Mount Tabor to Nazareth

Though we were there before 8.30 in the morning we still had to wait an hour at Tabor Terminal, with hundreds of other pilgrims fingering olive wood souvenirs, scarves and tapestry bags woven by the Druze, and consuming choc-coated Magnums.  The road up Mt Tabor is narrow and contains many hairpin bends so we must be ferried up in taxis to the (supposed) place where Jesus met Moses and Elijah and was briefly transfigured with radiance. The place where, with Peter, James and John, he went to find some peace and quiet in which to pray. 

Surprisingly, once up there, there is still a sense of peace.   Yesterday’s thunderstorms were still around, and we drove through heavy rain on the way to the ruins of the Roman city of Sepphorus near Nazareth.  The highlight of our visit here was a magnificent mosaic floor in the hilltop house of a wealthy citizen. Isn’t she beautiful?  They call her “The Mona Lisa of Galilee”.

Lunch today was felafel and salad in pocket bread (hot chips on the side!) eaten in an Arab cafe in Cana - with Coke instead of the wine enjoyed by the guests at the wedding in this village where Jesus performed his first miracle. 

                        

Nazareth is a fairly sleepy place on a Sunday afternoon and here we visited the Catholic Church of the Annunciation and saw for ourselves the provocative banner strung up in the square in the centre of town, just below the church. (Look back at my earlier post with a video clip of John Dickson and Greg Clarke speaking from here).

Olive wood? Did someone say olive wood?

Now that we’re in the Galilee area we’re seeing it everywhere. – almost too much of it!

A midnight encounter

Midnight in Tiberias.  Computer problems.  Couldn’t sleep.  Thirsty.

So I pulled on my jeans and jumper over my pyjamas and went out to buy water.

Thankfully I found some in a shop just across the road from The Scots Hotel where we’re staying.

“Where you from?” asked a stocky, genial-looking gent sitting at a table.  And when I told him I was Australian he invited me to sit for a while.  We chatted on about families and children, the sites to see around Galilee, and the fact that he was a money-changer (in doing this he pulled a fat wad of notes from his pocket). 

The Scots Hotel is an elegant, luxurious establishment today, but it began life in the 1800s as a hospital run by an English doctor, but when both he and his son (who succeeded him) had died it became a maternity hospital in the 1950s.  My companion, David, proudly pointed to the hotel and told me he was born there on 13th June 1952.

However my big surprise came when I discovered that the only resident I know in the whole of Israel is in fact a friend of his! I know he wasn’t just plying me with Arabic charm – though to some extent he was! – because he was able to tell me exactly where Gabriel lives.

That’s how I found myself at midnight on a Saturday night, sitting in my PJs on a plastic chair on a footpath in Tiberias, the waters of the Sea of Galilee quietly lapping against the shore nearby, talking with a total stranger who knew a man with whom I exchange Christmas cards.

True story.

Sunrise over the Sea of Galilee

A day of contrasts

“This is so delicious!” S gleefuly declared.

Not from where I stood, thank you very much.

There were many places I’d rather have been than on top of a very exposed archaeological mound dotted with the occasional wind-blown palm tree, with dark clouds gathering overhead and the menacing sound of thunder rolling ever closer.

It didn’t help, either, that the place was called Har Megiddo – the biblical Armageddon – and overlooked the plain where, according to John in Revelation, the final battle at the end of the world would take place between God’s mighty army and the forces of evil. Delicious?

I’d rather reserve that description for our lunch, at a cafe in a Druze village – tabbouleh, hommus, fresh bread, salads, a sweet dish of chicken and rice spiced with cinnamon, and cardamom-fragrant coffee in tiny glasses. Our morning had begun in sunshine, exploring the ruins of the vast pleasure palace Herod built on prime real estate on the beach in Caesarea Maritima.  Stables, a hippodrome, an amphitheatre, public toilets, even a swimming pool supplied with fresh water from an aqueduct – all were pointers to the decadent lifestyle of a hated ruler.  In coming here, too, we were able to complete the story of Peter and the centurion (Acts 10:23-48) begun in Joppa two days ago. Then we drove up to Mount Carmel where Elijah had his face-off with the prophets of Baal.

