# Pilgrim Notes

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-18 — 1 clipping.*

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> Source: Bahá'í Library Online (bahai-library.com), curated by Jonah Winters. Used by permission of the curator. Original citation: Alice Tyler, Pilgrim Notes, bahai-library.com.
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> 
> Pilgrim Notes
> 
> Alice Tyler
> 
> 1965-11-29
> 
> Pilgrim Notes of Alice Tyler
> 
> 29 November 1965
> 
> Hi Dear,
> 
> Heavens, I have written so much -- and told so little about the pilgrimage.
> And it has taken so long to do -- partially because there hasn't been the type
> of undisturbed time that one needs for such things -- partially that when those
> precious moments of quiet arrived and I would start, I would type a bit -- then
> sit and dream a bit. It goes slower that way. Anyway -- for what it's worth
> -- Part II enclosed. Undoubtedly it will be Easter before Part III, covering
> the last portions of the trip, will be finished, but it will take you that long
> to make it through the maize of errors encompassed in II -- so I guess it
> doesn't matter much. And incidentally, if any of you don't feel in the mood
> to hear anything about Baha'i -- forget it altogether. There was simply no
> way to soft-peddle it this time. I laughed as I was typing away -- thinking
> strongly of Rashomon -- with its different versions of the same story -- seen
> through the different eyes. How funny it would be to compare my account of the
> pilgrimage with Maury's or Elena's -- like three totally different places and
> experiences, I'm sure. But somewhere along the line, hopefully, you will get
> some glimpse of it.
> 
> The Pilgrimage
> 
> ...how does one tell of it? It is unexplainable. A moment in time that
> is a lifetime -- that is so much a dream that it is hard to believe as reality
> and yet so much reality that ;all else seems dreamlike. Perhaps it is like a
> fabled jewel, so precious that you never dared think you might see it -- and
> suddenly it is handed to you and its each facet is more brilliant and colorful
> than the last and the weight is heavy in your hand. And ever after that,
> whenever you see color, it reminds you of that more brilliant hue that once
> flashed up at you. Each weight in your hand is judged by that weight -- but
> strangely, nothing is worse for the judgment, rather -- better. Spiced by it.
> Made more exciting, more vivid. Or perhaps the pilgrimage is a kaleidoscope --
> where familiar things take new and fascinating form and beauty beyond
> imagination -- constantly changing -- yet still a different view of the same
> things. Bits and pieces of odd common things suddenly forming a masterpiece
> that shall never be recaptured except in memory. And from that moment on, you
> can never see a bit of red brick or a flower petal without remembering that it
> could be a part of a star.
> 
> And so, that first day of March, our taxi carried us on toward our dream.
> As many times as we've heard of the pilgrimage -- as many pictures and maps as
> we've studied -- it's amazing how imperfect our understanding was of what was
> there. Mount Carmel. I can hear myself saying it, "The Baha'is own the
> slope of Mt. Carmel." I had envisaged a neat and tidy high foothill ... with
> clusters of houses and shops hemming its bottom, with the Baha'i gardens
> sweeping up an entire side and the Queen of Carmel, the Shrine of the Bab, as
> its crown and the Archives building close at hand. "That's Carmel," our drive
> said! And we looked, our hearts skipping a beat. But we saw no clusters of
> houses, no gardens, no Shrine. Just a mountain. We looked at each other in
> disbelief and then tuned in on the voice of the driver as it drone on...
> "We'll be coming to the Shrine in another twenty miles or so..." Carmel is a
> range! Twenty-three miles long! As we drove on, we learned that there is not
> only the hotel that we'd heard of on the top of "the Carmel" -- but an entire
> village, "Upper Carmel." Only the hotel is visible from below and that's why,
> I suppose, we'd not suspected it. The driver took us through Upper Carmel --
> past the supermarkets, the apartment houses and banks, past the Dan Hotel,
> around a curve -- and THERE IT WAS! That golden dome -- the emerald gardens
> with the famed cypress trees now grown into tall sentinels. Surprisingly, the
> gardens were on both sides of the broad curving street. We suddenly turned
> through some gates into a drive and down a narrow lane and there, waiting for
> us at the door of the pilgrim house was that dear familiar figure, that angel,
> that Hand -- Mr. Faizi! His eyes shining with tears, his face radiant, he
> embraced us and said, "Ah, I have been waiting for you for so long..." We were
> home.
> 
> Almost immediately we were surrounded by members of our Baha'i family
> whom we had not met before, whose names and faces we did not know, but whom we
> had loved for a long time -- our fellow pilgrims. The Persians were first.
> There was a tiny woman, old, beautiful, who had lived in Ishqabad, Russia.
> Her husband, a teacher there, had been sent to prison for 7 years and she and
> her daughter were banished to Iran, all because they were Baha'is. The
> daughter had died of a broken heart because of her separation from her father
> and when, at last, the husband was released and rejoined his wife, his health
> had been so damaged that he, too, soon passed away. The little woman is now
> pioneering in Kurdistan. And then there was the lovely young Persian girl --
> smart, efficient -- returning to Shiraz after 2 years in England -- a
> granddaughter of the famed Salman -- who received many of the messages in the
> early days and would memorize them and then eat them -- lest they fall into
> enemy hands and in some way be misused. Salman -- who, after a number of
> messages, heroic deeds, immortal acts -- finally sent back a delightfully
> human plea for "Shorter messages, thinner paper." This had always been one of
> my favorite vignettes of the beginnings of the Faith, and now here we were,
> wrapped in the arms of Salman's granddaughter! There was the darling little
> stocky old woman, with grayed hair firmly drawn into a knot and bandana vainly
> trying to cover it, who would take center stage on any occasion, standing with
> feet firmly planted and launch into some hilarious and lengthy story. There was no need for
> translation to make it funny -- the twinkle in her eyes and the drama of her
> presentation did all that. Obviously a peasant woman of no schooling, she was
> totally at home with her fellow pilgrims -- some of whom were renowned
> professors, doctors and the like. And there were so many others. The young
> couple presently living in Turkey, he, studying to be a doctor, she, to be a
> singer. Old. Young. Plain people and sophisticated ones. All with an inner
> beauty that shone forth constantly.
> 
> There were 14 "Easterners" and 7 of us from the West. We three; a
> wonderful New England woman, a long-time Baha'i, Olive Schlessinger; Ida
> Jurgenson from Los Angeles who defied her 70 plus years as she climbed the
> hills and demonstrated in other ways perhaps the youngest spirit of us all; Ann
> Constant and Phillip Hinton-Lever, a young couple soon to be married. They
> were darlings, he, a Shakespearean actor from South Africa and she, a dancer
> from London. They were barely out of their teens -- a handsome pair -- so gay
> and yet so deep in their devotion to the Faith. Well, that was "the lot of
> us."
> 
> There are two pilgrim houses, only yards apart. The larger one is for the
> Eastern pilgrims -- with its bedrooms and the kitchen off three large central
> rooms. the foyer, the dining room and the third that I will always think of as
> the tea-room-- for it was there that we all gathered after meals for coffee and
> tea and talking. A large square of a room it is with seating lining its walls,
> a huge coffee table in the middle, a few pictures on the walls -- and that's
> about it. We Westerners shared the smaller house which was simply 3 small
> double bedrooms, one single, a bath-and-a-half and a middle hall, onto which
> all the doors open. It was terribly relaxed -- much like a dorm at college --
> with everyone bobbing in and out of the other's room at almost any moment to
> share the story of some precious event -- or to show a treasure -- or just to
> talk. Scheduling of the bathroom time became a merry event -- what with 7 of
> us, one tub and our washing to do besides keeping our selves in order. Rumor
> had it that it takes 14 days to get things back from the Israeli laundries so
> none of us dared chance it. After the third day, we discovered a clothes-line
> in the back yard so the bathroom decorations diminished somewhat. All the
> pilgrims met together for meals, socializing after meals, afternoon tea and
> before bed. Until about two years ago, the Western pilgrims stayed at the
> bottom of Carmel. Although they were allow to come and go into the Shrines at
> will, the distance was great and the climb terrific. There was little
> togetherness with the Easterners then. It's wonderful this new way. We
> wouldn't have missed getting to know those dear ones for anything. Somehow
> language was no problem even when a translator wasn't present. We all knowe [sic]
> what was most important in the other's life and shared the awe and deep
> happiness of being in this heaven. Words are not always as important as we
> think they are.
> 
> And so, on that beautiful March day, after we'd settled our belongings and
> had had the intricacies of the plumbing, heating, etc. explained to us, we went
> in to have tea with the friends. Margaret Chance, whom we had known for a long
> time, nearly caved our ribs with her wonderful bear hug. She and Mrs. Hakim,
> both wives of members of the Universal House of Justice, had come to bid us
> welcome. Margaret explained that we wouldn't see any of the members of the
> House until after we had met them as a body. They are constantly on guard to
> see that personality doesn't get involved with the Baha'is thoughts of the
> House -- that it is the institution that's important, not those who serve it.
> It's not easy. Each one of them is a spiritual and intellectual giant. We
> would have to be much more than human not to love and revere them. Soon Hand
> of the Cause Paul Haney came in. Sweet Paul -- so tall and thin and beautiful.
> His sandy hair is quite grey now. His collar frayed, his trousers patched, his
> eyes aglow, his thoughts constantly on serving -- serving -- any and everyone.
> Paul took us to the foyer and showed us where the keys to the Shrines are kept.
> We were to go in any time we wished, day or night. And then he took one of
> those huge keys -- perhaps 7 or 8 inches long -- and led us to the Shrine of
> the Bab. I'm sure that you've all seen pictures of that magnificent
> gold-domed building -- but perhaps you didn't know that it houses not only the
> remains of the Bab but also, in another room, those of Abdu'l-Baha. But
> this first time we would go only to the Shrine of the Bab. Only! How many
> times we have heard pilgrims returning in the time of the Guardian telling of
> how they had said to him, "Shoghi Effendi, how wonderful it is to be on the
> Pilgrimage to see you." And he would look very stern and say, "The
> pilgrimage is to the Holy Shrines!" And when you are there, in those most
> sanctified spots, you know that this is true. Any portion of the rest would be
> worth the trip -- but the rest is bonus.
