I think I’ve started and deleted this post about five or six separate times over the past couple of days. There were places that made my jaw drop and I was completely speechless. And trust me, getting a 25 year old girl to shut up is no small feat. Our flights were painful, as expected. We arrived at Ben Gurion International Airport in Tel Aviv exhausted, dehydrated, and stiff. Despite my body telling me to slow down, my mind was buzzing with anticipation, filling with dreams of ancient parables, the smells of cardamom and thyme, the taste of dates and hummus. We walked through a part of the airport where it says, “Welcome to Israel,” the pathway lined with limestone blocks as long as I am tall. It started to dawn on me where I was, and I fought the urge to spin around and dance through passport control (It was past midnight local time). It did not matter just how tired I was or how groggy my body was, I was absolutely thrilled. None of us slept too much that night. I woke up the next morning and took a shower. While brushing my hair, I looked out onto the beautiful patio that was below the room that Lois and I were sharing. The sun was out, the birds were chirping, and flying in beautiful pairs. I silently smiled to myself, my mind soaring through Jerusalem with the birds, until my stomach brought me back to reality. I grabbed my jacket and purse, dashed down the stairs to breakfast. The hotel we stayed at in Jerusalem was Kosher, which meant dairy at breakfast, but not at dinner, and Shabbat on Friday evenings. I grabbed coffee, cereal, and an orange and sat with the group. That first day we went to Mt. Scopus for a view of the city from above, next to the Mount of Olives. I was in absolute awe as our tour guide, Shadi, began explaining both the political and biblical history of what we saw. At one point, I took my ear bud out and just stared into the distance at this city that had shaped humanity. This seemingly small city with traditions, rituals, and structures so old and renowned that it could bring someone to their knees even two thousand years later. I won’t bore you with a day by day playback – everything is old, everything is breathtaking, everything is so wild I couldn’t possibly process all of it within a two-week span. We went into Bethlehem during our trip, which has been divided by a concrete wall built by the Israeli government. It is considered a Palestinian town. Tourists, especially Americans, can go in and out of the city through the check points as they please. Without being too political, I think that walls are sad, no matter the reason, no matter the place, and no matter the time period. They are a sign of division, whether good or bad. With that said, this specific wall has become a place for political graffiti, the boring concrete covered in colors, drawings, and words in multiple languages. This small town where my Savior was born is still so important. As we went between Israeli and Palestinian territories, one of the places we saw was Herodian, King Herod the Great’s grave site. Given his political and religious division during his reign, his tomb was sacked not long after he was buried. Even still, the effort and splendor of his reign still resonates. The grandeur, size, and architectural details are so cool. The view from the top is not bad either. Walking down the small mountain on which it was built, we saw a cat that followed us around, a shepherd with his flock, and working dogs. The historic parallel was wild – this great tomb that was completed in 4 BCE, when Herod died, and this young Palestinian shepherd dutifully watching his flock of sheep as they grazed the new pasture, fresh from the winter rains existing in this place, combining two worlds, one so distant and one ever so present. In Bethlehem we dined at a Palestinian restaurant, with the homemade bread, hummus, tzatziki, cucumber and tomato salad, among other sides and dishes. We watched young dancers and later joined them; holding hands, clapping, and dancing with complete strangers in a joyful moment despite language barriers. One of the dancers and I clasped hands and spun around laughing even though she does not speak a lot of English and I do not speak Arabic, but in that moment it did not matter. We were just young girls laughing and dancing as if we had been friends for years; we hugged after her performance and we had understood each other without the need for words. During our trip we were celebrating two February birthdays and the restaurant brought out a cake and sang “Happy Birthday” much to the embarrassment and delight of the two people. One of the places I was looking forward to the most was Masada, considered to be one of the most heroic standings of the ancient Hebrews. Masada is on a kind of plateaued mountain, sort of like a mesa in New Mexico. The Romans had surrounded the mountain fortress in the middle of the desert and the Jews had to make a choice: commit suicide or become slaves. Given the persecution of the Jews today, I believe that they made a brave and valiant choice to die rather than become slaves to the Romans. The archaeological site is crazy as it is mostly untouched and they are still working on excavations. They have an older Rabbi there transcribing a Torah there. If you ask, he will write your name in Hebrew with a heart, including your spouse if you are married. I felt it was quite symbolic, the ancient Jews had taken their last stand and they probably thought that their legacy would be taken to their grave. However, their story is told with grace while a teacher within the Jewish religion silently writes their holy book and greets tourists from all over the world with a gentle smile. Traveling through the desert, we had to stop at one of the gas stations, buy snacks, and ride a camel. They are tall and wobbly in comparison to a horse, but stable and gentle at the same time. It was quite a view, overlooking the Judean desert, the Dead Sea, and rows of date palms near Jericho – a terrain that probably had not changed very much. Naturally we went floating in the Dead Sea. As someone who grew up by the ocean and sand, it was strange. It was mud and slime instead of sand, and the salt level is so high, you cannot stay in longer than twenty minutes. We floated nonetheless, and mom and I celebrated with a beer from the lowest [in elevation] bar in the world. The other two places I was looking forward to the most were close together and in the same morning: Temple Mount/Dome of the Rock and the Western Wall. The Temple Mount/Dome of the Rock is the place where Jews, Christians, and Muslims believe that God saved Isaac from being sacrificed by Abraham, his father. The Muslims built Dome of the Rock in 691 CE. Not 1691 CE, 6-9-1. Architecturally and historically speaking the structure itself is stunning. It is symmetrical, with calligraphy from the Qur’an, beautiful blues, yellows, and greens, all topped with a dome covered in gold. The blues from the tiles nearly rivaled the blue tone of the sky itself. It has become a symbol for both Islam and the city of Jerusalem. The Western Wall (or the Wailing Wall) is not far from The Temple Mount. It the original part of the second Jewish temple that Herod had built, the first one built by King Solomon had been destroyed by King Nebuchadnezzar II after his siege of Jerusalem. The second temple was THE temple for the Jews. It was destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE, but this wall and some of the main steps remain. This wall has become a place of quiet prayer and reflection for millions of people. Some place written prayers within the mortar and grout between the massive stones, some simply pray through spoken word. I approached it twice, the first time just my hands were against the cold stone as I tried to pray, but I could not seem to get my mind fully around what I was seeing. I felt like I had failed both God and myself. Wasn’t I supposed to feel something? Shouldn’t I feel different? I saw an opening and I quietly told my mom I was going to go back. I stood “toe to toe” with the original wall where millions of people and prayers had come forth. I took a deep breath, rolled up my sleeves, and placed my bare hands and forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. The stones have been worn smooth and soft from other people doing the same as I was. Next to me a young Jewish woman was singing a prayer in Hebrew just loud enough that someone next to her could hear. I finished my own prayer and as I listened to her, I felt the weight of something ancient within me, a connection to a people who had faced oppression and torment over thousands of years, a part of me understood this pain, I could feel it in my bones. The torture, banishment, and imprisonment of early Christians, of Christ Himself, hung heavy around me as I began to quietly sob, tears streaming down my cheeks, my hands unwilling to leave the stone to wipe them away. The young woman and I locked eyes when she had finished singing and we both nodded, a mutual understanding of centuries full of tradition, full of pain and human greed, but also full of love and kindness all coming together within that single wall. If walls could talk, this one could fill a library. Our home base was Jerusalem for most of the trip, going through the desert, below sea level, into Jericho, seeing the Judean wilderness, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Mount of Olives and His Palm Sunday journey. I even took a selfie with a camel in the oldest city on the planet. I saw the country of Jordan from across the Jordan River. Like I said, it was wild. We continued north to Tiberias, near Capernaum along the Sea of Galilee. Exploring Capernaum was enlightening because it was considered Jesus’ hometown, where he would have hung out with his friends, where he would have prayed, been human. Just like at Herodian, we saw cats everywhere and Capernaum was no exception. My father coined the term “Capernacat.” ™ It was humbling to see the Sea of Galilee, the Golan Heights, and to be in this place where Jesus had walked all at once. We began the conclusion of our trip in the same way you conclude a Lutheran church service, with Communion. We were on a boat on the Sea of Galilee, the sun peeking through the clouds in such a way that you just knew in your heart God was there. Pastor Jeff was preparing the table with Shadi, our tour guide, who is a Palestinian Christian from Nazareth. He had remained with us during our entire tour, giving us insight into life in Israel. We broke the bread and shared the wine. After, I watched the water from the bow looking upon the terrain that had not changed much since Christ had calmed the storm. This whole trip was life changing and there is so much more I wish I could share, but this post would soon become an entire book; maybe someday. I would gladly go back to Israel, I could have stayed longer and explored. If you ever get the opportunity to go, seize it. I can say without hesitation it is the most remarkable place I have ever been to in my lifetime. The combination of old and new is an exceptional reminder that history must never be forgotten, but in doing so, we as humanity must also remember to live. KC Kelly, Denten TX

This May, along with nine other eager pilgrims