Finding Love in Jerusalem

This is a hard post to write.  I’ve been thinking about it ever since we visited Jerusalem, trying to think of ways of explaining my thoughts, my feelings.  So, if this is slightly incoherent, bear with me – just aim to get past the words and feel what I’m saying, intuit it rather than analyse it. 

I have a real big hefty problem with religion.  I hate to offend (yet know I will and I apologise here and now) but truly I believe that religion has blood smeared all over its body and soul.  It’s been said before, so many times, but a huge proportion of war and murder throughout history has been promulgated in the name of religion.  My god is better than your god.  My religion is right; yours is wrong.

I understand why people believe; I think I do.  It has been said that we have a genetic propulsion towards belief; that belief in a god or gods is effectively a survival mechanism; that without belief, we can easily fall into despond, believing that the universe is ungoverned, our lives purely animalistic, without deeper meaning. I get that.  And I don’t mind belief; I don’t mind faith, I don’t mind different religions, people worshipping in whatever way they wish. I just hate the religious dogma; the one-upmanship; the hard-lining – I’m in, you’re out; I’m right, you’re wrong.

Really.  Think about it.  Imagine, for a moment, there is a god.  A God. Let’s keep it simple and just deal with one for now, okay?  God is up there/in here/wherever – all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful.  Do you really, truly honestly think He/She/It is going to fret about the detail?  About which day we take for rest; about which foods we eat or don’t eat; about whether a festival is celebrated this way or that way?  About what kind of covering we wear or don’t wear on our heads?  Really?  Truly?  Honestly?  And, if He/She/It does, then - you know what – I’m not sure I’m terribly impressed by Someone/thing that is quite so petty. 

Individual religions and their rules erupt from social and geographical conditions and that’s fine.  I don’t have a problem with anyone celebrating spirituality in any way they wish.  Just accept that it is a choice and that other people can celebrate it in their own different (not better, not worse) way. It’s when religion starts or fuels conflict that my blood really boils.

I went to former Yugoslavia literally right before the bloodbath began. I remember sitting in a café in Sarajevo talking to a bunch of people over lunch.  They truly didn’t believe there would be war.  ‘We’re too well integrated,’ one of them said. ‘Look at us here, round this table  – I’m Muslim, he’s Catholic, she’s Greek Orthodox, he’s Jewish…and so on.’  Yet, the day I left the tanks rolled into Zagreb. The market I’d shopped in was bombed; the mountain we’d picnicked on became a front-line; to this day I wonder if those people round the table are still alive.

In Israel, nobody even pretends there is integration - because there isn’t.  Yet in Jerusalem, three religions (and many variations within those three) are squashed into one small city centre, eyeing each other up uneasily like children in a playground. 

‘Jerusalem is weird,’ my friend Jane told me before I went. ‘I hated it.’

I didn’t.  I loved the higgledy-piggeldy streets, the architectural play of curve and line – reminiscent of a child’s wooden building blocks.  I loved the brashness of the souks, the vendors cajoling; the clouds of incense; the twists and turns.  As Tel Aviv is all fresh and funky and outgoing; Jerusalem is ancient and deep and introspective. It broods, despite the sun.

We went to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre - as tourists.  A shop was selling crowns of thorns at the entrance.  Inside there were Islamic tiles and stained glass in the ante-rooms.  I wished people would see the similarities, rather than the differences.  There's a lesson in Kabbala - all religions find a place on the Tree of Life.

This is Golgotha, where Christ was crucified.  There was a queue to pray at the altar, to lay one’s hand on the Rock of Calvary.  And I don’t know why I queued but I did, chatting to Rosie, snapping pictures as we waited.  But then, as I knelt down and laid my hand on the rock, going through the motions, something happened.  It felt like something had stabbed me in the heart, deep, deep, deep. Tears sprang to my eyes and I fought hard to keep control.  What was it? 

Love. Total overwhelming Love. Unconditional love that sweeps away all prejudice, all difference, all wanting, all needing, all sense of I, of ego. 

I staggered to my feet and walked unsteadily away.  Someone touched me on the arm. Michal, who runs the educational programme at Kinetis. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, sure. It was just…’

‘Powerful?  Yes, it is. It hits me too. And I’m Jewish.’ She smiled.  ‘Maybe it’s the years of belief and prayer that imbue the atmosphere of Jerusalem. Faith sticks to the walls.’

