The Hidden Battle Over the Mosque’s Image and Narrative
As the Al-Aqsa Mosque enters the most aggressive and prolonged season of Israeli incursions — beginning with the so-called Jewish New Year, followed by Yom Kippur, and culminating in the most dangerous of all, the Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot) — it becomes essential to address one pressing question:
Why have the videos and photos documenting what happens inside Al-Aqsa nearly disappeared?
For those who follow the situation closely, the answer is painfully clear: the visual record of the daily assaults on Islam’s third holiest site is being systematically erased. The number of images and videos showing extremist “Temple” groups storming the mosque has sharply declined.
During the recent holiday incursions — Rosh Hashanah on September 23 and Yom Kippur in early October 2025 — almost all available footage came from outside the mosque compound, even from beyond Jerusalem’s Old City walls.
Many of the images shared by Arabic news outlets were shot from the Mount of Olives, some 500 metres away from Al-Aqsa’s eastern walls — a vantage point that covers only a small visible portion of the sanctuary near the Qibli Mosque, leaving unseen what happens in the eastern, northern, and western courtyards, where settlers often perform their rituals under armed guard.
Ironically, the few videos revealing these rituals came from the settler groups themselves, who boastfully posted their own footage on social media — flaunting what they see as “achievements” inside the mosque.
When the Occupier Controls the Camera
One example captures the gravity of this blackout: the shofar-blowing inside the mosque during the Jewish New Year. The incident went almost entirely uncovered by Arab and international media. The extremist “Bidinu” group later claimed its members sounded the horn five times, while Jerusalemite worshippers present said they heard it once or twice, though no one could film it. Only when the same group published its own video — showing a settler blowing the horn before being escorted out by occupation police — was the event confirmed.
The notorious settler rabbi Yehuda Glick, a leading instigator of Al-Aqsa incursions, celebrated the act as a “symbolic victory” in what he calls the battle for “religious control” of the site.
Over the past year, the Israeli occupation forces have tightened their grip on Al-Aqsa more than ever before — interfering even in the work of the Islamic Waqf that manages the mosque under Jordanian custodianship. They have banned preachers from mentioning Gaza in Friday sermons, threatening deportation regardless of their religious or social stature — targeting figures such as Sheikh Mohammad Sarandah, Sheikh Ikrima Sabri, and Sheikh Mohammad Hussein, the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem.
At the same time, they launched a systematic campaign against Palestinian journalists and photographers — the eyes of the world inside Al-Aqsa. Many have faced arrests, forced removals, and equipment confiscation. Soldiers even search Muslim worshippers’ phones inside the mosque to ensure no images of settlers are taken. The result: in many cases, transmitting the truth from within Al-Aqsa has become nearly impossible.
Local journalists recount how occupation police clear the courtyards of media crews minutes before settlers enter, or deny them entry altogether, ensuring the site remains empty — except for settlers and armed police.
This pre-emptive evacuation is part of a deliberate policy to erase the real picture. Only after each incursion ends does the official Israeli narrative appear — rebranding the violation as a mere “limited prayer” or “organized visit to open public grounds,” in line with Israel’s false redefinition of the mosque’s sanctity.
Erasing the Image, Silencing the Cause
Without on-ground footage, the Arab and Muslim public loses its ability to follow the unfolding events. Jerusalem fades from the headlines, while on the ground, Israel quietly enforces its temporal and spatial division of Al-Aqsa — a plan designed to change its Islamic identity under the cover of silence.
What once filled screens with chants of Allahu Akbar and defiant crowds has now been reduced to sterile press statements from the Islamic Waqf, the Jordanian Foreign Ministry, or a few human-rights organizations.
This is not a coincidence. It is the outcome of a long-term policy aimed at stripping Al-Aqsa of its media presence — an effort to remove the mosque from collective consciousness.
The battle over Al-Aqsa is not merely about stones and buildings; it is a battle over narrative, memory, and image. Whoever controls the image controls the story — and whoever controls the story can justify oppression and erase truth.
The occupation understands this well. It knows that a single photo of a soldier storming the mosque or a settler raising a flag in its courtyards can ignite outrage across the Muslim world. That is why it bans cameras, replacing them with approved Israeli lenses that capture the scene from the settler’s perspective, later distributed online by extremist “Temple” groups — propaganda disguised as documentation.
Digital Censorship: The New Siege
Adding to the danger, social-media platforms — once vital tools for exposing these crimes — have become part of the silent censorship system. Videos documenting assaults on worshippers or incursions into Al-Aqsa are often removed, shadow-banned, or hidden under pretexts like “violating community standards.”
This modern blackout no longer requires soldiers at the gates. Algorithms now do the job, ensuring that the world sees nothing of the desecration unfolding in one of Islam’s holiest sites.
In this environment, the steadfast Jerusalemites who still manage to film and share moments from afar — often before being detained — have become the front-line defenders of Al-Aqsa’s visual memory. Were it not for their courage, the world would know almost nothing of what is truly happening inside the mosque. Yet these individuals, brave as they are, lack the institutional and media support necessary to protect and amplify their work.
A Call for Accountability and Action
This blackout is no longer a side effect of the conflict; it has become a central weapon in controlling the scene. When violations go unseen, perpetrators go unpunished. When the image disappears, so does the world’s sense of urgency. The occupation is now more afraid of the camera than the stone — for an image can pierce walls of denial and awaken nations.
It is therefore imperative that Jordan, through its Islamic Waqf authority, exercise its full legal and political rights over Al-Aqsa, even if doing so heightens tension with Israel. Tension, while seemingly negative, can yield long-term positive outcomes by asserting sovereignty and exposing the occupation’s fragility.
For Israel — already mired in internal division and international condemnation — cannot afford to open new fronts. And for Jordan, the Al-Aqsa file is existential. Silence or hesitation would only embolden Israel’s project to redefine and Judaize the mosque.
At the very least, Jordan must act under international law to reaffirm its exclusive custodianship over Al-Aqsa: deploying Waqf guards, monitoring every section of the compound, and ensuring that the world sees — with evidence — the daily violations and settler provocations.
Failing to confront this deliberate erasure means allowing the occupation to lay the spiritual and symbolic foundations of the “Temple” project under the shadow of siege and silence. And by then, regret will be useless.
