11/27/12 – Desert Wasteland

I awoke early from a terrible sleep.  The cold that I was getting over before I left Canada was back with a vengeance; I had awoken numerous times during the night in a choking panic.  I wondered if things would have been different if I had been baptised yesterday.  Maybe it would have provided a placebo effect and offered some mildly curative relief.  Then I saw Deacon Mike on the bus.  He was in horrible shape and had to lay down across the back seat.  My baptism question had been answered.

We left the Sea of Galilee behind and drove towards Jerusalem along the Jordan River valley.  The topography changed from lush to desolate in a matter of a few kilometres and for the most part the security fence to the East remained in view.  While the Jordan River forms the official border between Israel and Jordan, a security fence is set well back to establish a military zone to buffer any potential threats through Jordan.  It has been many years since any attempted attacks, yet the security fence and with it the military zone, remains in place.

We stopped at a highway gas station for what Amnon had termed “coffee in and coffee out” and the group was given a strict fifteen minute time limit to re-board the bus.  That was plenty of time to grab a coffee and to persuade dad to do something quite unexpected.

Who would have thought that you’d be able to ride a camel at a highway rest stop?  Yet there it was… a camel for hire.  $2 US got you a short lap around the parking lot.  After some of the others had their turn I convinced dad that he should do it.  He didn’t protest and only said “your mother will be surprised about this.”

Dad’s ride was brief, but it was still hilarious.  He looked like a real natural.

11/26/12 - Random Photos #3

Olive trees

Not the most popular backpack in Palestinian territory  

Don't disturb the texting nun

Pomegranate juice stand

My favourite of all the baptism photos... nothing but joy 

11/26/12 – Full immersion of the baptismal kind

Our final stop of the day was a spot on the Jordan River that was set up for mass baptisms.  The recent political troubles in Israel ensured that crowds were at a minimum.  In fact, ours was only the second bus in the parking lot.  Amnon told me this was odd indeed as he was accustomed to seeing as many as thirty busses here.  Dad and I were both sitting the immersion out.  I for reasons that should be immediately apparent to anyone who’s been reading the travel journal, and dad because he felt a cold coming on and congestion in his lungs.  I was sad for him because I think he would have really enjoyed it, but he was being smart by looking out for his health.  As a good deed, I offered to take photos of all the participants.  Deacon Mike from Windsor would offer the blessing and Chief Rod from Alberta would offer strongman assistance in dunking those being baptized.

Deacon Mike tests the water...brrr!

Rod and Mike: ready to commence dunking the faithful

All was going smoothly until it was Mary Ellen’s turn.  She had turned her professional complaining skills to “11” and was creeping along slowly in the water.  She complained in her screechy voice saying it’s too cold” the whole time completely oblivious to the fact that Mike and Rod had been in longer than anyone and possessed a heightened sensitivity to cold water by virtue of their Y chromosome.  As Mike and Rod took hold of her she struggled and panicked.  Then she insisted that she could do it if she plugged her nose.  Moments later, her head was under and as she came up she panicked again and spit out her dentures.  It was sheer luck that she managed to catch them…her cheeks were as puffy as Dizzy Gillespie’s while playing the horn and when she let loose the dentures practically hit warp speed.  The best part?  I captured the whole incident frame by glorious frame.

Mary Ellen approached me later on to speak with me privately.  She asked if I had taken pictures of her. 

“Of course” I said, “I took pictures of the whole group.”

“Did you see what happened to me?” She asked in a hushed voice.

I didn’t specifically mention what I had witnessed; I just told her that she would have nothing to worry about as I would never share a photo of someone that wasn’t flattering.  She thanked me; sometimes even the objectionable ones deserve a little mercy.

Dad gets baptized on the sidelines

11/26/12 – Tel Hadar: Not every holy site is respected

On our way to the southern extension of the Jordan River we stopped at a forgotten spot called Tel Hadar at the foot of the Golan Heights.  Tel Hadar was the site of Jesus’ second multiplication of fish and loaves, but this time it was said to bigger and better than the original… he fed a crowd of 5000.  Alas, history has not remembered the second multiplication with the enthusiasm of the first and instead of a restored monastery and a church with a beautiful mosaic and manicured gardens, you have to reach Tel Hadar through a dilapidated water park parking lot, wade through wild mustard plants and dried out evil looking thorny weeds to get to an uninspired monument and forgotten ruins.

Dad with uninspired monument

Tel Hadar's forgotten ruins

Truthfully, the monument had just been put there recently and there was a call out to put more effort into turning this site into a prominent pilgrimage location.  Who knows?  Maybe there’s a tacky gift shop and overpriced coffee bar in Tel Hadar’s near future.

11/26/12 – Fish and Loaves: Dad’s acting debut

After the Primacy of Peter, we drove a short distance to Tabgha, the location where Jesus performed his miracle of the fish and loaves when he multiplied five loaves of bread and two fish in order to feed many… or maybe it was two loaves of bread and five fish, I can’t remember.  What I can remember is that when hearing of the miracle as a child I always pictured the masses eating raw fish, just biting into the sides of them, scales, skin, bones and all like a bunch of savages.  None of the passages about the miracle ever seemed to mention fires or filet knives, so my interpretation has always seemed entirely reasonable to me.

Now it was time for dad to perform.  At last night’s group meeting Sr. Jocelyn asked for four volunteers to re-enact the miracle of the fish and loaves; the group suggested that dad play the part of Jesus.  Although he looked extremely apprehensive he was in no position to turn down such an honour.

