As a Jew living in Israel for the year, I realized how easy it is to remain in a Jewish bubble, never exploring one street beyond my comfort zone, or turning the corner to observe the many other religious activities taking place. After all, in my bubble, all the many Jewish holidays are fully celebrated. Stores begin selling costumes for Purim one month before, non-bread products are sold one month before Passover, and long streets are decorated with lights and every holiday’s special symbols. Even while put on hold when speaking to an operator, no music is played when the country is commemorating Holocaust Remembrance Day.

In America, too, I felt every celebrated American holiday; whether it was watching everyone put up their Christmas lights the day after Thanksgiving or walking into the ‘Dollar Spot’ at Target in the summer to find everything Red, White, and Blue.  This is why I was shocked to hear a week ago that Easter, or “Pascha” as they call it here, was quickly approaching. I saw no chocolate-covered marshmallows shaped like rabbits to remind me of the upcoming holiday.

So I decided to experience Easter this year not by sitting in my car by the Highlands-North Lake watching children in frilly dresses gather pastel-colored eggs, but rather by walking towards the Holy Sepulchre Church in Jerusalem, the site where thousands gather for Palm Sunday where Jesus is said to have been crucified, buried, and resurrected. Although I didn’t enter the church, I stood outside the courtyard and witnessed a phenomenal sight.

Walking to the church in a side-market street we were told to stand on the edge as a procession of men in black robes and hats walked through, some holding crosses and others holding palms as drums were beating in the background and soon after we heard the sound of church bells. As we approached the church I saw the familiar frilly dresses – little girls holding their mothers’ hand with one hand and pressing a green palm leaf against their white dress with the other hand.

I was a bit lost when everyone I asked gave me different responses about the significance of the day. Between the Armenian Orthodox and the Greek Orthodox the day has a different meaning. I am still interested in understanding further. Either way, I was amazed to see this procession, this important event in the Christian Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem. I was happy to have stumbled across something so far in practice from my own yet so close in proximity, stepping out of my bubble, even if it was just for one sunny afternoon.