DAY  8

After lunch at a kibbutz, we headed to western Galilee and drove to the Children's Holocaust Museum, Yad Layeled.  Our guide, Tali, explained that the kibbutz which houses the museum was founded by survivors from Zionist youth movements as a memorial, especially to families who died in Poland.  Each year in April, on Holocaust Memorial Day, there is a ceremony here attended by over 30,000 youth.  The children's memorial, built by the same architect who designed the Supreme Court building in Jerusalem, attempts to mirror with its architectural structure the story it was built to tell-- the story of children swept up in the darkness and helplessness of war.  The memorial is approached through a tunnel with light shining through at the other end, for although the confusion and oppression of war are portrayed here, life, light, and a rebirth of hope are repeatedly stressed throughout.  The building itself is circular, its shape reminiscent of a whirlpool.  It was thought that this design best refelcted a child's experience of war-- being trapped, sucked in and pulled down in an ever darkening spiral from which it is almost impossible to escape.

Thursday, 14 January

Walking outside after an early breakfast, we rejoiced to see Spot, one of the kibbutz's dogs. Father Greg seemed to delight in predicting that the hapless canine would meet an untimely end, and so every morning and evening it was a point of great interest to us to see whether Spot would make an appearance.

Spot lives!

The Children's Holocaust Museum at Yad Layeled

As we drove through Nazareth our guide pointed out the cliff from which, tradition says, the townspeople tried to throw Jesus.  Exiting the city we passed into the Jezreel Valley. In the distance and to the left rose the towering form of Mount Tabor, which stands apart, solitary among the hills and mountains surrounding it.  Thick, dense fog engulfed the valley, cypress trees rising up from it like thin spectres shrouded in mist.  Gradually the fog lifted to reveal rich, dark soil hedged by trees planted to drain the swamps.

Having arrived at the foot of the mountain we began our ascent, but about half way there we reached an impasse: our bus would go no further up the steep, roughly paved road to the top.  No vehicle larger than a car can make the climb up the rest of the sharply winding path, and so we all piled into taxis waiting by the roadside.  Our driver, a Bedouin who seemed to take an unholy delight in the sense of immanent death which siezed us each time we flew at breakneck speed around one of the sixteen close turns along the way, yelped and cheered and shouted, "Hallelujah!" as our cab skidded and swerved between the sheer mountain wall on one side and the sheer drop off on the other.  The ten minute ride was spent in utter terror, though I took comfort in the fact that it would at least be an interesting way to meet my Maker.

We started our tour in a circular room at the top of the building.  The floor was a harsh, dark metal, and the sphere in the center was inscribed with a line from a poem written by a child in Theresienstadt: "Butterflies don't live here in the ghetto".  It was a deeply moving experience to look up and see, directly above the quote, light streaming through brilliant stained glass (designed by an artist who, as a child, survived the Holocaust) in the image of a butterfly.

Mount Tabor is considered to be the place of the transfiguration, when Jesus, to the bewildered awe of Peter, James and John, was transformed in glory as He conversed with Moses and Elijah.  Inside the church we were met by a silent and grave Franciscan who motioned to us to be seated.  Above the altar is a brilliant mosaic with the words, "Et transfiguratus est ante nos" (and He was transfigured before us); Jesus stands in the center, His face and clothes shining with a glorious brightness.  Moses and Elijah are close by, but Peter, James and John have fallen back to the ground, stupefied and overcome.  The steps leading down to the altar are covered by an arch of mosaic in the deepest blue I have ever seen.  Each side of the arch contains two depictions: On the left side, the first scene is of angels standing behind the infant Jesus with the inscription "Filius datus est nobis" (a Son is given to us); the second portrays angels with grapes and wheat next to the words, "Ego sum panis vitae" (I am the bread of life).  On the right, the scene deep inside the arch shows angels venerating a lamb, and bears the inscription "fui mortuus et ecce sum vivens" (I was dead and behold, I am living).  The outermost scene portrays angels at the empty tomb with the words "surrexit, non est hic" (He has risen; He is not here).  Behind the altar sunlight filters through a stained glass window, flooding the church with gold and purple light so deep and rich and warm that the words inscribed above the window seemed to take on its vibrancy: "Domine, bonus est hic esse"-- Lord, it is good for us to be here.

Each of us were given an audio guide with children's voices narrating the exhibits, and then left to make our way through the museum on our own.  We walked slowly from one display to the next, circling ever downward to closer and more realistic scenes, from the shattered windows of Kristalnacht to the gravel and tracks of a train station filled with the suitcases of those being deported; from the iron gates, brick walls and barbed wire of the ghetto to the dilapidated, bombed out interior of a ghetto house, complete with a cuphoard disguising a hiding place.  Life sized photos of children and their families were interspersed throughout, and the further down we went, the more dark, narrow, and realistic the surroundings became.  In the very center of the spiral burned an eternal flame.

We had Mass in the church, and then went outside where we climbed onto the red tiled roof for a view of the Jezreel Valley.  Back at ground level, we explored the ruins of an old Crusader church before bracing ourselves for the taxi ride back to the bus.

Another exhibit in the museum memorialized Janusz Korczak, a Polish Jew and pediatrician famous for his progressive views of education which stressed the independence and inherent dignity of children.  During the war he headed an orphanage, and although he was offered the chance to go free, he marched with his orphans through the streets of the Warsaw Ghetto to the trains which carried them to their deaths in Treblinka.  In another section, plaques bore inscriptions such as "To the beloved memory of baby Michael..."; one mother had even sent in the pictures her small son, who did not survive the war, had drawn in the ghetto.

