Sneaking into the Dome of the Rock Mosque

"Yela, let's go," Rima said to me.
"Rima, you need to wear a hijab."
"I'll be fine."
"No you won't, go get it."

Begrudgingly, she went back to her bag. It was sort of odd that the ezhnebi was telling the Muslim Arab how to dress for the mosque. Not wanting to look like a tourist, I had put on slacks and a white button up shirt in an attempt to look a little more formal and less trashy. My beard was in full lumberjack and I was dark from months in the Jordanian sun. In my mind, I looked Muslim. After walking four blocks from the hotel, Mona looked at me and both she and Rima started laughing.

"You look like a Jew!"

I competely did. Black slacks and a white shirt? What was I thinking? I attempted to ameliorate the situation. Arabs always wear short sleaves so I rolled up them up. I unbuttoned my second button and tried to show off some chest hair. Ug, not even close. I should have worn a tight t-shirt or a blue button up. Anything but white really.

We walked into the courtyard of the Dome of the Rock mosque through the tunnel by the Western Wall. It was tourist hours. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Tourists would be all around the mosque, but unless they were Muslim, they wouldn't be let inside. That is, except me, inshallah.

Rima and Mona started chatting to the Palestinian Authority guards by courtyard entrance.

"Can I go inside?" asked Rima.
"Not without an abaya," said the guard.

I had underestimated the strictness of the mosque for women; a hijab, as it turned out, was not even enough. A second irony today - the Palestinian Muslim would not be able to get in, but the lying infidel athiest foreigner would continue on. I went on without the ladies.

In case anyone was watching, I stopped by the ablution fountains and washed. I then went straight for the mosque. Having trouble finding the entrance, I encircled the mosque three quarters before coming to it. Fat tourists were tryign to sneak a peak inside. Moment of truth. I walked toward the entrance and was stopped.

"Where are you from?"
"Amerika, bas ana Muslim."
"Do you know the fatiha?"

I had been trying to memorize the fatiha, the first sura of the Quran and the prayer of the Muslims, for two days.

"Bismillah, a-rahmen a-raheem, ahamdoolia, uh, rab alameen, uh, a-rahmen, uh, a-raheem, uh...malik.....uh....yom...a-deen...uh....eyak..."

I wasn't sure if he was pittying me or if hearing the butchering of the fatiha was too much for him, but he cut me off.

"How do you become a Muslim?"

Softball!

"La ilaha ila Allah, Muhammad rasool Allah. (No God, but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God)"
"Welcome."

I took off my shoes, put them in a cubby hole and gazed at the stain glass interior. Most mosques are sleepy places with men mainy seeking refuge from the heat and to hang with friends than for actual worship, though that happens too. It was small and serious inside with everyone looking at me. I did not fit in, clearly. I made my way for underground cave where Muhammed ascended to heaven, Abraham attempted to sacrifice his son and the home of the Easter Bunny. I was intercepted.

"Hey, who are you?!" said a mystery man.
"Asalam alaikum."
"Where are you from? Speak the fatiha."
The same as before.
"How many times a day do Muslims pray? Did you wash? Is this your first time here? What to you know of this place?"
Five. Yes. Yes. It was a temple, then a church, then a mosque. Ooh, wrong response.
"No, no, no, you do not know of the history."
"Uh, I mean, it was where Muhammed ascended to heaven, uh...you know, on the horse"
"Do you know how to pray?"
"Yes, uh...do you want to pray with me?"
"No, you pray alone."
His angry face forced a disingenuous smile. "Welcome. Woud you like me to show you around?"
Nervously, I said yes. We walked down into the cave where he showed me the alter of ascension and some corner that had something to do with Zacharia.
"Right, Abraham and Ishmael were there." I said.
"No, Ibraheem."
"Right, Ibraheem and Ismael"
"Would you like to give money to the al-Aqsa children fund?"
"Yes, of course....inshallah"

It hit me. This guy didn't work for the mosque. He was just some dude trying to shake me down for money. I started feeling better. We exited the cave and he eventually stopped following me around. I decided to quit while I was ahead and made my escape.

How did Richard Francis Burton ever do Mecca?