HOORAY FOR DOOMSDAY – THE BUS TO ARMAGEDDON

Here’s a story I get the opportunity to dust off just about every year. This time “doomsday” is going to happen tomorrow. Personally I’m bracing myself for another disappointment. Frankly, I’m getting tired of having my hopes dashed.

Take the last two big “Doomsday” predictions – December 2012 and September 2015 – what happened? Absolutely bloody NOTHING – no asteroid, no mass alien abduction, no rapture, no tsunamis, no Jade Helm anarchy in America, not even a bloody murmur from the San Andreas fault. Even the Eiffel Tower is still standing.

I’m not a Biblical scholar by any means, but doesn’t it say that Armageddon will mark the end of the world? I bet many of you don’t know that and I bet that even more of you don’t know that Armageddon is not just a word that triggers disturbing images of an apocalyptical world-ending war – it’s an actual place, located in Northern Israel called Tel Megiddo. I know this, because I took a bus there one day while trying to get my seven year’s good luck in the pubs and clubs of Tel Aviv.

Tel Aviv is regarded as one of the best destinations in the world for nightlife and it has no shortage of pubs, clubs and eateries, plus a liberal smattering of hookers from Eastern Europe plying the oldest profession. However, I was determined to get my seven years of good luck, so I preferred to ply my luck in the crowed bars. The backpackers are easy, but getting a bit of kosher tushy requires a lot more charm, skill, perseverance and alcohol poisoning, inevitably resulting in an Armageddon of a hangover the next morning.

Today Megiddo is preserved as a tranquil National Park, with a spectacular panoramic view and it was recognised as World Heritage site by UNESCO in 2005. All that remains of the city today are ruins atop the Tel-el-Mutesellim mound, also known as the “Hill of the Ruler”.

Ongoing excavations there have discovered that the city has been destroyed and rebuilt at least twenty-five times, over thirty-five centuries, and that it has been the scene of at least thirty-four bloody wars, during which twenty-six civilisations were totally wiped off the planet. It has been Ground Zero more times than any other place on the planet and it’s hardly surprising that the real estate market there dried-up after the last time it got flattened in 586BC.

The bus I caught from Tel Aviv runs the route to Bethlehem, via Haifa, passing Megiddo along the way. When I told the driver that I wanted to get off at Megiddo, I could tell by the bemused look on his face that he hadn’t been asked to stop there too many times. He told me that he couldn’t take the bus into Megiddo and that I would have to walk there from the bus stop on the highway.

When the bus stopped and the driver announced “Megiddo” I almost changed my mind but before I could turn around, the doors closed and the bus sped off and a deathly silence replaced the fading sound of its engine as it disappeared over the hill.

It’s a bus stop in the middle of nowhere – the only sign of civilisation there is the highway and bus shelter and the only sound is the wind in your ear and the occasional car whooshing by. There was something tangibly eerie about standing there alone and I immediately regretted that I wasn’t still in the bus. It was the loneliest feeling I’ve ever had and the panoramic vista, although breathtaking, was cold comfort.

I abandoned my plans to walk up the hill in case I disappeared forever. Instead, I crossed to the bus shelter on the other side of the road and began to pray that the next bus back to Tel Aviv would not take too long to arrive. The last time I wanted to get the hell out of a place faster was at a Pentecostal youth rally organised by my ex-girlfriend’s church. Waiting for the bus back to Tel Aviv was the longest hour I’ve ever experienced. All I can tell you is that if you’re planning to visit Megiddo, go there in a tour group – not alone.

When I got back to Tel Aviv, I headed straight back to the pub I’d been frequenting during my stay there and knocked back eight pints of Tuborg in record time, leaving my head spinning. At around midnight, I remembered that I had to meet my mate Joel in Jerusalem the next morning and staggered back to my hotel room.

Joel and I had arranged to meet at the Zion gate entrance to the Old City at around 10am. I couldn’t see him anywhere around, so I bought an ice cream and took up a seat on the nearby fountain wall. The blistering heat was unbearable and I had a thumping headache to add to my misery.

After about twenty minutes, an Arab tout interrupted my thoughts contemplating what revenge I should take on Joel for being late, which is something he’s notorious for. The tout offered to take me on a tour of the Temple Mount, but I told him that I was waiting for someone.

Twenty minutes and three Cokes later he was back and told me that the tour wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. His persistence paid off and I decided that the best revenge I could pull on Joel was to make him wait for me in the blazing noonday sun. I went over to the girl running the ice cream kiosk and asked her if she would mind looking out for Joel while I was away.

She asked me asked me to describe him and I told her to keep an eye out for a guy who looked like a cross between Bart Simpson and John Travolta. “You’ll recognise him the moment you see him,” I assured her.

As we approached the Al Aqsa mosque, the dazzling glare of the sun off its gold tiled roof hurt my eyes. I thought about paying the guy his fifty shekel fee and abandoning the tour, but the sight of the people praying at the Wailing Wall intrigued me.

To the right of the wall was a pedestrian walkway, encased in bullet proof glass. The tout, who by now had told me that his name was Omar, asked me to get my passport ready as we headed toward the walkway.

The entrance to the Temple Mount was heavily guarded by Israeli policemen. While my passport was being processed, I glanced at the Jewish people praying at the wall below. My guide told me that the reason access to the mount was so heavily guarded was that Jews were not allowed to visit the site freely and that they are only allowed up there on a few prearranged days every year, under strict military supervision.

After we passed through the turnstiles at the checkpoint, Omar led me toward the mosque. We took our shoes off and entered. There were a few robed guys rocking back and forth on their knees on the carpet praying to Allah. The only difference between them and the guys rocking back and forth at the wall below was that they were kneeling instead of standing and that they wore white instead of black – that and the fact that they were praying to different Gods, of course.

Omar silently led me to a glass enclosure toward the back of the mosque. Enshrined behind the glass was a rock. Omar said, “This is the place both Jews and Christians believe God made man from dust and the place where Abraham was going to sacrifice his son, until an angel appeared and told him not to.” He also told me that it was what the Jews call the “Holy of Holy’s” and the place Muslims believe Mohammed ascended to heaven from. Three religions collide at this rock.

Omar asked me if I wanted a few minutes to myself before we proceeded. You don’t get to stand at the place God made man every day, so I nodded and he politely stepped back a few paces. I instinctively closed my still burning eyes, more for relief than anything else and I can assure you that I certainly wasn’t expecting what happened next.

A voice spoke to me – and it wasn’t Morgan Freeman’s. It said “Behold in Zion I cast a stumbling stone. Where it began it shall end.” Then I saw visions of the world’s cities crumbling and crashing to earth. I saw the Eiffel Tower topple and huge buildings drop.

Two years later, on September 11, 2001 I saw two of the largest in the world come crashing down and I thought “this is it” and my forgotten experience on the Temple Mount came rushing back to me. But I was wrong – there are still too many prophesies that need to be fulfilled.

One of them is the rebuilding of the Third Jewish Temple. When the Jews storm the Temple Mount, demolish the mosque, and start up their concrete mixers, you can cash-in your retirement portfolios, because I am sure that it will spark the Armageddon war.

Jerusalem holds the key to the future of mankind. To be more specific, an ancient piece of rock on top of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem holds the key. The irony that the place it all began, could be the place it ends, is bizarre.

So, Doomsday 2017, 2020, 2023? Not until the Israelites send in their bulldozers and start up their concrete mixers.