There's always that nocturnal strangeness in a new place. At 5am I could hear a dog barking and a dischordant group of muezzin competing for the night air. We haven't quite worked out the heating system and our room was a fug by then. So I lay there listening, sleepy brain whirring. The is the time in the early hours when, 'the thoughts come blundering in like naughty children', as a someone once wrote in a poem. Then one dwarf joined us followed by another, Rashimi forming a handy filling for the chink between our two single beds that have been nailed together.
That day, Tuesday was the day of wobbles. The usual questions in my mind: what are we doing here? The Lozenge echoing these thoughts on the way to school: 'I want to go back to Lyme Tewith and live in London'. The internet was on the blink and I wasn't sure where to put myself. J understood all this and by the time he left for work, my spirits were feeling a little bit stoked by his un-judgemental ears and the fact that we're definitely making this journey together.
I stepped out the door in my new Nike trainers from auntie Rosie, past a local sight. Whenever Rashimi sees one of these bins he yells: 'BOAT!'
My first stop was the stationery shop where I met Imad, who also owns the coffee shop opposite. He stoked up my morning further, helping me with my clumsy Arabic, supplying a Haaretz newspaper which comes with the International Herald and Tribune, and a SIM card for my phone. We chatted a bit in Arabic, and he supplied me with a number for an Arabic teacher as having made it a little way, I don't want to let it go.
I read an interesting account about learning a new lanugage by Alice Kaplan, professor of French at Yale University the other day. (At her finishing school in Switzerland in 1971): 'I'd learn a new word by listening and hearing its context and then try new words out to see if a strange look came over the face of the person I was talking to. If it didn't I knew I was home free. I had a new word.'
Those home free moments make the majority of the opposite worth working for.
Then I entered two numbers into my new phone: 'J' and 'Home' - this being our home now, and read a column in Haaretz about how Palestinians would have much more land at their fingertips had they accepted the first UN suggested boundaries in 1947/8 and not started a fight. Tragically when you look back 60 years, this was indeed the best deal they were ever offered and their physical landscape has been shrinking ever since.
Then I ventured with a couple of British girls who scooped me up, to the most wonderful market called Mehane Yehuda where you can buy anything from a pile of pastries to a capel. The stalls stretch out under a permanent awning, and as you walk the paved stones, smoothed with feet over decades, the smells engulf you: bread then fish the cheese then a haze of spices so strong you actually feel you're inhaling the dusty powders; then raw meat then coffee from a cafe then fish again. I bought a handful of green peppers for St Grace and a toaster for J as we left ours in Jordan by mistake. The market vendors are smiling and characterful.
On the whole they were Hebrew speaking. So I learned more new names for vegetables and fruit. The occasional one matches Arabic: like pomegranate: Romaan/Riman. And carrot: jesr/gezr. But many don't. We should really learn them all in both languages if we are to sink our teeth into the richness of the roots, as well as the root vegetables, of this region. And I'll have to invest in a tartan shopper…
On the way home as we drove through an ultra Orthodox Jewish area, the girls explained a bit about one big issue in Israeli society: the weight of these Haredi societies on the state. The Haredi population in Israel is 700,000 out of 6 million Israeli Jews and their numbers are rising rapidly, with one of the highest concentrations in Jerusalem. On the whole they spend their time studying and are exempt military service which is compulsory for all other Israelis: 3 years for men, 18 months for women. While the Haredi are allowed to continue religious studies, ('yeshiva') during this time and receive payment for it, IDF military trainees receive between $80-$250 per month. I can see this would be a bug bear for non-ultra-Orthodox professionals here who are essentially supporting this growing mass of humankind who make no contribution to society. Though one of the Haredim's arguments are that a Yeshiva student is more important than a soldier in the IDF as they pray for the welfare of the country, and uphold the tenets of the Jewish faith and therefore state. St Grace heard from her Sri Lankan friend opposite that if these families have 13 children, then they receive a car from the Israeli Government.
The Western side of the city, where the market is, is very different from the Arab side. Though you can still glimpse facades of buildings, arched windows, and solid stone doorways that look Ottoman or 'Arab' as we might know it. Though every shop sign is in Hebrew, and most people out on the streets look Jewish not Muslim, unlike our neighbourhood. Many of our friends in Jordan used to have family homes here, many of which are now incorporated in the West side of the city. During the 1948 war, Israel took control of 12 of Jerusalem's 15 Arab residential quarters, and many of our friends' homes would have been incorporated in this. And after the 1967 war the whole of Jerusalem was taken into the Jerusalem Municipality, making even East Jerusalem, part of Israel.
