The rest of the day was, well, interesting. I got to putz around in the Temple Institute for about an hour, reading various books.
These are the folks who are preparing all the temple artifacts for the future temple, such as the menora I photographed in an earlier post.
I was a few feet away from the counter reading a book I think I really must buy, when a bearded guy with long hair and a cowboy hat came in and started taking to the proprietor, a Brit who emigrated to Israel.
I tried to close my ears, but you've seen them - easier said than done.Anyway, he's been very involved in all that Sinai in the Arabian peninsula archeological intrigue that's been a hot item on youtube and which one or two Lakeviewers have been pretty excited about.
After all that cloak and dagger stuff, I wandered here and there in the old city tourist-watching, as well as spying on the locals. Eventually, I headed back "home," but decided to walk rather than use my return train ticket.
My first stop of interest en route was the Bible Society. As I looked in the window at some great titles about Scripture and Jesus, an orthodox man, in black suit and hat, did the same. I prayed then and invite you to pray with me again - that he might find the Messiah who gave His life's blood for him.
Speaking of blood, the next stop on my jaunt was the famous Ben Yehuda, street (where the Jews of Jerusalem do much of their shopping and where 11 were killed in a suicide bombing a decade ago).
In the square I saw a mobile blood unit. On a whim, I poked my head in and asked if you had to be an Israeli to donate blood. "No," the guy wearing blue latex gloves replied, "you just need a passport."
Well, that wasn't quite true since I had to fill in a questionnaire about who I'd been sleeping with etc. Worse than that, it was in Hebrew. They gave me a cheat sheet in English, but I think I still only got a D+ on the test cause here documents go from right to left and it's all pretty confusing for a guy who's from down under.
The whole thing, which was meant to take 20 minutes, took an hour. But I can now say I gave a pint of blood for an Israeli since a Jew shed his life's blood for me.
I also got two free cups of water.
They told me not to exert myself, so I moseyed on home at a geriatric pace. This let me observe slices of normal Israeli life. The ones that stick with me now: a secular man determinedly racing the train on his bike; a religious man running, undignified, for the train (his son's ringlets/side curls bobbing as the young boy tried to keep up with his father); a dentist's office set below street level so I could observe the prone body and two gowned figures looking into his mouth. What's "ouch" in Hebrew?
The final image is multi-sensory, not just visual. I smelled the bakery first, then saw the biggest and most delectable round doughnut I've ever seen. And it was deluged with cinnamon sugar.
I'd like to be able to tell you I just walked on by, but that would be a lie. My knees grew weak and I felt faint. Was it loss of blood, or the doughnut? I couldn't tell. So I went up close for a better look. And a better smell.
Oi Vey, it was good. It was irresistible. But I walked away. Slowly. Ponderously. I felt like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Arnold as a geriatric. It was, perhaps, my finest hour in the Holy Land.
