Day 1 – May 27, 2007
I’ve been waiting for this for four years. Four years since I put my name on the waiting list at the Office of Pilgrimage in Haifa, Israel, and have received various communication to Miss Géza Farkas, changing marital status and country of residence in the meantime, hoping that none of this would gum up the works. Or have I been waiting since that crisp winter day in 1974, delivering mail near an airport in Thunder Bay, Ontario, when my spiritual quest began in earnest? Or shall I trace my wait back even further, hearing Bible stories from that mythical Holy Land as a small child?
One of the many important elements of pilgrimage is memory. In middle age, we are concerned about the dramatic loss of short-term memory but are cheered by the way decades of impressions become harmonized, a prelude to the wisdom of old age. In case I needed a reminder, halfway on our one-hour ride to Midway Airport I discovered that my passport was not where I was sure I had placed it in my handbag. Several searches provided the same negative result, and with more than a little chagrin, we had to head back. Many times I am confronted with uncertainty about recent memories and, at this point, I am thankfully still often confirmed that senility has not set in. Yet when I returned to the apartment, the only place it could have been, a drawer, gave me a blank and stupefied look. The panic that I had held at bay poked harder at my rational mind that was conducting a search that was retracing the steps of my preparation. It was taunting me with all sorts of uncomfortable questions about what would happen if the passport did not turn up, twisting the knife when it found a tender spot, and it was uncanny at finding them.
I returned to the waiting taxi empty-handed and hopeless, ready to accept the worst outcome. Yet I looked through the handbag one last time, since that was still the last true memory I had of the placing of the passport, and there it was, in a different compartment – another element of pilgrimage, a major one, is the praise of God. We were on our way; fortunately we had had left enough time, and even with the driver’s questionable decision in rush hour, we were on our way. Travellers are far too familiar with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune in travel, having many more harrowing stories than mine, so from hereon in I shall not dwell upon them. I do have a child’s fascination with following the flight path on the screens on transatlantic flights, always reorienting myself and considering the lands and cultures whose airspace we are traversing. I was preparing myself for the days ahead by reading about half of David Ruhe’s Door of Hope – A Century of the Bahá’í Faith in the Holy Land, interspersed with cruciverbal delights along with my daughter Vanessa.
From Ben-Gurion Airport in Tel-Aviv half a day later we chose to take the train to Haifa. My daughter Vanessa got a quick education about the country in sitting across from a teenaged girl in military uniform, chewing gum, listening to popular music on her headphones, talking on her pink cellphone, having something fuzzy and cute hanging from a keychain, and having an Uzi casually sitting across her lap pointed right at Vanessa. However, once on the outskirts of the city, the game was to catch the first glimpse of the golden-domed Shrine of the Báb on Mount Carmel, which dominates the heart of the city and is the most recognizable Bahá’í spot on earth. There it is! There it is! The heart leaps.
We checked in at the Port Inn, a “guest house,” really a hostel, down near the Mediterranean, rather than the more luxurious hotels atop the mountain that would house the majority of the 250 pilgrims. We were welcomed by Rachel, who would be our mother hen for the next ten days, anticipating our every need, privy to the personal details of our lives, arranging taxi and sherut (halfway between and bus and taxi) rides, knowing the pilgrimage schedule by heart, and even hooking up people she thought should be hooked up — in my case, that was three Hungarian-speaking Bahá’í visitors, one of which lived perilously close to my natal town in western Hungary.
After registration, the pilgrimage began the same way it would end, by circumambulating the Shrine of the Báb, and then the pilgrims spent the afternoon basking in the spiritual beauty of the massive terraces and surrounding gardens, famous all over Israel, and taking a profusion of photographs, desperately trying to capture the essence of the place – we would all discover very soon that this was, in fact, impossible. I entered the Shrine to pray; finding the requisite reverence was not a problem, in that it is somehow encoded into my being, but jetlag was still playing havoc with my ability to concentrate.
At dinner that evening, my wife Beth suggested half-jokingly (the truest things are said in jest) that I had deliberately orchestrated the passport episode to enhance this very chronicle, but I protest that this is not true. About six weeks before, she had fractured an ankle, and as it had not healed as quickly as we’d hoped, she was still walking with a cane and her mobility was severely hampered in a place that is mountainous with many steps and inclines. As a result, she sadly had to pass on most of the evening presentations while nursing the ankle from the effects of the strains from earlier in the day.
So Vanessa and I scooted up the mountain to 54 Hazionut Ave. to grab a bus to the International Teaching Centre for the talk being given by Hand of the Cause Dr. ‘Ali-Muhammad Varqá. This bus was full of visitors from Italy, and the driver from the Nazareth Tour Bus Company perhaps was paying homage to Italian driving by wildly manoeuvering about the mountain, negotiating a 3-point turn by backing up into the impossibly narrow and curved lane of B’November St., then turning what was only a few minutes’ walk into 15-20 minutes of spiraling down and then back up the mountain.
In the auditorium I got a visual overview of the 350-400 pilgrims and visitors, recognizing fewer than I’d expected, with a surprising preponderance of young people. All hushed and stood and Dr. Varqá was led out, much taller than I’d imagined him from the photos I’d seen. His English was eloquent with a moderate Persian accent, but this combined with his advanced age and likely false teeth compelled us to listen attentively to catch every syllable. He began after some kind words of welcome by asking us to reflect and compare the circumstances of our own arrival with those that greeted Bahá’u’lláh and His followers, and the transformation that has taken place in the interim. The rest of the talk stressed our duty in the face of what Bahá’u’lláh has done for us. He mentioned that at last count the Writings have been translated into 803 languages, the final of these being Hebrew. He asserted that we were the only ones privileged to come together in true unity; others in the world attempt to do this, but are unable to do so because they do not have the requisite tool: the power of the Divine Revelation that makes us realize the truth of the Oneness of Humanity in our hearts, is the very foundation of who we are, and so is not simply a good idea whose time has come. I also realized during this talk that we were not just listening to a Hand of the Cause speak, but for the first time during this day, he brought us all together in this unity of which he spoke, for previously we had been all here for the same purpose, the same desire, but as individuals and families. He had helped us to be organically as one, which would continue for the balance of the pilgrimage.
When he was done, he asked a number of people to come up and recite prayers in melodious voices in the languages we had brought from our homelands. There was chanting, singing, and recitation in Hindi, Turkish, Bulgarian (Dmitri from Washington), Italian, English, Arabic, Persian, German, and Spanish, and I recited “Create in me a pure heart . . .” in Hungarian (I planned to save Sanskrit for the next opportunity). It went on much longer than the allotted ten minutes, and this mixture of languages and melodies was mostly beautiful and fervent. Vanessa, aged 20, who is not a Bahá’í, and who was hallucinating from sleep deprivation, was very touched by this display.
I noticed that one of the Hungarian visitors had lined up behind me, but once I’d finished, he demurred. Once it was all over, he praised me to the skies, as though I’d honoured all Hungarians through my dramatic and eloquent rendering, and it was as though I had been “speaking the language for a thousand years.” When I was in Hungary travel-teaching in 2003 I found that the only prayer that most of the Hungarians could recite from memory was the Remover of Difficulties, and even tonight we’d heard this ultra-short prayer of the Báb several times. Vanessa and I walked back down the mountain; it was a pity Beth couldn’t do this, for it is such an important element in this journey, these walking meditations, a time-hounoured tradition associated with pilgrimages around the world, and I told her of many things, including about the German Templer Colony and Bahá’u’lláh’s pitching His tent on the mountain, and recited some of the Tablet of Carmel to her. She was awestruck by the beauty of the Shrine and the Terraces at night and took many photos.
