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I wrote this little story a year or so ago...It was on my other blog, but I thought this viewing audience may appreciate it:

Morning In Jerusalem

It is a little past four in the morning and I cannot
sleep. My internal clock is screaming at me, so is the
baby. I'm not sure who built this house, but I'm
starting to think Jesus may have turned water into
wine next door. I think I watched a chunk of the wall
fall to the ground. I thought that I knew Jerusalem,
but I'm confused. I got lost like three times walking
to that playgroup. I don't understand why my sister
felt the need to live close to so many relics. I'm
frightened of falling in a large hole. I'll open my
eyes and find a small group of smelly, teva-clad Brown
students trying to figure out what archeological pile
I fit into. Then they'll find little Jacob tipped
over in his bugaboo stroller. They'll decide that the
Bal Shem Tov really is the Moshiach and he's come back
as an Israeli child stuffed into an American pram.
Chaos will ensue, Hasids will be running
everywhere...they'll fly in the Moshiach Mobile.

When I thought I had finally freed myself from the trenches of the old city, I pushed the baby toward a group of Korean Catholics. I thought I'd be able to wind my way through them. I thought they would step aside for a nice Jewish girl and a beautiful baby. Apparently baby edicate was not on their minds. They were focused on one task: following Jesus. Suddenly I'm trapped on the Via Delarosa with a busload of Koreans. Station after station they push and prod me toward the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. All I can think is: Holy Fudge-Sticks, this guy fell a lot.

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