8. Jerusalem

Drawing up an itinerary for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land is fraught with pitfalls. Especially in Jerusalem, the tour organiser is faced with having to include one pivotal site at the expense of another. There is always the probability that what fascinates one pilgrim does not necessarily interest another. Thus, the Southern Cross pilgrims were given a free day.

Of course, shopping in the Arab bazaar in the Old City, while not spiritually enriching, is a must for any visitor to Jerusalem. The traders have an uncanny knack of identifying a tourist’s nationality simply by looking at them. The South African traveller need not wear a Bafana Bafana jersey to be asked: “Hoe gaan dit?”

Haggling is expected in the bazaar (as indeed it is everywhere in the Arab world), something obedient South Africans do not always take to with ease. Yet, this is a perfect retailing system: as trader and customer, after endless theatrics, agree on a price, both parties bid their mutual farewells with satisfaction. Of course, the trader is unlikely to sell his wares at a loss. For the buyer, the imperative consideration is: “Was the product I bought worth its final price?” If not, who is to blame?

Fr Nicholas King SJ, our spiritual director, had arranged Mass at the Jesuits’ Pontifical Biblical Institute in West Jerusalem. He had expected a few die-hards to show up. Instead, almost everybody came for Mass, an uncoordinated demonstration that — free day or not — we were on a pilgrimage.

From there, clusters of pilgrims proceeded to explore Jerusalem: the Dome on the Rock, David’s Tower museum, Damascus Gate… I visited the Rockefeller Museum, which boasts a massive exhibition of artifacts stretching from the stone age to the 8th century. Most impressive is the oldest complete human skeleton ever found, the Galilee Man.

The museum is at the foot of the Mount of Olives, and my way back to our hotel, on the slopes of the mount, should not have taken long. Yet, I managed to take a wrong turn, affording myself an unguided tour of Arab neighbourhoods. It was noticeable that nobody took notice of me — especially after being warned that East Jerusalem would not be “safe” (of course, to a battle-hardened South African, even the roughest neighbourhood in this relatively crime-free land holds little fear.).

The contrast in living conditions between Israelis and Arabs is marked — more than a touch reminiscent of apartheid South Africa.

Day 7 — Jerusalem

Alleged “political riots” in the areas governed by the Palestine Authority precluded our visit to Bethlehem, a disappointment for the Southern Cross pilgrims which was, at least partly, offset by an enriching programme in Jerusalem.

Mount Zion, our first stop, is of significance to all three monotheistic religions. The tomb of King David and the room of the Last Supper share one site with a mosque. David’s tomb is a huge stone coffin covered by purple cloth and the crowns of Torah scrolls (some of which were apparently saved from the Holocaust). It is unlikely to contain the real bones of David, nor is it probable that the Mount Zion we know today contained the city of David.

From David’s tomb one walks directly to the “upper room,” the room of the Last Supper, or the Cenacle. Of course, the real building in which Jesus and his disciples had the supper does not exist any longer. The room — actually a hall, in which Pope John Paul celebrated Mass in March — was built by the Crusaders. Nevertheless, it is virtually certain that the Last Supper was celebrated in an upper room. What’s more, evidence indicates that the location of this room may be spot on. Archaelogists have discovered the gate belonging to the Essene community in Jerusalem near the site, and some scholars are quite certain that Jesus and his entourage were guests of the Essenes that day.

Just around the corner is the Benedictine Dormition Abbey, held to be the site where our Lady died. This tradition is reported in the pilgrim’s diary of Bishop Arculff in around 700.

While Dormition Abbey is a lovely, quiet place, the church of St Petrus in Gallicantu is full of drama. The church is named after Peter’s triple betrayal (Gallicantu means “the cock crowed”). This, however, is not the dramatic highlight.

Beneath this pleasant 20th century church are the ruins of what probably was the palace of the high priest Caiaphas—the man who arrested and had Jesus imprisoned. Archaeological evidence seems to support this, but in absence of a letterbox bearing Caiaphas’ name, scholars cannot state categorically that this was the high priest’s abode. Still, the case for its authenticity is strong.

