One more week in Jerusalem
“Well, all that confirms my beliefs.” said Marina as we settled back in the hostel, as Mark returned to his wife. all that chatting up and no result.
“And mine.” I said spoiling for a fight. “It’s all a great big con like Santa Claus.”
“Not if you belief in Jesus.”
“I do but only as a communist agitator.” I could smell her anger.
“What! How dare you insult our Lord.”
I had had this argument on many occasions, often in Rugby clubs. As a player from Battersea Ironsides, we were a working class side playing in poshest Surrey. Sometimes, not often, the conversation drifted to politics. “Communism doesn’t work.” one would often hear.
“Really? What’s this Rugby club then?” I loved the look of total astonishment on their faces as the truth dawned on them. It is the same with any religion. Churches claim that everyone is equal in the eyes of God, but have a very strict hierarchy that re-enforced the monarchy system. The Romans saw the turn-the-other-cheek bit as a great form of suppression. Strange how the head of any church has wealth beyond needs.
“So why is there such conflict among Protestants and Catholics then?”
“Because men have sin.”
“And women.” interjected Susie with her usual perfect timing. “Well I do anyway.”
“How come then that Jesus kicked over the money lenders’ tables? Not exactly meek and mild.”
“Because they were sinners.”
“Oh, that’s perfectly alright then?”
“What I want to know is, that if the 3 wise men came from the East with Frankenstein and stuff, how come they lost track of him until he was in his 30’s?” asked Susie without expecting a reply; she did not get one.
The next morning, being short of cash, I ventured to a bank, hoping the credit card would hold out. As low as I got I always kept enough traveller’s cheques for a flight home. What a wimp!
There was a long queue as everybody wanted to talk about their washing. It was good drying weather. When I got to the front I was in the wrong line and had to join the next line.
When I got to the front of that one a woman shoved me out of the way, then another and another. Their lives were far more important than mine. I developed the tactic of spreading myself as wide as I could, but that did not work.
Eventually I lost it.
“Don’t let her push in! I was here first. It’s bad manners.” I yelled.
The whole bank fell silent and turned to look at me. I was a stranger in a strange land, but I was not going to let my morals slip, well not yet anyway.
Yom Kippur was upon us, the Day of Atonement, and everything was closed. On this day nothing must pass a Jews lips: no drink, no food and definitely no oral sex, chance would have been a fine thing. We had to stock up on food and drink as no shops were open at all. John told me that even the heroin dealers kept Yom Kippur. I was puzzled as to how he knew but worked it out eventually.
I went jogging to maintain my fitness levels. I still had most of my saturation level suntan and looked disgustingly healthy, but ‘disgusting’ has always been my middle name.
A small girl was walking along with her mother, saw me and went into fits of laughter. Her mother smiled, a happy memory.
In 1973 the Egyptian army decided the best time to attack Israel was when its military was fasting. Rabbis have since made an allowance for guys on active service, nice of them. They are allowed to eat and drink if they feel the need. Unfortunately, the rule does not apply to oral sex.