***Note: This was a previous post that I had to move/recreate (thus comments are lost).  Sorry for any inconvenience — webMAN***

Masaa Al-Khayr (“Good Evening” in Arabic) from Petra!

After waking from a restful night of three times the amount of sleep we’ve received in the last three days (AKA seven hours) we were raring to experience Petra—one of the Eight Wonders of the World (Please note, citing eight wonders is not a mistake…All of our readers should note that we are obliged to acknowledge the Astrodome as one of these impressive wonders).

We were told to wear comfortable shoes and a hat and drink plenty of water, because the entire day was dedicated to exploring this amazing area. We were also told to wear comfortable riding pants, as we would be riding horses, donkeys and camels. A true Jordanian experience.

We walked 100 meters from the back exit of our hotel to the front entrance of the Petran gates. Hewn from towering rock walls of multi-colored sandstone,Petra’s temples, tombs, and now gift shops are a true testament to the vision and entrepreneurial spirit of the desert tribes who sculpted them. The Nabateans—Arabs who dominated the region in pre-Roman times—chose this as their capital, because it was concealed from the outside world. They fashioned it into one of the Middle East’s most remarkable cities…a true wonder of the world. During Roman occupation, Petra became one of the regions busiest and most well-known trade routes.

Our initial Petran impression is at the first main entrance…it’s an Indiana Jones Gift Shop, probably owned by one of Ruti’s Jordanian relatives. Naiheim and Tony Balogna led us further down the path where many of our group members chose to ride horses down to the second main entrance. We both walked due to the fact that most of the horse guides were 12 years-old AND we’re both East Texas girls and wouldn’t want to show up any of our city slicker comrades on the backs of these fine Petran stallions (read: Both of us have been bucked off in recent memory and would really rather not have to blog about broken tail bones in a 3rd world country!)

We congregated together again at the third main entrance and our guides would walk a few hundred yards and point out a fissure in the rocks, then another few hundred yards to an interestingly colored sandstone to the high left or the recently-discovered (5 years ago) aqueduct to the bottom right. Another few hundred yards would yield interesting vegetation (olive trees and oleanders). The deeper and deeper we walked into Petra, the mountains just seemed to rise up like giant oak trees around us. This type of towering sandstone structure is referred to as a “siq” (pronounced “seek”) and Petra’s is about 1.2 kilometers long to walk at the bottom. It was like walking in the bottom of the Grand Canyon…kind of.

Well, truthfully…neither of us have ever been to the Grand Canyon before, but we’d bet it is similar, aside from the fact that the GC probably doesn’t have kids selling $5 camel bone necklaces, donkey drivers wearing shirts with “I’m with Stupid” written on them, and recklessly-driven donkey carts zig-zagging between tourists to go and pick up the next bunch of lazy Americans who can’t seem to make it all the way to the Treasury. It just didn’t scream “Bedouin” to us!

We followed the siq to the dead-end into a carved façade that …wait for it…is in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. The community’s Treasury, all Hollywood aside, is truly the finest site we experienced all day.

Though nobody is really sure how old the Treasury is, it is certain that it’s carved out of the sandstone mountain and was originally intended to serve as a tomb for the Nabitean King Artus III. It gets its name, however, from the story that Artus hid his treasure in an urn on the second level while pursuing the Israelites. You can actually see pock-marks in the solid-rock urn, indicating vain attempts by the locals at breaking this treasure chest open.

We pressed on past the Treasury with promises from Tony & Naiheim of spectacular visions … and CAMEL RIDES!! We hiked up a small cliff to the site of a Byzantine temple carved out of the side of the mountain. The 10,000 ft2 room had naturally colorful interiors and great acoustics. Aside from the kids, still peddling their $5 camel bone necklaces, it felt as if we’d been transported back through time.

Our head honcho leader delivered a message in this temple/cave focusing on the premise that drawing near to God results in His drawing near to us. It was a very meaningful devotional, despite the fact that Naiheim’s cell phone kept going off. Only this time, the cave we were in had fantastic acoustics and whatever he was saying to answer his wife, brother or Cousin Abdulla in Arabic, we are almost positive translated to “Can you hear me now?” “Can you hear me now?” “Can you hear me now?” Who knew that Byzantine Temple ruins had such great reception?

To drown out Naiheim’s conversation with his wife about what was for dinner and whether or not he could pick her up a Camel Tooth necklace, our group sang a few songs and in the words of our former guide Ruti (We love you, Big R!) we sounded “like nightingales.” It was one of the most beautiful parts of the day.

We headed on to our lunch spot a bit down the mountain, appropriately named THE BASIN, and dined on (believe it or not) hummus, cous cous, olives, and an unidentifiable fluorescent orange dessert. Bedouin rumor has it that Barbara WaWa visited this spot several years ago for her in-depth interview with Harrison Ford. There is no church erected on the site to commemorate this occasion.

Following lunch, our group split up. There were those in our group who chose to massacre themselves and walk 10 feet south of the sun to reach the Monastery pinnacle, among these was Lincee. There were others who chose to get back to Jordanian civilization, have a beer, take a dip in the pool, and reflect on the 17 camel bone necklaces they had purchased. Among these, NJO.

NJO’s experience: It was a no-brainer that I’d take the camel back to the Treasury (about a 2 mile walk from THE BASIN). I bartered Solomon, my camel guide, down from $15 USD to $10 USD and he immediately arranged for me to ride atop Elian, Petra’s most disgruntled, overworked and underpaid camel. I should have known better. I was no less than fifteen feet away and already Elian was hissing, spitting, and screaming at Solomon, who was, I’m sure, cursing at him in Arabic.

I kept asking Solomon, “Are you sure Elian is a nice camel?” To which Solly replied, “Oh yes, princess, he is a wonderful camel and loves American women, just like I do.” Translation: “You get what you pay for you, cheapskate!”

A bit nervous, albeit excited, about riding a camel, I swung my leg around the saddle horn, held on with a death grip (the blister is just now subsiding) and Solomon coaxed Elian up from his “at ease” position, again cursing him for attempting to bite the leg of a fellow camel rider right next to me.

At this point, faithful readers, I was freaking out. And I do mean AUDIBLY freaking out. I had every Bedouin camel guide in the city of Petra thinking I was being sacrificed at the Virgin Altar I was screaming so loud. Solly wasn’t quite sure what to think of me at this point and I think was ready to start paying me denari just to shut up…this was not good for his reputation as a camel guide. My fellow camel rider comrades just stared at me in disbelief. I had bragged all morning about growing up around horses and here I was, not even riding the thing yet.

I calmed down once Elian got all the way up to his feet (about 10 feet high) and aside from the intermittent glances back to try and nip my legs, we were friends now. Until he decided he was going to be the Mario Andretti of the Petran camels.

As luck would have it, Elian is a young camel. He’s a camel who is not afraid to show his prowess. He was also not afraid to run a bit and I think even quite enjoyed hearing Solomon chasing after us cursing in Arabic, my nervous, “Um sir, sir SIRRRRRR,” tourist groups stopping all over to snap pictures of the afflicted camel rider, and Petran necklace-peddling kids laughing and pointing as I raced past them in a camel-like blur (okay, so it wasn’t THAT fast, but I’m telling you that camel ride is not the smoothest ride in town!).

By the time Solomon finally caught up with us, Elian was ready to compromise and be a good camel. The rest of the 45-minute ride was quite uneventful, excepting the moment when he finally did get a good little nip at me when I tried to pet him. Too petrified to ask for pictures to be taken, to even speak really, I don’t have anything to commemorate my camel experience. I suppose I could ask around, as I’m sure my rendezvous with Elian is on You Tube somewhere out there!

Returning to the hotel for a little R&R, was just what the sheik ordered. I also got a little “real work” done and awaited hearing back from my roomie re: her afternoon adventures.

Lincee’s Experience: Earlier in the day, Naiheim mentioned to me that I must make the trek up to the Monastery after lunch, because it would change my life forever. Built in third century BC as a Nabatean tomb, the Monastery gets its name from the crosses carved on the inside walls, suggesting it was once used as a church.

I congregated with others from our group at the base of the mountain and began the journey at an aggressive pace. Probably a little TOO aggressive for a climb that takes 40 minutes and boasts more than 800 steps that wind around in a zig zag up high inclines.

Pretty much immediately, the slight throbbing pain in my right knee (two ACL surgeries) told me to take my time. I convinced myself that I was just going to “enjoy the view” as the other people my age passed me left and right. The first ten minutes wasn’t that bad. The second ten minutes? No so much. I started doing that fake, “Oh look at that rock!” or “Check out this view!” as I leaned over, huffing and puffing, convinced that my right lung was about to explode in my chest. I’d ask my fellow climbers, one an 80-year-old man who is currently on the waiting list for a kidney, to take my picture at every curve we rounded. These were precious seconds that allowed me to catch my breath and chug down ridiculous amounts of water. I figure there were around 43 photos of me on the way up that mountain, which were all immediately deleted. Bless my heart, no one needs to the pained look on my face as I fake a smile.

Reaching the 30 minute mark, I almost decided to take up residency with the Bedouins who peddled camel tooth necklaces every 100 yards. I was resting against a rock in the blistering heat, when a nice lady offered me shade under her tent. I hoisted myself up to her blankets and sat down. She offered me tea and even let me bounce her baby (who was absolutely precious) for a few minutes before I returned to the mountain that knows no mercy. Another 1oo yards at the next Bedouin tent, a little boy tried to force, you guessed it, a camel tooth necklace on my arm. After graciously declining, he said, “That’s okay miss. Only five more minutes left. You come see me when you are done!”

If I could have felt my arms, I would have picked that little eight-year-old up and carried him on my shoulders to the Promised Land. This information gave me a new sense of strength! I readjusted my backpack, daintily dabbed the sweat from my brow and trudged on. The next Bedouin tent resident was an old lady smoking the largest joint in existence. I bet she had a few offers for it, but that’s neither here nor there:

Bedouin: “Miss? Miss? Something to take home?”
Lincee: “No thank you. I’m just going to the top of the Monastery. I hear it’s going to change my life.”
Bedouin: “Okay. Only five more minutes.”

HOLD THE PHONE! FIVE MINUTES WAS THREE MINUTES AGO!

Calculating the jumping distance on what it would take for me to fling myself off the cobbled steps into the death valley below, I am rescued by the sweetest angel this side of the evil mountain.

His name was Christian and he was the husband of sweet Heather from the other church in our group. I assume he sensed my internal struggle and clearly recognized my physical incapability to press on. He offered, nay, insisted that he carry my backpack the remaining five minutes.

I can’t tell you what a huge weight was literally lifted off of my shoulders due to the fact that my laptop, camera, 32 pound Bible and 17 Bedouin necklaces were weighing me down. I skipped along to the end of the path, light on my feet and sipping my water bottle with glee, while encouraging Christian to the top. I probably would have serenaded him with “Hero” by Mariah Carey if I had not been in awe and speechless at what stood before me.

Fifty meters wide and 45 meters high, it took my angel Christian and another jock dude from Faith Church to hoist (lots of that going on today) me up into this beautiful building to take a closer look. Sadly, it smelled like urine inside, so I opted to enjoy the majesty from a nearby rock outside.

A few minutes later, our fearless leader (who just had a hip replacement) and Henry (the gentleman waiting for a kidney transplant) walked past and invite me to come with them just beyond the Monastery to see Aaron’s tomb. Promising it would only take five more minutes, I was clearly either on crack or a high from the climb and joined them.

The view was breath taking and it was something I will remember forever.

