My weekend in Israel was much like a white bread sandwich. The beginning and the end (aka the border crossings) weren't so great on their own, but the middle was full of good stuff. My first moments in Israel were entirely composed of waiting in lines, waiting in more lines, and waiting in chairs. My last moments involved shelling out a 172 shekel exit tax to the Israeli government. Also, we somehow managed to get stuck with the least amicable border guards ever, so we all ended up with Israeli passport stamps. While this is normally a pretty cool memento, the proof in my passport that I've been to Israel means that any future travel plans to basically everywhere in the Middle East save Jordan and Egypt are off until 2019 or I "lose" my passport. Such is life.
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| Paul and Lura demonstrate their satisfaction with their Israeli passport stamps. |
I've never been more aware of my blond-haired, blue-eyed, white-skinned appearance than at the Israeli border crossing. Our group was composed of four of the whitest people on the planet and a friend who is half American and half Algerian. It made me really uncomfortable that he was treated so differently from the rest of us. No one was mean to him, but he was questioned fairly extensively while no one even gave my passport a second look despite the Syrian visa and Lebanese stamps contained therein.
The rest of the weekend was a considerable improvement on its somewhat rocky beginning. Our hostel was smack dab in the middle of Old City Jerusalem for maximum exploring potential. I loved hearing the beautiful mangle of shofars, calls to prayer, and church bells wafting from their respective quarters. I loved watching the sunset reflect across the Dome of the Rock from our hostel's roof. I loved walking around the walls of the Old City with its amazing vistas and glimpses into random backyards. I loved learning that, at least where I was, Arabic was a much more useful language than Hebrew. I loved seeing the graffiti that graces walls everywhere. I loved hearing a group of religious tourists spontaneously begin singing a hymn in the Room of the Last Supper. And, perhaps most of all, I loved eating bagels. Nomnomnom.
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Tamara and I trying to win the AU
Abroad Photo Contest at the Dome of the Rock. |
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Old City Jerusalem
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GODZILLA BIRD
Model of Jerusalem at the time of the Second Temple at the Israel Museum. |
Despite all these amazing things, the best part of the weekend was hiking up the Mount of Olives, where God will start to redeem the dead on the Day of Judgment, so the story goes. At the base of the mountain was probably my favorite place in Jerusalem--the Church of Nations and the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was supposedly arrested. Nothing beats the combination of beautiful mosaics, 2000-year-old olive trees, and a location a little off the beaten path. At the top of the mountain, we had the most amazing view of the Jerusalem. Perfection.
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View of the cemetery and the Dome of the Rock
from the Mount of Olives. |
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Church of Nations
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| Adam, Paul, me, Tommy, and Lura on the Mount of Olives |
And in conclusion, I saw this:
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| Really. |
