The Syriac Orthodox Church

This little Church dedicated to St. Mark is built atop one of the supposed sites of the Last Supper. In this case the “Upper Room” is down a flight of stairs under the chapel. The Syriac Orthodox Church had its founding under Peter in Antioch and has the oldest surviving liturgy of any Christian Church. Indeed, it was at Antioch that believers were first called “Christian.” See Luke 11:25 (I think—I don’t have my bible here). The liturgy is in Syriac Aramaic, which is significant because Aramaic was the common language of the entire eastern Mediterranean during the early Roman Empire, and thus would have been the language that the Lord spoke in Palestine. In the Church we were sadly too late for prayers, but we met Justine, the caretaker, who was a stout little woman of about sixty, who took us inside the chapel, unlocking the doors from a large ring of keys at her belt, and drawing back the red and gold emblazoned curtain to let us see the altar. She bade us sit on a bench while she gave us, in enthusiastic and slurring English, a history of her beloved Church. I made the faux paux of crossing my legs in the Church as we sat, which brought a stern reprimand—I now know one never crosses ones legs in an Orthodox Church, nor ever show the bottom of your shoes to a Muslim. Live and learn. Justine, among other things, told us of many miracles which have occurred in the Church in history before the altar of the Virgin Mary, off to the side, including, according to her account, an event of speaking in tongues a year ago and at about the same time an appearance of the Savior to a woman from France in the underground “Upper Room.” The event of the appearance is secondhand, as the Frenchwoman told her through translation. Her description of the event of speaking in tongues is more interesting, as she was one of the participants. She said that she speaks Syriac, Hebrew and English. One day a Russian man came into the church, who spoke only Russian. She said that she conversed with the man for over an hour “In English.” The man left, and then returned 3 months later. As they spoke upon his return she could not understand him, nor he her. He became angry and signaled for her to stop speaking and then retreated to the side altar to Mary. She said she prayed to understand why he was angry and why he would not speak to her in Engish. As she prayed a friend from Jerusalem entered who spoke both Russian and Hebrew. She had the newcomer ask the Russian man why he was angry. He told Justine, through the translator, that he couldn’t understand why she didn’t speak Russian to him as she had before. It was a very interesting account. Today, at the conclusion of our visit with Justine, before we inspected the underground “Upper Room,” (which was unremarkable, indeed had modern plastered walls) Justine sang for us the Lord’s Prayer in Syriac in the chapel, which was remarkable.

The Faces of the People

I am fascinated by the amazing diversity of those in the Old City--Jews, Muslims, Christians, Priests, Rabbis, tourists, pilgrims, vendors, thieves, soldiers, beggars, men and women and children of every color, creed and nation. Indeed, I find myself sometimes more interested in faces of the people who come here--the worshipers, the curious, the seekers, the pilgrims--than in the monuments they have come to see.

The Khalidi Family's Private Library and Mosque

As a surprise, Max and Brooke took me today to meet Hefa Khalidi in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. Hefa is the heir and conservator of the Khalidi Library (al-Maktaba al-Khalidiyya), which was established in 1899 by her great grandfather, Hajj Raghib al-Khalidi. The Khalidi family have lived in the Old City for centuries and members of the family have served as judges, administrators and leading aids to the Ottoman Empire. The library is based on family holdings of manuscripts and books collected by the family over many centuries.

We went first to Hefa's house, which is entered by an unobtrusive green door along the narrow streets of the Muslim Quarter. She was expecting us, and took a ring of keys and invited us about two doors down the street. Inside a stone structure we were shown a family mausoleum with graves of three of her ancestors. In an adjoining room we were shown the private family mosque, with bookshelves and family photographs along one wall, a spiral staircase in the corner, and the marble niche facing Mecca on the opposite wall. She gave me a history of her family, dating back many centuries to days when her forefathers were prominent in Ottoman Empire affairs. She then took us up the spiral staircase to the manuscript collection. Here on steel shelves were many thousands of manuscripts. She showed us a half a dozen of these. The were all richly illustrated, and written in Arabic, Turkish and Kurdish. Most were at least 4-500 years old and at least one of the manuscripts she showed us was more than 1,000 years old.

