I am walking down the “real” Via Dolorosa thinking things over when a shabbily dressed man stops me and begs me to visit a blood bank around the corner and donate blood for his sick wife. I usually donate blood once or twice a year anyway so I agree and walk around the corner with him. I am a little surprised to find a blood bank there! The nurse in the office drains some of my blood and then insists on paying me eight dollars.
During my stay in “The City of Peace” I pass by this way several times and notice the same shabby man making his "sick wife" plea to all passing tourists. I guess that he probably gets a percentage on all the blood they donate and the Israeli medical establishment gets a continual supply of fresh tourist blood for emergencies.
I go to the Dome of the Rock, pay my admission fee, have my bag searched for bombs and spend a couple of hours soaking up the vibes. In the middle of this temple, behind a see-through and reachy-feel-through wall, is the big rock, which is sacred to Jews, Christians and Moslems, so there is plenty to quarrel about!
While I am there, several American tour groups are escorted through the building. These American tourists, with their world-famous arrogance and noise push right up against the wall and reach through for a grope. After giving the rock a feel, one plump tourist exclaims: “Why it’s JUST a ROCK!”
Right O, my heavy-set friend, and there are plenty of THEM back home, aren’t there?
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