Day 2 – May 28, 2007
This is not a regular day on the pilgrimage schedule but an extra one inserted as the holy day observance of the Ascension of Bahá’u’lláh begins at sunset. The pilgrims were divided into several groups, and ours of 50 met at the Pilgrim Reception Centre on Puah St. and debriefed with our guide Peter Smith, who I knew from Canada, before we were afforded the thrill of visiting the holiest Bahá’í spot on earth, the resting-place of Bahá’u’lláh, the Qiblih (Point of Adoration) toward which Bahá’ís all turn when reciting their obligatory prayers. Among other things he told us of Israeli security measures: if we were to leave a bag unattended, a special police squad would come and explode it.
Before setting out on this journey, my wife had attired me in a all-new wardrobe, and the red shirt I had earmarked for the visit to the Shrine of Bahá’u’lláh was ruined as I was walking along the narrow sidewalk of Jaffa Street and a jutting wire grabbed hold of my sleeve, ripping a substantial tear in it.
On the bus a young girl from Halifax announced what I would hear again a bit later: that she was from an “A cluster.” We should vie with each other in spiritual and teaching attainments, but God forbid that the Five Year Plan or any other aspect of the Faith become a kind of campiness from which any whiff of superiority or exclusivity be discerned.
We reached Bahji, the estate just north of Akká” across the bay from Haifa, where I found the grounds greatly expanded since 1999 and with a splendid new pilgrim reception house, where the tea flows and where we had to leave all our cameras. It sits on 100 acres, almost all of which is a sumptuous and manicured garden; some of it was acquired through difficult negotiations by which land on the Sea of Galilee was exchanged to form part of the Ein Gev Kibbutz. Christians tend to build a church on a holy spot; Bahá’ís (following the Guardian’s planning) surround it with beauty, with fountains and pillars, orchards, artwork, calligraphy, birds, light, hedges, and most of all, paradisiacal gardens of surpassing splendour. These 100 acres of ravishment leave the soul no doubt as to the nature of this model of heaven on earth. It cannot be described, for it would not be believed. Occasionally one can even taste the sweetness of the nectar from all the flowers on one’s lips.
The thrill and trepidation of entering the huge wrought iron Collins Gate approaching the Shrine of Bahá’u’lláh is nothing less than the rocking of the soul to its foundation, the ever-increasing crescendo of the palpitations of the heart on the geranium-lined gravel path toward those mighty doors opening to the Holy Dust. As we neared, military helicopters passed overhead, and our guide, with his characteristic sweet smile, pointed upwards and said, “See how well we are protected!” He also took some pains to point out to everyone that since every soul is different, our responses to being in the Shines will vary, so not to agitate ourselves over what we do or do not feel.
We removed our shoes and entered the Shrine. Peter recited the Tablet of Visitation on our behalf, but otherwise we maintained a prayerful and meditative silence, but for the uncontrollable sobbing of a few believers. For Bahá’ís there is no prescribed mode of expressing reverence, so one can see the entire gamut from bowed heads to clasped hands to lotus positions to full prostrations, all of them sincere and heartfelt – I’m told even headstanding positions have been seen; however, most believers in the Shrines walk backwards when leaving the holy thresholds, perpetuating a Middle Eastern tradition of not turning one’s back to the Manifestation of God. I personally find it awkward, even goofy-looking at times, and prefer to exit along the walls. The inside of the Shrine is breathtaking in its beauty, even compared with the gardens outside, with lovely Persian carpets along the walls, I silently recited my own prayers as well as those I was asked to say. I spent the rest of the time in meditation, my concentration better today in ignoring the flies and sniffles, centering on holiness: “My God, my Adored One, my King, my Desire! What tongue can voice my thanks to Thee?” The silent tears gushed and would not stop, and I left some on the threshold when I finally approached it and placed my forehead on the soft cloth that is adorned with fresh rose petals daily. Vanessa passed on the Shrine of the Báb yesterday, but offered her prayers here today.
That would have been more than a full day in itself, but it had only begun! In the afternoon we assembled at the reception hall at the Seat of the Universal House of Justice, designed expressly for this single purpose of the pilgrims’ meeting with the members of the supreme administrative body of the Faith. Seven of the nine were presently in the Holy Land and they ceremonially descended the stairs and seated themselves in a semicircle on the carpeted landing. Mr. Muhajer greeted us and delivered a speech about the greatest effect of pilgrimage being what we take back with us. When he was done, we stood up, our chairs were removed by the staff, and the Universal House of Justice members walked through the rows of belivers, shaking hands with all, , receiving messages from relatives, inquiring as to our origin, etc. This was all very casual, almost too casual – yes, this was perpetuating the hospitality shown by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá to the pilgrims, and as individuals the members have no more status than any other believer, but collectively through them the Will of God is communicated to us. HELLO -- The Will of GOD, for heaven’s sake, the WILL OF GOD, and here we were just chit-chatting with this august Institution. Caramba!
We were starting to get to know some of the other pilgrims personally, particularly those in our tour group, and most especially those who were staying at the Port Inn, with whom we shared breakfast and a lot of conversation and debriefing in the lounge in the late afternoons and late evenings. The love of the friends is an important aspect of the pilgrimage experience, but I’ll keep anecdotes of the friends to a minimum, as the number of persons in these pages may be overwhelming as it is.
In the evening it was back to Bahji for the Holy Day commemoration, which would occur at 3:00 a.m. (Since I wore a jacket, I wore the red shirt underneath, heh heh.) We were allowed to walk through the Mansion of Bahji, Bahá’u’lláh’s home for the final 13 years of His earthly life, with some advance preparation but no commentary while we were silently inside. Silence in the holy precincts is one of the salient reverential features of this experience. Right on cue again, the tears flowed at Bahá’u’lláh’s deathbed, my heart seized with emotion. Outside I came upon one of my most favourite places of my previous visit, a lemon tree in the tiny courtyard of the old pilgrim house.
Back at the reception centre, we had three hours before the programme would begin, and we were admonished not to use the couches to sleep, though a few ended up disregarding this directive. It was an opportunity to socialize, and I got to speak with a number of staff serving at the World Centre, most notably Ed Wood and his wife Noel from Tasmania who were there on a consultative basis. Two of the more amusing misconceptions of the townsfolk they reported were that Bahá’ís worship peacocks (after observing the number of purely decorative statues of peacocks atop pillars in the gardens), and the that the large circular hole in the top of the Centre for the Study of the Texts is for launching rockets – in fact they are awaiting an artist of the stature of Michaelangelo to arise to paint the inside of a domed cover.
By 3:00 a.m. 1100 chairs had been set out side on the paths around the Shrine for the staff, visitors, and pilgrims. It started and proceeded like clockwork in the balmy night air, and the sweet and pleasant voices of the reciters and chanters rang clearly all around the grounds. Since it was outside, some conditions could not be controlled: some stray cats (even more ubiquitous around the country than soldiers) added their yowling to the Holy Verses, and at least one crow provided a dissenting voice. The ceremony ended with all circumambulating the Shrine of Bahá’u’lláh in silence – that is, except for the sounds of our footsteps murmuring on the gravel, which to some sounded like waves lapping on a shore. Before we were done, the muezzin of an Akká mosque was intoning the morning call to prayer. Our walk continued to the waiting buses, amid which the meditative mood continued with the spontaneous communal humming of the well-known Safa Kinney tune to “Yá Bahá’u’l-Abhá” (O Thou the Glory of Glories).
