After
an
abbreviated
breakfast
of "ka'ek" (the elliptical breadroll
cocooned
in
sesame
seeds)
and
"falafel,"
I
stand
before
the
ornately
decorated
gate
of
Deir
El
Sir-yan,
the Syriac or Assyrian Convent of St
Mark.
I
have
come
here
filled
with
an
unusual expectation: to hear a
language
first
spoken
in
this
part
of
the world 2,000 years ago by a man
who
changed
the
history
of
the
world.
The
gate
is
open,
and
I
step
in.
In the ghostly, candle-lit
semi-darkness
punctuated
by
velvety
clouds
of
billowing
incense,
the
sound of the priest intoning the Lord's prayer, echoes across the nave,
an astringent but soothing balm.
"Avvon d-bish-maiya, nith-qaddash shim-mukh," (our father, who are
in heaven, hallowed be thy name).
This is Aramaic, the lingua franca from the times of Jesus of
Nazareth, still vibrantly alive in the liturgy of the Syriac church,
faithfully preserved down the centuries to the present day.
I listen rapt to the modern reverberations of the ancient tongue,
feeling the haunting inflections of the guttural, mellifluous singing
penetrate into the consciousness and overwhelm the soul, taking the
imagination back through time and space, to hover within the presence of
the man from Galilee.
"Tih-teh mal-chootukh," (thy kingdom come).
They are the same words uttered two millennia ago by the man who
preached that the kingdom of god is within ourselves.
It is a lesson Khader Khano takes tenaciously to heart.
The service over, we are sitting in the secretariat which is being
manned by this earnest 21-year-old deacon who is acting for Archbishop
Mar Sweiros Malki Murad during his absence abroad.
Within the space of weeks, Khano will be making history of his own
when he is ordained celibate priest, the first time in over 100 years a
Holy Land native-born aspirant is invested with the habit by the Syriac
church.
The occasion has spawned widespread jubilation among the local
Christian churches, particularly in Bethlehem where a sizeable community
of Khano's compatriots are gearing up for the ceremony.
For centuries, St Mark had languished in relative obscurity, its
visibility and accessibility hindered by its uninviting external
architectural disposition. But all that changed with the 1948 discovery
of the Dead Sea Scrolls in the salty caves of Qumran by an itinerant
Bedouin sheepherder. Through circuitous and mysterious routes under the
gathering clouds of war between Arab and Jew, the scrolls finally reached
Jerusalem and were kept for a brief spell in the convent of St Mark,
before surfacing on the shores of an astounded world.
Khano's ordination may not count as a comparably momentous
eventuality, but there is no mistaking the euphoria that has gripped the
Syriac church, for this too is another milestone in the glorious history
of these proud descendants of the Babylonians.
The Syriacs of the Holy Land are better known by the Arabic
appellation "Sir-yan," but in other parts of the world they also refer to
themselves as Ashourayeh, Ashouri or Suryoyo.
Traditionally, the Syriac church used to replenish the ranks of its
clergy from the youth of Ashouri colonies in neighboring Arabic
countries, particularly Iraq. But the political upheavals unleashed by
the 1967 Six Day War forced that gateway to close.
Khano bubbles with scarcely concealed enthusiasm, caught up
blissfully in the gentle breeze of faith and conviction.
"I have thought very hard and very long over my decision to become
a priest, and I have found that there is nothing more important to me
than to serve God in this way," he tells me.
"All the books I have read, all the lessons I have studied have
prepared me just for this. I have no other interest in life other than to
become a priest."
He will be ordained in Bethlehem but will come back to serve, under
his new name, Father Boulos (Paul) at St Mark, which was the first
Christian edifice ever built anywhere, according to a 6th Century
inscription unearthed in 1940. This was the house of Mary, mother of
John, called Mark, the Evangelist. The church boasts a portrait of the
Virgin Mary reputedly painted by St Luke the evangelist.
Alas, the monastery compound, located at the periphery of the
Armenian Quarter, is the last remaining enclave left to the Syriac
Orthodox Church who has lost everything else in the city.
It is now home for a mere handful of clergymen, their sharp decline
paralleled by the attrition in the numbers of members of the Syriac
community.
The little is gone too, and the social club has been boarded up.
Only years after its erection, the church was destroyed by Titus
when he conquered the city, only to rise phoenix like from its ashes, and
to be rebuilt, over and over again, the last time a century and a half
ago.
I take my leave of Khano and a short time later, I am in Bethlehem
to meet Saliba Tawil, a member of the Bethlehem Syriac community. We are
old friends.
We sit for lunch at Abu Ely's restaurant. A few feet away, the
monstrous security wall Israel has erected, glares at us menacingly.
For the moment, that eyesore is forgotten as we dig into the
incredibly soft and delicious shish kebab, a house specialty.
Tawil is a career educator, with a wide ranging interest in
community affairs. He has been instrumental in furthering negotiations
for a twinning agreement between Bethlehem and the French city of
Grenoble.
Like all members of minority groups, he is zealous in his pursuit
of the aim to see his children gain and retain a mastery of their native
tongue. And like them, he is worried about assimilation and the loss of
ethnic identity.
But he also has a pragmatic turn of mind.
"We are all destined to live here together in the Holy Land," he
says.
His fondest wish is for his children to grow and appreciate not
only their ethnicity, but also the wider world community.
And he believes the only way this can be achieved is when peace
reigns in the land.
St Marks church
It is early in the day in the Old City of Jerusalem, and virtually no
one is up and around. It will be some time before the serenity of its
streets and alleys is disturbed by the tread of heavy feet and the babble
of many voices.