The spiritual journey in Jerusalem brings unexpected connections and answered prayers. But an encounter with security forces serves as a stark reminder of the city's complex reality, prompting an abrupt end to the trip.
Two things happened before I went to Israel in 2007. The first one: one of my students came to my workplace with the wife of her pastor. The pastor was hospitalized because he had cancer, and perhaps because my student was talking about me, the pastor wanted to meet me because there is a mother with two children who cannot speak Japanese well. The pastor's church has been supporting this mother and children, and the pastor wanted me to support them. So I went to the hospital with them.
Because the pastor has been in the hospital for a long time, I challenged him to introduce the mother and children to me by himself—that he must go to the church himself. He was evidently weak, and I knew he could not go to his church in that situation. Then suddenly they asked me to pray for him. That is something I have never done before, but I have seen people doing it like pastors in the church. I agreed to the request. I prayed that he will be given strength enough to be able to go to the church the following Sunday.
Then came the Sunday that we were waiting for. I met the mother and her two children, and the Holy Mass began. My student and I were hoping the Pastor would come but without much expectation. The Mass was ongoing when the church door opened. It was the Pastor on a wheelchair being pushed by someone. I was probably the happiest person that moment because I believed that my prayer was heard. Everyone greeted him with excitement, then the Mass continued. I was invited to speak that day even if it was my first time to visit. I was in front talking when there was a silent panic. The Pastor was not feeling well and had to be taken back to the hospital. Within a few days, he passed away and I was able to attend his funeral.
On October 8th, 2007, I was in my Japanese partner’s house planning to cook squash in the kitchen. I had one whole squash to prepare. When I tried to cut it, the knife slipped and I accidentally cut my right finger. I am left-handed, that’s why. The impact was so deep it cut through my middle finger nail.
Then on November 2, 2007, when I was in Jerusalem, particularly at the place of the caretaker of the Hezekiah’s tunnel, also called pool of Siloam, something happened as a consequence of these two incidents. The place was reportedly discovered in 2004, three years before I got there. My two companions, a man and a woman, joined me when I went to immerse myself in the pool like others did. Because it was late in the afternoon of Friday, I had the pool for myself. My woman friend companion even lit some candles she bought at the entrance and said prayers while I was in the water. We then went to the house of Abraham, the caretaker of the place, to change my clothes. He even offered us some coffee.
I found him very kind and accommodating, so when I heard that he had knee pains, I remembered how I prayed for the Pastor. But I was not confident it will work again. Then my desire to help overshadowed my doubts. I offered to pray for his knees to which he agreed. I put my hands on his knees and quietly said my prayers.
After that, my male companion asked, “Are you a prophet or something?” I said, “No, I am not a prophet.” Because he already knew that I was an English teacher in Japan, I continued and said what came to my mind, “I am a farmer. I used to farm coconut as a child with my father. We would farm other landowners coconut most of the time.” (I was indeed helping my father, as the eldest child, farm coconut at an early age after my grandfather died.)
Then he proceeded to ask me about my wounded hand. “What are those wounds in your hand?” he asked. I told him how I got it. “These are the wounds I got when I was in my partner’s house.” I told him how exactly I got it, even the date when it happened. He was surprised because he said October 8th is the death anniversary of his late girlfriend. Was the conversation something programmed to happen long before I was born?
I was walking from the Bible study back to the Inn one day when a woman sitting beside the walkway spoke loudly to the passersby and asked, "What would you do if your boss made you choose between your job and your faith?" I looked at her and smiled when our eyes met. I said it just happened to me and I chose faith. She invited me to sit beside her and we talked.
Her name was Leah, a Jehovah’s Witness Church member trying to share the word of God to other people. We checked some verses in my Bible, but we had to put it away quickly because according to her, people are not allowed to read the New Testament in public places. With the police officers in uniform riding their horses roaming around the area, we decided we had better meet again somewhere sometime soon. And that’s what we did. She then turned out to be my mentor, a tour guide, and a friend. We went around the Old City of Jerusalem by walking on its walls. She took me inside the building across from my inn that I used to look at from my room. In there were important archaeological finds and a miniature model of the Old City and the Temple Mount, among other things. We also went to the Mount of Olives and from there passed the closed Golden Gate to the east. She also brought to my attention the huge gravestones in a cemetery on the other side across from the gate.