I joined sweet Bonnie and Robert for the walk back down the mountain. Obviously this task was easier on the lungs, but much more strenuous on the ACL knee that was pleading me to rest, ice, compress and elevate. Bonnie and I talked about how riding a camel never sounded so good and we were relieved to find a herd waiting for us at THE BASIN exit.

Our three camels were tethered together in a group. Bonnie led the way and I brought up the rear on a black camel named ZaZa. Being that I’ve ridden a camel before at FCA camp in high school, I felt like a pro. Our guide Ferris said that she was the best camel in Petra and was considered a matriarch of the herd. She was also impatient. ZaZa insisted on being first in line and would annoyingly pass Robert’s camel Jack and try to make her way to the front of the line. Being tethered together, this made for some awkward maneuvering among our group. Robert’s legs would become wedged against his camel and mine, Jack would spit and hiss at ZaZa for not staying in line and I would often have to swing my legs from one side to the other as not to knock over Bedouin displays of Petra magnets and oil lamps.

We reached the Treasury and bid Ferris farewell. All-in-all, it was an amazing day at Petra and there was a moment in my quite time on the mountain that I will treasure forever. It was a true experience of a lifetime.

Together again: Once we’d showered and de-camelized ourselves, we joined our group downstairs for dinner and debriefing of the day’s events. Nancy Jane failed to bring up her camel-riding experience and Lincee was mum on her finish-out with the other 80 year olds in the group. No need to bring up anything that could find itself on the world wide web, right?

We closed out the evening with cocktails in the Jordanian-inspired hooka smoking room (no loyal readers, we did not partake) while Ali and his guitar assistant Mohammed played a repertoire of exactly three songs: “The Girl from Ipanema,” “God Bless the USA,” and “Every Step you Take.”

Conversation was light due to the fact that we were all nursing broken tail bones, camel horn blisters, swollen knees, sunburns, donkey rot and the inability to complete sentences due to a high from the secondary hooka smoke. All the girls looked really fabulous, however, in their camel tooth necklaces.

Truly, all in all, Petra was THE highlight of the trip thus far. Words cannot express and pictures will never do justice to the wonderment we experienced today. It is truly amazing to think that ancient civilizations came up with and carried out such intricate detail to architecture and city planning in the side of sandstone mountains. We are also completely overjoyed to experience the hospitality and kindness of the Jordanian people. They are just wonderful. Regardless of whether or not we ride a camel or hike the Monastery again, we will definitely find our ways back to Petra.

Side note: It’s 3:47 a.m. and we are currently listening to an Islamic call to worship ringing through the streets. Not joking.

***Note: This was a previous post that I had to move/recreate (thus comments are lost).  Sorry for any inconvenience — webMAN***

“Shalom Shabbat” from Jerusalem!

Today is Friday which marks our second Sabbath in the Holy Land! We’re veritable experts now.

Today was anything but a day of rest, though. Ruti had half of our group up at the crack of dawn to visit the Wailing Wall (fortunately we bloggirls were in the alphabetical group that didn’t leave until 8:45 a.m.) and we were off with a vengeance to visit the City of Jerusalem. As Ruti said, “Turing wit me es like turing from sunrise to sunset…or until jour soul leafs your body.”

We started out by picking up our group and our fearless leader, who has a new wardrobe addition…a whistle. That’s right folks, a gym coach-type whistle, which she blew directly into the microphone on the bus to demonstrate how she would call when she needed us to come running from one gift shop to the next. Apparently yelling “TEX-ASS” just isn’t enough.

Our first stop was King David’s tomb, which isn’t really King David’s tomb. It is just a representation…kinda like Nazareth Village was just a representation of Jesus’ hometown. Two years ago, the “Penguins” (Ruti’s incredibly PC term for Orthodox Jews in traditional dress of white tops, black pants, and long black coats) took over the site, which apparently moves around quite a bit. Because it is now under Orthodox holdings and considered a hallowed site, men and women use separate entrances, each view half of the “tomb,” and “holy wear” is required. For those of you who aren’t in the know, “holy wear” means that women must have arms and legs fully covered (Shawls provided for the tawdry lasses who dare to bare their arms) and men are required to wear yamikas (also provided for the Gentile Boys).

The “tomb” (that wasn’t) was nothing more than a big rock with a purple velvet blanket tossed over it. We basically got to see half of something that is not anything. The guys said their half wasn’t much better, but we’ve included a picture below of the girls’ half for posterity’s sake.

We also discussed the Star of David, Israel’s national symbol for the past 300 years. It just so happens that this isn’t really David’s star. In fact, it wasn’t even invented until many hundreds of years after his death. Ruti thinks the truest representation of Israel would be something symbolizing the country’s solidarity…we think something symbolizing a gift shop would be very fitting too! Maybe an incorporation of the Israeli National Animal…the coney!

We next traveled on to Diasphora Yeshma, or the Upper Room, on Mt. Zion, which isn’t really Mount Zion. In 70 AD, Jerusalem was destroyed and the Crusader Church built over the place of the Last Supper was also destroyed. (Interesting note: Jerusalem has been rebuilt 18 times).

This spot is also known as the spot where the Last Supper took place. Only, this isn’t really the site of the Last Supper, but a representation of where the dinner is thought to have taken place. Ruti said the actual Passover dinner didn’t look anything like how old Leo DeVinci painted it either… “What? Do jew tink the dee-sigh-pulls got two-gedder and sayed, ‘Let’s pose for a picture?’ I don’t tink so TEX-ASS!”

Since we were running a little late this morning (the bus was leaving at 8:30 and we arrived at 8:35) we had to grab breakfast on the go. Nancy Jane had one cup of coffee and Lincee had a Special K bar. Just as we entered the 500-year-old Jewish Quarter, Ruti spotted a Muslim bakery, grabbed six pita pizzas without paying and began handing them out to our group. It was a welcome treat since we were starving. The Muslims didn’t seem to mind. We think they were afraid of Ruti. Who isn’t? In fact, all food vendors seemed anxious when Ruti’s voice or brightly colored flowery umbrella was in the near vicinity. Not only did she steal pizzas, but she scored a handful of peanuts and a falafel, promising each shop that we would be back to visit them for lunch.

Our group split up again and the bloggirls went to the Wohl Archeological Museum which is ten feet below modern day Jewish Quarter. Stepping into this museum transports the visitor back 2,000 years to the Herodian period where the city looks exactly like it did in Jesus’ time. This is the real deal folks! The highlight of the visit to the museum was the opportunity to enjoy the High Priest’s “home” which was a 60 room palace. Ruti took us through the living room where Christ was questioned by the High Priest after His arrest on Passover and the open courtyard where Peter denied Christ three times. It was the first time we both felt truly in awe to be standing where Christ walked and the fact that we are in Israel slowly began to sink in.

We stepped out the door of the Museum and heard the voice of Ruti, “On the double TEX-ASS! Get over here!” She wanted us to see the huge golden menorah that will eventually be used when the third temple is built, according to Ruti and our guides.

Our next stop was the Temple Institute—a non-profit organization that exists to raise money, awareness and promotes scholarship of the world’s role in building the third temple.

Interesting note: The third temple can not be built until the Arab mosque (which has been on the site of the holy of holies since the fifth century) is “removed”. That’s a euphemism for “destroyed,” folks.

Inside the Institute, our guides Gabriella and Rabbi Glick showed us many of the “vessels” that have already been crafted for use in the third temple. These included: the big gold menorah we have already seen outside, the altar used for sacrifice, oil lamps fashioned out of pure silver and High Priest robes on a creepy looking mannequin that we are pretty certain was female. Gabriella, whose personality can best be described as that of wet paper bag, was informative and full of interesting facts about the temple. Even with a little over five hours sleep, our most yet, it was a struggle to stay awake while she imparted her extensive knowledge of ethical ways to kill animals for sacrifice, Titus and his thieving of the temple goods, the Levite musicians and how incense was burned in the temple because it engaged the sense of smell—the most holy sense because it the least physical. We forced ourselves to take a seat on the front row in hopes to prevent falling sleep.

Our tour of the Temple Institute concluded with a spiel by Rabbi Glick about how important it is for people of all faiths to donate money so the temple can be rebuilt. In keeping with national tradition, he answered his cell phone in the middle of his presentation, and after hanging up commented that he ALWAYS answers his phone—at any day or hour—because it could be someone calling to give him permission to begin rebuilding. “You all would have to help me carry the vessels out of here!” If you are interested in this non-profit, their website is: www.templeinstitute.org.

No visit to Israel would be complete without visiting the site where our Lord was born. The only catch is that Bethlehem is smack dab in the middle of Palestinian territory, the West Bank (keep reading moms…it’s okay.) Because she is Israeli, Ruti was not allowed to accompany us to the other side, and she loved being a martyr about it. “Hussein, on of jour tur gides…he es crasy. A leetle bit. But he’s okay.”

After having pre-conceived notions about what goes on in the West Bank, we were a little concerned about crossing the border without our Ruti or armed guard. But this particular trip was funded by the gift shop we visited the first day in Jerusalem, so we were committed. Despite the fact that we didn’t buy rugs or jewelry.

On our way to the Herodian palace, our b-string and completely sane tour guide Walid, took us past a church (and wait for it folks) where Mary is said to have rested on the way to Bethlehem before Christ’s birth. We arrived at the Herodian palace and Walid asked us to step off the bus, reminding us of the importance of our hats and water. Naturally, we had neither.

The climb was not water worthy. We stopped along the way for pictures, scenery and to read a sign memorializing an Israeli parks and recreation employee who had been murdered there ten years prior by Palestinian terrorists. Oh great. The conspiracy theory has started to come together. This is where they send the bad souvenir shoppers.

What was interesting about this spot is the fact that they’ve done excavation of it and are 80 percent sure this is Herod’s grave. We saw the ritual bath (mique), steam room, synagogue and Bonnie’s underwear. The high winds coupled with her choice of wardrobe (skirt) equaled something that EVERYONE at the Herodian Palace was observing. It took a team effort for our group to assist Bonnie in tying her skirt between her legs. Good times and fun memories.

After we corrected the wardrobe malfunction, we headed to Shepherd’s Field where it is hypothesized the shepherds saw the star over Bethlehem when Christ was born. We sang, “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem” in a cave that is thought to be where the shepherds tended their flocks at night. There were plastic stars and little white twinkle lights hanging all around. This reminded Nancy Jane of Pi Phi pref night at Ole Miss.

Our group was lead to a meeting area high on top of Shepherd’s Field where Pastor Dave offered one of his most beautiful devotionals of the trip. He delivered a message on Psalm 23 that was quite unlike what we’ve ever heard. He focused on verse two, “He MAKES (emphasis added) me lie down in green pastures.” Our head honcho alluded to the fact that sometimes when we are not following God’s way for us and life become too busy and we are not resting in the knowledge or peace of Christ, He MAKES us lie down. When sheep wandered off the path one too many times, the shepherd was forced to break the sheep’s leg and then carry him during the journey. Once healed, the sheep was allowed to walk and always stayed close to the shepherd. When we stray from the path, we are corrected and inevitably brought closer and learn to rest in The Great Shepherd.

Being a holy day, we had to race across the border to get to our Shabbat dinner, thwarted only by the threat of arrest since some of our group chose to take pictures at the gate, surrounded by armed guards and miles and miles of barbed wire. We were able to cross and after a horrible dinner of nothing that could be mechanically cooked or warmed (rules of Shabbat) we took comfort in lukewarm Macabee beer in the hotel bar.

We finished out our evening with a rousing game of “Two Lies/One Truth.” We can’t elaborate on what was exposed among our group. What happens in Jerusalem stays in Jerusalem.

