Travel Biography - Week 8.

The Sea of Galilee/Lake of Kinneret.

It was the twelfth day into my visit to the Holy Land out of the 21 days I spent there in 1976. Now, I find myself standing alone at the coastal town of Tiberias on the west side of the Sea of Galilee, a harp-shaped freshwater lake 13 miles, 21 km in length from north to south, 8.1 miles, 13 km wide from east to west, and 209 metres below sea level. Far to my left, that is towards the north, I could see the distant ruins of Capernaum, a fishing village which was the hometown of the Apostle Peter and one of the venues of Jesus' ministry. Directly opposite, on the far side, Ein Gev Kibbutz nestles on the shore, an Israeli area within Syria that, back then, still bordered the eastern shoreline of the lake.

Tiberias. Stock photo.

Swimming was one of my favourite activities. Lido resorts lined the coastline north of Tiberias and the one I visited, Lido Beach, looked to be a popular resort. A little distance from the beach, a wall was built to partially enclose the shallow area of the lake to make it safe for families with small children and non-swimmers. Beyond the wall was the main body of the lake itself, populated by strong swimmers. And just as well, as from the safety wall itself, the water was already deeper than my height, with its deepest point in the whole lake some 43 metres below the surface, hence the need for constant body movement. Although classed as a lido, in 1976, there was no rope boundary enclosing the bathing area, as there was in 1994. Instead, I could have swum right out if I had wanted to.

Swimming in the Sea of Galilee was a totally different experience from that of the Dead Sea. Wherein the latter I merely floated as if lying on a soft mattress, here, the water was fresh, hence likened to a pool swim.

Also, some distance off the coast of Tiberias, several fishing boats were moored, each a little larger than a family rowing boat that ply the Thames at Henley and Windsor. These boats were a reminder of the vibrant fishing industry that existed at the time of Jesus Christ, and from such an industry the Lord called at least four of his disciples. These boats, however, were moored some distance out from the beach, and each was supplied with oars and also an outboard motor, the only clue that I was living in the late 20th Century rather than during Christ's day. Also, at some nearby sheds, fishing nets were seen as if drying out. More authenticity to the Biblical narrative. Therefore, it was easy to imagine Jesus sitting in one of the boats as he delivered his parables to the crowd standing onshore, or the hustle and bustle as Peter, Andrew, James, and John rowed into the harbour with their night's catch and then laying out their nets in the rising sunshine to dry out.

Evenings spent at the shore of the lake were relaxing experiences. As the Galilean sun set behind me, its rays turned the mountainous banks of Syria into a pinkish hue and would have been an ideal setting for romantic couples. For me, such a scenic view allowed my imagination to go back two millennia to a far less peaceful hustle-and-bustle of fishermen haggling with the tax collector, hated by all and regarded as "unclean" by the Jews at the time, as the tax collector sided with their Roman oppressors.

A Visit to Capernaum.

Along with the fishing boats, a modern cruiser also plied the lake daily. It called at three points - Tiberias, on which the cruiser is based, Capernaum and Ein Gev, thus forming a triangular route across the lake. On one particular day, I bought a full-cruise ticket to visit Capernaum. Once on board, it was a pleasant, uneventful sailing to the area, an archaeological site with two distinct features: The synagogue where Jesus taught and the site of Peter's house.

The present ruin of the synagogue that now stands in Capernaum was built sometime later after the one where Jesus preached, but it's on the same site. So as I sat on one of its ledges, I soaked in the experience and wondered what it must have been like watching the Lord healing a man's withered hand and the uproar from the crowd packed within, for healing on the Sabbath. What different atmospheres between Jesus' time and mine! As I sat, there were no angry crowds muttering about how to execute such an individual. Instead, the shell of the ancient synagogue was deserted, other than just me sitting there, soaking in the experience and worshipping God. A few other people were also elsewhere at the site, but the quietness of the ruins seems to belie the active life in its heyday.

Nearby was the traditional site of St Peter's house. Again in 1976, the ruin had nothing modern built above it. Like all other ruins, this too was open to the sky. It took the form of a series of concentric hexagons which stood out from the other ruins. This suggests an ancient church built on the site, as Peter himself was an ordinary fisherman and therefore unlikely to have lived in a house that was more prominent than others around it. Nowadays, a modern octagonal edifice is built over it, a Catholic church with a glass floor through which visitors can look down directly at the ruin beneath it.

St Peter's House as it was in 1976. Stock photo.

As I stood at the site, I thought how ironic that here was where Peter lived, perhaps his equivalent of a British council house in any suburban estate. Nothing special, or at least not what some of his neighbours had thought, as they even had the temerity to pick a hole through the roof, large enough to let down a disabled man to Jesus to be healed. Peter might have protested loudly at the apparent destruction of his home, but Jesus had more compassion for the crippled beggar and healed him - and also exalted Peter to lead a team of apostles after his Lord's passing. And so, the contrast between his house here in Capernaum and that of a basilica named after him in Rome (Week 4) couldn't have been more different! Especially since various theologians had questioned whether Peter had ever visited Rome in the first place, as being the apostle to the Jews, according to his own letter, his life ended at Babylon, far in the opposite direction from Rome, after ministering to the Jewish Diaspora.

St Peter's House now, with a church built over it.

My day ended with another pleasant sailing from Capernaum to Ein Gev, then back to Tiberias where I made my way back to my room in Hotel Aviv.

Daily Bits and Bobs.

One morning, I was strolling along a lake promenade when I came across a group of young men swimming in the lake and apparently supervised by an older gentleman sitting nearby. Shortly after, the older man summoned the whole group, with each individual climbing out of the water and dressed without barely drying themselves, as they seemed to rely on the warm sunshine to do that. Then they were led to a building site, where an unfinished hotel was standing, the first of the modern skyscraper hotels that will draw in the future tourist. This will be the Leonardo Plaza Hotel Tiberias, one of many such buildings springing up in Israel, including those at Tel Aviv, the Dead Sea and Eilat. 