After cleaning the compound and its surroundings for a week, the time came when everyone seemed to be inspired to clean up the inner parts too. The man in charge of the Last Supper room threw away some unwanted things from the window and I put them in the garbage. That was after we had cleaned the stairs toward it and the wide pavement outside its main door. The rooms next to the Psalms room, which were on the same level as the ground, were also cleaned, but not just by sweeping. Someone used a hose of water to wash the dirt off the floors and the walkways outside, including the platform where pilgrims and their tour guide stand as they look at the place. The Kohen told me it was the first time he saw them do that.
It was the Friday morning of my second week when I sat down on the platform facing the Psalms room right across from a key-shaped hole in its wall. There was another hole on the opposite wall of the room, but it was a little higher in position. According to the Kohen, there was a particular time when the sunlight goes into the higher hole and passes out through the lower hole. Thinking that the place was special, I decided to say a prayer before leaving that day.
Because I had just finished cleaning and the day was getting warmer, I took off my vest and put it down not far from where I sat down. I closed my eyes and silently said a prayer. I asked God a question and also for a sign.
Shocked by the coincidence, I stood up and went to the Psalms room where the Kohen was waiting. He was going to introduce me to a person with authority over the Western Wall because I needed permission for my new plan. I wanted to pick up the garbage around the Western Wall, but with the security checkpoint and seemingly suspicious eyes around, we both thought it would be better if the authorities knew about me.
At first, we wanted to get inside the Western Wall area and waited in line for several minutes. But the line was long and the security check was making the movement too slow. The Kohen decided to leave the line before our turn came, so I followed him. But our moves did not escape the security officers’ attention. Two of them were looking at us when we left the line and headed up. We entered a narrow pathway and turned left and right several times until we reached the place of a man. He was probably in his sixties, and by his looks, I could tell that he was Jewish. They spoke in Hebrew, and I was later asked some questions before he gave his nod. I now had permission to clean at the Western Wall area.
We traced our way back to where we got in and finally exited at a familiar place. It was somewhere down in the shopping area below the Petra Inn. The area was now crowded with people both going up and down the stairs. Because I had passed the place at least once a day since I arrived, I already knew the place by heart.
The Kohen, however, seemed to be window shopping, so his pace was quite slow. I was several steps ahead of him, but I kept looking back to see if he was following me. Right after I stepped onto the level ground at the top of the stairs, several men in casual wear surrounded me and asked for my passport.
As I took it from my bag, they asked how long I had been there. I answered their question and proved it by showing them the visa stamped at the airport in my passport. They asked me what I was doing in Jerusalem so I told them I was a tourist and that I was staying right above the place where we were standing.
It was then that the Kohen came from behind and asked what was going on. The men then asked me if I was with him and I told him I was. I was asked again by another man and I gave the same answer. To answer the Kohen’s question, I said they were just checking my passport and there was no problem. The men returned my passport and started to move away as the Kohen also did. While the men could still hear, I bid the Kohen goodbye and said "See you at one o’clock."
When I told the Kohen earlier that there was no problem, it was not exactly true. In my mind, I could sense some trouble forming. Because of what happened with the men and what I heard about security issues in Jerusalem, I decided to cut my trip short.
It felt like I had many things to do in Israel, but I still had to go back to Japan. I called the airline to ask for the first available flight I could take so I could change my return ticket’s date. I booked the early Sunday morning flight and completed the necessary procedures. I told the inn caretaker about it and asked for assistance in finding transportation to the airport. Through their help, I reserved a seat in a van that would pick me up in front of the inn on Saturday just before midnight. I then called Mitch to tell him that I was coming home.
This chapter highlights the contrast between the deeply personal spiritual milestones—such as the sign of the bell and the healing prayer—and the realities of navigating a heavily surveilled city. The questioning by the men in casual wear serves as the catalyst that ultimately signals it is time to return home.