Why I am Here

When I went off to college, I was sure of two things: I was going to study History, and I was never going to study abroad. Well, I'm batting 1/2 on that count. I was so sure I would never study abroad because I didn't think I had what it took to leave my homeland for several months. I told my parents when I started school "The only place that I would ever consider studying abroad is Jerusalem, and Concordia doesn't have a Jerusalem program, so I won't be studying abroad." My how things change. Last spring, I was walking through the student center, and all of the study abroad programs had set up booths advertising their trips and experiences. I quickly walked through the area without looking at anything, so certain was I of my plans. Right as I was about to walk out the door, however, I happened to glance at the last booth in the line. "Study in Jerusalem!" it said, with information laid out on the table in front of it. I looked at that booth for a good five minutes, thoughts piling one on top of the other in my head. "They said there wasn't a program there!" "I can't go, I just signed up for a townhouse with two of my best friends." "This is of God, there is a reason I've seen this." "Just go talk to the coordinator, you don't have to make any commitment." "I can't afford this!" "Just here him out, what's the harm in listening?" Curiosity got the better of me, and I signed up for a time slot with Dan Albertson, one of Concordia's global education coordinators. I sat down with him and listened to what he had to say, knowing in the back of my mind the whole time that God wanted me to go. One week later, I made a commitment. You're probably asking what appeal does Israel have for a suburban gentile from the Midwest to overcome such resolution? It's quite simple: Israel is the place where my life truly got started and my path became clear. It was the summer of 2009; I had just finished my Junior year of high school and was itching to graduate so I could leave that life behind me and start a better one. My faith was rocky; my church had recently imploded and the senior pastor, a great man of God and a mentor of mine, had resigned in the face of disgusting behavior from a militant minority. My family had been personally insulted multiple times for defending the pastor, and we had also left in disgust. I was very cynical towards the church in general and God in particular at that time after seeing what I had seen and hearing what I had heard. It was a time of great soul searching for me, and emerging from that process as a Christian was not a guarantee in my mind. During those troubled years, I was fortunate (indeed blessed) to have gone through a program called Student Leadership University, run by a great man of God named Dr. Jay Strack. Where my youth pastor at home ignored me and was more concerned about his personal ambition over the faith of the youth, Dr. Jay patiently built my faith and cared about who I was and what I wanted to become. He and his fellow leaders of SLU became my youth pastors, and I received more care and direction from them one week a summer for four years than I ever did attending my local youth group. In 2009, they took me to Jordan and Israel, and I got to see the Holy Land that I had read so much about for the first time. I was baptized in the Jordan River, and I went where Jesus walked and taught. Being here and seeing the actual places of the Bible coming to life certainly helped my faith, but I still wasn't completely convinced; I still had some doubts. One night, we went to Nazareth and hiked up a mountain as the sun was setting. When we got to the top, we saw the Valley of Armageddon stretching towards the horizon in all directions; endless and eternal. The sight took my breath away, and I felt the power of the place. A girl in our group suddenly burst into tears; we asked her what was wrong, and she said "This is the most famous battlefield in history, and the battle hasn't even started yet." At that moment, something changed inside of me. I don't know how, but at that time I knew, with every fiber of my being, that what she said was true. There would be a battle here someday, and I knew who would win. The gears in my head were churning, and I thought to myself "If this is true, then the rest of it has to be as well." I gave my life to Christ for good on that mountain that night. My doubts were erased, and all I felt was awe. We ended our trip in the Holy City. I prayed at the Wall and went into the empty tomb. I was leaving the next day, but something else had become clear in my mind. I knew that one day, I would return, and that it was God's Will that I do so. When I saw that booth in the student center at Concordia that spring day, God said "Go", so I went. I've known for some time that my life's purpose has something to do with the Jewish State, and that while they have enemies beyond count, I am meant to be a friend. I knew that for me to walk this path and to follow God's plan, I must return to Israel at some point. God called me to Israel, and I answered. By the Will, Grace, and Power of God Almighty and His son Jesus Christ, I am here. I wrote a paper about my experience on the mountain outside of Nazareth for my introductory writing class at Concordia. If any of you want to read it, send me a message and I'll email it to you.