In another incident, at the same spot as the group of young men swimming earlier, a couple of Israeli soldiers made a failed attempt to snatch the silver wristwatch from my arm. With a sharp, accurate skill, one of them flicked at the stainless steel fastener with his intention to release the strap while they ran away with the watch. But the mechanism was designed to merely loosen the chain strap to enable it to pass over my clenched hand. Thus, after feeling a hard tug on the upper arm, the two men fled empty-handed, leaving the watch loose around my wrist. At first, I was shocked at the quick, sudden incident. Then, seeing the watch safe with me, my shock turned to amusement as I refastened it.

Nazareth.

During my stay in Galilee, I made my way to the Egged bus station to board a bus to spend a day in Nazareth. On this route, some buses terminated at Nazareth. Others then proceeded to Haifa, Israel's major port on the Mediterranean coast. I alighted at Nazareth, an inland town that had much to do with the early life of Jesus Christ, beginning with the Church of the Annunciation, a large edifice topped with a cupola, shaped to resemble a cone. I believe this might have been purposely built to symbolise the rays of light shining upon Mary from heaven as she was told by an angel that she was pregnant and will give birth to the long-awaited Messiah.

It whole church looked new when I entered it and has two levels. From the upper level, I had a superb view of the main apse, and I wondered whether I was visiting a museum instead of a church. And indeed, it did look remarkably new, lacking that fragrance of centuries of incense burning and the classic tired look of age, as with the Church of the Holy Sepulchre or the Church of the Nativity and its Orthodox decor. And of little wonder, as this basilica was completed in 1969, thus making it 17 years younger than me. It was built over a grotto marking the traditional site where Mary was visited by the angel. Even then, coming to think of it, the two important events associated with Jesus' infancy seems to occur in a cave. So the Annunciation occurred in a cave at Nazareth, and the birth of Jesus took place in a cave in Bethlehem. This site selection was the work of Helena, the mother of Emperor Constantine in the 4th Century AD, and was upheld by the popes ever since. She also identified the exact site of the Crucifixion and Burial, both within the existing Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Although at the time I was fully convinced of its authenticity when I visited the site of the Crucifixion for the first time in 1976, it was after that I had to take everything in with a little more caution.

Yet in Nazareth, if only I had a guidebook. There were more interesting places I could have visited in Nazareth. Instead, I visited the Basilica of the Annunciation without, for example, visiting the church of Joseph's carpentry workshop which is - again built over a cave. Instead, I spent the remainder of the day walking through the streets of the town before boarding the bus back to Tiberias.

The Church of the Annunciation, Nazareth.

The week I spent in Tiberias, sitting whilst meditating as I gazed across the Sea of Galilee was indeed an enlightening experience and also had a greater sense of independence. However, living in a private home in Silwan proved an advantage. If it wasn't for Abed, I would have run into financial trouble midway through the holiday. Furthermore, I may not have visited Hebron, the Dead Sea and Jericho without the companionship of my host who saw me as a friend in need rather than a touring customer. Indeed, Throughout the whole trip, I was still very inexperienced and naive. I had a lot to learn - and learn I did as I vacated my room a week after arrival to board the bus back to Jerusalem.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NEXT WEEK: As I fly home from the Middle East and prepare for North America, I hope to include some photos I took during the 1976 trip to Israel.

Travel Biography - Week 7.

My visit to the fortress sitting over the Cave of Machpelah has set my faith in the historicity of the Bible in stone. I could add that I now personally refer to this edifice as The Stone Bible, as its floor covers the Biblical cave that contains the bones of three men and their wives, the Hebrew patriarchs who were the founders of the nation of Israel, and whose ground it now stands as a sentinel, witnessing to the rest of the world of the Covenant God made with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob that He would give this land on which it stands to their descendants.

Dead Sea Bathing.

But our journey didn't end there. Before setting off in the first place, Abed my host and a self-made guide, asked if I would like to have a dip in the Dead Sea. Indeed, I was keen. A Sherut escorted us from Hebron to drop us off at a beach on the northern tip of the Dead Sea, or the Hebrew, Yam HaMelakh (Sea of Salt) or the Arabic, Bahr Lut (Sea of Lot) is actually an elongated lake some 295 metres below sea level, nestling within the Great Rift Valley, approximately a 4,000-mile, 6,500 km long crack in the Earth between Syria and Mozambique, caused by the movement of two continental plates.

Floating in the Dead Sea, stock photo.

Abed and I arrived at a beach resort in Kalia, on the northern end of the lake and near the international border with Jordan. As with Bethlehem and Hebron, the lake's western side is in the West Bank territory, which continues southwards until just north of Masada and the start of the Negev Desert. Here, the Israel/West Bank boundary swings eastwards to end at the international boundary with Jordan, cutting the lake into two territorial halves and extending to the northern tip of the Red Sea, just east of the resort of Eilat.

I stripped to my swimming trunks and waded into the saline water. At Kalia, the beach sloped very gently into the lake and had to wade up between fifty and a hundred metres to reach chest depth. But once at that spot, I felt as if I was pushed up by the density of the oily water and I was able to lie on my back as if lying on a soft mattress.

A little of the water managed to get into my eyes, and they burned severely for a short while. Likewise, any drop entering my mouth burned my tongue. This was due to the high 25% salination of the water that has made the lake uninhabitable to any aquatic life, whether it'll be fish or crustaceans. It's this which gives the sea its uniqueness. Somewhat unlike the aptly-named Salt Lake in Utah, I visited a year later in 1977. This American lake with the world's second highest saline content was the home of countless tiny shrimps.

The heavy air that hung over the Dead Sea was also totally silent and calm. There was no usual sound of human activity that characterises the beach of a typical holiday resort. Instead, this beach was all but deserted, the silence of death hung over the calm, saline water, and the hot sun beat down.

Jericho.

After the swim, I donned my shirt after a cool, freshwater shower. Then the two of us began to make our way by sherut to our final stop, Jericho, or at least the ancient ruins.

The site covers a small area, itself on a high mound known as Tell. Characteristic of many sites of ancient cities in the Middle East, as a new city was built directly over an older one without any demolishing in between, some of the buildings slowly crumbled to form a solid mound, basically a man-made hill or tell rising from either a natural rise or otherwise a flat plain.

