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Hi all!
I saw this in today's NYT:
_____
August 26, 2002
Atop Church, Another, Less Deadly Holy War
By SERGE SCHMEMANN
JERUSALEM, Aug. 25 At 11:40 a.m. on Saturday, a 72-year-old Egyptian priest walked out onto the roof of the Church of the
Holy Sepulcher carrying a wooden chair.
Limping heavily, the Rev. Abdel Mallek walked to a wall in the shade of a tree mysteriously rooted in the ancient stone and sat down
near a cluster of Ethiopian monks, gazing at nothing in particular. Exactly 15 minutes later, he gathered his chair and walked back into
the Coptic monastery.
It was the most prosaic of scenes, except that Father Mallek was closely guarded by an Israeli policeman, and three others stood
guard. From the windows of the Egyptian monastery on one side, someone recorded the scene with a video camera, while several
Ethiopian monks peered warily over the wall of their ancient compound on the other side.
Only a few weeks earlier, the position of the old priest's chair had provoked a vicious fight between the Ethiopians and Egyptians,
which resulted in the hospitalization of 11 monks. Since then, while trying to mediate a cease-fire, Israel has sent armed guards daily
to accompany Father Mallek on his daily sit-down, and the Ethiopians have made sure several of them are sitting nearby.
The fracas may not have been on the scale of the struggle between the Israelis and Palestinians, but the passions are every bit as
fierce, and just as intertwined with centuries of grievances, claims and myths. Each side offered records to prove their case,
indiscriminately invoking ancient history, 1972 court decisions, rulings of the Ottomans and decrees by the 12th century sultan
Saladin.
Their dispute is hardly unique. For centuries, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, on the site where tradition has it that Jesus was
buried, has been the object of fierce contention among the Greek Orthodox, the Roman Catholics and the churches of Armenia,
Egypt (Coptic), Syria and Ethiopia.
Built by the Byzantine Emperor Constantine in 335 A.D., razed in 1009, rebuilt by the Crusaders and endlessly altered and subdivided
since, the church has evolved into a warren of shrines, in every conceivable style and often overlapping. On any given day, chants in
ancient liturgical languages mingle with the patter of tour guides and the hushed prayers of pilgrims in dark grottos, though the
foreigners are few these days.
The church ranks as a wonder of the world in the minutiae and complexity of the rights claimed by the various denominations. In
1757, to put an end to the endless squabbling, Turks, then Jerusalem's rulers, proclaimed a status quo for all holy sites in the city,
which was confirmed in 1852 and has been enforced by all succeeding conquerors including, since 1967, Israel.
Among other things, the status quo assigned Muslims to serve as guards to the leaders of the churches and as custodians of the key
to the Holy Sepulcher. To this day, Muslims in fezes precede the ruling bishops through the church, clearing the path by clanging
metal-tipped staves on the stone floor.
The rules were exhaustive, down to who lights which candle and who sweeps which patch of floor. The various rights are so
jealously guarded that the movement of a stepladder can cause a tussle. Every attempted alteration becomes embroiled in disputes,
some stretching into decades as the Israelis learned when they tried, futilely, to negotiate the opening of a second entrance for the
throngs expected in the year 2000. With the outbreak of the Israeli-Palestinian violence, the throngs never materialized.
Like other rulers before them, the Israelis have been repeatedly drawn into disputes. So when Father Mallek decided to move his
chair into a shady spot on the roof one day in June, it was as if he had jiggled the entire pile of pickup sticks. Tensions quickly
mounted and, on July 31, boiled over into the rooftop fight.
Whatever the merits of the competing claims, the very fact that it broke out on the roof was a testimony to the intricacy of the balance
of powers. The roof is a place little known to pilgrims or tourists, accessible through a narrow stairway that climbs past two chapels
in a corner of the square outside the Holy Sepulcher, and that offers access through a tiny door. On the roof itself, surrounded by
remnants of ancient arches and pillars, there is a replica of an Ethiopian village, complete with mud huts, trees and, incomprehensibly,
wells.
To the Ethiopian Christians, in whose religion Jerusalem has always played a central role, the compound, called the Monastery of the
Sultan, is the last toehold of a sad history. They once had their own space in the church below, but when a plague killed all their
monks in 1658, it was seized by others.
"His sitting here is nothing," Father Solomon, one of the few Ethiopians who speaks English, said as he sat with other monks in white
habits outside the village. "But he is trying to say this belongs to Egypt, that Ethiopians are just guests. We've lost most of our
property. Our last property is here."
The Egyptians, who have an elaborate monastery and church complex adjacent to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, do not dispute
that Father Mallek sits there to make a statement. In fact, as the lone Egyptian who actually lives within what the Ethiopian's consider
their compound, he has been doing that for years.
The Egyptian contention is that they allowed the Ethiopians, whose church was until recently linked with the Egyptian Coptic church,
to settle on the roof in 1818 as their guests. In 1972, the Israeli High Court ruled that the Egyptians do in fact have control over the
roof, but that it was not the time to make any change.
"The High Court ruled that he can sit there," said Daoud Manieuas, a spokesman for the Egyptians, referring to Father Mallek. "But
they hit him and throw water at him; they violated the status quo."
The Israeli Ministry of Religious Affairs has offered to mediate, but the Ethiopians have yet to designate a delegate. So, for now, the
Israeli police accompany Father Mallek on his daily shift of venue.
The policemen saw nothing strange in the assignment. They are also from Jerusalem. "This is the center of the world," one explained.
"This is how the world looks."
