Sabbath Services at the Jerusalem Center

This morning I attended religious services at the Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies. It was a perfect day, warm and clear. I had the chance to see the amazing grounds around the Jerusalem Center for the first time in daylight. The collection of authentic olive presses was most amazing, and the view of the Old City was nothing short of spectacular. On the plaza overlooking the Old city there are a series of four bronze historical relief maps showing the Old City at 600 B.C., at just before 70 A.D., in about 600 A.D. and then in about 1500 A.D.

The services began at 10:00 a.m. The program consisted of a Russian woman speaking, translated into English by a graduate student who is living here with his family. Max then spoke, followed by a member of the branch presidency. I was privileged to administer the sacrament, using large flat, round loaves.

Sabbath at the Hurva Synagogue and the Western Wall

Last evening at sunset Max and I visited the newly dedicated Hurva Synagogue (beit ha-Knesset ha-Hurba, which literally means "the Ruin Synagogue"). This synagogue is very ancient, having been founded in the 2nd century A.D. It has been destroyed many times since, including in 1721 after which it lay in ruins for about 150 years. This is when it became known as the Hurva or the "Ruin" Synagogue. It was rebuilt in 1864, but was again reduced to rubble by the Jordanian-controlled Arab Legion during the 1948 Arab-Israeli war of Independence. After the site came under the control of Israel in 1967, plans were laid to rebuild it according to its 1864 plan, but it took 40 years to do so. It was dedicated a few hours after I arrived in Jerusalem this week!

Visiting the Hurva Synagogue at the commencement of Shabbat on the week of its dedication was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. We first went into the basement where the men were at prayers. We entered the room and moved to the back. The room was laid out in two long aisles before very ancient pillars. Before the men were slanting desks where the prayer texts could be laid out. These were readily available in bookshelves along the walls. A cantor would sing the lines, and then at intervals all of the men would sing, reading from the books. Most of the men were wearing long black coats and black broad brimmed hats. There were many small boys, wearing Kippahs. (Max and I wore the blue Kippahs I bought from Shaaban Amer).

After observing for fifteen or twenty minutes in this basement part of the Hurva, we moved outside and around the building to the main entrance. In a mighty crush of men, we moved into the main room of the Synagogue upstairs, beneath a soaring dome decorated with murals of Rachel’s Tomb, the Tomb of the Patriarchs, the Tower of David and the Western Wall. In the center of the room under a canopy with four pillars was a raised platform where the cantor stood wearing a Tallit, a long white and striped prayer shawl, with a few old grizzled men around him. The voice of the cantor was amazing—he really sounded like Pavorotti to me. The room was filled to overflowing with perhaps three to four hundred men and boys, who were sitting at the long desks or standing shoulder to shoulder in the aisles and along every wall. It was a great crush of humanity. We all faced the Western Wall, which was only a few hundred meters away. (By the way, that reminds me of something our young guide said on the tour of the Western Wall Tunnels—he said that all Jews, wherever they might be in the world, pray towards the Holy Land. Those who live in the Holy Land pray towards Jerusalem. Those who live in the Jerusalem pray towards the Temple Mount. Those near the Temple Mount pray toward the Foundation Stone on the top of the Temple Mount.)

The variety of the male worshipers was amazing. Men with simple Kippahs on their heads and collared white shirts. Most men had on black jackets. Some wore the wide brimmed black hats. Others had on splendid fur hats with cylinder-like rims. Most austentacious were the men with the fur hats and long black and white pin-striped jackets with wide silk sashes at the waist. The men swayed back and forth as they sang, or bobbed their heads over their open prayer books. Their devotion and utter joy was almost palpable. Someone handed us a prayerbook and Max followed along in the Hebrew. There were small niche-like windows above man-height on the right side opening onto what was obviously an elevated plaza outside, and through these tiny windows we could see scores and scores of girls and women, all dressed finely with scarves, looking through joyfully at their fathers or lovers. It was a truly amazing sight. The devotion, the joy, the unbridled worship was enlightening. I was also struck by the order, the uniformity and by the symmetrical beauty of the worship--especially since modern Judaism essentially has no monolithic leadership, no central authority figure. Each man knew his place, and the proper way to proceed, born of centuries--no millenia--of custom and practice! This was a special, special occasion to be in this unique and sacred place—on the first Sabbath at sunset after the dedication of this edifice.

