FAITHFULLNESS and bullet holes at the Zion Gate

They had been trapped for months, experiencing starvation, water rations, and every night for the last month, 10,000 pounds of artillery rained down on them in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City --compliments of the Arab military. Only about one-thousand five hundred Jewish civilians were left occupying about two-thousand square yards of space in the Jerusalem Quarter defended by thirty-five Israeli soldiers who could still fight. And so it was that the birth of Israel resulted in the Arab-Israeli war of 1948.

The Zion Gate had the closest access to the Jewish quarter, and so on the night of May 18, 1948 22 Israeli soldiers attacked the Arab army there with the hope of reaching and rescuing the stranded Jews still inside the city. It was a bold move, as the opening of the wall there is barely wide enough for a small car to pass through and its “L” shape made for a great defense position as invaders could not see directly into the city. Nevertheless, the exhausted Israeli soldiers pounded the Zion Gate with their 9mm Sten semi-automatic rifles in the cover of night and miraculously gained control of Zion Gate much to the relief of the Jews trapped in Jerusalem.

One of my favorite memories from our Jerusalem trip was tracing my fingers over the tight grid of bullet holes in the rock on all sides of that gate. I had stood there marveling at the determination of that small band of Israeli soldiers who faced impossible odds to make the daring rescue.

But just a few hours after taking the Zion Gate, it once again fell to the Arabs, and by the end of May, the Arabs would control the entire city and kick out the remaining Jews. No Jew would see Jerusalem again until The Six Day War of 1967, almost 19 years later when the Israeli Army took control of the city and the Jews were able to come home again.

Home. We all have a strong spectrum of feelings for “home”, particularly at Christmas. Some of us would do anything it took to get there, and others of us would do anything it took to leave there. Certainly the Jews have proven themselves willing to do whatever it takes to stay home—even to the point of being trapped and enduring artillery fire every night as those 1,500 Jews did during the Arab-Israeli war of 1948. They are also willing to do whatever it takes to reclaim their home—including a plan to invade Jerusalem that took 19 years to put in action. I admire them for the strong sense of “home” that they have.

But what about us as Christians? What is “home” for us?

Jesus makes it clear in scripture that we are aliens in this world (John 17:16). Foreigners. Just visiting. Renters.

So if this planet is not “home”, what IS home for Christians?

Oh, if you really search your heart you know the answer. Home is with The Lord.  

I need to be reminded of that, don’t you? For even in those times when I have felt trapped, starved and scared, Jesus has refused to be separated from me (Romans 8:38-39). He rips down the walls I have built around myself and finds me (Luke 19:10). Wraps me in His arms (Song of Solomon 2:6) and sooths me with His song (Zephaniah 3:17) as He wipes away my tears (Revelation 21:4). And each time, I close my eyes and relax knowing that this is home. Here in His love. Here in His peace. Here in His grace. Here with Him who is faithful.

Home is not a place, Beloved. Jesus is our home. And on this Christmas night, we need to look in the manger, relax and know that HE IS HERE. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HALLELUJAH!!

LOVE and who gets to roll down the ramp at the Wailing Wall

The very next night was Friday, or “Chabot” which is the Jewish time of worship held each Friday at sundown as directed during the time of Moses by the One True God. We wanted to watch Chabot, particularly there at the Western Wall, the last remnant of God’s temple that had been built on Mount Moriah. You may know it as the “wailing wall”, the name given to it by the British when they occupied Jerusalem because the Jews would go there and weep over the destruction of the temple. We knew it would be so special to see the Jews celebrate at the Western Wall, and we were not disappointed.

There is a big set of stairs at the west end of the Western Wall plaza that leads up to the Jewish quarter and so we sat there. It’s a great view of the western wall which was directly in front of us, and many of the Jews were coming to Chabot from their homes in the adjacent Jewish quarter and so they used those stairs to get down to the Western Wall plaza. The crowd filled in quickly, and we delighted in seeing a spectrum of Jewish culture in those moments leading up to sundown. From young Jewish couples trotting lightly down the stairs hand in hand to old Jewish leaders with their tall black hats and long curly hair ringlets slowly and regally descending the stairs, sometimes loudly singing prayers the moment they set eyes on the precious stone of the temple that once stood there.

And then there were these two little Jewish boys.

They had come down the stairs with their dad, mom and a few sisters. Mom and sisters headed off to the right, as men and women are not allowed to worship together—there’s actually a divider at the wall to separate the women’s portion of the wailing wall from the men’s. Dad and the two boys washed their hands at the ceremonial fountain, and then dad walked down the ramp and joined a group of other men at the wall.

But those boys had a different plan. At the top of the ramp, they took off their black jackets and hung them carefully over a chair. Then smart as you please, they dropped to the ground and ROLLED down the ramp, their little black ringlets of hair flying everywhere.