> 
> We had heard a myriad stories of the reactions of those who had made this
> visit. Some felt nothing, others were overwhelmed by the power -- even to the
> point of being struck to their knees. Others wept. We did not know what to
> expect. Paul carefully explained that there was no ritual to be observed.
> That everyone is free to act and react in his own way -- and this was as it
> must be. We were to take off our shoes before entering. Everyone does this,
> even the tourists. As we walked the 200 or so yards from the Pilgrim houses
> and through those lovely gardens, we recalled that the red stones on which we
> trod had been hand-ground of used roof-tiles by the Guardian -- that each plant
> and tree and urn and figure had been carefully selected by him with such love.
> Mr. Haney spoke of some of the difficulty in the building of that overpowering
> edifice -- done during the midst of the war when everyone had said it was
> totally impossible to ship the marble from Italy. He spoke of the golden tiles
> of the dome carefully selected in Holland -- that they were glazed, not gold
> leaf as so many thought -- for the Guardian wished beauty, not costliness.
> There is a rumor in Israel that under one of our buildings we have a swimming
> pool that is filled with gold and that that is why we are able to make things
> so beautiful. Heavens, how funny. If only they knew of the sacrifice that
> went into putting it all in. Actually, the Shrine of the Bab is the first
> building in the world to which members of every racial, national and religious
> background in the world contributed. It gave us great satisfaction to know
> that we were among those people.
> 
> We paused and looked across the Bay of Akka -- to that ancient and holy
> "silver city" -- clearly visible beneath the blue skies. And suddenly, the key
> was in the lock of the huge old white door and it slowly swung open. The room
> was large, white, without furnishings but for two enormous classic white
> alabaster urns that served as lamps. Under foot the floor was soft with layers
> of Persian carpets, rich and lovely beyond compare. There was an archway,
> thinly veiled, leading to another room. The threshold was laden with flowers
> -- in vases and petals strewn across the length of it. Beyond, crowned with a
> magnificent crystal chandelier, was the resting place of the Bab -- that
> radiant Youth, that Herald, that Primal Point, that Martyr Prophet. I cannot
> tell you exactly what was there. Vases, flowers, Persian rugs, things like
> that. Strange that I cannot remember each detail. Or perhaps it is not
> strange at all. For what was there was much more than the senses can account
> for. But there was a scent. A special one, disassociated from the flowers --
> as there was at each of the Holy Places that we visited. And here, a sound. A
> strange reverberation that touched every atom of you when the prayers were read
> or chanted. Even your own voice did not sound like yours here. It was almost
> like your voice went out, became refined and was only then returned to your
> ears. Only one more thing can I say about this experience. About the prayers.
> One would think that in this place above all places it would be easy to pray.
> But for me -- and I later discovered for Maury and Elena as well -- it was
> difficult. Of course we said them -- but it seemed almost a mechanical thing.
> Out of place. An interruption. Here was a place for just "being". Here was
> total peace and happiness. In the gardens it was a different thing. There the
> prayers came as naturally as breathing -- with joy and abandon -- impossible to
> stop. Odd. Or was it just unexpected?
> 
> The time came for us to leave and Mr. Haney quietly led us out -- back to
> the pilgrim house and to lunch. The meals were wonderful fun-times. We all
> sat at one enormous table and were served family style -- quite appropriately.
> The meals were excellent. A mixture of East and West and ingenuity, I imagine.
> There were always the disks of absolutely delicious Arab bread, slabs of butter
> and cheeses, crisp salads and some mysterious main dish followed, almost
> always, by great golden oranges the size of grapefruit. California and Florida
> can bow their heads in shame -- they are totally outdone by the size and flavor
> of Israeli citrus! At lunch, we were always joined by at least one of the
> Hands, Mr. Faizi or Mr. Haney. And afterward, as we retired for our coffee or
> tea, they sat with us, answering the barrage of questions, reaching into the
> depths of their knowledge to explain some obstruse facet or delighting us with
> little-known stories of the Faith. At dinner, we were joined by one of the
> Hands plus a member of the House -- a different one each night -- so that we
> could get to know each one personally and they, us. The spirit was completely
> as friends or family getting together, with not a tinge of "you are being
> honored by the presence of..." They constantly repeated, "The pilgrims are the
> lifes' blood of the Holy Land..." and responded to us as though we were
> honoring them. And the laughter, my word, the laughter! Jokes flew about
> constantly -- and in all languages. Some of the sack-cloth types I know
> wouldn't have believed it. Fun and Holy Places don't traditionally go together
> -- but what a combination they make!
> 
> After lunch that first day, Mr. Haney took us into the Shrine of
> Abdu'l-Baha. It was much the same as that of the Bab -- and yet totally
> different. It is smaller, warmer, comfortable -- as Abdu'l-Baha was -- with
> majesty and yet modest. It had its own scent -- its own peace -- its own
> beauty. As with the inner shrine of the Bab, there was enough simplicity of
> structure to please the Westerner, enough ornateness in a few of the vases and
> lamps to make the Easterner happy -- and a feel that cuts through all boundries
> and satisfies everyone. We had prayers there -- and time for quiet --
> something to feed on. Too soon it was time to leave and again Paul gently led
> us out.
> 
> There was unscheduled time then so we went down into Haifa to buy some
> needed things of the tooth-paste variety. We had a fine time browsing, getting
> lost just enough to make it fun, taking the funicular up the hill, looking,
> listening and pinching ourselves to be sure that we really were there.
> 
> When we returned, into the Pilgrim House there suddenly popped those two
> pixies, Ethyl and Jessie Revel! What special people they are! Sisters --
> probably in their sixties or seventies -- who, about 15 years ago had been
> called to Haifa by the Guardian to help with secretarial work, and who have
> been there ever since. Their love and devotion is legend. Tiny Jessie --
> perhaps 4 1/2 feet tall, sweet round happy face that beams constantly -- eyes
> a-twinkle -- with beautifully kept grey hair as her crown. Ethyl --
> taller but stooped shouldered -- more severe of face and demeaner -- but
> her eyes and wry sense of humor belie the role she assumes. And so there they
> were -- hugging us -- bidding us welcome -- telling us how much they look
> forward to the pilgrims' visits -- saying that they are being so selfish to
> take so much of our precious time. We gave them the greetings of so many --
> I'm sure everyone in their acquaintance feels that, even with a brief meeting,
> they have gotten to know them intimately. We delivered gifts sent via us by a
> long-time friend. And then we sat, for the first time of many, enthralled by
> the priceless stories of their many years in the Holy Land -- of the Guardian
> whom they all but worshipped -- the Hands -- the Universal House of Justice --
> of the various pilgrims who had come through the years -- of great moments in
> Baha'i history. And of Abdu'l-Baha. Oh, how they love Abdu'l-Baha!
> But all too soon, it was dinner-time and they scooted home. Such cheery little
> angels they are!
> 
> After dinner, Violetta Nakhjavani came to drive us to Number 7, Persian
> Street. To a Baha'i, this address is magical as is Number 10, Downing, to a
> Britisher. Much more, really. For this was the house of Abdu'l-Baha --
> where he lived and where he died -- and after him, the Guardian had used it for
> his home. Now Ruhiyyih Khanum, Hand of the Cause, widow of Shoghi Effendi,
> lives there -- among all those memories. It cannot be easy for her.
> 
> Meeting Violetta was an experience in itself for she proved to be not only
> a rare beauty but to have all those qualities that could be envied -- but are,
> instead, most gratefully saluted for she wears them so unconsciously. Again a
> small woman, perhaps out of her twenties but with the vitality of a teen-ager
> and the dignity of a queen. Quiet in depth -- bubbly in humor -- a scholar --
> a person of complete understanding -- a proud daughter (of Hand of the Cause
> Mirza Banani) -- a proud mother (of two lovely children) -- and a proud wife
> (of Ali Nakhjiavani, member of the Universal House of Justice). Happily, we
> were to see more of Violetta.
> 
> And so it was that we went to "Number 7". It's a large house, inside a
> courtyard, with a broad bank of steps leading to its wide portal. The door was
> opened by a thin middle-aged Persian woman whose plain face, framed by a scarf
> thrown over her head, was lighted from the inside by the warmth of her complete
> devotion. Her demeanor was totally humble. Her clothing was rather ugly --
> she limped a bit, I believe. She greeted us in Persian and bowed and gestured
> us into the vast reception room. Square -- white -- simple -- with a huge
> round table in its center and doors or curtained arches lining the walls. From
> nowhere came a voice -- down-to-earth, not quite English-English, not quite
> American. "Ah, you've finally come. Do come in and have some tea and we'll
> talk." Maury murmered, as we walked, "What a lovely house!" A laugh
> accompanied the quick response, "You're not an architect, are you?" The voice
> belonged of course to Ruhiyyih Khanum. I'm not sure I would know how to even
> begin to describe her. She is rather tall -- with long light-golden-brown hair
> which is usually done up and covered. At times, she looks more tired and sad
> than almost anyone -- at others, animated, interested, full of humor. The
> transition sometimes takes but a moment -- a remark -- a thought. She is not
> one you can -- or would want to -- dismiss from your mind. You remember her --
> her face -- her voice -- her laugh -- her words. As most of you know, she was
> Mary Maxwell, born in America of Canadian parents. The stories of her birth,
> childhood, youth and of her marriage to the Guardian are fascinating. Everyone
> who knew her then always managed to use the terms "full of the dickens" and
> "high-spirited" about her. I think they are still appropriate. She is strong
> in her beliefs -- sure of herself -- absolutely frank -- bored with sham --
> impatient -- and with all, devoted and reverent but never in a phoney way. She
> loves to be "just a person" but has lived so many lives in her half-a-lifetime
> and is so many things to so many people that it is difficult for her to be
> thought of that way. She led us through one of the vast curtained arches into
> a charming and again large room. Its three sides were lined with a divan --
> much like a long window-seat. We paused to look at some framed pictures. One,
> particularly, burned itself into my memory. An enlarged copy of the head of
> Shoghi Effendi as a tiny child. I'd not seen it before. A round sensitive
> face completely dominated by enormous eyes -- so deep -- so knowing -- so
> beautiful. And there was, too, a photo of the Guardian just before he died --
> in 1957. A wonderful picture. She had just bought a new camera and was trying
> it out, she explained. Usually, he refused to allow his picture to be taken as
> he tried in every way to avoid having the Baha'is pay attention to his
> person. But this time, he had just smiled and asked her if she had gotten a
> good one. Indeed she had! A candid shot. Not the picture of an
> internationally respected spiritual giant, Guardian of a Faith -- rather, a
> snap-shot of a husband who loved and admired his wife. A sweet and special
> thing to see.
