Smugglers and Rooftops

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Geo: 31.7738, 35.2252

This was our final morning in Israel, and we resolved to sleep in if possible. Our flight to Istanbul -- where we would spend the night, before continuing on to Washington the next day -- was not until 9:15pm, so we had the day to ourselves. Our initial goal had been to go back and see some of the things we couldn't before -- principal among them being the Church of the Holy Sepulchre -- and perhaps pick up a few final nick-nacks. As we were going to check in our luggage tonight all the way through to Dulles, we each pulled out what we needed for our Istanbul overnight and threw it into a common carry-on. Having the one bag would make it easier, and it turned out to be very convenient that Turkish Airlines would check that bags all the way through that night.

Our primary goal for the day was to witness the ceremony of the Holy Fire, which
happens once a year on the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter in the Holy Sepulchre Church. Shortly after noon, one of the priests from the church (the different sects take turns) would be searched to ensure he had no matches, lighters, etc. on him, and they he would be sealed within the small Tomb of Jesus. After some period of time -- always a little different --
the tradition is that the Holy Spirit comes down and ignites a single candle which was carried by the priest into the crypt. The priest then emerges with the fire, which allegedly burns a cool blue, and passes the flame among the throngs of people lining the church and out into the street. The flame is then sent via airplane to cities around the world. I had never heard of this until we were planning the trip, but it definitely sounded like something worth seeing, so we were going to try.

After breakfast we checked out of the hotel, and they held our bags. Our Nesher Taxi to the airport was to pick us up at 4:45pm, so we had the whole day basically. As we set off walking down the hill toward Jaffa Gate, the streets and sidewalks were completely empty. It was as if we were at a movie studio and they had closed off the set. The morning before we'd walked much this same route and it had been literal wall-to-wall Hassidim and Sephardic Jews and their families. As it was Saturday morning, they were still home marking Shabbat, so I was particularly optimistic as we walked through the final couple hundred feet of the outdoor pedestrian shopping mall that spills out at a large staircase that leads up the base of Jaffa Gate. Not half way up the staircase I saw the first police barricade. We emerged on top, and the entire square in front of the gate had been set up with plastic chairs, each of which was filled with what must have been two or three hundred pilgrims. The police had surrounded those chairs, and all accesses to the gate, with barricades and dozens of soliders/policemen. Everyone who was not yet in a chair was turned away. I forced my way up to one of the soliders who was answering questions from other frustrated visitors. She said the gate was closed to everyone and the city was "full." Evidently the people sitting in chairs had been there most of the night, and even they were not allowed further, into the actual city. I asked several soldiers if any of the city gates were open. Most said "no," but one told us that Zion Gate -- to the south, in the Jewish Quarter -- "might be open." With no recourse, we set off to walk around the city gates and try to find a way in through one of the five gates.

We followed one false lead, which led us around the outer walls of the Armenian Quarter and into the outer gate, to the Tomb of David, but we could get no further. It was a back path to Zion Gate, but it was blocked by multiple barricades. Pleas to unconcerned soldiers were universally ignored. The city was closed.

There is an entrance east, along the same wall, which leads to the Wailing Wall. Working on the assumption that they would not close off access to the Wailing Wall for Jews during Passover, we elected to walk that way, which involved a very convoluted backtracking of our steps, and several mouse-maze-like attempts to get back outside he outer wall. We finally found the perimeter road and headed downhill. Across the street from us, two middle-aged women (who I believe were from Italy) were scurrying along, desperately trying to keep up with a short but spry grey-haired Arab man who was walking in front of them very quickly. He gestured over to me and asked if we were trying to go to the Holy Sepulchre. While we'd pretty much abandoned any hope of getting near the church, we did at least want to get into the city, so I said, "yes." He offered to "get us inside, but you pay me." He must have seen the wariness in my eyes, as he immediately said, "you pay me if I get you there." I glanced back at the other two ladies, who glanced at me long enough to smile and point at the man and smile amidst their huffing and puffing to keep up with him. K and I exchanged "what the heck?" looks and we fell in line behind them.

