According to Islamic tradition, the prophet ʽAkasa bin Moḥsin, one of the disciples of the Prophet Muḥammad, is buried in the mosque of Nabi ʽAkasa, located in Western Jerusalem, next to Strauss Street and Mea Shearim. Approximately 200 meters south of the mosque is the al-Qameriya türbe, named after Hassam ed-Din al-Qameri, which contains three tombs. According to one tradition, members of the Qameriya family who fell in battle against the Crusaders between 1251 and 1266 are buried in this mausoleum. Both structures, dating back to the Mamluk and Ottoman periods, were revered until 1948. Following the Israeli War of Independence, the buildings fell into neglect; in the subsequent decades, the municipality repurposed the mosque and the adjoining buildings for use as storage and a youth club while developing the surrounding area as a playground. In 1998, the Israel Antiquities Authority conducted extensive restoration work at the al-Qameriya, which included repairing the dome and stabilizing the walls. The site was subsequently locked by the municipality and remained relatively unknown, hidden as an old Muslim building in the heart of Jerusalem’s Orthodox neighborhoods. Unlike many other Muslim holy sites that were Judaized during this period, Nabi ʽAkasa and al-Qameriya have not attracted Jewish religious attention. 

This reality changed dramatically in the autumn of 2023 when young yeshiva students forcibly opened the al-Qameriya building and declared it the burial site of Benjamin, son of Rachel and Jacob, one of the twelve tribes of Israel. Due to security conditions that year, the annual hillula (religious celebration) in honor of Rachel (11th of Heshvan) was canceled. Many worshipers sought an alternative by venerating her son’s newly declared tomb, conveniently located next to several important ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods in Jerusalem. The biblical account of Rachel passing away while giving birth to her son Benjamin on the same day added significant weight to the event on Strauss Street, underscoring the importance of this newly created Jewish holy site.

Jewish interest in the neglected türbe can be traced back to the 1980s or 1990s. Initially, the site was named after Rabbi Chananya Ben Akashaya, one of the Tannaim (sages) of the Mishnah. Although his tomb is traditionally identified in the Lower Galilee (next to the ancient Kfar Chananya), the phonetic similarity between the Arabic name (Nabi ʽAkasa) and the Hebrew name of Rabbi Chananya Ben Akashaya led some to attempt to identify the sealed Muslim building in Jerusalem as the resting place of Rabbi Chananya. This “tradition” never succeeded as pilgrims continued to venerate Chananya’s tomb in the north. Similarly, during the COVID-19 pandemic, when it was more difficult to visit the graves of the righteous (kivrei tzadikim) in the north, there were attempts to connect the Jerusalemite site to Benjamin, but these efforts to convince the public of the authenticity of this “tradition” also failed. It is possible that the reason for this failure was the existence of a grave already identified for Benjamin, to which Jews had made pilgrimage for many years. This tomb is located near Kfar Saba (east of Tel-Aviv) and, like many other Jewish holy places, is mentioned in the testimonies of Jewish pilgrims from the Late Muslim period.

In late 2023, however, the situation changed. A combination of several important factors contributed to the success of connecting the Muslim mausoleum to Benjamin. Worshipers felt a genuine need for a nearby site of veneration, which aligned with the growing popularity of tomb veneration in many Hasidic communities. These factors, coupled with the unique security conditions at that time, made the conversion of the site possible. Ahead of the hillula, pashkevilim (notices) were posted on the bulletin boards in nearby areas inviting the public to attend “his holy tomb [of Benjamin] in his tribe’s estate in Jerusalem, in accordance with tradition from the elders of Jerusalem, pious and kosher tzadikim and kabbalists and their sons.” During that day in October, hundreds visited the breached Muslim tomb (most of them were Breslov Hasidim) and in the evening, they held a feast there. Today, not only is Benjamin’s tomb venerated by many, but also are those of his four sons: Bela, Beker, Eshbal, and Huppim, “buried” in the same building. The five tombs are covered with plastic curtains inscribed in Hebrew. Worshipers pray and light candles at the site. Women pray outside. A Hebrew sign declares that this is the tomb of Benjamin, son of Jacob and Rachel. 

One of the Breslov rabbis involved in the development of the site and its designation as a Jewish holy site emphasized that this was done “in full consultation with the local authorities.” He stated that “the old building has historical significance and an ancient Jewish tradition passed down through generations, which supports the identification of the grave of Benjamin, son of Jacob and Rachel, alongside sources that date back over 2,000 years, such as in the ‘Sefer Hasher’ and many others.” Additionally, leaning on obscure “Jewish traditions” and “sources,” the rabbi mentioned receiving “numerous inquiries from rabbis, kabbalists, admorim (rebbes), and members of the old settlement (yishuv) in Jerusalem who spoke of their connection to the holy site even before the establishment of the state (before 1948), and from traditions passed down for hundreds of years.” “In difficult times like these for the Jewish people,” he continued, “we pray that the many prayers offered at this site on the day of hillula will make a great impression in heaven for the salvation of the people of Israel, and that we will achieve unity among the people of Israel in anticipation of the coming of the Redeemer of Justice.”

