A Center of Transnational Syriac Orthodoxy: St. Mark’s Convent in Jerusalem

Journal of Levantine Studies

A Center of Transnational Syriac Orthodoxy: St. Mark’s Convent in Jerusalem

Heleen Murre-van den BergLeiden University, Netherlands

In a little-known corner of the Old City of Jerusalem, wedged between the Jewish and Christian quarters just north of the Armenian complex, is the Convent of Saint Mark—in Syriac, Mor Markos. In it resides the mutran, Mor Severios Malki Murad, metropolitan of the Syriac Orthodox Church in the Holy Land. He leads a community of about five thousand five hundred people: around four hundred families live in Bethlehem, one hundred in Jerusalem, and about six hundred in Jordan, mostly in Amman. While the transnational character of his diocese—which stretches over two nation-states, Israel and Jordan, and one state-to-be, the Palestinian territories—is reason enough to include a study of the community in this volume, this essay probes a wider understanding of both the transnationalism that characterizes this diocese and, through this understanding, of the Syriac Orthodox Church to which the diocese belongs.1 Assuming that the Jerusalem community is indeed part of the wider network of the Syriac Orthodox Church, the major questions asked in this essay relate to the place the Jerusalem community holds within this transnational network and the ways its links with the other nodes are created, maintained, and changed.

The term transnationalism is used in different, often imprecisely defined ways; it refers to the position of an individual, organization, or community that exists in several nation-states simultaneously (simultaneous embeddedness) as much as to the processes that caused this situation. When the term is used to describe the role of religion in transnational contexts, Manuel Vásquez notes that it may also refer to the actual cluster of religious ideas and practices that enable people to live a transnational life.2 All three aspects of transnationalism are important in understanding the contemporary position of the Syriac Orthodox of Jerusalem. In the following essay

Vol. 3, No. 1, Winter 2013, pp. 000-000

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60 A Center of Transnational Syr iac Or thodoxy

the processual aspect of transnationalism forms the leading thread of the narrative from pilgrimage and diaspora to the combined forces of ecclesiastical expansion and changing political contexts. Aspects of simultaneous embeddedness and the common narrative will be addressed within this framework.3

Spir itual Center

When I visited the Convent of St. Mark in the early spring of 2010, the courtyard was covered with bedding and mattresses. During the weeks before Easter, the monks were organizing a thorough cleanup of the convent’s guestrooms because hundreds of Syriac Orthodox faithful from all over the world were expected. They were to lodge in the convent or in one of the nearby buildings during the year’s major festival. While the numbers have fluctuated somewhat, depending on perceived safety levels and possibilities for travel, the convent was and is an important pilgrimage destination for Syriac Orthodox, with additional groups, especially of youth, arriving during the summer holidays.4

Fig 1. The icon above the entrance to the church, depicting the range of events attr ibuted to the location (MvdB, Februar y 22, 2010).

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61Journal of Levantine Studies

Current practice builds upon the long-standing presence of Syriac Orthodox in the Holy City. The oldest Syriac Orthodox references to the Jerusalem pilgrimage date back to the fifth century, though it is not certain that a Syriac Orthodox church or convent existed at that time.5 The vicissitudes of the later period are better known: the community went from being a relatively strong presence during Crusader times to having an increasingly marginalized existence during the Seljuk and early Ottoman periods.6 The Convent of St. Mark, built in Crusader times and originally dedicated to the “Virgin Mary, Mother of God,”7 was acquired from the Copts sometime in the late fifteenth century. This coincided with a period of increased pilgrimage to the Holy City from what by then had become the heartland of the Syriac Orthodox Church—the hilly country of Tur Abdin in southeastern Anatolia. These pilgrims recorded their visits for posterity by inscribing their names in Syriac on the columns at the entrance to the Holy Sepulcher.8 It is possible that during this period the monastic complex also became identified with the “house of Mary, the mother of the disciple John Marcus,” the house that has traditionally been seen as the location of the Last Supper and of the gatherings of the apostles following Jesus’s death (fig. 1).9

In addition to their presence in St. Mark’s Convent, the Syriac Orthodox today have rights of usage to a chapel in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. During the Ottoman period these rights were the catalyst for many struggles between the Syriac Orthodox and the Armenians, the larger and more powerful community under which they had been subsumed by Ottoman law.10 Their current chapel is that of St. Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea (in the Rotunda, north of the Edicule) which, despite ongoing disputes, is still in their hands. In addition the Syriac community has rights to a chapel in the Church of the Tomb of the Virgin Mary in the Kidron Valley (east of the Old City of Jerusalem). The rights to the chapels in these shared churches are dependent on their regular use, and neglect risks losing these rights to rival communities, especially to the Armenians. A very important aspect of the life of the monks in St. Mark’s is therefore the performance of their ongoing ritual obligations in these places. These rituals take place not only in the church of the convent but also in the Tomb of Mary every Wednesday morning, in the Holy Sepulcher every Sunday morning (with additional masses during Lent), and in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem on Christmas. By celebrating masses and daily prayers at these locations under the strict regulations of the Status Quo, the monks ensure the continuous presence of the Syriac Orthodox in the most sacred places of Christianity.11

The historic narrative and the current ritual practices underline the importance the Syriac Orthodox attach to their ongoing presence in Jerusalem—an importance

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that has little to do with the size of the local community. The history of ecclesiastical presence as presented above, pieced together mostly from Syriac sources, is notably at odds with the way in which the convent represents its history today to visitors from both inside and outside the community. This is most obvious in the way in which the identification of the building as the house of the Evangelist Mark is propagated. The sister responsible for guiding visitors, the brochure that tells the history of the convent, the famous “5th or 6th c.” inscription,12 paintings and pictures in the monastery, and the recently restyled underground church all play a part in confirming that this is the house where the Last Supper took place, where the disciples gathered after Jesus had risen, where the Spirit was poured onto the disciples, and where they gathered when Peter was in prison. In this way a small and vulnerable community successfully identifies its main stronghold in the city as a place of major Christian significance—the location of the institution of the Eucharist and the Pentecostal event—making St. Mark’s into, as the sign at the entrance to the monastery states, the “First Church in Christianity” (fig. 2).13

Fig 2. Sign at the entrance to the monaster y (MvdB, Februar y 22, 2010).