Day 3 – May 29, 2007
I’d set the alarm for 8:30 a.m., but slept until 2:00 p.m. On the whole, the friends seemed rather subdued after the spiritual bombardment of the previous day.
When we arrived for Dr. Varqá’s second talk to us -- he was to speak on the development of the Universal House of Justice – we found it had been cancelled. He had attended the programme the previous evening and was too fatigued. A project that I had been working on which I had rushed to finish before this trip was a deck of cards on the Hands of the Cause, with photos and vital information on the front, and stories of their careers on the back. I lived somewhat in fear that I would not finish it before Dr. Varqá’s passing, as I wished to present him with the first set. As it turned out, I couldn’t present it to him personally, but I had it delivered through his secretary.
There are a number of places not on the pilgrimage schedule that we can visit on our own, such as the Caves of Elijah (upper and lower) on Mount Carmel, various sites in Akká (such as the green-domed Mosque of al-Jazzar), the site of the future House of Worship, the Bahá’í Cemetery, and the Monument Gardens. This latter is yet another garden on Mount Carmel just above the Shrine of the Báb and below the Ark. It contains the shrines of Asiyyih Khánum (wife of Bahá’u’lláh), Mírzá Mihdi (son of Bahá’u’lláh), Bahiyyih Khánum (daughter of Bahá’u’lláh) and Munirih Khánum (wife of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá). Special prayers were given to us to recite at each resting-place. We decided to spend some time in the Monument Gardens, Beth and Vanessa taking photos, while I found a couple of secluded spots to play the flute.
A personal story: A few years ago I had played at the funeral of a young flutist in a suburb east of Toronto. His flute was displayed on top of the casket, and before playing, I had touched tip of my flute to the tip of his in a spontaneous gesture of fellowship and unity. His widow was on this pilgrimage and only now asked me whether this touching gesture had been premeditated. And it just so happened that she was in the Monument Gardens while I was playing, so she must have heard me, though I can only guess at what she felt. Another believer told me she loved the Monument Gardens because there she felt a more feminine kind of spirituality, a welcoming, embracing sweetness, in contrast to the majesty and power she felt in the Shrines of the Báb and Bahá’u’lláh. I suggested that the fact that these were also out of doors may be a factor in this, to which she agreed. When leaving the Gardens, I encountered a young woman on the path near Bahá’u’lláh’s daughter’s shrine singing softly between two rows of pines; there needs to be more music in this experience, though I treasure the reverent silences.
These silences also extend to the hostel, where nobody turns on the television or radio, as these would be intrusions into our consciousness. Here we also meet interesting travelers who invariably want to hear about the Faith, as many of them never have. Just to mention three: a young German woman who was simply intrigued by all she had learned of Israel and wished to backpack all around it; she got more than she bargained for, and also helped me learn several Hebrew phrases she herself was trying to master. Secondly, a tall young American man who decided to take a few weeks off work which had now turned into four years and he had traveled all around the world, including from Alaska to the tip of South America, and walking across Spain and from Georgia to Maine. His favourite place had been Cambodia, and he described in gruesome detail his visit to the Killing Fields. His peregrinations would soon end as he was to return to the same brewery at which he had previously worked. And thirdly a spirited young woman with a gorgeous English accent who worked as a tour guide for an Australian company through Syria, Egypt, Turkey, and Jordan, took a tour for herself and spent the evening peppering a semicircle of Bahá’ís with questions about this faith she had just discovered.
Some of the places on our pilgrimage are isolated, whereas some of the places in Haifa are steps away from rubbing elbows with the rough-and-tumble lives of working-class Israelis. Just a small vignette: The cab drivers love the Bahá’ís and know where to take them, and we were riding with one who claimed to know Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Spanish, French, English, and Hebrew. He’d lived in Scandinavia for years, only missing Finnish from that area, claiming it sounded a lot like Hungarian to him. The only Hungarian word he knew was “türölköző” (towel).
We were stuck on a narrow street behind a very impatient driver in a small white car who wanted to pass a bus which he though was making insufficient progress, which was a patent impossibility, as the bus could barely negotiate its way among the rows of cars parked on either side. Honking the horn was having no visible effect – our cabbie was being enormously entertained – but what must have made the little white driver absolutely livid was that at a stop, after the passengers had got off, a dalmation on a very long leash decided to get on, but its owner not only did not follow suit, but carried on what seemed like a Sunday conversation with the driver until eventually the dog got off of its own accord and lifted its hind leg, letting the behemoth bus and perhaps those following it know exactly how it viewed the whole situation.
The day did not end well, as I discovered my wallet missing, and could not account for its absence. I had various plausible conjectures, but had to wait until morning to do something about it.
Day 4 – May 30, 2007
There was no sleep for me this night, and I spent much of it updating the journal I was keeping. Therefore, though I hadn’t planned on it, I set off up the mountain for dawn prayers. To my delight the security guard opened the gate for me at the foot of the first terrace that I might ascend the first nine terraces to the Shrine of the Báb all by myself. I was certainly out of breath when I reached my destination.
In the Shrine I recited all of the Báb’s prayers in the prayer book. Dawn prayers have a special purity as the hearts and minds are not yet cluttered by the day’s flotsam.
I checked at the Pilgrim Reception Centre regarding my wallet; none had been turned in, so I obtained the key to the Monument Gardens and retraced my steps from the previous evening, combing especially around the areas where I had sat down to play the flute. The wallet was nowhere to be seen. Later in the morning at the breakfast table, a call came in to me: my wallet had been found by a local person and I could retrieve it from Reception. It would prove not to be so simple.
Beth decided to go to Bahji with an Australian friend while Vanessa and I opted to hop the bus to Tiberias. My first hope had been to take her for a day trip to Jerusalem, but upon enquiry I was told that travel restrictions around the country had been relaxed for everywhere except Jerusalem, which was still not considered safe; I was not afraid, but we Bahá’ís are an obedient lot. Vanessa wanted a break from Bahá’í immersion and has an affinity for the sea, so we headed down to Galilee. It was a hazy day and we could not see the opposite shore, so I simply pointed out to her the general directions of the holy places associated with Jesus, Peter, and Mary Magdalene, which I had visited in 1999. She wanted to touch the waters upon which Jesus had walked, so we found a little trash-cluttered shoreline beside a nightclub, where a couple of women sat in the water in their bathing suits – the beach was filthy and the area around it decrepit, but the waters were clear, and Vanessa picked out a stone to take back home to a friend. We walked by the Franciscan Sisters hostel where I had stayed for four days, and by the Scottish hospital and youth hostel which ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had visited.
At 4:30 we began our scheduled visit with a smaller group of eleven to the Archives, led by a Camerounian youth name Peta. This is perhaps the most anticipated moment of the pilgrimage, as we get to view the photograph of Bahá’u’lláh. After being given a good deal of background information, the doors to the display cases were opened with great ceremony, and we were given 30 minutes to gaze upon the photo, 3 miniature portraits (chosen for their likeness), and the only known portrait of the Báb.
