The Dead Sea

What would a visit to Israel and the West Bank be without a trip to the Dead Sea?  Lively.

The Dead Sea.  1300 feet below sea level and over 1200 feet deep.  Known for millennia for its healing and therapeutic qualities.

Those who were interested could bring their swimsuits to change into so that they could take a dip.  Why would we want to get into a body of water that has “dead” in its name? Beats me.  Interestingly, none the folks who had “bathed” in it before were bringing a bathing suit.  That should tell you something, shouldn’t it? 

Me?  I had on a pair of my trusty convertible PFG (Professional Fishing Gear) pants (in which I have never gone fishing, then again, I’m fond of cowboy boots and don’t have any cows, and for that matter, I love french fries but I don’t have a French bone in my body).  You know the pants I’m talking about – you can zip off the pant legs to make shorts.  They have nifty sewn in mesh panty-like things just like swim trunks – to . . . well, keep everything in place.  Guys, you know what I’m talking about.  They are great for travel, at least to warm arid places.  They are lightweight, comfortable and quick-drying.   And, they have lots of pockets. They served me well in Africa.  And, while here,  I made use of the convertible feature for the baptism (remembrance therof) in the River Jordan (discussed earlier).  You can wash these pants (and their counterpart shirts) in the sink or bathtub and they dry in no more than 3-4 hours.

I don’t know what I thought we would see on the shore.  It is in a desolate location.  Afterall, you wouldn’t expect a sea called “dead” to have lush developments around it, would you?  But, there was this little mini day-resort.  It had shop area where you could buy snacks and drinks, with tables and chairs under an awning, and where you could “rent” towels.  There was a separate facility housing the changing rooms and bathrooms.  Nearer the water there were outdoor showers, little gazebos and a lifeguard stand.  Funny, a “life”guard stand.  At the Dead Sea.

So, most of the ladies in our group could not wait to get changed and into the water.  The water of the Dead Sea.  More than one said that they wouldn’t normally think about donning a bathing suit in front of all these people, but for the fact that we were at the Dead Sea.  I didn’t get it.  I still don’t.

Some strangers floating in the Dead Sea

By the time that I got down to the shore, most of our folks were already in the water -- floating on the surface (you float more easily in the water because of its salinity and thus its density) or rubbing the brown-ish, black-ish gooey mud from the bottom all over themselves or each other.  Too bad that some of the men walking around didn’t have some PFG pants with the zip off pant legs.  They were clearly European, and I say that not because they were wearing capri pants.  They were wearing those small (tiny) European swimsuits, which make every man look like the Prince in the Nutcracker, if you know what I mean.  Like most of my experiences here, this was surreal.  Sorry gang, I promised not to post pictures of these festivities.  But, I do have them, just in case I ever need them.

My PFG convertibles and my feet in the Dead Sea

I decided that I would wade in to about my knees.  Surely the medicinal therapeutic qualities of the water could be absorbed through my skin, right?  Maybe my feet would be restored to their youthful vigor.  Whatever.  I wanted to see what it felt like. 

Wading in was like walking on ice, coated with a thick layer of melted chocolate while wearing Teflon slippers.  It was slick.  And, the water had an oily feel to it. I didn’t expect salty water to feel oily.  Ironic.

I did learn the power of the Dead Sea waters though.  After wading around in the muck for a while, I didn’t really rinse my feet but rather just wiped the mud off.  I put my shoes and boots back on.  No problem -- until the next morning when I woke up.  My feet looked like those of a 90 year-old man (no, they didn’t look that bad before).  They were dry and cracked, like what you would imagine the feet of that nasty witch on Snow White or like you remember your grandmother’s feet.  Yuck.  In fact they’re still dried out almost a week later, even though I keep coating them with lotion.  By the way, is hard to feel manly rubbing lotion on your feet.  I know what you’re thinking, enough already.  Hey, I had to get your mind somewhere else after describing the ladies rubbing mud all over themselves and each other – and the guys in the banana hammocks.  But, my point is that the healing qualities of the Dead Sea and its mud were anything but.

You know what the primary source of water is for the Dead Sea?  The Jordan River.  The River Jordan.  The river that brings life to this area, that is used for irrigation of crops and as a drinking supply for the people.  And, the river that most likely served as the mechanism by which Jesus and his disciples symbolically received new life through baptism.  How ironic.

The Wall

November 10, 2010
In Bethlehem, we met a fellow that I'll call Isaac.  In case you didn't know (I didn't), Bethlehem is in the Palestinian controlled area known as the West Bank.  Isaac is a 36 year-old father of three who is a Christian Palestinian.  Believe it or not, there are quite a few Christian Palestinians.  From Isaac and others, I learned a lot about Israel and Palestine that, I am embarassed to admit, I did not know.  As Americans, our knowledge of the Middle East in general is not very broad and is limited to what we hear or see on TV, which is not a good true picture of the people, the struggles and the realities that are modern day Israel and Palestine.

I'm not pro-Israel or pro-Palestinian, but consider myself pro-people.  That may sound naive or simplistic and, perhaps to some, anti-American, but I would be willing to bet that most of you, knowing the whole story, or at least a little more of it, would find yourself in the same place.