The Temple Mount

Today, my dream came true, and I got to go up onto the Temple Mount. We got up at 7 and walked to the Old City, watching the sun rise as we dodged cars and other pedestrians on our way through an Arab neighborhood. We entered the Old City, following my friend from Japan, who had been on the Mount before and knew where to go. We finally got to the Wailing Wall, the only place non-Muslims can get up onto the mount. We got into a decently long line with other tourists (many of them from Germany) to wait our turn to go through security. About twenty minutes in, a security officer wound his way down the line, asking people how big their groups were. When he got to us, we told him there was six of us, and he immediately waved us through to the front of the line. Don't ask me why we got special treatment, I have no idea. We went through security and then walked up a long wooden bridge to the top. Riot shields were kept just inside the Mount entrance for quick access by police. Once inside, it was like stepping into another world. The Mount is full of fountains, gardens, trees, and green grass. My dad would appreciate how nicely maintained the lawns are. On one end of the Mount stands the Al Aqsa mosque, built over 1,000 years ago by the first Muslims to conquer Jerusalem. It is a massive building, but we could not enter since we are not Muslims. On the other end of the Mount, standing on a huge courtyard of shining limestone, stands the Dome of the Rock. This building was built over the rock where Abraham tried to sacrifice Isaac on and where the Muslims believe that Mohammed ascended to heaven. Behind the Dome and overlooking the Mount of Olives was a set of arches, where Muslims believe that God will judge humanity at the end of time. I was in awe the entire time. It has been a life-long dream of mine to be able to go up on the Temple Mount, and today I actually got to do it. We stood on the place where the presence of God manifested itself on earth. We spent most of our time walking around the Dome, looking at the intricate architecture and Mosaics covering the outside walls. The Dome itself is covered in gold, and it shines like the sun during the day. In the back of my mind as I was walking around, I thought about the very stones I was standing on. This was Jewish ground, this foundation was and is Jewish, and where this Dome stands, two temples stood, the dwelling place of the most high God on this earth. Solomon stood on this mount, building the first Temple to the Lord. Herod stood on this mount, building the second. The Babylonians swept over this mount as they put the first temple to the torch and made off with its treasures, as the Romans did to the second centuries later. I stood on some of the holiest ground on earth, God's dwelling place and His point of contact with His people before He sent His son. The only place in this city more sacred, in my opinion, is Golgotha, where Christ died, and the tomb, where Christ rose again. I stood there, gazing at a Muslim temple built on a Jewish foundation, and I thought about all of the history of this place. Here, Muslims sit and worship, children go to school, old men talk about times long past, and Israeli soldiers and police watch everything, unbelievably tense and tasked with preventing another war. Of all of the points of contention in Jerusalem, this place creates the most tension. Jews are forbidden to pray on the Mount, though they are allowed to go up with the rest of us. I heard about how an Orthodox Jew went up one day, and he was followed by police and soldiers to ensure that he did not pray and cause another conflict. Torah law forbids Jews from going up onto the Mount, because they do not know where the Holy of Holies is located and they do not want a Jew to wander through it by accident. Only the High Priest, on one day every year (Yom Kippur), was allowed to enter the Holy of Holies, and the Rabbis do not want any Jews to desecrate the place. We might have wandered through the Holy of Holies ourselves today without realizing it; we also don't know where it is located. The curtain was torn when Jesus died. The Muslims have their own security up on the Mount; men with walkie talkies and guns patrol everywhere, looking on the non-Muslims with suspicion and anger. One followed our group for a while before he gave up and switched to another. Despite the security, we had an amazing time, and this will most definitely be one of the great highlights of my time here.

Bible Studies in the Holy Land

Over the last several weeks, I have had the privilege of being a part of two separate Bible studies here on Mount Scopus. The first is as part of a group called Students Alive, a Christian group run by a South African pastor for Christians attending Hebrew University. The Second is called The Old Testament Challenge, a group meeting weekly in the student village itself and run by a fellow student and friend of mine. The first group is exclusively Christian and for Christians, and the second group is open to and includes both Christians and Jews. I was introduced to Students Alive by a friend of mine from Nigeria named God's Will. He towers over me, but he is a gentle giant, quick to smile and quick to laugh. The group is made up of fellow Hebrew U students, and the pastor who runs the group is named George. He sees it as his mission through Students Alive to bring Christ to the campus and to Israelis. He is middle aged, I'd guess between late forties to mid fifties, and he is a kindhearted man, quick to smile and laugh. We have only met twice for Students Alive so far, but each time I left feeling encouraged and reminded that I am not alone here. The second group, The Old Testament Challenge, was thought of and run by a friend of mine named Becca, a fellow Spring in Jerusalem student from Boston. We have also only met twice for the Old Testament group, and it is our goal to read through the entire Old Testament, the book of Israel and of its people, before we return home to our various homelands. This group includes both Christians and Jews, and the dialogues we have been able to have that highlight our differences and our commonalities have been a joy to behold and experience. We spent close to two hours last night reading and discussing Genesis chapters 1-3, and we could have easily gone for another hour or two if some of us didn't need to get up early this morning. We started out with four people last week, and this week we were up to ten, with people from all over the United States and one from Japan making up the group. I hope that we continue to grow as the semester moves forward. One of the students is a Bible Studies major and has studied the Bible for years, and it was fascinating to listen to his historical explanations for several difficult passages. The south, west, and northeast of the United States is well represented in this group. Both groups bring something new to the study of God's word, and both are advancing the kingdom in this part of the world. I am so happy to be able to be a part of both groups and to meet and get to know fellow Christians. I look forward to continuing with both of these pursuits as the semester progresses.

