My First Journey to the Holy Land #10 (Sunday in Jerusalem)

 

My First Journey to the Holy Land #10a: Christ's Church

  

Sunday, February 9, 2025 was a day of divine encounters and brand-new experiences for us- two poor Mama's from the USA.

As you know I am a country girl. But this day I planned to brave public transportation, in a foreign country, without Aunt Sheryl. I had a hard time sleeping the night before. Aunt Sheryl (who is often up at night) sat down with me and patiently explained the route. Finally, I slept. 

Aunt Anita and I got up early, so we could catch the bus that goes directly to the Jaffa gate. We were prioritizing "people over places" on this trip, and that included friends -old and new. On this day, Aunt Anita and I wanted to experience worshipping with fellow Christians in Israel. We didn't want to give up time with our family, but it ended up that everyone was busy that day and we were well-rested from the wonderful Shabbat. This was the day to cross 3 things off of my list: meet Eva at her church, visit my great-grandparents' graves and buy souvenirs. Miraculously, it all got done, and I am not using that word lightly. The miracle wasn't THAT it happened, but HOW. What is this place? Jerusalem. Is it really different than other cities? How could it be? God's presence is everywhere. I've felt Him, experienced Him. But this day was different from anything I had ever experienced- yet "just another day in Jerusalem".

We got on the crowded bus and managed to get off at the correct stop in spite of not understanding Arabic, or Hebrew. "Jaffa Gate"? We asked. People are so helpful in Jerusalem. They acted like we were their sisters, or aunts- pointing us in the right direction. I breathed a sigh of relief as we stepped off of the bus. We had arrived! Now, if I could just find the church. I had studied the route on google maps a month before- using "street view" to try to familiarize myself with the area. If we hurried, we should get there 5 minutes before church started. "Eva said she sits in the front row." I chatted nervously with Aunt Anita. "We'll recognize her from her picture. She said she will be there. The church should be right past this cafe. Wait... somewhere around here..." "Where is Christchurch?" I asked a random stranger. He smiled, "You are almost there!" We followed him through a gate and around a corner and there it was. I took a deep breath. I remembered the stories my Great grandfather, Andrew Dugger, wrote about his experiences in Jerusalem. Once he walked into the post office (I guess the one right next to this church) and happened to meet the very person he had been corresponding with from America! I wished I had his faith. The faith that could travel with his wife and three little children, for three months, on a boat, with not much more than the clothes on their back and trust that God would lead them and provide for them! And He did! We didn't have an important mission, but here we were, doing the little bit we could.

We had a cellphone to deliver to an Arab-Christian lady. Her family had been friends with the Dugger and Fauth families for many years. Aunt Anita had met her stepdaughter, Beatrice over forty years ago!

We walked into the cold, stone church, past the sparsely filled rows of chairs to the front row. Aunt Anita recognized Beatrice right away, so we knew the lady next to her must be Eva. She smiled such a warm smile and called us her daughters!

 It was time for church to begin. 

The service wasn't what I am used to. I attend a small home-church on Saturdays, and we are very laid-back. This church met on Sundays and they follow- I think it's called a "liturgy". (They gave us a piece of paper that told us what to say at different times.) Yet, I wasn't there very long before I felt right at home. -in this cold, stone church, with traditions that weren't mine.

 We began singing songs that ministered to my soul. Songs directed to God, praising Him, worshipping our Creator. Songs of Moses and the Lamb. Songs about eternity! I closed my eyes and let the tears fall as the small congregation sang.

 "Right here!" I told myself. "It's all going to happen right here!" The Mt. of Olives was very close. "I wonder if these walls will crumble when our Messiah's feet touch the mountain. Or if people will be able to see right through the wall! Jesus asked if he would find faith on this earth when he returned. Will there be anyone here, or will this church be empty?  Here we are singing, in earthly Jerusalem, what is being sung in heavenly Jerusalem! It all seems so real. It's really going to happen!  Yet, Heavenly Jerusalem is even more real than this!" 

I knew I must savor each moment of this precious hour. Perhaps the only time in my life I would sing with other believers in Jerusalem. 

I am used to singing songs in multiple languages and was happy to see they did that here. But, instead of Spanish words appearing on the screen, it was Arabic. My heart melted as I did my best to sing the unfamiliar words, standing next to a dear lady whose mother tongue was Arabic. How important to sing songs about life and peace in this language that is often used to spread hate. 

"People from EVERY tongue..." Even Arabic! "People from EVERY nation..." Even, Israel! ".. stand before the Throne of God singing Holy, Holy, Holy is the LORD God Almighty who was (during Biblical times), is (right now during this war), and is to come (Eternity)!"

Everything seems more intense in this place, so close to Mt. Zion. 

This was only the beginning of my first Sunday in Israel.

I'll go ahead and share this now and write more later. 