> 
> There were just 5 of the Western Pilgrims and our hostess. Two of our
> number, the young English couple, had had a delayed flight and arrived the next
> morning. Mrs. Nakjiavani had disappeared as soon as we arrived and the little
> servant came in and out, serving and then disappearing. Our conversation was
> rather general. Ruhiyyih Khanum spoke of her recent trip to India -- of her
> love for the Indian and African people -- of her hope to return to those
> continents. She asked us about how the Faith was going in our various home
> areas and expounded on a favorite theme -- her impatience with the Western mind
> -- so brilliant and well-trained but used to make excuses, to rationalize and
> organize instead of to act. She gave each of the women a small vial of attar
> of roses -- that heavenly and penetrating scent. Ida, when she received hers,
> asked if she might have another as a mainland friend has asked her to get him
> one. Ruhiyyih Khanum said, "Good heavens, does he think this is a shop? I've
> only enough for one around." Then we spoke of trivia -- laughed about the
> various countries' driving "skills" and so on. She spoke at length about her
> aversion to the Baha'i habit of embracing everyone in sight -- and then, as
> we left, embraced us all. It was about midnight then. Ruhiyyih Khanum had
> seemed really sorry that the time had come for us to go -- for she is a bit of
> a night-owl -- but it was the fasting time and she had to get up before dawn.
> Mr. Faizi had explained about the fast in relationship to the pilgrims when we
> first arrived. We were not allowed to observe it while there -- for we were
> all travelers and travelers may be exempt. But more than that, it was a
> once-in-a-lifetime experience for almost everyone and the Guardian had said
> that nothing should mar a pilgrimage -- that every moment must be experienced,
> savored. Many who fast find that their minds are sometimes not as keen during
> the mid-afternoon as they normally are -- or they may get headaches. Some find
> certain food distasteful during the time. Many reasons. And so it was that at
> every lunch the Hand who joined us sat with us and watched us eat. They always
> joked about it -- turning their plates upside-down as one does with glasses
> when beverages aren't wanted. And later, when we were asked to tea with
> various people, they would fix us delicious goodies -- special things they
> loved -- and could not join us in eating.
> 
> And so had passed the first day of the pilgrimage. So full it had been.
> It was chilly and we filled our hot-water bottles and snuggled down into our
> beds. We felt waves of extreme happiness and wonder at what had been and what
> was to be.
> 
> Breakfast, we discovered, was an informal affair -- everyone arriving when
> he liked (within reason) and serving themselves from the great bowls of
> hard-cooked but hot eggs, of succulant stewed prunes. those marvelous oranges,
> plates of Arab bread, the butter and cheese, preserves, boxes of dry cereal and
> so on. It was gay and relaxed. The friends would slip in late -- or out early
> -- to pay a quiet visit to the Shrines. As eight o'clock neared, on some
> mornings, we would go out to photograph and visit with the members of the
> Universal House of Justice who gather, three times weekly, for prayers at the
> Shrines prior to their deliberations. On other mornings, if nothing was
> scheduled, we would wander about the gardens or help with the guiding, or do
> whatever else we liked. The Gardens and Shrines are open daily from 9 to noon
> and a surprising number come. It is one of the top tourist attractions in
> Israel and busloads come n a constant stream. As I had mentioned before, the
> Baha'is do not teach in Israel -- but it is permissible to answer the
> questions put by the tourists -- and then if they request it, they are given
> addresses in their home-lands where they may investigate further. School
> groups come too. And the children spill out of their busses yelling and
> shouting as school children the world over will do -- but they quiet down
> immediately as they enter the gardens -- and even to the tiniest, seem to
> understand and are reverent. Neighborhood children come, too. Many come
> repeatedly, regularly. They just come in and stand and are quiet for a long
> time -- and then they leave. Margaret Chance told a darling story of two such
> who often come. Brothers. One, perhaps 8 and the other only about 3. From
> their clothing, it is evident that they aren't well-off. One day the tiny one
> was wearing some new shoes -- fancy black and white ones with pointed toes --
> too big -- but new. And he wanted to go into the Shrines but he didn't want to
> take off his wonderful new shoes. The big brother pleaded with him, commanded
> him, scolded him and received nothing but howls for his trouble. Finally, the
> big brother gave a sigh and picked him up and carried him in. (Another Solomon
> in the making?) Incidentally, guiding is the only way in which the pilgrims
> are allowed to help while they are guests in the Holy Land. We were not even
> allowed to clear the table. And so, for this opportunity to serve, we were
> most grateful.
> 
> During the late morning of that second day, Paul Haney came to take us to
> the Monument Gardens. When I say "us", it normally is just the Westerners --
> because of the language thing it was only practical that we went in two groups.
> Also, when there was transportation involved, it would have been most
> difficult for all of us to go at once as there is a dearth of cars. And so
> Paul led us to the upper gardens -- near the Archives building, to the lovely
> monuments of Navab, wife of Baha'u'llah; of His young son who had died while
> they were in prison and of the eldest daughter of Baha'u'llah, sister of
> Abdu'l-Baha, whose title is the Greatest Holy Leaf and who is considered the
> holiest woman of the Baha'i dispensation (as are Mary in the Christian and
> Fatimih in the Islamic religions). Such lovely monuments -- prototypes of
> classical beauty. They are slender white marble columns forming a circle and
> surmounted by a simple shallow marble dome. In all they are, perhaps 12 feet
> high and the circle is 4 feet in diameter. The only identification is, for
> each, a small bronze placque that lays flat on the ground within the circle.
> These were shown to us and something of the history of the persons buried there
> reviewed. Then Paul explained some of the history of the gardens themselves --
> how the land was acquired, how and when the gardens were planned by the
> Guardian -- for whatever we saw, the Guardian had personally planned,
> supervised and, often, physically done. We saw the place where Baha'u'llah
> had pitched His tent (a fulfillment of prophecy) and a circle of cyprus where
> He had stood when He instructed Abdu'l-Baha about building the Shrine of the
> Bab. It was a glorious morning.
> 
> After our lunch -- with both Mr. Haney and Mr. Faizi present -- Harriet
> Wolcott came to drive us to have tea with the Universal House of Justice. Dear
> Harriet -- whom we had known so well for so many years. She and Charles had
> been in Los Angeles when we were investigating the Faith -- had been so much a
> part of our pre-Baha'i lives and our Baha'i baby-hood. What a different
> life she is now living than that she had led as the wife of a successful
> composer, conductor, arranger in Hollywood -- as the wife of the head of music
> at MGM -- with the parties and premiers. And, except for her loneliness for
> her children and grandchildren, she seemed completely happy. No regrets.
> 
> The Universal House of Justice is presently housed in Number 10, Persian
> Street -- just across from Abdu'l-Baha's house. It had been the Western
> Pilgrim House for many years -- but was now remodeled to make room for the
> necessary council chambers, offices and the like. Again, we were led into a
> vast reception room. This was one occasion, other than at the pilgrim houses,
> when all of us were together. There were about 30 or so chairs arranged in a
> large square. We were invited to sit down leaving chairs vacant here and
> there. As soon as we were settled, the members of the Universal House filed
> in. As they approached, that most memorable moment of the London Congress
> leapt into my mind -- as it had so many times since that April day in 1963. On
> that day, at that time, the members of the first Universal House of Justice
> were announced -- and called to the stage. They stood there all in a row --
> these same men who were now approaching us -- tears streaming from their eyes.
> I don't recall anyone ever having looked so beautiful -- having evoked such
> respect and confidence. If I believed in such things, I would swear that they
> were surrounded by an aura of white light. All 6,000 of us there in the Royal
> Albert Hall stood as one. There was total silence for a few moments . I don't
> think anyone breathed. Then a roar of applause broke out -- and lasted for
> fully 5 minutes. It was a long time before composure was regained and the
> business at hand could be dealt with. And so -- now in the house at 10 Persian
> Street -- there they were again. Walking around the group -- introducing
> themselves as they went. I carefully inspected the familiar faces as they came
> by -- and was relieved to see that they all looked extremely well and happy --
> their two years of staggering work had not weighed them down. When they had
> met everyone, they sat with us. Hugh Chance was to be the spokesman that day
> with Hushmand Fataezaam translating. Hugh greeted us on behalf of the House
> and explained its functioning. It has no officers. Each week they rotate
> chairmanship -- on an alphabetical basis. Again, this is to retain the
> importance of the House itself and to minimize the role played by those 9 men
> serving it. All letters are sent out simply signed "The Universal House of
> Justice" and sealed for authenticity. They normally meet for 3 days a week to
> deliberate on the various things that fall their lot -- and indeed these things
> are various. From personal problems of local believers (normally the function
> of a local spiritual assembly) to physical management of the properties and
> handling personnel, dealings with the government, making plans for the Baha'i
> world, counciling and guiding the 69 National Assemblies throughout the world
> and on and on. It is impossible to believe that 9 men could deal with such a
> quantity and variety of things -- so efficiently -- so perfectly. But they do.