Jericho lies nearly 15 miles or 24 km northeast of Jerusalem and holds the longstanding Biblical story of how Joshua ordered his army to march once around the city for six days. On the seventh day, the army then marched around the outside of the city seven times before the walls of the city fell on themselves, allowing the Israelites to run into it and set the city on fire. Whether marching around the perimeter of the settlement 13 times in a week had any geologic effect or not, the fact that how a brisk walk around the outside of its walls could have been possible was confirmed by the overall size of the entire site. It was no larger than Trafalgar Square in London, typical of any Canaanite city-state in this part of the world, each settlement having had its own "king" or chief, and a formidable army. Unfortunately, I didn't see any remains of such a fallen wall. Neither had the archaeologist ever seen it, thus to them, throwing doubt on the historicity of the Bible.

Abed and I stood on a raised walkway and I was able to look down into the site. The most outstanding ruin was that of a tower, believed to be Neolithic. According to the secular archaeologist, that is around 7,000-8,000 BC. Back in 1976, as I stood on the walkway, I could see a small doorway leading into the tower, hinting that the structure was hollow and could accommodate people. However, according to more recent photography, this cavity has now been walled up. As for the fallen walls of Joshua's day, unbelievers use its absence to justify their fictionalising of the Bible. Yet I ponder. Why should the rubble last so long without crumbling into dust or the building blocks ransacked by pillagers? Or even recycled when the city was rebuilt under King Ahab around 850 BC? The very fact that I saw the tower so perfectly intact, even now I wonder whether this structure was rebuilt around 850 BC. If so, it would fit well within Biblical chronology and also explain the rubble's disappearance.

The Tower at ancient Jericho as I saw it.

Preparing for the Journey North.

At the Spihu's home, there were times when all I wanted to do was to sit in their front yard and even watch the Arab children play in the nearby school playground. The bay outside the house was also the terminus of the local bus route, a short journey to the Arab Bus Station at Nablus Road. One afternoon, I watched Ghanem do some home plumbing work as thoroughly as any trained professional. Quite an achievement in my opinion, as the schoolboy teenager will study to become a medic in the years to come. I also had an opportunity of an experience to sleep under the stars. This was possible as all houses in Silwan were flat-roofed and surrounded by a parapet. However, in a desert environment, the night grew chilly, and I didn't sleep that well.

On another afternoon, a wedding took place among Abed's friends across the street. I was invited as a guest of honour to their reception that was held downstairs in the front yard. Here in the UK, when thinking of weddings and the reception that follows, one envisages all the men dressed in a suit and tie, coupled with the best of traditional respectability. When I was in Silwan, I saw that everyone was dressed in their normal casuals, and with me wearing just an open-collar summer shirt for a top, I fitted in well. But the reality of Biblical life drew into sharp focus when dinner had to be prepared.

A live sheep was brought into the yard, and struggling somewhat as if it knew its fate. One of the hosts then slit its throat, and the animal lay thrashing its legs as the blood flowed into a central drain, as if the opening was located specifically for the purpose. Before waiting for the sheep to take its last breath, the host then skinned it alive, the meat was then cut appropriately and roasted before serving. If the reader feels ill at ease with the way I have gone into detail, then consider how people lived daily, especially during Bible times. When pouring into the Bible, I can glibly read:

He took a sheep (or a bull) and prepared it before his guests.

But this experience has brought everything into proper focus, and as I see it, a better way to experience Biblical life rather than just read about it and then attend a theological college.

The time arrived when I wanted a bit of time on my own and to explore the Galilee region. The Spihu family was happy with me making the journey and asked if I return to them before flying back home to the UK. I agreed.

The Egged Bus departed from the Israeli bus station at Jaffa Road to make its 2.5-hour journey north, along the Jordan River, to finish at Tiberias on the west coast of the Sea of Galilee, itself about 100 miles, 164 km north of Jerusalem.  It was evening when I arrived at the main town of Galilee, with the lake so impressive as I looked east towards Syria which, in 1976, still borders much of the eastern shore before the annexation of the Golan Heights by Israel on December 14, 1981.

But I still have to look for accommodation, as I was planning to spend a week here. During my search, I came across a hospice with young Christian men milling around. Very much westernised, these believers were about my age, and I approached them to ask about where I can stay. They weren't able to accommodate me themselves but instead recommended a hotel further down the road. Soon, I found the place, Aviv Hotel, south of the town and within easy reach of all the local attractions.

I was relieved when a room was offered. Thus began my lone stay in the Galilean region. As I made my way to the gently-lapping beach of the lake, made so famous as the site of Jesus' early ministry, I just sat down and meditated in the night.

Lake Tiberias, the Sea of Galilee, the Lake Kinneret, or the Lake of Gennesaret, whatever name you choose, refers to the harp-shaped freshwater lake which is 200 metres below sea level. Its location is right at the northern tip of the Great Rift Valley, and on the far side, the mountains of Syria are clearly seen, and this view is maintained right the way through along the Jordan River, across the Dead Sea, along the edge of the Negev Desert to the Red Sea, and along the Gulf of Aqaba.  

The Sea of Galilee is fed by the northern tributary of the Jordan River which has its source in the Mt Herman area of the Golan Heights. From it flows the main Jordan River south to the Dead Sea, where the latter, without an outlet, maintains its depth through evaporation. Also, unlike the Dead Sea, Lake Kinneret is abundant with fish, of which a fishing industry thrived at the time of Jesus, and from this flotilla of boats, Jesus called at least four of his disciples - Peter, Andrew, James and John.

The Sea of Galilee.

Much of the week, I spent at Tiberias itself, just taking in the calmness of the lake. Just north of the town was the aptly named Lido Beach, and for a small fee, I was able to swim in the lake. A little distance out from the beach was a dividing wall. The area within this wall was for families with small children. Beyond the wall, a much larger area was for stronger swimmers in deeper water. And it was in this deeper water where I thoroughly enjoyed the coolness from the hot Mediterranean sunshine.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Week: Capaunum and Nazareth.

Travel Biography - Week 6.

Life in the Spihu household in Silwan, East Jerusalem, in the middle of 1976 wasn't much different to any western home. Daily life continued as usual. Ghanem attended high school, and Abed went out into the streets with a tray selling pottery (a task shared by his younger brother when not at school) whilst their uncle busied himself with some local maintenance, and his wife dealt with the housework, including cooking. One major difference between a Christian and secular home was during the Islamic call to prayer, Abed's uncle arrived home, crouched in the middle of the lounge floor and recited his Muslim prayers completely oblivious of my presence. 

