A view from Dominus Flevit located at the Mount of Olives shows the imposing Dome of the Rock (far left) characterized by its golden hemispherical roof and the Golden Gate (far right) which is the oldest of the current gates in Jerusalem’s Old City Walls.

Days before leaving for Israel on the invitation of the Department of Tourism (DoT) primarily for the inauguration of the Open Doors monument, I went to visit my father whom I don’t really get to see and talk to every so often.

Ever since I joined the workforce, exchanges of “Have you eaten? (Kumain ka na?)” and “You should rest (Pahinga ka na)” were all we could afford. The vocabulary grew after I got married and moved out of the family house with pleasantries like “Good to see you (Mabuti nakadalaw ka)” and “Thank you for visiting (Salamat, naalala mo kami).” Do not be mistaken, though.  My father and I aren’t really the “talking” type.  Both of us are quiet and reserved, content with just sitting in one corner reading a book or listening to music on our player, or watching TV.  That’s just how we are and we’re okay with that.  So imagine the look on his face when I decided to show up on his doorsteps, unannounced, and told him, “Papa, I’m going to see my other father.”

I thought he would yell at me. I even conjured up images of him slapping or shaking me, his precious daughter real hard for even considering it.  You know, just like in the movies.  But I was not in one; and I knew my father enough to be able to calculate what his reaction would be. Instead, upon hearing my words, he furrowed his eyebrows, gave me a puzzled look, and then calmly asked, “What’s the matter, child?” 

There goes my arresting introduction.  I knew it wasn’t going to cause any provocation from his part and so I just told him straight.  What followed was an unexpected downpour of tall tales from my father who was fortunate to have gone there when he was a young man. 

My father, a marine engineer, used to travel a lot. And though he had spent most of the time working on oil ships, he would be given a considerable amount of time on land, occasionally.  I remember the day he came home from Tel Aviv after months of being away and he brought each of us rosaries made from olive wood.  He also had bottles of holy water, holy oil and all imaginable “holy” stuff that we left sitting on the small altar by the stairs at home.  Sometimes my mother would use the oil for her headache or muscle pain and it would miraculously disappear.  I think I myself may have been able to benefit from it as well, once or twice when I had a nasty toothache.  My mother would put some on my cheek or on the nearest area affected with pain and just like faith, it would work wonders all the time. 

Needless to say, hearing my father talk again about the places he had been to in Jerusalem, it felt like I was hearing them for the first time.  He was quite animated and I was overly excited.  With his stories, my father had just given me a lengthy run-down of my travel itinerary.

Trip To Jerusalem

Going to Israel may be my travel highlight for this year, and the most wearing yet; but only because of the long-haul flight. I actually didn’t mind sitting on a cramped seat on the plane as I slowly counted the hours to landing. That, and the Hassidic Jew seated behind me who was constantly moving his long legs that kept bumping into my seat!

When we finally reached Ben Gurion airport, the city was fast asleep.  And upon arriving at Jerusalem’s Inbal Hotel which would be our home for the next four days, the en route gave a breathtaking view of the city that appeared to be made of gold as it glimmered and shone in the night.  Later on, we were told that all edifice in Israel are covered with limestone as ordered by the city government.  Everything looked stunning at 3 a.m., but the landscape is even better at dusk when the sunbeam is at its softest and it creates a glittering spectacle before nighttime sets in.  Too bad my point-and-shoot camera couldn’t do enough justice to its beauty. 

Anyway, as soon as we have rested, the party regrouped at the lobby where we were met by the local tour guide that would take us to Masada and Ein Gedi.

Perhaps, two places my father didn’t get to see. Hah! I got him on this one.  Masada, a Hebrew word for fortress, is situated atop an isolated rock cliff at the western end of the Judean Dessert overlooking the Dead Sea.  According to historian Joseph Flavious, the fortress was built by Herod the Great as a refuge for himself.  But Herod’s story is not the only narrative about Masada. 

Years after Herod’s death, a group of Jewish rebels came to Masada and they were joined by zealots and their families who had fled Jerusalem.  The Romans have tried to capture them by establishing camps at the base and built a ramp that would breach the wall of the fortress.  But the rebels would rather end their own lives rather than be taken alive.  Almost one thousand men, women and children died.

