January 10, 2003

Marthame joined with the group on their ride down to Jerusalem - that made an extra rider for the taxi, which meant a need to be careful around the Israeli police (a 500 shekel fine). Israeli Soldiers, however, are another matter.

We arrived at the Tayasir checkpoint, only one car in front of us. The soldier asked us if any in the group were from California. "No. Why?"

"Because I want to go surfing there."

Apparently the surfing is no good in the West Bank.

Our American group poses for a photo with their Palestinian taxi driver along the Jordan Valley road.

We skated through two more checkpoints easily due to the passports, but then stopped when another taxi driver made cryptic hand motions. Border police were ahead. Marthame jumped out (being the extra rider) and flagged down a passing taxi, following the group close behind. The police seemed more interested in the oncoming traffic, though, and we arrived safely in Jerusalem.

Marthame parted ways with the group and went to visit a friend who works with a Jerusalem NGO. The situation for NGO workers is interesting if not depressing. Very few of them are here with long-term visas, in the past a mere formality. Now, they are on tourist visas, some of them as short as two weeks. Some have met with the US Embassy to shove the process along - Tel Aviv seems to be a clueless world away, with US government travel restrictions on their employees preventing them from even approaching the West Bank and getting a sense of what's happening on the ground. The Jordan Valley road is as close as any of them has been in years.

The always breathtaking view of Jerusalem’s Old City at night.

Marthame came down to preach at Redeemer Lutheran Church on Sunday, and it was they who were responsible for his housing. He arrived at Augusta Victoria Hospital, but Victoria House, their guesthouse, was full. The manager told him that there was a place for him across the street at Rudolph House, so he went. No one knew of a Rudolph House, but one person began to wonder if it was Rudolph's house. Sure enough - an apostrophe 's' is a valuable thing. Pastor Rudolph is a German national, working here on the World Council of Churches' Ecumenical Accompaniment program. As they chomped on various German delicacies (like schmaltz, a spread made of goose fat), they admired the spectacular view over the Old City.