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WHILE HAVING COFFEE
on our balcony we read from the
Urantia Book about Jesus’ final
days in Jerusalem so it would be
fresh in our minds when locating
the spots he frequented. After
breakfast we asked the
receptionist how we could walk
to Bethany, and were told that
this would be impossible, that
the only way to get there was by
sheirut, a large Mercedes- Benz
limo-like taxi that holds up to
eight people. Buses do not go
there, she said. We were left
with the impression that it had
something to do with Bethany
being an Arab town.
Large
crowds of Moslems were out
today. Joy stopped to buy
underwear from a street vendor
while I took pictures of the
transaction.
Outside the gate we found a
sheirut, which we shared with a
large Moslem family, to Bethany.
It was a longer and hillier ride
than we'd expected, and we
wondered how Jesus could have
walked this route so often.
Jesus and
Jude walked over to Bethany for
the night….[1416]
Jesus and
John stopped overnight at
Bethany with Lazarus and his
sisters, going early the next
morning to Jerusalem. . .
. Many days John went into
Jerusalem alone while Jesus
walked about over the near-by
hills and engaged in many
seasons of spiritual communion
with his Father in heaven.
[1494]
Seeking
again to avoid the crowds
passing through the Kidron
valley back and forth between
Gethsemane Park and Jerusalem,
Jesus and the twelve walked over
the western brow of Mount Olivet
to meet the road leading from
Bethany down to the city. [1934]
In
Bethany, which was smaller and
quieter than we’d expected, we
were dropped off near a church
built on the supposed spot where
Lazarus had lived.
Nearby
was his tomb and across the
street was “The Oldest House in
Bethany,” advertised as the
authentic home of Martha and
Mary.
The orange
sign points to the entrance to
Lazarus's tomb
We
were skeptical but paid a few
shekels to the owner for a
little tour (the price included
a glass of fresh-squeezed orange
juice). We agreed it was an
obvious fraud created for
tourists, but it was cooler
inside and there were tables and
chairs, so we decided to stay a
while. Being the only patrons,
we took turns reading “The
Resurrection of Lazarus” paper
aloud searching for more quotes
relating to Bethany.
We
asked the owner if he knew of an
English-speaking driver to take
us around, but he knew of no one
on such short notice. Businesses
all around were closing up and
shutting down for the afternoon,
people retreated indoors, and by
the time we emerged from the
Mary and Martha house, Bethany
had become a ghost town except
for one man, sitting on the
corner of the street.
We
approached him and found that he
spoke English, so we asked, “If
you were to walk to Jerusalem,
which way would you go?” He
pointed to the road we were
standing on, telling us to
follow it over the hill to
Bethpage, and from there to the
Mount of Olives, then across to
Jerusalem. He told us that cars
couldn’t use that road because
there were too many obstacles.
He even walked part of the way
with us.
It was
uphill all the way—a dirt road
of perhaps two to three
kilometers to Jerusalem. We also
found the “fork of the road” in
Bethpage where perhaps the “colt
of an ass” had been tied:
"Go to
Bethphage, and when you come to
the junction of the roads, you
will find the colt of an ass
tied there. Loose the colt and
bring it back with you. If any
one asks you why you do this,
merely say, ‘The Master has need
of him.’” And when the two
apostles had gone into Bethphage
as the Master had directed, they
found the colt tied near his
mother in the open street and
close to a house on the corner.”
[1881]
The corner at the junction of
the road leading from Bethany to
Bethpage
Another
view of Bethpage
The walk from Bethany to the
Mount of Olives, seen in
distance
* * *
At the
Mount of Olives we stopped in
again at the Seven Arches Hotel,
after which we visited a few of
the tourist sights and descended
into the Garden of Gethsemane.
Joy wanted to immerse herself in
the atmosphere and pray by
herself, so I left her there and
headed back.
Walking around the wall outside
the old city toward the Damascus
Gate, I encountered swarms of
Moslems and busy, noisy traffic.
I was beginning to feel like a
mountain goat with all the
climbing I was doing.
After
freshening up at our hotel I
took off on foot again to find
the Netcafé and got lost in a
beautiful part of the new city.
It was close to sundown, and
hundreds of orthodox Jews in
black frock coats and top hats,
with a long ringlet of hair on
each side of the head (obviously
curled by curling iron), were
streaming toward the Old City
for their Sabbath ritual in the
synagogue.
My
Netcafé was closed, so I walked
back to our hotel, stopping on
the way to buy a bottle of wine
for 15 shekels (the same brand
we’d paid 44 shekels for in the
hotel earlier). This time I came
in through the Jaffa Gate, where
I noticed an unusual hotel, the
New Imperial. I went in and
found it was a Palestinian hotel
run by an American woman who had
lived there for decades. She
showed me an enormous room
overlooking the entrance to the
city, $44 for two, and on a whim
I reserved it for the next
night, hoping to convince Joy
that this was something we
needed to experience.
I went
back to our room and poured
myself a glass of wine on the
balcony. When Joy came in she
had already eaten (she told me
she couldn’t resist a street
vendor who was selling
incredible falafel plates!), so
I went alone to yesterday’s
restaurant where the same
Japanese tourist and group of
Americans were sitting at the
same tables as the night before.
It was a pleasant atmosphere
and, like all the other lone
diners, I propped up my books
and notebooks and made myself
look busy.
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