The second day of our journey was (for me, at least!) a combination of surprises, new discoveries, and adventures. With all that I have experienced thus far in just 48 hours, I am beginning to scold myself for even considering the option of bailing out at the last moment! (I would like to thank those who strongly discouraged me from succumbing to this temptation - my umma and appa, my friends, and my professors.)

I shall begin with breakfast, which was both a surprise and a new discovery. Unexpectedly, it resembled the meals I had traveling in Europe the past two summers. I do not even know what I was expecting, although I did not think I would find the customary American breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and toast or the traditional Korean meal of rice, kim-chi (pickled cabbage), and seaweed. I had never had a Middle Eastern breakfast before, so I think I was expecting an exotic breakfast.

What I first noticed as I entered the dining area was the presence of a "cold breakfast," which Rabbi Paley informed me (he must have ESP, as he approached me first with this tidbit of information) was customary in Israel during Shabbat because one is not allowed to use heat. Yet, the food itself was nothing out of the ordinary. Lining the front of the dining area were glass bowls of canned fruit, baskets of rolls and Challah bread, and plates of fish, Danish, cheese, olives, bananas (which, I might add, were mostly brown!), tangerines, and apples. Glass pitchers held grapefruit juice, tomato juice, and water. There were, however, two completely new concepts: the orange juice and chocolate milk were in dispensers, and there were no trays.

Another probably seemingly mundane to many yet a striking sight for me during breakfast was the presence of lilies - a flower that I knew existed yet had never seen, mainly due to having lived in Tucson, Arizona much of my life. On every table sat a small glass vase of yellow lilies with their petals widely spread out, as if it were a starburst eager to dispense all its energy. The most beautiful sight, though, was the vase of lilies at the front of the room - a mixture of orange and yellow lilies held in a large brown basket.

And then commenced our day into the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim quarters of Jerusalem. This was indeed the highlight of the day for me because it was the beginning of my adventure. Finally, it was affording me the opportunity to see history come to life. Now, as I wandered through the Via Dolorosa (which is divided into 14 different quarters that are each devoted to a holy memory) to the Holy Sepulchre, I could truly believe all that was presented to me during the history classes that I had so passionately taken as an undergraduate. When I walked on the stone blocks that once composed the main road of Jerusalem (but are now part of the Notre Dame De Ston Church in the second station of Via Dolorosa), I could finally believe that Jerusalem had been in existence for longer than anyone could remember. Seeing the Struthion, a large open water cistern built by the emperor Herod, I was able to convince myself that the ruler responsible for the expulsion of the Jews from a place so dear was an actual figure. Standing outside the large stone wall that once served as the border between Israel and Jordan enabled me to say that the Six-Day War and the other conflicts that have exploded between the country and its neighbors have actually happened.

In fact, the current bloodshed between Israelis and Palestinians was the main reason for my incessant worry and initial ambivalence about this adventure. But I was so moved by the fact that this historic and tumultuous city was actually a quite peaceful one. It was difficult to believe that all the gunfire, explosions, and bombing I too often witnessed on television was real and happening.

I must also add that for the second time in my entire life, I did not feel incongruous in a religious setting. Although my mother is a devout Presbyterian, my father does not belong to any religion, and thus my sister and I were reared non-religious. (The irony here is that my name translates to "God-blessed girl.") I attended church a few times with my mother as a young child, but being only 6 or 7 years old at the time, I did not fully comprehend what it meant except that it entailed dressing formally and learning that Jesus was God's son. I did not give it much thought at the time, but I began to think more seriously in high school about the meaning of religion and found that I could define myself as an agnostic. It was not until I was in college that one of my best friends, a Christian, convinced me to attend church with her. Although the people there made me feel welcome and encouraged me to join in their Bible study sessions and other activities, I felt extremely out of place and awkward as people sang songs and recited prayers that I could not understand. I experienced the same emotions attending services back in New York at a synagogue, a church, and a mosque for the class. But when I observed a Friday night Shabbat service of the City Congregation for Humanistic Judaism, I truly felt for the first time as though I belonged, though I was the only non-Jew there. Perhaps that was because the members of this congregation celebrate their Jewish faith without the mention of God and because it includes both agnostics and atheists.

As I stepped into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I observed a procession celebrating the arrival of one of the heads of the patriarch, which consisted of people holding small lit candles and singing, accompanied by the stentorian but rich sound of the organ. Along with them were men in red hats with tassels hitting large wooden rods topped in brass on the ground, and priests donning black and white robes holding large, fat white candles. In other instances observing such a ritual, I have felt like an intruder, but for reasons I am still trying to comprehend I did not experience this emotion this time. This emotion was also absent when I put my hand to the cross where Jesus was crucified. Perhaps I am becoming more aware of what religion is about; maybe I feel that I can belong without being religious. That is another surprise and a new discovery there!

So many thanks to those who strongly discouraged me from not participating in this trip, especially to those who said they would never let me hear the end of it if I decided not to go.