Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

Church of the Redeemer in Jerusalem

Sonntag, der neunte Oktober, und wir sind alle sehr früh aufgestanden, weil wir...Moment mal..Just a minute. We are going to the English service at nine o'clock and not the German one? That changes everything. Let's start this all again!

Die Erlöserkirche in Jerusalem must now be referred to as the Church of the Redeemer in Jerusalem. Same church, different language. We are headed there for Sunday morning worship service before making our way up to Tiberius on the Sea of Galilee. This should be a memorable occasion; going to church in this massive Lutheran Church in the middle of old Jerusalem. And it is just a stone's throw from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which many see as the holiest of Christian shrines.

The Lutheran Church of the Redeemer in Jerusalem (Die Erlöserkirche).

Inside the beautiful side chapel of the Church of the Redeemer where English worship is held every Sunday at 9.00am.

This huge limestone church was built on land given by Sultan Abdulaziz of the Ottoman Empire (which at this time was in control of these areas) to the German Kaiser Wilhelm I. This seems to be another case of it's not what you know but whom you know. So the present church has German origins, hence being called die Erlöserkirche. The church was built over the site of the twelfth century Crusader Church of St Maria Latina. This isn't surprising for most buildings in the Holy Land are built on the site or over the remains of an earlier construction. It was dedicated on Reformation Day in 1898 and today is the home to a multi-lingual group of Christians. Services are conducted in  Arabic , Danish, English and German.

But enough history. We have come here to worship and not to be given a history lesson. Salah with his impeccable driving got us to the church on time and we filed in full of expectation. I was a little disappointed that our service was held in a smaller side chapel rather than the main church. No matter. It's the Word not the where, and the side chapel was lovely.

I had taken a seat in the second back row of pews for I wanted to get a few photographs. Then Wendy, who had taken the back pew, tapped me on the shoulder and asked, " Is this really a Lutheran church?"

"Yes," I assured her. "Why do you ask?"

" Well," she explained, "the front pews were filled first  and there is an ordained female Pastor, a woman Pastor."

"This is Jerusalem, Love, not Australia!"

Then the service progressed in a liturgical format with which we are quite familiar - except for the occasional "foreign" insertion such as " Yarabba ssalami amter alayna ssalam".  But wasn't it great to be worshipping with folk from around the world, communing with them,  united in a similar faith? And what made it all the more poignant was that we were gathered here in the land where Jesus also worshipped.

And had he been here with us in person I'm sure he would have given his nod of approval. Listening to Pastor Carrie's address I'm sure he would have been shaking his head in disbelief in what he was hearing from the pulpit. Not that he would disagree with anything she said but that she needed to repeat the same message which he was giving two thousand years ago.

"Oh you thick-headed people! Didn't you get the message I was trying to give you those many years ago? I came trying to break down barriers - well, social ones mainly- and here you are erecting high walls, walls to exclude and not to include. My message of love did not exclude people, but embraced them."

Pastor Carrie's address, if you remember, was based on the reading from 2 Tim. 2:8-15, and she emphasised especially that "God's word is not chained" (2 Tim. 2:9). It cannot be contained by walls of any kind. She has agreed that I could remind you of some of what she said in that address. Here is a short extract:

The Rev. Carrie Smith welcoming tour leader, Graeme, and his group from Australia.

The word of God is not chained! 

These seven words, written from a prison cell and sent to an unsure disciple, are a love letter to all who wonder if love really wins. 

These seven words come to us as a much-needed letter of encouragement this Sunday morning, because there are some weeks when the brokenness of the world can really bring a disciple down. 

Almost every day this week brought shocking news out of Syria…or out of the United States.

This week a long and hard-fought peace deal fell apart in Colombia…by the vote of the people…just days before their president won the Nobel Peace Prize for his work to negotiate it.

This week, Israel once again announced the building of a new settlement, deep in the West Bank, in direct violation of previous agreements with the international community…and my country is still sending 38 billion dollars. 

All around us, it seems the Gospel principles of love, peace, justice, and dignity for all creation are being imprisoned by walls of fear. 

All around us, we see the preachers, advocates, and workers for this same Gospel being persecuted, reviled, and mocked…while the voices of division, racism, sexism, and even fascism seem tolerated and accepted. 

So who could blame us for feeling a bit like Timothy? 

Who could blame a disciple for feeling, at times, that maybe we just aren’t up to the task of preaching peace, of advocating for justice, of promoting human rights, or of speaking truth to power? 

Who could blame us for hesitating before following the Apostle Paul to prison—or following Jesus to the cross—for the sake of a Gospel the world seems determined to fight against? 

But hear again the words of Paul to our brother Timothy: 

The word of God is not chained! 

It’s true, the powers and principalities of the world may oppress and imprison the preachers of love and liberation…

The powers and principalities of the world may conspire to bind the Gospel of love, to keep it from being preached and lived… 

But such attempts will always fail, because the word of God is not chained! 

The word of God is not chained because Christ is both crucified and risen, liberated from the tomb!

The word of God is not chained because we have been given an Advocate, the Holy Spirit, who teaches us and reminds us of all Jesus has said!

The word of God is not chained because it is alive within all who have been washed in the waters of baptism!"

(The rest of the sermon, and who knows, maybe some good knitting patterns, can be found on Carrie's blog: knitpurlpraypreach.blogspot.co.il )

We pray that Pastor Carrie's work there in the Holy Land will be abundantly blessed. I'm sure she was given the thumbs up by Jesus sitting in the pews on that Sunday . He may have been shaking his head but he had to be thinking, "I'm on your side, Carrie!"

The proud tower of the Church of the Redeemer in Jerusalem. This late nineteenth church overlooks the centre of the Holy City.

Dead Sea Mud Bath

A Highlight at our Lowest Point

For some: " Do you remember..?"  For others: " Have you ever heard of ... Flanders and Swan?"  First a quick reminder  just so that we are reading off the same page. Flanders and Swan were the names of a popular English comedy duo who entertained numerous Revue Theatre goers in the 1950s and 60s. They would present clever, amusing songs which they had composed themselves. One such song that I remember was entitled The Hippopotamus Song, the chorus of which went:

                Mud, mud, glorious mud,

                Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood.

                So follow me, follow, down to the hollow,

                And there let us wallow in glorious mud. 

OK, no prizes for guessing why this particular song came to mind during our visit to the Dead Sea and the mud treatment there. I wonder, however, how many of us would have opted for this rather dirty treatment if Graeme and Gail had not forced it upon us? A few comments I overheard on the bus driving down there seemed to indicate a reluctance. Yes, we were cajoled into tasting the experience. Perhaps not tasting.

Having accepted their gift (thanks to both of you!) we applied it as best we could often with a little help from a friend. It felt so slithery and slimy, so smooth and sensuous, that it had to be good for us.

When it all boils down we are all kids at heart, wanting to play in the mud.

I was very surprised at its feel and I am no stranger to mud. As a child I was constantly exposed to it, playing in it, eating it, creating with it, throwing it, tramping through it.

An example: the local creek also doubled as our swimming pool. The main swimming hole, just down from Jimmy Logan's place, was deep, long and wide - well to us kids anyway - with clear, clean water. The banks consisted of rich, fertile, black loam, the signature of the Lockyer Valley in Queensland. As a hot Saturday afternoon wore on, these banks became wetter and wetter, slippier and slippier and muddier and muddier. Teams were chosen and the mud fight began. The clear, clean home of the resident Jew fish and eels soon became a muddy water hole being totally abused by a group of shouting, shiny, black kids.

Compared with the Dead Sea mud our Tent Hill Creek mud had a similar colour but the texture contrasted greatly.  The small stones, the grit, the small sticks and rotting vegetation  which were part of its fertility, added an extra dimension to its feel. And they heightened its impact. Bruises, scratches and sore eyes were often after-marks of our Saturday afternoon fun. And maybe, I'm thinking, our mud-baths were just as healthy as these Dead Sea equivalents. After all they were accompanied by vigorous exercise.

Undoubtedly the Dead  Sea packs have a very high concentration of salts and minerals. I have read there are about 35 present. The main ones are magnesium, sodium, potassium, calcium, bromide - a regular chemistry lesson. And these are able to produce some healthy results.

Prevent hair loss ( Can't give my childhood mud fights a tick for this).

Reduce the appearance of cellulite (No comment here).

Reduce arthritic knee pain ( the way most of us were running around the Dead Sea seemed to indicate that this was the case).

Improve the look of facial skin ( I'll leave you and your mirror to give a verdict on this).

Three happy mud larks enjoying a cleansing mud bath.

This all added up to many photographs of shining white teeth and a lot of good, healthy fun.

Advertisers note: If you want to relive this therapeutic experience you can order packets of Dead  Sea mud on the net and bring it right into your own home.

Mud, mud, glorious mud,

Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood....

The Mount of Olives

On the Mount of Olives

I looked and saw a hillside paved in gravestones:

Looking from the Mount of Olives.

Oh people, Oh dwellers in this Holy Land,

What have you done to the Mount of Olives?

Oh you people.

You have rooted out that growing green which was life,

which gave sustenance to life.

You have laid bare here the slopes of this mount of deep meaning.

Oh people.

You have sacrificed the living for the dead.

That which encouraged life, lived life,

 now lies useless, lifeless,

suppressed by the stones of the dead.

People, Oh you people.

Let the soil bring forth.

Do not hinder it.

Let the earth join in the joy of creation.

Do not deny it.

Oh people

Let the Mount live its life.

Do not deny it!

Join with it and sing with it.

Learn once again to rejoice in it.

Looking towards the Mount of Olives.

In the Synagogue

Yom Kippur morning and decked out in our Persil whites we accompanied Guide Gail to a local synagogue in Tiberius. We were so thankful for this opportunity and showed devout attention to all explanations.

Visiting the Synagogue in Tiberius. Women upstairs and men downstairs.

Joseph, the local synagogue attendant, was so highly elated that we should show so much interest. So impressed indeed, that he agreed to show us their Holy Scroll. As I entered the building I had looked around for the scrolls of their Torah. Books there were a-plenty, but no obvious scrolls. I suspected that the richly embellished wall hanging hid what I was looking for. It did. Joseph drew back the curtain, unlocked the wooden doors, slid aside another layer of door to expose beautiful, shining silver containers. He opened one and these for us to see their Holy Scroll - clear black writing on brilliant white paper.

We were privileged to be able to see a little further into the Jewish faith.

Located on another wall was a list of Jewish festival days - Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur etc. and Purim. I innocently asked the significance of Purim which prompted a response, in which Gail, Pastor Peter and the Synagogue official all participated.

What manner of guide is this who is so sincere and knowledgeable about our blessed religion?

What manner of Christian Pastor is this whose knowledge of our religious text far exceeds that of most others who come to visit us?

And what manner of pilgrim group is this who are content to stand and listen to all ten chapters of the Old Testament book of Esther delivered by all three of us?

Their version lacked the continuity and Biblical phraseology found in most versions of the Bible, but it told the story. It is an interesting, gripping story , but I do wonder why it is part of our Holy Scripture. It runs as follows -

Esther

The powerful King Xerxes ruled his Persian Empire, which stretched from India to Ethiopia, from his citadel of Susa. He was one for throwing parties to show off his wealth and liberality. At one such party, after having imbibed a little too liberally he ordered his eunuchs to bring his wife, Queen Vashti, to the banquet. She was an acclaimed beauty and the King wanted to show her off in front of his guests.

But the queen refused to come.

The mighty king was furious. This could not be tolerated or soon all the wives in the Empire would be disobeying their husbands. He immediately sent an edict throughout all of his 127 provinces that every man should be ruler over his own household.

Now what to do with Queen Vashti? His advisers suggested that he divorce her and begin a search for a beautiful, young virgin who would become his new queen. King Xerxes finally chose a young girl, Esther, whom he installed in the palace.

Esther was an orphaned Jewish girl who was being raised by her cousin, Mordecai. The King had not been informed that Esther was Jewish. After Esther had been taken to the palace Mordecai missed her dreadfully for she had been like a daughter to him, and every day he walked up and down near the palace to be near her. One day he overheard how two of the King's officers were planning to assassinate him. Mordecai reported what he had heard to Queen Esther who passed the information on to the king, but giving credit to Mordecai.

The officers were apprehended, duly punished,  and Mordecai's name was recorded in the Book of Friends of the King.

The episode caused a reorganisation of the King's administration and a man named Haman was elected to  a position next in power to the King. Unfortunately power went to Haman's head and he decreed that everyone should bow down and pay homage to him. Mordecai refused to do this. Haman was enraged and when he realised that Mordecai was a Jew he was determined to destroy not only this man who refused to honour him,  but all the Jews in the Empire.

Haman and his henchmen cast the pur (that is they cast lots) to determine on which day the purge would take place. The thirteenth day of the month of Adar was selected. Haman then issued orders under the seal of the King's signet ring and couriers were sent to all the provinces of the Empire.

Mordecai, the Jew, was very alarmed when he learnt what was about to happen. He approached Queen Esther suggesting that she should beg the King for help. Naturally she agreed to do what she could to help her Jewish people. She sought an audience with the King realising full well the danger in which she was placing herself. Because of his great love for her, the King agreed to listen to her request.

Esther asked that the King and Haman come to a private banquet which she was organising. Her request at this first banquet was that the King and Haman come to a second banquet when she would make known her real request.

Haman was beside himself with pride. He boasted to all how he alone had been invited to dine with the Queen and King. His followers were also happy and all bowed down to pay him respect. But not Mordecai, the Jew. This enraged Haman and he had a gallows erected on which to hang this pesky Jew.

In the meantime King Xerxes had been browsing through his Book of Friends of the King, came across Mordecai's name and wondered how he had been honoured for what he had done. His servants informed him that Mordecai had received nothing. The King determined to redress this oversight, asked Haman what should be done to someone who had performed a deed that saved the King's life. Thinking that the King was speaking about him, Haman gave a long list of honours that this man should receive. Haman was then told to go and give these honours to Mordecai, the Jew, who was always walking up and down in front of the palace.

Oh, the disbelief, but Haman did as he was told. He was a worried man. His friends agreed that he was in trouble.

Worse was to follow for Haman.

That night at the second banquet, the King asked Esther for her request and she begged that her people be spared from annihilation. The King was furious and wanted to know who was planning this heinous deed. Esther pointed to Haman. The King was enraged and had him hanged on the gallows which he had built for Mordecai. He immediately revoked the edict ordering the massacre of the Jews, confiscated Haman's property and gave it to Esther. Mordecai was now elevated to a high position.

There followed great celebrations in the Jewish communities throughout the land. Mordecai decreed that this day of rejoicing and feasting be celebrated annually. People were to remember that this was a time when the Jews got relief from their enemies.

So was born the festival of Purim.

Thank you, I'm so pleased I asked. Mind you, I think that a few details found at the end of the Biblical version had been left unsaid. Check out for yourself!

The synagogue at Capernaum where Jesus would have taught (see Mark 1:21). The white reconstructed building shows signs of its previous beauty.

Again in the synagogue at Capernaum. What once was a beautiful house of worship!

Bethlehem

Bethlehem

O little town of Bethlehem

how still we see thee lie.

Above the deep and dreamless sleep

the silent stars go by.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

the everlasting light.

The hopes and fears of all the years

are met in thee tonight.

Ah, Bethlehem. So often we have sung your praises. So well do we know you in song and pantomime, in children's Christmas presentations and table manger scenes. Now we are to see you in reality - the twenty-first century version where the little town has grown somewhat. What tour memories of this town have remained with you? Which have I brought home with me? Let me think.

The little town of Bethlehem of two thousand years ago has grown into a city-hardly little, hardly still.

After a peaceful stroll around the Shepherds' Field we hit the streets of Bethlehem running. Well perhaps not running for up until now  it has been a long first day and lunch was waiting. You probably don't remember what you ate but you surely will remember dancing around in costume to the beat of a Turkish drum, and the coffee afterwards.

The name of the restaurant?  Christmas Bells, situated on Manger Square. True, I'm not joking. I am always amazed how a non-descript entry door can open up into a vast wonderland of surprises. In this case the small door lead into a vast cavern of culinary delights - well, buffet food! As my photo shows, they milk the name 'Bethlehem'  for every last drop. In this case I didn't complain.

Even with the photograph, I can't remember what I actually ate for lunch. The Bethlehem beer was cool and pleasant.

It was then across Manger Square to the Church of the Nativity and its close neighbour. We came knowing from Sunday School that Jesus was born here in Bethlehem but after being lead through the churches and caves, things became a little confusing so I'll leave that till later. I'll now hop on the bus and go quickly to the last big event of the day.

The Three Arches!

What's that? Come on now. Many of you have been waiting for this - retail therapy. For those dedicated shoppers among us this was the first opportunity to flash the plastic.

The Three Arches. Wasn't it an Aladdin's cave of wonders! This was another case of how an unassuming door can lead to seduction and overspending.  The family-run company has been in business for many generations and one can see why. From the beginning there were smooth, polished salespeople one finds hard to resist.

Think about it. We enter and "as a special privilege" we are able to watch one of their craftsmen at work. The engaging old fellow is busily whittling away at an emerging camel.  He is creating pieces, we are told by our shop guide, from solid pieces of olive tree which display a deep beauty, not like the cheap laminated carvings one finds in most of the other shops. Only quality products here. And the craftsman smiles and whittles a little more.

What an amazing array of olive tree carvings could be seen in the Three Arches. These are the small ones.

Then "this way please", past eye-bobbling items which are not to be admired yet. "There is something more I want to show you". We are then taken to a cluttered counter  to be addressed (entertained) by another smooth talker. He introduces us to a range of great products available to us. Yes, all currencies and cards are accepted. He engages his listeners by asking questions and handing out small gifts to those who come up with a correct answer. ( By the way, I was lucky enough to be given one of these small gifts, a colourful trinket box. It was made in China and the lid had already come away from the hinge.)

Complimentary cool drinks next. Or coffee or tea. How could one resist?

Did you? Would you?

We spent a long time there, so that we could have a thorough look around, or was it all designed to wear down our resistance?

Yes, my wife really loves her gold (14 carat, because that resists wearing) Jerusalem Cross pendant with a free chain (gold-plated, I would think).

But this is Bethlehem, after all and it's good to support local industry.

Mount of Olives

Dominus Flevit - Teardrops from Heaven

Jesus had come over the Mount of Olives from Bethphage and Bethany surrounded by a group of his boisterous followers. He was riding a donkey and they were running and shouting beside him. Although a couple of his disciples had put a few of their own items of clothing on the colt to cushion Jesus' ride it was still quite uncomfortable. He stopped to work out a more comfortable position. He looked up and what did he see?

The stones that Jesus saw. The huge carved stones helped create Herod's Temple Mount. The al-Aqsa mosque on the Temple Mount dates from the eleventh century CE.

The sun is shining brightly on this clear, spring morning, sparkling off  the  dew on the olive leaves. Below the blue dome of the sky lies his destination,  Jerusalem. Shining golden  in the centre is the holy temple, God's earthly home. The gold is glittering, the pure, white marble shimmering. This surely is one of the wonders of his world. Surrounding the temple are the porticoes, lines of marble columns capped with white limestone. The massive basilica forms a boundary to the south. What a sight. Oh, what joy to worship the Lord in the beauty of this temple!

But Jesus' eyes must move on, for there is so much to see in the great city. They shift from the temple mount to the City of David with its crowded buildings teeming with life.  Then further to the upper city with its huge, rich mansions. Completing the circle his eyes come back to the massive rocks supporting the temple mount. Even from this distance their size is evident. And so neatly carved. So beautifully crafted. Built for a God.

Jesus sat and thought, he looked again and saw more. He saw that his words concerning the coming of the Kingdom of Heaven had fallen on deaf ears. He saw what the prophet  Amos of years past had seen. Then his mind returned to the present and he saw the sky darken and the sparkle die. He saw death and destruction, masses running, mothers pleading, children screaming, soldiers dying, blood flowing in the gutters. He saw buildings crumbling and fire bringing all to ash.

His head bowed into his hands and he wept at what he saw. He wept why this should be.

The Dominus Flevit Chapel on the Mount of Olives remembering a sad, frustrating time in the life of Jesus.

Luke19:41-44 reads as follows - "As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said,' if you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace - but now it is hidden from your eyes. The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you in on every side. They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognise the time of God's coming to you' ."

And Luke 13:34 - "O, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing."

Future generations of believers determined that this moment of frustration and sadness in Jesus' life should have a specific location for pilgrims wanting to retrace Jesus' footsteps. The chapel of Dominus Flevit is the latest to be built in this vicinity to remember Jesus' disappointment. This location certainly fits the biblical statements that he came down the Mount of Olives, approached Jerusalem and saw the city.

This small chapel, constructed in the shape of a teardrop was built in 1953/54 for the Catholic Franciscan Custody of the Holy Lands. It follows the simple, but imaginative plans of Italian architect, Antonio Barluzzi (remember that name?) who was responsible for a number of chapels throughout the land.

Dominus Flevit was the first scheduled stop on our walk down Palm Sunday Path; the first of a long list of churches dedicated to the recorded movements of Jesus during his ministry. Yes, I was excited, looking forward with keen anticipation.

I had read up briefly on this church (it's always good knowing what one can expect), its architect and other examples of his work. The exterior lived up to expectations. It needed little imagination to see its resemblance to a large teardrop. The tower finials certainly could be seen as teardrops from heaven.

Architect Antonio Barluzzi's teardrop from heaven.

I went  around the corner to be met with disappointment. A church service was being held in the church and we were not able to go inside. Alas, my view of the holy mount through the iron window design was frustrated. How was the hen and her chicks depicted? And the mosaic from earlier churches?

I could have cried!

But, I consoled myself. Whereas this was the beginning of Jesus' final week, it was the beginning of our time with him in his earthly home.

And I am sure this has not been our first disappointment with a church. I mean visiting a church as a tourist or pilgrim and not as a congregation member of St.  So-and-so.   But I digress.

Just a few years ago I was excited about seeing up close a very magnificent facade of a church in the hill-top village of Orvieto in Italy. I had seen many fine photographs of the church and was determined to take one just as good. But alas! when we turned the corner to view the Cathedral I was sorely disappointed. The whole facade was undergoing renovations and completely covered with hessian. Not even a small glimpse of the mosaics on the portals, or a peep at the bronze Evangelists on the piers of the facade or a sneaked view of the bas-reliefs on the piers.

What the heck! My "Complete Guide to the City of Orvieto" probably contains better images than I would capture. However, that's not the point, is it? ...... But I digress even further.

Back to Jerusalem and Dominus Flevit. Just to add insult to injury (so to speak) the main picture on my Immanuel Tours Pilgrimage Certificate Nr 101853, is taken from inside the chapel overlooking modern Jerusalem - the one I wanted to see in reality and photograph for myself. Oh, how cruel.

Golan Heights

On Mt Bental

We had come from the Mount of the Beatitudes to Mt Bental in the Golan Heights. From "Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God",  to the United Nations   peacekeepers for they are needed here. One short drive can transverse millennia of history as well as a broad spectrum of human emotions.

A gap had appeared in our very tight travel schedule and Gail, our guide, had suggested the possibility of driving to the Golan Heights, not describing specifically what might be seen there. The name itself prompted a unanimous decision to have Salah drive us there. Those of us with sufficient age showing on our faces or wide gaps through our thinning hair, clearly remember the strife surrounding this region.

We arrived at the summit of this old volcano, wondering what exactly we would find to interest us. There was first a few Druids inviting us to taste their fruit. Very good indeed! Then we walked through a short avenue of quaint iron sculptures, pieces of art created by Dutch artist, Joop de Jong. Quaint and humorous, one must agree, but I did hear a few of our party debating whether art accurately described the works.

Steel put to a better use. An imaginative sculpture by artist Joop de Jong.

And then the summit and the peacekeepers. There were two blue-bereted soldiers, representatives of the UN peacekeeping force, stationed here, high overlooking the no-go zone between Israel and Syria. Two service personnel - one from The Netherlands and one from New Zealand. Bless them, for at any time the boredom of their watch could change to the danger of conflicting armies. As it was, the dullness of their watch was brightened by lively conversation and questioning from our interested group.

The peacefulness of this outpost belies the horror of the conflict raging in Syria not so many kilometres away. The sounds of war are heard in the quiet of an approaching evening. The sounds of conflict. A dull thud, a boom, reaches our ears. These are the sounds of exploding anger. To us it is but a sound, but to those whose houses are destroyed, whose livelihoods are shattered, whose eardrums are burst, whose lives are sacrificed, what is it to them? I shall never understand.

A United Nations peacekeeper on Mt Bental.

The empty trenches here on this mount, the silhouetted soldiers, the silent guns, stand as a memorial to a conflict almost half a century ago. This war, known as the Yom Kippur war, began on the Jewish holy day of Yom Kippur in 1973. On this day armies from various Arab countries surrounding Israel launched attacks, across the Sinai in the south and here at the Golan Height in the north. Here on Mt Bental the monument remembers especially the battle against overwhelming Syrian forces. These initially made advances but were later driven back. Burnt out tanks littered the landscape. Soldiers lay dead and dying.

As with all battles remembered - Waterloo, Anzac Cove, Leningrad, ( the list is long)  - many are sacrificed, benefits are few. I shall never understand.

We were driven back to Tiberias.

Remembering a less peaceful time on Mt Bental.