13 March 1990

Editor’s Note: Things keep getting stranger and stranger in the political life of the Capital, and there is snow falling to a depth of six inches, so far, and everything is being cancelled. I am in for the day, with the ice bath to come later. So join me in the Eastern Med, where the roots of the Palestinian Intifada are starting to make themselves felt. – Vic

(The Church of All Nations on the Mount of Olives, next to the Garden of Gethsemane. It is also known as the Basilica of the Agony).

I thought our Sabra driver and Holy Land tour-guide Svi was pretty composed as we drove around Jerusalem with the right front window of his Mercedes busted out. The city was clean and tropical with ancient stone everywhere.

I could tell that he was bugged by the random violence visited on his beloved cab, and I got a sudden flash of understanding that this was not a tour for him: it was a part of a constant struggle, a constant conflict that had gone on his entire life, from being a child on a Kibbutz to a young fighter in the war for independence, as a father, with his children serving their tours in the IDF.

Then enduring the awful pain of losing his son in the perpetual conflict with Syria over the Golon Heights. The thought of losing one of my little boys would kill me, I thought. The fresh air blowing through the window wasn’t the only thing that brought a chill. What must it be like in this tiny and storied land?

We were all quiet in the cab, listening to the wind from the missing passenger’s side window. Lutt-Man, Doc Feeks and I were getting tired. We had not slept much in the last two days, and there was a lot of beer over the scuppers and the suspicion that if we did not see everything we could we probably would not be back. After the stone incident, it even seemed possible that there wouldn’t be anything to come back to even if we wanted.

Svi cleared his throat and asked if we wanted to see the Garden of Gethsemane, on the shoulder of the Mount of Olives. We all said “Hell, yes!” How could we pass up a chance to see the grove where Jesus was betrayed by Judas Iscariot? Svi negotiated the narrow streets and traffic with aplomb, past stone walls that had been mended in wild patchworks toward the Kidron Valley and the Mount. It was March, so while not cold, it was a bit brisk with the wind coming through the cab. Doc Feeks took over the tour- Svi held back from commentary on the Christian holy sites, probably to avoid inadvertently offending his passengers, who could be from any of the major sects of the Faith.

Doc is a Catholic, and a much better Christian than I am. He took over the narration about the the Garden. “The garden at Gethsemane was an olive grove, a place whose name literally means “oil press.” Jesus used to go there a lot with the Disciples to pray, as is recounted in the book of John. It is also where he was betrayed the night before they nailed him to the Cross. There are four main accounts of what happened, in John, Mark, Luke and Matthew.”

Up ahead we could see a sprawling church silhouetted against the Mount, and Svi pulled up at the curb where small knots of tourists stood in front of the Church, listening to their guides explain what was going on. Svi was not leaving his cab after the attack, so we got out of the cab and passed through the low gray stones that served as bollards to protect the sidewalk from traffic.

Doc continued his narration as we walked: “That last night, after Jesus and his disciples had celebrated Passover, they came here. At some point, Jesus took three of them—Peter, James and John— to a place separated from the rest. He asked them to watch with Him and pray so they would not fall into temptation.”

“And deliver us from evil,” said Lutt-man.

“Knock it off, Knucklehead. Think where you are.”

“Of course, they did fall asleep. Jesus woke them up twice, and the whole temptation thing happened since had to wake them and remind them to pray so that they would not fall into temptation. This was especially poignant, since Peter did indeed fall into temptation later that very night, after Judas showed up with a bunch of armed guys. He kissed Jesus to identify Him to the leaders of the mob.”

“Kiss of death?” I said. “Is that where that saying comes from?”

“Yes indeed,” said Doc thoughtfully. “And ‘Sweating blood,’ ‘Doubting Thomas,’ the whole nine yards of our Western civilization come out of the stories in the New Testament. After Judas dimed out The Savior, Peter took a sword and attacked a guy named Malchus, whacking off his ear. Jesus told Peter to cool off and miraculously healed the guy’s ear.”

“Didn’t anyone get a clue that they were dealing with something kind of intense?” I said. It had been along time since I had thought about the Gospels, and now we were going to be walking where they had. I wished I had brought a Bible on cruise to bone up before visiting.

“Nope, the miracle had no effect on the mob. They arrested Him and took Him to Pontius Pilate, while the disciples scattered, rightly fearing for their lives.”

“Didn’t Peter even deny knowing Jesus?”

“Three times.”

We walked through the iron gates and up the steps to the Church, which we discovered is run by the Franciscan Friars, while the Greek Orthodox Church has custody of the Tomb of the Virgin. We stopped briefly to listen to for free as a local guide explained the rules of the road, the recent excavations, and the history of the Church of All Nations:

“…conceived as a single unique space, interrupted only by two rows of six columns, in which the interior light would be filtered through scarlet-toned opalescent glass, in memory of the night of Jesus’ agony. The mosaics decorating the apses were inspired by the events that took place at Gethsemane: the agony, the arrest with the kiss of Judas, and Ego Sum: the declaration by Christ that he was The One.”

“Whoa. That all happened here?”

Doc nodded. “Let’s go see the Garden.” We walked under the apses that bear the soaring roof, and the tall marble columns. The altar is built on bedrock that is said to be where Jesus prayed.

We observed the footings of the old Crusader-era Church, and made our way to the Garden itself, and saw the most extraordinary thing: there are olive trees still producing olives on the site.

“Lookit that,” I said. “How old are these trees?”

“Some say that they date to before the night of the The Agony,” said Doc. “Others say the Crusaders spliced shoots from a single, older tree when they occupied the city a millennium later.”

“That is freaking amazing,” said Lutt-man.

We looked around for a while and took some pictures. Then we returned to the Church, and sat in the pews for a while to contemplate. The sunlight made dust motes dance golden in the dimness. I felt really strange.

When we were back in the cab, I asked Svi whether the city had that effect on everyone who visited. “To some degree, yes. In fact, it is quite common for some to be completely overcome and imagine that they are in fact Biblical figure, like John the Baptist, or one of your disciples.”

“I just I am glad I am just a little overwhelmed and not in a religious frenzy.”

Svi turned the key tostart the engine. “Where next, Gentlemen? Are you interested in seeing Bethlehem?”

I said that according to the last Plan of the Day I had seen, the West Bank was off-limits for all FID sailors. “We could get in deep shit if we get caught. And besides, Svi, aren’t you concerned about the cab and the Palestinians?”

Svi shrugged. “We consider the West Bank to be ours. We paid for it.”

Lutt-man weighed in from the back seat. “When do you think you are going to be back here? I say go for it.”

“I concur,” said Doc. I shrugged as Svi had done. And then we took off for the West Bank.

Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303