HAIFA—AND THE BAHÁ’ÍS
BY DR. JOHN HAYNES HOLMES
BY eight o’clock we were speeding down the mountain highway to our next stop, Haifa. This city is the port of Palestine, now a dangerously open roadstead where ships can land only in small boats and in good weather, but soon to be made by extensive building operations the finest harbor on this Mediterranean coast. I was coming here to examine this project, and to visualize the fleets of ships which would be floating in years to come upon these waters. I wanted also to see the Technicum, the famous institute of technology and preparatory school, founded years ago by the Germans and now the property of the Zionists. But most I wanted to see in this place the head of the world-wide Bahá’í Movement, Shoghi Effendi, and make my pilgrimage to the graves of the immortal Prophets of this noble faith. This was my desire on behalf of American friends, and in expression of my own devout reverence for this great inclusive religion of our time.
Our first view of Haifa was from Mt. Carmel, where Elijah in the ancient day confounded the prophets of Baal. What a place from which to summon the witness of Jehovah! On the left, the dazzling blue of the Mediterranean; on the right, the wide curve of the beach sweeping to the walls of ‘Akká; in front the bay, with one great ship and numerous smaller craft peacefully at anchor; below, like a tumbling water-fall, the white stone houses of the town; and just in the center, like a lovely gem, the garden in which reposed the bodies of the honored Bahá’í dead.
We visited this garden the next morning, after a special audience with the head of the Bahá’í Movement. In the center towered the cluster of noble cypresses, beneath whose grateful shade the venerable ‘Abdu’l-Bahá sought quiet and refreshment. Around these trees, winding from terrace to terrace, and lined with giant hedges of geraniums, were paths, paved with broken fragments of red tile, which tempted the feet to meditative wandering. Rose bushes, gorgeous with blossoms a few weeks hence, broke frequently the stretches of fresh, deep-rooted grass. On the lowest terrace, facing a straight avenue which shot down, and then on like an arrow, to the sea, was the granite mausoleum. We removed our shoes, in accordance with Arab custom, and stepped into the large room, dimly lighted, through stained windows, in which lay the body of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. I remembered him as the wise and gentle sage with whom I had talked on his last visit to America. Now his noble face was still in death beneath this richly inscribed drapery upon the floor! We stood shoeless upon rugs so soft and heavy as to be warm to the feet. We saw silver vases laden with flowers standing like candles about the grave. A great peace lay upon the place. I had never seen a tomb so beautiful! After long moments of reverent salutation, we moved away, and entered a second room where lay the body of the Báb. This great Forerunner of the faith, martyred in the awful persecutions of the early days, for years had had no rest. His body had been snatched secretly from place to place by loyal disciples, hidden wherever a moment’s security could be won. But here at last it had found peace, and therewith itself had become a shrine. In this room, as in the other, were the rugs, the vases and the flowers. This dauntless hero of the spirit was not without his great reward!
Bahá’u’lláh, the third of the great trinity of Bahá’í leaders, was buried across the bay in ‘Akká. In the afternoon, under the escort of a cousin of Shoghi Effendi, also grandson of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, we started for this ancient city. Our way led us first along the hard, clean beach of sand which stretched across the roadstead. It had been
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A group of Bahá’ís of the Village of ‘Aváshig, near Baghdád, ‘Iráq.
Bahá’ís of the Village of Adhyábih, near Baghdád, ‘Iráq.
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storming, and the waves
were running high and breaking in wild
cascades of foam. Fishermen were busy,
as high winds and
dark skies drove in the fish. Some were
launching their huge boats through the
breakers; others, far out upon the waves,
were dragging their heavy nets along the
deep; still others had landed and were
laboriously hauling their catch to the shore.
At intervals among the fishers walked long
caravans of camels, each patient beast
contrasting strangely with the background of
sea and sky. Far ahead loomed the ancient
city, its ridge of close-packed houses
surmounted by the huge bulk of the mighty
citadel and a minaret so graceful as to
suggest a dream of paradise. Here, in this
bay, had floated long ago the fleets of the
Phœnicians. Later ages saw the ships of
Genoese, Venetians and Pisans, for ‘Akká
was a great port. Paul came to this city,
and stayed a day. Richard Coeur de Lion
landed here with his mailed warriors of the
third Crusade, and defeated Saladin in one
of the fiercest sieges of the time. Napoleon
six hundred years later was not so happy,
for against this citadel his artillery beat in
vain, and his dream of an Eastern empire
faded away forever.
We went to the citadel, incidentally to see this relic of the Crusaders, primarily to visit the prison cell where Bahá’u’lláh had been held captive through so many awful years by his persecutors. As we mounted the huge walls, twenty feet thick, we heard the muezzin chant his call to prayer from the nearby mosque. The Muslim ruled this battleground today. Our escort was influential and tried hard, but we did not see Bahá’u’lláh’s cell. For the citadel is still a prison—we saw the striped convicts in the yard!—and visitors could not be admitted. We sought consolation in walking the corridors where centuries before the mailed feet of knights and squires had noisily trod, and in visiting the astounding subterranean church built by the Crusaders beneath the citadel. It had been filled up with dirt and rubbish long ago by the Saracens. We stood on the top of this mass of dirt and touched the capitals of the huge pillars which supported the groined roof just above our heads. Very soon now the church would be excavated and its grandeurs brought to light. Meanwhile, We had had this curious experience of entering the edifice from above instead of from below.
Another fifteen minutes, and we were in the Bahá’í garden where lay the remains of Bahá’u’lláh. Huge cypresses and palms were close about; the same red—tiled walks threaded their way through luxurious grass and flowers. A strange peace again dropped down upon us from the encompassing atmosphere of beauty. With eager reverence we once more removed our shoes, and stepped into the sacred presence of the Prophet’s tomb. Was it because this great man reposed alone that I was so deeply touched? Or was it because a sense of the man's greatness came sweeping suddenly upon me? Bahá’u’lláh was not only the supreme genius of the Bahá’í Movement; he was without question one of the supreme spiritual geniuses of history. There have been few in any age to compare with him in point of insight, vision, lofty thought and noble speech. I felt this as I stood within this quiet place. Were it possible to stand by the grave of Jesus, I felt I should be moved in this same way. Here, appropriately, was not darkness, but light; gloom, but glory. These Prophets’ shrines are truly among the sacred spots of earth. ———————— From “Palestine: Today and Tomorrow,” Macmillan, New York, 1929.