Who looks at a photo for half an hour except one who is enraptured? Yet it was almost too short to drink in the magnificent visage of Bahá’u’lláh. I had categorically avoided seeing the only other extant photo of Him, not in Bahá’í hands, that makes its way around the Internet, and the one description someone reported to me was that He looked like a wild man, almost crazed. I nevertheless had a provisional image in my mind, based on family resemblance to many photos of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and several others among His sons. I was even secretly afraid that I would somehow be disappointed.
But this was hardly the case; it was a shot of Him in 1868 at age 51 in Adrianople, taken at the same time as the famous youthful photo of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. He looked perhaps a little older; it was after Mírzá Yahyá had poisoned Him, but He looked majestic, with the unutterably wise demeanour and piercing eyes that were often reported of Him, and if even through a photograph He could see into your soul, then our feeling is confirmed.
I was loath to take time away from this photo to consider the portraits. the first of the three was supposedly of Him as a dervish, as a young man during His time in Sulaymaniyyih, but to my eyes looked rather Indian in style, bare-torsoed and with hair knotted on top, recalling the sadhus and sages, or even depictions of Lord Krishna. The second (all three were in colour) had been painted by an Armenian Christian artist, and it showed Bahá’u’lláh in a pose He in all likelihood did not assume, like a priest giving a benediction, and cherubim were added above and below, as on many a Catholic church ceiling. Although cartoonish, the face did bear a resemblance to the photo, the tall red táj very prominent. The third may as well have been a portrait of Haroun-al-Rashid, it was so classically Persian, with His legs folded under Him on a cushion. I personally looked upon this array as an indication of the universal nature of Bahá’u’lláh’s Revelation, cutting across cultures and religions.
The portrait of the Báb did not look expert, but evocative enough to make me imagine I heard His voice resounding down the mountainside of Mah-Kú as He was chanting revealed Verses. He was drawn with a longish, bearded, mild-looking face, wearing the famed green headdress and his cloak in an aspect that captured the circumstance in which He gave the artist the cue to begin.
The other archival articles were not to be outdone. There were samples of Bahá’u’lláh’s calligraphy, Tablets revealed in His own hand, illuminated by others; drops of His blood, five locks of hair (blackened with henna, as it had turned white during his imprisonment in the Black Pit), nail clippings, clothing, quills, seals, binoculars (see Day 9), razors, rings, mirrors folded up so we would not peer into the surface that reflected the visage of a Manifestation of God, the sword of Mullá Husayn (or a replica?), and one stupefying piece of calligraphy which looked like it was the penultimate verse from the Tablet of Visitation, but was itself composed of the entire text of the Kitáb-i-Aqdas, written in ultraminiature with a single horsehair.
The evening meeting was with the International Teaching Centre, very brief and merely introductory, followed by a receiving line and cookies and juice. Before this began I made several attempts to retrieve my wallet, but no one knew anything, in spite of the flurry of phone calls that went back and forth. No one seemed to know it whereabouts nor knew anyone who did. Finally one fellow in security made it his mission to come up with it, and I waited through the talk and the reception, and finally sent Beth and Vanessa back while I continued to wait. When the last pilgrims were being emptied out, the security man returned with the wallet. It had still been at the home of the person who found it, evidently near a curb on Hatzionut Ave. – fallen out while getting out of a taxi? Disappointingly but not surprisingly all the money was gone, but more disturbing was that they had called up my credit card companies, ostensibly to find me, but with the result that my credit cards have been cancelled. They must have finally alit on my Bahá’í ID card which caused them to contact the World Centre.
Therefore it was a bittersweet return, and I wished I had gone with the security man to meet the finder. What right did he have to meddle with my credit cards? And there is an unspoken agreement (around the world it seems) that if you return a lost wallet you have the right to take the cash without waiting for a reward. I asked myself as I walked moodily back, would ‘Abdu’l-Bahá have stood for this? Or am I merely an ungrateful wretch?
Day 5 – May 31, 2007
Several pilgrims reported that they were glad last evening’s talk by the International Teaching Centre was brief, since they couldn’t concentrate. I discerned two reasons for this: the first was that we were reaching a point where people are saturated, exhausted; it was even opined that a 3-day visit was more valuable in that you got to do just about everything that full pilgrims did, mostly on your own time, and you could pack it into three glorious days and be on your way rather than dragging it out like this (Even that you could find yourself virtually alone in the Shrine of Bahá’u’lláh, rather than having to share it with a shrineful of others). After having listened to these complaints carefully, I was leaning toward thinking that this attitude would change, that this “Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt” view would evolve to one that recognized that more time is needed to absorb, assimilate, and appreciate this experience. We shall see.
The other reason that I could see is that some people said they were “full.” One said she awoke in the morning with the image of Bahá’u’lláh’s face stamped on her forehead, still trying to grasp the substance behind the image she saw.
This morning we were off by bus to Akká. First stop was the prison where Bahá’u’lláh and His family were incarcerated from 1868-1870 in foul and detestable conditions. There were sent there from Rumelia (European Turkey) on orders of the Sultan ‘Abdu’l-Aziz in that the hope that they would simply perish there and that would be the end of them. Before we were taken inside we were regaled with stories most Bahá’ís know and then we stepped right into the history as though we were experiencing it as it happened. For a quarter of a century now the prison has been in the process of a vast restoration project by the Israeli government, not on account of the Bahá’ís, but because of Jewish freedom-fighters such as Jabotinsky that were subsequently imprisoned there, and also because a Crusader fortress was found underneath the prison. But the Universal House of Justice is working alongside the government, and it is evident in such touches as under the skylight where Mírzá Mihdi plunged to his death. He was wont to walk on the roof in the evenings in prayer and meditation, counting his steps to avoid the skylight. One evening he was so enraptured by his Father’s Tablet that he was chanting that he forgot this precaution and fell a dozen feet, shattering a crate whose jagged edges pierced his lung and other organs. When Bahá’u’lláh asked him whether He should intervene to heal him, he answered in the negative, preferring instead to sacrifice himself should it be granted that those traveling to see Him could be granted free access to gain His presence rather than have to settle for a wave of His hand or handkerchief glimpsed from the edge of a moat about two hundred yards away. Mírzá Mihdi died after 22 hours of anguish, and his final wish was granted after a short time. The spot where he landed shows the stone floor beneath the modern tiles in a cordoned-off section.
We removed our shoes as we did upon entering any holy place as we stepped into the very cell in which Bahá’u’lláh was incarcerated and solemnly recited silent prayers for about 15 minutes, then gazed out the same window Bahá’u’lláh did at the moat, the surrounding buildings, the waves on the Mediterranean, chilling in their immediacy. Some of the pilgrims followed the instructions contained near the end of the Epistle to the Son of the Wolf and counted forty waves while repeating a sacred verse.
Tears and laughter: right on cue while in His prison cell, contemplating His days, my breast suddenly heaved and I teared up, just as I had in His Shrine and at His deathbed. On the way out I put my arm around the pilgrim who had been blubbering with sobs at both these previous sites as well, telling her in all sincerity that I felt a special kinship for those who weep for their Lord. I also had a closer look at the excavations that were unearthing the Crusader fortress that was sunken underneath; I shall have to check whether either Richard the Lionheart or Saladin had actually themselves been there, but Alexander the Great, Marco Polo, St. Francis, and other historic luminaries had graced this land. And outside the city, on the Tell of Akká, stands the statue of Napoleon Bonaparte mounted on his horse, a satiric poke at the Little General, since he was unable to seize this fortress. We also looked at the green-domed and –minareted Mosque of al-Jaffar where the Sultan’s decree regarding the exiles had been read. When the solemn words were read out that they were to be imprisoned here for eternity, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá laughed out loud, and when asked how he had the temerity to react this way, he replied that as soon as their bodies had completed their earthly life, their freed souls would ascend unto glory with the Lord – so much for the Sultan’s fatuous farman.
