Living Stones (21 page)

“It’s not for me to tell you what to believe.”

“OK then, what do you believe?” Ashley’s heart raced, wondering how badly she had offended the rabbi.

“What do I believe about Zionism?” He smiled. “In a nutshell, here it is. If you want to know why, I can tell you that too, if you have the time.”

“We do. Please go on.”

“OK. First, I am loyal to the Torah, your Old Testament. And the Torah teaches that Zionism is not Judaism. In fact, the founding principles of Zionism are counter to Judaism, which teaches us to value the stranger in our midst, not persecute him.”

Ashley stared at the rabbi, eyebrows raised, hardly believing
what she just heard.

“Second, the state of Israel does not represent the Jewish people. The bulldozing of homes and displacement of people—violence offends me.” He shook his head. “These are not religious imperatives. Settlers in the West Bank, mostly secular immigrants, displace local people. These acts are not right or just. Zionists have no right to do such things. Yes, we have suffered. But does our government then turn on others with injustice? Do we subject them to our will? Do we take away pieces of their land and call them our settlements until there is nothing left for Palestinians?”

David nodded as the rabbi spoke. Marie looked shocked and her lips trembled, but she said nothing. The rabbi stirred his tea and waited for Ashley’s response. They had heard just the opposite from the old rabbi yesterday, the one who had endured the holocaust as a child. Now this. Ashley certainly had no question now about what Rabbi Cohen thought of her church’s position on Israel’s policies. But why did he feel so strongly? The rabbi continued as though reading Ashley’s thoughts.

“Judaism teaches that we must not take land that is not ours to take—and yet we do it in the name of Judaism. That’s wrong. There are many of us who protest, nonviolently, but they trample on our rights. Judaism opposes aggression. The Torah does not sanction bloodshed by those who try to remain true to it.” He stopped and gazed intently at Ashley for several moments.

“Most people don’t realize that Zionism is criticized fervently by many Orthodox Jews at their own peril. The secular establishment who often substitute Zionism for Judaism have no spiritual basis for ethnic cleansing. Our recent prime minister, Ariel Sharon, said in 1998 of the West Bank, and this is an exact quote, ‘Everybody has to move, run, and grab as many hilltops as they can. . . . Everything we don’t grab will go to them.’ That’s not religion—it’s real estate.”

He paused again, leaned forward, and cleared his throat. “Look,” his voice rose, “the politicians suppress the truth and will not report the voices of observant Jews. So the world doesn’t know. It equates ‘Israel’ with ‘being Jewish.’ You Americans may never see our objection in print. It is not politically correct. Or if you do, it’s ‘anti-Semitic.’ ” He held up two fingers of both hands. “You’ll never hear what large
numbers of Jewish people in Israel really think about Zionism.”

That night Ashley went to bed with her thoughts churning in a whirlpool of conflicting ideas. Drawn first one way and then another, her mind circled ceaselessly. She had come to learn the truth of what she had always believed and to walk where Jesus walked. But now what was the truth? What would Jesus think of the conflict? He’d had his own trouble with religious leaders. She tossed and turned, unable to sleep for hours into the night.

Back in the Christian Quarter, David guided Ashley and Marie up the Via Dolorosa or “way of sorrow.” They followed it up the incline of the eleven stations of the cross, ending in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. “Consecrated in AD 335 under Constantine, this complex building contains the twelfth station, said to be the site of Calvary and the cross where Jesus died.” David had it down pat.

“How do you know all this Christian history?” Ashley teased. “You know a lot more of our history than I know of yours.”

“If you grow up at the center of the world where the three major religions converge in one Holy City, you learn.”

Once inside, Ashley’s ears buzzed as robed priests of Roman and Greek churches spoke impatiently to manage the crowds that lined up to touch various stones, including the Rock of Golgotha. Ashley felt bewildered. She tried to stand still to pray, but kept being jostled by people surging this way and that.

And amid the chaos, Ashley suddenly felt an odd sensation of being watched. She tried to shake it, but it wouldn’t budge. Her spine tingled and her heart began to pound. She looked around but
didn’t see anyone she recognized. Glancing up, she caught one of the priests watching her. He looked away to give directions to the crowd. Ashley drew in her breath.
Paranoia wins
, she thought.
Again
.

After lunch with the whole group, the bus trip north of the Old City wall didn’t take long. Just long enough for Jim to explain that Gordon from the UK discovered the Garden Tomb in 1867 as an alternative to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Even if Jesus didn’t actually die there, it gave Protestants a picture of what the tomb resembled.

As they entered the gate, Ashley sighed. “Ohhh, it’s beautiful. Let’s sit down on a bench, Marie.”

As they gazed at the pathways and plantings, including shade trees and the natural rock walls of the garden, the sounds of an American tour group singing softly drifted up from a rocky cliff side below them. Tears welled as Ashley gazed at the cliff above the tomb site. They finished the visit by waiting in line to walk into the empty tomb carved out of the rock cliff, with three burial niches lining the walls. A large circular stone stood to one side of the opening. Ashley’s spirit finally found a moment it longed for, that indescribable divine connection.

The next day, during lunch in the Armenian quarter close to the Jaffa Gate with David, they discussed their plans: leisurely shopping in the Souk, the Muslim quarter today.

