April 10: Day Two in Jerusalem

Friday morning both me and my Russian ‎roommate were up shortly after 6:00. He was heading off to the 7:00 service at the Russian cathedral where I'd been last night, while I was headed to the Holy Sepulchre. I knew the first service of the day was scheduled for 8:30, but I also knew that I should be at least an hour early. When I arrived at the square in front of the main entrance to the church, there were police everywhere, some in riot gear. There were also barricades set up in the square, keeping an aisle clear to the door along one side of the square. At 7:30, there were less than a hundred people waiting.  This number grew, slowly at first, but by 8:15 the square was packed and the police had moved the barricades behind us, preventing any more people from entering the square. This is what I'd expected, since the same thing had occurred the day before. I was very eager to get into the church, since I had dressed for church, and not for standing in a square in what had become overnight very chilly weather. I was also on the verge of falling asleep on my feet. The press of bodies would probably have kept me from hitting the ground, but I didn't want to put it to the test. At 8:30, one of the bells above us began tolling once every few minutes. I figured they'd be opening the doors of the church soon, but it was not to be. At 9:00, an honour guard of police, monks, and four fez-wearing men bearing iron-tipped staves appeared, accompanying the Patriarch of Jerusalem to the entrance. There was a knocking at the door and then a wooden ladder was procured, and a man climbed up and inserted an ancient key in the lock. The door was opened and the dignitaries processed in. They didn't stay long, and once they had cleared the area the police began allowing people to enter the church. I really should have gone to the Russian cathedral, since once inside I discovered that the main sanctuary was closed off. Lesson learned - for the evening service I did just that.

After walking through the church, I made my way out again, being channeled towards the souq in the Old City by police barriers. When I heard the magic word "Coffee?" I gave my very emphatic assent.‎ Once refreshed, I continued to the Patriarchate, hoping today to receive an official stamp in my notebook. The young man at the main gate was fluent in Greek, Arabic, and English, and probably Hebrew as well. He informed me that Aristarchos the secretary was too busy today to see me and stamp my book. I figured there was no sense in arguing the point even though it contradicted what I'd been told the day before. 

The weather continued to be quite chilly with brief periods of rain, although at times the sun shone through, striking the tops of the walls without warming the narrow streets below.  ‎I walked through the crowded narrow streets of the Old Town towards the Jaffa Gate. Near the gate, the Franciscans operate the Christian Information Centre. In addition to the other services they offer, they will also issue a certificate of pilgrimage when requested. The Austrian priest was very interested in the details of my journey, as were the two English-speaking ladies in line behind me. One of them had done the Camino last year, and understood the radical change of life returning home from pilgrimage presents. After having my photo taken, I headed back to the hostel.

It was strangely quiet as I walked along Jaffa Street. As I discovered the day before, the trams have stopped running until Sunday due to the end of Passover and the Sabbath. There weren't many pedestrians, and all the shops on the street were shut. In my exhaustion and anticipation, it seemed as if the city was already participating in the great Sabbath of Christ. That didn't stop me from purchasing some juice, bread, and hummus from a small "super"market I spotted on a side street. I breakfasted on that, and after putting a load of laundry in the machine at the hostel I promptly went to sleep.‎ 

When I woke up a few hours later, I collected my laundry and wrote an update. Then it was time to head to church. I returned to the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity for the evening service, but I discovered that the Lamentations aren't sung in the Russian tradition. I'm not exactly sure what was being read within the general framework of Orthros, but my guess is that it was Psalm 118 (in the LXX, Ps 119 in the Hebrew numbering). There were two bishops officiating, along with several monastics and perhaps a dozen priests. The service was a little shorter than the evening before, but it also began an hour and a half later. It was 11:00 when I finally returned to the hostel. After a small meal, I crashed hard. With no early morning service, I figured I could afford to sleep in a little on Saturday and still get a place in line for the Service of Holy Fire which begins at 2:00 pm. Five hours in advance should be sufficient!

April 9: First Day in Jerusalem

It was around 9:00 on Wednesday evening when I walked into the lobby of the Abraham Hostel on Davidka Square in Jerusalem. An older gentleman I'd met in the hostel in Haifa had recommended ‎it, and it's part of the independent Israeli hostel organisation ILH. I hadn't made an advance booking, since I just wasn't sure when I'd be arriving. As it turns out, this worked to my advantage.

This year, the Jewish Passover began with the western Easter weekend and concludes with the Orthodox Pascha weekend. All 260 beds in the hostel were booked because of this confluence of holy days. However, one guest had decided he wanted to move on earlier than he'd originally planned. It's against the hostel's policy to issue refunds -- once booked‎, the bed is yours! Thankfully, the staff members are allowed to use their judgment, so Alexei got his refund, I got a place to sleep, and the hostel got their money. Win win win.

Once I'd made my way to the dorm room and started to unpack, I struck up a conversation with one of the other people in the room. He's working on his M.Sc. in solid state physics in Germany, but had come to Israel to participate in a massive Scout hike along the Israel National Trail. We got to talking, and before I knew it, it was past midnight. (I was so utterly exhausted that the lateness off the hour simply didn't make any difference.) We'd started off talking equipment and preparations for a long solo trek, and he was very interested in my gear. Before long, though, the conversation drifted into theology. He's a non-observant Jew, but I was surprised at how much he knew about Christianity. I eventually turned off my light at 1:30, after setting my alarm for 7:00.

