“Are you Muslim?” ask two thickset men squatting at the entrance of the Muslim Quarters after I enter the Old City of Jerusalem through one of its seven gates. Seeing my ankle-high slacks, my tee shirt and the baseball hat perched on my head, they refuse me entry after I have ‘successfully’ cleared the first check post manned by disinterested but armed to teeth Israeli police who couldn’t care less about my religious credentials.

I quickly spread out my black shawl to take cover from my Arab interlocutors. “Where are you from?” they ask. Pakistan, I say. “Show us your passport.” “I’ve left it at the hotel where I am staying, I answer.” Fear of being turned away grips me. “Recite the Surah-i-fatiha” I am ordered.

I do. I enter. I soak in the sacredness of a divine presence as I stay to take in the stunning, vivid, utterly memorable scene around the sprawling grounds dotted with cedars and olive trees.

Despite Jerusalem’s afternoon sun, a gentle breeze blows, making the air comfortably pleasing. Soul-struck, I gaze in awe at the Dome of the Rock. “You have to be fully covered,” a helpful man at the door of the Dome tells me pointing towards my clothes. He asks his female colleague to drape me in a full gown. “Make sure to return it to us once you have also been inside Al-Aqsa Mosque,” she says, pointing to the mosque near the Dome of the Rock.

Like the Kaa’ba in Makkah, the Dome known as Al-Haram al-Sharif (the Noble Sanctuary) is built around a sacred stone believed to be the place from where our Holy Prophet (PBUH) ascended to heaven during his Night Journey.

Once inside the 7th century shrine built by Caliph Abd al-Malik between 687 and 691, the ambient sound of worshippers lost in prayers while seated or walking on the lush red and green carpets is all-encompassing. I am dazzled by the Byzantine design of the beauteous Dome showcasing an arched wall called the ‘octagonal arcade’ resembling the exterior shape of the shrine.

I follow people walking around in circular movements (tawaf) like the pilgrims around the Kaa’ba. Despite the many people taking selfies, the atmosphere is serenely sacrosanct. One of the women seated in rows of wooden desks reciting the Holy Quran gestures to a woman standing next to me telling her to make me cover my head. That’s when I realise my head cover has slipped. I quickly put it back but still receive an angry scowl from the woman. Stepping outside, I linger a while to soak in the grandeur of the shrine. Verses from the Holy Quran cover the octagonal part of the Dome.

Jerusalem is holy to three faiths, yet tolerance and harmony are in short supply

The tiled area just below the golden dome known as the drum has glazed tiles that were made in Turkey and contain Quranic inscriptions (Surat Al-’Isr’) describing the Night Journey of our Holy Prophet (PBUH). Originally made of gold, the Dome was later replaced with copper and then aluminium. Thanks to the generosity of the late King Hussein of Jordan, the aluminium is now covered with gold leaf that gleams and glitters and is visible from all corners of Jerusalem. Looking heavenwards, I see the shiny crescent, symbol of Islam, placed atop the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque.

In close proximity stands the Al-Aqsa Mosque. Its beauty lies in its simplicity. It is the third holiest site in Islam after the mosques of al-Haram in Makkah and al-Nabawi in Madina.

Al-Aqsa Mosque: Islam’s third holiest site where Prophet Muhammad prayed during his Isra wal Mi’raj or “Night Journey”

According to the Holy Quran, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) was taken on a steed to visit the ‘Farthest Mosque’ (literally Al Aqsa in Arabic) from Makkah to Jerusalem and back during the Isra wal Mi’raj or “Night Journey” where he prayed at Al-Aqsa Mosque, and then ascended to Heaven. Surat Al-’Isr’ of the Holy Quran states: “Exalted is He who took His Servant by night from al-Masjid al-Haram to al-Masjid al-Aqsa, whose surroundings We have blessed, to show him of Our signs. Indeed, He is the Hearing, the Seeing.” In the Hadith al-Bukhr and Muslim, the Holy Prophet is quoted as saying, “I was brought the Buraq, a long white beast, slightly bigger than a donkey but smaller than a mule which when trotting (ride), would place its next step as far as its eyesight could see. I mounted it until I reached al-Quds, Jerusalem. There I tied it up to the same ring used by the Prophets.”

