In the darkening twilight last evening, Philip and I decided we’d like to visit the Old City in Jerusalem. Our hotel is on the Mount of Olives directly opposite it, but dividing it is a very steep valley – the valley of Kidron. And the slopes of the valley are covered all over with stone oblong boxes. It’s a Jewish cemetery and people have been buried here for over 3,000 years. Apparently, Jews still come from all over the world to die and be buried in this cemetery. Because that’s where they believe the Messiah will come and they’ll be resurrected and they’ll get a head start. We were also told that they now have to pay $US250,000 for this privilege. But the point to this whole story is that you can’t walk through the cemetery to get to the Old City. You have to go around it.

Eventually we found our way around it, down the narrow, steep, little road in the dark and up the other side to eventually find the entrance of the Lion Gate, set in the high stone walls and the entrance to the Muslim Quarter of Jerusalem. We wandered along narrow, cobbled streets with two or three-storied houses leaning over us. Lots of local people still walking about, and many children.

It is amazing to think that once Jesus – and lots of other people – once physically walked this way. I don’t mean that he actually walked on those cobbled stones. I think they’re long gone. But that he was once here. Somehow it makes Jesus seem more “earthed”, less ethereal to me. It’s hard to describe adequately. And I certainly didn’t expect that reaction in myself. I wasn’t expecting I’d have any reaction. I’m a very pragmatic person.

Today we headed south for Be’er Sheva (Beersheba). My Grandma Lithgow’s favourite brother was killed in World War 1 and is buried in the Commonwealth Cemetery there.

So we ordered a taxi from the reception of our hotel. A battered little car without taxi signs rolls up and says that he’s our taxi and for 75 shekels he’ll take us to the bus station. Not long down the road, he pulls over to a roadside bus stop and says we can catch the Beersheba bus here. No, Philip says, we need to go to the Jerusalem Central Bus Station. The young man repeated this twice more at roadside bus stops. He obviously didn’t know where to take us, and he rang a friend a couple of times to get directions. And eventually we got there. What I’m making up about this, is that it was really a son or nephew of the hotel receptionist who was our taxi driver!

It’s a huge bus station, several stories high. Public transport is used a lot in Israel. We weren’t able to catch the bus that we’d originally planned, but another came not long after. A big comfortable coach.

Heading south on four lane highways, we rolled through countryside that reminded us a lot of Western Australia. Lots of undulating land under crops in various stages from ploughed to newly planted to green and heavy and ready to harvest to harvested fields. Some olive and citrus orchards and big vineyards. Lots of eucalyptus trees and yellow-flowering wattle or acacias. The most interesting thing we noticed was that in many fields they had drip irrigation pipes (like in our home garden) only a foot or so apart in acres and acres of fields. Don’t know how they’d manage that system. We drove south for about an hour and a half.

I was expecting Beersheba to be dry and yellow and more desert-like. It’s in the Negev desert region. But it was green all the way there. But the distant hills south of the town were dry and yellow. Beersheba is a big town.

Our plan was to get a local bus that Mr Google said would take us there. All this gave me another glimpse of what it’s like to be a foreigner in a strange land, with everything around being unfamiliar, you can’t speak the language or read the writing and you can’t find anyone who can understand you. When we’d been on the local bus for a couple of stops, we asked when we should get out. And a lady who understood us said we were on the wrong bus. (Note to self: Talk to Mr Google about this anomaly!)

She was very helpful. We got off the bus and she did too. By this time we were fed up with busses and decided to get a taxi there. So she hailed a taxi for us and gave him directions. And we were soon there!

The War Cemetery is much smaller than I expected in a built-up area and beautifully maintained by the Commonwealth War  Cemeteries. Roy Lang’s grave was easily found and we took photos. I laid on the ground some (by now, rather wilted) scarlet poppies that I’d picked and brought with me from the wasteland next to our Jerusalem hotel.

It’s all such a waste. Apparently he was a gentle, loving and lovely young man. Just 27 years old with a fiancee and family back in Queensland. Now all the people who knew  him have gone, and he’s just a distant memory to remaining relatives.

I thought I’d put in some extra details from our family history that you can skip over if you’re not interested.

Roy was engaged at 26 to Elsie Ginn.

