The ancient walls of Jerusalem have many gates, but our entry point is the Jaffa Gate, by the King David Citadel, which was started by Solomon and finished by Herod. Whilst the Jaffa Gate is a portal of history it sits next to a fully-fledged opening in the wall, created because back at the turn of the 20th Century, the then Governor of Jerusalem owned one of the first motor-cars in the Middle East and decided he wanted to drive it unimpeded from Jaffa to Jerusalem so knocked a bloody big hole in the wall to allow him to build a tarmacked road for his own pleasure. UNESCO would have gone nuts!
The walls of Old Jerusalem
It’s been a long day already, with a lot still to see, so rather than meander slowly through the Christian Quarter, soaking up the sights and sounds of the city, Ami marches us at considerable speed to our lunch spot; the rooftop terrace of the suitably named Golden Panorama City Restaurant where we’re all seated with views of the German church, the Russian Orthodox Cathedral, the Jewish cemetery and the Dome of the Rock. Just 25 minutes for a tasty falafel wrap, and once again we’re off…
First up is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, pretty much the most sacred spot in Christendom. A kind of timeshare property between six different denominations – all of whom need to agree before anything can be done – it’s a space both profound and mundane, but one I’m determined to experience more fully on this visit. After Ami’s descriptive prelude we walk inside, its darkened interior providing a very welcome respite from the unrelenting sun, and make our way to the chapel built upon the Golgotha rock – the traditional place of crucifixion – of which a fragment can still be seen.
Church of the Holy Sepulchre
I stand still, taking it in, more meditative than I was 20 years ago, a sense of quietness upon me. This is where Jesus died, two thousand years ago. This is the place that has shaped the world for millennia to come. This is important. And yet… it’s also a mark on the tourist map, a tick on the list of places to see, a second chance for a faith that doesn’t come. We move on.
I lay hands upon the slab where Jesus’ body was laid, taking my turn amongst those far more devout than me, to say a quiet prayer before rounding the corner to the enormous, ornate sarcophagus that covers (what Catholics believe to be) his tomb. The queues to enter and witness not very much stretch back some considerable distance but, like the church in Bethlehem, different denominations have a slightly different interpretation of history so having seen inside this tomb, albeit with a very hazy memory, two decades ago, I follow Ami to a much quieter spot where Coptics and Assyrians believe the tomb was instead.
Sacred slab
To be honest, this feels more likely; a crawl into a tiny space where bodies were obviously once laid. I take a moment to soak it all up and then make way for others to pay their respects. Back in the sunshine of the square outside the church we all gather and then Ami leads us along the Via Dolorosa, through the winding alleyways of the souk, stopping at various stations of the cross to hear what befell Jesus on the walk to his death.
We walk through the Muslim quarter, stopping for fresh orange juice from a stall, and then come to something that definitely was not here two decades ago; an X-ray machine and security check to enter the Jewish quarter. Somewhat ridiculously though, we are waved through without being checked as today is the Sabbath and orthodox Jews cannot use electrical items, so the X-ray machine isn’t switched on and they have no way of checking for concealed weapons. The absurdity and contradictions of the Middle East seems to be encapsulated in this very moment.
Streets of the old city
Through the non-existent checkpoint we are split into male and female, each with our entrance to the Western (Wailing) Wall of the old temple, and us males pop on a disposable kippa (skull cap) to approach the sacred bricks. I look upon them, and touch the wall, noting all the scrolled up prayers pushed into holes in the walls, and wonder what it would take for peace to finally descend here… the end of human civilization?
Being not just the Sabbath, but the 9th of Av – or Tisha B’Av, the commemoration of the day Jerusalem was razed in AD70 – photos are forbidden, resulting in a highly irate orthodox man launching into a full-blown argument with Ami when a couple of shots are attempted by a member of our group. Above us, lies the Dome of the Rock and the Al Aqsa Mosque, from which Mohammed ascended to heaven; a fascinating and beautiful space which we are now unable to visit as entrance is restricted to Muslims for all but one hour a month, yet sadly I was able to walk around freely last time I was here. It seems peace is further away than ever…
We leave the Jewish quarter via the Byzantine Cardo, the ancient city high street excavated for us to see, past the grand synagogue and through the Armenian quarter, returning to the minibus for our journey back to Tel Aviv. As we leave the city we drive past the Damascus Gate and Herod’s Gate, the sight of which rings a bell in my memory; I think I stayed in a little hostel near here all those years ago. I wonder if one day I’ll return to Jerusalem for a third time, maybe with Coman at some point in the future. There’s still so much to see!
It’s evening by the time we arrive in Tel Aviv and after packing my bags for the flight tomorrow I walk to Jaffa once more along the sea front, making my way to Cafe Puua. In the crowd outside I meet Jane’s friend Rach, and her friend Marissa, both of whom moved to Israel a couple of years ago, making their ‘Return’. I mention that I’ve got a slight pain in my ears again and am finding it difficult to make them pop and Rach mentions it sometimes happens to her as travelling between Tel Aviv and Jersualem, let alone the Dead Sea, involves steep changes in altitudes and not to worry.
At the Wailing Wall
Over lentil salad and a glass of wine they fill me in on life in Tel Aviv and how any person of acknowledged Jewish descent is able to claim citizenship of Israel on arrival into the country, greeted as they are with the words “welcome home”, when they declare their heritage. Within weeks they have a passport, a settlement allowance, state benefits and more.
They both love living in Israel and life seems exciting and challenging here, and we talk for hours before Rach and I share a cab back into Tel Aviv and I head to bed just after midnight, ready for my journey home tomorrow. Or so I believe…
