This is a rudimentary translation of articles from my book “Two that are One – the story of Omar Rais and the Shadeli Yashruti Zawiya in Acre”. While is far from ideal, it serves a purpose given the significance of the topic and the distinctiveness of the information contained. I have chosen to publish it in its current state, with the hope that a more refined translation will be available in the future.
See – The Story of Omar Rais Part One
See – The Story of Omar Rais Part Three
The Sheikh that is inside me
Omar possessed profound insights into the three founding Sheikhs of the Order, almost as though he lived through their experiences. He frequently engaged with their writings and reflected on their teachings. His exceptional intellectual abilities, coupled with his vast imagination and capacity for abstract thought, gave me the impression that he could connect deeply with the essence of the first three Sheikhs, who are regarded by the Order’s members as a singular entity. Nonetheless, the Sheikh to whom he was profoundly connected, with every fiber of his being, was a living individual, the fourth Sheikh in the chain of transmission, Ahmed Yashruti.
In the preceding chapters, we described the four historical Sheikhs of the Shadeli Yashruti order from an external perspective. In the chapters to follow, I will delve into the lives of three of them: Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti, Sheikh Al Hadi Yashruti, and Sheikh Ahmed Yashruti, through an internal lens—specifically, from Omar’s perspective as I perceive it.
First and foremost, the most eminent among the Sheikhs was Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti, the founder of the order. He stands as the pillar, the central point around which all else turns, the cornerstone, the pivotal moment. Omar believed that what Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti initiated can be encapsulated in his words: “You and your God.” He existed in a state of oneness with God, where all is intrinsically unified. Omar often elucidated that Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti shed light on the teachings of Sheikh Ibn Arabi, particularly his interpretation of the structure of the unseen (archetypal) worlds, manifested through the realm of ideas, the names of God, and the attributes of the Prophets.
Ibn Arabi advocates for the immanent approach (from the divine to the human), whereas Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti embraced both this perspective and the transcendent mystical experience (from the human to the divine). He experienced fana (extinction) in God, leading him to perceive the fundamental unity of all existence. He recognized the presence of both man and God but saw no divisions between them. This insight stands as his distinct contribution to Sufi mystical thought.
From my current understanding, the followers of the order liken Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti’s arrival in Acre to the Prophet Muhammad’s night journey to Jerusalem. His landing in Acre was not coincidental; it coincided with significant events unfolding in Israel, with Acre at the epicenter. Originally setting out for Jerusalem, Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti, due to a twist of fate (a sea storm), found himself in Acre instead. It was in Acre that he was destined to have his own night journey experience.
Every period possesses its own energy, atmosphere, and potential. In Israel, in the latter half of the 19th century, there was a distinctive energy and a belief in limitless possibilities, attracting numerous extraordinary individuals to this land. It was as if the land had awakened from centuries-long sleep, offering its sanctity openly to mankind. Indeed, it is widely recognized that Israel is the Holy Land.
Omar once shared with me that during the era of Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti, three significant figures were active in the region: Baha’u’llah, the founder of the Bahá’í Faith, who arrived in Acre the same year Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti returned, initially being imprisoned in the citadel tower close to the Zawiya. A year later, he was released and lived in Acre and its vicinity for twenty-four years (1868-1892), coinciding with Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti’s time there. The second notable figure was the Protestant Bishop Samuel Gobat, the first Protestant bishop in Israel, who dedicated thirty-three years (1846-1879) mainly to working among the local Arab population, establishing Israel’s first modern education system. The third was Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti himself, who devoted fifty years (1849-1899) to serving all in the Galilee, spreading spiritual enlightenment and teachings. Omar’s recounting of these figures highlighted the breadth of his knowledge. Additionally, it’s worth noting that Samuel Gobat, aided by his son-in-law, John Zeller, founded a school in Nazareth in 1868 and initiated classes in many Galilean villages, including Acre in 1870.
The Bahá’ís believe it was destiny that led Bahá’u’lláh to Acre. As the progenitor of a new faith that amalgamates and advances the virtues of all preceding religions towards a future founded on new revelation, his journey to Israel—the Holy Land—was imperative. This move allowed him to assimilate the spiritual essences of Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. Born in the heart of Shia Islam—Iran—Bahá’u’lláh absorbed what he could before moving to the epicenter of Sunni Islam at that time—the Ottoman Empire, specifically Istanbul and Adrianople—gathering further insights. His years living as a Sufi dervish in the mountains of Kurdistan enriched him with Sufi wisdom and Baraka (blessed energy). Yet, to culminate his evolution towards a new revelation for the forthcoming era, which builds upon the legacies of existing religions and their revelations, his arrival in Israel was essential.