His sister Dora (who was my grandmother) wrote in March 1917 from Roy whilst he was in the middle east –

“The mail brought us two letters from Roy. One gave an account of his first real scrap. At 3 o’clock on the Monday afternoon they started off, and rode till nearly daylight the following morning. The Turks and Germans were entrenched near the shore and during the night our troops surrounded them completely. At daylight they started firing, and they fought all day and at sunset they surrendered. Then the Drivers, including Roy had to go forward and get some guns that had been captured and then he says he saw some sights he will never forget. The trenches were filled with dead and dying Turks, and a sprinkling of Germans. ‘I don’t care how soon the war ends’ he said. Poor Roy – he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He had saved the water in his water bag anticipating the long march and he gave it all to wounded and dying Turks.”

His sister Dora wrote again later –
“We had a letter from Alf Bidstrup, Roy’s special soldier friend, telling us all he thought we would like to know. It was outside Beersheba that our dear Roy received his call home. The timber wagons were all lined up ready for the attack when a Taube (a mono-plane) flew over dropping shells amongst the horses. Roy was wounded in the body and Bert in the thigh. They took him to the clearing station and although he felt no pain he ‘fell asleep’ the next day. The troops departed hastily from Beersheba but before they went they buried all their dead in the cemetery.”

By the way, at Beersheba the 800 Australian and New Zealand cavalry charged the entrenched Turkish position, about 4,400 strong. They charged across 5 kilometres of open country and 31 of them were killed and 70 horses died. And against all odds took the town. They were desperate to reach the water wells of Beersheba. The locals were very grateful.It was the last cavalry charge in history.

And now it’s all mostly forgotten.

We decided to walk back to the Beersheba bus station. And on the way back we came across a high circular wall with a huge sign saying “Abraham’s Well”. I wondered how touristy it would be, but we just pushed open a little door and found ourselves in an open space, completely encircled with the wall and a big mesh-covered well in the ground. How authentic is it? I have no idea. But I do know Abraham dug a well in Beersheba. And the local people for thousands of years have had strong oral histories, and water in this region is very precious so I guess it’s highly probable that it could be.

And once again, for whatever reason Abraham somehow suddenly seemed to become more alive and real as a person, not just a remote historical figure. There is real power in a physical place and presence. It seems more rooted and grounded somehow. I’ll have to think and ponder more about that aspect.

Another unexpected serendipity discovery!

 

 

A short’s day today. Too hot for jeans! My grandson Mikan sometimes likes to have “no pants” days. But we still needed to wear our pants.

Today was a day when we set out with a goal – that didn’t get realised – but we had lots of other serendipity discoveries instead that made it fun and exciting.

We had had another disturbed night. Two young girls in the room next door to us left at 1.30am, but it took them over an hour to get ready and they did it VERY LOUDLY. At the top of their voices. But we were able to sleep in.

Breakfast in a cafe on the beach again. We shared the Israeli breakfast. Philip had the eggs and toast and jam. And I had the tuna, feta and salad. How predictable are we!

Then we set off to walk along the path by the beach to Joppa (also called Jaffa) again. Our goal was to find the Museum of Antiquities.

Joppa is an old port – going back 5,000 years. Tel Aviv as a city has grown up around it. It has seen countless people groups and conquerors moving through. Some left their mark, others more transitory. Some demolished it, others used it and changed it.

We wandered around narrow little alleyways, up and down steep stone stairs and tight corners. Found little displays of artefacts going back centuries that they’ve recently dug up.

Saw the outside of a house that is called Simon the Tanner’s house. Lots of references to his house in the book of Acts. (I’m personally not sure how authenticated it really is, but it was fun to unexpectedly come across it as we rounded a narrow corner in an alley.) It’s still a private dwelling and behind the high stone wall around it the ruins of a little lighthouse where the family that lived there used to light it every day with kerosene lamps.

Another little exhibition on top of the hill that overlooks the Joppa port  highlighted how quickly the centuries have passed. And how quickly and fleeting the conquerors down through the centuries have passed on by. Their lives like grass.

We finally found the Museum of Antiquities! To discover that you can only go in there as a pre-booked group. So we couldn’t go in. And we decided that we’d already seen and enjoyed exploring lots of history. It was getting hotter too. Time to head back to our accommodation.

