Scripps Howard News Service
March 23 2005
Muslim keeps the keys at the holiest site in Christendom
By MATTHEW KALMAN
Scripps Howard News Service
March 23, 2005
JERUSALEM – Every day at 4 a.m., Wajeeh Nuseibeh walks through the
walled Old City of Jerusalem to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the
holiest shrine in Christendom. Most Christians believe it is the site
of the crucifixion, tomb and resurrection of Jesus.
Nuseibeh takes an ancient 12-inch iron key, climbs a small ladder and
opens the huge wooden doors.
Every evening at nightfall, after three raps of an iron door knocker
spaced out over half an hour, Nuseibeh closes up for the night and
places the key in safekeeping.
He inherited the job from his father and grandfather, part of a chain
stretching back more than 1,300 years.
But surprisingly for the doorkeeper of the site of the Crucifixion,
Nuseibeh, 55, like his ancestors, is a Muslim.
“It goes from father to son, from one generation to the next,” said
Nuseibeh, a small, dapper man in a suit and tie, with a dark
mustache. “I was 15 when I first opened the church. I thought it was
fun. As I grew up I realized it is a big responsibility.”
The Holy Sepulchre is a vast warren of chapels, tunnels and caves
with pieces of church architecture dating back to the fourth century
and spanning a broad range of traditions from the Westernized
cathedral of the Catholics to the Eastern brass and icons of the
Orthodox churches.
It houses the final stations on the Via Dolorosa – the journey of
Jesus to his crucifixion – and attracts hundreds of thousands of
pilgrims and sightseers every year.
The church is jealously managed by five competing and often warring
Christian denominations. Sometimes the tensions over the right to
clean or pray in an area of the church spills over into violence.
Nuseibeh’s family has helped keep the peace between them since Caliph
Omar Ibn Kattab first conquered Jerusalem for the Muslims in 638. The
only gap was 88 years of crusader rule in the 12th century. According
to the family history, when Salah A-Din recaptured Jerusalem in 1191,
he promised Richard the Lion Heart he would invite the Nuseibeh
family members to resume their role as custodians. Since that time,
Judeh family members, also Muslims, have been given the key for
safekeeping overnight. The two families have shared the position ever
since.
Once a year, the three biggest denominations – Greek Orthodox, Roman
Catholic and Armenian – publicly renew their request to Nuseibeh to
be the “custodian and door-keeper” as written on his business card
and multimedia Web site.
About 100 years ago, the key was stolen. Now they keep a spare inside
the church. Nuseibeh receives $15 every month for his labor, but the
ancient honor is worth more to him than the token payment. When
tensions boil over between the churches, Nuseibeh is the one who
calms the waters.
“Like all brothers, they sometimes have problems. We help them settle
their disputes. We are the neutral people in the church. We are the
United Nations. We help preserve peace in this holy place,” he said.
Nuseibeh said he still becomes anxious before big ceremonies, or when
important visitors arrive.
“I realize there are thousands of people waiting to go into the
church and they are waiting for me to open it, and I start to imagine
what will happen if the lock will be broken or the key is damaged and
I can’t open the door,” he said.
But it has never happened in the 20 years since he took over from his
father. He hopes that one day his son Obadah, now 21, will step into
his footsteps, but it’s not certain.
“He is at college, studying to be a sports trainer,” said Nuseibeh.
“Maybe he will not follow me, and then my brother or my cousin will
take over.”
Easter celebrations at the Holy Sepulchre will place the diminutive
Muslim center-stage as thousands flock to the church for services,
processions and the ancient ceremony of the Holy Fire, in which
Nuseibeh plays a central role.
The ceremony is held each year on Easter Saturday and symbolizes the
resurrection of Christ. Thousands of worshippers pack into the church
around the marble-clad tomb where Jesus’ body was laid. The oil lamps
inside the empty tomb are extinguished and a huge stone rolled across
the entrance, which is then sealed shut by Greek Orthodox priests.
“If there are no oil lamps lit, the tomb will be sealed with wax. I
am the witness. I put my stamp, the name of the family, in the wax on
the tomb,” Nuseibeh said.
What happens next looks like a miracle. The Orthodox patriarch begins
to pray, and a bluish Holy Fire begins to emanate from within the
tomb, lighting the lamps and sometimes flying around the church, over
the heads of the assembled worshippers, lighting the candles of
believers.
Nuseibeh, who has been the official witness at this ceremony for more
than 20 years, said he was deeply touched by the Christian rituals
and felt a close affinity with the church, but he does not pray
there.
“I know every stone. It is like my home,” he said. “But I go to pray
at the Omar Mosque next door.”