Sat Oct 11th: From Beit Rima to Jericho

As we drove today along the road from Beit Rima to Jericho, these are some of the things that happened and that I saw. Ill probably add some pictures to this later since the bloggy thing is acting up. Or maybe its the slow wireless???

I started out at my Aunts house in Ramallah and made my way over to my Uncle Nasser's house
in Beit Rima which is about 20mins away. His kids, wife and my grandfather live there in a
beautiful little house with a view of Tel Aviv, the dead sea and the entire mountainous
landscape. A couple days after that, I visited the enchanting and holy Bethlehem and went
to the Basilica where Jesus was born. Everything in there was made of gold. The next day
we made our way to Jericho. We wanted to visit the Dead Sea, but they close off the beach
for West Bank Palestinians that day so my uncle (who was driving) couldn't get in.
So off to Jericho we went.

When the soldiers "advise" you to do something, that is not them giving you an option. "Advise" for them is another way of saying, "you better or else." Is that what Jesus would do?
They want any excuse to pull a trigger, stomp a stomach, to start trouble beause they are hot. Bored. Young. Ill-advised. Ready to start trouble because they are on top and the rest of us are not.

Sounds familiar. Sounds unfair. Sounds like the way things have been for a very long time.


School boys hitch rides on the sides of check points and highway lines, hoping taxi vans will take them home or at least close, for little or no shekels.

The women walk along. Adoring eyes the shapes of lemons. Almonds. Green Olives. Sweets they offer for lunch and dinner. Beauty fading around the edge of their face. Their children in tow. The memory of a figure. Of youth. Of the freedom of hair in the winds walks behind them, insulated in their shadows and now living in their daughters just to be lost again on their wedding nights.

Sweat gets caught on colorful hijabs that rest on the shoulders of black dresses that touch their ankles and the tops of their high heeled sandels. Night and day, "Yamma. Yamma. Yamma."
A never ending chant sung by their children. I wonder if any of them were forced to marry. I wonder if the wnted to wait to have their kids. I wonder if their lives would have been different if given a choice.

Of course many fo them go to school, have work, have careers. But their first obligation after God is their family. To be a wife and a mother. There's nothing wrong with that of coutrse. Nothing wrong with taking pride and loving being a wife and a mother. It's a beautiful thing. It's a wonderous thing. Without women, there would be no world. We bring life into this place.

I just wonder how many times a day they hear Shukran (thank you). I bet not once. Every mother I've met hears Shukran from me about 2 dozen times or more every time I see them for everything they do. I wonder if it'll make a difference. Maybe it has. Maybe I have.

Jericho was very beautiful to visit. We went to a Saint George Monastery first. It's in Jericho, but before the Old City, off to a little corner of land near the highway. It's entrance is wide and welcoming, shaded by tropical looking trees, vines full of flowers and the smell of those flowers in the air. Holy men and cab drivers sat on either side, drinking coffee and talking about God knows what very early in the morning.

When we got there, it was almost 9:30am. We entered the next entrance which is also outside as the sun shown above us. A a gray and blue parrot sat in a white cage to my left, speaking in a language I didn't understand. I think it was Greek since Saint George's is a Greek Catholic Church. A Greek flag hung above the entrance. Interpretive pictures of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and a plethora of biblical characters hung along the stone walls. It smelled of those incense and candles only found in catholic churches. Like wood and earth and oil. To me it smelled like the Botanica's in NY. After all, they look up to the same Saints, right?

Off to the far left was the small entrance for the church. To the right was where you could buy all kinds of crosses and pictures of biblical folks. A woman with a thick accent spoke to us.

"Are you looking for the Church?" Her voice was soft, but heavy. Very Greek. I only know this because when I was in college there was a woman who was about 65 and going back to school who was from Greece and her voice sounded just like this.

"Yes." Was all I could think to say because I wasn't necessarily looking for anything. I was just looking at everything and anything. My uncle thought I might want to see the place and brought me.

"It's in there." She turned as she spoke, clicking her tongue at the parrot in its cage.

My aunt nodded and I went in first. It was very dark in comparison to the bright sunlight in the courtyard. Pictures hung everywhere (even on the ceiling) of the artists' versions of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Apostles and more. Heavy clothes sat on the sides of the walls and the ceilings, made of what looked like velvet and silks and gold. I took pictures of EVERYTHING.

We walked about looking at the artistic strokes in each painting. All the soft colors, all the expressions on faces immortalized for all time. Opened to interpretation by all. These artists, I assume, painted these holy characters in their own images. In any event, they were beautiful.

Once we were done looking at everything there was to see in the small space of the church, we went back out into the courtyard. My aunt laughed at the parrots squawking talks. I don't think she could understand it either. We went over to the books, paintings and crucifixes hanging along the walls. They were all on sale. 5 shekels here, 7 there. Once again my uncle wouldn't let me pay for anything. He says I'm a guest and his niece and he is obligated to take care of anything I may want or need. I hope to one day return the favor for him. I guess he also figures he's been out of my life for the last 8 years and wants to make up for lost time. Or maybe I'm assuming.

Once we were done at the Monastery, we made our way over to the Old City in Jericho.
This is where larger than average people lived, warriors that defended their lands fiercely and befell tragedy by the hands of God for dissing one of his messengers who wanted to make peace and work with them. The land where the Old City is, they say, is 10,000 years old. And that's when they were shaken with an earth quake and more. Now the ruins show old signs of what houses use to be there and old pottery and bowls sitting about. This Old City is also where Jesus passed to get to the Mountain where the devil tempted him during his 40 fast. There you can ride a cable car above the land. We walked below because it was 3 shekels and cooler to see and touch everything in person. We didn't get up to the mountain though because it was too far and high. On the site where Jesus fasted is now a Church, just sitting on the side of the mountain. Almost looks superimposed or something.

Once we finished walking along the ruins in the hot morning sun, we went over to Hisham's Palace, where the king stayed during vacations to get the sun and heat of Jericho. The ruins are a bit more complete at the Palace but still so far gone. It's only been about a 1,000 year maybe a bit more said my uncle.

The air spoke in ancient tongue. A click and whisper on the wind, howling along the skin. A caress from a lovers lips. King Hisham's Palace lay in ruins. A distant memory of what is use to be. I find the ruins to be even more enchanting that the building itself use to be. I ran my hands along the ancient stones as I took pictures of the old place. It was built in the time of Prophet Mohammad and was the kings get away retreat.

We walked along the entire grounds, the children mesmerized by the sites of the large old stones and the sand they stood upon. I wonder if Mohammad and Tasmeen who are 2 and 4 will remember this later on. I hope so.

Similar to Jericho and Bethlehem, the oldness and history of the place tickles along your skin and jumps your heart a little. It's exciting. It's new. It's old. It's history that you can touch and taste and smell from hundreds of years ago. If you close your eyes after gazing upon all these things, you can almost hear the crackle of the fire, smell the sweet sweat of the guards, hear the hushed giggles of servant girls, catch the distant hum of a song on the lips and in the throat of a singer. You can almost catch yourself back in time, a treasured guest at the Kings Palace.


Once we left there, we headed of to the Oldest Tree in Jericho, where Jesus rested as he walked. The story is in the book of Luke. I took pictures, tried to avoid the German tourists who seemed to want to push folks out of the way and gazed up at the sun through the leaves of this beautiful tree.

We tried to leave right away, but the battery for our car died. That's not a fun situation with a 2,4,5, and 12 year old in the car. My uncle ran around and finally found some jumper cables and got the car started an hour later. We drove about, looking for falafel and then later on that afternoon I got dropped back here at my Aunt Haifa's house in time for the wedding Sunday.