Al Aqsa To Hagia Sophia: Historical Sites At Religious And Cultural Fault Lines

Nestled in the bustling heart of Istanbul’s Beşiktaş district, the Lala Hayrettin Mosque stands as a mosaic of history’s whims. Once a Roman temple, later transforming into a synagogue, then consecutively an Orthodox and a Catholic church before finally embracing its current role as a mosque, this edifice is a chronicle of religious metamorphosis.

Its venerable walls echo the tales of empires risen and fallen, of faiths morphed and merged, encapsulating the profound human journey of spiritual search and expression.

This architectural chameleon is far from being alone in its historical promiscuity. Across continents, sacred sites like the venerable Hagia Sophia and the striking Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba have been repurposed to echo the prevailing winds of religious, political and nationalistic fervour of their epochs.

While some of these sites have become bastions of cultural amalgamation, others, like the contentious Babri Masjid and Jerusalem’s tumultuous Al Aqsa Mosque, have sparked fires of debate and discord, igniting the passions of millions.

The Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, a marvel of Byzantine architecture, was once the world’s largest cathedral. Built in the sixth century under Emperor Justinian, its majestic dome and intricate mosaics reflected the glory of Eastern Orthodox Christianity.

When Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror captured Constantinople in 1453, Hagia Sophia became a mosque—a decision that established Muslim dominance in Europe and preserved the building’s architectural grandeur.

In 1934, the secularist Turkish leader Mustafa Kemal Atatürk converted Hagia Sophia into a museum, marking a move toward modernity and neutrality. However, this status quo was upended in 2020, when Turkish courts reinstated its mosque status. For many Turks, the decision represented not just a revival of religious heritage but also a resurgence of national pride rooted in the Ottoman past.

Hagia Sophia’s transformation into a mosque became emblematic of Turkey’s evolving identity under Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s leadership, blending religious revivalism with nationalist aspirations.

Abrahamic Tapestry

But few religious sites have evoked as much emotion and controversy as the Al Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem. For Muslims, Al Aqsa holds profound religious significance, being the first qibla in Islam and the site of Prophet Muhammad’s Isra and Miraj (Night Journey and Ascension). Spanning 144,000 square metres, it is one of the holiest sites in Islam. However, its history is also steeped in conflict and conquest.

At the heart of Judaism, Christianity and Islam lies a shared foundation of monotheism and a rejection of idol worship. These three major religions trace their origins to the Prophet Abraham (Ibrahim), born in Babylon around 1996 BC during the reign of King Nimrod, in present-day Şanlıurfa, Türkiye, near the Syrian and Iraqi borders. His life, legacy and the narratives surrounding him have profoundly shaped history, culture and religious beliefs across millennia.

Jewish and Islamic traditions recount a legendary confrontation between Nimrod and Abraham in the ancient city of Urfa. Despite opposition, Abraham gained followers, including Princess Sarah, a Babylonian royal whom he married. Guided by divine instruction, Abraham and his followers embarked on a journey to the Promised Land, known as Canaan (modern-day Palestine). Their caravan rested at a colossal rock in Jerusalem, a site that would later become the Dome of the Rock within the Al-Aqsa Mosque compound.

Rabbinic teachings suggest this very rock as the spot from which God created the world and formed Adam from gathered dust. Another tradition places this sacred dust at Mecca, further linking the histories of these Abrahamic faiths.

Palestine’s location as a crossroads of Africa, Europe and Asia made it a pivotal hub for trade and a natural destination for prophets spreading divine messages to diverse populations. Yet, even as Abraham and Sarah faced childlessness in their later years, destiny unfolded differently. At Sarah’s suggestion, Abraham married Hajira, an Ethiopian slave, who bore him a son, Ismael. Following divine guidance, Abraham left Hajira and their newborn in a desolate desert, today’s Mecca.

Amid the barren dunes, a miraculous spring—Zamzam—gushed forth at Ismael’s feet, ensuring their survival. This spring remains sacred in Islam, its waters sustaining Mecca for centuries. Ismael grew to become the forefather of the Arab race, and generations later, Prophet Muhammad emerged from his lineage. Abraham returned to Mecca as Ismael matured, and together, they built the Holy Kaaba, establishing the city as a thriving centre of faith and commerce.

Back in Jerusalem, Sarah gave birth to Isaac (Ishaq), who fathered Jacob (Yaqoob). Jacob, also known as Israel, became the patriarch of the 12 Jewish tribes, forging a connection among Jews worldwide as the “sons of Israel”. The bond between Arabs and Israelis, descendants of Abraham’s sons Ismael and Isaac, mirrors that of stepbrothers. However, the royal lineage through Sarah granted a sense of superiority to the Israelis, a notion Prophet Muhammad addressed in his final sermon, emphasising equality irrespective of race, colour or creed.

Both Jews and Arabs trace their ancestry to Abraham, a descendant of Shem, son of Prophet Noah, making them Semitic peoples. Yet, history is rife with tales of sibling rivalry. Jacob’s youngest son, Joseph (Yuusuf), fell victim to his brothers’ jealousy, and was sold into slavery in Egypt. However, Joseph rose to power and invited his family to Egypt, providing refuge and stability.

Over time, the power dynamics in Egypt shifted, and the indigenous Coptic community subjugated the Israelites. Under the Pharaoh’s oppressive regime, male Israeli infants were drowned in the Nile—a dark chapter in their history. Moses, an infant placed in a basket, was discovered and raised by the Pharaoh’s daughter as a Coptic. Moses would later lead the Israelites, receiving divine revelations to craft the Torah and guiding his people back to the Promised Land.