My mouth popped open in disbelief. Little Jewish boys goofing off at the wailing wall. What in the world?!! Dad didn’t pay any attention, and there were no Jewish guys with their tall black hats around to chew them out as they were all at the pre-Chabot prayer service.

Then those two little Jewish boys were running to the top of the ramp, and are you kidding me?!!—ROLLING DOWN AGAIN.

I was rolling too—tears down my cheeks from laughing so hard! It brought back a memory from my home church of St. John’s in Jamestown North Dakota. The long wooden pews in the sanctuary sat on a floor made of a slippery tile that sloped slightly down to the altar. One morning during church service, I looked down at my feet and there was a pre-school boy, who had discovered that if you lay on your back and grabbed for the pew above your head, that you could slide on the floor under those pews all the way to the front of the church. He had looked up at me as he slid past, grinning ear to ear in his sweater and clip-on tie.

By sunset, the plaza was crowded with Jews. Women on the right at their 40 feet of wall and men on the left at their 160 feet of wall. It was indeed fascinating to watch the men sing and dance as they did. But on the women’s side old and young alike were dancing and singing in this giant circle. Their faces were lit up like the sun as they sang those ancient songs and I was drawn to them like kids to a lit up Christmas tree.

“You mustn’t use your camera.” The Jewish woman was scolding me, “It is Chabot!” She was one of the “modesty police”, a group of women volunteers who watch those who come to the wall to make sure all who approach it maintain the respect of the place.

“Oh, I am sorry,” I replied, tucking my Nikon back into my bag, “It’s just so beautiful how the women are all worshipping together, I just wanted to capture the moment and wasn’t thinking.” She smiled at me gently and said,

“You know, you could join them. You would be welcome.” I was surprised at the invitation, and watched her for a moment as she smiled at me. The idea of standing shoulder to shoulder with my Jewish sisters joyfully singing and dancing together there at the western wall was hugely tempting! Their heritage was one that I had read about over and over again in the Old Testament and just to stand among them would have brought me a new sense of connection with them. The thought of it made my heart pound.

But I didn’t go. For the longest time, I haven’t been able to figure out why I didn’t go. It certainly wasn’t because I am shy—but I have come to feel that not joining them has been my only regret about our trip to Jerusalem. But over the last few days, I think I have begun to understand why I didn’t join them. You see, these Jewish women go to the wall as they believe it is the closest that they can get to the One True God that we worship. In fact, 1.5 million Jews from around the world visit the wall during the major festivals each year because they believe that too. But I don’t need to go to a wall seven thousand miles away from my home to worship God. Because as a Christian loved by Christ, I know that the One True God lives in me. I can call upon The Name of The Lord at any time from anywhere and experience His presence at its fullest.

But these women don’t know that. Their joyful abandonment in worship that night at the wall was a tremendous testimony to their devotion to the One True God, but they remain oblivious to the truth of His Love for us. That He had already come. That He had died for their sins. That His love is mightier than they could ever imagine. That the wall is just a shell of the old temple and that His new temple is the hearts of those who profess that Jesus is the Christ. Oh, how I wish they could know the truth of His love for us. How much sweeter would their worship at the wall be for them if they knew that He had already come to rescue them! That He had already made a way. That His desire is not worship at that wall, but worship by a heart that has been given to Him, Jesus the Christ. The savior of the world.

So I think I’ll wait on that dance. I’ll wait until they know these things that have been branded on my heart since the day I believed in Jesus. And when He comes again, I will stand shoulder to shoulder with my Jewish sisters and we will dance and sing praises to our rescuer—for His Love has covered us. And that will be a time of worship that is far sweeter than what they have there at the western wall. He is not far away now.

HE IS COMING. HALLELUJAH!!

JOY and an olive cross at the Temple Mount

We had gotten up early that morning to walk the ramparts of the wall that surrounds Jerusalem. The views from the top of the wall rampart were spectacular as Jerusalem is built on the highest part of Mount Moriah where Abraham had gone to sacrifice Isaac. You can’t walk the whole route on top of the wall because the section at the temple mount is closed. The wall section from Jaffa gate to Dung gate (including passage over the Zion gate) is plenty to hike though as the multiple staircases makes it a pretty tough mile. If you are afraid of heights, this is NOT the experience for you as the average height of the wall is 40 feet. It’s a LONG WAY DOWN.

But the experience of it may call to you anyway because it is perhaps the closest any of us will ever get to being at the very top of Mount Moriah since access the Temple Mount itself is unlikely.

Let me clarify, unlikely but obviously not impossible.

“I think I’m going to the Temple Mount today.” Mom replied to my question of what she was going to do while I was at the conference.

