Black Sabbath and the Kingdom of Heaven

Sitting In the back of a bus I watched as the Jordan river passed below me. All travelers to Israel were taken by bus across the no mans land between Jordan and Israel. It was a short ride mabe a mile before everyone was taken into the customs office. I was surprised to see that the inside of the building was modern and illuminated with bright lights, a freshly moped floor, and air conditioning. Incredibly different from the Egyptian and Jordanian boarders. For example, There wasn’t six clone like officers standing around with the same mustache. The cutie Israeli girls were far different from the fat old grumpy men smoking as paint pealed off the walls of the immigration office, while they slobbered over my passport photo and asked me ridiculous questions like where was I was planning to stay and where I was going. the attractive customs officers of Israel asked me important and necessary questions like where I was going and where I was staying While they checked out my passport photo, probably wondering why a good looking adventurer such as me was traveling alone wearing such sexy cargo attire . I was impressed at there restraint to detain me in the back for a private interrogation. The Israeli defense forces at its best. Worthy of a firm salute.

Now in Israel I shared a taxi to Jerusalem. When I saw the white walls of the old city I told the driver to stop and let me out. The noise and chaos of the holy city moved all about. The massive walls and ramparts of the old city had been beaten, broken, and stained with blood from the past to the present. A green valley beyond the walls was scattered with Palestinian slums, and Hebrew graves and Christian churches in full view of the dome of the rock just inside the walls of the city. \a gray city of cold stone was had golden dome glimmering like a star. I walked along the walls while Following a busy road until I came to the Damascus gate and from there my entrance to the kingdom of heaven, the holy city of Jerusalem.

Passing under massive the gate passed beggars and hustlers before the slabs of stone condensed into to a narrow ally full of busy Arab markets. It wasn’t long before found a Hostel just inside the city walls. I Dropped my bags, had a cup of tea and went to do some site seeing mixed in a mob of children to different gods. Jerusalem was quickly becoming the strangest city I had ever been to. Being one of the oldest cities in the world its long history had shaped it into a home to 3 religions. Moslem, Christian and Jews. But then there was also a large Armenian population as well. Its like a big bag of Chexs Mix if you think about it.

First I went into the Arab quarters where men sold oranges, cooked lamb and yelled at each other. Women walked around with 12 kids under there arms, and everyone was trying to sell an ’original’ rug to be sold. Everywhere there was loud Music and sounds until the afternoon prayer blasted from the holy towers of the Dome of Al-Quds, "Dome of the Rock".When I wandered into the armmion quarters where there old women walked around hunched over with a blanket over there head as they sold rice by the grain and little shampoo bottles that you find in hotel. The tightly packed city opened up into to a large courtyard in the Jewish quarter where there were many read prayers at the western wall rocking there heads back and forth as they read. Everywhere in Jerusalem were young solders, most of them just kids. They walked around in platoons Taking a sort of, field trip to see the city after there military training . They acted like a group of high schoolers at lunch break. Except for the fact that they all dressed in military fatigues each one of them had a M-16 on there back. The boys flirted and teased the girls as they sat smoking there cigarettes and sported hello kitty handbags and Euro trash sunglasses . Everyone was locked and loaded. There was a strange attraction to the females that were "packing heat". there is nothing in my mind more dead sexy than a girl with an assault rifle slung over her shoulder. I may have fallen for any one of the little miss Rambos then and there.

Continuing on my walk like many tourists to Jerusalem I walked the path of the 13 stages of the cross. The path that wound through the streets of Jerusalem the cavalry hill. Each important stage was marked with a picture and a description of what had happened to Jesus on this spot. I didn’t think about what had happened there as much as I thought about how the pictures of Christ barring his cross and people helping him up reminded me of late nights at the bar where I had to drag friends home while they cried about ex-girlfriends and dudes that they wanted to fight. I should have been a little more where Christ was striped bear and his blood ran over the gray limestone. climbed to Calvary. Where the Christian profit was crucified and displayed as a deterrent. Into the church of the holy sputar where a tour grupe was exiting when I sliped into the door and stood upon the ground where Christ died. Standing peacefully and respectfully I looked onto the rock where christ drew his last breaths. I prayed my respects to the church not as a holy site but as a place of unimaginable historical significance. The feelings of spirituality soon we overpasses by my hunger. I went back outside and made a sandwich on the side of the holy seputar and put on a Black Sabbath song on my I-pod as I dined. Laughter came over me when I began to think about what I was doing. Sitting at maybe the Most important and holy place in history eating a sandwich listening to rock and roll And I like Black Sabbath. What a strange day.