Incidentally, it was the dedication of this structure which resulted in Hamas issuing a proclamation of a “Day of Rage” on Tuesday, which shut down so much of the city. Max said that the Palestinian fear is that now that the great synagogue is completed, the next step will be a Jewish move to reoccupy the Temple Mount and build the Temple.

After spending perhaps a half an hour inside the great Synagogue, Max and I went to the Western Wall, which was a scene of utter joy in the twilight. Hundreds and hundreds of worshippers gathered, all in their Sabbath best, pressing toward the Western Wall. Max and I stood at the wall, wearing our blue Kippahs, and with hands outstretched to the Herodian stones, said our private devotions. Max and I spent perhaps an hour at the Western Wall. We also went inside the tunnels to the side fo the wall, where the exposed Herodian Stones of the Temple Mount run for many hundreds of feet beneath the living buildings of the city above. Here there were hundreds and hundreds of additional worshippers. There were many elaborate Torah cabinets with velvet covers, where various cantors sang with scores of men surrounding them. There were great libraries of books on the back shelves and in alcoves. At one point I heard exhuberant singing and the drum-like beat of hands upon wood, and wondered if some enthusiastic teenagers were singing, but it was an old Cantor, who with his head bobbing tremendously, was singing while banging his hands on the wooden rostrum, and both old men and young boys surrounding him were singing in a haunting tone a song of pure joy. Back out on the plaza before the Wall there were great rings of men, perhaps 50 to 75, dancing in great circles. In one ring I saw perhaps 20 Israeli soldiers, dressed in their battle gear with automatic rifles slung over their shoulders and extra ammunition clips in their belts, linked arm in arm in the great dancing circle with men and teenagers in their hats or Kippahs. It was an unforgettable sight on this unforgettable night.

The Syriac Orthodox Church

This little Church dedicated to St. Mark is built atop one of the supposed sites of the Last Supper. In this case the “Upper Room” is down a flight of stairs under the chapel. The Syriac Orthodox Church had its founding under Peter in Antioch and has the oldest surviving liturgy of any Christian Church. Indeed, it was at Antioch that believers were first called “Christian.” See Luke 11:25 (I think—I don’t have my bible here). The liturgy is in Syriac Aramaic, which is significant because Aramaic was the common language of the entire eastern Mediterranean during the early Roman Empire, and thus would have been the language that the Lord spoke in Palestine. In the Church we were sadly too late for prayers, but we met Justine, the caretaker, who was a stout little woman of about sixty, who took us inside the chapel, unlocking the doors from a large ring of keys at her belt, and drawing back the red and gold emblazoned curtain to let us see the altar. She bade us sit on a bench while she gave us, in enthusiastic and slurring English, a history of her beloved Church. I made the faux paux of crossing my legs in the Church as we sat, which brought a stern reprimand—I now know one never crosses ones legs in an Orthodox Church, nor ever show the bottom of your shoes to a Muslim. Live and learn. Justine, among other things, told us of many miracles which have occurred in the Church in history before the altar of the Virgin Mary, off to the side, including, according to her account, an event of speaking in tongues a year ago and at about the same time an appearance of the Savior to a woman from France in the underground “Upper Room.” The event of the appearance is secondhand, as the Frenchwoman told her through translation. Her description of the event of speaking in tongues is more interesting, as she was one of the participants. She said that she speaks Syriac, Hebrew and English. One day a Russian man came into the church, who spoke only Russian. She said that she conversed with the man for over an hour “In English.” The man left, and then returned 3 months later. As they spoke upon his return she could not understand him, nor he her. He became angry and signaled for her to stop speaking and then retreated to the side altar to Mary. She said she prayed to understand why he was angry and why he would not speak to her in Engish. As she prayed a friend from Jerusalem entered who spoke both Russian and Hebrew. She had the newcomer ask the Russian man why he was angry. He told Justine, through the translator, that he couldn’t understand why she didn’t speak Russian to him as she had before. It was a very interesting account. Today, at the conclusion of our visit with Justine, before we inspected the underground “Upper Room,” (which was unremarkable, indeed had modern plastered walls) Justine sang for us the Lord’s Prayer in Syriac in the chapel, which was remarkable.