From this prison as the most abject prisoner, Bahá’u’lláh hardly cowered or bewailed His plight, rather it was from here, and in this condition that He continued to write letters to the leaders of the world, announcing His station and Revelation, calling them to recognize and worship Him, instructing them how to rule their kingdoms, and offering them the Most Great Peace under His banner, and issuing dire warnings. Only Queen Victoria responded, and hers was the only regime (amongst Prussia, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, France, the Papacy, the Ottoman and Persian Empires, and Russia) that survived the next two decades.
This prison had to be abandoned after two years to make way for increased troops that needed barracks, so the prisoners were kicked out of prison! After ten months of itinerancy, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá found them lodgings in the house of Udi Khammar, and later in the adjoining house of Abbúd, our pilgrim group’s next destination. We all sat in stunned silence in the room where Bahá’u’lláh revealed the Fire Tablet, then in His room where he revealed the Kitáb-i-Aqdas, and then His room in the House of Abbúd, and all our hearts were full. We also heard touching stories of the marriage of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and other family episodes. All the rooms have been either preserved in the original or decorated by the Guardian – even the surrounding buildings have been painted in the white and peacock blue around their windows by the residents in imitation of the Bahá’í properties in honour of the exiles they have come to revere and love.
Then we were taken to the Land Gate of Akká through which the prisoners were brought in and by which Bahá’u’lláh would walk out unmolested. With his back to it, Peter indicated the building from which 3 Azalis spied on Persians trying to enter the gate and had them expelled. Against Bahá’u’lláh’s express wishes, 7 Bahá’ís solved this problem by murdering these 3 Azalis, including the infamous Siyyid Muhammad, the antichrist of the Bahá’í Dispensation.
Then we walked down to the Mediterranean, where Vanessa amply fulfilled her wish to touch these waters. The Sea Gate – the only other entry into the city in those days – was pointed out to us, as was the contrast between the outward degradation by which the prisoners were greeted by the jeering crowds who reviled them because of the lies that preceded their arrival, and the Tablet Bahá’u’lláh revealed about the same occasion, detailing how the spiritual world rejoiced and welcomed them.
In the evening programme, Mr. Muhajer of the Universal House of Justice addressed the pilgrims. He opened by joking that the House could express its love by letting us go and be with our friends, but then what would they themselves do? He knew that the pilgrims bring a special joy to the Holy Land, but he asked himself why this was so rather than the other way around. Pilgrims are in fact the lifeblood of the World Centre, and the 700 staff serve on our behalf. He talked about prayer at the Shrines, that the Báb’s was where the “Concourse on High circles in adoration,” while Bahá’u’lláh’s contains the “most holy dust.” From our being here we’ll appreciate the history more and rededicate ourselves to the Faith. (I discovered over the past days that there were many here who were trying to gather their strength to make great changes in their lives or hoped this experience would make clear what their direction in life should be.) He asserted the power of prayer in the Shrines is far greater than we can imagine. After reciting the prayers we should commune with God in the language of the soul: meditation.
He spoke of service and teaching; a new Auxiliary board member in West Africa discovered that the conference was scheduled at the same time her baby was due, so she had the child a week early by caesarian section so she could attend. He informed us that C clusters** did not now have to follow the pattern of A and B clusters, so this structure was already established and that teaching itself was the focus: “Teaching is to increase our ability to respond the plight of humanity.” Europe’s challenge, for instance, over the next several decades, will be that of integration, and the Bahá’ís have to be equipped to help with that.
There was much excited chatter following this talk, for it seems that what the pilgrims most want from these presentations in inspiration, and tonight they got it in buckets.
Day 6 – June 1, 2007
In the morning we headed off by bus to Mazrá’ih, Bahá’u’lláh’s penultimate earthly residence. On the way we caught a glimpse of the aqueduct that the governor repaired upon Bahá’u’lláh’s request, which rehabilitated the fortunes of Akká with fresh drinking water. A feature of us bus rides all along has been Peter getting on the microphone and apologizing profusely for interrupting our conversations and “sharing” with us important and interesting background and preparatory information. When we arrive, our visit is distinguished from mere sightseeing by not only stories associated with the places, but with passages from the Writings about the spiritual significance of these holy grounds and also with appropriate prayers to sanctify our apprehension of them.
In the 1870s ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, who from the time of the prisoners’ arrival in the Holy Land took charge of all negotiations with authorities and townspeople and was therefore the chief reason for the esteem the people and officials of Akká (and later Haifa) came to treasure this band of supposed infidels, took to heart a passing remark Bahá’u’lláh made one day about not having seen greenery for seven years. He found the mansion at Mazrá’ih in the countryside, rented and furnished it. But the far greater challenge was to get Bahá’u’lláh to move there. Three times His response was unequivocal: “I cannot go. I am a prisoner.” So ‘Abdu’l-Bahá sent the mufti to Him, and after an hour of abject entreaties, assuring Him that in the eyes of local officials He was no prisoner but a great soul of indubitable sovereignty, He finally sighed, “Very well.” ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had already feted the authorities with a great banquet under the pines of nearby Bahji without incident, and so it was assured that Bahá’u’lláh would just walk out of the walls of Akká freely.
We listened to this story and headed up to His room. I was looking at His slippers by His bedside, and his full figure seemed to emerge in front of my eyes, rising up from His slippers. More tears. [These kinds of visions and supernatural phenomena are very common in pilgrims’ experiences and are highly personal, and other than in that personal context, we do not set much store by them. Bahá’u’lláh and the Báb certainly performed miracles, but the Faith does not put these forward as proofs of their divinity nor puts undue emphasis on them.] Outside I saw my first pomegranate orchard amongst the gardens. Israeli Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion declared the Mansion of Mazrá’ih a holy Bahá’í shrine in 1948.
Then it was off to Bahji, Bahá’u’lláh’s final residence for His last 13 years, this mansion being acquired after an outbreak of bubonic plague – Udi Khammar had poured his whole fortune into building it before he fled. We had been here on Day 2, but now we examined it in great detail. Gathered in the room the Guardian used decades later, we heard stories of Bahá’u’lláh’s white donkey named Lightning, of Tablets that were revealed here, and of devoted believers who came. For me the most intense moment in this room came upon the reading of Cambridge scholar Edward Granville Browne’s account of his four visits to Bahá’u’lláh in 1890, as I felt myself placed in the position of Browne listening to Him:
"Though I dimly suspected whither I was going and whom I was to behold (for no distinct intimation had been given to me), a second or two elapsed ere, with a throb of wonder and awe, I became definitely conscious that the room was not untenanted. In the corner where the divan met the wall sat a wondrous and venerable figure... The face of him on whom I gazed I can never forget, though I cannot describe it. Those piercing eyes seemed to read one's very soul; power and authority sat on that ample brow... No need to ask in whose presence I stood, as I bowed myself before one who is the object of a devotion and love which kings might envy and emperors sigh for in vain! A mild dignified voice bade me be seated, and then continued: -- "Praise be to God that thou hast attained!...Thou hast come to see a prisoner and an exile...We desire but the good of the world and the happiness of the nations; yet they deem us a stirrer up of strife and sedition worthy of bondage and banishment...That all nations should become one in faith and all men as brothers; that the bonds of affection and unity between the sons of men should be strengthened; that diversity of religion should cease, and differences of race be annulled -- what harm is there in this?...Yet so it shall be; these fruitless strifes, these ruinous wars shall pass away, and the 'Most great Peace' shall come..."