Hefa's family has lived in this house, very near the Western Wall of the Temple Mount, for centuries. Interestingly, she also told us that her family previously owned vast tracts of land on Mount Scopus, which were taken away from the family upon Israeli Independence, and the Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies is now built on former Khalidi land. Max later told me that while the family never received compensation for its Mount Scopus holdings, the University has been very generous in offering scholarships to Palestinians over the years, in part because of the Khalidi family. Max also told me that one of Hefa's cousins is a renowned Palestinian scholar living in the United States, now teaching at the University of Illinois.

One of the impressions I take away from meeting Hefa Khalidi is the rich heritage of Islam.

Organ Concert at the Jerusalem Center

This evening I attended an organ concert by Walter Whipple at the Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies. This is my first visit to the center, which is one of the most amazing places I have ever been. Located on the top of Mount Scopus, the large arched windows of the center overlook the Old City. Outside the gardens are enclosed by a high wall, and there are about a half a dozen working olive presses on the grounds. Inside the meeting rooms and reception rooms are lofty and airy with beautiful woodwork throughout. There was an art show underway (as there always is). My wife, Julie, would have loved this one--quilts created by local Jerusalem artists (I attach one example, Jewel).

The highlight of the evening was the amazing organ concert put on by Walter Whipple, who is one of the service volunteers working at the center.

Walter Whipple is one of the kindest, most humble men I have ever met. But his amazing history belies his modesty. He studied organ from the age of 11, eventually studying with Alexander Schreiner. He eventually earned a Phd. in organ performance and for about two decades was a professor of organ at a University in Illinois, while also playing cello in the Rockford Symphony Orchestra. At age 40 he took a sabbatical to Poland, where he lived for a year learning to make violins. He returned for his academic career, but at age 50 changed careers and became a professor of Polish Language at BYU, where he finished his career.

Tonight he played a program of Bach, Mendelssohn and Franck. I include some sample videos of his playing.

The City of David

This morning I went with Max and Brooke to the City of David--the historical area located south of the Temple Mount and just outside the city walls. This is the original site of the Jebusite city which was conquered by the Israelites as they moved into the region. It is also the location of David's palace. We drove to the city by taxi, where they were selling these amazing bread rings. The City of David is actually a National Park, and we signed up for the "three hour tour" (yes, just like Gilligan's Island). We saw a 3d film depicting the history of the City of David, then went to observation points where we could watch the archaeological work going forward, and also see the exposed walls of the ancient Jebusite stronghold as well as of the walls and other structures of David's time. We also had spectacular views of the Kidron Brook far below, of the ancient Moslem neighborhood on the opposite side of the ravine, of the many graves and tombs in the valley and a spectacular view of the city south of the Old City. We also were able to descend deep into the earth to see Hezekiah's tunnel and other tunnels associated with the amazing underground water system of ancient times, and ended up at the south end of the City of David where they have recently uncovered the upper part of the Pool of Siloam, mentioned in both the Old and New Testaments. This is the place where Jesus healed a blind man by anointing his eyes with mud and then instructing him to watch in the Pool of Siloam. We also saw a Byzantine structure nearby which was for centuries identified as the Biblical Pool of Siloam, but which is actually a later structure. Finally, we walked all the way back up nearly to the Temple Mount to catch a taxi back to Hebrew University.

We had a very outspoken tour guide, "Helen," who passed up no opportunity to belittle and denigrate the Muslims who live in the area. The historical presentation was interesting and enlightening, but blatantly one-sided. For example, the period from 600 B.C. to the destruction of the Temple in 70 A.D. was literally explained in a single sentence in the introductory film. From "Helen's" viewpoint, the historical events surrounding the lives of Jesus and Mohammed and their followers is insignificant.

We were also quite amused how "Helen" seemed to get in confrontations with other tour guides conducting tours in other languages--Hebrew, German, Portuguese, etc.

Sherut From Tel Aviv to Jerusalem

I rode from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem by Sherut. The cost is 50 Shekels and the driver delivers you right to your destination. The driver and passengers were all very convivial, and let me borrow their cell phones several times to call my nephew, Max Stoneman, who was waiting to meet the green traveler when he arrived at French Hill in Jerusalem. On the drive I had a long, serious discussion with an Hassidic Jew by the name of Avraham Bamberger. He is originally from England, has lived in Israel for 13 years and has a young family. He is a scholar and the associate of one of the most renowned Rabbis in Israel. He took a great interest in me, even gave me his phone number telling me that he would be happy to assist me during my trip. We talked much of Jerusalem, the Temple and my work as a judge.

