Jerusalem Day1 Part 2

There was so much to write about the first time and I was too tired to write it all down. So here is the rest of my first day in Jerusalem. I hope to have my second trip this coming week.

So yes, we met Marwan, who gave us an impromptu tour. We met him by the front, where the stone is that they washed Jesus on after he was crucified. People gathered around, touching the stone with their hands, their faces, their clothes, their crosses to bless themselves and cleanse their souls. People prayed around it as if it were their last hope. Young children, elderly women, all crouched by the stone just to get a chance to touch it. To perhaps get close to the skin of Jesus.
After we walked around the stone, we made our way around the corner and down the steps to where Helena, Constantine's Mothers, put the old columns from the church that was there before together. This was also the place where she found half of the cross that they used to crucify Jesus.

We walked into an even lower level of the church where there was a statue of Helena high above on the wall, above the actual spot where she found part of the cross. The cross is now in Rome. We made our way all the way back upstairs, to the very top where all these gold crosses and candle holders and pictures are. In between these things is where they Jesus spent another one of his last moments. People lined up far along the wall to be able to kiss this part of the shrine.

We made our way back downstairs and around the corner to the tomb where Jesus was buried and resurrected. Hundreds of people gathered here all lined up to be able to go inside with candles and touch the insides of the tomb and see where Jesus laid. An amazing amount of candles were around the tomb. All the while Marwan, tells me to watch my step, to look this way and that, about the history of Jesus and even of Mohammad simply because I speak English and young Americans are supposed to be stupid. I take no offense though. I keep nodding and smiling, listening with great attention. Waiting to hear something I don't know. But alas. A miracle has a occurred. I'm not a stupid American. He's shocked at what I know about Islam and Christianity. He smiles and taps his cane.

"Eman, you are a good woman. It was very nice to meet you." He smiles again, his head slanting to the side so that he can hear better. Sun spots, freckle the side of the his face. Gray hairs twirl out of his ears. The distant memory of a once handsome man is hidden under wrinkles and giant balls of dead skin. He holds on to my arm as we walk.

"Thank you for showing us all of this. It's really beautiful. It was really great to meet you as well," I replied as I look back to my Aunt Maha who is all giggles. She holds 20 shekels for him, waiting to run out of the church as fast as we can. We can't even remember how we got this tour in the first place. My aunt walks around the last column to give him the money and holds onto my arm to leave. He salutes us.

"Asalam......" he begins as he walks into the crowd and gets lost in the massive wave of German tourists. I turn and look up at the ceiling. I knew something was up there and could feel it. I held my breath and exhaled into a smile. A giant picture of their version of Jesus is on the circular ceiling with apostles all around the outer part of the circle. I try to get the whole scene into focus on my camera. But the whole moment is so dizzying, so amazing. I snapped a few pictures, trying to get as much as I can. My aunt calls my name. She's very ready to leave.

We turned to leave the Church, passing the tomb, passing the stone and heading for the front door. Greek nuns lined up by the stone, waiting to touch it. One looked at me as if she knows me. Our eyes lock. I walked towards the door. Her brown eyebrows arched up in surprise. Maybe I looked like someone she use to know. My Aunt touches my arm. I looked away towards the door and didn't have the courage to look back again at the Nun as we went outside.


We made our way down the cobbled street back towards Al Aqsa a.k.a. The Dome of the Rock. I figured we were going to the non-muslim section, but she refused to take me there. To her, to the family, I'm a muslim. No matter what I practice or how I look. If your father is a muslim, then so are you. I suppose I shouldn't take kindly either to folks who are trying to tell me what I am and am not. And I don't. We hit up several other spots on the way.

In Part 1 I went into it, I don't know if I need to again.

