The impressive eight ton, eight sided, pinkish limestone baptismal font rested for hundred of years amidst the tumbled, scattered, rocky ruins of the biblical and post biblical site of Tuqu', the West Bank Palestinian village, whose name in English is often spelled Tekoah, Tekoa, or Teqoa. For a very long time it was the only sizeable intact relic remaining from the Byzantine era. That's when Tuqu' had been an important destination for Christian pilgrims making their devout way from shrine to shrine in the Judean hill country southeast of Jerusalem and Bethlehem.
It had stood upright and persistent down through the centuries in the ancient Basilica of St. Nicholas, while the basilica itself and other neighboring buildings, which had been erected to cater to the needs of the transient pilgrim trade, were being gradually dismantled. Stone by stone, their structural remains were incorporated into Crusader, then Mamluk, and after that Ottoman buildings, homes, and defensive walls at successor sites a handful of yards to the north.
The five feet high and five feet across font is known to have been shaped from a limestone block extracted from a quarry famous in the Bethlehem area called Slyeb. In English Slyeb translates as "the small cross." Today, however, Slyeb is no longer open for business.
In theory it could be, but not too long ago the quarry was made to disappear--apparently forever. It lies buried beneath the foundations of the large Israeli West Bank settlement of Gilo: one of the chain of settlements designed and built to encircle the Palestinian towns, Christian and Muslim, which comprise the greater Bethlehem area, thereby limiting their potential for growth.
Ten years ago the contemporary village of Tuqu' was smaller and therefore situated further away from the ruins of the basilica than it is now. Back then in the early 1990s the West Bank was under an occupational lockdown similar to what is the norm today. So at night when the engines of Israeli Army vehicles were heard rumbling about the village or the adjacent archeological site, most villagers moved inside to keep out of potential harms way: bitter and often painful harassing experiences year after year during the long occupation--when they didn't prudently stay indoors--providing the impetus for such caution.
Then late one night sounds of vehicles moving about the unprotected antiquities site just south of the village were heard along with other such purposeful mechanical sounds as whirrings, clankings, clatterings, and winchings: all of which were enough to keep people inside wondering just what was going on. So it was not until the next morning that Tuqu's villagers became aware of the incredible fact that the baptismal font was gone: all eight tons of it!
My friend, Hisham Ali, who along with my other friend George Rishmawi had brought me to Tuqu', says, "The story about what happened next-- the search for the baptismal font--is important because it is an actual hard solid account about the Palestinians' pride in their cultural heritage. It is the story about a one hundred percent Muslim town chasing a piece of stone that is Christian and that is over fifteen hundred years old."
"And, remember," said George, "the village is also proud of the prophet Amos being from here. He is their heritage too. All that tells you something."
But for four years there was very little the villagers could do except lament the loss of the only remaining artifact, which, because of its size, had dramatically represented so much of their proud cultural heritage and history.
As to what actually happened to the baptismal font, there were rumors that had the ring of truth. Most seemed to be focused on shadowy shady Israeli interests (antiquities dealers and their well heeled clients) involved in the ongoing looting and clandestine purchase of artifacts from undeveloped Holy Land archeological sites.
Their partners were often Palestinian middle men familiar with a locale and the treasures still potentially available for plucking. It was also thought that, at times, the looters were aided--perhaps inadvertently--by the Palestinians fear of ever present hear-no-evil-see-no-evil Israeli Army patrols, Their proximity could keep potentially alarm-sounding villagers shut up safely and prudently in their homes at night while looting took place.
There were also hopeful rumors that the huge artifact was turning out to be very difficult to spirit out of the West Bank. And there were whispers that it was hidden not too far away in the Bethlehem area. But doing something concrete with the information seemed beyond the capability of the village.
But then came 1997 and Oslo II, and things began to happen that provided the Muslim village with a capability to mount a serious campaign to get its Christian artifact back. It was in that year that the Palestinian Authority was given administrative control over the villages of the West Bank and Gaza. As a result there was a revolution in the administration of many many Palestinian villages, including Tuqu'.
Palestinian municipalities for the first time were created. In Tuqu' and elsewhere management was ceded to traditional tribal elders. But finding themselves not up to the task of planning, initiating, and carrying out sorely needed improvements, Tuqu's elders very shortly voluntarily relinquished the reins of local power to the village's thirty-something generation.
Despite the rigors of the harassing occupation, which had stymied the older men, the younger leadership was able to make things happen. An energetic Mayor, Suleiman Abu Mufarreh, was chosen. Very quickly he initiated several projects, two of which were: 1) build the village's first ever municipal headquarters building, also known in Palestinian cities, towns, and villages as the Baladyeh, and 2) retrieve the baptismal font.
With respect to the story of trying to get back the baptismal font, the Mayor first supplied me with some background. "You know, the Israelis did not take care of our shrines," he said, "because it seems they were important for the Christians and not for the Israelis. In fact, before the first Oslo agreement in 1993, they dug trenches here for forty five days. They did not come up with any significant remains--for them--so they quit."
The Mayor paused, and then added, "In that same month, the font was stolen."
Four years later, when he became Mayor, he spurred the retention of private investigators, who in fairly quick order found out that there had been more than one attempt to move the font from its hiding place or places in the West Bank and into Israel in order to complete the sale, but each time, because of the illegality of the scheme, the looters were thwarted. So it was taken to an accomplice across a wadi from Gilo in Beit Jala, who arranged for it to be hidden there.
But the investigators found out where. "When we went to the hiding place, the baptismal font was in a field covered with branches," the Mayor said, "and the man keeping it told us it had been moved maybe three times but never for very long."
Once found, the Palestinian Authority's Minister of Antiquities ruled that the font should belong to the people of Tuqu'; and so it was brought back home. "But," said the Mayor, "I do not think it will be safe at the ruins of St. Nicholas Basilica. So we will put it in front of the Baladyeh in a very small garden that we are planting for it, which is almost ready."
So these days it is standing temporarily--it is hoped--behind walls in an orchard adjoining the house of a villager. But whether it can be installed triumphantly and thankfully in the garden in front of Tuqu's new bright white Baladyeh is uncertain. That's because, as soon as the villagers, with much voluntary sweat and expenditure of personal funds, starting putting the building up, attempts--by settlers and the Israeli Army to get it torn down--began.
(To Be Continued)