Holy Fire on Holy Saturday

Have you heard of the Holy Fire? If you're not Eastern or Oriental Orthodox, chances are you haven't. But boy, what a show.

The Holy Fire is an annual event serving as the climax of the Eastern Easter. It is a supposed miracle, taking place each year at 1pm (Holy Sepulchre time; 2pm if you're in the surrounding buildings and elsewhere, i.e., everywhere else in Israel). The Greek Orthodox Patriarch of Jerusalem, followed by the Armenian Patriarch, go into the Edicule (that's 'the tomb' for non-geeks) with unlit candles and emerge shortly thereafter with lit candles. The fire spreads from there throughout the church as people attempt to demonstrate the miraculous nature of the fire by holding it to their bare skin, and the real miracle is that year after year the place doesn't burn down.

But lets face it, this is something to see!

Getting into the ceremony without clerical connections- and even with them- is nearly impossible. Several years ago the Greek Orthodox, fearing the combination of lunatic Russians, religious piety, large crowds, and fire, invited the Israeli police to do crowd control. The Russians are a particular problem, since forty thousand of them descend on the Old City and they're the ones who try to light themselves on fire. The police, in conjunction with the Greeks, have therefore set up certain rules: no Russians are allowed into the Old City until 2pm (Israeli time); lock-down of the Old City at all gates, with passage only for Old City residents and workers, persons with non-Christian religious destinations, and approved guests; entrance to the Holy Sepulchre only with official badges.

Thank God, the students at St. George's attending the Eastern Holy Week course were in the process of getting badges from the Armenian delegation, and I was graciously added to the list. Father Andrew, you see, studied Armenian spirituality for nine months in the Armenian seminary in Jerusalem. With the ceremony starting at 2pm and the ceremony of the Sealing of the Tomb at noon, we had to head out for the Armenian Quarter as early as 9am.

Now other than being in the Armenian Cathedral of St. James for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity and Solemn Burial services, I'd never been in the Armenian Quarter 'proper.' I say proper, because the majority of the Armenian Quarter is located within what is known as the Armenian Compound. This is a sealed communal living area that is largely private and inaccessible. The Armenian residents run various shops and restaurants along Armenian Orthodox Patriarchate Rd., such as the Armenian Tavern where I'd eaten with Maria during our first night in Jerusalem, but the majority of the quarter lies within this compound.

The compound was originally a monastery attached to the cathedral which also housed a seminary. To this was eventually attached a pilgrim guesthouse for Armenians. During the Armenian genocide by the Turks in World War I, refugees fled south into Palestine, which had been taken by the British under General Allenby. The guesthouse was transformed into a refugee camp, and the monastery compound became a general living quarters. The fortress-like character of the quarter has been definitively shaped by those horrible events; one cannot walk along the street without seeing maps of Turkey and the Levant detailing the routes of forced marches and refugee trails and the locations of massacres and depopulated villages. I might note, too, that Israel and Turkey are very strong allies, being largely secular, westernized states in the Arab-Islamic Middle East; as a result, Israel has not officially recognized the tragedy of 1915-1917 to be a genocide. The continued existence of the Armenian Quarter is a sort of silent protest against this equally deafening silence from a people, of all people, who know what genocide means.

The Armenians have a particularly tough go of it because the Jewish Quarter has been slowly moved up the hill, to the west, encroaching on traditionally Armenian neighborhoods. To my knowledge there have not been any official settlements or evictions; however, the transfer of property from one ethnic group to another is not the problem. The problem is that the Armenians continue to hold liturgical processions along their main streets: Armenian Orthodox Patriarchate Rd. and Ararat St. These are also routes by which Orthodox Jews get from Jaffa Gate to the Western Wall. As Armenian processions solemnly go by, they are spat upon and cursed at by fanatical religious Jews. Like the kind, loving Christians they are, they take it in silence.