It's nothing new to have folks around you telling you that you aren't enough of X. Being here has shown me that within the community itself, some folks do just step in line, so that they make sure they are enough (or SEEM to be enough) of whatever it is folks are down with. I can't knock on folks for that. Who wants to be isolated and picked on? At the same time though, don't, in your quest for fitting in, try to isolate others who rather be themselves and keep it moving. What does it do for a person to make someone else feel bad about themselves anyway? Does it give someone who is already powerless more power? Perhaps. Or maybe just being out of the poking eyes of those who judge for a moment to put the attention on someone who doesn't seem to be with in the crowd, seems appealing. Who knows?
I know I'm vague, but I'm gonna leave it at that.

Anyway, my aunt got me this hideous (even though she called it beautiful) make-shift hijab and skirt. It was in a package and at first I thought she was buying a day dress for the house. A white cotton fabric with pink flowers all over it. Ick! But hey, if she wanted it for her, then beautiful! Thats fine with me.

We walked about some more on some of the smaller streets and looked at the deals and at the tourists. The streets go from wide cobbled streets to very narrow and uneven and at a slant. Steps start and end, slopes for carts appear, and every now and then a stone is has been made slick with time and has no grip. But along the way, I see people from everywhere. Hear tongues that I hear daily in NY. German, Greek, Spanish, Italian, Brazilian, English, Japanese. I knew that there were a lot of people who came to see Jerusalem, but I was amazed to see just how many folks from all those countries and probably more, came.

As we went along another winding road, she stops to check out a new pursue and I notice a coins accompanied by stones and jewels. I take a look see. Beautiful necklaces and earrings like a friend of mine in NY makes with old Palestinian coins with writing in Arabic. The shop keeper was a nice old man who wanted to show me everything he had. I wondered if he got anyone in the store that day. He seemed over excited, waiting and ready for me to buy anything and everything I could afford. Of course I saw several things that peaked my interest, but I kept it simple. It's not like I'm a baller anyway. A necklace and earrings for me and my sister.
My aunt got her purse. A very simple, economical, can pack everything and then some that she needs in it, kind of bag. She came in the store to meet me and thought the necklace was nice, but plain. They like bright colors here, I've noticed. Shiny fake diamonds for little girls with bright pink feather hair things and bracelets. It's cute on them. But I don't think thats really my stilo. She put the white and pink flowered outfit in a bag and we kept walking.

(on a side note once I finally got my luggage, my cousin Shyma, said I had too many dark clothes and that I needed color. I said I had as much color as I wanted and see, dark blue, dark purple, dark red. Those are colors. She laughed and said that wasn't colorful enough. I pointed behind her at a burnt orange skirt I have and she said, thats only ONE thing that isn't dark here. She laughed and got pulled away by her little son. I shrugged. I'm not a bright pink kind of girl. Sorry)

We walked about some more, passing shops that had more blue evil eyes than I have ever seen together in my life. We buy several for key chains and keep it moving. There are young men sitting around outside of shops, listening in on conversations, waiting to pull folks in to get them into the stores. To see anything, everything. Just to buy something. I suppose once October is over, it's slow. I suppose maybe they are bored. Who knows.
By now my feet are screaming. My feet just don't like these weird sized European sneakers. A 41 just isn't the same as the 10's I wear. Just aint working. And it didn't. My the end of the day, my pink toes had blisters on them from all the walking. Maybe it's also because they were new and I'd only worn them once before. Maybe. Hey, my feet get hot. I like my flip flops in this weather. But Jerusalem calls for sneakers.

On another funny side note though, ALLLLL the women wear high heeled sandals all the time. Maybe thats another reason I get looked at. I don't ever wear high heeled sandals. It would never occur to me to wear those kinds of shoes on cobbled streets. You know, I might wear a small heel if I wanted to be fancy, BUT REALLY? Seriously? High heeled sandals all the time. The women are short is what it is. I'm not abnormally tall or anything, but I'm taller than everyone else I've met. Except for one cousin, who was built pretty sturdy all around and super nice. She was my height and wearing flats. Everyone else though is very small. You were right, Nihaya. It's these African genes of mine that have me much bigger. But then again, I do have female cousins who are tall. Not many, but a few. Maybe it's because many of the men are tall. My dad was around 6ft.