We would have posted this blog earlier, however, everything in this hotel is governed by a Shabbat clock. We found ourselves blogging at midnight when all the lights suddenly went out. At first, we thought we had blown a fuse, but realized by the simple flip of a Shabbat switch, we could turn our room from Shabbat-worthy to unclean (aka: we turned the Shabbat clock off.)

We’d like to end this blog with a blessing that Rabbi Glick gave to us as we left the Temple Institute:
“From the City of Jerusalem, God’s holy chosen city, I wish you light to accompany you in every step of your life. A candle, a flame or spark, may you impart this light to your family, friends, neighbors and colleagues, turning this world into a better place to live. God bless you.”

***Note: This was a previous post that I had to move/recreate (thus comments are lost).  Sorry for any inconvenience — webMAN***

Ma’a Salaama to Jordan & Naiheim!
Shalom to Israel and Ruti!

A majority of this day’s adventures (aka 10.5 hours) was centered around bus activities en route from Petra to Jerusalem. That’s right folks, ten and a half hours on the road…despite the fact that the two cities are less than a normal three hour drive apart. Of course, being back with Ruti, we stopped at every roadside tourist trap and gas-station lunch stop between the Jordan River and the Holiest City on Earth. Not to mention that it took us three hours to cross the border between having all our bags x-rayed and Brandon volunteering to bribe the border police with duty-free cigarettes in exchange for expedient passage (Beverly, you’ve raised quite a gentleman!).

Unfortunately, they were out of King Hussein Double Tipped Reds, so we were forced to sit on the bus for two hours. We passed the time, as we did the road miles previously, with another good old-fashioned sing-along.

We started with hymns and praise and worship music and somehow moved to gospel renditions of “Swing Low” and Naiheim belting out “How Great Thou Art” (“Ha Gray-tute Dow Aaart”). Good times, good times.

We had to cut what could have possibly been a Grammy-award winning performance of Kum-Bay-Yah (think: “WE ARE THE WORLD, circa 1982) short due to the 12 year old border police with an uzi responding to a disturbance of the peace call..in our van.

Being the responsible and resourceful social chairwomen of Israeli Invasion ’08, we pulled an oldie but a goodie. Nancy Jane harkened back to her days of Kamp closing to a “List What You Love About Your Fellow Bus-Mate” love fest. All 17 members of our bus group, Naiheim included, received a torn out piece of spiral journal paper with everyone’s handwritten comments about what made them lovable and traits that had been recognized during the past week of travel and getting to know one another.

The girls immediately loved the idea and started digging around in back packs for pens; we had to wake the boys up and they tried to act like they weren’t into it. But let me tell you…there was not a dry eye on the bus after love fest was over. And, thankfully, the minute we were done with the exercise, it was time to enter Israel and yet another security check-point.

Like Joshua and the Israelites into the Promised Land, we were led to Reunion Land with our dear Ruti. She was, folks, ECSTATIC to see us! She laughed, hugged, kissed, joked, hugged a little more and excitedly told us of how we were going to be visiting her town now…on our way to Jerusalem, one of the world’s five oldest (at a fair 7,000 years old) cities and the birthplace of Islam, Christianity and Judaism.

As we neared the place that Ruti calls “home sweet home,” our head honcho leader talked about the spiritual and topographical significance of this barren area. He referenced instances where Christ talks about his people being “like sheep without a shepherd.” Prior to visiting this spot, we’d have thought… “Wow, the sheep are totally lost.” True, but after seeing the conditions that “sheep without a shepherd” would have to endure, it has totally new meaning. Those animals, without their shepherd, would be toast. It’s broiling, no shade or water in sight, long distances give way to longer more desolate distances, wild carnivorous animals abound, and the desert is never-ending. Just like the sheep, we without our Shepherd are toast. Totally.

We stopped for lunch at Rosaline’s, which was Ruti’s second cousin twice-removed’s new Desert Stuckeys. It had a sunglass hut (where Nancy Jane purchased a styling new pair of sunglasses), a Dead Sea mud store (where Lincee had her hands re-conditioned four times as the “Mud Model”) and diners feasted on pita bread filled with cut up hot dogs. All of this ajoining a local filling station…our girl sure knows how to pick ‘em.

The one diversion from the Stuckey’s ambiance was the fact that a group of Israeli soldiers were having their McPitas when we arrived. And folks, these Israeli soldiers are worth writing home to the Mama Readers about…so that’s just what we’re doing. Prilly, Linea, Bev and Pam: Lincee was getting her hands re-conditioned for the second time in the air-conditioned Dead Sea mud store when she turned around and saw Nancy Jane giving her the look…you know the one: Cute boy at ten o’clock.

Lincee agreed. We immediately sought out Ruti’s advice regarding whether or not it was “kosher” to approach armed Israeli guards in the middle of their McBaklava to request a picture. Ruti, game for anything that highlights the beauty of her country, was thrilled to approach one soldier in particular to ask for a close up of his eyes…see below.

After the photo shoot, the bus moved on toward Jerusalem where it detoured onto Jericho Road. This is a Palestinian occupied territory, so armed Israeli guard escorts were necessary to complete this stop. Because the group had been told there would be no hiking involved in our bus-trip day, Nancy Jane wore her most stylish and uncomfortable pair of corked wedge sandals and was grounded…no hiking for her, but that meant plenty of quality time with the rest of the inappropriate footwear folks AND another photo opportunity with the Israeli armed forces. Lincee, who wore appropriate footwear, was quite jealous that she did not get her picture taken with a soldier. There’s always tomorrow, Linc! Maybe she’ll score a Hassidic Jew at the Wailing Wall. Good times, good times.

Another turn of the mountain and our bus arrived near the gates of Jerusalem. We passed through a tunnel at the entrance of the Holy City of Old Jerusalem and out of nowhere, Ruti busted out into song:

“Je-rrrru-salem, Je-rrrru-salem
Leafed up ydour boys ant seeng…”

Nightingale, not so much. And her voice is in fact, lower than the Dead Sea with a nice tamber of smoker’s cough on the high c’s. At the end of her solo, the bus went wild with Islamic Calls to Worship…ALA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA. See DAY FIVE for instructions on how you too can incorporate this Call into your repertoire.

Our last stop, just prior to the hotel, was believe it or not a gift shop. And this one was a little different from gift shops in the past, because Ruti actually bargained on behalf of the shop keeps. We noted she received free coffee and kissed each of the workers upon entrance…we think these may be her nephews trained by her sons, or neighborhood friends. This could also be the internship site for the school Ruti runs to teach entrepreneurial skills to young Israeli men.

Either way, it was a HIGH-END Galveston Strand souvenir shop. Olive wood nativities ranging from $300-1,400, “Hand-woven” silk rugs for $3-7,000 or your typical Jerusalem Gate chatchies ranging between $1.25 and $15.00 after the 20% discount Ruti’s tourists receive from the nephews.

This store could have been sitting in the middle of Willowbrook Mall and called Lifeway for Jews. Everything that even had a SMALL tie to Jerusalem or Israel was included in this store. We were supposed to go to a traditional Israeli market, however, security concerns prohibit that. So, this was our one stop to collect unnecessary Jewish objects…a Woolworth’s of the Holy Land stop, if you will. But, folks bought and all of our loyal readers included in the “friends and family” category can expect at least one olive wood cross or “hand-carved” camel upon our return…we bought in bulk!

Heavy laden with packages, we arrived at our hotel…barely moving. After dinner and our evening re-cap, we didn’t even discuss meeting up for social time, but rather waved “Shalom” and headed to bed. Believe it or not, these bloggirls are off to bed at a very decent hour.

Shalom and stay tuned for news of our visit to Jerusalem and cross into Palestinian territory to visit Bethlehem.

Today is Friday which marks our second Sabbath in the Holy Land! We’re veritable experts now.

Today was anything but a day of rest, though. Ruti had half of our group up at the crack of dawn to visit the Wailing Wall (fortunately we bloggirls were in the alphabetical group that didn’t leave until 8:45 a.m.) and we were off with a vengeance to visit the City of Jerusalem. As Ruti said, “Turing wit me es like turing from sunrise to sunset…or until jour soul leafs your body.”

We started out by picking up our group and our fearless leader, who has a new wardrobe addition…a whistle. That’s right folks, a gym coach-type whistle, which she blew directly into the microphone on the bus to demonstrate how she would call when she needed us to come running from one gift shop to the next. Apparently yelling “TEX-ASS” just isn’t enough.

Our first stop was King David’s tomb, which isn’t really King David’s tomb. It is just a representation…kinda like Nazareth Village was just a representation of Jesus’ hometown. Two years ago, the “Penguins” (Ruti’s incredibly PC term for Orthodox Jews in traditional dress of white tops, black pants, and long black coats) took over the site, which apparently moves around quite a bit. Because it is now under Orthodox holdings and considered a hallowed site, men and women use separate entrances, each view half of the “tomb,” and “holy wear” is required. For those of you who aren’t in the know, “holy wear” means that women must have arms and legs fully covered (Shawls provided for the tawdry lasses who dare to bare their arms) and men are required to wear yamikas (also provided for the Gentile Boys).

The “tomb” (that wasn’t) was nothing more than a big rock with a purple velvet blanket tossed over it. We basically got to see half of something that is not anything. The guys said their half wasn’t much better, but we’ve included a picture below of the girls’ half for posterity’s sake.

We also discussed the Star of David, Israel’s national symbol for the past 300 years. It just so happens that this isn’t really David’s star. In fact, it wasn’t even invented until many hundreds of years after his death. Ruti thinks the truest representation of Israel would be something symbolizing the country’s solidarity…we think something symbolizing a gift shop would be very fitting too! Maybe an incorporation of the Israeli National Animal…the coney!

We next traveled on to Diasphora Yeshma, or the Upper Room, on Mt. Zion, which isn’t really Mount Zion. In 70 AD, Jerusalem was destroyed and the Crusader Church built over the place of the Last Supper was also destroyed. (Interesting note: Jerusalem has been rebuilt 18 times).

This spot is also known as the spot where the Last Supper took place. Only, this isn’t really the site of the Last Supper, but a representation of where the dinner is thought to have taken place. Ruti said the actual Passover dinner didn’t look anything like how old Leo DeVinci painted it either… “What? Do jew tink the dee-sigh-pulls got two-gedder and sayed, ‘Let’s pose for a picture?’ I don’t tink so TEX-ASS!”

Since we were running a little late this morning (the bus was leaving at 8:30 and we arrived at 8:35) we had to grab breakfast on the go. Nancy Jane had one cup of coffee and Lincee had a Special K bar. Just as we entered the 500-year-old Jewish Quarter, Ruti spotted a Muslim bakery, grabbed six pita pizzas without paying and began handing them out to our group. It was a welcome treat since we were starving. The Muslims didn’t seem to mind. We think they were afraid of Ruti. Who isn’t? In fact, all food vendors seemed anxious when Ruti’s voice or brightly colored flowery umbrella was in the near vicinity. Not only did she steal pizzas, but she scored a handful of peanuts and a falafel, promising each shop that we would be back to visit them for lunch.

Our group split up again and the bloggirls went to the Wohl Archeological Museum which is ten feet below modern day Jewish Quarter. Stepping into this museum transports the visitor back 2,000 years to the Herodian period where the city looks exactly like it did in Jesus’ time. This is the real deal folks! The highlight of the visit to the museum was the opportunity to enjoy the High Priest’s “home” which was a 60 room palace. Ruti took us through the living room where Christ was questioned by the High Priest after His arrest on Passover and the open courtyard where Peter denied Christ three times. It was the first time we both felt truly in awe to be standing where Christ walked and the fact that we are in Israel slowly began to sink in.