Sure enough, the entrance to the Wailing Wall was open for Jews. Knowing exactly where he was going, the little man proceeded to lead us up various staircases of all sizes, and down a myriad of twisting alleyways and passages. The map I had was utterly useless in trying to even orient myself after a while. None of the little paths we were taking were on any map. His pace was so fast, that it was a real challenge to not lose him, as he'd already be out of sight, having made another turn, as soon as we made the previous turn. Only once did he acquiesce to the pleas for a break from the two Italian ladies, and while we all took refuge on the ledge of planter and caught our breadth, he paced impatiently. He told us that this was his sixth time already that day sneaking people into the city.

We continued on, and it became evident that we'd managed to get out of the Jewish Quarter and were somewhere on the edges of either the Muslim or Christian Quarters. His pace slowed here, and he began peeking around corners before committing to any turns. We reached a final crossroads of two narrow allies and he pointed to a police barricade down to our left. Behind the barricade you could see the sunlight hitting part of a small courtyard. He told us that the Holy Sepulchre was behind that. He said to go the barricade and to not take "no" for answer. He claimed small numbers of people were being permitted every few minutes. I paid him and we decided to try our luck, followed by our new Italian compatriots.

We spilled out along a very busy souq area, filled with what must have been locals who live in the city going about their Saturday morning shopping. None of them were at the barricade seeking to get close to the church. It was quickly, and rudely, made known to us by the soldiers that we could go no further. They said things would open up again after 4:00pm -- which was about five and a half hours later. As I tried in desperation to find exactly where we were on the map, several local Arabs approached and offered to help. They gave me a general of idea of where we were. A couple suggested to try one route out of the area. We decided to try, and we passed through a police barricade; we were passing from the reverse side, so they had no problems with letting us pass. Not five seconds after we passed, I realized we'd reached a dead end and could not go further in either direction. We turned around and attempted to pass back through the barricade through which we had literally just passed, but were stopped. I pleaded with the female solider, who had stepped aside to let us pass, that I was just going backwards and that we had no intention of going to the church...we just wanted out. She rudely and angrily told me it wasn't going to happen and we were out of luck...and essentially trapped.

Perhaps my rising frustration was becoming too obvious, as at this very moment an Arab man gestured from his small shop selling blankets and pillows. He asked if we were trying to get around. When I said "yes," he pointed to a small spiral metal staircase at the corner of his shop and he said we could go up on his roof for $10 a piece. As we were trapped, we didn't hesitate and followed the man up through what must have been his private house, and up onto his roof. Our Italians friends were still in tow, too. We emerged onto the roof and realized that we were quite literally next to the Holy Sepulchre. The domes were right across from the landing on which we stood. There were small pockets of people standing on various portions of the rooftops, which were a hodgepodge of levels linked together at awkward angles over the centuries. He pointed to a vague area of the roof and told us to go down there.

It was disorientating up on the roof, and each group of people -- several of which included priests, nuns, and monks -- were headed in different directions. It was obvious that there was no one "right way," or they'd all be going there. I scouted out the options, none of which seemed good. At the bottom of each set of stairs stood small squads of soldiers and police. We watched one particularly sad moment when a group of about six or seven elderly nuns approached the barricade from below. Despite their status, the soldiers were not moving and would not let them pass. It was really heartbreaking to watch.

