Well, it’s Holy Week over here in the Holy Land (and everywhere else in the world) and my oh my are things...holy. Some of you might be wondering how I’m writing this post so early in the day (those people are excellent at time zone math). Today is the first day of Easter Break...Easter Break ’09! WOOOOHOOOO! Everyone at school was exhausted even though we only had a three day week, perhaps because we’re all suffering from some sleeping sickness or maybe because we crammed seven days of ceremony/tradition/teaching into three 5 hour days...you decide. (ooooooo, it’s like choose your own adventure...If you think it’s the sleeping sickness, turn to page 10, and if you think it’s option 2, just keep reading...because you’re right!) Oh wait, my bad, we did Commitment Saturday and Palm Sunday on the Friday before...I’m such a liar, please forgive me. Maybe I should start with a Holy Week Outline. There’s Commitment Saturday, Palm Sunday, Extravagant Monday, Compulsion to Completion Tuesday, Wednesday-Day of Aloneness (this one totally screws up the pattern), Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday (someone at the name deciding committee was feeling a little lazy I think), and Easter Sunday. As I said before, we (kids, faculty, and staff at BHCP) did Commitment Saturday and Palm Sunday on Friday. It was cool. We committed to stuff and then processed around the school grounds with our decorated palms (the ones from trees...not the ones on our hands). I say we, but while everyone was committing and processing I was running around trying to get the best photographic angles and light. I felt like I was doing suicides on the world’s biggest basketball court...with the weirdest terrain. My crowning glory was when I sprinted from the bottom end of the property to the upper school at the top, through the school (scaring the photocopier delivery guy), and up the stairs to the balcony so I could get some sweet arial shots...it was awesome (and exhausting...I really need to come up with some workouts over here). Little did I know, my sprint to capture faux-Palm Sunday glory was only a warm-up for the real thing on actual Palm Sunday. (I really wanted to call it the Big Show or the Big Dance, but that would be wrong, so very very wrong) (Mom just pointed out that there actually were spontaneous dance parties in the procession, but I clarified that I was referring to the NCAA basketball tournament, or at least I was trying to) On actual Palm Sunday, Mom and I planned to meet up with two friends and their respective son and daughter. We ended up taking two taxis (because we couldn’t fit in one), and perhaps if we had all gone together things would have been drastically different, but we didn’t because we couldn’t. V and S and T (V’s daughter) took one taxi and sent S’s son, D, to pick us up in another taxi. D is about 12 or 13, very nice, very smart, and very shy. He speaks and understands a fair amount of English but I have rarely heard him use it. That all changed on Sunday. (I feel like I’m doing the voice over on a trailer for an action movie...
In a world where no one spoke that much English...) D picked us up and we were whisked away towards the Old City. (our taxi driver was bold, which is nicer than saying he was maniacal) The procession started on top of the Mount of Olives (which is outside the Old City) and wound its way down to the Church of All Nations, then back up through the Lion Gate, into the Old City, and finished at St. Anne’s just inside the walls. We were supposed to be dropped off on top of the Mount, but the road our driver took was completely blocked off by the police and he/D/Mom and I had no ideas for an alternate route. We attempted to call the other taxi, but they only had one cell phone and it had no coverage on the Israeli side of the wall. We paid our taxi driver and hopped out, looking expectantly at D...who just looked right back at us. He had no firm idea where we were supposed to go (Mom and I didn’t even pretend to know how to get to the Mount) and we had no contact with the people that could help us...an exciting beginning to be sure. Meanwhile, Mom and I were super prepared for the excursion. We had packed snacks, water, sunscreen, we were carrying two separate cameras (one digital, one non-digital), and Mom was wearing her walking shoes and her fancy sun blocking hat (I decided against walking shoes because 1. I don’t have any here and 2. they certainly wouldn’t have gone with my outfit). When I looked at Mom, with my electric lemonade backpack strapped on her, a water bottle in each holster, the digital camera slung around her neck, and her lavender glasses glinting at me beneath the brim of her hat, she reminded me very strongly of Waldo, from Where’s Waldo. We looked more touristy than actual tourists. We had packed everything we might need...except a map. Where’s Waldo?, indeed. However, our happy/lost