A little history is in order.  Israel was founded as a nation state in 1948.  The West Bank refers to an area  east of Israel on the western bank of the Jordan River which used to belong to Jordan.  It is made up predominantly of Arabs known as Palestinians.  Israel has "occupied" parts of it since about 1967.  It is in this area that Israel has created "settlements" where small communities are built for Israeli citizens.  Israel tightly controls entry into Israel from the West Bank.  Palestinians cannot enter Israel without a permit.  The West Bank is governed by what is now known as the Palestinian National Authority, though it used to be the PLO.  The Gaza Strip is an area separate from the West Bank which is also Palestinian.  Most of the more recent trouble in the region of which we are familiar was the result of fighting in the Gaza Strip which was the result of elections in 2006 in which Hamas candidates were elected to most offices.  As a result, most aid to the region was cut off, which created a real crisis.  Fatah, the party which had been in power, tried to regain control of the government, which effectively created a civil war within Palestine for power.  Eventually, a coalition government was created.

Hamas has done some bad stuff right?  Terrorist acts, etc.?  Sure, we've all heard about their suicide bombers.  So, why did the Palestinians vote them into office?  They must all be terrorists, right?  Well, not according to Isaac.  The people simply voted for change.  Fatah had been very corrupt and got nothing done in the 13 or so years that they had been in power, so the people voted for change.  The spin we as Americans got was that the election must have been rigged because why would these people vote in Hamas.  Well, the election was legitimate.  The people just wanted change. That is something that we can relate to, isn't it?

Yeah, I had picked up a little about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict over the years, but there is nothing like seeing the people and the places and asking question of people who know it and live it to gain a more complete picture.

But, here is something that I didn't know and was shocked to see and experience: Israel has built a wall separating Israel from the West Bank?  A Berlin-type wall.  A great deal of it is made of concrete, is over 400 kilometers long and is heavily guarded.  It separates Bethlehem from Jerusalem.  It separates families.  It was built in 2003 creating a boundary which wasn't there before.  I had no idea.  Israel controls all that comes in and out of the West Bank -- even water.  When we were there, the water into areas of the West Bank near Bethlehem had been cutoff for over 20 days before being restored. 

The situation in Palestine is tough.  There is a marked difference between the living conditions on one side of the wall versus the other.

How ironic.  A nation state created by and for people who had been abused and discriminated against, who had their property wrongfully taken, who had been forced into walled and fenced off ghettos and then concentration camps has pushed people from their land, and corralled them into walled and fenced areas against their will where they have little control over their standard of living and where they are abused and mistreated whenever they do venture out or when the soldiers venture in.  The irony would choke a horse.

Now, does that mean that the radical Palestinian extremists who have killed innocent people or who turn to violence as a solution should be celebrated or excused for their conduct?  Absolutely not. But, just like we, as Americans, do not want to be judged by the conduct of a few of our own radical extremist who are known internationally or who somehow get elected to prominent positions, we shouldn't judge the vast majority of people there who don't give a flip about politics or power or borders but who just want to live, to love, to work and to raise a family.

Most people in Israel don't care about all the politics and the peace process either.  They are enjoying a fairly robust economy and good times.  They just want to live, to love, to work and to raise a family.

Neither group is really any different than most of us. 

So, be slow to judge.  Be quick to question what you see and hear on TV.  And, think about the majority of the people in that far off land that want the same things out of life that you do.  And wonder what might be standing in the way.

November 10, 2010



A view of the different levels of Harod's residential villa



We visited Masada down near the Dead Sea.  If you have never heard of it, don’t feel too bad.  But, it was the site of a fascinating story.  It was originally built by Herod the Great on a large natural isolated stone overlooking the Dead Sea south of Jerusalem.  There is some question as to whether he ever spent any time there.  Many of his palace features are still intact and are simply unbelievable.  His residential palace or villa was located on the northern side of the rock on a cliff face.  What a view!  And, how did they ever build it? You can still see some of the plaster with its original paint.  It was built between 37 and 31 BCE.



The plaster in Herod's cliff-side villa





However, sometime near the Jewish Revolt in or around 67 CE, the place, with a small garrison of Roman soldiers, was overrun by a group of Jewish zealots.  They added mikvah baths, fixed up a synagogue which was probably already there and called it home.  Of course, the Romans couldn’t have that, so a large force marched down there to take care of things.  Well, it wasn’t so easy for them.  After all, Herod’s builders had done such a fantastic job fortifying the place and preparing it for sieges.  Not only was the entire place surrounded on all sides by sheer cliff faces, but Herod had a tall wall built on top that was 12 feet thick.  Herod’s palaces were always ready for him should he show up there, with plenty of food, water and even baths that were kept cold, warm and hot (he loved feeling Roman).  These, of course, were known as frigidarium,  tepidarium and caldarium (I guess the plural are frigidaria, tepidaria and caldaria?).  There were also channels built to direct water from nearby rivers to cisterns in the cliff faces and bottoms, where the water was then hauled to giant cisterns at the top.