Where we packed up. Refueled with a slice of home-made apple pie and asked the most helpful young man what was the best way to get public transport to Jerusalem.

We found a little yellow mini-cab that took us to the huge Tel Aviv bus centre. Needed to go through another baggage check to get on the bus. A huge coach that filled up fast and off we went.

One of the things I still haven’t got used to is the abundance of machine guns everywhere. I’m used to soldiers carrying them around. I’ve seen them before in countries like India and Lebanon. But here you see young men dressed in t-shirt and shorts and thongs casually slinging them around as they wander around and chat to each other. When we’ve been to places like museums they ask us as they inspect our passports, “Do you carry any weapons for self-protection?” So what I’m making up about all this, is that if you feel you need a semi-automatic gun for self-protection, you can!

It was less than an hour by bus to Jerusalem, along mostly 6 lane highways and huge interchanges. Along green, hilly countryside well-cultivated and huge electricity pylons marching through the countryside. As we got closer to Jerusalem the hills got steeper and stonier. My ears even started to “pop” as we climbed the hills. Jerusalem is a huge city. I’d heard that before, but I hadn’t realised just how far it sprawls.

After another bag search after getting off the bus we got a taxi to our accommodation. A “proper” hotel this time. Our Arab taxi driver was hard to understand through his accent as he answered my questions, but I think I got the gist of it.

We’re staying in a hotel in the Arab quarter. The road to it was quite rough because the Jews don’t like spending money in the Arab quarter. I think that’s what he was telling us. I have heard that before. The 7 Arches Hotel overlooks the valley to the gleaming golden Dome of the Rock and the old city of Jerusalem.

It’s only a 10 minute or so walk there. We’re going very soon. And I’ll tell you more next time!

We’re here! Finally. In Israel. This morning I read a Psalm from the Daily Office – and the very thought that I was reading a Psalm – in Israel – gave me goose-bumps.

We flew in yesterday afternoon over the Mediterranean Sea and the green rolling hills of Israel dotted all over with settlements and high rises.

As we waited at the luggage carousel we noticed a couple about our age standing nearby and Philip thought he knew them but couldn’t place where. But they came up to us and said they thought they knew us too. It turns out that they go to the same church we do in Perth! The amazing thing is that they hadn’t flown in from Perth, they’d come from Germany and were in Tel Aviv to see their daughter who lives here and is marrying a Jew. He’s a water engineer who mainly works with NGOs in Zanzibar in Africa. So we shared a taxi through the peak traffic with them, listening to our 66year old taxi driver who lives in Israel but has girlfriends in Ukraine and Thailand and visits them regularly.

We had our first minor adventure of our trip just finding our accommodation – and then discovering how to get inside. But that’s what makes trips such fun. We’re staying in an old part of Tel Aviv in a very sparse, tiny little room with “interesting” plumbing. It’s called a guest house but is more like a dilapidated back-packers. But quite adequate for us. The narrow 2 and 3 storey houses with flat roofs open straight out on to a tiny narrow street of cobbled stones.

And we slept very well after eating dinner at a little Ethiopian cafe round the corner. And despite being woken early in the morning by cats fighting, we went back to sleep. Slept nearly 12 hours.

We planned today to be a recovery day after our long haul. A good plan. We walked to the nearby Tel Aviv beach to eat a huge Israeli breakfast at a cafe – eggs, tuna, hummus, olives, labnah.  There were a few locals brave enough to swim in the cold water. Lots of yellow sand with colourful recliners and beach umbrellas

A lovely sunny day with a fresh breeze blowing off the Mediterranean Sea. We walked further along the beach to Joppa. Which is really another part of Tel Aviv, but it’s also the place where Jonah ran away from. But there’s no history markers about that.

Big, flash, high rise buildings all along the beach – often next to dilapidated wrecked buildings. More and more people appearing. Lots of electric bicycles whizzing about. Hundreds of sailboarders out on the Sea.

We went looking for an archaeological museum but none of the locals seemed to know about it.

Found another tiny little museum by the beach, built into the wreck of an old building. We got checked out by the guard at the door, wanting to see our passports. Inside was part of the story from the days of the 1948 Israeli War of Independence. Most of the exhibits written in Israeli, so we mainly looked at the pictures.

