Sometimes when I am
asked how my family–a Muslim family named after “Nussaibah,” a female warrior-companion
of the Prophet from Medina–ever came to hold the keys to one of Christianity’s holiest
sites in Jerusalem, the Holy Sepulchre, I smile indulgently. Then, I begin by saying:
“Well, there are a few traditions in the family concerning this, but let me begin
with this tale…”.
The story I then spin out is an innocent mixture of fact and fiction, a mosaic of
the subjective and the objective, which has been imprinted in my sub-conscious ever
since my early childhood. For me, this is the essence of the identity of Jerusalem
–a beautiful mosaic of tales spun out from a misty past, rooted in events, whether
real or presumed, and constituting the fibre of the hearts and souls of its inhabitants.
One such tale of which I am particularly fond, encapsulating as it does the magical
relation between Man and the City, is that of the Caliph Umar’s entry into Jerusalem
in 638 A.D. It is a tale that seeped deeply into my consciousness during my childhood,
resounding year after year in my ears and mind, but cumulatively gathering with it
and impressing upon me a particular moral; one which, because of its association
with Islam’s origin in the City, is fundamental to my self-identity as a Muslim Jerusalemite.
The almighty Caliph of Islam, I have been led to believe, being totally overawed
by the prospect of entering this sanctified City, would only deign to arrive at its
gates unarmed. Leaving his fierce and victorious warriors behind, accompanied only
by his aide and one beast of burden, he approaches the City peacefully and by foot,
to be cordially received by its Christian Guardian, Bishop Sephronious. On his journey
towards the City, the story goes (and I take this also to be a fundamental part of
the tale), the Caliph and his man-servant exchange places to ride their single camel.
Much of history is made of what happens next. To me, the mystery of Jerusalem is
already engraved in the above tale. Laid out before me, I immediately see the moral
contours of a cosmic design, mapping out and balancing the relation between the Man
and the City, between Earth and Heaven. At one end of the design stands the Conqueror
and First leader of Men. But his size is diminutive. His submission is total. His
humility and self-denial are complete. At the other end stands the Golden but “conquered”
City. Its size is majestic. Its form is imperial. Its heavenly walls totally impregnable,
impervious but to the pious, who enter it submissively and with humility. It is not
another stone-habitation to be submitted and conquered by force. It is the penultimate
earthly stepping stone in the journey of the humble and pious towards their Creator.
I look at this drawing in awe and wonder. Not here do I find the signs of pomp and
glory of earthly warriors. Nor here in the drawing do I see the details of blood,
battle and plunder. There is a peaceful absence of human force and violence. There
is only the City’s divine supremacy, illuminating the path to God.
A jewel box
of moral tales
I take a look back to reevaluate or understand the approach of the Caliph and his
man-servant. It takes but a second for me to realize the other significant message,
the other universal value in this childhood tale: the equality and brotherhood between
men. Regardless of their respective earthly stations, Caliph and man-servant are
equal before God. And, as equals, they naturally come to share their earthly utilities.
This is certainly no Roman Emperor riding golden chariots surrounded and protected
by soldiers and servants, nor a Cleopatra or Pharaoh carried regally on the shoulders
of beautiful Nubians belonging to a sub-race, in celebration of Man’s mighty conquests:
it is, rather, a humble servant of God, piously seeking to be received by Him. Jerusalem–the
stones and the inhabitants–is a jewel-box of such moral tales. The mosaic intercrosses
time and space, stone and soul, reality and dreams. It is impossible not to hear
the throbs of your heart, not to pierce through present sounds and smells to the
point of contact with the images and sounds of the past, as you tread through the
ancient cobbled streets of history.
You may see soldiers and guns parading through the streets of the present. You may
see anguish or pain or suffering. You may sense bigotry, or bias or misplaced self-righteousness.
But somehow, you manage to gaze right through these and other images of human contortions,
from this period or from other grim periods of Jerusalem’s history, to see Jerusalem
as its real, heavenly self, as a City of unity and piety. And as you gaze at this
eternal Jerusalem with the eyes of faith, you manage somehow to imbibe differences
and imbalances, distilling into your own identity other peoples’ pains, tales and
histories. For, what is a Jerusalemite if not a complete human being, a human being
stripped of earthly prejudices, of racism and bigotry, a human being sufficiently
purified to be received by God?
I would like to believe, in spite of the contortions of the present, that Jerusalem
can still outshine human differences and reign supreme; and that Jews, Christians
and Muslims can still make Jerusalem fulfill its destiny of bringing peace unto the
nations. I believe the secret to this dream lies in a childhood tale. It is the tale
of Umar: that men who would venture to step into the earthly Jerusalem, in fulfillment
of the beckoning of God, should behave towards each other as equals, and be prepared
to share their earthly means of entry to the divine world. |
Jerusalem
can still outshine human differences
and reign supreme.
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In
search of the timeless
During a course
given by French photographer Luc Chéry*, students in literature, architecture
and archaeology from Al-Quds University experimented for the first time with another
form of “writing”–photography. Working on the theme “Jerusalem, my city,” they meandered
down narrow lanes and into markets, equipped with throwaway cameras, in search of
subjective, timeless shots. The result, a collection of 35 photographs from which
the present illustrations are selected, will go on show in Jerusalem, Ramallah, Gaza
and Nablus, as well as in several capitals of the region.
* In
partnership with the cultural service of the French General Consulate, the Al-Ma’mal
Foundation for Contemporary Art and the Centre for Studies on Jerusalem.
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