Three Jews and A Catholic

Every once in a while you have to step out of your comfort zone just to make sure you still can. In actuality, the trick isn't stepping out -- it's getting back in. Frankly, I am quite happy to live in my comfort zone. If left to my own resources I would never push the envelope. I guess that's why you have to have other people in your life to shove you out of the proverbial plane.

My friend from Canada was in Israel this week. It was her first visit which sounds strange to my average Jewish friend. But that was the catch -- she isn't Jewish and therefore, Israel wasn't at the top of her travel priority list.

I had five days to show her my country. For anyone who lives here or has visited you know that seeing Israel in five days is an absolute impossibility. And by the time all my friends chirped in with their suggestions, I would have needed a month to cover all the sights. Fortunately, my friend had some priorities and that is what landed two of my Canadian/Israeli friends and I in the Muslim and Armenian quarters of the Old City this past week.

Trust me. These are not places we frequent.And after our visit on Wednesday I think I can fairly say that we are pretty much topped up for the next 20 years.

We eased our way into the Old City with a cup of coffee from Aroma. From there we went straight to the Jewish Quarter and the Western Wall. While this might not have been my friend's priority, it was certainly ours! We are all comfortable in the Jewish Quarter although I doubt any of us could have identified that feeling at that point. No one actually said that out loud or probably realized the difference until we left our comfort zone and headed up the ramp to have a closer look at The Dome of the Rock.

When we got to the top of the ramp we were met by the Muslim's all-male Welcoming Committee. Suffice it to say that they aren't that welcoming. The first thing they said was: "Welcome to Palestine." My friend was so excited that she responded in kind and got out her camera. The rest of us just cringed inwardly -- too afraid to show our disagreement and spend the rest of our lives as slave chicks in Gaza.

Our next confrontation only took about three more seconds. One of my Canadian/Israeli travel companions was not-so-gently approached by the Welcoming Committee because they deemed her skirt not long enough. Okay, so it wasn't down to her ankles, but it was perfectly fine for a day in synagogue so we figured it would be fine with them.

Oh, but that would have been to simple. We kept retying her sweater around her waist so that it would hang just so and cover more of her legs. With each modification we would ask: "How's that?" The WC guy would just look glance at her legs (and probably her butt) and say: "No". Finally after our third attempt, she passed the PA modesty test. She could barely walk with her sweater in such knots around her knees but hey, "Palestine" was happy.

By that point the three of us already have a bad feeling and we are ready to leave. My Canadian friend has scooted out of sight snapping pictures merrily -- oblivious to the political undertones of the past five minutes.

We encountered many hucksters in the first 20 meters. Everyone wants to make a buck from the tourists -- which is what they assumed we were (and we didn't correct them). We didn't buy into any of that. However, as our anxiety was growing and we just wanted to find the exit, we bumped into a very smartly dressed young man. We stopped to ask him if he knew where the exit was.

He did, but he also couldn't wait to tell us that he had received special travel papers to come to "Palestine" from Jenin for the day. Oh yay. I thought Jenin was a destitute pile of rubble but if this young fellow was any indication, it is more likely the Paris of Israel. I was dying to ask him how he survived the Great Jenin massacre but I knew better than to stir the pot in the middle of "Palestine".

All the while my Canadian friend is scooting around taking pictures. She wanted to take a picture of the three of us in front of The Dome of the Rock but we had to nix that. When I am dead and gone I don't want a picture of me posing happily in front of that place left behind as a record of my life. When they rebuild the Temple there, she can snap away.

Throughout her picture frenzy we were all edging toward the exit -- and we finally reached the relative calmness of the Muslim Quarter.

When we saw the Israeli soldiers nearby I was overwhelmed with relief -- and so were my two Jewish companions. Of course, that relief was short-lived as we headed out through the Muslim Quarter in search of the Via Dolorosa and the Church of the Holy Sepluchre.

That's enough for now. Next installment tomorrow.