Single Step

What’s in a name? When all else is lost, one at least has a name. Except if you’re Jason Bourne but that’s another story.

Yad Vashem immortalizes the dignity of a name.

“And I shall give them in my house within my walls a memorial and a name…that shall not be cut off.” Isaiah 56:5

45 acres are devoted to remembering the people of Jewish descent who did not survive the Nazi Regime. 1.5 million of those were children. The approach to the memorial in dedication to these little ones declines steeply into a candle lit hall of mirrors where a woman’s voice remembers each child by name. There were other memorials on site but none were as moving. Yad Vashem not only invites visitors to remember but also archives materials, teaches, researches, documents, publicizes and commemorates all things connected with the Holocaust, or Shoah in Hebrew. The entire property is a sobering reminder of humanity gone very wrong.

After 6 years under construction the Israel Museum is open to visitors so we hiked nearly as many hills as we do on our morning walks through Ladysmith and arrived for a late morning iced coffee at the museum cafe. Atop the garden terrace stood a white domed, tiled structure modeled after the clay containers that once housed the Dead Sea Scrolls. Within the circular, climate-controlled room, sections of scrolls lay under glass for viewing. For this budding theology student, it was the highlight of our self-guided tour. Since photos were prohibited I hope my memory is long-lasting.

Another top spot on this day was the generous help I received in learning a single Hebrew word. Toda chaba (correct spelling is unlikely!).

Thank you!

The year was 1973 and the fledgling nation of Israel once again faced threat of annihilation by its Arab neighbours. Another war and another slim victory occasioned a national holiday. We know it as Yom Kippur. 6 short years later a threesome of college students found themselves on the same soil, seeking adventure and eretz Israel with the hope of context for a newfound faith in Christ. The land was rubble and sand and brush and uniformed kids stood on every corner with a machine gun slung over a shoulder. Military presence was serious business and in the dry air hung a palpable tension.

It is 2012 and another 33 years of nationhood (at least this time around) makes Israel feel, to this grandmother, like it’s grown up too. Wealth is evident and there is a sense of establishment among the people and the structure of things. Systems are in place and it feels a whole lot safer than my initial visit here all those years ago.

The Old City is familiar with its bazaar-type atmosphere, the Wailing Wall is now encircled by other walls for viewing as well as for security, and traffic within the city walls is severely limited. The falafel carts are no more, beggars look as if they have access to health care, and most women cover up. We hear the call to prayer from the Arab Quarter and step aside as a handful of black clad rabbis go to temple.

It is the close of our first day in this ancient city, our feet are hot and tired after 7 hours of exploring and we feel deeply grateful.

Shalom