Razzouk Tattoo Unites the Spiritual and Worldly, Inking Pilgrims for 28 Generations

In the Old City of Jerusalem, a few steps inside Jaffa Gate, and toward the alley that leads to the Terra Sancta Saint Joseph School, you will find a spot with a sign that reads: “Razzouk Tattoo.” Under the name, in fine print, appears the phrase: “Tattoo with Heritage.”

Some have reported that this shop is home to the oldest tattoos in the world, but that is highly unlikely. After all, the earliest signs of a tattooed human may be the “iceman” buried beneath an Alpine glacier along the Austrian-Italian border, dating back to the Copper Age in 3250 BC.1 Among the oldest figural tattoo work adorned on a dead body are the ancient Egyptian mummies, excavated in the 1890s, which date back to 3351 and 3017 BC.2

Other records in Egypt demonstrate the prevalence of tattoos from ancient times, such as those found on women’s bodies in connection to Amunet, the tattooed priestess of goddess Hathor. Various other cultures are known for having early roots in body artwork, including the pre-Inca (Chiribaya) culture from northern Peru and southern Chile, the Tarim mummies of China, and the Māori of New Zealand.3

The Razzouk family of Jerusalem, originally from Egypt, has a fascinating story in connection to this artwork. The family does not claim that Razzouk was the oldest tattoo shop in the world, but rather that it is the oldest family-run business, since it has been operating since 1300.4

In Egypt, Coptic Christians are known to have their wrists tattooed with the Cross as a symbol of their faith. Since the 14th century, Coptic parents were known to mark their children (sometimes even from infancy) with tattoos of crosses. Some say this was to help identify them in case they got killed, especially when no other form of identification was available. Others, including the Razzouk family, explain that this practice was done to grant Christians easy access to churches—proof of their Christianity in the form of a stamp.5

The Razzouk family came to Jerusalem from Egypt. To this day, they speak of their ancestors as having had tattoos on their skin.

On September 28, 2024, Jerusalem Story visited the Razzouk tattoo shop in Jerusalem’s Old City and spoke with Anton Razzouk, the son of Wassim, who had a major role in documenting the family’s history and maintaining the generations-long tattooing tradition.

“They were traveling, and they had the tattoo equipment and stamps with them,”6 Anton explains about the history of his Coptic ancestors, who came from Egypt to Jerusalem on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. “Back then, people used to carry their tools with them as they’d work while traveling. It hadn’t been their plan to stay in Jerusalem, but once they got here, they realized that there was a big market for their business. So, they decided to stay.”

And stay they did. As per the Razzouk family, Anton and his brother are the 28th generation of a lineage that has preserved the profession and tradition of offering tattoos to visitors and pilgrims to Jerusalem.7

Anton’s great-grandfather, known by his Armenian friends and hence by the community as Hagop, was talented in crafts. He would become not only the first tattoo artist in the country but also the first to use an electric tattoo machine. Most of the work has been maintained from the stamps—old olive woodblock carvings, dipped in ink, and stamped. “These stamps kept the generational line going,” Anton explains: “They have been preserved from one generation to the next; we use the same blocks that my ancestors had used hundreds of years ago.” Most of these designs were Christian tattoo designs, such as the Jerusalem Cross and images of Saint George.

“To think of how my ancestors came as pilgrims to Jerusalem–probably more than 500 years ago–is really something,” Anton highlights. The significance of his family’s origin does not escape him: “It is the greatest of blessings to be coming from the lineage of Coptic Christians, and to know that we have been about five minutes away from the Holy Sepulchre Church, ever since 1300.” Although the location of the tattoo shop has changed over time (it was previously in the Christian Quarter), it has always been in the Old City of Jerusalem—in very close proximity to the church.

Anton, 23, has been designing tattoos for the past six years. His younger brother, Nizar, was drawn to the craft even earlier: Nizar was 12 when he quickly started to learn the techniques from his father—who in turn encouraged him to hop on the beloved journey.