The 2023 incidents in Jerusalem should be connected to a continuing process that started in 1948. The Judaization of Muslim holy places and their development as sites of Jewish heritage is part of a broader change that remnants of Muslim presence in the Israeli landscape underwent over the last seven decades. Names of many places have changed from Arabic to Hebrew; the remains of Arab houses, villages, and neighborhoods have been cleared from the landscape; Muslim graveyards were cleared, and holy places have been transformed. These sites (for example, in Tiberias, the tomb of Sitt Sukayna, great-granddaughter of the Prophet Mohammad, became the tomb of Rachel, the wife of Rabbi Akiva), which became an integral part of Jewish sacred space, played an important role in the formation of the Jewish-Israeli identity and were a tool in branding the local landscape as Jewish and Israeli. Even if Jewish pilgrimage to Rabban Gamliel’s tomb in Yavneh (formally the tomb of Abu Hurayra) or David’s Tomb on Mount Zion (Nabi Daud) had roots before 1948, pilgrimage to these sites after the 1948 war was largely a new phenomenon.

The process of transforming holy sites from one religion to the other took place on two parallel planes—the institutional and the popular—as both the Israeli Ministry of Religious Affairs and worshipers and believers converted Muslim holy places into Jewish sacred sites. This process was tightly linked to the social and religious processes the State of Israel was undergoing. The wars in 1948 and 1967 had a decisive influence on the closing and opening of geographical regions to worshipers. The 1973 war with Egypt and Syria and the deaths of thousands of Israeli soldiers led to a deep social crisis among the Israelis. In 1977, a dramatic political turnover led to the strengthening of the political power of Jewish religious parties. The status and role of Jews from Arab countries in general, and those who migrated from North Africa in particular, grew, and with it their involvement in the development of sacred Jewish space. Israeli society became more traditional and religious. A wave of repentance and increased observance, the following of Hasidic groups who worshiped at the tombs of the righteous, and the growing need for more accessible holy places all led to a growing trend of appropriating Muslim holy places. Individuals and communities seized responsibility for developing sacred Jewish space and finding new pilgrimage sites. The outcome of the process was the expansion of sacred space in the State of Israel and the inclusion of the periphery—where in many cases there were former Muslim holy places—as an integral part of the Jewish map of holy places. 

The case of Benjamin’s tomb in Jerusalem raises the question of how this rapid process of sanctification occurred without any major criticism. Did the expropriation of this Muslim holy place and its conversion into a Jewish site disturb any of the Jewish pilgrims who now frequent it? Is the fact that their prayers are conducted in a building with clear Muslim architecture—featuring Arabic writing on the walls and a Muslim prayer niche—a religious and national obstacle for them? Or are they satisfied by the “history” of the site and its alleged mention in sacred Jewish literature, viewing its Muslim past as an element that enhances its authenticity?

It is true that among the ultra-Orthodox community, there were voices protesting the hasty sanctification of the tomb. One rabbi, in response to a question about the authenticity of the site, remarked that “every decade the issue comes up, but in reality, it’s an abandoned mosque with Arab graves on its surface. Each decade, different individuals come forward, attaching the name of a new sacred figure to the place. They walk around with shofarot, trumpets, and drums, making noise to wake up the poor souls buried there.”

Some firmly stated that there are no ancient sources or traditions—neither Jewish nor Muslim—confirming that this is indeed Benjamin’s tomb, and that attempts to rely on prominent figures like admorim, rabbis, and kabbalists who allegedly validate the tradition amount to nothing less than fraud. Neighbors protested against “dubious individuals who took over the neighborhood garden with separation fences, loud music, signs, and graffiti, creating a significant amount of disorder.” However, these protests, along with the discomfort surrounding the fact that this is actually a Muslim holy place with no connection to Jewish history, proved ineffective as Benjamin’s tomb continues to be used as a pilgrimage destination.

Further Readings

Bar, Doron. “Between Muslim and Jewish Sanctity: Judaizing Muslim Holy Places in the State of Israel, 1948-1967,” Journal of Historical Geography, 59 (2018): 68–76. 

Bar, Doron. “The Changing Identity of Muslim/Jewish Holy Places in the State of Israel, 1948–2018,” Middle Eastern Studies 59, no. 1 (2023): 139–150. 

Bar, Doron. “Kivrei Tsadikim as Holy Places? The Tsadikification Process of Jewish Cemeteries in the State of Israel,” Journal of Modern Jewish Studies 22, no. 4 (2023): 543–566. 

Frantzman, Seth and Doron Bar. “Mapping Muslim Sacred Tombs in Palestine during the Mandate Period,” Levant 45 (2013): 96–111.