After settling in the Holy Land, Bahá’u’lláh received a revelation on Mount Carmel known as the “Tablet of Carmel,” regarded by many as parallel in significance to the revelation on Mount Sinai. Furthermore, he composed the Bahá’í Faith’s most sacred scripture in Acre, in proximity to the Zawiya. In a similar vein, I perceive the arrival of Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti to Acre as carrying a comparable significance.
When I once inquired of Sheikh Ahmed Yashruti about the reasons behind the Tariqa (order) being established in Acre rather than Jerusalem, his response was insightful: “It’s all about balance,” he explained. “The Bahá’ís came to Acre, and Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti was divinely guided to Acre to counterbalance their presence. Indeed, he succeeded in diminishing their influence in Acre, prompting them to relocate to Haifa, where they established their world center. He effectively moderated their impact, preventing the entire Galilee from becoming Bahá’í.” Dr. Ali Yashruti further elaborated, “Acre, unlike Jerusalem, had a more cosmopolitan nature. There was a certain openness about it.”
In the very year that Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti and Bahá’u’lláh made their respective arrivals in Acre, the German Templars were also establishing their colony at the foot of Mount Carmel in Haifa Bay. Just a year following this convergence of arrivals, my great-grandfather, Yehoshua Stampfer, embarked on a seven-month journey on foot from Hungary in Central Europe to Israel, a journey some consider marking him as the first Zionist. His initial stop in Israel, on his way from Sidon to Safed, was the city of Acre. It’s conceivable that during this stop, he might have rested at the Zawiya, encountered Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din, or at the very least, became aware of his presence. The mere thought of such a possibility is indeed fascinating.
Omar often remarked that Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti was called to Acre by a divine command. It’s interesting how we might hear something and only grasp its full meaning years later. The idea of a “divine command” implies that, at some point, each person experiences a kind of summons or directive. Omar answered his call, and it comforted him to know that others had navigated this path before him. He connected with these predecessors by reading their works, learning their histories, contemplating their lives, and through meditation. He felt the presence of those who had been before him, especially the holy Sheikhs. Remarkably, after his death, a burial spot was miraculously found for him in the old cemetery of Acre, just outside the city walls, near the tomb of the Prophet Salah. This spot, where Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti first set his eyed on Acre and his soul found peace.
Omar believed the pivotal moment for humanity lies in realizing we are part of something greater, often quoting the phrase, “Don’t view yourself as merely a small star; the entire universe resides within you.” He attributed to Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti the saying, “If you love me, you will become a part of me, even be me,” and would recount the story of a believer, a shepherd, who was searching for his lost sheep. During his search, he encountered a lion but, so immersed was he in contemplation of the Sheikh, he mistook the lion for the Sheikh and ran to embrace it. Remarkably, the lion did not harm him but instead led him to his lost sheep.
Interestingly, in Sufi tradition, the lion represents Ali Ibn Abi Talib, known as a master of the occult, the Heir to the Prophet, and the foremost in the lineage of Sufi Sheikhs of the Shadeli Yashruti order. This lion, embodying Ali in Sufi stories, leads believers to the mystical garden. The trepidation encountered before this formidable animal is akin to the fear of the Unseen worlds.
Omar held the belief that Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti pioneered a pathway through which devotees could merge with the entirety of creation, thereby reaching God. His lifestyle and teachings paved a novel path within the unseen realms, leading to the establishment of the Shadeli Yashruti order and the onset of a new leneage of Sheikhs – mentors. This achievement stemmed from his dedication to divine instruction and the overcoming of base instincts and the self, aspects symbolically represented, among other things, by the lion.
Omar was particularly drawn to symbols due to their multifaceted meanings, much like how a mathematician appreciates mathematical formulas for their ability to elucidate the structure of the universe. To him, the lion symbolized Ali Ibn Abi Talib, yet it could also represent Ali Nur al-Din.
Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti once articulated that God fashioned the universe from a fragment of His own light, the essence of Muhammad, transforming it into a form of divine grace from which all creation, past and future, was wrought. This primordial light of Muhammad serves as the initial beam of awareness emanating from the Divine, indicating that the very first creation was light, from which all else followed. This concept posits that the light of Muhammad permeates every element of existence. Such a perspective is groundbreaking, and Omar was among the select few who grasped its profound implications deeply.