A City of Gates and Doors

I am fascinated by the gates and doors of Jerusalem--church doors, doors into walled gardens, doorways into the most humble houses and dwellings by the way, and of course the great gates of the Old City--Lion's Gate, Herod's Gate, the Damascus Gate, Jaffa Gate, Zion Gate, the Dung Gate and the Golden Gate, which has been sealed for 2,000 years.

This is a city where many doors and gates are closed and locked--locked by prejudice, by the crushing forces of empire, by suspicion, by violence. In the past few days I have had discussions with Jews, Palestinians and Christians who all feel the oppressive frustration of closed doors in this great city. Because of security threats earlier this week, there were neighborhoods of the city which were literally sealed off.

But for the accident of history, this place would be unremarkable--another Mediterranean or Levantine city which time would forget. Fortunately there are many open doors in this special place. Because of the great confluence of the forces of history upon this place, because it is a city unto which many nations merge together there must be a wise effort to keep as many doors open as possible.

None of us can open all the doors--but we can open our small doors, one by one. I saw this yesterday as we visited in the home of Hefa Khalidi. If enough small doors are opened, it may usher in a time when even the greatest gates will grind open on their rusty hinges, and perhaps we'll all see the day when even the Golden Gate is opened wide to receive a Messiah of peace.

The Faces of the People

I am fascinated by the amazing diversity of those in the Old City--Jews, Muslims, Christians, Priests, Rabbis, tourists, pilgrims, vendors, thieves, soldiers, beggars, men and women and children of every color, creed and nation. Indeed, I find myself sometimes more interested in faces of the people who come here--the worshipers, the curious, the seekers, the pilgrims--than in the monuments they have come to see.

Welcome Home from the Hajj

Hajj is the annual pilgrimage to Mecca performed by devout Muslims. Hajj is the fifth pillar or principle of Islam--essentially it is a religious duty for every able bodied Muslim that must be carried out at least once in his lifetime. In the Muslim Quarter of the Old City today, Max pointed out to me the way families decorate the doorways of their houses to welcome home a returning pilgrim. The doors are painted with bright colors, stars and Islamic insignias, much the same way we might place streamers, banners, balloons outside our American houses to welcome home soldiers or missionaries. Max said that once the Hajj has been accomplished, the returning pilgrim has then earned the honorific title of "Hajji" for the rest of his life.

Western Wall Tunnels

After paying my devotions at the Western Wall, Max and Brooke and I went on a tour of the amazing underground excavations all along the Western Wall. These tunnels were begun in the 1860's by British Army officer Charles Warren, but in recent years and months they have continued by the Israeli government. Essentially, these tunnels run along the base of the Western Wall of the Temple Mount from the Western Wall Plaza on the south all the way to the old foundation structures of the Antonia Fortress and its amazing underground aquaduct system.

The finely dressed stones in the lower courses are Herodian, while the rubble-like upper stones are from the later Islamic reconstruction. Some of the Herodian stones are more than 40 feel long and way more than 800 tons. They are laid without mortar but are so finely cut that it looks like it would be impossible to pass a knife blade between the crevices.

Another fascinating feature of these tunnels is the way they have been constructed beneath the living city of the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. Also, the depth of these underground structures is astounding. Essentially beneath every house in the Muslim Quarter near the Western Wall you may have 50 to 100 feet of historical buildings--First Temple, Herodian, Roman, Byzantine, Islamic Reconstruction, Mamluke, Ottoman, etc. These consist of streets, walls, foundations, arches, aquaducts, cisterns, etc., each built on top of the other.