A view from Masada of one of the Roman encampments



So, anyway, the Romans had a tough time.  They eventually had to build an earthen ramp leading up to one of the walls, which they breached with a battering ram.  However, when they got inside the fortress, they found all the Jewish rebels dead and the place ablaze, except for the food.  They had killed themselves rather than be taken captive.  Supposedly, they wanted the Romans to see that they were prepared to survive but would rather be dead than taken by the Romans.  They hadn’t all committed suicide, but rather killed each other and then the final person was the only to commit suicide, as doing so was very frowned upon by them.  In fact, archeologists have uncovered shards of a broken vase upon which men’s names were written.  They believe there would have been a drawing to see who was going to be the one to commit suicide.

It’s a good thing that the Israelites didn’t have the same outlook on life as the Masada Jews, when the Israelites were enslaved in Egypt, isn’t it?  In fact, while their conquering of Masada and fight to the bitter end is admirable, it isn’t really an ending worth celebrating, is it?  What if the defenders at the Alamo had done the same thing?  We wouldn’t have a movie about it starring John Wayne.



The really eerie thing about the place was the large crows that lived there on the cliffs.  The only place that I saw them while I was here.  They were gliding and soaring around Masada, as if guarding it.







A Southern Baptist Heritage

November 9, 2010

We visited the River Jordan.  Not actually the place where it is believed that Jesus was baptized, but a beautiful and easily accessible place where people have been celebrating baptisms for years.  In fact, it is quite a business.  You can “rent” white robes (which you are required to wear if you go in the water) and are also provided a towel and access to a changing room.  Unfortunately, there were some women there (Europeans I’m sure) who chose to wear nothing under their white robes.  This was fine until they got wet.  Well, you can imagine.  But don’t.

Of course, as United Methodist, we believe in only one baptism.  We don’t re-baptize.  Though we customarily baptize by sprinkling, immersion is an accepted form as well.  We decided to have a “Remember Your Baptism” service at the Jordan.  We would have a devotion, talk about the baptism of Jesus and then perform the sign of the cross on everyone’s forehead with Jordan River water.  We also decided that if someone wanted to remember their baptism by immersion, why that would be okay too.  I volunteered to be the dunker (perhaps it was because I grew up Southern Baptist).

When we took a tally of who wanted to go into the Jordan as part of this experience, no one raised their hand.  Honestly, I was a little disappointed.  On the walk down, one person said he wanted to.  Cool.

The water was very cool. And there were lots of catfish. Something was nibbling at my ankles.  Not sure if it was the catfish or something else.  That was a little unnerving.  But, the sun was just right and we had our own little spot in the Jordan, away from the other “tourists” or “pilgrims” who were getting a generic dunk with an anonymous priest of some sort.  After a quick discussion of the process (of course, he had never been immersed like this and I had never baptized anyone like this), pinch, dunk, lift – wham, slam, splash.  It was over.  Too quickly.  I really wanted to savor the moment.  What an honor to experience this with someone.  In the River Jordan.  Our robe rental kit came with a commemorative certificate.  I won’t need it.  I’ll never forget it.



Yes, I had shorts on.

The Love Boat

November 7- 8, 2010

We visited Galilee.  We saw what some scholars have referred to as the “Evangelical Triangle” – the three cities where Jesus did most of his work and his miracles (Capernaum, Korazin, Bethsaida).  We saw a First Century Road, millstones, ruins, etc., including the synagogue where Jesus taught.  We also saw what is believed to be Peter’s home where Jesus healed his mother-in-law.  Some people wonder why.  They must not have a wonderful mother-in-law like I have (shameless, I know, but Christmas is coming soon).  People have been coming to see what is believed to have been Peter’s house since the First Century.  We also visited what tradition has as the Mount of the Beatitudes.  What a beautiful view over the Sea of Galilee.

Speaking of seas, we saw a First Century boat which was discovered in great condition in the mud in the Sea of Galilee not too long ago during a drought, also called the “Jesus Boat”.  See www.jesusboatmuseum.com.  You may have seen a special about it on TV.  Fascinating.

Then, we boarded an open boat to sail (motor) to Kursi, which was inhabited by Gentiles at the time of Jesus. First time he was there, he healed the demon possessed man.  The people weren’t impressed and asked him to leave.  The next time he came back, he fed 4,000 people (not the loaves and fishes story, but the other one – Mark 8:1-9).

But, what I wanted to share is a little about the boat ride across the Sea of Galilee.  First, if you haven’t been here, the “Sea” of Galilee is a misnomer.  It is really a large lake.  You can see all the shores from any spot on it.  I had no idea when we got on this little wooden boat that we were embarking on a cruise with a floor show.  I hadn’t noticed the speakers, but did when the “Star Spangled Banner” cranked up and the gentle woman who was apparently the first mate began hoisting the colors while we sang.  On a wooden boat in the Sea of Galilee.  Canned “Star Spangled Banner”, with all of us standing and singing.  But, that was only the beginning. Surreal.  

After a little peace and quiet, the music started again.  This time it was Elvis.  No, I’m not kidding.  Elvis singing “How Great Thou Art”.  On a little wooden boat in the Sea of Galilee.  Surreal.  Then, a little later, “Glory to God”, a modern Christian rock song.  Surreal.  But, not to be outdone, the first mate then did her own singing to the music blaring from the loudspeaker.  She taught us a song in Hebrew.  I don’t remember the tune, but she made her way around the deck with hand gestures, every now and again putting the microphone in front of someone so that they could sing along.    Karaoke on a wooden boat in the middle of the Sea of Galilee.  Surreal.  But, the fun had only begun.