Turkish Bath Visit.

It was on one evening that my host, Abed, along with a couple of his friends, decided to visit a Turkish bath located in the Old City, and I was invited to accompany them. After making our way along the Kidron Valley towards St Steven's Gate facing the Mount of Olives (where tradition holds as being near the site of the first Christian martyr, recorded in Acts 7) the four of us arrived at an insignificant-looking entrance along the souk and entered.

We sat in this beautiful ornate waiting room. The interior was furnished with a traditional eastern decor depicting Turkish culture. However, although impressed with my surroundings, I wasn't feeling 100%. I recognised the symptoms. I was aware that I had caught a bug, and I'm about to go down with a fever.

But this didn't deter me from wanting to try out this new experience. Back at home, I was already a sauna addict, and by trying out a traditional Turkish bath, I was able to compare one with the other.

Eventually, after a wait of around 30-45 minutes, we were allowed through into an antechamber where we all stripped naked. Then we went into a larger room with a steam fountain at one side, filling the chamber with steam but with little significant heat, thus, I rated the Turkish bath unfavourably with the Finnish sauna. Although I was longing to feel some heat, nevertheless, I could see how those three Arab young men were so familiar with the facility, just as I'm so familiar with the sauna back home, that what I felt was a lack of heat was normal for them. This was the real significance of Travel, to become acquainted, and possibly blend with their cultural habits I was, up till then, unaware of.

The Turkish Bath in Jerusalem looked a little like this.

After returning to the family home, I began to feel unwell. The next morning, I asked the lady of the house if she had a thermometer, and with it, she took my temperature and advised me to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Too bad there was no "quick fix" medicine such as Paracetamol, especially under the trade name of Neurofon or Beecham's Three-in-One. With such medication, by the end of the day, I would have been well on the road to recovery. Instead, I had to lay in bed for three days - such precious time in Israel forever lost. At least I was fed and nursed into full recovery by the morning of the fourth day after the Turkish bath experience.

Bethlehem.

Once recovered, I made my way alone to the Arab bus station to board a bus to Bethlehem. This bus station, on Nablus Road outside the Old City but close to the Damascus Gate, was noisy and chaotic when compared to the Egged Bus Station of Jewish management, about a mile away along Jaffa Road. At the Arab Bus station, salesmen were shouting as they presented their cheap merchandise on trays, adding to the noise and bustle. Even the bus drivers shouted as each called to each other as the bus pulled out.

Some distance outside Jerusalem, the bus halted at a checkpoint and we all had to show the inspector boarding the bus our passports. This was because we were leaving Israel proper and entering the West Bank of Palestine, where Bethlehem was located approx five miles south of Jerusalem Old City.

Having arrived at the small Arab town of Bethlehem, it didn't take long to find its main attraction, the Church of the Nativity. It was a huge structure with a very small entrance doorway. This was to force everyone to slow down and bow when entering.

I strolled through the ancient Eastern Orthodox chapel, fascinated by the coloured baubles hanging at the altar and elsewhere within the basilica. However, near the altar, a stairway led to the crypt. It's within this underground natural cave that I saw the 14-pronged star marking the exact site of the birth of Christ. This was the icon that Mr Chapman, our school deputy head, was telling us about (Week 4) nine years previously. As I knelt next to it, I thought about this ex-military officer taking a break from his Mandate duties and paying homage to this very icon. If only he foreknew back then that I had taken heed of his testimony. Indeed, he would have been impressed!

The 14 prongs radiating from the star were no accident or mere coincidence. Tradition says that they represent each of the 3x14 generations separating Jesus Christ from Abraham as recorded in Matthew's Gospel. They were the 14 from Abraham to David, 14 from David to the exile to Babylon, and 14 from Babylon to the birth of Christ. The 14 prongs also symbolise the 14 Stations of the Cross of the Catholic Catechism. Close by, a ledge marks the site of the Manger where the newborn was placed after birth.

The Cross of Christ.

In 1976, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the Christian Quarter of the Old City was not accessible to the lone tourist without a guide. Therefore, whenever the church was open during the day, a group of young Muslim men stood in the forecourt just outside its doors. Whenever a tourist or even a couple approached to enter the edifice, the visitor was obliged to accompany the waiting guide and of course, pay his fee. The guide then escorted the tourist around the interior of the church.

This was very unlike my second visit in 1993 when large crowds piling in had eliminated such Muslim guides, but the near-overcrowding, including a long queue to the sepulchre, made the whole experience far more "touristy" than a pilgrimage. I find it amazing, perhaps rather shocking, that the rise of tourism over just seventeen years could dramatically change the atmosphere within, transforming a site for prayer and meditation into little more than a museum.

But going back to 1976, Ghanem offered to accompany me to the church. As we approached the doors, there rose an argument between Ghanem and one of the guides standing outside. No doubt, to the latter, there was a visitor who will not hand over the much-needed payment that would have placed food on his table. No wonder the door guide was irate! But my own personal escort won the argument and the two of us then entered the church that was empty of people except for an occasional clergyman.

The 14-pronged Star of Bethlehem. Stock photo.

After a tour around, the climax came as I stood with trembling excitement at the very spot where the Cross of Christ stood, which was marked by a lifesize crucifix with the image of Jesus hanging upon it. To get to it, a short flight of steps at each end of a raised platform seem to confirm the truth in the hymn we all sang at school under Mr Chapman's directorship, that there is a green hill far away outside the city walls. There, our Lord was crucified, he died to save us all. Only that there were no green hills of English landscape model around the Jerusalem area. Rather, the whole desert landscape on which the city was built was more of a golden brown, so well attested by the neighbouring Mount of Olives.

The Sepulchre itself, just a few metres away from the site of the Crucifixion, was represented by a small white building within the main church apse. Back then in 1976, it was inaccessible to the public, but when my wife Alex and I visited in the year 2000, all we saw inside was a solid marble ledge at one side within a tiny marble room.

The Sherut to Hebron.