Anton gives credit to his father, Wassim, who mentored him. “I grew up watching my dad tattooing,” he says. “My father’s aunts also drew tattoos. As did my grandfather—although I never personally saw him tattooing.” It was quite intimidating to venture into this artistic and risky endeavor, Anton admits, but his father made it easier by volunteering parts of his own body (much like a guinea pig) for his son to develop his tattooing skills.

“The first person I tattooed was my dad,” Anton recalls. “It was horrible, to be honest, and it was probably a little painful.”

To make a tattoo, he explains, one must first design it; the task requires certain artistic skill, creativity, and experience. “The more you develop the skill, the more artistic you become.”

With enough practice, Anton managed to hone his craft. “I slowly got more ‘victims,’ as I call it,” he smiles—referring to his relatives who were open to him inking tattoos on them in his early days. He gained enough experience to the point that now, it’s not a problem for him at all: “It has become second nature for me,” Anton notes confidently.

With the sounds of guitar riffs resonating from classic rock songs and motorcycle engines revving outside (Harley-Davidson being a passion of Wassim’s that rubbed off on his two sons), this place perhaps is atypical of Jerusalem, but it certainly stands out. The tattoo shop, as Anton sees it, is more like a museum.

“Many people come in and look around—they don’t even get tattoos most of the time,” he tells Jerusalem Story. He shares that he has been to tattoo parlors in different parts of the world, but he recognizes that their place is entirely different. For one thing, “It’s a much older demographic that comes here. Many of the people who come here are over 60 years old, on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and they want to get Christian tattoos. It’s a blessing to be the person who meets them after their spiritual journey and marks and preserves such a meaningful moment of their lives.”

It is worth adding that it is not only the age demographic that makes Razzouk’s clientèle different but their background too. After all, “Plenty of Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant priests have gotten their tattoos here,” he explains. Sometimes, Anton shares, much older priests visit the shop and show their semi-sleeves full of tattoos and then tell Anton that it was his father, or grandfather, who had inked those tattoos.

“It can definitely be a spiritual experience,” he reflects. When asked whether people get emotional, he admits: “Some people tear up,” not due to the physical pain (he smiles, as he has gone way beyond the amateur days thanks to his father and is now well-accustomed to administering pain-free tattoos), but because of “the sense of freedom,” he says. “People get emotional when they think about letting go of the weight they had been carrying [much like the weight of the Cross] . . . of where they are at a certain moment in time and knowing that this very moment is getting inked and will last forever.”

Perhaps one of the magical components of Jerusalem is in its sense of history—of knowing, much like the carvings on its walls, that although most of life is passing, fleeting, and going, in Jerusalem, the history of thousands of years somehow remains present and unchanged. Jerusalem has undergone destruction, fires, and wars throughout history; however, the streets within the Old City are still very much representative of resurrection and hope. In a sense, this tattoo place, in the heart of Jerusalem, is a human reminder to “mark” a certain moment in hope.

The client who had a Jerusalem Cross carved on his body by Anton said: “I had decided never to get a tattoo unless it has a good story behind it, a distinctive memory.” In this client’s view, this place at the heart of Jerusalem signified a good story. If someone were to ask him about his tattoo, he would mention the stories of the thousands of pilgrims and visitors who had gotten their bodies inked by these same family members for 28 generations. The word in Arabic for immortality is “khulud,” which has special resonance in Arab culture: it signifies the sense of maintaining, eternalizing, and preserving.

Today, endurance athletes or marathon runners work toward receiving a badge that signifies going past a rough path: a trail of difficulty that has been mastered. In old churches of Jerusalem, people used to carve their names on stones to signify that they were once there. The way Anton describes it, for Christian visitors who had endured much pain, the Cross marked on one’s own body is a day-to-day carved reminder that resembles a “badge of honor” and certifies their pilgrimage—not on a disposable certificate, nor as a wearable necklace, but on their very bodies.

It may well be that walking along Jerusalem’s Via Dolorosa, translated in Arabic as Tariq al-Alam (The Way of Suffering), and into crucifixion still holds power for many people who see that in the pilgrimage to Jerusalem is a devoted route of hope: it represents the light at the end of the tunnel.

In that sense, it is no surprise that such benevolent faith is one that various people have chosen to mark on their bodies for hundreds of years and continue to do so until today.