Living Stones

by Lloyd Johnson

  “Do you think the Jewish settlements in the territories will last?”

  “Yes. We need more of them to control their terrorism. Look what happened in Gaza when we pulled out: Hamas. We’ll gradually strangle them with settlements, the separation wall, and exclusive roads. Eventually they’ll leave or die out and we’ll take over the West Bank.”

  “Really?!” Ashley’s heart raced, thinking of Fatima and her family, and then Sami and Rafiq’s family. What would Najid say if he were here? The rabbi seemed so certain in his views, so hard.

  “Do you know that some Christian churches in America do support Israel exclusively, whatever your government does? It’s part of their theology.”

  “I’ve heard that is true. But I don’t understand it. Do they really think supporting Israel will hasten Messiah’s coming? I’ve heard that they predict a Jewish slaughter at Meggido. I think you call it Armageddon. That’s not very popular here.” He smiled with a wink.

  Marie laughed nervously and touched Ashley’s hand. “I think we’d better not keep the rabbi any longer.” She left ten Israeli shekels for the tea for all three of them.

  Ashley sensed Marie’s discomfort with her questions. “I’m sorry for being so forward in my questions, Rabbi Yusef. I wish you God’s blessing! Shalom.”

  “I enjoyed your questions, Ashley, and meeting you, Marie. Here is my card and e-mail address.” He reached over the table, handing it to Marie. “Feel free to write. You’ll find English on the back. Shalom.”

  With the team back on the bus heading to the Mount of Olives, Marie turned to Ashley. “Feeling better?”

  “Oh, yes. When Rabbi Yusef told his story, I forgot about my stomach.”

  “Did he answer your questions to your liking?”

  Ashley put her hand to her chin, looking out the window at a busy intersection. “I suppose he did, Marie. I … respect him for all he has been through in a lifetime of stress. But I wonder if he has any Palestinian friends.” She paused. “It would have been so much fun to have Najid here to share these experiences together. He would have loved the old Rabbi Yusef, even with his hard views.”

  Chapter 41

  Ben let the team rest for a bit as he drove back from the modern city toward the old one. They seemed subdued by their museum experience as they wound up the hill to the top of the Mount of Olives. The panorama proved spectacular, with the Old City in the foreground, surrounded by its high stone wall. The Temple Mount crowned the view, topped by the dramatic golden Dome of the Rock shrine, the site from which the Prophet Mohammed was said to have ascended to Heaven.

  “When you’re ready, we’ll take the Palm Sunday path down to the Garden of Gethsemane that you see below.” Soon they ambled down the trail as the sun high in the July sky bore down on everyone. They enjoyed the shade of the trees approaching the Garden of Gethsemane below.

  Ashley stared at the olive trees in the garden, some trunks fully five feet in diameter.

  “These trees may well have been here when Jesus agonized under them,” Jim said.

  Ashley and Marie strolled the paths in the garden. Beautiful and quiet, Ashley visualized Jesus on his knees, knowing his trial and a painful death awaited. She thanked him quietly as they walked.

  Walid looked around Umar’s apartment in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. Dark and dingy, Umar didn’t have a wife to brighten it up. Walid had started a close vigil on the guesthouse not far away in the Armenian quarter. He had taken off his visored cap and his Muslim hat. He exchanged his shaded glasses for dark ones. He wore a long shirt with baggy cotton pants.

  Umar had laughed. “You look Pakistani.”

  “I don’t care, as long as it hides me. The problem is her. So far they are always together with their group. I guess we’ll have to be patient until we can find her alone or somehow separate her from everyone else. She’ll be here in Jerusalem for several more days, according to the schedule the boss received. Wherever she goes, one of us has to be in the background somewhere near but far enough away to avoid suspicion.”

  On a walking tour in the late afternoon, the group passed through the Armenian Quarter of the Old City, entering the larger Jewish quarter. A column of young men strode by in their black suits and white shirts, with broadbrimmed black hats. Their long sideburn braids swung forward and back with each step. Each proceeded head-down, reading from his book and chanting while hurrying along the street.