Over the next few days I explored the city of Jerusalem. Getting a rare glimpse into the dome of the rock and eating Baskin Robins in the business district outside the walls. Before getting an itch to look further into the lives of the people living over the walls of the west bank The next day I spent walking to Bethlehem only a few miles down the road from Jerusalem. Once I passed the military checkpoint the tone of Israel felt much different than it had in the glimmering shop windows in the finatual distict of Jerusalem. This was Palestine, an occupied territory within the jurisdiction of Israel. You noticed the difference in the look of the two sides. Palestine, was dirty, run down and oppressed from around corners could see young and old men glairing in my direction and issue a blatant hostility from there eyes. Even the small children playing in the streets stopped and looked at me as if everything here was my felt. Some older boys playing football began to yell in Arabic before one chucked a rock at me. There wasn’t much I could do but keep walking and that was the best option. These were a people at war. Blood was on Israelis hands and my western face spoke injustice and slavery to them. I would come to realize just why and for what reasons the people of the land of Palestine felt like this.

I had enough fun in Jerusalem and it was time to make my way back to Cairo. Taking a bus from Jerusalem I planed to spend a few days in Elat on the red sea to catch a few rays on the beach before heading for Germany. It was raining in Jerusalem when I left and a frail overcast sky followed me all the way across the desert. The ride took about 7 hours and the entire time on the bus I kept looking out at the craggy rolling hills of Israel. Not a tree or shrub to be found for miles. No rivers and lakes, Just endless rocks and nothingness. It was impossible to comprehend What on earth was this everyone in the middle east fighting about? couldn’t they find somewhere a little more worth fighting over? this land was just ugly. The bus overcame the rain and overcast as the red sea came into view. this time in the sandy shores of Elat. Elat is "Lagoona Beach" for young Israelis. Its not as crazy as teivive beaches are but it’s a place where young ladies can lunge around in skimpy swimsuits talking on cell phones one hundred meters from the nearest mall. Was this there idea of a promised land? basked in the sun and walk from shop to shop with paper bags loaded with designer close. Spending the nights dancing and drinking late into every night? For me Elat was a resting place. Somewhere I could catch up to myself before I became more complacent to where I was. remind myself how far from home I was to keep my head up and my book open to possibilities to keep this exciting adventure going.

With less than 24 hours untill my flight back to Europe make the final drive back to Egypt to catch my flight out of Cairo. it took me all morning to get across the boarder but I was back in Egypt. Once I cleared the bourocrosy of boarder crossing I walked in the head of the mid day sun to Taba about 2 KM from the Israeli Boarder. The only means of transportation I could find to take me to the capital was a lone and rundown mini bus going to Cairo. it was my lucky day (I think). I it would be a 10 hour journey across some of the harshest land in the world. Once again to across the Sinai. While my bags were loaded onto the roof and secured by an old rope. Boarding the mini-bus I cramed between 10 other men. Many of them were university students headed to Cairo and were eager to practice English and I was able to speak to them. the two men in the back of the Minibuswere Palestinians and had come from Ramala that day at 4 Am.

The Egyptians began asking me questions about where in America I was from and what my favorite football team was. The Palestinians paid no attention to me and began to pray in the back of the Minibus. there devout obedience to god took no rest after there prayer they went right back to reading verses of the Koran.. the student who were sitting up front made the Driver play a tape they had bought of there favorite singer that day. when the driver put in the tape a relentless volley of insane chanting and singing was blasted out of the HI-FI speakers. the windows had all been removed and the hot air of the Desert sweltered in the stinking van. Fly’s buzzing all about the funk of the van.