Mount Tabor In the foreground are the ruins of the Crusader church; behind it stands the Church of the Transfiguration

Although later in our trip we would visit Yad Vashem (Israel's Holocaust Memorial Museum) and see much more graphic and disturbing displays, I personally found myself more deeply affected at Yad Layeled.  Perhaps it was the fact that the museum is not only focused on the experience of children but also geared towards their understanding and education (to the point where the windows of houses are positioned at the eye level of a ten year old child) that managed to give this extraordinarily realistic and complex memorial its haunting sense of innocence and childlike simplicity.  Perhaps it was the fact that one can only take in so much horror before being rendered numb and insensible that reduced me to stare with blank incomprehension at the vivid portrayals of human suffering that fill Yad Vashem, yet allowed me to so deeply experience the poignancy, pain and hope depicted here.  Whatever the cause, our visit to Yad Layeled left an impression upon me more profound than I had ever anticipated, and more lasting: often since then I have returned there in my mind to walk through those dark spirals, past the glass and brick and gravel, and to stand, finally in front of the flame that burns in the heart of the whirlpool.

Mass in the Church of the Transfiguration

Able to resume our bus ride, we passed the town of Nein; the village is entirely Muslim, except for one church built on the site where Jesus raised the widow's son from the dead.  On our left we passed Mount Carmel, where Elijah had his showdown with the prophets of Baal.  The church on top of Mout Carmel is called "mikrakhah", an Arab word for "fire"; it marks the place where God burnt Elijah's sacrifice.

Going quickly through an industrial area dotted with oil refineries, we came out onto a coastal road.  To the left we caught glimpses of the Mediterranean; on our right an Arab child led a herd of goats.  Finally, we reached the city of Akko.

We made our way back, stopping at a pretty little resort town called Naharriya to change money.  At Kibbutz Kefar Ha-Choresh we had dinner;  before going to sleep I sat out on the steps for a long time.  We were able to turn in early that night, falling asleep to the sound of chanting and gunfire.

Akko's Old City boasts the largest mosque in Islam-- the "blue mosque".  It is built on top of an underground Crusader city, and our descent into the labyrinth of subterranean halls and tunnels was accompanied by the sound of the azam calling Moslems to prayer.

The underground city is built of sandstone, and utilizes the western architectural concepts of ribbed vaults and keystones.  We descended to the main hall where massive stone columns reinfored with steel bands reach up to transecting arches.  Built by Louis IX, "gothic" arches were actually first introduced here, with the technique later spreading to France.

In the 11th century, a caliph of Egypt, apparantly an eccentric fellow who used to ride his horse facing backwards, burned all of the Catholic churches in the Holy Land.  At the same time in Europe, feudalism and a variety of other factors had resulted in a rather pervasive sense of chaos, and so to deal with both the caliph and the chaos, the pope called a Crusade.  In 1099, although outnumbered eleven to one, the Crusaders established the Jerusalem Kingdom, only to be vanquished in 1187 by Saladin at the Battle of the Horn of Hattin.  Philip II, Frederick Barbarosa and Richard the Lionheart, however, set out in 1191 to regain the Holy Land in the third Crusade.  Only Richard made it through, conquering Cypress and laying seige to Akko.  After four months he took the city, making it the capital of the Crusader Kingdom for the next 100 years.

Over eighty escape tunnels merging to about six main routes leading to the port were discovered.  From 1291-1292 the Muslims attacked; digging under the walls, they removed the sand and replaced it with wood which they set ablaze, causing the walls to collapse.  At this point, the crusaders were exceedingly grateful that they had had the forethought to build escape tunnels, which they then used with all haste as they fled to the boats awaiting them.  When the tunnels and halls were later excavated, they were filled with soil and artifacts from several different periods, as the victorious Muslims simply filled up the crusader city with soil from a tell (a man-made hill) and built their own city right on top of it.

We made our way further downward, to a winding subterranean tunnel, low and narrow.  Following its twists and turns we eventually climbed through an outlet, noting the keystone in the center of the arched doorway.  Until this architectural development, all doorways were square in shape, but the use of the keystone enabled arches to be built which could suport almost unlimited amounts of weight.  Back outside we made our way through the by now customary sight of the market: bright colors, crowds, and narrow lanes lined with stone, cloth and gleaming metal.  Our guide led us to a sweets shop where for ten shekels we could buy a box of Arab cakes, all made with honey, nuts, and that curious straw-like stuff so common here.

Shopping for sweets in Akko

Continuing our walking tour, we discovered that what looked like an Italian piazza was, in fact, an old hotel.  The upper level housed guests, while the lower level was reserved for horses and donkeys.

Wandering through narrow, winding stone streets, the port with its sudden shock of brilliant blue took us by surprise.  In an instant the streets and walls gave way to the sea and sky, and the crowds and narrow lanes yielded to wide open space.  We had reached the Pisian Harbor.  An old man sat on a wall nearby, his skin and clothes the same color as the stone.

We departed from the city of Akko and began to drive to the kibbutz where we would have lunch.  Along the way we passed two kibbutzim-- one founded by Holocaust survivors and the other by children of Nazis who now were seeking to make reparation.  When the kibbutzim were first established, the survivors had wanted nothing to do with their German neighbors, but with war came conscriptions, and to the surprise of the Jewish kibbutzniks the Germans, for seven months during the war, tended to their fields.  Since that time, the relationship between the two kibbutzim has been one of friendship.

Driving further, we passed banana trees and a grafting area where the trunks of orange trees are being grafted so that they will produce mangos, which are more lucrative.  Our guide told us that on their kibbutz there was a tree which they used to call "heaven".  An agricultural experiment, the tree had been grafted with seven other types of trees, so that almost each month it produced a different fruit.

Akko, looking out from inside of the old hotel

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