If sparks of light exist in every fragment of being, then concepts of good and bad, disbelief and correct faith become irrelevant. Omar consistently emphasized that all paths hold merit; one should strive to be a good Jew if Jewish, and a good Muslim if Muslim. He referred to a verse from the Vazīfa (the prayer of the Shadeli Yashruti order) which declares: “The religion before God is Islam” (interpreted as submission and the acceptance of God’s compassion), arguing that the phrase was intentionally not framed as ‘the religion before God is the religion of Islam’. This nuance in wording was intentional, signifying that true religion to God embodies acceptance, completion, and surrender (the essence of Islam), qualities that are genuine and applicable in every belief system. Omar practiced Ta’amul meditations, immersing himself in these reflections, which brought him to the insight that everything is intrinsically one.
In one of Omar’s narratives, he recounted that Abdu’l-Bahá, the son of Bahá’u’lláh, had a close relationship with the Shadeli Yashruti order and was considered a friend of the family—Omar even mentioned that he penned the calligraphy on some of the tombs in the Shuhada. One day, Abdu’l-Bahá approached Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti with a request to join the Tariqa (order). The Sheikh’s response was enlightening; he told `Abdu’l-Bahá that the essence within him was sufficient and that he needed nothing more. This tale can be understood in various ways, one interpretation being that each religion encompasses its own core of truth.
Omar often drew parallels between Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti and Christ, noting the significance of both figures being connected to Galilee—Jesus as a native and the Sheikh through his spiritual work and revelations. For Sufis, Jesus is a paramount symbol of unconditional love and acceptance, and they describe their spiritual journey as a “Tariqa,” or path, suggesting that the ground gives support and love to whoever steps on her, mirroring Jesus’s teachings. Omar enjoyed sharing a story from Acre where Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti reportedly resurrected a man by whispering “Allah, Allah, Allah” into his ear three times. This tale was further validated by an Armenian priest who saw in the Sheikh the reincarnation of Jesus.
In another account shared by Omar, it was the Druze who first greeted Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti upon his arrival in Acre. Their wise men had been foretold by the signs of their Divine incarnation -Caliph al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah (early 10th century), that the ‘Pole of Time’ was destined to come to Acre around this period. They dispatched a delegation to ascertain if this might be Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti. However, the Sheikh, in an effort to deter them, began smoking a hookah—a practice prohibited among the Druze. “This is indeed him,” they concluded, “but we cannot follow him because he smokes a hookah.”
“The Sheikh remarked to his disciples, “Had I consented to cease smoking, they would have embraced me as their leader. However, such an agreement would have alienated me from my calling and from you, which is why I declined.” Notably, Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti was fundamentally against smoking, arguing that it disrupts the natural process of breathing and leads to illnesses.
In the narrative of Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti’s life, the role of his followers is paramount. They perceive themselves as a sort of “chosen people,” believing he arrived in Israel to connect with those who had long awaited him. Yet, Omar conveyed that the core social message of Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti’s teachings emphasized the unity of humanity as one large family, wherein the stronger members are duty-bound to support the weaker ones. This responsibility extends to the entire society, and by aiding others, we honor the spiritual mandate bestowed upon us at birth, what is known in Sufism as “the trust.” Omar held that Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti aspired to serve as a guiding light for the entire world, not solely for Muslims, and showed reverence for all religions and peoples.
Fulfilling His destiny
Omar was captivated by the mysteries of unseen worlds, possessing a unique ability to sense not just the aura of a place but also the essence of historical eras. From childhood, he was drawn to the stories of the medieval Muslim realm of Andalusia, often sharing tales with his mother over lunch, thus whisking her away to different times and locales. He concurred with me that a remarkable period unfolded in Israel towards the late 19th century, during its tenure under the Ottoman Empire, then known as the “sick man of Europe.” It was a time when the empire sought revival through reforms known as Tanzimat, opening itself to the World. In those moments, it appeared as though anything could happen, with a new and profound light poised to emanate from the holy land. It was during this era that Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti made his way to Israel.
Even at the onset of the British Mandate era, there lingered a sense of boundless possibility, a belief in the advent of Messianic times. Israeli society was, by and large, a mosaic of cultures and perspectives, marked by mutual respect. There had yet to be conflict between Jews and Arabs, and various religious sects worked together harmoniously. An example of this collaborative spirit was the founding of the “Society for Jerusalem” in the city. A round table that served as a the city governing body, bringing together representatives from all faiths, denominations, and the government. Its unified mission was to transform the city into a hub of intercultural and interreligious dialogue, safeguarding the shared legacy of humanity. This initiative stemmed from the recognition of Jerusalem’s sanctity to the three predominant Western religions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—the cradle of monotheism—and its envisioned role as a sanctuary for all humanity.
