Down Memory Lane

Fair warning: Grab some popcorn...

If you can, try to imagine a world where everyone keeps the Sabbath holy and celebrates the Feast of Tabernacles. That's part of what the World Tomorrow will be like, but I got to experience this now! As obvious as that is--because Israel is a Jewish, sabbath keeping nation--it was still a shock and quite the experience to spend a couple weeks in a nation who not only knows about the Feast, but celebrates it too. Of course, it didn't live up to the World Tomorrow standard, as the Jews keep the Feast (and even the sabbath) differently. For example, on Shabat, the elevators were put on "auto pilot" so you didn't have to "work" to press any buttons.

 

The "booths" that the locals built for sukkot were interesting. They set them up right outside their restaurants and stores, spilling over the sidewalk, reaching the edge of the street. Even our hotel had a couple of them. While our booths are hotels where we live temporarily for 7 days, their booths weren't for "dwelling" in. They only ate meals under them. We figured it must be because scripture says, "And all the congregation...made booths, and sat under the booths."

A booth in Jerusalem that sits on the sidewalk outside of a store.



This was a booth at Megiddo and looks much nicer than those in Jerusalem.



For a couple weeks, we lived at the Eldan hotel, perhaps similar to a Days Inn, or Comfort Inn, but with breakfast for kings! Just about every morning, they served pasta, eggs, bourekas (cheese filled pastries), and shakshuka (eggs in tomato sauce), all in chafer dishes. Breakfast was "open" at 7 o'clock; if you were at the door when they opened, you could expect cold food.
The dishes needed at least an hour to heat up--just saying, as it was something that took us 7 days to learn. This "hot" bar extended into a "cold bar" with all sorts of cheeses, cucumbers, tomatoes, and some kind of cold fish. I couldn't tell you much else of the cold bar, as I never stopped to tempt myself. On the other side was more bread you could ever attempt to eat--bread rolls, sweet pastries, and a loaf with a knife for you to cut your own slice, baby-bear-just-right size. They also had fruit, cereal, and granola.

Our first morning at breakfast, David B joined us. He came back to the table with a cute little portion sized cup (as you see them


Do you have any others?

sold in stores) of Yoplait's yogurt. We asked him where he found them, and he said he just asked if they had any yogurt. The man had seemed a little upset that he'd left out an item--or perhaps he thought David was being ungrateful, asking for something else. The assistant reached for the phone on the wall, tapped some digits, and began hebrewizing something about yogurt. Before David knew it, he was in yogurt-heaven. All because one man asked about yogurt, they continued to add yogurt to our breakfast buffet. Nice! And now we know for sure, Yoplait's gelatin is kosher.

It was a little strange to have the pasta dishes for breakfast, but throughout the feast, we learned that our hotel was disguised as
a restaurant by night. Then it hit me: the menus for breakfast were dinner specials the evening before! While it was strange--because who does that?--I still enjoyed eating dinner for breakfast. I think I also appreciated that they "waste not, want not."


What seemed to me a most out of place item at breakfast (aesthetically anyway), just next to the drinks counter was a fridge with sodas: Mt. Dew, Diet Cola, Pepsi, etc. It had a clasp with a big padlock on the side of it. For all
those soda drinkers, there was no way to be sneaky about your "sinful" pleasure. It was obvious; out came the ring of keys jingling across the room. Finding the right key, unlocking, waiting for the selection to be made, re-locking, and finally, testing the lock. Shake, tug, yank. Then everyone's eyes were back into their own business.

For our first sabbath, we were too excited to spend the time in the hotel--services didn't start till 1:00, and so a sabbath stroll down the streets of Jerusalem was in order.


Sabbath morning, Sam and David stop for a picture in front of the Eldan (El-Dan) hotel.

If we did nothing else the entire time, I can say I've walked down King David street in Jerusalem! Across the street, at the corner, was the mall. Being shabat, everything was closed, so we decided to walk through. 


Mall entrance

At the entrance of the mall, they stop to entertain their peers....

 

...no one.  

