Israel -- Day 1

I envy my older sister Andrea's writing skills -- the ones I don't have. Reading her blog about Israel shamed me, knowing I could never create something so beautiful. It reminded me however that such a trip must be documented whether done eloquently or not.

It has always been my dream to go to Israel...probably right up there with my desire to go to Africa. Every Sunday when I would go to Sunday School I would stare at the picture in the front of the classroom of a golden sunset descending over the holy city. I saw the picture and chills would run down my spine my heart  aching for what it would mean to go there. For months I would lean over to my roommate who was attentively listening to the lesson and remind her that one day I would go to Israel.

I never imagined that that day would come so quickly. For months a work trip to Switzerland and Eastern Europe had been on the calendar -- Switzerland because our company owns a trust company there and the bossman thought it would be beneficial for us to meet with the officers there as well as other professionals who might be future business partners -- Eastern Europe because the International Association of Registered Financial Consultants was holding their annual continuing education conference on a cruise ship in the area.

Then, the boss man (aka Mi Padre) asked me one day if -- since we were going to be in the neighborhood anyway -- if I would like to take a little side trip afterwords and go see the Holy Lands. My heart leapt for joy. Of course I would.

In the end it ended up being Mi Padre, Myself, Andrea, and my good friend Candache.

Candace met us in Venice the day we got in from the conference. We spent the day bumming around, looking for some last minute souvenirs before we had to catch our red eye to Israel. We arrived in Tel Aviv at five in the morning exhausted and ready to go -- at least I was, I think my dad and Candace were ready for a nap.

I have never seen an airport with as much security as the Israel airport (and I've seen my fair share of airports around the world). I must have looked suspicious because almost the second I stepped off the plane I was stopped for interrogation. Passing the security lady my worn out, mildew stained, passport she eyed me dubiously. Why was my passport picture all spotty? It got wet (when our church building flooded in Shanghai) leaving mildew stains -- The spots have only caused problems in two other countries but never enough for me to actually consider replacing it. I had a stamp from Malaysia (a predominantly Muslim country) why was I there? For travel. Who did I go with? Myself. She didn't seem to believe me. Why would I do that? Do you have family there? No. Do you have friends or acquaintances there? No. After what seemed like forever of playing twenty questions I think we finally convinced her that I was not in fact a terrorist entering the country to disrupt the peace.

It was 6 in the morning and our hotel check in didn't start till two. My dad was exhausted. He wanted to sleep. Oh well, I didn't know where in Jerusalem we were supposed to meet Andrea so we mind as well get some shut eye. We slept on the couches in the lobby.

They let us check in to our hotel rooms early and Andrea finally responded to my e-mail, she would meet us at Jaffa gate. The anticipation in my heart continued to grow as we hopped into a taxi and started our hour long drive to Jerusalem. As we wandered through the hills that separate Tel Aviv from Jerusalem our driver pointed out to us all the different small towns along the way. That one is Muslim, That one is Jewish, That one is Christian. They all kept themselves so separate. He pointed out the 15 foot high walls on top of the hills running along the side of the freeway. Those were to hold out the shooters who would stand there at night shooting at random drivers. All of it brought a reality to the Israel/Palestine conflict that we've all heard about in the news since forever. For the first time I began to grasp what it was all about.

Arriving in Jerusalem it appeared like any other city. Tall buildings, lots of traffic, all the modern conveniences. Could have just been any city USA if it weren't for the fact that the majority of the people walking around were orthodox jews with the black kippahs on their heads and their silky ringlets framing their faces. Even the younger boys had them. The women wore ankle length squirts with their hair pulled back in a scarf bun just like on Fiddler on the Roof.

Our taxi driver dropped us off at a nondescript intersection and told us the gate was to our right. I was confused. I saw no gate. Where was the majestic city that I had seen depicted in religious art since my childhood? My heart sunk, the city was nothing how I had envisioned it-- Then we found the gate, crossing the threshold was like being transported back two-thousand years. The wall towered over Old Jerusalem, the streets made of white sandstone stones. A big church towering over the entrance. Money changers and market stalls everywhere. It was beautiful.

Jaffa Gate

Andrea was waiting for us on the steps of the church. I was so excited to see her. It had always been my dream to travel with my big sis, unfortunately she was married before I even graduated from high school and having children by the time I was in college. It appeared I would have to wait until we were grown and old -- but here she was. Here we were. In Jerusalem. Fulfilling both of our dreams.

We were starving so we set out to find some food, Shwarma to be exact. I had no idea what that was but it sounded good. After about an hour of wandering the markets and allys of old town we found a little restaurant (It was more like a street cart within the confines of a market stall) preparing the tasty dish. Across the ally was a hookah bar (for lack of a better term) where old men sat smoking their hookah and catching up on the gossip of the day -- or so I imagine that is what they were talking about. It was all so perfect. I was in Jerusalem. The Shwarma was awesome! Right up there with Brazilian strogonoff and Ugandan matoke and g-nut sauce.

After brunch we continued to wonder the streets, meandering our way to the Garden tomb which Andrea had happened upon the day before. As we picked our way through town we were stopped by Shlomo an American Jew making his living as a tour guide in Jerusalem. He asked us if we would like a tour of the underground tunnels that run along the western wall. It just so happened that this was on my list of things to do in Jerusalem so we jumped on the opportunity.

It was amazing seeing the  layers underneath the city. The city has actually been rebuilt right on top of itself so many times that the actual city as it existed during the time of Christ is about 60 feet below the ground in some areas. Walking along the wall underground you could see the different layers of history come to life. Very cool.

The closest you can get to the Holy of Holies

Next on the list of things to see that weren't included in our tour was the Dome of the Rock which sits on the temple mount where King Herod's temple once stood. It is also the place where it is believed that Abraham was prepared to sacrifice Isaac and where the prophet Mohammad ascended into Heaven thus making it a very holy spot for Jews, Muslims, and Christians alike. Unfortunately by the time we got there the Dome of the Rock was closed to tourists for the day.

And so we set off to the BYU Jerusalem center. I insisted they wouldn't let us in. It's closed on Sundays, I already emailed them begging them to give us a tour. They politely explained that it would not be possible on a Sunday. My dad was not deterred. Ask and you shall receive he said. I had already asked. I know better than to question my dad's skills at getting around the rules though. He's very good at it. Our taxi driver dropped us off in front of the center and the guard informed us we could not go in. It's Sunday he said. I gave my father an "I told you so look." "If you could just let them know we are here and ask them for us we would appreciate it." he responded to the guard. Sure enough 10 minutes later one of the service missionaries came out and welcomed us in. My dad returned my "I told you so look"

The center was absolutely beautiful and made me proud to call BYU my Alma Matter. The view of the Old City was breathtaking all sprawled out in front of you. My first view of the Dome of the Rock. My breath caught. It was just as magnificent as I pictured it. For about the 50th time that day I stood in awe that I was actually in Jerusalem, the place where Jesus walked. Where he performed miracles, where he atoned for the sins of the world, where he hung on the cross, where he was resurrected. I was walking in his footsteps.

That pretty much concluded our first day in Jerusalem. I had not been disappointed. It was everything I hoped it would be.

On the taxi ride back to Tel Aviv much of the drive was spent with our driver telling me all the many reasons I should move to Israel and marry him. He was building a home just outside of Bethlehem -- A mansion by local standards, made of the beautiful white sandstone that is so abundant in the country and windows that cost thousands of dollars a piece. He would hire me a maid and a cook and a nanny. I wouldn't have to lift a finger. All I would have to do is bear him 6 or 7 children. That was it. I could do that.