Spring in Jerusalem

I am humbled and honored to be able to join an honors program offered by Hebrew University called "Spring in Jerusalem". This program, run jointly by Hebrew U and Harvard, is for undergraduate upperclassmen who are looking to go on to grad school after graduation. It consists of a mixture of graduate level classes and undergraduate level classes, including a research seminar. I will not be taking Hebrew during this semester because I will be focusing exclusively on my majors of history and political science. I will also be staying in Israel at least until late June because of this. One benefit is that I will be able to see Dr. Jay when he brings Student Leadership University to Israel in June. I will be taking five classes under this program. The three undergraduate classes that I will be taking are "The Foreign Policy of Israel", "Palestinian Modern History and Society", and "An Introduction to the Cultural History of Jerusalem". The two graduate-level classes I will be taking are "The Political Theory of the Welfare State" (I'm going to have so much fun with that one), and "Messiahs in Conflict: Early Christianity and Judaism" (this is the research seminar). The three undergraduate classes are all at the international school, and the two graduate classes are located in other buildings throughout the university on Mount Scopus. Some of my friends that I have made here are also doing this program, which is nice since there will be very few people living in the student village for those two or three weeks in June after the semester ends. I'm excited for this new opportunity, and I look forward to taking these classes and confronting the challenge of graduate work!

Observing a Political Rally

Today as I was leaving Hebrew U on my way down to my apartment, I observed a new, but not altogether unexpected, occurrence. Across the street, stretching to block out the entirety of the vast "Hebrew University of Jerusalem" sign, stood a group of people. These people, about 30-40 in number, were waving Palestinian flags and chanting slogans and other things that I did not begin to understand. The group was made up mostly of Arabs, but there was a smattering of Westerners scattered throughout the chanters as well. The people were lead by a female with a megaphone, and they were doing what all political protesters do: listening to her chant a slogan and then mindlessly repeating her. Palestinian flags were everywhere, but here or there a person would be holding a placard with slogans written in Arabic on it. What made me stop and watch for a bit, however, were the people holding up pictures. These pictures had one thing in common: they each depicted a close-up head shot of a man. Each picture showed a different person, and they were displayed prominently at the front of the group. I did not know exactly what they were chanting or what the specific cause of the protest was, but I gathered that it was something along the lines of "Free Palestine". I also assume that the pictures were of men killed by Israelis in the "Occupied Territories" as some would call them. Surrounding this group of protesters were cameramen trying to catch a shot and heavily armed policemen, alert and ready to shut down the assembly at the first sign of trouble. Further away from the protesters, standing along the perimeter of the area, tall guys wearing sunglasses and earpieces and carrying semi-automatic weapons also silently watched. These guys all were talking into their wrist-radios and all had a look on their face saying "don't mess with me." I would hazard a guess that they were Shin Bet officers, Israel's internal security service (the FBI on steroids). All of them were very tense, and several had their hands on their guns. The Palestinian leadership in the West Bank has chosen to switch to a strategy of civil disobedience and "peaceful" protest, but these guys grew up during the two intifadas. I'm sure that they were under strict orders to make sure another one didn't happen. A soldier in uniform also watched, but he was unarmed. As I walked down the street and away from the protesters, I saw several police cars lined up, with guys who looked like they were part of a swat team standing next to them. Needless to say, I left pretty quickly, not wanting to get involved. Despite the presence of some pretty heavy firepower, the Israeli security officers did nothing to disrupt or shut down the protest, giving the protesters the freedoms of assembly and free speech. I laughed to myself as I left. If only those of my countrymen who call Israelis freedom-hating racist bigoted apartheid dictators could have been there and saw what I saw. These protesters were unmolested and were allowed to speak their minds, with security present to ensure that the peaceful protest stayed peaceful. It presents such a stark contrast to Israel's neighbors. In Syria, political protesters are cut down by machine guns and butchered by helicopter gunships. In Egypt, the Muslim Brotherhood uses street violence and thugs to intimidate and silence any opposition (a page right out of the book an Austrian corporal used with such success decades ago). There is no such thing as freedom of speech or assembly in Saudi Arabia. Israel, the only truly free country in the Middle East, deserves more credit for giving even those that vehemently disagree with it a fair hearing. Ask yourself: if you were confronted with the same realities as the Israelis, who live such a perilous existence day after day, would you do the same?

