All Roads Lead to Jerusalem by Jenny Lynn Jones

Author:Jenny Lynn Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titletown Publishing, LLC
Published: 2014-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

I parked my car in a small, fenced area that I hoped would be safe and I crossed through a walking security checkpoint. I passed through a long, chain-link chute and emerged into a huge, noisy melee of crowds, honking taxis, and men shouting destinations in the city that I had no chance of comprehending. Always finding it better to ask women for directions, I hurried over to a small group of college-aged girls and asked them the way to the city center taxis. There, I found one and settled into it with another woman, happily waiting for enough other passengers for us to depart.

Now, I normally have a better sense of social responsibility, such as waiting for my turn, etc. But there was something about this country on both sides of the Green Line that made embracing its residents’ seemingly general disregard for lines and common courtesy uncommonly easy. So, when my co-passenger brought up the bright-idea to jump taxi and make for the next one with only two passengers till take-off, I happily made for the new car, full of passengers, idling, and ready to go. Ah. That’s better. I smiled at my seatmate, and she winked at me in response.

Funny how it only takes a second for smugness to evaporate, though. As soon as the first, now jilted driver spotted us—his lost prey—he sprinted over to the taxi, ripped open the driver’s door mid-acceleration, and hauled the man out like a light sack of potatoes. The car shuddered to a sudden stall.

Thankfully, and as usual in the West Bank, other men intervened before an all-out brawl could ensue, pulling the two drivers apart and forcing a quick reconciliation. With additional problems averted, the driver returned to the car, pulled out a cigarette, and screeched out of the lot, cursing the other driver loudly out the window.

Although my Arabic had been steadily improving, I still wasn’t confident that I could navigate a new city with my linguistic handicap, no map, no car of my own, and—as I was just realizing in the car as we neared the city center—no cell phone. Uh oh. Even my phone’s SIM card was “Israeli” and wouldn’t function in Nablus. Still, there had to be a way to find Father Ibrahim, who, according to Omar, would be happy to point me the way to the church at Jacob’s well and introduce me its resident priest.

After I got out in the city center, I calculated my next move. I didn’t have a lot of time, and I certainly didn’t want to go back through Huwwara at night, so I decided to find the fastest way to locate Father Ibrahim. Hunt down another Christian—and to do that, all I’d have to do was look for a sign…

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