Back in our small Arab enclave we have a new ritual in the mornings where the Lozenge is collected at 7.15am in a high top white minibus. J is better at getting dressed in time, so I get to watch them walk down the garden path hand in hand, the monkey back pack under J's arm. Even on the first day, the Lozenge hopped in with no hesitation and waved happily from the window. When the minibus draws back up at the house at 3pm, I normally embark to find the Lozenge fast asleep on the single seat at the front and have to manually heave him out and carry him most of the way up the path.
On Thursday I had a day wandering our neighbourhood staring with a visit to Johnny at Holy Land Insurance. His small office looks out across the old city, the gold Dome of the Rock visible from his window. He is sorting out St Grace's health and workplace insurance. I walked in and his assistant Carole brought me a cup of Arabic coffee as I chatted to Johnny. He is Christian and was educated at the Freres College in Jerusalem. We were talking about this region and the problems Christian communities are having in Egypt, Syria, Iraq and other places. ‘Fortunately, so far, we don’t seem to have so many problems here in Israel/Palestine. But our numbers are diminishing nevertheless', he explained.
I wandered home and looked closely at every building and alleyway - little chinks of visible history competeing with the present. I wandered around our immediate area and realised that for the first time in my life, it will be possible to shop for most things we need here, without visiting a supermarket. It’s like a village, and the owners of every tiny store: Abu Mansour’s vegetable and fruit stall; Osama Khoury’s grocery store; Abu Hassan’s well known hummus and falafel shack; Marwaan Sahhar's Christian grocer which sells wine and beer and was recommended by Johnny from Holy Land insurance - knows our elderly landlady and sent their regards to her.
Village life in Jerusalem begins.
That day, Tuesday was the day of wobbles. The usual questions in my mind: what are we doing here? The Lozenge echoing these thoughts on the way to school: 'I want to go back to Lyme Tewith and live in London'. The internet was on the blink and I wasn't sure where to put myself. J understood all this and by the time he left for work, my spirits were feeling a little bit stoked by his un-judgemental ears and the fact that we're definitely making this journey together.
I stepped out the door in my new Nike trainers from auntie Rosie, past a local sight. Whenever Rashimi sees one of these bins he yells: 'BOAT!'
My first stop was the stationery shop where I met Imad, who also owns the coffee shop opposite. He stoked up my morning further, helping me with my clumsy Arabic, supplying a Haaretz newspaper which comes with the International Herald and Tribune, and a SIM card for my phone. We chatted a bit in Arabic, and he supplied me with a number for an Arabic teacher as having made it a little way, I don't want to let it go.
I read an interesting account about learning a new lanugage by Alice Kaplan, professor of French at Yale University the other day. (At her finishing school in Switzerland in 1971): 'I'd learn a new word by listening and hearing its context and then try new words out to see if a strange look came over the face of the person I was talking to. If it didn't I knew I was home free. I had a new word.'
Those home free moments make the majority of the opposite worth working for.
Then I entered two numbers into my new phone: 'J' and 'Home' - this being our home now, and read a column in Haaretz about how Palestinians would have much more land at their fingertips had they accepted the first UN suggested boundaries in 1947/8 and not started a fight. Tragically when you look back 60 years, this was indeed the best deal they were ever offered and their physical landscape has been shrinking ever since.
Then I ventured with a couple of British girls who scooped me up, to the most wonderful market called Mehane Yehuda where you can buy anything from a pile of pastries to a capel. The stalls stretch out under a permanent awning, and as you walk the paved stones, smoothed with feet over decades, the smells engulf you: bread then fish the cheese then a haze of spices so strong you actually feel you're inhaling the dusty powders; then raw meat then coffee from a cafe then fish again. I bought a handful of green peppers for St Grace and a toaster for J as we left ours in Jordan by mistake. The market vendors are smiling and characterful.
On the whole they were Hebrew speaking. So I learned more new names for vegetables and fruit. The occasional one matches Arabic: like pomegranate: Romaan/Riman. And carrot: jesr/gezr. But many don't. We should really learn them all in both languages if we are to sink our teeth into the richness of the roots, as well as the root vegetables, of this region. And I'll have to invest in a tartan shopper…
On the way home as we drove through an ultra Orthodox Jewish area, the girls explained a bit about one big issue in Israeli society: the weight of these Haredi societies on the state. The Haredi population in Israel is 700,000 out of 6 million Israeli Jews and their numbers are rising rapidly, with one of the highest concentrations in Jerusalem. On the whole they spend their time studying and are exempt military service which is compulsory for all other Israelis: 3 years for men, 18 months for women. While the Haredi are allowed to continue religious studies, ('yeshiva') during this time and receive payment for it, IDF military trainees receive between $80-$250 per month. I can see this would be a bug bear for non-ultra-Orthodox professionals here who are essentially supporting this growing mass of humankind who make no contribution to society. Though one of the Haredim's arguments are that a Yeshiva student is more important than a soldier in the IDF as they pray for the welfare of the country, and uphold the tenets of the Jewish faith and therefore state. St Grace heard from her Sri Lankan friend opposite that if these families have 13 children, then they receive a car from the Israeli Government.