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Diasporic Community

In addition to being a major center of pilgrimage for the Syriac Orthodox Church, linking it to Christianity and Christendom in the widest possible sense, the community in Jerusalem is also one of the many diasporic centers of the Syriac Orthodox. This diaspora was created by two major emigrations, both following massive upheavals during Ottoman times in what became the Syriac Orthodox central homeland in southeastern Anatolia, a region called Tur Abdin (“the mountain of the servants,” that is, “servants of God,” probably referring to the area’s rich monastic history). The first of these emigrations was triggered by the Armenian and Syriac genocide during the First World War, an onslaught on those populations that came to a climax in 1915. Syriac Christians refer to 1915 as the year of the Seyfo, the “sword,” a term that by now refers to the whole period and its consequences.14 A second wave of emigration from Tur Abdin took place during the 1970s and 1980s when the Turkish army clashed with Kurdish nationalists of the PKK, cornering the remaining Syriac Christians between the parties and pressuring them to leave the area.15

This second wave generated extensive diaspora communities in Europe, especially in the Netherlands, Germany, and Sweden. In contrast, the first wave had propelled Syriac Christians mostly to the Americas, but also to regions closer to home—areas that from 1920 onward became part of the French and British Mandates: Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Palestine. Much like the important parts of the Armenian community in Jerusalem, the Syriac Orthodox communities in Bethlehem and Jerusalem have their origins in the first wave of migration following the large-scale massacres and deportations that the Young Turk government employed in an attempt to free Eastern Anatolia of its Armenian and Syriac Christians. Within a few years the monastic community, which until that time served a transient pilgrimage community, became responsible for a highly traumatized refugee community.16

That the traumatic events of 1915 are vital to understanding the current situation of the Syriac Orthodox Church is clearly visible in St. Mark’s Convent in Jerusalem. A short historical overview in English is posted on the notice board in the courtyard of the monastery, next to the the church doors. Entitled “Who are the Suryoye (Syriac)?” it succinctly tells the story of the first-century beginnings of the church, its Aramaic heritage, and the importance of Aramaic language and culture in general. It then turns to the massacres of the twentieth century in which, according to the author’s sources, about seven hundred fifty thousand Syriac Christians were killed. The undated sheet was composed by a local resident, Nabil Markos Aho, who is highly motivated to keep the story of the Syriac Orthodox alive. Whatever the

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motivation of the individual author, the monastic community apparently thought the history important enough to post it for all to see. In addition to the above, the poster refers to the homeland of Tur Abdin, which “is regarded as a Holy site, only second to Jerusalem.”17

This reference reminds the reader that it is not only Jerusalem but also the Syriac homeland that repeatedly claims the attention of the dispersed Syriac people—even more so after the war between the Turkish army and the PKK subsided in 2000. In the years that followed, the Tur Abdin region experienced a revival that brought the monasteries, especially the monastery of Mor Gabriel (Der al-Umur), back to the center of Syriac Orthodox attention; this was true both for those who left in 1915 or shortly thereafter and for those who left more recently.18 Some of this last group returned to the region, contributing to the rebuilding of their homes and the renovation of the monasteries. Most, however, limited themselves to visits during the long summer months. Though the process of re-resettlement does not go unchallenged by the local population, it confirms the importance of the region and the monastery as the heartland of the Syriac Orthodox Church.19 Thus, while the genocide of the early twentieth century is the basis of the diasporic movement that gave birth to the Syriac Orthodox community in the Holy Land, it also draws this community back to its origins, to the perceived homeland in eastern Turkey.

This web of connections between the land of origin and the many places of diaspora is being continually rebuilt by a number of means; among them is a nationalist discourse to which activists contribute in most, if not all, Syriac Orthodox communities worldwide. This nationalist movement emphasizes the ethnic aspect of the Syriac Orthodox community, regarding it as based not on religious or denominational belonging but ultimately on ethnic difference, an ethnicity variously labeled as Aramaic or Assyrian. Advocates of these two labels differ in their exact definitions of this identity, stressing either a separate Syriac Orthodox identity with possible links to the Maronites (via their Aramaic heritage) or an all-Syriac alliance including Christians in Iraq and Iran (Assyrians).20 Nevertheless, these two major nationalist parties share important characteristics. They support secularist interpretations of community and leadership, thereby opposing clerical hegemony over the community. They also explicitly define the community as being different from other ethnic groups in the region, particularly from the Arabs and thus from Arab nationalism. Over the last century, in reaction to these potentially divisive discourses, the clergy of the Syriac Orthodox Church developed their own version of the Aramaic interpretation. While they favored this interpretation, they consistently subordinated the ethnic aspect to the linguistic and ecclesial aspects for

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which, in English, they introduced the word Syriac (rather than Syrian) in the name of the church.21 This allowed the clergy not only to distance themselves as much as possible from the sometimes fierce political fights between Arameans and Assyrians but also to accommodate the various forms of nationalism in the states in which they were living, most prominently Arab nationalism in Syria.22

As the center of the Syriac Orthodox diaspora in the Holy Land, the Convent of Mor Markos was and is a part of these rivalries and tensions, something most poignantly illustrated by the history of the street sign near the monastery. The sign that was on a wall until 2010 showed three parallel names for the convent; at first sight, the English paralleled the Arabic, referring to the “Syrian” rather than the “Assyrian” convent that was implied by the Hebrew. However, a closer look indicated that the English sign had been tampered with, removing the “As” from “Assyrian,” thus reading “Syrian.” While no one could tell me exactly when the sign had been put up and when it had been changed, recently a new sign appeared, reflecting the most recent position taken by the clergy, with the Hebrew and Arabic reading “Siryān” and in English, “Syriac.” The sign just above it carries the relatively neutral “Syrian Orthodox Club” (fig. 3).23

Fig 3. Street sign with crossed-out reference to the “Assyrian” monastery (MvdB, February 24, 2010).

