About 95 kilometers from Nazareth, the landscape shifts dramatically as mountain ranges rise and stretch across the horizon like a vast, unfolding wing.
According to thereporterethiopia, wide tracts of cultivated farmland accompany the approach, giving way to the bridge into Nazareth and a tunnel that opens onto the modern town built around one of Christianity’s most sacred places—the Basilica of the Annunciation, where tradition holds that the Virgin Mary first learned she would bear a son.
Inside the basilica’s gated compound, the layers of history are almost tactile. Archaeological remains of Crusader churches, Byzantine masonry, and Roman-era foundations rest beneath the contemporary Catholic structure completed in the 20th century. The lower level houses the Grotto of the Annunciation—identified by early Christian sources as “the House of the Virgin Mary”—while the upper basilica glitters with mosaics contributed by Christian communities around the world.
Visitors enter through a broad gate into halls lined with paintings and mirrored panels placed high along the ceiling. Bronze doors and votive panels guide the path toward the grotto below. Overhead, a soaring dome—shaped in homage to the Madonna lily—anchors the architecture. Small rooms along the route host scheduled confessions, and the flow of pilgrims moves steadily between the shadowed grotto and the bright upper sanctuary where Mass is held.
Carlos Velez, a visitor from Puerto Rico, stood absorbing the layers of stone and story. “What’s special about 20th-century archaeology,” he said, “is that people began to understand the importance of preserving the old—allowing visitors to see different periods of time instead of forcing everything into one style.” The basilica, he added, feels like “a mix of styles.”
His pilgrimage through the Holy Land brought him here. “I believe this is the place where Mary received news that the Savior of the world would come through her,” he told The Reporter. “She was only a vessel, an instrument—but the promise behind it was fulfilled. This place is amazing to visit, to enjoy the art and the historic importance.”
More than a 160 kms south of Nazareth, past the northern bridge and the rolling hills beyond it, lies Jerusalem—home to more than a million residents and a spiritual center for billions around the world. Inside its Old City, the walls rebuilt by Sultan Suleyman in the 16th century stretch more than four kilometers, enclosing a labyrinth of narrow alleys and shrines layered with centuries of devotion, conquest, and memory.
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A journey through those walls often begins at Jaffa Gate, one of the main Ottoman-era entrances. From there, the paths twist through markets and quarters toward places revered by Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike. And once a year, on the 29th day of the Hebrew month of Heshvan, tens of thousands of Ethiopian Jews gather in Jerusalem to celebrate Sigd, a festival of covenant renewal. In the Old City, they ascend to the Armon Hanatziv Promenade, a panoramic overlook facing the Temple Mount.
As in previous years, this year’s Sigd celebration drew crowds from across the world. Pilgrims arrived from the United States, Europe, and Africa—including many Ethiopians who had traveled long distances to be part of the annual gathering. Members of the Beta Israel community and other participants fasted, recited psalms, and listened to spiritual leaders known as Kessim, who carried the Orit, the ancient Torah written in Ge’ez.
Participants prostrated themselves in prayer, a gesture of humility and longing, and read from sacred texts that reaffirm their centuries-old connection to Jerusalem. When the fast ended, families and friends reunited for a communal meal. Some made their way to the Western Wall, others remained on the Promenade overlooking the Old City, and many lingered in silence—contemplating a history shaped by exile, return, and faith.
Since the Israeli Knesset officially recognized Sigd in 2008, the holiday has evolved beyond a communal observance into a national event, drawing broader attention across Israeli society.
Betelhem, an Ethiopian-born Jew who asked to be identified by her first name only, said the festival’s visibility has grown significantly over the past two decades. “Today, our celebration gets the recognition it deserves,” she told The Reporter. “During Sigd we renew our covenant with God and remember our promise to Jerusalem. Likewise, we must rise together to gain even greater recognition.”
In the soft light of the afternoon, Jerusalem’s beaten stone paths filled with visitors who came to watch, learn, and participate.
Within the Old City’s Christian Quarter stands another site layered with meaning: the compound of the Great Temple in Jerusalem, which contains three spaces tied to the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ, according to Abba Gebereselassi Tesfa, a veteran monk who has served the Ethiopian churches there for 35 years. For him, the assignment is nothing less than a divine calling.
Gebereselassi explained that Ethiopians once held a more active presence in the ancient temple, especially in the 16th century. But the expansion of the Ottoman Empire, along with other historical forces, diminished that role. Tensions remain, he said, particularly with the Egyptian clergy regarding the ownership of the old Ethiopian temple within the compound, in addition to the churches of St. Michael and Medihaniyalem.
“They stole what is ours,” he said. “They deceived the Ethiopian priest at the time and took control of our church. We continue to struggle to reclaim what belongs to us.”
He urged the Ethiopian government to provide stronger support for the clergy stationed there, noting that the monks’ living quarters are in disrepair and that financial assistance is limited. “We want support from the government to improve our living conditions,” he said. “We cannot provide the proper services while living below our standards.”
While Gebereselassi speaks of contested spaces and the need for restoration, others come to the holy site seeking peace. Alemtsehay Belete, originally from Shire Endaselase in Ethiopia’s Tigray region, said that visiting the temple brings her a profound sense of serenity. After more than two decades in Israel, she considers her decision to move there a blessing—one that has deepened her spiritual life.
“I feel complete whenever I visit the temple,” she said. “I cannot imagine living far from it. Whenever I have the opportunity to draw closer to the Lord, I return here to pray and find relief.”
Ethiopia’s historical presence in Jerusalem extends well beyond the ancient temple compound and into the heart of the city, along a quiet corridor known as Ethiopian Street. Here stands the Holy Ministry of the Ethiopian Church and the Kidane Mehret (Kidane Mihret) Church. Visitors ascend from the street into the compound of Debre Genet and immediately confront the circular stone mass of the church, its dome rising above the surrounding rooftops.
The site occupies land purchased in 1888 during the reign of Emperor Yohannes IV and completed in 1893 with the support of Emperor Menelik II. It is part of the Debre Genet monastery—one of two enduring Ethiopian monastic presences in Jerusalem.
Inside, the church’s design becomes instantly clear: three concentric rings organized around the inner sanctuary. Only priests and deacons may enter the mekdes, the “Holy of Holies,” where the community’s arc of covenant is kept and the Eucharist is celebrated. A secondary ring accommodates communicants, and the outermost circle is reserved for cantors and the wider congregation.
The interior is distinctly Ethiopian—its painted icons and liturgical layout reflecting centuries of ritual tradition. Beyond the church, the compound opens into a cluster of modest dwellings and service buildings belonging to the monastery. Historical accounts and community records describe the site as home to a resident Ethiopian community of clergy, nuns, and laypeople, its operations partially supported by income from properties the monastery owns and rents nearby.
Preserved across centuries, these historical sites, scattered across Jerusalem, serve as repositories connecting present generations with the practices and movements that shaped their societies, reminding them that faith and history are often inseparable.
