From Main Street Rocky Mount,NC – Stepheny’s Reflection on the Israeli War

All together I have spent ten weeks in Israel. I’ve read dozens of books about the history of the area and biographies about Israeli and Palestinian leaders. I have slept in the desert on the way to St. Catherine’s Monastery in Egypt. I’ve seen camels and riders on a ridge with the sun setting behind them; a living Christmas card. I’ve picked up pebbles on the shore of the Galilee. I’ve stayed in a Kibbutz, picked olive leaves from a tree to press in a book.

Walking up hill to the Jaffa Gate there was a gardener on his knees weeding. He looked up and said, “Shalom.” As Israel goes to war it is his blessing I remember.

There is a hotel in East Jerusalem within walking distance of St. George’s College called, The American Colony. It has a beautiful court yard that became my favorite place to have lunch. It is a special story to me. After the Chicago Fire (October 8, 1871), a group left the city and moved to Jerusalem living in the old city. Eventually, in East Jerusalem, they created The American Colony where ex-pats gravitate. It is a quiet oasis in a noisy city where people drive constantly honking their horns. So many wonderful moments. Everyone who has left their own dust upon the roads of the holy land can tell you a different tale.

In my imagination I can smell the spices as I enter the Damascus Gate wandering through the Old City. Or, having fresh squeezed orange juice just inside the Jaffe Gate. The languages, the Orthodox Jews with their hair in long curls, laughter and music, yet soldiers with rifles scattered throughout the city.

In the Jewish Quarter there is a quiet and order that I often sought. It had nothing to do with the delicious coconut macaroon cookies though it was a reward for the furthest walk. The photograph above is how it remains when I return in my memories.

There is a big difference between seeing the holy lands through the eyes of a tourist or as a pilgrim. It is as a pilgrim that I hold them all. While buildings come down and the death toll rises, I remember everyone going some place in Jerusalem to pray. The icons and candles, the incense, the holy places, this is the ancient backdrop where this war is fought.

Remember your Sunday School bible stories and the pictures on the wall of Jesus calming the sea or kneeling in the Garden. Take my hand and I will lead you to St. Ann’s in the old city just through St. Stephens Gate. It is the first place I go and the last before I leave. This is the small chapel were we can pray. There is always a single blossom in a small vase on the altar. In the silence, on our knees, beside one another, in our imaginations, this place made holy by prayer, covers us and those we pray for.

May we never have to endure this reign of terror and loss.

I