Next, it was time for group dancing on the lido deck.  That’s right.  We all stood and she taught us the lyrics and steps to “Hava Nagila”.  We made two large rotating circles and all danced and sang.  In a wooden boat in the middle of the Sea of Galilee.  Surreal.  But, somehow it all seemed appropriate.  After all, we were following the route of Jesus and his miracles, which were nothing less than surreal in and of themselves.

New Perspectives On The Beginning and the End

November 6, 2010.

First, the End.  After visiting Caesarea by the Sea (one of Herod’s great building projects, a great Roman city port on the Mediterranean), we traveled to Megiddo.  Actually, Tel Megiddo.  A tel is a large mound on which ancient cities were built one atop the remains of another.  There are 26 layers of this tel.  To tell you its age, layer 15 was the layer of the city at the time of Biblical King David.  The location has had major strategic significance since ancient times.  It overlooks the passage which connected the ancient roads that went north up the Mediterranean from Egypt to the roads which spread further north and east inland to Assyria.  Thus, whoever controlled this hill also controlled the trade route.  Some scholars have opined that more people have died either attacking or defending the city than any other battle in history.  It was first occupied more than 5,000 years BCE and was last occupied in the 5^th Century BCE.  The last battle fought there was in World War I.

It was a well-defended hill, with a wall and lots of provisions in its design to protect its inhabitants during a siege.  The most fascinating include a large grain storage facility and its water supply.   The water supply for the city is by a spring which discharges near the base of the hill.  Obviously, if there was a siege, you couldn’t leave the walled city to go get water.  So, they dug a tunnel straight down 120 feet with treacherous steps that led to a tunnel through solid rock out to the side of the hill near the spring.  They disguised the connection to the spring and also found that the tunnel would fill with water if the water level was high enough.  Brilliant.  They could get water from within the walled city.  A precious thing in this arid environment.

So, why is that the end?  Well, Armageddon is a Greek word derived from Megiddo.  Because of its history as a place of great battles, John, when writing Revelations, talks about the final battle as taking place there.  Who knew?  A new perspective on the End.

From Megiddo, we went to Nazareth, the home of Mary and Joseph.  There is a beautiful new church built there, the Church of the Annunciation built in the late 1960’s.  Good thing that the Pope decided to replace the one that was there.  There has been a church there since the Fourth Century, commemorating the site where Mary supposedly lived when she learned that she was pregnant.  During the construction of the new church, the workers discovered a First Century dwelling (cave) that contained a number of ancient relics which had been hidden there when one of the first churches was destroyed in the 7^th Century.  There were carvings in the relics hidden there that referenced Mary and Christ, thus confirming that at least as early as those times, this was where they believed Mary lived.  Interestingly enough, the people of Nazareth lived in caves, with a living/dining room in the front and a stable in the back.  Who knew they lived in caves?  So, maybe being born in a manger wasn't that far removed from what Mary and Joseph were used to anyway.  Jesus was just born in the back room instead of the front room.  Fascinating.  Thus, a new perspective on the beginning.

The Land of Milk and Honey

November 5, 2010.  Well, after our daunting jaunt up Mount Moses, we grabbed a quick breakfast and went back to the mountain.  Torture?  No.  We visited the monastery, St. Catherine, at the base of the mountain.  It was built in the 6th Century.  As you can imagine, some pretty old stuff there.

Then we set out to Israel.  A long bus ride through the wilderness.  It only seemed like 40 years because there was nowhere to stop and eat or go to the bathroom.  We arrived at the Red Sea and then headed north.  It was pretty deserted and not very developed.  Finally, we hit the border with Israel.  Food and bathrooms awaited on the other side.

But first, we had to pass through Egyptian security and customs on the way out.  Wait in line.  Show passport.  Wait in line.  Go through metal detector.  Why we needed to go through an Egyptian metal detector to go into Israel I have no idea.  Wait in line.  Show passport.  Etc.  So, we showed our passports a gazillion times (and believe me, its not cool to have a passport photo that looks nothing like you do, especially when viewed by someone of another ethnicity) and then walked to the Israeli immigration station.

Maybe it was just me or maybe because we had spent five days seeing mainly traditionally clad Muslim women, or maybe it was the midnight hike, or no food (we didn't know we were going to have a fast after the pilgrimage -- we could have prepared ourselves spiritually, and packed some food from the breakfast buffet), or maybe it was the never-ending bus ride, or maybe it was because I haven't gone this long without seeing my "smokin' hot wife", but the young Israeli women working the security detail looked pretty cute.    They even had trendy low-riding, hip-hugger uniform pants (sorry, no photos. The Israelis don't like you using your camera at a security point).  This is going to be a breeze.  Not.