This marked a golden era for Judaism, characterised by rulers like David and Solomon. King Solomon constructed the First Temple in Jerusalem around 957 BC, with legends suggesting supernatural beings—Djinns—assisted in its construction.

Destruction and Rebuilding of the Temples

However, the Babylonians, harbouring animosity toward Abraham’s descendants, led a devastating campaign against Jerusalem under King Nebuchadnezzar II in 586 BC. The city and the First Temple were destroyed, thousands of Jews massacred, and survivors taken as slaves.

The rise of the Persian Empire saw Cyrus the Great liberate the Jews, facilitating their return to Palestine and the rebuilding of the Temple. Later, under Herod the Great, the Second Temple underwent grand expansions, becoming a magnificent structure.

The life and teachings of Jesus brought profound changes to the region. According to Christian tradition, his crucifixion, instigated by certain Jewish factions, led to the persecution of his followers. Seeking refuge, many migrated to Antakya (ancient Antioch) in present-day Türkiye. St. Peter’s Grotto in Antakya is believed to be the first Christian house of worship, where followers were first called Christians.

As Christianity spread, the Roman Empire converted and turned against the Jews, holding them responsible for Christ’s death. In 70 CE, the Romans, led by Titus, destroyed the Second Temple, banishing Jews from Jerusalem and its surroundings.

Centuries later, during Caliph Umar’s reign, Arab armies besieged Jerusalem. In 637 or 638 CE, Patriarch Sophronius surrendered, agreeing to submit only to the Caliph. Umar cleared the ruins of the Temple Mount—then a dumping ground—and established Masjid al-Aqsa. Though an agreement initially barred Jews from residing in Jerusalem, subsequent Muslim rulers did not enforce this restriction.

Jerusalem remained under Arab control until the First Crusade in 1099. Saladin reclaimed the city 90 years later, maintaining Muslim authority until 1967. Today, while Israel controls Jerusalem, Masjid al-Aqsa remains under Jordanian custodianship.

Over two millennia later, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s vow to rebuild the Third Temple on the site of the Al-Aqsa Mosque has reignited tensions between Muslims and Jews amid the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Orthodox Jewish tradition holds that the Third Temple will rise with the arrival of the Messiah.

Netanyahu, however, cites destiny and archaeology, referencing a coin inscribed with “Benjamin” found near Al-Aqsa. His choice of the name Benjamin—adopted after his family’s migration from Poland to Israel—adds a personal dimension to his narrative. His original name is Ben Nitay, which he used as late as 1978.

Spain’s Córdoba Symbol of Cultural Synthesis

The Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba in Spain’s Andalusia stands as a monument to both cultural synthesis and historical rancour. It was constructed as a mosque in 785 by Abd al-Rahman I, founder of the Islamic Emirate of Córdoba.

Over centuries, the mosque’s architecture evolved, showcasing the brilliance of Islamic design, with its horseshoe arches and iconic red-and-white striped columns.

When Christian forces captured Córdoba in 1236 during the Reconquista, the mosque was converted into a Catholic cathedral. While modifications were made, the structure’s Islamic essence remained. For many years the Mosque-Cathedral was a site of contention, with Muslims yearning for its return to their religious fold.

The suggestion of an exchange between Aya Sofia in Turkiye and the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba once arose in diplomatic talks between Madrid and Ankara but ultimately failed. For many Muslims, the site’s current state is a painful reminder of their Andalusian heritage. Yet, over time, they have largely resigned to its fate, recognising it as an enduring testament to a lost Islamic golden age.

Despite this resignation, the Mosque-Cathedral remains a powerful symbol of religious coexistence. Its ability to encapsulate both Islamic and Christian histories has turned it into a UNESCO World Heritage site and a global tourist attraction.

In stark contrast to Córdoba’s resigned acceptance, the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya became a flashpoint of nationalistic fervour and communal violence. Like Hagia Sophia’s transition back into a mosque in 2020, it also reflected a broader trend where sacred spaces become symbols of nationalistic pride.

Lahore’s Shahid Ganj Gurdwara

In South Asia, interestingly, long before the Babri Masjid dispute arose, another house of worship had become a flashpoint of contention. Lahore’s Shahid Ganj mosque-gurdwara dispute in the pre-Partition era turned bloody, claiming the lives of thousands.

Built as a mosque in 1653 during Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan’s reign, it was converted into a gurdwara in 1799 after the Sikh army under Maharaja Ranjit Singh captured Lahore.

Tensions erupted as Muslims sought to reclaim the site, but when the matter reached the courts during British rule, the law of limitations was invoked to reject the Muslim claims.

Despite the bloodshed and communal violence in the years that followed, and even after the creation of Pakistan, the decision was never overturned. The Shahid Ganj site continues to function as a gurdwara to this day, a stark contrast to the tumultuous developments surrounding similar disputes.

Lauding Pakistan’s decision not to reopen this sensitive chapter, scholars often cite it as a precedent for managing contested religious spaces with a sense of continuity and respect for historical verdicts.

Sacred spaces transcend their role as places of worship, serving as cultural milestones, symbols of authority, and stages for shaping identity. The changes they endure, whether harmonious or marked by conflict, reveal profound insights into the societies that shape them and the eras that birthed them.

These spaces challenge us to ask: can they become bridges rather than battlegrounds?

In a divided world, sacred spaces like Al Aqsa, Babri Masjid, and Hagia Sophia which have raised nationalistic fervour, should have endured as symbols of hope. Far from being mere relics, these sites embody living histories that call for preservation, respect, and a deeper understanding of the lessons of the past. These spaces teach us that unity is not just a possibility—it is a necessity for a better future.

(Views expressed are personal)

Iftikhar Gilani is a journalist currently based in Ankara, Türkiye

(This appeared as 'Sacred Games' in the Print)