After a quiet personal visit to the women's side of the Western Wall, we headed to the Mt. of Olives. Our driver wanted us to stop at the Church of the Pater Noster, celebrating the place where Jesus taught his disciples to prayer the Lord's Prayer. The prayer is on the church walls in many languages (in French above). An olive garden is open for walking. We stood in the garden at 10 am watching the streets in the distance as the siren to observe Holocaust Memorial Day sounded. Traffic came to a standstill. Tourists were silent. It was a striking minutes. On our return to the car, our driver was angry that many of the Arab drivers hadn't stopped.
Our next stop, the Garden of Gethsemane, was one of my favorites. The ancient olive trees were fenced, but we stood close on the walkway around the garden and experienced the trees, some, as the one below, perhaps old enough to have been young trees when Jesus walked this area. The church, built over the rock on which Jesus (supposedly) prayed before his betrayal and called the Church of All Nations, was built with funds from a number of countries, a number of denominations. It is a Roman Catholic church but can be used by other Christian denominations.
We walked to our next stop, recommended by our driver--the church where Mary, mother of Jesus is said to be buried (one of two or three). A man kept walking beside us, telling Simone that our driver had told him to give us a tour. Our driver had made a point of saying this might happen, but not to believe anyone saying he had sent them. The man said he would guide us around free. As in Bethlehem, I was let into the "tomb" area from the opposite side from the line, to light a candle there. It happened quickly, and I barely realized the significance. On our way out, the man asked Simone for money. She was adamant that he had said he would be our FREE guide. When we got back into the car, he beat on our driver's window, and they spoke. As we drove away, Devon said that was the way the man made his living.
Before going to the next stop on my agenda, Devon took us to King David's "tomb," and to the room on the site where the last supper was said to have been held. There were several tour groups there, seeming to be moved by this spare room. I wasn't among them.
We drove to the Bethesda pools and St. Anne's church, on my agenda from a book loaned by a Boulder church friend. The brochure we received upon paying our entrance fee said that pools beside the reservoir, which dated far earlier, were used for healing from about 150 BC and 70 AD. The excavations began in the late 1800s. The ruins are evocative. I found it easy to imagine Jesus healing a man by these pools.
Again the church was built on the site of an ancient church, one that commemorated Jesus' miracle and the birthplace of his mother, Mary. The spare church with few visitors had more sacred energy than the opulent altars surrounded by crowds. Here, I prayed at a side altar. 
The gardens were also lovely, and we enjoyed them with few visitors in sight.
This ended our Christian tour. Next we visited the hospital where our tour group was scheduled to see the Chagall windows. The guide turned on the 30-minute DVD that acted as our guide and left
the two of us to enjoy these marvelous creations by ourselves. I photographed most of them as I especially like both Chagall's work and glass creations. Below are two:
Yes, all the symbols have meaning; however, I chose to enjoy them rather than take notes.
We ended our day spending a couple of hours in the Israel Museum--a wonderful place--knowing that the next day's visit would allow barely time for viewing of the Dead Sea Scrolls, an awesome display.
On the day we saw the Dead Sea Scrolls, we also visited Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum--all moving, but for me, especially the Children's Memorial. It is hollowed out from an underground cavern, candles reflected in the dark space give the impression of stars shining in the heavens. The children's names, ages and places of birth are heard in the background. About 1.5 million children were murdered during that dark time.
Our last day we rode the bus--first to the Masada, where I looked longingly at those folks who had time to hike the switchbacks to the top while we stood in line for the cable cars to take us up. We did a quick tour, our guide and the couple leading making sure we didn't over tax those few who weren't so able. It is an imposing place but the rushed tour simply made me hunger for a more leisurely experience.
We needed to rush around the Masada because we had to make lunch at the Dead Sea. Lunch was as large and varied, spread on several tables and stands, as any of our breakfasts. Some had scheduled massages or facials too. Simone and I changed into our bathing suits and headed for the Dead Sea and our experience of floating in the salty water. My feet simply rushed out from under me. The photo is taken nearer the shore, but we floated farther out too. It was hard to do otherwise! The excitement was later, trying to get into a shower to rid our bodies of the salt and dress for our return trip. A bevy of Russian women were in the showers, shampooing their hair, bathing leisurely and letting another of their group into the stall before they exited. I made it to a shower and let one of our group in as I came out. Simone had given up and dressed.
That evening Simone and I looked out our window at the city, feeling that our visit to Jerusalem was too short.
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