> Or rather, the House does. The other three days (they allot themselves a day
> of rest a week -- but often don't take it) they work on the various
> "departments" -- investigating a phase, preparing synopsis, recommendations,
> etc. to present on the days of consultation. It was explained that their
> consultation is much the same s it is on any level -- more informed to be sure
> -- but with the diverse opinions very freely expressed. It is only in the
> decisions where the promised guidance comes. Much of what Hugh explained we
> had known, much we had not. He then introduced their small staff --
> translators, secretaries for various languages, etc. -- many of whom double in
> brass several times over. And Fugita was introduced. Fugita -- a legend in
> his own time. A tiny Japanese man -- in his nineties, I think -- one of the
> first Japanese to accept the Faith -- whom Abdu'l-Baha had called to come
> from America immediately after the first World War to help him in the gardens
> -- who had remained all those years to serve. A wonderful figure he is -- all
> 1/2 feet of him, wrinkled, weather-beaten, smile-lines permanently etched into
> that fascinating little face. He and the other members of the staff served us
> tea and cookies. When he got to us, Maury said to me, "They look so good, I
> don't know which to take." Fugita instantly rejoined -- "Why don't you take
> them all?" And then he laughed and laughed. We were really taken aback -- for
> somehow, he didn't look like he could speak English. But of course his was
> perfect -- as was his Persian and Japanese. What a delightful man -- with so
> many memories. The stories surrounding him are legion. He once asked the
> Guardian if he couldn't do a part of the gardens "his way" and the Guardian
> pointed to a spot at the top of the upper gardens -- and said that that could
> be his to do with as he liked. Apparently the Guardian went to "Fugita's
> garden" often to meditate -- and to survey the rest of the area.
> 
> After an hour or so of informal chatting -- with the members of the House
> moving from one group to another -- we returned to the pilgrim houses to get
> ready for dinner. That night Amoz Gibson joined us. Amoz, too, we had known
> rather well before his election. He is a beautiful American negro -- a humble
> school-teacher -- who had spent some years on an Indian reservation in Arizona
> teaching -- who had been on the NSA of the United Sates for several years and
> who had, with his family, attended the London Congress en route, he thought, to
> pioneer in Africa. It was not quite such a transition for them other than the
> awe of the new field of service. They had already uprooted themselves. But
> for the others the election had meant great personal sacrifice -- giving up
> homes, businesses, friends and family -- and with no idea how long they would
> be living in Israel. The next election will be in the spring of 1968 -- and,
> of course, no one knows who will be elected then. They are sustained but not
> salaried. Food, housing, etc. are paid for -- and there is a living allowance
> of well under a hundred American dollars a month. With prices as they are in
> Israel, you can imagine how far that goes. Believe me, they are not living in
> luxury! And so Amoz talked with us on that second night -- of the word just
> received from his wife -- then, with their tiny daughter, on a teaching trip in
> Africa -- and of his intended trip to South America. He planned to take his
> two sons with him -- and how excited they were at the prospect! His wife,
> incidentally, is a teacher too and teaches some of the children of the House
> members and Hands at their informal summer school there.
> 
> During the after-dinner time, the Easterners always passed goodies that
> they had brought with them -- deliciously fragrant and exotic candies, nuts and
> the like. One night a Turkish woman disappeared into her room and returned
> with a large bottle of cologne. She went to each person in turn, gestured for
> us to hold out our hands, and proceeded to pour -- not a drop or two -- but a
> whole handfull! It was quite a problem to know what to do with it -- but we
> patted it on everything we decently could in mixed company and just let the
> rest evaporate. You've never smelled such a fragrant bunch -- nor have you
> seen anyone more pleased than that dear woman was!
> 
> The next morning, after breakfast, we were invited to join the members of
> the House at their prayers in the Shrines. Again -- there is no way to
> describe the experience. Various ones read or chanted prayers -- some were
> standing, some sitting on the floor, some of the Persians were kneeling, their
> foreheads touching the floor -- whatever was natural to them, this they did.
> The girl who was studying opera chanted first -- and there was no doubt that
> the voice is, indeed, the only perfect instrument. Then the familiar voice of
> Charles Wolcott, firm, quiet; then the little peasant woman; then others.
> Then a moment or two of silence before Ali Nakjiavani chanted the Tablet of
> Visitation. I have mentioned the special sound that is there -- in the Shrine
> of the Bab. Never was it so evident -- it seemed to surround you -- to
> permeate every atom of your being, as though there were no barriers -- as
> though sound were meant to be felt as well as heard.
> 
> As we left and walked down the pathway, little Jessie Revel linked her arm
> through mine and I asked her if, when Ali chanted, it was not much as the
> Guardian sounded. She replied that, except for Ruhiyyih Khanum and Ali
> himself, everyone who had known Shoghi Effendi well thought that this was true.
> This, of course, would not be surprising for Ali had grown up in the
> Guardian's household -- had had his education supervised by him, had been close
> to him for so long. What a person he is! Young, handsome, wise, humorous --
> so many things. He and his wife, Violetta, were some of the first to teach in
> Africa and I recall so well sitting in the Wolcott's home in Los Angeles some
> 10 or so years ago listening to a letter about some of their trips -- taken
> under totally impossible conditions -- and of the victories that came from
> them. The Africans had known that they were different. Until they came, no
> white had come into their villages, into their huts and eaten with them from
> their common pots -- full of stews made of things unmentionable to us. True,
> the missionaries had come to Africa for years and years -- but had always built
> their own places, cooked their own food -- and then invited the natives to come
> to them. The Africans asked the beautiful young newly-wed couple why they had
> come and the Nakjiavanis had simply said, "Because we love you." "But why do
> you love us enough to eat with us?" And then the story was told to them -- and
> the first tiny torches were lit.
> 
> After the visiot to the Shrines, the morning was unscheduled and we three
> had a glorious time wandering through the gardens, climbing up, up, up to
> Fugita's Garden. The hillside is very steep indeed -- and even to walk up the
> paths is not easy. What it must have taken to lay out the paths with such
> perfect symmetry! And then to carve these gardens out of the rock and the
> rubble -- to plant them. And then, high, high up on the very top of them,
> there is a broad flight of stairs and an iron gate that marks the end of the
> now-developed ;area. Beyond that -- Fugita's garden. What a sweet contrast it
> is. It is barely noticeable, really. The native trees have been pruned here
> and there to perfect their line -- bolders have been cleared away but some
> have been left and arranged as only a Japanese could. A tiny patch of flowers
> planted here or there in perfect relationship to the things around it. Well
> worth the climb! And how amazing to think that Fugita still scrabbles up there
> to tend his garden! We sat on those high steps for a long time -- silent --
> drinking in the scene that lay before us: The expanse of the emerald gardens,
> the classic beauty of the Archives building, the sun reflecting like a beacon
> from the dome of the Shrine, the "King's Highway" -- a tremendous flight of
> stairs leading in a straight path from the Shrine of the Bab to the foot of
> Mt. Carmel and joining a street that leads directly to the shore of the Bay.
> Our eyes followed the line across the Bay -- to Akka.
> 
> And it was to Akka that we would go that afternoon!
> 
> After lunch with Mr. Haney, we all went to our rooms and packed -- for we
> were to be gone for two nights. "Take just a few things -- and hot water
> bottles," we had been told. Apparently there was no heating where we would be
> staying and, whether we slept with the bottles or not, we would need the warm
> water that remained in them in the morning -- to wash with. We giggled when we
> heard this -- but we took them.
> 
> At about 3:30 we piled into the cars. Again Paul Haney was to go with us
> -- to remain the first night and into the afternoon. Then Mr. Faizi would
> come. We took the long drive around the Bay -- and past the ancient city of
> Akka -- with its walls of yellow mud bricks. We would be back the next day to
> see it. Several miles beyond, we saw the aquaduct -- first built by the Romans
> and repaired and put into use again at Baha'u'llah's request -- thus ensuring
> the water supply of the city. Suddenly to our right, we caught a glimpse of
> the Mansion of Bahji -- and again, our hearts began to pound. We turned off
> onto a side road -- and then turned again -- and then we were coming fast upon
> another spiritual and physical oasis in a barren land. How had we not realized
> that here, too, were vast gardens? Somehow we had expected the Mansion and the
> Shrine to be just there in the middle of a few clumps of trees, a few flowers.
> Not so. Rather, perhaps 2 acres of beautifully laid-out formal gardens with
> the paths of crumbled stone, the low neatly trimmed hedges, the urns, obelisks,
> eagles, the lamps with their fat round globes -- all manner and kind of plants
> beautifully blended -- and again with the rows of cyprus sentinels. Far
> beyond, it was explained, the Baha'i holdings extended -- but time and money
> were not now available to develop them. Again, this is a prime tourist
> attraction of the area. And at the heart of this beauty lay the Mansion and
> the Shrine. For it was to this place that Baha'u'llah came and spent the
> last years of His life. Although He was still under technical arrest, He was
> at last allowed to leave the confines of that grim prison city of Akka -- after
> not seeing verdure for some nine years -- after more than 30 years of exile and
> prison. Here, in the very building where Baha'u'llah lived his last years,
> we were to stay.
> 
> The Mansion is a large, gracious two-story building, the second story of
> which is the living quarters. It is in a rectangular shape with mighty arches
> forming the lower story wall and sheltering the walkway that surrounds the
> building. The second story also has a walkway all around -- with smaller
> archways supporting the red-tiled roof. The walls of the actual building have
> simple and lovely restorations of the original panels painted above the
> windows. They are done in the Persian tradition -- and blue seems to dominate
> the color scheme. The Mansion had been built only a few years prior to
> Baha'u'llah's occupancy -- but its owner had fled during an epidemic and
> left it vacant. Abdu'l-Baha had been able to rent it for His Father for
> practically nothing, and later it was purchased. Interestingly, the man who
> built it had inscribed over the doorway the prophetic words, "Greetings and
> Peace be upon this Mansion! Its beauty will increase down through the ages.
> Within its walls wondrous and strange things will take place; things which all
> the pens of the earth shall be powerless to describe."