We walked further on to an old railway station that’s been converted into very trendy shops and cafes.This is one of the ways the Israeli guerilla fighters smuggled weapons in, past the British who were in charge of the United Nations Palestinian Mandate.

And next door, another museum that also explored the wars that led to the creation of Israel and the wars they’ve fought since. It reinforced to me the layers, complications and complexities of this whole region. And none of the complexities have been helped by the ruthless machinations of European and other countries over the years. Very sobering and thought-provoking.

So we never got to see that archaeological museum. By this time we were both very weary and decided to head back to our accommodation. Where I discovered a lovely little rooftop spot with tables and chairs, potplants – and a cat. Wonder if it was one of the cats fighting early this morning? But a great spot to write this blog.

This is not a “real” post.I’m calling it an experiment instead. To see how this goes with intermittent, sporadic airport wifi.

The end destination is in sight. But first we’ve got 8 hours layover in the Istanbul airport. We flew to Kuala Lumpur first. Because that flight was late leaving Perth we didn’t have to wait around at the KL airport. Just went straight on to our next flight to Istanbul.

We’ve just done the long haul to Istanbul. The first flight I’ve been on where I’ve seen chefs walking up and down the plane aisles. Did they personally do the first class meals? No idea, but our economy meals were really nice too. Different coloured ambient lights coming up throughout the flight – from yellows and purples and blues and reds. Never seen that before either. But the seats were very small and thin. The poor lady sitting in front of Philip had to sit bolt upright all the way through the flight. Because his knees were jammed up and she couldn’t move the back of her seat. Philip couldn’t move his legs either. I watched 2 movies and read a bit and Philip watched 4 movies, so he didn’t snooze at all.

Busy airports like this one at Istanbul which seems to be a major hub remind me of a busy ants’ nest. Everyone scurrying around busily, stopping every now and then and jerking their heads around to check where they are and where they should go next. Just like ants do.

I had thoughts of taking a short tour from the airport but you need a visa to leave and visit Istanbul. So that plan got squashed.

I’ve never ever seen such long, long lines at airports to get off the plane. All your carry-on luggage has to be checked again. The young girl in front of us was returning to Copenhagen from Perth. She’s been living in Australia for 6 years but was denied a visa because Australia changed the rules again 4 months before she started her post-graduate degree. She was disappointed but not bitter about it. But I get so agitated the way our government randomly, autocratically and (to me) unfairly changes migration rules, making life so difficult for so many people.

I’m typing this in a great little quiet cafe with soft music and comfortable armchairs. I bought a bottle of mineral water to justify our presence at it. We’ve done a bit of walking around the airport but feel too weary to do any more walking.

The best thing we’ve seen at the Istanbul airport was this:

…(Here I was going to insert a picture I took of Turkish Delight but I couldn’t upload the photo, so you’ll have to imagine it instead.)

A shop selling nothing but Turkish Delight. Huge piles of Turkish Delight to sample and much bigger stacks of boxes to tempt you to buy. And so many different varieties. We sampled lots and didn’t buy any. What a delight!

Last week I went back to a part of our country I haven’t seen for 39 years!

We drove along the Great Ocean Road of Victoria. A spectacularly beautiful part of the world.  It was late afternoon when we got to the beach house which overlooks the ocean. A strong wind had come up. We could see out to the choppy ocean with whitecaps dancing on the blue-green water.

It didn’t look promising.  But it was the beach! I grew up in a little beach town. I love the beach in all its moods. So I dumped my overnight bag and charged off for a walk along the beach. 

I couldn’t wait for the conditions to be perfect.  I was only there for a short time. I needed to make the most of it.

I recently heard Leadership guru Jason Jaggard ( http://jasonjaggard.com ) say, “Maximum impact requires full participation”. 

I need to be fully present. Fully participating. Not hanging back. Not waiting for conditions to improve. Not waiting for conditions to be perfect. But fully participating now.

I had a wonderful weekend at the beach. Spending great times with my family. Walking along the beach and seeing the sunrise over the ocean. (I haven’t done that for a very long time, as I live on the west coast.) 