Abed, with the agreement of his uncle, showed me the sherut, a communal taxi that takes up from six to eight passengers, each paying his share of the fee. Unlike the conventional taxi which takes the sole passenger to his chosen destination, each sherut is destined for each particular destination, very much like a bus or train service. The one Abed was leading me to, parked in a specially assigned sherut bay in East Jerusalem, was destined for Hebron. Except that instead of paying his own share of the taxi fare, I had to pay for him as well as for myself. But it wasn't too expensive. Indeed, this trip will prove to be an enlightening experience.

Abed and I arrived at Hebron, and we found ourselves standing outside what looks to be a Roman fortress. As we approached, I saw several Orthodox Jews milling around. On their foreheads, they had a black wooden or leather cube tied around their heads. I have seen these whilst walking through the souks of the Old City. When such Jews passed by, I thought, Wow! Pharisees! Did they really look like this?

The little black box is known as Phylactery, and Jesus mentions these in the Gospels. These little boxes contain portions of the Scriptures, and devoted Jews wear them during times of prayer and as a reminder of God's requirement to keep his laws. It was from an instruction taken from Exodus 13:16, but by Jesus' day, the motive for wearing them was to show others of their devotion to God.

As we approached the building, we realised that headwear was mandatory when entering the building. Since this site does not offer free Yamaka or Kippah as the Western Wall does, we had no choice but to buy a hat. This time, Abed bought his own headwear and I bought mine.

We entered the fortress. This, so I was told, was the burial site of three Hebrew patriarchs and their wives. They were Abraham and his wife Sarah, Isaac and his wife Rebekah, and Jacob and his wife Leah. All were buried in the Cave of Machpelah. Around me were what I thought were coffins, and I mistakenly believed that I was standing in the cave. In fact, I was standing inside the building itself, and what I was looking at were not the coffins, but the cenotaphs of the patriarchs. The cave itself, as I found out years later, was under the floor of the fortress, sealed and of no access for the public or clergyman alike.

If I were to say that the survival of the whole of mankind rests with the existence of this cave, would I be exaggerating? Would I be talking any sense? According to the Prophet Jeremiah in the Old Testament of the Bible, he wrote that if we humans can reach the foundation (the core) of the earth, count all the stars in the sky or stop the night following the day, then God will break his covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob for all the sins committed by Israel.

The sheer impossibility for us humans to override God's universal creation speaks for itself. As long as God's covenant with the Jews stands, the whole of mankind will never be obliterated! The fortress itself stands as a testimony to this and other promises. It was completed by Herod the Great a few years before the birth of Christ, and having survived the Roman onslaught of AD 70 which razed Jerusalem and its Second Temple to the ground, the fortress of Machpelah survives intact to this day and it's used as a centre of both Jewish and Islamic worship.

Aerial view of the Fortress at Hebron.

The fortress also acts as a sentinel standing as a witness that the land on which it's built belongs to the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the latter who was renamed Israel, a name meaning, Striving with God, and itself an anagram of- 

Isaac,  

Sarah, 

Rebekah, 

Abraham, 

Elohim, 

Leah.

The name also means that God (Elohim) is in the midst of his people and also has a special compassion for Leah, who felt unloved by her own husband Jacob. Thus, the six bodies buried in the cave under the floor of the fortress spell Israel.

But all this I learned since then and not back then. Rather, as Abed stood around, I took in the interior of the fortress, with a mistaken belief that I was standing within the Cave of Machpelah and the cenotaphs around me were actual coffins. In those days I was so naive, such a spiritually young fresher of this fascinating faith and the historical truth of the Bible, and probably aware that I have a long, long way to go.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NEXT WEEK: Solo backpacking continues to the Sea of Galilee.

Travel Biography - Week 5.

My first of four trips to the Middle East was in 1976, with three more trips to follow. These were in 1993, 1994, and in the year 2000. However, it was in 1976 that I first became familiar with the walled Old City of Jerusalem with its narrow roofed streets free from motorised traffic, whilst mostly male pedestrians saunter along, frequently interrupted by a donkey-drawn cart filled with merchandise for restocking the shops that lined the aromatic pungent street.

After entering the kilometre-square enclosure via Jaffa Gate, I passed by the Citadel on my right and headed east down Souk David on a slight downhill gradient. Back in 1976, the predominant market was that of so many different varieties of spices. Each shop had its own display outside, filling the air with its pungency and creating an environment very different and more historical than the streets of the new city with its wide, traffic-laden streets.

A street, or souk, in Jerusalem Old City.

Souk David then intersects with Soukan Az-Zeit which includes a short stretch of the meat market before the fruit and vegetable market began and continued northward. Here, at the meat market, I was taken back by the sight of decapitated sheep's heads, complete with their eyes staring back at me. Apparently, a popular item for a typical Arab family table. Whilst Souken Az-Zeit continued north towards the ornate Damascus Gate and south through the Jewish Quarter towards the Western Wall, past the intersection, the street I was sauntering down continued as Souk As-Silseleh eastwards towards the Temple Mount.

Here, a security officer guarded the narrow gate, Bab As-Silseleh, and I had to go through a security check before he allowed me into the wide-open space of Temple Mount which was - and still is - dominated by two principal buildings, the Dome of the Rock and El Aqsa Mosque.

Standing at the site where God had his dwelling during Old Testament times and also standing by the spot where Abraham was ready to sacrifice his son Isaac, both made up what was a stunning experience! Except that the summit of Mount Ophel was still in its natural state during Abraham's day when he built his altar on the summit, now covered by the Dome. Further downhill to the south, Abraham must have looked at a small, walled settlement, Salem, built by the Jebusites, an offshoot tribe of the ancient Canaanites. Outside its eastern wall, a small spring provided one of the few water sources in this otherwise wild desert country.

Although I didn't have the word TOURIST tattooed across my forehead, I might as well have. We who visit, especially independently as I always had, are prime targets of Arab self-made "guides" who approach an unsuspecting tourist and begin to comment on the environment the visitor happened to be in, whether it's a mosque, a church, a historical or an archaeological site. Thus, the tourist is suddenly caught in a spider's web - he must pay a fee demanded by the unwanted escort. So, more than once - probably as many as three times in a day - I was approached by a single Muslim and immediately commented on what was nearby. Had I been loaded with adequate funds, I probably wouldn't have minded too much, as I was interested in my surroundings. But at my present financial state, I felt very concerned, fearful even. I even recall being escorted to the interior of the El Aqsa Mosque to receive a one-to-one lecture on the design of the Mosque's ornate windows.

