We knew today would take some strategy, so the day before we did a trial walk-through of times and locations for entry-points to the Dome of the Rock (on the actual Temple Mount, built squarely over not only sacred Mt. Moriah, but also the spot where Isaac was bound and offered by Abraham, and where David bought a threshing floor to offer up sacrifices to God).
The narrow walkway allows only one person at a time to go up, and is entirely enclosed. The police checkpoint includes a bag search, metal detector, and passport inspection. Non-Muslims are not permitted inside the Dome, and only limited areas on the Mount.
Led by a guide for part of the way, we got too close to one of the mosques, and I needed to cover my hair (I had already donned a long sleeved shirt as precaution). The person in a black head covering, blue shirt, and olive skirt is not a peasant women--that's me.
A very few tourists had braved the journey to the Dome. Otherwise Ramadan is a somber time; Muslim men were gathered in prayer and study, and Muslim women also, separated to their areas, many in full black burkas.
Afterwards we hiked down to the City of David to Hezekiah ' s tunnel. It took us about forty minutes to walk through this tunnel of living rock, chiseled three thousand years ago using amazing engineering, the cool flowing water rising sometimes up to our thighs. The tunnel empties into the newly discovered Pool of Siloam, originally an acre-sized public pool, and currently only partially excavated.
Getting to both these sites had required traversing the great plaza banking the Wailing Wall, complete with police checkpoints on both sides. So once again, we removed our bags and paraphernalia to enter the plaza and saw a whole line of Bar Mitzvah parties processing up to the Wall for services.
Rabbis in their hats, side curls, and long black coats, musicians on the clarinet, shofar, and hand drums, crowds spontaneously dancing, clapping, and singing joyfully, proud father's with their gorgeously bedecked sons waving and grinning under canopies, we just had to stop and celebrate, our hearts swelling with them.
This time, as we wandered through the Old City, we found ourselves in the Christian Quarter eating delicious hummus, pita, and fresh salad, and drinking lemonade with mint leaves.
Right next to us was the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the place almost all archeologists agree is the most likely site for Jesus' crucifixion and burial. In the picutres, what looks like a house within the cathedral actually encases what is thought to be the empty tomb. The picture of glass - encased rock is thought to be the exact location of Jesus' cross.
It had been my intention to find the Armenian Quarter to see their world famous ceramics. But somehow, in the maze of narrow and often enclosed streets, we ended up in a quiet corner in front of a great gate, with not a soul in sight. After the throngs of the city it was almost as though we had walked through the wardrobe into Narnia.
We walked through the gate and realized we had come to the oldest church on the planet, home to 600 Syriac Christians, who still speak ancient Aramaic. Under this church, the claim, is the Upper Room where Jesus and His disciples held their Last Supper, where Jesus revealed Himself after His resurrection, and where the Holy Spirit descended on the 120 men and we gathered there at Pentecost.
We spent a delightful two hours listening to the riveting stories of Justina, a Syriac Christian who had emigrated from Iraq.
On the way back to our hotel we stopped to listen to two street musicians (Note to our daughters--yes, young, handsome men, just like these two, are all over the place here in Israel!!!)
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