  Ashley looked at them and then turned to Ben with a quizzical frown.

  “These guys are Hasidic Jews, a branch of the ultra-Orthodox community. I won’t go into all the other Jewish groups, but there are lots of divisions and subdivisions.”

  “What about Zionism?” Ashley ventured. “How does that fit in with Jewish beliefs?”

  “That’s a political movement that brought us back to the land and established Israel as a nation.” Ben swept his arm around toward a nearby synagogue. “For some, it’s part of their religion. For others it’s against their faith. For most of our founders in the 1900s, Zionism was strictly political and not religious at all.”

  “Now we’re approaching the Temple Mount. We’ll bypass that for now to go through the Muslim Quarter, the Souk. We share this large piece of the Old City with them. It’s big. Follow me so we don’t lose you.”

  Ashley noticed more confined alleyways and shops only ten feet wide, open to narrow and sometimes covered walkways. Colorful bazaars filled with jewelry, clothes, beautiful scarves, and wall hangings seemed to fascinate all the women of the group. “Souk” must mean market, Ashley realized. In adjacent areas, from connected stone houses people gazed down through open windows.

  Amid the crowd, Ashley glimpsed a man with dark glasses looking at her. Her mind flashed to Bethlehem and the wall. She shuddered. He quickly turned away. She mustn’t start seeing bad men in every venue. No, she wouldn’t start getting paranoid—it could be anyone. She dismissed the thought.

  Chapter 42

  Ben introduced several university students the next morning, all wearing yarmulkes, who would each take two or three people to wherever they wished to go in the Old City. David chatted with Ashley and Marie. “What would you like to do today?” He seemed like a fun young man, ready for anything, slightly built, with dark hair and eyes that sparkled.

  “I’d like some local culture and food for lunch,” Ashley replied. “Oh … and shopping. How about you, Marie.”

  “Sounds good. David, what do you recommend?” Marie asked.

  “I’ll take you for some falafel and salad with pita bread. Good little restaurant in the Jewish quarter. Then we can go shopping in the Souk.”

  He walked his charges to a place with outside tables. He pointed to the back wall. “That man standing behind the vat of hot oil is deep frying falafel, the traditional Arab patty made from ground chickpeas or fava beans.”

  Several pieces with a colorful salad and pita bread soon filled their plates. They found a table and indulged in a few bites when a middle-aged, bearded gentleman in a white shirt and dark pants stopped to greet David. A yarmulke sat precariously on the back of his bushy hair. Ashley wondered how it stayed in place. He seemed very friendly and interested to meet the two women.

  David jumped to his feet. “Rabbi Cohen, I want you meet two American friends, Marie and Ashley. I’m helping them shop today.”

  Marie smiled. “David here is introducing us to your Middle Eastern delights.”

  “Great. It’s good to meet you,” he said, nodding. “Any friend of David’s is a friend of mine.”

  He sounded so American to Ashley. “I’ve been hoping to meet people who live here, so I am delighted you stopped by. Would you join us for lunch?”

  “OK, I will. Let me get something to eat and I’ll be back.”

  “Who is he, David?”

  “Rabbi Cohen is my rabbi. I think you call it your ‘pastor.’ ”

  “Do you take a day off after the Sabbath, Rabbi Cohen?” Ashley popped the last bite of falafe
l in her mouth as the rabbi sat down.

  “We do, Ashley. So this is my day off, to enjoy meeting people like you.” He began to eat.

  “Where are you from, Rabbi? Your English sounds American.”

  “I am one. Well, maybe I used to be one. I was born in New York and came to work in a kibbutz in Northern Israel as a young man. I never left.”

  They shared stories, learning of the rabbi’s journey into theological training. Afterward, he’d worked for several years in the kibbutz. Marie shared her interest in various belief systems in college before becoming a Christian.

  Then Ashley explained her background and church where support for Israel and Zionism became very much part of their beliefs. “In fact it is central to how we think about the future and the Messiah.”

  “Really? I’ve read about the evangelical branch of Christians in America, some of whom are ‘Christian Zionists.’ It seems like an oxymoron. Also that they have an organization to promote Israeli interests. Is that true?”