First, we waited in line.  Then, we were individually quizzed.  "Where all are you going?"  "Where have you been?" They were students of body language and looked you dead in the eye.  Then they paused after you answered, their gaze never wavering.  A test of our truthfulness (thanks, Christine), but very uncomfortable.  Then more waiting in line (see a pattern here?  Perhaps they assume terrorists will get tired of waiting and just turn around and go home).  Then, our bags went through a metal detector and so did we.  The young babe scanning the luggage let half of our group go without any problem.  Then, perhaps there was a change in hotties or maybe she got in trouble for not making us wait long enough, but something happened because all of a sudden, they started hand screening about 70% of the luggage coming through.

"Is this your bag?" they would ask before guiding you over to the humiliation table, where the whole world would see how poorly a job you do at packing, how much souvenir junk you had purchased, the fact that you travel with your blanky or favorite pillow, or that you are fond of fancy undergarments.  Then, "Does everything in this bag belong to you?"  That's tough.  Well, it did when I put it in there.  But what if some bellhop put a grenade in there?  If I say yes, then I have admitted to trying to bring a grenade into Israel.  They don't take too kindly to that sort of thing.  If you say no, then I'm sure you get reams of questions and perhaps a very thourough examination (I could see the exam booth behind the humiliation table, what with its pull curtain, dispenser of disposable gloves, etc.  Yeah, you get the picture).  Fortunately, there were no grenades in my backpack, but the fun had only begun.  After I feverishly packed up all my things, I realized that my large yellow duffel bag was also sitting in the pile of "let's humiliate our visitors some more" bags. 

They kept selecting the other bags for examination.  Not mine.  I just stood there as person after person kept getting humiliated and then meekly gathered their things and moved on.  They went through our entire group save about 3 people.  Twenty minutes went by before I figured out what was going on.  The three young girls who were doing the screening kept grabbing the small bags, backpacks and purses to hand screen.  None of them wanted to pick up my big duffle bag and dig through it.  Finally, after they all tripped over it numerous times, one of them got it.  They pulled out all of the electronic gear and chargers so they could run it back through the metal detector.  Only now the conveyor belt was stopped.  Something was wrong with the machine.  Really?  So, after the entire security detail played with the controls and the computer and giggled and poked at each other, my dedicated officer took my deflated yellow duffel bag over to another machine. She proudly came back and set it on the humiliation table and with a coy smile said, "Thank you.  Sorry for the delay".  No problem.

Then, another line, another viewing of the passport and a stamps, visa, etc., then more lines and more viewings.  The whole process took over an hour.  But, we made it.  We were finally into Israel and could get something to EAT!  Not.

We arrived on Friday night and it was after sundown by the time we got through Checkpoint Charlene.  The Sabbath had started.  Everything was closed.  Everything.  Even McDonalds.  The land of milk and honey was not as we had anticipated.  We weren't the first to experience that though, were we?

We eventually found a convenience store that was open before the talks of mutiny came to fruition.  I'm sure we made their day when 56 people unloaded out of two buses and bought practically everything edible in the store.  Who cares that all the writing was in Hebrew.  Junk food is junk food.  Me?  I had cheese puffs and a grape drink.  In that moment it was my milk and honey.

Because It Was There

November 4-5, 2010

We headed to the Sinai Desert and Mount Sinai, which contains Mount Catherine, Mount Moses, etc.  Long bus ride (7 hours).  Interesting scenery.  Sheer desolation.  We arrived at night so we couldn’t see the mountains.  We had a quick meal (like every other one we have had – buffet) and went to bed to prepare for our 12:45 am wake-up call.  That’s right.  Forty fine minutes after midnight.  Why?  Well, to hike up Mount Moses and see the sunrise, of course.  Duh.

As you can imagine, 12:45 came very early. We gathered outside, got on the bus and drove a short distance to the monastery at St. Catherine, which is at the base of the mountain.  There, we met our Bedouin guide, named Muhammad interestingly enough.  Off we set for what was billed as a “strenuous” hike followed by a 750 step climb to the summit.  But, don’t worry.  Tthere are camels that you can ride at least part of the way.  For some reason, the idea of riding a camel, one of the world’s ugliest and smelliest animals, on a tiny saddle up a mountain did not appeal to me.  I guess I’m just funny that way.  So, I was determined to hike it. 

The hike started gently enough.  Gently enough to take in the incredible stars spread out across the sky like something from the ceiling of a Las Vegas limo.  I have seen stars in the desert in the desert Southwest in the U.S. and that had made quite an impression, but I have never seen stars like this.  And, the shooting stars.  Too numerous to count.  It was beautiful.  But, soon the trail turned rather rocky and the incline intensified so I spent the next few hours looking mostly at my feet or at least the ground where my next step would land.  Yes, if I had been awake enough to do the math, I would have realized that this was going to be quite a hike, seeing as how we started at about 1:30 and the sun rises at 6.

A few people opted for camels from the get go.  As the hike progressed, the number of camel lovers began to increase, and it wasn’t because they were getting any prettier or less smelly (and they make the most foul noises).  Leave it to the insightful Bedouins.  Somehow they knew the best places – the places where one’s willpower and determination was at a lull -- to hit you up out of the darkness for a camel.  “Mister, good camel.  I take you to the top.  Good camel.  Just twenty dollar.”

