A Memorable Easter

A Memorable Easter-

After a flight cancelation and several delays we have a fast paced whirlwind schedule with 1 day in Egypt and 3 in Jordan, ultimately allowing us to chalk up 2 world wonders (The Giza Pyramids and Petra) in a 24 hour span.

The Dolpin and I have traveled together for about 6 weeks and the day we left Jordan he had a flight scheduled back to the US while I continued on into Israel. The overland border crossing between Jordan and Israel is notorious for long delays and is arguably the most difficult immigration control in the world (The United States is another). It’s the one place I feared that having a full beard might cause me some problems. In addition to the already chaotic border I was crossing on Easter Sunday which was promised to be extra busy, causing me even further delays. I was asking around a bit on how long I should expect. Just before the driver who took us to Petra picked us up I asked the hostel owner who told me to expect 4-5 hours. While feeling sorry for myself and relaying that message to Dolpin in the car the driver overhears the conversation and chimes in “You’re going to Israel?” Like the doctor giving you a dire prognosis I tried for a second opinion- “yeah tomorrow, about how long do you think it will take me?” He replies “well normally it takes a considerable amount of time, but my next door neighbor is the head of the border control on the Jordanian side, I can get you through in 10 minutes, once you cross that and get to the Israeli side you’d be on your own.” This is music to my ears and I perk up right away. “10 minutes! If you can make that happen you got a nice tip coming your way”. He tells me not to even worry about that, just make sure I request him to drive me there and he’ll make sure it’s handled. That next day we got up extra early to spend the morning at the Dead Sea. At 1401 feet below sea level the Dead Sea (which is a lake) is earths lowest point. I walked in and took a photo up to my neck to make it the lowest point I could possibly stand on this planet. It’s worth noting that I had thrust my arms from the water up with all my might forcing my body down enough for my feet to hit the bottom. The water contains such a high concentration of salt that not only can plants and animals not survive it, it’s also impossible to sink. I was literally a bobbing Bob.

You could comfortably take a nap or lay on your back reading a book without expending any effort. Is the strangest sensation you can experience in water without the aid of scuba gear and well worth the visit. We showered up, changed and made our way to the border crossing.

As we pull up to the Jordanian side the driver sighs and comments on how unusually busy it is. He tries pulling into the gate and gets yelled at by a guard. I can’t understand what’s being said, but I can only guess he’s name dropping and trying to get me through. After some more yelling we are directed to park on the side and walk to the gate. He jumps out of the car and says “quickly, grab your bag and follow me!” We run through a few checkpoints and get to the immigration booth. I’m used to getting my passport scrutinized, but this is the first time someone actually said “this doesn’t look like you, give me some more forms of ID”. I pull out the only other picture ID’s in my wallet. A 10 year old, completely clean shaven, drivers license photo and PADI scuba card that has me smiling ear to ear like I’m holding a winning lottery ticket during a threesome while the Cubs World Series win was playing on TV. I give him my failsafe tension diffusing line “much more handsome looking now”. He’s not amused. Just at this moment our drivers neighbor shows up like Mighty Mouse to save the day. Hugs all around, a thumbs up to the officer controlling my fate and I’m in. I give the driver the promised tip, part ways with my travel companion Dolpin and hurry onto the shuttle bus that would take me 10 minutes to the Israeli side. Total time at the Jordanian crossing; about 6 minutes.

On the shuttle there are 4 Italians who I chatted up on the short ride. I had to ask the burning question on how long it took them to cross. The answer; 2.5 hours. I didn’t reply and just nodded my head. $20 tip well spent. When the shuttle stops I can see the massive line of 200-250 people wrapping back and forth around barricades dozens of times and spilling out onto the sidewalk. Since I only have a backpack I jump out and quickly get in the back of the line. It only takes a few seconds for the Italians to get their bags, but in that short time a tour bus of about 40 Chinese people get in between me and my new acquaintances. I look back and see them questioning to join me so they can get past the horde of Chinamen. I wave them over like I was expecting them. The line ahead of us is insanely long, but there is no way to determine the speed of movement because… Within 5 seconds of waving them over a plainly, but sharply, dressed man wielding an AK-47 pulls us out of line. He takes us to the side and asks how we know each other. We nervously tell him we just met on the 10 minute shuttle over from the Jordanian border. He says “Follow me we have some security questions for you to answer.” We walk to a side entrance, past the 200+ people and through the security checkpoint where we are sat in a little waiting corral. I’m seated for about 2 minutes, along with 8-10 other foreigners (I pick up some New Zealand and British accents), when the security officer in charge gestures with his index finger and says “come with me”. As everyone, including myself, is wondering why I’m being singled out I stand up and follow him around a corner and he directs me to sit in a small area alone away from everyone else. 30 more seconds later and a female security officer pulls me into her office.