The second floor of the Mansion of Bahji is a large central open area surrounded by a dozen large rooms, all lovingly decorated by the Guardian with precious artifacts, including photos of early believers and NSAs around the world, calligraphy of Mishkin Qalam, many large National Geographic maps of all the places on earth (one, for instance was of Greenland, marking all the locations that Bahá’í literature in Danish had been placed), many hand-drawn maps, plans for buildings and gardens (and other charts and statistics plotting the progress and planning the future of the Faith) photos of the world leaders to which Bahá’u’lláh had addressed letters, from Pope Pius IX to Napoleon III to Queen Victoria to Ulysses S. Grant, etc. Files of clippings from newspapers from every city in every language, Writings in every language, including a letter of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in Braille, copies of Tablets in Bahá’u’lláh’s original hand, framed official documents, and even a photo of Aqa Jan Khan-i-Khamsih, the leader of the regiment that executed the Báb, straight across from a wallful of photos of NSAs from around the world, so he could view what he was missing for all eternity. In the centre of the floor were models of the Shrine of the Báb and of the future House of Worship on Mount Carmel. Much more: letters from Queen Marie of Roumania, and shelves and shelves of Bahá’í books – amongst the many others in all the residences of Bahá’u’lláh are hundreds of copies of Esslemont’s seminal work Bahá’u’lláh and the New Era translated into a plethora of languages, from Kashmiri to Punjabi, to Vietnamese, to Spanish, Chinese, etc. etc. etc.
From the balcony along three sides of the white-and-peacock-blue painting building can be viewed the panorama of the acres upon acres of the most splendiferous garden in the Holy Land, no doubt in all the world, thousands of species of flowers, trees, plants, and shrubs imported from every corner of the earth, even including rows of sand in which cacti, sagebrush, and other desert flowers bloom.
Not only did I pray at Bahá’u’lláh’s deathbed again, but returned to pray at the Shrine of Bahá’u’lláh; I was wrapt in contemplation until I was suddenly jolted (a nudge from Bahá’u’lláh, perhaps?) that I must return to the bus immediately or be left stranded. Everything works like clockwork here, and the buses do not wait.
Before the evening talk, I warmed up the assembled faithful by leading them in Van Gilmer’s gospel tune “We Have Come to Sing Praises.” It was known to some, and they got energetic (though few could clap on the offbeat), and others, though they felt the spirit, sat perplexed.
The speaker, Mr. von Czekus from the International Teaching Centre thanked me warmly for this prologue, then began to speak about the nature of pilgrimage with many quotations, such as this one from ‘Abdu’l-Bahá: “The greatest of pilgrimages is to relieve the sorrow-laden heart.” He then quoted many prophecies about Mount Carmel, beginning with Isaiah II: 2-4:
"And it shall come to pass in the last days, that the mountain of the LORD's house shall be established in the top of the mountains, and shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto it.
And many people shall go and say, Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths: for out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."
He followed this with prophecies by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and the Guardian, pointing out which ones had been fulfilled and which were still pending, needing funds to accomplish. He told us that Bahá’u’lláh’s vision is that Bahá’ís should prosper, and so encouraged us to do well materially, and in doing so not forget to give generously to the Fund.
For the second evening in a row, the speaker told us not only to pray at the Shrines, but also meditate and thereby listen and follow what we are guided to do by this process. He then launched into a deepening on the Ridván 164 letter, focusing on the Institute process with statistics and inspirational stories. He asserted that individuals could choose to follow activities according to their own consciences, but Institutions have a duty to support the Five-Year Plan, which includes the Institute process. He made the thrilling announcement that Ruhi Book 8 – The Power of the Covenant – would be out soon, and ended with the assertion that there is no retirement in teaching the Faith.
I walked back down the mountain, alone but hardly alone, with spirits all around me. I prefer the stone steps that run parallel to the Terraces, pausing on Abbas St. (named after ‘Abdu’l-Bahá who was known to the non-Bahá’í world as ‘Abbas Effendi); this night I passed among all the homes of humble Hebrews the sounds of an African party, djembe, singing, and the joy of it all.
Day 7 – June 2, 2007
A day of no scheduled activities, during which the pilgrims were free to visit the Shrines on their own. While we were awaiting for a family with whom to co-ordinate a sherut ride to Bahji with some others at the Port Inn I was playing the Miklós Rózsa flute sonata while Vanessa lay listening enthralled. Just before I packed my flute away, I played “She’s Like the Swallow,” which I informed her was my theme song. She countered that her own theme song was an Ungaresca, a mediaeval Hungarian dance, which she commenced to vocalize, to which I was compelled to extemporize a boot-slapping dance. Fun.
After we were not successful in organizing the ride, Vanessa and I opted to head up Mount Carmel. In the Shrine of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá I recited almost every prayer of his in the prayer book with fervour and equanimity, but as soon as I placed my forehead on the threshold to recite the Prayer of Visitation, the tears suddenly and unexpectedly (again – when will I ever learn?) began to gush, as they had noisily from a penitent in the same spot twenty minutes before.
Another no-go was coffee with Chris and Susan Lyons, friends from Markham (Toronto) who are serving at the World Centre. Rescheduled for dinner tomorrow. In the Pilgrim Reception Centre Vanessa pointed out that the lavatories smelled neither of urine nor disinfectant, but attar of roses. The attention to detail never fails to astound.
We walked up a rather steep portion of the mountain to view the future Temple site, marked by the Guardian with an obelisk, as he knew it would be some time before this building project could be prioritized. I have written much about the lovely gardens around Bahá’í holy places in these pages, but I should also point out in all fairness the lovely lilac-coloured jacaranda trees that line many of the streets of Haifa, and the brilliant vermilion anemones that poppify the Holy land, as well as many other beautiful plants and flowers that belie and defy the aridity of the region. There we met some pilgrims from New Zealand, and we all recited the Tablet of Carmel together.
There was no talk tonight, as there is no public transportation during the Sabbath in Israel.
Day 8 – June 3, 2007
We took a tour of the buildings on the Ark (or Arc): the International Teaching Centre, the Seat of the Universal House of Justice, the Centre for the Study of the Texts (the Archive Building was closed for renovation), and the exhibit for dignitaries in the Office of Public Information. Since they were administrative buildings, this was a less intense than the holy places (the Guardian has just slapped me upside the head from the next world for writing this), but we did have subtleties and significances at which to marvel. The Italian marble to make this edifice look like the Parthenon to last a thousand years, with the company’s famous “bee” trademark far up at the top of one column. French and Greek stone, Canadian woodwork, Chinese carpets and decorations (the Guardian had a particular love for oriental art and furniture), and the way natural light is channeled several storeys deep into the mountain. I did not, as I had on my previous visit, catch a glimpse through the door ajar into the meeting room of the Universal House of Justice. We watched as the groundskeepers (there are 400 of them) were mowing the 40° incline, one holding another by a rope as in mountain-climbing, while the other pushed the mower. The display for the dignitaries was most impressive in its thoroughness and clarity of presentation – I learned that it had been assembled and organized by Fariborz Sahba. It even included a couple of links of chain identical to the kind Bahá’u’lláh was forced to wear around His neck in the Black Pit in Tehran.
