I wrote both of these entries about a month ago, but I think they still apply:
June 22, 2008
What I would give to walk through Jerusalem’s streets right now. I love the old city at dusk. Everything begins to close down and the young Arab teenagers are out on the garbage routes and street cleaning. Their garbage trucks hardly fit through the narrow streets and one always ran the risk of either getting run over or hit with a poorly aimed bag of trash. Shopkeepers no longer nagged and everyone was busy closing shop or making their last purchases, and for a brief time it almost felt as if I were free to wander without drawing any attention. Despite this, I also felt ten times more vulnerable as the crowds dwindled and I found myself close to alone on the streets. Staying on the main drag in the Arab quarter offered some relief as a few bakeries and sweet shops remained open, but the unavoidable walk through the Christian quarter from Jaffa gate posed the greatest threat. The streets were quiet except for the teenage street cleaners, who were the last people I wanted to run into by myself on a deserted street, and a small group of Arab boys who frequently played soccer outside Church of the Redeemer. Despite my insecurities, this was probably my favorite time of the day in the Old City. The cliché tourist souvenirs were locked away, and for a brief moment I had the city streets of Jerusalem to myself. Soon enough dawn would come, the streets would bustle again, and the long established routine of the city would swing back into motion. But as it was, one more day had passed in the ancient city and, as if she were reflecting on her life, all of the past and present seemed to come together, culminating in the antiquity and quietness of the stone streets on which I walked. This was Jerusalem, stripped of all the hate and human brokenness that has tainted its white stones over thousands of years; naked, quiet, and beautiful.
June 15, 2008
I’ve been putting off journaling since I’ve gotten back from Jerusalem more than a month ago. I just can’t figure out how to put write a closing entry or how to wrap my time up there. So I just keep putting it off, until I’m in the mood or until I have more time. The truth is I’ll never have enough time and I’ll never be in the mood because it’s impossible. I can’t wrap up everything I saw and did and felt into words on a page. Even if I could, I am still learning and growing from that experience. I am still affected by it; I always will be so why try to put a closure on it just because I’m not there.
So I’ll just keep on writing about it; just experiences or thoughts that pop into my head. And even then, after years of doing this, I’ll never cover it all. I always try to document everything. I feel like I have to capture memories. I do it with photography and with journaling. But things can’t be captured. Time doesn’t stop because I’ve got a picture of it. Taking a picture of a firework doesn’t freeze that moment. In fact, I may just end up missing the real beauty I’m trying to capture. Sure, I still think its good and important to write and take pictures. But not to hold on to a memory to the point that the picture or the journal entry becomes the memory, rather to help me remember the reality of the moment, my feelings and thoughts and experiences. It can’t be the experience, but it can help me continue to feel the experience that’s alive in my memory and heart, not a piece of paper.
What I would do for another day in the Old City and my friends who grew to love the place with me. I think of walking to the Jewish quarter for breakfast and sitting and reading Don’t Waste Your Life at the Bagel shop. Going to the western wall to pray. Then maybe checking the Holy Seplechure and learning something more about that. Do some quick shopping in the Christian Quarter, or just walk through and try to beat off the store keepers. Of course I’d have to hit the Arab quarter, probably my favorite quarter. I’d definitely get lunch there, just a falafel and maybe a pastry or some chocolate from one of the many candy shops. Its so busy there, I love to walk through and just look at things, and the shopkeepers aren’t as pushy as in the Christian quarter. Check out the music in the music shops. I love the music. The beat just makes you want to dance, but of course I can’t dance like they do (who am I kidding, I can’t dance at all!). I have no idea how they move their arms like that and not wiggle their whole bodies. And their language is absolutely beautiful to those beats. Later in the afternoon, after the falafel settled I’d like to go for a run around the city with Andrew and Karen. At first I feel safe running in my shorts past Jaffa gate, but then we’d hit the east side of the city and we’d start getting comments yelled at us in Arabic or English with heavy middle-eastern accents. I could always feel their eyes following me and Karen, it was gross. Andrew looked out for us, running next to us, in front of us, or behind us in depending on where he thought the biggest threat was coming from. Little kids would sometimes try to run into us with their carts. I learned to laugh at them, because sometimes I think they were just playing around. Although, the kids were many times the most inappropriate. We’d run by the New Gate, the busseling Damascous Gate, and Harod's Gate then swing to the southern side of the city. Here we were still in Arab territory, but you didn’t run into many people. We’d hop the little chain traffic block and run through the lot where garbage was brought. Then we’d come out by Lions Gate, cross the street, and enter the Muslim Cemetery. Golden Gate was just to our right and to our left the land stooped down into the Kidron Valley and up again on the Mount of Olives. The Church of All Nations and the Church of the Ascension with its golden onion domes stood out beautifully on the mountain which was covered in tombstones. As we reached the south western corner Absalon’s pillar stood below us and the view of the Mount of Olives gave away into the Silwan Valley. We turned to our right and started the upward journey to the top of the western hill this was the hardest part of the run, they don’t have hills like that in Illinois. We’d climb up and reach dung gate on our right which lead to the temple mount. To the left of us was the city of David, with Hezekiah’s tunnel and all that fun stuff. We kept climbing until we reached the Crusader Gate, which wasn’t really a gate but a breach in the wall. Silwan was a prominent view to our left, with their small and tight white boxed buildings and beautiful colors of clothing blowing in the wind. Eventually we’d get to the entrance to the parking lot just outside Zion Gate. We’d run up to the gate, but rather than turning right to go in, we’d turn left. The road took us past Church of the Dormission and into Diaspora Yeshuva, by the Upperoom. We’d run through the small open courtyard and wide hallway and out again into the field behind JUC. That field was a great place…football and Frisbee, robbers, undercover police men, and wailing Jews. Haha, but those are all different stories. Across the field we’d jog down some stone steps and out again onto Tayellet Har Tsion, the road which we started from, taking a left and ending at our gate. Or we could go straight at Zion Gate and keep following the wall. We would be running between the Old City Wall and the Wall to Dormission Abbey. Then we’d get to the end and descend the stone steps, a place with a big wind tunnel effect deal that’s horrible when you’re wearing a skirt. Here we would turn left onto Tayellet Har Tsion, past the British building of some sort and up to JUC’s gates. Then we’d stretch out a bit, try to catch our breath, find the key under the rock, and head for the showers. Of course that was just the run around the Old City, I had plenty of other routes. But maybe I'll get back to those some other time.
