After a myriad of hugs (and a possible overcharging) from the nuns at the convent, we made it down to the bus station, yet again. The bus was over thirty minutes late, and when we got on, we realized that Israeli busses do not sell one ticket per seat; they sell as many tickets as people who’d like to ride. We stood (and then sat on our bags) in the aisle of the bus for the entirety of the three-and-a-half-hour bus ride to Jerusalem. The ride was adventurous, filled with sharp turns and “s” curves that were too small for our large bus to accomplish easily.
The walls of the City of David loomed ahead. Under the archway of the city gate, created for one of the numerous conquerors, were men with falafel and breads in a wheelbarrow, calling out their wares. Awnings with curtains made of pashinas marked the beginning of the market, made up of segregated sections of vendors: Jews, Armenians, Arabs, and Christians. Jerusalem, like Nazareth and many of the towns in Israel, is a segregated town, where all the groups have particular sections of town in which they live and work.
We were caught by several vendors, offering us “special” deals. While bargaining is customary, I ended up getting caught by a purse vendor who went down on his prices, but then guilted me into buying a purse that was worth about 12 dollars max for 18 dollars, promising a five year warranty (HA!); as we were leaving Jerusalem, I realized the purse had a hole in it already! The persuasive vendors didn’t stop Jess and me from passing through the market every day we were in Jerusalem, to look at the tiles, jewelry, purses, and pashinas.
We spent our first day roaming the vendors’ stores and looking for “the dome” that Jess was dying to see. We couldn’t find it anywhere! Wasn’t it one of the main attractions in the city? As the sun set, we were left in the shadows of the old city; street lights popped on and we began asking around, still determined to find this dome. As we walked through the Arab section of town, an Arab man offered to show us the dome; he took us up to the roof of the Austrian Hospice building, where we had a lovely view of the city and the dome, which is known as The Dome of the Rock to the Muslims, and the Temple Mount to the Jews. The Jews believe that this is where the Holy of Holies lies below ground; if a Jewish person comes near the Holy of Holies, they could have spiritual death. Therefore, the Jews as a general rule, do not go too near The Dome of the Rock.
After taking a few photos and hearing about the battle for the Holy Land from the Muslim point of view, we descended the stairs of the Hospice building, kindly paid the man for his time, and went on our way….the wrong way. We were walking towards the western part of the city as we walked past a shop where two nicely dressed Arab gentlemen were talking.
“Where are you going?” They asked us. I answered that we were trying to get to the Jaffa Gate. The store owner pointed out that we were going in the wrong direction, and then insisted on having his friend walk us out of the old city.
Jess’ telephone rang as we began our walk, and she began chatting away with Faith, who’d just gotten engaged at home, as the Arab gentleman told me what we’d been walking towards.
“If you’d have kept going,” he explained, “you would have reached the Western area of the city, near the Dome of the Rock. The radical rabbis have gathered some young Jews and they have stormed the Dome, determined to get in. The Muslims are barring their entrance” (anyone who has any religious paraphernalia on other than Muslim things are barred from entry, but especially Jews). “Didn’t you see all the soldiers coming this way?”
That’s what the popping noises were! Soldiers’ gunshots keeping the peace. Well, Jess didn’t know it, but we were lucky those Muslim men were kind enough to lead us away from the confrontation.
We booked it on out of the city and into a nice mall, enjoyed ourselves window shopping for a while, then hailed a cab home.
The walls of the City of David loomed ahead. Under the archway of the city gate, created for one of the numerous conquerors, were men with falafel and breads in a wheelbarrow, calling out their wares. Awnings with curtains made of pashinas marked the beginning of the market, made up of segregated sections of vendors: Jews, Armenians, Arabs, and Christians. Jerusalem, like Nazareth and many of the towns in Israel, is a segregated town, where all the groups have particular sections of town in which they live and work.
We were caught by several vendors, offering us “special” deals. While bargaining is customary, I ended up getting caught by a purse vendor who went down on his prices, but then guilted me into buying a purse that was worth about 12 dollars max for 18 dollars, promising a five year warranty (HA!); as we were leaving Jerusalem, I realized the purse had a hole in it already! The persuasive vendors didn’t stop Jess and me from passing through the market every day we were in Jerusalem, to look at the tiles, jewelry, purses, and pashinas.
We spent our first day roaming the vendors’ stores and looking for “the dome” that Jess was dying to see. We couldn’t find it anywhere! Wasn’t it one of the main attractions in the city? As the sun set, we were left in the shadows of the old city; street lights popped on and we began asking around, still determined to find this dome. As we walked through the Arab section of town, an Arab man offered to show us the dome; he took us up to the roof of the Austrian Hospice building, where we had a lovely view of the city and the dome, which is known as The Dome of the Rock to the Muslims, and the Temple Mount to the Jews. The Jews believe that this is where the Holy of Holies lies below ground; if a Jewish person comes near the Holy of Holies, they could have spiritual death. Therefore, the Jews as a general rule, do not go too near The Dome of the Rock.
After taking a few photos and hearing about the battle for the Holy Land from the Muslim point of view, we descended the stairs of the Hospice building, kindly paid the man for his time, and went on our way….the wrong way. We were walking towards the western part of the city as we walked past a shop where two nicely dressed Arab gentlemen were talking.
“Where are you going?” They asked us. I answered that we were trying to get to the Jaffa Gate. The store owner pointed out that we were going in the wrong direction, and then insisted on having his friend walk us out of the old city.
Jess’ telephone rang as we began our walk, and she began chatting away with Faith, who’d just gotten engaged at home, as the Arab gentleman told me what we’d been walking towards.
“If you’d have kept going,” he explained, “you would have reached the Western area of the city, near the Dome of the Rock. The radical rabbis have gathered some young Jews and they have stormed the Dome, determined to get in. The Muslims are barring their entrance” (anyone who has any religious paraphernalia on other than Muslim things are barred from entry, but especially Jews). “Didn’t you see all the soldiers coming this way?”
That’s what the popping noises were! Soldiers’ gunshots keeping the peace. Well, Jess didn’t know it, but we were lucky those Muslim men were kind enough to lead us away from the confrontation.
We booked it on out of the city and into a nice mall, enjoyed ourselves window shopping for a while, then hailed a cab home.
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