Meanwhile, Ein Gedi is an oasis established by a kibbutz that has successfully developed farming methods adapted to the local conditions of a hot desert climate and an abundance of fresh water from the Ein-Gedi springs.  It boasts of 1,000 plants from all over the world and hundreds of species of rare cacti.

Walking the paths of kibbutz invites guests to experience a magnificent encounter of colors and aromas that dazzle the senses.  It was quite refreshing to stay there after the long walk from Masada.

And personally, the fruits prepared for us did wonders that I didn’t even get thirsty or hungry till our next meal.

Real Food

Thinking about food now, I’ve never been as grateful of cup noodles and chocolate drink sachets as I have been in Israel.  I am a picky eater so imagine my difficulty every time I try something new– like Kosher food.  I was forewarned of this by my father as he too had a hard time getting used to eating lambs and dates while he stayed in Israel. 

Kosher describes the food that meets the standards of Kashrut, the body of Jewish law dealing with what foods the Jews can and cannot eat and how these foods must be prepared and eaten.  According to our local tour guide who tried to explain what Kosher food really is, “the dietary laws are designed as a call to holiness; it transforms the simple act of eating as a religious ritual”.  The basic underlying rules are fairly simple and the only thing you need to think about is the separation of meat and dairy. Now, think of your favorite cheeseburger back home and then forget about it for you won’t find it in Israel.

While seating at the hotel’s courtyard, I brought down the cup noodles I brought for the trip.  There were no electric kettle available inside the rooms and so I had to ask the lady at the restaurant to pour me some hot water and if they have a spoon I could borrow.  I told her I was a guest in the hotel and the cup noodles was what I wanted to eat.  She came back with my request, a genuine smile, but without the spoon.  And when I asked her about it, her reply was, in her matter-of-factly-tone: “I can’t give you one, it’s unsanitary.  Your hot water is a favor.”

The manner the message was relayed to me, I can understand.  Israel’s culture is in stark contrast with the Filipinos’ gentle and friendly manner; theirs may be perceived as offensive, insulting or even frightening when none is really intended.  But the unsanitary part of using spoon instead of your bare hands, more so because it’s noodles, was something I could not comprehend.

Although the details of kosher food are extensive, they follow general rules.  And one of them clearly states: utensils that have come into contact with meat may not be used with dairy and vice versa; utensils that have come into contact with non-kosher food may not be used with kosher food.  The lady at the courtyard was actually right by their own standards.  But it doesn’t mean that I wasn’t being hygienic.  Now I am adding another item to my list of “must-brings” if I am to travel, and I’m putting it on top – chopsticks!
 
Old City Tour

My father sure didn’t spare me the details in describing the city of Jerusalem.  Few things were left to my imagination, but all the things he has said were exactly the way they were: the Nativity church built over the cave where Jesus was born and its tiny entrance that you have to duck to be able to get in; the divine scent inside the Holy Sepulchre that lingers on your clothes long after you’ve left the place; and the Wailing Wall’s famous crevices, where like my father before me, slid petitions with complete faith that it will be granted all in due time.

However, of all the places in Jerusalem that I’ve been to, the Church of St. Peter in Galicantu will probably speak volumes for me.  Thanks to our Filipina tour guide, (and the only one at that!) Exie Schlossberg who not only gave us a historical tour, she also incorporated a little preaching.

Beneath the Church of St. Peter were caves rediscovered in 1889.  Their physical characteristics and proximity to the Caiaphas palace, and their contiguity with the Sacred Pit all suggested the public jail where according to a 4th-century Jerusalem tradition not recorded in the gospels, Jesus would have been scourged not only by Pilate but also by Caiaphas, and where the apostles Peter and John would have been held and scourged for preaching the name of Jesus in the temple area after the resurrection.  The dungeons gave me the chills not because it was literally cold inside, but because of a rather vivid imagination that allowed me to visually picture the prisoners who suffered inside the dungeons.

Towards the end of my trip to Jerusalem, here’s a bit of a realization, and a nagging one that probably needs to be tended to soon after I’m finished writing this piece: I wish I could have given more attention to religion classes or Sunday masses even, because out there, I’ve never felt more secular in my life than hearing so many unfamiliar biblical places, names and events taking place when I have always thought of myself as a devout Catholic.  Well, I suppose one can never be too young, or too old, in my case, to start over.  Besides, everybody deserves second chances.