We walked along. People watched. Shop watched. Rested my Aunts high heel sandaled feet. We then came across the Via Dolorosa, which is where Jesus walked and carried his cross to be crucified. By the beginning of the walk, a German film crew films a host. Not sure what show it was for, but he crouched down, putting his hands flat on the ground, to touch the stones Jesus may have placed his feet upon. Tourists huddled close to one another near the crew. They looked on along the road as a tour guide spoke, lifting his hands in the air, putting on a fantastic show of his knowledge. As if everyone in the group had never heard the story before. But their eyes were wide, opened with wonder and excitement at the story he told. I couldn't hear clear enough to hear what language he spoke, but I was dazzled a bit by his energy in telling them of Jesus' last hours.

We walked along the Via Dolorosa. The street arched up, stones higher in some places, stones slicked down in others. We were both tired from being in the sun all day. I wished we had bought another bottle of water before the walk. Bells ring in Jerusalem every 15 mins or so. I can't ever tell which direction they come from, but they're a constant reminder than we are in a Holy place.
We walked up the road slowly. I touched the stones along the walls. There are Armenian, German, Greek hostels scattered about. Shop keepers with cheese boards made of Olive tree oak. Little boys running around each other. Two old Russian couples walking slowly because the women decided to wear very high heels that day. A young mother with a cute little boy is walking next to us. She has short dirty blond hair. She wore a black hijab and a purple outfit. My aunt talks with the boy, then to his mother. She tells the woman about them not wanting to let me into the Muslim part of the mosque. The woman looks at me and rolls her eyes, as if to say, no kidding. I wore loose pants, a loose shirt. Showed no skin. Had a scarf ready to put on. But still. But still. I thought my aunt asked for the non-Muslim entrance, but she asked for an alternate entrance. We went around another corner and she handed me the white and pink flowered thing in the package.

"For you to wear." She points to a clear alley next to the corner we're turning down and motions for me to go put this on. At first I think it's a dress in the package, BUT it's a down to the bottoms of my feet skirt and a hijab with a hole for your head sewn in. I wish I could have gotten a picture of me wearing it, just to burn it later. I looked like a damn fool.
Once everything was on, my aunt smiled.

"Beautiful." She smiled harder.

I frowned harder. "I look Magnoon. Like a fool." I try to adjust the scarf. The opening for the head is too big for my face. Whose head is this fat for an opening so big? The top of my hair keeps showing. Hopefully they won't hold it against me.

We walk a little more nervous to the guards. They sit at the table, M-16's at their sides. I swallow hard and smile, trying to be convincing. My aunt speaks fast arabic to the soldier. She tells him I'm american and that my arabic isn't very good, but that I am a muslim and I do know the qu'ran. He asked for my passport and likes that my name is Arabic. But if you saw me, you wouldn't believe this get-up either.

"Can you recite anything from the Qu'ran?" He looks at my passport, looks at me and hands it back to me. I look up at his green eyes and smile a nervous smile.

"Bismillah Raham eh Raheem?" I tried not to have a nervous lilt to the end of my voice. I had to be confidence. "Bismillah he Ramham eh Raheem." He looked at me. I looked at him.

My aunt chimes in in the back round in Arabic. She says again that my arabic isn't good. My father was a good muslim but didn't teach me very good arabic, but I'm a good muslim too. I just want to see the mosque.

"Ok." He said and let us pass. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. She takes my arm. We both say Shurkan and keep it moving. The next guard inside says the greeting. We say it back and keep walking. He does a double take of me in my outfit, but says nothing.

We smile at each other as we walk down the tree lined road. She takes my camera out of the plastic bag she put it in and says to take pictures. I smile and say of course. I love my Aunt Maha. She's great!

I was fine with going through the non-muslim entrance of course. But she looked at it as disrespectful that they'd deny me so she wanted even more to get me in that way. I don't think God minded. Through all the rough times and temper tantrums, we've stayed on good terms.

We walked along the beautiful land. There were trees and green green grass across the lands before the Dome. Of in the distance, Non-muslims came in to see the sights. We walked across the lands and looked up at the Dome's massive form. She said a little prayer. I took pictures.