The excavations have produced several jail cells, in which one can still make out holes for the prisoners’ ablutions. We do know that Jesus was held in solitary confinement, and indeed, there is a single cell (some suggest it might have been a disused purification pool) in what was an unfinished part of the palace. The original stairs end well above the cell, so Jesus would have been pushed, falling a few metres. Standing in this cell, one tries to imagine what fright and what loneliness Jesus must have suffered that night: jailed, betrayed by his friends, probably terrorised by the knowledge of the awful fate awaiting him — he had, after all, predicted with astonishing accuracy the events leading to his suffering. Without a doubt, he would have prayed for most of the time.

Adjacent to the church is an ancient run of steps. If here indeed stand the remains of Caiaphas’ palace, then we can say with certainty that Jesus was led up these steps on his way to jail. In the footsteps of our Lord…

We were meant to have Mass in the beautiful Shepherds’ Field in Bethlehem. Instead, we went to the church of St John the Baptist in Ein Karem, west of Jerusalem. There are two Catholic churches there: the church of the Visitation (of the pregnant Mary to her pregnant cousin Elizabeth), and the church that celebrates the birth of Christ’s trailblazer. Our Mass was in the latter, a lovely church, its interior decorated in Portuguese style with blue and white tiles, which features a grotto marking the reputed birthplace of John.

One might wonder why Elizabeth and her husband, the famously dumbstruck Zacharias, kept two residences. The traditional explanation is that, as a couple of high social standing — Zacharias was a priest — they would have been expected to maintain two homes.

We left the serenity of Ein Karem to encounter utter horror in the Yad VaShem museum, the memorial to the Holocaust. It is important for Christian pilgrims to visit the Holocaust museum. The Shoah is not just a Jewish story. It concerns all of us — especially Christians.

Much as we might seek to deny it, we must face this painful fact: throughout the centuries, the Church propagated anti-Semitism, feeding the fertile soil of hatred which yielded the Holocaust. Yes, the Holocaust was systemised and organised by adherents to a pagan ideology, and yet many Christians, not all of them paganised, collaborated with the Nazis in exterminating Peter and Paul, our Lady and Jesus.

The trees alongside the avenue leading to the museum are each dedicated to the Righteous Gentiles, individuals and organisations who helped to save Jews from the Holocaust: Wallenberg, Schindler, the Red Cross, and so on.

The children’s memorial is a piece of engineering genius—and unbearably harrowing (in particular for parents of young children). One enters a totally dark room, with what seem like thousands of candles burning (it is, obviously, a mirror effect). As one passes, symbolically disorientated, through the room, the names, ages and places of residence of children murdered in the Holocaust are read out. It apparently took three and a half years to record this continuous tape. So many children…

The museum itself is a detailed itinerary of one of humanity’s greatest crimes. The exhibits — photos, artefacts and multi-media — are, at least initially, oddly restrained; the emotional punches creep up on the visitor.

Yad VaShem, and other such memorials, have been accused of claiming a monopoly on suffering in the Holocaust, ignoring the Gentiles who perished: communists, socialists, other political dissidents, Gypsies, Slavs, homosexuals, Catholic clergy and laity… These critics are not entirely wrong. It seems arbitrary that the famous quote by the Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller, a victim of the Holocaust, would be tampered with. Readers might be familiar with it: “First they came for the communists, but I did not speak up, for I was not a communist…” till “Then they came for me, and there was nobody left to speak up.” I should like to ask the curators of the museum why that part of Niemöller’s quote which refers to the Catholics “they” came for (leaving Niemöller idle, because he was not a Catholic) was excised? The bitter taste of such manipulation was somewhat sweetened at the exit, where a small section details the epochal visit of Pope John Paul II to the museum earlier this year.

For the visitor, the Yad VaShem experience should go beyond the Holocaust. Ideally, visitors should feel compelled to confront themselves with their own prejudices, and feel empowered to fight them.