Stories of Limestone
by Ann Barlow
In another time zone, there is a sacred city built of white
limestone. If limestone could talk, it would tell a story of faith, hope, and
vision. The inhabitants of this city are all in search of peace, but they are
not unified in the direction to obtaining this peace. The city is Jerusalem, or
in Hebrew, the "city of peace."
While living in this extraordinary and unique city, which captures both the ancient and modern in its hills and valleys, I received a perspective far beyond the constricted media headlines. Among the panorama of white limestone are glimpses of fabrics which separate groups of faith. Kaffiyahs, kippas, and black robes adorned with beads and crosses distinguish the characteristics these people differ in the most. However, this distinction is everything to them. Religion is a lifestyle for these people. It is religion that draws all these people to this city of white. The sights, smells, and sounds of this land portray this vision, hope, and faith.
Pilgrims carrying a cross up the stones of Via Delarosa; Jews gently rocking back and forth in prayer at the Western Wall; women covered from head to foot; soldiers in a green uniform that is complimentary to their olive skin; young children wearing kippas; children playing soccer in the streets; men smoking hookah; olive wood and colorful fabrics lining the shops of the Old City. These are the sights of Jerusalem...the sights that people don’t know about before arriving. These are the sights that--along with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Dome of the Rock, the Western Wall, synagogues, mosques, the Garden Tomb, Gethsemane, the Church of All Nations--portray the desire for tranquility.
The cry for peace is heard in the everyday sounds of this bustling city. Five times a day, Muslims call for peace in their most unifying act of prayer. Throughout the day, bells of Christian churches call for peace. Locals speaking in Hebrew and Arabic create the musical arrangement of the longing for peace. The laughter of children and the constant music of car horns create a melody of faith.
While living in this extraordinary and unique city, which captures both the ancient and modern in its hills and valleys, I received a perspective far beyond the constricted media headlines. Among the panorama of white limestone are glimpses of fabrics which separate groups of faith. Kaffiyahs, kippas, and black robes adorned with beads and crosses distinguish the characteristics these people differ in the most. However, this distinction is everything to them. Religion is a lifestyle for these people. It is religion that draws all these people to this city of white. The sights, smells, and sounds of this land portray this vision, hope, and faith.
Pilgrims carrying a cross up the stones of Via Delarosa; Jews gently rocking back and forth in prayer at the Western Wall; women covered from head to foot; soldiers in a green uniform that is complimentary to their olive skin; young children wearing kippas; children playing soccer in the streets; men smoking hookah; olive wood and colorful fabrics lining the shops of the Old City. These are the sights of Jerusalem...the sights that people don’t know about before arriving. These are the sights that--along with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Dome of the Rock, the Western Wall, synagogues, mosques, the Garden Tomb, Gethsemane, the Church of All Nations--portray the desire for tranquility.
The cry for peace is heard in the everyday sounds of this bustling city. Five times a day, Muslims call for peace in their most unifying act of prayer. Throughout the day, bells of Christian churches call for peace. Locals speaking in Hebrew and Arabic create the musical arrangement of the longing for peace. The laughter of children and the constant music of car horns create a melody of faith.
The cry for peace is heard in the everyday sounds of this bustling city.
You
can almost smell the hope for peace mixed among the rich smell of spices and
meat. As I walked the old city streets, the smell seemed to differ according to
what quarter of the city it was, but there was one smell that was always
present. It was a smell that Muslims, Christians, Jews, and Armenians alike all
shared. It was that smell that said that someday, they would all have peace.
The vision of peace, although temporarily unattainable in this land, is present in the sites, smells, and sounds. It is a part of Arab and Israeli identity. It is founded in Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. If they could all agree on faith, they could agree on peace. But removing any two of the three religions founded there destroys the sacred uniqueness of this holy land of ambiguity.
While living in the Holy Land, we had all sides of the Israeli/Palestinian issue coming at us in every direction. Certain class lectures and field trips would leave us leaning one way or the other. But we were never firm in one position. There are two reasons that cause me to not take sides in their discussion of peace.
The first reason is that my hope for each group to have peace is not as deeply rooted as theirs. This anticipation and fight for peace is centuries deep for these people. It is stronger than the limestone that builds up Jerusalem. It is deeper than the roots of the numerous olive trees dotting this country. But my hope surpasses religious differences. My desire is that all religions in this land can find peace with one another. Their hope stems from their religious background.
The second reason is because I was given the extraordinary opportunity to know these people, to interact with them. As I did so, I understood that they all want the same outcome but through different routes. These devoted people only feel unified by separate religions. But I viewed them as unified by land and purpose. They are not three, but one. They all want peace, and frankly, they all deserve it. It is a story that I’ve heard told many a time from Christian, Muslim, and Jew. If only I could hear it from the limestone.
The vision of peace, although temporarily unattainable in this land, is present in the sites, smells, and sounds. It is a part of Arab and Israeli identity. It is founded in Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. If they could all agree on faith, they could agree on peace. But removing any two of the three religions founded there destroys the sacred uniqueness of this holy land of ambiguity.
While living in the Holy Land, we had all sides of the Israeli/Palestinian issue coming at us in every direction. Certain class lectures and field trips would leave us leaning one way or the other. But we were never firm in one position. There are two reasons that cause me to not take sides in their discussion of peace.
The first reason is that my hope for each group to have peace is not as deeply rooted as theirs. This anticipation and fight for peace is centuries deep for these people. It is stronger than the limestone that builds up Jerusalem. It is deeper than the roots of the numerous olive trees dotting this country. But my hope surpasses religious differences. My desire is that all religions in this land can find peace with one another. Their hope stems from their religious background.
The second reason is because I was given the extraordinary opportunity to know these people, to interact with them. As I did so, I understood that they all want the same outcome but through different routes. These devoted people only feel unified by separate religions. But I viewed them as unified by land and purpose. They are not three, but one. They all want peace, and frankly, they all deserve it. It is a story that I’ve heard told many a time from Christian, Muslim, and Jew. If only I could hear it from the limestone.
Ann Barlow is in her
last semester of her English Education degree at Brigham Young
University-Idaho, before student teaching this fall. She absolutely loved the
experience of living among and learning from the Israeli people on a study
abroad there in Fall 2010. She aspires to be an English teacher both nationally
and internationally.