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While the debate over names has been the most visible and explicit location of nationalist discourses, in the background the discussions over language—that is, over Classical Syriac—have had as great, or even greater, an impact. This language, part of the wider Aramaic family of languages (hence the ethnic denominator, Aramaic), became the crucial instrument employed by the clergy to emphasize their own unique heritage. The importance of the language is exemplified by the convent’s publication of al-Hikma, (Wisdom), or Hekhmtho in Syriac.24 The explicit aim of the quarterly al-Hikma, stated on the cover in Syriac and Arabic, is to “take care to keep alive Syriac learning and language.” However, the vast majority of the articles are in Arabic, the daily vernacular and literary language of the local Syriac community. It is certainly possible that this linguistic aim was directly taken from the journal’s first incarnation in Turkey because Yuhannan Dolabani, one of the early editors of the journal, was one of the great propagators of a more general and intensive use of the classical language.25 In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Classical Syriac lost ground to Arabic (in its modernized form) for major parts of the written culture: literary, educational, and political. Therefore, in the 1920s and 1930s, Syriac Orthodox clergy staged a concerted attempt to propagate the use of Classical Syriac, not only in clerical circles, as was explicitly formulated in a synodic decision of 1930, but also among the educated lay people.26 It seems that the publication of al-Hikma was part of that search for a wider use of the classical language.

While recent issues published in Jerusalem are mostly in Arabic, all issues include a number of pages in Classical Syriac, mostly written by dayroyo (monk) Shem‘on Can, who exemplifies the classical learning of the Syriac monastic communities. Always appearing among these pages is the translation of the seasonal biblical message from Bishop Severios that opens the Arabic section.27 The theme of preserving and reforming Syriac Orthodox identity is explicitly present in the Syriac obituary of malfono (teacher) Abrohom Nuro, a Syriac Orthodox educator and linguist from Aleppo. He dedicated most of his life to furthering the use of Classical Syriac by writing dictionaries (creating many modern words in the process), children’s books, and a variety of other Syriac teaching materials—in addition to his literary work. The article describes Nuro’s ceaseless efforts to have people use Classical Syriac as a living language, seeing it as the one element able to unite the scattered and quarreling people.28 This twentieth-century emphasis on Classical Syriac is also reflected in the many Syriac inscriptions in St. Mark’s. Whereas most of the inscriptions from the nineteenth century are in Garshuni (that is, Arabic written in Syriac script), the twentieth century yielded only inscriptions written in Classical Syriac.29

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Fig 5. Modern inscription II: renovation of the patriarchal reception room, 2008 (MvdB, February 22, 2010).

Fig 4. Modern inscription I: renovation of the underground church, 1989 (MvdB, February 22, 2010).

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Thus, the Syriac Orthodox convent in Jerusalem sends a three-fold message to its visitors: the first concerning the ancient Christian credentials of the place—consistently supported by a range of Syriac, Arabic, and English texts and visual imagery; the second concerning the history of massacre and diaspora; and the third concerning the central role of the Syriac language—which has grown rather than diminished during the modern period—via the inscriptions and the publication of al-Hikma. This last aspect, the growing importance of Syriac, should be interpreted as a reaction to the violent and divisive impact, geographically and ideologically, that the historical events of the twentieth century had on this particular community. That the use of Classical Syriac is of a symbolic and ideological nature is apparent due to the fact that few lay people are able to write or speak the language, even though they may be able to read a few lines or understand the key parts of the liturgy. However, the symbolic role the language plays does not detract from its very concrete connections to the monasteries in the homeland. These linguistic connections were maintained via the language used in al-Hikma; via the conscious choice, expressed in a synod of 1930, to make Jerusalem a center of learning for the global community after Eastern Anatolia was abandoned;30 and via the language’s continuous role as the official language of correspondence among the clergy.

Expansion and Border Changes

The above suggests that Syriac Orthodox transnationalism arose in the Holy Land as a result of historical circumstances that made the area a center both of pilgrimage and of new settlement for an international diaspora. However, today’s transnationalism consists of yet further layers of global and transnational networks.

First, while part of the global dispersion of the Syriac Orthodox Church is directly connected to the waves of expulsion and emigration from eastern Turkey—first in 1915 and then again during the Turkish war with the PKK in the 1970s and 1980s—it also reflects much older globalization processes, most significantly that of organized ecclesiastical expansion. The diocese not only remains, via its clergy and familial ties, connected to Syriac Orthodox communities all over the Middle East but also maintains long-standing connections with the Syriac Orthodox community in India. This community counts for at least two-thirds of the approximately 1.7 million members of the global Syriac Orthodox Church. The history of ties between India and the Syriac churches of the Middle East is long, going back to the third or fourth century CE. Though ties with the Syriac Orthodox Church in particular date to the later seventeenth century, they were strengthened in the nineteenth century when they were actively nourished by the Syriac Orthodox in the Middle East.31

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These connections with the Indian community are reflected in the convent in Jerusalem, which in the mid-nineteenth century underwent major restorations and extensions under Bishop ‘Abd al-Nur of Edessa. He was also responsible for the erection of today’s beautifully carved wooden altar screen and matching episcopal throne and reliquary, all in reds and greens and plated with gold.32 While the inscriptions do not mention who donated the money for the altar screen, the renovations and extensions of the convent were paid for by contributions from Syriac and Indian believers.33 Further traces of these connections date from the 1920s to the 1940s, when Indian pilgrims who died in Jerusalem were honored with Syriac inscriptions in the church.34 Today al-Hikma testifies to the importance of the ongoing connections with the Indian community, perhaps stimulated by rising numbers of Indian pilgrims, Syriac as well as others, to Jerusalem. One of the journal’s latest issues presents a range of photographs featuring Bishop Mor Severios among his Indian colleagues as well as the larger group of parishioners who accompanied him on his visit to the Indian dioceses in February 2009.35

Second, as is the case with many of the other churches in Jerusalem and the Holy Land, this church’s transnationality is the result of the border changes in the region. The events of 1948 and 1967, and the increased difficulty of traveling between Bethlehem and Jerusalem since the year 2000, effectively created three separate communities: those of Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and Jordan (mostly in Amman). While occasional travel is possible, especially for the clergy, and circumstances change along with the varying security procedures at these borders, the three communities are able to maintain regular contacts. The increasing isolation of Bethlehem, however, which has had an important Syriac Orthodox community since the early 1930s, led to another wave of migration, this time primarily to the West.36 The wide variety of countries to which former Bethlehemites and Jerusalemites went in search of greener pastures is reflected in the list of donors that is regularly published in al-Hikma. These include donations in American and Australian dollars, British pounds, Euros, Israeli shekels and Jordanian dinars.37

