Upon arrival in Israel, the feeling that I "hacked reality" does not leave me. Many of the places and objects that I had read about in the Bible suddenly became visible to the eyes and touched by the hands. On top of that, I seem to have picked up the password to Jerusalem. At least for now, this word opens all doors for me, even those that are locked with two keys using a ladder. Let's see what will happen next.
It all started with the fact that I checked into a hotel at the Jaffa Gate and went for a walk around the old city. Didn't have any goals. I ended up in the Armenian quarter, simply because it is next to the gate. I saw a group of tourists enter the Cathedral of St. James, not a stranger to me, and followed. Arrived at the end of the service. After it, the tourists went to the exit, the monks - in the other direction. I stuck my nose behind the monks. The father in the hood stopped in the archway and said: "Hey! Where! Are you an Armenian?" "Barev dzes!" - I automatically answered with the intonation with which they usually say: "Well, hello! And who else!" Father Vazgen (as I found out later) immediately prayed for me in the arch and let me into that part of the quarter where, apparently, non-Armenians were not allowed. From walking through the narrow streets, the feeling of "hacked reality" intensified. At the studying glances of passers-by, I said: "Barev dzes." They answered either in the same way, or simply "barev".
That evening I was in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. At 18:45, all visitors began to be escorted out of the temple. At the same time, a crowd lined up outside in front of the entrance, the priest was asking something, and people were raising their hands "choose me!". So I realized that something interesting is planned in the temple, but not for everyone. But I was still inside and wanted to take advantage of this. I asked the porter what these people were waiting for. "Nothing," he muttered. "Nothing will happen here if you are not an Armenian." "Barev dzes!" I answered as usual. Reader Narek (as I found out later) asked something in Armenian. "Ha!" - I answered, having exhausted my Armenian vocabulary on this. The gatekeeper brightened his face. "Then you can stay. The church will now be locked and will not open until four in the morning. Do you want it?" Of course I wanted to. But after the last almost sleepless night, he would hardly have lasted another one. He asked: "Can I do it tomorrow?" He replied: "Better the day after tomorrow, when I will be in the service."
So the door of one of the main Christian churches opened for me. For 10 hours I wandered alone in those places where the crowd usually gathers, so that at least for a moment I could touch the place where the cross stood, where the body was washed and where the coffin was placed in the cave. Isn't this a miracle?
What are you saying, boy? Is there a toilet in the temple? I told you about the high, and you ... Well, if you're interested, I can tell you what happens in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher at night.
