Meliha Çelik
When you step inside the northern gates of Jerusalem’s Old City, you find yourselfimmediately immersed in a Palestinian bazaar. Known as Bab al-Amoud Market or the ArabSouq, this bustling market begins at the entrance of Damascus Gate and ends just a fewmeters ahead at a crossroads. At this juncture, the path splits into two distinct markets: theroad on the right leads to Souq Khan al-Zayt (Khan el-Zeit Market), while the one on the leftopens to Al-Wad Road. These two paths not only mark the end of Bab al-Amoud Market but also serve as gateways to other markets and souqs.
The narrow streets are flanked by tiny shops and street vendors. Stalls brim with clothing, bags, soap, spices, and an array of household goods. The fresh greens and vibrant fruits on display are a feast for the eyes and soul. Women in traditional attire sit on the ground, sellingfreshly picked grape leaves, radiant spinach, fragrant sage, wild thyme, and tender chickpeasstill clinging to their leaves.
This marketplace at Damascus Gate is alive with energy. Watching the ebb and flow of peoplecoming and going from the gate is a pleasure in itself.
Souq Khan al-Zayt—often written as Khan El Zeit or Khan az-Zait—is situated to thesouthwest of the Damascus Gate crossroads. This road provides one of the most direct routesto the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, one of Christianity’s holiest sites. It also leads to someof the Old City’s oldest and most picturesque markets. Khan al-Zayt marks an invisibleboundary between the Muslim and Christian Quarters of the Old City.
Historically, this street derives its name from the olive presses and the abundance of olive oilsold in the area. The street was also renowned for its factories producing olive oil soap. Today, however, the olive trade has largely been replaced by shops selling sweets, driedfruits, and souvenirs. Restaurants and butcher shops also line the street, adding to its vibrantcharacter.
If you enjoy getting lost and stumbling upon unexpected treasures, Jerusalem is the perfectplace. Its labyrinthine streets and countless doors conceal a wealth of stories. One such door, found in the Christian Quarter’s El-Khanqah Street, opened to one of the most memorablemoments of my life.
On a rainy day, we met a boy who was taller and thinner than his age suggested. When he heard we were from Turkey, he insisted we visit his home. Unsure whether it would be appropriate to accept the invitation, we followed him to a historic building. The green irondoor led to a clean, airy courtyard. To one side, stairs ascended to a two-story building, whilenext to them was the modest entrance to a single-story house.
The boy called for his mother, and a humble Palestinian woman peeked out from the door, her face lighting up with a warm smile. She welcomed us like long-lost relatives, her excitementpalpable. Fatma, as we came to know her, was a mother of four boys (five, if you count her husband, as she jokingly said). She soon disappeared into the house, only to reappear with thearoma of delicious Palestinian dishes filling the air.
Fatma’s sudden disappearances and her knack for presenting delicious Palestinian dishesseemingly out of nowhere became a tradition every time we visited. Her hospitality feltfamiliar, like something out of Anatolia. Fatma loved her guests. She would fuss over them, vanish, and then reappear with a feast. If you refused to eat, she would scold you, furrowingher brows like an angry mother. But in the end, you’d always find yourself seated at her abundant table with her family. And what a table it was! Only someone confident in theirculinary skills could insist so much on their guests eating.
The first time we met, Fatma served us one of Palestine’s most famous dishes, Musakhan, accompanied by a hearty wheat soup and a fresh tabbouleh salad.
Musakhan is a traditional dish where fried chicken is placed atop tabun bread, baked in clayovens. While it may sound simple, the dish is a masterpiece of Palestinian flavors. Olive oil—pure and plentiful—meets a generous amount of sumac, caramelized onions, and aromaticspices like saffron and allspice. Toasted pine nuts, sprinkled like confetti over the chicken, complete the dish. Fatma, generous in spirit and ingredients, never skimped. She would sendone of her sons to fetch the best hummus in Jerusalem, ensuring it was always on the table.
Even for someone like me, who isn’t fond of chicken, Musakhan is irresistible. If I were tomap the flavors of Jerusalem, Musakhan would undoubtedly be one of its landmarks, alongside hummus and falafel. In Bethlehem, it would be maftoul; in Jericho, maqluba; in Nablus, kunafa; in Hebron, qidra; and in Gaza, fish soup and stuffed calamari. But for all of Palestine, the defining flavor is undeniably olive.
As we filled our bellies and shared laughter around the table, we learned that this buildingwas home to the great commander Saladin himself after he liberated Jerusalem from theCrusaders. Fatma and her family were the caretakers of this place, which included a mosque, a madrasa, and Saladin’s former residence. What a remarkable coincidence!
