Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Goodbyes and reunions
Bethlehem was wonderful, and we were happy to see that people are returning there in some numbers. Since the second intifada the town had been almost deserted by tourists and even by pilgrims, and the People of Bethlehem had struggled to survive. It is no longer so, and although there are clearly many problems the town is at least alive with visitors again, and therefore once more has some currency coming in
We saw the wall, of course, you can't miss the wall. It is, sadly, ugly in every sense - nine metre blocks of concrete fastened together and dotted with watch towers, stretching for miles to remind a divided people that divisions are entirely man made.
Nobody here wants the wall - Israel built it for protection, of course, against terrible attack, but as a solution it is surely no more effective than shutting a door to keep your anger locked in. It's an enemy in itself, and set against the lovely pink beige of the Jerusalem stone it's a scar. Not that it would be any better built of pink stone - it is what it is. A barrier to movement and therefore to friendship and understanding.
The wall made us sad, but our driver was a delight, taking us to the Mount of Olives where, as a small boy, he had given tourists olive branches and asked for coins. Sure enough, when we got there they were waiting for us, branches at the ready.
He was a lovely man - his family grave dates back 700 years, he told us, but his heart aches at the divisions in his country. There are hard stories to hear on all sides here.
Our final celebratory supper provided a last chance for the remaining cyclists - and some family members - to gather before we part. It was a chance for Ed to embarrass us all, and a chance for us all the embarrass Ed. Both chances were taken to the full.
Since I have a hold of this blackberry and have therefore a certain amount of freedom to embarrass Ed still further, I include here my words to him....
Every so often half way up a hill
You'd come pedalling by and I'd be standing still
I'd say, Ed, is this the last hill for a while
And you never replied, you just gave me that smile.
So charming, so handsome, that smile said, don't worry
There's only one more and we're not in a hurry
You seemed to have faith that I'd get there with ease
Despite pain in my calves and my thighs and my knees
So thank you for smiling and helping me on
Till the miles were all done and the hills were all gone
But I'll never forget till I'm long in the tooth
The difference 'tween literal and Biblical truth.
And so after supper a few of us painted the town red (or at least a gentle pink). Fi made friends with all of Jerusalem and the forty somethings actually stayed awake later than Veila!
Sunday morning dawned with an early trip to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for some, and the Mosque for others. The church, the place where Christ was crucified, and where He was laid in Joseph's tomb, was deeply moving. The church was full of pilgrims - Greek orthodox, Armenian and a group of Christians on pilgrimage from California who were generous enough to allow me to join their Eucharist service. I can't say what a privilege it was to say Mass with this lovely group of people and their priest at the very place of the Crucifixion.
And now the blog should end, despite my own tendency to waffle on as a cure for your insomnia.
It has been an enormous privilege to share this journey with these people, even if I shared it from the back (where, as so often said, so many of them lingered to help me on) and to finish in this place. I am writing this now from a cafe in a quiet Jerusalem - most people are in church or in bed. The heat of the day isn't yet upon us, the shops are just opening and I must buy oranges and wine for my beloved. But taking a moment to reflect first my mind drifts back over the laughter and the pain, the crises that drew us together and the miles we have covered. We did have the odd disaster, it's true, but that which doesn't destroy you makes you strong, as they say, and I know we have moved from a slightly mixed and nervous set of individuals to a really close group of friends. I don't believe any of us could possibly ever forget one another.
As to what we have learned... It's very difficult to answer, and the answers are doubtless as varied as the number of our group. But we've asked ourselves questions we had never asked before, and many of us feel that we were on more than one sort of journey.
So from me at least, until the next time (poor Ed has been assured there will be a next time) a Christian blessing. The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make His face to shine upon you and be gracious unto Him. The Lord lift up the light of His countenance upon you and give you peace. Shalom.
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Saturday, November 15, 2008
Jerusalem
For us Jerusalem represents many things - but the most predominant one yesterday was that it represented the top of a hill that some of us had been secretly (or not so secretly) dreading for days.
We left Tzor'a soon after 8, after a giant kibbutz breakfast, and headed along the main road for a little way, allowing me a brief encounter with a car (I came off worse but whilst Ed and Paul were rescuing me and Keith was elastoplasting me back together the driver was more interested in his bodywork) before turning into the Jerusalem forest.
I can hardly begin to describe how lovely it is in there. The rain yesterday had left it green and alive, smelling of juniper and young leaves. The track wound up and down in the shade of oak, ash and pine - and we began to see Other Cyclists coming the other way. This was a surprise to some of us, who had returned to cycling on the left on the basis that nobody else really wanted the road.
The forest is dedicated to the six million, and perhaps should therefore be sombre, but it isn't. It has a beautiful feel, as though it is a place people love, and come to to laugh and enjoy themselves. We loved our ride through it, and those at the back had the particular treat of songs from Peter and Tom as we went. There was spontaneous harmonisation, improvisation and on the spot composition going on that Gershwin would have been proud of (although the end result might have given him hiccups).
