by j.b. sweetser
“Oh, no!” Jovi exclaimed. “That's the week before Christmas!”
Three heads turned in unison from the whiteboard to stare at her. No one voiced personal thoughts during planning sessions. Ever. Especially not Jovi. Lenny, the team leader and department head, suspended his marker in midair.
“Problem, Jovi?”
Jovi bit her lip, shook her head, and directed a hard stare at Lenny. “Of course not.”
“Well then, we’ll fly over on Saturday, the 18th. Four days in Israel - we can hit both Tel Aviv and Jerusalem and be on a flight back on the 23rd. I’ve lined up three companies in Tel Aviv and two in Jerusalem. We’ll need five customized versions of the enhanced presentation. We’ve got two weeks. Let’s go!”
In the hall, Barb touched Jovi’s shoulder ever so slightly. “It’s tough to be away Christmastime. I hate it, too.” Her commiseration flowed into Jovi, simultaneously making her feel better, and yet worse for blurting out in such an unprofessional way. She could tell Kurt, their other team member, was all-in on the plan, with no family in town to miss.
“It's fine, I was just surprised,” Jovi forced a smile, thinking of the party she and her husband traditionally held for their friends and neighbors the Saturday before Christmas. They had been hosting it for 10 years. It was her favorite day of the year. Jovi would immerse herself in preparing from Friday evening until an hour before the first guests arrived Saturday, making Swedish meatballs and setting up the house. It took an entire evening and all the patience Jovi could muster as she turned a beef, pork and veal mixture into a few hundred tiny meatballs. Her husband, Dan, helped with the rolling, but gave up when it came to the long process of cooking the balls in batches using three large frying pans. Having to wait for just the right bit of browning before turning each ball, Jovi often didn’t get to making the sauce from the drippings until well after eleven pm. But it was worth it. Her grandmother’s recipe must have pleased hundreds of family members, friends, and guests over the years.
Saturday evening, exhausted, but exhilarated, she would walk through the house and admire the full effect of her efforts. The dining room table, dressed in red and green plaid, held the Christmas tree pattern serving platters and the ancient chafing dish poised to serve up the Swedish meatballs, its tiny single flame keeping them warm while the guests lined up for this perennial favorite.
There were platters of cheeses from around the world - Edam, Jarlsberg, Irish Dubliner, Camembert. And breads – Swedish limpa and crispbread, German rye, French baguette, Italian Pugliese. And for a splash of color - green cucumber salad with dill, red lingonberry jam, and bright white ginger meringues.
Cocktails were the domain of Dan and were served in the living room from behind the antique mahogany bar. Dan would serve up Manhattans and Old Fashioneds, pour wine into stemmed Christmas glasses, and pop ‘drunken’ cherries into almost every drink. A self-serve station with matching crystal water pitcher and ice bucket, as well as small bottles of seltzer and soft drinks, sat at the far end of the bar to provide non-alcoholic options.
Dan also controlled the music. A holiday playlist provided the aural ambience from a series of small ceiling-mounted speakers in every room. But by the end of the evening, the tipsiest guests would gather around the piano and belt out mis-matched carols, inevitably ending up with a teary Auld Lang Syne. Sometime after midnight the last guest would leave and Jovi and Dan would flop on the couch, kick off their shoes and laugh out loud at the shambles that surrounded them. Clean-up was for Sunday.
Now, Jovi had to go home, tell Dan that she wouldn’t be home to have the Christmas party and that they would have to rescind the invitations they had just sent out. She knew Dan enjoyed putting on the party as much as she did and that he wouldn’t be happy to be spending that normally festive weekend by himself. So much for the Christmas spirit. She would barely be home in time to make Christmas Eve dinner. Dan would have to shop and prep everything alone. Bah humbug.
The flight to Tel Aviv was long, but at least it was non-stop from San Francisco. Jovi and Barb practiced their presentations three times, at a full hour each, while Kurt sat across the aisle schmoozing up to their boss. Soon Jovi dozed on and off, thinking of the disappointment in Dan’s eyes as he drove her to the airport, of her hastily bought and wrapped gifts, and how she would miss the best part of Christmas this year. It never crossed her mind that she was headed to the true origins of Christmas, to where Mary gave birth to Jesus, to where the three wise men were storied to have brought their gifts, to where Jesus first gave his sermons upon the mount, to where Christianity was born.
Jovi had never read the Bible or gone to church. She never gave any thought to that. To her, Christmas had always been decorating the tree, watching Christmas movies, listening to Christmas songs, wearing red and green, buying gifts, having a big family Christmas Eve dinner, and, of course, having the big Christmas party with Dan. She had been baptized, but that was it for her religious life. So, on the plane to the land of Bethlehem and the holiest of holy sites, she only thought about her presentation and her missed party.
At last, they landed at Ben Gurion airport late Sunday morning. Green-garbed soldiers, with menacing assault rifles slung across their chests like fashion accessories, were stationed everywhere. They were unnerving, frightening. Jovi kept her head down and stuck close to Lenny as they navigated the airport security and clearance process. All the officials were stern, stone-faced and intimidating. No one kidded about anything. Jovi didn’t breathe easy until she saw the smiling receptionist welcoming them to the Tel Aviv Hyatt. Jet lag was in their favor for the first presentation that afternoon, but caught up with them in the evening and hit hard during next day’s two presentations.