The Jerusalem Light Rail

I am blessed to be able to live in a city with cheap and efficient public transportation. The form of transportation that has received the vast majority of my own and my friends' business and use is the Jerusalem light rail, an above-ground train that goes throughout West Jerusalem with stops near the Old City, Yad Vashem, the government district, and so many other places.Coming from a city where walking isn't encouraged and public transportation consists of dangerous old buses and expensive taxis, a fully functioning light rail system is a Godsend. The system was built about a year ago and is fully functional, and one way tickets cost about two dollars. There is a station at the base of Mount Scopus, about a ten minute walk from one of the student village gates. There have been several panic-driven sprints to the station to buy tickets and jump on the train pulling away or suffer the "indignity" of waiting ten minutes for the next one. Once inside the train, you step into a microcosm of Israeli society. Orthodox rub shoulders with secular, old men sit together discussing current events, children run by laughing and using the handholds above your head as monkey bars, teenagers wander around in packs, arms full of shopping bags, on their way home from the mall, and towering over all, soldiers silently keep watch, machine guns loaded and ready for use if need be. It is fascinating to watch the interactions between people on the train here. In the back of my mind, I'm always thinking about how dangerous Israeli public transportation can be, and sometimes I see that fear reflected in the eyes of other travelers. Today, I jumped on the train to go down to the Old City. The other day we had received an email and text alert from Hebrew U warning of a heightened security situation and to be extra cautious about using public transportation. When I got on the train (the Old City is about a ten minute's ride from Mount Scopus) I saw very few other people on the train itself and security guards everywhere, checking tickets and making no effort to hide their bullet proof vests and handguns. Each one had a radio and a secret service type earpiece. They were young guys, looking to be in their mid-twenties, and most of them were gathered in the center of the train trading jokes and laughing. I'm guessing that they were all part of Shin Bet, Israel's internal security service (like our FBI on steroids). Guards were stationed at the front and back of the train, watching the eight or nine passengers who were riding. I had brought a backpack with me, and before sitting down I showed the nearest security officer that it was empty. I never felt particularly nervous or frightened for those ten minutes. I figured this kind of thing happens all the time here, and if there was a problem then the guys with guns would handle it. I had happened to catch the last train of the day, as the light rail closes early on Friday in preparation for the Jewish Sabbath and doesn't re-open until Saturday night. When I reached my stop, I just got off and wandered away, watching the train disappear over the hill. It's a great way to get around the city, and it doesn't take all of your money to get there. Save money, live better, light rail.

The Mount of Olives

Today I went on a tour of the Mount of Olives, a mountain to the east of Jerusalem and next door to Mt. Scopus. The Mount of Olives is almost entirely covered by a huge cemetery, mostly Jewish. It is the oldest cemetery in the world that is still active. People want to be buried there because the Scriptures say that the Messiah will return to Earth on the Mount of Olives, and that those buried there will rise from the dead first. Even in death, location means everything. The Muslims also believe that the Messiah will return to Earth on the Mount of Olives, and will create a bridge from the Mount of Olives to the Temple Mount for mankind to walk on before being judged under the arches in front of the Dome of the Rock. I asked the guide that since the Muslims believed that judgement day would occur on the Temple Mount, why isn't it considered the holiest site in Islam, instead of being the third behind Mecca and Medina? He had no answer for me. The Mount of Olives' name in Arabic means "the border" because it stands at the literal border between the city of Jerusalem and the West Bank. It is speculated that it might make up an actual border if the State of Palestine is ever officially created. We started our tour at the top of the Mount at an ancient church called "the Church of the Ascension", the place where Jesus left this earth and rose into Heaven. The church is one of the oldest in Christendom, but now it is a mosque. The Muslims guard it and destroyed most of the Crusader architecture when they retook Jerusalem in 1187. They allow Christians to hold worship services there one day a year. Despite these insults, the Muslims did preserve the last footprint of Jesus, which the church is built around. After this, we went down a tiny winding road to the "Pater Noster Church", a church founded by a French princess who had become a nun, over the place where Jesus taught his disciples to pray. Pater Noster means "Our Father" in Latin, and this church is dedicated to the Lord's Prayer. Covering all available space, you see the Lord's Prayer written in different languages, the languages of every race, creed, tribe, ethnic group, and people that have come to believe in the Word of God and accept Christ as Lord. The prayer is written on beautiful enamel mosaics. There are some languages represented that are no longer spoken, representing peoples that no longer exist or that were folded into a different group. After this, we continued our descent on a paved road the Jordanians built when they took over East Jerusalem and the West Bank in 1948. The construction destroyed some Jewish graves during the process, and the Jordanians even ripped up some tomb stones to use as building material. The next place we stopped at was a small church in a garden overlooking the entirety of the Old City. This church was built to commemorate the spot where Jesus wept for Jerusalem. He wept for the city because He saw its coming destruction by the Romans 40 years later. The church is built in the shape of a tear drop in honor of this. After this, we continued our descent to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was betrayed. In this garden, olive trees that are over 2,000 years old still stand and live. These trees are owned by the Pope, and come September when the olives are ripe, they will be picked and sent to Rome as olive oil to grace the Holy Father's table. Next to this garden stands the Church of the Nations, paid for by sixteen different nations and built in 1927 to commemorate the betrayal in the garden. We finished out tour by going to see the tomb of Mary, buried deep under the ground and requiring a harrowing descent on steep Crusader steps to get to the tomb itself. Incense was used liberally in all of these churches, a smell I'm fast getting used to in this city. It was amazing to stand on the Mount where Jesus stood, and look out onto the city where He looked at it.

