Rocky Times

Taxi drivers shook their fists at each other as I stared out the tour bus window. Blaring horns assaulted my ears. Sunset turned to twilight, and still we sat motionless in Tel Aviv traffic gridlock.
My heart was breaking for my fellow travelers. Although I’d been looking forward to visiting the Carmelite monastery’s public areas for a second time, I’d already been blessed with indelible memories of a daylight Mass in the gardens, followed by a tour that included rooftop views of the fertile valleys below. (See https://www.catholicwritersguild.org/2023/06/mount-carmel/). For the passengers with me on this trip, their visit here was meant to be the pinnacle of a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to the Holy Land. The bus driver’s scowl mirrored my own frustration, but only an air of resigned disappointment filled the bus.
By the time we had navigated a winding road to the top of Mount Carmel, full darkness had descended. The harried greeter who’d waited for us outside made humble apologies. Unfortunately, no tour would be possible. The brothers had already prayed Vespers, and the vowed community was cloistered for the night. But our host said he’d given the lay oblates permission to reopen the gift shop. This announcement immediately cheered the ladies. At least they could still bring rosaries to their loved ones back home. They trooped off together toward the few still-lighted windows, smiling.
Dominick, a public elementary school principal, quietly pulled his carryon suitcase from the bin above his seat and got off the bus behind them. I’d learned that in his traditional Italian neighborhood, parishioners had sacrificed for years to buy a small triangular lot adjacent to their
church. Dominick was building there, a shrine for Our Lady of Mount Carmel. I watched him engage our greeter in animated conversation.
The other pilgrims eventually returned, with full souvenir bags in hand. But where was Dominick? Finally, he appeared again at the bus door, grinning. A middle-aged but muscular man from a contractor family, Dominick did not seem daunted by the weight he now carried. He climbed right up the bus stairs, and raised his suitcase with both hands, in a victory stance, as soon as he reached the aisle.
“That brother was so kind. He took me all the way back to the mountain!” Dominick’s voice resonated through the bus without benefit of the microphone. “He said I could have as many rocks as I wanted! He found me a spade, and held the flashlight while I pried the stones
free.”
Whoops, whistles, and cheers from every seat greeted his enthusiastic news.

***

I found myself behind Dominick in the El Al security lines for our departure flight back to the United States. He patted his suitcase, and whispered with a wink. “Don’t worry. I’ve got them all right here.”
I heard the uniformed Israeli guards ask, as Dominick slowly wheeled his suitcase to the counter, “What’s in there? Rocks?”
Uh, oh, I thought, looking around. Is this even legal? Archeological artifacts, and all that? Where’s our guide!  Dominick just nodded. “Gifts for Our Lady’s new grotto, from our Holy Land pilgrimage,” he said. Seeing the stern looks on their faces, he hastened to assure them.
“Everyone gave me permission. Those monks at Mount Carmel were really helpful.” Dominick pulled a paper from his vest pocket. Apparently, he’d somehow managed to wangle a document from the Carmelite brother who’d assisted with the excavation. Dominick handed his paper to one of the security men.
The first guard examined it and showed it to his partner. Then he refolded it carefully, and gave it back to Dominick. These officials, who now appeared a bit bemused, heaved Dominick’s suitcase up to the metal counter themselves. After looking inside, they exchanged a humorous glance, and waved our hero through, with his suitcase, to the gate. As I placed my own tote on the counter, I couldn’t help wondering how Dominick could have fit in all the stones I’d seen him collect, at the shore of the Sea of Galilee, and other sacred sites we’d visited.

But from the glimpse I’d just garnered, they did look– tightly packed.

***

Dominick engraved each stone from the Holy Land with its place of origin. He mortared them in where they fit, like puzzle pieces, among larger local boulders. Pilgrimage memories endure in a curved rock wall that shelters the consecrated granite altar in the new grotto dedicated to Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
Today, Mass can be celebrated at the grotto as well as the church, often in both English and Spanish. The parish maintains its long and faithful tradition of Corpus Christi processions with the Blessed Sacrament, visiting and blessing individual family homes throughout the old neighborhood. The parish school pioneered for our diocese the first cohort in an optional Spanish immersion curriculum for grades K-8.
Dominick’s spirit of humility, simplicity, and faith lives on.

May we all be blessed this Lent with trust and grace to find joy in whatever God sends.

© Copyright 2025 Margaret King Zacharias

Feature photo by Margaret King Zacharias. Used with Permission.