Sitting by the brazier, warming ourselves at the entrance to the Mosque that was built on top of the place that is known as the Cave of our Fathers, Ma’arat Ha’Machpelah— which actually means “doubled cave”.All was cold and quiet. The conversations were deep and intense, as we had the night to while away with nothing much besides drinking coffee, and keeping warm while guarding the door to the mosque that has been built on the graves of our fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
A long, narrow alley led to the archway that we sat under, a small enclave, with just enough room for the two of us and the coal-filled barrel.
I heard the singing first.
“What is that?”
“I’m not sure,” my companion responded.
Then the first dark shadows appeared, ascending up the alleyway. They were all singing and dancing – chanting almost. Dressed in those absurd black hats and black suits, the curls hanging down the side of their faces, they streamed past us into the mosque.
“What’s going on?” I asked one of them.
“Our Ba’al Shem Tov, bless his soul, has died. We accompany him to the gates of heaven,” he answered.
“The gates of heaven?” I queried him.
“Yes.” He responded.
I had no idea that I had been “guarding” the entrance way to heaven.
The belief is that as this is the place where Abraham, the father of monotheism, was buried, and he, of course, ascended to heaven, this must be the entrance to heaven. So all the souls of righteous men – and I assume, women – must pass through this gateway. In Jewish lore, we believe that the soul departs from the body during the night and makes its way to the gates of heaven, from where it will ascend. I suppose you have to pass away in Israel to make it to the entrance, as I have not heard of anyone accompanying a soul that has departed from its body from anywhere outside of the Holy Land.
“Where have you come from?” I asked.
“Jerusalem,” was the response.
“Really? You walked all the way from Jerusalem?” I was astounded. It is a 3-4 hour walk.
“Yes…” He seemed to be unfazed by my amazement.
I was in awe at this expression of a faith that had motivated these people to walk these 3-4 hours, singing and chanting along the way, from Jerusalem to Hebron. It was inspiring!
After the spokesman had passed by, I walked through the main lovely foyer of the mosque to check where they were and what was happening. This foyer is quite impressive, carved from local stone, with patterns and inlays all over it. It has a large granite stone set in the centre, in which is inscribed a blessing and prayer for the sages and their wives who are purported to be buried below. Whether this is true or not is an ongoing debate.
Prior to the six day war, Jews were forbidden from entering the building, as it was a large mosque dating from ancient times. It consisted of this foyer, a large, beautifully decorated mosque and a set of administrative offices. In those days, we were allowed to ascend seven steps to peer through a small window, protected by an iron gate, to peer into the space and say any prayers we wished to. It was only after the six-day war that Jews were able to enter this place and for the first time in centuries had access to the graves of their Fathers. Upon entering the space, there was one man who was allowed into the grave area below the mosque, and it was Moshe Dayan, the commander of the Israeli forces at the time. Afterwards, he ordered the entrance to be sealed and no-one since has been allowed in or seen the graves.
They forged an agreement with the local Muslim population, and separated the space into an area for the Muslims to pray in their mosque, and changed some of the administrative buildings into a synagogue. This was an interesting dance in which the Muslims came for their prayers on Thursday evening and Friday morning as well as Friday afternoon, after which the
Jews entered the place for their Friday night prayers.
The mourners who had arrived from Jerusalem to accompany their recently deceased Rabbi had gathered in the Jewish section of the structure, which, while the structure itself was particularly impressive, this section was not, consisting of a row of square, brick rooms, one of the larger one’s of which had been made into a synagogue. Most of the rooms were now populated with praying Chasidim. They had also spilled over into the quadrangle which occupied one side of these rooms. On the other side of the quadrangle was the mosque, in which the Jews were strictly forbidden to pray.
All was going well – for a while. The quad reverberated with the sounds of the humming and chanting of the groups’ prayer. The intensity level rose as the dawn approached. Then, as the sky began greying as the first light of day came upon us, the group, bowing and shucking, suddenly, as if of one mind, starting moving towards the mosque.
“Do you think they will do it?” I asked my companion.
“I’m not sure. But it looks likely.” He responded.
“Oh! No! They are going in!”
The adrenaline began to flow through my body. This was bad. The Moslems were due to arrive soon for their prayers and there would be trouble if they found a group of Jews praying in their mosque. I tried to say something, but they ignored me.
“Quick. Run. Go get the officer. I’ll keep an eye on them.”
I was out of thee like a flash, running through the entrance, up the hill where we were housed and into the room where the officer on duty slept. I shook him. “Wake up. Wake up. There is trouble.”
No questions were asked. He jumped out of bed, pulled on his pants, buttoned his shirt and slipped his feet into his boots. As we started running back down the hill, he began to query me.
“What’s up?”
“A group of orthodox Jews arrived from Jerusalem early this morning, and have been praying for the soul of their Rabbi.”
We were close to the entrance already.
“They started off praying in the Jewish sector, but have spilled over into the mosque for Shacharit, the morning prayers.”
“Shit!” He said.
Arriving at the mosque, we came upon the other two guards. The officer said, “Guard the gates, both front and back. Do not let anyone in, and I mean anyone, until I tell you.” Smart guy, I thought. We did not want any more religious folk arriving, nor did we want any of the Moslem worshipers arriving on the scene.
We began walking swiftly through the foyer for it seemed sacrilegious to run over the graves of our most prominent forefathers.
We turned the corner arriving at the entrance to the Mosque, and could not move. The energy emanating from the intensity of the prayers and the one’s praying was like a solid wall. I had never in my life experienced such a manifestation of energy, and have never experienced it since. But it definitely changed something in me, and my view of the world. That a group could radiate such intense energy from the other realm, was for me life-changing.
We stood there, dumbstruck for a moment, till the intensity of the prayers subsided somewhat, and then moved toward the group. In the front of the group was a well-dressed swarthy man in fine looking suit. He stood out, both because of his age, being older than most of the others praying, as well as by the fact that he was wearing a tailored suit as opposed to the black robe like clothes of the others.
The officer went up to him. The group had meanwhile closed around him as we approached him, although this had not lessened the intensity of the mode of prayer. “Are you in charge here?”
The question was ignored. Three or four more soldiers had entered the Mosque, facing a group of about 20 or so Chasidim. The tension was escalating. It was palpable. This could turn nasty. We knew we couldn’t use our rifles, and were helplessly outnumbered.
“Would you please stop praying in here and return to the Jewish area?” Again no response.
“If you do not return to the synagogue, we will have to forcefully remove you.” I am not sure how easily we would be able to achieve this.
“Do you know who you are talking to?”
“No.” The officer replied.
“I am Itzick El-Rachmin…”
“Pleased to meet you, sir. Now will you please return to the area designated for prayers?” The officer was trying to placate the situation.
“This is all ours. The Arabs should not be allowed to pray here, on the graves of our fathers, Avraham, Yitzchack, and Ya’akov. That is unconscionable.”
“He is our benefactor, our blessing. We would gladly die for him.” Someone from the group shouted. “He is going to blessed too!” However we did not budge, and stood there waiting expectantly.
The group milled around a little longer and then began to move over to the Jewish side