Living in Israel

I realize that most of my posts have to do with great places I've been to or observations on the political and religious situation that I've seen while here, and I haven't really written about what my life is actually like here. I will attempt to do so now. I start off my day with my iPod alarm beeping to inform me that 7:15 has once again come too soon. I get out of a bed that sits about a foot off of the ground but blessedly has sheets and a down comforter to keep away the unnatural nighttime chill here. My room consists of my bed, a long desk and a dresser next to it taking up the far wall, a shelving unit above and to the left of the desk, a window with a heavy armor shade, and a low three shelve dresser on wheels. I share this apartment with four other guys, each with his own room. Phillipe is from France, Adam is from Idaho, Mori is from New York, and Laif is from New Jersey but he studies in Abu Dhabi. One of the bedrooms doubles as a panic room/bomb shelter in case of attack, and it has two doors in order to seal it from the rest of the apartment. Thankfully, these apartment units are blessed with hot water, though you have to click on a switch outside of the shower labeled "boiler" and wait a bit for the water to warm up before taking a shower. I assume that this system is based off of a desire to save the planet, but we always leave the boiler switch in the "on" position so we don't have to wait for hot water. Environmentally unfriendly? Yes. Convenient and efficient? Also yes. We are also blessed with abundant and drinkable tap water, though it differs from the tap water back in the states. It takes longer to boil this water and apparently combined with American shampoo it can destroy your hair, but those inconveniences are more than made up for by its drink-ability. I've been told that Israel is the only country in the region with 24/7 tap water availability, the other countries having such bad water shortages that they have to cut off service a day or two during the week and the people have to stock up between stoppages. Our living room is spacious, with a couch and table taking up one half and a kitchen area taking up the other. The kitchen comes with a sink, a four burner stove, shelves, a refrigerator, and a microwave. It's a very nice place to live. The weather alternates between the low 50's and high 60's, with rain always threatening but some days allowing for clear blue sky. I've taken to carrying an umbrella and jacket everywhere I go, as rain can show up out of nowhere. Jerusalem is situated in the mountains, so a cool breeze is never too far away. The people here dress in pants and a combination of sweatshirts or heavy winter coats, and many people stare at me in astonishment when I go outside in shorts and a t-shirt. Several people have asked how I can handle the "cold"; I merely smile and say "In Minnesota, this is spring to us." I get such looks of surprise and astonishment I feel like I am single-handedly creating a myth of Minnesotan toughness and hardiness in the face of overwhelming weather. I've held a couple of audiences in awe of Minnesotan winters. The sun rises before 7:15 because it is always light outside when I get up, and it sets sometime between four and five. I noticed something interesting today as I walked to class; the Arabs and Israelis have different buses for themselves. The Israelis get on the Israeli bus, and the Arabs get on the Arab bus, which we would probably classify as a big van back home. Each has markings clearly defining it, with the Israeli bus marked in Hebrew and the Arab bus in Arabic. I heard someone say earlier last week that Arabs and Jews only willingly mix in three places: the hospital, the zoo, and a third place which escapes my memory. I eat lunch in the school cafeteria and eat dinner at home, either making scrambled eggs, omelettes, hot dogs, or noodles. The most adventurous thing I've cooked so far is potatoes with carrots; I haven't had the time to make something more challenging. Phillipe is a master at making noodles, and everyone is always on the lookout for a free meal being offered somewhere so none of us have to buy food or cook. Anyway, those are my disjointed thoughts and descriptions of life here so far. I will most assuredly write on this subject again soon.

