By Jessica Ravitz
LDS Church's Jerusalem Center. (Mark A. Philbrick)JERUSALEM - For many in Israel, the building and its inhabitants are shrouded in mystery. Some even call it "the secret place."
    "What is it, these Mormons?" a man with a thick Hebrew accent asks. "Do you know what they believe?" asks a woman in a downtown restaurant. "Why are they here?" a Palestinian taxi driver wonders aloud.
    Nestled atop Mount Scopus, with sweeping views of the Kidron Valley, the Mount of Olives and the Old City of Jerusalem, Brigham Young University's Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies sits on real estate that would make any Middle Eastern Donald Trump drool. Here, students who are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints spend from two to four months immersed in study of the new and old, the ancient and the modern - whether that be the testaments of the Bible or near eastern history.
    But what the students and couples doing volunteer service at the center don't do is talk about their faith with others. That's right: They are Latter-day Saints who keep their beliefs quiet and lips sealed.
    "We do not proselytize. Even if someone asks, we tell them we are Christians and that's all we can say," explained Jill Heyes, of Salt Lake City, who in November was nine months into a year of volunteer service with her husband. "It goes right against everything we learned growing up."
    Missionary work is banned in Israel, where an aversion to conversion, forced or otherwise, reigns. Historical scars such as the Crusades and Spanish Inquisition likely weighed on the minds of those who founded the modern Jewish state. So written into the lease BYU signed for the 5 acres of land, upon which it built the sprawling 125,000-square-foot building, was a condition prohibiting all proselytizing, said Jim Kearl of BYU, who's overseen the center since 1989, one year after it opened. Students and adults who come to BYU Jerusalem must sign an agreement to uphold their end of the deal.
    "The integrity of the church is on the line," Heyes said. "We have to keep our promise. . . . We will do that until the Israeli government says you can teach. And they haven't said that."
    Not being able to teach, however, doesn't mean they can't learn.
    Maggie Bertucci, a junior at BYU who hails from Texas, said between the coursework, extensive field trips - to places including Egypt, Jordan and Galilee - and time spent wandering the narrow corridors of the Old City, the lessons never stop. The Middle East topography isn't "the sandbox" she expected; though the culture may be different, "the people are people . . . living their lives," and her perspective on the region's ongoing conflict "changes from day to day," she said.
    BYU faculty are sent on assignment to teach scripture and ancient Near Eastern studies, Kearl explained. But the university taps Israeli Jews and Palestinian Muslims to teach modern history as well as Hebrew and Arabic; students must take one of the two language classes.
    "I don't know if there is a side to choose because each has its reasons for wanting to control the land," Bertucci, who wrapped up her semester abroad before Christmas, said of the issues that at times leave her head spinning. "They're giving us the information from both sides so we can come away and form our own opinions."
    The opportunity to learn on the ground was, until last January, closed for more than six years to BYU students. The center can accommodate about 170, but since opening its doors to 44 at the beginning of this year, enrollment is slowly ramping up. Bertucci was one of 80 who attended last semester, and Kearl said it'll stay "capped at 80 for at least a while."
    Over the years, BYU Jerusalem has had to sway with the political winds, which blow hard in this part of the world. The program temporarily was suspended during the first Gulf War in 1991. It closed again to students amid rising civil unrest in the fall of 2000, forcing 176 students to return home early. BYU officials announced the program would restart in the fall of 2006, but scrapped that plan after Israel declared war with Hezbollah militants in Lebanon.
    Security is tight around the eight-level center. Students are given school-issued cell phones, forbidden to ride on public buses and required to travel in groups, during free time, in approved areas only.
    Bertucci's favorite stamping ground, by far, was the Old City, she said.
    "The smell, the sights, the people, the noise, the spices, the clutter," she beamed, listing off what she appreciated most. "I love the history of it."
    Although many in the region may not understand why Mormons care about their history, Kearl said the experience offered in Jerusalem represents part of BYU's broad committment to giving students the education only study-abroad programs can give. It's an opportunity "to see and understand differently," and for members of a faith whose holy book begins in Jerusalem, having a "presence in what is doctrinally the Holy Land" is icing, he said.
    Those living and learning at BYU Jerusalem can't knock on others' doors, in the missionary sense, but visitors are welcome to knock on theirs. Guided tours of the center offer strolls through the biblical garden, which includes replicas of ancient olive presses and biblical plants and herbs, a 3,000-pipe organ recital in the auditorium, explanations of models depicting various eras in Jerusalem history, visits to a gallery featuring local artists and an inside look at the Old City-inspired architecture and awe-inspiring views.
    "Each day we open our windows and see hundreds of years of history," said Heyes, who was leading a tour across the center's grounds.
    "Thousands of years," corrected Rochelle Batagower, of Houston.
    "That's right," Heyes answered with a big smile. "Thousands."
    Bagatower visits her sister annually in Israel, but this year getting up to the center for a tour seemed pressing, "especially since we might have a president who's Mormon," she said, referring to Mitt Romney's Republican Party bid.
    These regularly scheduled tours continued, even when BYU Jerusalem was closed to students, as did the highly acclaimed free concert series.
    Each Sunday night, the center hosts an evening of classical music that packs the 250-seat auditorium. One weekday night a month, it's all about jazz, ethnic or folk music. The performances feature local professional musicians and give them a venue to entertain in an intimate environment where the Old City skyline, beyond large arched windows, sets the stage. It's one way, said Kearl, that BYU likes to give back.
    After enjoying sonatas for violin and piano by Beethoven and Strauss, Sharon Daniel, 35, lingered in the center's main corridor.
    "From an Israeli point of view, this is a mysterious place," he said, looking around.
    Daniel attends Hebrew University, which also sits on Mount Scopus, and said he's always thought a dialogue between Hebrew U. and BYU Jerusalem students would do wonders to increase understanding and erase suspicions.
    But he's learned to accept that that's not going to happen anytime soon. Eyeing closed doors he can't enter and staircases leading to levels where visitors are forbidden, he said he'll appreciate what the Mormons can share with him - a beautiful setting for music - in a place where they otherwise stay mum.
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