I started this blog with my first sight of the city of Jerusalem. The city was bustling with people and tourists. There was barely enough room for us to make a snake path through the crowds in the narrow alleys filled with desperate shopkeepers who wanted to make good on the gullible American tourists. We had to concentrate on the backpack of the person in front of us, memorizing its details in order to race through, following our professor whom we nicknamed “non-stop Nate.” It looked like he was walking casually through the hordes of people, but in reality, we would be sprinting after him. Especially after he managed to squeak through the inch of space between two people and we would have to come to a full stop until another space, this time a half an inch wide, opened up. The markets were loud, people were yelling at you, others bargaining over the smallest of items. There was not an empty alleyway and the wailing wall was even more crowded than the streets of the city. This was my perception of Jerusalem. A city that never slept.
On this last journey into the Old City, my perception was completely changed. The streets were completely bare. There were no tourists, two-thirds of the shops were closed, and the wailing wall had all of fifty people. There was an eerie silence in the streets. All you could hear was our laughter and conversation, but anything above the hushed tone of a whisper felt sacrilegious. Our voices carried throughout the streets, and not wanting to draw attention to the last American tourists in the state of Israel, we kept our voices low. The shopkeepers, however, were filled with even more passion than before. They were truly desperate now; they had no business at all. They would try their hardest to wheedle their way into our wallets. They would shout after us as we left their shop, cutting their price down until it was below half the original price. The bargains were ideal as they simply wanted any business they could get.
My group of six took the time to buy last minute souvenirs at our favorite shop called Ali Baba Souvenir Shop. Our friend, Omar, welcomed us warmly, as he did every time we entered his two shops, offering us his famous delicacy, baklava. We scrounged through the items, trying to pick the perfect gift for each family member and friend who would threaten us if we didn’t bring them something from Israel. We scurried back and forth between the shops buying one thing here and one thing there. We wanted to make the most of the last five hours we had in the city that had captured our hearts, and that we tried to capture with our cameras. Once we had finally decided we were satisfied with our purchases, and telling ourselves the gifts were “good enough,” we went to get the infamous gelato one more time. Our friend, Alessandro, was in his iconic location behind the counter, ready to grab the ice cream scoop when he saw us enter the shop. We greeted him and took our time trying every flavor and then making a set decision on which two flavors we wanted to combine this last time. Ferraro Roche and White Chocolate is what I settled on, a perfect mix of dark chocolate and hazelnut and the creamy, lighter white chocolate. We paid our 10 shekels and waved goodbye, and headed back down to the main street.
The rest of the afternoon, and because of the barren streets, we decided to see the parts of the city we had just passed by on previous field trips. We had no itinerary and no plan; we would walk until we hit an intersection and then made a unanimous decision to go left or right. We explored the unseen corners of the city, avoiding the tourist locations, even though we were the only tourists there. There were small alleys around every corner. One turn took us through a series of miniature courtyards between apartments. On the stone walls of the houses and the stone streets were plants, the green popping out even more against the bland background and out of the many blue pots.
As we passed by the Church of the Holy Sepulchre this too was empty. Like the rest of the city when we first visited it, the crowds in this place were also shoulder to shoulder. However, this last time, we were the only tourists there. The first time, the line to see the proposed tomb of Christ was wrapped around the inside of the dome, this time you could walk right in. We walked in and took a moment to reflect again on the meaning of what Christ did for us, in the quiet this time, while also mourning the prevalent false religion that is taking over this place. The small room of this tomb could only fit three people comfortably amidst the vast array of icons from the Catholic religion. I can appreciate even more why the Garden Tomb is a favored location, even though it is almost confirmed to not be the true location. It provides a sacred spot in the peace and quiet without the distraction of a false religion and its many icons.
The silence of this city was caused by a virus, the infamous Coronavirus. It has caused man to fear man, orders of no more than 10 in a group and a distance of 6ft apart were mandated. Even though our group was affected by this virus, being called home a little over a month before planned, we got experiences that no one else will get. There is nothing else that would close off an entire city, making the enjoyment of our last goodbyes sacred and unrushed. Walking through Jaffa Gate one last time on the way to the bus, I turned around to see the gate majestically watching over the entrance to the Holy City. Each stone tells a unique piece of its history, millions upon millions have seen these walls and they are constantly being overrun by the crowds. Yet for this moment, as I turned to capture it one last time, there was no one. I echo the sentiments of the psalmist who says:
“If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
May my right hand forget her skill.
May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth
If I do not remember you,
If I do not exalt Jerusalem
Above my chief joy.
Psalm 137:5-6
I will be back one day.