When reflecting on historical periods, we often view them through the lens of the present, influenced by contemporary feelings and notions, and this is true for our personal lives as well. In terms of ambiance, there are moments when people are touched by inspiration and a profound spiritual light, and times when the pathways seem shut. The challenge lies in our inability to recall the atmospheres we were once immersed in, which is particularly troubling, for instance, for couples who part ways. There was once a bond, a sort of connective essence, between them, and upon separation, it may feel as though it never existed (which, of course, isn’t true). They might grow antagonistic towards one another. In doing so, they’re actually being antagonistic towards themselves, because what once was theirs remains a part of them.
Similarly, there are epochs marked by camaraderie and bonds among individuals. The sociologist Victor Turner coined this phenomenon “Comitas,” observable, for instance, within military units among comrades or among school peers in the same class. Such friendships are forged through trials and tribulations, melded and refined until they transcend the individual, creating a collective essence with which everyone identifies.
Occasionally, there’s a unique alignment of place, people, and time, a synergy the Sufis refer to as “the brotherhood, the time, and the way.” This phenomenon was evident to varying extents in the Land of Israel during the 1920s, particularly in the Galilee. Here, Jews and Arabs, including Muslims, Christians, Jews, and Druze, coexisted peacefully until the upheavals of 1929, with this spirit of harmony persisting to some extent to the present day. In historic towns like Safed, Acre, and Tiberias, diverse communities lived side by side. The early Zionist pioneers, like my great-grandfather, fostered and cherished their connections with people of other faiths and communities, mirroring the approach of the Sufis.
During the Mandate period, Haifa Bay emerged as a pivotal hub of economic activity and collaboration. Haifa itself was a cosmopolitan city, with an Arab serving as its mayor. However, this doesn’t imply the absence of extremists or conflicts; the Arab Revolt did affect the Galilee, though not as severely as in areas like Samaria or the Hebron region. Overall, the Galilee preserved its cultural diversity and a climate of tolerance. Religious processions in honor of Mary, referred to as Our Lady of Palestine, took place on Mount Carmel, and prominent families from Acre, like the Shukeiris, engaged in dialogue with Jewish communities.
The 1920s could be considered the golden era for the Galilee, characterized by safe travels throughout the region and a flourishing period for the Shadeli Yashruti order. During this decade, Sheikh Al Hadi Yashruti assumed leadership of the order from his father, Ibrahim Yashruti. Drawing on his experiences and the memories of the promising early years of the British Mandate in Israel, he adeptly navigated the order through the tumultuous times of his 53-year leadership (1927-1980), spanning several wars.
Following the onset of the 1929 riots and the subsequent decline in harmonious relations among different religious communities, Al Hadi Yashruti championed the cause of tolerance and dialogue. He stood in defense of Christians and Jews, voicing his opposition to the extremism propagated by Mufti Haj Amin Al Husseini and his followers. Sheikh Al Hadi Yashruti was a courageous individual who perceived humanity as a single, diverse family, echoing the sentiment of a Qur’anic verse: “O humanity! Indeed, we created you from a male and a female, and made you into peoples and tribes so that you may get to know one another. Surely the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous among you. Allah is truly All-Knowing, All-Aware.” (Surah 49: Al Hujurat, verse 13).
Sheikh Al Hadi Yashruti was significantly a role model for Omar, who drew from him the inspiration to embody Sufi principles in real-world actions, to take firm stances and voice them publicly without fear. Omar absorbed the concept of multicultural coexistence in the country, particularly in the regions of the Galilee and Acre. To Omar, nationalism was a contrived notion that emerged in Europe around the mid-19th century (during the Spring of Nations), leading to the creation of an artificial entity known as the State. Yet, acknowledging the lack of alternative societal frameworks, the necessity to maintain the state was evident to him. Nonetheless, Omar’s ideal vision was of a multicultural society under a government that would allow various cultures autonomy. In this envisioned society, different denominations and religions would coexist in harmony and mutual respect, embodying justice, peace, and fruitful collaboration.