It's real, my friends. The Bible is true and Jesus is really coming back. I don't know when. But things are happening in the spiritual realm.

 -things I do not understand, but caught just a glimpse of

And yet, I felt at home and so very safe and loved in this place that is like nowhere else in the world. No wonder my Great-grandparents decided to move here. No wonder my Grandma Orabelle talked so much about this land that was just pictures of dusty hills to us. 

"...the mother of us all " Words my great-grandma sang many years ago, in this very place. I pondered these words as the service ended. I breathed deeply, trying to capture this moment. -making it a part of me.

 -something I can hold onto when hard times come, and it feels like God is far away

 -when it feels like the Enemy is winning.

I will close my eyes and imagine myself within those stone walls, sheltered from the craziness of this world, and I will sing!

My First Journey to the Holy Land: #9 (Shabbat)

  Near the top of the list of things I wanted to experience in Israel was Shabbat.

As many of you know, I come from a long line of Sabbath keepers. We take a break from buying, selling and working from Friday night sundown to Saturday night sundown. So, Shabbat isn't a foreign concept to me. I love the Sabbath very much, but I still have much to learn. 

Friday was almost exactly like it is at my house. Everyone was busy cooking and cleaning in preparation for the weekly holiday. My oldest cousin flew in from the country of Georgia. It was fun reminiscing about our childhood. He is a grandpa now and reminds me a lot of our uncle Tim: --same sense of humor --same storytelling skills -same smile --same shiny scalp.

Then, maybe an hour before sundown, my aunt directed my attention to the Shabbat candles.

They looked nothing like I expected. I thought I had "Sabbath candles".

 -two short candlesticks on my kitchen table

But my candles look nothing like this!

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My sweet cousin's husband came home early, as is the custom on Fridays. He walked in, weary from his long, 6-day workweek. 

What do you think he said when he opened the door?

"How can I help?" 

"I need olive oil for the Shabbat candles. This oil isn't pure. It is mixed with another oil. I can't light this." She explained. 

He agreed and patiently went right back out to buy the oil before Shabbat. 

This is the moment I began to realize how much honor is given to women in this culture. 

Everyone who walked in the door that afternoon came to serve the woman of the house.

 - her brother, niece, husband, children... 

She didn't seem stressed like my mother and me often are on Friday afternoons. She accepted that whatever didn't get done today could wait until after the Sabbath. And no one expected anything different.  

When it came time to light the candles, it just happened, smoothly, like part of life. The women lit 2 candles for their family and 1 additional candle for each child. They spent some time in prayer. They didn't announce what they were doing. The children continued to play. But, when they were done praying, work stopped. It was time to REST.

My cousin, Sara, had a quiet confidence that I later saw in other cousins the next Shabbat as well. Not shouting instructions, but calm. 

Soon the songs began and suddenly everything was new and intriguing, The singing was done by the men and boys. It was in Hebrew, but my Aunt interpreted for us.

The man of the house sat at the head of the table. He wasn't formidable. He smiled at his wife, who was at the other end of the very long table. She smiled back with reassurance. He blessed the juice and took a sip and then passed it to his wife. Everyone passed that first cup, not taking a sip, all the way to the woman of honor.

Then, it was time for the bread. Blessings were said and songs sung. The first piece was cut and passed to the Mama of the house. 

I wondered how long these traditions had been practiced. The Bible came to life as I pictured Yeshua as a child, watching his parents serve each other and joining in the songs based on Proverbs 31 blessing his Ima. 

So often throughout the evening I would think of a verse that suddenly had more meaning now that I could see it portrayed in front of my eyes.

I know many of my readers have been to Israel. Everyone says that the Bible really comes to life there. I kinda thought it wouldn't be that way for me so much. I'm not sure why I thought that, but you all were so right. What an amazing experience.

At one point there was a knock on the door. A neighbor lady found herself alone on the Shabbat and wanted to join the festivities. Of course she was welcomed in. There was something inside me that I can't quite explain. How amazing to be here where everyone in this neighborhood celebrates Shabbat. The streets close and the children play in the streets. Neighbors share with neighbors. Everyone is family. How strange to me, an American, coming from where we celebrate diversity and barely know our neighbors. My heart ached a little as I realized what we are missing by being so independent minded. I do love my solitude. In fact, as I write this I am alone in our motorhome, the rain gently falling on the roof. It is peaceful. I love quiet moments when I have plenty of time to think. Who would have thought I would long -just a little bit - for an apartment full of neighbors who have similar moral standards and beliefs? It would feel safe. My Aunt explained that Jews have always lived close to each other, because they feel safer in large groups. That hit me. This way of life wasn't chosen because they are social people who enjoy crowds. It's how they have survived. Everywhere they go, even in Israel, there are people who don't want them to exist. I'm so thankful I live in a country where we have the freedom to live how we choose and believe what we want to without being attacked. Sadly, that seems to be changing. But I'm enjoying it while it lasts.

(Sorry for rambling. I'm not sure what to cut out of that last paragraph, and I really need to get this posted, so I will leave it for now.)

...the neighbor lady talked about the times we are living in and her belief that it is time for the Jews and Christians to unite against our common enemies. She was happy to meet Christians from America. She was a Jew from Germany. 

Someone told me, years ago, that the Jews want everyone to become Jewish, but I didn't meet anyone who even hinted that we convert. (Except my aunt, of course, but even she isn't pushy.) We were the American, Christian relatives and everyone was okay with that. 

"Tzirel told me her Christian relatives from America were coming!" The neighbor greeted warmly. 

...and this became a common lesson on this trip until it climaxed with a realization I had at the airport while we waited for our flight home: I should never apologize for who I am. 

Normally, if I am somewhere and I am the only one who does, or doesn't do something, I begin with an apology: "I'm sorry, we don't eat pork." "I'm sorry, it's our Sabbath, so we can't..." But here I was far away from my family, surrounded by people who have very different beliefs and customs than I do, yet feeling at home. How peculiar... But here I am rambling again...

Sabbath was mostly a rest day for us. Aunt Anita had been sick and we both needed extra sleep. I wanted to visit the "shul", but I was too tired. 

We ate, visited and then napped. Then ate and visited some more. It was wonderful and refreshing. The main meal had several courses. I wasn't sure where all of this food came from! The table was covered with a sheet of plastic. Most of the dishes were disposable, so cleanup was easy. They just wrapped everything up in the table cloth a laid a new sheet of plastic down for the next meal. I noticed lots of coverings: The bread had a covering, the women had head coverings, the table had a covering. It was easy to overthink. So much depth of meaning in every little tradition. 

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Let's see if I can remember all of the courses:

Juice

Bread with hummus and other dips

Soup and salad 

Fish and bread

Meat and potatoes and cooked veggies 

More bread and juice 

Dessert 

Something like that. It was a lot. In between all of that the men sang and prayed and blessed their kids and wives. They sang about the Sabbath and the many blessings of God. They thanked God for their wives and children. The women sat at the other end of the table and visited. It was so nice. I could see the benefits in all of these rituals. It kept the men at the table focused and gave the women a much-deserved break from serving everyone. Maybe it's just the men in my family, but they always get done eating first and get bored quickly. This gave the women time to eat and feed the little ones without the men getting restless. 

The pictures below this blog post are from Friday afternoon. We didn't take pictures on Sabbath out of respect for the Holy Day. 

There are a lot of things they don't do on Sabbath, but it didn't feel burdensome at all. It felt freeing and restful. The children seemed happy too. They ran in and out as much as they wanted to and seemed to really delight in the Sabbath.

Here in America church day can be boring for kids. Over half of the people living in Beitar, Israel are children so it is very kid friendly. The children aren't forced to do anything. They are encouraged to join in, but they are free to go outside and play too. Part of the blessing of God, (the promises for what this moment in time would look like as described by the prophet Zechariah), is for children to be playing in the streets. So, a big part of Shabbat is that the streets are empty of cars and buses so the children can play freely. Children are a blessing. The old saying, "seen and not heard ' is not said here! On the contrary! The children are encouraged to ask questions and sing and play! On Shabbat they are free to be kids!

As the end of Sabbath drew near I asked to go outside and see the sunset. My Aunt and several of the kids walked us out to a place we could see past the apartment buildings to the valley below the fence line. My Aunt pointed out a lush green area on the next hillside. She explained that that area was kept undeveloped so the Arabs could bring their herds of goats through to graze. But, after October 7th, the people in that neighborhood didn't feel safe having Arabs wandering through the neighborhood, so they closed it off. Now it is overgrown with olive trees and grass. It was lush and beautiful when we were there. We could only see it from a distance though. It is still reserved for the Arabs when more peaceful times return. 

How we long for peace and that 1,000 -year- long Sabbath when there will be no more tears, war, or pain. The Lord of the Sabbath will reign from Jerusalem on that great day. My Jewish relatives talked about it too. What will it look like? "Do you think the temple will be rebuilt?" I asked my Aunt. "How would that be possible?" She asked. "There is a mosque on the Temple mount?" She's right. It would be impossible. 

I kept the rest of my thoughts to myself as twilight fell, the beginning of a new week. I wondered what the future held, yet realized today, right now, is all I really know. We walked down the street lined with tall buildings made of strong rock walls, with bars on the windows. Quiet. Safe. Secure. We walked up the stone steps and inside the foyer. The many Psalms about God being our fortress ran through my heart. Children's laughter and warm light greeted us inside. They touched the mezuzah on the door, but I didn't. It is meaningful to them and I respect them for it. It would be good if we also had constant reminders of who we are. It's so easy to forget and lose our focus. How quickly we let down our guard and allow ourselves to be vulnerable to the enemy. How often we stray from the protective covering of our Creator. 

My First Journey to the Holy Land: Entry #8 (The Old City: Jerusalem)

 Finally, I am sitting down to write the post we have all been waiting for: Visiting the Kotel! 

"Kotel" was a new word for me. Most of you, who have been to Israel many times, probably know that it is also known as the Western Wall or Wailing Wall.

"You should do everything you want to do at the beginning of your trip!" Aunt Sheryl advised. "Don't wait, or it just might not happen."

It was something she had learned on her travels. - wise advice, especially with our limited time in Israel as well as limited energy. Also, this trip wasn't a typical tourist vacation. It was a family reunion! With dozens of cousins to meet we planned to prioritize people over places.

So, after a day of rest, we were ready to explore. "You might want to bring an umbrella. It's supposed to rain." Aunt Sheryl suggested. "What kind of rain?" I asked. I live in rainy, western Washington and my coat always does just fine keeping me dry. But the rain in Jerusalem, Israel just might be different than what I am used to! 

The Old City of Jerusalem was #1 on our list. And the Western Wall was first!

Some people say it really wasn't part of the temple, especially not Solomon's temple. But it IS a very old wall, very close to where the temple once stood. People have been praying at that wall for a very long time. Some of my ancestors visited that very wall, and now I was really, actually going there! 

Aunt Sheryl pointed out places of interest as we drove past hills and valleys. It wasn't long until we saw the walls of Jerusalem: 🎶 "Shalom, shalom Jerusalem!", "Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem"

Songs and Psalms I had been singing since childhood ran through my head...

The Gate

As I stepped off the bus, I remembered Aunt Deb's advice (Luke's Aunt). She told me that I don't need to think of myself as a visitor on this trip. I should walk with my head high as the daughter of the King! So, I did. "I belong here." I told myself and I walked through a gate and entered that glorious city!

I stood there for a minute drinking it all in. "I can't believe I'm here!"  I turned around to see which gate we had just walked through. It was called: Dung Gate. I giggled. I am entering the Holy City, for the very first time, through the gate once used to remove the poop?! 🤣

The Wall

Soon we came around a corner and there was THE WALL!!!

It wasn't as big as I imagined. Does the city stretch when more people visit?! I wondered, as I remembered the many pictures I had seen of concerts and celebrations at The Wall. There weren't very many people there the day we went. -probably due to the war and the storm. We went to the women's side. I found a chair and got comfortable. I pulled out my little Bible (Yes! The one from my great grandma) and a prayer I had carried from home, that my husband wrote. I also jotted down prayers for a couple of other people. I took a deep breath, prayed and left the crumpled pieces of paper in a crevasse in the rock.

"I'm not superstitious, God. I know YOU are everywhere! I know you can hear my prayers from Washington State just as well as you can hear them from in front of this wall. You don't dwell in a temple made with hands. BUT I also know that this place is special to you. Many miracles have happened within these walls. You chose Jerusalem. You chose Israel. So much happened right here! Jesus loved this city. This is where his family, his brothers, sisters, and his disciples walked. This city, still called: "The City of Peace", in spite of all of the wars that have been fought here... Help me to love her too."

I wasn't there long. Aunt Sheryl wanted to show me a better, drier place for praying long prayers. We followed her through some doors, but they didn't lead into a building. There were tunnels! We followed the path around and she took us to a place that was special to her. It was right outside of a room that some archaeologists believe is very close to where the Holy of Holies was. They weren't open for tours though, so, we went up to a room where Jewish women were praying. Below them, Jewish men were praying and holding classes for the soldiers. I think it was Psalm 122 that I read in that room. Aunt Sheryl said we could leave, if we were ready, but she wanted to stay longer. So, Aunt Anita and I went back into the tunnel. I found a private little side tunnel, as close as I could get to the Holy of Holies. And there I sat and lingered. I sang songs about the Holy place and Psalms David wrote about longing for the sanctuary. David said he would be happy just to be a doorkeeper in the Lord's House. It was here! Maybe not this exact spot, but very close! I prayed for all of the people on my heart and left the burdens, I had brought, right there in that little cubby. It was a beautiful, intimate moment. When I came out, my aunts were waiting for me. Aunt Sheryl was touched by my tear-stained cheeks. She held me close to her heart and I sobbed. It was good to be home. I mean HERE! It was good to be here. Visiting this place. I wasn't home. My home was on the other side of the world... "You're not a visitor." I remembered Aunt Deb's cheery voice saying. I decided not to try to figure it out. I'm okay with mysteries being left unsolved sometimes and just embracing the awe of not understanding everything. -trusting that the King of Kings knows everything. He was, is and is to come. 🎶 "...take the coal, cleanse my lips, here I am..."🎶

[I would rather linger and embrace these moments in a few special places than rush around and try to see everything. Now that I am home, I keep thinking about other sites I didn't get to visit, and would have liked to, 😔but I know we didn't have time. I'm glad we went at the pace we did.]

Aish HaTorah Center

Then, we walked to a building with a tall, locked gate. For ten shekels they let us in. We walked up steps and meandered around until we came to a large rooftop balcony. We could see the Wall, the Temple Mount, Mt. Olives and all around. There was a model of Solomon's temple as well. 

I looked at the clouds above that hill covered in olive trees - a large cemetery on one side. That's the spot! There is the valley below! I'm a terrible photographer. So, I just enjoyed the view. My mind shifted to Zechariah 14:4. I tried to picture my Lord appearing in those clouds and the mountain splitting. Wow! What would that look like?! This would be a great spot to watch it all go down! Kind of like Johnston Ridge was a good spot to view Mt. St. Helens erupting, maybe, but an awesome view all the same! (I think it was called Aish HaTorah Center. I would highly recommend it. It's an amazing view. I will add my pictures, even though they aren't very good.)

I enjoyed the model of the temple. I don't know where it stood, exactly. I tried to imagine it on the hill behind the model. I'm sure the terrain looked a lot different during Solomon's time!

It had been raining a bit off and on, but soon it started to pour! I had the image of the temple fresh in my mind as we walked down the steps with water trickling in little rivulets between our feet. I wished I had memorized Ezekiel 47. As we meandered through the little streets and the rain increased in intensity, I imagined it was deeper than it was: -"to my ankles" We stopped to get something to eat. I didn't feel hungry. My aunts were excited for me to try everything, so I got a salad with a falafel AND shawarma! I was stuffed! The sun came out for a bit, and we continued walking. We came across a menorah and I asked for a picture next to it. I guess it is supposed to be a replica of the one in Solomon's temple. I recognized the area behind it from some videos I had watched in preparation for this visit! I don't know what the area was called, but it's pretty cool to see it in real life. Soon it started raining again. -"to my knees" We ducked under the Jaffa Gate hoping the downpour would slow down. It didn't. We decided to brave the downpour and make a run for the bus stop. The road was wide on the other side of the gate -"to swim in"! I thought, as I imagined the water was as deep as it was wide. "Rain is a blessing!" "Water flows from the temple"... "out of our bellies...." ...knowledge of the Lord will cover the earth as the waters cover the sea..."  I wasn't sure where all of those verses were located, but they happily flowed through my brain. I hoped I had remembered to put my Bible back in the plastic bag. I was soaked, in spite of my waterproof coat. I wasn't sure how water resistant my backpack was. But I didn't feel cold. 

We explored Jerusalem late into the night, going to a few shops... we located the cemetery, but it was locked. This is the day we visited the hospital too.

I think that's about all we did that day. I guess I should mention it was Wednesday, February 5, 2025.

Oh, and everything in my backpack stayed dry! Thank you to my neighbor for giving me the backpack. It was perfect! 

Psalm 122

Here is Psalm 122 KJV so you don't have to look it up. I feel like I could have written something similar on that Wednesday, over a month ago.

1- I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD.  

2- Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem.

3- Jerusalem is builded as a city that is compact together:

4- Whither the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord, unto the testimony of Israel, to give thanks unto the name of the LORD. 

5- For there are set thrones of judgement, the thrones of the house of David,

6- Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee.

7- Peace be within thy walls and prosperity within thy palaces.

8- For my brethren and companions' sakes, I will now say, Peace be within thee.

 

9- Because of the house of the LORD our God I will seek thy good.

Conclusion 

I will leave you, my dear readers, with a question: Is Jerusalem holy? If so, what is it that makes it holy? The earth is the LORD's! He made all of heaven and earth. If it isn't holy, why do so many people want to control it? 

Many people say we are living in "Biblical times" meaning we are living in a time when prophecies are being fulfilled before our very eyes and miracles are happening that are very similar to the ones recorded in the Bible. 

The thing about miracles is: Hard times come first. If times are good, there is no need for a miracle. 

Keep watching and praying friends!

 

My first Journey to the Holy Land: Entry #7 (the Oppressed)

 "Now that I understand why you are really here there are some things you need to see." my aunt said. (I didn't feel like I knew the real reason myself.) 

"You are a spy!" she smiled with a twinkle in her eyes. "No, that's not the word... reporter!"

Maybe that IS one of the reasons I am here. -not a news reporter. I can't possibly learn enough in just a few days... But I can share my perspective on what I see in the daily lives of Jews and Arabs who live this life every day.

The conversation started in my aunt's living room. -two young mothers, several children and "Bubbe" (Grandma in Yiddish) And, of course, me and my other aunt from America.

"I want to tell you that, in spite of what you might hear from the media, many Americans support you. Many are praying for you. I had friends, and even people I barely knew, contact me shortly after October 7th to ask how my relatives in Israel were doing." I had traveled nearly 7,000 miles to look in my loved one's eyes and tell them that my heart has been with them all of this time. 

"Tell me about what it was like, living here, on October 7th. How are you all doing, with the war and everything?"   I wasn't quite sure what to ask, but I wanted to open the conversation.

As they explained their experiences, I began to hear something I didn't expect, then one of the young mothers came right out and said it, "I really didn't know what was going on, and I still don't know very much about what happened on October 7th." Her babies played around her feet. And I realized that is how it should be. 

They followed the rules. They went in the bomb shelter when instructed to and came out when it was safe. They watched the jets and rockets and drones fly over. But mostly, they prayed and sang. They hugged their children close and read them stories of miracles. Life went on. After all, childhood is short. It is so important for little ones to feel safe and loved. These families don't have TV, smartphones, or anything like that in their home. The phones they have will sometimes ring with information on what is happening in the community, or prayer requests. But sometimes these mommies don't even answer those calls. It makes sense. 

Their town is surrounded by a security fence. A guard post is at the main entrance to town with a gate that can be shut if needed. A siren will alert everyone if they need to shelter. The children run and play. They go to school and come home. Everyone prays three times a day. They pray for rain, if it is dry. They pray for safety when they get on a bus. They pray for deliverance from those who want to destroy them. God answers those prayers! Oh, the many miracles that have happened because of the prayers of the righteous. Our hope cannot be in fences, or gates, or safe rooms- for those have and will fail. But our hope is in the Lord our God! He will save us! Yes, this town has a pretty powerful line of defense, but I can't show you a picture of it, because it is in the prayerful heart of the Bubbes and Mommies.

Observations in the House

They weren't so different from me, my Jewish cousins across the sea.

I walked into their home, and it felt like mine. A couch, tables, stove and fridge. She had yoghurt and cottage cheese in her fridge, just like me. She liked half and half in her coffee too. A bowl of fruit sat on the table, just like home. Baby toys were strewn across the floor- just like at my house, although her baby was her son and mine is a grandson. They are close to the same age, these baby boys who may never meet.

Bedrooms, bathroom and a laundry room- just like mine. Except, my house doesn't have a bomb room. The kids sleep in it. The adults listen for sirens in the night that instruct them to go to the bomb room. It's part of life, something that must be done. In another home I heard a young Grandma, called "Softa" (Grandma in Hebrew), instruct her toddler granddaughter to put something away in the "bomb room". Everyone has one, and even the youngest children know where it is. 

The thing about the bomb room is its purpose is to keep people safe from bombs- not home invasion. The door swings out, and the hinges are on the outside. The latch is not secure and there is no lock. 

So, since home invasions seem to be the new tactic of the enemy, people are putting bars and gates on the outside of their houses too.

  

Driving Through Israel

As we rode the bus from one town to another, my aunt would point out the different neighborhood, or towns.

"Those are Arab houses. See how they don't have anything over the windows, or even rails on the balconies?" I noticed. I noticed something else to. The Arabs lived free. Free from bars and gates and security points. It is not safe for the Jews to go into Arab towns. Some of the special places for Jews are controlled by Arabs. -the graves of the Patriarchs and Bethlehem are a couple of examples

But Arabs are free to go into any of the Jewish towns. They often work as construction workers. 

One day, an Arab man was doing a repair job for my cousin's neighbor. My cousin had stepped outside for a minute. When she walked back in, this strange man was standing in her kitchen. She got so scared. He just wandered in looking for something. He wasn't even repairing anything in her house. Evidently this is quite common. They don't tend to respect private property. And they are protected because they are considered minorities. Companies from janitorial businesses to hospitals must hire a certain percentage of Arabs. 

It feels wrong to write like this. My American brain has been wired to not put people in boxes! We don't judge people based on their ethnicity, or religion, or anything! Each individual person is judged on their own merit. Yet, here, on the other side of the world people are living in boxes. I don't know who put them there, or if it will always be so. But they need to be there, to survive. It seems wrong, but I don't know how it could be any other way. For when they come out of their boxes they get killed.

"It's always been like this." my aunt explained as she pointed to a Jewish apartment building. "Jews live together. It is safer that way."

Why must they? 

Why must they create these worlds where they can live?

Why do so many people not want them to live?

I don't understand. I never will. Especially not in just two weeks.

My American mind says to put the murderers behind bars, not the Orthodox Jews. But they don't seem to mind. And they don't seem afraid. They live the way they believe they should. They pray and study the Torah. Sometimes trials come to test their faith, but they handle those times as they always have. 

-all of the times that someone has risen up to destroy the Jewish people- 

I looked in my aunt's eyes. "I do NOT believe that the Jews deserve this! I don't believe it is a punishment. I believe the Bible is very clear that God has NOT forsaken His people. He loves the Jewish people very much." Her face softened. We don't have to be enemies- Jews and Christians. The Jewish people have enough enemies without us condemning them as well. We have a lot of things we disagree on, but the time and place for discussing those things is not now. Now is the time to show love and compassion. 

My Lord grew up here. He had an Ima. Did he have a Softa too? His family set the table for Shabbos. He ran these hills and touched these rocks. He learned all of the rules for living in this place. Where Jews were allowed to go, and where they couldn't. How could I not love this place he called home and these people he called his brothers and sisters?

The Shaare Zedek Hospital

"You need to see the hospital." my aunt instructed. And so, here we were, sitting in the main lobby, watching people walk past. -a coffee shop, a little gift shop with newborn things- "Can you tell who is Arab and who is Jewish?" I had only been in Israel two days! As the people passed us by I mumbled responses: "Arab?" (he didn't have a kippah) "No, I think he is Jewish, just not religious." she answered. "It's hard to tell. We are cousins you know."

So, that was the lesson? That they are very similar? 

She led us into the labor and delivery area. "We could never do that in America!" Aunt Anita and I told her. Everyone is scared someone will steal the babies.

Jewish and Arab women labored next to each other. It was hard to tell which one was which. Sometimes, if a mother is a radical Muslim, and she gives birth to a son, she will exclaim that Allah has given her a son, may he grow up to be a terrorist and kill Jews. The Jewish mothers next to her give no mind to her rapture. Her cousin, in the bed next to hers... 

The nurses and doctors are also sometimes Arab and sometimes Jewish. Sometimes they are radical Muslim. (Again, what I am about to say is super hard to write. It goes so much against my western way of thinking.) If a Jewish doctor, or nurse, cares for an Arab patient, they, more often than not, treat them with dignity and gentleness. When a radical Muslim nurse, or doctor cares for a Jewish patient, they watch for ways to compromise that person's health. (It feels so wrong to write that!) But story after story confirm it happens with regularity. In fact, I came home to a news story telling about radical Muslim nurses, in Australia, who bragged about being responsible for the deaths of their Israeli patients.

How can such a world exist?

I sat in the foyer of the hospital and watched the people go by. Two women wearing hijab excitedly picked out baby outfits in the overpriced hospital giftshop. They didn't seem to be the least bit oppressed, as they paid for their items. 

And there on the reader board, for everyone to see, all of the important information was written in three languages: First, Arabic. Then, Hebrew. And, finally, English. 

Why is Arabic first? Wasn't I in Jerusalem, Israel? 

But I am taught not to judge. In my country everyone is equal. Mothers all want what is best for their babies. No one wants their child to grow up to oppress other people. 

I don't understand.

We run out into the dark, rainy night to catch a train home. My aunt guides us to the correct station. I can't tell the difference this time, as we maneuver through the towns to the one my aunt calls home. The one with the guard station, the fence, the bars on the windows and a little box on the doorpost called a mezuzah. She kisses it as she leads us into their cheery home. "Bubbe!" the little ones shout.  "You're Home!"

I look at the smiling faces of the two little girls, knowing they were triplets. "The healthiest, strongest one is the one who died." my cousin explained. She told about the nurse who had come in the night before the baby died. She was a Muslim. Was she an extremist? No one knows what happened. -why she suddenly died the next day. And no one can say anything because there is no proof. Besides, we must be kind to them and give them a chance. Those poor oppressed Muslims. 

(Of course, not ALL Arabs are terrorists, or Muslims.)

       

My first Journey to the Holy Land: Entry #6

 "Sit by the window, Sarah." my Aunt Anita smiled as we boarded the plane for Tel Aviv. I remembered my husband's advice to let her spoil me. 

I stared out the window, trying to identify the islands in the Mediterranean Sea. I had studied maps of this region since I was a kid, but never imagined that I would see it, in person. We were fed a sampler of Mediterranean food. I heard other passengers speaking in Hebrew. Soon the coastline of Israel came into view. "Look!" I invited my aunt. Golden and pink hues shone through the clouds. "I don't think my camera will pick up the color." I told her. "Let's just enjoy this moment." 

I thought Tel Aviv was near the coast, but we flew for quite a while over land. I saw hills and valleys, cities and villages. I drank in the view, wondering what it would feel like to stand on the ground in Israel and what adventures awaited me. "It's not so different from my home." I thought. Houses and trees. Rocks and hills. 

"I can't believe I'm here!" I whispered to my aunt. Many of my friends and family members have visited, some for months, or even years. Some of my relatives were born in Israel, and a few are buried there. I loved listening to stories of their adventures. It was enough for me to experience the Holy Land second hand. I didn't need this trip. I wanted to go to support my aunts. -to show my cousins that we haven't forgotten them, especially in this time of war.