> 
> Mr. Haney led us up the stairway and into the central hall -- now so
> familiar a portion of the architecture of the area. A spacious room -- with
> tables and pictures of historical events, with documents marking official
> recognition of the Faith throughout the world -- with books in the numerous
> languages lined in cases -- and so on. It is here, we were told, that the
> Universal House of Justice comes when there are particularly momentous
> decisions to be made -- to pray at the Shrine of Baha'u'llah -- the HOliest
> spot in the world for the Baha'is -- to meditate -- to deliberate and to make
> the decisions that will guide the Baha'i world.
> 
> Lining the ample hall are doors to the various rooms. Each one has a
> theme -- the Esslemont room, the Queen Marie room, the Guardian's study, etc.
> The history and tokens of these people are housed in each -- somewhat like the
> rooms in a museum -- and yet not at all like that -- for the rooms are to be
> used. It was in these rooms that we were to sleep for the two nights. There
> were beds, dressers, chairs, desks. Bowls, vases and so on were sitting about
> as they might be in any home -- but when one handled them -- and casually
> examined them one might, as often as not, find a tidy bit of lettering on the
> underside that read "original". These were the very things that Baha'u'llah
> used! Only later would we really comprehend it all -- only in retrospect.
> There was so much!
> 
> On the walls were some of the original writings of the Bab and
> Baha'u'llah! And then -- there was Baha'u'llah's own room. It was on a
> corner -- and so situated that from the windows, one can see across the Bay and
> to Mt. Carmel. This was the room into which Edward Granville Browne was
> ushered in 1890 -- an event which he has so beautifully chronicled for the
> Western world. There was the low divan that lined the walls. There were some
> of the personal effects of Baha'u'llah -- His taj -- His toilet articles and
> so on. And on the floor, atop the Persian rugs, was His mattress -- just as it
> was when He passed away. Such a tiny mattress -- all covered in white linen.
> It is hard to think of this Person -- such a spiritual gargantuan -- as being
> housed in such a small human frame. And beside the mattress were His slippers
> -- a dark smooth cool leather -- with the back bent forward to make them
> scuff-like -- so typical of the Persian manner, we were to discover. More than
> anything else, the sight of those slippers remains etched in my memory. This
> room was to be left open to us -- at night a lamp would be left burning there
> -- so that we could go in at our leisure -- to linger as long as we liked. A
> bit of so-called modernizing had been done in one small portion of the building
> some years before. At the back entrance -- formerly the kitchen, I believe, a
> sink had been installed -- of the shallow kitchen variety -- with but one
> spigot -- for cold water, of course. There was a drain-board, basins, a rather
> bad small mirror and hooks for towels. Off this were the two toilets in their
> small stalls ... a Western one and an Eastern one. Another revelation -- I'd
> not known that there was a difference. But indeed there is. The Easterners
> think that we're quite unsanitary to use a chair-type device -- for theirs is
> like a shaped hole in the floor -- foot-treads to the sides -- the whole unit
> being made of porcelain in many cases. One squats. And no paper. But always
> a pitcher of water. I did not ask about the intricacies of the whole procedure
> -- but only drew my own conclusions. Later, when we went to Iran, we grew used
> to all this -- but here, Mr. Haney mercifully assigned the Eastern section to
> the men, the Western one to the women.
> 
> After our initial somewhat hurried introduction to the Mansion, we went
> down to the gardens for awhile -- then it was time to pay our first visit to
> the Shrine of Baha'u'llah. Again I am at a loss for words. We had so
> recently toured the grandiose cathedrals of Europe. We had lived for two days
> in the shadow of the richly beautified Shrine of the Bab. Here was the
> holiest spot on earth to millions of people -- and would be to billions more.
> Physically, what was it like? Actually, the Shrine itself is a simple
> single-roomed building -- perhaps 20 feet or so square -- large sand-stone
> coloured brick or cut stone -- with a red-tiled roof. But for the usual
> Persian rugs, vases and lamps, it would appear empty. Joining it -- and
> overlapping the corner of it by perhaps three feet -- is another building, more
> accurately described, I imagine, as an indoor courtyard. This room is fairly
> large, rectangular but for a raised antiroom at one end, white, and is totally
> dominated by its central planting that leaves an expanse of only about a 4 or
> 5 foot carpeted area on all sides of it. This garden contains alabaster
> vase-lamps, plants of different sorts and, on the corners of it, luxuriant
> asparagus fern that climbs on wires nearly to the ceiling. Just under the high
> ceiling and completely around the room is a triple row of foot-square windows
> through which the sunshine pours -- giving such a feeling of lightness -- of
> airiness, delicacy and true beauty. It is into this room that the Pilgrims
> come. First through some lovely hand-carved doors, then into a short entrance
> hall. One turns to the right then and sees, at the end of the semi-corridor
> formed by the garden, the place where the building intersects the Shrine -- a
> simple narrow door -- with a low flower-strewn threshold. The door is open and
> only a thin veil of golden net separates you from that sanctified spot.
> 
> Here too, we had prayers, all of us together. But, as at the other Holy
> Places, things seemed most right when I came alone -- or when just Maury and I
> visited them. Here, at the Shrine of Baha'u'llah, the feelings that we had
> had before were intensified many times over -- if that was possible. The peace
> and serenity of the place was complete. Not thinking, not praying, not
> meditating -- just "being". It seemed a most natural thing. As Maury and I
> first went there -- just the two of us -- that a pair of birds found an
> invisibly broken pane and flew in, to become wrapped in the joy of it with us.
> They sang so beautifully -- and flew so freely -- as we were singing and
> soaring inside.
> 
> There is nothing more that I can say about the Shrine of Baha'u'llah --
> except that I think, perhaps, a tiny glimmer of understanding of what the next
> world is made of was allowed, momentarily, to shine through my consciousness.
> 
> We had dinner that night with the caretakers of Bahji -- who had so
> lovingly greeted us upon our arrival. They are the Wardes -- dears -- whom we
> had also known on the mainland -- and met again as they journied through
> Hawaii. Their quarters are attached to the above-mentioned building -- which,
> in its turn is only a few hundred feet from the Mansion. It is humble, cheery
> and ever so home-like. The dinner was again delicious -- and afterward we sat
> about and chatted, heard stories and so on. Soon it was time to go to our
> rooms for the night.
> 
> In the morning, after a hearty breakfast, we were taken to Akka -- first
> to see the prison where Baha'u'llah had been kept. It is now a hospital for
> the mentally ill -- but the cell where Baha'u'llah was incarcerated has been
> given to the Baha'is and is so denoted by a small bronze plaque with which
> we had by now become familiar "Baha'i Holy Place." The prison itself is the
> one which stopped Napolean -- and the ancient cannon balls, still embedded in
> the walls, give silent testimony to that bit of history. In more recent times,
> it played a part in the making of the State of Israel. (Does anyone recall it
> in the picture "Exodus"?) For the latter reason, the State intends to
> gradually turn the entire building into a museum -- as they already have done
> with the wing in which Baha'u'llah's cell is found. Mr. Haney cautioned us
> not to talk with anyone as we went through the grounds -- lest we get involved
> with the "trustees" who are allowed to roam at will within the walled confines.
> So, silently, we went -- up the recently added outside iron steps to the
> corner cell-block. At the top of the stairs we paused and looked around -- at
> the even now sterile appearance of the surrounding "old city" -- with its
> people doing many of the things that they had done in the same garb and the
> same way that they had done them more than a half-century before. We entered
> the building -- and looked at the tiny pair of cells that had housed the
> combined number of 72 Baha'is -- under circumstances that were unbelievable
> severe. Mr. Haney took a large key from his pocket and thrust it into the old
> lock that kept us from entering Baha'u'llah's cell. It was so small. The
> solid walls had been recently whitewashed. Bare. The one small window could
> not be seen through well. It was through this window that Baha'u'llah waved
> his handkerchief so that those early Pilgrims, who had walked for 6 months
> coming from Iran, could see some sign of him from beyond the moats before they
> turned around and made the arduous journey back home. It did not seem possible
> that Baha'u'llah had survived His existence here for over two years.
> Baha'u'llah -- born Mirza Husayn Ali -- Prince of Nur -- raised in luxury --
> health already broken b his previous deprivations, from having been poisoned.
> But survive He did. And from this miserable place, He wrote His letters of
> command to the crowned heads of Europe!
> 
> We next visited the "sea-wall" where Baha'u'llah had been landed after
> the stormy voyage across the sea in that tiny ship -- carefully selected
> because there was little chance that it could withstand the voyage. (How
> simple it would have been if the whole lot of them would have gone down!) Then
> on we went through narrow little cobble-stone ;streets ;-- with barely inches
> to spare on each side of the station-wagon -- seeing this house, that area,
> that square -- all portions of the history of the Faith. We went to the little
> garden, once an island in the river, that Abdu'l-Baha had rented for his
> Father, and sat there on those quaint old benches and ate the luscious
> tangerines that grow all about. We saw the small cottage where He had stayed
> so many times, being loathe to leave the area of natural beauty after His years
> of starvation for it. His bed was still there -- this time not a mattress on
> the floor, rather a very high though small old-fashioned bed -- again dressed
> in white linen. From the Ridvan Garden -- for it had been named that after the
> Garden of Ridvan (Paradise) in Baghdad where He first publicly proclaimed His
> message in 1863 -- we drove to the House of Abud, situated in the shadow of the
> prison. It was to this house that Baha'u'llah had been moved following his
> years of strict confinement. A fairly large house it was -- but certainly not
> large enough for the numbers of people who were confined there. At first 13 of
> His followers of both sexes were confined to one tiny room. Later more rooms
> were made available to them. Here, too, was the place where Abdu'l-Baha
> had been married. The landlords had taken pity on the newlyweds and broken
> through a wall to the adjoined building to allow them a room to themselves.