  “Yes. It’s a national organization called ‘Christians United for Israel.’ It’s quite large. I’ve been raised in Oklahoma to believe all of what it stands for, and now in Seattle, our church also would be classified in the Christian Zionist group.”

  “Is that what you personally believe, Ashley?”

  Ashley looked into the face of this rabbi, whose piercing brown eyes penetrated right into her brain. Her heart sped up. What could she say, now that she had seen the wall from the other side? That her heart had been touched with the plight of Palestinians who had lost everything at the hands of Zionists?

  On the other hand, she loved the Jewish people. She appreciated them for their great suffering, perseverance through history, and contributions to society.

  Well, maybe she didn’t love the soldiers at the wall and checkpoints. Not for what they did to Faisal and Almas near Zubuda. Nor for the government that dispossessed Najid’s family of their home and lands forever. But she liked the people, like David here, and Ben their driver, and yes, Rabbi Yusef. Ashley had always been glad that the Jews, oppressed for centuries, had finally found a homeland, a place of safety and protection. Yet look what they did in Bethlehem to Fatima’s family and all those who lost their livelihood in Jerusalem because they could no longer enter the city. Have the oppressed become the oppressors?

  Her mind whirled as she struggled to contain her thoughts. She finally gazed into the street outside and shook her head. “After all the experiences I’ve had here, Rabbi, I don’t know if I believe in Zionism or not.” She looked back into his steely gaze. “Do you think we should believe and support it?”

  “It’s not for me to tell you what to believe.”

  “OK then, what do you believe?” Ashley’s heart raced, wondering how badly she had offended the rabbi.

  “What do I believe about Zionism?” He smiled. “In a nutshell, here it is. If you want to know why, I can tell you that too, if you have the time.”

  “We do. Please go on.”

  “OK. First, I am loyal to the Torah, your Old Testament. And the Torah teaches that Zionism is not Judaism. In fact, the founding principles of Zionism are counter to Judaism, which teaches us to value the stranger in our midst, not persecute him.”

  Ashley stared at the rabbi, eyebrows raised, hardly believing what she just heard.

  “Second, the state of Israel does not represent the Jewish people. The bulldozing of homes and displacement of people—violence offends me.” He shook his head. “These are not religious imperatives. Settlers in the West Bank, mostly secular immigrants, displace local people. These acts are not right or just. Zionists have no right to do such things. Yes, we have suffered. But does our government then turn on others with injustice? Do we subject them to our will? Do we take away pieces of their land and call them our settlements until there is nothing left for Palestinians?”

  David nodded as the rabbi spoke. Marie looked shocked and her lips trembled, but she said nothing. The rabbi stirred his tea and waited for Ashley’s response. They had heard just the opposite from the old rabbi yesterday, the one who had endured the holocaust as a child. Now this. Ashley certainly had no question now about what Rabbi Cohen thought of her church’s position on Israel’s policies. But why did he feel so strongly? The rabbi continued as though reading Ashley’s thoughts.

  “Judaism teaches that we must not take land that is not ours to take—and yet we do it in the name of Judaism. That’s wrong. There are many of us who protest, nonviolently, but they trample on our rights. Judaism opposes aggression. The Torah does not sanction bloodshed by those who try to remain true to it.” He stopped and gazed intently at Ashley for several moments.

  “Most people don’t realize that Zionism is criticized fervently by many Orthodox Jews at their own peril. The secular establishment who often substitute Zionism for Judaism have no spiritual basis for ethnic cleansing. Our recent prime minister, Ariel Sharon, said in 1998 of the West Bank, and this is an exact quote, ‘Everybody has to move, run, and grab as many hilltops as they can… . Everything we don’t grab will go to them.’ That’s not religion—it’s real estate.”

