12 MAGAZINE May 27, 2011

FEATURE

JERUSALEM HAS a special, spiritual atmosphere.

Conversationswith residents ofthe four quartersof Jerusalem’sOld City promptsreflections –many of themdiscouraging –on the past,present andfuture of thishub for allreligions andethnicities

‘Jerusalem is like an apple tree,’ says Harout, the proprietorof an Armenian tavern in the Old City. “It’s completelyunpredictable.”

As Jerusalem Day approaches once again (on June 1), 44 yearsafter the city was reunited, this piece of folksy wisdom doesn’tseem to be too far from the truth. Political machinations areafoot, and the future of the city, along with the wider region, isincreasingly murky.

But in the Old City of Jerusalem, very much a focal point ofthe political conflict, life continues as usual for its motley collec-tion of residents and assorted tradespeople. The four quarters ofthis Turkish-built stronghold contain within them as broad arange of ethnicities, faiths and cultures as one is likely toencounter in such a small space, and their day-to-day lives reflectthis diversity.

YASSER BARAKAT owns an art emporium in the Christian Quar-ter. Silver lanterns hang from the ceiling, hand-woven rugs andother embroidered works line the walls, and lithographs of theHoly Land are stacked up against them.

“Life in Jerusalem is uncertain,” he says recalling the disastrousyears of the second intifada. “It was a catastrophe, there were notourists, nothing, it was very hard.”

Business is better now for this former mathematics lecturer, butnot like it was in the ’90s. Tour guides hasten groups betweensites, and the array of trinket shops hawking carved-wood depic-tions of the Nativity alongside cheap hanukkiot makes peoplesuspicious of even his more authentic wares.

“Tourist numbers have gone up, but they’re not the same asbefore, they’re backpackers with less money to spend,” says

Barakat’s son Ihab, looking up from his MacBook for a moment.“You can’t plan, not like in Europe or America,” he sighs, recall-ing his time spent studying in London.

“It’s as the Prophet Joseph said,” interjects his father. “Thereare seven years of plenty, then seven years of famine, but here it’susually one of each, and that makes things complicated.”

LIFE HAS also changed for Helmi in the Muslim Quarter. Born in1960 and a graduate of Hebron University in Arabic literature,Helmi works with his elderly father, Saleh, running a fruit andvegetable store in a quiet alleyway off one of the main thor-oughfares in this bustling section of the city.

Too young himself to recall much about life pre-’67, he says hisfather had little money back then and that work was scarce.Today, life is financially more secure, business is steady and thefamily owns property in the Silwan neighborhood just south ofthe Old City.

But there are other problems these days. “Ten years I’ve been trying to build a house for my son, but I can’t

get the permits,” he grumbles. “I have the land, but I can’t build.Where can they live when they get married? It’s impossible.”

And despite these relatively more prosperous times, he feelsuncomfortable in the city nowadays.

“The Jews should leave,” he says simply. “There should be Arabcontrol.”

The unsettling, unpredictable nature of life in the Old City isclearly a common theme among the quarters, but as Helmiunderlines, an underlying tension is also present, caused by thebroader political environment.

“JEWS, MUSLIMS, Christians, they all used to live together onthe same streets and share courtyards,” says Harout, an Armen-ian tavern owner, recalling the stories of his grandfather from

On the 44thanniversary...

• JEREMY SHARONPhotos: MARC ISRAEL SELLEM

before 1948. “But now outsiders have come in and theyhave no idea of what it was like here, and it’s causingtrouble.”

Harout’s family fled their homeland in 1915, as theArmenian genocide was raging. They settled in theArmenian Quarter and have run their restaurant eversince. Descending steep stairs into this grotto, ornatechandeliers cast a soft light down upon the establish-ment, while fabulous murals depicting Jesus and scenesfrom the New Testament in traditional Eastern styleadorn the walls.

“There’s too much intolerance now,” Harout says as hepasses two cups of dark, aromatic Turkish coffee to awaiter. “The old Jerusalemites respected each other, butnow everyone’s been brainwashed, and neither side seesthe other as quite human.”

The situation doesn’t seem to have had much tangibleeffect on Harout or his family, though. Relationsbetween the Armenian and Jewish residents are good,business is fine and he would never think of leavingJerusalem to live elsewhere.

But on occasion, he says, he has to get out and go overto Tel Aviv, away from the pressure-cooker of life inJerusalem and the Old City.

THIS KIND of intensity is less apparent in the JewishQuarter, and even harder to imagine in the courtyard ofMira Eliav.

Eliav and her husband, Yossi, have lived together in theJewish Quarter since 1971, and under the broad, shadyleaves of a towering banana plant, with wind chimes tin-gling and birds chirping, she talks of what it was like tobe part of the Garin Moriah settlement group during thedays when Jewish life was being revived in the Old City.

“Immediately after 1967, Arabs were still resident inthe Rova [Jewish Quarter],” she says. Relations weregood, and she remembers being invited over by her Arabneighbors for coffee.

“But the Arab residents were living in formerly Jewish-owned property, and so the government moved themout, gave them housing in Silwan and provided us withrent-free accommodation,” she continues.

Life in the Old City was tough back then, says Eliav.Her first apartment had no electricity, and the only run-ning water was a tap outside the building. The streetsweren’t paved, and it took 25 years before the JewishQuarter was properly renovated.

And in that time, the character of the area, as well as itsphysical appearance, has changed greatly. Eliav and herhusband moved in with another nine families who wereeither religious Zionist or secular. But a growing numberof yeshivot were established, and the makeup of theRova became increasingly haredi. Of the original 10 fam-ilies that moved into the Jewish Quarter, just three stilllive there.

“No community has changed as much as the Rovahas,” Eliav says, and agrees with Harout that the differ-ent communities are less tolerant of each other.

“The children even have separate playtimes in thecourtyard,” she notes, and talks of some unsavory inci-dents of prejudice and intolerance.

“It’s a special place, though,” she says. “It has a special,spiritual atmosphere. I would never consider leaving.”

No one in the Old City appears to be entirely content,and this reflects, perhaps, the wider problems Jerusalemfaces as a whole. Socioeconomic concerns abound, andthe political conflict frequently erupts in the city, be itrioting in east Jerusalem or international indignationover construction across the Green Line.

As for the future, it’s clear that no one in the Old Cityhas any idea.

“Live in the present,” says Eliav. “Everyone needs to dothe best they can – haredim, Jews, Muslims. Only Godknows the future.”

For a city like Jerusalem, this seems to be the best fore-cast one can expect. !

MAGAZINE www.jpost.com 13