The last thing I wanted was to create enemies in this faraway foreign land with nobody to support me. So, at first, I paid up without a fuss. But it didn't take long to dig at my survival instincts and quickly learn how to say No firmly but also politely. It was after such "guides" begin to get the message that I was gradually left alone. The same applied to the shopkeepers who would make an effort to entice the lone tourist into their shops and encourage them to buy.

However, I caught the attention of one "guide" who was more cautious than the others I had already encountered. He took a more genuine interest and asked me if I would accompany him to his home in Silwan to see his family. Feeling in need of a friend, I accompanied him.

Silwan is an Arab residential estate built in the Kidron Valley between the southern flanks of the two hills, the Mts of Olives and Ophel. From his home, the south wall of Temple Mount was clearly visible as it towered over us at a distance. Rather than his parents, so he says, he lived with his Aunt and Uncle in a smart, modern home built on a rocky ledge, as all the flat-roofed houses were in the Middle East. The young man told me his name, Abed Spihu, and his younger brother Ghanem. The Aunt was very hospitable and began to cook me a meal. Then they wanted to know where I was staying.

When I answered that it was the Ron Hotel and quoted its price, he was astonished how it was so expensive. With the family's agreement, he then encouraged me to vacate it and spend the rest of my stay at their home for a cheaper rental fee. The idea seemed fine to me. So that evening, I returned to the hotel and vacated it, much to the hotelier's surprise. I paid for the one night, and even the friendly saint I chatted with that morning, seemed more distant and uncommunicative. I then found my way to the Arab home where I was to stay for the next ten days at a lower rental fee.

Abed learned of my financial state and agreed with my instincts that I was inadequately funded. He then showed me how to write a telegram to my parents back at home, and to transfer funds from my account to a bank in East Jerusalem. He then told me that if my family take heed, I should have the money in about three days. And so it happened. Three days later, I walked into the bank and, using my passport, gave my identification in exchange for a fresh stack of Traveller's Cheques.

 Pottery was bought from a street salesman in 1976.

Staying at a family's home instead of a hotel does have advantages. However, this home environment was nothing like my grandparent's home in Turin in 1966. Rather, after Arabic, their second language was English, and thus, we were all easily understood. Secondly, rather than feel isolated by my family's language barrier, here in Silwan, I was treated like a guest of honour. Also, being alone without another adult in a land without any lasting peace astonished Abed in particular, and he kept asking me how I can travel so far from the UK without company.

Each day, a nearby mosque called for prayer from its minaret, and the sound of a male's voice echoed across the Kidron Valley giving almost a creepy feeling as I looked around such a historic location, as if the spirits of the long-dead could hear the recital. I watched the head of the house crouch down near me in Islamic prayer as regularly as a ticking clock. Meanwhile, his wife was very generous with the food, and her cooking of Arab fare was tasty and nutritious. However, I had to get used to their coffee. Not only it was a black expresso, but thick enough almost to stand a spoon in.

During the day, Abed went around Jerusalem selling trinkets and pieces of antique pottery whilst his younger brother attended school. From him, I bought an ancient flask and a Jewish oil lamp with the relief of a Menorah etched on the front.

Pottery was abundantly sold in the Holy Land during that period. Some were genuine antiques, others were fake and still, others were modern and the sellers said so. Therefore, some weeks after returning home, I visited the British Museum in London and made an appointment to show these pieces to an archaeologist who works there. We met at a secluded spot, away from the main exhibits, and I showed him the pieces. The professor examined them closely and declared their genuineness. The oil lamp was most likely owned by a Jewish family around the Byzantine period, hence the relief of the Menorah - it was to remind the original owners of their Jewish ancestral heritage. As for the flask, it was slightly older, and the powdery covering on its body wasn't fake. Rather, it was to keep the water cool during transport in hot weather.

Both pieces are in my home to this day.

Back at Silwan, Ghanem, under the advice of his uncle, suggested that I go with him to a 2,700-year-old tunnel, excavated by ancient Israel when Jerusalem was under threat of attack and opened in 701 BC. Believing that this man was the site's caretaker, I didn't hesitate to pay my fee to enter the tunnel. In fact, the site was Government-owned and in 1976, it was free to visit by anyone who wanted the experience. But I didn't know that back then.

The conduit was known as Hezekiah's Tunnel, now more known as the Tunnel of Siloam. This was served by the same spring which served ancient Salem of Canaanite days. In 701 BC, when the city was under threat of an invasion by the Assyrians, King Hezekiah, a descendent of David via Solomon, had the tunnel dug to divert the spring water into the city and out of the enemy's reach. As the Bible itself says,

It was Hezekiah who blocked the upper outlet of the Gihon spring and channelled the water to the west side of the City of David. He succeeded in everything he did.

2 Chronicles 32:30 cf 2 Kings 20:20.

The gate at the tunnel's entrance at Gihon was shut, barring access to the tunnel. However, no questioning thoughts entered my mind as the two of us made our way to the Pool of Siloam, with each of us holding a long wax candle. The exit gate was open, and we had easy access to the pool down a flight of steps. With the two candles lit, these provided adequate illumination in an otherwise frighteningly dark underground tunnel! Fortunately, the length of the wax ensured that we would be safe throughout the entire tour. 

Inside Hezekiah's Tunnel, 1976.

Normally, tourists and pilgrims enter the 553-metre tunnel at Gihon and exit at the pool. However, during the circumstances back then, we entered the tunnel at the pool end, only to sink to waist level at a sump dug just inside. The floor then raised to a level where the water was just ankle-deep, and the floor kept to that level all the way to the spring that fed it. However, to keep the water constantly flowing, there is a continual 0.06% downhill gradient between the Spring of Gihon and the Pool of Siloam - showing the magnificent accuracy of those clever ancient engineers!

However, the height of the ceiling varies. for several metres from the pool, the ceiling was well above head height, maybe as much as three metres. Then the ceiling lowers to a little above my head, I guess, over two metres in height. But there is a section where the ceiling lowers to around 1.5 metres in height, which made me crouch as I passed through. I guess, not very ideal for claustrophobics.

