WARESPEDIA

As I approach the gate, I see a group of Israeli soldiers behind a metal barricade. They are intently looking at everyone. Fully armed, they wave the young to one side, where another group of soldiers questions them. The older worshippers are allowed to pass through and the foreigners are stopped. I marvel at their training; in the twinkling of an eye, they are able to scrutinise the faithful now coming from all gates of Al-Aqsa for the Friday prayers. I am stopped, asked the usual questions, some of which border on absurdity: Where are you from? Do you have a passport? Why are you coming here? My age and the Canadian passport help in a swift but stern waving of the hand; I pass through the barricade. But behind them are the young men belonging to the Palestinian Authority's security agency. Their task is to make sure that no non-Muslim enters the Masjid. Their methodology is simple; they ask: "Are you a Muslim?" And then the second command-like statement: "Recite Al-Fatiha."

At this time, there are four of them; these are the same men who had seen me earlier when I came out of the gate after sunrise. As I pass by, greeting them with the greeting of Islam, As-salamu alaykum, a faint smile appears on the face of one of them; the others continue their scrutiny of men, women and children entering the gate. Inside the main gates, the vast compound of the Masjid seems empty although many worshippers are entering through the numerous gates located in the stone walls of the Al-Aqsa Compound at the heart of which stands the magnificent Dome of the Rock, erected between 685 and 691 under the supervision of Yazid ibn Salam from Jerusalem and Raja ibn Haywah from Baysan who undertook the construction by the order of the Umayyad Caliph Abd al-Malik ibn Marwan, upon the very the rock from where Prophet Muhammad, upon him blessings and peace, ascended to Heaven accompanied by the Jibril Alayhis-salam.

Passing by the Dome with a grieving heart, I walk towards Al-Aqsa, the saddest masjid on earth today. Originally built by Umar bin al-Khattab, may Allah be well-pleased with him, the Masjid was rebuilt and expanded by the Ummayad caliph Abd al-Malik and finished by his son Al-Walid in 705 CE. Since then, it has been rebuilt twice after earthquakes destroyed it in 754 and 780. The present building is the one built in 1035. Despite Israeli occupation of the city of Jerusalem, the Masjid remains under the administration of the Palestinian-led Islamic waqf.

The interior of Al-Aqsa, supported by 45 columns, is a simple structure compared to the far more ornate and decorated interiors of the other two holiest masajid: the Haram in Makkah and Madinah. Some of its interior walls are marked by bullets; others are whitewashed and still others have some ornate designs. I am able to go to the front as most of the Masjid is still empty. In about half an hour, the Masjid is filled to the end; the faithful sit in long rows as a caller calls to join the prayers about to begin. Two adhans are called and then the Imam delivers his khutba. There is sadness in his voice as he implores the faithful to worship Allah, heed His commands and have no fear of anyone on earth.

As the prayer ends, several young men form a group. Some call for the liberation of their land, others cry out loud: Allahu Akbar!, still others stand helplessly. Nothing actually happens, but this gesture of recall and remembrance of occupation creates a commotion that helps to keep the Palestinian struggle alive. Within half an hour, the faithful have left the Compound. I sit outside the Masjid for a long time, gazing at the vast blue sky; then I go to the ancient graveyard beside the wall of the Al-Aqsa Compound where two noble Companions of the Prophet--upon him be peace and blessings--are buried: Ubada bin Samit and Shaddad bin Aws, may Allah be well-pleased with them.

A contingent of Israeli soldiers stand at the entrance of the graveyard. They look at me intently, but do not stop me. Passing by the graves of the martyrs, supplicating and remembering death and the dead, I arrive at the small green sign which points to the grave of Ubada bin Samit, may Allah be well-pleased with him. His grave is adjacent to the wall of the Compound and is distinguished from the rest of the graves by the metalwork and a green covering, just as the grave of the other Companion. There is no one else in sight. I stand by his grave for a long time, recalling the events of his life, his relationship with the Noble Prophet, upon him peace and blessings, his sacrifices, his courage, his love of the Prophet.

He was among the first of the six men of Yathrib (or twelve, according to another narration) who entered Islam and took an oath on the hand of the Prophet at Aqaba before the Hijrah. He had memorised the entire Qur'an during the life of the Prophet and was in charge of the first school in Islam in the Masjid of the Prophet. The grave was long, for he was a tall man and graceful man whose inner radiance made him one of the most loved men of Al-Quds, the place he chose as his home after the death of the Prophet and where he himself died in 34 AH.

As I came out of the graveyard, the autumn sun was slowly moving towards its setting place and the mu'adhdhan was calling the faithful for the afternoon prayer. Far below the high Compound of Al-Aqsa and the old cemetery, Jerusalem was stretched out on the slopes and hills of the valley. A city filled with unspeakable human agony, Jerusalem awaits an end to occupation and suffering, but its ancient sanctuary remains filled with remembrance even though the number of faithful who show up for the prayer keeps on dwindling.