While donations from Western countries point to a global readership, the presence of the Israeli shekels and Jordanian dinars confirms the fact that al-Hikma has a solid base in the diocese itself. This is further reflected by the many articles and pictures that refer to the Jordanian part of the diocese. The most remarkable example of this is a report on the Epiphany celebration at the Jordan River in January 2009, with the faithful standing on both the Jordanian and the Palestinian sides of the river. In both the ceremony and the photograph, it is not only the ties between two parts of the diocese that are made visible but also the connections

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between the diocese of the Holy Land and that of Aleppo, with Mor Gregorius Yohanna Ibrahim, metropolitan of Aleppo, being part of the group on the Jordanian side.38 Though it is difficult for most of the parishioners to cross these borders, the bishop of Jerusalem and some of his priests and monks (depending on the type of passports they carry) occasionally travel. Al-Hikma features pictures of Bishop Severios celebrating Mass in the Syriac Orthodox Church in Bethlehem and being received by King Abdullah II of Jordan in 2002.39

The travels of the bishop point to yet another aspect of this church’s transnationalism: the hierarchical organization that has its summit at the patriarchal center in Syria. Since 1959 the patriarchal see has been located in Bab Toma, the Christian neighborhood in the Old City of Damascus. In practice the impressive monastic center and seminary, named after St. Ephrem and built on the outskirts of the Ma‘arat Saydnaya, not far north of Damascus, functions as the administrative, spiritual, and educational heart of the Syriac Orthodox Church. It is here that most priests of the church receive at least part of their clerical training, and the patriarch, Mar Ignatius Zakka I Iwas, a native of Mosul (Iraq) who has been in office since 1980, spends most of his time here. The bishops travel regularly to this center; in addition, the patriarch travels around the world, especially for metropolitan enthronements. This strong transnational organization is neatly reflected in al-Hikma, which features articles written by bishops from other dioceses as well as by the patriarch.40

The consistently transnational outlook of the magazine is complemented by a detached relationship to the actual context of the Old City of Jerusalem. The magazine is decidedly apolitical and pays little or no attention to the many contentious issues of its immediate environment. The two major exceptions to this general rule are the former pope’s visit to Jerusalem in 200041 and the siege of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem early in 2002. Apparently, in the latter case the political interfered with the religious in such an immediate way that it could not be avoided—not least because protests in Jerusalem and Bethlehem were organized along ecumenical Christian lines. A photo of a solidarity walk with other Christian dignitaries and an article from the Jerusalem Arabic-language journal Al-Quds in Syriac translation were incorporated in the magazine.42 In both cases the texts and photos underline the solidarity between the Christian communities. However, as becomes clear from talks with the monks, this Christian unity is a tenuous one. On the one hand, the monks participate in ecumenical dialogues and prayers;43 on the other hand, they jealously guard their own small piece of the Holy City since they suspect that their more powerful rivals respect their rights only as much as they are forced to under the Status Quo. This is true especially for the Armenians, whose

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presence and rights in Jerusalem are closely linked to those of the Syriac Orthodox and have been a source of tension since the Ottoman period.44

The connection with the Jewish context is even more tenuous: though the Old City has been under Israeli governance since 1967, the Syriac Orthodox have largely retained their traditional orientation toward Palestinian and Jordanian societies. Knowledge of Hebrew is limited, and few Syriac young people make their way into Hebrew-language institutions of higher education. However, this attitude appears to be changing, especially among those who live in Jerusalem. In recent years tourism in the Old City has been growing, not least because of the increasing numbers of Jewish Israeli tourists who are interested in the Christian sites. This encouraged the publication of a multi-lingual tourist brochure that includes Hebrew along with English, Syriac, and Arabic, thus explicitly welcoming this new category of visitors.45 What this will mean for the future is difficult to say, not only because the political context in the Old City of Jerusalem is far from predictable but also because an increase in tourism will most certainly include an increase in Christian pilgrimage. This will bring visitors from all over the world and from all denominational backgrounds to the convent; it will also bring increasing numbers of Syriac pilgrims from the global diaspora. One may assume that the growing international Christian influence thus imposed on the convent may outweigh that of the Jewish-Israeli tourist industry.46

Concluding Obser vations

Pilgrimage, ecclesiastical expansion, the devastating impact of the First World War, and regional politics all contributed to the complex web of relationships that connect the community of Jerusalem to the other Syriac Orthodox groups in Bethlehem and Jordan, to the Syriac Orthodox center in Damascus and Ma‘arat Saydnaya, to the monasteries in Tur Abdin, to the faithful in India, and to the many communities in the diasporas of Europe, the Americas, and Australia. In conclusion, I retrace the ways in which the community in St. Mark’s Convent participates in this transnational network, focusing on how it functions as an active center of exchange that both contributes to and benefits from the transnational community.

Undoubtedly the small Syriac Orthodox community in the Holy Land is linked to this global culture first and foremost through a web of personal relationships. The various waves of emigration from Eastern Anatolia, Iraq, Lebanon, and Syria; the dominant endogamous marriage practices; and the enduring bonds between those that originate in the same towns and villages have resulted in a transnational community that is interconnected in myriad ways. Many of the faithful in Jerusalem

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have opportunities to travel to the homeland in Turkey or to the various diaspora communities in the Americas, and conversely the Jerusalemite community attracts family and pilgrims from practically all Syriac Orthodox communities worldwide, except those from the neighboring Arab countries. These transnational links have further benefitted from virtual networks maintained by popular satellite TV stations sponsored by Syriac organizations in Iraq, Sweden, Australia, and the United States; inexpensive long-distance telephone service; and by the many websites and virtual communities on Facebook and the like.