band of travelers remained outwardly confident in the face of this possible disaster and started walking towards the base of the Mount of Olives, soaking up the sun and snapping photos of cool stuff along the way (I lost my descriptive powers so “cool stuff” will have to suffice). D continued to try and make contact with his mother and in one miraculous moment he did, gleaning that they were waiting for us at Muquarnas (I have no idea if that is how it is spelled) Hospital. This was exciting, until we realized none of us knew where that was. Eventually we reached the Garden of Gesthsemene (again, spelling is fluid for me, not exact) which is connected to the Church of All Nations and it was here that Mom decided to set up Base Camp. We understood from all of the police and people standing around that the procession would pass by this very spot on its way to the Old City and it was a prime location from which to snap photos and look for our wayward companions. Also, there were a few shady seats available. Understandably, D was nervous about not meeting up with his mother so we started asking around trying to ascertain the location of Muquarnas Hospital. As luck would have it, one gentleman did know the location and he delightedly told us it was straight and then left...which actually made sense at the time. Armed with detailed directions, we decided that Mom should hold down the fort while D and I went in search of our lost party. When the man said straight, I think he must have meant straight up in the air, because the street (more like semi-paved back road that insane taxis careen down) we climbed up closely resembled the y-axis on a coordinate graph. While the views were spectacular (I don’t know if the photo does them justice) it was difficult to enjoy them sprawled out on the rocks beside the road.
We made it to the top, eventually, and joined S, V, and T in the race to join the procession. We were able to join in with a group S knew and we started down the Mount of Olives...the same Mount that D and I had just finished scaling. At this point I felt that I had already done my Palm Sunday procession, but I was in a mass of people
with no way out
and I had to go back down to meet up with Mom anyway. (And it was pretty cool to walk with all those people...
but I was tired and hot and feeling sorry for myself) I was not the only one who wanted to be done. About five minutes into the procession, T, who is 8 I think, turned to V and asked “When are we going home?” I can understand her desire to be done as she is about 4 feet tall and has thick jet black hair that is about 3 feet long. Not only was she broiling from the hair hanging down her back, but she couldn’t see anything except the backs and butts in front of her. She couldn’t even enjoy the rare breezes that went by. All in all, T got a raw deal. Then again, V did tell her not to come, saying that she would have no fun, but T refused to be left at home, convinced her mother was going shopping and having a wild time. We made to the bottom of the hill with no tears shed (by either me or T) and we picked up Mom. She snapped this photo of us.
T is not pleased...but everyone else is psyched! We continued on the path of...I don’t think it was the path of righteousness, we’ll call it the path of walking...ness...to St. Anne’s where we wandered around the grounds among the crowds until I finally lost it (I was desperately tired/thirsty/unmedicated and all I really wanted was to go home...or at least get one of the brownies from the backpack) and sat down between two cars (It was actually pretty roomy, with enough space for people to easily walk by me). We were waiting for the Patriarch to come and give a speech/blessing (this is why we didn’t just go home) and he was at the back of the procession (perhaps he wanted to be fashionably late to the party...if so, I was not amused) (actually, once we were sitting down and munching on brownies, T and I didn’t really care when we left). He came and gave his blessings and his message and it was nice and then we bounced out. S, V, T, and D headed back towards the checkpoint and Mom and I went in search of dinner at Notre Dame. In all, the procession had taken 7 hours (this includes taxi rides etc.). It was only the beginning of Holy Week and already I was exhausted.
Dang it, I was going to cover all of Holy Week up to right now in this post, but I got carried away with Sunday...as usual (the carried away part, not the Sunday thing...that would make no sense). Don’t worry, I intend to write more today, I just have to take a tabbouleh break. (Did I tell you, dear Reader (oh my, I haven’t called you that for ages) that I have successfully mastered making, though not spelling, tabouli? And that I’m back in the game Marinara sauce wise? Did anyone understand that last question?) Anyway, I’ll be back right after some deliciousness...and maybe some 30 Rock...