The Western side of the city, where the market is, is very different from the Arab side. Though you can still glimpse facades of buildings, arched windows, and solid stone doorways that look Ottoman or 'Arab' as we might know it. Though every shop sign is in Hebrew, and most people out on the streets look Jewish not Muslim, unlike our neighbourhood. Many of our friends in Jordan used to have family homes here, many of which are now incorporated in the West side of the city. During the 1948 war, Israel took control of 12 of Jerusalem's 15 Arab residential quarters, and many of our friends' homes would have been incorporated in this. And after the 1967 war the whole of Jerusalem was taken into the Jerusalem Municipality, making even East Jerusalem, part of Israel.
Back in our small Arab enclave we have a new ritual in the mornings where the Lozenge is collected at 7.15am in a high top white minibus. J is better at getting dressed in time, so I get to watch them walk down the garden path hand in hand, the monkey back pack under J's arm. Even on the first day, the Lozenge hopped in with no hesitation and waved happily from the window. When the minibus draws back up at the house at 3pm, I normally embark to find the Lozenge fast asleep on the single seat at the front and have to manually heave him out and carry him most of the way up the path.
On Thursday I had a day wandering our neighbourhood staring with a visit to Johnny at Holy Land Insurance. His small office looks out across the old city, the gold Dome of the Rock visible from his window. He is sorting out St Grace's health and workplace insurance. I walked in and his assistant Carole brought me a cup of Arabic coffee as I chatted to Johnny. He is Christian and was educated at the Freres College in Jerusalem. We were talking about this region and the problems Christian communities are having in Egypt, Syria, Iraq and other places. ‘Fortunately, so far, we don’t seem to have so many problems here in Israel/Palestine. But our numbers are diminishing nevertheless', he explained.
I wandered home and looked closely at every building and alleyway - little chinks of visible history competeing with the present. I wandered around our immediate area and realised that for the first time in my life, it will be possible to shop for most things we need here, without visiting a supermarket. It’s like a village, and the owners of every tiny store: Abu Mansour’s vegetable and fruit stall; Osama Khoury’s grocery store; Abu Hassan’s well known hummus and falafel shack; Marwaan Sahhar's Christian grocer which sells wine and beer and was recommended by Johnny from Holy Land insurance - knows our elderly landlady and sent their regards to her.
Village life in Jerusalem begins.
The areas that you visited have always been Jewish - built and occupied by Jews.
ReplyDeleteThe Arabs who lived in the western part of the city lived in a different area - south to Jaffa street - in the neighborhoods of Talbiya, Katamon and Bak'aa.
These were neighborhoods of rich Arabs who built beautiful villas.
But before they built these neighborhoods the German Templars already built their colony in that area - in the 19th century as did the Jews who built their neighbohoods of Yemin Moshe and Mishkanot Sha'ananim in the 19th century and Rehavia in the 1920's
By Mahane Yehuda, Nahlaot, all the area of the city center and westward - Nahalat Shiv'aa, Mea Sharim etc. has always been a Jewish area - built and occupied by Jews.
Many of the Jews who built Mahane Yehuda and Nahlaot were Sephardi Jews who were influenced by Arab and Ottoman building style much more than Ashkenazi Jews who buit the neighborhoods of Rehavia, Mishkanot Sha'ananim etc.
So the fact that you see arches etc. doesn't mean that this house used to be an Arab family's house.
If you are really interested in the history of the city I recommend to learn in a serious manner - from books and documents.
By the way, nowadays, many of the vendors in the Mahane Yehuda market are Arab. The owners of the stalls are still Jewish (the market was built by Jews) but many Jewish owners rent their stalls to Arabs who work there. This is a new phenomenon of the last few years that reflects the integration of the Arab population of east Jerusalem in more and more aspects of life in west (previously Jewish) Jerusalem - today most bus drivers, taxi drivers, light rail drivers, pharmacists etc etc in west Jerusalem today are Arabs - Jobs that used to be occfupied by Jews and now you see more and more Arabs doing them.
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