The building’s full name is El-Khanqah al-Salahiyya, derived from the Persian term khanqah, which refers to a Sufi lodge where dervishes gathered for prayer, reflection, and spiritualretreats. Saladin, known for his affinity with the Sufi tradition, had entrusted the building toSufi practitioners.
The khanqah is located at the end of St. Francis Street, the main thoroughfare of the ChristianQuarter. As you reach the end of the street, its name changes to Al-Khanqah Street, whichintersects with Via Dolorosa, the Way of Sorrows. This is the eighth station of the ViaDolorosa, where it is believed Jesus encountered the weeping women of Jerusalem on his wayto the crucifixion. Christian pilgrims often pause here to read passages from the Bible whilecarrying wooden crosses on their backs. From this station, they proceed toward the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the final stop on the Way of Sorrows.
El-Khanqah al-Salahiyya, a two-story building, stands adjacent to the Church of the HolySepulchre. Its courtyard leads to modest doors that open to the homes of its residents. Alongside Fatma’s family, three other families live in this complex. On the rooftop, overlooking the dome of the Holy Sepulchre, lies a small dwelling that once housed Saladinhimself.
A descendant of a Jerusalem scholar now resides there. Every time we visited, we would findthis gentle, elderly lady sitting in Fatma’s home, seemingly adopted as Fatma’s sixth child. Fatma cared for her with the same affection she showed her family, wrapping her in a cocoonof warmth.
The more I got to know Fatma, the more she reminded me of the character Fatma from theworks of Naji al-Ali, the Palestinian cartoonist assassinated in London by Mossad in 1987. Al-Ali’s Fatma was a symbol of patience and resistance. Poor but not powerless, she had fourchildren and a frail husband, much like our Fatma.
Fatma may not be as famous as Al-Ali’s ten-year–old character Handala, whose back is turnedto the world, but she embodies the same spirit. Fatma is more than just a mother or a woman; she represents Palestine itself. She guards and preserves Saladin’s former residence, ensuringits legacy endures.
During the Crusader occupation, the building is said to have served as the private residence of the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem. After Saladin recaptured the city, he renamed it Khanqah al-Salahiyya and designated it as a waqf (endowment). To ensure its security, he also acquiredthe roof of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Today, the complex and even the roof remainunder the stewardship of the waqf established during Saladin’s era. His legacy, along withthat of his comrades—scholars, commanders, and Sufis—lives on in the streets and stones of Jerusalem.
One of these enduring legacies can be found in the name Ziyaeddin Isa al-Hakkari, commemorated in a street sign. Al-Hakkari, whose name links him to the Hakkari region in modern-day Turkey, was one of Saladin’s most trusted advisors and served as a judge in Jerusalem after its liberation.
The clans from the Hakkari region played a significant role in resisting the Crusader invasionsand were highly respected as skilled warriors. The Hakkari clan, along with Saladin’s ownHezbani clan, was instrumental in establishing the Ayyubid state. The clan was alsoresponsible for founding several institutions in Jerusalem, including the Hakkari Madrasa andAl-Badriya Madrasa, which produced numerous Islamic scholars. Ziyaeddin Isa al-Hakkaripassed away during the Siege of Acre in 1189, and his body was buried in the Bab al-SahiraCemetery (Herod’s Gate Cemetery) outside Jerusalem’s walls. In the 1980s, his gravestonewas relocated to the Islamic Museum in Jerusalem.
The minaret of the El-Khanqah Mosque bears a striking resemblance to that of the nearbyOmar Mosque. Seen from a distance, one could easily mistake the two. The minaret, builtduring the Mamluk period, bears the signature of Sheikh Burhan al-Din ibn Ghanem.
Today, the El-Huda Madrasa within the khanqah hosts Quran recitations and gatherings forhafiz every Friday afternoon. While the mosque is not typically crowded, it still welcomes a steady stream of worshippers. An inscription on one of its walls states that Saladin capturedJerusalem from the Crusaders in 1187 and that the mosque was built in 1189. The basement of the mosque is believed to have been where Saladin and his companions secluded themselvesfor spiritual retreats.
When I climbed to the rooftop of the building, I was struck by one of the most iconic andironic views in the world: the enormous gray dome of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre andthe slender minaret of the mosque standing side by side. In the distance, the majestic golden Dome of the Rock shone brilliantly. From this vantage point, I could see the rooftops of mosthouses in the Old City. The view made me think, “Jerusalem must be seen from here, just as it is from the Mount of Olives.”