After becoming a member of the Shadeli Yashruti order, Omar steered clear of politics, treating it as one would a blazing fire. When questioned about the Sufis’ abstention from political affairs, he likened it to not mixing “pears with apples.” Omar believed and sensed at his core that there was no inherent conflict among the people of this land. He saw a viable path for Christians, Druze, Baha’is, Muslims, and Jews to coexist peacefully, drawing on what he perceived as historical precedence in the Galilee from a century past.
Spiritual Father
Sheikh Ahmed Yashruti was undeniably the most pivotal figure in Omar’s life, imparting to him the essentials of the spiritual journey. Omar held the view that Sheikh Ahmed Yashruti brought a fresh perspective to the individual’s role in Sufism, emphasizing that each person is a universe in their own right, accountable to themselves, with the divine residing within. He advocated that the Sheikh taught his followers to first seek guidance within their own hearts; if clarity remained elusive, they were encouraged to consult with one another, turning to the Sheikh only as a last resort. Omar elaborated that while Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti introduced the notion of “You and God,” Sheikh Ahmed Yashruti expanded upon this by suggesting, “God resides within you; thus, the choice is yours to make.”
Omar contended that the Sheikh never directly provides answers; he rarely says no (except in cases that contravene basic human rights) but rather offers a phrase, a single word, or a subtle hint that spurs individual reflection. He sows seeds in the fertile ground of the mind, nurturing the growth of the tree of understanding. Sheikh Ahmed Yashruti prompts the emergence of pertinent questions from within the disciples themselves, initiating a journey of self-discovery for answers. Omar believed that readily supplied answers would not truly belong to the individual. Authentic understanding and wisdom come only from what one discerns independently, retaining such knowledge for life. Furthermore, individuals should be allowed the freedom to interpret religious teachings in a way that resonates with their personal context (e.g., defining the essence of charity). This approach suggests, metaphorically, the absence of fixed religious commands, encouraging everyone to establish their own boundaries and principles. As long as a person respects fundamental norms and integrates into society, they are embraced.
This philosophical perspective warrants further explanation and contextualization: the underlying concept is that divine guidance will steer individuals towards correct decisions. The shift of responsibility onto the individual is rooted in the belief that within each person lies the potential for a direct relationship with the Divine. This does not imply that individuals are free to act entirely as they wish without regard for consequences or moral frameworks. The Sheikh, while refraining from dictating decisions, equips individuals with the ability to attune themselves to subtler realms of existence and the inner being. This inner presence offers believers signs, aiding them in navigating their journey toward the right path. The emphasis is on a personal, introspective approach to spirituality, where guidance is internal and divinely inspired, fostering a sense of personal accountability within a broader spiritual and ethical context.
The Zawiya (pivotal change) of an individual must occur internally when one senses the impossibility of persisting on the same trajectory, and suddenly, a fresh avenue emerges within their thoughts and emotions, and occasionally in the external world as well. For this transformation to happen, the liberty of thought must be encouraged, capable of fostering a rebirth in the mind. In my interpretation, this aligns with the “new understanding” mentioned by the poet Jalal al-Din Rumi, akin to the Christian concept of virgin birth, which symbolizes not a literal event but the emergence of a novel thought or a new sense of love, arising spontaneously within us.
Merely harboring free thought isn’t sufficient; it must be coupled with love, such as the bond that forms between a disciple and his Sheikh. The Sheikh serves as a conduit between the Divine and the earthly realm, hence embodying dual aspects. On one side, he is in perpetual union with the light of Muhammad, connected to the lineage of Sheikhs preceding him, and is effaced in the visage of the Prophet, embodying the state of Fana where he is the quintessence of completion, his heart embracing the cosmos. This spiritual stature enables the Sheikh to be a vessel of love, upon which the existence of the world hinges. Conversely, the Sheikh also engages actively in the material world, bridging to the Divine through His names, embodying a state of enduring service, known as Bakaa’.
Upon his initial encounter with Sheikh Ahmed Yashruti, Omar experienced an indescribable sense of love towards him, which facilitated the shedding of his previous beliefs and the embrace of new insights and enlightenment from the Sheikh. The Sheikh’s unique attribute, being the ‘axis of the era,’ allows him to transcend spatial and temporal limits, granting him omniscience over unfolding events. Therefore, it’s advised not to seek direct answers from him but to look inwardly for enlightenment. Indeed, directly querying the Sheikh could prove overwhelming due to the profound nature of truth, which might be too intense to grasp in its entirety at once. This caution was mirrored in the words of the Sheikh’s wife during their first meeting, who told Omar, “He has been anticipating your arrival for a long time; you must tread carefully.”
