Friday prayers were about to begin; our taxi driver sped through the ancient streets of Jerusalem, towards the Sacred Sanctuary of al-Aqsa. The road ahead was closed. He turned right into another street, looking for a way in, but we were met with the same result. This was a deliberate ploy; Israeli authorities had taken to closing key roads close to Juma‘ time, making it difficult for worshippers to reach the mosque on time. We had crossed the border from Jordan with relative ease; since we had only one day to spend in Jerusalem, we had paid for the VIP visa service, thereby entering within 5 hours as an opposed to the 12 that others we encountered were forced to wait. Giving up on the car, our driver decided our best option would be to park and walk through the narrow streets, bypassing the road blockades. At six months pregnant, this was not an easy task, particularly since we were walking uphill.
As we got closer to the mosque, we came upon another blockade, this time designed to prevent men under the age of 50 entering the Haram (Sanctuary). Being a woman, I was allowed to enter, but my husband would have to wait until Juma’ was over. Our driver presented the soldiers with his ID papers; satisfied that he was no longer a young man, he was granted entry. I would like to say that at this point I was torn, not wanting to go without my husband, but in truth, I wasn’t. Its not everyday that one finds themselves in the Holy city, on a Friday at Juma’ time, so with little hesitation, I left my husband behind and followed our taxi driver into a small street leading towards the mosque.
As I walked along the narrow streets, I felt annoyed as young white men, clearly tourists, were allowed to enter the Sanctuary with complete ease, and walk around freely taking photos, while my husband and dozens of young Palestinian worshippers were forced to pray on the road, surrounded by armed Israeli soldiers – but since I was in such a rush to get to the mosque on time, I didn’t have time to dwell upon it. We finally reached the steps of al-Aqsa; I hurried up and joined the congregation of women praying outdoors.
What is often not realised is that the entire Sacred Sanctuary (Haram al-Sharif) is considered al-Aqsa; the mosque building, which dates back to the 11th century, is but a small part of the entire al-Aqsa complex. The original mosque was built by Umar ibn al-Khattab (may God be pleased with him) after he conquered the Holy City. When he entered the Sacred Sanctuary, he found it abandoned and covered with rubbish. Setting an example for those around him, he began cleaning the area, using his clothing to collect the rubbish.
Once Juma’ was complete, I saw our driver waiting for me nearby. While I had been taking my time, completing my Sunnas (extra acts of prayer), I realised that he had hurriedly completed his prayer to ensure that I didn’t get lost. After finding my husband, who was now allowed to enter the Sanctuary, we walked towards the Dome of the Rock; built by Caliph Abd al-Malik in 691AD, it is one of the oldest standing Islamic buildings in the world.
Built with a octagonal structure, at its centre sits a large rock, believed to be the one on which the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) stood on his Night Journey to Heaven, when God showed him what no other has seen. The rock is surrounded by a barrier; on one side there is a small edifice with a hole in through which one can touch it. As I stood awaiting my turn, I noticed the array of accents and languages being spoken around me. Discernible through the general bustle of worshippers were various regional English accents. This was the Spring of 2013; at this time Jerusalem was still relatively stable (at least for outsiders such as us) and an increasing number of Muslims from other countries were visiting the city.
Once my husband had completed his turn, I put my arm through the hole and touched the sacred rock. It was cold and smooth to touch and when I smelled my hand, the scent was incredible. It was a strange thing- as strong as the scent initially was, it would only last for a few seconds and then disappear without leaving the slightest trace. I rubbed my shawl on the rock and again the same thing happened- it was infused with the heavenly scent, but a few seconds later was completely gone, as though it could not remain in our temporal, horizontal realm, making it all the more poignant then, that from this very spot on that blessed night, God granted His Beloved ﷺ a glimpse into the vertical.
Downstairs, beneath the rock, is a grotto-like space where the Prophet (peace be upon him) is thought to have prayed. Here we prayed 2 rakats, hopeful that it was upon the same spot as he (peace be upon him). Our guide in the basement of the Masjid al-Aqsa, an old Palestinian man, told us about its history; he showed us the original walls of the mosque, built in the time of Soloman (peace be upon him). Tradition states that the huge slabs of concrete were put in place by Jinn. He showed us the place of Maryam, the mother of Jesus (peace be upon them both), where she would sit while angels brought food to her.
It was Good Friday, which meant that the border going back to Jordan would be closing earlier than usual. Before heading back, we had time enough to view the city from the Mount of Olives, the golden Dome glistening in the foreground. We had only one day in Jerusalem; for a city steeped in so much history, this was far from enough, but I was grateful. The day had been surreal. I had come to Jerusalem prepared; I knew the history of the city and of al-Aqsa; I knew about the architecture of its buildings; I even knew about the visible traces of history left by the Crusaders and where to find them. And yet Jerusalem still surprised me.
Walking around the Haram, there was a distinct sense of calm and tranquility in the air that I wasn’t expecting. There were visible signs of the city’s bloody past and besieged present around every corner we took; soldiers walked around with guns; holes in the pillars of the mosque served as reminders of the Crusader period, in which the basement of the mosque was used as stables and horses were tied to the pillars. A stump outside the mosque- the base of a cross that once stood, marks the spot where hundreds of the city’s inhabitants, Muslims, Jews and Christians, both young and old, were slaughtered by the attacking Crusaders until rivers of blood flowed through its ancient streets. And yet in spite of this, somehow the overriding feeling in the air was of a city full of eternal blessings and beauty. It was unmistakeable. Its people, (at least those we spoke to), were not angry and bitter- they were hopeful. As a coveted city, Jerusalem had been in turmoil more than once in its long history, but peace always returned. The present situation was no different- it was merely temporary.
Read more about Jerusalem: Visiting the Sacred Sites of Jerusalem
