Confrontation to the Core

The roosters and the “call” woke me again on Saturday morning, but the exhaustion was too much to overcome. I rolled over and we got a ‘late’ start on the day at 8am. With a goal to get inside the Dome of the Rock on our minds, we set out immediately to try our luck. On our first attempt at entry we were turned back by men in military uniforms and sizeable hand guns. “Closed for Muslim prayer,” we were told. A second try at another entry point proved useless as well, “boukra inshalla,” (tomorrow God willing) was the response. The third and final attempt, at the Temple Mount, a wooden bridge next to the Wailing Wall that leads to the top of the all important Jewish shrine adjacent to the Dome of the Rock, we were once again turned away by Muslim guards with weapons. Walking around the plaza in front of the Wailing Wall, dodging Jewish security forces hell bent on preventing any pictures from being taken, (we weren’t attempting to take pictures I should add) we, as ‘entitled Americans’ were really tired of being told “no”, that we weren’t allowed to do something, anything. To be honest, I felt very glad, even proud, that I was an American, with certain unalienable rights. This society of “no” is hard to take. But Seth, Seth was pissed; wicked pissed. He’s been everywhere, seen everything, and not being allowed on the Dome of the Rock, with its ornate tiling and historic architecture, to take some photos was killing him.

I came up with aPlan B, to ascend the tower at the Church of the Redemption in the Christian Quarter. Climbing the worn down steps in the spiral stairwell up to the bell tower of a German run church with views of the historic locale, and the wonderful photographic options it held (especially looking out over the Dome of the Rock), I thought would ease the pain. But it wasn’t enough. We both still felt a bit violated, singled out. We were denied entry to a beautiful shrine with thousands of years of historic importance simply because of our religious affiliation. This is the Middle East. Jordan isn’t like this at all, but now I know that this sentiment does not hold true throughout the rest of this part of the world.

This was further reinforced when some kids tried to keep us from walking through their neighborhood. “Where you going? This closed. Only for Muslims.” We didn’t believe it for a second. It was too much. Instead we kept on walking and then sat down on some steps and made sure all of the other tourists that passed by who were told the same, did not feel intimidated and would continue on, as we did, by shouting, “No, don’t listen to them, nothing’s closed.” Of which we heard replies of “merci”, “grazie”, “gracias”, “danke”, etc. Those little punks weren’t going to win this time. We made sure of it.

After haggling with a cabbie for a five minute ride to the Israeli Museum (he wanted $15, we settled for $11), we hopped in. Frustration was at an all time high and when the driver asked how our day was Seth replied that, “you didn’t let us into the Dome of the Rock.” The rest of the conversation went like this:

Driver (D): “oh yes, only for Muslims.”

Seth (S): “But we just want to see the beautiful architecture. It’s really quite a place. Why is it that we can’t go inside? All of the other religious sites are open to people of all faiths.” (This was very diplomatic and asked in the form of a question rather than a challenge).

D: “No, this is different.”

S: “No. I don't think it's different at all. You’re allowed to go into the Vatican.”

D: “oh yes, I’ve been to the Vatican. It’s very beautiful.”

S: “You see, you’re allowed in there. We allow you to see it. There’s no difference.”

D: “You don’t understand. There is a difference.”

S: “I find it interesting that there is a difference between the policies of some Muslim leaders and those of other religions .”

D: “You have to understand, people have done many bad things to the Muslim people.”

S: “Well, Muslims have done many bad things to us as well.”

D: “Oh, really, like what?”

S: “Well……what happened in New York City for starters.”

D: “Now you’re getting political mister.”

At this point, sitting in the back seat, I wonder whether this guy is going to decide to make himself a martyr and swerve into oncoming traffic to take out some infidels. I buckle my seat belt and shift, uncomfortably in my seat. Attempting to diffuse (bad choice of words) the situation I ask the driver how much it would be for a cab to the airport for the next morning as we were flying back to Amman instead of going through the border crossing. We had already booked and put a down payment on a cab, but information is power. He says 200 shekels and we find out that once again we were taken. This time by the hotel staff, on a 300 shekel quote ($83).

I should mention in defense of Seth, at risk that I may have offended him here, thatI completely agreed with my friend on this issue of which he was discussing with our driver. I just don’t find it useful to argue with brainwashed, closed-minded people. But he was frustrated, rightfully upset, and tired of being taken advantage of and discriminated against and it all boiled over. Enough said.

We made it to the Israeli museum unscathed, and spent the next three hours or so tooling around the place. It’s a fine museum with antiquities and artifacts from all the epochs, modern art (Warhol), paintings by some of the most famous artists in history (Monet, Manet, Van Gogh, Millet, Cezanne, Dail), some of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and an impressive model of Jerusalem from the 1^st century AD, in its heyday, before it was destroyed by Hadrian. The most extraordinary pieces in the museum were two ossuaries, largely overlooked by basically everyone passing through. One was the ossuary of Caiaphas, the high priest who was the most vocal opponent of Jesus, and who organized the plot to kill him. Some pretty deep stuff. The second was another, rather simple ossuary, which I had actually seen a documentary on the Discovery Channel about. "The inscription on the side, in Aramaic, read, “Jesus, son of Joseph

The mathematical probability that there was another Jesus whose father was named Joseph (Jesus was a very common name, like Jim) is somewhere in the range of 600 to 1; however the implications of it could completely alter history. I think most people would rather leave well enough alone.

Another battle with cab drivers ensued upon leaving the museum and we had to settle on $20 for the five minute ride. Back in the Old City we spent the rest of the late afternoon shopping around the bazaars, looking for last minute gifts. We killed time by mocking the shop owners who were attempting to charge ten times or more than the final prices that we were eventually able to whittle them down to. My advice, if you’ve got patience, a little guts, no shame, and a general apathy for people who make a living ripping off well intentioned pilgrims, you can get some decent prices. For example, I bought something for $5 that started at $33. And I know the guy still made money.