We stepped out the door of the Museum and heard the voice of Ruti, “On the double TEX-ASS! Get over here!” She wanted us to see the huge golden menorah that will eventually be used when the third temple is built, according to Ruti and our guides.

Our next stop was the Temple Institute—a non-profit organization that exists to raise money, awareness and promotes scholarship of the world’s role in building the third temple.

Interesting note: The third temple can not be built until the Arab mosque (which has been on the site of the holy of holies since the fifth century) is “removed”. That’s a euphemism for “destroyed,” folks.

Inside the Institute, our guides Gabriella and Rabbi Glick showed us many of the “vessels” that have already been crafted for use in the third temple. These included: the big gold menorah we have already seen outside, the altar used for sacrifice, oil lamps fashioned out of pure silver and High Priest robes on a creepy looking mannequin that we are pretty certain was female. Gabriella, whose personality can best be described as that of wet paper bag, was informative and full of interesting facts about the temple. Even with a little over five hours sleep, our most yet, it was a struggle to stay awake while she imparted her extensive knowledge of ethical ways to kill animals for sacrifice, Titus and his thieving of the temple goods, the Levite musicians and how incense was burned in the temple because it engaged the sense of smell—the most holy sense because it the least physical. We forced ourselves to take a seat on the front row in hopes to prevent falling sleep.

Our tour of the Temple Institute concluded with a spiel by Rabbi Glick about how important it is for people of all faiths to donate money so the temple can be rebuilt. In keeping with national tradition, he answered his cell phone in the middle of his presentation, and after hanging up commented that he ALWAYS answers his phone—at any day or hour—because it could be someone calling to give him permission to begin rebuilding. “You all would have to help me carry the vessels out of here!” If you are interested in this non-profit, their website is: www.templeinstitute.org.

No visit to Israel would be complete without visiting the site where our Lord was born. The only catch is that Bethlehem is smack dab in the middle of Palestinian territory, the West Bank (keep reading moms…it’s okay.) Because she is Israeli, Ruti was not allowed to accompany us to the other side, and she loved being a martyr about it. “Hussein, on of jour tur gides…he es crasy. A leetle bit. But he’s okay.”

After having pre-conceived notions about what goes on in the West Bank, we were a little concerned about crossing the border without our Ruti or armed guard. But this particular trip was funded by the gift shop we visited the first day in Jerusalem, so we were committed. Despite the fact that we didn’t buy rugs or jewelry.

On our way to the Herodian palace, our b-string and completely sane tour guide Walid, took us past a church (and wait for it folks) where Mary is said to have rested on the way to Bethlehem before Christ’s birth. We arrived at the Herodian palace and Walid asked us to step off the bus, reminding us of the importance of our hats and water. Naturally, we had neither.

The climb was not water worthy. We stopped along the way for pictures, scenery and to read a sign memorializing an Israeli parks and recreation employee who had been murdered there ten years prior by Palestinian terrorists. Oh great. The conspiracy theory has started to come together. This is where they send the bad souvenir shoppers.

What was interesting about this spot is the fact that they’ve done excavation of it and are 80 percent sure this is Herod’s grave. We saw the ritual bath (mique), steam room, synagogue and Bonnie’s underwear. The high winds coupled with her choice of wardrobe (skirt) equaled something that EVERYONE at the Herodian Palace was observing. It took a team effort for our group to assist Bonnie in tying her skirt between her legs. Good times and fun memories.

After we corrected the wardrobe malfunction, we headed to Shepherd’s Field where it is hypothesized the shepherds saw the star over Bethlehem when Christ was born. We sang, “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem” in a cave that is thought to be where the shepherds tended their flocks at night. There were plastic stars and little white twinkle lights hanging all around. This reminded Nancy Jane of Pi Phi pref night at Ole Miss.

Our group was lead to a meeting area high on top of Shepherd’s Field where Pastor Dave offered one of his most beautiful devotionals of the trip. He delivered a message on Psalm 23 that was quite unlike what we’ve ever heard. He focused on verse two, “He MAKES (emphasis added) me lie down in green pastures.” Our head honcho alluded to the fact that sometimes when we are not following God’s way for us and life become too busy and we are not resting in the knowledge or peace of Christ, He MAKES us lie down. When sheep wandered off the path one too many times, the shepherd was forced to break the sheep’s leg and then carry him during the journey. Once healed, the sheep was allowed to walk and always stayed close to the shepherd. When we stray from the path, we are corrected and inevitably brought closer and learn to rest in The Great Shepherd.

Being a holy day, we had to race across the border to get to our Shabbat dinner, thwarted only by the threat of arrest since some of our group chose to take pictures at the gate, surrounded by armed guards and miles and miles of barbed wire. We were able to cross and after a horrible dinner of nothing that could be mechanically cooked or warmed (rules of Shabbat) we took comfort in lukewarm Macabee beer in the hotel bar.

We finished out our evening with a rousing game of “Two Lies/One Truth.” We can’t elaborate on what was exposed among our group. What happens in Jerusalem stays in Jerusalem.

We would have posted this blog earlier, however, everything in this hotel is governed by a Shabbat clock. We found ourselves blogging at midnight when all the lights suddenly went out. At first, we thought we had blown a fuse, but realized by the simple flip of a Shabbat switch, we could turn our room from Shabbat-worthy to unclean (aka: we turned the Shabbat clock off.)

We’d like to end this blog with a blessing that Rabbi Glick gave to us as we left the Temple Institute:
“From the City of Jerusalem, God’s holy chosen city, I wish you light to accompany you in every step of your life. A candle, a flame or spark, may you impart this light to your family, friends, neighbors and colleagues, turning this world into a better place to live. God bless you.”

Ma’a Salaama to Jordan & Naiheim!
Shalom to Israel and Ruti!

A majority of this day’s adventures (aka 10.5 hours) was centered around bus activities en route from Petra to Jerusalem. That’s right folks, ten and a half hours on the road…despite the fact that the two cities are less than a normal 3 hour drive apart. Of course, being back with Ruti, we stopped at every roadside tourist trap and gas-station lunch stop between the Jordan River and the Holiest City on Earth. Not to mention that it took us 3 hours to cross the border between having all our bags x-rayed and Brandon volunteering to bribe the border police with duty-free cigarettes in exchange for expedient passage (Beverly, you’ve raised quite a gentleman!).

Unfortunately, they were out of King Hussein Double Tipped Reds, so we were forced to sit on the bus for 2 hours. We passed the time, as we did the road miles previously, with another good old-fashioned sing-along.

We started with hymns and praise and worship music and somehow moved to gospel renditions of “Swing Low” and Naiheim belting out “How Great Thou Art” (“Ha Gray-tute Dow Aaart”). Good times, good times.

We had to cut what could have possibly been a Grammy-award winning performance of Kum-Bay-Yah (think: “WE ARE THE WORLD, circa 1982) short due to the 12 year old border police with an uzi responding to a disturbance of the peace call..in our van.

Being the responsible and resourceful social chairwomen of Israeli Invasion ’08, we pulled an oldie but a goodie. Nancy Jane harkened back to her days of Kamp closing to a “List What You Love About Your Fellow Bus-Mate” love fest. All 17 members of our bus group, Naiheim included, received a torn out piece of spiral journal paper with everyone’s handwritten comments about what made them lovable and traits that had been recognized during the past week of travel and getting to know one another.

The girls immediately loved the idea and started digging around in back packs for pens; we had to wake the boys up and they tried to act like they weren’t into it. But let me tell you…there was not a dry eye on the bus after love fest was over. And, thankfully, the minute we were done with the exercise, it was time to enter Israel and yet another security check-point.

Like Joshua and the Israelites into the Promised Land, we were led to Reunion Land with our dear Ruti. She was, folks, ECSTATIC to see us! She laughed, hugged, kissed, joked, hugged a little more and excitedly told us of how we were going to be visiting her town now…on our way to Jerusalem, one of the world’s five oldest (at a fair 7,000 years old) cities and the birthplace of Islam, Christianity and Judaism.

As we neared the place that Ruti calls “home sweet home,” our head honcho leader talked about the spiritual and topographical significance of this barren area. He referenced instances where Christ talks about his people being “like sheep without a shepherd.” Prior to visiting this spot, we’d have thought… “Wow, the sheep are totally lost.” True, but after seeing the conditions that “sheep without a shepherd” would have to endure, it has totally new meaning. Those animals, without their shepherd, would be toast. It’s broiling, no shade or water in sight, long distances give way to longer more desolate distances, wild carnivorous animals abound, and the desert is never-ending. Just like the sheep, we without our Shepherd are toast. Totally.

We stopped for lunch at Rosaline’s, which was Ruti’s second cousin twice-removed’s new Desert Stuckeys. It had a sunglass hut (where Nancy Jane purchased a styling new pair of sunglasses), a Dead Sea mud store (where Lincee had her hands re-conditioned four times as the “Mud Model”) and diners feasted on pita bread filled with cut up hot dogs. All of this ajoining a local filling station…our girl sure knows how to pick ‘em.

The one diversion from the Stuckey’s ambiance was the fact that a group of Israeli soldiers were having their McPitas when we arrived. And folks, these Israeli soldiers are worth writing home to the Mama Readers about…so that’s just what we’re doing. Prilly, Linea, Bev and Pam: Lincee was getting her hands re-conditioned for the second time in the air-conditioned Dead Sea mud store when she turned around and saw Nancy Jane giving her the look…you know the one: Cute boy at ten o’clock.

Lincee agreed. We immediately sought out Ruti’s advice regarding whether or not it was “kosher” to approach armed Israeli guards in the middle of their McBaklava to request a picture. Ruti, game for anything that highlights the beauty of her country, was thrilled to approach one soldier in particular to ask for a close up of his eyes…see below.

After the photo shoot, the bus moved on toward Jerusalem where it detoured onto Jericho Road. This is a Palestinian occupied territory, so armed Israeli guard escorts were necessary to complete this stop. Because the group had been told there would be no hiking involved in our bus-trip day, Nancy Jane wore her most stylish and uncomfortable pair of corked wedge sandals and was grounded…no hiking for her, but that meant plenty of quality time with the rest of the inappropriate footwear folks AND another photo opportunity with the Israeli armed forces. Lincee, who wore appropriate footwear, was quite jealous that she did not get her picture taken with a soldier. There’s always tomorrow, Linc! Maybe she’ll score a Hassidic Jew at the Wailing Wall. Good times, good times.

Another turn of the mountain and our bus arrived near the gates of Jerusalem. We passed through a tunnel at the entrance of the Holy City of Old Jerusalem and out of nowhere, Ruti busted out into song:

“Je-rrrru-salem, Je-rrrru-salem
Leafed up ydour boys ant seeng…”

Nightingale, not so much. And her voice is in fact, lower than the Dead Sea with a nice tamber of smoker’s cough on the high c’s. At the end of her solo, the bus went wild with Islamic Calls to Worship…ALA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA. See DAY FIVE for instructions on how you too can incorporate this Call into your repertoire.

Our last stop, just prior to the hotel, was believe it or not a gift shop. And this one was a little different from gift shops in the past, because Ruti actually bargained on behalf of the shop keeps. We noted she received free coffee and kissed each of the workers upon entrance…we think these may be her nephews trained by her sons, or neighborhood friends. This could also be the internship site for the school Ruti runs to teach entrepreneurial skills to young Israeli men.

Either way, it was a HIGH-END Galveston Strand souvenir shop. Olive wood nativities ranging from $300-1,400, “Hand-woven” silk rugs for $3-7,000 or your typical Jerusalem Gate chatchies ranging between $1.25 and $15.00 after the 20% discount Ruti’s tourists receive from the nephews.