> The building was made of the usual mud-coloured brick and when we entered, we
> first came into a large barren courtyard and went up some steep steps to the
> living apartment. We were told that, although others were eventually allowed
> to come and go at times, Baha'u'llah stayed in that upstairs apartment for
> some 7 years! We had lunch in the central room of that remarkable house -- and
> then went through it -- again having the history with which we were so familiar
> live for us. Strange how one's mind's eyes conjure up images that are nothing
> like reality -- how differently I had pictured this house. On our way back to
> Bahji, we passed the "Crimson Hill" -- so named because in the springtime it
> becomes a sea of scarlet anemonies.
> 
> Mr. Haney went back to Haifa then and Mr. Faizi was to come in time for
> dinner and to stay with us for the remainder of our time there. Although Mr.
> Haney had done a masterful job of explaining the various things to us, he had
> so often used the rather stock phrase "ask Mr. Faizi about that". For indeed
> Mr. Faizi is an historian of great note -- but not the dry kind in any way.
> His stories of the past are liberally spiced with personal notes and tremendous
> humor. Professionally he is an educator. He came from the city of Qum outside
> of Tehran -- the seat of Muslim learning where all the great Mullas are
> trained. His family had long been scholars of Islam -- and he and his brother
> -- when they became Baha'is -- became objects of persecution as is the lot of
> Baha'is there even today. Nearly anything you ask of him, he can immediately
> pull from memory -- but always giving references "This is spoken of in
> such-and-such a book or tablet -- or this was documented on my visit to
> such-and-such". They make a joke of his knowledge quite often there in the
> Holy Land. One of the first questions people ask when they see some Haifa
> gardens laid out as 8-pointed starts is "What is the significance of the
> eight-pointed star?" "Ask Faizi" is the quick reply. And Mr. Faizi's quick
> reply is, "They're easy to make and they're pretty." When you ask him the
> significance of prayer beads, he says, "Oh, they are toys." (And we found in
> Iran that he is right. All the men there carry them -- and when they are
> nervous, take them out and play with them -- fingering them, twirling them and
> so on. Much like a rubbing stone, I suspect. Certainly better than biting
> one's nails!) Mr. Faizi denies any special talents and explains that Persians'
> memories are trained from childhood. By 8 or 10, the Muslim boys are expect to
> know the entire Koran by heart -- as they feel that one cannot quote any one
> passage -- rather must take their Bible as a whole. You will find that a story
> told by one is told by another verbatem. Mr. Faizi explained that this was
> also the manner of learning in the Jewish tradition and that that is why the
> bible was enabled to come to us in such a pure form after so many many years of
> being word-of-mouth.
> 
> There was a bit of free time to clean up when we returned -- to visit the
> Shrine alone -- to walk in the gardens. I was doing just that when, suddenly,
> from out of the back door of the caretaker's house came Ruhiyyih Khanum! What
> a delightful surprise! She said, "I thought I'd just pull some weeds until
> supper-time. I can't bear seeing weeds in the gardens." So she and I squatted
> down and pulled weeds for about an hour. What a relief that was -- to do
> something -- however small. I mentioned that and she laughed and said, "I
> really think we should start a tradition for the pilgrims -- that they must
> pull 19 weeds before they go into the Shrines to pray each time. I think their
> prayers would get to heaven quicker. But of course, we can't do it because
> some of the pilgrims are so blind with the joy of being here that they would
> pull up all of the tiny new plants and leave the weeds." We chatted about this
> and that but mostly went about our work in silence. Violetta Nakjiavani, who
> had driven her and Faizi out, soon joined us. Then Mr. Faizi came around the
> bend -- with Elena and Maury listening to some fascinating story or other that
> he was telling. Ruhiyyih Khanum called out, "Come and join us." But Faizi
> went right ahead with his story -- so she muttered to him, "I guess there will
> always be those who work and those who tell stories." He laughed back at her
> tease and said, "Ah, yes, Khanum, we all must use our particular talents."
> 
> Dinner was very informal and gay that night. Ruhiyyih Khanum told us
> about this and that incident in her life there in the Holy Land, about the
> Guardian -- and then asked us again about how had we first heard of the Faith
> -- about how things were going at Program and Publicity Committee, I
> inadvertently said, "We were just in the middle of planning such and such when
> along came a rash of Holy Days..." She shrieked with laughter and she and
> Violetta almost fell off their chairs. When she had recovered enough to talk,
> she gasped, "Good heavens, it sounds like measles!" Later, as we were sitting
> around having tea, she asked us how we liked her ear-rings. They were quite
> long antique jet ones -- very attractive. We had noticed them, liked them and
> told her so. She said, "Good. I bought them recently in Italy but hadn't worn
> them. I knew I could get away with them with this group of pilgrims." We took
> this as a great compliment -- she could relax with us. Apparently most of the
> Persians, particularly, would be shocked if she was even the tiniest bit
> frivolous with them -- they expect the widow of the Guardian, as they had the
> wife, to be a great lady and always on "proper" behavior. I am sure that
> during all those years, it has been most hard on her to be reserved and
> dignified. She is such an alive person, full of mischief, a great tease.
> 
> After she and Violetta returned to Haifa, Mr. Faizi took us on another
> tour of the Mansion -- and told us in detail about so many of the things here.
> We kept him up for hours, asking for explanations of this and that. I had such
> a feeling of being a little child again, sitting in grandma's lap and begging,
> "Tell me another story." And as then, there was always another -- presented
> with such tender love.
> 
> The next morning we discovered that his indulgence of us had cost him a
> bit of health, that he had caught a dreadful cold. His health is not normally
> good as he is a diabetic and has heart trouble. But through his sneezes, he
> carried on. The only bright spot in it was that he now had to break the fast
> and joined us in lunches. After breakfast, we packed up our belongings again,
> bade the Warde's farewell and paid our last visit to the Shrine. Oh, how
> difficult it was to leave that heaven! I have written so little of it --
> probably because it meant so much. Only one thing softened the pain of the
> departure -- and that was the deep knowledge that we could return again and
> again in perfect memory. And the passage of time has proven this true. How
> often, now, when in prayer, one is suddenly "there" or in one of the other Holy
> places. As clearly as the first time. It is not ja picture consciously
> conjured up. It just happens.
> 
> En route back to Haifa, we were to stop at Mazra'ih -- a short distance
> from the Mansion and also outside the city walls. Baha'u'llah had stayed
> here two years immediately prior to moving to Bahji. The Solimis live there
> now -- a marvelous Baha'i family. He is in charge of overseeing the gardens
> and many of the other physical things involved in the Holy Land. She helps any
> and everywhere. The house itself was far from grand -- but so much better than
> the previous one. Spacious by comparison -- and surrounded by informal gardens
> and trees. There is a stream near by. We went into the house and the Solimis
> had the table prepared for our luncheon. We talked for awhile before eating,
> Mr. Faizi enthralling us with the typically delicious stories of the place.
> Afterwards we were led up the steep stairs to Baha'u'llah's quarters. Here
> were several rooms used by members of the family. Here again was a small and
> simple bedroom with a few of Baha'u'llah's personal belongings; with the
> small bed with white linen. And here, again a pair of those cool leather
> slippers beside the bed -- but this time lovingly filled with violets by the
> Solimis. We paused and looked and remembered and had prayers before going
> downstairs again. Before we left, Mr. Solimi brought us each some of the
> violets that had been in the shoes. What a sweet and precious gift.
> 
> Oh, quickly here I must insert that we had also visited, while at Bahji,
> the room in which Abdu'l-Baha stayed when he visited his Father. How could
> I have forgotten it? Such a warm and dear room it was! Full of the things
> that he had used -- toilet water still on the dresser -- books worn with use --
> so many little things. And this was the scene of a story told by the Nelsons.
> They had had their children on pilgrimage with them and, while they were
> visiting this room, their youngest became tired for it was her nap-time. Paul
> Haney, who was with them, very unceremoniously tucked her into Abdu'l-Baha's
> bed, saying, "Abdu'l-Baha loved children -- and he was very practical. He
> would be pleased to have the little one nap here."
> 
> What a welcome we received upon our arrival back at the pilgrim house on
> Carmel! The Persians greeted us with wild embrace and tears of joy streaming
> down their cheeks! One would have thought that we had known each other from
> childhood and had been apart for years! They kept trying to ask us what our
> "pilgrimage within a pilgrimage" had been like and we could only say, "You must
> wait and see..." for they were to leave two days later to experience what we
> had. We knew how deeply we had been affected. How much more it would mean to
> them -- for they knew the history so much better -- many of them having had
> relatives who were connected with the places that we visited. They could read
> for themselves many of the things that we had had to have translated. There
> could be no way that we could tell them.
> 
> That night the strangest giddiness came over all of us at the dinner
> table. What a transition! I don't think it mattered why, but it started with
> dear Ida wanting to save the orange peels to use in candying as a treat for us
> all. She started dictating just how we must peel the fruit to leave the peel
> intact -- and it got funnier and funnier to us. We roared over nothing and the
> Easterners watched us and tried to figure out what was happening -- tried to
> meticulously deal with their oranges in the same way we were without knowing
> why -- and, of course, that made it funnier yet. It was one of those times of
> delightful insanity when everything was hilarious and we couldn't stop. We
> finally got embarrassed and left the table and went outside -- only to have
> Maury and Phillip break into a soft-shoe routine. We were uncontrollable, but
> happily recalled that Abdu'l-Baha had called laughter the medicine for the
> soul. So we enjoyed the medicine to its fullest until it had dont its good
> deed and finally subsided. Once more this was to happen to us -- when we came
> back from the Archives building several days later. And we found that the
> Easterners felt it too when they returned from Bahji. We "asked Faizi" and he
> said that it was very natural -- that we had been through terrific spiritual
> experiences -- that it was a way of release.
> 
> Later that evening, the members of the Universal House of Justice and
> their wives all came for prayers together -- and then for tea and goodies and
> chatting. It was a lovely relaxed evening -- and we got to know some whom we
> hadn't had an opportunity to really talk with before.