Being excited at seeing all there is at a beach. Being filled with wonder. Noticing the smallest of things like the patterns left behind in the sand. The shadows cast along the yellow sand. Watching hang gliders overhead soaring and hovering on the wind above.

The endlessly rolling surf curling up and back, up and back along the shoreline. The wind teasing at my hair and clothes. The footprints of the seagulls printed on the sand.

Fully participating in life right now.  Right where I am. Wherever I am. Whatever I’m doing. Not waiting for life to get better. Or improve or change.
Participation right now.  Full participation!

“We shall not cease from exploration,
And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”  T.S. Eliot

When you’re only six months old and you can’t roll over or crawl away anywhere, and your grandmother takes you outside to lie on a blanket on the green grass at a nearby park, you lie flat on your back and looking up, this is what you see.

After babyhood, toddlerhood and childhood it then becomes a very long time before you see this same sort of view again.  Certainly not staring up at it for such a long time.  And really looking at it. With no awareness of the passing of time. Without the urgency of agendas and the hustle of necessary impending tasks crowding out your mind.  Exalting in what you see so much that you wave your arms and legs and squeal with the excitement of it all.

But as a grandmother, I get another chance to experience some aspects of life again.  To glimpse at it once again through the eyes of my grandchildren.  To see “ordinary” things as though for the first, or even the second or third time.  To see the wonder of colour and shapes and patterns that are green tree branches waving in a gentle breeze against a blue sky.  To see thin threads of white cloud slowly moving across the blue sky.  To hear magpies carolling as they hop about on the grass.  Fussy, busy willy wagtails pirouetting and chattering away.

To be unhurried and see that this really is a wonderful world we’re in.  A world that’s been designed, handmade.  But also a broken and fallen world that needs repair work. But behind all that, it’s still a wonderful world – as Louis Armstrong has sung.

To see this world again – with meaning and purpose behind it.  To “know the place for the first time”.  Back where we started. To be children again, filled with child-like wonder.  To recognise that all of it hums with the beat of a Creator.

Yesterday I didn’t have anything special or urgent on my to-do list. So I decided to go to the beach for a mini-retreat.  Haven’t done one for ages, and I knew that it was high time for one. I read, wrote, meditated and prayed. So much easier to do there – or out in the bush.  I had decided earlier in the month that I would have a special “word” for this year. And the word is: joy.  As in the C.S. Lewis’ quote “Joy is the serious business of heaven”. 

I’m purposefully looking for the instances and the incidences that create joy. Or provoke joy. Or promote joy. And they’re everywhere.  Scattered profusely. Abundantly. Randomly. Often unexpectedly. Wherever I look or tread.

I went for a long swim and a longer walk along the beach. 

It was a wonderful day for noticing the quiet, small things all around me.  Footprints of the seagulls printed in the white sand.  The crystal clear water on the edges of the quietly lapping ocean. It gradually deepened to blue-green and then darkening to deep cobalt blue, spreading on and on to the wide horizon. 

A dolphin only 2 or 3 metres from the shore slowly and smoothly humping up and down.  A  couple of children squealed with excitement and delight when they saw the dolphin, and raced along the beach, splashing in the shallows as they tried to keep up with it. 

The sunlight spearing through the clear shallow water made zig-zagging patterns of light chasing each other over the sandy bottom.  I found a couple of little purple starfish being tossed around in the swirl of the shallow water as I walked along the beach. 

I picked one up and watched it slowly “walk” across my palm with its tiny sucker feet. Such amazing and weird intricacies to wonder at. I tossed them back into the deeper water.  I also found a dead starfish and I’ve brought it back home to try to preserve. Preserving a starfish is a “first” for me!  But I wanted to keep it as a reminder of a special day today.

A day overflowing with joyful, thoughtful moments. A day to treasure and be truly grateful.

I wasn’t looking for a photo op. I was just going for a walk on New Years Day along the River near my house. But this happened!

So.. it is a New Year.  And we are off and running!  We are now closer to 2030 than we are to 2000!

“O God, our times are in Your hand.
Look with favour we pray
on all us as we begin another year.
Help us to grow in wisdom and grace,
and strengthen our trust in your goodness
all the days of our lives,
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen”