Bethphage & Bethany
In case you’re ever looking for this place on your own, just know that the locals pronounce it Beth-fa-gee. It took me a while, or I should say, it took them a while to understand what I was trying to say when I pronounced it as Beth-page. I found it nonetheless, in (and I mean this literally) a round-about-way. I woke up early one morning with a plan to start in Bethany and walk from there over the Mount of Olives to the Old City, as Christ once did during His final week in mortality. Without further ado, please allow me to quote from my journal:
Trapped in the West Bank
August 21, 2009
I woke up early to visit Bethany where Mary, Martha, and Lazarus lived and was also where Christ frequented and stayed during His last mortal week on earth. It is also the place where Christ raised Lazarus from the dead.
I took the Arab bus at 9am, passed through the checkpoint that separates Jerusalem from Palestine, and when I got close to Bethany I had no idea where I was or even where I needed to get off. Luckily, the bus driver gave me the motion to get off, so I did around 9:30am. I saw some chapels nearby so I figured it must be the right place, and I was right. The neat thing was I had the whole area to myself – no tourists! The church there was absolutely beautiful and you would easily be able to hear a pin drop – everything echoed so much. I spent some time there and walked around outside and saw the ruins of old churches. Just up the small road was the Tomb of Lazarus. There I tipped the caretaker 5 shekels and he motioned for more so I gave him another 5 and I was allowed down the steep stairway to the tomb where it is believed that Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. I was able to take my time there as I had the small tomb to myself. I crouched down and went into the area where the actual tomb is. I stood there and reflected on the event and tried to soak it all in. I knelt down in prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for Christ and for His power over death. I was touched by the Spirit when I finished my prayer and read the small plaque that quoted from 1 Corinthians 15:55 saying, “O death where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”
When I walked up the steep stairs and out of the tomb entrance I met a man named David and looked around in his shop where I saw a wood bust carving of Joseph Smith and one of Christ, the same that are in our seminary buildings back home. Pointing to the one of Joseph Smith, I asked him who it was, as though I did not know, and he said “Joseph Smith.” He then asked if I was a Mormon, followed up with, “I give you good deal.” I respectfully declined since I only had enough money for the journey back.
My next stop was Bethpage (which I later found out was pronounced Beth-fa-gee). I got directions but then came to a fork in the road and had no idea where to go next. There happened to be a little elderly nun carrying a large bag of pita bread up the hill and so I asked her for directions. She was very kind but spoke hardly a word of English and only mainly spoke Arabic and Italian. We could communicate enough for her to tell me to follow her to meet another nun who could speak English. So I offered to carry her bags for her and followed her up the small hill. It didn’t take long and she brought me right inside the nun compound where she introduced me to 2 other elderly nuns, one of whom spoke some English, and brought me a glass of water and filled my water jug. She gave me directions to Bethpage but said I had to go through a checkpoint at the wall and then it was only 5 minutes or so walking. I was very grateful for their kindness.
When I arrived at the checkpoint I was laughed at by the guards. Why? Because I was an idiot and forgot my passport! I couldn’t blame them for laughing at the dumb American, but no matter what I said they just would not let me through and told me to try the next checkpoint. I was in panic mode; and I was in the West Bank!
I decided to try my luck on the same bus I took in, but in the opposite direction. We took the same route back but instead of just driving through the checkpoint like it did on the way in, it had to stop before it passed through. Out of habit the Palestinians on the bus all pulled out their ID’s, and the IDF soldier walked down the bus isle to check them while others outside inspected the bus. Hoping it would work, I held up my student ID when she got to me and told her I forgot my passport. She looked at me for a few seconds, rolled her eyes, asked where I was from. I then put on the thickest American cowboy accent and proclaimed, “I’m from Utah in America!” and she let me sly. Phew! I felt incredibly lucky.
The bus rolled on and took us right into the Old City at the foot of the Mount of Olives. If I was determined before, I was even more determined to reach my destination. I was on a mission now and no one could stop me! We all got off the bus. At first I was a little disoriented and thought it had dropped us off at the Damascus gate, but then realized I wasn’t and soon found myself in a tightly squeezed crowd of Muslims heading in one direction – the Al Aqsa Mosque. I realized they were all headed there for the commencement of the Muslim holiday Ramadan. I was able to brake free of the crowd and walked a path in the opposite direction towards the Mount of Olives, I passed the Garden of Gethsemane and went into the Orson Hyde Park where I had a clear view of the Old City and the crowd I was in below working their way to the temple mount. Feeling famished, I spent the next hour from about noon to 1:00 eating my lunch on a rock right in front of the small auditorium on the edge of the path, underneath a small tree.
I was determined to visit Bethpage so after getting a little lost and after lots of walking uphill and around street corners in the dead heat, I found Bethpage at last. It was almost completely silent there. All that I found there was an empty Greek Orthodox Monastery where a nice little church sat peacefully on its own. I walked east and looked below (by this time I was now on the other side of the Mount of Olives) and found that Bethpage was right next to the separation wall.
Having reached my destination and after spending a few moments there I made my way back over the mountain to retrace the steps of the Savior. Along the way I came upon the Seven Arches Hotel where there is an amazing lookout point in front. There were a few American guys at that spot as well as an Arab with a camel giving rides for 20 NIS. I was out of my budget though. J I had just enough money (5 shekels) to go to Pater Nastor (“Our Father…”) Church and see the Lord’s Prayer in 60 different languages written on beautiful tile frames displayed on walls throughout the church grounds. Exhausted at this point, I decided my time was spent and made the 45-minute walk back to my dorm room on Mount Scopus. It was 5 pm when I arrived. What was probably a 1 or 2-hour walk for the Savior ended up being roughly an 8-hour excursion for me. I’m just glad to say that I made it home safe and with a story to tell.
I woke up early to visit Bethany where Mary, Martha, and Lazarus lived and was also where Christ frequented and stayed during His last mortal week on earth. It is also the place where Christ raised Lazarus from the dead.
I took the Arab bus at 9am, passed through the checkpoint that separates Jerusalem from Palestine, and when I got close to Bethany I had no idea where I was or even where I needed to get off. Luckily, the bus driver gave me the motion to get off, so I did around 9:30am. I saw some chapels nearby so I figured it must be the right place, and I was right. The neat thing was I had the whole area to myself – no tourists! The church there was absolutely beautiful and you would easily be able to hear a pin drop – everything echoed so much. I spent some time there and walked around outside and saw the ruins of old churches. Just up the small road was the Tomb of Lazarus. There I tipped the caretaker 5 shekels and he motioned for more so I gave him another 5 and I was allowed down the steep stairway to the tomb where it is believed that Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. I was able to take my time there as I had the small tomb to myself. I crouched down and went into the area where the actual tomb is. I stood there and reflected on the event and tried to soak it all in. I knelt down in prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for Christ and for His power over death. I was touched by the Spirit when I finished my prayer and read the small plaque that quoted from 1 Corinthians 15:55 saying, “O death where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”
When I walked up the steep stairs and out of the tomb entrance I met a man named David and looked around in his shop where I saw a wood bust carving of Joseph Smith and one of Christ, the same that are in our seminary buildings back home. Pointing to the one of Joseph Smith, I asked him who it was, as though I did not know, and he said “Joseph Smith.” He then asked if I was a Mormon, followed up with, “I give you good deal.” I respectfully declined since I only had enough money for the journey back.
My next stop was Bethpage (which I later found out was pronounced Beth-fa-gee). I got directions but then came to a fork in the road and had no idea where to go next. There happened to be a little elderly nun carrying a large bag of pita bread up the hill and so I asked her for directions. She was very kind but spoke hardly a word of English and only mainly spoke Arabic and Italian. We could communicate enough for her to tell me to follow her to meet another nun who could speak English. So I offered to carry her bags for her and followed her up the small hill. It didn’t take long and she brought me right inside the nun compound where she introduced me to 2 other elderly nuns, one of whom spoke some English, and brought me a glass of water and filled my water jug. She gave me directions to Bethpage but said I had to go through a checkpoint at the wall and then it was only 5 minutes or so walking. I was very grateful for their kindness.
When I arrived at the checkpoint I was laughed at by the guards. Why? Because I was an idiot and forgot my passport! I couldn’t blame them for laughing at the dumb American, but no matter what I said they just would not let me through and told me to try the next checkpoint. I was in panic mode; and I was in the West Bank!
I decided to try my luck on the same bus I took in, but in the opposite direction. We took the same route back but instead of just driving through the checkpoint like it did on the way in, it had to stop before it passed through. Out of habit the Palestinians on the bus all pulled out their ID’s, and the IDF soldier walked down the bus isle to check them while others outside inspected the bus. Hoping it would work, I held up my student ID when she got to me and told her I forgot my passport. She looked at me for a few seconds, rolled her eyes, asked where I was from. I then put on the thickest American cowboy accent and proclaimed, “I’m from Utah in America!” and she let me sly. Phew! I felt incredibly lucky.
The bus rolled on and took us right into the Old City at the foot of the Mount of Olives. If I was determined before, I was even more determined to reach my destination. I was on a mission now and no one could stop me! We all got off the bus. At first I was a little disoriented and thought it had dropped us off at the Damascus gate, but then realized I wasn’t and soon found myself in a tightly squeezed crowd of Muslims heading in one direction – the Al Aqsa Mosque. I realized they were all headed there for the commencement of the Muslim holiday Ramadan. I was able to brake free of the crowd and walked a path in the opposite direction towards the Mount of Olives, I passed the Garden of Gethsemane and went into the Orson Hyde Park where I had a clear view of the Old City and the crowd I was in below working their way to the temple mount. Feeling famished, I spent the next hour from about noon to 1:00 eating my lunch on a rock right in front of the small auditorium on the edge of the path, underneath a small tree.
I was determined to visit Bethpage so after getting a little lost and after lots of walking uphill and around street corners in the dead heat, I found Bethpage at last. It was almost completely silent there. All that I found there was an empty Greek Orthodox Monastery where a nice little church sat peacefully on its own. I walked east and looked below (by this time I was now on the other side of the Mount of Olives) and found that Bethpage was right next to the separation wall.
Having reached my destination and after spending a few moments there I made my way back over the mountain to retrace the steps of the Savior. Along the way I came upon the Seven Arches Hotel where there is an amazing lookout point in front. There were a few American guys at that spot as well as an Arab with a camel giving rides for 20 NIS. I was out of my budget though. J I had just enough money (5 shekels) to go to Pater Nastor (“Our Father…”) Church and see the Lord’s Prayer in 60 different languages written on beautiful tile frames displayed on walls throughout the church grounds. Exhausted at this point, I decided my time was spent and made the 45-minute walk back to my dorm room on Mount Scopus. It was 5 pm when I arrived. What was probably a 1 or 2-hour walk for the Savior ended up being roughly an 8-hour excursion for me. I’m just glad to say that I made it home safe and with a story to tell.