In a Syrian Saddle

by A. Goodrich-Freer

We were glad that the daylight sufficed to show us, as we descended into a narrow valley, before reaching the village of Kubâtîyeh, a sacred tree adorned with rags, standing by the wayside on our right—the first we had seen on our journey, though we afterwards met with many, especially in Galilee.

Such trees exist all over the country, both east and west of the Jordan, except where the presence of Europeans has taught the people to disguise their beliefs, which even then, however, appear in other forms; as, for example, in Jerusalem, where the faithful tie rags to the framework of windows in the mosque and elsewhere, instead of, as here, in the Temple of Nature. The theory of such veneration seems to be much the same as that of the Old Testament saints, who left stones at Bethel, and Ebenezer, on the banks of the Jordan, and so on, "which remain there," say the chroniclers, "to this day"—evidently indicating that they are a monument to record, a witness to testify, an outward and visible sign to excite inquiry, to serve as evidence of some special visit, to demonstrate to God and man that such an one was there in person, from such and such motives, and with such and such intentions.

The tree itself, with its quaint decorations, torn from the apparel of the faithful, is not always the direct object of veneration. It is often accompanied by a wely or grave of a saint, and though at times the cause of the selection of such a place of interment, is sometimes only the accidental consequence, having grown up beside the tomb; whence it is held to be under the saint's protection, just as other objects—ploughs, timber, grain, and vessels of various kinds—are left there, safe from thieves, Christian or Moslem. Sometimes such a wely is surrounded by a whole grove of trees, which may be sacred for either reason, and may be the cause or effect of the presence of the saint. We always behold them with satisfaction, as assuring the continuance of vegetation here and there, which would otherwise, at least in Judæa, inevitably be destroyed.

Another use of such a spot is for the cure of diseases. This may be by means of self-suggestion, the disease being transferred to the tree with the fragment of the dress of the patient, making much the same demands upon the imagination as the Christian science, the hypnotic suggestion, the bread-pill, of modern therapeutics. Another method of cure—also a question of the dominance of mind over matter—is that of taking from the tree the morsels attached to it, which are then worn like the scapulars from Lourdes or St Winifred's, just as, long ago, the sick carried from St Paul "handkerchiefs or aprons, and the diseases departed from them, and the evil spirits went out." Truly, there is nothing new under the sun! Often, especially on Thursdays, the eve of the Moslem Sabbath, these trees have been seen in flames, which, however, do them no injury, just as Moses saw "the bush which burned and was not consumed." Sometimes voices speak in them, just as David waited for "the sound of the going in the mulberry-trees." Sometimes they are held sacred as having served as resting-place for some holy man, just as the oak of Abraham at Hebron is, as such, still a place of pilgrimage for Christian, Moslem, and Jew.

We could ascertain nothing concerning the history of the sacred tree of Kubâtîyeh; and, indeed, it is but rarely that the people are able to relate the history of their shrines, although their faith in them must be strong, as it suffices, as we have seen, for the protection of articles deposited there for safe-keeping. Men—Christians or Moslems—ready to swear anything by the Almighty, will hesitate at a false oath by the shrine of a saint. In some places they hang fragments of meat upon the trees, just as the Israelites offered "shewbread," and Jotham talked of "the wine which cheereth God," the anthropomorphic conception of the Deity being nearly as strong now as when the Israelites were still wanderers in the desert. Such ideas are racial rather than religious. Professor Curtiss ("Primitive Semitic Religion To-Day") demonstrates effectively that such beliefs are common to Christians and Moslems and, in places, even to Jews; he mentions, however, one shrine at least which, on account of the more than doubtful character of its orgies, the more fastidious Moslems have abandoned to those of other creeds. Still, as in the time of Hosea, "they sacrifice upon the tops of mountains, and burn incense upon the hills, under oaks and poplars and terebinths, because the shadow thereof is good." The shadow, by the way, has a direct effect of healing upon the really sick, but is dangerous for the malade imaginaire. We would commend it to the attention of fashionable physicians.