Keeping Shabat in Jerusalem was awesome. Here in the states, there's always crazy looks when explaining to your boss why you have to leave earlier on Friday in the winter months ("sunset to sunset" not just "Saturday"). But in Jerusalem, on Fridays, all the shops and restaurants begin shutting down at 3:00. They have to get home in time for Shabat themselves--though not to fear, there was a gas station, a 24 hour Market, and a very few 24 hour restaurants that were open on the Sabbath--we learned this only after we'd had our gas station water-and-yogurt dinner the first night. Other than those handful of places, it seemed the entire city was shut down. No dancing and singing in the streets. No cars. It was very peaceful. Just to mention it, on weekdays, people have no hesitations about using
their horns. They honk as soon as the light turns green. They honk if you're diving slowly. They honk when they want a pedestrian to cross. They honk when they don't want you to cross. They honk when they're going to allow another vehicle to get over. They honk when they don't want another vehicle to get over. So on the Sabbath, it was nice to get a break from all the honking.  

Services were held at the Gesher Center where the hall was like a theatre. The space for fellowship was in the rows, on the stairs (where we were asked no to, but it seemed it couldn't be helped), out in the halls, or at the very front of the stage. If we weren't a close family before, we are now!

Saturday night, we enjoyed dinner with our good friends:

The following day, Sunday, we had a tour with Dr. Mazar. What a woman! She looked at us as though it was an honor to give us the tour! Very gracious, she was. She gave us at least 4 hours of her time for the tour, which is incredible! As she began, we were standing at the center of the Ophel, where many significant landmarks were visible.



The tour begins.

Halfway through her introduction, Dr. Mazar stopped. She caught a glimpse of John, a student who worked for her on the 2007 (or was it 2008?) excavation. "Oh. John," she said. For a very brief moment, the rest of us disappeared. As if the sound of her own voice startled her, she blinked a few times quickly to stay the tears that were brimming, and she repeated very lightly, "Hi John." Pause. "I didn't know you were going to be here." She looked pleasant, calm, and her eyes sparkled--partly because of the tears. The rest of us suddenly reappeared, and as she gained composure, she felt the need to explain the sudden burst of emotional surprise, though her explanation turned into a mumble and soon faded out. True friends. It was such a delightful and very touching moment!

I'm a big sap! 

 

During the feast, two other tours were scheduled: Megiddo and Cesarea were in one tour.

 

This was the "gate" to the ancient city. 

 

I couldn't resist! Though the Sea must not have been feeling it like I was.

The second tour was at Masada (Metz-adah) and the Dead Sea.

We hiked....in flip flops. Wouldn't recommend it.

Incredible view from the top.

An Ellen that bobs.

We thoroughly enjoyed the tours and would love to have seen more sites like this in Israel. But instead, we had three entire days throughout the feast that we were free to roam wherever we liked! We hiked up the Mount of Olives (which is just that: a mount--or hill), visited the wailing wall, and went down to the the Old Market--there's a story for you!

The Old Market is an alleyway that is full of shops, selling you name it! Going down those alleys was like walking into an ocean of people that slip around, under and sometimes over other people without skipping a beat.

It was too crowded for Sam's liking, but he consented because I really wanted to go. It's here that you can bargain for things--perhaps they get the term "jew em down" from here. It was an exciting scene for sure. I was so eager to get into my bargaining; I turned and stopped into the doorway of the first store I came upon. I asked the man for a small replica of the ark of the covenant. It must have been a pleasing request. His finger shot up and he said, "wait right here! For you, I have just the thing!" He came back with a small ark-figure. "Solid gold," he said. Immediately, whether he was telling the truth or not, I knew he was going to want too much for it. The original price was 17,400 sheqels. "But for you, 800," he said. He began nodding his head like: Hands down, done-deal, best price, you want it, it's yours, sold! 800 sheqels

is about $210. I was absolutely not paying that. I said, "twenty sheqels." He laughed. He plopped the heavy figure in my hand and said, "For you, 300 sheqels." That's quite a discount--only $80. Still, I was thinking of spending something like five or ten dollars. I can't help it if he went to grab the most expensive thing he had! I tried to hand it back to him, but he wouldn't take it. They've got skills! So I placed the item on a ledge and said, "Twenty sheqels." He got mad at me and yelled, "What? Do you think I stole this from my mother?! Go to bed already! Go to bed!" I had to laugh at the expression, but I wish I would have offered the guy 40 sheqels. Would it have mattered? If I were selling my car for $4000, and a guy offered me $1000 for it, I wouldn't take it. If he added an additional $1000 to his offer, would I take it then? No.

