Beneath My Feet

Christ Church, Old City Jerusalem

"Are ya’ll with Calvary Chapel too?" A voice said behind me.

The hint of Southern drawl in his voice was a welcome surprise after sparring with Arab and Jewish shopkeepers all day. I half expected to see a confused tourist looking for his group.

I turned around to see a middle-aged man with graying hair, a rather round midsection, and a cardboard coffee cup in hand. His t-shirt, denim shorts, and flip-flops would’ve been a better fit in a sleepy suburban coffee shop rather than on the streets of one of the oldest and holiest cities in the world.

"Actually no, we're with the Master's College, studying abroad here in Israel for the next three months."

My three friends and I eagerly jumped into conversation with this fellow English speaker and his story came tumbling out in a few quick minutes. Born and raised in the Carolinas, he first came to Israel two years ago to take care of his ailing mother. After researching his family heritage and discovering that he was in fact Jewish, he quit his job in the States, and moved to the Holy Land. 

"I love it here," he said.

Turns out he now works as a tour guide for the very museum we were standing next to. Suddenly he changed from unsuspecting tourist to fast-talking guide.

Yes, we already toured this museum the week before during our first walk through the Old City; yes, we saw the Jerusalem models; yes, we had been told that the museum and the courtyard we were sitting in across from Christ Church was once part of Herod the Great’s palace that stood two thousand years ago.

“Did your guide show you the tunnel under the coffee shop?” 

Under the coffee shop?

“Yeah, I’ll show you.” He turned on his heel and headed into the shop next door, leaving the four of us scrambling to grab our backpacks and follow.

Inside past the counter was a small iron gate, innocently minding it’s own business in a secluded corner of the shop. Behind the gate a set of narrow stone steps curved its way into the floor and descended into a passage so tight that even my 5’3’’ frame had to fold in half to pass through. My friends and I found ourselves in dank, dimly-lit stone room about fifteen feet below the Old City streets.

This room, our new guide casually informed us between sips of coffee, originally sat somewhere underneath Herod’s palace, making the Herodian portion of the room over 2,000 years old. The "newer" Byzantine rock that was built on top of the Herodian stones could easily be seen. The dungeon-looking room housed a small trapdoor in the corner of the floor that led to a cistern that descended another twenty feet into the stone, also from the time of Herod the Great. Somewhere in the cistern was a tunnel that runs under the city all the way to the Temple Mount; this tunnel was even mentioned in the writings of Josephus the historian.

"Yupp," he said, finishing his coffee. "This chamber was only discovered recently in 2011."

We stood there speechless in the soft light, trying to drink it all in.

We climbed out of the past and into the present day coffee shop and as quickly as we had first descended. I couldn't help but think about how many times I'd walked past this cafe and other structures in the City without sensing the thousands of years of history that lay dormant just beneath my feet.