Magical mysticism of the Middle-East

If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent Him
As I sit waiting on the ancient stairs of the Temple Mount in the holy-city of Jerusalem, these words of Voltaire make me think. I search into the blazing heat of Israel’s desert climate as my guide approaches from the distance. Sadia is dressed in smart casuals and the quintessential black scarf covering her head. The lane connecting the modern city-street to the pristine premises of the Temple is bustling with shops selling packaged food, hand-crafted artifacts and other Islamic relics. I try to feel the remains of history in the barren smell of dry sand, stone-walled arches and musical sounds of Arabic around me. As Sadia navigates through playful little boys and pious old men, my heart is overwhelmed with waves of excitement as they beat against the rocks of apprehension. Sadia promises to take me inside the Temple, which is now a mosque, and therefore, inaccessible to women. As I approach, the structure strikes me as ethereal with its intricate mosaic of Turkish Iznik tiles and gigantic 80 kg dome of pure gold. Despite her orthodox Islamic upbringing, I am impressed with Sadia’s knowledge of the Temple’s Jewish and Christian legacy. She tells me this piece of land is revered across scriptures and has seen violent wars, devastating earthquakes and tragic blood-shed. Sadia insists I cover my head inside the mosque and dissuades me from clicking pictures. As I enter the dimly-lit, quiet prayer hall, I realize the futility of my camera that cannot capture the sacrifice and devotion of generations past and present. While Sadia interprets the Quranic inscriptions on the walls and the finely-embroidered Jordanian carpets oriented towards Mecca, I contemplate on this mysterious edifice, a silent and symbolic witness to the beauty of art and insanity of war. They say faith is the attribute of the courageous. If the Temple could speak, I am sure it would repeat those words of Voltaire.