The Knesset, Yad Veshem, and Old City

[NOTE: Before we begin Thursday's adventures, I have one other thing to mention about trip-blogging, and that is that I may often load several posts at once. When you see a new post, you might want to scroll down a bit past the end of it to make sure you don't miss anything.]

Morning in Jerusalem
Falling asleep last night, I had a very strong sense of the immense weight of history in this place. Even though most of it is buried in the dark hundreds of feet below these streets, at times it feels like it's all piled up on top of you, bearing down on your chest with all of its massive significance. This is not Sutter's Fort.

This is the breakfast spread: hardboiled eggs, tangerines, cucumbers, and corn flakes. There was some bread too, and several dishes of a yogurt-like substance. No Peter, I didn't try any. Sorry.

Joseph and I took breakfast a few minutes before 8:00, and then set out on a brisk walk around the block, during which I purchased a wall adapter for my laptop for 5 shekels. When we returned to the hotel, Timothy and Brittany were finishing their breakfast and doing email. After they were finished, we turned in our keys and headed out the door.

This display rack was annoying me terribly: I so wanted to flip all the books around so that the spines were on the left. But Hebrew is written right to left, and Hebrew books are read back to front. So I contented myself with taking a picture.

Today was sunny, clear, and perfect for walking. Route-finding has proved a bit tricky so far, but we picked up a better map this evening which should make things much easier.

Your untiring and dedicated journalist.



The Knesset
The first item on the agenda for the day was a tour of the Knesset building. No cameras were allowed inside, so unfortunately I do not have pictures. Some stock web photos and my lush description will have to suffice.

The Knesset is the Jewish equivalent to the British Parliament, or our American Congress. The Knesset consists of 120 members who are elected by the people. The seating on the Knesset floor are arranged in the shape of a Menorah, with a designated seat for each member. There are fingerprint-reading touch screens at each seat for voting. The whole arrangement is obviously very well thought-out.

Perhaps the most impressive part of the Knesset was a large hall which contained a series of three tapestries created by Jewish artist Marc Chagall. The tapestries - which depict the present, past, and future of the Jewish people - required a team of 300 artists 4 years to complete. It is awe-inspiring to see the regal figure of King David granted a prominent part in this display. The legacy of the "sweet psalmist of Israel" is still strong in his native land, even after some 3000 years.

Yad Veshem
After enjoying some delicious homemade natural-food bars on the steps outside the Knesset, (thanks Connie!) we caught a taxi to Yad Veshem, the Holocaust Museum. (No pictures allowed here either: sorry.)

It is clichéd to say that words fail to describe the horror of the Nazi Holocaust, but it is true. Signs outside the museum stipulated that children under 10 were not allowed inside. Still, on the whole, the presentation was considerably less graphic than I expected.

The architecture of the museum is specifically designed to produce a harsh, sober atmosphere: bare concrete walls, slanting inwards over your head, cold and unfriendly. On one of the first monitors there were scenes from a Nazi book-burning event, along with an ominous quote from Heinrich Heine: "Where they burn books, they will ultimately also burn people." And so it happened.

The first section of the museum dealt primarily with the origins and nature of Anti-Semitism. Sadly, even Christianity has contributed to this heinous heresy. St. Augustine - that great bloody pioneer of Christendom - said that the Jews need not be slain, but should be scattered. Somehow the Church thought it appropriate to charge the Jews with Deicide, and argued that only a sub-human race would kill a God. This absurd accusation - besides disregarding the common fallen state of all humanity - defeats itself by willfully ignoring the obvious fact that Jesus himself was a Jew.

Similar to Solzhenitsyn's Gulag, Yad Veshem seemed to be mostly plain history. A people who have undergone such unspeakable tragedy have little time for spiteful elaboration or political speculation. They merely desire to state the facts, to remember, and to grieve. As one of the videos said, "Jewish life during the war was so rich with tragedy that any addition would subtract." It seems this was the philosophy guiding the creation of Yad Veshem.

Many would like to exonerate the United States from this travesty, but I'm afraid it can't be done. It is historic fact that the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave repeatedly denied asylum to desperate Jews. The U.S. fought WWII just like any other war - for political and economic reasons, not moral ones.

I found it was the little things that affected me the most. A crude doll bed made by a camp inmate for his daughter, with the Star of David hastily penciled inside. A pair of delicate wristwatches that belonged to two sisters, the small hands of the watches frozen in mute grief. Two long rich braids of glistening brown hair, cut without ceremony from the head of a 12-year-old by her mother, who knew it would be impossible to maintain her daughter's beautiful hair in the camps.

As Dostoevsky's Ivan says in The Brothers Karamazov, "The whole world of knowledge is not worth the tears of that little child to 'dear God.' I'm not talking about the suffering of grown-ups, they ate the apple and to hell with them, let the devil take them all, but these little ones!"* Thomas Cahill, referring to this quote from Dostoevsky, wrote in The Gifts Of The Jews that "the suffering of children is the greatest proof against the existence of God."** I think he is right.

One Jewish businessman was forced to liquidate his merchandise far below market value. With what money he received, he purchased a necklace which he hid beneath the floor of his house. Shortly thereafter, he and his wife were deported to a concentration camp, where his wife eventually died. The man survived, and returning to his house found the necklace exactly where he had left it. Although he was penniless, he would not sell it, choosing instead to keep it as a memorial of his wife. It breaks your heart.

The last room of the museum is a circular one ringed with hundreds of volumes full of the names and biographies of the dead. It is beyond comprehension. Before such cruelty and suffering, one is left without words, and must simply bow their head in silence.

Old City
Before dinner we took a short jaunt up to the Old City to see where it was and because we still had a little daylight left. I dropped my camera getting out of the taxi at Jaffa gate, so I had to do some repair with duct tape once we got back to the hotel. Thankfully, it's still taking fine pictures. Go Canon!

Young boy in alley: Old City - Armenian quarter

The Western Wall at Night

Looking South Over Downtown Jerusalem

We're planning to do more in the Old City tomorrow, and I'm hoping there are fewer camera restrictions. We'll see. For now, Shalom and Good Night.

*Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1990), 242
**Thomas Cahill, The Gifts Of The Jews, (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 252