Sr. Jocelyn had made arrangements for our group to have access to a private area closer to the shore and well away from the crowds visiting the on-site monastery.  Dad donned his costume: Deacon Mike’s robe and a scarf for his head.  In a word, dad looked biblical.

Deacon Mike explains the finer points of head scarves 

After a stuttered start on account of a video camera failure (I’ll give you one guess as to who was responsible), dad revealed his inner thespian.  Sure it was only four lines, but what delivery!  What hand motions!  Even the hyraxes (an groundhog type animal) had come to watch.  When they were done, the performers took a well-deserved bow.  Exeunt.

Hyrax

I would have never imagined that dad would have acted out anything for an audience; maybe miracles do happen.

11/26/12 – The Primacy of Peter: Punctuated by screams

The next stop of the day was the Mensa Christi Church, the site celebrating the Primacy of Peter, a Catholic doctrine that recognizes St. Peter as the first person to hold a place of honour and authority within Christianity.

Jesus' Table Church

Our group celebrated mass with the absentee priest from yesterday.  Once again I bowed out of receiving communion, but Mike from Windsor was determined to save my lost soul.

“John, you don’t have to sit out communion, you can come forward and receive a blessing.”

I told Mike that I knew this was an option but that I didn’t feel comfortable going up.  Mike took matters into his own hands, literally, and blessed me on the spot by tracing out a cross on my forehead with his thumb.

A few moments later, loud screams tore a hole through the serenity; blood curdling screams.  Naturally, I ran to investigate/document what was going on, camera in hand.  I arrived too late; the excitement was over.  Two of the elderly ladies from our group had wandered into an enclosed area looking for bathrooms when they were approached by dogs.  Bernadette, who was fearful of canines, started screaming which caused the dogs to start barking, which only made Bernadette scream even louder.  Edith watched in amazement as Bernadette, who had difficulty with the mere act of walking, attempted to escape over a fence.  My only explanation for this burst of youthful energy is that she was filled with the spirit of the lord!  The ladies escaped certain injury when two groundskeepers came to their rescue and shooed the dogs away while pointing at the clearly visible “Do not enter” sign.

Not one to miss an opportunity to make a comment, Mary Ellen used her most condescending tone to ask “Can’t they read English?”  I was willing to bet that she was comfortable saying that because both Bernadette and Edith were brown and spoke with thick accents, but I still wanted to put Mary Ellen on the spot.

“What would make you ask a question like that?” I asked.

Mary Ellen looked at me blankly but didn’t respond.  She understood exactly what I was getting at.

Prayers tucked into the rocks

After the commotion had passed, we made our way down to the water’s edge so the group could pick stones from the spot where Jesus made his second appearance to Peter after his crucifixion.  As people waded in the water looking for white stones to bring home two heavily armed military helicopters flew directly overhead.  The military’s presence in Israel is never far away.

11/26/12 – Bethsaida: Town of the unrepentant

As I headed down to the bus I spotted Petex, the Nigerian fellow I helped a few nights ago by fixing his TV.  He was overjoyed when I suggested we take a photo together.  His group was impressed with my rudimentary French skills as I managed to use words other than “pamplemousse” and “lait”.  The crowd went nuts when Petex switched hats and I asked if I could wear his in the photo.  Dad would later tell me that some in my tour group remarked “That looks like something John would do.”  They had gotten to know me in a very short time.

Petex and me

A short drive later we arrived in the town of Bethsaida which was located on the “other side” of the Jordan River on the North shore of the Sea of Galilee.  Bethsaida is best known as one of the three towns that Jesus condemned when its people refused to repent.  It is also believed to be the birthplace of St. Peter.  What remains of the village now isn’t much to behold.  The site is largely unexcavated and none of it is restored.  But I guess that’s what can happen when Jesus himself makes your condemnation a priority.

The ruins of Bethsaida

Primitive cellar - suspected to belong to the town's vintner

Bethsaida’s single draw, to my mind at least, is what is claimed to be the original remains of one of the town’s streets.  The original section is no more than thirty feet in length and was likely covered with clay and smaller stones to make it smooth.  Yet it is still said that because it is certain that Jesus walked the streets of Bethsaida, then he most certainly walked on these stones.  Many in our group removed their footware and walked barefoot, ecstatic at the opportunity to literally walk in Jesus’ footsteps.  I was shocked when dad chose to keep his shoes on.  He’s not the type to be easily impressed.

Bethsaida's original stone path

11/26/12 – 420 Unfriendly

My dream was interrupted by a buzzing that slowly turned into a high pitched alarm as I fully awoke.  It sounded like a fire alarm but I wasn’t sure until I opened the door and felt its full piercing volume.  Since I didn’t smell a trace of smoke or see any burning people running down the hallway I figured it was a false alarm.

I went back to bed and hoped the noise would end soon.  Dad heard none of this.  It has been a few years since he could hear such high pitched sounds without his hearing aids.  As he lay there breathing deeply with his own unique flutter, sleep undisturbed by the ruckus, I felt the slightest bit jealous.

11/25/12 - Random Photos #2

Mt. Arbel

No railings: Mt. Arbel's version of population control

A rock that looks like a nose.
It now sits on a table at my house.

Mt. of Beatitudes request

Mt. of Beatitudes chapel dome

Stairwell in the kibbutz: lavish communism

"Swimmung"
Translation: jumping on an anaconda

Carlo and John laugh at the rules