Maybe it is.  Maybe it does.

We walked then to the Western Wall. Watched the same kind of pilgrimage, the same intent, the same need. This time prayers written on paper and pressed into crevices.

So many people.  So much humanity.  The same hearts and bodies dressed in different ways; the same anguishes and desires wrapped in different rituals.  It sounds trite, it sounds New Age and hippy dippy, but really – we are all just people. 

What was my prayer, for the wall?  It has to be obvious, surely?

To dissolve the need for enmity, to eliminate fear over that which is different; to replace hate and suspicion with that one true cleansing emotion. Love. 

Does that leave you wide wide open?  Yes.  Does it mean you can be hurt, used, manipulated, crucified even? Yes. Does that matter?  No. 

Shadow and Structure: the Design Museum of Holon

I'm a bit beyond, I really am.  Am starting to hallucinate balloons with smiley faces.  This could be because there IS a balloon with a smiley face that bobs around the back of the bloggo-bus - or, then again...maybe it's because I got about two hours' sleep last night and we have been non-stop all day.

'Bet you're having a lovely rest.'
'Cor, great to be on holiday.'
'Lucky you, lazing on the beach.' 

So say my emails...but, um, no....  we've done so much today I can't even remember how it started.  Anyhow...at one point I definitely remember that we went to the Design Museum in Holon.  This was designed by Ron Arad and was something I had really wanted to see.  It didn't disappoint.  So, you know what?  I'm gonna let the pictures do the talking while I go get into the shower before we head off out for dinner...

Desperate measures - blogger escape bid

Eva and Monica sliding through the gaps

Exhibit images from the current exhibition: new olds: design between tradition and innovation

Fascinating stuff - just wish I could get my brain to talk to you about it....  maybe later.  :)

And then we started running

‘I’m here!’ Rosie texted as I was standing by the main entrance to Departures at Heathrow.

‘Er, where?’ I replied, looking around and seeing precisely no-one.

‘At the main entrance.’

I peered around again.  ‘Umm….’

‘Are you still wearing your hat?’ came back the next text.  Er, yup.  And the place was hardly crowded so I figured I was hard to miss.

‘Rosie, are you sure you’re at Terminal 1?’  Well, you never know.

‘Absolutely.’

I double-checked with the guy with the big gun.  He confirmed that, yes, I wasn’t going crazy.  I was in the right place.  So where the feck was Rosie?

‘Rosie. There’s a big yellow sign that says All Departures’ right?

Silence.

‘????’

‘Um, I’m in Arrivals.’

So that was fine.  She appeared; we went to check in and when the guy at security asked how we were related, Rosie told him we didn’t know each other which, had to be said, must have looked a little odd, given we were giggling like a couple of schoolgirl bezzy mates.  So I added, helpfully, that we had met before – just on the Internet and that did it – we were separated and I had to resort to my totally dippy - I’m so bloody stupid I couldn’t possibly be a terrorist - routine to get through.  

So, by the time we found Cafe Nero we were mildly hysterical and sat and jibbered.  Then Rosie said, ‘Um, what time’s our flight?’ And we looked at the clock and sort of did a bit of an ‘oh shit’ routine as we realised our flight was on its last call.  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, wandering off in a desultory fashion. ‘We’ll be fine. Anyhow no way am I ever running for another flight.’  And I told her about how I’d had to sprint through miles of Dubai airport once, dodging people trying to sell me gold.

‘Er…our gate is ten minutes away,’ said Rosie.

‘Damn.’  She took off at a run and I legged it after her but it’s tough to run in high heels with a monster heavy bag so I had to stop and wriggle out of my slingbacks and then sprint after her giving my bare feet a free reflexology treatment on the moving walkway. 

‘Sally will be sitting cool as a cucumber on the plane with a gin and tonic,’ said Rosie as we gasped our way onto the plane.  ‘She’ll be laughing her head off at us.’

Except.  Sally’s seat was ominously empty.  So we did what all sensible bloggers do in this situation – we checked Twitter.

Turned out Sally had hit security big time and was having her laptop and camera swabbed.  