Arab Fried Chicken

A couple of nights ago, my friends took me to get some fried chicken for dinner. When I heard the words "fried chicken", I assumed we were going to an American style restaurant that caters to Westerners. Needless to say, I was surprised to be lead into a Arab mom-and-pop type store situated right on the road in a heavily Arab neighborhood twenty minutes from campus. The store was made up of a counter with the chicken situated behind a sneeze screen, allowing customers to choose between the extra crispy and chicken wing variety. The rest of restaurant was made up of a sizable kitchen area in the back and a seating area in the front. I had three pieces of fried chicken perched on a mountain of french fries and served with a role that puts our puny American dinner roles to shame. The chicken tasted just like it does back home, and would have given KFC a run for its money. It was incredibly cheap too, and I left the store well-fed and well satisfied. I honestly did not expect to find a fried chicken joint being run by Arabs and catering to Arabs. Every day my American point of view on how things are in this country is shattered and rebuilt with new thoughts, expectations, and beliefs. I'm thankful for this opportunity, and I look forward to the next event that shatters my assumptions and pre-arrival expectations.

The Shuk

Today I went down to this massive market area in West Jerusalem called "The Shuk". Don't ask me what "Shuk" means; I don't have the foggiest idea. When people say they're "going to the Shuk", it is universally understood that they're going shopping, usually for food. This marketplace takes up several streets, with every inch of real estate (except for narrow paths in between) taken up by booths selling whatever food or goods you desire. We took the light rail and stepped off into another world. Masses of people inched past other shoppers to get what they needed quickly and cheaply. We were constantly squashed against one side of the street or the other as aggressive shoppers bull rushed from one place to another. Store owners shouted their products and prices, but since most of them were speaking Hebrew and I've only had two weeks of instruction in that language, I naturally didn't understand a word they were saying. I was able to observe the niceties of saying "Shalom" in greeting and then waved my money and my purchase in various tellers' faces until they understood what I wanted. I bought several loves of bread and munched on them as we jumped from one booth to another. Everything was incredibly cheap, and I can see why friends of mine go there to get their groceries. There was one massive booth devoted just to cheese. It was a beautiful sight. Everywhere you looked, there were monster slabs of cheese, of every type, shape, and texture. I will definitely be going back there to buy a block of cheese to cut up and eat with some crackers. Everything in the Shuk was fresh; fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, fresh fish, fresh meat, and fresh bread dominated the area. In twenty minutes, I was able to buy apples, potatoes, bread, and some kitchen utensils for a fraction of the cost of shopping at the supermarket or at the mall. I tried the famous Turkish Delight there as well, the stuff the White Witch used to get Edmund to betray his family in the Lion, the With, and the Wardrobe. I didn't feel any particular urge to betray anyone after eating it. Anyway, that was my shuk experience. It's a cool area, and I'll definitely be back.

Yad Vashem

Today, some friends and I went to the Yad Vashem Holocaust museum and memorial on the outskirts of Jerusalem, in order to pay our respects and honor the victims. Yad Vashem lies in a dense pine forest, and it looks over the western mountains outside of Jerusalem. First, we went into the museum itself. Inside were endless amounts of documentation and personal stories, allowing us to see the personal tragedy of the Holocaust instead of just being caught up in the massive numbers of people murdered by the Nazis. While the museum did have charts and raw data on the number of people murdered, it focused much more on individual survivors and their stories. The interviews of survivors and their experiences played on tv screens wherever you turned, and you couldn't help but stop and listen to each one. In front of the tv's, documents and personal belongings of people who did not survive are scattered around each room in glass display cases. Each room is devoted to a year (or years), and they go in chronological order, starting in the early 1930's and ending in 1945. In several rooms, Hitler's speeches are broadcast, to show the audience his exact words and ideas and to also show the devotion of the German people to these values. Every time you turn a corner, something shocks you. In one room, a full-sized rail car stands deserted on a pair of railroad tracks, as if it had just stopped transporting its victims the moment before you entered the room. In another room, a see-through floor looks down on a case filled with shoes, discarded by their owners as they were herded into the gas chambers. Next to this display was a full-scale model of a gas chamber. We followed a tour made up entirely of Israeli soldiers. Everywhere you looked there were soldiers, leading me to believe that coming here was part of their training, to remind them that they were all that stood in the way of the next Holocaust. The State of Israel was born out of the ashes of the Holocaust, and its founders were determined that the Jewish people would never be so defenseless again. This is the reason why everyone here is in the military. For the people that the world rejected, a home was found, the land of their ancestors. They will defend it to ensure that what transpired at Auschwitz, Dachau, and other extermination camps never happens again. The Jews have a state, yet they still aren't at peace. We westerners do a good job of looking horrified whenever we learn about the Holocaust, and we all say passionately "Never Again!" Yet lurking beneath the surface, antisemitism is alive and well. We see it blatantly displayed by the Iranian President, who still insists that the Holocaust didn't happen and called for Israel to be "Wiped off the map." We see it more subtly in the capitals of the West, as one by one Israel's old allies condemn it and vote against it in the general assembly. Even the United States, Israel's supposed best friend, is not entirely innocent of such behavior. Americans are quick to say we are "Supporters of Israel" or "Pro-Israel", yet we are quick to condemn the Jewish State for acts taken in self defense, such as Israel's attempts to take out Hamas's missiles after they were launched at Israeli schools and apartments. We say we love Israel, yet we consistently accuse the only successful democracy in the Middle East of murder, racism, and bigotry. Such attitudes disgust me. My countrymen need to come to this museum and hear its message. It's time for us to stop making snap judgments about Israel based off of thirty second soundbites on the evening news and actually educate ourselves about the real situation in the Middle East. It's time to quit stabbing Israel in the back and instead join hands in the fight against the real forces of murder, racism, and bigotry in our world. In short, it's time to remember the lessons of history, to ensure that they are never repeated.