This store could have been sitting in the middle of Willowbrook Mall and called Lifeway for Jews. Everything that even had a SMALL tie to Jerusalem or Israel was included in this store. We were supposed to go to a traditional Israeli market, however, security concerns prohibit that. So, this was our one stop to collect unnecessary Jewish objects…a Woolworth’s of the Holy Land stop, if you will. But, folks bought and all of our loyal readers included in the “friends and family” category can expect at least one olive wood cross or “hand-carved” camel upon our return…we bought in bulk!

Heavy laden with packages, we arrived at our hotel…barely moving. After dinner and our evening re-cap, we didn’t even discuss meeting up for social time, but rather waved “Shalom” and headed to bed. Believe it or not, these bloggirls are off to bed at a very decent hour.

Shalom and stay tuned for news of our visit to the Wailing Wall, St. Anne’s Church & other Jerusalem sites.

After waking from a restful night of three times the amount of sleep we’ve received in the last three days (AKA seven hours) we were raring to experience Petra—one of the Eight Wonders of the World (Please note, citing eight wonders is not a mistake…All of our readers should note that we are obliged to acknowledge the Astrodome as one of these impressive wonders).

We were told to wear comfortable shoes and a hat and drink plenty of water, because the entire day was dedicated to exploring this amazing area. We were also told to wear comfortable riding pants, as we would be riding horses, donkeys and camels. A true Jordanian experience.

We walked 100 meters from the back exit of our hotel to the front entrance of the Petran gates. Hewn from towering rock walls of multi-colored sandstone,Petra’s temples, tombs, and now gift shops are a true testament to the vision and entrepreneurial spirit of the desert tribes who sculpted them. The Nabateans—Arabs who dominated the region in pre-Roman times—chose this as their capital, because it was concealed from the outside world. They fashioned it into one of the Middle East’s most remarkable cities…a true wonder of the world. During Roman occupation, Petra became one of the regions busiest and most well-known trade routes.

Our initial Petran impression is at the first main entrance…it’s an Indiana Jones Gift Shop, probably owned by one of Ruti’s Jordanian relatives. Naiheim and Tony Balogna led us further down the path where many of our group members chose to ride horses down to the second main entrance. We both walked due to the fact that most of the horse guides were 12 years-old AND we’re both East Texas girls and wouldn’t want to show up any of our city slicker comrades on the backs of these fine Petran stallions (read: Both of us have been bucked off in recent memory and would really rather not have to blog about broken tail bones in a 3rd world country!)

We congregated together again at the third main entrance and our guides would walk a few hundred yards and point out a fissure in the rocks, then another few hundred yards to an interestingly colored sandstone to the high left or the recently-discovered (5 years ago) aqueduct to the bottom right. Another few hundred yards would yield interesting vegetation (olive trees and oleanders). The deeper and deeper we walked into Petra, the mountains just seemed to rise up like giant oak trees around us. This type of towering sandstone structure is referred to as a “siq” (pronounced “seek”) and Petra’s is about 1.2 kilometers long to walk at the bottom. It was like walking in the bottom of the Grand Canyon…kind of.

Well, truthfully…neither of us have ever been to the Grand Canyon before, but we’d bet it is similar, aside from the fact that the GC probably doesn’t have kids selling $5 camel bone necklaces, donkey drivers wearing shirts with “I’m with Stupid” written on them, and recklessly-driven donkey carts zig-zagging between tourists to go and pick up the next bunch of lazy Americans who can’t seem to make it all the way to the Treasury. It just didn’t scream “Bedouin” to us!

We followed the siq to the dead-end into a carved façade that …wait for it…is in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. The community’s Treasury, all Hollywood aside, is truly the finest site we experienced all day.

Though nobody is really sure how old the Treasury is, it is certain that it’s carved out of the sandstone mountain and was originally intended to serve as a tomb for the Nabitean King Artus III. It gets its name, however, from the story that Artus hid his treasure in an urn on the second level while pursuing the Israelites. You can actually see pock-marks in the solid-rock urn, indicating vain attempts by the locals at breaking this treasure chest open.

We pressed on past the Treasury with promises from Tony & Naiheim of spectacular visions … and CAMEL RIDES!! We hiked up a small cliff to the site of a Byzantine temple carved out of the side of the mountain. The 10,000 ft2 room had naturally colorful interiors and great acoustics. Aside from the kids, still peddling their $5 camel bone necklaces, it felt as if we’d been transported back through time.

Our head honcho leader delivered a message in this temple/cave focusing on the premise that drawing near to God results in His drawing near to us. It was a very meaningful devotional, despite the fact that Naiheim’s cell phone kept going off. Only this time, the cave we were in had fantastic acoustics and whatever he was saying to answer his wife, brother or Cousin Abdulla in Arabic, we are almost positive translated to “Can you hear me now?” “Can you hear me now?” “Can you hear me now?” Who knew that Byzantine Temple ruins had such great reception?

To drown out Naiheim’s conversation with his wife about what was for dinner and whether or not he could pick her up a Camel Tooth necklace, our group sang a few songs and in the words of our former guide Ruti (We love you, Big R!) we sounded “like nightingales.” It was one of the most beautiful parts of the day.

We headed on to our lunch spot a bit down the mountain, appropriately named THE BASIN, and dined on (believe it or not) hummus, cous cous, olives, and an unidentifiable fluorescent orange dessert. Bedouin rumor has it that Barbara WaWa visited this spot several years ago for her in-depth interview with Harrison Ford. There is no church erected on the site to commemorate this occasion.

Following lunch, our group split up. There were those in our group who chose to massacre themselves and walk 10 feet south of the sun to reach the Monastery pinnacle, among these was Lincee. There were others who chose to get back to Jordanian civilization, have a beer, take a dip in the pool, and reflect on the 17 camel bone necklaces they had purchased. Among these, NJO.

NJO’s experience: It was a no-brainer that I’d take the camel back to the Treasury (about a 2 mile walk from THE BASIN). I bartered Solomon, my camel guide, down from $15 USD to $10 USD and he immediately arranged for me to ride atop Elian, Petra’s most disgruntled, overworked and underpaid camel. I should have known better. I was no less than fifteen feet away and already Elian was hissing, spitting, and screaming at Solomon, who was, I’m sure, cursing at him in Arabic.

I kept asking Solomon, “Are you sure Elian is a nice camel?” To which Solly replied, “Oh yes, princess, he is a wonderful camel and loves American women, just like I do.” Translation: “You get what you pay for you, cheapskate!”

A bit nervous, albeit excited, about riding a camel, I swung my leg around the saddle horn, held on with a death grip (the blister is just now subsiding) and Solomon coaxed Elian up from his “at ease” position, again cursing him for attempting to bite the leg of a fellow camel rider right next to me.

At this point, faithful readers, I was freaking out. And I do mean AUDIBLY freaking out. I had every Bedouin camel guide in the city of Petra thinking I was being sacrificed at the Virgin Altar I was screaming so loud. Solly wasn’t quite sure what to think of me at this point and I think was ready to start paying me denari just to shut up…this was not good for his reputation as a camel guide. My fellow camel rider comrades just stared at me in disbelief. I had bragged all morning about growing up around horses and here I was, not even riding the thing yet.

I calmed down once Elian got all the way up to his feet (about 10 feet high) and aside from the intermittent glances back to try and nip my legs, we were friends now. Until he decided he was going to be the Mario Andretti of the Petran camels.

As luck would have it, Elian is a young camel. He’s a camel who is not afraid to show his prowess. He was also not afraid to run a bit and I think even quite enjoyed hearing Solomon chasing after us cursing in Arabic, my nervous, “Um sir, sir SIRRRRRR,” tourist groups stopping all over to snap pictures of the afflicted camel rider, and Petran necklace-peddling kids laughing and pointing as I raced past them in a camel-like blur (okay, so it wasn’t THAT fast, but I’m telling you that camel ride is not the smoothest ride in town!).

By the time Solomon finally caught up with us, Elian was ready to compromise and be a good camel. The rest of the 45-minute ride was quite uneventful, excepting the moment when he finally did get a good little nip at me when I tried to pet him. Too petrified to ask for pictures to be taken, to even speak really, I don’t have anything to commemorate my camel experience. I suppose I could ask around, as I’m sure my rendezvous with Elian is on You Tube somewhere out there!

Returning to the hotel for a little R&R, was just what the sheik ordered. I also got a little “real work” done and awaited hearing back from my roomie re: her afternoon adventures.

Lincee’s Experience: Earlier in the day, Naiheim mentioned to me that I must make the trek up to the Monastery after lunch, because it would change my life forever. Built in third century BC as a Nabatean tomb, the Monastery gets its name from the crosses carved on the inside walls, suggesting it was once used as a church.

I congregated with others from our group at the base of the mountain and began the journey at an aggressive pace. Probably a little TOO aggressive for a climb that takes 40 minutes and boasts more than 800 steps that wind around in a zig zag up high inclines.

Pretty much immediately, the slight throbbing pain in my right knee (two ACL surgeries) told me to take my time. I convinced myself that I was just going to “enjoy the view” as the other people my age passed me left and right. The first ten minutes wasn’t that bad. The second ten minutes? No so much. I started doing that fake, “Oh look at that rock!” or “Check out this view!” as I leaned over, huffing and puffing, convinced that my right lung was about to explode in my chest. I’d ask my fellow climbers, one an 80-year-old man who is currently on the waiting list for a kidney, to take my picture at every curve we rounded. These were precious seconds that allowed me to catch my breath and chug down ridiculous amounts of water. I figure there were around 43 photos of me on the way up that mountain, which were all immediately deleted. Bless my heart, no one needs to the pained look on my face as I fake a smile.

Reaching the 30 minute mark, I almost decided to take up residency with the Bedouins who peddled camel tooth necklaces every 100 yards. I was resting against a rock in the blistering heat, when a nice lady offered me shade under her tent. I hoisted myself up to her blankets and sat down. She offered me tea and even let me bounce her baby (who was absolutely precious) for a few minutes before I returned to the mountain that knows no mercy. Another 1oo yards at the next Bedouin tent, a little boy tried to force, you guessed it, a camel tooth necklace on my arm. After graciously declining, he said, “That’s okay miss. Only five more minutes left. You come see me when you are done!”

If I could have felt my arms, I would have picked that little eight-year-old up and carried him on my shoulders to the Promised Land. This information gave me a new sense of strength! I readjusted my backpack, daintily dabbed the sweat from my brow and trudged on. The next Bedouin tent resident was an old lady smoking the largest joint in existence. I bet she had a few offers for it, but that’s neither here nor there:

Bedouin: “Miss? Miss? Something to take home?”
Lincee: “No thank you. I’m just going to the top of the Monastery. I hear it’s going to change my life.”
Bedouin: “Okay. Only five more minutes.”

HOLD THE PHONE! FIVE MINUTES WAS THREE MINUTES AGO!

Calculating the jumping distance on what it would take for me to fling myself off the cobbled steps into the death valley below, I am rescued by the sweetest angel this side of the evil mountain.

His name was Christian and he was the husband of sweet Heather from the other church in our group. I assume he sensed my internal struggle and clearly recognized my physical incapability to press on. He offered, nay, insisted that he carry my backpack the remaining five minutes.

I can’t tell you what a huge weight was literally lifted off of my shoulders due to the fact that my laptop, camera, 32 pound Bible and 17 Bedouin necklaces were weighing me down. I skipped along to the end of the path, light on my feet and sipping my water bottle with glee, while encouraging Christian to the top. I probably would have serenaded him with “Hero” by Mariah Carey if I had not been in awe and speechless at what stood before me.

Fifty meters wide and 45 meters high, it took my angel Christian and another jock dude from Faith Church to hoist (lots of that going on today) me up into this beautiful building to take a closer look. Sadly, it smelled like urine inside, so I opted to enjoy the majesty from a nearby rock outside.