“Do you have any other passports?”-“No”. “You look different, do you have any other forms of ID? Again I pull out my baby face drivers license and goofball PADI card. With my heart trying to escape my thoracic cavity I still manage the “more handsome now” line. She’s not amused. “How do you know the people you’re with- “I’ve known them for less than 10 minutes, we met on the shuttle”. “You are traveling alone?”- “I am now, a friend I was with for 6 weeks just headed to the airport while I came here”. “Why do you have no luggage?”- “I had a bigger bag, but my friend took it back with him”. “Why are you coming to Israel”?-“I have a flight out of Tel Aviv and came a few days early just for some sightseeing”. “What sights are you here to see”?- “I wanted to walk the Via Dolorosa and visit the Church of Holy Scpulchre for Easter”. “You are a Christian”?- “Yes”. “What do you do”?- “Well I used to be in marketing, but I’ve been traveling for over a year”. “How long exactly”?-“About 15 months”. “Where have you been”?- “All around, everywhere except South America”. “Where have you been exactly”?- Without 1 audible pause in between I rattle of every country in order; “Australia, New Zealand, Nepal, India, Sri Lanka, Singapore, Malaysia, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Indonesia, back to Singapore, South Africa, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Tanzania, Qatar, back home for Christmas and road trip around Canada, Switzerland, Austria, Slovakia, Hungary, Belgium, Germany, France, Ireland, Spain, Morocco, Egypt, Jordan and now here”. This seemed to do the trick. “Ok here is your passport have a seat”…. 45 seconds later the male security officer who’s holding my backpack comes over. “Is this your bag”?- “Yes”. “Did anybody ask you to carry anything or do you attest to all of its contents belonging to you”? “I attest to everything belonging to me when I arrived here”. He hands me the bag. “Thank you for your patience, you may go, have a good visit”. I then go directly to the passport control booth as the final step to get through. The man behind the booth says “This doesn’t look like you, do you have any other forms of ID”? I hand him the cards and don’t even bother with my more handsome now line. A few more of the exact same questions from him I just got done answering and he looks at me and asks “Do you want a souvenir”? He was referring to a stamp on my passport. An Israeli stamp on a passport will prevent you from entering several Middle Eastern countries including the UAE. I exercised the option of receiving a separate piece of paper that acted as my passport stamp. And I was in. Total time on the Israeli side of border crossing; a very nervous 10 minutes.

As relayed to the immigration officer I had 2 plans for Easter Sunday; the Via Dolorosa and Church of Holy Scpulchre (pronounced Sep-La-Cure) The Via Dolorosa (“Way of the Suffering”) is said to be the exact route Jesus walked carrying the cross after being condemned to death. It has 14 marked locations highlighting significant occurrences along the way. 11-14 are all located inside what is now The Church of Holy Scpulchre. Those markings are as follows:

1. The Roman court where Jesus was judged and condemned to death

2. Jesus was beaten by the Roman soldiers and made to carry the cross

3. Jesus falls under the weight of the cross for the 1st time

4. Jesus meets his suffering mother

5. Simon of Cyrene was forced to help carry the cross

6. Veronica wipes the blood and sweat off the face of Jesus, imprinting an image of his face on the veil

7. Jesus falls for the 2nd time

8. Jesus consoles the crying women of Jerusalem

9. Jesus falls for the 3rd time

10. Jesus is stripped of his garments

11. Jesus is nailed to the cross

12. Crucifixion and Death

13. Jesus is taken down from the cross

14. Jesus is laid in the tomb

Since my hostel was near the Church of Holy Scpulchre, and since I expected it to be busy there, I decided to visit that first and then go back to do the walk from the beginning. Upon walking onto the church grounds I was engulfed by the sea of worshipers coming and going. Since I had no printed guide explaining the cathedrals locations I had to follow the crowd and figure it out. I walked upstairs and waited in line that I shortly realized to be the spot of crucifixion. I stood in the crowded line and waited for the chance to give a prayer at the altar of the cross. In this line was the first time I witnessed the very un Christian like behavior of people cutting and pushing their way to the front. In the same way the King James Bible is the most shoplifted book in the world this speaks volumes in the shadowed realities of human nature. Seriously people? You’re really going to cut someone in the worlds most sacred church to say a prayer ahead of them?? Do you honestly not see the problem with this? I waited as patiently as possible and eventually was able to rest my hand on the alter while silently thanking The Lord for his sacrifice. From there back downstairs, in the midst of people lighting candles and weeping, to the stone slab signifying where his body was taken off the cross. Across the church is the gilded tower which inside marks the location of the tomb and resurrection. This is where everyone, including myself, wanted to visit. The line was immense. I waited for a few minutes before deciding to exit the church to do the Via Dolorosa walk, beginning to end, returning when, hopefully, the line had subsided.

As much as I should be used to visiting, pinch yourself for actually being there, type places, I still had difficulty wrapping my head around following Jesus’s last footsteps that ended at the exact site of the resurrection, on Easter no less. It’s quite an indescribable and hard to fathom realization. After slowly and reverently walking the Via Dolorosa, one of the most sacred spiritual moments of my life, it eventually took me back to the church. I told myself that no matter how long it took and no matter how many people insisted on cutting the line, I would wait my turn patiently to visit the tomb. I walk in the church and the line not only failed to subside, it grew. Ok, no problem, I have nothing but time, I have nowhere to be, it’s Easter, if they want to cut let them cut, I’m not going to put up a fuss and I won’t let it get to me. I waited for an hour and the line had barely moved. It’s immobility was not a mystery though. I closed my eyes and bit my lip while at least 100 people walked around the blind corner ahead of me. After the first hour there’s maybe only 20 people behind me, the same number as there was after 15 minutes. To the right of me is a tiny white haired elderly lady standing maybe 4’8″ holding a wooden cross and pressed up against the guy in front of her, of which she came up to the small of his back. Every time more people pushed their way passed my heart went out to this sweet old lady holding the cross in silence. An hour and a half in and I see someone giving me the what’s up head nod. I’m thinking to myself you don’t know me, I haven’t met anybody here, you got me mistaken homey. Then it dawned on me. It’s one of the Italian guys from the border crossing. This time they were definitely not going to get me to wave them over like I was expecting them, but they were standing close enough for a brief conversation. The guy comments “Man quite a day, that was some border crossing experience huh?”- “yeah tell me about it, a little hairy there for a bit”. He then says “we saw you get pulled aside and looked like you got through pretty quickly”- “yeah only took me about 10 minutes of being questioned and I was in… How long did it take you guys”? “4 hours”! I looked at him in disbelief as they got washed away in the wake of the crowd. Never got the full story. Now 2 hours in and I’ve finally turned the blind corner and can see what’s going on. People are coming from all directions and cutting wherever they can, people are yelling and screaming at each other, there is legitimate pushing and shoving going on. The closer it got to the end of the line the worse it was. It was a disgusting display and truly disheartening considering the place in time. To my left was a young Asian couple with a kid in a stroller. When a group of 15-20 teenagers push their way past, nearly knocking the stroller over I decided I had enough. I leaned down to the old lady to my right, whom I had yet to say a word to, and said “I hope you make it in”. She looked up at me with the confusion that said I don’t speak English. I said one last prayer, turned around and exited the church.

As much as I wanted to visit the tomb and as tasteless the behavior was that I witnessed, I did not allow it to diminish the day for me. There will never be another Easter that goes by without me remembering the special moments I had in Jerusalem, what it took for me to get there, how I traced Jesus’s path along the Via Dolorosa and how I was blessed enough to say a prayer in the Church of Holy Scpulchre. After the display of people’s inconsideration of each other, being inside the tomb itself became a superficial desire that I was ok with missing out on.

The following day I’m walking past the church again and figure I’d take a look inside just to see if there is still the same sad spectacle happening. I make it 3 steps inside before seeing a priest restraining an elderly man with a cane who’s in heated argument with a woman. I shook my head and walked out.

Bob