I had decided to hang at the back of the pack to make sure that no one got left behind.  Of course, the Bedouins assumed that whoever was at the back of the pack was the weakest person to prey on.  Once they figured out that I could carry on a conversation with them – that I wasn’t winded – they would move up in the line.  This created the very situation that I wanted to avoid:  hiking up a mountain with a smelly, stubborn, obscenely grunting animal who cared very little for my personal space.  I had to get pretty rude a couple of times to get them to leave us alone.

I know what you are thinking.  How do you see to hike at night?  A small flashlight of course.  After all, you only need to know where your next step is going to be.  Sort of like life isn’t it?  We always worry about where we are going instead of just taking the next step.  Anyway, I had my trusty little mini-Maglite.  I was so proud that I had planned ahead and had put new batteries in it before I left.  Well, halfway up the mountain, it went out.  Really?  My trusty mini-Maglite had failed me?  Of course not.  I assumed that it was the bulb.  It was.  Fortunately, it happened just as we neared a little coffee shack on the mountain side.  About the time that we were going to start back up (and I realized that incessantly shaking it wasn’t doing any good), I remembered that there is a spare in the base of it (you forgot too didn’t you?).  Mohamed helped me change it at one of the little coffee houses on the way up (I couldn’t see the darn little wires that had to be threaded through the light base).  A Bedouin guide’s duties are extensive. But, will I remember to replace that spare bulb?

A strenuous hike.  An understatement of biblical proportion.  The slope increased.  The number of uneven rocks and steps increased.  The number of loose rocks increased. The number of people opting for camels increased.  My heart rate increased. And then came the steps.  750 steps.  That’s roughly 75 short stories.  No big deal right?  People did that at the World Trade Center.  But, these weren’t nice even steps with handrails.  They were irregular, uneven, sand-covered, winding stone “steps”.  I thought my heart was going to explode and that my lung capacity had suddenly decreased by half.  My thighs were burning like I was wired to some sort of sick medical experiment.  But, I had to make it to the summit before sunrise and the sky was starting to lighten.  I was no longer at the back of the pack.  “Go on without me”, they said one after another.  “We had to make the summit”, I said to myself in my Sir Edmond Hillary voice. “It was difficult leaving them behind on the mountain.”  Sounds like a dramatic movie.  I lead the charge to the summit.  Not that I was better prepared than everyone else.  I just had momentum.  And make it we did. 

We made it before sunrise.  There is a small church at the summit of Mount Moses.  There were a few landings on the rock there.  There were people from all over the world.  And then, the sun began coming up over the smaller mountains in the distance.  People began to sing and pray in all their different beautiful languages.  What an incredible experience.  To think that we were at the summit of what tradition held to be the mountain where Moses received the Ten Commandments and there were all these different interpretations and expressions of people’s relationships with God being expressed in the same spot.  I know that there is no proof that this is the same mountain where the law was laid down for Moses, but somehow at that point in time, no one on the mountain top seemed to care.  After all, it wasn’t about Moses.  It was about them and their God and his sunrise.

The Mosque, the Museum, the Man-Shopper

November 3, 2010

Cairo.  Today we visited a mosque, hit the Cairo Museum, visited the Coptic section of Cairo and did a little shopping. 

I have never been in a mosque.  There were no prayers going on.  It would be pretty neat to be there when prayers are going on, if they allow that sort of thing.  You cannot wear shoes in a mosque. Who knew?  If you take your shoes off and carry them in, then you place them sole to sole and place them on the floor on their sides, so that their soles don't touch the floor.  We put these little baggies on our feet over our shoes that vendors sold at the door for $1.00.  Everything is $1.00 here from relentless vendors at every stop.  There was a comical toothless character outside of the mosque who tried to get everyone’s attention by calling out famous names.  His knowledge of famous people was rather limitedhowever.  “Hey, Madame Obama!”  “Hey, Mr. Obama.”  “Hey, Sophia Loren.”  “Hey, Yankee Doodle.”  “Aloha”.  For some reason, when you are American, the Egyptians say “Aloha” or “Yankee Doodle”to you.  Really?  Of all the American phrases in circulation in the world they choose these two?  Hawaii hasn’t even been a state that long.  It would be easy to become irritated at the vendors.  I have had any problem with them though.  I simply ignore them.  No eye contact.  No verbal communication.  If they sense even the smallest crack, they are relentless.  I have enjoyed watching people negotiating with them.  I thought it would be neat to bring some trinkets along and try to sell them something when they are trying to sell me something.  Maybe we would wind up with a simple barter trade.  Don't worry, honey.  I didn't.  Oh well, I digress.

So, the mosque.  The neatest thing was the very succinct and passionate explanation of Islam that our guide, himself a Muslim, gave us in the mosque.  Incredible.  It is amazing the similarities between Christianity and Islam.  And to hear it from a practitioner was fascinating.  The Muslim population here is tremendous – a huge majority.  The Egyptians are by and large very traditional and religious people.  A number of men, I noticed, have dark marks on their heads.  This is from praying five times a day and putting their forehead to the ground.  Perhaps they are proud that their righteousness is visible to all.

The children that we have seen are very friendly.  I met a young man and his sister on the way home from school.  I assumed that he spoke English when he said, “Hello, what is your name?”  I told him and then asked him what his name was.  He had no idea what I was talking about.  He had probably just learned this phrase.  His sister giggled.  A few charades later and I learned his name.  No, I cannot spell it and it was quite difficult to pronounce.