The driver delivered me to the north gate of the student housing area of Hebrew University, where Max met me.

Mamadu and Me

This is my new friend, Mamadu, who works in the Hotel Kharkiv as a bellhop. He is from Senegal originally and is has been in Ukraine for the past four years studying economics. I have had several long discussions with him. He is from a large family of seven children in Senegal and has not seen his family in four years. He speaks Soninke, French, Arabic, English and Russian. He lived for four years in Cairo and is a devout Muslim. We discussed families, living abroad and education. He plans to return to live and work in Senegal.

Chance Reunion of German Missionaries

More than thirty years ago I lived in Germany for two years as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My first assignment in Germany was in a little branch of the Church in Duisburg-Hamborn, a heavily populated area at the confluence of the Rhine and Ruhr Rivers.

This afternoon I had a mission reunion of sorts, as I was invited to have dinner with Judge Steven Swift and his lovely wife Lorraine in the vicinity of the Lukyanivska Metro station. Judge Swift currently lives in Ukraine and has also lectured this year for the Leavitt Institute. Also at dinner was a longtime friend of Judge Swift, Wilfried M. Voge. We soon discovered in our dinner conversation that the three of us--Judge Swift, Wilfried Voge and myself--all served missions in the Germany Duesseldorf Mission as young men (although Steve and Wilfried preceded me there by more than a decade). I further discovered in the course of our conversation, that Wilfried actually founded the Hamborn Branch, where I first served. We had a long pleasant conversation about Germany and, of course, Ukraine. Wilfried's wife Meka is a native Ukrainian and they have deep ties to this nation--Wilfried having served as the President of the Kyiv Ukraine Mission of the church from 1996 through 1999.

After dinner Wilfried and I walked together from the Lukyanivska district all the way to St. Michaels. It was a pleasant and unexpected reunion.

Back from Kharkiv to Kyiv

Today I taught a lecture on direct examination to the two Kharkiv classes. The last class ended at about 4:00, and Tetiana and I then dashed to the train station and boarded for the return trip to Kyiv. Below see an outside shot of the amazing palace-like train station in Kharkiv. For the benefit of my grandson, who loves trains, I also include a picture of the train we rode back to Kyiv tonight.

Unlike Monday, today's ride was mostly in the dark. I met another memorable personality on the train--a big, voluble and gregarious man named Slava, We chatted about Ukraine, Russia, America, Salt Lake City, Utah, etc. while he proceeded to lay out his dinner on the little drop down table before him. Oh my--a loaf of bread, a liter or two of apple juice, another liter or two of some alcoholic beverage, an entire can of olives, and two huge containers of ham--these were topped off by sunflower seeds, more drinks, and a couple of rounds of tea delivered by the uniformed functionaries in clear glass cups held by intricately wrought silver drink holders. I think it took him two and a half hours to finish eating.

I later fell asleep during the return trip, and awoke just before we reached Kyiv at about 10:15 p.m. Tomorrow we teach at the Taras Shevchenko University and the National Aviation University.

Kharkiv's Plóshchad' Svobódy

I slept like Lenin in Lenin's tomb last night (there is a monumental statue of Lenin in Площадь Свободы--Ploshchad Svobody--hence the historical reference) and I am up early and ready to go! I was exhausted last night, but am slowly adapting to the jet lag.

I forgot to mention my new best friend--Mamadu--a six foot three African from Senegal who works as a doorman at my hotel, the Hotel Kharkiv. Mamadu is a student at Kharkiv University and has been a delight to visit with. He tells me that early in the morning there are many runners who circle the vast Ploshchad Svobody or Freedom Square. I'll give it a try in a couple of hours (with my orange running vest on, of course--the drivers are crazy--Tetiana told me yesterday that the previous Judge was almost run down by a car last week as they were trying to cross the cobblestoned square). Tetiana also told me that this is reportedly the largest square in Europe.

Not only is the hotel on this square, but also Kharkiv University. Some pictures taken on the square are attached (including this awesome aerial shot, which I obviously didn't take because it is a-from an airplane and b-during the summer). Also shown is my sweet writing desk in my room in the Hotel Kharkiv, a picture of me on the square and one of Tetiana, and finally me on the steps of one of the monumental Soviet-era University campus buildings facing the square, and my friend, the stray dog getting into the pic.