Tuesday morning they checked out and took a limo to Jerusalem. As they approached, Jovi could see the walls of the Old City upon a hill. She was struck by something odd – all the buildings surrounding the town were made of stone – the shops, the houses, even the gas stations – there was no wood or stucco. The driver turned and explained, “Every building in Jerusalem must be constructed of stone by law, so they will be eternal.”
What a wonderful concept! An eternal city. It was both wonderous and disconcerting – the ancient walls of old Jerusalem looming above the modern hotels and stores just outside. She couldn’t wait to visit the Old City the next day.
After the final presentation, the group headed out to explore the other side of the great walls. The Old City beckoned Jovi as they entered the Damascus Gate. A mental collision of two worlds – one ancient, unchanged, mystical, and one modern, impersonal, commercial. The city of the dead seemed alive, and the city of the living, dead.
Passing through the Muslim Quarter, Jovi clung to her coworkers as time melted around her. Hooded booths and kiosks were lit by dull lamps hung along dark stone corridors. Men wandered in long robes, merchants hawked coconut-covered dates and jellies, gap-toothed children played among swaths of fabric. There was an acrid, unrecognizable smell permeating all. Veiled women stared at her with large, harsh eyes as Jovi walked by in jeans and white parka, hair streaming free around her uncovered face. It could have been 2000 years ago. The only clue that she was in the 21st century was the occasional glimpse of a man talking on a cell phone.
Swiftly moving along, they were soon in the Jewish Quarter, its bright walkways and modern stone houses a stark contrast to the darkness they had just witnessed. They were immediately back in the 21st century. Coming upon the Western Wall, a holy place where Jews come to pray, Jovi felt the heaviness of history as she watched the throngs of people vie to touch the sacred stones. Barb wanted to stop but was intimidated by the stern looks of the local people and the armed guards.
A bit farther, they encountered fresh-faced young Israeli police with machine guns. When Jovi looked puzzled, Lenny explained that they enforced the Temple Mount restrictions. He had read that there were limited ways to enter the area because the Temple Mount has been a source of conflict for centuries. It has been one the of the holiest sites for Islam, where the Dome of the Rock shrine sits, as well the site where the long-destroyed First and Second Temples of Judaism were originally built, and it is the place Jews turn towards during prayer. Conflicts naturally arise.
It would be easy to truly believe, Jovi thought - no, not thought, felt - if you lived here among these holy sites, where religion reigns and permeates daily life in a way that was impossible at home. As she silently followed her hushed team members, she felt detached, untethered to those around her. Instead, the old walls and stone pathways, drew her into them.
The Armenian Quarter drifted by, the Monastery Compound, with its ancient buildings, churches, and museums a blur. Soon they passed into the Christian Quarter.
Jovi could barely remember the significance of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where Lenny decided the group would split up and reconvene at the entrance in one hour. Jovi recalled from a movie she had seen that the street they had just traversed, the Via Dolorosa, was the route Jesus was to have walked bearing his heavy cross.
Heading inside the Church, Jovi was struck by the somber interior. She roamed in a daze, following the clusters of tourists and pilgrims visiting during this holy time of year. She didn’t know what she was seeing or the significance, but she could feel the weight of the moment and place.
She heard a loud rustle as she passed behind a large structure in the middle of the chamber. As she looked closer, she saw a small alcove at its base. There, a heavy curtain that had been covering the recess was being pulled open. Inside sat a man. He had a rugged, deeply wrinkled face, wore a small round cap, and was dressed like a beggar. He smiled a gap-toothed smile that made his eyes shine as he motioned to Jovi to come to him. Despite her instinct to turn around and leave, she felt compelled to approach. Kneeling to face the man, she noticed a step that led down to the alcove. Abandoning all caution, she lowered herself onto the step and sat facing the man, letting the curtain partially close. He said nothing. She waited. Then he gave her a small olivewood carving, placing it in both her hands and folding her fingers over to fully grasp it. He nodded toward the curtain, signaling her to leave. As she did, he smiled a smile so comforting Jovi felt a wave of peace flow through her whole body.
She returned to the main area wondering what had happened. Just then, Barb came running over. “This church is amazing,” she exclaimed in awe. “Did you know this is the actual place where Christ was supposed to have risen after his crucifixion?” She waved dramatically at the elaborate front panel of the structure Jovi had just been behind. “This, this is it.”
Jovi looked at the wood piece in her hand. It was a Christmas ornament, a manger scene carved from olivewood, not unlike those in some of the souvenir shops. But this one seemed different, more realistic.
“Come with me,” she pulled Barb’s arm, “Look at what this man just gave me.” She showed Barb the ornament. “He’s right over there… oh!”
The alcove was empty. The curtain was pulled fully open and two vases of flowers sat on the steps. There was no sign of the man as Jovi’s eyes swept the barren stone interior. “But he was just here…” Jovi froze, everything around her muted out.
“Hey, hey, Jovi!” Barb was pulling at her sleeve. “Let’s go. The others will be waiting”
Later, packing her bag, Jovi stared at the ornament. It was intricately carved, very smooth and much heavier than the tourist versions she had seen. She felt something strange when she handled it. She placed it in her purse for the trip home.
Dan picked her up at the airport. “Was it awful to be away?” he asked as soon as she jumped in the car. “I sure missed you. The neighbors are still giving me grief about the party. And I watched five Christmas movies alone. Plus, I went to the gingerbread house exhibit at the mall by myself. It was no fun at all.”
Jovi just smiled. Christmas was something different to her now.
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