It was hard to get used to the sheqel system. Meals were anywhere from 54 to 120+ sheqels. It's automatic for me to assume "dollar" when seeing a number after a meal...or rather before a meal (Hebrew reads from left to right). "$54 for a burger?" Or "$20 for one bottle of water?" After the initial shock of it, I reminded myself that we weren't using the dollar system. But even so, the 54NIS for the burger was $14. And the 20NIS for water was $5. So on the whole, things cost more over there anyway.

Since I'm not always one to readily try new flavours, and I wasn't sure what kind of traditional meals to expect in Israel, I was surprised to discover that it was very similar to America. Typically, anywhere you travel, you'll  find a "burger and fries" on the menu, but overall, I found that it wasn't so much the food that was different, rather the Kosher law that separates theirs from other cuisines. When you order spaghetti, you know you're getting cow, not pig. However, they also take a literal meaning to Exodus 34:26, "...Thou shalt not seethe a kid in his mother's milk."

And so, at all kosher restaurants, you cannot order spaghetti and expect to put cheese on it. You couldn't have macaroni and cheese with a steak. If you ordered steak and a baked potato, they would not bring you butter. In the kitchen, they cannot use the same knife they used for the butter, for the steak. They even have two different refrigerators for the cheese and meat--that's right, they can't even be stored together. Which explained why there was no meat at breakfast (fish is apparently not considered meat). It seemed because of the law, they had a lot of starchy meals--a lot of pasta and cheese, pasta and potatoes, and pasta and bread dishes. Because of my partiality to good ole American cookin', I enjoyed their cuisine very much. But it's probably a good thing we had to walk everywhere.

The language barrier made things interesting, too. It's odd, because although we were the "aliens," I got the impression that the locals were the ones feeling uncomfortable. Even though they spoke some English, anything outside of ordering a meal, or discussing how to pay the bill, was avoided because they didn't have the vocabulary for it. Therefore, they tip-toed around looking like, "I don't know. Please don't ask me anything. I just don't know."

As exciting and thrilling as it was to just be in Jerusalem, the reality is that it's a very dirty city. Some places are cleaner than others, but more often than not, garbage was seen gathered along the sidewalks. Cats were in and out of restaurants just kind of loitering.

All the buildings are made of stone; and they don't paint any of the buildings, so the whole city is yellow-ish brown. After visiting with some of the brethren, and wondering "why did God choose Jerusalem?" it was a much needed reminder that it is New Jerusalem that has been chosen.

On that note, I'll end our walk down Memory Lane and hope that you've enjoyed some of our experiences from Israel as we saw them. To see the rest of our pictures from Jerusalem, if you haven't already, you'll find the albums here (part 1) and here (part 2).

So until next time, happy trails!

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

It's hard to believe the Feast is already over. Everyone says it, I know, but it's true. The feast was on my mind every day for at least three months. Now what? Well now I have memories from the feast to take it's place.

But before I begin with my account of the feast, I must tell you of the very important lesson we learned prior to--which I'm sure could have been learned no other way than through this trial.

Perhaps many of you know that Sam's first name is not "Sam." It's Nahum. Samuel is his middle name--per his birth certificate. And since passports have to match the BC, his passport reads the same. However, when booking the flights for Jerusalem, I failed to give any attention to this and booked the tickets under "Samuel Nahum."
A week prior to the feast, this was brought to my attention. It's not a problem, says I. Who goes by "Nahum?" But the more I pondered the situation, the more I worried, is it a problem? I panicked for a couple of days, and then decided to "be safe" and call Priceline (who we booked with). The agent told me, "Don't worry, for a small fee ($30), we'll change the name on the ticket. Let me call the airlines to get things worked out for you." Great! I was at ease. She was to call me back to assure me of the new changes--and then charge me for the service.

Two days later (Friday), I get the call. For reasons that would take too long to explain here, they couldn't change the name on the ticket. I was advised to call TSA and airport customs--which I did. Customs had no problem with it, while TSA suggested bringing some extra identification. When I asked about international security policies, I was steered in a different direction. So as advised, I called the French and Israeli embassies in the states, but they were dead ends. Being a Friday afternoon with only a couple hours till sundown, I decided I had pulled enough of my hair out, and should probably relax for the Sabbath. But I suddenly had an idea--Google! I googled my problem to see what I could find. Every scenario I read about with tickets that didn't match passports, ended in tears and disappointment. I decided not to tell Sam about my google finds--negativity only breeds more negativity. So I worried in silence.