As Ibrahim’s children walked through the winding streets below, I felt a sense of serenity on the rooftop. I thought about why Saladin had chosen this place for his moments of reflection. Salah al-Din Abu’l-Muzaffar Yusuf ibn Ayyub was a man who treated not only Muslims but also Christians and Jews with fairness. After retaking Jerusalem, he did not carry outmassacres like the Crusaders had done before him. Instead, he ensured that those who choseto leave were unharmed and unburdened. This earned Saladin a reputation as a just andmerciful leader, celebrated not only by Muslims but also by Jews and Westerners.
So much so that Dante, one of Italy’s greatest poets, refrained from condemning Saladin tohell in The Divine Comedy, despite him not being a Christian. Saladin’s name appears not only in history but also in literature and cinema. Giovanni Boccaccio, the Italian writer andpoet, featured Saladin as a hero in two stories in his masterpiece, The Decameron, portrayinghim as courageous, generous, tolerant, and chivalrous.
The Jewish poet Yehuda al-Harizi, who visited the city after its conquest, also praised Saladin. He wrote: “God decided that the holy place should not remain in the hands of the sons of Esau and inspired the prince of the sons of Ishmael, a prudent and brave man, Saladin. He captured Jerusalem with his army and announced that he would welcome all the sons of Ephraim. Now we live in peace.”
The Andalusian traveler Ibn Jubayr also noted Saladin’s generosity and fairness in his travelogue. A historian as well as a traveler, Ibn Jubayr journeyed from Spain on a pilgrimageto Mecca, passing through several significant cities. During his two–and-a-half–year journey, which coincided with the Crusades, he documented his observations in daily notes. He mentioned the hardships faced by Muslim pilgrims on their way to the holy lands, as well as Saladin’s efforts to abolish oppressive taxes and provide food for pilgrims. One of his moststriking remarks about Saladin reads: “He knows no rest or comfort; his throne is the saddleof his horse.”
Saladin’s life was spent on battlefields. He conquered great cities and defeated formidablewarriors. Yet, despite his fame and achievements, he sought neither palaces nor worldlywealth. As Ibn Jubayr described, his home and throne were the saddle of his horse. Until his last breath, Saladin lived a modest, ascetic life, bringing justice and prosperity to every placehe touched. The khanqah, like the city of Jerusalem, stands as a testament to his fairness—a witness to his legacy.
Years ago, I visited Saladin’s tomb in Damascus, near the Umayyad Mosque. I wonder if I will ever visit him again, perhaps after the war that has ravaged Syria comes to an end. I can only hope.
I spent long moments gazing at Jerusalem from the rooftop. The economic disparity among itsinhabitants was starkly visible from above, more so than from the ground. The ChristianQuarter’s homes, with their red-tiled roofs, stood in contrast to the Muslim households, wheresatellite dishes, water tanks, clotheslines, and potted flowers adorned the rooftops. Thesehomes clung to life, much like the fiddler on the roof. As Tevye, the dairyman from Fiddleron the Roof, famously said, “Each of us is a fiddler on the roof!”
The image of Tevye and his family, struggling to maintain balance in their lives whileadhering to tradition, reminded me of the elderly Palestinians I met in refugee camps acrossSyria, Lebanon, and Palestine. Many still carried the keys to the homes they had been forcedto leave behind—homes in Jerusalem, Jaffa, or Haifa.
And now, the fiddlers on Jerusalem’s rooftops are the Palestinians. What keeps thembalanced? Perhaps it is their unwavering faith and hope. Life is indeed strange.
As I pondered these thoughts, the evening sun was interrupted by a song from Gaza’sMohammed Assaf playing on a nearby phone. A single beam of light illuminated the flowersFatma tended to so carefully on the rooftop. The scene was adorned with potted lemon andbitter orange trees, sun-scorched geraniums, fragrant basil, evening primroses, narcissus lilies, vibrant roses, irises, and even cacti like prickly pears. Fatma joined us on the rooftop withcups of coffee in hand, her warmth reflected in the flowers she nurtured.
Our group shared quiet moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Later, Fatma and her familybecame some of our closest friends in Jerusalem. For us, Jerusalem became as much aboutSaladin as it was about Fatma’s generous table—a table that offered far more than just food.
A door and a rooftop had taken me on an extraordinary journey. Figures from history andliterature had joined me on that rooftop: Saladin, Naji al-Ali, Tevye the dairyman, andcountless unnamed dervishes. As an evocative song played, I realized it was Fairuz’s “Zahratal-Mada’in” (The Flower of Cities). Its words lingered in my mind:
“O night of the Isra,
O path of those who ascend,
Day by day, our eyes turn to you, and I pray.”
What a beautiful twilight it was on the rooftops of Jerusalem.