This network, which includes lay and clerical members equally, is supported by a strong clerical and hierarchical network that is topped by the patriarch in Damascus and maintained by regular visits of the bishops to these headquarters. It is further strengthened by common clerical training in St. Ephrem’s seminary in Ma‘arat Saydnaya as well as by the fact that monks and bishops are often placed in dioceses other than the ones in which they grew up. While, naturally, this does not prevent tensions from arising between dioceses and bishops or between the patriarch and bishops, it does go a long way toward safeguarding a mutual understanding between the clergy worldwide, which in turn reinforces the wider Syriac community. Of course this also means that bishops have to carefully navigate between the challenges of their local context and the demands and regulations imposed by the hierarchy and the international community. While the clergy in Jerusalem were reticent in what they told me about such matters, they expressed concern about the small number of monks who were willing to come to Jerusalem, wondering why greater effort was not made to find suitable candidates.47

Such a network of real-life and virtual meetings would not survive without a common narrative, without stories that are being shaped and shared within the global community. This narrative framework consists, in part, of the theology of the church. It is a theology that has been built up over centuries and ritualized in the liturgy, preached by the priests, taught in the seminary, and shared with the faithful formally and informally in various ways, one of which is the publication of essays in al-Hikma and on ecclesiastical websites. A further study of this subject may address the subtle ways in which this theology has been adapted to the current transnational context. Even if these adaptations turn out to be minor, the shared theology provides a major part of the framework that keeps the community together.

This golden narrative of the age-old Christian heritage is complemented by the modern story of genocide and expulsion wrought upon the nation. It is this story of the loss of the homeland of a people in the making that dominates the transnational networks. Wherever one goes in the Syriac Orthodox community, there will always

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be something that reminds one of this part of history, ranging from photographs of the homeland and a great variety of memorial plates, books, and songs to the stories of the ongoing migrations and the lingering fears of renewed violence. This story of a nation born of its losses appears to simultaneously reinforce and weaken the local communities in the Middle East: strengthening them by strengthening the sense of national identity that ties them safely to the international diaspora and weakening them by making them hypersensitive to whatever may threaten their world. This is certainly true for the community in the Holy Land, with its roots in the Anatolian diaspora and its presence in a politically volatile region.

Jerusalem also offers its community a strong local theology, a theology that allows its members to positively identify with their particular location in a way that differs from that of other locations in the diaspora. That this opportunity has been seized by the convent is clear from the narrative circling around the theme of the “First Church in Christianity,” expanding on this community’s origins in the very first stages of the early church by interpreting their location in the Old City of Jerusalem as being the house of Mary, mother of St. Mark, where the Last Supper took place, where Jesus appeared after his resurrection, and where the disciples gathered after Jesus rose from the dead. While this narrative, undergirded by inscriptions, icons, and rituals, is rather successful in bringing in pilgrims and tourists who contribute to the monastery’s local and international standing, it seems to provide insufficient counterweight to the difficulties of living in the Holy Land, especially for those in Bethlehem, who continue to migrate to greener pastures, preferably in the United States.

The importance of these two narratives, one about the birth of a nation through the loss of the homeland, the other about the holy places that put the Syriac Orthodox into the center of Christianity, explains the importance of Classical Syriac. As suggested earlier, its importance does not lie in its being an international language of communication within the church, even though it is used in patriarchal and diocesan writings. It is also not the language of the majority of the community: even those born and raised in Tur Abdin or North Iraq have difficulty understanding it. Many languages are used by the global community; Arabic and English are the most important, but a host of other languages are also used. Among these other languages the dialect of Tur Abdin probably ranks highest, but Swedish, German, Dutch, French, Spanish, Turkish, and Malayalam are also used. This varied linguistic situation, however, adds to rather than detracts from the importance of Classical Syriac. It has a symbolic rather than a practical importance, its weight lying in its capacity to suggest a unity that has religious as well as ethnic

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components; it overcomes past and present divisions in the community and is sanctified by its direct connection to Christ, since it is commonly believed by Syriac Christians to be the “holy language spoken by our Lord Jesus Christ.”48

The question remains as to how Jerusalem as a node in the Syriac Orthodox transnational network differs from other centers, such as Ma‘arat Saydnaya near Damascus, Mor Gabriel in Tur Abdin, or, for that matter, the St. Ephrem monastery in Glanerbrug in the Netherlands. While the above is not a comparative essay, its description of Jerusalem and, in the wider sense, the diocese of the Holy Land indicates that these centers, despite their similarities in being highly dependent on monastic establishments, differ from Jerusalem in function and character. While Jerusalem is part of the diasporic network through its small diaspora community by virtue of its role in the revival of Classical Syriac in the period following World War I and through the nationalist discourse that is shared by Syriac Orthodox worldwide, its uniqueness lies in its intimate connection to the holy places. These holy places forcibly widen the perspective in ways all too easily obscured by religious nationalism. All but a few of these locations have to be shared with other Christian communities; conversely, the convent is included in the ecumenical geography of Christian Jerusalem. This not only opens the location to Syriac Christians of whatever political and nationalist inclinations (including the huge Indian community) but also draws the Syriac Orthodox into the wider Christian world with its tensions and contradictions, its political implications, and its global and transnational outlook that overlaps with, yet is very different from, their own.

In many ways the Syriac Orthodox resemble members of the other smaller orthodox churches of the Holy Land, especially the Armenians and Ethiopians, who tend to see themselves as ethnically different from the majority of local Christians. In contrast to the Armenians and the Ethiopians, however, their homeland is a virtual one, one that can be imagined and even seen in eastern Turkey but that has not been realized in any concrete national sense. The nationalism of the Syriac Christians, therefore, is one that exists only in the transnational network that ties all the different locations together. In this network Jerusalem has a crucial role to play as the least political, most ecumenical, and most international of all Syriac Orthodox centers.

Notes

1 For recent information on the church, see “Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate,” www.syrian-orthodox.

com (Arabic), and the Indian Malankara-produced site with many official documents, including

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patriarchal encyclicals, http://www.syrianchurch.org/pzakka/HH.htm, (English); for a list

of dioceses and bishops dating to 2005, see “Syriac Orthodox Resources,” http://sor.cua.edu/

ChTod/index.html; an updated list can be found on the Dutch Wikipedia page “Lijst van Syrisch-

orthodoxe aartsbisdommen van Antiochië” [List of Syriac-Orthodox archbishoprics of Antiochia],

Wikipedia, accessed January 12, 2011, http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lijst_van_Syrisch-

orthodoxe_aartsbisdommen_van_Antiochi%C3%AB. See also Sebastian Brock, “The Syrian

Orthodox Church in the Modern Middle East,” in Eastern Christianity in the Modern Middle

East, ed. Anthony O’Mahony and Emma Loosely (London: Routledge, 2010), 13–24; Sebastian

Brock and David G. K. Taylor, The Hidden Pearl: The Aramaic Heritage (Rome: Trans World

Film, 2001); H. L. Murre-van den Berg, “Syriac Christianity,” in The Blackwell Companion to

Eastern Christianity, ed. Ken Parry (Malden: Blackwell, 2007), 249–268; Claude Sélis, Les Syriens

orthodoxes et catholiques [The Syriac Orthodox and the Syriac Catholics] (Turnhout: Brepols,

1988); John Joseph, Muslim-Christian Relations and Inter-Christian Rivalries in the Middle East:

The Case of the Jacobites in an Age of Transition (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1983).

