Lalish

For the next 10 days we are on holiday due to the Eid.  I don’t know enough about this holiday to adequately describe it, but I can say that it is about four days long and involves a lot of visiting family members and constant feasting.   For us Americans this translates to a lot of down time and relaxation, which is most welcome at this time.  Today we decided to take a trip, with two of our Kurdish friends, to the city of Lalish in northern Iraq. 

            This city, sacred to the Yazidi religion, is about an hour away from Duhok.  Most of the tidbits we have heard about the Yazidi people so far have been tainted with skepticism and disdain; they have even been referred to as “devil worshippers” by Muslims.  Given that the Yazidi claim to have been around long before Islam, inhabit the same region, and live fairly different lives than your average Kurds, this is semi-expected and must be taken with a grain of salt.  After doing a little bit of my own research online there are certainly some odd intricacies about the Yazidi people, i.e., not accepting converts, not allowing intermarriage with other faiths, having a caste system, not stepping on doorways, having a family never leave the holy site, etc.  These types of beliefs certainly seem odd to any outsider; however, in my opinion, just about all of organized religion has odd beliefs and rituals, most of which seem ridiculous when examined with rational thought. 

            Lalish itself was quite small, and was essentially a quaint village tucked in the mountains.  At first glance you would not think it to be the holy site, akin to Mecca, for a religion with over 300,000 followers in Iraq alone.  As we approached the village two things were clear: we had no idea where we were going, and everyone seemed to wear suits or dresses but barefoot (in holy sites you must remove your shoes).  I was incredibly thankful to have our Kurdish friends, Aza and Herman, with us to guide the way.  Despite our friends being Muslim and the village being, I imagine, 100% Azidi, the common language of Kurdish allowed us to meet a friendly gentleman who took us to the sacred temple and arranged for a free tour for us. 

            The temple itself was nothing spectacular, and bore no resemblance whatsoever to elaborate Western churches or intricately designed Eastern mosques.  It was a simple building with conical shaped figures at the top.  After removing our shoes in order to enter the temple we found that the interior walls remained empty except for the black marks where candles had been lit.  There was no decoration in the temple, except the large amounts of cloth tied to central pillars.  We were told that Yazidi would place money in the cloth and then tie it to the pillar; after a certain amount of time they would come back and get it and they would have good luck.  Something could have been lost in translation here, but as we continued through the temple the theme of good luck continued to appear.

            In the next room we saw people trying to throw a cloth onto the remnants of what looked like an old statue.  You had to close your eyes and throw the cloth onto the statue’s head.  If you succeeded on the first try, your heart is pure and your wish would come true.  You had a second try if your first attempt failed, but anything after that you were out of luck.  Paige and I both landed the cloth squarely on the first try, which made me internally chant, “USA! USA!”  Additional rooms in the temple were similarly indistinctive, and the rest were filled with large urns which the Yazidi had previously used to store olive oil.  Fresh water from the mountains flowed into small pools in the temple, and these were considered holy.  In the final room we found two small holes in the ground.  One was supposed to represent paradise, and the other represented hell.  The idea was to stick your hand in both holes; paradise would feel far cooler, and hell would feel hotter on your hand.  I felt nothing, but I was nonetheless intrigued by sticking my hand in this strange pair of apertures.    

            Departing the temple we continued our ascent through the village.  Stares were coming from every direction, but this was not surprising since it happens just about everywhere and I am not sure how many Americans have ever gone to Lalish.  Neither of our Kurdish friends had ever been either.  As we climbed up staircases interwoven in what seemed like people’s houses, we came to the top of the village.  The conical shaped Yazidi structure was prominently featured for the whole village to see, and the panoramic view was quite picturesque.  All in all, my experience in Lalish was a brief but worthwhile experience.  I did not get to learn much about their people or culture, but to see something different than what you are used to is almost always a net positive.