Jerusalem, Israel: The Sacred and Silly Cities (cont.)

The huge marble sepulchre, which is where Jesus is supposed-to-have been buried, sits in the middle of the church’s rotunda, and I joined the long line of people waiting to get in.  The queue moved slowly; the empty tomb’s two chambers are so small only four or five can enter at the same time.  I stood patiently and reached the front of the line when two short nuns behind me shoved me out of their way and went in first.  While my gut reaction was to push them back and say something rude, I remembered where I was and who they were and decided it wouldn’t be prudent to hassle nuns at the Tomb of Our Lord, even if they deserved it. I turned the other cheek. 

Then someone exited, and I squeezed into the first chamber—the Chapel of the Angel, which is dedicated to the seraph who let Mary Magdalene know Christ had risen—behind the ill-mannered nuns.  When someone else left, I followed them into the tomb, a tiny room with a priest sitting in the corner and a raised slab, which is where Jesus’s body is supposed-to-have lain.  The tomb was covered with candles and icons.  The nuns were pictures of piety: genuflecting and kneeling and kissing icons and throwing coins onto the slab; and all I could think was, “Sure, you’re all sweetness and light inside Christ’s tomb, but, gee, sisters, didn’t you ever read the thou-shalt-not-shove parts of the Bible?”

A plethora of supposed-to-have sites are clustered outside the Old City.  The first is Mount Zion, where I saw the Cenacle, a bare room where the Last Supper is supposed-to-have taken place; the Basilica of the Dormition Abbey, built on the site where Mary is supposed-to-have lived; and David’s Tomb, where David is supposed-to-have been buried.  The second is the Garden Tomb, which many Protestants claim is the true location of Jesus’s crucifixion, entombment and resurrection.  And the third, just down the hill behind the Dome of the Rock, is the Mount of Olives, home to the Garden of Gethsemane, Mary’s Tomb and numerous churches, including those commemorating sites where Christ was supposed-to-have a) ascended into heaven; b) wept for Jerusalem; c) spent his last night on earth in prayer; and d) foretold his Second Coming to the 12 disciples.       

II

 I traveled outside the Old City to explore Yad Vashem, Israel’s monument to the Holocaust.  A museum and several memorials are scattered around the park-like grounds, and the Children’s Memorial is especially powerful:  a column of candles burns in the center of a dark building, and its mirrored walls create the illusion of being in a forest of candles while a calm recorded voice recites the names and ages of the child victims.

What surprised me most about Jerusalem was that the city seemed as calm as that voice at Yad Vashem.  This tranquility amazed me, partly because of the country’s political turmoil and stormy history and partly because so many Jewish men—in and out of uniform—carried Uzis on their backs as casually as if they were backpacks.  One evening, I went to the Jerusalem Mall and saw a man dressed in civilian clothes pushing a baby stroller and walking into Burger King with his wife—and there was an Uzi draped over his shoulder. 

Jerusalem’s slick façade can be as misleading as that calm voice at Yad Vashem.  When I first began to walk through the children’s memorial, I was enchanted by the candles and soothed by the voice, as if I were in a Disneyland attraction; but then you remember that it is a memorial for murdered kids, and the darkness suddenly seems spooky, the voice is chilling.  Jerusalem, too, initially appeared amiable and civilized—until I acknowledged that amiability and civility weren’t entirely compatible with packing heat while ordering a Whopper.

III
Bethlehem is part of Jerusalem’s suburban sprawl; but since it’s in Palestinian territory, I had to go to the Arab bus station to catch a minibus there.  The bus dropped me off on Hebron Road on Bethlehem’s outskirts, and I wandered aimlessly without a map until I saw a star.  A star tops a building not far from the Basilica of the Nativity; and by heading toward it, I found my way through the city’s narrow streets to Manger Square.

So unprepossessing is Manger Square that I walked right through it and past the Basilica of the Nativity without even knowing it.  I guessed that I was in the right area when I stumbled onto a street lined with Jesus kiosks, but I realized I’d gone too far when I saw signs pointing toward the Milk Grotto, where Mary is supposed-to-have nursed the Christ Child as she, Joseph, and the baby fled to Egypt.  Since I was so close, I went inside.  The proof that Mary breastfed there?  Milky-white veins in the grotto’s ceiling, which have now been obscured by years of candle smoke.  Tender pictures and statues of Mary nursing Jesus fill the grotto, but I still thought it the silliest supposed-to-have site I saw in Israel.

I headed back to Manger Square, which I’d breezed through before because it looked conventionally Arab.  While I hadn’t expected a Christmas-card little town of Bethlehem, I’d envisioned something more than a drab plaza-cum-parking lot festooned with Palestinian banners.  On closer inspection, though, I saw Christian-tourist-site clues I’d missed:  a strip of Jesus kiosks and the Christmas Tree Restaurant.

The Basilica was unimpressive from the outside:  a white stone building with some small crosses and a tiny star on top.  To enter, I scrunched down to fit in the child-sized Door of Humility, put there for historical defensive purposes, not theological ones.  The church’s interior was austere.  Some floorboards are popped up to display Byzantine tiles from the original church; there are no pews; and the altar is understated.

The manger is supposed-to-have been underneath the altar; and I went down a few stairs to examine the star that marks the spot, which is ringed by a Latin phrase that basically says, “It happened here.”  I had the warm, quiet room to myself.  No tour groups in sight.  This was truly miraculous; so maybe, I thought, just maybe, this really was the place.

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