the arab league and sacred spaces

We saw a speaker from high up in the Arab League, which was interesting. It was, of course, propaganda-esque, but it was also very sincere. He stressed the importance of the non-political initiatives, like education, women's issues, and technology, and lamented the fact that they get ignored by the news. It also came out that it has a budget of $30 million dollars, i.e. nothing. He was a little ideologically shifty about the relationship of the Arab League to the Arab states. Sometimes, the Arab League was a direct representation of the Arab people, a pan-Arab institution endorsed by, but not constituted by, Arab governments. But other times, it was a council of Arab governments that had no place interfering in their affairs unasked (this was, not shockingly, often used to duck responsibility). It was reminiscent of (but not as profoundly hypocritical as) the usage of "states' issues" in American politics. (I'm referring to the fact that everyone says something's "a matter for the states to decide" when the federal government isn't going to do it their way, but wants to make issues federal when they think they can succeed in imposing their policies on everyone.)

AND for a change of thematic pace, now we move on to our worship-space tour!

First we visited the Hanging Church; yes, it's actually hanging, but we'll get to that later. St. George features prominently, even though he wasn't Egyptian, because he was martyred in Egypt. The ceiling, I'm told, is shaped to evoke Noah's arc; it does, insofar as it is made out of wood and has crossbeams. It's Coptic, of course; it had pictures of St. Mark, who was described to us as "the first pope of the Copts". It was also explained to us that, in spite of the picture in front of us, "St. Mark is not black, this is an Egyptian representation". Of course, because we all know Mark is really Scandinavian. Anyway, the church is very touristy, but it's also still an active place of worship, as well as a genuine place of pilgrimage, that delightful hybrid of the two. Arabic Biblical verses adorn the walls. Also, it has an escape tunnel (!!!) for when the Christians were being persecuted.

I'm becoming fascinated by the role of the tourist-pilgrim. We humans take our culture and commercialize it for all to see, welcome tourists in shorts and tshirts, laden with sunglasses and cameras, into our holy places to gawk at "tradition". (Everyone does it, right? Because anyone who doesn't isn't known, and thus doesn't exist.) Tourism feels so artificial, at a glance, but it's not. At it's best it's the desire for understanding a broader world, at it's worst it's cultural voyeurism--but either way, what could be more organically human? And we've been making pilgrimages as long as we've been signifying space.

That's why we build a church, suspended, and flee through secret tunnels as our lives hang in the balance. It's so dear to us, so sacred, that the pilgrims come, and eventually people start to come because it's important and not because it's sacred, and we want them to see so we secularize it, open it up to tourists and make the pilgrims squeeze their way between preaching tour guides in order to pray.

We cut holes in the floor, because we need to see with our eyes that we are, in fact, suspended.

People want the world to see them, and in making their religion/culture accessible (i.e. commercial), they make it into something new. They commercialize it, bastardize it, breed it with the mundane and the profane to give birth to a new symbolism that, like the symbolism of the past, is a visceral expression of the culture that created it. It's what I'm starting to think of as the Neon Jesus Phenomenon.

In spite of all prejudices, I do think the Neon Jesus represents what's most profoundly beautiful in religion.

Now, back to the story...

We also went to the Church of Holy Family, where oral tradition says the crypt was located where Jesus resided for 3 months. We could see the stairs down into the crypt, littered with small slips of paper. There's a women's balcony, but the seating is now mixed.

We also visited Ben Izra Synagogue. It was the first time I had been in a synagogue since I'd left, which was a big deal to me. (Isn't it ironic how important that sort of thing becomes when it isn't there? When we can go any time, we barely go at all.) I was very torn, because I wanted to just be there for myself, but I was also very curious as to what our guide was saying about "the Jewish", as well as wanting to be responsive to all the people who were asking me questions at the time. It's Sephardi, of course, with the bimah in the middle, and there isn't currently enough of a Jewish community left in Cairo for it to be in use. I didn't recognize most of the Hebrew passages adorning it, but I did notice that Mosheh appeared frequently--and that Mitzraim did not. It was pointed out to me by someone who was reading more closely that the phrase they were using was "the land of the pharaohs"--obviously, an important distinction for Jews making their homes in Muslim Cairo.