No other tourists were visiting the tunnel, unlike now - so I read on the Internet - when one has to book in advance for joining one of the numerous daily tour groups. Furthermore, back in 1976, since the gate at Gihon was shut, the only way out was to first wade through the tunnel "the wrong way" to the Spring from the pool, then at Gihon, turn around and do the whole tunnel back to the pool. When it comes to good old King Hezekiah, I must have been a very unique tourist indeed, taking an out-and-back trip into his conduit three times throughout the holiday, or six through-walks altogether. As long as Ghanem's uncle was happy for some extra cash, his nephew was happy to take me through the tunnel three times, the last walk taken just before I took a bus to Tel Aviv before boarding the plane home.

But it was not the time to fly home, as we will see, I still need to relate to a Palestinian wedding reception, a trip to Bethlehem, Hebron, to the Dead Sea, Jericho, and finally up north on my own whilst the Spihu family remained at home. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NEXT WEEK - a visit to an ancient building on which its presence means that the whole of humankind will never be annihilated, and a visit to Jesus' favourite area for teaching.

Travel Biography - Week 4.

In the early 1970s, my friendship with Andrew Duncan Stevenson was at his height. Not only did we fly to Spain together in 1972, but we also had shorter holidays together here in the UK. This includes Easter weekend in Penzance, Cornwall in 1973. Also remembered was the day out to Swansea, South Wales, by train with Andrew, accompanied by his mother. Not long after, he met Ritsu, a student from Japan, and the two married whilst I attended their wedding. Since then, we kept in touch, but his new life as husband and wife brought those trips away together to a close.

1975 Trip to Rome.

Then followed by the 1973 initial sole trip to Naples, described in my last blog, and then another trip to Italy, two years later in 1975 by using the same boat train route to Rome, where I found a suitable hotel near the terminus station. This trip was to check out the country's ancient capital, including visits to the Colosseum, the Circo Maximi, and the Forum. I also spent the day at the Vatican. As I craned my neck looking up inside the dome, around its perimeter was the Latin script of Matthew 16:18, which reads, You are Peter, and upon this rock, I will build my church.

At first, I believed that Jesus was in Rome with his disciples when he said this, whilst pointing to an area of undeveloped ground in or near ancient Rome, on which the church would be built. But when I read that he spoke those words in Caesarea Philippi, north of the Sea of Galilee, my attention was switched to the centuries-old controversy on whether this "rock" was Peter, the confession, or Jesus himself. My visit also included a tiring climb up the dome to the pinnacle overlook, known as the Cupola, from where there were magnificent views of the city. Also, the flat rooftop was accessible from a door at the base of the dome, on which stood the giant white statues of Jesus and his apostles, all looking down at the square below.

Eight of the Twelve Apostles on the rooftop of St Peters

Perhaps, I need to add a detail here. During the 1970s, it was much easier to visit the attractions than today. For the Basilica San Pietro, all I had to do was approach the wide-open doors and walk straight in. No queues, no admission fees (although there was a fee paid for the Cupola) and no security checks. 

The same applied to the Colosseum where gladiators fought to the death and where Christians were also executed under the orders of Emperor Nero, and the Circus Maximus, the remains of a race track where horse-drawn chariots contested against each other, very well featured in the Charlton Heston 1959 film Ben Hur. I just walked straight in, and the splendour of the ancient monument was spread before my eyes. The Forum was also easy to enter with no queues or security checks. The site is dominated by the three columns and pediment of the Temple of Castor and Pollux, now resembling a gigantic wicket in a cricket game, the nearby remaining row of eight columns making up the Temple of Saturn, the Arch of Septimus Severus, and other relics of Rome's glorious past.

The Holy Land, 1976.

However, when at work and not travelling, my new faith in Jesus Christ inspired me to read the Bible often and to get acquainted with it, both the Old and New Testaments. The Old Testament, beginning at Creation and the Flood, listed a genealogy starting from Adam and listing each generation right through to Jesus Christ himself. It took a while to realise that the Old Testament was centred on Israel, its people, its land and its capital city, Jerusalem.

I bought some books to help me get a clearer understanding of the Bible, although, at that time, I only had access to a King James version. One book I found helpful was the lavishly-illustrated Lion Handbook of the Bible, which was suitable for the family. Photos of many sites across Israel, including numerous archaeological sites, spawned a desire to visit the Holy Land for myself, and I had to find out how I could go about alone and not one of a tour group.

Here, for the proper context, I need to go back to my school days which were several years before conversion. Back in the sixties, I had no interest in religion. Instead, I had a strong belief in Darwinism, and organic evolution stood at the centre of my atheistic faith. It was during those days when, during one religious education lesson, I was assigned the task of drawing "the Temple on the Mount." And so, in total naivety, I imagined a high mountain like those making up the European Alps, which was seen in picture books, and also from the train in 1966 as we headed towards Turin. So, I drew an outline of a high mountain, and at its summit, a small square representing a building of some sort. The male teacher didn't comment.

However, it was one morning during a school assembly that our Deputy Headmaster, Mr Chapman, who would cane any pupil across the palm of the hand for merely talking or not wearing a tie within the premises, related to the whole school about his days in the Middle East as one of the many soldiers guarding the British Mandate, that he told us of his visit to the Star of Bethlehem. With that, I was interested. I wonder how many pupils at the time also took heed to his word?

After I was converted to Christ as Saviour towards the end of 1972, reading the Bible, first sporadically, then becoming more regular, made me stronger in my Christian faith, and it came as no real surprise that I wanted to visit and see these places for myself, to walk the paths Jesus himself walked, to visit where he was crucified and buried, and to visit other sites related to Holy Scripture. I then studied the political status of the Holy Land and with the ceasefire of 1969, I felt it was safe enough to throw all my eggs into one basket.

And so, in 1976, the year I also flew my parent's nest at a grand old age of 23 years old, I found myself walking past the lengthy British Airways booking office in Regent Street, towards the secured El Al Airline booking agency not far from Oxford Circus. At the desk, I was shown some offers. One was an El Al flight to Tel Aviv from London Heathrow at a discounted student price. I gladly took the offer and bought the airline ticket.