> 
> The next day was Saturday -- Shabot for the Jews -- and the day that the
> members of the House are supposed to be at leisure. The Chances had asked if
> we three would like to see some of the Christian Holy Places while we were
> there and we did, to be sure. So they picked us up at 7:30 in the morning and
> off we went. The first stop was at Megiddo -- where we resumed our avocation
> of poking about in the ruins. It was here, you recall, that Solomon had
> stabled the horses for his 1,400 chariots. A fascinating place -- with layers
> of ancient history now being discovered -- actually seven cities, one on top of
> another. There was a small museum there describing what they had done and were
> now doing. Many of the things were well preserved -- a stone manger just as it
> was so long ago; portions of the stable walls; a marvelous water system with
> its great pipes made of brick -- so many things. But we couldn't see all that
> we wanted for we had much ground to cover. We were to be back in Haifa by
> lunch-time.
> 
> On toward the Sea of Galilee we went, seeing as we went the marvelous work
> that the Israelies are doing as far as planting is concerned. There are infant
> forests planted on nearly every vacant acre. The hills look green from it and
> one knows that it will be a beautiful land one day. We saw many donkeys along
> the road; surprisingly to us, Arabs in their native dress; often, in the
> fields, the large black tents of the Bedoins; only once did we see a ;couple of
> camels with their riders. We came upon the River Jordan, blue and wide in some
> parts, often bordered closely with trees -- and then to the Sea of Galilee. We
> stopped there and Maury ran down the steep pebbly bank to dip his hand in and
> bring some sprinkles back to us. It seemed odd to see families casually
> boating and swimming and fishing there. I recalled how I had, as a child,
> treasured a small vial of that water, given to me by a visiting missionary, and
> how, when it accidentally slipped out of my hand and broke, I had felt that I
> had committed an unpardonable sin. We saw at a distance the Mt. of Olives and
> later circled Mt. Tabor. Nazareth was our "big" stop and we wandered about as
> long as time would allow. It is, today, much as it must have been in Jesus'
> time. Tiny narrow cobbled streets -- no more than 4 or 5 feet wide -- with an
> 18-inch wide depression in the middle for the donkeys to use and for waste. It
> was terribly crowded -- people and animals jostling each other to get through
> -- many walking in the middle trough. It was very noisy as people hawked their
> wares from the tiny open shops that lined the streets. There were shops for
> brass and beans and sandles, squacking chickens and foodstuffs in a lovely
> disarray. Great platters of deserts made of honey and nuts were liberally
> displayed on the street and would have tempted us more had it not been for the
> swarms of bees and flies that were helping themselves. The good and the foul
> smells mingled together curiously. Perhaps the only things of great religious
> import that we saw there was Mary's well -- and what a disappointment! It was
> small and dirty and full of used kleenex and other litter. Such a shame that
> a place that means so much to so many should be treated this way! We paused
> briefly in one of the gift shops and bought some little carved animals for the
> children and then were on our way.
> 
> We arrived back at Haifa a bit late for lunch, finished quickly and
> prepared for another of the many memorable experiences that are a part of the
> pilgrimage -- a visit to the Archives. Happily, Violetta Nakjiavani was to be
> our guide. Most of you have seen pictures of the Archives building, I'm sure.
> It is a replica of the Acropolis -- so perfectly proportioned and stately! The
> huge bronze doors were swung open to reveal a single tremendous room with the
> one window at the far end extending to the ceiling. It is made of stained
> glass of simple design and rich hues of blues and purples -- and flooded the
> room with coloured light. The building has enclosed stairways going up both
> sides of the door end and the sides have narrow balconies. There are rich rugs
> on the floors that are so dwarfed by the size of the room as to look like
> scatter rugs. Lovely delicate cases -- many antique -- line the walls and are
> carefully placed. These were being purchased in London by the Guardian when he
> was struck ill and died. Many had told him that they were too small -- that
> they wouldn't look well in that room -- but he insisted -- and, of course, he
> was right. There were a few tables too and, other than these, only three
> enormous and breathtaking crystal chandeliers.
> 
> Violetta took us from case to case explaining to us what we were seeing.
> Again, it is completely impossible to tell of these things fully -- I can only
> mention a few. There are articles of clothing worn by the Bab and
> Baha'u'llah -- even a bit of the blood-stained and bullet-ridden shirt that
> the Bab was wearing when He was martyred in Tabriz. There were pen cases,
> books, jewelry and so on that had been Theirs. There were the portraits of the
> Bab and Baha'u'llah and the photograph of Baha'u'llah that can only be
> seen here -- for they are carefully guarded lest copies be made and, in later
> years, the followers will forget the Message and concentrate on the Messenger.
> We are constantly warned about this -- that superstitions can creep in so
> easily. When I first became a Baha'i I wondered about the keeping of the
> archives -- why it should have any importance. But being there -- seeing the
> things, it is easy to understand. How much better one can understand the
> history of the Faith when one sees these things. No word-picture, no telling,
> can show so much. It's why we have museums instead of just libraries, I guess.
> Most meaningful, most important of all the things displayed there were the
> actual tablets of the Bab and Baha'u'llah! Imagine! There was one that
> particularly startled us -- a letter written by the Bab to Baha'u'llah! One
> Prophet of God writing to Another! It would be, but for the time element, as
> though one were viewing a letter lovingly addressed by Moses to Christ. We
> saw, too, the "Bab's Address to the Letters of the Living", the "Hidden
> Words', so many of the Writings we have lived intimately with for so many
> years. We wondered that there was so much original material -- and later
> learned why. When Baha'u'llah wrote things, the originals often would be
> kept and copies made, reviewed by Him, signed, sealed and sent. Another thing
> of great interest to us was that Baha'u'llah's penmanship could not be forged
> -- for the simple reason that, following the poisoning in Baghdad, His hand
> shook for the rest of His life -- making his script impossible to copy. The
> impact of all that we saw was tremendous. We were exhausted by it. Several
> hours of total concentration, trying to remember this detail and that -- and
> all things closely related to the thing we love most -- the Faith.
> 
> Mr. Faizi joined us for dinner again that night -- together with David
> Hoffman -- member of the Universal House of Justice, British, scholar,
> publisher of George Ronald books (Sears, Townshend, etc.). They stayed on for
> tea as the dinner guests (hosts?) nearly always did -- to talk. Ida's candied
> orange peel was made by then and she passed it proudly. It was delicious --
> made even better, I'm sure, by the laughter it had engendered.
> 
> The next day the Easterners went to Bahji and it seemed particularly
> quiet. We missed them. Little was scheduled for the day -- so we did our
> chores, wandered about the gardens and then went into Haifa for a bit of
> shopping and browsing. Again we witnessed the great respect shown for the
> Baha'is there. We would ask to look at this or that momento of the Baha'i
> gardens or Shrines and they would ask "Are you Baha'is?" And when we said
> that we were, they would say, "Oh, then cut 25% from the prices you see -- the
> Baha'is are fine people, we like them to come here. So many people come to
> Israel to take -- but you have given us our greatest beauty." This attitude we
> saw evidence of so often and in such unexpected places and ways.
> 
> In the afternoon we were invited to Charles and Harriet Wolcott's for tea.
> How nice it was to be with them again -- just the four of us -- after so many
> years. The furnishings were so familiar to us -- first from their home in
> Hollywood, then from their apartment there -- then from the National
> Administrative Headquarters in Wilmette where they moved when Charles had been
> elected as secretary of the U.S. NSA -- and now here, half-way round the world.
> It had been home each of those places -- and now it was home again. The
> apartment was, to American standards, far from convenient or elegant -- but
> considered very nice and modern there. And it did have one distinct advantage.
> From the front balcony one could see all the Bay of Akka and, down the hill
> and to the side a bit, the Shrine of the Bab! The grand piano was there and
> Charles sat down and played for us. We asked Harriet if there was time for him
> to do anything with his music -- and she said that there was not -- that he did
> play for himself often to relax and they attend the symphony when they can --
> but that is it. That saddened us though it did not surprise us. He has such
> talent! We saw the latest pictures of their children and grandchildren --
> heard some family tapes -- and, when the mail came, Harriet let out a "Yippee!"
> She had gotten 5 letters -- the most, she said, in any day since they moved
> there. Several were from people we knew and she shared them with us. One was
> from their daughter, Sheila, and was full of plans for their visit to Haifa in
> the summer. Charles and Harriet were looking forward to it so eagerly!
> Pilgrimages are not arranged for the summer season -- to give the Holy Land a
> bit of a rest -- and because of the excessive heat. And so that is the time
> that the families of the residents come to visit. Much too soon, the afternoon
> passed.
> 
> After dinner that night, the Chances and two other couples who work there
> -- the Kents and the Kabans -- showed some marvelous and rare slides of the
> Holy Places in Iran -- foreshadowing what was to come for us. The next
> morning was at leisure again. At lunch, we were joined by Paul Haney and
> Hushmand Fatheazaam. I had known Hushmand's brother, Shidan, quite well in
> California some years before -- while he was a student there. How well I
> recall the shock we all felt when the word reached us that Shidan's father, a
> prominent physician, Chairman of the Assembly in Tehran, had been murdered
> because of his service to the Faith. He had been called to a home supposedly
> on a medical emergency one night late. They lay in wait for him at the front
> door. Shortly after that, Shidan returned to Iran and then went on to Africa.
> Hushmand served in India and became the secretary of their National Assembly.
> We did not meet his wife until we got to Iran where she had been called because
> of illness in her family. She is a most chic and talented person. Prior o
> moving to Israel, she had had her own dress designing house in Delhi.
> Hushmand is young (late thirties, I suspect) humble, loving and with such
> capacity! Again, no aloofness there ;-- at first meeting, he is warm and
> interested as a close friend. When Paul asked if he wanted to join us on our
> afternoon excursion, he jumped at the chance to -- as he said -- play hookey.
> We went to see the Temple property. What a spot! It is the promontory on the
> end of Mt. Carmel -- from which one can see both the Bay and the Mediterranian.
