A return to the Western Wall ( the first of many)

So back I went to the Western Wall to catch the evening light. I had been struck earlier in the day by the fact that many Jewish women of all ages were at the Wall but I saw very few Muslim women at the Dome of the Rock: judging by the number wearing borrowed items to cover their ‘inappropriate’ clothing I assume most were visitors like me.

I took a different route from the hotel and thus avoided the Old City: I’m pretty sure I passed the place where we stayed 40 years ago – Christ Church – and for part of the way I was able to walk the ramparts of the City walls. I don’t remember doing that before but it provided some interesting angles and viewpoints. Looking across the valley, I determined that my second day would include the panoramic view from the top of the Mount of Olives and a walk down the hillside to visit Dominus Flevit among other chapels remembered over the years.

View across the valley from the ramparts

The dominant Dome of the Rock

I also found some interesting jewellery, pottery and souvenir shops. Oh dear! I DIDN’T succumb…… until the next day and a different shop!

So it was that after  good night’s sleep and a quick breakfast I set out to find a reasonably priced taxi to take me up the Mount of Olives so that I could walk down and reacquaint myself with a few favourite places. Taxi drivers near the Jaffa Gate want to fleece you, so I walked down to the next junction and managed to get a taxi for a price I was prepared to pay and we were off. The driver was really good – took me right to the panoramic viewpoint outside what used to be the Inter-Continental but is now the Five Arches hotel – amidst hoardes of tourists who were desperate to get a panorama with themselves in.

Now the walking started. The Mount of Olives is steep and instead of being able to walk through the olive groves as I’m sure we did in 1978 it’s necessary to share a rather narrow lane with all the downhill traffic – so somewhat lethal. The powers that be have thoughtfully provided a handrail for most of it, though I’m not sure how much help that would be if the road was wet with rainfall – fortunately for me that’s not the situation and I remembered to put on shoes with grip.

Three churches were on my list for the descent: Dominus Flevit, Mary Magdalene and the Church of All Nations at the very bottom of the hill. Only my memories of Dominus Flevit were confirmed!!

‘The Teardrop’ has been built on the place long recognised and honoured as the place where Jesus wept as He made His way to Jerusalem during His last days. The chapel is small but the view – and the placement of the altar cross – is spectacular. I’m sure I have been told that it was placed as it because the cross then sits right over the Dome of the Rock, expressing the belief that in death, Christ conquers all. On this occasion, however, when I asked the Franciscan on duty I was told that it looks beyond the Dome to the domes of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, pointing the way of the Cross. Interesting!

The Church of Mary Magdalene has the beautiful onion shaped domes of the Russian Orthodox faith to mark its presence and I arrived just as it was opening but found the inside much less inspiring than many Russian Orthodox churches.

Leaving the sanctuary I came across the priest speaking with a couple of women and saying ‘her shrine is here’ and opening very ordinary doors: the sarcophagus was that of Princess Andrew of Greece, mother of Prince Philip! They were about to record a news item of some kind for News 24 I was told.

But the treat for me was the church that had least impressed me last time. A very formal structure built in the early 1900s, the windows of this church remind me of Westminster Cathedral with dark purple glass and I had remembered it as a dark interior, but not only was it bright, it was full of lively singing from a group of Eastern European pilgrims whom I kept meeting during the day.

I refer to them as ‘pilgrims’ because at every stage they were either singing or receiving Mass – confident in their faith and unafraid to show it.

I was able to sit and soak it in – and I definitely don’t remember feeling like that last time in that particular church.

And then it was time to head for the Lion Gate into the Old City to follow the Via Dolorosa to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I was lazy and (with some difficulty!) found a taxi driver willing to get me there: it’s not a great distance but is quite a climb and I decided I’d prefer to hold the energy I would use up in reserve for later in the day as now I decide my brainpower is waning and the rest can wait for another day.