This brings me back to my day. The normal route for non-Armenians into the Armenian Quarter is through the Cathedral of St. James, so that the population can monitor foreigners in their compound. There is another entrance across from New Gate, however, barred by a locked metal door; only residents of the compound- three hundred or so Armenians- hold the key. The door also has deep historical significance. During the 1948 Israeli War of Independence, the Old City was overrun by the Jordanian Army and allied Palestinian militias. The population of the Jewish Quarter faced massacre. The Armenians opened this door to them, and smuggled Jews, saving hundreds of lives. Their descendants are now spat on by the people they saved.

It was through this Armenians-only door that the St. George's group and I entered the compound. It was very humbling.

Inside, the Armenian Compound is a series of academic buildings, apartments, secret passageways leading in and out of the cathedral, and wide, open courtyards. The only other place in the Old City you can find such open spaces are the Western Wall Plaza, the Jaffa Gate entrance, and the Haram al-Sharif (temple mount)- and none of them are so serene. While waiting for an hour to line up for the procession, I had a walk around, and bought two Armenian-style icons: a Christos Pantokrator and Theotokos and Child. They're quite beautiful and unlike any other icons I've seen.

Now, I use the term 'procession' pretty loosely. You see, even with a badge, the Israelis have been known to turn away people. There are about four hundred badges given out, and the Israelis are supposed to let all four hundred in; however, sometimes they only permit entry for two or three hundred. As a result, there is absolutely nothing ceremonial about the procession. The priests at the front, seminarians and choral troop behind them, followed by a mass of Armenians and invited guests, sprint through the Old City along Armenian Patriarchate Rd., down David St., across Christian Quarter Rd., and into the Parvis of the Holy Sepulchre.

Once there, the Armenian clerics attempt to hold the mass of people back while the Israelis individually check everyone's badges. The press of the crowd from both sides is so intense that I was literally crushed between several people and lifted entirely off the ground, my feet dangling a few inches above the pavement. Once in, though, Andrew and I found the perfect spot: one of the pillars to our backs, with the entrance to the tomb clearly visible. It was probably one of the best seats in the whole house.

By the time the Greeks, Armenians, Copts, Syriacs, and Ethiopians had their delegations in, there were almost eight thousand people crammed into the church. Only the Latins don't participate in the ceremony, although they watch from their gallery high up in the rotunda. In this picture you can see a lone Franciscan, looking like his hands are folded in prayer but actually taking a picture, serenely looking down on the maniac chaos going on below:
And boy, was there ever chaos.

You see, after the house is filled, the Greeks seal the tomb with beeswax in a symbolic reenactment of the rolling of the stone in place. Between this ceremony of the Sealing of the Tomb at noon and the Holy Fire at 2 (11 and 1, Holy Sepulchre time), the various parties have their locals process around the tomb chanting nationalistic and ethnic slogans: Greek, Armenian, what have you. This is another reason the Russians aren't allowed in: the Greeks are severely threatened in their status as masters of the Eastern Orthodox world by the resurgence of religion in post-Soviet Russia and the sheer numbers of Russian faithful.

Now, I don't mean to put a negative spin on these two hours. It was actually great fun to see each party enjoying themselves. A minor fight did break out somewhere over by the Coptic chapel (the one stuck on the rear of the Edicule), but who knows why. The Israelis dealt with that promptly, and I must say, they were very professional throughout the entire ordeal. On the whole, though, I couldn't help but appreciate that what was going on was the celebration of varied and often-rival ethnic groups, who nonetheless could celebrate the same ceremony together in the same church.
Well, it finally came time for Holy Fire. There isn't too much to say, as it all happens quite secretly in the tomb. There's considerable speculation as to how the Greek patriarch actually makes the 'miracle' happen, but that's really not the point. For me, the Holy Fire means that although Saturday is the day when Christ takes his Sabbath rest from this life and we commemorate those terrible hours when his corpse lay dead in the tomb, we are nevertheless reminded that now, since Easter morning, we can pass through Good Friday and Holy Saturday confident of the Sunday morning that lies ahead.

That, and it means lots and lots of fire!