Al-Aqsa Mosque is spacious with plenty of room to walk around. I hear the azaan and suddenly the place fills up with worshippers — men, women and children — come to offer their Asr prayer. “The mosque is packed during Friday salaat,” a lady tells me. After all, this was the first qibla

Church of the Holy Sepulchre: Christians kiss the stone where Jesus Christ was anointed after crucification at the same spot

Muslims call the 0.9 square kilometre of the Old City Al-Quds and Bayt Al-Maqdis; the Jews call it ‘The Temple Mount.’ According to the Bible, both Jewish Temples stood at the Temple Mount. The first Temple was built by King Solomon, son of King David, but was destroyed by the Babylonians. The Second Temple was destroyed by the Romans. Now called the ‘Jewish Quarter’ this open-air synagogue with the ‘Wailing Wall’ in the foreground is the holiest site in Judaism. The Jews regard it as the place where ‘God’s divine presence is manifested more than any other place’. Busloads of tourists alight and walk towards the ‘Wailing Wall’ also called the ‘Western Wall’. No one asks me what my religion is or why I have not covered my head. I feel a sense of freedom to move and do whatever I want. Some worshippers are seated on chairs facing the Wall while others stand with their foreheads touching the Wall to pray.

“Why is it called the ‘Wailing Wall’?” I ask a tourist whose camera never stops clicking. “For centuries Jews have gathered here to lament the loss of their Temples.” Another man hearing our conversation adds, “In August each year we fast to commemorate the destruction of both of our Temples. We recite dirges.” Moving closer to the Wall, I see men and women fill the chinks in the Wall with written notes containing prayers. A certain messianic certitude pervades the atmosphere. One Jerusalem resident tells me that she comes here daily along with other worshippers to recite the entire Book of Psalms. Some orthodox Jews are chanting and swaying. Like the Juma prayers at Al-Aqsa Masjid, the Sabbath prayer services are big worshipper-pullers at the Wall. Shabbat in Hebrew means ‘rest’ or ‘cessation’ and falls on the seventh day of the week. Sabbath begins before sunset on Friday evening until the appearance of three stars in the sky on Saturday night when the Jews light candles and recite blessings.

The Wailing Wall: For centuries Jews have gathered here to lament the loss of their Temples

After the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, the Wall came under Jordanian control when a British officer Lieutenant-General Glubb Pasha was ordered by King Abdullah of Jordan to overtake Jerusalem. Jews were barred from the Wailing Wall for 19 years until Israel captured the Old City in 1967 and three days later their Schadenfreude (gloating), resulted in the bulldozing of the adjacent 770-year old Moroccan Quarter so that the narrow alleys leading to the Wall could be widened. The Arab-Israel conflict springs to my mind as I walk up to the Wailing Wall to touch it and pray for peace in the world.

The sun is setting; the shadows lengthening; there’s a chill in the air. I make my way to the Christian Quarter. There stands in all its Romanesque glory the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It is the holiest Christian site in the world believed to encompass Golgotha, or Calvary, where Jesus was crucified, and the tomb (sepulchre) where he was buried. At the entrance lies an elongated ochre-coloured marble slab known as ‘Stone of Anointing.’ I see people kneeling down and kissing the stone believed to be the spot where Jesus’ body was prepared for burial. Walking through the dimly lit baroque corridors leading down to yet more rooms, peace and quiet reign. I try going everywhere and am glad when I reach the exit as it is easy to get lost among the festooned Gothic-style chandeliers that don’t shed much brightness around the space.

Darkness has arrived; my feet are killing me but my peripatetic spirit urges me to continue walking the centuries-old streets where every stone bears testament to the millions of people — Muslims, Jews and Christians, who for thousands of years, have lived, fought and worshipped the one God on this Holy Land. I look for answers that are hard to find: Why did God make a mere 0.9 square kilometre the iconic juxtaposition of three monolithic religions that have failed to reconcile with each other till today? Perhaps the fault lies less with the heavens than with ourselves.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine June 21st, 2015

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