The numbers for the Holy Land diocese were provided by the local clergy, in combination with

the overviews found in Christine Chaillot, The Syrian Orthodox Church of Antioch and All the East:

A Brief Introduction to Its Life and Spirituality (Geneva: Inter-Orthodox Dialogue, 1998). Note

that the numbers are constantly changing, mostly as a result of migration out of Israel/Palestine

and immigration to Jordan from Iraq.

2 Manuel A. Vásquez, “Studying Religion in Motion: A Networks Approach,” Method and Theory

in the Study of Religion 20, no. 2 (2008): 158.

3 Much of this contribution is based on extended visits to the monastery in February-March and

July 2010. During this period I participated in the rituals, collected leaflets and magazines, and

spoke with the bishop, the monks (especially dayroyo Shem‘on Can) and other Syriac Christians

involved with the convent and the local community. I thank them wholeheartedly for their

hospitality and generosity. Earlier works on the Jerusalem community that have been important

for the present contribution include Otto Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites in the Holy City,”

Orientalia Suecana 12 (1963): 12, 60–82; Andrew Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox

in Jerusalem,” Oriens Christianus 75 (1991): 16–43, and idem, “The History of the Syrian

Orthodox in Jerusalem, Part 2: Queen Melisende and the Jacobite Estates,” Oriens Christianus

76 (1992): 74–94; Andrew Palmer and Geert Jan van Gelder, “Syriac and Arabic Inscriptions

at the Monastery of St. Mark’s in Jerusalem,” Oriens Christianus 78 (1994): 33–63; Johannes

Pahlitzsch, “St. Maria Magdalena, St. Thomas und St. Markus: Tradition und Geschichte dreier

syrisch-orthodoxer Kirchen in Jerusalem” [St. Mary of Magdalena, St. Thomas and St. Mark:

Tradition and history of three Syriac-Orthodox churches in Jerusalem], Oriens Christianus 81

(1997): 82–106; and George A. Kiraz, `Uqud al-Juman fi Ahbar al-Suriyaniya Al-Quds [A string

of pearls from the story of the Syrians in the Holy Land] (Losser: Bar-Hebreaus Verlag, 1988). A

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detailed list of Jerusalem metropolitans of the Ottoman period is provided by Hubert Kaufhold,

review of Pour un Oriens Christianus Novus [For an Oriens Christianus Novus], by J. M. Fiey,

Oriens Christianus 79 (1995): 255–61.

4 During Easter 2010 about four hundred pilgrims were received; in the summer a variety of groups

were welcomed. When I visited in July 2010, a group of young Swedish women were visiting,

together with a mixed group of mostly older Swedish parishioners accompanied by a priest. The

parish group did not stay in the monastery, but all were welcomed with a special ceremony after

Sunday Mass in the Holy Sepulcher.

5 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox”: see pp. 18–19 for a reference to the pilgrimages

of Barsaumo in 458 CE, and pp. 26–27 for some indications of a Syrian Orthodox church from

the late eighth century onward. Regarding theological views, especially those of Bar Ebroyo

(Barhebraeus), see H. G. B. Teule, “Syrian Orthodox Attitudes to the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,”

Eastern Christian Art 2 (2005): 121–122.

6 Pahlitzsch, “St. Maria Magdalena”; the church and monastery of St. Thomas that belonged to the

Syriac Orthodox from about 1353 to 1620 is still recognizable as the “Mosque of the Jacobites,”

located not far from St. Mark’s.

7 Perhaps the monastery’s most cherished icon, the painting of the Virgin Mary by St. Luke, reflects

this earlier dedication. This icon is most jealously protected—it is the only part of the church that

may not be photographed—and A4-size posters of it were distributed to the Syriac pilgrims from

Sweden in July 2010.

8 Many of these inscriptions are undated. Those that are dated, in addition to those names that

can be identified with names found elsewhere, are mostly from the early fifteenth century; see

Sebastian Brock, Haim Goldfus, and Aryeh Kofsky, “The Syriac Inscriptions at the Entrance to

the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem,” Aram 18/19 (2006/7): 415–438.

9 Pahlitzsch, “St. Maria Magdalena,” 100–106. See also R. Denys Pringle, The Churches of the

Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem: A Corpus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009),

3:322–326, 386–389.

10 For the Ottoman documents testifying to these struggles, see the collection from the Syriac

Orthodox Patriarchate in Mardin (Deir az-Zaferan) in Gabriel Akyüz, Osmanlı devletinde süryani

kilisesi (Edto suryayto b-zabno d-malkuto `osmanayto) [The Syriac Church in the Ottoman State]

(Mardin: private publication by the author, 2002), 59–78 (text nos. 50–69); an edition of these

texts with commentary is being prepared by Emrullah Akgunduz (PhD diss., Leiden); the growing

strength of the Armenians is also noted by Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites,” 68–70.

11 Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites,” 78–81.

12 As described in the brochure, The Syrian Orthodox (Aramaic) Church: The House of Mark, First

Church in Christianity (no place or date of publication; the Arabic introduction by Archbishop

Sewerios Malki Murad is signed Jerusalem, July 2009). For a description and translation of the

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inscription, see Palmer and van Gelder, “Syriac and Arabic,” 33–37. The inscription, which was

discovered in 1940 when earlier layers of plaster were removed, says that “this is the house of

Mary, the mother of John who was called Mark; and it was proclaimed a church by the Holy

Apostles in the name of the Mother of God, Mary, after the Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ

into Heaven; and it was built a second time after Jerusalem was destroyed by King Titus, in the

year 73 of Christ” (author’s translation from her own photograph). As Palmer states, both the

inscription itself (the type of Syriac, the lettering, the reference to Mary as “Mother of God,” and

the CE dating) and its position on a wall dated to the Crusader period suggest that the inscription

was made in the late fifteenth century, shortly after the church came into Syriac Orthodox hands.