I was working in a precision engineering firm at the time of the booking, and after I told one or two fellow employees that I was preparing to visit the Middle East on my own, it was as if the whole factory reeled back in a shocking surprise! In the days when Spanish beach holidays were becoming the norm, a trip to the Middle East as a lone tourist was rather over the top, or so they thought. Quickly, I became the talk of the town.

The day finally arrived when I was given a lift to Heathrow Airport by my parents in their car, as they wanted to be sure that I had fully checked in - as this was for the Middle East and not for a popular Spanish holiday resort. However, once checked in and passed through the strict security into the departure lounge, I was alone, on my own.

The four-hour flight was smooth and uneventful, yet, I still felt a nervous disposition as I sat, looking out of the window at the gaping mouth of the jet engine built into the wing just a few feet away. Who would I find after arriving in Israel? What sort of people would I be expected to encounter?

After the airline landed at Lod Airport in Ben Gurion and had passed through passport control, I found myself standing outside in the dark. There were no buses as they stopped running for the evening. Instead, a cabbie beckoned me over and asked me in English where I wanted to go.

To Jerusalem, I answered.

Jump in, he called out.

As I sat in the taxi, I realised that I didn't bring enough funds to live on during my three-week stay! I said nothing, but inside I felt panicky. Indeed. I had to take each day at a time. So the very start wasn't good. I was wondering whether the taxi fare was about to wipe my wallet clean. As we reached the outskirts of West Jerusalem, he asked whether I had a hotel room reserved. When I answered in the negative, he then stopped in front of one at Jaffa Road. He then recommended this hotel, known as the Ron Hotel, facing the junction of Jaffa Road with Ben Yehuda Street, back then, busy with traffic. This very hotel would one day be the venue for the conference held by the Israeli Government with Yasser Arafat, the leader of the Palestine Liberation Organisation, or the PLO, over East Jerusalem in 1994, eighteen years later.

I paid his fee as the cabbie drove off, and I made my way to the reception. A sole gentleman greeted me and assigned me a room on the first floor by passing the key across the desk. I made my way upstairs.

The room was dated but large and comfortable. As I lay to rest on the bed, all of a sudden there was a loud boom outside, as if from a powerful gunshot. Indeed, this was nothing like Spain four years earlier, since there was no beach and no holiday gaiety. Rather, I was suddenly reminded that this was still a war zone between the Jews and the Arabs.

Jerusalem was basically two cities: The new Israeli city, where I was at the moment, and the Arab Old City of Biblical location. Finding the Old City wasn't going to be difficult, as I already have a map of the entire area, with the Old City on a larger scale printed on the reverse of the main map. It would prove very helpful to me. 

The next morning, after a sumptuous breakfast, I was greeted by an elderly Christian saint who took a great liking to me. However, after a chat, he stayed behind at the hotel while I began to make my way along Jaffa Road towards the Old City.

The currency for Israel in 1976 was the Israeli Pound, a monetary unit left by the British Mandate which occupied the territory for the thirty years between 1918 and 1948. Also, it was up until the 1967 Six-Day War between Israel and the Arab States of Jordan, Egypt and Syria, that a dividing wall passed through Jerusalem. The developing new city was in the fledgling State of Israel, its sovereign established when Britain ended its Mandate on May 14, 1948. The Old City was in Jordan, hence no one was able to easily cross from one side to the other. 

An elderly window cleaning customer whom I got on very well shared the story of his trip to the Middle East he made with his wife before 1967. Had he landed at Lod Airport at Ben Gurion, they wouldn't have been able to visit the Old City, as having landed in Israel, Jordan would have been hostile to them. So instead, they took a flight from London to Amman, Jordan's capital, and from there, they made their way to visit the Old City.

The west side of the Old City wall came into view, with Jaffa Gate, as I crossed a road junction to reach it. No dividing wall now. When the Israelis won the Six-Day War on June 10th, 1967, a large crowd of Jewish soldiers poured into the Old City and wept with thanks and gratefulness that after over 2,600 years, the Jews were once more having full access to their beloved Temple Mount as a sovereign nation!

I entered the Old City via Jaffa Gate and made my way down Souk David. I was intrigued with the narrowness of this covered Medieval street. Since there was no motorised traffic, the street was exceptionally quiet, except for the noise of the crowd and an occasional radio playing Arabic music with an accompanying female vocal characteristic of Middle Eastern culture. Just about all the pedestrians were male, and now and again a donkey with its driver would overtake, pulling behind it a cartload of merchandise to restock the shops that lined both sides of the street.

Down the middle of the street was a gutter, and into this where the donkey poop was brushed into and flushed down a drain that appeared at intervals along the gutter. Therefore, the prevailing aroma filling the air was that of the many spices on display outside the shops, the different varieties blending to create a pleasantly pungent aroma that makes walking down this roofed street a very pleasant and enlightening experience. 

Eventually, I arrived at the entrance to the Temple Mount, or in Arabic, Haram Al-Sharif. A narrow gate leading to it was guarded and I had to go through an inspection before entry. Inside, two buildings dominate: The Dome of the Rock and the nearby Al Aqsa Mosque, both Muslim properties. The Dome was of striking beauty. A blue octagonal structure topped with a golden dome that glowed in the summer sunshine. I was astonished as I believed, stood on the very site where the Temple altar used to be, the Holy Place and the Holy of Holies, the dwelling of God in the Old Testament. Eventually, I actually made my way inside the Dome of the Rock. The interior was indeed occupied by a large rock making the summit of the original Mt Ophel, the very site where Abraham was about to sacrifice his son Isaac. Towards the east, the Mount of Olives loomed, its golden brown soil making a vivid contrast with the blue sky, especially during the late afternoon.

Dome of the Rock, Temple Mount.

So, I was thinking, this was "the Temple on the Mount" of school-day confusion! The real thing was nothing like the drawing I submitted to the R.E. teacher a decade or so earlier. A mountain resembling the peak of Mont Blanc? Jerusalem was nothing like it. Rather, the temple stood on a level, ancient, a man-made platform that is still with us to this day. 

However, there is a darker side to this new experience in the Holy Land...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Week: A taste of Middle East hospitality as my finance was resolved.