> It is a large plot of land -- much larger than we had imagined. There is
> nothing there yet -- but a couple of abandoned bunkers. We counted over 13
> varieties of wild flowers underfoot as we wandered about. The spring air was
> heavy with their scent. The story behind the acquiring of the land is quite
> interesting. It had belonged to the Catholic church from some hundreds of
> years. The Guardian saw it and decided that that would be the perfect spot for
> the House of Worship -- so he made a fair offer for it -- which was promptly
> and flatly refused. Somehow the government got wind of it and went to the
> Catholics, asking them to sell it to us. They said that the Catholics had had
> it for hundreds of years -- and what had they done with it? Nothing. But the
> Baha'is had had their properties for only a little time and had made them the
> most beautiful in all of Israel -- perhaps in all of the Middle East. Rather
> grudgingly, the sale was agreed upon. The Pope himself had had to sign the
> bill of sale. Plans are being developed for the edifice that will be built
> there.
> 
> We went then to the Cave of Elijah -- or at least one of them. There was
> an old church built around it and a stairway down to the shallow cave -- just
> under the alter. There are several Caves of Elijah close at hand, we were
> told, and much controversy over which is the right one. Abdu'l-Baha said
> that undoubtedly Elijah had stayed in all of them and more at one time or
> another -- how foolish people were to fight over such a thing. From there we
> drove along Panorama Drive -- seeing other Baha'i property and the view --
> and on to the small Baha'i cemetery. We paused there to have prayers at the
> graves of Millie Collins and Horace Holley. Some of the graves are very old --
> those of the earliest believers.
> 
> After our "outing", we had tea with those dear Revel sisters. They shared
> such precious stories of their experiences in the Faith -- and showed us many
> pictures that we had not seen before -- of Abdu'l-Baha and the Guardian.
> Again we were amazed by their vitality -- this pixie-pair -- and basked in the
> warmth of their love.
> 
> That evening Ruhiyyih Khanum joined us at dinner -- and spent an hour or
> so afterwards talking with us. Before she left, she came up to Ida and with a
> great twinkle, handed her the second vial of attar of roses that Ida had asked
> for -- "From my shop."
> 
> Again the next morning we had unscheduled time and the Chances asked if we
> would like to join them on a short trip to Akka -- as they were to take
> pictures for a friend. We jumped at the chance! What a reprieve! To be able
> to see the prison, the House of Abud, Mazra'ih and Bahji again, even so
> briefly! When we arrived at Bahji, the Persians were just leaving. They
> hugged us -- but they were silent -- hearts much too full and too heavy for
> conversation. We understood. Oh, how we understood!
> 
> During the drive back to Haifa, we recalled Baha'u'llah's prophecy that
> this then desolate area would one day become a thriving metropolis -- that the
> cities would grow and meet, circling the Bay. The prophecy is well on its way
> to becoming a reality already. After lunch, we went again to Number 7,
> Persian Street. This time, we were to visit the room of the Master --
> Abdu'l-Baha -- the room in which he lived during the last portion of his
> life and the room in which he had died. It is in a corner of the building --
> and, as with his room at Bahji, it was warm and cozy -- full of homey reminders
> of him; a dog-eared book about the California Redwoods by Muir -- that he
> adored; binoculars through which he constantly watched the erection of the
> original Shrine of the Bab; a bit of his favorite rock-candy. Stories again
> flooded our memories as we looked ;about this friendly welcoming room. It was
> not hard to picture him here.
> 
> Ruhiyyih Khanum had greeted us on the steps as we arrived -- dressed in a
> peasant skirt and dress -- hair loose, down her back and partially covered with
> a bandana. "Come in and make yourselves at home," she had said, "I'm terribly
> busy because I'm having the Fatheazaam children to dinner and I'm all involved
> in cooking. We all take turns, you know, when their mother is gone so they
> won't be too lonesome. I'll be back as soon as you've visited the Master's
> room." And then she had disappeared.
> 
> As we come from the Master's room, there she was again. "Oh, dear, I
> wanted to have custard for them and I've never known how to make it." Ida
> quickly volunteered to teach her and so we were all invited into the kitchen
> while they went at it. Ruhiyyih Khanum proudly showed off the barn of a
> kitchen that she had just done over herself. When Margaret Chance first came
> to the Holy Land, she had been asked to look at it and to suggest what could be
> done. Margaret told us that she had just gasped "Nothing! It's impossible!"
> But Ruhiyyih Khanum had been determined and, doing nearly all the work herself,
> including hammering, painting and wiring in a light fixture, had made it into a
> most charming place. The once gargantuan, high ceilings, cold single room had
> been divided into a pantry, kitchen and breakfast room -- old furniture and
> odds and ends had been painted gay colours and it had turned into one of the
> coziest places imaginable. While she and Ida addressed themselves to the
> custard, we wandered out into the garden -- again a charming and relaxed place.
> We suddenly heard a strange cry -- and low and behold, there was a pen of
> peacocks! Ruhiyyih Khanum is a nut for animals of all kinds and, after the
> death of the Guardian, began collecting anything she could get her hands on.
> Once Leroy Ioas, I think it was, was her house guest and when he went to take a
> bath, discovered an alligator in the tub! On her recent return from India,
> Paul Haney, with others, met her at the airport and she asked Paul if hew would
> carry a small box for her. He tucked it under his arm and, while he was
> walking along, suddenly felt it move. He told us that he had let out a
> blood-curdling yell and jumped a yard. "Oh never mind, Paul, it's just a
> little mongoose," she said. There was a little cottage in the garden -- almost
> like a doll's house -- that was Fugita's home. He came by while we were there
> -- fairly being dragged along by his beautiful black cocker spaniel. We told
> him that we had clammered up to his garden and he was terribly pleased -- and
> chatted about it while before he continued on his way. Soon the custard was in
> the oven and we gathered together in the sitting room once again for tea and
> gaaz -- a marvelous Persian candy made of pistacio nuts. Conversation jumped
> from one subject to another -- from eye exercises to archeology to eating
> habits to deeply spiritual things to history and on. The time sped by and soon
> we had to hurry back for dinner. But not before a quick trip to the kitchen
> revealed that someone had turned on the broiler instead of the oven and the
> custard had become a black-topped soupy mess! "Ah, well," our hostess said,
> "it was a lovely afternoon anyway. They'll just have to be content with
> cookies."
> 
> As this was our last official night of the pilgrimage, the Hands and many
> others came after dinner to have prayers with us at the Shrines and to visit.
> Quite late, the Chances spirited us off to their apartment to show us some
> moves of their families, travels and the London Congress. The next morning we
> went into Upper Carmel and, in spite of warnings, I went to the hairdresser.
> You have never seen such a place! And this was the best in town! It was just
> plain old-fashioned dirty. People wandered in and out -- the operators were in
> house dresses or slacks and bedroom slippers. Combs and brushes weren't washed
> between customers. I got hysterical. Over my protests, I got a bouffant "do"
> which was profusely lacquered with something that obviously was intended for a
> table-top or an alcohol-proof tray. Maury and Elena had wandered around the
> town and had had a fine time. They had gone into a bank to cash a check and
> somehow had found themselves being ushered into the president's office. He had
> a question. When he asked the Jews about their Faith, they eagerly told him,
> as did the Christians and he was at first incredulous (as I'm sure you-all
> are), then understood and was impressed. He said that he loved the Baha'is
> -- that their integrity was exemplary. Then Maury and Elena went to a coffee
> shop to sit awhile over a cup. An older man, owner of the shop it turned out,
> engaged them in conversation and, as soon as he heard that they were not
> tourists but Baha'is, launched into a story of his coming there, penniless,
> sleeping in parks, unable to get a job. One of the Baha'is there had lent
> him enough money to get started on when his own people wouldn't. He would
> never forget it. And so it is in Israel -- a constant reminder of the
> importance of living the life.
> 
> Lunch that last day was with Mr. Faizi -- now almost recovered from his
> cold -- and Dr. Hakim -- the only elderly member of the Universal House of
> Justice. As I understand it, Dr. Hakim had been the one who attended
> Abdu'l-Baha at the time of his passing -- had lived for years in the Holy
> Land and served the Faith in many ways. We were to fly out that afternoon late
> and so, upon advise, called to reconfirm our reservations for the third
> time. Yes, we were booked on the flight. Could we reconfirm our
> reservations out of Iran to India as well, we asked? Oh, the flight you are on
> is not allowed to let passengers disembark in Iran -- you will have to go on to
> India immediately, they said. We nearly panicked! Mr. Kent, who deals with
> all such things for the pilgrims, was not at all surprised. This was typical,
> he said. He went down into town and got it all straightened out. We would
> leave on a later flight and everything would be all right. We got a cable off
> to the Sabets immediately telling them of the change and, since we would be
> arriving in Tehran at about 3:30 a.m., we would go directly to the hotel and
> see them the next day. Some of the Iranian pilgrims were to be on the same
> flight -- and insisted that they would see us safely to our hotel. Some who
> were booked out earlier had said that they would stay at the airport for 5
> hours to see that we were all right when we landed! It took much persuasion to
> get them to abandon the idea. Can you imagine an American returning from a
> long hard flight after an extended trip offering such a thing?
> 
> We had a bit of time with the Wolcotts again and then packed up, went to
> the Shrines and, immediately after dinner, bid a tearful farewell to all those
> who had gathered to see us off. Several of them pressed into our hands copies
> of pictures we had admired, addresses, small gifts. It was hard to imagine
> that we had been there only for such a short time -- at this place of our
> dreams -- for it was more like a lifetime. So much had transpired. As we
> climbed into our taxi, we wondered how many of these dear faces we would see
> again -- but in wondering, we knew that we would never really leave each other
> for we were bound together in a special way -- linked eternally through the
> precious experience we had shared.
> 
> We were silent as our taxi lumbered on toward the airport.
> 
> METADATA
> 
> Views1240 views since posted 2025-10-07; last edit 2025-10-07 02:50 UTC;
> 
> previous at archive.org.../tyler_pligrim_notes_1965
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> — *Pilgrim Notes (Used by permission of the curator)*