The gloom over Har Megiddo gradually cleared after only a smattering of rain, and as the sun emerged I imagined God smiling to himself and whispering, “Ha!  Just kidding!”

To market, to market

The Camel Market was humming buzzing just plain in-your-face LOUD! 

Pop music blasted from speakers, shopkeepers bellowed out their wares, anxious to offload as much of their fresh produce as possible in the final hours before the sabbath, and I caught snatches of conversations in many strange languages as I slowly negotiated the seething throng oozing through the narrow alleyway. This is obviously the place to go if you’re looking for pancakes, apples, bananas, aubergines, fish, peppers, Turkish delight, persimmons, pomegranates, pastries, bread, avocadoes, eggs, beans, fresh flowers, shoes, underwear, t-shirts, jewellery, sunglasses, DVDs, household linen, belly dancing outfits, pasta, every kind of pungent spice imaginable, and more confectionary than I’ve ever seen in one place! 

You can forget the camels, though. Not a hump in sight.

While seven of us had ventured forth from the hotel to investigate the Camel Market, most (quite understandably) blanched at the prospect of launching themselves into this Friday afternoon crowd of bustling humanity and turned back. 

You may quite rightly call me naive and foolhardy, but if you’ve read my other blog you’ll know I get a real buzz from markets like these in foreign places.

On and on I walked, soaking up the sights, sounds and aromas, until the alley opened out onto a square where folk sat drinking coffee, or took a break from their shopping to watch a busker.The next street was lined with stalls selling handcrafted goods, but was blocked off at both ends with checkpoints where guards conducted bag searches on everyone wanting to enter.  It was only then that I realised just how vulnerable the Camel Market was.

By this time I was quite lost, but I followed the westerly sun back to the seashore, across the road from our hotel, and there discovered R and B2 watching the sunset in style! I joined them! And as the sun set slowly in the west……... along the sand came a man carrying a python (!!!) and B2 just couldn’t resist posing with this reptilian accessory. No way could I have done that!  But then, I guess we each choose our own particular kind of risk-taking, don’t we?

From Peter’s prayer place - to plates of plenty

I closed my eyes and felt the cooling zephyr wafting off the waters of Joppa’s little harbour.  It was easy to imagine Peter, a guest in the home of Simon the tanner, retreating to the roof to pray and receiving a vision from God and a message that turned his entire world-view around – and ultimately opened the way for people beyond the Jews – like me! - to hear the good news of Jesus.

“Do not call anything impure that God has made clean”, said God, preparing Peter’s heart and mind to receive the three messengers, sent by the non-Jewish, God-fearing centurion in Caesarea Maritima, who were at that moment approaching the front door.

 

Today the old city of Joppa (or Jaffa) is a hive of building activity as the old stone buildings are being restored, and the wealthy come to live where the breezes from the Mediterranean make Israel’s summers bearable.

Check out this ancient “air conditioning” – a wall of clay bottles through which the breeze would have blown to cool the room. A short drive from Tel Aviv towards Jerusalem took us to the Biblical garden of Neot Kedumim (see earlier post) where their entertaining guide Edna held us spellbound as she explained the symbolism of many of the fruits and trees mentioned in the Bible.

Perched next to a 2000 year old cistern she spoke about importance of water, and its symbolism, to the Jews – both now and in the Bible – and with just a little encouragement from the rest of us S courageously volunteered to demonstrate how the Old Testament’s Rachel would have drawn water from the cistern.

Our Biblical lunch at Neot Kedumim was a delicious smorgasbord of tastes – olive oil, sour cream, salads, chick peas, fish, quiche, baklava, sultanas, yoghurt, fig honey and more.

After such a meal, and with the afternoon free, would we take to our beds for a post-prandial zzzzzzz?  Not for some!