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.)