Omar was deeply immersed in his relationship with the Sheikh, yet he intuitively grasped a paradoxical truth: the bond between them was actually fortified when he turned inward, relying on his own independence and inner strength. This realization highlighted that true connection arises between two autonomous beings sharing the common ground of human experience. Omar recognized that physical proximity to the Sheikh didn’t necessarily equate to spiritual closeness. Instead, the real measure of one’s nearness to the “Hadra Muhammadiya,” as embodied by the Sheikh, is determined by the extent of their alignment with their own inner truth and self.
Fatima Yashruti recounted a story about an Ottoman official named Othman Pasha who, after meeting Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti, boasted that he was superior to another Pasha, Ali Rada, simply because he had seen the Sheikh. Sheikh Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti, in response, imparted that “being connected to essences is much more valuable than being connected to appearances.”
From this, Omar understood that to truly connect with the essences, one must first forge a deep connection with oneself. The journey a person embarks on is not a matter of choice; rather, it’s the path that chooses the individual. This doesn’t negate the importance of effort and active participation in life’s play, but ultimately, in the realm of enlightenment and the discernment of truth, which peers into the heart, political maneuvers fall short. The truth, with its inherent power, will invariably come to light.
To a large extent Omar had an attitude similar to that of that Japanese Zen sage who said “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him”. Omar was not afraid to killing Sacred cows, if only to inspire his interlocutor to think independently, to get him out of the paradigms that bind us all and don’t let us soar. That’s why he said many times that “there is no good and bad, no believer and unbeliever, no heaven and hell.” Because if there are not all these things, then the person has to start thinking for himself and look for what is there, what does exist, and what is the way. And this is the gate through which spiritual inspiration can enter.
Omar held the view that the Sheikh represented the gateway, yet he harbored a distinctive perspective on how to engage with him: being receptive to omens, serendipitous occurrences, and the imagery that surfaces in the mind. He was convinced that by turning inward to one’s own heart, a genuine bond with the spiritual realms could be established, grounded on a solid foundation of personal insight and experience. This internal journey, according to Omar, was pivotal in facilitating a meaningful connection to the transcendent aspects embodied in the Sheikh.
The bond with the Sheikh is facilitated through Madad – a form of inspiration that reflects on the heart’s mirror when it is purified. This inspiration might be initially triggered by visualizing the Sheikh, but it ultimately fosters a connection with the “Hadrah Muhammadiya,” the emanating divine presence, and through this connection, to God. This relationship transcends the ephemeral nature of approval and disapproval. To draw spiritually nearer to the Sheikh, one shouldn’t approach with an intense craving for acknowledgment and proximity, as this mindset is cluttered with personal desires, leaving no space for anything else. The most effective approach is to come humbly and open, yet firmly grounded in one’s own independence.
Fatima Yashruti observed: “The disciples took pride in receiving the Sheikh’s attention. They vied for his gaze, convinced that such favor would elevate them to higher spiritual levels and enlightenment. However, the Sheikh was aware that divine illumination was not constrained to his direct gaze; it could envelop a disciple through myriad forms and across any distance.”
Omar comprehended on a profound level that to host God within oneself, an individual must first construct an inner sanctuary, a throne for the Divine. He shared with me that this divine throne is built upon eight names – attributes of God. In Islam, it’s believed that God possesses ninety-nine names that are revealed in the Quran, with one remaining concealed. A person, by embodying eight of these divine attributes daily—such as peace, mercy, compassion—can create a space within themselves for the divine presence to reside.
This concept is mirrored in the architectural design of the dome of the great hall within the Zawiya (the Takiya), which is upheld by eight external arches. Omar, who was in constant communication with the Sheikh about the construction of the Zawiya, gleaned insights into the symbolic significance behind its architecture and artistry. Through this interaction, he gained a deep understanding of the Teachings, a topic that warrants further exploration later on.
Contribution to Society
Three decades ago, in the 1990s, the gates of opportunity briefly swung open once again in the Land of Israel, ushering in a period marked by swift economic growth and significant diplomatic breakthroughs, including the signing of a peace treaty with the Palestinians and subsequently with Jordan. During that era, I resided in the Galilee, before the tumultuous events of October 2000. I can attest to a pervasive sense of openness and a prevailing belief that anything was ossible.