A few minutes later, our fearless leader (who just had a hip replacement) and Henry (the gentleman waiting for a kidney transplant) walked past and invite me to come with them just beyond the Monastery to see Aaron’s tomb. Promising it would only take five more minutes, I was clearly either on crack or a high from the climb and joined them.

The view was breath taking and it was something I will remember forever.

I joined sweet Bonnie and Robert for the walk back down the mountain. Obviously this task was easier on the lungs, but much more strenuous on the ACL knee that was pleading me to rest, ice, compress and elevate. Bonnie and I talked about how riding a camel never sounded so good and we were relieved to find a herd waiting for us at THE BASIN exit.

Our three camels were tethered together in a group. Bonnie led the way and I brought up the rear on a black camel named ZaZa. Being that I’ve ridden a camel before at FCA camp in high school, I felt like a pro. Our guide Ferris said that she was the best camel in Petra and was considered a matriarch of the herd. She was also impatient. ZaZa insisted on being first in line and would annoyingly pass Robert’s camel Jack and try to make her way to the front of the line. Being tethered together, this made for some awkward maneuvering among our group. Robert’s legs would become wedged against his camel and mine, Jack would spit and hiss at ZaZa for not staying in line and I would often have to swing my legs from one side to the other as not to knock over Bedouin displays of Petra magnets and oil lamps.

We reached the Treasury and bid Ferris farewell. All-in-all, it was an amazing day at Petra and there was a moment in my quite time on the mountain that I will treasure forever. It was a true experience of a lifetime.

Together again: Once we’d showered and de-camelized ourselves, we joined our group downstairs for dinner and debriefing of the day’s events. Nancy Jane failed to bring up her camel-riding experience and Lincee was mum on her finish-out with the other 80 year olds in the group. No need to bring up anything that could find itself on the world wide web, right?

We closed out the evening with cocktails in the Jordanian-inspired hooka smoking room (no loyal readers, we did not partake) while Ali and his guitar assistant Mohammed played a repertoire of exactly three songs: “The Girl from Ipanema,” “God Bless the USA,” and “Every Step you Take.”

Conversation was light due to the fact that we were all nursing broken tail bones, camel horn blisters, swollen knees, sunburns, donkey rot and the inability to complete sentences due to a high from the secondary hooka smoke. All the girls looked really fabulous, however, in their camel tooth necklaces.

Truly, all in all, Petra was THE highlight of the trip thus far. Words cannot express and pictures will never do justice to the wonderment we experienced today. It is truly amazing to think that ancient civilizations came up with and carried out such intricate detail to architecture and city planning in the side of sandstone mountains. We are also completely overjoyed to experience the hospitality and kindness of the Jordanian people. They are just wonderful. Regardless of whether or not we ride a camel or hike the Monastery again, we will definitely find our ways back to Petra.

Side note: It’s 3:47 a.m. and we are currently listening to an Islamic call to worship ringing through the streets. Not joking.

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NJO won the denari toss (she called camel, Lincee called oil lamp) and showered first, while Lincee attempted to gain Internet access for blogging. By the time NJO was done, we were still NOT online. It was at that moment that we made an executive decision to opt out of the recap. The world will just have to wait. We were so happy, we almost cried. When Lincee returned from her shower, Nancy Jane was on her bed with Arabic sub-titled Seinfeld playing. However, she was not only dead to the world, but also contorted in the most UNCOMFORTABLE sleeping position known to man. Oh well! Lights out.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Day six started extremely early. Groggy from our power nap, we headed to the bus and made our way to the Jordanian border, passing by the West Bank. It was at this point that Ruti presented her manifesto on Arabic politics. We believe the words out of her mouth were, “There are plenty of Arab countries. They should just go back to one of those.”

On a serious note, it really brings it home how personally affected these people are by the constant conflict that has been raging for years in one form or another. It’s easy to spout off our opinions of how peace accords should be handled, but fact of the matter is that the situation is extremely complex and there appears to be no easy answer to the problem.

Stopping at the Jordanian border, we realized we were leaving Ruti for the next 48 hours. Since she is an Israeli tour guide, she is prohibited by law to work in Jordan, but assured us that the gentlemen we were being passed on to were the best Jordan had to offer, but asked us to keep in mind that they were Arabs and she is Ruti. She discouraged us from spending any money in Jordan, noting that the more money we spend in Israel, the more F15’s her country can buy from the USA.

Nearing the Jordanian border was like closing ceremonies at camp. We were devastated to leave Ruti, our favorite camp counselor, and a little nervous that the first Jordanians we saw were two 16-year-olds with machine guns. To commemorate this most auspicious occasion, we serenaded Ruti with a “Happy Trails” sendoff. She obliged us and even acted like she knew the words of the song. Ruti really DOES know everything. I’m sure the sight of two Texas girls swaying in unison with an Israeli tour guide in the middle of the Tourist Police office was a high hit blog for some Arab guy’s website www.ihatestupidamericans.com.

Much to our pleasant surprise, was the fact that our Jordanian tour guide, Naiheim (pronounced Nah-heem) had a sense of humor, was quite knowledgeable and LOVED our group. He said that getting lunch was first priority which was music to our ears since the last thing we’d consumed was a saltwater and “mud” cocktail from the Dead Sea. The bus stopped in the middle of a rural village right outside the border. In sharp contrast to our previous tour guide, we’re pretty sure Naiheim is not related to the shop keep and has no stock holdings in the village gift shop.

Directly outside the door of our bus was the most interesting sight of the day so far. Sweet little goats were walking around in front of the carniceria, tethered to a nearby tree. Looking beyond the sweet little goats were more goats. These were sweet little goat carcasses hanging in the shop window available for purchase.

We were hoping goat tartar was not on the menu.

Thankfully, Naiheim returned with the motherlode of Jordanian fruit production. A bushel of bananas (without the blue bags), peaches, hot pita bread and goat cheese we think is from the sweet little goats. The best meal we’ve had so far.

Our first stop with Naiheim was Mt. Nebo where Moses viewed the Holy Land just prior to his death. It was absolutely surreal to look out into what we know was the Holy Land. (Deuteronomy 34:1-4) It truly was The Promised Land, exactly as God promised, the only green spot in the middle of the desert. It’s amazing to see the fulfillment of God’s promises even thousands of years later.

It was also amazing to see that the physical manifestation of the law that says, “All tour guides must answer their cell phones during prayers and/or devotionals.” Naiheim must have received a call from his wife, brother and Cousin Abdula at least six times during our prayer on Mt. Nebo.

While Naiheim’s family might not have owned the village lunch stop, they did own the mosaic tile shop we were forced to tour. Great concept—total waste of time. They were charging thousands of dollars for mosaic beer coasters and Apostolic table tops. Nancy Jane had to sneak out of the store to avoid purchasing the Jericho Tree of Life from the owner. All she did was say, “That’s nice” and there were four salesmen on her like white on rice (Israeli on hummus) negotiating down from $2,000 to $1,800. Nancy Jane faked a phone call from her imaginary husband and told the salesmen that he would kill her if she brought home one more mosaic. NO MORE WALL SPACE!

We went from the frying pan into the fire of tourist obligations when we stopped in Madaba, which is supposedly the home of Ruth. It’s more like a Jordanian Navasota, complete with low rider cars, hoodlum kids and more than likely a sub-par football (soccer) team. We didn’t see a Sonic. We filed into a construction trailer with 7,000 chairs and four couches in order to better educate ourselves on the intricate workings of the first map of the Holy Land, which just so happens to be a mosaic. Ironically, Nancy Jane owns an exact replica of this piece de resistance. It hangs in her fake River Oaks mansion and her imaginary husband despises it.

The next place we visited is referenced in Mark 6 as the palace of Herod of Antipas where John the Baptist was imprisoned and beheaded. In order to see the palace and prison, however, we had a 78 mile walk up 867 steps at a 97 degree incline in 197 degree weather. We failed to bring our water. Halfway up the mountain, a nice couple from the other church offered us their water. We must have really looked like sweet little goat carcasses hanging in a window. We thankfully took their gift and in return, Nancy Jane offered to name her first born child after Kimberly…the Goddess of Water.

We arrived at the apex of the mountain to be rewarded by a Vegas-style show, performed by our fearless head honcho leader. He proceeded to re-enact the belly dance performed by Herodias’ daughter that inevitably enticed Herod to behead John the Baptist. A video was confiscated by the Jordanian Police.

While we might have wanted to stay and dance the night away, we had a three hour drive to Petra ahead of us. Naiheim kept us enthralled the first hour with statistics about his country. Jordan is 85% Muslim and 95% of these Muslims are Sunni. Fifteen percent are Christian. According to Naiheim, it is a crime to be an atheist, punishable by life in prison. A person must be a member of one of the faiths mentioned in the Holy Book: Judaism, Islam or Christianity.

Speaking of the Holy Book, we’ve both been convicted, yet again by our tour guides’ knowledge of our Bible. They believe it is a wonderful story, yet have committed the entire book to memory. We are taking this as a call to action and will be holding each other accountable to the understanding and memorization of Scripture. This is not from a legalistic viewpoint, but of a true desire to know and understand the Word.

Naiheim graciously gave us permission to sleep for the next two hours. But instead, we had a good old fashioned American Band Stand. What started out as Lincee dj’ing from her i-Pod, ended up as an all out sing-a-long. Scott busted out his guitar. Judy busted out the praise and worship requests. Angela busted out the camera. And we both raised the roof with a rendition of Kum-Bah-Yah, complete with the creation of spontaneous verses harkening back to our days at Nazareth Village. Think: “There’s a coney, Lord…kum-bah-yah…”

As we ended our sing-a-long, Naiheim welcomed us to Petra and our luxurious five-star-hotel where we passed our luggage through XRAY machines, walked through metal detectors, were greeted by teenagers with machine guns, selected for mandatory retinal scans, fingerprinted, and sent to the side of the dining hall where unclean/unshowered Gentiles must sit. We were allowed to eat for 17 minutes and then ushered up to our rooms by armed guards singing, “Hail King Hussein of Jordan.”

What a day. What a night. What an adventure.

Salaam ‘Alaykum.
Peace be upon you.

Cliff Notes Version: cat napping, border crossing, good bye saying, Happy Trails singing, mountain climbing, sweating, water drinking, child naming, belly dancing, not mosaic buying, imaginary husband creating, kum-bah-yahing, arriving, contorting, crashing

The Ruti Recap: Aside from our historical education and getting her to say, “My voice is lower than the Dead Sea” yet again, our time with Ruti was trunicated. Therefore, you will have to stay tuned for the next 48 hours. We don’t feel it is in our best interest or a wish of the Israeli procurement department, to allow our allegiances to be anywhere else but with Ruti. Thus will not do the Naiheim Newsflash. It is JerUSAlem after all. We will remain loyal to Ruti

And now…www.ihategreenbeans.com and shalomshalomyall.blogspot.com.

That’s right folks. A matrimony of sorts has occurred for a few reasons:

1. There’s only one computer
2. Internet access comes at 62 shekels an hour and we want to save our shekels for Ruti roadside souvenirs
3. The authors are exhausted, but dedicated to you our readers and want you to stay abreast of our travels in the Holy Land. SHALOM!

Once again, we stayed up “past our bedtime” blogging and awoke very early to pack, board the bus and leave our home-away-from-home in Tiberius over the past three days.

