How the mighty have fallen!

A week ago Saturday some friends from the Albright and I headed north to Mount Gilboa for a day hike. This mount overlooks the breathtaking Jezreel Valley, which stretches from Beth Shean to Megiddo. For ancient travelers this valley was the best was to get from the Mediterranean Coast inland to the Damascus Road and the King's Highway, and it was (and still is) some of the most fertile land in Israel.

For these reasons, the Jezreel was highly attractive to the Egyptians, the Israelites, the Philistines, the Phoenicians and the Arameans, and it became to site of numerous battles in the history of the Holy Land. One of the most famous of these battles is recorded in 1 Samuel 31, in which the Philistines overtake Saul and his army, killing Jonathan and wounding Saul, who soon falls on his own sword rather than let the uncircumcised capture him. Their deaths will lead David to mourn his special friend Jonathan and his erstwhile enemy Saul with the lament that begins: "How the mighty have fallen" (2 Samuel 1:19).

Our hiking troop had two missions: first, to complete the two trails we had chosen to hike; and second, to reenact some key events of this battle. As you will see, we were successful on both missions.

First, here is the hiking crew at the first hike, Nahal Yizpor (l-r: Rodney, Yorke and Christine):

Here's one of me taking a closer look at some of the wildflowers. Admittedly, it's not my best angle. (It was also very muddy that day.)

Here's an old car we found lying right in the middle of our path. They just don't make Hyundai's like they used to. And yes, I did get a haircut, thank you for asking. As many of you know, I try to avoid paying for haircuts if at all possible. The job usually falls to Emily's expert hands, but this year I broke down last fall and paid for one in Jerusalem, just to experience the local barbershop scene. More recently, though, Rodney, who just arrived a few weeks ago and brought his own clippers, agreed to give me a cut. We started out going for a "trim," but a few slips of the clippers later I told him just to shave it down.

Now for the drama. Here's Yorke-as-Philistine smiting Christine-as-Jonathan; he really seems to be relishing his gruesome task.

As here's yours truly as Saul, falling on his own spear. Doesn't it look like the spear is coming through my back? But it's really not; it's just pinned in my armpit. (Talk about special effects!) I also thought the hand to the forehead would be a poignant gesture of defeat and resignation.

Here is Yorke breaking through to a view of the Jordan Valley and Beth Shean:

It proved to be a fine spot for our picnic lunch of pita and hummus:

Our next hike took us to Mt. Barkan which is on the same ridge as Mt. Gilboa. It is a loop trail that affords some fine views of the Jezreel Valley. For some reason, there is a rule there against slapping flowers:

In a fit of rebellion, I completed disregarded this rule:

And here is the valley. I ended up shooting a small video, which opens with the Jordan Valley, then follows the Jezreel as it branches off to the west.

And here is a picture looking east from Mt. Barkan:

All in all, it was a fine trip and a fun day with some of the other fellows.

Scandal in Baltimore!

Here was the scene at Baltimore's venerable Senator theater last week:


You ask: Is The Marc Steiner Show: 1993-2008 an obscure, award-winning indie film that is the toast of art students across the country? No, it isn't. Until last week The Marc Steiner Show was the signature Baltimore public radio talk show on WYPR from noon to 2:00 pm. That's when station president Tony Brandon pulled the plug on Steiner's show, citing a decline in listenership.

Also it seems like Steiner was getting a little too big for the station, or as "Gerry in Pikesville," a regular call-in, told the Baltimore Sun, it was becoming more and more about the "cult of personality." Steiner has fired back that Brandon has long wanted him gone over personal beef.

If there a fight more vicious than two public radio heavyweights going toe-to-toe, I don't want to see it. Just look at the public outcry it has inspired:

Yes, the outrage is palpable. The funny thing about this picture from the Baltimore Sun is that the protesters are facing north, but Charles Street is a one-way street that also runs north! I want to yell: "Hey folks, you gotta turn around and face the cars! They can't read your signs in the rearview mirror!" But I guess when you're standing up for matters of grave public concern, the rulebook goes out the window.

As a sign of solidarity with the protesters, I thought about not downloading the Diane Rehm Show Friday News Round-Up on my iPod last week, but with the primaries at full throttle, I couldn't miss Diane's even-handed discussion.

Still my heart is with you, protesters: as soon as I get back to Baltimore, that WYPR magnet is coming off our refrigerator!

Mamluk Period

Last Saturday's free tour took me into the Muslim Quarter of the Old City to see buildings from the Mamluk Period, which is the name for the three centuries between the Crusader Period and the Ottoman Empire (AD 1250-1517).

If you are looking at a map of the Old City...

(and now you are), you can note that it is flanked by the Kidron Valley on its east (the Mount of Olives rises up the other side of this valley) and on its west the Hinnom Valley. Cutting right through the middle is the Tyropoeon Valley, which runs from the Damascus Gate southward, where it eventually cuts between the Temple Mount (including the Western Wall, or "Wailing" as its called here) and the western hill of the Jewish Quarter, emptying finally through the Dung Gate. In the time of Jesus this area at the foot of the Temple Mount was filled with shops and commerce, but after the Romans destroyed the Temple in AD 70, it was mostly a rumble heap.

