Shabbat Shalom

Tonight will be my first Shabbat in Jerusalem. (I just had to teach my computer's dictionary the word 'shabbat.' Sad.) Soon, we'll go over and help our friend Jordan prepare Shabbat dinner (which must be completed before sundown, since cooking is work). We will have eggplant parmesan, challah, ruglach, and wine. I'm looking forward to the time with them and a night off from class. We normally wouldn't have class on Friday, this week being the exception. But in the afternoon period, they taught us modern Israeli songs, which was more fun than I am willing to admit.

Unexpected downside to the Sabbath: I live on the 6th floor of my apartment building, and elevators are shut down for shabbat. Add it to the list of Reasons I Will Return From This Trip Incredibly Fit.

Yesterday's trip to the Old City was unbelievable. Jerusalem is beautiful beyond words. I was in awe. (though hopefully not too in awe. Tell your friends about the dangers of Jerusalem Syndrome.)

We took the city's brand new light rail, a sleek bullet of a train that blessedly only travels on a single line, to the heart of Jaffa street, a bustling block of shops that leads from city center to the Old City. As we approached, the grey shop fronts faded into white stone and palm trees, which paved the way to the Jaffa Gate, one of the many Gates in the walls enclosing the Old City. We started our day in the Armenian Quarter. (Old City is divided into Quarters: Moslem, Armenian, Christian, and Jewish.) There we walked through the busy bazaar, a crowded series of alleys and streets filled from wall to wall with fabrics, bracelets, beads, metalwork, ceramics, and more colors than you can name. There, you have to be a very aware shopper. Shop keepers' trick is to talk to you to get you to come to their stall. Don't make eye contact or acknowledge their questions, and you can pass just fine. Second tip: Don't be American. Be anything else. Speak in a Spanish accent if you can. Once they know you're American, up goes the price. Finally, bartering. Every price is way above normal, so you have to barter. Don't be in a rush, don't answer "How much would you like to pay?", and be ready to walk out if the price is no good. 8 times out of 10, you'll be called back in, and your price will be accepted, as our friend Katie successfully did, much to our pride.

Our next stop was the Christian Quarter--specifically, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Here, things started to get a bit emotional for us. I admit, I was envious of the devout who filtered through the dark stone corridors, rubbing altars with pendants and scarves and lighting candles in the Orthodox shrines. This was the most powerful experience in the world for them. We felt a strong vicarious joy and reverence. The Church is teeming with sights. We first encountered the Stone of Anointing, a large slab set into the floor beneath lanterns on which Jesus was supposedly prepared for burial, though this story has only existed since the crusaders. Nuns in habits and laypeople alike were bent over it, muttering prayers as they touched the stone. To the left is the Stone of Calvary, a crevice in the rock wall which, supposedly, is the very wall that split when Christ died. I also heard a tour guide say in broken English that this is where Adam, the first man, is supposedly buried. (Note: Believe what you like. I simply blog what I heard.) Further within is the Chapel of St. Helen, Emperor Constantine's mother. People lined up to light candles within the tiny but ornate structure, the side of which remains charred and black from where it was burnt. On our way out, we rested in the courtyard of an Ethiopian monastery, took a few photos, and chatted in broken Hebrew with a friendly monk.

Next, we made our way slowly through the winding streets and stone archways toward the Jewish quarter, our end destination being the Kotel (also called the Western Wall, or the Wailing Wall). We were able to get closer than I had expected. We were three women, and I had heard only men can approach the wall. It's somewhat true. The plaza is divided by gender, with a very large open plaza for men, and a cramped area off to the side about 1/5 the size for women. We did peer over the fence and watched for a bit as a young boy had his bar mitzvah before the Wall. It wasn't Shabbat, so it wasn't too crowded. We hung back as women, heads wrapped in borrowed scarves, muttering from their own prayer books or taken from the shelf as you approach and swaying, heads occasionally pressed into the stones in silence. The women stood three rows deep, as there isn't enough room for them all to approach. Above, tiny scraps of paper filled every last nook and cranny. The papers bore short prayers written by visitors, and are considered so sacred, that when they are taken from the Wall, they are buried in a scared place.

We sat on the observation ledge for a while after in the afternoon sun, watching the plaza, smiling at a small Israeli boy who kept climbing over the stones and poking his head out to giggle at us, and planning our future visits. Then it was out of the city and back up Jaffa street, stopping on the way to the train stop for some quick falafel at a shop recommended by my advisor. (I'm already a food snob. 'Oh, you like falafel? Well you've only had American falafel, and believe me, you haven't lived til you've tried the real thing on the streets of Jerusalem..')

I made it back to my apartment just in time to finish my homework and promptly fall asleep on top of my books.

Technically, I shouldn't even be using my computer, so I shall say Shabbat Shalom for now!

The Armenian Bazaar

Me in front of a synagogue in the Jewish Quarter

The Temple Mount behind the Western Wall

Women praying at the Western Wall