As tattoo artists, they would ink people to commemorate their spiritual journey to Jerusalem.
And
they're still very much open for business today, in a dusty back ally
in the Old City. The family's incredible history adorns the walls of
the small studio as modern day pilgrims wait for their certificate in
ink -- typically a cross with a date.
Wassim
Razzouk, 43, now runs the business. He's busy placing the outline of a
design on a former US soldier -- an example of his diverse clientele.
The tattoo will be an Armenian cross, which holds special meaning for
Andrew Seropian, a veteran of the US campaign in Afghanistan embarking
on his own pilgrimage.
"I was seven
meters away from a rocket that blew up with no protection on," says the
35-year-old from Boston. "I took the full blast ... I believe I could
have been dead or missing an arm, but I do believe I was protected and
blessed by God and that's why this makes it so much more."
Pilgrims
make the journey to the Holy Land searching for something. It could be
an adventure, inner peace, or God. Suzy Ohannessian's tattoo of another
cross continues a family tradition started by her grandmother.
"This
was really an emotional journey for me to renew my faith this for me
has become an external version of what I'm feeling inside and I feel
that I have a renewed and newfound faith that I feel is more permanent,"
the American says.
Christians,
Muslims and Jews claim Jerusalem as a holy city. It houses the holiest
of sites of Christianity and Judaism and the third holiest in Islam.
High demand
The
Razzouk family business began in the 14th century in Egypt then moved
to Jerusalem in the 17th century after discovering there was a high
demand for their services in the holy city.
"Where
the ancestors started the tradition of the tattoo ... of course no
electricity was available and it was done by hand," says 76-year-old
Anton Razzouk, Wassim's father, who has now retired.
"Christian
tattooing has always been used as a certificate of pilgrimage," his son
adds. "The only way for people to prove ... they've done the pilgrimage
is by actually getting tattooed."
Pictures
of four generations of the Razzouk family hang on the stone wall of the
studio. "We are not only old school ... you can say we are ancient
school. We have designs hundreds of years old," says Wassim, holding a
long wooden stick with a pointed end.
"The
way they did it hundreds of years ago was done by a stick like this one
with thick needles attached to it. This created a thicker, blurrier
line that wasn't too sharp," he says.
It was both painful and painfully slow, adds Anton.
Old styles persist
Thankfully,
the inking process has modernized. But many of the tattoo styles remain
the same. Wassim pours small wooden blocks on a table. Carved on each
one is a stencil of a tattoo. He pulls out one with a large cross and
four small crosses in the corners -- it's known as the Jerusalem Cross
and dates back centuries. It's also one of the most popular designs.
"This one is 500 years old. This actual block was used in 1669 by a man who documented his pilgrimage," he explains.
There
is a distinctive divide in the tastes of Razzouk's clientele. Pilgrims
prefer the traditional Christian iconography, while young local
Christians prefer modern-looking tattoos with intricate designs and
coloring. However, they do have clients from other faiths who choose
non-Christian designs.
Around the
Middle East, tattoos can be seen on different Christian communities. In
Egypt, many Coptic Christians tattoo their children with small crosses.
"You
cannot deny your Christianity by having a tattoo," says Anton. "That's
why in Egypt and in many other Arab countries where Christians are a
minority, parents tattoo their children so they can't deny their faith."
This is still very common in Egypt.
The
ink almost dried up when Wassim initially had no interest in the family
business. "I read an article about my family and my father said he was
afraid that tradition would end with him," he recalls.
Wassim
eventually relented and decided to pick up the tattoo gun after all.
"This is not a tradition and a heritage that is easy to let go of and I
am not going to be the one who is going to stop it or kill it," he says.
The mark of faith is also secured for the next generation.
Wassim's 13-year-old son, Nizar, is learning the family business to certify future pilgrimages in ink.
http://www.cnn.com/2016/09/06/middleeast/jerusalem-tattoos-lee/