We stopped at a memorial in a glade. Although we have not come to look back and mourn, the Holocaust is a part of our shared history, not just of Jewish history, and seeing the very personal face of the tragedy was moving in the extreme. The eleven million personal stories we're brought alive and into focus by the one memorial, words from a survivor, to his unforgettable family. Wife, sisters, children, grandchild their names and nicknames bringing them alive to a group of strangers standing thoughtfully and reflectively in a beautiful wood. That really is the memorial, rather than the stone itself.
And then we went on, with Peter singing and Paul deliberately splashing through every single puddle. I was just behind him (as always on hills since I couldn't get up them without him) and was waiting for that vicar of Dibley moment (they were large puddles). It never quite came but there were a few close shaves.
We came out of the forest eventually to see the edge of Jerusalem above us. It still looked above to me but by now what we lacked in power we made up for in determination. Having said that mention must be made of Veila, who we suspect of being a descendant of the Greek God of fitness. Veila took several of the nastier hills two or three times, cycling up and down them repeatedly for fun (FUN) as she waited for the rest of us to catch up.
Stopping for a brief snack on a hill (when I asked Ed if we had just done the worst hill he simply smiled that smile. So charming, so handsome, so deadly. We understood it was going to hurt.
But do you know, we didn't mind. We've done so much together by now that we know we can get each other up any hill (and after friendships made on this trip I thing that statement is not only literally true but also profoundly true).
At this last stop we put on our Egypt to Jerusalem T shirts, a kind gift from Muhammed in Egypt, and onwards and upwards we went. Eventually we joined the main road into the city, cycling two abreast and becoming a part of the Shabat traffic.
The ride though the city itself was interesting - lights and traffic meant that we lost each other now and again, but the moment came when we were cycling through the Jaffa gate and along the pathways of the Armenian quarter towards the Western Wall
Our arrival was a time for reunions with family and with Brian, with Paul's red fez, and for a team photograph taken with so many different cameras that we suspect on some of them we will have the stretched rictus grins of the person told to smile a full minute too early . We were also able to visit the Western Wall itself, and feel the faith of those who stand at it bobbing and praying and chanting in such numbers that it is often called the Wailing Wall. Many of us put our prayers into the cracks, feeling the power of the place and touching the fair warm stones and. It was good to take a quiet moment there. Little bushes grow out of the wall in places, and birds nest in them. People come and go, mill and talk, cry and pray, read the Torah and write on slips of paper that take their prayers directly to God. It's both deeply personal and very public - and it also feels like a place of great pride, pride that it's still there and that those who pray are there to do so. It's tremendous. If more Christians and Muslims visited the Wall perhaps we would understand each other better.
Lunch was of course up another hill. Somehow we hadn't expected hills when we were actually in the city. But lunch was sumptuous - vine leaves and hummous, cheese and bread. It felt positively Biblical - the perfect food.
Then to the hotel - up, yes, you have it, a hill. And there with pain, sorrow, love, joy and relief, we finally said goodbye to our bicycles, the trusty iron horses that have carried us (with a bit of effort on our part) up and down and up, through desert, mountains and forests, through searing sun and driving rain (apart from those of us who hid in a bus shelter). On those bikes we had learned a huge amount about each other, and possibly even more about ourselves. We bid them goodbye like old friends.
And then, family and friends back home will be delighted to hear, we all headed straight for a hot bath. Ed's was full of bubbles and run by goddesses. The rest of us used taps and soap but it was still bliss. And we no longer small like old socks. Not that I ever did, obviously.
We met again before supper for a talk from one of the most amazing people I have ever heard speak. Father David Neuhaus is a Jesuit priest, fluent in Arabic and Hebrew, who works for reconciliation on both sides of the wall. He teaches Judaism to Palestinians, at the Bethlehem University, whose only encounter with Jews is as soldiers, settlers and policemen. He gave us a view of the other perspectives which are so often lacking, particularly that the Palestinians in the West Bank have lost their collective memory of a shared history, that Arab nations have somehow forgotten that there were once Arab Jews, and that the Palestinians cannot imagine that the Jews as a race were ever a persecuted minority. He is an inspiring man, a man who has the vision and the ability to sit atop of the walls that separate us, at the point where they all join, and see not only the squabbling and the conflicts, but also the common humanity. As he said, we are very good at building walls - but we clearly need help demolishing them. He is a man with a sledgehammer wielding it as gently and carefully as though it were an artists brush. It may be a gargantuan task - but so seemed the Berlin Wall once. We should be glad that he is in the world to tackle what so many feel is unresolvable. Nothing is unresolvable, and no conflict that is made cannot be unmade. It begins with shared understanding
After Michael had spoken we ate, we relaxed, we started to worry again about the sheer number of calories we were consuming, we cheered Robert, DJ and Peter who are leaving us on Saturday, then some of us went out - on FOOT (so inefficient compared to those lovely bikes) - to a juice bar in the Old City where we drank Palestinian wine, mint tea and pomegranate juice. It was a fitting end to a fantastic day, walking into the city together with the full moon reflected in shining silver from the top of DJ's recently shaved head to light our way.
Tomorrow we cease to be cyclists, but we remain pilgrims, and so will continue the tale for that one last day. For now most of us are collapsing into bed - but a few are off out clubbing. The energy of youth is quite something to those of us who need 8 hours in bed...but we haven't done so badly.
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