The Cairo museum was fascinating.  30,000 pieces of antiquity, most of which were not behind display cases.  They were just sitting around, leaning up against the wall or sitting on a shelf.  Part of the beard and part of the nose missing from the Sphinx, just lying around.  There wasn’t a single piece that was created any more recently than 3,000 years ago.  Three thousand years.  Think about it.  Think of the great strides to which we go to preserve things in our country that are less one-tenth that old.  Displays included the items recovered from King Tut’s tomb.  That stuff was under glass.  Lots of gold and jewels.  To see this craftsmanship up close was truly remarkable.

We also went to the church where tradition has it that Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus hid out for a few weeks when they were on the run in Egypt.  The church was built in the 7^th Century.  The artwork that was on display there depicting that plight was equally ancient.  I think I have seen pictures of some before.  Pretty interesting.

Of course, we also did a little shopping.  I experienced the universal shopping condition experienced by most men – the energy was sucked right out of the sole of my feet when I entered the bazar.  Some things are international.

Finally...The Pyramids

11-2-10

Cairo.  Today, was sort of like Spring Break for us – we got lots of sun and sand.  Only for us, there were no wet bikini contests or funnel parties.  The only other similarity was our sitting in never-ending traffic at the end of the day.  Well, it wasn’t really cruising, but work with me.

Today, we visited the famous pyramids of Giza.  This included one of the seven wonders of the world  -- the Great Pyramid  of King Keops.  We also saw the “Solar Boat” – the boat that was excavated from beside the pyramid and reconstructed.  And, the famous step pyramid – the first one.  You can learn more about the pyramids and how they were constructed (theories, etc.) on the internet (and with correctly spelled names) than I could possibly regurgitate at the end of a long day (don’t blame my lack of detail on our guide, who is excellent by the way).  So far as the pyramids are concerned, like you, I’ve seen the National Geographic specials, the “How’d They Do That” episode, and what could only be described as an ironic stretch for “Modern Marvels”.  However, I learned something very interesting today – why they were built.

Perhaps you already know this.  Me?  I must have been asleep that day in school or making popcorn during those segments of the television shows.  It all has to do with practicality, immortality or resurrection, and, of course, egos. Here’s the quick and dirty.

 The ancient ancient Egyptians merely buried their dead in the ground in a shallow oval grave, in the fetal position, facing the sun.  You see, they worshiped Ra the sun god.  He rose in the East.  So, he must know something about immortality because he never dies and is resurrected each morning.  Problem was the jackals would dig up the bodies and destroy them.  Not good when you’re planning on being resurrected – you needed the body.   So, they began putting sun-baked (you know, healthy) bricks over the grave – to keep the jackals out.  Problem with the bricks was that they didn’t last forever.  Since no one had actually ever seen someone resurrected, they didn’t know how long it would be before it happened.  So, one of the kings (Zoser) wanted his grave to be better protected.  He asked his chief architect/designer/adviser to come up with something.  He did.  Stones.  There is a huge deposit of limestone in the area.  First they used one rectangular one.  Then three – one stacked in the middle on the joint between two laid side by side.  That was the first pyramidal shape (which represents the sun’s rays when they come down through the clouds, remember the sun god Ra?). 

When the king’s family members started dying, he had them buried under stones arranged in this manner.  The graves were fairly close together.  After there were about 6 there, well it didn’t look so cool anymore.  So, they built some more stones on top of those there and filled in between them.  This was the first couple of layers of the step pyramid shown below.  The top was too flat, so they added some more layers.  This resulted in the first pyramid (see photo below, and no, the scaffolding hasn’t survived for 4,000 years).

The famous pyramids of Giza are simply the grandest surviving burial pyramids (so far, 111 pyramids have been discovered in Egypt).  They believe that only 30% of the ancient structures have been uncovered.  The kings were always trying to out-do their predecessors.  I’m not really sure what they thought would happen if they all came back at the same time.  I guess there would have been a tremendous power struggle.

But, the most fascinating thing about the whole idea of the pyramids and their accompanying buildings and other funerary (stuff they were buried with and things that were built around them) was the people’s anticipation of resurrection and thus immortality.  They believed in an after-life but believed it to be here.  They believed heaven was where the gods lived.  The kings (and their peeps) believed that the king would become a god when he died.  They also believed that resurrection and immortality was not limited to the king, but that everyone would/could be resurrected – depending on their conduct in the present life.  The pyramids were not built by slaves, but by highly skilled, highly regarded craftsmen, who were treated like professional athletes.  They were well compensated, well fed and very good at what they did.  And they did it because they thought it would increase their chances of a successful resurrection (as opposed to an unsuccessful one?).  Fascinating.  Too bad we don’t spend so much time and energy focused on our afterlife.

See... i really am here. :)  Wish you were too.

Point me in the right direction

November 1, 2010 – later.

On the way to the hotel from the airport, we passed lots of mosques.  You know the ones, with the tall spires and the loudspeakers.  These also have not-so-tastefully-placed lights on the towers or spires.  Not spotlights lighting them up and not strings of lights outlining them, but rather what looks more like neon.  Like something on an American Indian casino.

