In the heart of Jerusalem, where the hustle and bustle of city life intertwines with the hum of the divine, there is a deafening eruption of bells, the haunting echo of fervent clamor, the sweet heaviness of incense, and a formidable dance of sacred flames. This symphony of the senses is the age-old ceremony of the “Holy Fire” – an event marked on the Christian calendar as a whirlwind of joyous chaos.
Nestled within this boisterous gathering, countless worshipers, their faces flushed with anticipation and excitement, throng the Church of the Holy Sepulcher on a warm and sunny Saturday. The air thickens with cheers and overlapping prayers as opalescent candles, lit one by one, are carefully passed through a small opening into what is believed to be the tomb of Jesus. Suddenly, what was once a dimly lit chamber illuminates in an intimate dance of flickering handheld flames – a rite central to Orthodox Easter week.
For the cluster of devotees gathered within these ancient walls, these flames are not only symbolic but a manifestation of divine intervention. One man, his eyes gleaming with a light mirrored in his flaming torch, gently waved his flame back and forth over his beard as if to anoint himself with this miracle. Nearby, amid the sea of hushed whispers and echoing chants, young men gripping crosses, sprung up and down excitedly.
A first-time participant, Angela Manoug, her voice choked with emotion, struggled to articulate her feelings. “I am speechless, I don’t even know how to explain it,” she admitted. “It is my first time that I have seen the holy light, and I am very blessed by God to have seen it.”
For Greek Orthodox communities that trace their roots to the dawn of Christianity, this ceremony has existed in their hearts and traditions for well over a millennium. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher, where the event takes place, is ominously perched atop the very spot where it is believed Jesus was crucified, buried and resurrected, according to Christian tradition.
Such a revered and anticipated event invariably leads to feverish clashes for space; tens of thousands of devout believers vying for a religious experience of a lifetime. The struggle for space has previously resulted in heated animosity with Israeli authorities and even triggered unfortunate stampedes. Yet, despite the undercurrent of logistical challenges and the shadow of the Israel-Hamas war looming in a not-so-distant backdrop, the spirit of Saturday’s ceremony remained buoyant. Those gathered held a moment of joyous, albeit jostling, reflection.
A worshiper Issa Assasieh, his hands tightly cradling flickering flames, encompassed the sentiment in his parting words, “This year is very sad, but I wish with the light of the holy fire coming from Jerusalem, will give peace around the world. Thank you and happy Easter. Jesus is risen.”
The Old City of Jerusalem, encompassing the church itself, was captured by Israel during the 1967 Mideast war and later annexed, a controversial move that lacked international recognition. This contested land, as permissive as it is disputed, is claimed by Palestinians as the capital of their aspired state. A turbulent backdrop, yet life emulates the flame, flickering on undeterred.