Journey Home: New York to Salt Lake City

The final leg of my journey took me on a nighttime Delta flight to Salt Lake City from JFK airport. I found myself sitting next to Elder Shtrbachka, a young man from Novisad, Serbia who is one of the first full-time LDS missionaries from that Balkan country. He will serve for the next two years in the Utah Salt Lake City North Mission. A member of the LDS Church for only nineteen months, I was impressed with his intelligence, good humor and courage.

After eating dinner on the plane, I was able to sleep for about four hours before landing in Salt Lake City just before midnight. Thus ends my journey of more than ten thousand miles.

An "Avoska"--Just in Case

I learned a valuable lesson this week from the Leavitt Institute's Ukrainian "handler, confidant and guardian," Olga Kupriyevych. (Olga is pictured here with Ukrainian First Lady, Katerina Yushchenko). On Tuesday night we were walking past the myriad humble food vendors lining the sidewalks near the Byeresteyska Metro station, when Olga spied some very nice looking potatoes. "Oh," she said. "I need some potatoes." She then reached in her blue briefcase and pulled out a large, sturdy plastic sack. She purchased the potatoes and stowed them in the bag, and we were on our way.

She later explained that growing up in a small village north of Kyiv, her grandfather taught her that she should always carry an extra bag. He called this an "авоска," which means, "just in case." Thus, "just in case" you saw something along your way that you needed, you could immediately buy it and place it in your "avoska" without having to return home for something to carry it in.

There is great wisdom in carrying an "avoska" in our journeys. We ought never to be so smug to think that we know it all, or we have all that we can ever need. There will be rich stores of experience, knowledge, friendship and Wisdom along our paths. When we meet someone new, or attain some new insight--think thoughts we have never had before--we should pull out our "avoskas," and go on our way rejoicing. Thanks, Olga, for sharing your rich experience and perspective with me these past two weeks. I will carry them in my "avoska" forevermore.

A "Reasonable American"

On Sunday night I was invited to dinner at the home of Olga Kupriyevych, the director of the Leavitt Foundation's on-the-ground efforts in Kyiv. Also present was her three year old grandson, Nestor. I took gift books both the Olga and to Nestor, who seemed very anxious to talk to me, and came several times into the living room to invite me to come into the sitting room to talk to him--in Russian, of course, as he knows no English. Actually, I found that I conversed better with Nestor than with anyone else I have spoken to in Russian during my visit.(I guess that is about my level--three year old conversation).

Today Olga told me that Nestor had really enjoyed my visit. He told her that he was very impressed that (unlike the other Judges who have been here this fall) I speak Russian, and that I therefore was "a reasonable American."

Daniel the Chronicler

At the conclusion of our wonderful visit to hear the Ukrainian Orthdox mass presented by the young seminarians at the Refectory Chamber in the very ancient Church of St. John the Theologian, Olga gave to me, as a gift, a beautiful icon depicting "Даниил" (the Old Tesament Prophet Daniel). She then said that I am becoming "Daniel the Chronicler;" that through my descriptions of Kyiv, I will open many eyes, not only of Americans but also of Ukrainians; and that my insights are important to record. This special gift will become one of my most treasured remembrances of Ukraine!

Dear Jonathan: This is for You

To my dear son in law, Jonathan:

I found another accordian for you in Ukaine. Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoy it.

Your loving father-in-law.

P.S. Is that really all you want for Christmas ?

Shovelers and Loafers

It snowed again in the night, and as I enjoyed my perambulations in the morning sun, I noticed many diligent workers wielding snow shovels. Some were on the sidewalks in front of private residence buildings. Many were on public walkways in or near Pechersk Lavra. They were using what looked to me to be very primitive shovels--straight and flat pieces of sheet metal rivited to wooden boards, or wooden shovels, or even old mediaeval looking brooms made from long branches. Interestingly, the men I saw working with the shovels didn't seem to be accomplishing much, but the women--and these were not young women--were making real headway.

One of my grandfathers built his own snow shovel, which could plow the entire width of a Salt Lake City street, and even into his seventies, he would arise at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning, and essentially shovel the snow all the way around the block in his West-side home. He was of the same mettle and determination as the older women I saw this morning.

I guess we could classify people in this world as shovelers and loafers. Some are willing to clear the path for those who follow, to scrape away the ice, push aside the snow. Others are content to watch, to chat, to smoke, to let their fellow laborers do the heavy lifting.