Easter in Jerusalem

Holy Sepulchre Church

By Christina Salem

Easter in Jerusalem could be summed up in one word - humbling.

My journey into Israel began with a stir. As I landed into the country and began to go through customs, I encountered my first challenge: Iraqi stamps on my American passport.

I had attended our community’s version of a birthright trip called Gishru a week prior to touching down in the Holy Land. I was pulled aside and questioned, asked if I was a Kurd and what my business was in Israel. Terrorist attacks in Al-Aqsa and Tel Aviv had taken place days before and a high-alert country was on even higher alert.

For the first time in 30 years, all three Abrahamic religions were having a shared holy month. With the coming of Easter, the feast of Passover, and the fast of Ramadan, tensions were high as were the spirits of the proud who inhabited such a psychologically complex land.

After repeated insistence that I was a Chaldean Catholic wanting to celebrate Easter with my family, and the reassurance that I was not a threat in any way, shape, or form, I was moved to the next phase.

Following questioning, everyone passing through was required to pay for and take another COVID test prior to exiting the airport. While this would seem to be an easy process, it is only easy if there is internet or Wi-Fi connection over 2G speed, which was a struggle to obtain throughout the Middle East.

My expressions of excitement and concern earned me the help of kind people who wanted to contribute to moving me along my way as seamlessly as possible. Completing the test, I now had to find a way to my hotel.

Many people outside of the airport looking for transportation dissuaded me from using a taxi due to the high cost; however, I found a Canadian woman on holiday for Passover who I was able to split cab fare with to get to my hotel.

The Holy Scripture in Sureth

After settling in, I was eager to explore the city. It was a challenge to find food, because of Passover and arriving on a Friday, but I saw a hip little cafe with an amazing menu. Within thirty minutes, people were running and screaming in a random direction away from the center square in the city. A terrorist attack had taken place about a week ago and there were imminent threats more would take place. All in the name of God.

Tensions were high. I spent the rest of the night in my room.

I met my uncle the next day at the airport, and we got in a cab to go to the Old City, Jerusalem. We stayed at St. Mark’s Monastery, the apostle Mark’s home and reported place of the Last Supper.

Walking into this place and seeing our language written on these walls was surreal. Walking in the footsteps of Jesus was transformative. There was an indescribable feeling of peace and serenity – unfortunately, one that wouldn’t last for long.

As the days went by and holidays were celebrated, I personally experienced a lot of negativity.

I was catcalled, spit at for being Christian, cussed out, sexually harassed, disturbed in the middle of the night by protests, chants, and loud “booms;” discriminated against, searched, scammed, yelled at, witnessed beatings and more. Passing through the Stations of the Cross throughout the different quarters of Jerusalem was chilling. It reminded me that peace and serenity had rarely ever existed here historically. It felt like I was in biblical times with better technology.

I was somewhat traumatized to say the least. Toward the very end, waking up in the morning came with grown men screaming and fighting with each other at disturbingly early hours, every hour, until everyone staying in the monastery could silence them.

I was in the holiest land, yet it felt like what was missing most was God. Everyone around me seemed to hate thy neighbor. Each sect and group felt like they were entitled, correct, eager for power and hungry for dominance, so they constantly fought with each other. Yet everything around me was still beautiful. The presence of Jesus was still so clear and unassuming.

Even in places where there was terror, a countenance of grace was offered. Entitlement led to much humility, power balanced in forms to create a still harsh coexistence, and the innocence of the sacrificial lamb (symbolic of why we eat pacha and take communion). This was what I signed up for - Easter in Jerusalem. The city of peace; a pilgrimage made permanent by inking it on my arm.

Christina Salem is an Assyrian-Chaldean journalist who documents and shares her journeys across the world.