I Like Big Hats And I Cannot Lie
The chefs at our new hotel really excel in the bread making department and morning and night, we are treated with straight-out-of-the-oven, soft little rolls - not exactly flat bread but not far off. They taste like focaccia and are topped with herbs. Lip-smackingly good, I can’t get enough of them.
We were headed to the Temple Mount today and Denise had issued us with an extensive packing list and dress requirements to adhere to. Shoulders and knees had to remain safely tucked away behind clothes doors, and she suggested bringing a scarf just in case extra modesty was called for. Anything to avoid the hideous bright green, terry towelling ‘skirts’ they wrap you in if they deem your ensemble too risqué. So, determined not to be subjected to the green skirt walk of shame, our group happily complied; not a skerrick of wayward flesh on display.
Under the shade of a grand limestone portico, ornate lanterns dangling above us, Fadi regaled us with tales of temples, kings and conquests, pointing out where and how all the previous incarnations of the Jewish temple had been built and subsequently destroyed. Now a Muslim holy place, Fadi explained the strict prohibition of any talk of Jesus or of the “temple”. His code words would be “the man” and “the building”. We had been security scanned on our way in and the conspicuous presence of heavily armed guards, made us all feel a little nervous, not wanting to step out of line.
The golden domed building, so recognisable on the skyline and synonymous with the modern Jerusalem, is quite spectacular up close. I loved the gorgeous patterned, colourful tiles. Standing here on the Temple Mount, one of the most disputed pieces of terra firma on the planet - the very place Jesus turned the tables - was quite moving.
As we made our way towards the Wailing Wall, the real fun began. The outfits! The hats! The hairstyles! A veritable smorgasbord of photo opportunities and a people watching paradise. Men with thick, long curls framing their faces, were getting around in the most insanely oversized headwear we’d ever seen. The giant, furry spare tyre hats must be agony on the old neck and I’m guessing Israeli physios must be doing a roaring trade. Flowing shawls, silver and gold robes, tassels and tights, fancy headwear and pointy beards - we suspected there was a little “my hat is bigger than your hat” competition afoot.
We were separated along gender lines - boys to the left and girls to the right - to make our way to the designated areas, divided by a stone wall. We Gentiles had been given strict instructions and protocol for approaching the wall and departing in a respectful manner. We were to avoid touching anyone and were not to turn our backs on the wall.
It was crowded, some standing and some sitting on white plastic chairs. Women were taking turns to reach out and touch the wall and some slipped rolled up notes and prayers into its cracks and crevices. Women’s heads were covered as they read little prayer books or Scriptures and they were looking notably less ostentatious than their peacocky male brethren over the divide.
Barbara commented later that she was sad to see so many crying and felt the compulsion (though she resisted) to give them all a cuddle. They don’t call it the wailing wall for nothing I guess.
Walking backwards, away from the wall, was not easy. It was like an obstacle course on a game show. A few of us stood up next to the dividing wall to take a peek at what the men were up to. There was a lot of loud wailing/singing and rapid-fire bowing, resembling a bunch of birds, pecking for worms.
Excitement mixed with trepidation as we changed into waterproof shoes, rolled up our trousers (or swapped them for shorts) and donned our head torches, ready to enter Hezekiah’s Tunnel. Carved out of the rock by hand, in the year701BC (!), two teams were responsible for digging, one on either end, under the watchful eye of King Hezekiah. (It gets a mention in 2 Kings 20 and 2 Chronicles 32). It’s an architectural masterpiece, incredible that they were able to meet in the middle. This impressive tunnel is half a kilometre long and runs from the spring of Gihon to the Pool of Siloam, originally, designed to provide Jerusalem’s water supply, a secret spring that could continue to water them even if under siege and could remain undetectable to anyone not in the know. Genius!
Traversing the narrow, rocky tunnel in the dark, sliding through thigh-high gushing water…a few prone to claustrophobia on our team (including yours truly) were feeling a tad anxious. Buoyed by Debbie’s enthusiasm for the experience and reassurance I’d be OK, I decided to face my fears and do it.
The water was so cold and refreshing, taking my breath away at first but sweet relief from the heat. In places, even I, had to duck, and the walls are quite a pinch as you wade through. You wouldn’t want to attempt it after a big lunch. We wondered if anyone had actually ever been wedged stuck in there. An impromptu singalong also helped with the nerves and with fantastic acoustics we were belting out some classics. Molly and Maisy, along with some of the other girls, composed their own song about Hezekiah’s Tunnel, which they sang in beautiful harmonies. By the end of the walk we all knew it and were singing along. Though admittedly limited in the lyrics department, the melody has legs and who knows, could one day be a chart-topper. Hezekiah’s Tunnel. You heard it here first.
I wondered also whether Jerusalem’s residents still used the tunnel to supply their H2O? If so, with all those tourists splashing through it, I’d hope they’d filter it for rogue toenails.
Popping out at the Pool of Siloam, we towelled off and Will from our group read the Bible for us, where Jesus healed the blind man and got him to wash right here in this pool. We then wandered over to the famous steps where Peter gave his big sermon and 3000 people joined the ranks of the Christian church that day. I had the privilege of reading the passage for the team, standing right where Peter stood. It was pretty cool.
If that already wasn’t enough excitement for one day, we made our way over to the Israel Museum to visit the Shrine Of The Book exhibition and learn all sorts of facts relating to the Dead Sea Scrolls. It’s quite an incredible story, with a Bedouin nomad wandering the Judean Desert, stumbling upon a cave belonging to the sectarians living at Qumran. He found the leather scrolls and, himself illiterate, simply thought the leather would make a great pair of sandals, and stuffed it in his backpack. It was only that the cobbler had a bit more nous, and suggested the nomad show him where the thong leather was found, that the scrolls were fully uncovered.
The exhibition was set inside a huge round building shaped as a replica of the lid belonging to the clay pot that originally housed the scrolls. Being inside, it felt like a vast beehive. Truly amazing. Photos were banned so you’ll either have to visit yourself or give it a Google.
