Some of the proceeds go to his church. Without such official blessing, hawkers were either left to sell their wares beyond Moria's gates, or to sneak in and look official. I came in dressed like one of them just to sell. The church does not make it easy for the ignorant or the curious to wander into Moria. Tight security sees to that and order is emphasised.
Marshals line the only road leading into the grounds, keeping people in queues.
Now and then a security man whips the air with his sjambok, letting rip a horrid whistle. But in a style which underpins the peaceful nature of the Zionists, marshals speak softly and worshippers are quick to obey them. Once past the gate, people are randomly searched, and even plastic bags are checked. Yet such strictness is a far cry from the freedom inside the village where people wander around without check. Dancing and singing punctuates ceaseless hours of prayer.