After an hour of waiting around for someone else to fill the van the driver desided it was time to leave. the inside was, rich with flavor if you could say . Whatever flavor that was I wasn’t sure. each seat was torn and eaten away by countless Arab asses sitting there day after day year after year. The floor was rotting away. There was no carpet, just the aluminum underbelly of the vehicle. The deck was stained with oil, chiken feathers, rice, and cigarette butts. The heat had melted everything else together. Each time I could have to move my leg because it had gone numb from sitting an crumpled position I had to pry my boot off the bottom of the van everything within was sticky with filth. the Egyptian students began to argue with the Palestinians over the volume of the horrible music. The road from Taba took us the main highway comeing from the closed Gaza strip across the Sinai entered a wasteland. as far as my eyes could see there was just flat unspeakable void like a blank peace of paper. rock, and sand. wind, and dust, dyeing shrubs, and camel carcasses . I was stuck in-between the two Palestinians who were still arguing over the volume of the music, as his buddy prayed next to me in his lowest voice.

"can you believe this?" said the Palestinian as he leaned over my head " they play music so loud that we cant pray" speaking in English.

The man had a Koran in his hand, a tight fitting hat on his head and a long full fill beard as did his partner. He began to argue with the others in the bus some more. Trying to be as kind as he could but he was obviously a little annoyed. I couldn’t blame him. The music was so terrible that I felt like I was going to have to stick a tampon in my ear to keep them from bleeding. But this was there world. I was in no position to question what they did or didn’t do.

As the grimy mini bus zoomed across the sand desert of Sinai I began to talk with the man from Palestine. He introduced himself as Ihab. He was a university student in Isreal. Working on a degree of science in Religion. He had a soft, delicate face. And he spoke in a supple voice with a lisp. As we talked the inevitable questing came up regarding if I was Christian. Normally when I get this question oi just make something up like that I have pagan idle worship of the moon sun and trees that I usually conjure up when I want to make some kind of joke but I could tell he would have problems with me not really believing in a god. So I told him I was a Christian

Living in a western society I don't really get the chance to hear the sides of the story that is support to be fair and balanced. There always seems to be a prejudice so I started inquiring about the Palestinian side of things. I began to ask about what life Is really like on there side of the wall, Islam’s meaning and its message. The flood gates were opened while Ihab bombarded me with all information I could hand about the land of Palestine for the next 8 hours as we crossed the Sinai .

I wasn’t ready to talk in all that information at once and to be honest I wanted to sit and watch the land go by and reflect on this adventure that would soon be over, But I began to learn and it all started to register . Ihab stories of the people of Palestine feeling like slaves prisoners in ther own homes began getting my attention.

“if there was something I wish for the people of Palestine I wish for them to have a home, but we have none. We have no home Israel is in our home, where is our home?” when I asked about what the Palestinian people wanted what was the fighting about” ihab responded

“all they want is to have the freedom to go about there lives without being oppressed by Israel. There is no real answers or viable mean of resistance when Israel comes to a town with an Abrams tank, fighter jets bombing there homes from miles away. There is no way for people to win against that.”

But you do fight back I see on the news that a bus was blown up they blow up buildings isn’t that send the wrong message?” I asked.

“Yes, most definitely” said Ihab. “ But what they can do if there mothers and fathers are killed by Israelis bombs from far away, and what they feel like they have to do with bombs to make there point. They make themselves a martyr because what choice do they have they have lost everything and walk into a crowed market place and blow up the people. And that's how they send there message. They take no pride in killing men and women and children but what choice do they have? Who listens to them. They are prisoners in there own home. “

Smack dab in the middle of nowhere. The driver turned off the highway at dusk to a café planted in nothingness like it was out of a mad max film. No one in the mini bus was hungry but the driver had a deal with the café that if he brought customers he would get a deal. It didn’t matter if I or anyone else was hungry the driver was going to eat. Menshile I walked around trying to get the blood to flow back into my toes. I stared to walk into the crusted sands of the desert. Discussed with its ugliness. don’t be confused with the beautiful voids of earth. This WAS a ugly piece of earth. I noticed Ihab was following behind me with a strangely satisfied smile on his face. When he drew closer to me he threw his head back and extended his arms wide and started laughing as he continued on towards the horizon

"look at all this!" said Ihab looking out into the barren desert. "look how wonderful this is. How beautiful! Allah created all this! This is the work of Allah! Is it not Beautiful!"