Our first stop along the route was the region of Beit Shean, city of Skeetopolis. (Pronounced Ski Topless.) This typical Roman city was built on an ancient sea route and has several outstanding characteristics that separate it from every other ruin in the countryside: Saul was beheaded and impaled on the city walls, The Greatest Story Ever Told (cross scene) was filmed here and its total destruction by an earthquake in 65 AD did not hinder the remarkable excavation of the past 20 years. The city is almost completely intact.

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Ruti pointed out that there are similarities in all of these spots. Apparently, every Roman city that respects itself has an amphitheater, theater, bath house, shrines and a cat about to give birth.

We stopped in to the amphitheater where we’re sure Ruti would have loved to have karaoked, however as she reminded us again today, her voice is lower than the Dead Sea. I guess we will have to wait until St. Anne’s.

Two girls from our group did a beautiful rendition of Amazing Grace to showcase the acoustics of these ancient facilities. We were sitting on rows XI and XII thinking we would have chosen something that screamed a little more Tex-ass! “All Night Long” by Lionel Ritchie.

Speaking of, we headed back to the bus where Lincee arranged her iPod speakers to blare our theme song for Israeli Invasion ’08. Ruti lead the “All Night Long” mambo down the center aisle, raising the roof a few eight counts before snapping the microphone up, shooting a glance at Lincee to sit down and telling David the bus driver, “Let’s rock and row-ell!”

Our rocking and rolling took us on a drive through the Gaza Strip. We weren’t able to see anything or get out and explore because it is still quite dangerous territory….apparently. Ruti told us the history, but we’re going to be honest here. We did not learn anything because we were cat napping. We were up until 3:00 a.m. writing our individual blogs— pre merger, remember?

We were awakened by the Islamic call to worship (see below) as we passed by Jericho (NJ gives a shout out to William, Margaret, the Rugs and the Battle that Joshua fit.) It is a Palestinian territory, one of the five most ancient cities in the world and the lowest spot on Earth. It is also located near the sight where Christ was tempted by Satan to turn a rock into bread among other temptations (Matthew 4). Further down the road, Ruti had David stop the bus to point out more Israeli wildlife (no conies) and the gold dome church which, although a military zone and not visitable, is thought to be the place where Christ was actually baptized on the Jordan River. Ruti had a great “ism” here: “You can not see it. But I’ve been there.”

Next on the Ruti “rowed” trip is Qumeran, the site of the discovery of the Dead Sea scrolls. Every book of the Old Testament was discovered here, except Ruth. Or Esther. We take separate notes during our adventures and as with any merger, there are sure to be a few glitches in the system, including passage and accuracy of information. But we do have 20 corporate shekels riding on this one. We’re really looking forward to the company car and expense account.

We believe Ruti had planned on taking us on a hike into the caverns that held the Dead Sea scrolls, but several members of the other group had a bathroom emergency. Ruti proceeded to yell into the microphone as David was navigating the bus between two drop-off cliffs, “Emergency Tex-ass to ease yourself.” At that point, Brandon piped up, equally as loud, “Hey ya’ll…play ‘Easy Like Sunday Morning.’”

It’s lunch time on day five which means yet again we are bussed to one of Ruti’s many familial establishments. This one, in particular, we shall refer to as Stuckey’s…Israel-style. Shaking things up, we ENTERED through the gift shop this time. We were near the back of the crowd, which gave us plenty of time to peruse the chatchies, including:

1. AHAVA body products from the Dead Sea priced three times more than what we pay at the Urban Retreat
2. Life size falafel and challah postcards (extra postage required)
3. Camel scarves
4. Winnie the Pooh snow globes
5. Punjab pants
6. Kosher boxers (see below)

This is encouraging! If the last two items can co-exist in an 800 square foot former beauty shop / Druize produce stand, then SURELY these two countries can learn to get along.

After lunch, we journeyed to Masada. This mighty fortress was the last stronghold and stand of the Jewish zealots against Rome, on the edge of the barren Negev Desert. Masada is a symbol of courage and perseverance for the Jewish people, where 960 Jewish defenders organized their last resistance to the “Rowmun” conquerors. Essentially, we are talking about a 950 BC Alamo. But the majority of our group (NJ and LR not included) was more interested in some dude, AKA Saint Francis of Assissi, feeding a bird crackers out of the palm of his hand, than of the historical and political significance of this site.

After we walked the second Herodian Palace, we made our way to the bath house. Plainly stated in the words of our fearless leader Ruti, “Ze bath howse saowna (sauna) had but one purhpose. All jew have to do in here es seet and sweat.”

Mission accomplished Ruti. We were sweating from every pore imaginable and places we didn’t even know we had sweat glands. Did I mention we were in the desert?

We were all ready to take a refreshing “flowte” in the Dead Sea, which is 29% salt, at this point. We did, however, have several rules we had to follow before Ruti would let us off the bus.

1. NO DIVING! Apparently, the suction that is created between your lungs and the water when you dive causes an almost instantaneous death.
2. “Your body is a ‘bowte’ and your hands are the ‘rowers’”, meaning, DON’T SPLASH!
3. You will discover all cuts once you get into the Sea.
4. Don’t dunk your hair, because it will run down into your eyes and BURN!

We rushed upstairs to change into our bathing suits. Being Texas girls, we were expecting a refreshing dip in the Sea. Instead, we waded in to find that not only were our feet were going to be massacred by the salt blocks, but the day’s theme of sweating was still being carried out. It was more like a Masada bath house/sauna. We quickly acclimated to the warm waters and joined our comrades in the slathering of Dead Sea salts and exfoliating our bodies. Guys included.

Comments Overheard at the Dead Sea
1. Dr. Chia: “Do you blink or wink to keep the salt out of your eyes?”
2. Elder Henkel, Babs McQueen, JenHen and Bon Bon: “Look [fill in the blank name] is walking on WATER! Who has a camera?”
3. The Kennedy’s (not John John and Caroline Bessett, but Scott and Kimberly): “I KNEW we shouldn’t have shaved our legs this morning.”
4. Brandon: “I’ve never exfoliated my chest hair before, or been this in touch with my feminine side.”

We finished up our Dead Sea experience with what Carol was convinced to be a mud bath. However, the rest of us are positive, based on the sign that said “DANGER…DO NOT ENTER” and “STEEP CLIFF” as well as the putrid smell and gurgling, bubbly waters that we were in a sewage treatment facility. We half expected six Israeli kids to jump out from behind the jetty and steal our cameras.

Nevertheless, we considered it part of our Dead Sea experience and rubbed the “mud” all over our bodies.

Following a detox bath, we joined our group for dinner and later capped out the evening with bar room games, cocktails and serenading from an Israeli Jamaican Neil Diamond. (He was the bar’s evening entertainment.)

PICTORIAL DIARY
NOTE TO READER: Please return later today to see these GREAT pictures. We are having Internet issues.

RUTI RECAP:
Ruti, ever the PC tour guide, instructed us this afternoon on how to perform the Islamic “Call to Worship” (she’s a Croatian/Israeli Jew). We’ve included two easy steps below so you, our readers at home, can feel a part.

STEP ONE: Leader asks a question like “Are hugh ready to rowell?”; “Do hugh hear me, Tex-ass?” “Do hugh want to stop for some falafel at my sea-ster’s store?”

STEP TWO: If in agreement, congregants should partially open their mouths, as if to accept a strawberry. The tongue titillates between the teeth and upper lip and the sound “A LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA” should be uttered in a C# major chord in the tambour the congregant is most comfortable with.

Cliff’s Notes Version: never sleeping, packing, blogging, performing, Gaza stripping, Dead Sea scrolling, boxer buying, sweating, sweating, sweating, slathering, exfoliating, detoxing, retoxing, botoxing, toasting

BABY UPDATE
Campbell JANE Otto was born around 4:45 p.m. Houston time. That’s 1:00 a.m. Israeli time. She’s the most beautiful baby this side of the Jordan, or anywhere else in the world and Aunt Nancy JANE can’t wait to meet her half namesake! We are including a picture below for your viewing pleasure.

State of the Union Update
Okay, so, well…our plan didn’t work. The main reason for combining forces was to consolidate our efforts, increase productivity and decrease sleep deprivation. It is now 4:04 a.m.

While our efforts were somewhat thwarted by the birth of Nancy Jane’s niece, this “combining of the efforts” really just produces double the reflection, triple the fun and we think we may have come down with a case of holy laughter, or it could just be brain rot from the feces we rubbed on our faces.

We are committed to this merger, however, and believe in what it will do for the cause of Holy Land blogging. So, stick with us! We promise it will be worth the ride.

I’m pretty sure this is what they were listening to. Track 14 is Hava Nagila. www.amazon.com. You are welcome.

Since my brain is fried and there is too much to share in the amount of time left I have on my pre-paid Internet card, this one is going to have to be quick. I’m just going to have to bust out a short but sweet recap that highlights the day’s favorite happenings.

I could write about how our rockin’ tour guide Ruti told us about about Claire Epstein. You probably remember her from your ancient history ruins class in college. She’s the one that found the identical match to a pair of lions that guarded the city of Hazel while she was “easing” herself in a bush near the excavation site. Shaloms all around for Claire!

Or I could tell you about how we went to Caesarea Phillipi, which is believed to be the site of the Transfiguration. I could show you the picture of me in front of the gates of hell.

Must be why it was so hot there.

However, for time’s sake…and because NJO needs to write her own blog tonight (http://shalomshalomyall.blogspot.com. She’s added music AND video) I’m going to narrow the field down to my top two favorite moments of the day.

Mama Druise’s Unleavened Bread Stand
Of course Ruti had David our driver take us to the middle of nowhere to eat lunch. This is becoming an exciting adventure for those of us on the bus…never knowing what wonderful treats the side of the Israeli road will bring us today!

Looks like it’s going to be falafel and schnitzel! La’CHIEM!

Mama Druise scoots out of her bread stand and ushers the tour bus passengers in her establishment. It’s no Tanureen, but it will do. One line for the falafel or schnitzel and another to watch Mama Druise sweet sister make unleavened bread the way her ancestors used to do it in Jesus’ time.

1. Remove shoes.

2. Squat down on the floor near Jewish Coke machine and place round seat cushion from outdoor patio furniture on bucket.

3. Mold the bread into large circle, making sure to cover circumference of seat cushion.

4. Remove and unleaven.

5. Hand to Mama Druise. Smear a little goat cheese and a cup and a half…or two…of extra virgin olive oil.

6. Wrap and hand to customer.

Note to reader: The goat cheese and gallon of olive oil may be substituted for chocolate sauce.

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I know what you are thinking. You assumed that I ate the chocolate delight of pure ecstasy. Well you are WRONG! Even though I tasted Robert’s and was for one moment experiencing what it must be like to be in heaven, I opted for the more grown-up goat version. Dripping with oil.

Needless to say, I ate a half pound bag of Skittles when I returned to the bus.

I THINK I WAS JUST ASKED TO SOME JEWISH KID’S BAR MITZVAH
After a day of baking in the sun, sweating olive oil and general Holy Land fun, a bunch of the gang wanted to go swimming in the Sea of Galilee. One small problem. Even though our hotel abuts the Sea, there is no beach, per se, in which to frolic. There is a boardwalk that is right up against a big wall of rocks that pretty much drops into the water.

Ruti explained to the group that you have to walk down about 10 minutes away from the hotel and enter the beach from a public gate. We had only one hour before we had to be back for our debriefing as a group. Nancy Jane and I didn’t want to swim, but we were interested in trying to find a boat or a person with a pole so we could go fishing in the Galilee. How cool is that? Just like John the disciple?

We plotted our strategy from the balcony of our hotel, which overlooks the boardwalk. We saw a family fishing on the wall of rocks and decided to go down, introduce ourselves with our best SHALOM and see what happened.