Vanessa has become very popular with the pilgrims for her exuberance and expressiveness, and I let her go off with David and Nancy, young siblings from New Jersey who have taken her under their wing – they formerly served at the World Centre for two years. So Beth managed to hobble down the nine lower Terraces. On the first Terrace a sweaty man thrust his hands into the waterfalls to splash on his face, so I explained to him that the precious water gets recycled, so if we touch it it develops algae.
On Ben-Gurion St. we stopped in a jewellery/art shop of Amira where Beth bought a small painting of a dancer, I got a book of 9-pointed stars for children to colour (drawn by Amira on a Bahá’í’s suggestion), and a small Haifa handbag for Vanessa. This constituted our shopping for the entire trip.
Then we had dinner in a nearby café where by chance we met a dear pilgrim couple from Ottawa. She related a story of one of the guards who is in love with the Faith and is heartbroken he cannot join – once again, by agreement with the Israeli government – however, he is very proud that he can protect the Faith by carrying a gun, which Bahá’ís are forbidden to do. Beth took a taxi back to the Inn while I walked back up the Terraces with our friends. I spent some time praying at the Shrine of the Báb, and when I exited Vanessa was just entering of her own accord, which brought untold joy to my heart.
The Lyons cancelled again on us as Susan had a migraine – I remember her being leveled by them back in Toronto – so Vanessa and I walked all the way down the mountain again in search of a falafel stand, then all the way back up again to the International Teaching Centre auditorium for the evening’s presentation.
The speaker was Kiser Barnes from the Universal House of Justice. This imposing black man, originally from the Baltimore area, but with many years’ service in Nigeria and other African countries, spoke about pilgrimage and its uniqueness, paid homage to the recently (May 11) passed King of Samoa, the first Head of State to embrace the Faith, and about the spiritual happiness of the Bahá’ís. Vanessa liked his affable speaking style and toothy laughter.
He told the story of the Persian pilgrim who was not happy. When ‘Abdu’l-Bahá asked him about his long face, he admitted that the women of his hometown had entrusted him to deliver baking they had lovingly prepared for the Master, but along the way he had himself eaten all the cookies. And even after the Master had done with him he stood nervously nearby, so ‘Abdu’l-Bahá turned to him and asked, “Now what?” The pilgrim then replied that the townfolk expected a receipt. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá later revealed a Tablet for the inhabitants of this town.
Day 9 – June 4, 2007
First on the agenda was a visit to the Garden of Ridván (Paradise), on an island between two now dried-up rivers called the Two Yeses, which Bahá’u’lláh also referred to as the Green Island and the New Jerusalem. (At the time the gardens around Bahji did not exist.) In the midst of the garden the is a quadrangle of ornate benches constructed to exactly match the original (painted the Guardian’s peacock blue and white) with an area for tea service on either end, and the spot where Bahá’u’lláh sat blocked by 3 pots of saplings. A bower of mulberry trees covers this picnic area where His adoring grandchildren liked to frolic in His presence, and beyond are orchards of orange and pomegranate trees. Beyond them are two other gardens, ‘Ali Ashraf and Firdaws, which Bahá’u’lláh also frequented. Many of the plants there were brought by Persian pilgrims, most notably the pomegranates which were once native to Palestine but had died out. The Persians would place seedlings into a hole drilled into a watermelon for the months’-long journey on foot.
The gardener, Abu’l-Qasim once complained to Bahá’u’lláh that the mulberries were staining the stones of the paths; He talked to them and no more berries grew. Another time the complaint was that locusts were eating the foliage, and at another word from Bahá’u’lláh they departed en masse. The present mulberry trees are descendants of the originals and bear no fruit. There is a cage of peacocks near the little house at the end of the garden where Bahá’u’lláh occasionally stayed.
Trustworthiness was the theme of this visit, so as well as stories, a Tablet Bahá’u’lláh revealed about a vision of trustworthiness He had at the Ridván Garden was recited, part of which reads:
"We will now mention unto thee Trustworthiness and the station thereof in the estimation of God, thy Lord, the Lord of the Mighty Throne. One day of days We repaired unto Our Green Island. Upon Our arrival, We beheld its streams flowing, and its trees luxuriant, and the sunlight playing in their midst. Turning Our face to the right, We beheld what the pen is powerless to describe; nor can it set forth that which the eye of the Lord of Mankind witnessed in that most sanctified, that most sublime, that blest, and most exalted Spot. Turning, then, to the left We gazed on one of the Beauties of the Most Sublime Paradise, standing on a pillar of light, and calling aloud saying: 'O inmates of earth and heaven! Behold ye My beauty, and My radiance, and My revelation, and My effulgence. By God, the True One! I am Trustworthiness and the revelation thereof, and the beauty thereof. I will recompense whosoever will cleave unto Me, and recognize My rank and station, and hold fast unto My hem. I am the most great ornament of the people of Bahá, and the vesture of glory unto all who are in the kingdom of creation. I am the supreme instrument for the prosperity of the world, and the horizon of assurance unto all beings.' Thus have We sent down for thee that which will draw men nigh unto the Lord of creation."
We bused back to Bahji for lunch. In the Pilgrim House, Haleh from Houston said I looked like a holy man with my book and my other-worldly air; pilgrims come in all shapes and sizes, and even airs. Because of the hour I couldn’t enter the Shrine, so my final Bahji prayers were said facing the Shrine door from a lookout.
Then it was off to Akká to the House of Abdullah Pasha, where ’Abdu’l-Bahá lived for 14 years before setting sail for Europe and America for 3 years, and where Shoghi Effendi was born in 1898. Out of Bahá’í hands for decades, it has been restored to its original state and decorated by Ruhiyyih Khánum. This enormous house with a large courtyard where Shoghi Effendi famously ran up and down the stairs, was where the first American pilgrims were received, where Some Answered Questions was written, where the remains of the Báb lay hidden in Bahiyyih Khánum’s room for years before internment on Mount Carmel (though not under her bed as has been reported, for she never would have slept over the bones of a Manifestation of God).
In a room where all the achievements of the Guardian are pictorially displayed, I was sitting on a chair beside a table. Dr. Ghadirian sat on the floor in front of the table, pulling at the tablecloth, and I reacted quickly enough to catch a framed photograph of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá that teetered off the table. We also looked out the window where The Master looked out with his binoculars to view the progress of the building of the Shrine of Mount Carmel during the years he was confined to Akká (1901-1908). He wrote 90 letters a day here.
Just as on the Voices of Bahá Caribbean tour of 2005, there’s a virus going around, a lot of coughing and scratchy throats, when the weather has been unremittingly warm and sunny. Perhaps the stress of travel-weariness is a factor, and Beth suggests that the less than rigorous dishwashing standards in the hostel kitchen may be helping spread it around.
At the evening presentation, 8:00 had struck but the speaker had not arrived, so I gathered Vanessa and Dmitri and we got the assembled to sing “Say God Sufficeth” as a 3-part round and we also launched into “We Have Come to Sing Praises.” The M.C. announced that it was the most unusual opening to a presentation he had eve witnessed at the World Centre. I submit there is far too little singing going on.