This period of renewal enabled Sheikh Ahmed Yashruti to commence the reconstruction of the Zawiya in Acre. More than just a construction endeavor, the aim was to revive the Zawiya and the Order’s golden era in the Galilee, a time Sheikh Ahmed fondly recalled from his childhood, that had been halted abruptly due to the independence war. The vision was to restore the Order and the Zawiya as a lighthouse of spiritual illumination and wisdom, shining upon a diverse and multicultural society characterized by mutual respect and shared humanity.
During the Mandate period and the late 19th century, the zenith of the Zawiya in Acre was not just a spiritual or insular phenomenon but extended significantly into social engagement and community service. This was evident through the industrious and exemplary lives led by the disciples and Sheikhs, as well as through initiatives focused on education, dialogue, and notably, assistance to those in need, both physically and spiritually. The outward activities and contributions of the Zawiya reflected its core values, underscoring a commitment to the welfare and upliftment of the broader society.
Omar, tasked with overseeing the construction of the Zawiya, also embraced the belief that its role extended beyond its physical boundaries to serve the community at large. This perspective aligned well with his innate generosity and care, resonating with what he considered the Order’s unwritten ethos. Holding the reins of the financial aspects empowered him to champion this cause, facilitating support for various local initiatives. He often expressed his philosophy by saying, “Prayer is giving a slice of bread to the poor,” encapsulating his view that spiritual practice and social service are intrinsically connected.
Omar aligned with the Sheikhs’ vision that a pivotal aspect of the Zawiya’s reconstruction was its transformation into a social hub benefiting the city of Acre. Historically, under the guidance of Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti and Sheikh Ibrahim Yashruti, the Zawiya served the community in a tangible manner, notably through a large public kitchen that fed hundreds daily and thousands during holidays, a detail recounted by Fatima Yashruti in her book.
In contemporary times, however, where basic physical needs are largely met and the threat of starvation has diminished, Omar believed the focus should shift towards addressing the educational void. He saw education, or the lack thereof, as the root of many challenges faced by Acre’s Arab community, including various forms of violence. Through education, not only in academic knowledge but also in imparting values, Omar envisioned the Zawiya playing a crucial role in nurturing societal development. He believed in its potential to contribute significantly to the formation of an ideal society.
Omar viewed social activism as the contemporary means to manifest the ethical principles of the Shadeli Yashruti order into tangible reality. He perceived it as a channel through which the Order could engage with the wider community and make a meaningful contribution, effectively translating Sufism into practical action. His wife, Faten, reflects on Omar’s character as one of profound generosity, noting he often gave more than he received. Omar’s commitment to aiding those in distress was a quietly carried out mission, with many of his benevolent acts coming to light only after his passing, through the accounts of those he had assisted.
The Friend
Omar was not a solitary figure in the endeavor of the Zawiya project but collaborated closely with others from the order, both within Israel and internationally. A key figure in this collaborative effort was Hatem Harouf, who, to a significant extent, served as Omar’s assistant and right-hand man. Following Omar’s tenure, Hatem Harouf has stepped in to continue the work, taking on the role of Omar’s successor on the order’s executive committee in Israel and overseeing the ongoing activities at the Zawiya.
Hatem was born in 1973 into a traditional household in Acre. In 2000, his father was designated as the Mukadem of the order in Acre, marking a significant familial contribution to the order’s leadership. Before the Zawiya’s restoration, Hatem and his family resided within one of the compound’s houses. His great-grandfather, Sheikh Al Harouf Sharif, was a direct disciple of Ali Nur al-Din Yashruti, having traveled from Nablus to join Sheikh Ali Nur Edin Yashruti in Acre. This move initiated the family’s century-long association with the order, making Hatem a fourth-generation member of the Zawiya community.
Throughout the War of Independence, they remained in Acre, shielded by the Zawiya, and Hatem recounts that the Israeli soldiers respected the sanctity of the Zawiya. There was a unit commander who attempted to enter the Mashhad (the burial site of Sheikh Ali Nur Al-Din Yashruti, the order’s founder) wearing his hat, armed, and with shoes on. The elders present implored him to remove his hat, shoes, and weapon before entering. He disregarded their pleas. Hatem’s grandfather positioned himself in front of the door, appealing to the commander by invoking the deity he believed in, urging him not to proceed disrespectfully. The commander persisted, yet as he attempted to enter, he suddenly tripped and fell. His accompanying soldiers affirmed that he wasn’t pushed; he merely stumbled. He was carried away on a stretcher, and a subsequent commander arrived, who respectfully removed his shoes, hat, and weapon before entering the Mashhad. Upon exiting, he affixed a note to the door declaring it a “holy place” in both Hebrew and English. From that point forward, entry without proper show of respect was not permitted.