Notably, the absence of references to this inscription prior to 1940, combined with the type of

historicization it reflects, also allows for the possibility that the inscription was produced, rather

than discovered, in 1940.

13 The identification is further supported by the painting above the entrance to the church (dated

to 1895) picturing the Virgin Mary seated among the apostles, with Peter’s liberation from prison

and his return to the disciples pictured on the left and right side panels, as well as by a traditional

Last Supper scene in the church, dated to 1851 and commissioned by the same Bishop Abd al-

Nur whose name appears in a number of inscriptions: see Palmer and van Gelder, “Syriac and

Arabic,” 43–49 (nos. 4–8, 1851–1877). Compare further with Pahlitzsch, “St. Maria Magdalena,”

105, where he concludes his discussion by pointing to “das Bedürfnis der kleineren orientalischen

Kirchen, ebenfalls an wichtigen Orten der Heilsgeschichte in Jerusalem vertreten zu sein” (the

need of the smaller Oriental Churches in Jerusalem to also be represented at the important places

of salvation history). It is notable that—though it is implicitly denied by them, especially by

Roman Catholics, who see the Cenacle at Mount Zion as the place where most of the events

described above took place—most other churches in Jerusalem tacitly allow the Syriac Orthodox

to hold on to this narrative.

14 See David Gaunt, Massacres, Resistance, Protectors: Muslim-Christian Relations in Eastern Anatolia

during World War I (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2006), with its balanced discussions of the

factors that led to the deportations and massacres of the Syriac Orthodox and other Syriac

Christians. Gaunt’s numbers (see pp. 300–303) are lower than some of those that circulate within

the Syriac community (anything up to one million), varying from one hundred thousand to two

hundred fifty thousand in total, depending on which parts of the Syriac community are included.

According to his sources this may have constituted about sixty to ninety percent of the Christians’

prewar numbers, depending on location. While most Christians died as a result of massacre and

exhaustion during or after deportation, some men lost their lives in defensive wars against the

Turks, and others died in forced labor units.

15 Naures Atto, Hostages in the Homeland, Orphans in the Diaspora: Identity Discourses among the

Assyrian/Syriac Elites in the European Diaspora (Leiden: Leiden University Press, 2011), 127–142.

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16 The exact reasons for the settlement in the Holy Land remain unclear, but in addition to

resettlement programs that brought refugees from eastern Turkey to other parts of the Middle

East, it seems that internal ecclesial Syriac Orthodox factors were at play, which is evidenced by the

fact that patriarch Eliyas III stayed in Jerusalem for a while in the early 1920s; see William Henry

Taylor, Antioch and Canterbury: The Syrian Orthodox Church and the Church of England, 1874–

1928 (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2005), 111–116. For documentation of the resettlement of

the Armenian community, see Nefissa Naguib, “A Nation of Widows and Orphans: Armenian

Memories of Relief in Jerusalem,” in Interpreting Welfare and Relief in the Middle East, ed. Nefisa

Naguib and Inger Marie Okkenhaug (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 35–56.

17 Aho offered a second, more extensive, poster to the bishop in March 2010. With text in English

and Syriac, tables, and imagery it tells the story of the “Syriac (Aramean) Genocide-Seyfo 1914–

1920.” Most remarkable about it is the fact that while the massacres are explained by a “Holy

Islamic War” (in addition to Turkish territorial ambitions), an order that had been issued by

Husayn ibn ‘Ali, Sharif of Mecca (King of Hejaz, 1916–1924 and the great-great-grandfather of

the current King Abdullah II of Jordan) in 1917 is reproduced in translation. This order, which

called for the protection of “Armenians and Jacobites” by virtue of their being the “protected

people of the Muslims” (ahl dhimmat al-Muslimin), is interpreted as a sign of the good intentions

of Husayn.

18 During the Ottoman period this impressive fortress-like monastery had been relegated to a

secondary position because the monastery of Der az-Za’feran near Mardin housed the patriarchate.

In the twentieth century, Mor Gabriel regained some of its former Byzantine glory after the

patriarchate moved to Homs, Syria, in 1933. Today Mor Gabriel houses one of the church’s

larger monastic communities and is an active center of ecclesiastical learning for both local and

international Syriac students, accommodating hundreds of pilgrims.

19 Heidi Ambruster, “Homes in Crisis: Syrian Orthodox Christians in Turkey and Germany,” in

New Approaches to Migration? Transnational Communities and the Transformation of Home, ed.

Nadje al-Ali and Khalid Koser (London: Routledge, 2002).

20 Some of these are organized as actual political parties (most, such as the Assyrian Democratic

Organization and the Assyrian Democratic Movement—aka Zowaa—successfully so). Others

have been organized as international associations with both political and cultural aims (for

example, the Syriac Universal Alliance).

21 Until the 1980s the term Syriac was used to refer to the language (Classical Syriac), whereas

Syrian referred to those belonging to the Syrian Orthodox Church. When ethnic and nationalist

overtones became more prominent, confusion arose because the term was also used to refer to the

inhabitants of the state of Syria (where considerable numbers of Syrian Orthodox Christians live).

The need was felt for a distinctive term, and the term Syriac began to be used for those belonging

to the community.

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22 On the various nationalist trends among the Syriac Orthodox, see Benyamin Trigona-Harani,

The Ottoman Süryani from 1908 to 1914 (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2009) and Atto, Hostages

in the Homeland. On the Syriac Orthodox in Syria, see Seda Altuğ, “Sectarianism in the Syrian

Jazira: Community, Land and Violence in the Memories of World War I and the French Mandate

(1915– 1939)” (PhD diss., University of Utrecht, 2011).