Anyhow.  We all made it by the skin of our teeth.   It was becoming a bit surreal.  I watched Black Swan and got severely confused when what Rosie swore was lemon mousse turned out to be humus.  Then we arrived at Tel Aviv and were love-bombed delightfully by blogger Susie and Adi from Kinetis…and we were greeted at the airport by balloons and the lovely Susie and Adi.  Then we got in a mini-bus and flew out into the night and into Tel Aviv, munching on falafel flavoured snacks (oh yes!) and laughing and I was just over the moon as deserts and camels are definitely on the cards.   

And then some nutter hit our bus and just merrily drove off…so we had to chase him to let him know that his car looked like it had been gauged by dinosaurs.  

Anyhow.  We’re all fine and I’m in my hotel room surrounded by snacks and chocolate (we ain’t gonna starve, that’s for sure).  And it’s really rather fab… But I just have this feeling…it’s going to be one of those trips!

I'm leaving - on a jet-plane

I tell you, this Israel trip could not have come at a better time.  I need to be outside my head for a while, I really do.  I need a change of scene.  I’m like some old cranky computer that needs a major reboot.  I suppose it’s running away really.  But then again, I’m going to one of the spiritual homes of Kabbalah, how exciting is that? 

My brother introduced me to Kabbalah when I was in my early twenties.  I spent a year in the US, part of it writing a novel (but let’s not dwell on that, eh? I literally wince at the memory of it – yeah, that bad).  But the house was on Cape Ann, on top of a cliff overlooking the sea.  I can still feel the warmth of the sun, still see the diamond-glinting on waves as dawn broke. 

My body clock was still on UK time so I woke early every day and sat with a mug of coffee on my balcony just drinking in the sound of the gulls and the sight of the occasional small boat, pulling up lobster pots.  It was heaven – a supremely happy time of extreme simplicity.  I had just what I could fit into my small case.  When I wasn’t writing, I prowled through my brother’s books and his record collection.  I developed a love of Bach and early church music and started studying Kabbalah. 

Here, at last, it seemed, was a map, a glyph of life, the universe, everything.  You could take every religion, mythology, every item of faith, every aspect of creation, science and spirituality, magic and mathematics, and find a place for them on the Tree of Life.  It was like a multi-dimensional labyrinth, a glass bead game – both an intellectual challenge and a song to the heart.  I fell hook, line and sinker – and it remains the basis of my spirituality to this day. 

Anyhow, this wasn’t supposed to be a rant or a sermon.  I must also say that I don’t belong to any groups and I don’t tie bits of string round my wrist or drink overpriced water endorsed by Madonna – and I’m truly saddened that people are profiting from what should be a totally free resource.  But hey…ain’t it ever thus?

So.  Anyhow. Israel. I’m flying out on Monday – and I just can’t wait.  My brazen attempt at getting new clothes via blogging failed dismally.  However, I took advantage of the sales and have cobbled together a sort of wardrobe (mainly in tones of black, it has to be said).  I am packing my bruised and battered soul and heading for the sun.  It will be good for me to be with people; to have some light-heartedness and hopefully some inspiration.  I know how lucky I am to have such an opportunity.  Many people just have to battle on in the stranglehold of everyday life.  So it’s a huge grateful thank-you to Kinetis for inviting me. 

I’d love to be able to tell you our itinerary but they’re being all mysterious about it… Apparently my plea for desert and camels is being taken into consideration…But really, who cares?  We’re staying in a hotel a few minutes from the beach in Tel Aviv – and, by heck, what a beach!

Above all I’m really looking forward to meeting my fellow travellers – the UK bloggers Rosie and Sally – and Spanish bloggers Monica and Eva.  I took Spanish A level (and got a flipping A grade too) but, alas, the years have sucked it out of me.  Never mind – when the spirit is willing, the communication will follow. 

We're also meeting up with the lovely Susie...I love her blog and suspect she's a bit of a kindred spirit...

Stop press:  Oh my.  You remember how I put out a pitiful plea to Figleaves?  Which – after some initial flirtation on Twitter - they stoically ignored, of course.  Well… my bestest baddest friend (she of the flat in London and the Saudi sheiks and the ayurvedic rib-bruising massages) only went and sent me a care package from the place… and I now possess a swimsuit that shows off WAY too much cleavage and a seriously posh bra and knickers set… So, if I get caught in cross-fire or am mown down by a runaway Segway at least I’ll be showing a flash of purple lace as they cart me into an ambulance…