Guest Post: The Abode of Indians

The fascinating story of the Old City’s Indian Hospice

Rebecca Laitflang is a postdoctoral fellow from Shillong in Meghalaya (northeast India) at the Hebrew University, where she researches India-Israel relations. Her interest in Israeli culture and society began while volunteering as a nurse aide at a senior citizens’ home in Haifa from 2017 to 2019. In 2020, she returned to study Modern Hebrew and enrol in the Israel Studies program.

One day, while wandering in the northern part of Jerusalem’s Old City, I was surprised to see an Indian flag on the gate of a property near Herod’s Gate. I soon learned that this was the Indian Hospice, an 800-year-old establishment connected with Baba Farid, a highly revered Indian Sufi mystic and leader of the Chishti order, from Kothiwal in present-day Pakistan. I contacted the Hospice and scheduled a visit, during which I met Nazeer Ansari. His grandfather, Nazir Ansari came to Jerusalem in 1924 from Saharanpur, a town in present-day Uttar Pradesh, northern India. He served as the director, or sheikh, until 1951 and then his son, Sheikh Mohammad Munir Ansari served until 2024. Nazeer Ansari, who I met, is the current director. Navtej Sarna’s Indians at Herod’s Gate: A Jerusalem Tale (2014) tells the story of the Indian Hospice, offering a compelling blend of history and personal narrative. Like me, Sarna discovered the Baba Farid Hospice by chance when he came to Israel in 2008 to serve as Indian ambassador.

In the thirteenth century, when Saladin captured the city from the Crusaders, he sought to revive its Islamic identity by inviting Muslim dervishes and mystics from distant regions including Kashmir, Multan, and Sindh. During this period, Baba Farid was drawn to Jerusalem. He performed chilla – an ascetic practice of deep prayers and meditation for forty days – in a cave that remains preserved within the Hospice today. Over the years, his followers and other pilgrims from India on their annual Hajj journey would also lodge, pray and meditate in the same place. Although no written records exist, the story of Baba Farid continues to be preserved by the Ansaris to this day. Even during my first visit in 2022, I was shown the room built over Baba Farid’s cave. There, I learned about his story, the Indian pilgrims and the Hospice – a powerful reminder of how oral traditions sustain the sanctity of such sites.

Sarna traces the origins of the Hospice through historian Zaki Nusseibeh’s Sufism in Jerusalem under the Ottoman Rule, noting that most of the Sufi lodges in the city – zawiyas or khanqahs – were built under the Mamluks. The Indian Hospice initially belonged to the al-Rifai Sufi order, which originated in southern Iraq. Baba Farid’s Chisti order then purchased the land in his name. As a result, the Hospice also goes by its Arabic names Zawiya al-Hindiya and Zawiya al-Faridiya; even today, the street outside the property is called “Zawiyat al-Hunud,” attesting to the Indian (hindiya/hunud) presence over centuries. Sarna’s vivid descriptions of the sights and sounds around the Hospice – such as a group of men watching with “an indefinable mix of curiosity and idleness,” “young Arab boys tossing a black football,” and Hindi songs being played “as an acknowledgement of recognition, friendship, acceptance,” in addition to “criss-crossing wires and mushrooming satellite dishes” – all create a rich visual and auditory impression of his search for what seventeenth-century Turkish traveler Evliya Çelebi referred to as “the abode of Indians” in Travels in Palestine (1648-1650). Nusseibeh’s research, along with historical documents, confirms Çelebi’s account that there were several Indian hospices, besides the present one, in the Bab Hutta area during the 1600s.

In addition to exploring historical accounts, the book describes the journey and experiences of the Ansaris. Sarna’s portrayal of then-director Sheikh Mohammad Munir Ansari captures the essence of their conversations throughout the book:

He will talk to me several times with varying degrees of enthusiasm and detail. Sometimes, just one incident will take an hour or two, punctuated by cups of tea; on other days he will dismiss an entire decade in a few sentences...sometimes his voice will rise in excitement...at other times, the memories, the nostalgia for a lost era or the spirits of the dear departed will draw the dusk around him in a sad caress and his voice will go down and the strong, reticent man will begin to choke and his eyes will go moist.

Their journey began in 1924 when his father, Nazir Ansari, a member of the Indian Khilafat movement – which supported the Ottoman Caliphate – was appointed by the Grand Mufti Hajj Amin al-Husseini as director of the Hospice. Under his care, and with the support of the Indian-Muslim community, the Hospice was not only repaired and maintained, but became a true beacon of Indian identity, particularly during World War II, when it was used as a leave camp for Indian soldiers in the British Army. In a letter dated 1949, the Sheikh wrote, “I and my wife used to hold lectures among the troops how to remain united and instruct them that India is more dearer to every Indian than their religion.” He concluded the letter with powerful words that reflected his vision: “In this Indian Hospice there is no distinction of any caste and religion and every Indian has a right to take advantage of such an institution. I being an Indian it is a duty of mine to keep the Indian nation’s name up and maintain this institution at any cost...”

While his vision of maintaining an Indian identity holds true to this day, as Sarna notes, the Hospice remains “forever in the grey zone.” Sheikh Munir defended the site from both Arab and Jewish encroachment. In the seventies, he offered to house a school run by the Zaka Committee of Jerusalem’s Muslim community, on the condition that that they would repair the badly damaged property from the 1967 shelling and vacate within two years’ notice if required. Four years went by without them paying anything or repairing any damages. The matter was eventually resolved “at the highest levels between Arafat and the Indian government” – the school was closed in 2004. Another disconcerting incident happened in 1992, when Jewish settlers attempted to take over the path at the Hospice’s entrance, claiming that they had purchased the land. He had to settle the matter in court. The Sheikh sombrely stated, “I have had to face many obstacles. I am regarded as a foreigner, “al-Hindi,” and they all want to push us out. But I am a proud Indian and have stayed like that for eighty years.” These incidences, along with the Sheikh’s reflections, provide insight into the complexities of maintaining an Indian site in one of the most contested cities in the world. The Ansaris have safeguarded both the identity of the hospice and their own Indian heritage, while honouring the sanctity of the site, which has attracted many, including Baba Farid, countless Indian pilgrims, soldiers, and visitors like Sarna and myself.

Indians at Herod’s Gate is more than a historical account; it is a journey that invites reflection on the complexities of identity, survival and perseverance amidst the layered intricacies of Jerusalem. Sarna’s eloquent prose and thorough research make this book a compelling read while reinforcing the significance of the Indian Hospice within the historical, cultural and sacred landscape of the city. During my recent visit, Nazeer warmly greeted me. “Welcome back to India,” he said, a reminder of the tradition he continues as the third Ansari Sheikh waving the Indian flag, embodying the very essence of identity and perseverance.