  He paused again, leaned forward, and cleared his throat. “Look,” his voice rose, “the politicians suppress the truth and will not report the voices of observant Jews. So the world doesn’t know. It equates ‘Israel’ with ‘being Jewish.’ You Americans may never see our objection in print. It is not politically correct. Or if you do, it’s ‘anti-Semitic.’ ” He held up two fingers of both hands. “You’ll never hear what large numbers of Jewish people in Israel really think about Zionism.”

  That night Ashley went to bed with her thoughts churning in a whirlpool of conflicting ideas. Drawn first one way and then another, her mind circled ceaselessly. She had come to learn the truth of what she had always believed and to walk where Jesus walked. But now what was the truth? What would Jesus think of the conflict? He’d had his own trouble with religious leaders. She tossed and turned, unable to sleep for hours into the night.

  Chapter 43

  Back in the Christian Quarter, David guided Ashley and Marie up the Via Dolorosa or “way of sorrow.” They followed it up the incline of the eleven stations of the cross, ending in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. “Consecrated in AD 335 under Constantine, this complex building contains the twelfth station, said to be the site of Calvary and the cross where Jesus died.” David had it down pat.

  “How do you know all this Christian history?” Ashley teased. “You know a lot more of our history than I know of yours.”

  “If you grow up at the center of the world where the three major religions converge in one Holy City, you learn.”

  Once inside, Ashley’s ears buzzed as robed priests of Roman and Greek churches spoke impatiently to manage the crowds that lined up to touch various stones, including the Rock of Golgotha. Ashley felt bewildered. She tried to stand still to pray, but kept being jostled by people surging this way and that.

  And amid the chaos, Ashley suddenly felt an odd sensation of being watched. She tried to shake it, but it wouldn’t budge. Her spine tingled and her heart began to pound. She looked around but didn’t see anyone she recognized. Glancing up, she caught one of the priests watching her. He looked away to give directions to the crowd. Ashley drew in her breath. Paranoia wins, she thought. Again.

  After lunch with the whole group, the bus trip north of the Old City wall didn’t take long. Just long enough for Jim to explain that Gordon from the UK discovered the Garden Tomb in 1867 as an alternative to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Even if Jesus didn’t actually die there, it gave Protestants a picture of what the tomb resembled.

  As they entered the gate, Ashley sighed. “Ohhh, it’s beautiful. Let’s sit down on a bench, Marie.”

  As they gazed at the pathways and plantings, including shade trees and the natural rock walls of the garden, the sounds of an American tour group singing softly drifted up from a rocky cliff side below them. Tears welled as Ash
ley gazed at the cliff above the tomb site. They finished the visit by waiting in line to walk into the empty tomb carved out of the rock cliff, with three burial niches lining the walls. A large circular stone stood to one side of the opening. Ashley’s spirit finally found a moment it longed for, that indescribable divine connection.

  The next day, during lunch in the Armenian quarter close to the Jaffa Gate with David, they discussed their plans: leisurely shopping in the Souk, the Muslim quarter today.

  “But tomorrow I’ll be by early so we can spend enough time at the Temple Mount,” David said. “I’ll be with you until you go alone up to the top. I can’t go there. But it will be OK. You will be with a lot of other tourists. You can’t go into the Dome of the Rock anymore. That’s too bad. I’ve heard it’s quite dramatic.”

  “Why won’t you be with us on the top of the Temple Mount?” Marie wondered.

  “Jews aren’t allowed to go. It constitutes one of the holiest Muslim sites. Prime Minster Sharon forced his way up there in 2002 with soldiers, starting the second intifada. You know, the war that went on for months in the West Bank. So you’ll be on your own for your time on top.”

  Chapter 44

  Ashley awoke early. Their last full day in the Holy Land. After breakfast, she and Marie followed David through the Jewish Quarter to the Western Wall.

  They rounded the corner of a large building, pausing to read a sign in English and Hebrew. It explained the history of the temple area and Wailing Wall, that the huge stones at the base of the Western Wall are the original foundation stones of Solomon’s Temple. Jews from all over the world have prayed before them for hundreds of years, mourning their temple’s destruction and believing in its future restoration. Finally the sign quoted the Sages: THE DIVINE PRESENCE NEVER MOVES FROM THE WESTERN WALL.