The discussion of sacred shrines and trees lasted us during our long and steep descent to the bottom of the valley, where the sight of the telegraph wires recalled us to the realities of life, and it was with great satisfaction that we found ourselves farther descending, through a Moslem cemetery, into the town of Jenin. Here, as elsewhere, we noticed the entire absence of the outskirts and suburbs to which one is used in a different civilisation. One enters directly into a city or village without any intervention of scattered domesticity to indicate what is coming. We were at once in the main street, substantial houses two storeys high on either side of us; here a large serai (court-house), there a gaily-lighted coffee-house thronged with guests; gardens and palm-trees among the houses; obvious well-being everywhere. We stopped at the village khan, and were at once conducted to our resting-place.

In old schoolroom days, when we used to read the long lists of places the Israelites conquered or did not conquer, we little thought that one day we should take an active and personal interest even in the order of their arrangement. Issachar, we learn in Joshua xix., had assigned to them sixteen cities, which included En-gannim and Tabor, "and the outgoings of their borders to Jordan," and here, for the first time in our lives, we were not bored by Issachar, and were delighted to be at En-gannim, which is Jenin, and means "the garden spring"—a fact impressed upon us as we were ushered between long garden borders, hardy herbaceous of aspect, overshadowed by rose-bushes, into two delightful little stone summer-houses at the bottom, with a fountain—now, alas! dry—between. The men took possession of one house, the ladies of the other, and in the latter, as the larger and pleasanter, we prepared our supper. There were mats on the floor, some stools, two chairs, a table with a patchwork cover, and three of the deep window-seats which, in the East, are generally large enough to count as fittings. A clay stove, with glowing charcoal, was prepared for us outside the door, plenty of water was placed at our service, and we were soon feasting on soup, tinned meats, preserves, white bread, and, of course, tea. At intervals servants came across from the khan to attend to our needs; and finally all was cleared away, and comfortable mattresses, pillows, and wadded quilts, all in freshly-washed covers, were spread upon the floor. It may be worth while to mention, once for all, that, despite the presence in our little company of some supersensitive souls, we never had occasion to unpack our precious "Keating."

To awake in a rose garden on a December morning, to go out of doors to wash, to take our breakfast at an open door, are sensations to remember. Khalil was late in bringing the horses, ordered for seven o'clock, and so sleepy that we more than suspected he had assisted at the fantasia, the sounds of which had reached us far into the night. He was, however, less inclined than usual to resent having to stay behind the rest of the party, in order to lead the Artist's horse, at the pace which alone was possible under the circumstances. It probably gave him the opportunity of a good nap.

Jenin is surrounded by gardens, and dominated by palms and minarets. It is a seat of government, has a bazaar, and two Moslem schools. One of its mosques may have been the church which was seen by Boniface of Ragusa, a Franciscan writer, as late as 1555, erected to commemorate an early tradition that this was the scene of the healing of the ten lepers, one of whom was a Samaritan—a fact, however, which, by the light of nature, one would not expect to be specially mentioned in Samaria.

Passing over a little stream, and among cactus hedges, we soon left the ordinary route northward on our right, not only from our usual desire to avoid the beaten track, but because it was to be our special privilege, under the leadership of "Baedeker," to visit two spots practically unknown to ordinary travel—Taanak and Megiddo—at both of which very extensive excavations are in progress, the one under Austrian, the other under German auspices. Very soon after leaving Jenin we had made a still farther descent, and found ourselves at the entrance of the plain of Esdraelon or Jezreel, the greatest in Palestine, which, roughly speaking, extends from the Mediterranean to the Jordan, although interrupted by certain undulations. Esdraelon, the great battlefield of the country, was commanded by a strategical line of fortresses, Taanak, Megiddo, Bethshan, and Dor, the first three of which we hoped to visit.