Jerusalem is the oldest fault line in European history, its chaotic houses and worship places stumbling, like hills forming, the forces growing.

    The charm of this city is the past and present deeply embedded in every single part of it: in its stones, in the air, the landscape, and its people. To most visitors it may come as a surprise to realize that Jerusalem is not as beautiful as they had expected it to be. Often it is even difficult to perceive the strong sense of the sacred that everyone is sure to be about to feel there. No, if you go to some monasteries in Europe that sense is much stronger, or if you went to Rome you would be amazed by its beauty. Jerusalem is different. You can still smell the blood which has stained its walls for 3,000 years and it still does. You can physically see the hate that makes it live, and it is not just the rifles that you see so often around.

    Perhaps the most fascinating entrance to access the old city is Damascus gate, splendid and lonely at late night, full of noisy people at day. Right after it, you find yourself deep in the Arab world, in its colours, markets, scents. You can see kids laughing and running, women lazily walking, men calling high for their merchandise on sale. It’s only after sunset that these narrow streets slowly take rest; people vanish and shops close. In winter, it can get pretty cold.

    Unbelievers are forbidden entrance to the sites holy for Muslims. One can watch them stepping out to the mosques, and follow them until stopped. It is simply not allowed to cross some ideal lines, however. It’s nevertheless enrapturing to look at them walking smartly in a thick line, dressed in diverse fashions, unconcerned about anyone siding their determined procession. While the muezzin calls loud to pray, this river flows abundantly along the old city’s alleyways, but not even one drop of it gets lost in the daedal. Simultaneously, the sound of nearby church bells is audible.

    Slowly, you become part of the flux of life so strong in these dim tiny streets, and without even thinking you finally reach the centre of gravity, the Western Wall, from which everything radiates. After the dark strolling it’s like a revelation: bright and clean, and staggering high. Upon it sits the Dome of the Rock, on the esplanade of the mosques, as if saying “the Wall is nothing. We crown it. We are the last and will last, forever.” And as if they were the two halves of a star’s nucleus about to explode, the Wall and the Dome attract and repulse each other. The rest of the city can only revolve around them. Once you’ve seen this climax you depend on it. No matter where you are in the city, you know that it’s there waiting for you, and indeed it’s easy to end up there again and again. A hypnotic and magnetic pulling at your spirit.

    Close to the Western Wall and after passing the security checks and the metal detector one can finally walk up the homely ramp which leads to the esplanade of the mosques. Amazingly beautiful, this wide area is forbidden to religious Jews who consider it cursed after the desecration operated by the Romans when they destroyed the Second Jewish Temple in AD 70. Indeed the Wall is also named “Wailing” since it’s there where Jews mourn that ancient devastation.

    The Dome of the Rock was built in the same location where the Temple stood, and in particular on a rock which is considered the one where Abraham was about to sacrifice Isaac. The same rock where Prophet Muhammad is taught to have ascended the sky, although if one asks believers they say that nobody knows which is the exact point on the esplanade. No matter the beliefs, here again only Muslims can see the Dome behind its door. For the rest of people, nevertheless, the outer part is well worth a visit: the dome itself, covered with 750 kg of gold donated by the king of Jordan, shines bright in the sun, and the tiles below it are a magnificent example of Islamic art. From here, the mount of the Olives can be seen very near.

    Close by the holiest place for Muslims in Jerusalem, and their third holiest on Earth: the El-Aqsa mosque. Actually the classical image of Jerusalem focuses on the beaming Dome, but it’s the mosque right in front of it which is the most venerated.

    The Jewish neighbourhood was totally reconstructed after the war with Jordan (1967). The space next to the Western Wall was freed from the garbage piled up previously, and part of the nearby houses were pulled down to give the area more visual amplitude. The effect in the newly created square is striking, but in the streets before it, it is questionable: the style is posh and modern, distant to the rest of the old city. It is similar to the architecture of an amusement park, even if parts of the Roman cardus and an ancient wall dividing the city have been preserved.

    There is always people praying, but on Sabbath days the square trembles with joy, and chants. Seen from the European secular perspective it all may seem odd.. But it is exactly this strong sense of community, of potential, connatural to both Muslims and Jews, that gives these people the strength one might contend we often lack in our old exhausted continent. To look at the young children dancing in front of the Wall wrapped in their flags is like drinking in the middle of the desert. One feels the impulse of participating to the feast of sharing. Sharing hopes, values, intents.

    In contrast is the Holy Sepulchre, where Jesus is supposed to have been buried. It’s one of the most disfigured pieces of mixed architecture ever seen, and empty, in all senses. If one visits it after walking back from the Wall, the disillusion can be overwhelming. Especially if Christian. The sense of the sacred here evaporated long ago, if it ever existed. On top of it, the three religious sects responsible for the maintenance of the site politely hate each other. Fortunately, the Cathedral of S. James in the Armenian quarter can provide a refuge for Christians seeking recollection. That church is splendid: rich but not redundant, small, and cosy and run by these orthodox priests who in their black severe soutanes seem to have come directly from the middle age. Services are all interspersed with spiritual chants, and white flattering.

    If you turn left after coming out of S. James you will quickly reach the outer wall and the gates to leave the old city. In particular, if you take the Zion gate you’ll see the Church of the Dormition which, although recent (beginning of the 20th century), resembles Romanic churches in its style and charm. Below it, the road descends slowly toward the Kidron Valley up to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was betrayed by Judas. If you look up once there, you will only see the impressive wall which used to be the perimeter of the Temple. The Dome is in fact not visible from the bottom of the valley. Facing you, olive trees, and the absence of houses. It’s easy then to imagine how it must have looked like, two thousands years ago, on those convulsible days..

    After the garden, the church of the tomb of the Virgin Mary, saved from Islamic destruction since she is venerated also by Muslims. From there, the road starts to climb up the Mount of the Olives, bordering the Jewish cemetery. In their religion it is believed that the final Judgment will take place here, and therefore many people seek a place for their tomb on this hill. While reaching the top the sight on this eternal city grows magnificent, all the passions of manking emanating out to the corners of the Earth.
 

I. Ferrari