Violette Haucke (sp?) of the International Teaching Centre started out as a stiff and nervous speaker, quoting a lot from the Tablet of Carmel and the Ridván 161 Message. She warmed up and exhorted the audience to treat messages from the Universal House of Justice as love letters and to share them as such with all the children. She shared some Ruhi stories, including one where a policeman insisted that a Ruhi circle take place at the police station so he could participate while at work. During a session they were interrupted by some women from the village who came to complain that gossip was ruing the life of the town, and wasn’t there anything that could be done about it. She joined a study circle and soon declared.
We walked back down the stone steps. Near the gates at the foot of the Terraces Vanessa asserted that though she loved the Faith she would never become a Bahá’í. I replied that none of us knows what is in store for us in this life – Man plans, God laughs – and so it is in God’s hands, but she vehemently disagreed, claiming it is we who make the decisions.
Day 10 – June 5, 2007
Since we didn’t have an appointment until 2:00, I consented to take Vanessa to a beach in Haifa on the Mediterranean where she could roam freely while I updated my journal.
Our final tour of historic places took us to Haparsim (Persian) Street, first to the resting-place of Ruhiyyih Khánum, a befitting shrine the size of a small cemetery in itself. (Vanessa had visited the Bahá’í Cemetery earlier with David and Nancy, where in 1999 I had witnessed the funeral of Elizabeth Martin, wife of Douglas Martin, the Canadian who was a member of the Universal house of Justice at the time. I had not known her, but strewed flower petals on her coffin in the name of Enayat Rawhani, who did.) I had visited her family home in Montréal 3 times (which is a Bahá’í shrine), played on her piano, read her biography of the Guardian The Priceless Pearl and her anguished, intimate verses Poems of the Passing written soon after he died, so though I never met her in person I felt I knew her. When she was at the LouHelen Bahá’í School in Michigan a little boy stared intently at her for a long time, and finally asked, “What makes you so special?” She replied, “Well, there was only one Guardian, and the Guardian had only one wife, and I’m it!”
Then we crossed the street through the iron gates to the large stone house ‘Abdu’l Bahá designed and had built once he was freed by the revolution of the Young Turks in Constantinople in 1908. We assembled in the tea room and were given little snippets from the momentous occurrences there, including the feeding of During World War I George Allenby’s 2000 troops that had been dispatched to protect ‘Abdu’l-Bahá after the Turkish leaders had vowed to crucify him and his family. Problem was that the army’s food was several days’ journey away to the south, and a famine had decimated the food supply in Palestine. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, however, eerily like Joseph in the Bible, had sent some family members to farm in Galilee and store their crops, and these stores were called in to fee the army . . . The first Universal House of Justice was elected in that house, and leaders and dignitaries visited often during the war to get the wise man’s advice . . . He was knighted in 1920, but never used the title, and accepted only because George V was a just sovereign. He died there in 1921. 10,000 people attended his funeral. Yes, you read right. Among the many eulogies was one from a Christian who said that the “greatest light the world had ever seen had left the earth.” Apparently he had to keep educating the Western pilgrims who came there convinced that he was the return of Christ.
When we were making a tour of the rooms I heard some music faintly playing; for a moment I thought it was a recording of some favourite music of the Master, but very soon I discovered it was a rehearsal of woeful ineptitude from a violinist and pianist at the music conservatory next door. Among the artifacts in these rooms was on aold painted saddle, Shoghi Effendi’s Oxford cap, and a photo of Bahiyyih Khánum wearing a gas mask. On the front steps we had photos taken of the entire group with about a score of cameras.
Across the street again to #4, to one of the Master’s daughter’s home, which housed many early pilgrims, and where we each received a gift from the Universal House of Justice of a couple of rose petals from the thresholds of the Shrines. We heard stories of Mary Maxwell’s first pilgrimage at age 13 when she slammed the door in Shoghi Effendi’s face, and later had baklava eating contests with him.
Upon returning to the Pilgrim Reception Centre we were joyfully and unexpectedly greeted by Chris and Susan Lyons, who whisked us off for coffee on the top of the mountain, where most of the pilgrims stay, but where I had never been except to the 19th Terrace. She is the secretary-aide to Universal House of Justice member Dr. Javaheri and he is working in property restoration. We talked of life at the World Centre, how I didn’t think I could stand not teaching the Faith, what a strain that must be. I also admitted what I cannot say in my home community, that I am so relieved to get a respite from Local Assembly work – I’m an artist for heaven’s sake, why do they keep electing me? She, however, is a dyed-in-the-wool administrator, and she was famous in Toronto for having her laptop with her and having any passage from the voluminous letters of the Universal house of Justice at her fingertips, saving much time and consultation for the Local Spiritual Assembly, and no doubt for the National one on which she served as well. She said the two most striking features of the work are the massive volume of it, and the sheer precision of it. Chris looked happy. He and Vanessa started off on hilarious Monty Python skits, which absurdly had come up several times in this rarefied atmosphere with several persons.
At 7:00 the entire pilgrimage body met one last time for the readings of the Tablets of Visitation and circumambulated the Shrine of the Báb. I returned to the Shrine one last time specifically to pray for the spiritual progress of my daughter. She, meanwhile, went off with David to have a heart-to-heart about being here; I was grateful that she made this connection with this fine young Bahá’í. Near the Shrine a tall young Britisher ran up to me and told me he was a filmmaker, and from the moment he saw me he was taken with the “passionate devotion” he saw in my gait and bearing (wearing my white straw hat), and when he saw me leaping and spinning while leading the gospel singing, he thought surely I was from Colombia or some other hot country, and was surprised that I am Canadian. Perhaps we’ll work together someday, Inshallah.
Lots of heartfelt farewells, and many to whom I had not previously spoken approached me and thanked me for the musical contributions, which touched them. The old Pilgrim House was opened, and though the pilgrimage was now officially over, new joys were opened to me: I walked into a womb of loving welcome. I sat in the spot where I had last touched hands with Hand of the Cause Mr. Furútan, and the spot where he had scanned the full room, espied me, pointed at me with his crooked finger and asked me to come and tell everyone my journey to becoming a Bahá’í; every inch of that space was people with the spirits of all the friends who had spilled their love all over the carpets, even into the bathroom. Right over there was the samovar that had encased that sweet amniotic fluid, along with the cherrywood box beside it that offered a selection of teas from around the world, as on a silk pillow. And over there was where Texas baritone Maximilian Locher had sung fine opera arias like lullabies to us every evening.
My friend whose husband’s funeral I had played at told me she admired my learning and she herself needed to study more and memorize more passages from the Writings. Like many others, she was surprised that I am here celebrating my 10th anniversary of being a Bahá’í – most people assume I have been in the Faith much longer. She wants to learn the Long Healing Prayer by heart; she’d learned the Tablet of Ahmad because hand of the Cause John Robarts had told her to, so I took her by the arm over to the room that had the framed photos of all the Hands of the Cause on the walls, put my ear up to John Robarts, and told her that he was instructing her to memorize the Long Healing Prayer. This cheesy little theatrical stunt just came spontaneously, so we’ll see if it had any effect.
Rachel at the Port Inn got up early to make breakfast and see us off. Once again we breezed through the world’s most secure airport, and on the plane on the way back I finished reading Dvid Ruhe’s Doors of Hope.
And as the Universal House of Justice told us, we’ll see the most important effects of pilgrimage in the days to come. One of them, which I’m already beginning to experience days later in writing this, is the sudden hearkening back to scenes in the Holy Land, not just memories, but the whole scene before my eyes, as though I’m still there, as though it speaks to me until I hear, really hear.