23 Note that the Hebrew had not been tampered with, despite its reference to the “Assyrian”

interpretation: “rehִov minzar ha-Aššurim.” It was most likely changed after the synod of 1981,

when the church reaffirmed the name “Syrian Orthodox Church” (note: not yet Syriac); this

appears in a Patriarchal Encyclical: “Encyclical - November 29, 1981,” Syrian Orthodox Resources,

http://sor.cua.edu/Personage/PZakka1/19811129Name.html.

24 The history of this periodical closely parallels that of the community, with its origins in Turkey,

in Der az-Za’feran, and its removal to Jerusalem in the late 1920s; see Benjamin Trigona-Harany,

“A Bibliography of Süryânî Periodicals in Ottoman Turkish,” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 12,

no. 2 (2009): 296; Akyüz, Osmanlı devletinde süryani kilisesi, 138 (text no. 129).

25 Recently his Syriac legacy has received some attention; compare with Gregorios Yuhanna Ibrahim,

Dolabani: The Ascetic Metropolitan of Mardin (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2009).

26 Council of 1930, Resolution 10: “The Holy Council resolved that the correspondence between

members of the clergy should be in Syriac or in its script in order to preserve this precious

(linguistic) heritage,” quoted in Ignatius Yacoub III, History of the Monastery of Saint Matthew in

Mosul, trans. Matti Moosa (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2008), 159.

27 See, for example, al-Hikma 2 (1993): 51; al-Hikma 14 (2001): 67; al-Hikma 16 (2002): 70.

28 Al-Hikma 22 (2008): 90–93. For an English-language obituary, see George Kiraz, “In Memorium:

Abrohom Nuro (1923–2009),” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 12, no. 1 (2009), http://syrcom.

cua.edu/hugoye/Vol12No1/index.html.

29 Palmer and van Gelder, “Syriac and Arabic,” 53, 55. These include one bilingual Arabic-Syriac

inscription dated to 1905; the last one described by them is dated to 1961. Two later inscriptions,

marking the renovation of the underground church in 1989 and a further restoration in 2008, are

in Classical Syriac; see figures 4 and 5.

30 Ignatius Yacoub III, History of the Monastery, 160–163. See resolutions 14, 19, 20, and 26.

31 L. W. Brown, The Indian Christians of St. Thomas: An Account of the Ancient Syrian Church of

Malabar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1956), especially chapters 3–5; Robert

Wallisch, Die Entdeckung der indischen Thomas-Christen (Text, Übersetzung und Kommentar) [The

discovery of the Indian Thomas Christians (Text, translation and commentary)] (Vienna: Verlag

der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2008); Susan Visvanathan, The Christians

of Kerala: History, Belief and Ritual among the Yakoba (Madras: Oxford University Press, 1993).

For the contacts between the British and the Syriac Orthodox in the Middle East and India, see

Taylor, Antioch and Canterbury.

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32 Similar mid-nineteenth-century woodwork is found in the iconostasis of the Greek Orthodox

Chapel of St. James (Jacob) and that of the Forty Martyrs, both in the annex at the south side of

the Holy Sepulcher. For the latter chapel, see Nurith Kenaan-Kedar, The Madonna of the Prickly

Pear Cactus: Tradition and Innovation in 19th- and 20th-Century Christian Art in the Holy Land

(Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press, 2010), 27–29.

33 Palmer and van Gelder, “Syriac and Arabic,” 45–47.

34 Ibid., 60–61.

35 Al-Hikma 22 (2008): cover and 107–110. Though dated to 2008, the issue carries the reference

“Winter 2008” and apparently was not published until early spring 2009.

36 Daphne Tsimhoni, “Christians in Jerusalem: A Minority at Risk,” Journal of Human Rights 4, no. 3

(2005): 391–417; see especially pp. 392–394 (on migration) and pp. 412–414 (on border issues).

37 Al-Hikma 14, no. 3 (2000) and 14, no. 5 (2001), both inside the cover; and al-Hikma 16 (2002): 2.

38 Al-Hikma 22 (2008): 102–105.

39 Al-Hikma 16 (2002): both covers.

40 Al-Hikma 22 (2008), with contributions by the former Mutran of Homs, Malatius Barnaba al-

Qas Yusuf (pp. 16–21), the Mutran of Mosul, Gregrorios Saliba Shem‘on (pp. 22–29), and by the

Mutran of Canada, Mor Timotheus Aprem ‘Abud (pp. 30–34); messages from the patriarch are

found in every issue.

41 Al-Hikma 14, no. 3 (2000): cover, 82–83.

42 Al-Hikma 16 (2002): inside back cover, 77–78.

43 Ecumenical meetings are also advertised in the convent; for example, a bilingual Arabic/English

announcement appeared on the public notice board regarding an ecumenical prayer scheduled for

the World Day of Prayer on March 5, 2010.

44 See note 10.

45 The Arabic preface by the metropolitan is dated July 12, 2009.

46 On the relationship with the Israeli government, see Tsimhoni, “Christians in Jerusalem,” 399.

Tsimhoni points to the previous Latin patriarch, Michel Sabbah, as the one who organized

ecumenical Christian resistance to Israeli measures in Jerusalem (p. 399). This included Syriac

Orthodox and Armenians. She also indicates that relations have improved since late in 2004, after

the visa crisis for clerics and church workers was more or less resolved (pp. 408–412).

47 From these and similar remarks it can be inferred that this is not merely a matter of the problems

involved in dividing the patriarchal resources equally over the dioceses; it is also connected to

the political difficulties between Syria and Israel that make it nearly impossible for monks from

Arab countries to obtain visas to stay in Israel. While the community rejoiced in the addition of

a young monk who grew up in Bethlehem and had been allowed to live in Jerusalem and receive

part of his training in Damascus, they hoped for further additions to strengthen the monastic

community; this was indicated to me by the monks.

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48 Patriarch Ignatius Zakka I Iwas, “Identity of the Syrian Orthodox Church,” PatriarchofAntioch.org

(under Encyclicals), accessed May 10, 2013, http://www.syrianchurch.org/pzakka/IdentityofSOC.

htm. According to the site, the text contains “excerpts of interest from the speech delivered by His

Holiness at the twenty-fifth annual Convention of the dioceses of USA and Canada, held in Los

Angeles, California, 1986” and was first published in The Patriarchal Magazine in January 1987.

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A Center of Transnational Syriac Orthodoxy: St. Mark’s Convent in Jerusalem

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