Settling In-Updated with photos

If Jerusalem felt like a postcard surrounded by a traffic jam, the BYU Jerusalem Center itself felt like a glorified LDS visitors center or an art museum. The pictures I had seen online did not do justice to the size and grandeur of this building, and neither can my description.  More reverent than opulent, this gorgeous building carves out a space that feels expansive.  I felt the architecture drawing my imagination upward and outward.  Even without paintings of Christ on the levels open to tours (levels 7 & 8), even as guides conform to the strict non-proselyting agreement, visitors regularly comment that they feel a special spirit here. The Jerusalem Center houses a chapel, a one-room art gallery, gardens, classrooms on level 6 (also a bomb shelter, but no baptismal font or secret temple-ready rooms).  

Levels 3 and 4 will soon be full of study abroad students, and on level 5 this stately edifice is currently hosting a passel of kids: five Judds and six Muhlesteins.

When we first arrived on August 22, helpful friends greeted us and led us past mosaics, fountains, and arched windows, down three flights of chiselled stone steps into our apartment.  Or more accurately, apartments.  To accomodate us, a doorway had been created between a one-bedroom apartment and a two-bedroom apartment.  The kids sorted themselves into the two-bedroom side, complete with two bathrooms, while Frank and I claimed the other side.  The Muhlesteins live just down the hall.

The apartments have a nice mix of high quality building materials that we won't ruin, like tile floors, and housewares and bedding of various ages so we won't feel extravagant if we wear something out.    One living room area had already been outfitted as a dining room, and a bowl of fresh fruit welcomed us.   Our luggage magically appeared in the hallway, and we walked out on the patio just as strains of chanted Arabic began undulating across the valley. 

We have arrived during Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting.  Devout Muslims eat a meal before the sun rises, then refrain from food or drink until sundown, when feasting, fireworks, and scripture recitation mark the ending of each day's fast. In addition to the Call to Prayer which our kids had already heard on YouTube, in this holy month entire chapters of the Quran are broadcast over loudspeakers.  The sound is piercing, a plaintive melody I can neither understand nor ignore.  I hear that over time the Call to Prayer fades into the background, just a part of the regular daily sound track.  I hope that doesn't happen soon.  One of my daughters was waving her hands and imitating the sound in a teasing way.  I reminded her that we have a rule about not making fun of church songs, and this was like a church song to many of our neighbors.  I'm glad that little teaching moment happened at home and not out in public.  In fact, I feel that way about a lot of teaching moments that happen at home.  So far I've been shopping at an Arabic produce store, a pita bakery, a money changer's (1% fee), and a Jewish grocery store.  I haven't yet driven the vehicles, and I haven't yet ventured out with my children.

Kent Jackson, the associate director, has assured us that our kids don't have to tiptoe around this building but should make themselves feel at home.  This is a very hospitable and also practical invitation.  The kids have been exploring the grassy hills, playground, and gymnasium.  It turns out that the story about a trained mongoose sweeping the grounds for vipers happened long ago, and not many snakes have turned up recently.  We have seen cute little lizards on the outside walls, but for some reason the one inside was just not as cute.  When we tried to herd him outside, he darted into a utility closet .

Ending on a light note: we are almost past the jet lag and feeling back to the regular bustling tiredness. Two evenings ago I must have nodded off during the prayer before family scripture study. When I woke up, six pairs of eyes were staring at me. I said weakly, "Amen?" Actually I asked, "Was I snoring?" Carrie said, "No, but it looked like you were contemplating something very deep."

Views of the teenager's room, the little girls' rooms, and the two kids' bathrooms.  The formatting wouldn't cooperate with me.

Safe Arrival

Hello, dear friends,

I feel  like I've been climbing a mountain with landscapes so interesting and different that it's hard to remember to watch my footing.  Utah seems far away and long ago, even though it's only been a week. 

I am pleased to report that we arrived safe and sound.  The flights went as smoothly as could be expected.  We left Salt Lake at 10:30 am Saturday, had a brief layover at JFK in New York, and we touched down in Tel Aviv around 1:00 pm on Sunday. Total flight time: about 16 hours.  Total sleep time: maybe 5 hours.
  

Highlights: chicken nuggets in the kids meals, plenty of mini pillows, friendly flight attendants who called my little girls "Princess," and round of applause from the passengers when the airplane touched down in Tel Aviv.   That was surprising and touching, like the time I heard applause after a baptism.   It would have been nice if we had slept better on the plane, or if a full cup of orange juice had not slid off the tray table into my lap, or if we had remembered to find the booster seat before we left the baggage area.  But at least we remembered the other 29 bags and bundles, and all the females could sit in an air conditioned shuttle bus while Frank navigated the security hurdles in reverse and retrieved the booster seat.
 

   
The heat was pretty intense on the way home, but we were assured that we had brought with us a cold front compared to the week before.  During the drive to Jerusalem, we saw hills terraced with white rocks, contrasting with dark green coniferous trees.  Frank pointed out old tank and plane parts from past wars, intentionally left along the highway as memorials of past wars.  Talk about leaving behind a monument. 

 At one checkpoint an armed Israeli guard checked i.d.s of our Palestinian driver and guide.  He climbed the steps and looked at us, and asked with an accent, "Is okay?"  Or maybe he said, "It's okay."  We nodded and tried to pull smiles on to our jet-lagged faces.  He stepped out and waved us forward. 

Our driver expertly navigated the crowded streets labelled in three languages.  I've learned since that there is some kind of code to the honking, like three honks means, "I'm passing you on the right."  Traffic signals come in the familiar green, and yellow, red, the green blinks before it turns yellow, and you'd better stop when it's yellow.  After the red light comes another yellow light, which means your wheels had better be moving by the time green comes, or you'll hear a chorus of honks from behind you.  According to Eran Hayet, the director of the Jerusalem Center, here in the Holy Land the speed of sound is faster than the speed of light, because you may hear impatient honks even before the light turns green.

If you maximize this photo, you'll see the Dome of the Rock in the distance to the left of center.  (The virtual tour in our links is about as close as we can get to the interior, but the surrounding Temple Mount is sporadically open to tourists under tight security.  No Bibles allowed.)  

At this point in the drive, it started to sink in that I was really in Jerusalem, that the months of planning and weeks of scrambling had brought us to our destination, and what was once an image on a post card to me is now my home.

(Care to comment on your best or worst travel experience?)