The Sabbath was just what we needed. I hadn't planned on telling anyone about the events, but it was so ever present on my mind that it just came spewing out! And I'm so glad it did because God provided us comfort through the brethren and in our fellowship.We slept good that night having been encouraged to trust God to part our Red Sea.

Two days later, the day before Atonement, I suddenly had a brilliant idea. As if to say, "God, thanks for your offer, but I think I can handle it from here," I called Priceline back, explained the situation to a different agent and said, "so how about you just cancel our tickets, and then reissue them under the new name?" Genius plan, yes? No. Our tickets were not refundable and for other small-print reasons, the plan wouldn't work. Just then, I realized what had happened--my faith had wavered. And just then, the agent asked me, "Well, what are you going to do." I was a little surprised, because normally, they rush to get off the phone to answer another call. After realizing my weakness, I quickly asked God to supply the faith I didn't have and I answered the man: "I'm going to show up at the airport and hope that they let Sam board."

"They won't," he said.

There it was, the big test. The man dogmatically told me that they would not let Sam board the plane. My heart sank. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I had squirmed and struggled, trying to find a way around, under, and over. Nothing.

"What are you going to do?" he repeated.

We could have taken his suggestion and been "safe." He reminded me of our "better" option: "Get credit with us, and get new tickets--only having to pay the difference, and a cancellation and rebooking fee." I only repeated myself, and added "but thanks for your help." Again, I thought it best not to tell Sam about what this agent said. My faith had been shaken, and I didn't want to cause him any more stress than what I'd already caused. 

As Sam and I continued to encourage each other, we realized that as much as we wanted to go to Jerusalem, that wasn't the issue. It was a matter of keeping the Feast. And so we planned that if they wouldn't let us board in Nashville, we'd go back home, and leave for Ohio on Sunday. If they didn't let us board in Chicago (our next stop), we'd rent a car and drive down to Ohio. If they didn't let us board in Paris (another stop), we'd cross the Channel and keep the feast in Folkstone. No matter what, we were going to be somewhere God placed His name. The fact that we weren't going to miss the feast, no matter which way the path turned, was a comfort.

We concluded that if God didn't want us in Jerusalem, we wouldn't have been accepted to go there in the first place. We can't grow without trials--what a wonderful way to keep us focused and humbled. So the next few times I went to God in prayer, I specifically asked God that every security department we had to pass through might look on us favorably.

The morning we left, the sun was just coming over the hills. It was a beautiful morning, and my eyes rested on the sky. I happened upon 3 shapes in the clouds in this order, as one dissipated, another appeared: 1) an eye. It made me feel that God was watching us and was aware of the situation. 2) The mount of Olives. It made me more sure that we'd be keeping the feast in Jerusalem. And 3) two arms in a cradled embrace. It made me feel God would keep us in His protection all the way to the feast and back. I know this sounds cheesy--it almost feels cheesy writing it. And I'm not saying these were signs. But whatever they were--if even just my imagination--they were comforting.

The entire trip to Jerusalem was more than smooth--it was actually pleasant. We arrived to Tel Aviv with not a single problem. That night in the hotel, I realized God answered my specific prayer. Not only did they stamp the passport or just say, "Next!" but every official who had to look at our passports made some kind of friendly banter with us. Talk about looking on us favorably! Coincidence? I think not!

There were so many lessons to soak up from this trial that made our feast a smash from the beginning, but one of the most important that I took from it is that of ultimate control. You can exercise as much as you want, eat as healthy as you can--does that mean you won't get sick? You can take all the precautions riding your bicycle, wearing as much protective gear as possible--does that mean you won't get hurt?
No matter what you do, no matter how well you do it, GOD is in control of what actually happens.  He lends us things, and gives us certain abilites--so we must assume responsibility--but the ultimate control lies with Him.Trusting God to continue to make the earth rotate is not something I worry about because it's obvious that I have no control over that. But what about those things that God entrusts me with--do I still see the need for God in them? 

It was a great way to begin the feast. Stay tuned; the rest of the story is yet to come!