_____
Be well!
ssv
I saw this in today's NYT:
_____
August 26, 2002
Atop Church, Another, Less Deadly Holy War
By SERGE SCHMEMANN
JERUSALEM, Aug. 25 At 11:40 a.m. on Saturday, a 72-year-old Egyptian priest walked out onto the roof of the Church of the
Holy Sepulcher carrying a wooden chair.
Limping heavily, the Rev. Abdel Mallek walked to a wall in the shade of a tree mysteriously rooted in the ancient stone and sat down
near a cluster of Ethiopian monks, gazing at nothing in particular. Exactly 15 minutes later, he gathered his chair and walked back into
the Coptic monastery.
It was the most prosaic of scenes, except that Father Mallek was closely guarded by an Israeli policeman, and three others stood
guard. From the windows of the Egyptian monastery on one side, someone recorded the scene with a video camera, while several
Ethiopian monks peered warily over the wall of their ancient compound on the other side.
Only a few weeks earlier, the position of the old priest's chair had provoked a vicious fight between the Ethiopians and Egyptians,
which resulted in the hospitalization of 11 monks. Since then, while trying to mediate a cease-fire, Israel has sent armed guards daily
to accompany Father Mallek on his daily sit-down, and the Ethiopians have made sure several of them are sitting nearby.
The fracas may not have been on the scale of the struggle between the Israelis and Palestinians, but the passions are every bit as
fierce, and just as intertwined with centuries of grievances, claims and myths. Each side offered records to prove their case,
indiscriminately invoking ancient history, 1972 court decisions, rulings of the Ottomans and decrees by the 12th century sultan
Saladin.
Their dispute is hardly unique. For centuries, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, on the site where tradition has it that Jesus was
buried, has been the object of fierce contention among the Greek Orthodox, the Roman Catholics and the churches of Armenia,
Egypt (Coptic), Syria and Ethiopia.
Built by the Byzantine Emperor Constantine in 335 A.D., razed in 1009, rebuilt by the Crusaders and endlessly altered and subdivided
since, the church has evolved into a warren of shrines, in every conceivable style and often overlapping. On any given day, chants in
ancient liturgical languages mingle with the patter of tour guides and the hushed prayers of pilgrims in dark grottos, though the
foreigners are few these days.
The church ranks as a wonder of the world in the minutiae and complexity of the rights claimed by the various denominations. In
1757, to put an end to the endless squabbling, Turks, then Jerusalem's rulers, proclaimed a status quo for all holy sites in the city,
which was confirmed in 1852 and has been enforced by all succeeding conquerors including, since 1967, Israel.
Among other things, the status quo assigned Muslims to serve as guards to the leaders of the churches and as custodians of the key
to the Holy Sepulcher. To this day, Muslims in fezes precede the ruling bishops through the church, clearing the path by clanging
metal-tipped staves on the stone floor.
The rules were exhaustive, down to who lights which candle and who sweeps which patch of floor. The various rights are so
jealously guarded that the movement of a stepladder can cause a tussle. Every attempted alteration becomes embroiled in disputes,
some stretching into decades as the Israelis learned when they tried, futilely, to negotiate the opening of a second entrance for the
throngs expected in the year 2000. With the outbreak of the Israeli-Palestinian violence, the throngs never materialized.
Like other rulers before them, the Israelis have been repeatedly drawn into disputes. So when Father Mallek decided to move his
chair into a shady spot on the roof one day in June, it was as if he had jiggled the entire pile of pickup sticks. Tensions quickly
mounted and, on July 31, boiled over into the rooftop fight.
Whatever the merits of the competing claims, the very fact that it broke out on the roof was a testimony to the intricacy of the balance
of powers. The roof is a place little known to pilgrims or tourists, accessible through a narrow stairway that climbs past two chapels
in a corner of the square outside the Holy Sepulcher, and that offers access through a tiny door. On the roof itself, surrounded by
remnants of ancient arches and pillars, there is a replica of an Ethiopian village, complete with mud huts, trees and, incomprehensibly,
wells.
To the Ethiopian Christians, in whose religion Jerusalem has always played a central role, the compound, called the Monastery of the
Sultan, is the last toehold of a sad history. They once had their own space in the church below, but when a plague killed all their
monks in 1658, it was seized by others.
"His sitting here is nothing," Father Solomon, one of the few Ethiopians who speaks English, said as he sat with other monks in white
habits outside the village. "But he is trying to say this belongs to Egypt, that Ethiopians are just guests. We've lost most of our
property. Our last property is here."
The Egyptians, who have an elaborate monastery and church complex adjacent to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, do not dispute
that Father Mallek sits there to make a statement. In fact, as the lone Egyptian who actually lives within what the Ethiopian's consider
their compound, he has been doing that for years.
The Egyptian contention is that they allowed the Ethiopians, whose church was until recently linked with the Egyptian Coptic church,
to settle on the roof in 1818 as their guests. In 1972, the Israeli High Court ruled that the Egyptians do in fact have control over the
roof, but that it was not the time to make any change.
"The High Court ruled that he can sit there," said Daoud Manieuas, a spokesman for the Egyptians, referring to Father Mallek. "But
they hit him and throw water at him; they violated the status quo."
The Israeli Ministry of Religious Affairs has offered to mediate, but the Ethiopians have yet to designate a delegate. So, for now, the
Israeli police accompany Father Mallek on his daily shift of venue.
The policemen saw nothing strange in the assignment. They are also from Jerusalem. "This is the center of the world," one explained.
"This is how the world looks."
_____
Be well!
ssv