We did not expect the boardwalk to end with a chain link fence and a sign that read, “Trespassers will be sent to Nazareth Village” in Hebrew. The family was RIGHT THERE on the other side. Much like the pubic hairs on the ceiling of our first hotel, we wondered, “How did they get there?”

Nancy Jane, in her best southern drawl, introduces herself to the Mom that happened to be on our side of the fence.

NJO: “Shalom! HOW DO WE GET OVER THERE?”

The Mom looks confused. With a little bit of sign language mixed in with a good helping of charades, she finally figures out that we want on the other side of the barrier.

Lincee: “HOW DID THEY (points to family) GET OVER (makes hand gesture like rainbow) THE FENCE? (touches fence.)

Mom in deep smoker’s voice: “Ah-gch!” (Jewish for ah-ha.) “They climb. You follow me.”

Nancy Jane gives a big THANK YOU head nod, we give each other the look as if to say, “I’m game if you are!” and we follow. She climbs a small fence and whips around a pole, gingerly landing on the other side.

Picture it:
Small fence is indeed small. What’s on the other side of this fence is a 5o foot drop onto several jagged rocks.

Pole can clearly be whipped around. What’s surrounding the pole is barbed wire and another 50 foot drop onto several jagged rocks.

NJO goes first and makes it! I follow and make it too!

We are now clearly with the true Hebrew riff raff in the city of Tiberius. We’ve got the smoker’s cough Mom’s family fishing. Some high school girls in revealing bikinis sunbathing. And one questionable Arab on a wave runner trying to get Nancy Jane to “take a ride with him” tonight. She graciously declines with a simple, “I’m fine. Thank you!”

We make our way to the end of the wall of rocks and start to careen down in order to truly dip a toe in the Galilee. About halfway down I hear Nancy Jane talking very slowly to someone. I look up and there is a young Jewish kid speaking Hebrew to her. They seem to understand each other perfectly, which does not surprise me a bit.

Afraid that he would push her off the rock wall to her death, I make my way back up to the crowd, which has now grown to six Jewish boys. The oldest one knew the best English and would translate for the others. One boy knew NO ENGLISH and would ask enthusiastic questions to your face. You’d answer, “I don’t know what you are saying!” and he would shout back with glee, “SHALOM!”

Here I am with our new friends. The one to my left , copping a feel, said I was beautiful and I’m pretty sure I agreed to marry him when he becomes of age. One would ask me to say things in Jewish and they would all start laughing hysterically. No telling what that was about, but I am going to go ahead and bet it was dirty.

It’s getting pretty awkward at this point. It’s not at all suspicious when all six kids have an “uncle” in the States. We try several times to tell them we are going to the Galilee to dip our toe, but they insist on escorting us down the dangerous rocks. They also are persistent to know where we are staying and if they can take our picture.

This ain’t our first rodeo Jewish kids. We are a part of the riff raff now. We scaled the wall and became one of you. Don’t even think about stealing my camera and selling it in one of your many gift shops on the Sea. I’m on to you.

We finally get them to go away by agreeing to take their picture as they jump off the rock wall into the Sea. As the last one yelled “mahzeltof” as he flung himself into near death, we made a break for the fence. Since we are pros, we whipped and climbed with ease.

Definitely the highlight of my stay here at the Sea of Galilee.

As I think back on this day during its last six minutes of existence, I’m working hard to recall details. It seems I told myself several times today, “Remember this moment Lincee. Right now. Take it all in.” And there were several. Join me as I reflect.

* * *

It’s complete and total irony that this morning started off with reflection. One would think that with a view of the Galilee Sea, like the one we have from our room, I would be meditating on the day and preparing my soul for what inspirations God had in store for me.

Hardly.

I was staring at my reflection in the mirror as I applied my makeup on the balcony. My sweet yet blunt Mother always told me, “Some days it’s good to go out in the sun and look at yourself in the mirror. And make sure you have some tweezers, because there are going to be things you need to pluck.”

All I can say is thank you Mother for your weird advice and thank goodness my tweezers were not confiscated in airport security because I was shocked at what had miraculously sprouted obviously overnight, because LORD HELP ME if that was there in between my eyebrows all day long yesterday.

I digress.

JESUS BOAT
After a breakfast of yogurt and honey, we all went down to the shore and boarded a boat that would take us across to the other side of the Sea. It was a sailboat like the disciples would have used. Except ours had a motor. And an American flag flying. And a PA system playing the “Star Spangled Banner.” Being the patriotic group we are, we all stand in our Jesus Boat, cross our hearts and sing proudly.

Our dear tour guide Ruti (love her) begins talking about how we are on the very body of water that Christ calmed during a storm. The guy driving, in dramatic fashion, cut the engine and we drifted in the middle as Pastor Dave retold the story of how Jesus walked on water out to his disciples and Peter attempted to walk out towards him. Then Peter sank.

So there I am. In the Jesus Boat. In the place where Jesus calmed the storm and walked on water. It’s not fake. It’s not on TV. It’s under me at that moment.

Surreal.

Reflection: What faith Peter had! Sure he lost sight, and fell. But he got out of the boat. Can I say the same thing?

JESUS BOAT MUSEUM
Long story short…they found an old boat, excavated it and now it’s in a museum. The best part of this museum is the gift shop. You would have thought we had never seen souvenirs before! There were books, replicas of the Jesus Boat, camels, menorahs, JerUSAlem (yes the USA was bold) t-shirts, olive wood boxes, olive wood ornaments and lastly, olive wood “Shalom Y’all” magnets.

Our group is from Texas. There was nary a “Shalom Y’all” magnet left in the joint. Rudi thinks this is funny and christens our group, “TEXAS.” Now any time she needs us to gather in a crowded place, she just yells “TEXAS” to the top of her Jewish lungs and we come running. Because we are scared she is going to take us to the Nazareth Village again if we don’t.

MT. of BEATITUDES
This is where Jesus had the sermon on the mount (Matthew 5-7). We gathered for a small talk and prayer. We learned that this is the only mountain that has a valley that is capable of seating a “multitude” of people. If I had been counting, I’m sure there would have been well over 20 or 30 nationalities in the 30 minute span we visited. We discussed how this must be what heaven is like: all colors, religious beliefs and ethnicities gathered together in one place to glorify God. Amazing.

Our GBC group leader Dwight spoke in front of the Catholic Chapel on the grounds. I walked away with a new encouragement to not fall in the trap of being spiritually predictable.

Reflection: I’m standing where thousands heard Jesus speak on the top of a mountain. How cool is that? Remember this moment when you are attempting to not be spiritually predictable Lincee.

Buy Roses

TABGHA
And I thought the Mt. of Beatitudes was crazy crowded. Not compared to Tabgha. This is where Jesus fed the 5,000 with only two fish and five loaves of bread.

Reflection: Clearly, we tourists were trying to recreate the feeding of the 5,000, because there were about 5,000 people here to see one rock that Jesus stood on. Don’t think I didn’t push my way through to see that rock. The coy pond was neat and I’m pretty sure the tourists are multiplying as they leave the chapel. Oh look! A gift shop with tons of tchotckies made out of olive wood. Now where did I put that shekel?

Capernaum
At Capernaum, we made our way to Peter’s mother-in-law’s house. There is a long explanation why Peter lived with the mother-in-law. It had something to do with his wife having no brothers and being the eldest daughter, her husband has to move in. Regardless, Rudi was telling the story of how this was the house that the two men lowered their sick friend in from the roof using a mat, in hopes that Jesus would heal him. Too bad there is a space ship chapel built on top of the house now. Kind of ruins it for me, but it was still cool.

A stone’s throw away was the synagogue for the village. I’m posing by the pillars that are still standing. A weird and exciting feeling.

Reflection: Capernaum was pretty cool. I find it odd that you had to pay a shekel to go to the bathroom. Which was located next to a gift shop with some rockin’ Jewish memorabilia. SHALOM INDEED!

THE TANUREEN
If you are ever on Capernaum highway between Tiberius and the City on the Hill, drop on by The Tanureen. You’ll know you are there not by the ginormous sign pointing to the entrance, but by the gas pumps.

No, no…it’s not the cleanest bathroom this side of the Jordan. It’s even BETTER! That’s right ladies and gentlemen! Lunch! Ruti style! So you know it’s going to be expensive and pretty much disgusting!

David our bus driver, who knows me as “Lindy” and speaks Spanish (what?) to me, steers our bus by pumps four and five. We all sit there thinking David is getting gas, but Rudi mans her microphone and explains to us that we are about to eat Peter’s fish. It’s all inclusive (fish, salad, drink, dessert) and we can choose to have the head of the fish left on our sliced off.

It’s nice to have choices.

She ushers us through the doors of the mighty Tanureen. According to the street sign, the food is oriental. Oriental fish heads. Yummy.

It’s like a Dairy Queen that has been renovated into a BBQ joint that was later transformed into the local “nice” place to eat. With checkered tablecloths on picnic benches and plastic chairs. And a bar. I’d be willing to bet there was a shekel operated slot machine behind some mysterious swinging doors. But hey…you didn’t have to pay to go to the bathroom. SHALOM!

We sit. Locate the hummus…because it’s ALWAYS there…and slather on the pita bread. Nancy Jane insists I eat an olive. It was disgusting. It’s my opinion. But it’s true. I take my napkin off of the table and notice it is printed with the Tanureen logo. Except below the logo, it reads, “Fine Lebanese Cuisine.”

Great. Lebanese-enhanced oriental fish heads. SHA-LOM!

Our waiter, who was NOT vying for employee of the month, took our order. NJ and I decided to go all out and experience the Tanureen as she was meant to be experienced.

Lincee: “We would like to share a Peter fish. With the head please.”

Oye vey. I ate Peter fish. And part of the tail. And am pretty sure NJ located the pituitary gland of this fried swimmer’s brain.

It came with French fries.

Our dessert consisted of a plate of dates. They were disgusting. It’s my opinion, but it’s true.

Waiter of the Month shows up again and charges us $36. He interjects several times that the tip is not included. We question him about the price of Peter’s fish. Was the fisherman of this catch a descendant of Peter himself? Was there a shekel in the mouth of the fish that we missed?

WOM: “It’s $36.”
Lincee: “Does that include a tank of gas for our bus?”
WOM (not amused): “That’s before tip.”

Reflection: I figure Ruti’s last name must be Tanureen. And since I love Ruti, I toss out two 20s to the rude waiter, shout “La CHAYIM” and decide that it was the best $36 I’ve ever spent on a Lebanese-enhanced oriental Peter fish head gas station restaurant.

JORDAN RIVER
This was the emotional leg of our journey today. We had the opportunity to be baptized in the Jordan River and I took it. I was baptized as a child and fully believe I knew in my heart that Jesus Christ was my Lord and Savior. But the past three years have been a tumultuous up and down roller coaster for me, and as a result, I have grown in my faith so much. I felt the need to be dunked and rise again as new. Our leader Dwight baptized eight of us…right where John baptized Jesus. He was sweet enough to have prepared verses for each of us that he recited before we were submerged. It was a precious moment that words will never do justice and I will not even begin to describe in this moment. But it will be with me forever.

Me, Dwight and Nancy Jane

Reflection: “The Lord is my Light and Salvation. Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life. Of whom shall I be afraid?” Psalm 24:1

DINNER

What can I say? It was a long day. Nancy Jane bought this for me. A true friend indeed. We drank it with hummus. She had olives too. I did not. Because they are disgusting. It’s my opinion, but it’s true.

I’m extremely tired, but dedicated to the avid readers of this website. You guys rock and I am utterly amazed that you who are reading these words right now have taken the time to share this journey with me.

For that, I thank you. LA CHAYIM! (must pronounce with flem sound in your throat…)