“But tomorrow I’ll be by early so we can spend enough time at the Temple Mount,” David said. “I’ll be with you until you go alone up to the top. I can’t go there. But it will be OK. You will be with a lot of other tourists. You can’t go into the Dome of the Rock anymore. That’s too bad. I’ve heard it’s quite dramatic.”

“Why won’t you be with us on the top of the Temple Mount?” Marie wondered.

“Jews aren’t allowed to go. It constitutes one of the holiest Muslim sites. Prime Minster Sharon forced his way up there in 2002 with soldiers, starting the second intifada. You know, the war that went on for months in the West Bank. So you’ll be on your own for your time on top.”

Ashley awoke early. Their last full day in the Holy Land. After breakfast, she and Marie followed David through the Jewish Quarter to the Western Wall.

They rounded the corner of a large building, pausing to read a sign in English and Hebrew. It explained the history of the temple area and Wailing Wall, that the huge stones at the base of the Western Wall are the original foundation stones of Solomon’s Temple. Jews from all over the world have prayed before them for hundreds of years, mourning their temple’s destruction and believing in its future restoration. Finally the sign quoted the Sages: T
HE
D
IVINE
P
RESENCE NEVER MOVES FROM THE
W
ESTERN
W
ALL
.

Before them was a large open square with a fence on the right side. Women crowded behind it. The men stood in the square below next to the wall, praying. They all had yarmulkes or other hats. Some inserted prayer notes in the cracks between large square stones that each stood over four feet high. Smaller stones stacked above them, towered up forty feet.

David explained: “These people are praying. They are ‘wailing’ in
the view of foreigners, until the temple is restored with its ancient glory. I had my bar mitzvah here in the square when I was thirteen.”

“Can anyone pray at the wall?” Ashley asked.

“Well . . . yes, if you have your head covered. Oh, and if you’re a man.”

“Why aren’t women allowed down at the base of the wall with the men?”

“I don’t know, Ashley. Tradition, I guess. We always segregate the women from the men.”

They watched as men bobbed toward the wall and back or up and down. Ashley turned and gazed at the square filled with people. Behind the square some large apartment buildings seemed empty. She asked David about them.

“When we captured the West Bank in the 1967 War, we controlled this area and the wall for the first time in hundreds of years. So we cleared the area of houses and apartments in what is now the open square.”

“Were they Palestinian homes?”

“Yes. And now the Palestinians want to have this surrounding area, East Jerusalem, as their capital for their new state. It actually is part of the West Bank. So our government is still building settlements right here. If you look over there, you can see new buildings going up for Jewish settlers. We are still destroying more homes to build high-rise buildings. The Palestinians don’t like this. They are gradually losing their homes. But Arab workers are glad to have jobs, even if it means building homes that will displace their people.”

“What is the crowd doing just beyond the new construction?” Marie asked.

“I hear bulldozers,” David said. “I suspect they are taking down Palestinian houses and the crowd doesn’t like it.”

“Are they paid the value of their homes?” Ashley asked.

“I’m not sure. But they are being forced to move. The end result of the Zionists’ beliefs, Ashley. They are gradually taking the West Bank and East Jerusalem, piece by piece.”

Ashley grimaced, watching for several minutes as the crowd grew and moved away from them toward the sound of the bulldozers.

“It’s time for you and Marie to check in over there to the right
of the square at the base of that long wooden ramp. They’ll check your passports, and then you can explore the Temple Mount with the mosques. I can’t go up there, as I mentioned.”

Walid decided he would join the demonstrators just beyond the square. He watched the two women leave their Jewish escort at the bottom of the ramp leading up to the Temple Mount.
Always together. No point in following them up there
. Umar had been sick and up most of the night, so he went home to his apartment. Walid realized that according to their schedule, he’d have to get Ashley alone somehow. It was now or never. He must not fail again.

With David waiting at the checkpoint, the two ladies showed their passports, walked up the ramp to the top, and came out on to a broad stone square, expansive in area. They approached the largest mosque in Jerusalem, Al-Aqsa, just ahead and to their right beyond the museum. Its dome, covered with silver according to Ashley’s guidebook, appeared black. They looked to their left, and there, elevated further with stair access, stood the magnificent Dome of the Rock shrine, startling in its beauty with its golden dome.

They meandered around the famous shrine and admired the marble and mosaic tiles inscribed with Arabic calligraphy from the Qu’ran. The exquisite patterns defied description. Ashley’s book depicted the interior, a large, carpeted, plain room with stained-glass windows. A low fence surrounded the large rock, the very top of the mountain. Knowing it probably wouldn’t work, they took scarves out of Marie’s backpack, covered their heads, walked up to the door, and spoke to the guard. He didn’t speak English, but waved them off with a shake of his head.

“Bummer!” Ashley said as they walked away. “I wanted to see the top of Mount Mariah.”

How did you find the Temple Mount?” David inquired.

“More spectacular than the pictures show,” Marie answered. “Would Muslims actually keep you from going up?”

“Oh yes. It would be dangerous for me to try. But also, the temple contained the Holy of Holies when it existed two thousand years ago. We think the rock at the top is that site, forbidden for us to ever walk there. Only the high priest may, once a year. It is the holiest place on earth to us, and to Muslims, the center of the world.”

“David, to think we walked up there gives me goosebumps. We experienced history.”