Call to prayer in Al Quds

Thursday, August 21st, 2008

This morning we awoke (a bit moist from the dew) on the roof of a Citadel Hostel in Old Jerusalem in the Christian Quarter to the 4am call to prayer emanating from Al Aqsa mosque (and then echoed by the approximately twenty other nearby mosques). I groggily opened my eyes and looked out over the Old City and saw the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Dome of the Rock in the distance. Eerily beautiful. Less fun that I was huddled in a soggy blanket with no pillow and a strange man huddled sleeping beside me (though he was from Switzerland so we figured he was ok...)

The Old City of Jerusalem (Al Quds Al-Kadeem) is enchanting at night. That sounds overly poetic but it's not to describe it as so. As we meandered through the streets, passing through the Christian Quarter into the Jewish Quarter, I saw crowds flooding out from one direction. We pushed through and suddenly came upon the Dome of the Rock, the Western (Wailing) Wall and Al-Aqsa Mosque. Placing a prayer in the Western Wall (gotta follow suit to Obama) is no small feat. Though Nora and I were not made to wear a paper kippa as Dante was. Looking around, we realized that most of the women were backing away from the wall all the way back to the entrance, so we did so as well, nearly knocking over more than a few small children in the process. Somehow, it's such a powerful experience to see so many people believing all at once. It sort of carries you away to wonder if you could believe as well.

Continuing on into the Muslim Quarter (in which I instantly felt almost at home because it felt like Beit Sahour) we arrived at Damascus Gate, just as the evening call to prayer was beginning. I was struck by how far removed I felt leaving the Old City, feeling 100% the tourist, looking across to the bus station I'd transfered to so many times enroute to Ramallah... or Nablus... I felt like I was looking through a window into a past life, although I'd just left the West Bank that morning.

After dinner and walking back through the Armenian Quarter to our hostel, it felt like the correct way to end the journey. Perhaps standing already on the other side of the glass is preparation for when instead of imagined glass, an ocean, a few large bodies of land, and a culture gap separate me from this life.

In Tel Aviv now, I feel like my life in the West Bank is worlds away and ages ago. Today the objective? Not human rights observation. Not empowerment of youth. Not expansion of world experience. Simply to sit on the beach, grab a bit of a tan before heading home and gear up for the year ahead.