What does this have to do with the Mamluks? Well, the southern part of the Tyropoeon Valley remained a rumble heap until they took control of Jerusalem and literally raised (not razed...that was the Romans!) the city over the rumble. They did this with a series of arches all along the western wall of the Temple Mount, on which they constructed new buildings, so that the new Muslim buildings would be on the same level as the Temple Mount. Thus today Muslims can walk right onto the Temple Mount from the gates around the city; by contrast, the only gate non-Muslims can use to enter the Temple Mount is the Moor's Gate in the Western Wall plaza where the Mamluks didn't build. To give you a sense of the Mamlukian accomlishment, there is a huge ramp you have to walk up just to get to the gate!

Now who were the Mamluks? For one thing, although they came to control an empire stretching from Damascus to Cairo and are credited with some of the finest Muslim architecture in Jerusalem, they were not Arabs and they were Muslims only by conversion. The Arabic word mamluk means "owned," and that's precisely how the first Mamluks came to this part of the world: as slaves.

They originated in central Asia (modern Ukraine, Russia, Kazakstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan), where they were well-known for their horsemanship. This reputation led Salah ed-Din, once he defeated the Christian Crusaders in AD 1187 and restored Muslim rule in the Holy Land, to import them as slaves to be converted to Islam and then trained as an elite fighting force. Thus on the one hand, they were slaves ("mamluks"), but in a short time their acclaim as warriors increased their status, so that soon they themselves were owning servants. This continued until AD 1250, when they staged a coup and took control of the land between Cairo and Damascus.

Cairo was the capital of the new empire and Damascus its second city. In between were several cities which were used to relay information between the capitals. Apparently, it only took three days for a message to travel from Cairo to Damascus -- that is record time by today's Middle Eastern standards! Jerusalem was such an intermediary and thus became the site of various building projects.

Here is one example:

In fact this building was built during the Crusader period and served then as the palace of the Patriarch of Jerusalem. After Salah ed-Din's victory, it came under Muslim control and became a convent for Sufis. Later the Mamluks turned it into a school. Inside we found a main courtyard, in which there was a tomb and this minaret.
You can tell it is a Mamluk minaret because it is square; the Ottoman minarets are rounded and tend to be skinnier.

The next building we came to was the palace of Lady Tunshuq, which has three separate entrances. My photos don't really do justice to their loveliness, but they do show some of the characteristics of Mamluk architecture. In this picture of the first entrance you can see the alternating red, black and white limestone. In particular, the band above the door, in which black is set into white blocks, is called "joggling."
The next two photos are two shots (the top and the bottom) of the second entrance. You see the three colors of limestone again, and other features include the two benches flanking the entrance, the stalactite-like canopy and the triple arch at the top. (I didn't get a good photo of the arches, but they are shaped like a three-leaf clover.) Originally, the square panel you see would have been inset with carved stone.

Here is a shot looking back up the street: the palace is on the left, and on the right is the tomb of Lady Tunshruq. In the Ottoman Period, her palace was expanded some and became a governor's residence, but nowadays it is a vocational school for orphans.

As I mentioned the Mamluks were best known for building up the Tyropoeon Valley to meet the height of the Temple Mount. Here is a good example: the Suq el-Qattanin, or Cotton Market. The market you see here sits over that central valley and rests on the Mamlukian arches. At the end you can see the door which leads into the Temple Mount, but only for Muslims. Non-Muslims have to go the long way around, but they can exit through any of the gates.

About halfway up the Cotton Market on your right is the entrance to the Khan Tankiz, a caravanserai where merchants who had delivered goods to the market could spent the night. In this picture you see the lintel of the entrance to the caravaserai, which is remarkable because it shows the blazon of Tankiz, who was the Cupbearer of the King; hence, his symbol was the chalice. There are several other blazons on buildings, which indicate the office held by whoever commissioned the construction. Incidentally, this same Tankiz also built the main fountain on the Temple Mount, where Muslims wash before beginning prayer, as is required, and the fountain is shaped as -- what else? -- a chalice.

Speaking of fountains, when the tour ended and I was making my way through the Muslim Quarter back to the Albright, I thought I would take a picture of this Ottoman period fountain on the way. One of the give pillars of Islam is alms-giving, and one important way to fulfill this obligation is to provide drinking water to the poor. For this reason, it was common for wealthy Muslims to commission public fountains such as this one. I passed three such fountains on my walk home, but they won't run water till the spring heat arrives.

And finally, what visit to the Old City be complete without a moment of absurdity? Just after I took the picture of the fountain, I walked up on this scene where Tariq el-Wad meets the Via Dolorosa. Normally you can barely walk three abreast on Old City streets, but that didn't stop this guy from just cruising through. You may be thinking: Andrew, you should get out of the way of this oncoming traffic. But here's the best part: he was driving in reverse! Which I can appreciate. I mean, if you're bold enough to bring your car into the Old City, why not just go all out and drive it backwards?