On closer inspection, they aren’t neon but fluorescent lights.  You know, the simple tube ones.  Like the yellow ones we used to see growing up under the eaves at the drive-ins (not the movies, but the places with the hamburgers, onion rings and awesome shakes).  Only these lights aren’t yellow.  Some are simply white.  Others are green.   Very odd.

 I haven’t heard the prayers over the loudspeakers yet.  I think they were at sundown.  We were stuck in traffic or perhaps queuing up in the lobby of the hotel awaiting our room keys.  If they were broadcast, I missed them.  I’m glad God never gets stuck in traffic or misses ours.

Wait . . . I can hear a prayer now.  And the horn blowing of frustrated drivers.  And the incessant barking of an irritated dog.  Or, at least I assume that this is a prayer.  It certainly has a prayerful tone.  Well, not really, more like a mournful tone.  Granted, I have no idea what he is saying, but the tone. . .   It doesn’t sound very joyful.  What part of the Lord’s Prayer would sound like that?  The forgiveness part I suppose.  I wonder if they ever pray a prayer of praise or thanksgiving over the loudspeakers.

Speaking of prayer, there is an arrow on the ceiling in a corner of our room.  We’ve concluded that it points toward Mecca.  Hmmmm.  Imagine that! 

 

Imagine what we as Christians could do with something like that.  We could all use some prayer help and direction sometimes.  What if we put arrows on our walls pointing up?  Or maybe hung mobiles made up of arrows pointing up?  How about an arrow hanging from our rear view mirrors? Or, we could create one of those trendy oval stickers for our rear windows, with an arrow pointing up instead of letters which stand for some vacation spot or band or store or that people can’t figure out. 

Or, are our arrows more like the spinner in the Twister game?  We aimlessly and desperately spin it hoping for some direction, some purpose, something that energizes and motivates us.  We invest our time and energies in whatever our arrow may land on – whatever we may have lined the spinner card with – career, money, power, position, appearance,  clothes, shopping, stuff, addictions.

My spinner card is more like a marquee, it changes from day to day, week to week, season to season.  Which way is your arrow pointing?  What have you lined your card with?

Cairo, here we go...

November 1, 2010

Cairo.  What a stark contrast!  We left Zurich (mountains, lush valleys, chocolate) and a little over 3 hours later, Egypt.  Cairo, with its burgeoning population (now over 22 million), its stark and desolate landscape (broken only by the large apartment buildings being constructed) and dust, dust, dust, smog and smoke.  Cairo (or at least what we have seen of it between the airport and our hotel) is very dirty (dusty, litter-filled, etc.), crowded and un-inspiring.  But, the pyramids are right here!  We feel as if we are close enough for them to cast a shadow over the hotel, but I am sure they are farther away.  To think, they were built over 4,000 years ago.  Wow.  No wonder it is dirty.  People have been here for a very long time. 

Tomorrow, we start hitting the sites.  Would you be able to sleep?

Zurich, Switzerland

11.1.10

Zurich, Switzerland.  Funny how we left one of the newest and wealthiest countries in the world on the way to one of the most ancient and traditional regions of the world, by way of one of Europe’s old yet modern countries.  My wife, Christine, would say that they are probably the most advanced civilizations on the planet simply because of the large role that chocolate plays in their society.  How is it that the Swiss are so fit yet chocolate is so prominent here?  I think that they make it to distribute to foreigners and that they don’t actually eat it.  Or, perhaps its all those strenuous national pastimes, like mountain climbing, hiking, and watch making.

What a beautiful country!  I watched about 2 hours worth of Swiss tourism films on the flight from JFK.  I’m sold.  Christine and I loved our brief foray into southern Switzerland when we ventured to Italy last year.  I thought it was the stark contracts between the cultures that was evidenced by their respective train systems, but then again I had forgotten the beautiful scenery.  We must come back here.  Surely there are some mission opportunities here!  Well, maybe just a pleasure trip.  There are mission opportunities everywhere every day.  Right?

An irony in the newsstand reminds me of the narrow-minded fluency of our American culture.  Seems the rest of the world appreciates (and probably more readily needs) the ability to speak other languages.  The Swiss are partial to French and German, and of course speak English for those of us who don’t bother to learn their languages.  Anyway, there was a magazine in the airport newsstand about the Holy Land.  A beautiful, glossy edition devoted exclusively to the history and archeology of the region – including Egypt.  Or, at least that is all I could make of it.  It was in German.

I have also been reminded of how spoiled we are.  Of course, it doesn’t take much to be reminded of that.  I was envious at JFK of the flights leaving directly for Cairo and Tel Aviv.  I was also frustrated when I saw a Delta flight arriving here in Zurich from Atlanta.  Afterall, we flew from Birmingham to Atlanta to JFK to Zurich, and now on to Cairo.  How inefficient!  But, then again, how amazing that we can travel half way around the world so quickly.  Our flight from JFK was only a little over 6 hours long.  Wow.

Oh well.  I don’t know the connection between the Swiss obsession with clocks and time pieces (Swatch and Rolex have facilities here) and chocolate, but it could be that it enables them to know when its time to eat some more.  Tobulene.  I think its time for some more.