The building, that’s a picture I took of the courtyard on the left, is beautiful. And it’s full of Christians and Jews, because upstairs is the room where some believe the Last Supper took place. Now at the risk of running afoul of some of our archaeologists and a whole lotta Christians, the evidence for this being the place is, um, slim. I’ll leave it at that.
In any case, Simcha was recognized by several people, and I’ve been struck on this trip at the difference in tone of those people. There tends to be a little combativeness, even in those who love him. And he’s in a combative mood.
The most fun was the Rabbi at King David’s Tomb, above. He enthusiastically greeted Simcha, and blessed him at the Tomb, holding his head and making Simcha shout out his request for prayer. It was all very Southern Evangelist Healer. Even Simcha said so.
Best guess? He's from Brooklyn.
Last summer his fans were more, shall we say, adoring. Here’s my note from August:
A young woman, maybe twenty five, recognized Simcha in the old city today. She insisted that she have her picture taken with him. Okay, insisted is a little strong. More like:
Young Woman: (reaching for her camera) Could I...
Simcha: (sliding over on the bench to make room and licking his lips): Of course you can take my picture.
So she slides next to him and they proceed to do the "squeeze your faces together" for the camera. Her boyfriend looked on, torn between the excitement of recognizing a (insert your own adjectives) tv star, and the alarm he feels that there is a very real possibility that this man might swallow his future wife whole.
It’s January now, and things have changed a little. Maybe it’s just that there are fewer American tourists at this time of year.
Our shooting day ended with Simcha on the phone, calming an archaeologist who seemed to want to get out of our show, then the rest of us chasing him around town trying to beat sunset because he’d left his necklace with us.
Funny how that seems so ordinary these days.
The crew went to the Old City for an abortive attempt to shoot the procession at the Stations of the Cross. It’s every Friday of the year at 3. Except this Friday. Because it’s Eastern Orthodox Christmas. Who knew? About a hundred million people. Just not this Presbyterian.
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