“Oh really?” I said in surprise, “How are you going to do that, little North Dakota Lady?” I teased her gently because we had read plenty of testimonials about how people couldn’t get in due to the scrutiny of the Israeli soliders who were guarding the entrance. As the words were leaving my mouth I just knew she could—and would—do it.

Turns out she had read some suggestions on how to get through Israeli security to access the Temple Mount which is open to non-Muslims through the Mughrabi Gate only for 2 hours each day (Muslims have access at all times and have 10 gates to enter from). The key points were to basically have no skin showing, wear a scarf to cover your hair, and have no religious items on or with you at all. Non-Muslim prayer or religious items at the Temple Mount aggravates the Muslims there to worship and has resulted in several outbreaks of violence since the Israeli occupation of 1967.

It is strange to think that Israeli soldiers are there to prevent their own people from worship on the Temple Mount and thereby protect Muslim religious freedom. The Chief Rabbinate of Israel prefers to think of it a different way, stating that the presence of Muslims and their worship of Allah at the Temple Mount makes the area unclean and thus unfit for Jewish worship of Yahweh. There’s actually a sign outside of the non-Muslim security gate that says Jews are strictly forbidden to worship on the Temple Mount as decreed by the Chief Rabbinate of Israel. With all of this in mind, Mom took a book with her, anticipating that the security scrutiny by the Israeli soldiers would last a long time before she could get in, even if she met all the requirements.

I found her hanging out in our hotel room after the day’s conference was over.

“Well, did you get in?” I asked.

“Yes.” She replied.

“Get OUT!” I said excitedly.

“No, I got IN.” she replied, her eyes twinkling at her own joke. “But boy, I almost didn’t get in, actually.”

The security checkpoint to enter the temple mount is quite intimidating. There are Israeli soldiers in tactical gear carrying their big rifles everywhere, and the bridge leading into the temple mount is suspended in the air and is more like a narrow tunnel made out of dark lumber. Mom had been careful to wear modest clothing with a head scarf and left her Bible and cross necklace at the hotel room.

“NO GOOD, NO GOOD!!” The Israeli soldier who had been inspecting her bag stepped back from it violently and pointed at her bag while shouting at her. Other soldiers immediately tensed and Mom found herself at the scrutiny now of a handful of well-armed Israeli soldiers.

She slowly and carefully picked up her bag to see what they were all so angry about. Oh, yes. There was the offensive thing that had upset them. A beautiful olive wooden cross that she had bought on her way to the Temple Mount. Despite all of her careful research on how to manage it, she saw that cross and bought it, completely forgetting that her next stop was The Mughrabi gate and Israeli security to access the temple mount.

They ordered her to remove it and as there was no other place to put it, she just set it on the ground around the corner. They ignored her for about an hour after that, but she just stood there calmly and quietly reading her book until they finally let her in.

“Mom. You could’ve been KILLED or at least ARRESTED. Or even started a new revolt.” I was sitting on the bed now in disbelief and shock at what had happened. How in the world could she forget she was heading to temple mount security populated by a bunch of soldiers when she bought that cross and stuck it in her hand bag? Well, she was safely here now in our room with an awesome story to tell of her adventure. Then I gave her a sly smile.

“Did you get your cross back?”

“You bet. It was still lying on the ground after I left. I’m sure no self-respecting Muslim or Jew would touch it.” There were those twinkling eyes of hers again, and I swear I fell in love with my mom all over.

She let that nugget settle in for a minute, and then we were laughing so hard, I thought I would fall off the bed! My little North Dakota mom on her second trip out of the USA had been challenged by Israeli soldiers, and lived to tell the tale.

I was not surprised though that the rest of her visit to the temple mount was somewhat boring, as it would have been pretty hard to beat those tense moments with the Israeli soldiers. Even the heavy Jordanian (Muslim) guards patrolling the temple mount grounds were quite peaceful that day despite a reputation for being rude and cranky with non-Muslims. But the real reason I think the remainder of her visit to the temple mount was not a more moving experience is because Mom didn’t need to go there to meet God as the Jews long to do. She has met with God frequently in the quiet of her heart where He dwells forever. She doesn’t need to be at a particular place to have relationship with God.

I think shepherds in the time of Jesus’ birth understood that. They could never enter the Temple Mount because they work with sheep and are thus considered unclean. Instead, their relationship with Yahweh grew under clear starry skies as they watched over sheep. But the angels who came to proclaim The Good News of Jesus’ birth did not go to the temple in Jerusalem where all of the clean Jews worshiped. No, they came first to proclaim The Good News to the most unclean among the people—the shepherds. And wow, those shepherds got front row seats to the most spectacular worshiping choir the earth has ever seen! Because the JOY of The Good News of Christ Jesus is not to be contained in one place among the clean. He came to save us all.

HE IS COMING. HALLELUJAH!!