Tourist walked up along the steps. They looked at the dome, at me, at the dome, back at me. I adjusted the dumb scarf and took more pictures. The sun beat down hard on us as the day continued on. We walked down the steps and I snapped along. British teenagers look at me and giggle together. I'm tempted to flip them off, BUT then I realize that its not worth disrespecting such a holy place. I let it go and swallow my desire to bring the hood to Jerusalem.

We walk towards the Mosque and almost get in when one of the guards sitting outside stops us.
My aunt explains I'm muslim and I can go in and that we have the right.

"What's her name?" He asks in Arabic.

"Eman." She replies and tries to walk into the women's entrance with me to the mosque, which is below the male entrance.

"Where's your passport?" He turns to me and says in english.

I fish it out and hand it to him. He nods.

"A Rimawi. Very good. Just had to check." He said as he handed me back my passport.

He apologizes to my aunt and says that he just has to make sure since I'm clearly dressed in something that I hadn't been wearing long. I guess our 007 stint wasn't that good. Eh well. It got us that far.

We walked into the mosque and it was plainer than I was expecting. There aren't too many women in there. We took our shoes off and walked on the soft carpet. The air was cool and relaxing. It was so quiet. I could have napped there and felt completely safe. I felt at ease in this place. Books older than America line the wall. All Qu'rans. All religious. A few of the young girls walking in there looked at me. I stood out in height, in pink colors. My aunt and I sat down on the carpet for a while and rested. I sent an email from my crackberry to Dave as I sat on the floor of about parts of my day. I flexed my socked feet and toes into the carpet and took a breath in the cool air. I was so glad for my secret agent Aunt.

We walked back out in the sun to leave. Tourists mulled about. Guards hung out in the corner, watching. We left out of the non-muslim entrance near the Wailing Wall. I didn't get to see the wall. The guards looked us over a little. We walked up along the road, back to the cobbled streets and the shops. It was like a different world for a moment. All these stoned walls and streets all around us and then this opened aired beautiful quiet place with the Dome and the Mosque and the streets and the grass. Then back to the stones. Was very surreal. As we made our way up the road I asked my aunt if I could take off the scarf and skirt set since I was so hot. As we walked, I shed the scarf and skirt and fanned myself with them. She laughed, saying the guards were looking. Oops. Oh well. The next time I go back, I'll skip the hassle and 21 questions and go through the non-muslim entrance. I know who I am. I don't need to pass the 1 drop test for them or anyone else. I know who I am. And God knows who I am too. Thats more than enough for me.

We walked along the road, up up up, back through the stones. It's so crowded everywhere you walk. Along this road, there's not enough space for all these people, but we manage. My aunt doesn't want to lose me. I'm capable of finding my way, but they worry. Family always worries. I'm a woman, in Palestine, with "western" clothes, who doesn't speak good enough arabic for their standards. They worry.

We walked along the road and saw more shops. I passed by a shop that sold all kinds of beautiful plates with all kinds of designs. I wanted to buy some plates but worried about them being broken in my luggage. I plan on going back to the shop though.

We made our way back near the front entrance of the Old City and climbed the steep hill to exit. I would have sacrificed my tiredness to see more, but my aunt needed to rest and a person just CAN'T see all of Jerusalem in one day. It's just too much walking.

I'd like to go back this coming week. I hope I can.

We walked to the bus station. I was chaotic and loud. We were too tired to care. We got on a bus to Ramallah and quietly road along. I tried not to doze off. My aunt fell in and out of sleep. I watched the roads and streets, committing them to memory for later. It was almost 3pm as the sun sleepily rocked lower in the sky. The sun is completely set here by around 5:45-6pm. I think it's Octobers sun, but maybe it's all the time. It rises so early here too.

We sat, resting our bodies as we road back to the house.

My first day in Jerusalem was amazing.

She asked me, "Are you happy?"

I smiled and said, "Yes, I was very very happy."

Thats all I needed to say.