I looked out into the desert. The sand wisped across small dried out plants. Rocks and a few distant hills home to nothing. It was a wasteland. It looked like the surface of Venus. "look at what Ihab There's nothing out here!" though I didn’t find beauty in this place I found it stangly reassuring that this place ment something to someone. I didn’t see it but this place was beautiful in Ihabs own way that was something beautiful. The journey continued into the night. We crawled closer to Cairo. Our driver plaing chicken with semi tuck drivers while he passed slower cars in our lain. With each time the driver passed another car over a blind rise I said a small prayer to anyone watching over me. With the onset of night the piles of sand that had drifted over the road were unseen and each time we went over what was becoming a small dune the van would rock violently and nearly tip over. I was losing my hope of survival. It was a complete shock to me that the van didn’t just blow up and any given time. Be the hours of discomfort passed and I could see above the brilliant glow of pollution as we neared Cairo.

Entering the city limits city limits I could feel the choking pollution entering your lungs and violating every breath. It made me want to smoke a cigarette just to get some cleaner air I kept talking with Ihab for the duration of the ride. When I told him I had no place to stay for the night and was going to have to walk around Cairo to find a hotel he acted as if I had said something in offences to his mother. “No you are staying with us tonight” He offered to take me into his company while he visited his Syrian Friend and would make sure I got on my way to the Airport back home with no trouble. So driven deep into the innards of Cairo the driver of the mini bus dropped us off at Ihab’s friend’s apartment where he told me clean up and get some food. It had been a long day and it was time for a rest. After a shower and food Ihab told be he would be going to pray at 4 am the next morning.

Ihab, long before the sun came up shook me awake. When I sat up I could hear the call to prayer echoing in the streets of Cairo . I walked with Ihab and his friend to the mosque where I sat in the back quietly observing the Moslems pray in what I found to be a beautiful ceremony. thankful no one objected to my presence. I sat silently in the corner and watched the old pray with the young. After breakfast Ihab, like he had promised went to the city center and got a taxi to the airport. Ihab and his friend took walked with me down the dirty streets of Cairo towards the busy road leading into the city. Ihad flagged down a cab in a feminine wave of his hand hoping up and down to get the drivers attention and told him to help me get to the airport and prayed for my transport. I thanked him and Ihab wished me well in a very sad voice. A dust storm had set in over the city and turned the air red. Looking out my window one last time at the nile river I was calm and content. My adventure was over. I would soon me in the clean orderly streets of Munich trying to fight the cold and drinking beer in the Hafbruhas. I wasn’t thinking about the events that had happened, or the people I had meet. I was thinking more about what my friends were doing back home and if they would understand what I had learned. My perceptions of the holy land may seem very opinionated and maybe a little one lined. Going from one annoyance to another. And that may be and this is what this story is about. I take most of what is written here from my notes taken on the road. What was gained was an incite to a part of the world that I thought was full of monsters and terrorists. I meet travelers like myself, nomads on mountain tops, and religious men that prayed to a god very much to the same as the ones that my religious friends back home tell me about, and was introduced to a lifestyle that is so judged by westerners. When I reached home after my trip it was clear that people are the same all over the world. Someone in Cairo wants to take you to his cousin to ride camels to the pyramids the same way a struggling screen writer will throw his script in your face if there is any chance that you will have some influence that it becomes a movie. There are men that live in distant corners of the world and on mountain tops secluded away from humanity but they are happy in the same way that a cowboy riding into the horizon is alone with the sun on his face. And men who pray to different gods will do unto you there best hospitality because that is the way they were thought to treat someone who is alone hungry and lost. Lets hope I keep the lessons.