We committed and descended the stairs, and police did little beyond make room for us to pass. As we walked away from the church area, I finally found us on the map and we elected to head for the Armenian Quarter, as it was the least populated and away from all the activity in the Christian Quarter. I was filled with what turned out to be false hope as we reached a crossroads we'd visited a couple days earlier, from which it was an easy trip to Jaffa Gate and out, but we were stopped. I lied and said we were Armenians on our way to the Church of St. George. They would not let us pass, but I grew angrier as he waived through two groups of Jewish people without even questioning them. With nowhere to go, we backtracked and soon came upon another barricade. These soldiers told us to go back where we came, to which I told them those same soldiers had just told us to go to them. I made it clear that we just wanted to get out, but that no one would let us. The soldier to which I said this showed no understanding or compassion, but his supervisor stepped out from the shadows and asked which soldiers had not yet us pass. I pointed up the alleyway, at which point he touched my arm and told us to follow him. In perfect American-accent English, the man apologized for all the chaos. He told us tensions were extremely high between the sects controlling the Holy Sepulchre and they feared possible violence. We marched right up to the man at the barricade who had just turned us away, the man barked something angrily in Hebrew, and they all stood aside to let us pass. I thought we were done, but the officer continued to walk with us and said he was going to make sure we could continue to pass. We approached another barricade, and this one I could understand. There was a parade assembling of Armenian boy scouts, and they were straddling the width of the alley practicing their instruments and getting ready for a procession of some type. We fell in behind a small gaggle of Hassidic Jews, who were yelling at the soldiers in Hebrew; they stepped aside, and the Jews began to force and squeeze their way past the musicians. A soldier stepped forward to block our way, but again our officer savior said something harsh in Hebrew and the solider relented. The officer turned to us, pointed around the corner, and said "Follow the Jews. You'll be fine." ...and we were off.

We'd managed to reach the inner courtyard just beyond the Jaffa Gate. We could still see the masses of people seated in those plastic chairs on the other side, none of whom had moved in the three or so hours since we first approached them from the rear. There were a few souvenir and handiwork shops open in the square area, and it was obvious they were being impacted by the closing off of the city to tourists. We had one item for which we were still looking, so we visited a couple shops. When we told one shopkeeper what we wanted, he explained that "his other shop" had "just what you want." We asked if we'd even be able to get there, to which he said, "no problem." We followed him out and through a series of barricades, all of which he was able to negotiate by speaking in Arabic. My best guess is that he also lives within the walls. We emerged in a portion of the city we had not yet visited, near the New Gate, which we had not yet seen. We were deposited with "his brother," and left to shop. Here, too, it was obvious that the shut off in tourists was really impacting the shops. The silver lining in all this is that we did find what we wanted and we got a "special price."

By the time we finished lunch and visited a particularly nice tile shop, we wanted to make our way back to the Austrian Hospice in the Muslim Quarter. Anna and K had been talking of going to their cafe for coffee and Apfelstruedel. It was now after 2:00pm and we'd been told some of the barricades might be moved...they were not. Through a series of starts and missteps, being turned around at multiple locations, we finally started through a series of very narrow passages which ran through the heart of the Muslim residential area. A few times we took wrong turns, but locals would invariably approach us. I'd tell them where were heading, and they'd get us back on track. Thank goodness they were helpful, as none of the alleys were on my map and the closeness and heights of the walls meant that I could find no landmarks or even orient myself by the sun.

Feeling as if we were approaching the end of a marathon, we finally emerged near the Austrian Hospice and all but collapsed into a nice booth in the cafe. It gave us time to reflect on the incredibly bizarre day we had had to date.

Thoroughly refreshed, we turned north and headed to the main Arab portal at Damascus Gate. The further we got from the religious area, it was clearly a normal market day for these people, as we walked past stall after stall of spices, vegetables, breads, meat, clothes, etc. As if shooting the rapids, the crowds funneled down and we passed through the very narrow gate and spilled out into the outer gate area, which was packed. Tired and just wanting to get away from people, we found an Arab cab which brought us back to our hotel. The Jewish area of town was still deserted and it was incredibly relaxing to have the taxi deposit us at the foot of the pedestrian zone near our hotel, where everything was still shuttered, deserted, and quiet. It felt like a small slice of heaven.

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