 

The flight attendants served us something sweet as the airplane swept over the rocky terrain. This is the land where so many Bible stories took place. Maybe David watched his sheep on that hill, maybe Jesus and his disciples camped over there... I remembered what a Jewish woman in the airport said, "Everyone wants to come to Israel." I wasn't sure how she felt about that, but I felt like I understood. Everyone wants to come to America too, yet, paradoxically, everyone also seems to be very critical of us. Why is that? Would I be looked at as a typical American tourist, in this land full of people?

Soon we were landing- tired and jet-lagged. 

We meandered through the airport, following the other passengers. And then we came around a corner and I saw them- the posters of faces all too familiar. My heart ached. The dear hostages, including the faces of those two little red-headed baby boys and their mother. Toys surrounded their pictures. [Today, as I write this, we now know they will never play with those toys.] I stopped for a moment to pray for them and their families. "Look!" Aunt Anita said as she pointed up above the entranceway. "It says, "Welcome to Israel in Arabic, Hebrew and English!" This was a lot for me to take in. "I can't believe we are really here!" Was I dreaming, or was this real?

The line was long to get through customs. Finally, we got our luggage and found the place Aunt Sheryl said we should meet. I recognized her right away. She does look like Grandma! We hugged and then she helped us get bus passes. She led us from train to bus and from here to there all over Israel -it seemed. It was late at night, yet perfectly safe to wander the streets of Tel Aviv and then Jerusalem. A girl ran up to us excitedly, seeing our suitcases, and said something in Hebrew. Aunt Sheryl wasn't sure what she said, but I'm pretty sure she was welcoming us to Israel. It felt good to be welcomed. I wasn't a foreigner, I was family. Aunt Deb told me that is how it would be and that I should walk the streets with confidence. So, I did! "...the mother of us all..." words from my great-grandmother's song ran through my head. 

That's exactly what it felt like: -going to my mother's house. Where my roots are. No matter how many other places we may call home, or how old we get, our mother's house is still home too. We can relax and be ourselves. We are loved just the way we are. And Mother always has something to give us. "Are you hungry?" she asks. 

Somehow, even though I was weary from travel, I didn't feel hungry or thirsty. "Here, eat something. Have something warm to drink." Aunt Sheryl said when we got to her house. And we did- her little sister, and niece. We let her take care of us. She was the first one in Israel to show us this maternal love. Somehow this house, that looked so different than mine, didn't feel foreign at all- it felt like home.

My first Journey to the Holy Land: Entry #5

 I'm sitting in the Dulles airport.

I was so very nervous about check-in. It's probably the part of the trip that I have been the most worried about. Aunt Anita said I could tell you the story- I guess it does make a good story...:

Aunt Anita was only 10 years old when I was born. 

They lived close to us, and she remembers that day so clearly. 

She peaked through the nursery window at the hospital to see her first of many nieces.

 "She looks like her Daddy!" little Anita announced.

My grandma scolded her, "Oh, you're just repeating what you heard someone else say!" 

It was funny, because it really doesn't sound like something she would say.

Anita was one of my babysitters. I was her real-life doll.

I guess I will always be her little niece, Because...

 when she sat down to buy the tickets for this trip, she confidently wrote: Sarah Lemley.

BUT, in case you didn't already think of this, my name changed a quarter of a century ago!

She, in fact, is not being accompanied by "Sarah Lemley". 😅 

I've gained a few more titles since that warm day when I became Anita's niece! 

And one of those titles came with a new name! 

The problem is, my ID has my NEW NAME!

I called the airlines, and they said to bring a copy of my marriage license.

Boy was I nervous though.

Aunt Anita bought us these little fanny packs, so all of our important paperwork is handy.

It worked!

I have my boarding pass, which says I am, in fact, Sarah Lemley, but I'm trusting they know what they are doing and these pieces of paper will get me through to what my grandma called: "The Holy Land" 

So, yes, everything went well. One of the people at the ticket counter said Israel is his favorite country! 

I forgot I had earplugs in my shirt pocket. One of the security guards kept asking me to empty my pockets... "anything else" Finally, a young lady security guard came forward and asked, "What is in your shirt pocket?" They were kind and professional about it all though and we got through everything so quickly that we have two whole hours to rest before boarding the flight to Frankfurt! 

Thank you all for your prayers and encouragement. 

I had a hard time sleeping last night. I was so excited and terribly nervous all at the same time but decided to just let myself rest until 10:00 am eastern time (which is only 7:00 am my time). It's good we have a late afternoon flight.

Many people have called and texted me with encouraging messages.

One thing I have heard a lot is something along the lines of: "Things might not go as planned but be thankful in EVERYTHING! God will lead you."

Somehow this makes me feel assured. Things never really go exactly as planned. Knowing that GOD has a plan is the best feeling ever. 

It reminds me of what Moses said in Exodus 33:15

"If Your presence does not go with us, do not lead us up from here. (Ex. 33:15 NASB)