the American Colony where Horatio Stafford lived, where also hangs a copy of his hymn,  ‘It is well with my soul.’ (An appropriate hymn at this time) Yossi had wanted to take us into a nearby church to hear its wonderful acoustics, but we watched guards quickly block our entrance. Instead, we visit a jewelry store and see a first century shekel. The selling of artifacts is a big business here, for the black market is rife with the opportunities to purchase them.

Despite the seemingly bumpy start, our time in Jerusalem finds us up and gone early the next day, aiming to visit the Temple Mount before it's closed for the day. On our way, our devotional on the Lord's Prayer continues. ‘For Thine is the Kingdom…’ is easy to say when we feel we're in control. But only God is in control. 

I had cautioned several of us that we must dress modestly for the Temple Mount, but am concerned just the same, and even our guide warns us not to take I-Pads in, for they may contain a Bible app. I don't want us to be detained. This is one of the highlights of the trip.

Thankfully for us, a group of young women in front is stopped and ordered to wear long skirts, for their miniskirts and leggings are more than inappropriate. 

One woman in her borrowed skirt

Immediately, I think of the movie about Corrie ten Boom, and how she smuggled a Bible into a concentration camp when the woman ahead of her caused a disturbance. Like Corrie, we walk straight in, as the men on guard are busy with the young women.

Cats abound, encouraged to be here for their hunting skills and one young woman ignores the history to photograph one.
 

History around her and she photographs a cat. Like us at Mount Hermon

Yossi points out that while the Dome of the Rock is said to house the place where Abraham tried to sacrifice Isaac, there is evidence that points to a smaller rock, covered with a small dome to the north of the golden dome. That suggests that the site of the Holy of Holies is also different.

I think again about Abraham, so willing to sacrifice, without question, his son, Isaac. He'd lived among the Canaanites, those who sacrificed their babies. Abraham was used to this, I think, cringingly. Did he believe that sacrifice of one’s child was a way of worshiping one's own god? We are always taught a benign Abraham trusted that God would restore Isaac, should he die. But a more disturbing image is appearing. Abraham knew of child sacrifice and was willing to do it for God. 

Thankfully, in case you don't know the story, a ram appeared at the last minute on this mount all those millennia ago. Shed blood for his son’s life. A substitute, where in the Temple of Pan for instance, there was nothing that could be substituted. Thankfully, we have Jesus, the perfect substitute.

Could this be the site where Abraham tried to sacrifice Isaac?

I look down again at the small, exposed rock north of the dome. Could this be where Isaac had been tied up and prepared for death? Was it also the site of the Temple’s Holy of Holies? I reach down and run my fingers over the rough surface. I will probably never know which is which until I reach heaven. For now, I'm satisfied with the wait.

We learn that the Temple Mount is owned by the King of Jordan, and since the previous king was too proud to take money from Saudi Arabia, (and probably a bit wise for he would be owing to them) he had only the thinnest layer of gold possible applied on the dome. 

It's hard to see, but it needs some repair.

It's in desperate need of repair, we see as we close in on it.
 

Our friend and the Dome of the Rock

Yossi ignoring the cats

Here, our guide tells us that Israel has no constitution, that Orthodox Jews say the Torah (part of the Old Testament that contains the laws) is enough for them. He reiterates that Israel needs our prayers, that the Temple Mount is not sitting on ancient stones, but on a powder keg. 

I find those words disturbing.

Your wife will love you more

There is a certain cat food company that describes how much your cat will love you when you pay attention to her food. Tender morsels of delicious meat will show her that you care.

It reminds me of a recent trip to Petra. If you are regular reader, you'll know that I saw Petra when I took a trip to the Holy Land. Hawkers, mostly men and young boys, tried to convince other men to buy their cheap bracelets, claiming that if they bought them, their wives would love them more.


Have our society's affections been whittled down to this? For one thing, if my husband had paid $30.00 each for cheap baubles, I would not be cooing away to him. Yes, his thriftiness drives me crazy some days, but I'm proud of him. 

 
But let me return to the question. Is love purchasable? Of course not, and yet, it is marketed as so. Where did we take that turn that allows companies to gently warn us, through the eyes of a fickle cat, that we could lose that love? What are we telling our children.


I suggest discussing this with your family the next time we see a foolish commercial on TV. We are the consumers. And our love cannot be bought.