The Garden Tomb

I had the great honor and privilege to be able to go to the Garden Tomb the other day, the place where Jesus's body lay for three days before He was resurrected. Now before I go into describing the experience, I have to clear something up. The Catholics say that Jesus died and was resurrected at the spot where the Church of the Holy Sepulcher stands currently. Protestants believe that Jesus died and was resurrected at a place called the Garden Tomb, which lies on the other side of Golgotha, which is located about a ten minute's walk from the Sepulcher. As I am a Protestant, I subscribe to this viewpoint. The Garden Tomb is just what the name describes: a tomb in a garden. The garden itself is beautiful, with little paths running through it and sitting areas scattered throughout the place so that pilgrims can sit and reflect before going down to the tomb itself. The place itself is owned by the British, and the majority of people running tours and working there are British. Golgotha, the place of the skull where Jesus was crucified, lies just above and to the right of the actual tomb itself. It's easy to see why the hill is called "the place of the skull" because the hill is shaped like one giant skull. The people who own the tomb do not own Golgotha. It is Muslim territory: a Muslim cemetery lies on top of the hill, and a Palestinian bus station takes up the surrounding area. As we were sitting down to listen to one of the guides describe the day Jesus died, the Muslim call to prayer sounded from a minaret built right above us, drowning out everything the guide was saying and disrupting Christian reflection and prayer in the tomb area. He calmly waited for the call to finish, as if this happened every day (which it does) and then continued to describe in detail what first century Jerusalem was like at the time of Christ. After he was finished, we had a moment of silence, and then went down to the tomb itself. The tomb is carved into a sandy colored rock outcropping, and the area around the door is shaped like a circle, probably to accommodate the circular door lying on its side a short distance away. The door into the tomb itself is very small, and I had to stoop in order to go inside. The entrance had a door built into it to lock it up at night, and on the door was written the words "He is not here, for He is risen." The tomb was empty. Surrounding us, people from around the world were praying, singing hymns, and smiling for joy at His triumph. It was a powerful experience, to be able to go into the tomb that Jesus lay in and see for my own eyes that He is not there. My friend asked "death, where is your sting?" As we exited the tomb. It was a great experience, and I'm proud to be a member of the faith and worship my Lord, who died for me, and then conquered death itself.