In 1995, at the age of 22, Hatem encountered Omar for the very first time, marking the beginning of their intertwined fates. Their initial meeting unfolded in the Zawiya, where Omar, alongside his brother Ahsan, participated in the recitation of the Wazifa. Hatem was immediately struck by Omar’s profound depth, an unfathomable presence that captivated him. Omar’s inquisitiveness and probing questions drew Hatem in, forging a bond between them. It was as though Hatem had known Omar in a past life.
Hatem played a pivotal role in introducing Omar to the Zawiya and facilitating his entry into the order. Although Omar only became a member in 1995 and came from a secular background, Hatem, who hailed from a traditional background within the order, extended his support. Hatem’s father, the Mukadem of Acre, and his mother both welcomed Omar warmly. For Hatem, Omar was akin to an elder brother, and a profound friendship blossomed between them, built on mutual respect and shared spiritual pursuits.
A Sadaqa, or bond of friendship, existed between Omar’s and Hatem’s families. Their parents were acquainted, with Omar’s mother and Hatem’s father being classmates. Even before Omar’s family moved to Acre from Gaza over eighty years ago, the two families were connected. However, it took several years before this connection evolved into a partnership in managing the Zawiya.
Initially, Hatem wasn’t directly involved in the Zawiya project; the responsibility had been assigned to Omar along with a committee, excluding Hatem. Despite this, Hatem’s desire for the Order and Zawiya’s success, coupled with a sense of duty towards Omar, propelled him to guide Omar into the Order. Reestablishing the Zawiya was a dream of Hatem’s, and he believed that with Omar’s involvement, this dream could become a reality. Hatem consistently offered his support to Omar, who initially overlooked him. As others failed and disappointed Omar, he eventually sought Hatem’s assistance. Hatem recalls Omar as a man who was humble enough to apologize, admit his shortcomings, and recognize when he needed help, eventually saying to Hatem, “I need you, what did you say about this thing or the other?”. Although Omar was initially dismissive, he recognized Hatem’s wisdom and started to seek his advice increasingly.
Hatem is a skilled construction worker, a profession that Omar lacked expertise in. Omar’s strengths lay in resource management and liaising with authorities, but he was not adept at the hands-on, practical aspects of construction. Hatem filled this gap, bringing his professional knowledge to the table. Their skills complemented each other, leading Omar to increasingly trust Hatem and delegate responsibilities to him, even though doing so went against his instinctive approach. Omar recognized Hatem’s professionalism and reliability, along with his genuine desire for the Order’s welfare, and acknowledged the value of his contributions to the project.
A disagreement once arose between them, during which Hatem warned Omar that he would discontinue their collaboration if Omar continued to heed the workers’ advice over his. Omar allowed some time for emotions to settle, then reached out to Hatem, inviting him to a place of significance to both— the Mashhad. There, Omar expressed his deep trust and reliance on Hatem, saying, “Whatever happens, don’t leave me, I believe in you more than I believe in myself. You are someone who listens to his heart. Maybe I don’t listen as well, but I ponder on your advice, and it takes root and grows within me.”
By 2009, Hatem had effectively become Omar’s partner in overseeing the Zawiya’s construction project. Their collaboration was founded on mutual reliance: Hatem depended on Omar to navigate discussions with the Sheikh, handle dealings with authorities and various projects, manage legal affairs, and oversee the Zawiya’s public relations and social initiatives. Conversely, Omar leaned on Hatem’s expertise as a professional executor, whose participation in the construction project was crucial for supervising the labor force. Beyond their professional ties, they shared a friendship that encompassed their work, vision, time spent together, and even accommodations during their travels to Jordan.
Beyond their professional collaboration, a deep friendship and mutual respect developed. Hatem reflects on Omar’s inner character, describing him as a “Dervish” at heart—someone content with simplicity. Omar’s modest desires mirrored those of a true ascetic; he would express gratitude for even the most basic necessities, such as a mattress and a slice of bread. Material possessions held little value to him, and his purity of spirit was akin to that of a child. However, juxtaposed with this simplicity was Omar’s profound intellect and visionary outlook. His mind was teeming with lofty ideals, philosophies, and wisdom, and he possessed the remarkable ability to envision far into the future, displaying remarkable patience and resolve along the way.