At breakfast Thursday morning I met two other people in town for Pascha, both Serbian.   After chatting for a bit, I headed upstairs to pack up.   Arriving as I did without a reservation, I needed to change rooms, which involved checking out and leaving my luggage in the hostel's storage room. After I got all that sorted, I headed off to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre on foot -- the final segment of my pilgrimage. The hostel is advertised as being a twenty minute walk from the Old City, but it took me a bit longer than that. I'm tired! By the time I got to the church, the morning service was over and the police were removing the barricades. I spent the next several hours inside the conglomeration of sanctuaries which makes up the Holy Sepulchre complex. Breakfast had consisted of nothing but tomatoes, cucmbers, and coffee, so I eventually left the church in search of nourishment. Falafel and hummus were not far off.

I spent the next hour or so wandering the streets of the Christian Quarter. I finally found the Jerusalem Patriarchate. It's not far from the Holy Sepulchre, but I got turned around a few times. The first monk I spoke to had ‎lived in Windsor (Ontario) for several years. I explained that I had come to Jerusalem on foot, and asked about a stamp for my little notebook. He told me to come back the next day (Great and Holy Friday) and the secretary, Aristarchos, would help me.

Back to the hostel then, where I moved in to my new room and met one of my new roommates. ‎He's from Moscow, and is in Jerusalem for Holy Week. It was touching to see how delighted he was to learn that I'm also Orthodox. After talking a bit, we both stretched out for a rest before the evening service. He was headed to the Russian monastery on the Mount of Olives, while I'd decided to go back to the Holy Sepulchre. While I slept, all the weariness and pain of the past seven months had settled into my bones. Asking at the front desk, I learned that a single tram ticket costs seven shekels (about $2.25 Canadian). Since the tramline runs straight along Jaffa Street between the hostel and the Jaffa Gate, I decided I'd done enough walking. It was only after I'd purchased my dated ticket that I realised the trams had stopped running for the day. (sigh) Hobbling along, I happened to glance up a side street about halfway to my destination and said to myself, "That has to be a Russian church." I arrived half an hour before the service started and sat in an out of the way corner until it did. The pain and exhaustion remained with me for the next three and a half hours, but they soon became irrelevant.  (Well, the last forty-five minutes were a little rough.) My knowledge of Old Church Slavonic is pretty limited but this is the nineteenth year I've attended the Service of the Twelve Gospels, so I knew what was going on. The 15th Antiphon of this particular service is heart-rending in its beauty. I wrote a bit about what it means to me last year, which can be found here:
http://phool4xc.blogspot.com/2014/04/great-and-holy-friday.html
The austerity and beauty and joy and sorrow of this service is beyond my descriptive powers to convey. "We knew not whether we were in heaven or on earth."

Pilgrim's Destination

http://flic.kr/p/r5ZozW

You Shall Be Comforted in Jerusalem

This passage from the appointed readings for the past Friday stuck with me, for obvious reasons. I guess I'm technically in Jerusalem now, although I haven't seen a sign announcing the city limits. (Then again, I did dodge away from Highway 1 for a bit when the shoulder vanished. A quick scramble down the side of the wadi brought me to the new road that's under construction.) Anyway! I just walked past the massive cemetery on the westernmost part of the hill and sat down at the nearest available spot to rest and cool my heels. (Yes, literally.)

The name Zeno may not be familiar to many, but the past 24 hours of my life have been an illustration of one of his famous paradoxes. (As I write this, I still have about 4 kms to walk to the hostel I'll be staying at.) Here's the scenario: an archer shoots an arrow at a target. It flies through the air, and after a certain amount of time it has covered exactly half the distance between the archer and the target. After a shorter interval of time, it has travelled half of the remaining distance, and then half of that, and half again, and so on and so on. How is it possible for the arrow to ever actually reach the target? So yeah, that's been my last 24 hours.

The sun has finally set, I've cooled off nicely, and I even have a bit of water left. This evening I'm going to splurge and check myself in to a private room at the hostel, bathe, and then sleep. Tomorrow I plan to attend services, light candles, fulfill promises, and visit the Patriarchate, the Holy Sepulchre, the Wailing Wall‎. Photos will be posted sporadically over the next few days, plus (if I have time) some updates covering the past few days of walking. (The thing is, I am in Jerusalem. I don't want to spend hours hunched over my phone doing all that.)

Bleh. I need to get off my feet for the day, and sitting here typing in the cool dusk isn't going to make that happen. So, "Yay! I made it!!!"‎ I am really looking forward to the shower. Comforted in Jerusalem. 

Last Day of Walking

By 4:00 this morning, I'd had enough. From the time I left the hotel yesterday until I reached the gas station (which was, thankfully, open) I'd walked some 45 kms. The six hour break in the afternoon helped a lot. When I started walkin‎g again in the evening, I was able to maintain my Camino pace of 5 km/h. It is 22.6 km from here to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which means I should arrive around noon. That also means I'll be walking into the heat, but at this point I'm inclined to press on. I'd like to get to church this evening for the Sacrament of Holy Unction, but I don't know what time the service begins. Better to arrive early, get the information, and then relax during the afternoon. And now, I walk!