Holy Sites Continued

I have also had the great privilege to have gone to and prayed at the Western Wall, located in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City just below the Temple Mount and the Dome of the Rock. This is the most sacred spot in Judaism, the last remaining piece of the Temple still standing. The Temple Mount itself is Muslim controlled, and where the Temple once stood, a mosque now dominates the skyline. The wall itself is incredibly old, with every stone of it being sacred to the Jews. To get to the wall itself, one must go through airport security. Everything in your pockets must be examined and you must go through a metal detector. Heavily armed soldiers are constantly on patrol, alert for trouble. These measures are necessary because the wall has been targeted by suicide bombers in the past, and every now and then Muslim worshipers on the Mount itself might throw rocks down on the Orthodox Jews praying at the wall below them. This has happened in the past, and everyone at the Wall is alert for any indication that it might happen again. The Wall itself is holy ground; you can feel the power of the place as you place your hands on the old stone and whisper a prayer to Jehovah. In these old stones, the Temple's memory lives on. Countless prayers, written on slips of paper, are jammed into any nook and cranny available. Everywhere you look, Orthodox Jews pray to the God of their people, some wailing in distress over the Temple's destruction (hence the name Wailing Wall)some sitting studying the Torah, some engaged in intense debate with others, and some simply standing with hands clasping the wall, eyes closed in reverence. The heat is intense, with the sun reflecting off of the massive limestone courtyard that leads up to the wall itself. Seen from a distance, the area is an impressive sight, with this beautiful courtyard giving the wall a massive amount of space and respect and allowing for the great numbers of worshipers that come to pray on the Sabbath. It was not always this way. When East Jerusalem was in the hands of the Jordanians from 1948-197, a row of houses were built up right next to the wall itself, leaving very little room for worshipers to pray. Jordanian soldiers made it very difficult for Jews in West Jerusalem to gain access to the Wall, and sometimes would even urinate on it. In 1967 during the 6 Day War, Israel overran the West Bank and East Jerusalem in response to the Jordanian attack on West Jerusalem, taking the Old City, the Wall, and the Temple Mount in the process. For the first time in close to 2,000 years, the entire city of Jerusalem, the City of David, was under Jewish control. Soldiers rushed through the Old City to the Wall to pray unimpeded, and the Shofar once again could be heard throughout the Old City. Moshe Dayan, the head of Israel's military at the time, wisely left the Mount itself in the hands of the Muslims, while Israel bulldozed the houses in front of the Wailing Wall in order to give it the space needed. Jerusalem still remains united under one rule, and the Wall still stands. The most sacred site of Judaism is a marvel to behold, and when one places their hands on it to pray to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, you know you are standing on holy ground.

Holy Sites

The entire city of Jerusalem is holy ground. I'm not just talking about how it is the center of the world, the City of David, the place where Jesus died and was resurrected, or the fact that it will be the capital of the world after the 2nd coming, although those are all excellent reasons for calling it Holy. I'm talking about how wherever you go, chances are something of immense (or at least important) historical or religious value happened on that spot. For instance, the mountain I go to school on is the place where the Roman Titus planned the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D., which lead to the burning of the 2nd Jewish Temple as a result. The mountain next door is the place where Jesus wept as He predicted this coming destruction and also is the place where He will return one day. I'm devoting this post to two of the principle holy sites in Jerusalem and my experiences there: The Wailing Wall and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I've been privileged to have been able to visit the Holy Sepulcher twice so far, and it is absolutely breathtaking. The church is built over the spot where Catholics believe Jesus died and was resurrected. Protestants have their own locations that they swear by, but the Catholics have about a 1200 year head start. Monks are everywhere, and Gregorian Chant echoes throughout the many rooms and domes. Entering this massive domed structure, you are immediately confronted by a slab of rock protected by dozens of incense burners. This rock is where the Catholics say Jesus died, and it is heavily perfumed. A steady line of pilgrims kneel at the rock, touching it and rub cloth and other items on it to lock away the smell for posterity, while passionately praying to God. Around the corner there is a massive dome set high in the ceiling, under which is a tomb-like structure where the Catholics say Jesus was resurrected. Pilgrims are herded like cattle into a long line, with very little room between tomb and barriers, in order to have the privilege of actually going inside it. We patiently waited in line and got to go in. Inside is a tiny room with a small table in the center with paintings of Christ and his sacrifice, with an even smaller door on the other end (I had to crawl in) leading into the inner sanctum. In a room so small it makes a closet seem roomy, there hangs a painting of Christ, ringed by candles. This is the spot where He was resurrected. I bought a candle for myself to bring home, and said a silent prayer before having to leave for the next pilgrim to have some time. It was an intensely powerful experience, and even though I'm not Catholic I appreciated the lengths they went to to venerate such a holy place, and the measures they take to ensure that it stays holy. It would be wrong for me to say that this place is purely Catholic, however, as the Orthodox sects also claim pieces of the church for themselves. When I say "pieces" I literally mean "pieces". Each group has their own area, and they've fought over the centuries over the levels of influence and responsibility each sect has over the governorship of the church. It's gotten so bad that a Muslim family is in charge of the keys to the building itself. The fight is fierce and petty, evidenced by the presence of a ladder above the door that has been in place for over thirty years because nobody knows who put it there, and none of the sects want to offend any of the others by taking it down. I wish I could say that we Protestants are above such squabbling, but the last few years have shown that we are just as prone (indeed more so) to petty spats and childish behavior. Regardless of the different sects' attitudes, the building itself is a marvel to behold, and a strong testament to the faith.