Via Dolorosa

At various times today we explored the Via Dolorosa, which is the traditional path Jesus took from his judgement to his crucifixion. Along the way we say many tour groups and pilgrims. There are brass numbered plaques on the walls bearing Roman numerals showing each of the 14 stations, as follows:

1. Jesus is condemned to death.
2. Jesus takes up the cross.
3. Jesus falls beneath the weight of the cross for the first time.
4. Jesus meets his mother, Mary.
5. Simon of Cyrene is ordered by the Roman soldiers to help Jesus carry the cross.
6. Veronica wipes away Jesus's blood and sweat.
7. Jesus falls for the second time.
8. Jesus consoles the women of Jerusalem.
9. Jesus falls for the third time.
10. Jesus is stripped of his clothes.
11. Jesus is nailed to the cross.
12. Jesus dies.
13. Jesus is taken down from the cross.
14. The holy sepulchre where Jesus is laid.

The setting along the Via Dolorosa is somewhat garish, contrived and strange. Each of the stations is memorialized by a small plaque in the walls of the narrow street or by some small chapel or memorial. Usually there are gift shops incorporated as part of each little chapel. The streets themselves are filled with Muslim vendors, calling out, "Hello! Shopping?" Moreover, the street and buildings one now sees are at best Byzantine or Ottoman structures--the streets that the Savior passed along are destroyed or buried deep beneath the city.

My chief interest in the Via Dolorosa is not in the "theme-park" like capitalism, but in the living people themselves who come here for whatever reason.

Along the way we stopped at a little hole in the wall restaurant in the Muslim Quarter for lunch.

Visit to the Western Wall

One of the things I have most looked forward to is to stand before the Western Wall in Jerusalem. I had that privilege today. I had previously written out a personal prayer on a small piece of paper, containing the names of all of my family members and asking for blessings upon them. I, of course, had to don a Kippah--the round hat devout Jewish men wear--before approaching the wall. It was a joy to touch the wall, and stand before it for some time meditating and praying. I took the small paper I had brought with me, folded it up and placed it between the cracks of the great Herodian stones.

The Khalidi Family's Private Library and Mosque

As a surprise, Max and Brooke took me today to meet Hefa Khalidi in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. Hefa is the heir and conservator of the Khalidi Library (al-Maktaba al-Khalidiyya), which was established in 1899 by her great grandfather, Hajj Raghib al-Khalidi. The Khalidi family have lived in the Old City for centuries and members of the family have served as judges, administrators and leading aids to the Ottoman Empire. The library is based on family holdings of manuscripts and books collected by the family over many centuries.

We went first to Hefa's house, which is entered by an unobtrusive green door along the narrow streets of the Muslim Quarter. She was expecting us, and took a ring of keys and invited us about two doors down the street. Inside a stone structure we were shown a family mausoleum with graves of three of her ancestors. In an adjoining room we were shown the private family mosque, with bookshelves and family photographs along one wall, a spiral staircase in the corner, and the marble niche facing Mecca on the opposite wall. She gave me a history of her family, dating back many centuries to days when her forefathers were prominent in Ottoman Empire affairs. She then took us up the spiral staircase to the manuscript collection. Here on steel shelves were many thousands of manuscripts. She showed us a half a dozen of these. The were all richly illustrated, and written in Arabic, Turkish and Kurdish. Most were at least 4-500 years old and at least one of the manuscripts she showed us was more than 1,000 years old.

Hefa's family has lived in this house, very near the Western Wall of the Temple Mount, for centuries. Interestingly, she also told us that her family previously owned vast tracts of land on Mount Scopus, which were taken away from the family upon Israeli Independence, and the Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies is now built on former Khalidi land. Max later told me that while the family never received compensation for its Mount Scopus holdings, the University has been very generous in offering scholarships to Palestinians over the years, in part because of the Khalidi family. Max also told me that one of Hefa's cousins is a renowned Palestinian scholar living in the United States, now teaching at the University of Illinois.

One of the impressions I take away from meeting Hefa Khalidi is the rich heritage of Islam.